Beverly Taff
It's best if any new readers find this story, to have read 'Skipper!' first.
This story explores the progress of one of the four girls in Skipper, namely Sian's transgendered child who, whilst born with male plumbing, has not yet determined what gender she is, though she presents as a female.
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Martina’s Story.
List of Characters.
Myself. Martina, A sexually dysphoric child whose sexuality has not
yet been ascertained but who chooses to present as a girl.
Beverly My adoptive ‘aunt’ who is a mature shemale and my most supportive adult friend.
Chenille My older half sister.
Jennifer Aunt Beverly’s adopted daughter.
Beatrice Aunt Beverly’s second adopted daughter and Jennifer’s younger sister.
Sian. My lesbian mother who is married to —
Margaret Who is Chenille’s lesbian mother.
Sissy. My and Chenille’s transvestite shemale father.
Sandie. My doctor, psychiatrist and sexual counsellor.
Judge Elizabeth Porter. The judge who ruled that I should be allowed to live and dress as a girl.
Angela Hunt. Jennifer and Beatrice’s natural blood mother who would eventually marry my Aunt Beverly who is a shemale.
Baroness Wemite’ Sian’s old School Chum
Peter Baroness Wemite’s son
Melanie Baroness Wemite’s daughter and my friend.
Rosemary & Monika. Two bullies in the junior school.
For those readers who wish to get a deeper insight and appreciation of my home circumstances, I suggest that they read Skipper, the story about Aunty Beverly’s rescue and adoption of Jennifer and Beatrice. This is a ‘follow on story’ about my childhood. It starts chronologically after Aunty Beverly finally married Aunty Angela. Some people might disapprove of our life style but I like it, as do my sisters, my mothers and my aunts.
Martina. Chapter 1.
The knock on the bedroom door wasn’t really necessary.
“Come along children, there’s lots to do.”
We all four girls were excited. Jennifer and Beatrice had been sharing a sleepover during the last weekend of the holidays because Aunty Beverly had been in Amsterdam on business. Early this Monday morning, Aunty Beverly had returned and Jennifer and Chenille were starting their first day at St Angela’s School. Beatrice and I had to wait another week before St Angela’s junior section opened but we were going to see the school anyway. I was to have my final special interview because of my ‘condition’ and Beatrice was coming along just for the ride.
Firstly I have to explain. I am a sexually dysphoric nine-year-old child who has not yet determined my sexuality. I was born a boy, but since the age of six, I have felt a distinct preference to live and appear as a girl. Without a view of my naked body, nobody would realise I was a boy. When dressed, I live and present completely as a girl. My preferred condition is to appear as a girl whilst remaining a boy.
The head mistress of St Angela’s has taken a daring step in interviewing me but after much advice and support from Doctor Sandie, my psychiatrist, Miss Frobisher is on the verge of accepting me into her ‘all girls’ school.
My two older sisters have both won scholarships and our previous school reports demonstrated that we all four ‘girls’ are good academic material. St Angela’s prides itself on academic prowess and achievement. When our turn comes, Beatrice and I also hope to win scholarships to help fund our attendance at the senior school. The school is located in the next valley on the other side of the hill called ‘The Dumplin.
At mother’s call, we scrambled out of bed and headed for the shower to freshen up before breakfast.
When we emerged from the bathroom, our mummies were laying out our new school uniforms. I noted that they had also laid out one for me and I smiled. It seemed my acceptance at St Angie’s was almost a fait accompli.
Jennifer and Chenille giggled as they stood in their regulation maroon cotton knickers, trainer bras and opaque grey tights before slipping on their white cotton blouses and pleated grey gymslips. Then they slipped on their ties and shoes before finally donning their maroon, dark red blazers. Once they were dressed, they turned to study Beatrice and me as we sported similar versions. We all wore the same uniform except for the opaque grey tights. I was a bit disappointed that I couldn’t wear silky panties under my gymslip but the school regulations stipulated cotton interlock maroon knickers. We junior girls also wore knee length grey socks instead of tights. I was a bit disappointed with this as well. I loved wearing silky tights.
As we studied each other, Mummy Margaret arrived with her camera and videoed us as we processed down to breakfast.
“Will we always have to walk in lines?” Asked Chenille.
“Not at home darling,” replied Mummy Sian, “this is just a practice run, but you will have to when you are in school. St Angie’s is a huge school and there has to be some sort of order. You’ll have to walk in lines down the corridors to prevent congestion and chaos. You’ll understand when we show you around. Don’t forget, St Angie’s is my old school. I know all about it.”
After breakfast we chattered eagerly then climbed into the big Land rover and drove to school along the bridle path over ‘The Dumplin’.
For the first few years, we were to be day students because we only lived over the other side of ‘The Dumplin’ from the school. Recently Aunty Beverly had bought the neighbouring farm and our land now stretched up to the crest of ‘The Dumplin’ where it bordered with The Baron Wemite’s vast Estates. As we topped the brow of The Dumplin, we looked down into the panorama of the valley that contained The Baron Wemite’s land and St Angela’s school with it’s own extensive grounds.
Next to the Baron’s fields and woodlands lay the grounds and playing fields that surrounded St Angela’s school buildings. Different parts had been added throughout the years and the school now comprised an interlocking maze of assorted blocks of different ages and styles connected by corridors.
All these corridors and connections led to the old limestone centre block that was the original part of the school.
The old section of the school was a forbidding Victorian building that boldly said ‘School!’ to any first time visitors. The newer sections and buildings had an altogether more pleasant and airy appearance for they were placed behind the old block amidst the playing fields.
Fortunately, we looked down on the school from our own unique route over ‘The Dumplin’ so we could view the park-like grounds that encompassed the whole school. Other pupils approached via the main road so their first view of St Angie’s was the monolithic original building of the old school. Some said it resembled Dracula’s castle.
As we fell silent, Mummy Sian reassured us.
“Don’t be put off by the appearance. The old buildings are for the senior pupils and administration. All the newer buildings are for the younger pupils. You only go the old block for morning assembly, meal times and later on when you become senior pupils.
“That stone part looks like a castle, has it got dungeons?” Asked Beatrice nervously.
Our mummies laughed and Sian reassured us.
“No there are no dungeons. I spent twelve years there as a girl and I never found any dungeons.”
As we descended, the bridle path led onto the main valley road where our view of the school was now lost behind the trees.
Next we passed the large country house were Baron Wemite lived with his wife and two children, Peter and Melanie. Melanie was one of our best friends for we often went riding together. She was the same age as Beatrice and I, and she had been a day pupil at St Angie’s nursery and junior school since she was only four.
This time we drove straight past Wemite’ House and travelled a little further down the road before turning into the wide school gateway. The old school certainly did present a forbidding facade to those who had not had the benefit of our view from the top of ‘The Dumplin’. Even so, we still shuddered when we drove up the long drive.
Teachers and prefects were checking each car for new pupils then directing them to the great hall whilst the other pupils renewed acquaintances and prepared for the new academic year. Finally a prefect arrived all smiles and led Mummy Margaret and Mummy Angela to the registration hall with Jennifer and Chenille. Bea and I remained in the Landrover with Mummy Sian and Aunty Beverly, until an older lady appeared to greet us. She recognised Mummy Sian as an old pupil then she introduced herself to Aunty Beverly.
“Ah. Here you are. So glad you made it. I’m Mrs Warburton, the school matron, and which one of these two young ladies is the special pupil in question? “ She asked as she smiled at Beatrice and me kindly
Mummy Sian and Aunty Beverly indicated me and we were invited to the main entrance of the old block. I lowered myself down from the Landrover with as much decorum as I could muster and stood nervously re-adjusting the hem of my gymslip as Beatrice followed suit. Mrs Warburton studied us then smiled approvingly as we stepped into line behind the adults and followed them towards the headmistresses study.
Curious eyes followed us as we took the unusual procedure of going straight towards the main entrance and Miss Frobisher’s study. Bea and I exchanged nervous glances as Miss Frobisher rose to meet our parents.
“Ah so glad you could make it. There have been developments. I only received Martina’s final acceptance from the governing council this morning. It’s a trial arrangement, but Martina will be allowed to attend. I’ve studied the children’s reports and there’s no problem at all with the academic side.
Now as to Martina’s circumstances, I’ve studied Doctor Sandie Page’s letters and I think I understand the issues.
If young Miss Martina is to study here, we will have to recognise that she has a medical condition that requires her to follow certain restrictions until everybody can assess the situation and take the requisite steps.”
“And that mean’s?” finished my Aunty Beverly.
Miss Frobisher shrugged and spread her hands expansively as she smiled disarmingly.
“Well frankly, I don’t know. This is a very novel situation for St Angela’s and we’ll just have to feel our way. The governors have shown a lot of trust in me to get it right and I’m under quite a bit of pressure. Fortunately there should be no problems in the junior school.
As you’ve agreed, all your children will be day students so the younger pair won’t even have to change formally for games or gym. Usually they dress in shorts and a sport shirt. Only the older girls change into leotards or sports outfits. What we have done is to arrange for Martina and Beatrice’s class to have their games periods at the end of the day so that there’s no need to change after school. The younger girls can go straight home as day pupils. If this arrangement works satisfactorily, then we can amend things later as and if Martina continues up the school and into the senior years. I think ‘small steps’ seem to be the best way forward.”
Aunty Beverly and Mummy Sian agreed to these arrangements then Miss Frobisher went into further detail.
“I see that from Doctor Sandie page’s report, that Martina lives entirely as a girl. I assume that means her lavatory habits are female?”
“Of course.” Replied Mummy Sian.
“Well for now then, provided nothing untoward arises, I’m sure we can see a way forward,” continued Miss Frobisher. “I’d like to have a confidential chat without the girls being here so I’ll ask Miss Warburton to show the girls around the school.”
At this, Miss Warburton took Beatrice and me along the maze of corridors and showed us the junior section while our parents talked about I don’t know what. I liked Mrs Warburton; she had a kindly smile and readily answered any questions we asked. She even brought us some cake and milk from the senior school admissions tea, as we waited for our mummies to finish with Miss Frobisher.
Eventually, the day ended and we collected Chenille and Jennifer before returning home. In the Landrover, Aunty Beverly asked them how they felt.
“I wish we could do the boarding bit, replied Chenille, “the older girls say it’s fun.”
Mummy Sian smiled and nodded.
“Yes it is, but we’ll wait until you’re a little older and then all of you can board together. Anyway, the fees are less for day students so we’ll save a lot of money. You can always stay late for after school activities, because we are not far from the school. You won’t miss out on anything.
If anything, I suspect the boarders will envy you,” added Mummy Sian, “you’ll always be free to go into town or go riding when you’re at home, but you’ll be able to enjoy the school activities any time you like. You’ll even be able to ride to school if you wish. The school has stabling facilities for any girls who wish to keep a horse. However, that is very expensive, so you’re ponies will remain stabled at home. You’ll have the best of both worlds.”
Jenny and Chenille fell silent. They were not entirely convinced. Obviously the older girls had been telling exciting stories about dormitory life.
At home I found an email from Melanie asking me how I had felt about St Angie’s.
I explained that we’d been to the school and asked why she wasn’t there to meet us. She replied that she had been up to a large boy’s school near Windsor where her older brother Peter had been registered. Anyway, junior registration was not until the next Monday and she would look forward to meeting us then. I replied that we could see her the next morning on the Dumplin. As juniors, we still had another week’s holiday.
On Tuesday, we met as arranged but it was boring without Jennifer and Chenille and we were at a bit of a loose end. After a brief gallop we all three rode back down to Wemite’ house and had lunch with Melanie’s mum, the Baroness.
In the afternoon, we rode to the school and Melanie showed us the school’s equestrian facility where she introduced us to Mrs Smith the riding instructor. When she learned I was Sian’s daughter, she showed us the photographs of my mother as a junior champion. It was no wonder that Mummy Sian had turned out such a good horsewoman.
As we rode back to Melanie’s, we saw Jenny and Chenny playing hockey. We waved excitedly, but they were too engrossed in their game and ignored us. Either that or they had already ‘outgrown’ their younger sisters and didn’t want to be associated with juniors.
We got home just as Jennifer and Chenille were alighting from the minibus that collected day pupils from around the local district. Beatrice immediately scolded her older sister Jenny about ignoring us by the hockey field.
“Why didn’t you wave to us?”
“We were too busy. We were losing and had to concentrate.”
“Did you win?” I asked.
“No,” replied Chenille, “next week, she’s changing the teams around to make it more even.”
At that, Aunty Beverly met us by the cottage gate.
“How long did it take in the minibus?”
“About thirty minutes,” replied Chenille, “we put three other girls off in the village by the crossroads, then we drove around The Dumplin to the bottom of our lane.
“And how long did the ponies take over The Dumplin?” Aunty Bev asked me.
I turned to Bea and we both shrugged.
“We weren’t counting. About half an hour I suppose, but we weren’t rushing. We both had to stop for a tinkle and these jodhpurs are the devil to pull down. We drank pop with Melanie in Baroness Wemite’s. That made us want a wee.”
Aunty Beverly smiled, and suggested that we check out the journey the next morning. If riding was faster than using the minibus, we could take the horses occasionally and tell the minibus driver on the mobile phone.
“We’d have to change when we got to school.” Protested Chenille.
“If it’s fine and sunny, you can ride in your gymslips. There won’t be any mud.”
“I’m not sure Miss Frobisher will approve. Our tights could get awfully sweaty in the saddle,” giggled Jennifer.
“If it’s sunny, you can leave your tights off until you get to Wemite House. Nobody will see you. The bridle path is pretty quiet on weekdays. You know we have recently bought old farmer Legg’s farm since he became too ill to run it and his daughters aren’t interested. We rent the land out to Mr Turpin but it’s ours all the way up this side of The Dumplin. Melanie’s mum says you can change your clothes in her house then take Melanie with you the rest of the way to school. Miss Frobisher has spoken to Mrs Smith the equestrian instructor and your extra horses will be welcome for the school’s equestrian lessons. Melanie lends her pony to the school already.”
“Will we have to ride over every day?” Jenny protested.
“No. If it’s too wet or muddy the school won’t be holding equestrian lessons, then you use the minibus, it passes by the bottom of the lane anyway whether you use it or not.”
“Can’t you take us in the Landrover?”
“Only rarely, more probably it’ll be the horse box if they need the ponies.”
This arrangement later proved to work well. We soon took to leaving school clothes at Baroness Wemite’s then changing before we rode the last few yards to school.
When we started junior school on the following Monday, we were already ahead of the game. We were the first to arrive that Monday morning and watched the other junior girls returning or starting for the first time.
Melanie of course knew most of the other girls and described them as they arrived. She particularly warned us about two rather nasty bullies who arrived together in the same car.
“Just watch those two,” warned Melanie, “they love getting other girls into trouble or just pushing everybody around.” They always try to pick on new girls.”
“What are their names?” Bea asked, wishing to be forearmed.
“Rosemary and Monika and they’re nasty bits of work.” Melanie cautioned. “They try to make all the new girls pull their knickers down in the junior girl’s dormitories.”
I swallowed nervously but then realised that we would not be boarding for the first couple of years. For the moment, it would not be an issue.
I exchanged a glance with Bea but she smiled reassuringly. Melanie did not know about my ‘condition’.
“Don’t the prefects stop them?” Bea asked.
“Only if they catch them, but like all bullies, they pick their moments and they like to gather any cronies around them.”
Beatrice and I realised we were getting good wisdom from Melanie who had several years of experience already in the school. That afternoon, we discussed the bullying issues with Melanie’s mum before we rode home. Her advice was to stand us in good stead for the early years in the school. She told us to stick together and always try to nip any bullying in the bud. That way we would garner the friendship of other new girls who would be grateful for support or protection.
“It will grow like a pact girls, you mark my words,” smiled the baroness as she waved us off over The Dumplin.
When we discussed it with Jenny and Chenny, they promised any support they could and when we got home, our mummies agreed with Baroness Wemite. We were truly grateful to Melanie for warning us. Forewarned was forearmed.
It did not take long before Rosemary and Monika were plying their trade. Naturally, they picked on a rather fat, plump new girl named Lucinda who had not yet made any friends. Because she was fat she was shy and nervous. Lucinda was the classic target.
The bullies chose an opportunity during our class’s second riding lesson. They thought Lucinda was alone and vulnerable as she groomed Jennifer’s pony in the loosebox. They soon met their comeuppance for Melanie had already anticipated their tactics.
Despite her rather upper class titled background, Melanie proved to be a hard-bitten streetwise kid. She had obviously fought her corner when Monika and Rosemary had tried bullying her in earlier years.
This time, Melanie had spotted them plotting in the dining hall during lunch. The pair kept looking at Lucinda as the naíve, overweight new girl sat alone and still friendless. Melanie forewarned us and we slipped into the stables ahead of the rest of the class on the pretext of saddling our own ponies.
Our advantage of course lay in our having already won the equestrian teacher, Mrs Smith’s trust because of our proven record with the ponies.
Melanie chose the loosebox on the far side with her and Chenille’s ponies while Beatrice and I waited quietly in the nearer loose box where our own ponies were waiting for the rest of the class to arrive.
Needless to say, because our own horses knew us thoroughly, they made no noise or disturbance as we waited silently for the bullies to make their first attack on the unsuspecting Lucinda.
Lucinda had been appointed to a horse because she had demonstrated some experience in the first lesson. She was given Appledancer, Jennifer’s pony. Appledancer, was by far the best behaved of our five ponies. He was a perfect gentleman and could be trusted with even the most novice rider. That was why Lucinda was allowed to go into his loosebox alone for the second lesson. Appledancer turned and extended a friendly nose the moment Lucinda entered.
As we peeped secretively through the woodwork, Beatrice and I hugged ourselves with anticipation as we watched the unsuspecting Lucinda enter the loosebox and stroke Appledancer’s soft velvety nose.
For Lucinda it was a very reassuring moment and she smiled happily as Appledancer stood obediently while she prepared the saddle blanket as she had been shown. She did not notice the malicious bullies sneaking in and Lucinda gave a nervous squeal as the bullies trapped her in the corner.
“Hello fatty. You’re too fat and heavy for that horse!” Monika sniggered.
“No I’m not!” Squealed Lucinda as Rosemary tugged at Lucinda’s hair.
Lucinda naturally reached up to grab Rosemary’s wrists but Monika quickly followed on and grabbed at the elasticated waistband of Lucinda’s jodhpurs and knickers.
Instantly Monika’s jodhpurs and knickers were down around her knees and she naturally reached down to secure her modesty. Lucinda then lost her balance as she tugged her knickers back and Rosemary deftly pulled her forward by her hair to dump her unceremoniously into the straw.
It was obvious that Rosemary and Monika were a practiced pair and they started sniggering as they started to stuff straw down Lucinda’s knickers.
Now we three seized our opportunity.
The bullies were so engrossed as they bent over the whimpering Lucinda that they failed utterly to see three avenging angels descending on them from above. We had each stood on our pony’s saddles and leapt over the dividing partitions between the looseboxes.
We fell on the bullies and completely stunned them as they crashed under our onslaught. Within seconds, they were completely
covered in horse dung as we bundled them into the dirty corner were Appledancer had thoughtfully made his toilet.
Naturally like most bullies, they were cowards at heart and they started screaming as they were ploughed into the dung. Their cries alerted Mrs Smith with the rest of the class and the door burst open just as the bullies were recovering. As Miss Smith entered, we were calming the excited Appledancer. He was not really excited at all, for he knew all three of us too well and had behaved impeccably throughout the whole action. We knew he would.
As Mrs Smith entered, the tearful Lucinda was frantically recovering her composure and picking the straw out of her knickers before tugging her jodhpurs up.
“What’s going on here girls?” She demanded.
Fortunately, Lucinda was a quick thinking girl and came up with a plausible tale.
“Why Mrs Smith, I was putting Appledancer’s saddle blanket on when these two girls burst in and frightened him. He got excited and knocked us down. Then these other three realised what had happened and came in to calm him down.”
Mrs Smith was not stupid and a knowing smile played along her lips.
She knew all about Rosemary and Monika’s nasty little ways but it was difficult to catch the pair red handed. It was obvious that this time, Rosemary and Monika had received their comeuppance.
She turned to us and asked.
“Is that right?”
“Why yes, Miss Smith,” lied Melanie smoothly.
She then turned to the filthy dung stained bullies and demanded their version.
“Did you burst in on the horse?”
The pair nodded sheepishly for they wouldn’t dare go telling tales. They had obviously bragged about their intentions to some of the other girls earlier.
“Well that was a very silly thing to do and you should know better! You’ve been around horses long enough. It’s a good job that this horse is so well behaved. Now go and get cleaned up and have those filthy clothes washed. I can’t have you turned out like stable rats whilst taking an equestrian lesson. There’s some new parents coming around today, and there’s the school’s reputation to consider. Go and get cleaned up immediately and then write out a hundred lines, ‘I must not scare the horses’!”
The pair left with maniacal expressions of rage as Lucinda turned again to attend Appledancer. Miss Smith checked Lucinda’s nervousness.
“Now Lucinda, are you happy to stay with Appledancer. I gave you him because he’s very well behaved. “
“Oh yes Miss Smith,” replied Lucinda gratefully. I’m quite happy with him and he’s quite calm now.”
“Very well then; as to you three young ladies, well done for calming him down. That was very quick thinking. Now please go and attend to your own animals. Then you can accompany Miss Lucinda out into the paddock.
I caught Mrs Smith giving Melanie a knowing wink before she turned to address the other staring class members.
“Come along girls, there’s no time to stand around gawping!”
Once Miss Smith’s back was turned, Lucinda grinned hugely.
“Gosh! Thanks! That was jolly super of you. Why did they attack me?”
“They’re just bullies,” replied Melanie, “they pick a different victim every term; but you’ll have to watch yourself in future. We’re only day students and we can’t watch your back in the dormitory at night. Now get your pony saddled and meet us outside.”
“Oh. By the way.” I interjected. “Your pony. If you really want to be his friend, bring him an apple every time. That’s why he’s named Appledancer.”
“Gosh, you seem to know him awfully well.”
Beatrice explained the set up.
“Of course we know him well! Appledancer belongs to my sister Jennifer. She’s in the senior school and that’s why he’s a bit bigger than ours. The other big one belongs to Chenille. That’s Martina’s big sister. Jenny and Chenny are in year seven.”
“Are they boarding?” Asked Lucinda hopefully, looking for protection.
“Sorry. No, they are day students as well. We live over that hill called The Dumplin.”
“I’m a day student as well,” added Melanie who refrained from mentioning that she actually lived in the huge country house just next door to the school. I really liked Melanie; she had no airs or graces despite her family’s titled background.
We gave Lucinda a few extra tips about how to get the best out of Appledancer then finished saddling up our own ponies. Mrs Smith had given Chenille’s pony Brandy, to another older girl from year six. The girl was an experienced rider for Brandy could be a bit of a handful at times. Our equestrian instructor was good at matching horses to riders for it wasn’t just a matter of weight. Soon the whole class, sans the bullies, were out in the paddock going through their paces in front of some visiting new parents.
As the lesson ended, we bid goodbye to Lucinda. She was going to her common room, whilst we would be trekking our four ponies home over the Dumplin
“Don’t be afraid of the bullies,” we reassured Lucinda, “Mrs Smith has it in hand.”
Lucinda didn’t look too confident as we bid her farewell but there was little we could do. As Lucinda’s nervous tearful eyes followed us out of the stables Melanie turned to us.
“I’d better stay with her, for dinner and prep. Will you take my pony home to mum’s and let her know where I am. She can pick me up later.”
We did as asked and Baroness Wemite nodded understandingly as we delivered Melanie’s pony then turned to trek home over the Dumplin with our remaining four mounts.
The following morning it was pouring with rain and riding lessons were cancelled. Mummy Angela drove us to the bottom of the lane and we sat in the Landrover and waited for the minibus as the rain bucketed down.
“I wonder what it would be like driving over the Dumplin in this?” Hazarded Jenny.
“We’ll not start that. Taking vehicles over the bridle path in this rain would soon reduce it to a muddy quagmire. It’s for horses and people, not vehicles.” Countered Mummy Angela.
“But you drove over it last week.” Added Chenille.
“It was sunny and dry. Besides, our fields and Baron Wemite’s land border the path. We are allowed to use it for access to our fields. It’s our privilege but that gives us responsibilities as well. We only hold the bridle path in trust! It’s actually an old bronze-age right of way and it’s thousands of years old. We must respect it. Anybody can walk over it or ride their horses but if we set a precedent with motor vehicles, then green-laners would soon destroy its peace and beauty."
We fell silent. Mummy Angela was quite right. The bridle path over the Dumplin was a beautiful ride. On our side of the path, it was lined with old oaks and sycamores, whilst the other side permitted an unrestricted view of the whole valley. This was mainly Earl Wemite’s estate and the school grounds. Our mature trees acted as an excellent windbreak for riders and hikers. Eventually the rain appeared to ease and Mummy Angela left us to wait by the hedge as she returned to the cottage. The minibus arrived, just as another squall struck and we got soaked. When we arrived at the school, we had to remove our blazers because the driven rain had soaked right through our regulation school mackintoshes.
That particular day we had chosen just to wear skirts and blouses instead of our gymslips, which were really for the colder winter days. It had been an unfortunate choice for now our damp blouses had become transparent and our bras were clearly visible underneath.
As I sat at my desk I suddenly felt little fingers lightly fingering my bra strap then a little voice whispered.
“You should wear a thicker blouse Martie. Your pink bra shows through when it’s wet. I like your bra though, it’s very pretty.”
I recognised Melanie’s voice and twitched as her delicate fingers tickled the small of my back then twanged my shoulder straps.
“Stoppit!” I whispered as loudly as I dared.
Melanie giggled softly and whipped her fingers away as Miss James turned from the blackboard. She eyed us disapprovingly but said nothing. As an experienced form teacher, she knew exactly when to act upon a serious transgression and ignore a minor one. She knew us to be friends and we were both smiling when she had turned. There was obviously no offence or bullying and the rest of the class had not yet caught on. Fortunately Mel and I sat in the back corner beside Beatrice, and no one else had noticed.
I knew that Melanie was a little envious of my physical development for my tiny rosebuds had already started to grow. That was why she had ‘tested’ my bra back strap.
I did not know it then, but Doctor Sandie’s hormones had slightly accelerated my female development and my budding nipples were already sensitive. Despite only nearing my tenth birthday, I was already one of the most developed ‘girls’ in my class.
As Miss James resumed her attentions to the blackboard, I smiled inwardly and Bea turned and grinned. Only she knew about my other attributes but she was fully alert to any dangers and knew just how to keep a secret. Melanie was blissfully ignorant of what other little blessings I had tucked away in my knickers. At lunchtime we returned to find Miss James rearranging our desks.
“Why are you changing our desks around Miss?” Asked Melanie boldly.
“The other new girl, Lucinda, you met her yesterday.”
“Yes Miss, in the stables.”
“Well she’s had a bit of trouble with two other girls and she’s asked to sit by you. I was speaking to Miss Smith and this is the way it’s to be.”
“Which is to be her desk Miss James?” I asked.
“This one.”
She indicated the one by the window and pointed to ours that were relocated behind it, ahead of it and across the isle. Our little corner fiefdom had been changed but not dramatically so.
“If you’ll notice,” added Miss James, “ I’ve placed you three around Lucinda’s desk. That will prevent any interference.”
“Like a fortress,” grinned Melanie.
Miss James said nothing but just smiled enigmatically. She and Miss Smith the riding teacher had obviously been chatting.
“You’ll notice Martina, that your desk is now in the back corner. I’m trusting you to behave. I don’t miss much!”
I smiled at Beatrice and grinned at Melanie.
“Now you won’t be able to snap my bra straps.”
“Yes. Exactly!” riposted Miss James, “Melanie was behaving like a silly, naughty boy yesterday and we can’t have that can we? Now off you go and play, I’ve got a lesson to write up on the blackboard.”
During playtime, we three picked our favourite spot under one of the huge spreading oak trees and chatted about school life. The dense crown of the oak had kept the ground dry during the morning rains.
“Why do you keep wanting to play with my bra?” I giggled as I asked Melanie.
“Because it’s a pretty frilly pink one and you’ve got the nicest boobies.”
“You mean the biggest boobies,” corrected Bea.
Melanie smiled shyly as her gaze fell enviously on the noticeable swellings under my blouse.
“Yeah,” she added, “I’ll be glad when mine start to grow.”
I blushed self-consciously as my arms almost automatically folded in a subconscious attempt to hide the sensitive buds inside my trainer bra.
“There’s no need to feel ashamed of them,” objected Melanie as she gently restrained my arms, “they’re really nice.”
“Yes. Be proud of them!” Added Bea. “Boys will like you much more with big boobies.”
I felt me tummy squirm with confusion inside me. ‘Did I really want boys groping my body?’ I asked myself.
I far preferred girl’s company. They weren’t so rough and you could share feelings with girls. Boys could be fun when playing football and stuff but I was glad I was now going to a girl’s school.
We girls could still enjoy team sports like hockey, rounders and La Crosse, but it was much nicer afterwards when we could sit and chat about other stuff, personal stuff like feelings and friends. Just like we were doing now, under our oak tree.
As we lay on the grass between the roots, I felt Melanie’s fingers stray from the casual hug to a more inquisitive exploration of my sensitive titties. I squeaked affectionately but let her fingers roam. Bea simply grinned and turned on her tummy to watch as Melanie cautiously fingered the buttons on my blouse.
“Do you like that?” She asked. “Does it feel nice?”
“Mmm.” I sighed as I twitched salaciously.
Beatrice giggled and slithered closer on her tummy as her own curiosity drew her to my opened blouse.
Melanie became emboldened by my lack of protest and Beatrice’s seeming acquiescence. Her fingers became bolder and she gently stoked the flimsy silky material of my trainer bra cups. I shuddered, as my nipples became stiff and poked hard against the silky bra cups. Beatrice’s eyes widened with surprise.
“Gosh Martie! Your nipples! They look like, - like thimbles!”
I croaked and jerked spasmodically as Melanie gently brushed one of the stiff little buds through the silky material. Then she gently eased my bra cup down to expose my nipple to the cool October air. Beatrice gasped as she noticed the size of my swollen nipple and she drew closer as if irresistibly drawn to the new discovery. Melanie had obviously done this sort of thing before somewhere and she smiled invitingly to Beatrice to ‘do my other nipple’. Cautiously, Beatrice extended a nervous hand to my other bra cup and gently thumbed the swollen nipple under the silky cup. Her fingers traced along the underwire for a moment until Melanie gently directed her to lower the soft silky cup and expose my other nipple.
I groaned with pleasure and squeezed my thighs together as my boy bits started to respond in harmony with my excited titties.
Fortunately, Melanie was too engrossed in attaching her lips to my titties to notice any activity under my skirt. Instead, she smiled again at Bea and invited her to latch onto my other engorged bud.
Within minutes, I enjoyed a weird fantastic sensation surge through my body and I cried out helplessly as my body thrashed desperately. I wrapped my arms desperately around my friends and beseeched them to stop as my heart hammered furiously and my neck fused bright red with passion. Beatrice stopped in alarm for neither she nor I understood what was happening but Melanie obviously was wiser to these things and she remained cuddled against me. Beatrice sat up and stared down at me as I gasped with confusion, then she spied Melanie's other hand exploring the waistband of my skirt. It was obvious that Melanie was bent on further explorations.
“Oh No! That’s rude. You mustn’t go down there!” Objected Bea.
As I recovered my wits and realised where Melanie was bound, I stiffened with shock and grabbed at Melanie’s other hand.
“No!” I squawked. “Bea’s right. Not down there!”
Melanie let go of my nipple and sat up looking a little hurt.
“But why not. It’s nicer still down there.”
“No. Not down there, and that’s that!” I finished firmly.
“OK,” she shrugged. “You’re weird. Nothing can happen. We’re all girls.”
“That’s as maybe,” interrupted the quick thinking Bea, “but it’s wrong to go down there. Boobies yes, that’s fun, but down there; no!”
Melanie stood up and stepped out from behind the tree to stare at the school.
“I don’t know what your scared of. Nobody can see us from here.”
“It’s just wrong,” I protested again, “our mummies say so and anyway, I’m just not ready to go that far.”
Melanie simply shrugged and grinned as I buttoned up my blouse.
“Huh you two are a pair of scaredy-cats. You’ll grow to like it soon and then you’re bodies will make you. My cousin showed me what happens and she gets all wet down there cos she’s older. But anyway, you’ve still got lovely titties Martie; I hope my titties grow like yours.
“Amen to that,” sighed Beatrice, who realised just how close I had come to being ‘discovered’. “Come on, it’s nearly time for lessons.”
We returned to class early and met Lucinda alone in the corridor. She had some nasty scratches under her swollen eye. It was obvious the bullies had been busy again during playtime. It was a grateful Lucinda who found her new place surrounded by we three amigos.
When the class reassembled after lunch, the bullies glared in our direction but there was nothing they could do across three aisles and five rows. At least Lucinda was safe during the day, but as for the nights in the dormitories, she was left to the wolves. Several times it was obvious to us that Lucinda was having a hellish time at the bully’s’ hands.
Eventually, however, Rosemary and Monika’s bullying came to the attention of the prefects and steps were taken at the highest level. The prefects and Miss Frobisher became aware for sometimes, it is necessary to tell tales. Two additional prefects were appointed to that particular junior dormitory and law was enforced as the supervision improved.
I will admit here and now, that it was me that ‘told the tales’ and when Miss Frobisher asked me why I had ‘broken the playground code’, I explained quite bluntly, that I would be particularly vulnerable if or when Melanie, Beatrice and I started boarding with our older sisters in the senior school. The last thing I wanted was to be ‘exposed’ by bullies, especially as their favourite trick was ‘de-bagging’.
“How very practical and realistic of you young lady”, observed Miss Frobisher, “and thank you for alerting the school.”
With Lucinda’s problems resolved, she eventually came out of her shell. As the year progressed, the school’s curriculum and healthy active lifestyle soon changed Lucinda from a fat, overweight wallflower to an active, healthy and attractive girl. With that good health came a confidence and fitness that would prove to make her a useful ally in my later years at the school.
This chapter describes the first stages of Martina's burgeoning sexuality and her deepening relationship with Melanie.
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Martina’s Story.
Chapter 2
List of Characters.
Myself. Martina, A sexually dysphoric child whose sexuality has not
yet been ascertained but who chooses to present as a girl.
Beverly My adoptive ‘aunt’ who is a mature shemale and my most supportive adult friend.
Chenille My older half sister.
Jennifer Aunt Beverly’s adopted daughter.
Beatrice Aunt Beverly’s second adopted daughter and Jennifer’s younger sister.
Sian. My lesbian mother who is married to —
Margaret Who is Chenille’s lesbian mother.
Sissy. My and Chenille’s transvestite shemale father.
Sandie. My doctor, psychiatrist and sexual counsellor.
Judge Elizabeth Porter. The judge who ruled that I should be allowed to live and dress as a girl.
Angela Hunt. Jennifer and Beatrice’s natural blood mother who is now married to Aunt Beverly who is a shemale.
Baroness Wemite’ Sian’s old School Chum
Peter Baroness Wemite’s son
Melanie Baroness Wemite’s daughter and my best school friend.
Rosemary & Monika. Two bullies in the junior school.
Lucinda A previous victim of the two bullies
Gertrude & Daisy Our remaining other study mates.
During the first two years of my time in St Angie’s junior school, nothing much happened. Because we were day students, there was little opportunity for my dysphoric condition to be discovered. Things changed however, when Beatrice, Melanie and I entered the senior school and we became boarders along with our older sisters Chenille and Jennifer.
It was an exciting day when we arrived at the school complete with our school trunks and we finally made our way to our allotted dormitories. Fortunately, Miss Frobisher, the headmistress had persuaded the school governors to adopt a new boarding policy. In keeping with improved housing conditions where most children now expected to have their own bedrooms, this situation was reflected in most public boarding schools. The days of the long rows of beds in one long dormitory were disappearing. Now long draughty halls were being subdivided up into smaller units of six, four or two beds per study. Each dormer unit comprised, beds, wardrobes study desks and some seating. At St Angies, we also revelled in the luxury of each unit having en-suite’ bath, shower and lavatory. The downside was that we had to clean them ourselves and woe betide -. Weekly inspections by Matron Warburton ensured cleanliness next to godliness.
Along with improved accommodation, Miss Frobisher had adopted a new policy of allowing classmates to pick their friends and share the units. This inevitably put Beatrice, Melanie, Lucinda, me and two other girls in our own six bed-roomed unit whilst Chenille and Jennifer shared the four-bed dormitory next door with two of their middle school friends. The bullies Moniker and Rosemary were now housed in a totally different block.
On each landing at the top of each stairs there was a two-bed unit that served as sentry posts for the prefects. This arrangement served very well and bullying was virtually eliminated. The trouble was that it also made it difficult for any other illicit fun if any girls on that particular landing wanted to raid a dorm on another landing or more importantly another house.
Like most British public schools, there were four houses in St Angela’s, and each house was dormered in a separate block.
Common rooms were on the ground floor and that was were most of the school socialising took place outside study periods. Closer friendships were shared in the shared study bedrooms. This was the set up when I finally became a boarder at age eleven.
I had anticipated my becoming a boarder with mixed feelings. The idea of sharing my life at every social level with five other girls made me excited but nervous. The hardest part would be keeping my physical attributes a secret but fortunately girls are not as open about their bodies as boys. Whereas most men are quite content to walk about nude after sport or during showers, girls tend to be a bit more sensitive about their bodies. More importantly, they tend to respect other girls feelings and they don’t usually indulge in the same invasive degree of so called ‘high jinks’. If a girl is a bit sensitive about any aspect of their body, then most other girls tend to leave them alone. Strangely, most of my classmates were a little wary of me.
Lucinda and I had started developing tits and curves first so the other girls were rather envious of our development. When I accidentally ‘flashed’ my boobies there would be a ripple of envious furtive glances but this tended only to keep the other girls away. I suppose they would hesitate to try and ‘de-bag’ me because retaliation might expose their lesser endowments and the other girls might snigger at smaller boobs. Fortunately neither Lucinda nor I were extraordinarily large so neither was there an excuse to pick on us because they were too big. We were both secretly proud of our very pretty and firm, pointy boobies.
Additionally, we four, Melanie, Lucinda, Beatrice and I stuck together and I usually bagged the end corner shower cubicle after gym. Our other two study mates were also very close friends and they formed a sort of additional ring of defence when the class was showering after games or gym. It was virtually impossible for the bullies, Moniker and Rosemary to get at us if we stuck together. Besides, the rest of the class were secretly glad of our six strong group, for it served to monitor the bullying and prevent Moniker and Rosemary gathering enough cronies to overwhelm a single individual.
As far as games and gymnastics were concerned, my secret remained safe as long as we six hung together.
Naturally, Beatrice was always close by my side during showers and changing times. It was to her advantage to protect my precious secret. If my discovery led to a scandal, she, Jennifer and Chenille would inevitably be sucked in.
The first hint of a problem was Melanie’s burgeoning sexuality. At first we put her excessive tactility down to a strong sense of affection but eventually we remaining five realised that there was a little more to her affection. At first it amounted to little more than the previous embraces, followed by the same exploration of titties and nipples. We all secretly enjoyed playing with our titties and provided it went no further, we other five girls were comfortable. In truth we none of us found this to be too invasive. We were all experiencing puberty and the natural curiosity in our own bodies as we became aware of the pleasures our bodies could give us in addition to the other side, namely the monthly discomforts.
The girls all knew that I had some sort of problem because of the medications I had to take. However, Doctor Sandie had thoughtfully arranged for my pills to be clearly recognisable by their shape and colour so I knew exactly what pills to take and when, without recourse to checking the names of any drugs. The lack of any descriptive labels or identities on the drug packets prevented the other girls from recognising the hormonal nature of my medicines. Only Beatrice knew what the drugs where for and she wasn’t telling.
Nevertheless, despite our natural shared curiosity with our bodies, it was apparent that Melanie’s interest was becoming more invasive. At first, it was a simple matter for any of us to simply refuse her discreet beseechments to ‘go a little further’ but the trouble was she was clever about it. A casual private embrace whilst alone in the study with say individual ‘y’ might go a fraction further than ‘y’ was comfortable. After a mild protest by the offended ‘y’, Melanie might sometimes apologies but at other times protest that she wasn’t going any further than she and ‘x’ had gone a few days before.
At first, the offended ‘y’ might fall for this and allow Melanie’s inquisitive fingers to explore that fractional bit further. Then she would be angry with herself if perchance, she spoke privately with ‘x’ to confirm if Melanie had really gone that bit further. Occasionally, ‘x’ might confess that she had because Melanie had previously told her she had gone to that base with ‘a' or ‘b’ and so the stratergem worked. The only one she never made progress with was me, for I had to protect myself at all costs.
At first, resistance was easy, the other four girls were equally reluctant to accept Melanie’s advances, but slowly as the year progressed, curiosity and the discovery of ‘orgasms’ amongst the other girls, gave Melanie a greater freedom. In truth, it was Melanie who introduced us all to the discovery of orgasms and the girls naturally felt a bit guilty if they protested about her other advances, when in truth they somehow felt beholden to Melanie for showing them the delights.
Gradually, they grew to accept Melanie’s advances but with this acceptance came the inevitable guilt. They all knew it
was ‘wrong’ for girls to ‘do it’ but their needs and frustrations gradually broke down their inhibitions as their libidos grew. Eventually, they began to suspect me of being some sort of freak for not allowing Melanie to share the pleasures to which they had all become addicted. Naturally of course, these explorations expanded to include the other girls exploring amongst themselves and even Beatrice found it hard to resist the delights. She understood my dilemma but it was increasingly hard for her to protect my puritan objections. Having been sucked in herself, the other girls accused her of being a hypocrite in defending my refusal to participate.
The other aspect was of course the increasing ‘openness’ that we developed as our intimacies developed. It was hard for any of us to declare modesty and demand privacy when the other five had already achieved varying stages of intimacy. In the first year from eleven to twelve, my ‘modesty’ was not a serious issue but by the second year, the other girls began to think I was dysfunctional in my obsessive preoccupation with always wearing my regulation school knickers. These were the only type of knickers that could properly hide my male secret, which was already taped back to make it resemble a vulva under the thick maroon cotton.
The problem was that by the age of thirteen, my ‘equipment’ was beginning to resemble a proper cock and it was getting increasingly difficult to hide it by folding it back. Furthermore, my libido was causing me to sprout erections at the most in-opportune times and this was becoming painful. The worst possible time was during gym, when we all exercised in our tight fitting leotards and my taped back ‘boy clitty’ strained for release when I found myself watching the delicious butt of a classmate as she bounced around the gym.
This just couldn’t go on.
Already I was getting a reputation for suddenly having to ‘go to the toilet’ whilst doing gymnastics. The gym mistress’s tolerance towards my apparent incontinence was beginning to attract the resentment of other girls, especially as they were not excused during their periods. The gym mistress of course, knew of my ‘condition’ and took every possible step to protect my secret but the whole situation was becoming an issue in the class. What was more, Rosemary and Monika, the classroom bullies, were discovering this issue to be a useful device to further their bullying. I was becoming a target.
Fortunately, Doctor Sandie’s hormones had a useful side effect for me. My advanced sexual development ran parallel with an enhance growth spurt. I was the second tallest girl in the class and it would have been difficult if not impossible for the two bullies to overpower me alone. To do this, they would need their cronies. To this end, we four friends still stuck together, for I had finally explained to them that my medical condition made me wary of any sexual adventures. This mystery whilst intriguing my roommates, also garnished their sympathy, particularly Lucinda’s and Lucinda was now the tallest girl in the class. My safety lay not entirely with my height but also with the support of my friends. I might add that whilst I was tall, I was also one of the curviest most effeminate girls in class.
Unfortunately my effeminacy also made we extremely attractive to Melanie whose alternative sexuality was manifesting a libidinous vigour with every growing week. Melanie’s carnal interest in her roommates was developing into a pre-occupation that was getting more difficult to control and suppress. It was reaching a stage where we other five girls were becoming wary of ever entering her study area alone.
Within each dormitory, the individual spaces were partially sectioned off to provide a modicum of privacy whilst simultaneously making sure that none of the junior or middle girls could find themselves isolated and or vulnerable to just such uninvited advances. The problem was that putting her homosexuality aside; Melanie was a very likeable and popular girl. I found myself particularly attracted to her vivacious personality not to mention her good looks and delightful hourglass figure. Melanie was the epitome of the gorgeous lipstick lesbian. Additionally, she made no secret of being more sexually interested in me than the others because of my own feminine appearance and willowy curves. In fact Beatrice, Lucinda and Gertrude and Daisy were more than happy that Melanie appeared to have eyes mainly for me. The only reason she made passes at the other four was because I still defended myself against any uninvited intimacies further than titillation of my ripe, firm, curvy breasts and sensitive nipples. Every time her fingers optimistically explored further, I would whimper my protests and firmly guide her hand away. It was nerve-racking for me and totally frustrating for Melanie. In her desperate efforts to win my confidence and trust, she even invited me to explore her secret places as a hopeful precursor to my extending the same privileges to her. Until I was thirteen, I managed to allay her advances and resist her own invitations. However, there are few defences that remain standing for ever; even the walls of Troy were eventually breached. Whatever the tactics, force, treachery or subterfuge, eventually the best defences will crack.
In my and Melanie’s eternal contest it was the ‘enemy within’ that finally betrayed the defences, namely my hormones and libido.
It was a cold wintery Saturday morning and the other girls were playing hockey for the junior ‘under fourteen’s’. St Angies was playing against another school and the teams had risen early. Our dormitory was quiet except for myself and Melanie and we were anticipating a quiet day.
We were later to go trekking with the ponies but that was not until after lunch so we each savoured the warmth of our beds. Perhaps we should have been doing our preps but that could wait. It was still not yet eight and we had until nine before breakfast was served on a Saturday. I lay under my duvet savouring the quiet peace and gently exploring my secret places.
I heard Melanie stirring and recognised her own secret activities. I smiled to myself and called softly to her.
“Are you busy?”
There was a long pregnant silence before she answered cautiously.
“Uuuhh, yes why.”
“What shall we do this morning?” I offered.
Melanie recognised the cautious ‘invitation’ in my question.
“What d’you want to do?”
“Shall we chat about it?”
Melanie recognised the unspoken invitation for her to come into my cubicle and I heard the rustle of her silky nightie as she slid out of her bed. Her own way of announcing her expectations was to leave her dressing gown off so that she would be cold if she had to simply sit on the edge of my bed as we chatted. When she appeared around the dividing partition she was clad only in her short ‘baby doll’ nightie and skimpy lacy panties. Her curves screamed to be invited into my bed. My eyes filled up appreciatively and I hesitated for only a moment as she loomed over me expectantly. I looked up under the hem of her baby-doll to notice the slightly damp spot on her panties where she had been busy. I suspected that she had deliberately stood so close with the hem of her nightie over my head to reveal her condition.
“Are you horny?” I continued boldly, knowing full well that the earlier rhythmic ‘thumping’ in her cubicle had been Melanie’s efforts to relieve her frustrations. Melanie was desperately seeking a lesbian friend to share her later years as a senior.
“Yes.” She croaked softly. “You know I am.”
I smiled sympathetically for I was the nearest thing she had to a sexual partner. Despite, my refusal to allow her into my knickers, I was the only ‘girl’ who would allow her to play with my breasts without any protest or guilt.
The other four girls were not that happy about Melanie’s advances and only indulged if they thought they were ‘falling behind’ in the sexual adventure stakes. I on the other hand I often let Melanie play with my titties and regularly played with hers.
Even though the other girls had actually gone further and explored each other’s knickers, it was purely an experimental curiosity stemming from the lack of available boys to practice their experimentations on. There was usually no sexual attraction connected to the experiments. I on the other hand often let Melanie slip in beside me when my boy-clitty was securely taped back and there was little risk of being ‘discovered’. She savoured these secret intimate moments and usually found considerable relief. The Saturday mornings, when the other girls played hockey at an away venue, were always a particularly special time for we two. Beatrice of course, knew about these circumstances and she was constantly telling me to be careful. To date I had been successful but that morning my burgeoning libido was to finally betray me.
I smiled and pulled back the edge of my duvet to invite her into my bed. Melanie seized the invitation and immediately slid in beside me,
“Oh!” I squeaked. “You’re cold!”
“Well warm me up then,” she giggled.
Within moments we were tightly embraced as she slithered her soft smooth legs against my silky all-in-one and we lay savouring the brief peace before our urgent fingers started to busy themselves with our nipples.
Naturally, I felt my boy clitty stiffening but I felt secure that she was well tucked back and incapable of escaping the taped bonds and reinforced panel of my control panty. Melanie had always giggled at the thought of my wearing a control panty under my knickers but it was a substitute for a gaff that would have been a total give-away. Most of the girls knew about my control panty but only Beatrice understood the real reason. The other girls just accepted it as a result of my gynaecological problems and never asked because it embarrassed me. Well of course, my condition did embarrass me, but its revelation would have shocked all the other girls.
That morning, I was wearing my silky ‘all-in-one’ sleep suit over my control panty, just as Aunty Beverly had shown me.
In passing, I must add that once the other girls had seen our all-in-ones, they were soon asking where they could buy them. That morning Melanie was particularly horny and her fingers fiddled urgently with the laces on my sleep suit.
Eventually my ripe firm boobies popped free and she sighed ecstatically.
“Gosh, your titties are nice,” she whispered.
“Mmmm, so are yours,” I replied.
She thrust her pelvis urgently against mine and gasped eagerly.
“I wish you would do me properly down there.”
I fell silent. In truth, I was becoming more interested in further sexual experimentation and I wondered what it was like to feel a girl down there.
‘Why was it so wet?’ I kept asking myself, ‘and where did those juices come from?’ For despite several years of sharing my room and often my bed with Jenny, Chenille and Beatrice in my earlier years, the girls had always recognised what I was and prevented any further explorations. Besides that, our mummies had warned them and me of the dangers of getting too close to me in that respect.
Inevitably as my libido grew, I became more curious about real girls. I knew exactly how titties felt. Heaven knows, my own were sensitive enough and very attractive. I always caught boys staring at them. It was a giggle to watch their eyes flicking from my face to my tits as they tried to decide what made me more attractive. I had also noticed the same curiosity in Melanie’s eyes but being a girl, she was far better at hiding her curiosity and not staring stupidly like some slobbering mesmerised puppy.
Now we were cuddled up in bed together whilst the rest of the dormitory was away playing hockey, I sighed as my boy clitty stiffened painfully under my control panty. As Melanie’s knowing lips played softly with my nipples, I gasped with pleasure and reluctantly separated from her tender embrace.
“I’ve got to go to the loo,” I said.
“Oh go on then,” she whispered irritably.
“Don’t be angry, I’m coming back.”
“Good. We’ve got an hour yet before breakfast.”
I stumbled to the loo and urgently freed my boy clitty from the painful compression in my crotch. It was difficult sitting down and tinkling whilst my boy clitty demanded to poke up but after forcing her down I finally relieved myself without splashing anywhere. Then I wiped her and allowed her to grow in freedom before gently pulling my panties up.
The stiff pole tented the control panel in the front of my panties but I checked in the mirror and decided it was not too obvious. After pulling up my all-in-one, I returned to bed.
“Oh! You're cold!” Melanie giggled.
“Then warm me,” I giggled back as I snuggled into her embrace.
Her lips returned to my breasts and I twitched eagerly as she led my own fingers to her nipples.
After some silent pleasuring Melanie sighed.
“You’ve got the nicest tits on our dorm.”
“Mmmm. Thank you darling,” I replied.
“It’s a pity you wont go further.”
I lay silently considering her veiled suggestion and something must have switched or clicked inside me. Perhaps it was that next rung on the ladder of my libido. Whatever it was, after a short silent interlude I decided to explore a little further. Melanie seemed to sense my feelings for she slackened her embrace and allowed enough room for my hand to gently slide down her body. It was several long seconds before my fingers released her nipples and then my hand slowly traced a nervous path towards the waistband of her baby-doll panties.
Melanie gasped eagerly and squirmed to accommodate my nervous fingers as she sensed her little victory. I hesitated at her waistband and she whispered encouragement.
“Don’t be shy. It’s really nice.”
“You won’t expect to do it to me will you?” I asked.
“Why not. You’ll like it.”
“No! No! Not yet!” I protested. “I -, I’m not ready for that yet. Not yet, not ever maybe.”
“Oh don’t be such a scaredy baby!”
“Nothing happens. It’s OK for girls. It’s not like we can get pregnant or stuff.”
Melanie must have felt me tense but misinterpreted my fears. She tried encouraging me again.
“Do you still think it’s wrong?”
I nodded nervously as I tried to allay my true fears.
“OK then,” she continued, “I’ll just let you do it to me, but I wont do it back. By the way do you like kissing?”
“Of course,” I replied, “who doesn’t?”
“Would you be really daring and kiss me down there?”
“No. Not yet. Maybe some other time.”
As I said this as my fingers had finally reached the warm slippery cleft and Melanie squeaked with delight as I found the strange, stiff little bud nestled between two soft wet folds. I knew what it was for we girls had often talked about stuff, but this was the first time I had ever felt anybody’s but Beatrice’s. Melanie squirmed as I fingered the bud and gently pressed it against the bony crest of her pubis.
“Ooh that’s nice, just like that, yes, squeeze it gently and flick your finger across it. Oooh! That’s right! Is that how you do it?” She asked.
For a moment I was puzzled then realised she was asking me how I masturbated myself. Because she still thought I was a girl, she assumed I played with my self this way. In truth, I was in totally new territory but I had once heard Jennifer describe to Chenille how she did it. I hoped I was doing it right.
Melanie squirmed eagerly and thrust her mons-venus against my fingers urgently so I presumed I must have been doing something right. Then she shocked me.
“Have you got something to put inside me?” She croaked.
I froze for a moment before realising her request. Melanie obviously used some sort of artificial cock but certainly didn’t have one.
“I’m sorry. No I don’t. Do you use one then?”
“Yes,” she confessed, “it makes me come faster.”
“Shall I go and get yours then?” I offered.
“No. Just keep doing that. I’ll come soon.”
I took her cue and resumed fingering her delightfully stiff little bud. Eventually, Melanie let out a soft whimper that grew to a low moan as I felt her heart thundering under her tits. She ‘humped’ eagerly against my hand for several minutes until her orgasm slowly subsided. Then I realised there was a wet patch under her butt where her juices had flooded. When she finally moved she felt the patch and cursed.
“Damn! We’ll have to change your sheets. Where are your tissues?”
Fortunately in my pretence of living as a girl, I always kept tissues by my bed. Now I realised why girls did this. I reached for the box and grabbed a handful for Melanie to dry herself. It was the first time I had gotten a good view of Melanie’s girl parts but I disguised my curiosity by offering to help wipe her. I had often seen my sister’s tight secretive slit but this revealed little; now I had a chance to view the sweet red petals of Melanie’s engorged labia as she and I gently wiped the glistening juices.
She sensed my interest and giggled.
“D’you want to lick it dry?”
My curiosity overtook me and I nodded self-consciously. Melanie took her cue and lay back with her thighs parted as I stretched forwarded and extended a cautious tongue.
“Lick my clitty first.” She begged as my tongue protruded forward cautiously.
To do this I had to peel her labia apart and gently diddle the still hard bud with my tongue. Melanie squealed with delight then coquettishly pushed my head away.
“Gosh! Stoppit! If you do it like that, I’ll come again with another flood. Just lick the juices away.”
I did as she asked and finally wiped her girly parts clean. Then we studied the wet patch.
“Has it gone through to the mattress?” She wondered.
“I doubt it. I keep a draw sheet under the linen one.”
“Why?” Asked Melanie curiously.
In truth it was in case I stained the sheets if I had a wet dream or any other unexpected accident for sometimes I only slept in panties. I explained that my ‘condition’ sometimes led to ‘accidents.
“Do you wet yourself then?” Asked Melanie.
“No. Not like that. I don’t pee in the bed, but sometimes, my juices escape during the night.”
Melanie accepted this. She had no idea what my real ‘medical condition’ was.
Anything ‘down there’ was deemed ‘girl’s problems’ and not broached unless the girl herself chose to discuss it. This was one of the nice things about being a girl. They could be sympathetic about anything gynaecological. With the wet patch preventing further cuddling, we stripped my bed and later took the linen to the school laundry for an exchange. At breakfast we kept smiling at each other as we ate voraciously. Sex it seemed brought on a huge appetite. Finally we joined the Saturday pony trek over the Dumplin and across the downs.
Because we knew the area intimately, the other girls always wanted to ride with us and talk about the area. Usually it was licentious scandal about the local people and any gossip we might know. The other thing was if there were any farmer’s sons in any of the farms we passed. Despite there being little hope of meeting any boys, the riding party always lived in hope and our local connections were always deemed to be an additional opportunity to be ‘introduced’. In truth, we did know several boys from the surrounding farms and the other girls were always excited if we met them out riding on the downs.
Very occasionally, Melanie’s older brother Peter came home with a friend for the weekend. Invariably the school party met them because Melanie knew exactly where and when Peter would be out riding. Melanie and I used to smile knowingly when a whole class of young teenaged girls met two very dateable boys out riding. It was hilarious to watch the antics of the girls and Melanie later described Peter’s thoughts when they dined at home that Saturday evening.
But I digress. Nous retournos nous moutons!
That particular morning was the first step of my ascent into sexual liberation. It was not long after that, that Melanie finally learned my big secret.
A fortnight later when the rest of our dorm was playing another early, Saturday hockey game against another school, Melanie crept into my cubicle and slipped into my bed. This time she came armed with extra tissues, a towel and something that I recognised immediately it was an artificial cock.
“Where did you get that?” I gasped curiously.
“It’s one that my cousin got. She doesn’t know I stole it from her bedroom last Christmas.”
“You’re not going to use that on me.” I protested.
“No. I know you’re a scaredy cat. It’s for me.”
“Gosh it’s big. Will that go in?”
“You heard what Mrs Warburton the matron told us during hygiene lessons. You’ve seen how big a baby is.”
I fingered it curiously then Melanie gave the base a twist. The thing started vibrating and I squeaked with surprise.
“Oooh! You kinky thing,” I giggled. Does it work?” I asked.
“Of course it works! I’ve used it lots of times. D’you want to borrow it?”
“Uh. No thanks. Not really. It looks a bit big to me.”
The idea of having that thing anywhere near me left me horrified. There was only one place it could go. I had never had anything up there before and I had no intentions to start. It would have split my arsehole in two.
“Well, it’s your loss. D’you want me to show you?”
“Not on me. You use it.”
Melanie shrugged her shoulders and snuggled in beside me. Naturally we started as always with tits. It had become our way of getting in the mood and Melanie respected my slow cautious approach. After enough foreplay, I finally slipped my hands down the waistband of her panties. She was already slippery and from our hygiene lessons I knew she was ready for sex.
“Shall I put it in straight away?” I asked.
“No. I’ll do it. You watch.”
We slid back the duvet and Melanie slipped off her panties to reveal her glistening labia and stiff little bud. Gently she placed the tapered end against her love lips then gently rotated it as it slid deep into her tight eager sex.
“Play with my clitty,” she whispered as she switched it on and it started to vibrate.
I did as she asked and gently lowered my tongue onto the protruding bud.
“Aaiiee!” She squealed as her hips started to bump and grind. “Oooh! That’s good!”
I sat up but she tugged my hair and drove my mouth hard against her mons as she feverishly ascended into nirvarna. The dildo vibrated against my jaw so I stiffened my tongue and partially transferred the vibrations to her clitty. My jaw and the dildo vibrated slightly out of synch-and this doubled the frequency against Melanie’s stiff little clitty. She gave a howl of delight and exploded into a frenzy of bucking and squirming that left me struggling to remain attached.
“Ooooh. Shit! That’s good. Oooh yes! Hold on, I’m coming! I’mm coooominng! Don’ le-ggo. Keep goin’. Yes! Ooooh!”
I struggled to grip her hips as I pressed feverishly into her sex whilst she gripped my ears desperately and repeatedly drove my mouth into her very core. For long minutes, Melanie humped and squealed until finally she began to tire. By this time I was shattered. My jaw ached and my ears felt as though they had been torn with the force of Melanie’s grip. When she finally slumped with satiation, I collapsed between her thighs and felt her juices gurgling and bubbling inside her tormented maw. Fortunately the towel and tissues served well and my sheets remained unblemished.
After we had recovered, I slid up to nestle in her arms. Melanie squinted sideways at my clock and offered to help me.
“We’ve still got half an hour, do you want to try?” She asked.
“No. I can’t I’m a virgin. This thing’s too big.”
“No, not this, I could just try fingering you. That won’t hurt. I won’t even go inside you if you’re frightened of loosing your cherry.”
“But it’s wrong,” I protested feebly.
“Oh don’t be daft!” protested Melanie, “You’ve just been as intimate with me as anybody can be. What are you ashamed of?”
I lay silent and still, a condition, which totally belied my mind. In my head I was doing back-flips as I searched desperately for a remedy. Nervously I broached the subject of boys.
“Shouldn’t we only be doing this with boys?” I ventured.
“Huh! What; and get pregnant? That would really foul things up!”
“But the boy doesn’t have to -, have to-, you know.”
“Boys always want to -, you know!”
“Not always,” I protested meekly, “some boys are nice.”
“Well I’ve never heard of one. My cousin says they all want the same thing, and after they’ve got it, vazoom! They’re off!”
“What about getting married?” I persisted.
“Huh, they even look elsewhere even if they’re getting it at home. Boys are like dogs, going from bitch to bitch. They never get enough.”
“But not all boys are like that!” I argued a bit more forcefully.
“If they aren’t they’re probably queer or something. There aren’t many that stay loyal to one girl.”
“Some do.”
“Well if you ever find one let me know. Now do you want to do it or shall we get up?”
I was not to be diverted from my path and I pressed home my objections. After all, I was a boy and I didn’t ‘play around’.
“What would you do if you found a boy who was loyal?”
“I dunno. I’m not so fond of boys anyway, they’re horrible nasty bullies. Give me a nice friendly girl anytime.”
“Would you be loyal to a boy if you found one who was really loyal to you?”
Melanie fell silent. She was only just coming to terms with her own nascent sexuality and she was not certain yet of her true sexuality. She was probably finding it hard to admit it to herself though that she was turning out to be a truly pretty ‘lipstick lesbian.’ I drew myself level with Melanie’s face on the pillow and stared into her uncertain eyes. All I saw was uncertainty.
“Are you gay?” I asked boldly.
I felt her tense and she turned her face away from me.
“Well. Are you?” I persisted.
She turned nervously to face me and I saw a single tear glistening in her eye.
“If I was, would you hate me?” She whispered nervously.
I sighed softly. Little did Melanie know about the set up at my home.
“Why should I hate you?”
“Well. Lot’s of girls are horrified by lesbians.”
I giggled as I reflected my own home set-up.
“Mel, are you blind or stupid?” I asked.
“What d’you mean?” She asked sitting up angrily.
“Well, have you ever realised the set up at home on our farm?”
“No.”
“Then you must be bloody blind.”
“Why?” Protested Melanie
“Haven’t you ever noticed there are no men?”
Melanie fell silent as the revelation dawned in her head.
“You mean, Aunty Sian and Aunty Margaret -, they -, they’re!”
“Exactly,” I sighed wearily,” they’ve lived together since before Chenille and I were born. Sian is my mum and Margaret is Chenille’s mum.”
“But -, but they’re mothers, they must have been with men.”
“No. They got pregnant but they are still partners. They sleep together every night, like man and wife. They’re even married!”
“So. So your mum’s a lesbian!” Gasped Melanie as the relief exploded through her mind.
“Yes.” I answered matter-of-factly. “It’s no big deal in my life; in fact it’s no deal at all.”
This revelation was Melanie’s first realisation that she wasn’t totally alone. There were others close to her of the same sexual persuasions and more importantly, able to help her come to terms with her feelings.
“I should come to live with you.” Suggested Melanie.
“Why? You’ve got a good life at home, that house and all.”
“Yeah, but my mum, she doesn’t know about me. She wouldn’t understand. They expect me to produce an heir and a spare for some horrible duke or something. I’m nobility and all that shit.”
“Why d’you say that, your mum and my mum are best of friends. They were at this very school together. She knows about my mum being a lesbian.”
“Does she!” Gasped Melanie.
“Of course. My mum told me. It was your mum who helped my mum get sorted after my grandparents cut her off.”
“Is that true?”
“Yes, your mum said that’s what friends are for. My mum was a bridesmaid at your mum’s wedding.”
“Why hasn’t my mum told me all this?”
“Have you ever asked her?”
“Well. No, actually.”
“Well ask her next time. It’s no secret between them. My mummy Sian is a lesbian but she’s still your mum’s best friend.”
“D’you think they -, you know.”
“No. I doubt it. In fact I’m pretty sure they don’t. Mummy Margaret would make a huge fuss if they did, not to mention your dad. Anyway, Mummy Sian and Mummy Margaret have always slept together. Chenille and I should know because we used to climb into their bed as little children every morning. I never saw your mummy there.”
“OK, but would my mummy be angry with me if I told her I was lesbian?”
“I dunno’. I don’t think so. She might be disappointed but not angry. Anyway, you could still give her a grandchild. That’s what most mummies like.”
“Ughh! Sleeping with a big horrible hairy boy. No thanks. I like my partners soft and curvy. Like you.”
So saying, Melanie squeezed tighter to me and gently curved her hand around my bum.
“See,” she added, “and you’ve got beautiful curves and lovely tits.”
She finished off by gently kissing my stiffening nipples again and stroking the soft silky roundness of my all-in-one sleep-suit.
It was obvious that Melanie was utterly besotted with my body I wondered if was remotely possible that she might forgive me my big secret. However, I was still uncertain of Melanie’s reaction so I held off that morning. We were going riding later and I could make a brief diversion off the Dumplin to visit my Mummy Sian and Aunty Beverly. They would be able to give me some advice. Instead I snuggled closer to Melanie until we had to reluctantly separate for breakfast.
As we rode over the Dumplin I approached Miss Smith the riding instructor and begged to go and visit my Mum. She trusted me for she knew I was totally familiar with our own land and I received an hour’s release to go and see them. I seized the opportunity and trotted off down My Aunty Beverly’s fields to the cottage. Once at home I explained the reason.
“And she’s that intimate is she?” Smiled my Mummy Sian Knowingly.
“Yes,” I mumbled guiltily, “but she wants to go further. She thinks I’m a girl and she wants to do the same to me.”
“Oh! Then that’s a bit of a problem isn’t it?”
“Yes,” I replied monosyllabically.
“Well darling. It just won’t do to spring such a surprise upon her; you’ll have to prepare the way. Oh! And there’s the other issue of course.”
“What’s that?” I asked.
“Well. Your still a boy you know and you wouldn’t want to cause any accidents would you.”
“Like what?” I wondered aloud.
“Darling, if you get that intimate with Melanie, there’s the certain probability that that she and you will loose control. It only takes one accident and she could get pregnant.”
“Oh! Gosh of course! I’ll have to stop it now then.”
“Not necessarily darling,” interjected Aunty Beverly.
“Why.” I asked again. My learning curve was steepening.
“Doctor Sandie could always arrange to have you vasectomised.”
“What’s that?”
Aunty Beverly explained all the details and I listened avidly.
“So I won’t be able to get any girls pregnant.”
“Not unless the operation is reversed, and you won’t need to do that unless or until you settle down with a wife.”
“A wife!” I squeaked with surprise.
“Yes. Why not? There are plenty of girls out there who’d be happy to have a husband who can share their femininity. I suspect that Melanie might be one of those. She’s a very pretty girl and quite feminine.”
“But how do we know for certain? How do we know she won’t blurt my secret out? What will my sisters feel?”
“Whoa!” Chuckled Aunty Beverly. “One thing at a time. First we have to sound out Melanie’s true feelings towards you. That will be your job.”
“But I know her feelings,” I protested.
“Correction darling,” added Mummy Sian, “you know her feelings towards a girl called Martina. She doesn’t know you’re a boy.”
I fell silent. That was the whole problem. How could I sound out Melanie’s feelings towards the real me? My silence prompted Aunty Beverly to suggest that I rejoin the riding party whilst she and Sian chatted to Doctor Sandie. For want of any better ideas, I remounted my pony and set off back up the Dumplin to meet the trekkers at the top gate.
This chapter simply continues Martina's passage through school and describes some of the adventures she experiences.
Just a nice tittilating story.
Enjoy,
Bev.
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Martina’s Story
Chapter 3
List of Characters.
Myself. Martina, A sexually dysphoric child whose sexuality has not
yet been ascertained but who chooses to present as a girl.
Beverly. My adoptive ‘aunt’ who is a mature shemale and my most supportive adult friend.
Chenille. My older half sister.
Jennifer. Aunt Beverly’s adopted daughter.
Beatrice. Aunt Beverly’s second adopted daughter and Jennifer’s younger sister.
Sian. My lesbian mother who is married to —
Margaret. Who is Chenille’s lesbian mother.
Sissy. My and Chenille’s transvestite shemale father.
Sandie. My doctor, psychiatrist and sexual counsellor.
Judge Elizabeth Porter. The judge who ruled that I should be allowed to live and dress as a girl.
Angela Hunt. Jennifer and Beatrice’s natural blood mother who is now married to Aunt Beverly who is a shemale.
Lucinda My, Beatrice’s and Melanie’s new school friend who will prove to be a real diamond.
Baroness Wemite’ Sian’s old School Chum
Peter Baroness Wemite’s son
Melanie Baroness Wemite’s daughter and my best schoolfriend.
Rosemary & Monika. Two bullies in the junior school.
Lucinda A previous victim of the two bullies
I arrived at the top of the Dumplin and waited for the trekkers to return along the bridle path. As my pony and I waited under the trees, a cold winter rain had set in but we had come prepared. I simply loosened the ‘button-back’ tails of my ‘bushman’s riding coat. This then spread over my pony’s back and he gave a pleasurable snort as the waterproof material enveloped him. Apart from his legs and head, he was as well covered as I was. We waited patiently under the trees and joined the riding party as they returned.
“Was every thing OK Martina?” Asked Miss Smith.
“Yes thank you Miss, and thank you for letting me see them.”
She smiled and declared that I owed her one. The rest of the girls laughed for this invariably involved extra dunging out at the stables. I rejoined Melanie and the class plodded home through the increasing rain. By the time we arrived at the school, the rain was lashing down and it took an extra hour to get everything ship-shape. Like us, the ponies were obviously grateful to be home and dry.
Once in the privacy of our study, Melanie interrogated me before our friends returned from the away hockey match.
“Well. What did your mum say?”
“About what?” I parried.
“Oh come on Martie, I know you too well. You went to ask for advice.”
“So.”
“And.”
“And what?” I ‘stonewalled’.
“And what did they say.”
“They say we should wait a bit and not rush into stuff.”
“What did you tell them?”
“Nothing much. I just said I had been -, you know -, down there.”
“And what did you say about me?”
“Nothing. I pretended it was just innocent fun.”
“Huh. Innocent fun! I think my mother already suspects something about me. How did your Aunty Beverly and Mummy Sian take it?”
“Like I said. My Mummy and my Aunty Beverly are worldly wise. They understand how little girls can become curious but they advised me to go slowly. Take my time and find out if we can trust each other.”
“Of course we can trust each other. I’ve already told you I’m -, I’m -, you know -, gay.”
“Yes, they understand that, my own mummy Sian is gay so they’re compassionate about that, but they still advised me to go slowly.”
“How slow is slowly then?” Pressed my exasperated friend.
“Well I think we should wait until next year. We’ll be fourteen then and we’ll be older.”
“Next year!” Screeched a frustrated Melanie. “I don’t think I can wait that long. If you loved me, you would do it now!”
“Heck Melanie! You sound like some teenaged boy trying to have his way with a new girl. I prefer to take it slowly. I’ve still got problems down there and I have to see my doctor during the Christmas holidays. If everything’s OK then I might be able to try stuff next year. That’s what my mummy said and she knows about this stuff. I like you and I like your lovely soft ripe girly curves, but I’m just not ready yet. Stop trying to bully me. I’m not ready yet.”
I started to blubber and Melanie immediately became the solicitous caring partner. She put her arms around my shoulders and was all concern.
“OK then, we’ll wait until next year. When will you be fourteen?”
“You know my birthday. It’s May, I’m one of the youngest in the class.”
“Yeah, but one of the nicest. OK then, I’ll wait. I’m fourteen in March.”
Having set a firm ‘date’ I relaxed and snuggled into Melanie’s embrace. May seemed like years away.
For the rest of the Christmas term, Melanie contented herself with simply letting me attend to her girly parts. It was nice, but I had to confess that all this stuff was frustrating me. Melanie used to wonder why I often had to go to the toilet during our fun time but I passed it off as having to do with my ‘problem’.
The Christmas holidays finally came around and Aunty Beverly accompanied Mummy Sian and me to a special children’s hospital in Holland. After Doctor Sandie had reassured me that the operation was of a type that was easily reversible, I was vasectomised so that there could be no accidents in school.
By the end of January, after a brief extension to my holiday, I was deemed to be sterile. I returned to St Angie’s feeling a lot happier about any possible ‘accidents’ with Melanie.
When she saw me, a huge smile spread across her beautiful face and that very night she was over me like a rash. By now, Beatrice and the other dorm mates had deduced that Melanie and I were an item. Beatrice was a little concerned about it and she tackled me about it one Saturday morning when the other girls were working in the library.
“Does Melanie know about your boy clitty?” Asked Beatrice.
“Not yet.” I replied.
“So when are you going to tell her?”
“I have to sound her out. She likes me a lot and she loves my titties but she still thinks I’m a girl.”
Beatrice fell into a thoughtful silence. She and my other sisters knew all about my condition and they had been loyal to the end. My condition was still a firm secret except amongst a few selected teaching staff.
“She’s bound to find out if you get more intimate.” Cautioned Beatrice.
“I’m working up to it. Give me a chance. Anyway, Melanie has intimated that it’s not boys she hates so much, as their rough ways and hairy muscular bodies. Knowing this, I hope to tell her on my fourteenth birthday. I promised her we could be more intimate then.”
“Why your fourteenth? Why not wait until you’re sixteen and make it all legal?”
“I can’t wait that long. I’m getting hornier every day.”
“Huh just like a boy then!” Giggled Beatrice who had already had Melanie’s brother Peter trying to grope her during the Christmas Holidays.
“Yes but this time it’s different. Melanie is taking the lead. It’s me that’s the virginal one.”
“Just like a girl holding onto her virginity. Is that it?”
“It’s something like that,” I confessed, “but finally most girls give it up.”
“Well just be careful. Make sure she’s well prepared for the shock.”
“Like you need to tell me that?” I giggled back.
“It’s no joke!” Protested Beatrice. “If she takes it the wrong way, it could be bad for all of us and the school.”
“Yeah. Don’t I know it?” I sighed.
Beatrice gave me a hug and kissed me affectionately.
“Don’t worry sis, there’s always us, your family.”
“Yeah but I can’t do stuff with family.” I mumbled wistfully.
“We’re not that sort of family. It would be legal for Jennifer or me we aren’t blood relatives. Now you’ve had that vasectomy thing, it’s safe.”
“But the thought of doing it with my sisters. That’s not right.”
“Why not. Don’t you find me attractive?”
I looked at Bea and suddenly realised she was very attractive and every bit as curvy and winsome as Melanie. It was just that I had been so involved with Melanie over the past six months that I had not noticed Bea blossoming. Bea spotted the appreciation in my eyes and grinned.
“See, I can see it in your eyes. You’ve got that boy look but cleverly disguised because you know how we girls are.”
She gave a provocative little wiggle, gave me a hug and a kiss then went down to the library to work on her essay. I sat stunned for a moment.
‘Beatrice hadn’t demonstrated any revulsion towards me. Perhaps she fancied me as well’ I thought. ‘Golly, life was getting complicated!’
I sat recovering my wits when Melanie emerged from the shower. As I sat absently staring out of the study window, she sneaked up behind me and placed her hands over my eyes as her ripe breasts pressed into my back. Even through my school blouse, I could feel her stiff nipple buds and I gently squirmed my shoulders against them. Her hands released my eyes and slowly slid down my shoulders to cup my boobs.
“Hi lover. You should have joined me in the shower.”
“That wouldn’t be fair on the others,” I replied, “we shouldn’t rub stuff in their faces. They’ve been pretty tolerant of us so far.”
“Do you think they object then?” She asked.
“Well, Beatrice and Lucinda don’t seem to object but Charlotte and Betty seem a little put out.”
“Perhaps they’re jealous.” Suggested Melanie.
“I don’t think so.”
“Well it won’t matter next year. As fourth formers, we get to share a four bed study.”
I reflected silently on Melanie’s remark. ‘It would certainly reduce the chances of ‘discovery’ if there were only four of us to learn my secret.’
As Melanie’s fingers ‘tested’ my stiffening nipples I wriggled appreciatively and reached up to stroke her long, damp hair. Then our embrace was interrupted. Lucinda had come to collect some notes. She caught us hurriedly disentangling our arms and she smiled kindly.
“Just look at you two.” She giggled. “In flagrant delecto.”
“Sorry Lucinda,” I crimsoned.
“Oh don’t mind me. Each to their own, I say.”
Melanie said nothing. She knew well enough not to become defensive or aggressive. Either response might have created issues so she simply changed the subject. She turned to face the mirror and ran her fingers through her still damp hair. We all knew Lucinda liked experimenting with makeup and hairstyles.
“D’you think I should get it cut?” Asked Melanie.
“Oh no!” Protested Lucinda. “It’s lovely hair. Just leave it straight like that or keep it in a ponytail. It looks classy like that.”
Lucinda leant forward and grasped the wet tresses in her skilful fingers. She pulled them back from Melanie’s face and held them behind her ears.
“There. Just like that but don’t make the ponytail too tight. It makes you look as though you’ve had an Essex girl facelift.”
So saying, Lucinda picked up a brush and boldly ran it through Melanie’s hair as she separated the tresses and then scrunchied it at the back.
“There. Like that. It makes you look classy, see.”
Melanie studied her image in the mirror and nodded approvingly. Lucinda certainly had the gift.
Thus diverted, Lucinda gathered up her notes and left to rejoin Beatrice in the library.
“She’s good,” declared Melanie as we both watched Lucinda’s lithesome form sway down the corridor.
“In what way?” I asked smiling.
“Oh Stoppit you.” Giggled Melanie. “Now where are my knickers?”
“Where they should be,” I replied, “in your drawer.”
Without blinking an eye, Melanie slipped off her towel and dug out her regulation school knickers and bra. I studied her appreciatively.
“I wish we didn’t have to wear these maroon, cotton, interlock knickers.” I observed.
“You prefer them sexy and frilly do you?” Replied Melanie.
I nodded silently as I held out Melanie’s plain cotton bra.
“I wish we could wear matching lingerie.” I declared.
“Mmm. I bet you do, and I bet you’d look good in it as well.”
As Melanie spoke, I slipped her bra around her breasts and fastened it at the back then I kissed her beautiful slender neck.
“Mmm. That’s nice but you’d better not start anything. I’ve got to finish my essay this morning or I can’t go into town this afternoon. Are you going?”
“Of course. We four are meeting Aunty Beverly and Mummy Margaret for lunch then going shopping. You can join us if you want.”
“What, and miss a day’s total freedom without parents or teachers, leave it there.”
I grinned knowingly. Once a fortnight on Saturday afternoons, the middle school boarders were allowed into town unaccompanied. It was like being released from prison. Melanie always went alone but I never asked where she went. I was to
learn much later on in our senior years.
We gathered up our books and went to join Bea and Lucy.
In the library, Bea gave me a knowing look but I mouthed ‘no’. Melanie still did not know, and she wouldn’t find out until or unless I was sure she would not be offended or angered at the knowledge.
For the next few nights I played it cool, only letting Melanie share my bed without any ‘hanky-panky’. Naturally she got frustrated, but I stuck to my guns as I gently sounded her out about her attitudes to boys. Things would have to move slowly. I was still worried about how I was going to enlighten Melanie about my ‘condition’. The chance came a few weeks later.
One Saturday afternoon, Beatrice came back from town with a magazine about ‘she-males’. It was actually an ordinary woman’s magazine but they had daringly included an article about she-males and Beatrice had seized the opportunity to raise the issue amongst the other girls in the study that Saturday evening. I recognised Beatrice’s stratergem and secretly thanked her later.
“Hey girls!” She giggled. “Look at this,” she squealed as we shared biscuits and chocolate.
“What?” Demanded Lucy as she bent down over Bea’s shoulder. “Oh my gosh! Is that for real?” She gasped.
“It says so in the article.”
Gertrude and Daisy scrambled to stare and the four of them fell to giggling as Beatrice read out the article aloud. I arrived as she finished the article and Lucinda showed me the article.
“What d’you think Martie?” She asked.
I studied the picture and smiled.
“It’s weird, but she looks pretty. Each to their own, I say.”
Daisy then took the magazine and smirked.
“I wonder if she likes boys or girls?”
“It doesn’t say,” pronounced Gert. “I wonder what Melanie would say?”
“She’s not back yet. She’s catching the later bus.” I replied, secretly hoping that it would give me an excellent chance to ask her about her feelings.
“She only likes girls doesn’t she Martie?” Giggled Lucinda.
“You’d have to ask her that. She’s never discussed it with me,” I lied.
“Ooooh. Touched a sore point have we?” Grinned Daisy.
“No. It’s just that this stuff has never arisen before,” I replied, “why, do you fancy her?”
“Who, Melanie?” Asked Daisy.
“No silly. The girl in the magazine,”
Daisy took the opportunity to study the shemale again.
“Well she’s very pretty, but no, I fancy my men a bit stronger than her -, or him.”
“Same here,” added Gertrude, “though it would be interesting to find out what she’s like.
“You kinky thing!” Giggled Daisy to her friend.
We carried on discussing stuff until the subject was exhausted and we finally had a rough inkling of each of our feelings about it. I was pleased to learn that the article seriously offended nobody and the consensus seemed to be, ‘live and let live’.
When Bea and I chatted about it later she cautioned me.
“Don’t consider this as’open sesame’. What they say may not exactly reflect how they’ll react. Lucinda, I trust but Gert and Daisy are gossips.”
“Tell me about it,” I agreed, “just leave the magazine on the study table for Melanie to see when she comes in.”
“I have done. Look, there she is now.”
Melanie arrived and dumped a shopping bag on the table. She took out some biscuits and a tin of cocoa before displaying a lovely new frilly pair of panties.
“Ooohh! They’re nice,” declared Charlotte, don’t let Miss Warburton catch you wearing them.”
“They’re for the hols. I just couldn’t resist them.”
As she slipped the panties back into the bag she spied the magazine on the table. Because it wasn’t being read, she took it and slid into one of the armchairs. Within minutes she came across the article and gave out a soft giggle.
“Have you seen this?” She asked generally.
We all chorused yes which was a bit of a give-away. Melanie caught the mood and grinned.
“Well don’t all look at me! I’m a girl, not ‘a chick with a dick’.”
“Would you go to bed with her?” Asked Daisy.
“Would you?” Countered Melanie defensively.
Daisy fell silent then wagged her head.
“No I like my boys strong and handsome.”
“Well I don’t,” replied Melanie, “if I had a boy, he’d have to be like her.”
“Are you serious?” Gasped Beatrice.
“Yeah. Why not? She’s pretty.”
“I thought you were a lezzy!” Squeaked Charlotte.
“I am! But she’s really pretty. I bet any boy would fancy her until they got her into bed. She looks like a girl, she probably walks like a girl and she probably talks like a girl. It’s the duck thing.”
“Some duck,” I added briefly.
Melanie turned and grinned at me.”
“Why, do you fancy her as well?”
I thought for a moment as I chose my words carefully.
“I like her girlyness but the dick thing, I don’t know about that. I’m not sure yet.”
“Well don’t knock it until you’ve tried it,” giggled Lucinda.
“Why. Have you?” Gasped Daisy, ever the noseyiest of we six friends.
“That would be telling, wouldn’t it,“ grinned Lucy with an enigmatic smile.
“Huh! I don’t believe you have,” challenged Gert.
And so the conversation bounced around the study as we all revealed some quite intimate aspects of our fantasies. By the end of the evening, Beatrice and I were feeling a lot easier about Melanie learning of my ‘problem’. Several times we had exchanged knowing glances as we recognised potential issues that would apply to my ‘condition’ should the others ever find out. As we elected to wash the cups, Beatrice and I chatted again in the little kitchen at the end of the corridor that served all the dormitories.
“Do you think Mel could handle finding out?” Whispered Bea.
“She seems to be giving out the right signals. I never thought she would be so open about her lezzy thing.”
“I know why that is,” added Bea, “she was speaking to Lucy and me a few days ago and asking us if we were upset about her being gay. I let Lucinda speak for us and she seemed pretty OK about it.
“Lucy said so long as she, Melanie that is, and you don’t rub our faces in it, she was pretty OK about it.”
“I added as long as you didn’t frighten the horses it was OK. This made Melanie lighten up a lot.”
“So what did Melanie say?” I pressed.
“Well, Melanie almost burst into tears when she realised we weren’t upset by it. She gave us a huge hug and promised never to rub our noses in it.”
“Or frighten the horses,” I giggled.
“Who’s frightening the horses?”
A voice sounded behind us.
We both froze as we recognised Dorcas the Prefect’s voice.
“Heck! How long have you been there?” Squawked Beatrice.
“I hope this isn’t some stupid prank in the stables.” Charged Dorcas censoriously.
“No. It’s nothing like that. We were talking figuratively.
“Well you’d better get back to your study figuratively, it’s after lights out. Or the only horses you’ll be frightening will be mares, - nightmares. Aren’t some of you up early in the morning for the visit to Stratford on Avon?”
“Not us,” replied Bea, “that’s the other three, Gertrude, Daisy and Lucinda.”
“Well you’ll disturb their sleep if your wandering around here like this. Go on now! Bed!” Ordered Dorcas.
We gathered our mugs and scuttled back down the corridor to our study dormitory. Dorcas was our landing prefect, she was a kindly girl really, all bark and no bite. Unlike some of the senior prefects, she had not let her authority go to her head and she served more as a mother confessor to the younger girls. Miss Frobisher had been right to appoint Dorcas as head girl and therefore above all the other prefects. Dorcas tended to moderate any extreme behaviour or bullying by other prefects. We were all fond of her and grateful she was our landing prefect in addition to the house captain and head girl.
Back in our dormitory, we slipped into our beds and soon after the lights were out I felt a familiar body slide into my bed. Fortunately, our sleeping cubicles were fairly private affairs. The bed resembled a ship’s bunk with lockers overhead and a wardrobe at the end. The gangway had a study desk that looked out of a window. On the opposite wall sat a small settee and some more cupboards. All six cubicles opened out onto the common study area where there was a large table and six armchairs. The ‘en suite’ bathroom formed the side of the passage onto the main corridor. There were no cooking facilities because of the fire hazard, but the whole dormitory shared a kitchen at one end of the corridor near the landing prefect’s study. With stairs and landings at each end of every dormitory, there was little risk from fire.
I slid aside as the visitor slipped between my sheets and Melanie sighed as her soft curvy hips pressed invitingly against mine.
“Mmmm. Hello darling. Are you horny?” She asked.
“A bit, are you?” I replied.
“Mmmm. Those pictures of that shemale made me excited.”
“Really,” I giggled.
“Did they turn you on?” Asked Mel.
I recognised Mel’s clumsy attempts to investigate my sexuality and I smiled inwardly.
“A bit.”
“But would you like it if boys were like that; all soft and curvy.”
“Like us girls, you mean.” I added as my hopes rose higher. ‘Maybe this might be a good time to tell her,’ I thought.
“Well, - yes, - like us.” Finished Mel.
“Are you serious. Did you really fancy that she-male?”
“I’m not totally sure. But it would be nice to try that stuff out.”
“What stuff?” I persevered.
“Well, - the cock thing.”
“What? You mean a cock, a real cock inside you.”
“Well, a she-male’s cock; some nice soft curvy girl with a nice stiff little cock. If I went with a boy, it would have to be soft curvy a boy like her.”
My heart beat faster as I wrestled with my hopes.
‘Could this really be the time to reveal my boy clitty?’ I asked myself. My body screamed yes! Yes! Yes! But long years of fear and suppression echoed down my youthful years to caution not yet! Not! Not yet!
Melanie might find my boy clitty fascinating at first, but would she accept me into her life forever. Would I just be a pretty plaything and then thrown away after she had tired of the novelty of my boy clitty?’
Discretion finally won the argument raging in my mind. I retreated into just doing our usual stuff and pleasing Melanie enough to satisfy her needs. Then we fell into our usual embrace and were soon lost to the world.
Once Melanie had orgasmed she invariably fell into a deep sleep that always meant that I woke first. For me this was a useful protection. It meant that Melanie never woke up to find me sleeping and vulnerable to any uninvited ‘exploration’. Waking up before Melanie also meant I could lie still as I savoured her long golden hair spread across my pillow. Yes, Melanie was a beautiful girl and I never wanted to lose her. How, oh how, could I reveal my secret and still keep Melanie loyal to me?
For the next couple of months, Beatrice and I chatted long and hard about the she-male stuff. We all knew that fantasies were very different from reality. Maybe Melanie did fantasise about them but what about the real thing. In March we celebrated Melanie’s fourteenth birthday and that night she begged me to go further.
“As a birthday present to me,” she begged.
“Not until I’m fourteen. It’s wrong to do it too early.”
I was beginning to regret my promise to give her my cherry on my fourteenth birthday but then a ray of light burst through the approaching cloud of uncertainty.
One morning in April, I slipped into Melanie’s cubicle to fetch some notes we needed for our year project.
“They’re under my pillow,” she instructed, “I was going over them last night.”
Without further ado, I slipped up to our dormitory to collect the notes. As I lifted her pillow a whole bundle of magazine pictures slid out of an exercise book so I gathered them up to replace them. I couldn’t help but notice they were pictures of she-males. Melanie must have been collecting them and pasting them into her scrapbook. Furthermore she had been writing notes under the pictures already glued in. A short study of some of the remarks told me everything I needed to know. It appeared Melanie was besotted with she-males.
I was just about to carefully replace the scrapbook as though it hadn’t been disturbed when Melanie appeared breathless and frightened in the doorway. Her face went crimson when she realised I must have seen the scrapbook.
“Oh shit. I thought I’d locked that in my desk!”
“Here take it,” I offered.
“Have you read it?” She asked tremulously.
“Some of it.”
“Are you angry?”
“No. You said you were curious about them.”
“Yes, but, -“
“But what?” I interrupted.
“Well, - it’s just that, - well, you know. I’d like to go with one but I think you’d feel betrayed.”
“I’d feel betrayed if you went with any boy. I thought it was just you and me.”
“Oh it is Martie, it is! But you know, for once, just as an experiment, I’d like to know what it’s like sleeping with a she-male.”
“And what then? What if you find you like it? What if she makes you pregnant?”
“Wha -! Pregnant!” Gasped Melanie. “How can they make you pregnant?”
“Well some of them can. Some of them produce sperm.”
Melanie fell silent then stared at me.
“How do you know? How do you know about she-males?”
I felt my self go cold. I had just revealed that I knew more about she-males than a thirteen-year-old girl had a right to know. I pretended ignorance.
“Well, -“ I hesitated feigning uncertainty.
“Well, they, - they’re boys aren’t they. They’ve got cocks.”
“Yeah,” smirked Melanie knowingly, “but they can’t make you pregnant. They have to take hormones to make their tits grow and stuff.”
I didn’t argue, although I knew better. I knew for a fact that the strict regimen of hormones I was taking was designed
precisely to prevent sterility. Doctor Sandie had repeatedly cautioned me to avoid penetrative sex because up until my vasectomy, I had been fertile. Even now, though my tubes were blocked off, my balls were still making stuff. I feigned ignorance and let Melanie elaborate.
“The hormones make she-males sterile, and some of them can’t even get it erect.”
“That’s not what I saw in your scrapbook.” I countered.
For a moment Melanie became silent with embarrassment. My discovery of her scrapbook had un-nerved her slightly.
“Yeah, well maybe some can, but they’re still sterile. The hormones shrink their balls.”
“Well sterile or not, I would be hurt if you two-timed me and went with one.”
At this declaration I turned the taps on and pretended to be hugely wounded at the thought of betrayal. Immediately, Melanie was all contrition and concern as she hugged me to her and kissed me passionately.
“OK then, I’ll be loyal to you then. But what if I grow up to want children?” She asked nervously.
“What! You want children!” I gasped. “Do you like babies?”
Melanie fell silent with uncertainty. Then nodded apologetically.
“Yes. I may be gay, but I’d love to have a family and be a mother when I’m older.”
”But you’d have to sleep with a man for that.”
“No I wouldn’t. I could go to a sperm bank.”
Her answer flummoxed me for I hadn’t thought of that. My jaw fell as I pictured Melanie using a ‘turkey baster’ to make herself pregnant. Then the image amused me and I smiled.
“What’s so funny?” Demanded Melanie.
“The idea of you with a turkey baster up your pussy.”
“That’s stupid. You don’t use a turkey baster! The doctors do it with a special syringe. You only use a turkey baster if you get a man to supply his sperm and you do it yourself, straight away.”
“Oh.” I sniggered. “So which man are you considering?”
“Don’t be daft Martie. If I do have babies, it’ll be years away yet. We’d need to have jobs and a house and stuff.”
Her suggestion of a long-term viewpoint changed my mood. The idea of living as Melanie’s permanent spouse was very attractive. I collected the notes I had come for and Melanie locked away her scrapbook as we returned to the library. Later that same day I told Beatrice that Melanie wanted children when she was older.
Beatrice chuckled but agreed that; ‘after all, Melanie was a girl and would grow up to be a women. Lesbians were still women and could therefore have womanly desires.’
I shrugged non-committedly but secretly I was ecstatic. If Melanie wanted children, I would be more than keen to give her mine.
‘Roll on that day’, I thought.
“D’you think she’s ready to find out about me?” I asked Bea.
“D’you think it’s the right time?” Countered Bea uncertainly.
“They say if now isn’t the right time then there’s never a right time.”
It was Bea’s turn to shrug. Over the past few months she and I had explored just about every aspect and asked ourselves every question. Not to mention having discussed it with our parents and older sisters. At the end of the day, it was all down to me, despite my tender age. As my May birthday approached, the load seemed to be getting heavier. That was the last time Bea and I discussed the issues at length and the last few weeks to my birthday raced by. In no time at all, the day arrived and with it the night.
Needless to say, Melanie was on tenterhooks that day. Apart from the birthday celebrations and the attendant fun in our study, Melanie had the night to look forward to. At lights out she was positively bubbling with anticipation and the other girls were also bursting with excitement. Our secret agreement to ‘pop my cherry’ on my fourteenth birthday’ had somehow leaked out amongst my friends. Fortunately, they had the tact and sense to keep it a secret within our study. The last thing any of us wanted was a crowd of sensationalists crowding into our dorm. My heart was thumping with fear as I finally crawled into my bed. It was not long before Melanie appeared in my cubicle and slipped into bed beside me.
“Hello gorgeous,” she whispered, “are your ready?”
“Not really,” I replied as the tremor in my voice betrayed my fears.
“There’s no need to be frightened. I won’t hurt you.” Reassured Melanie.
“Promise you wont be angry if you’re upset by my condition.” I begged in as soft a whisper as my fear would allow.
“So what is your ‘condition?” Queried Mel as she gently embraced me and kissed me passionately.
“Promise you won’t be angry or upset,” I begged more forcefully.
“Oh all right then. I won’t scream or anything. Now come on, slip out of your all-in-one.”
“Like you’ll show me yours if I show you mine,” I giggled.
For an answer, Melanie slipped her baby-doll over her shoulders and lay beside me with only her briefest panties offering the minimum of protection. I hesitated for a moment then slowly loosened the ribbon ties of my sleep-suit and slowly peeled it down my body.
“Don’t be angry,” I beseeched her one last time, “I’m a bit odd down there so don’t rush me.”
“Oh come on darling. Stop messing about, you promised me this on your birthday. Of course I won’t be angry.”
I squirmed a bit more and finally slipped my all-in-one down over my ankles and kicked it down to the bottom of my bed. Now came the crunch. I gently grasped Melanie’s fingers and slowly led them onto the front panel of my support panties. Melanie sighed softly.
“Well at last! I finally get to first base. Are you going to take them off or what?”
I hesitated for a few moments but Melanie was being patient. She had waited for nearly two years so a few more minutes was not going to make any difference. She giggled softly and gently fingered the lower part of my support, control panties.
“Mmm. Yours seems softer and squidgier than the other girls. Is that why you’ve been so frightened?”
“Yes.” I replied. “I’m a bit different from other girls.”
“Well come on then darling. We’re all different one way or another. Shall I take them off?”
“No. I’ll do it.”
So saying, I slowly slipped my thumbs inside my waistband and tugged hard to draw the panties over my hips and down my legs.
As I bent my knees, I slipped the panties off my feet and slipped them between the wall and my mattress. Then I finally straightened my legs again and hesitated nervously.
“Come on then, what are we waiting for?”
“I said don’t rush me. I’m nervous.
So saying. I caught Melanie’s exploratory fingers and restrained them briefly before slowly leading Melanie’s hand towards my sex. My fear prevented my boy clitty from responding at first and Melanie’s fingers groped uncertainly as she failed to recognise my folded boy-clitty nestling backwards between my thighs.
For several moments she fingered my ‘boy-clitty’ then mumbled her confusion.
“Your clitty,” she whispered. It’s sort of bigger and squidgey than the others.”
“That’s because it is bigger and squidgier than the others.” I replied. “Here give me your hand again.”
As I lay on my back I gently teased my boy-clitty from my crotch and gently placed Melanie’s curious fingers around it.
“Gosh!” She gasped. It is big isn’t it?”
“Your not upset are you?” I begged.
“No. It must be weird having such a big clitty. Can I see it?”
“Not yet. I’m a bit sensitive about it.”
“Does it go like a nubbin when you’re horny?” Persisted Melanie.
“Do you want to see,” I giggled as I felt myself stirring.
“You bet,” giggled Mel as her fingers sensed the first stiffening of the shaft.
I gently humped against her fingers and she squeaked.
“Heck. It is getting bigger. It must be like a boy’s thing. Is that why you’ve been so afraid?”
“Yes.” I replied. “It gets so big, it’s embarrassing and it tents my knickers.”
Melanie’s fingers adjusted as my boy-clitty grew and she gasped softly.
“Please can I look at it?”
“I’d rather not. Not just yet anyway, you can look at her another time. I still feel embarrassed by her.”
“Her?”
“Well that’s how I describe her. She’s my best friend but she could get me into trouble if the other girls saw her.”
Melanie squeezed and fingered my stiffening clitty and gasped again.
“Gosh Martie! It’s huge. It’s like a boys thing. It, - it comes up your belly!”
“That’s why I’ve been so afraid. Think what the other girls would say. I just couldn’t bear it.”
Melanie’s fingers squeezed and fingered my boy clitty then she started to explore underneath. I immediately restrained her fingers again.
“No. Not down there. Not yet. I’m not ready. You might break my hymen or something.”
Melanie gave a soft sigh of disappointment but she proved to be a good friend. She respected my wishes and accepted my fears so her fingers returned to my strange super-sized clitty.
As she gently squeezed and stroked my friend, I felt my juices beginning to boil. I knew she would immediately realise my giant clitty was actually a cockette if I ejaculated so I gently removed her fingers and gasped as I half turned away. Fortunately my box of tissues was handy down my side of the mattress against the wall and I skilfully plucked a handful to make a pad. As my orgasm started to explode, I let out a whimper of delight and humped urgently. Melanie recognised my climax and squeezed my soft rounded butt close to her tummy as I gasped and panted. My orgasm was of course, quick and explosive, but I managed to keep hold of my wits and made pretence of a longer climax, just as Melanie would have had.
Eventually, I recovered my senses and deftly tucked the tissue pad down the side of the mattress. Then I struggled to pull my panties back on and tucked my boy clitty backwards before I half turned again to Melanie. I then made a show of selecting more tissues and probing down my panties in pretence of wiping my juices from my pussy. Melanie giggled softly.
“Are you a juicy Lucy too?”
I nodded as I leant across her and flicked the second tissue into my waste bin.
“I’ll put it down the pan later,” I declared, “now d’you want me to see to you?”
“Mmmm, yes please, but I’m not shy. You can look if you want.”
“D’you want me to, - you know, - tongue you down there.”
“No, just your fingers, I’m horny enough.”
I followed Melanie’s request and commenced gently fingering her stiff little bud. She humped urgently against my fingers and occasionally directed my hand as she ‘used’ me for her own ends. Eventually, she let out a long low moan and wrapped her legs around mine as she humped my thigh. I felt her juices flowing against me and gathered the towel that Melanie had thoughtfully brought. Without disturbing her rhythm, I gently tucked the towel underneath us and saved my sheets from Melanie’s juices.
Finally, Melanie arched her back and groaned as her body achieved her desired aim. I squeezed her tight until her needs subsided then we stroked each other’s breasts as we chatted softly.
“You’re still very shy, aren’t you?” Whispered Mel.
“Yes,” I replied softly, “just give me time. I look like a boy down there, that’s why I was frightened.”
“How big does it get?” She pressed.
“Nearly to my tummy button.”
“Gosh. That’s weird. You could use it like a boy.”
“That’s why I’m embarrassed by it.”
“There’s no need to be. You can’t help being made differently.”
“You’re only saying that to please me. I don’t think the others would think like that.”
“Well being gay means I’m more tolerant, because I’m made differently as well, - inside here.”
Melanie tapped her head and I nodded sagely.
“Yeah. I sighed. You’re like a boy in your head, and I’m like a boy in my knickers. We’re a right pair aren’t we?”
Melanie giggled again then inveigled her legs between mine and hugged me eagerly. I gently wrapped an arm around her waist and snuggled up close as we kissed passionately. Then we spooned ourselves together and fell asleep.
In the morning neither of us heard Gertrude, Daisy and Lucinda leaving early for the Shakespearean play. Beatrice found us still sleeping and she tapped me softly on the shoulder. I stirred and yawned as Beatrice loomed over me. Melanie was still asleep.
“How was it?” She whispered to me.
I turned and mouthed silently. ‘She doesn’t know yet.’
Beatrice’s brow furrowed with confusion and she stood back uncertainly. By now Melanie was awake and turned to grin as she found Beatrice looking over us. Beatrice was fully cognisant of Melanie’s sexuality and Melanie felt no qualms about being found in my bed by Beatrice. Beatrice was however, still a bit confused by my silent declaration so she took the lead.
“Can I speak to my sister for a moment, Mel? There’s something I need to discuss.”
“What’s it about?” Asked Mel.
“Oh it’s family stuff. There’s a birthday coming up.”
Melanie took Bea at her word and took her cue to slip into the shower. The moment her back was turned, Beatrice pitched into me.
“What d’you mean, she doesn’t know? Didn’t you do it?”
“Not all the way.” I replied.
“Did you do anything?”
“Well. Yes. She felt my stiffy.”
“What! You mean she got her hands on it?”
“Yes.”
“So what else?”
“Not a lot. I turned away and shot my load into a tissue pad. Mel just accepts that I’m shy and nervous.”
“But, - surely she recognised it.”
“I don’t think so. She just thinks I’ve got a sort of deformed clitty and that’s why I’ve always been shy about it. When
I asked her to stop, she just stopped and went no further. She’s awfully kind and considerate.”
“So what about the next time, when she wants to go further?”
“I’ll take it slowly.”
“But she’s got to know.” Charged Beatrice. “If she find’s out the wrong way, she could be really angry or feel hurt.”
“So what’s the ‘wrong way’?”
“Well, - I don’t know.
“Do you think I should just come right out and tell her?”
“I don’t know. How should I know?”
“I could join her in the shower now and let her see her.”
“Her?” Wondered Beatrice aloud. “Who’s ‘her?”
“My boy clitty, my cock.” I replied.
“Why d’you call it her?”
“It makes me feel more feminine in here.”
I tapped my head and Beatrice smiled before rolling her eyes.
“Oh Martie! You’re incorrigible. Her indeed! Fancy calling a cock her!”
“So. What’s in a name? Now. Do you think I should join her in there?”
“I’d better come into the bathroom with you. I’ll wait outside the shower cubicle in case she throws a wobbler.”
“I don’t think she’ll be that upset. She’s really curious about she-males anyway.”
“There’s a huge difference between looking at one in a magazine and sharing a shower with one.” Cautioned Bea.
“Well. Now’s our best chance, while the others are away
With the other three roommates away we could spend all Sunday in the shower if we wanted. We had plenty of time to resolve any issues. I was still nervous though and tapped hesitantly on the shower door.
“Who’s there,” answered Melanie boldly.
“It’s me, Martie. Can I join you?”
There was a soft gasp of obvious anticipation then the door opened a bit and Mel peered out.
“What! You want to join me in here?” She asked.
“Please. I think it would be nice to go a little bit further.”
“Well be my guest darling!” Squealed Melanie as the door opened to reveal her full frontal nudity and a huge smile.
“Turn around and don’t peep.” I begged.
She turned obediently, for she obvious recognised my shyness. I un-tucked the large bath towel from around my fulsome breasts and slipped in behind her. She felt my rounded globes press into her back and she shuddered with anticipation. I gently reached around her soapy body and ran my hands up and down her front before gently cupping her nipples. Already they were stiffening.
“Is this nice?” I whispered.
“Mmmmm, yes,” whispered Melanie hoarsely as her needs began to stir. She squirmed her soft rounded rump against me and my nipples stiffed urgently. Melanie recognised the familiar ‘prodding’ of my two bullet stiff nipples and she giggled.
“Mmmm. You’re horny too.”
For an answer I gently turned her to face me then slowly guided her hand down to my boy-clitty. She felt the soft squidgey tube of flesh and fingered it eagerly as she felt it slowly stiffening. However, we were pressed so close together, that our tits blocked any view and her head simply rested against my shoulder as her fingers busied themselves.
“Mmmmm it’s growing again. It feels really strange!”
Then I felt her stiffen slightly as my boy-clitty gently grew to it’s full, erect potential. I was not sure what her silence signalled.
‘Was she nervous’ I asked myself. ‘Was she frightened, was she angry?’
I felt her fingers squeezing and testing my boy-clitty until she pulled slightly away from me and looked into my eyes.
“It feels really nice, kind of stiff and velvety. Can I look at it?” She pleaded softly.
“Promise me you’ll not be upset.” I begged.
For an answer, she kissed me hungrily on the lips and pressed the soft curve of her tummy against my boy-clitty. I could not resist ‘humping’ gently against her tummy and she sighed happily.
“Could you use that like a boy’s cock?” She asked.
“Probably,” I replied, “though I’ve always been too scared. Other girls would be horrified. Promise me you won’t be angry.”
“Mmmm. OK then. Now can I see it?”
Nervously I separated from her embrace and made enough space between us for Melanie to look down. Her gaze lowered to her hands and she slowly lowered herself to he knees.
“Gosh! It’s just like a boy’s cock. How did it grow like that?”
I hesitated again before finally plucking up the courage.
“It, - it uuuhhm, - it is a cock.”
Melanie froze for a moment then her fingers busied themselves as she studied the erection closely. Her eyes and fingers finally buried themselves under the root of my newfound delight and she squealed as her hands cupped my little pink scrotum. Curious fingers tested my testicles and I flinched nervously. Finally Melanie recovered her wits as the whole truth hit her.
“Eeek! It is! It is a cock!”
Melanie stood up again and stared excitedly into my eyes.
“Promise me it is a cock. It is isn’t it?”
I sagged with relief. Melanie did not appear to be angry.
“Yes. It is. You’re not upset are you?”
“Angry! No! Shocked, well, - yes. How long have you been living as a girl?”
“Since I was about six or seven.”
“Golly! Does Beatrice know?”
A ‘Yes’ came a voice from outside the shower cubicle as Beatrice answered the question for me.
Melanie squealed and flung open the shower door to reveal our intimate embrace to Bea. Beatrice’s huge grin conveyed her relief that Melanie did not appear to be angry or disgusted.
“How long have you known?” Squealed Melanie.
“I’ve always known, since before Martie became a boy-girl.”
“You mean a she-male.” Corrected Melanie.
“Well. Yes, but we’ve always thought of her as a girl. Her little secret is a very special family thing.”
“So nobody else knows.” Checked Melanie.
“Well, - Chenille and Jennifer know, and our mummies.”
“What about the teachers?” Pressed Mel.
“Miss Frobisher knows, and Mrs Warburton, the matron. Oh! And Miss Smith the riding instructor knows and the gym mistresses, in case there is an accident or something.”
“So none of the other girls know.” Demanded Melanie.
“No,” I replied. “Now, shall we have a shower?”
“What! All three of us?” Squeaked Melanie.
I hadn’t meant ‘all three of us, but the idea pleased me and the cubicle was big enough.
“If you like,” I replied, “but I was thinking just you and me, you know-.”
I gently humped my eager boy-clitty against her tummy again and Melanie gasped as her needs overtook her embarrassment. Then she froze again.
“Wait! Does it, - Does it you know, does it work? Can it make me pregnant?”
“Uuuh. No.” Replied Beatrice firmly. Martie’s had a vasectomy.”
“Ah! You poor thing! So you’ll never be a daddy.” Soothed Melanie.
“Oh it’s not that serious,” replied Bea, “Doctor Jamie says it can easily be reversed. Her tubes haven’t even been cut, just blocked.”
Melanie looked up into my eyes again and smiled happily.
“So I’ve got my very own female she-male.”
“Only if you keep it a secret,” I cautioned. “Miss Frobisher will have to expel me if there’s ever any scandal. She had one hell of a job persuading the governors that I look like a girl, walk like a girl and talk like a girl.”
Melanie grinned again.
“The duck thing again. I think I’ll call you Ducky from now on.”
Beatrice let out a snort of amusement at the ‘theatrical lovies’ term of endearment.
“Oh that’s good Melanie. Ducky. Yes, that really suit’s her.”
I was too horny to care what they called me. My boy-clitty was now bursting for relief and I groaned softly before Melanie grasped the situation.
“Oh Gosh. Just look at you, all horned up and nowhere to go.”
“I know where I’d like to go,” I gasped as I humped inquisitively against Melanie’s delightfully soft smooth tummy.
Melanie let out a giggle then sighed happily.
“Come on then. Let’s get dried and do it in bed. I’ll be more comfortable there. D’you want to come Bea?”
“What,” squeaked Bea, “and just watch, you mean.”
“You can join us if you want.”
Beatrice looked at me.
“Would you want that Martie; all three of us together?”
For a moment I was dumbstruck. ‘Surely Bea would not want to make a threesome!’ I thought. Then I thought back. Chenille, Jenny, Beatrice and I had all slept together in our ‘all-in-ones’ nearly every night of our lives back at the cottage. Doing it naked was just the next logical step.
“Do you really want to?” I asked her.
“I’ve always wondered what you’d be like without your sleep-suit and control panties.” Declared Bea boldly. “Yes, I’d love to try you out.”
“Well this is just the most perfect weekend.” Declared Melanie, “Gerty, Daisy and Lucinda will be away till Sunday at the play in Stratford on Avon.”
We all giggled excitedly as Mel and I dried off. Then we bundled into Beatrice’s cubicle. It was the best one for sharing a bed because her bunk had an extra wide shelf by the old outer stonewall from the days when the long draughty dormitories had been altered to make smaller six bed study units. Bea had the smallest window but a wider bed.
This chapter describes Melanie's final discovery of Martina's true nature and then relates the exciting times they had sharing their bodies menage a trois with Beatrice.
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Martina’s Story
Chapter 4
List of Characters.
Myself. Martina, A sexually dysphoric child whose sexuality has not yet been ascertained but who chooses to present as a girl
Beverly. My adoptive ‘aunt’ who is a mature shemale and my most supportive adult friend.
Chenille. My older half sister.
Jennifer. Aunt Beverly’s adopted daughter.
Beatrice. Aunt Beverly’s second adopted daughter and Jennifer’s younger sister.
Sian. My lesbian mother who is married to —
Margaret. Who is Chenille’s lesbian mother.
Sissy. My and Chenille’s transvestite shemale father.
Sandie. My doctor, psychiatrist and sexual counsellor.
Judge Elizabeth Porter. The judge who ruled that I should be allowed to live and dress as a girl.
Angela Hunt. Jennifer and Beatrice’s natural blood mother who is now married to Aunt Beverly who
is a shemale.
Countess Wemite’ Sian’s old School Chum
Peter. Countess Wemite’s son & Melanie’s older brother
Melanie. Baroness Wemite’s daughter and my best school friend.
Rosemary & Monika. Two bullies in the junior school.
Lucinda. A previous victim of the two bullies and our fourth study mate.
Gertrude & Daisy. Our other two remaining study mates.
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I never realised just how forward and eager real girls could be when there was the promise of real heterosexual sex without any of the attendant risks or boyish threats. Beatrice knew that I was vasectomised and sterile and she knew from long years of intimacy that there was no risk of any disease.
“We’ll be able to do it ‘bareback’!” She told Melanie Happily. “Martie’s sterile and clean!”
“And all soft and girlie with lovely tits,” added Mel as she gently cupped my breasts and brushed my stiff nipples.
They hugged each other ecstatically then dragged me between them into Beatrice’s bunk.
“Who’s going first?” I whispered.
Beatrice and Melanie looked at each other and smiled.
“You’d better go first,” offered Bea, “you’ve tried stuff up there before. I’m still a virgin.”
Melanie giggled and squirmed eagerly as she seized the opportunity. Without further ado, she climbed onto me and spread her thighs apart. I was slightly surprised. I had always thought that girls needed foreplay to get them ‘ready’ but Melanie was already ‘prepared’. I gently humped my rigid boy-clitty against her sex and felt the slipperyness of her receptive love lips.
“Do it!” Gasped Melanie urgently. “Do it now!”
“Be gentle though,” whispered Beatrice in my ear. “Go slowly at first.”
This confused me slightly. Here was Melanie urging me to act quickly whilst Beatrice was urging caution. In the end I took Beatrice’s advice and gently probed at the slippery entrance to Melanie’s core. For an answer, Melanie squeaked her impatience and thrust her tummy hard down. My boy-clitty suddenly slipped without any resistance deep into Melanie’s tight, warm, wet sex.
“Oh!” I squeaked with surprise before realising just what a delightful sensation it was. “Oh-ooow, aaahh. Mmm! That’s lovely.” I sighed as the wet velvety scabbard enveloped my boy-clitty.
“Of course it’s nice!” Rasped Melanie as the frustration cracked her voice. “Now ge, - get on with it. Faster!”
Always happy to please my friend, I started humping very slowly so as not to hurt her. This was what I had read in all the sex books and magazines but Melanie was no ordinary girl. Her needs were desperate and I wasn’t moving quickly enough.
”Dammit!” She cursed, “This is not good enough. You get on top!”
Without any consultation she squirmed and twisted so as to spin us around without missing a beat. We never even separated and within moments I found myself on top. Melanie then spread her thighs wider, brought up her knees and jammed her heels into my butt.
I responded uncertainly for I was still afraid of hurting her but my needs were also gathering their own momentum.
“Come on!” She groaned feverishly. “Harder. Drive that thing of yours hard against my clitty!”
With every stroke, she drove her heels into my butt and urged more speed. I glanced uncertainly at Beatrice who was mesmerised by Melanie’s demands. It was obvious to Bea that Melanie was an exceptionally horny tigress. Bea finally caught my beseeching gaze then nodded as she pressed her own hands against my butt and urged me on like a jockey driving a horse.
This was all I needed and I fell into Melanie’s furious rhythm as she squealed and grunted her way to one of the most explosive orgasms I had ever seen. Indeed, she was so noisy, Beatrice and I were afraid it might alert girls in the other dorms. To silence her I tried pressing my lips to Melanie’s, but she was having none of it. Her raucous gasps and wails of delight would not be silenced. Beatrice and I were terrified of the authoritative knock on the study door. Fortunately it never came and as Melanie thrashed though a spectacular prolonged orgasm, I exploded in my own frenzied release.
My pleasure subsided as quickly as it came but Mel’s followed the traditional girlie pattern. Slowly, ever so slowly, Melanie’s urgent humping subsided until she lay satiated as a heaving whimpering lump of shuddering flesh.
Finally she opened her eyes and smiled greedily.
“Ooooh! That was sooo good. “Did you come?”
“Yes, of course.” I whispered. “Didn’t you even notice?
“I, - I was too far gone to notice.”
“Yeah, that’s the truth,” giggled Beatrice. “Now it’s my turn but Martie’s going soft.”
I felt a little guilty that I had allowed my lust to overwhelm my obligations. I felt my boy-clitty and it had indeed gone soft.
“Heck! I’m sorry. I’ve got to do Bea as well. I sort of lost control,” I apologised
Melanie giggled and wriggled to demonstrate her satisfaction.
“Mmmm. You were just gorgeous Ducky. But I know what gets you horny again.”
Gently, Melanie brushed her knowledgeable thumbs across my still rigid engorged nipples and I gasped again.
“Oh! Oo-oh! Oh you minx! You know that gets me going!”
Even as I gasped and squirmed, my boy-clitty started to re-arm and Beatrice’s eyes widened with anticipation. Melanie gently grasped my growing boy clitty and smiled.
“Come on Bea, your turn.”
So saying, Melanie pushed me off her then grabbed some tissues and wiped herself before Inviting Bea to take her place.
“Just try her,” offered Melanie, “she’s delicious!”
Beatrice needed little inducement but she was nervous. She searched my eyes beseechingly and pleaded.
“You won’t be rough with me will you? I’m a virgin.”
“D’you really want to do it?” I asked. “You don’t have to do it. If you want to save yourself for your honeymoon, we don’t have to do it.”
Beatrice smiled softly and leaned forward to kiss my lips.
“No, let’s do it. I want to do it but I’ve never been breached. I’ve always hoped it would be
you. This is what I always hoped for. Promise me you’ll stop though, if you’re hurting me.”
“Of course I will.”
Having extracted my promise, Beatrice slid under me then spread her legs as she had seen Melanie do. I gently probed her sex and determined that she was still not ready.
“I need to get you horny,” I whispered, “you’re not slippery enough.”
“She’s still nervous.” Declared Melanie. “D’you want me to get her horny?”
I looked Bea in the eyes and she nodded slightly.
“Mel knows best. She knows what gets me going.”
Obediently, I rolled aside and lay with my leg draped over Beatrice’s thighs as Melanie’s knowledgeable fingers played Beatrice’s libido towards its crescendo. Soon, Beatrice was grunting and humping eagerly and I gently ‘tested’ her love-lips with my own fingers. Beatrice was dripping honey and I knew her to be ready. Gently, I slid over her and inveigled myself between her thighs as Melanie relinquished her preparations. Then Melanie decided she wanted to take control. Deftly she wrapped her fingers around my swollen boy-clitty and guided it towards the swollen petals of Beatrice’s greedy sex. Beatrice squeaked as Melanie hit a ‘bull’s-eye’ and presented my rock hard shaft to the very portals of her core.
“Ooh! That’s nice, play with me a bit, just there, - yes! That’s it! Oooh, your cockette is just so velvety.”
Beatrice’s curious hand reached between us and gently fingered the soft slippery bell of my boy-clitty and she giggled impishly. Then she turned to Melanie.
“Brush the glans of Martie’s boy-clitty against my girly clitty.”
Melanie duly obliged and I gasped with delight as my sensitive bell fetched up against the stiff slippery nubbin of Bea’s erected clitty.
“Is that nice?” Asked Melanie to no one in particular.
Bea and I both gasped ‘Yes’ in exact synchrony and Melanie giggled as she orchestrated our virginal union.
“What does it feel like?” She asked, again to nobody in particular.
For me it was delicious frustration as I humped eagerly to try and frot my hypersensitive fraenum against the deliciously stiff little nubbin of Beatrice’s delightful sex. Beatrice however, contrarily jerked her pubis furiously to try and amplify the frenzied waves of pleasure already rippling from her sex and up into her whole being.
Melanie was now playing us like two parts of an orchestra as she conducted point and counterpoint to produce a frenzied harmonic through both our bodies.
Firstly Mel played us fortissimo as we plunged and struggled to assuage our frustrations, but then Melanie changed slowly to pianissimo as she gently brought my boy-clitty to the very portals of Beatrice’s maw and slowly allowed it to feed delicately into Beatrice’s virginal scabbard. Melanie let out a long guttural groan of satiation and slowed her tempo as she realised that violent activity would impale her on my rigid organ and she could hurt herself if her hymen membrane ripped too violently. Then she felt my velvety bell fetch up against her hymen and she froze with fear.
“Oooh. Ow! Be careful now, I can feel your thing against my cherry,” pleaded Beatrice.
I had also felt the obstruction in her scabbard and stopped immediately, solicitous of her fears.
“Are you OK?” I whispered.
“I, - I think so. I can feel you against my cherry. Take it easy.”
I lay still for several seconds then carefully eased my desperately eager boy-clitty against the resistant membrane. Beatrice let out a tight little nervous gasp and twitched experimentally as we both felt the membrane begin to stretch.
“Let me do it,” demanded Bea, “if I break it I’ll have more control.”
Obediently, I lay still and Beatrice carefully adjusted her hips as she slowly pushed down on my rigid organ. We both gasped as we felt the first little tear and her membrane slid over my velvety bell. I felt the tissue stretch around the base of my bell and smiled as Beatrice squeaked.
“Is it hurting?” I whispered.
“No. It’s not as bad as I thought it would be. Can you feel anything?”
“I think it’s popped,” I replied, “I can feel it around my cockette.”
Beatrice giggled and carefully wrapped her arms around my back as she slowly pushed down some more. I felt the membrane rippling down my shaft and squirmed a little as it tantalised the sensitive flesh. Beatrice squeaked again then gasped as she finally pushed down one last time to bring her girl clitty hard up against the base of my boy-clitty.
“I think you’re all the way in.” She giggled.
“She is!” Agreed Melanie matter-of-factly.
I humped gently and felt my pubis fetch up against Beatrice’s pubis. Beatrice gasped with pleasure and ground her clitty against me in a feverish circular motion. Her gyrations confirmed that whatever inhibitions Beatrice had once had about the pain of losing her virginity, were rapidly evaporating in the intense heat of her burgeoning lust.
By now Melanie had relinquished control of our union but she gasped as she recognised virginal blood on her fingers.
“Heck! I’d better get a towel!”
Ever the thoughtful considerate friend, Melanie slipped out of the bunk and seized one of her own red towels from her cubicle. She returned to quickly feed it under Beatrice’s bouncing, squirming bum.
“Thanks,” gasped Beatrice as her inhibitions were freed again and she resumed humping with total abandon.
Melanie then squeezed in beside us again and savoured the delightful pleasures of frotting her own cunny against Beatrice and I as we eagerly achieved the heights of nirvarna. Beatrice however, was having none of the urgent dash towards orgasm that had been Melanie’s forte. Better for her the long slow climb to be savoured in every nuance and sensation. Despite it being her first coupling, Beatrice was determined to get as much pleasure as possible from our union.
Fortunately, my earlier orgasm with Melanie enabled me to keep better control of my urges. I was able to play Beatrice like a cello, fortissimo as opposed to my earlier union with Melanie, which was like a violin and pizzicato.
Finally Beatrice’s pleasures burst forth and she cried out with delight as her heels drummed on my soft rounded bum. Her release gave me added impetus for I no longer had to constrain my own urges. I released my inhibitions and joined her in the final consummation of our friendship. Beatrice, Melanie and I had finally become lovers.
For the rest of that morning, we lay entangled together as we whispered our secrets and shared our fears and fantasies. No more inhibitions or unshared secrets for us we concluded, for our pact of friendship had been sealed by the most wonderful of all intimacies.
Reluctantly we clambered out of bed as the school clock struck a sonorous eleven, and then we tantalised each other as we dressed for lunch. Later that Saturday, we went into town and bought each other identical rings to seal our pact. For the rest of our lives, we each wore two rings on our wedding fingers to confirm our loyalties. We never needed a formal marriage ceremony and indeed, we could not have one if we wished to project our true feelings and loyalties, for the laws of Britain dictate that a legal union can only exist between two people, and we were three. But I digress a little. It is of our school days that I write. More later of our adult years.
For the rest of that school year there were no further developments. Our study partners accepted that we were intimate, for indeed, most girls experimented with their friends, as they grew older. It was the only option open to them in a single sex boarding school. Again, most girls then moved on to find boyfriends and husbands in their adult life but we remained special. After all, Melanie and Beatrice had already found the most delightful ‘husband’ in me and without the usual downsides. We each had two partners who could indulge their pleasures in the bedroom and yet also enjoy ourselves in the shops as we shared every girlie pleasure but one. Sadly, I could never have babies. But then, neither could they unless I fathered them or they betrayed our pact.
That summer, Aunty Beverly organised a trip to Spain on one of her ships. We spent the six weeks touring Spain together with Chenille and Jennifer. It was on this vacation that our older sisters, Jenny and Chenny realised we three were an item. They admitted that they were happy for us but they were more interested in boys. More of interest to us three was the Spanish lifestyle.
Despite the introduction of European working hours, the Spanish still enjoy something of a Siesta during the heat of the afternoon. To compensate for this, they tend to keep later hours. They often dine much later than their north European counterparts and they eat out as a family, bambinos and all. We found this late hour culture much to our liking in the hot Spanish summer because we could spend the afternoons ménage a trios in the air conditioned cool of the hotel whilst promenading the streets during the later evenings.
Naturally, our ‘mummies’ accompanied us but being lesbians and she-males themselves, they have a much more liberal approach to alternative lifestyles. They usually spent their evenings dining in the pavement café’s in the gay areas of the towns. We as children of course, would dine with them, but after the meal, as teen-aged girls, we were allowed to promenade whilst they chatted and socialised with other diners. It meant we were allowed to mingle amongst the crowds of other promenaders
In the gay areas, we mingled amongst gay promenaders and our young eyes widened with excitement when we recognised an obvious transvestite or transsexual amongst the gay couples.
“Look at that one!" Gasped Beatrice. "She should give up! She’s got a five o’clock shadow and look at the backs of her calves! They look as though they’ve been cut with a chisel.”
“Aren’t you glad you started hormones early Martie?” Giggled Melanie as we watched the transvestite pick her dainty way along the street.
“Don’t make fun of her,” I scolded,” she’s quite old and things were different when she was young, especially under Franco. Spain’s come a long way. I think this whole thing is fabulous. Everybody free to do his or her own thing. That poor girl must have lived a life of hell under Franco when she was growing up and desperate to live as she wished.”
Beatrice and Melanie nodded thoughtfully
and we resumed our promenading. We received many admiring glances for we were after all, three very pretty young teenaged girls. Despite the lustful stares we never felt threatened. Those crowded late evening promenades were fabulous. Often we saw Chenille and Jennifer chatting to boys and sometimes we joined up with them. The boys showed huge interest in us at first but, because it was a gay area, they eventually accepted that we three were ‘a gay item’.
Nevertheless, it was hard for the Spanish boys to hide their lustful appreciation. The glint in their eyes and the typical bumbling attempts to impress us with acts of bravado and immature efforts to win our favours betrayed their hopes. We appreciated their efforts and showed it, because Spanish boys can be quite macho, but we had to let them down gently when their aspirations were frustrated. However despite our appreciations, they did not gain our favours. As for our older sisters Jenny and Chenny, I cannot say. They stayed out later than us and went clubbing.
Because we were only fourteen, our mummies required us to be back with them at the pavement restaurant every evening by midnight. Nevertheless, we enjoyed the holiday and it gave us the confidence to pursue our own lifestyles into adulthood. We returned home from Spain well prepared for the next year at St Angela’s.
This chapter describes how Lucinda discovers Martina's secret and how she exploits the situation.
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Martina’s Story.
Chapter 5.
Myself. Martina, A sexually dysphoric child whose sexuality has not
yet been ascertained but who chooses to present as a girl.
Beverly. My adoptive ‘aunt’ who is a mature shemale and my most supportive adult friend.
Chenille. My older half sister.
Jennifer. Aunt Beverly’s adopted daughter.
Beatrice. Aunt Beverly’s second adopted daughter and Jennifer’s younger sister.
Sian. My lesbian mother who is married to —
Margaret. Who is Chenille’s lesbian mother.
Sissy. My and Chenille’s transvestite shemale father.
Sandie. My doctor, psychiatrist and sexual counsellor.
Judge Elizabeth Porter. The judge who ruled that I should be allowed to live and dress as a girl.
Angela Hunt. Jennifer and Beatrice’s natural blood mother who is now married to Aunt Beverly who is a shemale.
Baroness Wemite’ Sian’s old School Chum
Peter. Baroness Wemite’s son & Melanie’s older brother
Melanie. Baroness Wemite’s daughter and my best school friend.
Rosemary & Monika. Two bullies in the junior school.
Lucinda. A previous victim of the two bullies and our fourth study mate.
Charlotte & Betty. Our other two remaining study mates.
Our return to St Angela’s School marked our ascent into the fourth form middle school. This meant we now only shared a four-bedded study.
Charlotte and Betty were reluctant to be separated from us but we all had the good fortune to be allotted to the same floor in the dormitory block. Two of our mutual classmates had joined them and it meant we remained close neighbours as they occupied the four-bed roomed study next door to us.
We were also pleased that Lucinda had chosen to stay with us. Lucinda was a popular girl and several other fourth-formers had asked her to join them to make up a foursome but she had chosen to stay with us.
She explained to us.
“I like your company. You befriended me when I was a new girl and saved me from being bullied. That proves your supportive nature. I know you’re three gay lezzies, but if you accept that I’m straight, then I’ll respect your relationships.”
“What would you do if other girls accuse you of being a lezzy because you chose to live with us?” Asked Melanie.
“Say what they like. I know what I am. I don’t have to prove anything. Besides, you know full well that your brother Peter is interested in me, ever since we met at sports day.”
Melanie nodded. During sports day, Peter had come with Countess Wemite who was to present the cups. As soon as Melanie’s brother Peter had spotted the stunningly beautiful Lucinda in her athletics strip, he had fallen for her hook line and sinker. He had pestered Melanie to get Lucinda’s mobile phone number. Lucinda was much attracted to Peter and was more than keen to let Melanie give her brother the number. During the holidays when Melanie was with us in Spain, Lucinda had several times visited the Wemite family at the Wemite house and Countess Wemite deemed her a perfect match for her son Peter.
You might laugh at this formality, but the upper classes still choose to marry amongst themselves. Lucinda came from ‘good county stock’ and the Earl of Wemite knew her family indirectly through the ‘upper class’ network.
To add jam to the top of the cake, she was a superb athlete, an excellent scholar and a stunning beauty. Lucinda had it all.
Peter for his part, stood to inherit his father’s title and the huge Wemite estate. The fact that they hit it off only reinforced the conclusion that they were a match made in Heaven. Yes, Lucinda was more than happy to share her study with her hoped for future sister in Law, Melanie, even if Melanie was gay.
So we began our time in the middle school at St Angies and it proved to be an idyllic year. It seemed to we three that life could only get better. Towards the end of that year there was a brief panic when Lucinda finally learned of my secret.
It was really my own stupid fault but Melanie and Beatrice were also partly to blame. We had become a bit too casual about hiding my secret bits inside my knickers and we three were chatting casually one evening as we discussed a history essay. I had sprouted an erection and we were laughing noisily as Melanie kept trying to tease it. The four bed roomed studies were somewhat roomier than the six roomed ones and with all our noisy fun, we failed to hear Lucinda returning unexpectedly from a hockey practice. A thunderstorm had interrupted her practice and they had finished early.
As the rain lashed the windows and the thunder crashed, I was sitting with one knee up on the chair and my other thigh spread wide as my boy-clitty tented my regulation school knickers. Mel and Bea had taken this as an invitation to start some fun. Unfortunately, Melanie and Beatrice had their backs to the door and failed to notice Lucinda’s arrival.
They were giggling precociously as I feebly resisted their efforts and they finally managed to tug down my waistband to expose my glorious erection. It was at this unfortunate moment that Lucinda entered. The crash of the thunder had drowned out the noise of our front door as Lucinda rushed in to shower and then dry off. She arrived suddenly and unexpectedly as she stepped into the study and threw her hockey equipment into the corner. I froze for a moment then struggled to remove Melanie’s busy fingers from the waistband of my knickers. She and Beatrice easily prevented my efforts and I was stuck struggling with my knickers around my bum, and my erected boy-clitty sprouting from my loins. I was totally exposed to Lucinda’s shocked stare.
It was only when Lucinda finally released a shocked squeal that Melanie and Beatrice realised we had company.
“Oh my God!” Gasped Lucinda.
Melanie and Beatrice froze for an instant with shock as I finally managed to tug my knickers back up around my waist. However, there was still no hiding my raging hard-on.
“How long have you had that?” Squawked a Stunned Lucinda.
Ever the sharp wit, Melanie laughed and replied.
“Oh she’s only been horny about ten minutes.”
“Don’t be bloody facetious!” Snapped Lucinda as she stepped forward to peer at the tent in the front of my knickers.
I was still too shocked to reply and Lucinda hesitated for a moment. She was not sure if what she had briefly glanced was real or not.
“Is it a real one, or one of Melanie’s kinky toys?” She Demanded.
Melanie still seemed not to be put out.
“Why don’t you find out for yourself!” She challenged as she simultaneously grabbed my knickers again and yanked them down. Her swift unexpected action immediately revealed my swollen boy-clitty again and Lucinda frowned, as her eyes seemed glued to my organ.
“Oh my God! It is real, isn’t it?”
“Yes.” I croaked softly as my voice cracked with fear.
“You mean, you’re a boy, a boy like, - like those she-males in Melanie’s magazines.
“Yes.” I repeated without attempting an explanation or a plea fro leniency.
Lucinda leant closer now, confident that I was the one in fear and posing no threat to her.
Lucinda had grown up since that incident long ago in the stables. Gone was the fat little ‘victim’ of the first year. Gone was the target for the bullies. As one of the fourth year’s best athletes and stunning beauties, Lucinda was confident in her status and assured of her physical safety. Despite all her advantages, she was a popular girl and certainly no bully.
“Does it work?” She asked as she studied it intently.
“Of course it works,” declared Melanie, “it’s stiff isn’t it?”
“No. I mean, does it, you know, make semen; get you pregnant and stuff.”
“Not just now,” interrupted Beatrice, “she had a vasectomy a year last Christmas.”
“What? You mean the snip?” Pressed Lucinda.
“Well not quite the snip,” I corrected, “it’s more like a little plug inside the tubes to prevent the stuff passing. And if you’re curious, yes I’m temporarily sterile but it can be reversed if I want when I’m older.”
I explained this because I sensed Lucinda was now more curious than upset. If she had been truly upset, she would probably have gone screaming down the corridor. Fortunately, Lucinda was made of sterner stuff. Having gradually recovered from the initial shock she was getting more curious. She leant even closer to inspect it and a sly smile spread across her lips as her eyes showed a licentious glint. I tensed uncertainly for I had no idea where Lucinda wanted to take things.
“Stand up a minute,” she urged with a slow smile.
I obliged and Lucinda grinned.
“Now turn around.”
I did as asked and turned slowly. Lucinda’s smile widened.
“Well you’ve certainly got the curves of a girl and a beautiful one at that. And your tits are real; I already know that for I’ve seen them often enough. They’re the only things on you that I could envy. Turn and face me again.”
I turned and her gaze fell again to my rigid boy-clitty.
“Can I touch it?”
“Why not,” interrupted Melanie, “we do.”
“I’m asking Martie not you.” Snapped Lucinda.
“OK.” I replied, quickly to prevent any argument.
Lucinda bent down and studied my boy-clitty up close.
“Yours is different from Peters. The knob thing on the end; Peter’s has got more skin around the base.”
She touched my sensitive glans and I gasped and twitched.
“Don’t play with that,” I croaked, “it’s sensitive and you could set it off.”
“She’s been circumcised,” declared Beatrice, “that’s why her knob end is exposed.”
Lucinda continued exploring my organ and giggled when I squirmed again as she fingered the soft sensitive tip.
“Is it that sensitive?”
“Yes!” I gasped. “Now Stoppit or I’ll come!”
“Well that’s what I want petal. I want to see you come. Melanie’s brother wouldn’t let me see his stuff. He says if any stuff went inside me I could get pregnant. Besides, he wants me to be a virgin when we marry.”
“So why experiment with Martie then?” Demanded Melanie.
“I don’t want to be a complete geek on my honeymoon.” Replied Lucinda. “I want to see what makes boys tick. What makes them horny?”
“Huh,” scoffed Beatrice, “boys are always horny, even Martie here gets horny all the time and she’s more like a girl. It’s that thing that causes all the trouble, - and the fun.” She added as an afterthought.
“Yes, she’s on call like a flippin tap. Turn her on, turn her off.” Added Melanie.
“O.K., but Martie’s not a threat, are you darling.” Finished Lucinda.
So saying she brought her lips to my boy clitty and gently brushed my knob end with her lips. I let out a low moan of fear and humped helplessly.
“If you keep that up, you’ll get a mouthful of come,” cautioned Melanie. “She can’t help but respond like that and she’ll blow off eventually.”
“Why? Can’t you control yourself darling?” Grinned Lucinda.
“No-ooh!” I wailed softly. “I’m going to come!”
“Are you saying you’re like some sort of animal, some sort of machine? Don’t you have a stop button?” Giggled Lucinda as she sensed my legs stiffening and my boy-clitty begin to twitch.
“Oh heck!” I squealed as I felt the first urgent pulse boiling up inside my loins. “Lookout!”
I squeaked but too late.
Lucinda was about to say something but my first spurt hit her in the face. She let out a squeal of surprise then reeled backwards to escape the onslaught of my juices.
“Bloody hell!! Warn me next time!”
“I tried!” I gasped as my body humped with frustration at empty air and I motioned desperately to Melanie to get some tissues.
The experienced Beatrice had already anticipated such an event and quickly reached out to smother my spurting boy-clitty with a wad of tissues. Thus she prevented any more fluids from spurting across the room but not before the wide-eyed Lucinda had watched several spurting jets of semen splatter against the back of the study door.
“Bloody hell Martie! It’s like a bloody water pistol!”
“Huh. Some water!” Countered the giggling Melanie.
Lucinda looked up from her crouching posture as she ‘tested’ some of my fluids trickling down her face. She ran her tongue along her lips and frowned curiously.
“It’s a bit, - I don’t know, - sort of salty.”
Melanie and Beatrice nodded wisely but said nothing as Lucinda finally stood up and inspected the splattered stains on the back of the door. Then she turned to Melanie.
“Can you feel it inside you when she blows off like that?”
“Yes,” chorused Bea and Mel. Who then exchanged giggles as Melanie elaborated.
“You can feel it right up by your cervix. It feels really good.”
Lucinda’s silence presaged her uncertain wavering thoughts and she turned to me.
“I don’t suppose you’re rough are you; not like a real boy, not with those soft girly curves.”
“No she’s very gentle,” interrupted Bea as she turned to Melanie for confirmation. “Isn’t she Mel?”
“Yes. She’s lovely.”
“Mmmm, perhaps some other time then.” I’d better go and shower; this stuff is beginning to dry out. I’ll clean the door after.”
“Don’t worry, we’ll do that,” offered Beatrice, “why don’t you shower with Martie?”
Lucinda turned inquisitively to me and I nodded eagerly.
“Ok, but no funny business! Keep him under control.”
“Her,” corrected Melanie, “we refer to Martie’s clitty as her.”
“Her!! You’re joking!” Lucinda cackled. “Huh! Some girl that! Come on then, join me in the shower but I warn you! No funny business!”
”I promise,” I replied, “besides, I can’t force it, you’re stronger than me.”
“That’s true,” smiled Lucy, “there are some compensations for your being a she-male. Come on, let’s shower.”
I glanced at Melanie questioningly but she nodded and smiled. There were no issues of jealousy in that quarter. To reinforce her consent, she slipped a ‘tongue tickler’ discreetly into my hand and nodded towards the shower. I immediately recognised the little pink rubber device that I sometimes used when I was pleasuring Melanie or Bea. It was a clever little soft rubber dimpled sleeve that slipped over my boy clitty or my tongue and reinforced the sensations when rasped against a girl’s clitty. At the front it had tiny little ridges then a rough patch like a cat’s tongue and finally the dimpled section at the back. The three different surfaces could produce different sensations on a girl’s clitty when she was being brought to an orgasm. Melanie and Beatrice lived by it. . I slipped it secretively over my thumb then smiled at Mel and Bea before I followed Lucy into the shower.
There we happily soaped each other down before she started exploring my delightful body. She naturally paid particular attention to my newly revealed secret. As she grasped the shaft and fingered my velvety bell, she giggled.
“Is it really that sensitive?”
“Yess,” I gasped as I shuddered while my hips squirmed and humped involuntarily.
“You’d really like to put her inside me wouldn’t you?”
“Yess!” I gasped hungrily, “but only if you want her.”
“Well, that’s a no, - no. I’m determined to be a virgin when I marry Peter.”
“That, - that’s years away. D’you think you can hold out that long?” I croaked as my boy-clitty became as stiff as steel.
“I’ve got to, and now you can help me.” Giggled Lucy as she savoured my rigid frustration.
“Tongue me down there. Make me come.”
With all the soapsuds smothering us, Lucy had not noticed the rubber tickler looped around the back of my thumb. Now was my chance to really serve her needs.
I was well used to pleasing Mel and Bea with my tongue so I knelt in the shower and deftly slipped the tickler over my tongue. With this cunning little rubber device now secure, I gently ran my tongue very slowly from her navel to her clitty then buried my face into her most secret place. Lucinda let out a soft low moan and looked down into my eyes.
“Oh my God! You’ve definitely done this before, haven’t you?”
I looked up but kept my mouth buried in her soft curly thatch to hide any view of my tongue and the tickler. Then I smiled whilst my tongue diddled her button. A year of practice with Mel and Bea had made my tongue stronger than most and Lucy squirmed urgently as my educated organ rasped the tickler delicately but precisely against her trigger. Her hips started to pump and wriggle as she searched to manoeuvre her button onto exactly the right part of my tongue.
“Oh shit! That feels good!” She growled as the clitty tickler finally scored a direct hit on the most sensitive part of her clitty. “Oh yes! That’s it! Just there! Don’t stop. Your tongue feels as rough as a cat’s. How come?” She gargled as her body started its slow delicious ascent.
I said nothing. I didn’t need to answer for Lucy’s question was almost rhetorical. Instead, I grasped the beautiful rounded cheeks of her delicious bum and pressed my jaws even tighter against her mons. This drove the rough rippled dimples of the tickler hard against her button and Lucy became demented with pleasure.
It did not take long for Lucy to reach nirvarna. Her moans became cries that soon ascended into soprano wails of ecstasy as her hips humped furiously against my face, and her fists drummed furiously on my shoulders. Then, as the final seizure of delight took possession of her every being, she dug her nails deep into my shoulders and lacerated them in an unconscious frenzy of orgasmic delight.
Lucy’s lithesome athleticism had demonstrated its power and vigour in the explosive release of her fundamental needs. I had released some inner tigress that had lain lurking always deep and suppressed within her.
Her cries had frightened Melanie and Beatrice and they had poised hesitantly outside the shower door half expecting to find some awful carnage. They had been too afraid to look inside and check.
Eventually Lucy’s whimpers subsided to match mine and her eyes opened again as she returned to our mutual dimension. Her nails had dug hard into my shoulders and drawn long bleeding welts. When she finally looked down she let out a wail and called for help. She thought she had killed me.
“Mel! Bea! Help!”
Our two friends whipped the door open to find me in an exhausted crouch as the blood dribbled down my shoulders whilst Lucy was frantically trying to squirm free of my terrified hug around her buttocks. The site resembled a battle scene.
“Quick!” Wailed Lucy. “She’s bleeding. I’ve hurt her!”
Melanie dived in and finally released my frightened grip as Beatrice helped Lucy wriggle free. Then Mel inspected my shoulders.
“I don’t think they’re very deep.”
“Let’s see,” urged Bea.
They gently fingered the puncture marks and I flinched as their fingers explored my shoulders. Lucy had by now recovered and leant over us to see for herself.
“Is she OK?”
“Yes. I think so,” observed Bea, “she’ll just need some dressings to stop the blood.”
Melanie studied my shoulders closely and pronounced her verdict.
“I don’t think the scratches will scar.”
“Oh thank God for that!” Sighed Lucy.
Beatrice looked up and frowned.
“We can’t be certain though. Some of theses nail punctures are deep.”
Then she smiled at me sympathetically.
“Those are some battle wounds darling! You’d better finish your shower while I get some lint and the roll of plaster.”
“Will it leave scars?” I asked.
“I don’t think the scratches will.” Mel’s right. They are mostly surface scratches. I can’t be sure about these though.”
She touched the nail puncture wounds on my slender shoulders and I winced again.
“These are a bit deeper. This is where most of the blood is coming from. Shower yourself off with a cold shower. Cold water should reduce the bleeding.
“Oh thanks a bunch,” I whimpered,” I always love a cold shower.”
“Your choice love. It’ll stop the bleeding faster.”
Reluctantly I sprayed the cold water over my shoulders and squealed like a sissy at the shock. Then Melanie produced some lint to dry me and Beatrice dressed the puncture wounds. It was simply a matter of some ointment then placing a soft lint dressing to cover the eight fingernail punctures across the tops of my scapulas. Beatrice admired her own handiwork.
“There that should do. If you sleep in your red dance leotard, that should keep the dressing in place and stop it coming off. Any blood shouldn’t show on the red Lycra. Just be careful tonight and don’t wriggle too much.”
For the rest of the evening, I sat around in my dance leggings and leotard whilst Lucy, Bea and Mel offered sympathy and discussed Lucinda’s tigerish ways.
“It’s not me,” objected Lucinda, “it’s Martie’s tongue. It’s deliciously rough and just soo-oo educated!”
I kept quiet. I had managed to hide the tongue tickler under the sponge and shampoo bottle after Lucinda had orgasmed. Then I slipped it to Beatrice as she dressed my wounds.
We three exchanged knowing glances. It had been known for virgins to become so addicted to ticklers that an ordinary penis might fail to arouse them. Then they were condemned to a life of servility to ticklers and other sex toys. I felt a little guilty, for perhaps we should not have introduced Lucinda to such an addictive device so early in her sexual development.
That night I slept alone. The girls weren’t happy, but my wounds were still sore.
In the morning, they had healed enough to simply cover each nail puncture with a plaster. The scratch marks however, were now angry red wealds that showed through my cotton blouse between my bra straps.
I would have to cover my blouse to hide the plasters and the scratches. Fortunately, it was quite cool and lots of other girls had chosen to wear jerseys so I didn’t stand out. That next evening, whilst Lucy went to another hockey practice, we discussed the tickler issue.
“But we’ll have to tell her,” I protested. “Otherwise she’ll think all boys have rough educated tongues.”
“Has she done it with Peter?” Asked Beatrice.
“How should I know? I was in Spain with you all summer.” Replied Melanie. “Besides, if she was prepared to do oral sex with Peter, she would probably have had to go the full monty with him. You know what boys are like. Give them an inch.”
“OK then.” I Sighed. “I suppose I’d better do it. After all, it was me that introduced it. I don’t want her to become a tickler junkie.”
When Lucinda returned from Hockey practice she grinned at me as she threw her muddy kit in the laundry basket.
“Ready for another session tiger? I need a shower before dinner.”
I smiled nervously as I plucked up the courage.
“Are you sure? Promise you won’t hurt me again. My shoulders are still sore.”
She leant forward and kissed me tenderly on the lips as Melanie and Beatrice watched and smiled.
“I promise to be gentle with you.”
“Well. I, - I’ve got a bit of a confession to make.”
Lucinda’s brow furrowed suspiciously.
“What?”
“Well. Well I haven’t been entirely fair with you.”
“Go on. Are you saying you haven’t had a vasectomy?”
“Oh no! No! It’s nothing like that. No, there’s no risk of babies. It’s, - it’s this.”
So saying, I revealed the tongue tickler and Lucinda’s eyes narrowed curiously.
“What’s that?”
“It. It’s what I used last night.”
“Go on,” pressed Lucinda as understanding slowly glimmered in her eyes.
“I used it to pleasure you last night. It. It’s a clitty tickler that fits over the tongue.”
“Let me see.”
She held out her hand and I gave it to her like some naughty child delivering up forbidden chewing gum. The shape and mechanics were obvious and she smiled softly.
“So this fits over your tongue and these bits tickled my clitty last night.”
I nodded guiltily as Mel and Bea crimsoned. Lucy turned to them.
“Did you know about this?”
“Uh. Yes,” confessed Mel, “it’s my tickler.
Lucinda fell silent for a few seconds as she fingered the tickler and ran it across her own tongue.
“It feels rougher than my tongue.”
“It’s meant to be.” Confessed Melanie. “It’s to give you better orgasms.”
“Hmmmm,” pondered Lucy.
“Can Martie use it again in the shower?”
We three exchanged concerned glances.
“D’you think you should,” cautioned Bea, “what happens if you get to like it too much?”
Lucinda smiled as she continued fingering the tickler.
“I presume there are plenty more where this came from.”
Mel crimsoned slightly and nodded as Lucinda’s gaze fell directly on her.
“Yes I thought so. Can I keep this one?”
“It’s the only one I’ve got.” Protested Mel. “I’ll buy you one in the next holidays. I can’t go into the adult shop in my school uniform.”
Lucinda saw the problem and nodded with disappointment.
“OK then, you keep it for now. But I’ll expect our little tongue maiden to serve me when needs must.”
“And that means now I suppose.” I observed.
“You bet darling, come on I’ve got a shower to take.”
I stripped eagerly and followed Lucinda’s delightful teardrop shaped butt-cheeks into the shower. Neither of us heard Bea turn to Mel.
“Have you noticed how Lucy is usually horny after physical exercise?”
“Yeah.” Replied Mel. “Strange that. I’m usually too bushed.”
“Yeah,” agreed Bea, “I prefer it in bed as well.”
“Well, each to their own. Come on let’s finish our essays.”
So saying, Mel and Bea went to the library to make some notes.
In the shower, Lucy turned to me and proffered the tickler. I deferred at first.
“I think you should just go with my bare tongue. You could get addicted to that, like a drug addict.”
“D’you think so?” Sighed Lucy as disappointment registered in her eager eyes.
“Well I don’t know for sure,” I replied, “Mel seems to think so.”
“Bugger Mel!” Scorned Lucy. “I’ll be the arbiter of my needs. Put it on.”
“OK. I’ll tell you what. You put it on my tongue like putting on a horse’s halter. But you just watch those nails.”
So saying I opened my mouth and rasped my tongue forwards as Lucy tenderly slid it up my tongue. She had a bit of trouble and hesitated.
“Is it supposed to be this tight?”
“Yeth.” I lisped. “Otherwithe ith’ll fall off.”
“Good point,” she grinned and pushed it firmly up to the base of my tongue.
I intended to start gently by caressing her nipples and slowly working down to Lucy’s love lips but she was having none of it. She gently pressed my head straight down to her sex and spread her legs submissively. Fortunately our shower was big enough to allow us to settle on the floor and despite being slightly cramped, it was possible for Lucy to lie on her back and for me to burrow eagerly into her sex. As my tongue found her magic button she gasped urgently and brought up her legs to wrap around my back. Within minutes, she had another massive orgasm then lay whimpering with satiation as I removed the tickler from my tongue.
Finally she recovered and smiled at me.
“Do you want one?” She whispered as she fingered my raging stiffy.
“It’s OK. I’ll be doing it tonight with Mel and Bea.
“Oh.” She sighed. “You’re weird, despite it being rock hard; you don’t seem to be as desperate as other boys.”
“I’m not like other boys,” I replied.
“Well that’s for sure,” sighed Lucinda as she fingered my turgid nipples.
“You sound disappointed.” I observed.
“Oh No! You’re the best thing to happen for me. You’re a lovely girly friend who can help me solve my needs without risk.”
“So what’s with wanting to please me then? You seem almost disappointed that I am prepared to wait for Mel and Bea tonight.”
“Well I, - I’ve never seen a boy’s thing do the whole thing. That stuff last night caught me unexpectedly. I was hoping you could show me the full thing, properly.”
“What!” I gasped. “But what about you and Mel’s brother Peter?”
“He wants me to be pure for him. Well I want to be pure for him as well; a virgin bride.”
My heart softened for Lucinda. I suppose it was every girl’s dream to be a virgin on her honeymoon night. Despite that dream, it would be useful for the girl to have sufficient carnal knowledge to enjoy that very special event, namely losing her virginity on her wedding night. Lucinda seemed to read my thoughts.
“I’m glad I’ve met you.” She sighed.
“Oh; go on,” I pressed. “Why’s that?”
“Well you can teach me stuff. Stuff like what boys like.”
“That’s a no brainer!” I giggled. “Boys just like to shag girls. It’s in their genes, especially teenaged boys. They’re just glands looking for somewhere to ejaculate.”
“I know that,” giggled Lucy, “Peter’s already shown that.”
“So why d’you need to see mine working?” I asked.
“I want to learn how a boy ticks but not expose myself to their demands. With boys, it’s not what you give them, it’s what they think they’re going to get.”
It was my turn to giggle. Lucinda was dead right there. She continued talking.
“I want to be a virgin for him, but I want to know how we can both enjoy it. I want it to be very special.”
“So you’ll use me like a male version of a teaser horse. Is that it?”
Lucy frowned nervously.
“You’re not angry are you?”
“Oh heck no! I’ve got Mel and Bea and we serve each other perfectly.”
“Are you going to live with them forever?”
“I hope so.” I replied.
“Which one will you marry?”
I hesitated thoughtfully. In truth I just didn’t know. I would have liked to marry both of them but that was impossible. The law could be so unfair! Why couldn’t three people get married provided they were all agreed and were equally free to do so? I admitted my concerns and Lucy frowned.
“You mean you want a harem like a sultan or a sheik.”
“Oh no. I just want Mel and Bea.”
“And what are their feelings?”
“About marriage you mean? I don’t know. I’ve never asked them”
“You don’t seem to know much about their feelings do you?”
“I’d be afraid to ask them in case I hurt one or the others feelings.”
“That figures. You’re too kind. That’s what makes you so special.”
So saying she hugged me again and kissed me passionately.
After finally releasing her embrace Lucy asked me softly.
“D’you want me to find out how Mel and Bea feel about the future?”
“Could you do that?” I pleaded. “I mean without giving my feelings away.”
“Trust me. It’ll seem like casual conversation.”
“Thanks,” I sighed gratefully.
“So now, are you going to make that thing do what it’s supposed to?” Giggled Lucy.
“OK then. The problem is I’ve got girly feelings just like you. I’ve got very sensitive nipples and they always gets me going.”
“Oh. I don’t think Peter’s nipples are sensitive. He just likes me to play with his cock.”
“Yeah. That figures. Do you ever kiss it or suck it?”
“Ugh no. It’s all hairy and it smells a bit.”
“So the best way around that is to join him in the shower and get him clean.”
“I’d like to but that’s a big no-no! If we’re naked together, he’ll only want to shag me. It’s the same when we lie on the bed together. He says he wants me to be a virgin but his body belies his words.”
“Yeah. As you say, they’re just a gland. They're like a firework looking for somewhere to go off. But on your honeymoon night, you can make him share a shower with you then you can get him clean and then suck him off first to take away his desperation. Once he’s blown off once, he’ll be easier to manage in bed.”
“That’s a good idea darling.” Grinned Lucy. “You see, we’re already sorting out a strategy. So how about you? Apart from your tits, and I must say, they’re very nice tits; what else gets you horny?”
“The same thing as with Peter, playing with my cock and kissing it. If you suck Peter’s cock, you can swallow his juices and then he won’t be able to shag you immediately after he’s spent.”
“Yeah, I suppose that’s an option. So come on, let me practice on you to develop my technique.”
At this instruction, I lay back in the shower and Lucy bent down to address my aching boy-clitty.
As she cautiously enveloped my raging erection, I explained how and where it felt nice and she was soon sucking greedily until I exploded in a paroxysm of delight. She smiled as she rose from her duties with droplets of my juices on her lips.
“It’s still salty.”
“That’s what Mel and Bea tell me. I suppose all boys’ stuff tastes much the same. D’you like it?”
“Mmmm. It’s OK I suppose but I still prefer a nice cup of sweet tea.”
At this Lucy gave her lips one final lick and we showered quickly before Melanie and Beatrice returned.
As we were dressing they returned from the library and smiled knowingly at Lucinda.
“Somebody looks like the cat that got the cream,” grinned Beatrice.
Lucinda crimsoned slightly then giggled contentedly.
“You’re only jealous in case I stole some of your pleasure.”
“Oh there’s plenty more where that came from,” declared Mel as she gently massaged the bulge in my knickers.
I jerked nervously but Mel’s caress was no more than that, simply a caress to declare her entitlement to first use of my services. Lucy and I finished dressing then we all four went down to supper.
That night, we made sure our study door was locked and placed some mattresses on the study floor. This made masses of space for all four of us to indulge our pleasures and we each savoured our particular delights as Lucinda joined our group and continued her education without risk to her virginity. We fell asleep early and woke feeling particularly satiated as we showered and dressed communally. For me, that first morning was particularly enjoyable for it was the first time I could shower and dress without having to worry about being discovered. The additional pleasure was having Lucinda taking a particularly prurient interest in my inevitable ‘morning glory’.
“I should have thought she was too tired to stand erect like that after last night’s games,” giggled Lucinda.
“Oh! Don’t you believe it,” chuckled Melanie. “All boys of her age have a boundless capacity for fun. That’s the nice thing about her. Her boy-clitty is always on call.”
“Yeah. Like a fire extinguisher,” added Beatrice as she gently dried her hair.
The towel made her blind as she draped it over her head and patted the excess moisture so I chose my moment.
For an answer, I silently crept up behind Beatrice and cheekily nudged her naked sex as she bent over the washbasin.
I expected Beatrice to squeal her protest and take a swipe at me but instead she giggled then wiggled her bum to cause my rigid organ to slip partway into her cleft. Before I had realised it she had thrust her bum backwards and my boy-clitty was fully engaged. I grunted with surprise and stood still for I had not expected such licentiousness of my oldest friend. Beatrice gave a frustrated sigh then protested.
“You see. She-males and boys are not the only ones who get horny first thing in the morning. Now come on darling. Finish what you’ve started.”
Lucinda and Melanie let out squeaks of surprised delight as they savoured my surprised expression.
“Go on Martie, put her fire out.” Ordered Lucinda with a newfound authority and confidence.
I needed no more encouragement, and greedily took Beatrice, doggie style, over the sink. Fortunately, we were both well up for it and we came quickly. Then we showered below our waists again and resumed drying as Lucinda and Melanie replaced the mattresses and tidied the study.
“Well that was a nice little quickie,” giggled Beatrice as we gently patted each other down.
As time was now pressing, we hurriedly dressed and joined Lucinda and Mel prior to filing down to breakfast.
Yes, I have to confess, that fourth year at St Angela’s was perhaps one of the happiest times of our lives.
This chapter describes some bullying in the school and how our friends circumvent it.
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Martina’s Story.
Chapter 6
Myself. Martina, A sexually dysphoric child whose sexuality has not
yet been ascertained but who chooses to present as a girl.
Beverly. My adoptive ‘aunt’ who is a mature shemale and my most supportive adult friend.
Chenille. My older half sister.
Jennifer. Aunt Beverly’s adopted daughter.
Beatrice. Aunt Beverly’s second adopted daughter and Jennifer’s younger sister.
Sian. My lesbian mother who is married to —
Margaret. Who is Chenille’s lesbian mother.
Sissy. My and Chenille’s transvestite shemale father.
Sandie. My doctor, psychiatrist and sexual counsellor.
Judge Elizabeth Porter. The judge who ruled that I should be allowed to live and dress as a girl.
Angela Hunt. Jennifer and Beatrice’s natural blood mother who is now married to Aunt Beverly who is a shemale.
Baroness Wemite’ Sian’s old School Chum
Peter. Baroness Wemite’s son & Melanie’s older brother
Melanie. Baroness Wemite’s daughter and my best school friend.
Rosemary & Monika. Two bullies in the junior school.
Lucinda. A previous victim of the two bullies and our fourth study mate.
Charlotte & Betty. Our other two remaining study mates.
Miss Frobisher. The Headmistress of St Angela’s
The remainder of our fourth year at St Angies passed without incident. During the summer we spent a fortnight in Amsterdam then relaxed for four weeks back home at our cottage-cum-farm. During this time, Lucinda’s relationship with Peter, Melanie’s brother, blossomed. Lucinda stayed as a long-term houseguest at the Earl of Wemite’s house during the rest of the summer holidays.
At home, Beatrice and I had to help out at the stables most days but the long summer evenings enabled us to meet with Melanie, Lucinda and as oft as not, Peter after our daily duties were over. From our saddles we often watched the sun setting from the top of The Dumplin.
Weekends usually found we four girls shopping, whilst Peter played cricket for the local village team. On Friday and Saturday evenings we went clubbing. Our mums were usually to be found in town as well and we invariably met up in the evenings before returning home together. The bizarre fact was that because of our three way gay relationship, we had little need to go searching for boys. At the end of an evening’s dancing, we three savoured the certainty of a night together at our cottage, whilst Peter escorted his house-guest Lucinda home to Wemite Hall. It was an idyllic month and we all regretted its passing.
September found us returning to St Angies as fifth formers and looking forward to a year of heightened responsibilities coupled with greater freedoms. If we wished, we could now go to town every weekend.
Lucinda blossomed as a sportswoman and won trials playing for junior teams at national level. Despite only being a fifth-former with two more years to go at school, she was unanimously elected as sports captain of the school for she was popular and athletic as well as beautiful and brainy. We three study mates envied her her good fortune but we were not jealous. Lucy just did not incur jealousy; she was too nice a personality.
During November that year there was a fire at one of the other dormitories. Fortunately it was not serious and, more importantly, nobody was hurt but it meant that the dormitory needed refurbishing because of smoke damage. The pupils from that ‘house’ had to ‘bunk up’ with other dormitories until well into March.
For the lower school it was fairly easy to shuffle girls around to make extra space in the larger open plan studies but for the upper school things became a little awkward.
Sixth formers were cramming for university exams but it was usually possible to move an extra girl into the two-roomed studies provided they were friendly and studying the same subjects.
Consequently, fourth and fifth formers suffered most from the overcrowding because they had the smallest study areas with the least useable surplus space.
Fortunately most girls found space amongst their friends in other ‘school houses’ but for the less popular girls it was left to the school to organise the temporary arrangements.
To this end a school lottery was organised and names were taken out of two hats like a football draw.
It was just our luck to get Rosemary and Monika, the two most hated bullies in the school.
As their names were called a huge gasp of relief went around the common room as all the other girls relaxed. Once those two had been drawn the rest of the lottery was bearable. For us four however, the draw was a catastrophe. It would be hard enough having to endure the two of them bunking on ‘put-you-ups’ in our study, but those two bullies were the worst possible pair to have to suffer.
It was obvious that Rosemary and Monika were not too happy either. They knew we four to be their nemesis when it came to stopping their bullying antics. Oft-times we had intervened when we saw them making life hell for some junior pupil in the lower school. Lucinda was particularly adept at preventing this bullying because she was games captain and therefore enjoyed an early promotion to prefecture status. Normally, prefects were elected from the upper sixth form but the school games captain was an important student appointment that invariably carried prefect status. The games captain was second only to the head girl in the prefect’s hierarchy.
Nevertheless, the allotment of Rosemary and Monika was for us a disaster. Our intimate personal relationships would have to be curtailed and I would have to extremely cautious about hiding my boy-girl bits. God forbid if Rosemary or Monika discovered my secrets.
Immediately after the draw, I made an appointment to see Miss Frobisher to declare the problems and potential for disaster. In her study we talked at length.
“I quite understand your predicament Martina but this is an emergency,” explained Miss Frobisher “it’s only from November until March.”
“But it’s not that simple Miss Frobisher Ma-am.” I confessed nervously.
“Why?”
“Well, and please, I beg you, don’t let this go further.”
“Well, out with it young lady. I’ve always been fair with you.”
“Well it’s my friends, Beatrice, Melanie and Lucinda.”
“Yes, I know who your study companions are, and fine girls they are too. Particularly Lucinda, she’s an excellent pupil. Though I’m pleased with all four of you. I’ve got high hopes for you four.”
“But. You don’t understand. It’s my, - you know, - my trans -.”
“Yes, I know all about that too. Your mother’s keep me well up to date on your medical condition. You’ll just have to be careful. Lock the bathroom door when you attend to your ablutions. Come to think of it, I should presume you’re doing that anyway.”
“Well, - no, - actually,” I confessed. “That’s just it.”
Miss Frobisher’s eyebrows rose questioningly as she held me in her stare.
“Go on.”
“Well. That’s just it. I don’t need to lock the door with my friends.”
“What are you telling me Martina? Are you saying that Melanie and Lucinda know about your condition?”
“Well, - eehmm, - yes, - actually.”
I stared at the floor like a deer caught in the headlights. The silence became oppressive as Miss Frobisher recovered from the shock. I had to admire her though. She hid her feelings well.
“You mean, Lucinda and Melanie. They’ve seen you, - they’ve seen your, - your bits-, your genitalia!” She corrected herself as she struggled to find the correct words.
“Yess.” I croaked as fear took my breath.
“Oh my Gosh! And what was their reaction?”
“They, they’re sympathetic. They don’t mind.”
“Well let me be the arbiter of that. I’ll have to speak to them and Beatrice for that matter, but of course, Beatrice has always known, as have your two older sisters. I know the set up with your families and I’m not judgemental. But Melanie and Lucinda! Why on earth didn’t you come to me when they found out?”
“Well they didn’t seem too bothered, in fact they thought it was weird at first, then they became sympathetic.”
Suddenly Miss Frobisher’s expression became serious.
“Has anything unsavoury been happening?”
Here I lied point blank knowing I would have to warn the others when they were questioned.
“No Miss Frobisher.”
“Well thank heavens for that. I’ll speak to Beatrice, Melanie and Lucinda later. As to Rosemary and Monika, well, I know they are two of the most unpopular girls in the school but I can’t expel them for that. I’m also pleased that you four have worked hard to stamp out their bullying. Yes I keep my ear to the ground and I know what happens.
Unfortunately, despite your good efforts on the bullying front, I can’t be seen to show favouritism to you four by altering the result of the draw. That’s what the draw was all about. I’m afraid you four will have to work together to protect your secret. There’s little I can do unless Rosemary and Monika do something seriously wrong. Besides yours is one of the corner studies and bigger than the others. That’s all for now. Tell the other three I will speak to them this afternoon before prep and thank you for telling me about the situation in your study. That’s all.”
I left feeling a huge load off my shoulders and rushed to warn my friends not to reveal our little intimacies.
“And she wasn’t upset!” Gasped Lucinda.
“No. I think she’s rather relieved. I suspect she’s been waiting for one of you to turn up all tearful and hysterical at her study door. Now she knows that you girls all know, I think she’s quite relieved.”
“Well that figures.” Agreed Beatrice.
“Yes let’s keep it that way. We’re all as pure as the driven snow, is that agreed?” Finished Melanie.
“Well you’re a bit slushy.” Giggled Lucinda.
“Watch it!” Squealed Melanie as she playfully pinched Lucinda’s exposed bum.
Lucinda was only wearing her gym leotard and leggings.
Lucinda retaliated by spinning around quickly then skilfully whipping her leg up and wrapping it around Melanie’s neck. This dragged Melanie’s face into Lucinda’s crotch.
“Mmmph!” Squawked Melanie as she struggled momentarily then smiled as she found herself in one of her favourite positions.
“Cave!” Gasped Beatrice as the doorknob rattled.
Lucinda whipped her leg away just before Rosemary and Monika entered carrying their essential luggage.
“Oh, it’s you. It’s customary to knock. We weren’t expecting you until after prep tonight.”
“Miss Warburton has started the move early. Some of us have a free period this afternoon so she told us to move now.” Replied Rosemary.
“Well you’re foldaway beds are going there and there. It’s going to be a squeeze.”
“I think we should toss for the beds then it’s all fair.” Snapped Monika.
“Dream on girls. You’re only guests here, and uninvited ones at that.” Snapped Beatrice.
Monika looked slightly surprised. She had been expecting any argument to be led by Lucinda. Beatrice’s aggression had set her back. It unsettled Monika and Rosemary for their perceptions of our group structure had been shown to be inaccurate.
“That’s not fair!” Protested Rosemary. We should draw lots.
“Alright then, we’ll make this democratic,” suggested Melanie, “let’s vote on it.”
That settled any further argument for we of course, outnumbered Rosemary and Monika four to two. Rosemary and Monika now knew their place. Angry at their frustrated efforts to dominate or even to achieve a semblance of parity the bullies grudgingly opened their put-you-up folding beds.
“Not there!” Ordered Beatrice. “That blocks the path to the bathroom. One by the window and one by the opposite wall.”
“It’ll be draughty by the window!” Protested Rosemary.
“Too bad. You can turn up the heating if your cold.”
“Huh!” I don’t see why you and Martina can’t stay at home until things are sorted out. It’s easy for you to travel over the Dumplin.”
“We’ve paid for these boarding rooms just like everybody else. You’ll just have to lump it until March!”
“So what about our clothes and stuff not to mention our books.”
“They’re putting extra clothing lockers in the middle baggage room so they won’t block the fire exits at the end landings.”
“That means we’ll have to go into the corridor to get our clothes.”
Beatrice became tired of the constant whingeing.
“Look like it or lump it! We’re all girls together here. If you don’t like juniors seeing you in the corridor in your underclothes too bloody bad. As you just said. It’s only until March.”
The pair realised finally that they would get nowhere and grudgingly relocated their beds. In truth, they did not impinge unduly on the floor space and when the beds were folded away, there was still enough room for six to sit around the study table. Fortunately, our study was one of the end corner studies. The longer outer gable wall with the extra side window, gave it slightly more floor space. This was why Miss Frobisher had allowed the bullies to remain together. The four end corner studies on each level were the only ones with space enough for six at a squeeze. Miss Frobisher also knew full well that we four were the only ones in the fifth form who were strong enough to resist the two bullies.
With the bed arrangements settled, we went down to lunch but not before dropping by into the Library to discuss our situation.
“Mum’s the word now. If Mrs Frobisher asks, we’re as pure as the driven snow right!” Commanded Lucy.
We all agreed, and also concluded that we would have to pretend to be modest little straight-laced puritans to enable me to hide my special bits.
“It’s going to be a strain until March,” sighed Melanie as she reached her toes under the library table and probed my crotch.
“Stoppit!” I whispered hoarsely. “You’ll get me bloody horny and I can’t hide it in my knickers anymore. It gets too big!”
“Mmm. I know. Delicious isn’t it?” Giggled Mel.
“Stoppit!” Grinned Beatrice. “Come on now Mel. Be fair to her. Stop making her horny!”
“Yes. This is serious.” Frowned Lucy.
“We don’t know what they’re like,” offered Melanie. “What if they turn out to be a horny pair of nymphomaniacs?”
“It still won’t wash,” argued Lucinda, “if they find out about Martie they’ll use it to whatever advantage they can screw. It’ll be a real bummer, not just for us but Miss Frobisher as Well.”
“Not to mention the school’s reputation.” Added Bea for good measure.
“We’ll just have to be careful.” Declared Lucy as she rose to go into the refectory.
We followed suite for there was little else we could add. We would need to find out just what the bullies were like when living cheek by jowl with us.
In the refectory the bullies spotted us at our usual table and moved to join us.
“Oh shit!” Cursed Melanie as she spotted them approaching. “Look who’s coming to join us.”
“Don’t object just yet,” cautioned Lucinda, “we have to sound them out and find out what their expectations are. Remember we’ve already got them on the back foot over the bed arrangements.
The bullies took two spaces beside us and tried to engage us in conversation. We simply replied in monsyllibillic yes’s and no’s until they realised we were not in a talking mood.
“It’s no good ignoring us,” objected Monika, “we’re going to have to talk sometime.”
“About what?” I asked.
“Well, -“ Monika looked nonplussed for a moment. “Well, about living arrangements, bathroom rotas, who showers first, all that sort of stuff.”
Reluctantly we knew this would have to be sorted but not because Monika and Rosemary wanted such arrangements. Previously, we had enjoyed some very open and easygoing arrangements. We had been so intimate and open about our lives; we had never bothered to lock the bathroom door or even the lavatory door. There were going to be some big changes. Cleaning was also going to have to be organised. We all acknowledged that Lucinda produced the most muck because she practised on the hockey fields nearly every evening. Her hockey kit was often to be found hanging in the shower if all the dryers were busy when she returned.
Because of our close friendship, we had accepted her washing hanging up and usually put it aside when we showered. If we remembered, we hung it up again or the last person to shower did so. Sometimes we forgot but it did not become an issue. Lucinda invariably checked last thing at night. She had to if she wanted dry hockey kit in the morning.
It was a dead cert that Rosemary and Monika would start by making Lucinda’s kit an issue. Realising that there needed to be some hard bargaining, we finished our meal and returned to our study with the new additions in tow. Once back in the study we squeezed up on the extra seating and fell to organising rotas and drawing straws. The dealing went on for about an hour with an agreement to return to any issues after a week of experimentation. Then we retired to the common room were other girls sympathised with us privately.
“It must be a real bummer with those two,” whispered Jillian Cotter who had suffered more than most at the bullies’ hands.
“We’ve thrashed out most issues and we outnumber them anyway,” confided Bea.
“Well just watch them,” cautioned Jillian. “They cause endless trouble in our dorm. They’ve got more tricks than a troop of monkeys.”
“Caution noted,” smiled Bea as she flipped two piklets out of the toaster and buttered them before handing one to Jillian.
“So tell us some of their favourite tricks.”
Jillian took the proffered titbit then gave Beatrice a rundown of various tricks and devices the twins used to foment trouble.
“They love to start arguments then divide and rule.”
Finally Bea thanked Jillian and agreed to chat some more later on in the week. For now, forewarned was forearmed. On the way back to our study, Beatrice met me on the stairs and guided me to a quiet corner. There she gave me a string of does and don’ts and I was grateful.
“So whatever you do, try and make sure that you in particular, are never alone with them. They pretend it’s fun but it’s not. Then when you protest they accuse you of being a spoilsport or some other type of whinger. Just make sure you’re always with one of us. I know you can easily handle either one of them alone, but they work as a pair.”
I thanked Beatrice and we entered the study before the others returned. Even before I had started undressing to shower, Beatrice ran a check on our clothes and books.
“What are you doing?” I asked.
“Making sure everything is as it should be. No laddered tights or snapped bra straps when we rush to get dressed in the morning. Jilly Cotter warned me.”
“Is that what they do?” I gasped as I hesitated by the bathroom door.
“Yeah. Then the next morning they are ever so generous offering to lend one of their spares. Then they manipulate that favour to squeeze some advantage later.”
“Well you keep an eye on stuff while I shower.”
“You bet.” Agreed Beatrice as she stripped ready to take her turn.
When I emerged from the shower I had my bathrobe over my towel and explained that I had rearranged Lucinda’s hockey skirt over the radiator.
“What about the blouse?” Asked Lucinda.
“That’s on the side of the bath until everybody’s finished, then the last one can put it back on the shower curtain rail.” I replied, making it abundantly obvious that whoever was last was expected to hang it up.
Melanie got my drift and smiled knowingly. She was last in the shower rota and would make damned sure that Lucinda’s blouse was properly hung up to dry. It was a clear demonstration of how our friendship worked and how we expected the bullies to fall into line. We were playing them at their own game.
Finally we all sat around chatting in our bathrobes, sleep-suites and knickers until lights out.
In the morning we found the first evidence of the twin’s handiwork. Somehow, Lucinda’s blouse had fallen into the shower tray and was still soaking. Before either Rosemary or Monika could offer to lend her a dry fresh blouse, I magicked one of mine and offered it to Lucy. Fortunately Lucinda and I were of similar height and build so it was easy to refuse the bullies offers.
In class, Melanie asked me about it. I explained what Jilly Cotter had told Beatrice and Melanie smiled knowingly.
“Two can play at that game.” She smirked. “I know I hung that blouse up OK. I even used clothes pegs.”
“Of course you did, but they are free to sneak into the bathroom during the night without any of us noticing. We wouldn’t notice from the privacy of our cubicles, would we?”
“I suppose they are trying to make us feel vulnerable.” Continued Melanie. “In the end they think one of us will have to sleep on one of the put-you-ups just to watch the bathroom door overnight. Well it isn’t going to happen.”
I grinned at Melanie’s determination. She could be quite single minded when she got the bit between her teeth. Unbeknownst to any of us, Melanie borrowed her brother Peter during the following half term and they made some small changes in the study and bathroom.
During the rest of the week a few small irritating events occurred in the bathroom but we were usually prepared. What we needed was the evidence but we didn’t know that Melanie had already made arrangements
When the second semester came around, Melanie kept quiet about the alterations. She did not reveal the tiny camera that her brother Peter had carefully concealed high in the decorative plaster frieze around the cornices. It was perfectly hidden and the thin white wires led conveniently behind the frieze until they could descend undetected down behind the high woodwork into Melanie’s cubicle and into her P.C. The camera scanned the whole of the study room and the bathroom door but not our bedroom cubicles.
In the bathroom Melanie had secreted a second camera concealed inside the ventilator grill high in the ceiling. This looked down on the whole bathroom and lavatory cubicle. Again none of us knew anything about this. By the time the second semester started, Melanie was armed. As usual, Beatrice and I arrived early in the morning for we were local girls. Lucinda and the bullies had to come from farther away and they arrived later.
Later that afternoon, Monika and Rosemary returned from their half term break and our study life returned to its usual tense standoff.
That very evening they resumed their usual tricks and the following morning Beatrice found her new bottle of shampoo empty. It was not a calamity but enough to raise the tension.
Angrily she accused the bullies but of course they claimed it must have tipped off the shelf during the night. Beatrice was left fuming but Melanie kept her council.
Melanie was waiting for more incriminating evidence; better evidence by far than a spilt shampoo bottle or a pair of laddered tights. She intimated to me that she might set a trap for the bullies but I had no inkling of the extent of Melanie’s secret preparations.
“Just wait Martie,” she intimated to me one afternoon as we loitered on the hockey field near the goalmouth out of earshot from everybody.
Monika had fouled another girl and her leg was badly cut by the hockey stick. As the goalkeeper, Mel was far from the cluster of angry girls that had gathered around the scene in the opposite goalmouth. I of course was excused hockey because of my ‘condition’. Whilst training for cross-country, I had simply stopped by Mel’s goalmouth during the stoppage on the field.
My eyes widened with curiosity at Mel’s warning.
“Wait for what!” I gasped.
“I’ve just got a feeling about those two. Just be patient.”
Reluctantly I held my peace and suffered in silence with Beatrice and Lucinda as the bully’s dirty tricks war hotted up. That’s not to say that we didn’t have blazing rows with the pair and indeed, Lucinda actually came to blows with Monika one afternoon when everybody else was out. As ever, Monika cunningly set up the confrontation and Lucinda was portrayed as the villain. Monika certainly came of worst in the physical sense and everybody rooted for Lucinda, but Monika’s bruises were purveyed as evidence of Lucinda’s assault and she had her weekend town privileges curtailed until Christmas. Everybody was sympathetic with Lucinda but in truth, the town visiting rights were of little importance to Lucinda. For on Saturdays and Sundays, she was nearly always to be seen practicing her hockey or captaining the team against other schools.
Despite the injustice to Lucinda, Melanie kept her counsel and demanded I kept mine. I knew Melanie was up to something big but I was buggered if I knew what. She obviously had something up her sleeve.
The truth became apparent one December day at the end of term after the school’s end of term Christmas party. I had secretly drunk a little bit too much smuggled alcohol and Melanie had discreetly escorted me back to the study where I slumped on my bed and she left me as she returned to the party. There were no boys at the party but girls can enjoy themselves without male company.
The fifth form had produced an ‘ad -hoc’ series of comic sketches and that coupled with the sixth form’s contributions had entertained the rest of the school. I of course, missed the fun having been put to bed early. The girls returned later and found me snoring, oblivious to their return.
In the middle of the night however, I suddenly felt sick and staggered drunkenly to the bathroom. Being young of course, I woke with the inevitable erection and worse followed. As I lurched uncertainly towards the bathroom in the dark, I tripped over Rosemary’s bed and she cursed as I landed on top of her.
“Get off you stupid bloody cow!” She cursed.
“Sorry,” I slurred and flailed awkwardly as I eventually staggered to my feet.
Unfortunately my drunken efforts had left me vulnerable for in my haste, I had not bothered to fling a dressing gown over my shoulders. In just my maroon cotton interlock regulation knickers and with my tits bare, I proved too much of a morsel for Rosemary’s salacious needs. She groped my delightful tits then attempted to cop a feel of my cunt through the heavy cotton interlock of my school regulation knickers. That night I was not wearing my usual 'all-in-one' for I had been too drunk and unmanageable for Melanie to dress me when she helped me up to bed. The double barrier of sleep suit and knickers might have prevented Rosemary making sense of the unexpected profile inside my knickers.
As her hand found its target I kicked out angrily but not before Rosemary had groped the stiff erect boy bits where there should have been a smooth girl’s honey pot. Rosemary fell silent as I lurched off to the bathroom but she knew now that things were obviously not quite right with me down there.
If Rosemary was nothing else, she was quick thinking and ever alert to a trick. She followed me silently into the bathroom and found me bent over the bath spewing my guts up. She poised behind me silently then jammed her hand under my deliciously shaped teardrop butt and delved again into my sex. I let out a squeal of protest and swung around furiously to swipe at her face. I connected perfectly and caught her a perfect fist on her cheek.
She let out a howl of anger and before I knew it we were fighting furiously on the bathroom floor.
Fortunately I was stronger than Rosemary and just managed to keep her feverish hands from dragging my knickers down. When the others arrived to sort out the commotion, they found me sat astride the bully with her wrists held firmly in my grip. Unfortunately, the excitement had roused me further and my stiffy was straining furiously against the constraint of my knickers.
“What the hell’s going on?” Demanded Monika as she lurched forward to protect her crony.
She grabbed my arms to try and break my grip of Rosemary’s wrists but Lucinda had already anticipated the move. With lightening quick reaction born of her athleticism, Lucinda dragged Monika away whilst Beatrice and Melanie restrained Rosemary as I finally recovered my temper and struggled to get off the prostrate Rosemary.
“There’s something not right with her down there!” Screeched Rosemary as she nursed the swelling bruise under her eye.
“What d’you mean?” Demanded Monika.
“She’s got something strange inside her knickers. Just look! It’s all lumpy and stuff.”
There was a stunned silence as all eyes fell to the erection tenting desperately inside my knickers. Fortunately the quick thinking Beatrice snarled angrily.
“Of course she has. It’s her special dressing! That’s why she’s excused strenuous games. That’s why she only does dance and cross country running.”
“What’s wrong with her!” Demanded Rosemary.
“It’s nothing to do with you,” I snarled as tears began to flow.
“So what is it?” Added Monika, stirring the pot maliciously.
“It’s nothing to do with you!” I screeched again.
“She’s some sort of freak!” Persisted Rosemary.
At this Lucinda proved her true worth as a friend. The favour in the stables all those years ago now drew priceless dividends. She turned on Rosemary and Monika and spoke softly but with such menace that they fell silent. As I stumbled out of the bathroom, I could see Rosemary visibly tremble so I listened outside the bathroom door. Not for nothing was Lucinda the games captain for she was one of the tallest girls in the school and she could easily imply a real physical threat. She spoke softly but there was no misunderstanding the threat in her voice.
“Listen you pair of nasty little bitches. I’ve had it up to here with you two! We’ve known privately for years about Marina’s problem.
We know she’s had a problem with her girly bits all her life. What you felt were the special dressings she has to wear.
You nasty little bitches don’t need to know what it is, but I can assure you we’ve lived with it long enough to know that she is very sensitive about it.
What’s more, Miss Frobisher knows about it and she’s met Martie’s doctor. If Miss Frobisher is happy about Martie’s problems then it’s got nothing to do with you. Now if I hear the slightest whisper of Martie’s problems anywhere in the school, I’ll make sure you never walk off the hockey field during the next games sessions. You’ll be carried off.”
This was very real threat for most of us had at some time felt the power of Lucinda’s lithe stunning frame when striving to win the hockey ball. Indeed Lucinda rarely played with her ordinary classmates. Instead she trained with the older girls in the first eleven after normal classes. When our class had a games period Lucinda was as often as not in the library catching up on prep.
I crept away to my bed still feeling sick but it was no longer booze, it was fear!
‘Thank God for friends like Lucinda,’ I thought as the other girls returned to their beds.
In the morning I woke expecting a hangover but it never materialised. Perhaps it was my age, or getting rid of the poisons by vomiting during the night. Whatever the reason, I woke with a pretty clear head. Fortunately it was Saturday so there no lessons as the school prepared to close for the Christmas Holidays. I met Rosemary sporting a splendid bruise under her eye as she exited the bathroom.
“Look what you’ve done you bitch!” She snapped.
“Well don’t grope people where they don’t want to be groped!” I retorted angrily. If you had been a boy, that would have been assault!” +
“What would?” She demanded.
“Groping my knickers when I was drunk.”
“I didn’t grope you. You lay on top of me!”
“You bloody liar!” I snarled. I stumbled because I was drunk”
“Yeah, and if Miss Frobisher knew you had been drinking, you’d be expelled.”
“Why you spiteful sneaky cow! So you’d shop another girl because she got drunk at the party. I wasn’t the only one drinking illegally.”
“No but you were the only one to get drunk and then try and clamber into my bed under the pretence of being too drunk.”
My jaw dropped with shock, as I stood speechless with indignation.
She used my stunned silence as evidence of an admission and turned to the rest of the girls.
“See. She doesn’t deny it.”
“Why fuck you!!” I screeched. “You followed me into the bathroom and groped me again! I wouldn’t touch you with a barge pole!”
“So who would you touch?” Taunted Monika, taking up the baton.
I realised I had gone too close to the real circumstances of the relationship between the four of us and I was close to giving our secrets away. I just cursed and scuttled into the bathroom.
“Oh fuck off! You’ve just got twisted imaginations!”
I slammed the door and locked it noisily to emphasise my privacy. I heard the bullies chuckling then I heard Beatrice snap at them before she knocked on the door.
“Will you be long Martie?”
Wet from the shower and naked, I stepped out then slipped the lock and peered round the door. Beatrice entered, noticed my erection and frowned nervously before re-locking the door. Then the bullies called out.
“Why are you locking the door? Are you feeling each other up?”
Beatrice embraced me and kissed me softly on the forehead as she whispered.
“Fuck them. Just let them try something. Shall we shower together?”
“No. I’ve got to sort out some final notes I’ve got to hand in.”
I finished showering then made sure I was well covered before I ran the gauntlet of the bullies’ barbs. In my cubicle I was dressed in minutes and shuffling through my notes as Beatrice re-emerged. The bullies had left to get their books from their temporary lockers in the middle recess halfway along the old dormitory block.
At breakfast, several girls asked how Rosemary got the black eye but she wasn’t talking. However, I saw her and Monika whispering to some of their sycophants and realised something was brewing. I motioned to my friends and we concluded that Lucinda’s warning had been ignored. Gossip was one of the bullies’ main weapons and few people can resist licentious tit-bits, especially the bullies’ cronies.
“We’re going to have to watch it.” Sighed the disappointed Lucinda. “My warnings obviously didn’t work.”
We finished our breakfast in silence then Melanie took me aside as we returned to our study to continue packing for the Christmas Holidays.
“Come into my cubicle later,” she whispered, “after Lucinda’s left for home.”
“Why?” I asked.
“There’s some stuff I want to show you!”
“What? I asked curiously.
“Just wait. If Lucinda’s warning doesn’t work. What I have to show you certainly will. After lunch come to my cubicle
while Bea is helping with the horses and Lucinda’s mum comes to collect her.”
Within seconds of rising from lunch, I was with Melanie staring at her computer screen. A few keystrokes brought up her video evidence and I gasped with shock. Monika and Rosemary were caught almost every night sneaking into the bathroom to assuage their lesbian lust.
“Oh my God Melanie! This is dynamite!”
“Yeah. It’s good stuff but how are we going to use it?”
“Just show it to them. The threat will be enough. If they try to pooh-pooh it, we can threaten to put it on the Internet! We can use gossip as well as them but the Internet, well that’s much better.”
“That’s what I thought. But we’ll have to edit the background. So that it doesn’t look like our bathroom. Then nobody can trace it back to us. I’ll get my brother Peter to help during the hols. He’s doing computers in the sixth form.
“Is there anything else on there. Have you got her groping me as I bent over the bath?”
“Yes but that would be a dead giveaway. We all know where that happened.”
“True.” I agreed ruefully.
That evidence could only be used as a last defence. If push came to shove with Miss Frobisher and the school authorities.
“What about when I stumbled over her bed and fell on her?”
“That’s here as well. It’s not very good though. You were arseholed and your hands did land on her tits as you fell.”
“It was an accident!” I protested.
“Well the camera doesn’t help either way. Look.”
I studied the video and grimaced. Melanie was right. I had tripped over the end of Rosemary’s bed and fallen sideways. As I flung my hands out to save myself, one of them had landed directly on Rosemary’s chest. And Rosemary had a fine chest!
“Well everybody knows I was pissed.” I pleaded.
“Tell that to the governors. Then the shit would really hit the fan. No the best evidence is the bathroom stuff. The worst is, we’ll have to remove the cameras during the holidays. I’ll do it during the hols when I come to help Miss Smith with the horses.
“Yes! I was wondering about those. Why didn’t you tell us about them? I’ll bet you’ve got all sorts of stuff!” I growled accusingly.
“It’s for our protection.” Replied Melanie. “I’ll bet you’re glad now that I did!”
I fell silent. It was truly fortuitous that Melanie had taken it upon herself to rig the cameras. Now we had some real evidence!” I changed the subject and mentioned the horses.
“Does she pay you to look after the horses?”
“No. I do it because I like the horses. There’s only her horse and the other two school ponies. All the other ponies and horses go home with their owners. I check them over during Christmas and see they’re fed. They’ve got warm looseboxes and the run of the paddock anyway.
I do it to give Miss Smith a break and it’s only a couple of times a day to check they’re OK, letting them out and putting them in.
Miss Smith goes to her divorced sister’s for Christmas Eve to Boxing Day. Family stuff, she’s got a niece who’s starting here next year. It mean’s I have the run of the school whilst nearly everybody but a few overseas students go home. Two of them are having Christmas with us, because our mother’s are friends.
“Oh.” I observed. “Those two Malayan girls; the twins?”
“Yep.” Replied Melanie.
They were two lovely girls a couple of years younger than us. Melanie looked out for them and they had often visited us in our study. They hero-worshipped Lucinda, as did nearly all the younger girls, mainly because of Lucinda’s successful campaign to stamp out the bullying by Rosemary, Monika and the rest of their gang.
Melanie finished downloading the video on her discs just as the door opened and Rosemary appeared with Monika. Their parents accompanied them but nothing was said about our fight. I suspected that their parents were already aware of their daughter’s reputations. Miss Frobisher’s ‘end-of-term’ reports were nothing if not accurate and all embracing. She called a spade a spade as I had learned to my to regret a couple of terms earlier when my academic performance had disappointed my mummy Beverly. That Easter holiday I had lost all privileges and been denied a trip to Amsterdam with my sisters.
The atmosphere in our study was courteous but formal then the fathers left with their daughters to inspect the repair work to their dormitory block. Their mothers waited in our study and I could sense that they wanted to discuss something. Eventually, Melanie sensed that they wanted to speak to me alone so she offered to make a tray of tea and she left me to face the mothers. As soon as we were alone the women waded in.
“What exactly happened?” Asked Rosemary’s mother.
I explained what happened whilst leaving out the drunkenness part.”
“And you say it was an accident.”
“Yes. The bed was here and I tripped over it during the night. I needed the bathroom urgently.”
“My daughter says you assaulted her.”
“I tripped over and fell on her. It was dark and I just flung out my hands to save myself.”
“So you don’t deny you landed on her, - her chest.”
“No, I don’t deny it. It was an accident. She took offence and struck out.”
“Do you not get on?”
Here I could be truthful.
“Frankly no. She’s a guest in here. We did not invite her here. We have to get along until the fire damage is completed.”
“Do you normally fight?”
“No. She followed me into the bathroom and I just swung around and lashed out after she attacked me.”
“She says she was going to talk to you but you just hit her.”
I wasn’t sure if I should tell the whole story for I wasn’t sure where this was going. I didn’t know that Rosemary’s mother was a lawyer.
“She’s got a strange way of talking then.” I mumbled.
“What d’you mean?” Pressed Rosemary’s mother.
“Can I be blunt?” I asked.
“Yes.”
“And alone.” I added.
“There’s no need to be afraid of Mrs Adam’s, Monika’s mother. We don’t keep secrets from each other.”
Being young, I was not alert to the legal dangers of not having a witness to protect me but I felt that Melanie’s video would support my statement if push came to shove.
“I’d prefer to speak alone,” I persisted.
“Why. Don’t you trust us? I’m a well respected barrister, you can trust me.”
Like a fool, I trusted her when she said she was a barrister.
“All right then. If you want it both barrels, she groped me whilst I was being sick over the bath and I lashed out. I caught her on the cheek.”
“You used a lot of force. Her cheek is cut and it’s very bruised.”
“She jabbed me hard where it hurts. She shouldn’t grope people!”
For a moment, Rosemary’s mother sat silent as she digested my defence. Then she resumed her attack or inquisition.
“My daughter says you’re not right down there. She says there’s something wrong.”
This made me angry and I suddenly felt on firmer ground.
“You bet I’m not right down there. And I’m very sensitive about it. That doesn’t give her the right to grab me and try to pull my knickers down.”
“She says it was just a playful prank.” Retorted Rosemary’s mother.
“Yeah. Some prank. Would she buckle the wheel of a paraplegic’s wheelchair, would she tease a Down’s syndrome child, would she break the crutches of a cripple?”
For a moment, the woman was taken aback. And she glared at me.
“Of course she wouldn’t!”
“Well why did she attack a girl with my personal problems, my, - my b, - my bits?”
The woman hesitated again as I set her on the back foot.
“Rosemary didn’t know you had sexual problems.”
“They’re not sexual problems, they’re unusual genitalia. Anyway, that’s nothing to do with you! That’s between my doctor and the school authorities.”
“What. You’re saying the school knows that you have problems.”
“Yes! Of course they do. Just as my regular study companions know. They treat it like they would treat any other disability. Just like Wendy Dobson has to wear callipers. Just like Sylvia Wilkins and June Winthrop live on the ground floor because they’re wheel bound. Nobody tries to bully them, except your daughters that is; and Lucinda soon put a stop to that! The school accepts infirmity and stuff. I’ve got a problem with my genitalia. So what?”
“Are you saying our daughters attack girls in wheel chairs?”
“Oh attack is too crude a word. Let’s just say that paraplegics don’t like to wake up and find the wheels of their chairs missing.”
“But that’s just a schoolgirl prank.”
“Other girls don’t do it. Other girls go looking for the wheels and offering to help every-which-way.”
“Are you saying it was not a joke?”
“Don’t ask me ask Sylvia and June. They nearly missed an exam- an important national exam. Lucinda mustered the hockey team to carry the girls to the classroom. The exam was just about to start!”
“The loss of dignity nearly put Sylvia off taking the exam.”
“How so?”
“The chairs were set up on some books and some wooden blocks so that they could sit properly to the table. Try shifting around to get your arse comfortable and rearranging your posture when your seat is wobbling and you can’t adjust your position.”
“I’ve never heard anything about this! Nobody has ever mentioned any of this.”
“Yeah. Surprise, surprise! Well they wouldn’t would they? The staff still don’t know who hid the wheels. Suddenly half way through the exam the wheels turn up by magic in the lavatories during break time. Miss Frobisher had to personally approach the invigilator to supervise the adjustment to their chairs so that Sylvia and June could have their wheels back. The invigilator was not amused and the school’s reputation was shot to hell!” Your daughters are a pair of bullies. Vicious bullies.”
“How dare you say that! You’ve no proof!”
“I heard them gloating about it a week later. Only I know they did it and even then I couldn’t prove it.”
“So it’s your word against two of them!”
“Exactly!”
She fell silent for a moment as her brain ticked ominously.
“So it’s the word of a sexually dysfunctional girl against our two daughters.”
I could see exactly where this was going so I just shrugged.
“There speaks a lawyer,” I riposted cynically.
“You can stop being cheeky right now young lady!” Snapped Moniker’s mother.
“Yes and I can stop this interview as well.”
So saying, I stood up and stalked angrily into my own private cubicle. Melanie heard my chair scrape back and sensed that it was time to bring in the tray of tea and biscuits. Unbeknownst to me, she had been listening at the door. The mothers took the proffered dainties and made polite conversation with Melanie. Melanie ever so politely ‘name-dropped’ her father’s title and immediately the two mothers were fawning all over her. Even I was suddenly re-invited to share tea. I began to understand how and why Melanie had developed such a well-honed ‘bull-shit’ radar.
After the fathers returned with their daughters they finished the biscuits and left. I did not need to repeat the conversation to Melanie but she silently led me into her study and showed me her pleasant surprise.
“This is all on video and what’s more, If I search back, we might have got them gloating about it in the lavatory.”
I gasped with relief. No wonder Melanie had been quite happy to leave me alone with a shyster lawyer! It was all on video!
“How did you know they would try and trap me?” I asked.
“Just look at their daughters. Like breeds like. I was pretty sure they’d be nasty bits of work, just like their daughters. Now let me search through all this stuff. There’s days of stuff to trawl through. Can you remember an approximate day when they were gloating?”
I had to confess that I couldn’t and I felt a little stupid.
Mel giggled.
“It’s a pity you aren’t a full girl, then you’d remember.”
“How so?” I asked.
“Most girls keep diaries, if only for their periods. I’d have noted something like that! But then, you’re too naíve.”
I was about to remonstrate when Melanie stopped the disc.
“This looks promising. It’s daytime and they’re laughing; then you walk in.”
So saying she stopped the images and played it back. We listened and smiled.
“Bingo! See, I can read those two bitches like a book. You were silly to go into the bathroom alone, I thought we’d agreed not to leave ourselves vulnerable to them”
“They were laughing so I knew they were in a good mood. I’d already heard what I wanted to hear.”
“They’re never in a good mood. You were daft to go in alone. Still, no harm done and we do have the evidence.”
We listened to the bullies’ conversation and hugged each other as they incriminated themselves about the wheelchairs.
“We only use this if push comes to shove. OK.” Said Melanie.
I kissed Melanie passionately then she backed up the disc and locked it in her strong box.
With our evidence secure, we finished packing and prepared to go down for the Christmas Holidays.
It was during the holidays that Miss Frobisher visited my parents. It appeared that Rosemary had made claims about my having assaulted her and she advised us to get a lawyer. Tearfully I phoned Melanie and told her the situation.
“Not to worry, darling. We just release a copy of one of the discs to their lawyers. Peter has already done a job on it. It looks as though they were doing it in their bathroom in their own block before the fire.”
“How did he do that?”
“We simply placed the camera in their bathroom inside their ventilator. The fire didn’t affect their study and bathroom, so it’s unchanged. They only moved out because of all the workmen and equipment. It was a stroke of luck. Come and look at the video. It looks exactly as if they were doing it in their own study and bathroom."
Without a second thought, I rode over the following morning and gasped at the pictures. Melanie smiled.
“Peter’s a wiz with this stuff. You could never tell unless you put the video through a computer and studied the digitalised imagery.”
I peered as hard as I could at the pictures but I simply could not make out the joins.
“There’s a price though.” Giggled Mel.
“Go on, “ I sighed.
“Peter wants some of the footage of Lucinda taking a shower.”
“Oh that’s just sick! For God’s sake, she’s his girlfriend.”
“Well you know what boys are like. He probably wants to impress his mates.”
“Let me speak to him. That’s just stupid. If Lucinda ever found out, it would be over in a flash.”
Armed with my arguments, I quickly shamed Peter into recognising the stupidity of his ambition. Not only would he lose Lucinda’s affections but she would never forgive Melanie for videoing her without her knowledge or consent. In the end, Peter accepted a doctored film using our bodies and the bullies’ heads. It worked well. We remained anonymous, whilst he had some bizarre footage to impress his mates at school. Men! I don’t know!!
Once we had the doctored film of Monika and Rosemary gloating about the wheelchairs, we sent it anonymously to their parents. The assault case was dropped overnight and Miss Frobisher returned to tell my mothers of her relief and surprise.
“I just don’t understand it. Apparently some sort of evidence has turned up about the wheelchairs incident.”
Fortunately, I was able to declare in total honesty that I had nothing to do with any ‘evidence’. It had all been down to Melanie and Peter.
As I said in the beginning, Melanie was a tough, streetwise little cookie. A good friend but a dangerous enemy.
This chapter describes the bullies efforts to get at the foursome and particulaly Martina.
Their efforts fail and eventually the bullies are isolated.
Lucinda proves to have 'blossomed' into a truly beautiful and popular Head girl.
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Martina’s Story 7.
Myself. Martina, A sexually dysphoric child whose sexuality has not
yet been ascertained but who chooses to present as a girl.
Beverly My adoptive ‘aunt’ who is a mature shemale and my most supportive adult friend.
Chenille My older half sister.
Jennifer Aunt Beverly’s adopted daughter.
Beatrice Aunt Beverly’s second adopted daughter and Jennifer’s younger sister.
Sian. My lesbian mother who is married to —
Margaret Who is Chenille’s lesbian mother.
Sissy. My and Chenille’s transvestite shemale father.
Sandie. My doctor, psychiatrist and sexual counsellor.
Judge Elizabeth Porter. The judge who ruled that I should be allowed to live and dress as a girl.
Angela Hunt. Jennifer and Beatrice’s natural blood mother who is now married to Aunt Beverly who is a shemale.
Lucinda. Martina’s ‘best friend’ at St Angela’s School.
Baroness Wemite’ Sian’s old School Chum
Peter Baroness Wemite’s son
Melanie Baroness Wemite’s daughter and my friend.
Rosemary & Monika. Two bullies in the junior school.
For those readers who wish to get a deeper insight and appreciation of my home circumstances, I suggest that they read Skipper, the story about Aunty Beverly’s rescue and adoption of Jennifer and Beatrice. This is a ‘follow on story’ about my childhood. It starts chronologically after Aunty Beverly finally married Aunty Angela. Some people might disapprove of our life style but I like it, as do my sisters, my mothers and my aunts.
With the threat of Moniker and Rosemary’s parents removed we expected to find the remainder of our shared tenancy to be peaceful. When the spring term started the bullies returned in a very subdued mood but it was a submission born of a fulminating wish to gain revenge on Melanie.
For the first few weeks of term there was a tense standoff as the bullies searched for an opening to gain leverage. Several times we caught them searching the study looking for evidence of cameras but Melanie and her brother Peter had been doubly careful to remove all trace of the video supervision during the Christmas holidays.
Many times during gym and dance lessons, as well as during the evening when we lounged around the study in our underwear, I caught Rosemary studying the crotch of my school knickers suspiciously. However, by now it had become second nature for me and my companions to always be sure we were never outnumbered when around the bullies. They had ceased their dirty tricks campaign because they just could not be sure if there were still some cameras cleverly hidden. To their further annoyance, Melanie had positioned her Internet chat-cam so that it included the bathroom door in the background whenever she chatted online. The camera was virtually left on all the time as though ‘by accident’ and during the night it documented all visits to the bathroom. Our tights and bras etc were now relatively safe from sabotage.
Finally, the fire-damaged dormitory was refurbished and we bid a relieved good riddance to the bullying pair. The night they finally left there was a party atmosphere throughout our dorm and lots of the junior girls came around to thank us for stifling the bullies efforts during their stay in our dorm.
Melanie’s two holiday houseguests were particularly grateful. The bullies were racist as well as cruel and the Malayan twins were small for their age. They had suffered grievously at the hands of Rosemary and Moniker. Lucinder and the other prefects could not be around 24 hours
“Wee want to thank yooo for being good to uss!” They declared. “Thosse two are nooo good!”
The twins’ grammar was perfect but their accents were still very strong. Lucy gave them both an affectionate hug then shooed them away after reassuring them that the bullies writ would never run whilst she was around. The twins grinned happily and swayed away with all the grace of their oriental origins.
“You could have let them stay a while,” remarked Melanie, “ they only wanted to say thank you.”
“They’re middle school third years Mel. It doesn’t do to let them get too familiar with upper school fifth formers. They should respect us.”
“They can like us as well as respect us,” riposted Bea.
“Well they respect us now. It doesn’t do to get too familiar. Anyway, they only live down the hall. It’s not as though they’re in another house. We’re always here for them.”
That’s what I liked about Lucinda, in truth she was ‘there for them’ and the younger girls knew it. However, boundaries had to be drawn otherwise the younger girls might think our study was ‘open house’ and if they walked in on us while we were ‘de flagrante’ there might be repercussions.
We let the matter drop for we were too preoccupied with the prospects of the forthcoming night. That first night without the bullies, we re-established our relationships. Even Lucinda joined in the fun and ventured just that little bit further. I was tantalised by her increased curiosity as she investigated our bedtime games and explored just that little bit more. Melanie and Beatrice giggled deliciously as Lucy expanded her knowledge. Nevertheless, Lucy still refrained from complete penetration for she remained determined to keep herself technically ‘pure’ until she married Peter, Melanie’s older brother.
The following day Lucy accompanied me on my cross-country run whilst the rest of the girls played hockey. Even though we knew the bullies were engaged on the hockey field, Lucinda chose to accompany me so we were never alone. We chatted as we jogged over The Dumplin for we were not pushing ourselves.
“Can you ever see yourself getting married?” Asked Lucy.
“I dunn’o,” I replied, “ “which girl should I marry, Melanie or Beatrice?”
Lucy smiled and giggled.
“Become a Muslim or a Mormon, then you can marry both.”
I smiled and giggled at this idea.
“It sounds attractive, but what do Muslims or Mormons think of trannies or shemales?”
“Yeah. There’s the snag.”
“We think it’s best if we just live like our mums. Provided any kids we have are happy and secure then it’ll work out. It’s worked out for Beatrice and me as well as our older sisters.”
“But what of the legal stuff. Peter will have to marry me legally if his title is to be carried down.”
“That’s for Peter and you. It’s different for Mel.”
“Not necessarily, Peter says Melanie’s inheritance settlement could be affected if she isn’t married properly.”
“Oh. She never mentioned that to Beatrice or me. Anyway, I think her sexuality matters to her more than any inheritance.”
“Yes I suppose so. Her inheritance of any distaff titles and stuff is dependant on her being legally married.
God! Who’d belong to the titled classes? I sighed.
“Watch it Martie, I look like marrying into the so called titled bunch.”
I wagged my head and grinned but Lucy wasn’t unduly worried by such prospects.
“Come on, race you back to the gate.” She finished.
The Dumplin had been deserted during our run and the idea of any danger had been subconsciously dismissed. . We had reached the top of the Dumplin again and the gate Lucinda spoke of lay at the bottom of the bridle path. It led from the bridle path through a patch of woodlands and into the school grounds. I took up Lucinda’s challenge for I knew I could hold my own against her in cross-country running. Lucinda was a brilliant all round athlete and built for team sports like hockey or la-crosse but I was more slightly built and better suited to distance running. Within minutes, I was well ahead of her as we sped down the bridle path towards the gate. I soon reached the gate well ahead of her so I entered the woods and eased up to a very slow trot. I knew I had the measure of Lucinda and could easily speed up again to take the lead if she wanted to race back all the way to school. What I had not allowed for was an ambush.
As I trotted delicately between some thick shrubs, several masked forms suddenly attacked me.
I let out shriek for help but I was too far ahead of Lucinda. My calls were quickly stifled and I was taken down and secured. A gag was rammed into my mouth then a sack or bag was pulled over my head and I was dragged into the bushes.
I did not even have time to count how many attackers had beset me. What I did realise was that they were obviously determined to establish what lay inside my knickers.
Once constrained I immediately felt sharp nails dragging at my running shorts as I tried to kick and struggle. My efforts were eventually overcome and I realised my struggles were futile. Finally a pair of handcuffs clicked around my wrists and I was helpless. I decided it would be best to try and identify my attackers by sound or any other means.
I heard one of them order another to ‘get the camera’ but I could not recognise her voice. I decided to lie still for a moment to try and get them to lower their guard. My knickers were ripped off then next my running top and bra leaving me totally naked. I heard the camera start to click and the flash silhouetted two of my attackers as they stood in front of me. So far I had not identified any voices because only one assailant had said anything and that was the one holding the bag over my head. If I could just get the other assailants to say anything, I might recognise somebody.
For a moment I stopped all resistance as the camera operator flashed away until I finally had a good idea of the exact location of two vague silhouettes directly in front of me.
Guessing the distance I lashed out with my foot and caught one of the two silhouetted onlookers squarely in the stomach. She let out a pained curse and I recognised the voice. It was Moniker’s mother the barrister.
I was shocked at this discovery but managed to keep my senses as the woman detaining me gave me a vicious blow to the back of my head. I was dazed but not unconscious and I managed to retain lucidity. I pretended I was unconscious and slumped to the ground. This, I hoped would put them off their guard. My ploy worked for the other onlooker cursed again.
“Nora! You didn’t have to hit her that hard.”
I recognised Rosemary’s mother.
‘Shit!’ I thought. ‘These buggers must have prepared this trap carefully and garnished a detailed knowledge of my routine from their bullying daughters.’
“Never mind that get some more photographs.”
At this, I heard Lucinda calling my name and my attackers cursed. Her arrival had foiled any further developments. They panicked.
“Quick! Lets get out of here, we’ve got enough evidence.”
I felt the jailer release my bruised arms and they sped off through the wood as I struggled to spit the gag jammed into my mouth. Eventually my muffled squawks drew Lucinda to me and she found me still struggling to get to my feet and spit out the gag.
“Oh my God! What’s happened?” She squealed as she whipped the sack off my head
“They attacked me!” I finally managed to say as Lucinda dug the gag out of my mouth.
“Who?”
That Barrister bitch, Moniker’s mother and her cronies.
“What!”
“Yes,” I gasped, “her and Rosemary’s mother plus two others I don’t know. They took a pile of photographs!”
Lucinda recovered my torn clothing and cursed.
“The bastards. Here your top’s still OK but you’ll have to put the sack over your bottom half.”
“I can’t get my arms through the loops of my top. These handcuffs wont open.”
Lucinda pulled the top over my shoulders then fixed the sack around my lower half.
“That’ll have to do. Let’s get you back to our study.”
“Aren’t we going to tell Miss Frobisher or even the police?”
Lucinda’s brain was already way ahead of mine. I suppose I had been too stressed out to realise a huge flaw in my attackers tactics and Lucinda explained.
“When I found you, you still had the sack over your head and tits. Had they taken any photographs of your face and whole body?”
“I, - I don’t think so,” I replied, “I was struggling too much in the beginning. They didn’t bring out the camera until they had subdued me. I suppose they didn’t want me to recognise Moniker and Rosemary’s mothers.”
“Exactly, and that means they haven’t got any pictures of your face.”
A slow smile of dawning filtered through my befuddled head.
‘Of course! It was like the naked actress who locked herself out of her flat when she was collecting the early morning milk off the step! The door clicked shut behind her accidentally and she was stranded naked on the step’
The only thing she could find to hide herself was a flowerpot by the door, so she emptied that and stuck it over her head. Several people saw a naked girl seeking help from a police officer but only the police officer realised who he was talking to. The starlet had cleverly retained the secret of her identity and the policeman wasn’t telling. My situation was the same. They hadn’t taken any photos of my head because it was under the sack. The silly buggers had only obtained pictures of a ripe pair of tits, a beautifully rounded feminine pair of hips and a pair of long slender feminine legs with a cock. The cock could have belonged to any she-male. Lucinda had interrupted their plans.
My mood lightened up as Lucinda studied the thicket.
“The background won’t give anything away in their photos. Stay here and I’ll go and get your spare running shorts.
“I’m not staying here. They might come back.”
“Oh OK then, but we’ll have to slip you in via the caretaker’s door behind the boiler room.”
“You check he’s not around then.”
“He wont be. He’s preparing the main hockey pitch for Saturday’s game. It’s the final of the inter-schools trophy.”
Armed with this knowledge, we quickly slipped into the school buildings un-noticed and stole into our study.
“Now to get these bloody handcuffs off. I’ll have to see the caretaker after class. He’s got a hacksaw.”
“You mean I have to sit here till then. What if they come looking for me?”
“Just keep the study door locked. Pretend you’re not in.”
“Oh thanks. And what of Mel and Bea?”
“I’ll speak to them in the changing rooms.”
I sat numbly in an armchair until I heard my friends arrive.
“Are you in there Martie?” They whispered through the door.
“Yes.”
“Let us in.”
I fidgeted awkwardly with the key and let them in. Melanie produced a stiff piece of fencing wire and motioned towards my cuffed wrists.
“See if I can pick the lock.”
Glad of any effort, I presented my wrists and Melanie busied herself behind me. Within seconds the cuffs were off. Melanie had not lost her streetwise skills.
“Shit that was quick!” Gasped Beatrice. “Where did you learn that?”
Melanie just shrugged and smiled enigmatically.
“Never mind where she learned it,” Bea scolded, “just be thankful for her unusual talents.”
“Thank God for that.” I sighed as I dashed to the lavatory and they went to get Lucinda.
“Well that’s the immediate problem solved.” Observed Lucinda “It now remains to see if they realise their big blunder.”
“What’s that?” Asked Beatrice.
Lucinda repeated the actress and the flowerpot story and the other two giggled.
“You should be safe.” Observed Mel.
“Only provided Miss Frobisher keeps her head.” Added Bea.
Lucinda added the most important note though.
“I think they’ll realise their blunder when the see they haven’t got the identity of the owner of the delicious girly hips and cock.”
I preened myself at the compliment.
“Oooh. Do you really think I’m delicious then?”
All my friends smiled and I revelled in their friendship. It was good to have such loyal companions.
Our happiness was not to last long however. The mothers were determined to try their luck and the photos landed on Miss Frobisher’s desk the following Monday. We were called from our class.
“Is this true?” She asked softly though the concern was etched into her strained voice.
“Yes.” I confessed. “They attacked me in the woods on Friday.”
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
“We hoped they would realise they didn’t have an identity.”
Miss Frobisher blinked and re-studied the photographs.
“Do you know; I believe you’re right. I was so shocked I didn’t think to question them.”
Lucinda, ever the calm and collected one, reinforced the facts.
“It’s just some photographs of some poor devil in the woods with a sack over her — or his, head. I would treat them with the contempt they deserve.”
“But she’s a well respected barrister,” protested Miss Frobisher, “if she goes further with this, it could look bad for the school. Who would question her word?”
“If she goes further with this, I will swear on oath that they assaulted me and tried to kidnap me.” I added. “I could even say that they sexually assaulted me.”
“But it’s her word against yours; and she’s a barrister.”
“Yes. A woman who assaults dysfunctional teenagers and photographs them stripped naked. That’s sexual assault for a start!”
“How do you know she was there?”
“She sent you the photos didn’t she?”
“Well, - yes; she did actually,” paused Miss Frobisher thoughtfully, “here’s the letter. She expresses grave concern.”
“Grave concern my foot! She’s trying to blackmail the school; she’s trying to get me expelled. Oh it’s couched up in legal parlance but the bottom line is she’s trying to get at me through the school.”
“Well she lists her concerns and the ethical issues.”
“She’s lust being licentious. There may be ethical issues but that’s up to my study mates to comment upon. There are no legal issues. I’m a girl, legally. As a barrister, she should realise it’s all about law!”
“But her concerns are very real.”
“She’s lawyer. She can only act through the law. Any other avenue like going to the papers about ethics or something puts her in breach of law. That letter does her more damage than us. She’s foist by her own petard. She’s been too keen to put it all down on paper. She’s hung herself. She’s trying to blackmail you and the school.”
Miss Frobisher sat silent for long moments as she digested our arguments.
“I’ll have to take legal advice on this. Leave it with me.”
“If you want legal advice, I can recommend Judge Elizabeth Porter.” I added.
“Who! The law lord?”
“Yes, the very same.”
“My, my Martina, you do move in illustrious circles.”
“She ruled on my case Miss Frobisher. She was the judge who ruled that I could live as a girl until I determined my sexuality in maturity. That is why I am legally recognised as a girl and allowed to live as one.”
“Why yes of course.”
“And that is why neither you or the school have broken any laws.” I finished. “I know exactly where the law stands on my condition, especially about stuff like me being at this school. Lady Elizabeth Porter gave me the complete breakdown and the law has not changed. If you want her private telephone number, I can get it for you from my Aunty Beverly. Judge Porter is very protective of my circumstances, and very sympathetic.”
Miss Frobisher took considerable comfort from my offer.
“Well, I will have to contact the courts and take proper legal advice.”
I shrugged unconcernedly, for I knew I was on safe ground.
“Your own lawyers will have to tell you the same thing. Legally I am to be treated as a girl! That’s what the doctors say and that’s what the court decided. I will be allowed to choose my legal sex when I reach maturity.”
A few days later Miss Frobisher was all smiles. The knowledge that she was deemed to have not broken any law, gave her confidence.
The upshot was that my statement was proved correct and because I was legally still a minor, nothing could be made public. Moniker’s mother was hauled before the bar council and suspended for three years. I felt a huge weight off my shoulders, as did Miss Frobisher for by then I would have left school. I would have reached my maturity of eighteen and the issue would be over.
Despite this successful outcome, Miss Frobisher still felt compelled to get statements from Lucy, Bea and Melanie that they were content to share their private study with me.
This however, only served to strengthen my position for my companions were adamant they wanted me to remain. Consequently, I was allowed to continue living intimately with my companions.
Despite this, other girls gradually learned my secret for Moniker and Rosemary were determined to try and ruin our lives.
By the end of the fifth year, it was common knowledge in the upper school that I had a penis and there were endless propositions from some of the more adventurous girls. It was with considerable relief that we made it to the end of the fifth year without any serious incidents.
In the sixth year, we finally cleared all the hurdles. It could be demonstrated that our adjoining studies were sufficiently isolated from the younger girls to cause no risk, whilst allowing us the luxury of continuing our private intimacies. The biggest incident occurred when Peter, Melanie’s older brother, finally learned of my cock. He was fascinated when Lucinda finally was free to enlighten him during one of their private moments after we had all passed the age of consent.
Peter and Lucinda were getting ready for the hunt ball and Peter was almost slavering at the sight of Lucinda’s beautiful curves under her turquoise satin ball gown. Ever the gentleman however, he struggled with his hormones and behaved with the utmost probity. It was this probity that so attracted Lucinda to him. He sat respectfully on the bed watching Lucinda apply her makeup as they chatted.
“What! You mean Martina’s not a girl?” He gasped incredulously.
“Well. Yes.” Corrected Lucinda. “She’s a girl in her head but she’s still got a boy’s parts.”
“Crickey! You mean she’s got a — you know! But she’s so feminine. I mean I could fancy her if it wasn’t for you.”
“Watchit! Don’t you dare try anything on with her!” Warned Lucinda.
“No. I had no intentions. But she’s just so, - you know, - so feminine, so curvy.”
“And she’s one of my best friends, so don’t you ever go hurting her.”
“What does my sister Melanie think of her?” Pressed Peter.
“We’re all the best of friends and we stick together like glue."
Peter fell silent for a moment for he was aware of his sister’s sexual orientations.
“No. I asked what does Melanie really think of Martina?”
“How d’you mean?”
“You know. You know, - sexually, I mean.”
Lucinda fell silent and that silence betrayed her secrets. Peter gasped.
“They don-. They don’t, - you know, they don’t, - they don’t do it.”
“I can’t say,” replied Lucinda stonewalling like mad.
Slow dawning popped in Peter’s brain like a feeble light bulb.
“They do don’t they. They do!”
Peter was now grinning right across his face.
Lucinda remained doggedly silent but her red face betrayed her.
“Well I’ll be buggered!” Squawked Peter as the truth finally hit him right between the eyes.
“I’m not saying.” Blushed Lucinda.
“You don’t have to my sweet. It’s writ right across your face. Melanie, my little sister be dammed. Well I’ll be buggered! Why the crafty, horny little minx! What about that other girl? What’s her name, - Beatrice? Is Martina humping her?”
“I’m not saying. It’s none of our concern.”
“What d’you mean, ‘none of your concern’. You’ve been living with them for the last six years!”
“Listen darling!” Snapped Lucinda. “I’m still a virgin, and that’s all you have to concern yourself with. What they get up to is between themselves. Now are we going to the hunt ball or not?”
Peter nodded in perplexed silence. He was genuinely in love with Lucinda and to put icing on the cake, Lucinda was deeply in love with him; not to mention her being a stunning beauty. In the car he reached across and gave her an ecstatic hug for he was truly enchanted with her. Furthermore, Peter was the envy of the county for Lucinda’s stunning good looks turned any man’s head. Her returned embrace reassured him for he had genuinely thought that Lucinda might have been turned by his sister Melanie’s sexual mores and whiles.
“Thanks. I love you even more now.”
“And I you. Now drive. We’re late as it is.”
“All the better an entrance you’ll make.”
“It’s rude to be late. Now get a move on!"
The rest of their evening passed without incidence but Lucinda noticed a distinct fricassee of tension between her and Peter She noticed his embraces seemed just that much more possessive.
As they drove home she reassured him with extra attentions.
“Don’t worry, you can trust me. I’ve got to eighteen and I’m still a virgin.”
“I’m sorry love, it’s just that, I mean, sharing your life with a girl with a cock. It must be weird!”
“It’s very interesting actually,” replied Lucinda, “ Martina’s a very sweet girl really and she never makes advances.”
“What? Never?”
“No. It’s your sister that’s the huntress.”
“Yeah. That figures. But you’re quite safe?”
“Safe as the Rock of Gibraltar. Look there’s your mum and dad.”
“They must have stopped off on the way home, they left long before us.”
That night, Peter was stunned to learn that his mother had known of Martina’s ‘little peculiarities’ for years as he and the two women chatted in the kitchen.”
“Does dad know?” He asked his mother.
“He knows about Melanie but he thinks Martina’s also a lesbian.”
“Blimey, what a web we weave and all this has been going on under my nose all these years.”
“Well not under your nose darling. Most of the time you’ve been up at that terribly expensive school.”
“Yeah, but, - but what does dad think?”
“Your father’s more worldly wise than you think. However, what he doesn’t know won’t hurt him. His only disappointment is that he doesn’t think Melanie will ever give him a grand daughter.”
“I’m not sure that’s entirely true,” observed Lucinda, “Melanie’s intimated to me that she might like to have a child by Martina.”
“Bloody hell! Is Martina able to, - you know?” Wondered Peter aloud.
“Yes,” confirmed Lucinda, “once her vasectomy is reversed.”
Peter shook his head, finished his cocoa and went to bed.
“Good gracious!” Gasped Countess Wemite once her son Peter had retired to bed. Now she had Lucinda alone, she could pump her a lot further in a real girl-to-girl talk. “I didn’t realise that those sort of precautions had been taken.”
“It was best for everybody. Melanie couldn’t leave Martina alone, once she discovered the truth.”
“Who’s idea was the vasectomy?”
“Aunty Beverly’s mostly. Though apparently everybody agreed including Doctor Sandie.”
“Well, I suppose it was for the best. I’m secretly glad that my Melanie is attracted to her. At least there’re prospects of grandchildren and I know her father would dearly love some grandchildren by Mel. To tell the truth, once I realised that Melanie was a les, - a lesbian I thought there was no hope. I never realised she had maternal instincts.”
“Melanie’s more feminine than you think. She besotted by Martina.”
“Countess Wemite felt a fricassee of delight tingle through her body. She refilled her mug with more chocolate as an indicator that she wished to chat much more. It was another hour before she finally escorted Lucinda to one of the guest rooms next to her own master bedroom. Peter slept in the opposite wing at the far end of the house. Lucinda smiled as she learned the new arrangements and she turned to the Countess.
“There’s no need to chaperone me. Peter knows full well that I’m a virgin until the bridal night.”
“Brave girl! And very pleased I am to hear it.” Replied the Countess as Lucinda settled into the guest room.
The next day, Lucinda returned to school and Peter returned to college. They would see little of each other until the summer as
Exams loomed. Back at school Melanie pumped her friend.
“So mummy knows about Martina!”
“Yes. Your mother’s got a knack of dragging stuff out of people.”
“Yeah. Don’t I know it! You should have been there the night I confessed my sexuality.”
“Gosh. Was she angry?” I asked.
“No,” replied Mel. She surprised me really. I think she already knew.”
“Your mum’s a canny old cookie.” Observed Beatrice.
“You bet,” agreed Lucinda. “She took the stuff about Martina with remarkable aplomb.”
“Yeah! It seems anything goes, as long as it doesn’t scare the horses.” Giggled Melanie as we stripped for bed.
Although we were split between two studies opposite each other across the dormitory landing, we often ended up all four squeezed onto two mattresses, laid out on the floor. Fortunately, sixth formers’ studies were located on the other side of the luggage rooms and they enjoyed lots of privacy from the younger girls. It was mainly to provide quiet for studying but it also served for total privacy. Short of one of the younger girls wanting to come in during the middle of the night, the sixth formers enjoyed total seclusion. It was a rare event for a junior girl to go crying to the prefects. She would never have lived it down. Besides that, in our dormitory, there was very little cause to frighten the younger girls because Lucinda had already nailed down all types of bullying. She had been voted overwhelmingly head girl by the other students and she had been unanimously approved by all the staff including Miss Frobisher. We remembered the sixth form assembly that first day of our term when Miss Frobisher confirmed Lucinda’s election.
Miss Frobisher had spoken of Lucinda’s early previous election as games captain and confirmed her deep satisfaction that all the students had happily elected her as head girl. Lucinda had it all, beauty, good-looks, popularity, intelligence and athleticism. She used these qualities to run the student caucus as a natural and much loved leader. How she had changed from the fat, shy little eleven-year-old who had arrived lonely and fearful on that day that seemed like light years ago. Because of her having virtually eliminated bullying in the school, her reign as head girl brought peace and progress to the school and happiness for the pupils. It meant that children could achieve their full potential. Lucinda, Melanie, Beatrice and I all qualified for uni and our grades enabled us to choose our colleges.
Naturally, we chose London, for the big city offered us all the support we needed to indulge our alternative life styles. Additionally, Lucinda was able to live close to her beloved Peter who had gained a commission in the Household Division.
London proved to be an idyllic destination for there we could be free.
This is the first new chapter of Martina's story, I've extended it for big closet like I did for Skipper.
It records the girls Melanie, Beatrice and Martina's first term in college in London.
Hope y'all like it..
Beverly.<>
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Martina’s Story 8.
Myself. Martina, A sexually dysphoric child whose sexuality has not
yet been ascertained but who chooses to present as a girl.
Beverly My adoptive ‘aunt’ who is a mature she-male and my most supportive adult friend.
Chenille My older half sister.
Jennifer Aunt Beverly’s adopted daughter.
Beatrice Aunt Beverly’s second adopted daughter and Jennifer’s younger sister.
Sian. My lesbian mother who is married to —
Margaret Who is Chenille’s lesbian mother.
Sissy. My and Chenille’s transvestite shemale father.
Sandie. My doctor, psychiatrist and sexual counsellor.
Judge Elizabeth Porter. The judge who ruled that I should be allowed to live and dress as a girl.
Angela Hunt. Jennifer and Beatrice’s natural blood mother who is now married to Aunt Beverly who is a shemale.
Baroness Wemite’ Sian’s old School Chum
Peter Baroness Wemite’s son
Melanie Baroness Wemite’s daughter and my friend.
Rosemary & Monika. Two bullies in the junior school.
Chrissie My older step sister.
For those readers who wish to get a deeper insight and appreciation of my home circumstances, I suggest that they read Skipper, the story about Aunty Beverly’s rescue and adoption of Jennifer and Beatrice. This is a ‘follow on story’ about my childhood. It starts chronologically after Aunty Beverly finally married Aunty Angela. Some people might disapprove of our life style but I like it, as do my sisters, my mothers and my aunts.
The story of my school days ended with chapter 7 and now I write of my days at college.
Some say that college broadens the horizons and well it might but for us three it brought unusual circumstances during our first year when we lodged in the college halls of residence. Firstly the warden proved to be a narrow minded censorious old woman from the old school and although she could not technically deny us seeing each other, she invented every trick in the book to make our lives more difficult.
It started the very first day when we arrived to find this blue-rinse individual in twin set and fake pearls studying the new list of students. After much politicking and canvassing I had managed to get the college authorities to leave the little box for ‘sex’ blank and this lady had immediately picked up on it. She was waiting for me even as I stepped out of Aunty Beverly’s Landrover.
“Young lady, I see on your form that you have not ticked the box to indicate your gender.”
“That’s correct.”
“Do you want me to tick it for you now?”
“No.”
“Why ever not?”
Whatever for?”
“Well young lady you must have a gender.”
“Must I?”
At this she stared at me and frowned.
“If you don’t have a gender how will people relate to you?”
“However they wish.”
“Well this is a ladies hall of residence so you’ll have to put down female.”
“I’ll put down nothing. I am registered as female purely for social convenience and for beauracracy to function. What would you do if I suddenly changed sex?”
“Don’t be silly young lady; nobody has sudden changes of sex.”
“They might if their sex is indeterminate.”
At this she became unsure for now she had invaded my privacy. It was not for her to try to determine what lay under my skirt or to draw any conclusions from it if she ever did find anything. The only person who could conclude anything about my gender was me! and I resolutely refused to be pigeon-holed. At eighteen, I now had that absolute right. Well, in my mind I had that human and moral right even if the law stupidly denied me the legal right. As far as I was concerned, I could be whatever gender I wanted, where I wanted and when I wanted.
For my own peace of mind, I presented externally as a girl because I preferred a girl’s life. They had much more freedom to express themselves in the external sense, they had a freer reign with their emotions, they had far greater choices of clothing, they could be flamboyant in their life-styles, they could metaphorically and literally ‘let their hair down’ without, or at least with less censure or threat of violence. It was true they faced greater dangers of assault and more importantly rape, but it behoved everybody to take precautions in such circumstances. Stay sober, stay with trusted friends and choose the safe way home. This really applied to all the sexes.
The only time I felt like a boy was when providing happiness for Beatrice and Melanie, and even this was strictly within the parameters of our deepest intimacies.
This was my chosen life-style and I resented come censorious busy-body invading it. As far as I was concerned, the tick in the gender box would remain unfilled.
We three moved into the hall of residence but we were not allocated the same flat. The warden had been doing her research and in her own febrile mind she saw our lifelong intimacy as some sort of assault on the university’s reputation, the hall of residence’s reputation and her own reputation. She deliberately allocated us rooms separated by floors and she made no secret of it.
It was two weeks before we managed to sort out her mess and it caused some resentment with other pupils who had started to form friendships when they were unexpectedly separated to accommodate our, and, more particularly, my needs. It would never have done to leave me sharing with new girls who had no idea of my condition.
It also highlighted the fact that one of the new girls had a ‘some sort of a problem’.
These issues soon gain notoriety in a close knit community and it was not long before I was getting funny looks and hearing sniggers whenever I stepped out.
Then came the mid-term college ball. Mel, Bea and I decided to go; we could not keep ourselves holed up forever in our flat even if we did have little reason to leave it except for lectures and meals. The Saturday before the ball we did the rounds of the charity shops in Chelsea and Knightsbridge to see what we could see. We ended up with a beautiful selection of ball gowns. I had a beautiful scarlet gown with a single ‘over the shoulder’ feature that perfectly reflected my mood. I wanted to appear ‘vampish’ but simultaneously modest. The full petticoated skirt also served to make sure that there would be no telltale bulges.
Beatrice and Mel bought green and blue body hugging arrangements with hobble hems. It forced them to ‘wiggle’ outrageously as we slipped in through a side door and avoided the grand steps that led onto the dance-floor.
I have to admit we all three looked stunning and even though we had made our entrance as low key as possible, it wasn’t long before the bees came buzzing around the honey pots.
We had chosen a table at the back of the hall to try and avoid drawing attention to ourselves for our sexual orientations were such that we had no interest in boys. We had each other, what more could we want.
Despite our efforts to remain ‘low key’ it’s hard to avoid boys if your three stunning ‘lookers’. A constant stream of hopefuls found some reason to approach our modest four chaired table because it was close to the bar and the toilets. No we had not been put there by some malicious hostess, we had chosen the low status table to avoid just such constant attentions. Nevertheless we had a stream of hopeful ‘suitors’ come to ask for a dance.
Now all three of us love to dance and though I say it myself, we are all three good movers and shakers on the dance-floor. Eventually the music infected our bones so we picked our way through the shadows and stepped out onto the dance floor. Naturally we chose a corner close to our table but once the music started then lookout.
The disc-jockey was an expert at getting things moving and he kept a sharp eye on the floor to judge the mood. It wasn’t long before he spotted us giving it large as we jived away furiously. Though I have to say it again, we make a good trio on the floor, I dance the man’s part while Mel and Bea work away furiously one to each hand. Jive is one of the few dances that enables this and that’s why we like rock and roll music.
Soon many eyes were coveting us and we had to keep a tight hold on each other as we strove to avoid the unwelcome advances. After watching us intently for several minutes, the disc jockey seemed to realise that we weren’t interested in boys. He chose a couple of gay anthems that we instantly recognised and I flashed a smile as I mouthed ‘thank you’ to him across the floor. When we three and several others remained dancing to ‘I am what I am,’ it wrote the message large and clear.
After a furious finale, we three minced to our table and slumped contentedly in our chairs.
“Well I enjoyed that but my bloody heels are killing me,” Mel sighed as she went to sip her drink.
A voice from the shadows caught our attention.
“Don’t drink that juice girl, it’s been spiked!”
Mel’s hand froze midway between table and lips then she lowered the drink slowly as we turned to face the voice. The voice’s table was even deeper in the shadows than ours.
“Who are you?” Bea asked as we slowly made out a very slender girl with a beautiful gold ‘off the shoulder gown’ and a long French twist of rich, glossy, brown hair that plunged far below her waist. Even sitting down we could see it almost reaching the floor and it glowed with a beautiful sheen. The girl was stunning.
“I’m Jeanette and I just saw those sickos over there spike all your drinks while you were dancing.”
“Dammit, is nobody safe?” cursed Mel as she went to throw the drinks away.
“Don’t do that,” the girl cautioned as she stood up to her six foot one inches in her heels, “that’s evidence. May I join you?”
“By all means darling, please, we’d be delighted.” I replied.
As she swayed over we all realised from her slender hips and large feet that Jeanette was either a very beautiful transvestite or transsexual. Being as I was the one who had invited her, I stood up and offered her a hug and a kiss. She took my invitation gladly and I savoured her embrace for several seconds before Bea giggled.
“Put her down Marty, you don’t know where she’s been.”
As I finally released myself from Jeanette’s embrace I smiled and looked her up and down.
“You’ve been walking the walk, haven’t you love?” I observed.
A small tear of gratitude glinted in her deep brown eyes then she nodded and sighed wistfully.
“Yes.”
“Well your welcome here at this table, take the weight of your heels lovely.” Added Bea as she and Mel slid their chairs apart to return the fourth chair that we had been forced to push back to deter unwanted ‘jocks’ inviting themselves to our table.
Jeanette lowered herself with practiced grace that was not too exaggerated and with a fluidity that bespoke years of practice. We all three smiled at her as she delicately opened her purse to take a tissue to repair the damage caused by the single tear.
Here was a girl who had to work hard to maintain her immaculate appearance but she was extremely successful.
“So what course are you on,” Mel asked as I returned to the bar to purchase fresh drinks.
“Chemistry as main and art as subsidiary.”
“Gosh! That’s an unusual combination if you don’t mind me saying so,” Bea replied.
“I’m hoping to work in make-up research; I’ve just finished my gap year in Paris.”
She did not mention the firm but I finally detected and recognised the delicate fragrance of an expensive French perfume and concluded that she might have worked for that prestigious firm. I silently applauded her for not ‘name-dropping’.
Beatrice was less reserved as she complimented Jeanette.
“You should have been a model in Paris with your looks and height.”
Jeanette smiled wistfully and replied.
“No such luck, wrong start in life.”
We all nodded knowingly, sipped our new drinks and chatted until some more suitable jive music struck up. I glanced towards the disc jockey who was looking pointedly towards our table and squinting hopefully. He knew we were deep in the shadows somewhere by the bar. Eventually he spotted us and motioned urgently as he spotted Jeanette.
“He wants’ to speak to you.” Jeanette remarked.
“What about?”
“Me probably, the college T girl. He’ll probably try to warn you or something. They usually do.”
We all giggled as Mel stroked Jeanette’s long slender arm.
“We already know that darling and a stunningly attractive one you are.”
“I think he’s just trying to get the dance-floor active again; it’s gone a bit quiet.”
“Go and see what he wants Marty.”
Reluctantly I finished my drink, (we were only drinking fruit-juices,) and glided over to the disc-jockey’s deck and podium.
“What’s up, d’you want us to get up again?”
“Yes, you’re good movers. You know who you’re talking to don’t you. That’s Jeanette and she’s a tranny! I’ve had other gigs in gay clubs and I’ve seen her on lots of occasions.”
“And?” I riposted.”
“Well, I, - I thought I’d better warn you.”
“Okay, so you’ve warned us, now let us be the judges of our own company. We’re not as dumb as we’re cabbage looking.”
“Oh sorry. Did you know?”
“As soon as we met her darling, there ain’t many six foot women with size eleven heels and no hips. Besides she told us almost immediately. Now d’you want us to dance or not?”
“Oh yes please, I can’t believe a college ball could get so dead.”
“Maybe the girls are all flunked out, somebody’s going around spiking drinks.”
“Oh shit! I’ll bet I know who that is! I’ll sound a warning straight away.”
True to his word, even as I swayed back to our table, he motioned to the doormen who came over and they chatted at length before the disc jockey pointed discreetly towards a rowdy group of college jocks and a couple of slimly looking individuals. They immediately tensed with fear as the doormen guarded the doors and a couple of them trapped the gang before they even knew there was something afoot. It was all done so smoothly and without any fuss that even Jeanette nearly missed it and she was really street-wise.
She smiled a tight-lipped smile when she finally spotted the action and she tapped our spiked drinks that we still had on our table. Without another word she approached the chief doorman and explained even as the police arrived. The office obviously recognised the tall willowy transvestite and he smiled as Jeanette talked at length. Then they returned to our table as they carried on talking, - “and I think you’ll find their finger prints on that glass at least. I’ll bet the chemicals in these girls’ drinks match the tablets you’ve just found on that scum.”
The policeman motioned to his colleague who went to collect some extra cuffs from their car. Mel looked up and frowned.
“Gosh, you guys were quick.”
“We were already on our way. Jeanette’s done us a few favours before. We’ve even been lucky enough to bring the forensics van. No murders to night so the van was free, thank God!”
Jeanette smiled apologetically as she explained.
“I phoned them the moment I saw those scum spike your drinks. It’s the old favourite, rhohypnol. Anyway, panic over, this wonderful officer is going to warn the floor.”
She reached across and gave the huge sergeant a peck on the cheek. If the sergeant could have got any redder, he would have caught fire.
“Thanks Charlie. See you at mums for her birthday.”
“Oh! D’you know him?” I asked.
“Charlie; oh yes. He’s my older brother.”
We three just sat their grinning stupidly as Jeanette rejoined our table and Charlie approached the disc-jockey’s podium.
He made his announcement short and sweet then invited anybody who might suspect their drinks had been tampered with to present them for a test in the police forensics van outside the gym. There was a substantial shift towards the door as many angry looking girls joined the queue.
The test was a simple ‘litmus test’ and several even angrier looking freshers returned arguing furiously with their newly found, so-called boyfriends.
We fell to chatting with Jeanette about her brother Charlie.
“He’s pretty tolerant guy if he still likes you.” I observed.
“You don’t know the half. He’s more than a big bro to me; he saved my life and nearly lost his career doing it.”
“How come?”
“Oh it was years ago. I was six when my father caught me ‘borrowing’ my sister’s clothes and he started beating me to a pulp. He was a vicious bastard who had beaten all us kids and mum throughout our childhoods, that is until they were old enough to defend themselves. Anyway, Charlie had just started as a rookie cop and he had just finished his shift. My father had beaten me many times before but this beating was really serious because of the transvestite thing and my father’s apparent transphobia. Charlie arrived home just in time, a few more minutes and the doctors said I would have been dead. By then Charlie was bigger than dad, just look at the size of him.”
We turned and saw Charlie towering over the main body of students as they still queued to have their drinks tested. A few students, probably the basket ball team, measured up to Charlie for height but not across the shoulders. Charlie was built like a bull bison; ‘king of the herd to boot!’ Jeanette was dead right, Charlie was a big man. She continued her story.
“Anyway, Charlie heard my mother screaming then he heard the noise upstairs. I was unconscious by then. He ran up to find our father laying into me like I was a rag doll, cursing and screaming and kicking me for all he was worth. Charlie just laid our father out with one blow then called his mates around. Firstly they tried to charge Charlie with assault.
Can you believe that, despite all the evidence of what was done to me and I was still being treated on the floor by the medics. They had to have the casualty consultant come to me because my body was so crumpled and misshapen. Charlie nearly lost his job and all he did was hit ‘the bastard’ once. He had to do an extra three months probation.
It was the last straw for Charlie, he literally kicked dad out! He had his own wage as a cop by then and my oldest sister was also working.
Mum didn’t need dad’s wages or his fists any more. My father got four years and he never came back. The rest is history as they say. I had multiple fractures and spent six months in ICU. Yep, Charlie’s my big bro all right so I do him all the favours I can, just like I’ve helped him here tonight.
There were six of us kids four girls and two boys and our father beat every one of us unmercifully. Charlie did us all a favour that day but I truly owe him my life.
Cos I’m the family tranny I move in lower circles than my sisters and I pick stuff up on the swamp drums. I’ve helped Charlie several times on cases by going undercover. Remember that series of prostitute murders some years ago around King’s Cross. The girls were too scared so I acted as a decoy for the police to set up a sting. It worked and Charlie got promoted. I still owe him for saving my life from that bastard supposedly called my father. Hey-up he’s coming over.”
The man-mountain approached and smiled at his transvestite brother.
“Don’t forget Jeanette, we’ll all be there including my wife Wendy and our two, for mum’s birthday. Everybody will be bringing either friends or wives. Bring your friends if you want. You know Wendy and your sisters love it when you talk clothes and makeup. I suppose I’ll be the stuck with the bar-b’ queue but what’s new.”
He kissed his younger brother on the cheek then smiled at all of us and lumbered out. We three just gaped in astonishment.
“Good God!” Bea gasped. "That’s one hell of a brother. You’re one lucky girl!”
“Yeah better than some T Girl life stories innit. Our family sticks together like shit to a blanket and I’m one of the main beneficiaries.”
Mel was studying Jeanette as she talked.
“Are you a freshman?”
“Yes, but a few years older than you guys.”
“Which hall of residence are you in?”
“Clarence. The boy's hall on the corner of cmapus.”
“Oh we’re in Clare. We're only two blocks further in. You looked a bit old to be a freshman.”
“Been round the block a bit I’m afraid girls. Had to get a job for a few years, don’t ask what but it sure helped my brother’s career. Scraping by to supplement my student loan. And yes it paid well but it wasn’t what you’d call office hours. Anyway, enough of me what about you three; you’re terrific dancers.”
“Why thank you, you’re ever so nice. Do you dance?” I asked.
Jeanette gave me an old look and grinned.
“As I said, the job wasn’t office hours. When he puts a decent dance tune on I’ll join you.”
Almost as if he’d heard Jeanette’s words, the disc jockey obliged with Buddy Holly’s ‘Peggy Sue’.
Beatrice and Mel's eyes lit up and we all stepped eagerly out onto the floor.
Well Jeanette did say she could dance and boy could Jeanette dance! Her long willowy frame seemed to contort into every possible and some impossible shapes as she pounded away in perfect rhythm to the drums. Within minutes, the dance-floor had come to a standstill as everybody stopped to stare; then, when the drums stopped as suddenly as they do in ‘Peggy Sue’ she did a spectacular sliding ‘splits’ to end up at our feet. The whole gymnasium burst into wild cheering.
Then she did the classical dancers trick of drawing her feet together and rising off the floor. Fortunately, Jeanette’s form fitting ball gown had side splits up to her hips. As we returned to our table we all complimented Jeanette.
“Jee’ze girl! You’re some mover! Where did you learn to dance like that?” I asked.
“Oh come on Martie. Doesn’t every little girl go to dance lessons? I went with my sisters.”
“Did your mum let you?”
“After Charlie chucked dad out, yes. I was still only six and it was decided that dance lessons would be good therapy after
ICU. I started dance lessons at seven. My older sister was also working and she paid for the lessons. She always said that the lessons were wasted on her younger sisters but not on me.”
To demonstrate her abilities, Jeanette wrapped her leg around her neck and span around on the other foot. Doing this in a ball gown meant, that despite the side slits, we got more than a glimpse of beautifully frilly panties and a hint of something else.
Mel looked around nervously but because our table was back in the shadows, nobody else saw the panties. However lots saw her fling her foot around her neck. Jeanette was a contortionist and an exotic dancer and as flexible as any woman. I was impressed. She also had terrific rhythm.
“I’ll bet all the jocks will be around your door in the morning,” Bea giggled.
“They’ll get a surprise then. I’m hetero.”
We nodded knowingly and Jeanette smiled.
“I knew you would realise that. It takes alternative lifestylers to know stuff like that. It’s unusual to find a lezzy threesome though.”
It was our turn to smile as Bea and Mel turned to me and nodded towards Jeanette by way of giving an explanation. I nodded resignedly and turned to Jeanette.
“Uhm, we’re not a threesome darling, we’re a ménage a trios.”
“Oh gosh. That’s just so lovely, which one’s the t girl?”
“Me.” I replied as my grin broadened.
Jeanette let out a squeal of delight and heads turned as one all around the dance floor. We were rapidly gaining attention. Our Alternative lifestyle radars warned us to be on guard for unwanted attentions. Several pairs of ‘dumb jock eyes’ were turning to study us and we could read the lust in their eyes.
Jeanette grinned and asked us.
“What time are you girls leaving?”
“Same time as you, d’you want to come over to ours for coffee.”
“Oh that would be nice. Will that old bag of a warden be there?”
“Oh yes. She wouldn’t miss out on a night like tonight. Perfect night to impose her narrow minded will.”
“What no male visitors after midnight.”
“Well, it’s her rule not a college rule but hall wardens have a lot of liberty to impose their own will. She’s a right Scottish Presbyterian old biddy.”
“Well I’ll have to do my best to ‘pass’ wont I?”
We smiled collectively. Although tall and willowy, Jeanette would have no trouble ‘passing’.
“So what time are we leaving girls?” Jeanette persisted.
“Why the big fuss about time?” Frowned Mel.
Jeanette smiled knowingly.
“Those dumb-arse lummoxes over there. They are in the same hall as me, Clarence. They don’t recognise me en-femme but they’ve tried it on already with several ‘r — gees’, and they need taking down a peg or two.”
“So how d’you intend doing that?” Bea asked.
“If my bro knows what time we’re going home we might be able to trap those twats.”
“Ah! Good thinking batman.” I said. “One of them has already tried it on with me alone in the high pressure lab during physics practical.”
“Exactly,” finished Jeanette, “they’ve already got reputations.”
We agreed on midnight and discussed Cinderella’s slippers until the next good dance tune arrived and once more Jeanette brought the house down with a few exotic, contortionist moves. At half, - eleven, Jeanette phoned her brother then at midnight we made a big show of departing with lots of loud good-bye’s to various new-found friends and acquaintances. As our heels clicked seductively along the paths across campus we soon heard the heavy footed plod of malevolent pursuers. Jeanette whispered into her already open phone and the ambush was set. We slowed down by a thick clump of bushes under some trees and sure enough the jocks arrived right on cue.
“Hello girls or should we say boys?” The thickset one smirked.
“Bugger off!” Beatrice snapped.
“Oh getting feisty are we. Would you like to try a real man?”
“Can’t see any around,” Mel retorted.
“Well try this then you tranny bitches, it's a real cock!”
So saying he whipped out his organ and made a grab for me because I was the nearest.”
I let out a squeal of protest as he lurched eagerly forward and tackled me to the floor. It was no contest, he weighed well over two hundred pounds and I weighed under one twenty. I collapsed under his weight and his hands immediately dug under my full length ball gown.
Simultaneously the other jocks tried their hands on my partners. Soon the four of us where struggling on the floor and screaming for all we were worth. The perfect moment had arrived. Suddenly the whole area was illuminated by powerful headlights and flashlights as half a dozen hefty police appeared from the bushes with video cameras and night-sticks to hand.
The jocks were caught bang to rights and were soon hauled away as we gave our statements to Charlie and the two lady police officers. They had video evidence and our statements plus their own eye-witness accounts to support their prosecution.
“How are you going to do this big bro?” Jeanette asked Charlie.
“Transphobic crime, I think, little sis, Jacky’s Video Camera recorded that dumb arse’s words perfectly when he called you boys.
Nowadays the transphobic charge usually gets the best result. Best thing is they can’t even plead entrapment. You four are not cops and the video evidence makes it abundantly clear that you were trying to reject their advances! Are you okay to walk the rest of the way?”
“Yes, our gowns are ruined but I think it will be a pleasant stroll.”
The police grinned and we four giggled. By morning the word would be all around Uni! Sex offenders beware!
Charlie decided to accompany Jeanette because he wanted some advice about their mum’s birthday present. The police women brought the car around as we strolled through the campus grounds at the witching hour. Jeanette explained to Charlie that she had a wonderful gift box of very expensive Parisian perfume and make up. It would make an excellent collective present for Charlie, his wife Wendy and his kids to present to their nan. A girl can never have too much makeup.
“So what will you give her? I suspect that was going to be your present,” Charlie observed shrewdly.
“I’ve got this Gift voucher for some very expensive shoes.” Jeanette replied.
We all nodded approvingly, a girl could never have enough shoes either. We arrived at the residence doors and the witch was waiting for us but Charlie rather put her off her stroke.
“Evening ma-am, there’s been a bit of bother tonight, these girls were attacked so I’m escorting them to a safe place.”
“Oh! Oh I see! Well you’d better escort them right in then. Have you apprehended the attackers?”
“Happily ma-am, yes.” He replied as he turned to us four. “Well that’s a good night’s work done. Sleep safe ladies. I don’t think you’d better try crossing over to your hall young lady,” Charlie said to his ‘sister’, “I think you’d best stay over here tonight.”
The warden was outmanoeuvred perfectly. Charlie was some cunning piece of work! With huge grins we paid our respects to Charlie and the two police women then we retreated upstairs to my room as the Warden felt obliged to invite the police in for a cup of coffee.
Up in my bedroom we chatted long into the small hours until fatigue won its inevitable victory and the girls retired to one of their bedrooms. I woke to find Jeanette in my bed while Bea and Mel had departed for roomier sleeping arrangements. Nervously I checked my body but there was no evidence of any untoward activities during the night and I gently rolled over to stare into Jeanette’s deep brown eyes. She was smiling.
“Did you sleep well?” She asked with a broad smile.
“Yes.” I whispered back. “Thanks for not trying anything. You’re really sweet.”
She leaned forward and kissed me on the forehead and we both snuggled up into each other’s arms. We lay there for several minutes just chatting contentedly as her fingers absently traced a delicate track over my sensitive boobs. I squirmed with pleasure and begged her to stop. She did immediately then turned again to gaze into my eyes and whisper enviously.
“I wish I had boobs like yours. How did you do it?”
“I’ve been under a very good group of doctors. They have been utterly supportive.”
Jeanette sighed wistfully.
“Gosh you’re lucky, and is it true, your cock really does work?”
“Ask the girls.”
“I don’t have to; they told me as much last night. I’m surprised they left you with me last night.”
“They can trust me, I’m utterly loyal to the two of them and it would have been bad manners to leave a guest alone in my room.
Besides, they’re in menstrual synchrony and they’re due this morning. We obviously don’t indulge when the girls feel low.”
“They didn’t show any symptoms of PMT.”
“Oh I can spot them. They were right to excuse themselves; Beatrice sometimes has a rough time of it. I usually take them a warm drink when they’re indisposed, especially the onset. Hold on a minute, I’ll phone them.”
A somewhat grumpy Beatrice answered; it was obvious she had started.
“Uugghh, hello, is that you?”
“Yes darling, tea or coffee?”
She turned and grumbled softly to Mel then returned to her mobile.
“Tea please, for both of us. Thanks darling, you’re sweet.”
“Can Jeanette come in as well?”
“Of course, what will she be wearing?”
“I’ve lent her some stretch leggings and a long top. She’s the same dress size as me, just a lot taller. She’s decent, no lunch-box in sight. She does bloody good transition.”
“Yeah, skinny bitch too, she’s just so lucky.”
“She works at it Bea. She hardly eats.”
“Come on then, we can chat some more.”
Jeanette was eager to join the girls. She was a very attractive hetro TV and even without makeup she looked good. Only her shoes could have given her away. It’s hard to grow to five ten and keep small feet.
As a special treat we took two trays with scrambled eggs and toast. I knew this is what both girls liked when they were ‘indisposed’.
Although we had lockable internal doors to our bedrooms, we rarely locked them and Mel’s door was actually open when we brought the breakfast. Mel was sitting up and gently stroking Bea’s back while Bea lay on her tummy looking pretty rough. I smiled softly and sat gently on the bed as Jeanette laid the other tray on the bedside table.
“Do you feel up to eating anything?” I asked sympathetically.
“I suppose I’d better eat something,” Bea growled. “Gimm'e a piece of toast.”
I picked a toasted soldier from the pile and delicately fed it to her while holding the plate under her jaw to catch crumbs. She grinned and eventually perked up.
“I suppose I’d better eat. Feed a tummy and starve a cramp.”
“Well I’ve never heard it put like that and I’ve got four sisters.” Jeanette grinned as she pulled up the bedside chair and poured the tea.
“Thanks love,” Bea croaked, “you’re almost as caring as Marty.”
“I try, my sisters trained me.”
“Aren’t you going to eat some more egg? That’s pathetic.” Mel asked as she studied Jeanette’s plate.
“No, this is enough. Must watch the waistline or I’ll grow as big as my brother.”
Mel nodded thoughtfully.
“Yeah; man in a frock. Thank God you’re so tall and willowy.”
“Man in a frock,” Jeanette repeated, “Urgghh, horrible thought! I have to work at my figure.”
We all smiled at Jeanette’s ‘confession’, it was truly hard for a tranny to overcome her genes. Jeanette was only a size 10 to 12 (UK) dress and that was bloody good for a 5 foot 10 inch girl.
“You’re not anorexic are you,” Mel asked as concern creased her brow.
“No, not at all, I’m really happy with my body. Once again it’s down to my big bro Charlie. He accepted me after the bastard rejected me and beat me up. When I was in ICU he and mum sat down with the doctors and they had a long chat. I’ve got a wonderful mum and big bro, it was my sisters who had the angst at first, but they came around. I get on with all four of them. By the way, are you going to accept Charlie’s invitation?”
We three exchanged glances then nodded affirmatively. Jeanette gave a whoop and grinned joyfully.
“Oh I’m so glad. It’ll make mum really happy to see that I’ve got real friends, you will be my friends won’t you?”
“That’s what uni’s for isn’t it?” Mel giggled.
Jeanette stood from the chair and stepped around the bed to give Mel a huge hug. Beatrice frowned from under the duvet and grumbled.
“Hey. What about my hug?”
“Okay, is it safe to approach?”
“I’ve got PMT not the plague! A cuddle is one of the best cures.”
Jeanette stretched across the bed and gently took Beatrice in her arms to squeeze her gently. It was one of the most caring clasps I had ever seen. Beatrice gave a sigh and smiled.
“If all men hugged like you darling, our lives would be that much easier.”
Jeanette gave another beatific smile and eventually released Bea who sighed again.
“A girl could get used to you darling, so tall and gentle.”
Jeanette glanced nervously towards me but I smiled and nodded.
“I’m not jealous darling. We’re open and loyal. If you want to join our happy band feel free.”
Jeanette turned to the girls and whispered uncertainly.
“Does Marty speak for all of you?”
Mel and Bea nodded and smiled as Mel explained.
“We’re all girls together here.”
“Oh that’s just so beautiful! I’d really like to join you. I mean you’re just so open and sweet with each other.”
“Well, you only live two halls away. It’s not exactly another planet is it?”
“What about the door bitch, the old witch.” Jeanette wondered.
“We’re working on her. She’s just an embittered old spinster.” I replied.
With that we finally dug ourselves out of bed and cleared away the breakfast things before inspecting the damage to our ball gowns.
“Just look at it, it’s ruined!” I cursed. “The bastard snapped the shoulder straps, and look at these bloody mud stains.”
“Sue him,” Jeanette suggested, “his dad’s loaded and he’s a typical spoiled brat, thinks everything’s just for the taking; just for his enjoyment. This’ll be a wake-up call for him and his overindulgent parents.”
“Is it worth it?” I asked, “They’ll have a whole shitload of clever lawyers to argue their case.”
“You’re forgetting; my brother has got video evidence. They’ll get sent down from Uni and that’s a dead cert! Charlie’s determined to pursue it, he’s enormously sympathetic to transgendered causes and he’s got some pretty canny lawyers of his own. Phone him, here’s his number.”
As we ruefully studied our once beautiful gowns I got through to Charlie, he was at home playing with his kids. To a back-ground of shrieks and laughter he answered my questions.
“You bet kid. I’ll even add it as a charge of criminal damage. Go for it; bout’ time these rich bastards were taken down a peg. The crown prosecutor has already accepted the transphobic aspect. You’ll be on a winner.”
Thus re-assured we asked him to add the charge to the sheet.
He did and that same afternoon, Jeanette got a call confirming the CP’s acceptance.
This Chapter deals with some surprising revelations about the Residency Warden Sally.
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Martina’s Story 9.
Myself. Martina, A sexually dysphoric child whose sexuality has not
yet been ascertained but who chooses to present as a girl.
Beverly My adoptive ‘aunt’ who is a mature she-male and my most supportive adult friend.
Chenille My older half sister.
Jennifer Aunt Beverly’s adopted daughter.
Beatrice Aunt Beverly’s second adopted daughter and Jennifer’s younger sister.
Sian. My lesbian mother who is married to —
Margaret Who is Chenille’s lesbian mother.
Sissy. My and Chenille’s transvestite she male father.
Sandie. My doctor, psychiatrist and sexual counsellor.
Judge Elizabeth Porter. The judge who ruled that I should be allowed to live and dress as a girl.
Angela Hunt. Jennifer and Beatrice’s natural blood mother who is now married to Aunt Beverly who is a she male.
Baroness Wemite’ Sian’s old School Chum
Peter Baroness Wemite’s son
Melanie Baroness Wemite’s daughter and my friend.
Rosemary & Monika. Two bullies in the junior school.
Chrissie My older step sister.
For those readers who wish to get a deeper insight and appreciation of my home circumstances, I suggest that they read Skipper, the story about Aunty Beverly’s rescue and adoption of Jennifer and Beatrice. This is a ‘follow on story’ about my childhood. It starts chronologically after Aunty Beverly finally married Aunty Angela. Some people might disapprove of our life style but I like it, as do my sisters, my mothers and my aunts.
So to Chapter 9.
After breakfast we dressed and set off for the library to do some work before lunch. Jeanette was impressed with our dedication. We were strolling along one of the campus paths when the door witch saw us from across the street. She waved urgently and started to approach us.
“Shit! What does she want,” Jeanette groaned.
As the ‘witch’ rushed into the road she failed to spot a pair of cyclists hurtling silently towards her.
There was a loud curse followed by the inevitable crash as ‘witch’ and lycra-louts crashed to the hard tarmac. This was followed by a collective ‘Oh fuck! by we four as we rushed forward to check the damage.
The cyclists were struggling to their feet and glaring at the ‘witch’ who was whimpering painfully but not moving.
Jeanette turned to the cyclists as I dialled 999.
“She’s hurt badly, she’s only an old biddy, I think she’s broken something.”
As Jeanette checked the woman out she winced fearfully and stared terrified at us girls. I couldn’t understand it.
“Where are you hurting?” Jeanette persisted.
“It’s my hip, - my thigh. Oooh damn! It hurts.”
Jeanette gently lifted the witch’s skirt but she tried desperately to prevent her. Jeanette frowned as she reached up and felt the distorted upper leg. She nodded affirmation.
“Don’t be afraid love, I’m a first aider. You have broken your thigh and that’s not a good place for an elderly lady to have a break. I’ll have to check if there’s no serious bleeding.”
Despite the ‘witch’s’ protests Jeanette insisted on checking under her skirt and told the cyclists to turn their heads away. She cursed as she found the wound.”
“It’s serious love. There’s a lot of blood. I’m going to have to check it out. Tell that bloody ambulance to hurry Martie.”
Without further ado she hoisted the witch’s skirt right up to expose the puncture wound where the broken femur had pierced the flesh. It was serious and Jeanette had little or no stuff. She decided to put a dressing on the wound and try to prevent blood loss but her efforts were stymied by the protruding bone. We only had some small ladies handkerchiefs but one of the cyclists came up trumps with a small first aid kit from his ‘bum-bag’.
“It’s only for cuts and scrapes and things but there’s a single larger dressing.” The older man declared.
“That’ll have to do. Thanks. Martie hold this dressing while I whip my tights off to make a bandage.”
Without batting an eye Jeanette slipped off the leggings I had lent her then slid off her tights to stand there in her panties. I, being a fellow T-girl, recognised the faint outline of a gaff under her panties but I said nothing. The cyclists were too preoccupied with their buckled wheels. Jeanette didn’t bother to put her leggings back on but returned immediately to the casualty and deftly arranged a crude tourniquet bandage. Jeanette explained to me why.
“It’s not a good idea to use a tourniquet but in this case it’s okay. She’s conscious but losing a lot of blood. I just have to make sure that blood is allowed to circulate the lower leg.”
The bleeding seemed to reduce and Jeanette gave a nod of satisfaction then adjusted the bandage higher up into the ‘witch’s groin. Suddenly Jeanette’s eyes widened and she gave a small gasp then quickly recovered her composure as she quickly tugged the witch’s skirt down from her waist and glanced meaningfully at me. The witch stared fearfully at us then gave a curse of despair but Jeanette bent down and whispered solicitously.
“Don’t worry lady, your safe with me!”
So saying Jeanette made the discreet little secret sign against her tummy and between her kneeling legs with fingers pointing to her crotch that we trannies know so well. The ‘woman’ gave a sigh of relief as Jeanette’s sign discreetly indicated that she was a ‘tranny sister’ also.
My eyes widened as I recognised Jeanette’s sign and I caught the ‘witch’s, nervous gaze as I discreetly repeated Jeanette’s sign. The ‘witch’ gave a tremulous moan of relief and smiled as the ambulance wailed into sight. Nobody else had realised what Jeanette and I had just learned. The old witch was transgendered, she was one of us!
As the paramedics quickly set about their business, Jeanette offered to accompany her to hospital. The woman smiled gratefully, she would need a sympathetic ally to fight her transgendered corner. Finally the ambulance left and the cyclists hauled their bikes away. I debated telling Mel and Bea but decided against it. The less people knew the better. The poor bitch could lose her job and since the credit crunch, jobs were bloody hard to come by.
She may have been a dragon on the door but in some ways that was a good thing. It kept uninvited dumb-arse jocks out of the girl’s halls of residence and stopped pantie-raids which were a bloody pain.
We continued on our way to the library where we advised the college authorities of the accident. A temp was hired that same afternoon to replace the ‘witch’
Later that afternoon Jeanette returned from the hospital. She was now in a bit of a quandary. How to return to her male dormitory without being spotted. Fortunately she had already befriended a gay couple who brought across some male cloths for her to change in my room. As Jeanette gradually shed her preferred female persona and reluctantly changed to ‘en-homme’ she turned to me and grinned as I watched fascinated.
“D’you know, you’re not bad looking as a guy as well; if I was a girl, I could fancy you as a bloke.”
Jeanette now ‘Jack’ smiled and thanked me with a big smile.
“I thought you were a girl, in here that is,” (he tapped his head.)
“Oh it’s a bit more complicated than that. It takes all sorts.”
“Yeah. Ain’t that the truth! Come on, let’s get back to my dorm.
“D’you want to leave your femme stuff here and change here in future.”
Jack’s eyebrows shot up with delight.
“Oh could I! That would be fabulous. Will Bea or Mel mind?”
“I doubt it. What’s your wardrobe like?”
“I try for quality and style. I got some lovely stuff during my gap year in Paris.”
My mind did ‘back-flips as I imagined what spectacular designer outfits she might have acquired whilst working for a famous Parisian perfume company. I couldn’t wait to see Jeanette’s entire wardrobe! However I felt it only fair to warn her.
“OK but just remember, we three girls tend to ‘borrow’ each other’s clothes all the time, especially frocks, skirts and blouses.
Your stuff will fit all three of us except the full length stuff like your jeans and your ball gowns.”
“Yeah,” Jack grinned, “it’s the inside leg thing. I honestly don’t mind sharing my clothes but please, please treat the stuff with respect. It’s got to last me through a three year chemistry course. It’s all good quality stuff and it will survive fair wear and tear but you know the score. Choose the right outfits for the right occasions. No expensive heels or designer stuff if we’re just slumming at a Uni bash. I’m not made of money and I had to pick carefully when I put my stuff together even though I was getting fantastic company discounts.”
I giggled as I corrected Jack.
“Your heels are the only other things that are perfectly safe.”
Jack grinned self consciously as he replied.
“Oh! Yeah. Just put my big foot in it, haven’t I?”
I had to chuckle, it was the perfect bon mot. We decided to start moving his wardrobe that same afternoon and he spent a good hour as he carefully packed his trunks. We borrowed the porter’s truck to ship them to our dorm.
“Shit you’ve got some stuff here,” I remarked as we eventually plonked the two huge suitcases in the gap between the end of my bed and the window. Then Mel and Bea came to see what all the commotion was about. They gasped and squealed when they saw the designer collection. Once again, Jack had to repeat the conditions if stuff was going to get borrowed.
After dinner Jack wanted to go and see the ‘witch’ in hospital. Nobody had a car but Peter was coming around later with the delectable Lucinda and Mel had volunteered his services to take the ‘Witch’ some changes of clothes and stuff. Student cars were just impossible to organise on an inner-city London college Campus, there simply wasn’t enough room. It didn’t matter how rich daddy was or anything else. The rule was universal. No cars around the student halls of residence. Jack was grateful when Peter appeared at the Campus gates. Melanie had explained the situation.
“So mission of mercy is it, which hospital is it?”
“Sort of, she needs some nighties and stuff. She’s got no family down here. There’s a whole heap of stuff she needs.”
Jack had persuaded the witch to lend him her door key and he had thoughtfully put together the essentials. The fact that those essentials also included shaving kit and other male grooming equipment was known only to Jack. Half an hour later, Peter and Lucinda dropped Jack off at St Thomas’s.
“Thanks mate; I’ll get the tube back.”
Lucinda blew Jack a kiss and Peter sulked a little. She scolded her fiancée.
“Hey. Stoppit! I’m yours and you know it, even though he is a dish!”
“I wonder where those three found him. I thought they were a devoted lesbian trio.”
Whilst the car waited at the traffic lights they watched Jack leap nimbly up the steps, several at a time before disappearing inside.
Jack made his way to the ‘the witch’s’ ward and presented himself to the duty sister.
“Sally MacTavish please.”
“Oh yes. Name please.
“Jaccob Bensoon.”
The duty sister studied the list and wagged her head.
“Sorry. She’s restricted her list of visitors. Your name’s not on it.”
Jack did a double take and frowned.
“Dammit. I never told her. Okay then, Jeanette Enfield. It was me that accompanied her here yesterday.”
The sister studied the list, frowned again and studied jack.
“There is a Jeanette Enfield, In fact, that names only one of two on the list.”
She studied Jack and frowned uncertainly.
“Are you sure?”
“Of course I’m sure; I’m down as her next of kin! Check the form!”
“Well, yes, - Jeanette Enfield is down as next of kin. But you’re, -“
“A transvestite, just like Sally,” Jack finished the sentence patiently.
“Oh! Oh I see; I’m so sorry. I’m awfully sorry! I just didn’t recognise you.”
“Don’t apologise love. You weren’t to know where you?”
“But it was remiss of me, what with Sally being, - being, -“
“Transgendered as well,” Jack finished again as he smiled sympathetically. “It’s just that I’m en-homme tonight, not en-femme.
Is she awake?”
“Yes. We’ve moved her to a single-bed room. It was obviously the thing to do the moment a single bed became available. I’m sorry we couldn’t do it straight away yesterday but beds are so short. You were right to make a fuss. It’s three doors down on the right.”
“Thank you, that was very thoughtful of you. Can I go and see her? I’ve brought her toiletry stuff.”
“Well; it’s a bit early for visiting but she had no visitors all afternoon so she’s probably feeling lonely and neglected. Go on.”
As Jack walked purposefully down the corridor he distinctly heard the sister turn to the staff nurse and whisper too loudly.
“What a dish eh! What a waste!”
“Yeah, would you believe it, a tranny; did you see her last night?” The staff nurse replied.
“Yeah. I never guessed he was a tranny. Last night he was all girl. Would you believe it?”
Jack smiled to himself as he knocked softly on Sally’s door. He debated coming in as Jeanette the following evening.
“Who is it?” Sally croaked.
“Jeanette.”
“Oh come in, please come in; did you bring my stuff?”
He held out the bag as he entered and Sally did a double take.
“Oh my God! You quite startled me. If you’re not Jeanette, who are you?”
“I’m Jack, Jeanette’s alter ego.”
Sally nodded and smiled. As Jack inquired after her leg. He made a pot of tea and took her dirty laundry away.
“I’ll wash this and put it away for you. How long are you going to be in?”
“At least a month, it’s bad break.”
“You don’t have to tell me about the fracture, remember.”
“Yes, that was so kind of you and thank you ever so much. You and that Martina girl were just so considerate.”
“You were lucky. What are the odds of getting knocked down and being treated by two sympathetic girls of a similar persuasion to your own?”
Sally smiled ruefully.
“Not high. I was bloody lucky.”
“Luckier still it wasn’t a car.”
“Might have done me a favour.”
“Oh how can you say that!?”
“Well, I’m coming to end of my working life, not much to look forward to. No family, no partners.”
“Oh that’s terrible. Do tell.”
They fell to talking and Sally related her past life, particularly the childhood abuse she suffered for cross-dressing in a severely Calvinistic Scottish Family. Jack responded by describing his early life with his abusive father until his older brother had finally kicked their abusive father out. Sally smiled wistfully.
“I could have done with a brother like yours; mine abused me as much as my father.”
“So there was nobody there for you. Not even your mother or sisters maybe.”
“Mother was as bad as my father and my sisters were far too young.”
“I take it you don’t see them anymore.”
Sally wagged her head tearfully and Jack grabbed a wad of tissues from the bedside dispenser.
“Well you’ve got us now, me and Martina. I’ll bring her tomorrow.”
“I’d never have guessed Martina was one of us. She’s, - she’s just so unbelievably feminine. I mean she’s a stunner. Can Jeanette come tomorrow? I feel more comfortable with girls.”
“Yeah. Sure; oh and Martina’s not a tranny, she calls herself an ‘undecided transsexual’ whatever that is,” Jack gave a little puzzled shrug while Sally frowned uncertainly.
“How can she be ‘undecided’? I mean, they know from the very earliest age don’t they?”
“Apparently not all. She cross dresses and passes without fail, well, you’ve seen her, you know. That’s why she objects to ticking the box marked gender on the registration form.”
“Yes, I remember that. It was stupid of me not to recognise something then; me of all people! I can’t believe I was so cruel. She’s such a beautiful girl.”
“The strange thing is apparently,” Jack continued talking in the same vein to put Sally at ease, “she’s been on a very special, experimental regime of hormones since she was about twelve. I think; she’s still virile and fertile. It’s really weird. She lives entirely as a girl and has done since childhood. Even went to a girl’s boarding school.”
“What about her roomies, I take it they’re real girls.”
“Oh yes, definitely, Mel’s lesbian and Bea’s bi.”
“Yeah, things have certainly moved on since I was a kid. Jee’ze they near as burned us at the stake in the fifties.”
They chatted at length until the sister reluctantly had to turn Jack out. She waylaid him as they walked towards the nursing station.
“Mr Bensoon, please may I talk with you?”
“Oh call me Jack or even Jeanette if you prefer.”
“Jack I think dressed as you are, but thank you anyway.”
Jack smiled and nodded.
“So what is it your after.”
“You seem quite comfortable with your transvestism, I was wondering, - if, - if."
The sister hesitated and Jack smiled as he recognised what was coming. He smiled easily.
“Go on.”
“Well, tomorrow, we’ve got a group of medical students coming down with the psychiatrist Doctor Lindsey to discuss Miss Sally’s case.”
“And?”
“Well, we don’t even know Miss Sally’s proper name, her, - you know; what d’you call it? - her homme name.”
“Call her Sally. She lives full time in the female roll. And might I suggest you don’t give her secret away, to anybody outside of those who need to know. She might lose her job!”
“Thanks, she’s a bit shy of answering our questions; she might seem a bit more at ease if she has a couple of her transgendered friends with her when the consultant arrives.”
Jack sucked his tongue thoughtfully. It was perfectly true that trannies were nearly always most at ease with other trannies.
“I’d better go and ask her. Will you permit me? It’s gone visiting time.”
“Oh yes. This is legitimate clinical stuff now.”
He left and the sister found herself studying his lithe graceful gait. ‘Yes’ she thought, ‘what a waste’.
Jack had a few quick words with Sally, this reassured her and she gave her permission. The sister phoned the consultant psychiatrist to organise a suitable time after Jack had run it by Martina. It was all agreed for five o’clock after lectures had finished for both Jack and Martina.
The sister gave him a peck on the cheek and thanked him profusely. Jack leaned down and whispered.
“I heard you and the staff nurse earlier. I’m not ‘a waste’ you know. I’m hetero.”
The sister blushed with embarrassment but Jack put her at ease. As he explained one more time as Trannies so often have to do.
“Trannies aren’t gay sister. We’re as hetero as the next man. Oh, and as an afterthought, gays aren’t ‘a waste’ either; they’re human beings just like you, - and me.
“I’m sorry; I seem to be making all kinds of mistakes tonight.”
“Why don’t you stand in on the consultancy tomorrow you would learn a lot about us trannies? Maybe you could come in early?”
“D’you know, I think I will, I’ll get my mother to look after the kids.”
“How old are they?”
“My daughter’s sixteen and my son’s seventeen. They’re both hoping to do medicine, they’re bright.” The sister replied with obvious pride.
Jack smiled thoughtfully.
“If they’re hoping to do medicine, why don’t you bring them along, provided your consultant’s agreeable? I’ll run it by Sally on the phone in the morning. She’s asleep now. She fell asleep even as I was talking to her.”
“Well that’s good; she had a very restless night.”
“It’ll do no harm for your kids to be there. So long as everybody’s comfortable. It’s not like a gynaecological exam or something. Think of it as some sort of extended visiting hour by distant relatives.
Your kids could learn a thing or two because there’ll be different sexualities present and we’re all pretty open about ourselves. Even Sally said tonight she’s thinking of finally ‘coming out’. Can you believe that? Nearly sixty and still in the closet!”
“That’ll be a generational thing I suspect.”
“Spot on sister. See, already you’re learning. She’s going to need a lot of support tomorrow Martina and I will be standing right beside her.”
They separated with agreements to talk in the morning.
The consultant had been very wary of letting the two youngsters sit in on the interview with Sally. Firstly she chatted with them and their mother and then she had along chat with Sally to be sure that she was completely comfortable.
She also chatted at length with Sally about her abusive childhood to establish any no-go areas. She found plenty and was feeling a bit nervous when the students finally arrived. They were all of course post graduate students who had completed their primary medical training. Eventually Jeanette and Martina arrived fully dressed to the nines.
The sister met them at the nursing station a couple of minutes before five and she felt forced to comment as she wagged her head disbelievingly.
“My God! If I didn’t know, I’d never have guessed, you’re both incredible!”
“Practice, practice, practice,” Jeanette smiled as she posed with a casually sophisticated demeanour until the consultant came out of a side room where she had been priming her pupils. All heads turned to study the two attractive ladies talking to the sister then jaws sagged as the Sister introduced them.
“These are Sally’s transgendered friends, Martina and Jeanette.”
“And yes, I’m a transvestite while my friend Martina is a pre-op transsexual,” Jeanette added.
“Thank you,” replied the psychiatrist, and thank you so much for being supportive. My name’s Doctor Lindsey Phillips. Shall we proceed?”
“I think I’d better go in first, set her at ease,” Jeanette suggested, “then I’ll introduce Martina, you and then the students can enter. If Sally’s happy with that perhaps these two young people can enter. They’ll bring a fresh perspective to the interview.”
“That seems an admirable arrangement, young lady, lead on,” Replied Lindsey.
Jeanette knocked softly and called.
“You okay Sal?”
“Yes, come in.”
Jeanette entered, paused, smiled and bent down to kiss Sally as Sally’s eyes widened with delight.
“You needn’t have gone to all that trouble Jeanette. That outfit’s fantastic. Thank you so much for coming en-femme, I feel so much more comfortable and secure. There was no need to dress up for a special occasion.”
“Correction Sal, this is Jeanette ordinaire. It was no trouble; it just took a long time preparing. Are you ready for the others? I must warn you some of the student doctors are male.”
“Well, as ready I’ll ever be. With you and Martina beside me, I’ll be safe. The men will have to stand at the back, - sorry. It’s men I fear, men I hate most.”
Jeanette beckoned to the rest and they filed in. Jeanette sat one side of the bed while I took station the other side and kissed Sally affectionately on the lips. It was important to reinforce to the students that transgendered people were as affectionate and tactile as real girls.
Doctor Lindsey opened the interview with some explanations then invited Sally to talk about herself. To everybody’s delight, the session went perfectly and even the two youngsters were able to bring some novel questions from the younger perspective related to individuals at their school whom everybody suspected of being ‘gay or something’.
Their teenaged observations caused Sally to open up some more and she whispered to Doctor Lindsey, Jeanette and Me.
“After what those two young un’s said I think I should tell them about my childhood. D’you think they’re up to it?”
“Are you up to it Miss Sally? I saw how it affected you earlier when we discussed it.”
Doctor Lindsey glanced at Jeanette and me. We shrugged then glanced towards Sally before Jeanette added.
“I was only five when I started cross-dressing and I suffered abuse. If I can survive the trauma then they should be able to endure what is but a simple description.”
Sally’s eyes widened as she followed Jeanette’s reasoning.
“Yeah! You’re dead right. I survived years of abuse, so they should easily survive a few questions!”
“You’d better run it by Sister Jarvis,” I cautioned, “she’s their mum and she’ll have to handle any distress it causes the kids.”
After a brief parley Sister Jarvis’s children agreed to listen with the provision that they could leave if it became too stressful. The questions came from all quarters and Sally answered as best she could. She spoke of being ostracized and isolated from her siblings; she spoke of the beatings and the ‘toughening up’ exercises to stop her stupid ‘sissy ways’.
She spoke of the ghastly condemnations broadcast about her from the pulpit of the family’s narrow and bigoted Calvinistic church. The constant quotes from The Bible, (A book written thousands of years ago by people who knew nothing of such circumstances and yet still used today by bigoted hypocrites to oppress and mislead simple people.) Nobody believes the sun goes around the earth anymore so why believe that it’s right to punish transgendered or gay people just for being born. Religious bigots are just so sick and cruel!
Sally spoke of the nights spent roaming the streets of her Scottish village trying to make sense of her ‘punishments’ the lack of love, the lack of care, the attempted suicides, and the slow inexorable destruction of all hope.
Eventually she spoke of the last, almost fatal beating she received from a transphobic attack by two police officers way back in her lonely teenaged years during the sixties. She bravely showed the children the scars and lumpy misshapen bones in her arms where her broken body’s natural healing had set the bones with no medical attention as she finally fled from the hell on earth that was her childhood. Finally she spoke of the ghastly descent into the inevitable street life of stealing and prostitution and near death from exposure whilst finally plumbing the very nadir of human existence.
Then she was able to somehow drag herself up without any help from others and slowly, dreadfully slowly, put some of the pieces of her broken life back together.
Her life would never be whole again but it now comprised a crude framework of desensitised survival devices that just about kept body and soul together. She learned that negligible expectations served to defeat disappointment, zero ambition served to avoid hope or expectations.
Her whole existence became a series of simple mechanical processes that virtually dehumanised her. It was the only way to block out everything that had come to torment her and leave her forever wounded. All compassion and humanity had to be exorcised from her very being, as she reduced her very existence to the lowest common denominator of sentience. She became a virtual automaton, a tearless, pitiless, unemotional robot. But her strategy eventually worked. She lifted herself out of the cesspit and clawed her way back to a simple, functional existence and slowly worked her way up to eventually work as the warden in a University hall of residence. It was the nearest she would ever get to academia. Despite her innate intelligence all intellectual efforts had been subsumed in the desperate fight to stay alive despite all the odds.
What need of a college degree or high school qualifications to address the daily personal war against the streets. Besides all this, she had missed so much schooling she could all but read and write before finally running away.
Yes, Sally’s story was a litany of everything that could go wrong having gone wrong, and none of it her making!
Who could she blame, God, her family, her school, her church, the doctors, society; who!
Doubt, uncertainty and hopelessness were the foundation stones of Sally’s very existence even unto her present state. No wonder she was such a monster towards others, she had known nothing but monsters both literal and figurative throughout her early life.
Sally’s story was the very opposite of mine and I could not help but feel a sort of primal guilt as it dripped out question by question, revelation by obscene revelation.
Eventually, the session fell silent, more probably through emotional exhaustion than lack of academic interest. Everybody present seemed emotionally drained including Doctor Lindsey.
As the students filed out Martina and I stayed behind briefly to reassure Sally we would always be there for her. They were the first tears I had seen Sally shed. Reluctantly we parted and Doctor Lindsey collared us in the corridor as she invited us into the nearest private space she could find, a used laundry room.
“Thanks for that. That’s the first transvestite I’ve ever managed to interview without there being some degree of sublimal resentment.”
Jeanette and I both nodded in vigorous synchrony and the psychiatrist smiled slightly guiltily.
“It’s girls like you that help your cause you know.”
“It’s the internet that’s done it.” Jeanette countered. “Being able to meet others out there and then organise get-togethers. Being together addresses our fears, or concerns, then we can be our true selves, not always on the defensive. Fear is the prime mover.”
She nodded then sighed.
“If only we could find the cure.”
I shuddered as Jeanette gasped. Doctor Lindsey turned to look at us quizzically.
“What? What did I say?”
“Why d’you want to find a cure?” demanded Jeanette.
“Well, - I, - don’t you want to be cured, doesn’t all this threat, this fear make your lives doubly hard?”
“No, not now, not now we can meet our own kind. Yes there’s still danger, nobody will deny that but the benefits outweigh the risks.”
“Indeed? What benefits? How?”
Jeanette and I shared a smile and wagged our heads, heterosexuals just did not seem able to think outside their own sexual straightjackets, - self inflicted straightjackets at that!
Having noticed our patronising smiles Doctor Lindsay pressed further for our answers. Jeanette hesitated as she gathered her thoughts then finally spoke.
“Doctor Lindsey, being transgendered enables me to enjoy all aspects of my life. Transvestism, enables me to indulge in whatever avenues I find most rewarding and it brings many extra dimensions to my life. Do you like being a woman?”
“Of course!” The psychiatrist replied quite forcefully. “Admittedly, there are some disadvantages but the advantages outweigh them. At least I think so.”
“Well so do I, not to mention millions of other TV’s all over the planet. I love the female lifestyle, the deeper emotional connections, the clothes, the choices, the shopping and, everything else that goes with being a woman. The only thing I regret is not being able to bear a child, though there are emotional ways to circumvent that, but it’s not for me to disclose those here. Apart from the obvious issues such as the menses, the only other disadvantage to being a woman is the fear of violence factor and of course rape.
Well be assured TV’s share exactly the same risks and fears of that, as indeed also, do transsexuals. Now I come to think of it, I find it difficult to think why you came to ask me if I should want to be cured. I never want to be cured, transvestism gives me multiple new dimensions to my life. Viva la difference, especially as I can cross the line to womanhood better than most supposedly ‘normal’ men.
Now I agree, that as a transvestite I can’t speak for transsexuals but my multidimensional view of sexuality helps me to understand their dilemmas better than heterosexist parents, heterosexist doctors, heterosexist judges, heterosexist social workers and indeed the whole damnable oppression of heterosexist society plus the heterosexist faiths that underpin it. Thanks to the internet, we are now learning of all the obscenities that transgendered children have suffered through these past sixty years. Not to mention the last four thousand.
Sally MacTavish’s story is yet another to add to the endless list of hurts. A life ruined by endless heterosexist assaults.
You’ve spoken to her, she’s an intelligent woman, University material even, but what qualifications has she, - NONE!, - diddly squat! And all because of heterosexist prejudice. She’s never harmed anybody but she was punished almost every day of her life, child and adult!
She’s still being punished, locked up in a sterile life with no friend, no companions all because of fear; fear of attack, fear of being ‘discovered’ fear of losing her job, her only lifeline to survival, her only surviving emblem of her self-worth.
Well at least the companionship issues will be resolved because Martina and I will see to that; and she won’t lose her job at the college, I’ve got friends in the legal profession who will see to that also! But as for the damage, the fifty eight years of brutalised torment, who will repair that. Will you, the heterosexual psychiatrist, the supposed healer; well, we’ll see. I’ll lay odds that our companionship and support will do far more good than all the drugs in your arsenal.
Thank God for the internet and we’ll be teaching Sally of its benefits!”
“Do you think she’s transvestite or transsexual.” Doctor Lindsey asked. “She’s lived as a woman very effectively.”
“Effectively, yes perhaps; successfully; well, make your own mind up.”
“So which is it transvestite or transsexual? She pressed.
“God forbid, I don’t know,” Jeanette snapped, “and poor Sally is so tormented she probably hasn’t worked it out for herself yet! She’s been living like that mindless automaton we all saw in there for years; decades even! Let her find some sort of peace first, some sort of sanctuary, mental and physical where she can at last feel safe! Then, perhaps then she might find out what she is; then look out! The anger over the lost fifty eight years might do a million different harms. We’ll be there for her; will you?”
With these words, Jeanette seemed exhausted, she wagged her head wearily and Doctor Lindsey could see she was drained.
“I think you’d best go home now. You look worn out. Thank you for the insight and you’re welcome to visit her at any time. I’ll leave a note for the sisters.”
I called a taxi. Jeanette was in no fit state to be seen in public. As we travelled home I spoke to Jeanette through new ‘eyes’.
“You put it well in there. Words from the heart I think.”
“Words from the walk Martie, the same walk as Sally’s but, just a bit shorter, - well a lot shorter. There was somebody there for me.”
“Charlie,” I said softly.
“Yeah! Charlie, - my brother; my big beautiful, wonderful brother!”
Never had the word ‘brother’ carried so much portent before.
That night, Jeanette slept in my room, in my bed, with me. She simply needed a companion. Her words to the Psychiatrist had opened up some very old wounds.
As I lay with her long silky hair on my breast I knew we had our work cut out with poor Sally. Had Jeanette committed us to too much?
This chapter deals with Sally's recovery and 'coming out' as a transexual. Emotional issues are addressed.
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Martina’s Story 10.
Myself, Martina, A sexually dysphoric transsexual who has not yet determined what
Sex she is but prefers to present as a girl
Beverly My adoptive ‘aunt’ who is a mature she-male and my most supportive adult friend.
Chenille My older half sister.
Jennifer Aunt Beverly’s adopted daughter.
Beatrice Aunt Beverly’s second adopted daughter and Jennifer’s younger sister. One of my two best friends.
Sian. My lesbian mother who is married to —
Margaret Who is Chenille’s lesbian mother.
Sissy. My and Chenille’s transvestite she-male father.
Sandie. My doctor, psychiatrist and sexual counsellor.
Judge Elizabeth Porter. The judge who ruled that I should be allowed to live and dress as a girl.
Angela Hunt. Jennifer and Beatrice’s natural blood mother who is now married to Aunt Beverly who is a she male.
Baroness Wemite’ Sian’s old School Chum
Peter Baroness Wemite’s son
Melanie Baroness Wemite’s daughter and my other ‘best friend’.
Rosemary & Monika. Two bullies in the junior school.
Chrissie My older step transsexual sister.
Jeanette My transvestite friend at University.
Sally Transgendered Warden of Girls Hall of Residence.
Charlie Jeanette’s sympathetic big brother
Esther Jeanette and Charlie’s mum.
Miranda. Charlie’s Wife.
For those readers who wish to get a deeper insight and appreciation of my home circumstances, I suggest that they read Skipper, the story about Aunty Beverly’s rescue and adoption of Jennifer and Beatrice. This is a ‘follow on story’ about my childhood. It starts chronologically after Aunty Beverly finally married Aunty Angela. Some people might disapprove of our life style but I like it, as do my sisters, my mothers and my aunts.
Martina’s Story 10
I was woken by the Jeanette’s voice speaking quietly into her mobile. She was talking to the hospital.
“A comfortable night, - slept peacefully. Good, I’m pleased. Well I’ve got lectures all day but Martina’s free this afternoon. I can come in this evening.”
I stirred sleepily as I got the gist of the conversation. Jeanette had committed me to the Afternoon visit. I was a bit miffed she hadn’t consulted me first.
“I was going shopping with Bea this afternoon. Mel’s got lectures.”
Jeanette turned to me as she closed her mobile.
“It’s only until I can get some back up. She’s a very lonely, frightened girl.”
“What sort of backup?”
“I’ve got some good loyal TG friends outside of college. Don’t forget I had a life between school and Uni. Once I can get them to perhaps check in maybe once a week or something then it’ll be easier to spread the load. Sally’s going to need a lot of help.”
“Can these friends be trusted?”
“Yes. In each case I helped them through some rough patches. You don’t know you’re born Martie. God you were just so lucky and that Aunty Beverly, Beatrice’s adoptive mum, she’s been a real brick for you, well; all your mothers have. You heard Sally’s story, just how many more d’you think there are like hers, out there, - out there on the streets?
All right, all right. I didn’t say I wouldn’t go. May be I can go early at noon after the morning lecture then meet Bea in town.”
“Why not take Bea with you, - to see Sally that is.”
“Sally’s made her visitor list. There’s only you and me on it.”
“Yeah, well that’s got to change. Living like a recluse is one of Sally’s biggest problems. Take Bea along at noon then you can try to introduce her to Sally. They’ve met before anyway, lots of times. She doesn’t even have to know about Sally’s transgenderism. You can leave early and then get some shopping in. No! Better still do your shopping with Bea then take your shopping in to show Sally, It’ll motivate her to get better and get out of her hospital bed. Pick some really nice stuff, some lingerie maybe; the intimacy will reinforce your relationship with Sally. It’ll be a shared girly moment. That’s the sort of stuff she needs. Forget flowers unless she asks for some. Find out her size and buy her a really nice gift.”
“She looks about a size twelve to fourteen, British sizes.” I added.
“Well there you are then; get her some really nice panties or something, full cut of course and stretchy. I saw some lovely stuff in ‘New-Look’ only last Saturday.”
I smiled and grinned. Shopping was always a pleasure; having an extra person to buy for made it doubly pleasurable. Picking the stuff and gifting it.
As we ate breakfast, Bea was excited at the prospect and could hardly contain her enthusiasm though she thought she was buying for an ‘r-gee’. She was surprised that we were going first to New-Look.
“That’s a bit youngish for her isn’t it; I thought the dragon lady would be wearing pantie-girdles and stuff.” Bea observed.
“Well she’s young at heart underneath all that grumpiness. You shouldn’t judge until you know peoples stories.” Jeanette countered.
“Oooh! Hark at the philanthropist! Why d’you bother, she’s a nasty old bag anyway?”
“She’s sore and lonely and afraid!” Jeanette snapped back.
“Yes, - okay, okay then, Mother Teresa.” Bea cackled as she wagged her head and took her dishes to the sink.
“I’ll wash up for you. My lectures don’t start until ten.” Jeanette offered.
“Well thank you, that’s nice. See you tonight.”
As Bea set off for her nine o’clock lecture, Mel appeared sleepily from their room.
“Oh hello door-mouse. Finally joining us are you.” I grinned.
“Who’s mother Teresa?” She asked as she stifled a long yawn and stretched sensuously.
“Oh God.” Groaned Jeanette as her heterosexual eyes drank in Melanie’s delectable form. She decided to leave before temptation overtook her. Her excuse was lab work.
“You explain Martie; I’ve got some ideas to prepare for the practical this afternoon.”
“Use my room,” I offered. “The puter’s on. Don’t lose my stuff though.”
Jeanette retreated into my room and Jack later emerged as Mel and I were going to lectures.
He was washing the dishes as we left.
“D’you feel comfortable sleeping with Jeanette?” Mel asked as our heels clicked along the tarmac to the lecture halls.
“Yeah, she’s a perfect lady. Nary a wrong move all night.”
“I missed you last night.”
“Well why didn’t you say?”
“I thought you and Jeanette, -.”
“Good God no. She’s a hetero tranny. She’d be more interested in you or Bea. Didn’t you notice her eyes fill up when you came in stretching?”
“Well sleep with us tonight then.”
“What the two of us, me and Jeanette?”
“Well I’m not sure about that, not just yet. No just you for tonight.”
“Okay. Sure. Anyway, Jack’ll be staying in his own room tonight, over in the boy’s dorm. He’s got a lot of work for his half term dissertation. Chemistry’s a tough course.”
After our morning lecture, we shared lunch then Mel left to do her afternoon lecture while Bea and I prepared to go shopping. By three we had completed our purchases and we were arriving at the hospital.
“I’m shocked that the Dragon Lady likes such sexy kit.” Bea remarked.
“Jeanette found out when she took her laundry back to wash.”
“Is she really into this sort of stuff?” Bea wondered. “I mean it’s the sort of stuff you’d wear or more correctly Jeanette, -you know, tranny fantasy stuff. We r-gees go for comfortable.”
“You weren’t wearing ‘comfortable the other night at the ball.”
“Yeah but that’s for special, isn’t it? I mean if we score or something.”
“It was me taking you home! You silly moo. And besides; you slept with Bea as you always do!”
“Yeah, but it’s nice to feel sexy you never know.”
“Yeah, well I can’t condemn. I like sexy as well. Hey up we’re here.”
Soon we were talking to the ward sister.
“She’s awake but a bit bored, she’ll be pleased to see you,” The sister informed us. “And this young lady is,-?
“Beatrice, Beatrice Taff. She’d like to see Sally. I’ll check with her if you’re busy.”
I was being tactful, nurses always pretended to be busy when in truth all I ever saw them doing was gossiping around the nursing station. The sister nodded agreeably and I made my way into Sally’s room.
Sally gave a squeak of pleasure and extended her arms eagerly. I bent forward and embraced her carefully, mindful of her newly knitted thigh. She saw the little gift package from ‘New-Look’ and she reached eagerly for it. I held it out of reach and bargained with her.
“There’s somebody else to see you.”
Sally’s smile faded slightly as nervousness crept into her features.
“It’s alright,” I reassured her, “it’s not the tranny police or anything; it’s Beatrice, my flatmate.”
Sally’s face showed alarm.
“Oh shit! You haven’t told her about me have you?”
“No. Why? Would it alter things if I had?”
“I could lose my job; a man running the girl’s dormitory.”
“That’s not going to happen. Jeanette’s sorting that one out. Beatrice doesn’t know but she needs your permission before the sister will let her see you. Anyway, I don’t see what you’re frightened of. Beatrice knows about Jeanette and me; so does my other roomie Melanie for that matter. They’re both sympathetic. They sleep with me for God’s sake!”
Sally’s eyes widened with surprise as she digested the information then she sighed and a tiny smile played around the corners of her mouth. When the harnesses of despair and resentment were loosened from Sally’s expression she could look quite attractive in a motherly sort of way. I reciprocated the smile and she finally agreed to my suggestion.
“You promise she won’t spread it around?”
“Has she spread my secret around? I’ve still got what you’ve got, an outie instead of an inie. As indeed has Jeanette!”
“Well no; but you four are friends.”
“You could be as well if you let us befriend you. Then we’d be five.”
“I thought you and Jeanette had befriended me already, after the accident and all.” Sally riposted.
“Yeah! Of course we are; I meant Mel and Bea. We go around mainly as a foursome.”
Sally nodded and smiled gratefully.
“Can I trust them?”
“That’s hurtful Sally. They’ve proven themselves to be loyal friends of mine since we were eleven years old; all through our schooldays together.”
Sally nodded guiltily.
“Yes, maybe I was wrong to ask that. Go on, you’d better let the sister know so that she can add both their names to the list.”
“You can call her on the bed bell. They’re just sitting idle at the moment, reading flippin’ gossip magazines.”
Sally beeped her call button and the sister appeared by magic. Sally and I exchanged knowing grins; the sister must have been hanging poised by the ward door. She must have heard my remark about gossip magazines. As my face crimsoned with embarrassment Sally explained.
“Can you ask Beatrice to come in and can you add her to the visitor’s list and, - and, - what’s her name Martina?” She turned to me as she asked. “You know; your other friend, the tigress.”
“Oh Melanie; yes, the tigress; that’s her name and yes, you’re right, she can be a bit ‘up front and dangerous.”
“Do you want me to get Beatrice for you; she’s waiting at the nursing station, probably reading Gossip magazines,” the sister
remarked acidly.
“Sooorrrrry,” I mumbled shamefacedly.
Sally laughed at my embarrassment then grimaced as the movement jarred her hip.
“Ouch! Don’t make me laugh you two. I’m supposed to be getting better in here.”
The sister smiled and directed her remarks to Sally.
“Well that’s the first time you’ve laughed properly. Your friend’s visits must be doing some good. I’ll get Beatrice.”
As the sister slipped out Sally grinned at me.
“Really Martie! Gossip magazines! Consider yourself told off.”
“Yes Miss.”
We were still giggling when Beatrice arrived with the sister. Immediately Sally reached out her arms.
“Save me Beatrice. Save me from the fighting duo!”
Beatrice looked puzzled but naturally slid gently into Sally’s embrace and they kissed; Beatrice was still not yet aware that Sally was transgendered.
Sally invited the sister to sit with us and we chatted at length about many things. Once Sally had convinced herself that
Beatrice was sympathetic to transgendered people, she glanced at me and nodded.
I sat on the bed beside Beatrice and put my arm around her shoulders. Beatrice sensed something was up but she couldn’t quite figure it out. She gently took my fingers in hers and squeezed up to me as I finally broke the news to her. The sister listened avidly she had never been a witness to such a monumentous occasion in an individual’s life. A ‘coming out’!
“I’ve got a bit of news for you Bea.” I said softly.
“What?”
“Well it’s Sally’s news really but she’s a bit leery of breaking it.”
Beatrice turned to Sally and frowned uncertainly.
“Go on. What is it?”
“Sally’s one of us. Sally’s Tee Gee!” I replied on Sally’s behalf.
Bea looked at Sally for several moments as a slow smile crossed her face.
“Well I’ll be buggered! You sneaky cow!”
Sally’s nervous smile softened a little as hope filtered slowly into her expression.
“You’re not angry then.” Sally croaked with nervous relief.
“What, with you being a tranny? Good God no”! Martie’s still a tranny. He hasn’t declared if he’s a transsexual and we’re
all still waiting. It begs the question though why you’re so uptight about men coming into the halls of residence.”
Sally explained fearfully how she had to somehow appear super-protective of the girls to justify her job. Between tearful sobs of relief she poured out her feelings whilst occasionally touching upon her many brutal past experiences.
It was probably the first time Sally had cried properly since the last beating from her parents before finally running away from home. This was the first time she had ever found a sympathetic female shoulder to cry on and let everything just pour out. A lifetime of despair locked up for some forty three years from fifteen when she had finally run away, bleeding and broken as she hitched a lift from Aberdeen to London. From that day to the here and now aged fifty eight and staring at a lonely bitter retirement Sally had never ever given her feelings release!
Finally as her body was drained of all tears I spoke softly to her.
“Don’t worry Sally. You’ve got friends now. You’re amongst friends now.”
Even the sister was reduced to tears and she had stood in on some pretty desperate scenes.
Using the permission granted by the Psychiatrist Doctor Lindsey, we stayed after the afternoon visiting, shared a meal with Sally and remained chatting about plans and ideas right through to the evening visiting when Jeanette turned up with Mel.
With Sally’s express permission I had earlier called Melanie on my mobile and told her. She was then fully prepared and primed by Jeanette when they arrived. By the time the evening visiting was over, it was a very different Sally who reluctantly bid us goodnight.
“You’ll bring your other friends won’t you Jeanette?”
“Yes darling.” Jeanette replied. “I’ve got a couple of them in mind. Like you they’ve walked the walk, and hopefully you’ll be like them one day. Finally free of the torment; and I mean that in the nice way. See you tomorrow.”
We all gave Sally a kiss and cuddle then reluctantly departed.
Sally waved gleefully to us as the sister made her comfortable for the night. As the sister prepared Sally’s pain killers Sally could not contain her happiness.
“Would you believe it sister? They’ve invited me to a party next month. Me of all people! It’s Jeanette’s mother’s sixtieth. Can you believe Jeanette actually still sees all her family and they all love her; can you believe that?!!”
“Yes! They’re a good bunch so you’d better concentrate on getting this leg of yours mended if you want to be out of here in a month. You’ll still be in a wheelchair or on crutches mind. Now are you comfortable?”
Sally nodded blissfully.
“Good,” said the sister, “sleep well because sleep will be your best healer.”
It was as Jeanette had bet the psychiatrist and when Sally was discharged Doctor Lindsey made it a point to meet us.
“You win Jeanette, here’s the twenty quid; and I’m glad you’ve won.”
With twice daily visits by sympathetic friends who had much to share, Sally came on in leaps and bounds. She was out in three weeks and whizzing around the campus in her wheel-chair terrorising the students by her recklessness. They had put a pair of wooden access ramps to enable her to enter her Warden’s flat while we four friends visited regularly to help with the logistics. Sally was a new woman.
For the students that new woman was a sympathetic but fair warden who kept her domain trouble free.
The following weekend, Jeanette’s mother’s sixtieth birthday came around. It started in the early afternoon with Charlie playing master of ceremonies whilst simultaneously trying to control the barbeque.
Eventually we three girls took pity on him and took control of the smoking monster to allow Charlie to play ‘mine host’, indulge his mother and greet the guests. Jeanette arrived with Sally in the wheelchair and introduced her to her mother. Sally could not believe just how affectionate and supportive Esther was to her transvestite son. Additionally she was stunned to see the man-mountain Charlie actually kissing his own brother as you would kiss a favourite little sister. Sally started to cry as she recalled the ghastly abuse she had endured as a child.
“Just how could two families be so different?” She wondered. “Why had nobody been there to show her love, to take her in their arms and just once give her a cuddle?”
She wheeled her chair to a quiet corner of the garden and just broke down. It was me, Martie who found Sally as I was later looking for a ball hit by the children as they screamed with delight and completed a home run. Jeanette had belted it really hard off Charlie’s bowling and I had just found the ball after rooting around in the rhubarb patch. I had just chucked it back belatedly for all the children had made their runs when I found Sally tucked between the garden shed and the compost heap breaking her heart.
“Good God girl! What the hell are you doing here?”
“Just look at them, just listen to them laughing and squealing. Have you ever seen a happier family? And look, everybody’s included, there must be what about six trannies here but who would know? Why couldn’t I have had a childhood like that? Why!
Why!”
I realised that Sally didn’t know the whole story so I explained about the early paternal abuse that went on for over twenty years until Charlie was finally of an age and size to stop his father beating him and his younger brothers and sisters.
“Oh I know all about that Martie. But at least Charlie was finally there. He was there for Jeanette! Did you see how tender and sweet he was with her?”
I didn’t know how to respond but I tried.
“But we’re here for you now Sally. We can’t right the wrongs done to you, we just can’t, but let’s try and move forward, or are there other issues?”
Sally started to cry even more and I was getting nervous. I told her to wait and dashed off to get Jeanette who seemed so much better than me at dealing with stuff. I just couldn’t get my head around Sally’s life; there was just so much shit in it! Jeanette was only about three years older than Mel, Bea and me, but she seemed to have a head that was fifty years older. When we returned behind the garden shed, Sally had her back to us as she contemplated the compost heap.
Jeanette motioned to me to stay away as she approached the sobbing woman. I was secretly glad to be uninvolved. There seemed to be much deeper issues concerning Sally. I wondered where Jeanette had learned to deal with such issues for soon Sally had stopped crying and was talking earnestly with Jeanette. Then they discovered that the wheelchair was stuck in the soft earth and Jeanette had to call for my backup. We fell to laughing as Sally scolded us for our weakness.
“Call yourself men!” She scolded. “Lift it! Lift me out.”
At this remark Jeanette and I became helpless with laughter. It was no good. I couldn’t have moved a feather I was laughing so much.
“You’d better go and get Charlie.” Jeanette suggested to me between gasps for air as she caught a dose of hiccups through laughing.
I staggered away while Sally fell to laughing as she saw the funny side of what she had just said. Eventually I tracked Charlie down with Bea by the barbeque and explained. He had Sally free in no time at all and he wheeled her to the garden table for something to eat.
By now after an energetic game of rounder’s (Like baseball but on a smaller, mixed - sex scale; don’t ask me to elaborate.) the children were famished and they kept bussing back and forth for more food. Sally sat amidst a whirl of hungry traffic and simply enjoyed the fun. Eventually, Jeanette’s sisters came to sit at the table and fell to chatting with Sally about girly stuff and life styles. It was a treat to watch Sally’s face crease with smiles and then Jeanette came to join her four sisters. I was feeling peckish so I joined the party. Somehow, Jeanette had a knack for reconciliation and resolution for she finally got Sally to open up completely. We learned that Sally felt she was transgendered. She had always felt she was really a girl inside but her harsh Calvinistic upbringing had left brutal wounds that had never been properly addressed. The guilt load had utterly destroyed her capacity to emote.
After finally ‘confessing’ to her sinful needs Sally was truly ready for help. We all gathered around her to support her but the most effective agent was Charlie. When the man mountain came and sat beside her and put his huge arms around her, it was the first time Sally had ever felt safe near a man never mind in his arms. She fell weeping against his massive chest and stayed there for long minutes. Even Charlie’s two children became aware of the strange spectacle and asked their mother ‘what was wrong with the lady?’
Charlie’s wife Miranda smiled at the scene and explained to her children;
“Daddy’s helping her get mended, just like he does to you when you’re upset.”
“Can he do that mummy?” The little Belinda asked.
“You’re daddy can do anything, remember how he made Auntie Jeanette feel safe and happy after she was attacked coming home from school.”
With her question answered so effectively, Belinda left to resume the game of rounder’s. Sally had heard Miranda’s explanation and she pulled away to look from Jeanette to Miranda to Charlie.
“Is that true Charlie.”
Charlie just nodded and smiled as Jeanette explained.
“I was very effeminate by then and two of the school bullies decided to have some fun.”
They got away with it the first day but Charlie and his partner were waiting the next. He actually put in unpaid overtime on my behalf; me mind! his transvestite brother! The attackers were hauled up before the whole school and the head, (who was bit embarrassed that he hadn’t stopped it,) asked Charlie to read the riot act to the boys.
Nobody knew Charlie was my big brother and the boys were suspended for a term. One of them had ambitions to go to college and the lost term cost him dear. He had to work doubly hard for the next three years to catch up.”
Sally smiled as she dried her eyes.
“Just one more example of somebody ‘being there’ for you.”
“We’re all here for you now Sally. Will you be considering SRS?” Charlie added.
Sally fell silent in thought.
“I’m not sure. Am I too old?”
“Not really and you’ve certainly lived in your chosen gender roll for long enough. You’ve worked as the warden for what, twenty years?” Charlie replied knowingly.
“Yes, but will it count?” Sally wondered. “Don’t the doctors have to supervise it?”
“You’d best check on that. Go and see your GP next week. There are a million reliable witnesses who can swear you’ve lived and passed as a woman since Paddy came over. I for one have known you as a woman warden since I took over this patch and that’s a good five years.”
Sally looked long and hard at Charlie.
“How do you know so much about it? I mean you’re just an ordinary copper, a sergeant.”
Charlie just wagged his head as he sighed patiently then he spoke slowly and softly for effect.
“Sally! I’ve - got - a - transvestite - little - brother.”
“Oh yes,” she giggled, “stupid of me.”
With the conversation running in such a deep, meaningful and sincere vein, Sally’s mood soon improved and as the cool of the evening drove us indoors she was already on the first small step to recovery. She had come out completely and she no longer felt guilty. By the end of that academic year, Sally was booked in for SRS. She had passed all the psychiatric tests with flying colours. To her enduring astonishment, the college actually proved sympathetic and supportive. Transgendered rights had come a long, long way since Sally’s brutalised early years. They were years that could never have been called a ‘childhood.
Another pleasant development from that day was Jeanette and Charlie’s mother Esther learning of our family on the farm down in Dorset. As we chatted around the table that evening Bea happened to mention in passing about my conception by Sissy to Sian my lesbian Mum.
Esther listened avidly as Beatrice unthinkingly revealed my parenthood. Then she made a rare interruption.
“Martie? Do you mean to say your dad’s a transvestite?”
“Yes,” I replied as we chatted on without even stopping to consider the revelation.
Esther interrupted again.
“And your mum, - your mum’s a lesbian!”
“Yes,” I said aside again, impatient to carry on chattering, “both my mums are lesbian. They’re a couple.
Esther now took control of the chat around the table as she pressed her questions. It was the first time she became actively involved for up to that point she had simply listened.
“Do you ever see your dad Martie?”
“Oh heck yes, all the time when we’re down for the holidays.”Bea interrupted. “Sissy only lives a few miles from us. She owns a small hotel on the outskirts of Poole. She doesn’t run it anymore though but she still lives over the shop. She’s got that nice girl to run it, what’s her name?”
“Candice,” Mel interrupted without even thinking. So intimate was our relationship that we often answered for each other and outsiders would wonder at our social intimacy as it reflected our troilistic sexual attachments.
“So if Jeanette wanted a baby, she only has to find a nice sympathetic girl.” Esther observed.
A deafening silence descended the table as nearly everybody made the connection. Jeanette gasped at her mother’s forthrightness.
“Mummy!! Don’t be so forward.”
“Why not. Every mother has a right to have grandchildren.”
“But you’ve got grandchildren! Charlie’s two and your daughter’s kids, my nephew and all my nieces!” Jeanette cast around the Garden naming and counting them, - “and finally little Janet there in Charlotte’s arms. That makes twelve!! Heck Mummy, how many more d’you want?”
“But wouldn’t you like to be a dad?” Esther pressed, -“Maybe another grandson with our sir-name.”
“It’s not going to happen mummy. You’ve got Charlie’s son Zach, he carries the family name, and anyway; where would I find the right girl and where would I find the time to devote to its upbringing? Besides, there’re enough babies coming into the world.”
I could see the disappointment in Esther’s eyes but she hid it pretty well. The general mood of consensus around the table seemed to go with Jeanette but I caught Bea’s eyes and she gave just the slightest hint of a smile that twitched gently around her lips. It disappeared as quickly as it came but I had caught Bea’s mood. Later as we sat together on the sofa in the sitting room, I mentioned it to Bea very quietly.
“What were you smiling about?” I asked as I checked my laptop for emails.
“Why can’t Jeanette have a son?”
“No reason at all. Sian had me by Sissy.” I replied casually then turned to study my lover as she smiled enigmatically.
“Would you mind if I gave Jeanette a son?” Bea smiled.
“I suspected this. Go on.” I replied thoughtfully.
“Well look at the family. They are just so close nit. Any kid born into that sort of community has got to thrive. Come on Martie, look back at our childhoods on the farm; we had a wonderful childhood and all our parents were in some way gay or transgendered. It’s our upbringing that caused you to remain quite calm and content when I mentioned it. You didn’t fly off the handle or plunge into a jealous, possessive, testosterone driven rage.”
“So what about college? Are you going to sacrifice all that?”
“There’s no need to. As I see it, there’re two solutions.”
“Go on,” I pressed curiously.
Well the simplest one is to wait until we’ve graduated but that will affect our careers. Once we’re working and living more spread out lives the logistics of child rearing get harder.
“If I had Jeanette’s child now, while we’re all four together in college, we’d have a form of crá¨che. There would be four of us to raise the child, just like it was for us. D’you remember we always had a mummy to turn to, even when Mummy Margaret was in work in Poole doing the accounts, or Mummy Beverly was off on one of her many foreign jaunts, there was still Mummy Angie or Mummy Sian, there was always somebody to turn to if we were upset. Why can’t we do the same for our kids?”
I thought about Bea’s words and they made sense. Our early childhood had been truly idyllic. Besides that, we all three had inheritances coming to us that year. Our parents had all put aside monies for exactly what was happening. After our first year at uni in hall, we would have to find our own place. What better solution than to buy a large apartment.
Our mums and Mel’s dad had all put together what they could and we would be well set up if we pooled our inheritances. Mel's dad the Baron Wemite was loaded, and Mummy Beverly was certainly not poor.
She now part owned a small fleet of six ships trading to the Med and the Baltic not to mention our beloved Speedwell and Speedway. A child would be no financial burden and our shared parenting would address the nurturing. Bea was also pretty sure that the grandmothers on both sides would pitch in. Esther always seemed to have a whole heap of grandchildren around her and she obviously enjoyed it. One more would simply complete her dreams. Fortunately, the Benoon Family all lived in and around North London so the logistics of ‘Mum’s Taxi’ would be easy; - not to mention ‘Grandma’s taxi’ and ‘Auntie’s taxies.’ Jeanette was in the luxurious position of having an extended devoted family. I could see Beatrice’s smile widening slowly as she watched me digesting the idea.
“So, sister, what d’you think?” She pressed.
“You’ll still love me won’t you?”
“Hell yes, my second child will be yours, our kids will have half siblings all over the nursery, yours, mine, Mel’s and Jeanette’s. Sister! It’ll be like a genetic zoo! It’ll be just like it was with us four down on the farm, you, me Chenille and Jenny.”
My eyes teared up with relief and I flung myself into Bea’s arms.
“I thought you were going to chuck me for Jeanette.”
“Oh never Martie; never! Never! Never! And anyway, and this is to go no further. I’ve got to accept the fact that at some time you’ll have to marry Mel so that she can inherit her distaff titles and her estate. She deserves that at least. She’s been so loyal to the both of us since forever. That’s not to say I’m going to Marry Jeanette but you are definitely going to have to marry Melanie.”
“We’ve already discussed that.” I observed. “I marry Melanie, give her the babies; she inherits her title for keeps and the endowment then if we’re all agreeable I divorce her. Then we’re all equal again to live like we’re living now.”
Beatrice frowned.
“That’s not necessary Martie. The marriage certificate is only a scrap of paper, to make the kids legitimate and ensure the inheritance. Let it ride, I’m not bothered. Stay married, don’t get a divorce. Why give a bunch of lawyers the chance to make more money? We’ve got each other and that’s all that matters. So now, there’s just the small matter of getting Jeanette to make me pregnant.”
I smiled and we hugged with an exquisite fricassee of delight.
“Do you think she’ll agree?”
“Oh I think so; if it makes Esther happy then it’ll make Jeanette happy. She loves her mum to pieces. Besides, there’s another angle.”
“Go on. What have you been up to?” I asked suspiciously.
“Well, Mummy Bev has been looking at a flat just behind Bedford Square; it’s a new build, well; a renovated office block converted to flats. It’s only a few blocks from the college. I was talking to her on the mobile yesterday while you were in lectures.”
“And?”
“She wants’ us to go around and look at it next week. She hasn’t finalised the deal. “
“How does that affect babies?”
“Well you know we have to move out of hall after the first year and live in rented flats.”
“Yes, that’s the college’s policy, to make students independent.”
“Yes. Well Mummy Bev says there are some larger apartments for sale in the same block, even a couple of four-bed-roomed ones. It wouldn’t do us any harm to look at what Auntie Bev is looking at; see if there’s anything suitable for us; a larger apartment with more bedrooms or something in the same block. Mummy Bev reckons she can get a better deal by buying more than one apartment. She’s looking to buy a couple of the smaller ones anyway; she reckons they’re a good investment. Property prices are so low while we’re in the middle of this credit crunch. If we can tack on a larger apartment to the whole package, there should be some useful discounts. Then we’d all be living together, just like Jeanette’s family.”
“So what you’re looking for is an extra Nan to help with the baby minding.” I pulled a wry smile.
Bea smiled shyly and nodded as she looked bashful. I couldn’t help but smile myself. Just as Jeanette appeared with Charlie playing with baby Janet the youngest child of one of their sisters.
“God you look just like Madonna and child Jeanette,” I grinned”.
“Steady now Martie, we’re Jewish don’t forget.”
“All the more biblical,” Beatrice added. “Mary was a Jew, so was baby Jesus.”
I grinned to myself thoughtfully; Jeanette had not even considered the reference to her mistaken gender just her forgotten faith. I turned to her and asked bluntly.
“I bet you’d like to have a baby wouldn’t you Jeanette.”
“What, you mean be a mother?”
“Well that’s a non starter, but a father perhaps. I know your mum would like it.”
“It’s nice thought Martie but I’m not likely to meet a suitable girl with my life style. I mean a girl who likes trannies is probably a bit kinky and a bit unbalanced.”
“What d’you mean!!” Beatrice protested loudly. I like trannies, Martie’s a tranny, - well for now anyway! Are you saying I’m kinky and unbalanced?”
“Uuhhm no! Sorry, present company excepted but you’re spoken for, you Martie and Mel.”
“So you mean if I wasn’t spoken for, - ?”
Jeanette turned to her big brother Charlie and sighed resignedly as she handed the baby to him.
“You see what I mean big bro, the three of them; they’re the most contrary, capricious gang of witches since Shakespeare wrote Macbeth.”
Charlie grinned as he cuddled his newborn niece then nodded agreement.
“Yeah, and you hope to share a flat with them next year. Boy-oh-boy! Jeanette darling, you’re a glutton for punishment.” Then
Charlie did a double take as he realised what Bea had just said.
“What d’you mean; ‘if you weren’t spoken for’?”
“Exactly that, ‘if I wasn’t spoken for’!”
“But you are; Martie said it the other day; you’re a ménage.”
“Yes, we are but that doesn’t lock us into bondage. We’re still free spirits. If we want to go outside our relationship we can but we don’t betray our trust. We let each other know. The thing is we’re so fond of each other and deeply in love that we never have any need to go outside our relationship.”
Bea turned to me and I nodded with a smile. That was exactly how it was. We were free to step outside our ménage but because we were so intimately involved and deeply attached, it was never necessary. Furthermore, we talked to each other about such stuff all the time.
Jeanette looked from me to Bea uncertainly.
“You mean you’re not, - you know, - betrothed.”
“Betrothed?!!” Bloody hell Jeanette, you make it sound more like the bible all the time. Is that how you Jews see it?”
“Well,” Charlie interceded, “the Orthodox Jews might, but our family is pretty laid back about it all. Our dad was such a bigoted bully about his orthodoxy and sticking to the rules that we all became sick of it. We’re Jewish with a small ‘Jay’; a very small ‘Jay’.”
Both Bea and I could see Jeanette’s brain ticking away thoughtfully and we exchanged knowing smiles. Jeanette was wondering if maybe Beatrice might possibly be a suitable bride.”
The silence deepened for a moment then Charlie sensed the moment. He stopped rocking his niece Janet in his arms and looked at Beatrice and me before casting his glance to Jeanette. Slowly his jaw sagged as he realised there was an unspoken offer on the table. Finally he found words.
“You mean, - Beatrice; you’d have Jeanette’s baby, - sorry, I mean Jack’s baby, Jacob’s baby.”
Bea grinned.
“Well that’s three different people you’d have me sleep with. I’m not that promiscuous!”
Jeanette was still staring in surprise at the beautiful girl that had just confirmed her offer of making her, - Jeanette, a father.
“But, wouldn’t you, - are your ready for such a commitment, - I mean, your relationship with Mel and Martie? What about college?”
“What about college?”
“Well, it’s a huge sacrifice.”
Bea grinned at me and explained to Jeanette about our intentions to buy an apartment collectively.
Charlie listened in amazement as Jeanette became more hopeful and even more excited. Then a huge smile spread across Jeanette’s face as she turned to Beatrice once more to confirm absolutely that the offer was on the table. Bea nodded her head vigorously then spelled it out clearly.
“Jeanette, if - you — wish — I ¬- will — have — your — baby!!! I’m feeling broody anyway.”
“But what about Martie, I mean, wouldn’t I be somehow affecting the rights of his first born?”
I wagged my head as I recognised Jeanette’s biblical hang-ups.
‘God, they seemed as fucked up as Fundamentalist Christians and Muslims. All faith and no Godliness! It was bad enough with poor old Mel and her titled inheritance laws.’ Would somebody please put the world right, I prayed privately.’
Charlie sensed my silent frustrations and he turned to his transgendered brother.
“Listen Jeannie, take the girl’s offer, you won’t get a better one and if you accept it now, you can have the exquisite delight of giving mum the best birthday present she’ll ever have; - the promise of another son.”
“How do you know it’ll be a son?” Jeanette giggled.
Charlie turned to Beatrice and grinned.
“It had better be; my boy Zach is tired of all female cousins. He’s totally outnumbered. ‘Bout time we had another boy in the Benoon tribe.”
We all couldn’t help but grin like Cheshire cats as Charlie and Jeanette flipped a coin to decide who would have the sheer delight of telling their mother.
“It’ll be the best birthday present she’s ever had.” Squealed Jeanette as the coin favoured her.
“Well we’re all coming to witness this,” Bea declared, “I for one wouldn’t miss this for the world!”
So saying we rose as one and stepped from the drawing room to the huge kitchen were all the female adults of the Benoon Clan were gathered chatting around the table while Sally sat in her wheel-chair next to Esther.
This Chapter investigates Martina's transvestism and transsexuality and the issues she has with it. It describes Sally's reconciliation through the loving of both families and it describes the decisions to start motherhood by Martina's friends.
Martina’s Story 11
Myself, Martina, A sexually dysphoric transsexual who has not yet determined what
Sex she is but prefers to present as a girl
Beverly My adoptive ‘aunt’ who is a mature she-male and my most supportive adult friend.
Chenille My older half sister.
Jennifer Aunt Beverly’s adopted daughter.
Beatrice Aunt Beverly’s second adopted daughter and Jennifer’s younger sister. One of my two best friends.
Sian. My lesbian mother who is married to —
Margaret Who is Chenille’s lesbian mother.
Sissy. My and Chenille’s transvestite she-male father.
Sandie. My doctor, psychiatrist and sexual counsellor.
Judge Elizabeth Porter. The judge who ruled that I should be allowed to live and dress as a girl.
Angela Hunt. Jennifer and Beatrice’s natural blood mother who is now married to Aunt Beverly who is a she male.
Baroness Wemite’ Sian’s old School Chum
Peter Baroness Wemite’s son
Melanie Baroness Wemite’s daughter and my other ‘best friend’.
Rosemary & Monika. Two bullies in the junior school.
Chrissie My older step transsexual sister.
Jeanette My transvestite friend at University.
Sally Transgendered Warden of Girls Hall of Residence.
Charlie Jeanette’s sympathetic big brother
Esther Jeanette and Charlie’s mum.
Miranda Charlie’s wife.
The Benoon women looked up as one when we entered the kitchen. Four sisters but seven years apart, plus their mother plus their sister — in — law Miranda had developed a sort of oestrogenic sibling telepathy. Sally just sat there wondering. The day had already been a particularly auspicious one for her.
The children were upstairs getting ready for bed so we adults had the kitchen to ourselves except for Charlie’s newest niece Janet nestling in his huge arms.
“What is it darling?” Esther looked up expectantly at her first born.
“Jeanette’s got some news for you mum.”
I saw the flicker of uncertainty briefly flash across Esther’s face but it held no censure or rejection. Esther truly did love and value her transvestite son. She smiled at Jeanette and re-arranged herself in the large kitchen chair expectantly.
“Go on then darling, don’t keep me in suspense.”
Jeanette started hesitantly; looking for words and gathering her thoughts, not to mention her emotions which were all over the place.
“It’s about what you said earlier, having a grandson, another grandson to keep Zach company. We’ll there might be a chance; I might be able to give you a grandchild. I can’t promise a grandson but you should have a grandchild.”
Esther fell to tears as she digested the most wonderful birthday present a child of hers could have offered; news of another grandchild! Jeanette’s sisters just stared uncomprehendingly and overwhelmed with emotion. Sally was completely bamboozled. Eventually, it was Sally’s ‘not of the family’ status that enabled her to ask the first coherent question.
“Jeanette, might I ask who your wife will be, or in these more liberal times, who the mother will be.”
“Uuhhm that’ll be me.” Beatrice volunteered; “but with the agreement and consent of my companions.”
All eyes turned to land on Beatrice who grinned and then went on to explain to the sisters and Sally while Jeanette was savouring a breath crushing embrace of ecstasy from her mother Esther. Charlie was already opening a huge jeroboam of champagne.
“So you see; it’s pretty much a win — win situation all around.” Bea declared.
“Will you be able to keep up your studies?”
“I think so. There are us four students and my four mothers plus my older sisters. Chenille and Jennifer. Jennifer’s nearly completed her M.B. and she’s starting her internship the same year we become second-year’s. Chenille’s completed her engineering degree and she’s training to become a pilot. They’re both based in London so methinks Mummy Bev might already have tenants for her apartments in the same building so we’ll be together again just like we were at Rosy Cottage.
Believe me ladies, If you think yours is a good family support system then our childhood arrangements at Rosy Cottage more than matches it. We’ve still got younger siblings following along as our various mummies and mummy dads have savoured their various parental options.
And now I look at the Benoon family and your extended family circumstances, I get the feeling that any child of Jeanette’s will never lack for love or carers. It’s my conviction that you’ll all be gaga to have another little Benoon adding to your family get-togethers.
Jeanette’s four sister’s eyes misted up with joy as did Miranda’s and Esther’s. Reluctantly, Esther released her transvestite son to allow the sisters to hug their brother While Miranda and Charlie sat slumped with delight as Miranda cuddled her niece Janet. Mel and I sat by Charlie watching the youngsters playing rounders.
Just by casting her eyes around the extended family group, Beatrice could see that her first-born child would never want for love and care.
Then she caught the tearful gaze of Sally and recognised the pain behind Sally’s struggle not to cry. Beatrice got up and crossed to Sally. She bent down to Sally’s level to put one arm around her shoulder as her other arm encompassed the whole group.
“Don’t worry Sal. You’re with us now, and we’re with them. This is your family now, the Benoons and the Rosy Cottage gang. Just you wait until you come home to Dorset with us for half term or even Christmas. We’ll show you what real families should be like.”
Sally reached up eagerly into Beatrice’s embrace and rested her head on Bea’s shoulder. A few tears flowed but Sally eventually found her voice.
“Thanks, - thanks, I just don’t know what to say.”
“Don’t say anything just think of all the nice things that can come from this, your new life.”
Miranda spotted the intimacy whilst Jeanette’s sisters were too engrossed in the news about their little brother and the impending hope of fatherhood. Leaving the Benoon sisters to congratulate Jeanette, Miranda slipped over to join Sally and Bea.
“Is everything okay Sally. Have you been crying again?”
Sally nodded.
“I don’t know whether to be happy or sad. Seeing what I’ve missed all my life or realising that I‘m now going to have it. I’ve got a family at last.”
Miranda looked down thoughtfully then presented Baby Janet for Sally to hold. Sally hesitated nervously.
“Go on hold her,” Miranda encouraged Sally. “She won’t break. See what it’s like to really have a family; to hold the
youngest member in your arms, to feel the future in your hands.
Sally smiled wistfully and cautiously extended her hands. Miranda placed baby Janet on Sally’s uninjured thigh and Sally felt herself filling up.
‘A baby!’ She sighed with inward contentment; ‘a real live baby!’
She adjusted her injured thigh to make a more comfortable ‘lap’ Beatrice knelt down to have her head down at Sally’s knees and they both played blissfully with the giggling, gurgling baby.
“Just think Sally,” Beatrice observed, “you’ll have one to play with all the time when Jeanette and I make one like this.”
Her remark was overheard by the whole Benoon clan who turned as one and sighed with contentment. Beatrice sensed the attention and blushed bright red. Then she remarked defensively.
“Well; she will, and who’s to stop her?”
Esther stood up and joined Sally and Beatrice. Her age made her creak a little as she finally lowered herself to Sally’s level.
“Nobody’s going to stop you Sally, nobody wants to stop you. You can play with all my future grandchild any time you want. That much you deserve, that much we can all give you.”
“Amen to that,” Beatrice agreed.
Sally teared up again and sat silently crying with joy as Beatrice took some tissues and wiped her eyes softly. Esther gently took Janet from Sally’s lap with a promise to return her later in the evening after having been fed and changed. Beatrice grinned at Sally and explained compassionately.
“Sometimes only a mum can give her baby what she wants.”
“I’m just so happy!” Sally sobbed, “I mean, - it’s all that a woman could wish for. At last I’m joining the sisterhood.”
Having said this, Sally hesitated nervously; - anticipating some sort of facetious remark concerning her transgenderism but it never came. Obviously the Benoon family, - like Beatrice’s family, - had come to accept Sally’s circumstances owing to the circumstances surrounding their own transvestite brother Jeanette. Any transgender issues that Sally might have anticipated had long ago been resolved within the Benoon clan.
Sally watched a little enviously as Esther changed Janet’s nappy then handed the clean baby to her mother to be fed. Without the slightest signs of self-consciousness, Esther’s youngest daughter produced her ripe globe of feminine breast and promptly fed her daughter Janet as mothers had done since mammals had appeared on earth.
‘Another sign of my having been accepted,’ thought Sally, ‘here amongst other girls and family, there had been no attempt by Janet’s mother to somehow hide the breast feeding process. It had been done in the most open and natural way possible.’ Sally found herself smiling as she turned to Bea.
“I’m just so happy. Thank you for coming into my life.”
“It’s Jeanette you should be thanking,” Beatrice grinned, “she’s the trigger, the catalyst that changed the Benoon family.”
“It’s true,” Miranda repeated as she overheard Bea’s remark. “When their father was here the Benoons were known only for censure and bigotry. Even the Rabbi in our synagogue used to shake his head when old man Benoon got up on one of his old-testament, orthodox rants. Thank Jeanette for her tenacity and Charlie for finally doing the decent thing.”
“You mean kicking his father out?” Sally replied.
“I mean exactly that!”
Miranda went on to describe her take on the Benoon family.
“It was Charlie’s courage in getting rid of the old boor that finally attracted me to him. Throughout our growing up together in the Synagogue, I always knew Charlie to be a gentle giant. The trouble was he was too gentle and for that I held him in some contempt.
He seemed to have no limit on his ability to always see the other person’s point of view, always sacrifice his own happiness to accommodate the other’s view. This even extended to tolerating his father’s brutality and bigotry.
Then, one day he saw the light or something and finally snapped. Well he didn’t actually snap, for if ever Charlie snapped I think people would die. No he used reasonable force and finally removed the cancer from the heart of the Benoon family. That was the day I knew Charlie was the man for me. At first I didn’t know the reason for the kicking that Jeanette was getting when Charlie intervened and then, when I learned of Jeanette’s transvestism I must confess I was disgusted at first, but Charlie made me feel ashamed. You’ve seen how the two brothers inter-react. Jeanette worships Charlie, Charlie loves his little bro’. Ask their sisters. Like me, the Benoon sisters were not entirely comfortable with Jeanette’s transvestism at first, but Charlie pulled them around. That day when Charlie beat his father up for nearly kicking the little six-year-old Jack to death was the day of epiphany for the whole Benoon clan.
Charlie’s a real man and yet he loves his younger brother to bits. Nobody will be happier than Charlie that our son Zach will finally have a male cousin to bond with, so Beatrice, please make sure you have a son.”
“That’s asking a bit much isn’t it?” I added as I overheard the last request.
“We can but try, Jeanette and I,” Beatrice sighed poetically.
Sally, Miranda and I smiled at Beatrice’s gentle poetry.
With that Esther returned to place Janet back in Sally’s arms where she stayed contentedly for the remainder of the evening.
Sally was overcome with contentment and bliss and returned with us to the halls of residence a totally new woman.
The next day, Saturday, - Mummy Bev and Mummy Angie came up to town to sort out their new apartments. Beatrice and I joined them as we sorted out our inheritance money while Mel went to see her dad Baron Wemite, brother Peter and future sister-in-law Lucinda across town. Mel was doing exactly the same thing with her dad. Baron Wemite was pleased that his daughter Mel was getting married, even if it was to me a transgendered individual of uncertain sexuality. My promise to give Baron Wemite a legitimate grandchild by his only daughter was sufficient to fulfil the Ancient Sallic laws of Mel’s inheritance to her ancient title and her modest distaff estates. By the Christmas holidays we were ready to move into a spacious four-bed-roomed apartment that had been modified during restoration to suite our collective needs. In truth, because we invariably slept together, it meant that we always had at least one and more usually two or even three bedrooms spare for visiting guests.
That Christmas Beatrice and I took Sally and Jeanette down to Rosy cottage to meet the rest of our tribe. Naturally, Mel was over nearly every day from the Wemite place not to mention Lucinda and Peter.
For Sally the sheer variety of transgendered situations and relationships left her breathless with delight. At last she could move with total freedom from any sort of censure or strictures afforded to her condition. She had a splendid opportunity to meet with Sandie who, after consulting with Sally’s G.P., in London was happy to advance the recommendation for SRS. The main criterion of having lived in the chosen gender role for more than two years had more than been surpassed. Sally had been living as a woman warden for the hall of residence for nearly twenty years and had never been ‘read’. She decided to have the surgery in the following summer to address her job needs. We would be living full time as second year students in our apartment and Sally would always have a ‘bolt-hole’ if she ever needed one. At fifty eight, she was near the women’s retirement age and was hoping to retire in another 2 years. She would need to find accommodation for the warden’s flat went with the job.
She did however, have the option of working until she was sixty five and Mummy Bev had made a clever ‘rent-to-buy’ deal where she could buy a flat whilst renting it, then subletting it while she worked on to sixty five to sort out her finances whilst living on in the warden’s flat for an extra three or four years. With her modest college pension, Sally would be fairly well fixed by the time she reached sixty-five, and she was thinking of taking the option.
She was chatting about this to Mummy Beverly and Mummy Margaret during the Christmas break at Rosy cottage and once again the advantages of ‘family’ were made apparent to her. Her London flat would be in the same block as Beverly’s and ours and companionship would always be to hand. No more lonely days of isolated retirement for Sally. There would be babies to cuddle and take for walks not to mention the integration into two extended families. Sally’s happiness was complete. Our children would have one more extra, doting gran.
That Christmas, Beatrice fell pregnant to Jeanette. Naturally the news spread like wildfire through both families and it was a time of great rejoicing. Poor old Beatrice found herself hauled around both families as she was forced to fulfil familial obligations. Expectations were high but it would be a few months before scans could reveal if the foetus was male or female. Beatrice began to feel as though she did not matter; it seemed to Bea that the Benoon family only saw her as nothing more than some sort of brood mare, the new life was all about the baby and its gender. Eventually she had to make her feelings abundantly clear. The sex of the baby did not matter!
To the Benoons this came as a bit of a shock. As a Jewish family it was important to produce sons indeed some Jewish boys started every day with a prayer thanking God that they had not been born a woman. When Beatrice learned of this she was not too amused. Coming from a family where gender was a very blurred and low priority, she had to have a quiet chat with Esther, the matriarch of the Benoon clan.
“You see Esther, I am quite shocked to find that all the daughters in the family wish they’d had a son. Bearing in mind I only intend to have two children, what will you do if this baby is a girl? My next plan is to have a child by Martina so this baby will be Jeanette’s only child; at least by me that is. If it’s a baby girl will you drop me because I have somehow failed to produce the goods?”
“No. Never. It’s just that well, you understand, we are Jews, it’s important to have a son, he might be the next messiah.”
“Oh please. Every one of the monotheist faiths has some sort of promise or prophecy about a second coming. The Muslims believe that the next prophet will be born of man and yet they make the arrogant assumption that the next prophet will be male. The Koran says nothing about the gender of the next prophet. It’s a fifty-fifty chance the next prophet could be female. What does the Jewish religion say about the sex of their next Messiah?”
Esther fell silent. She looked at Beatrice slightly nervously.
“It just says Messiah. I think!”
“So. Go on. And while we’re at it, how do you know God is male. Who endowed the almighty with all the frailties and conceits of gender? You say God is a spirit. Spirits don’t have a gender. They don’t need to reproduce it they’re eternal do they? So go on, who made God a male? It’s all a load of Man stuff. When I see a female Pope or a female Ayatollah I’ll maybe start to accept religion. Til then, I’m just a disinterested bystander but when it comes to my first baby, he or she or whatever had better be treated the same no matter what.”
“Point taken Bea,” Esther conceded. “But I’m a bit hurt that you should think so ill of me. I thought that after you’d seen the way we cherish Jeanette you’d have had me down for a compassionate humanist not a bigoted religious nut.”
“Sorry Esther, maybe you’re right, it’s just I’ve seen the walk that people like Martie, Sally and others like them have had to make and I get a bit disillusioned with monotheist paternalism.”
“Well I’ll treat my grandchild with all the love he or she, or she or he deserves. Truth to tell, for me anyway, it was more the case that we’ve got enough girls in the Benoon tribe. Another boy, just the one even, would be a nice addition, a bit of balance perhaps.
If it’s Jeanette’s son, then so much the better for he carries the family name forward. Poor Zach carries the burden alone at the moment.”
“Well if that’s your main reason, family balance I’ll run happily with that. Just don’t let it become the patriarchal thing.”
Esther smiled condescendingly.
“Bea. Look around you, d’you see a patriarch in the Benoon family. There’s only a matriarch, - me.”
Bea hesitated then smiled a bit self consciously. ‘Maybe she had been a bit hasty in judging Esther’ she seemed to be on edge and jumpy since becoming pregnant.’
“Sorry Esther. I’m twitchy about my baby, must be the hormones.”
Esther smiled and gave Beatrice a hug.
“It’s your first baby; you’re bound to be on edge. I’ve watched all my daughters go through it. Just try to enjoy the experience. It won’t get too uncomfortable until your 6th or 7th month and by then your exams will be over. You’ll have from June to September to take it easy in your third trimester. Go away and enjoy it; but come and see us every time Jeanette comes over. There’s no excuse now Bea, you’re only ten minutes away by tube.”
Thus reassured, Beatrice returned to our halls of residence and we three went to visit Sally. She had supper prepared and we chatted in her warden’s flat until we heard the familiar purposeful click of Jeanette’s size nine heels as she returned from a Chemistry lecture and practical. Her overall stank of sulphuric acid and there was a small acid burn on her jeans. Fortunately she had been wearing loose ones so no harm had ensued. She knocked on the door and called to us.
“I’ll be back in a minute, got to change, I stink of chemicals.”
The pungent smell wafted in with the draught and we unanimously agreed.
As we waited, we mused on how Jack had come to terms with his transvestism. Now he lived almost full time cross dressed as Jeanette and hardly an eyelid was batted throughout the campus.
Twenty minutes later Jeanette returned and we devoured Sally’s delicious risotto. Naturally the conversation centred on the baby. Finally we decide upon a name for a boy and a name for a girl then Mel dashed out to the off-licence to buy a bottle of champagne.
A series of phone calls immediately followed and a Baby shower was organised at Jeanette’s mother’s house. Bea half expected a grilling from Esther that Jeanette had not chosen a Jewish name if they had a boy but Esther grinned when they cautiously inquired about it.
“Beatrice, I have a son who is known more commonly by the name of Jeanette, would I worry about my grandson’s name?”
Beatrice grinned partly from relief and partly from amusement. ‘Esther was a typical Jewish mother.’
Jeanette took the phone from her to chat to her mum. Suddenly Jeanette’s face clouded slightly as she turned to Beatrice.
“She’s asking about circumcision.”
Bea paused thoughtfully then nodded.
“They say it’s more hygienic and there’s less chance of cancer for the woman isn’t there?”
“That’s only a theory, I think,” Jeanette replied.
“Well let’s go with it. It’s a minor issue and if it pleases your mum then let it be. Do you resent being circumcised?”
“I don’t know, I’ve never known what it’s like to have a foreskin, I’ve never had one or at least I’ve never remembered having one.”
“But does it bother you, not having one I mean?”
Jeanette shrugged and smiled.
“I’ve never thought about it. No, it doesn’t bother me. If you’re happy to let him be circumcised then do it. It’ll certainly please mother.”
Thus Beatrice was able to pass some good news for Esther’s ears; if the baby was a boy, they would allow him to be circumcised.
As a transsexual I kept my counsel. My surgeon had once told me that a foreskin served to make a very useful clitoral hood and could even be used to help build the vaginal scabbard if other material was in short supply; ‘Hey!’ I told myself, ‘how many transsexuals were there compared with other kids?’ I might mention it to Beatrice at a later date. That night as all four of us cuddled up together it was a particularly emotional night.
Finally a few weeks later Beatrice came home after a scan with news of the baby but she seemed inordinately shy.
“Is it a boy or a girl?” Jeanette and Mel pressed.
“They can’t tell yet. The baby’s shy and won’t show the genitals. Don’t you want to know Martie? “
“I prefer to wait until the child says what sex it is.” I croaked as my emotions took charge
“Oh shit!! Yes; - Dammit!! Sorry Martie, I forgot. That was crass and insensitive of me. Sorry love.”
I turned away tearfully but Beatrice was quick to spot my hurt. She hurried to hug me and reassure me
“I’m so sorry. I’m so, so sorry. Me of all people! — I should have stopped to think. It still worries you doesn’t it?”
“It’s the not knowing Bea, what am I, and who am I! Some days I’m all woman then others, I have doubts; I — just — don’t — know!”
She wrapped her arms around me as Mel and then Jeanette approached nervously. Mel was fully appreciative of my situation and joined Bea in hugging me to reassure me but Jeanette was still new and raw to my issues. Despite her uncertainty, Jeanette had the grace and courage to wrap her long arms around us three and add her reassurance. Eventually I stopped crying and they let me slink away to the bedroom. Jeanette came and sat with me stroking my back gently as I tried to explain. Beatrice and Mel had heard it many times before but Jeanette still needed to know and to try to understand. As I lay morosely on the bed I tried to explain what it was like.
“Jeanette, try and understand. It’s like there’s two people inside me; girl and boy. They seem to lie together like the Yin and Yan, the oriental symbol of life. You know; that symbol on the Korean flag. They lie intimately entwined and yet quite distinct. They do not try to pull apart because they are both me, the whole me. They are not fighting each other. Yet they spin my life around always changing one to the other and back. Look how the Yin, Yan symbol always seems to be spinning, like a galaxy in space. That’s me, that’s my life, always spinning, always topsy — turvy. They don’t threaten me, after all they’re the symbol of life; the life without and the life within but boy — oh — boy are they different! The life within is well marked but very complicated and intimately connected. That’s me, that’s the boy and girl within me. I don’t think I’ll ever know what I am! And the life without, well, that’s a huge variable, a deception, always hiding the truth, always changing. It’s a shit life; do I transition or not? What will the doctors say? What will the psychiatrists say if I’m not certain? Will they let me? Will they claim I’m suffering from some sort of bisexual schizophrenia and say that has to be resolved before they can decide if I'm ready to cross over?”
“I don’t know Martie, I just don’t know.” Jeanette whispered. “Are there any sort of basics, you know; absolutes, absolute values where you can say with certainty, ‘I am this and I want that’.”
“Yes.” Martie replied. “I want children but I’ll have to father them. I haven’t got a womb. That bit’s already sorted. I’m going to give Mel children and marry her but that’s a special deal to do with her inheritance.”
“Well, you seem to be starting with one certainty then. Maybe you can use that as a sort of building block and take small slow, careful steps.”
I turned to look up at Jeanette and smiled softly.
“You’re good with advice, d’you know that?”
“I try, but my brother Charlie is better. I’ve no idea what a slow, carful step might be.”
“Well Charlie’s not here, but what you’ve said shows you’re really trying to help. Thanks, you’re sweet.”
I raised my head and pursed my lips hopefully. Jeanette smiled and leant forward to plant a soft firm kiss exactly where I wanted one. My heart fluttered with desire as my womanly side took control. Unable to control my needs, I rolled on my back, spread my legs and hugged Jeanette to me. It seemed just so right to lie in the protective arms as one as caring as Jeanette. At that moment I so wished I had a woman’s body. To lie and open my body like a flower meeting the morning sun and surrender to Jeanette’s attentions. To invite something so precious into my body and share it’s bounty to fulfilment.
Sadly, that would never be. Fate had cursed me with a male body, never to carry, never to nurture, never to produce a new life. To me, at that moment, lying safe in Jeanette’s arms, it seemed that women had it all when it came to life’s fulfilments.
My most secret feelings must have somehow translated themselves to Jeanette. It was either that or Jeanette was particularly sensitive to the needs of others for she covered me and took me in her arms as though I was a limp rag doll. I was too wasted with despair as I desperately prayed for a miracle but it never came. No sudden excavation of my groin to change me into what I wanted to be. No violent cramps or convulsions that might have indicated a miraculous alteration of my plumbing. I debated inviting Jeanette to take me the other way, the lesser way, but I could not. It had to be the right way or not at all. Taking Jeanette by the lesser way would somehow demean her and me by turning whatever we had into a travesty. I would have to wait, wait until I had fulfilled my promise to Melanie. Nevertheless we lay embraced and warm for long minutes before Bea knocked gently on my door.
“Are you alright Martie?”
“Yes,” I replied hoarsely as I reluctantly persuaded Jeanette to release me.
We slowly parted as I called Bea and Mel into my room.
After a session like the last one I was becoming concerned about my male sexuality. If I was going to marry Mel and put her with child then we would have to advance things. I wasn’t sure I could hold out as a functioning male for much longer as the attractions of womanhood beckoned.
Jeanette smiled and rolled aside as Mel and Bea studied our situation. Mel frowned uncertainly.
“Were you two, - you know?”
“No,” I replied a little peevishly, “we can’t, I haven’t got the equipment.”
Mel stared at me then sat beside me on the bed as she questioned me.
“Have you decided then, - you know, - to finally transition.”
“I dunno’, but I think we’d better get the other stuff out of the way.”
Mel nodded knowingly and Bea looked sagaciously at me.
“Will we have to be quick, Martie?” She asked. “Can you hold out, you know, with the male stuff until Mel graduates?”
“I’ll try,” I said as I turned to Mel, “but you’d better warn your mum and dad that things could happen unexpectedly. After Jeanette’s kisses just now, I think I’m turning, turning once and for all.”
“Well I’m happy for you if at long last you’ve found certainty,” Bea smiled, “but you’ve still got your obligations to Mel. You can’t let her down now.”
“I won’t. I’ve come this far despite the trials and tribulations. You’ll get your inheritance Mel.” I said with far more certainty than I felt.
Mel seemed to sense my indecision and looked me full in the eyes.
“We’re getting married this summer. You don’t look at all confident, Martie.”
I felt a wave of relief wash over me. The decision had been taken out of my hands!
This chapter describes the continuation of Melanie and Beatrice's pregnancies with a slightly deeper discusiion of Martina's sexuality and decision to transition.
She may not yet transition yet for reasons explained in the story.
This quite a short chapter. It is not the end but I won't be adding to it for a couple of months as lifestyle choices begin to occupy my summer months.
I usuall write when it's too cold or wet to go out. I've also hit a bit of a block with 'Martina's Story'. Another story, 'The Angry Mermaid' occupies my time. This is not a transgendered tale but I might make it one by re-writing it along the lines of Alfidre later on.
Lookout Summer, Beverly's coming out to play!! Sparkle here I come!!!
Enjoy.
Beverly.
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Martina’s Story 12.
Myself, Martina, A sexually dysphoric transsexual who has not yet determined what
Sex she is but prefers to present as a girl
Beverly My adoptive ‘aunt’ who is a mature she-male and my most supportive adult friend.
Chenille My older half sister.
Jennifer Aunt Beverly’s adopted daughter.
Beatrice Aunt Beverly’s second adopted daughter and Jennifer’s younger sister. One of my two best friends.
Sian. My lesbian mother who is married to —
Margaret Chenille’s lesbian mother.
Sissy. My and Chenille’s transvestite she-male father.
Sandie. My doctor, psychiatrist and sexual counsellor.
Judge Elizabeth Porter. The judge who ruled that I should be allowed to live and dress as a girl. (Wonderful woman.)
Angela Hunt. Jennifer and Beatrice’s natural blood mother who is now married to Aunt Beverly who is a she male.
Baroness Wemite Sian’s old School Chum and Melanie’s mum
Peter Baroness Wemite’s son
Melanie Baroness Wemite’s daughter and my other ‘best friend’.
Rosemary & Monika. Two bullies in the junior school.
Chrissie My older step transsexual sister.
Jeanette My transvestite friend at University.
Sally Transgendered Warden of Girls Hall of Residence.
Charlie Jeanette’s sympathetic big brother
Esther Jeanette and Charlie’s mum.
Miranda Charlie’s wife.
James and Belinda Margaret and Sian’s second children by Auntie Bev.
Charlotte Melanie’s and my baby.
With the decision taken by Mel to ‘get married’ her mum was informed that same evening. Baroness Wemite had long known of my gender dysphoria and had always been thoroughly supportive. She realised the need for speed. She wanted to get her daughter married and pregnant to assure her inheritance before it passed to some odious first cousin who had been waiting in the wings ever since the family had learned of Melanie’s sexual orientation. Besides, Melanie’s unusual distaff inheritance complimented her brother, Peter’s future title and estates. It meant Melanie and her partner would always have a ‘bolt hole’ close to her mum if life got too hectic.
Naturally the wedding was organised in the Family Chapel at Wemite House. Bands were read and within a month we were gathered excitedly at the delightful little church that bordered the grounds of the house and served as a village church as well as the school chapel for St Angela’s School.
We thought we had managed to keep the wedding low key because both bride and ‘groom’ would be wearing gowns. Jeanette acted as my best man though cross-dressed and Beatrice played senior bride’s maid while a whole host of younger female relatives were invited to act as bride’s maids. It was truly a happy family occasion.
Baron Wemite bravely volunteered to give his only daughter away and he described the event as more daunting than launching the attacks on Mount Longdon during the Falklands War. He had our sympathy for there were enough detractors waiting to pounce, notably the odious cousins.
The padre even had to privately approach the resentful relatives before the service and explain that the wedding was perfectly legal. Melanie was a woman in every respect and I was still legally a man with functioning male parts. In the church’s eyes the union despite the cross-dressed groom and best man, was legal. That made the inheritance conditions legal and no amount of protesting by the cousins could alter that. They tried to argue that everybody knew I intended to undergo transition later on but the Padre was quite firm about it. It was the here and now that the cannon law applied to not some vague future event or circumstances.
The hardest part was keeping the gutter press at bay. The evil cousins had made it their business to see that the press knew the where and when of the wedding. The story of some upper-class ‘bimbo’ marrying her transsexual partner was just too salacious a morsel for the prurient Sunday press to ignore. Sadly, the little Wemite family church was at the edge of the estate, next to the tiny village and also next to the public highway. Consequently, the slavering hordes had easy access with their invasive cameras and hyper-sensitive listening equipment. Mel was distraught with the lies they produced in their Sunday editions and it was all I could do to comfort her. Fortunately, my half sister and brother, James and Belinda, got something back on the press. They sneaked away from the reception and let all the tires down then stole all the wind-screen wipers.
The press were so preoccupied with obtaining the smallest bit of gossip that they failed to see two children tampering with their cars. It was easy to recognise the press cars; they love to advertise their status with window badges and photographic equipment on the rear window shelf. It may win them better access to the front rows at photo-shoots and other events but gosh, they’re dumb! They are the easiest cars to identify.
Naturally the local car dealerships were closed on Saturday evening and Sunday so the press had an interesting time arranging transport back to London, especially as Melanie’s dad had arranged with the local taxi firms to be ‘too busy’ with ferrying wedding guests to and fro. It was a sweet, visceral comfort to the wedding guests to see the press still stranded by their cars well into the late evening as the guests gradually dispersed from the wedding reception.
Melanie and I ‘honeymooned’ in Amsterdam and we were overjoyed some eight weeks later to learn that Mel was pregnant. Naturally both Mel and Bea invariably ended up comparing notes as their pregnancies progressed with the five month gap between the predicted deliveries.
As time progressed Beatrice started to look like the side of a house and she began to have difficulty moving easily. Fortunately, the doctors did not seem unduly concerned though Jeanette was still a bit puzzled as to why Bea was so secretive when she went for her tests and check-ups. The truth was made spectacularly clear to us when Beatrice finally went into labour.
The big secret was revealed by Jeanette who came squealing ecstatically out of the delivery room once everything had gone to Beatrice’s closely guarded plan.
“They’re twins! She’s only gone and delivered twins!”
“Are they healthy,” I asked, pointedly avoiding the gender question.
“Oh yes Martie! Yes! Yes! Yes! They’re healthy and they’re beautiful. “D’you want to know what they are, well; I mean; what they’ve got between their legs?”
The paediatrician was stepping out of the delivery room as Jeanette said this and she gave us both a funny look. Then she stopped and asked curiously.
“Are you by any chance transgendered?”
We both nodded and she nodded back with a knowing smile.
“Yes. I thought so, only a TG would say something like that. How are you going to bring them up?”
“As they appear until or unless they say different.”
“Oh good. So no danger to the babies then?”
“How dare you suggest that!” Jeanette Snarled.
The paediatrician recoiled in shock then apologised profusely.
“I’m sorry. That was stupid of me. It’s just that, -“
“Just what, -?” Jeanette demanded.
“Well you hear of some unusual situations these days. So you’re bringing them up as son and daughter.”
“How else. I appear to have a son and daughter. It seems the obvious way to go.”
“So you are the father then?”
“Yes!”
The paediatrician studied Jeanette’s exquisitely feminine appearance and wagged her head disbelievingly.
“So you’re a transvestite.”
“It would seem so, wouldn’t it? If I was a transitioned transsexual I’d have difficulty being a father wouldn’t I?”
“Well then, congratulations are due to you. You’re a very lucky father. They’re perfectly healthy and beautiful, as is your wife.”
Jeanette didn’t bother to correct the Paediatrician’s misapprehension; to have done so might have invited un-necessary attentions from the detested social services.
Instead, Jeanette and I went in to see Beatrice. She was sitting up and giving the twins their first feed of colostrums. She smiled a beaming grin as she chuckled.
“Gotchya! There's one of each to heal the breech!”
“You clever little bunny you,” I squeaked as I suppressed my squeal of delight and took the non-drinking baby into my arms.”
“I’d better go and tell Mama,” Jeanette sighed, “She’ll give me a hell of a row if she finds out by phoning the hospital.”
So saying, Jeanette slipped outside and spent a full half hour gabbling on the phone as her mother and every sister exchanged happiness’s. By the time they had finished gabbling away on the mobile, Charlie was driving through the hospital gates with the whole Benoon tribe in the back of his older sister’s synagogue minibus. Jeanette spotted them immediately and bounced up and down with excitement as she directed them to the parking slot she had manfully kept empty. Within minutes, the Benoon herd had stampeded Beatrice’s room and a solid half hour of chaos ensued as babies were passed back and forth between doting aunts, uncle and grandmother.
Eventually the midwife intervened.
“Come on now ladies. I’ve indulged you long enough. The poor girl hasn’t slept properly yet since delivery and she’s already given one colostrum feed. Now let her rest. Come, all of you, out; you as well daddy. Jeanette reluctantly followed her mother and brother to the car and they made plans about visiting until Beatrice was discharged. That evening my beloved Aunties Bev and Angie came up from Dorset with the Taff tribe and once again the room was crowded with more relatives. Later both the Benoon tribe and the Taff tribe had a spontaneous celebratory barbeque in Esther’s garden, the most joyous event being the choice of names. Beatrice had made her feelings quite clear about the girl’s first name but she had given Jeanette carte blanch for the little boy.
The daughter’s name was to be Beverly Angela in honour of the brave, kind, compassionate sea captain who had rescued Beatrice all those years ago and of course Angela the newborn girl’s maternal grandmother. Her twin brother’s name was left to the Benoon clan to choose.
Beatrice was more than pleased with Esther’s compassion and liberality concerning her acceptance of Jeanette’s transvestism and had accordingly allowed Esther the generous privilege of choosing her new grandson’s name.
Esther was ecstatically happy to be given such a rare present and she spent the whole evening sounding out ideas from her clan. She even sounded out my Aunties Beverly and Angie in case there were possible common family names. It turned out there was one. It was Andrew. Beatrice’s paternal grandfather had been called Andrew and Esther’s grandfather was also called Andrew. It was a name matched in heaven. Andrew it was. Esther’s privilege naturally extended to the choice of Andrew’s second name. In this she was utterly undecided whether to give the name Jacob after Andrew’s own father Jeanette or Charles after Andrew’s uncle who had once saved Jeanette’s life from the near fatal beating and kicking by their own homophobic father.
In the end she decided to toss the coin and who better to flip the coin than Andrew’s mother Bea. Both brothers sat hopefully around the bed with the grandmothers as Bea solemnly flipped the coin. Many eyes watched as the coin span in blur of silver and rang from the force of Beatrice’s flick. Beatrice helped out in a disadvantaged children’s home and she often refereed junior, girl’s hockey matches where she had developed an excellent flipping technique. The coin landed with a healthy ‘plop’ on the bed sheet and a dozen heads craned forward as Bea declared.
“Heads! Charles it is then. Andrew, Charles Benoon.”
Charlie smiled while Jeanette sighed a little wistfully but nobody was upset. Esther had shown admirable political skills in choosing the coin method. The brothers had to accept the final decision and they did so by shaking hands and hugging affectionately.
The following day mother and twins were discharged and a routine was soon established for the extended family to provide baby-care. A rough roster was organised amongst the extended family and within a week all wrinkles were more or less sorted. Everybody wanted to spoil the twins rotten but none more so than the transgendered Sally.
She had undergone her SRS during Bea’s pregnancy and was now a functioning woman when it came time for her to indulge in her baby-caring pleasures. Sally now only had a few years to go to retirement.
Five months later Melanie delivered a daughter Charlotte to add to the fun and please her Wemite family by fulfilling her inheritance obligations.
Little Charlotte was christened in the family chapel and the vicar was more than obliged to sign the register confirming Melanie’s fulfilment of her ‘duties’ Two weeks later she claimed her inheritance and put the estate under her father’s management. It was the most convenient thing to do. Melanie wished to continue her studies in London where the baby support structure was well established. For Baron Wemite and his wife Sally (Baroness Wemite,) and my mother Sian it was an easy step to visit London and stay over to indulge their Grandparental needs. Even Sissy turned up to dote on her first grandchild. She really hit it off with Sally the Warden and a new friendship was spawned there. I of course was ecstatic that my duties had been fulfilled and even Baron Wemite and his son Peter hugged and kissed me for managing what I had despite all the odds.
“Will you and my Daughter Melanie be trying for another baby?” The baron asked.
I smiled coquettishly and sort of shrugged uncertainly.
“If Melanie is happy then we shall try. I’m not sure if we’ll manage it. It was a small miracle that we managed Charlotte. I am changing slowly daddy, there isn’t much time.”
“Well the baroness and I would love it if you could. Maybe even a son, just to complement our beautiful granddaughter.”
I did not rankle at this apparent sexism. Melanie’s mum and dad had demonstrated their fair-minded liberality in accepting their daughter’s lesbianism and my (their son in law’s) transgenderism. I knew with absolute certainty that the Wemites were not sexist.
I smiled and kissed my father in law on the cheek as I whispered that I would make every endeavour. The baroness could not hide her tears of happiness.
“Please do Martie. I would be desperately happy to have a grandson by you and my beloved daughter. You make a lovely couple.
‘How could anybody refuse a beseechment like that?’ I wondered.
Melanie and I made an appointment with Doctor Sandie and my endocrinologist James Williams (Everybody called him Jimmy.)that very next week.
“Your sperm counts are getting lower Martina, Sandie cautioned me, though the motility seems to be holding up. D’you want to store some sperm in the sperm bank?”
“Is that an option?” I asked as Mel nodded affirmation
“If you pay, yes.” Jimmy explained. “The government only enables patients to avail themselves freely of the national health if there are genuine fertility issues or other conditions. You are fertile but getting less so. In fact I’m very pleased that the regime we put you on as a child has worked out so well. Here you are, a beautiful woman and yet a father already. Are you happy?”
“Ecstatic. I should say so! I’ve got it all. Look at me! As you say I’m a woman, -“
“And a beautiful one at that if I might say so,” Sandie interjected.
“Okay, if you must say so, thank you for being so nice; but that aside, I’m married to an even more beautiful wife, (It was Melanie’s turn to blush.) I’m doing well at college, I love my own gay parents deeply, I get on with my in-laws and I’m already a daddy and I’m only just turning twenty. Happy, happy me!”
“So shall we put in for the sperm bank?” Sandie persisted as Jimmy the endocrinologist nodded sagely.
“Yes. Maybe that’s best.” I agreed then added. “Can we choose the baby’s sex if we have to use a turkey baster?”
“It can be done with a fairly high chance of success,” Jimmy said, “I would hesitate to offer you the option if it was your first child because it’s often pandering to the parent’s prejudices but being as we’re talking of the second child, I’m more amenable to agreeing to it.
“Is there any particular reason?” Sandie asked both of us.
“It’s just that we’ve got a beautiful daughter and it would be nice to have a set.” I replied with a grin.
“How do you feel about that Melanie?” Sandie persisted.
“Yes. Yes, it’s fine by me. I’d like a son now that I’ve got Charlotte.”
“Well, being as your paying privately, there are fewer issues to circumvent.” Jimmy explained. “We’ve got a research project going at the clinic; gender selection improvement is an accidental by-product of the investigations and tests. We could include you as a couple in that programme however it would involve considerable invasion of your privacy, especially your sexualities. D’you have a problem with that?”
I grinned at the endocrinologist and wagged my head as I faced Sandie.
“How long have we known each other Doctor Sandie?”
“Oh gosh, how long is it now, since you were about seven wasn’t it?”
“Actually, it was nearer six; so what don’t you know about me?” I grinned.
“Point taken Martie." Sandie Chuckled. "Come back this afternoon and we’ll start the pair of you on the research programme.”
“As we rose to leave Doctor Sandie stood up and peered into Charlotte’s pram.”
“She’s pretty, but she would be wouldn’t she, with her genes.”
“You mean our genes,” Melanie replied.
Sandie smiled and we went for lunch with both doctors. After all Sandie and I had been friends for years!
Over lunch we chatted about genetics and transgenderism and the meal seemed to pass by in a flash. By the afternoon, both Mel and I were undergoing tests then Melanie helped me donate a sperm sample.
“You be careful with that now,” I giggled as Mel held up the sample and prepared to take it to the sperm bank, “there’s not much of that left. The old mother load is nearly exhausted.”
“Don’t you mean the father load.” Grinned Mel provocatively.
“Take your pick darling. I’m easy.”
Mel wagged her head and stepped into the corridor as I made myself respectable.With that Doctor Sandie returned.
“What was Mel grinning about?”
I explained and Sandie smiled.
“I’m glad to see we didn’t make any mistakes with your sexuality. You’re happy now to have the option of transitioning, aren’t you?”
Yes, thoroughly; but not just yet. I’ll wait a year though just to give Mel a chance of conceiving naturally. You never know, there might just be one last brave little wriggly bent on having his evil way with Melanie’s egg.
“You’re strange case you know Martie.” Sandie smiled, “Most transsexuals can’t wait to transition, look at your own step sister Chrissie, she was depositing her sperm almost as soon as she knew she would have the option to transition, but not you. You’re a strange one. A delayed transsexual; you’re unique d’you know that. You’ve had the option since you were sixteen and you had puberty blockers even before that but here you are now, twenty and still moving cautiously. Any ideas why that might be?”
“I suppose I’ve always wanted kids, my own kids, my own genes, something of me to leave to posterity. D’you suppose that becoming a parent, you know, my own flesh and blood; is that some sort of higher, subconscious plane of human awareness; even higher perhaps that determining one’s sexuality?”
Sandie frowned and shrugged.
That’s an interesting question. I don’t think there’s ever been any accurate scientific studies of that one Martie. Anyway, I would think sexuality is closely tied up with parenting issues, after all sex is the root connector to both issues. Transsexualism would be an interesting place to start the research because the sexuality issue is clearly marked as it were. Where would you start a research programme like that?”
“Well transsexuals would be the right place to start but I wouldn’t be the right person to control a research project on that; after all I’d be carrying a huge personal issue that would probably affect my impartiality.”
“Why? Are you thinking of doing research when you graduate?”
“I don’t know yet; besides, the question is really only of interest to TG’s isn’t it?”
Sandie sat in a brief thoughtful silence before replying.
“Not necessarily, an answer to that question would give an interesting insight and a productive one into the functioning of the psyche. It could offer answers to all sorts of issues connected to sexuality, like sex crimes and such like. It might even create an alternative forensic route to problem solving.”
We carried on chatting like this as I filled out the research project questionnaire. I had just completed it as Mel returned.
“Have you completed the sperm deposit?” Sandie asked.
“Yeah, does it gather interest?” Mel replied with a giggle.
We all smiled as I riposted.
“Only mine and yours Mel, only mine and yours.”
“Yeah and whole bunch of relations, like our mums and dads for starters.”
I smiled and nodded.
“Yeah maybe that and all.”
After completing Mel’s questionnaire Sandie bid us good day. I had to deposit a few more samples over the next few days and then we were free to return to London. We spent an Idyllic week with Mel’s parents and mine as we savoured our old childhood haunts. Chrissie was enchanted with Charlotte and we spent a fair bit of time down with the Turpins as well. I took the opportunity to have some long chats with Chrissie about transitioning. The more she enthused about it the more I felt the need to cross over. Could I hold out for a whole year I wondered. Did I need to ‘hold out’, now that the sperm bank held my seed?