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The drama studio is filled with noise as 120 new students congregate on the first day of term. We are the new intake of the Brahms High School. Only year nine is present today, Tuesday, the rest of the school doesn’t start back until tomorrow. This is to allow us time to get ourselves familiar with the building before everyone else crams in. For the moment, I am just another face in the crowd.

There is a basic school uniform here. The school is split into four houses, named after planets. Each house has a colour. Mars is red, Jupiter is blue, Saturn is yellow and Venus is green. You wear the colour shirt of your house. Everybody has short-sleeved polo shirts. Mine is green, as I have been assigned to Venus.

The boys have to dress in blue or black trousers. The girls can put on trousers, or alternatively wear skirts in either blue or black. Skirts must be knee-length, or you will be banned from wearing them.

You can have either blue or black jumpers or cardigans, or buy the school sweater with our logo on the front.

I have opted for the school sweater and a matching blue skirt.

At the front of the room are tables laid out with folders, one for each student. The pack contains general information about the school, including a map, as well as specific details tailored for each individual. The main piece of information is who your form teacher will be, as well as the basic timetable for the day. I look down the list of names, already knowing that I won’t be listed.

I approach the teacher staffing the table for surnames from U to Z. I stand and look at the remaining folders. I am one of the last to come and collect mine. Mrs Appleby sees me looking on and asks, “What’s your name, dear?”

“Simone Whittaker,” I reply sweetly, “I can’t see my folder here. The only one I can see is for a Simon. Has he picked up mine by accident? Either that or somebody has left the ‘E’ off the end of my name again.”

Mrs Appleby picks up a clipboard and starts to scan down the names. A worried look appears on her face. She asks me for my date of birth, which I supply.

“It appears we have a problem, Simone,” she states. “We have you listed as a boy named Simon.”

“Oh crap,” I respond, putting my hands on my hips, “don’t tell me somebody has seen the boy equivalent of my name and instead of correcting it has made things worse by changing my gender. I assure you I am definitely a girl, and I can soon prove that if required.”

What I have just told Mrs Appleby isn’t entirely correct. My name really is Simon Whittaker and I am attempting to pull off the maddest stunt of my entire life. Although I am dressed as a girl, and consider myself one, strictly speaking I’m male.

I’m wearing a padded training bra, but really, my chest is flat. My hair is quite long. In fact, I’m cheating. I’m wearing a wig to extend my hair down my back. It is amazing what you can find on eBay. I was able to find a girl’s wig in my size. My actual hair is almost black and the hairpiece is a dark brown. It’s not far off so doesn’t look too weird against my eyebrows, but far enough away to be a noticeably different colour to my normal appearance.

In reality, my hair is trimmed in a buzz cut and is no longer than an eighth of an inch, about three millimetres, depending on your choice of measurement. While Sinead O’Connor might be able to get away with such a style and look feminine, I don’t have that luxury.

“Oh dear, you’d best accompany me to the office so that we can sort this mess out,” Mrs Appleby instructs. We head towards the door. She stops when she gets to the head teacher, Mr Henry, and whispers something in his ear. He tells one of the other staff to delay things for a few minutes and that he will be back shortly. All the staff are wearing name badges, so that the new students can identify who is who.

We proceed to the main office where Mrs Appleby explains the problem to Mr Henry.

“I’m sorry, young lady; we seem to have you listed as a boy named Simon. We will call your parents and try to sort this mess out,” Mr Henry declares.

“That might be tricky as they are farmers and are likely to be out working most of the day. This is embarrassing enough as it is without involving anybody else,” I reply. My parents don’t know I am here as a girl and will literally kill me when they find out.

I say ‘when’ rather than ‘if’ as I am certain that this plan will eventually fail. It’s just a case of how long before I’m found out. The one thing I have learned from history documentaries is that the most audacious and ridiculous plans often work simply because of the element of total surprise.

I’m not exaggerating or speaking metaphorically when I say my parents will kill me. My father has only just gotten out of prison after being sentenced to six weeks for beating up my elder brother. Michael came out as gay and my father went ballistic. Mike is now living with his boyfriend and has a restraining order against both my mother and father, preventing them from seeing him. I can safely say their reaction to me will be even more severe.

I rummage around in my bag and hand over three fake photo ID cards. One is an altered replica of the card provided by my previous school, the second is a fake library card, and the third is a genuine membership card I got from the local council-run sports centre. They actually think I’m a girl after I fooled them.

“Here, these should verify my identity. Can’t you just correct the record based on these?” I beg. “I can bring my birth certificate in tomorrow if that will help. It’s only a minor typo on my name. Whoever entered it must have misread my name as Simon, and automatically put in an M instead of F without looking at the details. Look, if you want me to prove I’m a girl then I will,” I say as a tear runs down my cheek.

Mr Henry hesitates a few seconds then types something on the computer. He takes my cards over to the photocopier and makes a copy. Handing the originals back to me, he proceeds to a filing cabinet where he pulls out a folder with my name on it. Adding an ‘E’ onto the label, he files the copies and leaves the office.

“Okay, all sorted. I do apologise for this,” Mr Henry replies, “We upgraded our systems over the summer and we have been having a lot of teething troubles, which wasn’t helped by falling foul of a computer virus as well. You’re not the only student for whom we have wrong information, although you have the honour of being the only student so far to have changed sex.”

“Thanks, I appreciate it,” I say, “I don’t fancy having to pretend to be a boy. I would have a serious problem in the showers, and using a urinal could get very messy indeed.”

Mr Henry laughs and leads us back to the drama studio where everybody is waiting. I am told to take a seat with the other students. Mr Henry goes and whispers something into my form teacher’s ear. I see Mr Francis go to a table and write something in his register. I assume that he’s updating my details.

I sit and watch, slightly in shock. The first part of my plan appears to have actually worked, and I didn’t even have to undergo a physical. The school now believes I am a girl called Simone. Now for the second hurdle, not being outed by my fellow classmates.

I quietly take a seat in the corner of the room, avoiding the glances of my fellow students. Luckily, there are only about twenty pupils from my previous school attending this one. There are three high schools in the town, and we get to choose which one to attend. Most opted for Lakeside, as it has a higher exam success rate, but this is actually the closest to my home. The fewer people who can potentially recognise me, the better as far as I am concerned.

The room is called to order and the headmaster makes a speech and introduces all the form teachers to the assembled students. After confirming that everybody has picked up their packs, each teacher calls for their class to come together and follow them through the school to the various homerooms.

Mr Francis calls for his class to assemble and I gather with my fellow students and follow him to the classroom in which we will be based. I am the last to enter the room. I notice Julie is sat by herself so I make my way across and sit down beside her.

Julie is the closest thing I have to a friend. She is one of only two people in this class that know me from my previous school. She looks at me, wondering who I am. Mr Francis starts to call the register. He is calling the names slowly so that everybody has chance to see who is who. He is also noting down any preferences in how we are addressed, for example if we prefer Eddy instead of Edward.

As we get close to my name, I scribble a note saying, ‘Don’t say anything, I will explain later’, and hand it to Julie, who reads it and is puzzled by its contents. She looks at me, not yet recognising who I am. I’m sure that will change when I speak.

“Simone Whittaker,” Mr Francis calls, making sure to use the female pronunciation of ‘sim—own’ rather than the male ‘si-mon’.

A sudden look of surprise comes on Julie’s face as she realises my identity.

“Here, Sir,” I say sweetly, a relieved grin across my face. I am sitting with my skirt smoothed under me, legs together crossed at my ankles and my hands folded neatly in my lap. I am projecting the most sweet, demure girl I can, in the hope that nobody challenges me. “However, most of my friends call me Jasmine. I prefer going by my middle name.”

I don’t like using Simone as my name, but it’s a necessary step. I hope that I can get everybody calling me Jasmine instead to distance my identity from Simon. My full name is Simon J Whittaker. My parents liked the idea of me having a middle initial, but couldn’t be bothered to come up with a middle name. I was therefore registered with a single letter, although I sometimes spell it as ‘Jay’ if it causes problems.

Although I find a single letter as a middle name ridiculous, it does have the advantage that I can pretend it stands for something else, hence why I have chosen Jasmine as my feminine identity.

Julie shrugs and shakes her head before turning to face the teacher, who is now calling, “Josh Wilkinson.”

Josh is the other name that I recognise. Looking round the room, I lock eyes with him. Josh was never more than an acquaintance as we only ever shared P.E. lessons before. He never bullied me, unlike a number of boys I can name. There is a puzzled look on his face as he tries to figure out if I’m Simon. I fix my eyes and stare at him until he looks away. Most people find direct eye contact uncomfortable. I use this to my advantage to force him to look elsewhere.

I will deal with Josh later. For now, he doesn’t seem keen to challenge me. If Mr Francis had called Simon instead of Simone then I would probably have a problem. For the moment, Josh isn’t certain that I am the same person, and doesn’t look keen to argue with an official document. Julie is going to be harder to deal with.

We spend the next hour learning about our schedule. Many of the lessons are split by ability level, therefore only about half of the lessons will be with this set of students. Mr Francis goes over who is in each lesson and makes sure we all know where we need to go during each teaching period. There is a lot to get used to as the timetable spans two weeks. Some lessons only happen once a fortnight, so not only do we have to pay attention to the day, we also have to know if it’s week one or week two.

I am thankful that the first P.E. lesson is going to be Thursday. This will be my final hurdle. Persuading everybody I’m female while fully clothed is one thing. To convince them while stood naked in a communal shower is going to be the ultimate test of my disguise.

It seems that I will be spending many of my lessons with Julie. We don’t have much opportunity to speak. However, we provisionally agree to sit with each other during classes and decide that we need to talk at break time.

As soon as class is dismissed, we head outside and find a quiet corner to sit in, away from other students.

“Simon, what the hell is going on?” Julie asks me angrily.

“I thought that was fairly obvious. I have decided to change sex,” I reply calmly. “I have considered myself a girl for years. I finally achieved the goal of matching my gender presentation with my internal image of myself. Don’t act so surprised, you have commented loads of times on how girly I am. You’ve even called me Simone occasionally. I’m sorry I never explicitly told you before, but I thought you had probably worked out I’m transgendered. I may have been born a boy, but in my heart and soul I am a woman.”

“I was only joking. I never thought you were a girl,” she replies. This is not going as well as I hoped, her words stabbing through my heart. “I never really thought hard about it before, but I can see that you have always been girly. I just never considered you thought yourself as female.”

I take a deep breath, ready at least to partially confess. “It’s not something I like to shout about, changing gender isn’t usually socially acceptable. I would appreciate it if you kept this to yourself, the fewer people who know about my duality, the better. It’s only a matter of time before my charade falls to pieces. When it does, things are going to get very bad very quickly. I will become the freak of the week, and persecuted.”

Julie considers this for a moment before continuing, “The teachers aren’t going to let that happen, they must have your back otherwise they wouldn’t have agreed to your attendance.”

“My status is on a need to know basis, and most of them don’t need to know. Therefore, please don’t mention it to any of them, I don’t know how they will react,” I state, although I suspect their reaction will be to expel me and then have me arrested.

“All right, I will keep quiet,” says Julie, sighing, “but what about all the people who know you? It’s only a matter of time before they figure it out.”

“I have been careful to stay away from anybody who knows me. There are only twenty students here from Porterhouse Middle. There are plenty of new faces so I hope that I will go unnoticed for a while. The only other person I need to worry about is Josh, and I don’t think he’s likely to say anything.”

“You are right about that, Jasmine,” Josh states, causing us both to jump as he appears from around the corner. “Sorry for sneaking up on you, but I couldn’t help notice the similarities between Simon and Simone, and thought I’d better investigate before I say something and stick my foot firmly in my mouth. I know we never really talked much in our previous school, but I hope we can become friends now.”

“I can use all the friends I can get,” I reply smiling, “I’m making myself a target, so any support is welcome.”

“You can count on me, although I doubt I would be any good in a fight,” Josh exclaims with laughter. “What you may not know is that your brother’s boyfriend is my cousin. When your parents kicked Mike out for being gay, he and Matt came and stayed with us for a couple of weeks while they sorted out a place to live.”

When my brother Mike came out to my parents on his eighteenth birthday, they went ballistic. They immediately disowned him and chucked him out. It all turned very nasty and ended up with my father spending time in jail.

“That’s something I don’t understand,” Josh comments, “if your parents are so homophobic, how are they coping with you being transsexual?”

This is the one question that I have been dreading. Taking a deep breath, I reply, “They don’t know.”

Seeing the look of shock on Josh and Julie’s faces, I confess my scheme. “My parents think I am attending as Simon. I tricked the school into thinking they made a mistake on their records. I was surprised it actually worked, but they now think I am a girl named Simone. I intend to be myself during the day, and pretend to be a boy at night.”

“Are you mad?” Julie asks alarmed.

“Certifiably insane,” I reply grinning manically. “If I can get myself committed then I will at least be safe. I can’t go on living as a boy. It’s either this or suicide, and I am not keen on dying. The longer I can pull this off, the greater the likelihood that my needs will be taken seriously.”

We stand in silence for several minutes, each weighing up our thoughts.

“If anybody asks, I will tell them you are your cousin,” Josh states, “That will be the easiest way to explain away the similar name and family resemblance. I will quash any rumours to the contrary. You can count on me.”

“Okay, I will keep quiet for now,” Julie reluctantly answers as Josh and I look at her, “but I am not entirely comfortable about this. You are putting yourself in serious danger. I just hope that when the shit hits the fan you manage to keep it from flying in my direction.”

We don’t have any more time to discuss things as the bell rings for our next class. We head inside to meet another of our new teachers.

At lunchtime, I decide to avoid any more questions from Josh and Julie by keeping with a crowd of girls I met during the morning lessons. None of them knew the previous me, so I am able to relax around their company and simply be myself.

As a boy, I have always been shy and self-conscious, especially as I know my actions and mannerisms are feminine. I always had trouble relating to other boys, so therefore didn’t make friends easily.

Now that I am presenting as the true me, I feel more relaxed and don’t have to worry so much about my mannerisms and behaviour. I can let my body language be as flamboyant as I want without fear that I will be accused of being gay or girly. I figure it’s acceptable for a girl to be slightly tomboyish, so I’m not worried that I may come across too masculine.

I sit and talk with Shelly, Alison, Mary and Anne through most of the lunch break. Julie has gone off with some of her other friends. They are sitting at the other end of the canteen from us. I can see Julie keeping an eye on me from a distance. I do hope that she won’t cause me any problems.

The final bell of the day rings and we file out of the classroom. I stop by my newly assigned locker, in the hall outside of the science lab that acts as our homeroom, and put my books away. As today was mainly about introductions and handing out textbooks, I don’t have much homework. I have already done half of it in the lunch break, and the rest isn’t due until later in the week, so I can finish it off tomorrow before school. I plan to arrive as early as possible in the morning and sit in the library.

I walk to the bike sheds and unlock my bike. It’s a girls’ road bicycle with slim wheels and racing tyres. It is white, and therefore I could potentially get away with riding it in boy mode, but I have a mountain bike that I use, which is more suited to the farm tracks where I normally end up riding. The low crossbar of the road bike allows me to ride it wearing a skirt, something I can’t do on the mountain bike. This is by far the most expensive item in my charade, however I decided it would be a good investment. It makes getting to and from school a lot easier. Being light and with thin tyres there is a lot less rolling resistance than my other bike.

The farm is about four miles from school, but the route I take is not direct, adding about another mile onto the journey. I have a secret hideout where I can change my gender presentation.

My great grandfather was the leader of an Auxiliary Unit during the Second World War. These units would have become the British Resistance had Germany invaded the country. Hidden in a small strip of woodland in amongst our fields, there is a secret bunker that would have housed the four-man team.

The bunker is made from a corrugated metal semicircle buried underground. It is about ten feet wide by twenty feet long. The entrance is at one end, via a ladder concealed under a camouflaged manhole cover. At the other end, there is an escape tunnel. A concrete pipe can be crawled through, emerging 50 feet away.

The structure is built into the side of a large hole in the ground. The pit is thought to be a medieval open top clay mine. The sides are too steep to farm, so the area is left as woodland, acting as a small nature reserve. It’s also strictly off limits to family members due to the secret it hides.

Mike and I found it a few years back and decided to restore it as our own secret hideaway. The metal roof had corroded away and partially collapsed. We dug the soil out, repaired the hole in the roof, and reinforced the remaining section with wood, being careful not to cause the rest of it to cave in. In the process, we dug out a third entrance, a slope down which we could bring our bikes. We fitted a lockable door that we’ve camouflaged so that it’s hard to spot. It might not be as well hidden as the original entrance, but it’s bigger and allows us to bring in larger items without having to negotiate the rusty metal ladder.

Since Mike left, I’m the only person who uses it, therefore I have claimed it as my own space, a place to where I can escape. Although my parents must know of the existence of the bunker, they don’t know that it is usable.

Cycling down the country lane, I stop at a dirt track leading to the woodland. I wait for a car to go past, then once I am certain nobody is looking I cycle towards my hideout. I dismount once I reach the edge of the woods. I can cycle there on my mountain bike, but not on this one. I wheel the bike to the entrance to the bunker. It is a small wooden door, two feet wide by five feet high, built into the side of a steep slope. It is covered in ivy, so is hard to spot unless you are looking for it.

I take the key out of my bag and unlock the door. As the tunnel is only five feet high, I have to bend my head when I enter. It is a tight squeeze to get my bike and myself through the gap, but once inside there’s enough room to stand up.

I park my bike against the end wall. My other bike is waiting for me and I will use that to ride home after I have changed.

I use the light off my bike to see with until I can ignite the paraffin lamp and candles that provide the main illumination. In the middle of the room are an old desk and some collapsible canvas chairs, the type designed for anglers. On the desk, I have set up a large mirror that I use for styling my hair and makeup.

At the end of the room are a number of airtight clear plastic storage boxes that contain my girl clothes. I keep all my clothes in these containers as the bunker is damp and I don’t want them to absorb the smell. I have a number of chemical dehumidifiers to keep the air dry, small pots containing crystals that absorb moisture. When they change colour, they are saturated and you bake them in an oven to get rid of the water so they can be reused.

I carefully wash my face with bottled water to remove any trace of the small amount of makeup I have been wearing. I only use a small amount of mascara and lipstick in order to enhance my feminine appearance. Full makeup is frowned upon in school. I remove my hairpiece and place it on a polystyrene head for storage. I strip naked and place my uniform into a plastic box ready for tomorrow. I have put a spare uniform in my locker at school in case of an emergency if I can’t come here to change.

I dress myself in the equivalent boys’ uniform for my school, and after one final check in the mirror, I extinguish the lamp and candles, wheel my mountain bike outside, and start the ride home. This time instead of taking the roads, I cut across the fields and down the farm tracks back towards the farmhouse.

I change out of my school clothes and go to do chores. I am responsible for cleaning the house while my parents tend to the animals. Today is ironing day and I spend the next hour doing laundry duty. My mother comes in and cooks us dinner, and I swap over to assisting by peeling some vegetables.

After we have eaten, it’s time to do the final milking of the day. We own about one hundred cows, fifty goats and some sheep. We also have a number of fields that we use for growing cattle feed. The price of milk is low and it’s not economical to sell to large dairies. Instead, we have gotten together with a number of local farms and set up a dairy of our own that makes specialist cheeses. We also supply a number of local butchers with meat.

It is hard work, especially this year now that Mike has left and with Dad spending time in jail. We had to hire extra help, which meant we were only just breaking even. We own a number of labourers’ cottages, which we rent out during the holiday season. These earn five hundred pounds a week each in peak season and help to boost our profit levels. I usually assist with the cleaning ready for the next set of guests.

After the animals have been seen to, I have an hour to myself before its time to go to bed at ten pm. I have to be up early the next morning to help get the cattle out into the fields. I get up and dress in my work clothes at six am. After eating some breakfast, I spend an hour and a half working before grabbing a shower and changing into my school clothes. By eight in the morning, I am in my hideout preparing myself for my transformation. Being so short, my hair has dried and I place the wig on my head. It is a tight fit and elasticated, so shouldn’t come off. However, to make sure I apply some glue to the edges. I once again have long wavy hair that tickles my ears and hangs down my back, ending just below my shoulder blades.

Once I am satisfied with my appearance, I set off for school. I am one of the first students to arrive, just as the doors are unlocked. I head to the library to complete my homework.

As I get more practiced in my transformation, I can potentially cut down on the amount of time I set aside for getting to school, but at the moment I am leaving myself plenty of time to transform myself as I am still self-conscious that I could easily be discovered. Yesterday went according to plan, much to my surprise, and I hope that by the end of today there will be no doubt left as to my gender.

My first stop on arriving at school is the main office. I have brought a copy of my birth certificate for their records. I printed out a fake one on my computer, having scanned the original and Photoshopped it. The certificate looks authentic enough and the school secretary accepts it and makes a photocopy for the school file, handing me back my original.

The morning lessons start well, and although I am still getting funny looks from students, nobody has yet challenged my identity. I think the added confusion over using my fake middle name has thrown a few people off.

It appears Julie is keen to avoid me. She seems very uncomfortable with my presence. Through her Karate club, she already knows a number of classmates who previously attended a different middle school. Julie has therefore hooked up with them and is keeping her distance from me. I suspect she wants to disassociate herself from me when my charade eventually fails.

I instead hook up with Alison and Mary. The two of them have been friends for years, and seeing how Julie is treating me, they have decided I need friends and have brought me under their wing. We hit it off immediately and are rapidly becoming friends. They are both townies so are interested in my life on the farm. I on the other hand can use my isolation in the back of beyond as an excuse for my tomboyishness and lack of feminine knowledge.

One thing that scares me is that Mary swears she has seen me before. We try to work out where we might have met. I consider where I have been in girl mode, and hope that she has seen me before as a girl and not a boy. When I mention that I go swimming, we both click. She was one of the girls I met at the swimming pool when I was testing my appearance.

The one thing guaranteed to give me problems attending school as a girl is the use of the changing room, and in particular communal showers, during P.E. lessons. I had to either find a way of excluding myself, which could raise suspicion, or make myself appear to be female when naked. I chose the second option.

I have been travelling over to the next town to use their swimming pool. There is a pool in our town, but I avoided it so that I wouldn’t run into anybody I know. At least that was the plan. It seems Alison and Mary like that pool better than the closer one.

I always went wearing the one-piece swimming costume under my clothes, so that I would only have to change once. I would quickly dive into the changing room and undress before anybody accused me of being a boy. Once in the pool I could relax and swim around without fear of being discovered.

I dressed in a pink one-piece costume with swimming cap and goggles. I wasn’t showing any bulge at the crotch so I don’t think there was any doubt that I was a girl. At the end of the sessions, I would return to the changing room, shower and leave.

The first few times I went I went back into the changing rooms when I thought they would be relatively empty, and I made sure to keep myself as covered as possible. After slowly building up confidence, I would show a bit more of myself each time. The last time I went, the changing room was crowded, and I stood naked in full view for several minutes without anybody making a comment. I was exceedingly happy as I rode the bus home that day.

Mary recognised my face from the pool. This is both a relief and a concern. It is good that she has only seen my girl form, but it means she’s observant, and would recognise me as a boy.

When I was at the pool, I couldn’t go swimming in my wig. The chlorine could damage it. I therefore got round this by wearing a swimming cap to hide my head. I would put it on before I arrived so my head was covered when I went in. I would leave it on when showering and dressing, then discretely swap it for a headscarf.

Mary and Alison are both keen swimmers and were using the pool in the next town as it was less busy than the one they normally use. They belong to a swimming club at the local holiday camp. During the summer, the pool is crowded with holidaymakers, but outside the holiday season, the pool doesn’t get as much use and is available for local residents. They both live near the camp and get discounted rates on admission.

They invite me to join them after school on Friday. It will be risky for me to go, but I so long to have real friends that I don’t want to miss the opportunity. I provisionally say yes on the understanding I need to ask permission from my parents. I make sure to get all the necessary details about where, when and how we are getting there and back.

I am on a high by the end of the day. I was always tense in school when I had to present as male. Today I was able to relax and enjoy my lessons. I have always buried myself in my schoolwork, something that gave Simon a reputation as a swot and teachers’ pet. I am now continuing that trend, but with added gusto.

I was always shy putting my hand up to answer questions, but presenting as a girl is making me more outgoing so I participate a lot more. In addition, it seems more acceptable for a girl to be a swot than it does for a boy.

I don’t mind becoming a teachers’ pet. I will need all the support I can get when my secret is revealed. I could spend all day worrying about when it will emerge. I have decided to just ignore it and get on with my life. If I don’t then I wouldn’t be able to function for fear and guilt.

I have a girly giggle and I have always tried my hardest not to laugh. However, in today’s science class I didn’t hold back and laughed my head off with the rest of the students. Our teacher, Mr Court, was trying to teach us about capacitors. He had wired a capacitor up to a battery with an additional two wires coming from the capacitor terminals and was trying to persuade Josh to take hold of the wires, to confirm that there was no current flowing through them.

Josh, already knowing that the capacitor would discharge when the battery was unhooked, was refusing to participate when Mr Swan, one of the other science teachers decided to cut through the room on the way to the prep area. Seeing that Josh was refusing to take hold of the wires and that Mr Court was still gripping them, Mr Swan strolled up behind our teacher and unhooked the battery.

The resulting scream and swearing emitted by Mr Court as he was electrocuted had the whole class in fits of laughter, me included. Mr Swan beat a hasty retreat out of the room as Mr Court accused him of being born out of wedlock.

I decide that today has been a good day at school.

As I cycle home, I get a fright when I recognise my father driving the other direction. I am still in girl mode and I duck my head and look down at my front wheel so that he can’t see my face. I just hope he didn’t get a good look at me and only saw the top of my wig-covered head. With my different hair colour, different bike, and skirt instead of trousers, I don’t look much like me.

Luckily, he doesn’t stop and carries on driving the other way. After he has passed, I stop at the side of the road and take some deep breaths to prevent myself passing out. After my heart rate has dropped back from what feels like quadruple figures, I continue as quickly as possible to the bunker to change.

After removing all traces of wig glue and makeup, I swap bikes and head back to the farmhouse. My father is out when I return. Mother is in the yard hosing it down to remove the mess the cows leave behind as they pass through to the milking shed.

I head upstairs to my bedroom and change into jeans and a t-shirt before joining my mother with a broom.

“Do you mind if I’m late home on Friday?” I ask. “Only I’ve been invited to go swimming after school.”

“Who with and where?” my mother enquires.

“Al has asked me to go as a guest to the swimming pool at the holiday park. It’s within cycling distance. I should be back by quarter past six,” I say, being extremely careful not to use gender pronouns. My mother might find it weird that I am going with Alison, so by using a male sounding derivative and no gender specific language I can make her assume I am going with a boy without actually lying.

“Do I know this, Al?” my mother asks.

“No, we have only formally met at school this week, although we recognise each other from swimming at the same pool over the holidays,” I explain, “I would really like to go. You know I don’t make friends easy and this is a rare opportunity for me to socialise outside of school.”

“Okay, but you must be back in time for dinner at seven,” Mum decrees.

---

 

At morning break on Thursday, Julie asks me to walk with her round the school grounds. I get the feeling she wants a private discussion. I have been avoiding doing this, as I am not certain of what the outcome will be. However, our next lesson is Physical Education, which means using the girls’ changing rooms. I am not surprised when Julie brings this up in our conversation.

“What is your plan for P.E. today, Simon?” Julie asks me, assuming that I will have some sort of plan for avoiding it.

“Not to drop out before level five, and hopefully beat my personal best and reach level 10,” I answer with a smile. We had heard that our first gym lesson is going to be the beep test.

This involves the entire class, boys and girls, lining up on one side of the sports hall, and running to the other side before the beep sounds. Each level will involve running backwards and forwards across the hall. Anybody who can’t keep up will have to drop out. Each level lasts approximately a minute, before progressing to the next where the frequency of the beeps increases. You start slowly and gradually run faster and faster. Not only is it a test of raw speed, but it is also an endurance test as you gradually build up your pace.

“Seriously, what excuse have you come up with for excluding yourself?” Julie asks again.

“I am perfectly fit, I see no reason to skive off,” I reply. “I will be doing P.E. the same as the rest of you. Look, if you have a problem changing with me in the room, then I promise not to look in your direction, now do I have to avert my eyes or not?”

Julie stops walking, crosses her arms and stares at me, “Of course I have a problem with having a boy watching me in the changing rooms.”

“I’m not a boy. You have a pretty good idea of what I feel like every time I have to go into the boys’ changing room,” I state, “you only have one person in the room to feel uncomfortable with, for me it was every single person. As I said, I am willing to avoid looking at you, I never had that luxury.”

“It’s not just me, what about the other girls?” Julie counters.

“They have no preconceptions about what I am and therefore accept me at face value,” I reply. “When we go into the changing room, most of the girls in there will be people we have only just met. Are you equally uncomfortable changing in their presence? After all, you don’t know anything about them; any one of those could also be male. For the record, I am not sexually attracted to girls, but any number of the girls in that room could be lesbian for all we know. Now tell me logically why me being in the room is any different than any one of them.”

That seems to shut Julie up for a moment while she tries to formulate an argument. We continue to walk in silence for a few minutes.

“I am still not happy with the idea of you being in the changing room, so make sure not to look at me,” Julie states, “if I see you staring at any of my friends I won’t be pleased. Changing isn’t a big problem. I will simply keep my back to you. What I want to know is how you plan to hide yourself while naked in the showers. I have used these changing rooms before as my Karate club uses the school facilities in the evenings. The showers are communal, and we will be made to use them. Sure, you can keep yourself hidden under a towel most of the time, but at some point, you will have to step naked into the shower. You are a boy, as you proved when you lost your trunks in the swimming pool last year, so exactly how do you expect to get away with this?”

I laugh and then reply, “Don’t you think I haven’t considered this? I have been planning this for the last six months. I have made damned sure that nobody is going to see anything out of the ordinary. With my bits pushed up inside my body cavity and superglued in place, there is nothing to see. I have been walking naked through the local swimming pool changing rooms for the last three weeks and I haven’t been arrested yet, so I think I’m safe. Just do me a favour and don’t stare at me, or I might just decide to stare back.”

I haven’t seen many girls naked. I have seen plenty of images of naked women on the Internet, but they are all adults. I have successfully glued myself up to give a feminine appearance to my genitalia. I just hope that I haven’t made myself look too mature considering that I don’t have a chest to match.

Julie still doesn’t look happy, but doesn’t say anything further. We continue walking the school grounds in silence. We head to our lockers to switch our normal bags for our sports kits.

The bell rings and we all walk across the courtyard and line up outside the sports facilities. It is a separate building from the rest of the school, and we have to queue outside until given permission to enter. We form two rows, separated by sex, waiting for further instruction. After we are neatly lined up and standing quietly we are instructed to enter the changing rooms. Julie is at the head of the group. I have decided to stand at the rear with Alison and Mary.

We file into the girls’ changing room. Julie goes to the far end of the room while I stay near the door. I end up sitting on a bench between Alison and Mary, neither of whom know my true physical sex. I have passed naked before, but that was casually from a distance.

Although I projected confidence when telling Julie earlier, truthfully, I am nervous that I don’t pass close inspection. The changing room is full to capacity and I am only a few feet away from the next girl, possibly closer when we stand next to each other in the showers.

Mrs Hargreaves, the games mistress, follows us into the room and instructs us to change into our indoor kits.

Changing into the sports kit isn’t a problem, as it doesn’t involve removing underwear. Therefore, I quickly change into the t-shirt, short skirt, and gym knickers. Having changed my socks and shoes, I am ready for the lesson. Mrs Hargreaves returns and we follow her into the sports hall. The boys are already in the room.

Mr Morris, the boys’ teacher, instructs us all to find some space on the floor and face his direction. He then teaches us some warm up stretches, and tells us that these should be repeated at the end of the lesson to prevent cramp. Mrs Hargreaves then gives instructions regarding the beep test.

The trial starts and I do quite well. Most of the students taking part in the packed hall drop out before level nine. I am one of the last girls to fall out at level eleven. The two final girls fall out at level twelve, but a couple of the boys manage to get all the way to level fifteen before collapsing from exhaustion.

I am fit and strong from working on the farm. As I haven’t gone through puberty yet, I don’t have much in the way of a physical advantage, unlike some of the boys that are definitely ahead of me in development.

While we all sit and recover for a few minutes, Mr Morris explains the rules for a non-stop version of indoor cricket. The basic concept is similar to normal cricket, but it is much faster-paced and fun. We are split into two teams via house, Saturn versus Venus. The batting team line up down the side of the room. There is only one batsman in at a time and they have to dash back and forth between two posts to score runs. As soon as they are bowled or caught out, they are instantly replaced by a new player.

The bowler doesn’t have to wait until the batsman is ready, so as soon as the ball is returned, he bowls. The opposing team form the fielders and there is nowhere where the ball is out of play, meaning you can bounce it off the walls and ceiling as much as you like. It is fast-paced and quite entertaining.

At the end of the lesson, we are all perspiring profusely and we are instructed to hit the showers. We all file back into the changing rooms.

I decide to be one of the first girls to undress. If there is going to be screaming, I figure it’s best if it happens before everybody is naked, that way if there is a serious problem, most of the girls will still be covered, modesty intact.

I strip naked and after putting on a shower cap to keep my wig dry, I purposely head for the now running water. Mrs Hargreaves has just operated the controls to start the showers. I put my towel on the floor near the entrance and walk past her into the spray. Nobody says anything and I am soon showering amongst a number of girls being careful to keep my eyes focused on the wall in front of me rather than looking in anybody’s direction.

As I come out, I come face to face with Julie. She is on her way in and is currently hiding herself behind her towel. We both freeze and I notice her eyes dart down towards my crotch.

“You’re bleeding,” she says alarmed. This catches me by surprise and I look down. Sure enough, there are a couple of drops of blood emerging from my fake slit. This wasn’t part of my plan. I must have torn something with all the running. We stand looking at each other in shock for what feels like hours, but in reality is only a matter of a second or two.

“First time?” Mary asks as she walks around me and picks up her towel. “I got caught out last week. I have a spare pad if you need one.”

“Yes please, I wasn’t expecting to need one today,” I say going red. I pick up my own towel and follow Mary back to the bench where our clothes are waiting. She reaches into her bag and pulls out a sanitary towel. I thank her and quickly dry myself. Following the instructions on the packet, I insert it into my knickers as I pull them up.

The bell rings and we head out of the changing rooms. I have just passed my biggest test so far, successfully convincing a room of girls that I am one of them while standing naked in their midst. I hadn’t planned to have a period conveniently strike, but I’m not going to look a gift horse in the mouth. I will however be doing some careful examination down there tonight, as I shouldn’t be bleeding. That is a worrying sign, the last thing I need is an infection to complicate matters.

During the afternoon, I start to develop some pain, and I have to borrow some aspirin off Alison. Luckily, this fits my apparent condition, but I am worried that this isn’t right. I shouldn’t be having these difficulties.

At the end of the day, I head into the girls’ bathroom to examine myself before the ride home. The pad has collected a lot of blood, and I put the pad into the bin provided. The bleeding seems to have stopped. I insert my finger into my artificially created slot, and feel for the source of the blood. I almost cry out in pain as my nail scrapes the source of the problem. I am obviously not as healed as I first thought. I will need to take it easy on my way home.

After padding my knickers with toilet paper, I emerge from the cubicle and make my way to the bike sheds. I decide not to ride off immediately, but instead walk with my bike.

Josh catches up with me as I leave the school gates. He walks home each evening as he lives nearby. Neither of us says anything; we just walk down the road. I am not certain, but I think he is walking in the wrong direction. Therefore, I assume he wants to talk.

“Congratulations,” he says to me after checking nobody is nearby. “I hear from the grapevine that you ‘came on’ in the showers earlier today. I don’t know how you did it, but you have successfully quashed the rumours that had started about you being Simon in drag.”

“Thanks,” I reply.

“How come you aren’t riding your bike, do you have a problem? My house is nearby and I have tools in the garage if you need to fix anything,” he states, referring to my bike.

The walking is making me sore, and I can feel more blood running down the inside of my leg. “How far is it and will there be anybody at home?” I ask.

“It’s two streets in that direction,” Josh says, pointing northward, “and my mother doesn’t get home until five, we will be alone until then.”

I consider my options. I decide I have no choice but to trust Josh. “I have a problem, the blood isn’t faked. I really am bleeding and I think it’s getting worse. If I sit on my bike, can you wheel me to your house? I don’t think I should walk or peddle too far.”

A tear rolls down my cheek as I get on my bike. I press my legs together as Josh grabs my bike and rolls it along the pavement. True to his word, his house is only a couple of minutes away and he swiftly unlocks the door and shows me to the bathroom.

“Is there anything I can do, should I call an ambulance or doctor?” he asks with concern as I sit on the edge of the bath.

“No, I can fix the problem,” I state. “I must have strained myself this morning in PE. I have some glue in my coat pocket that I can use to stop the bleeding. All I need to do is find the spot and seal it up again. No big deal.”

I lift my skirt to find that my once white knickers have a large red patch. The blood has soaked through the toilet paper. I immediately unhook my skirt and remove it so that doesn’t become stained and drop my panties to the floor.

“Can you hand me some toilet paper?” I ask Josh, who is now looking away, red faced and not sure what to do. “I don’t mind you looking, I am actually quite proud of my handiwork. Do you have a hand mirror? I need to see where I am bleeding from, unless you want to help.”

Josh grabs the toilet roll from its holder and hands it to me. I wipe the blood away and throw the paper in the loo. Josh leaves the room and to find a hand mirror. When he returns I am sitting on the floor with my legs apart, trying to find the source of the blood.

Josh kneels down beside me, examines my crotch, and asks, “How did you do it? It looks like you really are a girl. If I didn’t know better, I would swear that you’re female, although I’m no expert as I have only seen pictures. It’s only because I have seen you naked before in the showers at school that I know that isn’t the case.”

“My bits are pushed up inside of me and I glued them in place,” I reply.

Josh looks at me closely then states, “I’m not sure I believe you. I may not be intimate with female anatomy, but I do know my own body. I wondered how you might get away with this, so looked up cross-dressing techniques on the Internet. I even tried to see how flat I could make myself. You are a lot flatter than I managed. In addition, that wouldn’t explain the amount of blood. If you had pulled some skin there wouldn’t be that much. It looks like you have pulled open a cut.”

“If I tell you, do you promise not to say anything?” I ask cautiously.

“I promise,” he replies.

“I have done something that most people would consider incredibly stupid, drastic, and very dangerous,” I state, “Five weeks ago I shot myself with an anaesthetic dart, and cut my balls off. I had to act quickly in order to complete the task before I passed out and bled to death.”

Josh is starting to look white. I pause in case he is feeling faint. He appears to be okay, so I continue, “I stopped the bleeding and glued the wounds shut. I flattened my dick, gluing it down. I then folded the now loose skin of my sack over the top to form the outer lips, again sticking them in place. I have helped the vet to castrate our farm animals, so I knew what to do. I felt sick for several days, and had to pretend I had flu. Luckily, my parents believed me and I got better before they decided to send for the doctor. I have been careful to take things easy while I healed, but the running about earlier must have pulled the wound open.”

I have deliberately been taking it easy over the past weeks while I healed. I have done a fair amount of walking, riding and swimming, but this has been low impact. This morning’s lesson involved sprinting and sudden changes of direction, which was a lot more strenuous than the exercise I have been taking.

With Josh’s help, I manage to stop the bleeding and glue the tear shut. I am feeling weak and have to be helped off the floor. I ask Josh to help me onto the toilet, needing to check that I can still pee without problems. If I accidentally block my urethra then I will need to go to hospital.

The whole procedure has taken less than ten minutes. I am helped through to Josh’s bedroom and I lie down on his bed. He hands me one of his mother’s sanitary towels in case I start to bleed again, and fetches me a spare pair of panties out of my sports bag before heading into the bathroom to clean up.

He pours us both a large lemonade and we sit in his room, drinking. The added sugar helps to make me feel better, having been feeling faint. I will need to be extra careful in future.

Josh has been quiet since I told him about my operation. I’m putting a lot of trust in him, and I’m worried that he may tell someone, or try to get me seen by a doctor. However, at the same time I feel relieved for revealing my secret.

“You’re really are serious about becoming a girl, aren’t you,” Josh states after a while, “it must have taken a lot of guts to do that to yourself. I guess you must have been desperate.”

“After Mike’s coming out I knew that my parents would never support me. Without their assistance there is no way I will be able to get the medical help I need to transition, at least not until I’m eighteen, and then I would have already gone through puberty as a boy. I couldn’t face that so I took a calculated risk. I would rather die trying than be forced to live as a man. You have no idea what it’s like to be physically revolted by a part of your own body.”

“Actually, I think I do,” Josh replies sadly. “Two years ago I was diagnosed with anorexia. I know it’s a disorder normally associated with girls, but it can affect boys as well. I was one of the fattest kids when I started school and I was bullied about it relentlessly. I tried to lose weight, but over-reacted and ended up going too far. I wasn’t having any breakfast and pretending I was having a school lunch, but in fact, I was skipping it. For months, I lived off a single sandwich a day during the week and as little as possible over the weekend. My weight plummeted but I still thought of myself as fat. Eventually I was taken to the doctors, and then to a shrink. I have it under control now, but I still sometimes look in the mirror and find I am revolted by my size.”

I can remember Josh being fat and then losing weight, but never realised the situation was that bad. He is now tall and thin, but looks healthy, without any obvious signs of being malnourished.

We sit contemplating our newfound knowledge about each other for several minutes.

“You could have killed yourself,” Josh states, and I nod. “Promise me you aren’t going to do anything like that again.”

“I only have one set of testicles, and they’ve gone,” I state, “I don’t need to do anything else to achieve my goal. With the primary organs responsible for producing testosterone removed, I now can’t go through male puberty without chemical assistance. As male bodies also produce female hormones, the balance should shift and I will start to become feminine instead. I have some herbal tablets that act like female hormones so that should help. I don’t intend to cut anything else off, if that’s why you’re worried. I need my penis in order for it to be inverted into a vagina once I turn eighteen. While I am quite happy with my intermediary state, I would like to be able to have sex in the future.”

Josh nods in acceptance of my argument, “All right, I won’t tell anybody, but if you have any further problems, then I won’t hesitate to call a doctor.”

I nod in agreement. After finishing our drinks, I have recovered my strength. Josh asks me if I’m going to be all right riding, and insists on coming with me. He gets his bike out of his shed, and after leaving a note for his mother, escorts me home. We stop at the bunker so that I can change. He is fascinated by my hideout and transformation from girl to boy. He states that he is finding it hard to believe I am a boy when changed, as I still look girly even with my short hair and baggy clothes.

He eventually leaves me at the end of the track leading up to the farm. It’s set back about two hundred yards from the road.

After putting my bike away in the barn, I enter the kitchen door where my mother is cooking our evening meal.

“You’re late,” she states. I can hear the annoyance in her voice.

“Sorry, I got a puncture on the way home. Rather than walking, I decided to pull off into a field and fix it. It took longer than I thought,” I reply as I head upstairs to my room to change out of my school clothes and do some homework before dinner.

“Uncle Peter phoned earlier, they have arranged to come over and stay with us this weekend and will be arriving tomorrow evening,” my mother comments as we finish eating.

Considering they live two hours away, and won’t be able to leave until all three kids are out of school, that means they won’t be arriving until six at the earliest.

“When are they expected to arrive? I am going swimming tomorrow remember, or am I going to have to change my plans?” I ask.

“No you’re okay,” my father answers, “chances are they won’t get here until after you get home. We will be cooking a meal for half past seven, so they have plenty of time to get here. Make sure you are here by seven.”

“Thanks, I will,” I reply with a grin. I then ask, “What will the sleeping arrangements be? Aren’t all the cottages rented out?”

We own several farm cottages that we rent out. Normally if we have guests, we can put them up in one. Although the main holiday season has finished due to the kids going back to school, we still manage to get some late season bookings from families that don’t have school-age children. All the cottages are booked.

“Your Aunt and Uncle will take the main guest room. We thought that you could join the twins in Mike’s room and Emily could use your room, as it’s the smallest,” my mother says.

We have four bedrooms. The largest of these is naturally occupied by my parents. The second biggest room belonged to Mike. It houses a double bed and contains a chair that folds out as another single bed. The twins, James and Kevin, both 15, will probably share the double bed, leaving me with the fold out.

The other two bedrooms are slightly smaller, but both of them are large enough for, and therefore fitted, with double beds. I had the option to move into Mike’s room after he left, but decided to keep my own room. I didn’t fancy the hassle of moving and it didn’t feel right. I secretly hope that Mike may be able to come home and use his room in future, however unlikely that appears now.

I don’t really need a double bed to myself, a single would be fine. Nevertheless, my parents decided that as there is room I might as well have the larger size. It comes in handy if we have guests and need to sleep more people. My father also pointed out it might come in useful if I ever have a girlfriend stay the night, however that is not allowed until I’m eighteen.

I don’t get on with Kevin and James. They regard me as gay and don’t think anything of pushing me around. Mike’s presence stopped their rough-housing from hurting me, and I no longer have that protection.

Sharing a room with them also poses the problem that my body modifications could be discovered. I will have to change in the bathroom, but my added modesty could cause questions, as I have changed in front of them before.

“I’m not sharing with the twins,” I firmly state, “I would rather sleep in the barn with the sheep.”

My mother looks at me with an ‘are you serious’ type impression. She knows I’m not a fan of sheep.

“I’m serious,” I say, “we don’t get on very well and quite frankly I’m scared of them. I don’t think they would go as far as gang-banging me in the middle of the night, although I wouldn’t put it past them. They did threaten it last time they were here. They reckoned I was gay before Mike came out, so I fully expect them to still think I am of the same persuasion and give me a hard time about it.”

Strictly speaking I am attracted to men, but I’m not going to admit that to them.

“At the very least I can expect Chinese burns, wedgies, and titty-twisters to be performed on me,” I shudder at the thought of the last one. My nipples are starting to become sensitive. I have been taking some herbal supplements that are supposed to mimic female hormones, as I don’t have access to proper medical treatment. I think they are starting to produce results, although that may be a placebo effect.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” my father says with annoyance, “they are not that bad.”

“I am not giving them the opportunity,” I firmly state, “I’m not sharing a room with them and that’s final. If that means I end up in the barn then so be it. There is another alternative, but that entirely depends on Emily.”

Emily is my other cousin. She is thirteen, the same as me, although she is about four months older than I am.

“Are you suggesting that you share a bed with Emily? If so, forget it. It’s not appropriate, I won’t allow it and neither would your uncle,” my father loudly replies.

“Are you saying you don’t trust me?” I ask, folding my arms in front of me, “Surely, it is up to Emily to say if she is willing to trust me or not. Why did you insist I have a double bed if I can’t make use of it? Before you say anything, I meant for sleeping two people, not for sex. We are both under age and I have no intention of doing anything other than sleeping, no matter what Emily might want.”

“You will stop being stupid and sleep on the fold out bed in your former brother’s room,” my father states, ending the discussion.

I go to bed early as I am still feeling a bit delicate and sore. I feel a lot better in the morning. After feeding the goats, I fetch my bike from the barn and head to my bunker to change.

I have taken a risk this morning and worn my girl panties instead of my usual briefs. Sometimes my jeans get so muddy that I have to strip them off when I enter the house, which means I could easily be seen in my underwear. For this reason, I tend to wear male briefs for safety. Since my operation, I have been padding my pants with cotton wool.

Having fixed my hair and makeup, I put my coat and helmet back on. After cycling to school, I head straight to the girls’ bathroom. I use the toilet and emerge. There are now a couple of other girls in the room, but they ignore me as I wash my hands and comb my hair. I take some clip on earrings out of my bag and fix them onto my ear lobes.

Julie is waiting for me in the library. “We need to talk,” she says as I come in. We head out to the corridor and find a quiet spot away from other students. “What’s going on, Simon? You caught me by surprise yesterday with the blood. I thought that perhaps you were trying to pull a fast one by pretending to have a period, something that I find most distasteful. It’s a very serious issue for real girls, not something with which to joke. However, you looked shocked when you looked down, and you genuinely looked ill yesterday afternoon. I was going to find you after school, but you had disappeared. It wasn’t until I was on the bus that I found out you were in the toilets.”

“The blood was unintended,” I reply calmly. “I had glued myself up too tight and all the running tore some skin, causing it to bleed. It left me very sore in the afternoon so I had to fix it before I went home. I won’t be making the same mistake again.”

I deliberately hold back on my explanation, as I don’t like Julie’s attitude. Whenever she talks to me alone, she insists on calling me Simon instead of Simone or Jasmine. She also seems annoyed at my charade. I get the impression that she hasn’t accepted me as a girl, instead regarding me as a boy pulling a stupid stunt. At least she hasn’t ratted me out yet, but I am not convinced that will last.

“I’m not a good enough actress to try to fake something of which I don’t have experience. In addition, I would have told you beforehand so that you wouldn’t have acted so surprised, that was embarrassing for both of us,” I state, “It was lucky that Mary offered me a pad instead of a tampon - no hole to shove one into.”

We enter the class for registration and I note that she goes and sits with Lisa rather than with me. I ignore her and sit near Alison and Mary instead. We are rapidly becoming friends.

When school lets out at half past three, Alison, Mary and I meet up at the bike sheds. I didn’t want to wear my swimming costume under my uniform all day, so I have it in a bag. I have my old swimming trunks as well, which I will wet on the way home so that my parents don’t get suspicious.

We head out of the school with Alison leading us to the holiday park. Our route takes us down a cycle path next to some allotments. I have been meaning to talk to the girls, but haven’t had the opportunity during the day to get them alone. Seeing as nobody is about I pull past Alison and Mary and come to a stop.

“Can we stop for a second?” I ask.

“Sure, what’s up?” Alison asks, coming to a halt. Mary pulls up beside her.

“I have something embarrassing I need to tell you about before we go swimming,” I say nervously, “Please don’t say anything to anybody else, but I’m wearing a wig.”

The two girls look on in surprise. The hairpiece I bought cheaply off eBay is good quality and you can’t tell its fake unless you look very closely and even then only if you know what to look for.

“I was involved in an accident on the farm. I don’t want to talk about it, but the net result was I had to have a large clump of hair cut off. I looked ridiculous with a bald patch, so I opted simply to cut my hair back in a buzz cut, Sinead O’Conner style. Trouble is it doesn’t suit me, I look too much like a boy in drag,” because that is effectively what I am, not that I want them to know that, “I’m therefore wearing a wig until it grows back evenly.”

“Ouch, been there done that,” Alison replies, “four years ago my cousin Tom decided to replace my hair gel with glue. By the time I realised something was wrong my hair was a solid lump and the only solvents were not the type of thing you want to use on a sensitive scalp.”

“Don’t worry, we won’t say anything,” Mary adds.

“Thanks, I can get away with wearing it in the showers at school under a cap, but I don’t want to risk the chemicals in the pool damaging it,” I say, “I will need to discretely swap it for a swimming cap, but didn’t think I would be able to do it without you noticing.”

“It’s all right, we understand,” Alison replies and Mary nods.

We resume our journey and arrive at the holiday park. Nothing further is said about my hairpiece and neither girl seems upset or hostile about my revelation, so I think I am safe for the time being. They have already seen me naked, so I don’t think they are going to jump to the conclusion I’m male.

We cycle across the complex to the swimming centre and lock our bikes into the racks. Heading inside the main entrance there is a short queue for admission. Mary and Alison both have resident passes and get in for a small fee. As a guest of a resident, I also get a discounted price, but it’s not as low. Anybody can turn up and pay to use the pool, but it’s mainly for the holidaymakers staying in the camp, who get issued with free passes.

I enquire about the rules regarding resident passes. There are two discount rates available. One is for those who live within two miles, and a second slightly higher price is if you live within five. Looking at the line drawn on their map, the thick marker pen line cuts through our farm, so there is a chance that I will get the cheapest rate. The problem is it needs parental permission and proof of residency, neither of which I can easily obtain.

Mary leads us through the turnstiles and we head to the changing rooms. I smile as we enter through the doorway marked with the stick figure wearing a skirt. As soon as we are inside, I divert into a toilet cubicle, both to relieve myself before going swimming, and to swap my wig for the swimming cap. I don’t bother pulling my knickers up when I finish and slip them into my bag with the wig. After washing my hands, I go over to where Mary and Alison are already changing and pull out my swimming costume.

After depositing our bags into some lockers and pinning the keys to our costumes, we head out to the pools. There are four swimming pools in here and a number of water slides. For those who want to swim lengths there is a pool set up with lanes. There is a second pool dedicated to diving. There is also a shallow pool for young children.

The main pool is T-shaped and is set up like a beach. There is a large slope made to look like sand, so that you can walk down an incline into the water. This gradient continues all the way to the deep end. A wave machine is set going for ten minutes each half hour to simulate being in the sea. All around the water are small gardens with palm trees and shrubs. The building is a massive glass dome.

We swim about in the main pool for a bit. I am not a confident swimmer and like to stay in my depth, unlike my companions who can dart about like mermaids. They stay with me in my comfort zone for a while, and then while they swim some lengths in the dedicated pool I try out some of the water slides. They haven’t abandoned me; I told them to go ahead as I was holding them back.

I almost lose my swimming cap coming off one of the slides, so decide to take it easy for a while. I walk over to the diving pool and watch some of the boys who are doing high dives. It is while sitting on a low wall that I spot somebody I know. Bart Walsh was my main enemy at my last school. Luckily, he goes to Ariel High now so I don’t have to put up with his bullying. He is heading this way with a few of his mates, so I decide to walk away before he recognises me.

As I walk round the complex back towards where my friends are now swimming, I keep my eye on the approaching menace. It seems they have noticed me and I can hear them whispering between them, although I can’t hear what they are saying. I have a bad feeling about this. It can go one of two ways. Either they know who I am, or want to chat me up. Neither option I like.

They are gaining on me and I spot an opportunity to get away from them. Up a flight of stairs to my left is a water slide and there are only two people waiting to go. There is also a member of staff controlling when people enter the tube. I join the queue and I see the boys waiting at the bottom of the stairs, watching me. As I climb into the tube, I notice all but one of them heading away, presumably to meet me at the exit.

I take a deep breath and start sliding down the tube. It is a faster ride than I am used to, having been keeping to the tamer ones and I hadn’t realised that I had managed to pick one of the fastest. As I emerge from the end, I slide into a massive trough of water. The rush of liquid removes my cap. I quickly grab it and shove it back on, but the damage has already been done. The boys saw me and are now walking as fast as they can in my direction.

Looking round I notice that I am not far from the changing rooms, so I make a dash for it. They start to give chase, but I have a head start. I hear a lifeguard shout, “No running!” but I ignore him and slip into the female changing room only a few feet ahead of them, almost colliding with a group of women coming out.

Once inside and happy that they haven’t tried to follow me, I lean against a wall and catch my breath. A minute later, a female member of staff enters and comes over to me.

“Were those boys chasing you?” she asks and I nod. “That sort of behaviour won’t be tolerated here. I have had a word with them. I am sorry to have to ask this, but they reckon you are a boy that they know.”

I laugh and hooking my finger in under my swimming costume, pull it to one side to reveal my crotch. “They are mistaking me for my cousin Simon. He has had trouble with them in the past.”

“Okay I will go tell them they are mistaken and if they give you any more trouble let a member of staff know and they will be asked to leave,” she states. “What is your name by the way?”

“Jasmine Whittaker,” I say without hesitation.

The woman nods and goes out of the changing room. I wait a minute and then peek round the doorframe to see if the coast is clear. I can’t see the boys so I head back to the main pool where Alison and Mary are now looking for me. I don’t say anything to them about my incident, as it may start them asking questions I can’t answer.

Although I am becoming a proficient liar in order to pull off my change of sex, I am trying to keep to the truth as much as possible so that I don’t slip up.

We spend the next ten minutes enjoying the wave machine. I decide to use safety in numbers so stick with my friends for the remainder of the session. I keep an eye out for the boys and spot them from a distance back over by the diving pool. I watch as Bart dives from the five-meter board. I take note not to go over there again.

After an hour’s swimming, we decide to just relax and float in the shallow pool for ten minutes. We all have to cycle home. The other two live less than two miles away, whereas I’m closer to five miles as the crow flies. Unfortunately, by the time you take into account that you can’t go in a straight line, and I need to stop off at the bunker, it will be nearly six and a half miles for me.

We head back to the changing rooms to shower and change. There are a number of people in there, but I don’t get any funny looks as I strip naked and dry myself off. I deliberately stand naked in full view while I swap my swimming cap for a headscarf. I figure nobody is going to think I am a boy, due to my short hair, when my crotch is in view. They may think it’s an odd style for a girl, but they will think I’m female.

Instead of dressing in my school uniform, I change into a pair of jeans and a t-shirt. I don’t fancy putting my skirt back on only to have to change it for a pair of trousers at the bunker. This way I only need to change once. It won’t appear odd for me to have taken a change of clothes for after swimming so I can arrive home like this.

I’m taking a big risk in my appearance. I am now effectively in boy mode, the only thing giving me a feminine look is the headscarf, and that is almost unisex as it is a plain navy blue. I’m not worried that Mary and Alison will think of me as a boy, as they know I don’t have the genitalia to match. However, I could be mistaken by other people, which could get awkward.

We head up to the café for a drink before heading off. It is situated on a balcony overlooking the pools. I buy a large orange juice and position myself where I can look out over the pool. I want to keep my eye on Bart and company, as I don’t want to leave at the same time. Ideally, I need to get away first, in case they have ideas of setting up an ambush outside.

Alison glances round to make sure nobody is listening and then says, “No offence, but I can see why you chose to wear the wig. I reckon you could pass as a boy with that haircut. Have you ever tried to sneak into the boys’ changing rooms for a peek?”

“Did you, when you had your problem?” I counter. “You must have been in the same position.”

“Yes, I was and did. Actually, I regularly used the gents’ toilets and I still do when travelling,” Alison replies, “My father owns a classic E-Type Jaguar and regularly takes it to rallies. Trouble is that often the toilet facilities are temporary and inadequate. Portaloos aren’t the nicest things to use, and neither my mother nor I ever fancy sitting in them. Mum uses these disposable funnel things so that she can go standing and she taught me to use them from a young age.”

I am familiar with such devices and have used them a few times myself, mainly at home as practice. Although I don’t like to pee standing, I occasionally do so when using public toilets. As I am still supposed to be a boy, there could be a need for me to use a urinal, so I obtained a few in case the need arises.

“Well, we were at a rally where there were no permanent toilet facilities and I was desperate to go. The queue to the portaloos was at least ten minutes long and I was bursting. There was however a portacabin that contained only urinals, for which there wasn’t a queue. I still had short hair, so took the risk and went for it. There seems to be an unwritten rule not to look at the person next to you. I kept my distance and was able to relieve myself without anybody noticing,” Alison explains, “ever since then I have used the gents’. By the time my hair grew back, I was so used to using urinals I carried on. If you’re discreet and you can get away with it, most men don’t realise I’m a girl, and those that do don’t seem to mind as long as I’m using the urinals and not the cubicles.”

“I have used the gents’ before,” I say truthfully, “with my hair this short I can pass as a boy without difficulty, although I don’t use the urinals.”

As I finish my drink, I see Bart and company enter the changing rooms. I use this as my cue to check the time and declare that I need to be going. We head to the bike racks and say our farewells, as we will be heading in different directions. Apart from my run in, I have had a good time and I say I will think about making this a weekly thing.

I am soon whizzing down the road at high speed on my racing bike. I don’t seem to be doing much less speed that the cars around me in the built up area, so I must be getting near to thirty miles an hour.

Fifteen minutes later, I arrive at the bunker and having unlocked the hidden door I duck my head and wheel my bike inside through the small entrance. Using a torch, I light some candles and then sort out my bags. A barrel outside hidden in the undergrowth collects rainwater, into which I plunge my swimming trunks so that they look like they have been used. I take the wet towel, wrap it around my male swimwear, and hang the actual costume I used on a line to dry. After putting my wig on the polystyrene head and sealing it in an airtight box, I switch the contents of my bag around so that it contains a boy’s school uniform instead of the girl one.

I extinguish the lights and wheel my mountain bike out, locking the door behind me. I then make the final part of my journey back to the farm.

---

 

As I cycle into the yard, I spot my uncle and the twins unloading their car. I shout, “Hi,” as I ride past into the barn. It has just gone twenty past six. I follow them into the house, calling out to my parents that I’m home.

Our guests only arrived a few minutes before me. My father directs them to where they’ll be sleeping, “Peter, Anne, you’re in the guest room. The boys are in Mike’s room and Emily will be in Simon’s room.”

I smile at my father’s choice of words. By saying ‘the boys’ instead of ‘Simon and the twins’ he has left it vague as to where I’m sleeping. I take the opportunity to imply that I am in my own room by immediately saying, “Don’t worry Emily, you don’t have to sleep with me. I’ll sleep in the barn if you are uncomfortable with sharing the double bed.”

I start the sentence looking at Emily, but swiftly focus my gaze at my father. I know he won’t let me sleep with Emily, but he could still insist I sleep with the twins instead of in the barn.

Emily shrugs her shoulders and replies, “It’s your bed, don’t be put out on my behalf. I have had to share a tent with those two Neanderthals before, so I’m sure I can manage sharing with you.”

I get the impression Emily doesn’t like her brothers much, which matches my own opinions of them.

“Simon!” my father says loudly.

“Fine, I’ll sleep in the barn then, as you seem incapable of trusting us.” I interrupt him before he can tell me to sleep in Mike’s room.

“You will sleep on the fold out chair-bed in Mike’s room,” my father instructs.

I raise my eyebrows at him, cross my arms and fix him in a stare, “You already know my opinion of that option. The barn will definitely be more comfortable.”

“Don’t you fancy sharing with us?” Kevin asks.

“Not really. Besides, the pull-out bed isn’t the most comfortable of options. It’s up to you whether either of you use it, but if you don’t you will have to share the double bed,” I answer. I push past the crowd and up the stairs before this argument gets any worse.

I enter my room and empty my bag into the linen basket, hanging the trunks over the edge to dry. I am getting some fresh clothes out for the morning when Emily appears at the open door with her bag.

“May I come in?” she asks.

“Sure,” I reply, smiling.

She enters and closes the door behind her. “Sorry about putting you out of your bed, I can go sleep in the barn if necessary.”

“Won’t work, Dad would never allow it, guests come first,” I reply. “I already had this argument yesterday. The logical answer is for me to sleep in with the twins, but I hate them and I know the feeling is mutual. The chances of me surviving the two nights without injury are low.”

“They aren’t quite that bad are they?” Emily asks.

“Would you like to sleep with them?” I counter.

“No thanks, I had to share a tent with them once. At least we slept fully clothed in our sleeping bags. I don’t like the idea of being alone with them at night. The sods might try to cop a feel,” Emily replies, “I keep my bedroom door locked at night.”

“If they are willing to go that far with their own sister, imagine what they would do to me, especially as they think I’m gay,” I say. “I told my father that I was afraid I’d get raped and he told me not to be ridiculous.”

“Are you gay?” she asks.

“Considering what happened when Mike came out, do you seriously expect me to admit that I’m attracted to boys instead of girls?” I answer, deliberately wording it to imply I am without declaring it. “Not only would I likely be beaten into a pulp by my father, I am sure Kevin and James would be all too willing to assist.”

“I’m not like my brothers, you can trust me. I know a couple of my friends are experimenting with a lesbian relationship,” Emily states, “I also think I can trust you so please don’t repeat this, but I consider myself to be bisexual.”

I smile and nod, replying, “Your secret is safe with me. I knew Mike was gay for two years before Dad found out. As for my own secrets, watch this space. When my parents find out about my activities at school, I fully expect it to be worse than Mike.”

“What have you been up to?” Emily asks.

I shake my head and mime zipping my mouth shut, and then say, “Sorry, but if you don’t know you can’t tell. I do trust you, but after Mike came out, I seriously fear what will happen. I can’t risk you letting slip.”

“You can’t dangle a carrot like that without getting me hungry,” she answers.

I smile and tell her, “Perhaps at the end of your stay I will admit what I have been doing, but not before. If you find out before then, try not to act surprised.”

I am comfortable talking with my cousin. I don’t think she would be hostile to me, but I am not taking that risk for the moment.

“Let me see if I can go sort out our sleeping arrangements,” Emily states, “being a Daddy’s girl can have its advantages.”

Emily winks at me before leaving the room. I don’t hold out much hope of changing things, but she’s welcome to try. I am surprised when she comes back in with my mother, who is carrying what looks like my winter duvet, and a ball of string.

“Take this and roll it as tight as you can length ways, tie it up and put it down the centre of the bed. Neither of you will cross this barrier under any circumstances during the night,” she states, “I expect to see it still in place when you get up in the morning. Simon, turn your alarm off, you can have a lie in tomorrow until half seven. I don’t think Emily will appreciate being woken at six. Be quick, dinner will be served in ten minutes.”

I just stare in amazement doing a goldfish impression. My mother smiles and winks before heading back out of the door. I turn and look at Emily who holds up her hand and waves her little finger at me. I am not going to argue with the decision, so start to do as instructed.

After we have eaten, we retire to the lounge for coffee. Our guests are staying with us as they are going to a wedding tomorrow. My father and Uncle Peter are brothers. It is one of Aunty Anne’s nieces getting married in the morning. We don’t really know her side of the family so won’t be attending.

The wedding should have happened a fortnight ago, but the original venue caught fire a few days before. They were able to transfer the wedding to tomorrow at a local hotel, but the wedding is happening at ten a.m., instead of in the afternoon as originally planned. It is a three-hour drive for them, so they would need to leave home at half six in order to be sure to arrive on time.

We are about three quarters of an hour away, so at least they won’t have to leave as early, hence why they arranged to stay with us.

I am the first to head off to bed. As I am being allowed to stay in bed late so that I don’t disturb our guests, I have to make up for it by doing extra chores this evening, so I help put the animals to bed. With the extra work, the cycling to the park, and the swimming, I am exhausted. This also has the advantage that I am first in the queue for the bathroom as everyone prepares for bed.

I take my nightclothes into the bathroom with me so that I can change into them. I would like to be able to wear girls’ pyjamas, but I don’t dare in case I’m caught. I certainly wouldn’t be able to wear them tonight anyway with Emily sharing my room. I wear standard boys’ cotton pyjamas. I enter the bathroom and strip naked before using the loo. I then put my pyjamas on and brush my teeth. I pick up my discarded panties and put them in my dressing gown pocket, as I can’t leave them in the main laundry basket with my other clothes, in case they are spotted.

As I walk across the hall to my bedroom Emily comes up the stairs, and I follow her into my room. She grabs her pyjamas and toothbrush from her case and heads across into the bathroom. While she is occupied, I close the door and secrete my used underwear in my usual hiding place.

Having positioned the spare duvet down the centre of the bed, I take my preferred side, the left, and get in. I am joined a few minutes later by Emily.

“Does this lock work?” she asks as she closes the door.

“Yes,” I reply.

Emily locks the bedroom door, switches off the overhead light so that the only illumination is my bedside lamp, and then walks round the other side of the bed. She puts her robe over a chair and I get to see what she is wearing underneath: a long cotton nightie. Reaching under the bed covers, she grabs the rolled up duvet and deposits it on the floor.

“I don’t think that will be needed, its only taking up room. Besides which I am going to be spending most of the night on top of the covers rather than under them. I get hot in the night and like to lie on top,” Emily states.

She then does something that catches me by surprise. She removes the nightie and puts it over the chair. Turning to face me she is now stark naked. I get a full frontal view of her as she climbs on the bed and lies down beside me, facing my direction.

“Got a hard on yet?” she asks.

“No,” I reply casually. I turn the light off and roll to face the edge of the bed, away from Emily. “Good night,” I say as I shuffle into a comfortable position and close my eyes.

I am not sexually attracted to Emily, and even if I was, I can’t get erect as my penis is glued down flat. I can get aroused, which is actually uncomfortable in my current position, but I won’t be forming any tents in my underwear.

Emily reaches over me, switches the light back on, and asks, “You really don’t find me attractive, or are you scared that we may get caught.”

I roll over so that we are facing each other, only a few inches apart, “I’m not attracted to girls like that, never have been. Looking at you naked doesn’t affect me in that way. Before you ask, looking at the twins wouldn’t have any affect either. You are the closest things I have to siblings, and it doesn’t feel right. I’m not into incest.”

“I understand,” she replies, “I definitely don’t want to get pregnant, and it does feel a bit odd, but I wouldn’t mind some fun. Truth is I’m horny as hell and need some relief.”

“Do whatever you need to do, just do it quietly. I’m exhausted; perhaps tomorrow night I’ll have the energy to join in,” I reply.

Switching the light back off I roll over and soon fall asleep.

I awake the next morning at seven. I sit up and look at Emily. She is still naked. I can see her nightdress on the chair, but she is now underneath the covers, although one leg is hanging out the side.

I grab my dressing gown off the hook on the back of the door and head downstairs. I am careful as I leave so that nobody gets a glimpse in the room.

My mother is heading to the back door as I enter the kitchen. She tells me Dad has already gone out to see to the sheep and she is about to milk the cows. I am to see to our guests when they get up. I quickly grab some breakfast cereal and a glass of apple juice.

Once I have eaten, I head for the downstairs bathroom. We have two bathrooms. The main one is upstairs, but we also have a small one off the kitchen that contains a toilet, washbasin, and shower. We fitted it so that you can strip off and get clean without trailing mud through the house.

I lock the door behind me and switch on the shower. While it warms up, I use the toilet. I have just gotten under the water when there is a knock on the door.

“Who’s in there?” I hear Emily ask.

“Simon,” I call back.

A few seconds later, I hear the door being unlocked from the outside. It’s a safety lock, which can be opened using a coin or similar sized item. Emily dashes in the door and locks it behind her. She lifts her gown and nightie above waist height as she runs across the room and spins round to sit on the toilet. However, it is already too late and she starts to pee before she can sit down. A small amount of urine misses the bowl and lands on the floor as she sits down and empties her bladder.

“Sorry,” she says tearfully as she relieves herself. She looks at the floor in shame. This bathroom is a wet room, so it doesn’t matter that the floor got wet. The shower is in one corner of the room and there is no curtain or panel around it, so there’s nothing between her and me.

I am stood holding a flannel in front of my crotch. I turn round, face the wall, and continue to wash myself while she is sat finishing her business.

“Sorry,” she says again after a few minutes, “There was a queue upstairs and I couldn’t wait. It was come in here or make a puddle in the yard. Please don’t tell anybody.”

“That’s okay,” I reply. “I won’t tell anyone. Would you like to join me in the shower now you are here?”

“I suppose I might as well, if you don’t mind,” Emily replies, standing and removing her clothes. Luckily, they didn’t get wet. She hangs them with my robe on the other side of the room, near the washbasin.

I still have my back to Emily and I’m looking at her over my shoulder. “I said yesterday that I have a secret. If I reveal it to you, do you promise not to freak out, shout, or scream? It is imperative that nobody else finds out about it.”

“Yes, I promise,” she replies. “Besides, you now have enough ammo to get me in serious trouble. Sleeping naked, invading your shower, wetting myself.”

“Okay,” I say, taking a deep breath, “The secret is that I attend school as a girl.”

I turn and face Emily. She is only a couple of feet away. She is looking me in the face with a puzzled expression. I indicate to look down with my eyes. She looks at my crotch and gasps. She drops to her knees for a closer look.

“Wow, it looks real. How?” she whispers, before returning to her feet.

“You don’t want to know, trust me on that,” I reply, “its fake, but it’s good enough that I can use the showers when at school. Obviously, my parents don’t know, and I tricked the school into thinking I’m female. I claimed my name is Simone and that they left an E off, although I have now convinced them to call me Jasmine instead, saying I prefer to use my middle name. ”

Emily stares at me for a few second before wrapping me in a hug. We press our naked bodies together, but there is no hint of sexual chemistry between us.

“Your secret is safe with me, Jasmine,” she whispers in my ear.

We quickly wash ourselves, helping each other to do our backs. Before shutting the shower off, we rinse the floor near the toilet. After drying ourselves off, we put our dressing gowns back on. We brush our teeth and Emily combs her long hair, putting it in a ponytail to finish drying. I have two brushes, one in each bathroom, and Emily is carrying hers in her dressing gown pocket.

When we are both ready, I open the door and we emerge. James is standing outside waiting and looks surprised when the two of us come out. I simply grin at him as I walk past. Emily puts her fingers to her lips to indicate he should keep quiet.

“Don’t you dare tell on us or else,” I hear her whisper to him, “and you can tell Kevin that our cousin is definitely not gay.”

James shakes his head in disbelief and enters the bathroom, locking the door behind him.

“Will he say anything?” I ask worriedly.

“I doubt it,” she replies, “I have enough dirt on him for mutually assured destruction if he goes too far. Besides, it’s our word against his, two against one, and I’m a good girl who never misbehaves.”

We enter the kitchen to find my aunt and uncle making some instant coffee. I ask them if they have everything they need, and then assist them in getting breakfast.

“Does my dress need an iron, or did it make it without being creased,” Emily asks her mother.

“I don’t know, I will take a look,” she answers as she gets up and heads upstairs, depositing the breakfast dish in the sink where I’m standing doing the washing up.

I hear a faint shout of, “Oh shit,” coming down the stairs, which causes the room to fall silent. A few seconds later Aunt Anne comes into the room.

“Emily, I am afraid I picked up the wrong garment bag. I picked up the one with my red suit inside, instead of the one with our two dresses,” Aunt Anne states worriedly. “Did you bring anything else you can wear?”

“No,” Emily replies, “Only jeans and tops and I can’t wear them to a wedding.”

I dry my hands on a towel and interrupt, “Don’t panic, I can phone round my friends and see if they have anything you can borrow. Aunt Anne, I assume you are okay, or can borrow off mum.”

Aunt Anne nods, so turning to Emily I tell her to follow me. We head into the study and I close the door behind us.

“I meant what I said, I do have friends who might be willing to lend you clothes, although that may be awkward as not all of them know I’m a boy and may wonder why I can’t lend you something,” I state, “The other alternative is that you borrow some of my clothes. As I said, I attend school as a girl, but I do have other clothing besides my uniform. I don’t keep them here though.”

“We are about the same size,” Emily says, “I will take anything suitable you can give me, I don’t have a lot of choice.”

“Okay, let’s get dressed and I will take you to my secret cache,” I reply, “follow my lead and let me do the talking. Go up to my room and put some underwear on, I will join you in a minute.”

I open the door and we head out where my aunt and uncle are waiting. Kevin and James are now sitting having breakfast. Emily heads upstairs to get dressed.

“Problem solved,” I state. “I am going to take Emily to one of my friends so that she can borrow an outfit.”

“Do you need a lift?” my uncle asks.

“No, it’s quicker to cut across country by buggy,” I reply. I definitely don’t want anybody to find out where we are going. “I can’t drive on the road, but the farm tracks take us to within twenty yards of where we need to go.”

I dash upstairs and into my bedroom. Emily is waiting for me, sitting in a pair of knickers and a bra. I open my wardrobe and take out two jumpsuits. Handing one to Emily I tell her to put it on, explaining that we are going across country at speed and could become covered in mud if we hit a puddle. I grab a pair of panties from my secret stash, no longer needing to hide from Emily, and don the other garment. I give Emily a hat to wear to keep her still-damp hair from getting mucky.

I lead Emily to the barn. I grab the keys to the two-seater and a pick up a torch. Most farms use quad bikes, but we prefer a full roll cage; therefore have several dune buggy type vehicles. I take the driver’s seat and we are soon whizzing down the farm tracks towards the bunker.

We have two sets of fields, the meadows and pastures for the animals to graze in, and a number of fields growing crops. The meadows are closer to the farm so there isn’t a large distance to bring the cows and goats in for milking.

The bunker is in the opposite direction to the pastures we are currently using, so I don’t have to worry about running into my parents. The bunker is in a small piece of woodland surrounded by our crop fields.

I can’t take the buggy onto the road, as I am under the legal age required to drive. As it has four wheels and an engine, it’s classed as a car. I can operate them on private land without issue. All of our fields are interconnected and I can access over half of them without crossing any roads. The woodland and bunker are within reach of the farm via private tracks.

It only takes us a few minutes dashing through the countryside to arrive at the bunker. I make Emily open the gate to the woodland and I park the buggy a little way in. You can’t get very far inside before you reach the steep slopes of the hole.

I lead Emily to the hidden entrance to my underground lair. Taking the torch, I light the way until I can illuminate the inside with the paraffin lamp. Emily follows me into the underground room and surveys the scene.

My bike stands against the end wall, chained to the ladder heading up to the manhole cover that was the original entrance. In front of us is an old desk with a mirror set up on it. A canvas chair sits in front of the desk, with a second further down the room. Stacked neatly down the sides of the room there are airtight plastic storage boxes in which I keep my clothes.

There are also bottles of drinking water and tins of food. A small gas stove is situated underneath an air vent in the ceiling. You could live in the bunker for a couple of weeks without issue. I have stocked it up in case I ever need to run away. I plan to live here when my secret gets out. My parents don’t know about the bunker, but my friends know where to find me if something should happen.

My best clothes are stored in vacuum bags inside the airtight containers. I don’t have opportunity to wear them very often and I don’t want them to get damp and musty being stored underground. By sealing them up tight, they stay fresh for when I want them.

I lead Emily to the box with my best outfits and I bring it to the desk, under where the lamp is hanging providing the main source of light. Opening the box, I start to take clothes out so that she can try them on. I don’t have many outfits, but the ones I have are very nice - at least I think they are. After trying several outfits, she chooses my court suit.

The suit is a two-piece skirt and jacket set in a dark blue with a faint white pinstripe. She matches it up with a white blouse with lace on the front. It is a formal business suit in a petite size. I specifically bought it for if I end up in court having been arrested for indecent behaviour entering girls’ toilets and changing facilities.

Emily has brought with her a pair of black two-inch heels that she can use. We put the other clothes back into their vacuum bags and I suck the air out using a foot pump designed for the purpose. We put the suit into a plastic bag for transport and then extinguishing the lamp we head outside.

The two of us climb back on the buggy and whiz back to the farm at high speed. We arrive back in the yard about twenty minutes after we left. I reverse the buggy into the barn. Before she gets out Emily kisses me on the cheek and whispers “Thanks Jasmine.”

Emily dashes upstairs to get ready to go out. After putting the torch and keys away, I enter the kitchen. Uncle Peter is already ready and sitting in his suit at the kitchen table. I assume the rest are still changing.

I pour a glass of apple juice and sit at the table opposite my uncle.

“So have you seen Emily naked yet?” he asks.

“No,” I cautiously say.

“In that case you are either lying, or you need your eyes tested,” my uncle replies, “I know Emily sleeps naked on the top of her bed most nights, so I doubt she did anything different last night.”

“I wouldn’t know,” I say denying what I saw, “I was lying with my back to her when she got in bed, and so I didn’t see what she was or wasn’t wearing.”

My uncle chuckles, “I suggest you pay attention tonight, you can get yourself a good look.”

“You don’t mind me seeing Emily naked?” I ask. “You obviously assumed that I would see her last night when you gave permission for me to sleep with her.”

“My daughter is an extrovert. She would be quite happy to walk round naked. For her, clothes are optional. She thinks nothing of sunbathing nude on a crowded beach,” he states. “I know you have seen her naked, and if James and Kevin aren’t letting their imaginations run away with them then it sounds like you have gone a lot further this morning.”

“I don’t know what you are talking about,” I answer.

“James saw you both exit the bathroom this morning. I overheard him tell Kevin about it. When you entered the kitchen this morning when we were having breakfast, you came in from that door,” he says pointing to the door we entered through, “The only places that door leads to are the utility room, shower room and outside. You both had wet hair so I’m guessing you showered together. My only question is did you invite her in, or did she enter without your permission.”

“Are either of us in trouble? I don’t want to say anything that may make things worse,” I say cautiously.

“Nothing you tell me will get you in trouble. I won’t say anything to my brother about your behaviour, and I promise that Emily is going to get a talking to no matter what you say. So it isn’t going to make any difference if you tell me, lie, or simply refuse to talk,” he tells me.

“I was taking a shower when she banged on the door desperate for a pee. Finding out it was me inside she let herself in by springing the lock,” I say truthfully, leaving out the bit about her starting to wet herself. “So yes, I got a good view of her as she relieved herself. I then invited her to join me in the shower. We washed each other’s backs, but that was the only physical contact between us.”

“You missed your opportunity. I would have insisted on a blow job as compensation,” Uncle Peter chuckles.

“Are you seriously suggesting I should be asking for sexual gratification from your daughter?” I ask surprised. “You do realise I would never do that. Apart from being underage, and therefore illegal, she’s also family. I don’t go in for incest, even if it is borderline between cousins.”

“I know you are not likely to do anything. One of the arguments Emily used yesterday was that with four other men within running distance if she were to scream, you would be too worried to do anything,” he says. “Look, as long as Emily doesn’t complain and doesn’t end up pregnant, then I will turn a blind eye, so do your worst. I will smooth things over with your folks by telling them that you are following my instructions. She needs to learn that her flirting can get her into trouble. Emily is only acting up because she knows she’s safe. If she continues to flirt then take her up on it and push her a bit, just make sure to stop before she truly gets hurt.”

“I’ll think about it,” I say as I hear the boys enter the room. They are now dressed in their suits ready to attend the wedding. My father comes in the kitchen a few seconds later having finished milking the cows.

“I have just seen the people in the first cottage leave, so you can start cleaning as soon as you are ready,” he tells me.

“You work as a maid?” Kevin asks.

“Do you have a maid’s outfit?” James cheekily adds.

“Yes he does,” my father replies, “Mike bought him a French maid’s outfit last Christmas as a joke, but he’s too shy to wear it.”

James and Kevin fall about laughing, making comments on how cute I will look. I have worn the outfit on several occasions and used it when cleaning the cottages. However, I only wear it when I know I am not going to be seen. The twins then state that they would love to see me wearing it.

I cross my arms and stare at them, “I’m not going to wear it just so that you can laugh at me. Besides, the stiletto heels aren’t the most practical of footwear, and the stockings are very easily laddered.”

“Excuses, excuses, you’re just chicken!” James goads me. Kevin joins in by flapping his arms and making chicken noises.

I look at them both and raise my eyebrows. The only thing that bothers me about wearing the outfit is that I am too comfortable in it, and I am afraid my parents would cotton onto the fact that I like cross-dressing. My cousins are always very competitive and I have a wicked idea about how to turn the tables on them.

“I’m not chicken. In fact, I think I will wear my French maid’s outfit to clean the cottages this morning. I’m willing to bet neither of you would be brave enough to wear skirts in public.”

By now my mother, aunt, and Emily have all joined us in the kitchen and are watching the exchange between the twins and I.

“Cleaning the cottages isn’t exactly wearing it in public is it?” James counters. “You’re too chicken to wear a dress in public.”

“Right then, I’ll prove who the poultry are in this family,” I state, grinning evilly, “I will spend the rest of today wearing the French maid’s outfit. Tomorrow when we all go into town, I will find and wear a summer dress. I bet you two are too chicken to wear girl’s clothes for a day. I dare you to join me.”

“They’ll never do it,” Emily adds, winking at me, “They are all mouth and no backbone, they wouldn’t dare show their faces in town dressed as girls. It’s not as though they could even be recognised, unlike you, as you’re local. Pity, I think they would look cute as two little girls. Their hair is just long enough for pigtails.”

I laugh at the thought of my two cousins dressed as little girls. They are two years older than me, and definitely journeying through puberty. As I have proved, I can pass en femme, but these two would struggle.

“You are bluffing,” Kevin accuses, “Besides which, where would we get the clothes.”

“Stop making excuses,” I say, “Just admit you’re too scared and that I have more balls than either of you.”

“We are not scared,” Kevin counters.

“Let’s make this a bit more interesting,” my father intervenes, “whoever chickens out first has to clean the cow sheds tomorrow afternoon. Deal?”

“Hold on,” my mother states, “You are not seriously suggesting Simon spend the whole weekend dressed as a girl? What if anybody sees him?”

“Don’t you think he is capable of doing it?” my father asks. “I think it will be a good laugh seeing Simon dressing up. Besides, if my hunch is correct, then nobody is going to recognise him, and even if they do then we claim it’s not him, but one of his visiting cousins. Now do we have a deal?”

“Fine with me,” I state, “after all, I can guarantee it won’t be me.”

James whispers something in his brother’s ear and a smile comes to Kevin’s face. James then states, “If, and only if, Simon spends the rest of the day wearing the maid’s’ costume, then we will join him wearing girls’ clothes tomorrow. If he fails to make it to the end of the day, then he forfeits. Tomorrow, the first of us to change out of the outfits before an appointed end time will be forever classified as a chicken and have to clean the cowsheds.”

“Deal,” I state.

“Deal,” Kevin replies.

“Deal,” James adds, grinning. I get the distinct feeling he is up to something. However, I still have the advantage in this little venture.

“In that case, I’d better get changed, I will be back in a minute,” I say before dashing up the stairs.

I retrieve the costume from the back of my wardrobe. This is the only bit of girl’s clothing I don’t bother to hide, as my parents know I have this. I slip out of the jumpsuit and remove my knickers. The costume comes with its own extremely lacy panties. I don the garter belt and roll the fishnet stockings up my legs as swiftly as I can manage. Fixing them in place, I then pull the panties up and fix the matching bra round my chest. I put some foam inserts into the cups to simulate breasts. Finally, I take the dress and slip it over my head. The skirt section only comes to half way between my hips and knees.

I slip the lacy hat on my head then run into the bathroom after grabbing the red lipstick that was packed with the costume. Using the bathroom mirror, I apply the lipstick. It looks garish, but that is all part of the look. Returning to the bedroom, I grab the stiletto heels and thunder down the stairs. I stop at the bottom and sit on the bottom step to put the shoes on.

It has only taken me a couple of minutes, and I now make my entrance into the kitchen. I smile at the waiting faces and curtsey saying, “Salut, je suis Jasmine, votre femme de chambre Français. Comment puis-je áªtre de service ?” (Hi, I’m Jasmine, your French maid, how may I be of service?)

“I hope you boys like shovelling shit as much as you like spouting it,” Emily laughs, “I have a feeling you may lose this bet. Come on let’s get going or we’ll be late.”

“Okay,” James states, “See you at the pub this evening, Jasmine.”

“Pub? What pub? Why would we be meeting at a pub?” I ask.

“The Wherry over in Oulton Broad has a quiz in aid of Help for Heroes. We saw it advertised as we drove past on the way here and thought it might be fun to take part if we are back in time,” Kevin states, “it’s teams of four, and as there are eight of us all together we thought it would be a fun family activity.”

“Did you know about this?” I ask my parents.

“We agreed in principle last night after you and Emily went to bed,” my mother replies sheepishly.

“Don’t look at me,” my father adds, “you got yourself into this mess, and you can always take the forfeit. Besides, it’s far enough away that we are unlikely to meet anybody we know there.”

With that, the boys laugh and head for the car, followed by Emily and their parents. Emily mouths “Sorry,” on her way past. I guess she is feeling partly responsible for egging me on. She didn’t know about this plan either.

“I am not going to forfeit. If that means attending the pub quiz like this, then fine, I’ll go,” I state.

I suggested this as a way for me to be dressed as a girl for the weekend without having to worry about my parents objecting. I hadn’t planned to make a fool of myself in a silly costume, assuming that nobody else would be seeing me today. Tomorrow I can wear what I like, which means I am free to go into full girl mode, although possibly using a silk scarf instead of the wig. I would have difficulty explaining that. A thought strikes me and a broad grin spreads across my face.

“I have just thought of a brilliant idea. I am going to win this bet, and I know just how to do it,” I tell my parents, “after I finish cleaning the cottages I am going to ring some of my friends and call in a few favours. Nobody said I couldn’t wear anything over the top of this dress.”

With that, I head outside and hook the trailer up to the single-seat buggy I normally use. I drive it out of the barn and park near the kitchen door. I then proceed to load up the clean sheets and towels sat waiting in plastic boxes in the utility room. The boxes are about two feet wide by eighteen inches deep and one foot tall. They have lids that snap shut forming an airtight seal. We bought a hundred of them at a stock clearance auction. We use them for all sorts of purposes over the farm and I use these same plastic boxes in the bunker.

After loading up the cleaning materials I drive down the tracks to the rear of the cottages, again I can get there without needing to use public highways.

The first cottage has already been vacated by the holidaymakers. I set to and start cleaning the cottage for the next visitors, who are due to arrive this afternoon. I change the linen on the beds, replace the towels, Hoover and dust round, and then make sure the kitchen is clean. Occasionally I have to clean the oven, but this time it looks clean enough so I don’t have to do any hard scrubbing.

It takes me an hour and a half to do the first cottage. By the time I have finished the other two cottages have been vacated. I proceed on and clean the second. It’s midday by the time I finish, so I head home for a sandwich. After lunch, I return for the final cottage. My mother has been shopping, and joins me as I am finishing the last property. She stocks the fridges with milk, eggs, and a complimentary bottle of wine. These are small niceties but all help to encourage return business and keep our customer satisfaction ratings up.

After mother has inspected the cottages, and is satisfied, I tell her I have some things to sort out, and will meet her at home later. She queries where I am going. I tell her I’m heading back over to my friend in Somerleyton, the one I can reach by track without using roads. I explain that in order to be able to wear this outfit to the pub this evening without looking stupid I am going to see if I can borrow some items to wear over the top.

I head off down the tracks and then double back through the fields to reach the bunker. Unlike this morning, I am taking it slowly so that I’m not covered in muck thrown up by the tyres. Once inside I start searching through my clothes to find something I can adapt this silly costume with to make it look more presentable.

The maid’s costume consists of a black dress trimmed with white lace. The short skirt is puffed out with built-in petticoats. I find a black skirt that is about four inches longer than the hem of the dress and place it over the top. This covers the white lacy trim and makes the outfit look a bit more normal. I then find up a pair of skin-tight black leggings, which I wear over the fishnet stockings to hide them. I find a black pair of thin nylon socks that cover the gap between the leggings and shoes.

I find a black roll neck sweater, which I place on over the top of the dress, so that it is now completely hidden. The extra layers might mean I get a bit hot, but the temperature has dropped slightly in the last few days, so I should be okay. The final piece of the disguise comes from a dark-maroon headscarf, which I wrap around my head to hide my short hair and the silly little headband hat that comes with the outfit.

Going to the mirror, I remove the garish lipstick and apply a subtler shade. I also apply some eye shadow and blush suitable for an evening out. I smile at my appearance. I now look more like a normal girl than a boy in a silly costume. I will teach those smug wankers a lesson.

After picking out an outfit for tomorrow, I drive back to the farm and nervously walk into the kitchen where my parents are sitting having a tea break. My father is reading the paper while my mother reads the glossy magazine that comes with it.

“How do I look?” I ask, “I’m still wearing the maid’s outfit underneath, but I hope I now look normal enough that nobody will laugh at me in the pub. If you are happy to keep calling me Jasmine for the evening, then I think I can get away with claiming I’m another cousin if anybody we know spots me.”

My parents look at me with surprise. A grin spreads across my father’s face and he says, “You look gorgeous, I think you can pull this off. I can’t wait to see the twin’s’ faces when they catch a glimpse of you. I’m going to get my video camera out for this.”

“Are you sure you want to go through with this, honey,” my mother asks, concernedly. “If the boys at school find out, you will end up being branded a sissy, or worse.”

“I think I can talk my way out of any trouble at school, if they find out. After all, I am doing it for a dare. Besides which they already think I’m a sissy, and they assume that because Mike is gay I must be as well. Are you okay with this?” I swallow hard, scared at what I am asking, “I know you are adverse to alternative lifestyles, what is your opinion on me being dressed as a girl?”

“You know my stance on homos,” my father replies sternly, getting my meaning, “I think it’s against nature and won’t allow it to go on in this house. That is why Mike was asked to leave. I regret that I lost my temper with him. I am not entirely comfortable with this. I certainly wouldn’t want you doing it on a regular basis. However, occasionally for a joke is fine. Besides, I am looking forward to you taking those nephews of mine down a peg or two.”

It’s not the answer for which I’d hoped, but it’s better than I expected. I never thought I would be able to sit in the kitchen dressed as a girl in front of my parents without being in serious trouble. They are so going to freak out when they learn the truth about me.

As I am stuck wearing the maid’s costume for the rest of the day I can’t help outside for fear of getting in a mess, therefore I instead volunteer to clean the house and do the laundry while my mother helps with the farm chores.

I finally finish all the chores around half past three, and I decide to sit down for a rest. I have taken off the additional layer of clothes while I work and they are neatly folded and laid on the back of a chair in the lounge. I sit and look at what is on the telly. Seeing nothing I fancy, I have an idea of how to make my bet safer to win.

There is a chance that somebody from school may be at the pub quiz. If they call me Jasmine without first being introduced then that could cause a problem. If I can wear something with my name on, then that might help alleviate the issue.

I head up to the attic and find the old embroidery ring that I know is up there. I put the headscarf on and mark a rectangle on the material covering my forehead. Taking the scarf off I stretch it into the ring. With white cotton, I start to embroider ‘Jasmine’ onto the scarf, surrounded by some flowers.

My mother comes in and asks me what I am doing. I reply in my basic GCSE French, “Je suis Jasmine, la femme de chambre Française. Il s’agit d’un aide-mémoire pour vous de ne pas m’appeler Simon. Je pense que le plus sá»r moyen de victoire ce pari, c’est que si personne ne moi reconnaá®t. Cela veut dire en utilisant le nom d’une fille pour la soirée.”

My mother looks at me blankly, so I repeat in English, “I’m Jasmine, the French maid. This is a reminder for you not to call me Simon. I figure the safest way to win this bet is if nobody recognises me. That means using a girls’ name for the evening.”

“Okay, I’ll call you Jasmine, but don’t expect the boys to let you get away with it, they are going to do everything they can to embarrass you,” my mother replies.

I giggle and carry on with my sewing.

Our guests arrive back at half past five after being at the wedding, the reception, and then a party for most of the afternoon.

I smile at the boys as they come in and see me still sat lounging around in my uniform. As expected, my father is discretely videoing the event.

“Hi boys,” I say smiling, “are you ready for the pub quiz? I have spent the last hour revising likely questions.”

“You are seriously going to wear that outfit in public?” Kevin asks.

“Oh yes, but it will be underneath other clothes. You specified that I had to wear these clothes for the rest of the day, you didn’t say I couldn’t wear other things over the top,” I reply grabbing the leggings, jumper and skirt from the back of the chair I am sitting on. So that they can see that I am not cheating, I proceed to put the extra layer of clothes on in front of them. The rest of my family is also in the room and stifling laughter as they slowly realise I have outsmarted my cousins.

Emily turns to her brothers and says, “I hope you two have a good shower before we ride home tomorrow. I don’t fancy spending two hours in the back of the car with you two smelling of cow dung.”

I notice James and Kevin exchanging glances. I think they are now realising that I am not likely to back down on our bet. If I am willing to go to the pub dressed as I am then spending tomorrow in similar attire is not going to be a problem. I just hope they behave while we are out.

---

 

We head down the pub around six. The quiz doesn’t begin until seven thirty, but we want to get a meal first. Our guests had a cooked lunch at the wedding reception, so choose lighter food. I on the other hand opt for a shepherd’s pie, as I am hungry after all my work. I make sure to eat in a delicate feminine manner. I have lemonade with my meal, and suspiciously, the boys order the same. They usually drink coke.

It soon becomes apparent what their game is. When they think I’m not looking they keep swapping the glasses around so that I’m actually drinking three glasses of lemonade instead of one. I know what they are doing, and I wink at Emily who has also spotted what is happening. Emily is aware that I go to school as a girl, and therefore know that I will have no problem with walking into the Ladies’ if I need to go.

We split into two teams for the quiz. On Emily’s suggestion, we split into girls versus boys, with me as an honorary girl for the evening. Therefore, my father, uncle, Kevin and James form the ‘Whittaker Boys’. My mother, aunt, Emily, and I form the ‘Whittaker Girls’.

Another round of drinks is ordered. At least we are on a separate table now and the twins can’t interfere with my drink.

For the next forty minutes, we answer various questions on different subjects, writing our answers down and submitting them for marking. At the half time interval, I go to get up, but my mother places her hand on my shoulder preventing me from leaving.

“Where are you going?” she whispers.

“I need the loo,” I reply.

“You can’t use the gents looking like that. You will have to hold it until we get home,” my mother states.

“That is not an option,” I reply, “In case you didn’t notice James and Kevin were swapping the glasses round. I have had nearly four large lemonades, and there is no way I can last for another hour. I have been holding for the last twenty minutes, I have been desperate for the last five. I will simply use the Ladies’. It’s not like I’m going to see anything I shouldn’t and it’s not likely to cause a scene, unlike using the gents or wetting myself.”

I push my mother’s arm out of the way and walk towards the toilets. I notice Kevin is also heading the same direction, and I wink at him as I enter the restricted zone. I have been living as a girl part time for over a month. Going to the loo is not going to faze me at all. I enter a stall and take care of business before heading to the sink to wash my hands.

I am touching up my lipstick when my mother enters the room. She stares at me, annoyed, but doesn’t say anything, as there are other women present. I smile at her as I walk past her back into the bar.

As I cross the room, I notice the whispering going on at the boys table. I ignore them and sit down next to Emily, who winks at me, grinning.

She leans over and whispers, “You’re enjoying this aren’t you?”

I whisper back, “It’s not often I get to be myself around family and not have to worry about appearing too girly.”

The quiz continues through the second half and we sit patiently for the results. We come in fourth overall out of nine teams. Considering we are up against some veteran competitors, I think we did well. We also have the added bonus of beating the boys by three points. They came in fifth.

We have a final round of drinks, and I deliberately accompany Emily to the toilets a second time. I could have waited until we reached home, but I wanted to make my point. Nobody in the pub seemed to see anything amiss. The boys behaved and didn’t call me ‘Simon’ during the evening. I wonder if they are actually going to chicken out of the dare tomorrow. I have already decided I am wearing my dress, even if they don’t choose to wear the skirts I have found for them.

We retire to the farm later that evening. I have thoroughly enjoyed myself, and after the initial awkwardness about my presentation. I have relaxed and am chilled out by the end of the evening. After a nightcap, we all retire to bed. This time I get to use the bathroom uninterrupted as I go to the toilet and brush my teeth before bed.

Emily and I enter our room and I lock the door behind us. As I close the door I see my uncle look at us, and I simply wink. He has seen us both enter the room and there is no hiding the fact that we are both fully dressed, and therefore will be undressing together.

As Emily has already seen me naked and at least partially knows my secret, I have no worries about stripping in front of her.

As I have more layers of clothes, I take longer to undress. Emily lies naked on the bed on her side facing me. The makeshift divider is lying on the floor where she dumped it yesterday. I finish undressing and lie opposite her. We both look at each other’s bodies. I notice that Emily seems to be slightly aroused at my strip show.

“Emily, I don’t consider myself a lesbian,” I whisper to her so that nobody else can hear us. “I have tried to make myself look as feminine as possible, but have done so from pictures. I’ve never had any opportunity to actually feel and explore the real thing.”

Emily grins at me before reaching over and taking my hand. She places my fingers on her crotch and whispers, “Go ahead, as long as I get to do the same to you. I think I’m bi, and you are really turning me on.”

We spend the next hour exploring each other’s bodies. Emily has to bite down on a pillow several times to stop herself from screaming out in pleasure. I too find it hard to remain silent as she returns the favour. With my altered anatomy, I find the experience both painful and pleasurable. The constriction from the glue prevents me from becoming erect, but the pleasure overcomes the initial discomfort.

This does lead to an awkward question from Emily over the emissions, or rather lack of them, that I produce. I have to explain that I have deliberately removed some of my parts. This shocks her and she pulls away from me, frightened by the lengths to which I’m going.

I immediately start crying and pull her back to me, sobbing into her chest. I break down and tell her my innermost desires and fears about being a girl. She comforts me as I cry.

We are disturbed by a tap on the door. Emily flicks on the light, jumps out of bed and throws her nightie over her head letting it fall round her as she dashes across the room. I pull the covers over me so that I am hidden and she gingerly opens the door to her father. He comes into the room and sits on the end of the bed.

“What is going on in here? I thought I heard crying,” he asks quietly so as not to wake the others.

I pull the covers back to reveal my tearstained face. “Did anybody else hear me crying,” I ask worriedly.

“I deliberately left our door open so that I could hear if you two got up to anything,” he states. Both Emily and I turn red as we realise that he probably heard more than crying.

“Why don’t we head downstairs so that we can talk,” he tells us. I nod and Emily passes me my dressing gown and leads her father out of the room. I have pulled the covers down far enough so that he can see I am topless, and he turns away, assuming correctly that I’m naked.

I slip the gown on and follow the other two quietly down to the kitchen.

I let Emily take the lead as I am in no emotional state to speak.

“What did you hear, Daddy?” she asks cautiously.

“I was deliberately staying awake listening to see if anything happened,” he admits, “I heard some movement and whispering, but not enough to hear what was said. I listened to what I think where giggles and squeals of joy. It then went quiet and I could hear sobbing. I was worried that perhaps one of you,” he was specifically looking at me, “had pushed too far and the other regretted it.”

Emily looked at me, took a deep breath, and said, “It was me who went too far. I forced myself onto Simon and made him have sex with me. I was horny and wasn’t satisfied with what we agreed, no penetration. I pushed myself onto him and made him go further than he wanted. He is worried that I might get pregnant.”

“I see,” he says calmly. “You do realise that you have both broken the law and could get prosecuted. Normally the boy is accused of rape, as it is difficult for the female to be the aggressor, but it isn’t impossible for it to be the other way round.”

Having already spoken with my uncle on the subject, I know what he is doing. He wanted Emily to feel the consequences of her actions and realise that she could get hurt or into trouble if she carried on flirting the way she had been. It didn’t occur to him that she might go this far, and it would be me who got hurt, although he doesn’t know why.

“Did you use contraception?” he asks.

“No, Daddy,” she replies.

“In that case we better see if we can find a clinic to take you to tomorrow in order to have a morning after contraceptive pill,” he states, still talking calmly and quietly at his daughter. “I am sorry Simon, I should have realised that this could happen. I won’t hold you accountable and will smooth things over with your parents. You, young lady, are in serious trouble.”

I decide it’s time to intervene. “Sir, Emily is lying in order to protect me,” I declare, “she is still a virgin, I did not, and in fact cannot have sex with her, at least not in my current state.”

I stand up and open my gown to reveal my lack of male genitalia. My uncle looks at my crotch with surprise.

“I learnt a cross-dressing trick off the Internet, whereby an ice block is used to make the testicles withdraw into the body, so that the scrotum can be pulled over and glued to give a feminine appearance,” I state. The statement is true, and I don’t specifically say this is what I have done, as it isn’t, but I let my uncle assume it’s the method used.

“I can still get aroused, although I’m incapable of having an erection. I expected getting aroused would be uncomfortable, but didn’t expect it to be quite as painful. I was actually enjoying the discomfort, but in the end it became too much and Emily had to bring me to climax in order to relieve the pressure. I was crying with relief.” Again, I am telling the truth, but omitting certain facts.

“I think it may be an idea to unglue yourself before you get hurt,” my uncle says.

“I can’t, I don’t have any solvent. I have checked and a friend of mine has some that I can use before school on Monday,” I reply. “Don’t worry, I have done the research and I’m not in any physical danger and can manage until then. Just don’t tell my parents, I don’t think they would approve.”

There is some solvent in the bunker, but I won’t need to use it. While telling the truth, I leave out certain facts to give a slightly false impression to my uncle.

“I must admit it is an odd way to perform safe sex. I had no idea that you were into sadomasochism, but I am not going to judge you. I won’t be saying anything to your parents, other than you proved your trust. You, young woman are still in trouble, but we will leave that talk until we get home. Now get back to bed, and get to sleep, no more messing about,” Uncle Peter instructs.

We walk back to the bedroom and climb in bed, removing our clothes as we do so.

“I can’t believe he didn’t blow his top,” Emily whispers to me.

“He still might, although that doesn’t seem to be his style,” I reply, “I think he is aiming for guilt-tripping you rather than shouting. He effectively told me to go ahead and push you to your limit to see how far you would be willing to go. He is testing you to see if you can be trusted. I suggest when you have your talk you tell him the truth, don’t hold anything back, including my secrets if that is what’s required. I’m willing to risk him telling my parents. I realise my ploy can’t last much longer. Let’s get some sleep, I’m exhausted.”

We cuddle into each other and slowly drift off to sleep.

We wake up at around seven the next morning. I can already hear my father moving the cows outside. As I move to climb out of bed, I wake Emily up. She stretches and decides to get up, stating she needs the loo.

Figuring we could be heading for a repeat of yesterday, we grab our robes and leave the bedroom. The upstairs bathroom is occupied, so we head downstairs to see if the other one is free.

As we enter the utility room, we see that the door is locked. Emily stands and dances on the spot, looking at the back door. She starts to head towards it when the bathroom door opens. Uncle Peter doesn’t have time to leave the room before Emily runs at the door and pushes her way inside.

He looks at his daughter who is now stood by the toilet, dancing from one foot to the other. He comes out of the room, but instead of closing the door, he holds it open. Turning to me he says, “Well, get in there before she wets herself.”

I am surprised at his instruction, but seeing how desperate Emily is I comply and enter the bathroom. My uncle winks at me as I pass saying, “Have fun, but not too much.” He closes the door and I turn and lock it. As I do so, I hear the splashing of liquid, and a huge sigh of relief from Emily.

“Are you always this desperate in the mornings?” I ask as I take my gown off and hang it up.

“Yes, my alarm is set five minutes before everyone else’s so that I can get to the bathroom when I wake up. If it’s occupied I have to dash outside and water the plants,” she replies as I start to brush my teeth while standing naked at the sink.

We swap places so that I can use the loo and she can brush her teeth. We then start the shower and proceed to wash each other down. We are not attracted to each other sexually - there is no chemistry between us - but that doesn’t stop us from enjoying each other’s company while showering.

We dry ourselves off and put our gowns back on before leaving the bathroom. We come to a sharp halt when we find my mother outside the door.

“What do you two think you are doing?” she shouts angrily. We both freeze and stand looking at her, uncertain what to say.

My uncle appears behind her and says, “Exactly what I told them to do - which is less than you were doing at their age - or should I tell them about the school trip to Spain?”

I have never seen my mother go red as quickly or as brightly as she is now.

“Unlike you, I know Emily here is still a virgin,” my uncle continues as both Emily and I look at my mother in surprise, “the legal age of consent in Spain is thirteen instead of sixteen, and she took advantage of that difference. The school and both sets of parents were less than impressed when they were caught. They may have gotten away without being arrested, but the bollocking they got back home made up for it.”

“It didn’t stop you and Anne doing exactly the same thing the following year,” my mother replies.

I smile as I suddenly work out why my uncle seems so relaxed about us appearing to be taking part in underage sex. Different values and rules apply in different countries, and as both our parents took advantage of the varying laws to do something that isn’t normally allowed here, they can’t really shout at us without being hypocritical.

I wondered how he was going to smooth things over. I didn’t realise it would be so simple. My mother’s objections melt away once her history is revealed.

“Besides which,” my uncle adds laughing, “what’s wrong with two girls sharing the bathroom. I assume Jasmine is still with us, not Simon, as I believe the dare is still on. You may have outsmarted the boys yesterday, but I think they may get their own back today.”

As we walk into the kitchen, James and Kevin are sat at the table eating breakfast. They are already dressed, and I can see that they have indeed managed to outmanoeuvre me. I can tell by the direction that the buttons go that the plain white shirts they have on are technically blouses. Instead of trousers, they are wearing tartan skirts, which to the untrained eye appear to be kilts. Their sports socks and trainers can be considered unisex. I don’t bother asking what is under their skirts, as I suspect they aren’t wearing any underwear.

Everything they have on can be considered girls’ or unisex clothing. However, despite this, they still look masculine. While it is unusual to see boys in kilts, it isn’t completely unheard of. Unless you look closely, it looks like they are wearing boys’ clothes, even if they are slightly unusual.

“Do you like our outfits?” James asks.

“We got the idea after Hamish wore his kilt to the wedding,” Kevin adds.

“We persuaded Stacy and Marie to help us with some clothing,” James explains, referring to two of their cousins on their mother’s side who live within walking distance of the wedding venue.

They may get a few funny looks for wearing kilts, but they are not going to be ridiculed for appearing in girls’ clothing. They won’t have any trouble in using the toilets as I had at the pub. It doesn’t look like they are going to chicken out of going out in public, therefore the best I can hope for is to force a draw.

“Very clever,” I say as I grab some breakfast, “I promise not to point out what you’re actually wearing if you promise to call me Jasmine instead of Simon.”

“Deal,” the two boys reply after a short discussion.

After eating, I head upstairs to my bedroom. Emily follows me into the room and shuts the door. I asked for her assistance to get dressed. Although I know how to do the makeup myself, I don’t want to admit that so I am making it look like I need Emily’s assistance. The first thing I do is take my kit that I brought from the bunker and with my practiced hand do the makeup that I know works well for me. Using natural shades I emphasis the feminine while toning down the masculine. I soon make my face look rounder and my eyes larger. I draw my lips bigger, my eyebrows into a feminine line and apply some mascara.

After finishing my makeup, I remove my dressing gown and start to get dressed. I begin with a clean pair of white satin panties and a padded training bra that gives me a girlish figure. I then take the dress that I picked out from my collection yesterday and put it on.

The dress is slightly young for me and possibly a little too fancy, but I can get away with it as Sunday best. It is what could be considered a young girls’ party dress. It is pale yellow in colour with a white lacy collar. The sleeves are short and puffy, coming halfway to my elbows and tipped in white lace. The skirt is flared and billows out due to the three layers of petticoats built in underneath. It finishes two inches above my knees and extends upwards to a wide white belt that is tied round my middle with a bow at the back. The belt is above my belly button, giving the impression that my waist is higher and my legs longer than they really are. On my feet, I am wearing what I normally have on for school: a pair of shiny black t-bar shoes. The short white socks are unmistakably feminine due to the pattern woven into them.

I get the final item out of its box and sit looking at it, wondering if I dare wear it. Seeing my hesitation Emily reassures me and taking a deep breath, I place my wig on my head. I use a few spots of glue to secure it in place and then comb and decorate it with yellow hair clips.

I look in the mirror at the girl looking back at me. I am always slightly nervous that I will look like a boy in drag, but today my reflection has no traces of masculinity. Emily looks me over before stating that there is one thing missing. Reaching into her suitcase, she pulls out a nail extension kit. She had her nails done for the wedding and brought the kit in case they were damaged. She makes me sit at the desk while she applies quarter inch extensions and a glittery white polish.

With some trepidation, I follow Emily down stairs. Unlike me, she is wearing what the typical teenage girl would be dressed in given the choice, jeans and t-shirt. I may not be typical in my appearance, but I’m certainly feminine.

Our family are waiting for us in the lounge. I glide into the room, my head held high as one by one each of the people present catch sight of me, and fall silent. Emily is videoing the reaction as my father did yesterday. Today it’s his turn to do goldfish impressions.

“Wow, you look gorgeous,” says James in surprise.

“Thank you,” I reply, before planting a kiss on him as I pass him. Having left a lipstick mark on his cheek I sweep my skirt under me and sit in the chair that Kevin has vacated so that I can sit down. I adopt a sweet feminine pose with my legs crossed neatly at the ankles, knees together and hands folded in my lap.

“So where is it we were planning on going today? I do hope it is somewhere appropriate for the way I’m dressed,” I sweetly state in the most femininely demure voice I can manage.

This causes my audience to reboot from the shocked state in which they’ve been.

“We are going into Norwich for the day,” my father states. “If we leave in the next half-hour we should get there at ten and can get a coffee before the shops open. If we spend a couple of hours looking round the shops we can then grab some lunch. We haven’t been to the Castle Museum and Art Gallery in years. It doesn’t open until one, so we will head in there after lunch for an hour or two.”

“We will head straight home from there instead of coming back here, it will make the journey home shorter. Let’s get packed,” my uncle calls out.

“What about the cleaning of the cattle sheds that those two,” I say indicating my cousins, “were supposed to be doing?”

“Assuming none of you decide to change out of your current clothes or go into hiding until after we have finished looking round the museum, we will call it a draw and none of you have to clean the cow sheds,” my father states, much to the pleasure of both myself and the boys. “I will get that new apprentice from the college to do it when he arrives on Monday.”

I head upstairs with Emily to help her collect her things. It doesn’t take long, as she didn’t bring much with her for only two nights.

We soon set off for the half-hour trip into the city. Emily comes in our car, as it’s less crowded than having to sit three people on the rear seat.

After parking up, we wander to a nearby Starbucks for a coffee. By the time we finish the shops have opened and we take a slow stroll around the city centre. I am getting a few looks in my overly fancy dress, but not nearly as many as the two boys in kilts are. Especially when we walk past Debenhams window, where a tartan skirt identical to the ones that the twins are wearing, is on display on a female mannequin.

The boys are obviously self-conscious about how they are dressed. I on the other hand am having no difficulties whatsoever with wandering round in girl mode. In fact, I am more relaxed than I have ever been and spend most of the time giggling with Emily while looking at clothes.

We decide to split up for an hour or so and meet up later. My father, uncle, James and Kevin go off to look at the menswear and trawl through the male interest stores. There are a few model shops that they decide to look in.

I join Emily, my mother and aunt as we head into full-blown power-shopping mode. I think my mother and aunt are deliberately trying to embarrass me as we keep heading into the lingerie departments of various stores. Emily finds my predicament amusing, for the simple reason I am not in the least bit fazed by where we are going. In fact, I am enjoying looking round the underwear and spot a number of items that I wouldn’t mind owning.

Emily and I are browsing through some of the bras when I notice my aunt and mother speaking to one of the shop assistants. They are stood near a sign that says ‘free measuring service’ so I have a sneaky suspicion about what they are up to.

“When was the last time you where professionally measured?” I whisper to Emily.

“About three months ago, why?” she asks.

“Because I think you may be about to again,” I reply as I see our mothers coming over with the assistant.

Indeed, I seem to be correct as the assistant comes over and asks, “Emily, your mother tells me that you could do with a proper measuring as your existing bras are getting tight.”

“Some of the older ones are now pinching a bit,” Emily replies, “I think I have grown a bit recently and I’ve filled out some more.”

“What about you,” she asks turning to me, “do you also need measuring?”

“I have nothing worth measuring yet,” I reply honestly, “I’m a slow developer, although I hope to catch up soon. I can feel the buds forming and my skin is becoming tender, so I hope I’ll start filling out. With a bit of luck I may be able to switch from training bras at Christmas.”

The woman smiles at me and leads Emily and her mother into a side room to be measured. I wait outside with my mother. I have been relaxed and enjoying myself while with Emily, but standing in amongst the bras with my mother feels strange and slightly awkward.

“You seem to know a lot about bras and breast development,” my mother comments.

“Basic human biology, we covered sex education and puberty two years ago,” I reply, “I am familiar with the stages of development for both sexes, so it isn’t hard to tell her what she expects to hear.”

My mother stands looking at me, trying to figure me out. I ignore her and go admire the training bras for something to do. Emily comes back out and I find out that she has officially gone from an A cup to a B cup. This results in a search through the stands for some new bras in the new size. I assist Emily in finding what she is looking for. Our parents watch and give advice where needed. I think my mother is amused at my assistance.

Emily asks me to come into the changing rooms with her, but I decide that might be pushing things a little too far and politely decline. I don’t want to test my mother’s patience.

After Emily is the proud owner of three new bras, we leave the department store and end up at Claire’s jewellery counter. Emily has spotted some cheap necklaces and earring sets and goes over to take a closer look.

The green beaded necklace and earrings look cute, but I prefer the red ones myself. My aunt suggests that the red ones will go nicely with my hair colour. Emily spots some gold dangling hearts that she really likes, but soon realises that she can’t wear them, as she doesn’t have pierced ears.

“I keep telling you that the choices for clip-on earrings are limited,” her mother says, “If you want the better choice you will have to stop chickening out and get your ears pierced.”

I see an opportunity here and decide to see if I can steer the conversation to my advantage.

“You’re not afraid are you?” I ask, “I would have thought you would be jumping at the chance. Piercings seem to be the in thing at the moment.”

“Not everybody has pierced ears,” she replies, “you don’t.”

“If I could I would, you’re just making excuses,” I say crossing my arms.

“I am not,” she answers indignantly.

“Then get your ears pierced,” I say firmly, “that way come Christmas you can wear whatever cool rings you want and people will have something to buy you.”

“The school likes you to take them out for gym class and you can’t do that for six weeks,” she states, “I should have done them at the start of the summer holidays so that they were healed, but I will now have to wait until next year.”

“Just put sticky plaster over them like everybody else. There are at least three or four people at my school who are currently wearing plasters or tape on their ears during P.E.,” I state. “You’re just chicken. I would do it.”

“That tactic might work on my brothers, it doesn’t work on me,” Emily replies. “Besides which you are only saying that safe in the knowledge that you aren’t allowed to have pierced ears. The ‘I will if you will’ trick only works on a level playing field.”

“Why do you think Jasmine isn’t allowed earrings?” my mother asks Emily. “The matter has never been discussed. As long as there is only one normal-sized hole in each ear, I won’t object.”

I look at my mother in surprise. She has an evil grin on her face, and I get the impression I may end up getting my wish. I look round to make sure nobody is in earshot.

“Are you seriously saying that you are happy for me to get my ears pierced, as in plural, as in both of them?” I ask suspiciously. “Because I thought I would have to argue just to get a single earring, yet you are effectively saying you are happy for your son to have both ears pierced.”

“Yes, that is exactly what I am saying,” my mother clarifies. “If you want to get your ears pierced then I will let you. However, you will have to live with the consequences.”

“What consequences?” I ask cautiously.

She looks round to make sure we are still not being overheard, “I mean that despite current appearances you’re a boy with extremely short hair. If you go through with this, you will be sporting two earrings for at least the next six weeks that will be very noticeable and difficult, if not impossible, to hide. While I can see one earring could be considered cool, I am not sure that two would be taken in the same fashion. It will also look odd if you only ask for one ear to be done dressed like that as girls usually get them both done.”

I smile and giggle. If I was presenting as a boy at school, then it may be an issue. Two earrings on a boy can still be seen as a bit odd, but there are a couple of guys in the older years that have both ears done. The sheer girliness of earrings is actually going to aide me in convincing everybody I am a girl, simply because a boy would be unlikely to do it.

“Trust me, it isn’t going to be a problem,” I reply, still giggling, “nobody is going to care less if I turn up with earrings. Sure I might get the odd comment, but it will be a short lived event.”

Turning to the nervous-looking Emily, I say, “It looks like we have both run out of excuses not to have our ears pierced, let’s go look at the starter kits.”

I drag Emily over to a different counter where they have the starter earrings available. If I am going to maintain my pretence at being a boy, then I should limit myself to the metal balls. However, I’m not keen on them, and prefer the crystal designs. I don’t have to worry when in girl mode, as they are ideal, but I am hesitant about looking silly in boy mode.

I am already skating on thin ice by being in girl mode around my family. How they haven’t figured something is wrong yet, I don’t know. The chances of my masquerade lasting for the six weeks I have to keep the earrings in is unlikely anyway. Therefore, I might as well be happy while I can and I opt for a pair of 3mm clear crystals. They are flatter than the metal balls, so I will have fewer problems in P.E. and they look prettier.

Emily opts for a similar pair but in a rose colour. Our mothers have been filling in the consent forms while we choose, and after paying for the kits, we’re taken over to the piercing station to have them inserted. I pay for my own earrings and avoid my mother seeing which ones I have picked. I opt to go first, before she can change her mind and stop me, and to show Emily that there is nothing to it.

It actually hurts like hell, and I wince when they go in, but I deliberately hide that as much as possible for Emily’s benefit. As soon as I am done, we swap places and she gets her lobes stabbed as well. It brings tears to her eyes, but she desperately fights not to cry. She has a few swear words on hand when the technician asks her if it hurt.

A look of shock and anger appears on my mother’s face when she sees what the technician has inserted into my ears. However, it is already too late for her to complain, and I know she hates making a scene so won’t say anything until we are out of earshot of the staff and other customers.

After we leave the store, my mother asks me if I’m sure I know what I’m doing. I reply that it’s my choice and I can live with it.

After looking round a few more clothes shops, we head to a local restaurant to meet up with the boys. My father doesn’t look pleased when he sees my earrings, but considering Mum signed the consent forms he can’t complain. The twins find it most amusing that I have crystals in my ears. I simply ignore their comments and ask how they like walking round in skirts. This seems to shut them up. I again utilise the women’s bathroom after eating. However, I deliberately wait until after my mother has come back out before entering.

After lunch, we walk up the hill to the Castle Museum and Art Gallery. We spend an hour and a half walking round the various exhibits looking at artwork, the dungeons, and touring the keep’s battlements.

It is mid-afternoon before we emerge into the Castle grounds and head back to the car park where we left our vehicles. We say our goodbyes and depart in opposite directions. I was tempted to kiss Kevin and James goodbye, but decided that might be pushing too far, so I simply gave them a hug, something on which they weren’t particularly keen.

The drive home is tense with not a word spoken between us. I can see the condescending eyes of my father as he looks in the rear view mirror. My mother is annoyed, and has been giving me nasty looks all afternoon.

We are almost home when my mother finally lets rip, “When we get in you can change out of that ridiculous getup before anybody we know sees you. We were lucky at the pub yesterday, but I will not risk our family’s reputation any further with this stupid behaviour. You can take those ludicrous lumps of stone out of your ears as well. The holes should heal up without leaving scars.”

“So you were outright lying earlier?” I accuse her angrily.

“How dare you speak to me like that?” she snaps at me.

“I specifically asked you if you had an issue with me having earrings. You told me you had no objections. I then clarified that meant I could have both ears pierced and you made it clear that it was my decision to go ahead,” I state loudly, “I paid for these to be put in, and endured the pain of having them inserted. Now, only four hours later you are ordering me to remove them. Well it isn’t fair and it’s not going to happen.”

“You signed the consent forms?” my father asks my mother.

“Yes,” she replies.

“Did you tell him he could go ahead and pierce his ears?” my father asks.

“Yes,” she replies again.

“In that case they stay in. Simon is right. It’s not fair to object after they have been inserted. If you didn’t want him to do it then you should have stopped him beforehand, not whinge after the fact,” my father states.

“So you’re happy for your son to go round wearing girls’ earrings for the next six weeks until they can be swapped for a different pair?” she asks. “I thought he was going to put in a pair of metal balls, not some glittery crystal things designed for girls.”

“No, I would have objected and forbidden it from happening,” he replies. “However, I didn’t get that option so I’ll simply live with the decision, as will you.”

My mother shuts up, but I can tell she is fuming still.

“I considered the balls,” I say, “but these are easier to hide. They are a lot flatter, so when covered with some tape and coloured with some makeup, they won’t be as noticeable. If I had the balls put in, then they would stick out twice as far and even when covered it would be obvious I have lumps on my earlobes. I know exactly what I’m doing.”

I will be hiding them primarily when in boy mode at home, and what I have said is accurate, I can hide these better. Although my main reason for picking them is their girliness, and the fact they are cuter.

“What’s the point of having earrings that can never be shown?” my mother asks with annoyance.

“You are assuming that I’m actually going to hide them. I have already considered the reactions I will get to wearing these, and they aren’t what you might expect,” I reply. This is true, as they will be seen as normal. “Yes I will get some teasing, but nothing worse than I already endure. Thanks to Mike, everybody thinks I’m gay anyway, so why not play to the stereotype.”

Given the tension in the air, I decide to go out as soon as we get home, quickly running up to my room to grab the jumpsuit I wore yesterday. Not bothering to change into it, I shove it in a bag and head downstairs to collect the buggy keys to make my way to the bunker.

“Where are you going?” my mother shouts as I storm past her.

“Out,” I shout back, “I’m going to return the dress and wig. I don’t know when I’ll be back, probably later this evening.”

I slam the door as I leave the house and run to the barn before either parent can stop me. I floor the buggy out of the barn, power sliding it round the yard and skidding down the tracks flinging dust in the air as I hurtle towards my woodland sanctuary.

After parking the buggy and making sure it’s hidden from sight, I unlock the bunker and descend into my safe haven, locking the door behind me so that I can’t be disturbed.

Today has been both a good and a bad experience. I was able to be myself for the first time around family, but also confirmed my suspicions that they will never accept me as a girl. I have pushed them to their limit, and it’s ended in hostility. I can’t go on living like this. At least I now know there is a chance that my uncle will support me when I have to come out. He seems chilled out and much more open than his brother does.

I spend the rest of the afternoon and evening cleaning and combing my wig to get the dust out of it that I collected on the ride to the bunker. I pack my dress away in its airtight container for another day, changing into the jump suit. I cover the earrings with tape and makeup, proving my theory that they can be hidden. For tea, I heat up a can of soup using the camping stove. I don’t fancy going home, so I will wait until bedtime. I will get in trouble, but I simply don’t care anymore. I have had enough.

I fall asleep in the canvas chair with a blanket over me. When I wake up and look at my watch, I see it’s already half past ten. I reluctantly get up and head outside. It is dark, the sun having set three hours ago. Using the torch to see what I am doing, I lock the bunker and uncover the buggy. I had pulled a camouflage net over it in case it was spotted.

I slowly drive back to the farm. The buggy has lights, but they aren’t very bright. The night air is cool, but comfortable. The nights are still mild as summer turns to autumn when the nights rapidly close in. I keep the revs low to keep the noise down as I park in the barn. I can see the kitchen light is on as I cross the yard to the house.

As I traverse the hall to the stairs I hear my father call out to me from the lounge, “Simon, come here please.”

I walk into the lounge. My father is sitting in an armchair, with his feet up on a footstool. The Sunday paper is on his lap as he completes the crossword. A half-drunk glass of whiskey is in his hand. I note that my mother is not present. I assume that she has already gone to bed. We are of the ‘early to bed early to rise’ philosophy, utilising as much of the hours of daylight as possible. I take a seat opposite, trying to judge his mood. He doesn’t seem angry; in fact, he seems calm and mellow.

“Simon, you and your mother have a lot in common. Both of you are stubborn and can be singleminded. Once you have decided to do something, you see it through, which can be both a good or bad thing. You both tend to rub each other up, and because you are so alike, you get on each other’s nerves,” he states calmly. “You were challenged into dressing in the maid’s uniform and you stood up to that trial with dignity and resolution. You obviously put a lot of thought into your decisions. You took risks, but they were calculated ones.”

I nod, wondering where this is leading, surprised that I am not getting a bollocking.

“I suspect you wanted earrings, but were too afraid to ask, knowing that we would object. Your mother let you go ahead, but she’s upset by your choice of style,” he says, “I notice that you have covered them up, and you are right that they are not that noticeable due to their shape. I thought at first you had chosen rashly, but in hindsight, everything you have done over the last two days has been carefully and methodically worked out.”

He finishes drinking his whiskey before continuing, “I don’t want you to confirm or deny what I am about to say. I know that you have worn the maid’s costume before, as I have seen you use it when cleaning the cottages when you thought nobody could see you. I don’t understand your motivation, and I don’t want to know, but I think the term cross-dresser is applicable. You seem to like dressing up as a girl and you get a kick out of it. I don’t approve of this behaviour, but I’m not stupid enough to try to change it, as I know it won’t do any good.”

I sit in shock at his statement. He is acknowledging my cross-dressing and isn’t making an issue about the subject. This is not what I was expecting, as it’s out of character.

“I made mistakes with Mike that resulted in him leaving. I don’t want to make that mistake with you,” my father admits, “I can see what you are doing. You have unfairly been labelled due to the actions of your brother. Rather than let them get to you, you want to prove yourself as an individual, and the way you seem to be choosing to do it is by going metrosexual. By deliberately dressing and acting effeminate you are effectively saying up yours to your would be bullies.”

I can understand his reasoning. However, he hasn’t worked out the real motive as of yet. Curious I ask, “You don’t object? I wouldn’t have thought that you would approve of me opting for such a style.”

“I don’t approve, but I’m not going to stop you. You want to wear girls’ earrings to school, then you take the risk and the consequences. Don’t complain if you get bullied because of it,” my father states. “If you want to dress as a girl occasionally then fine, but keep it discreet. I can’t see that going over well with some of the more traditional views of our friends in the farming community, so please keep this in the family.”

“Thank you,” I reply, “I will do my best not to disappoint you, however I do fear that the day will come in which I will fail.” The day he finds out about me attending school as a girl will qualify.

“My brother was most impressed by your restraint and maturity with his daughter,” he adds, “He wouldn’t say how he knows you’re both virgins, but he stated that he was certain it was the case. I was reluctant to let you two share a room, as I thought you may not be able to resist temptation. Alternatively, if you did then it might mean you were gay. However, you seemed to enjoy each other’s company without going too far, which is more than Peter or I can claim.”

“Spain?” I ask and he nods. “Uncle Peter told us what happened. I’ve never seen Mum go so red so quickly.”

“How did you convince him?” he asks.

I go bright red; this is not something about which I’m comfortable talking. “It’s a bit embarrassing. After the first night, and what happened in the morning, I suspected that Emily might want to take things further the second night. When I went out to get the additional clothes, I also physically restrained myself with a technique used by cross-dressers, with my friend holding the release mechanism so that I couldn’t give into temptation.”

Okay, so I’m partially lying again. I am restrained in that I have glued myself up, but it’s permanent rather than temporary for this weekend.

“I think I’ve heard enough,” my father raises his eyebrows, but doesn’t query further. “I promised your mother I would speak to you and I have. You also shouldn’t have stayed out so late. We have never given you a curfew, so technically you didn’t break any rules. I won’t ask where you were this time, but don’t do it again, now let’s get to bed. We have work to do in the morning.”

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I follow my usual routine on Monday morning. It is raining hard today, which makes shifting the cows and goats for milking unpleasant. I keep well clear of the sheep. Not only do I find the smell of damp wool unpleasant, I usually end up on my bum sitting in the mud. They have a nasty habit of running into me and knocking me over. My legs are soaking wet by the time I need to leave for school and I don’t fancy changing just to get soaked again on my bike.

My working coat is a wax-covered short trench style that comes down to the top of my thighs. It keeps the top half of me dry, but the section of exposed trousers between the bottom of my coat and the top of my boots gets wet. I keep my head dry under a waterproof kangaroo-skin cowboy hat.

I do own a pair of waterproof leggings that I can wear over the top of my trousers. They are okay for cycling in, but I find them uncomfortable when working, as they are slightly bulky.

Instead of changing I put my school uniform in my bag and ride off out of the farm in my work gear. I tell my parents that I will change when I get to school. This is actually allowed. One of the things covered in the introductory lecture was that the school is trying to promote fitness by encouraging cycling. They therefore unlock the changing rooms and allow students who arrive by bike to shower and change before registration if they wish.

The changing room showers consist of a corridor with spray hoses along one side in which you can line up. One of the end nozzles can be operated independently of the others. Therefore, you can run one shower instead of all of them. During lessons, the entire system is used, but for other times, such as before school, the single nozzle can be switched on.

I unfortunately need to take my hat off to put my cycle helmet on instead, which means my head gets wet while riding and water trickles down my neck and soaks my back underneath the coat.

I stop at the bunker briefly to swap the uniform and pack my wig. I then cycle most of the distance to school before stopping at the local supermarket. After checking nobody is watching, I dismount and remove my helmet.

I am round the side of the building near the recycling point. There is a large overhang, so I am not being rained on. I dry my head with a towel I have in my bag, and then put on my wig and Australian hat. I pop into the supermarket for some feminine supplies. I have P.E. again today and don’t want to be caught out again if I start bleeding. I manage to smile in embarrassment at the woman overlooking the self-service tills as I leave.

I’m early today, as I haven’t stopped yet to change clothes. I decide that as I’m not wearing my helmet I will walk the rest of the way pushing my bike. I arrive as the doors open and put the bike in the sheds. As I am one of the first to arrive, I have the choice of stand.

I make my way over to the sports block as Mr Morris is unlocking the changing rooms. Seeing me turning up soaking wet, he opens the girls changing room door for me and lets me in. I thank him and head inside. With my wig in place, he doesn’t question my gender. My coat is bulky so the lack of any chest development isn’t an issue.

I do wear a padded bra, but obviously, the other girls know that, having had to take it off to use the showers.

I am alone in the room so I am able to glue my wig on for safety. I do this in a toilet cubicle just in case somebody comes in. My caution proves to be well founded as I am soon joined by several other girls. I almost have a heart attack as I come out of the cubicle and recognise Wendy. She is in a higher year and is the daughter of one of the farmers in our consortium.

This is very bad. Luckily, she is talking with one of her friends and not looking in my direction. I quickly slip over to a bench and put my bag down, hanging my coat and hat from a peg on the wall. Keeping my back to Wendy I strip out of my soaking clothes and don a shower cap to keep my wig dry. Laying a towel on the floor, I go to the single shower and start it up.

I notice Wendy giving me a funny look as I go into the shower. My wet weather gear is not typical for a person my age, and is masculine in appearance. She knows what I usually wear so I suspect she is surprised to find another person wearing similar clothing, especially a girl.

I quickly rinse myself, allowing the hot water to warm me up. I had become chilled from the cold rain. I deliberately turn my back to the shower so that I am facing out into the changing rooms. Wendy catches sight of my naked body and stops looking in my direction. Once again, my lack of visible male genitalia is working in my advantage to dissuade her that I am Simon.

I dry off and get dressed in my school uniform, putting my soaking clothes in a separate carrier bag so that nothing else becomes damp. Leaving the changing rooms, I head to my locker to dump my soggy outfit and swap out the books I need. There is a shelf in the locker so that I don’t have to put anything on top of the wet clothes. It is a tight fit to get my hat and coat in under the shelf.

I am still early to registration and have to wait for Mr Francis to turn up before I can gain access to our homeroom. I am one of the driest people in the class, as not many students take advantage of the changing facilities.

Mary, ever observant, notices that I’ve had my ears pierced. This leads to several comments from other girls complementing me on my choice of earrings. Julie and Josh both look at me in confusion as to how I’ve managed to pull this little stunt off.

At lunchtime, Julie is still giving me nasty looks, and I get the impression that she would like to talk to me alone. This time I am ignoring her. I get to the common room before she does and I’m already involved in a game of chess with Anne by the time she turns up.

I then get talking with Mary and Alison so Julie is not able to get near me. As it is still raining nobody wants to venture outside so the building is crowded. There is nowhere where we can go for a quiet chat.

After afternoon registration, we head over to the sports block trying not to get wet. The teachers send us straight into the changing rooms so that we don’t get too damp and instruct us to dress in our indoor kits. I follow the same routine as the first PE lesson, changing into my kit while keeping turned away from Julie.

We are led into the slightly smaller gymnasium while the boys go into the larger sports hall. They will be playing basketball, a sport that I don’t particularly enjoy. The girls get to play badminton, a game I much prefer.

Julie is still not happy and gives me nasty looks throughout the lesson. I don’t think it helps that I am actually quite good at this activity. I think she perceives that I have an unfair physical advantage. I don’t think this is the case as testosterone is a large factor in sporting advantage and I haven’t been able to produce much for nearly six weeks.

We rotate round in competition and it is not long before I am against her. Every single opportunity she has she smashes the shuttlecock directly at me. While this is a valid tactic as it is often tricky to return, I do get the impression that she is deliberately trying to injure me. I might be getting paranoid, but I’m not the only one to notice.

Mary comments, “What’s her problem?” at one point in the lesson. I shrug in response.

At the end of the period, we all file back into the changing room. I start stripping my t-shirt off as soon as I’m inside, aiming once again to be the first girl undressed and in the showers. I think I’m safe after last time, but I want to make certain that there are no problems.

I have been wearing a sanitary towel in my underwear and I check it before I remove my knickers. This time there is no blood, and I’m thankful that I won’t be having a repeat of last lesson.

Once stripped I don’t bother wrapping my towel round me as some girls do on their way to the showers. Instead just carrying it by my side as I saunter across the room, keeping my eyes focused on my feet. This allows anybody who cares to look to see me naked, without me seeing much in return.

For the second time today, I let the water from the school showers rinse me. I don’t spend long as I know Julie will be waiting for me to exit before she enters. I half expect her to do something, for example barging into me and knocking me over, but our teacher isn’t leaving the room and instead is keeping a close eye on things.

I get the impression Mrs Hargreaves is keeping an eye specifically on Julie and I. However, I may just be paranoid that she suspects something about me. Perhaps she has noticed the hostility towards me and is staying to make sure that nothing happens between the two of us.

The lesson ends without incident and we head off to the final period of the day. Today this is English. We have just started reading a book in class set in the First World War, ‘All Quiet on the Western Front’ by Erich Maria Remarque.

At the end of the day, I pick up the clothes I wore this morning from my locker and deposit my P.E. kit. I will take it home to wash tomorrow, as I know my mother will be out meeting the other farmers’ wives. They take it in turns as to where they use and today I think they are at the vicarage. The vicar’s wife is also one of the women in the group.

I walk out of the school grounds wearing my kangaroo cowboy hat to keep my hair dry. While most people rush off due to the weather, I push my bike slowly down the road. I have a dilemma about what to do. I don’t like to ride without my helmet, but can’t wear the helmet and hat at the same time. It is still raining and I don’t want to get the wig wet. I’m wearing a skirt, so taking the wig off and wearing the helmet would reveal my short hair. I would look like a boy in drag, something that is too risky.

I do have a pair of trousers in my locker, but forgot to pick them up and can’t be bothered to go back for them now. I walk until I am out of the busy traffic. Once I reach the country lanes and the end of the pavements I decide to take the risk and ride without my helmet. I take things slowly and make my way to the bunker. I am drenched by the time I arrive. My legs are soaking wet from the spray off the front wheel. Cycling isn’t a very practical means of transport in bad weather, as you have to spend extra time constantly changing outfits. It is a good job I have a spare uniform for tomorrow. I hang my clothes up and change into a dry boy’s uniform.

Having changed to the mountain bike and now without the wig I put my helmet on and slowly ride home. This time I remain dry as I have a pair of waterproofs that I can wear over trousers. Unfortunately, I can’t wear them with my skirt.

As soon as I get home, I head upstairs to the bathroom, grabbing a nice warm fluffy towel on the way. I take a short hot shower to warm myself up and then dry off.

Tuesday the weather is a lot dryer. There are a few showers left but I am able to get to and from school without getting wet. Thankfully, the day was uneventful. Julie was being her usual distant self and I spent most of the day conversing with my new friends instead.

I know that my parents will be out when I get home. Mum will be at her coffee afternoon, and my father is helping to do vaccinations at a neighbouring farm. I therefore bring my actual P.E. kit home to wash, as well as my spare school uniforms. In addition to the one I am currently wearing, which will last me for the next few days, I also have the one that got soaked yesterday and the one I wore for part of last week.

My first job on getting home is washing my girl’s clothes and get them into the dryer before my parents arrive back. This is the most risky part of my operation, as I have no way of explaining why I am washing girl’s school clothes. I don’t bother with the washing machine, as it’s too slow. The shortest wash takes over an hour and I simply don’t have the time. I therefore fill the utility room sink with hot water; add some soap powder and swiftly hand wash my skirts, knickers and bras. The tops are unisex and I can wash them anytime.

I shove them in the machine for a quick spin before ironing them almost dry. I cut it fine, but manage to get the items to my room before my mother arrives home. I then proceed to cook the evening meal while she sees to the animals, joined half an hour later by my father.

My parents may be homophobic, but they are not sexist. Therefore, no task on the farm is seen as gender specific, and this includes the traditional feminine roles of cooking and cleaning. We all take turns were needed to get the work done. As I can’t do a lot of manual labour due to my size and age, I tend to get the domestic duties more often. I like cooking and have no issue taking the traditional housewife’s role.

I’m drying my hands on a towel after finishing the washing up when there is knock on the back door. My mother, who is drying the dishes, calls out for our visitor to come in. I get a scare when Wendy comes walking in the door carrying a sack of potatoes.

Wendy saw me in the changing room yesterday before school, and did a double take until she saw me in the shower. I am now in boy mode, but my earrings are still in and uncovered. The only time I have covered them is during P.E. on Monday. I don’t need to cover them at school, and as my parents know I have them, it’s usually pointless at home.

“Nice earrings, Simon,” Wendy states, “There is a girl who wears a pair just like them at school.”

She is giving me a funny look. I don’t know how to react, as she is obviously suspicious. The earrings, while not unique, are rare. The only thing markedly different between my modes is the wig.

“Thanks,” I reply cautiously, “I got my ears pierced at the weekend.”

Wendy looks puzzled, wondering why I am wearing girl’s earrings. I also catch her looking over to my coat and hat, which is hanging from the hooks in the utility room. They are visible through the open door. I get the nasty feeling she is putting two and two together and making four.

“Thanks, Wendy,” my mother says, “we were almost out of spuds. Thank your mother for me. Do you fancy a cuppa?”

“Yes please,” Wendy replies, taking a seat at the table.

Susan, Wendy’s mother, has a sideline growing potatoes. She doesn’t grow enough for a commercial crop but she supplies all the farmers in our consortium with potatoes year round and also sells a few from the local village shop when she has a surplus.

“So, I hear you are now going to Brahms High,” Wendy states, turning back to me. “Who have you got as a form teacher? I haven’t seen you about.”

I fill the kettle and switch it on as my mother prepares the cups and teapot as I reply, “I’m in 9JF, Mr Francis’s class. I’m up the other end of the school from you, so our paths don’t cross much. I’ve seen you in the corridors but you were in deep conversation with your friends, so didn’t want to interrupt.”

“I bet your earrings have caused a stir, I assume you must be wearing them to school,” she states.

“I can’t take them out. I’ve had a few comments, but the novelty soon wore off. Most of the girls seem to think they’re cute,” I reply.

“Are you in a class with anybody from Porterhouse? There doesn’t seem many in this year’s intake,” Wendy asks.

“Josh Wilkinson and Julie Phillips are in my class,” I cautiously state. I don’t want to lie and get myself in a knot, but I’m also worried that it might make things difficult if she comes looking for me at school.

My mother pours the tea and hands the mugs round to us all. My father briefly comes into the room to collect his drink and say hello to Wendy. I take the opportunity to excuse myself saying I have homework to complete.

I escape to my bedroom and get my reading book out. I have to read the next chapter before the next lesson. It is several minutes before I hear the back door. Crossing to my window, I see Wendy cycling out of the farmyard. I wait for a few minutes and then sigh in relief. There is no screaming from my parents, so she mustn’t have said anything further about school. That was too close for comfort.

I may have no option but to admit the truth to Wendy. I don’t know what her reaction might be, if she tells on me then the results will be disastrous.

Putting it out of my mind as being something beyond my control, I continue with my homework, listening to some music to relax before heading to bed.

Wednesday morning the weather has turned back to rain so I repeat the routine from Monday. Having donned my wig in the shelter of the supermarket roof overhang, I walk into school with my bike and head again to the changing rooms. I am running later today as I helped with the milking and it took longer than usual. It is already twenty to nine when I arrive, and I still haven’t changed clothes.

I walk into the girls’ changing room in my coat and hat. Wendy is sitting on one of the benches drying her hair as I come in. She looks directly at me and grins as I go to a free bench and put my belongings down. I don’t have time for a shower this morning, and as I’m not doing P.E. I don’t need to glue the wig on. It is only at risk of coming off if I am shaking my head about, which may happen in times of physical activity.

I hang my coat and hat up and start to strip naked. I am soaked to the skin again and swiftly remove my clothes so that I can dry myself with my towel. Wendy comes and sits on the bench beside me as I towel myself down.

“Hi, I’m Wendy, what’s your name?” she asks.

“Jasmine,” I reply softly. I hope that by slightly changing the pitch and speaking at a lower volume I can disguise my voice.

“That is an unusual hat you have there,” she says as she picks it up and looks at the underside, “I know a boy who has an identical one, right down to the name label inside.”

Turning the hat round her finger is pointing at the label stuck on the inside that reads ‘S. Whittaker’ in small black letters.

“There is a stall on the market at Yarmouth that sells them,” I answer, “they aren’t that uncommon.”

I am starting to get scared. The five-minute warning bell sounds, the other few girls that were in the room dash out the door leaving Wendy and me alone. Seeing this, Wendy grabs my hair and gives it a sharp tug, pulling the wig from my head.

“Hey,” I shout angrily, snatching the wig back from her and putting it back on my head.

“Simon, what the hell are you doing in here pretending to be a girl?” Wendy asks angrily.

I drop my towel. I haven’t yet started to dress so I am now stood naked in front of her. I decide the best form of defence is to attack.

“Do I look like a fucking boy?” I snap back angrily, “I might not be Pamela Anderson, but I certainly don’t have a cock. I suggest you should have gone to Specsavers if your eyesight is that bad.”

I stand with my hands on my hips staring at her before grabbing my knickers and pulling them forcefully up my legs. I wrap the training bra round my chest, and swiftly fasten the hooks behind my back in a fluid and well practiced movement.

“You better keep the fact I’m wearing a wig secret,” I angrily, but quietly, state as I continue to dress in my top, sweater and skirt, “or you might find yourself needing one as well.”

Having finished dressing I sit down and slip my socks and shoes on my feet. Mrs Hargreaves comes into the room to hurry us up. Wendy gives me a menacing stare and storms out of the room. I collect my belongings and head to registration.

I make it into the room as the bell rings. Mr Francis is already reading the first name on the register. I swiftly sit down next to Alison. I answer my name when called. After the register is finished, we are instructed to head to the drama studio, as it’s our year’s turn for having an assembly.

Alison whispers in my ear as we walk out of the room, “Your hair is slightly crooked.”

I whisper thanks and look in the reflection of the windows as I walk down the corridor. Once in the darkness of the drama studio seating, I feel my hair and straighten it out. I look to see if anybody has noticed and I can see Julie smirking at me from a few seats over. I haven’t told her that I wear a wig, but I assume that she has probably worked it out.

I am beginning to regret not gluing the thing on this morning. That way I wouldn’t have had the problem of it being pulled off. The glue is now locked in my locker, and I won’t have opportunity to do anything until break time.

We sit to a semi-interesting assembly by our year head talking about achievement and finding our true talents. He relates a story about a person who was regarded as useless at most sports, until he picked up a javelin and shocked everybody by throwing it twice as far as anybody else.

The assembly doesn’t last long and we are soon off to our lessons. The first lesson is French and its one of the lessons in which I’m separated from Julie, Alison and Mary. In this lesson, I sit next to Josh. The tables sit two people side by side in rows and columns. It is unusual for a table to be mixed gender, but as neither of us know many of the other students, we decided to use this arrangement.

The second lesson is maths. There is a lot of whispering and giggling going on from Julie, Lisa, Rebecca and Anne as I enter the room. I get the impression that something is up. I take my seat next to Mary, who is looking annoyed.

“Julie’s been spreading rumours about you wearing a wig,” Mary warns me. She is aware of my fake hair from our swimming trip although isn’t familiar with the reason for it. I deliberately left it vague as a farm related mishap that resulted in my head needing to be shaved.

As I feared, Julie is starting to become a problem. I suspected that she might try something. At least Julie is not openly trying to out me as a boy. All the girls we share lessons with have seen me naked, so she doesn’t have the confidence to openly accusing me of being something other than I appear. I can defend that too easily and make her look petty and stupid. Instead she has realised I have another weak spot and is focusing on my hair.

The giggling and whispering stops as Mrs Bannister enters the room to start the lesson. We spend the next hour practicing trigonometry.

As we pack our books away at the end of the lesson, I whisper to Mary, “I better glue my hair on before someone else tries to pull it off.”

She nods and we leave the room together. We are closer to the door than Julie and her friends so make a swift exit. Alison has been in the next room, and meets us outside in the corridor. She tags along as we head for the lockers, walking as fast as we can get away with.

“What’s the rush?” Alison asks.

“Bad hair day,” Mary says under her breath pointing in my direction. Alison twigs the problem.

They stand behind me guarding my back as I retrieve the glue bottle from my locker. I also pick up the bottle of solvent and slip it into my bag as a precaution. I never take one without the other, as I never know when I might need to change gender and don’t want to be stuck without being able to remove the wig.

We are close to one of the girl’s toilets so we quickly flock into the bathroom. I find one of the empty cubicles and lock myself in. I hear Mary and Alison go into the stalls on either side of me. There are five stalls in total and we are now occupying three of them. I drop my knickers, lift my skirt and sit down. While I relieve myself, I might as well while I’m here; I glue my hair in position.

I flush the toilet and exit the stall. I wash my hands and then brush my hair while I wait for my friends to finish washing. Mary was quicker than I was, but Alison has taken longer to come out. From the rustling of plastic wrapping, I guess that she has an extra problem to deal with today.

We leave the toilets and head to the canteen tuck shop for some refreshments. I take a plastic cup and fill it from the cold-water dispenser. Lisa, one of Julie’s friends, comes and stands beside us. She is holding a can of coke at arm’s length and pulls the tag to open it. The can explodes into a fountain as the pressure is released and the majority of the liquid is aimed in my direction. My head and shoulders are covered in the sticky brown liquid.

“You bitch!” I shout, throwing the contents of my now half-drunk cup of water in Lisa’s face in anger.

“Jasmine Whittaker, Lisa Matthews, what is going on here?” Mr Court states loudly from part way across the room. The room falls silent and all eyes turn in our direction.

“I’m sorry it was an accident,” Lisa states, still holding the dripping can.

“No it wasn’t,” states Josh from behind me, “I saw her shaking the can deliberately to cause it to explode.”

“Both of you go stand outside the staff room door in silence! Now!” Mr Court instructs.

We both comply and head through the door into the corridor outside the staff room. Mr Court disappears inside and a few minutes later one of the female teachers emerge.

“Lisa, you look damp. Jasmine, you’re soaked. Do either of you have spare clothing, P.E. kit for instance?” Mrs Garwood asks.

Lisa shakes her head indicating she doesn’t. I reply, “I have a spare set of clothes in my locker, may I change into them.”

“Yes, please go fetch them and return here,” Mrs Garwood instructs, “I believe there is a sweater in lost property that you can borrow, Lisa.”

I return to my locker and pick up the bag with my spare boy’s uniform that I keep in case I have to do an emergency gender change. I am back outside the staff room within a couple of minutes.

Lisa is still standing waiting outside the staff room door and Mrs Garwood emerges carrying a sweater as I return. “Follow me,” the teacher tells us and we follow her to the changing rooms.

As soon as we are in the relative privacy of the changing room, I take my soaked top, bra, and skirt off. I go to a sink, wet a paper towel, and start to wash myself down. The coke has soaked through to my skin and left me feeling sticky. Looking in the mirror, I can see that my wig is also soaking and will need a wash.

“Take that top off and dry yourself off,” the teacher tells Lisa.

Lisa crosses her arms in front of her chest and states, “There is no way I’m getting undressed with that pervert in the room, staring at my tits.”

“I am not a pervert,” I state angrily, “I don’t know what you have heard, but it’s wrong. I have no interest in seeing you naked. The only lustful stares you will get from me are of jealousy, not from sexual attraction. I’m not a lesbian. If you are that paranoid turn your back towards me or use a toilet cubicle.”

Lisa has the most well developed chest in our year as far as I am aware.

“Jasmine, you might be better off taking a shower,” Mrs Garwood states, “you can then wash your hair. I have some ribbon if you need to tie it up while it dries.”

“I wish things were that simple,” I state as I fill a sink full of warm water. I dab the solvent on the small glue spots holding my wig in place and ease it slowly off my head. I remove the hairpiece and place it in the sink, letting the water soak the stain.

“As you can see, I choose to wear a wig, something that Lisa found out this morning. I saw Julie and her commenting and laughing behind my back. She deliberately staged her ‘accident’ so that I would be forced to remove it and embarrass myself,” I state, putting a sarcastic emphasis on accident. “I have to wash the wig, and I can’t practically wear it while wet. I’m therefore well and truly screwed.”

“Is this true, Lisa? Did you deliberately soak Jasmine to embarrass her?” Mrs Garwood asks.

“It’s about time she got her comeuppance,” Lisa replies sarcastically, “The pervert is a complete and utter fraud. It is about time everybody started see what Jasmine really is.”

“And what is that Lisa?” I shout angrily, “What vile, bigoted, twisted misconception have you been told?”

I take my fresh clothes out of the carrier bag. I don’t have a spare bra, so slip the spare top on without one. I pull the trousers up my legs and fasten them. It feels exceedingly weird getting dressed as a boy while in the girl’s changing room. Clothing doesn’t usually bother me and I’m not normally uncomfortable wearing male garments, but something about the current situation doesn’t feel right.

“That you used to be a boy called Simon,” Lisa states coldly.

“You’ve seen me naked. Do I look like a boy?” I ask.

“Take a look in the mirror, Simon,” she laughs sarcastically.

I turn and look at my reflection. She is of course correct. My knickers being the only bit of girl specific clothing I’m wearing, the rest is either male or unisex. With my wig off, the only thing giving anything of a feminine appearance are the earrings, and they just look silly against my obviously male buzz cut.

“You are certainly looking like a boy at the moment,” Lisa states, rubbing the point in.

I stare in the mirror, the image becoming blurry as my tears escape down my face. I feel like curling up in a ball and crying. My charade is falling down fast, as is my resolve to carry on. I close my eyes and fight back my emotions. I can feel the tentacles of depression wrapping their darkness around me. Swallowing hard I force my embarrassment and sadness to turn into anger to motivate me in one last fight.

Turning and staring at my opponent, I work myself up into a tirade of pure aggression, “Do you think I enjoy looking like this! Why do you think I wear the wig in the first place? I hate looking like I do. I can barely stand seeing my own reflection. It was not my choice to have hair this short. I had to have it cut off, and I can’t wait for it to grow back. That is why I go to so much trouble to hide it, you try shaving your head and seeing if you get laughed at.”

I am now shouting myself horse. Lisa has taken a couple of steps backwards in fear and Mrs Garwood is looking on worried by my emotional outburst.

“I am not a boy, and I never have been,” I state.

If you regard ‘boy’ and ‘girl’ as descriptions of gender, and ‘male’ and ‘female’ as descriptions of physical sex, then my statement is correct. Using those definitions, I am a male girl.

“I’m neither a pervert nor a lesbian. I have told you before I’m not interested in girls sexually,” I shout. “Would you rather I use the boys’ changing room and ogle the guys in the showers. I’m sure they would get a kick out of seeing me naked. Just what do you want from me? What are you trying to do, get me beaten up? Expelled? Killed? Why do you hate me? I have done nothing to you!”

My voice is breaking under the emotional strain and I can no longer see clearly because of the amount of tears falling down my face. I slump to my knees and roll up into a ball on the floor sobbing hysterically. The sounds of the room are drowned out by the pounding of my heartbeat in my ears as I feel my head throbbing from the pressure.

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It is several minutes before I realise that somebody is trying to get my attention. I feel an arm round my shoulder embracing me in a hug. I am vaguely aware that there is somebody sat on the floor beside me. Leaning into the person, I rest my head on their shoulder as they comfort me and bring me back from the abyss.

Gradually I regain my senses and wipe my eyes. Lifting my head and looking around me, I am astonished by who is present. The person I have been leaning on is Wendy. Surprised, I pull away in fright and scuttle backwards so that my back is against the benches lining the room.

“Don’t panic, I’m on your side,” Wendy says sympathetically. “Sorry I snapped at you this morning, you caught me off guard. I couldn’t work out why and how you seem to be a girl.”

Looking around the room, I can’t see anybody else present. “Are we alone?” I whisper.

She nods and I continue, “I seem to be a girl because I am a girl. I always have been. Yes, I’m male, but physical sex and gender isn’t always the same thing, and as you have already seen I have taken steps to hide my defective plumbing.”

“You had me confused on Monday, so I have been keeping an eye on you trying to figure out if I’m going crazy. I have been looking for you at school for over a week, and couldn’t ever find you. Then I saw the new you on Monday and I started to get curious,” she clarifies, “I have been watching you during break and lunch for the past few days, and although you obviously look and sound like you, your personality was almost the polar opposite to what I expected. As a boy, you’re introverted, sullen and withdrawn. However, as a girl you are outgoing, bubbly, happy and relaxed. I had convinced myself that Jasmine and Simon were two different people until I saw you last night.”

“The earrings?” I ask.

“Yes, the earrings were the giveaway. It seemed too big a coincidence. I tied a bit of cotton to your coat last night, and it was still there this morning. The label in the hat also helped,” confirms Wendy. “I’m sorry for the confrontation earlier, but I had to be sure that I wasn’t mistaken. It’s my fault your wig was crooked when you left and it’s obviously caused you trouble. I witnessed the prank in the canteen and realised that it may cause problems with the wig. I followed you here and listened from outside.”

“Julie recognised me from the start and isn’t happy. She has been poisoning her friends against me. I think the only reason she hasn’t openly accused me of being a boy is that she’s frightened that nobody will believe her. I’m rather convincing when naked, especially since I accidentally caused some bleeding in my first P.E. lesson so it looked like I was having a period,” I explain. “Josh is also aware of the truth. My other friends, Alison and Mary know I wear a wig as I went swimming with them, but they don’t know why. After Lisa’s accusations I reckon my charade is probably over.”

“No it’s not,” replies Wendy, “You really were out of it just now if you didn’t hear Garwood giving Lisa a bollocking. She doesn’t believe you’re a boy and I was able to explain the wig away. I’m friends with Mary’s big sister, Jill. Did you know Alison had to wear a wig for a while?”

I nod and Wendy continues, “I used the same explanation for you and Mrs Garwood believed it: she won’t say anything, not even to other teachers, your secret’s safe for a little longer. I assume most of the teachers are unaware of your status.”

“All of them are. I tricked Mr Henry into thinking the records were wrong by claiming a typo on my name. I’m officially attending as Simone Jasmine Whittaker, but prefer to use my middle name,” I say, “my parents don’t know either, you know how homophobic they are, they will literally kill me when they find out.”

“I did wonder about that,” Wendy states, “We better get you cleaned up, the bell will go in a few minutes and we need to get you presentable as a girl.”

She goes to the sink, and takes my wig from the water and wrings it out. It is obviously too wet to wear. She goes to her bag, which is sat on a nearby bench and pulls out what looks like a white towel, but on closer inspection appears to be some kind of headwear. It is like an elongated hat and is about two feet long. Wendy puts it on my head and adjusts the front so that it completely covers my hairline.

“This is used to tie up long hair while it dries,” Wendy states as she pulls it down at the rear. The towel extends down my back and she takes the excess material and twists it until it is tight. The twisted material is then wrapped round my head. Taking a safety pin, she fastens it to my head. It now looks like my long hair has been wrapped in a towel.

“Take those trousers off,” she instructs as she hands me a skirt, “you’re not the only one who cycles to school with a spare set of clothes.”

The skirt is a bit loose, but that is soon fixed with another safety pin. I’m tempted to ask if she has a spare bra, but I don’t bother, as even if she did it wouldn’t fit. She is larger than I am in both circumference and cup size.

I might look silly, but at least I don’t look masculine. I hug her in thanks.

“I have a netball in my locker that the wig can go over to dry,” Wendy declares, “If it’s still wet we can see about doing something at lunchtime. Now get to your next lesson before the bell rings. It won’t matter if I’m late as I have Mrs Garwood next period and she knows I’m helping you.”

Collecting my things, I hurriedly leave the changing rooms and slip past the crowd that is starting to gather for the P.E. lesson that is about to begin. The bell rings as I walk from the sports complex to the main building. I am a minute late by the time I have made it to the science lab for my next lesson. However, the lesson is being taught by Mr Court, and he knows what happened in the canteen.

I get a few looks as I apologise to my teacher as I enter.

“Why are you wearing a towel?” Mr Court asks.

“I had to wash the cola out of my hair and I don’t have time to dry it. I can’t have wet hair trailing down my back, so this is the best solution I could come up with at short notice,” I explain, “I will dry my hair properly at lunchtime.”

Mr Court shrugs and warns me to stay away from naked flames, not that we are actually using the Bunsen burners today. Instead, we are using coils of wire and nails to make electromagnets.

When the bell rings an hour later to signify the start of lunch, I am accompanied out of the room by Josh, Alison and Mary. The three of them surround me like bodyguards to stop any further mishaps. Lisa has been asked to stay behind at the end of class, no doubt in detention for the earlier incident. Julie is keeping her distance, trying not to get herself in trouble. I think Josh may have had some words with her during break. He keeps giving her warning stares.

I can’t carry on walking round school with a towel on my head. I look stupid. It isn’t as bad as walking round appearing as a boy, but I feel self-conscious all the same.

With my friends tagging along we all head towards Mrs Garwood’s classroom. I need to find Wendy and retrieve my wig.

When we reach our destination, Wendy is standing chatting with Mrs Garwood. I poke my head round the door into the otherwise empty room.

“Come in, Jasmine, are you feeling better?” Mrs Garwood beckons. I enter the room, my friends filing in behind me, making sure I’m all right.

“Hi. I’m sorry about earlier I lost it a bit. I’m a bit self-conscious when not wearing my wig. I don’t mind too much round my friends, but I don’t like how I look without it and I found Lisa’s teasing too much,” I say sadly.

“Bullying like that won’t be tolerated at this school,” Mrs Garwood replies. “If you have any further issues then come see me. I haven’t told anybody else about your problem, and after the lecture I gave Lisa, I hope she won’t either.”

“Thanks,” I reply.

After saying farewell, we all head for Wendy’s locker. We form a wall behind her so that nobody can see her slip my wig into a bag.

“It’s still damp, but we may be able to do something about that with a hairdryer,” she whispers.

We all head outside away from prying eyes and ears. Wendy hands me the bag and I reach in and feel the wig. The hair is mostly dry. The main dampness is in the lining and elasticated band round the edge.

“If you can sneak out of school, then you can come and have lunch at my house,” Josh states. “Nobody will be home.”

Students aren’t allowed out of school at lunch without a pass, signed by their parents. Permits are only given to year nine and ten students who have a good reason. Josh has one so that he can go home for lunch. The rules are more relaxed for year elevens as a privilege of being in the final year of school. As long as their parents agree, they can have a pass without needing a reason. A lot of the senior year go and sit in the local park or woodland during the lunch break.

“Here, use this,” Wendy states, handing me a temporary one day pass signed by Mrs Garwood. “We figured you may need leave to sort out your problem, so Mrs Garwood made out a temporary pass for you.”

“Thanks,” I reply.

Wendy is in year eleven and has a lunch pass. Therefore, after saying goodbye to Mary and Alison we head for the gates. Josh, Wendy and I show our passes to the teacher on duty and start walking in the direction of Josh’s home.

“I hope you don’t mind me tagging along, but I think we need to talk, and from what you said earlier I assume we three can talk openly,” Wendy states.

“Josh knows everything,” I state in reply. “So yes, we can talk freely.”

I properly introduce Josh and Wendy to each other. We stop at the fish and chip shop on our way and Wendy goes in and buys three battered sausages and a large portion of chips. Wendy buys school dinners normally, and Josh makes himself sandwiches at home, but is quite willing to have chips instead. I have some sandwiches, which I will now save for an after-school snack.

We arrive at Josh’s house and consume our meal, thanking Wendy for buying us lunch. After checking the label, we realise that we can’t use a hair or tumble dryer without risking damage to the wig, so we instead put it over a desk fan and blow cold air through it until it’s time to head back to school.

I confess my antics to Wendy, explaining my feelings on my gender identity. I describe how I was suffering from depression and despair at the thought of male puberty. In turn, Wendy assures us that she won’t reveal my secrets and that she doesn’t share the same bigoted views that our parents have. I have known Wendy for years, and although we were never close, I am confident that I can trust her.

I am able to wash and tumble dry my original clothes and so can change back into my own skirt for the afternoon. Donning the now almost dry wig, we make our way back to school. We arrive shortly before afternoon registration. The final two lessons of the day go without incident.

At the end of the day, I cycle home with Wendy. She usually takes a slightly different route to me. We live close to each other, but I normally make sure that nobody else is around while I cycle home, deliberately avoiding any company in case I am spotted.

We split up at a junction half a mile from my farm in order to go our separate ways. Wendy heads straight on down the main road while I take a left turn to take me past the woodland with my hideout. I have told Wendy I have a hideout, but not its location. That is on a need to know basis, and she doesn’t need to know at the moment.

I place the wig on its polystyrene head and change into my boy clothes before cycling the rest of the way home. I change into jeans and set to helping with the chores before dinner. I then spend the evening doing homework and watching TV.

The weather Thursday morning is dry but windy. It is what’s known locally as a lazy wind, it goes through you instead of round you. Not needing to use the changing rooms before class means that I can glue my wig on properly at the bunker, instead of having to try to find a way to do it at school. I have a feeling Lisa and Julie may try to expose me again, so this time I make sure the wig is well and truly bonded to my head.

I arrive in registration just as the final bell rings. The morning progresses without incident. At break time Josh, Alison and Mary keep me company and act once again as bodyguards, blocking anybody else from getting near me. We all deliberately stay clear of Julie, Lisa, and friends until we have to line up for P.E.

Josh has gone to line up with the boys and I am stood with Alison and Mary when Julie sneaks up behind us. I know that she is there and suspect what she is about to do, but I’m prepared.

Julie grabs my hair and gives a quick sharp tug. The glue holds and instead of the wig coming off my head is pulled backwards. I scream and deliberately fall over, collecting Julie as I do so. We land on the ground, with me on top of her.

“You bitch, that hurt,” I say getting up rubbing the back of my head.

Mr Morris chooses that moment to emerge from the building.

“Julie Phillips, what do you think you are doing?” Mr Morris asks, “How would you like to be dangled by your hair? Now apologise or you can spend the lesson doing laps.”

Julie offers me an apology, which I accept. I then add, “And if anybody else thinks this is a wig then don’t. It’s my own and it’s attached to my head.”

I’m being economical with the truth again. I do own the wig and it is firmly glued to my head, but I’m heavily implying it’s real, not synthetic.

With half of year nine witnessing the hair pulling I think I have ended the rumours of wig wearing.

We head into the changing rooms and Mrs Hargreaves gives Julie another telling off while we all change. She then goes on to say that bullying won’t be tolerated. All the usual spiel that we’ve heard a thousand times.

As its dry today, we go outside and start to learn how to play hockey. We are focused on ball control, passing and dribbling. We complete various practice exercises before we have a short game near the end of the lesson.

We all troop back to the changing rooms and I again make sure to be one of the first girls to shower. I notice Julie once more keeps herself covered and waits until I have left the shower before dropping her towel and entering. Lisa doesn’t seem to be as prudish and walks past me naked while I’m in the showers.

During Lunch, Alison, Mary and I sit in the atrium between the two main buildings of the school and eat our sandwiches. The school is all on one level and is built in an H shape. A Perspex roof has been added filling the gap between two parts of the building to give an all-weather seating area that has a number of picnic benches that can be used.

Anybody who brings his or her own lunch tends to eat here rather than taking up space in the canteen. In addition, each year is called in turn to the canteen in a rota system so that the queue isn’t too long at any point. It also means that on different weeks, you get to be earlier or later in the cycle and it supposedly evens out on fairness if the canteen runs out of the more favourite dishes.

Using the atrium means that you can eat when you want and you don’t have to wait to be called.

We are just finishing our lunch when Mary’s sister, Jill, comes up to us. Wendy is with her and stands to one side while the sisters talk.

“Mary, Mum says yes to the sleepover,” Jill states.

“Her yoga club outing got cancelled then,” Mary replies.

“Nope, she’s still going to be out, but I convinced her that I’m responsible enough to keep an eye on you for the evening,” Jill answers, “Wendy here will be keeping me company, and she is very good at spanking.”

There is an evil glint in Jill’s eyes as she says that, and Wendy is trying to hide a blush. I wonder exactly what those two have been up to, if Wendy were a lesbian or bi, then that would possibly explain why she is at ease with me, and not taking the bigoted view of her parents.

“I know this is short notice, but would you two like to come over to my house tomorrow night after swimming for a sleepover?” Mary asks Alison and me.

“I’m up for it, I doubt my mum will object,” Alison replies. I already know they are best friends and have regular sleepovers so there is probably a standing arrangement.

I would love to go to the sleepover, but there is no way my parents would let their son spend the night with two girls. I got away with it at home with Emily, but she was family and her father smoothed things over for us.

At the very least, my parents would want to talk to Mary’s parents, and that leads to a whole can of worms. I can’t see any way of pulling this off. I could potentially pretend to be spending the night with other boys, but I would still have the problem of getting permission and my parents would still want to speak to with whomever I’m staying.

“I would like to, but I can’t,” I reply sadly.

“If you think your parents won’t let you, then leave that with me. I think I can help you persuade them,” Wendy states, giving me a wink. “You’re going to be with me after all and I’m a trustworthy person.”

Jill sniggers and Wendy swats her. “Seriously, we’ll work on it tonight and let you know tomorrow,” Wendy adds.

I shrug my shoulders and say, “Put me down as a yes, pending parental approval.”

Alison then queries what Mary and Jill are planning. Their mother is out for the evening and we will have the house to ourselves for most of the night. They are planning on keeping things informal and simply getting a takeout and watching some movies. We are instructed to bring a sleeping bag and pillow.

The discussion then digresses into a debate on which movies are best.

Afternoon lessons proceed without incident, and at the end of the day, I meet back up with Wendy for the cycle home.

“We have some serious planning to do, and not a lot of time to pull it off,” Wendy states as we ride along. We have now split from the other students leaving the school and are now on our own cycling side by side down a back lane. “We will need to do some phoning around. I suggest we stop at the barn up ahead; we can talk without being seen. I have my mobile with me.”

“I can’t be too late back, or my parents will blow a fuse,” I reply. “How good is the signal on your phone?”

“I have an external booster aerial, so I can get a signal nearly anywhere round here, unlike most people,” she replies. Mobile phone coverage in this area is poor. I don’t bother owning a mobile as the farm and most of our fields struggle to register a signal.

“Follow me,” I say as I put on a spurt of speed, “we can talk while I get changed back into boy mode.”

Being on a racing bike has its advantages. Wendy also has a road bike, and struggles to keep up with me as we race along the country lanes. I slow down and signal well in advance so that we don’t overshoot the track to the woods. I take it slowly on the track as it’s bumpy and hitting a rock could throw you off a bike.

I lead Wendy into the woodland and park my bike next to a tree. We are on a flat bit of ground near the slope into the pit.

“How is the signal strength here?” I ask.

“Low, but enough so that it shouldn’t drop out,” Wendy replies looking at the signal bars on the display.

“Good, you can wait here and phone whoever while I change clothes behind those bushes. My other clothes are hidden in a waterproof storage box hidden in the foliage,” I say pointing to some wild blackberry plants. “Who are you phoning and what are you going to say?”

“Jasmine, we need to tell your mother that you have been invited over to a boy’s house, and give her a number in case she wants to call,” Wendy states, “I was thinking of saying that you are staying over at Greg Bishop’s. I know his sister, and she would be willing to cover for us for a small fee. She also sounds just like her mother, who I happen to know is away at a conference this week. She won’t know the details, just that you need an excuse.”

I agree to the idea, it’s worth a try. I know Greg, but not very well. If we say that I’m going with my best friend Josh then it won’t look as suspicious.

I disappear behind the blackberry bushes and lift the camouflaged manhole cover under the edge of the plants. We are standing directly over the bunker, and I carefully and quietly climb down the ladder into my hideout, without letting on that the bunker is here. As far as Wendy knows, I am simply hiding my modesty and I have some clothes hidden in a box. I’m just not letting on how large the ‘box’ is.

I swiftly put my wig away on its stand and change into my boy clothing. By the time I have returned to where Wendy is waiting, she is just saying goodbye to her friend.

“It’s all set up. The details are here,” Wendy says handing me a piece of paper, “I have given her the farm phone number and she has caller display so she can see who is ringing. If your parents want to speak with someone then they can phone her and she will pretend to be her mother. Hopefully they will let you go without question, after all you are a boy to them, and parents tend to worry less about boys.”

I don’t disagree, as she is probably right. However, this is the first time I have asked to stay at a friend’s house, so I don’t know what the outcome might be.

We start to cycle out of the woodland before I realise I’m being a twit and that I’m on the wrong bike. I say goodbye to Wendy as she pedals off down the track to the main road and I pretend to head to the farm. After Wendy is out of sight, I double back and change the bikes over.

I then pedal as fast as I can over the countryside to reach the farm before my parents start to wonder where I am. I actually pass them in a field tending to some goats before I reach the farmyard. I wave as I cycle past.

I put my bike in the barn and head up to my bedroom to change out of my pretend school uniform. I descend the stairs as my parents come in from the yard.

“I have been asked to go swimming again tomorrow,” I state as my mother puts the kettle on.

“Fine, you’ll be late home tomorrow then?” She asks.

“Well actually Greg has invited me to stay the night. He’s asking a few of us over to watch some movies. I have provisionally said yes, but said I need to check with you first,” I say hopefully.

“Will you be back for cleaning duty tomorrow?” my father enquires.

“Sure, no problem,” I reply, “I don’t know the exact time I’ll get back, but I will make sure it’s in plenty of time. When are we expecting the first arrival?”

“Three,” my father states, “Would these movies be of the blue variety?”

“I doubt it, more likely the action kind,” I reply. “Although I think he did once boast about owning a copy of ‘Debby Does Dallas’.”

My father laughs before saying, “I don’t have any objections, as long as your chores and homework get done on time.”

My father glances over at my mother. My mother shrugs her shoulders and leaves the decision to him.

I am surprised once again how easy things are going. I was worried they may object or want to check out whom I was staying with, but they seem happy with my explanation.

After tea, I sit down and spend the evening finishing off all my homework so that I don’t have to worry about it over the weekend. Once complete, I watch TV for an hour before heading to bed.

Friday morning after breakfast, I pack my bag ready for staying the night. I get my large green army rucksack out. In the bottom, I put my pyjamas, Dressing gown, slippers and toiletries. The pyjamas are a new pair that I bought myself out of my birthday money. I have tried them on, but have never dared wear them overnight in case my parents see them. They are a silk cami set consisting of a pair of panties and a camisole with thin straps. They are ivory in colour with black lace round the edges. They are very sexy and indulgently comfortable.

My dressing gown is actually a ladies’ one. We were originally shopping for a men’s gown, but they were too large for me and I didn’t like the ones in the children’s department. I then spotted a very nice gown on a stand nearby, so went to investigate. Although designed for a woman, it is reasonably unisex. My mother actually suggested looking at the women’s section, as they stock smaller sizes and we might find something in that isn’t too feminine.

I of course was perfectly happy with this idea. I pointed out that not many people would see it anyway, and as long as it was comfortable, I didn’t care what it looked like. I ended up buying an exceedingly fluffy white towelling hooded gown. The one I really liked was covered in flowers, but I thought that was going to be pushing things a bit far. However, they had the same cut in an almost plain white design so that is what I opted for. The only distinguishing feature that sets it as feminine, except for the colour, is a small flower motif on the left breast.

My father and brother did give me some ribbing when we got home with it, but they had to admit the material felt wonderfully soft and sensuous.

My slippers are navy blue moccasins, which aren’t girly in any way, but I think I can get away with that.

On top of them, I add my pink swimming costume and cap, wrapped in a bath towel. I add second towel in case I need one, and then place my normal school bag on the top. I then add my rolled up sleeping bag to the top and fasten it closed. Lifting the bag onto my back, it is almost as big as my torso.

I head downstairs and place it near the door while I have breakfast. I then proceed to help my parents milk the goats before returning inside for a quick shower and a change of clothes. Dressed in my male school uniform I pull the rucksack on my back and head out down the tracks on my mountain bike.

Reaching the bunker, I change into my female school uniform, fix my wig and makeup, and switch to my other bike. I add two sets of clothes to the rucksack. The first is what I intend to wear from the swimming pool and Saturday morning, a red miniskirt that comes halfway down to my knees, a v-neck yellow blouse with lacy collar, and a red fleece. I also add a plain white shirt and a pair of jeans in case I don’t have time to call back at the bunker.

When I get to school, I remove my normal school bag from the rucksack and place the rest of my belongings into my locker before heading to registration and lessons. The first thing I do is tell Mary that I have permission to stay over, something with which she seems pleased.

Lessons run smoothly. The teasing over me supposedly wearing a wig seems to have died down after yesterday. Lisa and Julie are in detention at break and Lunch due to the stunts they pulled over the past few days, so I get a respite from their aggravation.

At the end of the school day, we meet up at the bike sheds with Wendy and Jill. They are going to come swimming with us this week. Jill isn’t a fan of swimming, so doesn’t very often accompany her sister, but has decided to join us today. I am glad to have Wendy along this time considering the trouble I had last week with Bart and friends. I had filled her in on my activities round Josh’s on Wednesday so she knows of the problems I had last Friday.

We arrive and head to the changing rooms. I once again make use of a toilet cubicle to change from wig to swimming cap before emerging and changing with the others into my swimming costume. I notice Wendy is hesitating slightly and deliberately turns her back on me while she changes. Seeing that she is uncomfortable with me, I deliberately face the other way and ignore her.

After locking up our possessions, we head out to the pools. We descend on the main pool and accustom ourselves with the water. The wave machine starts up and we float on our backs as we bob up and down in the swell.

After some relaxation, we split up. Jill, Alison and Mary go to swim some laps in the dedicated lanes set aside in one of the other pools. Wendy and I watch for a few minutes. I take this opportunity to speak to Wendy alone.

“I noticed you seem slightly uncomfortable in the changing room,” I state. “If you don’t want me to see you naked, I understand. I will try and avoid looking at you.”

“I’m sorry,” replies Wendy, “I’m trying to accept you, but after knowing you for years it seems odd. Logically it shouldn’t make any difference, but even so, it feels strange. I appreciate your offer, but for your own safety, I think it’s best if we don’t act oddly around each other. Therefore, don’t worry about it. Being seen is my problem, not yours.”

“Thanks,” I say and give her a quick hug.

“What do we have here?” Bart’s voice comes from our right, “A carpet-munching muff diver and cocksucking sissy, Simon.”

I swear under my breath and stand to face him. He has two of his mates with him. Wendy gets up and stands behind me.

“Piss off, wanker,” Wendy intones, “unless you want to lose those trunks. Unlike our swimsuits, those are easy to come off. Then we can all laugh at how small you are. Don’t deny it, I know your babysitter.”

This just seems to piss Bart off. “Does your daddy know about you? I heard he doesn’t like faggots. I haven’t seen Mike about recently.”

“See these?” I say pointing at my earrings, “Not normal swimwear, but I can’t take them out as I’ve only just had my ears pierced. Not something I can hide from my parents is it?”

“Perhaps I should have a word with the staff, or possibly the police. I’m sure they will be interested in a pervert in the changing rooms,” Bart replies.

“You tried that last week and it didn’t get you anywhere. The staff were quite happy to accept me as female. In case you haven’t noticed, I don’t have any bulge in this suit. No balls,” I state pointing at my crotch, “I chopped them off, boiled them, covered them with breadcrumbs, fried them, and ate them with some stewed peppers and onions. Delicious.”

I lick my lips seductively and then while staring at the boy’s crotches I add, “You know testicles are best served once they have just reached full maturity. Yours are ripe for harvesting, and I’m very good at it. If you behave I can do it without much blood loss.”

“You’re making it up,” Steven, one of Bart’s friends, states.

I smile and walk up to him, “Care for a feel, go ahead and slip your hand in my swimsuit. Ever felt a cunt? Mine is artificial, but it’s the closest you are going to get.”

I walk right up to him and press my body against his.

“I have a better idea,” he says as he takes a step backwards and knees me in the gonads.

What should be a delicate area for a boy is no longer as vulnerable with most of my sensitive organs removed. The bottom of my suit is slightly padded so that the folds of skin don’t show through and although I feel the impact, it isn’t painful. Instead of rolling around on the floor in pain I don’t even wince, instead I laugh at his attempt and ask if I should repeat the demo on him.

“The staff have already warned you once, do you want to be banned?” I ask. “I have had enough of your crap. I have been through emotional and physical hell to get this far in my transition. When you have stared death in the face, and spat in its eyes, idle threats don’t mean anything. You are all mouth. You try anything and you risk getting banned, arrested or worse.”

I spin round and walk away, back towards the main pool. Wendy hesitates for a second, backing away from the boys before turning and following me. I deliberately don’t look back at them, but I don’t need to as I can see our reflection in a metal pole holding up one of the water slides.

We return to swimming. Instead of being scared, I am on an adrenaline high and work the energy off by paddling a few short fast laps in one of the branches of the T-shaped pool.

“I hope those boys don’t cause any trouble,” Wendy states as we lie in the shallow pool, enjoying the warmth of the water while we take a rest.

“I don’t care if they do. I’m a realist. I knew from the outset that I was putting myself into a position whereby I could become a target for physical violence. I accept that risk and am ready to fight if required,” I state. “I am in peak physical fitness. I was seventh in the beep test in P.E. Only two other girls and four boys beat me. Combine that score with the other half of the year group and I come out in the top fifteen fittest students. I’m also strong, manual labour on the farm has seen to that. I may not look muscular, but I have core muscle strength. I am the undefeated arm wrestling champ of last year.”

“You may be okay in a one to one, or even to fend off a couple of opponents, but what if they gang up on you?” Wendy asks. “Aren’t you afraid of what they may do to you?”

“If attacked by a gang I do as much damage as I can before they take me down. Sure, I’m scared. My whole life is a complete mess held together by lies. I’m surprised I’ve managed to attend school for a whole fortnight without being busted yet,” I reply. “So far I’ve been lucky in that everybody who knows my secret has kept reasonably quiet. The only one causing trouble is Julie, and she hasn’t openly attacked me or complained to the school. If I were to start worrying about what could happen to me I would be a wreck. The only thing stopping me having a nervous breakdown is my stubbornness to succeed and my philosophy of living for today because next week I’m dead.”

The others join us in the shallow pool, tired after swimming laps. We turn to topics that are more casual now that we are no longer alone. After relaxing and floating around, we head back to the main pool as they start the wave machine up again. We head in for a swim and finish off by lying on the fake beach slope with the waves breaking over us.

Looking at one of the large digital clocks dotted round the edge of the room we see that we have been swimming for nearly two hours. Deciding we have all had enough, we head back to the changing rooms.

Retrieving our bags from our lockers, we line up on one of the benches and remove our swimming costumes. I am in the middle of the line and deliberately stand with my back towards Wendy so that she has extra privacy. Having rung out the swimsuit I take my swimming cap off and put the swimsuit inside. I then place them both into a plastic carrier bag so that they can go into my rucksack without getting anything wet.

We head into the showers, again Wendy stays behind me and I keep my gaze away from her where possible. I stand under the warm shower and let the water rinse off the chlorine from the pool.

“I see why you normally wear the wig,” Jill says to me softly, “Although you don’t seem embarrassed about your hair at the moment.”

I giggle and reply, “Nobody is going to mistake me for being a boy while I’m naked. It’s only with clothes on do I start to get looks to say, what are you doing in here?”

I step out of the shower and dry myself off. The first thing I do is to wrap my scarf around my head to hide my lack of hair. I then proceed to put my underwear on followed by the miniskirt, blouse and fleece. So that my exposed legs don’t become chilled, I slip on a pair of clear tights and a finish off with a pair of white tennis shoes. They might not match the outfit, but I like to opt for practicality and comfort over fashion. Riding a bike in heels is not something I would like to try.

The only other girl in a skirt is Mary. All the others are in jeans. The other girls have put their damp hair up in ponytails to keep their backs dry. Once we are all ready, we walk out of the changing rooms and head for the exit.

As we leave the building, I immediately see that we have a potential problem. Hanging round the bike racks are Bart, Steven, Matt and David. I may be paranoid, but I get the impression they are waiting in ambush for Wendy and I.

They obviously haven’t countered on us being with other friends. Instead of four on two, it is actually five on four. However, if they reveal my secret then it could easily become four on two again, or worse, seven on two if my friends turn against me.

The boys form a line blocking our path and we come to a halt.

“Oh look, it’s the cultural ambassadors from Lesbos. Got quite a following, Simon, do they know what you are?” David sneers at me.

“That’s Simone to you, Daisy,” I say, putting emphasis on the closest girls’ name I can think of for David. “Step out of the way and let us pass.”

“What you going to do about it, call the police?” Steven replies sarcastically.

“No need, this whole car park is monitored by CCTV footage, or haven’t you noticed the signs on the wall and cameras pointing at us from the top of the building and the tall pole over near the roundabout,” I keep my eyes firmly fixed on the boys and I can see their worried glances as they scan the area. “I doubt they are wired for sound, and I won’t be throwing the first punch. A large group of youths is bound to attract the operator’s attention, assuming someone is watching. Now you may be lucky and be able to hit me without being seen, so you’ve got to ask yourself one question: Do I feel lucky? Well, do ya, punk?”

“Come on; let’s leave this faggot to flirt with his friends,” Bart sneers, turning to walk away, followed by the other lads.

We watch them walk off. I have successfully faced one confrontation, but the next may not be as easy. They have revealed my secret to my new friends.

“What was that all about?” Mary asks.

Turning to face the other girls, I decide I best face this now in a place where I’m less likely to be beaten up. I just hope that I’m right about being watched.

“He thinks I’m gay. I have always been tomboyish and I’m therefore regarded as a butch dyke, hence his use of ‘Simon’ and ‘his’. It’s doesn’t help that he’s seen me without my wig, which makes me look even more boyish than normal,” I explain, hoping that I am not digging myself into a bigger hole.

“Does he have any reason to think you’re interested in girls?” Jill asks, “Not that it would make any difference to me if you did.”

“The only way to truly know if you like something or not is to try it. In order to establish my sexuality I have experimented with another girl,” I reply insinuating I was caught by Bart. “I can categorically state for the record that I’m not interested in girls. I tried it, and although I didn’t find it repulsive, it didn’t do anything for me.”

We unlock our bikes and start riding away from the holiday centre. The other girls seem content to leave my explanation alone, and don’t query it further as we travel to Mary and Jill’s house.

---

 
The journey takes about ten minutes. Mary lives in a late Victorian terrace house near the centre of town. We approach the house from the rear, cycling down the passageway behind the houses to the back gate.

The gate is unlocked by Jill and we file through into the small rear yard. We store and lock our bikes in a metal shed. There isn’t much room, the small shed taking up half the space. The remainder of the yard is occupied by a metal garden set of a table and four chairs. Several potted plants are dotted around to give some greenery to the otherwise plain concrete paving slab yard. There is a passage up the side of the building past the bathroom and kitchen to the back door, which we enter.

The kitchen is long and thin. The bathroom is on the other end of the kitchen, built onto the rear of the building as an extension.

We enter the back room of the terrace. The only window in the room overlooks the passage beside the kitchen, so there isn’t much natural daylight. The room is configured as a dining room. There is also a small two-seater settee and an old television.

Jill and Wendy immediately head through to the stairs, which go up between the front and back rooms, and disappear to the upper floor.

“Wendy is going to borrow my bed tonight, we will be sleeping in the front room in sleeping bags,” Mary states. “Dump your bags in the corner for now while we cook dinner.”

Mary instructs us to start preparing things while she takes her own bag upstairs. Alison heads to the kitchen to start cooking. We get a frying pan out and start it heating up with some oil. I fill and boil the kettle as Alison gets a second pan out and measures out some rice.

Mary comes back, gets the chicken pieces out of the fridge, and dices them before adding to the hot frying pan. I add hot water to the pan with the rice and when it comes back to the boil, I put the timer on.

Once the meat is cooked through and browned, we add a couple of jars of sweet and sour sauce. It then simmers while the rice finishes cooking. Under Mary’s directions, Alison and I set five places at the table and put some plates in the oven to warm.

While we wait, we discuss the movies we want to watch from the selection available. I am not a big watcher of movies and don’t own many DVDs. I do watch them on television, but as we don’t subscribe to the movie channels, I’ve only seen the ones that have been on the terrestrial stations.

After some discussion, we settle on watching three films. The first - ‘Monty Python’s Meaning of Life’ - is one I have seen, but the other two I haven’t, which I am surprised about. Technically, we’re not quite old enough to watch it according to its rating, but there is nothing in it that is that shocking.

The second film is called ‘Juno’, and is about a teen pregnancy. None of us have watched it, but having seen the trailers, it looks interesting. We will finish up, if we’re still awake, with ‘Dirty Dancing’. I’m not a huge lover of chick flicks - I don’t mind admitting I have slightly masculine tastes in that I like action films - but I do love this one.

When everything is ready, I am sent up to the middle bedroom to inform the two elder girls that dinner is served.

There are three bedrooms, one above the front room, one above the back room, and one above the kitchen. The third bedroom is small and can only be accessed by going through the middle bedroom. Mary’s mother has the front bedroom. Mary and Jill share the middle room and the back bedroom is set up as a study room and walk-in closet.

The door is open and I knock on the doorframe as I poke my head round the door. Jill and Wendy are sitting on one of the beds looking a magazine. The three of us head downstairs, where Mary and Alison are carrying the plates to the table.

“You said earlier you had a lesbian fling. Who was she?” Mary asks while we are eating, “Anybody we know?”

“I’m not the kind of person to kiss and tell,” I state.

“Go on, we won’t tell anybody,” Jill says.

“My cousin Emily,” I reply going red.

“You snogged your own cousin?” Alison asks.

“Have you never heard of kissing cousins?” I reply jokingly, “When you live in the back of beyond, it’s compulsory.”

“So how far did you get?” Mary probes. I simply go redder and take a mouthful of chicken.

“Stop pushing, or are you willing to expose your own love life?” Jill asks her sister.

“What love life?” Mary replies, “You won’t let me have one. You’re afraid I might get laid before you do.”

“Technically we should all still be virgins,” Alison replies, “We’re all underage.”

“Not for much longer, I turn sixteen in two months,” Wendy replies.

“I suppose it depends on your definition of virgin,” I say, “If you take it to mean an intact hymen, then you can lose that by simply masturbating, or something as mundane as falling off a bike. If on the other hand you take it to mean penetrated by an actual cock, then no amount of lesbian activities are ever going to count.”

“I would take losing your virginity to mean somebody else bringing you to climax as opposed to self-gratification,” Jill answers.

“Using that designation, what are you Jasmine?” Wendy asks.

“By that classification, I’m no longer a virgin,” I reply. “I’m not going to elaborate further, unless you’re going to explain how Jill knows you are excellent at spanking.”

This time it’s Wendy’s turn to go red. I have already been blushing throughout the meal.

“Spoilsport, I was looking forward to all the lurid details of some hot lesbian action,” Mary replies. “We’ll have to make do with spying on you two instead,” she says pointing at the older girls.

“You think we would be daft enough to do anything while you’re here?” Jill responds. “If you want to find out what it’s like, you’ll have to find out for yourself.”

“Count me out. I’ve been there, done that, and don’t fancy a repeat,” I state to Mary, “But if you and Alison want to sixty-nine each other all night then I won’t object, just keep the noise down while I sleep.”

“Yuck, no thanks,” Alison replies, “I have no inclination to put my tongue anywhere near where you’re suggesting. I don’t have anything against lesbians, but I don’t want to take part myself.”

It would appear that the sleepover is not going to turn into an orgy after all. After finishing the sweet and sour chicken, we move onto apple pie and ice cream.

“Is that why Julie is being such a bitch to you? She thinks you’re gay?” Alison asks.

“Partially,” I cautiously answer, “she thinks I’m a sexual predator and therefore should be banned from the changing rooms.”

“That surprises me,” Mary states, “I know a few of the people from that karate club she goes too. One of the instructors is gay and recently got married in a civil partnership. I wouldn’t have thought Julie would have a problem with it.”

“There is another reason,” I say sighing. “I have a few skeletons in my closet that I don’t want people to know about. She thinks I’m being dishonest and should reveal them.”

“She’s blackmailing you?” Jill asks, “You know the best way of stopping blackmail is to reveal the secret yourself.”

“I know, and it’s only a matter of time before my history is revealed, but I’m scared. Not only would I be in serious physical danger, I’m frightened that everybody, including you, will hate me,” I say as I start to cry.

“She’s not exaggerating,” Wendy replies. “You remember me telling you about my friend Mike, the one who got beaten up by his parents when he came out. He’s Jasmine’s brother. They will go mad when they find out about her experimentation.”

A sudden shocked look comes over Jill’s face. On seeing her friend’s reaction Wendy pulls a face and swears under her breath. Jill gets up, walks round the table and envelopes me in a big hug. “You poor girl, I hadn’t realised the connection. No wonder you’re scared. They don’t know you’re here, do they?”

I look at Wendy and she mouths, “Sorry,” to me. I quickly finish the last few spoonfuls of dessert while Jill returns to her seat. Mary and Alison are looking on puzzled by Jill’s strange reaction.

“I might as well get this over with,” I state with a sigh. “Wendy has obviously told you about my older brother Mike. I guess that she also told you that Mike has one sibling. A younger brother called Simon.”

I look down at the table and hold my breath, waiting for the screaming. Nothing happens. I slowly raise my head to see the raised eyebrows of Mary and Alison. I see a smile spread across Mary’s face.

“You’re Mike’s brother?” Alison asks sounding confused, “You’re a boy? You don’t look like a boy when naked.”

“No I’m not a boy,” I reply as calmly as possible, despite my racing heart, “I’m definitely a girl, I just happen to be a male girl. I know that sounds like an oxymoron but it isn’t. Physical sex is only one measure of a person’s gender. It is also how you see yourself and how you interact with other people. Internally I visualise myself as a girl and my behaviour patterns and thought processes match a more feminine role. I am certainly more comfortable when presenting myself as a girl, and when treated as such.”

“I can vouch for that,” Wendy states, “I have known Simon for years, but have only recently met Jasmine. You’ve never actually met Simon. He is a very sad, withdrawn, timid person. He pretends to act tough and masculine, but is frankly useless at it. In his last school, he was regarded as a sissy and didn’t have any close friends, and was an outcast that didn’t fit in. However, when she presents herself as a girl she is a lot more relaxed, natural, outgoing, and doesn’t have any problem fitting in and making friends.”

Crying, I nod my head in agreement, “The last few weeks have been the happiest of my life. To be able finally to be myself without having to hide my feelings has been wonderful. I have gone to a lot of trouble to make myself pass as a girl, including hiding certain bits of my anatomy in order to be able to use the girls’ changing rooms.”

Looking round the room at Mary and Alison I ask the question I have been dreading, “Now that you know my secret, can I still call you my friends?”

“Of course, this makes no difference to me,” Mary replies, “I’m cool. It does explain some of the weird things like the incident at the pool earlier. I like you for who you are, not what you look like.”

“I’ve spent time pretending to be a boy when I had my hair cut off,” Alison says, “So I have firsthand experience of the difference in treatment you can receive. It’s subtle but there is a difference in perception and behaviour. I agree with Mary, yes it’s weird, but I can live with it. Now let’s get the washing up done so we can watch some movies. We need some comedy to lighten the mood.”

I smile, nod and thank the girls. Jill and Wendy volunteer to do the cleaning as we did the cooking, so we proceed through to the front room while they clear up.

The front room has a three-seater couch and two chairs round the edge. In the corner of the room is a 32-inch flat screen TV and DVD player. I note that they have Cable TV. The Freeview digital signal is notoriously weak in this area, and the analogue signal is often unwatchable without a signal booster. At home, we have satellite, as the Cable service is only available in town.

The first movie is one only I have seen before, the other two never experiencing the stalwart of British comedy that is Monty Python. Cue shocked expressions of ‘did they really do that in a film?’ and endless giggling at the surreal humour.

I prove my geekyness by joining in on the choruses of ‘Every sperm is sacred’. My voice has thankfully never broken, so I can almost pull off a choirboy-style rendition. Singing isn’t something I do very often, and I’m not sure if I was in tune, but it was enjoyable nevertheless.

The film has lightened the mood no end. We then move on to the second film, ‘Juno’. As Alison goes to put the DVD in the machine, she pauses and asks, “Are we sure we want to watch this one?”

She is specifically looking at me, and I wonder why she is hesitant. “Sure, why not?” I reply.

“I was worried that you may find it upsetting,” Alison answers, “but if you are okay then it should be an interesting movie.”

I think carefully about what I know about the film to see why it might be upsetting. It is about a girl who gets pregnant and gives the baby up for adoption. I suddenly twig why Alison thinks it may upset me.

“If you’re worried I might be upset because I can’t get pregnant, don’t be. I know that my only option for children is adoption. If anything, I can identify with the childless couple, even if not with Juno,” I reply.

We sit and watch the film. We are all on the three-seater couch with our feet up on beanbags and stools. I am in the middle with Alison and Mary on either side, wrapping their arms around me for support. I think they are worried I might break down in tears again. Wendy and Jill have gone back upstairs to listen to music, read magazines, and gossip.

The film looked interesting from the trailers, but it dragged a bit in full. Alison and Mary got slightly emotional, more so than I did. I have taken a conscious decision to remove myself from the breeding population. Although I am slightly saddened by knowing I will never reproduce, it isn’t something I can do anything about anymore, therefore I’m not going to let it upset me.

It is getting late by the time the second movie finishes. The third will take us slightly past midnight. Mary suggests getting the sleeping bags out and changing into our sleepwear. Mary heads upstairs. Alison takes her bag into the bathroom to change and use the facilities.

While Alison and Mary change, I unroll my sleeping bag and place my pillow in position. When I hear Alison leave the bathroom, I head through the dining room and kitchen to take her place. I use the loo and strip off. I dress in my new silk pyjamas and put my dressing gown on before washing and brushing my teeth.

Having folded my clothes and put them in my bag, I head through to the front room where Mary and Alison are sorting out the sleeping arrangements. Seeing that I have returned, Mary heads through to the bathroom.

Alison is wearing a long t-shirt that comes down to her knees. Mary is wearing a set of pink satin pyjamas. I put the DVD of ‘Dirty Dancing’ into the player and set it going. The trailers can be playing while we get ready. I then pause the movie once it actually begins.

When Mary returns we do the final sleeping arrangements. We have put the seat cushions from the couch and chairs onto the floor, and laid the sleeping bags on top. I take my dressing gown off and reveal my pyjamas.

The other two aren’t bothering with dressing gowns, as the house is warm enough not to need them, but I’m slightly embarrassed that my nightclothes aren’t the usual garments worn by someone my age. They are luxury silk items and not something I would have thought the others would wear.

I certainly get a reaction when I take my gown off. Both girls are impressed at my clothes and investigate.

“Wow,” Alison states on seeing my pyjamas, “they’re really nice, are they real silk?”

I nod and Mary strokes the fabric on my arm and says, “I wish I could afford a pair like those, they’re gorgeous.”

I explain that I can’t normally wear girls’ nightclothes at home, so I’ve treated myself to a single pair of real luxury items. It’s the first time I’ve worn them. My initial nervousness over my choice of nightwear soon evaporates as my companions jealously state they want some.

We set the movie going and settle down in our sleeping bags. About a quarter of an hour into the film, Mary’s mother comes home and drunkenly stumbles through the room, slightly worse for wear. I can see that Mary is embarrassed and annoyed at her mother’s behaviour. Jill comes down and helps her mother to bed - she looks annoyed as well - and I get the impression that the will be an argument upstairs out of our sight.

Mary admits her family is the model of dysfunctionality. Her father divorced her mother two years ago and ran off with another woman. Her mother is barely able to hold down a job, and likes to drink. Jill has to hold the family purse strings otherwise they would be penniless if she let her mother keep control of the cash. Jill has confiscated all the bankcards so that only she can withdraw money.

While the other girls may be used to late nights, I’m an early to bed, early to rise, kind of girl. I am therefore exhausted and slowly start drifting off to sleep. I can vaguely remember the end of the film, but I may have been dreaming it from memory. What I do know is that I suddenly found myself visualising being up on the stage and being caught by Patrick Swayze.

Despite my late night I still awaken before the others, although not as early as I usually do when working. I wake up about seven in the morning. I untangle myself from the sleeping bag and carefully climb over the other girls. I head through the dining room and kitchen to the bathroom to use the loo and have a quick wash. I won’t be bothering with a shower this morning.

I emerge from the bathroom and put the kettle on for a cup of tea. I know many young people don’t drink tea anymore, in fact there is a whole section of society that now drinks nothing but beer, but I like a brew in the mornings.

I am soon joined by Wendy, who like me is an early riser due to the farming lifestyle.

“I thought I heard movement,” Wendy states as she gets two mugs out of the cupboard and finds the teabags.

“I hope I didn’t wake anyone, I’m trying to be quiet,” I say.

“I was already awake reading, have been for the last hour,” Wendy replies.

Wendy then suggests making breakfast for everybody. Jill has apparently stocked up on eggs, bread and bacon for the purposes of the sleepover. It would appear that they normally only have toast or cereal, but thought their guests might like more. Wendy and I both usually have larger breakfasts, but because we both work, and have to cycle several miles each day, we burn more calories than the average couch potato teenager does.

Wendy finds the frying pan and puts it on the cooker ready to use when the others awake. The kettle has now boiled so I make a cuppa.

We have just sat down at the dining room table when the sound of the Crazy Frog can be heard emanating from above us, followed shortly afterwards by swearing. Wendy swears under her breath and dashes up the stairs at high speed. I guess it must be her mobile phone making the racket.

The combination of the phone and the pounding of feet running up the stairs has the effect of waking the other girls. I am soon joined by the partially awake Alison and Mary. I ask them if they want a drink. Alison opts for a cup of instant coffee, while Mary plumps for chilled apple juice from the fridge.

Wendy comes back down the stairs a couple of minutes later, fully dressed and with Jill in tow.

“Jasmine, you need to make yourself scarce for a few minutes. My mother is on her way over to pick my bike and me up. My grandfather has been taken ill and my parents need to head down to Cambridge as soon as possible. It looks bad. I won’t be going with them, but I need to be on the farm to look after the cattle. Jason and your parents are supposed to be coming to help, but they have their own stock to take care of first,” Wendy explains.

“Sounds like an all hands to the pump situation,” I state, “Do you need my help? I can come with you if you need a hand.”

“How do we explain your presence?” Wendy asks.

“I’m staying the night at Greg’s remember, that’s only a couple of blocks from here. You called me when you heard and I came over to meet you,” I state. “Be getting our bikes out while I quickly get dressed. I brought a set of boy clothes in case of an emergency. This counts.”

I swiftly grab my rucksack and dash back into the bathroom to change. I have been wearing my headscarf in case Mary’s mother sees me, but there is no sign of her getting up, so I switch into boy mode by leaving my head uncovered and putting tape over my earrings. I don the jeans and white shirt that I have in my bag and make sure I have all my girl clothes hidden at the bottom of the rucksack.

When I come back out, Wendy hands me some toast, which I eat while finishing drinking my tea. In the meantime, Alison and Mary are carrying our two bikes through the house from the shed. They put them on a dustsheet in the front room. I just hope that Susan, Wendy’s mother, doesn’t question my bike, as it’s the girls’ road version not my normal boys’ mountain variety.

Jill rolls my sleeping bag and puts it in my rucksack with my pillow while I finish my breakfast. I am washing my hands after eating the toast when a car pulls up outside. Wendy calls out that her mother is here and we both head through to the front room as Susan rings the bell.

Mary answers the door and lets the woman in. She is surprised to see me but Wendy quickly covers me by saying that I was staying at a friend’s nearby and that she called me, as we discussed.

Susan’s car is parked outside blocking the road, so there isn’t time to stop and argue. Both sides of the road are full of parked cars, so there is nowhere for her to park, so she has simply stopped in the middle of the road, blocking it for all other traffic. We swiftly put the two bikes into the trailer that is being towed on the back, and get in, putting our bags on the back seat.

Waving goodbye to our friends, we start to drive off to Wendy and Susan’s farm. I am sitting in the back with the bags while Susan and Wendy are up front.

“Wendy, can I borrow your mobile for a sec?” I ask.

“Sure, it’s in the left hand pocket of my bag,” she replies.

I locate the device and phone home to let them know what is going on. My father answers the phone. He has just popped back into the kitchen after milking the cows. I explain what is happening and that I’m with Wendy. I give him the same reason as Susan for why I’m here and not where I said I would be. He seems to accept this, and states that if I help then he won’t need to rush over, as we should be able to manage between us. My mother has taken Susan’s place working in the dairy shop this morning. All the farmers’ wives take turns in that role.

We arrive in the farmyard. Mr Bancroft, Wendy’s father, is loading their other car with suitcases. Seeing us he calls out, “The first lot of cows are in milking, the second and third lots are waiting in the holding pen round the side.”

After finishing loading the car and kissing Wendy goodbye, her parents disappear off down the road. Susan’s father has had a massive heart attack, and is being taken into surgery for an emergency angioplasty. If that fails then the only choice is a full-blown bypass. It is looking uncertain if he will survive. I hope that they get to the hospital in time and he is okay. It is just under one hundred miles away, and it will take at least two and a half hours to reach there.

Wendy and I are left alone at the farm to see to the cows. The first batch is nearing completion and we set to work with the second. We herd the first lot into a separate field, and then move half the remaining animals into the milking shed, hooking up the apparatus to the udders.

By the time the second lot have been milked, we are joined by reinforcements in the shape of Alison, Mary and Jill. They left shortly after we did and cycled over here to offer their assistance. They haven’t ever helped before, but they figured we could do with the moral support if nothing else.

I whisper an idea into Wendy’s ear, and she nods her agreement. After swapping the cows over to the final lot, we instruct our guests to hose down the holding pen, removing the manure the cows have left behind on the concrete.

You can’t make omelettes without breaking eggs, and you can’t work on a farm without shovelling shit.

While our friends clean up the mess outside we see to the cows and move them outside after they have given up the last of their milk. I then herd the cows back to pasture while Wendy oversees the cleaning of the milking apparatus with the assistance of the other girls.

On this farm, there are only cows to deal with. Thankfully, there are no sheep or goats, like on our farm. They do, however, have double the number of cows we have.

Jill has brought her sleeping bag with her. She intends to stay with Wendy until her parents’ return, both to keep her company and to act as another pair of hands to run the farm.

After milking the cows, we head into the kitchen for a drink when the phone rings. Wendy answers and after a brief conversation hands the phone to me. It’s my father checking that we are all right. He isn’t going to be able to come and help as he is running our own farm alone while my mother takes Susan’s turn at the shop.

I tell him that Wendy has Jill to help, and they will be able to manage if needed. I enquire if he needs any help. The cottages have been vacated and need cleaning, so he requests that I fulfil my normal duties. If I finish in time, then I will be able to assist in the next milking cycle.

I call out to Alison and Mary, asking them if they fancy helping me with some chores. They seem to be happy to tag along, so I inform my father that I have some assistants and should be able to get the cottages sorted in record time.

Having unloaded the bikes from the trailer, we wheel it into the double garage where it is stored. Wendy then asks me to reverse her mother’s car into the garage as well. Wendy has never driven, but knows that I often drive the buggies and on occasion have driven the Land Rover across the fields.

The three of us then head out of the farm, with me leading the way. The first stop I make is the woodland. I ask the girls to wait at the gate while I quickly swap bikes. I don’t bother to unload my girl things. I will sort them out later and hide them at home.

Having swapped rides, I lead the girls to our farmyard. My father is out in the fields so we have the house to ourselves. I give them the quick tour. It feels weird being in boy mode around my friends, so I decide that my payment for the girl’s assistance will be them seeing me dressed in the French maids uniform. At least that is what I will tell my parents if they see me and ask what I’m doing.

I show my friends where we keep the towels and duvet covers and instruct them to load up the required amount into crates while I change into the uniform. Returning to the kitchen, I get a laugh as I parade catwalk style through the room. I have discarded my scarf and I’ve left the wig off, as I don’t want to be caught wearing it by my parents. The only thing on my head is the small bonnet that comes with the outfit. I know that I look slightly stupid, especially with my own hair on show, it gives the impression that I’m a drag artist.

Having piled everything I need on the kitchen table I walk across to the barn, hitch the trailer onto the two-seater buggy, and ride it to the back door. We then load the goods into the trailer. The three of us then squeeze into the two seats. It is a tight fit for Mary and Alison to share the passenger seat, but we manage.

I then drive us carefully to the cottages. I still go reasonably fast, enough to get the girls squealing, but nowhere near as fast as I normally go. These buggies can reach sixty miles an hour, but I am barely going twenty-five today.

Arriving at the cottages, we then proceed to work our way through each of them. We share the workload of vacuuming, dusting, washing, and switching linen. The entire job takes only half the time as normal. It is getting on for midday by the time we complete our work. We load the buggy with the dirty linen and ride back to the farm.

On hearing us arriving, my father comes out of the kitchen door to greet us. He does a double take when he sees me once again dressed as a girl.

“Simon, why on earth are you dressed like that?” he asks.

“The girls heard about me wearing this last week and only agreed to help if I wore the uniform,” I state. “They have been sniggering all morning, but at least it motivates them to work.”

“You have a very cute butt, especially when bent over dusting,” Mary cheekily adds.

I swat her as we climb out of the vehicle. Ignoring the looks of my father, I grab one of the crates of dirty linen and lead the girls into the utility room to load up the machine with the first batch of washing.

“You best change out of those clothes before your mother sees you,” my father tells me, “I don’t mind you messing about with your friends, as long as you trust them not to spread any nasty rumours about you. Your mother certainly won’t approve though.”

I decide I have pushed my luck as far as I can and head up to my room to change. I come back down in boy mode in a pair of jeans and a shirt.

We proceed to make some sandwiches for lunch. My father takes his into the office while he does some paperwork, leaving us alone in the lounge to eat ours. We gossip as we eat. I deliberately steer the conversation off anything to do with my dual identity. Instead, we discuss living on the farm.

In the afternoon, we cycle back over to the Bancroft’s farm. We help Wendy and Jill to do the chores associated with keeping the farm running. Once all the animals have been seen to, Alison and Mary head home before it gets dark. I stay with Wendy and Jill, who is staying the night, until it starts to get dark, before returning home.

Sunday is a busy day. We not only have our own farm to attend, we also go back over to give Wendy a hand, although to be fair, she is managing with Jill’s help. It is possible to manage single-handedly, it just takes a lot longer. Several of the other farmers in our consortium also drop by to lend a hand.

Wendy receives a phone call mid-morning with an update on her grandfather. He’s out of surgery and recovering well. Her parents will be returning late this evening.

On Monday, I have another P.E. lesson. This time we are instructed to wear our outside kit. The girls are then led once again to the hockey pitch. I note that the boys are playing football, a sport that I hate.

We start with dribbling, learning how to control the ball with our sticks. We then get into pairs and practice passing the ball between us. I team up with Alison. We then learn how to tackle. The second half of the lesson is spent in an actual game. Mrs Hargreaves hands out coloured vests that we put on to denote our teams.

At least this is one-step better than being a boy. The boys’ kit includes reversible shirts that have a stripe on one side. To change teams you have to take it off and wear it inside out, not pleasant when the weather turns cold. As it’s inappropriate for girls to bare their chests, we don’t have this issue. We also are allowed to wear sweaters over our shirts, meaning we keep warmer than the boys do.

I’m enjoying myself and I’m able to play quite well. As I have yet to go through puberty, I don’t have much of a physical advantage over the girls. However, working on the farm does mean I am fitter than average.

Everything is going well until near the end of the second half of the game. Julie is on the opposing team. I gain possession of the ball and she heads straight for me. I swiftly pass the ball before she reaches me, but she has already started to swing her stick and it connects with my left foot with a loud crack. The force of her attack sweeps my feet from under me and I land heavily on my side. Luckily, my shoe took the blow rather than my ankle.

Mrs Hargreaves immediately blows her whistle and angrily starts shouting at Julie, who doesn’t look in the least bit sorry. I had jumped in the air when I saw her swing at me. Julie’s hockey stick was at least a foot in the air and would have hit my shins just below the knee if I hadn’t had such quick reactions. Unfortunately, I didn’t quite jump high enough to clear her strike.

I roll onto my back and sit up, rubbing my arm where I landed on it. Alison and Mary are immediately by my side to see if I am okay. Mrs Hargreaves comes over to see if I am all right. I try to put weight on my injured foot and wince in pain. My shoe and sock are removed to reveal a large bruise that is already starting to swell.

Mrs Hargreaves looks at her watch. “You two,” she states, indicating Mary and Alison, “help her back to the changing rooms and run that foot under cold water. You,” indicating Julie, “are going to run laps of the pitch, get moving or you will be adding detention as well. That was a bloody stupid thing to do and could have caused serious injury. The rest of you, get back to the game.”

The girls help me to my feet. We link arms round our shoulders and I hop back to the changing room carrying my sock and shoe with me. Mary fills a sink with cold water and holds me while I lift my foot into it. The pain is receding and the cold water helps to stop the swelling.

“The bitch did that on purpose,” states Alison angrily. “Just what is her problem? You have done nothing improper; in fact I notice that you have gone out of your way not to look at anybody.”

I take my foot out of the sink and try to put weight on it. I wince as a pain shoots up my leg. I hop over to the bench and sit down. We are soon joined by the rest of the girls as Mrs Hargreaves leads them into the changing room before heading into her office and returning with the first aid kit.

Mrs Hargreaves takes a close look at my ankle, feeling to see if anything is broken. “Take a shower, but try not to put too much weight on your foot. I will bandage it up for you. If you are still in pain by the end of the day, get your parents to take you up the hospital for an X-ray.”

Alison and Mary have now stripped naked and after whispering between them decide to help me in and out of the shower. I remove my clothes and they take an arm each over their shoulders and practically carry me into the showers. I carefully stand on one leg and clean myself, while they do the same, before they lift me and carry me back to the bench. I sit and dry off while Mrs Hargreaves bandages my foot and carefully fits my shoe over it.

I stand up, still naked except for the one shoe, and try walking. As long as I don’t put too much weight on it, I can limp along. By now, all the other girls are dressed and are sat waiting for the bell to ring. I have no doubt that all eyes are on me, and I am certain Julie and friends are paying close attention to my crotch. Julie looks annoyed but has the sense not to challenge me further. She is not stupid enough to accuse me of being a boy in front of all these people, especially Mrs Hargreaves, when I am standing there naked without any sign of male genitals being present.

I swiftly dress myself. As I do so, the bell rings and Mrs Hargreaves permits the other girls to leave. Mary and Alison stay with me while I finish dressing. They take my bags - I have two: one for my sports kit, the other for my books - and help me limp off to my final lesson of the day.

---

 

An hour later I am still not able to put much weight on my foot and I am now worried about what to do next. I somehow need to get home, and it is probably a good idea to have an X-ray done. I can’t have my parents pick me up without first changing, and I can’t risk anybody seeing me in boy mode. I do have a pair of trousers in my locker, but I’m bound to be found out if I call my parents here.

Josh once again comes to my rescue. Having seen how badly I am injured, and figuring I won’t be able to ride my bike home, he asks me if I would like to come round his house and have my parents pick me up from there. I readily agree. Alison, Mary and Josh help me to my locker where I pick up my spare clothes, hidden inside a plastic bag.

We head to the cycle sheds and they help me onto my bike. Josh then pushes me along so that I don’t have to pedal. Mary and Alison accompany us to Josh’s house. Once I am sitting down in his lounge I tell Mary and Alison that I will be okay and they can leave. Reluctantly, the girls leave me, but I don’t want my parents cottoning on to my having more girlfriends than boyfriends.

I think Julie was attempting to do that today by forcing me into a situation where my parents would have to be called to the school. Josh helps me to change into boy mode. I put my girl clothes and hairpiece into my sports bag and Josh hides them in his bedroom.

“Whittaker farm,” my mother says as she answers the phone.

“Hi, mum it’s Simon. I have a problem. I received a nasty blow to my left foot in P.E. earlier and I am having trouble putting any weight on it. I’m limping badly and it’s too painful to cycle home. My teacher examined it, strapped it up for me, and recommended that if I still had problems to get it X-rayed. I am round at a friend’s house now. Can you come and pick me up?”

After some discussion, she agrees to come for me and I give her the address. Fifteen minutes later, I see our car pull up outside. After saying goodbye to Josh and thanking him for his help, I limp out to the car and we drive to the accident and emergency unit at the local hospital.

We have to sit and wait an hour to be seen. I am then placed in a wheelchair and taken to the X-ray department. The doctors conclude that nothing is broken, but I do have a nasty bruise. I am prescribed some anti-inflammatory tablets and told to take some paracetamol for the pain. I will need to keep my weight off my foot for the next few days. I just need to figure out how to get in and out of school tomorrow without blowing my cover.

We drive home and arrive just after six in the evening. My father sees us pull up and comes out to help me in out of the car. We give him the diagnosis and he is pleased that I’m not badly injured. I spend the evening lying on the couch watching telly with an ice pack on my foot.

At bedtime, my father carries me up the stairs. I am then able to limp to the bathroom and into bed without further assistance.

I have been excused my normal duties and have a lie-in Tuesday morning until half seven. I carefully get out of bed and place my injured foot on the floor. The swelling has gone down, but my foot has now turned a funny colour with all the bruising. It is still sore if I press down on it, but I am now able to walk all right, although I still have a slight limp.

I take a shower and dress in my school uniform, trousers not skirt, and no bra. I’m sitting having breakfast when the phone rings. As my parents are out looking after the animals, I answer the phone.

“Hello, Whittaker farm,” I answer.

“Hi, is that Simon? It’s Josh”

“Yes, it’s me.”

“What’s the prognosis?”

“Badly bruised, but not broken. I can walk now, but I’m limping slightly.”

“I assume your parents are going to run you to school,” Josh states. “I have your things here. How are we going to work this? Presumably you need to sneak in without being seen.”

“I’m going to ask my parents to drop me off by Tesco’s, that way they don’t have to fight through the traffic near the school and it will give me a chance to change before I get in. Can you meet me outside at the entrance?” I ask.

Josh agrees to my plan and we discuss specifics. I hang up the phone as my mother comes in.

“Who was that?” she asks.

“My friend Josh, the boy you met yesterday when you picked me up. I left my bike at his house. He is going to bring it to school. I hope that I will be able to ride it home tonight. I have agreed to meet him at Tesco’s. He needs to stop and buy some lunch and I thought it would be easier for you to drop me there rather than having to go all the way to the school. I wondered if you wanted to do the shopping this morning rather than going out again this afternoon.”

My mother thinks about this for a few minutes. I convince her that I am fine to ride the short distance to school, and can simply coast there without needing to pedal.

When we get to the supermarket, Josh is standing waiting for us near the entrance. After saying goodbye to my mother, we walk towards the cycle racks while she heads inside with a trolley. When I am confident that she is out of sight, I get on my bike and coast out of the car park towards the school.

There is a small piece of woodland belonging to the local wildlife trust between the supermarket and the school. Josh holds my bike while I slip inside. I hide myself from view behind some bushes, change into my skirt, slip on a bra, and fix my hair. I apply my makeup using a small hand mirror. When I return to the road, Josh checks my appearance. Not finding any problems, we proceed to school and arrive in class just before the final bell.

During registration, Mr Francis asks me how my foot is. I notice that Julie is absent and her name hasn’t been called. He disappears a few minutes before the first lesson. I get the impression something is going on, and I suspect it is going to involve me.

We proceed to our first lesson, which happens to be History. A few minutes after the lesson starts, Julie is brought in by the school secretary. As Julie sits down, she looks in my direction and grins menacingly. I have a sinking feeling that my world is about to fall apart.

My suspicions are confirmed when half an hour later the headmaster comes to the door.

“Excuse me, Mrs Brown. I need to borrow Miss Whittaker,” Mr Henry says as he enters the room. “Please would you come with me? Bring your belongings with you as the bell may ring before we are finished.”

I look across to Julie who smiles at me, trying not to laugh, so I give her the evil eye as I pass.

I have the dreaded feeling that my parents are probably waiting for me in the office. I decide I had better find out. “I take it that this is to do with Julie attacking me yesterday.” I get no answer so I try again. “Have you spoken to my parents?” Mr Henry doesn’t respond so I stop walking and cross my arms. When he realises that I am no longer following, he turns to me and angrily tells me to get moving.

“Not until you answer my question,” I state calmly, “I have a good idea of what Julie has accused me of, and if my parents are waiting in your office, then I am in serious physical danger. My father has just been released from jail following a homophobic attack on my brother.”

I have carefully worded my statement so that I haven’t given anything away if my suspicion is false, but at the same time made it clear that I am in trouble if he knows I’m male.

Mr Henry looks at me and finally tells me, “Your parents have not yet been summoned, Simon. I want to hear your explanation before I proceed further. ”

I sigh with relief that my parents aren’t here, but it is obvious my game is up. I resume following Mr Henry to his office.

There are two other people in the office waiting for us to arrive. I am first introduced to an older man with slightly greying hair. Dr Truman is one of the school governors, elected as a prominent member of the community. He is a senior surgeon at the local hospital. I recognise his name as a few years ago he operated on my father when he was having prostrate problems.

The second person is Dr Lambert, a psychologist who teachers our A Level students and acts as the school counsellor. She is dressed in a smart skirted business suit with her hair tied in a bun. I would guess that she is in her forties, but I am not very good at judging ages.

The two guests are sitting at a small coffee table to the side of the office. Mr Henry gestures to the free chair, “You may sit down,” he instructs as he fetches his own chair from behind his desk.

I do as asked, glad not to have to stand, as I don’t think my legs will support me for long.

“First question, you seem to have more than one name, would you prefer to be addressed as Simon, Simone, or Jasmine?” Mr Henry asks.

“Jasmine, sir,” I reply, slightly surprised that he is actually asking that. I assumed that he would automatically call me Simon.

“Jasmine, you have been deliberately misleading people and spreading disinformation. I do not like being deceived or being lied too. Frankly I have enough evidence against you that I could expel you and simply turn you over to your parents to deal with,” he exclaims and I feel my pulse rise. The room starts to spin and go black. The next thing I know I am lying on my back looking at the ceiling.

Mr Henry kneels beside me, watching. “Don’t try to get up,” he softly says, “Stay lying down until you’re fully recovered and the feeling has passed. Don’t rush.”

I close my eyes and take some deep breaths, slowly counting to twenty before opening my eyes and lifting my head. I gradually raise myself into a sitting position. Looking around the room, I see I am sitting in the middle of the office floor. The chair I had been sitting on is lying on its side.

“You had me worried for a moment, Jasmine. I have reduced a number of students to tears before now, but you are the first to actually collapse from the stress,” Mr Henry remarks in a friendly voice.

“Sorry, I’m not sure why that happened,” I say blushing with embarrassment. “It’s not like I didn’t expect to get found out. I’m surprised I’ve managed to survive this long. I know I have been putting myself under a lot of stress, but I thought I could cope. I guess not.”

“Let’s start again,” Mr Henry says, helping me back into the chair.

“Jasmine, I want you to be totally honest with me. I can’t help you if you continue to lie. I am going to ask you a number of questions and I want you to promise to answer them truthfully.”

“I promise, no more lies or half-truths. I will tell you everything,” I answer. Having recovered my composure from my fainting fit, I am now calm, relaxed, and totally at ease with the inevitable, as I explain, “After all, I have nothing left to lose. I am 90% certain that I will be dead by the end of the day and I’m not speaking metaphorically. Please go ahead and ask me anything you like, you need to obtain as much information as necessary for the inevitable coroner’s inquest.”

I smile at the people watching me as its amusing seeing the alarmed look spread across their faces.

“Jasmine, why do you believe you will be dead by the end of the day? Are you planning on taking your own life?” Dr Lambert asks with concern.

“I don’t want to die, but I have in effect already committed suicide, it’s just a case of if it turns out to be fatal,” I reply before clarifying, “There is a time bomb waiting to explode in the form of my parents. My actions have primed the fuse, and my discovery is the spark to light it. I now just have to wait for the explosion. The most likely outcome is that they will kill me. You may be able to protect me from the blast if you believe that I’m in danger. However, my principal aim is to make sure that they don’t walk away unscathed from my murder.”

“I can see why you would be scared of your parents’ reaction,” Dr Lambert states, “but aren’t you overreacting?”

“Fear is irrelevant,” I reply. “It is the emotional reaction to the unknown. I have certainty in the outcome, and I’ve chosen to accept that risk along with the inevitable consequences. I would rather be a delighted pessimist than a disappointed optimist.”

I sit calmly and unemotionally resolved in my determination to achieve my goal or die trying. Nervous glances go back and forth between the assembled professionals. I suspect they are trying to work out my state of mind.

After a pause Mr Henry decides to go ahead and question me, “The birth certificate and identity cards you provided, they are faked?”

“The one from the sports centre is real, although obtained with false information. The rest are fake,” I reply.

“Your legal name is Simon J Whittaker, correct?” Mr Henry enquires.

“Yes,” I declare.

“You are male?” he asks.

“Depends on the context,” I state. Seeing the puzzled expression I elaborate, “I was male at birth, and legally I still am. However, I’m technically a eunuch, which may or may not be a separate physical classification, depending on your definition.”

“Jasmine, when and how did you become a eunuch?” Dr Truman asks.

I serenely state, “Six weeks ago I performed a bilateral orchiectomy and labiaplasty on myself. Using a tranquilizer dart as a local anaesthetic, I cut my scrotum in half and removed both testicles. I applied a hot soldiering iron to cauterize the wounds to stop the worst of the bleeding. I then proceeded to use medical grade superglue to seal any other blood vessels. I folded my penis as flat as possible and shoved it as far inside of me as I could get it, gluing it in place, being very careful not to block the urethra. I then fashioned my scrotal skin into labia to form a vulva. Living on a farm, I have seen castration being performed on livestock, so I knew the basic procedure. The rest I researched on the Internet.”

I smile at the three people who are now looking shocked and horrified. Mr Henry has turned white. “I am well aware that I could have killed myself, which was a risk I was willing to take. I would rather die than go through a male puberty. My father has recently been in jail after attacking my brother because he is gay. If my parents can’t accept one son as homosexual, then the chance of accepting the other as transsexual is nil. I have always known that I’m a girl, and I have been thinking about doing this for years. This wasn’t some rash decision. When they find out what I have done, no matter what they do, they can’t change me back.”

“I would like to examine you, if I may?” Dr Truman asks.

“Sure, no problem,” I happily reply, “I think I did all right, but would like a professional opinion. It was painful and sore for a couple of weeks, but then settled down. I was okay walking and swimming, but running in the beep test in P.E. did cause some bleeding and soreness.”

“Normally we would have to get parental permission to do an examination,” Mr Henry states, “However, I suspect that you would rather not have us ask that question. If you are willing forgo that then I think it may be a good idea. You can nominate somebody as a chaperone instead of your parents if you wish.”

“Dr Lambert, I presume that you are willing to be present as a chaperone, or does it need to be somebody not connected with the school?” I ask. “If an independent witness is required then there are other students who know my secret.”

Josh and Wendy both know the full details. Julie, Alison, Jill and Mary know I have done something, but not the full extent. Mr Henry decides that if I am happy with Dr Lambert, then there is no need for further chaperoning.

I am shown into the first aid room where Dr Truman gives me a thorough examination. After donning gloves, he takes a thin metal spatula and examines my pubic area, moving the skin back to see where I have glued myself together. The doctor then feels round the region with his fingers and asks if I can feel any soreness. During the examination, I explain in as much detail as I can manage the exact procedure I used.

Dr Lambert then asks me a series of questions querying the thought process I used to come to the decision. I answer as best I can, being totally honest in my responses. I get the impression that she is trying to judge my state of mind to see how crazy I am, and if she needs to send for the men in white coats to come and take me away in a straightjacket. While Dr Lambert is talking to me, Dr Truman disappears back through to Mr Henry’s office.

Having completed both the physical and mental examinations we return to the office. I take my seat and I’m offered a cup of tea and a doughnut. While I eat and drink, Dr Lambert and Mr Henry step outside to discuss something in the corridor. There is no need to guess at the subject matter.

Mr Henry and Dr Lambert return to the room, and for my benefit, Mr Henry asks them to give their findings. He instructs them to be honest with me and not to withhold any information. I assume that he is trying to build my trust.

Dr Truman gives his opinion first, “Jasmine has the outward appearance of being female. It is only when you try to do an internal examination does it become obvious something isn’t right. As suspected there is no evidence of any testicles being present. While the area’s still tender, it appears to be healing well, and there is no sign of infection. In fact, I’m impressed at the level of skill and neatness of the operation. It’s been done better than some of my medical students could manage after several months of training.”

Dr Lambert then gives her diagnosis, “Normally it would take many hours of consultation in order to come to any conclusions. However, considering the extraordinary lengths to which Jasmine is going, and her strong beliefs on the subject, my initial diagnosis, pending confirmation by a specialist, is that she is suffering from severe Gender Dysphoria. Despite earlier impressions, I don’t think she is suicidal, and I don’t think that she is likely to do further self-harm having already achieved her aim of castration. I do however have reservations over her mental stability and would like her to receive counselling.”

“Thank you both,” I say in response. “I am glad that my surgery hasn’t been counterproductive. One of the risks was that I did myself irreversible damage that would prevent me from having the remainder of the sex reassignment surgery later. I am also glad to hear that I’m not quite mad enough for the funny farm yet, it was a possible outcome that I have considered.”

Mr Henry ponders the doctors’ statements as we all sit in silence.

“I have made a decision,” the headmaster states. “Jasmine, you have put me in a difficult position. When you came to see me on the first day of school, I suspected that you were lying to me. However, I could see you had gone to a lot of effort to make us believe you were a girl, so I therefore let you attend as Simone until I could do further research.”

He pauses to drink some water before continuing, “At first I thought that we may have made a mistake. The school computer system was corrupted by a virus and we had to hurriedly re-input a number of records over the summer after our backups proved inadequate. I was going to phone your parents to find out what was going on but they were unreachable. It seems that the phone number we have is for a barber’s shop in Aberdeen and your address appears to be a petrol station on the outskirts of Kings Lynn.”

“I swear that has nothing to do with me,” I say with alarm, “If I could have changed the records then I wouldn’t have needed to go through the risk of trying to convince you of an error on the first day.”

Mr Henry nods and says, “I accept that and I’m not suggesting that you had anything to do with it. I know you would have changed the gender flag and given yourself a realistic address rather than a seventy-mile commute. Your record is not the only one affected. It’s the result of a computer virus planted by one of our students. We know who and he’s been arrested by the police.”

I am in enough trouble without being blamed for something that I haven’t done. It’s a pity I didn’t know who did this, as they may have been able to help me. I have at least benefited somewhat from their actions, as it appears to have delayed my discovery and made my ploy more believable.

“I instead contacted your previous school and spoke with your former headmistress,” Mr Henry explains, “Mrs Castle confirmed your details and was surprised to learn you were attending as a girl, as she is aware of the homophobic nature of your parents.”

I sigh with relief. I am scared of being expelled and possibly beaten up by the other students, but it’s my parents who cause the most concern. I have seen their reaction to Mike.

“By the time I had all the evidence and spoken to everybody, you were already in your first P.E. lesson. I was going to pull you out of the class, however by the time I found out where you were the period was almost over and you had already headed back into the changing rooms,” Mr Henry says. “I stood outside the door, and I didn’t hear any screaming, so I decided to wait and talk to Mrs Hargreaves after the lesson. We were both shocked, Mrs Hargreaves couldn’t believe you were male and I was surprised that you were able to walk naked through the changing room without giving yourself away.”

“You let me continue being a girl, even though you knew I was a boy?” I asked surprised at how long it had taken Mr Henry to confront me. “Including letting me continue to use the wrong changing room for a fortnight?”

“Yes, this school doesn’t have a transgender policy so I had to do some research, and this took some time. I also wanted to arrange a time when the two doctors could see you, this meeting was scheduled before the unfortunate incident yesterday,” Mr Henry explains. “I also wanted Mrs Hargreaves to be able to observe your behaviour in the changing rooms and judge how you interacted with the girls. You have already exposed yourself to them and you have seen them naked, so in that sense the harm had already been done, as long as you didn’t try anything further.”

“And if I did, Mrs Hargreaves would be ready to pounce on me,” I add.

“Exactly,” Mr Henry replies. “The only policy documents I could find on dealing with transgender students related to universities, so I am going to base my actions on what I have read. I am going to err on the side of caution and actually give you the full protection of gender law, even though you technically don’t yet qualify.”

Mr Henry continues, “I am hereby formally recognising your status as being transgendered. You have chosen to present yourself as a girl and this school will respect that decision. It would be discriminating for me to ask you to use the male facilities and for the same reason I can’t make you use the disabled ones. I therefore have to provide you with somewhere appropriate to your acquired gender. Considering your physical appearance, I see no reason why you can’t continue to use the girls’ changing room as long as the other girls are satisfied with your behaviour. I am also prohibited from revealing your status to other students and third parties without your consent.”

I sit in stunned silence as I digest what I am being told. Can I really carry on attending school as a girl? There must be a catch. “Thank you, sir, what about my parents? I assume you will need to tell them what I have done.”

Mr Henry replies, “Your parents have a right to know about any issues you face at school, but I also have a duty of care to keep you safe. I recognise that disclosing certain information to your parents could result in you being placed in physical danger. I also have the problem that I don’t have any contact information for them and from your earlier statements I doubt you will be willing to provide it.”

I grin and nod.

“I could probably find out from other sources if I was to ask around, some of the other students must know where you live. However, I’m not going to pursue any further lines of enquiry. It is up to you how you want to handle telling them. Be warned, I am not going to lie to them on your behalf. I suggest you tell them at the earliest opportunity. If you want to do that here on neutral ground, you may do so. You will also be spending the next week in break and lunchtime detention as punishment for your deception.”

“Thank you sir, that is very fair of you. I am very grateful for your help and that you have taken my desires seriously, and I readily accept the punishment,” I humbly reply. “I will try to work out a way of breaking this to my parents, as it’s only a matter of time before they find out. My immediate concern is Julie. You said I could continue to use the girls’ facilities if there aren’t any complaints. She objects to my use of the changing rooms and I suspect her attack was her way of forcing me to reveal myself to my parents. I know she has been spreading rumours about me being a pervert and a lesbian. I caught her off guard. Julie thought I would avoid P.E. with a forged sick note. I believe she hasn’t revealed my secret yet because she fears being ridiculed after everyone saw me naked.”

Mr Henry considers this for a few seconds before responding, “A number of the teachers have noticed the hostility Julie has been showing against you, but didn’t know why. We have also heard the rumours. How do you want to handle this? Are you worried what might happen if the girls find out about your past?”

“I didn’t expect to face this problem,” I state, “I knew my masquerade would eventually fail, I am surprised it went as well as it did. I anticipated several outcomes, most of which involved being beaten to a pulp either by my parents or by other students, or being locked up in jail or the loony bin. I never considered that I would have the ability to carry on once discovered.”

Despite my best efforts, I can’t prevent my eyes from watering. As the tears roll down my face, Mr Henry starts to say something, but I put my hand up and signal him to stop. “I said I would be totally honest. It’s time for my deception to end. That means not only being honest to you, but also to my parents and fellow students.”

Looking across at the clock on the wall, I notice it’s nearly lunchtime. “Would it be possible to assemble all the girls with whom I have to share the facilities? I would like to face them and ask for their permission to continue.”

After discussing exactly what I want to do, Mr Henry agrees and leaves the room to make arrangements. The morning lessons will be ended a few minutes early and the girls will be instructed to come to the drama studio. Dr Truman bids his farewell, as he has to leave for work. Before he goes, he tells me he is going to set up an appointment for me at the hospital. Now that I can’t produce the hormones I require, I will need replacement therapy.

---

 

I am sitting in a chair at the side of the drama studio as the other girls start to file in. When Julie sees me sitting at the edge of the room with Dr Lambert, she grins, assuming that I have been found out. Mr Henry calls the girls to attention.

“Thank you,” he begins, “an issue has been raised about one of the girls in your P.E. class. A complaint has been made that Jasmine Whittaker shouldn’t be allowed to use the changing facilities. We are here to discuss the issue and then conduct an anonymous vote to see if Jasmine should be removed.”

I am invited to take centre stage. I stand in front of the gathered crowd to address them. I can see Julie sitting at the side trying to stifle a laugh, at my discomfort. I decide to turn the tables, “I have been accused of deceiving you by withholding certain facts about my past. Julie, I can see you smirking in the corner. As my chief accuser, would you like to explain your issue with me? Go ahead and say whatever you want, that way I can’t deliberately miss anything out.”

“Okay Simon, if you insist,” Julie replies, emphasising my male name. “Your name isn’t Jasmine; it isn’t even Simone, it’s Simon. You are not a girl at all; in fact, you’re a boy. A boy so sick and perverted that he has to dress up and pretend he’s a girl. A boy so mentally unstable that he self-mutilates his own genitals in order to pass naked. That blood we saw wasn’t menstrual; it was down to him gluing himself up so tightly he tore the skin when running. Simon, you are sick and need help.”

I look around at the shocked faces. All eyes are now on me to respond. “I do indeed suffer from a recognised medical condition known as Gender Dysphoria. There are known differences between the development of male and female brains. In rare cases such as mine, the brain can develop in the opposite direction to the rest of the body. Physically I was born a boy, but mentally I’m a girl. No amount of brainwashing can change my perception that I am in the wrong body, but it is possible to change my body so that it matches my own mental image. I am a girl, but one with defective plumbing, something that up to a point can be surgically corrected.”

There is a short silence before Rebecca asks, “So have you had your bits cut off, or are they somehow hidden?”

“A bit of both,” I answer with a grin, “My testicles have been removed to prevent a male puberty. With the help of female hormones, I can go through puberty as a girl, although I will never be capable of having a period or getting pregnant. My penis is still present, but is glued inside of me. Eventually it will be turned inside out and the nerves used to form a vagina. Final surgery is not usually completed before a patient is eighteen. That is not only for political reasons, it also makes sure that all growing has finished as scar tissue doesn’t expand.”

That last revelation stuns Julie more than the others. While the others will assume that I’m under the care of medical professionals, Julie knows that I don’t have access, as my parents would have needed to give their permission.

I focus my attention back to Julie, my eye contact silently challenging her to say more. She can choose to reveal that I am doing this totally without parental or medical assistance. This is both an advantage and shortcoming to my cause. It shows my determination, but also questions my sanity and stability.

Julie thankfully remains silent. While I am happy to reveal more if necessary, I would rather not say anything further.

“The school recognises Miss Whittaker’s status as a transsexual and respects her decision to live as a girl,” Mr Henry states, seeing that there are no further questions. “Given that she can no longer function as a male, I am willing to allow her to use the facilities associated with her desired gender. However, I will make alternative arrangements if any of you have strong objections. I am going to give you each a bit of paper. Behind the curtain is a ballot box into which you can vote. Please indicate either ‘Accept’ or ‘Object’ to Jasmine sharing the changing facilities. Please form a line. You can then each take a turn to vote in private.”

“Can we have some time to discuss the issue between ourselves before we vote?” Mary asks. I have a feeling I know what she is doing. Mr Henry agrees and takes me outside into the corridor to wait. However, Dr Lambert remains to oversee things so they don’t get out of hand. Twenty minutes later, we are called back in. I wonder what took so long, but don’t question it. The girls need to sort this out for themselves.

The girls line up and one by one, they disappear from view in order to vote. After everybody has voted, Dr Lambert brings the box out from behind the curtain and opens it. She looks at each bit of paper in turn, being careful to keep what is written on the paper hidden.

She then looks at each piece of paper again. Gathering them into a pile, she counts the number of votes cast before checking each piece of paper once more.

“We have a result,” Dr Lambert states, “It’s not what I expected. There are no objections, every single girl has voted to accept Jasmine.”

“Julie?” Mr Henry asks, looking in her direction.

“I voted to accept her,” Julie replies, “My main problem is her dishonesty. Sure, I’m not entirely comfortable being seen naked, but I’m willing to put up with that risk as long as Jasmine agrees to keep her eyes averted.”

I am too emotional to answer. Instead, I simply nod. I am so happy and relieved to be totally accepted for the first time in my life that I am speechless. I sit crying on my chair, grinning.

Mr Henry asks the girls to keep my medical status as private, and then dismisses them. Most head off in the direction of the canteen. Mary and Alison whisper to each other then come over and wrap me in a hug, one either side. I smile at their embrace. I was worried that I had perhaps lost some friends, but it seems like that is not the case.

“Do your parents know yet?” Julie asks.

“No,” I reply, finally getting my voice back. “That is my next hurdle. They don’t know that I’m transgendered. They are probably going to kill me, not to mention freak out when they find out about my surgery.”

“How did you get your surgery done without parental permission, what did they think you were going into hospital for?” Julie asks, puzzled.

“I didn’t go to hospital,” I state, “I performed the procedure on myself. Yes, I know how stupid and dangerous I acted, but I was depressed and desperate.”

“Julie,” Mr Henry interrupts, “am I going to have any further trouble between you and Jasmine? You do realise your attack is an expellable offence?”

“I’m sorry; I won’t cause any more trouble Mr Henry,” Julie replies. “Jasmine, I apologise for swinging at you. I was angry and jealous of how well you had been accepted as a girl. You’re not even a... well, you know, but you are prettier than I will ever be. I was suffering a bit with PMS, although that’s not an excuse, and I let my temper snap. I’m sorry.”

“You think I’m prettier?” I ask with surprise, “I’m exactly what I look like, a boy in drag. My hair is a wig, and my face is hidden behind waterproof makeup. You have natural beauty; I have to work hard to even achieve this much.”

Mary decides to end the discussion before we start an argument by saying we both don’t have anything to worry about in the looks department. Mr Henry then tells us to get going and get some lunch. Both Julie and I are in detention, but it will start tomorrow instead of today. After the amount of crying I have done I need to clean myself up. We head to the nearest girls’ bathroom. Mary, Alison and I go to head inside, but Julie waits outside.

“Sorry, but I don’t think I can go knowing that you can hear me. Sorry, I will wait until you come back out,” an embarrassed Julie says, looking at the floor in shame.

“I understand, I’ll be as quick as possible,” I reply. I know she feels awkward around me so I won’t push things. We all go to the loo and clean ourselves up, me in particular as I have been crying.

When I exit the bathroom, Julie apologies again as she heads inside. Josh is waiting outside.

“Julie told me what happened, congratulations,” he says as I wrap him in a hug. “I don’t think you will get much hassle from the boys either, as Damien pointed out, anybody tough enough to cut their own balls off is somebody you don’t want to mess with.”

“How does he know I cut them off?” I ask.

“Sorry, that’s my fault,” Josh apologises. “I tried to start rumours that you were your cousin, but too many people are convinced you’re Simon. There was a rumour going about regarding what you have had done, and I fuelled it. You are already the undisputed arm wrestling champion of our previous school year. Couple raw strength with insanity and you have a combination to be avoided.”

“Thanks,” I say and kiss him lightly on the cheek, “this is turning out to be a good day.” I immediately pull back embarrassed, realising what I have just done. “Sorry Josh, I’m letting myself get too emotional.”

“Hey, you’re a girl, it’s allowed,” he smiles at me, “However, if you insist on kissing me then do it properly.” He pulls me in tight and tilts his head to one side, drawing my lips into his. He stops just short of kissing me, not wanting to force me to do anything I don’t want. I pause for a second thinking whether should I be doing this. I then ignore logical reason, go with the flow, and push my mouth against his, in my first real kiss.

I melt into the moment, until it’s interrupted by cold water hitting the side of my face. We both pull apart and we turn to see where the water came from. A boy from our year is running away, an empty plastic cup in his hand, being chased and sworn at by Julie. I hear a teacher yelling, “Benson!” so I suspect he will be joining us in detention tomorrow. Mary is in fits of giggles and Alison stands shaking her head, trying not to laugh.

We mutually agree to leave further romance until later and join the queue in the canteen.

There are many whispers going on in class that afternoon. It looks like my fear of being labelled a freak may be coming true. However, I haven’t had any nasty comments yet, at least none that concern me. There is the odd remark, but I don’t think I will have any major problems.

What I will have is a problem when I get home. I need to confront my parents about my status, and that isn’t going to go well. Execution by firing squad is a real possibility, as we do own firearms.

I collect my bike from the cycle shed and begin the ride home. The wind has gotten up and the sky looks like it is going to rain. I decide not to stop at the bunker on the way home. It is going to be a shock for my parents when I walk in as a girl, but it might be the easiest way.

I push myself along the road as fast as I can to beat the weather home. I can go twice the speed on this bike. Going to the bunker will add another twenty minutes to my ride by the time I have changed. The wind is strong and I would have to cycle against it to do the detour. I make it into the farmyard as the first rain starts to fall.

I place my bike in the barn and dash across the yard. I try to open the door but find it locked. My parents must be out. I run back to the barn to shelter from the downpour. I don’t carry a set of keys to the house. This is because I don’t need to. Inside the barn is a key safe. It’s a small metal box securely fixed to a concrete wall. I spin the wheels of the four-digit combination lock and retrieve the door keys from inside.

As I unlock the door, the phone starts ringing. I dash over to answer it, “Whittaker Farm.”

“Simon, it’s Mum, we are over at Elm Tree Farm. The milking shed has caught fire,” she tells me.

I look out of the window in the direction of our neighbouring farm, and can see the smoke on the horizon. Several fire engines had whizzed by on my ride home and I had wondered where they were headed.

“The fire crew are dampening it down now, the rain helped, but it means that none of the cows here can be milked. We are going to ferry the cows over to Jason’s place, as he has the spare capacity and is closer than we are,” Mum explains. Jason Yearly is another one of the farmers in our cheesemaking enterprise. Elm Tree Farm is about two miles away and Jason lives another mile further over.

“We are going to be tied up for a while. Can you manage to get our own herd milked?” she asks. “The sheep also need moving to the lower field for the night.”

It’s a lot of work for one person, but I have done this before. “Okay, I’ll get it sorted,” I reply.

“Thanks, we will be back as soon as we can, but it’s all hands to the pumps here at the moment. There are some frozen dinners in the freezer if you want to do yourself one.”

After saying goodbye, we both hang up. John Palmer, who owns Elm Tree Farm, has a herd twice the size of ours, and they will all need transporting to be milked. That means a lot of work and they aren’t likely to be back for a few hours.

I have a look in the freezer and find a homemade shepherd’s pie, which I bung in the oven on a low heat to defrost and cook. I then head upstairs to change out of my school clothes and into my work wear. I go to put on my normal jeans and checked shirt, but pause and change my mind. Going over to my chest of drawers, I remove the bottom drawer.

There are several inches of space between the drawer and the floor, in which I have hidden some clothing. I keep most of my girl clothing hidden in the bunker, but I have to bring it home to wash. I use this as temporary storage. I pull out the denim sleeveless dress. I remove my school uniform, but leave on my knickers and bra. I grab a clean white T-shirt and put the dress on over top. I remove the wig so that it doesn’t get dirty and put it in my schoolbag for tomorrow. Instead, I wear the headscarf I used on Saturday.

I find a pair of long socks and head downstairs to the kitchen. I put on my sturdy wellington boots and waterproof coat in the utility room before heading outside. I lock the door and put the keys back in the barn.

I head over to my dune buggy and climb into the seat. I drive out of the farmyard in the direction of the cow fields. As I reach the field, the cows are waiting by the gate. They know when it’s milking time. I pull off the track and open the gate for them as they start to wander to the milking shed. I close the gate and follow them back to the farm in the buggy.

Fifteen minutes later all the cows are in the yard as I park the buggy and open the milking shed. The cows know the routine and take up their positions to be milked. I switch the machinery on and fix the cups onto the udders of each animal.

While the machinery gets on with the milking, I head into the cowshed to make sure everything is ready for the animals. By the time I have gotten the feed ready, the first lot of cows have finished and I move them into the shed. I then move the other half from the temporary holding pen into be milked.

Once complete, I move the second lot of cows into the cowshed. I then hose down the milk shed, cleaning the foul-smelling mess that some of the cows kindly left behind.

Heading round to the kennels, I whistle and our two dogs come running up to me. I make a fuss of them; they don’t care how I dress. I then pick up my shepherd’s crook and take the dogs with me as I head back to the fields. Sheep are dumb animals, and can be a handful to control. Cows at least can be trained to go where you want. Using the two dogs, I round them up and eventually I get them moved from the grazing field to the more sheltered lower pasture that they spend the night in.

I am not a very good shepherd and despite my best efforts, I still end up with sheep going in all directions. It takes me twice as long to put them to bed as my father does. After rounding up the goats and feeding the dogs, I head inside for a shower.

Normally I would put on a clean set of clothes, but I decide that I will change into my pyjamas. I have actually seen to some of the animals early, as we usually have dinner before some of the chores, but I didn’t fancy stopping and starting later. It is already eight in the evening by the time I finish my shower.

I decide to wear my silk pyjamas again. After drying myself off, I slip the panties and top on. They feel wonderful. Once I have my dressing gown on the pyjamas are totally hidden from view.

I head into the kitchen and take the pie out of the oven. After checking it is fully cooked using the thermometer to make sure it’s hot in the centre, I sit at the table and begin to eat.

After I have finished, I put the dish into soak and settle down on the couch. Having done all the chores by myself, including chasing sheep for over an hour, I’m exhausted. I soon fall asleep.

I am woken up by the sound of the Land Rover parking in the yard. I sit up as my mother opens the back door. I get up and walk into the kitchen.

“Hi,” I say as my parents come in. They both look exhausted and they smell of smoke.

“Did you manage to get everything done okay?” my father asks.

“Yep, cows milked, sheep moved, goats rounded up, and the dogs fed,” I reply.

“Sheep give you any trouble?” my mother asks.

“Oh yes. I swear number twenty-six is trying to kill me,” I answer with annoyance. “Thirty-four decided to lead a rebellion and make a break for Scotland with several friends. By the time I got them back the others had spread back out over the field from the nice flock I had almost managed to assemble.”

My father laughs as he heads outside to double-check everything is in order. I put the kettle on as I ask my mother if they have eaten. My mother replies that John arranged for a pizza delivery so they had something before they came home. She then heads upstairs to have a shower and change.

My father comes back in as I am making some cups of tea.

“Well done, everything looks in order,” he says as he comes over and takes his cup. “The insurance assessors are due tomorrow. It looks like there was an electrical fault that started the problem. The building is intact, but the main pumps look like a write-off. There is a lot of smoke damage to be cleaned up. It’s going to take several weeks to sort out. We will bring some of the herd here tomorrow. The important thing was to get the cows milked and Jason’s closer.”

We sit and drink our tea. Mum comes down in her pyjamas and gown. Father finishes his drink and heads for the shower.

It’s been a hard day for all of us. I was planning to reveal my secret, but I don’t think now is the time. If they comment on my appearance, then I may do so. However, they have yet to notice what I am wearing under my gown. Tired, I say goodnight to my mother and head to bed.

As I climb into bed, the satin material glides over the sheets offering a lot less resistance than my normal nightwear. Comfortable and happy, I settle down to sleep. I will have to sort out how to leave the farm tomorrow as a girl, but I don’t think that will be an issue. I am soon asleep.

My alarm wakes me up at six in the morning. I climb out of bed. Catching my reflection in the mirror, I smile at my girlish appearance, my earrings glinting in the morning sun. I head into the bathroom to use the toilet and wash. Returning to my bedroom, I grab a pair of jeans and a T-shirt. Instead of my normal routine of wearing boy underwear until I change at the bunker, I instead put on a fresh pair of panties. I forego the bra for the moment. I don’t need one as I have yet to develop a chest, although I do like wearing them.

I head downstairs to where my father is already eating breakfast. There is some bacon, egg and toast waiting for me as I sit down at the table.

After we have eaten, all three of us head out to start the working day. I assist for an hour and a half before telling my parents that I need to get going. I head back indoors and take a quick five-minute shower to get rid of the farm smells and muck.

Returning to my bedroom, I get dressed in my school uniform. This time I don’t bother with the male version and go straight for the skirt and blouse. After fixing my wig and makeup, I go back downstairs. After checking that I have everything and locking the door, I retrieve my road bike from its position in the barn.

My father mustn’t have noticed it, as he would have said something, as he doesn’t know I own a road bike. My parents are out in the fields so aren’t around to see me. Not that I would have minded them seeing me, I am fed up with lying.

I cycle straight to school, as there is no need to visit the bunker this morning.

The day progresses well. There are a few snide remarks, but the amount of hostility against me is lower than I imagined it would be. Most of my fellow students couldn’t care less and the ones directly affected by my presence seem to be happy to accept me for what I appear to be. I think a few are scared of me and worried I might go on an insane rampage, not that I am planning to do so.

In the past, I don’t think that this would have happened, but being gay or different has become slightly more acceptable in recent years. Five or ten years ago, it would have been unheard of for anybody coming out while at school, however there are now at least two gay couples in the sixth form.

Everybody knew my brother was gay except my parents, who refused to acknowledge the signs. Although he never came out in school, it was obvious he and Matt were slightly closer than friends to anybody who was paying attention.

At morning break, I report for detention as instructed. There are four of us in the science lab used as the detention room. Most of the classrooms can be used by students during break and lunch. However, the science labs are off-limits for safety reasons.

While we sit doing homework in silence, Mr Henry comes in and asks for a word with me. We head into the science prep area where there is an office used by the head of the science department. We step inside out of earshot of everybody else and he asks me if I have spoken to my parents. I explain about the fire and although I am no longer dressing as a boy, they haven’t yet realised this and confronted me.

I will aim to speak to them this evening. I don’t think it a good idea to do so when I get home, as today is my mother’s turn to host the farmers’ wives for tea, cakes and gossip. There is a chance that I may be the gossip, but I will improvise if needed. If the other women haven’t yet found out and if I turn up in girl mode then my mother will likely be upset. She hates making a scene.

My parents would rather keep such a secret silent. It was only after several weeks that my mother finally admitted that my brother had gone to live with another boy.

At the end of the day, I cycle out to the bunker and change into boy mode, possibly for the last time. I am still wearing my panties, but have ditched the bra for the time being. I have hidden the earrings under tape and makeup. Having switched to my mountain bike, I ride the rest of the way home on the farm tracks through the fields.

There are several cars parked in the farmyard when I arrive home. After storing my bike in its usual position, I head inside to the kitchen.

“Is that you Simon?” my mother calls out from the lounge.

“Hi, Mum, ladies,” I say as I walk into the room. As well as my mother there are four other women sitting eating cakes and sipping tea. Several are farmers, but there is also the vicar’s wife, Gloria.

“You might be able to help us,” Janice Yearly says as she beckons me to join them. “I heard a rumour that your school has a boy attending as a girl.”

“Have you heard anything about this?” Susan asks.

“I knew appointing that Mr Henry was a bad idea,” Gloria adds, “Such disgusting behaviour should not be allowed.”

“If what Wendy said is correct then this boy is being allowed to use the girls’ facilities. If it was my daughter then I would be appalled. Luckily, this pervert isn’t in Wendy’s year. I tried to get her to tell me who, but she claimed to not know the name,” Susan adds.

“I am seriously reconsidering sending you to that school,” my mother states. “If that is the sort of behaviour allowed then it might be best to switch to Lakeside.”

“That won’t be necessary,” I reply, “Yes I do know about the transgendered student. I also know that all the girls in her P.E. class conducted a ballot and voted to share the facilities with her. In fact the decision was unanimous.”

Thinking about the support I was given almost makes me cry, but I push my emotions down so that they don’t see it.

“Who is it?” Janice asks. “We need to find out so that we can campaign for his removal and treatment. What on earth are the parents doing letting their son prance around pretending to be a girl?”

As I feared, my mother and her cronies are being their usual bigoted righteous selves. I have put up with their views until now. There was a lot of badmouthing about Mike after he came out, and many commiserations offered to my mother that her son insists on being a poof. I tolerated it before, but it’s time to start making my views known.

“She is already undergoing medical treatment for her condition in that she has undergone the first stage of sex change surgery,” I reply calmly. “There is no need to campaign for her medical care: it is already being taken care of.”

“That’s ridiculous,” states Gloria. “He needs some spiritual guidance, not mutilation by some whacky quack with a knife.”

There are murmurs of agreement from the other women. I sigh; trying to educate this lot is like flogging a dead horse.

“I thought you liked Dr Truman,” I reply. He is a well-known and respected doctor whom they have previously praised. “I don’t know all the details, but he is one of the doctors that she has seen.”

“Tell us who this freak is,” Susan instructs me.

“No, go mind your own business and keep your bigoted opinions out of where they don’t belong,” I reply angrily.

“Simon!” my mother yells at me. “How dare you speak to us like that? Apologise this instant.”

“No. I’m entitled to my opinion. I’m also right,” I angrily shout back. “You obviously have no idea of what being transgendered actually means and you don’t seem willing to learn. Instead of finding out what she has had to go through and why, all you want to do is condemn her for being herself and force her to live a life she cannot possibly lead.”

My mother and I stare at each other across the room for several seconds. This is the first time I have stood up to my mother and openly defied her. I have always been a timid child. I didn’t dare make a fuss when Mike left, although I knew it was wrong. This time I am letting my anger and adrenaline override my fear.

“Go to your room!” my mother shouts.

That sounds like a reasonable request to me. I need to do some homework, and it’s better than the alternative of doing farm chores. I spin round and holding my head high I march out of the room and up the stairs to my bedroom. As soon as I enter, I turn and lock the door behind me.

Our farmhouse is several hundred years old and has sturdy wooden doors with old-fashioned locks. All of the doors in theory can be locked, however we don’t normally bother and most of them are so old and corroded that they won’t turn. My bedroom lock on the other hand is in perfect working order. I saw to and overhauled it a couple of years ago so that I could potentially dress without being caught out. I would always wait until they were out, but having a locking door meant that there was less chance of being disturbed.

The first thing I do is change clothes. I strip naked, removing all the male clothing that I have been wearing since I stopped on the way home. Pulling a pair of lacy panties out of their hiding place, I pull them up my legs into place. I prefer the tightness of the material against my skin to the loose baggy boy briefs.

Next, I find a pair of shorts out of the back of one of my drawers. They are an old pair of cut-off jeans that I used to wear a few years ago. They are now too small for me and I couldn’t wear them because they were too tight in the crotch. With my new genital configuration, I now don’t have the problem. Instead, they now make a nice skin-tight pair of ‘Daisy Dukes’.

I don’t bother with a bra. I still don’t need one, and I want to appear feminine without obviously wearing any girls clothing. I am working on the principle of trying to make my parents see me as a girl in boys’ clothing, which is what I am. I pick out a light-blue short-sleeved shirt and put it on.

Spreading my books out on my desk, I start my homework. About ten minutes later, I hear my mother’s friends drive off.

A couple of hours have now passed and I am now lying on my bed reading when the door handle turns as someone tries to enter my locked room. Realising the door is locked, a sharp rap comes on the door, followed by the voice of my father asking to be let in. I jump off the bed and unlock the door. Opening it slightly, I look out to the landing to see my father standing there holding a tray of food.

I open the door fully and he enters my room. He puts the tray down on my desk. On it is a steaming bowl of soup and some slices of bread.

“I take it Mum is still annoyed,” I say.

My father chuckles - he doesn’t seem angry with me. “You could say that. She didn’t make you any dinner and was going to make you go to bed without. I think she is overreacting and I don’t think it appropriate that you miss a meal.”

I nod, sit on my chair and start to eat the soup before it gets cold. My father sits on the end of my bed while I slowly consume my meal. As he hasn’t left, I assume he wants a father/son type talk. I smile to myself, as he is about to get a father/daughter talk instead, even if he doesn’t yet realise it. I will need to take this carefully so he doesn’t hit me.

After finishing my meal, I take a tissue and dab my lips before getting up and climbing on my bed. I sit facing my father, my legs crossed underneath me in a girlish pose. My father is looking at me closely as I sit in front of him in a tomboyish state.

“I don’t agree with your point of view about this boy. However, you are right in that you are entitled to your opinion. In fact, I agree that that bunch of women are nosy busybodies. I wish I could have seen their faces.” He chuckles again, “I have often thought the same thing, but I don’t dare say it to their faces as I need their help to keep this farm going. You went too far, and I think you should apologise to your mother.”

I take a deep breath and reply, “I can’t do that. I am not at all sorry for what I said. For too long I have been putting up with the homophobic fucking bullshit in and around this family. I stood back and watched Mike be hounded out for falling in love with the wrong person. Well, history is about to repeat itself, only this time I’m too young to be chucked out and ignored from a distance in disgust.”

My father looks at me in shock at my choice of language. The one rule I have always followed is no swearing in front of my parents. My use of the words ‘fucking bullshit’ carries more significance because of this. While he is still processing what I have said, I storm out of the room, down the stairs, and out the house into the yard. My mother is in the kitchen washing up as I pass her.

Crossing the yard, I can barely see where I am going due to the tears in my eyes. I consider grabbing the buggy and driving off out of here, but that isn’t practical when I can’t see where I’m going. Instead, I head into the sheep shed. Climbing into one of the pens, I sit on a bale of hay and sob.

I am sitting for several minutes before I hear my mother call out, “He’s in here.” Wiping my eyes, I see her standing in the doorway. Several seconds later, my father appears at her side. I leap to my feet and dash to the sidewall where we hang some pitchforks for moving the hay. I grab one, turn, and face my approaching parents brandishing my makeshift weapon in their direction.

My aggressive stance causes them to come to a halt.

“Put the fork down,” my father commands, keeping his voice calm and steady.

“Why, so you can beat the shit out of me as you did Mike? I might be crazy, but I’m not fucking stupid,” I angrily reply, my voice cracking with emotion. My mother tries to take a step forward, but I thrust the sharp prongs of the fork in her direction. She jumps back and stands behind my father. I can see the terror in her eyes as she realises I mean what I say.

“I am sorry that I hit Mike,” my father calmly states, “I may not like it, but I would rather learn to accept my sons being gay, than lose them forever. Please, I promise not to hit you. Just put the fork down and we can talk this through.”

“Things aren’t that simple,” I reply. “Yes, I am attracted to a boy, but not like that.”

I see a spark of recognition come into my mother’s eyes. She then says, “You are in love with that freaky sissy poof who dresses as a girl. That’s where you got the wig and clothes the weekend before last, it must have helped you. That’s why you’re so passionate about defending it. You are trying to justify your urges by trying to convince yourself it’s a girl. It’s all right, no wonder you’re confused.”

That is typical of my mother. She would rather blame someone else rather than accept the facts. The same happened after Mike came out. It took her weeks, and several arguments before she would accept that her son was gay and not being corrupted by another boy.

“I’m not confused at all. I know exactly what I am. I have done for years. You wanted to know who the transsexual attending school as a girl is - well I am. You’re looking at Simone Jasmine Whittaker, the freaky sissy poof of Brahms High,” I yell at the top of my voice. I am shaking with nervous energy and my vision is blurred due to the water in my eyes.

Emotionally spent, I drop to the floor, letting the pitchfork clatter to the ground, and curl up in a ball sitting on the floor, my face pressed tight into my bare knees. Wrapping my arms round my legs, I pull them in tight and wait for the inevitable. I fully expect to be kicked like a football, but the strike doesn’t come. Instead, I feel someone touch my shoulder. I flinch and scream as my whole body tenses. I roll onto my side away from the physical contact, trembling in fright.

The concrete is cold and damp against my bare skin, but I ignore it as I continue to sob uncontrollably, scuttling backward on my bottom away from the blurry figure of my mother. I grab the pitchfork and bring the points to face my opponents in self-defence. Through my hysterics, I can hear my parents whispering to each other at a distance, but I can’t make out what they are saying.

My father heads back towards the house as my mother sits down on a bale of hay, about ten feet from my current position.

“Simon, please calm down, we don’t want to hurt you,” she begs me, “Please give me the pitchfork.”

Wiping my eyes so that I can see clearer, I get to my feet and start to edge round towards the door. “Here,” I shout, throwing the weapon sideways at her with all my strength. I break out into a run and dash towards the buggies. I run to the key box and spin the dials to unlock it. I fumble as I grab the key to the single-seater.

I jump in, insert the key into the ignition and turn it.

“Simon, stop!” my mother shouts. She is standing directly in front of me, blocking my exit.

“Get out of my way or I will run you over,” I shout over the noise of the engine as I rev it. I can see the fear in her eyes as I release the clutch and shoot forward. She dives to the ground as I approach her. I swerve to avoid my mother as I leave the barn and clip the doorframe with the back wheel, causing the vehicle to swerve violently to the right and come to a halt.

I’m thrown forwards in my seat banging my head on the steering wheel. The engine stalls and I madly try to restart it. My panic increases when I see my father approaching with a rifle.

“Simon, stop what you are doing and get out,” my father instructs, aiming the rifle in my direction.

Climbing out of the wrecked vehicle, I shout at my father, “I’m not Simon. I hate being called Simon. I’m Jasmine and I’m your daughter. If you can’t accept that, then just fucking shoot me and end this. I’m not pretending to be a boy anymore!”

I watch my father pull the trigger and I suddenly feel a sharp stabbing pain in my shoulder. Screaming in agony, I stagger backwards and fall to the ground as I lose consciousness.

---

 

Previously...

I’m thrown forwards in my seat banging my head on the steering wheel. The engine stalls and I madly try to restart it. My panic increases when I see my father approaching with a rifle.

“Simon, stop what you are doing and get out,” my father instructs, aiming the rifle in my direction.

Climbing out of the wrecked vehicle, I shout at my father, “I’m not Simon. I hate being called Simon. I’m Jasmine and I’m your daughter. If you can’t accept that, then just fucking shoot me and end this. I’m not pretending to be a boy anymore!”

I watch my father pull the trigger and I suddenly feel a sharp stabbing pain in my shoulder. Screaming in agony, I stagger backwards and fall to the ground as I lose consciousness.

Chapter 1

I feel dizzy as the blackness overcomes me. However, apart from a sharp stinging sensation in my shoulder, I don’t feel much pain. I do have a high pain threshold. I wouldn’t have been able to castrate myself without it.

Time seems to slow down and I find myself lying on the floor looking up at a stationary gull flying overhead, frozen in time and space. After staring at it for several seconds, I slowly sit up. My father is several feet in front of me, still holding the rifle pointing in my direction. My mother is in the process of getting to her feet. Both of them are unmoving like statues.

I am suddenly aware of a third person approaching from the shadows. The figure appears to be around seven feet tall and is dressed in a coarse black floor-length robe, the hood obscuring the head. The only parts of the body visible are the skeletal hands carrying the large scythe. The unmistakably classic figure of the grim reaper approaches me.

“I’m dead?” I ask.

“YES!” he responds in a deep booming ethereal voice.

“I have ceased to be? I’ve departed the living realm? Bereft of life I rest in peace?” I enquire looking for clarification.

“YES!” he repeats.

“So I’ll be pushing up the daises? My metabolic processes are history? I’ve kicked the bucket, shuffled off my mortal coil, run down the curtain and joined the choir invisible?” I seek confirmation, adding, “in other words, I’ve fucking snuffed it?”

“NOT ANOTHER ONE!” Death retorts despondently.

“One what?” I ask

“ANOTHER BLOODY MONTY PYTHON ADDICT. DO YOU KNOW HOW MANY TIMES I HAVE HAD TO LISTEN TO VARIATIONS OF THAT FLIPPING PARROT SKETCH?” it says with annoyance, “I LOOK FORWARD TO THE DAY I GET TO MEET MESSERS CLEESE AND PALIN.”

Death sighs and then adds, “I SUPPOSE NEXT YOU WILL BE TRYING TO CHALLENGE ME IN SOME STUPID CONTEST TO EXTEND YOUR PITIFUL EARTHBOUND EXISTENCE?”

“Do you actually accept challenges or is that part fictional?” I ask, trying to think of how I can compete with, and possibly beat, death.

“YOU CAN CHALLENGE ME IF YOU REALLY INSIST, BUT I WARN YOU IT’S POINTLESS. I ALWAYS WIN IN THE END!”

“I suppose chess is a bad idea, I suspect you have defeated many a grandmaster.”

“INDEED.”

“I get the impression you probably need to speak all known languages so word games like Scrabble and Boggle are going to be pointless.”

“CORRECT.”

“How good are you at Twister?”

The reaper bends down. His left hand detaches itself, scuttles off circling me, before returning to the end of his arm bone.

“Okay, I think I’ll pass on that one.”

“A WISE DECISION.”

I pause and think for a while, looking at the figure standing in front of me, “You are an existential personification of an abstract concept represented only by a bladed farming implement, some fabric, and bones.”

“YOUR POINT BEING?”

“You don’t have, or require, any lungs. I presume you are not using the mammalian method of sound production by passing air over vocal cords. Instead, you must have a different method for sonic creation, perhaps vibrating the air molecules in the same fashion as an electronic speaker.”

“I DON’T FOLLOW THE RELEVANCY OF YOUR DEDUCTIONS.”

“If you don’t have any lungs, then you can’t blow up a balloon. If I challenge you to a balloon modelling contest in which alternative inflation devices are banned, you will not be able to take part and therefore have to forfeit.”

Death doesn’t respond immediately, and it is several minutes before he gives his simple response of, “BOLLOCKS!”

“Sorry, don’t have any,” I say as I pass out once again.

I feel numb and cold. I want to shiver but I don’t seem able to move. It is dark and I can’t see anything. I can feel fabric on my face. The sound of a spade digging into soil fills my ears and the sensation of something landing on my head momentarily startles me. Fighting for breath, I try to move, but I’m unable to do so.

I black out again and suddenly I can’t breathe. Using a burst of energy, I force myself to sit up, gasping for air. I’m wrapped in a blanket and have to fight my way out of it. Strong sunlight burns my eyes as I finally uncover myself.

I am sitting in a shallow hole, half-covered with soil, wrapped in an old blanket. Looking down at my shoulder, my shirt is covered in blood from the bullet wound. I can’t feel or move my left arm. I am surrounded by rapeseed oil plants. The pollen from the bright yellow flowers is stinging my nose.

Hauling myself to my feet out of the shallow grave in which I have been dumped, I look around trying to gain my bearings. I am in the middle of a large field, the sea of yellow flowers extending in all directions as far as I can see. The ground is totally flat, and I can’t see any recognisable features. A few trees are dotted around the horizon. I decide to head for the nearest tree; perhaps I can climb it and gain bearings to civilisation.

I know this isn’t one of our fields, and I don’t recognise the area. The sheer flatness of the landscape suggests I must be somewhere in north Norfolk, possibly as far west as the fenlands of Lincolnshire. Something about the area doesn’t seem right, but I can’t put my finger on it.

I start walking towards the tree. As I get nearer, I can hear an engine running. I emerge from the final few feet of plants, pushing them aside with my good arm. I come into a clearing at the base of the tree.

The noise has been coming from one of our farm buggies, which stops in front of me. The driver undoes the safety harness and climbs out, standing in front of me. He is dressed all in white, from head to toe. The white helmet on his head, with dark black visor, completely covers his identity.

The person stands in front of me for a few seconds. He reminds me of the Stig character from the Top Gear television programme. Raising his hands, he puts them on the side of the helmet and slowly lifts it off his head.

“Josh!” I exclaim as his grinning face comes into view.

“Nice to see you, honey,” he replies, “glad I found you, now let’s get out of here.”

Replacing his helmet, we climb into the buggy. I grab the spare helmet off the passenger seat and we climb into the cramped two-seater.

Putting it into gear, we rapidly accelerate down a track between rows of rapeseed, leaving a cloud of dust in our wake. Josh floors the accelerator pedal and the engine roars as we continue to get faster and faster. Josh sits motionless in the driver’s seat to my right, staring directly at the track ahead.

We keep accelerating until the countryside is whizzing past in a blur. I can feel my adrenaline rising as we continue to travel at ludicrous speeds. I become aware of the buzzing of further engines, but can’t see any other vehicles.

We suddenly burst out of the endless field and onto a golden sandy beach, skidding slightly sideways as we take a left turn and fly across the damp harder sand just above the water level, the waves breaking to our right.

To our left are now sand dunes, with grass sticking up. There is a distinct gradient to the beach, and I can no longer see the countryside to our left over the sand dunes.

Three dirt bikes surround us, jumping over the sand dunes and landing behind our vehicle. The helmets they are wearing are not covering their faces, and I recognise Bart, Steve and David chasing us. All three of them are holding swords in their hands.

David comes up behind us on the left. He climbs up onto the saddle of the bike and jumps across onto the back of the buggy, the motorcycle he was on losing control and cartwheeling across the sand as we leave it behind.

“I will deal with this,” Josh states, “here, take over.”

Pulling a sword from beneath his seat, he climbs out the side of the vehicle as I grab the steering wheel and slide across into his position. Josh is standing on the front right corner of the buggy, hanging onto the roof frame with his left hand and swinging his sword with his right. David stands on the rear bumper hanging onto the engine cover. The two of them continue to swing their weapons at each other and I can hear the clinking of metal on metal as the swords engage above my head.

Bart comes up our right hand side. Holding his sword in his left hand, he swings it at me through the open roll cage of the buggy. I dodge his swing and it comes within inches of my arm. Pulling a second sword out from under the seat, I commence a sword fight with Bart, leaning out the driver’s side of the buggy while trying to maintain a straight course down the harder wet sand on the shore.

Realising there is little room for the motorcycle to ride between the sea and me; I start to ease my course closer to the breaking waves. Hitting the water at this speed would cause serious aquaplaning and would throw us off course. Swinging my sword with added vigour, I force Bart to hit a breaking wave. The effect is instantaneous and disastrous for Bart as the front wheel of his bike is caught in the water and he somersaults over the handlebars.

The sword fight on the roof above me is still ongoing as I bring us back up the beach, slightly away from the dangers of the water. The third motorcycle comes alongside on the left and Steve jumps across, landing on the sill next to the passenger seat.

I switch the sword to my left hand and swing it at him to prevent him from getting in. He attempts to stab me with his sword, but I deflect his blows as I continue to drive at speed down the beach, weaving in and out of seals that are sunning themselves on the golden sands.

The whole ridiculousness of the situation slowly dawns on me. I am sitting in a speeding buggy, going over ninety miles an hour down a never-ending beach, having a swordfight with one of my old school enemies, in a buggy which should only be capable of half this speed, while my boyfriend is doing similar feats on the roof.

This can’t be real, in which case I must be dreaming. If that is the case, then it’s time to start controlling the situation. Testing the theory I concentrate and a hail of bullets strafe the buggy, instantly knocking David and Steve from the speeding vehicle.

The Tiger Moth biplane that just fired on us is now flying alongside us over the sea, the pilot, Wendy, is waving at us. I sigh in relief, now knowing I’m dreaming. Realising it’s time to wake up, the dream fades.

I am aware I’m laying on my back with my eyes closed.

“Charge! Clear!” I hear a male voice shout and I am suddenly jolted by an electric shock to the chest. “Okay, we have a pulse.”

A second voice then asks, “What have we got here?”

“Male, age 13, with critical blood loss from serious genital damage. Looks like it’s self-inflicted, apparently found by the mother clasping a scalpel and soldering iron. She was able to stem the bleeding while help arrived. He’s arrested twice so far, it doesn’t look good,” the first voice states in a businesslike fashion.

“That looks nasty,” the second voice replies, “seems like the testicles have been severed. There appears to be burn marks inside the wounds. Some form of botched self-castration. I’ll prep the theatre for immediate use.”

A loud continuous tone penetrates my ears as the first voice shouts, “Shit! Charge! Clear!”

I find myself back in the field of rapeseed, sitting underneath the tree. I am obviously dreaming again.

“No way was that real,” I state, kicking the tree. “I refuse to believe the last two months are a dream and that I’m in hospital due to failing my surgery.”

“You really shouldn’t talk to yourself,” Josh says as he walks round from behind the tree, “it’s a sign that you’re going mad.”

“And talking to a figment of my imagination is somehow better?” I ask.

“I prefer to think of myself as a narrative device to allow two-way conversation for exposition and the progression of the plot,” he replies.

“What?” I respond in confusion.

“Never mind,” he answers, “Now what appears to be the problem?”

“I seem to be stuck in a dream sequence. Every time I think I’m awake, it turns out to be another dream,” I say in annoyance.

“Except for this time you seem to have immediately realised you’re asleep,” Josh declares.

I imagine a swing into existence, hanging from one of the tree branches, and sit down. “I know I’m dreaming, but I can’t wake up. I seem to be stuck, and I don’t know why.”

“Well, despite the grim reaper earlier, you’re not dead,” Josh says.

“Cognito ergo sum, I think therefore I am, and therefore I must still be alive,” I reply.

“If you were simply asleep, then you should be able to wake up. That means that either you’re in a coma, or something else is preventing you from waking,” Josh reasons. “You have been shot. You could have been sedated or anesthetised for emergency surgery to repair the damage.”

“All very logical,” I admit, “Just very frustrating that I seem unable to do anything.”

“Well what have you tried?” I’m asked.

“Willing myself to wake up,” I reply, “What else can I do?”

“What things normally wake you up?” Josh enquires.

I think for a moment before saying, “Light, loud noises, changes in temperature.”

“They are all external influences,” Josh states, “what about things internal to your body or dreams?”

I ponder this for a few minutes before answering, “I wake up from nightmares, but I can’t scare myself awake without first forgetting I’m in a dream. It won’t work if I’m aware that I can’t be hurt. I also tend to wake up when I need the toilet, but that could take hours. The only other thing that occasionally wakes me up is getting horny.”

I grin at Josh before licking my lips and approaching him. I pull him into a kiss, remembering the experience from before, only this time imagining it going further. In my dream world, I’m no longer a boy, but a fully functional woman, and I visualise him taking my virginity.

“Is it working?” he asks as he thrusts deeply into me.

“No. Without any physical stimulation I’m unlikely to turn myself on enough, but that doesn’t mean I can’t have fun trying,” I say as I pull his mouth back to mine. So I’m stuck asleep, I might as well enjoy it.

I find myself waking in an unfamiliar room. The beeping of apparatus catches my attention and I slowly raise my head. I’m propped up in a hospital bed. My left arm is completely numb, and I can see various tubes going in and out of my hand, but I can’t feel a thing, which is just as well as I hate needles.

“You’re awake,” a familiar voice comes from my right. Turning my head, I see Dr Lambert sitting in the chair near the bed.

She holds up a glass of water with a straw, putting it to my lips. I take a sip, quenching my thirst. Once satisfied, she returns it to the table.

“What happened?” I whisper hoarsely.

“You were shot,” replies the doctor.

“I know that,” I manage, “What has happened since? How did I get here? Where are Mum and Dad?”

“That isn’t important at the moment. What is of more concern is how you ended up here in the first place,” she answers. “What happened before you got shot?”

“I told my parents I’m transgendered,” I respond.

“How did they react?” Dr Lambert enquires.

“They shot me! I’m lucky to be alive!” I shout.

“Why did they shoot you?” I’m asked.

“They were angry with me, they don’t like the fact I’m a girl,” I counter.

“Are you sure? Think carefully, what evidence is there for them being angry?” Dr Lambert states calmly, “excluding the use of firearms.”

I replay the encounter as best as I remember, “They were shouting at me. My mother yelled at me when I tried to drive away.”

“She shouted for you to stop,” Dr Lambert stated, “I believe you were trying to run her over at the time...”

I nod, that wasn’t one of my brightest ideas.

Dr Lambert continues, “...other than to tell you to stop, did they at any other point shout at you.”

I think back, but I can’t remember them yelling at me, “They were mainly giving me the silent treatment.”

“Are you sure? I’m not certain that’s the case. Have you considered that it was you who were doing all the shouting, and they were simply concerned for your welfare?” Dr Lambert asks. I lay in silence contemplating the possibility. “Other than shooting you, which we will come back to later, did they do anything else to harm you?”

“They chased me into the barn,” I declare.

“Are you sure? Is following you the same as chasing? Were they running after you or simply walking. How long were you in the barn before they found you crying?” poses the doctor.

“It was a little while. I caught them off guard, and I’m younger and faster than they are. They didn’t harm me as I didn’t give them the opportunity,” I explain.

“Are you sure your actions were justified? Did they try and attack you when you were in the barn?” Dr Lambert enquires.

I think back trying to pinpoint what they did, “My mother tried to grab me when I was crying.”

“Define grab. Are you sure she was trying to harm you? Or possibly trying to restrain you so that you didn’t hurt anybody?” Dr Lambert questions, “Could she simply have been trying to give you a hug because you were crying?”

I hesitate, she could indeed be correct. Dr Lambert is sitting with a neutral expression on her face. I realise that she is trying to get me to see this logically, rather than emotionally.

“Okay,” I reply with a sigh, “I panicked. I expected them to beat the crap out of me, and let myself become overwhelmed with emotion. I wasn’t thinking straight, and simply reacted rather than analysing the situation and acting accordingly.”

The doctor nods at my revelation, before saying, “If you think back over the last few weeks, I think you may realise that your impressions of your parents are not quite what you think they are.”

“What do you mean?” I ask.

“You have pierced ears, something you never thought possible. They let you dress as a girl, even reminding you that you own the maid’s costume. They let you sleep with your cousin. Need I go on?” Dr Lambert enquires.

“They weren’t exactly pleased with my choice of earrings. My father treated my cross-dressing as a joke. It was my uncle who facilitated the bedroom arrangements for his own twisted purposes of deliberately trying to get his daughter into trouble,” I reply.

“Yet they didn’t force you to remove the earrings, neither did they ban you from cross-dressing, in fact you were given permission to continue,” Dr Lambert counters. “Overall I think it’s safe to say you’re crap at interpreting your parents’ responses.”

Dr Lambert stares at me, which makes me slightly uncomfortable. I hate to admit it, but she’s right.

“Let’s face it, your whole ability to make decisions is most likely up the spout,” the doctor continues, “I would go as far as saying you are completely irrational and incapable of using logic.”

“Hey! That isn’t true,” I exclaim.

“Cutting your testicles off wasn’t exactly a sane approach to the problem of gender identity,” she accuses. “Are you sure you’re a girl? Or is that another rash decision based on emotional instability brought on by defective reasoning?”

“I am a girl, and that was the only way, given the evidence available at the time, to reach the goal of avoiding male puberty,” I reply angrily.

“Are you sure? You seem to be very aggressive, that is a male trait,” she declares.

“Bollocks!” I reply, “Women are just as capable of getting angry as men. Admittedly, they may turn to violence less, but it isn’t unheard of for women to lay into one another.”

“Are you sure you aren’t just pretending to be a girl so that you can justify being attracted to boys?” Dr Lambert enquires.

“My sexuality has nothing to do with my gender,” I answer. “Being gay certainly doesn’t automatically make you transgendered, and being transgendered doesn’t necessarily mean you’re gay.”

“So the fact you love Josh has nothing to do with it?” the doctor queries.

“How do you know I love Josh?” I counter.

“You’re going to deny you were just dreaming about him? I saw your rapid eye movement while you slept,” the doctor explains. “You also had the most stupidest grin on your face imaginable.”

“That isn’t relevant. I barely knew him before my surgery, I only developed feelings for him afterwards,” I admit.

“Are you sure? Perhaps we should analyse your persona further,” Dr Lambert says excitedly. “What we need to do is compare your masculine and feminine traits and see how they compare. Simon, Simone, please come in here.”

We are joined by a young boy and a teenage girl. The boy is about seven, and looks very similar to how I looked at that age, except he is more muscular than I used to be. He is dressed in very rugged clothes. The girl looks to be my age, and facially appears very similar to Emily. However, this girl has extremely large breasts, possibly silicone enhanced, and has blonde hair. She is dressed in a bikini that is leaving very little to the imagination, consisting of string and very small triangles of fabric covering the nipples and crotch. She is chewing bubble gum.

“What the hell? Who are you two supposed to be?” I ask.

“I’m your underdeveloped male side,” The boy timidly replies in a squeaky voice.

“And, like, I’m, like, your feminine, like, side,” the girl answers in a Californian accent, and I’m not referring to the small village further up the Norfolk coast.

“Since when have I been an airhead bimbo?” I ask annoyed. “I certainly do not speak with that ridiculous accent, putting ‘like’ in where no ‘like’ is needed.”

“Like, whatever,” the girl replies, blowing a large bubble, which pops before being drawn back into her mouth for further chewing.

“How come pipsqueak here represents my male side?” I ask Dr Lambert.

The boy immediately breaks out crying. “You’ve, like, hurt ’is feelings,” the girl says.

“Does he not fit your perception of your male side?” Dr Lambert enquires. “He is small, underdeveloped and oversensitive. Not exactly very manly is he?”

“This is ridiculous,” I state, “How is this supposed to help?”

“I am here to help you analyse your situation, to question your decisions and make sure you aren’t acting rashly,” the doctor answers, “These representations are the personifications of your personality that you are trying to balance your psyche against.”

“Stop talking bollocks,” I respond with annoyance.

The boy bursts out crying again, to which the girl reacts by saying, “Isn’t, like, the lack of bollocks, like, the problem?”

“Shut up and sod off,” I state, “this is ridiculous, this isn’t psychiatry, it’s just random questioning.”

“No it isn’t,” contradicts Dr Lambert, “I’m providing counter arguments to your decisions to make you see other points of view.”

“By constantly undermining my confidence?” I accuse.

“You must have doubts or you wouldn’t be arguing with me,” she replies.

“This isn’t an argument, this is simply contradiction constantly interspersed with the question ‘Are you sure?’” I declare.

“Oh yes it is an argument,” she responds.

“Oh no it isn’t!”

“Oh yes it is!”

“Oh no it isn’t!”

“Oh yes it is!”

“Oh no it isn’t. It’s just contradiction!” I reply.

“No it isn’t!” Dr Lambert exclaims.

“It IS!”

“It is NOT!”

“You just contradicted me!”

“No I didn’t!”

“You DID!”

“No, no, no!” Dr Lambert asserts.

“You did just then!” I state.

“Nonsense!”

“This is futile!”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes, I’m sure!”

“Are you really sure?”

“Yes.”

“Are you really, really sure?”

“Yes.”

“I need to go to the bathroom,” the young boy interrupts, crossing his legs and squirming.

“Sod off and go then,” I reply with anger.

“We can’t go till you wake up,” he squeaks with discomfort.

Ignoring him I turn back to Dr Lambert, “Stop asking silly questions. If you have anything useful to say then say it, otherwise this session is over.”

“What were you shot with?” Dr Lambert asks.

“A rifle,” I reply.

“Are you sure?” she enquires.

I clench my fists and growl in annoyance at the same repeated question, “Of course I’m sure, I’ve had to polish the bloody thing often enough. I think I’m capable of recognising what I have been shot with.”

“What type of rifle is it?” Dr Lambert requests clarification.

“It’s an air rifle,” I reply, “and yes I am sure of that!”

“What ammunition does it take? Pellets, BBs, something else?” she queries.

“It’s a pellet gun, but we mainly use it with an adaptor for administering tranquilizer darts,” I answer.

Dr Lambert raises her eyebrows at me, “And you were shot with?”

The sudden realisation of what happened strikes me. I wasn’t shot with pellets or bullets; I was hit by a tranquiliser dart. I’m unconscious from the effects of the sedative. My dreaming of being unable to breathe is probably a side effect of the dart. They are known to cause respiratory problems. I didn’t realise they were hallucinogenic; it’s no wonder the sheep seem out of it when they come round.

When I awake, I am disorientated and it takes me a few seconds to realise where I am. I slowly sit up, and as my eyes become accustomed to the dim light, I realise I am on my bed, still clothed and wrapped in blankets. My slippers have been removed, but all my other clothing is intact. I look at the clock, its bright digits illuminating the room. It is half past one in the morning. I must have been asleep for more than four hours.

The impact of the tranquilizer dart from the air rifle has left my shoulder sore. I rub the affected area with my hand. It’s still slightly numb. I must have been hit with one of the stronger darts. I used a lower strength version as local anaesthetic, so know their effectiveness.

I glance round the room and spot a figure in the gloom. My mother sits sleeping in an easy chair that has been placed next to my bed. I guess they do care about me after all. Instead of trying to kill me, they were simply trying to restrain me. I guess my parents are taking it in turns to watch over me in case I have respiratory issues, although it would help if they were to stay awake.

My bedroom door is open and there is a dim light coming from the hall. Feeling the pressure building in my bladder, I decide I need to visit the bathroom. I carefully get up and silently slip to the door. Peeking out into the hall, I see that that the light is coming from a table lamp situated at the top of the stairs. The door to my parents’ room is open and my father is lying asleep in bed.

I enter the bathroom and turn on the light. I sit on the toilet and relieve myself as quietly as I can, trying to get my stream to hit the porcelain rather than the water in the bottom. I no longer have much control and tend to splash, but I’m able to complete the task without making a lot of noise. I don’t flush the toilet in case it wakes my parents.

I wash my hands and face. Noticing I have dirt on my arms and legs from lying on the barn floor, I take a flannel and clean myself up, stripping naked as I do so.

I lift the lid off the large plastic container we use as a linen basket to find a garden gnome staring up at me. The painted-concrete figurine is about a foot tall and is laying on top of the dirty laundry. I have no idea what it’s doing in the bathroom. I close my eyes and take a deep breath. I seriously hope that I’m not still dreaming. If I am, then I have probably just wet myself. I open my eyes and the gnome is still in the laundry hamper. I pick it up and deposit my clothes onto the pile; there is no need to hide my feminine attire anymore. I return the gnome to the top of the mound and replace the lid.

Turning off the lights, I carefully open the door and listen to see if anybody has woken up. Everything is calm so I carefully start making my way back to my room. I can see my father is still asleep, so tip toe past trying not to make a sound. Peeking round the doorframe, my mother is still snoozing in the chair.

Opening my bedside cabinet, I pull out my silk baby-doll pyjamas and slip them on before removing the blankets from my bed and sliding under the lightweight duvet. Making myself comfortable I go back to sleep.

I find myself once again standing in the farmyard in front of the crashed buggy. My father is holding the gun to his shoulder as he asks me to calm down and stop trying to run away. He fires and I feel the dart hit me in the shoulder.

Time seems to slow down and I find myself lying on the floor looking up at a stationary gull flying overhead, frozen in time and space. After staring at it for several seconds, I slowly sit up. My father is several feet in front of me, still holding the rifle pointing in my direction. My mother is in the process of getting to her feet. Both of them are unmoving like statues.

I am suddenly aware of a third person approaching from the shadows. The figure appears to be around seven feet tall and is dressed in coarse black floor-length robes, the hood obscuring the head. The only parts of the body visible are the skeletal hands carrying the large scythe. The unmistakably classic figure of the grim reaper approaches me.

A fireball engulfs the approaching form, the smouldering fabric floating to the ground as the metal scythe clatters on the concrete. A second later, it starts raining bone as the fragments thrown high in the air fall back down to earth. I can smell the smoke emanating from the rocket launcher on my shoulder. I smile, as everything grows dark.

“Okay, he’s stable,” states a male voice, “pulse is weak, but steady. Get that extra blood hooked up.”

“The surgeons will be ready for him in a few minutes,” a second voice states, “Thank god he didn’t cut through an artery. Why would somebody want to mutilate themselves by cutting their own testicles off?”

---

 

I wake once more, the light of the morning sun illuminating the room through the curtains. I can feel the silk of my pyjamas as I scratch my chest. Looking across at the chair, I notice my mother is missing. Glancing at the clock, I observe that it is already seven-thirty. My alarm has been switched off. I get out of bed and go to the window. Pulling the curtains, I see my parents out in the yard working. I had some weird dreams last night, but it seems the trip to the bathroom was real.

Thinking of the earlier visit makes me want to go again, so finding my slippers next to the bed and pulling them on my feet, I head across the hall to relieve myself. While washing my hands, I splash some water on my face to help me wake up. Curious, I lift the lid on the laundry basket. The gnome has gone, but so has half the washing, including my feminine underwear. The only logical reason I can think of is that the gnome was added to weigh the clothing down so it didn’t expand and push the lid off. Either that or I wasn’t fully awake.

I decide to go downstairs as I am. As it is warm, I don’t bother with my dressing gown. I descend the stairs and enter the kitchen. Nobody is around, so I fill the kettle and switch it on to boil. Feeling hungry, I put some bread in the toaster, go to the fridge and find the butter and strawberry jam. I fetch a plate and mug from the cupboard. As I put a teabag into the mug, the kettle comes to the boil and switches itself off. I pour the hot water into the mug and stir.

Once brewed to my preference, I remove the teabag and place it on the dish next to the kettle. We don’t put the teabags straight into the bin as they go mouldy, so we let them dry first.

The toast pops up out of the toaster. I take it and sit at the kitchen table. My mother is looking at me through the window. She dashes off, and a minute later, both my parents come into the kitchen. I ignore them and continue to eat my breakfast. My mother re-boils the kettle and gets an extra two cups. Still feeling hungry, I put another couple of slices of bread in the toaster. I stand and watch the bread as it changes colour.

There is an awkward silence in the room, as nobody seems to want to talk. Buttering the toast and applying some more jam I sit back down. My parents are now sitting drinking tea on the other side of the table.

“That’s a nice set of pyjamas, when did you get those?” my mother asks nervously.

“I got them several months ago with the gift voucher Aunty Anne gave me for my birthday,” I reply calmly, “but, this is only the third time I have dared wear them. They’re very comfortable.”

“I saw you had changed into something different when I woke up, but couldn’t see exactly what and didn’t want to wake you,” my mother explains, “we were worried, you were behaving hysterically, like a frightened cat, last night.”

“Is that why you shot me with a sedative?” I ask.

“I’m sorry, we were worried you might hurt yourself, you seemed so terrified you wouldn’t let us get near you,” my father replies. “Are you really that scared of us?”

“Yes,” I answer honestly, “the only reason I am not freaking out at the moment is that I figure if you were going to kill me, you would have done it by now. You could have put a bullet in my head, but you chose to let me live.”

I shake and start to cry. We sit in silence for several minutes. When I look up, I see my father is also crying. My mother comes round to my side of the table and squeezes me tightly in a hug.

“I’m sorry,” states my father, “I never meant to terrorise you. I would never intentionally hurt you or your brother. I was wrong to hit Mike. I regretted it as soon as it happened. I swear that I will never take my anger out on you or Mike again. I have already driven one son away; I don’t want to do the same to the other.”

Looking up and establishing eye contact I reply, “You only have one son, Mike, and he’s gone. I’m not your son, I’m your daughter.”

Shrugging off my mother’s hug, I stand and place my breakfast things in the sink. “I need to get ready for school, otherwise I’ll be late. Excuse me,” I say as I leave the room and make my way up the stairs.

I go back into the bathroom and after showering and brushing my teeth, I head across the hall into my bedroom. Grabbing a pair of panties and a bra from my secret cache, I slip on a pair of shorts and a t-shirt. I don’t have a girls’ uniform at home and I can’t be bothered to keep up the pretence of going to school as a boy.

I put the rucksack of schoolbooks on my back and swing the sports bag containing my gym kit over my shoulder. I descend the stairs and walk back into the kitchen where my parents are still sitting and waiting.

“Why are you dressed like that? Why aren’t you in uniform?” my mother asks.

Smiling I reply, “I told you last night, I go to school as Jasmine. I’ve been attending as a girl since the term began. That means wearing a skirt and blouse, but I don’t keep them here. I will change into girl mode on the way.”

“I think we need to speak to your teachers. We will give you a lift, where do you need to stop?” my mother asks.

“No,” I reply, “I would rather keep my sanctuary secret. I still don’t fully trust you and I need the comfort of somewhere I can escape too. Mike, Josh, and Emily know its location if I need to be reached while there. Please, don’t pursue this further. I will meet you at the school gates.” I glance at my watch before continuing. “I will get to school around eight-forty. I suggest you phone ahead and make an appointment with Mr Henry, my headmaster. Tell him that you need to see him regarding Jasmine. He is expecting your call. Here, you can take my bags in the car; it will be easier for me to cycle without them.”

My mother protests, but my father intervenes and tells me to get on my bike. I run across to the barn and wave to my parents as I cycle out of the yard. A few minutes later, I am at the bunker and swapping clothes into my uniform. I fix my hair and makeup before leaving on my road bike to catch up with my parents.

My estimate is accurate and I cycle into the school grounds at twenty to nine. I can see my mother sigh with relief as she catches sight of my approach. As I come to a halt next to my parents, I see Julie and Josh running in our direction. They look scared. I turn and smile at them and call out, “It’s okay, they know.” My friends come to a stop beside me as I dismount and ask, “Can you take my bike for me? I need to take Mum and Dad in to see Mr Henry.”

Julie nods and takes my bike. I take the opportunity to plant a kiss on Josh’s cheek, “Thank you for trying to come to my rescue.”

Josh, unsure how to react, turns bright red, much to Julie’s amusement. Gesturing to my stunned parents to follow, I start walking to the visitors’ entrance.

My parents haven’t said anything, but I can see them watching me. I have made every effort with my appearance this morning. My hair is neatly combed and resting down my back. My makeup is top notch and I am even wearing some perfume, a luxury that I had to be careful with before, as it’s not easy to hide once in boy mode. My earrings are uncovered and glinting in the sunlight. They have seen me dressed up before, but they are only just realising that this is the norm, not the exception.

I speak to the receptionist and she asks us to wait for Mr Henry. I take the opportunity to go and deposit my bags in my locker. When I return, Mr Henry is standing shaking hands with my parents. Dr Lambert is also being introduced.

We are shown into his office and we all take a seat.

“Jasmine, I’m glad to see that you have obviously told your parents...,” Mr Henry begins to say.

I interrupt him before he can say too much, “Not everything, Sir, there are a lot of details I still need to fill them in on, but I haven’t had the chance yet. I sort of went to pieces last night and didn’t have time to explain everything this morning before school.”

Mr Henry raises his eyebrows at me. “Exactly how much have you confessed to?” he asks.

“Well,” I say nervously, “they know I attend school as a girl, but that is all. They don’t know what I have done in order to achieve this.”

Mr Henry crosses his arms and looks at me sternly, “I think it’s about time you started then, isn’t it.”

I sit nervously in my seat looking at the floor, fidgeting with the edge of my skirt. I can feel my cheeks going red as I try to explain, “I’m sorry, but there is a reason why I have been allowed to continue to attend as a girl after being found out. Up until a couple of days ago, nearly everybody thought I was a girl, including all the girls I shower with in gym class. I...um...I...” I stutter as I try to find the right words. I am rapidly turning into a nervous wreck as tears once again fall down my face. I can feel myself getting dizzy and faint. I start to hyperventilate and I put my head between my knees in an attempt to stop myself from passing out.

My mother starts to say something but stops. I assume that either Mr Henry or Dr Lambert have realised what is happening and have gestured to her. Through the pounding in my ears, I hear Dr Lambert’s voice, but I don’t register what is being said.

Concentrating on my breathing, I try to relax and focus. Slowly I get myself back under control and I sit up.

“Jasmine, are you okay? Speak to us,” I hear the concerned voice of Dr Lambert.

“Sorry,” I reply, “I came over faint again.”

“I think you’d better lie down in the medical room,” Dr Lambert states. Helping me to my feet she leads me across the hall, “Mr Henry and I will tell your parents what we know as it appears too stressful for you to be able to do so. I’m worried about your blood pressure.”

I nod and whisper, “Thank you” as I am led out of the room. I climb onto the padded examination table, lie down, and close my eyes. Dr Lambert measures my blood pressure, which is once again slightly high, before leaving the room, switching off the lights. The room has no windows so is in darkness when she has gone.

I am exhausted from all the stress so decide to take a nap. I suspect I haven’t worked the sedative out of my system yet. I feel safe here. I trust Dr Lambert and Mr Henry, and don’t believe they will let me come to any harm. No matter how irate my parents become, they can’t physically hurt me here.

I am still dozing an hour later when Dr Lambert comes back into the room. I sit up and swing my legs over the edge towards the floor. Dr Lambert once again measures my blood pressure. While still above average it has dropped to a more normal level.

“Come with me, everything will be all right,” she kindly says.

I am taken back into Mr Henry’s office. My parents are sitting next to each other. My Father has a faraway look on his face as he sits and stares out the window. He has his arm round my mother, who looks like she has been crying. Neither of them looks at me when I come in. I sit down in the chair, staring at the floor.

“We have been discussing your situation,” Mr Henry states, “I have told your parents everything I know.”

I nod at his statement replying, “Thank you, I’m sorry about earlier, I just couldn’t find the words in which to express myself.”

“We do have some questions,” my mother says softly. I nod for her to continue.

“You look very pretty, but when you left this morning you had short hair,” she states. “That is the same wig you used the Sunday before last. I assume it’s yours and not a friend’s? I presume the same goes for the clothes you were wearing?”

“I bought it off the Internet,” I say, “before you ask, yes I’m also wearing makeup. It all adds to my feminine appearance and gives me confidence. I have no wish to look like a boy in drag, although I know to a certain extent that will always be true. The clothes I wore are mine, as is the suit Emily borrowed off me for the wedding. I bought that one in case I get arrested and need to appear in court.”

“The bike?” my father enquires.

“Well I can’t ride my mountain bike with a skirt - the crossbar is in the way. I bought it second hand from the bike shop on London Road,” I reply, “I’ve been spending the birthday and Christmas money I receive each year.”

“How long have you thought of yourself as a girl?” my mother asks.

“All my life I have known I was different to the other kids, but it wasn’t until I was six that I finally started to put the pieces together and discovered why. For the last seven years I have been slowly reading up on the subject and trying to figure out my place in life,” I explain. “When Mike came out as gay, and the way you reacted, I knew then you would never support my transition. It was then that I started to hatch my plan. I knew I had a once in a lifetime opportunity when I changed schools to start afresh.”

I pour myself a glass of water from the jug on the table and take a sip before continuing, “The more I thought about it, the more depressed I became. I was not happy at my previous school, I never felt like I fitted in. I really thought that I might be going crazy. I kept getting thoughts of methods for ending it all. I considered hanging, jumping off a bridge, razor blades, overdose, shotgun... As much as I wanted to put myself out of my misery, I just couldn’t do it. Every time I saw myself naked, I hated the way my body looked. That’s when I started to wish I could just cut them off. I realised that would be stupid and lethal. However, considering it, I realised I could castrate myself. I therefore read up on the procedure. As soon as school was out, I put my plan into action and preformed surgery on myself using one of the darts as an anaesthetic. You remember I had the flu for a few days. Well that was the after-effects of surgery.”

I can see realisation come over my parents’ faces. I had been dreadfully ill and they were going to call the doctor at one point, but I persuaded them I was feeling better. That was now eight weeks ago. I had been working on the farm and secretly living as a girl for over a month before school started.

Over the next hour, I pour my heart out, telling them everything about my feelings, hopes and dreams. I inform them of how I would go to my secret hiding place - though not revealing its location - and dress up for a few hours at a time while I learned how to make myself look like a girl.

I had initially bought clothes mail order, so that I could have something to wear. Once confident that I could pass, I started excursions into town en-femme. First, visiting charity shops to expand my wardrobe cheaply, and later buying the bike. I gradually became more confident each time, until I was able to function as a girl without the fear of being discovered.

I explain about my trips to the pool to test my feminine appearance before finally telling them about attending school as a girl. The more I talk the easier it becomes to relate events to my parents. In the space of an hour, I’m able to relax and open up, getting over my initial mental block about speaking to them.

For the most part, I talk and they listen. My parents throw in the odd question here and there for clarity. Mr Henry remains silent for the majority of the time and Dr Lambert keeps prompting me and writing notes on a pad. I think she is doing her shrink thing, trying to make sure we talk through all the issues to find resolution. I have to say she does it very well.

By the time we have finished, most of the morning has already gone. There is still some awkwardness between my parents and me, but we have reached a consensus that I have already passed the point of no return, therefore all they can do is to try and support me where possible.

Mr Henry suggests that perhaps I should take the rest of the day off school and go home with my parents to work out what to do next. He goes to find Julie, to retrieve the keys for my bike. She comes back with him and insists on speaking to me alone for a second. We go to one side and she asks me if I am okay. I explain that I have had a long talk with my parents and that I think everything is going to be all right.

Julie walks with us to the bike shed, so that I won’t have to hunt for my bike. Having retrieved and loaded it in the back of the Land Rover, we say goodbye and my parents drive us back to the farm. Jason is there when we get back, seeing to our livestock. He is in the milking shed and stays inside as we pull up into the yard, so he doesn’t get to see me en-femme yet, which is one hurdle that we have to discuss as a family.

My mother makes us some lunch and we continue to discuss the way forward. I express how I feel uncomfortable and depressed when presenting as a boy.

“I’ve been getting that impression,” my father comments. “When dressed as a girl, you seemed more relaxed and extroverted than normal. I had put it down to being around Emily, and then because you had friends over, but with hindsight, I can see that it was your feminine presentation. Even now, you seem to be more at ease than normal. You usually sit very rigidly, but your shoulders seem less tense. Would you do me a favour and go change into a pair of trousers, I want to test something?”

I comply, silently leaving the room and changing my skirt for my school trousers, before returning and nervously sitting in front of my parents. After five minutes of silence I am ordered back upstairs to change into whatever I have available in feminine attire. I switch the trousers for a green skirt, the only other piece of clean girls’ wear I have left at home.

I return and sit in front of my parents again. After another five minutes of silence, I can’t take any more and ask, “Well, what are you thinking?”

“I am thinking that despite the obvious stress you are under, you appear more relaxed in a skirt than in the trousers,” my father says, “I have been watching you closely. It’s subtle, but your body language is slightly different when you dress as you are now. You are understandably tense, but you seem slightly more at ease.”

I hadn’t realised that I was sitting any differently to before. On seeing my surprise my father explains, “In trousers, you sit with your hands balled in your lap and your shoulders pushed back. Your teeth clench and you seem very tense. You are now sitting with your hands open, stroking the fabric bunched beside your leg. Your shoulders have dropped slightly, although they are still very tense. You are no longer grinding your teeth, but seem to have relaxed your jaw.”

I giggle, “I hadn’t realised. I really don’t mind wearing trousers, in many cases they are more practical. My main problem is that it is a lot harder for other people to see the girl within when dressed as such. I hadn’t appreciated it has such an effect on me.”

“Come sit here,” my mother says patting the stool in front of her armchair. I get up from the couch and sit where indicated. “Turn and face your father,” she instructs. I nervously swizzle round so that my back is to my mother. I jump when I feel her hands on my shoulders. “Relax,” she says softly as she starts to massage my shoulders. My grandmother on my mother’s side was a masseur and sports therapist and trained my mother from a young age in the art of massage.

It has been several years since she last worked her magic on me. I close my eyes, relax, and smile as she works the knots out of my muscles. I softly sigh as she works her fingers down my back.

“Jasmine,” my father says.

“Hmmm,” I blissfully murmur in response.

“I have seen your mother use that technique on many girls and boys over the years, and the response usually falls into one of two patterns. Your expression is the most girly I have ever seen. You’re practically purring.”

I sigh; finally, they are starting to get the message. I break down into giggles as my mother swaps from massaging my back into tickling. I squeal as she puts her hand up the back of my shirt and stimulates the most sensitive part of my lower back. I collapse with laughter begging for mercy as she continues to tickle me into submission.

“Okay, that was so naturally girlish that I am inclined to start believing you,” my father says through a chuckle. “You are obviously more comfortable when not trying to actively hide your feminine side. Now I assume that you have a stash of girls clothes hidden somewhere as you disappeared for nearly half an hour with Emily when she needed an outfit for the wedding.”

“Yes,” I reply solemnly. I know what the next question is and I don’t want to answer it. I smile and tap my nose, “but I’m not telling you where they are. That is one secret I insist on maintaining, as it’s my safety net, a place I can run too if something goes wrong. However, I would like to go and fetch them here if I may?”

I ask permission to retrieve most of my belongings from the hideaway, so that I can wear them at home. The truth is most of them are requiring a wash anyway, as I haven’t been able to do much laundry. I hitch up a trailer to the dune buggy and after my parents promise to stay inside and not watch where I go, I head out of the yard in the wrong direction. Circling back through the fields, I make my way to the secret bunker. I leave a few clean outfits behind as an emergency change of clothing, but load up all the other items in their plastic storage boxes onto the trailer. I then cautiously drive back, being careful not to lose any of my cargo.

As I come to a stop in the yard, my mother and father come out. I think they are surprised by the volume of my secret clothes stash. I have five crates full of girl clothing, which is similar in volume to my male wardrobe. In addition, I have brought back my other bike, and a container full of cosmetics.

We unload everything into the kitchen. My father unhitches the trailer and puts it, my bike, and the buggy in the barn while I sort through the clothing with my mother.

The majority of the items go straight into the wash basket. A few items I have only worn to try on, so these go up to my wardrobe for me to wear. I make room by removing some of my male attire and storing it in the attic. I will still be wearing some of it as trousers and shirts are often more practical, but I prefer skirts and blouses.

It’s mid-afternoon before we all assemble in the lounge for further discussion of my situation.

“I take it Emily knows your secret, I gather she saw you naked,” my mother states.

“Yes she has seen me naked, as has Uncle Peter. That is why he knows we didn’t have sex, as my equipment is restricted. I led him to believe that it was only temporary for the weekend. Emily knows everything. That is the reason why I broke down crying Saturday night - she realised in our experimentation that I wasn’t fully functional.” I am red with embarrassment, but determined not to hide anything.

“Dr Lambert explained what you did to yourself,” my father states. “I understand you are able to pass well enough to not have problems using female changing rooms.”

“As well as using the communal showers at school, I have been swimming on six occasions since my operation. Nobody complained, although I have had a couple of run-ins with boys from my previous school. Luckily, the first time I was able to flee into the changing rooms and a member of staff intervened to move the boys away,” I say sadly recalling the incidents. “I was easily able to prove I wasn’t who they claimed I was by briefly exposing my lack of male genitalia. The second time I was with friends and they were outnumbered.”

“Let me guess, a pink bikini,” my father says sighing.

“No, my lack of chest development makes me look too young in a bikini. I therefore wear a one-piece that has some strategic padding built in. It is pink, as is the swimming cap. I obviously can’t wear the wig when I go swimming. I told Alison and Mary I lost my hair in a farm accident. Obviously, they now know I was lying, but they seem to have forgiven me. I think they are the main reason the girls voted to let me use the changing facilities at school,” I say, starting to cry again, “I never expected all those girls to back me up. I thought that everyone would hate me and my life would be over. Instead, things are going a lot better than I expected. Even being able to talk to you rationally about this is more than I ever dreamed could happen.”

My mother comes and sits beside me on the couch and wraps me in a hug.

“I don’t fully understand this,” my father begins, “but I believe what Dr Lambert told us, that it’s possible to have a female brain in a male body. I don’t approve of your solution to the problem, but that is your choice to make. The more I look at you the more I can see that you are not acting in anything like a masculine way.”

With tearful eyes, I wrap my father in a hug to show that I appreciate his effort. He hugs me tightly, although I can sense he is uncomfortable with my show of emotion. I wipe the tears from my eyes as I pull away again. “It’s a good job I only wear waterproof mascara, or I would look like a panda by now,” I say giggling.

“Your school has accepted you as a girl, and therefore I see no reason to cause trouble by changing that,” my father says. “You can continue to attend as a girl for the time being. You will however be scheduled to see a shrink, Dr Lambert is investigating a suitable person to take your case. Dr Truman would also like to see you and further assess the damage you caused yourself. Having been a patient of his myself, I know he is a good doctor, and I will accept his recommendations on your health.”

I nod, happy with the outcome so far.

“At home you can dress however you feel appropriate,” he states, “but I would appreciate it if you kept the girliness to a minimum when we have guests. You already know Susan’s, Grace’s and Janice’s opinions on the matter.”

“You are worried that they may cause trouble for the farm. I understand that. If you let me know in advance when we will be receiving such guests, I will switch to boy mode,” I reply. “As long as I can be accepted for what I am most of the time, the odd bit of dressing down won’t cause me problems, at least in the short term. I fully intend to grow my hair out so that I don’t have to wear the wig. However, if I am caught out by surprise then there is nothing I can do.”

“Thank you, but let’s try to make that unnecessary,” my mother states after taking a deep breath. “We will have to let our friends know eventually. I tried to hide that Mike was gay and it didn’t work, so it’s inevitable that they will find out. However, I think we need to take it slowly - I am not sure hitting them with it will be beneficial.”

We spend the rest of the afternoon and evening bonding as a family. My father goes out to assist Jason and thank him for stepping in to lend a hand at short notice. I help my mother to prepare the evening meal. Once the casserole is on cooking, I go and change into a pair of jeans and head outside to assist my father with the final chores of the evening.

I even join him in rounding up the sheep. He makes me take control and then proceeds to laugh his head off as I fail to drive the sheep in the right direction. I look at him crossly as he leans on a fence.

“I have just figured out why you are no good at this,” he says, still chuckling, “it’s a well-known fact women make lousy drivers.”

I groan at his bad pun, then realise that he has just insinuated that I am useless as I’m a girl. I don’t know how to take this. He’s acknowledging my chosen gender, but insulting me at the same time. I don’t know whether to be pleased or angry. I decide the best course of action is to get my own back. Whistling to the dogs, I start a stampede of sheep in his direction. He has to jump out of the way to avoid being trampled.

“Hey, watch it, young lady,” my father shouts at me as I laugh. I am too busy giggling to notice some stray sheep heading in my direction and I’m sent flying head first into a ditch. I’m glad I left my wig at home. I am still wondering what happened when I am lifted out of the ditch by my feet. I recognise my father’s boots as I hang upside down in mid air.

“You are getting too heavy to do this too,” my father remarks as he dumps me on the ground. He issues a series of whistles and the dogs round up the rest of the sheep and the flock is directed down the track towards their shelters.

I dust myself off and we walk together back to the farm. We make short work of bedding the sheep and head indoors, still laughing. We both come to a sudden stop when we try to enter the kitchen. My mother is blocking the door with her arms crossed.

“What have you two been up to? You are not coming in here covered in mud,” she states firmly.

“Sheep,” I state simply, as for me that is the usual reason I come home covered in mud. My mother shakes her head in disbelief before pointing at the shower room.

I let my father go first as I wait in the utility room. My mother brings our dressing gowns down. She knocks on the shower door and opens it, reaching in and hooking both garments on the hooks next to the door. She then shuts the door and lets my father finish his shower.

A minute later the water stops and two minutes after that the door opens and my father emerges in his gown. He grins at me as I walk past him to take my turn. Having washed and dressed only in my gown, I walk into the kitchen where my mother is serving up the lamb casserole. I am going to enjoy this particular piece of meat. It was one of last year’s flock and loved to annoy me by running in the wrong direction. Revenge is a dish best served hot with potatoes, swede, carrots and mint sauce.

---

 

I wake Friday morning hardly believing it is almost the weekend again. Grabbing a clean pair of knickers and a training bra, I proceed to get dressed in jeans and a checked shirt. I don’t bother putting anything on my head before I descend downstairs to start the day. It has just gone six and it’s time to grab some breakfast before seeing to the cows.

My parents look at me slightly surprised when I enter the kitchen.

“What’s the matter?” I ask them.

“I would have thought you would be, well, dressed more girly,” my mother replies.

“Most of my girl clothes aren’t suitable for working in. The ones that would be are currently in the wash. I have no problem with how I am dressed. You weren’t expecting me to trot round the milking shed in high heels were you?” I ask in response.

“No, but you don’t look any different from normal,” my mother states.

“That’s because I’m exactly the same person as normal. Nothing has changed in that respect. I have always been, and will always be, me. The difference is that I no longer have to worry about hiding my true self,” I answer, smiling. I am relaxed and although the air is still a little tense, I am happier than most mornings. I slept better last night than I have in months.

After breakfast, I assist with farm work for an hour and a half before heading in for a shower and change of clothes. I don the girls’ version of my school uniform, and fix my wig in place. Gathering my books into my bag, I head downstairs and out to the barn. I take my road bike from its new storage place and mount it. I wave to my parents as I cycle out of the yard on my way to school.

When I get into the cycle sheds, I meet Alison and Mary. Both of them embrace me in a hug and ask if I’m all right. I grin at them and tell them I’m fine.

“Have you brought your swimming costume?” Alison asks.

“Um, no, I forgot. Also, I don’t know how my parents will react to me continuing to use public pools,” I say timidly. “I take it you have no issues with me joining you for swimming.”

“No problem, girl,” Mary responds, emphasising the last word.

I smile at her, “I will phone home at lunch and see if I can come. I can’t guarantee anything. I am no doubt breaking numerous rules in doing this, but hey, that’s nothing new.”

I’m greeted by Julie and Josh as I walk into our classroom for morning registration. Both are relieved that I am okay, and that I’m still in girl mode.

“Don’t I get a kiss from the most beautiful girl in school this morning?” he asks grinning.

“Who’s she then?” I ask. The other girls giggle and whisper, and then one by one thank him for the compliment and plant kisses on his cheek. He now has three different shades of lipstick on his face. He stands in shock as everyone laughs. Seeing what is going on, the other girls in the class join in and soon he has been kissed by every girl in the room except me.

The other boys are cheering the events on when Mr Francis enters the room. There is a mad scramble as everybody returns to their seats. I try to control my giggling as Mr Francis raises an eyebrow at the now multicoloured Josh. There is a flash as a camera phone records the moment for posterity. I hand him a mirror so that he can see the damage.

Mr Francis instructs Josh to clean himself up, that is unless he wants to make an unusual fashion statement for the next few hours until break. He rushes off as Mr Francis starts to take the register.

The mood remains light-hearted through the morning. At break time, I take Josh to one side and give him a proper kiss.

“Josh, as much as I like kissing you,” I say slightly sadly, “I think we should be careful. With my history, you could get some opposition for being gay if you try to date me. Besides which, I don’t want to push my luck with my folks. They are only just coming to terms with me being transgendered. I don’t think they would like me dating.”

“I understand,” Josh states, “friendship first, romance can come later if it develops. It’s not like we don’t have plenty of time.”

Relieved that we can take things slowly, I swiftly head off to the detention room. I’m being punished for lying to the school about my identity. They allow a few minutes leeway for you to use the bathroom before you spend the rest of the twenty minutes sitting doing homework.

At lunchtime, I phone my mother. When she answers the phone I ask, “Hi mum, it’s Jasmine. I have been invited to go swimming again this afternoon, and wondered if you would be willing to give your permission, and if so if you could drop off my swimming costume for me?”

“I don’t know. Is it legal for you to use the women’s facilities?” she queries.

“I’m not sure, but as long as there are no complaints I don’t think it’s a problem. It is not as if I’m a functional male anymore,” I reply honestly.

“I will meet you after school and let you know. I will be parked outside the school at leaving off time. Come find me,” she answers. I explain where to find the swimming costume. It’s one of the items I brought home from the bunker.

As promised, I find her waiting for me at the end of the day. Mary and Alison accompany me out of the building to meet her.

“Hi Mum, this is Alison Hardy and Mary Green, two of my new friends. They know my history and yet are still willing to invite me to join them,” I say introducing the girls to my mother. After hellos being said all round, I ask the dreaded question. “So, am I allowed to go swimming again or not?”

“On one condition, I join you and supervise your behaviour. If you girls don’t mind that is? We can load your bikes in the back and I can give you all a lift.”

Alison and Mary have no objections and all three of us head off to the cycle sheds to collect our bikes. After loading up the Land Rover, Alison directs my mother to the car park for the swimming pool.

When paying the entrance fee we sign up for the residential pass so that we can get a discount. It takes a bit of haggling, but we are able to argue that the farm is within the five-mile limit. The line only just clips the edge of the farmyard, so one corner of one barn is in the limit, but the house is outside. They decide that it’s close enough and grant us the discount.

We head to the changing rooms and I enter with caution. This is the first time in years I have been naked in front of my mother. I have exchanged my wig for the swimming cap in the car so that I don’t have to switch over in public. I notice that Alison and Mary strip naked before they even pull their swimsuits out of their bags. In fact, they stand naked chatting to me while they neatly and slowly fold their clothes.

I know exactly what they are doing. They’re showing my mother that they are perfectly happy treating me as another girl and have no hang-ups being in the room with a freak like me. I have been hesitating a bit at stripping off, but realising what they are doing I copy them. Soon, all three of us are standing naked chatting about the book we are reading in English class.

My mother looks around nervously and is slow to strip off. I think she is having reservations about me seeing her naked, as she is still thinking of me as a boy. I deliberately keep my eyes focused in the opposite direction while she removes her underwear and slips her costume on. Why she didn’t just put it on underneath her clothes before she came, I don’t know. None of the other women in the room seems to pay us any attention as we change.

Once all four of us are dressed and ready, we lock our possessions up and head for the water. My mother is impressed with the facilities. This is the first time she has been to this pool. Thankfully, there is no sign of the boys this week. However, we are quarter of an hour earlier than last week as the drive was quicker than coming by bike.

We are soon enjoying the water. Once more, the girls help me gain confidence, and I’m soon swimming short distances out of my previous comfort zone. After what happened last week with the boys, they are now on the lookout for them as well. I hope that by sticking with my mother that if I’m spotted they won’t try anything.

I do notice Bart and his friends arrive, but this time I keep my distance from them. They notice me and I make a point of talking with my mother, so that they know I am not here alone. My mother takes a good look at them, when I point them out. They decide to err on the side of caution and leave us alone.

I am truly able to relax and I thoroughly enjoy my session in the pool this week. Now that all the lies have been ended and I don’t have to worry about anything I feel a lot happier. I know that I am still using a fake identity and I’m still classified as male, but that doesn’t bother me as I can easily show that I should be in the female changing room.

When we have finished swimming, we head back to the changing room to shower and get dressed. I enjoy the spray as I rinse the chlorine from my skin. I have kept my back to my mother, but I’m facing Alison and Mary. We make idle talk while we clean ourselves and I lend Mary some of my shower gel as she has forgotten to bring her own.

Once dry, we proceed to dress. My first task is to switch my cap for a scarf, which I do while standing naked, with my back to the wall. Again, I use the principle that my short hair won’t be questioned while I’m showing my crotch.

I do get a funny look from my mother but she doesn’t say anything. Once outside we drive Mary and Alison home, dropping each of them off in turn. We then head back to the farm.

“I noticed something back in the changing room,” my mother states as she drives.

“What?” I ask puzzled. “I hope I didn’t behave out of the ordinary for a girl.”

“Your behaviour was fine. What I noticed is that you have breasts, or at least the beginnings of them,” she replies. “Have you been finding them itchy?”

“Well yes, but I put that down to a psychosomatic placebo effect caused by wishful thinking,” I reply, “I shouldn’t be producing much testosterone anymore, and all males produce some female hormones. Therefore, I should start automatically to feminise without any intervention. I have been taking some herbal plant supplements that mimic hormones in the absence of being able to obtain proper ones. However, I am not confident they will have any effect. I really should be on hormone replacement therapy to replace the lost production capacity.”

“You look slightly puffy and your areolas are almost as big as the other girls. They are certainly bigger than I remember them,” she replies. “You have a hospital appointment tomorrow with Dr Truman, an endocrinologist, and a shrink. You will be getting the full works, including an MRI and ultrasound to see what damage you have caused yourself and if further surgery will be needed. The vampires will be drawing your blood for various tests, and if all goes well then you will be prescribed replacement hormones for the ones you can no longer produce.”

“As long as they aren’t male ones, I’ll be happy. One reason to castrate myself was to stop male puberty. I don’t want to be forced to go through that artificially,” I reply. “Dr Truman didn’t say anything about my breasts when he examined me at school, although having said that he was concentrating on my groin. I might be starting to show signs of secondary sexual characteristics, but I would have thought it a bit early. It’s less than eight weeks since my operation. Why are we going at the weekend? I thought the clinics only ran during the week. It’s also remarkably quick; I would have expected to have to wait weeks for any appointments.”

“We’re going private. Remember we have comprehensive medical insurance. I spoke to them earlier and we are making a claim,” my mother answers. We took out private health care in case any of us were injured or became ill. My father used it to speed up the waiting time on his prostate operation last year. Being self-employed and in a labour intensive industry, we can’t afford to be off sick. Therefore, we took the cover out to get the fastest response, as the National Health Service can be a bit slow at times.

We pull into the car park of a Fish and Chips shop. I stay in the car while my mother fetches three lots of cod and chips for our dinner.

Returning home we eat the meal before it gets cold. I then spend the rest of the evening ironing. Having washed nearly my entire girl wardrobe, I now have many garments to press.

I am up at my usual early time on Saturday morning and help my father with the cows and goats. I leave him to do the sheep while I head indoors to shower and change. I wore jeans and a shirt for the farm work, but now need to get ready for the hospital appointments.

As I am going to be examined and will need to strip, I decide to wear something convenient. I grab a blue denim skirt and a pale yellow t-shirt. As the weather is getting cooler, I also put on my blue fleece. I don’t bother with a bra, as it may be awkward and I still don’t need one, especially as the t-shirt is of soft fabric. I am wearing simple white panties and white ankle socks. On my feet, I have a pair of cream plimsolls. Figuring the wig may be awkward, I instead wear a scarf to hide my lack of hair.

We drive to the hospital and arrive shortly before nine for my first appointment. We are given some paperwork and have to proceed to the rear of the hospital to queue up so that I can have my blood taken.

Before they start poking needles into me, I have to undergo some measurements. My height, weight and temperature are recorded and my blood pressure taken. Dr Truman had noted that my blood pressure was high when he examined me at school. He was slightly concerned, but had put the level down to anxiety caused by the stress of the situation. The level is still above average, but not as high as it had been at the previous reading.

I have never been keen on needles, but put up with the procedure out of necessity. The loss of blood resulting from the extraction causes me to feel faint and I have to have a sit down. If I did have high blood pressure before the procedure, I suspect the number of vials taken have rectified the problem.

The next stop is a shrink. I know my mind, but in order to progress to SRS I need the sign off from such a medical professional. Unfortunately, I immediately take a disliking to the prat to which I have been assigned. He insists on calling me Simon, even after I request that he call me Jasmine.

Dr Patel is Indian, which is annoying to start with, as I can barely understand a word he says. I am not racist; I just have a genuine problem making sense of his accent.

He immediately focuses on my clothes and the fact I like to dress as a girl. I keep my answers as short as possible and have to make him repeat his questions, as I am having trouble deciphering what he is saying. I can see where his thought patterns are headed by the questions he asks. Dr Patel thinks I’m gay with a clothing fetish and it is obvious he isn’t getting it.

After twenty minutes of pointless off-topic questions that I have to get him to say numerous times before I understand what he is asking, we are both getting frustrated and I decide that I have had enough. This doctor is useless and any longer term treatment won’t be worthwhile.

I tell him that this is no use as we are failing to communicate but he insists on continuing, even though he has to repeat himself as he is talking too quickly for me to understand his heavy accent. To prove my point and get my own back I switch to broad Norfolk. Perhaps if he has trouble understanding me, we can end this pretence and I can get somebody decent as a shrink.

I don’t usually have an accent as such, but I can lay it on thick when needed. Actually, I am not very good at it and wouldn’t get away with talking to a true speaker without being laughed at, but for this pillock I am willing to go all out. I therefore not only lay on a broad accent, I also try to use as many localisms as possible, even if not the best grammatical choice.

I slowly drawl, “Hold yer hard, Oi hint driv’ all way hair to hack-slarverin abou’ clobber. Thass hint n’diffus f’ me dressun like a mawther. Do oi do do that signifoi? Wooss thur problem that goo t’er meetin’ tis’a dress? When troshin t’ midder pusshun crud-barrer, oi wear bor clothin’. Hintut puckaterry skirt? Shink. Oi arst that mardle do n’wher cor blast me fare y’ well.”

This seems to annoy the doctor as his head starts wobbling and he rapid fires a load of fast-talking at me that I don’t even try to understand. He then storms out of the room.

For those of you who don’t speak broad Norfolk this translates as, “Hold on, I haven’t driven all the way here to babble about clothing. It isn’t any different for me dressing like a girl. If I do, does it matter? What is the problem if my Sunday best is a dress? When I am working in the meadow pushing a wheelbarrow, I wear boy clothing. Isn’t it more stressful in a skirt? I should think so. I ask you if chatting does not get anywhere then we should say goodbye.”

Okay, so I’m talking nonsense. Nevertheless, it’s had the desired effect. The shrink has left the room and the door is now wide open. I stand and walk to the door where my mother sits waiting outside. She doesn’t look happy about the doctor storming off. I suspect she will blame me for this.

The receptionist comes over and asks, “What on earth did you say to him?”

I repeat my speech, much to the amusement of the people present in the waiting room.

“Yew dint ortera dun that Littl’un,” the receptionist replies in an equally broad accent. [You ought not to have done that, little one.]

“Wus up? His accent was crazing me wick. That’ll larn him to speak proper like what we do,” I reply. [What’s the matter? His accent was getting on my nerves. That will teach him to speak properly as we do.]

“Listun hair yew waarmin, you’ll hoolly cop it when yew git home. Oi’ll ding yer lug, do yew dint stop slaverin’ squit yew duzzy mawther,” my mother says getting in on the act. Although mawther is usually regarded as a derogatory term, I don’t mind because it is exclusively feminine. [Listen here you misbehaving person, you’ll definitely be in for it when you get home. I will smack you in the ear if you don’t stop talking rubbish you silly girl.]

“Seriously, how can he do his job when I can’t answer his questions because I don’t understand a word he says? Okay, I was being awkward by laying it on thick, but how do you expect to work in an area without at least some understanding of the local dialect,” I reply. “Besides which, he wasn’t listening to what I was telling him, and he deliberately annoyed me by calling me by a name I hate. I would like a different shrink. One that I can actually talk to and have a meaningful conversation with, without having to stop every few minutes so that he can repeat himself - preferably someone that will respect and use my preferred name.”

“Leave it with me. I will book you an appointment with Dr George. He’s Norfolk bred and born. You can be as broad as you like with him, he won’t be fazed,” the receptionist tells us. “If you don’t like being called Simon, then I suggest you get your name legally changed. That way nobody has any excuse for using the wrong name.”

I look at my mother, grinning. She sighs and says, “We’ll talk to your father about it when we get home.”

After sorting out the details of my next appointment, we head down to the medical diagnostic ward where I am subjected to various scans and tests including an ultrasound and an MRI of my lower torso.

Our next appointment is to see Dr Truman, who unfortunately deals mainly in prostate conditions. This means that his waiting room is full of older men, and a young girl does seem to be out of place amongst his other patients. We sit patiently and ignore the stares before being called into an examination room.

Dr Truman and a second doctor, Dr Stirzaker, then proceed to prod and poke at me. They have the results of the scans and pulling them up on screen they proceed to point out the scarring. I am once again interviewed about the procedure I performed. Both doctors are impressed with my handiwork and much to my delight; they don’t treat me as an imbecile. Instead, they discuss the results of my operation and the possible implications for reassignment surgery.

At my mother’s request, they examine my chest for signs of breast growth. They agree that I am starting to show signs of female secondary development. We then discuss the cause, as I am surprised that it’s happening so quickly. The one thing the MRI confirmed beyond all doubt is that I am indeed male. There is no sign of female sexual organs so we can rule out me being intersexed.

I have brought with me the herbal remedy that I have managed to purchase. Dr Stirzaker is an endocrinologist so is able to give advice on the hormone replacement that I will need. The initial results from my blood work suggest that as expected my male hormone levels are lower than normal. My levels of estrogens are about halfway between the levels expected for a boy, and a girl undergoing puberty. The herbal remedy has had an effect to boost my natural production.

Dr Stirzaker also suspects that I might have been slightly androgen insensitive, as I should have been showing more signs of male puberty, and it might explain why I appear to be reacting so well to the female hormones, as they aren’t high enough to do what they appear to be doing.

We spend a further ten minutes discussing options as to my treatment. I make it clear that going through a male puberty is not an option, and I will refuse any procedure that tries to correct the deficiency in androgens.

The doctors are initially not happy to proceed without a physiatrist report, but I explain the issues I was having with Dr Patel and that it will be several weeks before I can obtain an appointment with a different shrink. I also point out that actions speak a lot louder than words and that I am deadly serious in my transition. I consider that I have already gone beyond the point of no return and have no inclination to reverse my course.

They are also not happy with me taking self-prescribed remedies off the Internet. The quality control on the tablets is unknown and it cannot be guaranteed that they don’t have dangerous chemicals inside. I successfully argue that I need at least to partially boost my hormones in order to maintain healthy bone growth. I am therefore prescribed a very low dosage oestrogen tablet which will raise my levels, but not far enough to go properly through puberty.

Given my past tendencies for self-medication, my mother is going to be tightly controlling my usage of the tablets so that I’m not tempted to take them faster than I should. I am to be given fortnightly checkups to monitor my condition closely.

I am therefore given a prescription for a half-strength contraceptive pill. They are effectively prescribing me a placebo, as the dosage is too low to have a noticeable effect. I think their main reason for going along with my wishes is psychological. They are worried I might do something stupid if I don’t appear to get my way. Considering I have already self-mutilated and self-medicated, I do have a track record of taking stupid actions, although I prefer to think of them as calculated risks.

I believe the doctors think that I am mentally unstable, having already shown symptoms of being close to a breakdown. If this is the case then I agree with them. I am the first to admit that I am slightly mad. Sanity is not one of my attributes.

It is lunchtime before we finally escape the hospital and head home. I feel satisfied with the results I have obtained. There is some reluctance by the doctors, which I expected, but they are at least going in the direction I desire. They are understandably taking things slowly.

I only have one cottage that must be cleaned today, thankfully, so I’m able to complete the task after a quick lunch in time for our clients to arrive. One of the other cottages is halfway through being rented for a fortnight, and we only do cleaning at the end of a rental. The third cottage is vacant this coming week, so I don’t have to rush to clean it, and it is late afternoon before I start the task.

After finishing the work, this time not using the maid outfit in case I’m seen by the guests, I retire to my room. I have spent the whole day in girl mode, not bothering to change when I came home from the hospital. I have no problem being seen in girl mode, but the maid costume is a bit silly looking and is obviously not designed for practicality.

I stay out of the way, as my relationship with my parents is strained by my current appearance. I feel strange dressing en-femme around them, and they are not used to seeing me as such.

I discuss the possibility of changing my name with my parents. Since I do not intend to remain as a boy, and I’m already living nearly full-time as a girl, it seems logical to make the switch. My mother is reluctant, believing I’m rushing into things. I once again point out that I’ve already made the decision and past the point of no return. I can no longer switch fully back to a boy, even in the extremely unlikely event that I should get second thoughts.

We go online and locate a mail order deed poll service. After following all the instructions, we print and sign the forms ready for submitting by post tomorrow morning. From this point on, I will officially be Miss Jasmine Simone Whittaker. I have decided to keep the feminine version of my old forename as a middle name.

I have an early night, going to bed and reading rather than staying downstairs watching television with my parents. It has been a long, but ultimately fulfilling and positive day.

---

 

I am up early on Sunday and once again help my father with the cows. This time I’m in my denim dress rather than jeans. I don’t bother with the wig, as I don’t want to get it dirty, instead opting for a headscarf to hide my short hair.

I’m now in full girl mode as far as my presentation, although as I’m working I’m not wearing makeup or nail polish, since it’s pointless. I’m wearing my normal wellies, which are effectively unisex in appearance. Both my parents also wear exactly the same style of boot, the only difference between the pairs being size. My mother is dressed in her usual style of tight jeans and blouse.

We spend the day focusing on maintenance. With all the commotion over the last few weeks, there has been a build up of odd jobs to be completed that we haven’t had time to finish.

My mother spends the day gardening. We have a number of raspberry canes, tomato plants, rhubarb, and a herb garden to the side of the farmhouse.

I assist my father in repairing a couple of fences, refelting the roof of a sheep hut and cutting back some of the hedging at the side of the fields and tracks. Most of the fencing is wooden and needs repairing every now and again when pieces start to rot. We have a stock of planks soaking in preservative in a tank at the back of one of the barns that we can use to make repairs.

Several of the fields we keep sheep in have small huts where the animals can shelter in bad weather. They are covered in roofing felt, the type used on garden sheds. The material lasts several years, but eventually breaks down due to prolonged exposure to sunlight and adverse weather conditions. We noticed that a couple of the shelters had holes forming a few weeks ago, but this is the first opportunity to repair them.

This type of work has never bothered me and I enjoy fixing things. I keep getting strange looks from my father every now and again while working. I assume that it’s down to my appearance and that he is still getting used to me as a girl.

After yet another sideways glance, I ask him what he is finding so amusing.

“It’s just that you seem so relaxed,” he replies.

“Well, I have been putting myself under a lot of pressure recently,” I respond. “I have been trying to hide my true self and have been worried about being found out. I was also afraid of hitting puberty in a big way and turning into a big ape like James or Kevin. Now that my issues are out in the open, and I don’t have to worry about appearing too effeminate, I can relax. It really feels like a great weight has been lifted off my shoulders.”

We finish the maintenance by mid-afternoon, and take a break before we need to see to the animals. We are sitting in the kitchen drinking tea when the phone rings. My mother answers it.

“Oh hi, Josh, yes I’ll hand you over,” my mother says, which catches my attention. She hands me the phone.

“Hello,” I say.

“Hi, Simon, it’s Josh,” he states, and I instantly notice the nervousness in his voice. “I have somebody here who would like to speak to you, but didn’t want to phone himself, I assume you are safe to talk without being overheard your end.”

“That isn’t a problem here anymore, and you know that, so I assume that it’s not safe your end”, I reply.

“Got it in one, let me hand you over to the person standing behind me,” he says.

I hear a very familiar voice come down the line, “Hello, little bro, sorry for the deception, but I thought it best if somebody else made the call. I didn’t want you getting in trouble for speaking to me. I assume ’rents are out of the room.”

“Mike!” I reply, “It’s good to hear from you.”

My parents and I are sitting round the table in the kitchen. My exclamation immediately draws their attention.

“You needn’t worry about me getting in trouble. Mum and Dad are not going to object to me talking to you. I take it you and Matt are paying Josh a visit.”

“Yes. Look, I don’t know how practical this will be, but I was wondering if you would like to pop over, if you can get away. We haven’t seen each other in months and I would like to catch up. I can pick you up from the bunker if you don’t want to cycle all the way here,” Mike replies.

“Sure, hang on a mo’, I will just go get clearance,” I say before putting my hand over the mouthpiece. I then say softly to my parents, “It’s Mike, he would like me to go meet him but he doesn’t seem keen on you knowing. Any objections if I go out for the afternoon.”

“No,” my father responds, “are you going as Simon or Jasmine though?”

“The latter of course,” I reply smiling.

“I will drop you off outside,” my father replies, “If Mike doesn’t want to come out and meet me, I understand. I promise to stay in the car and not interfere.”

I then reply to Mike, “No problem. No need to collect me, Dad will drop me at the door. Simply stay out of sight if you don’t want to meet.”

“I don’t think meeting is a good idea after last time. We are out back in the conservatory, I will send Josh to let you in,” he replies.

“Sure, I’ll be across in about half an hour, I need to shower and get changed. Hand me back to Josh please,” I reply.

“Hello. Give us a sec’,” Josh says, then after a short pause continues, “Right, we are now safe to talk, I’m out of earshot. Sorry about calling you Simon earlier, only I haven’t told anybody here about you yet as I wasn’t sure if you wanted them to know.”

“I guessed as much. Mike is going to get a bit of a surprise when he sees me. I’ll be in full girl mode. Can I assume your folks aren’t going to be upset by my appearance?” I ask.

“You’re good. My parents won’t object,” he replies. “They might get a bit of a shock if we end up kissing again, but even that won’t bother them.”

I giggle and say, “As you suggested it, I think I might just do that and test your parents resolve. See you soon.”

I make kissing noises into the phone as he says goodbye and hangs up. I can’t help but giggle at my parents’ reaction, who are sitting watching me with raised eyebrows.

“Just what was that about?” my mother asks with suspicion.

“Just letting my boyfriend know what he can expect. I was asking if his parents will have a problem with me, and he doesn’t think so.” I reply, “Josh and I aren’t dating as such, but we both enjoy the occasional kiss. Neither of us are in any rush to do anything. We are friends first, but we both seem to fancy each other so if we naturally develop romantically then we will see where it goes, but not at the risk of what we have now. Don’t panic, I have no intention of going any further than a kiss or three.”

“I remember the shock you gave us at school when you planted one on him as you handed your bike over,” my father replies. “After the earlier revelations it didn’t have as much impact. I suspected you may be attracted to boys even before you came out.”

I laugh and head upstairs to shower. I spend five minutes soaping and rinsing my skin before drying myself off and heading across to my bedroom wrapped in a towel. I then pull out a black skirt, frilly white blouse, and a black knitted shawl to wear. I don’t own a little black dress, something I will need to correct at some point, but this ensemble will do nicely. I put on a clean pair of knickers, and my best white bra. This one isn’t my normal training variety but a regular B-cup. I don’t have enough to fill it, so I insert a couple of foam pads.

Next, I put on my wig and some makeup. I don’t wear a lot, just some lipstick, mascara and eye shadow to enhance my femininity. I then put on the skirt and blouse. I roll a pair of black tights up my legs and slip on my one and only pair of black heeled shoes. They are only a couple of inches, but are most definitely feminine.

It’s taken me twenty minutes to shower and change, probably a lot quicker than most girls getting ready to go out, but still slower than many boys do. I descend the stairs and walk into the kitchen, where my father is waiting. He has also changed into a smarter pair of trousers and shirt from the work wear he was in earlier. We head outside, and instead of the Land Rover, the Jaguar is waiting. My father bought an X-Type diesel second hand at two years old. We use it when we are going somewhere nice and want some comfort. The Land Rover is okay for day-to-day use, but it does get used for everything and isn’t the smartest of vehicles.

We pull up outside of Josh’s house roughly half an hour after the phone call. I get out and make my way to the door as my father waits and watches. I ring the bell and a few seconds later Josh opens the door. I turn and wave to my father and he starts to drive away as I cross the threshold.

“Everybody is out back, hiding,” Josh says and smiles, “come through and I will introduce you to everybody. You look gorgeous. I bet it will take several minutes for them to twig who you are.”

“I doubt it, but let’s see,” I reply.

Josh winks at me and I follow him down the hall, through the kitchen and dining room, out into the conservatory, where six people are sitting talking.

“Was that Simon?” Mike asks as he hears us approach.

“This is my girlfriend, Jasmine,” Josh states, deliberately not answering the question. I step out from behind Josh, who pulls me into a hug as I stand next to him.

“Hi,” I say coyly, “Nice to finally meet you all.”

“Jasmine, these are my parents, Bob and Margret, my aunt and uncle, Luke and Angela, and my cousin Matt,” Josh states, and I smile at each in turn. I notice he has intentionally missed out Mike, who I obviously know anyway. We both stand side by side, waiting for the penny to drop.

“Can I get you a drink?” Bob asks, “We have lemonade, cola, orange juice, or I can boil the kettle for tea or coffee.”

“Lemonade, please,” I reply sweetly. I am trying, and it would appear succeeding, to project a feminine tone. This is something I have practiced, and is almost now second nature. In fact, when in boy mode I consciously have to control my voice to stop sounding so feminine.

There are three settees in the conservatory, with the three couples occupying one each. I notice that a dining chair and a beanbag have been squeezed in. Josh sits down on the beanbag and leans back against the wall behind him, leaving the chair for me. I decide to play the girlfriend role and sit on his knee, leaving the uncomfortable-looking chair for the non-existent expected guest.

Josh pulls me into a hug as I sit on him. I can see him trying not to laugh at the situation. There is an awkward silence until Bob returns and hands me my drink, for which I thank him. It is obvious that I’m not expected, and everybody is wondering what I am doing here. From the glances between Josh’s parents, it would appear that they weren’t aware their son was dating. Although to be fair, we haven’t actually gone on a date yet.

I have positioned myself so that I’m facing Matt and Mike, and I watch them closely, especially my brother, for signs of recognition. The two of them are sitting closely together, leaning into each other. Mike has his arm round his partner’s back. They appear relaxed and the affection between them is obvious. There is no attempt to hide it.

“Matt,” I say, “It’s nice to finally meet you properly. Mike never really got opportunity to introduce us.”

I smile at Mike and wait. I can almost see the cogs turning as he tries to work out who I am. I can’t help myself and start giggling.

“What’s the matter, Mike?” I ask, “Don’t tell me I’ve changed so much that you don’t recognise your own sister?”

“Simon!” Mike replies, surprised.

“I told you he wouldn’t recognise you,” Josh states laughing.

“Okay, you win the bet, I guess I better pay you the kiss I owe you,” I say before pulling him into my embrace. Josh doesn’t flinch; instead, he responds and draws us into a passionate lip lock. It is several minutes before we pull apart. We would have gone on longer, but Bob was politely coughing.

I turn back to the shocked looking Mike, who is now leaning forward and staring in my direction. I can see he is puzzled. He is probably thinking this is another prank, but the kiss has given him doubts. Mike knew about my girlish tendencies. He even knew that I occasionally cross-dressed.

We had an understanding between us when living at home, he wouldn’t mention catching me en-femme, and I wouldn’t mention seeing him snogging Matt. He even bought me the French maid’s outfit last Christmas. To our parents it was a harmless joke on his part, one of a number that we have played on each other over the years, but we both knew that it would be something from which I could get enjoyment.

“Simon,” Mike repeats, “Why are you dressed like that, and how did you get here without anyone seeing?”

“Mike,” I reply, “Please don’t call me Simon, at least not while I’m in girl mode. I much prefer Jasmine, although I occasionally go by Simone. As to how I got here, Dad dropped me off at the door, not that I have any trouble being seen like this.”

“Dad knows you are dressed like that?” Mike replies in surprise.

“Well yes, he brought me here in the Jag. He did ask why I have to wear my skirts so short, but really this isn’t that short,” I answer. The skirt I am wearing ends four inches above my knees. “He is still getting used to having a daughter instead of a son, but he’s coming round fast. I think he had partially realised what was going on before I came out. It’s mum who is taking it the hardest, but she is also trying her best to accept me.”

“I don’t believe it,” Mike states in shock.

“It’s true,” says Josh, “she gave me quite a surprise when she turned up for school on the first day of term. I had seen the class list beforehand and knew that Simon was in my tutor group. When we were taken to the classroom and the name ‘Simone Whittaker’ was called, I didn’t know what was going on. It wasn’t until later in the day that I found out that the lovely lady in front of me attended her previous school as a boy.”

I blush at his description. Josh then adds, “She even blushes the same as any other girl.”

I hit him lightly on the shoulder in retaliation, at which he smiles.

“I thought that after what happened when you came out, that Mum and Dad would never accept me for who I am. Fully expecting a fight, I didn’t tell them what I was doing until after I had already started attending school as a girl. I expected a volcanic eruption, but what I got wasn’t even a puff of smoke,” I explain. “That is thanks to you. Your departure really got them thinking, and having reflected on it, they really regret chucking you out. Outing myself as a transsexual forced them into either accepting me for who I am, or lose both of their children permanently. It didn’t hurt that as I’m younger, they couldn’t as easily evict me.”

The room grows quiet, and I sip on my drink as all eyes fall on Mike and me. I take a few moments looking down to recompose myself before looking back up into Mike’s eyes. The revelation has left me emotionally drained, and a tear escapes my left eye and rolls down my cheek. When I look into Mike’s eyes, I can also see that they aren’t dry. Taking a handkerchief from his pocket, Mike dabs his face.

“You’re saying that they may actually accept me back? I’m not sure I can do that after all that was said. It hurt Si... Jasmine,” Mike replies, swiftly correcting himself as he starts to say my old name. “I don’t know if I want to risk going through that trauma again. I wasn’t even sure if I should see you, but Josh and Matt here convinced me that I shouldn’t shut you out.”

Matt puts his arm round Mike, squeezing him tightly in a hug. He then says, “Mike was deeply upset, although not at all surprised, by the events of his eighteenth birthday. We knew that there might be a problem, and were ready for him to be kicked out. However, having your worst fears realised was distressing for both of us. You are family, and I insisted you be here for a reason.”

Mike grasps his partner’s hand and takes over having regained his composure, “We have an announcement to make. Yesterday we visited the registrar’s office and made the preliminary arrangements to enter a civil partnership together. We’re getting married.”

“Congratulations,” I reply. I am joined by Josh and his parents in congratulating the couple. It would appear Matt’s parents already knew, and this was for the benefit of Matt’s extended family and myself.

We spend the next couple of hours talking, catching up with events. Mike explains what happened since he left home. Starting with how he ended up at the police station after the fight with our father and in his anger, insisted charges were brought. Mike had already come out to Matt’s parents a while before, and they had already made arrangements to stay at Josh’s house should the need arise.

Matt was already staying with his aunt and uncle after a tree fell through the roof of his parents’ house during a storm. Nobody was hurt, but the damage made several rooms uninhabitable and Matt had moved out while repairs were made.

The last time I had seen Mike was briefly when he came to collect his belongings while my parents were out. We didn’t have time to talk, and he was accompanied by a police officer to make sure that nothing happened.

Matt’s parents had acted as guarantors and helped the couple set up home in a flat in Norwich. The original plan was for them to attend University, but that has been put on hold while they take a year out and earn some money. Both of them have been working in the city, Matt as an insurance salesperson, and Mike as a veterinary assistant under an apprenticeship scheme.

I in turn explain what has been happening at home, although I don’t mention my self-surgery or the exact details of how I had to be sedated. I don’t mind Mike knowing, but I’m not as comfortable with the other people present.

At the end of the afternoon, Mike offers to drive me back home. Matt also insists on coming along for support, and in fact ends up driving figuring that Mike may be too distracted to drive safely. I tell both of them that they have nothing to fear from our parents.

I give Josh a farewell kiss at his front door, much to his delight, and his parents’ amusement, before getting into the car with the boys.

We drive along in silence as we approach the farm. It is with some trepidation that Matt pulls into the farmyard. He does a u-turn before pulling up, so that he is pointed the right direction for a quick getaway. I let myself out of the back as the engine is turned off. I open the passenger side door where a nervous Mike is sitting.

“They won’t bite, I promise,” I say as he climbs out of the seat.

I hear the back door open and turn to see both of my parents standing in the doorway, watching. My father has his arm round my mother, and both are looking at us.

“Michael,” my father says, “I’m sorry. I was a fool. It has taken me a while to see it, but I was totally wrong. I know you may not be willing to believe that things could be different, but I would like a second chance.”

Mike has frozen in place at the sight of our parents. Matt comes up alongside him and squeezes his hand in support. I position myself at Mike’s other side, and take his hand in my own so that all three of us are linked.

“Get the kettle on, I think we have some things to discuss,” I say.

“Of course, do come in,” my mother replies, before disappearing back into the kitchen.

My father stands to one side, and I start to walk towards the door, pulling Mike and Matt along with me. We enter the kitchen and I pull the chairs out from under the kitchen table for my brother and his boyfriend. Nervously they sit down, still holding hands. As Mike seems lost for words, I make the introductions. I present Matt as Mike’s boyfriend rather than fiancé - that piece of news I figure should come from the boys themselves. However, I will tell my parents later if they don’t say anything.

“So, Jasmine wasn’t pulling my leg,” Mike finally says, “she really is living as a girl and you are happy with this.”

“How much has she told you?” our mother asks.

“General overview only,” I reply, “I left out the bit where you shot me.”

I grin at the two boys’ shocked reaction, as they try to gauge if I’m joking.

“It was a tranquiliser dart,” my father says softly, “she wasn’t acting rationally. I had scared her so much that after she revealed her secret, she panicked and tried to run away, behaving like a wild animal. When she grabbed a pitchfork and tried to stab us when we got near, I decided that she might harm herself. I fetched the air rifle, and when I came back Jasmine was trying to escape in one of the buggies. Your mother had to jump out of the way in order to avoid being run over. I don’t know where she thought she was going, but I had a dreadful feeling that she might harm herself if she got away. I therefore shot her to calm her down.”

“After what happened to you, I sort of overreacted thinking they would literally kill me,” I add, “I did have an escape plan, having already stockpiled supplies at our old secret hideout, of which they don’t know the location. However, I wasn’t in a fit state of mind to implement it properly.”

The tension in the air is broken by Mike starting to laugh. It starts as a low belly rumble, rises into chuckling, and then breaks out into a full laugh.

“You were always trying to outdo me,” Mike states once he calms down, “not only are you one-upping me on revelations, you also managed to have a bigger bust up as well.”

“In fairness, it was Jasmine doing all the aggression this time,” our mother declares, “we were simply trying to understand what was going on and calm her down.”

“While shocking, it didn’t come as big a surprise like your own coming out,” our father tells Mike, “you caught us completely off guard, and I reacted badly, which I deeply regret. I knew something was bothering Simon, and I suspected he may also be gay. We also knew he liked to cross-dress. When Kevin and James visited, they tricked Simon into dressing up in the French Maid’s outfit you bought him. He was slightly too comfortable in the role. The following weekend he dressed up in it again when asked by some of his girlfriends, again seeming far too relaxed whilst dressed.”

“You seem to accept Simon as Jasmine. Does that now mean you are willing to accept my choice of partner?” Mike asks.

“Yes,” our father replies, “I don’t like your choices of lifestyle, but that is your decision to make and I will respect and support that judgment. I accept that you have stated your preference and I won’t try to interfere.”

“Thank you,” Mike says, “if it makes it any easier for you to accept, the reason why I invited my sibling over earlier was that we had an announcement to make. Matt and I are getting married, or at least the legal equivalent. We intend to join in a civil partnership.”

“Aren’t you a bit young for this?” my mother asks with concern.

“Maybe,” Matt replies, “but we love each other and we don’t think that is likely to change. We have been dating for several years. We are already living together so this is the next logical step. There are also a number of benefits, including being classed as each other’s next of kin.”

“There are also some financial benefits as it becomes easier to set up joint accounts, and when needed, mortgages,” Mike adds, “Also the benefits system is designed to give preference to married couples.”

“Congratulations,” my father declares, “you have my blessing and I hope you’re happy together. I am a firm believer in the institute of marriage, and I don’t care for the modern fashion of not bothering to get married. The government has seen fit to create civil partnerships and give them the same status as marriages, so I’m not going to let my own feelings counter that idea.”

“I fully understand if you don’t want us to attend, but I would like to be there if possible,” our mother tearfully says.

Matt turns to Mike and says, “My family will be there, it’s your call if you want yours.”

“The ceremony is in a fortnight at Ashby hall. Matt did some work there earlier this year and in return, they are giving us a good discount on the use of the venue,” Mike explains. “They had a free slot and we jumped for it. It beats the registry office, which is what we would normally only be able to afford. I would be honoured if you would attend.”

Our parents break out into big smiles and say that they will be delighted. Matt and Mike then start to elaborate on the details of the ceremony. Matt’s family will help with the catering. My parents offer to assist by throwing in some more food, specifically what we can source or provide from the consortium at cost price. My father also enquires as to whether the couple are having a honeymoon, however they reply that they can’t afford one. Our father disappears into the study for a minute and returns with the bookings ledger for the cottages.

“We don’t have any more bookings for the cottages, you are welcome to use one for a short break if you wish. We promise not to disturb you if you want time to yourselves,” my father states, “Also if you intend to invite any other family members, we can potentially put people up if needed. Were you thinking of inviting my brother and his family? I know James and Kevin are a bit dodgy, but they seemed to accept Simon as Jasmine without much trouble. Emily is openly bisexual and Peter and Anne seem to accept that.”

This results in an emotional phone call to our cousins to give them the news, and arrangements are quickly made for them to attend.

After an emotional hour of talking, the couple return home, thankful that peace seems to be prevailing. Overall, the afternoon has gone well. Mike and Matt have accepted me as Jasmine, and they themselves have been accepted by our parents.

They leave shortly before six, heading back to Josh’s for tea. We have our own meal to attend to and settle for a relaxing evening in front of the television.

Monday morning is more relaxed than previous weeks. Now that I don’t have to divert and change at the bunker on the way to school, I have more time in the morning and everything feels less rushed.

After assisting with the milking, I take a shower and dress in my school uniform. I have a clean blouse and skirt to wear today after the washing I did over the last few days. I apply the minimal amount of makeup I wear during the day and make sure my wig is firmly attached.

Securing my helmet to my head, I mount my road bike and cycle out of the farmyard slightly later than I have been doing. Not only do I not now need to stop on the way I can also shave several minutes off by taking the direct route.

I arrive in school in plenty of time. I notice some strange looks and whispers going on around me as I walk through the building. I guess the news about me is starting to spread. This doesn’t bother me as much as I thought it would. I was fully expecting open hostility towards me, therefore the amount of trouble - or lack of it - which I’m receiving is a refreshing surprise.

I doubt it will last, but for the moment, I’m not going to look a gift horse in the mouth. I do however note that the teachers seem to be making their presence known more than usual, especially wherever I seem to be. I think they are expecting trouble.

The morning progresses without incident. While I seem to be the talking point, there is no open hostility. Mary and Alison are keeping tightly by my side wherever possible to make sure there isn’t any danger.

During break and lunch, I am still in detention, which is keeping me away from the general school population and out of possible flash points. While sitting in silence in the detention room over lunch I begin to become apprehensive. I have now caught up with all the outstanding homework and have finished reading the notes from the lessons I missed.

One of the classes I was scheduled to have on Thursday, but didn’t take, was P.E. and this afternoon will be the first time changing with the girls since they found out that I’m not exactly what I appear to be. They voted to allow me to continue to change with them, but as the time draws closer, I become increasingly worried about their reactions when it comes time to strip in front of each other. Will the girls regret their choice in retrospect?

I find it hard to believe that all the girls in my P.E. class are willing to accept me without any complaint and that none of them have bad feelings or want to cause me harm.

By the time afternoon registration comes round, I am starting to become a nervous wreck again. Mary, Alison and Julie all watch me with worried expressions as I sit edgily in my seat as the register is called.

Registration only lasts a few minutes and we are soon heading off to the sports complex to get changed.

Standing waiting to go into the changing room, it feels like all eyes are on me. We are called to order and we form a line, facing the front. I am at the back of the queue and feel relieved that everybody is now looking the opposite direction. The boys are called first and they disappear inside the building. We are called a moment later and Julie leads the assembled girls into the facilities.

I follow up the rear, but as I come to the door marked with the feminine stick figure, I freeze, unable to move forward.

---

 

I stand looking at the door to the changing room, shaking, unable to step forward. Mary, realising that I am no longer behind her, turns and grasps my arm.

“Stop being a dozy mawther and get a move on,” she says dragging me into the room where the other girls are already stripping off and donning their outside P.E. kit. We have hockey again today.

Standing in my usual place, I can’t seem to move. I go to reach for my kit, but instead when I look down at my hand, I find it trembling so badly I can’t open my bag. I close my eyes and focus on my breathing.

“Jasmine, is something wrong?” Mrs Hargreaves asks. I can hear the concern in her voice and the room falls quiet as the other girls stop talking and presumably look in my direction. I still have my eyes closed and the shaking isn’t going away.

“Jasmine?” she asks again, this time her voice is closer and softer.

“I...I...” I stammer trying to answer the question. My legs feel weak and I lower myself onto the bench next to my bag and place my head between my knees, making sure that I only look straight down as I do so.

“Hey, girl, calm down, everything is all right,” Alison says in my ear as she sits beside me and wraps me in a hug, pressing her body into my side. “You’re really shaking, what’s the matter? You haven’t suddenly become shy have you?”

I take some deep breaths before opening my eyes and looking round the room at the enquiring faces. I note that nearly everybody else is now dressed, except for a few girls finishing putting their shoes on.

“I’m sorry; it’s just that this is the first time in here since you all found out about me. I guess I’m overreacting and panicking over nothing,” I answer. “I keep expecting you all to start screaming that you’re being watched by a boy.”

“Stop being stupid,” Anne states from the opposite bench, “you are one of the most girlish girls I have ever met. I still find it hard to believe that you were ever anything else. You certainly look like a girl naked, as we have all seen, and you don’t act like a boy.”

“The way you you’ve been fawning over Josh all gooey-eyed and love struck it’s obvious you’re more into boys than girls,” Janet adds, “so nobody is going to accuse you of being lesbian. Look we all voted for you to be here, so just get on with it.”

“Besides, you’ve already seen us all naked, so we can’t very well moan if you see us again,” Anne says.

I close my eyes again as I feel my cheeks burning. I am sure I’m going bright red. “That’s not quite correct,” I admit in a soft voice.

“If this is about me not being comfortable, then don’t worry,” Julie states from across the room. “It’s my problem if I get seen. I’m not going to get mad if you get a glimpse. I know you have been avoiding looking in my direction so that you don’t catch sight of me.”

Julie pauses for a moment, and then walks up to me with a puzzled look on her face. She stops and turns round on the spot, looking back towards the corner I usually face, and then towards the showers.

“Exactly how many of us would you say you have actually gotten a good look at?” Julie enquires. “Is that the problem, you’re embarrassed because you are unable to look at us?”

“Seven,” I reply softly. “I have been keeping my eyes to the floor or short-focussed on the end of my nose so that everything is blurry.”

“Seven?” Mrs Hargreaves queries in amazement, as everybody realises that is less than a third of the girls present.

“If any of you want to change your minds, this is your opportunity,” I say as I start to strip off my uniform and change into my kit. “I don’t care about who sees me naked, boy or girl. In fact, I’m proud that I look as feminine as I do, as it’s what I want to be. However, I will accept that some of you may be uncomfortable with a male being in the room, no matter how feminine they appear. I’m having difficulty in believing none of you are hostile to my situation. I keep freaking out thinking that I’m bound to be turned on at any second.”

“Does the name Kirsty Bishop mean anything to you?” Charlotte asks.

“No,” I reply, wondering whom this person is.

“I take it nobody has told Jasmine of what was discussed before the ballot?” Charlotte asks, looking round at my friends, who are shaking their heads.

“Around half of the girls here knew Kirsty. She used to attend Harris Middle before she almost died while trying to harm herself in a fit of depression,” Charlotte says. “She had a birthmark on her hip. It was large and noticeable and she was very self-conscious about it. She was teased, but nobody quite realised how bad the joking was affecting her until she flipped and tried to cut it off with a knife. Luckily she was found before she bled to death.”

I notice that a few of the girls are starting to cry as Charlotte continues, “You can’t have that happen to somebody you know without being affected yourself. The net result is that we are a hell of a lot more tolerant of people’s differences than most teenagers are. Lisa told us what happened when she confronted you in the changing rooms. The same thing was starting to happen just now, wasn’t it? You suffer from bouts of depression brought on by panic attacks.”

I nod: she has summed me up reasonably accurately.

“None of us want to see you hurt, and until you said it yourself, most of us couldn’t believe the rumours were true, you are far too girl-like to be a boy,” Diana adds.

“You’ve hurt yourself already, haven’t you?” Susan adds, “I looked up the medical procedures on the Internet. Surgery isn’t performed on people our age unless it is correcting a defect or repairing damage. I’m sure you would have said something if you were intersexed, therefore you must have had some form of damage in order for the doctors to act. Was it self-inflicted?”

I don’t trust my own voice, so I simply nod. I take a few second to regain my composure then answer the question, “Yes, I forced the issue by removing my own testicles. Castration is a practice I have seen performed on farm animals a number of times. It’s not as difficult as you might imagine. There was a case in the newspaper a few months back about a man turning up in a hospital casualty department after removing his own testicles, so I knew it could be done.”

I get the sweatband out of my bag to wrap round my head. My head gets hot under the wig while doing sports, and it isn’t the most comfortable of arrangements. I look around the room at the girls who are now looking in my direction. Except for my shoes, I am almost dressed. I am wearing the school sweater over a sports bra and short skirt over the top of gym knickers to provide some modesty when running around. Reaching into my bag, I pull out the solvent for my wig glue and dab some onto the spots holding my wig on.

“Don’t look so surprised,” I say as I lift the wig from my head and place the sweatband in its place. “I know you all heard the rumour I wear a wig. Well it’s true. There are certain people who only know me as my old self and I still need to be able to present myself as a boy on occasions. I therefore haven’t had opportunity to grow my hair long enough to have a feminine style. I have been wearing the wig to avoid detection, but it isn’t exactly comfortable when playing sports and now the truth is out I might as well forego it.”

“Everybody outside,” Mrs Hargreaves instructs as I finally finish changing.

We walk outside and up onto the hockey field.

“Everybody form a circle please,” Mrs Hargreaves instructs and we comply. “Now everybody turn round so that you are looking away from each other, and close your eyes.”

Mrs Hargreaves pauses and waits for us to get into position before continuing, “You are all now facing away from each other, so nobody can see anybody else. I want you to keep looking away from each other with your eyes closed as I ask the next question. You all voted to allow Jasmine to use the changing facilities. If any of you are uncomfortable with being seen naked by Jasmine, or any other girl, and wish to have alternative arrangements made, please raise your hand now.”

Silence prevails as we all wait for the next instruction.

“Nobody has yet put their hand up. I will take it that everybody is happy with the current arrangement,” Mrs Hargreaves states. “Julie, I know you have expressed the view that you are willing to let Jasmine share the facilities, but would prefer not to be looked at and intend to keep your back to her at all times. Hands up all those who don’t care about being seen naked by Jasmine.”

Mrs Hargreaves chuckles then says, “Would you all be willing to make this show of hands public, please nod if you agree.”

There is a pause before we are instructed to turn round and open our eyes, keeping our arms up if they are raised. We all open our eyes on the count of three and look round at the show of hands. There are only two people who don’t have their hands raised, Julie and myself.

“Now ladies, can we actually get some exercise?” our teacher asks rhetorically before making us complete some highly energetic aerobic warm up movements.

The lesson then proceeds as normal, even if slightly delayed. Nothing further is said about me, and everybody seems to be treating me like any other girl. However, I am still jumpy as we are commanded back to the changing rooms.

Taking a deep breath, I move indoors and proceed to the bench where my bag is sitting. I immediately begin to undress, forcing my fears to the back of my mind. The girls have once again voted to allow me to be here, so it is time to get on with it and see if there are any issues.

I swiftly remove my clothes, aiming to be one of the first into the showers. Mrs Hargreaves has started the water running.

Now that I am not wearing the wig, I don’t need the shower cap. This will make life a lot easier. As my hair is so short, it dries quickly and I can put my wig on virtually straight away without issue.

Holding my head up high and not attempting to divert my eyes, I walk across the room. My towel is hung over my left shoulder and I’m making no effort to hide my body from the eyes of my companions. Placing my towel on the floor near the entrance, I step forward under the nozzles and begin to wash myself.

I am soon joined by other girls as we clean ourselves under the jets of hot water. Now that I’m paying attention to what is going on around me, rather than staring at the wall, I can see the other girls checking me out, taking glances at my modified body. I smile and return the favour by sneaking a few peeks in return.

I step out of the showers and bend down to pick my towel up. As I stand up, I realise there is a naked figure standing right in front of me and I get an eyeful of their body before I realise who it is.

Julie is standing before me, her towel already on the ground against the wall. I immediately divert my eyes and cover them with my hand.

“It’s okay, Jasmine, you can look,” Julie says softly. “If everybody else can accept you for what you are, then it’s about time I did the same. I have no issue with any of the other girls seeing me, so logically you shouldn’t be any different. So let’s just get this awkwardness over and done with and get on with things.”

I open my eyes and look at Julie, who is standing with her head lowered, her cheeks burning red with embarrassment. I take a quick glance at her before replying, “Thanks, it means a lot for me to be accepted, and its one less thing I have to worry about.”

I walk past her and proceed to dry myself off and get dressed in my uniform once more. Nobody is making a fuss, and there seems to be a normal level of background conversation going on around the room.

The bell sounds and we head to our final lesson of the day. I am glad that yet another hurdle has been overcome, and that things are finally working out for me after years of stress and depression.

My mother is on the phone as I enter the kitchen when I arrive home from school. My father is sitting with a cup of coffee, and on seeing me cycling into the yard has made me one while I put my bike away. I quietly sit down so not to interrupt my mothers conversation.

“I’m not sure that is a good idea–”

“That could cause trouble–”

“I know, I know, but is it your place to interfere?”

“You already know Simon’s position on the subject, and it doesn’t directly affect him, only the girls who have to share a changing room–”

“No, I’m not going to get involved.”

“I already have a police caution for disturbing the peace after the incident with Mike, I don’t want to risk another.”

“He definitely can’t risk doing anything to breach probation.”

“Okay, I’ll see you tomorrow afternoon, assuming you haven’t been arrested.”

My mother hangs up the phone then screams in frustration and anger.

“Dare I ask what that was about?” I enquire.

“Susan. She, Janice and Grace are going to picket the school entrance tomorrow morning with leaflets to highlight the disgraceful injustice of your attendance as a girl, not that they know it’s you yet,” she replies. “They were trying to get me and your father involved as well, you presumably caught the tail end of the conversation where I used our previous run-ins as justification for staying out of the way.”

I nod, and then say, “It looks like I will have to be careful about entering school tomorrow. It will feel odd, but it might be best if I attend in trousers. I can hide my hair under my hat, or even not wear the wig until I’m inside. I can put it on in a toilet cubicle. Now that my secret is out, at least around the people I share classes with, it’s not as important if I get caught in boy mode.”

To put it bluntly, Susan can be a vindictive, snobbish, self-righteous bitch when she gets an idea into her head. The problem is that she can be very persuasive when she wants to be, and I have seen the outcome of what can happen.

I firmly believe that part of the problems in our family is down to her influence and that of her cronies. They prejudiced my mother against Mike. She in turn then influenced my father, putting pressure on him to deal with the issue. This led to the fight and my father clouting Mike in a fit of anger, resulting in his arrest. My mother was cautioned at the same time, and she’s using this as an excuse not to get involved.

The root problem is that we are partially financially dependent on the goodwill of our consortium partners. If we have a massive falling out with the other members then that could have serious consequences. It almost happened before. The disdain of Janice and Grace forced Ted Pitcher to pull out of the consortium, sell up and move north. They did not approve when his daughter became pregnant at fifteen and he stood behind her decision to raise the child herself.

There are solid contracts in place between all the farms, but if hostilities break out then things could get very ugly, especially if the courts become involved. The last thing we can afford is to be sued for breach of contract, or sue any of the other partners if they make things difficult for us.

Susan is expecting to take the school by surprise and picket the mothers as they drop their children off, gathering as much support as possible. She is going to be the one getting a shock, because I have an idea forming. It’s time to go on the offensive and counter her move before she can even make it.

“I think it’s time that the terrible trio have a crash course in diversity,” I state. I give an evil-sounding laugh before adding, “I have a cunning plan.”

“As cunning as a fox who's just been appointed Professor of Cunning at Oxford University?” my father asks.

I smile at his reference, “Of course, after all I am the master of the ridiculous.”

“Let’s just discuss your idea before implementation this time,” my father replies. “Your past record shows good imagination, but your reasoning is often lacking in common sense.”

We spend the rest of the evening discussing various options and making phone calls to my friends.

It is with some trepidation that I set off for school in the morning. I am in boy mode again and this will be the first time attending this school dressed this way. I have my earrings covered and my short hair visible. I am wearing a unisex polo shirt, without a bra underneath, and I’m back in trousers. My wig and skirt are in my backpack so that I can put them on when I arrive if I choose.

Susan, Janice and Grace are all going to be outside the school protesting about my attendance. However, they don’t yet know it’s me that they are protesting about and I intend to keep it that way for the time being. While they may well have to find out, I think it best if it is done in a controlled fashion, not in the middle of the street where things could turn nasty.

If I turn up as a girl, I risk being recognised by the protesters. If I turn up as Simon, then it won’t matter if they see me. I have already told my friends that I will be in boy mode so they will know to look out for me. I will ride in on my mountain bike and with my short hair and boy clothing, I hope I won’t be recognised easily. I can change as soon as I arrive.

As I cycle up the road, I am met with a most amusing scene. Standing opposite the school are Susan, Grace, Janice, and several other adults holding placards and trying to distribute leaflets. A police car is parked in front of them and two burly officers are between them and the school, preventing them from harassing any of the students entering the premises.

There is a second protest going on inside the school grounds. About thirty students are also standing with placards, but these ones are in support of LGBTQI students. I always thought the acronym was LGBT, but it appears it’s become fashionable to add a few more letters. Not that I’m going to complain, the more encompassing the better as far as I’m concerned.

The majority of them are from the older years, but I note that most of the girls in my class are also present. Considering we only had a few hours last night to spread the word of what was going to happen and form a counter movement to Susan’s plans, I think the turnout is remarkable.

I pull up about twenty yards from the gates, where Josh is leaning against the wall.

“Just in time to see the fireworks,” he states, “Susan and co have been ordered off the school grounds and the police are making them stay on the opposite side of the road. Mr Henry and some of the teachers are keeping the students from doing anything silly. However, I have just heard from Wendy that she has planned a little surprise of her own with Jill, she is just waiting for your arrival to trigger the distraction so that you can enter the school unnoticed.”

“Dare I ask what this will be, or should I just go ahead and face the consequences?” I ask.

“Wendy is about to come out to her mother to provoke a reaction,” he answers.

I dismount and we start to walk into the school. As we approach the gate, I see Wendy waiting near her mother. On seeing us approaching, she reaches into her pocket, withdraws her phone and presses a few buttons.

“Here we go, she has just texted Jill,” Josh declares.

Jill cycles past us pulling up outside the school gates. She waves at Wendy, who leaves her mother and proceeds to cross the road. I notice that a number of students are now filming the action on mobile phones, probably aware of what will happen next.

Wendy calls out, “See you later, mum,” as she walks up to Jill, which gets the adults attention as she leaves them. Wendy wraps her arms around Jill’s neck, pulling her into a kiss. She returns the embrace and they engage in a sexy display of tonsil tennis, the hoots and calls from the crowd of students catching the attention of the protesting adults.

Taking my opportunity, I mount my bike and cycle past them onto the school grounds. Having passed the crowds I come to a stop and turn to watch.

“Wendy!” Susan screams at her daughter, who ignores her mother’s reaction and continues to snog Jill. Susan then tries to cross the road to intervene, but is prevented from doing so by one of the police officers. This doesn’t go down well and Susan starts to give the officer abuse. This isn’t a good idea as she is promptly arrested for breaching the peace and assaulting a police officer. The crowd cheers the officers as Susan is made to sit in the back of their car.

The five-minute warning bell sounds and Mr Henry asks that the crowd of students disperse. I make my way to the bike sheds to lock my bike up. I consider going into a unisex disabled toilet to change gender. These are normally off-limits to able-bodied students, but I doubt Mr Henry will object to my use today. Thinking about it, I’m actually feeling comfortable in my current clothes, and as girls are allowed to wear trousers and most of my fellow students now know about me anyway, I decide to save time and not bother changing.

I remove my cycle helmet and wrap a silk scarf round my head to cover my hair. The wig is fine, and serves its purpose, but it can make my head hot. Today’s forecast is for an unusually warm autumn day, so I decide to forego the wig in preference for something cooler.

“Jasmine?” Mr Francis asks as I enter the room.

“Is something the matter?” I enquire as I take my seat. The room has fallen silent and all eyes are on me.

“Why the trousers and scarf?” he queries.

“I am sure by now the rumour mill has been in full swing and you all now know who I used to be and what I am,” I reply looking round the room. “The people protesting about me outside the school only know me as Simon, and have yet to be informed of my new identity. They have heard that there is a transsexual student, but not who. Considering Susan Bancroft was hauled away in a police car, I think my decision to arrive in boy mode is justified. Over half the girls in this school wear trousers, so it’s not as if I’m being much different, although admittedly, these are boy’s trousers rather than a girl’s cut. As for the scarf, I normally wear a wig but it can get uncomfortable in warm weather, so I’m wearing this instead. If that’s a problem I will switch back to the wig.”

“Are you bald then?” Jeremy asks from across the room.

I remove the scarf and say, “Not quite, but I do look too masculine with my hair like this and that is something I really hate. I still need to appear as a boy occasionally for safety, and I haven’t been able to grow out my hair yet. Looking at me now would you assume that I’m a girl or a boy?”

He doesn’t answer. He doesn’t need to as it’s obvious what I look like. Having made my point, I tie the scarf back round my head. Mr Francis then starts to call the register.

The day progresses well. I get a few double-takes in my first few lessons and walking the corridors. I decide to change into the skirt at break time as I feel slightly odd dressed in trousers, especially walking into the girls’ toilets which gets a few strange looks from a couple of girls I don’t know. I’m entering with Alison and Mary, who return the looks in a silent dare to say something.

I also take the opportunity to slip a padded bra on underneath my polo shirt. The fabric is rubbing on my sensitive chest and it’s becoming irritating. This also has the added benefit of giving me a more feminine shape.

A few minutes before the lunch break the school secretary appears and asks me to come to the office after the lesson is over.

I make my way to the front desk at the start of the lunch break and I’m shown through to Mr Henry’s office.

“Ah, come in, Jasmine, and have a seat,” he calls as I enter. “The press have picked up on the incident this morning and I would like to issue a statement. I have already spoken to your father and he is satisfied with what I want to say, but I would like you to confirm you are content with it. If you’re not happy with what I’m planning, then I will simply issue a ‘no comments’ statement instead.”

I take the printed page he hands me and I read it:

Accusations have been made regarding a student of Brahms High School. It is alleged that one of the girls attending the school is male and therefore should not be allowed to use the female facilities.

The identity of this minor is not being revealed for reasons of confidentiality and privacy.

This issue has been investigated. The student in question volunteered and underwent a medical examination to determine their physical gender. The exact medical status of the student is confidential, however I can say that the school is satisfied that it is appropriate for the individual to utilise the female facilities.

The girl in question offered to withdraw from using the amenities and this was put to the students directly affected by her presence. A blind ballot was conducted and all the students unanimously supported the student continuing to use the female facilities.

The school therefore formally recognises the student’s gender identity and grants her the full use of the female facilities the same as any other student.

Mr G. Henry, MCMI*.
Headmaster
Brahms High School

There are also a few footnotes referring to the school’s policies on equality and diversity and other sundry information, such as the school’s full address and contact details.

I read the statement a few times before saying, “I have no problem with this, by all means send it out, and thank you again for supporting me.”

I am dismissed and I head to the canteen to pick my lunch up before proceeding to the detention room where I am still fulfilling my sentence for deceiving the school in the first place.

The rest of the day proceeds without incident. There are no protesters outside the school at leaving off time; however, I do find my mother waiting for me. I soon find out why when Wendy comes out and joins us.

Wendy had been brought to school by her mother, and as she was carted off by the police, she can’t come and pick Wendy up. Therefore, Susan called my mother and asked her if she could give Wendy a lift.

I am already sitting in the passenger seat when Wendy comes out of the school. My mother calls her over.

“Wendy, your mother was released with a police caution earlier this afternoon. They have kept her for questioning for most of the morning, much to her annoyance. She has been told that she will be arrested if she comes within five hundred yards of the school. The others have been unofficially cautioned not to return as well, hence why I’m here,” she states pointing to the police car parked on the opposite side of the road watching for trouble.

“Are we going straight to Wendy’s or home first?” I ask my mother, “I need to change back into boy mode before Susan sees me.”

“Wendy is going to be staying with us for tea. Susan will pick her up later this evening. You’ll have to switch to boy mode when we get home until she has visited,” my mother explains. “Wendy, your mother is not in a good mood after being arrested and she’s absolutely livid with you over the stunt you pulled this morning. I thought it prudent to let her calm down a bit before you go home. I have given her a nice soothing massage and she is now lying on the couch with a face pack on.”

We climb in and drive away from the school back to our farm.

I’m instructed to change and then after doing homework, see to the evening meal. Wendy, thankful she doesn’t have to do farm chores due to a lack of a change of clothing, is also going to do homework and assist me with the dinner. My mother heads outside to help my father with the manual labour of seeing to the cattle.

I have already done most of my assignments during the break and lunch detentions, so head upstairs to go back into boy mode, leaving Wendy to do her work on the kitchen table.

I may have to be in boy mode for when Susan turns up, but this isn’t going to stop me from being an exceedingly effeminate boy. I replace my skirt with the tight ‘Daisy Duke’ denim shorts I found. They have now been washed since my rolling around on the barn floor during my breakdown last week.

I take the bra and polo shirt off and replace them with a soft, plain, pale-yellow t-shirt that won’t irritate my chest. I can claim the t-shirt is unisex, and I have worn it on many occasions. However, it’s not a colour I have seen other boys wear.

I put pieces of tape over my earrings and dab on some foundation so that they don’t stand out. To make sure I put a sweatband round my head and deliberately place it low down to cover my ears. I then discard my shoes and socks and swap them for my slippers before descending back to the kitchen.

I take the packet of four chicken breasts out of the fridge that mother picked up on the way to the school, and place them in a frying pan to sear the outside. I find a tin of prunes in the cupboard and grab a couple of pears from the fruit basket. I dissolve a stock cube in half a pint of hot water and top it up to a pint with dry white wine. Adding a large spoonful of flour, I stir the mix while keeping an eye on the chicken.

I transfer the meat into a casserole dish and add the peeled and chopped pears and the contents of the tin of prunes. I then pour the liquid over the top and place it in the oven to casserole for a couple of hours. I proceed to peel and chop some carrots, leeks, and potatoes, setting them aside until it’s time to switch them on later.

There is still some wine left, so I split it between two glasses and hand one to Wendy. The bottle has been in the fridge for a few days and is getting past its best so needs using up. My parents don’t mind me drinking alcohol, as long as it’s in moderation. They work on the principle that if I can have it occasionally now, I can learn control and won’t binge drink when older. I have only been seriously drunk once and that was after the last New Year’s party. We all got rather plastered on bubbly. I slept the worst of the hangover off, but still had a bad headache the next day. It’s the only time I have ever slept until lunchtime, excluding the few times I have been ill, for example when I had chickenpox in primary school.

I get my maths homework out. I have already done half of it, but I need to finish it off. I join Wendy at the table. She is currently working on writing up a geography assignment. We sit and work in silence for a little while.

“Have you thought about how to handle your mother?” I ask Wendy.

“Yes. I’m out of the closet and not going back in. While I like boys, I like girls just as much if not better. I’m at least bisexual if not leaning more towards lesbian. I’m not writing this morning off as some attention-seeking prank,” she replies.

“May I suggest if you are going to have a confrontation you do it here on neutral ground with backup? I made the mistake of confronting my parents alone and it didn’t go well,” I declare.

I haven’t told my friends the exact details of what happened. Especially as my father had to sedate me with a tranquiliser dart fired from an air rifle. That alone would be considered assault and would therefore be a breach of his parole. I swear Wendy to secrecy and then reveal the full details of what happened.

We talk through various scenarios of what could happen. Having gone through such possibilities before I am able to come up with various options of what might occur. We decide a plan of action between us, although it’s mostly going to be winging it in response to how Susan reacts.

My father has offered Wendy our guest room if things go pear-shaped with her mother. He regrets chucking Mike out, and doesn’t want history to repeat itself with Wendy, but is willing this time to help pick up the pieces if things go wrong.

I turn the veg on when my parents come in and head for the showers. My father comes in first, followed a few minutes later by my mother, who has been hosing down the milking shed.

“I thought you were supposed to be in boy mode?” my mother asks when she comes in.

“This is boy mode, or at least tomboy mode considering my primary gender is female,” I reply. “I’ll happily admit I’m a bit of a sissy when it comes to my choice of style.”

My father catches the tail end of the conversation, but doesn’t say anything. He may not like what I do or wear, but it’s my choice and he is willing to give me the leeway on the understanding I have to live with the consequences.

When the veg are almost cooked, I turn the oven off and stick some plates in. Wendy helps me set the table and then my mother dishes the meal out. The liquid has thickened into a nice tasty sauce and the prunes and pears complement the taste of the chicken. Although some people regard it an unusual combination, I quite like it. Wendy is certainly impressed by my cooking.

After clearing the dishes away, we retire to the lounge to watch telly while my father makes a cup of tea. The kettle is just coming to the boil when we hear a car pull up in the yard. Susan comes to the door as my father opens it and beckons her in.

“You must have heard the kettle; I’m just brewing a pot. Would you like one? We have some very nice-looking sticky cakes in lieu of dessert, there is one spare with your name on it,” he states.

We have a tea trolley and my mother has loaded it up with cups, saucers and plates. My father adds the cakes and the pot of tea and all three adults come into the lounge where Wendy and I are sitting together on the couch.

The adults sit down and we watch the local news on the telly. They have already gone through several pieces when an item about our school appears.

“One woman was arrested and four others cautioned this morning after a protest outside a local high school,” the newsreader announces. “They were complaining about the school allegedly allowing a male student to use the female facilities. The school denies that this is the case, stating that the student in question has been examined and deemed female. The student can’t be named for legal reasons.”

I burst out laughing at his declaration. That is not what the news release said. Mr Henry deliberately left it vague and avoided using terms such as transgendered and transsexual. It would appear that the TV station has misinterpreted the statement.

“What’s so funny?” Susan snaps at me.

“If the reporter is correct, then you went to all that effort for nothing,” I say. “How was the police station?”

“That trumped up twat shouldn’t have been trying to interfere in what was effectively a family matter. Don’t think you’re getting away with that little stunt of yours, young lady,” Susan tells Wendy, “You’re grounded and banned from speaking to Jill outside of school.”

“What stunt?” Wendy asks, trying to look puzzled.

“You know exactly what I mean,” Susan angrily states.

“No, I don’t know what you mean,” Wendy replies, “I went over to say hello to Jill, and the next thing I know you’re screaming my name and decking a policeman.”

“Say hello? You were doing a lot more than saying hello! Or do you always greet your friends with such intimacy?” Susan snidely enquires.

“No, only Jill, and she’s a lot more than a friend,” Wendy says with a sigh and a soppy love-struck expression on her face. I can’t help but giggle in a very girly fashion at the sight.

“Welcome to the club,” my father dryly states. “At least you only have one gay child; I have to put up with two. I’m surprised Simon wasn’t snogging his boyfriend as well.”

“Nah, I was busy giving him a blowjob behind the bike sheds,” I reply with a deadpan delivery.

My mother almost sprays her tea across the room, and my father has to pat her on the back as she coughs violently.

“Hey, I’m only joking, we haven’t gone that far yet, and I’m not sure I want to,” I declare, “and I would have kissed him but Wendy and Jill beat us to it.”

“I thought you realised I was bisexual,” Wendy tells her mother. “I specifically asked you if I could sleep with Jill the weekend before last and you said yes, or have you forgotten that you picked me and Simon up from Jill’s before you rushed off to Papworth.”

Susan stutters, trying to find the right words to respond to her daughter, “Are you saying that you’re just fooling around with Jill until you can get yourself properly laid? What’s the matter, are you so insecure that you don’t dare have a boyfriend? Or are you simply determined to wind me up.”

“I have experimented with Jill and enjoyed it. I haven’t been able to go that far with a boy, but I suspect I may like it as well. I’m not sure what my preference is yet, hence why I’m classing myself as bisexual instead of straight or lesbian. I don’t care if you like it or not, that is what I am,” Wendy shouts at her mother. “You are not going to keep me away from Jill. There is no way I am going to accept being grounded because of your bigoted opinions. I have put up with your homophobic claptrap for long enough.”

“While you live in my house you will do what you are told, young lady,” Susan yells back.

“Fine, I’ll move in with Jill then,” Wendy states, “Pay me what you would have been spending on my upkeep and I’ll gladly leave.”

Both mother and daughter are now on their feet and are staring at each other from about a foot apart. My father is standing to one side ready to step between them should either become violent. This is playing out remarkably similar to how Dad and Mike faced up to each other several months ago.

“Fine, hand over your house key,” Susan instructs. “I will deliver your belongings over to Jill tomorrow after school and I’ll set up a direct debit into your bank account. Let’s see how long you survive on your own before you come crawling back asking for forgiveness.”

Wendy reaches into her school bag, which is beside the couch, and removes her door keys. She throws them at her mother who catches them and places them in her pocket.

“Thanks for the tea, I’ll let myself out,” Susan declares as she leaves the room. We hear her leave the house and drive away. We all sit in stunned silence for several minutes.

“Is living with Jill a realistic option?” my father asks.

“Possibly, at least on a short-term basis,” Wendy replies, “Jill’s mother won’t care less. As long as I can pay my keep we will find a way to manage.”

“You can stay here tonight,” states my mother, “It’s getting late and you can make arrangements to move tomorrow, although you are welcome here until you can sort things out. Hopefully your mother might calm down and change her mind.”

“Like you did with Mike?” I ask. “I don’t remember either of you changing your minds. If it wasn’t for Matt’s uncle putting them up for a few weeks, they wouldn’t have had anywhere to live.”

“We never had the opportunity to change our minds. Mike didn’t want to come back,” answers my father. “We could have worked something out, but instead he insisted on pressing charges and filing a restraining order against us.”

“Besides, I doubt your father will be willing to go along with your mother on this,” my mother tells Wendy, “this may well all blow over in a day or two. I will try talking to her again tomorrow.”

I help my mother to make up the guest bed. Wendy borrows a nightdress off my mother and we head off to bed. It has been a very dramatic day.

*MCMI: Member of the Chartered Institute of Management - one of the highest management qualifications in the UK.

---

 

We all rise at six in the morning. I lend Wendy one of my loose-fitting shirts and an elasticated skirt. She has a spare pair of panties buried in the bottom of her school bag for use in emergencies. She is larger than I am, but the clothes have enough room that she can wear them. Wendy is borrowing an outfit so that she can assist with the farm work without getting her school uniform - the only clothes she has with her - dirty.

After breakfast, we work for an hour and a half before heading back indoors to shower and change. I put on a pair of short leggings for my cycle into school. I will put a skirt on over the top of them when I arrive. I am once again using my mountain bike, as I’m lending my road bike to Wendy.

We arrive in good time and I put the skirt on after locking the bikes up. I decide to remove the leggings as they show up under the skirt, making it hang wrongly. I slip into the bathroom for this task.

We part company and head off to our separate lessons. The day progresses without incident. Despite some awkwardness over my appearance, I’m physically more comfortable wearing the lightweight silk scarf than the heavier wig. I have therefore decided to switch to the scarf on a more permanent basis, only saving the wig for special occasions.

The school does not usually allow headwear unless it’s worn for religious or health reasons. My usage is being allowed on medical grounds. Dr Lambert has kindly provided me with a note I can show to any teacher who questions why I am wearing the scarf. Only a handful of teachers are aware of my issue. My status is being regarded as a confidential matter and therefore is on a need to know basis.

A staff meeting was held at lunchtime yesterday, just before the press release went out. The teachers were given a copy of the statement but not told my identity. However, considering the number of rumours going round the school, it is not difficult to work out. The school has a strict diversity and equal opportunities policy, so none of the teachers can be seen to discriminate against me based on my status.

As I am still in detention during break and lunch, and there isn’t much opportunity to talk during lessons, it isn’t until the end of the day that I can find out if Wendy is okay to stay with Jill and Mary. Apparently, it isn’t going to be a problem. Wendy will cycle home with me, as she needs to return my bike, and then my father will drive her over to Jill’s with her belongings. He was going to go over to the Bancroft farm earlier in the day to have a word with her parents - specifically her father - and if required, collect her belongings.

When we cycle into the farmyard, my father’s Land Rover is parked up and there are a number of our plastic boxes full of clothes sitting in the back. The trailer is hooked up and tied down under a cloth is the shape of a bike. It doesn’t need much deduction to work out that these are Wendy’s possessions ready to be transported over to Jill’s house. My father is tidying the barn as we enter to put the bikes away.

“Wendy, I have spoken with your father. You can go home at any point, but we both agree it might be beneficial for you to spend a few weeks away. It took me a while to realise I had done wrong in chucking Mike out for being gay. Although I’m still not entirely comfortable with the concept, I’m willing to allow people to choose how to live their own lives,” my father explains. “Your mother needs some time to realise that she is being unreasonable, and your absence may trigger that sense of loss that she needs to experience in order to come to terms with your choice of life. Perhaps when she realises what she is missing she will change her mind.”

Wendy nods in agreement, “I could use the change of scenery. However, knowing my mother I suspect it may be a while before she reconsiders.”

“Before I forget, Jasmine, congratulations,” my father states, turning to me, “your deed poll paperwork arrived in the post today. You are now officially, Jasmine Simone Whittaker.”

I can’t help but grin and cheer in excitement. I’m one step closer to my goals.

My father smiles at my display of happiness, but I also detect a slight sadness in his posture. I guess he is still feeling a little odd at losing a son and gaining a daughter.

He climbs into the driver’s seat and is joined by Wendy as the two of them head off in the Land Rover. My mother is out tending to the sheep, so I head indoors. After changing out of my uniform into a light cotton dress, I get the vacuum cleaner and start hoovering the lounge.

As I hear my mother come in the back door, the phone starts to ring. She calls out that she will get it, so I continue with the housework.

She hangs up as I finish the ground floor and switch the machine off.

“That was your father. There’s been a change of plan. He will explain later, but it seems that Jill, Mary and Wendy are coming back here,” she states. “He is waiting for Jason to come with the van and then they are going to move the girls here along with all their possessions. You need to change into boy mode so that Jason doesn’t see you.”

I question my mother, but she has no further information. I therefore go upstairs to change out of the dress and into something more appropriate. I grab an old pair of trousers and a checked shirt. I put a satin camisole underneath so that it doesn’t irritate my chest. The material of the shirt is thick so that it can’t be seen underneath.

Given that we will be having three guests for dinner, I help my mother add to the casserole that is already in the oven. It’s only been in about half an hour on a low heat. My father put some vegetables and sausages in a dish shortly before we arrived. My mother gets some more sausages out of the freezer, and after defrosting them in the microwave, chucks them in the pot.

I chop some more veg and throw them in as well. It looks like we will be having tea later anyway so it won’t matter. To add a bit of extra volume I knock up some dumplings from the packet of suet sitting in the top of the fridge. I sit them on top of the cooker to put into the casserole later. They only take twenty minutes so can go in when my father gets back.

Forty minutes later, the Land Rover pulls up in the yard followed shortly afterwards by Jason’s transit van. I throw the dumplings in the casserole and my mother and I walk outside to greet them as they climb out of the vehicles. My father and Wendy are in the Land Rover. As well as Wendy’s belongings, the vehicle is now full to the gills with boxes and black sacks. The back seats are completely full and it’s loaded almost all the way up to the roof. The trailer now has three bikes and a number of pot plants that I recognise from Mary’s back yard.

Jason is driving the transit, with Mary and Jill in the passenger seats. The van is also full of house-wear. It would appear the bigger items have been loaded into the van while the Land Rover has smaller items and soft things like clothes and bedding.

“Thanks, Jason, I think we can manage from here. Sorry to drag you away from your meal,” my father says. “Take one of the buggies, they’re road legal, I will drop the van off in the morning and drive the buggy back.”

The girls thank Jason, and he heads over to the barn. A minute later, he is waving as he drives off in our two-seater buggy. The single-seater is at the mechanics after I tore the rear wheel off coming out of the barn when I had my breakdown.

“What’s going on?” my mother asks as we all head indoors.

“Put the kettle on and I will explain,” my father states, “I’m dying for a cuppa after loading the vehicles up.”

I get some mugs out as we all sit at the kitchen table.

“When we got there, an argument was going on between Jill and this big bloke. Seems that the rent hadn’t been paid and the scumbag of a landlord was trying to get heavy with Jill. I decided to intervene. Some of the rent was overdue and he wasn’t happy about it,” my father explains.

“We barely have enough money to keep the roof over our heads at the best of times, but we were in real trouble this time. That’s why I jumped at the chance for Wendy to stay, hoping she would be able to help with the rent,” Jill says. “As my mother is useless with money, I look after our finances. We get most of the rent provided by benefits, but there is a top up we have to pay. I hadn’t realised how much it actually was due to my mother coming to an alternative arrangement with the landlord that I didn’t know about.”

“She was screwing the bastard instead of paying cash. He was overdue for being laid and the bitch has stood him up,” Mary added, the venom in her voice clearly evident. “Needless to say he wasn’t very happy at going without. He was threatening to chuck us out on the street.”

“I’m not an expert at property management, but it was immediately obvious that things were not being done as per the law,” my father declared. “I asked to see the tenancy agreement and the deposit registration document, neither of which seemed to exist. One thing I did learn from renting out the cottages to the farmhands is that it’s now law that all deposits have to be registered. If not done correctly there is an automatic fine of three times the deposit payable by the landlord to the tenant. The scumbag owner didn’t like that being pointed out.”

“You could see the colour drain from his face,” Wendy exclaimed.

“After a quick discussion with Jill and Mary, I negotiated a settlement,” my father states, “They vacate the house immediately taking everything they want. Anything left behind he can have to dispose of how he sees fit. There’s nothing much left worth selling so I suspect he will have to dump it down the tip. He cuts his losses and writes off the missing rent, and pays back the deposit in cash. We don’t seek compensation for incorrect handling of the rent or deposit.”

“Where is your mother?” I ask.

“The bitch has pissed off to Poland with her latest boyfriend,” Mary replies with absolute hatred. “She sods off every now and again, abandoning us until she gets bored. Well this time she isn’t going to find us if she comes back.”

“Considering the circumstances, I have offered them our spare bedrooms in return for help on the farm. I think it could work out as a win-win situation all round. Jill, Mary and Wendy live here and become additional workers in return for board. We then won’t need the services of the shared farmhands, which will free them up for use on the other farms, especially the Bancroft’s who will have lost the services of their daughter,” my father declares, nodding towards Wendy. “All the farms were short-staffed, so this will help the consortium.”

After drinking our tea, we serve and eat the casserole before unloading the van and Land Rover. Most of the furniture was left behind, as it was old and worn-out. The old-fashioned TV in the dining room has been left, but the newer one from the front room, along with the cable box and DVD player are in the van. They have also brought the fridge, freezer, and the contents of the kitchen cupboards. We set the freezer up in the barn and put the frozen food back in it. The fridge isn’t needed so goes in the barn for storage, as does all the cutlery and crockery they had. The blanket and sheets are dumped in the laundry along with all the dirty washing that the girls hadn’t yet done. Their clothes are in plastic bin bags, and we sit them at the bottom of the stairs for the moment.

After unloading the vehicles, we settle down in the lounge with another drink while we catch our breaths.

“Right, we need to decide who sleeps where, and lay down some ground rules. There are two spare bedrooms and three of you,” my father states. “Therefore, I was planning on putting the Green sisters in Mike’s old room and Wendy in the guest room, where she spent last night. I know you two elder girls would like to share, but I’m not comfortable with the idea of a lesbian relationship happening in my house.”

I can see the girls are slightly disappointed, but I think they were expecting that condition. They are relying on the hospitality of my parents, so won’t say anything. I on the other hand have no such inhibitions and ask, “Why not? You let Emily and I share a room and have lesbian sex, how is this any different? Are you going to claim that was all right because it’s heterosexual as I’m a boy, because if you are, then you are seriously mistaken. The only way I can penetrate is with fingers, tongue or strap on dildo.”

My father is surprised by my openness on the subject and hesitates to answer, so I take advantage and press my point, “If you’re willing to let ‘hetro’ sex under your roof, viva Espaá±a and all that, does that mean now I’m a girl I can invite a boy over to stay the night?”

“No!” my father replies.

“Besides, lesbian sex is a lot safer than normal sex, as there is no risk of pregnancy,” I add, “so if you’re going to allow any form, then that would be the most appropriate.”

“Stop it!” my father exclaims then sighs. “I give up! You can sort the sleeping arrangements out between yourselves. If you all want to stage an orgy in the same bed go ahead, just keep the noise down. Remember you will all have to get up at six in the morning, so don’t complain if you don’t get any sleep.”

“In that case, do you fancy sharing a bed, lover?” Wendy asks Jill, smiling.

“Sure thing,” she replies, kissing her before turning to Mary and saying, “Looks like you finally get a room to yourself, sis.”

“Gee thanks,” Mary replies in a dejected tone.

On seeing the sudden depressed look on Mary’s face Jill quickly wraps her sister in a hug. “I didn’t mean it like that, I thought you would be okay on your own by now.”

Mary sobs into her elder sister’s shoulder. “I’m sorry; I know I’m being silly and selfish. You share with Wendy, don’t let my issues interfere with that.”

“What’s the matter?” I enquire.

Mary dries her eyes, composing herself before she responds, “I was sleeping alone one night. Jill was staying at a friend’s, when mum’s boyfriend of the time decided he wanted some extra fun. He crept into the room, put his hand over my mouth and told me not to scream. He was about to pull my pyjama bottoms down when Jill interrupted him. She had forgotten something and called in to pick it up.”

Seeing that Mary is becoming upset, Jill takes over, “He didn’t get to do anything. I grabbed him and threw him off her. The commotion woke mum up out of her drunken stupor, and between the two of us, we sent him packing with numerous bruises and the threat of losing his testicles if he ever came near us again.”

“Ever since then I can’t get to sleep unless I have someone in the room with me. I know it’s stupid and I know I’m safe, but I still can’t settle on my own,” Mary adds after regaining control of her emotions.

“You can sleep with me if you like, if you don’t mind sharing a double bed,” I say, “and I mean sleep as in slumber not sleep as in sex, unless you want to that is. Without hormones, I have zero sex drive anyway. You know I slept with Emily, and it was fun, but she was the driving force, I simply went along with her wishes. Anyway, I’m more into boys than girls. There is no way I’m going to initiate anything on that score.”

“Thanks,” Mary replies, “At least until I get used to living here, I would like to take you up on that offer.”

My parents have been staying out of the conversation, letting us decide the arrangements between ourselves. They have been listening and whispering things between them while we sort things out.

“Okay, I’m not entirely comfortable with this, but I’ll allow it,” my father states. “However, when social services pay a visit, as they are bound to do, you two each have your own rooms,” he says pointing at the two sisters, “and, Wendy, you don’t live here as far as they are concerned.”

All the girls nod. After finishing our drinks, we see to sorting the things out into the various rooms. Wendy and Jill take their belongings up to Mike’s old room. We dump most of Mary’s stuff in the guest bedroom and then head into mine. I will need to sort out some cupboard space for her to use.
It’s getting late so we call it a night and head to bed.

I go into the bathroom first to use the loo and brush my teeth. I then return to the bedroom while Mary goes into the bathroom. I start to undress, with my back to the door in case anybody should see in when Mary comes back. I have no problem being seen, although I would be somewhat uncomfortable around my father. All the women have already seen me naked anyway.

Mary opens the door, and on seeing me standing there naked folding my clothes, quickly closes the door again mumbling, “Sorry”. I turn round, realising she hasn’t come in. I stand behind the door and open it. Peering round the door, I see Mary waiting in the hall in embarrassment, already wearing her pyjamas having changed in the bathroom.

“You can come in, you don’t have to wait out there,” I say, beckoning her into the room. She comes in and sits on the end of the bed, keeping her eyes averted. I close the door, then walk over to where my silk pyjamas are waiting on the bed, and start to put them on.

“What’s the matter? We have seen each other naked before. We have shared the communal showers at school and the swimming pool, why the sudden shyness?” I ask.

“Well, they are public places. Getting undressed in private seems so much more intimate,” she replies.

I climb into bed before responding, “I guess it is, but if we are going to share a room it would be a lot easier if we didn’t worry about such things. Look, I’m not going to jump you if you’re worried. We can keep to our own sides of the bed and I promise not to touch you.”

Mary nods and climbs into the bed on the opposite side. I turn out the lights and we lie on our own sides of the bed for several minutes.

“Jasmine,” Mary whispers. I turn and can see her trembling.

“Yes?” I reply.

“Will you hold me, at least until I fall asleep? I always have trouble sleeping in new surroundings. I was fine in my old house and in Alison’s, as I’ve been there so often, but this feels odd,” she states.

I shuffle across and spoon into her back, wrapping my arm round her waist, being careful to only touch her stomach and not her breast or crotch.

“Thanks,” she whispers, and I can feel her relax.

I hadn’t realised before just how vulnerable Mary felt. I got the impression during the sleepover at her house that something wasn’t quite right. Her comments about being interested in lesbianism seemed to stem from not being comfortable around boys, although I obviously don’t count as one in her eyes. I guess that the kinds of men that her mother attracts are the worst samples of the human population and this has put her off heterosexual relationships.

My alarm clock wakes us up promptly at six o’clock Thursday morning. Mary groans as I throw the covers back and climb out of bed.

“Get dressed,” I say shaking Mary when she ignores the alarm, “We will have breakfast then do chores for an hour and a half before showering and changing for school. Put some old clothes on that it doesn’t matter if they get covered in mud.”

I was tempted to say ‘shit’ instead of ‘mud’, as that may well end up being more accurate, but I decide that I don’t want to put Mary off more than necessary.

I grab a pair of knickers, bra, jeans, and a shirt and start to get dressed. Mary watches me from the bed, still not fully awake. Slowly she climbs out and starts to get dressed herself.

A few minutes later, we are all sitting round the kitchen table having breakfast. Both Mary and Jill are sleepy, but the rest of us - Wendy included - are wide-awake as this is our usual getting up time.

“We need to get you two trained up,” my father states, referring to Jill and Mary. “Mary, you can shadow Jasmine, she will train you in what you need to know. Due to your age, you won’t be doing as much work and there are limitations on what work you can do.”

Mary nods as my father continues, “Jill, you will shadow Wendy. Wendy, I know you are trained enough to be trusted to follow instructions without issue. I assume I can give you a task list and you can follow it without a problem?”

Wendy confirms that her knowledge is good enough. She has after all run her parents’ farm when they were away. My father then goes on to explain the various tasks that need to be completed. Ten minutes later, we are all heading out to the milking sheds to complete the first milking of the day.

Although the milking machines are automated, they still need to be connected to the cows by hand. The more people you have working on it the quicker you can get the job done, so this morning we are able to get the cows milked in record time.

As eight o’clock rolls up, we head indoors to shower and change. Wendy and Jill use the downstairs shower together. I give Mary a knowing look. Figuring that they may be a while, we take our boots and socks off and carefully move upstairs.

Once upstairs we toss a coin to decide who goes first. I win so use the bathroom while Mary waits. After brushing my teeth, using the loo, and having a quick shower, I emerge and Mary takes my place. I dress in my school uniform and walk downstairs into the kitchen.

I start to make some packed lunches for all four of us. Mary enters the kitchen around the same time as the older girls finally come out of the downstairs shower room, wrapped in towels. They quickly head upstairs to dress.

It’s nearly twenty past eight before all of us go over to the barn where the bikes are stored. The other girls have their own bikes, brought back from their houses. Wendy no longer needs to borrow mine, so I can cycle to school on the road bike, its low crossbar allowing me to ride in a skirt.

I lead the way to the school. I adjust my pace to one that the others are comfortable with and that will get us into the school grounds in time for the bell. We lock our bikes in the shed and proceed to morning registration.

I have finally finished my detention for deceiving the school, so I can join my friends at break time. Jill and Mary head to the school office during break to have their records updated. I go with them to make sure that the details are entered correctly and to file my own paperwork. Mr Henry is standing taking to one of the secretaries when we come up to the desk. On seeing me, he fears the worst so comes to see to us himself.

“What’s the problem, girls?” he asks with concern.

“We need to update our address and contact details, as they are now out of date,” Jill answers. “We had to move out of our previous house at short notice, so we are now living at Whittaker farm with Jasmine. She is here to make sure we get the details right.”

“My father will be in his office doing paperwork at the moment if you need to call him,” I add. “I also have a deed poll here to officially change my name.”

Relieved that it is something relatively mundane, Mr Henry sets about updating the details for us, with the help of the secretary. He congratulates me on my name change, stating that will make things a lot easier in future. Any examinations I now take will be issued with my new name.

Soon our files are updated with the new details, and we go outside to where our friends are waiting. It turns out that the Green’s details were wrong to begin with. It seems the school is still sorting out the problems caused by the virus left by the hacker. Mary’s address was down as a local bed and breakfast while Jill was supposedly living on a North Sea oilrig. Mr Henry is pleased to get some correct details into the system. To make sure that the details stay correct he prints the records off and files them in hardcopy in case any further problems occur.

Wendy and Jill begin to walk around the school grounds, no doubt heading to one of the private spots where you can discretely kiss without being interrupted. Mary and I join Alison and Julie, who are chatting waiting for our arrival. It is not long before Mary is relating the events of the previous evening to our friends. Our conversation is cut short by the bell for the next lesson.

I am again wearing the headscarf instead of the wig, as it’s more comfortable. Everybody in all my classes now being aware of who and what I am, my secret is out in that sense. Most of the school know of me, but not everyone knows whom the TG student is, or what they look like. Not many students wear any form of headwear. There are a couple of Jewish brothers in the year above who wear those small skullcaps for religious purposes and a Muslim girl who occasionally covers her head, but not as often as she once did after rebelling against her parents and religion. One of the year eleven girls suffers from alopecia, and like me wears a scarf to cover for her lack of a full head of hair.

My headwear does make me stand out a fraction, but I don’t let that bother me. I always have some friends with me, so nobody seems keen to confront me as I always have backup. I am doing the girly ritual of flocking to the bathrooms with company instead of going alone, although never with Julie as she is still uncomfortable going in my presence.

Lisa comes over to Mary, Alison and I during the lunch break. We are sitting under a tree in the school grounds, enjoying the late autumn sun.

“Just the girl I’m after,” Lisa says to me, “Jasmine, how would you like to take part in a tennis competition Saturday?”

“Me?” I ask.

“My tennis club is short on players and we have a competition against another club at the weekend. Several of our usual under-fifteen girls’ team are unavailable for various reasons. If we fail to provide enough players then we have to forfeit the match,” Lisa adds. “We need one more player, and I know from Julie that you’re capable having come third in the singles, and second in the doubles tournaments held at your previous school. I’m also aware you’re fit and fast due to the beep test results at the start of term. You are the best candidate for filling in.”

“Am I eligible?” I enquire. “I assume you have to be a girl, and in case you’ve forgotten, I’m still technically male. If they find out they could deem that I have an unfair advantage and disqualify me.”

“Actually, I was kind of hoping you do have a competitive advantage, we could use it. We are up against Katrina Sortir. Her nickname is Latrina, due to being built like a brick shi–”

“I get the picture,” I interrupt.

“Seriously, she makes Arnold Schwarzenegger look girly in comparison. If anybody is accused of being a boy, she will. In fact, I think she has been on a number of occasions,” Lisa replies. “Katrina can easily out play most boys, let alone girls. She has serious muscle mass and is capable of 90 mph serves. She is probably the next Venus Williams. You are possibly one of the few people at least capably of attempting a return. I think she is the main reason why we are having trouble finding a team. Everyone is scared of playing her.”

“I’m not sure about this,” I state, “this isn’t exactly honest, and very risky.”

“Worst-case scenario, you get disqualified. Having one player thrown out is still better that forfeiting the whole fixture due to a lack of players. At least we would still stand a chance with one person down,” Lisa declares, “Besides which, how are they going to prove it? All you have to do is drop your knickers, and don’t try and deny that you wouldn’t do that if necessary. After all, that is what you did to gain access to the changing rooms here at school.”

Lisa gets down on her knees and starts to beg, “I’ll arrange for your kit and transport. I can get my cousin to drop you off at home. I’ll even buy you dinner.”

I think about it for a bit, while Lisa looks at me with puppy-dog eyes. I finally reply, “Okay, assuming I can get my parents’ permission, I’ll fill in just this once, but you’ll have to guarantee my safety. I don’t fancy being beaten into a pulp with tennis rackets if my secret comes out.”

“Don’t worry. Julie and I will have your back,” Lisa replies. “There may be one or two of the other girls who know you, but they won’t say anything. Our captain even joked yesterday that we should get a boy in as a ringer to play Latrina. That is what gave me the idea of asking you.”

I may well regret this, but I might as well go along with it. I enjoy the odd game of tennis. Lisa fills me in on the details until the bell rings and we have to head off to registration.

The afternoon gym class proceeds without incident. I’m a lot less nervous this time, and I no longer worry about what I can see when changing. I even risk a few glances in Julie’s direction, but she also seems to be less tense about it. She does however keep her back to me most of the time, and waits until I have come out of the showers before going in.

At the end of the day, the four of us cycle back to the farm at a leisurely pace. Jill and Mary are used to a much shorter commute.

We store the bikes in the shed and go to the farmhouse, but find it locked. I show the girls the key box and its combination, before unlocking the door so that we can enter. There is a note on the kitchen table for us. My father is helping John Palmer out with repairing the fire-damaged milking shed and my mother is at another one of her farmers’ wives coffee afternoons, this time at Janice Yearly’s.

“Oh great, we have to move the sheep again,” I say sarcastically, reading the instructions left for us.

“What’s wrong with moving sheep?” Wendy asks.

“You don’t have sheep on your farm, do you,” I state. Wendy’s parents only keep cows. “They are a pain in the backside to manoeuvre. Cows are somewhat intelligent, and go where you tell them. Sheep on the other hand are thick and like nothing better than to run in all directions. Why do you think shepherds have to use dogs to round them up?”

“I’ve heard of your experiences with sheep,” Wendy replies. “Just because you are useless as a shepherdess, doesn’t mean that it’s necessarily that difficult or that they are that badly behaved. You just need to know how to handle them.”

I grin at them, “In that case you three can go and move the sheep while I get dinner on.”

The three of them head upstairs to change out of their school clothes and into something suitable for working. I look in the fridge to see what needs cooking. A few minutes later, they come back down so I introduce them to the dogs and give them a quick overview of the commands to steer them round the fields. They start walking off in the direction of the sheep and I go back inside and up to my bedroom.

I discard the school uniform I am still wearing and change into a light cotton dress. I descend the stairs and after donning an apron, start to cook and bake. I put a casserole in the oven, and then start to make some cakes for dessert and for our lunchboxes. I enjoy baking, but don’t always have the time.

I hear a vehicle pull up in the yard. I look out of the window to see if I need to go hide, but see both my parents climbing down out of the Land Rover. I head outside to meet them.

“Hi, Jasmine,” my father states, “did you get the sheep moved okay?”

“The other girls are out in the fields at the moment seeing to them. Wendy seemed to think that I was exaggerating in the difficulty of the task, so I left the three of them to it,” I reply. Looking at my watch I then add, “they have been gone a while, it might be an idea to see if they need rescuing yet.”

A lone sheep comes running down the dirt track into the farmyard before crossing over into our garden where it starts to nibble on the flowers. My father quickly grabs it and carries it over to the barn while my mother fetches some rope to tie it up.

“I think we’d better go and see what is going on,” my father tells my mother. Seeing that I have dinner under control they take the sheep and head in the direction of the fields.

Half an hour later, I hear all five of them walking across the yard. I come out to meet them and immediately burst out laughing. All three girls are covered from head to toe in mud. Wendy is by far the dirtiest, looking like she has been dragged along the ground on her back, her hair stuck in clumps with drying mud. The smell of dung permeates the air. My parents, on the other hand, look reasonably clean.

“Those things aren’t sheep,” Jill states, “They’re pure devil spawn. I would never have believed anything that cute and cuddly could be so irrepressibly evil.”

“I thought you had poor sheep handling skills, but this lot make you look professional. They had the sheep spread out over three fields,” my father tells me. “I’m going to take a shower. Knock on the door when it’s safe for me to come back out.”

“Right you lot,” my mother states, “you’re not coming inside with that amount of mud on you. Which do you prefer, stripping or hosing?”

“You can of course opt for both,” I add, grabbing the hosepipe, “I will warn you that the outside tap only provides cold water.”

I turn the tap on and point the spray head in their direction, waiting to pull the trigger. My mother calls out, “I’ll get some towels,” before heading inside, closing the door behind her.

The girls are looking at me with trepidation, uncertain of what to do next. I start counting down from ten.

“You wouldn’t dare,” Mary states.

I ignore her and continue counting down. Wendy, having no doubt gone through this routine before, wisely starts to strip off, however she is still standing in the way of the other girls when I reach zero, and deciding that none of them are moving quickly enough, I pull the trigger and shoot cold water in their direction.

I’m not sure which of them can scream the loudest, but they all seem to object to the cold water. I make sure that they are thoroughly wet, rinsing off the worst of the mud, before turning off the hose. Seeing the nasty look in their eyes, I decide to make a hasty retreat back indoors only to find the door is locked. It would appear my mother has double-crossed me.

The girls soon have their revenge as I’m hit with icy cold water from the hosepipe. I put my arms up to shield myself, but I’m soon as drenched as the rest of them. I also give them a run for their money in the screaming department. I certainly don’t sound masculine while being drenched.

Seeing that we have now finished trying to drown each other and are now shivering as well, my mother opens the door and instructs us all to strip off and deposit our wet clothes in a bucket. I go first to show the others the best method. My mother holds a towel up in the doorway while diverting her eyes to one side. I walk up to it, strip off keeping my back to the others, then take the towel and wrap it round myself as I enter the utility room. I dry my feet on the doormat before heading upstairs.

Mary comes in second, copying my technique to hide her modesty. My mother directs her to go into the upstairs bathroom and shower. Once the other two girls are wrapped in towels, she knocks on the shower room door. My father comes out and the two elder girls proceed into the downstairs shower room to wash the mud off each other, which suspiciously takes quite a while. By the time they come out Mary has showered and dressed and has come down to the kitchen. As I was clean to start with, I don’t need another shower so simply dry myself off and dress.

It’s a tight squeeze to fit six round our kitchen table, but we manage as my mother dishes up the lamb chops from the casserole. Never has lamb been so enjoyed as tonight.

“Dare I ask how did the gossip group go?” I enquire of my mother after we have eaten.

“About as well as can be expected,” my mother replies with a sigh, “Of course all the women were very sympathetic that Susan has a lesbian for a daughter, the same as they were when they found out Mike was gay. I decided to keep quiet about that one. A lot of the talk was about the dreadful situation of the school allowing a boy to attend as a girl. I didn’t enlighten them as to whom.”

I’m not sure keeping them in the dark is a good thing or not, but at least it saves some aggravation for the moment.

“After the disaster of the demonstration, Janice has come up with the idea of calling for a governors’ meeting. She is apparently friendly with one of the parent governors and intends to make the school call a public meeting, not that she will be able to attend as she doesn’t have a child of the right age range,” my mother states. Janice has a young son, who has just started primary school.

“I will let Mr Henry know what to expect in the morning,” I say.

---

 

When I arrive in school on Friday morning, I head to the school office to drop off a letter to Mr Henry. My mother has written a note explaining our “friend’s” intentions regarding raising my attendance with the school governors.

During registration, Mr Francis finds there is a note in the register addressed to me. It thanks us for the information and informs us that the school is already arranging a governors’ meeting, to discuss the issues following the demonstration. It is scheduled for Thursday evening next week.

During break time, Alison asks if we have remembered to bring our swimming costumes. I had put a big post-it note on the fridge so that I wouldn’t forget this week. This also prompted the other girls to pack their own, having almost forgotten due to the disruption of being in a new home. I am slightly nervous that Bart and friends will cause us more trouble. I have gotten away with it up until now, but I’m worried how long my luck can last.

I don’t have time to dwell on the issue as the bell goes for my maths class. We are currently covering trigonometry. I have to devote all my concentration into solving the problems, and soon put the pool issues out of my mind.

Lunch is a sedate affair spent gossiping with friends. The highlight for me is being able to sneak some time alone with Josh on the pretence of sharing notes for science. While we cross-reference each other’s notes from an experiment carried out in the classroom this morning, we also find time for some discrete kissing.

When the final bell of the school day rings, we head out of the classrooms once dismissed, and after a quick stop off at the lockers congregate at the bike sheds. Once all five of us are gathered, Mary, Jill, Wendy, Alison and myself, we mount our bikes and cycle slowly in the direction of the swimming pool.

We decide to use a different bicycle rack today, as we had problems with the boys last time. I see David - one of the boys causing us trouble - standing outside the front doors. On seeing us approach, he disappears inside. I get a bad feeling about this, wondering what they have planned.

The other girls also spot the danger and surround me as we enter the building. There is no sign of any of the boys as we walk up to the counter and pay our entrance fees. Nobody challenges us, so we cautiously walk along the corridor and slip inside the changing room, into what should be safety.

None of my friends recognises the pair of girls sitting in the changing room in their swimming costumes. They have obviously only just changed, as they are still dry. They appear to be waiting for something and I suspect it is for my arrival.

Stephanie and Michelle went to my previous school, but now attend Lakeside instead of Brahms High. They immediately stop talking and look in my direction. I decide to play dumb and follow my friends to a bench on the other side of the changing room.

It looks like I may have been recognised, so before I’m challenged I decide to use my physical changes to my advantage. I put my bag on the bench then immediately hook my fingers into the top of my skirt and knickers and pull both down with one swift movement. I deliberately turn to face the direction of Stephanie and Michelle as I pull my jumper and polo shirt over my head, temporarily obscuring my face. As I do so, I can take a sly look at the girls through the fabric while they can’t see that I am looking at them. They are watching me and have slightly puzzled looks on their faces.

I unzip my bag, and pull out my swimming costume and cap, before walking naked across the room towards one of the toilet cubicles. I need to use the toilet anyway, but it also serves as a method of hiding my swap from headscarf to swimming cap without the girls seeing my lack of hair. I relieve myself, and dress in the swimsuit and cap.

Coming back out of the cubicle, I rejoin my friends and pack my clothes into my bag ready for putting in a locker. I note the girls that have been watching me get up and leave the room.

Once they are out of earshot, I inform my friends that I recognise Stephanie and Michelle. We put our bags in lockers before heading out towards the pools cautiously and quietly. As we are about to exit we hear voices and come to a stop to listen.

“I’m telling you, Bart,” I hear Michelle say, “that I know the difference between a cock and a cunt when I see one, and there is no way that girl is a boy.”

“Well he certainly used to be a boy, I’ve seen him in the showers often enough,” Bart replies. “You remember him losing his swimming trunks at school last year?”

“Well if that is the same person, and I’m not convinced, she doesn’t have anything now,” Stephanie adds. “If we try to make a complaint, then all she has to do is remove her swimsuit. We’ve just seen her naked and there is no evidence of her being a boy.”

I smile to myself. I thought it slightly suspicious that they were sitting waiting for us. It appears Bart and friends have recruited some of the girls to spy on me and then make a complaint. Only another woman can make a valid complaint about me being in the wrong changing room. It seems after seeing me naked they realise they are going to have a hard time convincing anybody I’m in the wrong facilities.

I hold my head up high and stroll past the group of foes, my friends following closely behind ready to surround me at the first sign of trouble. David notices me and gives me a mean stare as he calls out, “Hey, Simon, you remember these lovely ladies don’t you.”

I sigh and come to a stop, I turn to face my taunter and say, “It’s Simone, not Simon, so unless you want to be permanently known as Daisy I suggest you at least try to get my name right.”

I can hear Alison sniggering behind me as I continue, “Just what is it about my gender that you lot fail to comprehend. I have told you before I’m a girl and now you have had that verified by independent witnesses,” I gesture towards Michelle and Stephanie, “who have just seen me walk naked through a room full of women, none of whom reacted in any way to my presence. If I had any male genitalia then I’m sure there would have been at least one objection. However, as I lack such appendages, that didn’t happen. My friends and I have had enough of your harassment and if we have any further trouble we will be filing a complaint with the management to have you banned. So stop trying to cause trouble and keep your nose out of where it isn’t required.”

I swiftly turn and walk towards the main pool, my friends following behind in silence. We enter the water and swim through the myriad of people to a free corner and simply float and relax. We swim a few slow laps chatting and giggling for around fifteen minutes before Jill, Mary and Alison head over to the second pool to do some serious laps in the dedicated lanes. Wendy and I swim to the centre of the main pool as they switch on the wave machine and tread water in the foot-high swell.

After ten minutes, the wave machine is shut down and we swim to the edge on a part shallow enough to stand on the bottom; trying to keep position against the push of the waves is tiring. As we catch our breaths, Stephanie and Michelle swim over to us. I am first alerted to their presence by Wendy’s scowl, as they swim up behind me. They drop to a standing position a couple of yards from us and wade over sheepishly.

“Sorry about earlier,” Stephanie says as she reaches us, “those boys are complete jerks and I don’t know why I let them talk us into coming here. They have been spreading rumours about Simon at school. I was curious, I guess, to see if they were true.”

“That and you fancy Steve rotten,” Michelle adds with a sly grin.

“Don’t worry about it,” I reply, “I’m well aware of my resemblance to my male counterpart. As long as you accept that I’m a girl, then I don’t have any problems.”

“No problem here, no boy could possibly walk through the changing rooms undetected. I’m Stephanie, and this here is Michelle,” Stephanie states.

“As you gathered, I’m Simone, and this here is Wendy. The other elder girl with us earlier is Jill, her sister Mary is in the blue suit, and the girl in green is Alison.”

Although I don’t like using the moniker that is so close to my old male name, I would rather not reveal my preferred identity. Knowledge is power, and although many people know the connection between Simon and Jasmine, I would prefer the boys didn’t find out. I don’t fully trust these girls yet, especially if they twig that they are talking to the person they know as Simon.

“The boys do look good strutting their stuff on the diving boards,” I say with a grin. “It’s a pity they then have to open their mouths and demonstrate the intelligence of a fish.”

The others laugh and we relax a bit. Wendy then suggests riding some slides, so the four of us head off to have some fun. After losing my swimming cap once before, and being very self-conscious without it, I make sure to have a hand on my head as I hit the water trough in the bottom. I get a face full of spray, but don’t lose my headwear.

The slides often come out quite a way from the starting point and it is not always possible to see the endpoint while queuing. There is always a member of staff at the top, who does have a clear sight of the exit, but they often are standing on the other side of the slide from the queue.

I don’t notice that Bart is positioned near the end of the current slide as I enter. Michelle and Stephanie have gone before me and Wendy is going to follow me down.

I have been on this particular slide before, and I know that I am unlikely to lose my swimming cap. The exit is gentle, unlike some where you hit a wall of water. Because of this, I’m not holding it on my head when I exit, which turns out to be a big mistake. Bart is waiting off to one side, and before I know what is happening, he has grabbed my swimming cap off my head. He throws it a distance to where Steve is waiting, who runs round the corner of one of the pools before lobbing it to David who disappears into the male changing room with it.

“Hey, what the fuck?” I swear as they steal my headwear. I quickly scramble to my feet.

“Stop trying to pretend you’re a girl, Simon,” Bart states in a loud voice.

Everybody in earshot immediately turns to look at the commotion, and I can’t help but turn red. Now that my masculine looking hairstyle is visible, I start to feel self-conscious, but have no option but to bluff the situation out. Wendy comes to a halt behind me as she exits from the slide. She scrambles to my side.

“You arseholes!” shouts Wendy, the anger obvious in her voice.

Bart’s antics have gotten the attention of several members of staff, who come over, including the woman I spoke to in the changing rooms before. Alison, Jill and Mary have also realised what is going on and rush over to join us.

“What is going on here, young man?” the female staff member asks me to my annoyance.

“Those idiots are harassing me again, if you remember they chased me into the changing rooms a few weeks ago,” I reply angrily, “and I’m not a boy, despite my stupid haircut”.

Stephanie and Michelle are looking on trying to figure the situation out. My haircut hasn’t changed much since they last saw me a couple of months ago. The only change being that my hair is a fraction longer now, but still undoubtedly a boy’s style.

Alison arrives and immediately asks, “Please get Mr Catchpole down here.”

The employees seem to hesitate at the name, but Alison repeats the request, this time putting more force into her voice.

“If you won’t get him down here, then we will go to see him,” she states, “I suggest you get on your radio and get him to meet us at the south staff access door if you don’t want to explain why we are going to be trailing water through the offices.”

With that, Alison turns towards the rest of us and tells us to come with her. I don’t know what she is planning, or who this Mr Catchpole is, but Alison seems to know what she is doing. I follow her lead, anything to get away from the stares of various people trying to figure out if I’m male.

My friends and I, including Stephanie and Michelle, walk swiftly behind Alison as we head to the doors, leaving the employee behind, now talking into her radio.

We reach the side of the building where we are greeted by a tall elder man in a suit. I notice that he is wearing an identification badge like the other staff members. His reads, “Mr B Catchpole, Leisure Facility Director.”

“What is going on here?” he enquires, as he looks us over, “I have just had a report of a boy pretending to be a girl and causing disruption.”

“Uncle Brian, my friend here is not a boy, she just happens to look like one due to her hair,” Alison states as she puts her arm round me, “you remember I had the same issue after Tom put glue in my hair gel.”

A spark of recognition goes over his face at the mention of Alison’s previous incident. The staff members who had come to speak to us before catch up with us and the manager dismisses them. He then asks us to follow him, and we head into a seating area normally off limits to the public. It is an area that the off-duty lifeguards can use during breaks and is a designated wet area so it doesn’t matter that we are dripping over the floor. We sit on the plastic seats and he enquires as to what has just happened.

“I came off of the slide and Bart grabbed my swimming cap off and chucked it to Steve who in turn chucked it to David. He disappeared off into the male changing room where none of my friends can follow,” I explain. “He knows I’m self-conscious about having my hair this short, but I didn’t have an option. I can’t wear a wig to the pool, so I opt to keep my head covered by either a swimming cap or headscarf while here.”

“Why did they do that?” he asks. “I don’t understand why they think accusing you of being a boy is going to get anywhere. Sure, they can publicly embarrass you for your appearance, but they must know that it won’t stick and is likely to get them into just as much trouble for making obviously false accusations.”

I turn to Alison, wondering how much I should say. Alison looks at me sensing my apprehension, then turns to her uncle and explains, “Simone here is a post-operative transsexual. I have seen her naked a number of times, both in gym class at school and here in the pool changing rooms, and it’s not possible to tell that she is anything other than female while naked. In fact I didn’t learn about her past until Bart started to harass her, which was after we had been swimming together and I had seen her naked in the showers.”

I can hear gasps coming from Michelle and Stephanie as they realise that Bart had been correct about my identity all along, having not believed that I was Simon. Wendy and Jill both give them threatening stares to keep them quiet. They take the hint and don’t say anything.

“Uncle Brian, I assure you that Jasmine acts with the upmost discretion and doesn’t cause any problems while using the female changing rooms,” Alison states calmly. “Since I started bringing her here to swim, she has used the facilities a number of times and must have been seen naked by at least a hundred different women and none of them have given any hint of disapproval. There is no way that it would be appropriate for her to use the male facilities anymore.”

“Mr Catchpole, I knew Simon when he was a boy,” Stephanie adds, “Bart told me about seeing him here dressed as a girl, and asked Michelle and I to watch him in the changing rooms and then make a complaint. The person we saw in the changing rooms was not the boy we knew, but appeared to be a girl of similar appearance. It wasn’t until just now that I realised what was going on. To be honest, I do find it weird, but for some reason I don’t find it uncomfortable knowing that I could be sharing the showers with her.”

“Same here,” Michelle agrees, “as far as I’m concerned, I don’t think she’s a boy either. I always thought Simon was a bit girly, didn’t realise it was because he is one.”

“In that case we don’t have an issue here,” the man replies with a smile. “It’s up to management to decide who can use the facilities, and as the senior manager for the complex, I say you are welcome to use the women’s changing room.”

I sigh with relief, the tension flowing out of my body. I hadn’t realised how rigid I had been holding myself, but I now relax, letting myself slump slightly in the chair.

“Thank you, sir” I say softly.

“Those boys on the other hand are about to find out they aren’t welcome. I’m going to issue them with a three-week ban from the premises. That means the whole holiday camp, not just the pool area,” he states.

Pulling a walkie-talkie out from his pocket, he starts issuing instructions. After a few minutes, one of the male lifeguards turns up carrying my swimming cap.

“Little Eddy is making sure that the boys behave and leave. They are in the changing rooms as we speak,” he states, “He will bring them along to apologise in a minute.”

We sit and wait and it’s not long before the three boys, now dried and dressed, appear with a very large security guard. ‘Little’ Eddy must be at least six foot six and is so wide that he only just fits through the door. Most of his mass appears to be pure muscle: he has the physique of the contestants on ‘World’s Strongest Man’.

The boys sheepishly apologise for causing me trouble before they are escorted out.

“I’m sorry about that,” Mr Catchpole declares, “All seven of you will have a full refund for today’s swim. Stop by reception on your way out and ask them to call me to come down. Now, I suggest you all head back to the pool and have a nice relaxing swim. Have fun, ladies.”

We head back out to the poolside and find a quiet spot in one of the smaller side pools. The seven of us float about in silence for a few minutes.

“I’m sorry about misleading you earlier,” I say to Michelle and Stephanie, “but you realise that things could easily get very nasty for me. At least Bart hasn’t beaten me up yet. I would appreciate it if you kept my change of sex to yourselves. If you don’t want to be in the changing rooms at the same time as me, then I fully understand.”

“I meant what I said earlier,” Stephanie replies, “I’m having a hard time seeing you as a boy, even with that short hair of yours. Every time I try to imagine it, I simply can’t get the picture of you naked out of my head. I know I should be upset and appalled at the thought of being seen by a boy, it just isn’t happening.”

Michelle shrugs her shoulders in agreement with her friend. I guess I will find out for certain when we head back to the changing rooms.

We spend the next half an hour swimming, enjoying the wave machine for a second time when they switch it on once again.

Exhausted, the seven of us make our way back to the changing rooms. I unclip the key from my swimsuit and open the locker containing my bag. I notice that Michelle and Stephanie do the same. I am about to ask them if they are sure that they are comfortable with my presence, but I don’t get the opportunity as Stephanie drops her swimsuit to the ground. Michelle isn’t far behind and they both disappear off into the showers, not showing any regard for my presence.

Soon all of us are washing ourselves under the jets of warm water. There are many other women in the changing room and nobody seems to be paying any attention to me. I once again feel relief at being accepted for what I want to be, rather than what I once was.

We dry and dress ourselves. I put my headscarf back on to cover my boyish haircut. Once again, it’s only Mary and I in skirts, the others opting for jeans or leggings.

We make our way out to the reception where Alison asks for her uncle. He joins us a minute later and issues us refunds.

“Simone, there is somebody I would like you to meet, if you have a few minutes to spare,” he states.

I reply that I have time. I bid farewell to Stephanie and Michelle, who have to get home. Jill, Wendy, and Mary head off to the café, with vouchers from Mr Catchpole. Wendy states that she will phone home to let my parents know we are running late and why.

I’m escorted through the private corridors of the complex with Alison by Mr Catchpole. I am slightly nervous, but this is Alison’s uncle and she assures me that he can be trusted. We come back out into the public areas near a beauty salon.

We enter and the woman on the counter at the front immediately directs us through to a private room in the back. We are joined by a young woman in her twenties. Her head is shaved on one side, the other being long and sticking up in a Mohican. The other striking thing about her appearance is the number of piercings she is wearing. She has five studs in her left ear, one in her eyebrow and one in her nose.

“This is Jessica,” Mr Catchpole introduces us, “she is one of our more eccentric stylists and has experience in creating styles with little hair. I phoned her up while you were swimming and explained your situation and she is willing to have a go, free of charge.”

Jessica removes my headscarf and looks me over before saying, “I understand you used to be a boy, and by the look of it you haven’t had opportunity to grow your hair into a feminine style. Most people associate buzz cuts with boys, and most girls who try it end up looking masculine unless they have very feminine features. Your features are neutral so the effect of your hair is pushing you slightly too far towards the boyish end of the divide. I might be able to help you there. You don’t have much to work with, but I think I can spice you up a bit and give you a more feminine presentation.”

“I normally wear a wig in girl mode. I still need to appear as a boy occasionally, so I haven’t been able to grow my hair out,” I say sadly.

“I think it’s about time you changed that,” Alison states, “you spend ninety percent of your time as a girl now. Wouldn’t it be easier if you had a girl cut and hid it for the ten percent of the time you spend in boy mode rather than the other way round?”

I think about this for a moment. My parents had been the main reason to keep my hair short. Now that they know, there is no need for me to hide any more. The only time I might need to be a boy is if visitors come over, in which case Alison is right, I could hide my hair then.

“I guess I have nothing to lose. Worst case scenario I simply shave my head and go back to square one,” I declare, “I can still rely on wigs and headscarves.”

“Okay, what school do you go to?” Jessica asks.

“Brahms,” I reply, puzzled.

“Right, that limits us slightly. If I remember their rules correctly, they require hair to contribute to a businesslike appearance. No extreme styles, colours, or decorations are allowed. My hairstyle would probably get me sent home. Well you always have the option of continuing to wear the wig, so let’s push the boundaries a bit,” Jessica explains. “You ideally need to shout feminine and I have an idea on how to achieve that. Do you trust me?”

I think about this for a few moments before answering, “Not entirely, but I’m willing to let you do whatever you want. As I said, I have nothing to lose and everything to gain. Go for it.”

I am asked to sit down in the chair provided, which has been spun round so I’m facing away from the mirror. I guess I’m going to get the clichéd ‘not allowed to see it before it’s finished’ routine. I have read enough TG fiction to know that this is the big moment in a t-girl’s life. I am entirely underwhelmed by the prospect. I’m a realist and I know I have very little hair to work with, so I’m not convinced that Jessica will be able to do much.

Mr Catchpole leaves us to it as Jessica grabs a trimmer. She approaches me and says, “The key to this is getting rid of the uniformity. What I’m going to do is vary the length and colour. Most male buzz cuts aim to be regular and symmetrical, and we don’t want that.”

I feel her run the trimmers up the sides of my head. After a while, she switches to a small narrow trimmer, and I feel her carving patterns. Various bottles of chemicals are pulled out of a cupboard and applied to various sections of my hair. I have to sit under a warm hairdryer for a time during which the chemicals do their work. I’m not sure what she is up to, but I assume she is applying dye.

After the timer has rung, she rinses my hair and dries it. Taking a large tub of hair gel, she then starts to apply it to the top of my head. Lastly, she does some work to my face, pulling a few stray eyebrows.

Finally, I am spun round to look in the mirror. I’m immediately impressed by what she has managed. I no longer look masculine. The sides of my head are now almost shaved bare. My natural hair colour is very dark, but the sides are now jet-black and trimmed exceedingly short, only a few millimetres in length. The edges of my hair have been made wavy and there are two lines shaved in each side that weave up and down round my ears. One once side I have a flower shaved into my hair, the other side I have a butterfly.

The top of my head has been left uncut. It has now grown out to just over a centimetre long since I last buzzed it and its now standing straight up in little pyramids all over my head due to the gel. The longer hair has been dyed a light chestnut colour to contrast the dark black hair down the sides.

The back is a mixture of longer chestnut and shorter black. The longer hair has been shaped in an S shape down the back of my head, wide at the top and snaking down to a point. The colour is graduated from light chestnut at the top to almost blonde at my neck. The sharp contrast against the blackness of the nearly shaved part is striking.

Jessica and Alison, who has been watching closely with interest, are pensively watching for my reaction. Slowly a smile creeps across my face as I admire Jessica’s work.

“Wow!” I declare, “I see what you mean; I couldn’t imagine a style like this on a boy. You have truly worked a miracle. I really like it, it has a retro-eighties feel to it, yet still seems ultra-modern, and most importantly, feminine.”

“Here,” Alison hands me my headscarf, “put this back on temporarily and let’s go surprise our friends.”

I grin at her reasoning. After thanking Jessica and giving her a hug, we head out to the front of the salon. Alison’s uncle is waiting for us, and he escorts us back to our friends. I pull off my scarf to looks of surprise from the girls. They adore my new haircut, not that any of them would ever be as daring in their style, but considering what I have to work with they think it’s wonderful.

I get a surprise of my own a few minutes later when both my parents walk in. I stand nervously waiting for them to say something. My parents are very much the country tweed style of demeanour. The radical style I now possess isn’t something I would expect them to like.

My father grins at me while my mother remains neutral in expression, getting me to spin round so that she can see the full effect.

“Considering what they had to work with, I think they have done a marvellous job,” she states, much to my relief.

“It seems to work well,” declares my father, “as long as you’re happy with it then I’m happy with it.”

“I’m happy with it,” I reply with a smile.

“Come on, let’s get you lot home,” my father states, “It’s getting dark outside and I know your bikes don’t have lights, hence us being here.”

We walk outside and head to the bike racks. I see the Land Rover parked nearby, towing a trailer. We load all the bikes into the trailer and my father instructs Mary, Jill, and Alison to get in. They climb in, Jill in front and the two younger girls in the back, and my mother gets in the driver’s seat.

“We figured we wouldn’t get you all in, so I have come in the car as well,” he says as my mother drives out of the car park in the direction of Alison’s house.

I walk across the car park with Wendy and my father to where my father’s Jaguar is parked. I climb in the back, allowing Wendy to ride up front. We exit the car park and drive home.

As my mother has to go via Alison’s, we arrive home first. As soon as we get in my father switches the vegetables on to boil. Half an hour later, we are all sitting down to roast beef, Yorkshire pudding, and vegetables.

Feeling very full, and tired from swimming, we all settle down and watch television for the evening.

---

 

Saturday morning we all rise at the usual time, and after breakfast we divide up to do various tasks. My mother heads off to staff the dairy shop. Wendy is instructed to milk the cows with the assistance of Jill. My father heads off to see to the sheep and goats.

Mary and Jill brought a large pile of dirty clothes back with them from their house, as they didn’t have much opportunity to do washing when at school all day. Mary and I fix this now by washing nearly their entire wardrobes. We have large industrial size washers and driers to aid with looking after the cottages, so are able to get through a larger volume than an ordinary domestic appliance could handle.

As it’s a fine day, we are able to hang most of it out instead of using the driers.While Mary is hanging the washing out, I load the buggy with cleaning products and fresh sheets and towels, and then drive over to the cottages. After quietly unloading the contents into a shed, being careful not to disturb any guests, I return to the farmyard. Mary can’t drive and I won’t be here later to transport the materials.

At half past nine, I head inside and change into the tennis dress that Lisa has lent me. Mary disappears in the direction of the cottages on her bike to perform my normal cleaning duties while I wait for my lift. One of the families was loading up their car as I left, therefore they may have already departed.

A red car pulls up in the yard. I recognise Lisa sitting in the passenger seat and climb into the back. I am introduced to her elder sister and we drive off in the direction of the tennis club.

Lisa compliments me on my new hairstyle. I ask if she thinks it’s too radical for the tennis club. Her reply is that as I’m a guest and filling in at short notice then they wouldn’t dare complain in case I left them hanging.

We pull into the car park shortly before ten in the morning. I’m led into the unisex locker room. There are two changing rooms off the area. I deposit my sports bag into the locker next to Lisa’s. As I’m already dressed, there is no need to use the changing facilities. I have brought a change of clothes and a towel so that I have the option of showering after the tournament, although that might not be necessary if I’m going home directly afterwards.

I have a bottle of water and a small towel that I take with me to the courts. Four girls our age are waiting for us out on court, warming up.

I instantly recognise Julie and Stephanie, who found out my secret yesterday at the pool. The other girls I don’t know. I’m quickly introduced to Diana and Lucy, both of whom go to school with Stephanie.

“Simone?” Stephanie asks as she realises who I am, “I love what they did to your hair. It’s fantastic!”

“Please, call me Jasmine. I tend to go by my middle name amongst friends. Simone is just too close to Simon for it to be comfortable,” I reply. Turning to Lisa I ask, “I take it you haven’t told them anything about me?”

“No, I didn’t think that wise,” replies Lisa. I am thankful that I haven’t been gossiped about. “If you want to give them your history, then go ahead. I can vouch for Lucy and Diana but I don’t think it a good idea to mention it to anybody else. Some of the adults wouldn’t approve of what we’re doing.”

Julie and Stephanie move to my side and we all stand looking at the two other girls, who are now looking on in puzzlement. I decide it’s best if they know my status, so that if they are not happy with me playing, then they can say so now before we begin.

“What is going on?” Diana, the team captain, asks.

“You joked to Julie and Lisa that perhaps you should get a boy in as a ringer against Katrina,” I state. “Legally, I’m classified as male. I’m currently undergoing a sex change to bring my body in line with my mental gender.”

I watch closely for any sign of a negative reaction from the two girls.

“You remember me telling you about winning the silver medal in the inter-schools doubles tournament last year?” Julie asks. “She’s the boy I partnered. I could never work out why I couldn’t get her to play competitively here at the club, she’s good enough to compete.”

“I would have been competing against boys, and considering how uncomfortable I am using male changing rooms, I didn’t want to take up an activity that would mean volunteering to use the facilities more,” I answer. “Also I always knew that I would eventually change sex, which sort of rules me out of competitive sport. I don’t think I actually have a competitive advantage as I’m not producing large quantities of testosterone anymore, but I will always be regarded as not being on a level playing field due to my history.”

“If this was any other match, I might have an issue, but considering whom we are up against, I’m not going to complain. Anybody who can take that slathering great mawther down a peg or two is fine in my books,” Diana says.

Lucy shrugs her shoulders before adding, “Doesn’t bother me, although we will have to work out how to smuggle you into the changing rooms without raising suspicion. The showers here are individual, so that shouldn’t be a problem, as long as you promise to behave yourself and not peek.”

“That isn’t an issue,” Julie states, “she can walk naked through the changing rooms without anybody realising. She has been using the girls’ changing rooms at school since the start of term without anybody realising, despite my attempts to try to convince everybody otherwise.”

This gets a few raised eyebrows from Lucy and Diana, who are the only girls with which I haven’t previously shared a changing facility.

We have to cut our conversation short as the other team arrives, accompanied by a group of adults. I can tell from the name badges who are the coaches from each club, and who the umpires are.

We all shake hands and the officials take our names for the scoreboards. In addition to Katrina, we will be playing against Caitlyn, Jessica, Maria, Holly and Chell.

The organisation of the tournament is then explained. We are not going to be playing full games: instead, we will be competing in short rounds of thirty-one points. There are six girls on each team, and we will all play all the players from the other side. This means that we will each play six games that should take around fifteen minutes each. The whole competition is expected to take about two hours.

All thirty-one points are to be played: it is not the first to sixteen. Players change ends after sixteen points and change serve after each five points. The other difference is that there are no second serves or lets, to keep the pace of the game fast. This way we each have the opportunity to play as many opponents as possible without it taking all day.

Round 1
Julie	3		28	Katrina
Lisa	17		14	Caitlin
Stephanie	16		15	Jessica
Jasmine	10		21	Maria
Lucy	16		15	Holly
Diana	17		14	Chell

After a short warm-up, we start round one. For the first match I am playing against Maria. I haven’t played for a while and I’m a bit rusty. Maria takes the first ten points before I am able to get into my rhythm and start to score. I try to mount a fight-back, and I win the last five points to bring the final score to 21-10 in Maria’s favour.

The first round also sees Julie up against Katrina. Having played alongside Julie in doubles I know how good she is. In practicing for the doubles, we have played singles against each other and I know we were evenly matched skill-wise. Julie is more accurate than I am in ball placement, but I have the greater raw strength.

My reactions, once I have gotten over my initial clumsiness, are lightning-quick. Sheep are very unpredictable, especially when being chased, so I have become used to anticipating and rapidly changing direction. I would never have thought that the skills learnt rearing sheep would come in useful for tennis.

Katrina thoroughly defeats Julie by taking 28 of the available points. Luckily, the other girls hold their own, winning against the other competitors, although only by a few points each. If Katrina wasn’t on the team, I get the impression that we would have no problem in defeating them. There are two awards up for grabs, the trophy for the player with the highest overall score, which everyone expects will be Katrina, and the trophy for the best team, which will be calculated from the overall scores of all players.

Round 2
Julie	17		14	Chell
Lisa	1		30	Katrina
Stephanie	16		15	Caitlin
Jasmine	16		15	Jessica
Lucy	16		15	Maria
Diana	14		17	Holly

My second game is against Jessica. She is a grunter. Every time she hits the ball she sounds like she is about to have an orgasm. I have never understood the need for some of the women tennis players to do this. Even if a sharp outtake of breath is needed in exerting effort to strike the ball, why does this have to be done with sound instead of just silently?

Muscle memory has now taken over and I am back up to my usual form, despite my lack of practice. I manage to win the round by one point, a feat repeated by two of my teammates..  Julie manages to win against Chell by 17-14, but this is countered by Diana losing to Holly by the same score.

Once again, Katrina is the star player of the opposition, only dropping one point while thoroughly thrashing Lisa.

We have a short break between matches. My match is one of the first to finish, due to not having long rallies like some of the others.

I leave the courts in order to use the toilets and refill my water bottle, although not at the same time. I walk round into the clubhouse, removing my sunglasses as I do so, and follow the signs in the direction of the toilets. As I turn a corner, I come face to face with Bart.

“Well, well, I thought it was you out on court,” he says in a tone of voice that I can only describe as evil. Blocking the door to the Ladies’ toilets he asks, “Where do you think you are going?”

“Out of my way, Bart,” I reply, “I’m in no mood to play your games.”

“You can’t go in there, you’re not a lady,” he laughs at me. “Do the opposition know they have a boy amongst them?”

“I don’t have time to mess around. I have to be back on court in a couple of minutes. You don’t want me in the Ladies’, then fine, I’ll use the Gents’,” I answer and go through the next door, which isn’t currently being blocked.

Unfortunately, the bathroom isn’t empty. David is leaning in the doorway to the only cubicle. Bart comes in through the outer door, sticking up an ‘out of order’ sign with Blu-Tack as he enters.

I look backwards and forwards between the two of them. I’m regretting leaving my tennis racket behind at the court. I feel my pulse race and the hairs on the back of my neck stand on end. I have just walked into the perfect trap. I can hear my heartbeat pounding in my ears and the colour in the room fades to an eerie grey.

They grin at me menacingly, “Okay, you have got me where you want me. What do you intend to do now? Beat the crap out of me? Rape me? Or do you just get kicks out of seeing a girl trying to piss in a urinal.”

“You’re no girl,” Bart says as he walks closer, “just a plain old faggot, trying to justify taking it up the arse.”

“I take it you’re not going to let me use the toilet,” I say, turning to David. He doesn’t move. “Fine, I guess I can try to use the urinal, although I no longer have the plumbing for it. I presume you’d rather wait until I’ve gone before trying to beat me up so that you don’t get soaked if I wet myself in the process.”

Sighing, I reach under the miniskirt and pull my knickers off. I let them fall to the ground before stepping out of them and picking them up. I raise the dress I am wearing above my hips, exposing myself to the boys, before walking up to the closest urinal. I spread my legs and get as close to the ceramic as I can in a hope to not splash all over the place.

“Wait!” David calls as he moves out of the way of the door to the cubicle.

I step back, let my dress drop and walk into the cubicle to sit on the toilet. I don’t bother to close the door. Instead, I keep an eye on the two boys watching me. I would rather let myself be seen than put myself into an even more dangerous position by letting my opponents out of my sight.

Sitting down, I start to relieve myself while the boys watch. “You thought I was joking when I said I cut my own balls off?” I ask as I fix the two in a stare. “I took a sharp scalpel and plunged it into the soft skin just behind my scrotum and sliced it in two from back to front. I had a red-hot soldering iron on standby to burn the blood vessels closed. Even so, it was very messy. I admit I lied about frying and eating them. I actually put them in a jar and buried them in a field.”

I can see the boys becoming increasingly uncomfortable at my description. Both are staring at my lack of genitalia. I start to go into detail, explaining the sight extremely graphically. David starts to look exceedingly ill before turning and throwing up into one of the urinals.

Two against one has just become evens, as I doubt David will be in any state to pose me any opposition.

Taking a handful of toilet paper, I pat myself dry before letting it drop into the bowl.

“What’s the matter, Bart, having second thoughts about trying to teach me a lesson?” I enquire, keeping my voice cold and low in volume. I desperately fight to prevent any fear from manifesting in my voice, projecting all my emotions into anger.

Reaching down beside the toilet my left hand automatically clenches round the toilet brush. I rise to my feet and slowly start to walk forward. I don’t bother turning to flush, or even worry about pulling my knickers up, as I step forwards towards my opponent, leaving my underwear on the floor.

“Do you think you scare me, little boy? What could you possibly hope to do to me? Nothing you can inflict will ever match the pain and suffering I’ve put up with all my life.”

Bart looks nervous and starts to back away from me. I can feel the pounding of my heartbeat in my ears driving me onwards. The illumination in the room seems to be getting dimmer as the remaining colour drains, leaving everything in black and white. I can feel my eyes bulge in their sockets as I struggle to see in the fading room. I can feel my head go light, but I concentrate of progressing forwards, fighting the urge to pass out.

“You’re insane!” Bart says as terror comes into his eyes as I stagger towards him.

I feel moisture running from my nose, so I wipe it away with the back of my hand. There appears to be a black inky substance on my fingers, but my brain fails to register what it could be.

“Leave me the fuck alone!” I shout as I start to pound Bart with the makeshift weapon. He puts his arms up to protect himself. The brush head snaps off and clatters to the ground. I continue slashing at Bart’s bear arms as he uses them to protect his head, the sharp plastic scratching his skin sending streaks of black across the room.

I’m grabbed from behind and swung round, David having recovered from vomiting coming to his friends rescue. I end up bent over a sink, a strange black liquid dripping into the basin from the tip of my nose.

I hear the two boys run out of the room as I lean on the counter and close my eyes, trying to regulate my breathing so that I don’t faint.

I open my eyes again and the black fluid dripping into the sink slowly starts to turn from black to red as the room becomes brighter as the colour saturation returns to my vision. I am staring at blood dripping into the sink from a nosebleed. Realising the problem I pinch my nose and wait for the dripping to stop. I look in the mirror, my face is flushed and my eyes appear bloodshot.

I turn on the tap and rinse the sink clean. I wash my hands and face to freshen up. I look down. Luckily, I haven’t dripped blood on my dress. I retrieve my knickers, pulling them back up into position before sneaking out of the gents. I pull the sign off the door and chuck it inside the room as I leave.

After refilling my water bottle from the fountain, and taking a drink of the cold water, I return to the court. I put my sunglasses back on to hide my eyes from view.

“There you are, we have been looking for you,” Caitlyn states as I join her for a quick warm-up before we start. “Are you okay, you look a bit flustered?”

“Stomach cramps. I’ve taken a paracetamol, so they should clear up soon. Case of rotten timing, I didn’t think I was due for another couple of days,” I reply, using menstrual pain as a cover.

Round 3
Juliee	19		12	Holly
Lisa	18		13	Chell
Stephanie	4		27	Katrina
Jasmine	11		20	Caitlin
Lucy	17		14	Jessica
Diana	18		13	Maria
Round 4
Julie	16		15	Maria
Lisa	17		14	Holly
Stephanie	16		15	Chell
Jasmine	16		15	Katrina
Lucy	19		12	Caitlin
Diana	20		11	Jessica

Caitlyn nods and we start the game. The incident in the bathroom has left me shaken and distracted. Caitlyn serves the first five shots, and I am unable to break her serve. I then take the next five, the first three of which she is able to break. The next shot turns into a long rally, the constant back and through getting the adrenaline flowing again, pulling me back awake. After hitting the ball back seven times, I’m able finally to slip it past her for my first point. The final serve I make is an ace before it is time for my opponent to take over serving.

Having gotten off to a bad start, I am constantly on the back foot trying to pull my score back level. I don’t manage it, and Caitlyn finally beats me 20-11.

Round four is the reason I’m here. I’m up against Katrina this time. She has only dropped eight points so far in the entire fixture. I need to make a dent in her record if we hope to win this tournament.

We toss a coin for who is going to serve first. I call heads, and lose. Katrina opts to serve first. It’s an ace, as is the second. She has raw power in her arms and can send the ball across the net at high speed, and even more importantly, accurately. She is consistently getting within a couple of inches of the lines.

This is where the other girls have been struggling. They aren’t quick enough to return the serve unless Katrina makes a mistake, which is rare. I use my fast reactions to at least attempt to get the ball back. I am successful at intercepting the ball, but have very little control over where it goes, as I don’t have time for lining up a proper return. On the occasions when I do get it back over the net, Katrina has plenty of time to line up and smash home a winner.

I have played against both Julie and Stephanie before. I know that they each have a strong serve, but neither can match my own upper body strength. While not overly muscular, I do have plenty of power, and I’m able to put this to good use, putting pressure onto Katrina with the speed of my own serves.

I don’t have the accuracy, so have to aim for the centre of the square, as there is no second serve if I mess up. Katrina has long arms, and even at the end of her reach can return my shots. However, at the limits of control, she is unable accurately to place the return, resulting in an advantage for me. I use this to good effect in the rallies from my serves, and I almost hold my shot. She only breaks twice, which is a far better start than any of the other girls has achieved.

In the next five serves by Katrina, she serves the second one out, the first time in the match. This results in one point for me. The next shot she plays cautiously at a slower speed, and I’m able to return the ball to the opposite corner before she can get to it.

Katrina has one weak spot. Being so large, she isn’t very nimble when it comes to changing direction. She can move quickly, but her mass is such that she can’t switch direction as I can with my lighter build. I therefore attempt to push her to her limits in rallies, making her cover the full width of the court. She does the same to me in return, but I’m more agile and can cope better.

By halfway through the game I have taken over a third of the available points, already surpassing the scores of my teammates.

After changing ends, I am once again serving. I manage to serve a blinder into the back left corner of the court. Katrina only just manages to return the ball, sending it down the centre of the court at medium length. I am easily able to return and send it to the right rear corner. Katrina dashes across the court, once again struggling to return. I’m able to position myself perfectly for her return and send the ball to the opposite corner. Katrina tries to change direction, but in her haste she slips on the dusty ground, twisting her ankle as she falls.

Katrina screams in pain as she rolls on the floor, my shot going unchallenged. Her personal trainer - Katrina being the only girl playing to have her own attendant - dashes onto the court to attend to her. I had hoped that she would struggle if I pushed her, but I hadn’t intended for her to injure herself. I make my way to the side of the court where my towel and water bottle are lying. I sit on the ground and sip the fluid while Katrina is helped to the sideline for medical treatment. The umpire comes down off his high chair and speaks to the trainer.

We stop for several minutes while Katrina has her ankle bandaged. Her trainer makes her walk up and down, and she has a noticeable limp at first. After a quick massage, a painkiller, and further strapping, Katrina insists on continuing the game.

We return to the court and resume play. Katrina is being very cautious in running around, and I’m able to send several shots past her. It’s only her ability to serve aces that’s keeping her in the match. Due to the added injury time, our game runs over time, and the other competitors gather round as spectators as they finish their own matches. I’m slowly reeling in the score as the match progresses, much to the delight my teammates who are vocally cheering me on.

I win the final point of the game, just beating Katrina by a single point. We shake hands over the net.

“Well done, you certainly gave me a run for my money. It’s nice playing against someone who can give me a challenge,” Katrina tells me.

I wish her well, and proceed to the edge of the court for a well-deserved rest before the next round. That last one was exhausting. The officials delay the start of the next round to give me a breather and so that Katrina’s ankle can be looked at again.

I find a grass bank and lay down, soaking up some autumn sun. The weather is staying hot unusually late this year. It’s almost October, yet still feels like August. I take deep breaths and try to bring my heart rate down. My ears have been pounding again, and that isn’t a good sign.

I’m not sure what happened earlier. My memory is a bit fuzzy. I can remember getting angry and attacking Bart, but it’s as if it was part of a dream and didn’t really happen. I don’t think I blacked out, but everything certainly went grey. I have fainted a couple of times recently when under pressure. When Dr Truman first measured my blood pressure, he stated that it was high. I wonder if that is what is causing the problem. I’ll make sure to get it reviewed at my next check-up.

Round 5
Julie	21		10	Jessica
Lisa	18		13	Maria
Stephanie	18		13	Holly
Jasmine	19		12	Chell
Lucy	13		18	Katrina
Diana	19		12	Caitlin

I make my way over to the court for my next game. This time I’ll be playing Chell. She is an Asian-looking girl, dressed in a white t-shirt and orange miniskirt. I’m now back on top form, and I’m able to put in a controlling performance to beat her 19-12. It is a good round for my teammates as four others take decisive victories, including a 21-10 win by Julie against Jessica. The only person on our side to lose is Lucy, who is up against Katrina. However, Katrina obviously is playing below form after her accident. She only manages to win by five points, which is a much narrower margin than her earlier games.

While I sit at the edge of the courts during the break in play, I am approached by Stephanie.

“I thought I’d better warn you, I have just seen Bart and David in the clubhouse,” she states. “Bart was in the medical room having some very nasty looking scratches seen to by Mrs Baxter. He claims he fell into some hawthorn bushes while larking about between watching matches.”

I can’t help but smile in relief. I was worried that I may get in trouble for injuring him, but it seems he isn’t willing to admit what has happened. I guess he can’t really claim I attacked him without first admitting that he lured me into a trap. I doubt either boy would want it known that they came off worse in a fight with a sissy like me.

Round 6
Julie	18		13	Caitlin
Lisa	18		13	Jessica
Stephanie	17		14	Maria
Jasmine	18		13	Holly
Lucy	15		16	Chell
Diana	14		17	Katrina

The final round pits me against Holly, a thin tanned-skinned girl with white African heritage and who has a very large nose. I don’t do quite as well, but still manage to beat her by five points. Lucy misses out against Chell by one point and Katrina once again puts in a credible performance to win her match 17-14.

When the points are added up, it is obvious that Katrina is the player with the highest overall score, as was expected. What wasn’t expected is that when the team points are added up, both teams have managed to score an equal 558. If my playing had been a bit more consistent then I’m sure we would have won outright. At least I achieved the objective of reigning Katrina in.

Our side is awarded the trophy on the grounds that we won more matches than the opposition, having only lost nine of the games.

	Katrina		Caitlin		Jessica		Maria		Holly		Chell
Julie	3	28	18	13	21	10	16	15	19	12	17	14	94
Lisa	1	30	17	14	18	13	18	13	17	14	18	13	89
Stephanie	4	27	16	15	16	15	17	14	18	13	16	15	87
Jasmine	16	15	11	20	16	15	10	21	18	13	19	12	90
Lucy	13	18	19	12	17	14	16	15	16	15	15	16	96
Diana	14	17	19	12	20	11	18	13	14	17	17	14	102
		135		86		78		91		84		84

We head towards the locker rooms and the showers. I am hot and soaking wet with perspiration. I am desperately in need of a shower. As I trudge inside, I wonder if I should wait for the other girls to finish. However, I’m exhausted and can’t be bothered with the fuss of worrying about who I might see in a state of undress. If any of the other players are unhappy with my presence in the changing rooms then they can wait until I leave.

I pull my bag from my locker and follow Lisa and Chell into the changing rooms, the other girls following on behind. Lisa immediately starts stripping, before walking naked across the room with her towel to one of the showers. She doesn’t bother pulling the curtain as she lets the water flow over her.

Assuming that this is normal etiquette, I copy her actions and I’m soon rinsing myself in the next cubicle. The opposition team members are soon doing the same. I note that Stephanie is the only other girl on our squad to be undressed. The other girls just sit drinking bottled water, waiting for the showers to free up. I am not surprised that Julie is hesitating, and I guess the other two girls are uncomfortable with my presence.

I quickly finish my shower so that the remaining girls have an opportunity to get under the refreshing water. I cross back to the bench where my sports bag is sitting and start to dry myself. A knock comes on the door, and one of the club officials, Mrs Jenkins, comes in.

“Excuse me girls,” Mrs Jenkins states, “but I have just been told that a boy was seen sneaking in here.”

I deliberately switch to drying my back, pulling the towel across my shoulder blades. This gives a full frontal view to anybody who wants to look. I’m intentionally facing the adult expecting accusations to come in my direction. I notice the woman take a good look at me as her eyes dart round the room.

Katrina then starts angrily shouting, “Not this crap again! Every time I do well some arsehole has to accuse me of being a boy. Just because I’m not Anna flipping Kournikova, doesn’t mean I’m a bloke. I’ve undergone every test possible and every time I’ve proved to be female.”

The sudden outburst by Katrina surprises the official, who immediately backs down, apologising profusely before backing out the door, almost bumping into another woman entering the room.

I recognise the person coming in from the protest outside of the school. I immediately tense back up, something that Diana notices as she glances towards me. Mrs Baxter, according to her club name badge, hands a large white towel to Diana, who has been waiting on one of the benches.

“Thanks, Auntie,” Diana says, taking the towel from the woman. Diana immediately undresses and walks past me towards the showers. She deliberately moves the towel from covering her front to her side as she comes past me, allowing me to get a good glimpse of her body. Diana winks at me as she passes.

I take these gestures to mean that she doesn’t have a problem with me. I finish drying myself off and get dressed in the floral print summer dress I’ve brought with me. Once again, I will be one of the few girls in a dress, with most opting for jeans. I note that Katrina also opts for a very feminine style, wearing a long ankle-length flowing skirt. I assume that this is deliberate so she won’t be mistaken for a guy.

I leave the other girls to change and head out into the locker room where there is a drinking fountain. I have to wait for Lisa and Chell to finish before I can take a turn slurping the ice-cold water. Diana, having quickly showered and dressed, comes up to me as I finish and signals for me to go to one side.

We head outside and round a corner out of earshot.

“Don’t worry about my Aunt,” Diana states. “I don’t share her views. Neither does my cousin, Tracy, who goes to your school. I had heard about Brahms having a transgendered student, and I have to say I’m surprised. I would have never known you weren’t born this way if you hadn’t have said.”

“Thanks,” I reply.

“Tracy isn’t in any of your classes, so you won’t know her. I think she may know who you are, but I know that she is denying all knowledge to her mother,” Diana adds. “A word of warning though, I think my aunt is planning to make a fuss about you at the governors’ meeting on Thursday.”

“Thanks for the heads up,” I say, “and thanks for accepting me for what I appear to be.”

Diana smiles and pulls me into a hug, “No problem, Jasmine.”

We head back out to the front of the club where the opposition team are lining up to get on a minibus. After handshakes all round, we say our goodbyes. We wave the other team off on their trip home.

As promised, Lisa buys me lunch. Mrs Baxter gives the whole team a lift in her seven-seater people carrier. I sit in the middle row between Lisa and Julie on the way to a local restaurant, which is actually a pub that caters for families. We all end up having bangers and mash with a red onion gravy. It is thoroughly delicious. Mrs Baxter supervises the meal, making sure we don’t get too loud.

“That’s a very unusual hairstyle you have, Jasmine, very striking,” Mrs Baxter comments.

I notice that the table seems to become slightly quieter as everybody wonders how I’m going to answer the question. Diana has managed to brief the other girls not to say anything about my history without her aunt realising.

“I just hope I don’t get in trouble at school with it, I only had it done last night. I’ve been waiting for it to grow long enough to do something with - I really don’t like it this short. I’ve had to wear a wig since the start of term,” I reply.

“How come it came to be so short in the first place?” Mrs Baxter asks.

“I chopped it off in a fit of depression. We had a big family breakup a couple of months ago. My brother was kicked out after he revealed he’s a poof. I couldn’t cope with all the arguing and teasing it caused for me, especially when a number of people assumed I’m a lesbian because my brother’s gay,” I softly reply, “I basically had a bit of a Britney Spears moment.”

That isn’t actually far off from the truth. I did have longer hair and I was being teased about being girly. Knowing that I couldn’t safely become what I needed to be, I became depressed and decided to go ultra-masculine in style to throw people off my persuasion.

Julie puts her hand on my arm and squeezes in support as I look down at the table. I think she realises how close to the truth I’m actually keeping for once.

“What do you think? Do I need to take a wig with me on Monday?” I ask the others.

Everyone then starts to reassure me that everything will work out fine. They can see that this is a delicate issue for me. Even Mrs Baxter, who doesn’t know the full details, can see it is a cause for concern.

The girls quickly change the subject to matters that are more light-hearted, mainly how cute Justin Bieber looks in the latest teen magazine. I can’t help but chuckle. He is one boy who could certainly pass as a girl.

After a dessert of rhubarb crumble and custard, we sit and relax for a little while chatting before Lisa’s sister comes and collects Lisa, Julie and I. Julie is staying the night at Lisa’s for a sleepover. They drop me off at the farm shortly after 2pm.

Mary has done the cleaning of the cottages and is now working through the washing when I arrive. I drive the buggy back over to the cottages to pick up the cleaning products and the remaining dirty laundry. We spend the afternoon taking turns to iron clothes while listening to music. We also sort out the drawers and wardrobes in my room, Mike’s old room, and the guest room, so that we can put the girls’ clothes away.

I help to cook the evening meal. As I have already eaten a cooked meal, I have a hot chicken sandwich while the rest of the family sit down to a roast dinner. I do join them for an apple pie and ice cream dessert. I have to relate my sporting achievements over coffee.

---

 

We are all up at six on Sunday morning to see to the animals and conduct the first milking of the day. After the chores are completed - something that doesn’t take as long with six workers instead of three - we have some spare time to relax before the next milking.

I suggest an idea to my father. If the girls are going to help on the farm they will need to be able to get about the fields, and the easiest way to cover the distance is by vehicle. I therefore propose to teach Mary how to drive. My father thinks about it and then nods, stating that it’s such a good idea that while I teach Mary, he will take Jill and Wendy out in the Land Rover to do the same.

After some discussion of the best location to use, he instructs me to use the far field near the river. The area is currently unused, and it won’t matter if we turn the grass to mud by driving over it.

We have been discussing the idea in private in the study. I didn’t want to suggest it in front of Mary in case he rejected the idea. I go back through to the lounge where Mary is just finishing her lemonade and is reading the gossip pages out of yesterday’s newspaper.

I instruct her to follow me, and I take her up to the bedroom where I pull out two pairs of overalls. I strip to my underwear and pull one of the boiler suits on, handing the other to Mary and telling her to do the same. She asks why, but I refuse to tell her, just saying this is part of her training.

We head down to the barn and get in the two-seater buggy. It has a four-stroke 250cc engine capable of propelling the vehicle up to 50 mph. The controls are identical to that of a car, this particular model having a four-speed gearbox instead of an automatic transmission that is fitted to many such vehicles.

I drive us out of the farm, down the farm tracks that connect all the fields. We are headed to one of our more distant fields down near the river. The ground here is boggy and too wet for growing crops, but its fine for grazing cattle. This particular field is not used very often, as it takes too long to move the cattle from here for milking. We do sometimes put the sheep here, but it’s mainly left fallow.

Mary gets out and opens the gate, as she has done several times as we cut through fields. I drive into the field and come to a stop. While Mary is closing the gate, I slip from the driver’s to the passenger seat. Mary walks up to the buggy and is surprised to find me sitting on the left.

“This is where you take over,” I state.

“Me?” Mary exclaims.

“Yes, you,” I say, “I have been driving since I was old enough to reach the pedals.”

Seeing that I’m not going to move, Mary reluctantly walks round the buggy and climbs into the driver’s position. Once she is strapped into the bucket seat, I begin to explain the controls.

“You’ve been in a car often enough to know the basics, this is nothing different. Three pedals, clutch, brake and throttle, gearstick in the centre, steering wheel in front of you. You can ignore the indicators for now, it’s not likely you’ll need them anyway as we aren’t allowed on the roads.”

It’s not legal to drive on the road until you are seventeen, and then there are limitations until you are fully qualified. Both of us are only thirteen. The two elder girls are fifteen. Therefore, we are all some way off from being able to drive on the public highway.

Following my instructions, Mary places the buggy into first gear and slowly engages the clutch. The buggy gently starts to roll forwards. I ask her to change into second gear and we cruise slowly round the field. Once moving in a straight line across the field I make her drive in figures of eight to get used to the steering, gradually speeding up so that she can get a feel for how far to turn the wheel in order to steer, as it varies depending on the speed of travel.

We carry on this exercise until the inevitable happens. Turning too fast, the rear end steps out in over steer. We spin round and end up facing backwards, the engine stalling as we do so. I have been waiting for this to happen, so I’m not surprised. Mary is slightly shaken by this.

“I knew that would happen, don’t worry about it. You now have a feel for how the buggy behaves. You should be able to get a feel for when you are about to lose grip by the weight of the wheel,” I explain. “Let’s try again, only this time try to keep control by steering into the slide with opposite lock. If we do end up in the wrong direction, declutch so we don’t stall. We have plenty of room to play without hitting anything; I will tell you if we start to get to close to the edge of the field.”

After an hour of driving round the field, Mary has the hang of basic control and is able to travel about using the full range of gears. I decide that we have spent enough time in the field and ask her to drive us down some of the tracks, taking the scenic route back to the farm. She also needs to learn the various routes through the fields, and this is the best way to do it.

As we drive down one of the tracks we have to stop and pull off to let the Land Rover past. It is being driven by Jill. My father is in the passenger seat and Wendy is in the rear.

Wendy does occasionally drive vehicles, but isn’t confident, so usually avoids it whenever possible. She won’t be getting away with that today. My father is concentrating on training Jill, as she is the least experienced, but will be making Wendy take her turn. Both the girls are over a year away from being able to drive on the roads, but there is no harm in learning. They will have a head start amongst their peers. We have a number of private roads and tracks at our disposal, where driving doesn’t require a licence.

We set off once more, swiftly but safely bumping down the tracks around the fields. We turn a bend and have to pull up sharply as a group of ramblers are walking down the middle of the track in our way.

“Hey, watch where you are going,” shouts one of the men. “What do you young hooligans think you are doing tearing up the countryside anyway? You’ll scare the cattle.”

Hitting the release on my belt buckle, I quickly get out of the vehicle before replying, “None of the cattle round here will take a blind bit of notice of the noise, in fact as we deliver feed using these buggies, they will probably come to investigate to see if there is anything on offer.”

“How old are you? You both look too young to drive,” a woman with slightly greying hair asks.

“Our age isn’t relevant, as long as your legs are long enough to push the pedals and you’re strong enough to turn the wheel then there isn’t an issue,” I reply. “Now would you kindly move to the side so we can pass?”

“I’m not sure you two should be driving that thing,” the woman continues in a condescendingly snotty voice. “Where are your parents? You should be properly supervised; I have a good mind to call the police out here.”

I sigh. Why do these idiots have to be awkward?

“Good luck with that, even if you manage to get a signal out here the chances of getting the local plod off their backsides is fairly remote,” I state, “especially as the only crime being committed is trespass, and we’re not the ones on private land without permission. This track isn’t listed as a public right of way, if you’re after the Angles Way, then that’s three fields over in that direction. If you take a right ahead at the next fork, you’ll end up in a field next to the footpath. There’s a gate you can use to get back on the public right of way. However, you may have to climb over it as I think it’s locked. Be careful of the goats, the billy goat is a bit boisterous and may decide to charge at you if you get too close to the flock. Now please stand aside, we’re running late for lunch.”

I climb back in the buggy and strap myself in. I instruct Mary to ease the machine forward towards the people, who move to the side as we edge past. As soon as we are clear I tell Mary to floor it, which she does leaving a cloud of dust behind us as we skid down the track towards the farm. They shouldn’t be in too much danger from the goats, even if the old billy does try to ram them, although that doesn’t happen very often. More than likely they will get their clothes chewed if they wander too close, which serves them right for straying from the right path.

We turn up in plenty of time for lunch. My father arrives around ten minutes later with Wendy driving. Mary and I are in the showers when they return. We are covered in dust from speeding down the dirt tracks, so take the opportunity to freshen up while we can. Mary dons jeans and a t-shirt and I opt for my denim dress over the top of a white camisole.

We settle down to a nice roast dinner. I’m at the sink washing up when there is a knock on the kitchen door as Jason Yearly comes in.

“Hi everybody, hope I’m not interrupting,” he states as he enters.

I freeze on the spot. I was so focussed on the dishes that I hadn’t seen Jason’s approach out of the window, and although I’m facing away from him, the is no way I can extradite myself from the room without drawing attention. I take a few deep breaths and decide to carry on washing up, putting my concentration into the task, so that I don’t think about my situation and faint.

“I was wondering if I could borrow some of your lovely young ladies here,” Jason continues without batting an eyelid. “The milking sheds are back up and working at Elm Tree Farm, so the cows are going home tomorrow. Trouble is, although I was keeping ’em separate from me own, I had a short in that electric fencing. The cows managed to escape the field and mix in with my lot. I’ve rounded them all up, but I need a hand sorting out whose is whose.”

“I think we can manage that, can’t we girls?” my father replies, trying to hide the worry in his voice and distract Jason from looking in my direction. I still have my back to him, although I can see his reflection in the metal meat dish I have just washed up.

“I know you have your own cattle to sort out, so if I can just borrow these four lasses, I’m sure we can get the job done. Janice has gone to her mother’s for the afternoon, and won’t be back until this evening, so I’m on my own until then. Therefore it won’t matter if it’s Simon or your daughter who decides to come, it doesn’t bother me,” Jason responds. Turning in my direction he adds, “I assume you use a name other than Simon when out as a girl?”

There is an awkward silence in the room. I slowly turn round to face the old family friend, “I go by Jasmine now. You don’t have a problem with me being dressed like this?”

“Why would I?” the farmer shrugs, “you can count cattle just as well in a dress as jeans. Look, if you’re worried about my wife, don’t be. I’ve known for over a week about your change of lifestyle, and I’m okay with it. I figure you have your reasons and I can understand you wanting to keep it secret considering Janice’s tizzy over the subject.”

“How did you know about me?” I ask.

“I heard about the boy attending school as a girl, and how you reacted to it at the mardle-meet,” Jason answered, referring to the farmers’ wives get-together. “She was getting her knickers in a twist about a boy living as a girl. I personally couldn’t care less. Your parents asked me to look after the farm when they suddenly needed to go up the school. Then I see you coming home in a girl’s school uniform and I figured it must be connected. Can’t be more than one boy attending as a girl.”

“I thought you didn’t see us,” my father states.

“That I did,” Jason replies, “but figuring it be none of my business, I ducked back into the cow shed.”

We all just stand speechless that he knew and didn’t say anything.

“Wendy,” Jason turns to the elder girl, “Heard about your spat with your mother. Wish I could have seen the look on her face when you kissed Jill. If I knew what you were planning, I would have made sure to come and watch. As it was, I didn’t want any involvement with their stupid protest and figured I would be needed to step in and cover here on this farm if the Whittakers got called up the school.”

Having cleared the air, with it seeming that Jason doesn’t mind our revelations over gender and sexuality, the five of us - Jason and we four girls - drive over to the Yearly farm to help sort the cows. I stay in girl mode, not bothering to change out of my dress.

We collect the cows and bring them down to the yard. We set up some metal fencing, creating a corridor down which the cattle can walk. There is a Y-shaped fork in the chute we create, with gates so that we can send the cows in different directions.

Mary and Jill operate the flow control gates while Wendy and I persuade the herd to co-operate. They don’t seem to want to behave, so we have to reinforce the instructions using some lumps of two by four. Cows have thick hides, so you have to slap them fairly hard in order for them to feel it. Jason oversees the process and directs the cattle into the two pens. He identifies each beast by the numbered tag in their ears.

It takes us a couple of hours to set up the fencing, split the cattle, move them into separate fields, and then tidy everything up. After we finish we all head indoors for a well-earned cup of tea. Jason hands rounds some large bars of chocolate, having obviously bought some as a reward.

“Thanks, girls, I couldn’t manage that by myself,” Jason says. Looking at the clock he adds, “I better be getting you lot home, Janice will be back soon, and I suspect you won’t want to meet her.”

As I’m still in full girl mode, and could do without a confrontation at the moment, I decide it best to head off. As we drive back towards our own farm, Jason calls for me to duck as he recognises the car coming in the other direction. He waves to his wife as she passes, hopefully not recognising me between the two other girls on the back seat.

We spend the evening relaxing in front of the telly after a tiring but productive day.

It is with some trepidation that I enter the school on Monday. For the first time, I am openly entering the building without any head covering. Up until now, I have been too self-conscious to appear without my wig or headscarf, my hair being to masculine for my liking.

The only minor exception to this was when I turned up at school last week during the demonstration, but even then, I snuck past everybody and covered my head as quickly as possible once I was past the protesters.

I’m not keen on looking like a boy, and my new hairstyle is definitely feminine despite its ultra-short length. However, I’m concerned that it may be pushing the rules a fraction. The school likes students to appear businesslike, and reserves the right to send home any pupil with an outlandish hairstyle. I suspect my two-tone hair with shaved patterns may be of borderline compliance.

As soon as I walk into the classroom for registration, I’m drawing attention. I get several comments from the other girls, complimenting me on my haircut. Josh comments that it looks cute, which causes me to blush. This also gets him some ribbing from the boys, but everything is light-hearted and doesn’t appear to be nasty.

Mr Francis walks into the room and glances in my direction with raised eyebrows.

“Morning, Sir,” I say, “If this haircut is too radical for school, then I will go back to wearing my wig or headscarf. I wasn’t comfortable walking round with a male haircut and this is the best that we could come up with that’s at least somewhat feminine-looking given my short hair.”

The room has settled down and fallen silent, waiting to see if I’m in trouble. Mr Francis strokes his chin in contemplation before asking me to stand and slowly turn round so he can take in the full effect. Feeling slightly self-conscious with all eyes on me, I do as he requests.

“I can understand why you have opted for the style,” Mr Francis states, “and I think it suits you. You are pushing the limits of what is acceptable, but the rules are subjective and open to interpretation. I’m not going to reprimand you for it, but some of the other teachers may object. I suggest you keep your wig or headscarf handy and offer to cover you head if needs be.”

I smile and nod in relief. The register is taken and we all answer when our names are called in turn.

“We have an assembly this morning. However, I need Jasmine and Mary to remain here, don’t worry you’re not in trouble. The rest of you, please proceed to the drama studio,” Mr Francis instructs.

Everyone else gets up and departs leaving Mary and I behind. Mr Francis tells us that Dr Lambert would like to speak with us and will be along shortly. He then follows the class to the assembly to make sure they behave in an orderly fashion.

A minute later Dr Lambert shows up with Jill in tow. I assume she must want to talk about our home arrangements.

“Hello, girls,” Dr Lambert greets us as she takes a seat opposite where we’re sitting. Jill sits down on a nearby chair. “I need to speak with you all and this seemed the best time to do this. As you may know, I am the school counsellor, and in that capacity look after the welfare of the students. I am also the liaison for social services. In that capacity I need to speak to the two Miss Greens about their situation, and I would also like to talk to you, Miss Whittaker, about how you are getting on.”

“Fire away,” Jill responds. “We’ll go first as I suspect you may need more time with Jasmine, and if we overrun then it will only be one of us missing lessons.”

“Okay, Jasmine would you please wait outside?” Dr Lambert asks.

I go to stand up, but Jill puts a hand on my shoulder saying, “There is no need for Jasmine to leave, we are staying with her family, and I think that our lives are now intertwined in such a way that both subjects you want to discuss are closely linked and overlap.”

Dr Lambert looks at Mary, who has now grabbed my hand so that I don’t disappear. I shrug my shoulders.

“In that case, let’s begin,” declares Dr Lambert. “Jill, Mary, I understand you were abandoned by your mother and forced to leave your home.”

“The bitch has pissed off to Poland,” Mary angrily replies, “She was paying the rent by screwing the landlord, so it doesn’t take much to guess what happened once she sodded off with her new toy boy.”

“Luckily for us, Mr Whittaker turned up to pay us a visit, the same time as the landlord, and he was able to extract us from the situation,” Jill adds. “I have been bombarding that woman, who I refuse to refer to as my mother, with text messages and phone calls to her mobile in the hope that she actually decides to pay some attention to us. If the slut is actually sober enough she may be able to fax over a letter handing over guardianship of us to the Whittakers.”

“I’m guessing there is no need to ask your opinions of your mother,” Dr Lambert states, “That is quite obvious from your choice of language. How are you getting on living with the Whittakers?”

“It’s the lap of luxury compared to how we were living,” Jill answers. “We no longer have to worry about such things as the power going off due to unpaid bills, or the lack of hot water due to not being able to afford to heat it. We are provided with a balanced diet and don’t have to worry where the next meal is coming from. Despite what Jasmine may say, her parents are very nice people, and very accommodating and open-minded individuals.”

“Jasmine, how are you getting on now?” Dr Lambert enquires, “What are your thoughts on how the Greens regard your parents? I assume you are comfortable talking in front of them, or would you prefer to continue in private?”

“I regard these two as sisters. I have learnt my lesson and don’t keep secrets from family,” I reply in answer to her second question. I see Mary tear up at my description of our relationship, and I put my arm round her to comfort her.

“I must admit that I was wrong about my parents on a lot of things,” I declare, “they are nowhere near as intolerant and bigoted as I believed them to be. They haven’t murdered me, or disowned me and chucked me out, as I expected them to. In fact, they have been very supportive. Things are still a little tense, but they have been willing to accept me for what I am. They are also rebuilding bridges with my brother.”

“Are you seeing a psychiatrist now?” she asks. “I did write to your doctor and ask for him to arrange an appointment as swiftly as possible.”

“Sort of,” I reply, “I had a meeting with Dr Patel the weekend before last, which turned out to be a complete waste of time. We didn’t get on at all and ended up with a complete breakdown in communications. I am scheduled to see a Dr George in a fortnight’s time, so hopefully that will go a lot smoother. I met up with Dr Truman and an endocrinologist, Dr Stirzaker. They have placed me on a low dosage of hormones to maintain healthy bone growth, but not enough to send me into puberty in either direction.”

“It sounds like everything is going smoothly enough and that you are all happy with the situation,” Dr Lambert affirms, “You will be receiving a visit from a social worker to make sure everything is legal and above board, but I suspect Mr Whittaker has everything in order. If any of you want to speak to me in private, for any matter, come and find me.”

Dr Lambert leaves us alone in the empty classroom, there is still a minute or two before the rest of the students arrive back from assembly and the first lesson starts. Jill hugs both of us, and on her suggestion, we head to the bathroom for a wash so that nobody else knows that we have gotten emotional. Mary especially, is showing signs of having been crying. Jill also shed a tear. I am the only one who remained dry-eyed, but feel like I need to freshen up anyway.

We emerge just as the other students are passing the door heading towards the classroom. We slip out and follow them back to our homeroom to collect our bags and head to the first lesson. Jill sets off down the corridor in the opposite direction to do the same.

The day progresses well. Being a Monday means P.E., which once again means going into the changing rooms. My nervousness has now gone, as I’m not regarded as any different from the other girls. We are practicing hockey again, which although tiring, is fun.

My new hairstyle gets a few comments, but overall I don’t seem to have any trouble. Unfortunately, this changes during the last lesson of the day, which this week is Geography. Mrs Gardener - often referred to behind her back as ‘Grumpy Gardener’ - is an older woman with greying hair. She isn’t particularly liked and has a reputation for being strict and vindictive towards her students. She also comes across as being slightly old-fashioned in her values, often comparing modern teenage behaviour to an idealised view of how things were when she was young.

We operate a two-week timetable, and there are several slots that vary over the fortnight. This is one of them. We alternate between doing History and Geography on different weeks. This is the first time I will have been in Mrs Gardener’s lesson without my wig. I don’t think she has actually seen me in only a headscarf, although a memo was circulated to the teachers stating I wear a wig or headscarf for medical reasons.

I realise I have made a mistake as soon as I walk in the door. In retrospect, I would have been wise to put my wig on before entering. I did think about this at lunchtime, but I didn’t really give it much consideration until I walked in the door.

“Miss Whittaker, what on earth have you done to your hair?” Mrs Gardener shouts as I sit down.

The room falls silent as the rest of the students take their seats, waiting for my response. Everybody knows that once she gets started in a bad mood, she snaps at everyone. It’s looking like this is going to be a tiresome lesson right from the start. I decide there is no point in answering, as it’s obvious from looking what’s been done, therefore I assume it’s a rhetorical question.

“You had perfectly good hair, yet you’re openly flouting the school rules on sensible styles by cutting it ridiculously short and shaving patterns into the side,” she continues, “you are lucky you are not in my form, you would have been sent home at morning registration. In my day girls looked like girls, not trying to make themselves looks stupid or like boys in drag.”

That comment really hits a nerve. I can hear several of my friends gasp, and several pairs of worried eyes look in my direction, concerned about how I might react. I’m aware that short hair is associated with boys. I accept that. I’m also aware that I have masculine features, something that I actively try to combat. I have two basic responses to such comments. Either I become upset, or I become angry, depending on how comfortable I’m feeling about my appearance. As I am comfortable with how I look, the comment annoys me more than being hurtful.

“I take it you don’t like my choice of style,” I reply flatly. I can see Lisa wince out of the corner of my eye. She has obviously detected the anger in my speech, and having been on the receiving end of my last outburst, recognises the danger signs.

“No I do not,” Mrs Gardener confirms. “Who is your form tutor? I will be having words regarding your conduct.”

“Mr Francis, who is fully aware of why I have this unusual style, and hasn’t complained for the simple reason I can switch back to my previous haircut if anybody objects,” I state, pulling the wig out of my bag and placing it on my head. I have put it on enough times to know how to position it by feel without needing to look in a mirror. Several of my fellow students are trying to stifle giggles at my reaction.

Mrs Gardener just looks on speechless. I have caught her completely off guard. It’s obvious that she doesn’t pay much attention to the school memos that are sent round the teachers.

“I’ve always had short hair, I just kept it hidden. Up until now, I have been wearing my wig to lessons, as I agree that my hair was looking too masculine, and I certainly have no desire to appear as a boy in drag. I’ve had it styled to look more feminine and as this wig isn’t the most comfortable of headwear, I have opted to leave my head uncovered,” I declare. “If you prefer I can go back to wearing the wig, or alternatively I have the headscarf I was wearing last week, which isn’t as warm. I don’t like having my hair this short, but until it grows out, I can’t do much about it. Now if you have finished insulting my appearance, can we get on with the lesson?”

I see Mrs Gardener is taken aback by my response. She quickly recovers, turning from shocked back into angry, “How dare you speak to me like that? I will not have such insubordination in my class.”

“Just because you’re a teacher, it doesn’t make you god,” I reply, “nor does it give you automatic rights to insult and bully your students. You asked me what I had done to my hair, and I gave you an answer. If you don’t like the answer, then that is your problem.”

I keep eye contact with Mrs Gardener, but out of the corner of my eye, I can see the concerned reaction from my classmates. The last person to speak to this teacher in this manner was put in isolation for a week and had to take all their lessons in Mr Holroyd’s office. Mr Holroyd is our deputy headmaster and is responsible for overseeing disruptive students.

Mrs Gardener obviously doesn’t like my answer, but she angrily starts the lesson anyway. The subject we are covering is agricultural land use, something that I have a better understanding of than the majority of students, due to growing up on a farm.

After lecturing us on the subject, she starts to snipe questions at us. I seem to be coming in for a lot of attention from Mrs Gardener, with two thirds of the questions being aimed in my direction, and the other third at the usual suspects that she doesn’t like. However, unlike the normal targets of her abuse - the students who don’t do well academically in this subject or are otherwise unruly - I can actually answer the questions correctly. This seems to annoy her even more.

This routine continues for twenty minutes, and the tension in the room is not diminishing.

“Jasmine, I suppose you would know the major environmental impact of cows?” Mrs Gardener sarcastically throws the question in my direction.

“Firstly, they’re not cows,” I say pointing to the crappy photograph that the teacher is projecting onto the screen at the front of the class, “they’re bulls. You can try and milk them if you like, but the fluid you would get wouldn’t be drinkable.”

This causes some laughter from a few of the students, which annoys Mrs Gardener even more, and she applies a Paddington hard stare at the pupils emitting the sound.

“There are three major outputs from the cattle industry: Milk, Meat and Methane,” I continue to say, “You want to cut down on the greenhouse gases, stop worrying about cars or building stupid wind farms, and find a way to make cows fart less.”

“Wind farms aren’t stupid. They are an important source of clean energy, and watch your language,” Mrs Gardener replies angrily.

Great, it would appear that Mrs Gardener is an environmentalist, the emphasis being on the mental aspect. This is another pet peeve of mine, and I roll my eyes as I state, “Wind isn’t constant and therefore not a reliable source of energy. In order to have power when the wind drops you have to have a conventional power station on standby to take over. You can’t simply fire a power station up at a moment’s notice, they have to be running constantly whether they are putting power into the grid or not, they are still burning fuel. The more wind farms you build, the more conventional power stations you need to provide backup. Therefore, they don’t actually reduce the carbon dioxide emissions. That is without including the amount of energy you need to make the things in the first place, which greatly increases their carbon footprint.”

“I have had enough of your insolence, young lady,” the teacher angrily declares. “How would you like to spend the rest of the lesson in Mr Holroyd’s office?”

“That suits me fine,” I reply sharply. “Perhaps then I can get an education from somebody who knows what they are talking about, rather than from someone who can’t even tell the difference between a cow and a bull.”

I am at the end of my temper, and I can feel my head pounding again. I snatch my exercise book and pen off the desk, grab my bag, and start to head out of the door as Mrs Gardener completely loses her temper. Ignoring her raving, I calmly walk out into the corridor as an object whizzes past my head and smashes the glass in the door. Catching the object, the whiteboard eraser, I continue away from the classroom.

I walk through the empty corridors round to Mr Holroyd’s office. It is situated opposite the library and only a short distance through the school from where I have just come. I knock on the door, but don’t receive an answer. I wait a few second before knocking again and opening the door slightly. Poking my head round the door, I find the room to be unoccupied.

I enter the office, closing the door behind me. I don’t know where our deputy head is, but as this is where I was instructed to go, I decide this is as good a place as any to wait for the end of the lesson. As well as the teacher’s desk, there is a second desk set up for any unruly students sent for supervision. Pulling my exercise books out, I sit at the desk in the corner and start to do some of my homework.

Working in silence, I’m able to relax and my headache goes away again as I calm down. I could really do without the stress of arguing with teachers.

About ten minutes before the end of the lesson, the door opens and Mr Henry enters the room.

“Ah, there you are. We were wondering where you got to,” he states.

“I guess I’m going to be in detention again?” I answer.

Mr Henry brings the chair out from behind Mr Holroyd’s desk and sits down beside me. He asks for my side of the story, so I explain the events leading up to my walking out. I hand him the whiteboard eraser.

“Thank you, Jasmine,” he says. “What you have told me corroborates what the other students have reported. After you walked out several other students got up and started to leave. Mrs Gardener continued shouting, and a couple of the other teachers in neighbouring classrooms intervened and took her to the staffroom. I was phoned to come and take over the lesson. Mr Holroyd was covering in one of the nearby classrooms, and is keeping an eye on things.”

“I’m sorry if I overreacted, but I refuse to be insulted without good reason,” I reply. “Mrs Gardener overstepped her authority, and I admit I lost my temper as well, but I stand by my actions.”

“Don’t worry; I think you did the right thing. It also appears that the whole incident has been recorded. I have listened to the outbursts by both of you, and Mrs Gardener will be taking leave until further notice,” Mr Henry states. Seeing my puzzlement he continues, “Charles recorded everything: something Mrs Gardener forgot about.”

Charley is one of the boys in the class. He is partially deaf and wears two large hearing aids all the time. Because he doesn’t always catch what is being said, he has an MP3 player hanging round his neck and he records all his lessons in case he needs to refer to them later. Such devices are usually banned, but he has been given an exception.

He normally keeps it out of sight under his shirt, with the only evidence of its existence being a small microphone on his collar. As such, most people don’t realise it’s there, or forget about its presence, as I had done. It seems that he had it operational from the outset and it’s recorded our argument.

I’m led back to the classroom. As soon as I enter, I’m immediately surrounded in a group hug by my friends. It seems they were worried I might have done something stupid. I think I scared Lisa when I broke down last time.

We wait patiently until the final bell of the day. We are dismissed and head towards our lockers to collect our things. The route takes us past the staff room. As we approach, the door opens and Mrs Gardener emerges. On seeing me, she immediately becomes irate and starts shouting abuse at me, storming forward in my direction.

The difference this time is that she has obviously become aware of my status, as she is now accusing me of being a pervert and using male pronouns.

A large Year 11 boy steps between us, preventing her from reaching me. The young man is getting on for six feet and would appear to be well-built. He physically blocks her approach as I back away. Mr Henry shouts from behind me for the woman to calm down. He had been following us back through the school on his way to the main office.

Mrs Gardener, seeing that all eyes are on her, decides to retreat and returns to the staff room, escorted by several other members of staff.

“Nothing to see here,” Mr Henry says loudly to the gathered crowd, “please be on your way.”

He is looking directly at me during the last statement, so I take the hint and get out of the way before anything else happens.

The confrontation in the corridor has shaken me up. The sudden shock of the abuse has set my head pounding again as the adrenaline hits me. My vision has started to de-saturate again as it did when I confronted Bart and David. I manage to make it to the cycle sheds, but as soon as I’ve ridden out of the grounds I have to come to a halt. The thumping of my heartbeat in my ears is becoming deafening as my vision starts to fade further.

We pull up at a children’s playground near the school. I can’t ride any further, and get off my bike. I swing the stand down, leaving the bike by itself. I quickly sit on a nearby swing before I collapse. My legs are shaking and I can barely stand, let alone cycle. I grab onto the chains holding the seat, wrapping my shaking arms round and grabbing the metal tightly to stop myself from falling off. I close my eyes, as I can no longer see for the tears streaming down my face.

I can faintly hear my friends speaking, but can’t make out what they are saying. It seems to be getting dark, which is unusual as we should be several hours off sunset.

---

 

The flashing blue light catches my attention. I groan as a bright light is shined into my left eye, temporarily blinding me.

“Jasmine, can you hear me?” an unfamiliar male voice enquires.

“Who?” I reply, my brain still rebooting, “Oh yeah, that’s me isn’t it.”

I feel extremely disorientated, my initial reaction being why I’m being called Jasmine and not Simon. I look around. I am sitting on the ground under a swing. The blue light is from an ambulance parked on the road in front of me and a paramedic in a green uniform is shining a light in my eyes.

I feel a tightness round my arm as a second medic takes my blood pressure. He is reading off numbers and noting them on a clipboard. I finally regain my senses and realise where I am.

“What happened?” I ask. “Why am I sitting on the ground, and where did you come from?”

“What is the last thing you remember?” the paramedic asks.

“I was feeling shaky so I got off my bike and sat on the swing,” I reply, patting the plastic seat that is hanging behind me. “Did I pass out?”

“You have been out of it for about a quarter of an hour,” Mary says. “When you fainted and started to bleed from your nose we were seriously worried so we called 999.”

I notice that Jill and Wendy are missing. Dr Lambert is standing to one side talking with the ambulance driver. I guess one of the girls must have dashed back to the school for assistance.

“Your blood pressure is dangerously high,” explains the paramedic, “we think this may have caused your blackout and nosebleed. Have you passed out before?”

“Yes, and I’ve come close a couple of times while under high stress. My vision goes grey and gloomy. My head is pounding. My blood pressure has been measured as above average several times recently, but never as high as it is now,” I reply.

“Have you been taking any medication recently?” the man enquires.

“I was put on a low-dosage contraceptive pill a week ago,” I reply, “is that likely to be a factor?”

I’m asked for the exact drug and dosage, which I give. Apparently, one of the side effects can be an increase in blood pressure. They therefore decide to take me to the Hospital. As I’m being helped into the ambulance, my parents pull up in the Land Rover. My mother dashes across, and after I verify her identity, she joins us in the back of the ambulance and we head off towards the hospital.

My father is left behind with the vehicle. He will presumably follow us once he has collected the girls and our bikes.

I still feel dizzy and my head keeps pounding as we ride to the hospital with me lying down in the back of the ambulance.

I am wheeled into the casualty department where I’m hooked up to a monitor. Several vials of blood are drawn for analysis. I’m given an injection of sodium nitroprusside, which immediately starts to reduce the pressure. I’m told to lie still and try to relax.

After an hour, I’m moved across from Accident and Emergency into the Emergency Assessment and Discharge Unit for observation.

It is an hour and a half later when Dr Stirzaker comes to the side room in which I’ve been placed. Given my unique medical status and my age, I have been separated from the main bays.

“Jasmine, Mrs Whittaker,” the doctor greets us as he checks the readings on the charts, “I’ve just been reviewing the results of the blood tests. It seems you have been suffering from high blood pressure for a while, but it looks to have shot up. Examining your tests it appears it may be a reaction to the hormone tablets. They can sometimes cause high blood pressure as a side effect, but you have had a stronger than usual reaction.”

“Does this mean I can’t take female hormones at all? Was the initially high pressure due to the herbal tablets I was taking before?” I ask, worried that I may never be able to develop fully as a girl. That would be highly ironic, and not something I really want to consider.

“It’s not the hormone itself, at least not the naturally-produced substance. We have done some allergy tests and it seems you react to specific types of artificial substitutes,” Dr Stirzaker explains. “What I would like to do is change how we administer the treatment. I’m going to give you higher-dose monthly injections combined with a different daily pill that shouldn’t cause an issue. I am going to let your blood pressure settle down over the next couple of hours, then I will give you your first shot while we have you here for observation so that we can make sure there are no nasty side effects this time.”

We agree to his suggestion, and I settle down for a long evening and potentially uncomfortable night in hospital. Trying to sleep on a busy ward is never an easy thing. Luckily, I’m in a side room, which helps to reduce the noise.

My father arrives bringing a nightgown and overnight bag for me with him. On my insistence, I send both of them home in the evening. I don’t see any point in them hanging around. The girls are looking after the farm as best they can while my parents are here with me.

By nine in the evening my blood pressure has stabilised to a more acceptable level, but is still slightly higher than average. At ten, the duty doctor administers the hormone injection. I finally get to sleep somewhere near midnight.

I wake in the morning feeling exceedingly nauseous, and I run to the on suite bathroom to throw up. I press the buzzer for the nurse and she comes in while I’m retching. The hormone injection is obviously very potent, and it has given me morning sickness. I get a visit from Dr Stirzaker shortly after breakfast, which I manage to eat despite not being very hungry. It seems I am very sensitive to female hormones as my reaction to them is stronger than normal.

The good news is that the injection hasn’t affected my blood pressure, it is still stable but high. I’m prescribed tablets to control this, and take the first dose once they are sent up from the pharmacy.

I spend the morning watching telly while I’m monitored. Daytime TV is dire, but there is nothing else to do, so I find the least atrocious programme to watch to pass the time. I’m discharged from the hospital after lunch with a blood pressure monitor and a course of tablets. I’m instructed on how to monitor the levels, and given instruction on what to do if it rises above a safe point.

My father drives me home in the Jag, and I lie on the couch in the front room watching DVDs. As soon as I’m home, my blood pressure drops by several percent.

I’m not allowed to help and confined to the couch for the evening, with the other girls taking the bulk of the chores so that I can rest.

I have had enough by the evening, when I’m not even allowed to get up to get a snack without everybody insisting they should do it for me.

“Hold you hard,” I angrily shout. “I’m fed up of being mollycoddled. I’m not going to sit here and do nowt. I’m not an invalid and this is getting on my wick, which isn’t going to do my blood pressure any good. If I have to sit through another episode of Jeremy sodding Kyle then I’ll explode. Stop fussing!”

“Okay, don’t put on your parts,” my father replies, “what would you like to do?”

“Get back to my normal routine. I have the monitor and know what to do if I look like I’m getting another hypertension attack,” I answer. “I will go back to school tomorrow morning as normal. I also fully intend to go to the governors’ meeting Thursday evening. I know it will be stressful, but it will be a lot more stressful to sit at home wondering what is being said than being there.”

Reluctantly my parents agree, but I’m to keep to light duties. As I didn’t sleep very well in the hospital, I take an early night.

I’m up slightly later Wednesday morning. Mary sneakily turned the alarm clock off, so neither of us wakes until half past seven, an hour and a half after everybody else. Mary and I are put on packed lunch duty as Jill, Wendy and my parents are already seeing to the animals.

We leave slightly earlier for the cycle to school. I insist on going by bike as normal, but we allow extra time so the ride is at a more leisurely pace.

We arrive at school on time and head to registration. My friends are eager to see me and are glad that I’m all right. They were concerned when they heard I had collapsed spewing blood from my nose. After explaining the problem and reassuring everyone I’m fine, we proceed to lessons.

The day progresses well. I think everybody is being cautious around me again. I had a bit of this when I first came out, but things had returned to somewhat normal. I now have people wondering how to treat me once more. I catch up on notes from missed lessons from Alison, Mary and Josh. Charles gives me a CD containing audio files for the lessons I share with him. Also included is the audio file of Monday’s Geography lesson in case I need it.

The school secretary comes to my classroom shortly before the bell signifying the end of the morning’s lessons, and asks that I come to the office at the start of the lunch period. When the teacher dismisses us, I head as instructed to the reception desk, where I’m directed into Mr Henry’s office.

My father is there waiting for me as I enter the room. I am asked to sit down, and told not to worry. The first thing I’m asked to do is take a blood pressure reading, which I do, and it turns out to be fine.

“We are talking about how to handle the governors’ meeting tomorrow evening,” my father explains. “I know you want to attend, but we are worried about the pressure that may put you under.”

“It will be a lot less stressful being there than sitting at home worrying about what’s being said,” I reply.

“I thought you might say that,” my father observes.

“I have been giving this some consideration,” Mr Henry begins. “We need to maintain your anonymity, but also it would be handy if you were on hand to answer questions should they arise. I was wondering how you would feel about a remote video linkup. Due to the demand to attend, we are setting up a live web broadcast that can be viewed using any of the student, teacher, or parent logins on our website. This will allow a lot more people to virtually attend the meeting and pose questions. It also helps keep control of the situation as we can filter nasty comments and pull the plug if things start to go wrong. Anybody who has a history of hostility, such as some of those who took part in the demonstration, will only be allowed to attend virtually.”

I know that my attendance as a girl is a hot topic and likely to pose a lot of interest. This seems like a sensible suggestion so that anybody who wants to view the proceedings can do so without the school running out of room to fit everybody in. I hope our servers are up to the load that they may be under as a result.

“We will be videoing and broadcasting via the school media suite. If you can be in the control room then you can watch and provide feedback. I will be wearing an earpiece so that you can relay messages if needed,” he adds.

This sounds like a decent plan. If things go pear-shaped then we can lock ourselves in the control room out of harm’s way. I agree to the idea.

I ask about the likely outcome of the meeting, and Mr Henry explains that he doesn’t think there will be a problem. He has spoken to several of the governors, and he knows that he at least has some support. He also has a few tricks up his sleeve, but refuses to say what they are. All attendees will be asked to submit their main questions in advance, and one of my more vocal adversaries, Mrs Baxter, will be acting as spokesperson for the counterargument.

I smile and chuckle as I hear who is going to be doing the speaking. This puzzles the two adults so I explain, “Mrs Baxter is one of the Tennis Club officials I met on Saturday. She happened to come into the changing rooms to hand her niece a towel while I was drying myself from the shower. She then took us all to lunch. At no point did she seem to twig that I’m transgender, even when she commented on my hair. I would suggest that you steer clear of my wearing a wig, as that may cause her to put two and two together.”

Mr Henry invites me to make a statement. This gives me an idea and I ask if it could take the form of a distorted sound recording played back over the speakers. He doesn’t seem to think that would be a problem, and that he will speak to Mr Page, the IT teacher, about the idea.

We discuss the arrangements for the following evening before I head off to lunch with the other girls, who are eager to find out why I had to go to the office.

The rest of the day goes well, and after meeting up with my foster sisters, we set off for the ride back to the farm.

As we are about to cycle up from the main road and into the farmyard, I notice a strange car parked outside the house. Not knowing who might be calling, I swiftly do a one-eighty and head back towards the road. I shout to the other girls that I will be back shortly in neutral mode. Wendy decides to join me, worried about my blood pressure, figuring that this may be stressful.

I decide to play safe and change out of girl mode. Rather than going to full boy mode, I will instead dress in a completely androgynous fashion so that it won’t matter if whoever is waiting is expecting a girl or a boy.

I swiftly cycle to the bunker and change into the jeans, baggy shirt, and fleece that I have left for emergencies. Hiding the uniform in my school bag, we cycle back towards the farm. I am wearing a dark blue headscarf and I have covered my earrings with tape. I put the bike in the barn and cautiously walk over to the house.

My mother is sitting in the kitchen drinking tea when I enter. I see a smile on my mother’s face when she sees how I’m dressed.

“Take the headscarf off Jasmine, you don’t need it,” she says. “Mrs Monroe from Social Services is here, and she already knows about your change of gender from speaking with the school.”

I have met Mrs Monroe before, as Simon, when she visited me after the incident with Mike. She interviewed me to see if I needed to be placed on an ‘at risk’ register after my father whacked Mike.

“She is interviewing Jill and Mary at the moment, and has already inspected the bedrooms, as we discussed,” she says, meaning that as far as Mrs Monroe is concerned Wendy is just visiting, Jill is alone in Mike’s room and Mary is in the guest room. Luckily, we have hung some of Mary’s clothes in that room, as there is limited storage space in mine.

“We have had a stroke of luck. It seems Jill’s mother received the messages left on her phone and has actually faxed us a letter giving us power of attorney over the girls. It’s crude and badly written, but Mrs Monroe has accepted it as genuine,” my mother states but is interrupted by the opening of the door to the front room. The sisters emerge followed by the social worker.

“Ah, I see you have arrived home,” Mrs Monroe states on seeing me. “As I have the opportunity I would like to interview you as well.”

I follow her back into the front room and she closes the door behind her. I am slightly nervous as to what she may ask.

“I was wondering where you had got to when you didn’t arrive home with the other girls,” Mrs Monroe declares.

“I did arrive at the same time, but I was in full girl mode,” I explain. “I saw your car parked outside, and not recognising it, decided to err on the side of caution. I took a detour to change clothing. Not everybody knows about my lifestyle and I know some people might not approve, therefore I decided to appear in neutral mode until I knew who I was dealing with.”

Mrs Monroe nods, then after checking her notes says, “I understand that you have changed names since our last meeting, Simone?”

“Jasmine,” I reply, “I’ve changed my name by deed poll from Simon J Whittaker to Jasmine Simone Whittaker.”

“Dr Lambert has given me some notes on your case, I was quite surprised when I found out you were living as a girl,” she states, “although I always suspected that you were hiding something in our previous meetings, and I thought perhaps you were gay.”

“I suppose that I would have to class myself as bisexual, but I do lean heavily in one direction,” I openly declare, “I’m a lot more attracted to boys than girls, so depending on how you classify me I’m either a heterosexual female or homosexual male. I prefer the former classification.”

Mrs Monroe nods and jots down some notes on her pad before asking, “How are things here at home? I understand that you were attending as a girl, without your parent’s knowledge, and were frightened about their reaction. Do you still feel threatened?”

“No,” I answer, “It turns out most of my fears were unjustified. They have accepted me for what I am, and although things are still tense as we all adjust, everything is going well. I was working under the assumption that as they didn’t except one son as being homosexual, they would have greater issue in the other being transgender. However, their attitude has changed somewhat since the incident with Mike. My parents have done a lot of reflecting and are no longer as hostile to alternative lifestyles.”

“Now, Jasmine, how do you feel about effectively gaining two sisters?” she enquires.

“I don’t mind in the least. Mary is one of my best friends, and Jill has been nothing but nice to me since we met. Admittedly we have only gotten to know each other since school began, but I have no problem with either of them,” I reply.

“Last time we talked I got the impression you were a bit of a loner, has that changed? Are you making more friends now?” she queries.

“Yes. Most of the troublemakers for me are going to Lakeside instead of Brahms. I’m getting a lot less agro since starting high school. I now have several close friends, including Mary. Except for a few negative incidents, I have actually been surprised at the support and friendship I have been receiving from my fellow classmates,” I say with a smile. “I was always trying to hide my true nature, and that made me introverted and shy. Since outwardly presenting as a girl, I’ve become a lot more open and relaxed, and that has helped me form friends, rather than pushing them away.”

Mrs Monroe makes some more notes before closing her notebook declaring that I’m officially not at risk, and no longer need to be on her case files. We proceed to the kitchen where the others are waiting to hear her findings.

“I think the arrangements here are perfectly acceptable,” she announces, “I see no reason why Jill and Mary can’t continue to live here. Mrs Green has effectively arranged private foster care for her daughters, although somewhat belatedly. I find her behaviour deplorable and I can fully understand your wishes to have no further contact with your mother. I will liaise with the benefits office to make sure that any entitlements are paid directly to Mr and Mrs Whittaker.”

A sigh of relief goes round the room. The authorities could have insisted on rehoming the girls, possibly separately if a place could not be found for both of them. Our past involvement with Social Services, investigating if I was at risk after the fight between my parents and my brother, could have been a sticking point that prevented us being a suitable family. I think the change in attitude following my transition has done a lot to dispel any negatives in that matter.

Mrs Monroe bids us farewell and we wave as she disappears down the track to the road and away from the farm.

I decide to take the opportunity to change into something more comfortable. I head up to my room and put on a summer dress, which helps me relax and lowers my blood pressure, which had risen a fraction while speaking with Mrs Monroe. I get out a pad and pen, descend back down to our front room, and start to jot down some notes for the idea I had for the meeting tomorrow.

I am lying on the couch when the phone rings. My mother gets up and answers it.

“Oh, hi, Susan,” my mother responds to the person on the other end. She listens for a few minutes before answering, “Thanks for the offer, but we’ll actually be there at the school. Simon has volunteered to help out with refreshments, so will be there anyway. We thought we might as well attend and give him a lift at the same time.”

The is a pause as Susan talks again before my mother speaks, “From what the girls were telling me, they have only banned parents who have already been openly hostile and they fear may cause trouble, basically anyone on the demo. As we weren’t there, we haven’t been asked not to go.”

The conversation continues for a few minutes, with my mother saying that we will see Susan Friday, before hanging up.

“Susan is inviting all the consortium members to her house to watch the web broadcast,” my mother explains. “You heard my response. Susan isn’t exactly pleased that we get to go, but it’s her own fault she was banned. Therefore I’m representing the views of our friends, or at least that’s what they believe.”

“What’s this about Friday?” my father asks.

“It’s a post-meeting get-together to either celebrate success, or plan the next course of action,” my mother replies. “Grace is going to host it.”

“I think it may be an idea to have it here instead,” I say. “It’s time to finally introduce the terrible trio to the new me.”

“Are you sure?” my father asks.

I nod, “We can’t go on double-crossing them like this. The longer we leave it the worse it will become. If the board goes the way we think it will, then they will have run out of arguments. The final revelation may finally shut them up for good.”

My mother agrees and says she will make the arrangements tomorrow.

I’m once again relegated to sandwich duty on Thursday morning before school while everybody else deals with the farm work. Having made sure that everybody has their packed lunch, I join the other girls cycling to school.

The day progresses as normal, without incident. I measure my blood pressure at regular intervals. When it comes to P.E., I give the teacher a note explaining my condition. I have been told I can exercise as normal, as long as I keep my blood pressure monitored. If it starts to climb then I need to stop. I take things easy, and don’t have any problems. It would appear the change in medication has done its job.

On arriving home, my sisters change out of their uniforms and attend to chores. As I’m returning for the meeting, I remain in my school clothes. Instead, I don an apron and attend to the evening meal. We make sure to eat early so that we have plenty of time and don’t need to rush.

My parents change into their best clothes, and we leave the farm in the capable hands of Wendy, Jill and Mary as we climb into the Jaguar for the short ride back into town. I’m slightly apprehensive, and hope that my final test of acceptance at school goes according to plan.

---

 

We arrive a good half-hour before the meeting is due to begin, and instead of going to the drama studio where it is going to take place, we go to the main school office. Mr Page, the school’s IT teacher, is waiting for us.

My parents and I are shown to the media suite. It’s a classroom fitted out as a small TV Studio, which is used for teaching Media Studies. We are shown into the control booth where on-screen is a picture of the empty stage where the school governors will be sitting.

Mr Henry walks into shot and states, “Hello. Testing, one, two, three, four. Can you hear me okay?”

“We can hear and see you clearly. Are you receiving us?” Mr Page replies.

“Yes, I can hear you fine. Did I see Jasmine and her parents arrive a few minutes ago?” Mr Henry asks.

“Yes, they are here now,” Mr Page answers and we say hello over the microphone in front of us.

Mr Page explains the setup to us. We will spend the meeting in the control booth. The meeting is being filmed and we will be watching the direct feed from the cameras. Mr Henry has the remote earpiece normally used by the camera operators to hear instructions. This way we can give him information without anybody else hearing, and he can ask us questions without revealing my identity.

It isn’t long before people start turning up for the meeting. In addition to the twelve governors, I estimate there are around fifty spectators consisting of teachers, parents and students.

Mr Henry calls the meeting to order, “Good evening, and welcome everybody to this special governors’ meeting. This meeting has been called to discuss issues related to school policy and in particular, how it relates to one of our students. Now I know a number of people in this room know the identity of the individual in question, however, I must ask that the student isn’t mentioned by name. The school has a duty to protect our students, and revealing their name could put them in danger. We also have a duty to protect the privacy of a minor.”

One of the parent governors, Mrs Baxter, then takes over, directing questions towards Mr Henry. She starts by asking, “Why is the administration allowing a boy to dress as a girl and disrupt the school environment by openly flouting uniform rules?”

“The uniform rules aren’t being broken,” Mr Henry replies. “The current school dress code was brought into effect eleven years ago, and has been reviewed every three years since. In order to make sure that all school polices meet diversity and equal opportunities standards, all references of gender are excluded wherever possible. For this reason, we don’t have separate dress codes for male and female students. The girls can come to school wearing trousers, which a large number do, or indeed, boys are fully allowed to wear skirts if they so wish.”

There is a projector set up at the front of the room, onto which the school website is being displayed. The rules are brought up and the paragraphs highlighted to demonstrate the point.

“There have been a number of instances in the last few years where male students have attended wearing traditionally feminine attire without issue,” Mr Henry explains. “For example, six months ago one of our male year ten students broke his leg in several places. Due to the nature of his injuries, he was given permission to wear tracksuit bottoms, as his normal school trousers wouldn’t fit over his plaster cast. However, the student still found it awkward to get the loose fitting leggings over the cast. After a few days of frustration, he decided it would be a lot easier to get a skirt on and off, so opted to wear the feminine garment instead.”

“Several months before that we had a group of five male students raise money for charity by coming to school in skirts for a week,” Mr Henry adds. “In both these cases, no school rules were broken, and the disruption to school activities was minimal. While there was some initial novelty with each case, it didn’t prove to be a problem. I have no evidence of any problems because of the uniform policy or its application.”

“Why is a boy being allowed to use the girl’s changing and toilet facilities?” Mrs Baxter asks.

“The student in question is a male to female transsexual in the process of switching genders. It is inaccurate to refer to her as a boy. Although born male, she is now more feminine than masculine. The student has been examined by Dr Truman,” Mr Henry states, gesturing to the doctor, on the governing board as a member of the community, who nods. “Following that examination, and an interview with Dr Lambert, we have concluded that the student should be regarded as a girl.”

“That does not answer the question. The obvious course of action would be to exclude the student from the changing facilities and make alternative arrangements,” Mrs Baxter replies, “My understanding is that this student was only examined a fortnight ago, several weeks after the start of term. Why was this person given access to the changing facilities in the first place?”

“Initially, we did not realise that the person in question was actually male,” Mr Henry states, “For those of you who didn’t attend the last meeting or read the minutes, I need to explain a couple of incidents that occurred over the summer. During the school holidays, a former student hacked into the school network and implanted a malicious virus into our systems. A large number of records were damaged and the net result was that we had to retype a large amount of data into our systems in a short space of time from incomplete paper records. You may also remember that we had a fire here a few months ago that destroyed the school offices. We managed to restore most of the records in time for the start of the year, but we weren’t able to recover fully all our data and there have been a number of errors found in the records.”

Mr Henry pauses to sip some water, and then continues, “On the first day of term, we had to correct the records of twenty-three of the new students. The majority of errors related to having the wrong address against the students, but there were also a number of spelling errors on names. This particular student has only one letter different between the male and female versions of her name. The person looked convincingly feminine, and given that we had already corrected a number of typos, we assumed that this was another data entry problem, compounded by having entered the male name by mistake; the typist automatically put ‘M’ into the gender field.”

“Are you honestly saying that you were unable to tell if you are looking at a boy or a girl?” Mrs Baxter asks sarcastically.

“I thought you might ask that,” Mr Henry declares, “please can the volunteers from the ‘A’ Level Drama class step forward?”

Six sixth form students make their way from the back row of seating to the front of the room. Three boys line up on the left and three girls on the right.

“We have here three girls and three boys. However, two of the students are currently disguised as the opposite gender,” Mr Henry explains. “My question to you and the audience, here and online, is which of the girls is a boy, and which of the boys is a girl?”

Mr Henry then conducts a show of hands for each of the apparent boys to indicate whom the audience thinks is the girl. These are combined with the votes cast via the web interface from the online viewers. Mr Page combines the scores and reads the percentages back.

The first masculinely dressed individual has short red hair and acne. The persons face is fairly square, the body being thin and straight with no obvious feminine curves.

The second person is muscular, the shirt being pulled tight round bulging muscular arms. This individual is the tallest of the three and broad-shouldered with dark black hair drawn into a short low ponytail.

The third supposed male in the line-up has long shoulder length hair loosely flowing round their oval-shaped face. The clothes being worn are baggy and hide any clues as to the body shape. The slightly slumped shoulders and bad posture looks to be slightly forced. This person is definitely the most feminine appearing of the three, but I suspect that this is too obvious to be the girl.

It would appear most of the audience have fallen for the trick as seventy percent opt for number three, with a quarter opting for number one and only a few people choosing the middle option.

There is an audible gasp when the tall masculine figure steps forward and introduces herself as Sophie. She undoes the shirt and slips it off revealing that the muscular arms and torso are actually padding. Removing the pad from her chest reveals an ample cleavage in a strapless bra.

The exercise is then repeated for the line-up of girls.

It is a much harder task to distinguish between them, as all three are very similar in appearance. Each of them is wearing the school uniform of polo shirt and knee-length skirt. They are all around the same height, only a few inches separating them. They all have bare, hairless legs and arms, and each has a noticeable hourglass figure.

I look closely at the faces, or at least as well as the screen I am looking at allows. All three have similar facial shapes, they all have long brown hair and delicately-shaped eyebrows. I know all the tricks and clues to look for, but even I can’t tell which girl is the imposter.

The votes are collected and it becomes immediately obvious that nobody else can tell either as the vote is split reasonably evenly between the three.

“Would the boy in the group please step forward and identify himself?” Mr Henry asks.

The person on the far right steps forward and removes the wig from his head to reveal a crew cut. Reaching into the top of his shirt, he pulls out two foam breast forms from the bra beneath.

“Thank you, Stuart, I think you have proved the point,” Mr Henry declares. “It isn’t possible to determine gender from simply looking at somebody. The student in question is equally as feminine-looking, and passes easily as a girl.”

I wouldn’t say that I pass that well, I have to work at it still, but I admit I haven’t been read yet by people who don’t know me. The only trouble I have had so far is from people who are aware I’m male.

“I take your point. That explains why the mistake could have been made in the first place, but why wasn’t it immediately corrected at the earliest opportunity?” Mrs Baxter responds.

“It was,” Mr Henry replies. “I didn’t think it much point trying to verify anything with the student, as if they were deliberately lying then they would continue to do so. I tried to get in touch with the parents, only to find that the contact details were corrupted.”

“I added it to the list for later verification and correction. This pupil comes from one of our regular middle school intakes, and wasn’t the only pupil to be joining from the same source. I therefore expected that if the student previously attended as a boy, then they would be recognised by classmates and would soon be identified as an imposter,” Mr Henry adds. “That didn’t happen. Therefore, I assumed there wasn’t a problem. I didn’t want to question any of the students and cause further embarrassment over the already stressful situation. By the time that the person had been verified as male from previous records, the pupil was already attending as a girl, and had participated in physical education lessons.”

“That explains why the student was initially granted access, but why wasn’t the student removed when the mistake became known?” Mrs Baxter counters.

Mr Henry answers, “On discovering the problem, a meeting was called involving all the girls who had been sharing the changing room during lessons with the student in question. This provoked a candid discussion where the student put her case forward to her peers. A blind ballot was then conducted in which all the students involved voted to allow the person to continue to share the facilities. In fact the vote was done a second time five days later with the same result. If any of them were to have refused, then we would have sought to make alternative arrangements. However, that has not happened, and until I receive a valid complaint, I see no reason that the arrangement can’t stay in place.”

“I have here a petition to have the person removed, signed by several dozen parents,” Mrs Baxter holds up a document.

“I said, ‘valid complaints.’ The only people who can validly make a complaint are those students who have to share the facilities with the person in question,” Mr Henry replies, “The names on the petition don’t count.”

“You say that the students who share the facilities during P.E. were consulted, but what about other students who may come into contact with him at other times?” Mrs Baxter asks. “Is he free to use the changing rooms outside of lessons where he could walk in on an unsuspecting girl? Also, this doesn’t answer the question about his use of the toilet facilities?”

“In respect to the toilet facilities, all disrobing is done behind closed cubicle doors, so no-one using those facilities should ever see another person in a state of undress, especially in the girls’ bathroom. If this was a female to male transsexual using the boys’ bathrooms, then you may have an argument, as boys using urinals stand in the open,” Mr Henry says. “However, I can vouch from personal experience that you don’t tend to see much when using such facilities, unless you deliberately position yourself in order to look, which is not considered polite behaviour in bathroom etiquette.”

“I take your point regarding the bathrooms,” Mrs Baxter concedes. “But that isn’t the case in the changing rooms. There you are likely to encounter individuals in various stages of undress, especially in the communal showers.”

“True,” Mr Henry replies. “This is where we come to the main reason why I am allowing this student to attend as a girl. This student has already been using the girls’ changing room, including showering with the other girls at the end of P.E. lessons, without anybody realising. The student was able to walk naked through a room full of girls, without any of them questioning her appearance.”

Mr Henry pauses while some of the audience, who were not aware of the full details, gasp aloud at the revelation. He then continues, “I think that in itself is justification for the student to be permitted to use the female facilities rather than the male. Forcing a person who physically appears to be female into the boys’ changing room would cause embarrassment not only to the student in question, but also the boys using the facilities who may be uncomfortable with the arrangement.”

The headmaster pauses for Mrs Baxter to respond, but she appears to be at a loss for words, so he explains, “I have simply applied the Duck Test to the problem. For those not familiar with the term this is summed up by the phrase: if it looks like a duck, walks like a duck, and quacks like a duck, then it’s probably a duck. I am allowing the student to attend as a girl as unless you are specifically told of her past, or knew her as a boy, then it’s extremely unlikely you would realise that she isn’t what she appears to be. For all intents and purposes, both physically and mentally, the student is female. I have already asked a random sample of girls from all years, and the results are that they simply aren’t bothered.”

It takes several moments for Mrs Baxter to recover from the shock. Finally she replies, “I’m still not convinced that it is appropriate for this person to be in the girls’ changing room leering at girls, or are you going to claim that this person is also gay?”

“As far as I’m aware she has a boyfriend and therefore probably isn’t a lesbian,” Mr Henry replies, deliberately flipping the definitions. “However, I don’t know for certain as I’m not allowed to ask. Legally, we cannot discriminate on sexual preference. We have a number of homosexual students, both male and female, who could equally be accused of leering, but that isn’t a valid reason for a blanket ban from the changing rooms. That is not to say that any complaints raised against individuals behaving inappropriately wouldn’t be investigated and dealt with. To date I’ve never had a student complain about sexual harassment.”

Mr Henry smiles at Mrs Baxter, waiting for her next argument. I think she is struggling to come up with anything further. She looks down and flips through the papers on her clipboard, checking her notes.

“You claim that this student isn’t causing a distraction, yet I have had reports of a teacher being suspended following an incident with the same student,” Mrs Baxter asserts. “Would you care to explain that?”

Mr Henry frowns and answers, “There is an ongoing disciplinary procedure involving one of my staff. As this matter has yet to be resolved, and is a confidential matter for the teacher concerned, I can’t really discuss that in an open forum such as this.”

“You aren’t denying that this student was involved then?” Mrs Baxter continues.

“I am neither denying nor confirming anything, the teacher and students in question have a right to confidentiality that I cannot breach,” Mr Henry replies.

“Don’t hold back on my part,” the voice of Mrs Gardener carries forth from the back of the room, “It does involve the transsexual student, and perhaps if the facts are known everybody will see the perverted child for what it truly is, rather than the angelic facade you’re attempting to portray.”

Mr Henry beckons Mrs Gardener to the front of the room, where she is provided with a chair next to the board.

“Fine, if you are happy for the evidence to be made public. Does student X agree?” Mr Henry asks aloud.

I answer, ‘Yes’ into Mr Henry’s earpiece, and he continues, “The student in question also agrees, therefore I shall ask for the recording of the incident to be played.”

“You recorded my lesson?” Mrs Gardener asks in surprise.

“Is that legal?” Mr Graham, the teacher’s union rep on the Governors panel enquires.

“Recording employees is legal if said employees are aware that they may be recorded. In this case, the recording wasn’t made by the school, but by one of the students. One of our pupils is partially deaf and requested that he be allowed to record lessons for later playback. Permission was granted and a memo sent round to all staff at the beginning of term informing them of his intentions and that if anybody was uncomfortable with the arrangement to let me know or speak to the boy directly,” Mr Henry explains.

“Ah, yes, I remember that memo,” Mr Graham answers, “I was forgetting about Charley.”

Mr Henry looks back at Mrs Gardener. She sighs and then says, “Go on then, play the tape.”

“Okay, Mr Page, over to you,” Mr Henry states.

Mr Page signals for us to be quiet while he uses the microphone, “What you are about to hear is a recording made during the lesson. I have blanked out the names of the students, replacing them with placeholders, but otherwise this remains as recorded. This is solely the interactions with students, the actual lecture where Mrs Gardener is speaking to the class as a whole is omitted. There are clues to the identity of the transgendered student included in this, and some of you may be able to identify the person in question. If you do so, I remind you to please not say the name out loud.”

The recording of the lesson is then played. An electronic voice replacing our names with “Student A”, “Student B” et cetera throughout the recording. With the bulk of the lesson removed, the playback only lasts for twelve minutes. It is obvious from the recording where most of the questions are being delivered. We have a camera pointed at the audience, in addition to the one broadcasting the podium over the web, so that I can see everyone’s reactions. Everybody listening to the audio file for the first time jumps at the sound of breaking glass.

“That sound was the whiteboard eraser, thrown by Mrs Gardener, hitting the window in the door of the classroom,” Mr Page explains over the speakers, “Student A has now left the room and has gone to Mr Holroyd’s office.”

The sound recording then continues. I recognise Samantha’s voice shout, “That was uncalled for!”

“Shut up, [Student K] unless you want to join [Student A] in exclusion,” Mrs Gardener angrily yells.

“If you’re going to throw things round like a five-year-old having a tantrum, then I think I may just be safer leaving the room,” Samantha answers at the top of her voice, “[Student A] was right, you’re nothing more than an arrogant bully. Considering [Student A]’s past, you’re lucky she was as constrained as she was in her replies.”

“How dare you speak to me like that?” the teacher shouts back.

“What is going on in here?” an elder male voice interrupts.

“[Student K] was just talking herself into a detention,” Mrs Gardener snaps at Mr Holroyd.

“Who broke the window?” Mr Holroyd asks.

It’s not possible to single out who replies, but it sounds like at least seven different voices simultaneously answer, “Mrs Gardener.”

“She was throwing the whiteboard cleaner at [Student A] as she tried to leave,” I hear Josh state, “Mrs Gardener has been picking on her all afternoon and [Student A] had enough and decided to leave.”

“I...er...wasn’t aiming at her. I was getting her attention by aiming at the wall next to her. I...er...missed,” Mrs Gardener claims, the stuttering pauses not helping her to sound convincing.

“Where is [Student A] now?” Mr Holroyd asks.

“She was on the way to your office,” Lisa replies, “I take it you didn’t meet her on the way. I suggest somebody checks she’s okay. The last time she was insulted over her appearance she almost had a breakdown. Being transgendered, she’s a bit sensitive about her appearance and suffers from depression when accused of being a boy in drag.”

“Transgendered?” Mrs Gardener shrieks at a high pitch.

“I think you’d best head to the staff room, I’ll take over here,” Mr Holroyd states before adding more forcibly, “Now, Mrs Gardener.”

The sound of heels storming out of the room can be heard. Mr Holroyd then instructs the class to remain quiet before he can also be heard leaving the room, presumably in pursuit of Mrs Gardener.

The final thirty seconds of the audio file is the most damning. Charley must have decided to keep his recorder running, as the rant by Mrs Gardener outside of the staff room has also been captured, although this isn’t as clear as he must have been some way down the corridor. There is a lot of background noise, but the swearing can be made out as Mrs Gardener shouts transphobic abuse at me.

The recording finally ends, leaving silence in the hall, the audience and governors sitting in shock at the events. Mr Henry takes centre stage again as he says, “In my opinion, Student A was slightly impertinent in her responses. I think she could have put her points across better, but some allowance can be made for her age and lack of experience. Mrs Gardener, you should have been setting a better example. Instead you - whether intentionally or not - went on to provoke the student further by deliberately picking on her to answer the majority of questions.”

Mr Henry pauses to catch his breath before saying, “By failing to act professionally, you lost control of the situation. To start throwing objects at students is unacceptable. Verbally attacking the student the way you did is definitely grounds for misconduct.”

“Okay, you don’t need to say anything further,” Mrs Gardener replies despondently, “You’ll have my resignation letter on your desk in the morning.”

The disgraced teacher gets up and leaves the building.

Mrs Baxter softly asks Mr Henry, “The hairstyle, are the patterns of a butterfly and flower?”

Mr Henry nods. Mrs Baxter considers this for a couple of seconds before taking the microphone again, “I have just realised the identity of the individual in question. I actually met her at the weekend. I sat speaking to her for over an hour, even discussing her new hairstyle and whether it would cause a problem in school. At no point did I ever suspect that I wasn’t talking to a natural-born girl. I really don’t know what to say. She was so natural that I’m struggling to see the child as a boy. I have put forward all the arguments, and have nothing more to say.”

Mrs Baxter sits down, handing back over to Mr Henry.

“I believe the student has recorded a statement to be played, Mr Page would you do the honours,” Mr Henry states.

Mr Page looks at me and I shake my head, “I’m not sure it’s still appropriate, I’ll speak live first if you don’t mind.”

Mr Page hands the controls to me. I engage the microphone and broadcast, “Thank you, Mr Henry, I have indeed recorded a message. However, in light of recent events, I’m not sure of its appropriateness. Therefore, I’m opting to speak first. I may have been a bit short and sharp with Mrs Gardener, and I think my recorded message might also be a bit confrontational. Deep down I’ve always known I was a girl, but getting other people to see me as such has been challenging. I think I can therefore be a bit oversensitive when people question my gender. I apologise if I come across as slightly catty. The following sort of sums up my thoughts and feelings on the subject, even if, well you’ll hear what I mean...”

I turn the mike off and press the playback button on the console. The unmistakable introductory notes of the 1970s Gloria Gaynor hit “I Will Survive” fill the speakers. However, the voice that starts singing is mine:

An exceedingly bad rendition of this song: http://youtu.be/wkJ0514oUng (I can't sing, so be warned!)

At first, I was afraid, I was petrified.
To come out, show the world who’s hiding deep down inside.
And after spending nights thinking, how I didn’t belong.
I grew strong, and I learned how to right that wrong.

And so I’m out, from that dark place.
Where demons lurk putting that sad look upon my face.
I have dropped that stupid sham, of the boy I used to be.
So I know for just a second, you’ll see the real me.

Go on now, go, do take the floor.
Pound me down now, ’cause I’m not welcome anymore.
Be the one, to try to give me the evil eye.
Think I'll crumble? Do you think I’ll lie down and die?

Oh, no not I, I am a lass.
As long as I still breathe, I will make it come to pass.
It’s my will to succeed, I’ve chose my life to lead.
And I’ll survive, I will survive.

It took all my strength not to fall to bits.
Trying to live inside a body that just doesn’t fits.
I spent so many nights feeling sorry for myself.
How I cried, but now I hold my head up high.

And you see me, the girl I am.
Not that lonely little person, faking she’s a man.
Now you come telling me, be something that I’m not.
I just can’t do that, I’d rather die, take my life on the spot.

Hear on now, here, you’ve got to learn.
I can’t turn back now, past the point of no return.
I’ve chopped my bits off, joined the ranks of girl kind.
Think I’ll crumble? Do you think I’ll go change my mind?

Oh, no not I, I am a lass.
As long as I still breathe, I will make it come to pass.
I’ve chose my life to lead, with my will to succeed.
And I’ll survive, I will survive.

Go on, now go, sod off, depart. Turn around now.
I’ve got my friend’s support.
You’re not the ones, who I live with all day and night.
Do you think they grumble? They accept me, and back my fight.

Oh, yes I am, I am a lass.
As long as I still breathe, I will make it come to pass.
I’ve chose my life to lead, with my will to succeed.
And I’ll survive, I will survive.

The last chorus repeats and fades to silence. A silent pause comes to the proceedings, which is broken by a member of the audience starting to clap. Slowly, one by one, other people join in until there is a concerted round of applause. I smile at the reaction, thankful my song didn’t completely bomb. I was fearful that I might have gone slightly over the top.

Mr Henry takes charge of the situation once more, “Thank you, Miss. That was certainly a unique way to put across your feelings. Having heard all the concerns raised, I must now ask the board to either back up the actions I have taken, or overrule them. Firstly do you agree that the student isn’t in breach of any uniform regulations by attending in feminine clothes?”

The governors gather in a huddle and whisper between them before voting unanimously that no rules have been broken. Mr Henry then asks about my use of the toilets, and again there are no objections. Considering how Mrs Baxter had been arguing against me, she is currently supporting Mr Henry rather than opposing.

The governors are then asked about my use of the changing rooms. Mrs Baxter then asks for this to be split into two separate votes, firstly for my involvement in P.E. lessons, and secondly for use at other times. The first vote is ten versus two in favour of me being allowed to continue to use the changing rooms during classes.

There is then a second vote for my usage of the facilities at other times, when I could walk in on a girl who hasn’t already agreed to share the showers. This doesn’t go in my favour. Eight of the twelve governors decide that I shouldn’t be given unrestricted access.

I ask for Mr Page for the microphone for the main speakers, “Excuse me, would it be acceptable to use the facilities if I announced my intention to enter and allow anybody inside to veto my entrance.”

Mr Henry then asks for a vote on my suggestion, which five of the previous objectors accept. The policy is therefore set that I can use the facilities as long as nobody voices an objection. Having to check every time I enter could become tiresome, but it’s not as bad as being banned entirely.

I have been keeping a close eye on the audience. There appear to be a few people grumbling and dissatisfied, but most present seem happy with the outcome. I think many parents didn’t have all the facts, and their fears have been answered. That I’m no longer a functional male and have the outward appearance of being female, even though I lack the internal plumbing, helps to persuade the majority of the audience.

Mr Henry concludes the meeting, and the web broadcast is shut down. As some of my more vocal protesters are not here in person, and the general level of hostility has dropped, I decide it may be safe to introduce myself. I ask my parents their opinion to which my father says that it is up to me. My mother tells me to be careful, but to do what I feel is appropriate.

Mr Page speaks to Mr Henry through his earpiece to let him know that I would like to come through to the main room. He replies and asks me to wait for a second, and to keep an eye on the monitors.

Mr Henry then calls the room to order again. The audience, who were then getting up to leave, turn and face him again as they come to a halt. “As a matter of interest, how many people here now know the identity of the student in question?”

About two-thirds of the people present raise their hands. Mr Henry then says, “The student - as you may have realised from the remote hook up earlier - is here in the building with her parents. She is willing to come through and introduce herself, but only if I deem it safe to do so. If there is anybody here who is thinking of acting with hostility, we do have a couple of police officers here amongst us who will be very happy to arrest anybody causing trouble.”

Mr Henry pauses looking round the room, “Okay, I will go and fetch her. Anybody who would like to meet our mystery student to ask further questions may wait here, otherwise the meeting is over and you may leave whenever you like.”

He walks out of the room. His mike is still active as he wanders along the corridor. Once alone, he starts to speak to us in the control room, “Jasmine, stay put for the moment. We have a female police officer here, as a stunt double for you, who can go in first to make sure it’s safe. If she doesn’t get attacked, then I will bring you in shortly.”

We carry on watching the monitors as Mr Henry returns to the room with somebody who looks vaguely like me. She is wearing a headscarf to hide her hair, and is dressed in our standard school uniform.

Mr Henry introduces Joan, formerly John, to the waiting audience. Mr Page escorts my parents and I through the school to another entrance to the hall. The drama studio has a main entrance that everybody is using to come and go, and a number of fire exits that can be used in an emergency. There is also a door into a backstage storage area. It is through this scenery store that we approach unseen. We are listening to the goings on using a radio tuned in to the frequency of the remote mikes.

There is obviously some confusion from the people who know me. After a few minutes, there doesn’t appear to be any hostility, so Mr Henry apologises to the audience and explains the deception and the need for caution. I enter the room behind the curtain at the back, and slip out behind the governors’ table.

Dr Truman and Mr Henry immediately come to my side in case of trouble. My parents stand behind me covering my rear.

Over the next few minutes, I introduce myself to the audience and answer some of their questions. Finally, after most of the people have left, I’m introduced to the governors, starting with those I don’t know. As with the audience, I’m greeted cordially.

“I hear from my colleagues that you haven’t been well,” Dr Truman states as I shake his hand.

“Slight touch of high blood pressure,” I reply, “but that seems to be under control now.”

“Well, I wish you well,” declares Dr Truman before bidding farewell and departing.

I approach Mrs Baxter, who has been waiting to one side, “Sorry for deceiving you on Saturday. I suspect that I don’t quite pass the criteria for competitive women’s tennis, but the other players on the team insisted that I should play. They justified it in that we were up against Katrina, so any unfair advantage I have would be countered by her presence.”

“I know my niece was joking about getting a boy to play for them, I didn’t expect her too actually...” Mrs Baxter pauses looking for the right word, trying to avoid describing me as a boy.

“It’s all right. You can refer to me as male. I won’t be offended,” I reply. “After all, that is genetically what I am, and always will be, although I hope to have surgery to correct my other issues. Technically, I regard myself as a male girl. Although that sounds stupid, it isn’t if you take male as a description of physical sex and girl as a description of gender. They aren’t necessarily the same thing.”

“I assumed from what I saw of your appearance, and what was said about not being discovered, that you had already had surgery,” Mrs Baxter states.

“I’m only halfway. I’ve had my male parts removed, but yet to have a vagina added,” I truthfully reply. I have avoided this question up until now with people I don’t know, but decide to be a bit more open with Mrs Baxter.

“I came here determined to oppose you,” Mrs Baxter admits, “But when I realised your identity I was shocked. I’m not sure what I was expecting, but I didn’t think that it would be someone so feminine.”

“You were picturing an oaf in a dress, I understand that,” I answer. “Thank you for at least giving me the benefit of the doubt.”

I shake hands with all the governors, thanking them for their support, before we leave for home.

---

 

I receive numerous cheers and a fair amount of applause as I arrive in school Friday morning. It seems all my classmates and a large proportion of the school population as a whole watched the webcast last night.

It seems my song struck a chord and I’m congratulated on my singing ability and my lyrics. I’m asked to sing it again, but I’m too embarrassed to remember all the words. When I made the recording I had the lyrics written down in front of me, and I can’t remember all the lines.

My friends and I go swimming after school as per usual. Without Bart and company around, we are able to swim in peace. I see Mr Catchpole wandering around the outside of the pool with Little Eddie. Both of them wave to us and Alison goes over to her uncle for a quick chat. It seems that they are keeping an eye out for any more trouble and making sure that the boys haven’t flouted the ban.

After showering and drying myself off I get dressed. Unlike my usual practice, I’m not going to change into a skirt or dress. This time I will be leaving in boy mode, as we will have visitors when we arrive home. The terrible trio have been invited over to our house, along with their spouses, for the final reveal of my identity. It’s not certain in what order we will arrive back.

I dress in a pair of black trousers and a red sweater, underneath which is hiding a soft white t-shirt. I leave my hair uncovered as I exit the swimming pool complex, just in case somebody questions a boy coming out of the ladies’ changing rooms.

I let my hair dry as I cycle home with Mary, Wendy and Jill. We have bid farewell to Alison at the cycle racks. We take a detour to the bunker on the way where I pick up a black scarf to cover my feminine hairstyle. I also use the large makeup mirror I have on the table there to apply tape and makeup to cover my earrings. I still haven’t changed them since getting my ears pierced a few weeks ago.

We make our way back to the house and arrive as the Bancrofts drive into the yard. Jason and Janice are already here. We store our bikes in the shed and make our way over to where my father has fired up the barbeque. We are using one of the outbuildings and have set up some folding tables with straw bales to sit on.

Wendy greets her father with a hug, but doesn’t attempt to do the same with her mother. The two women don’t speak to each other. Wendy then deliberately sits down with Jill on one of the hay bales, each putting their arms around one other as they lean back against the wall behind them. Susan seems slightly annoyed at her daughter’s display, but at the glare of her husband, doesn’t say anything.

Jason grins at me as I say hello. He stands with my father grilling some burgers on the flames. The barbeque is powered from a gas bottle so we don’t have difficulties with undercooked food from insufficient temperature. Personally, I have never seen the appeal of cooking in the garden when we have a perfectly functional kitchen, but the men seem to enjoy the activity. Perhaps it’s a bloke thing.

A final car arrives containing the last couple from the consortium, John and Marilyn Palmer from Elm Tree Farm. With them are the local vicar, Thomas, and his wife, Grace.

Soon everybody is tucking into the food provided. Music is softly playing in the background from a small CD player. The barn we are in has electrics, so we have light and power as well as plenty of room for all fourteen of us.

“So how did the school governors’ meeting go?” Thomas asks my father, “I didn’t get to see the broadcast in the end. We had to visit a sick parishioner over in Flixton.” Thomas is the vicar for three of the local villages. The congregation isn’t large enough for services in each village, so he rotates round the churches each Sunday.

“It was very interesting. Mr Henry is an excellent debater, and was a good match for Mrs Baxter. She tried her best, but was outmanoeuvred,” my father replies. “The board voted to support the student and the arrangements already in place. Although she isn’t allowed to enter the changing rooms without first checking to see if anybody inside objects, which I think is a good compromise.”

“Those drama students were good,” Wendy states. “I recognised it was Sophie pretending to be a boy, but I was shocked when they did the line up of girls. I would never have guessed Stuart could pull off that stunt so well.”

My mother explains to Grace and Thomas the ploy used by Mr Henry to demonstrate that it isn’t easy to judge a book by its cover.

“I take it they didn’t give the name of the student, so we still don’t know who it is,” Grace says in disappointment. “Until we can identify him we can’t help the poor boy.”

“I don’t think she wants the kind of help you want to provide,” Marilyn answers. This surprises me slightly, as I didn’t expect her to be supportive. However, thinking back she has never actually said anything hostile. She didn’t say anything on the afternoon when I first confronted the other women and she hasn’t taken part in the protest at the school.

“No, but we do know that she has short hair and has patterns shaved onto the sides of her head,” Janice declares.

“A butterfly and a flower,” Jason adds, “a rose actually, and very pretty they are too.”

Silence falls across the room as everybody looks at Jason.

“How do you know that?” his wife asks, “I didn’t hear anybody give that detailed a description.”

“Simples,” Jason says in a bad Russian accent, mimicking a certain TV advert. “I’ve seen the haircut first hand.”

“You’ve met her?” Janice angrily asks, “why didn’t you say so earlier?”

“Because it’s none of my business to interfere,” Jason replies. “The same as it’s not my place to interfere in the stupid spat between Susan and Wendy. If you want to meddle with anything, Janice, why don’t you tackle that problem first? That is after all closer to home. We don’t even have a child of school age anymore so Jasmine’s attendance at Brahms has nothing to do with us.”

The Yearlys have a son, Andrew, who is currently away at university in Wales.

Wendy starts laughing before saying, “Well, mother - are you ready to deal with having a lesbian for a daughter? Grace, Janice, you are welcome to lend your assistance, which is something that Jasmine won’t be requesting when she arrives.”

Wendy walks up to her mother and waits for a response. Grace and Janice look on at Susan, wondering how to proceed.

My mother breaks the awkward silence, “I’ve been in this same position with both my sons. You can either accept your children for who and what they are, or risk losing them entirely. We made a mistake with Mike, one that has been corrected. We will be attending Mike’s civil partnership service this Sunday.”

“We certainly won’t be making the same mistake with our other child,” my father adds.

“You’re gay as well, Simon?” Thomas asks me.

“No, but I am transgendered,” I reply as I stand up and remove my headscarf to the shocked looks of Grace, Susan and Janice. My father comes and stands behind me, putting his hand on my shoulder. Jill and Mary flank my sides in support.

“That explains an awful lot,” Marilyn states. “I thought the voice on the webcast was familiar, but I couldn’t quite place it. Tell me, did you mean what you said in the song. Demons lurk, and you would take your life on the spot?”

“I was suffering from depression, hence why I took such drastic actions,” I reply “There was a point a couple of months ago when I didn’t care if I lived or died. I came very close to killing myself. The line in the song about chopping my balls off wasn’t a metaphor. I really did take a knife to my genitals.”

“The first time I saw Simon as Jasmine was in the changing rooms at school,” Wendy proclaims. “She confused the hell out of me when she dropped her knickers and walked naked into the showers. There I was thinking that she looked remarkably like Simon with long hair, and then there’s no sign of her being a boy. It took me a while to figure out Jasmine is Simon. They may have looked alike, but the personality is very different, Jasmine is a lot happier and bubblier than her male charade.”

“I thought you seemed a lot more relaxed and joyful over the past few weeks,” Jason adds, “I guess that’s since you came out to your friends and family.”

I nod. My father then gives the abbreviated version of how they found out, leaving out the shooting, and how they decided to support me rather than reject me.

“You don’t have to like what Jasmine is doing,” my father tells the others, “but you do have to put up with it. This consortium has been through thick and thin. We have all been friends for years and I hope we can overcome our differences once again. However, my daughter comes first, and I will do anything necessary to support her. Now, who is with us?”

Wendy, Jill and Mary are already standing round me. My mother joins my father standing beside him.

Jason gets up and walks to our side of the barn, “I’ve known for a couple of weeks, which in itself should tell you I don’t have a problem.”

Marilyn also comes over, “Doesn’t bother me. I always thought you were slightly girly, although I just assumed you were gay like Mike.” John gets up and stands next to his wife, putting his arm round her waist and nodding at me. I take it to mean that he agrees with his spouse.

“Susan, I only went along with your bigoted views to keep the peace,” Wendy’s father states as he walks over to his daughter. “Don’t make me choose between you and Wendy; because I warn you, you’ll lose. I admit this will take some getting used to, but I’m willing to try.”

The majority of the people present have now declared their intent to support me, or at least put up with me. That leaves only four individuals still hostile to my gender rectification: Susan, Janice, Thomas the vicar, and his wife Grace.

“You poor confused boy,” Grace states, “I implore you to seek forgiveness, it is not too late to stop this nonsense and try and rebuild your life in the eyes of God.”

“Grace,” Thomas interrupts, “Shut up.”

Grace swings round in surprise at her husband.

“She is rebuilding her life,” Thomas continues, “she needs love and support. I shouldn’t have to remind you that it is better to forgive than to seek forgiveness. It is the true Christian way to give love and charity to anybody no matter who, or what, they are.”

“But what about dressing up as a girl,” Grace counters, “you cannot deny that is a sin, the bible says so.”

“The Bible says many things,” Thomas replies. “It also contradicts itself on a regular basis and must be taken in context. Yes, it does say that men should not dress as women, but equally it says that women should not dress as men. Therefore any time a woman puts on a pair of trousers, it could also be considered a sin. Even the passages on homosexuality are slightly dodgy and open to interpretation. Most of the common texts banning such acts are referring to specific pagan ceremonies involving male rape and not to homosexuality in general. By occupation, I am the expert on the subject.”

Turning his attention back to me, he says, “In the name of the Father, the Son and the Holy Ghost, I forgive you past transgressions for lying about being a boy, and welcome you with open arms.”

Grace looks on in disgust at her husband, but sighing, she obeys his decree, stepping forward she states, “I’m sorry Jasmine, I do not agree with your choice of lifestyle, but I will not interfere. Instead, I will pray for your safety and happiness, and I hope that your actions bring you contentment. It is obvious you have the love and support of your family and friends, if they are willing to accept you into the global sisterhood, then I can live with that.”

“I can’t believe you’re all going along with this deluded freak,” Susan snaps, “He’s obviously mentally unstable. Self-mutilation, psychopathic behaviour, he needs a straightjacket, not dresses. You all want to panda to this weirdo, fine. I’m out of here. If anybody wants me, I’ll be at my mother’s.”

Susan gets up and heads for the Bancroft’s car. Taking her key out of her purse, she unlocks the vehicle and drives off. Her husband shakes his head and says, “I really have had enough of her behaviour. With a bit of luck, she may actually stay there.”

Turning to Wendy and Jill he says, “Wendy, you know you are welcome to come home at any time, and I have no objection if Jill shares your room. I would appreciate it if you could lend a hand at home, at least while your mother is being stupid.”

Wendy nods and embraces her father in a hug. I think we all suspect that Susan might not be coming back any time soon, if at all.

The only person who has yet to say anything on my transition is Janice Yearly. Having seen her husband being one of the first to offer his support, watched Grace at least come to terms with me if not actually change sides, and witnessed the departure of Susan, Janice contemplates her position.

“You have the support of the school, your family, and your friends,” Janice states, “even my dozy other half seems happy to call you a girl. I need time to come to terms with this. I was thinking of pursuing the matter further in the community, but I can see that would be pointless. I don’t want to lose friends over this. Therefore, I guess I can try and learn to accept it.”

“Thank you all,” I say as a tear of joy escapes my eye, “I’m glad you can at least come to terms with this. I am a girl, always have been, it’s just that I have a slight plumbing problem.”

My father throws some more sausages on the barbeque as I excuse myself and head indoors. I climb the stairs to my bedroom. Opening the wardrobe, I browse through the feminine garments contained inside. Stripping out of the male clothing I have been wearing for the past few hours, I deposit it into the laundry basket before slipping on a pale blue summer dress and a white cardigan with blue embroidered flowers. After drying my eyes, I head to my vanity table, remove the tape hiding my earrings, and apply some light makeup to enhance my femininity before descending the stairs and back out into the barn.

I am greeted by smiles from my friends and family, as well as a few surprised glances from the people who have only just learned my secret. I receive several compliments on my girlish appearance. We spend the evening chatting and generally reaffirming friendships.

I feel very satisfied and relaxed as I snuggle under the duvet with Mary and drift off to a peaceful and relaxing sleep.

Saturday morning is the usual organised chaos, but this time with added pressure due to the imminent arrival of our family. Uncle Peter, Auntie Anne, Emily, and the twins are due to arrive this afternoon.

This time they will be sleeping in one of the cottages. Well most of them will be. The cottage they are going to use has two bedrooms so will accommodate the adults and the twins. Emily will sleep in the guest room here.

Mike is also staying the night, and will be temporarily reclaiming his old room. Wendy has gone home, and taken Jill with her. Until her mother decides to turn up, she is going to spend some time with her father and assist him on the Bancroft farm.

Mary and I spend the morning cleaning all the cottages and the farmhouse from top to bottom, as well as changing all the linen and organising lunch and tea. Our parents, as Mary is now regarded as family, tend to the animals and other farm-related activities while we take on the domestic chores.

My cousins arrive mid-afternoon, shortly followed by Mike. It is a tight squeeze to fit nine people around the dining room table, but we manage and we settle down to a roast turkey with all the trimmings and a couple of bottles of wine. Having been the chief cook for most of the afternoon, I’m glad that everything has turned out so well. We haven’t had a get together as a family like this in over a year, and I don’t think Mary has ever had the luxury of such an event.

I take an opportunity after tea to get Mary and Emily alone. I have a suggestion I want to sound out on them. I know from her last visit that Emily is bisexual and is likely to be looking for some fun in a sexual sense. Mary has also commented on finding out what it is like to be a lesbian. Her mother’s affairs have put Mary off conventional relationships, especially since she was almost raped by one of the boyfriends.

I suggest that Mary might like to join Emily in the guest room for the night and that they might both appreciate each other’s company. Considering the sleeping arrangements my parents have been allowing us to get away with recently, I very much doubt there will be any adult intervention.

Mary and Emily do act on my suggestion, and try to sneak off to bed together after my Aunt, Uncle and the twins return to the cottage for the night. They don’t quite get away without being discovered. My mother sees Mary heading into the guest room as she exits the bathroom, and I hear her call out for the girls to keep the noise down.

I wake with the alarm at six in the morning and descend the stairs to where my parents are already having breakfast. I join them and we are soon all outside seeing to the animals.

I come back into the kitchen at eight and switch the kettle on. I have assisted with milking the cows and goats, but I declined joining in feeding the sheep, claiming that my blood pressure would surely rise when faced with a field full of fuzzy foes. My father eyes me with suspicion, but I get away with it.

A nervous Mike enters the kitchen having come downstairs in his dressing gown. He pulls out the breakfast cereal from the cupboard where it is always kept and after covering it with fresh milk, sits down to eat.

“Did you sleep well?” I ask.

“Not too badly,” Mike replies. “It seems so surreal being back here after what happened. I never thought that I would be sitting here, preparing to get married to the man I love.”

“I know how you feel,” I reply, “After you left, I didn’t think I would ever be accepted by our parents. I was convinced that I wouldn’t be able to live as a girl. I even suspected I might die trying.”

A very sleepy looking Mary wanders into the kitchen followed a minute later by an equally tired Emily. Mike and I give knowing looks to one another.

“What time did you finally get to sleep last night?” I ask the girls, who sheepishly look at each other.

“I think we ran out of steam and collapsed from exhaustion around three this morning,” Emily replies, grinning.

“I think it’s safe to say I can now classify myself as a lesbian,” Mary adds. “At least until I find a boy I like, in which case I may go back to being simply bisexual.”

While the others sit and have breakfast I start making cheese-filled rolls. The cheese being the produce of our consortium, is made with the milk of our own cattle. The bread we were baking ourselves is from flour ground from Jason’s wheat fields. These will be used at the reception later in the day. We also will be making sausage rolls, the meat provided by the local butcher to whom we supply a lot of our lamb. He gives us a discount on any other meat we buy.

After breakfast, Mary and Emily join me as I pack the lunch into sandwich bags and place them in plastic containers to keep cool. We have frozen a number of ice cube bags in the freezer, and pack the ice between the food to keep it cool until lunchtime.

Shortly after nine, Mike heads upstairs to have a bath and start to prepare for the ceremony later. I use the downstairs shower to freshen up. Emily takes the opportunity to join me, although we don’t engage in anything other than washing this time. We then make our way to my bedroom to get ready.

This time Emily has made sure that the dress she is due to wear has been brought along. It is the same garment as she was supposed to wear to the last wedding, but was unable to do so as it was left behind.

I spent a couple of hours yesterday afternoon restyling my wig, with Mary’s assistance. I decided that I want long elegant hair in the photos, not my actual slightly wacky temporary cut. Using rollers and hairspray, I have styled the wig so that it has a gentle wave. Yellow ribbon is woven through the hair to add extra decoration and to help keep the style in place.

As my hair is effectively ready to wear, I instead assist Emily with her own locks. Her hair is still damp from washing it earlier, which makes it easier to work with. Under Emily’s direction, I braid her hair with blue ribbon, carefully positioning pale blue flowers at strategic places on her head.

We then proceed to assist in doing each other’s makeup. It is easier to work on somebody else, especially when trying to apply eye shadow and mascara. After our faces are done, we help each other into our dresses.

I have bought what is in effect a bridesmaid’s dress for the occasion. It is a very pale yellow. The top is form fitting - I’ll need to pad my chest a fraction to make it look right. The skirt section flares out over several layers of petticoats. I lower the dress over my head and Emily buttons up the back.

Emily’s dress is a similar style, but is dark blue in colour. As she can’t easily do the buttons up herself, I assist her in return.

Finally, I lift my wig from the polystyrene head and lower it into place. Emily then makes sure it is in position and adds some hair clips to secure it.

Satisfied with our appearances, we descend the stairs and go to sit and wait in the front room. We are joined a few minutes later by my father and brother. My father is in his best black suit. My brother is wearing a hired white tuxedo, the same as Matt is going to be wearing. My mother and Wendy join us shortly afterwards.

We hear a vehicle pull up in the yard. Looking out the window, I see my aunt, uncle, and the twins emerging from the vehicle. Checking the clock on the mantelpiece, we see it is time to make our way to the venue. Emily joins her family in their car, while my parents, Mike, and I get into the family Jaguar to drive to the hall. Mike is sitting in the front with my father. I’m in the back with my mother.

The wedding is taking place at Ashby Hall, the longstanding residence of the Headley family. The house and gardens are rented out for private functions. The wedding is to take place in a secluded spot in one of the walled gardens.

The drive is short, and we are soon parked up. Mike leads us through the grounds to the end walled garden. Matt stands at the entrance waiting, greeting guests as they arrive. After shaking of hands all round, Mike stays at the entrance with Matt and we walk into the garden. Once through the door, we head down a tree-covered tunnel that opens out onto a lawn. At one end of the lawn is a circular sunken paved area with a small pond in the middle. Rows of chairs have been set up on the grass round the paved area. On the far side, there is a summerhouse. The registrar stands in the doorway, the legal documents on a table behind him.

Mike’s family sit to the left, Matt’s to the right, and general friends in the middle. My parents and I are positioned on the far left of the front row. Wendy and her father sit behind us with Jill and Mary, whom they picked up from home on their way here. Our relatives join us. I end up sitting next to Emily. Classical music is playing softly in the background. Once everybody has taken their seats the music changes to ABBA’s ‘Dancing Queen’ as the couple make their way from the back, and walk round the pond to face each other. I can’t help but giggle at their choice of music.

“We welcome you here today on this very special occasion of deep significance for Mike and Matt,” the registrar, a Mr Fisher declares. “Today they will affirm their love and publicly declare their commitment to each other.”

The audience falls silent as Mr Fisher continues, “This place in which you are now met has been duly sanctioned according to law for the registration of civil partnerships. You are here to witness the formation of a civil partnership by Matt and Mike. If any person present knows of any impediment to this civil partnership, they should declare it now.”

Nobody says a thing, so the registrar carries on, “Mike and Matt have chosen to pledge themselves to each other by committing to a legally binding contract. Their partnership will enable the love and respect that they have for each other to develop into a deep and lasting relationship. We, who are witnessing your civil partnership, hope that despite the stresses inevitable in any life, your love, trust and understanding of each other, will increase your contentment and heighten your joy in living.”

At the nod of registrar, Matt recites his vow, “I Matthew Stanley Wilkinson, pledge to share my life openly with Michael. I promise to cherish and tenderly care for you, to honour and encourage you. I will respect you as an individual and be true to you through good times and bad. To these things, I give my word.”

Mike then gives his own vow, “I Michael Dee Whittaker, choose you, Matthew as my partner above all others, to share my life, through good times and bad, with love and support. I promise to honour this pledge as long as I live.”

The registrar asks for the rings to be brought forward. My father stands and walks to the front, placing the ring on the cushion the registrar is holding. Matt’s father is doing the same.

“The giving of a band signifies the promise of a love that is everlasting and is a public affirmation that the contract between Michael Dee Whittaker and Matthew Stanley Wilkinson will be honoured.”

Each partner, in turn, states, “This ring is a token of my abiding love and a sign of the promise I make to you today,” as the rings are exchanged.

“Every day you live, learn how to receive love with as much understanding as you give it. Find things within yourself, then you can share them with each other. Do not fear this love. Have an open heart and a sincere mind. Be concerned with each other’s happiness. Be constant and consistent in your love. From this will come security and strength,” Mr Fisher declares. “We now come to the signing of the schedule, which will bind Matt and Mike together in law.”

The two of them repeat the words, “I declare that I know of no legal reason why we may not register as each other’s civil partner. I understand that on signing this document we will be forming a civil partnership with each other.”

They are then invited to sign the legal document, along with the official witnesses. Both fathers join their sons to sign the Civil Partnership Schedule.

The registrar concludes the ceremony with, “Matt and Mike, you are now partners in law and it is with pleasure that I present you with your Civil Partnership Certificate. Now that the ceremony is over and the experience of living day by day as legal partners is about to begin, go and meet it gladly. Please join with Matt and Mike as they celebrate their partnership.”

Mr Fisher steps backwards and the newly joined couple passionately embrace each other.

We all make our way out of the garden and onto one of the large lawns, where a marquee has been permanently erected to act as an outdoor function room. A large buffet is laid out, made from contributions from family and friends. One of the couple’s friends works as a part time DJ, and is providing the music that is playing in the background.

Everybody is soon tucking into the spread, and champagne is brought round to celebrate a toast to the new couple. They have decided to forgo the usual embarrassing speeches normally associated with weddings.

After lunch, the music volume is increased and we have the opportunity to dance. I notice that James and Kevin have managed to persuade Jill and Wendy to join them. I suspect they fancy their chances with the two girls, but I suspect they may end up disappointed. I just hope the girls don’t tease them for too long.

I notice that Emily has hooked up with Mary, and the two of them go off to enjoy a dance together. I don’t get chance to keep my eye on them for long, as Josh, here being Matt’s cousin, invites me to dance. I catch my aunt speaking to the DJ, and the next song becomes a slow number. Matt and Mike have taken to the floor and I see that Wendy and Jill have lost the boys, and are now dancing together, as are Mary and Emily. I take their lead and lean in close to my partner, letting my head rest on his shoulder as we shuffle round the floor, in time to the music. Josh pulls me into a kiss near the end of the song and we spend the final chorus in a passionate embrace as the music fades out.

Slightly flushed, I leave the dance floor and make my way to the girls’ room. After using the toilet, I take my makeup out of the small clutch bag I have been carrying, and repair my lipstick. As I stand looking in the mirror, I reflect on the events of the past few months. I would never have thought it possible, but I am now living full-time as a girl, with three wonderful sisters, and a dedicated boyfriend who accepts me for what I am. The icing on the cake is the reunification of our family, the welcoming back of my only brother, and the full support of both of us from our loving and sympathetic parents.