Dreamer

By Tanya Allan
Original Version Copyright © 1972
Revised version Copyright © 2012

The author asserts her moral right under the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act, 1988, to be identified as the author of this work.

All Rights reserved.
No part of this publication may be reproduced, copied, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means, without the prior written consent of the copyright holder, nor be otherwise circulated in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser.
Any adaptation of the whole or part of the material for broadcast by radio, TV, or for stage plays or film, is the right of the author unless negotiated through legal contract. Any commercial use by anyone other than the author is strictly prohibited.

This work is fictitious, and any similarities to any persons, alive or dead, are purely coincidental. Mention is made of persons in public life only for the purposes of realism and for that reason alone. Certain licence is taken in respect of medical procedures, terms and conditions, and the author does not claim to be the fount of all knowledge.

The author accepts the right of the individual to hold his/her (or whatever) own political, religious and social views, and there is no intention to deliberately offend anyone.

---

Philip Coates is seventeen and convinced that he is not only trapped in a boarding school for boys, but also trapped in the wrong body. He spends most of his time lost in a world of his imagination. In this world he is the girl he always wanted to be. The girl who screams at him to set her free in every minute of every waking hour, and most of the sleeping ones as well.

Trapped in a social square hole, he becomes simply what everyone - parents, friends, teachers - want and expect him to be. He knows that he wants to be a round peg, but will, in reality, never make it.

Well, he wakes up one morning convinced that his dream might just be coming true.. or is it?

The signs are there, but then again, are there other explanations for what he is going through?

After a rough few days, the girl is set free.

The future is now gloriously uncertain and fresh, as she sets out on a journey, turning her back on her school, her friends and her old home.....

My thanks to PEGLEG for help with proofing

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Introduction.

Hi everyone.

I was clearing out some old boxes of clutter the other day and found an old school exercise book. As soon as I opened it, the memories came flooding back. It was handwritten in pencil, and I first wrote this aged fifteen or so whilst at boarding school. It was as real to me then as it is today. It still hurts!

Even back then I found the joy of writing is that for a short while she who is within may be allowed free.
My father would have been devastated had this actually happened, and if it happened today, it still would crush him, as well as several other special people.

We all make choices and, for better or worse, we live with the decisions we make. So, I refuse to complain.
My mother caught me in her clothes when I was fifteen, and she has always known what I am. (note that I say ‘am’ and not ‘was’) She also found and read this story, and I think it affected her deeply. We talked about it a little at the time, but she did not really understand. I tried to tell her that it wasn't because of anything she had or hadn't done. Bless her, she has kept my secret, and we shall both die with it. My consolation is that she believes I grew out of it, as I just went on and lived my life, in spite of my inner feelings, rather than because of them.

I have not altered the actual story at all, other than a few minor improvements with the flow and general feel, as I am now better able to express my feelings. The funny thing is that I can remember the feelings I had when I wrote it, and they have hardly changed at all.

It was the first TG story I ever wrote, and was never meant for general release. I wrote it for me, in order to make sense of what was going on inside my head. It is not so much biographical, rather, it is more like one of those fairy tales where a wish comes true, and one tries to imagine what it would really be like — not unlike all my stories, really……

---

“Dreamer”

By Tanya Allan

Part 1.

My dream was very real and vivid. It was always the same, and I was almost able to consciously influence how it progressed…almost.

In the dream I was awaking from a long sleep. I opened my eyes to a warm white light. I was on a bed, not my modern plain and rather hard bed in my room at boarding school, but a soft bed, with a mattress full of down. Over my head was an ornate canopy, with pale silken drapes flowing elegantly down at the head, to each side.

It was a girl’s bed.

No, not just a girl’s bed, it was more like a princess’s bed; with more than a passing resemblance to a certain Disney cartoon feature film.

I was neither warm, nor cold, and yet there was a slight breeze, in which red rose-petals gently drifted across the bed. The faint scent of roses filled my nostrils and I smiled. Someone had told me that one doesn’t dream in colour and there is never any sense of smell in them. I knew better!

I raised my head and looked around me.

I couldn’t see if I was in a room, as everything was such a brilliant soft white so that I couldn't discern walls or ceiling.

A door opened in the white to my left, through which a tall, handsome boy walked in. I caught a glimpse of what was outside the room. It was dark and foreboding, but somehow very enticing.

He was dressed in flared blue jeans, trainers and a tee shirt with a logo printed thereon. The word was Superstar, with a picture of Christ’s head encircled with a thorny crown. It was a familiar tee shirt, as I retained a vague memory of the stage show from which it originated. He had fair hair that was fashionably long for the early 1970s, curling over the ears and collar.

He was someone I knew very well, but for some reason I couldn’t remember his name.

“Whoa. Cool room!” he said, looking around. He then saw me on the bed.

“Hey, who are you?” he asked.

It was then that I sat up and swung my legs over the side of the bed nearest to him. I was wearing a long, pale diaphanous dress and, as I looked down, I saw that I had full ripe breasts, pert and tight against the thin material. My large nipples were prominent and very obvious. I didn’t have to see what lay between my legs, as I knew beyond all doubt that I was completely female.

I smiled, raising my right hand to my head and sweeping back the long fair hair away from my eyes. My fingernails were crimson and delicately shaped.

I smiled at the boy. I was so happy.

The boy was staring at me.

“You’re beautiful!” he said.

I smiled some more. I already knew that, but it was so nice when someone else told me.

“How did you get here?” he asked.

“I’ve always been here, it’s just that no one has ever managed to show me the way out,” I replied.

“The way out?” he asked, confused.

“Yes. I’ve been trapped in here all my life. I need to be set free!”

The boy frowned, so I held one hand out to him.

He looked at my hand.

“Help me, please?” I said.

He took my hand, but then dropped it again, as if burnt.

“I can’t. I don’t know how to,” he said.

“You managed to get in, so you must be able to get me out.”

He shook his head.

I knew him so well, but who was he?

“I’m not the one. I can’t, I’m so sorry,” he said.

“Can’t, or won’t?” I asked.

“Can’t! If I could help, I would. You know why!”

“Why?”

“Don’t make me tell you. You already know.”

“No, I don’t.”

He looked crestfallen.

“I promise, I don’t know,” I said to reassure him.

“If you get out, I’ll be forgotten. It will be as if I never existed.”

I looked at him, and then I remembered who he was.

He was me!

“Wake up you lazy bugger!” said a different voice; harsh and insistent.

I woke up properly, very reluctantly.

“Come on Phil. You’re going to be late,” said the voice.

I opened my eyes. The autumn sunlight streamed through the chink in the tatty curtain of my room.

I blinked, as a feeling of extreme sadness and loss hit me, so it took all my strength not to cry out in frustration, as every other morning.

I looked round my small room. It was my study/bedroom at my school, and it was drab and depressing. I had posters of Bridget Bardot and Raquel Welch (dates me, huh?) on one wall, from where they smiled impishly at me. Mocking me, as if to say, ‘I know that I’m what you want to be, but you can’t!’

The owner of the voice was a friend; in fact he was my best friend. His name was Andy Cairn, and we had come up the school together.

I placed one hand on my chest and the other to my crotch, without much hope. I was unsurprised to feel that I was still male. Disappointed, yes, but completely unsurprised.

Sighing, I dragged my depressed body out of bed to another dreary day in purgatory.

I was seventeen, and in my last year of school. I would be eighteen in April next year, so would leave school the following July after A levels. It was October now, so into the rugby season. Not that I minded, I was quite good at rugby, it was just I so wanted to be someone else, somewhere else. It didn’t really matter where.

I didn’t care where, as long as I was a girl!

I can’t give an exact age or date when I knew someone had fucked up. I just remember a gradual feeling of wrongness, from about four or five. The feelings progressed, gradually clarifying in my mind the fact that I was trapped in the wrong gender.

By the time my body started to change into a more masculine version, and hormones started making things happen, the feeling became a sense of deep anguish and desolation.

If I had been a girly boy, then perhaps it would have been easier, but I wasn’t.

I was an inch under six foot and quite broad. Much to my father’s delight, I had never had a problem attracting girls. I was in the First XV rugby team, a Cadet NCO in the Army Cadets, and a House Prefect. I was intelligent and academically above average. Expectations of parents, friends, teachers and society made me strive to be something I didn’t want to be.

I didn’t have much choice, did I?

Yet, threaded through my entire existence was a voice of the girl within screaming to be set free. Not one minute in every hour of every day passed without her screaming in my soul, and although I learned to live with her screams, they still deeply affected me.

I often imagined what it would be like to suffer from tinnitus. Only instead of a ringing or buzzing, I suffered screaming; not in my ears, but in my very soul.

I dressed and went down for breakfast. As a sixth former, I was not forced to eat in the hall with the rest, but it was easier than preparing anything myself.

After breakfast was chapel, and then off into double History, followed by study periods.

It was a relief to collapse onto my bed after taking copious notes about Henry VIII and his desire to control everything in the land, when he wasn’t shagging, that is.

I dug out my second favourite book, I Will Fear No Evil by Robert Heinlein. My favourite book was The Masqueraders by Georgette Heyer. Both involved males living as females, and reading them was my only real escape from this unhappy world.

My daydreams all involved my own sudden and miraculous transformation into a beautiful and complete girl. My imagination grew as a result of these dreams. It was not restricted by the laws of physics or any other reality, so I was free to release her into my imaginary worlds.

Oh, and did she! There was such a variance of places and people in those dreams that it almost became reality. The poor boy sitting on the hard chair through the murmurings of some teacher became so secondary that made no difference. But she could never be quite free enough.

I knew it was impossible, and yet my heart and soul ached for it to be possible.

She screamed to be free!

So many times I had tried to make her go away. I had recognised that no one in their right mind could wish this torture on themselves. I mean; to be in constant conflict to such a level that one’s whole waking day is simply taken over with the ever-present desire to change into something one isn’t, and could never be!

That was the crunch. For many, their dreams can become reality through hard work, perseverance and a little bit of fortune. For me, the reality was never going to happen. I was a coward, as I was not prepared to inflict the hurt on those who loved me by attempting to go for something that was rare and still relatively innovative in the field of medicine.

I was just too big and too male to ever become the feminine flower of my mind.

I was still me, still male, and still burning up to be female.

I wasn’t fussy.

Such was my desperation that I’d almost settle for being ugly or deformed, such was my desire to be female. However, I have to confess that I’d much rather be stunningly attractive! That is the beauty of dreams.

Some hope! My dreams were just destined to always remain as dreams.

The day droned on.

Lunch was followed by rugby training. I was selected to play for the firsts again on Saturday. Whoop-de-fucking-doo!
In the showers after the training, I noticed my chest was tender.

I couldn’t see anything, so assumed that when tackling someone, their boot studs had just bruised the tissue slightly.
I was a physically normal (?) male, reasonably good-looking, well-built and well-liked. I shampooed my hair, and then scrubbed the mud off my legs. As the dirt swirled away towards the plug, I noticed some hair floating in the water.
I frowned.

Alex Russell had suddenly lost all his hair just before O Levels a few years ago. They called it alopecia, or something. He resembled a billiard ball now, and I was suddenly terrified that it was happening to me!
It was 1973, so long hair was in for us fellas. I was actually quite pleased, as it allowed me to keep my hair long, so when I dressed in my small cache of girl’s clothes, and put on makeup, at least the hair looked feminine.

The rest of me didn’t!

I looked like a large bloke dressed as a girl. With broad shoulders, square chin and a large nose, I looked stupid. As a result, I had given up cross-dressing as a bad job some time ago. Also the risks of being caught by my mother were too great. I never even thought about doing it at school. The ramifications just didn’t bear thinking about. Besides, I didn’t think I was a cross-dresser. It wasn’t the clothes. Oh, they helped create an illusion for a few heady moments, but in reality, I just wasn’t prepared to be a pretend female. It was totally or nothing!

'Nothing' was odds-on favourite at present.

Besides, the disgrace and shame that would fall on me and my family if ever I should get caught — it just didn’t bear thinking about!

Permissive society?

Yeah, right!

NOT!

The hair was not from my head, but I think it came from my legs. They weren’t too hairy before, now they weren’t at all.
That evening, I turned my light out at about midnight, and settled down. It was always my favourite time. That bit between turning off the light and going to sleep. It was the only time when the girl inside was almost able to be free. My imagination might have no limits and no rules, but she was still stuck inside my head.

I didn’t dream that night. It was unusual, and even more so, I awoke early. Normally I slept right up to my alarm, or had to be woken up by Andy.

I glanced at my clock. 06:40.

I still felt tender on my chest and I placed my hand inside my pyjamas.

I thought I could feel a slight swelling, and there was still tenderness. I tweaked a nipple.

“Ow!”

That hurt.

I frowned.

The nipple felt swollen too.

This pissed me off, as I couldn’t remember who had hurt me, or even how it happened.

I scratched my balls, and went to the loo.

After I had been piddling for a few moments, I realised that my willy seemed to be a little smaller.

I stared at it.

Was I imagining it?

Was it smaller?

I shook my head and went back to bed.

I lay there, gently feeling my genitals.

They were smaller, I was sure.
Or were they?

I was suddenly afraid, and yet a little excited.

I was changing!

I couldn’t be, as I knew that it was impossible.

Then explain the small dick?

I couldn’t.

I remembered the hair in the shower.

I took off my pyjamas, and looked at my legs.

They were smooth and completely hairless, and they looked good!

On a girl they would have done.

I wasn't changing into a girl, was I?

No, I wasn’t. I couldn’t be!

Could I?

I was certainly confused.

Much to his surprise, I was up and dressed when Andy came in to wake me.

“Bloody hell, piss the bed?” he asked, grinning.

The day progressed much the same as any other. It was raining, so at games time, I became very aware that my nipples were rubbing against my damp coarse rugby-shirt whenever I ran. In addition, I just didn't seem to have the stamina I usually had.
So much so, that Mr Carter, the coach swore at me.

"Come on Coates, you’re playing like a girl!"

I stopped and looked at him, as the truth stated to creep up on me like sticky molasses.

"Sir?"

"Just get stuck in lad, you're flaffing away like my six year-old daughter!"

With a bright red face, I managed to survive the remainder of the session without further incident, and then had to face the showers.

Fortunately, my shirt was large, so the protruding nipples were not apparent. However, I knew that as soon as I took my top off, someone was bound to see them.

I hung about and waited until I was the last, and quickly washed and changed when no one was about. My dick and balls had shrunk by at least half, which it terrified the shit out of me. I had that cold sweaty panic, which made me feel faintly nauseous. I was late for tea, but it was worth it not to draw attention to myself.

I considered going to the school quack, but kicked that idea into touch. If I did that, then the shit would fly. He’d call the headmaster, who’d call my parents, who’d engage specialists and all manner of shit. I’d end up having corrective treatment to ensure I stayed the way they wanted me.

It dawned on me then what I did want. If I was changing, then I wanted that to continue. I wanted it so much that I needed it to be complete before I told anyone or did anything about it. I wanted to get past the point of no return. I did not want to be what everyone else expected me to be.

I went to the afternoon lessons as if in a daze. My English teacher kept reminding me to join the rest several times, and I kept my hand in my shirt, feeling a definite tenderness around my nipples. The tissue felt inflamed and slightly swollen.

I know that I had desperately wanted to be a girl, but I never actually believed nor expected for it to come true, not like this at any rate!

I was in bed quite early, with my hands inside my pyjamas. There was absolutely no doubt now. I was much smaller in the crotch department.

My heart rate was quite rapid, and I still had that flushed feeling where one feels panicked and no longer in control. I was terrified about what could happen, so I couldn't really focus my mind on anything very long.

I knew that sleep was not going to come easily, and even if it did, I was frightened of what I would find when I awoke. I was tired, frightened and feeling very alone.

I even found myself going against everything I had wished for over the last ten years or so. Part of me actually wished to stay a boy, just because it was familiar and relatively safe. However, another part, a particularly vociferous part, screamed at me to let it come!

I fell asleep. I dreamed the dream again, in which, once more, the girl was still imprisoned in that room.

Andy woke me up as usual.

I was still a boy.

I felt strange today. I couldn’t put my finger on what made me feel strange. It was just that my belly felt weird, as if I had eaten too much, or something like that. I ached too, my back ached and every step I took made my hips or pelvis ache. I wandered to the loo, and this time I was certain I had shrunk.

My willy was hardly peeping out of my belly, and my scrotum was tight up against my crotch. I could just about feel my balls and they were ever so small.

I went to my room and dressed. I noted that my beard, not wildly enthusiastic at the best of times, was nowhere to be seen. I hadn’t shaved for over a week.

As I pulled my shirt on, I noted that the tissue behind each nipple had definitely swollen, and the nipples and surrounding brown aureoles had grown too. My waist was slightly smaller, and I had to tighten my belt up to the final hole. Yet, my trousers seemed much tighter across the bum. Weird!

My heart raced. I was in a confused state of conflicting emotions.

Although I really wanted to be a girl, I was terrified of losing what was familiar to me. I wondered if anyone else experienced these feelings. I thought about those few people who were brave enough to go through sex change procedures. Did they ever have nagging doubts?

I didn’t doubt that I wanted to be a girl with every inch of my being. I just doubted that with the raw materials with which I had, the product would be appropriate.

I stared at my face in the mirror, trying to see any changes.

I couldn’t see any, and I casually brushed some stray hair out of my eyes. I had been watching the movement, and it looked alien to me. The whole wrist and hand movement appeared to be very camp.

I looked at my hands.

They looked to be slightly smaller, and certainly more slender. The fine hair on my arms had all but vanished, and I scrunched up my hands into fists in denial.

It couldn’t happen!

At least, that is what I told myself.

I missed breakfast, and managed to get into chapel in time. In fact, I was early for a change. I sat at the back of my house pews, watching the others come in and find their places.

There were six houses, and so there were eight blocks of pews, four aside all tiered facing the aisle. The extra two blocks were the choir, and were up near the altar.

I caught myself looking at some of the other sixth form boys in a strange way. I would look at their faces, and then their bums, for some reason. People I had come up through the school with, I was now seeing in a different way and it frightened me.
I was not gay. At least I didn’t think I was. I suppose when you have to work hard at being the person everyone expects you to be, you have to encompass all the expected attributes. Other qualities are therefore suppressed to such an extent that they cease to be. I couldn’t be sure that the real me was or wasn’t gay.

A transsexual, yes, but I had never had leanings towards having a sexual relationship, or liaison with another male as a male in my life. I had enjoyed many fantasies of having sex with a boy, but on the strict condition that I was one hundred percent female. The thought of me, as a male, doing anything physical with another male was repugnant to me.

I had had several girlfriends and, although not yet had sex, it was surely just a matter of time. I got on with girls very well. Better really than boys, as I was relaxed in their company. I didn’t feel I had to keep up a façade with girls. Maybe that was why it seemed so easy for me to have girlfriends. Apart from Andy, I had few close male friends.

It was at that moment that I had a clear picture of who and what I really was. I was a girl, but possessed some anatomical anomalies that prevented me from taking my rightful place in society. I was a round peg in a square hole and had been trying to be square for everyone else for so long that even I thought I was square.

I watched Charlie Wright walk in, and I smiled. I caught myself smiling, went red, and had to look away. Charlie was a good-looking guy, who had a steady girlfriend. I could see why, he had a super smile and a lovely bum!

I felt more confused than ever now.

What was happening to me?

That morning was a real struggle. I sat through the lessons, and couldn’t concentrate at all. I pretended to, and doodled when supposed to taking notes.

I found that I had signed names all over a rough piece of paper.

The names were:
Pippa Philippa Coates, Miss Philippa Coates, Mrs Philippa Wright,

I stared at them. Even the handwriting was different, more rounded, and neater somehow.

Shit!

I scrunched up the paper and stuffed it in my pocket to throw away later.

After an eternity, it was lunchtime, and we all started to leave the classroom. As I was about to leave, Mr Hislop called me over.

“Are you all right, young man?”

“Yes sir.”

He looked at me.

“I detected that you were absent for most of that session. Are you sure?”

“I feel a little queasy, it’s nothing. I’m sorry sir.”

He nodded, but I could tell he was unconvinced.

“Have you lost weight?”

I was surprised.

“I don’t know, sir.”

“You look different, slimmer or something. Make sure you eat properly, you need your weight for the rugger.”

“Yes sir.”

I left, feeling embarrassed and very self-conscious.

Everywhere I went, I thought I could see people looking at me and talking about me.

Don’t be paranoid! I told myself. It didn’t help, as I was still worried. I remembered to throw away the paper from my pocket.

Rugby practice was absolute hell!

I dropped the ball more often than ever before in my life. I missed most of the tackles I attempted, and those I managed to hold, just seemed to get free with no trouble. The worst thing was the feeling of frustration, so when the coach swore at me, I almost burst into tears!

Needless to say, I came in for masses of abuse from the coach and my teammates.

I made the excuse that I felt unwell, and was told, “Piss off and have an early shower. You are playing like a bloody pansy. If you don’t get a grip, I’ll drop you from the firsts. If you’re ill, go see matron and the quack in the sickbay. Don’t come back until you’re better!”

I walked off and had a shower by myself.

As I stood naked, I looked down at myself. I tucked my, by now, tiny penis between my legs and gasped.

My body shape was more female than ever before. I quickly washed and dried myself off, rushing to my study to find solace in solitude.

There were no afternoon lessons, but I appeared for the evening meal.

Andy came and sat next to me.

“Are you okay?” he asked.

*No, I’m turning into a girl.* Is what I wanted to say.

I couldn’t.

“Yeah, I suppose. I just feel a bit odd,” I said.

He looked at me with a strange expression.

“You look okay.”

I smiled. That was a relief.

“Just the one essay tonight,” he said.

Essay?

“What essay?”

“Duh! In History, the essay on the reasons Henry VIII dissolved the monasteries. Remember?”

I didn’t.

“No.”

He stared at me again, this time looking at me closely.

“I should go and see matron, if I were you. Something is really strange with you at the moment.”

“Strange?”

“Yeah. You are behaving really oddly. Did you get a bang on the head?”

“Not that I remember.”

“Well, if you are still odd tomorrow, I’ll take you to matron myself.”

“Okay,” I said, and he seemed to accept that.

I went up to my study and within moments Andy was in and sitting in my armchair.

Studies were small. A single bed, a desk and chair, with room for one armchair and a small item of furniture. I had a Pye record player in the corner and a small Bush cassette recorder/player on top of it. Posters of current film stars were permitted on the wall, but no nudity. I had a couple of Bridget Bardot, with very little on, and one of Raquel Welch in her fur bikini from A Million Years BC.

I also had Steve McQueen on his motorbike from The Great Escape, and Lee Marvin from The Dirty Dozen. My favourite was the two choppers from Easy Rider, being ridden by Peter Fonda and Dennis Hopper.

“Done the essay yet?” he teased.

“Yes,” I teased back.

“Yeah, right!” he said, grinning.

He put on my Yes LP, - Fragile.

We sat and listened to it for a while.

“Phil?”

“Hmm?”

“You’d tell me if you were in trouble, wouldn’t you?”

“In trouble?”

“You know?”

“No.”

“Fucked up, mate. Stressed out, you know?”

“No, I don’t know.”

He sighed.

“We’ve been mates for what, four years?”

“So?”

“Something’s bugging you, and I just want to help.”

I looked at him and I almost told him. Almost!

“I can’t tell you,” I said.

His eyebrows shot up.

“Can’t?”

“Can’t! I don’t know myself. If or when I find out, you’ll be the first to know.”

“Honest?”

“Honest!”

He smiled.

“Sorry, but I don’t like seeing you like this.”

“Like what?”

“I don’t know — different, I suppose.”

“In what way?” I asked.

“A weird way. It’s like you’re hiding something and are almost a different person somehow.”

I was quiet. The urge to share what I was going through was so strong. Yet, tomorrow, it all might be better again. I still kept quiet.

He stayed and I relaxed. I even wrote my essay plan. He finally went to write his, so I said good night. I was relieved when he had gone.

I went to the loo, and had such a hard job to get my penis to point at the urinal that I ended up sitting down to pee. I returned to my room and changed for bed. I lay there, unable to read, so I turned my light out. Sleep was a long time coming. I never thought I would actually drop off.

I must have fallen asleep, because I dreamed. This time the dream was different.

It started the same way, with me as a girl on the bed, but then it changed. I got up and stood for the first time. There was a pair of girl's shoes, simple sandals with high heels, by the bed. They had never been in the dream before, so feeling a little knot of excitement in my stomach, I put them on. I walked across the floor to where I knew the door was. I was very conscious of the long diaphanous dress I wore, so to feel my bare legs touching as I walked was a lovely feeling. So much so, I almost felt a sexual thrill. The door opened as I approached.

I looked back towards the bed that I hadn’t left in all the other dreams. There, lying on the bed was the male me, still wearing the same tee shirt and the jeans.

"Enjoy it. Try not to forget me," the boy-me said.

"Oh, I'll never forget you. You will always be in here," I said, tapping the side of my head with my finger. I gazed in surprise at my crimson fingernails, smiling with pure joy. My heart sang.

He smiled sadly.

"Bye then."

"Bye."

I walked through the door. I had never seen outside the door before, and I didn’t know what to expect. I didn’t expect a brilliant white light and then nothing!

............to be continued.

Dreamer Part 2

By Tanya Allan
Original Version Copyright © 1972
Revised version Copyright © 2012

The author asserts her moral right under the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act, 1988, to be identified as the author of this work.

All Rights reserved.
No part of this publication may be reproduced, copied, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means, without the prior written consent of the copyright holder, nor be otherwise circulated in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser.
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This work is fictitious, and any similarities to any persons, alive or dead, are purely coincidental. Mention is made of persons in public life only for the purposes of realism and for that reason alone. Certain licence is taken in respect of medical procedures, terms and conditions, and the author does not claim to be the fount of all knowledge.

The author accepts the right of the individual to hold his/her (or whatever) own political, religious and social views, and there is no intention to deliberately offend anyone.

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Philip Coates is seventeen and convinced that he is not only trapped in a boarding school for boys, but also trapped in the wrong body. He spends most of his time lost in a world of his imagination. In this world he is the girl he always wanted to be. The girl who screams at him to set her free in every minute of every waking hour, and most of the sleeping ones as well.

Trapped in a social square hole, he becomes simply what everyone - parents, friends, teachers - want and expect him to be. He knows that he wants to be a round peg, but will, in reality, never make it.

Well, he wakes up one morning convinced that his dream might just be coming true.. or is it?

The signs are there, but then again, are there other explanations for what he is going through?

After a rough few days, the girl is set free.

The future is now gloriously uncertain and fresh, as she sets out on a journey, turning her back on her school, her friends and her old home.....

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My thanks to PEGLEG for help with proofing

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Dreamer Part 2

By Tanya Allan

"Come on Phil, you're late again. If you....fucking hell! Who the fuck are you?"

I woke up on hearing Andy's voice.

I was on my side, with the duvet was on the floor. Andy was staring at me as if I had suddenly grown two extra heads, doing a passable goldfish impression with his mouth.

I stared at him blankly, but to my amazement he turned away, going bright red. He opened the door and looked up and down the corridor.

"What?" I asked his back.

He turned back towards me.

"Look, I don't know who you are, or how the fuck you got here, but if Phil doesn't get you out of here, we’re all in the shit!" he said.

I swung my legs off the bed and stood up. The jockey shorts immediately fell down, so I bent over to pull them up.

It was then that I noticed that I was no longer male. So did Andy.

“Oh, bloody hell!” he said, turning away again.

I was only conscious of this weight on my chest, my breasts were really enormous! I stayed bent over looking in terrified fascination at the gentle mound and light blonde fuzz around it. I tentatively touched it with my hand, and smiled when the truth hit me. My breasts swung free inside the tee shirt, and I could feel a strange sensation as the nipples touched the material.

Actually, looking back, they were, and still are, a nice size, but to me then, they were fucking ginormous!

I was also smaller in height and build than I had been, so I was standing with my eye level several inches shorter of what it had been previously.

"Fuck!" I said, pulling up the shorts.

It had happened; it had actually bloody happened!

What the bloody hell did I do now?

"Where's Phil?" Andy asked, half turning round to see if I was still exposing myself..

"Huh?" I asked, not really with the rest of the world at this precise moment.

"Where's the boy whose room this is? You know, Phil Coates?" he asked, his voice bordering on the panic that I already felt.

I walked over to the mirror, holding my shorts up with one hand. I had to stand on tiptoe to see my face. I’d shrunk at least five inches!

A complete stranger looked back at me - a completely strange girl at that.

She was a very pretty girl, but she was not what I expected at all. Her hair was the same length as mine, but somehow more golden and thicker. Her eyes were mine, blue and familiar, but the lashes were long and thick. It was lovely to see that my splattering of facial acne was gone, and the small nose was slightly turned up at the end. The biggest difference was in the mouth and chin. The mouth had full lips, so seemed much larger. The old square chin had been replaced by a neat, small round chin, which was less masculine.

I gasped. It was better than my best dream. I looked like my sister, had I one, that is.

"Bloody Hell! Is that me?" I said.

Andy was getting really stressed.

“Look, we can’t bugger about all day. Where the fuck is Phil?” Andy asked.

I turned round and looked at him. He was clearly worried and embarrassed.

“I’m right here, you daft pillock!” I said.

It was his turn to stare and mumble.

“Huh?”

“Andy, it’s me, Phil. I’m just a little different, that’s all!”

“Huh?”

“Oh, for fuck’s sake! Andy, I ‘m Phil. You know, your friend, Phil Coates. This is my room, and well, something has happened. I told you I’d tell you when I found out what was wrong. Well, it looks like we both know what it was now!” I said, my voice tailing off as the full reality of the situation hit me.

“You’re a girl!” he said.

“Duh! Tell me about it!”

“Phil’s not a girl, so who are you?” he asked. He still hadn’t got it.

I sighed and sat on the bed.

“Andy. Look, I don’t know how, or why, but I went to bed a boy and woke up a girl. You know I wasn’t feeling right for the last couple of days?”

“Uh, yeah.”

“That must have been me changing from the inside. If you don’t believe me, you tell me how the fuck Phil could get a girl into this room and be nowhere in sight when you come and wake me up?”

He stood frowning. He looked so funny I giggled. This made him even more uncomfortable.

“If you don’t believe me, ask me anything you know that only I know. Like, who you snogged at the Christmas party with the Nicholls? Or, who it was who put frogspawn into the art master’s Mini’s windscreen washer bottle?” I suggested.

He stared at me again.

“Phil?” he asked, very uncertainly.

I nodded.

“’fraid so.”

“Fucking hell!”

I nodded.

“Yeah, that’s what I think too.”

“How?”

“I haven’t the foggiest! Wishful thinking?” I said, as I looked around for some clothes that would fit my new altered shape.

“Wishful thinking?” he asked, with an odd expression on his face.

“Never mind, you wouldn’t understand,” I said.

“What the bloody hell are you going to do? I mean, you don’t even look like you, so you can’t just get dressed in your usual clothes and pretend to be the old you. If the Head finds out, there’ll be an explosion!”

I shrugged.

“Get dressed, I suppose. I also need a pee,” I said, taking my tee shirt off without really thinking.

Andy stared at my tits, went bright red and turned round, facing the door again.

“Shit!” he said.

I grinned and looked down at my new breasts.

They looked great. I had always wanted some of my own, but never imagined I would ever actually have some. I felt them with my hands, revelling in the feel of my soft skin, and the sheer weight. I had never imagined they’d be so heavy.

They were round and pert, not saggy at all, and very firm. As my fingers brushed the nipples, they expanded under my touch. I felt a flutter of pleasure in my belly. I had a daft smile on my face that even the thought of my current predicament couldn’t shift.

I found a clean tee shirt and pulled it on. I realised I would have to go shopping and get some proper underwear, bras and stuff.

I took the jockey shorts off and slipped on a tight pair of briefs, or they used to be tight, I had less to put in them now. Fortunately, my bum and hips were larger, so they stayed up. I pulled on some jeans, but they were very tight in the bum, while being loose round the waist, so I slipped a belt through the loops and fastened it.

My trainers were much too big, even with three pairs of socks, I would never be able to wear them.

“I need a size six or seven. Tens are just silly!” I said, pulling off all those socks again.

Andy was staring at me, shaking his head and muttering.

“What?” I asked.

“You’re very pretty, I can’t believe this,” he said, with surprise in his voice.

I just smiled. It was like my dream.

“It still doesn’t help; what are you going to do?” he asked.

I stood up and finding my jeans were too long, I turned up the leg ends.

I was in bare feet.

“I need shoes. And I still need the loo!” I said.

He frowned again.

“Look, you’re a girl in a boys’ school, you should be a boy, but you aren’t. This is a fucking nightmare,” he said, scratching his head.

For the first time, I actually felt calm. The panic had gone. The uncertainty was gone also. All I had left was a feeling of wholeness and contentment. I found I didn’t care about anything apart from the wonderful feeling I had being finally what I always wanted to be — a girl.

“No Andy. It’s a dream come true,” I said.

Even my voice was different. I smiled, going through my jacket pockets. I had a wallet with six quid and a cash point card in it. I had about a hundred pounds in my account, and that was it.

“Can you lend me any money?” I asked.

“What?”

“Look, I’m going to have to leave. I can’t stay here, as I can’t let anyone know what has really happened, because they’ll turn me into a freak. So, I am going to fuck off and start a new life somewhere. I need some money, can you let me have some? Your dad’s rolling, after all.”

He fumbled with his wallet.

He handed me twenty pounds.

“That’s all I have here. I can get you more, but not for a bit.”

“That’s fine. It’ll have to do. I do need some shoes, though.”

“I’ll go look in the changing room. There might be some old trainers belonging to a fourth former lying about,” he said, and left me alone.

I opened my wardrobe, located my old leather bomber jacket and put it on. It was a little large, but it looked quite chic. I put a few tee shirts and other clothes into a holdall. I also packed some of my books and personal stuff. My one fear was that I would change back. There was very little here for me, so the bag was quite light.

I looked into the mirror again and fluffed up the hair. I put a brush and comb into the bag, together with a towel, a toothbrush and toothpaste. I would definitely have to go shopping soon.

There was a knock on the door.
It was Andy.

“Try these,” he said.

They were some old tatty plimsoles, but they almost fitted. A little big, but with a pair of thick socks they would do me until I bought some decent shoes.

“Where will you go?”

I hadn’t thought.

“I dunno. Perth, I suppose. It’s the nearest town, and then I can get a train south.”

“Why south?”

“Why not?”

“What about your parents?”

“What about them?”

“Won’t they be worried?”

“Probably. But they couldn’t really give a shit about me, only what other people might think and say.”

“How do you mean?”

“Look, this isn’t the time or the place for this conversation, but let’s just say what you see is the real me. This is what I have dreamed about every moment of every day for as long as I can remember. Once, I was foolish enough to tell my parents how I felt, and their reaction was that I couldn’t possibly be a transsexual, because of what all their friends would say?”

“You’re a transsexual?” he asked, his voice going up several octaves, displaying his incredulity.

“No, dummy! I was a transsexual. Now I am a girl, in heart, body, mind and soul. And, you know, I actually feel happy for the first time ever!”

He stared at me.

“I never knew.”

“Duh! I’m hardly going to wear a badge saying, ‘I’d rather be a girl.’”

“I suppose not.”

I looked at my watch. The strap was done up on the tightest setting and was still loose.

“You go and see if the coast is clear. I’ll duck out of the fire escape, and nip through the kitchens.”

He stared at me.

“I can’t believe this,” he repeated.

“Believe it. Look, thanks for being a friend. If I can, I’ll be in touch. I owe you twenty quid in any case.”

He nodded.

“What shall I say?”

“The truth, you haven’t see Phil Coates since yesterday.”

“What will you call yourself?”

I hadn’t thought about that either.

“Philippa, I suppose. Pippa for short.”

“Pippa. I like it!” he said, smiling for the first time.

I did something that for the life of me I don’t know where it came from. I leaned forward and kissed him on the cheek.

“Thanks Andy. As I said, I’ll try to keep in touch.”

He went bright red and then smiled sheepishly at me.

“You must be a girl, because if you weren’t I wouldn’t feel like I do,” he said.

I smiled.

“How do you feel?” I asked.

“You don’t want to know,” he said, still ginning.

“Best you keep that to yourself, then,” I said.

“Phil, no, Pippa?”

“What?” It was really weird hearing my feminine name; nice, but weird.

“Shall I come with you?”

I stared at him.

“Would you?”

“If you’d like me to.”

I shook my head.

“You’ve a life to lead, exams to finish. Your father wants you to follow his footsteps, whereas mine couldn’t give a shit! I appreciate the thought though. You still look like you. I am a new person, and even if they launched a search, they’ll never find me, you would be identified straight away.”
He nodded.

“I just thought I’d ask.”

I smiled.

“Thanks, I appreciate the thought. Now go see if it is clear.”

He smiled uncertainly and nodded. I watched through the door jam as he waved me down the corridor. I grabbed my bag and ran for the loo. I sat and did what I had to do. I didn’t have time to dwell on the differences, I just found it all perfectly natural. It was as if I had always been a girl. I finished and made a dash for the fire escape. I was down into the back kitchens and out the service door like a Jack Russell down a rabbit hole. I waved at Andy who watched me from the window. He waved back.

Ten minutes later I was on the main road, heading towards Perth. I never turned and looked back.

Glenallan is a large boys’ public school perched in a picturesque glen in the hills of Perthshire, some fifteen miles west of the city of Perth. Bleak in winter and simply secluded at the best of times, it was a guarantee that your offspring can get up to no trouble.

Offering the finest education and sports facilities that money can buy the generation of ‘Haves’ send their sons there to ensure that the next generation will be ‘Haves, plus a little bit more’.

My father cared little for my future, as long as I didn’t bring disgrace to him or his family name. Not that he has done much for either. To say we were not close would be an understatement.

My mother was so wrapped up in her own family bitterness over her feelings of being cheated by her brother, that she had little time for anyone or anything else. I had been sent off to boarding school at eight, and now, nine years later, I discovered that we did not really know each other. I had tried to tell them who I really was, but failed through a mixture of cowardice on my part and denial on theirs.

Fortunately, the sun shone as I made my way along a road that I had often run with other poor inmates of our wonderful institution.

I heard a car approaching, so instinctively I stuck my hand out with thumb upraised to hitch a lift.

To my surprise, the car pulled up just past me. It was a Volvo 145 estate.

My surprise turned to horror when I recognised the Headmaster’s wife, Mrs Matheson.

(For the benefit of those not of these Isles, I ought to explain at this juncture, that at this time in Scotland, the landed and wealthy classes, many of whom send their offspring to private schools, did not speak with Scottish accents in the main. Well educated and somewhat interbred, they sounded as posh and as upper-class English as the royal family, and still do. I was blessed (or cursed) by being born to the younger son of a younger son of such a family (not HRH, Honest!). Despite being Scottish born, bred and educated, I was always expected to speak the Queen’s English. I have, over the years, developed the knack of a vocal chameleon, being able to adapt to my surroundings, and therefore obviating any barriers to effective communications through sounding too posh. Although I can when I want to!)

“Hello, you are taking a bit of a risk, young lady,” she said.

“Aye, well, I missed the bus te Perth,” I said, switching to the local vernacular.

“Well, hop in. Are you a local girl? I haven’t seen you before.”

I sat in the front seat, with my holdall on my lap.

“I’ve been staying wi’ ma cousins on the farm at Glenchapel.”

“Glenchapel?”

“Aye, it’s a wee way up the glen.”

“Oh, not at school?” she asked as we set off.

“No. I left school when I was sixteen wi’ some O levels. Wi’ Dad dead, I need te get a job.”

“Really, how old are you now?”

“Seventeen.”

“You really should have stayed on at school, you never know what qualifications you will need.”

“Aye, but I want te be a model or something, so maths an’ stuff is no’ that useful to me. An’ I can’t afford to stay on.”

She glanced at me and smiled. She was always a nice woman, somewhat remote, probably due to shyness more than anything else. She wasn’t a teacher, but always supported her husband through his career as a housemaster at successive schools and now as a head.

“At least you don’t smear all that hideous makeup all over yourself, like some girls of your age. You’re a pretty girl, so it’s refreshing to see natural beauty as opposed to so much out of a jar,” she said, so I just smiled.

We chatted about trivia for the journey. She dropped me in St John’s Square, where she parked her car.

“Thanks very much,” I said.

“You’re welcome, my dear. Good luck with your modelling career.”

We went our separate ways. I went straight to the bank and withdrew fifty pounds. I could only withdraw that much each day, so I now had seventy-six pounds. It felt a lot, but I knew that it wouldn’t last very long. I also knew that if they started a search, they’d check with the bank and find out when the money was withdrawn and from where. It didn’t bother me, so confident was I in my new persona, I was completely happy no one would recognise me.

I did have a problem. I had no official identity, and I could not think of how to get one. I was unwilling to use my real surname, so once my money was gone, I’d lose the card. My driver’s licence was just a piece of paper with a boy’s name on it. I needed a new identity, and an official one at that. I had no idea how to get hold of one. I didn’t even know where to start.

I was also aware that as a pretty, seventeen year-old girl, who was not worldly-wise, I was very vulnerable.

I had two things on my immediate agenda.

One, to get some proper clothes.

Two, to get as far from Perth as I could sensibly afford to. The rail fare to London was about thirty pounds, but I didn’t want to spend that much yet.

I walked the main streets, window-shopping. I kept seeing my reflection in the shop windows and couldn’t shake my silly grin that was stuck on my face. This pretty girl with shoulder-length fair hair grinned back at me. I was only 5’ 7” now, having lost a good four inches, somehow.

The biggest difference was my shape. My waist went in and my hips went out, and my chest, well that was something else. I grinned as I felt my breasts swing free beneath my shirt.

I honestly could not recall feeling constantly happy like this, ever!

There were so many different clothes and, looking at the prices, I realised that being female and well dressed would mean I would also be skint.

I went to a couple of charity shops, finding nearly everything I wanted. They each even had a small changing booth. With the exception of underwear, (I just didn’t fancy second-hand knickers and stuff.) I was able to pack my holdall with some nice clothes. I bought a couple of mini skirts; one in denim and one in a bright red material, with about five assorted tops and tee shirts. There was a little black dress that fitted me perfectly, and a black coat that was quite smart. I also bought a navy blue skirt, a cream blouse and a matching navy jacket. The last were just in case I needed to be smart for an interview or something.

I found an ornate waistcoat and two pair of trousers that fitted me much better than my jeans. In fact, I swapped my jeans for a pale blue pair, which, being girl’s jeans, fitted me in all the right places. I kept them on, with the waistcoat.

I was just leaving the Oxfam shop when I saw a canary yellow waterproof ski jacket. It was just so obvious, I tried it on and it was just right. Then, to cap everything off, I bought a denim shoulder bag. I had nothing to put in it yet, apart from my brush, comb and my wallet.

I didn’t like the idea of wearing other people’s underwear or shoes, so I went to M&S and was helped to buy three bras that were the right size and a pack of six plain white girl’s pants. I saw some tights on the rack, so bought three pairs, two in flesh colour and one in black.

I changed into one of the bras and pants then and there, throwing the old briefs into the bin as I left the shop, having paid, of course.

Finally, I went to a shoe shop that had a large SALE sign in the window. They were getting rid of the summer stock, so I bought a pair of trainers, a pair of smart high heel black shoes to go with my black dress, and a pair of suede knee length boots with three inch heels.

I had only spent twenty pounds, so was well pleased with my haul. The shoes and underwear cost more than the rest put together. My bag was quite heavy now, and I found myself looking into Boots the chemist.

There was a huge advert for makeup, and it dawned on me that I would need some, but I hadn’t a clue as to how to go about it.
I had mucked about with my mum’s makeup, but really I was totally clueless about the whole subject. I went in and wandered the make up section becoming more confused than ever. There was just so much.

“Are you okay, or do you need a hand?” a female assistant asked.

I looked up and saw a dark haired girl about my age smiling at me.

“I am so confused. I’ve never really used make up, so don’t know what to get,” I said, as honestly as I could be.

“It’s a nightmare isn’t it? I’m Kathy. You’ve got a lovely complexion, you don’t need that much,” she said.

After twenty minutes, I was nine pounds, twenty-three and a half pence poorer. I was, however, now the owner of a make up case full to the brim of alien artefacts, of which I only had a faint idea as to how to use them.

Kathy had made my face up in order to show me the products, so I had watched her techniques avidly. As a result of her efforts I now looked nearer twenty, and as I walked down the street, I became aware that my progress was watched by many of the males as I passed.

My smile just got bigger.

It was lunch-time, so I went into a little café and ordered a roll and a cup of coffee. I opened up my wallet to see what I had left.

I had just blown more than a third of my funds. I only had forty-five quid left now, so things would get tight. Tucked away in the wallet was my little red driving licence. It was a small red covered book, with paper inserts stuck to the main page. It was a full licence, as I had passed my driving test in the summer holidays just gone. It was also in the name of Philip Coates, so was therefore completely useless.

“Excuse me, is zis chair being sat upon?” said a foreign voice.

I looked up.

It was a boy. A young man really, older than me, say about nineteen or twenty. He had very blond, almost white hair, cut very short, and he looked very Scandinavian. He was wearing an old green denim type military jacket, jeans and a check shirt. He was holding a backpack, which he put on the ground. It was almost as big as he was, and he was as tall as I used to be, if not taller.

“No, feel free,” I said, keeping the Scottish accent.

“Thanks you,” he said, sitting down with obvious relief.

The waitress came over and gave him the menu, plonking my roll and coffee in front of me.

He looked at the menu with a frown.

“Are you having problems?” I asked.

“Some of zese verds. I am confused. I come here two days since. And my English is, how you say, not yet good,” his accent was very sexy. I blushed as I realised what I had thought.

“Och, it’s no that bad. Where are you from?” I asked.

“I am from Norway. My name is Thor Larssen.”

“Thor, as in the god of thunder, or Thor Heyerdral the explorer?”

He smiled.

“Ah, you know Norse mythology and of the Kon-tiki expedition?”

“A wee bit,” I admitted, blushing.

“What is your name?”

“Philippa. My friends call me Pippa,” I said, and he extended his hand to me. I shook it.

“Pippa. It is a nice name. I like it,” he said, still holding my hand.

I went redder, as the waitress came back and hovered expectantly. He let go of my hand.

Thor looked at the menu, and I helped him with some of the choices. He ended up ordering toad in the hole and chips. He was a bit worried he was going to get a real toad.

We chatted for a while, or rather, he chatted and I listened. Any questions he asked me, I answered shortly and asked one back. He didn’t mind talking about himself, a typical male!

I discovered he had come over by boat and landed in Aberdeen a couple of days before. He was on his year out before university and was travelling Europe. He wanted to get the UK out of the way before winter set in, having spent the summer working on in his uncle’s logging plant in Norway. I think he wanted to get to the South of France and Spain by the winter.
He was going to go to medical school in Oslo the following year, and I thought that he was a very nice boy. I liked him and it was very strange. I felt very different in his company compared to how I would have done had I been still Phillip.

I gazed past his shoulder out into the street and my heart almost stopped.

My mother was walking down the pavement with her friend Ruth Wells. She didn’t appear upset, so the school hadn’t discovered my absence yet. I had not considered seeing my family, so I must have shown my concern, because Thor stopped talking and asked if I was alright.

I forced myself to look away from my mother, and smiled at him.

“I’m fine, I just forgot something. Not to worry,” I said.

Then, to my deeper shock, my mother and Ruth came into the café. I should have remembered, she often used this café on her shopping trips, and I had automatically come in here through familiarity.

She looked right at me and our eyes locked for a second. I looked away and smiled at Thor.

“So where do you go from here?”

He shrugged.

“I am not sure. I like this town. Maybe I stay here for a bit, yes?”

I smiled, as he was trying to find out where I lived.

“I’m off to Edinburgh. I need to get a job,” I said.

“You live in Edinburgh?” he said, pronouncing it Edeenborg.

I laughed, and finished my roll.

“No, I am just off to seek my fortune. I’ve left home, so I need to make my own life.”

“You are very brave,” he said, very solemnly.

“No, just loony,” I said, and he frowned.

“What is loony?”

“Loony is mad. In English, loony is slang for the word lunatic. It comes from when they thought the moon made people mad, so the word comes from the Latin, Luna, meaning moon,” I explained.

“Ah, I see. You know much I think.”

I shook my head.

“Nah. A wee bit only.”

“What is wee?”

“Wee is Scottish for little.”

“So, Scotland has its own language?”

“Not really, there are a few who speak the Gaelic, so some words are from that. We speak English, but use some words that the English don’t.”

He smiled.

“I like Scottish.”

“Good.”

“Are all Scottish girls as pretty as you?” he asked.

I went beet red, and looked down.

“I am sorry, I did not mean to be rude,” he said, apologetically.

I looked up at him from under my lashes. I smiled.

“Don’t apologise. I liked it. And I don’t know. Am I pretty, then?”

He smiled.

“I think so. Ja, very pretty.

His toad in the hole arrived.

He looked at it so suspiciously that I laughed loudly. My mother looked over to me and I realised that she had absolutely no idea who I was. It made me feel much better.

Part of me wanted to go and tell her. The rest of me knew that that was something for the future. I needed more control of my life first. It was odd, as I felt nothing towards her. I liked her, and was sort of fond of her, so don’t get me wrong, but we’d always had as distant relationship, me and my parents. I had to admit that we were not exactly close.
If you asked me, did I love my parents, I’d hesitate and say something like, ‘I think I used to love them; I just don’t feel close to them anymore.’

I stayed and chatted to Thor and ordered another coffee that I could scarce afford. He was good company, teaching me a few rude Norwegian words. My accent made him laugh, so I taught him some words that nice wee Scots girls should never have known.

He actually enjoyed his toad, and it dawned on me that we were both sitting here because the other was here. I paid for my roll and drinks, while he paid for his food too.

I stood up.

“I have to go,” I said.

An expression of loss flitted across his face.

“You go Edinburgh now?”

“Aye,” I said, just to get away from my family.

“If you like, I come with you?”

I stared at him. I didn’t know him, but I didn’t think I was ready for getting too close to anyone, yet.

“Okay, if ye want,” I heard my voice say. No one was more surprised than me!

His smile said more than a thousand words, and I experienced a strange sensation deep inside.
We left together, as he heaved his enormous pack onto his broad shoulders.

“So, how we get there?”

“Bus. It’s cheaper than the train.”

“We not hitch-hike?”

I looked at him.

“Nice girls don’t hitch,” I said, conveniently forgetting that I had earlier.

“Oh. It is dangerous?”

“Can be. But if I’m with a six foot hulk like you, I should be safe, but who’d ever give us a lift, with you carrying half a house?”

He grinned.

We walked to the bus station. It started to rain and I was glad I hadn’t worn a skirt and heels. I dug out my ski jacket and put it on. We each bought a ticket for Edinburgh and sat in the waiting room. A bus went every hour, so we only had ten minutes to wait.

I left him guarding my bag and went to the loo.

It was my first time in a ladies loo. It was just like the gents, but without the urinals. It smelled as bad, but didn’t have quite so much piss on the floor.

I did what I had to do. Once again, I was surprised as to how normal it all felt. I imagined that it was going to be all so different, but it wasn’t. I just had different bits, and I loved every moment.

I repaired my makeup and returned to Thor and the bags.

He smiled as I approached. His smile had a funny affect on me. I liked the feeling.

“Better?”

“Lots, thanks.”

He grinned.

“I was told that the British were not too friendly.”

“Aren’t we?”

“You are.”

I smiled.

“Don’t get any funny ideas. There’s friendly and friendly,” I said.

It was his turn to blush, so I thought I’d shocked him a little.

“I have no ideas. I am sorry, my English is not good, you misunderstand, I think.”

I leaned over and touched him gently on his arm. It was unlike me to be tactile. I was surprising myself every minute.

“Don’t worry; your English is very good. I am teasing you; that’s all,” I said, and he smiled.

“It is difficult for me. Your humour is different.”

I smiled and watched a bus pull into the bay. The destination board was changed at the front to read ‘Edinburgh’.

“Come on, that’s our bus,” I said, so we went and boarded it. My memory of school trips was such that as we were the first, we placed our bags in the luggage space underneath and went in and straight down the back.

I went and took the rear window seat and the tall Thor slid in beside me. There were five seats at the back, and he didn’t need to sit quite so close. The bus was about half full, and no one else came to the very back. We set off and he stayed sitting close to me. I found I didn’t mind.

I knew the route to Kinross and then across Fife to the Forth Road Bridge. I was able to point out various places of interest, like the Castle on the island in Loch Leven where Mary Queen of Scots was imprisoned for a while.

I relaxed with Thor. His name made me giggle, as it seemed such a silly name, but I couldn’t tell him that.

“So, what do you do in Edinburgh?” he asked.

It made me think. I actually had no plans, and I suppose I had been floating on a euphoric feeling without actually thinking through my future.

“I don’t know. I just had to get away,” I admitted.

“You were in trouble?”

I shook my head.

“Not really. I just couldn’t stay where I was any longer. I needed to get away and lead my own life.”

He looked at me.

“You leave school early?”

I nodded.

“That is not good. You need school to get to university.”

“Thor, not you as well?”

“Me?”

“Never mind. Look, I am not interested in a degree. I just want to get a job that gives me enough to live, and to do something I like doing.”

“What do you like doing?” he asked.

I smiled and shrugged.

“I haven’t a clue. I won’t know until I try it.”

He shook his head. I was obviously too spontaneous for his well-ordered mind.

“I know! I’ll find a dishy doctor, get married and have loads of children,” I said, and he went bright red again.

I felt bad.

“I’m sorry. My stupid humour. I didn’t mean to offend you,” I said.

He grinned at me.

“You didn’t, I liked it,” he said, repeating what I had earlier said to him.

I smiled and looked out of the window. My brain was in a whirl. The only thing I had ever wanted had happened, and the rest seemed unimportant. I needed to get thinking straight, because it did matter, and I needed to be sensible about this. He was a boy, and I had mixed with boys all my life. Why was he affecting me like this? I felt all fuzzy and warm, and liked being close to him. It was most disconcerting.

I tried to focus my brain.

I needed to get a job, but before that, I need to get a proper identity. I had male identity but that wasn’t going to work now, particularly as I didn’t want to be found. I thought of all the hullabaloo that would be caused by me ‘miraculous sex change’.

The last thing I wanted was a media circus and to be labelled a freak.

“Pippa?”

I almost jumped. He had been so quiet that I had almost forgotten he was there.

“Yes?”

“Have you somewhere to stay?”

“Not yet.”

He pulled out a small booklet, with a typed itinerary he had prepared earlier, by the look of it. He had Edinburgh planned in, but not for several weeks. I had upset his plans by about a month.

“I go to the youth hostel. I have its address here. You come with me, yes?”

I shrugged. It was the best option so far.

“Okay,” I said, and he gave me a huge grin.

“What’s so funny?” I asked.

“Not funny. I am happy. You are my first friend here, and I get to see more of you,” he said.

I had to look away. There was that funny feeling again.

We arrived at the Firth of Forth, and he was amazed at the railway bridge that had been built over a hundred years before the new road suspension bridge. There was a warship sailing into the Forth.

“Ah, a battleship!” he said.

I looked down at it.

“No, that’s only a Destroyer, type 82, I think. They started building them in 1966. It has a displacement of 5,650 tons, and is armed with Seadart surface to air missiles and the Ikara anti-submarine weapon,” I said, and then realised what I had said. Girls just didn’t know such stuff.

He looked at me with a very odd expression.

“You are a very strange girl,” he said, and I simply smiled.

“You got that right,” I said.

“Is there anything you don’t know?”

I grinned.

“Lots,” I said.

“Good, let me know when there is something you don’t know.”

I don’t know why your smile turns my legs to jelly! I nearly said, and smiled at the thought of how he’d react to that statement.

Dreamer Part 3

By Tanya Allan
Original Version Copyright © 1972
Revised version Copyright © 2012

---

Philip Coates is seventeen and convinced that he is not only trapped in a boarding school for boys, but also trapped in the wrong body. He spends most of his time lost in a world of his imagination. In this world he is the girl he always wanted to be. The girl who screams at him to set her free in every minute of every waking hour, and most of the sleeping ones as well.

Trapped in a social square hole, he becomes simply what everyone - parents, friends, teachers - want and expect him to be. He knows that he wants to be a round peg, but will, in reality, never make it.

Well, he wakes up one morning convinced that his dream might just be coming true.. or is it?

The signs are there, but then again, are there other explanations for what he is going through?

After a rough few days, the girl is set free.

The future is now gloriously uncertain and fresh, as she sets out on a journey, turning her back on her school, her friends and her old home.....

---

My thanks to PEGLEG for help with proofing

---

Dreamer Part 3

By Tanya Allan

We arrived in Edinburgh at about three thirty, so I got hold of a map of the city from the ticket office. We set off for the youth hostel that was just off the city centre.

It was in an old building up a narrow side street in the old part of the town, not far from the castle.

A balding man was on duty in the office. He was in his fifties, and was initially quite brusque but as he relaxed, he seemed friendly enough.

Thor approached him and asked if there was any room.

“Aye, for you and yon girlfriend?”

“Yes, two.”

I said nothing when described as the girlfriend.

“Well, ye canny sleep together here. Girls on the first floor; and you are up on the second. Sign in here.”

I went red when he mentioned sleeping together, and Thor, bless him, missed it completely.

“Both Norwegian?” the man asked, watching Thor fill in his slip of paper. I was tempted to pretend to be, but decided that as I didn’t have papers or any knowledge of the language, I was better off being British.

“No, I’m not,” I said.

“Where are you from?”

I thought quickly.

“Inverness,” I said, with my accent.

“Och, there’s a thing. Ma wife comes fe Inverness.”

“Really? Good,” I said, smiling.

Fuck! Just my luck.

“Aye, we was married twenty three year, an’ then she buggers of te America wi’ some rich Yank.”

“Oh.” There was not much I could say to that.

I watched with trepidation as he took Thor’s passport details.

I filled in my slip.

Name: Philippa Stewart.
Date of Birth: 17/4/56 (A week older that I should have been)
Address: late of Altnagar Farm, Altnagar, Nr Inverness.
He looked at my slip.

“Late of?”

“Aye, my dad died and ma sold the farm. My brother and me moved out, I’ve come here to look fer a job.”

“Well, no doubt there are more here than up in the Highlands. Good luck to ye. Do ye hae any ID?”

“No, do I need any?”

“Get yersel’ doon to the social, and get something from them. It’s open ’til five. We get youngsters through all the time. They’ll give you a National Insurance number and everything. That’s the trouble wi’ school today. They teach you crap that doesnae help anyone in the real world.”

“Aye. I will, thanks.”

“Nae bother. Just take care now. There’s loads of trouble oot there if ye don’t watch oot.”

“I will look after her,” said my Norwegian god.

The man smiled.

“Aye, but who’s watching you, sonny?” he said.

“I am sorry?” Thor’s English missed the humour, again.

“Dinna worry. I’m Archie, by the way. I’m here most days up te five, if ye need anything.”

“Nice to meet you Archie. Don’t you get bored here?” I asked.

“Nae bother, me darlin’. You just take care. You’re in room 15, and lover boy is directly above you in room 25. We’re quite empty at the moment, so you have the rooms to yourselves. Each room can have up to five people in them. There is a locker in each room. If you want a key its fifty pee deposit. The hot water is available between seven and nine in the morning and seven and nine at night. There is a kitchen, but make sure you clean up after you.”

We each took a key, paid for the night in advance and went up to the rooms.

It was quite Spartan. However, it was a bed and was out of the weather. It would do until something better came along. I emptied my clothes from my bag, and hung them up in my locker. I was just brushing out my hair when there was a knock on the door.

I went over and opened it. It was Thor.

“Hi,” I said.

“Pippa, do you want to come with me? I was going to look at the castle.”

“I thought I’d pop down to the DHSS, and get sorted. If you come with me, we could go on afterwards.”

We went to the local social security office, Thor waited outside when I went in. I saw the lines of people and almost chickened out. I could see that the questions and answers would find me out.

I was on the point of turning round and walking out when I heard one member of staff say to another.

“This is bloody madness. No one can check these. It is quite possible for anyone to come in and give us a load of bollocks and we’ll be none the wiser.”

“Aye, but they don’t know that, do they?”

I smiled, and completed a form and handed it over when my turn came.

A tired and bored clerk looked at it and stamped it.

“You’ll get your number through in a few days, Miss Stewart. This receipt will act as a temporary one until it comes through. If you want to pop in, it will save time, and may well be ready tomorrow afternoon.”

That was it?

I turned and walked out.

On a whim I went into the next office, the local driving licence centre. I knew from when I went to the Perth office, they simply issued the little red books on a local basis, and there was no such thing as a central computer, yet.

I filled out a form applying for a provisional licence, giving my female details. The clerk asked for proof of identity, and I gave him the receipt from the DHSS for my application.

He took it without question, and I was issued with my Provisional licence then and there. I was five pounds poorer, but now had some identification. I couldn’t believe how easy it was.

I have always liked Edinburgh. The blend of old and new seems to work. Then there is the castle and the monument on Princes Street.

We walked up to the castle, along the old cobbled Royal Mile. I had been here several times and it was nice to be back. It was a cool day, and the rain had stopped, leaving the cobbles slick and damp, and a promise of drizzle in the air.

I was so pleased with my yellow jacket, as it kept me warm and dry.

We looked round the castle, and so I showed Thor the old gun which was supposed to fire one shot every day at around one p.m.. He also saw the modern piece of field artillery, which was actually the gun that fired the shot. Mons Meg, the old gun, would probably shatter into a million pieces if anyone tried to fire it.

“Why do they fire a gun, as clocks are much less noisy?” he asked.

“I think it’s historical, in that the harbour down on the firth needed an accurate idea of the time before clocks were commonplace,” I said, trying to remember what I’d read.

On the way back down, we passed a small recruitment office, which was shut. There were various cards in the window, offering all kinds of jobs, and one caught my eye:

I smiled. Now that was possible.

“You want to be a model?”

“I guess. I don’t know. It’s a possibility.”

“You would make a fine model, but too much breasts. I think you should look at being a movie star,” he said with a grin.

“Yeah, thanks a bunch, buster,” I said as I saw him looking down at my firm round breasts.

“They aren’t too big, are they?” I asked.

“Not for me,” he said, still grinning.

We passed a pub that was filling up with young people. It was six o’clock now, and the music of Status Quo attracted me.

I dragged my Norwegian friend in with me, and we managed to find a table.

He looked uncertain.

“Never been to a pub?” I asked, almost shouting above the music.

He shook his head.

“In Norway, the alcohol is expensive and the police are very strict. We have beer, but it is weaker than your beers in England.”

“Scotland! And I can’t stand the stuff. I’ll have a vodka and lime,” I said, giving him a pound note.

He waved it aside.

“I buy for you. You have been a good friend.”

I smiled, and he grinned and fought his way to the bar.

It took an age, but he finally returned with a beer and my vodka. I was not a great drinker, but was grateful to be able to drink something palatable. I loathed beer, yet on rugby tours we all had to be seen to swill gallons of the stuff, despite being under-age.

We sat quite close together, just so we could hear each other. I asked him to tell me about his home.

“I have two younger sisters, Matilde and Bridget. My father is a doctor, and so is my mother. They work in a clinic in my hometown. It is about an hour from Oslo. I will not want to live there, as I think I want to see more of the world before seeing where I must stay.”

His accent was quite attractive, and I found myself enjoying being close to him. His presence made me feel safe and unafraid.

His smile was lovely. He smiled a lot when he looked at me.

“I am hungry, can we get food here?” he asked.

There was a sign advertising bar snacks.

“Yes, but what sort of food do you want?”

He shrugged.

“Scottish food.”

“We’ll go to the chippy. It will be cheaper and you’ll get more,” I said.

“Chippy?”

“Fish and chips.”

“Oh. Is it true you eat it from the newspapers?”

“Aye, they just wrap it up in newspapers. The papers are more sterile than other paper. You just get the black print all over your fingers.”

“I like to try that.”

We had one more drink. Thor wouldn’t let me buy the second one either. At about eight, the place was heaving and the noise levels were almost unbearable. We squeezed out and found the damp outside air most refreshing. At least it had stopped raining.

We walked slowly back down the hill, popping into the chip shop on the corner. We both had cod and chips, with a couple of cans of Coke.

We sat on a wall overlooking the city and ate the steaming fish with our fingers.

I found I was very hungry, as was my companion, so we both ate every scrap. We threw the paper and cans into a nearby bin, and set off for the hostel. We passed a convenience, so we popped in and washed our fingers.

The cobbles were uneven, and I slipped as my foot just caught the wrong angle on one. Thor had grabbed me by the hand, preventing me from falling.

I stopped and looked at him. He was still holding my hand. I made no move to remove it.

“Thanks,” I said.

He just smiled.

We kept walking and he kept holding my hand, or did I hold his?

My heart was racing and I felt excited. Did he feel the same?

It was still early and we passed a cinema. They were showing the film Waterloo, with Christopher Plummer as Wellington. We just went in, just for something to do.

I almost expected him to start something, so was a little disappointed that he didn’t. I was also pleased, as it was a complication I didn’t think I needed or could really cope with.

Then I thought a little deeper and just smiled.

I could cope with it!

I leaned across as he turned his head towards me, so I pulled him down and kissed him.

It wasn’t a great kiss, but he got the message.

We didn’t see much of the film, but we got much better at kissing!

Nothing could have prepared me for my reaction to physical contact with a boy. As soon as we touched, I experienced a tingly feeling all over, and some butterflies in my tummy. Once we kissed, my nipples grew, and I could feel myself becoming damp in my panties.

At one point, he slipped his hand under my top, cupping a breast and caressing one nipple between finger and thumb.

I don’t know what happened to me, but I had never felt anything like that before. Had he wanted to have sex with me, I would have probably done so without hesitation.

Breathless, I drew back for a moment, and realised that I was now getting into an area of potential danger. The reality of being female I was now happy with, but the reality of being a fertile and a potential mother was something else.

I snuggled in close to him, and he seemed to sense my panic. Like a true gentleman he also pulled back a little.

We watched the film, just content to be holding each other, and I allowed myself some time to come back to Earth.

It was after ten when we came out, so we walked slowly back to the hostel. He draped his arm around my shoulders, as I wrapped my arm about his waist. I was happy with the situation and was living for each minute.

We signed into the hostel. There was a different man on duty now. We stood on the stairs, outside the door to the girl’s rooms.

“I have liked today. I like Edinburgh, and I like you. You have made the trip to Britain worth it,” Thor said.

I smiled and kissed him.

“Thanks, you’re not so bad yourself,” I said.

“We stay together tomorrow?”

“Aye, if ye want. I want to see about that job, otherwise, we can do what ye like. As long as it’s cheap, as I haven’t much money,” I said.

“Why not stay with me, as I travel the country. I like having you with me,” he said, looking down, embarrassed perhaps at expressing his feelings so quickly.

“Let’s see what tomorrow brings,” I suggested, and he smiled.

He kissed me again and it was very sweet.

I went to bed. For the first time in my life, I went to sleep completely happy. I was almost penniless, with no plans, no prospects and no ideas, but I was totally content!

I didn’t dream. It was lovely!

I awoke to see rain slashing at the small window by my bed. I looked at my watch and saw it was only seven o’clock. Yet I was completely rested. My hands sought out my breasts and crotch, so then I relaxed with my smile back on my face. I was still a girl.

I never wanted to change back.

I grabbed my towel and went in search of the showers. The shower room was very basic. The plain white tiles had seen better days, and the showerheads looked as if they had come off the ark. However, the water was hot, and I enjoyed feeling the water on my new female body.

I scrubbed and shampooed my hair, luxuriating in the feelings I now had at being me. I explored those parts that I had not explored before, finding certain spots that gave me unusual yet very pleasing feelings.

I was sexually naíve and very inexperienced. My knowledge of female genitalia was minimal. I had once managed to insert a finger inside Nikki Bruce’s vagina, but it was in the dark and it could have been an orange segment for all I knew!

I found my new equipment fascinating. It was so much more aesthetically pleasing to me, compared to my old male stuff. It was neat and compact. I thought it looked lovely.

However, it was my breasts that pleased me even more. They were the epitome of a woman, and they made me feel so wonderfully feminine. I adored the feel of them hanging where they should always have been. Even touching them was pleasant. My nipples were so sensitive, so as I washed, I remembered Thor feeling me. I began to feel aroused again.

I rinsed off and wrapped myself in the towel.

I thought about the tall Norwegian, and the thought made me smile. I liked him, but I was a little confused. I was trying to run before I really knew how to stand properly. My consolation was that I was the only one who knew the truth. Poor Thor, it wasn’t fair to him. Part of me wanted to go with him, as I did feel safe with him. The other part, the sensible one, knew that I had to get a life now, not tomorrow.

I needed to be independent. I needed a job, an income, somewhere to live and to make my mark on the world. I didn’t want to get in his way, and I didn’t want to sail along protected from life by him.

I dried myself and returned to my room. The rain seemed to be a little less now, but it was still pretty foul.

I wanted to see about jobs, so I dressed in the skirt and blouse. I loved the feeling of the tights, and slipped on the smart black high-heeled shoes. I dried my hair with the towel, and vowed to buy a hairdryer. I then spent a while applying make up. I wasn’t awfully good, but it would do. I liked what I saw, and then I realised that I was missing jewellery. That was something else I would sort out, when I could afford it.

I locked everything in my locker, hanging my towel over the radiator to dry. I slung my bag over my shoulder and carried my yellow ski jacket downstairs in search of breakfast.

Archie was just coming on duty when I got downstairs.

“Morning Lass, how are you today?”

“No bad, thanks. Is there anywhere open for breakfast nearby?”

“Aye, the bakers just up the road. Most folk go there. Where’s your boyfriend?”

I shrugged.

“Not up yet, I reckon.” I said.

“He is your boyfriend, then?”

“Sort of. I only met him a wee while ago. But he seems nice.”

“He fancies you!”

“You think?”

“I’m no blind, and neither should you be.”

I just grinned.

“Aye, I thought as much. Just be careful, Lass, be careful, ye cannae always trust yon foriners,” he said.

I looked out into the rain. I didn’t fancy going out just now, not by myself.

“Look, why don’t you go wake him up? There’s no one else in his room,” Archie suggested.

Grinning, I ran upstairs and found his room. I opened the door and peeped in.

Thor was still asleep. He was on his back and was naked to the waist. I couldn’t see if he was naked below, as the covers were concealing his interesting bits.

I walked in and went over to his bed.

I stood looking at him. I had looked but not studied him before. He had very high cheekbones, and his hair was so white it was unbelievable. He was very handsome. His torso and arms were well muscled from all the work on the logs in the summer.

I looked at his lips and wanted to kiss him. I also was curious to know what he really felt about me.

He moaned and moved, and then lay still again.

I bent over and kissed his lips.

His eyes sprang open, as his arm came round and held me close.

Our tongues caressed each other, and the kiss went on and on. In the end, I broke it off. Otherwise I would end up in bed with him, and that wasn’t a good idea — fun, but not a good idea.

“Good morning, sleepy head,” I said.

“Pippa. My God, you are beautiful.”

“Come on, out of bed, so then we can go for breakfast.”

He threw his bedclothes back and I was relieved to see he was wearing shorts. Mind you, with his erection, he needn’t have bothered.

He became embarrassed.

I simply smiled and walked out.

“If I didn’t know any better, I’d think you were pleased to see me. But I know you need a piss,” I said as I went.

Fifteen minutes later, he was dressed and downstairs with me.

He grinned at me.

“What we do today?”

“First, we get some breakfast. After that I want to drop in and see if they’ve done my card, and then I want to see about that modelling job.”

He was staring at my legs.

“Thor?”

He looked up, and grinned again.

“Your legs are very beautiful, I think!” he said, and I blushed.

“See! You watch him now, Lass,” said Archie, with a knowing smile.

We dashed out in the rain and up the street to the small bakery that also had half a dozen small tables.

We sat and had a hot cooked breakfast that was worth every penny. I ate everything and really quickly. Thor looked at me with a strange expression.

“I have never seen a girl eat like you,” he said.

I just smiled, using my last piece of bread to clean my plate.

“So, we go see about you job, yes?”

We had to pass the DHSS, so I popped in to see, but my card wasn’t ready yet. No surprises there. In fact, I would have been amazed had it been ready.

We arrived at the Employment agency just as they were opening, and it was a relief to get out of the rain. I pulled my hood back, grateful that my hair was still dry.

I asked about the modelling job, and the girl retrieved the card from the index.

“Aye, here ye are. They are holding interviews at the Hanover Hotel every day for the next week and a half. Do you want me to book you in?”

“Yes please. Will I need any experience?”

“No, I think that’s the whole point. They are after new faces that have never been seen before.”

“Have many been so far?”

“Quite a few. But not many have been successful,” she said.

My expression must have shown my lack of confidence, for she chuckled.

“Mind you, there’s not been many as pretty as you!”

I blushed and Thor laughed.

“That’s what I telling her,” he added.

She picked up the phone and spoke into it after dialling a number.

“Right, you’re booked in for eleven. Do you know where the hotel is?”

“Hanover Street, right?”

“Yes.”

“I’ll find it.”

We walked out into the rain and along Princes Street. Then up to Hanover Street, and there was the hotel. Thor wished me luck and went off to see the sights.

A woman handed me an application form to complete, so I sat down and spent ten minutes filling it in. There were loads of people milling about. Some were other applicants, while the rest were friends or relatives, I supposed.

The interview was not long, but I could tell that the three interviewers were after a certain type.

I wasn't it!

The interview was in the ballroom. They had set up a table and three chairs behind it. One chair was in front, so I had to walk the length of the ballroom to get to it.

There were two women and one man. The man was very camp, and the women looked very elegant, yet came over as hard as nails. They asked me various questions, and then asked me to stand and walk about.

“Would you mind stripping down to your bra for me, please?” asked one of the women.

I simply did so.

I stood there feeling very self-conscious.

“You’re seventeen?”

“Yes.”

“Hmm. Turn round for me.
”
I complied.

“Okay, Pippa. Thank you very much. If you take a seat outside, we will let you know whether you’ve been successful in a few minutes.”

I thanked them and left. I knew I hadn’t been successful.

I sat down, just trying to think what I’d do next. A very attractive older woman came and sat next to me.

“Just been?” she asked.

I nodded.

“What do you reckon?” she asked. She wasn’t Scottish, as her accent was clearly from Southern England.

“I don’t think they liked me. My bust is too big,” I said, staring down at the offending items.

“Do you think so?”

I regarded them critically. I hadn’t had them for long, but I actually liked them very much.

“No. If they want anorexic beanpoles that’s their problem,” I said, to which the woman laughed.

One of the women organising the event approached me.

“Philippa Stewart?” she asked.

“Yes?”

“I’m sorry dear, but you haven’t been successful this time. The panel thought you have potential, but they are after a different look this time around.”

I smiled and she gave me an envelope and went away. I opened the envelope, and there was a ten-pound gift voucher for M&S.

“That’s me in underwear for the next couple of months,” I said, and the woman beside me laughed again.

“Not too disappointed, I hope?”

“No, well, yes and no. It’s my first interview, so I couldn’t expect success straight off. However, I’m skint and need a job badly,” I admitted.

“Have you ever studied drama or done any acting?”

“Only at school. I was involved in our drama group, and, well I studied Shakespeare for exams, as does everyone.”

And now! I thought.

“My name is Valarie Masterson. I’m a writer and used to be a theatrical agent. I started out as an actress, but marriage and kids put paid to that. I still write a bit, and act as an agent for the up and coming stars of tomorrow. I’m making the move into production, as I’ve just started my own production company. We’re looking into doing some period dramas for television. I am here just to see what sort of talent this attracts, and up to now I was disappointed.” She paused and looked closely at me.

I wasn’t going to show her anything. I’d read about all kinds of people tricking young hopefuls out of money to allegedly act for them as agents. Once they took the money, they disappeared, never to be heard of again. Esther Rantzen had a slot on her show about them recently.

She smiled.

“Are you Scottish?”

“Yes,” I said, and it dawned on me that I had not being using my accent.

“Let me hear an accent.”

“From what part?”

“You can do more than one?”

“There’s Glaswegian, Edinburgh, you see it’s so much more refined? Aberdeen, Perth, Highland, Dundee and many more,” I said, giving her an example of each as I went.

“What part are you from?”

“Central, near Perth, but I lived up near Inverness as well.”

“You’ve confused me. Why did you lose the accent just now?”

“Nerves. I don’t actually have an accent. Daddy wouldn’t have liked it! So, I was so worried about the interview, I just plain forgot to keep it going.”

“Why did you put one on?”

“Long story. Just let’s say I am setting out on my own, and need to be independent for a while. I find it helps not to stand out to much. It’s amazing how many barriers exist when people think you’re posh.”

She laughed, and I felt myself warming to her.

“You are a pickle. I’d love to find out more!”

“We’ll I’m not saying any more. I just can’t!”

“How would you like to work in television?”

“I’d love to, but I’m not daft. People just don’t land jobs like this.”

She laughed again.

“Oh, you shrewdie. You are so right, usually! Nevertheless, as I said, I’m producing my own series. I’m looking for a special girl to act as a fourteen year old in the first show, to age to be a twenty-six year old by the end of the twelfth. She needs to be capable of maintaining a Scottish accent for the first few parts, and then gradually lose it by the end. I also want to find someone who is a complete unknown. The problem with some drama schools is that they have a habit of churning out a product that sometimes can lose individuality and creativity. I’m not saying drama school’s are bad, far from it, but occasionally, raw talent can give so much more to a particular part.”

I looked at her.

“Are you pulling my leg?”

“What do you say we go to the hotel coffee shop and discuss this?”

I must have looked sceptical, for she burst out laughing.

“Philippa, is it?”

I nodded. “Pippa.”

“Okay, Pippa, I am not offering you the part. I just want to get to know you a little better, and then see if it is worth giving you a screen test. I promise nothing, but it will cost you nothing. What do you say?”

I hadn’t anything else to do.

“Okay,” I said, so we went to the hotel coffee shop, where I let her buy me a coffee.

She delved into her briefcase and took out a sheaf of papers.

“Now, here is a sample script for the first part, and the last. Can you read me a few sections?” she asked.

I looked round the hotel.

“Here?”

“Do you have a problem?”

I shrugged.

“Not if you don’t,” I said, and she laughed again.

I spent some time reading short passages. I would read them through first, just to put the conversations into context, so I could be as lifelike as possible. The first few I read in a Scottish accent, a Highland variety, soft and gentle. I also remembered I was supposed to be fourteen, so tried to make myself sound younger.

The last few I spoke with the precise clipped accent of the aristocracy, as I read that I was now a Lady Mirabelle Flanders.
Valarie clapped her hands in delight.

“Oh, how wonderful! Absolutely perfect,” she said.

I just smiled. I noticed Thor walk through the doors and look around. I looked at my watch. Two hours had elapsed since I had come here, and I had agreed to meet him at one.

“Oh, excuse me. My friend has arrived and is looking for me,” I said.

Valarie turned and looked at the tall Norwegian. He took his coat off and shook it. He was wearing a check shirt, jeans and big chunky boots. He looked absolutely gorgeous.

One of her eyebrows arched and she looked at me.

“Boyfriend?”

I scrunched up my nose as I thought how to describe him.

“Sort of. We only met yesterday, when we sort of helped each other out. He’s on a year out before medical college.”

“Then best you get him over here,” she said, so I waved at him.

Thor’s smile said it all.

“Ah!” said Valarie, smiling. As Thor’s whole demeanour softened as soon as he saw me.

“Hi Pippa. How did you get on?” he asked.

I stood up as he came over and kissed me. It just happened and seemed natural.

“I didn’t get the modelling job. My tits are too big. I told you!”

“I like them just fine!” he said, to which Valarie laughed.

“Oh, Thor, this is Valerie Masterson. She is talking to me about a possible acting job. Valerie this is Thor Larssen, he’s from Norway.”

Thor smiled and shook Valerie’s hand.

“She would make a good actress, I think. She is pretty and very clever. She even knows the different warships the British navy has.”

I went bright red, as Valerie looked at me with an odd expression.

She waved at the waiter. When he came over, she ordered a round of sandwiches and another pot of coffee.

“What do you say we turn this into a working lunch?” she said to me.

I nodded, and looked at Thor, who sat down and grinned at me.

He sat and watched as Valarie explained the rather convoluted plot. It was about the highly born girl from a wealthy aristocratic family at the turn of the century. She was swapped at birth by her scheming father with the son of his gamekeeper from an estate in the Highlands of Scotland. He needed a son to keep the title in the family, and as the girl’s mother had died in childbirth and he was now in his sixties, the chances of a male heir were diminishing.

However, the dead wife had a brother, the girl’s uncle, and he had a suspicion about the swap, so made it his business to find her. The gamekeeper was a kind man, but was bought and paid for by the wicked Earl.

The story started when she was fourteen, and turning the heads of all the local lads. The Uncle arrives, persuading the gamekeeper to ‘sell’ his ‘daughter’ to him so as he can put her into his service at his home in London.

The gamekeeper sees no problem with it, as the old Earl is now dead, and his real son is the heir to the title.

The girl is introduced to smart Edwardian London, and with elocution lessons, becomes the darling of the upper set. Even the Prince of Wales fancies her, and there are loads of balls and wonderful scenes with superb costumes.

Then she is introduced to the young Earl, who falls in love with her. He is not happy with his lot, finding London High society not to his taste. However, she has been primed by her Uncle, and she manages to complete the task to expose the swap, so the title passes to the rightful earl, a cousin to the deceased Earl. The latter, in order to avoid a scandal, generously gives the young man the fine Scottish estate from whence the gamekeeper came, to which he retires gratefully to the country to become a wealthy farmer. She, however, is pursued to make good marriage to another titled gentleman, but when he dies in a hunting accident, she eventually leaves London, travelling to the distant Estate in the Highlands and marries the game keeper’s son for love.

The series was called Highland Fling and I was sold. It sounded far too good to be true, so I said as much.

“I’m not an actress, so how can I be expected to do this. I mean, it looks really hard!”

“You may not be trained, but then I think that could be an advantage. I see in you a fresh naivety that will bring a breath of new life to television.

“Where is it being filmed?”

“In studios near London, and on location up at a place called Glenmarsh, in Perthshire. The estate is owned by the Forestry Commission, where there is a huge house that is just perfect for the story. We don’t start until after Christmas, as that is when the other actors become free.”

“Who else is in it?”

She told me, and I gasped. They were all really famous names.

I sat there stunned.

“Look, Pippa. I’d like to give you a screen test. Then, if you fit the part, and are willing to do it, I’d like you to come and stay with me, and we can go over your part. You could help me re-write it so you feel right with your lines. I’d like us to make it personal to you. It will be more believable that way.”

I looked at Thor, and he was grinning at me.

“I don’t know what to say. Don’t I have to belong to equity, or something?”

She laughed again.

“That is the least of our problems. What do you say?”

I looked at Thor.

“Go for it!” he said.

I shrugged.

“Okay, when do we do the test?”

“How about this afternoon?”

I was very surprised. I had expected her to say in a couple of weeks or something.

“This afternoon?”

“Yes, is there a problem?”

“No, it just didn’t expect anything quite so fast.”

She smiled.

“It’s nothing fancy. I have a friend with a small private studio, here in Edinburgh. It should only take a couple of hours, and then we’ll know.”

To be continued..........

Dreamer Part 4

By Tanya Allan
Original Version Copyright © 1972
Revised version Copyright © 2012

---

Philip Coates is seventeen and convinced that he is not only trapped in a boarding school for boys, but also trapped in the wrong body. He spends most of his time lost in a world of his imagination. In this world he is the girl he always wanted to be. The girl who screams at him to set her free in every minute of every waking hour, and most of the sleeping ones as well.

Trapped in a social square hole, he becomes simply what everyone - parents, friends, teachers - want and expect him to be. He knows that he wants to be a round peg, but will, in reality, never make it.

Well, he wakes up one morning convinced that his dream might just be coming true.. or is it?

The signs are there, but then again, are there other explanations for what he is going through?

After a rough few days, the girl is set free.

The future is now gloriously uncertain and fresh, as she sets out on a journey, turning her back on her school, her friends and her old home.....

---

My thanks to PEGLEG for help with proofing

---

Dreamer: Part 4

By Tanya Allan

Dreamer: Part 4

Andy passed me the rugby ball. It bounced off my breasts, making me drop the damn thing.

Mr Carter swore at me for playing like a girl.

Strangely, it didn’t upset me as much as it should. I simply put my hands on my hips and said,

“And?”

He launched into a mini-tirade about boys looking like girls, culminating in him instructing me to get a hair cut.

I lifted my rugby shirt to allow my breasts an airing.

“And what about these?” I asked.

I never got to hear his reply, as the telephone woke me up.

Shaking my head to clear away the dream, I reached over the sleeping man and took the phone off the receiver.

“Hello?”

“Miss Stewart?” asked a cultured female voice.

That was me, wasn’t it?

“Yes, who is this?” I asked, glancing at the clock. It read eight-forty. Then I began the laborious process of working out what day it was and whether I should be somewhere else. No alarm bells rang, so I believed I was okay. I remembered the events of the pervious evening, and indeed for much of the night. I then got cross at whoever it was for waking me up.

“I’m sorry, you don’t know me, but I was given your number by Valarie Masterson. I understand you might be looking for an agent?”

Thor rolled towards me and wrapped an arm over my belly, pulling me towards him.

“Not now!” I hissed to him.

“I’m sorry, is this a bad time?” said the woman.

“You woke me up,” I explained, unable to keep the annoyance from my voice.

“I can call back,” she offered.

“I’m awake now. What is this about?”

Thor kissed me and rolled out of bed, making for the bathroom. Sod it, I wanted to go as well.

“My name is Norma Cargill. I’m an agent. I work with a lot of establish actors and singers, taking care of the things that often distract them from the art. Valarie rang me up on Friday to tell me that she had just signed you for the new series called Highland Fling. She explained that you are new to the industry and will need some representation and help. Now, I used to work with Valarie, and although she’s a great agent, she can’t represent you and employ you at the same time. I’m simply offering you my services to act as your agent.”

“Look, I appreciate the offer, but now isn’t the best time. Can we meet sometime and talk about it?”

We made a date for after lunch that same day in the same hotel lobby that I had met Valarie.

Thor came back to bed and made a lunge at me. Evading him, I escaped to the loo. As I sat there, I thought back over the last couple of weeks.

The screen test at the studio had gone well. Valarie told me that I was a natural, apparently.

When I arrived, I found six other girls, all waiting for tests for the same production. This was a real surprise, as I thought that I was the only one. I think Valarie sensed this, but said nothing.

Only two of them were after the same role as me. I later found out that Valarie wasn’t the only one out scouting for talent. Both the director and the assistant director had been searching for hopefuls through various agents.

I found it all quite exciting to start with, but then, there was a lot of hanging about waiting for people to do stuff. We didn’t get to see anyone else taking a test. I was last, so the others had all left by the time I was called in. I had no idea whether any had been successful or not. It was very nerve-racking.

In the end, I had to sit at a table after learning a dozen lines and pretend to have an argument with someone who wasn’t there. One of the assistants read the other person’s dialogue off camera. Then I had to go through various poses and movements, adopting a range of emotions.

Not having seen a script, I didn’t know whether the lines were part of the series or just used for the screen test.

There were five people watching, including Valarie, which made it rather daunting. I was introduced to them just before the test. They were the director, assistant director, casting director and another woman who was an assistant producer.

The only instructions they gave me were to avoid looking at either of the cameras or at any of them. That was tough, as the cameras kept moving about, so it took a lot of effort to try to act natural, remember the lines and avoid looking at the interesting things that the cameras were doing.

Anyway, Valarie seemed pleased with the way it went. The last job was to go through the same speeches with different accents as I had done with her earlier. These lines were part of the script, and as they were slightly familiar, I was able to do it easily.

When I finished, they asked me to go and wait in a small sitting room. A girl made me a coffee while I waited. I wished Thor could have been here, but he was doing some touristy stuff around Holyrood Palace. He had offered to come with me, but I got the feeling from Valarie that he wasn’t really welcome.

“It’s not that big a studio, so there aren’t really facilities for hangers on,” she’d said.

After only half an hour she came and found me reading an ancient copy of a Reader’s Digest.

She sat down next to me. Fortunately, she was smiling.

“After talking it over with my production team, we’re all in agreement that you’d be perfect for the part,” she said. “The part’s yours, if you want it?”

“Do I?” I said, grinning. “That’ll be great, thanks. What happens now?”

“Well, we’re due to start at the studio down south just after Christmas. That should take around four months. Then we’ve the locations booked for next spring. Believe me; you don’t want to be outside for long sessions in winter.”

Valarie had to meet with others on her team, all of whom were in London, before any further decisions could be taken as regards other cast members. There were still other auditions to be held, for quite a few parts. There were also some technical issues that needed resolving before shooting started.

“What plans have you got?” she asked.

I shrugged, as I didn’t have any.

“I suppose I’ll have to get a part time job in the meantime,” I said.

“That sounds a good idea. If you can get a job in the business, that might help you later.”

“Nice suggestion, but I need an income in the meantime.”

She smiled.

“Where are you living at the moment?” she asked.

When I explained that I was bumming it in the youth hostel, she was surprised.

“Well, you must come and stay with me at my flat. I’ve bags of room.”

“Won’t I get in the way? I mean with your kids and everyone.”

“My children are all grown up and don’t live with me. I’m divorced and so am alone at the moment. Besides, my main home is near London, so I have a small flat that I use when I’m up here,” she explained.

I thought about it, before declining.

“I can’t just leave my friend. I promised we’d stay together and that I’d show him Edinburgh,” I said, glancing at Thor, who had just arrived in time to collect me.

“Don’t worry about me. Your career is more important,” he said.

“Look, he can come too. I’ve enough bedrooms. It’ll be fun having young people around for a while,” Valarie suggested. I wasn’t that sure of her motives, as I still felt that these sorts of things just don’t happen.

“How long for?” I asked, cautiously.

“Well, I want to spend some time with you to go through the part in some detail and then I’ll have to pop down south and consult with the others in the team. We’ve a lot to do before we can start shooting. I’ve no objections if you want to stay in the flat until I get back. It shouldn’t be for longer than a week, or so. You might use the time to find a job. You never know what might come along. If you do get a job, we can talk about you staying on at the flat and paying me a nominal rent. I’d be happy knowing the place is in use and being looked after.”

“I might be a complete vandal and wreck the place,” I said, to which she simply laughed.

A week’s free accommodation is Edinburgh was a really good offer. I accepted.

The flat was one of four in an old converted town house in an older part of the city. It was on the first floor. There were three bedrooms and a large bathroom. Valarie’s bedroom boasted an en-suite shower room and loo, so the bathroom was ours. The large living room had sufficient space for a big sofa, three armchairs, a desk, book case and a big dining room table and chairs.

The kitchen was modern and quite big, with a scrubbed wooden table with seating on benches for about ten people. She had said it was a small flat, so I thought the place was bigger than she needed. If this was small, then her house down south must be massive.

“I used to have all the family and friends here, so then it was fine. We don’t do so much entertaining these days.”

I sensed she was sad about how things had turned out, but also that now was not the time to talk about it.

Valarie and I spent a few hours over the next couple of days going over the script. She described her vision of what the part entailed. I kept the script, which, incidentally, was enormous. I spent all my free time reading it, trying to get a real feel for what it was all about. I liked the part, feeling somewhat dazed by the possibility that it could be mine.

While I was working, Thor went off exploring on his own. Later I discovered that he mainly discovered different pubs. After a three days, Valarie announced that she was convinced that I had grasped what she had envisioned and she set off by train to sort out the other problems that remained.

We had three days on our own.

On the second night, we were in a pub with live music. I was somewhat light-headed from the vodka and cokes, and also the possibility of becoming an actress. We danced. Or rather, Thor held me up, while I hung onto him and let him kiss me. I felt his hands on my bum, pulling me close into him. He was rubbing his pelvis against me, to which I returned the gesture, feeling something hard between us. It was strange feeling someone’s penis rubbing against me. I had imagined this moment in my many daydreams, and yet there was something earthy and erotic about it that I had missed in my imagination.

I think I knew we were going to have sex long before we returned to the flat.

I tried to be rational about it, but couldn’t be bothered. My mind told me that I wanted him. My body was screaming at me that it wanted him. I was taken over by alien feelings that seemed to use parts of my body like fifth columns, as they succeeded in numbing any conscience or caution that my brain might have been trying to transmit. I wanted him to undress me and to caress me and treat me like a woman. I wanted to know what it was like to be loved. In short, I wanted him inside me.

The feelings that my new womanhood were transmitted were remarkable and unmistakable.

They say that a woman starts to generate lubrication when coitus is imminent. Well, I thought I might be able to give Shell Oil a run for their money!

All my fantasies and dreams seemed to be turning into reality and I enjoyed every moment.

I didn’t think about contraception or consequences. I just was in lust.

Thor, bless him, wasn’t like me. Thank God.

Oh, he was as turned on as me, but somehow he was able to control himself more than I could control me. I was very tactile towards him, both in the pub and on the way home, so I think he got the message.

Once we arrived at the flat, I felt so excited that I couldn’t keep my hands off him. I think I might have scared him, but he didn’t show it. I can’t remember getting undressed. I just know I was kneeling, naked, on the bed trying to pull his trousers off.

He stopped me, holding both my hands.

“Pippa, slow down. There is no rush. Before we go further, I need to know if it is safe?”

“Safe? Valarie’s in London, no one will interrupt us,” I said, squirming with frustration in his grip.

“No, not that safe. Safe to make love wis you. Do you take the pill?”

Pill?

What pill?

Ah.

Reality check.

I slumped slightly with him still holding my wrists.

I hung my head, feeling cheap and ashamed. The mood was suddenly more somber.

I shook my head.

“I thought so. This is dangerous for you, no?” he asked.

I looked at him.

“Dangerous?”

“Ja, if no pill, you have baby, yes?”

“Oh, I suppose so.”

“Then I take precaution. If you sure?” he said.

My expression must have displayed my confusion. He pulled a packet of condoms from his pocket and smiled at me.

I was sure.

Afterwards, I lay as close to him as I could without actually existing in the same spot in the space-time continuum. All my fantasies and dreams had been but poor shadows of the reality.

As I now look back with the wonder of hindsight, I have to admit that my first sexual experience hadn’t been the best ever, but for me it still had been wonderful.

We had both been somewhat nervous and unsure. I hadn’t realised it, but it was his first time too.

Once he was naked, he stood before me with an enormous hard-on. I think I might have uttered a nervous giggle, as he was quite big. Poor old Phil had never been that big. At least, it could be a matter of perspective. I had never actually looked at one from this position with the anticipation of having it inserted inside me within a few moments. It still looked big!

Each time I touched it, it quivered and throbbed. He was circumcised, so the large purple helmet was an unfamiliar sight for me. I touched it, gently stroking it. He moaned and squirmed deliciously under my touch. I think I giggled again. It must have been nerves.

“You’re big!” I said.

He said nothing, but kissed me, pulling me close. I released his penis, and felt it rub against my tummy. I pushed against him.

I wanted him very much.

I helped him roll the condom on, feeling my heart rate increase in anticipation. Neither of us really had a clue, apart from those few magazines and films we had seen, and the benefit of conversations between contemporaries. I had been so wound up by my gender confusion that I honestly hadn’t paid much attention. Now I wish I had.

In the end, I lay on my back with my legs open, and let him kiss me all over first. After just a few moments of that, I was more than ready, so pulled him to me, helping him slide into me.

My worry that he was too big disappeared as soon as he slid up to the hilt. I wasn’t sure what I expected, as I thought I’d feel something. Actually, I think I felt sort of full, in that I could sense that something as inside me, but not much more.

Then he started to slide in and out.

Oh my God!

Then I felt something.

I’d love to able to write about the amazing experience that lasted several minutes, but it was over very quickly. He thrust into me perhaps a dozen times before shuddered as he came.

That wasn’t the point.

I was a woman and I was able to take him in a manner that I had always dreamed of.

He was so embarrassed that he almost cried. I cuddled him, telling him that it didn’t matter. And it really didn’t. We lay for a while, entwined and gently caressing each other. I even managed to fall asleep.

However, I was woken by something in the bed twitching back to life.

The second time was something else entirely!

For a start, we were both more relaxed. Heck, I was so relaxed, he had to wake me up first.

Secondly, he was gentle and less nervous. We played with each other first, using our hands and kissing deeply for a few minutes. Then, as I felt myself more than ready again, I once again rolled a condom onto him.

This time, he lay on his back while I straddled him.

My God!

He lay there, thrusting gently as I did most of the work. I’d ridden horses a bit as a child, and perversely the memories returned as I rose and fell with him inside me.

I didn’t time us, but we went on and on. I experienced things that I had never dreamed or fantasised about. Things that made me scream and shout, digging my nails into his shoulders as we moved in perfect harmony. I just loved it when he played with my tits, licking and sucking them. It sent me wild.

I was just so wet!

When he finally came, I almost cried, it was just so perfect.

After that, I lay purring, coiled in his arms and feeling wonderful. We both slept, knowing that pleasure like that was possible whenever we wanted. I never imagined that sex could create so much liquid. I made a mental note to have a tissue box closer to the bed for the next time.

Dribbling across the floor to the bathroom holding my crotch is not effective.

With one more day before Valarie returned, we made the most of it.

We had to go out at noon. For two reasons: one, because we ran out of condoms (and tissues), and the other was so that I could meet with the agent lady.

After visiting the chemist for fresh supplies or rubber thingies and tissues, we had a quick pub lunch before I met with Norma at the hotel. She was an attractive woman in her forties, very precise and meticulous. She told me about the union - Equity, and then about fees and percentages. I was a bit baffled, so it seemed appropriate that I hire someone to help me with all this stuff.

"Look, acting is not like most jobs, as you can be really busy for a couple of months and then not work again for a year. I only charge when you're working. I will do my best to get scripts sent out and fix auditions for you. Think it over and then when things are a little clearer, we can have another little chat," she suggested. "As a sign of good faith, I'll sort out the necessary papers for Equity and send you some helpful leaflets."

The meeting lasted only half an hour, but I was inclined to accept her offer. After all, I needed all the help I could get. She told me that I could terminate the agreement at any time.

After we parted, I met up with Thor again. The sun came out and so was a beautiful autumn day. I wore my skirt with no underwear, giving him little flashes of what lay under my skirt whenever I could. As a result, poor Thor had a permanent hard-on.

It was a sunny day, with a chilly wind. I found the knickerless experience very erotic, and so behaved like a rampant little minx. I teased him dreadfully at every opportunity. We bought some sandwiches and sat in the park to eat them. I sat on the grass, letting him see right up my skirt, and laughed as he became more and more aroused.

In the end, he sat on a park bench while I sat on his lap, facing him. He took his cock out, rolled a condom on. I sat on it, impaling myself up to the hilt.

The zip on his jeans wasn’t awfully comfortable, but it was the most erotic sex session so far.

Fortunately, no one disturbed us, but I found the potential risk and the open space heightened the experience. It was to be the first of many sexual experiences we shared in public.

That evening, we went out for a pizza. We sat in a booth, close together and sharing everything, like new lovers are supposed to.

As we finished, he looked serious.

“Pippa, what is our future?” he asked.

I shrugged. At this point in time, I was living for the moment, with scant regard for tomorrow.

“I ask because I must make a decide.”

“That’s make a decision,” I said, correcting him.

“Yes, make a decision. You see, I did not expect to meet you and fall in love. I do not want to leave you, but can see our lives heading apart.”

“How come?”

“I am due to go to study for becoming a doctor in the next year. Now, I am not caring about the studies. I want stay here viz you. I know dis is not good for me, and mine parents will annoyed be.”

“That’s parents for you. Look, Thor, I’m sorry that you feel like this. I never meant for us to get to be like this…”

He interrupted me.

“No, never say sorry. You are de best ting to happen to me for many years. It is not your fault.”

“I never said it was. Can I finish?”

“Ja, sorry.”

“I just wanted to say that this has caught me out as well. I hadn’t planned on falling in love either. Maybe it’s lust, I don’t know, but I like being with you. I like how you make me feel and I love the way you fuck me,” I said.

He blushed as I said that word, which made me smile.

“You’re due to start medical school next year, right?”

“Ja, in September.”

“So, it’s only October, so you have plenty of time. You’d planned to hitch around Britain and see the sights, yes?”

“Ja, Britain and some other parts of Europe.”

“For how long?”

He smiled.

“Until I run out of money. I think maybe I get a job then. I worked in my uncle’s log business last year, so perhaps….” He never finished the sentence

He was holding my hand, so gave it a squeeze. I returned it. I didn’t like the idea of him going off any more than he did. I’d only just met him.

“I have to get a job,” I said.

He frowned.

“Why?”

“Because I have no money. I need to work to get some money before the filming starts. I have to pay dues to Equity and to be able to live. They won’t pay me until the contract starts, and that won’t be until after Christmas.”

“Come with me,” he said.

“I’d love to, but I can’t afford to.”

“I pay for you too.”

I smiled and stroked his face. He looked so earnest and serious.

“That’s sweet, but your money will run out too quickly if you do that. No. You must carry on with your plans, and perhaps I will make enough to catch up with you somewhere.”

He wasn’t happy with that.

“No. I stay with you for a while. Perhaps I can get a job too, that way we can pool our pay and then we can go off together before your contract.”

The following day saw me back at the DHSS. They had my card through, so now I was employable. We had a dreary day of going round the town looking for jobs. In fact, Thor had an advantage by being older. He got a job behind the bar in a pub. He was able to start that very evening, so felt quite buoyant about his success. The pay wasn’t brilliant, but it was better than spending money.

The manager of the same pub offered me a job collecting glasses and washing up. I declined, stating I was waiting for something better. I think Thor was disappointed as he’d have liked me working in the same place as him.

Still, we traipsed back to the job centre and I had a look at some of the jobs on offer. Thor got bored and told me he wanted to buy a decent shirt and pair of trousers that he could use for work.

He disappeared to go shopping. I kept looking.

One caught my eye.

SALES ASSISTANT REQUIRED FOR A LADIES BOUTIQUE

Taking the details, I eventually found myself at the shop in question.

It was up a narrow street very close to the castle. In fact, the recruitment agency in which I had found the modelling job was on the corner, a couple of shops away.

It was a very small shop, with just a single door and one small window on the frontage. A hand-painted sign bore the words BIZZY LIZZY’S BOUTIQUE above the window. I looked at the window dressing.

There was a single, skinny female mannequin with an Afro-wig, wearing a tie-dyed smock over a pair of multi coloured jeans. The jeans had eighteen inch flares and there were enormous platforms on the feet.

Shrugging, I entered.

As I did so, a gentle tinkling sound emanated from some Swiss cow-bells placed above the door.

The shop was a small square room, with a short counter against the back wall, behind which was an open doorway with a bead curtain strung across it. A double rail ran along the right hand wall, with tops above and skirts and trousers below. Two circular rails containing dresses stood in the middle, and a small changing booth stood next to the counter.

There was a small jewellery display stand by the changing booth. Most of the jewellery was beads, but there were some funky metal designs as well. None of it was expensive.

As I gazed at the merchandise on offer, I realised that everything was original and a littler bit different from the larger department stores and clothing chains. The prices were reasonable too. Not cheap, but certainly in most ordinary girls’ price range.

There was a smell of incense wafting through the place. It wasn’t unpleasant, but I found it slightly overpowering. I saw a lit joss-stick on a small tray on the counter. A tiny curl of smoke whispered up into the air. I recognised the music of Santana’s Abraxus coming from a speaker on the side.

The beads rustled as a woman came in from the back.

She was a tall girl in her mid-twenties. My mind immediately categorised her as a hippy, for she had long fair hair and wore what appeared to be her own wares — a tie-dyed cheese cloth top and a floral maxi-skirt. She had so many beads and bangles around her neck and up both arms that she made more noise than the cow-bells. She had a small daisy-like flower tattooed or painted onto her left cheek.

“Hi, can I help you?” she asked. She spoke with a local accent.

“Hi, um, I’m here about the job,” I said.

“Oh, brilliant. You’re the first person to come. The ads been there for a good ten days. I’m Lizzie, by the way.”

“Oh, what a surprise,” I said with a smile. “I’m Pippa.”

“Nice to meet you, Pippa. When can you start?”

“Um, don’t we need to do an interview or something?”

Lizzie looked vacantly at me for a moment.

“Why, do we need to?” she asked. I wondered whether she’d been smoking something funny.

“I don’t know; it’s your job. I mean, how much do you pay?”

She shrugged.

“I’m not sure. Like, I opened a month ago and it’s too much for me to manage by myself. Say ten pounds a day?”

I did the mental maths. That made fifty quid a week. I smiled, as Thor was on seven pounds a session, and he was going to be working from ten in the morning to eleven at night with a couple of hours break in the afternoon after two and before five. He had the opportunity of tips, but it was still small fry.

“Sounds fine. Does that include weekends?”

“Um, every other Saturday, how’s that?”

“Okay, I suppose. Is there just you, or is there anyone else?”

“Just me. I started with Mandy, another friend, but she got bored. She had no patience and wanted the cash to come in quicker than it was. I bought her out. I thought I could manage this wee place by myself, but I can’t. I need to get to the suppliers once a week. I couldn’t do that and keep the shop open. I had to close for half a day, so lost quite a bit of business.”

“Who are your suppliers?” I asked, looking at the clothes on display.

“One’s a small firm in Leith. They dye all the clothes on the premises. The woollens come from St. Andrews.”

“Fine. When would you like me to start?”

Lizzie smiled, showing her relief.

“How about now?”

I immediately thought of Thor. I imagined him lost in some huge store or other, wandering around looking for the way out.

“”How about in a couple of hours? I’ve to find my boyfriend and tell him what’s happening.”

“Fine. Thanks. If you need to call me or you want him to call you, then here’s the shop number,” she said, writing a phone number on a card.

“Thanks. Look, don’t you need my national insurance details, you know for tax and stuff?”

“Do I?”

“Uh, yes, you do. You have to register me as an employee and make deductions for tax and national insurance.”

“Can’t we just do this as a sort of cash basis?”

“You haven’t looked into this, have you?” I asked.

“Not really. I just wanted help with the shop.”

“Who does your books?” I asked.

“I do.”

“Okay, then you add me as an employee. You set a wage at ten pounds a day after tax deductions. Let’s see, basic tax is thirty percent, so that makes me on about fifteen pounds a day before tax. I think it best you have a chat with your accountant.”

She smiled sheepishly.

“That’ll be my dad.”

“Fine, have a word with him while I go find my boyfriend, so we can sort this out in two hours, okay?”

I left the shop feeling slightly confused. Previously, I had sort of imagined all adults and grown-up people had it together, but it seems that I was mistaken. Lizzie was a lovely girl, but I couldn’t see her as a sharp business-woman somehow. I hoped her father could sort her out. It then dawned on me that I had manipulated her into giving me a  £15 a day salary, before tax, that is.

I waited by the Sir Walter Scott Monument to be met by a grinning Thor. He was five minutes late and was carrying some bags.

“What are you looking so pleased about?” I asked.

“I get you a present,” he said.

From one of the bags he extracted a small box. With an exaggerated flourish, he presented it to me.

“A thank you for being you,” he said.

On opening the box, I found a pair of pearl ear rings and a single pearl on a silver chain necklace.

They were beautiful.

I kissed him and told him what I thought.

“So are you,” he said.

I then looked at the ear rings.

“I need my ears to be pierced now,” I told him.

We found a small tattoo and piercing specialist who popped my lobes so I could wear the gift.

Then, over a pub lunch, I told him of my news.

He frowned, working out that I was going to be working all day, while he was going to be out all evening.”

“I can always come to the pub in the evenings, and we should be able to have a late lunch together when you finish each morning session,” I said. “Besides, it won’t be for that long; just until we save enough to go somewhere nice.”

He looked at me with a very tender expression.

“You want to go with me?”

“You know I do,” I said, smiling.

“Then this will work.”

I hoped so.

Dreamer: Part 5

By Tanya Allan
Original Version Copyright © 1972
Revised version Copyright © 2012

---

Philip Coates is seventeen and convinced that he is not only trapped in a boarding school for boys, but also trapped in the wrong body. He spends most of his time lost in a world of his imagination. In this world he is the girl he always wanted to be. The girl who screams at him to set her free in every minute of every waking hour, and most of the sleeping ones as well.

Trapped in a social square hole, he becomes simply what everyone - parents, friends, teachers - want and expect him to be. He knows that he wants to be a round peg, but will, in reality, never make it.

Well, he wakes up one morning convinced that his dream might just be coming true.. or is it?

The signs are there, but then again, are there other explanations for what he is going through?

After a rough few days, the girl is set free.

The future is now gloriously uncertain and fresh, as she sets out on a journey, turning her back on her school, her friends and her old home.....

........or is it?

---

My thanks again to PEGLEG for assistance with proofing

---

This is a shorter part, the reason why will be obvious when one reaches the end.

---

Dreamer: Part 5

By Tanya Allan

Lizzie was late for work, again!

I’d been working here for a month. I found that I liked Lizzie immensely, but she was as vague as they come. Fortunately her father wasn’t, which was a great relief.

John Barry was a Welshman, married to a Scot, who had settled in Edinburgh some thirty years ago. Lizzie was their youngest child, of three. She was also their only daughter. Her father was a Chartered Accountant, working in his own firm of Barry, Briggs and MacPherson. The boutique was Lizzie’s mother’s idea. It was supposed to stir Lizzie into some activity that would give her a degree of independence and try to ignite some spark in her. She was so laid back about everything that I think they had been despairing. Into the whole hippy, flower-power scene, she lived for her music and vacant life-style; something with which both her parents and brothers could not identify.

Her phone call about employment regulations and tax had startled her father. He had no idea that Mandy had left. He was therefore unaware that Lizzie was several thousand pounds overdrawn after buying out her friend and ex-business partner.

When I returned to the shop, I was met with a crying Lizzie and somewhat cross father.

My first thought was that I would have to find a new job, so said as much.

“Not a bit of it. Pippa, is it?” John asked.

“Yes.”

“Well, now you’re here, I think you’re the best thing to come along for Lizzie for a while. I’ll deal with the tax and employment stuff. Have you got your National Insurance details?”

I handed them over. He made a note in a very precise hand in a small black notebook, handing me the documents back.

“Great. I hope you two get along okay. I’ll see you at supper,” he said to his daughter, kissing her on the forehead.

“Sorted?” I asked, after he left.

“Sorted,” she said, smiling weakly. “I’m not very good at this sort of thing.”

“Never mind, we can’t all be good at everything. So, how about you show me what you want me to do?”

Not a lot was the answer.

There was a small room at the back, with a tiny stockroom and a loo. Then there was a backdoor that led out to an alley where the bins lived.

She showed me how everything was priced. The cash register was an antique and was very simple to use. There were a stack of credit card vouchers to go with the embossing machine. She showed me a template with all the necessary numbers and codes already printed on. I got the gist of what was required quite quickly.

“We have limited stock, so when it’s one, it’s gone. If you get a chance, take a look in the stock-room and replace any of the tee shirts if there are any spares. There won’t be any of the dresses, as I get them on a week by week basis. There might be a skirt or a pair of trousers, but if there isn’t, tough.”

It seemed a rather lackadaisical way of running a business, so I said as much.

“Well, it’s worked up to now,” she said. “Occasionally we get someone who wants something that we’re out of. Just make a note of it in the book and I’ll get one the next time I go over.”

“Yes, that’s fine, but wouldn’t it be better to keep some stock of those things we often run short of, and then keep the most popular sizes?”

“I suppose. But, as I said, it’s worked fine so far.”

Who was I to argue?

Over the next couple of weeks, we did initiate a new stock control and ordering system. We kept a record of what sold and what didn’t and ordered the stuff three days before Lizzie was due to go and pick the stock up. That way we could keep better track of what was being sold and have the more popular items in stock.

I knew that girls wanted what they wanted now. Often if there was a delay, they’d go and buy something else from a competitor.

Business wasn’t exactly booming, but we did a good trade amongst the younger age group, from fourteen to thirty. I revamped the window display, adding some colour and a splash of the jewellery. I persuaded Lizzie to buy a large job lot of posters, which sold very well. We had all the latest heart-throbs, like Donnie Osmond, David Cassidy and Marc Bolan.

Life settled down, with Thor working all hours in the pub and me in the shop. We managed to sneak an hour every afternoon after two, and then I’d pop into the pub after work. We became strangely domesticated, adding our weekly wages into a kitty after we were paid. I had every other weekend off, and in between, I had the Sunday and Monday off. That suited us fine, as Thor was off every Sunday and Monday, with Saturday being his busiest time.

On Wednesday of the third week, I received a rather shocking little visitor. Any doubts I had over my current gender were dispelled. Not that I had any, but flooding one’s knickers with gungy, bloody mucus rather confirmed what I thought I knew. If you get my drift?

I can’t admit that I enjoyed the experience, but at least I knew two things. One, I wasn’t pregnant, and two, I could be if I wasn’t careful.

Valarie returned from her meetings in London full of enthusiasm. With other meetings and auditions to arrange, she stayed only a couple of days and then set off back down to London. We negotiated a rent, after which she let us stay on at the flat. To be honest, apart from sleeping, we were hardly there. I spent every Sunday morning tidying up, doing the washing and house work.

It was in about the fourth week at the flat, on a Sunday evening that we were together in the flat watching TV. After the national news they ran the local news show. I was in the kitchen fixing us some supper when I heard it.

“The search widens for the schoolboy Philip Coates, who has been missing from his school for over a month.”

I ran into the sitting room and stared at a photograph of my male self on the TV. The reporter continued.

“The boy was reported missing when he failed to show for classes and a search of the college failed to locate him. His parents were informed in case he had gone home without telling the school. However, his parents have not seen Philip for over eight weeks and are concerned for his safety.

“The Headmaster of the school stated that there was no apparent reason for the boy’s disappearance.”

The scene changed to outside the front of the college. There was the head, looking rather more dishevelled than I recalled. Somehow he looked smaller and less imposing than I remembered him.

“Young Philip is a popular boy, a keen sportsman and an intelligent lad. There are no reasons that we can think of for him just to up sticks and disappear. Certainly, had there been any, we would have known. We’re a close community here, and all the boys know that they can come to us with their problems. Philip has always been attentive and participates in every aspect of school life. It is highly out of character for him to disappear.”

The reporter took over once more.

“Police are baffled, as there have been no sightings of the boy at all.”

A uniformed Tayside Police Inspector looked nervously into the camera. Unused to undertaking such interviews, his voice sounded somewhat forced and stilted as he gave a rehearsed statement.

“Ah, we urgently require anyone who might have , er, seen, um, young Philip on of after the fifteenth of, er, October. He was last seen in his house on the previous evening. A friend of his stated that, eh, he was not in his room when he went to, um, wake him on the morning in question.

“We would urge anyone who, um, might have seen the boy heading away from the college, either on foot or in a vehicle to come forward. There is reason to believe he was in Perth during the day, as his bank card was used at a cash machine. It has not been used since. You might have, um, seen him using the Bank of Scotland ATM during that morning. If you did, then please come forward. We are not certain what clothing he was wearing, but suspect that he was wearing jeans and a leather bomber jacket.

“He is a slim young man, not far off six foot tall, with fair hair that is over the collar. As far as we know, this photograph is the most recent and is a good likeness.”

They then showed a photograph that had been taken about three months previously. I smiled, as I knew that I looked nothing like that boy.

Thor said, “Do you know him?”

“No,” I lied.

“Why the interest?”

“I know the area, and we met in Perth on that day.”

“Oh.”

He changed the channel while I returned to the kitchen. It made me think. In all the excitement I hadn’t really given a lot of thought to those I’d left behind. I was thankful that Andy hadn’t said anything. I smiled. Who would have believed him, anyway?

I’d like to be able to ring Andy, but knew that there was no way I could. There was one phone in the house for urgent calls only. It was always answered by the housemaster. That ruled out calls even by friends and relatives, unless they were urgent.

There was another public phone box just down the road from the school, but the chances were that no one would be there. The only thing I could do was to write him a letter and get him to call me either at the flat or at the shop.

I had neither the time, nor the writing paper at the flat. However, when I was at work, I managed to write a quick letter to Andy. I was careful to use a very different handwriting style, just in case anyone intercepted it. I doubted that they’d do such a thing, but it was possible if a full investigation took place. I was also careful over what I wrote.

Dear Andy

I’m sorry I haven’t written sooner, but I’ve been busy with my new job. It was great to see you that last time. I’m sorry that we didn’t get more time together, but, hey, that’s life!
How are you enjoying school? I’m ever so pleased that I left and am in the real world. Mind you, I’d quite like to be stuck in a school like yours with all those gorgeous boys!
I heard on the news that a boy was missing from your school, a Philip something. Do you know him? What’s the story there? Did he get fed up or has he got a girlfriend somewhere?
I have to go, as I’m working in a shop. Sometime people can be a real pain and come in to buy stuff.
This is just a note that I haven’t forgotten you. You’re a great kisser, by the way. If you get a chance then ring me. My numbers are up top of this letter. The lower one is my work and the other one is my flat. I’m not in very much, as when not at work I am round with my boyfriend.

Lots of love

Pippa.

I posted it on my way home from work later that day. I wondered whether he’d get a chance to reply. Hopefully he’d call me, but then I wondered what the hell I could tell him.

Work got hectic, for some reason our clothes were popular with teenaged girls. I think someone famous wore a skirt and top similar to the ones we sold. In any event, the next few days were very busy, so I forgot about the letter and would get back to the flat too tired to pop round to the pub.

It was on such an evening, a little after nine, when the phone rang.

Thinking that it was either Valarie or for Valarie, I answered it without hesitation.

“Hi, Pippa?” said a familiar voice.

“Shit, Andy?”

“Yup.”

“Wow, you got my letter?”

“Yup.”

“Fab. Um, how are you?”

“Okay.”

“How are things at the old place?”

“Weird. The police have been around a lot.”

“Really? Is that because of the boy that went missing?”

“Um, yes.”

“Have they any idea what happened to him?”

“No. Even his parents have been over to go through his room. Just in case there was a note or anything.”

“Oh.”

“So, how are you doing?”

“Okay. I’ve got a job, but I told you that.”

“Yeah, and you mentioned a boyfriend.”

“Oh, I did, didn’t I?”

“Yes. Who is he, anyone I might know?”

“I doubt it. He’s Norwegian.”

“Norwegian?”

“Yeah, Norway is full of them, apparently.”

He laughed.

“How did you meet?”

“Um, in Perth. Just after, oh, well, just after I arrived there a few weeks ago.”

“Okay?”

“We met in a café, and well, we hooked up to come to Edinburgh. One thing sort of led to another.”

“Another?”

“Don’t go there, Andy, okay?”

“Okay, I won’t. So, what’s the job?”

“It’s just temporary, until my contract starts after Christmas.”

“What is, the job?”

“The job is just working in a small clothes shop. The contract is for a part in a TV series. I’m going to be an actress.”

He was silent.

“Andy?”

“You’re pulling my plonker, aren’t you?”

“No, I promise. Look, I went for a job as a model, and didn’t get it. My tits are too big. Anyway, I met this woman and she liked me, so I did a screen test and it looks like I’m playing a part in a TV series being filmed after Christmas.”

“Wow, great. How big a part? Do you get any lines to speak?”

“Um, I suppose so. It’s the leading role.”

He was silent again.

“Anyway, enough about me. Did the police speak to you about the boy?” I asked.

“Yes. I was the last person to see him,” he said.

“Really; what did you tell them?”

“The truth. I last saw Philip Coates before I went to bed. I never saw him in the morning. He wasn’t in his room when I went to wake him up.”

“Gosh. Did they believe you?”

“I think so. They’ve no reason not to.”

I had a thought.

“Are you in the phone box up the road?”

“Yes, and it’s pissing down.”

“Is it safe for me to speak openly?”

He laughed.

“Yes. No other sod would come out in weather like this.”

I still wondered if the police would tap the phone. I’d just seen a movie in which the CIA tapped everyone’s phone.

“How’s the Head taking it?”

“Not well. He thinks that it’s all his fault, or something. He’s had the housemaster in to give him a real roasting for not seeing any warning signs.”

“That’s not entirely fair, is it?”

“I think the board of governors are causing a stink. This kind of publicity is bad for the school. People may not send their sons here if they think there’s bullying or something going on.”

“That’s bollocks,” I said, getting cross.

“That’s how they see it.”

“Okay. Do you think a letter from the boy would make things easier?”

“I don’t know, possibly. What kind of letter?”

“I don’t know. I think if he writes and says that he had a crisis which is no one’s fault but his own, it might make things easier. He could say that he’s fine and well and doesn’t want anyone to find him, just yet.”

“It might help. Look, Pippa?”

“What?”

“The boy’s mum, she was really cut up.”

It was my time to be quiet.

“Pip?”

“I’m still here.”

“Look, I’m…….”

The pips went, signifying his money had run out. I just had time to tell him that I’d call him back.

Moments later, I called him back.

“Sorry, I only had twenty pee,” he said.

“It’s okay, this is my boss’s phone.”

“I thought you were at your flat?”

“I am. It’s her flat. She’s the woman who wants me to play in this TV series.”

“Bloody hell, so it’s true?”

“Yup.”

“Wow. That’s great for you,” he said.

“I hope so.”

“Are you happy?”

“You have no idea.”

“Can I say one thing?”

“What?”

“Philip’s mum. She needs to know he’s okay.”

“Okay. I think I agree. But not yet.”

“Don’t leave it too long.”

“Okay. Thanks, Andy. Thanks for being a friend.”

“Shit, what else could I do?”

I laughed.

“Not a lot.”

“I’ll call you again, if I get a chance.”

“Thanks,” I said. “Bye for now.”

After he hung up, I sat and cried. I don’t know why. Perhaps what I’d left behind did matter after all.

I was asleep on the sofa when Thor got home. He was cross that I hadn’t gone round to see him. I explained that I was tired, to which he said he was tired, and now we were just going to bed and the whole thing would happen again tomorrow.

We had our first argument. Both of us were tired and I was stressed out having been reminded about my parents. I couldn’t explain it to Thor, so we went to bed hardly speaking.

He was snoring in no time, with his back to me. We hadn’t had sex for three days, and I suppose that was stressing him out as well.

I must have gone to sleep, because I dreamed again.

It was very real.

I was back in that room. The one with the flouncy bed and the whiteness everywhere. The place where she had lived until I set her free.

There was a boy in the room.

I knew him.

“Hello,” he said, standing up. He was wearing the clothes that I’d last seen him wearing.

“Why am I here?” I asked.

“I don’t like it here. I want to go home.”

“You can’t. It’s my life now.”

“That’s not fair. My parents will be worried, and they don’t know you.”

“It’s perfectly fair. I was in here for years. You’ve only just got here.”

“You shouldn’t exist at all. You’re unnatural.”

“I’m what?” I asked, getting angry.

“Normal people are either a boy or a girl, not both.”

“I’m not both. I’m a girl.”

“We’re both.”

“That makes you as unnatural as me.”

“It’s still my life. I was the one they wanted.”

“No, you were the one they got lumbered with. I’m the one that we know we always wanted to be.”

He was silent.

“I want to see my parents. I miss them,” he said.

He was crying.

The mist came in and swirled about us.

“Phil! Come on you dozy bastard, wake up!”

Reluctantly I opened an eye. I shut it again rapidly, as Andy Cairn was leering into my face. I wanted to be back in Edinburgh, not here. If I was here, then that meant….

Still with my eyes cloded, my hands sought my crotch.

“NOOOOOO!” I yelled, making Andy fall backwards in surprise.
I sat up, scrabbling my T shirt off.

“NOOOOOO!” I repeated, as I stared at my flat, masculine chest.

“This can’t be happening!” I said, hearing a baritone voice in my ear.

“Oh God, no. Please God no. This just can’t be happening!”

Andy stared at me.

“Fuck me, Phil, I only just woke you up,” her said.

“What?” I asked, staring blankly at him.

I was back at school, in my old bed. Nothing seemed to have changed.

“Look, I know you said you were feeling odd last evening, but hey, don’t take it out on me,” he said, looking worried.

“What day is it?” I asked.

“What?”

“The day, what day is it?”

Andy told me.

It was the day that I’d woken up as a girl and left the school.

I sank back on my bed with my hands over my eyes. This just couldn’t be happening.

“Come on, Phil, get a grip, we have to get going. We’ve History straight after chapel, and I bet you haven’t done that essay we talked about.”

“This can’t be happening,” I said.

“What can’t?”

“This. All this. I left all this behind. I’m not this any more!”

I was babbling.

“Phil?” Andy said, his expression showing me that he was more than worried now.

“Look, Andy, this isn’t real. None of it. I have to get back. Just leave me alone for a bit. I need to wake up. This is just a bad dream, so if I go to sleep in this dream, I’ll wake up in the real world.”

“Phil, have you lost the plot, old mate?”

I looked at him. He was my friend. He looked concerned, but I couldn’t deal with this.

“Andy, just go. I’m not well. Just go and leave me alone for a bit, okay?”

“Do you want me to get someone; matron, the doctor?”

“No. Just leave me and tell anyone who asks that I’m not well.”

“That’s no lie.”

He left.

I sat on the bed hugging my knees.

My brain was in a whirl.

I remembered leaving this bloody place. I remembered Thor, and Edinburgh, the shop, the TV job, and the sex. Oh boy, I remembered the sex!

I looked around me. The room was exactly the same.

Was this a dream, or was the other a dream?

I lay down and pulled the covers over my head, shutting my eyes and feeling the tears of frustration and anguish leak from my closed eyes.

This was no way reality!

“ALL RIGHT!” I shouted. “All right. I’ll see mum and dad. Just let be go back, please!”

I started sobbing then, and I suppose I must have passed out.

When I woke up, it was dark.

I lay still, not daring to move.

Was I a girl in Edinburgh, or was I a boy in school.

Perhaps they moved me to hospital.

Was I having a breakdown?

Was this a secure, mental hospital?

Was I strapped down?

I was reluctant to move to find out, because I knew that if I discovered that I was a boy once more, I would just want to die.

I moved my hand down……

...............................to be continued.

Dreamer: Part 6

By Tanya Allan
Original Version Copyright © 1972
Revised version Copyright © 2012

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Philip Coates is seventeen and convinced that he is not only trapped in a boarding school for boys, but also trapped in the wrong body. He spends most of his time lost in a world of his imagination. In this world he is the girl he always wanted to be. The girl who screams at him to set her free in every minute of every waking hour, and most of the sleeping ones as well.

Trapped in a social square hole, he becomes simply what everyone - parents, friends, teachers - want and expect him to be. He knows that he wants to be a round peg, but will, in reality, never make it.

Well, he wakes up one morning convinced that his dream might just be coming true.. or is it?

The signs are there, but then again, are there other explanations for what he is going through?

After a rough few days, the girl is set free.

The future is now gloriously uncertain and fresh, as she sets out on a journey, turning her back on her school, her friends and her old home.....

........or is it?

---

My thanks, once again, to PEGLEG for proofing.

---

---

Dreamer: Part 6

What is reality?

Albert Einstein had various theories, as had many other far deeper thinkers than me.

I remember sitting in double maths with a particularly dry teacher attempting to explain the basics of trigonometry to us. Time seemed to take on the consistency of cold treacle. Every second lasted far longer that usual, while my brain seemed incapable of concentrating on the subject matter at hand.

In moments like this, I would lose myself in different worlds, where I was invariably someone far removed from that which I was in reality.

Which brings me back to the question; what is reality?

Is it what exists only in the physical world; bound by the laws of time and physics?

Or is it what exists in the mental and emotional world, bound only by the limits of one’s imagination?

Is there any crossover?

Is there any way that these two very different worlds can converge?

Is it possible to exist in both worlds at the same time?

I don’t know.

I only know that while sitting in double maths, I was transformed to being the young woman of my dreams. I never missed he that I left behind. I did not consider his ties to the world in which he was forced to inhabit. These ties were things that were of no interest to me, neither did I believe they had a hold on me.

In my world, ties were chosen, not given at birth.

In my world, there was no pain, no suffering, no hunger, no thirst, and certainly no mistakes.

Was I a mistake?

This question dogged me for many years.

What is a mistake?

A mistake is something that occurred that was not intended. Either through misjudgement, carelessness or accident, the end result was not what was expected or intended.

I think I was intended to be a boy. Certainly my parents were pleased that I was a male baby, in that I was ready to fulfil my father’s vision of my destiny.

Society saw me as a boy. From a young age, they slotted me neatly into that shaped hole into which I was expected to fit neatly.

Why did I feel that I was in the wrong shaped hole?

Why did I feel that somewhere a mistake had been made?

If there was a mistake, then was someone responsible?

We live in a culture that adores to find someone or something to blame for mistakes. We cannot bear it when something goes wrong and we can’t blame someone. We seem incapable of shrugging and saying, “Okay, that’s life, let’s learn from it and move on.” No, we have to find somewhere to point the finger, even if we can’t recover what was lost or even feel better about it.

So, am I a mistake?

If I am, why?

I cannot recall how much I have thought about these questions. People like me do, you know. We think about them a lot.

I take solace from one thing. To live life is tough, and there are many who have a tough life. Either through adversity, such as handicaps or illness, or through circumstances, such as poverty or deprivation, hardship is something many people have to face, even without the added burden of knowing that one is in the wrong body.

How much tougher, therefore are those, like me, who have to carry this unwanted burden?

I wish I never had the burden given to me.

Then I thought of my time as Pippa.

For the first time in my life, I was free.

I was a true crossover. The product of my imagination created into the physical world.

Was Pippa impossible?

What is impossible?

If Pippa was here, then Pippa must be real. If Pippa was real, then Pippa couldn’t be impossible.

But was Pippa here, or was Philip.

Which was the real me?

I knew which one I wanted to be.

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------

I stopped my hand.

It was almost too much suspense to bear.

I had to know, and yet I didn’t want to.

If I was……., and I shuddered as I thought about it, then I could no longer continue to live. For to have tasted my dream as reality, I no longer wanted to return to my nightmare. That is what it was to be a boy — a living nightmare.

Worse even.

For a nightmare comes to an end with wakefulness. To have to be Philip Coates until I died was to be, quite honestly, worse than any nightmare. In itself, it would have been fine. But I had lived as Pippa. It was as real as my life as Philip. It was, however, a million, million times better being Pippa.

My dreams contain a quality that real life lacks - choice.

Pippa was who I chose to be.

The palm of my hand rested on my bare flat stomach.

As Philip, I invariably wore either PJs or a tee shirt and shorts. As Pippa, I wore a nightdress or, more recently with Thor, nothing.

So far so good.

My eyes were open, yet in the darkness I could see nothing. Not even a clock. I could hear nothing, save my own breathing.

My mind was almost blank, as I remembered only the cross words I’d exchanged with Thor, and then my dream.

If it was a dream…..

Oh, how I wanted it to be a dream!

My heart was racing, thumping in my chest.

Chest.

My other hand rose and without actually thinking about it or wanting to, it found my chest.

I cried.

The tears formed and fell without restraint.

I wept.

I wept in pure relief.

For my hand was clasped around one perfect and soft breast; a girl’s breast, and one of a pair.

My other hand, without the need for restraint, ventured south once more, encountering the wished for warm cleft of womanhood.

I cried some more.

There was movement and noise next to me.

Thor woke up, switching on the light.

“What’s wrong?” he asked, with concern on his face.

I couldn’t speak, so I simply flung my arms around his neck and sobbed into his chest.

He was at a bit of a loss to know what to do. I didn’t care, as I just sobbed and sobbed. On reflection, I think he thought that this was all due to our cross words, so started to apologise to me.

It took me a while to calm down. My head was spinning as the dream, if that’s what it was, was just so vivid and so real. I remembered it all, every detail.

I then saw the clock. It was four a.m..

Thor grumbled and went to the bathroom, which made me want to go. I followed him, washing my face while he peed.

“Are you okay?” he asked, as he shook the drops off.

“Bad dream,” I said.

“Must have been bad. What was it about?”

“I dreamed that I was a boy.”

He smiled, as if to say, that’s not so bad. He just had no idea!

“Are you okay now?”

I looked at my reflection, looking down to see those things that showed me to be female to the world. My mind had always been that of a girl, so why couldn’t the world see me for how I felt instead of how I looked?

He gave me a hug and went back to bed while I had a pee.

I thought about the dream.

What did it mean?”

I recalled making a promise at the end.

I was reluctant to do what I’d promised. However I knew that a failure to do so might just have serious and awful repercussions.

Thor went back to sleep quickly, but I didn’t.

I lay there for ages, reluctant to drift off, just in case this was the dream and the awful other was reality.

My mind wandered. It was a very good mind for doing that. Often the places it went were preferable to what was really happening. Like in Maths, instead of quadratic equations, I’d be transported to a world where one’s form is governed not by what you are born as, but how one wants to be seen.

Well, I don’t know how it happened, but I was exactly in that place now. I was now the person I had always wanted to be.

It was different to the make-believe place.

Here it wasn’t perfect. Here it was just as tough, but in different ways.

I was now faced with hard decisions about who I was and about those who needed to know me.

I thought of my promise.

Was it a real promise?

I had no idea. When one’s grasp of reality slips, one cannot actually say what is real or not. By all that was real, Pippa shouldn’t exist.

I pinched myself.

It hurt.

I was real, therefore I existed as Pippa.

The why I could actually answer. Perhaps it wasn’t the right answer, but it worked for me.

I was Pippa because I wanted to be.

There was another question that I couldn’t answer so easily.

How?

How powerful was wishful thinking?

Is it possible to wish oneself into a different existence?

At five in the morning, it isn’t easy to think so deeply. I reached out a hand and touched the man sleeping next to me.

I smiled, feeling strange longings in my soul, which moved to a much more physical place. I rolled over so we were both lying facing the same way, spoon fashion, with me behind him. I felt content.

I must have dropped off, for at eight Thor woke me up.

“You work today, yes?”

I opened my eyes, feeling down below just to make sure, and smiled.

“I’ve time, if you want to,” I said.

After we’d made love, he rolled over and went back to sleep as I went for my shower.

Standing under the hot shower, feeling the water cascade down my breasts and shoulders, I washed, feeling better.

By the time I reached the shop, I had all but forgotten the dream. However, Lizzie was on the phone with her father when I walked through the door. I had no problem with her father, as he was a good accountant and a caring dad. It was with my own attitude towards my parents that gave me problems.

I realised that I couldn’t let them go on worrying. Apart from everything else, the police needed to be told I wasn’t in danger and to stop looking for me.

How could I do this?

I couldn’t call them, as I no longer sounded anything like Philip.

That was another problem. If I’d changed so completely, there is no way that I could have somehow been a bit girl and a bit boy. I had been a completely normal boy (physically at any rate). I had read about hermaphrodites and the inter-sexed, and as much as I’d like to say that I was a bit of both, I hadn’t been. I had been a completely normally functioning male.

Lizzie came off the phone.

“You’re looking glum today,” she observed.

“Am I. Sorry.”

“It’s okay. What’s up?”

“I had a bit of a fight with my boyfriend last night,” I said, neatly avoiding the real reason.

“Oh, okay now?”

I shrugged.

“I think so. We’ve been a bit too intense and with him working all evening, we don’t see much of each other.”

“Do you need some time off?”

“Not really. I’ve also got parents problems,” I said, surprised at myself for admitting it. I’d never mentioned my parents before.

“I thought your parents had died or something. You never speak about them.”

“No. We don’t get on, but I suppose I need to mend bridges, or whatever the saying is.”

“I couldn’t manage without mine. They’re a pain in the arse, but actually, they do know more than I often think they do.”

I laughed.

“So, where do you come from? You never said.”

“My folks live outside Perth.”

“What caused the rift between you?” she asked.

“It’s not so much a rift as a breakdown in communications. I never fitted in with their idea of what I should be.”

“Oh boy, do I know what you mean. What happened?”

I shrugged.

“Nothing. I just left school early and left home. I haven’t spoken to them for several weeks.”

“Give them a call,” she suggested.

“It’s not that easy.”

“Why not?”

I paused. I couldn’t tell her anything close to the truth. If I did, she would never believe me anyway.

“It’s complicated,” was all I could say.

Fortunately, several teenagers came into the shop in a giggling gaggle and our conversation had to cease.

We never revisited that particular conversation, so by the end of the day I was feeling wound up over how I could even begin to contact my parents.

In order to prevent further friction with Thor, I popped round to the pub where he was working at about six o’clock.

The pub was quiet, so he grinned when he saw me, coming over and sitting with me in a secluded booth.

“Thanks for coming in. I thought still angry with me you were.”

“No, it was me. I’m sorry, Thor.”

He nodded, but I sensed that he had something on his mind.

“It’s both of us. We’re too busy trying to make money that we forget what we are about,” he said, with a sad smile.

“Maybe we need to revise what we think is important,” I suggested. “It’s just, well, it’s just we’re pushing it too hard. You wanted to see Britain, and then the rest of Europe. All you’ve done is get a crummy job, while seeing a little bit of one city. I think you might want to rethink your plans. I’m not sure that this is such a good idea,” I said.

He nodded, taking one of my hands.

“I think the same. But I have not good news today. I call home and my grandfather died. I have to return to Norway for to go to the funeral. Will you come with me?”

“Oh,” I said, as this completely threw me.

“Well?”

“Oh, um, when?”

“In three weeks, on the Friday.”

“Why so long?”

“Our family is spread out, so it gives us time to get home.

I initially was going to refuse, but then I was curious to see where he came from, and, well, I actually liked being with him. He had talked about his remaining grandfather, and so I knew he was particularly close to the man.

“If I can, yes, but I need to sort out some stuff first. I have to get some time off work.”

“I’m giving up this job,” Thor said, looking round the bar.

“Good,” I said, smiling. “Perhaps we will have more time together.”

“What about your job?”

“What about it?”

“Will you stay?”

“Thor, I have to. I haven’t any money. Until my contract starts, I will need to work somewhere, so I might as well do something I like.”

He nodded still holding my hand.

“I have enough for us.”

“No, I won’t let you use that. You will need it for the rest of your trip.”

“Perhaps my grandfather will leave me some money.”

“Yeah, by the time the lawyers finish mucking you about, it will be months.”

He laughed.

“Ja, that’s true, I think.”

Then it hit me, the truth. I couldn’t go with him to Norway, or anywhere else, as I didn’t have a passport. Not in the name Philippa Stewart, at any rate. Anyway, my passport in the name of Philip Coates was sitting in the sideboard at my parents’ house. I couldn’t get a new one without a birth certificate and the usual references.

“Thor, I’ve just remembered, I haven’t got a passport.”

He stared blankly at me for a moment.

“Then you apply now, and it should be ready in time, no?”

“It’s not that easy.”

“Why not?”

“It’s complicated. Look, there’s some stuff I need to do, and, well, I have to do this by myself. I want to come with you to Norway, but it may not be possible. Let’s see how I get on, okay?”

He frowned, but nodded..

“I can help?”

I squeezed his hand and smiled.

“I don’t think so, unless you’re into miracles.”

He gave his notice in to the landlord. As things were quiet, he wasn’t that bothered. The busy time of the festival was long over and now it was a slow wind down to the Christmas break, when things could get busy again.

I left him at the pub and walked back to the flat. Once there, I wrote a brief letter addressed to the police officer in charge at Perth Police Station. I told them I was alive and well and that I’d decided to drop out of school for medical and emotional reasons. What they chose to do now is up to them. I then sat at the table and started to write the letter I had avoided even thinking about up until now.

It took me a long time, and several sheets of paper. How exactly do you try to tell your parents about the impossible?

Dear Dad and Mum.

The first thing you have to know is that I’m fine. In fact, I’m better than fine, but I’ll explain that later. I’m sorry it’s taken me so long to build up the courage to write to you, but as you may discover, things have not been easy for me.

I know things are tough for you too, not knowing what happened and everything, and that’s why I’m writing this letter. To be honest, if it wasn’t for the thought of what you might be going through, I probably wouldn’t write.

You see, for the first time in my life I am the person I should always have been.

This person is not the son you always wanted, and is not going to be the person you envisioned I’d be.

This is a very hard letter to write, because what has happened to me is impossible.

I can’t quite believe it, so trying to persuade others that it is true is almost as impossible as the event itself.

The event.

I suppose the best way I can explain this is by telling you what I have been feeling for as long as I remember.

You see, when I was very little, I started to realise that I was wrong. I mean, my body was wrong. I knew that inside I was a girl and my body told lies to the world. It told everyone that I was a boy, and everyone believed what my body said. My soul and my mind were always a girl. It wouldn’t matter how loud I could have shouted it out, my body told everyone what they wanted to see.

I was resigned to my fate, particularly as my body started to change from being a boy to being a man.

I never told you how unhappy I was. I never told you because you wouldn’t have understood. Maybe, Mum, you might have, but I could never believe that Dad could accept what I really was.

You were always going on about how proud you were of me; how much you wanted me to be in the first fifteen, or hoped that I’d go to university and get a degree and so on. Not once did either of you ask what I would really like to do with my life as you were so busy planning and mapping it out for me. I even think you’d have chosen my wife for me if you could.

If you’d have asked and I’d have been honest, I’d have told you that I want to be a girl. I want to be a woman and a mother and to live my life as a woman. I’m interested in acting and drama, not sport and business.

I’m getting away from the point, as I don’t want you to feel that this is any way your fault. It isn’t.

This is no one’s fault. This just happened. I’ve read about it and there is a small percentage of people who are born into the wrong gender. I was one of them

I say WAS….

You see, on the day I disappeared from school, something impossible happened. I can’t explain it, and to be honest I don’t care how it happened. It did happen and I had to go.

I had to go because of what would have happened if I’d stayed.

Firstly you’d have been called and knowing Dad, he’d have called a lawyer to see who he could sue.

I didn’t want that.

Then you’d have called a doctor to see about making it better.

I didn’t want that.

You see, for the first time in my life, I am better. I am the person I always wanted to be.

Without going near a doctor or surgeon or taking any funny pills, I woke up to find that I am now a girl.

The change I experienced is quite pronounced. So much so that I saw Mum in a café in Perth on the day it happened and she looked right at me and never recognised me. I almost said something, but realised that even if I had, the shock would have made all the wrong things happen.

I had a choice. I could have stayed in school and gone though a circus as everyone would try to get to the bottom of it all. No one would have asked me… “What do you want?”

The school would try to limit the damage of any publicity. You’d have tried to find a medical expert to ‘put things right’.. please note that I think that this would be your idea of right, not mine!

I simply chose to live.

I left the school and have now found a place to live, a job and a boyfriend. Yes, he’s a boy and yes, I’m a normal girl. Yes Mum, we’re taking precautions.

You see? This is why I had to write this. I’m telling you stuff that I could never speak to you, face to face, because I’m a coward and I’m terrified of you refusing to believe me.

You need to know that I’m alive and well. I have never been so happy. My only sadness is that my understanding of you is such that you would not share my happiness. I hope I’m wrong, but I think the impact on your social standing is more important to you than my happiness.

I pray that I’m wrong.

I have written a letter to the police, telling them that I’m alive and well. My fingerprints probably haven’t changed, so they can do what they want. I never intended to cause a nuisance or upset anyone. I just want to be me and to live my life my way.

You now have a choice.

You can share my life and my happiness, or you can reject me.

You can never say that I didn’t care or try.

I want to be wrong. You see, as someone who carried a terrible and painful burden for so long, I can only imagine the disappointment that I will no longer be your son will cause you.

I may not need you in my life, but I really want you in my life.

As I said, the choice is yours.

If you want to see me and find out more, then meet me at the railway station in Perth at noon seven days from today (date at top of letter).

I want to avoid any press or police interest, so if I see either, then I’ll disappear again. You see, I have a real chance at a good job, so I want to keep everything calm.

Do not even think about doctors or anything. I’m not sick. I’m a normal and very contented girl.

I want to be your daughter.

Lots of love

Philippa.

I left the flat and caught a bus to Leith. I posted both letters in an obscure post box, miles from where I was living or working.

Sitting on the bus home, I thought about the letters. What was done was done. The ball was in their court now. I arrived back a few minutes before Thor. When we went to bed, I asked him to hold me. I cried and couldn’t tell him why.

I fell asleep in his arms.

---

To be continued…….

Dreamer: Part 7

By Tanya Allan
Original Version Copyright © 1972
Revised version Copyright © 2012

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Pippa has come to a crucial crossroads in her life. Forced by a feeling that if she doesn't contact her parents, then her life may well revert to the way things were, she has to make some tough decisions. Her boyfriend is also an issue, and circumstances force her to tell him more than she intended.

Follow her as she makes decisions that could mean disaster or something else.

Does she make the right decisions?

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Dreamer: Part 7

Author’s note
This was the last part of the teenage scribble. I remember writing this as if it was yesterday. I got as far as the railway station at Perth (I won’t spoil it for you). I remember being stuck. It was an emotional time for me, as Pippa was able to express things in a way that I wanted to and never got the opportunity. I think I used this story to plan out what I wanted to say but was never brave (or stupid) enough. It wasn’t very well written, so I’ve cleaned it up and added to it. It was left hanging, as back then I couldn’t actually visualise the end.

I’m older and wiser (a bit) now. I am able to divorce myself from the story, which I couldn’t do at the time.

I need to know whether you (the readers) would like me to continue this story to a more complete conclusion, or whether you believe that this is a good place to stop.

I think I’d like to, but I can always find something else to write.

Please let me know.

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The train station in Perth isn’t the most wonderful place, but it’s easy to get to and, well, it was somewhere that I knew I could leave without being seen if I wanted to.

Thor, bless him walked me to the station in Edinburgh so I could catch the train. He offered to come with me, but I declined.

“This is something I have to do alone. I’d love you to come, but it would make a tricky situation that much trickier if you were with me.”

We’d had a good week. He’d had to work three days after giving in his notice, which was fine, but as he was supposed to work the seven, they let him go early as there just wasn’t the work. They paid him for the days, so he was pleased.

On the Wednesday after he finished his last day of work, we were in the flat. I was making a coffee, but was distracted thinking about my impending meeting (or not) with my parents. He wanted to know why I was upset and stressed out. He naturally thought it was because of him, so I tried to explain about my parents. In the end, I sort of told him the truth. I daren’t tell him I’d been a boy, so I just said I had left school early and they hadn’t liked it.

“You should stay in school. Qualifications are important,” he said.

“I know, but, well, it’s a bit different for me.”

“No it isn’t. It’s the same for boys and girls.”

I’d tried every which way to hedge around the issue, but he was so stubborn, I lost my temper, which was a mistake.

“Look, you stupid man, I can’t because they think I’m a boy!” I’d said, and realised that I’d just blown it.

He stared at me with his mouth open and a deep frown that threatened to cut off circulation to his eyebrows.

“What?”

“Nothing.”

“I don’t understand. You said….”

I know what I said, just forget it, okay?”

“I don’t understand,” he repeated.

Oh shit, this is exactly what I didn’t want to do.

Truth time.

“Okay, now what I will tell you is the truth, but it’s also just a little weird, so just believe me, okay?”

He opened his mouth to say something, saw my expression and closed it again, nodding uncertainly.

“Okay. Now, the day I met you, remember, back in Perth?”

He nodded.

“Right, I’d just left my boarding school. I left because I woke up as you see me now, a normal girl. Got that?”

Still frowning, he nodded again.

“Now, that’s not so weird, you say, but it is, because when I went to bed on the previous night, I’d been a boy. Not a tom-boyish girl, or a girly boy, but a boy with a dick and everything. Understand?”

He started to nod, but then shook his head.

“Oh shit, I knew this was going to be fucking tough. Look, Thor, up until the day I met you, I’d been a boy. I was born a boy, grew up as a boy and was at school as a boy. Despite that, all my life I have wanted to be a girl, as I have always felt that, inside, I was a girl. I went to bed a boy and woke up a girl. Now, before you say anything, I know that this is impossible and it just can’t happen. I agree, by all that I know and understand it just can’t happen. But I also know that it did. Either I’m dreaming and it’s all a mental illness and I’m perfectly insane and living in cloud-cuckoo land, or it’s real. Do you think I’m mad?”

He opened his mouth again, so I held up a hand.

“Forget I asked. Just let me say this. When I woke up, I was in my room, that is, a room that should have been occupied by a boy called Philip. I have all Philip’s memories, so I know that I was Philip. My friend, or rather Philip’s friend, Andy, came into the room, saw me and immediately thought I was a girl that Philip had smuggled into the school to have sex with. He took some persuading to convince that Philip and me are the same person inside, because I’ve changed a lot. I’m a little shorter and very female. All my memories are still there, and I have some of him that only he and I know.

“Anyway, he was convinced and helped me get my stuff together and leave the school. He even gave me some money, which I suppose I ought to pay back. I hitched a ride to Perth with a teacher’s wife. I knew her but she didn’t recognise me at all. Then, once I got to Perth, I bought some proper girl’s clothes and met you in the café. Incidentally, my mother came in with a friend and sat at a table near us. You asked me what was wrong, remember?”

He shook his head.

I sighed.

“It doesn’t matter. Now you see why I have so many problems, like no passport and no money?”

Thor was silent. I didn’t blame him. If I’d have been him, I think I’d be thinking about which loony bin I was going to call.

“You say you were a boy called Philip?” he said after quite a long time of silence.

I nodded.

“When you found you were a girl, why did you not tell someone at school, a doctor or teacher?”

“For what? So they could prod and poke, call my parents and create a fuss? My dad would want to sue the school and then buy the best surgeon to put me back the way he wanted. No, Thor, I couldn’t have done that.”

“Your parents hate you?”

“Not really, but I’m not sure whether they will want a daughter that had been their son. My mum is probably more open minded than my dad. My dad will be more concerned about what people might say than my happiness.”

“That is sad. Perhaps you are mistaken?”

“I hope so.”

He nodded and frowned some more. I went to the dresser and took out my wallet. I had all my old cards and documents. I put them on the table and showed him. There were no photographs though.

“This friend, Andy, is it?” he asked, looking at the cards and old driver’s licence.

“Yes, Andy Cairn. What about him?”

“He believes you?”

“Yes. I wrote to him the other day and he phoned me back. He persuaded me to contact my parents.”

Thor leaned back and scratched his head.

“This is, as you say, impossible.”

There was nothing I could say.

He smiled. I wondered what he was thinking about.

“You are certainly a normal girl.”

“Thanks.”

“I mean, it took you how long to lose your virginity, a week?”

I felt guilty and blushed, at which he laughed again.

“You are definitely not a boy. That I assure you.”

“I am aware of that, but thanks anyway.”

“The battleship!” he suddenly said.

“What?”

“On the bus, we saw a navy boat and I called it a battleship. You told me exactly what it was and when it was made. You even knew what missiles it carries. No girl would know that.”

“So?” I asked, unsure where he was going with this.

He nodded, as if thinking of something important.

“I believe you. I cannot see how, but I believe you.”

“Are you sure you’re not just saying that and will call the ambulance when my back’s turned?” I asked.

He laughed at me again, patting the sofa for me to sit beside him.

“Come, sit with me. We talk some more about this. It is amazing.”

I sat next to him, cautiously.

“You are a girl, yes?”

“Yes,” I said, not sure where he was going.

“When you were a boy, you wanted to be a girl and thought you should have been, yes?”

“Yes.”

“If you could be either, what would it be?”

“Duh, a girl.”

He nodded again, reaching out and taking my hand.

“You are my girl, yes?”

“If you still want me to be, yes.”

“I do. So, tell me again, when you went to sleep….?”

Talk we did, well into the night. He asked me all about my childhood and I shared every feeling and memory that I felt was important. We ended up going to bed at about three thirty in the morning. I lay there, feeling very uncertain. He reached out and pulled me gently towards him.

“You don’t want me?” he asked.

“I’m not sure whether you will still want me,” I admitted.

“Why not? I love you and you’re my girl, yes?”

“Yes,” I said, and melted into his arms.

We’d had sex many times up to that day, but that was the most tender and erotic experience I’d yet had. He told me afterwards that I held nothing back. As I went to sleep I told him that I loved him. He smiled and farted. It was a beautiful moment.

As I sat on the train, alone, I looked down at the Firth of Forth. The old bridge was an amazing feat of engineering, but I wasn’t that impressed at that moment. Thor had told me that I was dressed to go to church. Maybe he was right, but I didn’t want to make a bad impression. I wore a smart skirt and jacket in navy blue, with a pale blouse, tights and smart shoes with heels. My hair looked lovely and I’d done my makeup conservatively.

I didn’t look anything like Philip Coates.

I didn’t feel anything like Philip Coates.

I still wasn’t certain that either of them would be there. I thought that my mum might be, but I wasn’t sure about my dad.

The train seemed to take an age to get to Perth, but as soon as it started slowing down, I felt physically sick.

The man opposite me looked worried.

“Are you all right?” he asked.

“Fine thanks. I’m just a bit queasy. I should have eaten something earlier.”

The train was ten minutes late, so it was ten to noon already. I waited for a while, and then followed the others off and onto the platform. The train pulled out again, almost immediately.

Feeling a little faint, I sat on the red-painted bench on the platform, watching the train leave as it headed north. Perhaps I should have stayed on it, I thought.

The passengers had all headed for the exit, so I sat there for a moment, looking at the clock. The minute hand clicked gradually up towards twelve.

My parents weren’t here.

I waited.

A policeman came through the doors, looked around and then headed for an office to my left. I watched the office door, wondering whether this was a trap.

I told myself not to be paranoid.

Five past came. I stood up. The next train to Edinburgh was at twenty to one. I already had a ticket, so it wasn’t long to wait.

I saw my mother before she saw me.

She walked uncertainly through the entrance. I saw her speak to someone and then she must have bought a platform ticket.

She looked tired, so I immediately felt guilty for what I had put them through.

She looked at the empty concourse, glancing my way and then passing over me. Then she looked back and frowned. I saw her hand go up to her mouth. I saw her shake her head and look for anyone else that could be her daughter, or son, or whatever she was expecting. It obviously wasn’t me.

“Well, this is it,” I said to myself, standing up.

I walked down the platform towards the barrier. A male ticket collector in the British Railways uniform watched me. My mother walked shakily towards me as well, stopping at the barrier. She still looked for anyone else that could possibly be her child, as clearly I didn’t meet her expectations. I hoped I exceeded them.

I wondered how I looked to her. I thought I looked sophisticated and feminine. Judging by the openly admiring glance from the BR man, I had succeeded a little at any rate.

I tried to be as calm as I could, handing over my ticket as I reached the barrier.

“Thanks, love,” he said. “Are you being met or do ye want a taxi?”

Looking at my mother, I said, “I’m being met, thank you.” I spoke in my most educated accent.

He punched it and handed it back. It was a return, after all. With no more passengers, he turned and headed for his office and a cup of tea, no doubt.

I stood in front of my mother.

“Hi mum,” I said.

She had to hold on to the metal stanchion of the barrier, tears came to her eyes and her voice shook.

“Philip?”

I felt amazingly calm and in control. I was surprised and I thought I’d be a wreck. I shook my head, conscious of the movement of my long hair and ear rings.

“No, mum. Philip is no more. I’m Pippa. I’m your daughter.”

“But you’re… you’re…”

“A girl? Yes, I am, and underneath, I always have been. I’m so pleased you’ve noticed at last.”

“May I…?” she stammered, holding out a hand. I took it, surprised at the strength with which she gripped my hand.

“I can see you’re a girl. I wanted to say that you were beautiful, that’s all,” she said, crying openly now.

At those words, I broke and felt the tears come to my eyes. I fought for control.

“So, dad didn’t come?” I asked.

“He has, he's parking the car,” she said, looking towards the entrance.

He hadn’t changed. I felt a flutter of apprehension as I saw him walk in. Like mother, he stopped and then came through looking at us. Some other people were here, so I was grateful for some silly reason.

He stopped a little way off, his face contorting as various emotions fought for supremacy. In the end he surprised me by bursting into tears.

“John, come meet Pippa, our daughter,” said my mother, still with a shaky voice.

He came to me with his hands out.

My tears won, and I felt them rolling down my cheeks. I was more worried about my mascara running than anything else and laughed at the stupidity of the thought.

“Forgive me,” he said, gathering us both in an embrace that I never recalled receiving from him before.

We stood like that for a long time, oblivious to the people walking past us in both directions.

At last, he was the one to relinquish hold.

“We need to talk. Will you come home?” he asked.

I hadn’t intended to, as I had been determined to keep on neutral territory. Somehow I felt that by going back to where I grew up, I might become him again.

But the emotion of the moment and completely surprising reaction of my parents shocked me so much that I simply nodded.

My father went ahead to get the Mercedes while I sat on the bench outside the station holding my mother’s hand.

“I never knew,” she kept repeating.

“I know. I’m sorry, I just couldn’t tell you,” I replied.

She smiled through her tears, regarding me a little more critically now we were outside and calmer.

“You really are very pretty. What happened?” she said.

“I’ll wait for dad and tell you when we get home. I don’t want to go through it twice. I had to tell my boyfriend about it on Wednesday evening, so we spent yesterday going through it all again and again. He’s torn, as his rational mind can’t accept it, but his emotional mind does.”

“How did you meet?”

“On the day I left school, I met him in the café where I saw you. Do you remember?”

She shook her head.

“Why didn’t you say anything?”

“I don’t know. I suppose I was still in a kind of shock. It’s not every day you wake up finally as the person you’ve always wanted to be. The problem was I was a girl in an all boys’ school, so that was a trauma in itself.”

Dad pulled up in the forecourt.

“Get in the front, dear,” said my mother.

I didn’t feel inclined to argue, so complied.

I fastened my seat belt and sat back, closing my eyes. I had not imagined this scenario.

“She was just telling me about seeing me in Perth, on the day,” she told my father.

Despite me wanting to wait, I told them the story on the way. It was only half an hour’s drive, so hadn’t really finished when we arrived home.

Home.

I sat in the car and looked at the house in which I had grown up. It seemed different somehow. Or perhaps that was me. I was certainly different. I was bombarded by memories.

The memories of happy and not so happy times seemed strangely faint and insubstantial; almost as if they didn’t belong to me. I kept reliving the memories as if I was a spectator and not the subject.

I must have phased out for a moment, for dad was holding my door open.

“Are you getting out?” he asked.

I got out, aware that I showed a lot of leg and noticed that he saw. I smiled slightly, as he actually blushed and looked away.

My mother had already opened the front door, so Jockie the Border terrier rushed out to meet us.

In all my traumas, I’d all but forgotten him. As I bent over to stroke him, he virtually hurled himself into my arms. I cried, as always did this to me, so he remembered me.

Both my parents watched, and I noticed, both were crying.

I carried the wriggling dog into the house as he tried to lick all the makeup off my face.

We gravitated to the kitchen, where I sat on the stool at the breakfast bar.

“I’m finding this very difficult,” admitted my father, as mum filled the kettle.

I frowned.

“Difficult, how?”

He smiled.

“Having such an attractive daughter showing so much leg is not an easy thing for a man to deal with.”

Jockie brought his tennis ball to me to throw for him.

“I can’t help how I look, dad. I did try to dress smart for you.”

“You look lovely dear, very sophisticated and professional,” said my mother. “Lunch is cold meat, cheese and fresh bread. I couldn’t plan anything else. I mean, we didn’t know…” her voice trailed off.

“I understand, cold meat is fine. I didn’t know what was going to happen either. I never thought you’d be, you’d be quite so….” I couldn’t say any more as the tears returned with enthusiasm.

It was a very stilted lunch, as we all kept breaking down and crying. I’m not sure why. They asked me so many questions, which I tried to answer as best as I could. Some were hard, particularly the ones about why I didn’t tell them before.

“Look, I was a boy, physically I was normal, so I never even contemplated a sex change as it was too difficult. I was resigned to live out my life just as I was. I couldn’t put you through it. I was probably wrong, but I truly believed that you would have been mortified to have a transsexual for a son.”

My parents looked at each other.

“Actually, Pippa, you were wiser than you knew. I don’t think I would have coped with it at all, for the reasons you thought,” dad admitted. “Over the last few weeks, we’ve been to hell and back, going over what kind of parents were thought we had been. After your letter arrived, my first reaction was to treat it as a hoax, but you mother believed it. It seems you were both right.”

I couldn’t think of anything to say.

“Are you completely normal?” mum asked.

“As far as I know. I’ve already had a period and, well, I seem to be normal.”

“Have you seen a doctor?” she asked.

“Not yet, I’ve been a bit busy.”

“So, you’re not on the pill?”

“Dad!”

“Are you?”

“No.”

“You mentioned precautions,” said mum, looking embarrassed.

“He uses condoms.”

Dad rolled his eyes and looked away.

“Dear, you can’t always rely on them, you do know that?” mum said.

“I know. I am planning to go down to the FP clinic. But I’m sorting this part of my life out first.”

“Okay, how do we play this?” dad asked.

I shrugged.

“Right, are you willing to be advised by me on this?” he asked.

“It depends.”

He frowned.

“On what?”

“What you suggest.”

“Okay, perhaps I phrased that badly. How about we set out our possible options and come to a mutual agreement as to how to proceed?”

I smiled.

“Go on,” I said.

“Good. One, we tell the police. I’ve been in touch with them regularly and they will have to see and speak to you to close their enquiry.”

I didn’t like the sound of that.

“Okay,” I said, rather reluctantly.

“Two; we get you sorted medically and legally.”

“How?”

“Well, we have to establish that you are the same person as Philip Coates and that you are no longer male. Once those are done, you will have to have your birth certificate changed, your name changed and then you’ll be legally entitled to get your National Insurance, passport and drivers licence issued.”

“O-kay. How do we do that?”

“I can make an appointment with Dr Featherstone. As your GP, he knew you…”

“As Philip,” I interrupted.

“Yes, he knew you and can examine you to categorically say that you are now a genetic female. Hopefully, he will also be able to say that you are the same person as the boy called Philip. He can kill two birds with one stone, so to speak.”

“Okay. Then what?”

“He will issue a medical certificate, certifying your identity and gender. This will be used to change your details with the registry people and then, with a new birth certificate, you can apply for a new NI number, passport and all the other stuff you will need.”

“That sounds okay,” I said. It all sounded reasonably simple.

“Then you go back to school,” he said. Just to spoil it all.

“No dad. I’m done with school.”

“Listen young lady…”

I stood up.

“No, dad, you listen. I’m seventeen. I’m legally an adult, so here’s how it’s going to be. I actually have a temporary job until after Christmas. I then have been signed up to join the cast of a new TV series that will be showing next autumn. I want to be an actress, and this is my big chance. If I need further studying, then I’ll go to drama school, but I may not have to.”

“Don’t be ridiculous, a part as an extra in some obscure TV series is not the way to do it. If you want my advice…”

“No, dad, I don’t. For starters, the part is not that of an extra, but as the female lead. Second, I already have an agent and my fees or salary is far more than I could ever have dreamed of. I’ve found this job, me, all by myself. You are not interfering with it like you have with just about everything else in my life, do YOU understand?”

There was a stunned silence in the kitchen.

I had been calm and precise, never raising my voice or losing my temper. He stared at me, blinking and looking slightly shocked.

“Did I tell you that you were the survivor of a set of twins?” mum asked.

“What?” I was confused by the complete change of direction.

“Your sister was born dead. I never believed she was dead, as I sensed she was alive somehow. Oh, I knew the little body was dead, but her spirit was always around.”

My father and I stared at her.

I had to sit down.

Suddenly some form of clarity came out of the mist.

She took my hand.

“Welcome home, darling. How I’ve missed you!” she said with tears in her eyes. Her smile, however, said it all.

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