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The next morning I awoke in the spare bedroom at Tom's house, and for a moment lay there relaxed until the events of the previous day came flooding back and I started to shiver with fear. I had to go back home after school, and what sort of a mood would my father be in when I saw him?

Tom's mother knocked on the door and asked if I was awake as she was about to prepare breakfast.

“Yes thank you Mrs Shore. I'll get my shower now if I may?”

“Of course you can. We'll see you downstairs in about twenty minutes, alright?”

I quickly had my shower, dressed and ran downstairs to where Tom was already eating his breakfast. I was given a plate of bacon, eggs and a sausage, all on two pieces of toast. It smelled and tasted delicious! There was a glass of milk to wash it all down.

After breakfast, Tom and I walked to school. That day was not one of my best. I was worried about my reception at home, and more than once a teacher inquired caustically if I would 'honour' him with my attention. On our way home, Tom looked at me with a worried look on his face. I hadn't told him what it was all about of course, but he knew it was something serious.

“Do you want to come home with me again Mike?”

“No Tom. It's very decent of you, but I'll have to face the music sooner or later, and Dad might be even madder if I don't turn up today.” With that I turned off to my street, my heart thumping with fear. When I came in sight of the house, I was relieved to see that Dad's old truck wasn't there yet. I could find out what happened last night before I had to face him.

When I entered our house it was unusually quiet. I wondered what was wrong and walked into the kitchen to find my mother sitting at the kitchen table staring into space.

“Mum?” I said.

She turned slowly and looked up at me “He's gone.”

“Gone? Dad?”

“Here. You're old enough to read it for yourself.”

It was a short note scribbled on a piece of paper torn from an exercise book and read 'Jane, I've moved out. Last night was the final straw. Don't ask me to come back as I'll be with someone else. I'll send money for the kids, so don't worry about that. Jim'

Tears welled up in my eyes, not because my father had left, but because it was all my fault and Mum would blame me for ever.

When I told her as much, she managed the ghost of a smile and held out her arms, saying “Come here you silly possum. It's no-one's fault, it's just the way things turned out.”

“Mum, what happened last night when Dad got home from the hotel?”

“Nothing really,” she replied. “He was so drunk it's a wonder he managed to stay on his feet and find his way home. The girls and I dragged him upstairs and I put him to bed.”

“But did he say anything about me?” I persisted.

“Well only indirectly. As we half-carried him up the stairs he was muttering 'Three daughters! Now I've got three frigging daughters!' She even managed a smile when she said it.

“And this morning?”

“He was still asleep when I left for work, and I thought it was best to leave him to it.” she said, “Michael, do you know who that 'someone else' is that he's gone to live with?”

“I think it must be Gloria. She's the secretary at a company where he's been doing at lot of work lately.”

I had seen Gloria a few times when I reluctantly went along to local football matches with Dad. She was very much the peroxide blonde, loud and brassy, with a penchant for short skirts and revealing tops. I remember one day hearing a mate of Dad's say to him “She's got a great pair of puppies” and in my innocence I asked what their names were and could I see them? They both roared with laughter and I had no idea what I'd said that was so funny.

Besides her physical attributes, Gloria had something else that made her attractive to Dad, three strapping brutish sons who were into all the things that I wasn't. They barely had half a brain between them, but that actually appealed to Dad who valued brawn above brains any day. The eldest played for one of the local amateur football teams and I was sickened one day to see him spear an opponent into the rock-hard ground and walk away smirking, leaving the other guy convulsing on the ground. He was 'sin-binned' of course, but I wondered why behaviour which in the street would have landed him a jail sentence. was apparently acceptable in a football match. I heard later that the guy he injured made a fair recovery but never played football again.

“Gloria.” my mother mused “Yes, I think you're probably right there.”

“I suppose my sisters told you about me?” I ventured, changing the subject again.

“Yes. I confess I had my suspicions, but I didn't want to say anything before you did.”

“But are you alright about it?”

“You are my child darling, whether you're my son or my daughter, it doesn't matter.”

“So does that mean you don't mind if I dress as a girl?”

“If it's what you want to do, but please, only in the house at this time, for your sake as well as ours. People can be very cruel.”

I believe that she thought it was probably a phase I was going through and that I would grow out of it, so when I asked if she minded seeing me dressed as a girl she nodded her assent. The girls were up in their room so that Mum could talk to me alone, so I ran up the stairs and told them what we had agreed.

“She wants to see me dressed as a girl.” I said. That wasn't strictly true of course, but I couldn't wait to dress in pretty clothes once more, and also to prove to her that I would look convincing while wearing them.

Kate and Bessie looked at each other, and Kate said “Ok then, lets see how pretty we can make you.”

They selected a pair of knickers for me and left the room while I stripped off my boy clothes and put on the knickers. Then they came back in and got to work on me. Strangely this time I didn't feel in the least embarrassed, even though there were two girls in the room with me. I didn't even get an erection, because girls can't ok? That doesn't mean that I didn't enjoy the sensuous feel of the gorgeous garments I was slowly putting on, and I'm sure my feelings were obvious to them.

This time my appearance was even better, because they expertly applied makeup to my face, and Kate had a wig of long curly black hair which she'd used in a school theatre production and somehow never returned. They had turned me away from the mirror while they applied the make-up and adjusted the wig, and then said “Alright, now you can turn round and see yourself.”

I did saw, and what I saw in the mirror rendered me speechless. I could scarcely believe that the girl in the mirror looking back at me really was me.

“Welcome, new sister.” said Kate. “Oh I forgot to ask, what is your name?”

“It's Mandy, Kate. I hope you like it?”

“Mandy” said Kate and Bessie simultaneously. “Yes we do.”

The two of them were wearing jeans and a top, so I was the only one wearing a dress, stockings and heels. I realise now they did it deliberately so that I would look the most feminine of us three. They took up station one on either side of me as I carefully walked down the stairs in three inch heels, the first time I had ever done so.

When we entered the kitchen and Mum saw me dressed for the first time, she sat there with her mouth open so long that Kate said “Catching flies Mum. So what do you think of Mandy?”

Mum seemed to come back to earth, and in a whisper said “I never would have believed it if I hadn't seen it with my own eyes.”

“She looks good doesn't she?” said Bessie,and Mum nodded slowly.

“It seems your Dad was right after all - I have three daughters now.”

To be continued

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For the next few months I led a dual existence — Michael outside the house, and Mandy inside. I could hardly wait to get home each day and transform into the person I knew myself to be. Eventually of course just dressing inside the house wasn't enough for me, and I began working on Mum to persuade her I should go out dressed.

I had the support of my sisters who said “She looks totally convincing Mum, so why not let her go out as a girl?”

Mum was still not totally convinced, but finally she relented.

“I'll tell you what I'll do. I won't let you three go out alone in case something happens, but I will take the three of you out shopping, and then I'm there if anyone says something.” So we had to be content with that.

The day we were due to go out, I suddenly started to get nerves. What if someone did say something? How would I cope? It was too late to back out now — after all, I was the one who had nagged Mum to let me go. I was deciding what to wear when Mum knocked on the door.

“Can I offer you some advice Mandy?” she said. “I know you love to wear dresses and skirts, but the first rule you must obey is to blend in. Most girls don't wear skirts to go shopping any more, so you neither should you. You look so much like a girl that even in jeans you will still look feminine so don't worry about that.”

I opened my mouth to protest and then, for once, realised that 'mother knows best'., and accepted the loan of some jeans from Bessie. They were definitely girl's jeans, with some embroidery on the pockets, and teamed with a pretty top I still looked very much a girl.

We went down to the local shopping centre and spend several happy hours in the clothes shops. I must admit that when we first entered the centre my heart was beating so fast and so loudly that I was amazed no-one turned around to see where the noise was coming from! It wasn't long though before I started to relax and enjoy myself. Mum had little money to spare but she did manage to buy each of us something. In my case it was a pretty skirt that had been marked down in price. We girls insisted she buy something for herself, so she chose a scarf. During the whole day, no-one took any special notice of me — I was just one of a group of a mother and three daughters. I had to admit that mother's advice on how to dress had been sound.

After this first experience I naturally wanted to have more trips as a girl into the outside world, and due to her other commitments it was going to be some time before Mum could arrange this. Being young and foolish, of course I decided to take matters into my own hands.

An opportunity presented itself a few weeks later when I had a day off school, but Mum and Kate were working, and Bessie was at school, since she went to a different one to me. I paced up and down for a while and then took the plunge. I was already wearing girl's clothes, and thanks to my sisters' tuition, I was quite good at applying makeup, although as a young girl, I did not use very much. Confident, or perhaps over-confident that I would be accepted as a girl, I changed into Bessie's jeans and a top once again, and went down to the shopping centre alone and wandered around, looking in the shops, and not attracting any attention, except from a couple of older boys who whistled at me. I blushed at this but kept walking, secretly pleased. Then it happened. Who should be walking towards me but my friend Tom, and totally forgetting myself I said “Hello Tom” as he was about to pass me.

Instantly I realised what a mistake I had made. Tom paused and looked at me. For a second I was tempted to say “Sorry, I thought you were someone else”, but it was too late for that. Looking hard at me he said “Michael? Is that you?”

I was blushing furiously. Struck dumb I just nodded.

“What on earth are you doing?” he said.

Somehow I found my voice. “Please Tom, not here. Is there somewhere quiet we can go and talk?”

“Well, there's that little park just down the road, how about there?” I nodded again, and we walked out of the shopping centre together, across the car park and into the little park which was all that remained of the big plot of land that was now covered in concrete, asphalt and buildings. We sat on a seat together.

“Now are you going to tell me what this is all about?” said Tom “It's not Halloween so presumably there's some other explanation.”

I took a deep breath and started to talk, telling him how I'd felt from when I was very young and how I had been caught dressed as a girl by my furious father. “That was the night I first came to stay with you.” I said,

He nodded slowly. “Now I remember, the scent of lipstick. It wasn't that you'd been kissing a girl, you were the girl.”

“Well, when my Mum heard about it, it confirmed what she had suspected about me, so she agreed that I could dress as a girl at home to see if I would get it out of my system. That hasn't happened of course because this is who I really am. I've been out officially once with the family, but they don't know I came out today on my own, so please don't tell them.”

“Of course I won't ,” said Tom “You're my friend and I'd never let you down.”

“Thank you Tom” I said, and for the second time that day did something without thinking. I leaned towards him and kissed him on the cheek, then blushed again.

“You really are a girl aren't you?” said Tom, who looked rather pleased at what I had done.”So what is your name when you are a girl?”

“It's Mandy, Tom”

“Mandy! I do like that name.” he responded. “So are you going to be a girl all your life?”

“I hope so,” I said “I think there are things that can be done nowadays for people like me, hormones and surgery to make me almost a complete girl. Mum's going to talk to her doctor about it soon.”

“Well, I think you look like a girl now. I would never have known you if you hadn't spoken to me at the shops. Anyway, would you like me to walk you home?”

“Yes please”, I said, and we walked to my street together.

As we walked along, Tom said to me “I don't know if this sounds weird but while I like you as Michael, I like you more as Mandy.”

“Well, as Mandy I like you more than I do as Michael.” I replied, and we both laughed.

When we reached my street, we stopped and I said “I'd better do the last part by myself, just in case someone is home, although they shouldn't be.”

Tom turned to face me and now he took hold of both my hands. “When I said I liked you, I meant I really like you.” he said. “Umm, would you like to be my girlfriend Mandy? May be we could go to the pictures together and things like that.”

“I'd love to, Tom, but we'd both have to ask permission from our parents. Are you sure you wouldn't prefer a girlfriend who is a girl all the time, not spend half the time pretending to be a boy?”

“Where's the fun in that?” Tom laughed “No, I want you to be my girlfriend.”

“Oh Tom!” I said, and didn't resist when he drew me to him and this time he kissed me, and what's more, full on the lips. I felt my body quivering with excitement. It was my first real kiss.

When I entered the house all was quiet and I breathed a sigh or relief. I'd made it out and back without anyone knowing. Ten minutes later Mum arrived home and I almost skipped down the stairs to meet her, but stopped when I saw the look on her face. She was holding a large bundle of papers and looked tired and angry. Her first words set me back on my heels.

“So where have you been young miss, and don't lie to me.” She pointed to a pile of papers on the kitchen table. “I brought those home at lunchtime and you weren't here!”

Tears welled up in my eyes, but she was not mollified. “Mandy, if I can't trust you, what am I to do?”

“I'm sorry Mum.” I said “I was so bored at home so I went down the mall, and no-one recognised me until....”

“Yes?” she said.

“I saw Tom from school down at the shops and said 'hello' to him by mistake.”

“Oh great!” said Mum “Now it will be all over the school tomorrow.”

“No it won't Mum. Tom is a really nice guy and he really likes me as Mandy. In fact he asked if I could be his girlfriend.”

Mum stared at me “Really? And what did you say.”

“I said I would like to be his girlfriend if you and his parents agree.”

“Well, I don't know what to say. He seems a really nice boy, and I'd rather you were with someone I can trust than wandering around on your own. We'll have to wait and see what his parents say.”

A couple of hours later the telephone rang and I answered it. It was Tom.

“Hello Tom, have you spoken to your parents?”

“Well, just my Mum. You see she and my Dad are divorced but I haven't told anyone about that. You'll keep it a secret won't you?”

“Of course I will Tom.”

“Well Mum was a bit surprised when I told her. She wants to talk to your mum and she also wants to meet you.”

“Ok Tom, I'll go and get her.”

When I told Mum that Tom's mum was on the phone she laughed “You two don't let the grass grow under your feet do you? Now let me talk to her alone alright?”

I sat in the lounge room, twisting my fingers and waiting to hear the outcome. Mum was gone a long time. When she finally entered the room I looked up expectantly.

“Well Pam Shore seems a really nice woman.” she said “ We had a good chat, and she would like us both to visit them on Saturday afternoon so she can see Mandy for herself. And a word of advice for you — you want to look like the girl I realise you are, but you mustn't dress 'over the top' alright? You can wear a skirt this time, but take my advice on this, just like you did last time, ok?”

“Yes Mum.” I said quietly, while inside I felt like I was dancing a jig.

To be continued

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The next few days at school I did my best to concentrate but it was quite difficult because there was so much on my mind. When I saw Tom in the distance during class breaks, I felt awkward talking to him now I was back in boy mode again. In fact I was feeling more and more like a girl dressing as a boy rather than the reverse. However to avoid him completely was awkward too, but how could I, dressed as a boy, sit next to another boy that I had kissed twice? I never thought for a moment that either of us was gay (not that there's anything wrong with that), but I couldn't wait to meet him again when I was Mandy — it made things so much simpler.

Saturday came, and I felt nervous and excited at the same time. So much rested on Tom's mother accepting me as a girl, and I had only one chance to get it right. Mum sensed my feelings and sat down with me to decide what I should wear.

“It's important that you look like a girl of your age, so I've selected some clothes I think would be suitable.” She produced a tartan skirt that Bessie had worn, and a white blouse. “I know you like to wear stockings but I think on this occasion you should wear ankle socks and Mary Janes. We'll put just a little padding in your bra and you can have just a touch of pink lipstick.”

I did not argue with her — 'mother knows best' — as I really wanted her support. She was right about what I should wear. A more sophisticated look might well have scared Tom's mother off. This way I looked like an innocent little girl in her early teens, which of course I was!

We walked to the Shore's house which was only a few streets from our place and knocked on the door.

Tom answered and said “Hello Mrs Collins, Mandy, please come in.” He was obviously on his best behavior too. “Mum's in the kitchen” he said as he showed us into the lounge room, and a few moments later Mrs Shore came in, looking slight flushed as if she had been bending over a hot stove, which in fact she had been. She greeted us both and I saw her eyes widen slightly as she saw me as Mandy for the first time. I wished then that I had never been there as Michael, but it was too late now. 'What's done is done.'

“Thank you so much for coming over and bringing Mandy, Mrs Collins.” she said.

“Please call me Jane.” said Mum.

Mrs Shore smiled, “And you must call me Pam.” she said.

“What a lovely house you have.” I said, and Mrs Shore looked at me almost suspiciously. It wasn't something a boy would say, and I think she thought for a moment that I was trying to be funny. When she saw I was serious she said “Thank you. It takes a lot of hard work, especially with a boy as messy as Tom.” and everyone except Tom laughed.

After a few minutes more chat on such illuminating topics as the weather, and how school was going, Mrs Shore got up and said “I hope you would like some tea?”

“Yes please.” Mum and I chorused, and I got up and said “Can I give you a hand Mrs Shore?”

“Yes thank you Mandy, that is a very kind thought. Tom can keep your mother company.”

I was taking a calculated risk here, but I felt it was important to speak to her on her own,and I was right to do so. When we entered the kitchen and were out of earshot of the others, she turned to me, and said, “Well young miss, if I hadn't seen you with my own eyes I would never have believed it. But for the fact that I've seen you as Michael you would have fooled me completely.

I felt tears starting in my eyes, I was afraid this might be her attitude.

“Please Mrs Shore, I'm not trying to fool anyone. I have felt from a very young age that I should have been born a girl. I started dressing in my sister's clothes a while back and my father found out and that might be part of the reason why he left us. My mother is letting me do this to see if it is a phase I'm going through, but I can assure you it's not. I want to live my life as a girl and then a woman, and although I know that's not totally possible, I will do the best that I can. I know that it's not going to be easy.”

Pam Shore's expression changed as I spoke, and she said “I'm sorry, perhaps I spoke a little harshly, but you must see that I am worried about Tom having you as a friend.”

“I understand what you mean Mrs Shore, and believe me I've told him he would be better off having a girlfriend who was born as a girl. If you are concerned that he might be homosexual, I assure you he is not. He sees me as a girl, and not as a boy dressed as a girl. You can't blame me for liking a boy like Tom when he treats me the way I want to be treated.”

“You are a very mature young person,” Mrs Shore said slowly. “I had quite made up my mind before today to forbid Tom to go out with you, but what you say has made me think about it again. Now! The others will wonder where on earth we are. Would you carry this plate of scones into the lounge room please?”

When we entered the lounge room, my mother said “We were just about to send out a search party for you.”

“We had to wait for the scones to cool.” said Mrs Shore. We sat down to eat the delicious Devonshire tea. As a boy I would no doubt have wolfed down a number of scones, but as a young lady I felt it was only appropriate to have one — after all they were quite large!

“These scones are delicious Mrs Shore.” I said and Mum nodded her agreement.

After we finished eating scones, jam and cream, and drinking our tea, Mrs Shore said “Tom, perhaps you'd like to show Mandy your model railway?” I had seen it very briefly when I had stayed there before. The fact that Mrs Shore specified where we should go, especially not to Tom's room, said to me that she was finally accepting me as a girl, since there had been no such direction when I'd visited the house as a boy.

I followed Tom into the spare room where a magnificent model railway layout went around all four sides of the room.

“Wow, this is amazing Tom, did you do it all yourself?”

Tom's face fell as he said “No, my Dad helped a lot with it.”

“You miss him don't you?” I said softly. He nodded and looked like he was going to burst into tears, so I stepped forward and hugged him.

After a few moments he straightened himself and said “Come on, I'll show you how it works.”

We spent a happy fifteen minutes working the trains until I said “All these models are amazing, did you build them yourself?”

“Most of them. Some are kits but I have to paint them. Would you like to see how I do it? Maybe you'd like to have a go?” He pulled out a small table from under the layout. Several half-finished model houses were there and also some complete but half-painted. There were a number of small tins of paint and some very fine brushes. After a little tuition, and taking great care not to spill paint on my clothes, I was soon busy painting a Tudor-style public house, as the railway layout was of a fictional English countryside.

We were both so engrossed that we did not notice our mothers enter the room, and they were probably there for some time.

“Perhaps you'd like to come over again and do some more painting, Mandy? I can see you have a real talent for it.” said Mrs Shore. It appeared I was accepted. “Your mother and I have had a long chat, and we have both agreed that you and Tom can go out together if you wish.” I'm sure Tom's and my smiles positively lit up the room.

“Thank you so much Mrs Shore.” I said, and Tom thanked my Mum too.

Our first 'date' was the following Saturday. We were planning to go to a local park for a picnic, but it was raining, so Tom suggested the cinema instead and I readily agreed. We sat in the back row of the stalls (cliched I know). I can't remember what the film was. We just enjoyed being together, holding hands, and finally kissing, and this time, greatly daring we were French kissing too.

After the film was over, we had a cappuccino, which felt terribly sophisticated, and then, holding hands, Tom walked me home.

About this time Mum took me to see her doctor. He was quite sympathetic to my wish to become a girl. He suggested that I live as a girl full-time for two years and if I was still determined to become a woman, then he would refer me to a specialist who could give me hormone treatment.

If I was to live full-time as a girl, something had to be done about school. It hardly seemed practical to start wearing a girl's school uniform and keep going to the same school, since children can be so cruel, and Mum was concerned for my welfare, so she went to see the headmistress of my sister Bessie's school. Mrs Edwards was very understanding and after interviewing me, agreed that I should attend her school as Mandy.

It was only a few weeks until the end of the school year, so I stayed at school as Michael, and did not mention to anyone that I would not be coming back. I didn't have any close friends, apart from Tom of course, so didn't feel bad about that. I had already started to let my hair grow a bit, but not so much that other boys would make comment, and I hoped that by the time the new school year started, it would be long enough to be styled as a girl. I could hardly wear a wig to school, and anyway it was uncomfortable in summer and I wanted my own longer hair.

There was another problem too. Up to now I had been wearing a bra with cups filled with rolled up stockings and obviously this was not suitable if I was to attend a new school as a girl. There would be occasions when I had to change in front of other girls and my true status would have been instantly exposed. Mum solved the problem by making some enquiries and then taking me along to Dr Fleming and obtaining a letter from him explaining my intention to become a female. A week later we made a trip to Brisbane and went to a company that sold breast forms to women who had undergone mastectomy, and asked them to supply suitable breast forms for me.

They didn't seem in the least surprised at my request and told me that they supplied breast forms to quite a few people who were transitioning. It gave me some confidence to know that there were others like me in Brisbane, and I thought that once I started my treatment, maybe I could meet up with some of them.

A rather motherly woman called Margery took Mum and I into a room and asked me to strip to the waist. She eyed my body and then held a few breast forms of varying sizes against my chest to help the three of us decide which would be an appropriate size. She also checked them with the bra I was wearing. We agreed on a 'A' size cup for the present (I think she was relieved that I didn't ask for the largest ones she had!) and then she asked me to lie down on a couch and set about showing me how they were fixed to my chest with double-sided tape, and the edges concealed with makeup. It was quite a strange sensation when I sat up and felt the weight of the breasts on my chest, much heavier than the stocking-filled bra cups I had previously used. Looking at myself in a mirror, I was delighted how real they looked, and when she helped me to put on my bra I was so thrilled I was nearly speechless. Margery the fitter smiled with real pleasure. No doubt she had seen many other girls like me see themselves with breasts for the first time, and shared our pleasure at the experience. From now on I would have breasts that would pass all but the closest scrutiny. Mum was pleased too and quite impressed by how feminine her new daughter now appeared even when not dressed.

I was readily accepted as a girl in my new school, and made several new friends within a few weeks. No-one asked why I had changed schools and if they had I would have given them a story about being bullied at my previous school. I missed seeing Tom every day of course, but since we had both felt awkward meeting with me in “Michael” mode, it was probably for the best that I was now at another school. It wasn't too far away, and we quite often met and walked home together.

Tom and I mostly went out each week on a Friday or Saturday night and perhaps because our time together was limited, we enjoyed each other's company more. The first time we kissed after I started wearing my breast forms, Tom noticed the difference in my body, and blushing deeply I explained to him about my new 'breasts'. I did not show them to him of course because I can say truthfully that we were quite good kids. Some girls at my new school confessed to going 'all the way' with their boyfriends which of course excited the rest of us, although when one of the girls stopped coming to school and we learned she was pregnant, that dampened the enthusiasm of other girls to follow her example. In the case of Tom and I, of course 'all the way' was not an option, and we had an accepted point beyond which we didn't go. In my case, while I enjoyed what we called 'petting' in those days, Tom knew that I found the 'non-girl' bits of my body embarrassing, so his hands never got too close to them. In his case of course there were no such restrictions, and on some occasions I used my hands to stimulate him to a climax, and that was pleasurable for me too. I looked forward to the day when I could have surgery and be a 'proper woman'.

There was very little in the news-media about transgender in those days. We knew of a few groups like “Les Girls' but whether they were transgendered or just dressing as girls we didn't know. Much later it transpired that the star of the show 'Carlotta' did have SRS some time in the seventies, but the rest of the 'girls' were young men. As for boys who enjoyed dressing as girls, each probably thought he was unique since there was no internet to reveal that he was one of millions.

Tom and I continued to go out for the next two years. I had long ago given up suggesting that if he wanted a wife and kids he had better find a genetic girl, since he seemed totally content with things as they were, and anyway, I was approaching the time when I hoped to be able to take steps to become in body as well as mind much more of a woman.

To be continued

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Happiness is ephemeral. Just when you think you have it in your grasp, it can slip through your fingers like grains of sand.

It happened this way. Tom had gone to Sydney for a couple of weeks to see his Dad, and before he went he arranged that on the day he returned we would go to the cricket together. I was not that interested, but I had been before and was prepared to do it because it made Tom happy to have me with him. A week after he left, some of the girls at my school contacted me. Excitedly they said that there was a new teen girls' clothing store opening and they were having an opening sale with huge bargains. I had been saving the money I earned by working part-time at a fast food outlet, so of course I said I'd go with them, totally forgetting about my date with Tom.

It was a very hot day when Tom arrived at our house the following Saturday. Mum told him I had gone out shopping and I must have forgotten about our date, which indeed I had.

Tom was always good-natured, and learning what had happened he said something like “Oh well, I'm sure she's having more fun than going to a cricket match. Tell her I'll catch up with her later please, Mrs Collins.” and headed off down the street.

When I got home, very excited at having snapped up some bargains; three skirts, a summer dress and some tops, Mum met me at the door and said “Tom was here. He said you arranged to go to a cricket match together.”

My face flushed as I gasped “Oh no! I completely forgot about it. I'll give him a ring and apologise.”

Just then the phone rang and Mum answered it as I went up to my room to hold the new purchases against me and admire them. The look on Mum's face when she came to my room, made me stop what I was doing and stare at her.

“That was Pam Shore on the phone. Tom's been in an accident.” she said quietly.

“Oh no! What is it Mummy, is he...is he...?”

“He's in hospital. They don't know yet how bad he is.”

“Oh Mum, I must go and see him! Oh this is all my fault.” I gasped.

“Not tonight Darling,” said Mum “They're treating him and only his Mum is allowed to visit. Perhaps you can go tomorrow. I'll be ringing Pam to see how he is.”

That night I barely slept. Over and over again I kept thinking that if I hadn't forgotten about our date, this wouldn't have happened.

The next morning, Mum rang the hospital and was put through to the ward and eventually to Pam Shore who was already there. She found out that Tom had decided to go for a swim instead of the cricket, and had dived into shallow water, hitting his head. She also said that Tom was now conscious, and I could pay him a brief visit in the afternoon.

The hours ticket by interminably until it was time to leave for the hospital. Mum came along too of course. Hospitals are scary places, but I had to see Tom and beg his forgiveness for forgetting our date. Pam Shore was sitting next to the bed where Tom was lying flat. He was sporting a big bandage, but otherwise seemed unharmed and I breathed a sigh of relief. After a brief chat, Pam asked my Mum if she'd like to go down to the small cafe run by the hospital auxiliaries for a cup of tea — very diplomatic!

I sat close to the bed and held Tom's hand.

“Tom, I'm so very sorry for forgetting about going to the cricket with you. If I'd remembered, none of this would have happened.”

“It's alright really.” he replied “I knew you didn't deliberately stand me up. What could be more important that a dress shop opening anyway?” he smiled.

“Oh stupid clothes! “I cried. “Nothing's more important than you. So when will they let you go home?”

Tom's smile faded. “Well it could be a few weeks or more.”

“For a cracked head?” I said “Can't you get over that at home?”

Tom suddenly looked very serious “I didn't want to tell you really, but it might be more serious than a cracked head. You see when I dived into the river I did something to my spine, and now I can't feel my legs. The doctors say I may get the feeling back, but right now I can't move them or feel anything.”

The room spun and I'm sure I turned white as the full implications of what he was saying came home to me. Perhaps he would never walk again.

I started to cry “Oh Tom, truly it's all my fault, how can you ever forgive me?”

He smiled and stroked my hand “There's nothing to forgive. You didn't know I would decide to go for a swim instead of going to the cricket, and it was my own fault for not checking the water depth. Goodness knows, people are warned about that all the time.”

Just then Mum and Mrs Shore came back. It was obvious to them from looking at my tear-streaked face that Tom had told me what might have happened, and I could tell by looking at Mum that Mrs Shore had told her too.

“I'm so sorry to hear about your injuries Tom.” said Mum, and then to me “We really must be going now Mandy. The nurses did say a short visit.”

“I'll come and see you again soon Tom.” I said, and leaned over the bed to kiss him. I'm sure it was the first time either of our parents had seen us kiss, but it would have felt strange not to have done so in the circumstances.

When I got home, I threw the clothes I had bought into the bin, I felt I couldn't bear to wear them. Mum later rescued them and persuaded me that neither the clothes nor I were to blame, and anyway it would cheer Tom up if I looked as pretty as possible when I visited him.

I was as good as my word about visiting him, going to the hospital almost every day. I say this because I have done some bad things in my life, so perhaps some good things help to balance the bad. Sadly the news was not getting better, as Tom still could not feel his legs, and after many tests, it was concluded that he had a form of paraplegia and would need to get around in a wheelchair. I did my best to be brave when he finally told me the bad news, holding back my tears until I had left the hospital.

It never occurred to me that Tom's accident should make a difference to our relationship, but Tom had long hours to ponder his future, and it did weigh on his mind. One day when I was sitting with him in the garden of his home, he took my hand in his and said “Mandy, please don't misunderstand me. You are a wonderful friend and I don't know what I would have done without you these last few months, but I want you to seriously consider finding yourself another boyfriend, especially after you have your surgery. Find someone who can give you all the things that I no longer can.”

I was shocked and tears started in my eyes “Tom, please don't send me away. You are the only one for me, and so what if you have a physical problem, so do I and that never got in the way of our friendship, so neither should this.”

“But you will be able to fix your problem, and I doubt if I ever can. I'm just suggesting the best thing for you, and whatever happens, we'll always be friends, you know that.”

As I walked home, I pondered his words. It hadn't crossed my mind for a moment that we should break up over his present condition. I wondered if there was more that he wasn't saying. Had the injury made him impotent, and did he think that would be enough to make me go away? I confess that at the back of my mind I had always looked forward to the time after my surgery when we could make love as a man and woman. Now I had to consider the possibility that that might never happen, but even that would not have made me leave him. In the end though, Tom made the decision for me.

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It was about two weeks later. I had been away for a week of school holidays staying with a girlfriend on the coast at Tom's insistence. Before I left I told Tom I would be back to see him on the Sunday. I arrived at his house, bubbling with excitement and ready to show him my holiday photos. Mrs Shore opened the door and from the look on her face I knew that something was wrong.

“Hello Mrs Shore, here I am again.”

“Hello Mandy, I..I'm sorry but Tom isn't here.”

I was puzzled “How do you mean?”

“Please come inside,” she said “He's left a letter for you.”

I followed her into the house. My heart was thumping painfully. What did that mean? She took me into the lounge-room and handed me a sealed envelope with my name on it.

“I'll made some tea while you read it.” she said and left the room. I sat down slowly, holding the letter in my hands. I noticed, almost as though I was looking at someone else's hands that they were trembling. Slowly I opened the envelope and unfolded the single sheet of paper.

'Dear Mandy,

You will think me a terrible coward writing to you instead of telling you face to face, but if I was looking into your beautiful blue eyes, I would never have had the strength to say what I now must write.

I am going away for a while. Please do not ask me where or try to get my mother to tell you. I'm doing this for both our sakes, but mainly for yours. You deserve so much more than I can ever give you now. By leaving, I am giving you the chance to be the wonderful woman I know you are, and find a man who can give you all you deserve.

You are my dearest friend, and in my heart you always will be. I know that you would never have left me if I had stayed, you are too good and selfless. Now spread your wings and fly. Please think kindly of me sometimes.

Love,

Tom.'

I sat staring into space for a long time, before carefully folding Tom's letter, replacing it in the envelope and putting it into my purse.

Mrs Shore came back into the room, carrying a tray with a pot of tea, milk, two cups and saucers and some biscuits. She poured the tea out silently, waiting for me to speak first.

“You knew what he wrote?” I asked quietly.

“I didn't read the letter, but yes, I knew what he was going to write to you. Mandy, I'm so sorry. Tom agonized over it for weeks. He cares about you very deeply — you know that?”

“Yes.” I said sadly “He signed the letter 'Love, Tom'. We never spoke about love, but I think we both knew.”

I sipped the hot tea. It's surprising how comforting it was, and at that moment I needed all the comfort I could get. There didn't seem anything more to say, but then I thought of one thing.

“If I write Tom a letter, will you see that he gets it?”

“Of course I will my dear.” She held me in her arms for a moment and murmured “I'm so sorry my dear.”

“It's not your fault or Tom's, it's mine.” I said sadly.

I left the house, my world shattered. It was my fault my Dad left, not that that bothered me, and now it was my fault Tom had left, and that bothered me more than I could say. Was I feeling sorry for myself? I suppose I was. I walked down to a local bar. I was under-age but they wouldn't know, or possibly care. Girls can always get away with looking older than they are provided they dress that way. Right now, getting drunk seemed like the ideal thing to do. I ordered whisky, and the fiery spirit nearly made me choke, but then it felt like fire in my veins. Then I ordered red wine and took the glass to a corner booth where I slowly sipped it and stared into space.

I was into my third glass and feeling light-headed when I looked up and saw a man in his forties standing there and looking at me. “Mind if I join you?” he said and I nodded. What the hell? Tom had gone and I was 'free'.

He introduced himself as Jack. Three drinks later and he was nuzzling my ear and telling me how pretty I was, and after another drink his hand was under my skirt. With Tom it had been an unspoken agreement that he went so far and no further, but Jack wasn't Tom. Before I realised what was happening, he had found my secret and even in my befuddled state I expected him to recoil, but he didn't.

“Well well,” he said “I never would have guessed.”

“So what happens now?” I said, slurring my words slightly.

“Well that depends on you my dear, but I've always been curious about special girls like you. How about we continue this conversation somewhere quieter?”

“Alright.” I said. I had been saving myself for Tom, but it seemed a bit pointless now, and Jack didn't seem in the least disappointed that I wasn't like other girls, in fact he seemed rather pleased. He took my hand and led me out of the bar to where his car was parked. We got in, and this time there was no restraint. His mouth descended on mine and he forced his tongue into my mouth. His hands were all over me and mine all over him.

He drove us to a motel, and for just one moment I hesitated before entering the room, but again I thought -'What the hell?' and I went inside with him. When he entered me the pain was so intense that I cried out, but he didn't pause for a moment, and after a while I started to enjoy the feel of his urgent thrusting. So was this what it was like to be a woman? I liked it.

I'm ashamed to say that I thought of Tom at that moment, and I said in my mind 'To Hell with you Tom. This should have been you and me.' and I urged Jack on to a shuddering climax. Now that I had lost my virginity as it were, once was not enough for me, and not long afterward I was using my fingers and mouth to get Jack into a state of readiness once more. This time he took me as I lay on my back and it felt even more like it would to be a woman, and this time he was not the only one to reach a climax.

I awoke to see the sun streaming in through the window, and for a second I didn't know where I was. I had a thundering headache and my mouth was dry. I looked around, but I was alone. On the bedside table were two fifty dollar notes and a short handwritten message.

'You were great. Thanks for everything. I hope this defrays your expenses. Jack.'

'My goodness,' I said to myself 'I've just been paid for sex. I'm a whore.' I got off the bed and had a shower, and then I used the mini-kitchen facilities to make myself a cup of strong coffee and I breakfasted off the packets of sweet biscuits they provided. Then checking around the room to make sure I'd left nothing behind, I picked up my bag and left the room. I walked a few hundred yards up the street, having no idea where I was, until I managed to hail a taxi and get him to drop me off one block from my street. It cost me twenty dollars for the taxi so I was still eighty dollars in profit.

Fortunately for me, Mum had already gone to work when I arrived home. She left a note saying 'I don't know where you stayed last night Mandy, but please give me a ring at work when you get in, otherwise I'll be worrying all day. Love, Mum.'

I picked up the phone and rang the office where she was working.

“Mandy! Where on earth did you get to last night? I was worried sick.”

“Sorry Mum, Tom has left home and I was upset, so I visited a girlfriend and I fell asleep on the couch. She didn't know I hadn't told you where I was, so she covered me with a blanket and let me sleep.”

“Oh I see.” she said and I wasn't sure if she believed me or not. “Anyway, you'd better hurry up and get to school.”

I went to my room and quickly undressed, cleaned off my make-up and put on my school uniform. I would probably be a bit late, but it couldn't be helped. There was something surreal about the situation. Last night a man paid me for sex, and this morning, I was a schoolgirl, heading off to classes. Just as well Jack didn't know that, he could have been arrested!

There was one more thing to think about. I had asked Tom's mother if I could write to him, but how could I do that now when I had effectively been unfaithful to him? I decided to 'think about it', and in the end I didn't write at all.

Next time: Starting my transition.

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Time passed. I couldn't wait to leave school, but Mum encouraged me to continue to the end of Year Twelve. I wasn't academically inclined. I'd already made up my mind to be a secretary/typist like Mum. Thanks to her I could touch-type and my English was very good. Of course my chief aim in life was to transition and have a woman's body as well as a woman's mind. Alright, I knew it wouldn't be a perfect woman's body, but it would be as good as could be achieved now. Who knows, one day it might be possible to transplant ovaries and a uterus so that transgendered women can have babies too. Now that I had grown, my 'A' cup breast forms were too small, so I returned to the company in Brisbane and 'upgraded' to 'B' cup forms which I intended to start wearing as soon as I had left school, so that no-one would notice a sudden change.

I left school with some subjects passed, including English, and soon found myself a job as a secretary in a law firm. I had an advantage in that Mum had allowed me to type some of the less sensitive documents she brought home, although I wasn't stupid enough to mention that in my job interview. I just said that my Mum typed legal work and had taught me some of the terminology.

As soon as I passed my eighteenth birthday, I went back to the GP who had seen me two years earlier and told him that I had now lived full-time as a female for two years and would he please refer me to a specialist so that I could commence hormones and start to transition.

Dr Fleming leaned back in his chair and looked at me with some surprise. He referred to his notes and said. “Well Mandy, I have to admit that you've come a long way since I last saw you. So you are still determined to live permanently as a woman?”

“Yes doctor, more than ever.”

“What about your family, how do they feel about it?”

“They've been a great support to me doctor, they know that it's who I am.”

“Very well,” he said. “I'll refer you to a specialist, but you'll have to go to Brisbane to see him. His name is Dr Brentwell, and he has rooms in a large medical centre there. I'll ring and make an appointment for you.”

He lifted up the telephone and dialed a number. When the call was answered he told them his name and asked to make an appointment for me to see Dr Brentwell. There was a pause and after a while he said 'I see”, and made a note on a pad on his desk.

After he hung up he said “I'm sorry but it will be nearly a month until he can see you. He's very much in demand, but he is an expert in this field.”

“Thank you very much doctor.” I said, taking the piece of paper with Dr Brentwell's address, phone number and my appointment date and time.

Never did a month take so long to pass, but eventually the day came when I took my suitcase to the station and boarded a train for Brisbane. I had booked into a budget hotel, not too far from the medical centre where I was due the next morning. I didn't sleep much that night, and by seven o'clock I was showered and starting to dress. I wanted to look very female but not over the top like a drag queen. I put on a knee-length tartan skirt with a white cotton blouse, and wore pale tan stockings and pumps with three inch heels. The weather was warm so there was no need for a coat. I went down for breakfast, but I was so nervous and excited that I found it difficult to eat,

My appointment time was 11.15am and I arrived at 10.30. This was a mistake I suppose. It always seems that the more senior a medical practitioner is, the longer you have to wait to see them. In my case this was not a good thing. I picked up one of the magazines, but I couldn't concentrate on the content at all. Thirty minutes past the appointment time I was looking at the clock on the wall, and the doctor's secretary caught my eye and smiled sympathetically. Another twenty minutes past, and by now my heart was pounding and I was keyed up to the point where I was ready to run out of the waiting room. Doubts started to assail me. What was I doing here? Was this what I really wanted? Then finally I heard a door open and a young woman appeared and walked towards the receptionist's desk. She was blonde and quite pretty, and if I had seen her anywhere else I would never have guessed she was like me.

She caught my eye and must have seen how terrified I was because she then did something extraordinary. She stepped over to where I was sitting and touched my hand gently, saying “Don't worry, he's such a nice man and so understanding.”

I can't remember if I said anything in reply, but that act of kindness suddenly made me feel calmer, and I knew that is was right that I was there. As she walked over to the desk, another woman stood up and walked over to her, obviously a friend of hers, and I envied her that because I was on my own.

Just then I heard a man's voice say “Miss Collins?” I stood up and followed Dr Brentwell into his consulting room. He showed me to a comfortable chair and sat in another one facing me, a clipboard on his knee.

“Before we begin doctor, that young lady you just saw.”

“I can't discuss other patients,” he began but I continued “Oh no! I wouldn't expect you to. I just wanted to say that she was so kind to me just now in the waiting room. She saw how nervous I was and offered me words of encouragement. I...I wanted you to know that.”

“Thank you Miss Collins,” he smiled “It's very good of you to tell me that. I have here a letter from your G.P. Dr Fleming and he tells me he saw you two years ago when you were sixteen. Since then I gather you have been living full-time as a female?”

“Yes, that's right doctor. When I first saw Dr Fleming I was sixteen and he told me I was too young to receive any treatment and that I would have to live as a female for at least two years before that happened. I suppose he thought I was so young it might be a passing phase in my life. I was so determined that I actually changed schools so that I could live full-time as a girl. Dr Fleming now he accepts that I am serious in my intention to transition to living as a female, which is why he's referred me to you.”

“Well I can see that you pass very well as female,” said Dr Brentwell “In fact more so than many of my patients when they first come to see me. I will explain what can happen from this point. First I take a full history from you, and then you need a full physical examination and some blood tests. You will have to return for a second discussion and a review of your test results If you pass all of these stages satisfactorily, then you will be referred to an endocrinologist and can be given oestrogen therapy which will make your body more feminine. You will have to be monitored while the hormones take effect of course. The final stage is that you may undergo sexual reassignment surgery. Up until that point everything is reversible, but you have to be aware that once you have surgery, it is not possible to restore a functioning penis. should you should change your mind.”

I opened my mouth to speak but he held up his hand “I know you are going to say that you won't change your mind because that is what everyone says. What I must tell you is that a few of my patients have decided against surgery. There have also been a few cases, none were mine thank goodness, where someone has had surgery and then later decided it was a mistake and wanted their male body restored. Naturally they also looked for someone to blame for the position they found themselves in and that person or persons were the medical practitioners who had treated them. You will now understand why we are very careful in assessing all candidates for gender reassignment.”

“Yes doctor.” I replied. It occurred to me that the path I was taking was likely to be more difficult than I thought. Dr Brentwell then went on to take a detailed medical history from me, asking when I first felt that I was really a female, and my early cross-dressing and the effect on the family. He made notes when I explained how I felt it contributed to my father leaving, but he made no comment. I continued to describe my relationship with Tom and how I also felt responsible for his accident, and how bad I felt when he went away.

Finally Dr Brentwell asked “And did you ever have sex with him?” He saw me hesitate and said “You need to be totally candid with me Miss Collins. Nothing you say will go out of this consulting suite unless it aids in your treatment, and then only with your informed consent.”

“I understand doctor.” I drew a deep breath “I didn't have sex with Tom, but I did with another man. It was right after Tom left and I felt so lonely and miserable, I allowed myself to be picked up in a bar.”

“And was the sex oral or anal?”

“It was both, doctor.”

“And how did it make you feel?”

“After the initial discomfort I enjoyed it. It made me feel very feminine.” I hesitated again. “I spent the night with him. He was gone when I awoke in the morning and discovered he had left me some money.”

“And how did you feel about that?”

“I felt ashamed. I hadn't done it for money. I wished I'd done it with Tom. I wonder now if in some way I was sort of paying Tom back for leaving. It only ever happened the once.”

Dr Brentwell sat back in his chair and looked at me. He didn't look in the least bit shocked. I suppose he'd heard everything there is to hear about people's actions. I had flushed bright red as I confessed though. I didn't need a mirror to confirm that.

“Very well Miss Collins. Thank you for being so frank with me, that couldn't have been easy. I still have my certificate of general practise in addition to being a psychologist, so if you wish I have time to give you a medical examination and take some blood for tests.”

“Yes please doctor.” I said. I hadn't really expected to get this far at my first appointment. He showed me into the room next door where there was an examination couch, asked me to undress, put on a gown, and let him know when I was ready. The examination was very thorough, including my genital area, but I realised that there would be a lot more of this before I was through. He asked how long I had been using the breast forms, and I said it was over two years now as I had started at the time I changed schools to live as a girl full-time.

“Whoever supplied them picked a suitable size for you.” he commented.

“Well I did start with an 'A' cup.” I said “And as I grew older I changed to the 'B' cup I use now.” He smiled at that but made no further comment. Finally he took blood and placed it in several tubes with brightly coloured stoppers, and then told me I could get dressed.

When I returned to the other room, he told me that that was all for the first session. I should see him again in two weeks for the results, and all being well, he would refer me to an endocrinologist who would monitor my hormone treatment.

“There is one final thing though,” he said “And that is the cost. I am prepared to vary my fees according to a patient's capacity to pay, and also to bill you as much as I can in a way that you can claim on Medicare. However, you should realise that this will not cover all your costs and you must be prepared for some considerable expenditure which sadly Medicare does not cover at this time. Surgery, should you wish to have it, is much cheaper in places like Thailand, but still costs thousands of dollars, plus of course there are travel and accommodation costs involved. They have considerable experience in Bangkok so I have no hesitation in referring you to some surgeons over there.”

“Thank you doctor.” I said and he showed me to the door. I noticed he did not offer to shake my hand, something he would surely have done with another male. I went to the reception counter and spoke to his secretary. She asked if I would like to pay now, and I said 'Yes'. The bill was rather more than I had hoped, and I realised that I was going to have to save every penny I could. I made an appointment for two week's time and left the building.

Next time: My next appointment, and a new job

Author's note. This chapter and Chapter 4 modified due to errors kindly pointed out by reader Eric.

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I had booked two nights at the hotel, not knowing what might be required at my first consultation, so rather than waste the money, I spent the rest of the day walking around the city. It seemed so big compared to Rocky, and there and then I decided that if I was going to have regular consultations with Dr Brentwell, I would move to Brisbane. There was another reason too. In our small local community I frequently ran into Mrs Shore, Toms mother, and these meetings were somewhat awkward. I would ask how she was and she would do likewise, and then I would ask after Tom and she would say he was well. I would ask to be remembered to him and she said he asked to be remembered to me. Then we would part and I would find myself with tears in my eyes, knowing that the passing of time had made no difference to my feelings for him, not matter how much I tried to convince myself that Tom was in my past and I should forget about him.

When I reached home, I told my mother and sisters what had happened and how I was confident that the test results would mean I could start hormone treatment. I didn't yet tell them of my decision to move to Brisbane, I would leave that until after my second consultation and its hopefully positive news. In truth I didn't feel as confident as I made out, and was afraid that all my hopes might be dashed.

Two long weeks later I was in Dr Brentwell's office, my heart beating wildly as I waited to hear his news.

“I won't keep you in suspense Miss Collins, all your results are good, and as a result I am happy to refer you to an endocrinologist and you can start your hormone treatment.” My face broke out into a wide smile as I heaved a sigh of relief. Dr Brentwell smiled too.

“I thought that would please you.” he said. “You can chose your own specialist of course, but I often refer my patients to Dr Hall who has rooms in this building. Would you like to see him or have you someone else in mind?”

“I'd be happy to see Dr Hall if he comes with your recommendation.” I replied.

“Good.” he said. “I have made an appointment for you to see him in thirty minutes. I imagine you would like to start your treatment as soon as possible?”

I laughed. Suddenly I felt relaxed for the first time. “Yes indeed!” I said.

“You will of course have to see me on a regular basis. I need to know about your response to the hormones. Don't forget that there is no shame if you ever decide that this is not for you. Dr Hall will explain about the side effects you can expect, and I will want to hear how you cope with them.”

During my visits to Dr Brentwell, I half expected to see the lady who had been so kind on my first visit, but I never did see her again there. I suspected that was by design.

Dr Hall was a charming man in his sixties at a guess. I was shown into his consulting room with only a few minutes waiting, and he explained the treatment that I would be having — a hormone called Oestradiol. Taking this would cause my testosterone to fall to the very low level found in females (I was surprised to learn that women had any at all). He already had my pre-treatment level and would monitor me with a blood test every month to see how the level of testosterone was falling.

“There are a few things you should be aware of.” he continued. “The effect on your body is like that of a young girl entering puberty. You may have mood swings, you will find your skin softening, there will be a redistribution of body fat and your breasts will start to grow naturally, so eventually you may wish to stop using the breast forms. One bonus is that oestrogen protects against heart disease, which is why women on average live longer than men.”

“Wow!” I said, “I never knew that was the reason.”

Dr Hall smiled and wrote me out a script for the hormone. There was a pharmacy in the medical centre, which must have done good business with all the doctors there, and soon I had my first box of Oestradiol safely in my handbag. Taking the tablet for the first time that evening felt like a new chapter opening in my life.

When I arrived home I told my mother and sisters my good news and then followed it up with the announcement that I intended to move to Brisbane — 'for a new start'. Mum was a bit upset although I assured her that I would return to visit quite often. I think she understood that I needed to get away from the old surroundings and start my new life.

In those days there was plenty of work, so I had no hesitation in handing in my notice. They wished me good luck and gave me a glowing reference and the chief clerk promised to back it up if there were any telephone enquiries from a prospective employer. A week later I was on my way back to Brisbane. I found a room in a hostel for single women and set about looking for a job. I looked in the Courier Mail and there were several advertisements for typist/clerks in legal practices. I telephoned one and made an appointment for the following morning.

I dressed carefully in a black pencil skirt, white silk blouse, stockings and 4 inch heels, hoping I looked the picture of a legal secretary. Baker, Thompson and Brown had their offices in one of the city's older buildings in the legal precinct. It looked very prestigious. A young woman led me to the office of the Chief Clerk in charge of the typing pool, Miss Evans, a lady in her late fifties at a guess, very smartly dressed. She glanced through my reference and then asked me about my experience and typing skills. She seemed satisfied with my answers and said that she would be willing to give me a month's trial, and if I proved satisfactory, then I could have a permanent position.

I started there the following day. There were four other typists, all married, and they were very friendly. Apparently they had been short-staffed for some weeks after one girl had left suddenly, so they were very pleased to have someone to share the load, and quite a load it was. I was surprised just how much work we had to get through. I had to get used to typing on an electric typewriter since I'd only use manual ones previously, but I soon adapted to it and my speed increased as a result. Miss Evans seemed very pleased with my progress and I had little doubt that I would be offered a permanent position. The pay was adequate, but not overly generous, but the hostel was quite cheap, so I found that I could manage to save some money, but not much.

The other typists made a habit of going out for a drink on Friday evenings, and meeting up with staff from other law firms. I wanted to be friendly, but I also did not want to spend more than I needed to, and of course I couldn't explain to them why I needed the money. However it seemed diplomatic to be friendly, so I went along. I was pleased to find out that unlike men and their habit of 'shouting', the women all paid for their own drinks, so by making one glass of wine last a long time, I kept the cost down.

It was soon time for my next appointment with Dr Brentwell. I had arranged to have an hour off 'for a medical appointment' on the understanding that I made up the time that evening. He asked me how I was finding my reaction to the oestrogen, and I told him I felt fine. I'd hardly noticed any changes yet, but he said that was quite normal. He also took another blood sample to check my testosterone level. Based on this result, my hormone dose might have to be adjusted, but he said he would ring me if that was needed. I explained I was living in a hostel, so it was arranged that I would ring his rooms in a week's time to check on any changes. Those were the days before we all had mobile phones, so communication was that much more difficult. When I rang, I was told that I should continue of the same dose.

The following month I again asked for an hour off and Miss Evans raised her eyebrows slightly, but again permission was given. I could see that there could be a problem. What if she thought I had some awful disease? I wondered if I dared tell her the real reason for my appointments and if that would be the end of my career as a legal typist?

The news about my testosterone was good. It was falling slowly and Dr Brentwell said that was excellent as a sudden drop would not be good for me. We spoke for half an hour about how I was managing my life. I told him I had occasional mood swings but nothing severe. Then I broached the subject of getting time off to come and see him, and how I didn't want to reveal the real reason in case they thought I had been deceptive in not explaining my situation when I first applied for the job.

“You should have told me before.” said Dr Brentwell. ”You are not the only person who is in 'stealth mode' as we call it, so one evening a week I consult until 9pm, and you can come and see me then.”

“Oh that is such a relief!” I said “I really didn't know what I was going to do.”

When I returned to the office, Miss Evans happened to be in the typing area.

“Everything alright my dear?” she said.

“Yes thank you Miss Evans. I won't have to ask for time off any more.”

The next couple of months went well. My testosterone level was steadily falling and I felt my skin was getting softer. Fortunately I had never had much body hair, and I now started having electrolysis which was more than a little painful, as much to my bank balance as my skin. It was about this time that I started to worry about how I was going to afford my transition. I had made tentative enquiries about surgery in Thailand, and while it was much cheaper than in Australia, when taking into account the air fare and accommodation, and the need to recuperate for several weeks, it looked well beyond my means.

Next time: A big decision

Author's note: Due to an error kindly pointed out by a reader, I have made amendments to chapters 4 and 7.

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This next part is difficult to write, but Dr Johnson, my psychologist insists that there is no point in writing a self-censored account of my life — it has to be all or nothing, so here goes.

I considered getting a second job to boost my income, but it would have to be something I could do in evenings or weekends. I considered waitressing, even stacking supermarket shelves, but these were very poorly paid jobs and would be exhausting when I had to return to a responsible job the next morning. A possible solution came to me one day when I was passing through Fortitude Valley, the nightlife and adult entertainment centre of Brisbane. I saw several houses with discreet red lights over the door, and I thought back to Jack with whom I'd had sex and how he had left me $100. At first I mentally rejected the idea, but the more I thought about it, the more I thought that it was not particularly hard work and probably quite well paid. There was the question of morality and self-respect but I reasoned that I could put those on hold until I had achieved my goal of the necessary funds to pay for my transition.

The following day after work, I went back to the Valley. I decided the only course of action was to visit one of these 'massage parlours' as they were called and inquire whether there was interest in girls like me. I stopped before one house, and looked around, hoping there was no-one around who knew me. Then taking a deep breath I pushed open the door.

The contrast with the rather drab exterior of the house was amazing. The door led into a corridor with rich gold-patterned wallpaper on the walls and deep red drapes. I emerged into a room where a lady sat at a desk. She reminded me of Miss Evans at work and the thought nearly made me giggle, but fortunately I suppressed the urge.

She looked up and said “Can I help you dear?”

“Err yes. I was wondering about the possibility of some part-time work. You see I'm transgendered and I need the money to fund my treatment and surgery.” I knew I was blushing deeply.

She didn't look in the least shocked. “You are very pretty my dear, and most convincing. We only have genetic females here, but I do know of an establishment nearby that might be able to help you. It's at No 69 (here she gave the name) Street, most appropriate don't you think?” and she smiled.

I tried to smile back to show I understood the reference.

“Here, I'll write it out for you. Tell Miss Betty that Madge sent you over.”

“Err, thank you Miss Madge.” I walked back to the front door of the house, turned and left the way I came, resisting the temptation to run.

I found the other establishment quite easily, partly because the number 69 was displayed in very large numerals on the wall. No-one could object because it really was their street address.

The interior of this house was not unlike the previous one. I thought that there must be a standard décor for brothels — err 'massage parlours'. It was similar even down to the Miss Evans look-alike I found in the room at the end of the corridor. When I say look-alike, she did wear more makeup than I'd ever seen Miss Evans wear, and she did have a rather deep voice for a woman.

This time my enquiry met with genuine interest.

“As a matter of fact we do have a vacancy for a special girl like you,” she said. “We usually have two, and one has just left us for a trip to Thailand for her little op.”

'Little op?' I thought 'Not if the information I have is correct.'

“I do intend to have the operation myself, sometime in the future,” I said.

“So you are still 'entire' at present then? That's good. Our gentlemen prefer that. Now how about experience?”

“I've not had a great deal, but I'm willing to learn.”

“Excellent!” she exclaimed. She consulted a paper on her desk “Our other t-girl Chloe is free right now. I'll ask her to show you around and then you can come back and we can have another chat.”

She pressed one of a number of buttons on a small console on her desk, and a few moments later a tall ravishing redhead entered the room, wearing a diaphanous robe that left little to the imagination.

“Chloe my dear, this is Estelle, another 'T' who may be coming to work with us. Would you be a dear and show her around?”

'Estelle'? I hadn't even told her my real name yet, and already I had a 'professional' name, and I wasn't even asked!

“Certainly Miss Betty. Hi Estelle.” her voice was somewhat husky, but quite feminine-sounding.

I got up and followed her out of another door and into the main area of the building. The colour scheme continued on here — red drapes and subdued lighting.

“So you're a t-girl too?” asked Chloe. I hadn't heard the expression used before but recognised it as short-hand for 'transgendered girl'.

“Yes I am. I'm looking for some part-time work to save money for my surgery.”

“I don't know if I'll be doing that,” said Chloe “The gentlemen seem to like me how I am.”

As we walked down the corridor, muffled noises from some of the rooms indicated that they were already occupied. Chloe stopped at one and opened the door. The room was dominated by a large bed, and there was a small ensuite on the far side.

“This is my room today,” said Chloe. ”My next client is due in thirty minutes.” She showed me how the lighting was controlled and the situation of several alarm buttons which could be used in an emergency. “John our security guy is a South Sea Islander and the sweetest guy you could imagine, but one look at him and anyone making trouble turns to water.”

“Err, does that happen often?” I inquired.

“Very rarely, but it's good to know that help is at hand if you should need it.” She indicted the ensuite “We ask each client to shower first. Body odour is such a turn-off.”

She took me to a sitting-room where a couple of girls were having coffee and reading magazines.

“Hi girls, this is Estelle. She's a 'T' and may be coming to work here.” Ordinarily I would be blushing by now, but strangely I was starting to get used to this house where absolutely nothing was off-limits it seemed.

“Well that's a quick intro. If you come to work here, you'll get a more thorough introduction. Any questions?”

“Err, do the men have to wear condoms?”

“Absolutely!” Chloe replied, “We have a saying — 'if it's not on, it's not on'. Anyway, I'd better get ready for the next client, so I'll take you back to Miss Betty.”

She led the way back to the office where Miss Betty looked up with a bright smile “Well my dear, what do you think of our little establishment?”

“It looks very stylish.” I replied. Chloe asked to be excused and left the room.

“I do have a couple of questions” I said. Miss Betty smiled and slid a piece of paper across the desk towards me.

“These are our standard rates for the range of services we provide. The house keeps forty percent and you take the rest. Should any gentleman be so pleased that he chooses to leave you an extra gratuity, then that is yours to keep. I should mention that because these establishments are strictly speaking illegal, you don't have to declare your income and pay tax on it.”

Seeing me look puzzled, she smiled and went on “I don't suggest we are totally invisible, but we have an err arrangement with the relevant authorities which means we continue to trade and they turn a blind eye...for a consideration. Everyone's a winner. Now what sort of hours would you prefer to work?”

“Well I have day job, so I was hoping for evening work a few days a week if that is alright?”

“How about 7pm to 2am? That would give you time to have a meal before you start. You can have coffee breaks between customers if time allows, but if we are exceptionally busy, we would expect you to work through.”

“The other question is what I should wear?”

“Well, our gentlemen usually prefer our ladies in black lacy lingerie, and stockings and suspenders are a must of course. Chloe will help you with your make-up the first time. Its usually a bit heavier than usual, oh and no perfume, for obvious reasons. Some of our gentlemen are married. So, would you like to start in two days?”

“Yes that's fine thank you. It gives me time to go lingerie shopping.”

Dr Johnson said I do not have to go into details about my work at the parlour, and I'm grateful for that, since what I have written is embarrassing enough. What I did find unusual was that while some clients wanted a full service, others required very little, and the occasional man just wanted a person to talk to. How sad that there is so much loneliness in the world.

One thing I soon realised was that it wasn't practical for me to continue living at the hostel and keep arriving back there at past 2am several days a week. Fortunately there was a solution. The girl who had gone to Thailand for her operation had previously shared with Chloe, and didn't intend to work any more, as she had found a gentleman who was prepared to support her and provide accommodation, so when Chloe suggested that I share with her, it solved both our problems.

Like many people, previously I had not had a high opinion of the women who traded their bodies for money, but now that I was in fact one of them, and had opportunities to chat with the genetic women who worked in the parlour, my opinion did change. For many of them it was the only way to survive financially.

One woman was putting her very bright daughter through a private school education and related with some amusement how one day she realised that her client was Chairman of the Board of Governors of the school. “The last time I saw him he was sitting on the stage at the annual prize-giving and speech night, and gave a very nice speech about morals and honesty,” she said the a smile. “Fortunately I was just one of several hundred parents present, so there was no way he would have recognised me. I must say his wife didn't look the sort of woman to offer the services he asked me to provide!”

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So I continued to live my double life — Mandy by day and Estelle by night. I was young and so managed the long hours I worked some days without too much trouble. I kept in touch with my mother and sisters, and occasionally travelled north to visit them, although I confess my visits there always brought up memories of Tom, and I just wished I knew what he was doing. I was so glad he didn't know what I was doing, as I still harboured a fantasy that some day we would be together once more. Meanwhile my savings kept growing.

Each month I went to visit Dr Brentwell, and he expressed satisfaction with my progress. My testosterone level was down to the very low level of a female, and with continuing hair electrolysis and the effect of the oestrogen, I could see steady progress in my journey to becoming a woman. As far as Dr Brentwell was concerned, I was working purely as a typist. I did not think it necessary to mention my 'after hours' work which although it was part-time was earning me nearly twice as much as my day job.

Like many of the girls at the parlour, I found I was acquiring a small group of 'regulars' who asked for me by name. Miss Betty was pleased, saying it showed how much satisfaction I was giving to these men. It surprised me how many of them were married. They did not always tell me this, but the indentation caused by a removed wedding ring was too obvious not to notice. Perhaps they felt that because they were seeing a non-genetic female, they were not being as unfaithful as they would have been had I been born female? That's my theory anyway and perhaps I am totally wrong.

During a break between clients one day, Chloe informed me that a regular client had booked both of us in a few day's time. “He enjoys watching two girls like us together.” she said “Do you have a problem with that?”

I was a little surprised but answered “Not at all.” By now I was inured to almost anything that might be required of me, and after all I had no boyfriend to hide it from, so why should I care? Anyway I had wondered what sex would be like with another t-girl.

“I'll go through with you what's expected later. By the way, he can be very generous.” said Chloe, but in fact neither she nor I had time that evening.

When I got back to the apartment around 2.30am, her bedroom door was shut so I assumed she was already asleep. I was sitting at my dressing table, in my night dress and brushing my hair when there was a gentle knock on the door.

“Come in” I said, and Chloe appeared in the doorway. She was wearing a diaphanous night dress that left nothing to the imagination and her voice was low and huskier than normal.

“We didn't finish our conversation today,” she said. “In fact I thought that rather than describe what the client expects, it might be better to show you.”

She advanced into the room and I felt my heart beating faster. I suppose you could describe what we had as almost lesbian sex — it certainly didn't feel like two men together. Both our bodies were smooth, soft and hairless, and we spent much of the time kissing and caressing each other before we advanced to greater intimacies.

When I awoke in the morning, Chloe had gone back to her own room sometime during the night, and I was in a hurry not to be late for work. The previous night still felt something like a dream. Did she really mean all those things she had said, or was it all part of the act we were to put on for the rich client?

Chloe was right about the client. He just sat there watching as we went through a routine similar to what we had done together at the apartment, occasionally urging us on and saying words of encouragement, while stimulating himself with his hand.

When we finally finished, he got up and said “Thank you ladies. That was very err... entertaining.” Then he opened his wallet and left $200 on the little table “In token of my appreciation.” he said as he left the room. Chloe had been right — he was generous.

In those days before email, I kept in touch with my mother and sisters by writing letters. The telephone was far too expensive unless it was an emergency. Thus it was that they knew the address where I was living, One evening the doorbell rang, I opened it and was shocked to see my sister Bessie standing there.

“Hello Mandy, I thought I'd surprise you!” she said cheerfully. She wasn't wrong there. At that precise moment Chloe came wandering down the hall behind me. She was working that evening, so she was dressed in black lingerie that left little if anything to the imagination. I knew my face was puce as I stumbled over introductions.

“Err Chloe, this is my sister Bessie. Bessie, this is Chloe my flat-mate.”

“Hi Bessie, it's nice to meet you.,” said Chloe with a bright smile. I had to hand it to Bessie. Her eyebrows only went up a millimetre as she responded “It's nice to meet you too.”

“Come down to the kitchen and I'll make you a cup of tea,” I said to Bessie, as Chloe disappeared into her room. I put the kettle on and Bessie sat at the table as I got out cups and saucers, trying to delay the inevitable explanation as long as I could.

“Come on sis,” said Bessie “What on earth's going on? I couldn't help noticing that your flatmate wasn't exactly a 'she'.”

“Err no, she works in a massage parlour that caters for special tastes.”

“And how did you come to share a flat with her?" she paused "Oh no! Don't tell me!” But one look at my face did tell her.

“I do have a proper day job,” I said defiantly “But it doesn't pay enough and I need money for my surgery. It's only a temporary thing.”

“Well I'll be,” said Bessie slowly, “I'll say this for you sis, you're full of surprises.”

“Please don't tell Mum or Kate, please!”

“You know I won't, but what about Tom? What would he think?”

I flushed again. “Tom's gone for ever, you know that sis. Do you think I could do this if there was the slightest chance?”

Bessie sighed “I guess not.” We spend a couple of hours catching up on what was going on back home where it seemed all was well.

I couldn't resist asking if she'd seen Mrs Shore, and it seemed she had, and 'yes, Tom was well', as well as you can be when you spend your life in a wheelchair.

“You still love him don't you?” Bessie said softly, and then when my face crumpled, she got up and hugged me as I couldn't hold back my emotions any longer.

“But what's the point?” I sobbed “He doesn't want me. If he did he'd have never gone away.” Bessie said nothing. She just held me until I stopped crying.

Time passed and I was sure it wouldn't be long before I had saved the cost of having my surgery in Thailand, where it seemed it was almost commonplace. In some medical centres they performed several thousand SRS operations a year. It got me thinking that this has only become possible in about the last sixty years when some brave pioneering women such as April Ashley and Christine Jorgensen had surgery, although they weren't the first to do so. What of the women born in the wrong bodies over the centuries — they had to suffer in silence. Thankfully, times have changed and I was now able to have my body match my mind.

Writing this biography has forced me to face up to some of the silly mistakes I have made in my life. The money I was earning at the parlour was paid in cash of course, and instead of putting it into a bank account, where I was afraid someone might question how a typist was able to earn so much money, with remarkable lack of imagination, I secreted it in plastic bags under my mattress.

The time had come when with Dr Brentwell's permission, I had made a booking with a hospital in Bangkok, famous for transition surgery. He had written to the surgeon and everything was lined up for a date in another month. I had booked and paid for my plane ticket and also the hotel where I would be staying for a week or so after I came out of hospital. I had the money ready in cash to pay for the surgery. I had not discussed the financial side of things with Dr Brentwell and if he considered it at all, I suppose he assumed I had saved the money or obtained a loan for the surgery.

Everything was going so well, and then one evening after work, three days before I was due to fly to Thailand, I turned the corner of my street leading to the apartment I shared with Chloe, and was alarmed to see the blue flashing lights of police cars and the red flashes of an ambulance outside the building. I hurried up to the house and spoke to one of the policemen holding back a small crown of curious onlookers.

“I live here. Can you tell me what's happened please?”

“You are?”

“Mandy Collins. I share an apartment with Chloe Blake.”

“Chloe Blake?” he looked down at a notepad in puzzlement “We have a Miss Ann Blake in the ambulance.”

I realised that I had used her 'professional name' by mistake.

“I meant Ann. Chloe is a nickname her friends call her. Can I see her please?”

He led me to the ambulance and conferred with the paramedics “Ok, but just for a minute.”

I climbed into the ambulance. “Ann, what happened?” She had a bandage around her head and some bruising on her face.

“Mandy! Someone broke in while I was out in the yard. I tackled him but he was too strong for me. I'm not sure what he took”

“Never mind that, how are you?”

She managed a crooked smile “I'll live. Will you let them know at work what's happened?”

“Of course” I said “You just concentrate on getting better.”

“We have to leave for the hospital now, miss.” said one of the paramedics, so I got out of the ambulance and it drove off, lights flashing.

Later the police let me into the apartment to see what was missing. My room had been turned over, the mattress thrown aside and of course all the money was gone, but I could hardly mention that. Aside from how I came by it, the police would think me an absolute idiot for keeping it under the mattress. Instead I mentioned a few items of cheap jewelry that were missing, and when the policeman said “It seems you got off lightly.” all I could do was smile and squirm inside. How was I going to pay for my surgery now?

They kept Chloe in hospital for observation overnight and released her, a bit the worse for wear the next morning, and now I was officially on holidays I went to the hospital to collect her.

“Did you let them know at 'Sixty-nine' that I wouldn't be fit for work for a week or so?”

Yes I did. Madam Betty was very sympathetic and said you mustn't come back until you feel well enough.”

“She's not a bad old stick,” said Chloe. “What about you? Did he take much of your stuff?”

“Only all the money I was going to use in Thailand for my op.” I said with a grimace. “I kept it all under my mattress. I guess there's no accounting for stupidity.”

“Oh Mandy, I'm so sorry. If I had any money I'd lend it to you, you know that. So what will you do now?”

“I guess I'll just go back to my two jobs and save up again, only this time it goes in the bank, and if anyone asks, I got lucky on the gee-gees. I should have thought of that in the first place.”

I was scheduled for one final appointment with Dr Brentwell the following day, prior to flying out. Even though I couldn't pay for the surgery now I had a few dollars left, so I thought I might as well fly over to Bangkok and make it just a holiday. At least I wouldn't waste the air fare and hotel booking. I cursed myself for my stupidity in 'hiding' the money in the first place a burglar would look.

I arrived at Dr Brentwell's rooms the next day. Vicky, his receptionist knew me well by now and said brightly “All excited about your trip to Bangkok?” and then took one look at my face and said “Oh dear Mandy, what's wrong?”

“We had a burglary,” I said “They took my surgery money, so it's off for now.”

Vicky almost looked like she was going to cry. She really was a sweet girl.

“That's terrible!” she exclaimed.”Couldn't you get a bank loan or something?”

“I don't think so on my income. (I was referring to my typist's income of course) Anyway, I don't think there would be time.”

I sat down and waited for my appointment with Dr Brentwell. When he ushered me into his room and I sat down he said “Well it doesn't take a trained psychologist to see that something is wrong. Please tell me about it.”

“I took the cash out to take over to Thailand for my operation and we've had a burglary and it's all gone. I hid it under the mattress of all places. I might as well have put a notice saying 'here it is'. I've been such a fool.”

He looked at me with a serious look on his face and to my surprise said “Is that really what happened?” I felt myself colouring up. You'd have thought by now nothing would make me blush, but it was my worst failing.

“Yes” I replied, and then under his steady gaze I said haltingly “Well, sort of.” The fact was I just couldn't lie to him — he could see right through me.

“The fact is I have a second job, an evening job. That was the money I put under the mattress.”

“You don't have to go into details,” he said gently “I think I know what that job is.”

By now I felt if I got any hotter I'd burst into flames. Tears were rolling down my cheeks as I said “I felt too ashamed to tell you, but the typist job was never going to earn me enough money to afford all my treatment and the surgery. It's ironic but I had already made up my mind that I was going to give it up as soon as I saved enough and had my surgery. Now I see no option but to go back there and start saving again.”

Dr Brentwell leaned back in his chair, and I couldn't read the look on his face. Finally he said “I believe it's important for your mental well-being to have your surgery as soon as possible. I can't promise anything, so don't get your hopes up too much. Would you mind waiting outside for a while while I make some phone calls?”

I could hardly believe my ears. Was he saying that somehow he might obtain the money for me?

“If you can help me doctor, I promise I'll pay you back, every last cent.” I said in a choking voice.

“I can't promise anything right now,” he replied, “Just wait outside for a short while and I'll let you know the outcome.”

I got up and left his room and went back into the waiting room. There was a young girl waiting there. She looked up as I approached with that 'rabbit in the headlights' look I knew I'd had the first time I ever came to the rooms. I didn't hesitate but walked over to her.

“Hello. My name's Mandy. May I sit down?” I did so before she nodded dumbly. Now I was close to her I could see she was literally shaking.

“Are you, are you Dr Brentwell's assistant?” she quavered. I did not laugh — that would have been the worst thing to do. Instead I said gently. “No, I'm his patient, a girl just like you except I'm a bit further along the road, that's all.”

She looked at me with something like wonderment in her eyes “Really?”

“Really.” I replied as I took her hand. “The first time I came to see Dr Brentwell I was so frightened I nearly ran out of the door.”

She actually managed a weak smile “I was just wondering if I should do that.” she said softly.

“But you're not going to, because you are taking the first steps to making the most wonderful change in your life. Believe me I know that.” I said. I suddenly realised she was no longer shaking, and I thought to myself 'Well, you've done one good thing today'.

We started to chat about the path we were both taking, and how I was hoping to go to Thailand for my surgery, but there was a bit of a problem that Dr Brentwell was trying to sort out, and were so engrossed that we didn't realise Dr Brentwell was standing there until he spoke. “Miss Collins, would you come back into my room please?” and then to the girl “Miss Martin, I'll only be five minutes more.”

She actually smiled at him and said “I'm fine now doctor.”

When I sat down back in his room, Dr Brentwell looked at me and said “That was a fine thing you did just now.”

I blushed of course and replied “You won't remember, but the first time I came here, I was just as scared as she is and a young woman came out of your room and gave me words of comfort and reassurance. I've never forgotten that, and today I got the opportunity to return the favour to someone else. What sort of a person would I be if I didn't do that?”

He smiled at me “You're wrong on one point, I do remember what happened that day and what a difference it made to you. Anyway, I have good news for you. I have access to some funds that can be used at my discretion in deserving cases. I've spoken to certain people, including the hospital where you are going, and you can have your surgery after all.”

I started crying, I couldn't help it. “Oh doctor, you don't know how much this means to me.”

“I think I have some idea.” he smiled. “The money will be transferred directly to the hospital for your medical care, and I presume you have enough for your personal expenses?”

“Oh yes doctor. Oh this is such a relief to me.” I suddenly had a thought “The young lady I was talking to...if it would be any help, I would be more than happy to act as a mentor to her...if you think I could do that and she agrees? I know what it's like to go through this process alone, and there were many times I wished I had someone to talk to about what was happening to me.”

Dr Brentwell smiled “I will mention it to her in the course of talking to her, her name's Michelle by the way, and I'll let you know if she is interested. In the meantime, off you go to Thailand, and I'll see you when you return.”

I left his room walked over to Michelle to tell her I was going for my surgery after all. I gave her an encouraging smile and a 'Good luck' as Dr Brentwell called her into his room. She smiled back and said “And good luck to you too....and thank you so much.” It was stupid I know, but I had tears in my eyes as I walked down the corridor to the lift.

I had already packed my suitcase before the burglary, but of course the contents had all been tipped over the room, so I set about packing it again. I hated the thought that my clothes had been touched by the burglar who presumably was looking for more items of value, but he would have found nothing there. Anyway there was no time to wash them again, so I just carefully folded them up again and soon I was all ready to go. Thank goodness my passport and plane ticket was in my handbag which I had with me. If they had been stolen I really would have been in a mess.

The following day found me at the airport, ready to board a flight to Bangkok. I'd never flown overseas before so this was very exciting. I had a letter from Dr Brentwell explaining that I was going to Thailand for SRS and that why I was dressed as a woman and didn't look quite the same as in my passport photo. I made sure that I had arrived at the airport with hours to spare in case there was any problems arising from this, and indeed they did refer me to one of the senior officers, but she had dealt with similar cases to mine before, and in no time my passport was stamped and I was sent on my way with an encouraging 'Good luck'.