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The following evening I had an appointment with Dr Brentwell to report back on my trip to Thailand and the surgery, although Dr K had told me he would be sending over a report. I was in a very happy mood when I arrived at Dr Brentwell's rooms and greeted his secretary with a smile. She must have seen quite a difference from the way I looked the last time she had seen me.

I only had a few minutes to wait when Dr Brentwell ushered me into his room. I sat in the big comfortable chair while he took the other one. He had a paper in his hand and as I suspected it was a report about my surgery.

“Well young lady, you are looking very cheerful,” he said “I see the surgery went off without a hitch. How are you feeling?”

“Very well doctor. I've just about completely healed up, but of course I'm still following the post-operative regimen I was given, and it's all going very well. In addition. I've been given a promotion at work, so I'll be able to repay you sooner than I thought.”

He smiled at me at said “There's no desperate rush for that, give yourself a little time to get back into work again. Now you will need to have regular check-ups for some months, and there is no real need for you to come here for those. You are free to chose your own doctor of course, but I've had very good reports from some of my patients about a Dr Merryn Taylor who has a practise only about ten minutes walk from her. You may even feel more comfortable seeing a woman doctor now.”

I smiled “Well if she comes with good recommendations, I will certainly go to see Dr Taylor and see how we get along.”

Then I changed the subject “That new patient of yours that I saw before leaving for Thailand, Michelle Martin, did you ask her if she'd like me to assist her?”

His face clouded “Yes I did, and she would be most grateful if you would do that. However I did have some bad news this morning. She's in hospital after being attacked by some teenage girls yesterday. Sometimes I wonder what the world is coming to.”

“That's terrible. What hospital is she in? Can I see her?”

“She's in the Mater, and yes I'm sure that would be alright.”

I left his rooms and hurried to the front of the building where I knew there was a constant stream of taxis picking up and dropping off patients, and sure enough I managed to secure a taxi in a few minutes. At the Mater I inquired where Michelle was, and managed to buy a small bunch of flowers from the Auxiliary shop.

A nurse in the ward directed me to the four-bed ward where she was. Two other women had visitors and the fourth bed next to Michelle was empty. Michelle had no visitors and her face lit up when she saw me.

“Mandy! I didn't know you were back. How did it all go? It's so good of you to come. I suppose Dr Brentwell told you what happened?” she said in a breathless rush.

“Only the bare facts.” I replied, speaking quietly, although the other visitors seemed engrossed with the people they were visiting. Michelle had a bruise on her cheek, a black eye and some scratch marks on her face.

“I was so stupid,” said Michelle quietly, “I was walking down an almost empty street and these three girls were walking towards me. I should never have made eye contact with them but I did. When they passed me I heard one say 'Get a load of that guy in a dress — what a freak.' I saw red and turned around and said “What did you say?” They stopped and walked back towards me and then suddenly they attacked me! I got such a shock. They were punching and scratching me, and it was only by good luck that some people came around the corner, and chased them off. I was on the ground then and crying, so they called an ambulance, and here I am.”

I took hold of her hand. "That is so awful, and girls too, it's hard to believe what's happening nowadays.”

“I think it looks worse than it is. The doctor said I can go home tomorrow.”

“Will you be on your own then?” I asked.

“Yes, I have a tiny bed-sit, but it's big enough for me. At least I have it for now, because I just lost my job so I don't know if I can afford to keep renting it. My life's a bit of a mess isn't it?” she tried to smile but looked almost as if she would burst into tears.

“Why don't you come and stay with me for a few days?” I said impulsively, “I share with another girl, but there are two bedrooms and I'm sure we could fit you in somewhere.”

“That is so kind of you.” Michelle said, and she brightened visibly.

“What happened to make you lose your job?” I asked.

“Well in order to transition, I have to live full-time as a woman for two years, well you know that. I was working in a call centre, so no-one ever saw me, so I went to see the man in charge. He'd always struck me as a bit of a 'ladies man' and he seemed ok about it.

The next day I turned up in a skirt and top. I deliberately kept it low key, nothing flashy, and only minimal make-up. All the girls were fine about it, so I thought 'Well this is ok'. Then Mr Grey asked me to come into his office. I thought nothing of it. He asked me to shut the door, and when I turned around again he'd unzipped his pants and had his thingy out. I was shocked, even more so when he told me to get on my knees. I said to him "You must be joking" and he said "It's no joke. How do you think some of those girls keep their job?”

I saw red and said “Well this is one girl who isn't going to do that to keep a job.” and he replied “Ok then, you're fired.” and that was that. I took my coat and bag and left.

“Good for you” I said and then I had a terrible thought. Here was a girl who was too principled to hand out sexual favours and I was inviting her to stay with Chloe and me!

I gulped and said “Michelle, there's something you need to know about me, and if you decide you don't want anything more to do with me, then I'll understand.”

She looked at me solemnly “Well this sounds serious, you'd better tell me what it's about.”

“The girl I live with, Chloe, well she's one of us, except she had no intention of transitioning. She works in a massage parlour, and,” I paused and then said in a rush “and the reason I met her is because I was working there part-time too to raise the money for my surgery. Ironically it was all stolen just before I was due to go to Thailand and if it hadn't been for Dr Brentwell and a source of funding he has, I wouldn't have had my surgery. That is what happened the day that I met you.”

I tried to read in her face what she was thinking, but I couldn't as I went on, tears streaming down my cheeks “I'm so ashamed, especially when I heard how you were prepared to leave a job because you have principles. I, I guess I just blew our friendship.”

I made to get up and leave, but Michelle said urgently “Stay.” Some of the visitors looked across at us, and then turned back again to their relatives. I did as I was told.

“So, are you going back to the parlour?” she asked.

“Oh no!” I replied “I'm not for sale any more, and I intend to pay back Dr Brentwell so someone else can be assisted like I was.”

Michelle smiled “We've all done things we wish we hadn't. Mandy, I would be very happy to take up your offer and stay with you for a few days — that is if you still want me to?”

“Oh yes!” I cried as I took her hand once more. I felt like a great load had been lifted off my shoulders. It occurred to me that in coming to see her, and indeed with my offer of being a mentor, I was making myself out to be superior to her, but now with my confession and her forgiveness we were on an equal footing, and it I'm sure that boosted Michelle's confidence, so all in all it had turned out very well.

The following day was a Saturday, so I turned up at the usual discharge time of ten o'clock to collect Michelle. She was out of bed and dressed, waiting for the doctor to finally give her the 'ok' to leave, and as so often happens, he was caught up somewhere, so it was another hour before we were finally able to leave the hospital.

I drove us to her 'bed-sit' so that she could pick up some clothes, make-up and toiletries. It was indeed a very small unit of the 'no room to swing a cat' variety, but she had everything laid out very neatly, unlike me I must confess.

We drove to the apartment I shared with Chloe. Chloe had already been told about Michelle and how she would stay in my room for a few days. She raised her eyebrows slightly at that, but I thought 'Let her think what she likes.' I promised that I would be responsible for the extra costs involved. Chloe was home when we arrived and greeted us politely. I showed Michelle my room which was about as big as her tiny 'bed-sit'. I had purchased a 'camp bed' which could be folded away, and insisted that I would be the one to sleep on it. There was a minor tussle about this, but we finally agreed that we would alternate beds every day.

After a couple of weeks, with us settling in very happily together, after checking with Chloe, I suggested to Michelle that she leave her 'bedsit' and move in with us on a permanent basis, and since she was almost out of money she was happy to do this.

Michelle needed a job, now that she had left the call centre, and for a moment I considered inquiring about a possible position where I worked, but only for a moment. Michelle was not yet totally convincing, so they would have to know all about her, and then they would be wondering how I'd come to know her, and of course I had never told Miss Evans about my gender status when I first started working there. Was I being selfish and thinking only of myself? I knew Michelle would never consider working in the massage parlour so I didn't even mention it. In the end she found a position in another call centre, one where they accepted her for who she was. Personally I couldn't think of a worse job, but I suppose 'beggars can't be choosers'.

I suppose it should have occurred to me that the pay at a call centre is not great and that Michelle might have looked to some other means of boosting her income in preparation for her surgery, in much the same way as I had. Even if I had, Michelle's apparent high moral values would never have made me suspect what she was actually doing. It just goes to show that although we think we know people, sometimes we don't really know them at all. Later I even wondered if that story she told me about the teenage girls attacking her was true.

One evening I came home from work and found Michelle already at home. One look at her face and I could tell that something was badly wrong, but initially I had no idea just how bad it was. She looked about as scared as the first time I had met her in Dr Brentwell's rooms, as she sat in a chair literally trembling..

“What's wrong Michelle?” I asked.

“Oh I am in the deepest trouble.” she said, and her voice shook.

“Here, sit down and I'll make some tea and you can tell me all about it.” I said.

The story she had to tell was almost unbelievable, but one look at her face and I could tell she was deadly serious. Some weeks previously, so she told me, she had arranged to go to the cinema with a girlfriend, and when the friend didn't turn up, she had gone to a bar alone for a drink. She had got into a conversation with a man there who seemed pleasant enough. They had both got a little drunk, and the man Harry, had told her how he made easy money providing party-goers with some special pills that made their evenings even more enjoyable. He insisted they weren't drugs as such, just stimulants. He explained how he was always on the look-out for attractive girls to help him sell his merchandise and thought Michelle was ideal for the task.

As Michelle's story unfolded, certainly things started to fall into place. Some evenings, she had come home very late and even seemed a little disorientated although not apparently drunk. My suspicions weren't aroused. After all, this was a girl with high moral values and the thought of drugs never entered my head.

After I had listened to her story for while, I gently brought her back to the present.

“So what is the trouble you are in?” I asked.

It seemed that she was supplied with some of the drugs on credit, and as she became more experienced and sold more, so the amount of drugs supplied to her had grown. However two nights previously she was at a bar, doing her usual discrete trading when it seemed her drink was spiked. She woke up to find her handbag gone and all the pills and cash with it. When she tried to explain to Harry her supplier, he suddenly stopped being 'Mr Nice Guy'. He wasn't the 'Mr Big' of the operation of course, but he was accountable to him, and the net result was that Michelle needed to come up with $20,000 in two days, or 'bad things would happen' to her.

“How can I come up with that sort of money?” she wailed.

“Surely you have some savings?” I asked, but it seemed she hadn't. She'd done something even worse than selling the drugs, she'd sometimes taken them herself, so a lot of the money she'd been making from selling them had been going back to the supplier.

“Can't you ask for more time to pay?” I said.

“You don't know these people,” she replied, ”They aren't exactly patient types and when they say 'bad things will happen' they mean it. I hate to ask this Mandy, but can you lend me some money? I need to go away for a while, somewhere they can't find me.”

I wasn't that well off myself as I was doing my best to repay the money I owed to Dr Brentwell and my mysterious benefactor, but I said “I can loan you two thousand dollars but that's all I have.” This wasn't strictly true, but I had a feeling I'd never see the money again and perhaps not Michelle either, so I wasn't going to give her all that I had, but at least enough for a head start. I certainly didn't have the $20,000 she needed.

“Oh thank you Mandy, that is so sweet of you.” and she got up to give me a hug.

'Mandy the mug' I thought to myself but out loud I said “But what about your treatment?”

“It will have to go on hold for a while.” she said. “If I don't get away within the next two days I mightn't be around to have it anyway.” That sounded like a particularly chilling remark. Who were these people she had got herself involved with?

The following day I drew two thousand dollars in cash from the bank, knowing I was almost certainly kissing it goodbye, but still feeling a certain responsibility for Michelle. After all I had offered to help her, just not in the way I was called up to do now. She thanked me profusely when I handed it over.

“Is anyone likely to come here looking for you?” I asked.

“I've never told them where I live” she replied.

“Well, don't tell me where you're going.” I said “If I don't know I can say so, truthfully.”

The next day when I came home from work, she had gone. There was just a note say

“Dear Mandy,

Thank you so much. I promise to repay you when I can.

Love,

Michelle.

So it seemed that was that. Life went on as normal, and there was no word from Michelle, and I was glad of that..

It was two weeks later that I saw a small paragraph in the newspaper headed

“Bizarre drowning in Sydney Harbour”

'A Brisbane man Michael Martin has drowned in Sydney Harbour. Local police said they thought he had been to a fancy dress party since he was dressed as a woman. The most likely scenario was that he was drunk, went for a walk beside the harbour and somehow had fallen in.'

A chill ran through my body. One thing I did know about Michelle was that she was a good swimmer. Ok, she might have been drunk, but surely she could have scrambled to shore? No, there was more to this than met the eye, I felt sure of it. Then a thought struck me — would the police be contacting me about it?

As it turned out, the police were not the first to call. Late that night the telephone rang and I answered it. It may seem strange to say that a voice can send shivers through your body but this one did.

“Miss Collins? Miss Mandy Collins?” he enquired.

“Err, yes.” I replied, wondering if I was doing the right thing.

“Miss Collins, I wonder if you've read the newspaper today? A friend of yours drowned in Sydney Harbour, most unfortunate. I understand you loaned him some money. Can you tell me why you did that?”

“She, er he said he needed to go away and didn't have any money.”

“And did he explain why he needed to go away?” I realised my answer to this question was critical.

“No he didn't, he just said he needed a holiday.” I replied.

The voice chuckled “And that is what you will tell the police if they contact you?”

“Of course.” I replied “It's the truth.”

That chuckle again “Yes indeed it is Miss Collins, and it always pays to tell the truth don't you think? By the way, how good are you at swimming?”

“Err, not very good.” I replied and this was certainly not the truth.

The chuckle had turned into a laugh now. “Very good Miss Collins. Well, if you stick to your story, there's no need to find out how well you do swim.” he said, and I suppose this was the nearest thing to a threat in the whole conversation, but it would never stand up in court if I had been stupid enough to put myself in that position. “Anyway, why don't you watch the television news tomorrow night?” On that enigmatic note he hung up, leaving me shaking.

During our conversation it did occur to me to wonder how he had found me so easily, but it was not the sort of question to ask in the circumstances. Perhaps Michelle had told him everything in the vain hope it would save her life? If his intention was to put the fear of God into me, he had succeeded. I would be telling the police exactly what I told him I would say.

'Poor Michelle' I thought, and I wondered just how much of what she had told me was the truth. Perhaps she had already been selling drugs when I first met her.

After a sleepless night, I felt so bad the following morning that I rang in sick, and that was a bad move as it turned out. I did watch the evening news as 'the voice' suggested, and one story featured a dapper smiling gentleman in a shiny suit and a loud tie, walking down the steps of the local courthouse with his lawyer to face a pack of waiting media.

The anchorman read the accompanying story of how ''colourful racing identity' Jack Fogarty walks free from court when all charges against him were dropped after the chief prosecution witness refused to give evidence.'

It was when Jack Fogarty started to answer the reporters' questions that my blood ran cold. I knew that voice only too well, the same one that had spoken to me on the telephone the previous night. I later read about Jack Fogarty's nickname “Mr Teflon” because charges against him never seemed to stick.

The next morning I went to work. If the police contacted me, I knew exactly what I was going to say and it certainly wasn't that Michelle owed money to Jack Fogarty. The other women in the office greeted me and asked me if I was better and I said I was. I'd hardly had time to sit down before my desk telephone rang, and it was Miss Evans.

“Mandy, would you mind stepping into my office please?” In the circumstances that request had an ominous ring to it, but whatever was to come, I couldn't avoid it, so I stopped what I was doing and went to her office and knocked on the door.

When I entered I was surprised to see she was not alone. There was a devastatingly handsome man, probably in his early forties who had obviously been discussing something with her. He made as if to leave, but Miss Evans said “Take a seat Mandy. Would you mind staying Mr Thompson?” Then looking at me she said “Mandy, this is Mr Thompson, one of the partners.”

“Greg Thompson” he said with a smile that made me go weak at the knees. “I've just returned from six months overseas.” So that was why I hadn't seen him before. He was not sort of man a woman would easily forget. You've heard of that term 'instant chemistry' before? It usually refers to film stars on the screen, but this was it in real life. I knew it, he knew it, and I didn't doubt that Miss Evans sensed it too. When she spoke again it was like a cold shower coming from nowhere on a sunny day.

“Mandy, the police were here yesterday. They wanted to speak to you in relation to the drowning death in Sydney of a young man called Michael Martin.”

I'm sure I turned white, I certainly started to tremble. I should have been in the office yesterday, maybe I could have kept it private, but it was too late for that now.

“Do you want to tell us what your connection is with Mr Martin? The police said something about him being a transvestite and they believed he was staying with you until recently.”

I drew a deep breath. I remembered that old Sir Walter Scott quotation

'Oh what a tangled web we weave,
When first we practice to deceive.'

There was nothing for it but to make a clean breast of things, so I told them everything. I explained that Michael, or Michelle wasn't a transvestite but was transgendered as indeed I had been, and also how we had first met at the specialist's rooms. I noticed their eyebrows rise a little at that revelation. I told them how my trip to Thailand hadn't been for a holiday, but so that I could have sexual reassignment surgery.

Throughout the story I found myself unconsciously referring to Michael and then Michelle, and 'he' and 'she'. Finally I told them about Michelle and the drug money and how Jack Fogarty had rung me, so in order to keep living I fully intended to perjure myself and lie to the police about what I knew of Michelle's reason for leaving Brisbane. Finally I said to Miss Evans that I was so sorry I had deceived her about my gender status when I applied for the job, but I truly believed it did not affect my ability to do the job. I knew that thanks to the tabloid press, some people felt that transgendered people had mental issues, and I really needed a job, so I felt I couldn't take the risk.

That last sentence came out in a rush, and when I stopped talking I felt that the silence was deafening, so I filled it by saying that I realised that in the circumstances I had to tender my resignation, and I hoped that any publicity didn't reflect badly on the practice because I had really enjoyed my time working there.

It was Greg Thompson who broke the silence. “Well Miss Collins, that is an interesting story. I suggest you go and make yourself a cup of tea while Miss Evans and I discuss what is to be done.” For a moment I allowed myself to see a glimmer of hope, although in reality I didn't see how there could possibly be one, so I did as they asked and went to make myself a cup of tea. The other women in the tea room knew something had happened, but were kind enough not to press me about it.

Ten minutes later the telephone in the tea room rang. One of the other women answered it and held it out to me. It was Greg Thompson.

“Would you come back to Miss Evans' office please Miss Collins?”

I duly walked back to her office, feeling like I was walking to the gallows. I knocked on the door, entered, and took a seat as requested. It was Greg Thompson who did the talking. I supposed as a partner in the company, it was his decision anyway.

“Miss Evans and I have discussed what you have told us. First let me say that we were impressed with your honesty and explanation of all that has happened. It seems to us that Mr, err Miss Martin brought her problems down upon herself and that your only fault, if fault it is, was in trying to help her. As far as the police are concerned, if they wish to interview you, I am happy to be your legal representative and I suggest you tell them the bare minimum, namely that Mr Martin told you he was in trouble and asked for a loan so that he could leave Brisbane. If they press you for more details, as your legal counsel I will advise you to make no further comment.

“Miss Evans has spoken to me in glowing terms of your application and efficiency in your work so I hope you will reconsider your offer to resign, and continue to give us the good service you have provided in the past.”

I felt rather overwhelmed at all this, and when Miss Evans chimed in with “I agree with all that Mr Thompson has said Mandy, and I hope you will stay with us.” I felt the tears starting in my eyes and was barely able to stammer. “Thank you, oh thank you so much, both of you.”

“Perhaps you would like to take the rest of the day off? It has been rather stressful.”

“Thank you Mr Thompson, Miss Evans, but I would rather stay and get back to work, I think that would be the best medicine for me at this time.”

The police did come back the next day, and seemed a little intimidated to face me sitting next to an eminent QC. I told them the bare minimum as Greg Thompson had advised me, and they seemed satisfied with that and left.

You may wonder why I am prepared to write this down now even though it is years later. While the police never managed to convict Jack Fogarty of any crime, apparently someone else took a more direct approach because his body was found floating in the Brisbane River a few years later. It seemed he was the victim of a turf war which had turned particularly ugly. I could hardly feel any sympathy for him, and it even seemed poetic justice that he too had ended up in the water. I think Michelle would have appreciated that.

I settled back into work, but I confess I spent more time than I should have thinking about Greg Thompson. I was careful not to show interest in him, but the other women did chatter, and I discovered that he was married to the daughter of Albert Baker, one of the original partners, now long retired after a distinguished career as a judge. There was also the suggestion that he had an eye for the ladies, and one of the married woman remarked “He can park his slippers under my bed any time he likes.”

'Hmmm, mine too,' I said to myself.

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In the following weeks, Greg came into the office area once or twice about some case or other, but he paid no particular attention to me, and I came to the conclusion that the 'chemistry' I had felt that first day I met him was all in my imagination.

Another week passed, and one day I stayed back in the office to finish off some urgent work, for one of Greg's cases as it turned out, and when I walked through the front door of the building to head for the bus stop I discovered to my dismay that it was pouring with rain, and I had no coat or umbrella with me. I huddled by the door, peering at the sky, hoping the rain might ease soon, when the door opened behind me and a voice said “I hope you're not planning to make a dash for it — you'll get soaked.”

It was Greg Thompson and I knew I was blushing with pleasure at seeing him.

“I tell you what, my car is parked in the basement — why don't I run you home?”

“Oh that's very kind of you but I couldn't possibly...”

“Nonsense,” he interrupted “It would be my pleasure.”

We took the lift down to the basement car park. There was only one car left there — a shiny new model Mercedes. He opened the front passenger door and I sat down, swiveling into the seat, my legs together in the approved ladylike fashion, sinking into the soft leather, and inhaling that 'new car' smell. Greg sat in the driver's seat and grinned at me.

“New car,” he said “I like to turn them over every two years before they depreciate too much.”

“It's lovely,” I murmured “So comfortable. I've never had a car, let alone a new one.”

“I tell you what — since you've stayed back to finish off that file for me, why don't we go for a drink somewhere?” Greg said as he started to drive out of the car park.

“I'd like that.” I replied. I knew I was blushing again, but hopefully he was concentrating on his driving and wouldn't notice. We reached the street and I noticed that the rain had stopped as suddenly as it had begun, leaving the streets shining with the reflections of lights. I half expected Greg to say now that the rain had stopped he would drop me at the bus stop, but he didn't.

Instead he said “I don't know about you, but I skipped lunch and I'm positively ravenous. How about a meal as well as a drink?”

I had missed lunch too, and I wondered if he had heard my stomach rumbling but was too polite to say so?

“That would be lovely.” I replied, wondering if I was starting to sound like a broken record.

“Good.” said Greg as he drove on with apparent purpose. When we stopped at some traffic lights he punched a number into his hands-free car phone.

“Ciao Georgio,” he said “Posso ordinare un tavolo per due? About ten minutes? Grazie mille.”

I was greatly impressed. “You speak Italian?” I asked

Greg laughed “Just about enough to order a table at a restaurant.”

A few minutes later he swung the car into the forecourt of one of Brisbane's top hotels. This time it was one of the hotel staff who opened the door for me, and I again performed the maneuver to alight in a lady-like manner. Meantime, Greg walked around from the driver's side and handed over the car keys to the valet, saying we'd be about two hours.

We walked into the hotel foyer, and it was like entering a palace. I'd never seen such an impressive building. Without hesitation, Greg steered me towards the lift and punched the first floor button. At the entrance to the restaurant we were met by Georgio himself who smiled and greeted us warmly. He led the way to a table by the window overlooking the city lights, held the chair for me to sit and placed a snowy-white linen table napkin on my lap before producing two copies of the menu. I noticed that mine did not mention the price of any of the dishes. I looked at it feeling rather overwhelmed. Greg noticed this and came to my rescue.

“Do you fancy meat, fish or poultry?” he asked kindly.

“Err meat, steak I think.” I answered.

“In that case may I suggest the filet mignon? They do a particularly good one here.”

I gratefully went along with his suggestion, and he ordered one for himself too. In the meantime the sommelier arrived (I learned later that that was what he was called) to discuss wine with Greg, After some discussion he disappeared and returned with a bottle of French Cabernet Sauvignon and poured a little into Greg's glass for tasting. The wine receiving approval, he then half-filled my glass and then Greg's. All this I watched with fascination. I had drunk wine before of course, but never had I seen it delivered with such ceremony, and I guessed correctly that this was not your average red wine. I took a cautious sip, and even my uneducated palate could tell that this was something special.

Greg smiled “I can see that you are enjoying it.”

“Oh yes!” I replied.

The fillet mignon when it arrived was amazing. It almost melted on the tongue. I ate slowly, savouring every mouthful. Meanwhile a trio of piano, bass and drums had set up on a tiny stage in the corner of the restaurant and started to play softly. After we had finished our main course, Greg asked if I would like to dance.

“I err haven't had much experience,” I said. The truth was I'd had no experience of dancing and knew that as a woman I would have to move backwards and I was afraid I'd make a fool of myself.

“No problem,” he said “I'll teach you.”

In fact we started to shuffle slowly around a very small dance floor which we shared with two other couples, so there was no danger of me falling over. When a man is dancing and is aroused, he has two options — either to keep the woman at arms length where she can't feel him, or hold her close where she most certainly can detect what is happening. Greg chose the later option. The effect of course was to arouse me too, but with a woman the most obvious sign is usually hardening of her nipples and this is what happened to me. Since Greg was holding me very close now, I was sure he was quite aware of my response. We continued to shuffle around the dance floor, enjoying each other's responses very much.

After the dance we returned to the table and decided to forgo desert and just have a coffee. By now I knew that if Greg didn't somehow take me to bed that evening I would be very disappointed. As men should, he took the initiative, as well as my hand which I had conveniently left lying on the table within easy reach.

“I'm staying here overnight as I have an early start in the morning. Perhaps you'd like to see the lights from the tenth floor? They really are quite amazing.” Of course I would, so after Greg had signed a chit that the waiter brought, we walked hand in hand to the lift which quickly took us to the eighth floor. I was hoping, indeed expecting him to kiss me in the lift, but another couple got in and went with us to the seventh floor.

When we reached Greg's room, he swiped the card in the door and opened it, allowing me to walk in. The room was dimly lit by a single lamp, and was dominated by a queen-size bed. I walked over to the window to view the panorama of lights which was truly amazing, and a moment later I felt Greg's arms around my body and his lips nuzzling my neck. His hands gently massaged my breasts and touched my nipples which were once again hard. I slowly turned and he held me against his body and we started to kiss. I could truly say that my body melted against his hard masculine body — well that's what it felt like. I could feel his arousal and I move my thighs against it. Then we slowly started to undress each other.

I have always worn pretty lingerie. Perhaps it's a left-over from my pre-transition days, but wearing something soft and silky against my skin, even when no-one can see it makes me feel feminine and sexy. I saw in Greg's eyes his appreciation as he helped me off with my skirt and blouse. I've also always preferred to wear stockings rather than pantyhose, and this I knew from my days at the massage parlour was certainly appreciated by men.

When we were both totally naked I looked at Greg. He resembled a Greek statue with his magnificent body, except I've never seen a Greek statue with that degree of arousal! I watched his eyes as they caressed my body, and knew he loved what he saw. He took my hand and led me to the bed. I had not been with a man since my trip to Thailand, since I was determined that when it happened it would be a man of my own choosing, and there was no doubt that Greg was the man I was happy to choose. When he entered me and I arched my body to receive him fully, I knew that all the work, pain and cost of transitioning had been worthwhile. I have experienced orgasms before, but nothing like this one. It left me shaking with a pleasure so intense it was almost painful. Greg's orgasm seemed to match my own judging by his shuddering climax and his loud moans. We lay together for a while, both gasping for breath, our hearts pounding. Now I truly knew what it felt like to be a woman, and I smiled.

Greg said “How good was it for you?”

“Good comes nowhere near describing it,” I replied. “It was my first time, and I never guessed how good it would be. That's thanks to you of course” and I turned to him and kissed him. He looked very pleased, and even more so when shortly afterwards I set to work arousing him again. Once was certainly not enough for me!

This time Greg lay on his back and I straddled him, lowing myself onto him and watching the look of pleasure on his face as I did so. We took things more slowly this time, both enjoying the delights of our love-making, and leading once more to a shattering climax.

Some time later, I reluctantly said that I had better be getting home and let Greg get some sleep. He didn't argue with me, although I half hoped he would. I went into the bathroom and had a shower. When I came out, I assembled my clothes which were scattered about the room. It's strange but suddenly I felt rather embarrassed about dressing in front of Greg. He seemed to sense this because he went into the bathroom and took some time, so I was fully dressed by the time he emerged, a towel wrapped around his torso.

“I'll ring for a taxi.” I said, and was told it would be there in about ten minutes.

I walked up to Greg and kissed him. “Thank you for a wonderful evening. It meant so much to me,” I said.

“It's I who should thank you,” he replied “I haven't felt like that in a long time.”

I left the room and took the lift down to the foyer. I didn't really feel embarrassed leaving the hotel at that hour. I'm sure hotel staff see women do that quite frequently. There was a difference of course — I hadn't been paid for what I'd been doing, indeed I paid for the taxi myself. I was glad Greg hadn't offered me any money for the taxi fare — I would have been quite embarrassed if he had.

I don't know what you must think of this confession. After all Greg was married, and I suppose you could say his was the greater fault, but I had certainly encouraged him and it was not to repay him for saving my job. The plain truth was that I had lusted after his body from the moment I first saw him, and now that I had tasted its delights I knew that I would not be satisfied until I was with him again.

I was back at work the next morning, but I didn't see Greg for several days, and when I did we were back to 'Mr Thompson' and 'Miss Collins' of course. While I certainly hoped that we might have time together again, I wanted to keep it a secret from the rest of the staff if possible. I certainly wasn't going to be the one to ask Greg if we could meet again. I didn't even know if our night together was a 'one off', or even if he had seen it as a repayment for saving my job.

---

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---

I heard nothing from Greg for two weeks, and had reluctantly come to the conclusion that our encounter was in fact a 'one off', and then he telephoned me at home.

“I wondered if you are free this coming weekend?” he said. I had tentatively agreed to meet up with some friends, but the thought of more time with Greg obviously took priority over that.

“Yes I am,” I replied.

“Excellent. Perhaps I could pick you up at home? That way you don't need to bring a bag to work.”

“Could you tell me what sort of a weekend it is, so that I know what to pack?” I asked.

“It's a small country resort,” he replied “They have a very nice restaurant so perhaps something suitable to wear for dinner, and we can go for some country walks too.”

He didn't say so, but I suspected there would be a fair amount of time spent in bed as well, but I was all for that. It was the perfect excuse to buy some new French lingerie, not that I ever needed an excuse. I'd had my eye on a gorgeous Charnos silk nightdress, so that was on my shopping list too, and I also bought a new dress which would be suitable to wear to dinner. I had given Greg my address and warned him about Chloe just in case they met, and it was agreed that he would call for me at six o'clock Friday evening. I was very excited at the thought of spending more time with Greg — a whole two nights this time. I didn't ask how he was able to get a free weekend in order to meet me, that was his business not mine. No doubt your opinion of me has fallen, but after all, I wasn't the married one.

I packed everything the previous night, left work on time and I was ready and waiting for the door bell to ring, but gave it thirty seconds before answering so that I didn't seem too eager! Greg greeted me with a kiss, picked up my small suitcase and put it in the boot of his car before opening the door for me. I sank into the luxurious soft leather again and prepared to enjoy the weekend. It did cross my mind to wonder if a weekend away on an occasional basis was to be our relationship, or whether I was in fact going to become his mistress and see him regularly. However, I was too smart to ask that question. I was sure I would find out in good time, and meantime I would enjoy the pleasures that going out with a rich and virile man provided.

We drove for about an hour into the countryside. I had no idea where we were going, but eventually, we turned into a dirt road and after about five minutes drew up outside a building which I took to be the main part of the property. Greg had told me that we would be staying in one of the cottages on the estate, but of course we had to sign in first. This Greg did while I waited in the car, wondering if we were 'Mr and Mrs Smith' and giggling to myself at the thought. Then we drove about 100 metres to our unit, a charming cottage furnished in an old-fashioned styling, with a lounge/dining room, a bedroom, small kitchenette and bathroom.

Greg hadn't booked for dinner, but a small supper was provided in the refrigerator, so after unpacking, we opened a bottle of champagne and had our meal of salad and cold meats. With the dishes stacked in the sink, we snuggled up together on the couch and watched some television, although it wasn't too long before our attention was diverted elsewhere. I was thrilled to see that my presence aroused him once again, and indeed he wasn't the only one feeling that way! Before long we walked into the bedroom and began the enjoyable task of undressing each other. Our love-making was just as intense as on the first occasion, and of course this time there was the added bonus that we would be spending two full nights together.

We awoke to a sunny morning and a polite knock on the door to tell us that the breakfast tray had arrived. Greg got out of bed and put on one of the dressing gowns provided before going to the door and returning with a large tray which he placed on the table. I put on the other dressing gown as Greg removed the two plate covers revealing fried eggs, bacon, tomato and sausage. Plenty of toast was provided, and a jug of coffee and milk. We set to immediately — making love can be hungry work, especially the way we did it!

When every last piece of toast and every last drop of coffee was consumed then it was time for a shower. The shower was quite large and the obvious thing to do was shower together and save water! We didn't really achieve this since the act of soaping every inch of a lover's body can be very erotic, and it wasn't long before Greg lifted my body with his powerful arms and lowered me onto his manhood. I put my arms around his neck to assist him in holding me, but he was incredibly strong and didn't seem to have a problem in that regard. It was not long before we both reached another shuddering climax, after which we carefully disengaged and completed our ablutions. That was the first time I had made love in a shower, and I hoped it wouldn't be the last.

After our shower we got dressed. This was the first time Greg had seen me in jeans and boots but we did plan to have a walk around the property and it was a bit muddy, definitely not high heel country! We wandered around hand in hand and I confess I was in seventh heaven just being with Greg. He was the sort of man any woman would give their eye teeth to have, and I confess I never once gave a thought to his wife.

That evening we showered again, (separately this time!). I went first because it always takes women longer to get ready. While Greg showered, I dressed in my new pretty black lingerie and my new dress as we were to have dinner in the restaurant. The owner was a well-known chef and we were promised an exceptional meal. By the time Greg came out of the shower, I was fully dressed and had done my makeup.

He looked at me and drew a deep breath and said “Wow!” What woman doesn't like to hear appreciation like that? I could well have said the same of him as he stood there in all his naked glory. I was very tempted to say “Forget about dinner”, but it was already booked and promised to be something special, and anyway we had all night to be together. It didn't take Greg long to dress, and then hand in hand we walked up to the restaurant.

The chef didn't disappoint. The meal was delicious and I was getting to appreciate 'haute cuisine'. When we had reached coffee, Greg took my hand and looked earnestly at me. He seemed a little nervous which wasn't like him at all.

“I'd like to put a proposal to you.” he started, and I felt my heart skip a beat. Surely he wasn't going to say he wanted to leave his wife for me? I really didn't want to hear that.

“I own a one-bedroom apartment in Sandgate, overlooking the sea. It's currently rented, but the young couple are moving out next week. I wondered if you would be interested in living there?”

As it happened, I did want to leave the apartment I was sharing with Chloe. She was a good friend, but I wanted to make a break with my past and it was still there as long as I was sharing with her. I sensed a problem though.

“It sounds lovely Greg, but I don't think I could afford the rent in an area like Sandgate.”

He smiled “I wasn't going to ask you to pay rent. Call it a non-taxable bonus if you like.”

That really was a surprise. Effectively Greg was asking me to be his mistress, and a rent-free apartment was the equivalent of a 30-40% pay rise. In return for entertaining Greg which I would have gladly done for nothing, I would have a new place to live. How could I refuse?

“That's very generous of you Greg. I did want to move to a new apartment and it sounds perfect.”

“Good! That's settled then. We'll go and see it next week. I'll get it thoroughly cleaned before you move in of course, and it's fully furnished, but you may want to add some things of your own.”

This was more than I could have imagined or wished for. Rich and powerful men have had mistresses from time immemorial. I suppose it originated from the times when marriages were arranged as alliances between powerful families, to preserve or gain fortunes. While the couple 'did the right thing' and produced some heirs, the men would often seek partners of their own choosing to whom they were attracted. Their wives usually knew but chose to ignore what was going on, and they of course were not allowed to choose lovers for themselves. I wondered about Greg's wife. Did she know about his mistresses (I didn't think for a moment I was the first)? If so, she must chose to turn a blind eye.

After we finished our dinner, we walked back to the unit. I had a surprise for Greg. I undressed and went into the bathroom to remove my make-up, and when I re-appeared I was wearing my new Charnos silk nightgown in a deep plum colour.

Greg whistled softly. “My God, you're beautiful.” he murmured. He took me in his arms and we kissed deeply. In no time we were in bed together and making long slow love. I admit I wished the night would last for ever. Greg was a magnificent lover, strong and dominant but also gentle and thoughtful. I was in seventh heaven.

We had a late check-out the next morning for which we were both grateful. The previous night I had tested the limits of Greg's stamina and was pleased when eventually it was I who had to call 'Enough!' As a result we slept late, not waking until the discreet knock on the door to announce the delivery of breakfast. After breakfast we could not resist the last chance to make love before we had to shower, dress and leave the room.

Greg dropped me off at my apartment and we had one final lingering kiss before he drove home. Nothing had been said but I presumed that his wife and children were away for the weekend.

Towards the end of the following week, Greg drove me to Sandgate so that I could view his apartment. It was located on the first floor of a small block of four, and looked out over the sea. The furniture was modern and the young couple who had just vacated it had obviously taken care of the apartment and its contents, so I imagined little needed to be done to make it ready for me to move in. I had spoken to Chloe about my intention to move out, and to my relief she was not offended. I think she understood my desire to draw a line under my previous life when I worked at the parlour. They had a new transgendered girl working there now and she was looking for somewhere to live, so it all worked out well for everyone concerned. I said to Chloe that I hoped we would remain friends. She was a really nice person, but her lifestyle was not mine.

---

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I moved into the apartment a week later. I really had no furniture of my own, just the camp bed I had bought when Michelle stayed with me, and which I brought along in case anyone came to stay who would not be sharing my bed. I had a few nick-knacks of my own and wanted to put my own stamp on the apartment, including rearranging some of the furniture, but it was here I came up against a problem. Like many others, in transitioning I had lost male body strength and there was no way I could shift some of the larger pieces. Then I had an idea. I had noticed a rather handsome young man entering the ground floor apartment below mine, the day Greg showed me the apartment, and thought that by using my 'feminine wiles', I could surely get him to help me move things around.

I checked and saw that there was a car in his space, so he had to be home, so I went downstairs and knocked on the door. There was no answer, so I knocked louder and this time I heard a voice call out “Just a minute.”

The door opened shortly afterwards and there was the handsome young man, with bare feet, wearing shorts and a tee shirt and looking rather hot as though he had just been exercising.

“Hello. I'm Mandy from upstairs. I was wondering if you could possibly spare some time to help me move some furniture?”

“Oh, hello Mandy, I'm Michael. You'd better come in.” he replied.

I followed him into the apartment, and the first thing that struck me was how neat and tidy it was, nothing like a typical 'bachelor pad'. There was even a vase of flowers on the table. Then I noticed the sound of the shower running and then stopping. So he was not alone. 'Oh dear' I thought 'I could get him in trouble here, some girlfriends are so jealous'. It turned out I was completely wrong. A few seconds later the door to the bedroom opened and another handsome young man came out, wearing nothing but a towel around his midriff. He stopped when he saw me, but didn't seem particularly perturbed.

“James, this is Mandy from the upstairs apartment.” said Michael, and he did seem a little embarrassed.

“Hi James. I just came to ask for some help moving furniture. I'm sorry if I came at a bad time.”

“It's not a problem. Just give me a minute to get dressed.” said James, disappearing back into the bedroom. He was as good as his word and was back very promptly, dressed in similar shorts and tee shirt to Michael.

Michael said “Actually, do you mind waiting a few minutes for me to have a shower too? We've been out exercising and I'm rather sweaty.”

“Not at all.” I replied, “If you are kind enough to help me with the furniture, I am more than happy to wait.” So now Michael disappeared into the bedroom. It was all too obvious that 'feminine wiles' wouldn't cut it in this household, but that didn't seem to matter. Judging by the glimpse I'd just had of a rather crumpled bed, I was willing to bet that their exercise hadn't been just confined to outdoors, but who was I to criticise alternative lifestyles?

Meanwhile James, who seemed the more assertive of the two, chatted with me while we waited for Michael.

“This is a lovely apartment” I said “Did you jointly chose the furnishings?”

“As a matter of fact we did.” said James smiling “We moved in just over a year ago.”

He was relaxing now, since my comment showed I understood and acknowledged their relationship.

“As a matter of fact we're both airline stewards — how clichéd is that?” and he laughed.

“The same airline?”

“No, I'm with TAA and Michael's with Ansett. Our shifts vary, so sometimes one or other of us is here, and sometimes both.”

Just then Michael appeared once more and James said “I've just been telling Mandy about our jobs and how our shifts keep us apart at times.”

“I imagine that makes it all the more special when you are home together?” I said

“It certainly does” replied Michael.

They came upstairs with me, and after admiring the view from my big bay window, they made several helpful suggestions about where the furniture might be rearranged — ideas I certainly hadn't had.

By way of thanking them, I put the kettle on. Fortunately I'd just bought a Madeira cake, so I was able to entertain my guests in the appropriate manner.

“How did you manage to secure the apartment?” asked Michael. “Ones as good as these are scarce as hen's teeth.”

“As a matter of fact it belongs to a colleague at work.” I replied, and hesitated, but what the heck “You may see him visiting from time to time, so don't think he's a burglar!”

“Is that the man I saw you with last week?” said Michael, and I acknowledged that it was. I didn't go into details about our relationship — they could work that out for themselves.

I let my family know of my change of address of course, and Bessie wrote back saying she understood Sandgate was a very upmarket area and had I won the lottery? She came down to Brisbane about a month later and stayed with me for a night, sleeping on my camp bed. I never could keep anything from Bessie, so I explained about Greg and our arrangement.

Bessie was never judgmental about my lifestyle and merely remarked “I hope you don't get hurt, that's all.”

“I don't think so.” I replied “Greg's a nice guy and an amazing lover, but I don't love him.”

Bessie's cheeks grew a little pink at my frankness. I suppose after my life experiences to date I was used to 'telling it as it is'.

'What about you Bessie?” I said, changing the subject “Is there no-one special in your life?”

“As a matter of fact there is.” replied Bessie, her cheeks definitely pink now. “His name is Andrew and I met him at work. He's a really nice guy.”

“Good in bed too?” I said teasingly.

“As it happens he is — very good,” she laughed.

“I assume he's single,” I said “So when's he going to 'pop the question'?”

“Quite soon I believe,” she answered “But you know men.” Then she laughed “Well you should do!” Now it was my turn to go pink, but I always enjoyed sparring with her. Sometimes I felt a little guilty since I was always closer to her than to my elder sister Kate. Was it because we were closer to each other in age, or because I had never forgotten how she stood up for me when Dad first caught me dressing?

Andrew proposed to Bessie a couple of weeks later and six months later they were married. Kate and I were bridesmaids, and I think we made a very handsome trio. Bessie was more forgiving than I could ever be, and she actually invited Dad to her wedding. I felt a little nervous about that but I needn't have worried. He had aged remarkably in the intervening years, and I couldn't help thinking that they had not been kind to Gloria.

When he first saw me, he stared hard as though he couldn't believe his eyes. I didn't go out of my way to talk to him, but he eventually came up to me. He seemed embarrassed and a bit tongue-tied,but eventually came out with. “Mandy, I didn't realise it was you at first. You look....” His voice trailed off.

“Like a woman?” I said, unable to keep the bitterness out of my voice.

Dad flushed “More than a woman, a beautiful woman. Look, can you forgive me for what happened? I didn't understand, honestly I didn't.” He broke out in a fit of coughing.

What the heck? I probably wouldn't see him again, so I could afford to be generous.

“Alright, I forgive you Dad.” I said shortly, and then walked away. I wondered if this was coming from him or was it Gloria or Mum who had urged him to make his peace with me?

What I didn't know was he had cancer of the lung, perhaps not surprising after all those years of smoking and boozing. It was four months later that Bessie rang me to say he was in hospital and not expected to last long. He'd asked if I would come to see him one last time. I could hardly refuse, so I arranged time off work and booked a train for the next day. However, when Bessie met me at the station at Rockhampton she had news that Dad had died overnight.

I stayed for his funeral of course, I even gave Gloria a hug. I knew she had genuinely loved him, even if I couldn't understand why. I guess we all have good and bad in us, I should be the first to acknowledge that. I was unfortunate enough to experience the bad side of Dad, but now I'm older I can believe that it was just that he couldn't understand me, at least in the beginning.

Gloria surprised me when she took me aside at the obligatory refreshments after the service.

“Your Dad talked quite a lot about you in the last weeks,” she said “He wanted you to know how sorry he was for not understanding you when you were younger. He wanted your forgiveness. He said to me 'She's grown into such a beautiful woman. I could hardly believe it when I saw her.'”

I knew I was blushing, and worse, I had tears in my eyes, and this for a man I had hated for so many years.

“Gloria, I did forgive him. I told him so the last time I saw him, at Bessie's wedding.”

“I know you told him that, but he didn't quite believe it, and he understood why it was difficult for you to say it.”

I hugged Gloria again. “Well I did mean it Gloria, so if that was troubling him at the end, he can rest easy now.”

“Thank you,” she whispered. She really did love him.

How strange it seemed that while I didn't really mean it at Bessie's wedding, I did mean it now.

---

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Two years passed, years which were for me mostly ones of contentment. Greg came to the apartment on average once a week, and occasionally we had a weekend away together, so my physical needs were well met. You may wonder if I loved Greg? I was very fond of him of course; if I had not been and still slept with him then I would have been nothing but a whore, paid in kind instead of cash, and those days were well and truly behind me. As for love, there was only one man I had ever loved, could ever love. In the stillness of the night when I was alone, I sometimes whispered his name, and woke to find my pillow damp with tears.

One evening when Greg visited me in the apartment, after our session of sensuous lovemaking which we never tired of no matter how many times we were together, we were lying quietly on the bed and he was tracing the contours of my body with his fingers.

“How would you like to come to London with me?” he said. “I have to attend a conference and I'll be there just over a week.”

I was so surprised I nearly did the thing I'd always avoided — mentioning his wife.

“But won't....?” I started and then stopped, furious with myself.

Greg grinned at me “You were going to say 'But won't my wife want to go?' isn't that right?”

I blushed and didn't reply.

“The fact is she hates flying. She'll only do it if it's a matter of life or death. I have to give one of the talks and may need to amend it in light of what others say, so I could do with a secretary there. You could see it as a 'working holiday' if you like,” he said.

“In that case the answer is 'yes, I'd love to go',” I said.

It was decided that I would apply for annual leave and actually start it a week before we were due to leave for London. When someone asked, I told them I was going to to Singapore for a couple weeks.

Two months later we arrived at Brisbane Airport ready to board our flight to London. I hadn't really thought about it, but of course Greg travelled Business Class, and this was going to be a whole new level of luxury that I wasn't used to enjoying when flying. When Greg told me, I was thrilled at the prospect, so instead of the usual loose comfortable clothes which are almost a necessity in Economy, I wore a smart business suit with a pencil skirt, stockings and moderate heels and felt like a million dollars, all ready to enjoy the luxury of all that extra room.

However there was even better to come. As Greg handled our luggage and tickets at the Business check-in counter, I noticed he was in earnest conversation with the clerk there, and afterwards he turned to me with a huge grin on his face.

“Guess what? They've upgraded us to First Class!”

This was beyond my wildest dreams and frankly the experience has ruined Economy for me ever since, as I can still imagine what the people up the front of the plane are enjoying.

We were ushered into the First Class lounge and invited to have a drink and a few 'nibbles' while we waited to board the plane via our special boarding lane.

Once on board we were ushered to the First Class cabin and took our seats. These were more like arm chairs than airline seats and later we were to receive a demonstration of how to convert them into beds. There were several stewards and stewardesses ready to attend to our slightest request. Of course like all the other passengers we had the mandatory pre-flight demonstration of putting on life-jackets and the location of exits. Then we settled back as the airliner pulled back and slowly taxied to the runway. In no time we were in the air and heading north-west.

I have to say the meals were superb, and we were also offered snacks in between meals, not that we needed them. I did have a little wine with my meal, but most of the time I drank water to avoid dehydration. Thanks to being able to sleep comfortably, the whole journey passed very quickly, and I was almost sorry when the aircraft began its final descent, and Greg pointed out to me the famous 'white cliffs of Dover'. A short time after that and I could see the winding river Thames as we descended towards Heathrow Airport, and the rumble of the wheels on the tarmac signalled the end of our outward journey.

We were first off the plane and apparently our luggage was prioritised too, for it did not take long to appear. We were soon through Customs and then had to make our way to central London. The conference was to be held at Claridges Hotel, and Greg had booked a room for us there. I had already checked it out and knew it was 'Five Star', one of London's top hotels.

Greg hailed a taxi and as the driver was loading up our suitcases, he asked him to take us to Claridges. The driver muttered something that sounded like 'Gor blimey' under his breath. I gathered this meant he was impressed.

Once in the 'cab' as they are called there, he became quite chatty, telling us his name was Charlie and that he was a genuine Cockney. I had heard the term but asked him exactly what it was.

“Lor luv ya,” he replied, I suspect exaggerating his accent “It means I was born wivvin the sound of Bow Bells.” A further explanation was this was the church of St Mary-le-Bow in the East End of London. He was obviously not one to let an opportunity slip since he asked us if we'd like a tour of the sights of London.

“Not today thank you,” said Greg to my relief. “We've just flown for nearly thirty hours and we're a bit tired. Maybe tomorrow?” So it was arranged that he'd pick us up at ten o'clock the following morning and take us for a tour of the famous sights of London.

When we arrived at Claridges, a doorman wearing an ornate outfit and top hat opened the taxi door for me and I got out in the approved manner, not showing too much leg. Greg meanwhile settled the account with the taxi driver and confirmed our appointment the next day.

To enter Claridges is to enter another world. You step into the entrance hall with its gleaming black and white check floor tiles and feel that you are almost in a palace. I thought Brisbane's top hotel was luxurious, but it was nothing compared to this. Greg checked us in, and a porter carried our bags. Our room was magnificent and I didn't dare think what it cost. It was Art Deco in its furnishings, a period I just love, so I was in seventh heaven. I noticed that Greg slipped the porter some money, and I was to learn that gratuities are an expected part of life in England and apparently provided a 'top-up' for the rather low wages paid to those who provide services, such as waiters, taxi-drivers etc..

It was mid-afternoon, although my body clock was saying it was the middle of the night. Experienced travellers had told me the best way to overcome jetlag was not to give in, but to stay up until evening. We just about made it, and when we finally went to bed we were too exhausted to do anything other than sleep.

The next morning, after breakfast, we showered and dressed ready for our day of tourist-style sightseeing with Charlie the taxi driver. We waited in the foyer, and true to his word he was there at five to ten.

“Now what would you like to see especially?” he asked, mainly directing the question at me.

“Buckingham Palace, Trafalgar Square, St Pauls, the Tower, all those places,” I replied enthusiastically, but then had second thoughts and turning to Greg said “Oh I hope you will not be bored, you must have seen them all many times.”

“Not at all,” he replied gallantly. “I shall enjoy seeing them afresh through your eyes.”

London 'cabbies' as they are called, know the city like the back of their hands. Charlie explained how they have to acquire what's called 'The Knowledge', by cycling with a map around the city until they know every hospital, railway station, hotel, and virtually every street. This way they know the shortest route to every destination, and it's only after passing a test that they can be licenced cab drivers. This normally takes about two years, and Charlie had been driving for twenty years so his knowledge of London was encyclopaedic.

He started by taking us down Regent Street and around Trafalgar Square to see Nelson's Column; then down the Mall to Buckingham Palace; round Birdcage Walk and down to Westminster to see the Abbey and Houses of Parliament, where I learned that Big Ben is the hour bell, not the whole clock which sits in St Stephens tower. Then it was down Whitehall and past Downing Street where the Prime Minister's residence is at No 10, and later St Pauls and the Tower. Oh I could go on and on, but I would bore you, you need to see them all for yourself. Greg sat back and looked at me with gentle amusement as I stared open-mouthed at all these historic places I'd seen in pictures so many times, and could hardly believe that I was actually seeing them for myself. Charlie kindly took many pictures of us standing in front of these famous places, even though I knew I could never show them to anyone.

We did stop at one point and treated Charlie to lunch, and then went on for another couple of hours. He in turn gave me a map of Central London, and seemed almost surprised that I could read it so easily.

“Blimey,” he exclaimed “You're one in a million. Most women just can't read maps to save themselves, but you're doing a treat.”

I looked at Greg and he looked at me, and I suppressed an urge to burst out laughing.

“There's also a saying that while women can't read maps, men won't ask directions,” I replied and Charlie guffawed.

“Well, you've got me there,” he replied “If I'm out of London I just hate asking directions.”

We arrived back at Claridges mid-afternoon. I was very tired and just had to have a sleep, and I dreamed of London.

The conference started the next morning, so while Greg was busy, armed with my new-found knowledge of London and my map, I set about exploring for myself. I must say that Claridges could not be better placed, being only a short walk to Bond Street and all its fabulous shops. I was charged with finding a suitable dress to wear to the conference dinner on the closing day, so I spent many happy hours checking out what was on offer. It was on my second visit that I came across a dreamy gown in palest blue satin and knew at once that this was 'the dress'. It was expensive, but Greg had been generous with his budget. Next I had to find suitable shoes to go with it, so some more intense shopping was required. Finally I was satisfied with my purchases and then knew I could spend the rest of the week seeing the particular sights I wanted to view the most.

It was on the third day, after a morning's walk to Grosvenor Square and Hyde Park that I felt tiredness overwhelming me and knew I had to return to the hotel for a siesta. As I crossed the entrance hall, a young woman crossed diagonally ahead of me. She was wearing a black knee-length pencil skirt, white blouse and about four inch heels. Suddenly she dropped a big pile of legal briefs she was carrying, and I hurried up to her and assisted her to pick them up. She looked up at me and smiled and I suddenly realised I had seen her before, two days ago in the foyer when she had smiled at me. I'd returned to smile in that 'Do I know you?' sort of way when you are not sure if you do. Now here she was again.

“My name is Rose,” she said as she assembled the scattered briefs.

“I'm Mandy,” I replied, and followed it with “I'm sorry, but do I know you?”

“Only from two days ago,” she said and I didn't know what to reply to that, so I changed the subject.

“The trouble with barristers is that they never consider how much paperwork their clerks have to carry.”

“Oh I agree with you there. You see I am a barrister and these are some briefs I have to check through as well as attend the conference. Fortunately I'm not particularly interested in this afternoon's session, so I can catch up on them.”

I could feel my cheeks glowing.

“I'm sorry. I only open my mouth to change feet,” I managed eventually.

Rose laughed. “It's alright, really. Women barristers are few and far between. I'm the only one in our chambers, and the junior one at that, so guess who gets all the crap cases no-one else wants?”

“Can I help you carry them to, well, wherever you're carrying them?” I felt I was making a fool of myself but somehow I couldn't stop.

“That's kind of you. I'm actually taking them up to my room,” she replied. We took half each and I followed her into the lift.

Rose's room was similar to mine and Greg's. She saw the look on my face and said

“Don't think I'm used to staying in this sort of luxury. It's back to Premier Inns in future.”

In response to my blank look she explained “They're a big budget hotel chain.”

She took the pile of briefs from me and set them down on the table next to the others.

“How about a drink to celebrate getting them here without any more accidents?”

“Yes please,” I said. There was something going on here and I didn't know what it was, but somehow I couldn't leave. Rose poured two small glasses of Scotch, which I never usually drink, but it seemed impolite to refuse it, so I downed the glass as she did, and immediately started to cough and splutter as the fiery liquid hit my throat.

Rose laughed and handed me a small handkerchief. She was standing very close to me and I could feel my heart racing. Then she leaned forward and kissed me on the lips. I was shocked, but in a nice way. I understood now why I had sensed something would happen but didn't know what.

Rose looked at me. “You've never kissed a woman before have you?” I shook my head, speechless.”Shall I do it again?” I nodded slowly, and with that she stepped forward and kissed me again, a long slow lingering kiss, with our tongues entwining, her arms around me and gently stroking me as our bodies pressed together.

Then Rose took my hand and led me towards the bed. I could have backed away at any time, but I didn't want to. Instead I let her slowly undress me as I undressed her, and then we lay naked on the bed and I learned all about sex with another woman.

I only had one uncomfortable moment. As Rose made her way down my body, her fingers, lips and tongue causing my every nerve-ending to tingle, I realised where she was heading and suddenly tensed up. Would she detect signs of my surgery and reject me? However she mistook the reason for my reaction and murmured in a muffled voice “Don't worry darling. I know it's your first time and I'll be very gentle.” After that I relaxed and gave myself over to the total enjoyment of the moment.

I know what you must be thinking. Greg had brought me to London and now I was effectively being unfaithful to him, but somehow it didn't seem like that, perhaps because it wasn't with a man. It was my first and only experience of sex with a woman, but looking back I wouldn't have missed it for worlds. At the time I knew that this would only happen once with Rose, but that was alright. Since she obviously did not detect anything to suggest that I wasn't a genetic woman, I certainly wasn't going to tell her.

Mid-afternoon, after dozing for a while I said “I had better get back to my own room.”

“And that handsome man I saw you with?” said Rose with a quizzical look.

“That's right,” I replied. “Rose, thank you so much. I wouldn't have missed it for anything.”

Rose smiled as her finger-tips stroked my breasts.”You wouldn't be the first hetero woman to enjoy the delights of the sapphic life.”

I dressed, kissed Rose goodbye and went back to my room, where this time I really did sleep for a while. When Greg returned he seemed surprised to see me in bed.

“Tired?” he said.

“Not any more,” I replied, for my body was still tingling from my encounter with Rose and all I needed now was to take Greg's body into mine. He didn't need any further invitation to strip off and join me. I held out my arms to my naked Adonis and in no time our bodies were locked together and I was experiencing more ecstasy than I could have imagined in one day. After we finished and finally broke apart panting, Greg gasped “Well travel certainly agrees with you!” and we both burst out laughing.

I enjoyed the rest of my time in London. I saw Rose a couple of times and we exchanged smiles but nothing more. The final event of the conference was the dinner, held in the ballroom. This was of course the opportunity for the women to shine. The men looked very fine in their dinner suits, but basically it is one style for everyone, whereas the women can really stand out. I spent most of the afternoon getting ready — well these things take time! - and the look on Greg's face and his low whistle of approval meant it was all worthwhile.

When we arrived at the ballroom, like every other woman I cast an eye over the gathering to see how I compared, and I felt that I stacked up well to all the others. I was wearing a wedding ring I'd purchased in Brisbane, and the intention was that if anyone inquired, then I was Greg's wife, but I wouldn't be volunteering the information, and if anyone assumed that was my relationship to him, well I wouldn't be saying otherwise.

The meal was excellent as befitted an hotel of Claridge's five-star quality, and a small band provided music during the dinner and for dancing between courses. Feeling more confident now, I was only too happy to shuffle around the dance floor with Greg.

There were speeches — mercifully short, as one might expect a gathering of professional talkers like lawyers might be tempted to go on a bit. Perhaps the fact they were professional meant they understood that a short speech always goes over better than a long one.

The evening passed without incident. There were several other couples sitting at our table, all from England, and they were interested in the legal scene in Australia. Greg answered their questions, while their wives assumed I was a legal wife too and we bemoaned the amount of time our men had to spend away working. One asked me if we had children, and I replied we had two boys, just in case she asked Greg the same question.

When we finally retired for the evening, Greg helped me take off my dress very carefully so not to spoil it, but once it was safely hung up, then we could unleash the passion that had been building through the evening, leading to a thrusting exhilarating climax that left us both gasping for breath.

We had one final day of sightseeing together before we finally took our leave of London and Charlie took us to Heathrow where we boarded the plane for the return journey. It was Business Class this time, with no upgrade, but still very comfortable and I had no complaints. I had three days to get over jetlag and then it was back to work.

---

---

At work, I was now very much Miss Evans' right-hand woman and she was giving me more and more of her responsibilities. It's funny that I never thought of her retiring, even though she was well over sixty and had been working at the practise for nearly forty years. I did eventually discover that she had a first name — Mavis, but no-one, not even the partners ever called her anything but 'Miss Evans'.

One day my desk telephone rang and it was Miss Evans.

“Mandy my dear, would you mind stepping into my office?” The 'my dear' gave me reassurance that I wasn't being called to account for some unknown transgression.

Entering her office, I saw Miss Evans seated at her desk, and standing behind her were two of the partners — Charles Baker, son of one of the original partners, and Maurice Matthews, the latest partner in the firm. There was no sign of Greg.

“Sit down please Mandy,” said Miss Evans and I sat down on the chair in front of her desk, starting to think that I was about to undergo some sort of grilling, but I was wrong.

“Mandy, I have decided to retire,” she said “and after discussion with the partners, we would like you to succeed me in the position of Chief Clerk of the clerical department.”

To say I was shocked was an understatement, but eventually I recovered my voice to say “Yours are very big shoes to fill Miss Evans, but yes thank you, I accept.”

“Congratulations,” said Mr Baker. “Miss Evans assures us that the department will be in very good hands.” With that he and Mr Matthews left the room.

Miss Evans smiled at me “I suppose you thought I'd be staying until they carried me out in a wooden box?”

I felt myself blushing and she laughed “No need to answer my dear. The ironic fact is that I am not well, and that wooden box may not be too far away.”

She saw the look on my face and said “Don't feel sorry for me Mandy. I've had a good life and have thoroughly enjoyed my work. I recommended you to this position because of your honesty, efficiency, and work ethic, not because of any 'external factors'.”

So she knew! I suppose I shouldn't have been surprised. It was a relatively small office and although Greg and I had done our best to be discreet, I don't suppose Miss Evans missed much of what was going on.

“I will do my best to live up to your expectations.” I replied.

The partners gave Miss Evans a splendid farewell dinner in a private dining room at Brisbane's best hotel. She was presented with some beautiful diamond earings and some crystal vases. Everyone made speeches and said how they didn't know how the firm would cope without her but thank goodness they had Miss Collins to take over. Miss Evans then made a short speech thanking everyone and saying she hoped we would all stay in touch. No reference was made to her health.

Greg's wife Marigold was present, as indeed she had been at the regular Christmas dinners, but this time she seemed to make a point of talking to me.

“Congratulations on your new appointment.” she said.

“Thank you very much Mrs Thompson.” I replied and she responded “Oh please, call me Marigold. After all we're almost family now.”

I suspected my cheeks were colouring at that remark. Did she mean 'family' as in both being connected to the firm, or was there more to it than that? Was she subtly letting me know that she knew about me and Greg? On reflection that shouldn't have surprised me, since women have a way of detecting when their man is straying. If she did know then obviously she was prepared to live with it. After all she had much to lose if she divorced Greg.

Miss Evans was right, as indeed she always was, and it was only four months later that most members of the firm, somberly dressed, gathered on a grey drizzly day to bid her farewell. A couple of nephews and nieces turned up, but it was quite a small gathering, and talking to a couple of them at the obligatory post service refreshments, it seemed none of them had been particularly close to her.

As a legal firm, we had the job of settling up her small estate, and I was surprised and humbled when she left me the beautiful diamond earrings that had been given to her on her retirement. It seems I really had meant a lot to her. I have those earrings still and wear them on special occasions.

The more we think that life is settled, the more it is likely to spring a surprise on us. One of the married typists had left and I appointed a replacement, a pretty blonde called Helen. I gave her the job based on my assessment of her ability to perform the required tasks, but perhaps I should have been less confident of the security of my relationship with Greg. The first warning signs were when he seemed to be dropping by the office more frequently than usual, and often paused to share a joke with Helen. Well, there was nothing I could do about it. To look for an excuse to sack her would have seemed churlish, and anyway, her replacement might have been even more attractive in Greg's eyes.

So I was surprised when a few weeks later he asked if I was free to go away with him for a weekend. Of course I agreed — I never refused him anything. In this I felt I was the perfect mistress — always available, never demanding, and certainly without any designs on replacing his wife, even had it been possible in my case. The only problem for me was that I had been Greg's mistress for about three years, and had probably reached my 'use-by' date. I went away fully expecting that at some point we would have that awkward conversation where he would say 'it wasn't me, it was him' and I would have to make it easy for him by saying that I fully understood and how soon did he want me to move out of the apartment?

To my surprise, he took me to the same country retreat where we had spent our first weekend together. Did he forget that, or was it a way of rounding out the start and end of our relationship? Knowing men, I suspected the former. It was a pleasant weekend, even though I was expecting 'the conversation', which didn't happen. When we made love, the thought crossed my mind that this would be the last time I felt him inside me, but soon enough I abandoned those thoughts and myself to the sensuous delights of joining my body to Greg's.

All too soon the weekend was over and we were driving back to Brisbane. Greg had now added a Ferrari sports car to his 'stable' and had shown it off to me this weekend. Like most women I suppose, I looked upon it as a 'big boy's toy', but I had to admit that there was a certain rush about being carried along in it, my hair streaming in the wind. Greg usually drove fast and confidently, but this time he drove more slowly,seeming to have something on his mind. There had been a shower of rain and the road was wet and slippery. We had reached a point in the road where it was narrow and wound around a hill, the land high on one side and a steep drop on the other.

“There's something I wanted to say to you,” he began, but got no further. As we rounded a bend, there was a semi-trailer that had skidded and was now angled right across the road. There was nowhere for Greg to go. I remember looking up and seeing the truck driver's white face as Greg hit the brakes and spun the wheel. I heard the crunch of steel on steel and then blackness.