A Mother’s Love - Vol. 3.01
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“Hi Mummy,” greeted Bekka, “I did a picture, Daddy is Mum-Stephanie tonight.” “Yes, darling, I can see,” said Mary as she walked over to the playpen and knelt down to hug our daughter. “Don’t worry Bekka, Daddy’s not going to be Mum-Stephanie much more tonight.” |
A Mother’s Love Vol. 3.01
“Non! C’est impossible!”, shouted the angry French hotelier down the phone, before he ended the call.
At the fifth rejection of the day I slammed the phone down. It had been a difficult and frustrating day trying to persuade some hard pressed European hotel owners and activity organisers to increase their discounts for Adventure Travel. So far I’d only managed to shave a few percentage points off a small number of accounts. It wasn’t going to be enough to avoid redundancies. The whole holiday trade was going down the pan.
I sat back in my padded office chair and took a sip from my glass of water. I looked at my watch and realised it was time to head off to pick up Hugh and Bekka from the creche. I rapidly logged off the computer and locked the desk before standing up, smoothing my skirt down and adjusting an errant bra strap. I picked up my handbag and started for the door.
The phone rang.
I hesitated. I only had a few minutes to change from my female outfit and pick up my daughter before the creche closed.
I looked at the caller display. I had to take the call.
"Stephanie ici......."
*****************************
Fifteen minutes later I burst through the door into the nursery, "Sorry Janis, there was a call....."
The young woman smiled up at me from the rocking chair where she was entertaining my youngest child, Hugh, by making faces, while Bekka, my daughter, was carefully dressing and undressing her Cabbage Patch doll.
"Don't worry Stephanie, I know you're doing your best for the company. Anyway Hugh, Bekka and I have enjoyed ourselves for the last ten minutes."
I picked up the children’s bag and put the strap over my shoulder and then reached over to take Hugh from Janis’s arms. I called over to Bekka.
“Time to go now Bekka, love, fetch Ashley.”
“Mum-Stephanie, I did picture,” she informed me as she stood up and walked over to grasp my hand with her right hand carrying her doll in the other.
Janis pointed at the bag and nodded.
I smiled back, “OK, Bekka we can show it to Mummy later.”
I turned back to Janis, “Have they been good today?" I asked.
"Great on the whole, Bekka was as sweet and cheerful as always and played with the other children, although maybe Hugh is getting another tooth, he was a bit grizzly this afternoon but otherwise he's a pet," Janis responded.
I quickly strapped my bundles of joy into the double pushchair and turned to leave the nursery.
"Stephanie aren't you forgetting something?"
I looked round to see Janis giving me a funny look, "What do you mean? Isn't everything in their bag?
"Not the children’s stuff, you, your clothes. Stephanie, aren't you going to change? I thought Mary doesn't like seeing you in women's clothes."
“I’ve got no time now, I have to get home to make our evening meal and feed the children. If I’m lucky I can change before Mary gets home.”
“I bet she’ll be glad when you’ve weaned Hugh.”
“Me too and then I won’t have to be Stephanie in the office when I’m dealing with customers in case they see me go off to breast feed,” I reminded her.
She smiled, “Yes, that’ll save on laundry too.”
I bade Janis a good evening and made my encumbered way along the corridor from the creche to the lift. The office was deserted as it was now after 6pm and it was quite dim apart from the ghostly glow of the computer monitors on the desks.
“Late tonight, Ms Jones,” asked John, the caretaker as I exited the lift on the ground floor of our North London office block.
I pushed the children over towards the little office where John controlled the building’s basic functions. I had always tried to spend a little time with him every time I saw him. I also owed him a personal debt after he saved me from a serious sexual assault the previous year.
“Been trying to get more discounts from our European hotels. We need to save money somehow.” I explained, even though I knew John would have a pretty good idea of the state of the company with the continual reduction in the numbers working in head office over the previous twelve months.
“If anyone can do it, I’m sure it’s you Ms Jones,” he responded, “I’d hate to have to take redundancy now with six more years till I retire, not many jobs for ex-caretakers in their mid-fifties.”
I touched his arm, gently, a gesture I would be very unlikely to use when I was in male mode, “Don’t worry, John, you’re the most important person here, I’d be long gone before you ever lost your job.”
I turned the buggy and began to move for the main exit, “Good night, John and give my best wishes to Mrs Everrit.”
“Thanks Ms Jones, good night and give my regards to Mary,” he replied before he pressed a button on his control desk to open the doors for me to leave.
I pushed the children through the opening and then turned and gave him a last wave, a gesture that Bekka copied to John’s evident amusement as he smiled at us.
As I approached my car in the staff carpark I considered John’s mental agility in dealing with my varied gender roles. Usually in the evening, when I had had enough time to change he referred to me as ‘Mr Jones’ and gave his regards to ‘Mrs Jones’. However whenever I was unable to change before leaving he would refer to me as ‘Ms Jones’ but Mary would no longer be my spouse and would just be my friend.
“Oh well, not for too much longer...” I said to myself as I adjusted my bra strap after belting the children in the car.
I sat down in the car and adjusted the seat belt across my breasts.
“I’m going to miss my two built in pillows when they’re gone,” I muttered as I started the car and slowly eased myself down the narrow ramp of the car park.
The journey home along Holloway Road was slightly easier than usual, given the lateness of the evening and I made it home only twenty minutes after my normal arrival time. As I crawled up the ‘expressway’ I considered how flexible Bekka was in addressing me. In male mode I was ‘Daddy’, while in female ‘mode’ I was ‘Mum-Stephanie.’ This sometimes caused confusion if we were together in a public place and I was about to go to work, when anyone overhearing her would assume that Mary and I were a Lesbian couple.
I rushed the children into the house, put Bekka in her high chair with a pot of yoghurt and banana. I placed Hugh in his bouncy chair, which seemed to amuse him while I transferred the casserole from the fridge into the oven to cook.
There was just time to make myself a quick instant coffee before Hugh lost interest in the mobiles on his chair and remembered it was time for something contained securely in my blouse.
***************************
Fifteen minutes later I had finished feeding Hugh and was changing him, after taking Bekka from her high chair and putting her in the playpen. I heard Mary’s car pulling into the drive and cursed quietly to myself, “Damn I ran out of time.”
“Hi Steve, I’m home,” she called from the hallway, “have a good day?”
“In the kitchen, love,” I replied.
I heard her walk the few steps and opened the door to the kitchen. I tensed slightly waiting for the criticism.
“Oh you’re still ‘Stephanie’,” she commented, coldly, “I thought you’d promised to change before coming home.”
“Hi Mummy,” greeted Bekka, “I did a picture, Daddy is Mum-Stephanie tonight.”
“Yes, darling, I can see,” said Mary as she walked over to the playpen and knelt down to hug our daughter.
“Don’t worry Bekka, Daddy’s not going to be Mum-Stephanie much more tonight.”
She turned to me, “Can you go and change now, you know how much I dislike seeing you in those clothes.”
I handed Hugh over to her, “Sorry about the clothes I had to make.....”
Mary interrupted, “I don’t want to hear any excuses and to be honest there seem to be too many of them these days. I sometimes wonder if Stephanie is ever going to be gone from our lives.”
Silenced by her icy comment, I made my way to our bedroom, undressed, putting away my blouse, skirt and jacket in the separate section of my wardrobe, with placing my undies in the washing basket. I pulled on a loose t-shirt and some jogging bottoms and then removed my make-up.
I was about to make my way back to the kitchen when the sway of my boobs reminded me that I needed something to restrain them. Mary hated me wearing a proper bra when I was in male mode, so I removed my t-shirt and pulled on one of my stretchy sports bras and then replaced my t-shirt on top.
When I got back downstairs Mary was finishing putting Hugh to sleep in his cot. I took Bekka to the bathroom and run a shallow bath for her. She sat in and began splashing and playing with her bath toys.
I heard Mary coming up the stairs.
“How was your day, love?” I asked as I reached to hug her.
She came towards me, was about to return the gesture but then at the last second she pushed me away, “Urgh, you should have had a shower, I can still smell my perfume on you.”
I looked at her, feeling a little crestfallen, “Sorry, Mary I thought you’d want me to help with Bekka.”
She stood a few paces away and looked at me carefully, “Steve I could have waited a few minutes for you to smell a bit more masculine.”
“Sorry.”
There was a pause and then she asked me, “Because we needed me to work again how long did we agree you’d breast feed Hugh?”
I thought for a moment, “didn’t we say about eight months?”
“We did, since he could be safely weaned onto solids and soya milk.”
“We’re almost there then.”
“Steve we reached eight months almost six weeks ago.”
“Sorry, I’ve been so busy at work, I hadn’t kept track of the time.”
“Tell me Steve, have you made that appointment at the clinic yet?”
“Mary, you know the situation at work, I’m doing everything to save the company....and my job.”
“Yes, I know how hard you’re working,” she replied with a gentler tone than before, “ and I’m sure everyone appreciates your efforts.”
I smiled at her and then turned to redirect Bekka’s efforts from splashing to washing.
I was surprised by my wife’s next sentence.
“That’s why I phoned up myself and got you an appointment tomorrow....for your mastectomy!”
End of Vol. 3.01
A Mother's Love Vol. 3.02
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“I’m sorry you’ve got this all wrong,” I interrupted. He looked annoyed for a brief moment but regained his composure before asking, “In what way?” I took a deep breath and responded quickly and quietly,“I don’t want a breast enlargement.” |
A Mother’s Love Vol. 3.02
“Sorry,” said the tall adolescent as his elbow jabbed into my left boob.
I winced in sudden pain and tried to wriggle a few centimetres away from my accidental assailant.
The jam packed Northern Line tube train hurtled down the track towards Camden Town Station. For what seemed like the hundredth time in the last ten minutes I wished I wasn’t dressed in a revealing blouse and short skirt in order to meet some wealthy clients.
I knew the firm needed the potential highly lucrative contract with our muslim ladies and I definitely needed the bonus especially if my work as Stephanie ended after I’d had my mastectomy.
I felt the train begin to slow, a sign of the approaching station. I tried to move away from the door to make space for other passengers maneuvering to leave but I felt myself being pushed inexorably towards it by the throng of passengers planning to exit.
“Excuse me, I’m not getting off here,” I said a bit desperately to two tall men in their twenties who were pressed against me, as the train suddenly entered the station.
“Sorry love,” said the one nearer to me, “We can’t move either.”
I felt myself being squashed against the window of the door as the tube train finally stopped. I resigned myself to having to leave the carriage with the departing passengers and re-enter once there was a gap. I tensed my body for the surge, mouthing a silent prayer I wouldn’t be bowled over in the forthcoming momentary chaotic shoving.
At the very last moment, before I risked possible injury, salvation came in the form of an attractive male voice behind me, “Quick, squeeze in here beside me.”
I looked to my right and saw that the man had managed to push against the crowd to form a little room between himself and the train wall.
There was rush of air as the hydraulics of the door opened it but, in the half second before the surge of exiting passengers, I pressed myself into the space created by the tall man who had turned his back to me to secure our position in the crush.
“Thanks,” I said, in relief at my escape.
“You’re welcome,” he replied as he twisted back towards me.
“Stephanie is it you?” he asked in a familiar voice, I looked up towards the man and instantly recognised the doctor who had helped save Mary’s life.
“Jonathan, wow, this is a surprise, how are you?”
“I’m really good, although a bit squashed at the moment,” he replied, chuckling, “how is your….. your partner and your daughter?”
I smiled at his quick verbal juggling, “Everyone’s fine thanks, both of the children are doing really well.”
He raised his eyebrows at my revelation but the noise of the train journey made further explanations impossible.
A few minutes later he lowered his mouth to my ear, “Time for a coffee and a catchup?”
I shook my head and he looked very disappointed but he cheered up when I told him I could meet for lunch later, we arranged a place and time and I left the train at Euston.
*****************
Four hours later I walked into my favourite indian restaurant on Euston road, after a very successful meeting with the al hamnana ladies group, who had insisted on dealing with a woman to organise their world tour.
I saw Jonathan at a window table and walked over towards him. To my surprise he stood up as I reached the table, hugged me and kissed me gently.
Momentarily I was stunned as I felt a surge of attraction flow through my body.
I stood glued to the spot, mute.
Jonathan looked at me quizzically, “Are you Ok, Stephanie?”
I blinked and looked at him and somehow partially recovered my composure. I sat down shakily, “Fine, fine, it’s so nice too see you again Jonathan.”
He smiled broadly, “ and you too Stephanie.”
The next few minutes were a welcome silence as we perused the variety of delicious treats on offer. I was finding it very hard to focus on food choices as I tried to come to terms with how he had made me feel with his spontaneous hug and kiss. The waitress came over and we both ordered.
“So, two children Stephanie, that’s wonderful, how did that happen?” asked Jonathan after the waitress had left.
I smiled, “Well, the usual way, Jonathan.”
He chuckled before continuing, “Sorry, a badly phrased question, it’s just I remember how ill Mary was when I last saw her.”
I explained how Mary's cancer had gone into remission after the treatment in Liverpool.
"That's great news!" he commented.
“Thanks and we’re all happy about it,” I responded.
Thinking about Mary brought back our row the previous night and, not wanting Jonathan to notice anything untoward in my relationship with my wife, I quickly changed the conversation to talk about people we both knew from the staff in Manchester Royal Infirmary.
The time passed very quickly as I enjoyed his easy manner and clever conversation. Before I knew it my phone was beeping to remind me it would soon be time to go for my appointment with the surgeon.
“Sorry Jonathan, I have to go now.”
He looked at his watch, “Oh OK, although it’s only half past two, do you have to go back to work? Can’t you stay a bit longer?”
It was such an attractive idea that I thought fleetingly of phoning to rearrange my visit to Harley Street, but the thought of Mary’s potential anger pushed this out my mind almost instantly.
“I’m really sorry, I’ve got a doctor’s appointment.”
Jonathan looked at me enquiringly.
“I’ll tell you about it next time, now I’d better get the bill?”
He smiled, when I implied we’d meet again, “It’s OK, you go, this can be my treat.”
I gathered my belongings and stood up to leave. Jonathan stood up and embraced me.
It felt so good. I looked up at his rugged masculine face and our lips met once again. This time the kiss was deeper and I felt myself melting with the unexpected strong attraction. I felt my nipples begin to harden. This was such a shocking development that I managed to regain enough self control to push myself away and take a deliberate step back.
“Call me please,” I said in a soft voice before turning away and forcing myself to walk out of the door. I paused outside and turned to see Jonathan still standing at our table. He smiled and raised his hand to wave, I reciprocated and then turned to walk down the street to the nearest tube station.
*****************
Half an hour later I stood outside the impressive modern building of ‘The London Bridge Clinic’ on Harley Street. The journey had gone very quickly as thoughts of my encounter with Jonathan filled my mind and I was only half aware of the other passengers on the train.
I looked at the appointment details on my phone, checked that I was only a few minutes early and then steeled myself to press the button on the entrance intercom.
A distorted female voice responded, “Hello can I help you?”
A spoke into the microphone grill, “Yes, it’s Stephanie Jones to see Doctor Wilkins, three fifteen appointment.”
There was a short wait then the voice spoke again, “Yes, that’s correct, please pull the door when you hear the buzzer.”
A few moments later I’d entered and walked along the short passage to a very sumptuous reception area. Plastic surgery in London was clearly a very profitable business, I began to be concerned about the potential cost of any surgery.
There was no-one else waiting and so after filling in a few forms and paying the £200 for the initial appointment I sat down on one of the comfortable chairs.
The reading matter available being appropriate to the well-heeled, and not myself being interested in horses and shooting, I just sat back and reviewed for the umpteenth time my hour and a half with Jonathan.
I didn’t understand where the strong feelings had come from. I was happily married, even with some recent tensions, and I had two lovely little children. What did it all mean?
I was so lost in my own thoughts that I didn’t notice the receptionist calling my name the first time she did so. She was forced to repeat herself, more forcefully.”
“Ms Jones, Doctor Wilkins will see you now.”
I apologised for my inattention and then walked the few steps to the door marked ‘Doctor Wilkins’ in expensive gold lettering.
I knocked, waited for the faint “come in,” and then opened the door.
Doctor Wilkin’s office was even more expensively furnished than the reception area while at the same time seemingly well equipped medically.
“Good afternoon, Ms Jones, if you would disrobe behind the screen, I’ll examine you and see what we can do for you,” commanded the tall man, in his late thirties or early forties, sat behind the large desk.
Rather shocked by his abrupt approach, but being mindful of the briefness of my booked appointment, I opened the curtain to enter the small area in the corner of the room that had been screened off. I quickly removed my clothes, apart from my panties, and put on the light gown hanging on the back of the chair.
“Whenever you’re ready Ms Jones,” said the somewhat impatient doctor.
I stepped out from the screen to see Doctor Wilkins standing waiting.
“Is it OK to examine you now?”
I nodded my assent.
He carefully pulled the top of my gown apart and, after a long few seconds staring at my breasts, he carefully squeezed each one in turn.
Since it had been a few hours since I’d last expressed some milk, my breasts were fairly full and Doctor Wilkin’s squeezing caused me to begin to leak.
I felt his distaste for the liquid dribbling onto his hands, “Ah, still feeding your little one, how long before he’s weaned.”
“Just about to start,” I replied.
“Very good, in that case I should be able to do something for you quite soon then.”
He gestured me to sit in the chair and resumed his seat on the other side of the desk.
“This is quite a common situation, I imagine you were fairly small breasted before you had your child and you’ve got used to the feel and the look of being somewhat larger. I think about three hundred centimetre implants would let you retain your current figure. I assume you’re not planning to add to your family although that is not an insurmountable…” he prattled on.
“I’m sorry you’ve got this all wrong,” I interrupted.
He looked annoyed for a brief moment but regained his composure before asking, “In what way?”
I took a deep breath and responded quickly and quietly,“I don’t want a breast enlargement.”
Doctor Wilkins arched his eyebrows at my announcement, “I’m a little confused, so what are you here for then?”
I took another deep breath, “I need a bilateral mastectomy.”
The suave plastic surgeon almost fell off his chair on hearing this, “You want what?”
For the next five minutes I explained my personal situation. At first Doctor Wilkins refused to believe my story and constantly interrupted me with questions, eventually he seemed to grasp the reality of my life.
“Ms Jones, I have to say this is the strangest story I’ve ever heard. When you walked into my office the only thing I saw was an attractive woman. Now even after your explanation I still see an attractive woman.”
I felt strangely comforted by the doctor’s compliment, but the sting in the tale was his next comment.
“Since you are so convincingly female I’m not sure such a drastic change is something you really want. Under these circumstances I’m afraid that unless you have a psychiatric assessment which proves the medical need for such an operation it would seem to be an exercise in self mutilation which I’m not prepared to be part of.”
End of Vol. 3.02