Amiss.*
by
Angharad
*‘Something not functioning properly.’ (Guardian Quick Crossword 12.3.13).
“Someone give me a definition of amiss,” instructed Mr Burke, the English teacher to Form 3A.
The class remained silent except Mondale the class wit, “A unmarried woman.”
Burke shook his head trying not to smile, Mondale was pretty bright and this quip was funnier than most. “Good try, Mondale, but it’s wrong.” Mondale was going to argue but decided to save his brain for another funny later on.
Once the rest of them stopped laughing and settled down, Burke decided to change his tack. “Okay, it means not functioning properly. Now who can give me a sentence using amiss in that sense?”
Connors, the class scallywag and occasional bully entered the fray. “Pearce is amiss ‘cos he’s got tits, sir.” There was uproar and Burke had trouble re-establishing his control. It was a well known throughout the school that Pearce was a bit of a ‘girl’ and that he had gynaecomastia–he was excused PE because his boobs bounced whenever he exerted himself, causing the PE teacher to suggest he got himself a sports bra–in front of the rest of the class. Mrs Pearce complained and the teacher got reprimanded while the unfortunate boy was excused all forms of physical exercise.
Once again Pearce felt the victim of the larger boy and blushed and wriggled embarrassingly in his seat. There were times when he wished he were stronger and more aggressive and also times when he wished his little boobs hadn’t grown so large.
“Connors that was incorrect usage and very remiss of you. Now apologise to Pearce.”
“Sorry, Miss Pearce,” offered Connors and the class roared with laughter again.
“Connors, you’re in detention tonight and so is everyone else who finds this funny.” The class quietened very quickly. “Now apologise properly.”
“Sorry, sir.” Connors was walking on thin ice.
“Not to me, you fool, to Pearce.” Burke was becoming angry and Connors knew he’d crossed the line.
“Sorry, Pearce.”
“Is that okay, Pearce?” asked the teacher.
Pearce nodded trying to stop the fluid leaking from his eyes being noticeable to anyone else. He wished he were a hundred miles from here, away from the torment of being the boy with the biggest boobs in the school. It was ridiculous, most of the others with gyno-whatever were fat, he wasn’t. He was small, skinny except for his breasts and his rather fat arse. He kept asking his mother to take him to the doctor but she told him it would sort itself, that his dad had been the same when he was younger but grew out of it. His dad was dead, got cancer at age forty and died six months later. His mother had seen enough of doctors during her husband’s illness to last a lifetime–hence her reluctance to take her son to their GP.
Pearce had pressed her to do something, so in the end she got him two sports bras, one of which he was wearing. They didn’t seem to make them any smaller but they did stop them joggling about when he walked, but his chest and the tightly belted trousers tended to give him a very female shape, despite his efforts to wear the bulkiest, most shapeless clothes he could find under his school blazer.
He once watched a TV programme about female transsexuals who wanted to be boys and how they’d bind their breasts and so on. He knew how they felt, and yet he was a boy already, but one with breasts, wide hips and a bit lacking in the boy department, especially in cold weather when it practically shrank back into his body.
His sack, the scrotal skin hanging behind and below his small manhood, was small and empty. On his only sortie into the showers, he realised his was a bit different to all the other boys. They noticed and what with the other differences, he was lucky they only jeered at him. Before he ran naked from the shower and hid in the changing room in a kit locker wishing he were dead.
Over the next few weeks, the novelty died down a bit, but he was occasionally teased and tormented by his peers and sometimes his elders. One painful memory involved him being made to strip naked in front of half a dozen sixth formers who then forced him to jump up and down declaring that his tits bounced more than his willie. He couldn’t even tell his mother about that one and he did contemplate ending it all crossing the busy main road near the school.
The only nice thing that had happened was bumping into Sophie the girl across the road as he trudged home. She was walking the other way and noticed his painful progress and stopped and asked him if he was alright. He didn’t mean to, but he burst into tears and she took him into her house and calmed him down.
Fortunately her mother was out so they were able to spend a short time talking and because he was so embarrassed about it all he only mentioned it before he left. She’d seen him about the street so she already knew he bulged in the wrong places for a boy and left him with the thought, “Perhaps you’re really a girl?”
He rejected that–he didn’t want to be a girl, he was a boy. Okay, not the archetypal sort, he didn’t do boisterous or want to fight everyone, but he was still a boy–one who enjoyed books and music–but definitely not a girl, no matter what his body was trying to say to him.
He once asked his mum if she’d ever wanted a daughter rather than a son, “Why would I want anyone but you? You’re my son and I love you.” He went away feeling reassured to a point. She never encouraged him to be girlish in any way and although he’d rejected footballs and toy cars in favour of books and coloured pencils, he hadn’t asked for dolls. He was just a gentle boy–but with a girlish shape.
After his embarrassment in the class, as the boys were leaving, Mr Burke called him back. “Pearce, wait a moment.”
“Sir?”
“Are you still getting bullied by these morons?”
He shrugged, what could he say even a blind man should have noticed it?
“Look, if it gets too much come and see me–okay?”
He nodded.
“Off you go then, and don’t let them get to you–okay?”
He nodded and trudged off again.
On the way home that night he bumped into Sophie again. This time quite literally–she ran into him knocking him down into a puddle. She apologised and helped him up. Once again her mother was out–she went to an art class that afternoon–and Sophie insisted he came in with her so she could help to dry him off.
Somehow the water had splashed up under his anorak and he could feel it cold right up to the small of his back. His trousers were soaking and the cold wind seemed to be blowing through them like they weren’t there.
“C’mon, let’s get you dry,” she urged almost dragging him into her house and up to the bathroom. “Oh god, you’re soaked, and that water is so dirty.”
“I’ll be okay, I only live down the road.”
“But it’s my fault, I should look where I’m going.”
“No, it’s all right, honestly.”
“Take your clothes off, I’ll put them in the drier.”
“No it’s all right,” he protested but she overrode his protests and practically tore off his blazer and trousers. When she grabbed his pullover he blocked her hands.
“Look, I know you’ve got boobs–it’s okay, now just let me get this off.” In a single yank she had the thing over his head and just as it temporarily blinded him it seemed to have a similar effect on his resistance. His shirt was next and Sophie stopped dead when she saw his cleavage in the sports bra. “Wow, you have got boobs haven’t you. Have you ever tried a proper bra?”
“Of course not.”
“Would you like to?”
“Not really.”
She turned him round and told him his back was all dirty as was the back of his bra and his underpants were absolutely filthy with the dirty water. In two minutes he was naked and climbing into the shower while Sophie dumped all his clothes except his shoes into the washing machine.
Ten minutes later she was back while he wrapped himself in a towel like a girl, hiding his prominent chest.
She wanted to see them and he blushed like a light bulb. “Go on, if you show me yours I’ll show you mine,” she challenged.
He shook his head, “Promise?”
She nodded. The towel slipped a little to reveal a bit more of his breasts and she gently pulled it down. Her eyes opened wide, “Shit, they’re beautiful,” she gasped and reached out and touched them.
Now it was his turn to gasp as she gently poked and prodded them, finally rubbing the nipples between her fingers and thumbs. The feelings he got were like nothing he’d ever had before and suddenly this intense feeling of pleasure racked his whole body over and over again and he nearly fell down.
Instead of stopping, Sophie continued, seeing the effect she was having on the boy and even put her lips to his nipples which were now engorged and swollen to bigger than anything a boy should have.
As she stroked his right nipple with her tongue, her hand still twiddling his left one, he gave a short cry and shuddered, before sliding down onto the bathroom floor exhausted.
“Are you okay?” asked Sophie wondering if she’d hurt him in some way.
“Oh yeah,” he whispered, “that was amazing.”
“Did you come?” she asked him feeling a frisson of excitement.
“I dunno, but it was amazing.”
She looked at his now exposed boy bits, they weren’t even hard and nothing appeared to be leaking from the small penis.
“Three times, it happened and the third–wow–just blew me away.”
“You had a multiple orgasm?” asked Sophie.
“I dunno what it was, just beautiful.” He had this beatific smile on his face.
“But only girls can have...” she paused.
“Now it’s your turn,” he suggested and she reluctantly let him see her breasts which were almost the same as his own. She however declined to let him touch them realising her mother would be home and she had to get him dressed somehow.
Being of a similar size she found him suitable panties, one of her bras, a top and pair of jeans. He was astonished to find the jeans fitted better than his own. He slipped his shoes on over the borrowed socks.
His clothes were still damp when they packed them in the carrier bag, but he could dry them at home. He couldn’t believe how big his breasts looked in a proper bra and under a stretchy top.
“With a bit of makeup, you could be a girl, you know–can we try that next time?”
“Can I touch you then?” he asked her.
“We could touch each other, if you like?” she replied feeling something happening in her tummy.
“That would be nice,” he said smiling and nodding.
“I’ll give you call,” she announced taking his mobile number.
“That would be good.”
She bustled him out of her house and he fled home, glad of the darkness, making him more anonymous and he ran straight up to his bedroom before his mother could see him.
“You’re late,” she called up the stairs.
“I got detention.”
“But you never get detention,” she called back.
“But I might more often now,” he said to himself as he stripped off and redressed in his own stuff, the smile returning to his face as he recalled the wonderful feeling he’d had and for the first time was actually glad he had breasts–they might actually prove an asset in the future.
Amiss Again.
by
Angharad
For Sephy who asked me so nicely, I had to write a follow up.
Pearce couldn’t believe it when Sophie phoned him the next day, which was Saturday. He had nothing planned, when you have few or no friends, you don’t need to plan very much. “Mum’s going off for the day sketching, she’ll be gone in an hour—d’ya wanna come over?”
“Are we gonna do the same things we did yesterday?”
“We might,” she chuckled coquettishly.
“I’d love to—look, I haven’t had time to wash the things you loaned me.”
“That’s okay, why don’t you wear them over?”
“Um—are you sure?” He felt a frisson of excitement fizz through him.
“Why—don’t you like my things?”
He imagined she was pouting at him. “I love your things,” he said back trying to change the hint of disappointment he thought he detected in her voice.
“Prove it then.”
“Okay, I will.”
He’d not long had his breakfast and to shower after it was unusual but he felt he had to be clean if he was making out with Sophie, not that he had much idea what making out was all about, but it was an expression he’d heard that boys and girls did with each other.
“I’m going up to shower, Mum, then I’m going out.”
She looked at her son in disbelief, “Going out?”
“Yeah, I’m going to see my girlfriend.”
She felt a sudden need to sit down. “You’ve got a girlfriend?”
“Yeah—why?”
“You haven’t mentioned her before.”
“So, I have now and I need to shower.” Before his mother could say anything else he turned to leave the room but she spoke at him.
“If you’re going out, I might as well go shopping, will you be back for lunch?”
“I dunno, do I?”
“There’s ham in the fridge make yourself a sandwich.”
“Yeah okay, I might just grab some chips—see ya,” he ran up to the bathroom before she could say anything else. Once in the bathroom, he took a relaxing shower washing and conditioning his nearly shoulder length, dark blond hair. Washing his body, he pinched some of his mother’s Dove shower gel and luxuriated in the creamy soap as he washed round his breasts. He was aware that they were very sensitive and when he touched the nipples which were standing out like pencil erasers—his legs almost buckled under him as his whole body reacted. He stood still, gasping for air while the warm water washed over him.
After towelling himself dry, he borrowed some of his mother’s body lotion and smoothed it into his chest—it smelt a little feminine—but hey, he was about to wear a bra, so did it matter? He took a squirt of her deodorant which claimed to be ‘spring flowers’, spraying it under hairless armpits and over his body. He waited for it to dry and quit the bathroom, slipping into his own room as quickly and surreptitiously as he could. Noises from beneath him suggested his mum was downstairs, which was confirmed minutes later as she called goodbye and then he heard the front door shut and the car start up. He sighed with relief then pulled on Sophie’s bra and pants and the rest of her things. His shoes were still a little damp, so he shoved his feet into his new trainers. Combing his hair in front of the mirror he knew he looked girlish, especially with her bra emphasising his breasts and her jeans his hips and bottom, but for once he didn’t care and almost felt pleased his nipples were showing through his top—well, Sophie’s top.
He pulled on his coat and making sure he had his key and his mobile, he slammed the door and set off towards Sophie’s house at which he arrived exactly one hour after she’d phoned him. It was with an excitement he could hardly control that he pressed the bell and waited impatiently for her to answer the door.
“Hi,” she said smirking as she let him in.
“Hi,” he blushed as he spotted some cleavage above the skimpy top she wore over her shorts and tights.
“Gotta do something with your hair,” she said, “follow me.” Like a lamb to the slaughter he did.
For the next twenty minutes, after disposing of his coat, she played around with mousses and gels and sprays, then a brush and the hair-drier before she decided she was finished. She made him sit facing away from the mirror and he complied with everything she said.
“I don’t even know your first name,” she remarked rubbing something into his face and neck.
“Nicholas—um Nick,” he tried to make his squeaky voice sound deeper.
“Well, Nicola or do you prefer Nicki?”
He felt his face glowing under her hands as he blushed like a stop light. He mumbled that he didn’t care and for her to choose.
“Nicki, it is then. Close your eyes a mo.” He continued to blush, he didn’t mind being a girl to have her touch his tits, but calling him by a girl’s name was a bit embarrassing. She continued doing things to his eyes, then his cheeks and finally his lips.
“Da-da,” she said waving her arm in the air like a magician, he turned round to look in the mirror.
“Oh my God,” he said as he saw his delicate features transformed into undeniably feminine ones. He wasn’t sure how he felt except his nipples were rock hard and pushing hard against his bra.
Sophie stood alongside him, smirking at him in the mirror. “Wotcha think then?”
“I dunno,” he said almost frightened by what he saw.
“C’mon,” she said grabbing his wrist, “We need to get you some proper bras.”
“What? I can’t go out like this.”
“Why not? I do it every day.”
“Yeah, but you’re a girl.”
“Look, Nicki, so are you–think you need to listen to your body a bit more.”
“What d’ya mean?”
“No boy has a body like yours–it’s a girl’s body.”
“I’m a boy,” he protested blushing like a fire tender.
“Sure, that’s why your nipples are poking through your bra is it?”
“But I thought we were goin’ to, you know...”
“Nicki, we need to get you some bras–here you can borrow my spare bag–c’mon, there’ll be time to play later.”
“But what if someone sees me?”
“So, just don’t flirt or we’ll never get rid of him.”
“Him?”
“Here, wear this,” she passed him her old coat and he pulled it on, shoved his money and his phone in the bag and reluctantly followed her out of the house. While standing at the bus stop she teased him, asking him what he thought about boys who were walking past, one or two who were on the verge of speaking to them. Nicki nearly died of shame.
On the way to Marks & Spencer, she hustled him into a shop and ten minutes later he came out with little sterling silver ear studs in his newly pierced ears. “Why’d ya do that?”
“My present to you, okay?”
“Thank you, but why?”
“Everyone our age has pierced ears.”
“All the girls do,” he replied.
“Exactly,” she said decisively ending the conversation.
Getting measured for a bra was almost mortifying, especially as his nipples erected as the woman in M&S was measuring him. She took no notice, “Thirty B,” she announced as Nicki’s bra size.
“Same as me,” said Sophie, “thought you were.” She helped him choose three bras, all with slight padding and lace on them, one white, one black and one blue and white one. Then she helped him pick three pairs of matching panties.
In the shoes they tried on several pairs and he ended up buying a pair of girl’s loafers and a pair of girl’s jeans. They then chose two tops, one in pale blue with three quarter sleeves and the other had short sleeves and was blue and white horizontal stripes with a collar that opened into a vee neck.
They went into the disabled toilet in the supermarket and she made him change into his new clothes, putting her ones into the carrier bags. Coming out of the toilet, he felt reasonably comfortable apart from having spent most of his holiday money when he nearly died. Not ten yards away was his mother looking in a shop window.
He wanted to run away in the opposite direction but Sophie insisted she wouldn’t recognise him, and to prove it dragged him to look in the same shop window. His mother glanced at him then walked away clueless as to who he was.
“See, if she doesn’t recognise you–no one else will. I told you, you’re a girl, get used to it.”
“So you keep saying,” he wasn’t as convinced but it did seem the evidence was piling up about his impersonation as being convincing.
They caught the bus home and she painted his finger nails pink to match his lip gloss Then after a sandwich each, they went up to her room. “Hadn’t I better take all this off?”
“In a minute,” she said.
“But, if your mum comes home...”
“All she’ll see is two girls trying on clothes. I told her I had a friend coming round.”
“A boy friend?”
“You’re my girlfriend, okay?”
“Okay,” he shrugged, he almost understood what she was on about.
“And, Nicki...” she called and as he turned back to her she flung her arms around his neck and kissed him. The shock nearly paralysed him, but he’d have died happy. His nipples poked out longer than ever and she felt them rub against her. “Does my little girl like kisses?” she teased and he indicated he did.
In a little while they both got very hot and bothered playing with each other’s nipples and kissing. Nicki had another of her multiple orgasms and nearly passed out, squealing gently and almost forgetting to breathe, so intense was it.
“You must be a girl,” insisted Sophie, “boys can’t do it like that, and look, nothing’s happening in your panties.”
“Why? What’s supposed to happen?” Nicki asked her.
“If you were a boy, it would be this thing which got hard, not your nipples and it would be squirting stuff everywhere.”
“Ugh, how messy,” Nicki pulled a face and shook her pretty head.
“You need to see a doctor–I’ll bet you’ve got girl bits not boy ones.”
“My mum doesn’t like doctors–not since Dad died. They were always at the doctors or hospitals–then he, like, died.” Nicki felt tears fill her eyes.
“Hey, it’s okay to feel sad.” Sophie hugged her.
“I’m sorry,” she sniffed.
“Nicki, it’s okay, alright?”
Nicki nodded and blew her nose and both of them laughed breaking the tension.
“So get your mum to take you to the doctor.”
“I’ll see.”
“C’mon, get dressed.”
“Why, is your mum coming?”
“No–we’re going to see yours and make her see sense.”
“No way. She’ll kill me.”
“Don’t be silly, you’re her only daughter–course she won’t.”
“Can’t we do this another day?”
“Nicki, you’re going home wearing girl’s clothes and makeup–she’s not blind and she needs to know. C’mon.”
Some twenty minutes later, Nicki led her girlfriend into her house. “Is that you, Nick?” called her mother.
“Sort of,” she said back quietly and opened the door into the living room.
(This should keep me in Sephy’s good books for a week or two!)
Mrs Pearce looked up at the two young women who entered her living room. “Where’s Nick?” she tried to glance behind them assuming her son was bringing up the rear. “Nick, where are you?” she called and her daughter blushed.
“It’s me, Mum.”
Mrs Pearce looked at the girl who suddenly looked familiar, in part anyway.
“It’s me, Mum.”
Mrs Pearce looked shocked. Then regaining her poise just a little she asked, “Why are you looking like a girl?”
“Because she is one,” answered Sophie.
“I think I know a boy when I see one, especially as I gave birth to one–and that is a...oh dear.”
“Mrs Pearce, Nicki isn’t a boy, she might have dangly bits but they don’t work.”
Feeling a little taken aback by the assertive young woman who had to be behind this charade, she glared at Sophie and asked, “And how would you know they don’t work?”
Sophie rolled her eyes and said, “How d’you think?”
Slumped in her chair, Mrs Pearce gasped, “You’ve had sex with my Nick?”
“No, of course not, but we did have a little cuddle together and well one thing led to another and she has tits the same as I do, and well–how many boys do you know who have multiple orgasms yet their willies stay floppy?”
“What?” gasped Mrs Pearce, the processing of what Sophie had said was taking her a moment. Her eyeballs were almost out on stalks as she looked her daughter up and down looking for signs of her son, but there weren’t any.
Sophie had deliberately used the word tits instead of breasts to shock and it had certainly done that. Mrs Pearce didn’t know what to say or do, her mind was stuck in between programs. “Make your mum a cuppa, Nicki,” Sophie nudged her new friend.
“Tea, Mum?” asked Nicki heading towards the kitchen.
“Uh–yes, please.”
“Soph?”
“Yeah okay.”
Nicki went out and Sophie heard the tap running. “Have you seen her body lately?” she asked Mrs Pearce.
“No of course not, he’s thirteen.”
“She’s thirteen,” corrected Sophie, “and a thirty B in bra size. She’s a classic size 8.”
“I suppose you measured her,” said Mrs Pearce dismissively.
“No, they did it in M&S.”
“You took my son into M&S and let some strange woman examine him?”
“There was nothing strange about the sales lady, and she was trained to fit bras and so on.”
“She fitted my son with a bra?” Mrs Pearce was now glowing redder than the centre of a volcano and feeling just as explosive.
“Well you weren’t going to do it, were you?”
“I bought him some sports bras.”
“Like every mum does for her son, didn’t that tell you something?”
“It’s just a little gynaecomastia–the doctor said so.”
“So that would give her a small waist and bubble butt too, would it?”
“A bubble butt?”
“Nicki has a girl’s body–Nicki, come in here–take your clothes off.”
Mrs Pearce nearly died as her ‘son’ wearing makeup and girl’s clothes began to disrobe. “You can keep your bra and pants on,” instructed Sophie. With eyes absolutely wide with horror she saw that Sophie was correct. Before her stood a young woman in her underwear; her slim body curved in all the right places and her bottom and breasts filled the panties and bra perfectly.
Sophie felt vindicated though when she looked at Mrs Pearce, there were tears streaming down the woman’s face. “What would his dad have said?”
Sophie told Nicki to redress and finish the tea, then she went over to Mrs Pearce and squeezed her hand. “It must be a bit of a shock, I guess she’s been hiding it from you?”
Mrs Pearce simply nodded unable to speak.
“She’s been getting a lot of stick at school.”
“Has she?” Mrs Pearce asked absently, unaware that she’d changed the pronoun relating to her child.
“You haven’t lost your son, you know?”
“How d’you mean?” Mrs P looked bewildered.
“Nicki is still the same person, she was never a boy despite trying her best.”
“How d’you know?”
“I’ve seen her around for quite a while, at first it used to puzzle me why a boy should be acting more like a girl than a boy, the way she walked and so on. Then I wondered if she was a girl who was pretending to be a boy, but that didn’t work either. We spoke one day when she was in tears because she’d been bullied at school and it became obvious that he was really a she. We became friends and I tested my theory and it was obvious, so obvious no one seemed to see it. Then one day when she fell down in a puddle and I saw her body–I gave her some dry clothes and they fitted better than the boy ones and I knew, she had a serious problem, either hormonal or she has girl bits and was wrongly diagnosed as a boy.”
“Quite the detective, aren’t we?” said Mrs Pearce with just a hint of venom.
“Well, let’s face it, you weren’t going to do anything, were you?”
Nicki entered with tea and biscuits and the two women took a mug and a biscuit.
Nicki sat down and watched the contest, unsure of who she wanted to win. In the blue corner was her mum, and she loved her mum–we always do–even when they could have done a better job.
In the red corner was her new best friend and romantic interest–did that make her a lesbian? More importantly, was Sophie–she seemed to enjoy playing with Nicki’s tits, so maybe she was–or that way inclined, at least some of the time. Sophie seemed to have taken the initiative and was leading the conversation.
“I had enough of doctors and hospitals with Nicki’s dad, he was in and out for five years with cancer, and it got him in the end–but he gave it a bloody good run for its money. So, I’ve been reluctant to go near one since.”
“Nicki needs to go and have her problem sorted.”
“I can hardly take him dressed in girl’s stuff, can I?”
“But, boys clothes don’t fit her–you’re not listening. The only reason her trousers stay up because she has her belt pulled so tight they look ridiculous–they look like she’s wearing her big brother’s. And she needs to wear a bra–she can hardly go round with a chest like that being called Nicholas, can she?”
“No, alright–I’ll have to get him some new clothes.”
“It’s her, Mrs Pearce, you have a daughter not a son, doesn’t she, Nicki?”
“Um–I dunno, do I?” Nicki blushed as Sophie gave her a killer glare, “Yeah, I s’pose I’m a girl really.”
After they drank their teas, Mrs Pearce and the two girls went up to Nicki’s room and Sophie demonstrated what was wrong with the boy’s clothing–it was the wrong shape and too big everywhere except in the hips and bust, where it was too small.
Trying to seize back the initiative, Mrs Pearce announced they should go shopping for a few things for her ‘new’ daughter, although the word nearly stuck to her tongue. Sophie was in her element spending someone else’s money and they bought two pairs of black trousers which fit but didn’t scream girl. They bought a couple of blouses and some tights and socks.
Sophie talked her into buying some girl’s pyjamas and slippers and some camisole vests, finally, she convinced Mrs Pearce to pay for some makeup and a small handbag–and to take her daughter to the salon as soon as she could.
Back at the house, Mrs Pearce was still upset but was trying to deal with her shock, though she knew Nick wasn’t quite like other boys–she just turned a maternal blind eye to it–now it had returned and bitten her. It looked as if that little madam from down the road, was right–damn her–and she might well have a daughter not a son. She’d have to talk with Nicki later and see what she wanted to do about school–she could keep her home for a few days if necessary and see what the doctor suggested.
She’d get an appointment within a few days and hopefully he’d be able to advise her–she had no idea how common this was–presumably not very, or she’d see it in the Mail more often. The stories there were always about men claiming to be a woman in a male body or vice versa, not ones where the body started changing by itself.
No matter what the outcome, she’d do her best for her child. She wasn’t by any measure the best mother in the world, but she loved her child–after all, he, no she, was all she had now and they needed each other.
She wondered about trying to stop the friendship with Sophie, but she realised that Nicki would need all the friends she could get and especially those who could help her learn to be a girl, if it transpired that that was what she really was.
Mrs Pearce withdrew to her bedroom with a couple of aspirins and glass of water, leaving the two teens chattering away in her living room. Certainly, Nicki seemed far more engaged than he–sorry, she–usually was, so she left them to chat while she went for a lie down in the hope when she woke this would all prove to be a bad dream–some hope.
Amiss — Epilogue.
by
Angharad.
The very last in this series.
Nicki’s mum had to deal with her child sooner or later, and while Nicki was pleased to demonstrate her culinary skills–at least to the level of poached eggs on toast–to her new found love, her mother wasn’t particularly impressed. She ate her tea, albeit under sufferance and silently fumed while Sophie gave Nicki a lesson in makeup.
Mrs Pearce finally went back to her room to read her book and try to push all the day’s surprises out of her mind–except they would keep intruding. She remembered how the midwife had delivered her baby and had said, “It’s a lovely little gir–boy, goodness, I really thought it was a girl–but she has a dingle dangle–a very small one.”
She recalled her husband’s exasperation when trying to get their child interested in sport. “He has all the hand eye coordination of a left-handed slow worm. He can’t catch and he kicks a ball like a girl–he throws like one too.”
Her husband was wrong about the coordination though as she found out when she was making a patchwork quilt. Nick asked her what she was doing, so she showed him. He wanted to try so she let him on a couple of scraps of material. He wanted to have a go on the real thing and she told him he couldn’t until he could sew well enough. He went off as she thought in high dudgeon, but it wasn’t. For the next two weeks he practiced sewing in his room until he thought it looked neat and tidy with the stitches the same size. His mum was astonished and from then on let him help with the quilt–as long as his dad didn’t find out–he didn’t.
While in nursery, Nick drew pictures of flowers and trees or teddy bears, his male contemporaries drew pictures of cars or aircraft or warfare. She thought he was just a gentle boy–seemed she was wrong.
Then she was tied up, emotionally and mentally when her husband became sick and for the next several years she tried to keep everyone together, care for a youngster and husband who would eventually sicken and die over a period of three or four years. Nick was very good in that he helped with housework and laundry without so much as murmur. She once even thought he was every bit as good as a daughter. Prophetic or what?
Then when the problem with his gynaecomastia began and he started growing breasts–she couldn’t face more doctors and besides she read that loads of normal boys grow breasts and they usually get reabsorbed or if necessary can be removed surgically. Nick had told her he didn’t fancy that being something of a wimp when it came to pain so she hadn’t done anything except the one visit to the GP–they hadn’t been near his surgery for about three years–but that was about to change.
Downstairs, Nicki was having the time of her life–okay, they weren’t playing with each other’s boobs but she was getting better at her makeup and doing her own nails and Sophie was telling her what clothing went best with what from a catalogue her mum had down by the side of her chair.
Her initial reluctance to be seen as anything remotely girlish, had been demolished by Sophie and now they were having loads of fun. “Look at these shoes, Soph, how can they walk in them?” she asked her new best friend.
“Practice that’s all, you wait, in a year or two that’ll be you.”
Nicki laughed showing a set of immaculate teeth, small teeth for a boy–but not for a girl thought Sophie.
“What are you going to wear to the doctor’s?” she asked Nicki.
“Oh god, I haven’t even thought about that.”
“Well after a bra and panties, I mean.”
“Should I wear those then?”
“Of course–you’re a girl, remember?”
“I know, but it’s all so new.”
“Don’t worry, look if necessary I’ll help you, okay?”
“What, you’ll come with me?”
“I don’t think your mum would be very happy with that and I’ll be in school anyway–but do your makeup and nails and I’ll show you how to make your hair look nice until you can get it cut properly–do this every day you need the practice.”
“Oh okay, show me how to do my hair.”
So that’s what they did next accompanied by much laughing and giggling. For the first time in ages, Nicki actually felt happy and like something missing for so long had fallen into place. She looked at Sophie and beamed her a massive smile.
“What was that for?”
“I’m just so happy.”
“Good, girl time is always good.”
“Yeah, I think you’re right.”
The next day was Sunday and Nicki went round to Sophie’s and Sophie introduced Nicki to her mum, who made them a drink and left them to go up to Sophie’s room and play with makeup and doing each other’s hair.
They also played with something else that left each of them red faced and out of breath. By playing her music fairly loudly and wedging a chair in front of the door, they were able to titillate each other until they each called for mercy. Then they covered up their breasts and sat quietly until they cooled down a little.
Nicki was exhausted, Sophie having brought her to three earth shattering orgasms was too tired to do anything but sit and listen to the music and promptly fell asleep. She had to go at lunch time because Sophie had homework to do and her dad would be back from his golf game.
The afternoon was spent doing some quilting with her mum, who kept looking at her but averted her eyes if she stared back. Finally, she challenged her mum. “Why are you staring at me?” She knew the answer but she wanted her mum to talk about it.
A tear dropped down her mother’s face. “I’ve lost my son.”
“It’s still me, Mummy. I haven’t changed,” which she realised was something of an understatement compared to how she’d looked when she’d left home on Friday to go to school. Then she’d looked like an androgynous girl or an effeminate boy, now there was no ambiguity of what gender she was–it was all girl–from the alice band in her hair to the nail varnish which made her fingers seem more slender than usual.
“I’m still me, Mummy,” she declared hugging her mother who had given way to her sadness and was sobbing on her shoulder. “It’s still me, Nicki, and I still love you.”
“I know, sweetheart, but you look so different. I’m a silly woman, the signs were there but I chose to ignore them–I lost your dad, and couldn’t bear to lose my son as well. I’ve failed you, s..weetheart, trying to keep things the same when it’s obvious they’re not.”
“Mummy, if you don’t want me to be a girl–I won’t, I’ll stay as a boy.”
“How can you? I’ve watched you over the last two days and it would be obvious even to a stupid woman like me that you had found yourself. If you need to be a girl to be happy, then that’s what I’ll help you become.”
“Are you sure, Mummy?”
“Yes, daughter, I am certain.” With this they both began to cry as the emotion of the moment overcame them both. When they had calmed down they talked about how each of them felt and what they needed to do next.
“What d’you want me to wear to see the doctor?” Nicki asked her mum unsure of whether they should keep her burgeoning girldom under wraps until the doctor had been seen.
“That blue skirt and top and your new shoes.”
Nicki nearly fell over in shock. “Are you sure?”
“Yes, that’s your nicest outfit so wear that and I’ll do your hair for you.”
“Won’t that be a bit of shock for the doctor?”
“He’ll cope–we won’t give him the choice–if he doesn’t like it he can lump it, but I suspect he’ll be okay, just a bit surprised.”
The next morning, Mrs Pearce phoned the surgery and got an appointment in the afternoon with their usual doctor. She then phoned her salon and booked an appointment for Nicki to see her hairdresser. When she told her daughter, Nicki was astonished and a little scared. “Will you come with me?”
“Of course I will, but I want you to look your best for the doctor–hurry now, we only have twenty minutes to get there, Abigail got you in on a cancellation.”
Fifteen minutes later, Nicki walked into the salon in total terror and feeling quite sick.
“So this is Nicki, come along lass, let’s see what we can salvage from this unkempt mess,” she led them to her station and helped her on with the cape. Nicki clutched her bag in fingers which were hurting they were so tense under the cape.
“Relax, girl, I’m only washing your hair not hurting you.”
“Sorry–this is all a bit new to me.”
“So your mother said, and you’re off to see the doctor to get it all sorted then?”
“Yes, this afternoon. It probably sounds silly but we both tried to ignore the symptoms and it was my friend Sophie who pointed out the obvious.”
“When was that?”
“On Saturday.”
“What? You’ve only been a girl since Saturday?” Gasped Abigail.
“Not really, I’ve been one all my life but I only realised it on Saturday.”
“Wow–so what are you using to pad out your top? Socks?”
Nicki blushed, “Um–no–that’s all me.”
“You’ve got boobs?” Abigail had stopped washing her hair and was standing by the side of her.
“Um–yeah–have done for a few years now–but they’ve suddenly got bigger in the past few months.”
“And your mum said nothing about them?”
Nicki’s mum had agreed what sort of cut would suit her daughter and popped out to the shops, so she wasn’t privy to their conversation.
“She took me to the doctor some time ago, but I’ve been hiding them ever since–oh she did get me a sports bra for gym.”
Abigail was gobsmacked and shook her head then finished washing her client’s hair. Half an hour later, Nicki was sporting a short but elegant haircut which left no doubt about which gender she was. Her mum came back and hugged her–“You look so pretty.”
“Thanks, Mummy.”
They went out to lunch–just a light meal of jacket potato and salad–as neither felt very hungry. To distract her daughter from the upcoming appointment, Nicki’s mum took her shopping for a new bag and matching shoes. Just for fun Nicki tried on a pair of quite high heels and astonished herself in being able to walk in them, although they did pinch her toes a little. They weren’t too expensive, so she decided she’d come back and get them with Sophie, possibly at the weekend, when her mum would be elsewhere because she wasn’t terribly approving of such shoes.
In the end, she settled for a pair of ballet shoes in red with a matching satchel styled bag, although much smaller than a school satchel. By the time they’d bought this and some more earrings, it was time to go to the doctor’s and the tension began to mount.
Nicki’s mum had booked the appointment in her own name, not Nicki’s so as not to draw any attention to her child’s dilemma. They sat in the waiting room and tried not to show how nervous they each were. What seemed like hours later, they were called and holding hands they tapped on the doctor’s door and he bid them enter.
“Mrs Pearce, how nice to see you again, young lady: how can I help you?” said Dr Small, something of a misnomer as he was over six feet tall and broad with it.
“It’s not me, doctor, it’s Nicki who needs to see you.”
The doctor looked a little surprised but when Mrs Pearce explained he understood the deception and then the problem.
“So, it looks like you’ve been wrongly assigned at birth–it does happen,” he concluded after examining Nicki and seeing that except for a small ‘penis’ the child had a very feminine shaped body, and the penis was small and non erectile, really just an extended urethra. How had nobody noticed when she was a baby that there was something wrong? But it seemed they hadn’t.
He took several blood samples and a swab from the inside of her mouth. He also suggested she stay off school for a week or two until they knew exactly what her situation was, but he was pretty sure it was either AIS or some chromosomal problem which would show the child would be either shown as female or would be better living as such.
He also arranged for an urgent appointment with an endocrinologist and child psychiatrist to help deal with any emotional problems that could arise, although the child looked pretty happy to his eyes once she’d overcome her initial shyness.
They shook hands when he finished and thanked him. “Well, whatever happens with the specimens, I think you’re doing the right thing, Nicki. I’ve changed over your name on the computer to Nicola and your gender to female, so you won’t have to feel embarrassed to see me again. Good luck, come and see me in a couple of weeks and we should have the results and hopefully you’ll either have seen the others or be close to doing so.”
“Thank you for being so helpful and not...” Nicki blushed.
“I’m surprised that the lovely young woman before me presented as a boy the last time I saw her, but from what I can see, the boy was the mistake, not the young woman. I’m sorry we didn’t spot it earlier but hopefully we can try and put things right now.
“I don’t have a problem with gender things as we’re beginning to understand they’re much more biologically based than we once thought. I’ve seen a couple of people who were happier after changing over, and I was glad to help. So rest assured on that score, I won’t have any problems dealing with you, any more than I do with any other lovely young woman. So off you go and enjoy yourself, you’ve had a bit of a late start, so you’ve got some making up to do.”
Nicki waited until they’d got back to the car park before she hugged her mum. “Thanks, Mummy.”
“Nicki, you don’t have to thank me for caring for you–it’s what mums do.”
“I’m not, Mummy, I’m thanking you for being you and helping me to be me.”
“Okay, girl, let’s go home and have a nice cuppa–I think we’ve earned one–and I love what Abi did with your hair–you look really pretty.”