AUTHORS NOTE: Like many of my stories, this is a light-hearted romp which I hope you will enjoy. But it does contain adult themes such as crossdressing. So if reading such material is either illegal or not to your taste, then please do not do it - or at least, don't moan about it afterwards. Otherwise, sit back and ENJOY.

"Girls, I don't have to tell you that yesterday was the last day of exams," announced headmistress, Miss Harper, to the assembly of SIGHS (Seacombe Independent Girls High School), and the girls roared approval, exchanging high fives with their mates.

"And," she continued, waiting for the assembly to quieten down, which it rapidly did, "we have two and a half weeks left to the end of term. We're not going to idle away that time, are we?"

"No, Miss Harper," the girls over-enthusiastically responded, suggesting that was exactly what they had in mind.

"So we have several new items on the curricular." A groan from the girls. "Miss Walker will be again running her very popular Beauty and Make-Up sessions." A flicker of interest from the girls. "Miss Jones will run a Dress to Impress course. She told me it was about impressing interview panels, but I secretly suspect that it's just as much about impressing those young men from SPS."

The girls "Wooed".

SPS (pronounced Spus) stands for Seacombe Public School. For the information of those who don't live in the UK, the term Public School means that it's not a school for the public. Public Schools are actually very expensive private schools with histories dating back hundreds of years. Until recently, almost all were boys' schools; in the last few years, many (but not SPS) have turned co-ed.

"Miss White," Miss Harper continued, "who produces computer games in her spare time under the title WhiteWitch Games, will be running a course continuing right through the holidays on Writing Games Software." As Miss Harper expected, that did not draw any response from the girls.

"Now girls," she continued, "as you all know on Saturday in two weeks time we have our annual friendly hockey match with the SS." (Sorry about all the acronyms but you've probably guessed that she was referring not to the Nazi Schutzstaffel, but to Seacombe School. However, since SS was the local co-ed, state, comprehensive school, many at SIGHS considered the two were synonymous.)

"Mrs West tells me that we only have eight girls down to play," she continued. "Now I know that a number of girls were injured in last year's so-called friendly, and I have spoken about this with the headmaster, Mr Bates," (Head Master Bates, the kids there called him, but not normally to his face), "and he assures me this will not be repeated this year.

"It has also been pointed out to me several times that, given the academic capabilities of many of the girls at SS, they have to retake their exams so many times that all the hockey team are not just adults, they are several years older than our girls." She paused. "I'm afraid I've rechecked the terms of our friendly matches and there is nothing to prevent that so I'm afraid we're just going to have to live with it. I've always made it quite clear that at SIGHS we live by the rules, rather than spending our time moaning about them. Obviously, there's no compulsion on anyone to play, but I shall be very displeased if we have to pull out.

"Now. Let's move onto Junior School activities..."

"Good day, Fiona. How did your law exams go?"

Fiona Jolly had knocked on Miss Harper's door during the lunch break. She was hoping to get to Cambridge to study law, and had taken some additional law exams.

"They were tough," Fiona said, "but I think I did all right. It's difficult to know afterwards."

Miss Harper smile. "It is indeed. You've done your best; it's better now to put it completely out of your mind until the results. Now, what did you want to see me about?"

"It's about the hockey match, miss, with the SS."

Miss Harper stared at her, suddenly alert. "You are still intending to play, aren't you, Fiona? You are captain, and you need to show leadership to the other girls. They do play it at Cambridge, you know."

"Oh yes, I'm still playing, Miss Harper, and I'm trying to get a full team together, with at least one substitute, as well. I was reading the terms of our friendlies with SS and I think I can see an opportunity."

"Excellent! You're putting your legal mind to work. Well?"

"It says in the agreement that SS have to field a girls-only team to play against SIGHS. But it doesn't actually say that SIGHS also has to field a girls-only team."

"Because we are a girls-only school. Neither of us are allowed to bring in players who are not pupils at our respective schools."

"Precisely." Fiona looked very pleased with herself, which in turn pleased Miss Harper thinking that Fiona really did have the makings of a good legal brain.

"But," Fiona continued, "our school constitution does allow male pupils onto extra-curricular activities, does it not?"

"Ah-ha," Miss Harper nodded in satisfaction. "No doubt you are not thinking of Beauty and Make-Up or Dressing to Impress."

"No, Miss Harper."

"And I believe you're younger brother is rather a fine hockey player at SPS."

"As are several of his friends."

"Hmm," Miss Harper again nodded. "Legally, of course you are absolutely right, but it's not really in the spirit of the game, is it? Fair play is as important to SIGHS as the rules."

"I completely agree," Fiona said. "But since all the SS team are adults, I thought it was only fair to pit them against a mixed team of children."

Miss Harper grinned. "You're right, Fiona. That is only being fair. Of course, SS would claim foul play, but since it's within the rules, we'd get away with it this year. I'm not certain we'll continue it next year anyway - I only agreed this year's match because Mr Bates begged me the opportunity to show his girls could play fairly. I hope they're turned out a lot better this time; they looked so scruffy last year in their... Oh, Fishhooks!"

"No doubt you have seen the potential difficulty," Fiona said. "The agreement stipulates the teams shall play in the uniform of the school they're representing. However, I suggest there are ways around that."

"I'm not going to ask the Governors to authorise a boys' gym uniform. They have steadfastly refused any change in uniform for fifty years."

Fiona's white blouse with school tie, black, pleated skirt, and black Mary Jane shoes were testament to that. The athletic kit was even worse, with white tee shirt and gymslip, for heaven's sake. Miss Harper was convinced that several of the Board of Governors had a fetish about gymslips - too much St Trinians when they were teenagers, she suspected.

"I thought that route would be too complicated and time consuming," Fiona said, interrupting Miss Harper's train of thoughts.

"Well, what then?" Miss Harper asked.

"Miss Harper, will you accept the principle that the extra-curricular courses are open to pupils outside the school, which includes boys as well as girls?"

"Yes, but..."

"Miss Harper, might I suggest there are some things it's better for a headmistress not to know?"

Miss Harper paused, taken aback. Fiona really was coming on well, she thought. "Can I have your assurance that you are intending to abide by the school constitution and the terms of the friendly?"

"Absolutely, Miss Harper."

Fiona went away from the meeting delighted. She had handled that well. But the next bit was going to be much more tricky. Her younger brother, Nick, would be meeting up with his hockey-playing chums that evening in the cyber-cafe. He was always telling her that the other guys would love her to come along.

"You sneaky cow!" As usual, Nick's praise was backhanded.

She smiled back at him. Cow she could put up with, and sneaky was a fine attribute for someone aspiring to the legal profession.

"Don't say it too loudly," she quietly admonished. There were no other customers in the cafe, but the waitress, who was in the kitchen at the moment, would almost certainly have been to SS, and probably still had mates there. "The point is there's nothing in the rules to prevent SIGHS from fielding a mixed team."

"Whereas the SS have to field an all-female team," whispered Nick's mate, Sam, who also played hockey for SPS. She quite fancied Sam.

"So are you guys up for it?" she asked.

"You mean," Sam quietly paraphrased, "do we want to play a game of hockey and knock the shit out of those slags from the SS, the very same ones who slaughtered our girls from SIGHS last year?" There was always a close relationship between the two independent schools, with SS regarded as the enemy.

"Have you seen them?" asked Steve, another of Nick's friends, holding out his hands as though cupping huge breasts. "I'd be happy to play any game with those tarts."

There was general agreement from them all.

"There's only one thing," Fiona added. "You have to attend an extra-curricular course in order to qualify as a pupil. I'm afraid the only one suitable sounds pretty boring - Writing Games Software by Miss White, who runs WhiteWitch Games."

There was a deadly hush for a moment, then a buzz of excitement.

"Miss White runs WhiteWitch Games?" repeated Dan, the fourth member of the group, his mouth agog.

"Yes," Fiona said. "Do you know it?"

"Know it?" Steve incredulously said. "They only make the best RPG in the world."

"Oh that's nice," Fiona said. "I haven't heard of it before."

"You're always complaining about the noise coming from my room," Nick said. "I can tell you you've heard plenty from WhiteWitch Games."

"So does that mean you wouldn't mind too much if I put you on the course? Only I'm not certain there are enough places for you all."

"I'm your brother. You have to put me on," Nick said.

"Why don't you and I go out for a meal tomorrow evening and discuss it?" Sam said.

There was a clamour from Steve and Dan that they, too, needed to go on the course and would do anything to win favour, and Fiona was happy she had them exactly where she wanted. Yes, she thought to herself, she certainly was a sneaky cow.

"The good news," Fiona said to them on Monday evening, "is that only one girl from SIGHS has put her name down for the course, so I've enrolled you all onto it. We can all play hockey against the SS."

"Brilliant!" "Fantastic!" "Super!" "So what's the bad news?"

Trust Nick to know me too well, she thought, but instead said, "The bad news would be a lot worse if I hadn't spotted the problem in time. I realised they posted up the team list in each school a week before the match - this coming Friday. They'd have realised you were all guys and immediately put a spoke in it."

"But we'd still have been on the course."

"But the entire object of the exercise is to make certain we win the hockey match."

"Sure. Sure," they were all saying, apart from Nick, who said, "So how did you get around the problem?"

"I had to change some of the first names on the list I gave Mrs White." She looked down at her list and read them out. "I changed Dan to Danny, Steve turned into Stevie, Nick became Nicky, and Sam stayed the same."

"But she'll think we're all birds!" Nick moaned.

"Maybe, but it's not as though any of those names couldn't belong to a guy. They're all nicknames, after all."

They agreed they were all nicknames.

"Hi guys," Fiona said, in the café the following evening . "Miss White has arranged the time of the course to suit you - five-thirty pm, on Mondays, Wednesdays and Fridays - with the first one tomorrow afternoon. She also says that when the school holidays start, she'll let you work longer hours if you want - she's thinking of getting you to help design her next game, as a project to work on."

"Fantastic, Fiona," Sam said, and the others all added similar comments, except for Nick.

"But?" he said, and then added, "There's always a but with you."

Fiona shrugged. "It seems that Miss White gave the list of names to the office and when they entered them into their database, they input what they assumed were your given names, rather than the nicknames I wrote down."

"Oh shit!" "Bollocks!" "Piss!" etc, etc.

"So Miss White is expecting Danielle, Stephanie, Nicola, and Samantha to arrive tomorrow afternoon," Fiona said.

"Well you can simply tell them," Nick said, "to change them back to our correct names."

"But then SS would realise that we're playing a mixed team," Fiona said. "Sorry guys, but that's just not on."

"But that means we can't go on the course." Nick said. He was almost crying with frustration.

"Of course you can all go on the course," Fiona said. "Miss White doesn't know you, and she's got terrible eyesight anyway. Your hair is all fairly unisex; you'll all wear jeans, tee shirt and track shoes - the same as most girls from SS."

"But we don't have tits," Steve said.

Fiona looked at him. "To be honest, neither do most of the girls Miss White teaches, but it would be easy for us to rectify that."

"You mean wear a bra?" Nick said, with disgust in his voice.

"It's up to you," Fiona said. "Look everybody; I'll buy cheap bras for everyone. Nick and I live right behind SIGHS, so why don't we all meet at our house directly after school tomorrow? I'll see what I can do about your hair, and you can try on the bras and see what difference they make. If someone feels they look better without one, they're welcome to leave it off. And of course, if you really want to chicken out from playing the part of a girl, you needn't go to the class at all. But if you do go, you're committing to play the hockey match, OK? That's the condition."

She knew they would all turn up. As soon as Miss Harper mentioned WhiteWitch Games, she'd realised it was bait that none of them would refuse - it was simply a matter of using the right hook, a fine line and reeling it in, little by little.

She'd ordered the bras on the internet the day she met Miss Harper, and she'd deliberately gone into the school office to make certain they had the "correct" given names for the "girls". It was all working perfectly. She even got Jessica Davis around, the one girl who had enrolled for Miss White's course who fortunately was also a hockey player, and she'd let in on the secret. Jessica was doing the Beauty and Make-Up course, and she knew quite a lot about doing hair, which Fiona thought could be useful. She also had a valuable connection, which would be even more useful.

It was all a bit hectic , especially brushing out their hair properly, and she'd never have managed without Jessica, but in the end, the "girls" all went off to Miss White's lesson in the IT lab, wearing their bras under their tee shirts, and all looked passably female. Afterwards, they all came back to the house talking energetically about the course, and the plans Miss White had for them.

It was at least ten minutes before she was able to put the question. "Was there any issue raised about your sex?"

There was a brief pause as they all looked around, wondering what to say, and then Sam said, "No, there was no problem at all. It was a bit strange wearing a bra at first, but then I forgot I was wearing it. After all, it's hardly as though you gave us very big tits, is it?"

Fiona smiled. That was exactly the answer she had expected. They all had A-cups, with cotton wool filling - just large enough to make slight bulges under their tee shirts.

"That's great then. Could you all take off your bras and leave them here, and I'll wash them. We can meet up same time, same place on Friday if that's alright?"

Sam had summed up the position of all the boys about going to the class en femme. They had all been pretty embarrassed to start with, but Fiona and Nick's house was virtually next door to the rear entrance to the school. After Fiona had checked there was no one in the street, they had slipped out of the house feeling incredibly self conscious, walked quickly to the school gate and through.

At that time in the late afternoon, it was deserted at the rear of the school. The IT lab was only a few yards walk from the gate and within seconds they were in the confines of the building.

"Ah Jessica. I see you've already met the new girls."

The boys had turned as one to look with awe up the stairs at the White Witch of the games legend - the woman more admired by teenage boys than Lara Croft. She was a rather elderly, thin woman, dressed in a shapeless dress, grey hair cropped in a definite man's style (but then, who were they to judge), and a twinkle in her eye that caught their attention.

"Come in, come in." She ushered them into the computer suite. "Fiona tells me you were really excited about coming on my course."

"That's right, Miss White," Sam said in as soft a voice as he could manage. "We've all played your games and found them so exciting."

"I'm really pleased when I hear that girls enjoy them," she said. "Mostly it seems to be boys. I put in lots of shoot-em-ups to keep them happy, but plenty of more thoughtful things as well. Now, before we start, I want to go round you all and you can give me your names, and tell me which part of the game you most enjoy.

"So..." she pointed at Dan, "what's your name?"

After their initial fear about being found out, they realised she was a fascinating teacher, who got through to them as few other teachers had. The lesson went so quickly, and then they were out the door and counting down the hours until Friday afternoon when they could continue.

Friday's lesson was even more interesting, as Miss White started telling them about the way she had set out to design her latest game, and how she had planned each section.

Once again, the lesson finished all too rapidly, and before they knew it, they were walking down the corridor towards the building exit.

"Oh look," Steve said, "there's the notice about the hockey match next Saturday."

They all gathered around it. "Oh hell!" Dan said, starting to read, "They've used our full names. We're going to have to play the game as girls!"

All their names were there, interspersed amongst the girls from SIGHS, but each of them had an asterisk against their name:

They eagerly skipped to the bottom to see what the asterisk indicated: "*Girls on extra-curricular courses who do not possess SIGHS gym uniform can loan it free of charge from Mrs West. Please make contact with her to give her your size."

"Holy shit!" It was only Dan who spoke that time - the others were in total shock.

"Alright girls?" It was Miss White, who had followed them out of the IT suite. She came up and stood next to them, reading the same notice. "I say, you're all playing for SIGHS," she said. "That's wonderful. You're all from SS, aren't you? I imagined you'd be playing for them."

Nick opened his mouth to say that actually they were from SPS, and then remembered that was for boys only, so he closed it again.

"That's right, Miss White," Steve said. "We're all from SS."

"Well they must be quite cross with you, for playing against them. I hope you'll be alright. They almost killed some of our girls last year." She gave them a pleasant smile as she walked off.

"Getting killed on the hockey field seems easy compared to going to see Mrs West to get measured for SIGHS uniform," Dan said.

"It's a gymslip," Sam said, but he was only stating the obvious. There wasn't one of them who hadn't watched the girls on the hockey field, and then gone home and wanked over the memory.

"Shall we all go and kill Fiona?" Nick said.

"But I told you on Tuesday the names that had been entered into the database," Fiona said. "You all chose to turn up on Wednesday. Did you imagine they would have one set of names in the database for Miss White's course and another set of names for the hockey list? Even I know that's crap, and you guys are pretending you know something about computing."

"But why can't we simply turn up in our SPS kit?" Nick said.

"Isn't it obvious?" Fiona exasperatedly asked. (At least, she pretended to be exasperated - this was exactly what she'd been expecting.) "Your real names aren't on the list of players so you can't play as boys."

"You could pretend there'd been a tummy bug and many of the original girls had been taken ill," Steve said. "We could be pulled in as substitutes."

"But you're not pupils of the school," Fiona said. "You wouldn't be acceptable.

"I'm sorry," she continued, "but I told you on Tuesday that it was a condition of going on the course that you had to play hockey as girls." That wasn't quite how she'd phrased it, but it was close enough.

"OK," Sam said, "perhaps we were a bit stupid. The question is what are we going to do now?"

"You simply have to pluck up courage and go ahead."

"It won't work," Nick said. "The cotton wool would come out and our bras would shift in the general melee. We'd all be outed."

"Added to that," Dan added, "we could get kneed in the goolies by the tarts from SS. Girls might find that a bit of a pain - for blokes it would be excruciating."

"So at last you guys are talking sense," Fiona said, taking them all by surprise. "Those are practical problems and we need a practical solution. Fortunately, I had already predicted this and I have the solution in hand. Jessica Davis's mother works at a place in town which has the answer to your problems."

She looked around and was delighted to see they were all intrigued. "They produce a one piece garment called a Torsolet, which is used to give males the shape of a female. But it looks and behaves like your own body, and it will protect your goolies from attack. Janet has arranged for her mother to "borrow" some from the shop."

"Are you sure it will work?" Steve asked.

"We have a chance to trial it," Fiona said. "I've already given Mrs West your measurements, and she's supplied me with your kit. She also suggested our team has a practice session tomorrow afternoon at two. Our parents are out shopping all-day so come round here for twelve. Bring sandwiches and you can change into your Torsolets and your kit, and then nip through the back gate to the sports field." She looked around again. "Any problems?"

They all looked at each other, but no one said anything.

"Coming ," Fiona shouted, "ready or not," and she secretly rather hoped it was a not, in Sam's case, at least.

But when she and Jessica stepped back inside Fiona's lounge after leaving the boys to change, they might well have walked into her school changing room. For there were four naked girls prancing about before them.

"Just look at these," Nick shouted, shaking his body from side to side and watching his boobs following.

"I've got TITS!" Dan said, viciously kneading them.

"I've got a pussy," Steve said, running his fingers along his slit.

"THAT WILL DO!" Fiona bellowed, bringing immediate silence to the room. "The object of this exercise is not to spend all afternoon playing with yourselves. You were supposed to be not only putting on your Torsolets, but also getting dressed."

But privately, she had to admit the Torsolets had totally converted four boys into four girls. Even Jessica looked impressed - Fiona guessed it was the first time she had seen the things in action. The Torsolet itself was a flesh-coloured, leotard-like garment, with a high neck which finished right under the jaw line, and a crutch which, when fastened, safely concealed the boys bits and displayed what looked incredibly like a girl's vagina.

Fiona had inspected the things when Jessica had brought them around that morning, and been sceptical they would achieve very much. The breasts could be adjusted in size by inflating them with water, and she and Jessica had spent a long time filling them with a measured quantity to give them A-cup tits. The buttocks and hips were padded, and the boys now had lovely rounded bums and hips wide enough to clearly state: Female.

"Come on, you lot," Fiona shouted again, as the boys - make that, girls - showed every inclination to start playing with themselves again. "Put on your frilly panties and bras."

Fortunately, the Governors had never specified the underwear that went with the gymslips, so most girls went for the kind of frilly panties worn by tennis players. The boys were used to the bras, by now, and the tee shirts were obviously no problem, but they all looked a little flummoxed when it came to putting on the gymslips.

"The shoulder straps are Velcroed to the rear bodice," Fiona advised, "Once you've undone that, you can either slip it over your head, or step into it. Stepping into it may work better for those with wider shoulders.

"Get used to putting it on by yourselves now," she added, as one or two went to lend a friendly hand, "as you may have to do it on your own at some time."

They all twisted and turned, and eventually they all managed dress themselves.

"Brilliant," she said when they were all done, and she meant it. "Socks and shoes, before we do a final inspection."

They had their own hockey shoes so they'd be no problem, but the thigh length socks that most girls wore caused some ribald comments.

"Let's get out there now," Fiona said, five minutes later.

"We're a bit early," Nick said, and she could see the others squirm at the sudden thought of going out in public dressed like that.

"Face up to your fear," she said, "and it will go away. The sooner we get out there, the sooner you can get used to playing in your kit. By the time Mrs West arrives, I want you to have forgotten you're wearing something different to normal. So let's GO."

Jessica led the way out of the room, and they all obediently followed her out of the front door and towards the school.

"Well I didn't realise that wearing gymslips would sap your strength like that," Fiona said two hours later as they returned to her house. "You boys were pathetic. We girls ran rings around you." They had too; the other six girls from the SIGHS team had turned up and the girls had totally outperformed the boys.

"It was the heat, Fiona," Sam moaned. "As soon as we started to run, we began to burn up. We're drenched with sweat beneath these Torsolets, but there was nowhere for it to go."

The boys were rapidly tearing off their clothes. It was noticeable that all the arms of their tee shirts were sodden with sweat, as were their socks, whilst the rest of their clothes were dry.

"We've promised we'll go through with the game next week," Sam continued, "but wearing these Torsolets, there's no way we're going to outperform the SS."

They were all naked girls now, and most were feverishly trying to unclip the gusset, to allow them to pull the Torsolets over their heads.

"OK," Fiona said. "Jessica, could you ask your mother whether there's a way around this problem? In the meantime, can you all remove your Torsolets and your uniforms and leave them in the basket in the corner. I'll make certain they're all clean and ready for you next Saturday. Can you please be down here by nine - and Nick, I really don't want to see your genitals, if you don't mind."

"I'm afraid the only solution," Jessica told Fiona on Monday , "is to use a red gel in place of the green anti-perspirant gel they were using on Saturday. The basic problem is that with their level of exertion, the green gel wasn't powerful enough and they were still sweating. The sweat builds into a thin film of water which creates an insulating layer between skin and Torsolet, in exactly the same way as in a wet suit, and they simply get hotter and hotter, and sweat more and more.

"The red gel bonds the Torsolet to the skin," she continued, "sealing off the sweat glands, so there's no build up of water between the two, and it will conduct heat away from the skin very quickly."

"That's great," Fiona said. "Can you get some of that for us by Saturday?"

Jessica shook her head. "No, you don't understand. The red gel bonds the Torsolet to the skin and it will stayed bonded until the outer layer of skin is shed, typically in about two weeks' time. Use the red gel and they'll all be stuck in their Torsolets for two weeks."

"Hmm," Fiona mused, and then she came to a decision. "The honour of our school is at stake, Jessica. Get a large pot of the red gel."

"But will the boys agree..."

"They're not going to object," Fiona declared, "because I'm not going to tell them about it until afterwards."

"But..."

"Jessica, I'm determined we're going to win this match for the sake of SIGHS. Get the gel." She somehow forgot to mention to Jessica that her plans to become a Cambridge Hockey Blue could be ruined by failing to win a friendly match against a crappy comprehensive school, who'd sent only one student to Oxbridge in the last five years!

"Good morning girls," Mrs West said. "Good to see you're all bright and early." She smiled at the twelve girls in gymslips who were hanging around the changing room. Any sign of SS yet?"

"No, miss," Fiona replied.

"It's nine-forty-five. They should have been here ages ago. And there are hardly any parents on the field. The match wasn't cancelled whilst I've been away was it, with no one telling you and me?"

"That's the strange thing, miss," Fiona replied. "Someone went around the school on Friday morning putting up Cancelled stickers on the notices. I checked with Miss Harper, and she checked with Mr Bates and the match is definitely on. Someone must have been playing a joke, but that explains why there are few parents here."

"You girls are from SS," Mrs West accusingly turned onto the boys. "Is this your doing?"

"Miss, the girls weren't here between Wednesday evening and Friday evening," Fiona said. "It couldn't have been them."

"Very strange. Well, I'd better ring SS and see what's happening."

Fiona hadn't told the boys about her intention to stick the Cancelled signs over the notices, as she hadn't wanted them to look guilty when challenged, as they surely would be. But the signs had the desired effect - there were hardly any parents on the touchline who might recognise the boys dressed as girls and create mayhem.

Mrs West came back five minutes later. "I've spoken to Miss Sidebottom, the Games Mistress at SS," she said, "and she tells me hardly any of her girls have turned up, and the ones that have are not in top condition. Reading between the lines, I suspect those girls were on a bender last night and have hangovers this morning. Obviously, we mustn't be pleased about our opponent's ill fortune, but it won't do us any harm, if the match does take place and the sooner, the better."

She gave a conspiratorial smile. "I've therefore suggested it would speed things up if we get in the minibus and go over there. We wouldn't want them to recover too fully before the match starts. I'd better go and tell the parents outside what's happening." Mrs West disappeared through the door leading to the sports field.

"What are we going to do?" Sam whispered to Fiona, aware of the six other girls who were not in on the secret.

"It's alright," Fiona spoke loud and clearly, so everyone could hear. "We all know you're from SS and not too keen to meet up with others from the school. I'll have a word with Mrs West about it, and make certain we can keep you segregated." She went off to catch up with Mrs West.

"It's a bit of luck about the SS getting sloshed," said Alison, one of the other girls. "They might feel too poorly to kill us."

That conversation rapidly led to a busy chatter amongst the seven girls about exactly what would happen to them, whilst the four boys kept quiet with their nerves. Their instincts told them it was time to get out, but the fear that it might make matters worse and lead to exposure kept them in their seats.

When they got to SS, the pseudo girls actually got on with the opposition far better than did the SIGHS girls. They swore far worse than the boys at SPS, but the boys saw that as something to respect, rather than despise. And Steve had been absolutely right; all the SS girls seemed to have huge breasts and as girls, they could stare without risk of being called dirty little perverts.

SS only just managed to field eleven players; Mrs West had been right, they had been out on the town the evening before. Apparently, they had all started out with good intentions (as one often does), but some "little tart with enormous tits" (the boys tried to visualise the size of breasts which even the SS girls called enormous) had been trying to steal their boyfriends away, and somehow it had turned into a drinking contest.

Fiona smiled as she heard them relaying the tale. Suffice to say, she had been surprised at how large the breasts of the Torsolet could be expanded whilst still looking extremely lifelike, and her performance last night would do no harm at all to her admission into the Cambridge Footlights.

The important final score was 5 - 1: five SS girls were sent off for serious fouls, hurting their opponents, and one SIGHS girl went off injured. Fortunately, all the boys recovered remarkably quickly from their injuries which, only seconds before, had them writhing in agony on the ground. After that, it was relatively easy for the four boys and seven girls to virtually walkover the six remaining SS players and achieve a final goal score of 0 - 10.

"Well done, team," Mrs West told them as they walked off. "You all played incredibly well. It's a pity we lost Michelle, but I've checked her out and she's fine now." She hesitated for a second before saying, "Fiona, could I talk with you, please? Perhaps you can stay out here, whilst the other girls go in and shower."

"Miss, I don't think we all need a shower," Fiona promptly said.

Mrs West stared at the muddy and dishevelled girls standing in front of her. Jessica and Fiona both looked worried, whilst several of the others looked almost excited. How strange! "Don't need a shower! What on earth are you talking about Fiona? Don't be ridiculous!"

"But miss..."

"I've told you, everyone has to have a shower." She turned as the last of the SS hockey team walked by with Miss Sidebottom. "Well played SS," she encouraged, and the SIGHS girls obediently applauded, whilst the SS team looked sullen, and did not return the cheer.

"Miss Sidebottom," Mrs West continued, "Could you make certain, please, that all of my girls get into the shower. I'm going to have a word now with Fiona, but she'll be along in a minute."

Miss Sidebottom smirked. "Certainly, Mrs West," and she added, in a last minute attempt to regain esteem, "I have no problems with my girls not showering."

"Right you lot," she bellowed, "come this way."

The SIGHS girls obediently followed - many of them secretly excited, but one or two reprehensive as well.

Surprisingly, Miss Sidebottom realised, it was Jessica Davis who was most reticent about going into the showers with the other girls, and when Fiona eventually arrived, she too was a pain. She'd met both girls on previous occasions and always been nauseated about how obedient the two little tykes were. This time, they were completely the reverse and she almost had to beat each of them with a hair brush to get them to undress and go into the showers.

She really couldn't understand it as the other girls were all being incredibly pleasant to each other, offering to soap the others' backs, and she even noticed them having a little ribaldry fun in the shower - she closed her eyes to that, as she was fully in favour of a little fun now and again. It was a pity that with the current obsession with child assault, she was no longer allowed to join in!

Eventually, she had to leave the guests' changing-room - they were actually the boys' changing-room, but all the boys' teams were playing away, that day, so there were not being used - and return to her own little tramps and make certain they weren't up to their normal tricks.

It was some minutes in the shower before the SIGHS girls realised the extra-curricular girls were all raging lesbians. It was the first time any had experienced a lesbian first-hand, and they found it far more fun than they'd thought possible. After all, there was nothing really wrong in a girl complimenting another on her beautiful breasts, and then checking them for firmness, was there? The same went for grasping each other's bums. Some were a little uncomfortable when it came to having their pussies stroked, but they were all willing to give it a go.

"TEAM!" Fiona's voice reverberated through the shower, bringing them all to stop what they were doing. "Please remember your position as visitors to this school. I don't have to remind any of you how embarrassing it would be if I reported details of what had gone on here to the staff, your friends and family."

The extra-curricular girls looked far more chastened than the others, who were used to Fiona bossing them around as a prefect.

"Fiona, you wouldn't," Sam said, only now realising that Fiona was as naked as the rest to them, and finding her body incredibly beautiful.

"Well, I will if you don't start behaving properly," Fiona relented, having seen the way Sam looked at her and being extremely moved by it. "Now I suggest you all leave the shower, get dry and get dressed. Those who didn't bring their change of clothes with them will have to put back on their gymslips. And please, no more playing about."

"Yes Fiona," many of them muttered as they left the shower. However, it didn't stop several of them from quickly feeling the breasts of others in the few minutes before Fiona left the shower.

"It's taking you a long time to get dressed!" she bellowed as she came out of the shower. "I can see I'm going to have to complain to your parents."

The SIGHS girls quickly slipped into their clothes and, apart from Fiona, left, whilst the others frantically tried to dress, but were having all kinds of problems such as putting on their bras inside out, or even in one case, upside down. Within a couple of minutes, just Fiona and the extra-curricular girls remained.

"I think you were a bit unfair, Fiona," Sam said. "After what we've done to help you and SIGHS."

"Sorry, guys," she said. "It's just that Mrs West knew I was up to something with you lot, but couldn't work out quite what. She grilled me over and over, until I had to admit it had been me who'd put up the Cancelled notices, because you lot did not want to be seen by parents. But she's agreed that in view of the fact that it's all worked out for the best, she's not going to take it any further. But if she'd come into the changing room just then, she'd have immediately grasped the real situation and used your testicles for garters."

"I guess we did get a bit carried away," Sam admitted. "But everyone had fun."

"Well you've probably converted all our girls into lesbians, so they'll not be interested in boys, any more."

She paused for a little before continuing. "Which is probably not a bad thing. I'm afraid you're going to be stuck in those Torsolets for a while."

There was a deathly silence before all hell broke loose. "What do you mean?" "Why should we?" "They were alright when we used them before."

"I know. I know." Fiona held up her hands for silence. "I think you'll all agree that the red gel you used today worked like magic. None of you appeared to have any problem with overheating. True?"

A cautious, "Y-e-s."

"I'm sorry, but it is also a strong adhesive. The suits are stuck on you for the next two weeks. I'm afraid that means you're going to have to continue being girls for that time."

Another deathly silence, followed by, "You're joking." "It can't be true." "What's my mum going to say?" "What's my DAD going to say?"

"I've had a word with Miss White," Fiona said. "She would be happy to make your Games Software course into a residential one, if you wanted. You know we have a dozen rooms for weekly boarders in the school, and it's the end of term on Tuesday. We could bind up your breasts with bandage until Wednesday."

She looked around nervously. No one looked on the point of murdering her, but there was a range of expressions on their faces from anger to plain uncertainty.

"The other girls from our team did say they'd appreciate some hockey lessons from you," Fiona added, and she saw their faces soften as the realisation sank in.

"We could fit in a few training sessions for them at SIGHS over the next few weeks," Sam said. "You know, give them the benefit of our experience."

There was a general nodding of heads, then Steve started smirking. "Bloody right, we could!" he announced.

Suddenly they were all grinning and patting Fiona on the back, prior to leaving the changing rooms and returning to the minibus. "Good old Fiona." "Well done, a great idea."

Finally, it was just Nick and her left.

"I suppose it's worked out alright," he said.

"Only alright?"

"What do you mean?"

"I mean," she said, slipping her arms around her favourite brother (OK, her only brother), "that I won't have you borrowing my gymslip again, at least, not for the next two weeks."

He turned his face away from her, a blush coming to his cheeks. "I don't know what you mean."

"I mean," she repeated, "that my whole idea for beating SS came from you secretly trying on my clothes. I thought that if you did it, that probably lots of the others at SPS also did it."

"Of course they don't."

She smiled at him. "How do you know? Because they don't tell you about it at school? Maybe they haven't all done it before, but they were all intrigued enough to go through with it. So tell me, Nicky, what's it feel like to be my sister?"

Nicky smiled at her. "It feels great, sis."

They might have spent a little more time simply hugging each other and smiling, but their peace was disrupted by the door to the changing-room suddenly bursting open and fifteen, jostling, jeering, SS rugby players crowding in and forming a semi-circle around the girls in their gymslips.

"Allo, babes. Lost your way?"

"Come to look for some real men?"

"Why do they call them SIGHS?" one boy quipped.

"Because that's the sound they make when they see a SPS prick." His mate gave the standard reply.

"They'll have to call them SCREAMS after they've seen my prick."

"They'll have to call them a sandwich after we've all fucked them. Who else is game?" The boy pulled down his rugby shorts and both Fiona and Nick were shocked at the size of the monster which shot upwards to meet them.

"We all are," someone shouted. Suddenly, they were all crazily pulling down their shorts and a variety of different sized and shaped pricks leapt into view, but none of them, Nick realised, was less than twice the size of his.

In a fit of bravado, Nick pointed at the boy with the absolute monster of a prick and said, "I've seen all the SPS pricks, and there isn't one as small as yours."

The boy's face turned ugly. "Yeah! Well let's see you take it in your gob."

"No problem," Nick said reaching forward and adding, "but you go first."

His hand seemed to accelerate, change direction upwards and bunch so quickly that the boy had little time to react before his jaw exploded in pain, and he was toppling backwards, measuring his length on the ground.

"Why you little rat..." The biggest boy was stepping forward towards Nick to kill him, when Fiona's hockey stick shot out.

She had played many devastating shots in the match, and her instinct was to hit his ball at least as hard as any she had played that morning. But Dan's comment the previous week about the sensitivity of male testicles made her suddenly pull the shot, and she completely fluffed it, giving him a relatively light tap under the bollocks.

"O-o-o-o-o-o-g-h!" he whined, as he collapsed on the floor, writhing in agony.

Afterwards, they would argue over what caused the events that followed. Nick maintained it was him grabbing for his hockey stick which so frightened the boys, their precious jewels exposed, that they tried to quickly move away from the danger, whilst their shorts were still around their ankles. Fiona said it was simply that the boy she knocked down cannoned into the others and they all fell like nine pins. Whatever, as one or two started to topple, they grabbed hold of others and within seconds, all but three were cavorting on the floor in a heap of arms, legs and pricks.

Although neither of them mentioned it afterwards, they were both surprised that most of the pricks stayed fully erect as they tumbled into a pile, Fiona was convinced she could see more pricks than arms or legs; Nick, that their pricks were larger than their arms.

The three boys left standing edged nervously backwards, clearly frightened of the pair of schoolgirls in gymslips, both now wielding hockey sticks.

Fiona said, "I think it's time we little girls left the boys to play with themselves," took Nick by the hand and together they skipped towards the door, as they had done when they were five and six years old.

But the door opened before they could reach it, and Mr Payne, the sports master entered.

"What's going on here?" he bellowed, staring at the two SIGHS girls in the boys' changing-room, with three boys standing behind with their shorts around their ankles, and still with enormous erections.

"Miss Sidebottom said we should change here," Fiona said, "but the boys are too sissy for us, so we're leaving."

They stepped around him so he could see the dozen SS boys on the ground; one out cold, and another clearly still in tremendous pain as he thrashed around on the floor.

"By the way," Nick added as they left. "SIGHS beat the hell out of SS at hockey."

"Jolly Hockey Sticks," Fiona added, waving hers in the air.

So it was that in years to come, when people talked about SIGHS being all Jolly Hockey Sticks, they were definitely not comparing them to Cheltenham Ladies College; St Trinians was much closer to the truth. As for SS, they decided it was probably better not to foul SIGHS in future matches, and that perhaps their end of term, so-called "friendly" game was something best avoided.

Author's Note: University Challenge is a long running UK TV quiz game between teams of four students from two competing universities. A starter question for ten points is offered and if the first person on the buzzer gets it right, three bonus questions, each worth five points, are offered to the team as a whole, before the game again returns to: "Your starter for ten points."

This is a work of fiction and all people, places and events (apart from the obvious ones) are imaginary.

Friday Morning

This was going to be the day, Michael decided. OK, he'd thought that for the last seven days, but this was definitely IT. In any case, this was the last day of the Summer term. It HAD to be the day.

It had been last Friday when he'd first cast eyes on Safia, at a University Challenge organised between his school - Seacombe Public School (or SPuS as most people pronounced it) - and hers - SIGHS - the girls' independent high school. She'd been on the opposing team, and he'd fallen in love as soon as he'd seen her. Oh, he'd been attracted to girls before and lusted over them. But never before had he seen anyone as beautiful as this slender Asian girl, who gave him a quick smile across the floor when he gave his team's first correct answer.

In fact, the smile made the adrenaline surge through his body, inspiring his performance and he carried the rest of his lacklustre team for the whole evening. When the results were announced, they had a credible, rather than a miserable, score, and as he stood up to make his way over to another of her smiles, he was bombarded by congratulations from everyone from the headmaster downwards. By the time he'd freed himself, he could see her disappearing through the exit with her father.

Eight times he'd cycled past her house over the weekend, staring through the automatic gate at the huge house set in its own grounds with a BMW parked outside, desperately hoping to catch a glimpse of her. Every day, he'd walked an extra mile to school in order to pass along her road, in the hope he would catch her emerging - or perhaps she might see him as her father drove her to school, and she would ask her father to stop and offer him a lift. At the end of each day, he'd waited outside her school hoping to catch sight of her.

All to no avail. In fact, she didn't appear to have been to school that week, and her friends didn't know why.

He'd determined that morning to ring the bell, to see if she was sick, perhaps to offer to collect her things from school before the end of term, whatever. In fact, when he was just a few yards from the drive, her father's BMW shot out. It would surely have run him over if he'd been any closer. The car turned away from him and accelerated quickly along the road, but not so quickly that Michael could see Safia was not in the car.

Which meant she must still be in the house. As he turned towards it, he could see the automatic gates closing - he sprinted and got through the gap just before they clanged shut.

Suddenly nervous, he looked around to check her father had not seen his actions and returned to eject him, but all was quiet. He made his way to the front door and pressed the doorbell. Somewhere in the house, rather naff doorbell chimes sounded.

He heard steps rapidly walking up to the door, and it was thrown open.

"What's wrong now?" Safia screamed at him, and then stopped, her eyes boggling with astonishment in a way that Michael found very appealing. She was wearing tight jeans and a tee shirt with a Mr Happy face printed on it, and Michael found it very easy to grin back at her.

"I'm sorry," she said. "I thought it was my father coming back, and we'd had a little..." She paused, uncertain what to say.

"Row?" Michael prompted.

She smiled and her face lit up. "Yes. Actually, it was a great big row - that's all we seem to do nowadays."

"I'd been hoping to bump into you to say how good I thought you were at the University Challenge," he said, using one of the lines he'd rehearsed over and over.

"I was just a member of the team," she said, "but you were quite brilliant. The rest of your team were useless. You should have been the captain." She looked over his shoulder, presumably at the gate and added, "Incidentally, how did you get through the gates?"

"I saw your father leaving and he said to go on in," he said.

She grinned again, her face lighting up. "Now I know you're lying," she said. "My father would never let a single, unescorted man be alone in the house with me."

He grinned back. "I managed to dash through the gate before it closed after your father drove out," he said. "But I have been looking out for you over the last few days. Your friends say you haven't been to school, and I wondered if you were ill?"

She glanced at the gate and the road beyond, suddenly cautious. "You'd better come in," she said. "It doesn't do for a man to be seen standing on the doorstep."

She opened the door to allow him to enter, and as he passed by her, he could smell her perfume and peer down at the gentle curve of her small breasts pushing out the tee shirt.

She smiled at him some more; then after closing the front door, she gesticulated that he follow her through to the back of the house.

"Would you like some tea or coffee?" she asked. "Or a Coke?"

He chose a Coke, and said, as casually as he could (which wasn't very casual at all), "Are you going to school today. If so, I could walk you there." His heart was racing as he awaited the answer.

"My father has forbidden me to go to school any longer."

"Forbidden you! How can he do that? Why?"

She chose her words carefully. "You don't understand Asian culture. He saw me smiling at you at the competition. As soon as we were in the car, he called me a prostitute, and said that Haresh would not marry me if I behaved like that."

He was aghast at her words. "You're getting married?"

"My father has arranged for Haresh to marry me," she added.

"No!" he gasped. "Are you old enough... I mean, I thought you might be..."

"I am sixteen in three months time and I am to be married on my birthday. Haresh is thirty-one."

"Thirty-one! He's an old man. That's disgusting!"

She smiled at him. "When we rowed on Friday, I told my father I would not marry Haresh. He said, 'In that case, you will marry no one.' I am to remain in this house until I consent to marry Haresh. I will not do that, so I will remain here forever."

"Let me take you away now," he said. "You could stay at my house until we find you somewhere more permanent."

"How do you suggest we leave?"

"The same way as I came in. Through the front door."

"Between the garden and the road is a high gate which is locked. The security fence runs all the way around the garden. We cannot leave."

"You mean you're imprisoned here?" A further thought struck him. "And that I'm trapped here as well?"

"Yes."

"But I have to get to school."

"Not today. You are here today."

"Oh. I could call my mother at work and she could go home and get a ladder."

"No." She spoke softly, but very firmly. "Your mother would be very angry with my father, and the whole story would leak out. When it was discovered that I had been alone in the house with you, my father's name would be ruined."

"But he's keeping you a prisoner. His name should be ruined."

"He is still my father. I will not allow it."

"Oh." The implication of his situation sank in. "You mean I have to stay with you until your father comes home tonight to release us?" He suddenly had a broad grin on his face. "But what would we do, all day long?"

She smiled back at him. "It is nice having you as a guest, but when my father returns he will fly into a terrible rage with you. He will accuse you of soiling his daughter, of dishonouring him and me. He will probably want to kill you."

"Oh, that's alright then. Well we might as well get hung for a sheep as a lamb."

"I am serious. If you saw how angry he got when I simply looked at you on Friday, you would realise what he will be like when he learns you and I have spent all day here, alone. When he is calm, my father wouldn't hurt a fly, but when he is in a rage..."

Michael thought a little. He knew there were plenty of examples of murder in the Asian community because of dishonouring someone's daughter.

"I shall have to sneak out, the same way as I came in. I can hide behind the gate when your father returns - then after he's driven inside, I can nip out."

Safia shook her head. "It won't work. Don't forget the drive is laid with gravel. The moment you start moving, he'll hear you - and his reaction in those circumstances is likely to be even worse than if I can calmly tell him what's happened."

"Then what do I do?"

She suddenly smiled. "I have an idea. Come upstairs with me."

"Now we're talking," Michael said.

"Father is right," she said. "Men do have one-track minds, even when they're facing death."

She paused and added, "But first I will telephone the school to tell them that my son, Michael, is sick and will not be in today. Can I use your mobile?"

***

"This is my sister, Anika's bedroom," Safia said.

Wow, Michael thought, his tummy doing a cartwheel, this is getting serious. I never really expected her to take me to bed within a few minutes of meeting her. OK, although she was under sixteen, he was just over. That made it all right, didn't it?

"It looks very nice," he said and added with a fit of bravado he wasn't feeling, "Shall I test the bedsprings?"

He sat down heavily on the bed and bounced on it.

"I think my sister has probably already done that," Safia said. "For some reason, she managed to get away with all kinds of things that I cannot. Of course, mother was alive then. She was English and she made father see reason. Now..." She trailed off, lost in thought.

"I'm sorry about your mother," he said, taking her hand, "but I'm sure she would want you to find a nice boy like me and make him happy."

"Don't be silly," she said, shaking his hand off hers. "We haven't come here for that."

"Well, what, then?" he was getting terribly confused, and so was his rock-hard penis. He shuffled, uncomfortably, trying to surreptitiously adjust its position.

"When Anika left home, she left many of her older clothes behind, including her school uniform."

He couldn't work that out. "But why can't you wear your own school uniform?"

"I don't need a school uniform today as I was never intending to go to school. Whereas you were, and although my uniform wouldn't fit you, I'm sure that Anika's would." She opened a wardrobe and rummaged through it until she could pull out a hanger holding a white blouse and black pleated skirt. She tossed them on the bed. "There. What do you think of those?"

"Fit me?" he said. "You're expecting me to wear Anika's school uniform?"

"I'm sure it will work out fine," Safia said. "Father might be a bit annoyed if one of my girl friends from school was passing by and managed to get in as you did, but he wouldn't go into a rage. He wouldn't feel dishonoured."

"So you're suggesting," he said, "that I put on your sister's school uniform and pretend to be a girl? It would never work. Your father would see through me straight away."

It was so embarrassing. Here he was trying to impress the most beautiful girl in the world and here she was, trying to get him to wear girls' clothes.

She tilted her head on one side and smiled at him in a most appealing way.

"Look," he said. "I really don't feel comfortable about this. Surely, if I reason with him it will be alright?"

"Michael, I'm asking this because I thought you rather liked me, and I like you, and I don't want my father to feel, for the rest of his life, that his daughter has been dishonoured. Is it really more than you're prepared to do for me?"

"Well..."

"Please, Michael."

He shrugged. "OK, but I'll feel so stupid wearing girls' clothes."

"Why?"

"I just will."

"Do you think girls look stupid when they wear them?"

"Of course not, but..."

She said the words for him. "That's different?"

"Yes."

"Only because you think you'll look like a boy wearing girls' clothes. If you looked like a girl wearing girls' clothes, you wouldn't look stupid. Right?"

"Well, yes, but I don't see how that can be."

"We'll have to do a few things," she said. "You can shave your legs and I could wash and style your hair, and put on a little makeup. I think you'll be fine. Please Michael."

For some reason, a surge of excitement went through his body, which was nothing to do with being alone with Safia. He should be shocked, even disgusted at her suggestion - instead something inside him was urging him to go ahead. But he knew he must not appear too keen so he gave another shrug and said, "I've already said yes. So do your worst."

She gave him a ladies' razor and made him go to the bathroom and shave his legs. "And don't forget to shave your face as well." Fortunately, he was still only shaving occasionally so he didn't have any stubble.

It took ages to get all the hairs off his legs, but when he'd done so, they were a real surprise. He was amazed how sexy they were - he had to admit to himself they looked like most girls' legs. She'd given him a pair of white cotton panties to put on but he still had a huge erection - indeed, it seemed to have got harder since admiring his legs - so he used the trick he sometimes used at home, filled the washbasin with cold water, and dunked his testicles into it. It was rather painful, but everything rapidly shrivelled. He pulled up the panties and then pushed his tackle between his legs and pulled them up even tighter. It felt a bit uncomfortable, but at least it looked respectable. He only hoped everything would stay like that.

"I'm decent," he called, and she came into the bathroom.

She looked his near naked body up and down - it was sufficient to make his cock start to get hard again. Thank heavens it was constrained by the panty, he thought.

"I'm going to wash and style your hair now, so sit on the stool and make yourself comfortable."

He grimaced, but did as she said.

***

Forty minutes later, he stared critically into the mirror at the person facing him in white school blouse and black pleated skirt, with white ankle socks and black Mary Jane shoes. Putting on the blouse had been fine - it was not dissimilar to the white shirt he wore for school, except it buttoned on the opposite side, but the skirt was different. For one thing, it was far shorter than the SIGHS regulation knee-length.

"Anika always shortened her skirt as much as she could get away with," Safia said, noticing where he was staring in the mirror. "She was always getting told off for her short skirts."

"Couldn't I wear one of yours?" he asked. "If the wind blows, everyone will see up my skirt. They'll see my panties." Actually, it wasn't his panties he was worried about; it was his enormous erection which by now, must surely be reaching halfway down to his knees as it forced itself against the panties.

"My skirts are too slim around the waist," she said. "They won't fit you. In any case, we're not going outside. There won't be any wind." Rather unwisely, she added, "Not until you go home, anyway."

His stomach did a complete somersault. "What do you mean, when I go home? I'll need to change back into my clothes before..." His voice faded as he worked through the logistics of leaving the house.

"I'll have to go home in a girl's uniform? No! No way! I can't do it. It's a stupid..."

"Schh," Safia said. "It's alright. I have it all worked out. To walk home from here, you'd turn left out of our gate and then go along the footpath through the woods. Right?"

He nodded. "Yes."

"You'll have your own school uniform in your bag. As soon as you get into the woods, get well away from the footpath and change back into your own clothes. I'll give you some wipes to clean the make up from your face, and you'll have to try to flatten your hair as best you can. But you can always say you were experimenting with a different hair style. Talking your way out of a skirt would be more of a problem.

He thought through her plan and nodded. "I suppose it will work. But it will be a bit scary, getting changed in the woods. Suppose someone sees?"

"Make certain no one sees."

Again he nodded. "I suppose so." Fortunately, the distraction had served to slightly take the edge off his erection, but as soon as he realised that, the hardness came back again with a vengeance. Constrained by the soft material of the panties, it surely felt the same as being inside a girl's...

"How confident do you feel now, about looking like a girl?" Safia asked.

He took another glance in the mirror. In spite of the short length of his skirt, it wasn't possible to see his cock poking beneath the hem. Thank God! He took another look at himself and said, "Safia, the hair and make up are fantastic, but it's just as I said, I still look like a boy dressed as a girl. I'm sorry, it's not going to work." Mind, he'd look even more like a boy if she could see his cock poking out beneath the skirt.

"What do you think is still wrong?"

"I'm just the wrong shape." That was one way of putting it.

"Yes," she said, "You are right. You need a little help with your shape. Anika also thought she was the wrong shape, and she got something to help her. I think she's left it here." She opened one of the drawers and reached inside.

"There," she said, tossing something onto the bed which looked like... It couldn't be. She'd thrown a pair of tits onto the bed.

"What the..."

"It's called a Bustlet," she said. "My sister was paranoid about her small breasts so she wore this to make them appear much larger. I think it will be right for you, too. Fortunately, she took after our mother rather than father, so her skin tone was light, like yours."

The sight terrified him. The breasts were huge, like those of his aunt who always wore low-cut tops. He never knew which way to look - on the one hand, he was fascinated by them; on the other, he was incredibly embarrassed. One of the reasons he was so smitten with Safia was for her wonderfully slim breasts which he could glance at without it being obvious.

He reached out and gingerly picked up the thing from the bed. He'd expected it to feel like plastic - instead it felt just like real skin. Not only did it feel like skin, but the breasts wobbled, in the same way as his aunt's when she moved. He shivered slightly, and his cock, damn it, quivered in anticipation.

"Your sister wore this?"

"Yes," she said. "Did any of your friends realise?"

Anika must have been five years older than him, but he could still remember the older boys at his school talking about her fantastic tits. There'd sometimes be half a dozen boys jerking off behind the groundsman's hut, all shouting 'Anika, Anika!' and seeing who could ejaculate first. Hell, if only he could jerk off now.

"I don't really remember anyone saying anything about her," he said.

"Before you slip into it," she said, "you have to spread gel over your upper body. Apparently, it cuts down the sweat from forming beneath. Now, take off your blouse."

Thank God she hadn't told him to remove his skirt. That was the only thing protecting him from total embarrassment. He removed his blouse and she slipped on a disposable plastic glove, and dipped her hand into a large plastic pot of the gel and started to smear it over him.

It felt so erotic! His cock got harder still as her hand slid around his neck, over his shoulders and down over his nipples. He gritted his teeth, willing himself not to ejaculate, and as she turned her attention to his back, it seemed as though he might succeed.

She pulled of the glove and picked up the Bustlet, and held it before him, the neck slightly stretched so his head could go through the hole.

Seconds later, he'd fed his arms and neck through the holes in the shoulders and she had pulled the Bustlet as far down his chest as it would go. He opened his eyes, peered down, and saw...

An incredible pair of tits!

He had tits!

He shook his head and his tits wobbled. Not only could he see them wobble, but unbelievably he could feel them wobble. He wobbled them again, and again he could feel them.

"It's weird," he said. "It's like I can feel them moving."

"They have something called Sensotouch," she said. "Anika had a remote control to alter their sensitivity, but I think she's taken that with her, so it will have to stay as it is. Keep still for a second and I'll wipe off the excess gel from the edges."

She took a wet wipe and first wiped away the excess gel from his neckline, then the armholes and finally, she placed a hand on his left breast and lifted it so she could wipe away the gel from beneath.

"Agghh!" he gasped. The feelings that shot through him as she brushed against his nipple were incredible.

"Soon be done," she said, then she did the same for his right breast.

That was when the orgasm hit him, and he felt his prick jerking as it started to shoot semen into his panties.

"Sorry. Is it a bit painful with the Sensotouch?" She had noticed the look on his face and thankfully misinterpreted it.

"Just a bit," he gasped, "and not painful exactly, just different."

"Sorry," she repeated.

"That's OK," he said, praying that she wouldn't notice the smell of his semen, which now filled his panties.

Thankfully, she turned around and started rummaging through Anika's drawers, so he was saved having to explain his plight. He could feel it was a complete mess inside his panties. He felt rather depressed after his orgasm, as he tended to be after masturbating.

"Here you are," she said, turning around and thrusting something white at him. "I think this bra will fit."

"You want me to wear a bra!" How had he got into this mess? He thought he'd coped superbly with wearing the white panties, the blouse, the ankle length white socks, even with wearing the short skirt, but to wear a girl's bra would be the height of embarrassment - all those hooks and eyes and straps. What would his mates say if they found out? On the other hand, he felt incredibly excited by the idea.

"Of course," she said. "You can hardly appear in front of my father with boobs flopping about like that without a bra."

His cock was getting hard again at the very idea of wearing a bra, but he must keep up the pretence. "But a bra is so... girly," he said.

"You have quite large breasts. What could be more girly than that?"

He stared down at his breasts and amid all the stickiness, he felt his cock getting harder and harder. This was so embarrassing. Another shrug and his breasts gave another wobble. Hell at least the bra would stop them wobbling like that.

"Can you help me put it on?" he capitulated

She smiled at him and held it out for him to slip his arms into it. She touched his breasts again - already he'd come to think of them as his breasts - but thankfully his cock didn't react. Then she was pulling it tight around his back and his boobs pushed upward and together giving him a deep cleavage.

"Much better," she said, eyeing him up and down. "Slip your blouse back on and we'll look at the overall effect."

But he was staring downwards, and then at himself in the mirror.

"Hell, they're enormous," he said. "The bra has made them even bigger."

"It's shaped them and given you a nice cleavage," she said. "Now slip your blouse back on."

He put the blouse back on and nervously did up the buttons, pulling the blouse tight across his breasts. His cock was going into overdrive again.

"Leave the top buttons undone," Safia commanded. "I know it's against school regs but everyone does it - at least on the way to and from school."

He stared into the mirror. He had the most fantastic tits pushing out his blouse.

"What do you think?" she asked.

"I don't think I'll be mistaken for a boy now," he said.

He was amazed to see Safia shaking her head. "I'm sorry," she said. "You are still the wrong shape."

He stared again into the mirror at his wonderful breasts. "They're the wrong shape?" he repeated. "They look just like the real thing." Certainly, they looked better than his aunt's enormous breasts.

"No, no," Safia said. "I mean that you are still the wrong shape. You look like a broomstick with breasts. Look," she paused, suddenly uncertain, "promise me you will never tell anyone what I am about to tell you."

"Of course not." As though he could ever tell anyone about what had happened today.

"At one time, Anika agreed to marry Haresh, and it was very important to him that she was a virgin." She smiled. "It used to be the case that once virginity was taken it couldn't be put back, but that was before the days of Big Busts."

"I thought women had always had big busts," Michael said.

"No," Safia said. "The company who make the Bustlet are called Big Busts. They also make something called a Hiplet which can give a woman back her virginity."

"I don't really understand," he said.

She smiled. "Of course you don't," she said. "Men are not supposed to understand. But today you are a girl, so you are allowed into the secret." She opened another of Anika's drawers and pulled out what appeared to be a flesh-coloured control brief, made of the same realistic material as the Bustlet.

Until she dropped it onto the bed!

Michael gasped. It had dark pubic hair and, just discernable beneath the hair, a slit. He flushed with embarrassment.

"It's alright," Safia said. "Today you are an honorary girl so you are allowed to look. In fact, you must go to the bathroom and put it on."

"But surely it won't fit a man?" Michael said.

"Anika told me it would," she said, "although I cannot understand why that would be. Anyway, you must try your best." She held the garment up before him. "You can see how there is padding in the hips and bottom to make a woman look wider. Again, I cannot understand why a woman would want that; I suppose it's to show she has wide hips capable of bearing strong children. But wider hips will balance out your shape - stop you looking so top heavy. Take the gel with you and smear it all over before pulling on the Hiplet."

He went to the bathroom, as directed, and after removing his skirt, shoes and socks, took the opportunity to carefully pull down his soiled panties and fold them to safely contain the semen inside. There was a laundry basket in the bathroom and he slipped it in there.

After washing and drying his penis, he looked carefully at the inside of the Hiplet. There was a fastening at the rear between the vagina and the hole for the arse to do its business. Once he'd discovered how to release it, the vagina hung free and he could carefully inspect the inside. He wasn't certain how a woman would wear it, but Safia had been right, there was a place for a penis and testicles and it was clear they would be squeezed between his legs, in the same way they had been beneath his panties. A soft hymen at the entrance to the vagina prevented him exploring inside, but clearly, there was some kind of passage, although whether it could take a man's cock, he was doubtful.

He smeared the red gel all over his upper legs, hips and buttocks, deciding to leave his genitals to the last minute. He pulled the Hiplet over his feet and right up to his waist. Looking in the mirror, he could see how it ballooned out his hips and bum, which together with his big boobs, gave him a very female figure. Apart, that is, from his prick standing stiffly to attention in front of him.

He used the cold water treatment again to bring it down to size, and then quickly dried it and smeared the gel all over, apart from the head of his prick. Then he slipped them inside the pocket behind the gusset of the Hiplet, and pulled it back between his legs and clipped it into place. Another look in the mirror had him gasping with astonishment. No trace of the sixteen-year-old boy remained.

In his place, was a girl in a white school blouse which bulged out around her large breasts, with a deep cleavage observable through the gap at the top of her blouse. Without her skirt, the girl's pussy was on blatant display. Michael suddenly felt extremely exposed and he hurriedly bent over, picked up the skirt, stepped into it and fastened it around his waist.

"Are you going to take all day?" Safia's voice came through the door.

"I'll be right out," he said. He hurriedly pulled on his white socks, and stepped into his shoes and fastened them. Then he unlocked the door and said, "There. What do you think?"

"Michelle," Safia said with a grin, "I think you look very pretty."

Why did he feel so pleased at such a compliment? Boys shouldn't do that, should they? And they really shouldn't feel elated about being called a girl's name!

***

He felt incredibly nervous as Safia gave him basic instructions upon how girls walk, talk and sit. For one thing, he hadn't confessed to making the mess in his panties, and so he wasn't wearing anything underneath his skirt. Even without that problem, he found the fresh air around his legs was both stimulating and scary - add to it that there was nothing covering his pussy and bottom, and it was terrifyingly exhilarating. It was certainly sufficient incentive to ensure he always kept his legs closed as he sat down!

But he also felt incredibly self-conscious about the size of his boobs. It was all right for Safia; she had wonderfully slim boobs whose tops didn't wobble with every slight movement. Something as simple as a shrug would send the upper parts of his breasts quivering like jellies, even with the support of the bra.

And they stuck out so far. Oh, it was fine whilst it was just Safia there, but as soon as her father came through the door, he knew his eyes would lock onto his boobs and be transfixed. As for the walk out of the gates and along the road as far as the woods, he was bound to attract attention from every passing car - and many of those might be his friends on their way home from school. Even worse was the thought that some might be cycling home or even walking past the gate!

Friday Afternoon

"For heavens' sake calm down," Safia said for the tenth time. "You look like a girl, you can walk like a girl, and you can even talk like a girl. There's nothing to worry about."

She was certainly right about all three. He'd rehearsed and rehearsed the best way to keep his voice soft, whilst allowing it to become more animated than normal. The walk was fine, and with his new body shape, no one could confuse him with a girl. Only...

"I've got an idea," Safia said, after lunch. "We'll go outside and play a game of tennis." She had already pointed out the tennis court as she'd walked him around the gardens earlier on.

"But I haven't got any tennis kit," he said, aghast that his panty-free pussy would be exposed at the first serve.

"That's alright," she said. "Anika has some very pretty tennis dresses."

"A tennis dress!" He pretended to be shocked, but inside he was both terrified and excited by the thought of wearing a pretty tennis dress. He really shouldn't feel that way, he told himself, but could not explain why he did.

She took him back to Anika's bedroom and quickly produced a beautiful tennis dress with, joy of joys, some matching frilly panties. She also found some socks and tennis shoes, which he guessed would more or less fit.

"Let me wipe off your make up," she said, picking up a wipe. "Otherwise, it will get awfully messy when you start to sweat. Are you all right getting changed, or do you need some help."

"No, I'll be fine," he said, then hesitated, "Do I need a... you know... a sports bra?" Even now, he still felt embarrassed in saying the word.

"Anika never bothered," Safia said, as she removed the make up from his face. "After all, it wasn't as though it was her own breasts bouncing around and banging against each other."

"No, I suppose not," he said.

"OK, I'll go to my room and get changed. Come there if you finish first."

"Right," he said.

As soon as she had gone, he slipped the panties on. Even if she came straight back now he wouldn't have to admit how he'd soiled his original pair. After that, it was a simple job to remove his school uniform and pull the white tennis dress over his head. It took him ages to do up the rear zip, but he eventually managed. Then he put on the socks and tennis shoes.

A glance in the mirror had him gulping at the way the front dipped to expose his deep cleavage. Thank heavens that Safia was the only person around.

He left Anika's bedroom and went across to knock on the door of Safia's.

"Come in," she bade.

He did so and the sight of Safia's pert, naked breasts made him gulp even more. "Er, sorry," he said. "I did knock..."

"That's all right," she grinned. "I asked you to come in because I'm having trouble fixing my sports bra. The hooks don't appear to line up properly with the eyes. Do you think you could do it up for me?"

"Er, right," he said.

"It's all right," she said. "We're all girls together, now. We don't worry about seeing each other naked."

"Right," he repeated, and then added, "I can see there are real perks to being a girl."

She grinned back at him. "You bet. It's a shame you can't come to school and go into the school showers."

It was a good job his penis was well and truly hidden beneath the Hiplet, otherwise he would have ejaculated on the spot.

She found him a tennis racket and some balls and they went outside to the tennis court. "You need to be careful how you talk out here," she said in a low voice. "There's only a hedge separates us from the neighbour, and if old Mr Walters is out in the garden, he'll hear every word we say."

"I'll be careful," he promised. "At least the hedge is so thick they can't see me."

"Not from the garden," Safia said. "But as soon as he hears us playing, Mr Walters will go upstairs to his bedroom and watch us play."

"You mean he'll be looking at our panties when we bend over?" he said, unable to keep the horror out of his voice. "Have you reported him to the police?"

"Don't be silly," she said. "It's not illegal to look out of your bedroom window. In any case, it's what men do all the time. You just have to get used to it."

They knocked a ball between them a few times, before Safia quietly said, "You cannot see him from where you are, but Mr Walters is now in position in his bedroom window, so make certain you show him your panties."

Michael grimaced with embarrassment. "I don't think I can go on," he said. "It's just too humiliating."

Safia grinned at him. "Don't be silly. Let's start playing a game. That will take your mind off it. You are the visitor, so you should serve first."

Knowing he was a pretty good player, he courteously suggested she should go first but she was insistent, so he planned to give her a fairly gentle first serve.

Everything went wrong. His weight had completely changed, as had his equilibrium, so his whole body moved differently. Added to that, his stupid boobs got in the way of his serve, and kept on moving long after he had stopped, putting him off balance to prepare for his next shot. By the time he'd got himself together, the ball was bouncing on the court on his far left, and then smacking against the wire netting.

"Love - 15," Safia said with a grin, promptly followed by: "Love - 30;" "Love - 40;" "Game Safia."

The first set was a walkover, and as they had a short break she gave him another of her wonderful grins. "I'd heard you were pretty good at school, but not quite good enough for a SIGHS girl, ay?"

"It's the boobs," he protested. "It makes everything different."

"We have to play with them all the time," she said, and quietly added, "and don't forget our neighbours are probably listening."

"The next set will be different," he promised, and actually, it was.

He'd got used to his new weight distribution and his bouncing boobs, and he just managed to get ahead and win the set.

He was doing well in the third set, as well, until he won a tough point, to hear clapping from the side. They both turned towards the source to see a man - obviously Safia's father - standing there, watching them, looking at Michael with a quizzical look upon his face.

"Hi," Safia called. "This is Michelle, from school."

Michael made as though to walk over to him, but he waved her back. "Carry on. Carry on," he said. "Enjoy your game. We can talk afterwards."

Safia continued to enjoy her game, but Michael went to pieces. By now, he'd got used to Mr Walters peering at them from his bedroom window, but it was different for a man to be standing so close, watching him play, whilst he was wearing a tennis dress with frilly panties, and with large breasts which joggled with every movement he made. Gradually, Safia regained the lead and went on to win the match.

Finally, they were both walking towards Mr Hussein, with Michael definitely lagging behind. He certainly didn't want to try to explain his position to him.

As she approached her father, Safia said, "Father, this is my friend Michelle Barker from school. She was passing by the house when you left in such a hurry, and she thought she would pop in to see how I was. She didn't realise the security gate would close behind her and trap her here all day long."

Mr Hussein's face which had been looking quizzical turned to one of concern. "You have been trapped here all day long through my own carelessness? That is terrible. I am most sorry. I must ring your school and apologise..." He shook his head. "This is awful. I shall have to explain..."

"I have already telephoned the school and told them that my daughter, Michelle, is sick," Safia broke in with a smile.

"Safia, you shouldn't lie - even if it is to prevent your father's embarrassment." He smiled. "But thank you all the same."

He turned to Michael. "I presume that Safia has told you why she is being kept indoors?"

Michael nodded. "Yes, she told me you were both at loggerheads over an arranged marriage." He was quite pleased at the way he said his first words to someone who didn't know his secret. Clearly, Mr Hussein didn't suspect a thing.

"No doubt you support Safia?" He gesticulated for them all to start walking towards the house.

As they walked, Michael considered. His mother always told him never to tell someone they were wrong - instead tell them how you felt about it. "I think Safia should go to school. My mother would be angry if she discovered I had missed only one day."

Mr Hussein nodded. "You mean I have let my own stubbornness get in the way of my daughter's education?"

"Safia may disagree with you, but she respects you. She wouldn't let me telephone my mum to tell her I was trapped here."

He nodded again. "She is a good girl, even though she smiles at boys too readily. But then I suppose most modern girls do. Is that right?"

"Girls do smile a lot more than boys," Michael said, "but they smile at both boys and girls." Damn! He'd used 'they' to talk about girls. He'd have to watch that in future. In fact, Mr Hussein was staring at him with a strange look. Oh sh..."

"Do you have a relative at the boys' school?" he asked. "Only you look remarkably like the boy Safia was smiling at last Friday."

"That's Michelle's cousin, Father," Safia answered. "Michelle came to tell me that Michael was asking about me at school."

"There you are," he retorted, suddenly angry again. "You smile at him and he immediately wants to take you to his bed."

"My mum says that all men want to get a girl into bed," Michael said, "but the girl doesn't have to go." She hadn't really, but he thought it was the sort of thing she might have said if he'd been a girl.

Mr Hussein smiled again. "Your mother is very wise," he said. "Safia's mother also was very wise, but unfortunately she is not with us now."

"I'm sorry," Michael said. "It must be horrible when that happens. My mother and father divorced and that was bad enough."

They had reached the house, and Mr Hussein held open the door for Michael and Safia to pass through. It was the first time an adult had done that for Michael and he felt self conscious as he entered, suddenly aware of his wobbling breasts. He'd forgotten all about them until now, except as an impediment to good tennis.

Mr Hussein smiled, breaking the slight pause. "Safia tells me I should remember how her mother would have dealt with things."

It was Michael's turn to smile. "Such as not forcing Safia into an arranged marriage?" He couldn't believe he'd said that. As Michael, he'd never have dared to make such a challenging statement to one of his friend's parents. But taking on the persona of Michelle somehow seemed to make it all right. He didn't understand why, but he knew he could get away with saying things that Michael never would.

He was right, for Mr Hussein smiled and said, "Yes. Safia's mother had a hatred of arranged marriages. I know many English think it is a barbaric custom, but it is our culture."

"We English also have problems with changing culture," Michael said. "Every time I go to see my one grandmother she's asking me how to do things on her computer. But when I visit my other grandmother, she's complaining about everything being on the internet and how much better things were in the 1950s. My mum says we can't hang on to the past, no matter how attractive it might be." He was both pleased and surprised at his words. Usually he had trouble collecting together his thoughts to produce a single sentence. But as Michelle, it seemed he was capable of greater things.

"But your country is riddled with tradition," Mr Hussein said. "Would you get rid of it all?"

Michael couldn't believe it. He was arguing with a grown up and enjoying it. Of course, he'd had arguments with his parents about all sorts of things, but they were anything but enjoyable. And if you ever argued with a teacher, you'd be in trouble. Now, Mr Hussein showed no signs of anger at his words.

"We have got rid of all kinds of traditions which subjugate women," Michael said. "Women are the equal of men, not chattels to be traded in an arranged marriage."

"Father," Safia broke, "we really need to be showering and getting changed if Michelle is to return home at her usual time."

"Of course," he said, "but I can run her home in the car."

Michael's heart leapt into his mouth, but Safia had a ready response. "I don't think Michelle should be seen arriving home in the car of a strange man," she said.

"Of course," he repeated, "I understand. As you wish." He stood aside so they could go upstairs, and Michael was suddenly aware of his frilly panties which Mr Hussein would see if he glanced upwards. There was no way he could hide them, so he ran quickly up the stairs, realising halfway up that his boobs were positively bouncing around. A girl simply could not win!

"Thanks for speaking up for me," Safia said. "I couldn't believe it that father didn't get angry at the things you said. I thought I'd better break it up before it went too far. Now, are you all right to take a shower? Let's fetch your school uniform from Anika's room - then you can get dressed straightaway."

"Could I wear another of Anika's bras?" Michael asked, adding, "and some more panties?"

Safia didn't even query it, and seconds later, Michael was locking the door to the bathroom and peeling off his clothes to reveal the shape of the curvy girl beneath. He still didn't understand why he felt thrilled rather than horrified to have the shape of a girl. In fact, he felt that if he only had the same-sized pert breasts as Safia, he'd be perfectly happy with his shape. Having huge wobbling breasts like these was just ridiculous.

He decided to remove the Bustlet and the Hiplet for his shower; he could slip them back on again before getting dressed. But the catch between his legs, which had been so easy to snap open and shut before, obstinately refused to come undone. He tried for several minutes before switching his attention to the Bustlet. It was impossible to slip even a nail under the edge of the Bustlet; it appeared to be glued firmly to his skin.

He became more and more frantic as he tried all around the edge of the Bustlet.

He opened the bathroom door and shouted, "Safia."

Only then did he realise he could see straight across the landing and through the open door into Mr Hussein's bedroom. He was in there, and although he had his back to the bathroom, he was looking at himself in the mirror, and Michael could see his own naked reflection in there alongside Mr Hussein's startled face!

"I'm sorry," he said, quickly closing the door, his cheeks turning blood red with embarrassment. How could he have been so stupid? What must Mr Hussein think of him?

There was a knock on the bathroom door and Safia's voice said, "Did you want me, Michelle?"

"Yes." He pulled open the door again and let Safia in. He was too embarrassed to mention revealing his all in front of Mr Hussein, so he launched straight into the real problem. "I can't seem to remove the Bustlet or Hiplet."

Safia looked puzzled. "Really? Anika used to take her Bustlet off every night and she never had any trouble." She lifted a hand to Michael's rib cage and tried to insert a nail beneath the edge of the Bustlet, just as Michael had done. "Hmm. It seems very firmly stuck. I'd better go find the instruction manual and see what it says. In the meantime, you can shower without removing them. I suggest you do that and then put on your school uniform. I'll see you later."

***

Safia wasn't in her bedroom when Michael returned to her room, dressed in school blouse and skirt, so he made his way downstairs to the lounge where Safia was giving her father a cuddle.

"Great news," she told him. "I've asked father if you can sleepover tonight, and he's agreed. That is, if you want to." She gave him a wink.

"Oh! Er, that's very kind, especially as I'm a bit of an embarrassment to you and your father. Perhaps I'd really better get home..."

"Don't be silly." Safia went over to him, took him by the arm, and pulled him out of the lounge and through to the kitchen.

"There's a slight problem in getting the Bustlet and Hiplet off," she whispered, "so I've fixed this to give us some time. Now, please telephone your mother and tell her you're staying here - on second thoughts, perhaps you'd better tell her you're staying with one of your other friends, as she doesn't really know me."

The implication of Safia's offer suddenly hit him. "You mean you want me to spend the night here - with you? Only I have to pretend to be a girl?"

She smiled. "Yes, I do want you to spend the night here, but I'm afraid it will be strictly as a girl. I telephoned Anika whilst you were in the shower. It appears I should have given you a green gel to spread over your skin. Instead I gave you the red which lasts for much longer."

"You mean I'm going to have to wear this all night?"

"Rather longer than that," she said. "I'm afraid it's a semi-permanent adhesive which will last until your top layer of skin is shed, which will probably be in about two weeks' time."

"Two weeks? You mean I'm a girl for the next two weeks?"

"I'm afraid so,"

"But what am I going to do?"

"Let's sort out tonight first. Telephone your mother and explain about the sleepover. We can then think about how to deal with the two weeks. Anika says you could stay with her, but she lives in London now, and your mother may not be happy with that."

Safia left him to make the call.

***

"Hello Mum."

"Hello love. I expected you to get home before me today, since it's the last day of term."

"I've been round at a friend's house. Mum, I've been asked if I want to do a sleepover - is that alright?"

"Are you at Gavin's? Is it alright with his mother?"

"It's the father, actually, and he's fine."

"Oh. I didn't know Gavin's father still lived with them."

"Well... It's not actually Gavin. It's another friend."

"Are you going to tell me which one or do I have to go through the whole class?"

"Well, actually it's Safia. Safia Hussein."

"That's the girl from SIGHS you were making eyes at during the University Challenge? I thought her father kept her more securely locked away from males than were the women in Holloway Prison."

"Well, he's letting me stay the night."

"That's very good of him. I'd better have a word with him and thank him for having you."

"Well, it's a bit awkward at the moment. He's... he's gone out."

She was suddenly suspicious. "Is it awkward or has he gone out? Because I can always call back later."

"Well... it's awkward. Look, Mum, it's really better if you simply trust me."

"Michael, I'd trust you with anything on earth - except a fifteen-year old girl. You're both too young, and in her case, she's not yet reached the age of consent."

"Well nothing like that is going to happen with Mr Hussein around." In fact, regardless of Mr Hussein's presence, nothing could happen whilst he was wearing the Hiplet.

"I'll say one last thing. If, in spite of what I've said, you do have sex with her then use a condom or I shall murder you. Do I make myself absolutely clear?"

"Yes, Mum."

As Mrs Barker put the phone down, she wondered whether she was doing the right thing. Why didn't Michael want her to talk to Mr Hussein? She shook her head, puzzled, and then her heart gave a little skip as she turned her mind to other things. She picked up the phone again and dialled.

"Hello, Peter? It's Sarah Barker. I wondered if that offer of a date tonight was still open? Only Michael has just telephoned to say he's staying the night with a school friend, so it appears I now have a gap in my diary."

She listened and smiled. "That's great. So, pick me up at about seven?"

She listened some more. "Great."

***

Immediately after Michael disconnected the call to his mother, his mobile rang.

"Hi, Mike. It's Gavin. Where were you today?"

Hi Gav. Something a bit awkward came up and I had to take the day off school."

"Like?" Gavin asked.

"It's a bit difficult explaining over the phone."

"OK, you can tell me when I come round to your house, tomorrow."

"Er, well, no. You can't come round tomorrow, Gav."

"I can't! But we had it all worked out. What's the problem?"

"As I said, it's difficult explaining over the phone. Look Gav, I have to go now. I'll call you in a few days time. Bye."

Michael rapidly ended the call, and then switched off his mobile. Inventing some kind of excuse for Gavin was the least of his problems at the moment. He took a deep breath, then went to find Mr Hussein in the lounge.

***

"My mother asks me to thank you very much for allowing me to sleepover," Michelle said to him.

"I'm only too happy," Mr Hussein said, thinking how he would never allow Safia to stay with a school friend, without at least speaking to the parent and ensuring there were no boys in the house. Indeed, he'd have put down his foot if he'd discovered that only the father was present.

It was even worse because Michelle was obviously so much more sexually developed than Safia. Any man would lust after her, and he couldn't deny that he'd been entranced as soon as he saw her boobs bouncing around on the tennis court. As for that moment when she'd put her head - not to say the rest of her voluptuous body - around the edge of the bathroom door, it had taken all his powers of self-control not to leap on top of her! It had been well worth waiting for those five minutes, carefully positioned in front of the bedroom mirror, in the hope of the merest glimpse.

"Michelle, I have to thank you," he said. No, he couldn't thank her for the sight of her splendid body, but there was something else that was actually more important. "Your presence here has meant that Safia and I have been able to make up over our ridiculous argument. We still disagree, but at least we can talk about it properly, without simply shouting at each other."

"Oh!" He felt so pleased. An adult had never complimented him in that way before. "Well I haven't really done very much - just been a sort of referee."

"To properly thank you, and to apologise to Safia for my part of the argument, I suggest we all go out to a restaurant tonight. The Kashmir in the town centre serves excellent food. Are you agreed?"

"That sounds wonderful, Father," Safia said, turning to Michael and adding, "The Kashmir is the best Pakistani restaurant for miles."

"Go out!" Michael said, full of horror. "But I can't go out."

"I suppose you're worried you have nothing to wear," Safia said. "It's no problem." She turned to her father. "I'm sure the clothes that Anika left behind would fit Michelle. Can we go up and try them on?"

"I was thinking exactly the same," Mr Hussein said. "Show Michelle to Anika's bedroom and help her chose something that will look good on her.

"She has left behind lots of her clothes," he added to Michael. "There will be plenty of things for you to wear."

"But..."

Safia took him by the hand and said, "Come with me."

Michael allowed himself to be led upstairs.

***

"I can't go out dressed as a girl!"

"You mean because you'll look stupid?"

"Yes. Of course."

"But we've already been through that argument. As long as you don't look like a boy dressed as a girl, you won't look stupid."

"But the Kashmir is a very popular restaurant. Lots of my friends go there with their parents - especially today as it's the end of term."

"Michelle," she said, "let us just do the same as we did earlier on. We'll find some of Anika's clothes and you can put them on, and only if we both believe you look like a girl will we show my father. If you pass his inspection at close range, then you will certainly pass in front of anyone who may see you across a dimly lit restaurant."

"Yes, but..."

"But nothing. Now, let us select you a pretty dress."

"A dress? But why can't I wear jeans?"

"Because I don't think Anika's jeans or trousers will fit you properly around the bum - she didn't normally wear the Hiplet, remember - but, I'm sure the dresses will fit superbly. Look, let me select a few and you can try them on."

She made him take off his school blouse, skirt, shoes and socks. He stood before her in bra and panties, shivering slightly, shivers which had nothing to do with the temperature and everything to do with the excitement running through him at the thought of putting a dress onto his girl-like body, and going out in public to a restaurant frequented by many of his friends' families. It was absolutely crazy! He should make an excuse; but the thrill inside him kept him from speaking.

Safia pulled several dresses from Anika's wardrobe and laid them out on the bed

"Which one do you prefer?"

He stared at them - brightly coloured red and blue dresses, as well as white and black ones. None of them looked the kind that a girl like Safia would wear. No, these would be worn by the kind of sexy bombshell that terrified him.

"Haven't you got something a little more demure?" he asked. "I'd feel uncomfortable in those."

Safia laughed. "Anika didn't do demure, and with your curvy body, I don't think you can either. Now which is it to be: red, blue, white, or the little, black dress?"

He chose the black dress as he thought it would make him less conspicuous, and he was pleased when Safia said that was a good choice.

She rummaged through the drawers some more and said, "Slip off your panties and we'll put you into these slinky tights." She held out the shiny black tights before him and he shivered some more.

She laughed and said, "You're actually enjoying this as much as I am, aren't you?"

"No," he said, and then added, "Well, it's frightening and thrilling at the same time. I guess it's the same as climbing a mountain."

She laughed and said. "Except that what you're doing is braver than mountain climbing. How many male mountain climbers would have the courage to put on a dress?"

He laughed with her and said, "I can't think of many. Now, can you help me on with these tights?"

She showed him how to bunch up one leg of the tights and then slide his foot into it and pull it part way up his leg, and then to do the same for the other.

"We'll need to change your bra," Safia said, when the tights were up around his waist, and he was staring in the mirror at his even sexier-looking legs, "otherwise with the low neckline on that dress, people will be able to see it."

She found a black one for him, which pushed his breasts up and together even more, and gave him an incredibly deep cleavage. Then Safia was holding out the little, black dress for him to step into.

He did so, and she pulled it up his body and zipped it up at the rear.

"There. What do you think?"

He'd realised the dress was short, but only when he stared in the mirror did he realise why Safia had called it a little, black dress. It only came halfway down to his knees! And at the top, the whole of his plunging cleavage was on display.

"I can't wear this," he said.

"Why?" Safia grinned. "Because people will think you're a boy dressed as a girl?"

"Of course not, but... It's too sexy."

"Don't you see?" she said. "That's how we establish your sex beyond doubt. Oh, you could wear some poorly fitting jeans, and a sloppy sweater, but people might look and wonder which sex you are. No one's going to do that with this dress."

He was forced to agree with that.

"Pop on your panties and that will keep you respectable," Safia said.

"But they're white," he said. "Don't I need black ones? This dress is so short someone might see them if I bend over."

"A girl doesn't bend over for that very reason," she said. "You're not playing tennis. Remember to keep your knees together. And if some man does actually glimpse them, it will give him a little thrill, just as it thrills you to even think about it. And don't try to deny it."

The thoughts tumbling around Michael's head were so complex, he kept quiet rather than trying to explain them. But he had to agree. He was thrilled at the thought of some boy glimpsing his white panties and being turned on by them.

Meanwhile, Safia was on her hands and knees (with her tight little bum pushing out her jeans) rummaging through the bottom of the wardrobe. She pulled out some shoes and said, "There. Aren't they just perfect?"

He stared at the high-heeled, strappy sandals before him, the excitement welling up inside. "But I can't wear high heels," he said. "I'd topple over."

"These aren't very high," she said. "Just a couple of inches. Think yourself lucky you didn't choose the white dress - the shoes to go with that have four-inch heels."

He shook his head, wondering whether it was too late to opt for the white dress. No, that would completely give away his feelings. In any case, far better to start with a more modest heel that he should be able to master. He sat down on the edge of the bed, picked up one of the shoes and tried to slip his foot into it. It was much more difficult than he thought; he had to tilt his foot downwards in order to cope with the heel, and then there was a fiddly strap and buckle which it took him ages to fasten. He was quicker with the other, and then he realised he couldn't stand up.

"Can you help me up," he helplessly asked, holding out his hand to her.

"You have to learn that for yourself," she said. "I can't help you up in the restaurant. Push your weight down through both your heels, and you won't find it difficult."

It wasn't actually, and then he was tottering about a little, trying not to lose his balance.

"Stand up straight and look at a spot in front of you, then walk towards it. Remember to put your weight onto your heels, and try to push your pelvis forward as you walk, and your shoulders back. Now have a little practice along the landing."

He strutted along the landing, waddling his hips as he went. Safia watched him from the bedroom and laughed. Then he turned and realised Mr Hussein was again in his bedroom watching him walk.

"Very good." He was smiling too, and he added, "Are you not used to heels?"

"No," he said, truthfully adding, "My mother doesn't think they're very suitable for me."

Mr Hussein considered and said, "Well, I may be old fashioned in many ways, but I do think heels improve a woman's stance. They make you look very adult."

His words sent another flash of excitement through Michael. Not only was he fooling Mr Hussein into thinking he was a schoolgirl, he was now being looked at as a young woman.

"Thank you," he said. "I'll certainly keep them on."

"That dress fits you very well, also," Mr Hussein said. "I'm sure there are many boys who want to be your friend."

Michael flushed. Thank heavens Mr Hussein didn't know the truth. "Not in that way," he said.

Mr Hussein shook his head. "You amaze me," he said. He raised his voice and called to Safia in Anika's bedroom, "Safia, can we leave in a few minutes?"

"Don't be silly, Father," she said. "I haven't finished getting Michelle ready, and I haven't started on myself, yet."

Michael's father used to get very impatient with his mother before they split up, and he was fearful Mr Hussein would be the same. Instead, he simply grinned, shook his head and said he would book a table for seven pm.

***

"Well Father," Safia asked, "what do you think of us?"

Safia was wearing a similar kind of dress to Michael's, but with her slim figure and her small breasts just lightly pushing the material into shape, she looked absolutely fantastic. She also had a pendant and hoop earrings which, to Michael, made her look almost like a princess.

"You are both very beautiful," Mr Hussein said. "I shall be very proud to take two attractive ladies to the best restaurant in town." He hesitated a moment and then said, "Safia. I think Michelle would look even better in your mother's diamond earrings and pendant."

"Oh but Father..." Safia started to say.

"No. No," Mr Hussein said, quite firmly. "It's a shame not to get proper use from them, and I have decided that Michelle should wear them tonight. Now, please go and find them."

Safia and Michael looked at each other, and then they both turned and went back upstairs to Mr Hussein's bedroom. Safia opened one of the wardrobes, and Michael could see an electronic safe on the floor, to which Safia bent down and started keying in numbers.

"This is going to be very difficult for you," she said, standing up again with a tray of beautiful, glittering jewellery in her hand. "But I think my father would be very upset if you did not wear it."

"It's no problem," Michael said. "If I wear earrings and a necklace, I may even look half as beautiful as you."

She smiled. "It's not as simple as that," she said. "The problem is that these earrings are for pierced ears."

"Pierced ears!"

"Yes. I'm afraid so."

"But... isn't there some way around it?"

She nodded and smiled. "Of course. There is a very simple way around it. I sterilise a needle and pierce both your ears."

"But... Won't it hurt?"

"Not to someone as brave as you."

"And you think your father would be very upset if I refused?"

"Yes."

He shrugged. "OK, you've already had your wicked way with me all day long. I guess this is just one more little thing."

She was lying! It did hurt, but once she'd done his left ear, he didn't have the courage to say he wasn't as brave as she thought.

Five minutes later, the pair of them went downstairs. For Michael, the large diamond pendant felt so good nestling in the valley of his cleavage that the pain of the piercings and the weight of the diamond earrings, which felt heavy enough to pull off his ears, were but a small price to pay.

"There," Mr Hussein said to Safia when he saw Michael, "didn't I say how good Michelle would look if she wore them?"

"Yes, Father."

"Mr Hussein," Michael said. "They are absolutely beautiful. I really can't thank you enough for letting me wear them." It was strange. Never before had he felt jewellery had much value, other than providing a bit of sparkle to a dull outfit. But the diamonds clearly cost thousands of pounds, and he was wearing them and they made him feel so special. He could see why diamonds were a girl's best friend.

"As I said, they are only going to waste if they are kept in the safe. They are meant to make a woman look even more beautiful."

Michael smiled. "Thank you." Afterwards, he couldn't believe he did what he did, but it seemed so natural at the time. Just the kind of thing a girl would do for someone who had loaned her such beautiful objects. She leaned forward and kissed Mr Hussein on the cheek.

Friday Evening

"Well done," Safia whispered as they got out of the car next to the Restaurant Kashmir and waited for Mr Hussein to join them. "I knew you were brave, but I never realised just how far you were prepared to go."

"I suppose it's about thinking myself into the role," Michael said.

That's what he'd been telling himself for the last ten minutes, as Mr Hussein had driven them to the restaurant. Why else would he have done such a ridiculous thing? Of course, if he was a teenage girl, it was a natural thing to do, rather than ridiculous. But oh, why oh why was life so complicated?

"Shall we go in," Mr Hussein said as he joined them, and he led the way inside.

It was busy, and as Michael had forecast, a number of boys from his school were there with their parents. Several stared at him as they entered, and Michael knew that exposure was only seconds away. He flushed a deep red as he thought about the names he'd be called, and the continual harassment he'd receive next term. Brave! That's what Safia kept calling him. In fact, he was only in this mess because he was too cowardly to refuse.

"You get used to being looked at by boys," Safia spoke quietly to him as they moved through the tables towards the rear of the restaurant.

Of course, he realised. That's what boys did all the time - they looked at girls, especially girls with big breasts or short skirts, and very particularly at girls who had both. The boys were looking at him, not with a suspicion that he was really a boy, but because they lusted after him! They were looking at his legs and his breasts and dreaming of having sex with him! He felt the excitement coursing through his body that was almost as strong as when he'd ejaculated earlier that day.

Fortunately, they were seated in a kind of alcove at the rear of the restaurant. As they sat down, Michael had a quick scan around to check whether there was anybody who might recognise him, but he realised he was shielded from all the boys who'd been staring at him as they'd entered the restaurant. Thank heavens!

At the next table, were a couple lost in intimate conversation and clearly, they weren't going to pose any threat. He took a more careful look at them just to make certain they wouldn't know him...

"Oh my God!" he thought. "It's Mr Blake."

Mr Blake was Michael's physics teacher, and he had done a lot to coach Michael during the year. As a result, Michael had come to like the subject and enjoy a good relationship with his teacher. He'd almost certainly be recognised if Mr Blake gave him anything more than a quick glance. He could only hope that Mr Blake's attentiveness to the woman continued all through the meal. Michael moved his chair slightly, so that the woman was directly in between him and Mr Blake.

"A menu, madam?" The waiter interrupted his chain of thought and he took the proffered menu and read it for a few seconds, before glancing back towards Mr Blake and his partner.

Amazingly, he realised the woman was very sexy. He'd never appreciated anyone could find his physics teacher attractive, and certainly not someone as striking as this woman. Her hair was the same colour as his mother's, but there the similarity ended. It was piled on top of her head with a diamante clip holding it in place, to expose a long, graceful neck, flanked with matching diamante earrings. Clearly, they were nothing like as expensive as Michael's, but they still gave the woman an air of class.

Like him, she was wearing a black dress. He could see from where he was sitting that it was of respectable length, but there was a slit which went right up the side almost to her hip, exposing black stocking tops beneath. Hell, and he thought he was being daring! He turned his chair away from the pair of them and concentrated again on the menu.

"Tell me, Mr Hussein," he said. "You told me this was a Pakistani restaurant, but I'd always thought it was a..."

"Don't even think the words!" Mr Hussein broke in. He had a smile, which took the edge off an underlying tension, but it was clear Michael was stepping into dangerous territory.

"Kashmir really belongs to Pakistan," Safia explained, "but India disputes that and claims it for its own. It is a source of great anger for us, and causes further instability in an area which already has tremendous problems."

"I'm sorry, Mr Hussein," Michael said. "No one has explained that to me before. I shall make certain in future that I call it a Pakistani restaurant."

Mr Hussein smiled. "You are a good girl, Michelle. It is clear you have your own opinions, but you are careful not to hurt those who have different views."

The waiter came then to take their order, and Michael had to hurriedly read the menu as he'd hardly looked at it until then.

"It's very complicated," he said. If he'd been with his mother, she'd have helped him choose, so it seemed only natural to look at Mr Hussein and ask him. Only how would a girl put the question? "Do you think you could recommend something?" he asked.

Mr Hussein smiled. "Of course. Now are you feeling hungry? Do you like spicy food?"

***

The three of them had an extremely enjoyable meal. Safia and her father were clearly delighted to be back on speaking terms, and Michael was in heaven to be in Safia's presence. He knew he should have been upset that all day long it had been a girl to girl relationship, but in fact he'd enjoyed being a girl! How weird was that? And not just enjoyed, but been absolutely exhilarated by it.

"Waiter. Could I have the bill, please?" As he heard Mr Blake's words, he realised he was going to be in trouble. The classy woman had disappeared to the toilet a few minutes ago, and he could hear the scrape of Mr Blake's chair as he stood up. Any second now, he'd be moving round the table towards the exit, to bring him face to face with Michael.

There was no way out, he realised. Any movement he made now would only draw more attention to him, and without Mr Blake's girlfriend to keep him occupied, exposure was inevitable.

"I need to go to the toilet," Safia said. He wasn't certain whether she had recognised his plight and thought this was the only way out, or she really did want to go. But if he went with her, it wasn't going to stop Mr Blake from immediately spotting him.

"Your bill, sir."

"Oh, thank you," Mr Blake said, and then, "Ooh! That's rather pricy."

"Is there a problem, sir?" the waiter asked.

It was Michael's chance. "Yes, I want to go, too," he softly said, quickly standing up and following Safia towards the Ladies' toilets. He'd never been in a Ladies' toilet before, but he guessed he'd manage, somehow, as long as he didn't try to wee standing up!

***

Michael hadn't realised that some Ladies' toilets, just like Men's, contained a vending machine, and the classy woman was just pulling open one of the vending drawers and taking out a pack of something. As she moved away from the machine, Michael could not stop himself from nosily looking at the drawer she had opened, which said 'Durex'.

She'd bought a pack of condoms to have sex with Mr Blake! Michael felt incredibly embarrassed and, as the woman turned away from the machine and towards them, he quickly lowered his eyes to avoid meeting hers.

He felt her gaze sweep briefly across him before she looked at Safia.

"Hello. It's Safia isn't it," an extremely familiar voice said, which she followed up with, "Is Michael with you?"

His mouth dropped open as his mother's gaze returned to Michael, her friendly smile of greeting suddenly turning to one of shocked amazement.

"Michael," she gasped. "Tell me this is not you."

Michael tried to get his head around everything. It wasn't so much being found out - after all, he'd been expecting that all evening - it was more the shock of discovering that the classy woman with Mr Blake was his own mother - and buying condoms at that!

"Michael has been brilliant today." Safia's voice broke the short silence. "You should be very proud of him, Mrs Barker. He is helping to resolve what has been a difficult problem in my family."

Mrs Barker looked from her son to Safia and back to her son, and then back again to Safia. "Presumably," she said to Safia, "your father is unaware of the exact way in which Michael is helping you?"

"My father does appreciate Michael's help," Safia's response was so matter of fact, "but he doesn't know all the details which allowed Michael to become involved."

"Such as Michael being a boy?" his mother said.

"Precisely," Safia agreed.

"Isn't that rather deceitful?" his mother asked.

"Mum!" Michael said. "I could say the same thing about you and Mr Blake. Why didn't you tell me you were dating him? I mean, half my school are in this restaurant tonight. I'm going to get non-stop ribbing over it from now until doomsday, and you didn't even bother to tell me!"

"This is my first date with Peter," his mother said, "although he's been asking me all term. I did try to call you back after I'd fixed it up with him, but you'd switched off your phone, and I left a message instead. I'm sorry you didn't get it."

"Oh," Michael said, rather nonplussed and the silence lengthened between them.

"Oh well," he added, and gave her a quick smile. "At least you're going to use a condom."

He looked at her, she looked at him, and then they both burst into laughter.

***

"I wish I could talk to my father the same way you talk to your mother," Safia said, as they waited for Mr Hussein to pay the bill.

Michael shrugged. "She's never believed there should be one rule for her and one for me, so she's always treated me as an equal. Even so, I thought she'd blow her mind when she saw me dressed like this."

"I suspect you haven't heard the last of it," Safia said, "but she'd hardly want to create a scene which involved displaying her cross-dressed son in front of the whole restaurant, including her boyfriend. I don't think she'd need a pack of condoms after that."

"You two are looking very serious," Mr Hussein interrupted with a smile. "Shall we go to the car?"

He held open the door for Michael and Safia to exit the restaurant, and then held open the car door for them to get into the car.

"I think we should invite Michelle to stay a little longer, Father," Safia said as she squeezed into the back seat beside Michael. "I could get used to you holding open doors for us."

"I'm sure that Michelle would never speak to her mother the way you sometimes speak to me," Mr Hussein said.

"You may be right," Safia said with a wink at Michael.

"Thank you for buying that meal for me," Michael said. "That was extremely generous. Are you sure I can't pay you for it?"

"Don't be silly," Mr Hussein said. "As I said earlier, your intervention has got Safia and me talking again. That is well worth the price of a meal with a beautiful, young woman."

Michael flushed a bright red at his words, and Safia, noting his embarrassment said, "Don't you think I'm a beautiful, young woman, also, Father?"

"Of course," he said. "You are my daughter so you are beautiful by definition and I don't need to say it."

"The only beauty I have," Michael said, "is due to the beautiful earrings and pendant you loaned me."

Mr Hussein shrugged. "It is true that such things can make a beautiful woman look even more beautiful, but they cannot turn someone who is ugly into a beauty."

Michael was feeling more and more uncomfortable at the way the conversation was going, so he decided the best idea was to say nothing more, and they enjoyed a comfortable silence for the rest of the way home.

***

"Would you like a hot chocolate before you go to bed, Michelle?" Mr Hussein asked as they entered the house.

"Yes, please," Michael said.

"I will go and make some for us all," Safia said.

"No, that is all right," Mr Hussein said. "Why don't you go with Michelle and find her some of Anika's nightclothes to put on? Meanwhile, I can make the chocolate, and you can both come down here to drink it."

"Anika has left some gorgeous nightdresses," Safia said as the two of them climbed the stairs. "Even some sexy, little, baby-doll outfits. You'd look very cute in them."

"Didn't she have any pyjamas?" Michael asked, squirming at her words. "I'd feel more comfortable in those."

"Of course," Safia said. "You go to the bathroom and clean your teeth and get undressed, and I'll sort them out and bring them to you. You should find a spare toothbrush in the bathroom cabinet."

***

"It's me," Safia said through the bathroom door, and Michael unlocked the door and let her in.

"I've sorted out some pyjamas," she said, handing him some turquoise, chiffon-like garments.

He eyed them with widening eyes. "When I said pyjamas I meant something a bit plainer," he said.

"Anika didn't do plain," she told him. "She has several more pairs but I thought these were the most suitable for you."

Michael sighed, trying to conceal yet another flush of excitement running through him. "If you say so. Can I give you the jewellery back now so you can lock it in the safe?"

Safia hesitated. "I think my father would appreciate it more if you returned it personally to him," she said. "Keep it all on for now and put on your pyjamas, and I'll go back to my bedroom and do the same. Then we can go downstairs for our hot chocolate together. But first, take a wipe and remove all your make up."

When she had gone, Michael looked more carefully at the pyjamas. There were long, baggy pants and a top which tied with a bow at the centre and ended just below the breasts, with long, baggy sleeves, all in the same turquoise, light - almost translucent - material.

A harem set! He could remember, as a child, watching an Arabian Nights fantasy - or maybe it was a Carry on film - where a dozen women had been clad in similar attire, and probably for the first time in his life, he had lusted for them. Now he was going to wear the same. Did that explain his racing heartbeat and the silly smile on his face?

He had already slipped out of the dress, and now, with some difficulty (he would have to get used to that, he vowed), he unclipped his bra and let his breasts swing free. He pushed his arms into the harem top and tried to pull it around his breasts.

His breasts did not appear to fit inside it! He had to either tie the bow loosely, which left a revealing gap between the two sides, or tie it tightly, which pushed his breasts up and gave him an even more fantastic cleavage than ever. He slipped off his panties and tights, and stepped into the harem pants and pulled them up his bare legs. They barely came up to his hips, leaving a huge gap between top and bottom.

He stared in the mirror at the buxom concubine facing him. He could just see the point of his small nipples protruding through the material. The sight was so erotic he thought he was going to have another orgasm.

"Aren't you ready yet?" Safia's voice came through the bathroom door, breaking the spell.

"I don't think I can wear these pyjamas," Michael said. "They're far too revealing." He unlocked the bathroom door to allow Safia to enter.

She looked at him and smiled. "Well, it's all right. There's only my father here. It's not as though we're going outdoors."

"But you can see my nipples," he said.

She smiled. "If you'd bothered to look at me, you can see mine as well."

He turned, suddenly aware how rude he'd been and gasped at Safia's short, white nightdress through which - she was absolutely right - her nipples protruded.

"You look so beautiful," he said.

She smiled at him. "Thank you, and remember, you're only seeing me like this because you're a girl. Right?"

He nodded, his own looks forgotten. "I think it's fun being a girl," he said.

"I think it's fun having a girlfriend to stay for a sleepover," she said. "Come on, let's go down and get our hot chocolate."

***

"Hello, you two," Mr Hussein said, with barely a glance at either of them. "You've been so long getting ready for bed, your hot chocolate is almost cold."

In fact, he was very proud that he hadn't allowed his tongue to hang out when Michelle came downstairs in that harem set. He always found it amazing that teenage girls didn't have the slightest clue of the tremendous effect their erotic dress had on men of all ages.

"Thank you, Father," Safia said, taking the two mugs from the kitchen bar.

"Thank you, Mr Hussein," Michelle said. Then she added. "I want to thank you so much for allowing me to wear this wonderful jewellery. But I think I'd better return it now." She walked over to him, fumbling with the clasp of the necklace. Clearly, she wasn't as used to necklaces as Safia, for she still hadn't released it by the time she was standing in front of him. He thought he might burst, so wonderful was the sight of her breasts heaving as she leaned slightly forward to undo the clasp.

"Let me help you," he said. "Turn around and I will undo it for you."

"Thank you," she said, and she swivelled around and stood just inches before him. It would have been so easy to slip his hands around her breasts and squeeze and knead them - but not, he told himself, a girl of his daughter's age, and especially not in front of his daughter!

He undid the clasp and lifted it from around her neck, and then as she fumbled with an earring, he said, "Let me," and reached forward and deftly unhooked the earring from her left ear. Then he did the same for the right one.

"It was really wonderful wearing it. I shall treasure that memory for years." And she reached forward again and kissed him on the cheek!

***

Michael couldn't believe he had done the same thing again! Last time, he'd told himself he'd been thinking himself into the role of a teenage girl. Now, it appeared, he had become a teenage girl, and he was rejoicing in it.

He switched on the bedside light, extinguished the room light, and then slipped into Anika's bed. From this position, he could see into the mirror on the dressing table, and he had to admit it was no boy facing him in the bed, but a teenage girl.

He was just about to switch off the bedside light when the bedroom door opened and Safia came in.

"Hi," she said. "I thought I'd come for a chat and a cuddle with my best girlfriend." She lifted the quilt and slipped into bed beside him. She rested her head on his shoulder and said, "You're enjoying being a girl, aren't you?"

"It's strange to admit it, but I think the answer is yes," he said. "However," he added, "I think I'm about to become a lesbian."

He lifted her chin, moved his head forward, and rather clumsily kissed her.

***

Knock! Knock! Knock!

The knock came just a few minutes later, during which their hands had wandered all over the upper halves of the other's body - Safia had firmly prevented any lower exploration - and their tongues had twisted and jousted each other. They both sat up, startled by the sound, and tried to look innocent, as they adjusted their dress.

"Come in," Safia said, with a note of welcome in her voice which she certainly did not feel.

"I thought you hadn't gone to bed, yet," Mr Hussein said to her. "It's almost twelve o'clock. No midnight feasting in the dorms."

"Sorry, Father," Safia said.

"Since you both were clearly not asleep, I thought we ought to do something about Michelle's ear piercings. Safia, you should have told me that her ears were not pierced before Michelle put on the jewellery. I wouldn't have offered the earrings if I had known."

"That's why I'm pleased she didn't tell you, Mr Hussein," Michael said. "It was wonderful wearing such beautiful jewellery."

"All the same," Mr Hussein said, "you need to take care of your piercings. I have brought you some stud earrings with gold posts, which will prevent the holes from closing up. Put them in now, before you go to sleep, and you'll need to keep them in for several weeks."

He handed Michael a small box, which he opened. Inside were two gold stud earrings, each containing a tiny diamond.

"Oh Mr Hussein! I can't take these," Michael said. "As you say, I'd need to keep them for weeks. I might lose them... or anything."

"They are yours as a gift," Mr Hussein said. "It was foolish of Safia to pierce your ears, and you must take these in compensation."

Michael was torn. On the one hand, he knew he shouldn't accept such an expensive gift from Mr Hussein; and it had been his decision, as much as Safia's, which had led to him having his ears pierced. On the other hand, he really wanted those stunning earrings; like really, really wanted them for his own. Perhaps if he borrowed them for the time being, he could always get Safia to put them back in the safe when he returned to being a full-time boy.

"Thank you, Mr Hussein. That is a wonderful gift, and there really was no need to have given it, but thank you again."

He knew exactly what he had to do now. He pulled back the quilt, put his feet on the ground and stood up, prior to giving Mr Hussein a further kiss. Unfortunately, he hadn't realised that Safia had loosened the bow holding together the two halves of his top. As he stood up, the bow slipped and the two halves, under pressure from his bulging breasts beneath, sprung apart, revealing his two large breasts.

"Oh, I'm sorry," he cried, desperately grabbing the two halves of his top and pulling them around his body. "I'm terribly, terribly sorry. What must you think of me?"

Mr Hussein grinned and said, "Michelle, when you've had two daughters, I can assure you, you see far more shocking sights than that. Think nothing more of it, but I will retire now and let you reassemble your clothes. And Safia, it's time for your bed."

***

He should be eternally grateful, realised Mr Hussein, that Safia had answered his knock when he'd been expecting Michelle to be on her own. Otherwise, he'd have made a complete ass of himself. He was just a stupid old fool, infatuated with a pretty young girl. He'd been stupid to give her the earrings and he would put their value down to experience. Tomorrow, Michelle would go back home and he would not see any more of her.

Shame, really, as she did have absolutely fantastic tits combined with that wonderful schoolgirl innocence, which meant she was embarrassed about them and all the more appealing for it.

Saturday Morning

"Hi, Mum."

"Hello love. How are things?"

He'd called her on his mobile as soon as he woke up, anxious to clear the air with her about... well, everything.

"It's all a bit strange," he said. That was the understatement of the year. "But you..." he added, "well, you sound really happy this morning."

"Oh. Do I?"

"Yes, Mum."

"I can't think why."

"Could it have anything to do," Michael asked, "with the sound of that toilet I just heard flushing in the background?"

"Oh that? Er, yes, well, I suppose it could have something to do with that."

"I'm really happy for you, Mum."

"Are you? Really?"

"You were so sad when you and Dad split up, and you haven't been happy since. But you sound very happy this morning. I'm glad."

"Thanks, love. You don't know how important it is to me to hear you say that. Now, tell me how you got yourself in that mess."

So he did. He told her almost everything. Oh, he left out the bit about him kissing Safia (which actually, she guessed) and Mr Hussein (which she certainly did not), and about Mr Hussein giving him the diamond earrings, and about him exposing himself to Mr Hussein, not once but twice.

"So to summarise, you are stuck in that girl suit for the next two weeks?"

"Yes, Mum."

"And you'll be coming home later today, and when Gavin comes round to see you, you can show him a new side of you."

"I just don't know what to do, Mum."

"Hmm," she said. "You say you're getting on all right with Mr Hussein?"

"Yes. He's being very nice. I think he felt guilty about locking me in his house all day. I suppose he could have got into trouble over that, and if it leaked out about the way he'd been keeping Safia virtually a prisoner, there'd be a lot of people who'd be angry with him. And also, I really think I helped him and Safia to start talking to each other again."

"OK," she said. "Let me think about it and I'll get back to you."

"Bye, Mum."

"Bye."

***

Mr Hussein was drinking tea and reading a newspaper when Michelle entered the kitchen wearing her school uniform of white blouse and pleated black skirt. She was dressed for going home, he realised, and that was obviously for the best. A good job he hadn't made a fool of himself over her, last night. She might look physically mature, but she was just a schoolgirl.

"Michelle," he said. "Good morning to you. Did you sleep well?"

"Yes, thank you, Mr Hussein."

"Is Safia coming down? I was hoping she would lay out breakfast for us."

"She let me use the bathroom first, so she should be down in a few minutes, but I could lay out the breakfast. What do you normally have?"

"Could you really do that? Cereal, toast, tea. You'll find them in the cupboards over there." He waved his arm and Michelle obligingly started to lay the table. As she moved, he couldn't stop himself admiring the way her breasts delightfully wobbled with every slight movement she made. Yes, he thought. It really was best that she was leaving.

The telephone rang, startling them both, and Mr Hussein picked up the handset.

"Is that Mr Hussein? This is Helen Barker, Michelle's mother. I wanted to thank you for letting her sleepover last night."

"That's no problem Mrs Barker. She is a lovely girl and we enjoyed having her." Nice tits, too, he might have said but did not.

"That's good to know," she said. "My child never ceases to amaze me. But I'm afraid I have to ask another favour of you - do you think she could stay with you for another hour or so? I'm in a bit of a fix as my mother has had an accident and I have to leave for Yorkshire immediately. I'm trying to contact my mother-in-law, and get her to come over and collect Michelle, but she's not home at the moment, and she won't carry a mobile with her, and I'm not certain..."

"Mrs Barker, Mrs Barker," he interrupted her flow. "We would be very happy for Michelle to stay with us all day, if that would be helpful. In fact... How long are you likely to be away? Michelle could stay here."

"But that's the problem," Mrs Barker said. "Mum has her leg in plaster, so I'm going to have to stay in Yorkshire here for about two weeks. Obviously, you couldn't be expected to have her stay with you for that time."

"Mrs Barker," he said, "could you hold on for one minute?"

He turned to Michelle and explained the problem about her grandmother. "Your mother is trying to arrange for you to stay with your other grandmother." He saw the dismay in Michelle's face, and added, "Of course, if you wished, you would be welcome to stay here."

He was delighted to see her face light up.

"But would that be alright?" she asked.

He returned to the phone call. "Mrs Barker," he said, "Michelle would be very welcome to stay with us for two weeks, if you were happy with that."

She was overwhelmed by his suggestion and it took all of his powers of persuasion for her to accept his offer. But when she had done so, he couldn't stop a big smile spreading across his face as he turned towards Michelle.

"Your mother has agreed you can stay here," he said, and was delighted to see a smile light up her face also. "Have a chat with her and you can fix everything up. He handed the handset over to Michelle and she started talking to her mother.

***

"Mum, I'm sorry about grandma. How did she do it?"

"Well, we'd better say she slipped as she was coming down the stairs. That sounds all right, doesn't it?"

"You mean that..."

"You'd better not give the game away after I've made up such a convincing story. Now we'll also invent some reason why you can't go back home to pack a suitcase. How about if you lost your key at school this week, and I had the lock changed yesterday, but I haven't yet had chance to give you the key. That should work, shouldn't it? You'd better check with Mr Hussein that he doesn't mind you continuing to use Anika's things."

Michael turned to Mr Hussein and relayed the problem.

"Of course that is no problem," he said, "It us good you are getting the use out of them."

"Mr Hussein kindly says that's all right, Mum. But how are you going to manage over the next two weeks?"

"Oh, didn't I tell you? Peter has suggested we go away somewhere for a few days, so I'm packing my suitcase as I speak."

"Mum!" he protested.

"It's all right," she said. "I shan't forget the advice I gave you yesterday. Now bye, love. And enjoy your girlie time with Safia."

***

Safia had come down by the time Michael had finished the call, and she was as pleased as Michael at the news. Whilst Mr Hussein's back was turned, she mouthed at Michael, "Is it true?"

He shook his head, and she gave him a big smile.

"It looks like it is going to be a hot, sunny day," Mr Hussein said, as they started eating breakfast. "Would you like to go to the beach, this morning?"

Michael was aghast at the idea. He'd be expected to put on a swimming costume and cavort half-naked in front of loads of other boys from his school, many of whom would be down there on this first day of the holidays.

Safia said, "That's a lovely idea, Father. We can take a picnic and it will be great fun."

"I'm not really dressed for the beach," Michael said.

Mr Hussein nodded and smiled. "I'm sure Anika has some swimming costumes and other beach clothes."

"But I'm not very keen on exposing myself on the beach," Michael, persisted, feeling his face flush with embarrassment. He'd got away with it last night in the corner of the dimly lit restaurant, but there was no way he'd do so whilst he was being ogled from just a few feet away by a dozen lusting school friends.

"Michelle is embarrassed that her body has matured so quickly," Safia explained to her father. She turned to Michael and added, "It will really be all right. We drive right out of Seacombe to the area where there are lots of sand dunes, and we'll be quite private. Father would never allow it otherwise."

Mr Hussein said, "Safia is absolutely right. I would never allow my own daughter to parade herself half-naked on a beach in full view of boys, so I certainly would not permit a girl in my charge to do the same. We'll find a spot where just the three of us can sunbathe in private. And you really should not be embarrassed by your growing body. All girls go through this period, sooner or later. I can remember, Anika suddenly grew very rapidly, but she enjoyed the attention it gave her. I'm sure, when you are a little more used to it, you will do the same."

"Father's right," Safia said. "Wearing a costume with just the three of us together will give you more confidence later on."

Michael could see he was beaten. "I suppose so," he said.

Mr Hussein turned to Safia and said, "I'm sure you can find some nice clothes for Michelle from Anika's room?"

"Oh yes," Safia said. "She has plenty of beachwear."

That gave Michael the chance to ask a question which had been puzzling him. "Why has Anika left so many of her clothes here? Does she often come and stay with you?"

There was a momentary silence before Safia said, "Anika had to suddenly travel to London and she didn't have chance to pack."

"Presumably, you are going to send them on..." Michael started to say, but he was interrupted by Mr Hussein.

"Safia has given you only part of the answer," he said. "In fact, Anika left home after I forbid her from going to live with a boy, without being married. I told her that if she went, I would disown her."

"Oh, Mr Hussein," Michael said. "I'm so sorry. I didn't mean to pry."

He shook his head, softly. "This is also something which has come between Safia and myself," he said. "Perhaps it's better out in the open."

"It must be very difficult for you," Michael said.

"Ah, Michelle," Mr Hussein said. "As always, you see problems through other people's eyes, even though you probably disagree with what they do. You are right, it is difficult, but I lost my temper, and I let it, rather than my mind, control my words. For that, I must pay the price."

"Anika now has a little baby girl," Safia said.

"And you have never seen your granddaughter?" Michael said. "That's awful."

"I have said what I have said," Mr Hussein said. "I cannot undo my words. I would lose face."

"I can understand your position," Michael said. "It's never easy to tell others you said something in haste."

"Shall we get ready to the beach, now?" Safia said. "Michelle, let us go upstairs and find some clothes for you to wear."

***

"I am frightened you push my father too far," Safia said. "You haven't seen him when he loses his temper. If I were to have said the things you say to him, we would be back where we were before you came."

"But that's the point, Safia. I can say things as a guest that he wouldn't tolerate from you. They are things which need to be brought into the open. Not seeing your sister or her child is horrible for both of you."

Safia gave a wry grimace.

"Now, I know you said Anika's jeans wouldn't fit me," he continued, "but could I just try them? I really don't want to go to the beach wearing some silly dress."

Five minutes later, Michael had to admit defeat. There was no way he was going to zip up the pair of jeans over the padded Hiplet, which he had only just managed to fasten at the waist.

"It's weird that the dresses seem to fit me quite well," he said, "whereas these jeans are just hopeless. OK, you'd better find some dress suitable for the beach."

"Even if you could get them on," Safia said, "I think you look far better in a dress than jeans." But she didn't try to explain the excitement she got from dressing up this wonderful boy in pretty dresses. She couldn't really understand herself why she'd selected an older pair of Anika's jeans from her wardrobe that were at least two sizes smaller than the rest of her clothes!

***

Whilst Safia was packing the picnic, Michael got the chance to call his friend Gavin.

"Sorry about last night," he said, "but everything was in a bit of a panic. My grandmother..."

"Panic," Gavin said, "It must have been in crisis. How long has your mum being going out with Mr Blake?"

"Ah, you know about that?"

"I couldn't believe it when Mark Thomas rang me up. He'd just got back from the Kashmir and he recognised your mum, even though she was really tarted up to the nines. So how long has it been going on?

"That was their first date," Michael said.

"Well it didn't look like it to Mark," Gavin said. "He went to the toilets and Mr Blake was buying condoms out of the machine. Does your mum..."

"Gavin!" Michael said, "This is my mum you're talking about. Do you have to spread rumours about her just like the other plonkers at school?"

"Sorry mate. It must be tough on you. Still, it explains why you've been Mr Blake's favourite all term."

"What do you mean? I get on well with Mr Blake because I'm interested in Physics."

"Yeah! Right. We all thought he must be gay and he was grooming you. It's a bit of a relief that he was simply trying to shag your mum."

"Look," Michael said. "That's not fair and it's none of your business anyway, so back off."

"Sorry, Michael, I should have kept quiet."

There was an awkward pause between them, before Michael gave the spiel he had rung up to say. "My grandmother's had an accident in Yorkshire. We have to go up there and stay with her whilst she's recovering, so I won't be around."

"That's a shame," Gavin said. "My family's going for lunch tomorrow at the Grand and they'd said I could invite you."

"Sorry," Michael said. "But thanks for the offer."

***

It has been described as one of the sexiest moments on film, when Honeychile Rider walks out of the surf and up the beach towards James Bond.

But this, Mr Hussein thought, was no Ursula Andress recorded on celluloid. This was Michelle Barker in the flesh walking out of the surf in the skimpiest of bikinis. She walked with a natural ease which made each breast, barely supported by the bikini, bounce with every step she took, sending a quiver rippling up the height of the breast. Surely, it could only be seconds before one of them became unseated from the bra, as he was certain had happened a couple of times whilst they were in the water. If only he'd brought some binoculars - but then his attentions would have been far too obvious.

She and Safia had been frolicking in the sea - throwing a beach ball around, ducking each other under water, swimming, and all with a rumbustious behaviour between them that Mr Hussein had found incredibly erotic.

But in spite of her voluptuous body, Michelle had an air of childish purity that made her utterly delightful. Even her hair which, now it was soaking wet, more resembled a boy's haircut, gave her the appearance of an innocent virgin.

As the two girls returned, Michelle had clearly forgotten her earlier embarrassment when she had to disrobe in front of him, when she had shyly turned her back, slipped her beach dress over her head and then immediately run down to the sea after Safia.

"Are you all right, Father?" Safia's voice broke into his thoughts. "Only you are looking rather strange."

"I was simply thinking," he said, trying not to reveal his feelings of guilt. Michelle was his daughter's school friend; he had a duty of care; to protect her from the very kind of thoughts he was harbouring.

Safia smiled in a carefree way he hadn't seen on her face for a long time, and he couldn't help smiling back.

"What about?" she asked.

He gulped. Yesterday, she'd never have dared ask the question because she knew he would have flown into a temper. It was imperative he didn't behave like that now, but she had put him on the spot.

"I was thinking," he said, "that I might give Anika a call." Where had those words come from, he wondered. Desperation, partly - but surely he had not really been thinking along such lines, had he?

"Oh, Father, that's wonderful," Safia said. She ran forward and hugged him, and kissed him in a way she hadn't done for years. She half turned towards Michelle, and added, "This is your doing, Michelle. Come here and join in and be hugged."

Michelle shyly came forward until Safia could grab her with one arm and bring her into the embrace between all three of them. He slipped his arm around her beautiful shoulders and hugged her to him. He could feel her one breast pressing into his chest, the soft nipple making the merest of impressions against him. He could also feel a hardness gathering below which, if he didn't do something quickly, would be making itself known - not just to Michelle, but to Safia also!

He abruptly pushed both of them away with a: "OK, I can see you are both delighted that I have capitulated." But not as delighted as he had been at holding that innocent, but beautiful, girl in his arms. "But I am ready for our picnic, so let us eat and I will then telephone Anika."

As Safia opened the picnic hamper and started taking out the contents, Michelle said to him with a smile on her face. "It's not about capitulation. It's about wanting to see your baby granddaughter. You must be excited."

Heck, yes, he was excited - and it wasn't just about being so close to Michelle. He really did want to see his daughter again, and his granddaughter. He gave Michelle an even bigger smile that, for once, was not totally motivated by sex, and hoped that his hard prick wasn't very obvious.

Michelle had picked up her towelling dress and had pulled it over her head, and was trying to pull it down her body. But whilst it had easily slithered off when she was dry, the waistline now snagged on her most outstanding area. She wriggled a little, and then a little more.

"Here," he heard himself saying. "Let me help."

He grabbed the waistline of the dress on both sides and pulled downwards, carefully avoiding touching the very parts of her he most wanted to. His action did the trick, and the waistline slid over her breasts and down her body.

"OK?" he asked, giving her a smile, suddenly realising that, as the waistline had stretched over her breasts, it had freed them from the restraint of her bra, and they now jostled nicely in the low-cut neckline of the dress. He could see her nipples!

"Thanks," Michelle said. "That's great. I know it's silly, but I'm still getting used to having breasts. They've only recently grown like this, you see, and I'm very self-conscious of them."

He nodded, trying not to go cross-eyed as he peered down the front of her dress without making it too obvious. "I guess every girl is different," he said. "Anika developed a very shapely figure when she was quite young, but even so, it wasn't soon enough for her. Safia, on the other hand, is I think only a few months younger than you and yet she is still very slim."

"And hopefully going to stay that way," Safia said. "Mother was slim and I shall be like her. Now, the picnic is ready for you to tuck in, so why don't you both sit down and enjoy it."

Michelle sat down immediately next to Safia and he sat opposite the two of them. Entirely coincidentally, he realised he had a superb view of Michelle's nipples. He wondered whether he should have said something, but clearly, that would only embarrass the poor girl. Much better for her to discover the problem when he wasn't around. Perhaps he'd suggest later on that they go behind a sand dune and change out of their wet costumes. Not just yet, though.

***

After they had eaten, it was in fact Mr Hussein who wondered off with his mobile phone to telephone Anika. Whilst he was gone, Safia whispered to Michael, "First rule of being a girl is to keep checking that you're decent."

"What do you mean... Oh heavens! How long have I been like that?" He hurriedly stuffed his hand down the front of his dress and started to make himself decent.

"All through lunch," Safia said. "Fortunately, my father is too old to be interested in staring at teenage girls, otherwise he'd be thinking you were giving him the come on. But watch it, if any other males are around."

"There's so much to learn and go wrong, being a girl," Michael said. "In fact, I don't think I'll ever..."

"They are all coming over for lunch tomorrow," Mr Hussein said, coming up behind them with a huge smile on his face. "Anika, her... partner, Martin, and Sophie, my granddaughter. They've named her after you, Safia. What do you think of that?"

"That's wonderful, Father. Everything is wonderful. But are you expecting me to prepare a meal for them all. I'm not certain..."

"No, no. I told them I would take us all out for a meal at The Grand Hotel - the finest English restaurant in town - especially for Martin's benefit. So you two girls will need to put on your best dresses."

"You won't want me there," Michael said, as he realised that was where Gavin would also be eating Sunday lunch.

"Don't be silly," Mr Hussein said. "Anika is looking forward to meeting with you. You can have a good talk with her over lunch."

"But..."

"Michelle, you are the reason why, after all this time, I am going to see my daughter and granddaughter. I will not permit you not to be part of the celebrations."

As they cleared away the picnic and started carrying stuff to the car, Michael whispered the cause of his concerns to Safia, who nodded and said she would think of something. Michael, meanwhile, knew that total ridicule was just one day away. Having a mother dating your Physic's teacher was pretty bad, but he guessed he hadn't seen anything yet.

"Father," Safia said, as they started the drive home, "I was wondering about Michelle's hair. It seems to have got a bit bedraggled after being in the sea. Do you think..."

"Make an appointment for her this afternoon at the best hairdressers in town," Mr Hussein commanded.

"Well, I'm not certain..." Michael started to say, but both Safia and Mr Hussein told him to be quiet.

Saturday Afternoon

"I've told Michelle that her present hairstyle makes her look like a boy," Safia said later that afternoon.

"Absolutely," Judy the hairdresser agreed, running her fingers through the offending hair. "Who on earth has done this to you?"

"It was a friend of her mother's," Safia said. "Father says that money is no object. She needs something to totally change her appearance and make her look a bit more mature, and very sexy."

"Money no object?" Judy said. "Then leave her to me. You'd better come back at about eight. Is that OK?"

"Eight o'clock?" Michael said. "But that's hours. Normally when I go to..."

"Which is why your hair is such a mess," Judy said. "I am going to make you look so different your own mother won't recognise you."

"But Safia," Michael said, "Don't forget that in two weeks' time I need to..."

"Don't worry," Judy said to him as Safia left them with a wave. "The style I shall give you will look as good in two weeks time as it does now."

Michael didn't say that was exactly what he was worried about.

***

"Michelle! Is that really you?" Safia said, gasping at the sight of what was clearly a young, beautiful woman before her,

"Yes, it is," Michael admitted, "although I can hardly believe my own eyes,"

"You have been transformed from a schoolgirl into a young woman," said Mr Hussein.

"Mr Hussein," Michael said. "I'm so very sorry about the price. I never dreamt that it was going to be so much,"

Mr Hussein smiled at her and said, "You have become a woman that any man could proudly take on his arm. It would have been cheap at..." he almost said ten times the price, but that would have gone too far. "...twice the price," he finished.

"Mr Hussein, I don't know how I can thank you enough. You've been so generous to me." Michael leant forward to kiss him and hoped Mr Hussein wasn't too embarrassed when his damn breasts got in the way again. In a sudden fit of daring, he crooked his right arm and added, "Will you take my arm?" After all, it was Mr Hussein who had suggested having his hair done.

Mr Hussein delightedly slipped his left arm through it, and they walked out of the hairdressers and along the road toward the car park, arm in arm, side by side, and thigh by thigh.

Michael couldn't explain his own feelings. A boy shouldn't be excited about having his hair blonded, about being given long hair extensions and then styled into golden curls which tumbled over his face and down his shoulders. What was even worse was knowing this hairstyle would still be with him when he was due to return home in two weeks' time. On the other hand, he had the confidence of knowing that he looked absolutely stunning. When he saw Gavin at The Grand tomorrow, there was simply no way that his best friend would associate him with the sex symbol he saw before him. Even Mr Hussein seemed impressed with his new style.

***

As Mr Hussein drove them home, he was rather more than impressed. He had sensed the excitement running through Michelle at her stunning new looks, and knew she had suddenly realised the sex goddess she was. Tonight was definitely the night when she would be in need of a man who could gently introduce her to the ecstatic pleasures that awaited her - not some sixteen-year-old boy who would give her a grope and then ejaculate inside her within minutes. No, she needed a mature man who would know how to keep her pleasured for hour after rapturous hour.

It was obvious from the way she had kissed him and nuzzled her breasts against him that she had chosen him for the part, and then they had walked arm in arm to the car, with her thigh pressed firmly against his. This was to be IT.

If only Safia would not keep chattering on. She was so excited about Michelle's new hair, and how it really made her look so different, and how they should choose which dress Michelle would wear to lunch tomorrow, and which shoes... so on and so on.

He could see that Michelle was as disinterested in her conversation as he was, but on the other hand, it filled the gap between having the quick meal which Safia prepared and a time when it was respectable for them all to go to bed.

He decided he would shower, and then make certain Safia was in her own bed - no repeating last night's mistake - before going in to compliment Michelle on her new hair, and tell her how beautiful she looked. She would be overwhelmed by his words and he would give her a goodnight kiss, which would turn into the most passionate kiss she'd ever had. After that, it would be simple to slip into bed beside her and take her up to the heights of ecstasy, and keep her there for hours.

He was just about to suggest it was time for bed when the phone rang. Suppressing a swear word, he went through to the kitchen to answer it.

"I hear you've at last come to your senses about Anika," a very familiar voice said.

"Mother." Mr Hussein groaned. The last thing he wanted now was a long chat with his mother. "Have you been speaking with Anika?" Surely, Safia had not telephoned her grandmother this afternoon to tell her the news?

"Of course I've been speaking with her," his mother said. "I have never stopped speaking with her all through this ridiculous argument you've been having with her. Now what's this Anika tells me about you having a young girl staying with you?"

Mr Hussein's heart leapt into his mouth and he cursed his luck. "It's simply one of Safia's school friends, Mother," he said. "Her grandmother has had an accident and her own mother has gone to visit her in Yorkshire. The girl is staying here whilst her mother is away. There's nothing wrong in that."

"You forget I know what you were like before you got married," she said. "Of course there is something wrong with it. Let me speak with Safia."

"That was many years ago, Mother. I have two daughters of my own, now."

"A leopard never changes its spots," she said. "Let me speak with Safia."

"I'm sure she will tell you I have been the perfect host," he said, mentally crossing his fingers.

"Safia is too loyal to her father to do otherwise," she said. "Far too loyal for her own good. Thank Allah that Anika was not the same. Now, let me speak with her."

He took the phone back into the lounge and said to Safia. "It's your grandmother. She would like to speak with you."

Safia's face lit up and she eagerly took the handset he held out her.

"Hello, Grandmamma," she said. "Has Father told you the good news about Anika?"

She listened and then said, "Oh, that's a ridiculous idea. Father's far too old for... Very well, Grandmamma... Yes, Grandmamma... No, I'm sure she will not mind... Yes, Grandmamma. Goodbye, Grandmamma."

After she had rung off, she turned to them both and said, "Grandmamma has some very old-fashioned ideas. She is very shocked that Michelle should be staying in a house with only you here, Father, so I have had to promise that I will sleep in Michelle's bed, and not leave her alone with you during the day. Isn't that ridiculous?"

Damn the interfering old... But he didn't let his feelings show. Instead, he nodded. "Your grandmother certainly does have ridiculous ideas. I don't know how she survives in today's world. Well, I certainly won't tell on you, Safia, if Michelle wants to remain in twenty-first century Britain, rather than the past, and have a bed to herself."

Michelle smiled at him and his heart lit up again. Mr Hussein knew she had immediately realised the problems of Safia sleeping in the same bed, and how his quick-thinking response had got around the problem.

"Does that mean you no longer wish Safia to have an arranged marriage?" Michelle said.

He gasped with shock. How could his lover-to-be have turned everything around like that?

"Well, I'm not certain what Safia's marriage has to do with your sleeping arrangements," he said.

"I thought it was about whether we lived according to modern Britain, or the traditions of your culture," she said.

Damn, he thought, she was so innocent she really had not realised his intentions. Or perhaps she was playing hard to get. Whatever the facts, her unavailability made her even more attractive than ever. If anyone else had said her words, he'd have thrown them out of his house, but with this girl...

"Father," Safia said. "It is nothing to do with our traditions or our culture. I have promised Grandmamma. Therefore Michelle and I have to sleep together."

He wasn't going to have sex with Michelle tonight! He knew it. His mother had outwitted him, curse her. Indeed, with Safia following her grandmother's instructions to the letter, he was going to have difficulty having sex with her at all!

"Very well. Michelle, I'm afraid you are going to have to sleep with Safia, tonight, and every night during your stay." But he so dearly wished she was going to sleep with him. If only she knew... Damn! Damn! Damn!

***

Michael could hardly stop himself from grinning at Mr Hussein 's words. If only he knew... On the other hand, he still had on the Hiplet, with his cock embedded firmly inside it. He and Safia would have lots of frolicking fun together, that night, but both he and she would still be virgins in the morning. Damn! Damn! Damn!

Sunday Morning

Mr Hussein was rather pleased next morning to see that both girls had not slept well. He'd had to wake them from their slumbers, something he'd never had to do before with Safia, and even then, it seemed to take them ages for them get down to breakfast.

He was delighted they were still wearing their night clothes - Michelle looked fantastic in her harem suit, although she had taken care this morning to properly secure the bow. All the same, she was a picture to delight the heart.

Michelle gave him a special grin; he thought she probably regretted challenging his suggestion that they should ignore his mother's orders, but did not want to be disloyal to her friend. She was a good girl - indeed, she was just too good.

"Sorry we're so late Father," Safia said. "It is certainly a very different experience when you sleep with someone else."

He smiled, thinking that for Michelle, it had unfortunately not been the kind of experience she should have enjoyed.

"It is not a problem," he said. "Have you decided yet what you are going to wear, as you only have a few hours before we meet your sister? I know it always takes women so long to get ready - especially beautiful ones."

He obviously aimed that remark at Michelle, but it was Safia who responded. "That is because the result is always worth waiting for. I have an idea for Michelle, but you will have to wait and see Father."

"Well, we are meeting them at The Grand at 12.30, and it would be inhospitable to arrive late."

"We shall be on time, Father," Safia said.

***

"Anika is expecting to see a boy wearing a dress, who will just about pass as a rather butch girl," Safia said when they had returned to Anika's bedroom. "I want to show her a beautiful, sexy girl who could never be mistaken for a boy. Now, put on this shower cap and go to the bathroom, shower and shave, whilst I sort out your clothes."

Michael did as instructed. When he returned wearing just a housecoat, Safia had put the same white dress on the bed which she had shown him on Friday evening.

"I'm really glad you chose the black dress on Friday," she said, "as this dress is far more stunning. Now you have your new hair style, this is going to knock everyone dead."

She held it up before her, and Michael could see this dress not only had an even more revealing cleavage than the black dress, it was very much shorter, barely reaching down to the tops of her legs.

"It's all right," she said, "seeing the look on his face. "There are matching panties and tights to go with this dress."

"I should think so, too," he said. "That dress is far too revealing. I don't think I can wear it." He should have been horrified at the very thought, and his words reflected what he should have felt. But ever since he'd had his hair done, he had felt incredibly good. He so wanted to wear it, but boys really should not want that, should they?

"Let's try it on you and you can make up your mind," Safia said. "Slip off the housecoat, and slip on the tights and panties. You'd better put on the shoes, as well, as the dress is a bit tight and it will be more awkward with it on."

Michael stared down at the white shoes. Safia had mentioned them when he was getting dressed on Friday evening, and he'd experienced a momentary thrill when she had mentioned the four-inch heels. Now he could actually see what four-inch heels looked like, he was both terrified and excited at the thought of wearing them. The two-inch heels he'd worn Friday evening had been difficult enough to put on and walk in. But after a while, he'd got used to them to the point where it felt strange when he'd taken them off when getting undressed.

But these were twice the height of those. He'd never be able to get them on his feet - would he? He knew he was going to have a good try.

Safia helped him bunch up the tights and slip them on his legs, and pull them up, and he managed to slip on the panties all by himself. Then he was bending his feet at an impossible angle to his legs, in order to feed them into the shoes. They fastened by a strap that went around the ankle, and when he had them both fastened, he used the same trick as before to stand up.

They were impossible to walk in. He staggered a little and Safia caught him.

"Remember, get your weight down on the heel - it will support you - pelvis forward and shoulders back and look ahead. Try taking a few steps."

He did. He was a bit shaky, but he didn't stumble.

"There," Safia said. "Let's put on your dress and then you can go and practice your walk again. Everything is going to be fine. Hold onto my shoulder whilst you step into the dress."

It wasn't so much a dress, Michael realised, as a short white sleeve. It had a halter neck and there was a gap partway down the back which was laced together in the same way as a corset.

"Keep still," Safia commanded, "whilst I lace it up. I'm going to have to pull it quite tight, as I think you may be slightly thicker around the waist than Anika."

"Do you have to pull it so tight?" he puffed. "I can hardly breathe."

"It's one of the pitfalls of being a woman," she said as she pulled some more. "The things we do for beauty."

"Yes but... Ooh!" as she pulled even harder.

Finally, Safia was tying the two ends in a bow at the top and Michael could stare at himself in the wardrobe mirror.

"Wow!" he said.

Safia came to stand next to him and stare into the mirror with him. "Was it worth it?"

His boobs had been pulled in by the dress, but this had the effect of giving him a fantastic cleavage, which quivered with every breath Michael took. The dress fitted him like a glove, and reduced his waist by several inches, so that the curve as it flowed over the wide hips and bum of his Hiplet gave him an hour glass figure.

"I can't go out like this."

Safia smiled. "Why not?"

"Well, it's just..." The hem of dress was only an inch below his panties. Every movement he made would expose them, and every male would gawp. Sitting down would be murder.

"Too sexy?" Safia finished his sentence.

"Yes... well, not just too sexy but too tartish."

Safia smiled some more. "That's good. Now you really are thinking like a woman. But perhaps looking tartish is a small price to pay to avoid your friends realising that you are a boy who dresses in women's clothes."

"Maybe," Michael said, "but I guess your father would be even more humiliated if I was exposed."

In his heels, Safia had to stretch up to kiss him on the lips. "You did it for my family, and I am truly grateful. I thought I showed you how grateful last night."

Michael was forced to accept that Safia had been grateful to the limit of his own physical limitations. He smiled. "Yeah. You were very grateful, but not as grateful as it might have been if things had been different."

"Maybe," Safia said, "but we shall be leaving the house in less than an hour. I have to dress myself in that time. Now let me quickly put on your make up, then you can spend the rest of the time practising in your new heels, whilst I get dressed."

Sunday Lunch

"Father!"

"Anika! I am so pleased to see you."

"This is Martin, and this is Sophie."

"Hello Martin and... Oh! How beautiful she is! Her tiny nails. Her lovely face."

"Isn't she just? Safia, how are you?"

"Fine. This is Michelle."

"Oh! Michelle!" Anika said it in a way that said she had both recognised the significance that Michelle was really Michael and, as she stared at the woman who faced her, astonishment that Michelle really was Michael! "Wow! Michelle. You look very beautiful," she said.

"Thank you, Anika," Michelle said, returning her smile. "It's mainly because I'm wearing your lovely dress. Safia said you wouldn't mind me borrowing your things?"

"Er, no," Anika said. "In fact, I think that dress looks better on you than it did on me. Your hair is fabulous. I don't understand?"

"Never mind Michelle's hairstyle," Mr Hussein said. "Let us get in some drinks. Martin, what will you have?"

So the lunch got underway. Michael was happy to take a side seat whilst the family buried the rift which had torn them apart and admired the new baby. He certainly did not want to become the centre of attraction, for any reason.

The drinks came and they ordered their food - and Michael was much more confident in an English restaurant than he had been on Friday, and didn't need Mr Hussein's advice, which was fortunate, as he was totally engrossed in baby things.

"I remember you at school."

"What?" Michael turned in surprise to his right. "Oh, er... Martin. Er... what school are you talking about?"

"SPuS, of course," he replied. "I was in the sixth form when you joined. I thought then that you must be gay, when you used to watch us wanking behind the groundsman's hut."

"Oh. I don't think I remember that," Michael said, feeling the blush creeping up his neck. "But I'm not gay. Anyway, I'm surprised you recognised me."

"Only because Anika told me what had happened," he said.

"Then you know I got forced into it," Michael said.

"Yeah, course you did," Martin said. "Like I was forced into having sex with Anika. Well, I can tell you, if I was put on the same spot you were in, I'd have told Safia to get stuffed. Dressing up in a girl's school uniform. You must be gay."

"Well, I'm not," Michael said, turning his head away and hoping for some kind of a distraction that would get him away from Martin.

"Hello," Gavin said, who had clearly been hovering there, trying to catch Michael's attention. "You look just like Michael Barker. Are you related?"

Michael realised he had jumped out of the frying pan, into the fire.

"Sorry," Gavin continued. "I didn't mean to startle you. This is my friend, Mark Thomas."

"Hello, Mark," Michael said, and had the presence of mind to add, "Sorry, you didn't tell me your name."

"It's Gavin," he said. "We're having lunch with my parents and as soon as I saw you walk in, I thought you looked just like Michael."

"He's my cousin," Michael said, continuing the previous story. "But I don't think I look that much like him."

"Well, no. Not in that way, obviously, but I thought your face was very similar."

"Well thanks very much, er, Gavin." Michael emphasised the name, just to show his anger at being compared with... himself. Not that he was angry - he simply thought that was what a girl would do at being compared with a boy.

"Don't mind him," Mark said. "He's not very good with words - that's why he hangs out with your nerd of a cousin."

"You think my cousin's a nerd!"

"Well, of course. Everyone thinks your cousin's a nerd."

"Well, I happen to like my cousin," Michael said, "And I think you are very rude."

"You haven't heard anything yet," Mark said. Then he leant over and whispered into Michael's ear, "Why don't we go somewhere and fuck?"

"Get lost, jerk," Michael said. He turned his back on him, only to see Martin leering at him

"You could be in there," Martin said.

Michael was about to give a very rude reply when the waitress came between them and said, "Soup?"

***

Michael enjoyed the meal far more than he expected. The food really was excellent, and although Mr Hussein was infatuated all through the meal with the baby, Anika was more than ready for a distraction from baby care, and she talked happily with Michael.

"You really do look fantastic," she said in a low voice. "When Safia told me what had happened, I thought there was no way you could carry it off. I was amazed Father hadn't seen through you straightaway. But you do look such a natural girl."

"Thanks," Michael said with a wry smile. "I'm not certain whether that's a compliment or not."

"Definitely a compliment," Anika said. "When I was your age, I was boy crazy, but you can go off them. Don't get me wrong, they still have their essential uses, but we girls are far superior."

Being included in the description gave Michael a warm glow inside, and he said, "I've always thought that, even as... from the other side. But it certainly seems very different from this side of the fence."

"I think it would do every man good if they had to be a woman for a fortnight," Anika said.

"Count me out," Martin said.

"See what I mean," Anika said. "Anyway, I think you look terrific and you should be proud of yourself."

"Thanks," Michael said.

"Except that Safia is not so good with your make up, especially on pale skin. We'll go to the Ladies after the meal and I'll give you some tips. In fact, I have some make up in my bag that will suit you far better than what you have on. You can keep it, afterwards."

"Thanks, Anika," Michael said.

"Poofta," Martin muttered under his breath.

"As a woman, you'll get used to the rubbish that comes out of the mouths of men," Anika said. "Talking of which," she raised her voice slightly so her father would hear, "Father, you're not still trying to pressurise Safia into marrying that creep, Haresh, are you?"

"Haresh is a very fine man," Mr Hussein said. "He has made his business highly profitable, and is well respected."

"Only because he treats people mercilessly," Anika said. "He'd treat his wife the same way."

"I have decided he is a suitable husband for Safia," Mr Hussein said in a voice which brooked no argument. "It is arranged."

"It must always be difficult," Michael cut in quickly as he saw Anika's temper about to burst, "predicting what someone will be like as a husband or wife, when you've only met them in a completely different context."

He paused, aware that all eyes were on him and waiting for him to continue. Why on earth had he spoken? What did he say now?

He took a deep breath and launched in, hoping his words would make some kind of sense. "The reason many English people are against arranged marriages, is that bride and groom hardly seem to meet before they are married. They might find each other obnoxious, or they might fall in love."

He'd been looking directly at Mr Hussein when he spoke, and as he said those last words, he saw the hostility in Mr Hussein's eyes soften. Then he nodded. "Michelle, as always you speak the words of wisdom," he said. He turned to Anika and said, "You can see why I am happy for her to stay in my house.

"I have always found the behaviour of Haresh to be beyond reproach," he continued, "but I can see it would be better for Safia to get to know him better. I am sure she will then agree Haresh will make a fine husband."

"Father," Anika said, "It's amazing. Michelle really has a good affect on you. I haven't heard you talk this much common sense since Mum was alive."

Mr Hussein shrugged. "Maybe you are right. Maybe a man does need a good woman to keep him in order." He glanced around the table and caught Michael's eye.

Michael nodded, he could certainly agree with that.

"I guess every man needs that," Martin reluctantly admitted, and the mood suddenly lightened, and everyone was talking at once.

***

"You know Father has fallen in love with you, don't you?" were Anika's first words as they stepped inside the Ladies.

"What?" Michael gasped. "That's crazy. He's middle-aged for heaven's sake."

"There are plenty of men older than him with teenage brides," she said.

"But it's preposterous. I mean, I'm a..." They suddenly both looked around the toilets, to check there was no one else there.

"But you look a sexy, young woman," Anika said, "and he's fallen for you. Why do you think he spent a fortune on that hairstyle?"

"Oh my God!" Michael said. "What am I going to do?"

Anika smiled. "First of all," she said, "let's wipe off your make up and I'll apply a little of this foundation to your face."

Michael obligingly held up his face for Anika to start work. "I meant, what am I going to do about your father?" he asked.

"Do nothing," she said, as she started to apply the foundation.

"But... What do you mean?"

"Look," she said, "men fall in love at the drop of a hat. They see a girl at the bus stop and they fall in love with her. They can think only of her - they want to have sex with her, to marry her, to have babies with her. Then, another pretty girl comes along and they fall in love all over again and the first girl is forgotten. It is the way of men."

"I'm sure they are not all like that," Michael said.

"Those words are fatal," Anika rebuked, as she turned her attention to his eyes. "Of course, men do have stable relationships, but only because the woman grabs them and keeps them sated. But that is beside the point. What is important is for a girl to understand men, and to use that understanding to her own advantage. Now that I have seen him with you, I know he is in love with you, and you must realise that."

"But you must have guessed yesterday, when you telephoned your grandmother to warn her," Michael said.

Anika smiled and shook her head. "The reason I telephoned Grandmamma was because I knew exactly how she would react when I told her a young girl was staying there. I did it to get you and Safia sleeping together."

"What?"

"I owed you for getting Father talking to me again, so consider that a part payment for services rendered. After all, with your man bits glued into the Hiplet, it wasn't as though you were going to make her pregnant or give her AIDS. But now I've seen the situation, I want you to stay around and use your feminine charms to get Father to abandon his ridiculous plans to marry Safia off."

"But I don't have any feminine charms," Michael said.

"You have huge tits, for a start," she grinned, as she used a lip pencil to line his lips. Then she applied lipstick. "For many men, that's all the charm you need. But it's not just that. Most men think with their balls. When you packed yours away inside that Hiplet, I think you stopped using them in place of brains. You've started using your mind, and that's how women get men to do what they want. I saw how you defused the argument which was just about to explode out there, and I think you will win the argument with Father over Safia's marriage."

"There," she said, standing back from Michael and getting him to look in the mirror. "What do you think?"

He stared at himself. Could this really be the same person he had looked at in the mirror as he cleaned his teeth on Friday morning, determined to get to see Safia?

"It's much better, Anika," he said, "But do you really think I can change your Father's mind over Safia's marriage?" he asked.

"Absolutely," Anika replied.

"And that she'll marry me?" he said.

"Who knows?" she said. "You're both young and should have fun before thinking about lifetime partnerships. Maybe it will be together, maybe you will both move on."

With that, he had to be content. But as he left the Ladies, he was determined he was going to get Mr Hussein to abandon his plans for Safia's wedding.

***

"I'm sorry about my friend, Mark, being so rude," Gavin said to Michael as they were leaving the toilets. Clearly, he'd been waiting for Michael to emerge.

Anika gave Michael a big smile and said she would see her back at the table. To be left alone with Gavin was the last thing that Michael wanted, and he made to follow Anika, but Gavin moved to block the way and they almost collided.

"Michael is my best friend," Gavin continued, "and my mum said I could invite him here for lunch today. But he's had to go to his grandmother's up north, so I invited Mark instead. Michael is a much nicer guy than Mark."

Michael smiled at his best friend. "That's OK. I wasn't blaming you for Mark's comments." He again went to pass by him to return to the table, but Gavin again moved to stop him. It left them standing very close to each other.

"I'm surprised Michael hasn't mentioned you before," he said.

"Distant cousins," Michael said. "One side of the family doesn't talk to the other. You know what families are like."

"But I haven't seen you around here before. Do you go to the girls high?"

Michael paused. He knew it was always best to be consistent with a lie, otherwise you could get into a terrible muddle. On the other hand, if he admitted to going to SIGHS, he'd be bombarded with questions - which class was he in, and did he know...

He didn't have to answer, he realised. Gavin was trying to chat him up. All he had to do was to use his feminine guile to fob him off. "Why the interest?"

"I... That is... Mark dared me to come up and talk to you, after I said you looked very pretty."

"Do you think so?"

"Oh, you're absolutely gorgeous!"

Michael couldn't stop an enormous grin from spreading over his face, and for an instant, he almost confessed the truth to Gavin. But the madness left almost as soon as it came. Gavin would tell Mark and the mobiles would be buzzing all afternoon. "Thank you," Michael said. "So have you won your dare, now?"

But then Michael was taken by surprise as Gavin suddenly lurched forward and planted his lips on Michael's. "That was my other part of the dare," he said.

Michael's reaction was instantaneous. He slapped Gavin's face, pushed him to one side and marched past.

Sunday Evening

"Mr Hussein, when are you thinking of arranging for Haresh to meet Safia?"

Mr Hussein smiled. "I was rather hoping you and Safia would forget all about the idea, but I can see that was a forlorn hope."

They had returned home after spending the whole afternoon at The Grand. Michael now felt completely at ease in his sexy dress. Besides, he realised that Mr Hussein liked him to look sexy. It was only when he verbalised it like that that he realised how silly it sounded, and he gave a little grin.

"What are you smiling at?"

"At your hope we'd forget all about Haresh meeting Safia."

"You think I'm making a big mistake about the arranged marriage, don't you?"

Michael smiled again. "It's not a big mistake at the moment because it's not too late to change your mind. It would only be a big mistake if you tried to force Safia to go through with it and she disobeyed your command or - even worse - if she obeyed your command and discovered what a mistake it was."

"It is so easy for a woman to change her mind. You are all renowned for doing it. But for a man, it is a loss of face - of honour."

"But haven't you heard?" Michael said. "We have sexual equality in this country. You have the right to be like a woman and change your mind."

Mr Hussein burst into laughter at her words, and then he paused. "I haven't laughed like that since Aneka died. It seems wrong to laugh now she is not here."

"From what I have heard from you and Safia," Michael said, "she was a lovely woman. I'm sure such a woman would not want you to be unhappy forever."

Mr Hussein's reaction was totally unexpected. He burst into tears.

It seemed only natural to Michael to go and put his arms around him, as his mother still did for him when he felt the same. "There, there, it's all right. You have two lovely daughters and a granddaughter to remember her by."

Suddenly, Michael realised, Mr Hussein was snivelling in his breasts, and then nuzzling between them in a way he had never done when his mother hugged him. He awkwardly stepped back, pushing Mr Hussein away.

"I am sorry," Mr Hussein said. "I didn't know what I was doing."

"It seems to me, Mr Hussein," Michael said, "that is not the proper way to behave with a school friend of your daughter's."

"What's he been doing?" Safia asked as she came into the room, wearing her customary tee shirt and jeans and, Michael thought, looking all the better for it.

There was an instant's silence before Michael said, "Your father was crying over your mother."

"Really?" Safia sounded delighted. "Oh, Father, you never cried at the time. Both Anika and I thought you would feel better if you could only cry a little. I guess it was the emotion of seeing your granddaughter, today. Wasn't she beautiful? Oh, Father, life goes on."

Mr Hussein looked at Michael and then at Safia and said, "You are absolutely right, Safia. And I am proud of my daughters and granddaughter, and I only want what is the best for you. You understand that, don't you?"

"Of course, Father."

"Michelle wants me to organise the meeting between you and Haresh as soon as I can. Is that what you want?"

Safia looked at Michael, then at Mr Hussein, and then back at Michael. "I'm not certain, Father."

Michael wanted to leap in and explain all the reasons why she should meet Haresh and tell him to get lost, but for once caution made him hold his tongue.

"I thought you agreed with Michelle that such a meeting was necessary," Mr Hussein said.

"I kept silent," Safia said. "I didn't say I agreed or disagreed."

"Why do you hesitate?" her father asked.

Safia said nothing for a minute and then said, "Anika found her partner in the English way. She wore sexy clothes, she flirted dreadfully, she went out with lots of boys, including Haresh, and eventually she settled with Martin." She shook her head. "I didn't like him."

"You are not his partner," Mr Hussein said. "You don't have to like him."

"But did you like him, Father?"

At last, Michael found his voice. "Fathers are required to like the father of their daughter's child. It's the rule, and I'm sure your father would not say otherwise. Actually, I didn't like Martin very much, if that's any help."

They all smiled at that and Mr Hussein said," As usual, Michelle is right. Of course, I like Martin, but I understand why some people might not."

Then he added, "Michelle, you were very keen for Safia to meet Haresh. What do you say about her uncertainty?"

Michael hesitated slightly, before he said, "You're asking Safia to make an incredibly important decision, yet she is still only fifteen. At our age, most of us are still trying to understand life, and making mistakes as we do so.

"Most English women are twice that age before they have their first child," he continued. "Anika had her child much earlier than that, but at least she was an adult when she chose Martin. Haresh may or may not be right for Safia. Regardless of whether or not she has an arranged marriage, I believe that at sixteen, she is too young to marry."

Mr Hussein nodded, for a few seconds and then said, "We have had a good discussion on this, but we don't have to make a decision at this moment. We shall all be more the wiser for sleeping on it. Now Safia, why don't you make us some coffee?"

When she had left the room, Mr Hussein said, "Thank you for keeping quiet about my actions, just now. I don't know what came over me."

"Don't be silly, Mr Hussein," Michael said. "We all do stupid things at times. I hope you don't mind, but I have come to think of you as a very good friend, rather than simply the parent of a school friend. Is that all right?"

"Of course it is," Mr Hussein said. "You speak so much good sense that I have come to respect you as an adult woman. Perhaps that is why I let my emotions get the better of me. Do you understand?"

Michael smiled. "Yes, I understand. But you must not forget I am Safia's school friend."

"Of course," Mr Hussein said, but he had mentally crossed his fingers.

***

"I saw Gavin kissing you. How could you do that?"

They had gone to the bedroom to get ready for bed, and Safia spoke to him for the first time that evening.

"I was taken by surprise," Michael said. "I simply didn't expect him to do that."

"It was obvious what he was going to do."

"Look, it's all right for you. You're a girl and you've always been one. You've learned what to expect and what to do. I'm trying to learn everything in a few days and sometimes I take the wrong decisions."

"Martin said you were gay. Is he right?"

"No! At least," Michael paused for a second, "I don't think so. If you remember, the reason I came through the gate on Friday morning was to see you. But ever since I have been trying to behave and think as a girl would. A girl wouldn't be regarded as gay if she lets a boy kiss her. It's confusing."

"Martin said that a normal boy wouldn't let himself get into the situation you are in."

"But it was you who got me into this mess!"

"Perhaps it was a mistake. Maybe I should have let you try to sneak past the gate on Friday afternoon, but I thought if I did that, I would never see you again. Anika always tells me a woman has to trap her lover, but I don't think even she thought of turning him into a woman."

She gave a little smirk, and Michael couldn't help smiling back. Within seconds, they were laughing at each other and then Michael had his arms around Safia and said, "You turned me into a girl, so if I'm gay, it's when I'm with you. You have made me into a lesbian."

"Well, there's nothing wrong in that, is there?" And she kissed him more passionately than she had ever done before.

Monday Morning

Mr Hussein left for work at his normal time, apologetic that he had to go and leave them alone. Nonetheless, he still insisted on locking them in. "I am responsible for you, too, Michelle," he said. "I have to care for you as I care for my daughter."

"But we are mature girls, Mr Hussein," Michael said. "We are quite safe going out on the streets of Seacombe."

"I know you think that," Mr Hussein said, "but you cannot know it. I would never forgive myself if anything happened to you, and I am certain, neither would your mother."

"We could have a game of tennis," Safia suggested when he had left, adding with a grin, "or perhaps you're worried you might lose again?"

"No way. The only reason I lost last time was because your father was watching and I felt self-conscious," Michael said. He shook his head. "It's difficult to believe that was only on Friday. So much has happened since. It's as though the world has changed its axis."

They went upstairs and changed, before going out to the tennis court and knocking up. Michael's nervousness of the last game had gone now, and he grinned as he thought about how scared he had been about old Mr Walters seeing his panties.

"I won last match, so you had better take the first serve," Safia said. "Let's see whether you can do any better than last time."

Although it took again some time for him to get used to his breasts bouncing around with every movement, his game was much better. But then, so was Safia's who seemed much more nimble than she'd been on Friday. He won the first set, but she won the second, and as the game wore on, the sun got higher in the sky and the day hotter, and their game so much more competitive. Eventually, the extra weight of his breasts and hips began to take its toll. In the end, it was her ability to keep going whilst he flagged that gave her the match.

"Well played, Safia," he gasped, "the best girl definitely won."

"Well played, Michelle," she said. "Wasn't that a great game? I have never played so well before. My best friend brings out the best in me."

"But I'm so hot," Michael said. "What a shame you don't have a swimming pool as well as a tennis court," he teased. "Some houses just don't have the facilities one expects." The closest his own had come to either of those was the inflatable paddling pool he'd had as a child.

"You're welcome to use the pool here," an old man's voice came through the hedge behind them. "Just like the children who lived in the house before you did."

They both gasped, surprised their conversation had been overheard.

"That's good of you, Mr Walters," Safia called back. "But we can't get round there."

"You don't have to come all round by road," Mr Walters replied. "The kids before you climbed up that oak tree and along that large branch. I can put up a ladder here so you can get down."

"I'm not certain," Safia started to say, but Michael cut in.

"I would love a swim. It's very good of Mr Walters to offer. Why don't I try climbing the tree to see how difficult it is?"

"Well, I'm not certain we should," Safia said.

"Oh, come on," Michael said. "Let's try it. Are you certain that would be all right, Mr Walters?" he asked, raising his voice.

"Of course," came the reply. "I have some fresh lemonade in the fridge, and I probably have some gingerbread in the larder. The kids before loved gingerbread. Climb up the tree and I'll go and get the ladder."

"I'm still not certain..." Safia said.

"Just watch me," Michael said. "It doesn't look a difficult tree to climb.

It wasn't. There were a few short stubs of branches to grab and knot holes which made good toeholds. Within a few seconds, he was standing at the point where he could look over the hedge and see old Mr Walters struggling with a wooden ladder which he placed against the branch of the tree on his side of the hedge.

"That looks a beautiful swimming pool," Michael said.

"I keep it properly maintained for when my grandchildren come around, but that's not very often, now. Just walk along the branch and then you can step down into my garden," Mr Walters said.

"I'd better watch Safia climb up this side, first," Michael said.

"No," she responded. "I'll go and get our swimming costumes and towels. Is there somewhere we could change, Mr Walters?"

"Yes," he said. "There's a little changing room you can use."

"OK, I'll be back in a minute," she said. "You go on."

Michael found it quite easy to walk along the wide branch and then put his one foot onto the ladder, which Mr Walters held steady for him. Within seconds, he was standing next to Mr Walters who looked him up and down delightedly. "Why, I could see you were a pretty girl when I happened to glance out of the bedroom window just now, but I never realised quite how pretty."

"Not really," Michael said, rather embarrassed at Mr Walters's stare. "I must look a mess after that tennis match."

"Pretty as a picture," Mr Walters said. "Now, I know your friend lives next door. Are you staying there or just visiting?"

"My name's Michelle," Michael introduced himself. "Mr Hussein has let me stay here as my mother has had to go to Yorkshire to look after my sick grandmother."

"Well her ill health is my good fortune," he said. "I don't get many children around here now. The kids who lived in Safia's house before they moved in were always popping around."

"I can see why," Michael said looking at the pool. "It looks so inviting."

"I have our swimming things," Safia's voice came from the other side of the fence. "I'm going to throw them over?"

They came flying over the fence, two towels wrapped around Anika's bikini and Safia's one-piece swimming costume.

Michael picked them up and then shouted to Safia, "If you reach up, you can grab a short branch sticking out..."

Two minutes later, she nimbly climbed down besides them and stood admiring the pool. "How wonderful. I can see it from my bedroom window, and I've often fancied climbing that tree to have an illicit swim."

"Well you won't have to do it illicitly now," Mr Walters said. "I'm happy for you to use the pool anytime, provided you bring a friend. You mustn't ever swim on your own in case anything happens."

"Yes, Mr Walters," Safia said.

"There's the changing room," Mr Walters indicated the small wooden hut. "I'm afraid it's only big enough for one at a time, so who's going first?"

"You go first," Safia said to Michael.

So he took the towel with his bikini and went inside the small cubicle, removed his clothes and pulled on the bikini.

It really did expose an awful amount of his breasts, he realised. He hoped it wouldn't give Mr Walters a heart attack. He went out, and let Safia enter the cubicle.

"Don't forget to use the swimming cap," she said, picking it up from the floor where it must have fallen, and thrusting it into his hands, "otherwise your hair will be ruined."

It was a good job she'd thought of it he realised. He sighed; there were just so many things to think about as a girl.

"Here's some suntan lotion," Mr Walters said, handing Michael a bottle as he was still struggling to put on his swim cap. "Put it on as the sun is very fierce at the moment."

"Thank you." Michael said, realising that was something else he hadn't thought of. He took the bottle and rubbed it into his face and body. "Do you think you could do my back?" he asked, turning around and holding out the bottle for Mr Walters, in the same way he'd have asked his mother if she'd been there.

"Of course," he said, and proceeded to rub ample quantities of lotion into the rear of Michael's body. It was only when he had started on Michael's buttocks right down to the top of his bikini that he realised that perhaps it hadn't been the most sensible thing to do."

"Thank you, Mr Walters," he said, turning around but making sure he had a smile on his face, rather than the scowl his boyish instincts suggested. "I think I can do the rest myself."

"It was a good job you thought of suntan lotion," Safia said to Mr Walters, coming up besides them. "Can you do my back afterwards," she added to Michael.

"It's important," Mr Walters said. "Especially with young skin. Now, Safia, once you have the cream on, you can both get in the pool. Never dive in here, though, it's not deep enough."

They both sat on the side of the pool and then slid down, letting the deliciously cool water sweep up their bodies.

"I'll go get the lemonade and gingerbread, Mr Walters said. "You two just have fun."

***

They certainly had fun galore in the pool, although always aware of Mr Walters's watchful eye, they refrained from anything which he might construe as petting. But there was plenty of pushing and jostling and ducking and grappling.

"What larks, you two have," Mr Walters said as they climbed out of it twenty minutes later. "I haven't seen young people having this much fun in years. Now, have some lemonade and gingerbread."

They tucked into it with relish. The lemonade was deliciously cold and fresh, and they both drank gallons of it. Neither of them had eaten gingerbread before and they wolfed it down. After all, it must be lunchtime by now and they hadn't eaten all morning. They took extra slices to eat, as they flopped down on the sun beds arranged next to the pool.

It had been a strenuous morning for both of them. Now relaxed, they felt a great tiredness creeping over them, and they both fell asleep.

Monday Afternoon

"I think you ought to wake up, now," Mr Walters said. "You've been in the sun for long enough, even with suntan lotion. You mustn't get burnt."

"Gosh," Michael said. "You're right."

"I am glad to see the pool getting some use," Mr Walters said. "The grandchildren are now at university, so I hardly see them. And I must say it's an absolute delight having such pretty girls frolicking in my pool. You are both very lovely women."

"Thanks Mr Walters," Safia said. "But it's Michelle who is really pretty. I'm just normal."

"Don't believe that," he said. "You are very pretty too, Safia. One day you will make some man very happy." Then, he added, "Or woman."

"Sorry?" Safia said, blushing to the routes.

"No need to be," he said. "You are what you are and take your time to decide what that is. There's no hurry. In the meantime, you give old men like me a lot of pleasure in admiring your youthful bodies, whatever your inclinations. OK?"

They both nodded.

"So I'll be delighted to see you again, as often as you wish. If I'm not here, you can make yourselves at home, but you mustn't swim on your own. There must always be two of you, all right?"

"Yes, Mr Walters."

"That bikini fits you rather better than it did Anika," he said to Michael.

"Anika?" Safia said. "When did you see Anika in that bikini?"

"Oh, she often used to play truant from school and come round here to swim. Who was I to complain? We chose that bikini off the internet and I bought it for her. It was the skimpiest one I could see!"

***

"The old dog," Michael said, almost admiringly as they entered Safia's house.

"I never knew Anika played truant," Safia said. "And I certainly didn't know she was swimming at Mr Walters' house and that he bought her a skimpy bikini."

"How do you feel about continuing to go round there?" he asked. "It's quite clear that he wants to lech at us."

She smiled and said, "So, you need to get used to being a girl, and a sexy girl at that. I don't think he's likely to rape us, so it doesn't bother me. Let's go again tomorrow."

It rather bothered Michael, but he thought it would sound childish to say so, so instead he said, "Well, you've always got me to protect you."

"That's nice," she said and she kissed him.

"Very nice," he said, and he kissed her back.

"Safia! Have you turned into a lesbian?"

The words were snapped at them from the lounge doorway. They both guiltily turned.

"Grandmamma! What are you doing here?" Safia gasped at the woman standing in the doorway.

"I mean," she added, "how nice to see you."

"I should think so, to," the tall woman said. Her similarities with Safia were undeniable, and she wore Western dress - a smart suit which gave her an elegance in spite of her years. She turned towards Michael and added, "I presume this is Michelle."

"I'm sorry, Grandmamma, I should have introduced you. This is my friend Michelle, who Anika told you about."

"How do you do, Michelle?" She held out her hand for Michael to shake. "Or perhaps," she added, staring closely at him, "it's really Michael?" She pulled his hand so he had to turn half sideways onto her.

Seeing their look of surprise and guilt, she said, "I recognise Anika's Bustlet, and presumably you're also wearing her Hiplet. Take those away and it becomes obvious you're a boy. But the hair is excellently done. It completely disguises you. Is Anika in on this con?"

Michael kept his mouth firmly shut, as he had done up until now, whilst Safia hesitated long enough for her to draw her own conclusions.

"So that sneaky little madam made me telephone your father and get the two of you to share a bed. I shall have words with her. I presume you are wearing the red gel, rather than the green? Even Anika isn't that stupid."

"Yes, Mrs Hussein." Michael spoke for the first time.

"Then there's no harm done, other than to my son's pride if he ever found out." She turned to Safia. "Aren't you going to offer me a cup of tea?"

"Yes, Grandmamma."

As Michael and Grandmamma waited in the lounge for Safia to make the tea, she started to smirk slightly, which then turned into a definite laugh.

"It's all right, Michael," she said, noticing his discomfort. "I'm not laughing at you; simply the thought of my idiot son making a fool of himself over a boy dressed as a girl."

Michael found he was laughing with her, and as Safia brought the tea in, she look pleased that the ice appeared to be broken.

"You're not cross with us, Grandmamma?"

"You'd better tell me how it happened, and I can make up my own mind."

After they had relayed the story, more or less, as it happened, she was again laughing. "So this whole story arose because of the stubbornness of my idiot son.

"And if I hear either of you repeat those words, you'll both be in trouble. Do you understand?"

"Yes, Grandmamma." "Yes, Mrs Hussein."

"Grandmamma. It is really nice to see you, but I still don't understand why you have come to visit us."

"Because your father rang me to tell me he has invited Haresh to dinner this evening. It is important to ensure that you are properly prepared for Haresh. There is a very strict protocol we will need to follow."

"Yes, Grandmamma," Safia resignedly said.

Monday Evening
Safia looked stunning when Mr Hussein arrived at the house that evening, wearing a red tunic with deep V multicoloured insert, over red trousers, which Grandmamma had bought especially for her.

"Safia, you make me so proud," Mr Hussein said, with a huge grin on his face. "Haresh is waiting in the car. I shall go and invite him in."

"Not before Safia has retired upstairs," Grandmamma snapped from behind him.

"Mother!" Mr Hussein exclaimed, taken by surprise at her presence. "What are you doing here?"

"You surely didn't think I would allow you to supervise such an important occasion for my granddaughter, did you?"

"Well, I don't see why not..."

"Tch! Don't be ridiculous. Safia is not quite ready to meet Haresh, so Michelle, will you look after him for a few minutes." She turned to Michelle and said, "Offer him a drink, Michelle. Safia, go upstairs and I will be with you shortly."

Safia obediently returned upstairs and Mr Hussein stepped outside to invite Haresh into the house. Michael took an immediate dislike to him, and not just because he wanted to marry the love of Michael's life. He looked incredibly old and very shifty.

Haresh was introduced to Grandmamma and he made all the right, smarmy noises at her. Michael thought he might throw up.

"And who is this young lady?" Haresh turned to Michael who had been hovering behind Grandmamma, hoping he wouldn't be noticed.

"This is Safia's friend, Michelle," Grandmamma pronounced from the lounge doorway. "She is going to host the evening whilst I act as chaperone to Safia.

"Go on then, girl," Grandmamma snapped at Michael. "Get on with it."

"Yes, Mrs Hussein." Michael tried to smile at him, but found it difficult. "Would you like to come this way, sir?"

Michael led the way into the lounge where the drinks had been prepared - a number of cordials and soft drinks, as well as several alcoholic ones.

"No need for formalities, Michelle," Haresh said, trying to put the girl at ease. "I must say it's a bonus having such a pretty girl as you to assist with the proceedings."

"Thank you," Michael said, blushing slightly as Haresh swept an appraising eye over his body. "Can I get you a drink?"

"Is there any vodka?"

Michael confirmed that there was.

"Then give me a decent shot in a glass of cola, and there's no need to tell Mr Hussein or the old bat about it. All right?"

Michael obligingly half-filled a glass with cola and then added a tot of vodka - the kind of measure his mother would have of gin.

"More than that," Haresh said, taking the vodka bottle from her and almost filling the glass. "And why don't you have one yourself, as well?" He reached for another glass.

"I don't drink," Michael protested. He did actually but Grandmamma had given him strict instructions about that, and it was more than he dared to disobey her.

"You have to start sometime," Haresh said, passing him a glass containing at least as much vodka. "Now, drink it down."

Michael was saved having to do so as the door opened and Mr Hussein came in. "Sorry about this," he said to Haresh. "My mother is insisting that strict protocol is followed. I think it will be some time before Safia is ready."

"That's no problem," Haresh said with a smile.

"Father," Safia's voice came from upstairs. "Could you speak with Grandmamma, please?"

Mr Hussein made an apologetic face, and turned and left the room.

"That's all for the good," Haresh said. "It gives us a bit of quiet time together."

"I'm sorry?" Michael said.

"Why don't you and I have a bit of fun before they come back?" he said.

"Fun?" Michael couldn't believe his ears. "But you're here to see Safia. She's my friend and your intended..."

"Come on. A beautiful girl like you must have offers all the time." He reached forward and squeezed her left breast. "Look, you are fucking gorgeous. How about a quick blow job?"

"No!" Michael said, knocking Haresh's hand away. "I shall tell Mr Hussein."

"You think he'll believe a little English tart like you against a respectable man like me? Come on. Don't be a little cock-teaser."

"How dare you?" Mr Hussein had silently re-entered the room, and now stood behind them with a black look on his face. "You abuse my hospitality. You insult me in my own home. Get out."

"But sir, she was leading me on."

"I heard who was leading who on. Now, get out and don't come back."

"Or perhaps," Haresh said, a sly look coming onto his face, "you have already deflowered her and want to keep her for your own. We both know English girls are easy meat."

Mr Hussein's reaction was so sharp that neither Michael nor Haresh saw it coming. One second, Haresh was grinning at Mr Hussein, the next Mr Hussein's fist was smacking him in the face and he was lying prone on the floor, a dazed look on his face with a bright red patch developing around his eye.

"You insult both my good friend and my deceased wife. If you do it again, I shall slit your throat. Now get out."

He pulled Haresh to his feet, dragged him from the room and Michael heard the front door open and it went quiet, presumably as Mr Hussein took him to the gate and threw him out.

A few seconds later, Grandmamma entered the lounge and said, "At last, Safia is ready to meet her prospective fiancé."

"I'm afraid Mr Hussein has just thrown Haresh out," Michael said.

"Excellent," Grandmamma said with a smile. "But I didn't mean that one."

"What are you talking about?" Mr Hussein, said returning to the room, clearly having heard part of the conversation.

"Oh, nothing," Grandmamma said, with another sly smile. She would never tell her son that she had left her mobile phone in the lounge on call to Safia's, and that they had been able to hear every word said by Haresh and Michael. It had simply been a matter of ensuring that Mr Hussein entered the room at the right time.

***
"I think," Grandmamma said some time later after they had all got over the immediate events, "that we must take care that Haresh has no grounds for his fictitious accusation about you, my son." She said the words as though she hadn't made exactly the same accusation directly to him just a few days ago.

Mr Hussein nodded. He had been silently pondering exactly the same issue. "What do you suggest?"

"Why. I shall stay on here, of course, until Michelle's mother returns and she can go home. I think that's best for all, don't you?" She swept her eye over all three and was delighted to note the dismay on all their faces.

She smiled at them. It would do them no harm to keep them on their toes. However, she would probably have all kinds of lapses as far as the two girls were concerned. After all, what mischief could two girls get up to?

"It looks like Clara isn't coming this evening," said Louise, the first violin in The Strings of Sighs, the school's string quartet. "It was pretty selfish of her not to let us know."

"Well, that's Clara all over," said Jenny, the second violin. "She's far too high and mighty to care about inconveniencing us. I guess we can give up this evening's practice — yet again."

They were trying to have a rehearsal, and this was now the third time that Clara had let them down, although previously she had at least told them beforehand. None of them said the words, but they all felt that, with critics tipping her as the next Jacqueline du Pre, she couldn't be bothered with her school group.

"I think it would be good to carry on, regardless," Emily, the rather plump viola player, said. "Show that she's not essential to the group."

"A bit difficult without a cellist," Louise said.

"Jenny, why don't we ask your brother if he'll stand in for us?" Emily said. "He's a pretty good cellist."

"You're only suggesting him," Louise accused, "because you fancy him."

"I do not," Emily denied, blushing furiously.

"You fancy my brother?" Jenny said, showing her disgust by pretending to thrust a finger down her throat. "But even I have to admit he is a half-decent cellist, and we only live five minutes away. Shall I give him a ring?"

Ten minutes later, Gary entered the school's rehearsal room, clutching his cello case. "So, The Strings of Sighs needs a bit of SPS, does it?" he teased his sister.

SIGHS was the abbreviation for the Seacombe Independent Girls' High School and SPS, the local boys' public school.

"This is Louise and this is Emily," Jenny introduced the members of the group to him. "And this," she turned to the other girls, "is Gary, my little brother."

Gary might have reacted rather more strongly about being called 'little' had he not just noticed HER — the sexiest girl he had ever seen.

"I'm not that little," he said, squirming at the way Jenny had humiliated him in front of HER.

"I think you're cute," Emily said.

"Thanks," Gary said, rather embarrassed.

"Shall we get going?" Louise pointedly asked everyone, noting that in spite of their ribaldry, brother and sister seemed very close. She'd have to be very nice to Gary, she thought, if she was not to upset Jenny and she really, really did not want to upset Jenny, the sexiest girl in the school.

In fact, they all got along together, famously. They were all good players, and Jenny noted that her brother seemed to be playing better than he had ever played before. Perhaps he's trying to impress Emily, she thought with a little smile. At the end of their session, when silence once more reigned, they all looked around with the particular satisfaction of having all done their very best, and then some.

"That was brilliant, everyone," Louise said. "Well done, particularly you, Gary, as you haven't played with us before."

"Thanks, Louise," Gary said. "I really enjoyed playing with you." Oh, if only I could, he thought.

"You'll give him a big head," Jenny complained.

If only she would, Gary thought.

"I thought you were fantastic," Emily said. "Perhaps he should join our group." She'd willingly join up with him, anytime, she thought, bringing another blush to her cheeks.

"It's a real shame he can't," Louise said, noting the approval of her comment in Jenny's eyes. "Clara seems to be becoming more and more unreliable. I hope she's going to be with us tomorrow evening."

"We're booked to play for a banquet tomorrow," Emily explained to Gary. She turned to Louise, "Don't you think Gary could play instead? He's as good as Clara."

"Don't let Clara hear you say that," Jenny said, adding, "But I think I should tell you that when Clara didn't turn up this evening, I'm afraid I decided to give up this group. I'm fed up with her treating us like her accompaniment."

"You can't do that," Louise gasped, the thought of losing Jenny terrifying her. "We need you here. The group will fold without you."

"Obviously, I'll play tomorrow night," Jenny continued, "presuming it's going ahead, and any other engagements already arranged, but..."

She was interrupted by the ringing of Emily's phone. She pulled it from her handbag.

"Oh, Clara," Emily said. "Glad you found the time to phone." The other two girls were amazed that the normally timid Emily was so abrupt.

She listened. "Look," she said, "we don't care if you had an audition with the London Philharmonic, you should have telephoned beforehand. We were waiting around like lemons until we found a substitute." More listening. "Well the substitute was good," she said, "because we didn't have any of the tantrums and bad behaviour we normally get from you — when you bother to turn up, that is."

The sounds emanating from the mobile got louder and louder, and Emily had to hold the phone away from her ear. Eventually, she calmly said down the phone, "Why don't you go and get fucked?" and she then terminated the call.

There was a silence that lasted for several seconds, before Louise said, "Well, you certainly told her."

"Emily, you're normally so meek," Jenny said. "That's why Clara always telephones you with her excuses, rather than either of us."

"Maybe I bottle it up, too much," she said, "but I thought it time to let her know how she messes us around."

"But without Clara," Louise said, "it leaves us without a quartet."

"I told you — we should get Gary to play with us."

Suddenly, Emily's behaviour was totally transparent to the two girls.

"But we're playing at a sales conference banquet," Louise said. "They have booked an all-girl quartet because they want to ogle a group of sexy, girl musicians. To be frank, they're not really interested in the quality of our music."

"Perhaps we should put Gary in a dress," Jenny teased, rather annoyed with the way Emily had manipulated things.

Seeing the embarrassment on Gary's face, Emily retorted angrily, "That's a really stupid suggestion, Jenny."

"Actually, I think he'd look rather good in a dress," Louise said, wanting to support Jenny against Emily. She, too, believed that Emily had manipulated events for her own selfish ends — and heterosexual ends at that!

Gary looked at her with shocked horror. It was one thing for his sister to suggest something so stupid, quite another for this beautiful girl to do so.

Seeing his look, Louise sought to justify her remark. "Most blokes look absurd wearing women's clothes," she said, looking at his small frame and pleasant face, "but I think you'd look quite pretty."

"Gee, er, thanks," Gary said, wondering whether to be pleased or disappointed at her comment. He decided on the former. He gave her a big smile. "I guess being called pretty is quite a compliment, but..."

He paused, feeling very confused. "You don't really think I'd look good in a dress, do you?"

"Yes I do." Louise wasn't going to back down now. "But then I really find those alpha male types quite nauseating. A man who was in touch with his inner self and was brave enough to wear a dress would be quite different."

Gary still looked uncertain, as well he might.

"Look," Emily said. "We know The Strings of Sighs produced better music this evening than we've ever done, because we were playing as a quartet, rather than as accompaniment to Clara. We all gelled together brilliantly. We can't lose that."

"It's also true that I've never heard Gary play so well," Jenny said.

"So Jenny," Louise said, "does that mean that if we get Gary to play with us, then you wouldn't leave the group?"

Jenny looked at Gary and smiled. "Well, I don't see how it's possible, except that he hasn't ruled out putting on a dress in order to join us tomorrow. But yes, I'd continue if Gary could start playing with us on a regular basis instead of Clara."

"Now hang on, Jenny," he said, "I may..."

"It would be fun," Emily said, staring him directly in the face and hoping he'd get the message.

"Yes, it would," Louise said, realising Emily was probably going to frighten him off if she didn't water it down. "Great fun," she added, looking him in the eye so that his gaze would not return to Emily.

Gary's heart almost leapt through the ceiling when Louise gave him that special look. "I'll do it," he said. At that moment, he'd have agreed to do anything, just for a bit more time with the most beautiful girl in the world.

"Why don't you all come round to my house at about ten," Emily suggested. "My parents are always out shopping most of Saturday."

"It won't take all day," he protested. "I'm just putting on a dress for the evening performance."

"A girl never just puts on a dress," Emily replied with a knowing look. "She has to prepare herself to look her best. In your case, we have rather more of a challenge."

"But Louise said I'm quite pretty." Gary turned to Louise for support. "You did say that."

Louise smiled, lifting his heart. "Yes, I said it," she said, "but Emily is right it will take time to make you look your best. And I'll need to visit Clara in the morning and recover her The Strings of Sighs dress."

Gary's heart suddenly leapt into his mouth as he realised the dress he was going to wear. "Oh. You mean I'll be wearing one of those dresses."

Several of the teaching staff had been shocked at the dress Miss Harper, the Headmistress, had agreed to purchase for the girls to perform in.

"This isn't a recorder group," she had told them. "We want the quartet to get bookings at weddings and other functions. The girls need to look like professional performers."

It wasn't that the long, black, silky evening gowns had long slits or low necklines, or were even translucent, but they were made of such a fine material that they flowed over every outline of the girls' bodies. It was noticeable that the outline of Emily's bra could be clearly seen, whilst no such mark could be seen on any of the other girls, although their small pointed nipples could. And there was absolutely no trace of any panties or other underwear on any of them. It drove the boys at SPS crazy with excitement, and most of the male audience as well.

All the girls grinned back at him. "Oh, yes," they replied in unison, mimicking the TV commercial.

"Oh God!"

"There's no going back now," Jenny told him. "You're committed."

"You can do it," Emily said.

"Yes, you can," Louise confirmed, and his objections dissolved.

"OK," he said. "Ten o'clock tomorrow at Emily's house."

Oh Gaby," Jenny said. "You'll be great."

"Gaby? Oh no, you're not calling me Gaby."

"We're going to have to give you a name to announce at the performance," Jenny said, "and we can hardly continue to call you Gary. Gaby not only sounds similar, so you'll probably react to it as you would your own name, but it's also the name of our cousin in London. So if anyone does ask any questions, we can simply reply as though you were her."

"It's because it's our stuck-up Sloane Ranger cousin's name that I won't have it," he said.

"How about Gabriella, then?" Emily suggested. "Presumably that's her full name, so it has the advantage you can use her identity without you mentally identifying with her. Plus, it's a really pretty name, which will go nicely with such an attractive girl."

Gary couldn't help but return Emily's smile. She seemed a very nice girl who was making his conversion a lot easier than he had dreaded. "OK," he said. "Gabriella Green it is, and no one is to call me Gaby. Right?"

"Of course not, Gaby," Jenny teased

***

"Do you think I'm crazy," he asked Jenny as they walked back home.

"It couldn't have anything to do," Jenny asked, "with you being rather taken with someone in the quartet, could it?"

"Of course not," he said.

"Hmm."

They walked in silence for another minute, before Jenny said, "I think we ought to tell Mum and Dad."

"Oh no," Gary said. "It would be too embarrassing. Dad will call me a poofta, and you know how he goes on about them."

"Yes," Jenny said, she knew how their father disliked homosexuality. "But I still think we have to tell them what you're doing, otherwise they will think the worst."

So when they got into their house, they went straight into the lounge where their parents were watching TV. Fortunately, it was in a commercial break, so Jenny launched straight in.

"Mum, Dad. Gary played with us brilliantly this evening. We played better music today than we've ever done with Clara as cellist."

"That's nice dear."

"I think the nephew is going to be the killer," their father said, talking about the murder mystery on TV.

"So we've asked Gary to play with us tomorrow evening at the Grand Hotel."

"That's lovely dear. But it can't be the nephew because he was dining with the Vice-Chancellor of the university."

"They were both lying," their father said. He grinned at Gary. "Just as long as you don't have to wear a dress, eh, kid?"

Jenny and Gary looked at each other.

"But I do," he said.

"Yeah, right," said his father.

"That'll be nice, dear. I think it's the son. He looks real shifty."

Gary looked at Jenny and they both left the room.

"We tried," Jenny said. "It's just so difficult talking to them about important things."

"Well, it's not that important," Gary said.

"No," she said, "I suppose not."

***

"Hi Gary, hi Jen," Emily said, looking more bright and cheerful than Jenny had ever seen her. Perhaps, Jenny thought, she was one of those annoying morning people, or perhaps, she mentally added, it was simply the prospect of doing rather intimate things with her brother.

"I called my sister, Jessica, at University last night," Emily said, "because I remember when she was in the Sixth Form, she had to convert some boys to get them into our hockey team." (See Jolly Hockey Sticks by Charlotte Dickles.) "You'll never guess what she still had in her wardrobe."

Gary and Jenny both indicated they couldn't guess.

"Come and see," Emily delightedly said.

She took them upstairs to a bedroom. "Apparently, my mum borrowed four of them from her work," she said, "but this one came back late and it never got returned."

She opened the wardrobe door with a flourish. Hanging inside was what appeared to be a girl's torso. Both Gary and Jenny recoiled.

"It's all right," she said. "It's not real; it just looks very real. It's called a Torsolet. My mum used to work at the shop in town where they sold them."

"You're suggesting I wear that?" Gary said, eying the garment which was like a skin-coloured leotard, with prominent nipples and clearly a vagina between the legs.

"It will give you a girl's body," Emily said. "When Louise brings Clara's dress, we can inflate the breasts with water to make them just the right size to fit it."

"You won't have to inflate them very much," Jenny said. "She's got smaller breasts than I have."

Gary shrugged and took a deep breath. "I guess I'd better try it on."

"Not yet," Emily said. "We need to dehair you first. Are you wearing your swimming briefs like I suggested?"

Gary slowly nodded.

***

An hour later, Gabriella looked down her body and gasped. The way Gary's legs had been transformed into sexy, shapely ones, simply with the removal of their hair was remarkable enough. But the Torsolet had worked wonders from the thighs right up to her neck. She now had beautifully small breasts pushing out of her hairless chest, and between them, she could see the slight bush of pubic hair, totally devoid of the normal things sticking out there. She rather wanted to slide a finger down there, but could not with Jenny and Emily staring critically at her.

"What do you think?" Emily asked.

"Fantastic," Gabriella replied. She turned the other way and glanced in the mirror, marvelling at how the wide padded hips and bum gave her the unmistakeable outline of a curvy girl, regardless of the size of her tiny boobs.

"Is it comfortable," Emily asked. "I've only used the short term anti-perspirant gel that comes with it, so we'll have to take everything off, wash out the Torsolet and renew it just before we set off to the performance."

"Why not use the longer term stuff?" Gabriella asked.

Emily grinned. "You wouldn't thank me for that," she said. "The long term gel is semi-permanent. You'd be stuck in it for two weeks."

"What a pity you didn't use it," Jenny quipped.

Gabriella pulled a face. "Stuff you," she said.

"Gabriella," Jenny admonished. "Nice young ladies do not speak like that."

"Whilst we're waiting for Louise to turn up with Clara's dress, you can put on some of my jeans," Emily said, opening her wardrobe again. "I think we're probably about the same size hips. I've also got a wig I used in the school play. I think it will suit you.

"Thanks, Emily," Gabriella said. She was a good friend, she thought. On the other hand, she couldn't wait for Louise to turn up.

***

"Clara won't hand over her dress," Louise said as soon as she entered Emily's bedroom where Emily was finishing Gabriella's makeup.

"You look fantastic, Gabriella," she added, as she noticed her in the mirror.

Gabriella's heart leapt with joy. "Thanks," she said.

"You look so like a girl," Louise added, giving the best compliment she knew.

"Thanks, Louise," Gabriella said, feeling confused.

"But Clara's got to return the dress," Jenny said, picking up Louise's remark. "The school bought it for our group."

"She says that Miss Harper agreed she could use it for all performances she gave. So she's not handing it over. I need hardly tell you she was mighty upset that we had thrown her out of the group."

"She's just being selfish," Emily said. "Why don't we contact Miss Harper?"

"Because Miss Harper will support her," Louise said. "She's performing at a regional competition in Bath at lunchtime on Sunday. She'll be staying there tonight so she says she can't let us even borrow the dress overnight."

"So what do we do now?" Jenny asked.

"I do have a spare," Emily said. "When Miss Harper bought these, my mum insisted on purchasing an extra one so that we could have one in cleaning whilst I wore the other. I'm afraid it will be a rather larger size than Clara's."

"Oh good," Jenny said. "That means we'll have to give Gabriella nice big tits."

"Jen," Gabriella complained.

"And I thought boys liked big boobs," Jenny replied, winking at Emily.

"Maybe," Gabriella admitted, then realised she would be upsetting Louise. "I mean No."

"I think Gabriella is even beginning to think like a girl," Louise said approvingly. "It's so Neanderthal to like big boobs."

Gabriella, as confused as ever, said nothing.

"Emily took a long black gown out of her wardrobe, and asked Gabriella to stand up, so she could hold it against her."

"I'm a bit taller than you," she said, "so you'll have to wear taller heels." She grinned at Gabriella's look of distaste. "It's all right," she said, "I only wear two inch heels with this dress. I think you'll be fine with three inch heels. Hang on..."

She turned to rummage through the bottom of her wardrobe, and stood up holding black shoes with high heels. "Try these on," she said.

"I can't wear those," Gabriella said.

"They may be too small for your feet," Emily said, "but if you can squeeze into them for a few seconds, we'll be able to judge the height. You may as well take off the jeans and tee shirt, then we can try the dress on properly."

No one else seemed at all phased by her request, so Gabriella pulled off her shoes and socks, and then her jeans and tee shirt, and stood there as a naked girl, apart from the panties Emily had loaned her

"How did you get Gabriella looking like that?" Louise asked.

Emily explained about the Torsolet, showing her the almost invisible join where Torsolet met Gabriella's own skin.

Louise shook her head. "Amazing," she said.

But Emily was now rummaging through a drawer and she triumphantly produced a black bra. "There," she declared. "I knew I had a spare one of these."

Gabriella looked horrified. "You want me to wear your bra! But... I can't."

"Of course you'll need to wear my bra," Emily said with a smile. "But it's OK. I don't mind."

Gabriella knew it was inconsistent. All morning, he had, step by step, been turned from a sixteen-year-old boy into a credible looking girl - the hairs on his legs removed; gel spread over his body and then the Torsolet pulled over his head and down his body, with only the area beneath his swimming trunks left for him to do by himself.

It was Gary who had gone into the bathroom, but undoubtedly Gabriella who had come out. After that, she had been sprayed with perfume, and Emily and Jenny had spent ages experimenting with makeup to minimise his boyish looks, and emphasise the feminine.

Only now, with Emily's bra dangling before her, did the enormity of what she was doing strike her in the face. Bras were for removing from girls (in his dreams, anyway), but definitely not for putting on oneself.

"So typical of a boy," Louise scorned. "Reckons there's nothing to being a girl but won't even put on a bra."

Gabriella felt very hurt by Louise's remark. It was one thing for Jenny to tease him, quite another for the girl he so wanted to impress.

"Gabriella's done marvels, already," Emily said. "I don't think many boys would have done this, and I suspect you wouldn't have done the reverse and pretended to be a boy."

"That's different," Louise said, and then apologised. "Sorry, I hate it when people say that to me." She smiled at Gabriella and Gabriella's heart lifted. "You have done wonders so far, Gabriella, but you need to go the extra mile and wear the bra."

Gabriella nodded. "OK, Emily," she said. "Do your worst."

Twenty minutes later, Gabriella stood before them, tottering on her high heels, with her black dress not quite touching the floor.

Emily had inflated her breasts so they completely filled her bra by connecting a pipe from the water tap to the nipples on the Torsolet. Gabriella couldn't believe the view as she peered down the Grand Canyon between her breasts. All the same, there was one overiding issue she could not ignore.

"The shoes really are killing me," she said.

"I thought they might be too small for your feet," Emily said. "Never mind, we can go to the shops this afternoon and get you a pair which fit properly."

"Er, when you say we," Gabriella said, desperately hoping the answer was not what she thought it would be, "you didn't mean me, did you?"

"Of course you must come and try on the shoes," Emily said, "otherwise we wouldn't know we have the right size."

"But I might meet some of my friends," Gabriella said. "They'll recognise me."

"No way," Emily said. "Look, I'll lend you a low-cut sun top which will show off your boobs, and a short skirt. I bet none of your mates know what fantastic legs you have."

Gabriella had to admit the accuracy of that statement. "But they might try to talk to me."

"In which case, you're Gabriella Green," Jenny said, "from London visiting your cousin. I'll come as well, then I can make any introductions."

Gabriella shrugged. "S'pose so," she said.

***

When Emily had suggested the low-cut sun top and short skirt, Gabriella had seen it as necessary to prove that she really was female. But as she stepped on the bus with Jenny and Emily, she realised the disadvantages.

"Phwoar, cop a look at those knockers," she heard one of the group of boys sitting near the front of the bus mutter to his mates.

"Never mind the knockers," another said. "Look at those pins."

"The arse, man, get a gander of that arse."

"Get used to it," Emily said in a low voice as Jenny paid for their fares. "We girls have to, all the time."

"Anyway," she added as they took their seats towards the rear of the bus, "they liked your boobs, your legs and your bottom."

"Well I like yours," Gabriella said, "but I don't shout it out."

"Do you?"

Gabriella was surprised how pleased Emily seemed by her remark. But then, she thought, it was quite exhilerating to have someone lust after her. If only a certain girl would do it.

"Just remember," Jenny said, "whatever embarrassment you might feel at boys looking at you with lust, is as nothing to what it could have been."

They all grinned at each other about that.

When they arrived in the town centre, Gabriella was dismayed to find there was a strong breeze coming in from the sea, as often happened early afternoon. It had a tendency to terrifyingly lift Gabriella's skirts. She had to keep her hands closely at her sides, and several times had to grab the front or rear of her skirt as the wind lifted it.

Several people had grinned at her antics, and two boys yelled, "We saw your knickers."

After a bit of giggling at Gabriella's plight, Emily took pity on her.

"You can see why most women don't wear skirts, nowadays," she said. "But the best thing to do is to keep your hands by your sides and just accept that now and again, a few people will see your panties. At least you're wearing some."

"You're enjoying this, aren't you?"

She gave such a happy smile; Gabriella couldn't help but smile back.

"Oh, Gabriella," Emily said. "I told you it would be fun, and this is all part of it. So what if some stupid schoolboy gets turned on by seeing your panties. The last laugh is on him, as he doesn't know who he's really getting turned on by."

Gabriella had to admit, the idea of stupid boys getting turned on by looking at a boy in panties was rather amusing. As well as, Gabriella realised, rather erotic.

It was only when they stepped inside the ladies shoe shop that Gabriella started to feel nervous again. After all, this was strictly a female domain, and as they walked in, a woman was examining her legs as she stood in front of a mirror wearing a pair of high heels. Her legs looked incredibly shapely, and as Gabriella ogled the sight, Jenny said, "That's what your legs will look like in your new shoes."

"You're kidding."

"Don't tease her, Jen," Emily said. "Don't forget she'll be wearing a long dress tonight. Which is a shame as no one will see what fantastic legs she has."

"Of course, no one will see her legs tonight," Jenny agreed. "But don't forget she's never before worn heels. She has to get some experience with them, otherwise she's bound to trip in them tonight. So she needs to wear them on the way home."

"Jenny! No!" Gabriella turned to Emily. "She is teasing, isn't she?"

But for once, Emily wasn't able to reassure her. "I'd forgotten about that," she said. "Of course, Jenny is right. You'll have to be very brave and wear them home."

"Wearing this skirt!" Gabriella shouted.

A few of the customers in the shop turned around to locate the source of the commotion, and an assistant came over to see if she could help.

"My cousin wants to try on those shoes," Jenny pointed, "and those, but she doesn't know her size. Could you measure her, please?"

"Of course, madam. If you'd like to take a seat."

Gabriella knew she had no choice and sat down, whilst the assistant measured her feet. When she had gone off to fetch the shoes in her size, Gabriella said, "Why didn't you say this before we left Emily's house? I could have worn jeans, like you two."

"But Gabriella," Jenny said, "my brother is always saying how sexy girls look in short skirts, and how it should be made a criminal offence for them to wear trousers."

"You don't say that, do you Gabriella?" Emily asked, rather shocked at Jenny's revelation.

"Well..." It had been Gary who started to reply, but Gabriella who took over the question. "Of course, anyone should be free to dress how they wish, but I do think that dresses and skirts make us women look far more attractive than trousers."

"So you have no problem," Jenny said, "in going home in short skirt and high heels?"

Gabriella gulped, and then took her courage in her hands. "None, except that I have no experience with high heels, and I think I'm going to need the support of both my cousin and my friend with this."

Emily and Jenny looked at each other. "It's a deal," they said.

In fact, the shop didn't have any shoes in Gabriella's size, so they had to leave that shop and go into another, where they only had brown or blue shoes of the right heel height in Gabriella's size. Then they went to another, and another, until they finally found what they were searching for.

"I can't even stand up in these," Gabriella said after she had put on both shoes.

"Are you not used to high heels?" the assistant asked. "It might be better to try a lower heel to start with."

"She needs the height for a dress she has to wear tonight," Jenny explained.

"OK," the assistant smiled. "In that case, just push your weight down through your heel, as if you were standing flat on the ground."

As Gabriella cautiously rose to her feet, she added, "Don't be afraid of your heels - they're your friends. Now," she took Gabriella's hand, "just try a little walk over to the mirror. That's it, keep your weight back and go carefully until you're used to them. There, you're a natural. And look in the mirror at the extra shape it's given to your legs."

Gabriella almost gasped as she stared at her own legs.

"We'll take those," Jenny said. They had pooled their money that morning, and she now paid for them.

"She'll keep them on now," Emily said. "She has to get used to them for this evening."

"Are you doing anything special?" the shop girl asked.

"We play in a string quartet," Emily said. When the girl obviously didn't know what that was, she added. "A group."

"Oh! Great. Good luck with your performance."

The girls left the shop feeling pleased with themselves, and Gabriella started to feel less uneasy about wearing a skirt which showed off her superb legs. Everytime she felt a man's eyes upon her, she felt a little thrill shoot through her. If only they knew.

But she'd only walked a short distance before her ankles started to ache.

"Keep going," Emily said. "I know it's murder when you first start, but you'll soon get used to it." She took Gabriella's hand and pulled it under her own arm, causing the back of Gabriella's wrist to touch against Emily's breast.

"If you were a boy," Emily said, grinning again, "I'd have to slap your face for touching me there."

"I've always known," Gabriella said, "that being a girl had definite advantages. They... that is, we, have much more fun."

"I think Jenny probably agrees with that," Emily said. "Don't you Jenny?"

"What? Er, yes, I suppose so."

Gabriella couldn't understand why Jenny had started to blush, but her thoughts were brought back sharply as Jenny and Emily turned in order to enter another shop. Gabriella glanced at the name. It was Victoria's Secrets!

"You're not going in there!" she gasped.

"Of course," Jenny said. "We said we'd have to get you a few more things for tonight."

"What sort of things?"

Emily grasped Gabriella by the arm and whispered in her ear. "It won't be a secret if we yell it across the road. Come inside and then we can show you."

"Yes, but... In there?"

Emily smiled. "It's alright. You're a pretty girl who needs the right underwear for tonight."

She took Gabriella's hand and dragged her inside.

"Here we are," Jenny said, "this is a nice suspender belt." She held it up so Gabriella could see.

"A suspender belt?" Gabriella wished the floor would open up and swallow him (he was feeling very male, all of a sudden). Jenny had spoken in her normal voice, and yet no one had turned a hair.

"It's all right, Gabriella," Emily said. "It's a perfectly normal thing for a pretty girl like you to buy."

Her remark calmed Gabriella, and she felt able to look at the garment Jenny was holding out.

"It's thick enough so it will be seen beneath the dress," Jenny said, "but not that thick that it looks obvious."

"But I don't want it to show through the dress," Gabriella said. That wasn't an unreasonable feeling for a girl, surely?

"Louise and I were talking about this," Jenny said, "and we all know how our dresses tend to outline every little bump beneath. We thought by drawing attention to your suspender belt and stocking tops, no one would notice any less obvious joins." She didn't have to mention the Torsolet but they all knew.

But Gabriella picked up on something else. "Stocking tops! You're not..."

"Of course, you must, Gabriella," Emily said. "All girls wear them sometimes."

"But don't you wear tights?"

"Of course, but Jenny's right about drawing attention away from other things. Now if you're happy with the suspender belt, let's get you some stockings and a thong."

"A thong!"

"You want them to see your stockings and suspenders, but visible pantie line is a no-no."

"Oh God!"

***

"I just can't play in these heels," Gabriella said, later that evening. "The dress I can manage, but the heels totally alter my stance. I'll have to take them off for the performance, except it will be different again, playing in bare feet."

"Look, lets practice some more," Emily said. "I'm sure you'll get used to them in a few minutes."

It was ten minutes before they were due to start performing, and they were in the ante-chamber just behind the stage at the one end of the Grand Hotel's banqueting suite. In fifteen minutes, two hundred and fifty salesmen would enter the hall and expect to have a pretty female quartet playing to them as they wined and dined.

It didn't help that Louise had only just arrived (parent trouble, she had said), and was now frantically pulling off her jeans and top, oblivious to Gabriella's presence, until she stood naked apart from her tights. Whilst Jenny and Emily had also changed in the same room, they had both turned their backs on him as they went through the most intimate part of the process, but Louise had no such inhibitions. Gabriella desperately tried not to gasp as she turned, her pert breasts giving slight joggles as she tried to unzip the garment bag containing her dress.

"She's totally shameless," Jenny said, realising Gabriella's position.

"Oh," Louise grinned, suddenly realising. "I'd forgotten you were really a..."

"Sshh," Emily said. "We don't know who might hear us outside this room."

It was fortunate that she took the attention away from Gabriella, because Louise's comment had lanced right through him — She had forgotten he was really a boy! Did she have no feelings at all for him? Clearly not, he was forced to admit. He felt tears pricking his eyes, and was breathless, as though someone had hit him hard in the stomach.

"I think you lot had better get out on stage," Louise said, oblivious to the hurt she had caused, "and I'll catch you up. Kisses for everyone."

She bent over so she could air kiss Gabriella, her tits dangling right in front of his nose, before turning towards Emily and doing the same. That was perhaps the ultimate affront; even having being reminded that he was really a boy, she considered his sex insignificant enough to flaunt herself in front of him.

"I guess you didn't know about them," Emily said.

"What?" He turned his face towards her, fighting the tears.

"You didn't know about Jenny and Louise," she said. "I guess it's quite a surprise."

What was she talking about? Gabriella turned towards Jenny and Louise to find them locked in an embrace, Louise's hands squeezing Jenny's bum, and their mouths working together in a passionate kiss.

"Uh?" was all he could say.

"I find it quite embarrassing," Emily said. "It must be worse, being your sister, regardless of whether or not you're OK with the sexuality of it."

"Er... Yes."

"Let's get out on stage," Emily said. She raised her voice. "Come on you two. We haven't got time for that. Break it off. We need to be playing in three minutes." She picked up her viola and motioned for Gabriella to follow her.

"How long have they been..." Gabriella asked.

"It's gradually got more and more intense throughout the term," Emily said. "But it's important you put all that behind you now. We're on stage. Those two will be out in a few minutes and then we have to play as though nothing has happened."

"Emily." The voice snapped at them from nowhere. "Where on earth have you been? You should be playing by now."

"Sorry, Miss Harper," Emily said.

All the boys at SPS knew Miss Harper, the headmistress of SIGHS, by sight and reputation, and all were terrified of her.

"And who is this young lady?"

"It's Gabriella Green. She's Jenny's cousin, and she's filling in for Clara."

"Filling in for Clara! You mean Clara's not here tonight? Why not?"

"She wasn't a reliable performer," Louise's voice came from behind them. "She's let us down several times at rehearsals, and we decided we couldn't continue running the quartet unless she was replaced."

"WHAT! How dare you do such a thing without consulting me? You think all the people here tonight want to hear you three and some unknown cellist perform? They have come here to hear our great cellist, Clara Drake."

"We understood it was a sales conference," Jenny said, clearly mystified.

"Yes," Miss Harper said. "It is a sales conference. These people are on a conference organised by the String Instrument Retailers' Association, and they have specifically held their conference in Seacombe in order to hear Clara play."

"I'm afraid Clara has gone to Bath, tonight, Miss Harper," Louise said. "She's performing there tomorrow at lunchtime."

"I can assure you, young lady, that she and I are driving to Bath tomorrow morning."

"Then she lied to us, Miss Harper," Emily said. "She told Louise she was not in Seacombe tonight, and we got Gabriella to fill in for her. I'm afraid that's the way Clara has been behaving towards The Strings of Sighs for several months. Maybe we were wrong to sack her from the group without consulting with you, but it won't damage her reputation as a brilliant musician. However, perhaps it will teach her that she cannot mess other musicians about as she has been doing with us."

There was a few seconds silence after Emily's outburst, as they all waited for Miss Harper to explode. Instead, she nodded a few times and said, "Very well, but this young lady," she turned to Gabriella, "is not a pupil of SIGHS. She should not be part of this group."

"But she is a pupil, Miss Harper," Emily said. "When she agreed last night to help us out, I immediately enrolled her on one of Miss Walker's Beauty and Makeup courses. I dropped the form into the office before I left the school."

"I see. I recall your sister and Fiona Jolly did something similar a few years back. I only hope you're not repeating what they..."

She broke off suddenly and stared at Gabriella, her eyes widening in shock and disbelief.

"Oh my God!"

Never before had any girl heard Miss Harper utter an expletive, and they waited in terror for her outrage.

"Miss Harper," a man called from the floor of the banqueting room. "We really need the Strings to start playing now."

"But..." Miss Harper started to say.

"Miss Harper," Emily said. "There are some things better left unspoken."

"Miss Harper. Please," the man said.

"Very well," she said. "We will talk about this on Monday morning. My office immediately after assembly. Is that clear?"

"Yes miss."

"And I shall be talking to your headmaster, Gabriella, as well.

"Yes miss."

"Then you had better start playing, and I only hope that your 'cousin', Jenny, is a reasonable player."

As she walked off, Louise said, "What are we going to do? These guys are from the String Instrument Retailers' Association. They're going to be looking for perfection."

"We've got nothing to lose," Emily said. "We're all dead on Monday morning. We might as well make the last performance of The Strings of Sighs our best ever. We did it last night. So let's make tonight even better. Jenny and Louise, you two can stop behaving like star-struck lovers, and Gabriella, you can stop moaning about your heels. So let's get on with it."

They all turned to their instruments and started to tune.

***

"That one went pretty good," Gabriella quietly murmured, as they bowed to superb applause from the audience, at the end of their first piece. That, in itself, was remarkable. When playing to diners, it was unusual to get more than a sprinkling of applause after each piece.

"Pretty good," Emily said. "It was brilliant. Are the shoes all right, now?"

"Shoes?" Gabriella said. "What shoes?"

"In that case, let's knock 'em dead with the next one."

They did.

***

"That old bloke at the top table has been ogling you all evening," Emily said, as they packed up their instruments, after taking their final bow, following their third encore.

"I know him," Gabriella said, still smiling at everyone, including the old man. "It's old Mr Crofts, from the musical instrument shop in town. I'm hoping he hasn't recognised me."

"If he hasn't, then he's a paedophile," Emily said. "If he has, that makes him a gay paedophile."

"He's not like that," Gabriella protested. "He's nice. He's always helped Jenny and me with anything to do with our instruments. Apparently, he used to be a merchant banker; he made his fortune in the City. Then, when he retired a hundred years ago, he bought the shop in town. He keeps it running to help local musicians. It can't make any profit."

The subject of their conversation now stood up, and rapped a spoon against a wine glass to call for silence.

"Before I commence my talk," he said when silence had fallen, "could I ask The Strings of Sighs to remain on the stage for a while?"

After the applause they'd received, he was hopefully not going to tell them they were rubbish, but each of them wondered whether he had realised that Gabriella was actually Gary, and was about to expose them.

"For some time," he said, "Miss Harper has been trying to persuade me to leave money in my will to enable a music academy to be built at SIGHS. But although Clara Drake is an excellent musician, I did want to see evidence of more girls from SIGHS becoming excellent musicians.

"So I think it was highly courageous of Miss Harper to remove Clara from The Strings of Sighs in order for her to concentrate upon work as a solo performer."

"What?" Emily said.

"To replace her with a new cellist on the basis of a single audition, was even more so," he continued.

"But we all know Miss Harper is never afraid to take courageous decisions, and it has paid dividends, this time. To watch these four talented girls play is sheer delight. The music of this quartet is so much more than the individual sum of their parts. Rarely have I seen such young artists work together so well.

"Of course, on a personal note, I cannot help but draw comparisons between the cellist, Gabriella Green, and my own daughter, Gemina, who died so tragically all those years ago.

"Now Miss Harper tells me that Gabriella is as yet only a temporary member of the school and of the quartet, so I would like to make a proposal to her. Secure Gabriella as a permanent member of SIGHS, and of course, The Strings of Sighs , and instead of waiting until I am dead for the music academy to proceed, then it shall go ahead now. The Strings of Sighs and Clara Drake will be the founder members of the new academy.

"In case that offer alone is not sufficient to attract Gabriella to the school, I would like to add a personal offer of my own."

"Don't let him become your sugar daddy," Emily whispered. It was all Gabriella could do not to burst into laughter.

"Stay here with The Strings of Sighs , Gabriella, and I will loan you my daughter's Stradivarius cello. Surely, that is an offer that no cellist could refuse?"

Emily, Louise and Jenny all gasped and suddenly all eyes were on Gabriella. For some reason which Gary could never have understood, she burst into tears.

***

"Oh, Miss Harper, I'm so sorry," were the first words Gabriella could say, when she stopped crying in the ante room.

Damn! Miss Harper thought, he's not going to do it. Obviously, as a responsible headmistress, she must absolutely respect the child's right to determine his own future. However, that did not prevent her telling him what he had to do.

"I don't think you should reject the idea too quickly," she said. "After all, it is a fantastic opportunity for you, personally."

"But it would never work," Gabriella said. "All the boys at SPS would know I'd transferred, then the press would be bound to get hold of the story. I'd be made a laughing stock."

"Who else knows about this?" Miss Harper looked around the group.

"No one, Miss Harper," Emily said. They all nodded confirmation.

"Your parents, brothers, sisters, best friends?"

They shook their heads.

Jenny said, "We did try to tell our parents, but they weren't really listening."

"Then suppose," Miss Harper turned back to Gabriella, "you told your school friends you'd been awarded a place at Chets, and had to move away."

Gaby nodded. The Chetham School of Music was world renowned and any musician would covet such a place.

"At the same time," Miss Harper said, "your cousin, Gabriella, comes here to live with your family and goes to SIGHS. That would work, wouldn't it?"

"Well, I suppose it could do, but... Suppose it leaked out?"

"In the longer term, we could say you had gender dysphoria, and I don't think it would matter too much. But we must make absolutely sure nothing leaks out now. The future of all four of you relies on that." Not to say, she thought, the future of my music academy.

"But you're asking Gary to permanently give up life as a boy," Emily said, anxious for Gary.

Miss Harper could have wrung the stupid girl's neck! Couldn't she look after her own self-interest rather than being some fucking do-gooder?

"I know it would be a big step," Miss Harper said. "But if..."

"But if I had friends like you to support me," Gabriella said, looking at Emily, "I'd have better friends than I've ever had at SPS."

Emily couldn't stop an enormous smirk appearing on her face.

"So you'd be all right with that," Miss Harper said. Thank fuck for that. "Obviously, I have to put your welfare first," she lied without a qualm.

"For a chance to play a Stradivarius," Gabriella said, "I'd do anything."

"Very well," Miss Harper said. "I'd better come and talk with your parents."

Gabriella and Jenny pulled faces, an action noted by Miss Harper.

***

"Mum. Dad. Miss Harper, my headmistress is here. She'd like to talk with you."

"Oh, Jenny. What have you done?" their mother said. "I'm sure she didn't mean it," she said to Miss Harper as she walked into the room.

"I'll turn the tele down," their father said.

In Miss Harper's experience, there were three types of parents: most would turn the TV off when she unexpectedly arrived on their doorstep, some would turn the sound down, and hardly any kept watching it. She nodded; it would be simple, now she understood the parents.

"I'm not here to talk about Jenny," Miss Harper said, "but about Gary."

"Oh," Mrs Green said, turning to her son. "What have you been up to? He's only a boy," she said to Miss Harper. "I'm sure he didn't mean any harm."

"Mr and Mrs Green," Miss Harper said. "Did you see the film Tootsie on the television last week?"

Talking about TV programmes was a natural ice-breaker to any conversation, so Mrs Green came straight back. "Oh, yes. We've seen it before, but it's still a great film."

"Not very believable though," Mr Green added.

"The point is," Miss Harper said, "that Gary has been given a similar opportunity to Dustin Hoffman. He could become a star member of our new music academy, but only by appearing as a girl."

"Gary could never do that," Mrs Green said.

"He never would do it," Mr Green added.

"He has," Miss Harper said. "He successfully convinced a large, expert audience at the Grand Hotel this evening that he was a member of Jenny's all-girl string quartet."

"Blimey," Mr Green said.

"Goodness," Mrs Green said.

"Obviously," Miss Harper added, "as two of our star performers, I think I could guarantee scholarships, which would pay all the school fees for both Jenny and Gary. In the longer term, I think both of them will look forward to a very bright and rewarding future."

"Where do we sign?" Mr Green asked.

***

"Sorry I didn't tell you before about Louise and me," Jenny said.

Gary shrugged. "I was kind of gob-smacked," he said, underplaying his shock one thousand fold. "It was just so unexpected."

"I meant to tell you last night, but then you were obviously pretty stressed about having to dress as a girl, I thought it would be rather mean to burden you with my problems."

"Whereas, I found out just before I was about to play the most important performance of my life," he said. "Thanks."

He hesitated a little and said, "I guess my performance at my school next Friday evening will probably be my last as a boy. Emily has been so helpful and friendly, and so much fun, I was thinking of asking if she'd like to come to watch me. Maybe go out for a pizza afterwards. Do you think she might come?"

Jenny appeared to carefully consider the question, before she nodded and said, "D'you know? I think she probably would."

Brittany really does not want to give up her Easter Saturday in order to move her school's costume collection. On the other hand, her brother Tom says he'd do anything to see Sir John Thunder's collection of cars.

Author's Note: This is a standalone story, one of several set at the Seacombe Independent Girls' High School, or SIGHS. If you enjoy this story, you might like to try more SIGHS stories: Jolly Hockey Sticks; Your Starter For... and Strings of Sighs.

Warning: This story, like most of my other stories, is a light-hearted cross-dressing romp, and is not to be taken seriously.

"Can you believe it?" Brittany moaned to her younger brother Tom, as she arrived home from school. "I've got to give up my Easter Saturday in order to go and help old Thunderbirds with the school's costume collection."

"Tough," Tom said, concentrating on his maths homework. Brittany was always moaning about something or other. "Anyway, who is Thunderbirds? You've never mentioned her before."

"She used to teach Textiles, and she took early retirement a few years ago. She was the person who built up the costume collection and when she left, no other member of staff wanted to take it over. She said she'd keep it at her house - then girls could come over as they wished to see it."

"You don't sound as though you wish to see it," Tom remarked. "So why do you have to go?"

"No one wants to see it," Brittany said. "It's a stuffy old collection of Victorian and Edwardian dresses. They're not even part of the curriculum. I think it's one of the reasons why Miss Harper, the Head, got rid of her - she was always living in the past."

"That still doesn't explain," Tom said, "why you have to go there on Saturday."

"I was late with my Textiles homework again, and Nosey Parker said that instead of giving me a detention, I had to go and help Miss Thunder move the collection to a room upstairs, over the Easter weekend. Apparently, Sir John - her brother - wants to expand his stupid car collection."

There was a moment's silence as Tom made the connection and then, "You mean Sir John Thunder?"

"Have you heard of him?" Brittany clearly hadn't.

"He was a motor racing champion years ago, in the days when racing cars really looked like racing cars. He was a national hero and everyone loved him. He won almost every racing title in existence. I'd heard he lived locally, with his collection of cars, but I never knew where. Do you think I could come with you when you go?"

Brittany shrugged. "Don't see why not as long as you help move some of the stuff. I'll ask Nosey if it's all right."

"That's brilliant, sis," Tom said. "I'd do anything to see his collection. You get me in there and I owe you one."

***

"Nosey says she's not even going to ask," Brittany said the following afternoon. "Apparently, Miss Thunder hates boys. Reading between the lines, she had a big row with Miss Harper about boys using SIGHS' facilities."

Tom's school, Seacombe Public School, or SPS for short, cooperated closely with SIGHS, the Independent Girls' High, particularly when sixth formers needed facilities that their own school didn't have.

"You're joking," Tom complained, distraught. "What's wrong with the woman? I so wanted to see Sir John's collection."

"And I so wanted to spend as little time moving costumes as I had to," Brittany said.

There was a brief silence, and then Brittany added, "I suppose..."

"No," Tom said. "It would never work."

"Thunderbirds doesn't know what I look like."

"That doesn't matter," Tom said. "What does matter is that I don't look like a girl."

"I think if I washed and styled your hair, your face could look quite passable."

"Thanks," Tom said. "It's bad enough when the other boys say I look like a baby, without you saying I look like a girl. Anyway, my body is the wrong shape."

"We could easily do something about that, simply by stuffing a bra with socks."

"No way."

"So when you said," Brittany said, trying to find a way out of her problem, "that you'd do anything to see Sir John's collection, you weren't serious?"

Tom paused, "Well, I..." He thought some more. He really did want to meet Sir John and see his collection. "I suppose you were just going to wear jeans and a tee shirt, weren't you?"

Brittany smiled. "And a bra. But to be honest, if you were going in my place, I'd seriously suggest going in school uniform. That gives you an identity like nothing else would. That's what it's for."

He hesitated some more. "I don't know, sis. I'd feel incredibly stupid if I was sussed."

"Well, you'd better not be," she said." Don't forget, it would be me who would get the ear-ache from Nosey. I'd probably get sent to Miss Harper."

"Yet you seem keen for me to do it."

"I've got far better things to do than go there on Saturday. And also..." It was her turn to hesitate. "Well, I think it would rather exciting to try. I mean there's old Thunderbirds who hates boys who's going to be bossing one around on Saturday without even knowing it. I think this could be rather fun. Don't you think so?"

What she didn't say was that most of the fun would come from dressing up her younger brother like a little doll. Of course, he could have worn some of her leggings and a tee shirt, but where was the fun in that? She'd take a few pictures and be able to blackmail him for evermore over this little adventure.

So she was rather surprised when Tom grinned and said, "I guess you're right. It would be quite exciting."

But what she didn't know was that, deep down, there was another kind of excitement surging through Tom, which had started at the thought of wearing a bra. When Brittany suggested he wear her white blouse and black pleated skirt, he knew he wanted to wear those just as much as seeing Sir John's collection of cars. But all his senses told him he had to be careful about people knowing.

"There's only one thing," he added. "Not a word to anyone else, OK? Especially Mum and Dad."

"I was thinking of ringing Emily Davis," Brittany said. "She's in the new Music Academy, now, but rumour has it that she got a boy to pretend to be a girl for some musical performance, and that was in front of two hundred people. I thought I'd ask her for any tips."

"OK, but don't mention my name to her, all right?"

"Of course."

***

"She's bringing something over straightaway," Brittany said, after she put down the phone. "It's called a Torsolet and it makes a boy look like a girl - gives him breasts and even a pussy. Sounds great, doesn't it. And she reckons it will just fit you."

"I thought you weren't going to mention my name!"

"She needed to know who you were so she could decide if it would fit. She reckons it will do fine."

Half an hour later, Brittany and Tom were looking in amazement at the skin-coloured garment Emily had spread out on Brittany's bed. It was a high-necked, flesh-coloured sleeveless leotard, but with small, rosebud nipples, padded hips and bum, and - something Tom couldn't turn his eyes away from - a bush of pubic hair, with a slit all too visible beneath.

"It's only a garment," Brittany said, noticing Tom's fixation. "Not the real thing."

"My boyfriend, Gary, was just the same when he saw it for the first time," Emily admitted. (See Strings of Sighs by Charlotte Dickles.)

"He went to Chets, didn't he," Tom said. "No one has heard from him lately. How is he?"

"Oh, he's fine," Emily said, rapidly deciding to change the subject. "The breasts are inflated with water by fastening this pipe to the tap and connecting it to the nipples like this." She demonstrated. "You need to spread gel over your body before putting it on, to stop all the sweat. There are two pots of gel. The green gel is for short term use, but it's no good for more than a few hours; the red gel is for longer use, but..."

"I heard you have a crush on Gary's cousin, Gabriella, now that she's come to the Academy," Brittany mischievously said.

"We play in the quartet together," Emily said, a deep blush coming to her face, "so we have to be on good terms. Anyway, I have to get back to rehearsal with the group. We're playing at the Albert Hall in a week's time."

"That's fantastic," Tom said, rather annoyed at Brittany's teasing.

She was gone in just a few seconds, leaving the pair of them looking rather apprehensively at the Torsolet.

"I guess you'd better try it on," Brittany said, picking it up and holding it against him.

"I need to spread this gel over myself first," Tom said, picking up the pot of green gel and moving towards the bathroom.

"What's the other pot for?"

"If you hadn't been teasing Emily," Tom said, "you'd know. The green is for when you're using it for just a few hours, which is fine for tonight. But since I'll be wearing it all day Saturday, I'll need to use the red gel for that."

***

"Do you want to come in, sis?" Tom shouted from the bathroom, ten minutes later. "And you'd better bring that pipe with you to inflate my..." It felt so strange talking about his breasts that another surge of excitement shot through his body. It was a good job his penis was strapped firmly down between his legs, in the pouch behind his new pussy, otherwise he knew he'd have an enormous erection.

"Wow, you have hips," Brittany said when she saw him. "OK, put this bra on and then we can inflate your breasts.

"Don't be such a wimp," she added as she saw Tom shaking slightly.

"Sorry," Tom said, pleased she hadn't realised the real reason he was shaking - with sexual excitement, not fear.

She fastened the bra behind his back and then fitted the piece of piping between his left nipple and the hot water tap, as Emily had showed them.

She turned on the tap and watched Tom's breast grow. If only her own breasts grew as quickly, she enviously thought. She'd loaned Tom her newest bra - a B-cup - she had to use cotton wool to fill it when she wore it, but there was no need for cotton wool with Tom. She inflated his breast until it nicely filled the bra cup, and then did the same for his right breast.

"Hell, they're huge," Tom said peering down at them, trying to sound shocked, rather than delighted.

"Get used to them," Brittany said. "You only have to wear them for a day. I have them all the time. Now, about your hair...."

But her comment was interrupted by a call from downstairs. "Hi kids, I'm home. Are you upstairs?" The words were immediately followed by the sound of their mother climbing the stairs.

***

"You go and tak to Mum," Tom hissed. "I'll lock the bathroom door and get out of this."

"There's no time," Brittany said, adding as their mother appeared at the top of the stairs, "Hi Mum. Come and see what Tom's put on. He wants to take my place on Saturday."

"You shit, Brittany..."

"Now Tom, I've told you before about swearing and I won't have it... Oh." She stopped dead in her tracks as she saw the body of a teenage girl with the head of her son. "What on earth..."

"It's called a Torsolet, Mum," Brittany said. "Tom got me to ring up Emily Davis to find out how she disguised a boy to look like a girl, and she brought this round."

Mrs Walker had been a mother for long enough to cope with all kinds of weird things which kids got up to, and she barely hesitated before speaking. "Well I think you look amazing, Tom - or should I call you Thomasine?"

"Mum." Tom squirmed. "It was Brittany's idea. She wanted to get out of shifting some costume collection on Saturday and I wanted to meet Sir John Thunder and see his collection of cars. She made me do this."

"I did not..."

"Kids. Kids. It really doesn't matter whose idea it was. Now tell me everything, especially everything about dishy Sir John Thunder."

"Dishy!" Brittany said. "Do you know him?"

Their mother smiled. "Every woman of my age knows Sir John Thunder, but in most cases not as well as we would have liked. Mind you, he always tried his best to put that right. He'd have a dozen pretty girls continually hanging around him."

"But Mum," Tom protested, "he must be a hundred years older than you."

Their mother thought briefly. "About thirty, actually, so when I was fifteen, he'd have been in his mid forties."

"Mum," Brittany said. "That is so revolting. How could you fancy a forty-five-year-old? And he must have been a pervert, like Jimmy Saville."

"There's nothing perverted about a man fancying young women, or a young woman fancying an older man, and I've never heard anyone complain about him. From the stories that went around, no one had reason to."

"Mum!" They both said it that time.

"Anyway," their mother said. "What's all this got to do with Tom's cross dressing?"

Brittany told the tale, minimising her involvement and making out it was all Tom's idea. Tom tried to protest, but she simply talked over the top of him.

"Well I think it's you missing a trick, Britt," their mother said when she had heard it all. "If I thought I could get away with it, I'd be putting on your school uniform to get to meet Sir John."

"Yuk," from Brittany.

"Anyway," she said, "we need to get Tom's conversion sorted. I must say, that Torsolet is fantastic. You say you can inflate the breasts as much as you want? Mmm, I wonder. You have such wide hips, Tom, so why don't we try one of my C-cup bras and see how you look in that?"

"Mum," Brittany protested, "my blouse wouldn't fit him if he wore a C-cup. In any case, I thought you'd be livid with Tom at his stupid plan."

"It seems a great idea to me," Mrs Walker said. "If Tom has the initiative and - yes - the courage to carry this through, then I'm right behind him. And we could always buy Tom a bigger blouse. You're going to need one soon, anyway."

"But I don't want to wear one of my brother's cast offs," she complained.

"Then you shouldn't have got involved in this in the first place," Mrs Walker said. "Now take that bra off him and I'll go and get one of mine."

"But Mum." At last, Tom got in his protestations. "These breasts are already huge. I can't..."

"If you're going to meet Sir John Thunder," his mother advised, "I can assure you there are no such things as breasts that are too large. A C-cup is the absolute minimum. I used to stuff a D-cup with cotton wool when I went to the race circuits and tried to get noticed in the pit enclosure." She stared at Tom carefully and said, "Let's try on the C-cup for now. We have the rest of the week to get you a bigger bra." She disappeared towards her bedroom leaving both her children staring open-mouthed at her departing back.

"But Mum," Tom kept up his protestations, "I only want to look at his car collection. I don't want to have sex with him."

"Well," said Mrs Walker as she returned waving her bra at him. "You may not want to have sex with him, but wouldn't you like a ride in one of his cars? A boy may get little more than a look at the outside; a girl with the right attributes can usually get far more."

"Mum," Brittany moaned. "That's disgusting."

"Nothing wrong in flashing your tits to get what you want," Mrs Walker said, "even if it is at a seventy-year-old. And I think Tom is hardly in danger of losing his virginity to Sir John." She unhooked Tom's bra and removed it, replacing it with the one she had just brought in. "Now, show me how that pipe fits on here."

Within five minutes, Tom's tits had grown even bigger, although his mother still seemed dissatisfied. "I suppose it will do for the time being," she said. "Let's go into Britt's room and put on some school uniform."

She marched straight into Brittany's room, opened her wardrobe and pulled out a blouse and a skirt.

"Mum," Brittany said, "that's my best blouse and skirt. I was going to give him some of my old stuff."

"If he's going to meet Sir John," Mrs Walker said, holding out the blouse so that Tom could put his arms into it, "he needs to look smart. In any case, we may buy him some new uniform before Saturday." She buttoned up the blouse which — Brittany was right — was rather tight, and then got him to step into the skirt.

"Hmm, not bad. You'll need some decent tights, but we'll have to wax your legs before then, and I don't know what we'll do about shoes. I don't suppose Britt's will fit, will they?"

She reached into the wardrobe and pulled out a pair of Mary Janes. But she only had to place them besides Tom's foot to discard them as being too small. "We can go shopping tomorrow after school for them and anything else you'll need." She stared at him some more. "We'll need to get your ears pierced."

"Mum. Everyone will laugh at school."

"Lots of boys have piercings," Brittany said, trying to add to his discomfort.

"That's settled, then," Mrs Walker said. "What were you going to do about his hair?" she asked Brittany?

"I thought I could wash and style it," Brittany said.

"I think it will need more than a style," Mrs Walker said. "I think a cut's needed. Not too much, just enough to give it a girlish look."

"Mum, I have to face my friends afterwards," Tom said. "I can't have it cut."

"Don't forget most of your friends are going away for Easter," she said. "You have the whole of the school holidays to grow it out, and if the worst comes to the worst, we can get it re-cut afterwards. I'd better ask Sharon to come round on Friday evening, and she can cut it here. She can also do your piercings. After all, we hardly want any of this publicising."

"No Mum," Tom wholeheartedly agreed.

"So if it leaks out," his mother said, "we know it will be Britt to blame."

"Me!" Britt protested. "Why me?"

"If Tom lets it out the bag, he has nothing to gain by hiding it. If I do, then I certainly wouldn't blame you, so that only leaves you. And let me tell you, if this leaks out then you're grounded until you turn eighteen. Do you understand me?"

"But I've only just turned seventeen," Britt complained.

"So it had better not leak out, had it?"

"No, Mum."

"Right, then all we have to do now is to wax your legs, and I'll lend you a pair of my tights and some shoes to wear for the rest of the evening."

"The rest of the evening! But Mum..."

"There's more to being a girl than simply looking like one; you have to behave like one as well, so you must practice all the time you're at home. And do try to speak more softly, and make your voice more lively. I want you to think of your favourite girl at school, and then try to speak and behave like she does."

Tom opened his mouth to protest, but then saw the look on his mother's face and closed it again. Why on earth had he told Britt he'd go ahead with this stupid scheme? Then he glanced down at his bulging breasts and knew the answer.

***

"Hello, Miss Thunder?" Tom said into the gate intercom. "I'm Brittany Walker. Mrs Parker asked me to come over and help shift the costume collection."

"Good morning, Brittany. Come on in." There was a buzzing as the lock on the pedestrian gate was released and he pushed it open. His mother had stopped the car outside the front gate of the large house standing in its own grounds, and once she saw he had gained access, she gave him a wave and drove off. He took a deep breath; he was on his own now — or did he mean, she was on her own?

The front door of the house opened as Tom approached and Miss Thunder appeared at the door. Tom had imagined her as a very large lady, who only had to cross her arms for the thunder clouds to gather. Instead, she was quite small, with crinkle lines on her face which suggested a smile was never far away. Indeed, she broke into a smile, now.

"Come in," she said. "I gather from Mrs Parker that there was an acute shortage of volunteers. I'm glad she managed to persuade you to come."

"Well, I have to say I wasn't very keen at first," Tom said, adding with complete honesty, "but when I found out about the collection, I realised how fortunate I was to have the chance of seeing it."

That delighted Miss Thunder, as he had intended. "I really don't understand why girls so rarely come to see it," she said. "It's a marvellous collection. Come through and look at it. It's currently stored in the Coach House, but my brother wants the space in order to expand his car collection."

Tom had expected to have to make some polite noises, but when he went into the large outbuilding, the array of garments made him gasp with delight. "Oh Miss Thunder," he cried, "they're gorgeous. I thought Victorian dresses were all black or grey, but there are so many different colours, here."

She smiled at him. "It's true that after the death of Prince Albert, Queen Victoria went into mourning for many years, and the upper classes of Victorian society followed her lead. And it tends to be those clothes which are generally in display in museums. But we mustn't forget how the Industrial Revolution was creating a rising number of middle class, as well as a new group of very wealthy industrialists who were not allowed to be part of the upper classes. They could afford — and choose — to dress how they wished."

She had been a good teacher, Tom realised, feeling himself carried along by her enthusiasm.

"Now I have to admit," she continued, "that most of the dresses here are not originals. Such a collection would be well beyond the coffers of SIGHS, and those that are were mainly donated by ex-girls and parents who have acquired them on the death of elderly relatives, with no room in modern houses to keep such wonderful clothes. Those are the originals at the end of the room." She pointed to the far end, where the lighting was subdued, as were the half-dozen dresses on display.

"But what about the other dresses, Miss Thunder? You must have dozens of them here."

"There are thirty-eight in total. Most have been made by the girls during Textile classes, following original designs. Miss Primrose - the previous Head - was very enthusiastic about the project."

Tom could understand that the current headmistress, the dynamic Miss Harper, would much prefer her girls to become fashion designers, rather than creating outdated dresses for a collection few would ever see. All the same...

"You've created a fabulous collection, Miss Thunder." Tom wandered down the central aisle, admiring the pretty fabrics, but also noticing some of the clumsy stitching of the girls.

"They're not all perfect," she said. "But it does mean that girls can wear them without fear of damaging them." She hesitated slightly. "I notice the school uniform you're wearing is immaculate. I was rather expecting you to be wearing jeans. Did you bring anything to change into whilst we do the hard work?"

Oh, no! He and his mother had been far too busy creating the image of a perfect schoolgirl to ponder the job itself. "I'm sorry," he said, "I didn't think about that."

"Well it's not a problem," Miss Thunder said. "You can put on a maid's dress to do the work. She walked a little further down the aisle and pulled a dress from the rack. This one will be perfect for you."

"You want me to put on a maid's dress?" Tom felt both a sinking feeling in his stomach, and exhilaration in his heart.

He stared at the dress Miss Thunder held before him. It was a long black dress with a high neckline and wide skirts beneath a narrow bodice. A feeling of both disappointment and relief swept through him, as he shook his head. "I don't think it will be big enough for me," he said. "That bodice is far too tight."

"Don't be silly," she said. "You have to wear it with a corset."

Thank heavens his penis was strapped safely away somewhere inside the Torsolet. Otherwise, he would surely have ejaculated on the spot! As it was, he gasped and staggered a little.

"I can see you are shocked at such an idea," Miss Thunder said, "as many modern women are. But it was normal wear in Victorian times, and they are really not the garments of torture that modern women depict them to be."

"But will I be able to work in a corset?"

She smiled at him. "People did. As I say, they really are not garments of torture. Why not try one on? We'll tighten it a little and then see how the maid's dress fits you. After that, you can see for yourself how restricting they are, and then give your school friends a factual account."

Tom very much doubted he'd be doing that. In fact, he decided that no one else was going to find out about this embarrassing interlude. He smiled back at her. "You've convinced me, Miss Thunder. Let me try one on and find out for myself."

"There's a changing area in the corner," she pointed at an area with a large wall mirror and coat hooks on the wall, but no curtain, and Tom realised he was going to have to change in front of her. Hopefully, she wasn't going to notice the places where the Torsolet met his skin, although his mum had used cosmetics to disguise the join as much as possible.

"You'd better take everything off," she continued, "then we can dress you in just the same way women dressed back then."

"Presumably," Tom said, "I should leave on my bra and panties."

"Don't be silly," she said. "Bras weren't invented until much later, and most working class women would not wear drawers or pantaloons. Go on, there's nothing to be embarrassed about. Slip everything off."

Tom gulped a little, and then started to slowly remove his clothes and hang them on the hooks.

"Oh, for heaven's sake," Miss Thunder said, "it's as though you've never taken off your clothes before. She stepped up to Tom and was immediately undoing buttons and zips, unfastening bras and carefully peeling tights down his legs. Within seconds, Tom was standing before her totally naked, and shivering slightly, partly through cold and partly excitement.

"I say old girl," an elderly, but rather sprightly man had come into the room, "when am I going to be able to use this room for my... Oh! I say. What a pretty girl."

Miss Thunder placed herself between Tom and the man. "How dare you enter this room without knocking," she said.

"Sorry, old girl," he said, stepping slightly to the side so he could have another look at the naked girl. "You should have warned me you had visitors."

"Will you leave here THIS MINUTE." Miss Thunder was suddenly every bit the thundercloud Tom had expected from the start. "I also think that Brittany deserves an apology."

"Yes of course," he replied. He smiled apologetically at Brittany and said, "Sorry Brittany." Then his grin widened, as he added, "Nice tits."

A shiver of pleasure ran through Tom at such a candid compliment, and for the first time he understood why it was that his mother, and thousands of other girls had hung around the pits with their bras stuffed with cotton wool, hoping to get noticed by Sir John Thunder.

"PLEASE LEAVE NOW!"

Miss Thunder followed her brother out of the room and Tom could hear her continuing to berate him.

"If she reports you to Miss Harper, you could be arrested as a voyeur."

"I told you it was a complete accident. How could I have known she was there?"

"How indeed? I sometimes suspect you listen in to my phone calls."

"Of course not. I'm not that kind of chap."

"There will be no repetition of that funny business, do you understand?"

"Of course, old girl. I can assure you nothing was further from my mind."

"Make certain it stays that way."

"Yes, old girl."

It appeared that Miss Thunder felt she had made her point, for she said, "I need to get back to the poor girl and get her dressed."

With the cheek of the devil he was, Sir John added, "Just say if you need any help."

So it was that Tom had a wide grin on his face when Miss Thunder entered the room. "I am so sorry about that," she said. "I hope you don't feel that you have been violated in any way."

"Miss Thunder, it's perfectly all right."

"And there's no need to mention it to anyone else?"

"Miss Thunder. That's exactly the kind of thing my mother warned me to expect from Sir John. I won't mention a word to my school." Of that, Tom was certain.

She gave him a warm smile "It's very good of you to be so understanding. Now, let's get you dressed." She bent over and started to rummage through drawers and pulled out a white linen slip and an object wrapped in its own cord. Tom knew exactly what that was.

"Put on this chemise, first," she said, holding the garment above his head. Tom obediently lifted his arms and she slipped it over his head and pulled it down his body. It was a tight squeeze to pull the narrowest part of the garment over Tom's breasts, and without any of the kind of inhibition a male teacher would have had with a boy, Miss Thunder slipped her hand down from the top and eased his breasts through the garment. Thank heavens, he thought that he and Brittany had been able to convince their mother that a D-cup would have been too large. And also thank heavens, he added, that he had on the Torsolet and not a bra stuffed with cotton wool.

"Now the corset," she said, unrolling the cord from around it. She opened it out, and then worked it to and fro, so that the the cord was evenly spaced between the two halves of the garment. Then she reached it around his torso and started to clip up the front busk. It was a tight squeeze to fasten it around the narrowest part of his waist, and Miss Thunder had to adjust the cord some more in order to fully fasten it.

"I can see how that's improved my figure," Tom said, staring at his new waistline in the mirror, "although it does feel quite tight."

"Heavens, child," she said. "I haven't even started to tighten the cords, yet. You do have an unusually low waist, which means it will cover less of your bust than normal. I hope that doesn't excite Sir John too much."

"Oh. Will we see Sir John again?"

"I expect he will want to bore you with his car collection. He does with most females who step through the door."

She seemed to have forgotten all about the "funny business", Tom realised.

"Actually," he admitted, "I was looking forward to seeing Sir John's collection."

"He'll be pleased. Now, let's start tightening this corset."

She went behind him and pulled on the cords, and Tom watched in amazement as his waist got smaller and smaller — and smaller still.

"There," she finally said as she tied off the cords. "That's not too tight, is it?"

"N-o," he cautiously said, "although..." he moved a little, experimentally, "...it does make it difficult to bend from side to side or bend over."

"A girl should never bend over," she said. "The corset teaches you to maintain your body in an upright, ladylike position. Bend your knees if you wish to pick up something from the floor."

"Yes, Miss Thunder."

"I should have told you to put your stockings on, before your corset, as you'll have difficulty now in pulling them up. Never mind, let me find some." Another rummage through a drawer and she pulled out a pair of woollen stockings, as well as something white and frilly. "Put a foot up on a chair," she commanded.

Tom obediently put one of his feet onto a chair and Miss Thunder bunched the stocking and carefully pulled it up his leg. Then she slipped a white garter up his leg and secured the top of the stocking. For Tom, it was another of those moments when he thought he was going to have an orgasm, especially as he felt the woman's hands slide up his leg. She's even older than my mum, he told himself, keep control.

"Come along, don't dally. Next foot."

He hurriedly switched feet and Miss Thunder put on his other stocking.

"Now, let's see if your dress will fit." She quickly undid the buttons on the maid's dress, whilst Tom stood staring into the mirror at the big busted girl with the hour-glass figure, in her corset and white stockings. "Strictly speaking, you should wear a crinoline with this dress," she said, as she dropped the dress over his head and pulled it down, "but we can do that next time."

"Right," he said, transfixed by his appearance as she fastened the buttons behind his back. Then her words came to his consciousness. "Next time? Will there be a next time?"

"Of course," she said, giving him a really nice smile. "You're obviously so captivated by your new shape, I think we'll be trying on some more dresses by the end of the day, don't you."

"Oh," he said.

"Final thing," she said, "a maid must always wear an apron to protect her dress, and a cap to protect her hair." She picked up the frilly garment she had pulled from the drawer. "Here, put on this pinafore and I'll help you tie it behind your back. I think you can probably put on the smock cap by yourself, can't you?"

That was one thing he managed to do by himself.

***

Once Tom had got used to the restriction of movement imposed by the corset, he found working in it quite comfortable. But more importantly, he felt completely at ease in his new clothes, as he helped Miss Thunder move her collection upstairs to their new location. It was a huge house, dating from the late 1800s, Miss Thunder told him, built as the home of one of the wealthy industrialists that the upper classes had so despised. But the house had included a Long Gallery, where pictures could be displayed, and Miss Thunder had converted this so she could properly display her costume collection.

Tom did the hard work — that of collecting the costumes from the coach house and carrying them up the stairs - whilst Miss Thunder arranged them on the many mannequins she had especially purchased. It was a delight to see the new display area taking place before his eyes, and with Miss Thunder's words in his ears, he couldn't help but wonder which of the fabulous dresses he'd be allowed to try on.

"I say," a voice came from behind him as he carried one of them up the stairs. "You look as pretty in that housemaid's dress as you did when you were stark naked."

Tom turned and smiled. "Thank you, Sir John, but I'd better tell you my mother warned me about you."

He looked concerned. "Do I know her?" He was clearly wondering whether he'd known her in the biblical sense.

"No, but not because she didn't try to get to meet you, but I understand there was stiff competition. I gather you always had a dozen pretty girls around you."

He smiled back. "And now there's only one. I think it's lunchtime, don't you Penny?" He'd raised his voice so that Miss Thunder would hear him as she worked on the floor above.

She appeared now and said that she thought it was indeed lunchtime.

"In the olden days," she said, "the staff would have eaten separately in their own kitchen. But now we only have one kitchen where we all eat together. I have some cold meats prepared. Perhaps you'll help me get them out."

***

"Do the girls still call her Thunderbirds?" Sir John asked Tom over lunch.

"Er... Well..."

"You've embarrassed the poor girl," Miss Thunder said. "Teachers aren't supposed to know their nicknames." She smiled at Tom. "My first name is Penelope and when John was first knighted, they used to call me Lady Penelope, but that was too much of a mouthful."

"Oh," Tom said. "I didn't realise you knew."

"A good teacher has to have eyes in the back of her head and hear everything that's said," Miss Thunder said.

"Now, John," she added, turning to her brother, "Brittany would like to see your car collection. I'm sure you would love to show her round after lunch."

"Oh, absolutely old girl." He beamed at Tom and winked. "I'll show you everything I've got."

"Brittany wears her costume so well," Miss Thunder said, "that I wonder whether she would like to join us on the Vintage Car Run on Easter Monday?"

"I have a 1902 De Dion Bouton," Sir John said, seeing the puzzlement on Tom's face. "There's a Vintage Car Run around Seacombe on Easter Monday, and Penny is suggesting you dress up in a costume and come with us."

"Oh, I'd love to," Tom responded without thinking through any of the consequences. He'd be on public display to the hundreds of people who lined the streets. The idea both excited and terrified him.

Seeing his mixed reaction, Sir John said, "I think you said your mother used to follow my antics when she was younger. Why don't you ask her if she'd like to join us?"

"She probably wouldn't want to come," Miss Thunder said. "And I don't expect Mr Walker would be very happy about it."

"Mum got divorced a few years ago," Tom said, "and we don't see much of Dad now. I'm sure she'd love to meet you. She was so excited when I told her about coming here today."

"That's all settled, then," said Sir John, wondering just how much Brittany's mother would love to meet him. "Now let me show you around my little collection."

***

"How would you like a spin around my race circuit," Sir John asked Tom, sometime later, after he had shown him every car in his collection, from the 1902 De Dion Bouton through to his latest acquisition, an open-topped Lotus Elise.

"You have your own race track?" Tom could not believe it.

Sir John modestly shrugged. "It certainly doesn't meet international standards, but there's extensive land attached to this house. Most of it is rented out to local farmers, but I upgraded some of the tracks to form a continuous circuit, which the farmers keep clear. It's pretty slow for a race circuit, but I can touch well over the ton on the fastest bits."

"And you'd take me round it? What in?" Tom couldn't stop his eyes drifting to the Lotus.

"Why not?"

Within minutes, Tom was sitting next to Sir John in the tight cockpit. Sir John gunned the engine, and they set off with a kick like a mule in the seat of the pants.

"We'll just take it easy for the first lap," he said. "Just make certain the track's clear. Always a bit embarrassing if you meet a tractor on a hairpin bend."

Sir John may have felt he was taking it easy, but to Tom, it was incredibly fast — their tyres screeched like crazy on every corner, and the wind blew through his hair. Fortunately, he'd removed both apron and smock cap, but he was still in his maid's dress, in which he felt rather incongruous. Victorian maids really did not ride in expensive modern sports cars.

"I've named each of the corners after similar ones on other race tracks," he said. "This one is Devil's Elbow — Mallory Park." They screamed through a fast downhill left-hander. "This is Woodcote, Silverstone." A fast right-hander. "This is Thunderballs. That's unique to this circuit."

"Why's it called Thunderballs?" Tom asked.

"Maybe I'll show you later," he said.

***

"Hello, Nosey? It's Helen Harper. I've been away for a few days so I've only just read your email - about old Thunderbirds asking you to provide a girl to help her move the costume collection."

"Oh yes," Mrs Parker said. "Of course, no one wanted to give up their Saturday."

"They didn't?" Miss Harper felt the relief sweep through her body.

"No. Not one of them."

"Thank heavens for that."

"So I had to force Brittany Walker to stand in."

"You what?"

"Well, I just said. I threatened Brittany Walker with a detention if she didn't volunteer to move the damned collection."

"Oh my God! You know what you've done, don't you?"

"No."

"But you must do. The whole school knows about what happened to the four girls who helped Thunderbirds move her costume collection to her own house."

"I was Miss Thunder's replacement as Head of Textiles, remember. Whatever happened was before my time, although of course I know of Sir John's reputation with young women. Was there..."

"Under-aged sex? Yes, I'm afraid there was a complaint to the Governors and the police were brought in. Fortunately, I managed to persuade all the girls to lie to the police about what happened and they dropped the case with insufficient evidence."

"You should have warned me."

That much was abundantly clear now to Miss Harper. The problem was that the more people you warned, the greater the risk of it being picked up by the press and emblazoned over the front pages of the gutter press.

"I'll ring up Mrs Walker," Miss Harper said. "See whether Brittany has returned home."

"And if she hasn't?"

"I'll go round there."

***

"Hello, Mrs Walker? It's Miss Harper, Brittany's Head. Mrs Parker tells me that Brittany has kindly agreed to help Miss Thunder with the costume collection today. Has she returned yet?"

Mrs Walker heard the loud music coming from Brittany's room, where she and two of her friends were preparing to go to the disco, that evening.

"No, she's still there," she lied. "I dropped her off at about nine-thirty this morning. Is there a problem?"

"No," Miss Harper also lied. "I wanted to thank her for filling in like that."

She put down the phone and then grabbed her keys and raced out of the house towards her car.

***

Just a few minutes after they had set out, Sir John was saying, "OK, that's the first lap completed and it's all clear. So, we'll open her up now."

And he did.

Tom should have felt terrified at the speeds they were travelling, without any crash barriers to keep them on the road if anything happened. Indeed, at times they flew through the air as they went over the brows of hills that would never appear on a modern race track. Instead, he felt exhilarated to the point where his body was shaking with excitement, but he also felt extremely safe in Sir John's competent hands.

***

Miss Harper left braking so late, she almost crashed into the gate of the Thunder's house, but her Mazda MX2 didn't let her down; she stopped just inches from the gate. She hurriedly got out of her car, raced to the intercom and pressed it.

"Yes?"

"Penny. It's me, Helen Harper. I need to see Brittany right away."

"Well she's currently with my brother..."

"Open the bloody gate."

As the gates started to open, Miss Harper jumped back into her car and drove up to the house and straight round to the Coach House at the rear, where she knew the costume collection was kept. As she got out of her car, she heard a car hurtle past at high speed on Sir John's race track, but her mind was on other things.

***

They completed several more laps before Sir John said, "Let's take a break here."

Thunderballs was the next corner, and instead of accelerating as they went round, he braked, and the car skidded sideways off the road onto a little hard-standing area, stopping just before the oak trees which bordered the road. He turned off the engine and suddenly everything was silent

"What do you think?"

"Fantastic, Sir John."

"Call me John," he said. "Look, the reason I brought you here is that I want to talk with you a little. Do you mind?"

Tom smiled at Sir John. "Mind? Why should I mind a little talk?" He knew he was being provocative. He knew that any sensible girl in such a position should ask to be taken back to the safety of Miss Thunder. But Sir John was such an old rogue. Could he really be turned on by a boy masquerading as a girl?

"Sometimes," Sir John said, "people do things which upset us. For example, when I walked in on you and Penny, this morning."

"I've already said that wasn't a problem."

"I know but... Well, in the past, some of the girls have complained about things, and what I wanted to ask is that if you have a problem with anything, you tell me. Would you do that for me?"

"Of course I will. But..." Tom paused, uncertain how to put the words, "sometimes a girl might tell a man to stop and the man takes no notice."

He smiled at her. "Well it's never happened in my case. I have never forced anyone to do things they didn't want to, and..." It was his turn to pause. "You want me to kiss you, don't you?"

What the hell was he getting into? Tom wondered. He knew he should say no, but Sir John was such a nice old rogue. Besides, what harm could one kiss do? "Yes," he said.

***

Miss Harper ran inside the coach house to see the room almost empty of clothes, but what immediately caught her eye was the white school blouse and black pleated school skirt, hanging on a hook in the changing area.

"Oh, there you are," Miss Thunder said, entering the room. "You can see we have almost cleared..."

"You undressed her, didn't you?"

"The school uniform she wore was completely impractical for the job so I loaned her a more suitable dress."

"You know what I mean. You physically took off her clothes."

"Well, she did need a little assistance to remove her clothes, yes."

"What then?"

"Nothing at all," Miss Thunder replied.

"I don't believe you. You had a naked girl in front of you and you didn't try to touch her..."

"My brother came in. I think he'd been listening at the door and decided to come in when she was naked."

"Thank God," Miss Harper said. "So he stopped anything happening?"

Miss Thunder shrugged. "Nothing was going to happen anyway. People get too excited nowadays about a little cuddling, and tickling a girl in her more sensitive spots."

"Where is she now?"

"My brother's driving her around the circuit."

Miss Harper smiled at her recollection of being driven around the circuit by Sir John. She'd had a crush on him since her schooldays, when she had stuffed a D-cup bra with cotton wool and paraded around the racing circuits, trying to attract his attention. Who would have thought that all those years later, he'd have laid her on the bonnet of his car and given her the fucking of her lifetime? "Now do you see why this bend is called Thunderballs," he'd asked her.

Her heart missed a beat. "I haven't heard his car drive past for several minutes."

Miss Thunder smiled at her. "She'll be perfectly safe with my brother. You know all those stories about him being a philanderer were all made up. Cars are his passion. Really, he's never been that interested in women."

It often amazed Miss Harper that people could so easily delude themselves about those they were close to, but now was not the time to debate the issue. "I need to find Brittany."

She raced back to her car, jumped inside and started the engine. She took a moment to fasten her seatbelt. She was going to have to drive faster than she'd ever driven before.

***

"I think you should stop, now," Tom said.

"You don't really want to stop, Brittany. Your body is telling you that you want to carry on. You won't regret it."

"It doesn't matter what my body is telling me," Tom said. He used his forearm to push Sir John away, just as his mother had coached him. "It's time to stop."

"Damn," Sir John said. "Never mind, there'll be another time."

Tom couldn't help smiling at his optimism.

"I expect Penny will want you and your mother to come over tomorrow," he said, "to choose your costumes for Monday. Perhaps your mother would like a spin around the circuit."

Tom had to gasp at his audacity. Sir John and his mother? Impossible! Still, there was no harm in letting him have his flights of fancy. "I'm sure she would love that," he said with a smile, "only don't go getting any ideas. My Mum's not like that."

It often amazed Sir John that people could so easily delude themselves about those they were close to, but now was not the time to debate the issue. "Of course not," he said.

"I say," he added, "I can hear another car on the circuit, and they're going at full chat. Who on earth is driving at that speed?"

Sir John got more and more aerated about the speed of the vehicle approaching them, until it was only seconds away.

"They're crazy," he said. "They'll never get around this bend at that speed."

***

It says much for the strength and safety features of modern cars that Miss Harper would walk away from an accident that, a few years earlier, would have killed her outright. Indeed, she would remember for years to come, the horror — not of the accident itself — but of the slow motion recall of those last few seconds before her car smashed into the huge oak tree.

In spite of Sir John's reservations, the Mazda might well have safely taken the corner - albeit on its limits of adhesion - had she not seen the parked Lotus and stamped on the brake. Even the ABS couldn't stop the car from going into an uncontrollable spin towards the trees and the Lotus.

She knew she was going to die and for a moment, she thought she was going to hit the other car, killing the girl she was trying to protect. By some fluke, the Mazda just missed the corner of the Lotus and then she was looking directly into the cockpit of the Lotus as her car slid past.

There was the shocked face of Sir John which turned into recognition of the woman he had laid on this very spot. And there was the equally shocked face of the girl — still with her clothes on, thank heavens. But although the girl had Brittany's eyes, IT WAS NOT BRITTANY.

"Strange," she thought, in a moment of clarity, "Brittany doesn't have a sister, only a brother." But then she suddenly thought of Emily Davis and the antics she had recently got up to; and her sister Jessica before that.

She thought it was her dying breath, and all she could say was, "Oh no! Not again!"

Author's Note: Like most of my stories, this is a light-hearted cross-dressing romp. Although Seacombe Independent Girls' High School plays only a small part, I have included this as one of my SIGHS stories. If you enjoy the story, please click on the Good Story button at the end. I'd also be delighted to receive your comments by clicking on the Send Author a Message button. Enjoy.

It was supposed to be a four hour drive from London to Seacombe, but setting out after Nick Williams' mum finished work on that busy Monday between Christmas and New Year was the very worst time to travel. It was almost eleven pm by the time he and his mother, Sarah, arrived at their destination.

"I still don't see why we couldn't have set out early tomorrow morning," Nick grumbled for the umpteenth time, as they stumbled up the dark garden path. They were staying at the home of Laura Davis, an old friend of Sarah's, who was letting them use her home whilst she and her family were away. "We'd have missed the worst of the traffic and Mrs Bottom is putting us up at her place tomorrow night."

"It's Lady Bottomly of Seacombe," his mother admonished. "I've told you over and over again to address her properly. She was always a stickler for protocol when I was her housekeeper and she was in her sixties then. She's probably far worse now. That's why I didn't want to stay an extra night with her. She'll probably count the number of times we go to the toilet. But remember, she's giving this dinner party especially for your fifteenth birthday, so she deserves a bit of respect."

"Yes, Mum," Nick agreed.

A security light came on at that moment and illuminated the path up to the front door. Whilst his mother unlocked it and went inside, switching on lights, Nick turned back to the car to bring in their suitcases.

Except that there was only one suitcase in the boot — his mother's. He checked the inside of the car — the suitcase he had packed the previous evening was not there.

"Mu-um!" he whined as he went inside the house. "You forgot to bring my suitcase. What am I going to do? All I have is what I'm standing up in."

"I shall forget my own head, next," his mum said. "I remember picking it up from your bedroom, but I must have put it down somewhere else. I'm sorry about that, love. Never mind, I expect we'll find some pyjamas for you to wear tonight."

"But mum," Nick moaned, "you told me that your friend, Mrs Davis, is separated from her husband and only has two daughters. I can't wear a girl's pyjamas."

"Well," his mother brightly said, "perhaps we'll find you a pretty nightdress."

"Mu-um!"

***

Emily was the younger of Laura's two daughters and a few years older than Nick, so they worked out which was her room, and his mother flipped through her drawers. "Here we are," she said, laying out a few nightclothes on the bed. "What about a pair of Little Princess pyjamas?"

Nick snorted, and he continued to do so for all the other items his mother laid out. Eventually, he decided on a plain pair with a little heart motif.

"They'll do you very nicely," his mother said, adding, "And I think you'll find your boy bits don't fall off just because you wear a girl's pyjamas overnight. All right?"

"Yes, mum." Strangely, he felt rather excited about wearing such pretty clothes, although he'd had to protest, otherwise his mother would have thought him weird.

"You'll need to take a shower before you put them on," she said.

"But Mum," he protested, "I always take a shower in the morning, not the evening."

"Well you're wearing someone else's clothes, so you can take a shower now."

He nodded. "OK, Mum."

So he took a long, hot shower. They had much nicer smelling soap than the kind his mother normally bought, and he came out smelling rather girly. His mother had given him some nylon panties to go with the pyjamas, and as he slid them up his legs, his cock went rigid!

It was highly embarrassing, and he had to pull them up tightly to contain the bulge, but after he'd slipped on the pyjamas, he looked quite respectable, even — dare he say it — sweet! He blushed at the thoughts whizzing through his mind.

"Your drinking chocolate is ready," his mum called up the stairs, and he shyly went downstairs to the kitchen.

"Darling," his mum said, with a slightly amazed look, "You look lovely."

"I'm a boy, Mum," he said. "I'm not meant to look lovely."

"For the time being," she said, giving him a hug, "you're a girl, and a very pretty girl you make. Now drink up your chocolate."

It was strange, but after forgetting his suitcase like that, he'd normally have been grumbling at her all evening until she snapped at him to stop moaning, but somehow it all seemed an adventure, and they chatted amicably about the letter which had arrived a couple of weeks ago, which had brought them down here.

***

When Nick arrived home from school, the handwritten envelope had been on the doormat, along with two envelopes marked "Final Demand". Final demands came all too frequently nowadays, and Nick hoped that, as soon as he was fifteen, he'd be able to get a job and help out his mum with some of the bills. His mum was always saying how everything was getting more money except her salary.

But those thoughts flitted only briefly through his mind that day since, at the bottom of the pile of post was the horse magazine subscription his uncle had given him for Christmas. He had a couple of hours before his mother came home. He'd have to begin his homework by the time she arrived, but in the meantime...

***

"Do you remember me telling you about Lady Bottomly?" His mother had ignored the envelopes containing the two Final Demands and immediately opened the handwritten envelope.

"You were living with her as housekeeper when you had me, weren't you?" he replied, looking up from his French homework which he'd hurriedly started as she came through the front door. "In some huge, old house near Seacombe."

She nodded. "When Lady Bottomly interviewed me for the job, I was six months' pregnant and single so I wasn't normally top of anyone's list of applicants. Fortunately, she was totally discriminatory when it came to putting women before men. Finding her made so much difference for me. She absolutely doted on you. You were almost four when we moved up to London."

"Strange you haven't heard from her all these years."

"Oh, we have exchanged a few letters in the past, but this time she's remembered your fifteenth birthday — although since it's on New Year's Day I can't see how she could have forgotten the other fourteen. Anyway, she wondered if we'd like to go down and stay New Year's Eve with her. Apparently, Seacombe always has a parade on New Year's Day, so she says she'll hold a dinner party for you the night before and then we can all go see the parade on your birthday."

"That's nice of her. Shall we go?"

His mother hesitated. "It will cost us quite a lot of money: there's the petrol, and we'll have to get you some smart clothes. I think we'd better not."

Nick was rather disappointed, but he understood — or thought he did. "Of course, Mum. It's no great shakes."

"The thing is..." his mother said, and then stopped.

"The thing is?" Nick queried.

"Well, Lady Bottomly's husband died a few months ago. Sir James Bottomly. Do you remember? He was in the news."

Nick shook his head. "Not really... Oh. Was he that banker?"

"That was him. He was worth millions, if not billions."

"And you think he might have left her a millionaire?"

"They were separated well before she employed me, but he was Catholic, so they never divorced. I'm sure he'll have left her something."

"So perhaps she's thinking of a nice birthday present for the boy she knew as a baby?"

His mum shrugged. "I think it's quite likely."

"So perhaps we ought to go?"

"It's not as easy as that," his mother crossly snapped at him. "There are... things which make it difficult."

"OK, Mum. Whatever." But Nick was rather upset at the way she had turned on him. It was hardly his fault if she had problems with her old employer. All the same, it would have been nice to look forward to an expensive present."

***

"I think perhaps we'd better go," his mother had said over breakfast, next morning. "I'm sure she will be thinking of a nice present for you, if not more."

"More?"

"She might offer to help with university, for example."

"Really?" Nick had assumed there was no way his mother could afford such luxuries as allowing him a university education rather than earning a wage.

"The problem is there are complications."

"Such as..." he prompted.

She shook her head. "I can't tell you now, but if we went you'd have to be very brave about any... awkwardness," she finished, rather lamely.

He grinned at her. "When have you ever known me frightened of anything?" he asked her.

She cheered up. "You're right," she said. "We can do it."

Although what exactly they could do, Nick couldn't imagine.

***

"It's a good job," his mother said, as they drank their hot chocolate together, "that we decided your present suit was good enough for tomorrow night, so we haven't spent a lot of money on clothes which I forgot to bring with us."

"But we will have to go out tomorrow and buy something smart," he said. "As well as shirts and underwear and things."

"I'd forgotten about underwear," she said. She hesitated a little and then added, "If you find Emily's panties comfortable, would it be such a bind if you continued to wear them whilst we're here. After all, no one's going to see them."

Nick's heart gave a little jump of joy, but he managed to avoid grinning as he said, "OK, Mum. I know money's tight. It's no problem wearing Emily's knickers — as long as we don't tell anyone about this. I'd never live down the embarrassment."

She smiled at him. "Thanks, love. I think it's time we were both in bed now. Goodnight."

"Goodnight, Mum." He didn't normally kiss her — it's not the kind of thing which fourteen year-old boys normally did, but it seemed all right to kiss her that night.

***

"Mum," he shouted next morning. "What's happened to the clothes I was wearing yesterday?"

She came to the bottom of the stairs and smiled up at him. "Oh, I put them all in the wash, love. After all, you'll need them for the journey home."

"Yes, but Mum," he couldn't work out why she couldn't see the problem, "I need to wear them today in order to go into town and buy something to wear for this evening."

"I had a good look through Emily's clothes last night whilst you were in the shower. She's quite curvy for her age but I think we'll find some suitable clothes you could wear whilst we shop.

"Not dresses and skirts," she hastily added, seeing his face, "but sweaters and leggings. I'm sure we'll find something which you'll look good in."

"But everybody will laugh at me," he gasped. Wouldn't they?

"Only if they knew you were a boy wearing girl's clothes. But last night I realised you make a very passable girl. You'll be fine."

Seeing his uncertainty, she started up the stairs, saying, "Come on. Let's find something you can wear. It'll be fun."

He opened his mouth to deny it, and then closed it. "Mum, I'm not certain about this," he finally said.

"That's OK," she said. "I am."

His mother made him wash his hair before they started, then she blow dried it, giving it a nice wave which looked quite feminine. Then they turned to Emily's wardrobe. She had all kinds of lovely clothes — lots of matching outfits in bright colours which Nick consented to try on, one after the other. But when he looked in the mirror, he could still see a boy's shape beneath.

"The problem is your shoulders," his mother agreed with him. "They're wider than your hips which is unusual for a girl." She was silent for a minute, and then said, "I did see something in Emily's sister's wardrobe which I think might help, but it was a bit of a strange thing. It was a... a sort of a body."

"You mean those all-in-one vests that you wear to pull your tummy in?"

"Well, not really, although... I'll go and get it then you can see for yourself."

She was back in a few seconds and Nick gaped at what she held out. It looked for all the world like a woman's skin-coloured torso, from neck down to...

"Oh God!" He felt himself blushing at what he could see between the legs.

"Sorry," his mum said. "I should have warned you, but since you're an honorary girl at the moment, I guess it's permitted for you to look properly. Go on, don't be embarrassed."

But he was embarrassed in front of his mother, until she said, "The important thing is that the hips and bum are padded out. I think that will make the difference."

At last, he could look at the torso without being transfixed by the... thing. "Yes," he agreed, "you're probably right.

"She has nice breasts, as well, don't you think?"

Nice breasts! They were huge, the stuff of his wildest dreams. "Er... Yes, I suppose so," he mumbled.

His mum smirked at him. "That's good, because you'll be wearing them soon."

"Wearing them! Mum, I can't wear that."

"Why not?"

"Mum, it's a..."

"Piece of plastic skin which looks like a woman's body. Nothing to be frightened of in that."

"No, mum," he lied. The thing actually terrified him.

"Come on then." She fumbled between the legs where the... thing was situated, then something clicked and the... thing seemed to separate from the bum. Clearly, it was all meant to be pulled over the head and then clipped in place between the legs to hold it all in place.

"Mum," he made his final protest. "Isn't this all a bit over the top? I mean, my clothes should be washed and dried this morning. We can go out this afternoon and buy me something to wear for tonight."

"Assuming we can find something suitable in Seacombe," she said. "We may find nothing and have to go on somewhere else, miles away. We can't risk being late for this evening. That would be the height of bad manners. Besides..."

She stopped and smiled at him. "Admit it. This is FUN! You're enjoying it. Come on. Let's put this over your head and down your body, then you can go to the bathroom and secure it in place."

He grinned back at her. "You're crazy, but... OK." He stripped off Emily's top which he'd been wearing and held out his arms so that his mother could feed the body over his head.

***

"Well, what do you think," his mother asked twenty minutes later.

He stared in the mirror at his reflection; he was wearing Emily's bright red leggings with a matching red and white striped sweater. He marvelled at the way his large breasts jutted forward, and bounced slightly as he twisted in front of the mirror, but what really made the difference were his protruding hips and bum which really gave him the shape of a girl.

"Mindboggling," he replied. "I can't believe I'm looking at myself — but I am."

"Now let's try it with one of Emily's dresses," his mother suggested.

"Mum! No!" he protested. He'd seen the fantastic range of dresses in her wardrobe — apparently, Emily played in a string quartet and had been performing to audiences all over Britain. The dresses excited him; some slinky, others with swirling skirts. But he could never admit his excitement to his mother.

"You'd look great in them," his mum said.

"But Mum," he said. "We have to go out and buy something for me to wear tonight. Remember."

She nodded and became suddenly solemn and said, "I guess it's time I levelled with you."

"What?" he said.

***

She had made them cups of tea and sat him down in the lounge on the settee. "You remember I told you I was six months pregnant when Lady Bottomly interviewed me for the job of housekeeper?

"I'd had dozens of other interviews," she continued, "and they all took one look at me and made up their mind. They weren't allowed to say it was because I was pregnant, of course, but it's easy enough to make up any old excuse."

Nick nodded. "And then you applied for a job with Lady Bottomly."

"In the interview, she immediately started asking me about my pregnancy. When I told her your father had abandoned me as soon as he learnt I was pregnant, she was on my side. Within a few minutes, it was clear she hated all men, especially her husband, and I must admit, I played up to her a little. I was desperate for a job. Then she suddenly asked me if I'd had a scan. 'Is it a boy or a girl?' she asked."

His mother turned to look Nick in the eye. "When I'd had my scan," she said, "I'd told them I didn't want to know your sex. But I knew that, with her hatred of the male sex, it was really important to Lady Bottomly that I was having a baby girl. I had a fifty-fifty chance of being right so I rather stupidly said you were a girl." She shrugged.

"It got me the job, and Lady Bottomly had a room converted into a nursery — it was pink, of course, with pretty fairies floating around — and she bought lots of little girl's clothes. She'd have been so upset if I gave birth to a boy, especially as I had deceived her. I thought she'd ask me to leave."

"How did she take it when I was born?"

"I let her think you were a girl."

Nick shook his head, trying to work out the implications. "But we were there for almost four years. You couldn't keep my sex a secret for all that time."

"Yes I could."

Nick spoke slowly, as though trying to grasp what she was saying. "You mean I wore girl's dresses until I was four?"

His mum nodded.

"Oh God! How embarrassing!"

"I knew we would have to leave before you started school. Meeting Steve was just fortunate - or at least, I thought so at the time."

His mother had married Steve - the man Nick knew as Dad - and had an acrimonious divorce just a few years previously.

Nick glanced down at his breasts jutting out beneath his red and white sweater, and his red leggings curving around his wide bum and said, "You've never told her, have you. All these years, she's believed I'm a girl. And tonight, she's expecting to see a girl arrive in a pretty dress."

"I know I have deceived you, Nick, but I was certain that if I simply put it to you outright, you wouldn't contemplate it. You'd feel you had to reject it out of hand, regardless of your inner feelings."

Nick opened his mouth to deny it and then realised she had seen him exactly how he was. He smiled at her and nodded. "You're right," he said. "You'd never have got me to this stage. I still can't believe that this is me." He waved down at his attire. Then another thought struck him.

"Does Mrs Davis know what you're up to this weekend?"

She nodded, and said, "It's a long story, but when I first met Laura, I told her that you were a little boy, not a girl. We've periodically chatted on the phone ever since, so when her daughters started getting involved in similar things she would ring me up and tell me all about it. It's not the first time that body you're wearing — it's called a Torsolet by the way — has been used to make boys look like girls.

"When Lady Bottomly's letter arrived, I telephoned her and she suggested this. She's actually staying nearby with a friend, to leave the two of us alone here, so I can get you this far. If it's alright with you, I'll give her a ring now, and she'll come round and help with the rest."

"The rest? You mean get me to wear a dress?"

"Not just a dress. She's a beautician. She'll do your hair better than I have, wax your legs, do your nails, show you how to apply makeup. Being female is not just about wearing a dress."

Somewhere inside him, his old self protested that no boy should even contemplate such a thing, but he couldn't stop his heart fluttering with excitement about what his mother was suggesting. He smiled and said, "You'd better give her a call.

"And," he added, "I hope you're right about there being a decent present at the end of it. If Lady Bottomly gives me a nice sweater, I'll..." He left the end of the sentence open, for effect.

"You'll look very pretty in it," his mum said, and he couldn't stop his heart bounce with excitement.

***

Nick had expected Mrs Davis to ridicule him for wearing girls' clothes, but she didn't blink an eyelid - it was as though she'd seen it hundreds of times before - which actually she had as at one time she'd worked for the company who made and sold the Torsolet.

But all Nick knew was that she cast an expert eye over him and was then pushing him back to the bathroom to have his hair properly done.

"Just a little colour, which we'll be able to wash out tomorrow, and a cut will make all the difference," she said. "As for those dreadful nails, I'll give you very short acrylic extensions. Have you chosen a dress yet? Emily has some lovely ones you can choose from."

"Actually," Nick said, "I'm starting to feel awfully sweaty beneath this Torsolet. I don't think I can wear it for much longer."

Mrs Davis smiled at him. "There's a special gel we put on your body to stop the sweat," she said. "Take it off for now, and we'll sort that out later. But don't worry, your mother is going to take a really pretty daughter to dine with Lady Bottomly tonight, and no one will know anything different."

***

"Oh, Nichola, how delightful to see you, after all these years," Lady Bottomly said, standing up to greet her guests as Emma, the housekeeper, showed them into the drawing room. "What a pretty girl you've become."

"Thank you, Lady Bottomly," Nichola said with a shy smile. She had been coached for hours on the best way to speak, and the right facial expressions to adopt for a girl.

"Sarah," Lady Bottomly' gaze switched to Nichola's mother, standing behind her. "You're looking delightful."

"Thank you, Lady Bottomly," she replied. "You haven't changed a bit since we last saw you."

"Would you like a sherry, Sarah?" Lady Bottomly asked. "Emma has a selection of soft drinks for you Nichola, if you let her know what you would like."

She pointed to the timid-looking, middle-aged woman wearing a black dress and white apron, who had opened the front door to them and shown them into the drawing room. Emma picked up a tray with two glasses of sherry, and she gave them a nervous smile as she stepped forward and held the tray out for Lady Bottomly and Sarah to take a glass. Nichola had a sudden impulse to ask for a gin and tonic, but remembered the large present possibly on offer, and instead said, "Could I have a lemonade and lime, please?"

So the small talk commenced with all the easy familiarity one might expect between the wife of a baronet, her former housekeeper, and a boy dressed as a girl. They talked about the weather, the following day's parade, the subjects at school which Nichola most enjoyed (it was good, Lady Bottomly said, that a girl liked science and maths), and the conversation seemed almost on the point of drying up, when the housekeeper came in and whispered that dinner was ready to be served.

"Before we sit down for dinner," Lady Bottomly said, "I would like to give Nichola her present this evening, rather than waiting for her birthday, tomorrow.

"I should warn you," she added, "that it is rather large, so I hope you won't think it out of place, Sarah."

"Oh, you shouldn't have got her anything big, Lady Bottomly," Sarah said. "I'm sure Nichola will be delighted, whatever it is."

"It wasn't a question of buying anything, Sarah," Lady Bottomly replied, "but Sir James has willed this house and all its contents to me, so it seems sensible to pass things on where they'll be most useful."

As she led the way out of the room and across the hallway, Sarah gave Nichola a triumphant glance which said, "I told you so."

Lady Bottomly led the way into a small room set towards the rear of the house, and turned to smile at Nichola. "Nichola, I know how much pleasure this gave you when you lived here, so I'm sure it will give equal pleasure to your own children, when they are born." She stood aside and indicated the object standing against the wall.

It was a huge dolls' house.

At the look of horror on the face of her mother, who luckily was standing behind Lady Bottomly, Nichola's instantaneous thought was to burst into laughter. Fortunately, she managed to restrict it to a lovely grin, as she gushed, "Oh, Lady Bottomly. I'd totally forgotten it, but now I can remember playing with this dolls' house, all those years ago. Thank you so much. I'll really treasure it."

She leant forward, gave Lady Bottomly a kiss on the cheek, and then added. "The only thing is..." she turned to her mother and said, "Mum, do you think there's room for it in our house?"

Her mother shook her head, but before she could speak, Lady Bottomly darted in. "It's all right. It all dismantles and packs away into a trunk. Emma will pack it up for you and it will be ready to go when you leave tomorrow.

"In any case," she added, with finality, "at some stage I will have to sell off this house, so I might as well start getting rid of the things I no longer need. You must take it."

So it was decreed, leaving Sarah wondering how they were even going to get the monstrosity into the car, never mind find somewhere to store it in their tiny, modern house. Nichola, meanwhile, was remembering the pleasure she had gained as a toddler when she had been allowed to play with the magnificent house. At the same time, she was wondering what Nick was going to tell his friends about this whole escapade when he returned to school on Monday. Fortunately, he hadn't hyped up the visit too much, only telling his best friend basic details, without emphasising that he had hoped to gain a university education out of his host. Nichola gave another look at her mother, who was looking extremely morose. She gave her a grin to try to cheer her up.

They moved to the dining room and Emma served them to soup, a rather thick and stodgy liquid, without much taste, followed by a roast beef, remarkable only for the amount of gristle it contained.

Sarah hardly spoke over dinner, thinking about all the arrangements she'd had to make and the way she'd had to deceive Nick, just to get him down here, all for a bloody dolls' house. Lady Bottomly seemed to pick up on her unhappiness and was affronted by it, so strangely, it was Nichola who led the conversation over the meal. She chattered about the excitement she used to feel when she played with the dolls' house, and about her own feelings, returning to the house after all these years. It was amazing, she told them, how just an hour ago she couldn't remember a thing about this house, but now the memories were flooding back.

It was after they had finished their main course, and both Sarah and Lady Bottomly were getting quite fed up with the endless chatter coming out of Nichola, that Emma came in to clear away their plates and told Lady Bottomly that a Miss Harper had telephoned and left a message for Lady Bottomly to ring her back urgently.

"Well if it was urgent," Lady Bottomly said, "why didn't you come in and interrupt me?"

"But you have always instructed you weren't to be disturbed by telephone calls during a meal, Lady Bottomly," the poor woman protested.

"Except in emergency," Lady Bottomly overruled, standing up, and adding, as she left the room. "This is clearly an emergency."

"Yes, Lady Bottomly," Emma said to the closing door.

As soon as Emma had taken the dirty plates from the room, Sarah said, "What a total disaster. We've come all this way, only to get that horror dumped on us. I suppose we can take it to the rubbish tip on the way home."

"Mum," Nichola protested, "it's my birthday present. I used to really love playing with it when I was young. Couldn't we keep it for a short time?"

Sarah suddenly grinned at him. "The really great thing to come out of this is that I've found a lovely daughter who I never knew I had."

"Don't be silly, Mum," Nichola said, but she couldn't understand why her mother's words gave her such a thrill of pleasure.

"Ah, Nichola," Lady Bottomly said, as she returned to the room. "I don't suppose you ride, do you? In my day, every child learnt, but I suppose you city girls don't get the chance."

"Yes, I ride," Nichola said. "It's one of the activities we can do at school and I really love it."

"Excellent, child," Lady Bottomly approved. "I'm certain you have never ridden side-saddle, but you'll pick that up in no time."

"Side-saddle?" Sarah queried. "Why does she need to ride side-saddle?"

"Miss Harper is the headmistress of SIGHS, the local girls' high school. One of her girls, Gemma Watkins, was going to ride in the parade tomorrow to represent the original Lady Bottomly of Seacombe, and Miss Harper tells me she has now taken ill and can't do it. Unfortunately, all the other girls from SIGHS who are competent riders are already taking part in other parts of the parade, so I'm hoping that Nichola will be able to fill in. It is, after all, a great privilege to represent the first Lady Bottomly." She turned to Nichola. "Will you do it?"

Would she do it? Try stopping her. Ever since Nick had his first ride, he had been obsessed. But with the series of lessons arranged by his school coming to an end and money being so short, there was simply no hope he could do any more until he had a proper job. Now, Lady Bottomly was asking him if he'd like to try riding side-saddle. "Oh, yes, Lady Bottomly. I'd love to try side-saddle."

"Excellent," Lady Bottomly said. "I'll go and tell Miss Harper to arrange a lesson for you tomorrow morning."

***
"I can't do it," Nichola said to her mother, who was waiting for her in the car outside the riding school, the following lunchtime. "It's just impossible."

"But you've always been great with horses," Sarah said. "You've really taken to riding so well. Is side-saddle so very difficult?"

"Riding side-saddle was great," Nichola said. "It looks so precarious but once I was mounted, it's quite stable. I rode Sampson, who is quite used to it and very well-behaved. Miss Bennett, who's the riding instructor at SIGHS, says I'm a natural." She grinned with pleasure at the compliment. "It's quite disconcerting, though, riding with breasts. They keep bouncing up and down, just as the rest of my body is going in the opposite direction."

Her mother grinned at her. "It's one of the things a shapely girl like you has to live with. But why do you say you can't ride in the parade?"

"All the girls from SIGHS taking part in various parts of the parade were there, doing a final practice, apart from Gemma Watkins, whose part I'm taking because she's supposedly sick."

"Supposedly sick?"

"Everyone was saying she wasn't sick at all, but that she was refusing to do it because Lady Bottomly and Miss Harper were insisting she dress up in Victorian clothes."

"But she was taking the part of the original Lady Bottomly. Of course she had to wear Victorian clothes because that's when the baronetcy was created. What's wrong with that?"

Nichola pulled a face. "They're insisting she wears a corset — a symbol of male oppression over females." She shook her head. "I can't do it, Mum."

She was plainly repeating words she had been told several times over the course of the morning, and Sarah had to repress a smile. "Firstly, don't forget that you are a boy, so you wearing a corset can hardly be said to be male oppression over females; quite the reverse, in fact. Secondly, even if it was an instrument of oppression, don't you think it's right that we show what women had to go through? It's no good trying to hide such things and pretend they never happened.

"Thirdly," her face really did break out into a smile, now, "I'd be willing to bet you that if the fashion industry decreed that corsets were back in fashion, all those revolting teenagers would be going out tomorrow and buying them. Am I right, or am I right?"

Nichola gave a grin and nodded. "I suppose so. But I still don’t want to wear a corset."

"When we first talked about this trip," Sarah said, "we agreed you'd have to be courageous. Perhaps this is the moment when you have to show you can be as courageous as a Victorian lady, when she rode side-saddle.

"Anyway," she added, "it will be fun."

Fun! She'd used the word several times that weekend, and now it had popped out again. Nick had never known his mother gain such enjoyment out of life — for that matter, he couldn't remember ever having such fun himself. The other girls had terrified Nichola about the corset; now her mother's words had shown her a different aspect. Yes, perhaps it would be fun, or perhaps even exhilarating.

***

Lady Bottomly was waiting for them when they returned to the house, and she insisted that Nichola should get partly dressed for the parade before lunch.

"It's no good having a huge meal and then expecting to squeeze into your corset," she told them. "We'll get you into your underwear, and then you can decide for yourself how much you can eat. Victorian ladies never had to worry about overeating whilst they were wearing a corset."

She took them upstairs and into a room next to her bedroom which was her dressing room. Nichola had been expecting a wonderful array of Victorian gowns; instead, it was equipped with modern bedroom furniture, not dissimilar to the self-assembled furniture in their own home.

"Here we are," Lady Bottomly said, reaching into a wardrobe and pulling out a plastic bag. She emptied it onto the bed, and amongst a collection of frothy white garments was that symbol of female oppression, a garment of white linen, cords and whalebone. Her mother gave a sympathetic grin to the shudder which ran through Nichola, but which was actually due to Nichola's excitement. She gave a nervous smile back at her mother.

"I'll leave you to it, now," Lady Bottomly said, much to the relief of Nichola and Sarah, who were wondering how well a naked Nichola would stand up to critical inspection. "The dress for Nichola to wear is in that wardrobe." She pointed. "You'll need to ensure her waist is tight laced sufficiently to fit."

Sarah opened the wardrobe and inspected the blue dress hanging there. "We'll, it's rather different to the one you wore last night," she said. She pulled it out of the wardrobe and held it up against her. I don't think you'll have any problem with the length of this," she said.

"But mum," Nicola said. "Look at that waist. I'll never fit into that."

Lady Bottomly had left them a tape measure, and Sarah used it to measure the waistline of the dress and then wrapped it around Nichola. "Just over four inches," she said. "I think that's probably just doable on first use. Let's give it a go. Strip off."

"Mum, I'm really not sure about this," Nichola said.

"We, we either get it to fit or give up," Sarah said. "So at least let's try. Now, off with your clothes, young lady."

Nichola stripped down to her panties and bra, smiling as she realised how unthinkable that would have been just a couple of days before.

"You'll need to remove your bra, as well," Sarah said. "They weren't invented until the last century. For that matter, I don't suppose panties were, but if you do come arse over tit off the horse, you'll need to be wearing something to protect your modesty."

"Yes Mum," Nichola said, as she obediently unclipped her bra and let it slide down her arms, "but if everyone's staring at my panties, I don't think I'll have much modesty left."

"The original Lady Bottomly probably didn't wear any drawers, and she managed to retain her dignity, so I wouldn't worry too much. Now, let's put this chemise on you."

She held the white garment above Nichola's head and slid it down her body. Then she picked up the corset. "We have to loosen off the laces as much as possible before putting it on," she explained, "so we can tighten it up afterwards."

She worked the two halves of the corset up and down, whilst pulling them apart. Then she wrapped the garment around Nichola's waist and fastened it together at the front. She tugged it a little, here and there, and then turned Nichola to face the mirror.

"I think you should watch the magic happen as we tighten it up," she said. "Then you'll appreciate why women today still wear corsets."

She started to draw in the strings and Nichola felt it tighten around her stomach. It wasn't painful, as Nichola had expected it to be, although as it started to draw her figure into a classic hourglass shape, it was slightly uncomfortable.

"You're not screaming with pain, yet, young lady," Sarah remarked, as she paused to feed through the slack in the laces.

"What?" Nichola said, having been mesmerised as she stared in the mirror. "Er, no. I was just amazed at my shape."

"A bit more pulling and I think we'll be pretty well there," Sarah said.

"Really?" Nichola said. "Why that was easy-peasy. I don't know what those girls were complaining about."

"Wait until you've worn it for a few hours," Sarah said. "Then you can brag about it."

"Yes Mum."

***

Lady Bottomly had been right about Nichola's lack of appetite over lunch, but even without the corset, Nichola suspected she wouldn't have eaten much, so anxious was she to get on with the next stage. Ostensibly, she was keen to get back to the riding, but privately, she was at least as keen to finish dressing and see what she looked like in her Victorian garb.

When her mother took her back upstairs to the bedroom and tried on the dress, she wasn't at all worried that her corset needed to be further tightened. She was going to fit into that dress or bust the corset. Seeing the determination on her face, Sarah decided to draw the line, or actually to cease drawing it, pretty soon.

In fact, they managed to button up the dress with just a little more tightening of the corset, with Sarah being satisfied it wasn't going to damage Nichola's insides. If Nichola started to make a habit of it, she thought, she would have to take care she didn't get carried away — especially in an ambulance.

Of course, Nichola should have put on her woollen stockings and boots before putting on her corset, so Sarah had to do it for her. As Sarah forced her feet into the boots, Nichola protested.

"Mum! I can't possibly walk in these boots. They're far too tight."

Sarah smiled and said, "I'm sure the girls you spoke to this morning who protested so much about the corset, often wear boots and shoes as tight as this. I'm afraid we don't have any choice."

"They lent me some wellies at the riding school this morning," Nichola said. "I'm sure they would lend them this afternoon."

"A Victorian lady would not be seen dead in a pair of wellies," Sarah said. "Do you want to give up?"

"No way."

Sarah smiled again. "A Victorian lady would never say, 'No way'."

"We are not amused," Nichola said. "Fortunately, it's not a speaking part." She tentatively stood up and tottered about in her boots, coming to rest in front of the mirror again. A surge of excitement ran through her that was totally beyond description, but almost like... She blushed and turned away.

"I think it is time," she said, "that we took our carriage to the stables."

***

Seacombe Parade was designed, like so many other events in Seacombe throughout the year, to attract more visitors into the town, who would eat, drink, go to the sales and buy some of the abysmal paraphernalia which filled the gift shops. Fortunately, it was a delightful day, the weather had been mild and the sun came out, giving a spring-like feeling to the air. The anoraks and raincoats disappeared, and tee-shirts came out. It was the kind of day the Town Council wished it could conjure up every day, for when the sun shines, people not only spend money, they return over and over.

The parade started at two pm, and having to get corseted and dressed had taken rather more time than Sarah and Nichola had expected, so there was barely time to get to the large car park where the parade was being assembled, locate the horse box from the riding school and get saddled up and mounted. It was made more difficult because the girls from SIGHS had sent her to Coventry for reneging on her decision not to wear a corset, and it was left to Miss Bennett to help her into the saddle.

Then she was being called to take her place in the parade, following a brewer's dray from the local brewery, and the Town Crier who would do his, "Oh yea! Oh yea! Oh yea! Make way for Lady Bottomly of Seacombe," thing.

So she really had no time on her mount before setting out to realise the problems introduced by her different style of dress. The tightly fitting corset was no problem; indeed, she had by then got quite used to it and had been rather enjoying the admiring glances her hourglass figure was bringing from young and old men alike. (Was that weird, or what? After all, 'she' was actually a perfectly normal boy, who happened to be wearing a dress, so why should he appreciate glances from males?)

No, it was the absence of her bra which caused her problems. She had noticed that morning the difficulty that Gossard had in preventing her large boobs from travelling in the opposite direction to both her horse and her body. But the corset she was now wearing simply flared out at the bust, squeezing in the lower part of her breasts, thereby pushing the upper parts upwards and outwards, and doing absolutely nothing to stop them lurching further upwards with every step taken by Sampson. And of course, what goes up, must inevitably come down. Whilst the camisole she wore beneath the corset initially made a measly attempt to restrain her flying breasts, the material quickly rode up so that after a few minutes, her breasts seemed totally unfettered.

For a while, Nichola was incredibly embarrassed, noticing the stares as they went into the first road, with a scattering of people lining the roads. But then she thought, so what? Let them all stare at her.
So she was quite enjoying herself when she noticed Mrs Davis with a girl who was presumably her daughter, Emily, whose clothes Nichola had been wearing all weekend. She gave them a wave and a grin. Laura waved back, but Emily gave her a rather strange grin.

"What's she up to?" Nichola wondered, "and why's she holding that little remote control in her hand?" It was the kind you commonly get with ghetto-blasters and Nichola was still wondering about it when Emily deliberately pointed it at her and pressed a button.

Zing! The nipples on her Torsolet suddenly went erect. She could see them pushing out the material of her dress. But not only were they erect, she could feel them. How zany was that? She could feel her false nipples as though they were her own. But not just feel them. They were painfully sensitive, almost as if they were giving her electric shocks — which actually they were. Every step that Sampson took rubbed her false nipples up and down against the material of her camisole, which in turn resulted in a strong tickling sensation in her own nipples. It was both hurting her and driving her wild with excitement. She wanted to clasp a hand to her breast, to alleviate the torture and to massage it, but in front of the crowds could not.

Then she became aware of another source of sensitivity — in her groin. With every pace taken by Sampson, her bottom shifted slightly in the saddle and Nichola could only describe the feeling generated as though someone was massaging her groin - not sufficiently to bring her to climax, but enough to make her incredibly excited.

She wanted to adjust her position in the saddle to increase the feeling, but in the side-saddle she stood no chance. She couldn't even squeeze her thighs tightly together for after all, was not the side-saddle designed to prevent a woman gaining more pleasure from having a stallion between her legs than her husband?

She passed a group of boys who all shouted out at her; things like, "Cor, what fantastic knockers!" or, "We can see your nipples," or even, "I could fuck that."

Nichola couldn't help her gaze flicking downwards to the boy who said that and being seriously shocked at the massive bulge in his trousers. She had done that! The idea made her laugh with joy and, as she passed by, heard one of the boys say to the other, "You're in with her, mate." She made a note not to encourage any more boys, otherwise she'd have a queue of them waiting at the end of the parade — waiting for a boy dressed as a girl! She laughed again, but this time made certain she was not staring at any males as she did so.

In fact, that incident served to ensure she avoided staring directly at any more males, for she realised old blokes were just as bad as young boys. She really was becoming like a Victorian lady, she thought.

***

Surprisingly, that was exactly what Lady Bottomly was thinking at that precise moment, as she stood by the side of the road and watched Nichola approaching. Nichola really was playing the part well; she even looked quite like the first Lady Bottomly of Seacombe, for she, too, had been a busty lady, chosen by the first baronet for the considerable size of her assets — and it wasn't the size of her dowry that had been large. Considering Nichola had only a few hours practice riding side-saddle, she appeared totally natural in the saddle, as she did in her costume.

Gemma Watkins so-called sickness had been heaven sent; Lady Bottomly been expecting it, of course, for she had observed the insolent way the girl had made such a fuss about wearing a corset, but it certainly could not have come at a better time.

For Lady Bottomly had been wondering how to test Nichola just a little further. There was no doubt she had behaved impeccably about being given the doll's house as a birthday present. She'd expected Nichola to snort and swear offensively, as would any other modern boy. Instead, she had behaved as the delightful young lady she was trying to be.

It had always amazed Lady Bottomly that Sarah should have left her in charge of the baby without realising that a change of nappy would be necessary; and no matter what pretty dresses you may clothe a baby in, they all come off, at all too frequent intervals, to expose the baby's real sex.

Why the stupid girl hadn't told the truth straightaway was a mystery. But having discovered the secret, Lady Bottomly thought it important that Sarah should volunteer the information, rather than have it forced out of her. The longer it went on, the more difficult it became to expose the truth, so it had been a great relief to Lady Bottomly when Sarah had eventually got married, and taken her boy off so he could start leading a normal life.

Now the boy was fifteen, Lady Bottomly had thought that perhaps the truth would out — hence the invitation to spend the New Year at her house. Certainly, no fifteen-year-old boy she'd ever known — and thankfully, there had been few — would have dressed up as a girl. At first, when the pretty-looking girl had entered the room Lady Bottomly thought she must be an imposter — perhaps a sister — but when Nichola started talking about her early memories at the house, it was obvious she really was the genuine article. So Lady Bottomly had to reluctantly take off her hat to the boy, or perhaps — and the very idea shook her to the core — was she really a girl? Had his early cross-dressing conditioned him into having a sex change? Lady Bottomly sighed. Perhaps her failure to tackle the problem when it first arose had started this whole chain of events.

She might have philosophised for some considerable time, but just then, events took their own course. She had noticed the noisy group of teenage boys, passing around a whisky bottle and not even bothering to wipe the neck before guzzling it down. The problem arose because one of them was trying to light a cigarette and glug from the bottle at the same time. The whisky came into contact with the naked flame, ignited and, as the flames burnt his hand, he threw the bottle away from him into the road, to smash directly between Sampson's feet, creating a small fireball.

Nichola had been studiously avoiding looking at that group of boys and had been smiling at some ladies on the other side of the road, so the first she knew was when Sampson reacted by leaping like a scalded cat towards the women, and then bolting forward, trying to put as much distance as possible away from his burning ankles.

Nichola's reaction was instinctive, squeezing her legs together around the top and lower pommels of the saddle to keep herself firmly seated. Then, as they galloped past the Town Crier and the brewer's dray and up the side of the rest of the parade, she concentrated on getting Sampson under control.

"Well done, Nichola," Lady Bottomly called out as Nichola and Sampson shot past her. It was all the more amusing because, as they galloped past the other riders from SIGHS, two of their horses panicked and reared, unseating their riders, and then galloping after Sampson. That brought a guffaw of delight from Lady Bottomly. It was just a pity that the nauseous Gemma Watkins was not one of the girls picking themselves up from the road, but even that little tyke wouldn't have the effrontery to cry off sick and then take part in the parade.

Nichola slowly calmed Sampson down until he was trotting and, by the time they arrived at the car park, she could lead the other two horses over to the horse-box where Miss Bennett was waiting.

"What happened?" she cried.

Nichola wasn't really certain but she filled her in as best she could. Her first impression was that a terrorist bomb had been thrown, but Lady Bottomly arrived a few seconds later and was able to fill them in.

"Well done, Nichola," Lady Bottomly repeated. "Well done." She paused a little, uncertain how to phrase the delicate words. "I must say that you have really impressed me, both yesterday and today. I know things can't have been easy for you, but I'm delighted the way you have responded to the challenges you face. You're an excellent example to your sex." Another pause.

"You told me last night that you attend a comprehensive school in London. The thought fills me with dread. I think I probably didn't play fair with you and your mother, all those years ago, so I'd like to make it up to you. I will pay for you to transfer to the local girls' independent school. SIGHS has an excellent reputation, and I'm certain you will gain admission to a good university. I'll be happy to support you."

"Oh Lady Bottomly," Nichola exclaimed. "I don't know what to say." It was her turn to hesitate. "I mean, it's very good of you to offer, but there are... reasons why I can't go to a girls' school."

"In any case, Lady Bottomly," Sarah had appeared from nowhere and had clearly picked up the last few sentences, "we couldn't move back to Seacombe because our home and my job are in London.

"Besides which," she added, "Nichola is absolutely right that there are reasons why SIGHS would not accept her, so, as she says, it is a very generous offer but we must refuse."

"Dear Sarah," Lady Bottomly spoke with a knowing smile, "you always did leap in before finding out the facts. Emily, my housekeeper, gave her notice this morning. That makes five housekeepers who have resigned over the course of the last year. I know I'm a difficult person to deal with, but you always managed admirably. I also appreciate that in order to get you back I'm going to have to match your present salary, and throw in free accommodation for you and Nichola.

"As for Nichola's suitability for SIGHS, I know for a fact that they already have a lot of experience dealing with people with gender dysphoria. I'm sure they would be willing to accept Nichola, provided she meets their academic standards, and Nichola certainly impresses me as a bright girl."

"Gender dysphoria?" Both Sarah and Nichola spoke the words at the same time, and they then looked nervously at each other.

"I know that Nichola was born a boy, but you brought her up as a girl," Lady Bottomly said. "I suspect that was due in part to my own attitude, and I want to make up for that. In any case, with my husband dead, I now have not one single relative alive. Perhaps I see Nichola as the daughter I never had. I obviously don't expect you to answer on the spot, but go home, have a think about it, and let me know."

"You knew?" Sarah was agog. "You knew all along? Then why didn't you say something? All those years of hell I had to go through, dressing Nick as a girl, all for no reason."

"It was your secret, Sarah. It was down to you to come clean. I dropped several hints, implying Nichola looked more like a boy than a girl, but you never took the opportunity to come clean.

"In any case," she added, "look at Nichola now. Can you honestly say that she hasn't turned into a wonderful daughter of whom you should be proud?"

"No," Sarah replied. "Of course not, but..."

"Then give her the opportunity of going to a good school, and following it with a good university education. And, Nichola, I'm happy to throw in extra riding lessons. You're a natural in the saddle and I think you'll go far, if you're given the opportunity."

Sarah looked at Nichola and Nichola looked back. "What do you think?"

Nichola shook her head. "I don't know what to think. It's all a bit much."

"Of course, it is," Lady Bottomly said. "Go home and think about it over the next week or two. I'll have to employ a temp as a housekeeper, but let me know soon, won't you?"

"Yes," they both replied.

"In that case, you'd better go back to my house and get changed," Lady Bottomly said.

***

"What do you think?" Sarah repeated to Nick the following evening.

They had gone to Lady Bottomly' house to remove the Victorian costume, and then gone on to Laura Davis's home, where Nichola had returned to being Nick. Then they had started the long journey home. Nick had fallen asleep almost immediately, and had gone straight to bed as soon as they arrived. Now, they had both had the day to think about it.

"It was really fun being a girl for a time," Nick admitted. "I felt differently about everything, particularly myself. I'd... Well, I'd like to try it again sometime."

He hesitated, and Sarah prompted, "But..."

"But I don't want to become a girl for the rest of my life. I mean, I like looking at girls, I think they're attractive, and I think life would become even more confusing than it is now if I had to become a lesbian, just in order to meet girls."

"And have sex with them."

Nick flushed. "Yes."

"I think Lady Bottomly was right, though, about your current school. I'm going to find a good private school for you."

"Mu-um. We can't even pay the gas bill. We can't afford a private school, and I don't think Lady Bottomly is going to pay the school fees for a boy."

"Oh! Didn't I tell you?" Sarah said, knowing she had not.

"Tell me what?"

"That dolls' house she gave you. I remembered Lady Bottomly telling me it had originally been a gift to the first Lady Bottomly from Queen Victoria. Apparently, it's one which Victoria used to play with as a child. So, I took it round to Sotheby's. They got very excited about it."

Nick stared at her, his mouth opening slightly, waiting for her to finish.

"They think it will fetch about seventy thousand pounds in an auction. That should pay for a little schooling, as well as the gas bill.

"And also," she added, as Nick's mouth continued to open and close like a goldfish, "one of those Torsolets, and some clothes to go with it, so that I can meet up with my daughter as often as I wish."

When Abigail's Aunt Harriet told her she could bring along a friend with her to stay for Easter, she didn't stipulate until later it had to be a girl. But what was going on in the little village, cut-off from the rest of the world? This is a story set partly at Seacombe Independent Girls' High School, commonly known as SIGHS and involves young people involved in such things as humour, adventure, crossdressing and growing-up.

Author's Note: This story is complete and will be published in four parts at approximately daily intervals.