On the deep space welcoming station Patryk is now Allison, or so it seems. He’s never in his life heard of a man becoming a woman. No-one has. No-one even talked about the possibility of it happening. But it’s what’s happened to Patryk, after he met One, a mysterious man who gave him something to smoke that helped Patryk remember his dreams. One offered Patryk a job then brought Patryk to Patryk’s new apartment. The first time since Patryk’s first few months as an adult he has his own apartment.

But now Patryk is all alone in his new home. He has to begin living his, or her, new life. But is Patryk really Allison? Nothing can be this easy. Simply put on clothes, style your hair and walk into the midsts of the station? Can Patryk even walk into the station as Allison? Does he even have a choice?

---------------

Allison 3260 sat, on the single bed, a woman’s bed, in what according to her conn was definitely her new apartment. She was a woman, it appeared. She wore women’s clothes, her hair was styled in a female style, much like her arched eyebrows. Her conn glowed in the rainbow patterns of a woman’s conn. Most importantly the text next to her name, her ID, read, ‘Female – Of Child Bearing Age.’

She had no idea what to do.

If she was still Patryk she’d be planning out what he could do. What her, or Patryk’s, unemployed—avoiding employment—limited credits would allow him to do. He might be able to afford a good meal, he might be able to afford to watch a new movie in the theatres, most likely he’d be looking for a party that night and thinking of what drinks he could buy. If he was really stuck for money he’d go for one of his three daily free meals then read the encyclopedia on his conn until his only real friend, Adam, was free from work and they’d meet up. If things were really hitting the shit he’d be looking for a new place to call home for a few weeks, but now it seemed he had a home. A real one. With a styler in it with women’s styles available. And actual water.

He looked at his conn again and checked his access to the encyclopedia. He had none. Women had no access to the encyclopedia. He really was a she now. As if everything else wasn’t telling him this.

Allison messaged Adam without even thinking, knowing she needed to see him as fast as he could meet her.

She received a message back a little later as she was looking at her stocking tops. Her stockings that didn’t reach all the way to her denim miniskirt. “What the fuck is happening?” the message read. “What’s up with your ID? Meet me in the Level 37 mess hall. I’ll be there as soon as I can. Don’t talk to anyone. Fucking no-one! Do not do something to get your ID checked.”

Which was the end of the matter. Allison had to venture outside her apartment. She had to be seen. As a woman. Where men would see her. And women would see her. She had to be a woman in public. Where men—especially, really men—men who thought only a few things about women would see her.

She put on her boots, tying the laces, and walked to the apartment’s living room. This was it. She opened the front door and stepped outside. She knew this area was abandoned but still, this was public. People could and were about to see her.

She walked to the nearest elevator and announced her floor, quickly remembering that women stood at the front of the elevator so men could watch them. She hoped a man wouldn’t get in. That she’d be free to ride to Level 37. No-one is that lucky.

A man did step in. She bowed her head, trying not to make eye contact and engage him so he wouldn’t take it as an invitation to flirt. He quickly moved behind her. Right behind her. He placed his hand on her hip and started to stroke the soft satin of her blouse near her hip. Stroking and kneading her the whole way to Level 37. He made a few noises of satisfaction as he did.

The elevator doors opened and Allison was thankful he didn’t follow, so thankful that it took quite a few steps before she realised people, both men and women, were looking at her, looking away and then quickly looking back again. No-one approached her. No-one had ever seen anything like this. Anyone like her.

She got to mess hall and was about to ask the server at the drinks area for a coffee but remembered those were rationed, for women at least. “A cola, please,” Allison said, swiping her wrist against the scanner at the front of the area. The server looked at his screen and quickly gave her a bottle of cola with a straw in it.

She snatched at the proffered bottle before rushing to seat at the edge of the mess hall, but still near the entrance.

Allison sat, keeping her legs together, she didn’t want to invite a man to her. She wished that Adam would arrive quickly.

She sipped at the cola and thought What the hell is this? before remembering, just like coffee, any soft drink with sugar in it was rationed for women. It was assumed you wanted sugar free unless you specified. “We want you to keep your figure, ladies! Ask a man to buy you one. Who knows what else he’ll ask for?”

Allison put her hand to her face as she stared at her drink. After a few minutes she saw Adam walk in, looking around for her, or him. For Patryk.

Allison stood, just a little, and waved. Adam spotted her and hurried to her.

“What the fuck?” Adam said.

Allison held out her conn and the two confirmed identities. Adam was Adam 7111 to Allison. And when Adam said, “No!” she knew she was Allison 3260 to him. “No-one I’ve met has a 0 in their ID. I’ve never even heard of it happening at the end of an ID. This is the worst fake I’ve ever seen.” Adam shook his head. “Why? Why the fuck!? Why would you do this!!?”

“It’s—”

Allison wasn’t allowed finish her sentence with her, ‘just me,’ as Adam was saying, “I can’t let this go. I know you. I’ve seen you. This is imitation. This is impersonation. And not just of a made up man but a woman! You’re imitating a woman! If they find out I didn’t report this I’m as fucked as you are!”

Adam stood and held his conn in front of him. “You’re imitating. I have to report you. Stand for a photo. I’m reporting you!”

Allison knew she had no choice. She knew this would be found out in a few minutes. The court would rule and she couldn’t even begin to imagine what her punishment would be.

She stood, in full view of Adam’s conn, and let him take a photo. He typed out a few words for the report, then sat, and so did she. Neither of them said anything. Allison glanced her eyes to the side a few times hoping she’d see the station tearing away because of some catastrophic event, sparing her punishments and torment.

Death would be a release from what the court had in her store for. No-one had ever done what she’d done. She had been so confident in herself. She believed she was Allison. It was real. But now she didn’t know. It was a lie, it had to be, and all she saw was more and more people sitting, men and women alike, sitting next to each other, opposite each other. No-one ate or drank. No-one flirted. No-one kissed. No-one fucked. No-one was going anywhere. The entire room was quiet, trying, not very well, to avoid looking at her and Adam.

Everyone simply sat.

After what seemed like an hour of this, but was really only about five minutes Adam’s conn beeped and vibrated on the table. Allison instantly knew hers hadn’t. She was clinging to it. Waiting for the warning not to move from where security would find her. Allison who was really Patryk.

Adam read his conn. He shook his head.

He handed it to Allison.

Allison read the decision.

The court takes all accusations of imitation seriously. There are consequences for false accusations, as there should be, and we must thank you, Adam 7111, for doing your duty, while ignoring the consequences there would be in falsely accusing someone of such a serious crime. We must also thank you for being aware of the idea it’s possible for a man to imitate a woman. It takes a male mind that seriously contemplates the law to think such a thing could, in theory, occur. The court is thankful for all who are aware of the depth of the law. Even if some have over-active imaginations.

The court has done every check possible and can affirm Allison 3260 is a woman of child bearing age. The court has absolute certainty in this decision, like all its decisions, although the court finds some amusement in entertaining the possibility citizens could now have the slightest of doubts even in the court’s rulings. This accusation that a man is imitating a woman is the first time we’ve had such a query, perhaps there will be other firsts. The court hopes you find this amusing, too, as will all citizens once this decision becomes public.

However, imitation is a serious accusation, especially this peculiar form of imitation, and needs serious punishment when a false accusation is made. Yet, in this case, the court understands the citizen accused with caution and a deep awareness of what a truly deranged citizen could do, a man choosing to imitate a woman, however unlikely.

Given all this the court has decided there will be no criminal punishment for you, Adam 7111. A non-criminal caution is being placed on your record. Should the court remain unaware of you for the next year, from the time this decision was reached, the court will hide your non-criminal caution from your record to where it is only accessible to the court.

Allison’s hand was shaking as she handed Adam back his conn.

He took it from her, already standing, and simply said, “I hope you enjoy your life, Allison.” Then he walked away. Allison shook harder as she imagined what her life actually was now.

Allison was still shaking a few minutes later when every man in the room began reading their conns. The decision was out to men. Within a few seconds they were all looking at her.

Conversation began in urgent, quiet tones, between everyone. A few moments later some women were sitting on men’s laps, kissing them, reading their man’s black conns over their man’s shoulders. Others were giving men handjobs as they sat next to the men they were wanking, also reading their men’s conns.

A few people simply talked. Some stood and left quickly.

Allison heard snippets of conversation. “Always a woman.” “Not possible, she was just hiding.” “Unfortunate woman... She’ll really have to fuck good.” “That’s what you get for not wearing makeup.” “...dresses like a twenty year old. She’s just someone unleashed and a shock to some asshole man who was drunk and regretted it when...”

Allison knew this wouldn’t last. This faith in her being a ‘normal’ but unfortunate woman. Her ID would have changed in enough people’s conns that some, at least, would always know. It would circulate. Friends would trust friends, and friends would fall out with friends, because of what they knew or didn’t know about her. Over their doubts about her. About what they believed.

Allison sat not knowing how she felt. She was a woman. The court had confirmed it.

As she sat, confused, she saw and felt a hand on her own, her hand which was holding the bottle. The nails on the hand holding hers were painted red. She looked up and saw a face she recognised. It was a woman she, or at least Patryk, had given a beer to.

She smiled at Allison. Allison didn’t remember her name. She placed a clear soft drink in a glass down in front of Allison. “Thank you for the beer, Allison,” she said. “I think you might need this right now.” She squeezed Allison’s hand, smiled again, and walked away.

Allison took a sip of the drink. It was a vodka, and lemon and lime. A lemon and lime with sugar. Allison didn’t know what the woman, the woman who’s name she didn’t remember, had done to or promised a man to get an alcoholic drink in a public mess hall. Then she’d given it away to a woman, a woman no longer the man who could buy her beer

As Allison drank she realised she’d been sipping at the glass normally. Not normally like a man, normally like a woman who was looking to get drunk. To be taken. To enter arrangements. To hear rates.

She moved the straw to her lips and began to sip at the drink like a woman who wanted to keep her wits about her. To not be easy, not at that precise moment.

She thought to herself What the fuck am I going to do? Who am I?

Allison was staring at her drink, her eyes feeling like they were bulging out of her head when she realised someone was sitting opposite her. She looked up with her heart racing and saw a beaming woman staring at her. “It makes so much sense, now,” Angie said.

“Oh fuck!” Allison said.

“You’ll be doing plenty of that, believe me!” Angie said. Angie was one of the few women who’d met Patryk and wasn’t immediately all over him. She seemed to respect him, or at least leave him be. She didn’t ask him for more beer, they just talked. He’d tell her about what he’d read, or heard, what he knew about jobs, while she’d tell him about who was interested in who, and good ways to please a woman. Occasionally they’d both read an article on his conn from the encyclopedia and laugh. It was as normal as normal could possibly be between a man and a woman. Or at least a man like Patryk and a woman.

“What now?” Allison asked.

“You let me get a look at you!” Allison stood and edged her way to the side of the table, standing morosely in front of Angie. “You dress like a twenty year old. Perfect for a newly unleashed woman! And your hair. Wow!”

Allison sat herself back down and admitted something. “I have a styler in my bathroom.” She didn’t say it contained water in the shower. Unlimited water.

“You really are the most amazing woman on the station. A fucking styler? A personal fucking styler!” Angie said.

Allison took another drink of her alcohol. “Like I said, what now?”

“Well, you have a lot to do. Most of it will take some effort. You’ll have to try some new things, I’d hope they’re new. For the moment, though, there’s two things you have to do. Either we get you proper shoes because wearing boots hasn’t been in style for years. And even then it was a little out there. It will get you more looks than your physical appearance. Or we go see a doctor.”

“A doctor?” Allison asked.

“A woman’s doctor. Who can help with that physical appearance of yours.”

“What’s wrong with my physical appearance?”

Angie laughed. “Oh, please, Allison! Every woman wants help with their physical appearance. Some a little here, some a little there. You need a lot there and even more here. I think the doctor will be willing to help. I know a good one. She’s young, and understands. I’ve already messaged her and she’s said anytime today. She’s a voter too. Almost every women’s doctor is.”

Allison nodded. If the doctor was a voter she really knew her shit. It was rare for a man to get to see a doctor who was a voter. It had to go through approval. Most citizen carers for men had some training, and could triage and tend to typical male injuries. There were some citizen doctors, always an honorific out of respect for their experience. But a man getting to see a real doctor, a voter, with proper education? That hadn’t happened to most men under the age of 40 unless they had nearly met their death.

And if the doctor was a voter maybe she really could help Allison with her appearance. Did Allison want that? The thought floated in Allison’s mind, before escaping.

“Doctors are private? About... Issues..?” Allison asked.

“Of course,” Angie said. “But take the laces out of your boots before you go. No woman has ever worn laces in her boots.” Angie shuddered thinking of shoes with laces in them.

Allison turned in her seat so she could get at her boots. It was true, she thought, as she tugged at stubborn laces taking them down and out through the eyes in the leather. She remembered when women wore boots. A lot of men didn’t like it, Patryk didn’t care, but Allison was certain he never saw a woman with laces.

After a few minutes she had the laces out and was placing them on the table as she sat back into it properly.

“Those men will have so much to talk about,” Angie said. “I hope your panties aren’t lace! Fuck! I hope you’re wearing panties!” She was laughing, looking amazed.

“I am, of course, and they are lace!”

“Well all those men and quite a few of the women will be talking about the most extraordinary birth defect they thought they saw between a woman’s legs.” Allison looked at Angie with confusion. “Well I suppose more men will find out when you’re having sex. Your legs were spread wide, woman! We’d better leave before one of the four or five very aroused men I spotted come calling.”

Allison stood and stepped out from the table. So did Angie, who immediately reached over to Allison and took her in the most welcoming hug either Allison or Patryk had ever felt. “I knew there was something correct about you,” Angie said. “Something to you. Something that made you more. Now I know.”

In that hug Allison felt the same certainty in her chest as when she had finished smoking the brown rollie of tobacco One had given her. The drug that had revealed what was so true to her. What she knew was true. And now was true.

“Let’s go,” Angie said.

Allison and Angie began to walk to Allison’s first appointment with a woman’s doctor.

Allison 3260, formerly Patryk 6112, has been confirmed by the court—the interpreters of law on the welcoming station—as a Woman of Child Bearing Age, after a now former friend, Adam, reported her to the authorities for ‘imitation.’ She thought she was all alone when Adam left her, telling her to, “Enjoy your new life,” until an excited Angie, a woman she’s drank with before, sought her out and gave her two options; go shoe shopping with her because no women would be caught dead in a pair of ugly boots, or go to her women’s doctor to get checked over.

Allison chose the doctor. Doctors are private, and maybe a doctor could help? Or tell her what the hell was happening? And women’s doctors are actually doctors, educated and trained voters, experts in medicine. Allison, however, has no idea what that means for her. A doctor means privacy and maybe some answers, but who knows what a doctor—a voter—actually wants with her? Especially on a weekend; the two days everyone takes off if possible. Allison already knew this was serious, but what does all this actually mean? How has she legally become a woman? Surely this is impossible?

---------------

Allison and Angie walked from the mess hall to Allison’s first appointment with a women’s doctor. As they reached the exit of the hall Allison tripped from the lack of laces in her boots. That was just the way women wore them, at least when they were the fashion a few years ago, and Allison had no other shoes.

It was her decision to see the doctor rather than go shopping for appropriate footwear, which were the choices Angie presented, and Allison really didn’t want to be alone as a new woman; she had to do one of Angie’s options. At least the doctor would be private, and maybe she could help.

As Allison picked herself up from her stumble Angie reached out and took her by the hand. “I’m fine, I think. I’m OK. It’s the laces,” Allison said.

“That’s the point of no laces,” Angie said. “Anyway, you already know why women hold hands.”

“I do?” Allison asked.

Angie shook her head. “Actually... You? Who you were? Maybe you don’t...” Angie inhaled through her nose as they both continued their walk towards the elevator, still holding hands, then she continued, “Most men understand when women are holding hands they’re going somewhere. They have something to do, maybe a date to go to, men to meet. A plan! You get it?”

Allison nodded, and despite Angie’s grip stumbled a second time. A man walking nearby reached out towards Allison but she’d already recovered as he came close so she just smiled an embarrassed smile at him. “I get the no laces thing now, as well,” Allison said. Angie laughed.

After a few minutes walk, and a few more stumbles, and embarrassed smiles from Allison, along with a few laughs from Angie at Allison batting suitors away they’d arrived at the elevator. “I hope there’s no men in here,” Allison said.

“Bring up your calendar,” Angie said. Allison held up her conn and looked at her calendar. There was actually an open appointment for a doctor on Hospital Floor F3. “Send it to your wrist and call the elevator.”

Allison swiped her wrist against the call pad and when the elevator arrived no-one was in it. Allison sighed as they stepped in and the elevator announced ‘Hospital Floor F3 – Female Carriage.’ Angie simply said, “Confirm.” And it was on its way.

“Are female carriages just for going to doctors?” Allison asked Angie.

“You can request one if you have a particular need. There should be an icon for it in your new rainbow conn,” Angie said. “They’re mostly approved, but no-one really calls one unless they’re in a bad way or feeling shitty. Don’t come to rely on them.”

Angie still didn’t leave go of Allison’s hand. Then the elevator arrived, calling out the correct floor.

Allison’s eyes opened wide along with the doors. The lobby before them was bright, not glaringly so, just comfortable. The walls weren’t dark, there was little metal. The lighting was even, and everywhere, and the inrushing air felt clean. As though it was easier to the breathe there.

Angie dragged Allison out and began marching somewhere. Allison wanted to slow down because she was seeing something she’d rarely seen, and certainly never in these numbers; art; actual original art framed and hung on the walls. She could see on some of the paintings there was texture to them. They weren’t just prints.

Allison followed along, being pulled, until they finally came to a stop in a reception area and an older woman, a citizen, said, “Allison 3260?”

“Yeah...” Allison said, nervously. The woman held out a reader and Allison swiped.

“Room 3, Angie. Take her straight in. Doctor Grace will be right there.”

Angie smiled at the woman behind the desk and, yet again, pulled Allison behind her and towards a room. It wasn’t sparkling clean, certainly not the image of an actual doctor’s office Allison remembered from her encyclopedia. The walls were yellow, there was a desk with computer on top of it, some leather seats, one on wheels. There was a thin bed, more a bed-cum-chair, with metal thingies at the bottom of it, some medical equipment on stands and hanging from the ceiling. Around two sides of the wall were a couple of metal tables with implements on them.

“Go on! Strip! Up on the bed!” Angie said as she sat in a seat.

“No!”

“The doctor will tell you anyway.”

“But...”

“Are you embarrassed with me here?” Angie asked. “Are you embarrassed about your body?”

Allison hadn’t actually thought it but yes, that was it. Her body was wrong. Certainly for who she was now. “Well... Yeah.”

“Tell the doctor that,” Angie said. “She’ll—”

“Ladies!” the doctor said, the door sliding back. She was tall, very thin, not very beautiful but not ugly either. Just normal. She looked to be in her early thirties and wore green scrubs and men’s trainers, with her blonde hair curving around her face framing it, making her seem softer, and also somehow more professional. “My name is Grace, and you must be Allison.” She held out her hand and Allison shook it. “Pleased to meet you. And you have nothing to worry about. I’ve seen everything before.”

“I’m not sure you have,” Allison said.

“Maybe not,” Doctor Grace said. “But since Angie messaged me I’ve been reading. You’re rare Allison. Not unique. Unique for this station but there are a few cases like yours in the medical books, historically, at least. It just took some digging. The medicine is sound.”

Allison sighed and didn’t know if she felt relieved or disappointed. “You know what to do about me?” Allison asked. “The court knows?”

“I know what to do for you, if you choose it. What the court knows I have no clue. They’re a bunch of humourless, old farts but I did see them try to make a joke in your ruling. Good for you, girl!” Doctor Grace said.

Angie laughed.

Allison said, “Girl?!” sounding annoyed.

“Oh, yeah!” Angie said. “Voters have no issues calling citizens a boy or girl. They’re constantly doing it. At least Doctor Grace does it because she’s nice. Now, come on! Strip and up on the bed.”

The doctor laughed and rested her hand on Angie’s shoulder. “Once you stop having babies, Angie, you’ll make a great healthcare worker, if you want. And she’s right, Allison, clothes off. You can see we don’t have fangs. You can leave your stockings and boots on.”

“I think I’ll walk barefoot from here on in,” Allison said, taking off her boots as she began to strip. She couldn’t handle any more stumbling and gallant, pervy men coming to her rescue.

“Should I tell her?” Angie asked Doctor Grace.

“Learning experience...” Doctor Grace said. They both laughed, although Allison didn’t know why. Soon she was naked apart from her stockings and suspender belt, blushing as she sat up on the bed. “Legs in the stirrups.”

Allison realised what the metal things were as she spread her legs, placing them in the contraptions, with the doctor spreading them wider again and locking the metal firm. “I feel... I don’t know.... Exposed,” she said, looking uncomfortable.

“Yeah,” Doctor Grace said. “I’m sorry, honey. It’s much nicer when your husband is the reason you’re like that. It’s never pleasant here, and there’ll be worse at later appointments, but for now there won’t be any physical examinations.” She moved a camera on an arm and a series of rapid flashes went off as it oscillated by itself. “That’s that. You can dress again.” Doctor Grace sat down on the chair with wheels. “I’ll need your thigh in a minute depending on what we decide. What is it you want, Allison?”

“What do you mean, ‘What do I want?’” Allison asked.

“That’s exactly what I mean, what do you want for yourself? What do you want me to do for you?”

“What can you do? Anyway, citizens don’t get a choice in their medical treatment,” Allison said.

Doctor Grace snorted, but there was no cruelty or mocking to it, more amusement. “Can you get pregnant, Angie?” the doctor asked, turning towards Angie.

“Nope!” Angie said. “I certainly hope not. Can I? Could I?” Concern flashed over Angie’s face.

Doctor Grace shook her head, with certainty, at Angie, while Angie looked relieved, as Allison said, “I’m so sorry, Angie. Not every woman can. It’s terrible, I know—”

“Terrible? For me? No way! I don’t want to get pregnant. Not yet. I’m on contraception.”

Allison was stunned. “Contraception! What!? That’s—”

“Most women are on it,” Doctor Grace said. “With all the sex people are having can you imagine how many babies there’d be? Doctors would never have a day off. We already have too much to do. I’m here for you on a Saturday. Someone else last Sunday. I haven’t had a proper weekend off in almost two months!” Doctor Grace didn’t look annoyed, though, she actually looked quite proud.

“Yeah, when you’re having sex you’ll get contraception,” Angie said. “Obviously don’t tell any men.” She was totally nonplussed by this. As though saying being on contraception, something highly illegal, was a totally normal thing.

Then words came straight out of Allison’s mouth bypassing any thought process, “But a woman’s purpose is to get pregnant. To keep the population of the station in balance.”

Doctor Grace nodded. “Yes, in balance. Contraception keeps a balance. If the balance is wrong we’ll talk to some women not trying but who are thinking about it. Who might be ready, mentally. We haven’t had to forcefully stop contraception in living memory. And women also keep men happy; men like to fuck. Women do too, of course, but most men are terrible at it. You’ll have to try a few, maybe more than a few—unless you stumble over someone you’re bothered to teach—to find someone who pleases you. Men don’t care once they cum. Which is a point. Did you, Allison? Did you enjoy sex? Before...” Doctor Grace waved a hand at Allison, now buttoning up her blouse.

“Enjoy sex? I guess. It was fine... OK, I suppose. It did its purpose,” Allison said.

“‘Its purpose?’ Yes... Yes, OK... I think you’ll definitely enjoy the changes this medication will bring,” Grace said, as she mixed some vials into an injector. “You’ll grow breasts, your fat will redistribute. All over your body. Don’t worry about putting on a little weight, I’ll tell you when you need to be careful about it again. Your body hair, especially on your face, will say bye-bye. Your penis will more or less disappear. In a few months we’ll get rid of what’s left of your testicles. Then your scrotum will be nicely flat with no bulges in your panties. You’ll love it!”

“My penis will disappear!!”

“It will turn into what you want it to be and you will gain a lot of pleasure from it with the right man. You’re 24?” Doctor Grace said, glancing at the computer. “How often had you had sex since your twentieth birthday?”

“Five or six times,” Allison said.

“Five or six times?” Angie rolled her eyes and shook her head. Allison nodded confirmation while grimacing, she knew it wasn’t a lot. Then Doctor Grace continued, “And it was just ‘fine’ each time? I really shouldn’t give you a choice in this. This is what you need. Really, really. Totally obviously. Few other doctors would but I like to be the favourite doctor. It gives me the warm tinglies to know I’m loved,” Doctor Grace said. Both her and Angie laughed.

“It’s a big decision,” Allison said. “I don’t know. What do you think?”

Angie was staring at Allison like Allison was the stupidest woman in the galaxy.

Doctor Grace looked deep in thought for a few seconds. “I can make an appointment with you for a month’s time but if you wait I think you’ll be messaging me within a week, probably on my day off, asking for it as soon as possible.” She rolled her seat towards the desk with the computer and raised the monitor a little higher so everyone could get a look at it. She tapped a few buttons and a naked Allison came up on the large screen. A few waves rippled across the display and the image of Allison rotated while rendering her into a 3d image. “How does that make you feel?” Doctor Grace asked.

“It’s just me,” Allison said.

Doctor Grace tapped a few more keys and Allison’s body began to morph. She began to look a little more feminine, then more, then a lot more. Her penis had shrunk to what was indistinguishable from a clitoris, she had breasts, her face was attractive, she had some degree of hips, and a waist. As the image rotated she had a bum. Her waist was more obvious.

Allison thought of seeing her face with female hairstyles just a few hours earlier in the shower, swiping back on the controls to see herself with the hairstyle she had now. The one where she fell in love with herself. “Is that how I’ll look?” Allison asked, voice timid. Angie put her arm around her, holding her in tight.

“We can’t predict. There or thereabouts. Did you know your biological mother? Get any warnings about meeting biological sisters, or other female relations?” Allison shook her head. “Then we really can’t say. Whatever happens you’ll be much happier with it. You’ll feel better about your body and you’ll feel better mentally.”

Allison nodded. “OK. Yes... I think. If I’ll be... Better, I guess...” she said. “Will I? Do I have anything to worry about?”

“Lift your skirt,” Doctor Grace said as she began to fiddle with the injector. “And no. A little pain. Maybe a little more than a normal female puberty. Your breasts might hurt a little, your penis. Have someone give them a massage. Lots of massages. Not a privilege allowed during a regular puberty, as you well know.” Angie started to laugh. “Keep yourself well fed. I’ve said that already. I’ve included something to change bone structure, ever so slightly. You probably don’t need anything more than that. Big changes can be extremely painful rather than just very painful if not done properly and I don’t feel capable. There’s a few doctors who rotate between various stations, rings, outposts, orbitals and planets who can do more if and when necessary but there are none here at the moment.

You’ll feel a little heavy, in the mind, for a week or so, get a boy to buy you a drink, tell him to hold you. The being held is probably more important than the drink but both go together. Maybe have a kiss or two, more. Enjoy yourself. You will be happier so it’ll come easily. You ready?” She held the injector over Allison’s thigh and looked at her. Allison nodded.

Allison felt a strange, sharp mixture of both coolness and heat at the point the injector injected into her thigh. She felt nothing else.

“You might start feeling that heaviness in the next two hours or so. Try not to worry about it. It’ll come and go over the next few days, maybe a week. You’ll probably begin to notice changes by tomorrow morning. You’ll certainly feel them.”

“Does Allison need monitoring? For thirty minutes or so?” Angie asked.

“I was waiting for that,” Doctor Grace said to Angie. “Yes, she does. But it’s more ninety minutes, minimum. I’ll walk you there.”

“I love my new, old friend so much,” Angie said looking at Allison. Allison grabbed her boots as everyone was making their way out the door. It was much easier to walk without them on.

Angie and Doctor Grace talked as everyone walked, while Allison kept looking at the art on the walls, enjoying the fresher air on the hospital level.

They arrived to what looked to be quite a nice restaurant. There was a serving area but it was tasteful, attractive, really. Inviting. “Does Allison need nourishment?” Angie asked.

“I think she does,” Doctor Grace said. “And you’re looking a little peaky too, Angie. I know it’s a hardship but I think I’ll have to force a pizza on you. Chicken and red pepper isn’t it? I hope you can struggle through.” Doctor Grace looked genuinely downcast as she shook her head.

Angie broke out into a big smile. “This is why everyone loves you, Doctor Grace.”

“Enjoy your day, girls. Angie, keep an eye on her for the next 48 hours or so. And Allison, enjoy your life. I’ll update your calendar with your next appointment. Any concerns message me. Get the special!” And with that Doctor Grace was gone, and somehow Allison was getting even further from the man, Patryk, she used to be. She even thought the name ‘Patryk’ in her mind but it didn’t feel like her name, not any more.

Angie ordered her pizza with the woman behind the counter, as well as the special for Allison. The woman was a citizen, from her dress at least, and she said, “It’s a Saturday, honey, I can drop them down to you. Take any table.”

They took a two person table nearby. There was an actual tablecloth on it, a thick tablecloth, with an array of glasses, and cutlery, even cloth napkins. There was a flower in a small glass vase between the two of them that Angie leant in to sniff. “Plastic,” she said.

Allison placed her boots next to her, on the ground, and as she sat up she felt a wave of dizziness.

Allison must have made a noise with the dizziness because Angie said, “Is everything OK? Do you want me to call Doctor Grace back?”

“No. It’s fine,” Allison said. “It’s what the doctor warned me about. Just give me a minute.”

Allison closed her eyes and tried to breathe steadily, in the quiet of an empty restaurant, waiting for the dizziness to settle.

She was starting to feel better, or was at least getting used to it, when the woman from the serving area came towards them. “The doctor prescribed this. ‘For the heaviness,’” she said, placing a carafe of red wine down along with another, larger carafe of water with ice in it. “She also said her friend was to check the wine to make sure no evil voters were poisoning citizens. Said she might have to check it repeatedly as some poisons are subtle. And if you ladies want any soft drinks just let me know. You’re not on sugar free for the moment.”

Angie smiled a big smile at the older woman as she walked away. “I think this is actually how voters live,” Angie said. “Can you imagine?”

“I couldn’t imagine any of this even yesterday,” Allison said, as Angie poured the wine.

“How are you feeling?” Angie asked.

“A bit better, still heavy.”

“I think I have some helpers if it’s bad,” Angie said.

“No, it’s not pain,” Allison said. “I don’t need anything for pain.”

Angie nodded, took a sip of the wine and said, “I don’t think it’s poisonous but we’ll have to drink the lot to be sure.” Allison laughed. It was a very genuine laugh. She felt it through her entire torso.

As she took a sip of the wine, the first wine she’d had in a year, she realised she felt good. Happy. Like never before. When she smoked what One had given her she saw who she was supposed to be, she believed in who she was supposed to be. Now it was like she was who she was supposed to be. She felt real. She felt normal.

“I don’t know what’s happening,” Allison said.

“Neither do I,” Angie said.

“It almost feels wrong to say this... But I’m happy. I’ve never felt so comfortable.” Allison sighed. Was that it? Was it this complex and this simple? Was there some massive fuck up somewhere, somehow, in something, that meant she was a woman, deep down? How? She had no clue but she was excited. “What’s it like being a woman, Angie?” Allison asked.

Angie began to talk, with a smile, as Allison closed her eyes slowly, smiling back at her friend.

Allison is a woman now, definitely legally, the court has ruled on that. And she’s been to see a woman’s doctor. An actually qualified, voter doctor, with all the education and training, who injected Allison with medication she could never have thought even existed; it’ll turn her into a woman. Or at least give her the physical appearance of a woman, within a few months. A second puberty. Then the doctor ‘prescribed’ Allison and her friend Angie a nice meal in a really lovely restaurant on the hospital level. This, according to Angie, is why everyone loves Doctor Grace.

The only other thing left on Allison’s agenda, which was written by Angie, is to get shoes. She can’t keep walking around barefoot and she can’t stand wearing boots in the lace-less female style; every time she stumbles from loose boots a man runs to her rescue. So shoes it is. And shoes are easy, right? There’s no surprises with shoes? Surely..?

---------------

Allison and Angie were almost all the way through their meals when Angie poured them both a last half glass of the red wine. Allison didn’t know if it was the food, or the wine, or simply being with Angie that stopped the dizziness. It could have just been the passing of time.

Whatever Doctor Grace had injected Allison with she knew it was working; the dizziness told her that, something the doctor did warn her about. What she was feeling wasn’t just medication though. She’d never felt like she did in that moment. She was simply happier, now that she was a woman. She was dressed as a woman, she was eating with her female friend with no man/woman weirdness between them, she’d been injected with something that would do a pretty damn good job of making her appear like a woman, legally she was a woman, but mostly it all just made sense. Or at least it felt that way.

How it made sense Allison didn’t quite understand.

“Do you want to cuddle?” Angie asked.

Allison’s mouth twisted as her thinking of why this all made sense was interrupted. “I think so. It’d be nice,” she said.

“With a man?” Angie asked.

“I’ve never thought about men like that, but now, yes, actually. I don’t know why. It’d be nice, I think. I guess if I’m a woman isn’t that what women do? There’s a lot of things I don’t know at the minute.”

Angie put her last slice of pizza back on her plate. “When you were you, before... Did a man ever ask you to help with something in their apartment?”

“Yeah, of course. Loads of times,” Allison said.

“Did you?”

“I said it’d be no problem. I’d be happy to apply for the permits to go into their apartment but they usually just said there was no rush, or it could wait. Why?”

Angie dabbed at her mouth with the cloth napkin. “Why did you give women beer?” Angie asked.

“It didn’t seem fair they couldn’t have it. And I like women.”

“Like now?”

“Yeah, but this is easier. I feel happier.” The conversation went quiet for a couple of minutes, Allison just thinking, Angie eating.

“Can I taste your pasta?” Angie asked, her pizza finished, with her unused fork already reaching towards Allison’s plate and twirling some of the remaining carbonara up. She rested the pasta laden fork on her own plate then ground far too much black pepper on top of it before stuffing it into her mouth. “This is fucking delicious!” She made noises of pleasure before reaching over towards Allison’s plate, again, so Allison lifted it, moved the vase with the flower out of the way and placed the remaining pasta and the plate in the centre of the table. “You won’t regret this.” Angie’s forked twisted up pasta again.

“No, I’m full. You might regret it, though,” Allison said.

“I mean what you’re doing. What you’ve done. Being a woman. There’s times you’ll hate it but in times like this, the good moments? You’re fucking thriving! It’s beautiful,” Angie said, mouth full.

Allison furrowed her brow to hold back what felt like the start of tears. She’d never really cried and didn’t feel like she would now, she just wanted to acknowledge the intensity of what she was going through with a physical action. “I...”

“I have never seen you like this. We’ve met up a few times and it was easy, a little strange, but mostly easy. Just reading your encyclopedia, and laughing. But this? I’ve never met a woman like you. And I don’t mean your particular situation, I mean what we’re doing.”

“We’re not just eating, really, are we?” Allison said.

“No!” Angie said, with excitement. “I’m not at all attracted to women. I’ve tried a few things with them and—”

“What!? Tried what with them?”

Angie laughed as she shovelled the last of Allison’s pasta into her mouth. When she finished chewing she looked at Allison as she swallowed. “Those men asking for help in their apartment? Well, they wanted to be with you like men and women are with each other, but with two men. And women do it with women too. And people do it in groups. And, and...”

“That’s illegal!”

“You gave me beer! That’s illegal!”

“That’s a stupid law!” Allison said.

“Yes, and so are lots of them. Men care about the beer thing because they feel it gives them power. Something just for them. You didn’t, for reasons that are obvious now. If there was someone else like you and the court didn’t approve, for whatever reason, how would you feel?”

“Yeah, OK...”

“This whole station is lies, and mysteries, and no-one understands why. We do our best figuring it out and just try to enjoy ourselves along the way. I don’t think anyone actually understands all of it. Not even the voters. It just goes on and on. And we all play along because mostly it’s worth it... I wish there was more pasta,” Angie said, staring at Allison’s plate as though she was about to drag her finger through the traces of sauce left over and stick it in her mouth.

“What now?” Allison asked.

“We get you shoes.”

“No, I mean in general. What now in general?”

“Yeah, we get you shoes. In general.”

Allison’s conn beeped with a sound she’d never heard before, as the watch on her wrist vibrated and beeped at the same time. “You should check that,” Angie said. “Voter message.”

“Voter message? I’ve never had—”

“Just check it!” Angie said, her stare boring holes through Allison.

Allison looked at her conn. There was a message from Doctor Grace. “You might not realise but you’re entitled to wear white. Now get out of the restaurant.”

Allison showed her conn, with the message, to Angie. “I don’t get it.”

Angie chuckled. “I guess that makes sense,” she said. “Have you had vaginal sex?”

“Yes,” Allison said. “Of course. Once, anyway.”

“With your own vagina?” Angie said, now laughing properly, and repeatedly, with snorts.

“I don’t have a va... NO! That’s not right. That’s not fair! I’m not wearing white!”

Angie shrugged and said, “Now I know what shoes to get you. You said there was quite a bit of denim in that blessing of an apartment you inherited? I’m going to make you look like such a twenty year old, and we’re going to get you white stockings. And you’re going to send the men wild! You said you wanted to try cuddling. Now, let’s go. Doctor’s orders.”

Angie stood as Allison reached for her boots, hoping her dizziness wouldn’t come back. Then Allison stood too, with Angie taking her hand again, and they began to make their way to the floor Angie said had a store with the exact pair of shoes Allison needed.

After a few minutes they were walking the promenade on the level Angie brought them to. It was a complete contrast to the hospital floor. The hospital floor decorated in a way Allison didn’t even know was possible.

The floor with the shoe store was a lot darker, typical of citizen floors, with lights flickering irregularly every so often. There was no art hanging up, just advertisements, and the air was somehow heavier. The carpet was worn, and stained, with Allison wearing no shoes, but she still felt it preferable to having men lunge to rescue her every time she stumbled in her boots with no laces.

Allison was holding Angie’s hand but there were still a few men who seemed like they were in two minds about approaching them. Allison knew someone eventually would, and after a minute someone did.

“Pedicure for a footjob,” the man said, straight out. He was well dressed but not particularly handsome, and he was wearing a cologne Allison sort of knew and remembered quite liking. She looked him up and down. Then thought thoughts she couldn’t really recognise.

“No!” Angie said, straight out. “Unless my friend has an interest.”

“I’m not talking to you,” the man said to Angie, sternly, and with a glare.

“We have plans,” Allison said, thoughts abandoning her.

“Manicure and pedicure, for both of you. And I watch. But I only want a footjob from you, beautiful. Your feet are perfect. I bet they’ve never had the pleasure of a cock like mine between them. Between the arches of your feet...”

“No!” Allison said.

“Fuck you. You’re showing me your toes. It's deliberate! You’re driving me crazy. I know women like you, and normally wouldn’t go for it but I fucking love your toes. They’re perfect. Just let me cum on them. Same deal for both of you. Pedicure and manicure for you and your friend, she’ll appreciate you, she doesn’t have to do anything and I cum on those delicious toes of yours. Then I watch to make sure you put your shoes on after without cleaning my seed off. Your toes in your shoes with me all over them. To remember me by. Final offer. Please!”

“Fuck you!” Angie said. “Fuck off, we’re not interested!”

“You two are cunts. Put some fucking shoes on if you’re not interested! Stupid bitches! Fucking hags. Your feet aren’t even that nice, you slut. I’d have finger-fucked for you for a few minutes if you asked nicely.”

Angie began to walk faster and so did Allison while the man seemed to slow down, the man calling out about letting Allison pick the colours as the two of them left him behind. Allison knew he was watching her walk away though, cursing her. “Are all men like that?” she asked.

“The fuckers are. Some women like it. The directness. They’re the sluts, which is fine for them. But no. Not all. We’ll find you a nice man. You might even find you a nice man yourself. Don’t assume... And if you think you might like to try things with a woman, as a woman, I know a few of those as well,” Angie said, half turned to Allison, face full of sympathy, or pity, maybe sorrow.

Allison took a breath, trying to collect her thoughts. “He wasn’t even weird, or creepy. It was just annoying. He was so fucking annoying! I hate him! Fuck him!”

“Yeah...” Angie said, with a tired sigh.

“Old me found those guys creepy. I knew them. I don’t know... I felt like I had to protect women, or intervene, that women were afraid, for some of them at least.. That guy was just a dick. It was easy to say no to him. To tell him fuck off.”

Angie squeezed Allison’s hand. “That’s why a lot of women liked you. You were really good at knowing when to tell a guy to get away from them. When it was really needed. A few even believed you’d smack the guy if he didn’t.”

“I didn’t know when to do it. I worried about when,” Allison said, squeezing Angie’s hand back, as they walked, unaware of more men prowling around them. “But I just did what was natural. I don’t think I ever felt like I had to get physical with someone. I don’t know if I actually would. That’s fuck-up-your-life stuff.”

“Fuck-up-your-life like what you’ve done today isn’t?” Angie said, laughing. “Really though, if a man is ever hurting you you know what to do?” Her tone changed from joking to gravely serious.

“Yeah. I guess. I know...” Allison said. “Tell him. Loudly. Repeatedly. I don’t know if I could. I mean, not with what I am. I’m not really—”

“If a man hurts you you tell them. It’s serious, really serious. I’ve never seen it. I know a few people who have and they don’t talk about it. Rules, or something. They say it’s not something you want to do lightly, but if he’s hurting you you tell him, loudly, and repeatedly. You’re a woman and no man should ever hurt a woman.” Angie paused. “I really don’t know. I’ve only had people talk about it after a few drinks, and when they’re upset. And no matter how drunk we get they don’t say more. But you do it if you have to! They say nothing bad has ever happened to a woman after.”

“I’ve never heard men talk about it,” Allison said. “Except saying you don’t hurt women. You just don’t...”

Angie and Allison walked for about thirty seconds in silence, in their thoughts, until a man stepped in front of them, stopping them.

The man wasn’t dressed very well, certainly not stylishly. They were new-ish but basic clothes. They weren’t stained but they were wrinkled, like he didn’t put them away after he got them from the laundry, just threw them in pile. His hair was a little messy, but was clean, and combed, recently washed, with water. He had no obvious muscles but still gave the impression of strength, in a kind of barrelled way, mostly, though, both Angie and Allison noticed that the skin of his they could see had stains or dirt on it. “Don’t assume,” Angie said, quietly.

“The floor is filthy,” the man said.

“And you noticed me walking without shoes on? You noticed my feet?” Allison said.

“So did they,” he said, pointing to some men hanging back a little in the slightly darker areas. Allison groaned. “I’m guessing your going to buy shoes? A lot of shoe stores on this level.” He nodded towards the boots Allison carried in her hand.

“Genius!” Angie said.

“I like feet, and shoes. And feet in shoes,” the man said, with a smile. “The floor is filthy, but there’s also some broken stuff on it, in some places. You could cut yourself.”

“And you’re offering to carry my friend!?” Angie said, laughing with bewilderment.

The man laughed too, like either his plan was obvious or he’d been figured out, and for some reason Allison laughed at his and Angie’s laugh. It was so ridiculous. And he was so upfront about it, without being weird. “Not carry, no. A piggyback?” he said. Allison thought he did have a sweet smile.

“What do you want in return?” Angie asked. Allison wondered if this was original because she’d certainly never heard of a guy trying something like this. She’d never heard of this ‘tactic’ when men talked.

“What store are you going to?” the man said, smiling but also serious, somehow. Angie squeezed Allison’s hand again. Allison thought she had some idea of what all these various squeezes could mean. “I mean is it close, or far? That might make a difference, though probably not. I’m a handler. I carry stuff all day. Hence the...” He rubbed one hand against one of the patches in his skin. “Almost like a tattoo, it’ll grow out in a few months. It won’t get you or your outfit dirty.” He smiled at Allison again and she noticed he was looking at her, not her feet, or her boots.

“Rowan’s...” Angie said

“I know Rowan. She’s nice. She does real leather too. Piggyback? I don’t want anything in return. You’ll be my excuse to go into her store and browse around, and imagine women wearing the shoes. It’ll keep me going during the work week. Is that OK?” Allison’s squinted slyly at him, thinking, as Angie squeezed her hand again.

He turned around and crouched so Allison could climb on his back. Allison looked at Angie who had the same kind of smile on her face as when the two of them were having lunch, her cheeks like baubles, and looking delighted. She shrugged and shook her head in defeat as she raised her eyebrows. It was obvious this was not a typical encounter for her. Then she nodded at Allison, encouraging her.

Allison sighed in acceptance, she was a woman she supposed, and the smile disappeared from her face as she spread her knees after moving closer behind the man’s back. “Tell me if I’m too heavy,” she said, nervously, looking at Angie, who was urging her to climb onto him.

“You won’t be,” the man said, as Allison placed herself on his back. “You secure?” Allison wrapped her arms around his shoulders and chest, avoiding hitting him with the boots in her hand, and he stood, as she gripped, as best she could, her knees into him. “My name is Robert.”

“My friend is Angie and my name is Allison,” Allison said, as she was looking at Angie. She was getting a piggyback from a man! Her legs, in stockings, were wrapped around a man! She was so close to him! She could feel him with her body, and she suddenly realised he could feel her. She didn’t know what they were doing but they were doing something.

“Pleased to meet you both,” Robert said. “And welcome to the Good Ship Robert, Allison. Off we go.” When he said ‘Off we go’ he gave a little hop then a small dart forward. Which is how the rest of the trip to Rowan’s store went. Sometimes he’d walk, and they’d chat, laughing, then at random moments he’d bounce and take off into a jumpy run. By the time they arrived to a store with a brightly illuminated ‘Rowan’s’ sign above it they were all in non-stop laughter, Angie barely holding back tears, Allison’s heart pounding with excitement.

“Our destination,” Robert said, as the glass doors opened back and they walked into a decently sized, warmly lit store, with cream tile flooring and shoe after shoe on illuminated displays on the walls. But there was more. There was all manner of female leather goods; purses, belts, leather bracelets and chokers, pouches, there were even displays of non-precious metal jewellery.

Robert backed up to one of the benches and crouched again to let Allison climb off; Allison who had a big smile on her face.

A woman wearing a green striped, cotton a-line dress, with bright red hair and obviously old enough to wear pantihose, considering she was working in a business, said, “That’s a first, Robert.” She was smiling, but also shaking her head in disbelief.

“I’m thinking of becoming a starship, Rowan. Inaugural test flight,” Robert said. “I’ll have to wait for passenger reports before adjustments are made.”

“Smoothest flight this passenger has ever been on,” Allison said. “Also the only flight, but I’d definitely recommend. Five out of five stars. I’ll tell anyone planning on travelling to the solar system.” She was still laughing.

“I have new shoes in, Robert. Feel free to look,” Rowan said, with Robert giving Allison another smile before disappearing around a wall inside the store. “Come on. I assume Miss Boots-in-her-Hands is the one shopping. Step up here.”

Allison stepped off the bench, pulling her skirt back down as she realised the entire promenade probably saw her panties. She just hoped the image kept them entertained that night, then she stood on the pad Rowan indicated, while Rowan held Allison’s arms to keep Allison still.

“What’s Robert’s deal?” Angie asked.

Still holding Allison in place Rowan looked at Angie and said, “He’s lovely. Doesn’t like bitches. He told you he likes shoes and feet?” Angie and Allison both nodded, then Rowan pursed her lips and shrugged. “That’s his deal. He’s good at it. And that’s all he wants, to find shoes for women and help them try them on. He’d do better than me at running this place, if he was allowed. Instead he brings the few women he connects with in here, sometimes other stores if he feels they’d suit her better. There’s nothing weird about him, that I know of. Except he’s shit in bed, apparently. Women get bored of him and the shoes aren’t enough.” She pulled Allison off the pad and looked down at the impression Allison’s feet had made, before dialling something into a manually controlled device she held in her hand. “Go ask the starship for help finding shoes. I think you owe him.”

“Does he need...” Allison pointed at what were obviously her shoe size measurements in Rowan’s hand.

“No. He knows these measurements naturally. He’s been looking at feet for years, then asking me if he’s correct. He always is,” Rowan said. They all heard footsteps then Rowan called out, “Robert, come help your friend find some shoes. It’s obvious she’s not a frequent purchaser of quality footwear and needs your expertise.”

Robert came around the corner, somehow carrying three stacks of boxes. “I went into the store room, picked some out for Allison. I apologise. I know I should ask before I go in there.”

“You’re excited, so we’ll overlook it. This time. Go on,” Rowan said.

Robert walked further into the main area of a store, with Angie and Allison following, to before the biggest wall of shoes then indicated for both of them to sit the bench. “I assumed you’re not too good in heels,” he said. Angie laughed and Allison cringed. “That’s fine, I’ve picked you out some shoes that’ll get you used to them.”

He began to open a few boxes and the shoes all either had a low heel, were in a wedge, or had a chunky heel. There were no flats, and no sandals without a heel. “Do I have to wear heels?” Allison asked.

“Yes!” Angie said, very quickly.

“No,” Robert said. “You’ll feel sexy in them, though. And they’ll make your ass look even better.”

“I noticed your hands were on it when you were carrying me,” Allison said.

“I didn’t want to drop you. Was that a problem?”

“No,” Allison said. “Not really.” When she thought of his hands on her she felt something. Sexual attraction but not being erect, not stimulation, more desire. Longing. A hunger, almost. She lifted and straightened her leg to let Robert slip the shoe on her foot, and as he did she really looked at him. He was a big guy and for some reason that pleased her.

As he was slipping the other shoe on her foot he said, “Your stockings are filthy from that floor, you’ll need new ones to put on before we buy you your shoes.”

“I know where Rowan has them,” Angie said. “You keep trying on shoes.”

As Angie left Allison stood, with a little help from Robert. It was different, but she felt she could manage. She took a few steps, then a few more. It wasn’t too bad. She wouldn’t be as confident as in boots but looking down at the shoes they were nice.

She walked back to Robert when a wave of dizziness hit her. She wavered in her step and put fingers to her forehead, the other arm out, reaching for something.

Robert rushed to her as she could just make out through blurry vision. Then she felt his arm around her shoulder and another taking her elbow. “Are you OK?” he asked.

“New medication,” Allison managed.

“Come sit down,” Robert said, leading her back to the bench.

They both sat and Allison was about to ask if he’d put his arm around her, to keep her steady, when she noticed his arm had never left. She leaned into him and he held her securely. Closing her eyes she thought Doctor Grace was correct. Being held made a difference.

Eventually Allison felt better, and like she could walk again. Whether she could walk in heels was a different matter, but she wanted to find out. “I’m OK, now. I’m certain,” she said to Robert. “We can go back to shoes, if you don’t mind.”

“Are you sure?” Robert asked, looking at her.

“Certain, and play with my feet while you do it.”

“As a ‘thank you’ or because you like it? I don’t want to trade anything. I’m enjoying everything as is. You don’t have to do anything for me.”

“I want you to. I don’t know if I’ll like it but I want to find out,” Allison said. “I think I like you, whatever I feel.”

So they got down to footwear, with Robert stroking her feet as Allison had shoes placed on them. And her standing and trying to strut around. And after thirty or so minutes of laughing and posing they both were sitting again.

“Which do you want?” Robert asked.

“I don’t know, I’ll have to ask Angie,” Allison said. “Where is she?”

“She’s here! And I found you a purse as well, which you need. You can’t keep carrying your conn, setting it down or having me hold it. Your stockings are in here too, enough for the week.”

Rowan was standing next to Angie. “Angie wants Allison to try on a shoe. You know the 21 line, black, wedge, closed toe, elasticated fabric—”

“You’re planning on wearing more denim?” Robert asked Allison.

“How did you know?”

“Those aren’t the shoes you want. I’ll get them but you don’t want them. Sorry, Angie.”

“No problem,” Angie said. “You seem to know shoes better than any woman I’ve met. Pick her something.”

Then he stood and left for the storeroom.

“The stockings are white, aren’t they?” Allison asked Angie.

“You’re a genius!” Angie said. “Telepathic! And go into the room back there and let Robert watch you put them on.”

“No!” Allison said. “No way!” Rowan was laughing. Angie simply smiled.

“You obviously like him. It’s plain to see. Give him a little thrill! It’s fun.”

Allison shook her head and changed the subject. “Is that the purse?” she asked. It was a brown leather satchel style, smaller and obviously a purse, with a shoulder strap. It held its shape but it was still soft. She thought it would look good with denim, and she was willing to bow to wisdom at this point, even if the wisdom was to dress her like a twenty year old. She couldn’t be bothered fighting anything. Well, almost anything. “I like it. I’ll get it.”

“And you won’t have to pay a single credit,” Angie said. Allison scowled at Angie and Rowan laughed again, walking away. Then Robert was back, carrying two boxes.

He knelt before Allison and opened the first box, which were the shoes Angie had picked out. Then he opened the second and took out another shoe. It was dappled black leather, at least Allison thought it was leather. The toe was rounded and the sole wasn’t quite a platform but it wasn’t thin. It had a block heel as high as anything she’d tried on. Most of the top of her foot would be exposed down to just before where her toes began. Allison thought they’d look amazing with the white of white stockings. On her legs, on her feet.

“Oh wow!” Allison said, standing. “Those are the ones I want!”

“You’ll definitely stumble, and might trip, wearing those. They’re beautiful but you’re the one who doesn’t want men rescuing her.”

“Give me my purse, with my fresh stockings,” Allison said, grabbing her purse from Angie and standing. “I’ve learned not all men are bad.” She also grabbed Robert. “I need you to tell me if I snag my stockings after I put them on. If you don’t mind!” Then she lead him towards the room Angie had pointed to.

In there, with Robert sitting on the sofa, holding the box of what Allison hoped would be her new shoes, as the door clicked shut behind her Allison realised who she was. “I need to be honest,” she said, feeling sick.

“I don’t expect anything. Really,” Robert said.

“I’m not quite who I say I am.”

“You’re imitating?” Robert said, smiling.

“Technically, no. I mean legally definitely not.” She held the hem of her skirt and forced herself to lift it. To show the bulge in her panties from her penis. “If you hit me I won’t scream. I promise. I’m sorry. I am,” she said, as she knew Robert could see her dick through the lace of her panties. But Robert was already standing, right on top of her. He grabbed her and before Allison knew it he was kissing her, deeply.

“Am I your first kiss?” he asked, as Alison felt the absence of his tongue in her mouth, wishing she didn’t.

“Yes, and I want another one.”

“No.”

“Are you playing with me? Are you trying to make me desperate and get on my knees?” Alison said, then her brow furrowed, this time not from emotion. “Because I will. And I’ll enjoy it. And so will you.”

“I know we would, and I think you want to. The whole station is talking about this mysterious Allison and the rumours are multiplying so fast I can’t keep up with them. But you don’t need to be fast. Take your time. If you want to do this again tomorrow message me.”

“You’re not playing with me?” Alison thought for a second. “You’re not angry with me?”

“Angry with a woman who let me pick out shoes for her, stroke her feet, is about to let me her buy the shoes she loves along with stockings and a purse. And who just told me I’m the first man she kissed? And she’s not an idiot twenty year old!” He laughed. “No! I’m not angry. This is my perfect day. You let me give you a piggyback!! You’re amazing!”

Allison’s face turned plain. After a moment she said, “Thank you. I didn’t realise how much I needed this. And you. Do you want my boots?”

“Your boots?” Robert asked, sitting down again.

“No, that’s stupid. They probably smell wrong. They’re boots from when I was—”

“Yes. I want your boots! I’m buying a stand to put them on and won’t get rid of them unless I somehow end up married and my wife forces me to throw them away. And even then I’ll put them in storage. Yes, I want your fucking boots!” And he was standing again. Kissing Allison again.

With her eyes closed, feeling the absence of tongue for a second time, Allison said, “This is my perfect day, too. I think. Certainly the best day of my life.”

“Do you want to sit down for a bit?” Robert asked, a look of wonder on his face.

“If I sit, I’ll melt,” Allison admitted, remembering her skirt was still flipped up by her waist, so she forced herself to get on with it. This is who she was.

She unhooked her garters from her stockings, and while Robert watched she put on her white stockings. The sign of her virginity. The sign she hadn’t tried to become a mother, or so men believed. Soon she was ready for her new shoes.

Then she was walking back into the store, having kissed her first man, and holding his hand.

Her blood ran cold. Adam was standing at the front of the store.

Her grip tightened on Robert’s hand, then she turned to him. “Sorry. I need to talk to the man who reported me.”

“I’ll pay for all these,” Robert said.

Allison took her conn from Angie, who was standing looking at Adam, and they both walked to him.

“How did you find me?” Allison asked.

“You know men can track a woman if her ID is in his conn, once they enter a public place.”

Allison shook her head, ever so slightly, almost imperceptibly, but she knew Adam had seen it. “I also know unless the woman justifies it you are in serious trouble. And that security are even less willing to justify it. You already have a caution today! Why are you being so stupid!? You left me!”

“Please, just listen to me. I’ll be honest. Completely honest with you.”

“I was honest with you!” Allison said, trying to control her voice but she knew she was raising it. She took a breath. “I didn’t know why I was like that, I still don’t know, but I was being honest with you. This is me. Really me. Not just because the court agrees. And I don’t blame you for reporting me, I blame you for leaving me!”

“I know this is you. I know.” Adam nodded, almost to himself, as if seeking courage. “I walked around for a while, after I left you—I’m sorry—I got a call from someone who said they were a citizen representative. I didn’t know what that meant. Apparently when the court is looking to punish a citizen they have someone argue their case. He said my case was the easiest he ever had...”

Adam looked at Allison but Allison simply kept listening. “He said I was correct to report you, based on what I knew. What everyone knows, or believes they know. He said court decisions aren’t all the court records. He said in my notes, about the report, he wanted it written that I was shocked but I was a good friend to you, Allison. He wanted to note my character is that I would continue to be a good friend, once I got over the shock.”

“So you came to watch me?” Allison asked.

“He said the longer I left it the harder it would be to face you. And that was pretty much that. I kept walking for a bit, and thinking, and I knew he was right. I don’t know what’s happening but I don’t think you do either. You looked to me for help. I didn't. That was wrong. So I decided to track you, and you didn’t turn up for an age. I was getting worried about you. I even went to where you’re squatting. The second you popped up in my tracker on this floor I came as quickly as I could. I was really worried about you.”

Allison began to feel tears in her eyes. Actual, real tears. “You were always my friend, and it seems you were always really Allison. Even when you were someone slightly strange who was friends with women. So why can’t I be a friend to a woman? To you?”

“I don’t know if I’m—”

“And you are a woman. I saw you getting a ride on a man’s back. I saw you trying on shoes, and having fun. I was watching from the middle of the promenade through the doors. I saw you go into a room with a man. Who else could you be doing all that but my female friend Allison. If you’ll still be my friend.” Adam squared his shoulders, setting his hands straight by his sides. Waiting.

Tears were rolling down Allison’s cheeks. “Send your tracker to my conn,” she said, sniffing.

Adam took his black conn from his pocket while Allison held her rainbow one in front of her. The tracking justification was sent to hers. She pressed the confirmation to justify it.

“Thank you,” Adam said.

“I’m sorry, Adam,” Allison said. “I know it was a shock. I couldn’t have expected anything else. I’m sorry too. I’m so sorry I worried you!”

Allison’s conn made an extremely loud, continuous screeching. “What the fuck is that?” Allison roared, smacking a fist against her side, about ready to sit on the floor from exhaustion.

“Private call,” Rowan said.

“Private call? What’s that? From who? Fucking fuck!” Allison nigh on screamed.

“Look at the ID. Don’t ignore it. You hold your conn to your ear to hear.” She showed Allison the general idea with her own rainbow conn. “You can go into the room you just came from for privacy! Go!”

Alison turned around and took a step towards the room she’d kissed Robert in while looking at the ID. It said ‘One.’ The man who started all this.

Her steps quickened.

Allison now has two men in her life, sort of. She enjoyed some time with Robert, the foot freak who’s less freak and more friend. A new friend and also her first real kiss. And Adam, her friend from when she was Patryk—which was just that morning—has apologised to her, for leaving her all alone: at least until Angie sought her out and took her to the woman's doctor. He said it was shock, and she can understand that. She’s literally never heard of someone like her before. She’s a bit shocked too.

Everything was getting back on track, settling in, when One, the mysterious man who set her on this path, a satisfying if eventful one, called her, just after she and Adam reconciled. And it’s a private call? Which caused her conn to scream with noise. She has no choice but to answer. But what does he want? What more can he unleash on the very new woman, Allison?

---------------

Allison’s cheeks puffed out with air then she blew an exhalation through her lips. The door closed behind her as her conn continued to screech. She had to answer, even just to shut it up. This was One, the man—whoever he was—who started her down her path to womanhood; legally, medically, and in her own mind, earlier that day.

She pressed the accept button, held her conn to her ear and closed her eyes tight. “Yes?” she said.

“How are we doing?” One asked, bright and cheerful.

“What?” Allison said, stunned, shaking her head with her eyes still closed. “How are we doing?!”

“Are you sitting down? Is there a seat nearby? Take a load off, fill me in on what you’ve been up to!”

“What the fuck are you talking about?” Allison asked, eyes now wide.

“Come on, I want all the gossip,” One said. “Sit down, rest your feet, fill me in.”

Allison rubbed her forehead with her free hand. “What is happening? What is—”

“I don’t know!” One said, excitedly. “Sit down! Tell me what’s happening! I might be able to help. All the details. I’m doing nothing right now. Tell me about your day!”

Allison rubbed her hand even harder against her forehead then threw her arm to the air before looking for the couch. She sat herself down and forced herself to sit back into the seat. To try to relax. “Well... I guess I’m a woman now...” Allison said.

“Are you happy with it?” One asked.

“Yes!!” Allison said, annoyed.

“Good! I knew you would be. Those brown smokes are heavy and you had one of the best reactions I’ve ever dealt with. You were a pleasure to deal with. I enjoyed myself.”

“How did you do it? How am I a woman?”

“I thought you’d tell me,” One said, no longer really telling her something he was certain of.

“I mean the first message, from The Governor’s Office, welcoming me to the station. I’ve never seen anyone hack like that. An entirely new, official ID. And the court? Did they believe it?”

One laughed. “Hack? Not at all. I have a friend in the office. Nice woman, she has trouble sleeping, well, trouble getting good sleep, or waking up properly, no-one is certain on what it exactly is, and I help her with that. She said if I ever needed help with anything just let her know. It was easy, I just said I found a mistake with an ID. It wasn’t a big deal. Then the court saw sense when they looked at you, I assume.”

“Not a big deal? You called in a favour, just like that?”

“No. No favour. Friends help each other. I was helping her, really, and the station. I found a mistake. How are your friends, Allison? I presume you’ve told a few people, or they contacted you?”

“They’re good with me, I suppose,” Allison said, cautiously. “At least now, I think. They’re with me. Well... Outside the door.”

“OK, that’s nice to hear. Everyone’s over the shock.” Allison nodded to herself wondering if she was over the shock with Adam. “I’ve left something in your apartment for you. I need you to get to work. It’s a backpack. Filled with tins of those rollies, basic supplies. There’s two tins with the name Des on them. One is for you, the other is for him. Just go to his apartment, his location is on your conn now. Deliver the rollies, he’ll probably want to chat for a while, smoke with him. Enjoy it, nothing to worry about. If you go in the next ninety minutes you should have your evening to yourself and your friends. How many friends are there with you?”

Allison looked towards the door as if she could see through it. “Two? Three?”

“Those are different numbers, Allison.”

“Two old friends. One new friend. I kissed him,” she said, the final words ones she couldn’t keep inside herself.

“Oh, yes! Come on!! That’s the best bit of gossip I’ve heard all day. First kiss? Did you enjoy it?”

“Yeah, my first... And yeah...” Allison said, feeling warmer, smiling, then forcing herself to stop. She didn’t even really know who One was.

“OK, bring your two old friends with you to your apartment. If they’re the first with you now they’re the ones you can talk to about your new job. Please try not to talk to other people about it. Or smoke what I say you can smoke outside the three of you. Yes, the three of you can smoke among yourselves, we don’t want you getting isolated again. And smoke with the clients what I say is for your clients. Only smoke in your apartment, or where voters tell you you can. Those are rules. If you slip up and tell other people about your job just ignore it after letting me know. People make mistakes, it’s not the end of the station.”

Allison wasn’t feeling drunk before, but somehow, now, she felt more sober than her previous quite sober feeling. “Is this illegal?” Allison asked.

“No. There’s a message on your conn from The Governor’s Office approving all this. Not even from me talking to a friend, it’s an official job, just not a common one. You’ll have the accesses you need as you need them. It’s all above board, we just don’t talk about it unless it’s necessary, either with citizens or voters. You happy?”

“About what?” Allison asked.

“You’re a woman, does that make you happy?”

“Yes...”

“You’re working a new job, how about that?”

“I suppose,” Allison said.

“You kissed a man, does that make you happy?” One asked, and Allison could hear the smile he was wearing.

“You really are a fucking gossip aren’t you, One?”

“The best at it!” He laughed a big roaring belly laugh, then turned serious again. “Anything you’re not happy about?”

“My phone was screaming at me when you called me, can you stop that? Or stop calling me? Send a fucking message!” Allison said, somehow hearing a distant scream in her mind.

One laughed again, and Allison knew he really did thrive on this stuff. He was far more familiar and open than a few hours ago. A few hours ago when it was all serious business. “Talk to Des about that. He’ll fix it. He’s a smart man. Now go on, explain all this to your friends after saying goodbye to your boyfriend. Enjoy yourself, it’s a fun job. Tough at times but rewarding.”

Allison paused for a moment then said, “OK,” at which point One ended the call, and it was only then Allison realised she wanted to point out Robert wasn’t her fucking boyfriend!

Allison forced herself to calm down. It wasn’t a big deal. He was just being a bitch; an annoying bitch who was trying to poke at her. He wanted to rile her up and get her feisty, and then he’d laugh. Then she realised she’d never thought of a man as a bitch before, but she’d definitely heard women referring to men as just such a thing.

Without even realising she found herself looking at her conn, and the message from The Governor’s Office. Not even a message, an official communication like her earlier one, with the security approval. It basically said anything she did for One, or within the spirit of One’s instructions was entirely above board. She shook her head. She’d never heard of ‘the spirit’ of something being considered. Something either was or wasn’t. That was what the court was for. But it was official, almost certainly. No-one had ever hacked this system, as far as she knew. But then she hadn’t been a woman yesterday, and didn’t even think it possible.

Allison chased the doubt from her mind and walked back out to her gang, after two steps remembering she really did not know how to wear heels. She didn’t really care though. She’d manage and they looked amazing.

“Thanks, Robert,” Allison said. “I have to go. I’ll message you tomorrow... If you want my ID?” She smiled, holding out her conn, feeling small, and feeling something else but she wasn’t quite sure what that feeling was.

Robert smiled back and handed her her purse, then they confirmed the ID exchange. “I’m looking forward to it. I had an amazing time with you. We can just go for a walk. I’ll buy you lunch and if you’re up to it we’ll try you on stairs.”

Allison smiled again and put her conn in her purse, slinging it over her shoulder; her first purse. She reached out and touched Robert’s hand before clumsily turning and taking a few steps towards Angie and Adam. “You two need to come with me,” she said with a low voice. “I have to fill you in on some things that happened.”

Angie and Adam exchanged a look as Allison walked through the store’s doors, calling out as she did her thanks to Rowan, who smiled warmly at her and waved.

Allison walked on and Angie and Adam caught up. “Take her arm, you idiot,” Angie said.

Adam put his arm through Allison’s and she felt a little more stable. “Thanks,” she said. And she didn’t say any more, simply led them to the elevators, and when she asked for the floor Angie and Adam looked confused, but still didn’t say anything. Then she led them to her apartment, swiping her way in.

“This is new,” Adam said.

“What isn’t?” Allison said. She walked to the delivery room near the hallway side of the apartment. Swiping in to that, larger than normal, she found a couple more chairs, comfortable ones, and a backpack. It was made of canvas and in a rainbow pattern, like her conn. She picked it up and went back into the living room. “There’s some extra chairs in there, Adam. I can’t really carry them in these shoes. Could you bring them in?”

Then they were all sitting down, Allison and Angie on the blue two-person couch, Adam in one of the armchairs, the low table in the middle. Allison explained everything she knew. “I don’t know anything other than that...” she finally said, finishing up.

“I don’t even know what to say about this,” Angie said.

“Yeah, your point about this station being mysteries and lies seems real now,” Allison said. “Really real.” Her conn beeped, a normal-message beep. “Please let this be boring. Please just let it be some guy I knew asking me ‘What the fuck is up with the Allison shit?’”

She read through the message, then, with Angie and Adam watching her, tapped some confirmations into her conn. Both their conns beeped too, a slightly different beep, that none of them had heard before.

“What’s this?” Angie asked.

“A group chat? I think?” Allison said. “One messaged me to say I should set you up with it, if all three of us need to talk. I don’t know why we wouldn’t just meet up in that case. He thinks it’s necessary.”

Angie and Allison’s conns beeped again. “Yeah, I got it,” Allison said.

“Thanks for saying, ‘Hello,’ Adam. In the ‘Group Chat’ is it, Allison?” Angie said, looking up from her conn. Allison nodded confirmation.

“This is weird. All of this is so weird,” Adam said. “I don’t know if I want to smoke any of that stuff with you if this is the result. What if I turn into a plant?” They all laughed, and Allison felt some relief for the first time since she left Rowan’s shoe store.

“Well, I have to see my voter. Get my ‘job’ done. We can meet up again later, if our brains haven’t melted, and if I have any more answers I’ll tell you,” Allison said. She stood, and slung the backpack onto her back.

“Can I stay and look at your clothes?” Angie asked.

“Will we be able to get off this level?” Adam asked. “Without Allison, I mean. This is a secure level, and we didn’t break in, so we might not be able to break out.”

Allison took the backpack off again, sat down and laid it on her lap, then messaged One on the channel she received his message about the group chat on. “I’ll find out. And I should probably...” She began to look into the backpack, which unzipped all the way to the bottom on both sides. Inside were divisions containing tin after, in different sizes. And lighters in a section at the top. The tins with Des’s name on them were in the uppermost vertical level.

Closing up the backpack she received another message. “One says you two can access this level freely and I can grant and remove entrance to my apartment as I please, no approval from security needed. And I have access to a quite a few apartments on this level. Said I’m free to scavenge them for anything I need.”

Adam took a deep breath through his nose. “If you survive this ‘job’ with the Des guy I want to see that message from The Governor’s Office. This is insanity.”

“Yeah, of course. I’ll message both of you when I’m done,” Allison said.

“You can message the group chat,” Angie said, with a scoff.

“Yeah, of course,” Allison said. “And stay as long as you like. If you find any clothes that fit or shoes that fit feel free try to try them on and take them, Angie. The same for you, Adam.”

They all laughed, all feeling like they needed a drink. “I wouldn’t be surprised by anything at this point,” Adam said. “Not a fucking thing!”

Then Allison was getting out of an elevator, not even thirty metres from Des’s apartment.

The voters' hallway was nicer than citizens' hallway. Not as nice as the hospital level, just more plush. It was still low-ish lighting but it was details like the lights not flickering, it being cleaner and the carpet seeming thicker. The air almost seemed perfumed as well, as though there was a just perceptible scent to it.

She stood outside the apartment that was supposed to be Des’s, according to her conn, and drew a deep breath. Then she waited. And kept waiting. She’d literally never been on a voter’s level let alone in one of their apartments. She assumed it was the same swipe to announce herself but this was, well, immense. She couldn’t believe where her day had taken her, and as she thought that her wrist reached out and swiped.

After a twenty or so seconds the door opened. A man in his sixties, with bare feet and an old pair of worn, comfortable denim jeans along with a plain turquoise t-shirt stood there. “Come in, Allison,” he said. “How’s One?”

This was obviously more normal to him than it was to her, and if it wasn’t he certainly wasn’t showing it. Allison realised her teeth were clenched and relaxed her jaw, and when the pressure eased after a few seconds she spoke the truth. “I really don’t know how he is, apart from having fun. He was laughing about me kissing a boy.”

The man laughed at hearing about One’s laughing, she hoped, and suddenly everything seemed fine. “He’s doing well then. Now, please, come in! I am Des, by the way. You did find the right apartment.” Allison looked around, it was a normal apartment. A little fancier than the few fancier citizen’s apartments she’d been in, but not ridiculously so. There was art on the wall, real art, again. The carpet would fit in a citizen’s apartment, so would the furniture. The walls were painted dark like almost all citizens’ apartments. There was maybe a little more furniture, but she could imagine an older citizen having an apartment like this, if they saved their credits and wanted it. “Do you want a drink?”

“Sure,” Allison said. “Thanks.” Des led her out through an archway. The room inside it was what appeared to be a kitchen. “This is a—”

“Yeah, voters can have kitchens if they want. Some do, some don’t. Most don’t, unless they have a family, or are little older. My friends are all extremely busy so I rarely go out for dinner, I don’t want to sit on my own eating. That’s a ‘me’ issue. Will you have a beer? I don’t think you’d have seen one like this. I’m guessing you’re open to new things given you’re working for One.”

Allison thought about it, she didn’t really do much, ever, before today, but new things were turning out great. “Yeah, I’d love to.”

Des began to pour what looked like a brownish, ruby beer into a glass, not filling it before setting it down, then he poured another one. “This isn’t normal for voters, I had to work very hard to get my own beer tap in here. Lots of favours. And stupid, stupid paperwork. It was ridiculous.” Then he took a bottle of what appeared to be whiskey off a shelf, along with two shot glasses. After pouring them he handed a whiskey to Allison, they clinked glasses and knocked them back. “Get the heart racing!”

“It sure did,” Allison said. It was awful whiskey. Not that it tasted bad, it just seemed stronger than usual, more powerful.

“How was your heart before that? Pounding? Nervous?”

Allison rolled her head on her neck, still feeling the whiskey. “No. I was outside your door. I stood there for a bit, building courage. But as soon as I saw you it was fine.” Allison blinked, thinking the last of the whiskey burn was just about going away. “Well, when I told you I kissed a boy. And you laughed. I can’t believe I’m calling him a boy! What’s wrong with me?”

“Oh, fuck! I didn’t think we’d be back on the whiskey before we’d begun to smoke. You’re one of the best runners I’ve had in ages,” Des said, laughing again, as he poured more beer into the glasses with the beer already in there that had now turned black.

They were sitting down within a few moments, Allison with her beer before her, along with a new tumbler of whiskey, the same for Des, and a new bottle of whiskey between the two of them, Allison’s bag of tobacco tins next to her. “Do you want your smokes?” Allison asked.

“No, it can wait. What do you think of the beer?”

“It’s nice, totally different. I don’t know if I could drink it all night. I can’t quite describe what it is but I like it. I wouldn’t even know it was beer if I just saw it.”

Des nodded. “Yeah, it went out of style with citizens years back. Few people remember it. Occasionally a bar with older men will request a few barrels and get approval. They enjoy it, then go back to what you have now. The current one you have available is a stayer, always has been. Now, this boy thing?”

Allison groaned. “I forgot about it, again. It’s going to haunt me forever. Supposedly voters do it, often? To citizens at least. Citizens just don’t say it.”

“Either you’re growing up,” Des said. “Or maybe you’re thinking all sweet and innocent, cute child things.”

“I’m an adult!” Allison protested. She’d turned twenty over four years ago.

“That’s why voters say it to citizens. They want to feel more mature and enlightened,” Des said, taking a drink from the whiskey glass, then from the beer glass, then another smaller sip of whiskey. Then he rolled his eyes, seemingly annoyed.

Allison laughed. “You don’t seem impressed,” she said, with a smile.

“Voters made me fill out paperwork just to get this beer. And it’s every time! I rarely even go through the entire keg before it’s gone sour. Voters are awfully officious people. I’ll take my tin now, if you don’t mind. They’re annoying me, thinking of them.” Allison unzipped her backpack and took our her and Des’s tin, the two with his name on them, handing one of them and a lighter to him.

He opened his tin and took two of the rollies out, offering one to her. “I think I’m supposed to smoke my own,” Allison said.

“I insist, and you’ll offend me if you don’t take it,” he said. Allison nodded, took it and lit it, drawing and inhaling. When she looked up he’d done the same. This time there was actually smoke from it, unlike earlier in the day. “What do you think?” He opened a drawer in the table and pulled out an ashtray, and placed it in the centre of the table.

“That I’m only supposed to smoke in places voters tell me it’s OK to smoke in, and I didn’t check. I don’t know if I lit first or you.”

“I don’t either, does it bother you, though?”

Allison took another drag and watched as she exhaled the smoke. “You know the rare times they turn the cold on? Really cold?” Des nodded, smoking. “It feels like when they approve a floor for fires and fireplaces. And you finally get let in. You try to find a quiet bar with a big fireplace, where there’s peace, and you curl up in an armchair next to the fire drinking a mulled drink and everything is pure comfort. So, yeah, no. That’s how I feel, after this smoke. Lighting it up without checking isn’t important. I don’t think anyone would mind me smoking here even if I’m not supposed to. If I stopped as soon as I remember.”

“Not even the court? If they found out? Smoke is serious. Voters are only allowed smoke in designated places and most citizens have never even seen tobacco.”

Allison rubbed the side of her face and turned her head to the side, as if to get some distance on things. “No. I don’t think it’d matter. I’ve been somehow approved to do this. Along with, well, being me. I don’t think they’d really mind. If they’re in charge of the law they’re not stupid. I’ll be sure to check in the future, I hope.”

Des exhaled some smoke he’d been holding in. “What’s your opinion on One?”

Allison got serious. “He’s an idiot, and sort of quite lovely, and annoying. But mostly a giant gossip!” She’d changed to pissed off, then amused as her sentence went on. She’d even put faux outrage in her words, by the end.

A cackle broke out of Des’s mouth. “You’ve read him perfectly. Except I’ve never found him annoying, what did he do? You’re not annoyed about your new life?” Des asked, looking curious, even concerned.

“When he did some private call thing my conn began to absolutely scream. I nearly threw it at a wall. My day hadn’t exactly been relaxing. Although he did say you could sort it out, now that I think of it.”

He mumbled something into his watch and the most ridiculous music Allison had ever heard in her life began to fill the room. She burst out laughing at the stupidity. “It’s perfect, isn’t it?” Des said.

“It’s horrific, but brilliant. What the fuck is it?” Allison said.

“If you want it to play whenever he calls, no matter the kind of call, sync your conn.”

Allison took her conn from her purse while Des took his from the table, and they both confirmed the sync, with Des fiddling with authorisations. After about a minute the sync ended. “I can’t wait for it to play, especially in public,” Allison said, laughing again remembering whatever it was the music was.

“Give it a minute,” Des said, holding his fingers to his lips to quieten her.

After Allison sat for a bit, wondering what the hell was happening, then hoping she wouldn’t regret it when what she figured what was about to happen did happen, then her conn did erupt into the hilarity Des had programmed it with. They both sat listening and laughing for a few seconds. “Public answer, please?” he said, through laughter. Allison hit the button.

“What’s wrong?” One asked. “Des? Allison? What’s happened? Is Des with you, Allison? Did you leave? Where are you?” Des’s laughter, an outbreak of belly laughs was so uproarious Allison couldn’t control her own laughter, despite One technically being her boss. “Are you two fucking with me?”

“She has you figured out, One. She’s amazing!”

“What are you two goons laughing at?”

“She called you an idiot and a gossip,” Des said, still laughing.

“I am an idiot and a gossip, you are too, Des. What the fuck are you laughing at though? How much has he had to drink, Allison?”

Des waved his hand at Allison to tell her to stay quiet, it was obviously two old friends having fun annoying each other. Or one old friend riling up the other old friend. “Remember the bar, during my stupid phase?”

“Yes...” One said.

“Remember the song I used to play? When some guy was unsuccessfully chasing a woman all over the station and ended up chasing her around our bar?”

“Fuck off!”

“It’s her call for you now. The one from the invention of the computer days. Pure technological revolution. Mayhem. Madness. Societal upheaval. Humanity almost wiped itself out and the amazing idiots were somehow still finding fun.”

Des laughed down the conn. “When you put it that way it sounds like a compliment. And you two seem to be having fun. I can’t believe that song survived thousands and thousands of years. Then you were the person to find it. And now it’s going to play whenever I call Allison!”

“It’s perfect for you, One,” Allison said.

“I’m going to hang up, then think twice every time I want to talk to you!” One said.

Both her and Des said goodbye as One hung up. Then Des’s watch chimed. “Ooh, delivery,” he said, standing, with a bit of a wobble.

Allison watched him walk to his delivery room and come out holding what looked like a sheet of paper. He took a quick look at the cover, reading something over, then glanced at the other three pages. It was really just one large sheet folded over, with type on it. “What’s that?” Allison asked.

“You’re front page news,” Des said.

“What? News? Don’t people just talk? And why me?”

Des shook his head. “People wouldn’t know what to talk about if they weren’t told. Certainly not voters. Like I said, or implied, they’re usually idiots. Anyway, look...” he said, handing Allison the news-sheet.

On the cover, in big print were the words Allison Zero. She read through the article, unsure of the language used. She understood it but didn’t see the point of it, it was like a drunk person trying to make a boring story interesting, but it was her story. It was what happened to her today. It was already interesting, at least to her.

It wasn’t all the details, they couldn’t know them all, but they knew she was a man, although they put that down to an administrative error in a ‘shocking failure of care for a child!’ They knew she’d been to a hospital floor to see a woman’s doctor, they knew about her being reported to the court, of course, and there was praise for the court’s ‘wisdom.’ And there apparently was a book about what she and Robert got up to in the private room in Rowan’s shoe store.

“There’s a book about me?” Allison asked. “Like, one of those old-style made up things?”

“You should ask a female friend about books, but this isn’t that type of book. It’s gambling. People are taking bets on what you and your new boyfriend got up to.”

“He’s not my boyfriend!”

“I know you kissed though. I could make a killing on it. Once someone finds out, words from you, or Robert—that was his name—in public and someone hears you they’ll pay out. It’ll probably be a security report, telling the bookmakers, or the newspaper. And yeah, voters like to gamble. I’ll say it again, they’re morons, they’re always losers in the long term, but if they’re having fun, I suppose...”

Allison went digging in her tin for one of the rollies, really feeling like she needed the cosy, warm fireplace feeling, right that instant. As she took the first drag it helped, but not enough. “You mean voters are watching us, all of us? All the citizens? And talking about what we get up to!?”

Des nodded. “They have very little going on in their lives and are dull and miserable, mostly. Well... Not miserable. I find them miserable because they’re dull. No life to them. Work, work, work. You’d hate it. Most citizens would.”

“We’re amusement for them? We’re toys? You need to start explaining things!”

Des’s expression didn’t change, not hugely, maybe became a little more accepting and a little less amused. “It’s about balance,” he said. “What was the last major breakthrough in our history?”

“The jump drive,” Allison said, it was obvious, everyone knew that.

“And how long ago was that?”

“A long, long time ago,” Allison said. Something else everyone knew.

“Yeah. Everything’s found a balance since then. We’ve had time to adapt. We have no real needs apart from to continue to grow. Humanity just keeps growing, and nothing is stopping us. We have no threats. There’s no-one else in the universe, as far as we know. We just exist to exist. And people are mostly content. Citizens mostly content in their way, voters in their own.” Des was saying all this as if it was a matter of simple fact.

“I can’t buy my own drinks any more. I can’t eat the meals I want, where I want. And it’s not just women! Rowan, today, said Robert would be better at running her shoe store than she is, if he was allowed to. Men, citizens at least, can’t work in female stores! Most men don’t ever get enough credits to run a business! How are people ‘content’ with that?”

Des shrugged, not seeming too disturbed by anything Allison had said. “I don’t know. They are though. Over the course of history we’ve gone from the strictest of rules for everyone to the loosest of rules, and everywhere in between. What we have now works for now, for here, for where we are. Do you think men should be allowed work in women’s stores?”

“Why not!?” Allison said, indignant.

“Do you think women should be allowed buy their own drinks, and meals, and own businesses before they’re forty?”

“Yes!” Allison said, not putting any thought into what she was saying, simply reacting on pure instinct, still all indignance.

“Then make it happen,” Des said, as if it was the easiest thing in the world. “You decided you were a woman today, accepted it, perhaps, and now you are. Do you think other changes aren’t possible, if they’re needed, or wanted? We all want people to be happy. And for society to grow, at least in a balanced way. It does happen. Like I said, ask a female friend about books, fiction, to be precise.”

Allison was shaking her head in utter disbelief. “No! The law is the law. And voters decide the law. I’m not a voter. And unless I have two babies who make it into the program I will never be a voter. And given my current circumstances I won’t be having fucking babies!”

“I’ve never voted in my life,” Des said, still seeming unperturbed by what he was talking about. By what he was saying. “Voting doesn’t change things. Laws don’t enforce things. People change things. People enforce things. You said the last great breakthrough was the jump drive. I’m not sure if we ever get one as big as that again. All the changes since have been slow, incremental. Maybe the next real breakthrough is people?”

Allison didn’t realise it but she’d smoked all her rollie, and it hadn’t really helped with making her feel comfortable. She was agitated. And she wanted to message everyone, literally everyone she knew, and call them all fucks.

“When you leave here how many friends will you be meeting up with?” Des asked.

“Two,” Allison said, frowning.

“Tell them to meet you in a bar on C36, Jenny’s, as soon as they can make it. And give me a minute,” Des said, standing, then he walked to the kitchen.

Allison messaged the location to the group chat, floor C36—an old floor—and the name of the bar, saying she was pissed off and wanted to spill the beans on the asshole she met. She got a confirmation back from Angie that they’d be leaving for there in the next few minutes just as Des was walking back in.

Des carried two six packs of beer in big black bottles. “Give one of these to Jenny. She’ll be there, guaranteed. And she’ll recognise them. Talk to her if you want. She might be more help than me at the moment. Tell your friends as little or as much as you want. Try not to spread our conversations further than that unless you’ve considered things and thought on them a while. Whatever you do you know now there’s nothing really wrong anyone can do. Maybe there’ll be a small punishment, or a warning. Or maybe things will change? For good reason, maybe for bad. Who knows? If things change we’ll figure it out.”

“Yeah...” Allison said, standing, with her stuff all packed up and carrying the six packs.

“And Allison?” Des said. Allison looked at him. “I enjoyed this. Sit with it for a while. Talk to your friends, talk to Jenny, talk to One. Talk to people you believe in, and sometimes listen to people you don’t. People are all we have in this universe.”

Allison nodded, laden down by gear, and was soon stepping into the elevator taking her away from her first proper encounter with a voter. Where they really did just talk, like people. A different kind, but that’s all it was, wasn’t it? Just talking?

Allison has dealt with her first client, a man named Des, where they smoked some smokes that were relaxing. However Allison is less relaxed leaving Des’s voter’s apartment. This despite Des’s insistence it was a good talk. What he’d explained to her didn’t sit well with Allison. Especially him saying, to sum all he said up, “Voting doesn’t change things. Laws don’t enforce things. People change things. People enforce things.” As if some dismissal of the reality of the station was as easy as a wave of his hand.

He did suggest she meet her friends, and even suggested where they go. The only reason Allison is going to where Des recommended is because Des admitted the woman there, the woman who owns the place, Jenny, might be able to help more than he could. Allison figures she might as well try; she’s tired. No-one’s been outwardly hostile, but with the twists and turns she just wants to relax, and have someone actually help her. She really, really hopes she can just relax. Even if there’s no help... Just relax...

---------------

With newfound confidence, potentially caused by lack of self-concern from tiredness, Allison walked the main promenade of floor C36. It was an old floor with stores, bars and restaurants, businesses, everything. Businesses that could have been around for decades. It was quieter than one of the more youthful floors, floors Allison would be used to, and she was getting glances from the elderly patrons on their Saturday night.

Allison didn’t know if the glances were due to what she knew was her still rather masculine build and face, or due to her age, or that she was wearing white stockings. White stockings an entitlement and marker she couldn’t imagine any visitor to this floor was permitted to wear in a long, long time. She didn’t particularly care though.

She cared so little she actually approached a member of security and asked the woman where Jenny’s was, the place, a bar she assumed, Des sent her to. It wasn’t on the floor-map.

The security worker didn’t seem bothered by this at all, even though Allison had rarely seen someone approach anyone in security, certainly not sober. She directed Allison to where Jenny’s was, hidden away, and as Allison began her walk there, feeling more and more weighed down by the bags and beers she carried, the security worker called out, “And you’ll have to knock!”

Following the woman’s instructions Allison eventually found Jenny’s. There was the usual sign, not illuminated, barely even visible. No view inside was offered from the outside, and the door was closed. It was an antique style door, one with physical hinges that swung the door in, or possibly out.

Allison rearranged the six packs of beer she was carrying so she could knock. After a minute the door opened back, showing a curtain behind it, and a man, in his late forties stood, looking at her. “Can I help?” he eventually asked, not moving out of the way.

“Are my friends here?” Allison asked, getting tongue tied, or brain tangled, seeing the man’s inexpressive visage.

“Same age as you?” he asked.

“Yeah,” Allison said, fiddling with her grip on the six pack handles, getting flustered.

“Absolutely not,” the man said, but he didn’t slam the door in her face or say anything else. He just stood, waiting.

“When they arrive, if they can find the place, the same man sent us all here, sort of.”

The man at the door’s face changed a little for the first time. He seemed mildly amused. “And what was this man’s name?”

“I’m not sure I should say,” Allison said. “He did say to give one of these six packs to Jenny, and she’d be able to help me. If I wanted to talk about... I can’t really say.”

The man did actually laugh this time. “Do you mind?” he asked, reaching for one of the bottles in the six pack holder. Allison shook her head. The man lifted a bottle a little to get a look at the label. “And what’s your name, if you can share that?”

“Allison,” Allison said.

“My name’s Yes. Y-E-S. There are not a lot of people with my name. It’s a very low ID number and it has never cycled. What are your friends’ names?”

“Angie and Adam,” Allison said, feeling the conversation relaxing.

“Triple-A... Please come in Allison. Welcome! We’re quiet tonight, as it happens. Sit at the bar and tell Sue you have a gift for Jenny and she’ll get her. I’ll try to keep an eye out for your friends. I assume they’ll stand out almost as much as you.”

Allison walked into the bar. It was quiet! A few people turned to look at her but quickly looked away again, seemingly not caring about her arrival.

There was actual wooden flooring, worn, and around low, square tables were soft corduroy covered armchairs. Aged brass chandeliers were hanging from the low ceiling and there was a polished wooden bar counter with a few beer taps—certainly not necessary for a bar this size—along with a selection of bottles of even the same type of spirits on tiered shelving against the wall at the back. Multiple different whiskeys, vodkas, gins, rums, and more.

Allison placed the six packs on the counter, put her tobacco-tin-holding backpack on the ground, sat up on the cushioned, tall seat and hung her purse off the hook in the bar counter. “Hello, my dear. What can I get you?” a woman asked, picking one of the bottles out of the six pack holder and then placing it back.

“They’re a present—”

“For Jenny, I’ll get her. I’m Sue, and I could guess at who you are but I’ll let you introduce yourself,” the woman, Sue, said.

“Allison. And thank you,” Allison said.

Sue nodded and was soon walking back in behind the bar after leaving through a door a few moments before that. “She’ll be here in a minute,” Sue said. Then she went back to reading her conn.

After a couple of minutes an old woman, fully grey, but with a quickness to her step, and a severe look to her face that was betrayed by a kindly and casual posture was walking to Allison. “A present for me?” she asked.

“They’re from—”

“Let me see if I can figure it out,” the woman, obviously Jenny, said. She looked at the cap on the bottle and said straight away. “Des... How is he? How did your conversation go, Allison? I’m Jenny.”

“He seemed in fine spirits. Me, less so. I’m not too sure what to make of it. It’s a lot to take in,” Allison said.

“You got straight to serious stuff then, and he sent you to me. Comfortable smokes?” Jenny asked.

Des told Allison that few citizens had even seen tobacco but that certainly didn’t mean it was none. And he did send her to Jenny, telling Allison to talk to her. “I thought they were like sitting in front of a fire, in a cold climate. Drinking mulled wine.”

Jenny smiled and her kindly demeanour spread to the look on her face. “Let me message Des my thanks. You two did have a tough conversation.” She took a smaller than usual conn, but still in rainbow, female colours out of a pocket in her dress and began to type a message, looking up at one point to say, “Old thumbs, very slow.” Eventually she looked up, again, from her conn before stuffing it back in her pocket. “So like sitting in front of a fire... One of your friends coming is female?”

“Yeah, Angie. And Adam is my other friend.”

“Do you think they’re ready to smoke what you smoked with Des?” Jenny asked.

Allison considered it for a few seconds. One did tell her she could, probably that she should smoke what she’d smoked with Angie and Adam. It shouldn’t be a risk, but it seemed as though Jenny had some experience of this and was asking Allison for her own opinion. “I don’t see why...”

Allison’s conn beeped. Jenny indicated for Allison to look at it. It was a message from One. “If Jenny and I ever disagree over something I would suggest giving more weight to her opinion than mine.” Allison laughed.

“One?” Jenny asked.

“Yeah, he said to give more weight to your opinion than his if you two disagreed.”

Jenny made a soft ‘Hmmm,’ looking weary but satisfied. “He’s still deferring to me then. Although thankfully it was only to give my opinion more ‘weight.’” Allison felt confused by this, and it obviously showed. Jenny quickly said, “What One is to you, I was to One. Now retired. We go back to just getting old. I don’t think One is there yet, but there’s a few approaching it. One will have been pleased with you. It’ll encourage him. He’s a lifer, I think.”

Allison thought about the implications of what Jenny had said. “There’s more Ones than One?” she asked.

“It’s a rare job, not the rarest but quite rare. And very necessary, more than most. At least we think so.”

“Does that mean I’ll someday..?”

“No, you might find something else you want to do. You might get bored. Or tired. Maybe you’ll want to run a business. That’s fine. Are you a citizen or voter?”

Allison had been surprised by a lot of things so far that day but that question surprised her the most. “A citizen, of course.”

“Not necessarily,” Jenny said. “It doesn’t always work that way. I presume if you’re here Des told you the story with laws.”

“That they’re not as strict as is made out? I kind of figured that out myself.”

Jenny laughed. It was a youthful laugh. “How?”

“Well, partly it was the smoke I had with Des. I lit it up in his apartment without checking if that was allowed. It just made sense. Then I thought—which I’m sure was partly the effect of the tobacco—if I’m allowed to do this there’s a lot more going on than there appears to be.”

Jenny’s smile grew wide. “You’re on the accelerated path. I can understand why, given the ruling today. How did One find you?”

“I slept in a workshop of his. I guess it is a workshop... I'd left a party because I don’t like sleeping near them but was too far from where I was staying at the time. Which was last night, I suppose. Today seems like... I don’t know... Anyway... I guess I knew I was breaking some laws, and it seems everyone is, and no-one really gets in trouble. Not if they don’t talk about it all over the place. Which is why people don’t know how flexible they are, I guess?”

Jenny rubbed at her hands like they were hurting. “The random bed, and I assume it was a single bed, in a lab, is a tough route to work, but if it pays off it pays off big. I’m happy for him. Now these friends of yours, they’re OK to smoke what you smoked with Des?”

“I think so,” Allison said.

“Good! They can have their first smoke here, which I think is a first for this place, and you can smoke something of mine,” Jenny said, as she was pulling a number of ashtrays out from beneath the bar. “And I’ll put these behind here.” She took the six packs of beer off the counter and rested them on the shelf behind her. “Did One tell you you could share your smokes with them?”

Allison nodded. “What he gave me, yeah. And what’d I’d smoked with clients.” Although she felt there was something strange to this, from the simple fact Jenny had asked her the question, yet another question about smoking with Angie and Adam.

“Extremely accelerated path... Anyway, this looks like them,” Jenny said, nodding towards Allison’s friends, who were walking in, looking confused until they spotted Allison. They approached her cautiously. “Sit up on the seats, Angie, Adam. I’m Jenny. You’re going to have your first smoke.”

“You’re in safe hands, really. I promise,” Allison said.

Angie and Adam sat themselves up on the seats at either side of Allison and leant up against the counter. “Am I going to turn into a plant?” Adam asked. Allison could smell alcohol on his breath.

“You two have been drinking?” Allison said.

“He’s been worrying his pants off, I even offered him a handjob if it’d calm him down,” Angie said.

“I can give you a handjob if you’d prefer, Adam,” Allison said. At this point she genuinely didn’t care. She was too tired to care, and it’d be just like what she did to herself anyway. What did it matter if it was someone else’s penis? Then she thought of Robert, very quickly, for the briefest of moments.

Adam sat straight back in his seat. “It’s highly unlikely you’ll turn into a plant. Don’t worry,” Jenny said.

“Allison turned into a woman!” Adam said. “Handjobs? Fucking hell...” He shook his head.

“What she had was so much more powerful than what you’ll be having. It’s not a concern. You don’t have to be a woman unless you want to be,” Jenny said.

“What!?” Adam said. “It’s—” but he was cut off by Allison patting him on his thigh. For some reason he put his hand down on top of hers, then she turned hers over and held his. He seemed to begin to breathe a little easier.

Jenny took two of the beer bottles Allison had brought and put them in the quick chiller, dialling in a temperature, then readied four glasses, putting one out in front of each of them. After that it was just a case of dividing one of the chilled bottles up between the four of them, and topping up the glasses a little, but not to full, with the second. The liquid was black, with a thin, brownish-white foam head. Not a thick one like on the beer Allison had earlier.

Adam squeezed Allison’s hand. “What’s that?” he asked.

“Beer,” Jenny said. “You’ve never had one like this. And not one this strong. You’ll probably enjoy it.”

“Isn’t this—”

“Who cares?” Allison said, knowing he was about to say ‘illegal for women.’

Angie bumped her shoulder against Allison’s. “Good woman,” she said.

“Go on,” Allison said to Adam. He glared at her but reached out and picked up the glass, then took a small taste. “Are you a plant now?”

“It’s not bad,” Adam said.

“It’s really good for women, too. Almost medicine for us,” Jenny said, and she smiled at Allison and Angie.

“WHAT THE FUCK!?!” Adam’s eyes nearly popped out of his head.

“Well, the weaker version, typically. I think Allison probably had some. A little bit of it anyway, in its regular form. It has some nutritional value to it that can be of benefit to a lot of women. When I was your age men used to offer it to us on that basis. It’s true as far as I know, according to some doctors and the chefs I’ve talked to. But none of the men I knew who drank it turned into women. So you’re fine. It’s not as trendy any more, I rarely have people order it...” Jenny said, sighing.

Allison and Angie both picked up their glasses, and took a taste, while Jenny followed them. “This is really nice. Thick. Like syrup, but not sickly. There’s a bite, and some sweetness,” Angie said. Allison nodded.

“You ready for our smoke, Allison? Show these two not to be worried.” Jenny held out a rollie to Allison, that she took from a tin with a reddish label on it on the counter, and a lighter. Taking it Allison lit the rollie and inhaled. “How do you feel? What’s that rollie like?” Jenny asked.

Allison gave it a few seconds to come into its own, then said, “Relaxed. Like before. There’s some of what’s in Angie and Adam’s smokes, or what they will smoke, in there...” Jenny nodded. “And something else, I’m not sure.”

“Taste your beer again,” Jenny said.

Allison picked her beer up and tasted. “Oh wow! That’s... A lot! I don’t have words for the tastes I’m getting. There’s so many of them... No... A few, but they’re moving.”

Jenny had pulled another tin from beneath the counter. She handed a rollie each to Angie and Adam along with lighters. “Your turn. Just like in the movies,” she said.

Both Angie and Adam held the rollies to their lips, with the element lighters before them. Allison didn’t know which one of them to look at but her decision was made when she saw the smoke rise from Angie’s rollie first.

Angie slowly exhaled a plume of smoke as she closed her eyes and held them shut, and after a few moments said, “Yeah...”

“What’s it like, Angie?” Adam asked.

Angie took another drag, eyes still closed, and repeated the process all over along with the same slow exhale. Then she took a deep breath through her nose. “It’s nice... I feel... Nice.” She opened her eyes and laid the rollie in the ashtray, then closed her eyes and took a deep inhale through her nose again.

“OK, wow,” Adam said, and, with an exaggerated certainty in his movement, movement that betrayed his bravado, lit his rollie.

Except Adam didn’t exhale after a few seconds. He did close his eyes, and the hand that was just before his mouth fell and bounced off the bar. His chin dropped to his chest. Allison also held her breath until he finally exhaled, with no smoke coming out. Allison took the rollie that was about to fall from his fingers into her grip as Jenny laughed. “That’s sweet,” she said.

“Is he OK? Will he fall off the chair?” Allison asked.

“What do you think?” Jenny said. Allison looked at Adam. He was breathing slowly, but he wasn’t wobbly, he wasn’t even really slumped in the chair. He just looked relaxed. His breaths were patient and purposeful. “Are you up to date on your first aid, Sue?” Jenny called out.

“He’s more likely to be dancing. Soon, anyway. Not needing the recovery position,” Sue said, smiling. “We’ve seen a lot worse, Allison, don’t worry.”

“Yeah, he just looks really relaxed,” Allison said. “But I’m glad I didn’t do this with them on my own. Thank you, Jenny. And you, Sue!”

“First time always hits hard,” Sue said.

“Now taste some of Adam’s smoke,” Jenny said. She inclined her head towards the smouldering rollie of Adam’s Allison held.

Allison took a drag of it. She tasted something more to it than before, but she wasn’t quite sure what it was, so she took a drag of the rollie Jenny had given her, the one that made the beer more complex. When she dragged on Adam’s rollie again, she realised something, instantly.

She placed Adam’s rollie in the ashtray in front of him, where he could get it if he wanted. She looked up at Jenny. “Those... What Angie and Adam are smoking... Those are the same as the brown rollie One gave me. Earlier. When I knew... When I realised who I am. Not as strong, though. Not near as strong, but the same. And they're the same as with Des, the weaker version.”

“These are the base of everything we do, you do. It’s foundational. The original modern form of tobacco once we made it not-dangerous, except sometimes to the psyche. One gave you another smoke before he gave you the brown one?”

“Yeah, it cleared my head. It was fuzzy from a hangover, I think,” Allison said.

“It can clear your head, some people will have no reaction, some people will get agitated. Lots of things can happen, but it is extremely safe. It’s typically the first rollie you give to anyone you’re not certain has smoked before so you can gauge from their reaction what they’re capable of handling. You’ll learn how to judge it.”

Allison took a drink of the dark beer on the counter as Jenny did. “So I should really have given what One gave me first to Adam and Angie,” Allison said. “Why didn’t One tell me?”

“How many brown rollies did you smoke, do you know?” Jenny asked, brow a little furrowed, or maybe it was just a squint in one eye.

“Just the one, I think. One said it was one of the easiest whatever-he-was-doing he’s done.”

Jenny shrugged. “If it was easy he probably sees a lot in you, he wants to throw you in at the deep end. See how you cope, what questions you ask. What you learn. I might have done the same. I have done it with a few people. Sometimes it’s a success, sometimes there’s setbacks. It doesn’t matter. People try their best, and if something happens someone more senior—or many someones—will step in and recover things. No-one has ever had life altering issues for as long as anyone has been talking to me about this.”

Allison laughed at the lack of life altering issues. “Yeah,” she said, dismissively. “No-one’s had their life changed. Not in a serious, never-heard-of-before way.”

Jenny shook her head and smiled a smile that revealed a vibrancy to her Allison hadn’t noticed before. It wasn’t the playfulness she had with Adam, it was something else. “You would have been fine with these two. But I can definitely see you causing trouble. Maybe not for yourself, but a headache for others. Some of the numbers...” Jenny said. “Personally I can’t wait. The new generation is far too cocky.”

Allison looked at Adam whose eyes were half closed. He held the rollie to his lips and was taking drags but it wasn’t lit. Allison picked up the lighter and held it to the tip until it glowed again with Adam’s inhale. Then she took the rollie from his fingers and set it back into the ashtray.

She turned to Angie, who was happily drinking her beer, the rollie in her ashtray half gone but also extinguished from lack of smoking. “How are you doing, Angie?” Allison asked.

“Good, yeah. Thanks. That smoke was nice. I’m so glad you are who you are. Who you really are! It makes so much sense. I should have figured it out.” Allison smiled and for some reason Angie was smiling serenely. Allison figured it must be the tobacco, then Angie took another drink from her glass. “This beer is amazing,” she said.

Allison looked at the tin her own smoke had come from, the red tin next to the green tin of Angie and Adam’s relaxing smokes; the foundational tobacco; Allison’s the tobacco that made the beer feel alive.

Allison looked at Jenny.

“What do you think?” Jenny responded, understanding the question on Allison’s face.

“Yes... It would be good,” Allison said. “Can I?” Jenny shrugged. Allison opened the red tin and took out a rollie. She held it out to Angie. “Try this one, Angie” she said.

Angie swallowed the beer in her mouth. “I’m OK, really. I’ll take things slowly, for now. I prefer the beer, anyway,” Angie said. “There are times I feel I could do with one of those smokes, but not right now.”

Allison smiled. “You’ll really like this one, I promise. Will you try it? For me? If you don’t want more after your first bit I’ll smoke it.”

“OK. But I’ll really like it? Really, really?” Angie said, looking doubtful. Allison nodded and Angie took it, held it to her lips and lit it. A few seconds later she looked quizzically at Allison. “I don’t feel anything. Not more than the first one.”

“OK. I got it wrong. I’m sorry, I’m new at this. Go back to your beer.”

Angie consolingly rubbed Allison’s shoulder as she took a sip of the beer. Angie froze. She took another sip, then a drag of the rollie she’d just put down in the ashtray and another sip of the beer.

Her head snapped around to Allison, with her eyes locked on Allison’s eyes. “You amazing bitch! Fuck me!! I love you!” She took another sip of her beer and tilted her head back as she held the beer she now completely adored in her mouth.

Allison spotted Sue carrying what looked like two boards towards them. “Ladies,” she said, placing two large platters filled meats, cheeses, nuts, olives, pickles, breads, oils, and vinegars down in front of Angie and Allison.

“This is the fucking best day of my life. This is better than sex! Fuck me!” Angie said, taking a deep breath. “How am I this lucky?”

“How are you this lucky, Allison?” Sue asked. “You get your first personal client, on your first day?”

“Personal client?” Allison asked.

“You discovered what Angie loves. She’s your client. Taste is a common one but her reaction? It’s a particularly strong one. There’s no going back from this,” Sue said with a laugh. “Luckily for her she’s your support. She won’t have to pay for it.”

“Did you know it’d work like this?” Allison asked. “You had the food ready to go.”

“The food would have happened anyway, and I had an idea she’d smoke what you did. That you’d see it in her. The way she described the beer when she tasted it was fun... No idea she’d be so into taste though.” Sue shrugged. “You did well. You have good friends. And you’re going to have a lot of fun with him too.”

Allison looked at Adam and saw him smiling, bouncing his head to himself. She kept watching a man in a seeming reverie where he picked up the rollie, only half smoked at this point, lit it with the lighter and took the smallest of drags, all while remaining smiling, with his eyes shut. Then he put both lighter and rollie back down.

“Yeah,” Allison said, smiling too. “They’re good friends. How are you doing, Angie?”

“This is... I can’t believe it,” she said, as she picked up an olive and bit into before moaning in pleasure. “Can you get me more of these smokes?”

Jenny laughed. “This is a present from us. From me and Sue,” Jenny said as she slid the red tin towards Angie, with a lighter on top. “I think they’ll be in tins labelled 1 in your bag, Allison. The ones you and Des smoked, the same as the ones your friends smoked first, are labelled 0. Colours can sometimes change. Brown smokes are brown though.”

Angie was nibbling at cheese like a mouse when she stopped and rested her hand down. “We can only smoke in Allison’s apartment, and they don’t really allow food out of the mess halls. I’m not sure how often I need these?” She tapped her nail on the tin of rollies.

“Come back here any time you want. Any of you three, with each other or on your own. You can smoke here. If you want to eat some food here we can arrange more than the platters. It’s a privilege of being a smoker, which you are now. It costs credits, quite a few, though, and you might not want to spend them. You have plans to open a business when you’re old enough?” Jenny asked.

“I’m always thinking,” Angie said. “No firm plans.”

“Saving credits is important, you might get a plan for something. Does Allison understand that given her ‘new-ness?’” Sue asked.

“I dunno,” Angie said. Then she turned to Allison. “There are ways to get most of anything as a woman. Not some stuff like taking food to your apartment if it’s an official, registered apartment, or an official floor. That’s for parties on unsecured floors, but you know that... But most women want to own a business or do something ‘bigger’ when they’re old enough, so we save. Men are stupid enough to pay for anything you want... If you give a little in return.” Angie laughed, and so did Jenny and Sue.

“Yeah... Socially acceptable prostitution,” Allison said, rolling her eyes.

“A little, yes... If men stopped offering women would eventually get horny enough to have sex just because. We do want sex, most of us,” Angie said, then laughed again. “They’re not that smart, though.” Then she was laughing so much her shoulders were going up-and-down, up-and-down. Sue and Jenny were grinning.

Allison shook her head. “This is all bullshit,” she said. “I don’t know why things are like this!”

“Have you told her about libraries?” Jenny asked.

“Yeah, there are libraries. Filled with fiction like from when we were in school. Much, much better fiction though. I’ll take you to one. You’ll like it,” Angie said.

“Is this another ‘women only’ thing?” Allison asked.

Sue shook her head, now back behind the bar. “No. If you know a man who says he’d love to read fiction again, like in school, invite him to one. There’s a few male members of libraries, especially older men.”

“What’s the catch? There’s always a fucking catch, I’m finding!” Allison said.

Jenny laughed, then Angie said, “There’s junior and senior libraries. Junior libraries you just join. To get into senior libraries you have to write something they think is worthy. I’m a senior member in a few branches.”

“Did you check out this level’s library, Angie?” Sue asked.

Angie took her smoke away from her mouth, and said, “Philosophy? According to my conn... I’m not sure what that is. I have vague memories from school, but that wasn’t fiction.” As she spoke smoke came out of her mouth and once she stopped speaking she took a quick sip of her beer, then stuffed a thin slice of salami in her gob, relishing it.

“Just ideas about how the world works, how societies work, what makes people who they are, and what people are. You and Allison should check it out, especially you Allison. And get her to join a general library, Angie. I think she’ll like fiction,” Jenny said.

“Because I’m a woman?” Allison asked, starting to get annoyed.

Sue sighed and looked annoyed as well, at Allison, but Jenny didn’t look any different. She simply said, “When you described your smoke with Des you said you thought of it as ‘like sitting in front of a fire, drinking mulled wine in a cold climate.’ That’s a rather writerly turn of phrase. It’s certainly not sterile and dry.”

Allison guffawed. “Sterile and dry? Yeah? Like the encyclopedia I don’t have access to?”

Angie laughed. “We have most of that; not completely up to date. There’s a lot of rubbish in it, especially about women. Written by men, I’d guess.”

“I’m so sick of this!” Allison said. “Why is there all this ‘hiding things?’”

Sue was no longer looking annoyed. “Join the philosophy library, you might find some answers to that,” she said.

Allison shrugged and reached for one of the 0 smokes, the foundational smokes. The calming smokes. “Yeah, less obfuscation but instead more work to find out things.” She lit the smoke and inhaled. It didn’t do a huge amount of good, but some.

Jenny had poured a beer from one of the taps nearby and placed it in front of Allison. A regular beer like Allison would have bought before. “Did you think life would be easy?” Jenny asked. “It can be if you want. It is for many people.”

Allison took a drag from the smoke. A drag which helped more than the first one, then took a sip of the beer. “No. I don’t want that. It’s just so new, and aggravating.”

Everyone nodded, and Allison accepted it. It was all new. Then Adam spoke up, interrupting the quietness of people contemplating 'the new and aggravating' to say, “Thank you so much, Allison. That was amazing. Just wow! I feel so great. I love you to bits, really.” Allison looked at him and he was nodding to himself. Sure of something. Allison thought he looked sure of himself.

“You can live an easy life if you want,” Jenny said. “There’s no shame in that. If it makes you happy that’s all that matters.”

Allison nodded at Jenny, then turned to Adam. “Drink your beer and eat some food, Adam. And thank you.”

“Yeah, no problem,” Adam said. “The food looks great.” He reached for the platter Allison had slid to him and began to dig in.

Sue placed three chocolate bars down in front of each of them. “When you want to try the tasting smokes again, the 1s. Another day. Try the chocolate beforehand, especially you, Angie, then have a smoke and eat a little bit more of the chocolate. And please come back to me at some point and tell me what the food you have tomorrow was like, don’t smoke your smokes tomorrow, really, believe me on that. I have to get back to work, it’s finally starting to pick up.”

Allison looked around and the bar was a little more filled, people were smoking, but now that they saw Sue was ready to serve, and not be dealing with three new customers, one or two were standing to approach the bar for drinks.

“Why was it so quiet? It’s a Saturday night. Isn’t that the busiest time for bars? Do older people smoke and drink later at night?” Allison said.

“Oh! You’ll like this!” Angie said.

Jenny laughed and shook her head. “Don’t tell her, let me...” Jenny pulled her conn out of her pocket. She showed it to the three of them and there was what appeared to be a movie on it, but it was short, and it repeated when you clicked on it. None of them had seen that on a conn ever. Allison, especially, hadn’t seen what it played.

It featured a few clips—probably from security cameras—of women getting piggyback rides from men, their arms wrapped around the man’s neck, their unworn shoes held by their hands, dangling against the man’s chest.

Every few seconds a man, with a woman on his back, would hop, and dart ahead. A few were even twirling. They all looked like they were having the best of fun. There were people, of all ages, standing outside bars, with drinks, smiling, and occasionally cheering as they watched.

“That’s your doing,” Angie said to Allison.

“Biggest trend the station has seen in a while,” Jenny said, smiling. “Next weekend the doctors and carers will be working overtime with the injuries. If they're not already busy tomorrow with back strains. The age of some of those people! Lots of days off work, unwell...” Jenny laughed.

Allison groaned and said, “It was all Robert.”

“That’s a point!” Angie said, with glee. “What do you think of Robert? Did you tell me what you two got up to in that room? Probably not considering I’d remember if you did, I hope. Today has been weird. Come on, tell all!”

Then they all talked, and chatted, and drank beers. Adam even seemed more easy-going. When the platters were gone they were ready to leave, accepting it had been a long, long day. Jenny said she’d store Allison’s beers in the bar, and told Allison she had eight left to drink; this despite Des’s instructions one of the six packs was for Jenny. Jenny only wanted two beers. The rest waited for Allison, with her name on them.

On the way to Allison’s apartment, while Angie insisted that Doctor Grace’s instructions to watch Allison for the next day or two meant both of them sleeping in the double bed in Allison's spare room, Adam gave Angie her first piggyback ride. Allison agreed that Angie, having a steed, was a powerful knight and she couldn’t argue with the logic that she needed to be watched by a respected and knowledgable noble.

Which was the end of everything, with everyone quickly tucked into bed. Adam asleep within seconds of arriving to his own apartment.

Except Allison kept waking during the night, or at least half awake, pain growing. Her moans and groans eventually waking Angie, early in the morning. Angie messaged Doctor Grace, seeing how much pain Allison was in, and how much sweating Allison was doing.

Doctor Grace said to leave Allison sleep as long as she could, and if she made it to late morning still asleep to rouse her then. Then to ask Allison some questions and contact her if concerned.

Angie dragged a chair from the living room into the bedroom. And she sat watching Allison.

And Angie worried.

Allison’s first day as Allison involved a discovery about herself—Allison suddenly becoming a former ‘himself’—along with new medication helping Allison in being that new ‘herself.’ And a new job; one she’d never heard of before. It ended with her falling asleep next to her friend Angie. The same Angie who became Allison’s first personal client in her new employment, after Allison found her a tobacco that improves taste; suiting Angie’s desires perfectly. Now Angie fears it’s time for the favours and friendship to trade host again; Angie having spotted Allison is sleeping through a deep pain.

Allison’s pain could be down to the tobacco but Angie fears it’s down to the effect of the feminising medication. Could this change in Allison—through medical science—be something Allison’s body can’t handle? Is it something her body is rejecting? No-one Angie knows has even heard of such changes being possible. Has medicine gone too far?

---

Angie had left Allison’s apartment on the secure floor, and been back to her own apartment to get dressed in fresh clothes, and to shower. She’d also picked up some medications in case Allison needed them. She had bottles of water, one of the few things allowed in legitimately provided apartments, for the buckets Allison had sweated out. She hoped it was simply a hangover, but was equally was certain it wasn’t. She knew it was worse. And she feared something disastrous for the woman Allison wanted to be.

After hours of pacing, sitting, examining the clothes Allison inherited, hunting for more, finding the bathroom had actual water in the shower as well as the bath—albeit one with no water—sitting again, and standing again, and repeating that forty, fifty, sixty times, and trying to read, and slowly sipping water it reached late enough in the morning it was time to wake the new woman in pain. It was Dr. Grace’s instructions and that’s what Angie was there for.

She held onto Allison’s shoulder, through the tangle of the duvet around her, and shook her. Gently at first, then harder. Just as she was worried she wouldn’t be able to wake Allison Allison let out a loud groan, with some mumbled words behind it.

“Come on, Allison,” Angie said. “You need to wake. I need to check you. Are you OK?”

Allison made another groan and this time muttered something on the borders of intelligible.

“Please, Allison. Wake up for me!” Angie said, a slight hint of desperation in her voice.

Allison scrunched up her face and said, “I feel awful.” At least she said it ‘just-about.’ Then she groaned again. “Awful!” she said, slowly forcing herself upright, rubbing at her eyes then down her body, and placing her feet on the carpeted floor.

Angie sat next to her and handed her a bottle of water. Allison opened it and drank it back as quickly as she could manage. “It’s not a hangover...” Allison said, feeling like she could cry, or wail.

“Explain it to me,” Angie said.

Allison rubbed the inside of both wrists against her chest feeling some relief with the pressure. “I need to message Dr. Grace,” she said.

Angie stood and picked up Allison’s conn, handing it over. Allison messaged Dr. Grace as much as she could. “There’s something wrong. The medicine... I need to talk to you.” Although she wasn’t certain quite how she spelled everything. Then she tried to stand.

Angie helped and when Allison was fully standing Angie saw the navy, cotton nightdress Allison wore, with straps down, off her shoulders, was completely soaked through.

“You need to take that off. It’s like you just got out of a pool.” Angie already had some towels on the floor and bent to pick them up, handing them to Allison, who tiredly, and with moans, let the nightdress drop off her. She began to dry herself.

Angie immediately noticed the area around Allison’s nipples was slightly puffy.

Angie left Allison to dry and took the double duvet off the bed, turning it over, hanging it over the side she’d slept on, and onto the floor to hopefully air out. Looking at the side Allison slept on the bed was verging on sodden.

Allison’s conn began to ring. Allison picked it up, answering, and heard Dr. Grace’s voice fill the room. “What’s wrong, Allison?” she asked. “Explain it to me.” There wasn’t a hint of annoyance to her tone at such a sudden message from Allison, or the need to miss out on another day of her weekend.

“The medication you gave me...” Allison said, as she reached for another bottle of water, opening it. “It’s the areas, you know, that you said. The main ones. It’s not a little pain, it’s a lot. A whole lot.”

Allison took a drink of the fresh bottle of water.

“What about your bones?” Dr. Grace said. “Any pain there?”

“No,” Allison said. She let out another moan of pain.

“Think about it, really go over your body. Anywhere; legs, arms, chest, torso, toes, even fingers. Anywhere..? Is the main pain masking any pain in your bones?”

Allison closed her eyes and held the towel to her chest, mentally cataloguing areas of her body, moving her arms a little as her mind swept across herself. “No. I’m fairly sure, but my chest really hurts, my breasts, I guess, but not my nipples. I don’t know if I could feel pain in my sternum. There’s none in ribs or anything like that, or anywhere not where you mentioned yesterday. Definitely, I’m sure...”

“Have you taken any medication?”

“She’s just had water,” Angie said. “I have the two standard medications you said to get but I haven’t given her any.”

Allison turned to look at Angie, who was looking back at her.

“Sweating?” Dr. Grace asked.

“She won’t be able to sleep in her bed tonight, not without a fresh duvet. The mattress won’t dry. But it’s a double, so one of us can sleep on the dry side the other can sleep in the single.”

“Don’t worry about that. I’ll sort that,” Dr. Grace said. “Allison, can you look at yourself in a mirror. Completely naked. Tell me if you see any difference.”

Allison nodded her confirmation and walked with her conn to her single-bed bedroom.

“We’re going to the room with the mirror,” Angie said, knowing Dr. Grace couldn’t see Allison’s nod.

Allison laid her conn down on the single bed and looked at her reflection. “I don’t know...”

“A good look, really look. Everywhere! It’s important.”

Allison slowly slid down her underwear and let it drop to the floor, seeing a male body in the mirror. Sure, it was a body with no hair apart from on her head, which was in a female style, along with her eyebrows, but it was undoubtedly a male body. It didn’t reflect her experience of the day prior at all.

Not only did she feel pain in that moment, but a pain that emphasised her hurt; an emotional hurt.

“I don’t look right,” Allison said. “My body is wrong. I don’t want to look at it.”

“Angie?” Dr. Grace said.

Angie looked over Allison’s shoulder and into the mirror. “I’ve already noticed her nipples are a little puffy. A couple of months into puberty, maybe. Maybe a little longer? Her stomach is more feminine, the placement of fat. Her penis looks, well, sad. Like it’s given up on life.”

“Good...” Allison said, lowly.

“What was that?” Dr. Grace asked, as Angie put her arm around Allison.

“That’s all, Dr. Grace,” Angie said.

“Are you certain about the bones? And how do you feel about temperature? How’s your sweating?”

“Since I got out of bed it’s been fine, since I dried off. My bones are really OK, I think. It’s just elsewhere.”

“Give me a second...” Dr. Grace said. They all paused for a few moments while Angie pulled the naked Allison tighter into her. “OK. Angie, I’ll message you about the pain, you watch her and keep me up to date. Explain the two medications after the shower. I’ll send some other medicines to a pharmacy, for sleep, for tonight, don’t worry about that. Up to three of the freely available ones every two hours. I’d prefer one of the special friends every four hours, three can be managed, maybe four if really needed but you can imagine what that’d be like if you gave it to a teenager, Angie, can’t you!” Dr. Grace was quite stern and exaggerated when she said that, and Angie laughed. Allison didn’t know what the laugh was for, or why Dr. Grace laughed too.

“Let me do some calculations. Allison, have a shower, you’ll feel better. I checked and I don’t need to approve water. Lucky you! I’ll call again in thirty minutes with what I figure out... Angie, three plus one right now, another plus one after the shower if necessary. As long as you need in the shower Allison! I’ll call back if you’re still in there.

“It’s almost certainly what you’re thinking. The medication is working possibly too well with you. It’s not dangerous. Just painful, at least until the pain medications kick in. Take both. And the heat of the water will help.”

“OK...” Allison said. “I have really nothing to worry about?”

“Message me if you get pains in your skeleton, anywhere,” Dr. Grace said. “And enjoy your shower. Three plus one, Angie.” Then she ended the call.

“Do you I really look more feminine?” Allison asked.

“Yeah...” Angie said. “It’s why you’re in so much pain. It shouldn’t happen this fast, it seems. It was bad enough for me as a teen and I didn’t even have it that difficult. Just the odd few days. Give me a second...”

Angie stood and walked into the living room as Allison sat on the single bad and pulled the duvet around her front. Not so much to hide herself from Angie, more to hide herself from herself.

Angie was back in, with another bottle of water, and some medication dispensers. She clicked three pills out to Allison from one vial, a blue one, and another one from a red dispenser. “Take these. They’ll help. Give it a few minutes then shower.”

Allison swallowed back the medications, hoping they would help, then finished off the rest of her water. She began to rub her legs together, squashing her inner thighs onto her groin, and rubbing her arms against her chest.

“If you need to massage yourself don’t mind about me, I’ll go to another room if you want privacy. And you’ll be in the shower, soon. All by yourself.”

Allison rubbed her wrists against what she figured she’d have to start thinking of as breasts, as she said to Angie, “It’s OK. I saw you smoking, and Adam, I guess we’re really all in this together. You and me, me and you... Us and Adam.”

Angie rubbed Allison’s shoulder. “Yeah, we are. I’ve never had a friend like you.”

After a few minutes Allison was in the shower; for a long time; through one of Dr. Grace’s calls, Allison assumed. Eventually, she knew, she had to get out.

She was already dry, from the dryer in the shower, and Angie had readied a light robe for her, to cover her.

“How was it?” Angie asked.

Allison looked a little panicked.

“Did you enjoy it?” Angie asked.

Allison knew exactly what Angie was getting at.

“Are you in pain?”

“No...” Allison said, timidly.

“How many times?” Angie asked, laughing.

Allison held three fingers up. Angie was throwing her head back in uproar.

“Without a break,” Allison whined. “I could just keep going! I had to stop because I was exhausted!”

“You’re not a twenty year old unleashed on the world, you’re a teenager! We’ll have to keep you away from men! FROM ONE LEG SPREADER! OH WOW!!” Angie shrieked.

“Leg spreader!?” Allison said, eyes nearly falling out of her head. “What did you give to me? You and that doctor!!”

Angie broke out laughing, again. “Nothing you haven’t had before. They just work slightly differently on women. Upsides and downsides.”

“How did you..?”

Angie looked peaceful. “They really are the same as before, the blue ones help with pain. The red ones intensify their effects, target them. They work in combination. The red ones, though, for women, can make you a little, well... Horny?” Angie laughed. “You though! Three times!? Without interruption! From one! No wonder you spent so long in there! How was it?”

“I could do it all over again!” Allison said, with a sigh. And some fear at herself. What she was suddenly capable of! “If my arms weren’t so tired!”

“Most women just take one if they want to enjoy a few hours of perving at men when they’re bored. Three times!?! I’ll have to stay close to you! It’s so good you can’t get pregnant! Three times!!!”

Allison’s conn began to ring. Angie still kept laughing all while Allison answered. “Is Angie laughing for a reason, Allison?”

“You know full well why,” Allison said, grumpily.

“Did you enjoy it? Do you feel better?” Dr. Grace asked.

“Yes, and yes,” Allison said, feeling small.

“Were you erect?” Dr. Grace asked.

“Sort of, but not completely.”

“Fluids?”

“A little... With the first one...” Allison said.

“How many times?” Dr Grace asked, fully forcing every bit of embarrassment out of Allison.

“Is all this relevant?” Allison snapped.

“Yes, it is! I’m not trying to make you feel ashamed. Worse is to come, Angie can tell you what I’ve had to do with her.”

“Three times...” Allison said, cringing. “Without stopping.”

Dr. Grace let out a ‘hmm’ and said, “That’s about what I expected, at least according to the records. As you might have figured out your feminising injection is working quite quickly. As long as the medication for your bone structure doesn’t cause pain you’ll be fine. I’ll make an appointment for you for Thursday, to see me. The pain should have significantly reduced from its peak then.”

“What do you mean from ‘its peak?’” Allison asked, knowing, now, this wasn’t the worst of it.

“Tomorrow will probably be worse, at least when you wake. If you feel little pain now then three plus two should work, or three plus three. Angie, watch her tomorrow, as well. You’re with her for another week. I saw your apartment has a bath, which makes sense for the floor it’s on, but I’m having difficulty approving water for tomorrow. It’ll help more than a shower when you need it most. I have my supervisor working on it. He says it’ll be approved by this evening, it’s just paperwork. Is it a big bath?”

“Friend sized,” Angie said, excitedly.

“What?” Allison asked.

“For fun with friends, usually male friends, but if Dr. Grace doesn’t object I have a bathing suit. Unless you want to take some leg spreaders and get frisky with me, Allison. I’ve never tried it with a woman in a bath,” Angie said, making squeezing motions at Allison.

Dr. Grace laughed. “I assume you’ve discovered massage helps with the pain. I’m not advising against it, at least medically, anyone’s hands are as good as your own. So yes, if it has bubbles even better, get some candles. Hop in the tub with Angie. Neither of you can get pregnant, and neither of you can make anyone pregnant. I can’t believe you’re getting me talking about this, Angie, you’re unbelievable.”

“Could we get a bottle—” Angie began, but was quickly cut off by Dr. Grace.

“Will you stop doing that? I’m the doctor! If you walk, and I will check tomorrow, I’ll approve a bottle of wine for the apartment for the evening. You have to walk, regularly, it’ll help. Especially because I’m giving you full dining privileges, both of you. Use them, and walk. Don’t spend the day in bars and restaurants ogling people or having fun. It’s medically necessary for Allison to eat well and I need you watching her, Angie. And making sure she does everything she’s supposed to...”

Allison was confused by this. She’d never heard of ‘full dining privileges.’ “What does that mean?” she asked Dr. Grace. “Dining privileges?”

“You can eat and drink like a man, no need to convince anyone to buy you anything. You could spend the entire day going from place to place having whatever full meal you wanted, if you wanted. Don’t do that but do eat, whatever you can manage. You need the energy, Allison! You’ll be burning through it, and I’d imagine if you don’t eat in the next ninety minutes or so you’ll begin to feel pain again, rather than in about three hours. Angie doesn’t need the food, but I’m not going to force her to watch you dining out, am I?”

Angie snort-laughed. “This is why you’re the best, Dr. Grace!”

Allison sat down on the bed, crossing her legs with one slipping out from between her belted robe. “So what do I have to do? Exactly.”

“Eat, rest, walk. That’s all you have to do until you see me on Thursday. Angie can fill you in better on how to fill your day doing that. The pain will be worse tomorrow, three plus two. Three every two hours and two ‘pluses’ every four hours, if needed. By tomorrow evening—I’d imagine—you’ll be smaller in some areas and larger in others. Tuesday morning at the latest. You’ll not have erections any more but I don’t think you’ll mind. I’ll send you some toys. They’re waterproof... All this is reversible, if you really come to hate it. I don’t think you will. Allow yourself to enjoy this, it’s special.”

Angie wasn’t laughing at any of this, simply rubbing Allison’s shoulder. “I’m taking her to a library today.”

“That’s a good place to rest, a good book might get your mind off things. Eat, walk, rest. Mix it all up. Reading a book is a good way to relax. You can drink, but don’t go crazy. When I say rest the more relaxed you are about everything the better you’ll do, at least mentally. You have nothing to worry about. The relaxed bit will help with being a teenager; a teenager hormonally and what it’ll do to you mentally,” Dr. Grace said.

“Oh, no!” Angie said.

“Sorry, Angie. How was Allison’s moods before yesterday? Before the court ruling, and all of what happened?”

“Better than most,” Angie said. “Not crazy like a man. Which makes sense, now.”

“She could be fine then. Some deal with the mental aspect of puberty with few enough issues. And she’s older, and maybe a little wiser..?”

“What about smoking, Dr. Grace?” Allison asked.

“I didn’t know citizens could smoke,” Dr. Grace said. “Cigars or cigarettes?”

“Yeah...” Allison said, realising she might not be able to reveal what she did with tobacco to Dr. Grace. “Both, either? It’s not well known but there are a few places. I guess it’s part of everything since yesterday.”

“OK... It shouldn’t be an issue. Tobacco hasn’t been an issue in a long, long time. Certainly in nothing I’ve read about it. Just eat, walk, rest, and relax. Get shoes for walking if you have to, please don’t break an ankle.”

“We know just the store, Dr. Grace! And with Allison discovering some new things about herself with the spreaders it’ll be easy to convince a man to buy her something. Especially on that level.”

“Fuck off!” Allison said.

“OK, you’re back to normal then... As normal as can be. Angie, keep me updated. Allison, walk, rest, eat. Please! And eat first. Within the next hour and a half. Whatever you feel like. And if your bones begin to hurt you message! Straight away. If your bones begin to hurt you immediately message me! I will decide what happens then.” With a final warning another talk with Doctor Grace was over.

Allison found herself lying back on the single bed, simply breathing, as she heard Angie leave. She finally had some peace as she counted inhale and exhale, then just let herself feel the breaths. It was almost like she’d had one of the calming smokes. Or maybe it was that her pain had left her. Or maybe it was being told she was OK, and not dying? Or all this wouldn’t have to stop...

Then she thought about the pain, and where it was focused. As she did she thought of Robert. She quickly stopped thinking about Robert realising the effect it was having on her. She tried to think of less handsome, friendly, extremely fucking hot and sexy things she wanted. For some reason her mind went to Adam, who was just goofy.

She laughed; a small, low chuckle, just for herself. He really was a weirdo and she realised that was why she liked him. Why she’d always liked him. He’d give her crap when she’d do the weird stuff as Patryk, the whole treating women like people thing, but it wasn’t actually a big deal. It wasn’t aggro. It was just, Allison thought on it, it was teasing, really. Other guys thought Patryk was a fuck up. Adam accepted her, and after a shock, yesterday, accepted her again. Then when she saw him smoking she saw how pure he was. How willing he was to embrace things...

Allison sat up in the bed again, thoughts of a sexy Robert far from her mind, and picked up her conn. Where there was actually a message from Robert! “You’ll never believe what happened to me. I’ll meet you later today. You will want to hear this! It has to be because of you. There’s no other explanation.”

She shook her head, having no idea what he was talking about but she knew he wanted to go for a walk with her. He told her that yesterday. To see if she could manage stairs in her new heels. Which she thought about. She wanted to look nice for him.

“Angie... What do I wear today? I’ve never—”

“Already picked out for you, sexy!” Angie called back.

Allison stood and went into her dressing room, wondering how bad the pain would be as she moved about, as clothes pressed on her as she moved about.

A pair of what looked like men’s work dungarees but as a dress that’d come to the top of her knees was hanging up, along with a white skin tight, long sleeved top. There were also a few bras laid out, in various styles and colours. They were the same size as the pair One had found for her so Allison figured the access she’d granted to Angie for her apartment allowed her to go scavenging in the other apartments. Then she realised how early she must have woken Angie. She had vague memories of rolling around and groaning while half awake. Dreams she couldn’t quite clutch onto... Angie could have spent hours worrying about her!

Allison got dressed, again chasing thoughts of what she’d do to Robert out of her mind as she put on her lingerie. Not that she wanted to chase the thoughts from her mind, or him, she had to. She couldn’t spend every moment of her life lusting after him. If that’s what it was... Again she forced those thoughts from her mind.

Then she was dressed, fully, and walking into the double bedroom where Angie was stripping the bed. “Maybe it’ll dry out faster?” Angie said.

“We’ll figure something out,” Allison said. She put on her shoes, and felt good now she was back to a mostly female appearance, the pain still there, just about, but it was more a reminder that everything she was going through had a purpose. Making her who she was supposed to be. And her bones definitely didn’t hurt. “How do I look?”

“A button!” Angie said. Allison didn’t know what Angie was saying. “‘As cute as,’ you doofus!”

“Oh! Thank you! Not sure I believe you, though.”

“Believe what you want!”

Allison sat down on the chair Angie had dragged into the room while she slept, and sipped at another bottle of water. She knew she had to tell One she couldn’t, or shouldn’t, work for the next few days. And that she had a medical question about the tobacco she was smoking. And that she’d already, sort of, let tobacco slip to someone. She had the message typed up and sent.

Angie had the cover off the duvet, and the sheets off the bed, just as the hilarious sound of One’s call was coming to Allison’s conn. It was a public call, again. “Don’t worry about anything,” One said, as soon as Allison answered.

“Angie is here with me, she can hear you.”

“Hello, Angie! How was your smoke?”

“I liked the second one more, One. It’s weird hearing your voice. I thought you’d be really mysterious or something.”

“How do I sound?” One asked.

“Normal. Cheerful,” Angie said.

“Thank you, Angie. So do you. You preferred the tasting smoke? Have you had anything to eat or drink today?”

“Just water. It tastes kind of boring, more than usual. I am hungry though”

“Have some chilled water when you can, before eating, you might get something more from it. No ice if possible—cold from a fridge—in a glass bottle. The bottle gently, and patiently, poured into a glass would be best. No straw. Let Allison know when your taste returns to normal, if you don’t mind.

“Allison, the smokes will have no physical effect whatsoever, don’t worry about that. You know what they do mentally. That’s why you’re working for me. You’re capable. Now who did you tell about them?”

“My doctor... But it wasn’t quite these smokes, she said cigarettes and cigars, like in movies, I think? Surprised citizens could smoke them.”

“What’s her name?”

“Doctor Grace. I can send her ID to you via message if you want?” Allison said, preparing to forward Dr. Grace’s details to One.

“Perfect. Is there something wrong with you? You said you can’t work for a few days.” Allison only heard concern in his voice.

“Is that an issue?” she asked.

“No. Health comes before even our work, but health is often dependent on our work, to a degree. And that’s dependent on happiness, which operates along with health. Jenny told you about the philosophy section... Something to look into. What’s wrong with you, if you can share? If you want to?”

Allison took a deep breath. It was like he was her father; a father to someone in their twenties; someone who no longer should be in need of a father. “The medication to help with what I realised with you, about me, it’s working faster than the doctor expected. It could be painful. Well... It is already.”

One laughed. “You’ll love it. You’ll be who you’re supposed to be faster. Remember the first smoke you had with me, the very first?”

“The test one?” Allison asked.

“Zero-zeroes. Like the zero smoke but a little bit of a devolution, just the advancements of the zero smoke applied retroactively. That’s the closest we have to the original, lethal tobacco. The zeros are the first modern smoke, the closest in lineage to the old stuff.

“The zero-zeroes a little more powerful than what they had back then but with the dangers removed. It’s like a heightened experience of it. It’s similar to what voters smoke, although they’re smoking more for flavour. We smoke it to see how people react. Your reaction was among the best. It cleared your mind of a hangover, and some other things. It means you react well to tobacco, particularly well. Your mind is primed for it.”

Allison was verging on zoning out by the time One finished his statement, then she realised she was rushing ahead of the things he was saying almost knowing them before he said them. At the least recognising them as he said them. “That makes complete sense, One, but why say it?”

“I’ll have some delivered to you. Try not to share that one, unless I tell you it’s for a client. Angie can try it if she wants, she’s already your personal client. Fastest personal client anyone’s ever heard of, even if a little basic. Adam can have some too, but I don’t think you’ll find out much from him about it.

“Angie, tell Allison when your taste goes back to normal, please. Don’t smoke any of the taste ones again before it goes back to normal. It’s not dangerous but it’ll be something Allison will learn from, which is why you’ll have them for free, for life. And Allison, I’m telling you about the zero-zeroes because they might work well with whatever you’re taking for your pain. Try them if you feel like it, it won’t hurt. I’ll hold off on jobs until you’re ready, OK?”

“Thanks One, that helps.”

“I’ll have them delivered to you today. Take your time, and let me know when you’re back. Message me when you want, about anything, I’ll reply as soon as I’m free, or awake from a nap. It’s more important your realisations from the brown smoke are seen through than anything you do for me. Focus on that for as long as you need.”

“OK. I will,” Allison said. “Thank you.” She meant the thanks a huge amount, so much she hadn’t realised until then how grateful she was to One, for what he’d done for her. For bringing out ‘her,’ who she fully felt she was in that moment. And cared for. For One calmly being the voice of authority, whatever it was he was saying. It was simply reassuring to hear from someone who knew. Who didn't have doubts.

One ended the call, and somehow Allison felt everything was OK.

“I have no idea what he was saying,” Angie said. “Although it all was explained with me listening I don’t understand smoking enough. It’s not... I don’t know?”

“I guess that’s why he picked me. I suppose,” Allison said. “You’ll find something, I’m sure.” She took some more of the water and stood. “We should eat, you must be starving.”

Angie looked at Allison with an accusatory look. “You did build up an appetite in me. Where do you want to go? We can go anywhere!”

“No, you’re the one who’s hungry, really hungry, and you looked after me. You should pick.”

Angie shook her head angrily. “Your the idiot who’s unwell! You’re the idiot who needs to eat, so what will you damn well eat?!”

The response burst out of Allison’s mouth; a desire that inflamed the instant Angie called her an idiot. “A disgusting burger! That makes you hate yourself! Sickening! And you’re tempted to go back for another. Your body craves it and your mind can barely hold your body back from getting a second!”

Angie laughed. “I know just the fucking place!”

Allison laughed as well. And felt fine.

###

Angie linked her arm through Allison’s, and steadied her as they began their walk. Allison’s secure apartment floor sent them via a priority elevator until it hit the first close-by destination call on their way. Two men stepped in and stood behind Angie and Allison. Both could feel the two guys edging up on them but thankfully they reached the floor with the restaurant before the men had the chance to make their move, or get touchy, or worse, breathy.

The burger place was a short walk, less a restaurant but not quite a mess hall. More cheap and cheerful, but fun, where you queued to get your food, and the tables were quick and ready with chairs and tables bolted to the exposed deck. It’d make for easier cleaning.

Angie had already primed Allison on what to get if she wanted disgusting, which was a double cheeseburger with bacon, fries, and a cola, however Angie spent a lot longer staring up at the menu illuminated above the serving area. The man behind the counter stared at her as she was still deciding while being served, then she kept adding things to her order, then specified that not only did she want a cola but also the water, exactly how One described.

The man entered all this into the till then held out the scanner for their payment, doubt obvious on his face that Angie and Allison were actually approved for this, and that he was about to call security to remove them when the till indicated, 'Women attempting to hack dining privileges.' Angie blipped her wrist against the scanner and the man was collected enough not to look disappointed when the confirmation went through.

Angie was nigh on drooling as the order was being prepared. Then Angie and Allison carried their trays, Allison’s holding some of Angie’s food, out of necessity, to a two person table; Angie pointing out it’d make it hard for any male ‘visitors’ they might attract, even if it was cramped with all her food.

Allison unwrapped her burger and immediately took a bite out of it, with no hesitation or dignity, more desire, and raw hunger, while Angie prepared her water with precision, pouring carefully and slowly from the glass bottle into a tilted glass held high before her eyes.

Allison’s teeth sunk into the double burger with thin patties and her bite easily slid through everything. It was like chewing on something entirely melted. It was delicious. Her stomach growled at her in appreciation after she swallowed and she reached out for a fry, ate it, then another, then three in one load. The salt in all this was exactly what she needed, she knew, as she took a big, refreshing sip of her cola through the straw.

“Fuuuck me...” Allison moaned. “I needed that so much!” Then she looked at Angie, who sat, ashen faced. “What’s wrong?”

“I’m afraid to taste the water,” Angie said. “It looks so... Beautiful? There was condensation on the glass, and I wiped it away with the napkin and now it looks so clear.”

Angie stared at her glass of water while Allison stared at Angie. It looked as though she was about to cry.

“Taste the water!” Allison said, taking another bite of her burger, wondering why she felt no lingering effects of the taste smoke.

“I will!” Angie whined, as Allison loaded her mouth with more fries.

“I’m well into my meal and you’re looking at water! Taste it! There’s a reason One said to start with it. Trust him!” Allison realised, in that moment, she should trust One. More than she did already. In a way he was comforting, for her, in her newness. The man who brought her to where she was, happy, albeit in a little pain. And eating a filthy, digusting burger she adored. One was special, and more than she could fathom. One was someone she could, and should, share with people.

Angie picked up the glass and took a sip of the water, no straw. Her eyes closed. Then they opened again like she’d had an encounter with some being from another universe; not focused on anything but seeing entire galaxies.

“Well?” Allison asked.

“It tastes like I’m on a planet. An actual planet! Natural! Like I’ve drunk water straight from a spring! Almost, but not quite... Almost, but I can feel it. Nearly. I nearly feel being on an actual planet!”

Angie put down the glass, shaking her head, and picked up one of the deep fried cheeses with anticipation. Then she put the breadcrumb encrusted, deep fried cheese down and picked up a battered sausage instead. She held it before her mouth, looked down at the cheese again before quickly moving the sausage to her mouth and taking a bite. She chewed.

“It’s good. Really good. This is a good restaurant, but it’s nothing like the water. The water felt like life. This is just the best sausage I’ve had, and I can taste the texture of it, somehow, and identify the bits of black pepper in the batter, almost by location, but the water was something else.”

“The smoke from last night is still working, then?” Allison asked, as Angie picked up a battered, deep fried mushroom and took a massive bite out of it, water from the mushroom squirting and making a squelching sound.

Angie nodded as she chewed. “Definitely,” she mumbled, mouth full.

After swallowing the mushroom she said, “Last night was different, that was a kind of swirling. Everything interacting, and changing—but also staying the same—this is just detail, I guess. Like seeing dots in the printing off a giant poster up close.”

“Can you still see the picture?” Allison asked, not knowing where the question came from, but understanding what Angie meant.

“YES! SO MUCH! It’s the small detail and still seeing the overall picture at the same time. Seeing both!”

Allison nodded and another thought came to her, thinking back to the tasting smoke the night before. This one she was certain on but she wanted to know if Angie thought similar. “But last night it was the small detail, the overall picture, and also what it meant? The meaning of it all together, with other things?”

Angie was chewing on a chicken sandwich, sauce spilling onto her chin as she nodded emphatically. “That’s it! That’s the difference! You’re so good at this; I know why One picked you! This is the detail and the picture, last night it was how it all interacted with everything! He’s so, so nice. I’m glad he found you. I’m so glad for you,” Angie said, as she dipped a mushroom in garlic sauce.

“Which do you prefer? Which feeling?” Allison asked, hoping Angie would give the answer, or something like it, that she was expecting.

Angie reached for one of Allison’s fries and Allison slapped her hand away. Allison thinking, rather affirmatively, ‘She can get her own damn fries!’

Angie looked disappointed at the lack of fry but still said, “They’re both good feelings. I think they both have their time and place. And I don’t think I really need either of them. I think I’ll just love food, more than I ever believed I could, even if I could never have another of those smokes.”

Allison smiled at hearing what she hoped she’d hear. “That’s great. You have no idea how happy that makes me.”

“And fries would make me even happier, because I somehow completely forgot to order my own. And you won’t share yours!”

She stood and made her way back to the top of the restaurant.

Allison ate and soon Angie was back with one small bag of fries, a napkin supporting the excess spilling out of the top.

“I have no idea how much all this cost me,” Angie said, taking out her conn to check her transactions. “There’s nothing on there, though. Please don’t tell me they charged your balance with my order. Mine was the mountain of food! I’ll transfer it to you.”

Allison checked her balance. When she saw it on her conn nearly fell out of her hands, and it wasn’t from slippery fingers after eating greasy food. “Fuck!” Allison said.

“Oh, no! How bad is it?”

“I haven’t been charged anything. But what I do have is a lot of money.” Allison dug into the transactions and transfers. There was the settling into the station money, from the Governor’s message, as a new arrival, more than she got, or at least Patryk got, when he turned 20. There was also a transaction from One, with the name Des on it. Quite a significant amount; along with a note, ‘Don’t get used to that. That includes a tip from your first session.’

Allison spoke up again. “It’s a lot of money, Angie.”

“How much money?” Angie asked.

“Enough to put a down-payment on a permanent apartment, a good one, and get some furniture. Enough to run my own cart, with a multi-floor license. It’s really a lot. I’m told this is a ‘tip’ and not to get used to it. I don’t even know what I’d do with it.”

Allison really didn’t know what she’d do with that amount of money. A man would at least need to reach his late thirties, if he worked and worked, and saved, and she didn’t know about women, but the way things were explained to her it’d involve quite a few years of frugality while politely ‘convincing’ men to buy her things; which is why men didn’t save.

She set her conn down and stared at what was left of her burger. She had nothing else she could think of doing; she had too much money to contemplate, at least compared to her life before now. She began to finish her food with thoughts of what seemed like absolute riches standing tall in her mind. An incomprehensible amount, at the age of 24, for just being herself.

With Dr. Grace assuaging Allison’s fear about the pain she found herself in, after the feminising medication, Allison is mostly content with the pain pills managing the soreness. Everything with her new tobacco job for One is on hold, for the moment, while she recovers. And she’s had lunch, needing to eat well to fuel the changes her body is going through. But she doesn’t know what else to do; what she can do.

What exactly do women, with no employment, and no ability—at least usually—to drink and dine out on fancy meals, actually occupy their days with? At least Allison has Angie to keep her company. The question is will Angie ever stop eating the mountain of food she bought with the effects of the tasting smoke still lingering? Will they ever get to the library she mentioned? Why even read fiction? And will men continue to bother the woman who’s been told she needs to walk the station, for the sake of her health?

---

Angie looked long and hard at a chicken tender, considering it from every angle before she finally said, “No. Can’t do it.”

Allison sighed with relief. She’d been finished her burger for thirty minutes; Angie obviously a slow eater with the effects of the tasting tobacco still lingering with her. She’d savoured every bite as she explained to Allison what she was experiencing with the food in great, flowery detail.

After so long watching Angie Allison’s mind turned back to the amount of money in her balance; a huge amount. More than she’d ever had before. She had nothing to spend it on, though. Nothing that came to mind. She could scavenge clothes from the apartments One gave her access to, the surrounding apartments neighbouring hers on the secure floor. She could even find shoes there, she assumed. She’d need underwear and stockings, of course, but apart from that?

Sure, there were a few people she vaguely knew of who could get good meals, to anyone, and alcohol to women if they found a party floor to receive them on, for a price. Jenny said her bar was open to her, Angie, and Adam, even though it was expensive, and Allison understood why; Jenny had tobacco there, and anyone could get food and drink there. Apart from that what was there to life? She was even still registered for her weekly woman’s stipend considering women didn’t really get jobs until they turned forty, and not even then if they didn’t want them.

“The money, Angie? What do I do with it?” Allison eventually asked. Angie was still looking at the food on her tray, a sizeable amount of it demolished by her methodical eating.

Angie tore her eyes from a chicken nugget—different in texture and coating to a chicken tender, she had thought aloud to the nobody who was listening—then looked at Allison and said, “Save it. What else?”

“You spend money, Angie. That’s what it’s for, to make your life better.”

Angie laughed. “Apart from the pain you’re in, which means it’s time for some more pills—now that I think of it—your life is pretty good. It’s certainly taken an upswing.”

“Save it for what, then?” Allison asked.

“Spend it on what?” Angie snapped off in return.

“That’s my point!”

Angie shrugged. “Who knows what comes up? I just know older women are always telling younger women to save, save, save. I think they keep secrets from us. Some magical wisdom that comes as your boobs grow apart. Speaking of which, how are yours?”

Allison twisted her mouth at the side, sucking air through her teeth, and said, “Glad for the bra. My nips, at least.”

“Yeah, we need to find you some medication. I can’t keep giving you my own. It’ll show up on my records if I keep getting as much as you seem to need. It could cause Dr. Grace hassle explaining if it gets flagged by the computers.”

Allison nodded. “OK. That’s fair, we can do that. Then we walk? That’s what Dr. Grace said to do.”

“I’ll take you to a library, you can stretch your legs as we go. Let me get a bag for this food. That’s the beauty of this place, they’ll let you take it away as long as you don’t bring it anywhere you shouldn’t.”

Angie stood, carrying both trays to the counter, where the server packed the remnants of Angie’s food into a paper bag, then put that paper bag inside another, along with some napkins. It was all very polite, on the surface, the man doing his job, but Allison could see the man’s annoyance bubbling through as Angie jabbered and jabbered at him.

Eventually Angie beckoned Allison, long after her food had been packed away, and the two began the trek to the library.

Along the way they called into a bathroom to stock up on the freely available medication for Allison.

Allison didn’t know why—all her ID scans had shown her to be nothing but female—but she still felt some trepidation scanning into the public toilet, then getting the medication out of the dispensers. As she did so her ID showed up on the screen before the two vials dropped out, it was all good.

Angie told Allison libraries didn’t have bathrooms, to stop women spending all day in them and not enticing men, and being enticed by men, into, ‘making babies,’ so if she needed to go she should go. Which she did. And it was a surprise.

Meeting Angie outside the toilet after the dry-wash cleansed her hands she had to say something. “The ads?! In the stall!!” Allison said.

“Yeah?”

“Are they normal?”

“Which one did you get?” Angie asked.

“It was telling me to volunteer my panties to a man after sex. To let him keep them. That I’d feel good walking home knowing I’d been taken care of, feeling the free air of pleasure up my skirt, and that I’d given him a souvenir for his collection.”

Angie shook her head. “That’s a common one. And do give him your panties! If he’s any good... Maybe you’ll get another go around. What man did you get?”

“What do you mean?”

“On the screen? In the ad? Which man did it show you volunteering your panties to?”

“Blond, muscly, tanned. Very muscly. Huge!”

“He’s a nice one,” Angie said. “Great cock!”

“What do you mean, ‘He’s a nice one?’ Cocks? What the hell, Angie!? Does this always happen? Every time you go to the bathroom?”

Angie looked at Allison with total confusion. “Of course! Do men not get ads?”

“Not with a picture of women, or of you giving her your underwear! They’re usually job listings, or telling you to get checked up by a carer, or how to lift things properly. And there’s no pictures of naked women! And certainly no booming voices flirting whore-ishly.”

Angie shrugged. “That makes sense, men are horny enough.”

“I wasn’t!!” Allison said.

“Yeah, for obvious reasons. That are getting fixed! Anyway, I hope you took your medications. Now come on, we need to stroll and let the lovely gentleman watch us for their thrills.”

Allison made a loud, gasping, irritated noise; feeling her throat close.

“Oh please, you love it!” Angie said. “Sway your ass a little, maybe you’ll get a grope or two. I can already see the heels are giving your bottom a little shake. More than is natural.” She winked at Allison. As slutty a wink as the woman’s voice in the ad was slutty, then she laughed.

After thirty minutes, with a few approaches quickly batted away by Angie, they were arriving to a nondescript door off a little alleyway on an only half-occupied, quiet floor. “See that was easy! A nice walk, getting ogled and being appreciated”

“Why are men so weird? They were sickening!” Allison said.

“It’s the weekend, you’ve seen nothing yet. Weekends are party days, they know if they keep trying someone will be up for it. Wait until you get latched onto during the week. Now swipe!”

Allison swiped the attachment to her conn, on her wrist, against the pad, and the door quickly slid back. Angie swiped too and they both walked in. Allison with relief.

Inside was a room, not too small, but not even approaching the size of a popular bar. There were chairs littered around the room, not quite armchairs, but equally not schoolroom style ass-and-back-breaking chairs either; some exposed struts and armrests, but also cushioning. They were comfortable looking, if not luxurious. Between a few chairs were low tables, with the occasional bottle of water and sometimes a bottle of a soft drink on them, women sitting back in the chairs reading, a few conversing among themselves.

There was one large group having an animated conversation, with chairs pulled into a circle; the women mostly around Angie and Allison’s age. And there was shelf after shelf with screens inlaid into them, display text and pictures.

A man approached both Angie and Allison and introduced himself as ‘Prod.’ He held one hand conspicuously in the air, for a reason Allison couldn’t figure out for a few seconds, until she realised his nails were being painted, and his, so far, three painted nails were still wet. “New member?” Prod asked.

“My friend, Allison,” Angie said.

“Court-ruling-Allison... Hmm... It is our privilege!” Prod said. “Have you joined a library before?”

“No. Didn’t even really know about them,” Allison said.

“I’m sorry you had to go through the ordeal you did before finding our lovely home.” Allison didn’t know if Prod meant the ordeal was the court ruling, or if he kind of knew who she was before she was Allison. He was obviously clued into something if he was getting his nails painted. He wasn’t an idiot young man.

“Can we get her an unleashed package?” Angie asked.

“Of course. There’s a fee to join, Allison. It shouldn’t be onerous, not with your unleashed money. You can take out three books at a time, combined, from any library you’re a member of. You can return a novel from anywhere on the station, please do if you’re finished with it, sometimes people are waiting on them. Some novels are shared between all general libraries, all libraries have their own unique stories, we’re a general fiction library. If you want to become a senior member, and have full access you need to write something we, the great board of approval, approve of—the board of approval bit is a joke, we just have to think a few people might enjoy it. For another fee you’ll get access to a computer you can write your application story up on. You’re always free to type it on your conn, but, of course, no keyboard! That’s it, isn’t it Angie?” Prod said, as he finished his introduction.

“I think so,” Angie said. She stuck her hand with the bag of food in it out towards Prod. “Some food—doctor approved—Prod. If you’ve spotted any reader having a bad day, someone who doesn’t want to brave the knuckle draggers, or who’s exhausted from writing. Or for yourself, of course. It’s cold by now, though.”

Prod took the bag, gave a quick look inside it, and gave it a sniff, put it down then gave Angie a thumbs up and a wink, then picked up a blue conn—a business conn—and showed Allison the nitty gritty of joining, and the prices.

“Yeah, that’s all fine,” Allison said, swiping her approval then confirming it on the business conn. It would have made an impression on her male welcoming money, a few years ago, a small one on the welcome to the station, new arrival money she just received, and would barely scratch the money she got from One and Des for her smoke.

Prod held up another device and held it out to Allison. “You’ll need to sync for this,” he said. “Unleashed package.” He looked back at his nails, fingers spreading and raising them upright.

Allison took her conn from her purse and authorised the sync, and a new symbol appeared in her menu, then a few seconds later another.

“The reader symbol is for books. It’s more comfortable on the eyes when reading text. Like actual paper. The other will show you where the library is and what the library is about, on each specific floor, when you enter a floor. Most readers check when they arrive somewhere, and frequently. Styles in a library can change over time.

“And you’ll get a feed of book ads to your conn every day. Just suggestions. I’d suggest not reading the feed before bed lest you rush out to get a book before it’s all checked out by other, eager library members. There’s always something to read and we all need our beauty sleep.” Prod waggled his fingers, and Allison saw the three painted nails were now shimmering. “A member here is opening a business soon, she wants practice,” he said, seeing Allison looking. “What am I for but to serve?”

Angie laughed at that. “There is something, Prod. Have you ever heard of a food library? Books about food?”

“You know it’s novels only unless you’re in training, and you’re not forty yet. Or a man, I hope!”

Angie laughed again. “Please! Neither of us want to work. And Allison isn’t really unleashed, she just spent years being the laziest woman on the station, you know? Almost entirely content to lay around and giggle at parties, not even trying to get pregnant... I mean stories about food. Not how to cook, or nutrition, or anything like that.”

Prod rubbed his hand, the one with unpainted fingers, through an extremely well kept beard, the style of beard a man in his fifties who’d worn a beard all his life would keep if he’d run out of looks to play with, and if he wasn’t striving to impress anyone; rather he just wanted a neat beard. Although Prod looked late-thirties, at most.

“No, I haven’t, I’m afraid. Do you want me to make a note of it? I’ll ask around my fellows. We can try to find you some suggestions of fiction you might like.”

Angie was nearly bouncing with excitement, certainly verging on shaking with excitement. “I’ve interested you in something!? In finding new books?” she said, with a huge smile. “I’ve actually caused a curiosity!”

Prod laughed. “That you have. Your first?” he asked.

“Yeah!” Angie said, gasping in air as she said the word rather than exhaling as she spoke, almost to the point of choking.

“It’s a good one, too. I’ll be the envy of the staff get together after my shift. Well done!”

Angie let out a little squeal of joy. “And it’s a good one!” she said, in raptures. “Fuck me!!” Her voice had turned gravely, almost lustful, as she swore.

Prod clicked his tongue at Angie in approval. “Go on, I’m sure Allison is desperate to get reading. If you want a dictionary we can sell you a permanent one, Allison. I’d suggest trying to get by for as long as you can in junior libraries without it. Pick up meaning up by context. And read the stories in order, for the best experience. First, second, then third book as they appear. OK?”

“OK,” Allison said, nodding, clutching her conn.

“You’ll message me?” Angie asked. “If—”

Prod tapped the side of his head. “Already noted up here and I’ll get to my computer—after my nails are done and approved by the soon-to-be-business-woman—and make an official record of your request.” Angie clapped her hands together, obviously smitten by Prod.

Then she led Allison to some seats opposite each other with a table between them. She sat, then Allison sat, and both crossed their legs, Allison looking at Angie, unsure.

“What do I do now?” Allison asked.

“Read? Unless you want to browse. The unleashed package will help with what you want to browse for though. That’s what it’s designed for.”

“How do I—”

Angie rolled her eyes. “You did read fiction in school. There’s no difference. It’s not some big challenge, there’s no hidden mystery; just go with it, have fun. If you don’t want to read we’ll go for a walk and find some men.”

“No! No! I’ll read... Jenny did say I’d appreciate it... With my descriptions of the smokes being writerly, I suppose.”

“Too right!” Angie said.

So Allison did read. And quickly the room faded away. She finished the first book with ease, time seeming irrelevant as she read; an anthology of short stories. They were like what she’d read when she was a teen, but they seemed far more relevant to her life, even when they were about historical and fantasy worlds, or meeting aliens, or even just two people drinking coffee, and talking.

She’d quickly begun on the second book, immediately after finishing the first, another book of short stories. She was only a few pages in when she noticed a stirring between her legs. She didn’t notice it immediately but when she did she realised she was slowly getting aroused, and had been since the second page. She kept reading. It felt great, like nothing she’d ever felt before. It came and went, and she enjoyed it immensely. It was like a glow. And she squirmed both inside, and in her seat. She wanted to touch herself, to massage herself, but not like when she was a man. She wanted to make the feeling more intense but not for a purely sexual, orgasmic reason. Rather to simply feel it, to experience the joy more fully.

Every few paragraphs, sometimes multiple times a paragraph, sometimes even within a sentence she found herself thinking of Robert. Thinking of him playing with her. And of her playing with him, like he was obviously enjoying playing with her feet, the day before. He was a foot freak but he was kind. It wasn’t weird in any way, it was honest. And that’s what the story was about, really. It certainly wasn’t about sex, or freaky anything It was just about people opening up to each other. Allison didn’t know why this had her so inflamed.

She quickly found herself putting down the reader and messaging Robert, asking to meet up with him. Then she got back to the story.

When she finished she simply stared straight ahead, not knowing what to think. Not able to read any more.

After a couple of minutes Angie looked up at Allison’s empty gaze. “Pain?”

“A bit...” Allison said.

“You’re well past your medication time. Maybe it isn’t as bad? Three plus one. Doctor’s orders. Or suggestion.”

Allison grabbed her purse and took out the medication dispensing vials, clicking out what she need, taking them. “The pain is still there. I don’t know, I’m distracted,” she said, standing.

She walked absent-mindedly to where Prod was sitting, all his nails now rippling in a dark, shimmering blue. “Everything OK?” he asked.

“I can’t return the first book,” Allison said.

“That the unleashed package, that’s permanent. You’ll still be able to take three regular loan books out. Every few years people like to go back to that package, to revisit it. They’re good stories. Which was your favourite from the first anthology?”

“I’m not too sure, maybe the coffee one, but the first one in the second anthology... It has me, I don’t know?”

Prod closed one eye and turned his head sideways at Allison, inquisitively. “That’s interesting,” he said. “Usually women don’t come to appreciate that one until they’re a bit older. Sometimes never. Would you read more like it?”

Allison nodded. Prod picked up a conn and tapped something out, and soon the strap on Allison’s wrist vibrated, telling her she had a notice.

“Read the rest of the package, then I think you might like the one I sent to you,” Prod said, a generous smile on his face.

“Is that why you’re called Prod? You poke and prod people in the right direction?”

“It’s a title, not a name. All library workers like me are called Prod. And you’re correct. You’re more in need of a delicate nudge, though,” he said, and his smile grew wider. “Less forceful.” He laughed a gentle laugh. “Try not to read the blurb on that novel, go into it fresh. No expectations.”

“Thank you,” Allison said, turning away and wandering back to Angie, wondering what exactly it was about the story she’d read that had her confused, and something more...

Allison’s wrist vibrated again and she checked her conn. It was a message from Robert. Her whole body tightened at the thought of him. She read his message.

“Robert says to meet him at Rowan’s,” Allison said to Angie, squirming. “Are you ready to walk again?”

Angie packed away her conn as she said, “Foot freaks and shoe stores... He’s nice but are you ready for him to be slobbering on your toes?”

“Shut up. I bet you’ve let a guy do it to you!”

Angie shrugged and they left the library, making their way to the Rowan’s store.

When they arrived the door was locked, despite the lights and sign being on. Allison figured it must have just closed, so she began to look around for Robert.

Passing her eyes up and down the promenade for him she heard Rowan’s door open, and she was about to turn to ask Rowan if Robert had been around, when she felt an arm spin her around, then a mouth on hers, then a tongue pushing past her lips, with an unburdened passion.

Robert wrapped his arms around her, gripping Allison tight, lifting her off the ground, and physically carried her into Rowan’s, Allison having no chance to think to object to these events. And given they were happening she was thinking she might not want to object.

They kept kissing, but not for long enough, at least for Allison. Robert broke away from her. “Thank you,” they both said, but in two entirely different tones, Allison the more dreamy of the two. Robert’s tone exhilaration.

“I have a job!” Robert said.

Allison wondered what he was saying, a look of confusion on her face.

“Here! In Rowan’s store!” he continued.

Allison shook her head. “What? That’s not possible! Men can’t work in stores like this.”

“It has to be you! Or something to do with you. There’s something special about you; the court ruling... This morning I had a message from the Governor’s office, telling me to report to Rowan’s store for the day!” He kissed Allison again. Allison wished he’d keep kissing her, forever.

“It’s one day a week, either on a weekend or another day off. I don’t get paid, but I do get store credit. I don’t know how it happened!”

Rowan was sitting at the till. “It could work out. Maybe a selling point? A man’s opinion on sexy shoes? I got a message from the Governor’s office last night. Said I could hire him if I wanted. It means I don’t have to close when I need a break. And he’s a cheap worker, all store credit, like he said.” She shrugged.

Allison considered how she could have done this, if it was down to her. The only people she talked to about Robert, or really it was only a single person—apart from her friends—was Des. Did voters have that much power? That they could change laws in an instant? Or get exceptions?

She thought better of mentioning it to anyone. She didn’t know who Des was. Given the amount he tipped her, though, he could be quite important. Then she realised she didn’t even know much money voters got paid. Or if they even did get paid. Des said voters just love to work.

“I don’t know if I did anything,” Allison said.

“Miss Secrets, here,” Angie said, scoffing.

“What shoes do you need? Or want? Or crave?” Robert asked. “Is that OK, Rowan?”

Rowan nodded, a big smile on her face, and understanding in her eyes.

Allison shook her head in refusal but Robert planted her down on one of the benches and began taking her heels off her.

“Anything you need, I’ll find it. I’ll work for weeks to pay it off!”

Rowan laughed. “As a signing bonus, we’ll say. It’s a lot better than you putting them on, Robert. Don’t go too crazy!”

In a calm, patient, caring tone Robert said to Allison, “Describe your desires.”

Angie burst out laughing as Allison glared at her.

Allison lifted her feet up a little, pointed her toes in the air, feeling her joints strain, and said, “I love the heels you got me, I really do, but I have to walk a lot. Doctor’s orders. I’m better on the heels, already, especially with Angie holding me, but my feet will fall off if they’re all I wear. And don’t get me wrong, I do want to—”

Robert squeezed Allison’s ankles. “I know what’ll work.”

He stood, nodded at Allison, and was walking around the corner to the backroom. Both Rowan and Angie were staring at Allison, amusement on their faces. Allison could feel their delight, at her, which she felt making her go bright red, certain that was their intention.

She really did like Robert. More than she ever liked a woman when she was Patryk. It wasn’t about sex, or getting off, it felt like a connection. That she could sit with him. She could imagine the two of them at a movie, happily watching, and sharing popcorn, and not just for the movie, but for spending time around each other. Simply being. It’d make her feel peaceful.

She was away in a dreamworld when Robert arrived back, taking two shoes out of a box.

“Perfect,” Rowan said. “I like those. Great colour.”

They were red, or sort of white-ish red, but not pink. They were both faded in the colour but not from wear, it looked natural despite nothing natural, certainly that you make shoes out of, being that colour.

“How do they look... Alive, I guess it is? I think,” Allison asked.

“Red suede mules, strap around the back, a little bit of a heel but most of the height is in the small platform,” Robert said, as he adjusted the straps to what Allison knew would be her exact measurements. The man knew feet, the weirdo. The weirdo she enjoyed.

Angie rolled her eyes and Allison spotted her, as Robert slipped one shoe onto her foot.

“They’re great. Fur lining, soft, easy to walk in. Hot and cute, but not totally innocent or sweet. Enough heft to them you can do damage if you give someone a kick in the shin. There’s a bit of a threat in them. I actually have a pair,” Rowan said. “And I’ve kicked shins with them!”

Allison stood and bent her knees as she raised and lowered her feet, in her new shoes, taking steps. Feeling the softness of the lining on her stockinged feed. “Yes! They’re great!” she said. “I can walk in these.”

She gave Robert a hug, feeling his stubble bristle against her cheek, and she was reminded of how large a man he was. How sturdy he was. How sure.

It wasn’t obvious how caring he could be from his appearance. And although there was nothing sharp to him he did look tough, or formidable, but once he got talking, or once you saw him smile, all you could see was his softness. Or at least it was all Allison could see. Her soft man.

She remembered, in that instant, she was a man just two days ago. She felt a hollowness in her chest. Was this what she was missing? In that moment she needed to be held.

“Can I kiss you?” she asked Robert, standing in close to him.

He smiled and bent his head to her. This time the kiss was as soft as he was; tender.

“You’re amazing,” Allison said, as the kiss stopped.

“So are you...” he said, sighing.

“Do you want to go for our walk now?”

Robert nodded and picked up Allison’s shoes he bought her the day before, and packed them away in a bag with Rowan’s name on it. Then he took her hand in his, and gently squeezed.

“The bar on 72B, the one you’d sometimes take me to, Allison, that’s where I’ll be waiting for you,” Angie said.

“Yeah, sure, whatever,” Allison said, not really paying attention to Angie, or that she was leaving the store.

Allison and Robert walked. Allison found it a lot easier in her almost flat shoes.

Most of their walk the two of them just spent time observing things, pointing out what was happening around them. There was no deep conversations, at least once they stopped theorising about the causes of Robert’s new sort-of-job, although there were a few deep kisses, as well as full-on laughter.

Eventually Robert said he needed a coffee, and that they should meet up with Angie again.

Walking into the bar on 72B you could tell it was a weekend. Being a Sunday it wasn’t as wild as the previous two evenings. People who’d hooked up, mainly younger people, were spending the last of their time with each other, negotiating if and when they’d ‘do it’ again. Or even if they wanted to do it again; if their contact was to be deleted from their conns.

There was a small waiting list for the private rooms, where men were energetically working off their hangovers with whatever woman they’d convinced to play with them. A few people quickly darted out to the dorm, unable to afford or not willing to wait for a private room. Or not caring. There were a few people kissing, some doing more, scattered around the bar, but the bar wasn’t manic.

After a bit of a patrol with her eyes peeled Allison spotted Angie in a booth with a series of glasses in front of her, too many glasses. She dragged Robert over to the table, squeezing herself in next to Angie, thinking she might actually be able to carry Angie back to her apartment given her new shoes. With help from Robert.

There was no issue, though. Angie looked up when Allison arrived and said, “I didn’t actually drink that much, just had fun tasting things. You know, our dining pass, and last night... No trading with men to get me things.”

Angie sounded sober to Allison, and she wasn’t looking unwell, so Allison took her word on it.

“Do you want a drink?” Robert asked Allison.

“A whiskey and cola would be great, if you don’t mind me drinking when you’re not?”

“Not an issue at all,” Robert said, and left to go to the bar.

Angie slapped her hand down Allison’s thigh, and said, “Well!”

Allison did the same move to Angie, and said back, “Well, what?” as she continued thinking of Robert, and their walk, and their kisses.

They both paused. Hands on each others thighs, until Allison eventually turned her head to Angie, unable to ignore Angie’s stare any longer. It was making her uncomfortable.

“Did you thank the man?” Angie asked, interrupting the stare-off with words.

“Robert? Of course. Our walk was fun. I really enjoyed it, just strolling. And watching.”

Angie shook her head. “I mean ‘Did you thank him?’”

“What do you mean by... Oh. OH!! He wouldn’t! Not with who I am! With what I was!” Allison said, not that his body hadn’t been in her mind at various points that day, or even in that moment. Or that she’d object to it.

“What did I say this morning? ‘Cute as a button?’ And anyway, you’ve been kissing and holding hands, he’s buying you drinks, he’s bought you two pairs of shoes, and a purse. Of course he wants you!”

“Really?” Allison asked, intrigued. “How do I..?”

“When he comes back sit in next to him, move your hand up his leg. You’ll get your answer pretty quickly.”

Allison shook her head. “It’s that easy? You just...”

Angie sighed. “You were obviously never a man. Yes, it’s that easy. And you’re looking far away so I know you want to, don’t you?”

Allison took a breath. “Well, I guess I—”

“Whiskey and cola,” Robert said, placing Allison’s glass down in front of her, two straws in it.

He sat into the opposite side of the booth to Allison, who slid her glass back across the table. Then she stood and walked to Robert’s side. Him shuffling up.

As she sat down she crossed her legs after moving up close to him. He was about to put his arm around her when she placed her hand on his crotch, on top of his pants. Within a few seconds it was obvious he was having the reaction Allison hoped he did. At least she thought it was what she was hoping.

Robert touched Allison’s chin to turn her head around to her, then he kissed her. He said, “I think you’re perfect.”

Allison disagreed, at least in her mind, but as Robert reached down to unzip his fly she figured ‘good enough’ would do for now, instead of ‘perfect.’ And this was exactly what she wanted. What was running through her mind since he gave her a piggyback ride.

Grabbing onto him, as they kissed, she began to do what she’d only ever done to herself before. Something Dr. Grace said might not work for Allison in the same way in the future.

As Allison pleased Robert she knew it was a lot more enjoyable to make a man happy, than for her to try to be happy as a man. As she continued she wondered how, exactly, she could be made happy as a woman.

Kissing Robert she also knew she’d figure it out. Maybe even with the man in her hand.

Allison spent her first night as a woman tossing and turning in her sleep, her pain obvious to Angie who was looking after her. Allison did manage to make the best of her Sunday — after updating her doctor on her issues — mainly by spending time with her new ‘friend’ Robert.

With her first night being one of tumultuous rest — due to the faster than expected effects of the medication Dr. Grace prescribed — what will Allison discover upon waking on day three? And what will she not notice, or refuse to accept, that it takes Angie to point out?

---

Allison woke, not in pain, thankfully, but drenched through, just like the day before. Angie was no longer in bed next to her. She checked the time and saw it was later than she slept on the Sunday, which was late, and on both days it had been for good reason.

Walking into the living room Angie was sitting, dressed in a clean, casual dress, hair and makeup done, and obviously showered. Her hair even looked better styled than usual. She must have had all morning, and some of the lunchtime, to ready herself. And now she was reading.

Angie looked up at Allison. “I used your styler. Same ‘do,’ just tidied up,” she said. “How do you feel? How bad is the pain?”

“I don’t remember going to bed,” Allison said.

Angie nodded. “After our few smokes, when we got back here, you took the medication Dr. Grace prescribed for sleep and insisted it was having no effect. Well, it did have an effect. You were out cold in ten minutes. Tongue hanging out, drooling on Adam.”

Allison cringed. “Oh, no!” Her head fell. She thought that was a dream, her curling into Adam. And she liked it as a dream but as reality? She was Patryk a few days ago and she and Adam were buds. Now she was acting like she was some teenage girl with a crush on a grown up. And she definitely didn’t think of Adam that way.

“He thought you were adorable. Of course he didn’t say ‘adorable.’ But he looked proud as punch that you’d fall asleep cuddled into him. I don’t think he cared that you’d essentially been drugged and it wasn’t actually a reflection of any interest in him. He helped me put you to bed.”

“He undressed me!!?”

“No! He carried you to the bed. I put you in your nightclothes, and tucked you in, but he insisted on seeing you were safe and sound.”

“What?” Allison asked.

Angie laughed — with evil to the laughter. “Do you really want to know?”

Allison closed her eyes and shook her head. “No. I really don’t.”

“When you were tucked away he came back in—”

“Angie!” Allison said, muscles in her neck tensing.

“And he looked at you, in silence, for about thirty seconds, then walked over, like a proud Papa Bear, and stroked your hair—”

“Please, Angie...”

“And as he was stroking your hair you smiled a peaceful smile, and he gave sleeping beauty a kiss on the forehead.”

Allison’s chin was down on her chest. “Fucking hell. That’s horrific.”

“Don’t worry you silly bitch, he’s still a man. When we went to sleep he insisted on staying in the single room in case there was any problems like the first night. He probably wanked himself silly thinking of you. You should check your panty drawers. I bet something in whore red, silk and lace is missing. Stuffed in his pocket and filled with his shame. Sticky and gross. And smelly. And he’s disappearing to the toilets at work every break to add another load.”

Allison raised her head to stare at the ceiling, and with her eyes fixed straight up and said, “I feel awful.”

“Pain?” Angie asked.

“Mental anguish.”

“Guys are horndogs. They want to fuck. You gave Robert a handjob in the bar yesterday. Did he turn that down?”

Allison shrugged with confusion. “That’s different. That’s just hands.”

“And fluids.” Angie cackled. “You’re fine with the fucking but don’t want to be a pretty princess?” She laughed again. “Tough shit! You’re a cutie pie not a slut. Get used to it.”

“I’m neither! I don’t know what I am!”

“Allison! I’ve known you for—”

“Two days.”

“Two years!” Angie shouted. “When you were confused and thought you were a dude you were kind, and caring, and romantic. You are the same as most, other, normal women. We want to be swept off our feet.”

Allison looked as though she was about to interrupt but Angie continued. “And then, if we’re lucky, we get fucked senseless for hours by the man who swept us off our feet. And fucked so hard we have an out of body experience, which we most definitely need because we won’t be walking right for days.”

“Seriously, Angie?” Allison asked, thinking if her days were going to be filled with talk like this she’d be constantly exhausted.

“How’s the pain?”

“Genuinely none. But...”

Angie sat up straighter on the couch, resting her conn to her side and looking at Allison with concern.

“Last night... You were asleep, middle of the night — I woke. For maybe three or four hours, it was intense. Aches, all over. It wasn’t a sharp pain, just constant. Strong.”

“Skeleton? Bones? Please think.”

“No. Definitely not. I’m sure.”

“Strip!”

Allison lowered the straps on her nightdress over her shoulders and wriggled the body off, letting it drop to floor before stepping out of it.

“Panties too,” Angie said.

“Why do you insist on seeing my genitals?” Allison demanded.

Angie’s smile was sly. “Because I get off on seeing asshole men having their dicks turned into clits. Then regretting everything they’ve given up forever, with no choice but to find the smallest amount of relief in being fucked like a single-use, disposable whore by the exact kind of man they used to be, not even a proper woman but a toy, fruitlessly wishing they could be that man again fucking the kind of useless bitch they’ve been stupid enough to turn themselves into.”

Allison pushed her panties down saying, “Fuck you, Angie!” as she took another step out of yet more discarded clothing on the ground.

“The first time a man who knows what he’s doing goes down on you you’ll be sure you made the right decision. I’ve seen men orgasm. It looks dull. You’ll love the new you.”

Allison raised her arms to the side to give Angie a good look. “It really is dull.”

“A grunt and it’s over. Pathetic!” Then she smiled. “You have boobs! I have to take a picture.” Her conn was held up in front of her.

“You’re not allowed take pictures. And certainly not because you’re imagining me having grown boobs in thirty-six hours!”

Angie was ignoring Allison and tapping something into her conn. “Dr. Grace asked for a picture of you. She might call if necessary. Did you sweat a lot last night?”

“Yeah. Just for those hours in pain. The bed will need replacing and professional cleaning again but I don’t want to bother Dr. Grace about that. She’s already doing so much.”

Angie handed Allison a bottle of water. Allison sat in the armchair, crossed her legs and began to drink.

There was silence for a few minutes, as Allison drank, until Angie laughed. It was more gentle amusement than the cackling and teasing from before.

“What?” Allison asked.

“Before... I mean, when... You’d barely let me even touch you. It took me about six months of chatting before I could touch your bare forearm without you pulling it back. Another six months before I could cuddle into you.”

“OK...” Allison said, nothing really coming to mind. Certainly not remembering anything with detail.

“Now you’re sitting opposite me, stark naked, without a care in the world. And certainly no cares about being known or open.”

Allison didn’t say anything to that, instead drinking some more water. And the silence returned. She was just thinking it was time for her shower when there was a call on her conn. It was Dr. Grace. Allison answered.

“How did you sleep, Allison?” Dr. Grace asked.

“Ten minutes to lights out after she took the sleep medication you prescribed,” Angie said.

“Any pain, Allison?”

“None in her bones, I’m sure of that. She woke for about four hours during the night, a lot of pain. Constant but not sharp until it subsided. Not targetted anywhere. Heavy sweating. Then she slept until twenty or so minutes ago. Pain free now. No medication taken, I think.”

Dr. Grace didn’t say anything in response. And Allison hadn’t said anything at all.

“Is your name Allison, Angie?” Dr. Grace asked, after a few seconds passed.

“What?” Angie asked.

“She’s right, Dr. Grace. My nurse got it all,” Allison said.

“And she’s sitting as naked as the day she was born — opposite me here — so I’d see if there was anything wrong on the surface.”

Some tapping of keys came down the conn like Dr. Grace was checking something on a computer. Then there was a pause and Dr. Grace spoke up again. “That makes sense. I’m guessing she wasn’t much of an exhibitionist before, Angie? Seeing as you seem to know everything.”

“She wasn’t. But what makes sense?” Angie asked. Asking the question Allison wanted to ask but didn’t know she could.

“Allison’s more comfortable in herself. The medication is working faster than I expected but not to a degree it’s an issue. If it happened overnight I’d be worried, or took longer than a month, those are one in a million effects and need close monitoring or further investigation. I would have expected this amount of change could have happened in maybe twenty percent of cases in four or five days, two days is a one percent case although you have been sleeping a lot which explains it a little. You seem to be doing, in terms of care, what you’re supposed to be doing, so your body and mind are doing what they need to do.” Again, there was silence. “Do you understand the boundaries I’ve given you? The likelihoods on what we expected, that there’s no concerns?”

“I do.” Allison was nodding. She really did get it.

“Do you like what’s happening to you, Allison?”

“Yes,” Allison said, not needing to give it any thought.

“It’s as simple as that, Angie. She wasn’t comfortable in her body. Now she is feeling more comfortable. The pharmaceutical side of things wouldn’t have had such a strong effect on mentality, not like this. This is just a stable base, one she didn’t have before, and what Allison wants. It’s what she needs. She feels good about her future.”

Allison grabbed where Angie had told her she’d grown boobs. “I told you, Angie! I’m just happier, there’s no real difference in me. I haven’t grown boobs overnight.”

Angie rolled her eyes.

“That’s not the case, Allison. Psychologically things are different, personality-wise things are different, legally things are different. I’d guess people are treating you a little differently, and you them. That all combines, to a whole, to say there are very real differences. There are hormonal and other changes too. When I say they’re not enough to change your head, as it were, that is medically correct, to put it in generalities. It’s certainly not going to rewire a personality. Something like that takes time and personal involvement. There’ll be a minor effect in mood, like a woman’s cycle or menopause, but not pronounced. Three days in it’ll have settled to you feeling normal. But when everything is put together in one basket it becomes quite a heavy basket. Or really more the opposite, you have a weight lifted off your shoulders. This is real.

“But if you’re talking purely physically? That can be noticed from simply looking at a naked you? There are definite, medically significant changes. I’m looking at them now as a comparison to your pre-medicated scans. Angie’s photograph was taken on a regular issue conn. They’re precise, not as precise as my personal medical conn, but even then the medical computer here has more than enough data from it to confirm everything I’m seeing with my eyes, and know from my training, and that I’m telling you. I’ll be having colleagues check my work later when I speak to them but I’m not wrong.”

“What will her orgasms be like?” Angie asked.

“Why are you doing this to her, Angie?” Dr. Grace asked, or more said as a statement. “Stop putting pressure on her. Let her find things out and enjoy things.”

Angie looked a little annoyed and was sitting more upright. “She said man orgasms were dull. I want to reassure her.”

Dr. Grace laughed. “Men tend not to think their orgasms are dull.” She laughed again. “So I am 99% certain Allison will enjoy her new non-man experiences a lot more.”

“When?” Angie asked.

“Please stop this, Angie,” Dr. Grace said.

“I’m not asking for no reason. This isn’t me being a bitch!” Angie sounded angry. “She likes a man and a man likes her I am telling you she is worried about that. She hasn’t said it, but I would be if I was her.”

There was yet more tapping on keys. “Everyone is worried about their first time.”

“YES, DR. GRACE! EVERYONE IS WORRIED ABOUT THEIR FIRST TIME! And everyone on the station had people to talk to. Friends, people who’ve been through it before. Drunken, uninhibited conversations in the early hours at parties. They’ve read stories about it, heard gossip about it, both accurate and not. Helpful and not. They’ve literally seen it happen with other people! Allison has nothing. I’m worried and it’s not even me!”

There was a pause, and silence almost below the station’s natural atmosphere. “Did you have a sex dream last night, Angie?” Dr. Grace asked.

Angie gasped. Then began to blush intensely as she stared at the floor.

“She’s beetroot red, Dr. Grace,” Allison said.

“I’m sorry, Angie. You’re right. You both need to know what’s happening, and I’ll explain that and the mistakes I realise I’ve made with both of you.” Dr. Grace paused.

Allison looked at Angie who was still staring at the floor, seemingly trying to hide herself away.

“You know how doctors will consult with other doctors if they’re not sure about something?”

“Yeah, of course. Same as anything,” Allison said.

“And in difficult cases there can be a team of people working on something?”

“Yes...”

“Your case has a team, Allison. Full time. Across a range of disciplines. A lot of research is being crawled over. We’ve confirmed our stable, always-on links to a few specialist libraries and databanks this morning. There’s some interested teams in a couple of planetary institutes reviewing what we’re doing, and more who’ve asked for daily updates to make sure we’re not making mistakes and to offer help if they spot something.”

Allison didn’t know if she’d drawn even a single breath while Dr. Grace said all that. “Is my case really so serious?” she asked.

“Only in the way all medicine is serious. Dangerous? Definitely not. Significant? Maybe. Anyway, every case is significant to the person going through it. Is it rare? Extremely. Most importantly it’s different; there’s no real subject-authority alive who could be considered to have the final say in it, let alone an oversight board. It’s happened in the past, elsewhere. We haven’t found anyone on this station it’s happened with, ever. There are doctors and researchers who have expertise in related fields but not so knowledgeable they’re telling me they should take over your team. For now it’s my team. You came to me.”

In lieu of silence Dr. Grace continued. “A few of those experts are on their way to the station now. They’ll be here in about ten days. We have data links to them as they travel. Your health is not at risk, Allison. Nothing is unsafe about this, painful at times, needing review and maybe adjustments but not dangerous. Your well-being supersedes everything. Literally everything. If protecting your health means stopping the greatest scientific breakthrough since the jump drive then your health comes first. That is the case for everyone, with any issue. I am your doctor. I am not responsible for or to anyone else. Which is the mistake I made.”

There was another pause and then Dr. Grace spoke up again. “I haven’t been thinking about your well-being, Angie. I’ve asked too much of you. You’re a friend, not a carer. It’s not your job to maintain Allison’s health. That’s my job. That’s this team’s role.”

“Fuck off, Dr. Grace,” Angie said, sitting up. “Do you even have friends?” She looked grumpy, and upset.

“This isn’t about friends, Angie. This is a professional care situation,” Dr. Grace said.

“Yeah, I thought so. You have no friends. If you did you’d know this is what friends do for each other. I feel closer to Allison in two days than anyone else in my life. And that’s because I’ve wanted to be a real friend to her for two years. Now I see what was holding her back and it’s fucking amazing watching her be herself. So no, fuck off. I’m not doing any of this because you asked me to do it. I’m not doing this for you. I’m doing it because I care for my friend, Allison,” Angie said, then she mumbled something.

There was an intake of breath, then a cough down the conn. “I’m sorry, I missed that last part,” Dr. Grace said, with a strained voice.

“She called you an, ‘idiot voter,’” Allison said.

“And I’m being more idiotic than usual right now,” Dr. Grace said. “But I am learning, this is new to me as well. We’re all learning.”

“How many teams like this are there, Dr. Grace? For different people up and down the station?” Allison asked.

“I only know about the medical field, really. But let’s say at minimum a dedicated liaison doctor, and either a doctor or researcher pulling information, a third medical professional to double check everything and pick up any slack, and someone dedicated to handling admin... Not counting actual research labs? Easily over two hundred teams right now. Pretty much every medical professional on the station will be keeping up to date with the fields relevant to them, and offering advice and opinions when needed, a subset of medical professionals will be checking up on and moving between every team, or a group of teams in similar areas.

“Of the ones of your size, that’ll keep the minimum staff on full call for at least three months after the case is concluded, and nothing new presents itself, while keeping open datalinks, with planetary interest from institutional researchers? There’s usually between three and about eight at any one time.”

Allison shook her head. “How many doctors are there on the station?”

“A lot,” Dr. Grace said.

“How many people are on the station?” Angie asked.

“I have no clue. Only the Governor’s office really knows that. I listened to the most boring date in my life, when I was in university, try to explain his estimates based on something even more boring and I nearly lost to the will to live.

“A much more interesting date explained Deep-Space Stations are bigger — or more populated — than the biggest cities that ever existed on planets. And for the past few hundred years more important to the continued survival of the human species than the planets. She was a much more interesting date. I think she’s actually with the Governor’s office now.”

Angie sniggered. “‘She?’” she said, and laughed again.

“Oh, grow up Angie! Lots of women have tried it. I bet you did.”

“You’re back to being the good Dr. Grace, now,” Angie said.

“Thank fuck for that,” Dr. Grace said, with what sounded like a sigh of relief. “And now that you’re back to being your usual tormenting self I’m telling you I’m setting up a team for you too, Angie. And before you complain it is not the Angie Team. Nor is it the Allison Team any more. It is one team, for both of you. That’s another first, I think. If there are problems, and either of your health issues conflict with the others, I will talk to you and explain things. And we will figure things out.

“Now... Do I have to go over the really basic shit again, about what you need to do?”

“Walk, eat, rest,” Allison said.

“Drink too much, get in fights, party all night,” Angie said.

“You two make a great team,” Dr. Grace said. “Goodbye. Message with any issues. You should know by now if I’m unavailable or somehow manage to fall asleep someone will see the message and wake me if necessary.”

“Thanks, Dr. Grace,” Allison said.

The call ended.

“The sex dream was about me, wasn’t it?” Allison asked.

“Yeah,” Angie said, sucking air through her teeth. “It was weird though, which is why I blushed. There was nothing sexy about it. At all! I could handle it if we boned but we were just talking, over dinner. I can’t remember what we were talking about. I can’t even remember where we were or any details, not even what was on the table, but it was intense. And good.”

“I’ll get ready then we should go eat. I’m sure you actually had a plan for us today.”

“That’s the first time I’ve ever heard Dr. Grace swear.” Angie laughed.

“I like her,” Allison said.

“Nicest idiot voter I’ve met.”

Allison uncrossed her legs, slapped her thighs and hoisted herself out of her armchair, leaving to go shower. A dry shower, considering how late in the day it already was.

Not having taken two steps into the single room with the en-suite adjoined Allison was back in the living room where Angie had just reached for her conn. “Do I really have boobs?” she asked Angie.

Angie squeezed her fingers together. “Tiny ones,” she said. “Lil’ cuties.”

Allison smiled and felt a swagger in her step as she walked towards the shower.

After waking Allison received news she didn’t believe at first but instantly realised she loved, Dr. Grace confirmed Allison is changing. Allison is becoming who she wants to be. Now she just needs to let time work its magic and keep doing what she’s doing.

What Allison would really like, however, is for things to slow down. Not the changes, rather she’d like to get time to enjoy who she is, but she doesn’t even know if that’s possible. She knows she’s unique in the history of the deep-space station, and maybe that means things will never be slow and normal. But what’s more normal, in all this newness, than a lunch with Angie?

---

By now Angie’s face wasn’t just beaded with sweat but coated with it as she blew a quick breath through pursed lips. “Fuck!” she said, shaking her head in disbelief.

“Good?” Allison asked.

“I can’t feel my mouth.” Angie wiped her running nose with a scrunched up napkin. “That was hot! Amazing! How can I still talk?”

Allison stabbed the last lump of lamb with her fork and spooned up some rice with it. “There’s so much good food on this station if you can actually afford it.”

“And as long as you’re allowed to buy it for yourself,” Angie said, smirking.

Allison chewed on the meat, savouring every last bit, then swallowed. She shrugged. “I coped without it before, I can cope without it again.”

“Please! You already have one man in your stable you’ll quickly find it’s easy to add more. Eventually all you’ll have to do to get a meal or a night out is know which of them to smile at on a particular day. Some you’ll just have to say, ‘Hello,’ to. It’s easy. Anyway, Robert is a foot freak. Casually cross your legs and let a heel dangle and you could convince him to murder for you.”

Allison didn’t say anything as she gently placed a stray lock of hair behind her ear and crossed her legs beneath the table, brushing her foot against Angie’s calf. Then she smiled as she turned her head to avoid Angie’s questioning, wide-eyed stare.

Angie shot back in her seat, face bursting with curiosity, then freezing in a look of amazement. “How did you know how to do that?” Angie asked.

“How about you buy me a drink and we talk?” Allison said, sliding a little on the cushioned bench, curling towards where Angie should sit. Where Allison would be all over her. And Angie could slide her hands over Allison.

Angie roared with laughter and reached for her whiskey and cola. She lifted it to take a drink and just as it was next to her lips she looked back at Allison, sputtered with laughter again, and quickly placed the glass back down. Then she wiped her whole face with a napkin she’d kept clean and unused throughout the meal.

“If there was any doubt about you being a woman... Doesn’t work on me, though,” Angie said, shaking her head.

“Yeah? Another sex dream tonight?” Allison asked.

“I fucking hope so!” Angie screamed, laughing again. “Seriously, though. How did you know to dress like that?” She waved her hand up and down as though indicating a human, and an entire outfit.

“Like what?”

“Calf-length, pale denim skirt, opaque stockings, nice comfy top. I like the shiny heart logo in the middle.”

Allison looked confused, and looked down at herself not really knowing what Angie was getting at.

“You dressed comfy... Relaxed...” Angie said.

“I felt like it.”

Angie shrugged, then grimaced a little, almost in annoyance, the excitement of Allison having shown her flirtations now completely forgotten. “It’s a Monday outfit. Pretty much every man is working. And if they worked the weekend they’re usually exhausted and taking it easy. Mondays are for us.” She took another drink of the cola.

Allison nodded, accepting it. It made sense. When she was a dude, and refusing to work — not simply not allowed to — Mondays were lazy days. After the weekend she, or the ‘he’ she thought she was, whoever that person was, would venture out from whatever rat-squat they’d found for themselves. It was usually when she went to the free cinema.

There was no-one coming onto anyone on Mondays. No woman would try to get anything out of the person Allison believed she was at the time. The public theatre didn’t show the new blockbusters, you had to pay for that, but the films were good, and pleasant. Some she’d seen tens of times and she knew she’d watch them again. She figured they were simply classics. They’d stood the test of time. She explained all this to Angie.

Angie nodded. “I don’t know how people didn’t figure this out before. Did you never see a doctor? Surely someone must have known something was up with you.”

Allison shook her head. “I didn’t even have a clue.”

Angie just nodded as silence fell over the table. A few minutes of simple comfort passed when a man approached them. “Hi,” he said to Angie.

“Yes?” Angie asked, dismissal in her tone.

“Nothing like that,” he said, with a smile. “You looked like you really enjoyed your meal—”

“Obviously!”

“More than her,” the man said, waving the basket he held in his hands towards Allison. “More than most who come here. I heard a little of your Monday conversation...” He looked towards Allison. “She’s right about Mondays. I worked the weekend. I’m drained. Not capable of playing game.” Then he looked back at Angie. “I don’t know what your deal is. I don’t care how you’re eating here. I assume some dude has paid for a pass for you two. If it’s tapped out I thought you could continue your chat with this...”

He put the basket he held down. Inside were some breads, and crispbreads, a few little nibbly bits. “There’s some credits with the counter for drinks, if you want. No pressure. You look like you’re having fun.”

“You’re cute,” Angie said, grabbing a poppadom. The words were said without any meaning behind them, mere filler, a ‘be gone now’ to the man; a ‘ you have served your purpose.’

“You like the food,” he said, smiling, as Angie happily crunched.

“Do you want to join us?” Allison asked.

The man smiled a gentler smile. “No. Today is Monday. It’s not about me. Enjoy!” he said, then walked away, and out of the restaurant, with Allison’s eyes on him. Allison not really thinking about what part of his body her eyes were specifically focused on.

Angie was loading some of the pickles that were included within the basket into her mouth, with a bread. “Is that normal?” Allison asked, when the man’s arse had departed.

“Normal? Yeah. Everyday..? No? I guess... It happens,” Angie said, sweat breaking out on her face again. “This is even hotter than... Fuck! That fucker did that on purpose!”

“Is it nice?”

Angie laughed, loading more of the too-spicy pickle into her maw. Then the two chatted as they continued to pass the time while the restaurant slowly emptied and re-filled.

Eventually, as the last of their drinks were finished, when both knew they didn’t want any more, Angie admitted something to Allison, something that had been on her mind. “There’s something missing from your get-up we should probably fix.”

Allison nodded. “I know. I need earrings. I’ve been thinking about it.” Allison almost looked disappointed.

“Earrings?” Angie said, confusion on her face. “Do you want to get your ears pierced?”

“I’ve always wanted to get my ears pierced,” Allison said. “It hasn’t been a men’s style since I was about thirteen. And even then it was fading out quickly. You see a few older guys with them, but not many. It’s kinda hot.”

Angie shook her head. “Yes! Damn! Let’s get you your ears pierced.”

“You didn’t mean earrings, did you? When you said something was missing?”

“No! I meant makeup. This is far more interesting. You always wanted your ears pierced?”

Allison nodded, looking quite young to Angie. Almost afraid.

“Oh, you poor baby! You should have said something. This the first time you’ve really wanted something for you. Of course we’ll get your ears pierced!”

“No... You’re right... I should get makeup. With my face like it is it’s more important. I know what makeup can do. I’ve watched enough women at parties touch up their own.”

Angie laughed. “Yet more fucking signs! You in the toilet with the non-bitches, chatting while they did their mascara. You were such a cool guy and now it’s obvious why! OK, come on we’ll get you your makeup. I know where to take you, they might have some material you can learn techniques from.”

Angie lead Allison on a journey through the station, probably longer than necessary but they both knew Allison needed a little exercise as well as ensuring she was well fed. Whatever route they took it was timed correctly. Just as Allison was starting to feel her energy drain they came to a store, clean and white, almost clinical, but still warm in tone. It was large, obviously part of a franchise, unlike Rowan’s. Whoever owned it pooled their money in a co-op with other business owners.

There was aisle after aisle of every beauty product imaginable. Or at least that Allison could imagine. And plenty of older women in smock dresses chatting away to other women, obviously helping them with their purchases. Allison saw one bored guy standing in front of a worker and another shopper who were deep in conversation.

Angie found the first free staff member, near a desk, who immediately asked how she could help.

“She wants her ears pierced,” Angie said, bold as brass.

“Angie!” Allison said, with a whine. “We’re here for makeup, Angie!”

“We can do both!” Angie said, still with certainty in her voice.

The woman nodded. “Ears, nose, we have some jewellery, bellybuttons are coming back in fashion. Makeup, styling, advice, I’m happy to just chat,” she said.

Angie turned to look at Allison, a sneer on her face. Or maybe more a challenge — daring Allison to disagree.

“Fine, yes! I would like my ears pierced, please,” Allison said.

“Like I’m forcing you.”

The woman smiled and nodded. “Have you had a piercing before?”

“No. Is that an issue?” Allison asked.

“Not at all. Come with me.” The woman lead Allison and Angie to a desk. “I’ll need to access your file to ensure a doctor hasn’t barred you from piercings. It won’t be an issue, the confirmation could be instant, or take a few minutes. I’ve had one issue in four years and I’ve done first piercings every second day, and sometimes multiples a day. From then on it’ll be ready to go whenever you need a piercing. It’s just about security levels in accessing your data, I think?”

The woman held a scanner up for Allison to swipe with her wrist. Which she did. Then Allison reached for her purse to take out her conn and actually issue the confirmation so the data could send.

“You don’t need your conn,” the woman said. “It’s so low-level I won’t get anything but a Yes or No, and if it’s a No I won’t even get your name. I’ll just tell you to talk to a doctor. Not even your own doctor, literally any. You could even get a message from one. There’ll only be a request for confirmation if there’s a bigger issue. Then it’s up to you. You can go to a doctor or me. I’ve never seen it happen. I can handle it if it happens.”

Angie was busy looking in a cabinet at the earrings available, obviously picking out things she liked.

“What are the ‘bigger issue’ things that happen?” Allison asked, knowing she could very well be one of those bigger issues.

The woman tilted her head to the side as if to say ‘don’t worry,’ but she did begin to speak, after what looked like a moment’s thought. “They’re not really bigger issues, more something that needs attention on the spot, or can get it. A strict ‘No’ is usually something you’re trying to get past your doctors with, you’ll have discussed it before. Or been warned. Some bigger issues I’ve heard of happening are someone who’s flagged an infectious illness warning without realising. They’re usually given a timeline for when they can get the piercing. Infectious things we don’t mess with.

“People with blood issues will typically be told either talk to their doctor or be recommended to a specialist piercer, almost always the specialist, I’ll get a suggestion on the spot if that’s the case, and you authorise it. I think there’s been a few cases where someone is under medical supervision and one of their doctors wants to be present with the specialist piercer. That’s usually not on the person getting pierced but more professional interest. The doctor and piercer can learn from it. Maybe a student.

“Anyway, nothing to worry about. Even in the worst case you might have to wait a week or two. Do you have something in mind for your first earrings?”

Allison was beginning to feel worried. It seemed like the woman had given a speech and her confirmation still hadn’t come through. She tried to distract herself thinking of the earrings she wanted, but she didn’t need to think. They were the exact same ones she’d wanted since she was thirteen. She remembered seeing them on men, and women. She even remembered how some of the people wearing them looked. In quite specific detail. “Circular gold studs, in the centre a small, circular, green—”

The woman burst out in a huge smile. “Oh! A classic! You’ve wanted them since you were a little girl, haven’t you?”

“Since I was thirteen,” Allison said, with a smile of her own this time, almost blushing, or maybe feeling tears beginning to come on.

“Did you see a beautiful woman you wanted to be like wearing them?” The woman paused. “Or did you have a crush on a guy? Men used to wear them, I remember a friend of...” The woman sighed. So did Allison. The woman opened her eyes wide at Allison as if demanding to know.

But she did know. And Allison knew she knew, at some level. And Allison didn’t quite understand why she was blushing but she was. And Allison felt like Angie looked when Dr. Grace revealed Angie’s sex dream.

“Say no more!” the woman said. “We don’t delve into the teenage mind until we’ve had more than a few drinks! Great choice for a first earring, by the way, and quite unique. I don’t think many girls your age remember men in earrings. It’s incredibly rare now and certainly not the fashion among the suitors you’re getting.”

Allison laughed. Then grew quiet. She hadn’t thought of it but did she have a crush on those guys?

“Is this taking too long?” she said, after what seemed like ten minutes of confusion about teenage fantasies. And if the various, almost almost new parts of her body weren’t stopped it wouldn’t be worry any more, it’d be dancing on tables.

The woman turned a business conn around, and there was Allison’s name and ID number, with an authorisation next to it. “Came in while you were reminiscing about your crush. Not that I expected anything else. Now just let me do some paperwork and get someone to bring you your earrings...” The woman stopped herself from actually going to do paperwork. “Sorry, I had to bring you back from your youth. You’d have wandered out of here forgetting who you are if I didn’t take the serious route. Probably have walked out an airlock without realising. That’d mean trouble for me...”

Allison cringed while the woman smiled and tapped away at the business conn. Then Allison began to fidget with her fingers, refusing to look at the jewellery calling to her. She knew this could get expensive, fast. Especially with how much makeup she needed. She had money but she did not want to spend like she was rich. It was all money she’d need to get started in her new life.

Eventually another woman arrived to them and said to Allison the earrings were found. She had to dig around some of the storerooms to find them, but both Sandra and Sandy knew they had a few pairs, somewhere. They both remembered them extremely well from when they were younger.

Sandra was the new woman who brought the earrings, and would help Allison with makeup. Sandy was the woman Allison had been speaking to already, but now Allison couldn’t get a word in. Sandra and Sandy were arguing about their names. Apparently Sandy’s name was also actually Sandra but because the original Sandra had been working there longer she claimed the right to be the first and only Sandra. Something about no need for numbers.

The two kept this up until Angie said to Allison, “They remind me of us two.” Which shut them both up very quickly, then Allison and Angie were lead to the piercing room.

It was a quite big room, for something that only needed space for two people, really, and when they all entered comfortable lighting automatically came on until Sandy changed it over to a light obviously needed for piercing’s precision.

It was actually quite a soft room. Soft furnishing on the couches, a large ornate mirror, with chairs and products before it. Apart from what looked like some basic hospital equipment it was really quite pleasant.

“Why is the room so big?” Allison asked.

“They need to soundproof it properly for when you scream,” Angie said.

“Scream? Why?”

“You’re getting a needle stuck through your body, of course you’ll scream.”

“Fuck you, An—”

“We do get screamers,” Sandra said, laughing. “They usually have a horde of friends around them trying to help and calm them down. They get in our way but they’re great fun. You learn a lot. Sandy certainly did. She can deal with any screamer.”

“Are you afraid of needles?” Sandy asked Allison.

“No?” Allison said.

“That would have turned up on the authorisation. If it tells us someone is afraid we’ll know but won’t bring it up unless they do. Doctors tend to know and will let us know. Some are simply screamers and not really afraid. Occasionally they’re both, that can be frightening. If someone goes quiet and pale it’s when we need this room. They’re having a genuine reaction. It’s a phobia, but we’re used to it. Rarely serious. Sandra would spot it the second it starts. We both know what to do.”

“And we’re in this room because we’re also doing makeup for you,” Sandra said. “It’s where we keep the wine fridge.”

Angie looked at Allison like she knew all this already. And Allison knew she’d picked this store especially. Whether Angie had been here herself or had simply heard about it on the grapevine Allison didn’t know.

“There’s something special about this store, isn’t there?” Allison asked.

“You’re Allison. Every beautician on the station is talking about your court ruling. Whoever that man was he was either blind drunk or stupid. Or both,” Sandra said.

“He—” Allison began.

“Was an idiot. You’re obviously a woman. Anyway, if a man wanted his ears pierced and makeup lessons we’d teach him. That’s why we exist. We already do it. Or Sandra does, at least,” Sandy said, pointing her thumb at Sandra as she readied what looked like medical packaging on a little tray, then forcing Allison to sit.

Allison was getting nervous, though. No matter how she dressed or how she looked after the medication’s effects she did have a man’s voice. She didn’t know if she could change that. She knew there were limits on what the doctors could do. Things she couldn’t have. Things she didn’t want to think about now. But it was dawning on her ever since the court ruling people were just being polite, or were afraid. Loads of people obviously knew there was at least something strange occurring when such a weird accusation had been ruled on. No-one had ever heard of such a thing before. Even Dr. Grace said Allison was unique.

With a shaking voice Allison forced herself to speak, and as she did she realised she was trying to make it a little higher pitched. She got her first word out when Sandra began talking to Sandy.

“Men can be so stupid, and we’re the ones not allowed work until we’re forty! It’s not right! This fool sees a 100% woman in front of him and reports her.”

“I bet it was her voice,” Sandy said.

“Yeah, an idiot. Basic biology lesson. Taught from the day you start school, so kids aren’t afraid: puberty is strange. Hormones can be beasts on women. Everyone knows that. I know women with voices deeper than hers, were they ever reported for imitation? They try to change, or act more girly, when not a person on the station really cares. Except for this prime simpleton! They’re the idiots my friends are afraid of and try to change for. I didn’t even think someone so stupid actually existed! I thought it was impossible! Now we’ll know. We’ll learn. And do not a bit different because we are all women here, who deserve respect, and no-one can ever cast doubt on us. Not a man, the law, not a thing!” Sandra said.

“We are who are,” Sandy said.

Allison was starting to feel dizzy with all this talk. She really just wanted the needle being stabbed through her skin so she’d have an excuse to scream. “When are you—”

“Put your earrings in, honey, we need to see you do it,” Sandy said, patting Allison on the forearm. Somehow having moved to the other side of her.

“What? Earrings how?” Allison said.

“You have holes in your ears now. Stick the earring through, attach the back.”

“When did you—”

Sandra held out a little, blue, velvet box with some earrings in it on a little cushion.

“They’re the exact ones I wanted,” Allison managed to say, somehow.

Allison stood, walking to the mirror where she pushed her hair back at one side and placed the earring in, securing the back without even thinking. She did the same at the other side then gave her hair a little shake to let it settle back down.

“Don’t get your hair cut. What you have now suits you. You might be tempted to have your ears on show but you’ll regret a cut if you do. Earrings are like stocking tops, at least the earrings you chose.”

Angie smiled. “Allison knows full well how to flirt. A little touch here, a small smile. I’ve yet to see her show a stocking top. Not unless she was already engaged in activity.”

Allison was tilting her head from side to side, looking in the mirror, occasionally brushing her hair back and turning her head.

“I’m having a drink, now, Sandra. I’m off duty. Is Allison OK?”

“What do you think?”

Sandy smiled and said, “No reaction other than seeing a girlhood fantasy come true.”

Without the knowledge of it happening, somehow, Allison was sitting down in the seat before the mirror while Sandra busied herself preparing various brushes, sponges and every form of makeup Allison had ever seen — she noticed — and many she didn’t know existed. A glass of wine was in her hand. Every few seconds she tried to surprise herself in the mirror. She couldn’t.

“You said you did this for men?” Allison asked, the sparkling white wine she’d been drinking warming her confidence.

“Yeah, we’ll do it for anyone, if they want. We’re a specialist store, though. There’s quite a few. Partly medical facility. Almost... Sandra will work with doctors on skin issues. She’s not a doctor but she’s trained in it, it’s more technical than anything a normal beautician would do and it involves education and tests, and qualifications. A lot of study and practice,” Sandy said.

Allison laughed to herself.

Sandy looked at Allison, questioning.

“Which is why every beautician wanted to get their eyes on the accused Allison...” Allison said.

“Never heard of it before. No-one knew what was happening? The conspiracy-thought was a doctor had failed somewhere, or the Governor’s office making a mistake was even debated. Stores like us have been issuing constant threats to the regular stores that if Allison appears they’re to be sent to an expert. And if any amateur tried to make a name for themselves they’d be hated more than the man who reported the — frankly — gorgeous Allison.

“Thankfully, your friend brought you to one anyway, so she’s not all bad,” Sandy said, pouring Angie, sitting next to her on the couch, some more of the wine. “Oh god, girl, we thought your confidence was shot with that. We wanted to make you look like a dream.”

“Now we know you’re just an unfortunate woman who was slandered because some moron didn’t remember his education... Well, the question at the heart of the gossip is we don’t know what we’ll do now we know you’re no different to any other women and there was no reason for any worry. That’ll be up to Sandra.”

Sandra moved around to where Sandy was sitting, resting herself on the armrest. “It’s up to Allison. I’ll do whatever she wants.”

“I don’t know...” Allison said.

“OK...” Sandy said, after two or three seconds thought. “I’ll update the good stores, anyway, and they’ll update the good stores they know. ‘Normal woman, idiot man.’ You know the story. Heard it from every client we’ve had who’s ever met a man. Everyone shares information if they’re any good. That’ll stop the gossip internally and that’ll stop it among our realm, eventually. Then something new will be found to gossip about. It all happens very quickly,” Sandra said.

Angie was holding her glass out to be topped up again which Sandy did automatically. “What do you normally gossip about?” Angie asked.

“Industrial accidents. Which is where pretty much every man we’ve ever dealt with has come from. Sometimes you get a man with bad skin, or confidence issues. They’re bad! The confidence issues... They need a friend, often more. Women can be horrific. You have no idea, Allison. I hope you don’t meet a monster.

“Someone in medicine, whether voter-doctor or trained citizen medic will send the men who need us to us. It’s usually more about just letting them talk than anything cosmetic. But confidence is also aided by cosmetics, which I’m sure you two are very familiar with it, given you’re dressed for a Monday!” Sandra said, laughing, with Allison joining in, thinking she just felt something in her bones about today when she got dressed.

“Did you ever get men just into makeup?” Angie asked, curiosity spilling out of her.

“There were a few in my twenties. I was willing to work with them. The last of a generation, last stragglers. And I’d say Allison’s earrings are the last of that entire fashion. People playing with gender. Supposedly it comes and goes in cycles, just like any other trend. I’d guess you’ll see it come back around in your lifetimes, maybe not ours, but I’m holding out hope.”

“Did you ever see men in—”

“Stop!” Allison said, her glass spouting wine out with her enthusiasm. “How long have you two been working?”

“Do you have a job?” Sandra asked, leaning out of the couch to turn Allison’s seat around to face the mirror.

“I’m not sure I should—”

“I knew it! There’s far more to this than an accusation. I’m stopping here. This will get me in trouble!” Sandra said, while Sandy had a look of mischief on her face.

“What?” Allison shrieked.

“Oh, come on, Sandra! You love trouble. The girl is just looking for a bit of her story.”

“No!” Sandra said. “Allison has enough going on! She can figure it out as needed!”

Sandy looked annoyed as Sandra handed her a bottle of wine — Allison had lost count — and Sandy clutched onto it, arms folded across her chest, refusing to look at Sandra because she was trying to shut down the conversation.

“Women aren’t allowed to work!” Angie said, shooting out of her seat.

“How old do you think I am?” Sandy asked.

“I mean...” Angie began, then stopped.

“Do you really think both of us have learned everything we know since the day we turned forty?” Sandra asked.

“You practised on yourself! Of course!” Angie said, feeling a hand on her shoulder pulling her back down to sit. The hand also contained a bottle of a wine. It was Sandy’s hand.

“And friends,” Allison said.

Sandy nodded.

“And your friends told their friends. And eventually people were contacting you offering to give you things if you’d help with makeup because you knew the trends better, and what was in fashion, and some people just liked you more. And you were good. And it was fun.”

“Allison has started university already,” Sandy said.

Allison nodded, understanding some new things, again, which was all her life seemed to be now.

“When did you realise money transfers aren’t really monitored. And if they are people don’t mind, unless you’re doing something you really shouldn’t do, because it’s dangerous. Or you’re being reckless?” Allison asked.

“What makes you think that’s what happens?” Sandra asked, looking quite concerned.

“It makes sense, from what I know. Older women tell younger women to save as much as they can. To get men to buy everything for them because they might need the money. They’re talking about businesses, starting one and paying for unofficial ones, before they’re forty, or they’re just idiots and want to use men.”

Allison was having difficulty with being forced to face the mirror — looking at herself — in knowing where exactly to turn, while she found out more from these two older women than anyone else, people like One and Des, even Dr. Grace, those seemingly educated and powerful people, had ever really let her in on.

“Allison will be teaching the university course someday,” Sandy said, the demand for mischief that was on her face seemingly placated.

Sandra took a deep breath, stood, moved to the front of Allison, then picked up some makeup from the counter. “Don’t work if you don’t want to, Allison. You don’t have to. Just let life happen and enjoy it. Kiss some men, drink and dance. This is why we don’t make it obvious. It puts too much pressure on people. You’re young. Youth is to be enjoyed. Don’t waste it. Really, please, have fun, make friends, drink, dance, and?”

“Kiss men...” Allison said.

“Damn right!” Sandy said, while Sandra applied some cream to Allison’s face.

Allison watched what Sandra was doing to her, and listened to her explanations, but her mind was having trouble focusing.

“Are you listening to me?” Sandra asked.

She’d stopped applying the make up and was standing, taking an appraisal of Allison’s face from front on. Allison knew it was complete. She looked, well, just normal. Like a woman.

“Yeah,” Allison said. “‘Don’t be afraid to make mistakes. All mistakes can be corrected. Nothing is wrong.’”

“That’s the only thing I’ve said that really matters.” Sandra said, and she smiled a smile that reminded Allison of every one of the mothers who’d looked after her.

Then, in a voice loud enough to beat a screamer getting pierced Sandra said, embarrassingly, as she spun Allison around for Sandy and Angie to get a look at her, “You are beautiful! ALLISON! WOW!”

Allison and Angie were having lunch when Allison revealed she wanted her ears pierced. Angie knew the perfect place for it, and it was also the perfect place to fix Allison up with makeup, but neither counted on finding two women who treated Angie and Allison just like Angie and Allison treated everyone else; they were fun head-wreckers.

Now Allison needs quiet. And to rest. And more. But with the pace of the past few days, with all she’s discovering, all the secrets revealed on the deep space station, she doesn’t know how to achieve any of that. And she doesn’t know what she’ll do if she can’t find it.

---

Sandra had dragged Angie into the chair before the mirror and was working on her, declaring her makeup to be a disgrace due to Angie having had an excess of fun. Sandy had already departed for a few moments to find some things from around the store and Allison was busy on her conn sending a message to the man who’d gotten her into all this.

Allison keyed in a few variations of what was bothering her, a few different explanations, then deleted them all. Not one of them seemed right. They didn’t do justice to what she was feeling.

Sandra was just finishing Angie’s touch-ups when Allison hit on the message. The exact one she needed to send. “This all needs to slow down.”

It went out to One just in time for Allison to look up at Angie, now standing, with Sandra smiling at them both, and saying, “I’ll run out for a few more bits and pieces and then we’ll settle up.”

Angie sat next to Allison on the couch, giving up on examining herself in the mirror. “What’s up?” she asked. “Tired?”

“I don’t know. This seems too much,” Allison said.

“Yeah, they’re crazy! Non-stop! A few people recommended here to me but I’d never been before. I’ve never needed this experience but it’s so worth it, even if we do deserve some quiet time after.”

Angie obviously didn’t get what Allison meant so Allison just said, “Yep...”

Allison was taking deep breaths as the ludicrous music announcing a call from One came from her conn. She didn’t know how to say what she was going to say in front of Angie. Like it’d somehow be a betrayal of all that Angie had done, and was doing for her. That she’d be letting her down.

Allison closed her eyes as she answered. “Angie’s here, One,” Allison said.

“How are you, Angie?” One asked.

“Better having heard your cheery tones,” Angie said.

“And she’s had a lot to drink,” Allison said.

“I don’t feel too bad, though. Just like I’ve had one or two normal drinks. Certainly not an entire bottle of wine.”

“Bottle and a half,” Allison said.

“OK! What’s up, Allison? What needs to slow down? Are your changes happening too quickly?” One asked.

Allison sighed as she saw Angie looking at her, Angie quickly hiding her shock and instead showing real concern. “It’s not me, One,” Allison said. “I’m fine. It’s the station. There’s just so much I didn’t know! So much I didn’t think even existed. And all that in a few days? My mind is racing.”

“Calming smoke?” One said.

“Not right for it,” Allison said, knowing that was the truth.

Allison heard a sucking sound then One said, “I didn’t think so. There is a smoke for it, but... Go to Jenny’s and see if she has anything to say about it. I’ll let her know you’re on your way with Angie. And message Adam as well. I’m sure he’ll join you as soon as he can.”

Allison nodded. “Is that what smokes are. To help people struggling. To provide relief?”

One laughed. “That’s what everything is. Keep that in mind. I don’t think you need any, not now. Can it help? Yes. What you really need is some peace. Give me some time to think and I’ll come up with something. OK?”

“Sure,” Allison said.

“You are allowed to slow down. That’s always allowed.”

“Thanks, One,” Allison said, not feeling that much better.

As the call ended Angie placed her hand around Allison’s wrist and held it for a few seconds, then told her she’d message Adam to meet them in Jenny’s as soon as he could.

They were sitting in silence, not for very long, when Sandra and Sandy arrived back. “What’s wrong, ladies?” Sandy asked.

“Allison’s a bit tired. Long day. Busy day.”

“Sorry,” Sandy said. “Normally people don’t have to deal with both of us.”

Allison laughed, and actually felt some of the pressure lift, at least for a moment.

“I assume if you don’t know some already you’ll have discovered them by the weekend, places that are happy to serve you, you’re moving faster than most and figuring things out long before most women unearth this stuff. If you want a quiet drink somewhere just let us know, we’re happy to share a few of the bars we know. And that’s whenever you want. Just call back in. And call back in no matter what!” Sandy said.

“We’ll let you know how the makeup is going, quick tips, once we can inspect your efforts. And you can tell us what’s happening in your world. I’ve messaged the doctor supervising the more medical side of the store. He’s pulling a few things together, approvals and the like, and preparing the materials, but you should get a message within a few days about some help with your makeup. I’m certain it’ll be fine,” Sandra said.

Allison nodded, feeling the tiredness hit her now her mind had calmed, or at least that people were thinking about her. “Whatever this costs it won’t be enough for your help.”

Sandy turned her head to Sandra, tilted it in an incline with a look neither Allison nor Angie could decrypt, then Sandy turned back to face the two sitting on the couch.

“Sometimes it’s just work for us. But you don’t work to do work. You work for the afternoon we’ve had, where you can share what you know, help people who need it — the people who accept your help — while you all have fun and enjoy each other,” Sandy said. “That’s why we do what we do, or else we’d be happy living on our stipend. Many do. And they live perfectly content lives.”

Allison nodded again. This seemed to be it. You were supposed to find what was right for you then things opened up. Or your path became clear. Except she didn’t know these pathways even existed a few days ago, or could even exist. And she wondered how many other people didn’t know.

“OK...” Allison said, accepting it all, but not really. “How much?” She lifted herself up in the couch ready to woman up again.

“Are you going to let us decide?” Sandra asked.

“Whatever you think is right. I already said I can’t thank you enough for what you’ve done. This was... I don’t know? Weird, but also normal.”

Sandra held the business conn down for Allison’s approval.

“That’s nowhere near enough!”

“You said we could decide,” Sandy said. “This is what we think is right. We’re both happy with that number if you promise to show us your progress with your make up, listen to our advice, and do and buy what we suggest.”

Allison tapped her wrist against the business conn. The amount of money was so little it didn’t even need confirmation as a substantial transaction on her full conn.

“Now what?” Allison asked, to no-one in particular.

“You’re free, I guess. We can’t terrorise you any more. What would you normally do?” Sandy said.

Allison shook her head. She had no clue what she’d normally do. All she could do was follow One’s advice and go to Jenny’s. Nothing else occurred to her.

Twenty tired minutes later, twenty minutes of pushing down thoughts that seemed to be invading again, she and Angie were walking into Jenny’s, Yes greeting them happily, and quietly, at the closed door then guiding them inside, past the curtain that hung just behind the entrance, while politely stepping back for them to make their appearance.

Jenny’s was quiet. No-one was behind the bar and there were only two groups of people; two people in each group, each sitting opposite their friend with a small table between them, smokes in their hands while they relaxed in the pale, worn, corduroy armchairs. The lights were low, as if a natural light had somehow illuminated the bar where necessary, not a station light, and the air seemed dry. Adam was, however, sitting on a couch with drinks in front of him, waiting for both Allison and Angie.

Seeing them both Adam stood, and smiled, then waved. Then caught himself waving and quickly dropped his hand.

Walking to Adam’s table Allison felt her feet almost slide across the floor, her body getting heavier and losing the ability to lift her knees. Her long denim skirt seemed closer to her, or less flexible; constricting; as though she had to fight it to bring her leg forward. She could hear the noise of herself moving; her stockings rubbing together, alarmingly loudly in the quiet of Jenny’s. Her arms brushed against her sides, the fabric almost shouting at her with the resistance from it sweeping against itself.

As she stood in front of Adam she didn’t even know if she was looking at him. Or if she had her eyes open as she walked towards him. She hadn’t understood anything but a roar. She simply ended up in front of him.

She looked into his eyes, almost pleading. Really it was asking for mercy.

“Wow! You’re beautiful!” Adam said.

Allison’s head nodded very slow, tiny movements taking the words in. “‘Wow’ and ‘I’m beautiful’ and..?”

“And?” Adam said.

Allison’s chin rested towards her chest and she could feel herself gather up beneath it. “And I’m hot. Or I’m sexy. Do you think I’m sexy?” she said. “And hot?”

“No,” Adam said, confused.

“I’m not hot and sexy,” Allison said. Then she gulped air through her mouth, blowing her breath out violently after, repeating the cycle a second time, and a third.

Adam grasped her shoulders, firmly, holding her steady, and for some reason it occurred to Allison he was taller than her. She’d never thought of that before. Before he’d simply been Adam. She’d never paid attention to his height. But now he was taller than her, in a way she noticed. He was a man who was taller than her. And he’d grabbed her around her shoulders.

“What’s wrong?” Adam asked, insisting.

“I...” Allison said, but couldn’t continue.

Adam pulled Allison into a tight hug and she rested her head on his shoulder closing her eyes. “Angie? What happened?” Adam said.

“I don’t know,” Angie said.

Allison drained in the air around in more gulps, this time as though she was a sinkhole at the bottom of a flooding and dark ocean cavern.

Adam turned Allison around in her standing spot then forced her to sit, deep into the couch. He picked up one of the large bottles of the strong, black beers from the table. One of the ones Des had given to Allison to get her past the door to Jenny’s bar the first time.

Adam stood above Allison as he handed it to her. She took the beer from him and held it to her lips, glugging back as much as she could manage, then a second time. When she couldn’t take any more of the third go-round she wiped her mouth with the sleeve of her long white top, the one with the large heart on the chest, leaving a streak of liquid from her lips on the cuff. She laughed when she saw her makeup had left no stain.

“I just need quiet,” Allison said. “And people around me. But quiet.”

Angie sat on the couch opposite, then Adam sat next to Allison and tried to put his arm around her, to drag her into his grip again. Allison shrugged his reach off her with annoyance and took another swig of the bottle, trying to finish it.

“Allison?” Adam said.

“Allison, honey?” Angie said.

“Just let me drink,” Allison said, swallowing whatever was rising up in her throat. She felt out of breath and knew a drink would eventually fix something, at least temporarily.

She leaned forward out of the seat, being sure in her eagerness she didn’t actually fall out, but coming close to it.

She grabbed a second bottle and took yet another swig of beer.

Adam reached out to put his hand on her thigh, turning to her, but with her free, now non-beer hand, the first bottle having been finished, Allison swiped Adam’s reach away.

“Allison? Please, Allison,” Angie said, with Allison drinking even more.

Allison’s eyes were closed. They stayed closed, and she drank. And finally things were going quiet for her.

When she opened them she realised why. Sue was standing above her, looking fierce. “Conn?” she said, holding out a blue business conn from the bar.

She placed two bottles down on the table, spirits. “They’re anise. A lot of cultures had it. We’ve lost track of the origins, but it’s old. This a strong one.” She nodded towards three glasses on the table.

Allison had no hesitation in paying for the booze.

“First you smoke one of these,” Sue said. She handed Allison a smoke.

“I don’t want to smoke!” Allison said.

“Smoke it,” Sue said. Then she said “Smoke it!” again, sternly, seeing the defiance on Allison’s face.

“That’s what got me into this mess. I just want to drink.”

“I’ll take the booze away if you don’t smoke.”

“I paid for them already.”

Angie and Adam were casting glances at each other while Allison and Sue fired their words back and forth. Small, petty, insisting words.

“I don’t care. I’ll take them back,” Sue said.

“I’ll complain to Jenny!”

“Then Jenny will bar you. Smoke it!” Sue lit the lighter. “I’ll bar you now if you don’t smoke it! I’ll drag you out of here by the ear and you’ll be lying squealing on the ground outside until security call a medic for you.”

Allison growled at Sue. This was what it always fucking was. People fucking with her. People messing her up. People playing tricks and having secrets and nothing, NOTHING! being clear.

She almost crushed the end of the rollie as she inhaled to catch the tip into its burning state.

She felt nothing. She inhaled again, angrily. To prove to Sue she was doing exactly as every asshole demanded of her. Then she felt honey in her chest.

The world slowed.

While the world slowed thoughts flashed, almost as if real, in front of Allison. First was how did she express her sorrow to Sue; no apology could express it well enough. Somehow, after what felt like an entire library’s worth of reading, an entire library just to learn the directions to every other library in existence, with no time passing, Allison realised no apologies were expected. It was why Sue was so was insistent.

Allison bent over on the couch and laid the rollie in the ashtray, then she looked up at Sue and simply said, “Thank you.” Meaning it with her entire heart. With something greater than her heart.

“Tell me how you feel, please, Allison,” Sue said. “One has never given anyone anything like that. He wouldn’t even know what it is. He couldn’t recognise it if he smoked it a thousand times.”

Allison shook her head, refusing to answer Sue, then stretched her arm out.

Sue lifted her forearm six inches or so and bent her wrist so Allison could take Sue’s hand into her own. Their touch was so soft silk would feel like sandpaper in comparison. So firm and sure it rivalled the instant before the birth of the universe; confused, but absolute in its confidence.

“OK,” Sue said. She smiled. “Would Adam or Angie be able to handle it? They have their entire lives if not now.”

Allison thought for a few seconds. “Both of them,” she said. “And now.”

“Who do you want to take?” Sue asked.

“Adam,” Allison said.

“Come on, Angie. Bring a bottle,” Sue said, as she placed the lighter and a brass tin of smokes on the table in front of Allison.

Allison leaned forward and opened the other bottle of spirits, pouring both her and Adam a small measure. Then she opened the tin of smokes and took one out, rotating it in her hand to give to Adam.

“Do I really need to?” Adam asked.

“Not if you don’t want to,” Allison said.

“But?”

“You’ll like it. It’s not like the one you had last time, here. I think you’ll get a lot from it. I know I will. It won’t hit you hard.”

Adam took the smoke from Allison and put it between his lips. He lit it and inhaled, then exhaled peacefully. He nodded, but Allison couldn’t tell anything from any change in his demeanour or any change in face. He took another drag on the smoke and then placed his left hand — rollie free — on Allison’s shoulder.

“What do you need?” Allison asked.

“You,” Adam said.

He gently pulled Allison back into his arm, to rest into his shoulder, and she offered no resistance. She accepted it, welcomingly. He took another inhale then handed the smoke to Allison. She took one drag, held it for a few seconds before taking another, then passed the smoke back to Adam.

“Is this what you need?” Adam asked.

“Sort of. Not really,” Allison said.

“No?” Adam said.

“No. It’s nice. It’s not what I need. It’s helping, a little. It’s not what I need, though.” She tried to think of what she did need.

“Talk to me. Tell me.”

“I need things to slow down,” Allison said. What she and Adam had now was adjacent to slow, but it wasn’t steady. There was potential to it. And possibility.

Adam handed Allison the smoke again, after taking a small puff, and she took a deeper inhale than him. He lifted his hand on Allison’s shoulder and rubbed it down the side of her head, with strength, but delicacy, just the once. Just to let her know he was there.

“I don’t know in what way,” Allison said, thinking about what kind of slowness she needed.

“How do you feel about you?”

“I don’t know who I am,” Allison said.

Adam chuckled. “You know exactly who you are. For the past few days, anyway.”

“Imagine us doing this a few weeks ago... Me dressed like this. Me not officially a woman. No makeup. No court ruling. Smoking, even! You holding me. We’d be thrown out an airlock by a mob. That’s why I mean I don’t know who I am.”

Adam held Allison even tighter. “That’s why you know who you are now. Do you feel this is wrong, or is it just a surprise you’re OK with it? That this is better — or more — than you could dream of?”

Allison didn’t say anything in response.

“So what’s moving too fast?” Adam asked. “Do you not like your new earrings?” Allison drew away from Adam and looked at him accusingly, and with annoyance. “Angie told me in her message.” He smiled.

“That bitch! I wanted to see if you’d notice!” Allison said, tilting her head to the side and drawing her hair behind her ear to show off her new piercing; the little, golden, flat stud with green jewel inlaid. It felt incredibly right as she did it. And she knew whatever Adam’s reaction would be it would be perfect. Even if he just smiled at her. Or stroked her head again.

“I love you so much,” Adam said.

“I didn’t expect that! What!?” Allison said, stunned.

“Look at you! You’re the most amazing person on this station. And you’re mine!”

“I’m yours!! Do you want us to!!!” Allison gasped, wide eyed.

“No!” Adam said. “I just know we were meant to be together. Not like a man and woman, not meeting up in bars and or hiring rooms when we’re drunk. You and me are more than that. There’s more to us.”

Allison laid deeper into Adam’s arm and let her body be supported by him. “This is so good. And you’re right. There is more here. Something real, but not boyfriend and girlfriend real. It’s bigger. It’s the same with Angie. With both of you. You looked adorable when I gave you your first smoke, like a happy child. It’s the opposite now. You look full of wisdom; mature and confident. All of us are alright together.”

“There’s more to you, Allison. Whatever’s going on with you it’s deep. It’s magnificent. It’s beautiful—”

“Just like me.”

“Just like you,” Adam said, smiling. “And if you need to rest for a while we can do this. Even if it’s not everything you need.”

Allison felt the honey in her chest again and relaxed into Adam’s hold for a few more minutes, just watching the bar. A few more people came in, and sat. Some took out smokes. Sue was behind the bar and served them drinks all the while Angie rapidly smoked what Sue had given her, multiple smokes, deep in conversation with Sue while Sue was pouring and mixing. Occasionally Angie stood, seemed to realise she’d suddenly stood, then casually lowered herself back to the seat.

Eventually Allison sat forward out of the Adam’s grip. “We need drinks,” she said.

“Yes,” Adam said.

“And I need you to kiss me.”

Adam’s faced drew up into a bitter pucker. “Why? You know me and you aren’t like that. We’re not going that way and aren’t meant to, whatever that means. We both know it. I know we know it.”

Allison shrugged. “I guess it’s just that I can’t have the first man who’s said he needs me—”

“And loves you,” Adam interrupted, seeing where this was going.

“And loves me not be someone I haven’t at least kissed. What kind of person would that make me?” Allison studied Adam’s face, then thought of something. “Although maybe you’re not the first man who’s said he needs me. The weird guy the other day said he needed me. Or at least my feet, I think. He was disgusting. He desperately wanted my feet. Weirdo!”

“Robert? You said you liked him.”

Allison’s body deflated at the thought of Robert, and Adam saw she looked far away. “No...” she said, drawing the word out. “Robert’s nice.”

“Do you want a kiss from me or a kiss from Robert?” Adam asked, laughing.

Allison turned to Adam. “You’re not getting out of this! Come on! On the smacker!”

Allison tried to force the smile from her face as she puckered her lips and stared at Adam.

She waited for Adam’s quick peck when he reached both hands up to hold her face, with the softest of touches, and a soft smile on his face, coming close to her. And not just physically close.

Then they kissed.

As Adam moved away he laughed.

“What?” Allison asked, annoyed.

“Your lips taste like lipstick,” he said. Allison shook her head. “But forget about me, you’ve never looked happier. Did you enjoy that?”

“Oh it is Mr. Confident now!”

“I’ve kissed my fair share of woman.”

“Well add me to the list!” Allison reached for the glasses on table, but moved first to make the small measures into reasonable sized ones, then passed a glass off to Adam before laying back into him, demanding he put his arm around her again. “And if you want a reference for other women I’ll say you’re a damn fine kisser. Very tender.”

“Do you want to do it again?”

“Maybe when I’m desperate,” Allison said.

“Sure thing. You have my contact.”

And Allison laughed.

Then they drank, and Allison filled Adam in on her day of makeup, forcing him to tell her her earrings were perfect for her a few more times. He added they were unique, just like she was.

They drank, slowly, chatting and catching each other up on the minor rubbish of their days once the big stuff had been dealt with, or at least the big stuff that occurred to them. There was no sign of Angie returning but that bothered neither of them. They were happy to sip away and simply enjoy being with each other. Being with each other in the most real way either of them could ever remember.

Another spell of quietness had reached Adam and Allison when a man in a green uniform appeared with Yes walking next to him. The man looked quite serious. Yes brought him to the bar where he began talking with Sue, who looked concerned.

“Do you know what that is?” Allison asked Adam.

“Unfortunately I do,” Adam said. “Physical mail. You know how I deliver things? But just to delivery rooms across the station? Packages and the like? Furniture and that when I started out.”

“Yeah...” Allison said, unsure where he was going with this.

“Physical mail is usually a secure notice. More secure than digital mail to a conn. No-one’s ever heard of the Governor’s office or the court having a communication intercepted, but when they want a guarantee of something being delivered, and an official to say it was delivered, they use the guys in those uniforms. I’ve heard of a few rats getting them, it’s rare. More often it’s official notices to shut businesses. Voters more commonly get them, given whatever it is they do. Maybe Jenny or Sue get them more with what this place is?”

Allison nodded, but still felt concerned. Sue looked extremely worried. Then Allison felt like there was a black hole in her stomach when she saw Sue point to Angie, and the man in the green uniform walk to and hand the mail to Angie.

Angie seemed confused for a few seconds until the man explained something, but then Angie seemed calm. The man walked away talking to Yes as he was lead outside.

“What’s—” Allison began, concerned for Angie, but Angie had stood and was walking towards where Adam and Allison were sitting.

When she came to them she held the mail out for Allison. “This is for you,” she said, seemingly unbothered.

“What?” Allison.

“That’s not normal. He has to deliver it to the person it’s intended for. This is fucking weird,” Adam said.

Allison took the mail. It was an envelope with her ID written on the front, with a pen, and a pre-printed mark in the corner.

Whatever small amount of slowness had recently come to Allison had departed and now her mind was racing again, or maybe her heart. She opened the envelope carefully but still managed to tear it.

Inside was a notice, except it wasn’t a notice.

Finishing it, which took a few minutes, Allison laughed.

“What’s that? What is it?” Adam asked, fright in his voice.

“The man said it’s a letter,” Angie said. “Is this another fucky Allison thing?”

Allison shuffled through the pages again, smiling, and ensured they were in the correct order before slipping them back into the slightly torn envelope.

She poured herself a small measure of the anise spirit and took a sip, then put the letter in her purse before topping up what she had taken with her sip.

“Remember the first guy I had the smoke with? No... The second,” Allison said. “Not One, the client.”

“The guy who sent us here?” Adam asked, still with an edge to his tone.

“That’s him. He explained it all. It’s a letter. A way of slowing down. Writing and talking to people at the same time. But slowly. Not making up stories or writing articles. Just a way to get your thoughts out. And giving the other person time to think about what you said.”

“I’ve never heard of—”

Angie made a big ‘Oh!’ sound, as though something had dawned on her. “I know those. They’re in the old-human books. That’s really smart! Remember when we were made keep a diary, in school, Adam?”

“Yeah...” Adam said.

“It’s like that but you’re sharing a few pages with someone. Writing a few pages for them. And before you had computers, in ancient history — or even instant communication — people would write them to each other. Just telling people what was happening. When crossing oceans was even difficult. When loads of people had to move away, all the time.”

Adam looked confused. “We don’t have oceans? We have elevators. Why wouldn’t you just meet them?”

Allison patted Adam’s knee. “I’ll write you one one day.”

“So everything’s OK?” Adam asked, doubtful.

“Why wouldn’t it be?” Angie asked, not knowing the source of Adam’s worry.

“It’s fine, Adam. I’ll respond to him when I can. When I need to. He said there’s no rush. That’s part of the slowing down. Write it physically, take your time. Let it sit with you a while. Do it whenever you need.”

“Yeah! If it’s good writing you might not even need someone else to read it.” Angie poured herself a small glass of the spirit and drank the tiniest bit of it. “If it’s bad writing you might not want someone to read it. Your other bottle is behind the bar. Same as the rest of your beers. But the important thing is I need to ask how you are.”

Allison looked confused, then realised she was worrying people just a few minutes ago, and since she arrived to the bar, at least. “I’m fine, now, I think. The letter helped. It gives me something to... An outlet, I suppose.”

Angie shook her head. “I mean pain, all your new medication.”

“Oh! Yeah! No! No pain since this morning. If there was I didn’t even notice it. Do you think I’ve stopped growing?”

“I’m fairly sure you’ve not,” Angie said. “Anyway, you should call Dr. Grace. Fill her in on your whole, ‘This needs to slow down,’ thing.”

Allison groaned. “Do I need to fill her in or does she want to check up on me because you told her?”

“You’re so smart, Allison!” Angie said, then pointed towards a quiet corner of the room. “Go on!”

A few minutes later Allison was back from her call with Dr. Grace, feeling some reassurance but also a little pressure. “I have an appointment tomorrow, Wednesday and Thursday. All at midday. Whichever one I need. No later than Thursday, but if I need it earlier it’s there. Just so I know I can go see her.”

“And?” Angie asked.

“And this is all normal and completely expected.”

“And?”

“And I need to keep up the rest, and movement, and making sure to feed myself. So we should probably go,” Allison said, with a sigh.

“There’s no need for that,” Angie said, looking towards the bar where Sue was appearing with a tray filled with food.

Sue made her way to them and placed down the tray which was filled with chunky chips with a sauce over them, and some without, and salsas, and something that was halfway between a bean stew and soup.

“Thanks, Sue,” Angie said.

“Don’t blame me if the food isn’t its best. We don’t typically keep things warm, but you insisted Allison needed to make a call.”

Sue then handed Angie a smoke, what was obviously going to be a tasting smoke for Angie to really appreciate the food, with Angie mouthing the words “Thank you” in response.

“How did Angie handle your smoke, Sue?” Allison asked.

“Fine. She mostly talked about you. And there was a bit of a rant. Very animated, which I’m sure you saw.”

Allison chuckled to herself. “That’s sweet,” she said, as Angie had taken a drag of the smoke and was stuffing a sauce coated chip in her mouth. “Adam was perfect.”

“You have good friends, Allison. You’re doing well,” Sue said, then she turned and walked away.

Allison found some way of slowing things down at the start of her week; on Monday, the day women mostly had to themselves. Up until then her mind had been racing but a message from Des — delivered to Jenny’s — helped her put things in the correct place. It was right around the same time Dr. Grace said what Allison was going through was normal; the standard effects of the disruption Allison had been through.

Dr. Grace booked an appointment for Allison for the Tuesday, Wednesday, and Thursday, saying Allison could see her on any of those days, whenever she needed to, simply walk in. Just to talk, if she wanted. But no later than the Thursday. Whatever she ended up doing it would mean yet another round of fun with doctors on her journey to womanhood.

---

Allison and Angie sat in Dr. Grace’s exam room, Allison staring at the examining table, knowing she’d have to strip and be imaged again, to assess the changes her body had gone through. By this point she was used to everyone having a good look at her, as naked as they day she was born, or almost as naked. Her stockings, at the least, didn’t hide anything away.

The previous two days had been uneventful, just getting into a rhythm of things; walking, eating, resting, reading.

Prod, in the library, had definitely figured out some decent books for her, certainly based on what she’d read so far. It was quite peaceful, actually. She and Angie sitting somewhere, each of them reading in quietness, only occasionally having to shoo away a man, or two, or three. She was getting better at it, even. And only a sparse few of them had been creeps.

Allison was staring at her knees, hands resting in her lap, when she heard the door slide back as she was mentally preparing herself for the interrogation, with her doctor about to walk in.

“Fucking hell! Wow! Dr. Grace!!” Angie said, looking at the doctor.

Allison thought the exact same thing. And more!

Dr. Grace wore a red dress in what must have been stiffened cotton. It flared out just beneath the waist, on the hips, with folds pressed in in layers, and above that it was in an almost form fitting shirt style, with short sleeves, a collar, beneath which were white, shell buttons all the way down the front, and a neckline that showed Dr. Grace had boobs.

There was no belt to keep the form of it, nothing to cinch it in, but Dr. Grace didn’t need one. The formerly straight up and down doctor had feminine curves. Allison wasn’t quite sure what she thought but she knew Dr. Grace was an inspiration to her. To transform like that just by taking plain scrubs off and cleaning up good in a beautiful dress! And makeup! And tits!

“You have—”Angie began.

Dr. Grace smiled, and offered up a cheeky, mocking curtsy, bent at the waist, interrupting Angie. “Everyone in this room does,” she said, with a hint of slyness. “Allison’s are just the most recent to join our wonderful world!”

Allison involuntarily squeezed her arms against her side to get a view of what were definitely her breasts now, albeit small ones.

“What’s the occasion, Dr. Grace?” Angie asked.

“I’m taking the afternoon off, after I finish with Allison. I’ll be meeting some friends for lunch and I wanted to look nice. I think I deserve it. Your case involves a lot of work, Allison. And you deserve that attention, of course. Anyone would. We all just need a break some time.”

“Whoever he is I’m not sure he deserves you! Woman!” Angie said.

“You’re not getting that information out of me. It could be a man, it could be a woman. It could be an entire group of people. There’ll probably be wine, but whether any more has even a possibility of happening is none of your concern!

“And drop the Dr. Grace bit, too. At this point I think I’m just ‘Grace’ to you both, agreed?”

“Agreed,” Allison said, and Angie nodded, still looking Dr. Grace up and down, as Dr. Grace spun around her spinny doctor chair and sat into it, showing not only did she have boobs but she most definitely had legs.

“How has your mood been, Allison?” Grace asked, leaning in, hands clasped together on her legs in front of her.

Allison rubbed the side of her face, having just enough experience with her makeup to be almost sure her scratching wouldn’t disturb it, and not quite sure what to make of the new woman sitting in front of her.

“Good,” Allison said, quickly trying to pull herself together, and thinking. “No emotional roller coaster, no outbursts that I know of, although Angie will be able to tell you that better. I’ve been quite relaxed really, albeit a bit more tired than usual.”

“For good reason!” Angie said, laughing.

“Shut up, Angie!” Allison said.

Dr. Grace looked inquisitively at them both.

“She went to the cinema, with Robert, yesterday.”

“Ooh, what did you go see?” Dr. Grace said, sounding excited.

Angie snickered. “She doesn’t remember. She was a bit distracted.”

Allison elbowed Angie, hard, but probably not as hard as she would have wished considering Angie was still snickering. “The new one with wormhole aliens,” Allison said.

“Any good? I’ve been meaning to see that. I always like a non-traditional alien film.”

“It was decent. Worth watching,” Allison said, nodding, fairly sure of her answer.

“And how much did you actually watch?” Dr. Grace asked, smirking, but not in the evil way Angie usually did. There was some genuine curiosity to it, and maybe a little dreaming, even.

Allison rolled her eyes anyway because there was still a smirk behind the question. “I suppose you’ll tell me the answer to that is medically relevant, so I watched most of it. And me and Robert both enjoyed it whether we were watching or not.”

Angie and Dr. Grace exchanged a glance which Allison understood the entirety of.

“That’s good. I’m glad you’re enjoying yourself.” And that statement was completely genuine. “Tell me about your tiredness, do you feel like you need to sleep often?”

Allison stretched her neck to one side, considering what the tiredness felt like; it wasn’t a sleepy tiredness.

“It’s almost like my body is heavier, or involves more effort. I’m not falling asleep but it feels, I don’t know, like there’s more of me.”

Angie snickered again.

“OK. That’s interesting,” Dr. Grace said.

“What is?” Allison asked.

“It’s normal. Your body is going through changes, that could make it feel ‘heavier.’ It’s a term I’ve heard before but what you mean exactly I don’t know. I can’t know. It’s nothing I feel concerned about, medically. And...” Dr. Grace trailed off.

“And?” Allison asked.

“I’m not certain. Please don’t rest everything on this, I’ve already kind of it said to you in a previous chat, but you could just feel more comfortable in your body. More at home in it so you’re experiencing it more. You’re allowing yourself to experience it more. In a way you’re aware of it, combine that with the changes and you’re more ‘present.’ But like I said you’re unique. No-one can really know. We’ll certainly not expose anyone to what you’re going through just to experiment, we have to trust you. And Angie, to a degree.

“But apart from bodies, or roller coasters, or puberties, how do you feel in general? Everything? The whole thing? Anything that pops to mind.”

Allison snapped back from a thought that was beginning to form, not certain of what the thought was going to be. “I don’t know,” she said. “Good. I guess. I’m having fun. I like who I am. I want to be more of me. I want this to continue.”

Dr. Grace slapped her knee and stood. “Well, then we’ll continue it. And you do look more relaxed. That’s good. So I’m sorry for what comes next.”

“I have to strip again?” Allison asked.

“Sorry, Allison,” Dr. Grace said. “Completely strip. Everything. And I’ll be asking Angie to leave. We need to take some samples. It’ll be ‘invasive’ and uncomfortable. It’s necessary. And you’ll want privacy.”

Allison looked at Angie, more concerned with her friend being asked to leave than about whatever tests were coming up. “No, Angie can stay,” Allison said.

Angie stood as well. “It’s OK, Allison. If Dr. Grace says you need privacy then you do. She’ll make it as comfortable as she can. Don’t worry.

“It’s another of the joys of being a woman,” Angie said, finishing up.

Dr. Grace looked from Angie to Allison and nodded empathetically. “Sorry. You’ll be fine though. It’s not terrible, just uncomfortable. No pain.”

And what followed, once the regular scans were completed, was more than ‘just uncomfortable.’ As for ‘no pain?’ That was a lie. Dr. Grace had taken a metal device and seemed to be taking samples from all over Allison’s body, including her face, in her mouth and nose, and finally, well, from actually inside Allison.

Allison was sitting up on the examining chair arranging the towel over herself while wiping away the gels that were used all over her, and between her legs, to get whatever samples it was Dr. Grace needed.

Dr Grace was at her clinical computer logging the various bits of Allison she’d extracted.

“Can I get dressed?” Allison asked, after getting as clean and dry as she could manage, but still feeling off.

“Of course. I’m sorry, Allison. You won’t have to go through that again. Not unless you’re in some industrial accident and if that’s the case you probably won’t be conscious for it.”

Allison slowly slipped her loose, green, cotton dress over her head and let it fall around her. “Yeah... Unique case. I get it...”

“Everyone has had that done. No-one remembers it, though,” Dr. Grace said. “It’s part of your medical profile when you’re a baby. We need something more up to date for you. To see if anything has somehow affected you. I don’t think it has.”

Allison just had one stocking left to put on and then she could slip into her shoes.

“What type of thing could affect me, to make me like this. Make me me?” Allison asked the question but it was more out of impulse, she realised. She hadn’t really thought about it but her smoke with One made everything clear, or at least real. What she felt about herself during the smoke was how she was beginning to feel in herself now.

“Nothing. Well, I believe nothing. That’s only one of the reasons. It’ll also allow us to map out the effects of the medication faster, to get a better idea of how you’ll be in a few months, a few years. When you’re ready to retire.”

Allison nodded, still feeling uncomfortable.

“Are you cold?” Dr. Grace asked, seeing Allison with her arms wrapped around herself.

Allison shook her head. “No. Just, I don’t know...”

“Yeah...” Dr. Grace said, sympathetically. “Anyway, there’s no more tests. Just a few questions, about Angie.”

“Angie?” Allison asked, surprised; wondering what this was actually about.

“How has she been with you? Do you mind what she’s doing? How she’s helping you and me, and linking in on things? How she’s seeing how you’re doing from a friend’s position?”

“She’s been great! I would like her back in here...”

Dr. Grace took a deep breath. “You’ve never felt like she’s over-stepped? Like she’s told me too much, or that she’s not kept things private when she should have?”

“No!” Allison said, incredulously.

“OK. That’s me done!” Dr. Grace smiled. “Time for lunch!”

Allison laughed, and felt a wave of relief this was all over, for now. Not that she'd expected any of this when she arrived.

“You can tell me, I think I deserve it, after what you did to me; so you could tell me who exactly you’re going for lunch with. I’ll torment Angie with me knowing and her not.” And although a little of Allison’s enthusiasm for finding out was to hold something over Angie a lot of it was to settle nerves at actually being asked about Angie.

Dr. Grace took her purse from the drawer in the desk and stood. “I don’t need to tell you. You’ll see.”

“What do you mean?”

“Come on! Lunch! I need a drink!”

Fifteen minutes later, with Angie a bundle of nerves at walking into a voter’s restaurant, they were sitting beneath an awning in a restaurant that had simulated an ocean cliff to its side. It was night time there, with a big moon, fireflies dancing, waves crashing in the distance, wild waves, and it was warmer than regular station temperatures, with a warm breeze, a salted breeze; as warm as the nights both Allison and Angie could remember from the few times they’d gotten beach passes as adults.

Grace had introduced them both to Talia, an older woman in a white linen shirt, dark, loose pants and functional sandals, and with short, grey hair, extremely well kept and swept off to the side. She had just about the first signs of wrinkles beginning to show. It wasn’t just skin getting older through natural wear and tear it was the start of a new stage of life beginning for her. And she wasn’t wearing any makeup to cover it, at least that Allison could see.

“I’ve ordered the beers,” Talia said. “I assume you want one before we eat.”

Dr. Grace nodded as she pulled out her conn. “I do, I just want to message Ayr.”

“How is he?”

“Hopefully he can take some time off tonight. Allison said the sci-fi just released is decent.”

Talia looked at Allison, almost with respect. “What did you think about the different dimension?” she asked.

“Oh! Come on, Talia!” Grace said, in a whine. Something neither Angie nor Allison had heard from her before. And they both realised sometimes she was just plain ‘Grace’ and not necessarily ‘Dr. Grace.’ “You just heard me say I want to—”

Allison laughed, but knew neither her nor Talia had given anything away. “It was interesting, not really sci-fi, though, is it? Who knows what’s really going on inside our minds? It’s possible isn’t it?”

Talia nodded and looked pleased, clicking her tongue. “How are you keeping? Gracie, here, has been messaging me for advice about you, Allison.”

“Are you on my team?” Allison asked, a little surprised, for some reason. She didn’t think she’d ever meet her team.

“Talia was one of my lecturers at university. One of the better ones. She—”

“The best one,” Talia said.

“She’s been talking about retiring non-stop. She’ll never do it. She wants to know everything,” Grace continued, despite the interruption.

“I’m back to having a clinic a few days, that’s like retirement.”

Dr. Grace rolled her eyes and put her conn down. “Did either of you like school?” she asked Allison and Angie.

Allison shrugged, she didn’t really think about it, ever, really. Angie seemed a little put out, however.

“It was far too formal. Sit here, do this, study that. The best classes were always when we were left to actually do something. And there wasn’t enough of those!” Angie said.

Talia nodded, and so did Dr. Grace. “Would you have continued to study if there were more classes like that?”

A man with a thick moustache and jet black hair set four beers down. Men’s beers. Angie had no hesitation in immediately picking up her glass and taking a drink. “Can we get more of these if we want?” she asked, once the man had left.

“You can get whatever you want,” Talia said. “I can get the university to pay for anything. This place isn’t cheap. But I happen to know a lot of people.”

Grace laughed and took a small sip of her beer. “You mean you’ve influenced too many almost-future doctors to give up on medicine and go do something else instead. Such as run one of the most difficult-to-get-a-reservation-for restaurants on the station.”

“And I nearly succeeded with you!” Talia said, as she laughed a really hearty laugh.

“Nearly...”

Allison pushed her beer towards Angie. “You can have mine if you want.”

“Do you want something else?” Dr. Grace asked, concerned.

Talia pinched the bridge of her nose. “She doesn’t! She’s worried. She’s in public, she’s a citizen, she’s a woman. Either she’s thinking about legalities, or appearances, or denying herself something so it’s easier not to have it again in the future.”

Allison dropped her gaze towards the table.

“Or she’s not quite comfortable around us, she doesn’t know you or me in a social setting. This is why I tried to get you to drop out.”

Grace scowled at Talia and picked up the jug of water, pouring Allison a glass. “Allison, you’re nervous, maybe just uncomfortable, but it’s simply dehydration. Your mood is a little up and down from what you went through. Those tests are uncomfortable. They’ll put anyone out. Drink some water, have a few olives. The salt will help you drink water, and retain it, balance everything out, and the quick boost of energy will pick you up in no time. It’s why we’ll usually use the restaurant on the hospital floor after a stressful meeting with a doctor; less need to travel and get worked up.

“Eat, rest, get some exercise. Those are all the keys to health. And sleep. Which you’ve been doing. It’s why I’m so focused on you doing all that. Everything else follows from it. Everything...”

Allison blew some air out her mouth. “Thanks,” she said. “Grace...” Then she took a big drink of water, and grabbed an olive and popped it in her mouth. And another. Then took another drink of water.

That pattern followed a few more times while the other women at the table joined in too, except drinking their beers.

When Allison finally reached for her beer, and took a big draught she thoroughly enjoyed, smiling ever so slightly with a deep, satisfied sigh, she looked over to see Talia offering silent applause, along with a bowed head of acknowledgment, to her former student.

“Grace is a pretty good doctor,” Allison said.

Grace smiled appreciatively at Allison, and rubbed Allison’s shoulder.

“She is. Too many of her idiot classmates saw it as a challenge. An intellectual battle to be solved, mainly by reading journals and studying. Gracie, here, got it. By the end, at least. Which is what I was asking Angie!” Talia looked at Angie again. “Would you have studied more if it was more practical?”

“I don’t know,” Angie said.

“There’s lots of labs at university,” Grace said, plainly, in a very matter of fact way.

“Devices, simulations, getting your hands on things, including bodies, both alive and dead. Following people around at work. Actually working under supervision,” Talia said. “Definitely in the medical faculty.”

“It doesn’t matter, I didn’t make it to the program,” Angie said.

“So?” Talia said, but it wasn’t an annoyed, ‘so.’ It was a challenge to Angie. Like she was telling her to be real.

“So I’m not right for university,” Angie said, and that was with an annoyed tone. “Why would I want to go? If I was I’d be a voter.”

Grace made a noise, almost like anguish, as she rubbed at her forehead. “What’s his name. Bone guy. He helped check Allison’s stuff. You know him Talia, I know you do.”

“Charlie? Yeah! I like him. He’s actually getting near retirement, unlike me, who’s just messing with admins.” Talia turned back to Angie. “Charlie’s a citizen, and a doctor. Fully qualified. He’s very good at what he does.”

Angie made an exasperated sigh and Allison saw on Angie’s face a hint of the same feeling that had been running through Allison herself, ever since all this began. It was the pace of things, of change; the onslaught of new information. At the depth of secrets. Except now it was focused on Angie and not Allison.

Still, it didn’t make it easier for Allison, either in knowing Angie could, possibly, now have a little understanding of it, or even in a plain, ‘Serves the bitch right!’ way.

“So not only can male citizens work, but some can even go to university,” Angie said, dismissal in her tone.

Talia shook her head. “I’ve met a few female citizens at my university. They are older than you, typically, always, in fact. Usually a once off spotted by someone—”

Allison began to speak, latching onto a thought, staring straight at Grace. “Does this have something to do with—”

“Yes,” Grace said, nodding. “Angie, do you want to go to university? You’ll still be a citizen. I’m sure you could find a path to be a voter if you wanted.”

“I’m not meant to be a voter!” Angie said, outraged.

“What about me, Angie? Am I not meant to be who I am?” Allison said. “I took a path no-one really knew was possible. Was that wrong?”

Angie looked outraged at Allison for having said that. “Don’t be so stupid! You know I’m not saying that! What I mean is—”

“What’s this specific program, Talia?” Allison said. “Just listen, Angie.”

Talia nodded. And finally poured the wine, just some for herself and Angie. “We don’t know yet, we want Angie to help us design it. She’s had more experience than anyone, really. It’s based sort of on her.”

“How could I have experience at anything!! I wasn’t meant for university!”

Allison held her wine glass out and Talia poured her a glass too. “It’s what you’re doing for me, Angie,” Allison said, then took a sip of the wine. “Dr. Grace asked me about it when it was just me and her in the room. If I’d had any issues, or any concerns. I don’t. You’re amazing. You’ve helped me in ways I can’t believe. In ways I didn’t know possible.”

Angie had tried to raise her glass to take a drink three or so times since it had been poured but every time it got near her lips she looked like she wanted to interrupt. Or she did say something. This fourth time was no different. “How many people are there like you, Allison? I’m doing this because I care for you. How many people could need anything like what I want to do for you? And I do want to do it for you. Don’t get that wrong!”

“And you’re good at it. You do care,” Allison said.

“Every doctor has met someone who needs someone like you, Angie. Usually they’ll bring a friend. Some of the men will bring a representative from work. Talia wants to figure out ways to trial this, to formalise it. Educate you a little in medicine so you have some knowledge about what’s happening,” Grace said.

“Not too much, just some basic things so you aren’t alarmed, and are prepared for whatever happens. Your value is that you don’t know too much. You are a citizen. But you know what questions are important to ask, you know what things need asking because you don’t know the answer but feel you should. You’re making things better for what I can definitely say is Grace’s favourite patient and you’re making Grace a better doctor. The head of my medical department at the university didn’t need much convincing to investigate.”

Angie snorted. “So I wouldn’t be going to university! I’d stay stupid and be valued because I ask stupid questions.”

Talia laughed while Grace looked appalled.

Allison looked between both realising why one woman was someone who taught it all, and the other was the one who learned from the first.

“That’s one way of putting it,” Talia said. “And it’s a good way of putting it because it is a different way of putting it.

“Imagine a doctor — a voter — had said something like we said to a new patient, or someone dealing with a serious issue, but they didn’t have a friend like you to point it out, that it upset them. They might hold things back, or hide things. Something that could be very important. Vitally important! And equally, with the education you get, because this will involve work and study, you’ll be able to help the patients who need certain things explained in a way they can understand.”

Angie shook her head. “What’s the value in getting just me to do this? A special one of me?”

“She’ll do it, Talia,” Allison said. “She’s on board.”

“Good,” Talia said. “And you'll help us design the course, with your knowledge of what we’re doing. It’ll take a couple of days of talking with us. We already have doctors drawing up lists of patients they think are suitable for this type of education, from their experiences with them. Men and women. There’ll be a small class size at first, we hope. And we’ll refine.”

Angie took a gulp of her glass of wine. “Really? All this? Because of me?” Angie had accepted it, and she realised her outrage had turned to excitement, and nerves.

“Yeah,” Dr. Grace said. “A few of your and Allison’s team started messaging their old professors after I was talking to them about how useful you’ve been. Went behind my back almost.”

Angie snickered. “You were blind-sided! Good! It makes more than me!” And Angie had started cackling in joy until she took a big drink of wine.

“Now exercise that medical brain of yours, Angie. Think about those samples I believe Grace has just taken — I’m 99% sure — from all parts of Allison’s body”

Angie turned and looked at Talia with curiosity. “Like with industrial and kitchen accidents, and organ failure and that?”

“No!” Dr. Grace said.

“Yeah,” Talia said, smiling.

“Please don’t,” Grace said.

“What?” Allison asked, confused.

“Me and Angie agree to tell her, and we're both medical professionals, so you’re outvoted, Gracie.”

“No!”

“Go on, Angie. You got your university news, Allison should get some good news too.”

Angie shrugged, looking totally nonplussed. “You’re getting a vagina, Allison. Congratulations.”

“What?”

“Maybe,” Grace said, shoulders and head sinking. “You might, if you want.”

Angie laughed. “She definitely wants. They’ll grow you one. Plug it in. Few days in hospital. Easy-peasy.”

“Will I be able to...” Allison said, feeling her stomach turn over. Feeling what could be in there, maybe, someday. Possibly? She hadn’t realised one hand was pressing into her belly.

Dr. Grace rested her hand on Allison’s forearm, which rested on the table, Allison looking shocked. “Sorry, Allison. No children. It’s technically possible, and it has been tried a few times in history. It’s too dangerous. Too many deaths. For baby and mother. The research was stopped a long time ago and nothing has changed in that part of medicine.”

Allison wasn’t quite sure what she felt. Thoughts of both — of baby and mother — of a body capable of all of it, thoughts of every part of it had entered her mind once she started seeing the, so far, limited changes in her body. The thoughts were even there when she smoked with One. She’d felt those thoughts. And now she’d just gotten answers. Answers she didn’t think anyone really had available to them.

She wanted to feel more about it. For any of her feelings to be more intense. She took a sip of the wine, but it wasn’t quite right so she lifted the still cool beer and took a drink of that. “Do we get to see menus, here?” she asked, not knowing what else was right to say.

Dr. Grace took Angie and Allison for lunch, not to explain some very relevant medical information about Allison’s journey but to coax Angie into a medical job, and some medical education. The new information on Allison’s journey simply came about because Dr. Grace couldn’t escape her old university professor tormenting her over the lunch; an old professor who was fully sure Allison was ready to know the details of the endpoint of her path.

Now, with Angie preparing both herself and the people in the medical faculty for this new job, and training, she’s being given, Allison is left all on her own. It’s the first time she’ll be left to her own devices since she became Allison. And she has a whole station to discover, in a brand new way.

---

It had been a strange day for Allison despite having barely started. Not least because of the delivery she’d received from Dr. Grace: Allison’s very own, brand new, ‘toys.’

With the revelation at lunch the day before that Allison could have a vagina, if she wished, the former Dr. Grace — casually chatting over lunch — had turned back into the professional ‘Doctor’ Grace, at least for a few minutes. She’d explained to Allison Allison had to ‘explore her body.’ Whether that was with Robert, or any man — or as Talia pointed out, “any woman, if you prefer. Or both at the same time,” and then she started counting, for some reason, and absent-mindedly recollecting her time in university — or whether Allison utilised her new toys was all up to her but she needed to find out what she enjoyed, and wanted, before Dr. Grace would let her make any nigh-on irrevocable decisions.

Angie didn’t even say or do anything cheeky while she explained the various devices that had been delivered to Allison overnight; instead reminding her how Dr. Grace said Allison — given her particular personal circumstances — might benefit from them.

Angie was quite sincere, in fact. It could very well have been that Angie was nervous herself. She was to be spending the day at Talia’s university helping Talia and her professor friends figure out what would be necessary for, and for teaching, creating even, the new role — a job, a medical job — lobbied for because of Angie’s helping of Allison in her sort-of-new-life.

The day of meetings with the geniuses of the station was what Angie departed to from Allison’s apartment, rather quickly, not wanting to be late. That left Allison to stare at some quite realistic imitations of various male body parts. And some rather stylistic takes of similar functional aspects of a male anatomy — and some of them not — all depending on circumstance being correct. And in all cases the circumstance seemed to involve a little gentle encouragement from Allison. And Allison, after some encouragement of what in the end turned out to be the extremely realistic toys, and some twisting and contortions of her own, realised she could thoroughly enjoy her exploration.

But maybe help from someone else being in control of the things helping with her explorations would be useful. Or someone else entirely, instead of the toys? Which was the thought running through Allison’s mind when the full value of the toys was made apparent.

Those thoughts, however, quickly left her mind once she’d collected herself — which took a little while, as well as a long, slow shower — and had fully left, or so she believed, once she’d stepped onto a busy floor to make her way to breakfast. And although the thoughts had left her she was still very much feeling the physical effects of exactly what it was she did to herself, or rather what the toys did to her. She felt like she was walking on air while parts of her body were experiencing the world in a whole new way; a far from terrible way. And in many ways she wanted to repeat and expand on those new feelings.

Allison was standing waiting in line at a breakfast buffet thinking she’d need to name her new friends — if there was any justice and love in the world they deserved to be named, she already knew one was definitely called Freckles — when it occurred to her everyone was staring at her.

Did they all know what she’d gotten up to in her apartment, all by herself? Did they know what she did!?! Had someone beamed her activities to the various advertising hoardings around the station, or could they simply tell from looking at her? Did they see her sweaty and glistening, red-faced and— She pushed the thought from her mind. The apartments were private. And sound-proofed! No-one saw what she did! She couldn’t bear thinking about people seeing her! But it was just paranoia. No-one would ever see that! Well... Not unless they were taking part.

And when a man asked her if she’d like to join him for breakfast she found herself blushing, and more, as she thought of him replacing one of her machines — although never Freckles.

Allison was occupied by thoughts of this man, smiling at her, being an active participant in her exploration, and his own exploration, and her a willing victim. In fact as soon he’d left her standing motionless, dreaming, she realised she’d mumbled the words, “I’d Yes To!” Which explained why he made such a speedy departure. At least she thought she said it. She wasn’t quite sure what was happening.

She’d sat herself at a nearby table to collect herself and it was only when a woman in her fifties — a restaurant worker — dropped her down a croissant and sugary coffee did she realise she was fully scattered.

Allison took a quick sip of the coffee and shook her head out, almost in a refusal to accept the world around her. It wasn’t that she was rejecting the world, or herself, she wasn’t rejecting anything, she just couldn’t quite believe any of it; how fortunate she was; to be gifted what she’d received. How amazing this was and how surprised she was it was so amazing.

Allison blinked hard and was going for another sip of her coffee when the woman who brought it to her was standing before her with a tray, and a man next to her. He was sweet looking, a little distracted, but Allison could see that was from nerves.

The woman set the tray down, and said, “This gentleman would like to join you for breakfast.” Then she leaned into Allison and whispered, “He’s unleashed, like you. If he was a woman I think he’d be entitled to wear white.” Then she patted Allison on the arm and smiled.

“Please. Do join me,” Allison said, and she smiled at the man. Then she gave a different smile to the woman who introduced him; the woman who wanted to make friends.

The man did sit, placing his own tray down, with his own coffee, a water, and some of the high energy, extremely nutritious cereal in a bowl. The tray in front of Allison had some fruit and pastries.

“It’s strange, isn’t it? Being out on your own. You recognise everything, obviously, but it’s just so new. So unfamiliar once you...” He trailed off.

Allison laughed — she hoped he understood — and nodded affirmation. “That’s it. Exactly it.” He might only have been twenty or twenty-one, and Allison was twenty-four, but he nailed the feeling, if a little simplified.

It had obviously taken a lot for him to say all that. Allison could see the relief on his face once he did get most of it out. And the worry he wasn’t fully explaining himself leave when she responded.

“What do you miss most?” he asked. “From a few months ago, I guess? A year ago?”

Allison picked a nice looking strawberry from the bowl and took a bite, chewing while she thought. Her answer was obvious but she’d never just talked about it. Not in a normal way. Not simply chatting as part of conversation and without a need from her to figure out a solution, and urgently.

“The quiet, I suppose. Things were slower,” she said. “You’re meant to be learning things, when you’re younger, but there’s only so much you can, without experience. Then a big change happens and everything’s a lot faster. You’re not really prepared for it.”

The man nodded and placed his spoon back in his cereal bowl. “You couldn’t have learned enough. I don’t think anything can prepare you.” He wiped his lips with a napkin. “I was so looking forward to it. I wanted to be unleashed so much, I couldn’t wait. Now it’s happened and I wish I could take my time a little more.”

“How would you do that?” Allison asked, wondering if it was possible. Wondering how she’d do it.

The man laughed, almost shocked at himself. “I don’t know,” he admitted. “I don’t know if it could be slower. You’re always learning. You have to just jump in.” He paused for a few seconds. “It’s difficult. I don’t know that it’s wrong. It must work out in the end, and be worth it.”

Allison sipped her coffee while the man continued to eat his cereal, and she watched him; thoughts obviously happening for him. She enjoyed watching his thoughts play out on his face.

“Have you figured out your job, yet?” Allison asked, after a few minutes of observing.

He shook his head. “Still on rotation. Which is fine. In the men’s classes, when you’re a teen, they tell you to stay on rotation for as long as you need. That when you find what suits you’ll know.”

“That makes sense,” Allison said, not admitting she’d had those very same ‘men’s classes.’

“The thing is just as I’m settling into a new role, and feeling like I might enjoy it, I’m moved onto a new position. There’s no time to really know what you think about something, or to meet people; to get to know them.”

Allison looked over to the buffet counter to see if she could spot the woman who introduced this wonderful person. He was so considered, and patient, especially for having just been unleashed. Allison did spot her, but the woman didn’t seem to be paying attention to the people she’d just put together.

“I have some good friends,” Allison said. “It just takes a while for people to open up. To be real.” It hadn’t taken long for this man to be real, though, Allison saw.

The man nodded and pushed his tray forward. Allison lifted it and set it to the side of the table placing the strawberry bowl between them, and then said, offering, “These are really good. I’d guess they haven’t been stored, at all. Fresh as anything.”

“Bee is good to me,” the man said. “I think I remind her of someone.”

“I think she thinks you’re cute,” Allison said.

“Do you?” the man asked, taking a bite of a strawberry. There was no push in his question.

“Yes,” Allison said, and she felt a feeling she’d never felt before. It was quite amazing. “What’s your name? I can’t tell my friends about a cute man with no name who brought me breakfast. They wouldn’t believe me. I’m not really good with men but you’re—”

“Lem,” the man said, beaming.

“Allison.”

Allison placed a pastry next to the strawberry bowl. Without any prompting Lem began to eat it along with her, them both taking little strips from it. Allison wanted to touch his fingers. She wanted him to touch her fingers.

“You know what I miss most, from being a teenager,” Lem said.

“I couldn’t even guess” Allison said, feeling a longing inside her. “But I’d like to know.”

“This. Now. Sort of. When you could have a meal in an apartment with whatever family you were in. If you had brothers or sisters at that point, whoever they might be; the food being delivered, after arguments about what to get. And then sharing the meal. And it being comfortable and simple.” He wiped his face with the napkin, again.

“Was this easy?” Allison asked.

Lem stood and brushed some crumbs from his lap. “Yes, thanks, Allison. You’ve settled me, a little.” He shook his head just as how Allison had rejected her fortune in the world thirty or forty minutes before. “A lot.” He blinked, slowly. Twice.

Allison stood, too. “Are you going to ask for my ID?”

Lem looked a little perturbed. “Would you give it to me? Do you want to see me again?”

“If we could have a quiet breakfast — and slow, you and me — then yes. Yes, I’d love to.”

Allison took her conn out of her purse and held it out to confirm the exchange. Which Lem confirmed as well, still wearing his beautiful smile, and with soft eyes.

She didn’t intend to but she reached over to Lem to take him in a big hug, and she definitely didn’t intend to give him a kiss on the cheek, slowly, but when she did, and when she felt him squeeze her tighter, really tight, like he needed her, she felt her entire body swell in his grip. Like she was the size of the station, or a moon, or even an entire solar system. And he was something even greater than her. And she was tiny too. She was something else again when he squeezed her tighter more. Both massive and miniscule. They were everything. She was everything. Everything it was possible to be. She was the air you breathed, and she was breathing herself. She was life to Lem. And she was nothing, and both.

“We’ll do this again,” Allison said, as the hug ended, feeling like she wanted to scream. It hurt how big her smile was. Her chest. She hurt everywhere, and she embraced it. It had been so easy, just being her around Lem. She felt realer than she’d ever been.

“Yeah,” Lem said, and his beam somehow got bigger even than Allison’s, and he looked embarrassed about it, or shy. And if Allison felt like she was walking on air after she’d enjoyed her toys Lem walked away looking like he was actually floating.

Allison kept standing, watching him leave until she noticed her table being cleared away. “Thank you, Bee,” she said to the woman who’d made the decision to introduce her new friend.

“He’s sweet, isn’t he?” Bee said.

“Yeah...” Allison said, thinking.

“Reminds me of someone I knew,” Bee said. “Now go! Have fun! You’ve had a good breakfast.”

So Allison did ‘go.’ Specifically to a part of the station she wasn’t quite sure of, that Des had sent her to in his letter. Which had been her plan all along for the day.

The level Des was sending her to was a little strange in that it wasn’t a citizen level or a voter level, it wasn’t indicated on its guide. There was little information on it. Usually those levels were functional, and often contained businesses dedicated to niche areas that didn’t need a lot of passing trade, or various offices and working facilities of the station which weren’t industrial, and so didn't demand restricted access.

She’d taken a circuitous route to elevator, window shopping as she went, and daydreaming. There was no rush with Angie being away and everyone else working. There was no press on her time.

As she strolled she thought about what conversations she could have with Lem. She was thinking about Robert. Thinking about Adam, and Angie, Des, One, Sandra and Sandy, thinking about everything. It was all so easy.

She didn’t even notice no man had bothered her as she walked, a little dazed, wandering all over the level until she somehow made it to the indicated elevator section.

After Allison stepped off her elevator, along with a few minutes of searching around Des’s floor, having been taken to the general vicinity of the store she needed, she realised there was no real pattern to the people here, no true essence to them. There were more voters than citizens, at least based on how they dressed and carried themselves. There were a lot of people in uniforms. There were what appeared to be a few shops but it wasn’t obvious what they were for, especially as many of them only had lobby areas at the front.

Allison spent twenty minutes searching for the business Des had sent her to, and finally found it wedged between a closed down, shuttered storefront and another business with a grubby looking reception area; battered furniture seating quite severe looking, impatiently waiting people; given how their feet tapped urgently on the floor.

When she walked inside Des’s store she found a table at the front with three people sitting around it showing each other what looked to be historic conns, almost antiques. The two women and one man all seemed to be voters, and all drank coffees. The three turned to look at Allison as she walked in before turning back to their show-and-tell, which appeared to be as important as judging people who somehow found their way to this shop.

Past them were various computers set up on plinths, with illumination around them. The computers ranged from new styles, insanely expensive, to old styles and more expensive again, and some that seemed to be entirely mechanical, like metal versions of children’s toys; they had no screen attached. These didn’t even have a price listed. There were only a few of the mechanical ones, and they were worn, the few of them protected by glass casing like in a museum; except there was no screen showing information like there would be in a real museum. Allison supposed it was assumed if you knew you knew. And if you didn’t know you didn’t want to faint from how much they’d cost.

Walking around the shop — wondering how a place that charged this much could even tolerate a person like her, it was obviously for voters — Allison thought she should leave again. She didn’t want to, though. Over the past few days whenever she felt things were going too fast she thought about it for a few seconds, then reminded herself she could, and would, at some point, make some time for herself and write Des a letter. He’d been so open with her, so supportive, especially in just allowing her to take what she wanted from his letter, simply and generously explaining and nudging, that she was certain he hadn’t gotten the shop’s name wrong, despite its name just being a jumble of letters and numbers, and not a person’s name. Nor did she doubt he’d appreciate a letter back from her; the first letter she’d ever send. And the last if it felt wrong, but she needed to at least thank him.

Allison was cautiously edging her way past what looked like a stone desk, afraid to touch it despite it being stone, for fear she’d spend her life paying off any damage she might do to it, when a man wearing beige approached her. His whole outfit was beige, and there was a drip down the front of his beige check shirt that looked almost like blood.

“Can I help you?” he asked.

“A friend sent me here,” Allison said. “He said I’d be able to buy some supplies here.”

The man smiled. “Supplies? What type of supplies? As you can see we’re mostly computers, not run of the mill. And desks, we have a few chairs. There’s some old personal devices. We have typewriters too but at your age I doubt you even know what those are. Of course we have programs for all our computers. Supplies aren’t repairs, so you’re not here for that.”

“I want to send him a letter,” Allison said, knowing this man was almost certainly playing with her; almost certainly.

“And have you received a letter?”

Allison nodded.

“What’s your friend’s name?”

Now Allison was fully certain this man played as many games as One and Des played on each other. “Des,” she said.

“I know a few people named Des, does he have an ID? It should be on the letter he sent to you; if you’re planning on sending him one back.”

“I have it in my purse, let me look. I can say he didn’t wear shoes. And liked beer. And laughing. And insulting people.”

The man laughed at Allison’s statement and rested his hand on hers as it dug into her purse. “And his feet were clean and not smelly. Des cleared his fungus away decades ago. A very loyal customer, that Des. Come with me.”

The man lead Allison towards the back of the store, past more computers, slightly cheaper, and then down some three or four steps, beneath a low doorway that was placed with no seeming design intention, at a random spot within the room — almost ripped out of the wall.

Down the steps was a room filled with tilted shelves built into the walls, with clear plastic rails on them, holding papers, envelopes, various storage and filing devices, devices Allison didn’t know the purpose of, pens, of every colour, cases for the pens, rulers. It was like a junior school supply closet but this stuff was fancier. And almost certainly not free given the price of everything here.

“When did you last write?” the man asked.

“School,” Allison said.

“Which hand do you write with?”

Allison lifted her right hand.

“That makes it easier, no smudging. Or it gives you a few more options. Do you have an idea of what you want, or do you want..? You tell me what you’d like.”

Allison took a breath. “I would very much appreciate your help and advice,” she said, remembering what Sandra and Sandy said to her about why they do the work they do, and appreciating both that this man knew far more than her and equally she knew very little.

The man smiled and reached his hand out to a shelf, taking a nearby brown paper bag, with handles, but no branding on it, down from a row of them. He did this seemingly by instinct, and maybe with a little pep in his step, although Allison wasn’t sure on that. Then he walked deeper into the room to an older style business conn Allison remembered from when she was first let out in public, on trips with the parent who was mainly responsible for her at that age.

“The envelopes are pre-paid, just write the ID on them. It’ll take eighteen hours to be delivered, at most. Any Governor’s Office centre will accept them, or answer any questions you have, they’re really not frightening places. Nor the people. A little batty, maybe. But don’t worry about that.”

Allison watched him key some things into the conn and felt the stillness apparent. Then he laughed.

“The price is fine,” he said. “This entire room’s stock could be bought for less than one of the regular computers out there.” He stabbed a thumb towards where he and Allison had just come from. “Genuinely! If you’re not happy I won’t dispute it if you challenge the transaction.”

Allison realised it really wasn’t a lot of money if it was a transaction that could be challenged. Or else he was lying to her about that, which would actually be grounds for something more than a challenge; literally a court ruling if he tried anything untoward; it could mean a fine or a strike on his business license, and compensation for her.

“Do you know where I could write?” Allison asked.

“A dressing table?” the man said. “If you don’t have a desk. Young writers like you have beautiful dressing tables.”

Allison paused for a few seconds. She hadn’t even really thought about writing in private. Things just weren’t done that way. Everything you needed, apart from sleeping, and washing, and dressing, was done in public. You went out to do things; your apartment was functional. At least if you weren’t a voter, she recalled from her smoke with Des. Or she supposed if you were a parent.

“I don’t have a desk,” Allison said. “I do have a dressing table, but I mean somewhere in public. I guess I just want noise, and people to watch, and bustle, but not too much, and to be left alone. And something hot to drink; not coffee. Tea? I suppose. Not soup, or broth. Those could be OK. I don’t know.” Allison laughed at herself. “I want so little, don’t I?”

The man took up a pen and a little slip of paper. “Don’t share this except with people you know you can trust. I’ll write the area. There’s a stall near a public dining section. Dinette’s, I believe. Or Dino’s? Toni’s? Tino’s? Tina? Tinnette’s? It has hot chocolate. Some of the best I’ve had.”

“Hot chocolate!?” Allison said. “Really!? That’s almost impossible to get if you’re not a kid! Winter floors only!” She saw him draw a little map after he’d written the level, just quick layout lines, but obviously a layout.

“Quite possibly illegal,” the man said, handing her the note. “The trick is the code. They’ll say, ‘Don’t be silly, hot chocolate with marshmallows is a children’s drink. Black market, you know. Security would be all over someone selling it.’” The man winked and Allison knew security were well aware of what this stand was selling.

“And then you have to express disgust at being thought of as a marshmallows-in-your-hot-chocolate drinker. ‘An actual juvenile hot chocolate drinker? Marshmallows!!!’ you say, or similar. Be sure when you say marshmallows you say it very much like you would to someone who’s just pinched you. That you’re a mature and responsible grown-up not interested in silly childhood indulgences.”

Allison burst out into laughter. “You definitely know, Des,” she said. “You’re all insane.”

“Enjoy yourself,” the man said, as he walked Allison to the front door, all smiles.

“Totally insane!” Allison said again, not sure of herself. Whether she was actually the insane person here.

As she was leaving through the door she heard a woman say, “Is that really why you sell those? Because citizens can’t afford computers. There’s a reason for—”

And soon Allison was sitting down with her first hot chocolate in months, since her last winter floor experience, and taking her time to enjoy it, all the while telling herself to just enjoy it and not think about the letter she wanted to send Des. Still, she did think about the letter, and was soon penning it: the physical act of writing coming back to her, quickly, if not as precisely as she once could manage.

As she wrote the dining area got quiet, and then at times the noise would pick up. After a while she noticed this wasn’t due to the actual noise, it was her own mood ebbing and flowing. It was peace when she was focused and noise when something took her out of the writing. The noise wasn’t even bothersome, nor was being brought out of the writing, it was for a reason. She needed to think about something, or just needed to rest her hand; which meant she needed to think about something.

Allison didn’t know how long later it was but she was finally happy with what she’d written; what she’d explained. She folded the pages over and placed them inside the envelope, writing Des’s ID on the front. She was just getting ready to stand when the women sitting at the table next to her, on the same bench said, “Can I interrupt? I’m sorry, I just didn’t know what you were doing.”

Allison looked at the woman. It was obvious she was giant. She was rake thin, but tall and gangly; arms and legs folded and bent at joints to fit at the table. And she was staring wide eyed at Allison, but it was all curiosity. And Allison hadn’t even noticed until she was finished writing. She wouldn’t have noticed unless the woman had introduced herself.

“Do you want to go for coffee?” Allison asked.

“I’d love to!” the woman said, looking delighted. And excited. “Will you tell me what it was you were doing? I was fascinated. I’ll show you... Well, you’ll see.”

The woman extracted herself from beneath, and even above the table, and grasped onto Allison’s hand.

“I’ve had good success with meeting people today,” Allison said. “It’s nice.”

“I know just where I can take you,” the woman said. “I want you to see something. I know I can trust you! With what you were doing. I think you’re kind of... I’ll explain.”

Then Allison and what she could only assume was a second — third? — new friend of the day walked further into the centre of the level. The woman who Allison couldn’t help but smile over as she was almost skipping with excitement at also making a new friend. At meeting Allison.

As they walked Allison explained what she was doing, with this new person, called Clara, seemingly fascinated — nearly tripping on her heels at a few points so active was her listening, and so active was she when she talked — when Allison noticed they were pretty near the Governor’s office centre.

“Do you mind if we take a detour to Governor’s centre so I can send my letter?” Allison asked.

“I hate those places,” Clara said. “But I might get some answers to my questions as well, about my art. Don’t abandon me there! I’ll hunt you down if you do!”

Allison laughed and they were soon joining a small queue for the general enquiries desk in the Governor’s office centre, after passing two stations of security.

After about two minutes a woman beckoned them over, Allison clinging onto her letter with one hand and Clara clinging onto her other hand.

The woman indicated for them to sit in the seats and when they did she said, “How may I help you, ladies?” The Governor’s office usual opening gambit in setting people up to fail.

Allison swallowed. “I’d like to send this letter,” she said, holding out the letter.

The woman looked at it, nodded, and said, “Anything else?”

“How do you mean?” Allison asked.

“Do you want delivery confirmation? Do you want updates on its status?”

“Sorry?”

The woman puffed out her cheeks. “First letter?” Allison nodded. “Are you in trouble?”

Allison leaned back and quickly shook her head for fear this woman would find trouble to put her in. “No. It’s a message to a friend. He helped me with something and I want to thank him. And explain my thoughts, I suppose.”

“Male friend?” the woman asked, slyly. Clara couldn’t help but giggle, shocked at herself.

“Not the way you’re thinking!” Allison said. And the woman chuckled.

“Shoot!” she said. “No-one ever tells us their gossip here. They think we’re all monsters.” She cleared her throat, but it wasn’t in the typical, ‘this is the punctuation to announcing you’re being fined,’ style of way.

“Sometimes when it’s an official letter, a response to something, someone wants updates on how far along the letter is. Or confirmation when it’s delivered. Proof it’s delivered. If you look at the little icon printed in the corner it registers payment, and can be tracked, for another fee. If it’s just to talk to a friend there’s no need. There’s no real need anyway, apart from peace of mind, we don’t lose things. Especially not letters.”

“Can you send things other than letters?” Clara asked, dropping her grip on Allison’s hand.

“Of course, any parcel can be dealt with. You know the parcel senders, don’t you? Or if you want furniture moved?”

“I mean like an envelope.” Clara began to dig in her absolutely massive purse. “But not...”

Allison noticed a small light had come on above the woman’s desk as she felt her stomach tighten.

After a few moments of digging, and now with what looked to be a supervisor in a uniform standing next to the enquiries desk, Clara found a piece of paper and held it out the woman. “If I drew on that, art, you know, could I send it through the mail without putting it in an envelope?”

The woman looked to her supervisor, who nodded. “Weight and size,” the supervisor said. “And Governor’s office centre payment, not at retail. Give me a minute or two.”

The supervisor walked away, with a purpose — Allison assured herself nothing was wrong but didn’t quite believe it — and the woman behind the desk, said, again with a smile, “What my supervisor helpfully reminded me of,” then she laughed. “Is that it’d come under sending any letter, which only has a nominal charge so it’s registered in your conn. You couldn’t buy it at normal retail store, those sell the envelopes with the marks so you can just walk in here, or to a parcel centre, and drop them off to enter the system. To send something not-marked you’d have to come in here, or another centre, so we can manually mark them for mail. There are weight and size concerns, which decides whether it’s for us or a parcel centre — mostly — but a regular piece of stiff card that size wouldn’t be an issue. Not unless there were oils on it, maybe. I do like an oil painting, myself.”

The woman handed back Clara’s card and Clara seemed to sink into herself; but not out of worry, or relief, rather thinking.

“Anything else, ladies?” the woman said.

“Actually,” Allison said. “About work?” The woman nodded, and smiled an even bigger smile. This wasn’t a ‘can I help you’ smile, this was a ‘this is going to be good!’ smile. “A male friend—”

“You have lots of male friends, don’t you?” the woman said, chuckling.

Allison couldn’t help but chuckle too, out of exasperation. This was not how interactions with the Governor’s office were supposed to go. “I mean he’s just been unleashed and is finding his rotation difficult. He says he doesn’t have enough time in each position to really settle into it. To understand it.” Allison held back on Lem’s statement about getting to know people. “Is this a question for the rotations department in the centre? Or can you...” Allison ran out of steam in talking and realised she hadn’t fully explained everything.

“It is, but I can answer you. Tell him to talk to his rotation’s liaison. It’s no issue. If he’s scared about talking to his liaison tell him to come into me. You can see I don’t eat people, right? I’ve spent time as a rotation officer, it’s all correct, what I said.”

Allison nodded. “It’s really not an issue?”

“Definitely not!” the woman said, haughtily. “Rotation isn’t about telling people what to do it’s about them finding out what they want to do. If someone thinks a different style of rotation will work for them they should talk to our liaisons!” She sighed. “Why does the Governor’s office have such a bad reputation? I wish the old bores in central came in here a bit more and saw how people tightened up as soon as they walked in! We spend longer explaining we’re not out to hurt people than we do helping people.”

“You are very helpful,” Clara said, with a big smile on her face, now clutching a wrap of the cards she was planning on drawing on, and painting on, and sending to people.

However the Governor’s office supervisor, in the uniform, was back down, and handing something to Clara, who wasn’t quite sure what it was, or what the series of numbers and rectangles printed on the thick piece of cardboard meant.

“That’ll help you work out costs, and weights,” he said. “Any parcel centre is happy to weigh things for you. If you want you can buy a sturdier, non-card version of this. Anyone who sends a lot of post has them. If you want even more resources you can buy a scales to weigh things; to ensure they’re not over the limit. A general guideline is about the limit of four times, or so, that piece of card. It might make things easier for you; if you get used to the dimensions and have an idea of weights”

“Thank you!” Clara said.

“Jin,” the woman said. “If this woman was to get her art-cards pre-marked by us could she give them to people to just send automatically. They just drop them to parcel or here?”

“Hrrm...” the supervisor, Jin, mumbled, one eye half closed. “It wouldn’t be added to any account, or registered on a conn, who the mark belongs to... Well, it would... It’d be registered to the person who got the mark made.”

The woman shook her head as though this didn’t matter. “The mark is just for peace of mind, like registering the mail. It’s for the customer not for us. A transaction shown. We know we don’t lose things. If it’s just an open piece of card, with a drawing on it, or some writing, privacy isn’t a concern so it can’t be anything really important.”

Jin nodded a few times, looking like he was processing a few things. “That makes sense. I don’t see why it’d be an issue. Get some pre-marked and give them to her friends to send? Send them between them? A nice little hobby. Write it up, will you? Central report.”

The woman nodded. “And your letter is being processed as we speak, Miss. Anything else?”

“No,” Allison said, shocked at how helpful all this had been.

“Thank you so much!” Clara said, saying it like she could burst.

The woman had a big smile on her face, sitting back in her chair, as Allison and Clara left.

Clara and Allison walked towards where Clara was originally taking them, after exchanging IDs so Clara could eventually send Allison one of her painted cards. The first she’d make specifically for posting.

They were loudly debating whether Clara would call them art-cards or post-cards, unknowingly frightening men away with their wild, enthusiastic gesticulations, when the two found their way to a café called Francesca’s.

It was all bright and bold colours, a mish-mash of extremely comfortable sofas and couches, with sturdy low tables between them. Some areas were brightly illuminated, some were darker and more intimate. The walls seemed freshly painted in a thick, warm colour, like roasted earth that still held life. Chalkboard menus were hung at various intervals for the men who wanted to buy — or buy women — café food. It appeared the café even had a specific women’s menu of allowed nibbles and quick bites, which was quite rare.

Clara lead them to the counter where a woman brightened up on seeing her.

“Yes, fine, OK. There’s no need to convince me this time,” Clara said. “I will have a soup and sandwich. I’ve had a busy day. I have so much to tell you, Fran! This is Allison, by the way, she told me so much I have to tell you. I’ll be able to mail people art! For cheap! You’ll love it, Francesca! I love it! But please, please, only a half soup and a half sandwich. Please!”

“Of course, Clara. Whatever you want. How about you, Allison, half soup and sandwich? Clara’s usual is a turkey and cheese, and the soup today is potato and leek.”

Allison’s peered at this woman, Francesca, from behind a glare. There was something not quite right about this place. “That’s not on the women’s menu,” Allison said.

“It’s not. However I’ve asked for permission to provide my artist customers with food in return for them providing me with art to decorate the place with. I find it more satisfying than picking out of a catalogue.”

Allison looked around and saw a few drawings and paintings, framed, and hung around the walls at strange intervals. “And I can have a half soup and sandwich?”

“You can,” Francesca said. “Whatever sandwich you want.”

Clara dropped her grip on Allison’s hand and pointed at Francesca. “Please, Fran, please! Just a half a soup and half a sandwich for me. If Allison’s hungry that’s fine, but I’m not!”

Francesca was shaking in dismissal at Clara’s outrage. “Allison? You see Clara is skin and bone, and you know I’m only looking out for her in providing her something to eat.”

Allison laughed. “I think whether she gets half, or double, Clara only has to eat however much she wants.”

“A woman with a brain!” Francesca said.

“Because Clara provides you with art?” Allison said.

The woman looked a little disappointed. “We make most of our money when we close and give the place over to private parties. Unfortunately the parties get a little rambunctious. Entirely without respect or discipline these people with money to hire a café. My art is constantly getting destroyed. I’d stop doing it but it’s how the business survives, and how Clara here doesn’t disappear entirely from lack of nutrition!

“Speaking of which, Clara, the last party, insane! Loads of stuff destroyed. Wine everywhere! Broken bottles I made sure they paid for. And they paid without even looking at the bill. Corks popping and everything. I even had to repaint. Would you take a walk around and see if you have any ideas for what could fill the spots? The offer is out to a few people.”

Clara shook her head, annoyed at this party of assholes, although it seemed to Allison she was used to it. “Of course, Frannie, and a coffee?”

“I’ll drop it down to you,” Francesca said. “Go look, will you?” Francesca urged Clara to take a wander about, which she did. “How about you, Allison? Coffee? Soft drink?”

“Private parties? And the art gets destroyed?” Allison said, doubt forming more solidly.

The woman looked crestfallen. “I’m most sorry for Clara, that she doesn’t get to see her art hung any more. I really quite liked these ones.”

“Where is her money going?” Allison asked, raising her shoulders up.

Francesca looked taken aback. “Excuse me?”

“The art gets destroyed? You’re selling it! Where is the money going? Does Clara have her own business account, filled with credits? Or are you pocketing it all?”

Francesca looked annoyed. “You don’t know what you’re talking about, girl!” she said, but there wasn’t any actual annoyance to the tone she spoke in. Nor was there a threat.

“Don’t do that to me,” Allison said. “I work myself. I’ve talked to enough older women who know, and explained. I’ve figured some of it out, more than you think I have. I know where I can buy my own food, and alcohol. Please don’t do this to me. Don’t do it to Clara. I like her...”

Francesca sighed, and nodded. And Allison saw the sigh wasn't at being found out, or to cope with a difficult situation, it was relief.

“I like Clara, too. And she has enough credits for a studio. All in a separate business account. I take a 10% cut, as a seller. She’s popular. Not because she’s amazing but because she has the potential to be, maybe. Buyers see her as a future star, a real star. Many want her to have a studio now, so she can produce more, and bigger. I don’t think she’s ready. She needs to find her style a bit more. And she doesn’t need the pressure. The demands.

“I find her studio time with some working artist friends if she needs it, or can benefit from talking to an established artist, you can ask her yourself. She doesn’t need and cannot disappear off to some invisible part of the station to her own studio. Not yet. She’s too young. She needs to be out, experiencing the world. And making friends. Friends like you, it seems.”

Allison processed all this for a few moments. “I know people who can investigate this, to find out if you’re telling the truth,” she said, bluffing.

“All above board.” Francesca tapped a few things into the business conn then held up her scanner, which Allison tapped back, wondering what this was about. “You have an invite to our next show. Come to it. Bring a friend. Bring one of your friends who investigates things. Come back here a few more times and you’ll spot people coming to look at the art, and not for our wonderful food, the idiots.

“The food is good, simple, maybe, but good. My husband is our main chef. Please don’t tell, Clara. She doesn’t need the pressure, you’ve spoken with her. You judge how she’d take it. Talk to people at the show, there’ll be artists there I, or other people, have done the exact same thing for. And people who do it for other young artists.”

“OK. For now,” Allison said. “I won’t tell her. I don’t think so...”

“Thank you,” Francesca said. “You’re good for Clara, from what I can see. She rarely asks for food without prompting. She really wouldn’t eat, she’d just doodle her day away. And I guess you know if you want anything off the menu that’s not an issue, nor is it a bribe.”

Allison guffawed, lowly, just the once. It wasn’t quite a guffaw, really, more incredulous tiredness. Allison’s day on her own wasn’t just making new friends but seemed to be the same as usual. Only at least she’d had her letter to Des, and, she supposed, a hot chocolate. Francesca spotted her guffaw, though, and she’d smiled too. Seemingly proud of Clara, maybe for bringing Allison to her.

“You should talk to Clara,” Allison said. “She might have a new business idea.”

Francesca nodded.

As Allison looked at Francesca she wondered if she really was bluffing when she said she had friends who could find out the truth of what Francesca was doing. Some of the people she’d met... How much she was finding out in just the few days since she’d become Allison...

Allison could already begin to feel the central theme of a new letter to Des beginning to form, even before Des responded to her.

“Turkey and cheese?” Allison said.

“With or without salad. Of course you’ll get some crisps. On the side. Drink?”

Allison spent the day making new friends, and experiencing things in a new way, the first time really as herself, traversing the station on her own. This happened while Angie prepared for her new job with the medical professors. When Angie came back to the apartment it was obvious she enjoyed herself as she was a little worse for wear. And worse again once the two demolished most of a bottle of gin she’d been given as a gift.

Now Allison is waiting around, letting Angie sleep off her hangover before they go for breakfast with Adam. But the time spent doing nothing but waiting for Angie has brought her to a realisation, and she needs to tell One something about her intentions.

---

For the first time in a week Angie slept in the single bed. Allison didn’t know why. Angie had gone to pee before they both turned in, after their gin and tonics, many gin and tonics, and after a while Allison had wondered where she’d gotten to.

When she checked she found Angie passed out, limbs at weird angles, in the single bed. The primary bed for women, technically, if they didn’t intend to break the rules that seemingly didn’t matter in any real way.

Angie was much, much more drunk than Allison the night before, and kept talking, repeating herself about what the university course would mean. Telling Allison all the things the medical professors were talking about, and intended for her to learn.

She could barely speak slowly enough when she talked about what she’d be doing for people. By the point the bottle was nearly empty she looked like she could throw up. Allison said Angie had drank too much, but after lying down on the couch, and explaining her thoughts, it appeared it was nerves over the responsibility she’d have; how serious it would be to represent people’s concerns; their very troubling, very personal, medical concerns. And it wouldn’t be like with Allison where she’d murder for someone she wanted a relationship with, and where she knew Allison loved her just as much.

Angie had said she loved Allison, a lot, which showed exactly how drunk she was.

Angie admitted she’d made her worries clear to the more friendly professors sometime mid-afternoon, at which point their planning session was curtailed and they retired to someone’s office where the bottles came out. Once calmed Angie came back to Allison with the gift of the gin and bottles of tonic from the friendly professors. Just in case she had any more panicky feelings.

Of course at some point Angie said she’d meet Adam for breakfast, although Allison had to type it for her, then promise to wake her on time. No matter what, please wake her. She had to tell Adam her news; Adam was the only other person she could really tell.

And now breakfast wasn’t happening, it appeared. Maybe brunch, but at the current rate of snoring it looked more like lunch, maybe a late one. Allison had spent the morning kicking her heels waiting for Angie to wake up, but Angie had waited for her just a few days before, letting Allison recover via her sleep. Allison had to do the same in return.

Except something had played on Allison’s mind ever since she rose — the many hours since she rose — all about what Angie related to Allison about how she was taking on so much responsibility to people.

Everything had worked to bring Allison to the point she was at now; a woman, in her own apartment, with a dressing room full of clothes, her own heels, makeup, earrings, a hairstyle. Men who seemed to like her. A man who’d kissed her and she’d done her best to make him enjoy himself in more ways than kissing. She had friends, and best friends. Most of all she was happy. Her life had purpose, and she was happy, all because she’d met One.

She hadn’t been told, and her meeting with Des indicated nothing like it, but she knew her job would be to sit with others in the future and smoke with them. Maybe someday she’d be sitting with someone like Patryk used to be and helping him realise he was really Allison, and not actually the Patryk he thought he was all along. She had to work, and learn. If she didn’t continue down this path it’d be an insult to what started this journey. More, it’d be an insult to people, who she knew existed, who needed a discovery like she’d had. Maybe not the same discovery but most people she’d met, especially since she became Allison, had some issues, or had overcome their issues with help, and guidance. People needed help. It’s what Sandra and Sandy said; you worked to help people.

Allison messaged One. It was a simple message. “I want to get back to my job. Whatever this is, I’m ready for it.”

A few minutes later a message came to Allison, back from One. “I’ll meet you in your apartment as soon as I can get there. I’ve found Adam and it appears Angie is with you.”

After about twenty-five minutes the notification came someone was at the door. Allison walked to it and let Adam and One in. Allison was shocked when One put his arm around Allison and gave her a squeeze.

“What’s up? What’s going on?” Allison asked.

“I have breakfast,” One said, carrying some paper bags of food while Adam carried drinks of various kinds. “Where’s Angie?”

“Asleep, and hungover.”

“I’ll wake her,” Adam said.

“What’s happened?” Allison asked, feeling concerned. One had hugged her!

“You have a big decision to make, Allison,” Adam said. “Let me wake Angie.”

Allison helped One unpack some paper plates and containers of food, along with some knives and forks. Taking the lids off the food containers she saw there were spicy eggs and spicy potatoes, another container held little curls of bacon, another some salsa and another beans. Finally, in a bag, were some breads.

“What’s going on, One?”

One placed the empty bags on the ground and looked up at Allison, “You have a big decision to make. Which will be better made having been fed. Never mind how all this food will help Angie.” He picked up his shoulder bag he’d also set down. “How bad will her hangover be?”

“Monster,” Allison said.

“Big guns. You should have asked me what smoke to give her, separate to all this.”

Allison twisted a little. “Why would I do that?”

“The first time we met the smoke I gave you helped with your hangover; the very first smoke. Surely you knew I could scale that up, and it’d be in your little backpack?”

Although Allison had considered something existed, the thought never occurred to actually smoke it, or ask for it, despite having had some degree of hangover a few times since then, and pain and ill-ease, during the week. “Why would I do that? Smokes aren’t really for that.”

One cleared his throat. “You definitely need to eat. No more questions until then.”

“Angie’s sitting on the bed, worried she’ll throw up,” Adam said, from the doorway.

One laughed. Allison absolutely did not laugh, but not out of concern for Angie. “Give her this, then tell her there’s a feast waiting.” He held out a rollie and lighter for Adam, who was soon back in the single room with Angie.

“Eat and catch up with your friends. It’s just a breakfast.” One repeated himself again, firmly. “The breakfast will just be a breakfast. Although to be fair it is my favourite breakfast, as it happens. I had to cash in some favours to skip queues and take someone else’s order to get here as quick as I did.”

A shout came from the bedroom. “Fucking hell, One. You’re a miracle worker! Give Allison a lifetime’s supply of these smokes!” And within moments Angie was bounding out of the bedroom, her full-throated shout having barely escaped before her.

“I am so fucking hungry. Fuck me!” Angie continued.

Adam and Allison just looked at each other as Angie plonked herself in the middle of the couch and started pouring food out onto one of the paper plates.

One found his way to the armchair while Allison and Adam barely managed to squeeze onto the normally two-person couch, with Angie taking up most of the space, all while she inhaled an absolute volume of food as she chugged some orange drink between mouthfuls.

It turned out the food was really good, which helped Allison’s worries mostly escape, along with the chat that slowly began to take hold. One looked absolutely thrilled with himself, delighting in every bite he took of the breakfast and mixing each item with the others, in a chaotic manner, for each forkful.

Adam explained in more detail what had been going on since Allison and Angie last saw him. It turned out when he spoke to his manager about seeing the man deliver the letter it triggered some internal report in his delivery service section. Adam was assigned to trail one of the postmen in green uniforms for a few days, none of which had been like Allison’s delivery.

It seems the delivery service didn’t want their staff getting the wrong idea and spreading rumours. They didn’t mind people knowing the postmen’s work was mostly to deliver official notices, that was what they delivered, mostly, and they ensured they were received, and read; precisely because of what Adam had been worried about when he saw him come into Jenny’s; they were often bad news. What Adam didn’t know was that another part of the role was explaining the information that came with the notice. Which is what made Allison’s delivery even more out-of-the-ordinary.

The postmen didn’t present all the options for what would follow the notice, or go into great depth about the explanations included for what the recipient could do, from the guidance that was included with the notice. Their purpose was almost just to reassure people there were options available to them, and it wasn’t the end of the world. Then they helped them understand where they could go for more help, as the recipient saw fit.

Apparently the two big pockets, one on each leg of their shorts, contained the most important part of their kit. Adam was told this before he ever went out with a postman but he didn’t understand why. One pocket was figured out quickly, he said, the tissues — an abundance of them — were for when people cried. The other pocket’s use became apparent when someone punched a door; a first aid kit to tend to their injuries before the man was brought to a citizen carer to see if he’d broken any bones.

It was quite a revealing experience, according to Adam; seeing people in so many different states, and experiencing so many different emotions in such a brief period of time.

By the time Adam had told his story Allison had very much stopped eating, and Angie had just about stopped eating, but one still seemed to be in raptures from trying yet more combinations of his foods, and in varying quantities and arrangements.

Angie caught Adam up on what she’d been doing, and Allison relayed her few days, talking distractedly about Lem but not really mentioning Clara, although she'd enthused about Clara to Angie the night before; talking about art shows, and post or art-cards. Then they all looked at One, yet still eating, and still not saying a word, until he noticed them watching him, at which point he said, “I should probably stop, shouldn’t I?”

They all nodded.

He scraped what was on his plate into the container with the few potatoes left then Angie emptied the other containers on top before sealing it up. “You can have that for lunch, One.”

“I didn’t even think of that!” One said. “An actual good reason to stop eating! Leftovers! Grab another container. I’ll split them with you.”

Angie laughed, taken aback. “And deny you the pleasure of them? What type of woman do you take me for? Don’t be silly, One.”

“See, Allison. Angie causes me no trouble, unlike you!”

“You bitch, Allison! Causing this dear man trouble!” Angie said.

However Allison had felt her well fed stomach contract. “What’s all this about?”

“Causing trouble...” One sighed. “My colleagues and I have been talking about this. It happens. Not always, but it happens. Some people, who had the smoke you had — and are given the opportunity — discover there’s a world open to them. We keep in contact, they’ll occasionally have a smoke, that’s always an option, but smokes won’t be their world; they found another world was waiting for them.

“Others dig into that little backpack of yours, filled with tins. Have you?”

“No?” Allison said, doubtfully.

“Why not?” One asked.

“Didn’t you say I shouldn’t?” Allison said, trying to actually think of what One had said. At the time it seemed important, but now?

“Did I tell you to try the smokes with Angie and Adam?” One asked, in a way that didn’t seem rhetorical.

“I don’t remember, really, my days have been hectic. I’ve had a lot going on.”

One nodded as though he was expecting this. “Like I said, people like you happen. Not often, but it happens. The majority of people choose. Sometimes they choose the life that opens up to them with the smokes as an option, as needed, when they feel like it. We’ll show them a place like Jenny’s. You’re the first who’s found Jenny’s, but there are other places like it.

“Others choose the smokes. I’ll tell you now I don’t remember what I told you then about smoking them or not. I’ve been through what I’m doing with you for a few people. It’s not a set routine, it’s not precise science. I learn each time. I take advice. People like me, and for Jenny before me, talk. No matter what I told you if the smokes were the most interesting thing you would have chosen to smoke them. You might have quickly asked for more jobs, but it’d be obvious it was for the smokes.

“Now, of the world and the smokes which did you choose?”

Allison was confused by this. The smokes were just smokes, they weren’t the job. The job was something else. “The smokes aren’t the most important thing, One. You know that.”

“Yes, some people figure that out. Typically not before choosing between their world or smoking.”

“I am choosing the world!” Allison said, feeling put down.

“Via the smokes...” One said, and he looked disappointed.

“But that’s—”

“Am I wrong?”

Allison didn’t know what to say. He wasn’t letting her say what she had to say. She was choosing to help the world. That was the whole point of the smokes. They’d helped her, she wanted to help people. If others didn’t see that they were morons!

“The route you’re going involves you sacrificing something,” One said.

Allison felt her heart skip a beat. “What? Sacrifice what?”

“You might not know for a while, you might not even realise it was a sacrifice, but it will have been down to this decision. But you will know, eventually. You’ll cope with it, you’ll manage, but there’ll be some regret. How much I don’t know. And no smokes, and nothing in your life you choose or try will make it stop, or give you that opportunity back.”

“That’s ridiculous, One!” Allison said.

“She’s right,” Angie said.

“Sorry, One,” Adam said. “That is a ridiculous statement.”

One took out his conn and set it down on the bit of the table that was still clear.

Eventually someone answered, it was Jenny.

“You in the bar, Jenny?” One asked.

“Sue is with me.”

“Hi Sue!” Angie said.

“Hi back, Angie. How are you?” Sue said.

“I had a lethal hangover but One fixed it right up, no problem.”

They all heard laughing down the conn from Sue and Jenny.

“Allison’s support is unwavering in their support of her,” One said.

“I told you they would be,” Jenny said. “What’s their issue?”

Adam leaned forward out of the coach, seemingly to get past the mass that was Angie who was almost bouncing from no longer having a hangover. “One said Allison, if she does what she says has to do, will have to sacrifice something.”

“One filled me in, Adam. Assume everyone is up to date with everything,” Jenny said.

“OK. Then you’ll know that everything comes with sacrifice, that’s what choices mean. If you could predict the outcome of every choice before you made it it wouldn’t be a choice.”

Sue and Jenny both laughed, and they all heard a ‘told you so’ from beneath the laughter. Adam knew it had come from Sue.

“Explain to her, One. Tell her what continuing with the job means. She’ll find that out no matter what you say to her, because you do want her to go that route.”

One was fidgeting with one of his curls, then he dropped his hand to his forehead and rubbed at it. “I want her to slow down, Jenny. To take her time.”

“Yeah,” Jenny said. “Explain the job, the part she’d be moving onto.”

One exhaled rapidly, with a rattling sound as though he wanted to make it a threat. “Allison, if you continue with the job you will move apartments. You will go to a section of the station that is dedicated to young tobacconists. You will meet others, for now all will know more than you, as time goes on others will come in just like you. There will be supervision from qualified tobacconists. You will learn from the other young tobacconists. It will be a community of learning, with resources available to you.”

“That doesn’t sound too bad,” Allison said. Then she thought. “I’ll be allowed to visit the rest of the station, won’t I? This isn’t like those spiritual retreats to planets, right? Isolated and hidden away?”

“It’s hidden, in a way. You will be allowed to visit, to go about any business or otherwise you choose, around the rest of the station. In fact it’s encouraged.”

Allison knew something still wasn’t right with this. “What are you hiding, One?”

“Yeah, One!” Jenny said, mirthfully.

“If your support wants to visit you there are dedicated areas where they can.”

“Not my apartment?” Allison asked. One shook his head. “And what are these ‘dedicated areas?’”

“Lounges, bars, cafés, cafeterias where they can join you. The difference from the rest of the station is smoking is allowed, and antics, in general, are more tolerated there.”

Angie laughed. “You should see the ‘antics’ on the university campus! You would not believe!”

“They’re idiots, aren’t they, Angie?” Sue said.

“Experts at it!”

“So we wouldn’t have privacy?” Allison asked.

“If there was—” One began, but Jenny interrupted.

“Not really, Allison,” Jenny said. “It’s supposed to be out in the open, where it can watched, and seen.”

“There must be some other way. If they’re my ‘support’ — as you say they are — I’ll need privacy. People who support you best support you, at times at least, when you have time alone with them,” Allison said.

No-one said anything, instead just looking at each other, until Jenny said, “What are you hiding, One?”

“That’s where the sacrifice comes in, Allison,” One said. “It’s possible to have everything you think you want but you’d have to work two jobs. That’s the sacrifice. You’d end up serving your peers when you’re not mixing and learning from them. You’d essentially be separated from them. Despite everyone’s best efforts for it not to happen you would be different from them.”

Allison had an instant reaction to this, thinking if she wasn’t following a typical route to even ask for this then she’d be separated anyway. But One wasn’t finished. “And by working two jobs — learning and mixing with your peers, and serving the people you’re supposed to be learning and mixing with — you would sacrifice time. By gaining the freedom to see your friends in private you’ll be busier than anyone should be, and you will sacrifice because of that. You will lose the opportunities you would otherwise have had because there is so much pressure on your time. And you will always be different.”

Allison didn’t really know what to think, she couldn’t process all the moving parts.

Angie gripped onto Allison’s thigh. “Allison, we can meet in public. That’s not an issue. You know nothing will stop us being open with you.”

“We had the night in Jenny’s. Two nights, Allison! I’ve mostly seen you in public. It’s not a real issue. Not if it means that much work; if it means losing all your time,” Adam said. “What good is it being able to see us in private if you don’t have that time, or the energy, to really enjoy it? To be the person we love?”

“That’s the sacrifice,” One said, quietly, lifting the hand that had been placed to his forehead, shadowing his downcast eyes.

“What did you do, One?” Allison asked.

One stayed silent, rubbing his lips.

Allison watched him.

After watching him, seemingly in pain, for a little longer, Allison knew. “That answers my question,” she said. She knew she had to follow the path the man who gave the Allison in her to her had followed.

“Whatever the sacrifice is, whatever it means, I don’t know. If I regret it I do. I won’t die of it.”

“Death isn’t the worst thing, Allison,” One said.

“She’s made her decision, One,” Sue said. Angie gripped tighter on Allison’s thigh.

“Yes...” One said. “Thanks Sue, Jenny.” He ended the call. “Are you three comfortable? Sitting squeezed into that?”

“Just about,” Adam said.

“It’ll take a while to explain what I have to explain. The rules for the situation you will find yourself in. I can get another chair delivered, priority. I’ll need your attention. We can just talk while it’s delivered. Take a break...”

Adam stood and dragged the table out from between them all, then began placing the plates and remaining rubbish to the side of the couch. “What would we chat about, after all that?” he asked.

“Fair point, but you take the armchair, Adam. You need to be comfortable for this, a bit of discomfort will help me focus on what I have to say,” One said.

With the couch and chair facing One, sitting on the coffee table, he took a deep breath and began. “You will have to start lying to people, Allison. A lot of people.” Then he talked and talked and talked. And Allison, Adam and Angie stayed quiet.

After an hour of talking, after Adam came back from the bathroom, One put the call through to Jenny. “She’s still on board?” Jenny asked.

“Yeah,” One said, feeling tired.

“I’ll send them the message, they’re ready. How did you start the conversation?”

“I told her she’d have to start lying,” One said.

“How many lies did you spot from him, Allison?”

“None,” Allison said.

“I’ll give you one. Do you think his support, who I know for a fact he’s been talking to about you, told him if he wanted you to slow down he’d have had the earlier conversation a different way, that he wouldn’t have been so hesitant. So seemingly resistant to it. If he wanted you to follow the traditional route he’d have just laid it all out straight and up front, and trusted you to understand the gravity of the situation?

“Now, knowing what I told you, do you still want to go through with this? Knowing you’re being played.”

Allison smiled at Jenny putting it all out there. “Thanks, Jenny. I do want this, yes.”

Jenny ended the call after just saying, “OK...”

One picked up his conn and began to tap away, and after a couple of minutes all three of Triple A’s conns beeped. “It’s an update, for the people you meet in the levels you’re gaining access to. If you exchange IDs, or anything else, it’ll properly categorise things so you can keep track of who’s saying what to who. This will be new for all of you, even compared to already.”

Allison knew what her friends answers would be but she still had to say it. Saying it was important.“Are you two OK with this?” she asked. “I’m looking for a lot from you.”

“It’s what you want,” Adam said, and Angie nodded.

“That’s not what I asked,” Allison said.

“Yes,” Adam said. “I am OK with this. Because it’s what you want. And you speak for you, and I speak for me."

“Fully,” Angie said. “We love you.”

One stood. “What do you own in this apartment, Allison? That you got in the past week, not what was here before. We’ll need to mark it so it can be moved.”

“I can arrange that,” Adam said.

“I do forget you’re a mover,” One said. “How well do you know the station? ‘The Outlook’ I believe it’s called.”

“I’ve delivered there, but you’ll know that’s a pass-off.”

Allison had no clue what the two were talking about, but it didn’t really matter, she didn’t have much stuff that she owned to be moved. “I have one other pair of shoes that were bought for me, my good makeup, a few pairs of stockings and I’m wearing my earrings.”

“And a box,” Angie said.

“My earring box?” Allison said, confused.

“You bought another, absolutely massive box of makeup! The women who sold it to you saw a sucker coming,” Angie said, strangely putting emphasis on the word, ‘sucker.’ “You needed a shower after just to clear the sweat off from fitting it all into its various homes! Remember?!?”

“Oh! Yeah, the big box!! Of makeup for....” Allison said, it dawning on her. “For playing around with. Practice, yeah... Not out of the apartment.... Oh, we can just leave that here. That doesn’t need to be brought with me,” Allison said, understanding her many, yet to be named friends, including her little BFF Freckles, were currently residing in that box.

“I’m sure I can fit your stockings and the like on top of everything. We shouldn’t go anywhere without our good friend ‘makeup,’ to cover our Freckles,” Angie said, and she snorted as she as said Freckles, and Allison blushed. She had no clue Angie had heard her talk to her best little friend, and encourage him. And praise him. She was loud when he got down to business.

“I always carry tape with me — once a mover, et cetera. I’ll help you pack it, Angie”

“I don’t want you going through my stockings!” Allison nigh on screamed.

But Angie had grabbed Adam by the hand and was leading him towards Allison’s dressing room; Allison’s private boudoir. “I don’t know how Allison fit it all in there,” Angie said, laughing.

One was busy tapping on his conn, while Allison breathed slowly. She tried to tell herself if she was being honest Adam was a quite attractive man and it had crossed her mind, once she’d had her surgery, if she needed someone to trust she wouldn’t go too far wrong with him. Apart from the weirdness she’d trust him to respect her, and be kind to her. She just had to believe he’d never mention a thing, again, ever.

Despite her self assurance Allison’s eyes had nearly rattled out of her head by the time Adam was back, carrying the box.

“All packed away, safe and sound,” Adam said, saying nothing, really.

Allison’s eyes were shut tight and she forced herself to open them. Adam had set the box on the table and didn’t look any different to normal.

“OK. We should leave. You have your conn-messaging, as usual, use it more often. It’s what it’s for. You can get a call authorised if you’re really busy with your job, Allison. You might see them tomorrow, it might be a week, or two. You will see them,” One said. “But you should...” One was going to say give them a hug, but Allison was already held tightly by Adam.

“You’re no different to any other woman on this station,” Adam said. “Friends and all.” Then he kissed her on the cheek and squeezed her again.

When she was hugging Angie Angie said, “Message, call, whatever. Any time. Well... Any time except when I’m playing with my makeup. Us girls do love to play with our makeup.” Then she cackled.

“You’re a fucking bitch and I hate you, you fucking bitch-face,” Allison said.

“I’d do a spacewalk to get to you if I had to,” Angie said, softly, but with certainty.

“I love you, stupid fucking bitch-face,” Allison said, feeling shaky.

A few minutes later Allison and One were standing in an elevator, going to her new home; One holding the big box.

“It’ll take a good few minutes to get there,” One said. “The routing for this is a little complex.”

Allison nodded, and there was silence, again.

Every so often Allison glanced at One who seemed impassive, but the occasional mild grimace revealed to Allison things weren’t quite right.

“Jenny was wrong, wasn’t she?” Allison asked.

“How do you mean?” One said.

“You didn’t want me to go this route. You didn’t know what I should do.”

One nodded. “I didn’t, no,” he said. “I don’t know.”

“And I was right, wasn’t I? Smoking is really about helping people?”

One nodded again. “Ultimately, yes,” he said. “But what would have been your peers, and still sort of are, in a way, don’t quite realise that. They see it as exciting. Something to play with, mentally, emotionally. They’re not thinking about purpose.

“They’ll understand, eventually. Most of them. They’ll understand that playing is a way of learning, and helping yourself, and others. Why I didn’t know what to do with you, in this instance, is because I don’t know what you need to play with. I think you just need time. Experience, really. Time to be you. But you’ve made your choice. You know how you want to be you, for now”

Allison thought back to when she first met One, back to her brown smoke. She didn’t remember what she talked about when she smoked it, but for some reason, now, she had the feeling it was quite a straightforward chat. Plain, and simple.

“How straightforward am I, One?”

One laughed with genuine amusement, and a little shock. “You? You’re incredibly straightforward, and not at all. It’s a little frightening, really.”

Allison sighed. “That’s great to hear,” she said. And One laughed again.

A few minutes later the elevator had arrived and they stepped into a waiting area, a few doors leading off it. The bank of elevators they’d come from were all simply marked, no particular destination sectors indicated, and they didn’t seem to be in need by anyone else.

“What now?” Allison asked.

“Someone will be here soon,” One said. “To settle you in.”

And someone did arrive, a woman, whose eyes opened wide when she saw them.

“Fine,” she said. “Great! That’s just great. Let’s get going. I’m Vickie. Pleased to meet you and all that. You’re going to have a busy first day.”

Then One and Allison were lead down a series of corridors, passing a few people on their way, who paid no notice to them. After a little bit Allison noticed some of them, their wristbands, were lit up in green. Not everyone, just a few. Including One and Vickie’s.

They came to an apartment and after Vickie swiped in Allison was told to swipe. The apartment had been registered to her.

The room she entered was quite large, with a few doorways and hallways off it, and it was bare. No furniture.

“You can sort out all your arrangements over the coming days and weeks,” Vickie said. “I don’t know why it’s happening but you’re scheduled to work straight away, Allison.”

One shook his head. “What? Why?” he asked.

“Straight from Nine. I’ve never seen him get involved in something like this, not so directly, not since he was appointed. It could be that Allison's the first to work under his watch. But...” Vickie tilted her head towards Allison. “Really, though, are the white stockings legitimate?”

Allison didn’t know what to make of that. “Yes, of course!” she said, feeling small. Feeling examined.

“Well, that’s just great!” Vickie said. “Are they for moral reasons? Fear? How old are you? You’re not religious are you?”

“Medical reasons!” Allison said, firmly.

“So you don’t have an objection to the yoots getting handsy.”

One was completely taken aback by this and literally took a step backwards. “Handsy? What are you talking about?” he asked.

“Seriously?” Vicky said. “When did you last introduce a student?”

One stared at Vickie, and this time he stepped forward, after calming his glare a little. Then he stepped forward again, almost in front of Allison; as though protecting her; as though preparing for a fight. “A few years ago, maybe? A little longer.” The calmness in his voice was a stark contrast to the height he’d set himself to.

“And you didn’t check up on them? Or how the program was going?”

“I trust the program,” One said.

Vickie growled. “Typical. You hand them off to us and expect us to manage everything...

“Well, for the past while things have been changing. Subtly. Some of the yoots feel a little emboldened with their new found tobacco, these wonderful young tobacconists, our dear yoots, our little pals, and our struggling workers' masters; they're run off their feet dealing with them and I can do nothing about it.

"It was just a few at first, but if you knew anything you’d know behaviour can spread, quite easily... And you're qualified? Do you not pay attention to anything?”

“Why did no-one say anything about this?” One asked. “How bad are they getting? Is it a mental effect?”

“Mental? No," Vickie said, calming. As though she'd been really challenged on something. "Just youth. It’s managed. Just about. Not all of them are shits, but once a little rot gets in...”

“Rot!!? What is Nine doing about this?” One asked, and for the first time, ever, Allison could hear a demand in his voice. A demand verging on anger.

Vickie laughed, condescendingly. “I suppose you’re well aware of how our great and glorious numbers behave, are you? Good friends with a few?”

One rose up to his full height, which wasn’t giant but he looked imposing; square and strong. His battered, old clothing now looked like a uniform.

He held up his hand and touched his wrist, the strap cycling through every shade of colour.

“Who are you?” Vickie asked, her voice going down an octave, volume lowering.

“I’m One,” One said.

“Well that’s fucking brilliant!” Vickie said, with real annoyance. “We’ve been sending you messages for months, and we’ve not heard a thing back. Confirm, please?”

Vickie held out her wrist and One held his out to hers. She then looked at her conn and said. “You’re One.”

“I’m One,” One said. “And this is Allison.”

Allison had no idea what was happening, but whatever they were talking about was far beyond anything she’d experienced before.

“And, of course, Allison is your personal student? Who’s entitled to wear white?” Vickie said.

“Yes.”

“Well, that explains why she’s been scheduled to serve drinks tonight,” Vickie said. “I think you need to play closer attention to Nine, One. He’s in control here.”

One rubbed his forehead. “Enough about me, about the program, what does this mean for Allison?”

“This is all about you, One. And nothing to do with Allison,” Vickie said. “Sorry, dear. But if you want to talk about Allison let’s start with tonight. Do you want to wear white or will you wear the normal tights?”

“What difference does it make?” Allison asked, after one touched her arm, prompting her.

“The difference is between the students, some of the ones you’ve been scheduled to serve drinks to are the ones getting ‘handsy’ — like I said —or if you wear white it’ll mean them getting more psychological. I don’t think they’ll push anything physical, groping and the like, on someone in white. I can’t be certain though. But you’re a yoot, too. I’m not quite sure what they’ll do when they realise that.”

One finally set the box down. “She wears white. If someone gets physical with her you message me. Immediately. There will be consequences for that. She is entitled to wear white and she wears white”

“I can’t bypass the routes,” Vickie said.

“I’m One,” One said.

“So that’s an instruction?”

“You can contact me, directly. About anything related to my student, do you understand me, Vickie?” Vickie nodded. And again they held out wrists, confirming what Allison assumed was an ID exchange on their conns.

“Why do you tolerate this?” Allison asked, her concern coalescing. “These people, the students — yoots — behaving like this, if this is how they treat people who are working for them? Who are supposed to be caring for them, so they can do what I guess they’re meant to be doing? Learning?” Allison felt tired as she said her last word. Drained. Like she'd not only over-stepped but stepped into an entirely new world.

“Allison,” One said. “What I told you about lying is more important than ever. Do you understand? I can’t explain everything, this isn’t for you to deal with, this is my situation. You do what you were told you do. What we said you had to do.

"Allison, this is your opportunity. You're chance to be you. Nothing else matters to you. Be who you are. I trust you, completely."

Allison nodded, not fully grasping but appreciating whatever this was this was it was serious. And whoever One was, well... He was One.

The Beginning of Part 2 of Allison Zero. New readers should be able to jump in at this point.

---

In Part 1 Allison had the details of her transition, at least the medical side, explained to her. She just has to wait for the medication to take its effects and for the doctors to be ready to do their thing.

However, her new role on the station, and her new job with One is changing up more in her life than her gender. Just over a week on from discovering exactly who she is it’s now time to venture to the part of the station — that few know of — to begin her training as a young tobacconist. Except nothing is straightforward for Allison, a woman who never takes the traditional route. She wants more than is allowed for the young tobacconists and to get her way she has to be both a student and spend time working for and serving her peers.

---

The Outlook, near the top of the station, was a hitherto — at least to the new woman, Allison — hidden away part of the station. It’s where she was being led through to her new job from her second new apartment in a week. Her new apartment where One offered some parting words to her before she began into whatever all this meant.

Despite being a message One had intended as assurance, about the scale of what was happening with her, who was who, and what exactly both his and her role was, it still left a clawing void in her mind.

Vickie brought Allison along corridors and down stairs, occasionally swiping their way through doors with Allison seemingly insulated from perception by One’s attempt at calming her. “You have nothing to worry about. This isn’t about you,” he’d said. “But you will worry anyway. So just feel your way through this and learn. Then accept you really do have nothing to worry about. It’ll come.”

After continuing for a few minutes with Vickie, then travelling down another stairs with Allison having not even thought about how she’d find her way back again, then a little way down yet another corridor, Allison, and her guide, reached an opening where someone was rushing between doors; this man distractedly fastening buttons on what appeared to be a uniform.

Vickie brought Allison down another small, narrower corridor, walking about fifty or so feet, and swiped into an enclosed, narrow space. Or so it appeared to be on first arrival. Allison realised it was cramped because clothes hung from rails, two high, and after another few steps she saw the rails formed a maze through what was really quite a large space.

“You’re serving drinks tonight, you’ll be supervised. And tomorrow evening you’re on midnight cleaning. We’ll get you setup with those particular uniforms, for now. Tomorrow, first thing, presuming you’re not kept working late, we can arrange the basics for your apartment.

“This is all so fast. Normally we’d be getting you settled into your new circumstances, but now I understand why you’re being put to work so quickly given who introduced you.”

“Who’s One, and who is Nine? What are they?” Allison asked Vickie, not sensing the opportunity to have answers on any level of conscious awareness rather giving into one of her deeper feelings; her deep seated, instinctual worry about what all this was.

“They’re Numbers, honorifics. Titles... I suppose,” Vickie said. “They’re the highest level of management for tobacconists. It’s a holdover from when everyone in any management role, anywhere on the station, had a number. It’s a bit presumptuous that we get to keep them but who am I to say anything? From what I know tobacconists are the only occupation that’s kept them, or wanted to hold onto them.”

As Vickie spoke she riffled through hanger after hanger of clothing before she quickly turned around and went back to where they first entered; her statement finished; pushing her way through some clothes into what seemed to be another path, pulling down a pale green dress as she walked, then making her way to a walkway that held shelving.

“How many numbers are there?” Allison struggled to get through the gap in the clothes as easily as Vickie had.

“Of tobacconists?” Vickie responded, picking up some packages. “All tobacconists and their staff have a number. I’m V63 and you’re A49. One is One. Nine is Nine. Don’t call me Vickie or any workers by their actual name in front of students. Tell them your name if you want but among the students I’m V63. A few workers already know about you, most of your shift do.”

Allison was being handed packages Vickie was picking out. She could barely hold any of her thoughts in her mind as she struggled to grasp onto the physical items. “So does One have a letter? From his name?”

“He’s One. Numbers are the most senior, I don’t know any of their actual names, or any letter. And before you ask there’s nine of them.

“Seniority is weird among them, they all have individual purviews, or none. They’re a team with some unique domains each, mostly. Nine is in charge of students. Others are in charge of various staff and co-ordinate with Nine over the staff working here, and other numbers with staff elsewhere, amongst other things. Which is why we’ve been busy being fucked around for a few days in preparation for you. It was thought you could happen for us at any moment, or not. More seriously than most other new tobacconists.

“How long have you been smoking, by the way? That you decided you want this?”

“Since last Saturday,” Allison said.

Vickie nodded and pushed her way into another seemingly invisible path before running her fingers through even more hangers, then pulling something down.

She held the black dress she pulled out up to Allison. “Sorry it’s so slutty. You’ll quickly discover the yoots favourite smoke helps them get horny. Like they need any help. They voted on these uniforms not too long ago; empowerment, I was told. For them. It should be your size if my eye is right.”

She pushed the uniform into Allison’s hands and Allison checked the size. It was the correct one.

“You can try it on and if it needs tailoring we’ll get someone to do some quick work on it.”

Vickie brought Allison back to where they saw the man tying buttons, then through a door into a large, sterile smelling area with a lot of tiling. There was about eight people in there, in various states of undress, both men and women.

Allison felt the blood drain out of her. She couldn’t get changed here.

“Is there... I mean... I’m not too great with... Well with, you know, being in... Changing—”

“You’re shy?” Vickie asked.

“The medical problem I was talking about earlier,” Allison said, thinking the medication Doctor Grace gave her would really need to hurry up in helping her appear correctly female, even if it meant the physical pain like she’d had earlier in the week.

Vickie pointed out an archway, which Allison walked through, and behind it she found quite large changing cubicles, much like private rooms for entertaining your opposite sex friends found in the parts of the station she knew. Except these didn’t have beds, or supplies.

Setting the dress down on the chair she went through the rest of what she’d been given. The clothes were new to her, but then she figured all women’s clothes were new to her, really, seeing as she was a week old woman.

After longer than she really could be expected to take Allison was walking back to Vickie, feeling quite exposed, with air blowing up her skirt onto and up around her ass, and she knew someone could get a look at her crotch — her still, for now, quite male crotch — if the inquisitive observer engaged in just a little bit of bending and twisting. Or simply had to pick something up off the ground.

Standing in front of Vickie Allison felt like all she was was one big jitter. Her breath was shaking, as was her mind, and not least her body.

“That the medical issue?” Vickie asked.

“What do you mean?” Allison responded, with her heart leaping to her mouth, closing her legs tight together to try and let the skirt of the dress hang lower.

“That puberty was not kind to you in the chest department. Normal thing to happen, if unfortunate, at least when you’re young.”

“It was unkind in a lot of ways,” Allison said.

Vickie tilted her head back, stretching, then brought it back down again to look at Allison. “We have options. We can get you some enhancers, or we can get your dress taken in. It’s up to you. I suggest if you’re getting medical help with your puberty it might make more sense to give the appearance of no sudden growth once you’ve filled in.”

Allison nodded.

“OK, I’ll be back, and give me your shoes. I’ll need to sort those out too,” Vickie said.

Allison rested the clothes she changed out of on a bench, handed Vickie her pair of reddish-white mules and sat as the women left, crossed her legs, then sighed. She knew this wasn’t the worst of what was to come. She knew, intrinsically, this was her just dipping her toes in.

“Tell them you’re twenty,” a woman said.

Allison looked up. The woman was busty, and more. She was tall. She was classical. She was the kind of woman the guys Allison knew as a teenager would say they were going straight for once they were unleashed, and who occupied a lot of their thoughts while they were lying in bed.

“Sorry?” Allison asked.

“Why you’re becoming a woman. You’re just unleashed, you knew for years. Doctors are helping but they wanted to wait until you were unleashed. To start the process when you were an adult, and sure of your decision.”

Allison’s breath trapped in her throat. She felt like she’d been ripped out an airlock, oxygen torn out of her with her desperately trying to hold on, and that really she’d prefer to faint — even if it meant certain death, floating into the expanse. That she'd prefer to give into nothingness than deal with this.

Allison had been instantly recognised for what she was. What she felt like at that moment. What he, Patryk, looked like, but that also felt wrong. Allison knew that ‘he’ wasn’t who she was. She was certain; she wasn’t meant to be Patryk, ever, and this was a woman who didn’t see Allison’s certainty. This was a woman who doubted Allison.

The woman shrugged. “The yoots are horny but they’re not stupid, or oblivious. They’re smart and horny, most of them. They’ll confirm your history pretty quickly, they were all talking about the court ruling. They even have a little contest to see who can find out most about this Allison person.

“Vickie rarely ventures onto the floor, she wouldn’t know, and we wouldn’t tell her what they’re up to unless it’s serious and causing issues for us. Most of us know about you, or figured it out. Good for you! An actual first, and you’ll be walking into them with them having no clue about it. You’ll have the advantage!”

Allison’s look of fear must have been taken for surprise because the woman continued on, explaining. “It’s kind of... They know about Allison’s situation, or want to. You get it? Not your situation... See? They’ll put it together, add two and two, quickly. Until then! Play with them... And never stop. Get them working out advanced equations for what’s very simple. It’s the fun we get from working. Most of the fun we get.”

“I need a smoke,” Allison said, gaze dropped to the floor, wishing she could lie on it. For the first time since she began this journey she felt like she really did need a smoke.

The woman laughed. “I’m Erika, 17. I’m sure Vickie, 63, explained. We can have a smoke. Basic calming one? That good for you? Given you’re a student too you might have access to ones us simple workers don’t have, in time, anyway.”

Allison shook her head. She didn’t know how people did this to her, how people seemed to know so much. In that instance she wanted revenge on everything, including her own body for being all kinds of fucked up.

“Are you explaining things, E?” a man called out.

“We’ll get there, T28. She needs a smoke first,” Erika — E17 — responded, then she laughed as the man exasperatedly shook his head.

“Tom! 28!” the man called out. “Welcome to working life, Allison. You’ll love it if you get over the shock with jumping straight in.”

“Yeah!” E17 exclaimed. “Fuck with the little dicks! It’s the only way.”

Allison gave herself one breath to pull herself together, then she’d have to make her mark. She’d have to speak to these people, her new co-workers.

With the rattle from her exhalation ending Allison said, an admittance she didn’t realise she was going to make, “I really don’t know what I’m doing.”

“The best way to be,” Erika said. “It’s more fun figuring things out than being trapped in something crappy you don’t know how to escape. Come on, we’ll put your clothes and conn away.”

“My conn?”

“Can’t access it while you’re working. Once you put it in the storage dock it’ll automatically transition your wrist to work mode. I know, not typical, but it is for here.”

Erika patted Allison’s shoulder a few times. Allison wasn’t quite sure what the woman was going for but she was energetic in everything, almost excited. Happy, even, to be dealing with Allison.

She brought Allison to the wood-panelled wall at one end of the room and opened up a locker. She stuffed her own clothes she’d changed out of in there, then exaggeratedly showed herself slotting her conn into a horizontal opening. Her wrist lit up orange. Then she nodded at Allison to follow after opening another locker for her.

Allison dumped her clothes in, then placed her own conn into the slot with her wrist, too, lighting up in orange.

“Now you’re really working!” Erika laughed.

Allison took another deep breath and closed the locker door. This was what she’d decided to do.

When she turned around she saw Vickie waiting for her, holding yet more packages, her old shoes, and a new pair of black heels.

“You’re being settled in?” Vickie asked.

“She needs a smoke, V,” Erika said.

“Don’t we all! But she needs to try on her shoes.”

Allison took the shoes from Vickie and placed them on the floor before slipping her foot into one. It fit. Then she placed her foot in the other, thinking of what Robert had said the week before about heels making her ass look great. The dress was so short she thought everyone would get a good look at her ‘great’ ass.

“Thankfully Vickie vetoed the shoes they had picked out for us, said it was a safety issue while working. So at least we have normal heels, not the huge stilettos I heard they wanted. Now we smoke!” Erika said, with great joy.

Vickie walked to Allison’s locker and placed Allison’s red mules and the dress for her cleaning job in there, as well as all the packages bar one. “Not so fast!” she said, stopping Erika from running out with Allison by grabbing Allison’s arm. “Your enhancers.”

Allison took the fake breasts from the box Vickie held.

It was obvious, from the talk, what everyone in the changing rooms knew about Allison’s particular situation. All Allison could do was shake her head, her secret wasn’t so secret, so she just had to reach her hands inside the armholes on the sleeveless dress and give herself the appearance of boobs. Or at least bigger boobs, just enough boobs.

Slipping them in they strained against the very small cups in her bra, but it worked. Looking down at her chest it was obvious she had a chest and not just a strange fold or ripple in her clothes.

“Can me and the sexy bitch smoke now?” Erika asked.

“Until work starts,” Vickie said.

“When does work start?” Allison asked.

“Too soon,” Erika said. “You and me are serving drinks to the little reprobates. T28 will be our backup. Now let’s smoke!”

Allison was taken out of the changing rooms, feeling more exposed than she’d ever been, despite technically, having more coverage from wearing her tights — tights like all women who worked — except she wasn’t yet forty. What she was, it seemed, was someone for what were going to be her fellow students in training to play with, and she was supposed to play with them from her role.

Erika brought Allison across the little plaza area outside the changing rooms and into what seemed to be a common room. There were fridges, coffee machines, snacks, little heatable meals, sandwiches and some dispensers lined up at one end of the main room she saw, along with a corridor leading away somewhere else.

In the middle of the room were tables and chairs, and around the edges were couches with low tables between them. A few people sat in them, men and women, all the women in different uniforms and the men wearing different colour ties but the same basic clothing.

It seemed the men had less options to be forced on them, in attempts to make them look sexy, so their uniforms mostly amounted to tight white shirts — thin shirts — and pants that clung to their asses, and their fronts. There was no hiding for anyone’s body parts but Allison still felt it was the women who were getting the raw deal.

“Water or soda?” Erika asked.

“Soda?” Allison said.

“You’ll need a coffee pick me up later, depending on how long this goes. No need to get filled with energy before it’s necessary. Probably the yoots will get out of their minds by some point and send us away, but if they don’t it could be a long shift. We like to spread rumours we’re reporting all their misdeeds so they keep their truly debauched behaviour away from us, meaning we’re only at their beck and call a few hours. Saves us from seeing things no-one in their right mind would want to see. You’d need to cleanse your mind with some of what I’ve heard them talk about, never mind actually being there for it.”

Allison had seen plenty of stuff during her time in the normal part of the station. She’d been to a lot of parties. What could these student tobacconists really be getting up to that was so sickening?

Erika walked to the counters with the sodas and chillers leaving Allison standing around. She reached for her purse, feeling strange not to have it next to her, and to not have the conn it contained. She couldn’t really remember the last time she was purposefully away from her conn for a prolonged period.

She turned a little to her right, saw empty seats and a wall. Then she turned to her left, without thinking, and saw a group sitting and chatting, one of whom looked up and saw her watching which prompted Allison to quickly turn back to where she was originally watching Erika with the sodas.

Erika was speaking with a tall man in a uniform, no tie, the buttons on his shirt opened down to show as much of his chest as he could manage with a shirt that seemed like a second skin. Erika looked to be flirting with him, and Allison could understand why.

Allison kept watching.

She suddenly felt herself biting her lower lip and swaying. Then she realised she was having thoughts about a man, about understanding why another woman would be flirting with that man. And that she’d like him to be looking at her, instead. Mostly she was thinking that she was looking at a random guy and thinking of him; dreaming of him; imagining herself with him. Even just being noticed by him. It wasn’t something she could ever remember doing before, not so strongly; so fully with her entire body.

Sure, she’d looked at men but that was to consider them. To consider what she, in her newness, thought of them. Or when they’d put herself in her world. Robert appeared in front of her and smiled, Lem was sweet to her, Adam was just a friendly goofball and either way she didn’t actually imagine anything about Adam; he was an old friend. This guy, though... She didn’t know what she thought but she could feel it. And picture him. And wanted him to feel her.

“You like him?” someone asked.

“Sorry, what?” Allison said, realising Erika was standing in front of her holding the sodas, two straws stuck in each.

Allison wondered if it was obvious she’d been licking the inside of her lips.

She exhaled slowly, to steady herself, although she knew it was to strain the last view of him into her.

“He likes you to laugh at his jokes. If you’re in doubt about what to do with him just laugh. You’ll know you’re in if he keeps trying jokes and to make you laugh even if what he’s saying is in no way funny. So just keep laughing.”

“Have you...” Allison began. Then she stopped. She’d never before felt what she’d felt. She’d never felt such a raw attraction by simply looking at someone, and her intense heat was over a man.

She’d certainly never had anything like these thoughts about a woman. And she’d never felt a jealousy that it was another woman who’d been talking to a man, flirting with him. “This is...” She trailed off, feeling exhilarated, not able to stop herself from smiling. She wanted to get back to her imagination. She even felt a little scared, and like layers on her eyeballs had been peeled back. She knew she was still smiling, and biting her lip again.

“THIS IS GOOD!” Erika said. “What is it? Come on, tell me everything.” Erika’s eyes were wide and wild, like Allison’s felt.

Allison instantly thought of Angie. That this was just like talking with Angie, but she also knew it wasn’t like with Angie at all. “Let’s sit,” she said, urgently, then she saw the look on Erika’s face, like she wouldn’t give in so easily without an answer. Allison laughed excitedly.

“I’ll explain when we sit.” Then Allison smiled a happy smile; feeling like she was in on something and not just experiencing something to herself.

Erika looked slyly at Allison as Allison grabbed her by the elbow and quickly led her to a two person table, them both taking seats.

Erika leaned into Allison.

“This is... I don’t know? This is like talking to a friend of mine, Angie. This reminds me of that, but there’s something different.”

Erika craned her neck to the side, as though putting her ear closer to Allison’s mouth, to hear secrets, and whispers. “This is about me. Even better!” her voice was breathy, which was how Allison felt.

“I feel like I can trust you,” Allison said. “It felt like we were both in on something. It feels like I’m sitting with Angie, except she’d be more bitchy. Friendly bitchy. Snappy, insulting, I mean. But playfully. You just seem...”

“Go on,” Erika said.

“This is easy. I’ve got a new job, a new part of my life. I’m in a new part of a station and it’s like I’ve just made an instant—”

“New friend?”

“Who I want to talk about the hottest man I’ve ever seen in my life with!” Allison said, rubbing her legs together. When she did she nearly whined with desire. “I just want him! And it doesn’t feel weird to say that. I’ve never done this!”

“His name’s Geoff,” Erika said, confidently. “He had the stupidest looking beard for an age.” She leaned even closer into Allison, and Allison leaned in too, knowing she wanted to hear all about Geoff.

“When he shaved it off, and chopped his hair short, I swear there was a collective intake of breath among the women here. A few even stopped wearing underwear when they were scheduled to work with him. Not a care for what the prying eyes of the yoots saw.”

Erika sighed. The sigh seemingly came from the same place Allison felt her whines of desire were stored.

“Now, I know you’re young. And going through a lot at the moment. I’m guessing you haven’t, let’s say, experienced things as much as others. But the workers are generally tamer in the bedroom department. Don’t come to rely on us for those activities. Dream about, Geoff, be sure of that. But you’re also a student. And I’m betting you’ll be pretty popular, at least regarding the type of concern we’re talking about.”

Erika sat back in a flash and loudly said, “Enjoy it! And if anyone gives you hassle I’ll punch their lights out. Just point them out to me.”

Erika had her fists up like she was in a movie about to get into a fight. She was even bobbing around as though she was avoiding jabs and punches.

Allison laughed and any desire left her, or she understood it left at some point while listening to Erika; Erika her new friend, she hoped, at least.

“Aaah!” Allison said, in a fake scream. “I just want to go back to my apartment! I’m tired after all that.”

“Geoff has that effect.” Erika said, with a smirk. “You’re certainly not alone in wanting that.” Then she half stood. “Tom!” She beckoned to T28 and he walked over, pulling up a seat.

“Did you have that smoke?” Tom, T28, asked.

“I completely forgot, I don’t think I even want one now,” Allison said.

“She saw Geoff,” Erika said.

“I hate that asshole!” Tom quickly looked at Allison. “I don’t hate him, really. I hate that he can do that to women just by standing there. And he’s actually quite pleasant. That makes it even worse. He’s a completely pleasant asshole. A lovely, impossibly sexy man.”

“Sorry. He’s just... Wow!” Allison said.

“Isn’t he?” Erika said to Allison. “In one man! Any woman would be lucky!”

“And I hate that he causes women to talk about him like you two are doing even when there’s other, lesser men around them. It’s downright rude.”

Allison laughed, and she really did feel relaxed. It was a different kind of relaxation to normal. She couldn’t quite put her finger on what it was. She was smiling. She’d felt like something had departed her. Something she wasn’t going to miss.

“It’s plain to see why you’re working instead of going into student housing,” Tom said. “From what I’ve seen of them they take every opportunity to smoke. You’re just sitting her making life miserable for me, gawking at Geoff.”

Allison smiled feeling no embarrassment considering every woman seemed to want a piece of Geoff. Then she frowned and spoke up with something that was bothering her about the yoots. “What makes them so, you know, I mean how they’re described? I assume we’ve all seen what it’s like on the rest of the station, when people get wild. What exactly do they do?”

Tom sucked air through his teeth, considering something. “They’re not really... It’s that they’re intense. Hardcore! Constantly.”

“Confident,” Erika said.

“Yeah! Good way to put it. They’re certain of everything. Everything they say they know they know they know it fully, and completely, and that it’s correct. Everything they do they know is the right thing to do. And if someone disagrees, or does something different to them, they kind of size things up to see how it can work for them.”

“I’m not too sure about that,” Erika said.

“How do you mean?” Tom asked.

“It’s what I mean by their confidence. They’re not confident at all, really. If they were they wouldn’t act so confident. And it is an act.”

Tom leaned back in his chair and pulled a metal tin from his belt with a pink label. It was a tobacco tin, or looked like one of the tins Allison’s rollies came from.

“Who’d you get them from?” Erika asked.

“Sparky,” Tom said.

“I like him, poor guy.”

Tom had lit the rollie, taken a drag and was quickly exhaling. “Want some, Allison?”

“What are they? Are they calming ones?”

Tom shook his head as as he exhaled another drag.

“I’m not quite sure how it works with you, considering you’re a student as well as a worker, but most of us here smoke fairly regularly. Certainly any of the workers serving the students,” Erika said. “We have access to smokes but part of the students’ learning is about figuring out smoking for other people. We’re allowed smoke with them, they trial their work on us. We’re part experiment subjects for them.

“All the workers here were found by actual tobacconists, not young tobacconists. The deal is we get to smoke, and not deal with the bullshit on the rest of the station, at least not often, as long as we serve people like you, Young Madame!

“We’ve probably smoked more than them, really, but we just like smoking, and have been around longer. We have no ‘calling’ for tobacco. We don’t go googoo over it and make it our entire lives.”

Tom looked at Allison. “Which means you’re really not a typical student.”

“How do you mean? Am I not wild?” Allison asked, wanting Erika to continue to talking about workers interacting with the yoots, as well as all of what Tom meant about her.

“They’re all over the smokes. They’re constantly smoking. You’re just sitting with us. Even with Tom smoking you’re not eyeing it up in case it’s new,” Erika said.

“Go on, try this.” Tom held the rollie out to Allison.

“What does it do?”

“This ones makes some people dizzy. They make others still. Sparky moves his lips a lot while smoking them, kinda barking. And likes to walk.”

“And which of those do they do to you?” Allison asked.

“I really don’t know,” Tom said. “I just like them. They make my shift tolerable.”

“I don’t like them. At all,” Erika said. “Still, smoking is what you’ll be doing as a student. You’re supposed to be trying everything. As a humble worker I can smoke whatever I want to, and say no to anything I don’t want. My duty is merely to serve, and escape the crappy bits of the station because I do serve, despite not being one of the fancy women with a university education modelling complex theories and investigating station and system patterns. Voter life without the voting, I think. I don’t know. I’m not a voter. I think it’s similar. I can buy meals and booze, and dress how I want, and... Etc.”

Allison reached out to Tom’s hand and took the smoke. She looked at it as she held it up in front of her not knowing what she was expecting to see. She put it to her lips and took a small drag.

She didn’t get anything from the taste, and there was no immediate effect from the inhale. She felt like she should have one of the 1 smokes; the tasting smokes. They’d helped her realise things about the 0 smokes; the calming smokes. As well as about the brown smokes.

She licked her lips, then quickly wiped them with her hand before taking another drag and offering it back to Tom, but he’d taken another from his tin. Erika wasn’t even looking at Allison so she didn’t want any.

Allison took another small drag, not noticing anything new at all. Then her breath seemed to rise up in her throat, and she felt a little warmer, but nothing else. She crossed her legs beneath the table. Her legs seemed detached from her, but also like they formed into a unit when crossed.

“Why are the students — the other students — not me — but I’m a worker too, I suppose, as well as a student — being confident so problem but not?” Allison shook her head out, not sure what she was saying. “This is weird.” Her neck was tense, and she could feel and hear things from it as she rolled it out.

“Dizzy?” Tom asked.

Allison took a breath and focused. “No... It feels like my chest is caught. My breath is in my caught in my breath.” Allison heard more noises from her neck as she stretched it again.

“You’re sensitive to them, then,” Tom said. He nodded calmly.

“This is a bad thing,” Allison said.

“Not here it isn’t. If you were like this with other students they’d be rounding on you.”

“I don’t want to meet them.” Allison still wasn’t sure what she was saying, or why she was saying it.

Erika rubbed her lips, obviously thinking. Obviously annoyed she was dealing with a student. “That’s why we all think they’re assholes. That’s the student confidence I was talking about. They don’t want to appear weak. And even when they appear weak they want it to be seen as a strength. Everything is about power, and control.”

“That’s why Sparky gave these to me,” Tom said to Erika. Allison felt like she was sitting distantly back from her two co-workers, only near to them, only able to hear and see them, through some strange, mystic technology.

“He doesn’t really like a lot of the other students, so he doesn’t trust any of them. He has no-one to talk to so he talks to himself when these smokes mess with him. I can never make out what he’s saying, despite trying to find out. Then he gives them to me when he can’t take any more.”

Erika laughed. “And dear, caring Tom likes them and waits for the right moment to appear to get them from him when Sparky’s swearing off them.”

Tom raised his hands and shrugged, while trying to look innocent with a youthful smile.

“Crafty devil!” Erika said.

Allison forced herself to stop licking her lips. “So what do they do to you?” she said, then she took a rapid deep breath as though speaking would trick the trapped part of her chest to sink back to where it belonged.

“I really don’t know,” Tom said.

“Bullshit!” Allison said, feeling like speaking was clearing her out, or distracting her from her stuck air.

Tom laughed. “OK, fine. If you’re going to force me to think... Maybe she really is a student? Demanding to know about smokes.”

He reached out to take the rollie from Allison’s hand. He took a drag and inhaled. “I guess it’s like an eye test for me. Do any of you need glasses?”

Erika shook her head. So did Allison. Then she realised she needed to speak. “No, never.”

Allison reached out for the smoke and Tom left it to her.

“You don’t really know until you go for a test whether your eyes are off. When they change the lenses everything seems just that bit clearer. And different lenses make things even more clearer. This is like when they find the perfect lenses.”

Allison took a deep drag. “How many lenses, I mean with the smoke, do you feel like you go through before you find the perfect smoke-lens?”

Tom groaned. “I don’t know. I smoke it, I see better. Do this with the yoots, this talking about smokes, and smoking smokes, and debating smokes. All this is the kinda shit they love. This one works for me, that’s it. It works, so I smoke it. Even if it means stalking Sparky during his fits.”

Allison heard a buzzing.

Tom lifted his hand from the table. The buzzing stopped with his wristband no longer on the table; his orange wrist band. He tapped it and the wristband began to flash on and off, still orange.

Allison looked at her own, it began to flash between orange and green.

She looked between Erika and Tom.

“Dunno,” Erika said, nodding towards Allison’s wrist.

“Whatever the colouring means I also know you’re expected to report for work.”

Allison took a quick few drags of the smoke that was almost gone as she stood. Then she stubbed it out in the ashtray. It was time to get to work. It was time for her new job.

Tony had a wild night at Lads’ Night and by the end he didn’t want it to finish. So much so that Tony, when invited, slept at Jess’s place as Toni. Now it’s a new day, and the only clothes Tony has is a fancy date night dress and killer heels. How the hell is Tony going to get home? Maybe, just for now, it has to be Toni going home...

That’s up to Tony, though. But does this newfound fun really have to end? Can Toni continue, at least in the privacy of Tony’s home; at least once he gets there? Whatever happens Tony seems to have found two new friends in Jess and Sally, the problem is they don’t know Tony. Sure, Jess and Sally know he technically exists, but Toni is their friend. And what happens when they want to see her again? These are questions for another day, though, right?

---------------------

A new, updated version of 'Toni With An i is' available on swolle.eu with the name of The Pattern In My Chest. There's also some fun stuff like very silly promo images and some pop banger playlists, do check it out!

The Toni With An I story is improved in many ways. All the parts I have ready for an imminent release will be released on that site in the coming weeks, then as an ePub. All of the story remains free on that site, my personal site, and the plans are for the ePub to be available for free, too. Later parts not yet edited for a soon-to-come release will remain on BCTS. You can get two goes at Toni, the early version and the later version.

Thanks for the support, here, staff and readers! New writing from me will continue to appear on BCTS. This place is too valuable to trans fiction to ever ignore the impact it's had on so many people!

Friday night at Lads Night In was explosive, in a variety of ways, with Tony discovering the Toni part of himself, or more now herself, along with two new, female friends, Jess and Sally. The day after was an emotional roller-coaster, where people actually smile at the new Toni—no-one ever smiled at boy Toni—and she discovered a wonderland bar where everything ended in tears. But tears for Sally, not Toni! Before Big-G took Toni home to be held and simply rest.

With Toni’s life finally filled with joy and fun, NO BORING!!! is it all going to stop when the big man, Big-G, says it’s time to take things seriously? Or is Big-G correct and will treating things properly as the new Toni be as fun, fun, fun as the partying and drinks? And will Toni end up back in Light Avenue?

--------------------

A new, updated version of 'Toni With An i is' available on swolle.eu with the name of The Pattern In My Chest. There's also some fun stuff like very silly promo images and some pop banger playlists, do check it out!

The Toni With An I story is improved in many ways. All the parts I have ready for an imminent release will be released on that site in the coming weeks, then as an ePub. All of the story remains free on that site, my personal site, and the plans are for the ePub to be available for free, too. Later parts not yet edited for a soon-to-come release will remain on BCTS. You can get two goes at Toni, the early version and the later version.

Thanks for the support, here, staff and readers! New writing from me will continue to appear on BCTS. This place is too valuable to trans fiction to ever ignore the impact it's had on so many people!

Toni’s weekend is over, which means it’s back to being boring old man Tony at work, right? She’s had a lot of fun from Friday to Sunday but doesn’t know if it’ll be enough to see her through to clocking out at the end of the week, when she gets to live her life again.

It really is a case of putting her head down and getting through the week, the same as it ever was, except now there’s something to look forward to at the end of that tunnel. Has Toni been changed, though? Is it possible for her to parcel away all that happened? Can man Tony simply get on with a normal five days of work when woman Toni is itching to get out? Or is Tony now more Toni than even they realise themselves?

---------------------

A new, updated version of 'Toni With An i is' available on swolle.eu with the name of The Pattern In My Chest. There's also some fun stuff like very silly promo images and some pop banger playlists, do check it out!

The Toni With An I story is improved in many ways. All the parts I have ready for an imminent release will be released on that site in the coming weeks, then as an ePub. All of the story remains free on that site, my personal site, and the plans are for the ePub to be available for free, too. Later parts not yet edited for a soon-to-come release will remain on BCTS. You can get two goes at Toni, the early version and the later version.

Thanks for the support, here, staff and readers! New writing from me will continue to appear on BCTS. This place is too valuable to trans fiction to ever ignore the impact it's had on so many people!

Toni is in Light Avenue, yes! on a worknight, and what has she agreed to? Worse, what has she done to herself? Nothing other than invite the barman who was flirting with her to join her for a drink. What he wants from her she can’t even begin to fathom but considering the flirting it must involve man and woman things. What’s she going to do?

And worse, how does she continue her life after that? If she doesn’t drop dead from shame on the spot she’ll have to continue working on the healthcare report from work. She’ll have to continue having actual guys as friends knowing she, well... maybe likes doing things with them. Depending on how her drink with Jackson goes... If it’s not a joke... It’s all in Toni’s future, and all of her own making.

--------------------

A new, updated version of 'Toni With An i is' available on swolle.eu with the name of The Pattern In My Chest. There's also some fun stuff like very silly promo images and some pop banger playlists, do check it out!

The Toni With An I story is improved in many ways. All the parts I have ready for an imminent release will be released on that site in the coming weeks, then as an ePub. All of the story remains free on that site, my personal site, and the plans are for the ePub to be available for free, too. Later parts not yet edited for a soon-to-come release will remain on BCTS. You can get two goes at Toni, the early version and the later version.

Thanks for the support, here, staff and readers! New writing from me will continue to appear on BCTS. This place is too valuable to trans fiction to ever ignore the impact it's had on so many people!

After a lot of fun Toni really knuckles down to work. She’s been given the freedom and opportunity to really show what she can do in her job, maybe the opportunity to keep her job. However the freedom comes in extraordinarily handy when she faces her first crisis, all alone and anxious for reasons she can’t understand.

The question is whether the nascent Toni is strong enough to handle this? And whether she can even begin to handle it? What she does could determine where she goes next. Is Toni ready for what Toni? Or is the warning Big-G gave her about setbacks coming true faster than she could ever have expected?

--------------------

A new, updated version of 'Toni With An i is' available on swolle.eu with the name of The Pattern In My Chest. There's also some fun stuff like very silly promo images and some pop banger playlists, do check it out!

The Toni With An I story is improved in many ways. All the parts I have ready for an imminent release will be released on that site in the coming weeks, then as an ePub. All of the story remains free on that site, my personal site, and the plans are for the ePub to be available for free, too. Later parts not yet edited for a soon-to-come release will remain on BCTS. You can get two goes at Toni, the early version and the later version.

Thanks for the support, here, staff and readers! New writing from me will continue to appear on BCTS. This place is too valuable to trans fiction to ever ignore the impact it's had on so many people!

Toni met Steve during the week, even mothered him in his worry over her, but now it’s time for her and Steve to get back to the routine of being friends. Except with Toni as a woman.

They’re meeting early in the morning to watch a football match in the same bar they always watch football matches in. Whether it’s weird for her, or Steve, or the same it as it always was is a different matter. Toni certainly isn't making predictions of what might happen.

--------------------

I don’t know how long I’ve been doing this. Being me. Being Toni. It’s been a week, I guess, and not even a full week with a couple of days at work, but looking around my bedroom the evidence I’m not old Tony any more seems to be mounting.

There’s dresses thrown over a chair, pantihose bundled on the floor, there’s even a bra resting on a seat. And it’s not a bra from a girl I’ve had over. It’s my bra! Why am I doing this? But I’m thinking that to myself as I lay out my clothes for the day. Laying out a denim dress. Which is the answer, I suppose. I want to do this. People know me as Toni. Jess and Sally only know Toni. I kissed Jackson during the week. I’m meeting up with Tim today and he sneaked a kiss last night, after walking me home. I’ve kissed more boys in one week than women in the past year. And that woman was Sally kissing Toni, which did nothing for either of us.

I guess I just have to accept this. Apart from one panic moment I’ve been good. It makes sense, not that I’ve really pulled apart my thoughts. I have so much going on I don’t have time to stop and think. I’ve gone from going out one night a week, a quiet night at that, to constantly having things to do.

Is that it? Am I just occupied now? If I got really into pottery making would I feel the same? I should probably talk to someone about everything. But again, I don’t have the time.

I shower, and shave pretty much everywhere, while trying to slow my thoughts down. It doesn’t really work, I’m just looking forward. It’s early in the day, still dark outside, and I’m meeting Steve to watch a soccer game as soon as the bar opens, then I’m getting my nails done, then I’m meeting Tim, maybe. If he shows up. If I don’t chicken out.

I make myself a coffee and sit myself down in my new fluffy bathrobe. I’m not wearing makeup, my hair isn’t done, and sure, I have no body hair, really, but under the robe I’m still all boy. I just don’t feel it. I don’t know what I feel. What does it feel like to feel like a boy? Or a girl? There’s moments I don’t feel anything about myself, I’m just operating as normal, and that’s most of the time. And then there are moments where everything feels so alive. And then there are times I’m terrified but it doesn’t seem like I have any real choice but to push through them.

I message Steve a “You awake?” And he’s back to me quickly with “Yeah, leaving soon. Everything OK?”

I don’t know why I messaged him. I know he’ll be at the bar. He said he was going no matter what. I just want to touch someone, figuratively. To reach out and be acknowledged. “Yeah, fine. See you soon.”

I do my makeup in my bathroom mirror, then tease my hair into shape. This whole morning sort of feels out-of-body. Like I’m watching me, or even watching someone else go through their routine. I try and shake the thought from my head and go back into the bedroom looking at the clothes I laid out. I’m still feeling separated from myself. For some reason I pull out the sexy, black thong Steve got me the night this all started and put it on. Maybe feeling hot will get me more into myself? Then it’s on with the opaque pantihose, my new denim dress, short-ish sleeves, dark stitching and belt snugged in around the middle. I’m into my new Doc Marten Mary Janes which I honestly can’t believe I’ve found and then I’m filling out my purse and putting on my coat to leave.

Walking down the street I still feel disconnected from myself but it’s not a physical thing. I feel the cold wind whip around my legs, and I tug my coat in on me. I can feel the bite on my exposed hands. There’s very few people around this early on a weekend, and I’m kind of away from myself as I walk down the lit street. Really it’s that I feel more disconnected, mentally, like my thoughts aren’t quite mine or they’re distant.

I walk into the soccer bar in a stupor. A bar where it’s not that quiet for just after 7am. There’s plenty of people in jerseys and plenty of people drinking. I glance around trying to find Steve and become aware I’m pretty much the only woman in here. Well, sort-of woman. But there’s still time before the game.

Peter is standing at the bar and I go over to him. “Hey,” I say.

“Hello, Toni. Are we indulging with the Full English this morning?”

I smile thinking of how great the burger I had here was the last time. “I will be. Not straight away, a little later. Have you seen Steve?”

Peter points towards the back of the bar, at the bench opposite the main wall of TVs where Steve is sitting in front of a low, round, polished wooden table with a beer on top of it. “Do you want a drink?” he asks.

“A shandy?” I say, knowing it’s been added to their drinks list after I asked for something low alcohol the other day.

“Do you want to use your free shandy with your breakfast for this one? Or will you save that?”

“I’ll save it, thanks,” I say, as Peter tops up the beer with the Sprite from the dispenser.

He hands over the large glass, “So? Who do you want to win? Liverpool or Everton?”

“I just want a good game,” I say, laughing. “Honestly. I don’t really follow anyone, I just like a good game.”

“That’s far too diplomatic for a soccer game. You might as well have said as long as they all have fun and no-one gets hurt. I should take your drink back. Fire you up a bit.”

I scowl at him. “If you do that I’ll turn into a proper hooligan and throw a chair through your window!”

“That’s the spirit!” Peter bellows, then he rotates the glass around in front of me so the logo is facing me. “I’m glad you’re back. And I want you in here more often, if that’s not too presumptuous.”

“It depends on how good the breakfast is. But yes...” I say, then I pick up the glass and make a face at him, while he looks faux hurt, before I go towards the back to join up with Steve.

I’m walking towards him when he stands, and kind of twists his arms. I look at him confusedly but he just sits back down again. “Sorry,” he says.

“What?” I ask, knowing that wasn’t him being weird with me, it was just him being generally, all around weird.

“I didn’t know if I should give you hug. We didn’t... You know? When you were...”

“Well a hug would be strange after that comment,” I say.

Steve rubs at his forehead. “I don’t know if I can do this,” he says.

“Do what?” I ask.

“I mean, you’re a girl now. And I dragged you out to watch football.”

“And?”

“Do girls watch football?” he asks.

“You’re a fucking moron, Steve,” I say. “I knew you were a bit dim before, but you’re reaching new depths here.”

“Sorry...” he says. “I’m just...”

“For fuck sake, Steve. It’s too early for this. I haven’t even taken a drink yet.”

He tilts my glass of shandy on the table. “What is it? It looks odd.”

“Try it.”

“What is it?”

“A shandy. I asked for low alcohol beer, they didn’t have any so Aaron came up with this.”

He twists the glass around on the table. “You haven’t actually said what it is.”

“Just fucking taste it, Steve. It’s nice. Stop being a fourteen year old.”

He lifts the glass to his lips and takes a sip. “It is nice.”

“See. Sprite and beer. And I won’t be rolling around the floor by the end of the match. Now can I drink my drink?” I ask.

“Sorry,” Steve says, and I feel a growl escaping my throat as his words register with me. He really is acting like a teenager, isn’t he?

I decide to take this back towards normal territory, where Steve isn’t being a giant idiot, at least until the game begins and he starts roaring at TVs. “How have you been since the other day?” I ask.

“I took Friday off. Too much partying, you know.”

“You weren’t partying,” I say, knowing full well he was in here complaining to Peter about me and my new situation.

“What makes you think that?” he asks.

“Peter told me you were in here, crying in your beer, and stronger I assume. About me.”

“You think a lot of yourself, don’t you?” Steve asks.

“Well? Am I wrong?”

“How have you been?” Steve asks.

“The week was good. I got to work from home a bit. I went out. I got a few kisses. I’m meeting someone later today. This morning was a bit weird, though.”

“Kisses? Good for you!” Steve says, and he seems to have genuinely brightened up at that. “Who’s the lucky lady? Or ladies?”

“The lucky lady was me, Steve. And the men I kissed were very sexy and attractive. And I’m meeting Tim again later today.”

“OK. Wow! I didn’t know...” he says. “So you think men are attractive?”

“I’m not sure but kissing them is a lot of fun.”

“As long as it’s only kissing,” Steve says.

“Don’t be rude, Steve! What I do with the men in my life is up to me.” Not that I’ve actually done anything, not really. I suppose I did let my hands take over with Jackson.

“So you have thought about it?” Steve asks, wide eyed.

“Shouldn’t you be asking me out or buying me a drink before you’re coming out with those questions? Tim and Jackson were much better at flirting.”

“We’re not flirting!!” Steve gasps, looking like his eyes could fall out of his head.

“Oh please, you couldn’t resist me if I tried,” I say.

Steve takes a long drink from his beer, before nodding to himself, then going back for another go on his glass. “OK, that was different but this can work.”

“What do you mean?” I ask.

“I was worried you and I would change. Things were always comfortable with us.”

“I was boring, you mean?”

“No! You were not boring. But you were funny, and calm, and seemingly unflappable, which annoyed me. You didn’t care about much. But things were easy with you, and I don’t want to lose that. And those few seconds of conversation were easy, if a little different.”

“You’re afraid of losing me?” I ask, slightly confused.

“Yeah! Of course. We’ve known each other since we were kids, and this is all so new from you. Such a big change. There could be other changes? I don’t know...”

It goes quiet, as more people are filling out the bar, and I realise I hadn’t thought about that. I have changed, fairly hugely, I suppose. I don’t know if I am different, but, like, objectively... To anyone looking in... “I didn’t think about that,” I say. “I don’t feel different. I’m still just me.”

Steve grimaces a little and speaks up. “But you are different, and I don’t just mean your name or your clothes, or kissing men. You’re more confident. You’re taking control of things. You’re even a bit sassy, which is something I can’t believe I’m saying. Why wouldn’t other things change?”

“I’m here, aren’t I?” I say. I’m still doing things I did before. It has only been a week of Toni.

“You said you felt weird this morning, was that about coming here?” Steve asks.

“I don’t know. I’ve wanted to talk to someone about that, actually,” I say, thinking about how everything was so confused this morning.

“So talk.”

“Really?” I ask.

“Why not?”

“Yeah. I guess. I don’t know. I felt disconnected from myself. Like I was watching myself.”

“An out of body thing?”

I think about that, and it was something I was thinking earlier but it’s not quite right. “Kind of?” I say. “It was like I was on autopilot. You know when you’re driving, and you’re zoned out going down the highway. You’re still aware of things. You’re paying attention to the road and possible dangers, but you’re kind of distant. You’re not really there but you’re ready to be if you have to be.”

“Yeah. Autopilot,” Steve says. “You’re just doing things naturally with nothing worrying you. You have to get somewhere, and if there’s no-one driving like a maniac around you, or there’s no heavy traffic you don’t have to do anything. You don’t even have to think about anything. You can’t really do anything else, so if you have nothing to worry about your mind goes blank”

I’m not quite sure I get what he’s saying. “So I am on autopilot? When my mind goes blank?”

“It’s a good thing. Have you never felt that way?”

I squint a little at him. “Not like this I haven’t,” I say.

“Was it bad?”

“No...” It was just weird.

“Were you thinking about anything? Was there anything annoying you?”

“I mean I couldn’t figure out how I was feeling.”

“Apart from that. What were you doing?”

I think back to my morning, I showered and got dressed feeling like I did. I walked here feeling like I did. “I was just getting ready then walking here.”

“And you were distant and your mind was far away, not thinking about anything.”

“Yeah, I suppose.”

“You felt at peace. Not to get Buddhist on things but people need that. It’s natural. You’ve really never felt that way?”

“No...” I say, shaking my head. “Actually it wasn’t all morning. It was after I texted you. Well, after you texted back.”

“That’s sweet,” Steve says. “You’re cute.”

“What?” I ask.

“You wanted to see if our date was going ahead. And when it was you felt calm.”

“It’s not a date, you moron. We’re just watching soccer.”

“You couldn’t resist me if I tried,” Steve says.

“Oh, you’re awful! Using my own words against me!” I laugh at him and take a sip of my shandy.

“I mean, you are kinda cute,” he says. “For someone who’s been a girl a week.”

“I’m cute?” I ask.

“Yeah, kinda pretty. No comment on attraction or anything, I think of you as a little sibling. It’d be weird. But for a guy who doesn’t object to the trans thing I could see why they’d like you.”

I feel my insides tighten, or, I don’t know, get warmer? Get a little wriggly, maybe, at all this. “Is this how you get women?” I ask.

Steve nods. “Yep.”

“Well I should feel privileged you’re turning it on for me.”

“Could you resist me?” he asks.

“No. Of course I couldn’t resist you. And my panties are soaking now so how about a quickie in the toilet?”

“See. This is fun now. This is you being more confident. And why I wanted to apologise,” he says, as he reaches to his side and brings up a bag from a sports retailer. “I felt like shit for reacting like I did, and then you looked after me the other evening, and forced me to eat, and made me go home and get some sleep.”

“It was a really good burger, wasn’t it?”

“I had no idea!” Steve says.

“I’m getting the Full English for breakfast in a minute.”

“Let me continue you ditzy little blonde!” he says, and I wonder what I’d look like as a blonde. Or if I had a proper hairstyle. “As I was saying, I wanted to apologise, and I didn’t know if you’d come but knew if you did I had to say sorry, properly, and support you. And I knew it was the Liverpool v Everton game we’d be watching so I got you this,” he says as he takes something in red material out of the bag. “It’s the women’s Liverpool home jersey, in what should be your size.”

I’m shocked at this, Steve being thoughtful, but I kind of remember there were always times he’d pull off something like this. “Thank you, Steve! You shouldn’t have! I’m just happy things are normal now.”

“Yeah, it’s not just that,” he says. “The store workers spotted a sucker. A very tired and hungover sucker.”

“What happened?” I ask.

“I asked the woman there about the female jerseys, and I happened to let slip it was an apology gift. She kind of questioned me. Was a jersey an apology gift for me, or for the woman? Like, were you sporty, and would you maybe prefer some workout clothes, and...” He pulls another two bags up from beside him. “So yeah, they spotted a complete sucker,” he says as he slides up the seat a little and places the two bags he’s grabbed and the first one he had between us.

“What’s this? What did you do, Steve?”

“Just look,” he says.

In the bags, completely full bags, are leggings, yoga pants, running shorts, athletic tops, athletic hoodies, more, there’s even a couple of sports bras. There’s a swimsuit! Sandal like flip flops for around changing rooms and pools, and what looks like a towel.

“Why did you do this? You utter, complete idiot?” I say.

“The jersey is an apology, the rest is punishment for me getting into the state I did. Like I said, that store worker saw me coming. She took advantage of my delicate condition, really.”

“You have to take these back, Steve. I can’t keep these.”

“I’m not taking them back. The receipt is in there and I paid cash, so if you want to take them back you’re getting that cash into your hand, or a gift card, and I will refuse to take either of those things off you. So keep the workout gear.”

“I really can’t, Steve. This is way too much. I’ll keep the jersey but this is hundreds of dollars worth of clothes. It’s not fair on you,” I say. “This is really good quality stuff.”

Steve pulls a flier out from where it was resting at the bottom of one of the bags. “I thought you’d say that so how about we make a deal?”

“That quickie in the bathroom thing was a joke,” I say.

“I would hope so! No, look at this,” he says, handing me a flier of an enclosed urban astroturfed area with floodlights above it. “There’s a few of these groups, running 5-aside, 6-aside and 7-aside football. Once you’re ready will you sign up to one with me? And we can play football. It’s something I’ve wanted to do, and these are mixed gender, so it shouldn’t be an issue. All casual and for fun.”

I think about it for a few seconds before speaking up. “Yes? OK,” I say. “But we’re both rubbish at soccer though, you know that.”

“We can be rubbish together. It might be fun. And after you dragged me home the other night it occurred to me I want to stay close to you, and this could be a way.”

I draw a deep breath and think about it again for a few seconds. “OK. Deal. But I want to give you a hug now.”

“I’d quite like a hug. Might make some of the women in here take an interest in me.”

I laugh. “That’s bullshit. You just want a hug.”

“True,” he says.

I wrap my arms around him and give him the strongest hug I can manage. Then as I pull away he seems more peaceful than before. Like he’s watching something far away. At which I point I notice he is. He’s watching the game. I didn’t even realise it had started.

“OK. I’m ordering breakfast. And I’m getting you your breakfast, as a thank you. OK?”

“They do wings and sweet potato fries don’t they? At this hour?”

I growl at him again. “You know full well they do. It’s what you get every time we’re here.”

I walk up to the bar counter, where most people are turned to face a TV, and wait to catch Peter’s attention. Eventually he looks at me. “Breakfast?” I ask.

“Shoot,” Peter says.

“Yeah, the Full English, some wings, whatever kind really, Steve will eat anything, and some sweet potato fries. I’ll take the shandy and one of Steve’s beers now as well, please.”

He puts the order into the till then as he’s making my drinks asks me, “How has Steve been?”

“Better, I suppose. He’s still done some dumb things,” I say.

“Like what?” Peter asks, look of disapproval on his face.

“Well, it seems like he’s bought me half an athletics store as some kind of apology. Which he didn’t need to do. He just needs to stop being a moron.”

“Half an athletics store?” Peter asks.

“Yeah, he says he was suckered, but I think he just wants to make sure I’ll still be into sports and that. He’s talking about us playing 5-aside soccer.”

Peter nods. “Would you be interested in that? The soccer?”

“I mean, sure. I’m terrible at kicking a ball though. There was no-one really playing when we were kids, and if they did play they were always way better than us after starting with proper teams when they were six years old.”

“Yeah... I’m not saying you’re old, but some of the guys here are. Of course some turn into thugs on the pitch, lovable thugs, but thugs nonetheless, but most of them are decrepit. It’s mostly about getting the heart rate up and making an attempt at being fit. If you’re really thinking about this then give me a few days? Don’t sign up to any leagues or anything yet.”

“Yeah, we hadn’t planned. I’m so busy these days I don’t know how I make time for it.”

Peter places the glasses in front of me. “That’s pretty common. Either you’re so busy, whether it’s with kids or life in general, or you’re doing nothing so doing anything seems difficult. Like I said, give me a few days. And watch the group chat. Steve is better than the last time he was in here, right, though?”

“He is. A bit judgy, but he’s also kind of flirting with me. It’s weird. I think he took it strangely that I’m kind of seeing guys now.”

Peter looks a little confused at that. Like even he’s surprised that I’m trying to date men. But that’s not actually it, I realise. “You told him that on Wednesday.”

“I did?”

“Yeah, Brandon? Or Jackson or something? Both of you need to pull it together if you can’t even remember three days ago. So be sure to eat all of your breakfast. Including the mushrooms. Get some nutrition in you. Have you been eating?”

“Badly,” I say.

Peter shakes his head. “That’s not good. It’ll come back to haunt you as you age. Now, I love the breakfasts here, and the burgers and the fries and wings, but if you start eating right, healthily, I mean, at your age, things will get a lot easier as you’re older. You don’t want to turn thirty and realise you can’t demolish a plate of pork and carbs with no consequences, rather immediate consequence.”

“What about beer?” I ask, knowing this is a man running a bar with a kitchen who’s suddenly pushing health.

He laughs. “Oh! Beer is fine. It’s a liquid. Nothing wrong with liquids. They keep you hydrated.”

“Yeah, sure,” I say, giving him a look as I take the glasses back to the table.

Then it’s just watching the match, complaining about bad ref decisions, about VAR messing up video calls, and generally thinking Liverpool should really be doing better than they are doing.

As our food arrives I say to Steve, “Maybe you jinxed Liverpool by getting me the jersey? Maybe I’m the curse?” And I see my plate is absolutely crammed with food.

There’s bacon, sausage, black pudding, two fried eggs, beans, mushrooms, fries, toast on the side in a basket and there’s even some fried tomatoes.

Steve looks at my plate with what looks like lust on his face. “Damn, that looks good. And like a coronary. But no, you’ve not jinxed anything. You’re probably the luckiest person I know at the moment.”

“Me? Lucky? Why?” I ask. My life has been turmoil this past week.

“Dude, you’re figuring yourself out. Some people never manage that. And you’re more confident. You said you kissed two dudes this week. You’re getting more dick than I’m getting tits to look at. And there’s two tits to every one dick.”

This takes me aback. “I am not getting dick!” I screech.

“Yeah, sure thing. You’ll be getting pounded before halloween comes. I know girls like you. You’re all little hotties.”

“Where the fuck is this coming from, Steve?” I ask, this has all taken a rapid turn towards Steve being an ignoramus.

“Not working?” he asks.

“What do you mean?”

“Yeah,” he says. “I don’t know. I wanted to try out dude talk with you, I suppose. Like we’d do when we were all, you know...”

“I’ve never talked like that,” I protest. “Like, literally never.”

“I don’t know...” Steve says.

“Come on, just eat your food, Steve.”

“Yeah,” he says, as he picks up a wing and tears into it with his teeth.

I begin on my Full English, starting with the sausage, which is nice. In fact the whole thing is nice, maybe not the beans though. They’re too sweet, like sugar has been poured into the sauce.

After a few minutes the server comes down to us. “Do you need more toast?” he asks me.

“Oh, no. Please. I don’t think I’ll even be able to finish this,” I say.

“Yeah?” Steve says. “Can I help?”

I push the plate towards him and say, “Dig in,” when he wraps and an arm around my shoulder and pulls me in in a squeeze. Then he’s destroying what’s left of my food.

“These beans are good,” he says. “Why didn’t you eat them?”

“They’re pure sugar!” I say.

“Yeah. Like I said, they’re good. Really good.”

“And now you’re fed are you less grumpy? And less weird?” I ask as the second half kicks off, with it still being a goalless tie.

“I don’t know, what would we normally talk about?” he asks.

“We’d just watch the game,” I say. And it’s true. We’d eat, and have a few beers, and watch the game, and I’d go home after and look at funny websites and waste my weekend. “I don’t know, Steve. Is this hard for you?”

“No!” Steve says, but I’m not sure I believe him. “I mean you’re different.”

“In what way?” I ask.

Steve turns around from his straight on view of the TV. “Dude, you’re a girl. That’s pretty different.”

“I’m not really. For all your talk of getting pounded that’s not really possible. I’m not an actual girl,” I say, and I’m thinking to myself Unfortunately.

Steve laughs. “I’m not going to explain that one to you.”

“What?” I ask, confused.

“You’re so innocent,” he says with a laugh.

And I’m still confused. Then it dawns on me. I’ve joked about it, and teased Steve with it, but I haven’t actually considered it. “Ew! Jesus, Steve. No! I can’t believe I’m talking to you about that. You’re not talking to me about that.”

“Your boyfriend will want to do it. You’re not going to be chaste the whole time.”

“I don’t have a boyfriend!” I say. I’ve just kissed a few, and yeah, thought about some things. But I haven’t actually done anything.

“You actually don’t know how cute you are now,” Steve says.

I’m not cute! Then I say it aloud. “I’m not cute! Steve!!”

“Oh wow, now you’re getting pouty! You’re fucking adorable. Every predator within a hundred yards has his defilement sensors going off.” Steve is enjoying this too much. He’s completely stopped watching the match and is looking at me, broad smile on his face and laughter in his eyes. “Go on, stomp your feet.”

And the bar erupts in a cheer. We both look up at the TV and Liverpool have finally scored. “Come on!” Steve yells. Then he turns back to me after the replays. “You know, be careful,” he says.

“What do you mean?”

“You probably don’t get this, seeing as you were never really a dude, but some of us can be really, well... Eh... I don’t know...”

“What are you saying, Steve?” I ask.

“Not everyone will be kind to you. I don’t want you getting hurt.”

I nod, not really knowing what to say to that but some words somehow slip out. “OK, then look after me.”

“You wouldn’t mind that?” he says. “Me protecting you?”

“Would you want to?” I ask. “Would it not be weird?”

This time Steve does fully tear his attention away from the screen. “I’m terrified for you. I know what guys can be like. I know what some would do to you. And this is my fault. I put you in a dress. I have to look after you. It’s my responsibility. That’s kind of part of why I got you the sports clothes as well. Just normal stuff. Because you’re normal. And I wanted to dress you slutty last weekend. I didn’t know what you were. Who you were.”

“It’s not your responsibility, but I don’t mind you looking out for me,” I say, realising this has taken a turn towards the serious.

“I would go to prison for life if someone hurt you, Toni. I mean that. I really do. If they’re alive after I get through with them they’d be lucky.”

“I don’t need that, Steve. I don’t need you getting aggro.” And the thought of Steve being a rampaging barbarian destroying anyone who even looks at me flashes through my mind.

“No. You’ve already agreed to this. And anyway, you can do this for me. I’ll feel better if you let me look after you. This isn’t all about you.”

I think about that for a few seconds, not knowing what it’d actually mean. Not in reality. “OK. You can look out for me. But now I have to use the bathroom and you can’t look out for me in there.”

And soon I’m in one of the three women’s stalls sitting down to pee. I hear someone else in here and my heart rate raises. I try to assure myself that Peter said this was all OK. It’s his bar, and he seems fine with me.

I fix up my dress and leave the stall and there’s a woman looking in the mirror as she stands in front of a sink.

I go to wash my hands. She looks at me in the reflection and says, “I’m so happy for you!”

“What?” I ask, aware of my man voice in here, of all places.

“I’ve seen you in the bar a few times before. It’s good to see you being you. Are you happier?”

“Yeah. I am,” I say, a little confused.

“It’s a good sign for here as well. It means people feel safe here,” she says as she dries her hands with a paper towel. “You look amazing.” Then she’s gone. And I don’t know what happened.

I sit back down, next to Steve, still confused. “You’re not staying for the next game, are you?” he asks.

“No. I’m meeting Jess and Sally.”

“Good,” he says.

“What!? Do you not want me here?” I ask, still confused from my bathroom encounter but now getting indignant at Steve.

“When you were in the toilet I realised we’ve talked more than we normally do. And I haven’t been able to pay as much attention to the match. While you were doing lady things—”

“Peeing, Steve.”

“Yeah, lady things, I realised I could actually focus on the game.”

This has come as a bit of a shock, but I suppose we have talked more than usual. “It’s a good thing I’m leaving then.”

“Yeah, I love you, but you just talk and talk...”

“You love me?” I ask, with a smile.

“Like a sister!” Steve says.

I take out my phone and check to see if there’s any messages from Jess and Sally, or anyone else. There’s not, but there is something in the bar’s group chat. Peter has been talking to some people and it seems he’s thinking about setting up another 6-aside tournament, or league or something. There’s people in here interested, at least me and Steve, I guess, and he’s seeing if anyone else would be. And whether people would want a multi-week thing running on a week night, or a full day long tournament on the weekend.

From the reaction he’s gotten, already, at just 9am, it seems people are interested, and he’s run events like this before.

I turn to Steve. “That football thing you said, it might be happening sooner than you think.”

“How do you mean?” he asks.

“Peter was talking about running a tournament or league, or something, from the bar.”

Steve pulls me in in a one armed hug and grasps onto me. “Oh yes!” he says. “We’ll be banging in goals like nobodies business!”

As he’s holding me in in exuberance, I don’t know why, but I lean in closer to him. I kind of relax into him. Then his arm stays around me. For the rest of the match. Where we don’t talk but I feel him holding me. It feels good. And weirdly I’m a little turned on. Am I turned on by my best friend? Would I?!

I chase that thought from my mind and just think it’s because I’m close to him. It’s nothing weird, and I’m allowed enjoy this. He is a guy. And he said he’d protect me. And that’s kind of how I feel in his arms.

As the final whistle blows he releases me and turns to smile at me. “That was a good game,” he says. “At least after the first half.”

“Yeah, I had fun. And I’m stuffed. I won’t need to eat again today.”

“I didn’t mean that about it being good that you’re leaving. If you want to stay all day with me I’m one hundred percent fine with it. And Alan is coming later.”

A thought runs through my mind about how I’d be happy staying here with him. Even just in his arms, all day long. “No. I’ve got a nail appointment. I should leave soon.”

“No claws, please,” Steve says. “And don’t forget your stuff. It did cost me a fortune.”

“You shouldn’t have, really.”

“But I did. And now we’re going to be playing soccer.”

I stand and adjust my clothes, tugging out the wrinkles. “You can finish my shandy if you want,” I say.

“Nah, I’m fine.”

“And how about we actually do that hug this time? I enjoyed my morning.”

Steve stands and there’s a look of kindness in his eyes, a look of compassion almost. He takes me in a bear hug, almost lifting me off my feet. “This was good,” he says into my ear. “We can do this.”

And then I’m walking out of the bar towards my nail appointment, knowing things are different with Steve but it could be OK. We can do this.

Toni’s left Steve as he continues to watch soccer, and now it’s onto getting her nails and eyebrows done with Jess and Sally. After that the plan is to meet the man from yesterday in Light Avenue. Tim, the man who stole a kiss—not that Toni was objecting—at least if he shows up.

There are important questions such as Why? Will he make Toni’s heart beat faster? Is he as handsome as she remembers? And, most importantly, does he have any friends for Sally? There are other important things like having fun, and a few drinks, and just catching up with friends, but Toni’s mostly in a whirlwind continuing her busy morning.

--------------------

I’m sitting on a couch in a nail parlour, or more a beautician’s, that’s really friendly. I expected it to be intimidating, I don’t know why, or maybe overtly feminine in a way I wasn’t ready for, but everyone’s relaxed and professional. The decor is modern but welcoming, slate and exposed stone, a little bit of dark hardwood, nice lighting, low music. The couch is leather and my nails are pink.

I lift the fingers on my right hand to admire them. They’re not fake, I didn’t get any extensions, they’re my own nails but filed and shaped. I didn’t know what colour I wanted so just asked for something like my nail bed that’s already there. Basically I didn’t want them red, and couldn’t think. It was silly. I could have gone for literally any other colour and I pretty much ended up with girly pink. Not Barbie pink, but, I don’t know... I could have gone for anything!

I look around for Sally and Jess but there’s no sign of them. There’s been no sign of them since we were lead our separate ways. Them for a pedicure and me for my nails, and now I’m waiting for an eyebrow shaping thinking I can’t let that develop like my nails. I don’t know what I’d end up with.

There’s women, and a few men, flitting about. Eventually a woman approaches me with seeming purpose and says, “Toni?”

“Yeah,” I say.

“Come with me,” she says. “Stairs not a problem?”

“No.”

“OK, just checking.”

She leads me into a spotlessly clean room, small, not quite clinical but it looks like it has the same style of examination bed you’d find in a doctor’s office. She closes the door behind me and instructs me to sit up on the bed, which I do.

“What can I do for your eyebrows?” she asks, smiling. It’s not a teeth-filled smile, just pleasant and warm.

I think for a second or two and finally pipe up, “I’m not sure how to describe it? Subtle. I suppose. Tidy. Nothing obvious. Clean. Professional.”

“Stuffy office?” she asks.

“How do you mean?” I say.

“Like your nails? For a stuffy, well, conservative office... Your nails are beautiful, don’t get me wrong, I’d wear them myself, but the women I’ve seen with that shade asking for ‘professional’ eyebrows usually have really conservative jobs or workplaces. Places that just about tolerate painted nails. Places that hate to be reminded women exist as women, especially talented, working women.”

“Yeah, like that,” I say. “I mean I’m not out at the office and have to go back to boy mode so I don’t want anything that’d be...”

She nods and clicks her tongue. “Do you have polish remover? I’m guessing the colour is coming off Sunday night if that’s the case. If you need it I can give you some little packaged pre-soaked pads that’ll take the polish right off.”

I’m not too sure what to think of this, or this woman. She’s just so incredibly professional. She hasn’t missed a beat in anything I’ve said, hasn’t seemed worried about anything I’ve said, and genuinely seems to care, at least quietly. “I have some already, but thank you very much.”

“OK, let me get a look at your face,” she says. I’m not sure how she would do that any more than what she’s already done, but I look her in the eye and she nods at seemingly the exact same moment. “Have you been drinking?”

“Two shandies,” I say. “Is that bad?”

“Shandies are Radler’s, right?” I nod. “We can mange. Try not to drink before any waxing or electrolysis or anything like that. And no painkillers unless you’ve had some sessions before, in here, and asked us about it. Your friends are having some prosecco while they get their pedicures and if they’re not finished by the time we are, and they won’t be, you can have a glass too. OK, lie back.”

I do lie back, keeping my legs together as she busies herself at a little table by my head. She soon has a small wooden stick and is applying a hot liquid to my eyebrow in what seems an extremely casual manner.

“Will this hurt?” I ask.

She presses something on top of the wax and rips it off, and repeating it all again. “You tell me,” she says.

“Yeah, OK,” I say, acquiescing, as she’s pressing more wax on the other eyebrow and has it ripped it off in flash.

A few movements later it’s, “All done. Did it hurt?”

“I don’t think it matters any more,” I say, reaching up, then stopping myself from touching my eyebrows, or what’s left of them.

“It might feel and be a little puffy for a while. No makeup there when it’s like that, gentle washing if it’s tender. If you have a reaction to the wax or the process of waxing give us a phone call or email. That is extremely unlikely. Literally no-one I’ve personally waxed since I’ve been here has had a reaction. We’ll tell you what to do if the really unlikely does happen, but even if that happens it’s even more unlikely again to have serious, long lasting effects.”

I’m sitting up again, surprised this is all done with already, when she asks,“All happy?” I nod. “Want to see?” I nod again. And she holds a mirror up for me to look at myself.

I can’t be fully sure what she’s done but my eyebrows suit my face more now, somehow, my female face, without looking any different. Not that I can see. Like they were designed for me rather than simply growing on me. But the only reason I really notice is because they’re a little tender now, or kind of damp-feeling around them. “That’s perfect,” I say.

“I like you,” the woman says. “Right, do you want to ask questions here in private or do you want to do it downstairs on one of the couches with something to drink?”

“Downstairs is fine, but I’d don’t know if I want to drink,” I say, my mind back on the empty, distant feeling I had before I met Steve this morning. Thinking of how this means I feel normal, with nothing to worry about.

I stand and fix my dress, then she holds the door open for me and we’re both walking down the stairs to the area at the front of the salon. It’s barely taken minutes to get this done.

She pauses for a few seconds to talk to one of the receptionists as I hover around the couches then she’s walking back with a tall champagne flute filled with what I assume is prosecco. “You don’t have to drink and I can get you a coffee or orange juice if you’d prefer, but it’ll do the image of this place good for some of the old dipsos to see other people with a glass. Go, on sit down.”

I do sit down, when she hands me the glass and sits down next to me. “I think one of my friends is a young dipso,” I admit.

“There’s no judgment here. As long as you had a pleasant, relaxing time. And to be honest if I wasn’t working I’d be drinking. It is the weekend.”

I take a tiny sip of the prosecco, which is nice, uncross my legs and lean forward to place it on the table. “It was pleasant,” I say. “Not what I expected.”

“In what way?” she asks.

“I guess because it was so calm.”

She smiles a big smile and says, “I’m glad. If you ever walk into anything beauty treatment related and you don’t feel calm immediately turn around and walk out. They’re no good at what they do and could actually cause damage, especially if they’re doing more than nails. Now... Questions...”

I didn’t think I had questions, but now I know I do. I’m quickly asking this woman about all manner of procedures, and especially about electrolysis. It’s easy and she explains it all simply but not without detail. I even notice I have the glass of prosecco in my hand, and it’s actually half gone without me being seemingly aware of it.

We’re talking about classic pop music, literally nothing beauty related, when she stands and says, “Your friends are back.”

I stand too and the woman asks Sally and Jess, “Enjoy yourself, ladies?”

Sally says, “As always, Althea. It was a joy.”

“Thanks for bringing Toni here,” she says, before turning to me. “Please ask for me when you’re booking in the future. I’ll get us one of the rooms with its own speakers and we’ll have a party.”

I smile and nod. Althea asks if we’re paying individually, which we do with the receptionist and I add what I hope is a very nice tip to what I pay, which really isn’t that huge a price. Not compared to the pedicures Sally and Jess had.

The receptionist gives us our coats and purses, and me my bags from the athletics store filled with the clothes Steve brought me this morning, and we’re soon walking outside, on the way to Light Avenue in the sunlight.

“What was that about?” Sally asks.

“What was what about?” I say.

“The party and speakers thing with Althea?” Sally asks, as we amble down the street, me feeling a little cosy with the prosecco.

“Oh! We were talking about classic pop and I mentioned some girl-bands from the 90s from Britain she might like. I think Althea was talking about putting them on when I get my beard electrocuted,” I say, rubbing at what is my shaved but still obviously male—by the stubble to the touch—face.

Sally rolls her eyes and raises her palms to the sky, as we keep walking. “I fucking hate you, Toni. I really do. You are absolutely disgusting. Everyone loves you the instant they set eyes on you. It’s ridiculous.”

I shake my head at Sally’s outburst, which I know is mostly joking. Mostly. “It’s just because I’m getting my beard zapped, which will be in a private room. And I’ll be spending money. I’m sure she’d do the same for you if you had a goatee and wanted to spend a lot to get rid of it.”

“You’re both idiots,” Jess says. “Toni is adorable and cute, and yet to discover her inner bitch—”

“Except with us,” Sally says.

“Except with us,” Jess says. “And she will, eventually... And Toni, you barely have any beard, no-one’s making their riches off you. People just like you.”

“I can be a bitch!” I say, and I swear I feel what feels like my boobs—which I don’t have, just fake plastic things in my bra—bounce as I say it. Both Sally and Jess break into little evil laughs.

My freshly shaped eyebrows furrow and I bump into Jess’s shoulder, stumbling a little from annoyance. “Alright! Fine! Where the fuck are your toes!? Neither of you are wearing sandals and I can’t see your toes. I didn’t know you could just wear regular shoes.”

Sally laughs again and says, “You’re right, sorry Jess. She is adorable. Now come on, fill us in on this man you’re meeting in Light Avenue, and any friends he might have.”

“You two really do do everything in your power to bring out my bitch,” I say. They nod small nods and smile small smiles, then I describe Tim, and what we did, without going into too much detail about how ridiculously hot he is.

We arrive to Light Avenue with me filled with nerves after Sally and Jess asked me non-stop questions about Tim, especially with my trying to avoid precise details about the thrift store he brought me to, something I think I actually got away with. Jess is showing no interest in it. All the clothes for me, I guess!

“Right!” Sally says, standing inside the Light Avenue front doors. “It’s no longer your birthday weekend. You’re not a new woman needing special treatment and welcoming to the feminine world any more, you’re a regular old boring woman who can get us drinks as a thank you for being so kind to you when you were Bambi.”

Jess slaps Sally on the arm and says, “That’s it! Like a little fawn!”

“Yeah, disgusting,” Sally says, before telling me what drinks to get them as they go find seats.

Jackson is standing behind the bar as I move up to place my order. “Hello, gorgeous!” he says, with the smile I remember from when he first started chatting me up during the week. It does nothing for my nerves over meeting Tim but I force a smile back. “What can I get you?”

I tell him Sally’s cocktail and Jess’s white wine and then hum and haw about what I want for myself before finally asking for a whiskey.

“Gut-rot or good?” Jackson asks. “Not that anything we serve is actually gut-rot, you just look nervous about something. Cowboy settling their nerves before the shoot-out kind of thing.”

“Both?” I say. “One of each.”

“OK, what is it? Is it me?” he asks.

“No,” I say, but I feel the tremors in my voice.

“Is it the boy you’re meeting?” he asks, smiling again.

“How did you know?”.

“Steph said you met some guy and if you ended up dating your names would sound goofy.” And Jackson is laughing now, seemingly taking joy in my doubt.

“Tim...” I say. And he laughs again, as he’s mixing Sally’s cocktail.

“Why are you worried?” Jackson asks.

“Yeah...” I sigh. “I suppose... He might not even show. He’s really hot. Like, extremely hot. He’ll have come to his senses after he left me last night.”

Jackson is shaking a shaker when he says, “Yeah, only ugly men want to date you, or have kissed you.”

It dawns on me what he means. Jackson, my first kiss. “I’m sorry, Jackson. You’re really hot, I mean that. But, you know... He seems, well, not...”

Jackson places the filled cocktail glass on the counter and begins preparing the wine. “Yes. I do know what you mean, unfortunately for us. But you really are quite attractive if you have no issue with the whole...”

“Yeah...”

“It won’t always be like that,” Jackson says. “Just enjoy someone liking you. Have fun. Don’t worry.” I nod, still nervous but now not feeling my mind vibrating out of my head. “So... gut-rot or good?”

“Still both,” I say.

“Wow, I’ll have to see him for myself. He must be exceptionally hot.” As he says that my eyes open wide remembering Tim as an absolute Adonis. Maybe I’m just building him up in my memory? He’s hot but not catwalk hot. Just hot for someone like me. Real women will have had way better looking men all the time.

Jackson places the cheap whiskey in front of me and I knock it back. Wiping my mouth I say,“I don’t even know what a good whiskey is, or how much it costs, I just know the stuff I had with Trevor was lovely.”

“If Trevor was drinking it it costs more than you want to spend, believe me. In fact we might not even sell it, it could be from him and Steph’s personal stash. But for you? Is $20-ish OK? It’ll get you something really good.”

“Yeah, that’s fine,” I say, and soon Jackson is back down with a nice glass with a brown liquid in it. “What is it?”

“Scottish. You won’t remember the name. If you like it message me later and I’ll let you know. But either way message me with how Toni and Tim got on.”

I frown at him. “You gossip more than me.”

“Do you want help carrying the drinks down? I see you have bags. And I want to say Hi to Sally and Jess.”

“And you want to see where we’re sitting so you can watch if Tim arrives,” I say.

“You’re almost as smart as you are pretty,” Jackson says.

After he gets out from behind the counter, picks up the drinks, and begins to help me find where Sally and Jess are sitting I walk with him wondering why everyone but me is such a bitch. Even the men.

Eventually we find Sally and Jess in one of the recessed areas on the opposite side to where the long bar is, and Jackson sets the drinks down and helps me settle as he says hello to the two of them.

“Are you going to go look if he’s here?” Jess asks.

“No!” I say. “I don’t know if he’s even coming. And if he wants to find me he can look for me.”

“Determined woman,” Jackson says. “Let me know how it goes, Toni.” Then he’s gone and I’m taking a sip on the very, very nice whisky.

“So you met Steve for a soccer match,” Jess says. “And got your nails and eyebrows done. Now you’re waiting on a man, in the middle of all that you went shopping, and it’s not even lunch time. Did you take up meth during the week?”

I look towards the athletics store bags set beside me and get ready to tell the story. “Well...” I say. “Steve is a moron. He wanted to apologise for last Friday and getting me into this whole mess with me in dresses now, and he was drinking and hungover and was guilted into a big apology gift by some store workers.”

Sally nods and Jess picks up one of the bags, seemingly asking for permission, to which I shrug, then she’s pulling the athletic-wear out of the bags before passing the individual items to Sally. She gets to the bathing suit when Sally laughs and Jess says, “Do we tell her?”

“I think we did,” Sally says.

“Well, yeah. Last Friday. But I don’t think she actually took much in that night what with the whole, ‘Oh deary me, I am actually an interesting woman and not a boring old boy,’ thing going on front and center.”

“We’ve told her at other points. We have to have,” Sally says. “We definitely did!”

“I don’t think she knows, or accepts it, maybe,” Jess says.

“It might upset her,” Sally says.

“When have you worried about upsetting her if it’s actually a benefit in the long term?”

Sally shrugs and says to Jess, “You or me?” As I feel a headache coming on waiting for another of their torment sessions.

Jess leans forward, and says in a tone I haven’t really heard before, “Steve likes you.”

“I like him too,” I say, honestly.

“Yes...” Sally says.

“He really likes you,” Jess says, holding up the bathing suit.

“I believe the playground term is, ‘he like-likes you,’” Sally says. “And wouldn’t mind if you gave him cooties.”

“Oh please!” I say, with a scoff.

“OK, we’re dealing with Hollywood here, but the idea is the same. Two friends, male and female. Lifelong friends. The girl is kind of quiet and reserved but gets a makeover turning her into a hottie—”

“Stop saying stuff like,” I say. “I know you want me to be confident and to appreciate myself but I am far from a hottie.” I’m really getting annoyed at this now.

Jess, in the same serious voice says, “No. You’re not a hottie. You are not a drop dead gorgeous, California sun, butt-splitting bikini, big boobed babe. None of us are. But you are attractive in your own way, really. A woman some men and some women will find very appealing. Then they’ll get to know you and find out you’re a lovely, kind person and that attraction will grow. Add the Bambi thing you have going, for the moment at least, where they want to protect you, and they will be thinking thoughts about you. And some will approach you. You’re literally sitting here now with a high chance a man, who you kissed last night, will be coming here googly eyed wanting to see you again.”

I think about all this but my mind doesn’t seem to be telling me anything other than Steve did say he wanted to protect me. To stop that thought I blurt out, “Me and Steve are just friends and will always be friends, at least if he stops being a moron so often.”

Sally is halfway through her cocktail and says, “Was he being a moron this morning?”

“Yeah, of course. He’s been a moron ever since last Friday. It was just more comfortable and fun this morning.”

“Like last Friday when he was flirting with you and you were with him?”

“He was being mean to me then!”

“Because he’s confused and wide-eyed for you, you stupid woman!” Sally says.

“Don’t call me a stupid fucking woman, you bitch!” I half shout at Sally.

Sally looks shocked, blinks twice, leaning back, then says, “I’m sorry, that was wrong of me. I shouldn’t have said that.” And I feel myself calm down a little if not my thumping heart.

“As people with more experience in this can you accept we might be right?” Jess says.

“OK. Fine, but I’m not certain you are. I’ll simply leave the possibility open,” I say, and now I want another shot of Jackson’s gut-rot. “Can I have a taste of your cocktail, Sally?”

“Of course you can, my love,” Sally says, still with hesitancy in her voice, as she picks it up and places it front of me. I’m taking a sip of it when she says, “And did you and Steve flirt this morning?”

“You’re unreal, Sally,” Jess says. “Fucking hell, no wonder everyone hates you.”

“The right people love me,” Sally says. “Like Toni.”

I hold Sally’s glass in front of me and say, “Yes. I do love you. And I’m sorry I screamed, this is just weird. Steve doesn’t like-like me we just know each other a long time. And I’ll answer that question but if I answer you’re not getting your cocktail back. I’m finishing it myself.”

“Deal,” Sally says.

“Yes. We kind of flirted but only jokingly,” I say, as I take another sip of Sally’s, now my, cocktail.

“That’s the cheapest victory I ever got,” Sally says.

“And they were only wrestling like they did when they were kids, and it was only the steamiest moment of their lives together when Toni lay atop Steve, having beaten him in hand to hand combat, and felt the incredible sexual tension between them reach the edge of a crescendo impossible to forget before flying away to her room to look at pictures of them as children when they were best friends. Wondering if the two of them could ever recover from the realisation each other was the most attractive person they’ve ever known in their lives, and only one form of intimacy, never before considered, but now unable to be ignored, was left unexplored,” Jess says.

I sit back on the couch and take a deep breath.

“Sorry, Toni,” Jess says. “At least you know now.”

“I would never get away with something like that,” Sally says.

“Yeah, because you’re a bitch no-one likes.”

Sally purses her lips and says, “Well, yes, but aside from that...”

“I’m sorry, both of you. I’m sorry for calling you—”

“It’s fine, Toni. Really,” Sally says.

I nod and feel tiny while asking, “OK. What do I do now?”

“What do you want to do?” Sally asks.

“Well, if he likes me and it seems I like him. It just makes sense to—”

“No! Toni! You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to do. That’s what we’ve been saying all along. Just be aware of your thinking. Just because you’re attracted to someone doesn’t mean you have to get married. There’s no such thing as ‘soul-mates.’ If you want Steve as a friend who you have the hots for but don’t do anything with that’s fine. Just know that’s what it is. And know Steve might end up being a bit weird at points. Unless you’re Sally in which case you’ll use him up and then be rid of him as soon as the fun is over.”

Sally laughs. “You know me so well, Jess.”

“OK. I don’t have to do anything. I can just let it fester.”

“You can do anything you want, Toni, that’s the point. It’s your choice. What did you do last Saturday, your birthday?” Jess asks.

“I came here,” I say, confused.

“That morning. With me, I mean?” Jess asks.

“You gave me some clothes and I walked home. And I’m sorry, I forgot. I still have your yellow suitcase,” I say, feeling bad for not returning it yet. “I can get you the clothes back as well. I don’t really need them any more.”

“That’s my point,” Jess says. “What clothes did you pick out?”

“You picked out the clothes for me. They were your clothes!”

“Yes! On your instruction, it was your choice!”

I really don’t understand what Jess is trying to get at and I turn it over in my mind a few times looking for her angle. “Explain this to me, please. I don’t understand what you’re saying.”

“You were in my apartment. You saw all my racks. Do you not think I have loads of jeans and trainers and hoodies?”

“What does that have to do with anything?” I ask.

“She doesn’t even remember what she was two weeks ago. Her life and memories seem to start last weekend. This is some powerful stuff!” Sally says.

“What?” I ask. They’re talking like aliens.

“You could have asked for a normal pair of jeans, a hoodie, and some basic trainers. You could have walked home wearing some clothes that’d have 99% of people assuming you’re a dude with good taste in fashion. Instead you asked for one of my exquisite sweater dresses, and happily put on a pair of boots and pantihose to walk home as the woman you are.”

My mind is racing thinking I could have escaped all this. That I could still be a dude. “You spent the morning telling me how glad you were to have met me, and you only met the female me, Jess. You were on the phone saying we’d be doing this again soon, and then we did go out that night, Sally.”

“Yes, because both of us knew we’d met a wonderful, if somehow even still in denial despite all the evidence, woman, who we’d be friends with for a long time. At least if doctors don’t discover she doesn’t actually have a brain and whisk her away to a secret military base to be studied and tested on for the rest of her life,” Sally says.

“No!” I moan.

“Yes. And would you change it? I’m sure some dude is gonna turn up in the next hour or two and you’ll at the very least be kissing him before the night is out,” Sally continues.

“This isn’t my fault!” I say.

“No,” Jess says. “You are who you are. You didn’t choose that. And it’ll probably be very tough for you at various points. But you did choose to embrace who you are, once given the choice.”

“I want to cry,” I say, which I know is a lie.

“No you don’t, you’re having the time of your life. And even more importantly you’re hot. Which is quite literally the most important thing on the planet,” Sally says.

“I’m attractive to some people, not hot,” I say.

“That’s a bit of progress,” Jess says.

“Now be quiet and sip your girly cocktail you chose to try to con out of me which resulted in a wonderful realisation for you,” Sally says.

“Cocktails aren’t girly,” I say. “That’s an unfair stereotype.”

“Does the woman who pouted when she said that want to get into a debate about who’s the most girly person sitting at this table?”

I look at them wearing jeans and tops, and down at myself wearing a dress and clompy Mary Janes and decide not to push it, but quietly say, “Yeah, but I have a dick and neither of you do.”

“It’s a really girly dick, though,” Sally says.

“Yeah, it is. We’ve both seen it,” Jess says.

“Just say you hate us, again. You say it often. It only hurts our feelings a little and you’ll feel a bit better.”

“I’m gonna go find Trevor and see if I can store away these bags,” I say.

“And you can get us more drinks,” Sally says.

“Get your own!” I say, walking away with the bags.

I’m up at the bar again and Jackson looks at me. “Is Trevor around?” I ask.

“He is, but he’s busy. Said don’t interrupt him unless it’s important.”

“Steph? Head of security? Duty manager?” I say.

“If you want to go upstairs just go. Telling me is fine, what we me being allowed up there. Someone’s up there as well, I think,” he says.

And soon I’m walking into Trevor’s room, where I smell cigarette smoke. Natasha is sitting, reading as usual, this time in jeans and a strappy top, not a ridiculous candle shop outfit. “Are you allowed smoke in here?”

“Well hello, Toni. It’s nice to see you. How are you? Is a normal kind of greeting.”

“Sorry, Natasha. How are you?”

She puts her book down. “Good, yeah. Went for a walk. Wanted to read in a café. Ended up here, as is the way.”

“Will you come downstairs and join me with my friends?” I ask, as I store my bags in one of the curtained areas.

“And be social? You know me. Why would I do that?” she asks, face curled in disgust.

“Please!” I plead. “It’d mean a lot to me and I know you actually like me, or at least tolerate me. I need some support because my friends are being horrible bitches.”

“They’re not nice like you? How mean are they being to you?” she asks, interest in her tone.

“Awful! Like, they mean well but they torment me,” I say.

“Well yes, definitely then! I don’t want to make you cry but if I can learn how to torture you without you actually dying, then absolutely. Lead the way!”

“I knew you were nice!” I say, with a smile, while wondering who’s really playing who?

As I get back towards our table with Natasha I see Trevor is standing by the table talking to Jess. “I’m already being punished for this decision,” Natasha says.

“No going back now,” I say to Natasha.

Trevor steps back as he hears our footsteps and I introduce Natasha to Sally and Jess, while I blindly reach a hand back, which Trevor takes, and I give his a squeeze.

“I’ve heard you’re being mean to Toni,” Natasha says.

“Did she really tell you that?” Sally asks, her voice raised a few octaves.

“I want to learn from you!” Natasha says. “I’m afraid I’ll make her cry and then she’d be even more annoying.”

Sally nods assuredly, placated, and smiles. “I like Natasha more than you, Toni. You can go away now.”

“I’m already learning!” Natasha says, with a big smile, and it’s the first time I’ve really seen her, well, joyful.

“Sit down between us, Natasha,” Jess says. “Toni has some boy visiting her soon.”

“Oh for fuck... You didn’t tell me that, Toni. You really are the worst,” Natasha says, but she still sits down on the couch between Jess and Sally.

I sit myself down, solo, on my own big couch and say to Trevor, “Hi, Trevor. How are you?”

Trevor shuffles forward again and says to me, “You have a gentleman caller and his friend waiting for you. Would you like me to direct them here?” I see both Sally and Natasha roll their eyes and Trevor and Jess share a smile.

“What’s he like, in your opinion?” I ask.

“I couldn’t tell you. I simply overheard him speak to his friend about a beautiful woman named Toni, while I was making my rounds, and after a brief conversation to confirm who he meant I said I’d let him know if I saw you, and for him and his friend to sit and enjoy their coffees in the smoking area.”

“Is he polite?” I ask Trevor.

“He seems quite polite from what I could tell,” Trevor says with a smile. Natasha and Sally are whispering away to each other so don’t notice when Jess gives me a look of approval.

“If you’d tell him where we are I’d appreciate it,” I say to Trevor, and I mouth Thank you at him

As Trevor walks away I feel my stomach constrict, but it relaxes again when I looked towards Jess who seems to have shock on her face. “I have never, ever heard Trevor describe a man as ‘quite polite,’” she says.

“It could be because Trevor is a senile old bore who saw someone under the age of 60 use a handkerchief and he felt young and lively again,” Sally says. Which she and Natasha share a laugh over, but me and Jess share a different kind of laugh over it. Then I sit, and wait, for Tim.

Sally, Jess and Natasha are chatting away, getting along like a house on fire, which I’m glad of, but I still I sit feeling myself fold into a ball until I hear a voice say, “Hi, Toni.”

I quickly stand and rush out between the table and the couch towards Tim where I give him a hug and a kiss on the cheek, feeling him hold me tight. As I pull away I feel myself blush, but it’s OK because Tim is blushing too.

Sally says, “Fuck!” and I hear both Jess and Natasha cough.

I ignore it and say to Tim, “I’m so glad you showed up,” and he’s said something too but I don’t hear it. “Sorry,” I say. And I actually hear him say Sorry too. And we laugh.

“Can you get me a beer now, please, Tim?” Tim’s friend asks.

“Yeah, of course. Sandwich too?” Tim’s friend checks his watch and nods, while Tim makes a circular stirring motion with his finger towards the table and his friend nods again. “Will you have a drink, Toni?”

“A shandy, please?”

“Anyone else?” Tim asks.

“House red,” Sally says.

Both Natasha and Jess shake their heads.

“If you’re being polite there’s really no need. I am more than happy to get drinks for you. And if you don’t want anything there’s no pressure, even if you want to come up and get your own drink yourself, with your own money, I won’t be offended.”

Natasha squints at Tim, as if to get a read on him, and says, “OK, thank you. Whiskey and coke, please.”

“I’m really fine,” Jess says. Tim gives me another look before he’s gone to the bar, while his friend is away dragging an armchair towards the end of our table.

I look around at my friends I see them all looking at me, in silence. “What!?”

“If you can’t see this...” Sally says.

“Is she always like this?” Natasha asks.

“This is a new depth, or height. It’s a new extreme, whatever it is,” Sally says.

“I think it’s nice,” Jess says. “It’s romantic.”

“What is?” I ask

“I want to smack her with a crowbar,” Natasha says. And there’s a round of Mmhmms.

Tim’s friend has the armchair in place and is sitting down, with the whole table quiet. He speaks up, “You were talking about how hot he is, weren’t you?”

Sally opens her eyes wide and turns to him, head tilted, “You’re no slouch yourself, my man.”

“Thanks, and you’re right, I try, but compared to Tim? You could compare literally anyone to him and they’d lose.”

I hear three Yeahs from the opposite couch. “What’s worse is he doesn’t know,” Tim’s friend says.

“How does he not know?” Sally asks.

“Because he’s an idiot,” Tim’s friend says.

“Toni is too, so they might be good for each other,” Natasha says. Sally and Jess both laugh, with Jess bumping her shoulder into Natasha who then laughs too.

“What do you mean?” Tim’s friend asks.

“She doesn’t know either,” Jess says.

“Know what?” I ask, but this time I’m not annoyed. I think I’m resigned to this.

“That explains it,” Tim’s friend says. “Why we were here from before the bar opened and would have been here until closing if she didn’t come, and then again tomorrow in case he mixed the days up. She treated him normally. And what’s worse is he’s not stupid, he’s just an idiot.”

“Toni’s the same.”

“Thanks for the help, Jackson,” Tim says, arriving back down with the drinks.

“No problem,” Jackson says, with a smile.

“You came down for a look too?” Jess asks.

“This is special moment,” Jackson says.

“You knew what a shandy is, Jackson?”

Jackson nods, “Of course. I knew it’d be for you too, Toni. And I understand why you were nervous earlier.” I smile at Jackson who turns to Tim and says, “We’ll have the sandwich down the second it’s ready, don’t worry. It won’t be kept on the counter.”

“Thanks, Jackson,” Tim says.

“And I hope it helps, Mouse,” Jackson says, turning to Tim’s friend, who thanks him too and passes some paper currency to him.

“Mouse?” Jess asks.

“Long story,” Tim’s friend, Mouse, says. “Keep it for the second date?”

“Sure,” Jess says.

“We haven’t done proper introductions,” I say, and go around the table letting everyone know who everyone else is.

Tim sits down next to me, and I see him smiling, and of course I’m smiling too but everyone else is quiet.

“What now?” Natasha asks.

“It’s never gotten this far,” Mouse says. “Literally never, just normal people sitting around. It’s weird, but this is a different flavour of weird to usual. Either way, the two idiots need to talk, sorry Toni. Well, my idiot wants to talk to her, at least.”

“Thanks, Mouse. That’s really helpful,” Tim says.

Mouse puts both hands to his temples and says, “You haven’t shut up about this since you got home last night. Please say what I know you’ve been practising over and over, because you’ve been practising on me.”

Natasha says, “This is getting spicy,” and Jess and Sally laugh before Mouse says, “As spicy as milk,” but Tim has turned to me and reached for my hands. I feel like I should turn to face him so I lift my legs half onto the couch cushion where we’re both looking straight at each other, square on each other.

“What’s wrong?” I ask, worried, but not that this is some trick. Unlike the other times I was worried since last Friday this time I’m worried for someone else, for someone who I really believe likes me and wouldn’t want to fool me.

“I really like you,” Tim says.

“I know,” I say. “I like you too. I was worried you wouldn’t turn up. Then you hugged me and it was OK.”

“Let me go on, please,” he says, so I nod. “I acted like an asshole yesterday. Like a teenage asshole. It was all bravado and macho, and not me at all.”

“You took me shopping, how is that macho? That’s the opposite of macho.”

“Talking about ‘the things I’d do to you’ it was wrong.”

“It made me feel sexy! I liked it. And I would have let you, if I’m being honest.”

“And that sneaking a kiss, after I walked you home? I haven’t done that since I was a desperate 15 year old no girl would touch. And it wasn’t some impulse thing. I thought about it and planned it.”

I hear someone snort but I’m not sure which of my three it is. “I enjoyed that,” I say. “I fell asleep to that kiss a few hours later.”

“It’s not who I am. I don’t want to be like that. It was cheap,” he says.

“I...” I begin to say, but I can’t really say what I’m feeling. So I move towards him, pulling his hands towards me. Despite his face not coming closer within a moment I’m kissing him. And I keep kissing him, and he’s kissing me. We’re not ‘wrestling tongues’ I simply feel his lips on mine and it’s perfect.

I don’t know how long we’re still for, or how long everything is still around me, and I don’t know which of us stop the kiss but at some point we are stopped. I don’t think either of us stopped it, it just ended. And everything is fine. And I am incredibly turned on but in no way horny.

“That was really boring until the end but she just about rescued it,” Natasha says.

“I like you much more than I like Toni,” Sally says to Natasha.

“You’re stuck with me now, Sally. Sorry,” I say, happy.

“Yeah, it’s my fault. I made the mistake in the first place,” Sally says.

I turn around to Tim and say, “Do you like my dress?”

“It’s the one you bought yesterday? It’s really nice on you,” he says, with a smile.

“You can say I look sexy!”

“I would do very polite things to you,” Tim says, and I laugh.

“Let’s keep that talk for the bedroom,” I say, and we both laugh.

“They’re two idiots perfect for each,” Mouse says, and he’s reaching for the rest of his sandwich. The sandwich I hadn’t seen arrive.

“How’s the food?” Tim asks, noticing it too.

“Yeah, good. Up there. I would return. Now let me finish it.”

“I have to pee,” I say. “Excuse me, Tim.”

“I’m going too,” Sally says. “Jess? Natasha?”

Jess shakes her head and Natasha says, “You could not pay me enough!”

“Tim?”

“I’m not too sure I’d be very welcome in the Ladies,” he says.

“Try it some time, Tim, you might be surprised... Mouse?” Sally asks.

“If I was finished my sandwich,” he says.

“We can wait, Mouse,” Sally says.

“I need to digest after I finish. I don’t want Toni to burst.”

“Another time?” Sally asks.

“With you? Yeah, definitely,” Mouse says.

“You’re such a sweetheart, Mouse,” Sally says. “Now c’mon Toni. You desperately need to pee.” And I do, so I speedwalk to the bathroom, and then I rush into the stall and close the door ripping down my underwear as I sit and let flow.

And while it flows Sally is talking to me. But I can’t answer. If someone else is in here they’ll hear a man voice and they won’t be able to see I’m not a man rather a man in a dress which is kind of more acceptable. After I wipe and put myself away, flush and leave the stall, I explain all this to Sally, who doesn’t seem to complain about my fretting.

She does say, “Turn around.” Which I do, and I feel her tug at the back of me. “Rookie error.”

“What?” I ask.

“Dress tucked into your pantihose. Or your panties. Or thong. Or very sexy thong that would get any man foaming at the mouth. I’m sorry,” she says. Then, “Oh my god, you’re such a sexy little whore!”

I’m wondering what she’s sorry about so less concerned about my ‘rookie error’ than I imagine I would be otherwise. “What are you sorry about?” I ask.

“For giving you a hard time earlier. I don’t think any of us realised how much you like Tim, or how nervous you were about him coming.”

“I’m not sure I realised how I nervous I was either,” I say. “I was too busy doing things this morning. Having fun. And yeah, I thought about our kiss a lot, at least last night. But when I finally saw him I almost exploded.”

“When you two hugged? After you jumped out of your seat like a NASA rocket?”

“Yeah,” I say, feeling small and actually really cute for once.

“Yeah, that was adorable,” Sally says, and I feel like she sees me. Then me and Sally are hugging, and the bathroom door opens.

“Oh, I’m sorry, do you two want a minute?” the woman asks.

“No, it’s OK,” Sally says. “Come in. All of us just didn’t realise how nervous Toni was about meeting a boy.”

“That boy?” the woman asks.

Sally nods.

“I wouldn’t blame any woman on the planet for being nervous about meeting that,” the woman says.

“She doesn’t realise quite how hot ‘that’ is. She knows he’s hot, but not how much,” Sally says to the woman. “She thinks he’s nice.”

“That’s a novel approach. Treating men like people? I’m not sure it’ll catch on,” the woman says.

“It’s working for Toni,” Sally says. “Maybe she’s figured something out?”

“Too revolutionary for me. I’m quite conservative in my outlook,” the woman says.

“Anyway, Toni, do you want make a bet about your new favourite man?”

“Tim, isn’t my favourite man,” I say. “I’d rate Big-G and Steve higher, for now. Tim just makes me feel good with myself.”

The woman who seemingly came here to pee, or something, seems to have forgotten about whatever need she had and is now saying, “How many men has she on the go?” Eyebrows raised and staring at me, aghast. At least I think it’s aghast.

“She considers them ‘friends!’” Sally says. “Possibly even equals!”

“Are you sure she’s a woman?” the woman asks. “Do we need to burn her at the stake?”

“We checked her panties and everything. A vagina that could make God weep,” Sally says, sneering.

“Perfect strange, the answer is always so simple,” the woman says. “Anyway, this bet?”

“Yeah... Bet? Toni?” Sally says.

“No! Betting got me into this mess. No bet. No way. Not a hope!” I say.

“It’s win/win. No matter what happens you win.”

“Then why would you make this bet?” I ask.

“Because I want you to acknowledge my insight and genius,” Sally says. I roll my eyes.

“Yeah, no. So just tell me, what’s the bet? You can still crow at me you won if you actually do get it right. A moral victory,” I say.

Sally cackles. And so does the other women. “That’s almost as good,” Sally says. “I was going to bet that you spend tonight in Tim’s bed.”

I laugh. “Yeah, not going to happen. What were the stakes?”

“I win I pick your Halloween costume, you win you pick mine.”

“This is why I don’t bet,” I say. “What would the costume have been?”

“You can still make the bet and find out tomorrow morning.”

“Nope,” I say.

“If I ‘lost’ that bet I wouldn’t be getting out of that bed tomorrow morning. Or ever. And I don’t like saying it but I’m Gold Star,” the woman says.

“Girlfriend? Partner?” Sally asks.

“We’re getting married just before Christmas, winter wedding, both of us always wanted one. Hopefully it snows right after everyone arrives.”

“Ooh! That’d be beautiful. Congratulations.”

“Thanks. Anyway I’d better pee, then tell no-one about this conversation because no-one would believe it isn’t exaggeration.”

“Not even your fiancée?” Sally asks.

“Borderline...” the woman says, looking doubtful.

“I hope the wedding is amazing, snow or not,” Sally says. “You done, Toni?”

“Yeah,” I say, my hands now dry and following Sally out. “What’s does Gold Star mean?”

“She did very well in school,” Sally says.

When we arrive back at the table Sally says, “Sorry, Toni fell in.” But no-one is paying attention, they’re all eating from what looks like a table full of food. It’s all side-dishes and nibbles, and there’s barely space for the drinks.

“Who got this?” Sally asks.

“Mouse,” Natasha says. “Tim ordered when he was at the bar.”

“I like people to be fed,” Mouse says. “I’ll buy drinks and all that but if you want to make me happy you’ll eat at least some of the food I ordered.”

“Thank you, Mouse,” both me and Sally say.

Tim grabs me around my waist and moves me past him, between him and the table. And feeling him hold me, and move me, is heavenly. I want his hands on me forever, but he sits me down next to him and simply says, “Eat! Mouse knows when people need to eat. It’s his superpower.”

Sally has already re-taken her seat and is placing food in a napkin when I begin to pick into the bowls and plates. I remember I had a full English this morning, but that was hours ago and Steve did eat most of it, so after a few bites my stomach accepts how hungry I actually am.

Eventually most of the food has been eaten, and we’re all just sitting. I suppose feeling normal. No-one is calling anyone stupid, no-one is really drinking, everything is simply peaceful, and I want Tim to hold me.

I lean into Tim but as I do Mouse catches his attention, “Can I go home now, Tim?” he asks.

“You’re not starting preparing your dinner already?” Tim asks, and I’m starting to wonder how Mouse isn’t fat.

“No. You kept me awake all night talking about Toni, we were here first thing. I would like to go home and relax.”

“But you will start preparing dinner?” Tim asks.

“Yeah, of course. Just the basics. It is relaxing.”

“Do you think you could cook for everyone?”

“If you want Toni and her friends to come back you need to remember it is your place,” Mouse says.

“It’s your place, too, Mouse. I am asking if you would be comfortable with it and if it wouldn’t put out your dinner plans?”

Mouse growls to himself. “It’s my brother’s place, which he rents to you and you let me live in it, and how long has it been since my dinner plans have been put out?”

“I’m asking you, Mouse,” Tim says.

Mouse coughs a theatrical cough, a call-to-attention cough, stands and says. “OK, if anyone at this table is vegan will you please raise your hand? High in the air, if you will? At the request of the Commander in Chief, all round idiotically nice guy, Tim.”

I look around and see everyone else also looking around, worried.

“That was a bad start. That was my fault. If you can raise your hand and have no difficulties raising your hand could you raise your hand in the air?” High please,” Mouse says.

Everyone looks around again and within a few seconds of each other hands are raised by everyone but Tim. Who I elbow in the ribs before he looks at me and raises his arm in the air. “Thank you, Toni. I did say everyone and I know for a fact Tim has functional arms barring any catastrophic injury or stroke in the past few hours.”

“Anyone vegan?”

No arms go up.

“Vegetarian?”

No arms.

“Pescatarian?”

Nothing.

“Allergies? I don’t care about penicillin or cat dander...”

Again no arms.

“Any picky eaters?”

Now people are looking at each other.

“This is the free hit. Most people have something they’re picky about,” Mouse says. “Some people lots.”

I raise my hand a little and Mouse is on me before I’ve even really unbent my wrist, let alone my elbow. “Thank you, Toni, yes. The first honest person here... Now I’m seeing why he wouldn’t shut up about you.”

“I had English baked beans for the first time this morning, but I left most behind. They were particularly awful. Pure sugar.”

“Yes, you’re right. The sauce is almost entirely sugar, but there are some very nice, and healthy, English baked beans available. Don’t write them off completely, but I get your point.”

Natasha blurts out, without raising her hand or being called on, “I’ll eat them out of politeness, if it’s put in front of me, but I’ll be holding back gagging the whole time with most seafood.”

“Thank you, Natasha. That is not a problem,” Mouse says.

“Stinky cheese,” Jess says, things really flowing now.

“How stinky?” Mouse asks.

“I don’t know. Stinky? The cheese has a stink.” Jess says, as though people’s tolerance of stink is standardised. I think I even give a quick, involuntary sniff to see if Tim has a nice boy stink. Which he doesn’t. He smells of soap. Plain, normal soap. Which is a shame, but not the worst.

“Do we even have stinky cheese, Tim?” Mouse asks, looking curious rather than annoyed about cheese stinks.

“Just cheddar and American cheese, I think,” Tim says.

“No worries with stinky cheeses, Jess. Thank you.”

“Broccoli, and brussel sprouts,” Sally says, in a tone verging on defiance.

“There it is! I knew it! I knew it’d be you because I quite like you!” Mouse says, waving his arm in the air—finger pointed—like some mid-speech irate dictator. “I bet you don’t like cabbage either!” he says, bending down to meet Sally eye to eye, while she stays sitting ramrod straight in her seat, meeting his glare.

There’s a burst of laughter from Tim. Which makes me laugh. Then everyone is laughing, except for Sally and Mouse who are still staring at each other with big smiles on their faces. Until Sally gives Mouse a quick peck of a kiss on his laugh-stifling lips, when he does start laughing and Sally does too.

“Fine, you’ve all met the real me,” Mouse says. “Congrats, it usually takes longer than that.” And he’s still meeting Sally’s gaze.

“This is not the real Mouse, by the way. He’s usually much more charming,” Tim says.

“Shut up you, smitten idiot. Kiss your girlfriend and stop annoying real people,” Mouse says.

I feel like I could float, or literally grow boobs on the spot at the thought of being someone’s girlfriend, but Tim’s eyeballs look like they’ve retreated three inches inside his head.

I rub his thigh as though I’m doing the sternum rub thing I’ve seen in medical shows, but sexier, and needier. It does nothing so instead I try Jess’s tactic with Natasha and give him a shoulder bump, but maybe with a bigger build up than necessary. He snaps around and looks at me, surprised. “Will you please kiss me?” I ask, now I have his attention.

“You don’t have to—” and I don’t hear it with my ears, but rather through vibrations of our tongues meeting, and through my skull, Tim finishing his sentence, “—ask me twice.”

As soon as me and Tim have begun I break away for more important matters. “And what was the point of that food quiz, Mouse?” I ask, really wanting to get on with it.

“Oh, sorry, yeah. You’re all welcome to come back to me and Tim’s place. If you stick around for a few hours I’ll cook dinner for you, which you at least have to play around with on your plate and make it look respectable. I’ll even respect Sally’s weirdness.”

“You can do that?” Tim asks.

“I’ve been respecting a lot of weirdness today, Sally is annoying but easy.”

“’Annoying But Easy’ is Sally’s tramp stamp,” Jess says, and even Sally laughs.

“Anyway, please come back to our place. We have lots of drinks, you can smoke with no-one bothering you, we haven’t annoyed the neighbours in years so they can put up with us for once, it’s comfortable, it’s cheaper than here, even if you don’t like my food we have lots of nuts and snacks, and the snacks are at most a few months out of date. We’re really close by, about seven minutes walk. You lot outnumber me and Tim, so our murder is more likely than yours. And we don’t buy the cheap toilet paper.”

Natasha stands before I’ve fully taken account of Mouse’s speech and says, “The seven minute’s walk thing sold me but the good toilet paper made me a believer.”

“You’re a woman after my own heart, Natasha,” Jess says.

“I’ll get your shopping bags, Toni. I know where you put them.”

“Thanks Nats. I knew you were nice,” I say. Then she snarls at me.

“I’m not nice I just know you’ll need your energy later,” Natasha says.

“Do you think there’s a Gatorade in those bags? I’m expecting a lot of lost fluids,” Jess says.

Natasha laughs, bends over and kisses the top of Jess’s head, then is off to Trevor’s room. We all sit in silence while she’s gone, enjoying having been fed, then she’s back, my bags in her hands and standing next to the head of the table.

Mouse stands as well, and says, “Right, if you must, and if you will... Back to mine and Tim’s place!” And then I quietly hear him say, “After we stop for some Gatorade...”

Toni’s met Tim again, and been introduced to his friend. And all the rest, Natasha, Sally and Jess, have met Tim and Tim’s friend Mouse. No alarm bells are ringing for anyone and it’s all been a lot of fun. In fact Tim has been quite sweet, with him and Toni exchanging kisses, and Mouse has even bought a table-load of food, after being very picky about his sandwich.

Now it’s back to Tim and Mouse’s apartment, where Mouse says he’ll cook them dinner if they stick around. But does Toni really know what to expect? Going back to the man you’re kissing’s apartment, even if he’s apologised for being too forward? And it might not have occurred to Toni, so doll-eyed is she, but the others are really more interested in why Mouse is called Mouse, and what his deal with food is, rather than the two sickening lovebirds making googly eyes at each other.

-----------------------

We’re all walking towards the front of the Light Avenue, Sally and Mouse, Jess and Natasha, me and Tim, on our way to Mouse and Tim’s apartment. I don’t know what I feel apart from excitement, and even then I’m not sure why. At college I’d often end up in random places, and that wasn’t that long ago.

As we get towards the front of the bar I realise something. “Tim, do you mind if I invite Jackson back? Tell him to come after his shift ends?”

Tim seems unperturbed and says, “No, of course not. If it makes you happy.” Then stops walking, waiting, while the rest of them leave through the front doors.

I’m quickly up at the bar counter where Jackson is pouring some beers. “Jackson?” I say.

“You leaving me?” Jackson asks.

“After you finish your shift do you want to come join us? We’re all going to Tim and Mouse’s place. It’s close by, they say.”

“Oh, no way,” Jackson says. “I’d be incredibly jealous and might do something silly.”

I gasp at that, then realise he’s only joking, I think. “You had your chance with me, Jackson!”

“I’d be jealous of you, Toni,” Jackson says. “Literally everything in my power to get him to take me to his bedroom. Anyway, he’s too hot. There’s something wrong with him, guaranteed. Small dick, I’m guessing,” Jackson says, while the people I think he’s pouring the beers for stand silently, waiting.

“Bigger than yours,” I say.

“That cuts! But no, I have plans. Thanks for asking, though. Just remember, bedrooms don’t tend to be soundproofed.”

“Why is it always about sex?” I ask, mostly to myself.

“Yeah,” Jackson says. “Why?” And he laughs, walking away but not without telling me to have fun.

I walk back to Tim and we leave Light Avenue, with the rest off them a little ahead of us, and I’m wondering why it is always about sex. Sure, Tim is hot, but I like him for more reasons than that. He took me shopping, and was sweet. He’s kind and polite. He’s nice to me, and my friends.

“Let me take your bags,” he says, literally taking them out of my grip and transferring them to his other hand before he bends down to me and gives me a quick kiss. So, yeah, maybe it is a little bit about sex.

I take a deep breath and reach my now free hand towards his, where he needs absolutely no prompting and takes it in his. And this is it. I’m holding hands with a boy, while wearing a dress, going back to his place, after he just kissed me in public. Like, not in an LGBTQ+ bar. This is a kind of woman and a 100% man being, I don’t know, couple-y. We’re not a couple, of course, but could we be? Could I have a boyfriend? Do I want a boyfriend? It’s wrong to think that, I tell myself. We’re just holding hands. I’ve been at this a week.

We keep walking until we meet the rest of them standing on a corner, waiting for a crossing light. “We’re here,” Mouse says, as we all cross the street, before he turns to enter a building with no security code on the door but a massive lobby. And a man in uniform behind the desk!

“Enjoyable lunch, gentlemen?” the man in uniform asks.

“Yes, thanks Dave,” Mouse says. “We’re having some guests back. If we’re too loud just phone and we’ll keep it down.”

Sally turns to look at me, eyes popping out of her head and her mouth wide open while, yes, my chest feels like it's collapsed.

“If anyone complains I’ll gently remind them of all the times over the years you two have never complained about them. You rarely have a group of people. Enjoy yourselves,” the man says. Then he says, “Tim,” while nodding at him.

We all pile into an elevator in silence. Tim and Mouse because they’re just going home, and the rest of us because this is one of the fanciest buildings we’ve ever been in, certainly for me.

We eventually get to an apartment, with a hallway leading to a big room with three couches, a few armchairs, a big-ish TV against the wall, bookshelves against another wall, coffee tables in front of the couches and doors leading off the room along with another hallway, and a glassed off area with blinds that seems to lead to a pseudo-balcony. There’s no nooks and crannies off the living room. No tiny kitchen, like mine, just off to the side. It’s not open plan where it’d be cheaper not to build walls and give the illusion of space in a cramped apartment. It is the home of someone quite, or very, or extremely wealthy.

“You’re rich!” Sally says.

“We’re not,” Mouse says.

“Yeah, this is social housing if I ever saw it.”

“My brother is richer than you can imagine, me and Tim are not. He rents it to Tim, for a good price, on the condition we look after it and he can stay here whenever he has business in town.”

Sally laughs, and it’s her ‘I don’t believe this’ laugh. “Can you introduce me to him?” she asks.

“He’s married, and has kids. And he’s very happy. Now, do you want something to drink?” Mouse says.

“Champagne, and some caviar,” Sally says.

“I’ll bring in beers for everyone, for now,” Mouse says. “Go on, sit down.”

Tim takes all our coats, puts my bags in a corner then leaves, and we all sit down, just looking at each other. Sally is on one couch with Natasha at the other end. Jess is in an armchair and I’m on another couch. Most of us are facing the TV, which appears to be attached to a sound system. No-one is saying anything, we’re not even looking at each other any more when Sally says, “Way to go, Toni!” While the others nod.

Tim comes back helping Mouse carry some beers and they hand them out, twisting them open. Tim gives one to me then sits on the opposite end of the couch I’m on, space between us. Everyone is sitting in silence.

“Can I smoke on the balcony?” Natasha asks.

“In here or on the balcony,” Mouse says. “In fact I’m going to smoke in here, right now.”

“Come on, Toni, let’s go look.” She stands, walks to the sliding door, sliding it back, then waits for me to go through. My mind is completely empty, not in the at-ease way Steve talked to me about, more in the frozen way.

Natasha pushes me fully outside, and it isn’t really a balcony, it’s flush with the building’s exterior so it’s more a sun lounge, with an amazing view over the city.

There’s some beanbags out here, wooden flooring, and wicker seats, including a wicker love-seat with cute cushioning on it, and a table with an ashtray on it before the love seat. At one end of the area is another table, probably for eating, for four people with some metal but not too fancy seats around it.

Natasha places me into the love seat, then sits down next to me and is taking some things from her purse, laying them up on the table.

“Do you smoke weed, Toni?” she asks.

“Not really,” I say.

“Will you? I have some Dad weed, it might relax you. It will help.”

“Dad weed?” I ask.

“Weak,” she says. “It won’t blow your mind, or anything near it. I think it might help.”

“Help?” I say.

“Yeah, exactly with that.” And she’s already pulled something small and pre-rolled and stuck it into my mouth with a lighter in front of it. I draw on the flame, inhaling, and it’s fine. It tastes like weed, but I don’t choke on it or anything.

She takes another pre-rolled joint from another container and is lighting it for herself. She draws deeply, inhales, holds it, then lets out a thin cloud of smoke. She takes a sniff and says, “Are you ready for this?”

“The weed?” I ask.

“You’ve never been with a man, have you?”

“No...” I say, feeling ashamed.

“Women?” she asks.

“Not really,” I say.

“Do you want to be with Tim?” she asks.

I stay silent for a while, and there’s really no pressure on me. Natasha is just smoking, looking at the view. I don’t have to say this but I want to, “Yes. I think I do want me and him... But—”

Natasha interrupts me. “He likes you. That’s obvious. Being trans is not an issue. That is not the problem. The only problem is you not accepting it. Not accepting you and him.”

I feel myself sinking into the chair. I sit and wait, while Natasha keeps smoking. “What do we do though?” I ask.

“You finish what you’re smoking, then you go in and sit down next to him. Then you do what you want. What you want! No doubts, no hesitancy, no ‘Oh but I’m not really..!’ You are extraordinarily lucky.”

Yeah, I say. Or I don’t think I actually said it. I think the word was just in my head. The ‘Yeah.’ I am lucky. It’s really loud inside me. Like it was on a billboard in neon in my mind. “Do you want to finish this?” I ask, holding out what I’m smoking.

“No, just put it down.” And I do, then I stand, slide back the door and walk into the living room. I navigate my way towards where Tim is sitting and put myself next to him, where he’d sat himself away from me before. I don’t even notice it but somehow his arm is around me. I’m thinking of what Natasha was saying, about how I’m lucky, but I’m also kissing Tim, I have no clue how it happened. I don’t know. I don’t know how I’m kissing him. Or how he’s kissing me. We just are. And people are talking around us. It was silent, I think, but now there’s conversation.

And we’re kissing. I’m breathing with Tim. Our mouths are joined and we’re with each other. There’s no need for anything else. It’s not even boring, or a chore, like it was when I kissed girls before, just something to do. Something I had to do before, to be a man. This is real. Now I understand it. My hand goes under his t-shirt and I feel the hair leading up to his bellybutton and I want to kiss there too. I want my mouth everywhere.

My fingers creep towards his belt. “Oh this is disgusting!” Sally roars.

Tim stops kissing me and laughs. “I’m sorry I think she’s sex incarnate,” Tim says to Sally. But I wish they’d just shut up and me and Tim could get on with things. And I’m sitting, just looking at him, imagining...

“Give her the tour,” Natasha says. “Show her everything.”

“OK,” Tim says, then stands, with my hand in his grip and pulls me out of the seat. “Let me show you the apartment, Toni,” Tim says.

“I don’t want to see—” but a groan from literally everyone but Tim shuts me up.

He leads me away, passing closed doors, not giving me a tour at all. “Why are you...” And he opens a door to large bedroom, neat-ish but with some clothes scattered about, men’s clothes, mostly underwear, and another door just beside where we came in. “Oh!” I say. And he’s kissing me again, forcefully.

“Is this OK?” he asks.

I think I nod or something, or maybe I just grunt. Whatever I did he got the message and carries on.

He grabs me beneath my ass and lifts me up. I wrap my legs behind him wondering if I’m going to knock him over but he’s strong. He’s so fucking strong. I’m kissing him and moaning, trying to grind my crotch into him as he holds me.

He turns around and lays me down on his bed and I feel a parting between my thighs. I want him between me again. I want... I don’t know what I want! “Take off your shirt!” I say.

He pulls his t-shirt up, twisting it off with both hands and my god he is quite literally the hottest man I have ever seen in my life, anywhere, ever. Literally from anywhere, ever. My hand is on my skirt massaging myself. “On the bed,” I say.

He sits down next to me, kissing me as he sits, and I’m all over him. I’m in his mouth, my hands are on his chest, on his stomach, beneath his stomach. My hands are under his belt. I feel his pubes. I go further. I feel his dick. Oh wow! I love his dick. I don’t know if I love dick but I want Tim’s dick.

He breaks away from me and undoes the buckle on his belt, struggling to push his shoes off each foot. He lifts himself a little off the bed and slides his pants and underwear down, and then they’re off completely. I don’t know what I say, but I say something to him. It could be something like ‘Fuck me’ or ‘Hey sexy’ or it could just be me gurgling, drool spilling out. But I know what I need to do. It’s not a want it’s a need. A desperate need. I grab his cock in my hand and begin to jerk him off. I kiss him and love jerking him off. And I shiver.

I keep kissing him and feeling him in my hand and I want him inside me. But that’s impossible, mostly. I want more of him. I want to know him. I want to taste him. Without full awareness but with anticipation I’m down on a knee before him, looking into his eyes as I part my lips and lower my mouth around his cock.

Then... Well... We have fun.

A lot more fun.

Then I’m lying on Tim’s bed, me completely clothed, him completely naked and we’re looking at each other. We’re smiling at each other. At least I’m smiling. He’s just looking at me. “How long have we been here?” I ask.

“Does it matter?”

“I’m going back to my friends.”

“Am I not your friend?” he asks. So I kiss him. Which I hope answers his question.

I walk back to the living room feeling floaty. I stand by the hallway leading into it, just looking. “Yes, I’ll go to the bathroom with you, Toni,” Sally says, standing. “Natasha?”

“Couldn’t pay me...” Natasha says, and Sally has me by the hand and is leading me back down the hallway where I hope I don’t bump into Tim.

Sally knocks on one of the doors and says, “You decent, Jess?”

“Come in,” Jess says.

Sally opens the door to a fairly spacious bathroom, where Jess is standing in the middle. “Find anything interesting?” Sally asks.

“Nope, boring,” Jess says.

“Toni is freaking out,” Sally says. Then she turns to look at me. “No, we are not leaving. You are not running away. We are going to stay here and have dinner and a nice time presuming they don’t start talking about sex dungeons or something.”

“I am not freaking out!” I say.

Jess sits down on the closed lid of the toilet and says, “OK, go on.”

“Go on what?” I say.

“You wanted to talk,” Sally says.

“No I didn’t,” I protest. “You dragged me in here.”

“So you’re fine?” Jess asks me.

“Yeah,” I say, then I think. “It was great.” And I’m smiling.

“Do you need a toothbrush?” Sally asks.

“Oh, no! Can you smell his—” I begin, and both of them burst out laughing. “That’s mean!”

“I get to pick your Halloween outfit, Sally,” Jess says.

“Yeah, you won that one,” Sally says. “Go on, Toni, tell us everything.”

“No!”

“Oh, wow! She grew a spine,” Sally says.

“But...”

“But?” Jess asks me.

I pause for a moment, unsure how to say this, but it’s mostly true. I think it’s correct, anyway. “He’s hot, isn’t he? Like, really hot? Stupidly hot? That’s not just me thinking that?”

“Wow, she sucked a dick and cured her stupidity!” Sally says.

“Imagine how smart she’ll be in a few weeks,” Jess says.

“I plan on becoming an astrophysicist,” I say.

“Good for you, girl!” Sally says. “Now the ice has been broken we want the details.”

“I had a good time,” I say. I did.

“Did your good time have a peak moment?” Sally asks, making air quotes as she says the words Peak Moment.

I nod assuredly and say, “It did.”

“Do we need to get you Plan B?” Jess asks.

“Not unless fingers can get you pregnant,” I say.

“Fingers?” Jess asks. “Plural?”

“I don’t know. I don’t care. He knew how to use them. Now if you’re done with me?” I say, putting on my Downton Abbey matriarch look.

“Haha, Tim found her inner bitch,” Jess says.

“And he’s welcome to find it any time he wants,” I say, before leaving the bathroom and walking back to the living room, where Tim is sitting in the same spot on the couch he was in before all of this happened.

I sit myself down next to him, he puts his arm around me and I snuggle into him. Fuck Sally and Jess. They’re just jealous. “Sally and Jess are jealous,” I say to Tim.

“Of what?” Tim asks.

“Because you’re really hot,” I say.

“And you’re sexy,” Tim says to me, and now I know he really does not have a clue how hot he is, so I cuddle into him more, more than happy being held.

I draw a deep breath and open my eyes. “You’re hot,” I say, looking at the man holding me.

“Feel better?” Tim asks.

I look around the room, where Jess and Natasha have moved some beanbags into the middle of the floor and are sitting next to each other. There’s no sign of Sally and Mouse. I rub at my eyes. “How long was I asleep?” I ask.

“A little bit,” Tim says.

“And did you hold me the whole time?” I ask, and he just smiles at me so I give him a kiss. “You’re amazing.”

“You’re sickening,” Sally says from behind me. “And Tim probably needs to pee, he hasn’t moved since sleeping beauty nodded off. Barely talked...”

“Oh, I’m sorry,” I say, shuffling up on the couch. “Do you need to..?”

“Couldn’t hurt...” Tim says.

“Don’t ask him if you can watch, that’d be too much, even for you,” Sally says, sitting herself down on the couch and placing some wine glasses on the table. “Can we put on music now?”

“Yeah, I think so,” Mouse says. “Unless any of you plan on having a snooze soon.”

“Tim wouldn’t insist the music is off if one of us fell asleep, would he?” Natasha says.

“Of course he would,” Mouse says. “I told you, he’s nice and an idiot. Anyway, any preferences?” He places the open bottle of wine on the table and walks to a laptop next to the TV, fiddles with some cables and is soon typing away.

“It’s your place,” Jess says. “Your choice in music.”

“If you want to put something on you know how Spotify works, just put it in the playlist,” Mouse says. And both Natasha and Jess do stand and go to look at the laptop’s screen.

Then Tim is back into us, also playing with the laptop before he sits down next to me and I have to hold myself back from kissing him again. I really don’t want Sally yelling at me about being disgusting any more. I do notice Tim is wearing big, soft, bear feet slippers though. Not quite novelty level but definitely themed. “They’re cute,” I say, pointing.

“Do you want some slippers?” Tim asks. “Anyone? If you want?”

“What do you mean?” Natasha asks, looking a little, well, I guess the word is curious.

“Tim bought a load of slippers, various sizes, men’s and women’s, from one of those online Chinese stores. For any guests. What did I tell you about him?” Mouse says.

“What’s wrong with him?” Sally asks. “Why is he like this?”

“You’ll be thankful for them tomorrow morning, Sally,” Tim says.

“Presumptuous!”

“Yeah...” Tim says, then looks at me. “Did you tell your friends about Emma’s place?”

“Emma?” I ask.

“Where we went shopping.”

“Oh! No! No way. It’s too good for them. I do not want to share it.”

“She’s a friend,” Tim says. “Any help she can get in growing her business...”

“What’s this?” Jess asks.

“OK, fine! It’s a nice second hand shop, lots of clothes. Good prices, I think. You’d like it. There! Happy, Tim?”

“What’s it called?” Jess asks. “I might have heard of it.”

I shrug. “The Thrift Store,” Tim says. “I don’t know if it has an actual name.”

Jess laughs. “No, never heard of that,” she says, but she has her phone out. “Its website?”

“It doesn’t have one...” Tim says.

“Address?”

“I think the alley is just random letters on a planner’s map.”

I can see Jess wondering about this place’s ability to market itself so say, “You know that overstock store I was telling you I got the bathrobe in? It’s near there.”

Jess types a few things into her phone and then looks at me, or more Tim. “A few people mention it, from what I can see. Standard comments. There’s really not much on it. Why doesn’t she want to advertise?”

“She doesn’t want to go the online route,” Tim says. “She thinks clothes, and what she sells, needs to be an in-person thing. And wants word of mouth to build her up. I’ve told her how much it’d help, but she’s insistent, for now. Says the customers she has from markets will keep her going for a bit.”

“Tall, thin, blonde woman? Kind of snooty voice?” Jess asks. Tim nods. “Had a few pop up stores?” He nods again. “I was wondering where she went to! Oh, this is great. Can you show me on my maps app where this alley is?”

Tim stands but doesn’t go to Jess, instead he’s digging in a backpack he has set by the TV. “Will this do?” he asks, walking to, then handing Jess a flier.

“Yeah! Perfect!” Jess says. “How do you know her?”

“Business,” Tim says. “She needed graphic design, liked my work and could afford what I charged.”

The song on the playlist ticks over and Natasha groans. “Who put this on?” she asks.

Sally shakes her head. “Who’s the only teenage girl here, at least in spirit?” she asks, looking equally annoyed.

I realise they’re both talking about me. “I did not put Backstreet Boys on! I wasn’t even at the laptop!”

“Do you like Backstreet Boys?” Natasha asks.

“Well... Yeah! But I didn’t put them on! I swear!” I say. “I’ll even change the song, if you want.”

“The guilty mind,” Sally says. “Told Tim to put it on...”

I move to the laptop and change the music, and as I’m sitting down Natasha says, “Fuck you, Toni. You’re a fucking bitch!”

“I knew it was you!” I yell at her. “I can tell because you’re laughing! If you didn’t try to blame me for Backstreet’s Back you wouldn’t be suffering Enya now.”

“Yeah, right, fine. You win this time,” Natasha says.

“And you should see her in her work outfits! She’s like a pretty faerie!” I say.

“Don’t do this to me, Toni,” Natasha says. “You’ll regret it eventually.”

“It’s just a pity I don’t have any photos. Which reminds me, will someone take a photo of me and Tim, please? If you don’t mind, Tim?”

“What makes you think we don’t already have photos?” Jess asks.

“What?” I say.

They all take out their phones and start typing away, then my phone begins to beep. I open up my message app and there’s a stream of photos of me asleep on Tim.

“Can I get some of those?” Tim asks, looking over my shoulder.

“I need your number first,” I say, and feel nervous saying it. Although I don’t know why. A couple of hours ago his fingers were literally inside me. So we exchange numbers, and then the photos, and we’re taking a few more. Just the two of us, except I’m awake this time.

Then we all talk, and drink, and a few people smoke. Mouse begins to prepare dinner as it’s getting dark outside. Sally offers to help but Mouse gives a stern, ‘No!’

After a bit longer we’re all sitting in the same places, but with plates on our laps.

“This is lovely,” Natasha says.

“It’s a basic stir fry, nothing amazing. There’s no need to boost my ego. I know I’m not a great cook but I can make some healthy things well.”

“He can cook almost everything,” Tim says. “But apart from a few meals he does regularly he never sticks with anything long enough to perfect it.”

“So what’s the plan?” Mouse asks. “I’m fed. I think Tim said Toni likes dancing. We could go back to that bar?”

“Why do you think I like dancing?” I ask Tim.

“You, and that woman in there yesterday, when I first saw you... She was saying you like to dance. Or should dance more.”

“Oh, that? Yeah...” I say. Then I whisper into his ear what Steph meant by ‘tangoing.’

He laughs and asks, “So am I a good dancer?”

“You’re a very good dancer,” I say, which is true, at least in my extremely limited experience. Still, there’s a look of pride on his face.

Sally laughs. “I wonder what their deep code could mean? Will us who have such simple minds ever be able to figure it out?” Everyone else laughs at that. Including Mouse who’s cleaning up.

“So what do you want to do?” Tim asks.

“I want to stay here,” I say.

“Are you staying the night?”

“Where would I sleep?”

Tim looks puzzled for some reason. “In my bed,” he says. I didn’t even realise that was a possibility. That’d he want that. That he’d be OK with it.

“I have nothing to wear in bed,” I say.

“That’ll make things easier, Toni,” Sally says.

“Shut up!”

“I have a spare hockey jersey, I’d bet you’d look tiny in it,” Tim says.

“What about—”

“And I have spare toiletries, toothbrush, et cetera. You have nothing to worry about.”

“What if I stay the night?” Sally says. “Will that calm you down, Toni?”

Mouse is back from clearing up and says to Sally, “You can sleep in my bed, Sally, I’ll sleep on the couch.”

“See! All settled. Me and Toni are staying the night. Now I want a fashion show.”

“Yes, I’ll stay. But what fashion show?” I ask.

“Yeah, you have loads of new clothes, try them on for us!” Natasha says, with an evil smile on her face.

“I am not some toy for you to abuse and mock!” I say.

Mouse shrugs and says, “Sorry Toni, you’re the only person with shopping here. I bet if they all had things to try on they’d join in as well. Right?” he asks, looking around at Jess, Natasha and Sally, who all nod and smile at me, far too sweetly.

“He’s right, Toni. Sorry,” Natasha says.

“Then, I’ll get the clothes you three can prance around in,” Mouse says.

“What?” Sally says.

“Yeah, loads of clothes. Every size. Women think Tim is handsome, then see the apartment and refuse to accept we’re not rich. They’ve basically moved in after a week. Then they break up with Tim, never want to see him again and Tim is sobbing while he packs bags full of their stuff to store away forever.”

“Don’t tell them that, Mouse. Fucking hell. You’re killing me,” Tim says.

“I’m certain there’s some very slutty stuff that’d look great on you, Sally,” Mouse says.

“You wish!” Sally says.

“So, are we doing the dress up party?” Mouse asks.

“Yeah, I don’t think so,” Jess says.

“Definitely not,” Natasha says.

“Why don’t you throw them away, Tim? Or donate them to charity?” Jess asks.

Tim shrugs and says, “They’re not mine to give away.”

“How long have some of those bags been here?” Mouse asks Tim.

“They’re not mine to give away! What if someone wants them back? Anyway, we’re not short on space.”

While they’re discussing this a thought is wiggling around inside my mind. “Why are all these women breaking up with you, Tim?”

“I really don’t—” Tim begins.

“Because he’s boring. Normal and boring. They see him looking all handsome, the fucker, and he’s polite, then they see the apartment and think he’s some suave, playboy millionaire. As we have said, a few times now, neither of us are those things. He’s a just-about doing OK graphic designer, I work for a sports statistics business. We’re young-ish but not mad for insane parties. We’re boring.”

“You’re boring?” Sally asks.

“And he’s handsome, and as you said I’m ‘no slouch.’ We do OK for ourselves.”

“So you think we’re boring?” Sally asks, smile on her face.

“You’re relatively normal,” Mouse says. “Relatively... You didn’t see the lobby of the building and immediately start listing off fancy restaurants to go to. You sat and ate my stir fry. It’s not an insult.”

“Anyway, it’s up to you,” Tim says. “We’re happy doing whatever you want to do.”

“What would you do if we weren’t here?” I ask.

“Watch TV, a film...” Tim says.

“Let’s do that then,” I say. “Just a normal night and not a crazy bitch being all crazy to you.” I hug into him tighter when I say that.

“I’ll get a taxi home, then,” Jess says. “Do you want a ride, Natasha?”

“That’d be great,” Natasha says.

“I’ll get your coats,” Mouse says. “We can call you one here, or whoever’s downstairs can.”

“We’re fine,” Jess says. “I know a good company, they’ll be here in literally minutes. Same one I always use.”

Mouse hands them their coats and asks if they want someone to walk down with them, but both refuse, and then it’s just me and Tim, and Sally and Mouse.

“What streaming platforms do you have?” Sally asks.

“Do we tell them?” Tim says.

“Being honest has worked so far,” Mouse says, with a shrug. Me and Sally exchange a look.

“Do you know the film Knives Out? The murder mystery kind of one?”

Me and Sally exchange another look, and she says, hesitantly, “Yes?”

“We like shows like that. Murder mysteries, detective stuff. They’re not big in the US but countries around the world have been making them for decades. Usually two hour long self-contained episodes, or a mini-series. They’re silly, but not as silly as you’d think.”

“Kind of like Columbo? Or what was that other one..? Monk?” I say.

“Yeah, like that,” Tim says. “You happy with that?”

“Of course!” I say.

“Subtitles or English?” Mouse asks.

“Please no subtitles,” Sally says.

And we sit watching a detective show for an hour, Sally and Mouse on one couch and me cuddled into Tim on the other.

Eventually Mouse pauses the show and says, “Anyone want popcorn? Something to drink?”

“Yeah, put on some popcorn, Mouse. Drinks anyone?” Tim says.

“Soft drink?” Sally asks. “Whatever you have, diet or regular.” And I nod in agreement.

Sally and Tim are talking about who they think the murderer is, Sally thinking it’s multiple murderers, while I hear popping coming from the kitchen. Eventually Mouse comes back carrying some bowls filled with popcorn and glasses on a tray, setting them down in front of everyone.

“Right, where does Mouse come from?” Sally asks.

“As I said, it’s worked so far,” Tim says. “It’s your story, it’s up to you.”

Mouse places his fistful of popcorn back in his bowl and says. “I had an eating disorder... Have an eating disorder, it’s under control, it wasn’t at university.”

“Which is why you’re so persnickety about food,” Sally says.

“Yeah, and to keep people from finding out I kind of nibbled at food like a mouse. Which people did notice, enough to give me the name but not enough to see what I was doing to myself. Not until I got quite bad, which is when Tim noticed, and got me help, along with my brother.”

I hug into Tim as Mouse is saying all this.

“I knew some girls in school with eating disorders,” Sally says. “It’s an awful thing.”

Mouse nods. “Full story, Tim?”

“That’s up to you.”

“It’s your story too, in fairness.”

“I am more than fine with you telling them,” Tim says, as he wriggles his arm around me to get more comfy.

“Me and Tim knew each other from sports,” Mouse continues. “He had a sports scholarship, I didn’t, I wasn’t a star anything. I’d always been weird with food, and working out was another way I was abusing myself. When I got to college and was stuck around really serious athletes my eating disorder went into overdrive. When Tim noticed how bad I was in the second year he tried sorting me out. Doing anything and everything to help. He lost his sports scholarship because of it, because of how focused he was on me, but he didn’t care about that. Eventually he got onto my family, then my brother, who was paying for my classes. Together both my brother and Tim got me help, help that worked. Tim was so good it saved me from having to be hospitalised, I could be treated as an outpatient. My brother realised how much Tim had done for me, and paid for the rest of his college, after convincing them to let him back in.”

“And now he pays for the apartment,” I say. “As a kind of thank you.”

“He rents it to Tim for fair market rate for an average two bed apartment less central than where we are, but it’s certainly nothing either of us could afford at its real price. My brother also pays most of the bills, heating and that, and he’ll pay for whatever food we want to get, within reason.”

“And Tim still keeps an eye on you?” I say.

Mouse nods. “He does. Which I am very appreciative of but he can be really annoying about it. Like I said, Tim is very nice, and a lot of people don’t try to get to know that.”

“Sally and Jess are kind of like that to me,” I say.

“That’s sweet, but we still hate you,” Sally says.

“I hate you too,” I say.

“This is really good popcorn, Mouse, like, best I’ve ever had level of good,” Sally says.

“Just use the highest quality oil you can get your hands on. There’s no trick,” Mouse says.

“That’s it?”

“That’s it. Do you want to watch the rest of the show now? Any more questions?” Mouse says.

“The show must go on!” Sally says. “And I’m telling you, there are at least three murderers.” At which point the detective show is un-paused, and we all keep watching, eating popcorn and drinking cans of diet 7-Up.

Then we watch an episode of Columbo.

Then I’m being rattled. “What?” I say.

“That’s the third time you’ve fallen asleep during this episode,” Tim says. “What time did you wake up this morning? Do you want to go bed?”

“I was up early,” I say, yawning.

“Yeah, you had a big day, babes,” Sally says. “Go to bed. I’m sure Tim will join you.”

“Are you coming too?” I ask Tim.

“Of course,” Tim says. “Come on, I’ll you get the things you need.”

And within a few minutes I’m lying in Tim’s bed, in the oversized hockey jersey he gave me, with him cuddled into my back, holding me. And I fall asleep as probably the happiest woman in the city, next to someone unbelievably kind and gentle I’ve been blessed with.

Toni has been Toni for a little over a week, which seems to be just enough time for her to have slept in a boy’s bed. Yes! With the boy next to her. And they did more than sleep in the afternoon, long before the Sandman visited. But how will she handle discovering men do more than smell good and kiss good?

Will Toni be spending the new day telling all her friends about her discoveries with a smile on her face? Will Steph in Light Avenue have to get used to saying the annoyingly alliterative “Toni and Tim?” Or will Toni be running to Big-G, her one rock, with tears in her eyes when she meets him later in her day? More importantly, does Toni even remember why she’s meeting Big-G, or has her mind been filled with more distracting thoughts?

My phone starts ringing and vibrating on top of the table by the head of the bed.

I flail my arms out, one in each direction, unsure in my state whether it’s to my left or right. This tells me Tim is no longer next to me, so the table must be to the other side. I manage to grab at my phone and look, through lids just about opened, at the caller. It’s my sister.

“What do you want?” I ask, rubbing the sleep out of my eyes.

“Oh, Miss Grumpy, what’s wrong?” she asks, placing emphasis on the ‘Miss’ part.

“You woke me,” I say. But I feel like I need to say more than that. I have no idea what time it is and I could have been asleep all day. “I slept at a boy’s place and no-one woke me.”

I hear a sharp intake of breath and an ‘Oh my god.’ Maybe a second. I’m tired and can’t be sure. Then my sister is talking properly again. “You’re sleeping with men already? How long have you been the new you?”

“I’m not sleeping with anyone,” I say, still groggy. It’s mostly true. Tim’s not in bed any more. “I slept on a couch.”

“Bullshit! You said you ‘slept at a boy’s place.’ I know exactly what that means. Is he hot? Is he good to you? If he’s not I’m coming straight there with a posse to inflict permanent injury!”

Tim is good to me but I’m not telling her that. “I have lots of male friends. You’ve met some of them, what makes you think I’m not staying at one of their places?” I say, pulling myself up straight. Then I look down and see Tim’s old hockey jersey on me and feel cute.

My sister guffaws. Very theatrically. “If it was one of your boring friends you would have said you ‘slept at friend’s place.’ Please don’t try and fool me, Toni, I’ve been doing this a lot longer than you. I fucking hope so at least. Now come on, who is he, what’s his name, do you have pictures of him? Of the two of you?”

“Fine! OK. You’re my sister and for some reason I love you... His name is Tim, of course I have pictures of us, yes he’s hot, and to answer your next question I don’t know if we’re dating. I’m not telling you anything else.”

My sister guffaws again. “OK, wow! I’ll refrain from asking you anything else. And I’ll hang up, as long as you promise to text me a photo of the two of you. And as long as you message me updates of your new, interesting life. Don’t go weird and disappear on me.”

“Deal,” I say. And she hangs up instantly. Without even a moment passing. I move to respect her respect by sending her a pic of me and Tim straight away, then realise she’ll be straight back onto me if I do that. She can wait.

Instead I stand and trudge my way out to the living room, still rubbing at my salty eyes.

“Don’t move,” Sally says. She reaches for her phone.

“What?” I say.

“I want to take a picture of you, and then you have to go and get dressed. Immediately!” she says, as I hear the digital shutter noise with the camera snapping me looking sleepy and confused.

“What? What is it?” I say. Why is everyone annoying me?

“Come here,” Sally says. So I do. She shows me the photo of me. My eyes are closed and the hockey top is loose and halfway down my thighs. I’m not exposing anything.

“It’s me,” I say. “Looking tired and annoyed at people being weird.”

“If Tim sees you looking like that he’ll take you right on the spot. Fucking hell, Toni, can’t you see yourself?”

“I mightn’t object to that,” I say, then smile. Then Tim walks through from the kitchen, along with Mouse. I look at Tim, and my smile gets wider. I couldn’t care less about Mouse, at least not at the moment. “Come here, Tim.”

Tim walks to me, smiling, and I almost lunge at him to give him a quick kiss on the lips. A quick kiss that isn’t so quick and involves a little more than lips, as well as a nice squeeze of his very nice butt.

“Do you want breakfast?” Tim asks me.

“I’m kinda hungry,” I say. He takes my hand and leads me out to the balcony where there’s some pastries and orange juice on the small metal table I saw yesterday.

I sit down and Tim sits next to me, just smiling at me. Eventually he asks, “Everything OK?”

“Yeah,” I say. “Of course.”

“No regrets?” he asks.

“Why would I have regrets?” I say, starting to feel a little worried.

“Sally explained this morning you’d never... Not actually... Actually done what we did yesterday. Not before.”

I’m halfway through putting a piece of croissant in my mouth, so I do put it in my mouth, to give myself time to think. I chew, and chew a little more, then swallow, feeling a lump in my throat. Then finally say, “Remember those guest slippers you talked about yesterday?” He nods. “The next time I’m here can I get my own pair?”

“You’ll be back?” Tim asks.

I nod and say, “If you’ll have me back. If I wasn’t boring... I’ve never had a friend who was a boy and I was a girl and we did that kind of stuff. I’ve never really done anything with girls, either. I’ve never really done anything. My life was boring until recently and this is all new to me.”

“You’ve never had a boyfriend?” Tim asks. Then he pauses. And I realise I’ve been incredibly forward. He wasn’t in bed with me when I woke. I’ve forced a kiss from him already. I’m treating him like we’re supposed to be together when he’s not done or said anything like that.

I freeze, motionless. Like I’ve been dropped in dry ice. I’ll shatter if he says anything. Then he does speak. I’m about to shatter. “Would you like us to be boyfriend and girlfriend? Because I’d like to be your boyfriend. If you’re OK with it. If you’re ready?”

“So we’re girlfriend and boyfriend?” I ask. I don’t shatter. I still could.

“I guess so. Yeah,” Tim says. “If you’re happy with me being so high school like that?”

“We’re dating. The two of us. ‘Official.’ And I’m your girlfriend?” I say, asking the exact same question.

“I’m not a girl, and you’re not really boyfriend material, so...” Tim says, trailing off.

“I mean, I am a—”

“Yes, you’re my girlfriend. And I’m your boyfriend. That’s settled. And now you need to eat because Sally said you’re meeting some guy called Big-G? Do I need to be jealous?”

I kiss him. It’s a different kind of kiss to before. To anything before. I say, “Can I finish this croissant then we go to your bedroom where we do what we did yesterday? Except you pretend you’re jealous? Just a little? Like, kind of, a little angry at me? You know? Then I go meet the man you’re jealous of? And I think of what you did to me while I look at him?”

Tim laughs. Except it’s not his normal laugh. It has a kind of stutter to it, almost a cough. He shakes his head and says, “Fuck me, Toni! You’re not the simple, innocent girl you pretended to be.”

“Does that turn you on?” I ask, inching my hand up the inner thigh on his sweats as I hold some pastry in my other hand.

“Hurry up and finish your croissant!” he says, with another one of his shocked laughs. “Don’t do that to me then make me wait.”

Then I’m in his bedroom getting dressed in the clothes I wore yesterday, feeling extremely satisfied. Feeling Tim watching me.

“When do you have to go?” Tim asks.

“Pretty soon,” I say. “As soon as I do my hair.”

“When will I see you again?”

I sigh and remember work as I twist at my much too short, crappy brown hairstyle. “I have a big thing at my job. I need to focus on that for the next few days. Someone found out about me and they’ve given me something of an opportunity, to prove myself. It’s a really big deal.”

“What do you mean by they ‘found out about you?’”

“I’m a different version of me at work,” I say, and it feels weird to think of that while I’m looking at my boyfriend lying on his bed. “People don’t really know the me you know.”

“But someone there does... And you have an opportunity,” Tim says, looking as though he’s thinking.

“Yeah, something like that,” I say, slipping on my Mary Janes while I balance on each foot.

“What do your friends at work think of the real you? The ones who know?” Tim asks.

“I don’t really have any friends at work,” I say.

“When they meet my girlfriend you’ll make some amazing new work friends. And be beating the men away with a stick. At least I hope you do.”

“Shut up, they won’t. They’ll remember the old me and be disgusted.”

“Tiny skirt? Heels? Legs? Professional white blouse opened up to tastefully reveal and inflame? Necklace hanging just above your boobs to seal the deal? Please! I know what that does to men!”

I laugh and it feels like Tim’s shocked laugh. “You have a thing for office women, don’t you? Watching her bend over, hoping she gives you a glimpse? A little ‘What if someone catches us?’ in the copy room? Maybe an office tryst started at the drunken Christmas party you regret but can’t and don’t want to stop?”

“Who doesn’t?” Tim asks, with a smile.

I laugh again. I guess he really is a dude. “Yesterday you said you didn’t want to be that kind of guy.”

“Now you’re my girlfriend,” he says, looking proud. “Things are different.”

“I am your girlfriend!” I say, feeling just as proud as Tim looks. “Now come on!”

Tim gets up from bed and puts on his sweats and t-shirt again, me watching him as he does, thankful he didn’t put his boxers on before the sweats, and I’m imagining him hanging free beneath the material, wishing I didn’t have to go. Wishing I could touch him all over. We walk out to the living room. “What are you doing, Sally?” I ask, my mind on what Tim has under there.

“Are you ready to leave? she asks. “I only spent the night to convince you to stay.”

“Just about,” I say, not believing a word she said. Trying to stop thinking of Tim’s dick. And chest. And his kisses. I hold back from sighing. I’d stay here if I sighed.

Then Sally says goodbye to Mouse, with me watching Sally to see if there’s any give in her reaction or anything to her tone. If there is I can’t catch it. Tim says goodbye to us at the door.

“Message me?” he says, after a gentle kiss.

“Of course,” I say. And give him a proper kiss, hoping there’s a reaction beneath his sweats. I hope I cause a lot more reactions.

Then I’m walking down the hallway, away from my boyfriend’s apartment, somehow feeling the hips I don’t have sway, and getting an elevator to the first floor.

The attendant in the lobby tips his cap to me and Sally as we leave, and I’m walking back to Light Avenue to meet Big-G, with Sally not saying a word to me, and me not saying a word to her.

We get to the bar and order two coffees before we sit at a table waiting for G. Sally’s still not saying anything but I can play her game as well. I already am. I know full well what she’s doing.

Our coffees are half gone and neither of us have even coughed when Steph sits down next to us.

“Am I going to have to get used to saying ‘Toni and Tim’ now?” Steph asks.

“I’ll tell you if Sally leaves,” I say, refusing to look at Sally.

“They’re dating,” Sally says. “And they danced. A few times.”

“So did you and Mouse!” I scream at Sally.

“We did not!” Sally says, looking full of herself, and pleased. And I know! I know!

“I heard you two in his bedroom!” I say, confidently.

“You didn’t,” Sally says. I wait. There’s more coming. I know it. I’m certain. I wait. I hold her out. She blinks. “Because we did it in the living room! With the Mouse who has moves, and a tongue.”

“I fucking knew it! I knew it!! Are you seeing him again?!”

“I have his number and he has mine. We’ll call each other as the mood takes,” Sally says. Then she finishes off her coffee in one gulp.

“Are you OK, Toni?” Steph asks.

“I’m happy,” I say to Steph. And I smile at Steph.

Steph rubs my shoulder then stands. “That’s all anyone can ask for.” She walks away.

“So..?” Sally says.

“My sister phoned me. She wants a picture of me and Tim.”

“Your sister knows?” Sally asks.

“Yeah,” I say. “She seems glad I’m not boring any more.”

“Send her one of you asleep on Tim and Tim looking pleased as punch.”

“Ew! No! I’m not sending her one of me asleep. I’ll send her one from after I woke up.”

“Ladies...” G says, sitting down. I’m delighted to see him. I don’t know why but he looks more manly. More, I don’t know, like he’s powerful?

I chase the powerful G thought from my mind and say, “Hey, G!” And I’m smiling again. I’ve smiled a lot today.

Sally smiles at me smiling and turns to G, who’s also smiling. “Toni has a boyfriend!” she says, a sing-song in her tone.

“Took you long enough,” G says, looking at me.

I’m taken aback at this. This isn’t Big-G’s usual cool and calm but, most importantly, caring self. This is him treating me, I don’t know? Being dismissive. “That’s mean!” I say, confused. “G?”

“I’m sorry, you hold no interest to me now. You’re another man’s piece of meat. I’m not going to fight him for you. He already won the battle.”

I hit G on the arm. “Fuck off! G! You’re doing that on purpose. You know I’m not like that and I know you’re not like that.”

“I’m glad to see you develop some of those feminine wiles of yours,” G says, with a laugh.

But that makes me think, it did take me a while to have a boyfriend. To see them as, well, objects, things to play with and for them to play with me. When I looked at Tim’s chest yesterday it was hot, so incredibly hot. I actually realised how sexy he was. Looking at him I wanted him, almost more than when I was kissing him. “Why did I never think of men before?” I ask.

“Have you tried to think of men?” Big-G asks. “Of you and a man as a couple? Together? When you saw them?”

“No, but that’s the thing. I did see them. I even saw naked men, far more often than naked women, And the naked men were in real life. But I never, y’know, wanted them.”

“Who were you yesterday?” G asks.

“I was me. Who else would I be?” I ask.

Sally looks at Big-G, almost as though she’s impressed. Neither of them say anything else. They’re just sitting, both staring at me. My eyes are going kind of blurry as I try to stare the two of them down at the same time. I don’t know why I’m staring back at them. I don’t know why I’m making myself cross-eyed.

Eventually Sally says, “And who were you before you were you?”

I don’t know what that means. What is she talking about? Then I do know what she’s talking about. And it hits me. It hits me what I am. Who I am. I can stop staring.

My lips tighten and press inward on themselves. My eyes begin to water. I’m crying. Both Sally and Big-G move to each side of me and hold me as my tears are flowing. I wasn’t who I should be. I wasn’t who I was supposed to be.

“I wasn’t me. Not actually me. Not before,” I say between sniffs. I don’t know how I feel. I don’t know if I want to feel this. Can I ever be who I am? Can I ever be me?

I begin to sob, my head bowed as I raise my hands to cover my face. I can’t turn to either of them. I can’t go to anyone. I’m alone.

“What’s wrong?” I hear. I think it’s Steph’s voice. I look up and try to force myself to stop crying.

“There’s no going back,” G says.

“From..?” Steph says, and I look at her and feel weak.

“Herself. Who she is,” G says.

“That’s a tough moment,” Steph says. “Toni, look at me.” I try to stop myself shaking and look Steph in the eyes. “Remember this. You’ll forget this feeling again, probably soon. This is you. These are your feelings. And there is going back. You can do anything you like, be anyone you like, if you remember this.”

“I’m me,” I say, and I can feel the tears beginning again.

“Yes. You’re you, Toni. And we love you, we all love you,” Sally says.

“I wasn’t me before.” Now I’m crying again and barely holding back the sobs.

“You were,” Steph says. “But you were afraid, really afraid. Are you afraid now?”

“Yes,” I say.

“Afraid of who you are?”

I rub at one eye, then another. My crying has stopped again, just about. “No,” I say.

“Then there’s nothing else to be afraid of,” G says.

Sally’s somehow passed me a tissue and I’m drying myself up, then blowing my nose. “How do you know all this? How do you do this to me? And so suddenly?” I ask.

“We don’t know anything,” Steph says. “We know Toni, and we like Toni, and we do this to you by caring for you. And you do this by allowing yourself to do it. That’s all it is.”

Sally lets go of me and G pulls me into him. “Thank you,” I say. “I love you. All of you.”

“We know, but it’s nice to hear that instead of ‘I hate you!’” Sally says.

“I do hate you, and you hate me, and there’s also love. And fuck me, this is hard,” I say.

“Yeah, and it’s easy, and it’s all a mess, and that’s what life is. Enjoy it,” Steph says. “Do you need a drink?”

“Yes, but G wants me shopping. So I’d better get cleaned up,” I say, taking one last sniff.

G shuffles up on the seat and I stand. I take a deep breath and steady myself. I begin to walk to the bathroom and I’m thinking. A lot. I’m also shaking and weak, and I’m not quite sure what I’m thinking. I focus on the fact I have friends. Friends who love me. I have friends who care for me.

I’m walking back to the table, hopefully looking relatively normal. I’m trying my best to look normal, all the while focusing on my friends who care.

“Why do you like me? Why do you love me? And don’t say it’s because I’m nice, please.”

“First of all, you are nice. But for me it’s because you make me feel,” Steph says.

“Feel what?” I ask.

“Yeah, Steph’s right,” Sally says. Big-G smiles gently at me. “I don’t know how to put it in words,” Sally continues, before quietening.

“What you do to people isn’t common, Toni,” Steph says. “You expose people. You make them feel things. And causing people to feel things with the intensity you bring them to is rare.”

“Some people will hate you for it,” Big G says.

“Oh, Jesus! Some will despise her for it. Fucking hell, I hadn’t thought of that. I haven’t met anyone who goes to that way in a while, certainly not talked to them for longer than necessary. Fuck, they’re awful!” Steph says. She shivers, shakes out her head as though shaking off a curse, and continues, but not to me, “That’s a horrendous thought, but well spotted, Gary.”

“I’ll expose people..?” I say. “Sometimes exposing people isn’t good. Exposing people isn’t always a good thing.”

Steph nods. “You’re doing it right now.”

“Yeah,” Sally says. “Some don’t want to be exposed. Some people couldn’t handle it.”

“You’ll turn into a total bitch if you begin to crave it,” Big-G says.

“Crave what?” I ask.

“Reactions,” Steph says. “Feeling like you’ve had an effect. Affirmation... But that’s enough for now, I think. I’m not even sure where we are.”

“Isn’t that the best time to explore?” I ask. “When you don’t know where you are? And you’re exposed?”

“Did someone give her a joint?” Steph asks.

“Not today,” I say. But there’s neon billboards in my mind like yesterday when I smoked with Natasha. “And, actually, I really like Natasha. She’s really soft. You almost couldn’t tell she—”

“Has an admirer in Jess? Yeah!” Steph says, shaking her head and making big eyes at me as Sally whips her head around.

“Jess likes Natasha!?” Sally asks, voice loud.

“I said Jess admires her, Sally. Natasha is a really confident woman, who speaks her mind once you respect her privacy. It’s why you often see her reading quietly alone, although some people don’t see her when she’s like that.”

“Yeah, I get that. I understand now you say it,” I say to Steph, feeling suitably cowed. “Jess and Natasha did spend a lot of time talking about books while you were talking to Mouse, Sally. I was so caught up in my own thing I almost didn’t notice myself. I wasn’t thinking. Until Steph interrupted me and forced me to.”

Steph stands, looking at her watch, then gives me that, ‘Here’s lookin’ at you, kid!’ gentle punch to my face. I laugh at my own stupidity while being a little amazed at Steph’s tact.

“I was only glancing at the security monitors in the office before you all left yesterday. Anyway, I could be wrong. It’s hard to pick up on some things if you don’t watch people like a bar worker watches things. It’s just practice. But I only say this to you because I like you all,” Steph says.

“You didn’t say you love us,” I say to Steph, who glances a tired, grumpy glance at me. And now she really does want to punch me.

“Look at her!” Sally says, holding up her phone.

“Like a mugshot!” Steph says.

“Yeah, a guilty one,” Sally says, grinning at me.

“Oh, don’t show her that!” I say, knowing full well it’s Sally’s picture of me in Tim’s hockey jersey with my eyes closed, and with the legs I wish I didn’t have.

“Show her what?” Big-G asks.

“Yeah! The guilty mind knows exactly what it is,” Sally says to me. Then she turns her phone to Big-G.

“I might actually fight a man for that woman,” G says.

“OK, send that picture to me, please,” I say to Sally.

“Is the correct reaction to that photo,” Sally says.

“And send it to Tim when you’re feeling lonely,” Steph says. “Jesus! Woman!”

I feel my chest puff up pride. “Is it really that good?” I ask.

“If you ever catch me like that I want an entire photo shoot,” Sally says.

“I haven’t looked like that in years,” Steph says. “I wish I could.”

“You could have any man you want, Steph,” Sally says. “Shut up! Be confident. You’re confident with us.”

Steph bends down to look at Sally. “There are endless possible men I could have. And I’m at ease with you because I like you, despite it being far from easy.” Steph stands up again. “The thing is I don’t know who I want. Or if it’s even a who.”

I don’t know where the words come from, or why I’m saying them, but I do say them. “Do you want to go for a drink, Steph? Just me and you. Somewhere not here?”

Steph strains her neck and sets herself straight. “Yes, I do, thank you, Toni. I’ll let you know when and where, if that’s OK?”

“I’m looking forward to it,” I say. “Let me know the dress code.”

“Men are a lot simpler than this,” Big G says.

“Tired cliche,” Sally says.

“I’d better go with him to his shopping plans, he’s getting bored.”

“I’ll send you that picture straight away,” Sally says. “Don’t forget your bags.”

Soon I’m walking out of Light Avenue, thinking of Steph, and not quite remembering what G wanted us to do.

We walk for a few minutes, with nothing being said, and I don’t know why but I feel small, and weak. I don’t like it. “Can you put your arm around me, G?” I ask. He doesn’t say anything but stretches his arm out, and wraps it around my shoulder, pulling me into him. “I’m scared.”

“You have friends, you have a boyfriend, and you’re a beautiful young woman,” G says.

“That’s what I’m scared of.” I feel his already tight hold somehow get tighter.

We walk and walk, and then arrive outside a store on quiet street and G says, “We’re here.”

“Can you give me a minute, or maybe we do this some other, maybe—”

“No. This is happening now,” G says. “You’ll have these feelings far more often. It happens when you’re open with yourself. You’ll deal with them better as things go on but you do have to go on, OK?”

“OK...” I say.

And we go in.

Inside is a mixture of old shelving and modern fridges and freezers, in long supermarket aisles, under a mix of modern LED and old style fluorescent tube lighting. It’s bigger, deeper, I guess, on the inside than the outside would hint at. To my right are some checkout lines, although there’s no-one queuing at the moment, with only one staff member, sitting, drawing. To my left is a fridge with soft drinks I don’t recognise, along with a notice board with posters, and hand written notes and messages.

G wraps his arm around me again and begins to grip into me. “OK?”

“Yeah,” I say.

“Let’s get to it.”

The next thing I know he’s dragging me to a vegetable section and picking out garlic, onions, peppers and a range of veg I half recognise. “Do you have a kitchen you can use at work?” G asks.

“Yeah?” I say.

“And do people use it? Can you use a frying pan there?”

“I assume so,” I say.

He nods and doubles each of most of what’s already in the cart. Next we’re in a spice and herbs section and it looks like he’s on automatic, pulling out packet after packet, without even really looking.

A woman walks to him, “Teaching her to cook, Mr. G?” the woman asks.

“I am,” he says, with a smile.

“New friend? New special friend?”

“Old friend,” he says. “She just decided to sort her life out.” Which I guess is kind of true, but it’s still a bit rude. It’s not like I only ate Doritos.

“Will I get you one your books?” she asks.

“She’s getting an author copy, Rita, but thank you. Sorry you’re missing out on your cut.”

She laughs and says, “A very special friend! A real friend. We make enough from the desperate parents buying it for their idiot children off to school. No mother to make them dinner any more. And do they look at the book? No! They eat noodles straight from a cup! Even though there’s a recipe for that!” She looks at me. “Get Mr. G to autograph it for you. It could be worth a lot of money some day.”

We go to a section with those very same cups of noodles the woman was talking about and G begins to tell me which are good, and the spice levels. After another fifteen minutes of picking various foods up G is loading everything onto the checkout belt with a young man scanning it all through.

It comes time to pay and G stands back. I look at the figure and for the amount of food I have here it’s really not that much. Sure, it’s more than my weekly spend, but there’s things like spices and herbs G says should last months, massive bags of rice and lentils, tins of beans, tins of tomatoes, and more. And what G says is a good knife.

I take out my card and pay. The young man says, “If you ever need the knife sharpened just drop it in. It’ll take about 24 hours.”

“Those small soup Thermoses?” G asks.

“We’re coming into winter,” the man says. “They sell out quickly. Do you want me to set you one aside?”

“That’d be great, Sujesh. Thanks.”

“Do you have too many bags?” the man, Sujesh asks. “I can spare someone to help you carry them.”

I lift one with my free hand, and it’s not too heavy. Heavy enough though. G has grabbed the other bags. “They’re too heavy,” Sujesh says. And he’s yelling something incomprehensible towards the back of the store. “Put them down, G.” G nods. Then a teenager is up to us. “Help G and his friend carry her groceries home. You’re doing nothing else.”

“How far is it?” the teenager asks.

Sujesh impatiently hits a code into the till and pulls out five dollars. “Get those donuts of yours on the way back. This is what you’re angling for, yeah? You’ve been talking about them all day.” Then he looks at me. “Do not tip him! We pay him enough and he does no work. Absolutely none! He’s the laziest employee we’ve ever had. Even lazier than when I started here, and I was pretty lazy.”

I smile at Sujesh, I can tell he adores the kid, then me, and G, and the teenager, begin the walk to my apartment.

The whole way the teenager and G are deep in conversation about donuts. I have never heard anyone as enthusiastic and seemingly knowledgeable about donuts and sugary things as this kid. They’re talking about the best donut spots in the city, and what particular styles they’re good at, as I’m keying my code into the door. I thought a donut was just a donut!

I look at the teen, to take the bags. “All the way to your kitchen,” he says. “Unless you don’t want me to.”

“Come on up,” I say.

Then we’re all resting the bags up on my living room table. “Vee, could you put the chicken thighs in the freezer?”

“Sure thing, G,” Vee, the teenager, says.

As soon as he’s gone I turn to G. “How much do I tip him?”

“Vee? Nothing. Sujesh is right, he’s incredibly lazy.” But I think G can read the look on my face. “Two dollars, a token!”

“Are you living in the noughties, G?” I ask, digging in my purse.

“He gets paid to do this, very well for a teenager! He wants for literally nothing!”

Vee walks back into the room. “The thighs are all put away,” he says.

“Thanks for your help, Vee,” I say, handing him five dollars. He quickly glances at it and stuffs it—crumpled—into his pocket. “Do you want something to drink before you go?”

“A beer?” he asks, and I can hear the hope in his tone.

“How old are you?” I ask, holding back from smiling at his audacity.

“Twenty-two!”

“You’re barely even sixteen,” G says. “Do you want a glass of water?”

“I have Coke Zero,” I say.

“That’d be great,” Vee says. Which I’m soon handing to him.

“If you asked for the glass of water you’d have to stay a bit longer to drink it,” G says. “But you got greedy so now you can walk back to the store with your can.”

Vee seems to know he’s played his hand as much as he’s able and is letting himself out. Before he closes the door he turns to me and says, “Any time you need help just ask for Vee.” Then he’s gone.

I look at G, laughing. “He’s so sweet!”

“He’s hilarious. Every woman too old for him he charms the pants off but he has no luck with girls his own age.” I laugh thinking I can full well understand how his enthusiasm and innocence would be off-putting to a jaded, all-knowing 16 year old girl.

We put the groceries away with G showing me the best place to store everything, which sometimes involves a slight reorganisation. Eventually I’m pulling another Coke Zero out of the fridge, for me this time, while G is opening a beer. We sit down at the same table we’d previously eaten his lovely eggs on. “OK, G, you’ve held me in suspense long enough, what’s this book?”

“Me, and my dad, and Rita, wrote a cookery book. It’s not fancy, just cheap-ish printing. Simple recipes covering a range of cuisines. The whole point of it was to give people who didn’t cook much, or ever really before, a quick way into mostly decent and healthy food, affordably. Especially people getting their own place for the first time, or who finally accepted they can’t or don’t want to pay for take-out.”

“People like me,” I say.

“People like you,” he says. He’s zipping open his bag and pulls out some tubs of what appear to be cooked rice, then he hands me a simple stapled book, regular printer paper in size, of maybe 150 or so pages, with a colour cover of a rice dish with veggies in it, and on the back is an advertisement for the chain of stores we’ve just come from.

I begin to flick through and it’s not like any other cookery book I’ve seen before. It’s dense, with small type, sometimes four recipes to a page, no photos rather line illustrations—quite good ones—and it’s entirely in black and white.

“I’ve never seen anything like this,” I say. “I’ve bought and been gifted a few cook books but nothing like this.”

“Yeah...” G says. “It’s functional and affordable. Like the recipes in it. Page 24.”

I flick to page 24 and one of the recipes on the page is for the eggs G showed me how to cook. “Wow!”

“Last page,” G says.

I go to the last page and the recipe covers the whole thing apart from a small black and white photo at the bottom. The same dish as on the cover. After it is simply the text, ‘Good Luck! You Can Cook!’

“OK..?”

“It’s the most difficult recipe in the book, in my opinion anyway. Others find some of the other recipes more difficult, but this one involves spices that seem to intimidate people. If you can make that you can make anything else in there. You’re going to make it now. You ready?”

“Right now!?” I ask.

“Well, in a few minutes. We’ll finish our drinks, and I’ll have another beer while I supervise.”

I nod a few times, thinking. “It’s a little early for dinner, isn’t it?”

“We’ll just eat a small bit, you’ll want to eat more, though. It’s really good. And there’ll be plenty left over for you later tonight when you get snacky. It’s healthy so don’t worry about over-indulging.”

“I didn’t think you could store rice! Won’t it kill you or something!?”

G starts to laugh, and he seems really, really amused. “You’ve never talked to someone from any Asian country, have you? Certainly not about food.”

“Shut up! I’m not stupid.” I hate when he does this to me. Why is he so put together and informed?

“Rinse the rice a few times before you cook it, which you should do most of the time any way, unless you need the starch for a specific reason. Then just put it in the fridge when it’s cooked, it’ll survive a few days. You can even freeze individual portions.”

I scowl at G. “There was no need for the laughs, you could have just said that.”

G laughs again. “And miss out on your angry face? Never!” And I want to stop my angry face but now I’m angrier again. “Come on, let’s get started. Read the recipe a few times.”

“You’ll help?”

“If I have to.”

So I read the recipe a few times, seeming to get into the rhythm of it. There’s a bit of chopping things, a lot of herbs and spices, some of them needing to be crushed, a lot of quickly adding everything in thirty second intervals, waiting to hear seeds crackle, etc. “How do I crush the seeds?” I ask.

“What does it say?”

“Between two spoons?”

“That’s how you do it then. You ready?” he asks. I nod, then he hands me the tubs of rice.

Then I’m chopping, and arranging all the spices in a row on my kitchen counter-top in order of when I need them, along with the amount and variety of utensils I think I’ll need. “Should I put each spice and herb and things in a bowl? Ready, you know? Pre-measured? To help with the timing?”

“Do you want to wash all those bowls?” G asks.

“Good point, yeah. Well said. So now I just..?”

“Do what the recipe says...”

And that’s how things go. It doesn’t take that long to make to it once I have everything ready, and it’s all cooked in one pan, anyway. I ask G for advice at a few stages and whether I’m doing things correctly and he repeatedly says, “Just do what the recipe says,” and, “Keep going and find out when you eat it.” Before I know it, probably because I was so focused on what I was doing, some sort of nice smelling rice is sitting massed in the pan, more orange than the red I expected with the tomatoes, some bell peppers chopped and mixed through giving it some colour.

I put some onto each plate, with G asking for more than what I put on his originally, and even more again. He has more confidence in me than I do. Or he’s just really hungry. He grabs two beers from the fridge and we’re sitting down at the table again with plates in front of us.

“So I just..?” I say.

“Do you need help with how to eat, too?” he says, laughing. I put my hands to my face in exasperation. He knows full well I’m nervous. This is the most complex thing I’ve ever cooked.

I poke a fork into the rice taking a small bit, then figure I have to go in whole-hearted to this, and load up a little more. I put the fork near my mouth, just beneath my nose, but don’t really smell anything. I guess I just have to do it. I stick it in my maw and I don’t know... I don’t taste anything. Then I do. I chew, and swallow. I load up another fork and quickly eat it down. Then one with a chunk of green bell pepper. I realise I haven’t said anything. “Holy shit, this is amazing, G!”

“Yeah,” G says. “And you made it.”

“It’s your recipe! Holy crap! This is delicious!” And he’s sticking a fork of it into his pie-hole, enjoying it too.

“I doubt it’s my recipe. I think it’s an old one I found in my catalogue, whether I got it from my Dad, or some website, or some book, I don’t know. I had it. Now it’s in the book.”

“You stole it from someone?” I ask.

“Are you going to report me to the police?”

“If they arrested you you’d just have to make it for them and they’d set you free. Saying your work was a net positive on the world. Wow, G!” He laughs at this. “Big-G!” I say, impressed, emphasis on the Big.

“Do you have enough on your plate?” he asks.

“NO! I don’t!” He laughs again.

Then we’re both laughing. And just chatting like normal, both drinking beers and eating really nice food. It’s really comfy.

After we finish, after I’ve spooned out more for myself, I’m flicking through the book, amazed at what G has come up with, and his helpers. “Page 12,” he says.

On it is a lot of writing about the noodles we bought, not the brands, specifically, but any that come in a disposable cup or bowl, or any flavoured broth with noodles. A lot of options and ingredients, things you can add to them to make them into proper meals. “This is what Rita was saying about the students?”

“Yeah, it’s really easy. There’s nothing wrong with those noodles, at least if you don’t go for the ones overloaded with salt. And MSG is not something to worry about, pure racism the hate against that. A few additions from the book with decent noodles is really good. It’s how they’re eaten in the countries they come from, mostly. Apart from, of course, the students there. Who are just as lazy, and stressed and strained, as students are anywhere else.”

“Which do I do?” I ask. “And don’t give me this ‘figure it out, read the book’ crap.”

“Whatever veggies you want, or have, or need to be eaten, quickly fry them at work. Really quickly. They’re mostly fine raw but North American tastes generally want them at least a little cooked. Defrost some of the chicken thighs from the freezer overnight, tonight, and cook them in the oven tomorrow. From Tuesday onwards, when you’re back in the office, you can add the shredded chicken once the veggies are heated up a bit. You’ll be amazed!”

I stand and raise a finger to G. I go to the kitchen and get two tumblers and my bottle of whiskey, then I’m sitting back down. I pour me and G a measure each. “What’s this?” G asks. “You didn’t even ask me. What’s up?”

“Remember when Trevor and Steph brought me back here, the kind of first night, and you stayed?”

“It wasn’t that long ago,” G says.

“Yeah...” It really wasn’t, it was last weekend, but so much has happened. “Well... Steph gave me a bottle of whiskey. She said it was for celebrations and special occasions. This is one. I’d like you to share a glass with me.”

G lifts his glass and clinks it against mine and we both take a sip. “What was the first special occasion?”

“I felt really happy,” I say. “Being me. I was looking through the funny pictures websites I always looked through, every weekend for years, except now I was laughing. Properly laughing. Not just saying to myself ‘that’s funny’ and not actually laughing”

I move to G’s side of the table and sit next to him. I have my phone out and am taking a selfie of the two of us, with G holding his glass up. “Thank you,” I say. He smiles.

It goes quiet for a minute and there’s something on my mind. “The night it first happened, me... Why did you, you know..?” And I make the jerk off motion.

“I thought you needed something to cement it in your mind.”

I’m wondering what he was cementing in my mind. Then I remember I have a boyfriend, now. Who’s sitting in his apartment where we, well... “That’s it? That’s all it was?” I say, and I feel annoyed but don’t know why.

“I mean, yeah, it was a little hot, but I don’t make a habit of doing that,” Big G says.

I nod and think. “And the strip poker? I mean, we were all dudes? Not me, I suppose, but I didn’t know that then. But at the time it was dudes sitting around the table.”

G laughs. “What did we say at the time?” he asks.

“I can’t remember,” I say.

“We knew the girls were coming. We wanted an excuse to be naked in front of them. And they said they’d be entirely happy with that. Anyway, Sam is gay and Alan is bi, and I did notice a few glances from you,” and he laughs again. “Hence the...” And he makes the jerk off motion himself.

“I didn’t even know I was looking,” I whine.

“Now you do. And why! And before you ask no-one but Steve knew about the dress thing. We’d figured out he was probably planning costumes ages ago when he kept asking us height, and chest measurements, and shoe sizes, over bets. ‘Who’s the tallest and by how much?’ ‘Guess your weight.’ No-one knew about the dress aspect, certainly not what it would mean for you. Are you unhappy about all this?”

I furrow my brow in thought. “Just wondering. Especially about Steve.”

G is all laughs now. “I don’t think he has a thing for you. I think he just finds you confusing. You’re suddenly a pretty enough girl he’s known all his life. Maybe if the two of you get really drunk together some time... Would it be bad? Leaving aside the boyfriend thing? Friends hook up, girls and boys hook up. Alan and Sam hooked up that night!” Then he puts the glass down and says, “That was a very enjoyable whiskey, thank you, Toni.”

“You’re welcome, but now I’m confused,” I say.

“It’s really simple. It was just a perfect storm. And Jess was honest with you, she has a thing for women, and a thing for trans women. If she knew you were going to turn into a proper bestie I don’t know if she’d do it. She did though, don’t worry,” G says, and he hugs me into him. “Who cares?”

“I care why I’m me!” I say, getting annoyed.

“Who else would you be?” he says.

“You asked me that this morning and I cried my eyes out!”

“Do you want to cry now?” he asks, and he’s laughing again.

“I can’t even blame hormones!” I say.

“Do you want them?” G asks, sounding sincere again.

“Yes, 100%.” I nod, emphatically, or what I feel is emphatic nodding.

“You are so cute,” G says.

“I am not!”

“And adorable. And I don’t think you realise but you have quite a feminine voice, without even trying.” He grabs me around the shoulder again and gives me a rattle.

“What? I do not! My voice isn’t the deepest but it’s deep enough.”

G smiles. It’s his stupid, all knowing smile. “It’s not about how deep it is. Yeah, it’s not always at a female level but most women’s voices, at least here, go up and down a lot. Changes in pitch when they get excited and sad, even within the same sentence. You seem to do that naturally, without trying. You were doing it by the second night I saw you as Toni. You were free to be yourself. Some trans women have the high register but not the uppy-downy bit.” I think of Natasha and realise that’s what was going through my mind about her, I just didn’t recognise it. She does have a female register but she’s really monotone.

Then I realise G has pointed all these ideas out to me. I might stop. “Why did you make me conscious of that!? Just let me be, G!” I say.

“But you’re still doing it. It’s who you are!”

“Stop telling me how much of a girl I am!”

“Then stop pouting when you say things like that,” he says, and he scoffs, filled with scorn.

“Oh go home!” I say.

“No! Unless you’re happy here, on your own?”

“I didn’t think of it but I should probably so some chores, and laundry, you know? And I probably stink, I haven’t showered since early yesterday morning,” I say, and I sniff at my pits.

“OK,” he says. So we say our goodbyes with me thanking him for all his help today, and I give him a kiss on the cheek. Then I’m getting down to chores. It only takes a couple of hours of effort until I’m finally sitting back into the couch.

I decide to message Tim, and I know exactly what to text him. I send the picture I’ve taken of me and G with the text of, “This is the man you should be jealous of.”

A minute later I get back, “If he’s a friend of my girlfriend I know I can trust him. She has superb taste.” And now he’s being annoying, just like G.

I message him the picture Sally took of me in his hockey jersey, being cute, or possibly hot. “This is why you should be jealous!”

A few minutes go by and I hear nothing from him. I’m checking my phone every few seconds and eventually a message does come through. It’s of Tim, and his chest, and a lump in his underwear. I think of that lump and what I want to do to it. It’s really damn hot. And I don’t know how but we’re sexting. I’m doing things to myself Tim was doing to me yesterday and I know he’s doing things to himself. I have the pictures of him doing them, and some video. I feel giddy.

Then we’re saying we’ll message again tomorrow.

I sit back, very happy, but feel something is missing, or was missing. From what me and Tim did. I message Alan asking if I can call and within a few minutes he’s calling me.

“I have a boyfriend!” I say.

“Oh my god! Was it fun? Did you enjoy yourself?” he asks.

“How do you know I’m calling about that?” I ask.

“Oh please! You have a boyfriend and now you’re calling your bi male friend with excitement and nerves in your voice.”

“It was just fingers, but yeah, it was good. I understand why you do it,” I say.

“I’ve never done it!” Alan says. “Done it to other people, yes. Talked to people about it, of course. To myself? Or with anyone else? Nope, nope, nope!”

“You should try it, it’s enjoyable,” I say, trying to sound flirty.

“Nope. But are you calling about what I think you’re calling about?” Alan asks.

“What do you mean?” I ask.

“You’ve just had your tiny girl-brain blown and are interested in ‘Self-Care’ now you’re all alone.”

“How do you do this? Am I really this transparent?”

“I’ve known you for years, Toni. I’ve been myself for years. And I know you’re only using me as a font of knowledge. I’ll message you a website. They’re local. And do local same-day delivery. If you order now you’ll have what you want tomorrow morning. Enjoy yourself! Read the guides! Now hang up and call me back later!”

“Thank you, Alan,” I say.

“I want a Christmas present this year,” Alan says.

“I know what I’m getting you, too,” I say.

“I’ll murder you!” Alan says. And we hang up.

Then I’m on my laptop, looking at the website Alan messaged me, for hours, before eventually hitting the button for the fastest delivery. After that it’s a night of messaging friends, and my sister, and a long call with Alan, and more messaging with the football group, before I eventually climb into bed. It’s a work day tomorrow, but at least I get to be me at home.

Toni’s weekend is over—she somehow found herself a boyfriend, Tim—but now it’s back to work. She has to finish her report on the business’s healthcare plan, hopefully getting back a proofread draft from Mallory without too many issues spotted, then submitting it first thing Tuesday. She knows a lot rides on this, perhaps even her job. Will it work out for Toni? Will it be received as well as she feels it’s good? Or will her boss, Greg, get up to his usual rubbish of throwing chaos at her? She has a plan for Greg, though.

---

Please note the first of what will hopefully be many short stories, and possibly novellas, in the Toni With An i/Light Avenue world was released last week; Not Strong Enough to Run. Featuring Steph and Trevor, and a new character, nurse Paul, it’s set roughly ten years before Toni With An i and fills in some (many?) background details. Or at least gives clues as to what’s going on in the yes/no/maybe? LGBTQ+ bar that is Light Avenue.

---

I don’t know how many times I’ve groaned this morning. I’m exhausted. Absolutely shattered but I can’t sleep, for some reason. I did sleep, and slept well, but now I’m just awake.

Nothing bad is going through my mind, nothing is bothering me. It’s just one of those things. I am simply awake. I don’t think I’ll even get dressed but I spent the stupidly early hours, at least before official work starting time, going through the exercise clothes Steve bought me. At some point I’m going to have to get a floor length mirror, less of a concern when you’re wearing boring man clothes but I am completely certain I want to be looking my cutest now.

Sitting in front of my laptop I check my emails, nothing important has come in. And there’s been no calls from Greg. I switch on the TV with my personal laptop hooked up to it and play some of the football games from the weekend in the background, just listening to the commentary, occasionally glancing at it, and hearing the roaring of the crowd, along with the odd apology that inappropriate language may have been picked up by the stadium microphones.

Eventually, bang on 11am, Mallory’s edits from my report on our healthcare plan come through. Explaining in her email she seems pretty happy with it, she has a few suggestions, some grammar and clarity edits, along with a few typos the spellcheck wouldn’t be able to pick. Her immediate suggestions are good, and I appreciate them. Then I’m going through the entire document mostly approving her changes.

I think the document is done. It’s ready. I’ll give it a few hours without looking at it and have one last check. I’ve done the best I can. I’m certain of that. I just hope it’s enough. I know this is a test. I know it’s possible my job rests on it. I know someone at the office knows about the real me, and they’re seeing if I’m worth the hassle with continuing to work there.

With nothing else to do I’m pulling the boned chicken thighs out of the oven, enough for the week, like G suggested. I let them cool, then tear some up for the noodles, quickly frying up veggies. The noodles are good with all the additions, much better and much more of a meal than what I’d have before. G has a career as a chef, or at least as a cook, if he wants it.

Then, having eaten, I’m ready to get the drop on Greg, for once. And I know I will. I’m certain of it. I punch his number into my phone and hold it to my ear, feeling both giddy and nervous.

“Tony?” he says, picking up.

“You were going to call me sometime in the next hour or so, and ask me to email you the whole report. To ensure I wasn’t pulling an all-nighter. I can email it to you now.”

He laughs. “I was going to ask you that, but it wasn’t to ensure you didn’t pull an all-nighter. It was to ensure you weren’t worried about it all night, handing it in tomorrow. I already asked Mallory what the draft she saw was like. She said it was good. I believe her.”

“Did you read it?” I ask, getting annoyed that he still, somehow, has one up on me.

“No. I’ll read it when you email it to me. After I send it onto Mr. Mayer. If we agree it’ll get broad distribution tomorrow. There’ll be no further edits from us. This is your work. You stand or fall based on it. Are you happy with that?”

I think about it, a little confused, or maybe doubtful. “Yeah, that’s fine. What do I do now?” I ask.

“It’s 3pm, take the afternoon off. Everyone slacks when they’re working from home. Enjoy the last of it. Do you have anything you want to do? No-one’s going to call you.”

“I’m going to paint my nails, Greg!” I say, trying to annoy him again, realising I will have to take the polish off before work tomorrow.

“What colour?” Greg asks.

“A kind of neutral, pale pink. Like the nail-bed colour.”

“Sounds professional enough to me, as long as they’re not talons. I’ll see you 9am tomorrow. You and the gals can chat about your nails on your break,” he says, laughing, which is fucking annoying. I think I won’t take the polish off. Fuck him!

“Yeah, us gals chatting and talking about boys!”

“That’s the spirit, Tony! 9am tomorrow, my office.”

Which is what I do. The rest of the Monday I spent just chilling out, and eating the last of the cold leftover rice I made with G. Just before 9am, the next day, I’m walking into the office, well rested, wearing my man chinos and a shirt with a warm coat over it. I swipe past security and take the elevator to my floor, heading straight for Greg’s office, my hands balled into fists trying to hide my nail polish.

I knock, and Greg yells for me to come in. As I get to before his desk he stands and extends a hand, as though to shake it. I do shake it, obviously seeing my painted nails and him seeing them too. He smirks. “Congratulations, Tony. You have finally reached the level of work we knew you were capable of. Well done. Now you have to begin to get better than that.”

“My job isn’t at risk?” I ask.

“It never was,” Greg says, looking confused. “We were seeing what changes we might need to make. We do have confidence in you. Maybe our approach wasn’t working. We do make mistakes in hiring people, often, in fact. We didn’t feel we made one with you. We just had to figure out what worked best for you. Now, Mr. Mayer wants to see you. Off you trot!”

“My nails...” I say.

“What do you know of Ben?” Greg says.

“What do I tell other people? Someone will ask.”

“Tell them what you want. Or the truth? That you did it to annoy me. Which you failed at. They’re professional. That’s all that matters. Now go see Ben, then back to me. Take out your laptop and leave it here, along with your bag.”

Then I’m being sent into Mr. Mayer’s office by his secretary after she greets me. Apparently I’m his first meeting of the day. “Tony, good morning! Coffee?” he asks.

“Not necessary,” I say, laughing, and thinking I don’t want to put him through the misery of pretending to drink another coffee with someone, the main role of his job, it seems. And he seems to appreciate it as he smiles, quite genuinely, when I say it.

“Sit down... How was working from home?”

I think for a moment. “It was good. I appreciated the freedom, especially. And that Greg seemed happy to give it to me. It allowed me to sort some things out.”

“That’s good,” Mr. Mayer says. “Did you get to be more yourself?”

I nod, knowing what he means. Knowing he knows I’m trans. “Yes, I did. I think it helped.”

“Your work is very good. It’ll be appreciated by a lot of people, and annoy a few people with what it points out.”

“Therese?” I ask.

“No. She’s delighted with it. I sent it to her last night. It’s going out to the rest of HR in this office this morning. They’ll have a meeting about it later in the week. It will bring about changes, probably even nationally. Some of them quite major.” He begins to fumble in a desk drawer. “Which is why you’re getting this.” He hands me an unsealed envelope with my name on it. “Open it!”

I look inside the envelope and there’s a check for $2,500. “What? Why..?”

“Greg argued that because we pay you, ‘poverty wages,’ in his terms, you should get this straight away, not in your end of year bonus or in your next paycheck.”

“This is a bonus?” I ask, amazed.

“Specifically for you catching there are areas where it’s possible to have our health insurance plan but not be entitled to any specific coverage from necessary professionals. Legal are having a field day with it. It could save the business millions in a settlement, non-public, of course. I wouldn’t be surprised if someone, or a few people, lose their job. It’s serious, although less serious than if someone actually needed care and didn’t get it, but we’re checking to make sure that didn’t happen.”

I shake my head in disbelief. “This is a lot of money,” I say. “I just did my job.”

“Do you not want it?” he asks, then laughs as he sees the look on my face. “I’m getting an extremely expensive vacation out of this. I don’t know what Greg is getting but it’ll be more than you. But we’re your bosses, so we’re getting a bigger slice of the pie. Welcome to corporate life.”

“And I get a bonus?” I ask. “Another one?”

“Probably,” Mr. Mayer says. “It’ll be noted this is good work, that’s for finding the gap, work like the report will be calculated at end of year. Keep it up and the bonus could be substantial. Anyway, you felt working from home benefited you... Would you be interested in doing it more often?”

“Yes! Of course!” I say, and this is more exciting than the money for some reason.

“OK, I’ll phone some people. We’ll see. You’re going back to Greg?” I nod. “Fine, off you go. This really is good work, Tony. I’m glad the freedom you gained allowed you to do it. And that Greg insisted we give you this chance, now.”

Walking into Greg’s office, I don’t know why, I blurt out. “Do you know I’m trans, Greg?”

Greg laughs. “I didn’t until now. I did see you in a store with a friend, boyfriend? There’s lots of reasons you could have been dressed like that. You seemed happy, it was your day off. What does it matter to me? Are you happy?”

I suddenly feel very serious. “Yes. Since that weekend. And no, he’s not my boyfriend. I guess he was just buying me a coming out gift.”

Greg actually looks surprised now. “This is this recent?” he asks.

“Yes. Kind of sudden, really...”

Greg nods and seems to think for a few moments. “Whatever you choose to do, I cannot guarantee the full support of everyone in the office. I cannot control people like that. I can guarantee my full support, and Ben’s full support. I don’t feel I’m overstepping to say you will get the full support of this office as an entity. The people, on the other hand... But we’ll deal with that if it arises. And I hope it doesn’t. I don’t particularly like having to get angry with people, it spoils my image of being fun and friendly,” he says. And I’m laughing; he knows full well that’s not his image and it’s certainly not the one he cultivates. “It seems like everything happened in a whirlwind then, just enough things falling into line. Do you want to work from home again?”

“Yes,” I say.

“OK, you’re approved for two days work from home. They cannot be both a Monday and Friday, nor can they be two days next to each other leading up to or after a weekend, unless maybe there’s a public holiday. That’s not the precise meaning but you get what I’m saying, no long party weekends unless they’re approved. Two days mid-week are fine, assuming you have no pressing need to be in the office. You don’t need approval for them but checking with me would be appreciated, especially at the beginning of the process. From 10am to 3pm you need to be available, outside of that time is flexible. A break for a coffee, or lunch break, or to use the lady’s room is fine, of course. Just get back to people as soon as you can. Is all this OK with you?”

“That’s great. I mean, thank you! This really means a lot.”

“This is what happens when you do good work. Now up to HR. Therese will arrange some things with you. And back to me again, after. At least you’ll be getting your steps in.”

And it is more steps, as I’m now trudging to the HR department, where Therese is seemingly ready. She grabs some paper and a pen and brings me to one of the small, private rooms, where we both sit.

“This moved faster than I expected,” Therese says.

“How do you mean?” I ask, crossing my legs beneath the table.

“I know Mr. Mayer, Ben, approved it and said to expect it. The ultimate decision is up to Greg, whatever you said or did he made the decision very quickly. Much faster than usual.”

I cough and again find myself saying some words without thinking. “I told him I’m trans,” I say.

“Good for you!” Therese says. She looks delighted. “However you want to transition, in whatever way you want, we’ll work with you with it. From the healthcare plan or in the job. Whenever you want. If you want.”

“Did you know?” I ask.

She looks thoughtful for a second. “I figured something was going on when Ben took you to our informal LGBTQ+ group, and said to put you on the mailing list. I guessed at it when I read your report, with some of the stuff you spotted on trans plans. The need for electrolysis was a good spot, I hadn’t thought about laser not always being effective. The report is excellent, by the way. Really helpful. Is there anything you need straight away about your gender identity?”

“A drink,” I say, and Therese laughs.

“It’s a good thing I have a sense of humour. Some HR people would be fretting over a comment like that. This is a good office, though, and we have a decent system for work from home. Do you live with other people? Do you have a spare room you can use? Or just some extra space?”

“Hmm.... Give me a second...” I say, taking out my phone and opening my gallery app. “I live alone, but there’s no spare room, it’s just a living room with a small dining table, a couch.” I keep flicking quickly through photos until I find what I want. “This is the space I have.” I show her the photos I took of the apartment when I first moved in, as proof of the condition of the space.

She takes my phone and indicates to ask if she can flick between the photos. I nod. Eventually she says. “This will work, if we can use the entire wall. I assume that’s a normal sized door there.”

“It is, and you can use as much space as you want if I get to work from home.”

Therese nods. “OK. We’ll set you up with a home office setup; chair, desk, laptop dock, a permanent monitor, some other bits and pieces. Little table with a printer, maybe? Wifi we can manage, you’ll use a VPN on your laptop the IT department is updating but you’re free to use our system for personal reasons if your home wifi goes down, just try not to use your work laptop unless you’re stuck. Other offices check it to make sure people are working, this office it’s usually the opposite; to make sure people aren’t working too much. IT will also sort you out with a work phone, but if you leave we get it back and the number is ours. People won’t use your personal number unless it’s an important matter, such as we’re worried you fell ill or something. Or Greg wants to annoy you, we can’t control him. All this OK?”

“Yeah, it’s fine,” I say, a little shocked at how sudden this is. I hadn’t realised so much had ridden on my report. I thought it was about keeping my job and it seems almost as if I’m getting a promotion. “I hadn’t expected this week to be as crazy as my last week.”

“Sorry, Tony,” Therese says. “And if you can think of something you feel you need for working at home say it to me today, there is a budget for specific needs an employee has that not everyone might. If you think of it straight away we can sort it out straight away.”

“A floor length mirror?” I say, taking a chance. Everything else seems to be working out.

Therese sucks air through her teeth and looks skyward, or at least ceiling-ward. Almost straining. “Those windows in your apartment are small, and quite high. I know natural light is very important to health, physical and mental. I can see how with a tall, free-standing mirror you could move you would boost the natural light around your workspace. Do you concur?”

“I do,” I say, with a smile.

“Do you feel better having people know?” she asks.

I know exactly what she’s referring to. “I do, yes. And working from home let me be me. And the whole thing is giving me some purpose, something to latch onto. I’m happier. I thought the report I was working on was about keeping my job, not about giving me opportunities.”

Therese puts her fingers to her lips, and furrows her brow for a few seconds. I can tell she’s battling something in her mind. “There were concerns you weren’t motivated, that you weren’t even challenged, really. People were waiting for you to get angry and stand up for yourself. Greg, with Ben’s help, went a different direction. The challenge, yes, and an opportunity, but he’d begun to feel concerned that you didn’t have the freedom to express yourself. To gain that confidence. He got it right. He usually does, eventually.”

I gasp at what I’m hearing. I can’t help it. If Greg had tried what he tried even two weeks ago things could be very different. Then I really think about it, this couldn’t have happened two weeks ago. Greg tried what he did because he saw Big-G buying me a purse. I pick up my phone while saying, “I can’t believe how lucky I am. How things are coming together for me. It feels like I was lost for so long and now things are really working.”

“That’s a common story for LGBTQ people. Come back to the group when it’s held again. I can arrange one for next week if you want. I’ll come up with a reason. People will come for the pastries and gossip, no matter what.”

“Let me think about it...” I show Therese a picture of the purse Big-G bought for me, with the stitching of the frog by a brook in an enchanted forest. “Greg saw a friend buy me this. A coming out present,” I say.

“That suits you,” Therese says. “But if Greg is stalking you I can get him fired. It’d be hilarious.”

I laugh. “Not stalking me, but I do need to see him, again.”

So I’m knocking on Greg’s door, letting myself in when he barks. “Fancy over-engineered German high-tech whizbang wizard chair?” he says.

“That costs far too much,” I say. “I might sell it on the office furniture black market to make up for my poverty wages.”

“Now you’re learning the business! But not today, you’re going to lunch. Take Mallory. Nice move on thanking her explicitly in the report. And early. She’s already written me a bitchy email saying other people should be so respectful.”

I laugh. “Well, they should. No-one ever thanked me when I did edits. Anyway, what’s this with lunch?”

Greg gives a passable impression of a Gallic shrug. “Partly reward, also if you keep doing good work you’ll eventually graduate to wining and dining clients. They sometimes like to see the peons we have working on their accounts. Order what you want, even the extremely expensive steaks. You don’t strike me as a steak woman—don’t worry, that’s out of understanding for you, it does not go further than me and you, and the people I get drunk with, which believe me is no-one in this office—just please no alcohol on the bill. Once the booze starts in that restaurant they’re very good at keeping you topped up. It’s a close walk to there and our car service will take both you and Mallory home. I’ll email you their number, and the name of the restaurant. Give yours and Mallory’s name. They know how this works. You get to tell Mallory.”

I have absolutely no idea what’s happening with all this, other than it is a test, as everything seems to be. “Thank you, I guess. That does bring something up. We have a kitchen, a staff kitchen, don’t we?”

“We do,” Greg says.

“Can I use it to cook?” I ask.

“Cook what?” Gregg asks, looking suspicious.

I try to give him a confident stare that tells him I have no plans to cook human brains or anything like that. “Just fry some veggies, to add to noodles. I have some pre-cooked chicken thighs in my bag I should really put in the fridge there.”

“Yeah, that’s no problem. It actually sounds intelligent given what we pay you. Just no microwaving fish, please.”

“What do I work on until lunch?” I ask.

“Minesweeper, solitaire, your choice,” Greg says, waving his hands.

“My laptop doesn’t have them. I’ve checked,” I say. “They were removed by IT. And I can’t get them through the store on the laptop.”

Greg laughs. “Your laptop has the full work from home upgrades now. There are other upgrades available if you achieve them. For instance I can play chess and backgammon, and the like, online. Browser games, old flash games, that kind of thing.”

“What if I make it to the C-suite?” I ask.

“You’ve heard of corporate raiders?” Greg asks.

“Yes?”

“C-suite are World of Warcraft raiders. Still playing it decades later. That’s all they do. They have one of the highest ranked raiding guilds on their server, someone’s child or grandchild, or niece, or something introduced them,” he says, nodding assuredly. “At least it’s not flight sims...”

“I’m not too sure you’re entirely lying,” I say.

“Wait until you see the corporate room on the top floor,” he says, laughing. “Are you happy to be seen with your nails? It’s really no issue, not with me, but if you’re worried I have some nail polish remover in my cupboard of wonders.”

“Cupboard of wonders?” I ask.

“You know how in elementary school there was a teacher who had a cupboard filled with items for literally any problem or emergency?”

“You see us as elementary school kids?” I say, still not insulted by Greg’s madness.

“There’s some of you I doubt are fully potty trained. Now, if you’re happy with your nails visit the kitchen, explain things to Mallory, then get down to some gaming before lunch. Gaming is extremely important!”

Which is exactly what I do. Explaining the lunch thing to Mallory she looks surprised before saying, “It’s about time we got some recognition!”

And soon I’m sitting at my laptop playing solitaire. I do check in on my emails as they come in, or as soon as I think to look. There’s nothing major, apart from a scan of the cheque I received from Mr. Mayer’s secretary. She says it should be good enough to use if my online banking has the facility to accept it that way, which it does.

After another few rounds of solitaire, and some moments I feel I could scream at stupid Minesweeper, I check my email again. There’s an email from Greg to my entire department, the elementary school, as he seems to think of it, which I guess is what it is. We’re all new-ish hires who’ve yet to be moved somewhere permanent. It’s my report, with Greg telling everyone to read it when they get a chance, as it’s the standard of work he expects from people. And a threat that if such a standard is not met, soon, “there will be consequences!!!” Actually with three exclamation marks, which makes me laugh. He’s so full of bluster!

After thirty minutes I notice there’s more people passing my desk. I eventually ask one of the women who seems to be loitering what’s going on.

“People wanted to get a look at Wonderboy. Great job at mentioning Mallory, by the way! That’s something the higher ups never do. Glad to see you’re one of us,” she says, as she smiles. “And what’s the story with your nails? They’re really pretty. Some of the women are being thundercunts about it. Fuck them!”

“Yep, they are pretty. I like them. When Greg asked me what I had planned after I emailed him that report, yesterday, saying I could take the afternoon off, it annoyed me. So I said I was painting my nails. Now...” I hold my fingers up and waggle them.

“Keep getting them done. Maybe it’ll get Greg even more pissy. He’s such an asshole.”

I laugh and go back to playing Minesweeper, determined to finally beat the fucker. I soon start hearing laughter and mention of nails and it pissing off Greg. Before long it’s time for my lunch, and I’m walking into a comfortable, classy restaurant like you’d see in a New York mob film, maybe a little more glass frontage, and a little more spacious. They have no problem with our booking and see us to a table, sitting Mallory against the wall and me on opposite the chair.

There’s bread on the table, quickly, along with some water in a jug, and some oils and vinegars, and butter.

“Right,” Mallory says. “What’s your name?”

“Tony,” I say. She knows my name. She’s emailed me.

“Bullshit! Your real name! Those nails weren’t done yesterday, and certainly not to piss Greg off, and your eyebrows are shaped. You’re trans. What’s your name? Spill it.”

“Toni,” I say, somehow shocked at the reveal. Then realise she’s ready for another round if I don’t explain the difference in what I’m saying. “Toni with an i.”

“Toni, fine. I bet you’re cute.”

“I am pretty cute,” I say, smiling.

“There’s gonna be another bitch hotter than me in the office, soon, then,” she says, annoyed.

“I don’t know about—”

Mallory makes a low growling noise. “OK, fine. Not a bitch. You are hotter than me though. I can already see that. I shouldn’t be mean, you’re the only person who’s ever thanked me in a final report. And fuck me, what a report!”

“Really?” I ask. Why has it caused such a buzz?

“The bits on women’s healthcare? Real insight! They’re things that needed to be said,” she says. “And now they’re written, in a document, that people will see!”

I smile thinking of Jess and Sally, then I remember where their conversations went to in the chat. “Yeah, my friends helped me with that, just in a group chat. They were disgusting when they got going!”

Mallory laughed. “You have real friends then,” she says, as some menus are placed in front of us.

“Do you need some drinks now?” the woman asks.

“Fizzy water, a bottle of it? Please?” I say. “Mallory?”

“That’s good by me,” Mallory says.

The woman nods and is walking away as we begin to look at the menu. The steak menu is longer than the rest of it, which has enough but isn’t over-laden with options.

“Are we doing starters?” Mallory asks.

“If you want. Do you know what you’re getting already?”

Mallory has a huge smile on her face. “I’ve heard my Dad talk about this place with reverence. He says they do an aged steak. I don’t know about starters. This restaurant is actually why my Dad told me to apply to the office here, this place is close-by.”

The woman is back with a large bottle of sparkling water, chilling in a bucket. “Are you ready to order?” she asks.

“We’re unsure on starters,” I say.

“I’m happy to make some recommendations if you have a main course picked, however it’s up to you.”

Mallory nods at me and I nod back. “I’m having the aged steak. The one you’re famous for,” she says.

The woman smiles. “Do I need to ask how you want it cooked?”

“You do not. The chef will decide best. The same for sides.”

The woman smiles, even wider, then looks at me. “The seafood pasta,” I say, pointing at it on the menu. “The one with the spinach.”

The woman looks to be in thought for a few seconds. “With the seafood pasta I’d suggest the ox-tongue starter. There’s no other choice for you,” she says, turning to Mallory. “You have to have the oysters. It’s the classic experience.”

“Perfect!” Mallory says.

“It sounds great,” I say. “Thank you so much for the help.”

“Do you need to be back to work soon? Or have plans?” the woman asks.

“No, we can take as long as we need. There’s no rush on anything.”

“So you’re happy for me to time this? The pace of your dining.”

“Of course,” Mallory says.

The woman takes the menus after loosening the metal cap on the bottle of sparkling water. I notice she’s left the drinks menu, which is much thicker than the food menu.

“Greg said they have a way of making you run up the drinks tab here,” I say.

“Maybe next time,” Mallory says, actually looking annoyed. I don’t particularly need a drink, though, despite what I said to Therese earlier on. This feels normal. Like when I’m the real me. It’s easy.

We munch on a bit more bread for a few minutes, telling each other which oil to try. Then Mallory looks at me, all serious-like. “Do you have a picture of you?” she asks, and the seriousness falls from her face.

I should have expected this from the start, but I do reach for my purse before remembering I don’t have a purse today. I reach into my pocket instead, and take out my phone, finding the picture of me and Tim. “I’ll show you this, but then we talk about you. I’m sick of talking about me. Everywhere I go things are about me,” I say, handing my phone to Mallory.

“He is so hot!” Mallory virtually moans.

“What about me?” I ask, annoyed.

“Yeah, yeah, you’re right, you’re cute. Cute enough. But him? Damn! Who he is?”

“My boyfriend,” I say, feeling giddy.

“Oh, fuck you! You are a bitch. I retract everything nice I said to you.”

“Fine! Now we talk about you,” I say, holding my hand out for my phone. Instead of handing it to me she’s flicking through more of the gallery. I grab it out of her hand and quickly shut it off.

I wasn’t fast enough. Her eyes are wide. “You naughty girl!” she says. “I saw that! So what’s he like?”

“Fun!” I say, sternly. “Now you, what do you do for fun?”

“Well my next bit of fun will involve thinking about your boyfriend! But when I’m not doing that I mostly listen to baseball.”

‘Listen to baseball?’ I think. “How do you mean?”

“Baseball is better on the radio than on TV. Best in the stadium, of course, but radio is pure. I listen to recordings, new games, old games, classic games. Everything. And I do stats stuff. My Dad got me into it.”

“I like football,” I say.

“They’re meatheads.”

“Soccer-football, I mean.”

“Divers,” she says. “And cheaters.”

“From what I know of baseball you shouldn’t really be calling any other sport cheaters,” I say, laughing.

“A more honest form of cheating in baseball,” Mallory says, then we’re both laughing, as the starters are laid down.

We start into it, and the food is simply amazing. I have one of Mallory’s oysters, and she has a slice of my ox tongue. Apart from that we don’t really say a word about anything, we’re just focused on eating, and making impressed-faces at each other.

After we finish we’re just looking at each other, as the woman is picking up our plates. “How was that?” she asks.

“Amazing!” Mallory says. “Everything I’ve heard about this place is correct.”

The woman nods and smiles.

I take a drink of my water. “I—”

“I wonder if oysters really do make you horny?” Mallory says.

“Why?” I ask, concerned.

“It’s been a while since I’ve been with anyone. I really need to get out more. I don’t really like going out at night, though. Which makes things difficult. Only on special occasions.”

I think for a second. “I usually watch a soccer game with a friend, sometimes friends. It’s early Saturday morning, like 7.30am early—”

“Ew...”

“But there’s another game around 10am, and another at 12.30. If you want you’re more than welcome to come.”

Mallory makes a Hrrrmm noise. “Convince me...” she says.

“There’ll be a lot of men there,” I say, but she looks doubtful. “The food is really good.”

“OK, give me your number, remind me later in the week.”

So we exchange numbers, like friends. My first real work friend. And she actually knows about Toni. Then we talk about sports, mainly. What drew us into them. Some of the work she seems to have done on baseball, with the stats, sounds incredibly intricate, but she says she’s really rehashing old ground, mostly.

Then we’re talking about family. She rents an apartment with her sister, who sounds really annoying. I actually bring up my parents, and how I don’t know how to tell them about me. Mallory says it didn’t even occur to her that she’d see me dressed as a woman on the Saturday, that she already sees a woman in front of her.

I’m surprised when the woman who served us earlier is standing next to us, with another server behind her holding more dishes. She places Mallory’s food down, saying, “The steak, with sides of green beans and mashed potatoes.” Then she places my seafood pasta down and asks if I’d like some freshly ground black pepper, or lemon, but I say I’ll manage it myself.

Somehow the food is even better than the starters. Mallory’s steak tastes like nothing I’ve ever eaten in my life. The spinach doesn’t even taste like actual spinach, it’s like a seasoning to the fish and the creaminess of the pasta.

We’re again just looking at each other when we finish. I take a piece of the bread, which has been refilled at some point, and mop up as much of the pasta sauce as I can with it, offering to Mallory before doing one for me.

“Ladies,” a man, in a suit, and holding a drink says, as he sits down on the wall side of the table next to us, next to Mallory. Another man sits down on the seat opposite, on the side next to me. They don’t seem to be being seated by anyone.

“Ladies?” Mallory asks, sounding incredulous.

“I’m sorry for my co-worker,” the guy says, next to me. “I know it’s ‘women’ these days, it just doesn’t roll off the tongue as well. Neither of us are fans.”

Mallory laughs. “You look at us and think ‘ladies?’”

“Fine, yeah, a woman and a dyke,” the first guy, the more drunk guy says. “Secretaries getting a treat? No alcohol allowed, of course.”

Mallory nods. “I’ve been told to have a conversation with Toni, here. Get her wearing something more appropriate to her gender.”

I snort. “I don’t see you wearing a skirt, Mallory,” I say. “Anyway, you know what the men are like. They get handsy if you dress as hot as we can be, you’ve seen me in a dress.”

“You wear a skirt and I’ll wear a skirt. Maybe one of the bosses will take a shine. Leave their wives for a younger model. We’d never have to work a day again if we get them bothered enough they forget the pre-nup.”

The female server is back again. “I don’t think I need to ask how the meal went,” she says, taking some of the plates. Another server is placing two champagne glasses down in front of us. “On the house. I know your account says it won’t cover alcohol but we wanted to apologise for the troubles we really should have seen. It won’t be on your bill,” the woman continues, as the other server steps back.

“Standards have really slipped here,” less drunk guy says.

“Sometimes things slip through without our noticing, but we try to do our best in such circumstances. We do apologise,” the woman says.

“Champagne, I hope?” drunk guy says.

“Sparkling house white. Our own label,” the woman says. “I thought our guests would prefer it.”

Less drunk guy beckons the woman speaking to us, while holding a drinks a menu. She hands off the plates she’s carrying to another server who’s appeared and she is soon behind less drunk guy, very professionally holding her hands clasped behind her back, leaning in to look at something he’s pointing out. “A great choice, Sir,” She says. “How many glasses?”

“Two. And a bottle of Johnnie Walker Blue for us, two fresh glasses.”

The woman nods and stands upright. Then looks towards me and Mallory. “If you’d like to freshen up while the table is cleared let me show you the way,” she says.

We both know this is more of an instruction than an inquiry, so we stand, watching yet another server fuss with our table.

She begins to walk with me and Mallory to her side. “I’m Irene. If those two bother you just give me the nod. Or anyone. We’ll recognise it. We’ll have someone watching your table at all times, so don’t worry. Mainly it’ll be me.”

“Why—”

“You two seem capable. And I like you, Toni, and you, Mallory. You really enjoyed that steak. The bread on the pasta sauce, Toni? The kitchen will be delighted. The lady’s is there. Take your time. Like I said, someone is constantly watching your table. I don’t think those two are dangers. Just fools.”

“I can—” I begin to say, but I’m cut off.

“Use the women’s bathroom as it’s where you’re more comfortable, with your friend,” Irene says, rubbing my shoulder.

Then we walk into the bathroom, where Mallory just stares at me. “What’s going on?” she asks. “I was just playing with them, but it seems everyone is.”

I give a tired laugh. “Everyone’s playing with us. Everyone! Greg picked this place for a reason. I bet you they’re reporting back to him. It seems everyone is trading on secrets and information. Do you know he told me everything anyone does for him, in his department, is partly a test?”

Mallory shakes her head as she says, “What do we do?”

I shrug. “Take part? Play the game? Try to pass the test? I’m not too sure you can really fail. I think they just gather more information, until your case is terminal.”

Mallory pinches at her lips. “We continue to fuck with those guys?”

“Yeah, I suppose,” I say. At which point Mallory salutes me. Then we use the bathroom for actual bathroom reasons, and we’re walking back to our table.

A man is placing down another ice-bucket, this time with its own stand, in between the table the drunk guys are sitting at and our table. Irene is also placing down their whisky, and two glasses for them, with another bucket of ice except no champagne bottle in it, just some tongs.

As we sit I see two cards in front of me, business cards. There’s the same in front of Mallory.

“Given our roles we don’t have business cards,” I say to the fools.

“Dress a bit sexier and we can get you jobs, the pay will be much better than wherever you are,” less drunk guy says.

“We can do the interviews now, if you want,” drunk guy says, then he starts making slurping noises.

Mallory makes a disgusted-looking face at me and says, “I think we’d need something a little stronger to even imagine doing that.”

Drunk guy picks up their bottle of Johnnie Walker and pours some, a very small amount, into our empty water glasses. “Do you drink whisky?”

“I’ve had a little,” I say. “Nothing like this.”

Somehow Irene is standing next to the drunk fools. “You wanted something?” she says.

“Is Simon working?” less drunk guy asks.

“He is,” Irene says. “Do you have a request?”

“Could he imagine up an introduction to whiskies for our soon to be secretaries?”

Irene nods. “Any instructions for him?”

“He knows best, he’s the expert. He showed me an entire world I hadn’t seen before. He’s never wrong. Just keep them coming for the ladies as long as we’re here. We can’t have them responsible for the bill.”

Drunk guy makes slurping sounds again.

“How do you take your whiskies, ladies?” Irene asks. “Coke, ginger, ice, no ice, drop of water? Any way you want Simon will work with.”

“Coke Zero is tempting, but just straight is fine for me,” I say.

“What Toni says,” Mallory says, as I’m taking a drink of the restaurant’s sparkling white wine, not realising it’s gone.

Yet another fucking server is standing to my side, taking the champagne out of the ice-bucket and pouring me a glass. “How was the white?” he asks.

“Amazing!” I say. “Like everything here.”

He laughs as he pours Mallory a glass.

Drunk guy has somehow finished his whisky, already, and is pouring himself another measure, and topping up his friend’s glass. Less drunk guy is dropping ice-cubes haphazardly into the whiskies. A lot of ice. “Your minds will be blown by that champagne, then,” drunker guy says.

I take a drink of the champagne. My mind isn’t blown. I put the glass down. It’s nice, really nice. That’s all it is though. The house wine had something special.

Irene is quickly back with some fresh water glasses for us, and two tumblers with a small amount of whiskey. “Simon would like your opinions on the whiskey, so he can tailor what’s to come.”

Me and Mallory both take a taste of our whiskeys. It’s nice but not the best I’ve had. Not like the one Trevor gave me, not even like the one Jackson gave me. But there’s still something to it. “I’m not very good at describing tastes,” I say. “It’s interesting. It’s not complex, there’s a kind of evenness to it. I’ve had some really complicated whiskies I couldn’t even begin to understand but this is just normal. It stays normal for ages though. Like I can taste it being normal, still.”

“That’s a good description,” Mallory says. “There’s no real tastes to it beyond whiskey. Irish whiskey, I’d say. Not cheap but not fancy. Better than everyday stuff.”

Somehow drunk guy is pouring yet more of the Johnnie Walker Blue for himself. “If Simon didn’t start them on a Scotch he really is slipping, just like this place.”

“How about your champagne?” Irene asks.

“I preferred the house stuff,” Mallory says. I give my agreement.

“Simon should have enough from that. Whiskies will be produced while your gentlemen friends are here to cover the bill.”

Which is how the afternoon goes. The fools getting drunker and drunker, and ordering beers as well, while small glasses of whiskey are found for us, once we give our reports for Simon. I’m really eager to meet him. There’s also various small plates of food, and nibbly bits, that both me and Mallory really try getting the fools to eat some of, but they refuse.

At one point Irene stands next to us for another whiskey tasting, not waiting for the report. There’s two small jugs of water as well, with the instruction from Simon to take a few sips of the whiskey, then try it with a tiny drop of water, then a little more. Irene says it’s fascinating that I preferred it without the water, but I don’t feel like it’s a judgment on me.

After it’s been dark outside for hours, while the two bros are fully slurring their words, and nearly falling off their seats, they order another bottle of Johnnie Walker Blue. Irene tries to protest but they’re having none of it.

They’re so drunk they actually give us a proper glass, for the first time. I feel like I’m about to slur my words too.

Me and Mallory are taking our first real drinks of the Johnnie Walker when Irene places a bill in front of the fools. “Your account has been settled, gentlemen. I’d suggest you hold onto the bill, and don’t forget your card. Your car is waiting for you.”

“What car?” the originally less drunk fool, but now totally drunk fool asks.

“When you arrived you insisted we reserve a car for you for precisely 8pm, should you still be here, and said you had to be gone unless something came up. I don’t know what that something is, but I don’t believe it’s happened.”

“We said that?”

Irene nods. “And I have to insist, I’m following your own instructions you made while in a much more early-morning frame of mind; while not enraptured by good company. I wouldn’t want to be responsible for you missing out on a reservation elsewhere.”

“We just got the bottle. Is there somewhere we could store it?”

Irene shakes her head. “That’s what I was trying to warn you about, but you made yourself clear. And we don’t have an alcohol license to let you take an opened bottle off the premises. I’m sure the ladies will try to finish as much as they can, they can stay here all night drinking it.”

I’m about to speak up to protest when I feel Irene’s hand on my shoulder. “Yeah, sure, fine. Another fun day, as usual. We’ll be back,” drunk fool one says, looking tired.

“I’m sure you will,” Irene says, as two male servers are helping the fools collect their belongings, including slipping the bill and credit card into the guy who started out more sober’s pocket.

Then they’re gone, and me and Mallory laugh. “Wow!” Mallory says.

“Are you two OK to walk?” Irene asks.

“I hope so,” Mallory says. “We drank a lot.”

“Small glasses, and you paced yourselves. And you tried to get those two idiots to eat while you were eating. Leave your stuff and follow me. Someone will bring it along in minute.”

Mallory grabs her purse and stands, holding herself still for a moment, as I also stand and do the same. “Yeah, fine, I think,” I say, just about fine. “What’s going on?”

“You really don’t know?” Irene says. Me and Mallory look at each other. “It’s what those drunks have been aiming for for years. This both of your first times in here?”

“For me, yes,” I say.

“Yeah, same,” Mallory says.

We’re led down a corridor and through some double doors, then down another corridor. We go through a sturdy door, where Irene stops. The room we’re in is like an old gentleman’s club, not the strip club kind. There’s no cigar smoke, though. There’s leather everywhere, and wood. There’s a bar at the top of the end of the long room. At almost every table, with people around it, or often just one person, there’s bottles of spirits, and sometimes buckets with ice. Some people are drinking beers, some glasses of wine, but again it’s mostly spirits. There’s plates of food too, mostly snacks, and charcuterie plates, meats, cheeses, various pickles. Breads as well. One person has pie and ice-cream.

The whole room looks more formal than the restaurant but actually feels more relaxed. People aren’t as dressed up. There’s people of all ages, at least ages older than us. A few heads have turned as I’m looking, there’s smiles on their faces, but apart from that there’s no reaction.

“You like it?” Irene says.

“Yeah,” I say.

“Yes!” Mallory says.

Irene nods and someone behind a bar rings a bell, just the one ring. All the heads now turn and applause breaks out, polite applause, and smiles.

“Welcome,” Irene says.

“What?” both me and Mallory say.

“What would you like to drink? Anything? Just describe what you want.”

“Some of the wine we had first?” Mallory says.

“Toni?” Irene asks.

“A light beer. Not low calorie, light in alcohol. And if you don’t have that a shandy? Half beer—”

“We have what you want,” Irene says. “Sit over there.” She points at a table with some leather seats around it, up against a wall with a reserved sign on it.

Me and Mallory sit and just look at each other. We’re offering people ‘Thank yous’ as they carry our stuff in from the restaurant, them saying ‘Congratulations’. And ‘It was something!’

Eventually Irene is back down with a tray; two glasses of beer and a glass of the sparkling white wine.

She places one beer in front of me, the wine in front of Mallory and another beer in front of a third chair. She takes her waiter’s apron off and sits herself down, picking up the glass of beer and taking a sip, or more a gulp.

“Oh! That’s so nice!” she says “Long day, but worthwhile.” Then she looks at me and Mallory, and begins to speak. “We’re a club. We’re inviting you to be members. We’re not really like other clubs. You don’t need money to join. You can’t buy your way in. We don’t care who you are. Although we do have some impossibly wealthy and successful members that is not why they’re members. Did you two have fun today?”

Mallory and me both laugh, staring at each other. “Actually, yeah,” Mallory says, smiling.

“We know,” Irene says. “We enjoyed watching you having fun. That’s how you get to be a member. You don’t have any pretensions or ideas about what it took, not that we can see. In your cases you didn’t even know this spot existed, which can be helpful, but also a hindrance. It’s slightly more difficult, for some people, if they don’t know about us. We’ll challenge you more to see how much you enjoyed yourself. The staff were pretty quick on you. That you came from Greg means we were already aware it could be in your future, and he decided to send you here. He’s a member.”

I sigh. “A test. Are you going to report back to him?” I ask.

Irene laughs and takes another long drink of her beer. “You’re on a corporate account, a corporate account setup by members. That’s how we make a lot of our money, typically reporting on staff, new hires, potential hires, junior staff, especially, etc. We won’t report on clients or possible business partners unless we feel something is seriously wrong. I would have reported on you had you not been offered membership tonight. I’ll be doing a report on the two idiots you had fun with tomorrow morning. They’re frequent fliers. If you choose to take up membership I will never report on you. No-one will. It’s simply not done. You’re in. Greg can see the bill, if he asks for it, it’s a business account paying for it, but he has to put a request in to see anything but the final figure. If we can find the bill. You can, of course, just show him your copy.”

“How is our bill?” I ask, worried.

“A little bit higher than normal for Greg’s first timers. Not many go for that steak their first trip here. It’s balanced out by your pasta, though. The starters were within reason, just about, and you didn’t get desserts. You ate a lot of bread, however.”

“The bread was amazing,” Mallory says.

“It’s not in house. I’ll get you the name of the bakery.”

“What about the drunk fools’ bill,” I ask, wondering how deep in it they’re going to be with their bosses.

Irene smiles and wipes at her eye. “Their bosses won’t care. Greg will explain if you show them the business cards they gave you. I can’t report on them to you. It’s not as high as you think. The whiskies you drank were all from members in here, from their personal collections.”

“So who’s this Simon guy?” Mallory asks. “The one picking the drinks?”

“The staff... The members... Mostly the staff. People like to think there’s some genius behind what we do here but it’s mostly just experience in the industry. If we said that people would get annoyed and disagree with what we say. When we tell them it’s Simon choosing things they respect his knowledge.

That’s actually one of the rules of here. You can get any of our own label drinks from the bar in here, wine, beer... Anything else you have to buy a bottle of. You can store opened bottles if they’re the style of drink that can be stored. You can obviously store unopened bottles of wines. However, the point, if someone is being tested for membership, like you with the whiskeys, any staff member can take from a bottle you have opened in your locker that’s more than half full. For you two it’ll be two-thirds full as that’s your stopping point. You’ll be joint members.”

“Joint members?” Mallory asks.

“We know you as a couple. It’s usually husband and wife, or spouses. Sometimes boyfriend and girlfriend, or the variations on that. Very occasionally a parent and adult child, or adult grandchild. We have a few friends. Usually they’re retired friends. Sometimes younger. It just means one of you could clear out the locker without the other realising. It can be a bit of a test. It happens with breakups.”

I’m beginning to feel tired. I’m not thinking when I say, “This is such bullshit. How do you keep all this going?”

Irene begins to cackle. “What did you think of our food? In comparison to other places? And I saw you looking through the drinks menu. What did you think of that?”

I think for a few seconds, deciding to be blunt. “It’s actually not that fancy,” I say. “Not based on how those guys were acting. A lot of things are affordable. I could come here for a treat with my boyfriend. The bill would be expensive but I wouldn't squirm, even with a bottle of wine.”

“Yeah!” Irene says. “And you’re welcome to bring one non-member in here at a time, if we don’t object after we see them eating a meal. Just tell us you want to take them in before you order, so we can watch, and judge if they’re worthy. But that’s what we do, we’re exclusive in the sense we don’t let anyone join. We’re not exclusive because of price or anything like that. Certainly not compared to other places. This city has the highest amount of member’s clubs in the country. We have a lot of members from the hospitality industry. The challenge is in finding drinks, foods, and the like other people don't know how to find as usually people just go on cost. We like affordable quality. Of course we offer the high-end too, but it’s not what we’re about. Any more questions?”

Mallory’s drained most of her glass of white wine. “Why us?” she asks.

“Yeah,” I say. “Why? Why us? Why so quickly?”

“You trusted me from the start, trusted my opinion on the starters. You loved the food. It is really good food, not cutting edge, good! The chefs were interested when they heard of you sharing bites from your plates. They were lobbying when they heard about you wiping up the sauce with the bread and sharing it. You were patient, you took your time, you had fun, you enjoyed the whiskies and were happy to talk about them. You weren’t cruel to people, even people treating you badly. You bit your lips, and accepted what you thought was drunken hospitality, with some schadenfreude. You could work in the hospitality industry if you wanted, you’d be great at it. You were marked for membership, at some point, because of all that. Why tonight, so suddenly, is because you tried to get the drunkards to eat when you were snacking away. That was a really normal thing to do that not many people would do. Not after how they treated you.

I do have one question for you, though, Mallory, how did you know about the steak? Who told you?”

“My Dad has been raving about this place my entire life. He stopped coming when my Mom got sick... He said he couldn’t be in here without her. He made me take the job I did because it was near here.”

“OK... I think that’s everything explained. Do you want to be members? You have until we close to decide.”

I squeeze my eyes closed, then open them again. “What’s the downside?” I ask.

Irene stops for a while, really thinking deeply. “I suppose you know the one downside. You’ll know you’re always being judged, to some degree, when you’re in here. Especially the people you’re with. You two will be fine with us as long as you don’t do anything horrific, same as anyone. You’ll be members. And if you don’t join, in the future, when you’re here for the corporate stuff, we’ll be reporting back on you. I just need your surnames if you want to join. There’s no fees or costs, or expectations. It’s not literally a member’s club, or even legally, it is a business, just one that was established with a certain purpose in mind. It’s stuck to it. If you join and never come to even the restaurant again you can show up in fifty years if we’re still open and it’ll be OK. We’ve been open more than fifty years, already.”

Me and Mallory exchange a look, shrug, then tell Irene our surnames. She goes to the bar to sort our ‘membership.’ We sit in silence for a while, then Mallory asks the question I’ve been thinking about too. “Do you think my Dad, and maybe my Mom, were members here? When she... Why he talked about here?”

“Maybe...” I say. “I’m sorry.” I want to explain how I didn’t know any of this, or didn’t intend any of this, but Mallory knows this. It’s just something weird that happened.

Any words, at all, don’t seem appropriate in the moment, with a few minutes passing while we both think about what this means. Something incredibly funny happened, and fun, and now it’s horrific for someone who’s my new friend. At least in her memories.

Eventually Irene is back. “You’re members, but it looks like you’ve figured out what I was checking. Yes, your parents were members, Mallory. I’m sorry. Your Dad still is, of course, he's just not been here since your mother passed,” she says.

“I did say my Dad wanted me to take the job because it was close to here, he must have been hoping I found my way, into the restaurant at least.”

Irene smiles. “We don’t encourage phones in here but people would understand this call. I don’t think you want to make it in public. There’s a private phone through the doorway by the bar, on the way to the smoking lounge. The number has been the same since he was last in here. If he’s kept his phone up to date, and I think he will have, he’ll be happy to get the call. He left a bottle for you, should you ever join. I have someone rooting it out at the moment. We’ll have it for you by the time the call ends. Even if you just want to tell him you love him.”

Mallory stands and slowly makes her way to where Irene described. Me and Irene sit for a few minutes, and more drinks are dropped to us.

Irene explains that for the first night all the house label stuff is free, but that table service only happens in extreme circumstances, and she can’t ever remember a circumstance like this.

We continue to sit, quietly drinking, waiting for Mallory when some bottles are dropped down to us. “For your locker,” Irene says. One has a light layer of dust. It’s obviously the bottle Mallory’s Dad left for her. “The two bottles of wine are just gifts, nothing special. The whiskey is that one you preferred undiluted. It’s a small brand. Irish. Cask strength, which would typically mixed with water. It’s from a staff member’s collection. He hasn’t found anyone who likes it as much as you. Convinced everyone his should be the selection from staff. The sparkling wine is from me, as I served you.”

I talk, deliberately, and feeling quite sober again. “Is it expensive?”

“Not really. And staff here pay cost price, anyway. A perk. We’ll all split the cost with him, a few bucks each. He has quite a few bottles of it. The other amusing thing which I forgot is you actually have access to your corporate locker. It’s quite large. And completely untracked. You and Mallory are members, and we know you’re part of the business from Greg’s instructions. You have the run of it. And you could, theoretically, not tell anyone about your membership until they come in and think to check your names on the list. You can do that, as a member. Here’s your card.”

She hands me a membership card. On it is the name of the restaurant, an ID number, and the words Toni Mallory — Joint Members. “She’s Mallory Toni. Your real names are in the database if anyone needs to check. Don’t worry about your actual ID or whatever you go through in the future. Staff will keep everything update. An i or y here or there won’t make any difference. And if all that fails I’m sure you can just say you’ve met Simon.”

I smile and take another drink. “A multi-faceted man, Simon. Lots of dimensions,” I say, but jokes like that don’t really feel important with what Mallory is going through.

Finally Mallory comes back, and it’s obvious she’s been crying, but she’s also smiling. “How was it?” I ask.

“Amazing. We both cried. It’s the best I’ve felt in ages. Is that the bottle?” Mallory asks Irene. Irene nods. “Could you pour us each a measure?”

“Of course,” Irene says, picking up the bottle.

“No, please. No, Mallory. That’s yours, that’s from your Dad.”

Mallory sniffs again. “He recognised the number. And my voice, immediately. He began to cry and I did too. He explained him and Mom were members, and it was a special treat to come here, when they went out for a night. When she... Well... He said he couldn’t come back here unless it was with someone he loved. But he didn’t want to force it on either of us, me or my sister. I explained what happened today, as best I could, and your report, and you thanking me in it. We cried, again. He knows I’m a joint member. Him and Mom were joint members, didn’t even know the club existed when they got brought in. He says what happened is special. He couldn’t dream of it happening in a better way, and he has dreamt about it, a few times. He wants us to drink it. As much or as little as we want, but just one drink, at least. You know... In memory? And celebration?”

I find myself rubbing at my eyes too, as Mallory sits down, and Irene places the glasses in front of us. “Toasts aren’t allowed in here. Just sharing drinks,” she says.

So we all drink. In memory.

It’s a simple day for Toni, right? She’s back at work, she’s had her surprise lunch with Mallory, that Greg told her to indulge in. She somehow got to join a private members' club, for people who like food and drink, and simply enjoy the pleasure of it, not the status and money. And now she just has to knuckle down, back at her regular job. That’s all she has to do, right? Life is going to be normal—as normal as it can be for Toni—until Friday when she gets to see her friends, and her boyfriend, again. Right? A normal day back at work for Toni? Right!?!

---

I walk into the office building and the headache pills seem to have stopped working. I don’t know why exactly, they should be strong enough. I don’t feel too awful, just the effects of last night, and an intense week and a half, or so, catching up on me. It could also be the lighting. It was overcast outside and there was no glare, but the lights in here? They’re intense.

I make my way up to my floor on the elevator, with my head bowed and eyes closed, looking up each time the doors open. Not my floor.

Then it does get to my floor. I’m looking up. Greg is standing there.

“My office!” he says.

“Greg?” I say.

“Go to my office!”

I shake my head. I have no idea what’s wrong with him. Sure Irene, last night, said she wouldn’t report on either me or Mallory to Greg, we’re now members in that restaurant’s private club, so it’s not done. What else is there? The bill wasn’t huge. I saw a copy. I even have a copy!

I walk into Greg’s office and sit myself down. He has two chairs set out.

After a few minutes Mallory walks in. She looks brighter than I feel. She’s even giggling.

“Oh no! We’re in trouble!” she says, in an exaggerated tone.

I laugh too.

Greg storms in, launching the door closed behind him.

“What did you do?” he asks.

“Are we late?” Mallory asks.

“At the restaurant?” Greg continues.

Mallory looks aggrieved. “What you told us?” she says. “Or what Toni told me you told us. And I know she didn’t lie.”

“I know something happened!”

Mallory has less resting bitch face now and more of an active bitch face. “Were you watching us?”

Greg looks like he’s biting his tongue. He’s staring at us.

I reach in my coat pocket and take out the receipt from yesterday. “I assume you need this, and it’ll probably be easier than requesting it from the restaurant. Their record keeping might not always be the best,” I say, sliding the receipt across Greg’s desk.

Greg picks it up and examines it. Checking it two or three times. “I assume you got the oysters and steak, Mallory?” She nods. “A lot of bread. One or two snack plates.”

“Thank you, Greg. We had a great time,” Mallory says. “I assume everything is in order.” She’s looking ready to stand.

Greg glares at Mallory. “Did you pay for the drinks yourself? On a separate bill?”

“We didn’t buy a single drink!” Mallory says.

Greg shakes his head. “You’re not good enough with words, Mallory, to have that attitude. Tell me what happened and there’ll be no issues.”

“There should be no issue,” I say. “We did what you said. We didn’t order a single drink in the restaurant. We did get some complimentary drinks, among others. But they were given to us. And Mallory wants the same work from home setup as me.”

Greg slaps the desk. “That’s how you negotiate, Mallory! There’s no contention, yet. No need for fists, and Tony offered up something to pique my interest. I’m the boss! For now! We’ll consider your work from home, if you’re clear on what happened in the restaurant!”

“Some men thought Tony should dress more femininely, and they’re right. And they wanted us to experience what Simon could come up with, so arranged for us to taste whiskeys—on their dime—while they got drunk and said we could work for them as secretaries if we passed their blowjob based interview style.”

I’m back in my wallet again, getting the membership card to the restaurant. “This should answer your questions, Greg. I’m guessing you got told you wouldn’t be getting a report. And didn’t expect this...”

Greg takes the card from me, looks at it quickly, then hands it back. “You too, Mallory?”

“Mallory Toni,” Mallory says.

Greg nods, and I can’t read his face. “OK. No negotiation, now. You had your fun. Tell me from the top...”

So we do, me urging Mallory, at first, then both of us picking up memories the other has forgotten. We leave out the details about Mallory’s father, only saying he’s a member who hasn’t been there in years but he hadn’t told Mallory anything about the place.

Eventually Greg is satisfied, and a quiet has fallen. He sits back in his chair. “You said these men gave you their business cards, do you have them?”

I nod and hand over the business cards, looking at my wallet again and thinking I really need to get something prettier than my old and worn, imported leather football one. Although I do quite like it.

Greg laughs, looking at the cards, before handing them back. “Those guys want membership, badly,” he says.

“Yeah, that seemed obvious once we were clued in,” Mallory says.

Greg shakes his head. “That’s not it. The firm they’re with... A very old finance firm. It handles extreme wealth. Money few of us could even dream of, certainly not you. Going back generations. To move up the business, and to handle the wealthier clients, their staff are set challenges. Given finance people it’s usually about behaviour. If they were set a challenge to join that place, as a member, then someone obviously doesn’t like them. Or thinks they need a big lesson..”

“They were assholes,” Mallory says.

“They do need a lesson,” I say.

“Are you OK to work today, Mallory?” Greg asks.

“It’s a Wednesday. Of course,” she says.

Greg makes a lifting motion with his hands and points towards the door, with one, while indicating for me to stay sitting with the other.

As Mallory leaves he looks at me. “What did you learn about Mallory?”

“She’s nice. Fiery,” I say. I don’t know what Greg is looking for and don’t want to volunteer anything not necessary.

“What style of work?” he asks.

“Finance, technical detail, statistics, data. All that, definitely. She said she’s not a qualified accountant, and she didn’t go the full analytics route, but took an interest in both. She blogs explaining baseball stats. She says she has some readers. I think that’s right...

“She has a good knowledge of a lot areas but not deep enough in any one area to commit to something. I think ‘translating’ as it were, technical details, would work.”

“Do you know her blog?” Greg asks.

“I do not... And if I did I wouldn’t tell you. I don’t know it, though, so there’s no point trying to cajole it out of me.”

Greg writes something on a notepad. “Is your home tidy enough that we could set up your work from home today?”

I think for a few seconds, running around my living room, mentally, and my kitchen. “Yeah, sure. It could take me a day or two to get it setup, but to have movers? Or deliveries? That’s no problem.” I wonder when I’ll get to see Tim, as I’m saying that. I can imagine him helping me with building the desk and chair. I think I’d just watch him, though. And maybe hope he notices me watching him. We could both get sweaty...

Greg nods and keys in a four-digit internal number into the phone. Holding it to his ear, after a few rings, he says, “Yeah... Tony... Yeah. No problem with it... This afternoon..? I’ll tell them. And to let you know one of the fashionistas might be complaining about makeup... I don’t know, Therese! I’m not a woman. It’s under her... Yeah, ‘their!’ I don’t believe Toni minds me referring to her as a woman. At least among people... Yes! I know! ‘As she’s ready..!’ I’m hanging up now... No, I’m really hanging up... Call Ben then!”

Greg does actually hang up. “HR is the worst invention in modern business. People say they’re corporate cops. They’re not. They invent rules as needed to justify their own martial law. The problem is we don’t pay you enough to tolerate the bullshit and they barely pay me enough to get results. It’s an unhappy balance. Give people money and time off, and a little respect—something that works their grey matter, or skills—then everyone’s happy. You don’t need one of those useless fucking MBAs to realise that! Work in a fast food restaurant for two weeks and you’ll discover that! If you’re in fast food you have none of that. Poor fuckers!”

I’m touching my finger beneath my eye, where my cheekbone disappears towards my nose, and realising Greg did see I was wearing makeup. Just a little, beneath my eyes, as I was not looking too great as I dragged myself out at the alarm. “It’s just a little BB cream,” I say.

“BB cream? What’s that? I know about concealer, it’s heavier than foundation...”

“It’s a lot lighter, really light coverage, if you have good skin. Which I guess I do because for years I just washed it and didn’t wear anything... But if anyone—”

Greg has obviously picked up on where I’m going with this as he interrupts, “If any of the dressed up weapons give you issues you can try either, ‘I’ll stop wearing it if you do,’ or, ‘I’m sure HR would be happy to deal with your concern.’ Do not fucking send them to me!”

I can hear the tiredness in his voice as he swears. “You need a holiday, Greg.”

“I’ve got a big day coming up. Important milestone.”

“Retirement?”

“Ha! You’d be floundering if I retired. No.” He reaches into his desk and pulls out two packages. “This is what you’re doing until we find you a project. I will find you a project. Hopefully by the end of the week, or the start of next week. For now though I want you taking notes on some of the interviews we’ve done. You don’t need to know what particular industry or business question it’s for. This is adding value, picking up little details others might not notice.

“This afternoon you’ll be organising your work from home setup. Another bit of martial law! Ha! Supposedly you’ll sue me if you get a sore wrist from the wrong kind of mouse. Would you do that to me, Toni?”

I laugh. “Maybe not you, personally, Greg,” I say. “Maybe...”

“Take the headphones and case. They’re expensive. And now you’re a member in the mob boss’s restaurant go wild on the business’s private stock. That disappears as soon as it’s bought. And Toni..? Eat lunch. And drink water. For your skin, at least. You won’t always be young and pretty.”

I stand with Greg looking at me, walk towards the door and feel the need to turn around, Greg calling me ‘pretty’ like a loudspeaker in my mind. “Thank you, Greg,” I say.

“You’re doing really well, Toni. I’m happy for you, as both my employee and a person,” Greg says.

I don’t know why but I walk out of Greg’s office feeling a thousand feet tall.

As I sit down at my desk I realise I’m still hungover.

My laptop is booting up as a woman approaches me. “How much were your nails?” she asks.

“I don’t know,” I say, incredibly tired, eyes almost blurring, certainly given the conversation with Greg. I feel drained, and somehow elated. “Less than fifty bucks,” I continue. “But I got my eyebrows done too.” I have to add the eyebrows part because she’s thinking I spent fifty bucks on nails.

She zips her mouth shut. “Your secret is safe with me. You look amazing! And you’ll look better when you’re ready... To... You know..? Be yourself!? I’m telling you, girl. Don’t give a fuck what anyone says. The real women have your back! That’s exactly what you are! You’re gorgeous! You need to know that.” She’s put emphasis on the ‘need’ in her words, as she she walks away, almost strutting, beaming lasers into anyone who looks at her as she passes them.

As my laptop finally wakes I look through the staff directory, seeing if I can place her. Eventually I come to a name; Megan. That’s her. Hired straight from university, from what I recall. Something unusual for this place. Typically people do a year or two with a smaller business then try to move up; getting stuck in Greg’s madness, with his ‘tests’ to escape his insanity.

I unpack the headphones and plug them in, going through my emails—nothing important. Apart from one, linking me to a directory with the videos I should watch; I load them up and start watching, a notepad next to my laptop, me taking extensive notes.

Before I know it it seems I’ve skipped the morning break, and my stomach is rumbling. I go to kitchen, and it’s mostly empty. There’s a couple of stoves, proper industrial stoves, an array of cutlery including sharp knives. microwaves, plenty of generic oils, salts, and sauces in one of the massive fridges, along with people’s food in tupperware. In the second fridge are my chicken thighs and veggies.

I get down to preparing things, cleaning as I go. I realise I probably don’t actually need as much of this food as I brought. Yesterday I was sent out for lunch, and I don’t know what will happen later in the week.

The kitchen also has an industrial boiler, and a bean to cup coffee machine, with dire warnings of what will happen to any employee who uses the milk frothing attachments without cleaning them printed on the front of the machine. I imagine whoever typed up that message was channelling Greg as they wrote it. And in one fridge is both sparkling and non-sparkling water, ‘When you take one replace it!’ With my meal ready I sit down with a bottle of the sparkling water.

As I take my first bite I realise I am actually quite hungry, but in a strange way. It’s not necessarily a nutritional hunger, I ate really well, yesterday, although my noodles, with chicken thighs and veggies, is hitting the spot, it’s a hunger for, I don’t know, success? Growth?

As I’m halfway through my noodles a few people have come in. They’re preparing their own food, mostly using the microwaves. Therese also comes in, and waves as she spots me. She comes over. “Finish your food while I have a coffee, then we’ll get to your place and get you all situated.” She’s smiling as she walks to the bean to cup machine and bashes in her drink, a straight, double strength, black coffee.

Sitting down, opposite me, she says, “I don’t know why people go the cafés in the building, or farther. These are free, here... Well... I do know. People want to get away from work. They’re expensive though! I could never justify a $5.50 coffee no matter how much money I had. It’s wasteful!”

“I’m becoming acutely aware of finances, with my life, well... Taking off?” I say, and I know I can’t live at the same pace I have done for the past ten days, or so, no matter how much fun it might be. Either for my bank account’s sake or for my own health.

“How are you doing, Tony?” Therese asks. She takes a sip of her coffee.

“I want things to move fast, as well as, you know, taking my time. I don’t know how to explain it. There are some things I want right now, immediately, and some things I just want to appreciate.”

Therese grips onto her coffee with both hands, and leans in towards me. “If you want to go talk in private we can? Or if you just want to hint at things, or even say nothing, that’s fine. Or just eat.”

I nod, finishing off my noodles, considering things, while Therese sips at her coffee.

“I think I need to speak to a therapist, and I want to start on hormones. Soon. Like, yesterday.”

Therese laughs. “And miss your lunch? I heard you had fun.”

“Maybe not yesterday, then. But that’s the thing. I don’t know how if I have time to fit everything in and still keep myself healthy.”

“OK, let me think. And if you’re ready to go I’ll grab my things and you grab your things, then we’ll meet in the lobby and get a car to your place. Are you sure you’re ready to have everyone come into your apartment and get you all setup? There’s no rush if you need to prepare. It can wait! Which is my problem, not yours.”

I tell Therese I’m sure.

I gather all my things and go down to the lobby. Eventually Therese joins me, apologising for the delay as something came up in her office, then we’re getting a car to my place, both of us in the back seat, casually chatting, at least after a few minutes. We hit on her wedding, somehow. I didn’t realise I had an interest in weddings.

Therese and her girlfriend are getting married. They just want something small, at least as far as traditional ceremonies go. Sure, lots of people, but in a bar they know, that’s willing to set aside one of the rooms for them, and have dedicated bar staff. They’re building their own playlist for the music, and getting a friend to DJ for people’s requests. The ceremony will be in the morning, with just a few, close people, then it’s a restaurant they both like for a meal before the trip to the bar and the dancing. It sounds like a real celebration for two people who are entirely comfortable with each other. I can’t even begin to imagine my own wedding. I never contemplated it before, but now I’m thinking do I want the big, white dress wedding? Is that even who I really am? Am I a woman who can actually marry a man?

Before I know it I’m keying the code into my door and we’re taking an elevator to my floor, where I let us both into my apartment.

I set my things down and Therese sets her things down, both on the coffee table in front of my couch.

“Do you want a coffee? I only have instant or a drip machine.”

“Are you a big coffee drinker?” Therese asks.

“Some, a little... It’s not a massive deal for me,” I say.

“A water would be fine, then,” Therese says, as she’s unpacking her laptop and dialling it into her phone’s wifi.

I’m back in with a water for each of us, and sit myself down on the armchair.

Therese begins explaining my new phone to me. It’s a dual sim phone, with two partitions of storage. I can keep my personal phone on it, and my work phone, and still keep the two separate on a single device. It’s mostly already setup, but she does transfer my personal details onto it, and all my photos and apps. It doesn’t take too long. Then she calls me from her work phone, with the work directory built into the office side of my new phone, explaining how things will appear depending on the origin of them. I think I get it, and she has a print off of my number for me to put in my wallet, and my purse.

I do show her my frog purse, which she oohs and aahs over. The words, ‘very cute,’ coming out of her mouth.

She’s explaining some of the setups the business can do with hormone treatment, and with therapists, and I’m explaining that I have some friends looking for a suitable therapist for me, friends who know my story, when her phone rings. It’s the people delivering my work from home setup.

We both go to the front door, telling them the code. There’s three of them. All big burly dudes, or sort of burly, powerful, even if one is wiry. You can tell he’s able to carry things all day long. One of them stays in the truck to avoid parking fines, and the other two begin carrying boxes up to my apartment.

Eventually it’s all delivered and I say, “I didn’t realise there’d be this amount of stuff. I don’t know how long it’ll take me to get it put together.”

Therese laughs and says, “You’re not setting it up! That’s what these guys are for, aren’t you?”

The men laugh. “Health and safety keeps our business going. Can’t have you pretty office dwellers breaking a nail.”

I quickly look at my nails, realising they are painted and these guys know nothing about me. Therese slaps my hands down from where I hold them up in front of me, staring, and laughs at me.

“How does Toni’s apartment rate on apartments you’ve delivered to?” she asks.

“If we could get a water from a fridge it’d be a full 10/10.”

I quickly leap to my feet. “Oh shit!” I say. “I’m sorry! Do you want a Coke Zero, or something? I think I have a Sprite or two, as well, with sugar.”

“12/10 apartment, Therese!” the wiry guy says. “Water is fine, really. Thanks, Toni.” He knows my name. “Even tap water.”

I get them two chilled waters after arranging a few more things in my fridge. They don’t even pause to drink them, just sipping as they go, while thinking, and making, and screwing—with small drills—occasionally looking at printed diagrams. And hefting bags of screws. The two look like they have a secret language between each other. Just moving around each other, knowing what the other needs, with the occasional instructional grunt. It’s quite beautiful really. Even sexy, somehow. I even notice Therese watching. And she’s gay!

The first thing they put together is the floor length mirror. It’s a simple, pine surrounded mirror. A long, rectangular pane—with the pine encasement— on a horizontal swivel, set atop a pine box with two deep drawers in it.

“We’ll move this one, fellas,” Therese says. “I assume the light you need to bounce is in your bedroom workspace?”

The two men look like they want to object, but I nod at Therese, and they back down after I open the door to my bedroom and they catch a glimpse of, well, a mess, at the end of the room.

Me and Therese lift the mirror, carrying it, then setting it down inside my bedroom door so I can stand at any distance to see myself from the bottom of my bed.

Of course the first thing I notice when I walk into my bedroom are the clothes scattered everywhere; on one half of my double bed, and across the couch in my bedroom that was left by a previous tenant. There’s dresses, tops, jeans, skirts. Shoes, panties, pantihose, bras... All my work-out clothes that Steve bought me.... There’s my sexy date night dress hanging up in the dry cleaning packaging hanging outside my wardrobe. There’s even makeup and pink razors on the night-stand next to my bed.

Thankfully Therese doesn’t say anything and we’re quickly back into the living room, sitting down again.

“Are you thinking of joining the gym I mentioned at the meeting?”

“How do you mean?” I ask.

“I saw all your work-out clothes. A lot of new purchases. I can send the email from here if you want.”

I’m a little taken aback, I hadn’t even thought about it. This feels normal, somehow. I’m Toni, now, not Tony. Right now there doesn’t seem a difference. “I haven’t had time to think about it, to be honest, those were just... It’s a long story. I’m not sure I even have the time to go to a gym”

“You need to use your holiday time, Toni. You have a decent amount built up. Enough that it’s actually a problem, or could become a problem soon. We do expect people to use it. You’ve used very little since you started working for us. It’s getting to the point we’re going to be instructing you to use the time, with no choice in the matter. Especially if you carry it over into yet another year.”

I stroke at my nose, thinking. “I guess I really never had a reason to take time off, or a desire to go anywhere, or do anything?” I realise I’ve never felt pressure in work. Nor have I felt pressure in my life. It was all a blur. Or maybe more a fog? Downcast? Drizzle? The shits?

Therese seems to consider this. “Has that changed in the past few weeks?” she asks.

“Yeah, I guess it has. But it feels like my career is beginning to take off in new ways. I’m not sure I want to risk it by not being available.”

Therese clicks her tongue a few times. “Do you mind if I step into the kitchen to make a few calls?”

I shake my head and Therese says to give her those few minutes.

She spends a lot longer than a few minutes, longer than thirty minutes, even, occasionally stepping out to point at her phone with a grimace; she’s waiting on more calls.

After about forty-five minutes, maybe a little longer, she’s back into me, sitting down. “You owe Greg a favour, if you go ahead with this. He yelled at my boss. Apparently he was a right A-hole to her, but not enough she’s taking it out on you. You’re approved for ad-hoc time, if you formalise that you’re seeking medical treatment for something with me. It’ll never be recorded what that treatment is, until it becomes necessary for something in work, i.e. should you wish to transition in work—which will not be an issue, by the way,” Therese says, seeing the look on my face. “Even then it’s not a medical issue. Not in this state, although you do have some extra equality laws protecting you.

“All this means is there’s a record that you’re facing a serious medical issue. And need time, as allocated to your holiday time, to deal with it. Ultimately it’ll be up to Greg to approve it, and track it. That’s why he yelled at my boss. Apparently, to quote him, or the report from my boss on him, the words were, ‘Give the fucking kid whatever the fuck they fucking need!’ Or something like that. He was angry. Sorry about the kid part, those are his words.”

I simply nod, it sounds like Greg. I do feel like a kid, with people arguing. Not that my parents argued. My sister did, but they shushed her, with patience. But this feels like what being an actual child is like. People calling me an idiot.

“He also gave a, something along the lines of, ‘She could be really important to us in a few years time, do you want them, and our hard work, to have fucked off before we reap the fucking benefits!’ And then there were some slightly personal insults directed at my boss... Questions of her ability to function... She doesn’t typically deal with Greg, that’s what I’m for. I felt it necessary to call him in though as she was being stubborn.” Therese laughs at that, seeing the look of horror on my face; her choosing to inflict what sounds like actually angry Greg on someone.

I shake my head, or more rattle my brain about, hoping it slots back into place. “What are the consequences for me?” I ask. “For Greg? For you!?! You didn’t need to do this!!”

“For me? Nothing. This is my job. Toni, really... This is my job. I’m good at it. Don’t doubt that!” Therese smiles. “For Greg? People already call him an asshole. The downsides for you are there’ll be some record you had a medical issue. I’m sure people will be able to put 2+2 together when and if they track the timeline of your transition, should you transition, but there’s no official record of that. We don’t have access to your medical reports. Obviously I know but it’s not written anywhere. Other people will know but there’ll be nothing actionable. Will people remember in the long run? Not if Greg is right...”

Therese sees me looking a little shocked, at least that’s what I feel she’s looking at.

She leans forward on the couch she’s sat herself down on, leaning towards me, almost keeping the words quiet from the two men in here with us.

“Toni... As far as I know no-one at the LGBTQ group is trans, but they have dealt with issues mostly like this; the consequence and prejudice. It’s up to you. Personally I think it’s worthwhile, and I say that as someone who likes you. It was worth it for me, coming out about my sexuality. You have people in your corner. That’s what you want, and need. Now it’s up to you, if you want. As long as you, and I, and Greg, even Ben, are here that’s how it’ll be. You’ve impressed people. Just a little. I don’t know that for sure but you’ve got some people talking about you. Everyone talks about everyone but the people talking about you? That’s not me being HR. That’s me seeing a young woman—if you don’t mind me abandoning my HR role—who could do with a few breaks.”

I sit back in my chair, unable to de-tangle the thoughts running through my mind. “How do I do this?” I ask.

“You just tell me you have a medical issue you need to deal with, and need to use holiday time to deal with it.”

“I do,” I say, words coming out of my mouth with certainty. I do have an issue. It does have to be dealt with. Greg has been superb, my friends have been superb, Therese has been amazing. I’d like to see Tim, to have him hold me. I need time, and if I can get a little more of it it’s the best thing for me.

I uncross my legs and crouch forward, shaking my head slowly. “I can’t believe how lucky I am,” I say.

“It’s good you recognise that,” Therese says. “Now go get dressed, the lads are finishing up. We’ll go for a drink. One or two beers, or something. Please, no more! I have to save my big nights out, and I can imagine you’re exhausted, and I don’t want to be loading you into a car.

“Somewhere you feel comfortable. I’ll be clocked off, but I’ll still use the car service. I can drop you home if you’re ready to go home. If you need tomorrow morning off I’ll put it down as needing to put the finishing touches on your setup here. Is this all OK with you?”

I take a deep breath and stand. “It is, thank you.”

Then I’m walking into my bedroom, shakily, gently closing the door that looks out to my work from home setup that’s nearly completed.

I get dressed, a simple pale, ocean green, calf length, straight and heavy skirt, trainers, grey, opaque pantihose and a light, baby blue hoodie. I’m back outside in my living room after I’ve done my hair with dry styling products, in my new mirror. It’s not a showcase piece but it works. It’s simple. It didn’t cost a lot. I figure it won’t get noticed on review.

The guys working on my setup don’t even turn their heads when I walk out, dressed femininely, and go to the bathroom, with my heart pounding. I do my makeup, really taking time to look at my eyes before I apply my mascara. Then I’m back again, and ready.

“OK, we just need you to try your laptop in the dock, login to the wifi, and make sure your email is working,” Therese says.

I pick up my laptop and arrange it in the dock; the laptop set off to my left, on the stand, with a large monitor in front of me with a webcam on top, some speakers to either side, a printer/scanner on a little side table.

The laptop, as it powers up, detects the dock, and keyboard, mouse and speakers. There’s a lot of extravagant beeping from it after I log into the operating system, the laptop’s fan whining, as well as the fan of the dock.

Therese, standing by my shoulder, and as the laptop finally begins to calm down, says, “The password to the work wifi, the one we’ve provided, is on the router. It’s 5G, I believe. I’m sure you’re familiar with all this stuff...”

I check the password, a few times, still shaking, every so slightly. I login to the wifi, which is seamless, and then into my email, which I drag to the main monitor. There’s a few new emails I begin to click onto but Therese tells me to ignore them. “Any changes you need with the setup?” she asks. “Physically? Heights, comfort, anything like that?”

“Nope,” I say, after swivelling my chair to the left and right.

“OK, close down and stand back, I need to get a photo for our records.”

I feel a panic thinking Therese is going to take a photo of me at the desk, dressed as I am, but she waits until I’m standing back. She pushes the chair in underneath the desk and snaps a few photos with a flash.

“Everything’s great, fellas. Thanks,” she says. “You can take the last of the boxes.”

“Hang on!” I say, and quickly dart into the kitchen. I come back carrying a six pack, chilled, and hand it over to the wiry guy. “Thanks for all this.”

“Is this OK, Therese?” the wiry guy asks, but he’s already clutching the six pack, so I’m not sure what he’s asking.

Therese nods. He reaches into his pocket.

“Toni, this is my sister’s business. She’s just starting out. Started on soft furnishings and the like, sewing, that kind of thing. There’s plenty of people in the city who can do that so she wants to get into interior decorating. There’s a code on the back of the card, 25% off, minimum spend is $250. I don’t know what that is after the discount.”

I look at the back of the card and it says, ‘TREY25.’

“Trey is you?” I say.

He nods.

“Thanks, sure, yeah. Of course! This place is kind of stark.” I look around. It’s busier with the work from home setup, but compared to Tim and Mouse’s apartment, even Jess’s—Sally’s is an old family home—it’s a young person’s apartment that no-one has ever settled into. It needs something. Something I’m not sure of.

For some reason I imagine living with Tim, then quickly push that thought from my mind, telling myself that’s stupid. Mouse is a better home-maker, anyway. Do I want to live with Tim? Could I imagine my life with Tim? I can imagine sex with Tim...

The wiry guy, Trey, smiles. “Thanks for the beers, and check out my sister’s website. She’s good.”

They both nod, the bigger guy taking two beers from the six pack into his hand while carrying the last of the cardboard boxes in his other hand, and they’re gone. Except there’s a stack of plastic packaging left sitting on the ground. Plastic packaging, with something soft in them.

“You’ve spotted that?” Therese asks.

“What are they?” I ask. They look like cushions.

Therese moves to then begins to rip into them. There’s hoodies, work hoodies, and t-shirts being thrown over the back of my couch. “I figured these might be more fitting to your circumstances, just to wear around the house,” she says.

She hands me one of the hoodies and I hold it up, then hold it up to my chest. It’s one of the work hoodies I’d gotten before, when I got them in the wrong size; from various business milestones, and projects. Except these aren’t in the wrong size. They’re the right size, and they’re the female cut.

“If you ever have to take a video call and are inappropriately dressed just throw on one of those. Maybe you’re in your flowery PJs or something?” Therese laughs. “A quick way to professionalism. I can’t work from home, not often, unfortunately, I need to be available to people. I’d kill to work in my PJs! Don’t you think HR would be more approachable if we were wearing something fluffy and soft?” She smiles at me, and I laugh. I laugh even harder thinking of Greg’s comments about HR as martial law, and what he seems to have said to Therese’s boss.

“Are you ready to go? Do you know where you want to go? You look ready for a drink? A pizza? Whatever you want... I don’t get to work from home but this is a privilege I’ve finagled my way into when settling Greg’s people into work from home setups. When he’s an asshole on your side he’s very good.”

“How off work are you?” I ask.

“Pretty much 100% but I can’t abandon all knowledge I have of that place, at least not that easily, I do have to do one thing, though,” Therese says, and goes to her laptop bag, taking a package out.

The parcel is rectangular, and hard, quite thin. Too big and thin to be a book, and too stiff.

It’s wrapped in what appears to be recycled, or at least pre-used birthday wrapping paper. She hands it to me and slings her laptop bag over her shoulder.

I open it. It’s a framed Harvard Business Review. I think it’s from the months I started working in the office.

In gold pen, at the bottom of the framed HBR are the words, “To Tony. From Greg.” And scribbled on the white matting are the words, “Sorry about the Tony part, but that’s all part of growth.” Along with two heart symbols, what appears to be a stamp of a Sonic, and a shark, along with the name, ‘Greg.’

“He’s such an asshole,” I say, laughing at the idiot. “A fucking Harvard Business Review!”

“That he is,” Therese says.

I settle the frame, with the pop-out stand, to the left of and just behind the printer/scanner, and ask Therese to take a photo. She says she’ll send it onto Greg in the car, which has been called, then asks me where we’re going.

We wait a few minutes outside my apartment for the car to arrive. When it does we hop in and Therese tells me to say the bar to the driver. He seems to know it, apparently it’s an occasional drive, for him, at least. Then we’re stepping inside Light Avenue, me feeling nerves that I’m now, in some way, crossing my work life with my... I suppose it’s my real life? I don’t know what’s real though. Which part of me is real? It’s all blurring together.

As we get into the front area of the bar Therese shakes herself out, mumbling something. I walk to the bar, to see if there’s any seats available, but there’s none. After about a minute Steph appears and seems to point towards the long bar, mouthing that she’ll open it.

I take Therese’s elbow in my hand and direct her where to go, sitting us up at the counter. She’s busy looking about, seemingly very interested in something.

Steph is soon standing in front of us at the long bar. “Toni! My beautiful! My favourite woman! What can I get you?” I feel a wave of relief through me at the normality of this—this is all fucked up though, right?—of Steph being kind to me, and her effusiveness, in calling me a woman. It’s sort of where it all began; me being who I am. And now people seeing the real me. Is this the real me?

Is that all it was? I had to be me? It’s ridiculous. Totally stupid, just being me. Is life this stupid?

I cross my legs, a little clumsily, as Therese sets her laptop bag down and takes her coat off. I do the same and rest the strap of my purse on the hook on the bar.

“Can we get two businesswoman drinks, please,” Therese says to Steph. “Corporate account, if you catch my drift? Clear, low calorie, packs a punch. Would knock men off their feet!”

“Oh! Toni! I didn’t know you were moving this fast!” Steph says, laughing. “How corporate?” she asks Therese.

“Big junior position night out,” Therese says. “Something of a graduation drink. But still something unofficial.”

“I catch you,” Steph says, moving to grab some shakers, and then some bottles, after loading the ice-buckets with ice.

Therese turns to me. “She’s senior, isn’t she?” she says in a quiet tone. “I vaguely remember her from my drinking days. She’s been here a while.”

“Steph’s the manager,” I say.

Therese elbows me with a quick popping out of her elbow. “I knew you were a mover and shaker,” she says. Then she calls out to Steph, “With a little kick!”

“A little kick?” Steph asks, pouring drinks.

Therese nods. “A little teensy, tiny kicky,” she says, with a gnarled looking mouth on her.

“You got it! If you take responsibility?”

Both Therese and Steph laugh, and soon two drinks are being settled in front of me and Therese.

The glasses are somehow clear, but the liquid looks thick. When I take a drink of it I feel air being blown out my ears, neither cool, nor warm. It’s a room temperature air, almost equal with my surroundings, and who I am. I even feel it out my nose. I feel my eyes bulge.

“This is fucking...”

“Dry!” Steph and Therese say, both laughing.

And at some point I forget what’s happening. There was a second business-woman drink. And there was a message from Trevor, who I gave my phone number to, via Steph. I wasn’t even that drunk, just clueless. Excited! It was the name of a therapist? A therapist who Therese didn’t recognise but said she’d look into. Steph explained what she knew about informed consent as I had my third, possibly fourth drink.

I told Steph, or maybe Therese... Maybe I told both, two times, what I would fucking do to those guys who put together the office. I think I involved detail. Was there a shot involved? I think I involved tongue with those guys? Either my tongue or theirs. Possibly both? Both of their tongues? And me? Oh I fucking would!

There was laughing, and another drink. Possibly a bottle? It had no label.

I either danced, or fell off my seat, I’m not sure. There was more laughter. I wasn’t the only one laughing. I think Steph sat down too. Did Steph dance?

I think Therese danced? Steph mumbled something. I definitely stumbled.

A woman from security argued something with two guys? Or three guys? It was Anna-something, from the first night I was in here. I wished I was as built as her. I told her that, and she took me for a smoke, and a glass of water.

Really I showed Steph, and Therese, my moves. Killer fucking dance moves. I was amazing! I managed two shots while dancing!

There was a fifth drink, or a third? Did we do double shots? I don’t remember. The bottle was taken away. Steph explaining to a bartender how to make it, asking for comments from us. I think I contemplated what numbers meant, aloud. Or how irrelevant they were. There was a sixth drink where the bartender was all on their own. I don’t remember it, not really. There were other drinks, I feel? I’m not sure.

I think Tim carried me home. Did Therese call him? Or was it Steph talking to him? I called him, trying out my new phone. And apparently, according to Steph’s words, “Someone’s wasted and needs a man taxi.” Why she didn’t get a taxi I don’t know, either way Steph is insisting she drives Therese home. Or someone drives her home. And Steph certainly can’t drive. They’re talking about definitely going home...

Tim is being all sexy but refusing to fuck me. I don’t know why but Columbo is interrogating him. Is Columbo interrogating me? He has a question for me? I don’t care though because I’m trying my best to get slobbery with Tim, who’s a stupid asshole and busy laughing. But I can still feel his tongue in my mouth, or is it my tongue in his mouth? Maybe I’m biting his ear? Did he scream?

I mock his girly scream as I try to unzip his pants, which he rejects. That’s fine. Pants are too complicated! Skirts for life, I scream, as he carries me, I think.

I feel light as air and someone’s undressing me. They’re taking my pantihose off, and my underwear. Men can’t unfasten bras but somehow he does. I’m a woman, I say. And he tells me to go sleep. And he refuses to play with my boobs. Eventually I get him to rest one hand there, on my tit, and I think he likes my naked butt squeezing into him. I reach back and give him a handjob, or at least I think I do. I hope I do.

I still feel him pressing into me, and I force myself to stay awake, struggling with his giant... Arguing I just want him to...