Anything Goes

‘In Olden days a glimpse of stocking,
Was looked on as something shocking,
Now heaven knows,
Anything goes.’

I faded out the song and introduced the show.

“Good evening, good people. This is Karol Nowak with the hour of show power. Lay back in those comfy hospital beds and sing along, but not too loudly, you may upset the nurses.”

For the next hour, I played songs from the shows, new and old, with a nod to the Great American Songbook, as I had done so for a several years, every Thursday evening. I was a volunteer DJ on Colchester Hospital Radio, and tonight was to be my last show in person. It was a little sad, but they would be keeping the show going, by using old recordings.

My arrival at this point in time had been pretty normal. My family was of Polish origin, with my great-great-grandfather escaping Poland with the arrival of the Germans in his country, at the beginning of the Second World War. His name had been Stanislaw Nowak and he had been twenty-two at the time. While many of the Polish refugees had been sent to work in agriculture and helping the war effort, he was a trained electrician, with some experience in radio repair.

He was sent to the Army Barracks in Colchester, as an electrician. There, he did his bit for the war effort, fed and housed by the army and doing electric work with the camp maintenance as well as extensions as the war dragged on. He met his future wife there, as she was another Polish refugee girl working in the NAAFI.

By the time the war was over, he had picked up a lot of new knowledge on electronics, as well as basic awareness of radar and the first inklings of what became television. They married in 1947 and went to live in a small house in Lexden. Their daughter came along in 1949, and the name was perpetuated with the birth of August Nowak in 1950, about the time that he opened up a small shop.

My grandfather August married in 1972, having taken over the little electrical shop in one of the lanes behind the High Street. My grandmother was the daughter of one of his customers and was working as a nurses’ aid in the Colchester Hospital. Their son, my father Karol, was born in 1973. His name, so I had been told, was because it was classically Polish and his parents had listened to Radio Caroline a lot, the pirate station moored off the Essex coast. They lived in a semi on Guildford Road, and by the eighties, my grandfather had enlarged the family business to include an outlet serving professional electrical workers on the new industrial estate on the site of the old Severalls Asylum.

I was born in 1996 and grew up in a house on Brickmakers Lane I went to school at the St. James Primary, followed by the Gilberd Secondary. I didn’t want to go to University as, by that time, I was well versed in the family electrical business and had a certain apprenticeship in electrical and electronics, By the time I left school, in 2013, the retail business was now a large retail store in the Colchester Retail Park, on Sheepen Road, with repairs and warranty work carried out behind the trade warehouse on Brunell Way.

We could be put into the upper-middle class but kept a low profile, keeping in Brickmakers Way and Dad driving a van with the business name on the side. That name had evolved into Newman Electronics. The Newman part being what Nowak translated into. I had been christened Charles Newman, as my parents had changed their surname by deed poll when they had opened up the new outlet.

It was now late summer of 2018, and I was thinking about leaving home when the job offer happened. The family business was being run by my older brother, Alexander, and I felt that my future could be in radio. I had been working as a technician in the repair side of things. I wasn’t good in the retail side, as everyone considered me to be younger than I was, which gave me a problem gaining a customer’s respect. The reasons for this were straight forward. I was short, slim, and my voice hadn’t properly broken.

As well as being a good electrician, I had developed a love of music, which led to me being taken to the hospital by my grandmother, as a teenager, and introduced to the people running the internal radio station. By the time I turned fifteen, I had been trained in the use of the turntables, the cartridges and the tapes. We didn’t have the distraction of anybody calling in, as it was very much a captive and changing audience.

I spent three evenings a week at the hospital studio. One was me taking turns with others who read the articles from the local and national papers. That had three of us alternating for two hours on a Monday evening. On Wednesday evening, I did an hour playing modern music of the eighties to the current day. Friday was my own show, playing the mid-century show tunes and others. I called myself Karol Nowak, a direct Polish version of my given name, to keep this part of my life apart from the family business, although that was started with my grandmother introducing me with the Polish version. It also helped me keep this part of my life apart from my school days, because I thought that my friends wouldn’t consider that it was ‘cool’.

The job offer had come about with an odd coincidence, so I was told later. An RAF officer had injured himself badly by falling off a stage, at a time when all the local hospital beds were filled with flu cases. He had spoken to the owners of his local station when he had returned to his base. They had contacted Colchester to get sent copies of a few of my shows.

The officer was based in Lakenheath, a joint RAF / USAF base. The radio station, Zack FM, was based in Mildenhall and covered Suffolk, Norfolk and Cambridgeshire. They had rung me at the hospital, told me how they had heard of me, and had sounded me out about moving north. The idea of going out over three counties was just what I needed to hear, so they posted me the application forms and an information sheet. My first shift on air was to be in a months’ time, as I needed to relocate and settle in, as well as being trained on equipment that was years younger than the hospital had.

I had sent the forms back last week and was looking forward to a new career. I had included my resume, school grades and a photo of me that had been taken in the studio. When I signed off for the final time, with the signature tune playing out, I handed the desk over to my replacement, who smiled.

“Thanks, Karol. There’s a phone message on the office clip for you. Someone wants you to ring them back as soon as you got off air.”

I thanked him and pointed out the messages that needed read out during his show, then left him to his work. In the small office, I got a bottle of water and looked at the message. It was from the guy that I’d spoken to at Zack. I rang the number, knowing that he would be outside the booth and producing the evening show.

“Andrew speaking.”

“Andrew, it’s Charles Newman. You wanted to speak to me.”

“Yes, I do! When I called you, you answered as Carol Novak, yet you’ve filled in the forms as Charles Newman. Who the hell are you, really?”

“That’s easy. I’m Charles, have my schooling as Charles, as well as my tradesman papers in that name. Karol Nowak is Polish for my name, as it was my grandmother who introduced me as that to the people here, and that also gave me some anonymity from my school friends. Is there a problem?”

“There is for me. I’ve pushed for you to join us on the basis of your excellent voice, one that’s perfect for radio. It’s clear and easy to understand by a wide range of listeners. The problem is that I’ve been convinced that you’re a female, and the station has been promoting you joining us as a new girl on air.”

“My voice is what it is, so that surely shouldn’t be a problem, should it?”

“You’re supposed to be visible as one of our announcers. There’s daytime promotions, remote shows, talking to advertisers and sponsors. Look, the voice is perfect, but the vision isn’t. We even have in-studio cameras so that people can tune in on their computers and watch you at work. A bloke will not work, even with the voice of an angel.”

“So, you’re pulling the offer?”

“I’m not saying that, yet. You have a month before you join us. I’ll give you a week to send me a picture of Carol Novak, with looks to match the voice. Believe me, if you can pull that off, you’ll have many years in the business, as well as a lot of admirers.”

“I’ll talk to my parents and see what they say, and I’ll call you back tomorrow evening. I gather that you don’t want me to speak to your management about this.”

“You bet! They’d bust my balls if this doesn’t get resolved. It will be hard enough if you pull out at this stage.”

That evening, I asked my parents if we could have a serious talk. My mother was worried.

“What’s the problem, love. There’s plenty of time to get ready for the move and work out your notice.”

“The move is the problem, Mum. The guy that wants me there spoke to me after my show. He told me that he’d been certain that I’m a girl, based on my voice. He loves my voice but can’t hire me as me, because the management have been putting out teasers about a new girl on air. They even have in-studio camera feed to the internet.”

They looked at me, and I had the feeling that they had discussed this very situation before. Dad was serious.

“If they pull the plug on the job offer, there’s nothing that you can do about it. They may have to quickly employ a girl to save face but could let her go later on.”

“I know. It’s just that I’ve set my heart on being on the radio. This would be a great start, going out to three counties and learning about the daily promotional side. He’s given me a week to send him a picture of Carol Novak, DJ.”

Mum put her hand on mine.

“We’ll get you in to see our doctor. If your voice is finally going to break, then they won’t want you. In the wait, we can see if we can make you look the part. You’re not that much different from me in size, so it won’t cost a lot to see if it works. Your biggest problem will be maintaining the character. It’s not as if you’ve a bunch of girlfriends that will be missing you.”

“I’ve been too busy for girls.”

“Too busy or just not interested.”

That stopped me in my tracks. Yes, I had girls that I knew as friends, from school and after. I got along well with all the female volunteers at the hospital, but never serious enough to ask for a date. In reality, I was a bit of a loner, and there had been nobody interested enough in me to pull me out of the rut.

That night, I didn’t get to sleep very quickly. I was thinking about masquerading as a young woman. It would be expensive to set me up properly, even if it could be done. It wasn’t something that had crossed my mind, in fact nothing remotely sexual had crossed my mind either. I started to worry that there may be something drastically wrong with me.

On Saturday morning, Mum rang our family doctor, and was given a name to ask for in the pathology department of the hospital. She would send them a copy of the test request, and I just needed to go in, find the right person, and wait for an available slot. It helped that our family had helped raise money for an expensive bit of equipment a couple of years ago.

That afternoon, I was poked and prodded, gave blood and urine, and had an ultrasound scan of my neck. On Sunday, Mum got me to stand still while she measured me. While she had me with just my shorts on, she rummaged around in her drawers and gave me something she had found.

“This is one of my older slips. I’ve put a bit of weight on, and it doesn’t fit me. This will be the acid test of whether you’re up to the task. If you wear this around the house for the morning, you’ll be well on your way. Your father won’t be home from the golf course until after twelve, so there’s just us until then.”

I took the item from her and felt the smooth fabric. She stood back as I contemplated what I was about to do. If I didn’t try, then the job was lost. If I did try, it may not work anyway. I nodded and she showed me how to put it on, and then adjusted the shoulder ribbons so that it stayed on. I looked at myself in her mirror and wondered how much crazier this was going to get.

It wasn’t easy at first, as it felt so different. She showed me how to sit, so that I wouldn’t end up with lines across my legs. She told me that this was also imperative to stop creasing a skirt. After a while, I stopped noticing the movement of the skirt whenever I moved. Before Dad came home, she showed me the trick in taking it off, with crossed arms to lift from the hem.

“You’ve done well, love. See, it wasn’t that hard, was it. Mind you, that was just a drop in the ocean of things you’ll need to know.”

That afternoon, I went into the town centre and visited the Castle. It always calmed me to wander the exhibits and think about those people from so long ago. I saw something that I’d seen before, without it registering then. There were a lot of depictions of the Romans, and it hit me between the eyes when I saw that something so ordinary as a toga was just an elaborate dress, and that the legions wore what looked like a short skirt.

On Monday, the doctor rang Mum with my appointment being for Tuesday afternoon. Mum called me at the workshop to let me know to tell the manager. That really worried me, as it normally took a week or more to see her.

On Tuesday afternoon, I was sat in front of her desk, with Mum beside me. The doctor had a sheaf of papers in front of her.

“Thank you for coming in so promptly, Charles. There are a number of things that have come to light from the tests that you took. The first is that your hormone balance is out, skewed towards the feminine. That accounts for your general stature and height. It also ties in with your voice, as your vocal cords are fully, and finally, developed. All the normal tests showed that you’re a fit and healthy person with a skeleton usually seen on a woman. Before you leave, I want you to give me a sperm sample. The bathroom is through that door and here’s the specimen container. I’ll talk about you with your mother while we wait. There’s a few magazines on the shelf which may help.”

I took the container and went to see what I could produce for her. It was something I had done before, though not recently. The magazines were interesting, with the naked girls not helping much, and the ones in lacy undies being better. It was when I looked at the next magazine that I shot my load. This wasn’t something that I had done very often, and the result this time was similar to the last time, a semi-clear liquid with a sharp smell. I sealed the container and readjusted my clothes. There had been one thing different this time, though. It was the fact that the picture that had been the last one was of a couple of very healthy-looking guys with enormous erections. I wasn’t gay, I’d never looked at a guy and wondered what it would be like to kiss them. Mind you, I hadn’t thought about doing the things to girls that some of my mates would discuss, either.

When I went back into her office and gave her the container, she lifted the lid and took a sniff.

“How long has your ejaculation smelt like this, Charles?”

“About six months. That was the last time I had done this.”

“This puts your case onto another level. This smell is typical of semen without sperm in it, from non-operating testes. I’m going to book you in for another ultrasound, but around your groin and stomach area, to see what’s happening down there. In the meantime, unless we can reverse the condition with hormone injections, it doesn’t look as if you’ll be continuing the family line.”

By the time we had reached the hospital, the request for the new tests had been sent and I had to suffer the ignominy of having the ultrasound gun and gel being moved around my personal places. They also had a request for an X-Ray of the area. On Wednesday, the doctor rang me at work.

“Charles, I’m calling you because I’ve got the results of your tests this morning. The opinion is that your testes have stopped working, which we knew, and that is the reason for your hormone imbalance and your general stature. If it had been picked up before you had reached your teens, we may have been able to steer your body into a full male puberty. As it is, you’re at a crossroads. Your mother has told me that you’ve been offered a job where they thought that you were female. The thing is that we can accelerate that move with injections and removal of the useless testes. I’m told that you have a month, now less a few days, and I’m sure that we could have you presentable as a young woman by then. Let me know what you want as soon as possible.”

I thought about things as I worked on an older TV that really should be scrapped. In the afternoon, I rang Mum.

“Mum, the doctor has told me that she thinks that I should get hormone injections and lose my testes, as they’re useless now. The problem for me is all the complications. I’ll need a lot of new clothes, new paperwork, and some intense training. It’s just over three weeks to the first shift and I still have to send Andrew a new photo.”

“You’ve decided to present yourself as a woman? You know that it will mean a life-time commitment, and probably further surgery.”

“I know. The thing is that my body has told me that I either do it this way or live a totally sexless life, in the backroom repairs. Never realising my dream or living a full life.”

“All right, Karol, dear. I’ll talk to your father about this. We can afford the changes as long as we keep you as our child.”

That evening, Dad told me that I’d be working out my notice as sick, and that I was to follow Mums’ instructions. She told me that I had a salon appointment on Thursday, all four hours of the afternoon, with an appointment with a photographer on Friday afternoon. When the Newman family decide, it’s full steam ahead!

On Thursday, Mum took me through what will be my morning regime of showering and hair washing with some new products that she had bought. Then, she got me to dry by patting, rather than rubbing, and sat me at her vanity while brushing my hair with a new brush. My hair was almost at my shoulders, and I normally wore it in a low ponytail, but, from today, it was to be worn loose.

With jeans and a tee, we went out and spent a lot of time in the shops, with me acting as if I’ve been dragged along to carry the bags. She had the list of my sizes, and we ended up with some basics for me to put on after my session in the afternoon. She had told me that she had a good budget to create her new daughter, so we wouldn’t be doing things on the cheap.

We had lunch together after putting the shopping in the car. That was something new, as we hadn’t done that since I was in school. She prompted me to look and note how women acted, which was enlightening, with me seeing things with new eyes.

In the afternoon, I spent some time on a bed in the back room of a place that I never knew existed. My appointment was with a business called Transformations, which catered for men wanting to experience life on the other side. It was all business and set up to do the best for me that they could. I was worked over with electrolysis until all the hair below my forehead had been eliminated. My hair had been washed, conditioned and had extensions before it had been styled.

A lot of minor procedures slowly changed my appearance. A standard ear piercing and studs, new fingernails, plumped lips and a semi-permanent make-up took me into the fourth hour, and then I was redressed after some breasts were attached.

I was given instruction on how to wear pants that they called a gaffe, until my testes had been taken, and then I found myself standing in a bra and panty set, looking as if it was my natural underwear. I was shown the method to roll on stockings and tights without destroying any after the first few. They had a full range of outfits in my new size included in the price. It took me some time to learn how to walk in what they told me were only low heels.

When they called Mum to come and pick me up, I was waiting for her in reception, with a small bag of the clothes that I had arrived in, along with a bag of new items, cosmetic products and a handbag with the contents of my wallet now in a purse. They had even supplied fake loyalty cards from various shops in my new name. It was certainly a place of genuine transformations. I was in awe of their expertise as I looked at my reflection while I waited. I didn’t expect to look this good without cosmetic surgery. Perhaps my body really had been developing as a girl.

When Mum arrived, she thoroughly approved of her daughter, Carol. Instead of going home, we went to the retail store, parking the car and going in to say hello to Dad. This was my first taste of being in public as the new me and was an interesting experience. When he saw me, Dad did something that I’d only ever seen him do with Mum, he hugged me! The three of us went to a restaurant for dinner. It was odd to have waiters pull out a chair for me and call me and Mum ‘ladies’.

That night, I slept in a nightie for the first time, as all of my boy stuff had been removed by Mum while I was being worked on and replaced with contents of the bags she’d brought home.

On Friday morning, we shopped again, with me being allowed to say what I liked, or didn’t like. I had a new dress and jewellery on when we went to see the photographer. He posed me for some pictures in front of a blue screen, then got Mum to bring some of our shopping in, getting me to change for other pictures. He chose the best of the session, and we picked the best three, which he emailed to Andrew at Zack FM with his business logo to prove that they were genuine and untouched. It was my very first portfolio!

Marianne Gregory © 2026