Chapter 1

My name is Alec Martin McConnell, and I don’t call myself religious, although I’ve been asking anybody who may be listening to grant my wish. Not every night, but often enough. I knew, in my mind, that it was futile, but my brain wasn’t wired to listen to reason.

I was born on April Fool’s Day of twenty-O-nine. My early secondary school days had been really messed with over the COVID years, although my parents were intelligent enough to enforce the home learning and the odd Zoom lesson. I was able to pick up over the following years as I had inherited a good brain. One that had only one drawback, it believed that I wasn’t truly male, and my wish was always that my mind and body got into sync.

This hadn’t been a problem as I was younger. It only became relevant when I started puberty. Or, should I say, when some of my friends started puberty. About my only noticeable change was a fluff that appeared on my chin. I wasn’t as tall as the other boys in my class, but somebody had to be the runt. I wasn’t bullied, just ignored, unless I was playing football. The world game, none of that odd-shaped ball stuff. I was only called names when we were all showering after a match. Most of the time it was ‘dickless’. When I looked at the others, I couldn’t argue with that, considering what they had hanging.

On the pitch, I was fast and thought ahead. I was on the front line and the wing players always knew that I would be expecting their crosses whenever they could get a good kick. At first, it was just class matches for PE, then I was getting picked for interschool matches as things started to become more normal. Being the scorer of the winning goal in a team that brought the 2025 Southern Counties High School Challenge Trophy back from the final against a top school team gave me a standing in my exam year.

I doubt that anyone could remember the last time that The Skinners, Tunbridge Wells, had gone home with their tails between their legs. It did give me a sense of pride and, more importantly, allowed me some slack with the teachers that gave me more time to study for the exams.

As I may have said, I was an intelligent boy, only son of two intelligent parents with a sister who had eloped in her teens, while I was still a toddler. My father was a designer with the hovercraft company in our hometown of Sandwich, while my mother worked at the next-door cable-reel manufacturer as a sales manager. We had a normal sort of family life. With both parents at work, I was more independent than most of my friends. Early on, I had learned to do my laundry and to prepare evening meals to the point where Mum could finish it off when she got home.

Of course, her job had her away a lot, meeting customers and attending conferences as the company tried to recover after the lockdowns. That left me having to do some of the cleaning and providing the meals for Dad and me whenever Mum was away, unless he had nominated it as a take-away day.

My father and I had an odd relationship. He was from further north and thought that my round ball sport was namby-pamby and not proper for a tough lad. We agreed to disagree, and that was mostly the only point of contention. Although he would often mutter to himself as he went off to read a book as me and Mum settled to watch a movie that she liked. I sometimes thought that he wasn’t on the same wavelength as us.

Into June, I sat the various GCSE exams that I was taking. I was good with the two English subjects and Maths. We did the three science subjects separately, so I sat for Physics, Biology and Chemistry. On top of that, I sat for History, both the French and German languages, with one extra optional, Computer Science. If I did well enough, I had plans to follow up with the Advanced Level with subjects that would take me to university to study one of the computer courses.

The following Monday after the last exam, I had the most excruciating pains in my abdomen at school and collapsed in the library. I was rushed to the big hospital in Ramsgate, with them being told that it may be acute appendicitis. I was sedated during the trip and was in no state to ask them to contact my parents, so I hoped that the school had a system in place. All I could think about was the pain, now with the sedation, somewhat less than it had been.

At the hospital, I was rushed into A&E where they x-rayed and did an ultrasound on me as I just laid and let them do what they had to do, while sucking on something that looked like a vape, but was much more soothing.

I wasn’t really following what was being said but recognised Mum when she loomed over me and told me that everything was going to be all right, but that I must be brave. After that, I was slid into a machine that was very noisy. I had the thought that this was a bit much for an appendix operation.

I never got back to school before the end of term. By then, I was in a private room in the hospital, coming to grips with what had happened to me. I had enough knowledge of Biology to know the difference between boys and girls, inside and out, so I could follow what I was told by the friendly surgeon, while Mum held my hand. The surgeon had a clipboard and looked stern but spoke kindly.

“Alec, I know that this will come as a shock, but we have had to operate on you to save your life. When you were born, you were classed as a male, because you had a penis. You did, however, have the internal organs of a female. The pain that you suffered was due to you having your first proper period, when the womb sheds unwanted material to make room for a new lot. This is called a menstrual cycle, which you would have learned about in biology.”

I nodded.

“So, I was a hermaphrodite?”

“Absolutely correct. The problem, for you, was that you didn’t have the passage needed to expel that material. You were very lucky, as your fitness allowed you to retain much of what was trying to get out. In many cases, it has broken through internal tissue and often ends up being ejected through your anus. We were able to relieve the pressure by use of a large syringe, once we knew exactly where the blood and tissue was. After that, with your parents’ permission, we operated to give you the vagina and uterus that was all that was needed to complete that part. We had to also reroute your urinary tract.”

I nodded.

“So, I’m a girl, now?”

“You are. There are other parts of you that now have to catch up. Have you been feeling itchy or sore around your nipples?”

“Sometimes. They were sometimes embarrassing, sticking out all the time.”

“They’ll become more prominent as your bust grows. Now that there is no chance of any male hormones being produced, the female ones we injected, combined with the slow-release capsules that we inserted, will ensure that you will be seeing a distinct difference with your bust and hair growth over the next couple of months. Just in time for you to go back to school as a girl. Congratulations on the GCSE results, by the way.”

He smiled and left me with Mum.

“What now, Mum? How does he know how I went in the exams?”

“Because I told him, love. You passed everything with high marks except for German and Chemistry. That gave you enough to walk into the advanced levels.”

“As a girl?”

“As a sixteen-year-old girl. We have started the process to get you a revised birth certificate due to a mistake with the original one. The staff here have been very good, with them all signing affidavits that you were just a baby girl with an oddly shaped clitoris.”

“So, I’ll be going back to school as a girl? That would be creepy, even if most of the others in my year don’t go into the advanced course.”

“Already thought of love. We’re going to announce that you’re very sick with sepsis, from having a burst appendix. I’ve already taken your school uniforms to them to add to their collection for boys who rip their trousers. We have made enquiries with a boarding school for you. It’s called Benenden and has a very good reputation. It’s not cheap, but we can afford it. By the time the next term starts, everyone will have forgotten about you.”

“What about the holidays?”

“When you get out of here, I’ll be taking you down to stay with your Aunt Gloria. She will get you up to speed about being a girl. She still runs that hotel, so you’ll be doing a summer job as Alice, helping out. I’ll get you some clothes to tide you over but will give her some money so that the two of you can go shopping.”

“Alice?”

“Yes. We’ve applied for your new birth certificate to be in the name of Alice Mary McConnell.”

“That sounds weird. Logical, but weird.”

“Gloria will say that you’re her niece. Nobody in Brighton has met any of us in the last ten years, so it should be safe. The thing is that you can’t come home for a while. That will let us maintain the new you as being the only one. You, as a girl, will be going to school with other girls your age. They do have a very good record with their results, and we spoke to them yesterday. They were happy to keep your secret, especially once they had seen your GCSE results.”

“I get no say in this. What if I didn’t want to be a girl?”

“I’ve heard you talk in your sleep. Asking for your brain to sync with your body. It’s just that your body ended up in sync with your brain. How many of the football team do you know who do their own laundry and cook dinner. I’ve seen you tear up in the tender moments of chick movies that we’ve watched. You always knew that you were a girl, it was just a useless appendage that said otherwise.”

“What about future holidays?”

“By that time, we’ll have moved house to a new area. We’ll decorate a room for you and tell anyone who asks that we’re looking forward to seeing our clever daughter to come home from boarding school. There’s some nice places being built at Sandwich Bay and Deal. It’s still in easy distance to our work and would be lovely when we retire. The Old Mill House is worth well over six hundred thousand, seeing that it has five bedrooms and off-road parking. We bought it thirty years ago when we got married. It was well under a hundred and fifty thousand then. With our jobs, we paid off the mortgage in fifteen years.”

When she gave me a kiss on the forehead, she told me that she loved me, and I replied that I loved her as well. That caused a slight delay as she needed to wipe at her eyes with a tissue. Alone, I laid still and thought through what I had been told. On the face of it, I was now totally committed to being Alice. I vaguely remembered Aunt Gloria, Mums’ sister, about two years younger if I was correct. We had stayed with her in the hotel in Brighton when I was still in primary, in twenty-fifteen.

I could picture the house. It stood on a corner. One street was called Cannon Place and there had been a garden area very close, where I had run around with my plywood airplane that Dad had bought at one of the little shops. There was a big shopping centre across the road, which didn’t do anything for me that time.

I suppose that it would all be for the best. If I simply disappeared, it would leave the position clear for Alice to step in. I never socialised with the team, didn’t really have many friends that I would invite to my birthdays. I was always frightened that if I did, all I would get would be unfunny cards, featuring a clown.

That thought started me thinking about my future. If I was now a teenage girl, did I look good enough to mix with other teenage girls, or would I stand out like a sore thumb. As my eyes were drooping, once more, I made another wish.

“Please, whoever you are, don’t let me end up looking stupid.”

Dad came to see me the next day. He had a carrier bag with him. I was wondering how he was going to act, but he walked straight up to me and gave me a kiss on the forehead.

“Good morning, sweetheart. Your mother had to go and see a customer so I’m here to see how you’re doing.”

“I think that I’m doing quite well, Dad. The doctors are happy with my progress and will start taking the tubes out soon. I’m glad that I don’t have that awful pain anymore, but a nice nurse told me to look forward to cramps every month, unless I’m very lucky.”

“Your mother used to get those. I would hide in the sitting room or go and wash the car. She got that crabby, I hardly said a word in case I got my head bitten off, and then she’d complain that I wasn’t talking to her and was I angry about something.”

“Sorry Dad. Guys can’t win. I hope that I don’t get crabby. Tell me, please, straight out. Do you think that I’ll look like a proper girl. It’s just that my future has been fixed with me unsure if I’ll measure up.”

“Alice, love. There are all types of girls. Big ones, small ones, fat ones, skinny ones, beautiful ones and ugly ones. They all have one thing in common, and that is that they’re girls. Now you, while short for a boy, are average or tall for a girl. You’re not fat or skinny. Some development will make your shape an ideal one. Your face looks good and can be worked on if you’re not happy with it, and cosmetics can do wonders. Your voice didn’t break, and now we know why. Give it a couple of weeks with Gloria and there’ll be lads wanting to date you.”

“Lads! What would I do with lads?”

“Just you wait until those hormones kick in. Your sister was a tomboy until she was fourteen. Then, she always seemed to have a lad on the go. At seventeen she just packed and left while we were at work, and you were at school. She left a note, thank goodness, but we haven’t had a word from her since then.”

“Don’t worry, Dad. I wouldn’t do that to my parents. Whatever it was, it must have been important for her.”

“I know. There’s a saying about not owning a priceless object but just being the custodian. Her leaving wasn’t a good time for us. You always pleased us, which helped.”

“What about the round ball game not being manly enough?”

“I was right, wasn’t I? I always thought that it was a girls’ game and you’ve proved that.”

We looked at each other and we both started laughing. It was an unusual sound from my room that the nurse put her head in to check on us. She saw me with a smile on my face and gave me a wink before leaving us. After Dad had left, I was still smiling when she came back to check my vitals.

“You do have a lovely smile, Alice. You need to learn to use it more often.”

“Thank you. I’ve been wondering. Is there a mirror around? I want to see what I look like.”

She fetched a mirror, and I got the first look at myself, post-operation.

“Did they do cosmetic work on my face?”

“No, Alice. What you see is all you.”

“But I look girlish. I never used to.”

“The only change is that we’ve brushed your hair differently. The main change is in how you now see yourself. Before, you would have looked in the mirror and disliked what you saw, because it wasn’t manly. Now, you’re looking at yourself as a girl and seeing the girl that you were meant to be.”

“Do you do a shift in the psyche ward, by chance?”

“No thank you. They’re all crazy there. Here, everyone is just sick.”

“When Dad came in, he had a shopping bag. Can you check what’s in it, please.”

She put it on the bed and looked inside.

“Today, young Alice, is the first day of the rest of your life. There are a couple of cotton nighties and a light gown. That will make you more comfortable after we pull the tubes in the morning. You’ll feel a lot better when you’re out of that hospital gown. There’s also some shampoo, conditioner and body wash, all good brands and expensive. There’s pair of pink, fluffy slippers. Then there’s a brochure on Benenden School. I’ve met a couple of women doctors who went there. There’s also a purse, which I’ll put in your bedside drawer. You may want to buy a few things when you’re walking around.”

“When will that be?”

“About two days away, I expect. If we pull the tubes tomorrow and redress your wound in waterproof, you’ll be expected to shower. The day after, we’ll wheel you down to physio to get you moving. After that, we’ll have to page you to get you back.”

“What about my genital region?”

“You should be able to pass water without any problem, seeing that the plumbing is all your own, just in another place. Your vagina will have to be checked to make sure that it’s not closing, but, again, you didn’t actually have a sex change, just unusable parts of you repurposed for a short distance.”

“Thank you for that. It gives me a timeline to look forward to. How long after that will I get kicked out?”

“About five or six days, I expect. You’ll know when a bag arrives with proper clothes. I expect that I’ll wave you off with you in a skirt, seeing that slacks will be too much pressure on your groin for several weeks. By the time you get to wear slacks, you won’t want to.”

“That’s a very strange picture. I’ll need to take a selfie when I’m dressed, so that I can look at it at times, to prove to myself that it’s how other people see me.”

“It won’t take long before it’s natural. A week or two of looking after yourself, choosing outfits for the day, doing your make-up, washing your hair and, best of all, shopping, will have you in that girl groove long before you go back to school. Your mother told me about your exam results. You’re intelligent enough to take things in your stride and soak up everything you’re told. You’ll be brilliant, I know it.”

“My mother is a blabbermouth.”

“Your mother loves you and is extremely proud of you. The fact that you’ve been told some things that will change your life and haven’t been sucking your thumb and crying has shown us all what true courage looks like.”

“Really?”

“Yes, Alice, really! Now get some rest, the doctor will be around soon to check on you.”

The doctor was cheerful when he saw me. He checked my chart and the machine that was driving me crazy every time it beeped. I was thankful when he declared that it wasn’t needed any longer and I was unhooked from its clutches. I could now lay on my side if I wanted to, without getting tangled in wires and having a nurse rush in to see if I was all right. Mum came in that evening with a magazine and a form to sign.

“This is for your bank account, dear. I’ve told the manager that you were sick and unlikely to come in to clear the account yourself. His son is at the school, and he knew about you collapsing. I’ll empty the account and give you the money to take to Brighton. When you get your new birth certificate, you can open a new account in your new name.”

“All right, Mum. That’s logical, but I’ve never read a girls magazine in my life.”

“Time for you to start, Alice. Absorb as much as you can before you see Gloria. They tell me that the tubes come out in the morning and then you’ll be mobile.”

“I believe so, Mum. One small step for girl, a giant leap for girlkind.”

“It’s not a leap into the unknown, love. Billions of us have gone before and there’s a whole new world out there, just waiting for you to enjoy. I’m almost jealous.”

The following morning, the catheter was pulled, the drips were removed, and it was like being a boat, finally pushed from the dock. I was free to move around, shower, pee and crap as a normal person. The first big indication of my new status was the lunch, on a tray with me helped into a chair and eating it at a small table. In the afternoon, I was in a wheelchair and taken to physio, where I had to do arm and leg exercises while still sitting to stretch my muscles after my time in bed.

I walked between parallel bars; I squatted and did easy exercises that I had been used to when we warmed up before a match. Afterwards, I was wheeled back to my room where I really needed a shower, with my nurse helping me keep upright.

Of course, after I was dry, I needed to dust my body with powder, which was ‘Really Odd Thing’ number one. ‘ROT’ number two was being handed a cotton nightie with a kitten picture on the front. I had to agree that it was far more comfortable than the hospital gown and didn’t flash my backside to all and sundry.

That night, I had a good sleep. The morning, after breakfast, was a totally new experience. I was showered, dried, given my second nightie and put my gown on. I was wheeled to a small room that was equipped as a salon, so I was told, and had a very nice lady work on me for a couple of hours.

She waxed my arms and legs, telling me that it got easier as the hair gave up resisting. She commented on how little hair I had on my body and just removed what she could find. She washed my hair and it felt good. Then she worked on my face, waxing the fluff that had grown on my chin before shaping my eyebrows and then applying a little make-up. The last thing was when she took a good look at me and reworked my hair into a shape that matched my looks. When I finally looked in a mirror, I looked a lot like my sister in a photo we had, the last that was taken before she left.

Over the next few days, I got around the hospital a lot more, just visiting my room to get the vitals, to eat, and to sleep. I took my purse with me and bought the odd chocolate bar and a decent coffee from the snack shop. Mum came to see me every evening, usually with a new shopping bag, which I had to examine while she explained how each item was to be worn.

Finally, the day came when the few final stiches were removed I was discharged with just some faint scars, as a different person to the one that had arrived. Mum helped me dress and my nurse was right. I was in a skirt and looked great in the picture that Mum took of me. Having been getting about in a nightie, I could handle the change now. Flat chested and somewhat ungainly, I didn’t attract gasps of horror as we went out of the hospital into my new world.

Marianne Gregory © 2026