Synopsis
A wealthy and beautiful Spanish Countess prepares for a private dinner party with her husband and children at the White House with the President and First Lady. As she arrives, she casts her mind back to a very different life.

Jim, a young boy, is brought up in a deprived and abusive home in London’s East End. Aware of his TS condition, he suffers abuse and humiliation, culminating in a homosexual predator taking advantage of him. Finding himself in jail, undergoing special ‘treatment’ to combat his ‘anger’ problems, the young man finally is abused by the state.

When you hit the bottom, there is only one way to go. And a girl called Jemma decides to go up.

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The Legal Stuff: A Fairy’s Tale  ©2004 Tanya Allan
 
This work is the property of the author, and the author retains full copyright, in relation to printed material, whether on paper or electronically. Any adaptation of the whole or part of the material for broadcast by radio, TV, or for stage plays or film, is the right of the author unless negotiated through legal contract. Permission is granted for it to be copied and read by individuals, and for no other purpose. Any commercial use by anyone other than the author is strictly prohibited, and may only be posted to free sites with the express permission of the author.
 
This work is fictitious, and any similarities to any persons, alive or dead, are purely coincidental. Mention is made of persons in public life only for the purposes of realism, and for that reason alone. Certain licence is taken in respect of medical procedures, terms and conditions, and the author does not claim to be the fount of all knowledge.
 
The author accepts the right of the individual to hold his/her (or whatever) own political, religious and social views, and there is no intention to deliberately offend anyone. If you wish to take offence, that is your problem.
 
This is only a story, and it contains adult material, which includes sex and intimate descriptive details pertaining to genitalia. If this is likely to offend, then don’t read it.
 
 

 
Please enjoy.

Tanya
 
 
Prologue
 
 
There was a knock on my door.

“Come in.”

It was Diego, the butler. He took one step into the room and then stood there, immobile.

“Yes Diego, it is time?”

“Si, Condesa, Frank has brought the car round, and is waiting out the front of the house.”

“Gracias, Diego. Is my husband ready?”

“Si Condesa. He is in his study with Carlos.”

“Then I’ll be down directly.”

Diego bowed his head and withdrew, closing my dressing room door gently.

I was seated at my dressing table as I put the finishing touches to my make up. My long blonde hair was up for this evening and the large diamond tiara with matching earrings and necklace had come from the vault especially for this special event. The necklace lay on my breast, as the low cut ice blue silk evening dress exposed more of my ample cleavage than usual. The dress cost me $10,000 on my last visit to New York and it really was exquisite. I slipped on the shoes that had cost me a small fortune in Milan eight weeks ago.

I stared at my reflection, attempting to fault the person who looked back at me. Clarissa had done my nails to perfection, yet again, so I was pleased.

I’m thirty-eight now, yet I thought I looked to be in my early thirties. I still have that cracking hourglass figure I had when Francesco had first met me that day in London. I had been twenty then, but now I had to spend two hours a day in the gym and swim half a mile in our pool before breakfast in order to keep it. I smiled as the mature, beautiful woman smiled back. I winked one eye very slowly, sharing the joke with myself.

“You look fantastic, ma’am,” said my personal assistant, Stephanie.

“Thanks, Stephanie, but what did I say about calling me Jemma?”

The girl reddened slightly but smiled.

She was in her mid-twenties and slightly taller than I was, about five seven, but very slender. She had long brown hair, fashionably styled and was dressed in a fawn skirt with a white blouse. She was strikingly pretty, with very large green eyes.

“I’m sorry, Jemma. I find it so much easier. Otherwise I forget when we’re in company.”

I stood up, picked up my evening bag and wrapped the white fox stole around my shoulders. I walked over to her and gave her a hug.

“Stephanie, my love, you’re family, you know that.”

Returning the hug, the girl smiled.

“I know. You’ve done so much for me, but I still find it awkward.”

“I know, but you know how I hate fancy titles?”

“I know.”

“How’s Frank?” I asked, changing the subject to her husband

“He’s fine.”

“And the kids?”

“There’re with their mother for the holiday. We’ll see them in a week or so, in time for school.”

“Any news about the baby?”

The girl blushed again.

“We passed the vetting procedure, we hope that we will have one in a month or so.”

I smiled. “That’s so exciting. I’m so pleased. It must be like a dream come true after all you’ve been through?”

“It certainly is. I just can’t thank you enough. After all, if it hadn’t been for you, I wouldn’t be here now and I certainly wouldn’t be married to such a lovely man.”

“You are a sweetie. You have no idea how pleased I am at how things have turned out.”

“Thanks.”

“As I said, you’re family now.”

I turned, walking out of the room with her behind me down the large marble staircase to the huge hall below. My stepdaughter was waiting, looking up at me with that lovely smile I’d come to value. She was eighteen and a real Latin beauty. Her gorgeous long hair was almost jet-black, and when her huge brown eyes flashed, she could melt a man’s heart at a hundred paces.

The bright red evening dress she wore was superb, as we had bought it at the same time as mine in New York. Hers was $1000 less expensive. The diamonds she wore were almost as large as mine, so she looked simply ravishing.

“Mama, you look very beautiful, I think,” she said.

“Well, thank you, Chita, but I fear you put me in the shade every time these days. You look absolutely stunning, my dear. Your mother would be so proud of you. I know I am.”

She smiled coyly.

“I hope so. But as you have been my Mama for most my life, I’m pleased you are proud of me.”

“Oh, Chita, you know I am.”

We had a gentle hug, as neither of us wanted to mess our makeup or hair.

Conchita had been only eighteen months old when I had married her father, so she had no memory of her real mother. I had tried to be a good mother to both my stepchildren, and was proud of how they had both turned out. Conchita had graduated from her private school in New England in the summer. I was so proud, as she was going to Oxford in the autumn to read English and dramatic art.

My stepson Carlos, or Chuck as I called him, had just graduated from Harvard with a degree in Business Studies. He was twenty-three now, so had been nearly five when we had married. He wanted to spend some time in the military, but his father had persuaded him to finish his studies first. It had been a shrewd move, as he had met a delightful American girl called Kirsty, to whom he was now engaged to be married, thus, shelving thoughts of joining the army for the time being.

Footsteps sounded to our left as my husband and stepson appeared. Both were wearing evening dress. Francisco, my husband, wore a red sash and several of his orders and decorations. Chuck had a modern-style evening dinner jacket with the high Russian style collar. He was about two inches taller than his father, so at six three, was a very handsome young man. Both were wearing white ties, and Francisco wore his tails with panache.

My dear husband was eighteen years my senior. However, at fifty-six, he still retained his youthful looks. The only hint of ageing was the silver flash above each ear in his otherwise fine head of dark curly hair. His proud Spanish heritage shone through, with his aquiline nose and fine aristocratic features. I love him to bits.

“Jemma, my darling, you look ravishing, as always,” Francisco said, holding out his arm, which I took, kissing his cheek. His accent was almost Queen’s English, with just a hint of Castile. Then, having been educated at Eton, Oxford and then Sandhurst, it was in his breeding and background.

“Is Kirsty going to be there tonight?” I asked my stepson.

He grinned. “Sure, Mama, she’ll be there.”

He had a clear New England accent. Yet a keen ear could just about detect that Spanish accent of his youth. He was broad in the shoulder, having played American football for Harvard. He was a superb example of manhood. The pair of them warmed my heart, no less than had they been my own children.

“  ¡Avance, mi familia, el Presidente espera!” said my husband, and we, the Count and Countess of Valdarez and our two fine children stepped out into the Washington evening sunshine and into the limousine that was to take us to the White House for a private dinner with the President of the United States and a few select guests.

As we entered through the main gates, I smiled, the bars on the gates reminding me of the Young Offenders Institution in which I served eighteen months, many years ago.

Different life, different world and a totally different person.

James Thomas Gardner, the wrong person, in the wrong place at the wrong time and in the body of the wrong gender. Who’d have ever dreamed that one day I would be who I was now?

Not I, for one.
 
 
Part 1
 
 
The Soviet Socialist Republic of Hackney, or in layman’s terms, the London Borough of Hackney, lies to the north east of the City of London. The German bombers devastated it during the Blitz of World War Two.

Gruesome estates rose out of the rubble in the 1950s and followed by the equally gruesome concrete tower blocks of the 1960s. It was to one of the former that I was brought home weighing just over 7lbs in 1956. My mother already had six children, so the three-bedroom flat was over populated even by slum standards.

My father was a dockworker in the London’s docklands, which meant his days in work were numbered. The rise in union power had allowed him a vision of freedom, or a perception of freedom, as he was about as far to the left as one could go. He was hardly a fine example of the socialist dream; an Irish, lapsed Roman Catholic who drank or gambled most of his pay, leaving pennies for my long suffering and far from well mother to bring up seven children.

I had three brothers and three sisters, but my mother had been convinced that I was to be a fourth daughter. I was baptised James Thomas Gardner, and so I began my squalid little existence in that squalid part of the London sprawl.

My early years were actually fine. My brothers and sisters were, for the most part, at school, so I was alone, at home with my mother. My sister Susan tells me that I was a perfect baby, content to simply sit and play quietly, hardly moving from one spot. I rarely cried and was very little trouble.

In 1959, the eldest of my siblings, Kenneth, who was sixteen, was already working in the docks as an apprentice welder. My father, being a stevedore, realised that a skill or trade was the most important thing for a young man to possess. He was only skilled in the loading and unloading of cargo from the huge ships that used the docks and wanted his sons to have the skills to get jobs outside the docks if it came to it.

The next in line, at thirteen, was Terry. He was still at school and my mother had high hopes for him. He was bright; God knows where he got it from, so he was possibly going to stay on after he was sixteen, thereby breaking the family tradition. Then came the twins, Nancy and Carol. At ten, they were a real pain in the proverbial. They were both quite pretty, both blonde and identical in all the worst ways. They made a young boy of three quite miserable, as they used to dress me up as a bloody baby all the time.

John was next, at seven, and he was the real tough nut. He was already at the boxing club and was always coming home bleeding after fighting at school. Lastly, and nearest me in age, was Susan. She was dark, unlike the rest of us, and I always thought she was my mother’s special one. She was five, so was just two years older than I.

We were quite close, so when I was very young we used to play together a lot. Later, it came as a shock to me that I wasn’t supposed to play with dolls and have tea parties. I realised that my mother’s conviction was right, but for the wrong reasons. I should have been a girl. I think I was about four when I realised it properly, but I was somewhat confused for a year or so.

When I was five, I tried to remedy the mistake with scissors and sticky tape. At the hospital, the doctors unfortunately succeeded in saving the parts. I was destined, therefore, to continue being a boy, at least for the immediate future. I never lost the realisation as to what or who I should have been.

School was an utter nightmare. Added to by the fact I was one of the youngest in the year group. The word had yet to be in general use, but Dyslexia was not really part of the educator’s vocabulary. I couldn’t read, so they considered me an educational loser. They called me stupid, thick, dense - and everything else that had similar meanings. Not only that, but also I was small and relatively weak.

Our diet was pretty awful, with my dad and Ken taking the lion’s share as they were working. My portions of food were pitiful. I was undernourished so, as a result, I was a slow developer in every aspect. Not only that, I was dressed almost exclusively in hand-me-downs. Most were the girls’ clothes, as the boys wore theirs out too quickly. I didn’t mind. In fact, one day I was playing in the communal area at the foot of the stairwell with Susan when the postman came past.

“Morning girls, having fun?” he said.

I was so happy, as someone had seen me for what I believed I really was. I adored that postman from that day on.

The 1960s in London was the time of the beatnik and the Teddy boy. Violence was a part of everyday life, and it permeated down the ages to the primary schools. I was beaten up regularly and as a result, my father sent me to boxing club in Hoxton with my brother John.

I hated boxing, as I was forever coming home with a bloody nose or a black eye. I learned to look after myself. I found this out when I first experienced a time of red mist.

I was thrust into the ring with a small boy who was obviously related to a primate group that was so far uncharted by zoologists. Sufficient to say he proceeded to pummel me, and I suppose I just had enough.

I don’t recall the incident, but my brother John, who had the dubious honour of holding my towel, related the incident thus:

“Robbie (the primate) was weighing in to Jimmy, while Jimmy had both gloves up protecting his head. Robbie called him a girl and Jimmy lowered his gloves and stared at Robbie for a second. Then, with tears streaming down his face, he came out flailing indiscriminately with both arms. Two consecutive flails connected with Robbie and down he went. He was counted out by the ref, but Jimmy was unaware and tried to take out the ref.”

I did not make many friends at school, so it seems I was destined for the lowest stream of the low. My reading ability was totally abysmal, but I would take myself off to the local library, and with the help of a lovely lady called Samantha, I slowly learned to read.

Samantha was the daughter of the local vicar of St John’s church in Lower Clapton Road. She worked at the library and took pity on me. That girl was a saint. So it was only thanks to her I managed at least to read a bit.

Commando magazines were popular amongst all the boys at school, and for a shilling¹, one could buy a 50-page booklet with illustrated adventures of the great British soldiers, sailors and airmen against the despicable Jerry and Jap. Most boys could read one in fifteen minutes. It took me all day, but I refused to give up until I had read every word. However, I really preferred my sisters’ magazines, so by the time I was ten it was even more apparent to me that I was very different to other boys.

The local Roman Catholic Church managed to imprint such a guilt complex upon me that I vowed to avoid church for as long as I lived. The black-clad priests and black-hearted nuns terrorised me until I spent many an evening wearing my knees out praying for God to forgive me my thoughts and pleading with him to make me think normal thoughts.

He didn’t, for the thoughts remained, as strong as ever. My prayers changed to wanting to be a girl. I figured that if the thoughts hadn’t been taken away, that is what I should be. I was twelve when I started cross-dressing, which was not an easy task in such a cluttered house as ours. We had moved to a new council house, which had four bedrooms. Ken and the twins had left home. Ken was married and lived just down the road. He was hoping to get a job with Fords at Dagenham as the docks were dying. The Port of London was dying, as the day of the container was dawning and my father had been laid off.

Terry had joined the RAF, even though the Tories abolished National Service. He was training to be a radar technician. And the twins were both due to get married very soon. Carol was already expecting.

I was 13 when 1970 arrived, and the fashions became totally different from the 1960s. The Beatles led the way, hair became longer and clothes became colourful and way-out. Suits and winkle pickers were a thing of the past; while flares and sandals were in. I started to grow my hair and gradually the names started - fairy, fruit, queer, queen, iron (Iron hoof = poof. Cockney rhyming slang) poof, faggot, and many more. The East End was not the place to be anything other than the macho stereotype. There was no doubt that I was effeminate, but I knew that this was because underneath it all I was actually a girl. I may have had the body of a boy, but I had the heart, soul and mind of a girl. The hand-me-downs were still there and I would always choose the girls’ stuff. I was sad that I could not wear the skirts and dresses, at least not outside my bedroom.

By now John, Susan and I were the only siblings left. I was to share a room with John, while Susan had a room to herself. However, although we were in a nice big house, Dad was drunk for much of the time, and would lash out at any one of us.

At the same time, Mum’s health was deteriorating rapidly. She had cancer, but refused to go to the doctor until it was too late. She died when I was fourteen. It was a real blow to me, as I was already terrified of my father. When dad was sober, he was fine, but he was rarely sober. John was eighteen, having already been arrested several times, as had my father, for drunkenness and violence.

The social services were looking at us critically, although I was blissfully unaware of this. John was sentenced to two years for robbery, leaving Susan and me alone with Dad.

My cross dressing was serious now, and I had my own secret cache of girl’s clothes. Susan found me when she returned unexpectedly one day, and far from being surprised, she told me that she had suspected it for years. It became our secret, and she christened me Jemma. She helped with makeup, clothes and everything. One day, when Dad was in the local nick for being drunk, she took me out dressed as Jemma. I had a mini skirt and high heels on, and we had stuffed socks down my bra. It was the best day of my life, until a man groped me at the bus stop. It scared me, yet in a way it excited me. I then started to fantasise about having sex with boys. Having any form of sexual contact with a girl was wholly distasteful, as I told Susan, “I’m not a lesbian!”

In the summer of 1971, I was nearly fifteen, and we went to Southend for a week’s holiday. It seems the social services thought we could do with a break. I had never been on holiday before, and it was the first time I had seen the sea.

I took a few bits of Jemma with me, just in case. Dad would spend most of the time in the pub, so Susan and I were free for much of the time. Then Susan met David.

David was a local lad. His Dad owned the fish and chip shop near our boarding house. He saw Susan coming in a few times, and fancied her. This was hardly surprising, as Sue was a very pretty girl. So he would watch for us and one day he invited her to the pictures. I was happy to let her go, and decided to sit on the front and read. I had a book about Christine Jorgensen, the American Soldier who had a sex change in the 1950s. I was totally captivated by her story and it was as if a door I never knew about was suddenly revealed.

I was sitting on a bench by the beach when I became aware that a man was on the bench next to me. I looked up.

“Hello,” he said.

“Hello,” I replied, somewhat guardedly.

“What are you reading?”

I showed him the book, slightly embarrassed.

“Oh, brave woman, it’s a fascinating story,” he said.

“Yeah,” I said.

He was in his late twenties, I suppose, and was dressed in jeans and a white shirt. He was quite well spoken.

“I have a few books like that at home. Would you like to see them?”

“Like this?”

“Yes, of boys who want to be girls.”

The warning signals should have gone off, but I was too intrigued. It was amazing, as I thought I was the only boy who ever wanted to be a girl. I went with him.

He lived in a nice flat a little way from the beach.

“I thought you were a girl when I first saw you,” he admitted. I did have long fair hair and my jeans were flared and the pink tie-dye tee shirt was hardly butch.

“What is your name?”

“Jim,” I said.

“Hello Jim, I’m Mike,” he said, and then shook my hand.

He gave me some orange squash, and brought a photo album out. He put it on the table by the sofa and I sat next to him. He opened it, and I saw black and white photographs of boys dressed as girls. I got an erection almost immediately.

“Do you like dressing as a girl?” he asked.

I nodded, captivated by the pictures. They were all so pretty, and wore make up and everything.

“Would you like to dress up for me?” he asked.

I looked at him.

“My clothes are at the boarding house,” I said.

He actually looked surprised.

“You dress up as a girl?” he asked.

“Yeah, sometimes.”

“I have some here that would fit you,” he said.

He took me into the bedroom, and showed me the clothes. They were fantastic, all frilly and sexy. I was very excited, and it then dawned on me what he was after. I could have run then, but chose not to. I was too interested in what was going to happen.

He left me alone and I dressed for him. I put on a black bra and panties, with stockings and a suspender belt. There was a mini dress, and sexy high-heeled boots. I brushed my hair out and put on some mascara and eyeliner. I glossed my lips and pouted at my reflection.

I tried to wedge my penis between my legs, but it kept springing out, and it annoyed me.

“I can stop it doing that,” Mike said, he was watching me. He was wearing only his shorts and his erection was as evident as mine.

He got onto his knees and put my little cock into his mouth.

I wasn’t long. I ejaculated within seconds and he licked me clean. My cock subsided and he tucked it away in my panties.

He stood up and kissed me, forcing his tongue into my mouth so I tasted what was in his mouth. I found myself hugging him tight, and holding his enormous erection with one hand.

“I want to fuck you,” he said, pushing me onto the bed.

He pulled my panties off, and I opened my legs. He took off his shorts and I stared at his cock. My mind was in a whirl. Everything told me this was wrong. Yet this was what girls did. I had seen this in porn mags, and I wanted so much to be a girl.

“Don’t hurt me,” I said, but wanting him inside me.

He took out a tub of jelly and told me to smear his cock with it. I did and I loved seeing him writhe and hearing him moan as I touched his cock. It gave me a feeling of power over him. It was as if I controlled him, at least for a while. Then he smeared some up my crack, and into my bum. It hurt.

Then he lay on top of me and I held my legs so he could penetrate me. It hurt and I cried out.

“Relax. I’ll go slow,” he said.

It hurt very much, but I did what he said and it was better. Soon he was up to the hilt. And then he started thrusting into me and withdrawing.

“You are a beautiful girl, so beautiful. I love fucking you. You are so tight, so good,” he said as I held his back as he fucked me.

The pain subsided and I started to enjoy the sensation. I felt a warm glow spread over me. I saw there was a mirror on wardrobe door and I watched his bum as he thrust inside me. It looked like he was fucking a girl and I was the girl. My little cock started to get hard again. He was fucking me hard now and it was really nice. Suddenly, he gave a lurch and a grunt, thrusting deep inside me, as we came together. My spunk was all over my suspender belt and I felt him slide out of me.

He kissed me. “That was so nice. Did you like that?” he asked.

I nodded.

He went and wiped himself, picking up a camera and starting to take pictures of me. I rolled onto my tummy, blowing him a kiss. I was a girl, and it was lovely.

He fucked me three times that afternoon and I was so naíve that I thought he loved me. By the end of the week, I was ready to leave home and move in with him. We had fucked every day at least twice and I wanted to be with him forever. I told him this.

“Fuck off! Queer little boys like you are ten a penny on the sea front.”

I had gone to see him before going home. I was standing in his doorway and I could see another boy in girl’s clothes on his couch. There was a window lever on the landing, so I picked it up. I don’t really know why. The red mist came down. The next thing I knew he was lying bleeding at my feet. I ran away, but it was only a matter of time. The Essex Police arrested me, taking me to Southend Police station.

Mike had conveniently lost the photo albums. He was a teacher, and so as such was a respectable member of the community. I had attacked him for no reason and, using a weapon, I had inflicted grievous bodily harm upon him. They charged me with attempted murder, but it was dropped to GBH at the Crown Court.

Surprise! Surprise! There were no other witnesses. Yet I was convicted. I couldn’t tell the truth without telling everyone, including my father, that I was a homosexual catamite.

They kept me in custody for three months on remand, which was in a young offenders’ institution. Being on remand wasn’t too bad, as we could wear our own clothes and even had our own rooms. I kept to myself, and as the turnover was rapid, people never got a chance to make friends or enemies.

When I finally got to court, it sentenced me to two years in a Young Offenders Institution. I said nothing to anyone all the way through. My Dad washed his hands of me. But Susan knew the truth as I told her what really happened just before I was hauled away.

The plain green Ford Transit with bars on the inside took me to the place I was to stay for the next two years. It was 1971 and I was only just fifteen.

From the outside, Garside looked exactly what it was, a place to lock people away. Built by the Victorians to lock up lunatics, it became a prison after the First World War. It had been used during that Great War for soldiers suffering from the after-affects of gas attacks in the trenches. After the last soldier had been discharged, it was used as an over-spill for the London Prisons, later becoming a borstal.

The old gothic Victorian part was hideously functional. Typically Victorian, it let hot air out in winter and stifled in summer. There was a new wing bolted onto the side, constructed in the 1950s and imaginatively called, ‘the New Wing’. It was a red brick monolith, devoid of character and with small soulless windows, heavy with metal bars visible from the outside.

My soul cried out in anguish, yet no one heard!
 
 
Part 2
 
 
“Stand with your feet behind the line!” the warder bawled at me. He shouted, yet I was only a foot away and, apart from the other warder behind the desk, we were alone. I looked down, noticing a faded yellow line painted on the bare floor. I shuffled my feet back so to be behind it.

“Name?”

“Jimmy Gardner.”

WHACK!

Something hard hit me in the ribs. I was winded, but resisted the urge to cry out in pain and surprise. I stumbled forwards, inadvertently stepping over the line.

WHACK!

“Stand behind the line, you ’orrible little runt!”

I staggered behind the silly line again.

“You will use only your surname and you will prefix and suffix each sentence with the word ‘SIR’, do you understand, runt?”

“Sir, yes sir.”

“Name?”

“Gardner, sir.”

WHACK!

“Uh! Sir, Gardner, sir.”

“Date of birth?”

“Sir, 12th August 1956, sir.”

And so it went on.

“Right, Gardner, strip.”

I stripped everything off, standing, shivering with cold and embarrassment, naked behind the line.

A bored looking man in a white coat and thick black-rimmed spectacles came out and gave me a cursory examination. He treated me like an object, prodding and poking me, occasionally asking me to cough or whether I was in pain. Not that he cared!

“Bend over,” he said, finally.

I complied and felt his breath behind me. He was examining my bum.

“Hmm, queer boy?” he asked.

Red mist time.

When I came round, I was in the infirmary.

“You little bastard. You attacked the doctor,” the medical orderly informed me.

I had broken the good doctor’s spectacles, yet I had a cracked rib and purple bruises all over my body. I had also been unconscious for three hours. They must have been very valuable spectacles.

The next morning, dressed in my ill-fitting new blue uniform, with hairy blue shirt, I was marched into the governor’s office.

“Gardner, sir. Two years for GBH. Attacked Dr Goodson yesterday,” said the warder escorting me.

“Thank you, Mr. Simpson. Is the Doctor alright?”

“Yessir.”

“Good. Now, young Gardner, what am I to do with you?”

I stared at a spot over his head. Frankly, I didn’t care and I was thinking of ways to take my own life.

He picked up a piece of paper from his desk.

“I wonder?” he said.

I stared.

“Mr Simpson, please ask the good doctor to join us. There’s a good chap.”

“Yessir.”

Warder Simpson marched out, returning a few minutes later with the doctor. He stared at me, but kept his distance. I noted sticky tape held the two halves of his spectacles together.

“Ah, John, thanks for coming. I have received this from the Home Office. This case seems to fit the criteria. What do you think?”

The doctor read the document, and nodded.

“If it curbs his violent behaviour, why not?”

“Right, I’ll leave the details up to you,” the governor said and then he turned his attention to me.

“You, young man, must understand that I will not tolerate violence towards any of my staff. Do you understand this?”

“Sir, yes sir.”

“Good. Now, I was going to punish you, but it seems there may be another way. There is a revolutionary new treatment for violent young men, and you will be the first to try it here. You will be given a drug that will stop your violence and calm you down.”

“Sir, no sir.”

“No? You don’t have a choice. You will have the hormone injection every week. Whether you like it or not.”

“Hormone?”

WHACK!

“Sir, hormone, sir?”

“Yes, you will be given oestrogen every week until you calm down.”

I could hardly keep the smile back. That was the female hormone that Christine Jorgensen took to change her gender.

“Sir, yes sir.”

“So I should think. Mr Simpson, take him out.”

“Yessir. Gardner, about turn, quick march. Left right left right.”

He marched me directly to the infirmary. The good doctor used the bluntest needle in his box, jabbing it nastily into my bum.

“Doctor, what is it?” I asked.

“A mixture of androgens and oestrogen. Not really appropriate, but it will calm you down,” he said as he looked at me with something almost resembling pity in his eyes.

I nodded, and then they took me back to the main wing.

The main wing was in the old building and contained convicted prisoners with either a history of violence or long sentences. It consisted of three floors with an open central landing, with eight cells on either side of the landing, on each floor. Each cell had a double bunk and toilet bucket with a lid. There was a table and one chair, despite the fact that two boys shared each cell.

The New Wing contained dormitories where twelve boys were bunked in each room. Only remand and short term, non-violent prisoners went to the New Wing.

Being all under eighteen, the longest sentence any of us got was two years, which for teenagers was a long time. I was the youngest and smallest, but arrived with a violent reputation. They put me in a cell with two bunk beds. An older lad was on the top bunk smoking a cigarette.

He was about six foot and dark. His hair was past his collar. He had a good-looking, but hard face. There was no doubt in my mind that he was here because he probably deserved it. He held himself with an arrogant, self-confident air, as if nothing scared him. I tried to emulate him, but probably looked even more scared. I put on a brave face, but inside I was terrified.

I put my stuff on the lower bunk and sat down. He turned and looked at me.

“You the lad who hit the doc?”

I nodded.

“Why?”

“He called me a queer.”

The lad laughed.

“He calls everyone queer when they arrive,” he said, “Smoke?”

He held out the cigarette packet.

Knowing that cigarettes, or ‘snout’, were the main currency inside, I declined.

“I don’t.”

“You will. Wot’s yer name?”

“Jim.”

“Well, Jim, I’m Larry Sparks. Wot you in for?”

“GBH.”

“No shit?”

“It started out as attempted murder, but got dropped to GBH. You?”

“Forgery and deception. Forged my own prescriptions and then some cheques,” he said, grinning as if it was some great feat.

“Oh, when are you due to get out?” I asked.

“Six months, if I’m good, otherwise at least a year. How long did you get?”

“Two years, but I already done three months on remand.”

“You’ll be out in eighteen months. What did you get for hitting the doc?”

“Some drug treatment to calm me down.”

He looked at me.

“You poor bastard. They tried that at Bovingdon and the kid went loopy.”

“Thanks.”

“Yeah, it was some form of LSD or something.”

“Well they are not giving me that; it’s hormones or something.”

“How old are you?”

“I was fifteen yesterday. You?”

“Seventeen. You poor little bastard. You’ll have to be careful, looking like that,” he said.

“Like what?”

“Like a girl, with the hair and everything.”

“Oh,” I said, rather indifferently.

“There are a few guys here who like pretty boys.”

“So, there are people out there who like them too.”

He looked at me, nodding. I knew what I was and now he had guessed.

“Whatever turns you on,” he said.

“Look, as long as no one interferes with me, I’ll just mind my own business,”

“No such thing in ‘ere. Your business, my business, everyone’s business, it’s all the same.”

“I don’t want no trouble,” I said.

“Trouble has a nasty way of findin’ everybody, sometime.”

I said nothing, as I was fighting not to cry.

“So, got a bird?” he asked.

I shook my head. “No.”

“Ever had one?”

I stared at him, and with a smile shook my head again. He stared into my eyes and nodded, slowly. Then he lay on his back and blew smoke at the ceiling.

“I got a bird. She is called Marie-Anne.”

“Good for you,” I said and he looked at me again.

“This is going to be a tough place for you?” he said.

“And out there wasn’t? I’ll cope.”

“You ain’t that tough. There are people in ‘ere who’ll eat you alive.”

“Out there wasn’t exactly fun.”

He stared at me again, but then smiled.

“Relax, I’m not gonna hurt you. You need all the friends you can get in ‘ere.”

I could feel the tears welling up behind my eyes, but I was determined not to cry. I think he could see that, so he stood up.

“Come on, I’ll show you around.”

Larry showed me the ropes, and the main ones were who to avoid.

“All the screws are bastards. Don’t trust any of them. The main lags to watch are those on Main wing. Gary Kemsley is in for rape, Mark Lewis for robbery and Karl Hoener, he’s a German kid, and he did over a girl pretty bad. They all have a taste for pretty boys, so watch them.”

“Do they bother you?” I asked.

“Nah, I’m a black belt at Karate. Gary tried to push me around, but I put him in the infirmary. We have an understanding.”

“Could you teach me?”

He looked at me.

“If you want. It’s not easy.”

“I want. I need to be able to protect myself. I accept what I am, but I don’t want to be raped,” I said, brushing my hair back with my hand. I was conscious that many of my mannerisms were feminine, so could be red rags to testosterone-laden bulls in here.

He nodded. “Okay, I’ll teach you, but want do I get in return?”

I smiled and looked at him from under my lashes.

“What do you want? There’s not a lot I can offer. Just what you can see.”

He stared at me, and I could tell he was tempted.

“Shit, that easily?”

I shrugged. “It’s all I have.”

Larry didn’t become my lover that night. It took him three days.

I was in the canteen on the third day, when, having just collected my food tray, I was looking for somewhere to sit. One large boy, I found out later it was Gary, pulled his chair back and showed me his lap. His erect cock was out, and he pointed to it.

“Come and sit here girly-boy,” he said, and the two guys with him laughed. I turned away, noticing Larry watching me.

“I’ll see you in the showers later, darling,” Gary said, as I sat down at a space some distance away.

Larry collected his food and sat next to me.

“Fuck off, Gary. Hands Off,” he said.

Gary stared, then nodded and left shrugging his shoulders.

That night, I was in bed, as Larry was on the upper bunk. I wasn’t asleep. I was trying to work out how to avoid getting raped in the showers. I didn’t sleep very much, at that stage.

Larry swung off his bunk and relieved himself in the bucket provided, closing the lid when he’d finished. He stood there for a second, and I could tell he was watching me in the darkness.

“Shift over,” he said. So smiling, I moved over. I slept in the nude in any case.

He slid in beside me and I reached out and felt that he already had an erection. I was hard as soon as I touched him and he wasn’t as big as Mike, so it hardly hurt. In fact, I enjoyed it much more than with Mike. He was slow and gentle, and I think I got more pleasure than he did. He used some Vaseline, sliding into me really slowly from behind. I felt like a girl when he was inside me, feeling a warm feeling deep in my tummy. I enjoyed being able to please a man. That gave me more pleasure than the physical feelings that the penetration gave me.

The second night he came to me, I made him lie on his back so I knelt astride him. I was able to watch him as he fucked me. On the third night, he actually kissed me and that sent shivers through my whole body.

We were now lovers. He would fuck me most nights and then return to his bunk.

After a couple of weeks, he started to stay with me and we would sleep cuddled together. I began to do little chores to try to make myself pretty for him. I would have liked some make up, but I only had felt pens, so I would redden my lips with them.

It didn’t take the other Main Wing lads long to notice me, but Larry warned them off. It became publicly known that I was his and a sort of peace reigned.

I went to work in the kitchens. Although I washed up miles of plates and peeled millions of potatoes, it wasn’t hard and I almost enjoyed it. My favourite chore was when he got in from the farm where he worked. He had a shower and returned all clean in his towel to the cell. I would dry him off, take his cock in my mouth and suck him to orgasm. I made a point of taking a really long time about it, making him squirm with pleasure until he begged me to bring on his climax.

I loved the feel of his cock as it was just about to ejaculate. It sort of quivered, so I knew he was coming. I always swallowed his spunk and licked him clean. I then liked to kiss him so he could taste himself in my mouth. It turned me on so much.

I settled into the routine, work during the day and then sex at night. Larry was very gentle and loving. In the spare moments, he taught me Karate and I was quick to learn. I actually found a degree of happiness for the first time in my short life. However, I knew that I would only really be completely happy once I was a girl.

It was strange, but I was in no doubt even then, that I would achieve this improbable ambition. How? I had no idea, but I knew that I would.

Every week I would get my injection, so after a few months, I noticed some changes.

My nipples were growing and the area around them was sensitive and tender. I thought I was developing fatty tissue on my bum and hips, and my muscle tone was not as well defined. I was developing a feminine figure and I was thrilled. Although I was acutely aware of the potential risks, once it became too obvious. My voice hadn’t broken in any case and still did not seem to want to do so. Plus, I was still lacking facial and body hair.

The real bonus was that my acne cleared up and my complexion became lovely and soft. I started to learn to sew, making myself some tailored feminine clothes. I even made a miniskirt and matching top out of some old black material. I kept it hidden in the cell and wore it one evening for Larry.

He took one look and fucked me so passionately, that I thought I would die of pleasure. He began to call me ‘Missy’ and I loved it.

I tried to keep the pretence of being masculine, but it became increasingly difficult. My mannerisms, voice and sheer presence was so feminine that it was a real effort to keep concentrating on being as male as possible.

Things came to a head one day, and predictably, in the showers. I used to take my showers either very late, or very early. That way I would avoid the rush and get some peace and quiet. One evening, late, I was in the shower, when I head a voice. It was Gary and the other two. They had towels wrapped round their waists, but when they took them off, their intent was more than obvious.

“Well, well, well, if it isn’t Larry’s kye-tye,” said Gary.

I was standing, so naturally assumed the ready stance in karate.

“Ach, she sinks ve be avraid of her now she plays silly kung fu games,” said the German, Karl.

The other lad, the big black Mark Lewis, rolled his towel and flicked it, hitting my bum and stinging painfully. Before I could react, they had my arms and Gary’s bad breath was in my face.

“I’m going to have your pretty little arse, Missy, and then my mates are. You’ve been shoving it into our faces for the last two months, so now, you’re gonna to have some real men,” he snarled.

Karl and Mark held me face down against the cold hard tiles. Gary soaped his cock and rammed it into my arse. It hurt, despite the fact I tried to relax and much as I could. He was pounding away, when he suddenly stopped and came out.

He hadn’t come, but my right arm suddenly free. I didn’t think, I just lashed out at whoever was on my left, Karl, I think, and heel palmed his chin with all my strength. He went down hard.

I turned round to see Larry rendering Gary unconscious. Mark had run to his clothes and was returning with a blade.

“Larry, knife!” I shouted, picked up a towel, flicking it at Mark’s head.

It got him in the eye and he screamed, dropping his knife. Larry kicked him very hard in the groin when presented with the opportunity. Mark went down.

“Out of here, now!” Larry said, and I followed him. I grabbed my clothes, dressing while still wet. I noticed I was bleeding from my behind, and it hurt like hell.

The screws arrived after we’d gone and the guys were in front of the governor. They remained silent, as did I. After that, a peace of sorts ruled. They respected me for keeping quiet, but I knew that if I was ever alone, they would exact revenge.

My bum got better, but Larry didn’t fuck me for a few weeks. He didn’t even come to bed with me. I felt dirty and abused. I would cry myself to sleep. Then one night, he came to me again, and was so gentle that I cried for a different reason. I think fell in love with him a little then.

After the first six months, the main antagonists were released, and there were no real threats to me. I was generally accepted as a strange girly boy, as Larry’s reputation protected me. Then Larry was told he had three weeks to go and he seemed to lose interest in me. In fact, he began to distance himself from me. I accepted it and understood. For some people, their life went on hold inside, so they did things that were out of character for them outside. Now that he was going back out, he slowly purged himself of the bad habits he had acquired and I was one of them.

He didn’t touch me and I didn’t ask him to. Finally, the night before he was due to be released, he apologised.

“You don’t need to. I understand,” I said. “You’ve been good to me. I wouldn’t have survived without you.”

He nodded. “Nothing personal, but I’ve a life to pick up,” he said.

It was my turn to nod, but I could not help the tear from sliding down my cheek.

“Oh don’t cry. I never meant for this to happen.”

“This?”

He stared at me.

“Missy, you don’t want a shit like me. You deserve a bloke to love and cherish you. I’m a shit-bag, so I’ll probably be back inside soon.”

“This?” I repeated.

“Missy, I like you a lot. You have brought me tenderness where I never expected it, even love.”

“Love?”

“Yes, you stupid girl, love.”

“Girl?” I asked, smiling.

“You’re more a girl than half the girls I’ve been with, so forget the queer crap. You’ve brought me love and I’ll never forget you.”

We made love for the last time that night, and we wept together afterwards.
 
 
He was gone by 9 am, and I cried.

I reported for work in the kitchens as usual. Returning to a lonely cell, I cried myself to sleep.

The next day, I reported to the doctor as usual, and he said he was not going to give me the injection.

“I think you’re cured now,” he said. I think he was feeling sorry for me and my profound physical changes were frightening him.

I stared at him.

“If you don’t give me that fucking injection, I’ll fucking go for you and I won’t stop until you’re dead,” I screamed.

He gave me the injection.

I had accumulated a little cash through my work, and they sometimes allowed me to buy things at the limited shop inside the prison. Occasionally, a catalogue would be circulated, so postal orders could be purchased and goods sent for. I sent off for some make up, nail varnish, sexy girl’s underwear and a couple of skirts and tops. I even ordered high heel shoes. The screw on mail screening asked me what I wanted them for, so I told him I was in the drama group and needed makeup and costumes. He knew I was lying, yet still passed the order.

“You’ll have to let me see you once you get into costume,” he said, with a strange look. I suddenly twigged. He fancied me! I hadn’t thought about trying my luck with a screw, but now the opportunity presented itself.

“Okay, is that a general viewing you’d be after, or in private?” I said with a flash of eyelashes.

He swallowed and looked around quickly.

“Private?” he said, questioningly.

“I could do with some decent nylon stockings and some perfume,” I said, and he nodded.

I walked away, conscious that he was following me with his eyes. I smiled. It had never occurred to me to use my body to get favours from the screws.

Therefore, I joined the drama group, volunteering for the girl’s parts. Over the next few weeks, I began to wear make up and nail varnish, and even started wearing my altered clothes. I took to tying my shirt front tails under my breasts, and had someone pierce my ears so I could wear earrings. The warders tolerated it, and if I went beyond the bounds, they told me and I backed down.

The screw, whose name was Mr Smith, (yeah, I swear it’s true) found me in the laundry room one day. I was reading a magazine and it was taking up all my concentration as always. I didn’t notice him for a while, and then he thrust a small package into my hands.

“Your order has arrived,” he said.

He stood there as I opened it. In it was makeup, some girls’ underwear, a couple of pairs of nylons, and a surprise, a suspender belt and a crimson basque. There was also a bottle of perfume.

I took out the lipstick and immediately applied it to my lips.

“Well, can I thank you now, or what?” I asked.

Nervously, he shut the door, so I undid his fly.

It was the first of many such rendezvous and my cache of gifts multiplied amazingly after that.

I arranged to stay behind after one rehearsal for a play. I was still dressed in a dress, with all the sexy underwear and made up beautifully. My longhair was flowing and I know I looked good. Mr Smith met me in the dressing room and he locked the door. He was ever so nervous again, as it was well known he was married. His bisexuality was deeply hidden, and I now had him over a barrel, even though he enjoyed having my ass that night!

After one short play, in which I played the lead female, I started getting more attention than I wanted. Now Larry was gone, there were even some fights as to who was going to have me. I saw Mr Smith every week at least once and he started to pay me in cash.

“For your discretion,” he said.

In return, he kept an eye out for any trouble. I knew I wasn’t bullet proof, but I did feel a lot safer.

I told them all that I wasn’t interested and they backed off. Occasionally, I would crave a particular boy who took my fancy and I would let him fuck me. I had a supply of condoms, and insisted they use them. Despite my experience with Larry, I had been reading a good deal, educating myself about sexually transmitted diseases. I was terrified of disease. With the condoms, I felt in control and had a male harem of fifteen good-looking boys that I could dip into whenever I felt like it. They all would give me little presents of sweets and cigarettes.

I still didn’t smoke. I had built up quite a cache of cigarettes to use to get cash and other luxuries. I realised that I was little better than a prostitute. For in return for sexual favours, I would receive luxuries and bartering items, such as cash and cigarettes.

For the first time in my life, I was actually not afraid and I was making the system work for me. I liked the female persona that I had created and nearly everyone called me Missy now. Occasionally there were fights over me and I was probably a real bitch. I enjoyed the attention, as they treated me as someone special.

Mr Smith suddenly left. No reason was given, and in a way it was a shame. I was now relatively wealthy by the standards of the institution and it had been good while it lasted. He was even quite affectionate and treated me with some respect.

One evening I returned from the kitchens to find a young lad in my cell. I had been by myself for several months and had come to like it. I felt mildly annoyed, but realised that my luck would never have lasted forever. I was wearing some mascara and my nails were looking particularly good. My long hair was tied back and I shook it free as I walked in. He stared at me, his mouth hanging open. He was about the same age as I had been when I came a year or so before, and was equally shocked. He was about 5’8”, so was two inches taller than I was.

“Hi, I’m Missy,” I said, taking off my prison issue trousers. I was wearing black silk panties underneath, a last gift from Mr Smith. I took off my shoes and socks. My legs were hairless and my toenails were crimson. I slipped on a skirt and sat at the table, taking out a nail file. I quickly smoothed the nails and looked at him. He hadn’t moved. He was staring at my crimson toenails.

“Do you speak?” I asked.

“You’re a girl?” he said.

“Shh, don’t tell anyone,” I said, smiling.

I took off my hairy blue HMP shirt and he stared at my chest. My breasts were visible now, a firm A cup and swelling, with large nipples and brown surrounding aureoles.

I put on a black padded bra and slipped on a black blouse. The bra gave me the appearance of at least a C cup, and I had a fair cleavage.

I then applied my make up.

“So, what’s your name?” I asked, as the mascara went on.

“Pete,” he managed to stammer, staring at my breasts.

“What you in for?”

“Burglary.”

“How long?”

“Eighteen months.”

“Well, Pete, I hope you manage to relax, otherwise we are going to have a boring time.”

I then picked up a woman’s magazine, and had my daily hour of reading. I still struggled with reading, but made myself do at least an hour a day.

He just gawped at me. I always dressed like this in my cell as it made me feel good. I knew I couldn’t dress like this anywhere else, so it gave me a little spell of being Missy.

I read an article about a man who was given too many female hormones to try to combat violent rages. After five months, his testicles started to shrivel and he was rendered infertile, permanently. He sued the doctors, winning a lot of money.

I wrote my first letter.

I wrote to my sister. I told her everything, and asked her to get me a solicitor who specialised in civil litigation. I saw my way of exacting revenge of the system that was abusing me. My balls had ceased to function ages ago and I was rarely able to experience even a partial erection any more. My cock had shrunk too. So, I was never going to be a real boy again.

I was actually pleased, but they didn’t have to know that.

I addressed the envelope, putting the letter into it. We normally had to submit letters for censorship, but there were ways and means. I took off my skirt and blouse, slipping on my uniform over my bra and panties.

“Come on, Pete, let me show you round,” I said.

I took his arm and gave him a guided tour. Everyone whistled as I passed. Even some of the warders called me Missy these days. I headed for the kitchens where I introduced Pete to the chef supervisor. All the kitchen help were inmates except the head chef or chef supervisor. He was called Ron Clarke and was an elderly retired warrant officer from the Army Catering Corps.

Ron was on his second marriage when he found his pension wasn’t enough, so he had come back to work. He was a kindly old guy in his late fifties. He was over-weight, smoked and drank too much, but over the months, he had built up a soft spot for me. He was one of the first to realise what I was and, apart from Larry, was the first to call me Missy and treat me as a girl. Unlike Mr Smith, there didn’t appear to be any sexual motive for his attitude. He realised what I was and I think he felt very sorry for me. He always treated me with respect, even pity at times.

I started off resenting his pity, but realised that he wasn’t patronising, he just felt I didn’t belong inside, as I wasn’t like the others at all. I initially thought he fancied me, suggesting we go to the storeroom for a quickie. He stared at me as if I’d slapped him and then walked away. He didn’t speak to me for three days, but when he did, he apologised.

“I’m sorry. I’ve been naíve, as I hadn’t realised what they’ve turned you into. You poor soul!”

After that, Ron used to bring me little treats, girls’ magazines, items of makeup or clothes. He also taught me the rudiments of his trade. When it was quiet, he would teach me some cookery skills. In him, I found the father that I’d never had. My drunken bastard didn’t count!

The kitchens became a special place for me, as I had a genuine interest in learning a skill. Reading was hard for me. However, doing things with my hands - that was different! I enjoyed creating, and creating finished dishes from basic ingredients was a challenge. Not that the food was that good or imaginative, but it was still challenging. Trying to feed that many people with the limited budget and types of supplies was hard.

As I breezed in, Pete seemed bemused that everyone accepted my makeup and effeminate manner.

“Hi Missy, how’s things?” Ron asked.

“Ron, darling. This beautiful boy is Pete. He is my new roomie. So be nice to him, there’s a love,” I said.

“Pete, you behave yourself, and don’t be giving my girl any trouble,” Ron said. He was putting his jacket on, just about to get ready to go home.

Pete was completely bemused and simply nodded.

I slipped Ron my letter, which disappeared quickly into his jacket pocket.

Pete looked away when I kissed Ron’s cheek.

“Thanks Ron, you are a love.”

We continued our tour. Returning to the cell, I stripped off my hated uniform, putting on my Chinese wrap. I lay on my bunk, reading my magazine. I adored reading about high society and dreamed of being a duchess or countess. Pete stared at me.

I lowered the magazine and looked at him.

“Look, Pete, I have no designs on your body, unless you’re in the market and can pay for what you see. So, we’ve got to at least try to communicate on the same level, otherwise, it’s going to make time drag something awful. If you want to ask me anything, then ask. But don’t just stand there staring at me.”

“Sorry. But you look like a girl.”

I explained the hormones and that I was changing, regardless of whatever I wanted. I also told him that, sexually, I was attracted to men. So, in more than one way I was a girl.

He began to relax and told me of his experiences. He came from an estate in Harlow, Essex and they had never had any money. He had two sisters and his dad had buggered off after the younger one had been born. He was the eldest, so his mother relied on him a lot. However, she met another man and they all moved in with him. He was a lazy, abusive man who sent Pete’s mother to work as a cleaner while he did nothing, except gamble and drink.

I smiled; we had that in common at least.

The girls never had clothes or anything, so Pete started to break into houses to raid the coin boxes attached to the gas meters. He gave his mother the money to pay for shoes for his sisters and things seemed to be okay. However, there was always a need and one day he got caught.

On the seventh time, he was found in a house of a local magistrate, so he was sent down for eighteen months.

I told him my story and he looked shocked.

“The bastard, and he’s a teacher?”

“Yeah, so guess whose children are not safe?”

“Did you hurt him bad?”

“He had a four inch scar across his face, and I broke his jaw and a tooth. He’s disfigured for life.”

“Would have been better if you had killed him.”

I shrugged.

“How long have you got now?” he asked.

“Eight months for the full sentence, but I should get out in two or three.”

“What will you do?”

“I don’t know, have a sex change and take my chances in the world. I’m certainly not coming back inside,” I said.

He smiled.

“What?” I asked.

“I never thought I’d be sharing a cell with a girl,” he said.

“You’re sweet, but I’m not quite there yet,” I replied, smiling.

“You are, it is just your body hasn’t quite caught up.”

It almost made me cry, so I turned away.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to offend you,” he said.

“You didn’t offend me; you just said the nicest thing that anyone has ever said to me.”

We got on very well after that. He was not interested in me, sexually, that is, but we became friends.
 
 
Part 3
 
 
Stuart Collins was a neat man, his suit was always pressed and he wore a different shirt and tie each time he came to see me. I noticed things like that.

The governor was a bit wary that I was seeing a solicitor, but he could not stop me, and neither could he force me to tell him why I wanted one so near to my release date.

We sat in a small room, called ‘Solicitor’s interview room’, showing that imagination was not lost on the Prison Service. It had a table and two chairs. I sat opposite him, with a warder outside looking through the glass. He couldn’t hear us, but at no time was I out of his sight.

I deliberately did not wear any make up, jewellery, or female attire. I pulled my hair back into a ponytail, and tried to look as ordinary as possible.

“I have asked an independent doctor to come and examine you. But certainly, I believe that you have a case. If the medical findings show you are irreparably infertile and chemically castrated by the treatment, regardless of the alleged provocation, the Home Office is guilty of several illegal acts upon you. Your basic human rights have been impinged, as you signed no consent forms.

“I have sought advice on this matter from chambers and one of the top QCs is willing to take this all they way.”

I smiled, a little sadly. I wanted him to be convinced that this was all a terrible thing to happen to me.

“So what can I hope for, not money, but medically?” I asked.

“There is a problem. The doctor I’ve asked to examine you, Dr. Marcus Brown from Barts, is one of the top men in his field. He has been involved in the development of sex reorientation surgery over the last few years and he tells me that if you have been rendered useless as a male, then there are only a couple of options.

“One, they can give you testosterone boosts, but this may never bring you sexually back to being an active male, but you will have the appearance and outward signs of a male. So your build and voice will be more masculine. If you’ve any breast development, then that can’t be reversed, so you’ll have to have a mastectomy.

“Two, you can insist that they finish what they started and demand that a full sex change be conducted, at least giving you some form of normal existence. It’s really up to you.”

“You mean I’ll never father a child?” I asked, even managing to squeeze a tear out, but inside I was screaming, ‘Yippee.’

“I don’t know, but if you have been on the hormones for as long as you say, then in all probability, no. I’m sorry.”

I looked down, so he could not see my grin.

There was a knock on the door.

It was Mr Simpson, the warder I particularly loathed since he beat me up on that first day.

“Mr Collins, a Doctor Brown is here. The Governor has had him shown to the infirmary. I am to take you and Mr Gardner to him now.”

Mr Gardner. Normally he called me, ‘the little Queer.’

The examination was the most thorough I had ever experienced, particularly the rectal examination.

“Have you had anal sex?”

“I was raped in the showers several months ago, why?”

“That would explain it. You have scar tissue here, which would indicate forced penetration. Have you reported it?”

“Don’t be stupid, how long do you think I’d have lasted if I had?”

He looked at me.

“My God, I never realised. You poor child.”

“You’ve no fucking idea what it is like in here, have you?” I asked.

“No, perhaps it’s time the world did.”

“Don’t be naíve, doc, the world doesn’t give a shit. We’re the scum. Innocent or guilty, we’re the scum of the earth.”

I then told him why I was here, I told him about Mike, however, I insinuated that I was tricked and repeatedly raped, being blackmailed into allowing it. I told him about my attack on the doctor, who was just outside the door. He was amazed and very shocked.

He finished his examination.

“Well?” I asked.

“My findings will be made known to your solicitor. But I can confirm that you have been the victim of state sponsored torture. I will do my damnedest to see justice is done and that you receive some compensation. Though, no amount of money will ever make good what they have done to you.”

A screw took me back to my cell and life went on.

One day, I was working in the kitchen, when a screw came to fetch me.

“Gardner, Governor, now,” he said, so I was taken up to his office.

As I stood in front of his desk, I could tell he was an unhappy man.

“I have been informed by the Home Office that you are taking me and the prison service to court. You would have been out of here next month. However, now it looks like you will have to stay for your full term. Unless of course you wish to drop this silliness.”

“Sir, may I speak to my solicitor, please sir?”

He stared at me.

“No, you may not.”

“Sir, please record your refusal to allow me my rights, sir.”

He started to shake, and I knew I had him.

“You little shit. How dare you sue me? I have been scrupulously fair to you, so tell me, why?”

“Sir, go fuck yourself. Sir.”

He went red in the face and slapped the desk with his hands.

“How dare you speak to me like that? For that insolence I am refusing your release any earlier. You will stay here for your full term, do you understand?”

For the first time, I stared at him, right in the eyes, and he looked worried.

“You do what the fuck you like. Do you think I care? You pathetic little creep. I have you fair and square and as soon as my solicitor hears about this little exchange, then that will be an extra ten grand and you can kiss your precious pension goodbye. So, kiss my ass.”

I turned and walked out. He was screaming for me to come back in, but I just left him alone. I went straight to the pay phone in the hall. A warder was standing by it and he tried to stop me. I just looked at him.

“Can you afford to lose your pension, too?” I asked.

He frowned, turned and walked away.

I called my solicitor, told him what had happened and left him to deal with things.

Things happened very quickly. A Home Office Inspector of Prisons arrived, suspending the governor on full pay, pending an enquiry and the doctor was replaced. The tabloids got wind of a scandal and my case was instantly reviewed. I was informed that I was to be released in three weeks.

I panicked.

What the hell would I do?

Things tightened down as tensions became high inside. Rumours were rife. In a short time everyone knew that I was suing the Prison Service. Lads who had never spoken to me now became aware that I had been forced to take hormones. Nearly everyone openly supported me, even those who didn’t like what I was.

It hit the newspapers. There were no real specifics, as because of my age they were legally bound to leave my personal details out. The Home Office announced that all drug therapy for anger management in prisons was suspended.

The replacement governor called for me.

Mr Collins and the doctor who had examined me were there, as were a man from the Home office and a man who was introduced to me as my barrister.

We sat in a small conference room with the man from the Home Office chaired the meeting.

“The purpose of this meeting is to try to offset the expensive and embarrassing option of a lengthy court case. So quite simply, I will make you an offer which I hope will compensate your client. But I should make it clear that in doing so the Home Office in no way accepts liability or any wrongdoing, but makes the offer in good faith to avoid disorder in Her Majesty’s Prisons.”

I looked at the barrister. He simply sat there, twiddling his thumbs.

“The Home Office is prepared to pay your client the sum of ten thousand pounds.”

That was a fucking fortune.

My barrister simply stood up.

“See you in court,” he said and made to leave.

“Mr Carmichael, be reasonable, please. We are only thinking of your client. This is a considerable sum and this way he may be spared the indignity of having the details splashed across the newspapers.”

“Mr Robinson, my client will be happy to spread this iniquitous story across the papers. Indeed, I am instructed that a full press conference is planned when he is released. For a start, there is a good chance that this story will be worth a fortune for him. Secondly, we will not consider any figure below one million pounds as an out of court settlement, together with full surgical restorative procedures to render my client in as near normal physical state as he requires.”

They were standing across the mahogany table from each other and I was captivated. It was so exciting.

“Fifty thousand and the medical procedures.”

“I am sorry, the sum is not negotiable. One Million, or we go to court.”

“I am not authorised to offer that amount.”

“Then we are all wasting our time. I suggest that the Home Office find someone who is authorised to negotiate. Good day.”

Mr Carmichael nodded to me and walked out.

Mr Robinson stood there, looking pained. He had hoped to avoid court, but one million. I gasped. I was aware that the solicitor and barrister would take a fair slice, but the surgery - that was what I was after. The money was a bonus.

In a side room, Mr Collins told me that he had arranged for me to stay with a family in Windsor. He advised me to change my name by deed poll as soon as possible and keep my head down. I asked him about the doctor’s report. The doctor, who had been sitting in silence up to that point, let me know where I stood in no uncertain terms.

“I am afraid it is not good news. You’ve been totally emasculated, so there is nothing left to recover. You are, I’m afraid, no longer a functioning male. I am stunned that this has been allowed to happen in this country in this day and age. I shall do whatever I can to ensure that this is taken to the highest authority.”

Where does that leave me?” I asked.

“You have to consider the two options I gave you last time I was here,” Mr Collins said.

I looked down, some choice.

I pretended to give in some thought.

“Mr Collins, I have no desire to be a pretend person, male or female. I have been feeling very odd in recent months, and I now identify myself more as a girl than as a boy. If I go to being a man, then I will be a pretend man, but if I become a girl, then I can lead a fully normal life except for having children.

“I’ve thought about little else, so I’ve decided that I want a full life. I’d prefer to be a girl, as I was crap at being a boy.”

He nodded and smiled.

“I thought you might, as it’s hard to see you as a boy, as everything about you is so feminine. But it will not be an easy road. You’ll get a lot of stick from the press and life could become very hard. Notwithstanding the surgery, which is extensive and painful.”

The doctor nodded his agreement with that part.

“I’m prepared for that. My life has hardly been a bed of roses so far,” I admitted and both men smiled.

The solicitor collected up his papers, putting them in the briefcase.

“Would you like me to arrange the change of name for you?”

“Possibly.”

“What do you want to be called?”

I smiled, I had thought about this too.

“Jemma Yvette Adams.”

“Why Adams, the Jemma I can understand, but Adams?”

“Adam was the first man and from his rib Eve was made. Well, it is kind of symbolic for me. Also, I want to be at the top of lists, instead of being half way down.”

He laughed.

“I’ll set that in motion. I’ve brought deed poll form. If you sign it, I will complete it and submit it on your behalf.”

“Can I think about it, and do it later?”

“Why?”

“Well, deed polls are open and one can leave a record. I want to try to disappear, so as to leave no trace of my past. So the fewer people who know about this, the better my chances of starting a completely new life.”

“I understand, but it will be bloody hard to just disappear.”

“I realise that. But I want to keep my options open.”

He smiled, at stood up to leave.

“Mr Collins?”

“What?”

“Will they settle?”

“Mr Carmichael thinks they will, but we’ll be asked to sign a non-publicity agreement. They have an awful lot to lose, as the judgement will open a floodgate. So it will be cheaper for them to settle out of court.”

“What, a million quid?”

“Yes, even that. The cost would take any award over that in any case.”

I was stunned.

I went back to my cell and found Pete was anxious for me.

“Are you okay?”

I smiled, as he was becoming quite fond of me, despite our platonic relationship.

“Fine, I was offered fifty thousand and a sex change.”

“Did you take it?”

“No, my barrister is holding out for a million.”

“A million quid. Fucking hell!”

“That’s what I thought, but I’m out of here in any case.”

“What will you do?”

“Take one day at a time.”
 
 
The three weeks dragged, but I noticed that my standing inside had changed. Having been considered a bit of a deviant, I was now patted on the back and was generally popular. I had not worn my makeup or female attire for ages, but my body was still changing.

My breasts were a good 34B, and I had a very narrow waist. But my bum and legs were the most feminine features. I ached to be a real girl, and knew that it was now just a matter of time. I had an appointment with the same doctor, Dr Brown, as soon as they released me. He would get things in motion. It all depended on the Home Office. Mr Collins told me that delays were not to their advantage.

The day came, a Monday, so I got up on my last morning feeling very nervous. I had been inside for nearly eighteen months. I was now sixteen and it was February 1973. I had breakfast, experiencing conflicting emotions. Although I hated this place with a passion as they had shut me away from the world, this place had protected me, after a fashion. It had also helped me to discover who I was and enabled me to educate myself a little through reading. It was a very different thing being free and I didn’t know if I was prepared for freedom.

Old Ron Clarke gave me a big hug and told me to come and visit him anytime. I burst into tears and promised I would, but I knew I probably would never see him again.

I went back to my cell where I collected my personal stuff. I then went to the office to have my release papers signed. The screw looked miserable and hardly spoke to me. He gave me an envelope with  £156.50p back pay and the clothes I had worn when I came in. I put the money in my bag with all my makeup, clothes and few personal belongings. I had managed to save  £300 that Mr Smith had given me for sexual favours.

I dressed in my jeans and tee shirt which hardly fitted me any more. The jeans were far too tight in the bum, and yet the waist was loose. I slung on my old green parka with the fake fur round the hood. I handed back the hated uniform and walked out.

My father had not even written to me and I had not had any visits from anyone. Susan was now engaged to Dave from the chip shop, but she didn’t want to advertise she had two brothers in prison. John was now in Brixton for armed robbery, with eight more years to do. I had lost track of the others; however, I knew Dad was very ill.

As I walked across the courtyard towards the gate, there were shouts and whistles coming from every window in the place, so I turned and blew them all a kiss. A huge cheer rose and I almost cried again, the hormones were a real sod. This bloody place was the nearest place I had ever had to home. I approached the big gate and the screw opened the small door.

“Good luck,” he said.

I stopped. “Can you pass a message on to Mr Simpson for me?”

“Sure.”

“Tell him he was a first class shit and I hope he gets raging piles,” I said, walking through the gate to the open air.

There was a ladies toilet in the archway for visitors who might get caught short whilst waiting to gain entry to see their loved ones. I went in and dressed in a skirt and top, tights and high heel shoes. I let my hair down, put my makeup on, did my nails and walked out without looking back.
 
 
I left James Thomas Gardner behind in that toilet. He was never to see the light of day again.
 
¹ In those days, twelve pennies made a shilling and twenty shillings made a pound. Now, with decimalisation in 1969, one hundred pennies to the pound, so a shilling would be five new pence.

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To Be Continued...

 
Synopsis
A wealthy and beautiful Spanish Countess prepares for a private dinner party with her husband and children at the White House with the President and First Lady. As she arrives, she casts her mind back to a very different life.

Jim, a young boy, is brought up in a deprived and abusive home in London’s East End. Aware of his TS condition, he suffers abuse and humiliation, culminating in a homosexual predator taking advantage of him. Finding himself in jail, undergoing special ‘treatment’ to combat his ‘anger’ problems, the young man finally is abused by the state.

When you hit the bottom, there is only one way to go. And a girl called Jemma decides to go up.

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Tanya has a new website where she will display her latest works first and then to BigCloset TopShelf a few weeks later is here at Tanya Allan's Tales .
Tanya's Book Shop where she is selling her works in book form is at http://tanyaallan.authorshaunt.com/shop.php . Please Visit!

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The Legal Stuff: A Fairy’s Tale  ©2004 Tanya Allan
 
This work is the property of the author, and the author retains full copyright, in relation to printed material, whether on paper or electronically. Any adaptation of the whole or part of the material for broadcast by radio, TV, or for stage plays or film, is the right of the author unless negotiated through legal contract. Permission is granted for it to be copied and read by individuals, and for no other purpose. Any commercial use by anyone other than the author is strictly prohibited, and may only be posted to free sites with the express permission of the author.
 
This work is fictitious, and any similarities to any persons, alive or dead, are purely coincidental. Mention is made of persons in public life only for the purposes of realism, and for that reason alone. Certain licence is taken in respect of medical procedures, terms and conditions, and the author does not claim to be the fount of all knowledge.
 
The author accepts the right of the individual to hold his/her (or whatever) own political, religious and social views, and there is no intention to deliberately offend anyone. If you wish to take offence, that is your problem.
 
This is only a story, and it contains adult material, which includes sex and intimate descriptive details pertaining to genitalia. If this is likely to offend, then don’t read it.
 
 

 
Please enjoy.

Tanya
 
 
Part 4
 
 
It was bloody cold. There was snow left from a fall a few days ago, with a cold wind blowing in from the northeast. I was wearing girl’s clothes that were more suitable for summer than winter, and an old parka. A taxi was waiting. I walked over to find the driver was reading the Sun and drinking coffee from a flask.

He wound the window down and seemed surprised to see a girl coming out of a male institution.

“Hi, are you waiting for me?”

“Dunno luv, are you the one going to the station?”

“Yes.”

“Hop in then, luv, it’s fucking parky.”

I got in beside him and I saw he looked at my legs.

“I was expecting one of them little shits. What’s a nice girl like you doing in a place like this, with loads of young villains? It’s hardly the place for an attractive girl like you.”

I almost burst out laughing at the cliché he had just come out with.

“I was just visiting,” I lied; well I had been, for eighteen months.

“Cor, just as well they didn’t let you inside with the inmates. They’d eat you alive.”

“I might just have enjoyed it,” I said, and we laughed together.

He took me to the railway station, as I had a travel warrant for Windsor. However, to get from Essex to Berkshire, I had to change mainline trains, underground trains and buses. I finally arrived, tired and cold, at a big detached house in Windsor. It was getting dark, as it was about five o’clock. It also started to rain.

I rang the bell nervously and nearly turned and fled before the door was answered.

However, a pleasant, middle-aged lady opened the door and stood looking at me.

“Yes, may I help you?”

“Mrs Jameson? I am Jemma. Mr Collins told me you were expecting me.”

She looked at me. Her mouth opened, but no sound came out. She opened the door, stood back, and I gratefully came out of the cold.

“Dear God,” she said.

I looked at her. She was about my height and a little plump. Her hair had been brown, but was now greying and was cut quite short. She was wearing trousers and a big woolly cardigan over a floral blouse. She had a kind face and nice eyes, which were green.

“You poor child. I had no idea. It’s a terrible thing they’ve done to you.”

I said nothing, but took my coat off. She gasped when she saw my clothes, or rather when she saw my shape in the clothes. Her hands flew to her face.

“Oh dear Lord.”

“Actually, I’m okay, really,” I said, my teeth chattering a bit.

“Oh, come in. I’ll put the kettle on. Come by the fire and warm up.”

She took me into a lovely sitting room, sitting me in a huge armchair by a roaring fire. I looked round the room. It was bigger than most homes I had been in and was tastefully decorated. It was the kind of room I would have liked to have had as a child. I don’t know why, but I started to cry. Mrs Jameson came in and sat by me, cradling me in her arms.

I was like that for a while, while great sobs came from me. I had lost control and I just opened the floodgates as sixteen years of anguish poured out. I cried for my mother, my broken relationship with my father and my lost siblings. I cried for me and for Larry, Pete, and all the other lost boys. Mainly, I cried for me.

Finally, I managed to stop and Mrs Jameson just held me to her ample bosom.

“I’m sorry,” I said, sniffling.

“Never mind, it had to come out, so better sooner than later.” She handed me a box of tissues.

“Now, shall I get that tea?”

I nodded.

She left and I followed her to the kitchen and she put the kettle on. It was a lovely modern kitchen too.

“You have a super home. I’m sorry if I’m putting you out.”

She looked at me and her face softened.

“When Stuart told me about you, I was not really that keen on having you to stay. He told me that you were more a victim than anyone he had ever known, so I agreed. Now I am glad I did.”

“You don’t know me yet,” I pointed out.

She smiled, “Stuart assured me that you were really a very nice person, so I trust his judgement.”

“You’re Stuart’s aunt?”

“Not really. His mother was a dear friend of mine, so he has called me aunty all his life.”

“He’s very nice and a good solicitor,” I said.

“Yes, he is. Here, get the milk out. There’s a dear.”

I opened the fridge and took out the milk. She made two mugs of tea and I added the milk.

“Sugar?”

I nodded, “Two please.”

She put in two teaspoons in one mug and a saccharine tablet in the other.

“Have you eaten today?”

“I grabbed a sandwich at one of the many stations.”

“My husband will be home from work soon, so you can help me make supper if you like?”

“I’d like that.”

“Do I call you Jemma?”

“Please.”

“Then you can call me Lynette. None of this Mrs Jameson business. It makes me feel so old.”

We went back into the sitting room where I poured out my tale of woe, holding nothing, and I mean nothing, back. She sat there stunned, and then I saw her crying.

“Oh, you poor, innocent little soul. How cruel can life get?”

“Don’t feel too sorry. I can be determined when I want to be and I probably am a horrible person.”

She shook her head.

“Don’t you dare believe that, if you believe that, then they’ve won. You are the victim of a horrible injustice and I hope and pray we can make part of it right. That horrible teacher from Southend will have to have his comeuppance.”

I shrugged. It was all in the past now.

After tea, she showed me to a lovely bedroom with floral curtains and a matching bedspread. Even the sheets and pillowcases had pink flowers on them. I almost lost it again.

“Where’s your luggage?”

“This is all I have.”

She gaped at me again, tut-tutting through her teeth.

“My daughter is grown up and married now, but some of her old clothes are in the attic. So, if you help, we shall see what we can find. Otherwise, you and I are going shopping tomorrow.”

The attic was easily accessible through a hatch with an extendible ladder. It was a huge room, full of boxes and even an old rocking horse.

“How many children have you got?” I asked.

“Three. James is twenty-seven, an army officer in Germany. He is married with two young children. Mark at twenty-four is at medical school and will be a qualified doctor next year, while Susan is twenty-two. She just got married and is working as a legal secretary in a local solicitor’s here in Windsor.”

“Do you see much of them?” I asked as she was rooting about in an old box.

“Not as much as I’d like. James will be back in the UK next year, so that will be nice. Sue comes here with John, her husband, for lunch every Sunday, but Mark is rarely in evidence.”

She pulled out an old suitcase and opened it.

“Perfect. This was Sue’s stuff when she was about your age. You’re much the same size, so take this down, there’s a dear, and we’ll have a look downstairs.”

I lugged the case down to my bedroom as she put away the ladder. She joined me, and together we examined the contents.

There were two nightdresses and several skirts and tops which I liked. Some of the dresses were a bit too posh for my taste, but Lynette told me that I had to bring my taste up, as I was such a pretty girl.

“I have a sister called Susan,” I said.

She looked at me, “When did you last see her?”

“Before I was sent down. I never got any visits, except for Mr Collins.”

“Oh you poor soul, life just is so unfair at times.”

There was a nice black coat, so I happily agreed to chuck out my old green parka. As it was still winter, I was grateful that there were several pullovers and sweaters. I felt blessed by this sudden windfall. Unfortunately, her feet were a size smaller than mine. I was a six and she was a five.

“Well, it looks like we will have to go shopping tomorrow doesn’t it?” she said.

I just smiled, as that sounded fun to me.

As she helped me hang up the clothes, her hand rested on my shoulder.

I stopped and looked at her.

“I don’t mean to pry, but I can’t really seem to grasp this. Are you really a boy, under all this?” she asked.

“Yes and no. I’ve been a girl inside my head for as long as I can remember. In a way, the prison service did me a favour by giving me hormones. I look and sound like a girl, but apart from a small piece of useless skin and the fact I can’t ever have children, I am a girl.”

“You’re far to pretty to be a boy. I do hope this all works out for you.”

I smiled, almost bursting into tears once more.

She gave me a hug and I felt almost loved properly for the first time in my life.

She suggested that I change into a slightly longer skirt, as the one I had was a little short. I smiled and did what she suggested. The one I chose was only a couple of inches longer, but she seemed happier.

“It’s George’s blood pressure, I don’t want him too excited,” she said, and I giggled.

“How long am I to stay with you?” I asked.

“As long as you want. But if you stay longer than a couple of weeks you will have to either get a job, go to college or something. I won’t have you hanging about doing nothing.”

“That sounds fine to me. I hate doing nothing anyway.”

“So what did you do in that place?”

“I taught myself to read a bit better. I’m dyslexic, so I find it very hard. They used to call me thick at school and even my teachers would ridicule me. I got a job in the kitchens, so learned quite a bit about catering. I love cooking, so I would be happy getting a job in a kitchen somewhere.”

“I have to ask. How do you feel about what they did to you?”

“You mean the hormones?”

She nodded.

I shrugged. “In a way they simply accelerated what I might have done anyway, but I wasn’t given a choice. I would’ve liked to have been given a choice, particularly as it was all done on a base of lies. But I did have an anger problem and they did cure it. So I should be thankful for that.”

“But what lengths to go to. Do you really want to become a girl?”

I looked at her and smiled.

“What do you think?”

She smiled at me.

“Silly question. Well, if your looks are anything to go by now, you will have no problems at all.”

That made me feel very pleased and I said so.

The front door opened.

“That’ll be George,” she said, standing up and going to greet him in the hall. I stayed put, feeling rather nervous. I heard their voices, muted, in the hallway.

Then she returned with a tall grey haired man in a dark blue pinstripe suit.

“You must be Jemma. I’m George. I hear you’ve had a bit of an ordeal?” he said and held his hand out. I stood up and shook it.

“That’s one way of looking at it. I prefer to see it as an adventure, and I’m overdue for a good bit.”

“What a mature view. How refreshing. Well, I must say, you’re not exactly as I had imagined,” he said, and I smiled.

“Aren’t I? So what did you expect?” I asked.

He became rather flustered. “Well, ah, when young Stuart explained the circumstances and asked whether we would be willing, I had imagined … Well, I hadn’t imagined a pretty girl like you.”

I almost started crying again. Lynette noticed and stepped in.

“Jemma and I were just going to get dinner started. So George, make yourself a drink and we will be in the kitchen.” She took me by the hand, whisking me to the kitchen.

We spent a pleasant evening. They were a very nice, middle-class couple, who had no idea how many of us lived near the poverty line. But after supper, I made my excuses and went to bed. I enjoyed a bath for the first time in nearly two years.

My body was so feminine now that I could hardly believe it. The only flaw was between my legs, and they were so small now that they made little difference. I dried myself, slipping on a soft cotton nightdress. I snuggled between the sheets and was asleep in no time.
 
 
The next morning, I wore tights and a black skirt that came to just above my knees. I chose a pale green blouse and a thick black pullover with a roll neck collar. I only had one pair of shoes and they were black with high heels. I put my make up on and regarded the girl in the mirror with some satisfaction. I actually felt free for the first time in my life.

It was eight o’clock when I went downstairs, and George was having his breakfast. I made myself some tea and popped some bread in the toaster.

“Did you sleep well?” Lynette asked.

“Brilliantly, thanks. I can’t remember when I slept so well.”

I may not have been very good at reading, but I had a real ear for accents. People would class you by what you looked like and then by what you sounded like. So I had trained myself to adapt to environments, and soon my East-end accent was slowly being replaced by a more educated accent. George remarked on it.

“You sound different today?” he said.

“I want to lose my background, and my accent is a dead giveaway.”

He smiled.

“I understand. I’ve always found the East-London accent very unpleasant.”

“I don’t know whether it is unpleasant or not. But it immediately places me at a disadvantage and I never want that to happen again,” I said.

“So what are your plans?” he asked, to change the subject.

“Well, Jemma and I are going to do a bit of shopping. And then, this afternoon, Stuart is coming over to talk to her. Tomorrow, she is going up to Barts to see Doctor Brown. Then we will see what happens,” Lynette said.

George went to catch his train into London. He worked in a bank, and it sounded very dull. Lynette and I caught the bus into Windsor town centre where she introduced me to shopping, a la femme.

I had a little money and I spent quite a lot of it.

I bought shoes, clothes, makeup and jewellery. And then I bought Lynette a big bunch of flowers for being so kind to me.

We had lunch at a little wine bar where I found myself at the receiving end of flattering glances by several young men. I found I enjoyed the experience and flirted at them with my eyes.

“Jemma, nice girls don’t do that.” Lynette said.

“Do what?”

“Make come-on signals with their eyes at all the men.”

I blushed.

“It may be fun, but it could end you up in deep water,” she said.

“Sorry. Thanks, I need as much advice as I can get. I’m a bit new at this.”

“Jemma, don’t kid yourself. You probably know more about it than I do. Just don’t get into trouble,” she said, with a knowing smile

We returned to their home and I put away my new clothes. I heard someone arrive, assuming that it was Stuart.

When I appeared, he was in the dining room, setting out the papers from his brief case.

He stared at me when I came in.

“God. Jemma. You look,… well, you look different.”

I laughed and so did he.

“Shit, you surprised me. You look really pretty,” he said.

I sat down, grinning.

“Okay, first you should think about being legally Jemma Adams. If you’ve signed the deed-poll form, that would take care of the name. Secondly, there is a meeting at chambers between the Home Office and Mr Carmichael tomorrow morning. The word is they want to settle, and soon. We have instructed Mr Carmichael to accept anything over  £750,000, plus the surgical restoration to your satisfaction.”

“I thought we were asking for a million.”

“That was our starting point. Mr Carmichael thinks that it would be unlikely that a court would award that amount, but hopes that the Home Office are afraid of the publicity a court case could bring. The government have enough embarrassments without another scandal.”

“Thirdly, I submitted your affidavit to the Essex Police, where a team observed the man you knew as Mike. He is a teacher and he is respected in the Southend community. Or was, as their investigation has exposed him as a paedophile. He was arrested this morning with a twelve year old boy in his bed, having subjected the lad to anal sex.”

“Good.”

“This means that your conviction is being reviewed and the reasons you gave for keeping silent have been accepted by the judicial review.”

“What does that mean?”

“If your conviction can be viewed with doubt as to its safety, it will be quashed and your record will be made clean. You may be in line for compensation.”

“Can we not deal with that all together?”

“That is what Mr Carmichael hopes to do tomorrow. The prison service is anxious to clear this up, as is the Home Office. We have the distinct advantage here.”

“I can’t hang about, as there is a danger that my bits will get nasty.”

“You mean cancerous?”

“Yes.”

“That is another factor, but hopefully Dr Brown will be in a position to set things in motion tomorrow.”

We went through various legal technicalities and he explained what I needed to go through before I could be legally a female.

“In this country, you will always be considered the gender you were born with. And unless an accident of identification, verified by medical evidence, is the case, you will never be a legal female. This means you can’t marry a male, and so hold no rights as a legal wife. Some countries do allow such marriages, but not very many. I can see a time, in fifty years or so, where most countries will have to allow them, but for the moment, this one does not.

“You may hold a passport, National Insurance and National health certificates and driver’s licence in your apparent gender, but your birth certificate will always stay the same.”

“Roberta Cowell changed hers.” I said.

“If I remember, she had medical evidence that she was female or partly female, and the law had yet to be tightened, as she was the first. In any case, it is not the same as your case.”

“So I find a country that does.”

“Or obtain a new identity,” he suggested.

I looked at him.

“That’s impossible,” I said.

“Technically, yes. But I am told that it can be done.”

“Is it legal?”

“Not really.”

“But you wouldn’t know about such things,” I said.

He smiled.

“Of course not. But I know a man who just might.”

“How much?”

He smiled.

“I honestly don’t know. I’ve never asked. But it would be interesting to know if it could be done, in theory, that is.”

“Yes, it would.”

“Right. Let’s leave it there for today. I will be at the meeting in chambers tomorrow at the same time as you see the good doctor. Who, incidentally, has been so shocked by your case, that he states that regardless of the outcome of the legal side, he is willing to undertake your surgery, whether you win or lose. When the information about the teacher from Essex was passed to him, he became really quite upset.”

“It really is very kind of Lynette and George to have me here. I realise that I’m a real burden, so I want to compensate them somehow.”

“Lynette was saying what a little darling you were, so let’s not worry about this just now. Okay?”

He packed away some papers and I had to sign a couple relating to my judicial review. Then Lynette brought in two mugs of tea and some cake.

“We’ve just finished, so we will join you in the sitting room,” Stuart said. And we did just that.

I felt more relaxed than I had in a long time and, as I sat on the sofa, I actually dozed off. Lynette woke me to tell me that Stuart had left and that George was due soon.

“Would you like to help me with supper?”

I did, and she showed me how to make pastry. We made an apple pie, and I found it good fun.

Once again, we spent a pleasant evening and I went to bed early. I lay awake as there was a lot on my mind. What would tomorrow bring?
 
 

* * *
 
 
“Right. You can get dressed again now, Jemma.”

I gratefully did so, and when I came out from behind the screen, Dr Brown was writing notes in a file on his desk. I sat in the chair in front of the desk.

He seemed to write for ages; finally, he looked up and smiled.

“Well, I have seen everything I need to. How do you feel?”

“Not too bad. I get mood swings and seem to cry at the drop of a hat. Some days I wake up and feel slightly sick. But it passes quite quickly.”

“Any pain from the groin?”

“No.”

“Good. Well, you have developed all the secondary characteristics of a female and you seem to be much more female than I anticipated. I was right, as you are completely infertile as a male. Your testicles should be removed as soon as possible as they are simply a risk to your health. Ideally, I should like to do that this week.”

“I’m not doing anything now.” I joked.

He nodded.

“You may be in some discomfort, but I can do it under a local anaesthetic. But you are only sixteen and so in an ideal world I would need a parent or guardian’s consent.”

“You know that’s impossible.”

“It’s a medical emergency.”

“This isn’t an ideal world, and I’m not going to report you. Just do it.”
 
 
An hour later, I was seated in front of him again, a little tender in the groin.

“None too soon, the left testicle was ready to do something nasty.”

“So now what?” I asked.

The telephone interrupted us. He answered it. He stared at me, and said ‘yes’, and ‘no’ and ‘I understand’ a few times. Then he handed the phone to me. It was Stuart.

“Jemma, we’ve won. They settled out of court.”

“Great. What, and how come so quickly?”

“ £800,000 and your SRS. However, it seems that this does not include the judicial revue, so there may be more coming. So you can have your surgery. They settled quickly because of the storm in the press, and the government is anxious to avoid a scandal.”

“The doctor says that I need a parent or guardian to sign a consent form. He was able to do what he did today because it was an emergency. But I doubt I’d get SRS because of that.”

“Lynette has been appointed your legal guardian until you are seventeen.”

“Oh.”

“Look, I am coming to dinner at the house tonight, so I’ll explain everything then. You will need to sign to accept it and there is a clause about no publicity.”

He hung up, so I handed the phone back to the doctor.

“As we were saying, I am happy to conduct the surgery, but I would like you to see a colleague of mine first.”

“You mean for psychiatric evaluation?”

He laughed.

“You’ve been doing your homework,” he said.

“I expected it. But is it really necessary in my case? It’s not as if I have a choice any more, is it?”

“Not strictly, but it is good practice.”

“When?”

“Now?”

“What, now?”

“Yes, he is just along the corridor and is free for an hour or so.”

So I had my first and only session with a psychiatrist. William Hardcastle was a tall, very thin man with a quiet voice and a slow smile. I liked him.

He made me go through my whole history, so I did so, the special edited version, whereby I was a victim of the brutal state and circumstances. But as far as wanting to be a girl, I laid it on thick. I spent an hour and a half answering his questions, as honestly as I could be.

He then wrote a quick note to Dr Brown, placing it in an envelope and giving it to me to give to him.

I went back to see Dr Brown and sat in front of his desk again. The small wound in my groin was itching abominably now.

“Would you like to see what he wrote?”

“My reading is not very good, particularly if it is a doctor’s writing.”

“He says; ‘Jemma is a delightful person, and is not suffering from many of the usual self-doubt problems linked with gender dysphoria, she is wholly psychologically and emotionally a female. Her physiological attributes appear to be in line with the rest of her, with one minor exception. In my opinion, in view of her extraordinary circumstances, it would be unkind and unethical to allow her to remain as she is for any longer. SRS recommended at the earliest opportunity.’

“So, when can you come in?”

“I’m free now,” I said, and grinned.
 
 
Part 5
 
 
Unfortunately, he wasn’t.

I had to wait two weeks for the full medical team to be assembled. But the good news was that my blood tests were clear, so I had not picked up any nasty Sexually Transmitted Diseases whilst inside. It had worried me quite a bit, so it was a great relief to be clear.

I was visited by a plastic surgeon who recommended that I have my nose made smaller and my lower jaw ‘shaved’ to make my face more feminine. I had no Adam’s apple to speak of, and so, the only other little work would be to make my lips slightly fuller. He told me that he would do it at the same time as the main surgery so no one would recognise me as being the person I used to be.

I was booked into a small clinic in Sussex. Lynette drove me down so I was not alone and sat with me in my room while they conducted tests. Finally, with a sign, ‘Nil by mouth’ on my door, I was left alone.

I was excited and couldn’t sleep, as the ever-present bustle of a hospital was designed to keep everyone awake for as long as possible. I finally went to sleep, holding that little penis for the last time.

A nurse woke me at some ungodly hour. She made me change into a hospital gown that tied up the back and showed my bum to anyone in the right place. She took my temperature, blood pressure and inserted an IV needle in the back of my left hand.

Then Dr Brown popped in to see me.

“Ready?”

I nodded and grinned.

“Right. We’ll have you up in a few minutes and you will be back here in a few hours. You will hurt a lot, but there will be pain relief available. So don’t worry.”

I wasn’t worried. He had explained what he was going to do previously, so I knew what I had to do afterwards. There was a box of five dilators on the windowsill; number five looked massive.

I was wheeled up to the theatre and I lay on the trolley as the anaesthetist fiddled about with my hand.

“Try to count to ten,” she said.

I got to eight, and everything went black.
 
 

* * *
 
 
The first thing I remember seeing when I came round was the light. It was set into the ceiling and was square. Dead insects had accumulated on the inside of the cover and it needed clearing out. The next thing to occur to me was a mule had kicked me in the crotch. That, and my numb nose and fat lips made me particularly miserable. The numb sensation wore off and I almost doubled up as the pain crept up on me until tears came to my eyes.

“Fuckfuckfuckfuckfuck.... Ooooh. That fucking hurts!”

“Jemma, can you hear me?”

I stared at the head that tried to swim in front of my eyes.

“Yes, but that fucking hurts.”

“Okay, where are you?”

“Hospital, please take the pain away.”

“Okay. The operation went fine. You will be taken back to your room soon, and we are giving you something for the pain.”

I felt a cold sensation in my wrist, and within seconds the pain was gone and I was floating. I started to giggle.

I tried counting the ceiling lights all the way back to my room, as they wheeled me along the corridor, but after eighteen, I lost count. I then remember waking up in bed with a big bunch of flowers beside the bed, in a vase.

There were two drips feeding into my arm, and a nurse was tidying up.

“Hi, how are you feeling?”

I thought about it for a second or two.

“Sore, woozy, a little sick, and detached. Not necessarily in that order.”

“Well, the pain is normal, and it will get better, I promise. The woozy is partly the anaesthetics and partly the morphine, which will go as long as you don’t use too much pain relief. Feeling sick is a combination of everything and is quite normal too. As for the detached, that will be the morphine again.”

“Oh, goody,” I said, and she laughed.

I dipped in and out of consciousness all day. When I awoke properly, Lynette was sitting by the bed reading a book.

“Hi Lynette,” I croaked, and she looked up and smiled.

“How are you?”

“Been better. But pretty good considering.”

“The doctor popped in, but you were out of it. He will be back soon.”

“Oh.”

“He said everything went well.”

“Good.”

“Quite a step, the end of an era?”

“Not really, it is just the beginning of my dream. I can now be me, for the first time.”

She smiled, and I saw that more flowers had arrived.

She looked at them.

“There is a big bunch from Stuart, and some from your sister, Susan.”

“Susan, how did she hear about it?”

“I think Stuart tracked her down and told her. Anyway, she said she is going to try to come and see you.”

“Gosh. I haven’t seen her for years.”

Doctor Brown came in.

“Ah, the patient is awake. How are you?”

“You tell me,” I said, and he laughed.

“Well, everything went very well. I was able to create everything as I told you, so you should be able to have a perfectly normal sex life. Your vaginal canal is almost as long as a genetic female, so you will have no problems at all. We spoke about the importance of the dilators, so that has to start in a couple of days. The facial surgery went very well, so you should be right as rain in a couple of weeks.”

“What about hormones?”

“You’re going to have to take oestrogen for the rest of your life, as you just don’t have what it takes to produce your own. We’re trying out a recent innovation, and I have inserted an implant in your upper thigh. It will release the right level of female hormones for twelve months, but then you will have to have it replaced. There may be a few you have to take orally, as well. As I said, this goes on for the rest of your life, I’m afraid.”

The nurse came in, so Lynette left as my dressing was removed and the area inspected. I took a peek, and thought it looked pretty good considering.

“The sutures will dissolve and once the swelling goes down, you will hardly notice any difference between you and a genetic female. Only by an internal and by not seeing a cervix, will anyone know you have not always been a girl. I am very pleased with your breasts. Normally, secondary growth is nowhere near the normal female growth. In your case, you have developed a very fine pair of breasts, so will not need any enhancement.”

That news made me feel quite proud of myself, and not a little pleased.

“Your implant will have already started releasing hormones, so you will feel some symptoms of this as your body starts to adjust. It is medically more aligned to your needs, compared to what you received in prison. You will feel similar symptoms to normal menstruation, so do not be alarmed.”

I wasn’t alarmed. I was feeling very female and happy.

“I have packed out the cavity that I have created and that packing will come out in a day or two. Then you must start with the dilators and it is very important that you do it regularly.”

I smiled. If he had told me that once, he had told me a hundred times.

He then left me, so the nurse explained the self-administered pain relief system. I had a catheter attached to my waterworks, and she asked me whether I wanted it out, or to wait for the morning.

I opted for it out as I was dying to be able to get up.

I regretted it, as after an hour I wanted to go for a pee.

I rang for the nurse, she helped me up, and the drips came too. It stung a bit and it was very odd not having a certain something. It was actually disconcerting, as I realised that I really never would have it again. I grinned at the thought. At least I could use my arse for the right purpose from now on. I sat and thought about the men who had fucked me, wondering what it would be like with two men at once, or even three, if I took one in my mouth at the same time.

I found the thought very erotic, and almost began to feel aroused, but not in the same way as I used to. I smiled; I was going to enjoy being a girl.

I wiped, as I had been instructed, noticing that there was a little pink on the tissue. I hobbled back to bed, informing the nurse about the show. She smiled and said that was perfectly normal, and that actually passing urine was a good sign. I watched a little TV until the nurse brought me some tea and some food.
 
 
I progressed quite quickly. On the third day, the doctor removed all the packing and I started dilating. It was really weird, watching this silver dildo disappear up inside of me, into an opening that hadn’t been there before. I managed to get through numbers one and two with no trouble, but then number three was a little more of a challenge.

I persevered and moved onto number four.

This was the 1970s, looking back, I realise now that I was almost breaking new ground in terms of the surgery. Sex changes were still quite rare, and over the next twenty years, I would see amazing developments and progress in the field. They kept me in hospital for quite a long time, three weeks in all. Partially because they were aware of the potential interest by the press, so the Home Office wanted me to appear as normal as possible before venturing out.

My facial wounds healed quickly. My lips settled down first, having just had an injection of fatty tissue. My jaw was sore, but visually fine, as it had been done from the inside, most of the swelling subsided over the time I was there. My nose took slightly longer. But when I saw my new face in the mirror, I was staggered. I was completely different. I agreed no one would connect the feminine boy from Garside with the person I now was.

I was off the drips and moving around quite well. I was now getting dressed and was venturing around the clinic. I made some friends of some other girls who were in the same boat. Several seemed surprised to find that I had been through SRS, thinking that I was a genuine girl and a friend of someone who had, and was just visiting. I was still sixteen, and therefore was a lot younger than most. The fact that I had managed to change before puberty had completely changed me meant that I had not developed strong masculine characteristics.

One new ‘lady’, Michelle, was fifty-four next birthday and she had waited for her partner to pass on before taking the plunge. It was very sad really, as she had wanted to be a girl ever since she could remember, but society made her lead a ‘normal’ life as Michael. He had joined the army during the war, and even won medals for bravery. He had married and had three children. His wife had died of cancer and it was his children who had told him to just get on and be happy for the last bit.

She told me she envied me my youth, so I looked round and asked where he had got to. That made her laugh, but laughing hurt. She had had her operation a couple of days before me, but was taking nearly twice as long to heal.

I teased one of the girls, Jeanette, by putting on a white coat, and a stethoscope round my neck, and pretending to be a doctor. I went into a real comedy routine, taking off Dr Brown and his fascination with dilators. I had her crying with laughter, so I tried it out with the next room, with Candy. There was a nurse with her, and they both got the giggles.

I returned to my room and found a young woman sitting reading a magazine by my bed.

“Hi. Can I help you?” I said, as she looked up. It was my sister, Susan.

“Sorry, I am waiting for my br… my sister, am I in the right room?”

I realised I was still wearing the white coat and stethoscope. I laughed, and took the coat off.

“It’s me. Hi Susan, how are you?” I said.

She stared at me, looking me up and down.

Then we were hugging, and both were crying.

“My God! Look at you. You look amazing, you sound so different, really posh!” she said when we finished the hug.

“You look good too,” I said, and she did. She was a very attractive girl, but as I smelled the fish and chip shop, I smiled to myself

“So, still with Dave then?” I said, and she smiled.

“It’s the bloody smell, isn’t it?” she said and I nodded.

She laughed, sitting next to me on the bed, still holding my hand.

“What do I call you? Jimmy doesn’t seem right anymore,” she asked, looking me up and down. I noted her eyes lingered at my obvious bust.

“Jemma, it’s close enough, it’s what you used to call me, remember?”

“Oh, I did, didn’t I?”

“Anyway, it’s what most people have been calling me for a while.”

“I couldn’t believe it when your solicitor called me. He said that you were out and you were suing the Prison Service for overdosing you on hormones. He also told me that you had settled out of court for a substantial sum. Then he informed me that you were actually having the operation. So I brought the paper in for you.”

She opened a carrier bag and showed me a cutting of the previous day’s paper.

PRISON SERVICE SETTLE OUT OF COURT By Robin Hawksmith      A Home Office spokesman confirmed last night that they have made and out of court settlement with a previous inmate after he alleged that serious health problems were caused by unauthorised drug therapy for anger management. The subject, who cannot be named for legal reasons, served eighteen months for an offence of violence, and whilst in Garside Young Offenders Institution was given the drugs without his consent.      The treatment caused irreparable damage to his health, and he is rumoured to be having emergency surgery at this time. The Governor of Garside, and the doctor, have both been suspended pending an internal enquiry. The Prison Service state that all drug treatments for various behavioural difficulties have been stopped, and they are said to be concerned with what has taken place at Garside.      It is not known how much the settlement actually is, but there was mention of a figure of close to  £1,000,000.      Various groups have welcomed the action, and a spokesman for Stonewall, said, "It is high time that prisoners' rights were upheld, and this example of state sponsored torture belongs in the Third Reich."      It is also rumoured that the subject has agreed to a non-publicity contract, on the grounds that his identity needs to be protected, as much as the Prison Service want to avoid scandal.

“Gosh, fame at last.” I said.

“Your solicitor also said that there is some review or something, looking at your case?”

“Yeah, the bloke I hit was caught buggering a twelve year old boy. They found photographs of hundreds of boys he has had over the years, including me. I told the police that he blackmailed me into having sex with him, in that he threatened to tell my father if I didn’t go along with it. I also said that I didn’t want my dad to know that I was gay.”

“But you are not.”

“Not now, no.”

She frowned.

“Does that mean you were?”

“Shit Susan, I don’t know. I’m a girl now, and I suppose I always was, but with the body of a boy. Do you have any idea what it’s like in that place?”

She shook her head.

“I had a lover and I was raped in the showers. It could have been worse, but my bloke stepped in and saved me half way through. I have been having regular sex with men ever since that man in Southend, even a bloody warder, for fuck’s sake. So, as a male I suppose I was gay, but as a girl? All I know is, I used to fancy blokes, I still fancy blokes and I’ve never fancied girls. I don’t really know, as all the edges got a bit blurred.”

“Was it horrible?”

“Not really. At the start, it was bloody scary. I was frightened, Sue, very frightened. I was only fifteen and small. There were big bastards in there, and if I hadn’t had Larry, God knows what would have happened. Larry and I just got it together, so it was quite settled, almost domesticated. I was almost happy for a while.”

Susan looked out of the window. I saw she had tears in her eyes.

“How’s Dad?” I asked, to change the subject.

“Dad’s not at all well. He’s in hospital. His mind has gone. He’s violent and unpredictable. He is in the F wards at Hackney Hospital.”

These wards in the old Victorian Hospital were renowned for mad people.

“Oh. Would he know me if I went to see him?”

“Probably not, he doesn’t recognise me and I go at least twice a month.”

We chatted about the rest of the family. John was still in Brixton Prison and Terry was now a flight sergeant in the RAF. Both the twins were splitting up from their husbands, and each had one child. Ken was doing well at Dagenham, having just been made a shift foreman. He had three kids now, the picture of respectability.

“No kids yet, Sue?” I asked.

“I’m expecting our first. I was told last week.”

“Brilliant. If you need a Godmother, give me a shout.”

“Yeah, maybe,” she said, hesitantly.

“I’m joking. I know what I represent, but I do wish you well. One day I’ll be the respectable one and I’ll be ashamed of you lot,” I said, and we both laughed.

We went to the canteen together and had some tea. It was so good seeing her again. We chatted as if we had never been apart, although she kept giving me funny glances.

“I can’t believe you’re the same person. You’ve even lost the accent.”

“Onwards and upwards, my dear,” I said, in the most educated voice I could, causing her to giggle.

“Seriously, Jemma, you’re really gorgeous, no one would ever know.”

“Thanks sis, but I know.”

She took my hand.

“I do too, but it makes no difference, you’ve always been my sister.”

We both cried a little and I was sad when she left. It was a long way for her to come, and I knew she would not be back. I wondered whether I’d ever see her again.
 
 
I went home after another few days.

“You are my finest example,” Dr Brown said on discharging me.

“Thanks.”

“You have managed the dilators in record time, so you are well on the way to recovery. Remember no sex for many weeks.”

I smiled, nodding, as I was in no rush now.

Lynette drove me home, where I took it easy for a few days. Then I decided to look for a job.

I was sixteen, it was April 1973, and good jobs were not that common, but if you weren’t choosy, there were plenty. I went out to look and I decided that it would be better if I were a little older.

Stuart helped me along by arriving one Saturday for lunch, announcing that the judicial review had decided that my conviction had been unsafe, overturning the original verdict. I was now free to sue for unlawful imprisonment and lots of other things besides.

He stated that if I made the right noises another out of court settlement would be offered.

The money from the first one had yet to materialise, so when it finally did, I was amazed at how much had been taken by ‘interested parties’. Nevertheless, I had  £600,000 and immediately found a financial advisor and invested the bulk in property in the South East. I kept  £50,000 in my bank account, as I wanted a flat of my own.

One day, while at home with Lynette’s, Stuart appeared.

“Got a mo?” he asked.

“Hi Stew. What’s up?”

He looked rather furtive.

“Do you remember a conversation we never had?” he asked.

“You mean the one where we didn’t discuss alternative identity papers?”

“That’s not the one. Well, there’s a man who may be able to help anyone who, theoretically speaking, of course, may be in the market for such an item.”

“So, theoretically, how would one meet such a person, and how much would it cost, theoretically?”

“Ah, one would be at the Fox and the Pheasant at seven pm this evening.”

“Where?”

“Stoke Poges.”

“Okay. How much?”

“Ten.”

“Grand?”

He nodded.

“Risks?”

He shrugged.

“I’ve checked him out as best as possible. There’s an Irish connection, as the papers seem to be Irish. There are no terrorist or criminal links that I could find.”

“So, is it worth it for me?”

He looked at me for a while.

“It depends; being a transsexual can have its drawbacks, whereas being an ordinary, if infertile, female, is a whole different thing, legally speaking.”

“Shit Stuart. What do I do?”

He looked at me with a serious expression on his face.

“If I wanted a future, free from scandal and with a past that was not going to bite my bum every time I was not expecting it, I would seriously consider it. One needn’t use it, but the investment may pay off in the long run.”

“Okay, any chance you could give me a lift?”

“If you like. I’ll pick you up at six. I’ll book us a table in the restaurant, I hear it’s quite good.”

I went back looking for work, via the bank. I withdrew  £10,000. It was terrifying; I had never held so much cash in my life.

We arrived at the pub at six-fifty, and sat in the bar with a drink, perusing the menu. It was a delightful pub, on a quiet country road between Slough to the south and Gerrards Cross to the north. The car park was almost empty, with only a couple of other parked cars. The interior of the pub was old beams and bare brick, with a small bar at the front and a restaurant to the rear.

A tall well-built man came in. He was smartly dressed, looking to be in his forties. He was well spoken, but I detected a slight Southern Irish lilt to his words. He bought a Jameson’s whiskey and sat at the next table to ours. He took out the Times and started to read it. I looked at Stuart, who nodded, leaving me to get another drink.

I moved and sat in the seat opposite the man.

He looked up.

“What can I do for you, my dear?”

My father was from Dublin, so many of his friends had been from different parts of Ireland. I had a friend inside who came from Belfast, thus I was able to put on a perfect Belfast accent.

“That depends,” I said, and he smiled.

“Ah, do I detect a trace of the North about you?”

“Maybe, just a wee bit.”

“So, am I right in thinking you’ll be wanting to be someone else?”

“No, I want to be me, but I want to be me properly.”

He frowned.

“Go on.”

“I need to be legally who I am, and not who I was, if you get me?”

He nodded.

“I need a name and a date of birth. And the fee, of course.”

I passed over my name and date of birth on a piece of paper. He didn’t look at it. He just put it away. The date of birth was two years older than I really was, 10th August 1954.

“The fee.”

“Half now, with half on delivery,” I said, accent still in place.

He smiled, and nodded.

“You are a chip of the old block. Belfast girls are the toughest in the world.”

“You’d better believe it.”

“So, history?”

“Illegitimate daughter of an NCO in the British Army, Irish Guards or such like. Mother not British, a German girl, or some such. Mother killed in a car crash in Germany, Dad died in same crash, not sent to army schools, but obscure foster homes, something like that.” I had had a lot of time thinking up the best story, and one which would be nigh on impossible to verify or otherwise.

“No problem. I’ll need a passport photograph.”

“It’s in with the money,” I said, passing an envelope with  £5,000 under the table.

He surreptitiously counted it and looked at the photographs. They had been done at Slough railway station on the way up to the pub, just twenty minutes ago.

“Very fetching. It’s not my place to pry, but I need to know. You wouldn’t belong to a certain republican group now, would ye?”

“Absolutely not,” I said.

He smiled.

“If I could believe you.”

“Listen, I am not and will never have anything to do with terrorism, or freedom fighting, whichever side you take. I just need a new start.”

He looked about him.

“Lastly. If you are with the police, do you think you can call them now? I’m too old to fuck about.”

“No police, just me.”

“There is something about you.”

“Yes?”

He sighed, looking me straight in they eyes.

“You’re a very pretty girl, but I ask myself what can have happened to one so young and pretty as you to warrant such drastic action. Why?”

“I have a destiny.”

He smiled, raising his glass.

“I’ll drink to that,” he said, draining his whisky.

“Give me four days. Then meet me back here, same time,” he said, and was gone.

“Well?” said Stuart, after the man had gone.

“Time will tell. If anyone is trying to screw me for my money, they’ll regret it. I can be very nasty when crossed.”

We moved into the restaurant and had a very pleasant meal. Stuart wasn’t married, as he took his job too seriously. He didn’t cover criminal law as there was more money in the civil side, but he had various strange contacts. Over the years, these would prove very useful.

I kept catching him looking at me in a way that wasn’t client-lawyer appropriate.

“Stuart, we are not going to fuck, so stop leching at me, okay?”

He stared at me and than burst out laughing.

“Can you mind-read, or what?”

“I have been fucked by blokes since I was fourteen, so I know what the signs are. The fact you prefer girls makes little difference, the look is the same.”

He looked more serious. “I’m sorry, but looking at you sitting here, so pretty and poised, it is hard to remember what you have been through.”

“Stuart, just for a moment, please try to remember that for the most part, with one real exception, I wanted to be fucked, and actually enjoyed it. So stop feeling so sorry for me. Okay?”

He looked a little shocked for a second, then shook his head and smiled. I then realised what it was about me. He was curious to know what it was like to fuck a transsexual.

I wondered how many others were like him.

I was not going to be a curiosity.

We finished the meal, so he drove me back to his aunt’s place. We sat in his car outside for a moment.

“So, same time in four days, then?”

“I can do it on my own if you are busy,” I said.

“No, I’ll take you. I actually enjoy being with you. You are so different and you make me laugh. I find it very refreshing.”

“You also want to fuck me,” I added, and he laughed.

“I don’t know if I do. But I don’t normally have such conversations.”

“Look, Stuart, you’ve been great. But then you’ve had a fair chunk of the prize money. I’m not the slag I used to be, and I’m not going to be an easy lay ever again. I’m reluctant to just let anyone and everyone fuck me, just because I can. You know my past, and my future, so you hold power over me. But if you ever try to abuse that trust, I’ll castrate you and feed your nuts to the pigs on the prison farm. Get me?”

He stared at me.

“I’m not some willowy blonde who has no idea of life. I’ve grown up the hard way. I learned to box when I was seven and I learned Karate to help prevent myself from being raped in prison, which still happened. I may look dainty and soft on the outside, but I’m hard as nails on the inside. So each time you see the pretty girl, remember what’s underneath, and be afraid, be very afraid, for this girl never forgets or forgives.”

He paled slightly, yet still stared at me.

“Now, still want to fuck me?”

He shook his head.

I continued, but the edge had gone from my voice. I was appreciating what a manipulative cow I could be.

“Thank goodness for that. I’m so glad, because I want and need you as a friend as well as a solicitor. So I need you to keep focussed. I hope you aren’t offended at my methods of keeping you focussed?”

He smiled, or tried to, but I had shaken him. I don’t think the poor man had seen this side of me. I was hardly the kind of girl he could take home to mummy!

“Stuart, you’re a decent bloke. Decent blokes don’t know the things about their girlfriends that you know about me. It would never work, and your family would never forgive you. I’m a one bloke girl, so if we did get it together, do you really want the past always there ready to bite your bum?”

He shook his head.

“You’re ten years older than me, in age anyway. So get real. I’m not the shag you thought I was, and you’ll do much better than me. And, as I’m only just sixteen, you ought to be ashamed of yourself.”

I leaned across and kissed his cheek.

“Goodnight darling, take care now,” I said, and got out. He didn’t move for a long time, eventually driving away.
 
 
Part 6
 
 
I collected my Irish birth certificate and passport. My mysterious contact assured me that they were genuine. I found out some time later, that he was something with the Irish Embassy in London. I passed over the rest of the money, so now Jemma Yvette Adams had a whole, new past. Her future had yet to be written.

I was born on the 10th August 1954, in Osnabruck, W. Germany, to Rachel Brunner and James Adams, Lance Sergeant in the Irish Guards. My birth was registered with the Irish Consul in Bonn, and baptised in the Catholic chapel by the Roman Catholic Priest attached to the Irish Guards.

Both the parents died in a car crash in Germany whilst on holiday. Their daughter, Jemma, was quite seriously injured and, as a result, the poor girl is unable to conceive or carry a child of her own. She was educated at a string of schools and convents across Europe, and was found to be dyslexic.

By avoiding the deed poll, I had buried James Thomas Gardner. So there was no link to Jemma Adams, no records - nothing. James had vanished, and Jemma was real and she was nearly nineteen.

After a series of relatives and foster parents, she finally settled in Windsor, and the rest has yet to happen.

I found a job as a sales assistant in Daniels, a department store in Windsor. I gave my new name, and as I was technically nearly nineteen, they accepted me with no reservations. They put me on the cosmetic counter and I loved it. I attended a short sales techniques course and was thrown in the deep end. There were three of us on the counter and we worked all day. We each could take an hour break, but never at the same time. As long as two of us were there at all times, the management was happy. In August, I was officially nineteen, and it was as if I had always been Jemma. I had blotted out my life before my operation and I was the happiest that I had ever been.

My happiness had a knock-on effect, as I was constantly cheerful and polite. The other girls would tease me for always smiling.

“My God! You make me sick,” Sally said, one day. “How come you are always so bloody happy?”

“Because, Sal, life is just bloody wonderful!” I replied with a huge smile.

Gradually, I came to have my own customers who actually asked for me so I could advise them. I read up on all the latest products and tried them out on myself to see whether their claims were correct.

I still hated reading, so it took me ages at night to keep up. I often wouldn’t turn my light out until gone midnight. However, my dedication paid off. The store wanted someone to go on a beautician’s course to start a dedicated department in store. There were twelve applicants, but they selected me. I was sent to Birmingham for a two-week residential course.

It was great fun. I was still the youngest, but it didn’t matter, as no one could tell. I was certainly the most worldly and found it easy to mix with just about anyone. Each day I learned new stuff, and when I explained my reading difficulties, everyone helped me, even the staff. I had never had such help before.

I passed the course, returning to the store to set up my own beautician’s department. It was very popular, and I saw all my familiar customers queuing up for treatment. It was so popular the manager asked me whether I could train someone else to work with me. I thought I could, so Sally Moss started as my trainee. She was seventeen, coming from a well-to-do family. Her main interests were horses and blokes. She wasn’t the brightest bulb in the family box, having left school after O levels. Her ambition was to marry a rich bloke with his own stud, and ride and shag her way to old age. She was a real hoot and we got on really well. Neither of us took life that seriously.

I sensed that although Lynette was happy with me lodging with them, particularly as I was paying my way, she was anxious that I spread my wings and get a place of my own.

Stuart was scrupulously polite to me, and there was no trace of the lust he displayed on the last occasion. I was pleased, as he was not a likely or sensible candidate for a romantic liaison.

One lunchtime, I walked into an estate agent and asked to see any flats on the river. The third they showed me was delightful, but the asking price was an extortionate  £15,000 for a two bedroom flat. It did have a garage and a small rooftop garden. I smiled and put in an offer of  £14,500. It was accepted.

Much to their surprise, after contracts were exchanged, I handed over  £14,500 in cash. So a few weeks later, I joined the property owning classes. I moved out of Lynette’s home, to whom I was eternally grateful for their help and support.

Lynette was in two minds over my departure. I had been clean and decent, and had always been helpful around the house. So she said she would miss me, but I was a cuckoo in a way, and there was always the possibility that I would upset things. They conveniently forgot my past, never referring to it, and we all pretended it never happened. The fact they knew it made me feel uncomfortable, particularly as I had my eyes on improving myself and my position in life. Their knowledge always lurked in the background, so it was a relief to leave.

I moved into my flat, gradually furnishing it in the best possible taste. I applied for my driver’s licence using my new Irish identity. A provisional licence arrived, so I started driving lessons. I took my driving test, and passed. So, to celebrate, I went out and bought a bright red Mini Cooper.

Work went on, with Sally flourishing under my careful eye. She was as randy as a rabbit, with about six boys drooling after her. She turned eighteen and had a huge party in her garden. It was late September, so a marquee was hired and about five hundred Hooray Henrys and Henriettas were invited. So was I.

I was her new best friend, and as such, she invited me to stay at her parent’s home, where she still lived. They lived at Bray, on the river Thames, in a huge house, obviously having pots of money. We went out shopping for clothes. I bought a divine evening dress that cost a small fortune. Yet money had no meaning for Sally, as she spent more money in a day than we both earned in a month I thought it prudent not to mention what I had in the bank!

I drove her to the house on the Friday evening after work. The party was on the Saturday. The marquee was already in place and the caterers were due in the morning. Actually, it was a double party, as her older brother, Clive, was twenty-one and they were combining the events.

I was dressed in a smart skirt and blouse with matching jacket. I was immaculate, as always, looking mature, sophisticated and well to do.

Her father was ‘something in the City’. He was called Roger, and was a pompous ass. As soon as I met him, he held onto my hand for ages and said, “Well hello, where have you been all my life?”

“Well,” I said, “for the first thirty years, I wasn’t even born.”

He laughed, but I could tell it smarted.

Her mother was an attractive woman, but I discovered she was as thick as her daughter. Yet, she had achieved her ambition, in that she had married a rich man who shagged her as much as she wanted, provided her with everything she needed and two children besides. One can’t complain, can one?

They both thought I was wonderful, as Sally had painted this picture of a paragon of virtue. The fact that I had no boyfriend was due to my new bits and not the fact that I didn’t want one. There was also the fact that I had yet to meet one who piqued my fancy.

We sat down to dinner around a huge table with just the four of them and me. I felt out of place. I couldn’t help but recall the squalid conditions in our old flat and later the council house with the greasy fish and chip papers and the smell of suet. (A fat based product)

As I gazed at the fine pictures on the walls, the silver cutlery and the crystal glasses containing finest French wines, I had no regrets at all.

Clive was quite good looking, but he had red hair, and I was always wary of red hair. Gary, the bastard who’d raped me, had red hair. But Clive was charming and quite funny. He was at University at St Andrews in Scotland, reading History.

I used my neutral accent, trying to sound as educated and as middle class as possible. I found it harder than the Belfast accent.

“Tell me, Jemma, what about your family?” her mother, Eileen, asked.

“I am afraid my parents died when I was about eight. Relatives looked me after until I left school. Unfortunately I’m dyslexic, so University and A levels were out of the question for me.”

“What did your father do?” Roger asked.

“He was in the army, Irish Guards,” I said.

“Oh, splendid, fine regiment. Archie “what’s-’is-name” was in the Irish Guards.”

I smiled, as we lost Roger for a while as he tried to remember who Archie was. I almost got the giggles, which set off Sally, which set off her mother. I controlled myself, but they went off on one and Clive looked at me blankly. I shrugged and pretended I didn’t get the joke. This caused Sally to start braying, and her mother neighing. I couldn’t help it and started to laugh, as did Clive, and Roger was muttering, “Archie, Smith, no, Archie Baker, no….”

By the time he yelled “Archie Henderson!” the rest of his family were having hysterics.

I helped clear away dinner. Afterwards, Sally and I took the retriever for a walk along the river.

“You have a strange family,” I said, and she agreed.

“I never knew you were Irish. You don’t sound it?”

“I’m not really. My Dad was, so he registered my birth with the Irish consul in Germany. But I’m more English than Irish.”

“Oh, can I ask you a personal question?”

“What?”

“Have you ever done it, you know, with a bloke?”

“You mean have I been fucked?”

“Yah.”

I thought about the truth, deciding she couldn’t handle the truth.

“Not yet, but I live in hope. Have you?”

“No, but I’ve given some blow jobs.”

“So have I, but that doesn’t count,” I said, as I remembered all the blokes I had had through my clutches. It seemed like a different life.

It was.

The next day was chaotic, what with the caterers, the florists and the cakes; it just got worse. I helped, remaining calm whilst everyone else went loopy. Eventually, with an hour to go, everything was ready, so I went and had a shower and changed.

My dress was a long black silk number, with a bare back and a deep V down the front. I didn’t wear a bra, so it was very sexy. My hair was very long, having a natural wave to it. As it was white blonde with golden highlights, the dress set it off even more.

I spent ages getting my make up just right, and knew I looked very hot.

Sally looked very good, with a sleeveless white long dress that threatened to show everyone her ample breasts before the evening was over. I went down to find Roger in the sitting room with a double whisky. He was wearing his dinner jacket and a black bow tie.

“Ah, Jemma. My heavens. Look at you, you look absolutely stunning, my de-ah.”

“Thank you, you look very smart too. You must be very proud of your children.”

“Quite, absolutely proud. Fine pair. Fine Pair.”

I smiled, but felt awkward, as I found him difficult to talk to. His wife was no better, for I was convinced she had recycled cotton wool between her ears. Gradually, the guests started to arrive, so I sort of floated around the fringes. I knew no one, and as soon as one of Sally’s boyfriends arrived, she was off and I knew I wouldn’t see her for a while.

There were loads of people, but very few approached me to even attempt a conversation, and I was too shy to just walk up to a stranger and talk to them. Whenever someone spoke to me, I’d try hard to talk with as neutral accent as possible, adopting the upper-class nasal twang.

Clive found me and asked me to dance. So I smiled and accepted. The disco was pretty lame, as I found the sight of lots of Ruperts dancing in dinner jackets faintly silly, but still, different folks, different strokes.

I danced, finding that, as a girl, one didn’t worry about looking a complete pillock, one just wiggled one’s boobs or bum, and everyone thought one was great.

After that first dance, I found a queue of randy young bucks all wanting to dance with me. I smiled, it was as if I had died and gone to heaven. The fourth, or maybe the fifth guy was different to the rest, and when he opened his mouth it became apparent why. He was American.

We danced, as conversation was impossible with the level of sound.

Then he asked me if I wanted a drink, so I nodded. He took my arm and we squeezed off the dance floor. We crossed the garden and entered the peace and tranquillity of the house. The food and drink were laid out in the dining room, and he poured me a glass of fruit punch.

We then sat on the terrace, cooling off.

“Say, you dance real purty.”

“Thanks, I don’t really, but you are kind to say so. I just wiggle my boobs and my bum, and they do the trick. Testosterone does the rest,” I said.

He started to laugh, and I thought he was about to have a hernia.

“Hey, it wasn’t that funny,” I said.

“You English, you crack me up.”

“I hate to disappoint you, but actually I am not English.”

He stared at me.

“I’m Irish.”

He frowned.

“It’s like saying a Canadian is the same as an American, or a Mexican. Same continent, different nationality,” I explained.

“Oh, but you sound English.”

“To me you sound Canadian.”

“Oh, I get it.”

“Thank God,” I said, and he was off again.

“I’m Jemma. I work with Sally.”

“Howdy Jemma, I’m Matt. I met Clive on his year out. My Dad and his Dad do business and he stays with us in Texas whenever he’s over.”

“Ah, how nice for you.”

He started to laugh again, shaking his head.

“You ain’t like the other English girls.”

I looked at him, and he smiled, realising his mistake.

“Ah, that’s why, you’re Irish. But okay, I’ll rephrase it. You ain’t like the other girls I’ve ever met, either here or back home in the States.”

“Oh, what is so different about me?”

“You are cool, but something else too. It’s like you have a different set of rules, but no one knows the rules but you.”

“Ah, an astute young man, go to the top of the class.”

He smiled.

“You see, you speak differently, like you tease everyone, and play a different game.”

I stared at him. For all his large frame and boyish charm, he was quite switched on.

“Do you want the truth?” I asked.

“Will I like it?”

“I don’t know, perhaps not.”

“Go on.”

“I am a fraud. All these people, all rich kids with money and ambitions, I came from nothing, having had to claw my way to get half as far. I resent the belief they hold that they are superior through an accident in breeding, and it pisses me off mightily.

“Oh, I look sophisticated and as toffee nosed as they do, and can sound it if I want to, but it doesn’t work, I can’t pretend to be a snotty bitch.”

He smiled. “My dad was nothing either. He worked his way up selling second hand cars. We had a small two-bedroom house on the wrong side of the tracks. But he bought some land he wanted to farm, but he found oil when he tried to dig a well. I was fifteen when he became a millionaire, and you know what, I still prefer people from the wrong side of the tracks,” he said.

“Matt, take me back and let’s dance,” I said.

We danced together all evening, stopping now and again for a drink or a snack. Then the slow ones started and we melted together. He held me to start with, without trying anything. I grabbed his head, kissing him and forcing my tongue into his mouth. He was the first man I had close to me since prison. It was if I had set off a firework. His hands started on my bum, he pulled me tight against him, and then he had one hand inside the front of my dress, caressing my nipples. I moaned, rubbed myself against him, as I felt his erection attempting to escape.

Finally, I could wait no longer, so I pulled him off the dance floor and up to my room. He was putty in my hands. I shut and locked the door, turning to him. He was standing there, breathing heavy and looking a little uncertain.

I took his jacket off, and started on his shirt buttons. He was trying to get his shoes off, and eventually I had him down to his underwear. I pushed him onto the bed and slipped out of my dress, I had only my panties, stockings and suspender belt on. I slipped my panties off, and looked down at him. He was staring at my breasts.

“You like them?” I asked, cupping them. He nodded. I stepped up to the bed as he sat on the edge. He started kissing and licking my tits. I moaned in pleasure, holding his head tightly against me.

“You want to fuck me, Matt?”

He nodded.

“How bad do you want to fuck me, baby?”

“Real bad.”

“Show me.”

He took off his shorts and his cock stood ready; it was big and beautiful.

“You want to put that inside me?”

He nodded, and he was still kissing my belly.

He moved south and his tongue touched my clit. I almost screamed.

“Well, what are you waiting for, Christmas?” I said.

He was fumbling for a condom in his pocket, so I showed him the one I had in my hand.

“A good girl guide is always prepared,” I said, rolling in onto his engorged cock. I pushed him back, knelt astride him, surreptitiously inserting a little lubrication inside my vagina. I then slowly lowered myself onto him as he impaled me with his lovely cock. I sank down until he was right inside me, up to the hilt. He was panting and giving little moans.

“You like that, Matty baby?”

He nodded and started thrusting, so I moved in time with him, faster and faster, until he was grunting and pounding deep inside me, kissing my tits at the same time.

I thought of Larry, as he had kissed my tits the same way, but the feeling I got now was so different to being taken up the ass. It was just as nice, but felt more right, somehow. I watched Matt as he was obviously approaching his climax. I went faster and faster, feeling this warm glow starting to spread until a surge of pleasure hit me. It left me physically gasping for breath. At the same time, he grunted, thrusting deep inside me, and ejaculating. I let my hair swish across him, as I kissed him passionately. I felt him subside, so I allowed him to withdraw. The condom was a protection against disease, as pregnancy was not a concern of mine.

“Okay lover?” I asked.

“That was amazing.”

“Yeah, pretty good. How do I rate against home grown American girls?”

He flushed, looking embarrassed, so I started to smile.

“First time huh?” I asked and he nodded sheepishly.

“Like it?”

He grinned and nodded.

“So did I, and it was my first time too, so lets celebrate.”

He gaped at me.

“You were a virgin?”

“Yup, I swear that no man has ever been where you have just been.” Well, that was true, wasn’t it?

“Shit, you seemed to know exactly what you were doing.”

“I did, but don’t you worry about that. Ready for another round yet?”

He grinned and shook his head.

“Men! No stamina. Let’s go get a drink.”

We dressed and returned to the party, smooching a little on the dance floor. Then I felt him rising to the occasion once more.

“Oh, guess who’s woken up again?” I whispered to him and he grinned. We slipped upstairs and this time I let him go on top, but I sucked him a little first, just to prime him.

By midnight, we had fucked four times, and once he had taken me from behind in the shrubbery. I was very pleased, as I discovered that I was actually capable of creating a little of my own natural lubrication. The doctor had not been hopeful, stating that it occasionally happened, but it did with me.

By two am, there were bodies everywhere, and Mat and I were naked in bed, having just fucked for the fifth time.

“Jemma, you are truly amazing,” he said as he kissed me.

“You ain’t so bad yourself, Matty boy.”

“I can’t believe we’ve done it so often.”

“So where are you supposed to be staying tonight?”

“Here. I was staying in the spare room over the garage.”

“No you aren’t, you are staying here with me.”

“I ain’t gonna argue with you, ma’am.”

“So I should think. Ready yet?”

“No, but soon I guess.”

“Wake me up when you are,” I said, wrapping my arm around his naked chest.

He woke me a couple of hours later, and we made it six. Then we both passed out.
 
 
I awoke with a pain in my left arm. I opened my eyes to find Matt lying on it. I looked at the clock, nine am.

I moved my arm and he awoke. I smiled as I saw surprise, shock, confusion, and then recall hit his face all within a few seconds.

“Hi lover, how are you?” I asked.

“Good. You?”

“Ready for more.”

“I gotta pee,” he said, romantically, and I smiled.

I went with him and held his cock for him. It rose after he had finished, and I held it in my teeth as I sat and peed.

We made it seven and then showered together. We went down separately at ten and ten past ten. I dressed in blue jeans which were so tight that they looked sprayed on, and a black boob tube that was the fashion.

Not many others were up, so we made ourselves some breakfast.

“Mornin’ Jemma. Have you met Matthew?” said Sally’s father

“I think we saw a bit of each other last night. Hello,” I said and Matt almost got the giggles.

“Matt’s father did a bit of business with the old firm a few years back. Oil, don’t you know?”

“He did mention it,” I said.

We spent the Sunday recovering. I was delighted, as I now had a devoted slave in Matt who worshipped the ground I walked on. He found out from Sally that I was only nineteen, and was astounded, as he thought I was older than he by a couple of years. I thought it just as well he didn’t know my real age. In the end, I had to drive home to my little flat in Windsor, telling him if he was ever at a loose end to come and stay.

I had been back for forty minutes, when the doorbell rang.

I went and opened the door. Matt stood there in his white shirt, bootlace tie, cowboy boots and Stetson. His suitcase was on the step.

“Excuse me ma’am. I lost my horse and I was a wonderin’ whether you seen it hereabouts?”

“Well, I don’t know, perhaps you had better come in and have a look round.”

I closed the door.

He took me in his arms and literally picked me up and carried me into the bedroom. He stripped my clothes off, and screwed me so hard thought the walls were going to cave in.

We spent the rest of the day, evening and night in bed. I lost count of the amount of times we fucked and we ran out of condoms. He looked hurt and I explained that I was not fertile, so if he didn’t have any disease we should be fine.

The first time without a condom was amazing and the very thought of his spunk sliding inside me gave me an orgasm on its own.

Eventually we slept. The next morning I reluctantly dragged myself out of bed and went to work. Sally was bouncy and bubbly all day, and I could have killed her. She had met a new boy at the party; his name was Stephen and he was a trainee solicitor. She had given him a blowjob, he had sworn his everlasting devotion to her and they were set for a date on Friday.

“So, what happened with you?”

“I met an American, and we fucked all night. Seven times before breakfast,” I said, as I went to see a potential customer.

Sally was dying to know whether I was joking.

“He said his name was Matt and he was from Texas and that he was a virgin. Well he ain’t no longer,” I said.

“Oh my gosh. He went missing yesterday afternoon, just after you left. Where do you think he has gone?”

“Think? I know. He is in my flat. He got a taxi and arrived just after I did. We fucked all afternoon, evening and all night. I am completely knackered. The man is a sexual giant.”

“Oh God. You didn’t?”

“I did, and boy is he good!”

She stared at me, with an expression of awe combined with unmitigated jealously.

It was a quiet day, and I knocked off a little early. I stopped off on the way home and bought some groceries. When I got back to the flat, the table was laid and there were some good smells coming from the kitchen.

“Hi.”

Matt appeared, wearing his hat, boots and an apron. He looked so bizarre that I laughed.

“By laughing at my appearance, you have deeply offended me, ma’am, for that I am gonna have to screw you rotten.”

And he did, there on the living room carpet. I didn’t even have time to argue.

He cooked steaks and what he called French fries (Chips). It was a lovely meal.

We ate and went to bed. But, thank God, he slowed down a bit, and we took a long time making luxurious love. We explored each other, discovering where we liked being touched, and where it tickled.

As we lay there, I was enjoying just being held.

“Jem?”

“Hmm?”

“I know this is early and all, but do you think we should get married?”

“No.”

He was quiet.

“Matt?”

“Hmm?”

“Do you want to know why not?”

“Yeah.”

“One, we are too young. Two, you need a wife who will give you kids, and I can’t. Three, I like you and we fuck very nicely, but that is no basis for a lasting relationship. Four, ask me again in a couple of years if we are still screwing each other, otherwise let’s just enjoy what we have today.”

He never asked me again.

We had a wonderful week together and he went back to the States to finish his college course, a very changed young man.
 
 
Part 7
 
 
“Knees together, and push, push, push.” Franz was the epitome of Aryan manhood. He was also my ski instructor.

Sally insisted that we go skiing to Austria together. So here we were with Erna Low Ski holidays in Obergurgl, in the Austrian Alps, it was Easter 1975.

I was eighteen now, but twenty as far as the world was concerned and had grown up quite a lot since marvellous Matt. He would call me occasionally and we would still make each other laugh. But we both knew that we served each other’s purpose for a brief period and were necessary for only that period. He told me he had met a girl at college, and I was pleased for him. We had something special. It had been beautiful for that short time and no one could ever take that away from either of us.

I thought back over the last year or so. I had met a couple of boys, but they were not what I wanted. They were boys and I needed a man. I think I scared them a bit.

Stuart came through with the last lawsuit. In my case against the powers that be over my arrest and unsafe conviction I was awarded damages of  £90,000. I accepted and kept quiet. The papers tried to trace the mystery James Gardner and could find no trace of him since he was released from the YOI.

The Solicitors managed the sum and it was invested without the mystery lad coming forth to be identified. Some of the tabloids started a reward system for anyone who knew of Jimmy Gardner’s whereabouts. I called in to say I had seen him in Sydney, Australia and watched them flounder in the dark for ages.

Then there was that mistake. The day I went to track down Larry.

I had thought about it, deciding that I would just go and look, but not actually do anything else. I knew he came from Colchester and that he had headed back there after his release. I knew his name was Larry Sparks, and I knew roughly which area he used to live in.

I drove over there on a day off, stopping by a phone box. I found three Sparks, and copied the addresses down. The first one was a West Indian family, and the second an old couple. The third was in grotty area, and I knew that this could well be it.

I went to the pub, and asked if anyone knew Larry Sparks.

“Wot you want him for, darling? You ain’t the old bill are yer?” asked one man.

“Do I honestly look like the police?” I asked.

This caused some mirth, and several heads to shake.

“I have a friend who knew him and he wanted to know how he was doing?”

“Well, last I heard he was wanted for dealing drugs,” said the barman.

“Oh,” I said.

“Here, what’s a nice girl like you looking for a little shit like him?”

“I promised a friend I would find him.”

“Well, his old man lives up the road. And last I heard they had a flat over a curry house on the Huntington Road.”

“Thanks,” I said, and left.

I drove to the Huntington Road, parking opposite the only Indian restaurant. I didn’t know what I was going to do, or say. I just wanted to see how he was getting on. He was, after all, the first boy I ever loved.

There was a small shop just down the road, a general store, so I locked the car and went in. There were a few people in there, and I was conscious that I was dressed in a way that set me apart. I had a long mauve jacket on, with a dark skirt and a pale blue blouse. I had knee length boots and I would have looked perfectly at home in Chelsea or Windsor.

I picked up a Daily Mirror, and read the article on the lower front page.

Missing ex-con - Link to drug bung?

Is the missing teenaged ex-con, Gardner, the same as the anonymous recipient of almost  £1,000,000? Speculation was rife that they are one and the same. This means that Gardner, who is eighteen now, is a very wealthy young man. But all attempts to trace him have been unsuccessful. He had his conviction of assault against the paedophile Michael Moore overturned as evidence came to light that he was repeatedly raped and blackmailed by Moore. Other boys have since come forward and Moore was convicted last year of seventeen like offences, and was sentenced to twelve years imprisonment. Gardner received  £90,000 compensation for his wrongful conviction and imprisonment.

But it is said that the treatment given to an inmate who was at the same detention centre at the same time, and is believed by some to have been Gardner, to calm his temper, involved high doses of oestrogen. Effectively calming him, but also chemically castrating him, he sued the Home Office, who settled out of court for an undisclosed sum, but believed to be in the region of one million pounds. The SUN newspaper is offering  £10,000 reward to anyone who will reveal the whereabouts of Gardner. His solicitor, Stuart Collins, said "I haven't seen James for a long time. I do know where he is, but I am not prepared to release that information. He has had his life ruined by the state, and he wants to try to live the rest of his life in peace."

Bastards!!!

Then I saw Larry.

He looked like shit. He was probably using heroin, as was the girl he was with. I wondered if she was Marie-Anne. His clothes were stained and unkempt, while his hair was dirty and matted. She was little better, and she looked pregnant.

He was not the boy I remembered, so I bitterly regretted coming here.

He pushed open the door of the shop, glancing my way. For a second our eyes met and he then looked straight at my tits. I flushed, turning away, pretending to look at the magazines on the racks.

He was thin and drawn. His eyes were bloodshot and there were great dark circles around them. His face was pale and he hadn’t shaved for several days. I felt an ache for him, as he looked so ill. By his looks, he would sell his soul for  £10,000, let alone my whereabouts. I put the paper down on the pile and walked out with out another glance. I went straight to my car, got in and started the engine.

I wondered what I’d seen in him in the first place, and was so pleased that he hadn’t recognised me.

I drove home crying, promising myself that I would never ever go back, look back, or try to return to what was once before.
 
 
Work went very well. Sally and I went on a Swedish Massage Course, which was followed by a Sports Massage Course. Three more trained beauticians joined the team, so we moved into a purpose built salon next door. Much to my surprise and disgust, the store didn’t appoint me as manager, instead appointing a snotty woman who hadn’t a clue.

I lasted two months, but then I just had had enough. I didn’t need the money, so I just walked out when she was being particularly snotty.

Within a few weeks, she’d upset everyone else. Sally and two of the girls, Rosie and Sharla, followed me. The store tried to apologise and offered me the manager’s job as an enticement to return. I declined, as I wanted to start my own business in competition, with Sal and the other two. The store shut their parlour down, so the last girl came to work for me. I went out and bought the leasehold of a ground floor shop at the bottom of the high street, with a view of the castle. Previously it had housed a travel agency, and we had a hilarious week decorating and getting all the equipment installed.

We called the place, ‘The Windsor Beauty and Therapeutic Massage Centre.’ as I hoped to avoid the rather dubious reputation that certain massage parlours managed to attract. We already had a small, but loyal client case and it soon expanded.

By Christmas 1974, we were doing very well. The joy was that we were all under twenty, and were making a very healthy profit. I made sure that everyone went on the courses and we were able to offer a variety of services from manicures, massages and beauty treatments. We also sold beauty products and make up.

By the February of 1975, we had had many requests for specials. I had erected a sign in the main reception, ‘NO SPECIALS.’ I also insisted on certain extras to protect the girls from those who should wish to take advantage. Despite this, one day when I was in one of the five massage booths, a male customer came in for a full body massage. I was well into it when he asked how much we charged for hand relief.

I stopped and looked at him, then continued with what I was doing.

“I’m sorry, what are you on about?” I asked.

“Look love, don’t piss about, just give me some hand relief and I’ll make it worth your while. If you go all the way, I’ll even give you twenty notes.”

“If you came here for sexual relief, then you came to the wrong place. We don’t do that here,” I said.

“Listen, if you don’t, I shall go out of here and tell everyone that you did. Let’s see how that goes down with the good people of Windsor,” he said, with a particularly nasty smirk.

I stopped the massage and looked at him. He was about forty and slightly overweight. He sounded quite well spoken, but he was not what he tried to be.

“Making unwarranted demands with menaces. Last time I checked the statute books that rated at least five years. It’s also called blackmail. Do you wish to repeat what you last said, or shall we stay with the first recording?” I said.

He stared at me, blinking a few times.

“What?”

“Get up and get out. If you think that you can come in here, make disgusting threats like that and get away with it, then think again. You’re not messing about with some nice little girly who never uses her pretty head for anything important. You are dealing with me, this is my business and I’ll fight very hard to protect it. I installed recording equipment in each booth. I have you clearly making an indecent request, and then making unwarranted demands with menaces. Now you have two choices, either you can get out and never come back, or you can call my bluff and talk to my friends at Windsor Police Station, called the Thames Valley Police.

“Which is it to be?”

He was the naked man on a couch, and I was the angry blonde with a glint in her eye.

“Why you little tart. Who do you think you are?”
“Me? My stupid naked friend, I am your worst nightmare. Not only am I not the tart you so eruditely called me, but I’m a female with brains, and sufficient of them to protect my girls from beasts like you. I’m pleased you selected option two, as now I get to try my alarm system,” I said, pushing the little button on the wall.

A little bell rang by reception and that was all.

The man smirked and said, “Impressive.”

“Yes, isn’t it? You see, that’s the signal to contact the police, and that is exactly what my receptionist is doing.”

His face contorted through disbelief to anger. He struggled to get up.

“You cunt! I’ll fucking have you,” he snarled.

“Get away!” I shouted. The door was opening as he swung a fist at me. Sally shrieked as I Karate punched him in the centre of his chest, causing him to fly off the bench and onto the floor.

We stood over him, as he tried to get up.

“Stay there or you’ll regret it,” I warned. My voice had a hard edge to it. So he lay there, showing us his insignificant flaccid little penis.

A pair of bemused officers arrived and they allowed the man to get dressed. Then, in my office, I played the tape to them, as he sat there with his head in his hands.

He kept muttering, “But I’m married, what will I do?”

I’d been careful to keep my language perfect, no swear words and no smutty remarks. It sounded brilliant when I heard it played back, particularly the bit where he threatened me and attempted to assault me. My ‘Get away!’ sounded almost terrified. I would have to work on that a little.

“I just sort of pushed him on the chest and he fell over onto the floor. I was so afraid he was going to hurt me,” I said, flashing my eyes at the sergeant.

Sergeant Martin Harris arrived faintly amused. However, after hearing the tape, he left an angry man. He took exception to men who tried to take advantage of women. He made a point of coming back, after depositing the man in the cells, to take a very lengthy statement from me. His colleague took a statement from Sally. I was given the impression that he was stringing things out, and was after a lot more than the statement. So much so, that at closing time, I let everyone go, as he finished the statement. He was about twenty-seven, tall with short brown hair. He was well built and quite dishy. I caught myself wondering what he’d be like in bed.

“Well, I think I have enough. I hope he pleads guilty, so then you won’t have to give evidence,” he told me, packing everything away in a folder.

“So, do I. I’ve never been in a court,” I lied.

“Look, I finish work at ten. Is there any chance we could meet for a drink, or something?”

“Won’t your wife mind?”

“I’m not married. I was, but she couldn’t take the job. It lasted three years.”

“Any kids?”

“Fortunately not.”

I smiled, agreeing to meet him for a quick drink at ten in a pub just up the road.

I went home to my flat and made myself something to eat. I actually liked living alone. For a while, I couldn’t get used to it, but I realised that I had never been alone before. Home in the East End had been chaotic and unpleasant, so I had sought solitude in the library. I had never been alone in the detention centre, except for a period after Larry left and before Pete arrived. Even so, the screws had constantly watched me so there was never any real privacy.

So, once I got used to it, I enjoyed it. I ate what I liked, when I liked, doing what I liked, when I liked. Even so, I was forever having one or other of the girls round and, sometimes, if there had been an argument or something, Aunty Jemma had them to stay in the spare room.

So I put my feet up and had some scrambled eggs on toast. I watched a bit of TV, almost forgetting my date.

I prettied myself up, slipping into a slinky black dress, with some nice stockings. As it was bloody cold outside, I wore my ‘fuck-me’ knee length boots, with 4” heels, and a really warm long black coat, with a velvet collar.

I arrived at the pub just after ten past ten, and went in. It was quite crowded, so I had to look about.

“Jemma, over here!” I heard a shout. I saw Martin with some colleagues round a table right at the back.

I smiled and went over. He met me half way.

“Hi, thanks for coming. What are you drinking?”

“A glass of white wine, dry, please.”

I stood with him as he ordered and paid for my drink. Then I went with him as he returned to the table. There were eight of them, six men and two girls. I was introduced, but in my nervous state I instantly forgot all their names.

“Take your coat off, sit down and relax,” said one of the guys. I think he was called Ted.

I took my coat off, smiling slightly as I got the desired reaction from the males.

I sat next to Martin, and was immediately bombarded with questions about myself. I answered most of them, but changed the subject to the guy who had been arrested earlier.

The man, whose name I discovered was Ronald Brewer, had been charged with attempted blackmail, attempted assault, and something to do with attempting to procure sex or some indecency offences. He was a married man, and was a regional manager for a courier company.

“Bail was refused, so he’s in court in the morning,” Martin said.

“Does that mean I’ll have to give evidence?” I asked, slightly worried.

“Not yet, if he pleads not guilty, we’ll get an adjournment. But if he pleads guilty, then it will be heard in the morning.”

“Am I allowed to watch?”

“Do you want to?”

I nodded.

Several of them grinned, so there followed a series of stories about court cases, each trying to out do the other. I just relaxed and settled down.

It was obviously a ‘police pub’, as closing time came and went. Yet, it seemed to matter not to the landlord or the clientele. I discovered the landlord was a retired detective and most of the customers were police officers or friends. The till was locked and some local arrangement was made to use cash pooled before closing time.

I had several wines, so was quite relaxed when Martin offered to walk me home at midnight. He was about as obvious as he could get, and I decided to play hard to get. He knew I was only twenty. Yet, I could tell he was smitten. We walked along the half-mile or so, our breath visible as clouds of vapour in the chilly air. Frost was making the grass and twigs sparkle in the streetlights, and the air was very still. We reached my flat, and I stopped.

“Thanks, that’s the first police escort I’ve ever had,” I said.

“You’re welcome. You’re the prettiest person I’ve ever escorted.”

“You’re sweet, but you could choose better chat up lines,” I said, kissing his cheek.

I opened the door, without inviting him in.

“Jemma, can I see you again?”

“Martin, you’re seven years older than I. Is it wise?”

“I’d like to. You don’t come over as a twenty year old.”

“If you want, yes. I’d like to see you again.”

He grinned like a schoolboy.

“How about lunch the day after tomorrow. I have a day off.”

“I’m working, but I suppose I could take an hour off. Come by the salon at one.”

He reached out and kissed me on the lips and I almost relented. But I smiled and said goodnight. I wanted him to think I was a good little girl - at least for a while.

The next day was quiet, but we ticked by. I went to court and saw Mr Brewer plead guilty. He looked very different to that arrogant abusive sod that had confronted me in the booth. He was meek and mild and his voice was so quiet that no one could hear him. The court decided they couldn’t sentence him so he was remanded into custody, committed to the Crown Court for sentencing. I wondered how he would like prison. Martin spoke briefly to me, and I noticed the press were hanging about so I retreated quickly.

It was still quite quiet at the centre, but things changed on the following day.

I was in early, and the girls were still buzzing from the afternoon two days before. Sally was embellishing how I had beaten the living shit out of the man, and that given a flat enough pond I could probably walk on water.

The day settled down and business was quite slow to start with, yet it picked up nicely towards mid-morning. We had more than our usual number of phone enquiries and bookings for the forthcoming week appeared to be up. Then a female customer came in to make a booking.

“I wasn’t going to, but then I read about the incident in the paper. So I realised that if your standards were that high, then I knew I’d be safe,” she said.

“I’m sorry, where did you read this?” I asked.

“In the local paper, I think you are so brave to stand against all this corruption. And your photograph was very nice,” she said, and my blood went cold.

Sally rushed out and bought a copy of the Windsor and Maidenhead Gazette. We were on the front page, the lead story. And horror of horrors, a photograph of me leaving the court.

DRAMA AT BEAUTY PARLOUR
A man appeared before Windsor Magistrates yesterday charged with making unwarranted demands with menaces, attempted assault and attempting to procure sex from female staff of the Windsor Beauty and Therapeutic Massage Centre, in the High Street a couple of days ago. The man, forty-five year old Ronald Brewer of Wokingham, is married and works for a courier company based in Reading. Dressed in a grey suit, he stood in the dock, rarely raising his head. Magistrates had to ask him to speak up on several occasions. He pleaded guilty to all charges, and was remanded in custody for sentencing by the Crown Court at Reading. He made no statement after the brief appearance, but his solicitor said, "This was a momentary lapse on behalf of a happily married man, whose career now lies in ruins due to the uncharacteristic mistake of a loving family man. The stress he has been under at work is no doubt contributory to his behaviour, and he apologises to everyone involved. He now has to patch things up at home."
Miss Jemma Adams, at Windsor Magistrates Court, yesterday.	The proprietor of the Centre, attractive Jemma Adams, (pictured left) is reported to have fitted safety features to all the booths in the centre to protect her girls from sexual predators. Sergeant Martin Harris, from Windsor Police Station said, Miss Adams is a very sensible young woman. She and all her staff are properly trained, and provide genuine therapeutic massage and treatment for sports injuries and pain relief. They also provide beauty treatment, and are no in any way concerned with some of the dubious practises that sometimes are associated with certain massage premises. "Indeed, she was sick and tired of those people who view massage parlours as places to obtain sex for cash, that she has taken appropriate steps to maintain respectability and to avoid being tarnished with the same brush" Mr Brewer faces several years in prison for the charges to which he has pleaded guilty.

“Fame at last,” said Sally with a huge grin.

“My bloody hair, it looks awful,” I said.

I had mixed feelings. So much for keeping a low profile, but it was good publicity, and although we were managing to pay our way, we could do with a boost like this.

By one o’clock, the place was heaving. We were booked up for three weeks in advance and every booth was full. The manicurist was working flat out and we had sold more products in one morning than the last three weeks put together.

Martin walked into chaos.

I was on the phone, as we were trying to find a supplier to meet our sudden demands for certain products.

“Bad time?” he asked. I shook my head and finished my call.

“No, not really. Thanks for the free publicity. We haven’t stopped all day. When did you speak to the papers?”

“Just after you left. They wanted to speak to you, but I told them you were busy.”

“Thanks. This has made us even busier. Half of them are curious, as they all want to know what happened.”

“Still on for lunch?”

“Sure. Just let me tell Sally.”

I found Sally in mid-massage, and I told her that I was off to lunch.

“Fine, never mind us workers, you just bugger off with your fancy man,” she said with a grin. I left, but knew that if things kept like this I would have to take on more staff.

We walked through the town and over the bridge into Eton. He took me to a tiny restaurant and I watched the Eton boys in their tailcoats walk past. It was a lovely little place, but I smiled. He’d obviously used it before for romantic liaisons.

The food was nice and I enjoyed the wine and his company. We chatted about trivial stuff. Yet I sensed he was after one thing, but I wasn’t going to let him have it easily. I portrayed the intelligent, but sexually naíve twenty year old, and played him like a salmon.

On our walk back, he bought me a set of earrings that I had admired in a shop window. I kissed his cheek, so he put his arm around my shoulders. When we arrived back at the centre, he kissed me and asked whether I would like to have dinner with him and go to the theatre.

“Martin, you’re working awfully hard,” I observed and he grinned.

“Well?”

“I’d love to. When?”

“Tonight. I’ll come by your flat at six thirty.”

I smiled.

“Okay, and thanks for lunch and the earrings. This is getting expensive for you,” I said, and he grinned.

“Maybe it’s an investment.”

“Maybe, but then, maybe your return will make you a happy man.”

He stared at me, unsure how to take that. So I kissed his cheek, leaving him confused. It didn’t take much.

The day actually beat all records at work. I decided to advertise for two more beauticians and another masseuse. I arrived back at the flat at half past five, completely knackered and somewhat regretting accepting the invitation to dinner and the theatre.

After a hot bath and a glass of wine, I felt ready for anything. I dressed in a stunning navy blue dress and jacket, and spent some time getting my make up just right. I had the perfect technique, whereby I could make myself look five years older and very sophisticated. By shading my cheekbones, I could manage a sort of Nordic look, and was pleased with the result.

I was just ready when the doorbell sounded at six twenty nine.

I answered the door.

“Hi,” he said, kissing me and giving me a bunch of red roses.

“Come in, I’m almost ready,” I said, taking the roses into the kitchen. I put them in a vase.

“What are these for?”

“Down payment,” he said, so I smiled.

“Do you want a drink?”

“We ought to go, as the play starts at seven thirty. So if you want to eat, we’d best get there soon.”

I went into the bedroom to put my earrings on.

“What are we seeing?” I said, through the open door.

“I haven’t a clue,” he said, so I laughed.

“You have a nice place here. It must have cost a bomb.”

“Thanks, it wasn’t cheap, but I inherited a few bob. But I need the business to help pay it off.”

“You’re doing very well for your age.”

“Well, I had a tough start, but it made me determined,” I said, returning to the living room.

“You look fantastic,” he said, and I smiled again. I found I liked compliments.

We arrived at the Chinese restaurant ten minutes later. It was next door to the theatre, right in the shadow of the Castle. We had a delightful meal, but rather rushed.

We managed to get in to our theatre seats just as the lights were dimming. It was a farce and, as I sat engrossed, I realised that this was the first proper play I had ever been to. I started to wonder whether I should like to be an actress, but decided that one performance was enough, - my life.

We went for a drink in the interval, where we met some people he knew. He introduced me to them and could see the non-verbal signals immediately. They had obviously known him when he was married, so I was rather shutout. When we returned to our seats, he apologised.

“They used to be friendly with Jane. They still keep in touch, so this will be back to them immediately.”

“What, that you are trying to get into my knickers?” I asked, and he stared at me, but then he laughed as the lights dimmed for the second half.

“Was I that obvious?” he whispered to me, squeezing my hand.

The play was great and I thoroughly enjoyed it. I loved the whole atmosphere and I knew that I would be back often. We walked home, just as it started to snow. My boots were warm, but the heels made them quite prone to sliding, so I held on tightly to Martin’s arm all the way.

When we arrived back at my flat, I had to make a decision.

I looked at him, and he was watching me like a hawk.

I smiled.

“Okay, I give up. Do you want to come in for a coffee or something?”

He smiled.

“If you really don’t mind?”

“I mind terribly. Look, it’s cold, I’ve had a bloody hard day, so I’m not going to piss about. Do you want a coffee or not?”

“Sure, I’d love one.”

I opened up and he followed me in. The central heating was still on, so the place was snug.

I hung up my coat, and put the kettle on.

“Coffee or chocolate?”

“Coffee.”

“Do you want a whisky or something?” I asked.

“No, I’m fine with coffee, thanks.”

I made him a coffee and I made a hot chocolate for myself. Then I went and joined him in the sitting room. We sat together on the sofa.

“You’re different to most girls I’ve met.”

“Oh, in what way?”

“I don’t know. It’s almost as if you are very innocent one minute and yet incredibly worldly the next. You look and sound like a polite, well-educated girl, but then you say some outrageous things, but never quite clearly outrageous. I feel you are playing a game with me, yet I don’t know the rules.”

I smiled. He was astute, this one. Not a copper for nothing.

“Well, I’ve been through quite a lot. I don’t really want to dig up old memories, but I had what is known as a ‘damaged youth’. I lost my virginity some time ago, so I am very selective with whom I form relationships. You’re right, as I am very worldly, but not well educated. I’m dyslexic, so I never managed any academic qualifications. But I’m bright and intelligent, and I can learn very quickly. I speak well because I was fostered with a well-spoken family for some time and they taught me how to speak properly. I lost my working-class accent, so now feel confident that I can communicate without any disadvantage.”

He nodded.

“So, where in Ireland are you from?” he asked.

“I’m not, not really. My dad was Irish, but I’ve lived all over Europe. He was a soldier in the British army, yet he was fiercely Irish. I went to so many different schools that I can’t remember them all. I went to one for only four weeks.”

He stroked my hair away from my face.

“You are so beautiful,” he said, kissing my neck. It sent shivers down my spine, so I closed my eyes and let him keep going. I felt my nipples harden. At that moment, I knew that I would go to bed with him.

He stopped.

“I’m sorry,” he said, and I frowned.

“What for, it was quite nice?”

“I’m not very good with girls any more. I seem to confuse their signals. I think it was my ex who screwed me up.”

“How?”

“She pissed off with someone else.”

“Did you know him?”

“Had it been a him, I’d be fine. She left me for another woman.”

“Oh, nasty. What happened?”

“I was on the area team, a crime squad, specialising in burglaries and car crime. I was doing loads of overtime, as we had a big mortgage and I thought we were going to start a family. Anyway she was getting more distant and sex seemed to dry up. I came home early one day, unexpectedly, and I found her in bed with her best friend.”

“What happened?”

“We had a fight, and I threw her out. She tried to come back, but the trust was gone, so we divorced. She was in work and earning as much as me, so financially I was okay. We sold the house, splitting the small profit. She moved in with her friend and I occasionally see them around.”

“Does she live around here?”

“No, she’s moved to Reading, but she still has friends here.”

“When did you split up?”

“It’s been a couple of years now, nearly.”

“I’m surprised you haven’t met someone else, a good looking fella like you.”

“I’ve met loads, but I get to this point, and seem to just fizzle out. I’m sorry, but I just sort of run out of courage.”

I half turned on the sofa and looked at him. I tried to guess whether this was a line. He looked so miserable that I decided that it wasn’t, and he was genuinely suffering from a crisis of confidence. I smiled, as I loved a challenge.

I finished my chocolate, and put the mug down on the table.

“So, what is it that you feel unable to do?” I asked.

“Everything. I can meet girls, and make and go out on dates. But then I get to this stage, and it is as if everything freezes. I feel so fucking silly. I’ve not actually told anyone this before.”

“So, why tell me?”

“I don’t know. I guess I feel that you will understand somehow. Shit, Jemma, I am so sorry, I feel a complete idiot.”

“I tell you what, why don’t I give you a massage? That way, you won’t have anything to do except lie back and enjoy it. And if anything happens, just let it. How about it?”

“I don’t know. What kind of massage?”

“One that I don’t normally give to clients.”

He looked frightened.

“Look, Martin. Face your demons. I won’t bite, and I’m not after your body. I’m a big girl; I’m free and happy and I’m not looking for a relationship, but of one comes along, I may catch it like a bus. I’ll take it as long as it goes my way. So you have nothing to lose. Besides, you bought me earrings, flowers and a lovely evening out. Consider this the payback.”

I pulled him to his feet and led him to my bedroom. I pulled back my duvet from the king size bed, placing a large bath towel on the sheet.

“Get undressed, lie on the towel, face up and put this smaller towel over your important bits,” I told him and then I went into my bathroom and stripped off. I put on my short Chinese wrap, the same one I had had inside. I was naked underneath, and I went back out to find him on the bed as instructed. I oiled my hands, and started with his right foot, working up to his knees and then the other foot, then his arms, and chest. I massaged his temples, and neck. I felt him relax.

“Turn over.”

He rolled over, and I kept the towel over his bum. I stood beside him and oiled his back. I massaged him properly for a while, but then I got onto the bed, kneeling astride him and taking off my wrap. I felt the muscles in his shoulders and neck relax and he had his eyes closed. I moved down and massaged his buttocks; he never noticed the towel had gone. I then massaged his thighs and calves. He was making little pleasure noises, purring like a cat.

“Turn over.”

He rolled over and still had his eyes closed. I knelt astride him as his cock rose to the occasion. I massaged his shoulders again and then he opened his eyes as I kissed him. His erection was strong and straight. There was nothing wrong with the mechanics. I had smeared oil all over my body, so I rubbed myself against him.

He was kissing me, passionately and his hands were busy. I rose slightly, reaching below me and helping him slip into me. I sank down, letting him impale me up to the hilt.

I rocked back and forwards gently, as he was caressing my tits.

I found the place where his pubic area was directly below my clitoris, and the rocking movement brought me to orgasm.

He started to screw me, slowly and with delicate precision, and we moved in time with one another. Faster and faster, we just kept the rhythm going, he kissed my tits, sucking so hard that I came again and again.

Then he stuck a finger up my ass, and I went mad. I rode him so hard, that I lost count of the amount of times I came, and finally he shuddered and arched his back, forcing himself as deep inside me as he could go. I felt his spasms as he shot his seed inside me.

I kissed him and felt him subside inside me, and slither out as he shrank.

“There, that wasn’t so bad, was it?” I asked.

He reached out and held me, pulling me towards him and holding me close. We were both wet with sweat, oil and natural juices. It was very carnal.

“That was amazing. I have never experienced anything like that. Thank you so much,” he said, kissing me very gently.

“Come on, let’s shower, otherwise we’ll muck the sheets up.”

We showered together, and he was so damn loving. He washed every inch of my body, and kissed it to make sure. By the time we got out I wanted him again. I was as horny as hell.

He then insisted on drying me, kissing each part to check he had done it properly. I would have let him do anything to me by this time.

He dried himself off, and I literally dragged him back to bed. I pulled the old towel off the sheet, and lay down on my tummy, with my ass in the air.

“Fuck me, doggie. Just fuck me!” I said, and boy, did he!
 
 
I awoke when my alarm went off at eight, to find him gone. We had been still screwing at four when he muttered about being on early turn. I then went unconscious, but now he had left me.

I staggered to the bathroom, and a single red rose was on my towel, with a note.

“Soppy sod,” I said, stepping into the shower.

I arrived at work on time, to find things already getting going. The appointment book was full, so I went off to recruit some more hands. I dropped into the recruitment agencies and employment office, leaving cards everywhere. I had just got back when the first hopefuls were contacting me.

Most were girls who had been the other kind of masseuses, so I was not interested. However, two girls were qualified and were also beauticians, so I took them on. One bloke applied. Darren was an ex-squaddie who was given a course on his discharge from the army. He was quite well qualified, but had no experience. I also suspected that there was something else, as he didn’t respond to me as most blokes did.

He didn’t tell me, but I instantly knew. It was the way he looked at me and the other girls, or rather the way he didn’t look at us! He was about 5’10”, well muscled and good looking, with very short hair. In 1975 only the police or military had short hair. But he had something about him with which I could identify and it was like an inner anger and fire that needed quenching.

“So, Darren. How long did you do?”

“Five years.”

“What were you in?”

“REME. I serviced tanks, Chieftains mainly.”

“Where were you stationed?”

“All over, I was in Germany with the 17/21st, Tidworth with the 4th/7th, and Catterick with the 3RTR.”

“So, why did you leave?” I asked, and he flushed slightly.

“I’d done enough and I wanted out.”

“Darren, you don’t have to answer this and I don’t intend to offend you, nor is it any of my business. But did you leaving have anything to do with, you know what?”

He stared at me. He blinked, and I thought I had misjudged him.

“You can tell?”

I nodded.

He looked down and seemed to crumple slightly.

“Darren, it doesn’t matter. Gay or straight, as long as you can do the job and leave your private life at home, then why the hell should I care? I’m not your mother, so as long as you’re good at your job, you won’t ever fall foul with me. You’ve got the job. Okay?”

He looked at me, frowning.

“You know what I am, yet you still give me the job. Why?”

“Don’t you want it?”

“Of course I want it, but I don’t understand.”

“Darren, lots of things in life seem cut and dried, and other things aren’t. Let’s put it this way, I don’t care what you are, as I want you to find some happiness. If I can help you do that, then I will find a little too. Life is a right sod when it wants to be, so one has to make the best of what one has. When one can’t, then one must fight for what one wants and needs.

“Here, you can be the person you have always wanted to be. We won’t judge you and we won’t hurt you. You can be among friends and relax for the first time in your life.”

He surprised me then, as he broke down and wept.

I gave him a cuddle until he got it together again. Then he gave me a grin.

“You have no idea how hard the last five years have been. Even longer, for I knew that I was gay when I was in my early teens. I’ve not had a steady relationship ever, but I saw your advert and thought, yes, that might be just what I could do with.”

“Darren, when it comes to hard, believe me, you have nothing you can teach this girl.”

He looked at me, frowning slightly. I relaxed and smiled.

“Okay, can you start soon?”

“As soon as you like, how about now?”

“How about tomorrow? A month’s trial, so if you don’t like it, or if we find you’re not up to it, then neither of us lose too much.”

“Fine, that sounds good to me. I appreciate this.”

“Darren, we could do with a bloke around, as we’ve already had one nutter who tried to get nasty.”

He frowned.

“What happened?”

“I took care of him, but it might not be me next time.”

He stared at me and smiled.

“You look very capable.”

“Oh, I am, Darren. Believe me, I am.”

Darren grinned, shaking my hand as he left. I shook my head sadly, there were so many screwed up people out there. I was pleased I wasn’t one of them any more.

Life settled down. The rush died back, but to a satisfactory level that justified our new staffing levels. Darren was exceptional, adding a fresh dimension to our family. Once he lost his military starchiness, he was brilliant and he was just another one of the girls.

Business was so good, that I reviewed salary levels, giving everyone a slight increase. I spent a very interesting day with my financial adviser/accountant, Robert, who told me that I was doing very nicely, thank you very much. In fact, I was doing so well that I bought the flat above the shop, converting it to expand the business to create a small fitness centre. We shuffled things around, moving the beauticians and massage booths upstairs, making the ground floor the fitness centre.

Then, in March, Sally and I pissed off to Austria for a skiing holiday.

---

 
To Be Continued...

 
Synopsis
A wealthy and beautiful Spanish Countess prepares for a private dinner party with her husband and children at the White House with the President and First Lady. As she arrives, she casts her mind back to a very different life.

Jim, a young boy, is brought up in a deprived and abusive home in London’s East End. Aware of his TS condition, he suffers abuse and humiliation, culminating in a homosexual predator taking advantage of him. Finding himself in jail, undergoing special ‘treatment’ to combat his ‘anger’ problems, the young man finally is abused by the state.

When you hit the bottom, there is only one way to go. And a girl called Jemma decides to go up.

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Tanya has a new website where she will display her latest works first and then to BigCloset TopShelf a few weeks later is here at Tanya Allan's Tales .
Tanya's Book Shop where she is selling her works in book form is at http://tanyaallan.authorshaunt.com/shop.php . Please Visit!

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The Legal Stuff: A Fairy’s Tale  ©2004 Tanya Allan
 
This work is the property of the author, and the author retains full copyright, in relation to printed material, whether on paper or electronically. Any adaptation of the whole or part of the material for broadcast by radio, TV, or for stage plays or film, is the right of the author unless negotiated through legal contract. Permission is granted for it to be copied and read by individuals, and for no other purpose. Any commercial use by anyone other than the author is strictly prohibited, and may only be posted to free sites with the express permission of the author.
 
This work is fictitious, and any similarities to any persons, alive or dead, are purely coincidental. Mention is made of persons in public life only for the purposes of realism, and for that reason alone. Certain licence is taken in respect of medical procedures, terms and conditions, and the author does not claim to be the fount of all knowledge.
 
The author accepts the right of the individual to hold his/her (or whatever) own political, religious and social views, and there is no intention to deliberately offend anyone. If you wish to take offence, that is your problem.
 
This is only a story, and it contains adult material, which includes sex and intimate descriptive details pertaining to genitalia. If this is likely to offend, then don’t read it.
 
 

 
Please enjoy.

Tanya
 
 
Part 8
 
 
Franz had the biggest cock of all the men I had been with so far. He also had an excessive libido and ego.

I had never been skiing before, well, to be honest, I had never been on holiday before. I don’t count Southend-on-Sea. I had arrived in the Alps with a fresh view and I adored the place from the moment I stepped off the bus. The air was crisp and clean, and the views were out of this world. Our chalet was a picturesque Alpine cabin, tucked up high in the town, and twelve of us were together, all looked after by a very nice English girl called Sarah. We were all girls of a similar age.

Sally and I shared a room which was quite small, but sufficient for our needs. There was a pair of bathrooms, a living room with dining area, and a kitchen with breakfast bar into the dining area. Once settled, we went off to locate all our equipment.

We collected our skis, boots and ski passes, and headed off to meet our instructors at the ski-school.

Sally had skied before, but I was in a beginners’ class of spotty kids who were all about fourteen. Most were British, but a couple were from other strange parts. I had spent far too much money on a canary yellow set of ski pants and ski jacket, with matching hat and all the extras. I looked so professional, until I put on my skis.

I spent most of my time on my arse with a serious case of the giggles. Yet, I hadn’t even managed to reach the nursery slopes. A very firm hand grabbed my arm, and I was upright once more. My rescuer was very big, very blond and very beautiful. Square of jaw, and bronzed to a deep golden brown, he wore his ski instructor’s pullover with aplomb. He also wore a very fetching white cap, which no one else managed to copy.

He grinned at me, showing me his beautiful set of pearly white teeth.

“Guten tag, fraulein. My name ist Franz. I hope ve enjoy each udder,” he said. As he let go of my arm he managed an almost perfect pirouette in front of me. I smiled, tried to look sophisticated and sexy, but promptly fell over again and got the giggles.

That first day, he taught us firstly how to stand and walk about in skis, then to go up small rises, and then down small rises. Once we mastered that, he taught us the snowplough. It was a really hard two hours. By the end of it, I was completely knackered.

I was the worst by far. Firstly, I was the oldest in my class. I was also the most prone to giggle and be silly, but I was also the prime target for Franz’s libido. He would tease me and try to charm me at the same time. The others just managed to swish away and get down the gentle hill with little difficulty. By the time I tried, I was semi-hysterical with laughter, and just completely inept.

If God had intended me to ski, he’d have given me longer feet. But, thankfully, the end of the morning lesson arrived and Franz led us to a small café where we had lunch. He sat his ample body next to mine and told me how wonderfully I was doing.

“Bollocks,” I replied, which threw him completely, but caused my spotty classmates to giggle.

He bought me a beer and kept up his charm all through lunch. At the end, he bought me a small glass of schnapps. I knew exactly what he was after, but shrugged and drank it anyway. By the jealous looks some of the fifteen year-old girls were giving me, they knew what he was after as well.

I smiled, as he knew that I was more likely to supply what he was after than were they.

The afternoon lesson went much better. I was relaxed, and didn’t give a toss if I fell or not. As a result, I only fell once and progressed to being the third worst in the class. After an hour of fannying about at the bottom of the slopes, he took us up my first ski tow.

I looked in trepidation at this inverted T bar affair which took two people at once with the T as a sort of arse-hook. I watched the others fall left, right and centre, and then it was my turn, and guess who came as my partner?

Yup, Franz.

We managed to reach the top. A great day in the annals of sporting achievements as far as I was concerned. It was my greatest sporting moment since I unwittingly knocked out the missing link at seven years old in a boxing ring.

It was still the nursery slopes, but the exhilaration I felt skiing down my first longish slope was amazing. I was hooked, so from that moment on my attitude changed completely and I progressed much more quickly.

As we met up at the bottom of the hill at the end of the day, I was very tired, and yet on a high. We gathered round Franz like ducklings around a mother duck.

He smiled round the group.

“Vell. A gud day. Ja? You all did vell. Tomorrow you com back, und ve go up a bigger hill, ja? Ve hav de lunch at ze top of der mountain, und ski all ze vay down again.”

Some tittered, others just smiled, and he caught my eyes.

“I sink ve enjoy each udder very much.”

I smiled and raised one eyebrow, and he grinned.

“Zat’s it. Same time tomorrow.”

They all turned and raced away, several falling in the process. I slowly turned and he was beside me before I managed to get very far.

“Jemma, you have not skied before, no?” Suddenly his English was much clearer, almost fluent, but with a discernible American accent.

“No, never,” I said.

“For the first time you did very well, once you lost your fear of falling.”

I stopped, as I found it hard to talk and ski, albeit slowly.

“Franz, you’re a fake. You speak perfectly good English.”

He grinned. “Of course, I spent three years teaching ski-school in America.”

“So why the outrageous accent?”

He laughed. “The kids expect it. To them, I am just an exotic foreigner.”

“You’re full of bullshit.”

“Of course, why do you think I drop it with you?”

“Probably because I’m the only one you can legally fuck, and the only one who looks as if she might actually know what to do and enjoy it.”

He stared at me for a second, and then burst out laughing.

“Oh, you English girls, you are so direct. The American girls flirt and then run. The German girls look sexy, and then when you are almost past the point of no return, they want you to marry them first. But you say what you mean and treat sex as a sport.”

“Well, isn’t it?” I asked.

He chuckled.

“Well, can I buy you a drink later?” he asked.

“Why not? When and where?”

He named a bar, giving me directions.

“Can I bring a friend?”

“Girl or boy?”

“Girl. Anyway I don’t date boys.”

He stared at me frowning.

“Don’t look so worried, I only date men, never boys.”

The smile returned, and he skied off, leaving me to attempt to get down without falling over.

I got back to the chalet before Sally, thereby bagging the bathroom first. I had a very long luxurious bath, and only got out when the others threatened to burn the door down.

I then changed into some warm but very sexy aprá¨s-ski clothes and told Sally that we were going to the instructors’ bar for a drink. She grinned and changed in a quarter of the time I took. Sarah cooked us a superb meal and then we were off.

We found the bar, and went in. This was obviously the place the instructors took the girls they had selected for extra-curricula activities. It had twice the atmosphere than the standard tourist bars.

Franz was watching for me, and when he saw Sally too, he nudged his companion, another bronzed instructor-god sitting next to him. They both grinned. If they ever broke their legs, they could always sell toothpaste.

Soon we were ensconced in a small booth for four with Franz and his friend Reinhardt. I was not a great beer drinker, as my liquid capacity was never that great, but the German beer was quite nice. But when the schnapps started, I stopped. I knew exactly what was going on, so I wanted to be sober enough to appreciate it.

Sally, on the other hand, was game for anything, and she drank everything they put in front of her. Franz met my eyes, and I frowned and shook my head. He whispered to Reinhardt, so they stopped before the poor girl brought up her supper.

The disco started, so most got up and danced. Sally was one of the first, her few inhibitions were completely lost by this time. I declined a dance from Franz.

“I want to conserve my energy for later,” I said.

We made some small talk, until the music slowed.

“Will you dance now?” he asked. I nodded, so he stood up and held out his hand. I took it, and he almost lifted me off the ground. His strength was immense.

We smooched for a few dances and we kissed. He was a good kisser, - loads of practice, I thought. He knew exactly which buttons to push and I reached that point whereby I knew exactly what I wanted and so did he.

I glanced at Sally and smiled. She would be lucky to find a bed in time. She was so latched onto her blond demi-god, I thought they’d be copulating on the dance floor.

Franz took me to his room. It was a cosy room above the bar, very well placed, I thought. He literally undressed me, and was very experienced. He was also exceptionally well endowed, and more than ready. I was a little perturbed; as he was bigger than anyone I had yet taken to bed.

But he got me to such a state that I was more than ready for him. He laid me on the bed, slowly entering me as if he knew that his size was a concern to us ladies. He was a very considerate lover, and very strong. He had wonderful stamina and by the time he eventually climaxed, I was wringing wet and almost giddy with pleasure. We lay entwined and I loved to feel such a big man in my arms.

We said nothing, as there was no pretence at love or even affection, as it was purely animalistic and sexual between us. I just lay there feeling sated, feeling happy that I could satisfy such a man properly. It gave me a warm feeling knowing that the only difference was that I could not conceive a child. For that, I still felt sad, but was still more than prepared to live with it. I was supremely content with my gender.

That night I tried positions that I had never dreamed of. Franz was truly a giant and even screwed me standing up. I simply wrapped my legs around him, while he held me under my bum, and it was amazing. Eventually, in the small hours, I left him, making my weary way back to my chalet. I crashed out, only just managing to get to the class on time at ten.
 
 
The fortnight was totally exhausting, yet the only consolation was that Sally was as knackered as I.

We skied all day and screwed all night. Franz and I forgot all about the bar, drink and dancing. I ate my meal with the others and then went straight to his room where we just got straight down to it. Sally could be heard through the thin walls. She was a screamer, in that whenever she had an orgasm, she wanted everyone to know it. If she was a virgin when she arrived, she certainly wasn’t when she left.

I even progressed on the ski slopes. Maybe not to Olympic standards, but certainly I was no longer a beginner. I was sad when the holiday came to an end, but quite pleased to be going back home for a rest.

On the last day, the afternoon was a sort of free for all. We had a little competition, and after that, there was about an hour of doing what we wanted. Franz took me up the highest chairlift, and he showed me a delightful run through the trees. We came to a secluded spot, took of our skis and clothes, and then made glorious love in the snow. He thoughtfully brought a small blanket so I didn’t freeze my bum.

“You come back next year?” he said, as we dressed afterwards.

“Maybe,” I said.

“It would be good if you did.”

“I’m not stupid, you find a girl in every class.”

“No. You are the first this year.”

“I don’t believe you.”

“It’s true. I usually have the beginners, so most are too young. But you are different. You and me, we are very good together.”

I couldn’t argue, as we were. Neither of us demanded anything else from each other, and it was a perfect arrangement. But it was not something I wanted to continue. There was more to life than sex. I actually wanted love. I don’t think I had ever really experienced it. I thought I had, with Larry, Matt, and even Martin. If I had to be honest, none of them rang that particular bell, and I could see that.

“No Franz. It was great while it lasted, but I’ve learned never to go back. I change, you change, and the world changes. If I come back, then it will never be the same.”

I clicked on my skis, smiled at him and skied out of his life.
 
 
Sally and I returned to find that the business was still there, so life went on. Martin, who became quite a common feature in my life, was transferred to the CID at Maidenhead, so I saw less and less of him.

One day, I was just locking up the centre, he appeared.

“Hi Jem,” he said.

“Well, well, hello stranger. What have I done to deserve a visit from one so esteemed?”

He smiled, but I instinctively knew exactly why he was here.

“Come on, take me to the pub, and you can tell me about her,” I said, and he gawped at me.

We popped into the King’s Head, where he bought me a gin and tonic.

“Well, who is she?”

“How did you know?”

“I’m not stupid, Martin. I see less and less of you, and when I do see you, you’re distracted and not really with it. Look, we were lovers, not husband and wife. We’ve both had a need met in each other, and we move on. In this case, you’re moving on first. So, who is she?”

“You don’t mind?”

“Of course I fucking mind, you stupid man. But I don’t bloody own you. If you’d said you loved me and had sworn undying love to your dying day, then I’d have reason to get really pissed with you. But neither of us has got that far, and quite rightly too. So, who is she?”

“I work with her. She is a WDC at Maidenhead and, well, I think I love her.”

“Good. Then you are cured, so I can take you off my books,” I said, draining my drink.

“You’re angry,” he said, looking guilty and sheepish.

“No, I’m not angry, not really. I’m hurt, yes, but not angry. Not by you, but by me. You see; I’m fond of you, Martin, but obviously not enough. Only by losing you to someone else, do I learn how fond, and what it means to lose someone. In a way I’m relieved, as we both know that our lives follow very different paths, as I could never be a copper’s wife. But I’ll miss you, and I respect your honesty. Have you slept with her yet?”

He looked at me sharply and looked down.

“No, she wanted to, but I told her I wouldn’t. Not until I had spoken to you.”

I took his hand.

“Martin, I give you my blessing, for what it is worth. I’d like to stay your friend, but I guess having me around may cause embarrassment.”

He shook his head.

“Never. You’re the most gracious and lovely woman I know. The main reason I haven’t taken our relationship further is that I feel unworthy.”

“Unworthy? Martin, how daft is that?” I said, genuinely surprised. I was the one who felt unworthy and a fraud.

“You don’t see it do you?”

“See what?”

“You’re on a different level to most of us. I just feel humble that we’ve enjoyed the time together that we have.”

“You soppy sod. Go on, go and live your life. But invite me to your wedding.”

He stood up, kissing my cheek.

“I can never express the thanks to you for what you’ve done for me and what you’ve meant to me. In a way, I really do love you.”

“Bastard. What a time to tell me!” I said, and he smiled.

“Goodbye Jemma, when you meet your knight in shining armour, I hope he’s good enough for you.”

Then he was gone.

I seemed destined to lose men.
 
 
Part 9
 
 
“Are you sure, Jemma? I mean you spent so much building the business up and everything,” Sally asked.

“Sally. The fun was building it up. Now it’s going well, I’ve sort of lost interest. Besides, I’ll still be part owner, as I retain a quarter share in it, only I won’t be around for the fun.”

Her father had helped her buy half the business from me, so she was now set up for life. Her father was delighted, as she had passed his expectations he had for her. As a result, he was effusive in his praises for the way I had mentored her and given her a bright future. It was just as well I didn’t tell him about the bedroom antics we got up to in Austria.

She was staying on and running the place and I was off with new ideas as to my future. The other staff members had all bought the remaining quarter, so everyone had a vested interest in keeping it going.

Darren had really blossomed, as he had a list of clients as long as your arm. Most were women who adored him, but I noticed that there were more and more men on the list.

He had met a young man with whom he was now living in a little terraced house on the outskirts of Windsor. His hair had grown slightly, and he was now smiling most of the time. Sally and I had gone round for dinner with them and they were a very cute couple.

Morris was a chef in one of the big hotels near Heathrow, and so dinner was superb. He was a slight boy, the same age as Darren, and with his long hair and effeminate gestures, he reminded me of someone else. He adored Darren, and they were very tactile once they became used to our company.

I got onto the subject of gender and sex change, and both were quite clear that they were perfectly content as males.

“I can’t understand anyone who wants to change,” Darren said.

“Why not?” I asked.

“Well, would you ever consider becoming a male?” he asked me.

I smiled. If only he knew.

“Nothing would ever make me want to be a male. I’m totally and blissfully happy as I am,” I said honestly.

“I wouldn’t mind being a bloke for a day. I’d love to know what it’s like,” Sally said.

“I couldn’t cope with the bleeding and stuff,” said Morris.

“If you changed, you wouldn’t have any of it,” I pointed out.

“You’d have to take hormones all your life,” said Darren.

“So, what do you think the bloody pill is?” I asked.

“True, but you stop if you want a baby,” Morris stated.

Sally looked at me, as she was aware that I couldn’t have children. I had told her the accident story, so she knew that I was sensitive about that subject.

Darren noted the look, and nudged Morris, who looked questioningly at him. I decided to help him out.

“Morris, I can’t have children. I was in an accident some years ago. Although they saved my life, I can’t get pregnant.”

“Oh, Jemma, I’m so sorry. I didn’t know.”

“There was no reason for you to. Don’t worry, as I’m okay with it. So, I must be like a sex change case.”

“Come on Jemma. You are the last person who could possibly have been a bloke. You are the most perfect girl I’ve ever met. If I had to go straight, it would be for someone like you,” Darren said, and I smiled. Praise indeed.

“Aw shucks, gee thanks, Darren, what a compliment.”

“I must say, I do sometimes wonder what it would be like being a girl,” Morris said.

“You wouldn’t have Darren if you did,” Sally said.

“Mmm, but it must be nice to dress in those pretty clothes and just be, well, just feminine.”

“It’s great,” I said.

“Have you ever dressed up?” Sally asked Morris.

“Once, I went to a party and it took some people ages to realise that I wasn’t a real girl,” he said with a grin.

“Did you like it?” I asked.

“It was okay. I didn’t get turned on by the clothes, but I liked the attention I got from the men.”

I smiled, different folks, different strokes.

“Did you ever wish you had been born a girl?” Sally asked.

“When I first realised I was gay, yes, in a way. But when I came to terms with it, I’m quite happy being male and a gay male. The problem was with acceptance, I felt that I’d be more accepted if I was a female and therefore it would be normal to fancy blokes.”

I couldn’t identify with that, but then I knew that underneath it all, I had always been a girl. I didn’t want to just be an effeminate boy, it was either a girl or, or nothing. It was at that moment that it dawned on me that I would have achieved my ambition, whatever the cost and whatever the pain.

Luckily, someone changed the subject, so the conversation lightened a little.

As Sally and I left, Darren was effusive with his gratitude towards me giving him the chance.

“I was about as low as one could get, so it was simply brilliant to come into the centre and to just be open about who and what I was. It has meant so much to me.”

I kissed his cheek.

“Everyone needs freedom to be themselves, as no one should be alone. Who is to say what is right or wrong? One day we may find out. I say, look after yourself, but be nice to everyone else along the way.”
 
 
Sally dropped me off and I went to bed. Although I didn’t have anyone in my life, I was content. I was very secure with who I was and was in no rush to change things too fast. I faced my future with excitement, as everyday brought me more joy as I grew as a person.

It was strange not rushing in to work on the following day. I had a lazy morning just pottering around the flat doing those little jobs I had always been too busy to do. It was early June, so it was a nice warm day. I had no rush to do anything in particular.

I went to see Robert, my accountant and money genius, and he told me that my finances were very healthy. I had a lot of money invested in property, blocks of flats and commercial properties in and around the South East. He’d been stung by stocks and shares a couple of times, so reckoned that property was the thing to have your money in.

I had made a nice profit on the business, having walked away with thirty thousand in hand as well as still owning one quarter of the business. My tax returns were always spot-on, so I was looking for something that I could take an interest in.

I kept in touch with Stuart, and every now and again, I visited George and Lynette. I had moved on, so began to see them as little people leading such little lives. I was amazed at myself, as it was clear to me that my destiny lay in a different direction. When I first went to stay with Lynette, I had thought she was so much my social superior that I was very self conscious and rather ashamed of myself. However, in a very short space of time, I had elevated myself, both in age and social standing to a different level, and one in which I felt completely at home. My voice was indistinguishable from a girl who had been sent to the best schools and had had her coming out party at the Hurlingham Club in Chelsea. My clothes, make up and general appearance were the best, so I looked every inch a delightful debutant.

Sally helped. As she had the schooling (despite not finishing), the voice and was due to have her party at the self same club. As I spent quite a lot of my time with her and her family, I moulded myself into the type of person I wanted to be. I kept a little hard or rough edge, as I did not want to be quite so precious as some appeared to be. I was a human chameleon. Such was my experience that I was able to blend with whatever environment I happened to find myself. I could adopt and adapt accents very easily and was used to assessing those around me quite accurately.

I followed, with interest, the decline in the media’s interest in Jimmy Gardner; that is except for one journalist called Robin Hawksmith. He worked for the Sun, and every now and again he asked the question, “Is this Jimmy Gardner?” showing a photograph of some unfortunate kid.

I was interested in this man, so one day, with nothing better to do, I set off for Fleet Street. I had not been into London for a long time, and certainly not as Jemma. I travelled in by train, took a cab from the station and alighted at Fleet Street. I walked around, looking at the various papers and checking the pubs out. I chatted to the bar staff, to discover which one Robin preferred. He was known in most of them, but tended to favour one in particular. The Duke of York was a small rather scruffy pub, and when I first saw Robin, I thought, how appropriate.

He was small and scruffy, and could do with a new suit. He came in and sat by himself in the corner. He dug a novel out of his pocket and read while he drank his pint of bitter. Another pair of younger journalist came in and, on buying their drinks, sat at the table next to him. I pretended to be considering a university course in journalism, so engaged the couple in conversation.

“Is it a career for a woman?” I asked.

“No reason why not. As long as you have an eye for a story and can write well,” said one.

“No,” came an emphatic answer from Robin, who had been eavesdropping.

I looked at him, feigning surprise.

“Oh. And why not?” I asked.

“No disrespect to you, or your fair sex, but to be honest, no woman has the grit and determination to make it in journalism. It’s simply a matter of strength of character and will.”

The two guys I sat with shook their heads and looked at him as a bit of a joke.

“So Robin, what makes you such a good journalist? Name one good story that you scooped an exclusive of,” one asked. I could tell he was teasing the man.

“How about the Gardner story?” he said.

“What was that?” I asked.

The pair laughed.

“Come off it,” said one. “That was a nothing story. You found that some kid had been fucked about inside some detention centre, and then another one who had been convicted wrongly, and put them together.”

“I tell you they were one and the same.”

“Maybe, but where’s your evidence?”

“What was this story?” I asked.

“Several years ago, a young man was convicted of assault and was sent down for two years. Whilst inside, he was treated with drugs or hormones to control his violence to the point whereby he was sterilised by the state. He was released and sued the prison service. They settled out of court, and because he was under age, he was never named.”

“How much did he get?” I asked.

“Again, the sneaky bastards settled and didn’t have to disclose the amount, but I was told that it was almost a million quid.”

“Gosh, he must have been a happy boy.”

“Happy or not, he promptly vanished, and then another kid, James Gardner, has his conviction, also for assault as it happens, overturned as the man who made the allegation was a paedophile. It turns out that he blackmailed the lad into having sex with him. Again, the state settled, but revealed that he got  £90,000. But there is no trace of Gardner, he simply walked out of the detention centre and vanished.”

“So what happened to him?”

“I have a theory,” said Robin, and was obviously not going to say any more. The other two laughed at him and they got up and left.

“I think this is fascinating. It must be so exciting to be able to work out things like this. You are so clever,” I gushed, and he smiled humbly.

“So what do you really think happened?”

He looked around, continuing with a lowered voice.

“I think he was done away with and the state kept the money.”

“Really? How did they manage it?”

“Well, on the day he was released, everyone saw him walk to the gate. Now, there was only two ways to get anywhere from that place, by car or by bus. The station is about four miles away and he was booked on a train to London. There was a warrant to Liverpool Street. It was used, but it wasn’t used by Gardner.

“I traced a taxi driver who had the only pick up of the day, but he picked up a young woman who had been visiting someone. He was quite sure that the girl was definitely a girl, so I ruled out disguise.”

“Why?”

“The driver said that she had nice tits, because during the journey she dropped her purse, and when she bent over, he saw down her cleavage, and that amount of flesh is not something you can grow overnight.”

“Oh.”

“So, she had a ticket, as I spoke to the conductor, who also remembers her. But no one remembers who cashed in the warrant. So what happened to Jimmy?”

“I don’t know, do you?” I asked, concerned at the detail he had managed to reveal already.

“He was taken out by van. The bastards took him out before he reached the outer gate. There are two gates, so he was simply bundled into a van and then driven away. He’s probably lying in a shallow grave somewhere deep in the Essex countryside.”

Now I knew that the outer gate was rarely closed and on the day I left it was open. The toilets were located between the two gates and I should know.

“What if you’re wrong? Are you sure the girl wasn’t him? If he had been given hormones, wouldn’t he look like a girl, boobs and all?”

Robin stared at me, frowning slightly.

“I thought of that. But I spoke to the taxi driver, the ticket man and the conductor. They all stated that she was no way a boy dressed up. Now, these are all mature men, some with daughters of their own. So I hardly think that some poor boy with too many hormones would fool all three. One, maybe, but not all three.”

“So, if not, and he did get out, where is he now?” I asked.

“Probably abroad. If they didn’t bump him off, they could have simply helped him bugger off to Australia, having given him a new identity.”

“As a boy or a girl?”

“Does it matter?”

“I suppose not. But why are you still interested?”

“Because, and this is at the heart of your original question, I want to know. It is important to me that I know. I hate not knowing, and I resent the lengths that the state go to try to prevent me from knowing.”

“What if he simply made his mind up to disappear, and the state didn’t have anything to do with it?”

“Don’t be silly. Do you know anything about him?”

I shook my head.

“He was only sixteen, and was ill-educated. He couldn’t even read, according to his last English teacher. He was weak and had a terrible temper. He had no common sense, little imagination and no friends at all. His solicitor, Stuart somebody, was a smarmy shyster who simply did what he was told, probably walking away with most of the settlement. No, young lady, mark my words, Jimmy Gardner was too stupid to disappear by himself. He had government help.”

“What if he changed his name? Aren’t there records one could check?”

“Good thinking, yes there are, and I’ve checked them. There are no records of James Gardner changing his name to anything from around the time he was released right up until last week. I check regularly.”

“Gosh. How clever,” I said.

“You see, I’ve spent twenty years in the business. So it isn’t something you can learn in a few years at university. I’ve researched everything about him. I found out he had a boyfriend called Larry from Colchester. I even sat up watching his flat for months in case he should come and call. Larry is a junkie and I even paid him a retainer to give me a nod in case Jimmy called him.”

“So he’s gay?” I said, thanking God that I never went near Larry’s flat and that Larry never recognised me.

“So it would appear.”

“I can see that it would be very hard to fool you. So if he was to come up to you, do you think you would recognise him?”

“Oh yes. I have a photograph of him when he was fourteen, the last one before he was arrested. Do you want to see it?”

My heart almost stopped.

“Yes, very much,” I heard myself say.

He opened his wallet, taking out a grainy photograph of a complete stranger.

“His sister gave it to me.”

I stared at it and saw it was me, but it was like looking at a complete stranger. I had been thin, very thin, and so my face was haggard and drawn. Great dark circles were under my eyes and I had a haunted look. I remembered it being taken. It was the second day at Southend-on Sea. My father had a box brownie and he took the photograph during one of his sober moments. I had stomach cramps that day and had been very unwell for 24 hours.

“Gosh, so what does he look like now?” I asked, looking straight at him.

He shrugged.

“God knows, but I think I would instantly know if I should even get a glance.”

I smiled and offered him a drink, which he accepted. He then went on to give me all kinds of helpful hints about my choice of career. Finally, he said something for which I almost hit him.

“You see, for a fine girl like you, with good looks, private education and obvious breeding, there is no real need for you to worry your pretty head with a career. You see, once you meet a good looking chap and settle down to have babies, your job to nurture and bring these children up is far more important than any silly idea about being a journalist.”

“Well, maybe you are right, or then again maybe you aren’t. But what ever happens, I hope I have more to show for twenty years than you do. Goodbye, Mr Hawksmith, and thank you for your time. I think I agree with your theory about Jimmy whatsit. I think he’s probably dead.”

I turned and walked out, confident that he was as far away as ever, but knew that I should never get complacent.
 
 
I decided that while I was in London to have a brief look down memory lane and look at where I grew up. I got on the Central Line of the Underground, got off at Bethnal Green and travelled up to Mare Street by a 256 bus.

As I looked at familiar streets, it was as if I had never been away. But, at the same time, they looked foreign. The estates looked as bleak as I remembered, but smaller somehow. I got off the bus and was going to walk through the estate where we used to have a flat in the Pembury Road when I was stopped by a police officer.

“Sorry love, but you can go in for a bit,” he said.

“Why not?”

“There’s been a stabbing, so it’s a crime scene. Do you live here?”

“No. I was trying to track down a friend from way back, and I was hoping to find her here.”

“Well, I’d advise you to come back another time. Sorry.”

I smiled, but walked away, grateful really that I was spared the pleasure of looking at my old flat. I walked the short distance into Clarence Road, and up to where the house was. I stood and looked at the boarded up front door and windows. Obviously after Dad went to hospital, the place fell into disrepair and there wasn’t enough money to refurbish it. The whole area was pretty awful, and I realised that I had dragged myself out of this gutter, at least temporarily.

As I turned and walked back towards Mare Street, a police car pulled alongside.

“Hello. Are you lost?” said the young police constable who was driving. It was a different one to before.

“No, I’m on my way out,” I said.

“Not the best place to be walking about by yourself. Do you want a lift to the station?”

“Thanks, but I’m okay.”

“Seriously, there are muggings here every day. It’s no problem, as I’ll take you to the tube. I have to go that way anyway.”

I accepted and was not surprised when he tried to chat me up and ask for a date. I managed to get to the station without getting engaged, but thought that the Metropolitan Police should consider putting bromide in the tea.

It was still only lunchtime, so I decided to do a little shopping in Oxford Street. I had a bit to eat in a small bistro and then spent a lovely afternoon increasing my wardrobe. I had a wonderful time, but as I watched couples mosey amongst the crowds, I felt a pang of loneliness. I actually wanted to be part of a couple.

I had my hair done at a really expensive salon. After a makeover and manicure, I left and bought the most outrageously expensive dress that made me look like a million dollar move star. It was pale yellow and beautifully cut. Tight down to just above the knee, with a single slit up the back to allow the legs some degree of movement. It tapered in to accentuate my slender waist and was cut low across my breasts in such a way as to bring perfect definition to my already beautiful figure. Over the months, my breasts had now stopped growing, having settled at a nice 36C. I was more than content, as any larger would have induced a little sagging. My hair was lovely, shaped and styled to look carefree, yet controlled, with the natural pale highlights giving it a shimmering gold effect. I also bought a wide brimmed white hat with matching yellow band, and yellow high-heeled sandals. I thought I looked like a ray of golden sunshine, adoring the feeling the effect had on me.

I left the shop and walked down the pavement, conscious of the male heads turning as I passed. I caught my reflection in the windows as the beautiful girl carrying several carrier bags grinned with unrestrained joy. To say I was happy was the understatement of the century. The sun was out and I felt on top of the world.

I decided to take a taxi to the station, so I could get home with my new acquisitions. I had heard that a cream-tea at the Grosvenor House Hotel was the ‘thing’ to do, so I decided to treat myself. I went in, asked the girl at the cloakroom if she could look after my bags, and went to the tearoom. There was a six-piece band playing old style waltzes and the atmosphere was totally surreal. I imagined that this was how things were between the wars. There were lots of people sat around the dance floor, and many of the tables were taken.

There was a large square dance floor with pillars at each corner, supporting the high ceiling. There were a few tables surrounding the floor, but most were set higher on the raised area that surrounded it. A marble rail and posts encircled the area, and indoor plants gave it a very colonial feel.

I was shown to a table and ordered a full cream-tea. There were half a dozen couples dancing and they looked very graceful. I envied their skill, wishing I could dance like that.

My tea arrived, with two scones, clotted cream and strawberry jam. I sat and indulged myself, taking care that I didn’t spill anything on my new dress.

People came and went, with new couples dancing. I ached a little, as I was reminded that I was very alone. I suppose I may have looked a little wistful, but I jumped when a cultured voice snapped me out of my reverie.

“Seá±orita, is this chair taken?”

I looked up to see a tall, broad man who had a dashing Latin look about him. He could have been anything from thirty to forty, with very dark curly hair that just touched the tops of his ears and curled over his collar. A very strong aquiline nose featured just below two piercing, unusually grey eyes. With a firm jaw line, I thought him the most handsome and fit looking man I had ever seen.

He was wearing an open white shirt and cavalry twill trousers, with what appeared to be square-toed cowboy boots on his feet. He looked very Spanish. He had draped a dark blazer casually over his shoulder.

I was rendered almost speechless, so I waved vacantly, nodding like a fool.

“Thank you. Do you mind if I join you, as there is so little room?” he said.

“No, please, I’m alone,” I managed to stammer, anything but the sophisticated lady about town.

He placed his jacket over the back of his chair and sat down. The waiter appeared and he ordered the same as I had.

We watched the dancing in silence, while my heart was racing. Why?

“Would you care to dance?” he asked.

“I’m afraid I have never learned. I would just make a fool of myself and ruin your afternoon,” I admitted.

“Then I should be happy to teach you. If you look, you will see others learning, so please, just enjoy it.”

He stood and held out his right hand. I found myself being helped to my feet and led onto the floor. We stood at the edge. He showed me how to form the correct stance and what to do with the feet.

“Listen to the music, forget everyone else, and go with the music. The feet follow a repetitive sequence, so I will lead, so,” he said, as we went through the basic waltz steps.

I nodded, uncertainly.

“Seá±orita, someone as beautiful as you was born to dance. So just relax and allow me lead you to your full potential,” he said, and we were off.

For the first few moments, I was rather stiff and concentrating hard.

“Relaje, mi belleza.”

I smiled. I may not understand Spanish, but I worked out ‘relax’ and guessed the rest. I relaxed and lost myself in a whirl of music and dance. There were mirrors on some of the pillars by the edge of the floor. So I kept catching a brief vision of a golden girl and her swarthy dark partner, and I just smiled. My heart soared and I met his eyes.

He was smiling a little, a sort of amused twinkle, but his grey eyes were so soft and gentle that I almost felt myself falling into them. We turned and moved in time with the music, yet we never broke eye contact. His smile seemed to change from one of mild amusement to almost a frown.

Still we held stares, and I found myself smiling with genuine joy. A laugh welled up and I started to laugh, in which he joined with me. We laughed as we twirled; my joy was without bounds.

We danced several numbers, until he saw his tea had arrived. At the end of the fifth waltz, he stopped. We still had our eyes locked.

“ ¡Mi Dios!  ¿Cá³mo se llama?” he said, as I stared blankly at him. He shook his head slightly, looking sheepish.

“I am sorry. I forget myself. What is your name?”

“Jemma. Jemma Adams.”

He led me off the floor as another waltz began.

He escorted me to the table, even holding the chair for me, sliding it in as I sat. Still holding my hand, he sat close to me, bringing his chair round the small table to do so.

“Jemma, I am Francisco Juan Carlos Maria De Valderez, I am Spanish, and I think you dance beautifully.”

“Thank you, but that’s because I had a wonderful teacher.”

He kissed my hand and released it.

He poured himself some tea, as mine was cold, he offered me some of his. I declined.

“With all those names, what do I call you?”

“Whatever you like, I will forever be your slave.”

I was lost as he was so different to everyone I had ever known. He was mature, cultured, intelligent and ever so handsome.

“Jemma, when I was at Oxford, they called me Frank. But at Sandhurst they called me many names, most unrepeatable.”

I laughed, finding him staring at me again. I looked down, as he made me feel almost naked.

Then, looking up at him, I met and held his stare.

“Then I will call you Francisco, as your mother intended.”

To my surprise I saw tears well up in his eyes.

“I’m sorry, I have upset you,” I said, feeling dreadful.

“No, not at all. It is nothing,” he said, looking away.

He watched the dancing for a moment as I gazed at him. Many emotions flitted across his face as he struggled for control. Here was a man, not a boy, but a man who was hurting. In my short life, it was one thing I knew about: hurt, and trying to deal with, or hide the hurt from the world.

“You look so sad. Life had not been kind to you?” I said

He looked at me sharply; smiling with his mouth, yet his eyes showed me that I was right.

I reached out and took his hand.

“I understand hurt. At one point in my life, I was an expert. But, you can’t keep it in forever,” I said.

He finished his tea, looking into his cup.

“My mother is English and she can tell me my fortune from the tea leaves,” he said.

“Is she accurate?”

“She told me I would meet the mother of my children at a dance.”

I flushed, this was a very corny line and I knew that I could not have children. Before I could say anything, he continued.

“She was right, as I met Maria at a dance near our hacienda in Southern Spain. She also told me never to take her to a hot climate in the East.”

“Oh, why?”

“I had some business in Thailand and so we had a holiday at the same time. Maria caught a parasite and died, as it destroyed her liver, causing her renal failure. Our children were just two months and three when she died. It was six months ago now.”

“Oh my God, how terrible. I am so sorry.”

“It has been a hard time for the three of us. Luckily, the children were very young. But still it has been awful.”

“No wonder you look so sad. It’s a wonder you came dancing.”

“I wasn’t going to. I was in the lobby of the hotel and I saw you come in. Something made me follow after you. I am sorry.”

“Me? You followed me? For goodness sakes, why?”

“Because you are the most beautiful woman I have seen for a very long time. You walked in like a ray of golden sunshine, and your smile lit up my heart.”

I was totally speechless. I flushed a deep red. I looked down in embarrassment.

“Now I have offended you, I am sorry,” he said. Our hands were still clasped together. I squeezed his slightly and smiled.

“Don’t be silly, you haven’t offended me. No one has ever said anything quite so nice to me, ever.”

He smiled back at me, as we just sat in silence, holding hands like teenagers.

My mind was in turmoil, yet my heart had already been lost. I knew what I was, what I had been, and yet I so wanted to be what he wanted me to be.

“You frown, why?” he asked.

“I’m confused,” I said, truthfully.

“What about?”

“Me, you, and everything.”

He laughed.

“Tell me a little about yourself,” he said.

Shit; what would I tell him?

“My father was a soldier in the Irish Guards and he and my mother were killed in an accident in Germany when I was young. I was brought up by a variety of relatives, and left school as soon as I could. I am dyslexic, so reading was hard for me. But I persevered. I got a job with a big store in Windsor, and trained as a masseuse. We sort of fell out, and I started my own business.

“But I felt tied down, as if my destiny was elsewhere, so I sold all but a quarter share of the business and left. I have a little capital and I am now enjoying being a solvent young woman.”

Francisco ordered some more tea for us both.

“You baffle me,” he said.

I laughed. “I baffle myself all the time. But in what way?”

“When I first saw you, I thought you were in your mid twenties. But now you seem both older and younger. It is rare for me not to be able to guess someone’s age.”

“Try.”

“You speak with age and maturity. Yet your eyes, which can be so sad, are full of youth and joy at this moment. It is quite hard. So, let me see. Twenty?”

I smiled.

“I will be twenty-one in August.”

“You are very beautiful.”

I looked into those grey eyes.

“Much of my past is not,” I said, dying to tell him the truth, yet terrified of doing so.

“Everyone has a different road to travel, some pleasant, some not so pleasant. Roads cross, and lives are changed. The last six months have been very difficult for me, so bad that I never thought that I would see light again. But you have brought light into my life,” he said.

I felt very strange.

“You don’t know me,” I protested.

“No, that is true. But I would like to, if you permit?” he said.

His English was very good, almost perfect. But sometimes his phraseology gave away his Spanish heritage.

“I’d like that, but I fear you may not like what you find.”

He smiled. When he did his eyes scrunched up, transforming his face, so he ceased looking sad. He was so handsome, yet I wasn’t immediately thinking of sex, but something far deeper. I could honestly say he affected me like no other man I had ever met.

We drank our tea, while he told me of his life.

Born to an aristocratic Spanish father and his English bride, he was the elder of two children. His sister, Consuela, was married to a surgeon in Barcelona and they were in touch regularly. His father was dead from a heart attack a few years ago and his mother still lived in Monaco for much of the time.

They were a wealthy family, having homes in Spain, Monaco, the UK and America. Francisco had been educated in England and, after Sandhurst, had been in the British army for a spell and then the Spanish Army as an officer. Due to his mother, he had dual nationality, yet looked every inch a Spanish Hidalgo.

His marriage had been short, yet sweet. Maria had been a delightful creature, small and dark, with a fiery temper. But they had been a blissfully happy couple, going everywhere together. Thus, the tragedy was twice as hard when she died so young.

“Why did you get emotional when I said I would call you what your mother intended?” I asked.

“I was with my mother a few weeks ago, dropping the children off. She had looked at me and told me that I would meet a girl,” he said, staring into his empty teacup, as if to see the future revealed to him.

“So?”

He looked at me, with his face serious and his voice slightly quivering.

“She would be the colour of summer and bring sunshine back into my life. She would become the mother of my children, as she could not have any of her own. And she would always call you what I named you.”

Tears sprang to my eyes and I must have gone pale. Goosebumps prickled me all over my body.

He frowned.

“What is the matter?” he asked, concerned.

“I can’t have children,” I said, as a single tear rolled down my cheek.

He stared at me, and slowly reached out his hand, gently wiping the tear away.

We sat just staring into each other’s eyes, not understanding what was really happening, but recognising that something certainly was.

“So, where are you going now?” he asked.

I shook my head.

“I was going home,” I said.

“Was?”

“I don’t know any more.”

“Will you join me for dinner this evening?”

I nodded. “Of course,” I heard my voice answer all by itself.

He smiled. “You will?”

“Unless you don’t want me to.”

“I want you to, so much,” he said, raising my hand to his lips.

“What has happened?” I asked, confused.

“You too?”

I nodded.

He shook his head.

“I don’t know. It is very strange. It is as if the rest of the world has suddenly ceased to matter and we are alone,” he replied.

I stared into those grey eyes.

“Do you believe in love at first sight?” I asked.

He smiled.

“I do now,” he said. He looked around us, smiling.

“We should go,” he said, asking the waiter to bill his room for the tea, mine included.

I started to argue, but he just looked at me.

“Yes, dear,” I teased, but he went pale.

“Madre de Dios!” he said.

I held his arm and we walked out together. I felt so right with him.

We stood in the lobby, as he held my hands in his.

“Jemma, this is happening so fast, please tell me if I offend you.”

“Why should you?”

It was six o’clock, but he seemed at a loss as to what to do or say.

“Francisco. I have some shopping in the cloakroom. Perhaps I could put it in your room, so then I will know it is safe.”

“Of course, good idea,” he said. So I collected my bags and he took me to his suite.

It was a wonderful room with fantastic views over Hyde Park. As I stood at the window, I felt his arms encircle me from behind.

He held me tight, and I felt warm and secure, if a little light-headed.

He kissed the nape of my neck, so I bent my head allowing him free access. Tingles ran through me and I felt myself becoming aroused as at no time in the past.

He stopped.

“Forgive me. I exceed myself,” he said.

I turned and faced him. Looking up into those marvellous grey eyes.

“Francisco, I think I love you,” I said, and he kissed me.

The kiss was like no other kiss I had experienced. Every part of my body ached to be possessed by this man.

Again he broke off, staring at me with a strange and tender expression on his face.

“What have you done to me? I feel like a boy on his first date.”

I reached up and drew him to me, kissing him with a passion that threatened to explode.

He stroked my cheeks and caressed my hair, as I moaned and clung to him as if my life depended upon it.

He broke off again.

“Jemma, I….”

“Shh,” I said, starting to unbutton his shirt.

He unzipped my dress, so I stepped out of it, as he undid my bra. I swung free, my nipples as hard as acorns.

Soon we were naked and I led him to the huge bed. I peeled the covers back and pulled him down next to me. He kissed me from head to toe. I wanted him so much that I almost screamed. When he entered me, it was like coming home and we lay still and quiet for a moment, fitting exactly together like a fine Toledo sword in its sheath.

We made slow and luxurious love for a long time, each of us lost in a world of joy and sensual ecstasy. It was more than a meeting of bodies, but a meeting of souls. When he finally climaxed inside me, I had lost count of my orgasms. My surgeon had said that it was theoretically possible for me to experience such things, but he doubted that in practice I would ever actually do so. Well, I had news for him.

Yet, even though he had come, he continued to kiss and caress me, and I him. We lay thus entwined for an hour, until he began to become aroused once more.

This time I pushed him onto his back, as I kissed him all over, sweeping my hair across his torso and kissing him wherever I could reach. I knelt astride, sinking onto him. We made love again, more energetically this time.

With a scream and a shout we climaxed together, lying holding each other as the passion subsided.

We showered together and I dressed in a black dress that I had purchased earlier. Hardly a word was exchanged between us. There seemed no need. My fear was that now he had had me, his interest would die.

Thankfully, I was so wrong.

I was putting my make up on, seated at the dressing table, when I noticed he was watching me. I smiled, turning towards him.

“What?” I asked.

“Marry me?” he said.

I stared at him, as we had only met a matter of a few hours ago.
 
 
Part 10
 
 
I nodded.

“Yes,” my voice answered, as I calmly turned away and continued to apply my make up.

It then dawned on me what I had said.

I turned and looked at him, and to my surprise I noticed that he was crying.

“Francisco?”

He came to me and we simply held each other.

“Did you mean it?” I asked.

“Si, yes of course. Did you?”

I nodded, as I didn’t trust my voice as it had a habit of dropping me in things.

“Are you sure?” he asked me.

“No, but then no one has proposed to me before.”

He let me go, so I could finish brushing my hair. While I did so, he was looking through his bags.

“Ready?” he asked. I nodded and stood up.

He looked at me and smiled.

“You look fabulous. Let’s go eat.”

I expected to go to the Hotel dining room, but we left the hotel and caught a taxi. It dropped us up a side street in the West End. A small restaurant was tucked away off the beaten track. It was called ‘El Lugar del Come’.

“What does it mean?” I asked.

He smiled.

“The Eating Place,” he said, so I smiled as well. That appealed to my sense of humour.

“Hola Jose,” Francisco said as we entered.

“ ¡El Conde de Valdarez!  ¿Cá³mo está¡ Francisco?” a large portly man said. He was balding, with a huge Mexican bandit style moustache and a large striped apron tied round his ample middle.

“Jose, this is my fiancée, Jemma Adams. My love, this reprobate is Jose Sanchez. He and I have known each other for many years.”

Jose took my hand, kissing it. He stared into my face and then turned to his friend.

“Like father, like son. I approve Franco. She is a true English rose, just like your mama. Your father would be very pleased.”

I smiled, deciding not to correct him. I was only half-Irish anyway.

We were shown to a small booth and given two glasses of Sangria and a plate of Tapas.

The meal was superb. I never saw a menu at any time. Dish after dish arrived, it was all lovely, and I ate far too much. The Sangre de Torro red wine made me very relaxed.

We were enjoying a coffee and some Calvados, when Francisco pulled something from his pocket. He placed it on the table in front of me and opened it. It was a ring box with a divine ring inside. A huge blue sapphire surrounded by diamonds set on white gold stared at me.

“Everything has happened so fast. I will ask you again, and properly. Jemma, will you do me the honour of accepting my hand in marriage?”

I stared at the ring and then at him. His grey eyes seemed to appeal to me on their own.

“Francisco, mine is the honour, so I would be happy to accept,”

He took my left hand and placed the ring on my ring finger. He then raised it to his lips, kissing it.

“It was my grandmother’s ring, and she wanted me to use it for Maria, but it was not possible. Before she died I told her that my next bride would have it.”

We left the restaurant after midnight, taking a taxi to the hotel. I had no nightclothes, but I didn’t need them. We went to bed and made love, falling asleep in each other’s arms afterwards.

Francisco was not only a considerate lover, but he was a charming and attentive fiancé. I was made to feel so special that I almost told him the truth so as to prevent him from making a terrible mistake. The next few days were like a dream for me. He had various meetings to attend each morning, so I would go shopping and we would meet somewhere for lunch. In the afternoon we would do something together, like go to a gallery or walk in the park.

As time went on, we grew closer together, but my love for him was all consuming. I hated him being away from me and as soon as I saw him again, I was complete. He told me that he felt the same; I was so happy.

One afternoon, we were taking tea by the dancers in the Grosvenor House.

“I will have to go home and get myself sorted out a little,” I said. As I had been literally living out of a suitcase, buying new clothes every day.

“May I come with you?”

“Of course, if you want to.”

“I do not like being apart from you, ever,” he said, and I almost cried.

So, on the Saturday we took the train to Windsor, and I showed him my little flat.

He stared out of the window at the river.

“It is very pretty here.”

“I’m sorry, it isn’t much.”

He turned and smiled.

“Wherever you are is like paradise,” he said.

I grinned, as he had way of saying the corniest things in such a lovely manner.

The telephone rang. I answered it; it was Sally.

“Jemma. Where the hell have you been? I’ve been so worried.”

I stared at Francisco who was smiling at me.

“I’ve been in London,” I told her.

“For a week?”

“Yes. I’ve met someone.”

“Oh. That explains it. Was he juicy?”

“He IS juicy and he is with me now. We’re engaged.”

There was silence on the other end.

“No?”

“Yes. It was love at first sight.”

Francisco came across the room and held me, nuzzling my neck. He knew it drove me wild.

I moaned.

“Jemma?”

“Sally, I can’t talk just now. Meet me later and we’ll go for a drink.”

I was just able to put the phone down before we made love. I cooked him a simple supper, which we ate at my little table in candlelight.

“I am so happy,” I said, and he kissed me again.

We went to the Castle pub at nine, and found Sally and her current boyfriend, Grant, were already there, as were Darren and Morris.

I was wearing my yellow dress again and we made our entrance with Francisco on my arm.

I heard Morris’s voice, “Oh my God, he’s gorgeous.”

I couldn’t help grinning.

I introduced him and all but Grant ogled him outrageously. I bought a round of drinks, which Francisco helped to carry to the table.

I had thought that my Latin lover would be like a fish out of water, but he was so gracious. I realised he would be able to fit in almost anywhere.

The conversation seemed fixed on the speed in which we had met and become engaged. I stayed silent, content to simply hold his hand. Sally started making funny faces and gesturing for me to go to the ladies, so I made my excuses and joined her.

“My God Jemma, he’s absolutely gorgeous; but marriage? He must be nearly twice your age.”

“He’s only nearly sixteen years older than I. But so what? He is everything I want in a man and I get to be the mother to his children.”

Sally knew that my one regret was the inability to have children of my own, and smiled.

“He’s lovely, and you certainly deserve a little happiness. You do look gorgeous together! Good luck,” she said, giving me a hug.

“Will you be my head bridesmaid?” I asked, and she burst into tears.

We returned to my flat after the pub closed, going straight to bed. Our lovemaking had taken me into another dimension, almost. It was as if we merged into one every time and I just adored feeling him inside me. I wanted his children so badly it almost hurt.

Afterwards we lay together, his arm around me, as I snuggled in close to him.

“Jemma?”

“Hmm?”

“Will you come with me to meet the children and my mother?”

“When?”

“I was going there on Monday, but whenever you feel happy doing it?”

“I will go with you on Monday if you want.”

He kissed me.

“Thank you. I will not tell them, so it will be a surprise.”

“If they don’t like me, we will call it off,” I said.

“They will love you.”

“I mean it. Your children have the last say.”

“If you say so,” he said, kissing my temple.

“I say so,” I said. Sounding more determined than I felt.
 
 
The plane touched down at Nice airport a little after 12 noon on Monday. It was very hot, so I was pleased to be in a light cotton dress. We left the cool first class cabin, making our way through the throng to collect out luggage. The bored immigration officer hardly glanced at my Irish passport and I was through.

A porter, obviously well trained at spotting wealth, was at our side in seconds, gathering up our cases on his trolley. Francisco took us to a cream left-hand-drive Rolls Royce Cabriolet in the car park, and tipped the porter generously. In moments, the top was down and we were speeding away towards Monaco.

I tied a scarf over my hair and put my sunglasses on. I smiled, if only the screws at Garside could see me now.

As we approached Monte Carlo, I grew increasingly nervous. What if they all hated me? What if his mother immediately saw through me, and recognised me for what I really was? I became terrified.

The car pulled off the road into a large gateway. The gate opened automatically and he drove up the block-paved drive to a huge villa. I stared in wonder. It was the most luxurious place I had ever seen. Bougainvillea and azaleas were blooming everywhere; it was a mass of colour, with the white villa and pillars, with its red roof. I imagined it was rather Romanesque. I fell in love with the place immediately.

As soon as we came to a halt, a smartly dressed man appeared and almost bowed at Francisco.

“Good to see you back, your Excellency,” he said in very good English

“Thank you, Diego. I come back with good news. Jemma, this is Diego, my mother’s butler. Diego, you have the honour of being the first to meet the future Condesa de Valdarez.”

I don’t know who was more stunned, Diego or me.

Countess?

Fuck.

Diego’s face spilt into an enormous grin, and he took my hand and kissed it.

“Seá±orita, congratulations. I am so pleased for you both. Your Excellency, your Mama will be so delighted.”

“Yes, she will,” said my beloved.

He took me into the cool house. I could hear children’s laughter and splashing from beyond the house. As we walked through, I was amazed at the sheer size of the place. It was all so beautiful; I could hardly take it all in. I grabbed his arm and pulled him to a halt.

“Francisco, what’s this about being a countess?” I asked.

“Later. It is of no consequence,” he said, leading me to the sound of childish laughter.

No consequence?

Oh yes, it bloody well was!

We stepped onto a patio, where I saw a large kidney shaped swimming pool in a super garden. A little boy, about four or five, with dark hair and a very brown tanned little body leapt off the springboard, bombing a very elegant lady with white blonde hair lying on a sunlounger nearby.

A little dark haired girl, with enormous dark eyes, was in a paddling pool, looked up, shrieking with delight when she saw her father. She was the prettiest little thing and could only be about nine months old. Her long dark hair made her look like a little doll.

She shrieked with delight, holding her arms up to him. Francisco bent over and lifted her out of the pool, holding her close, despite getting his shirt soaked in the process.

Conchita hugged her father, but she looked over his shoulder and saw me. Her lovely eyes blinked a couple of times, and then she smiled at me.

“Franco. Darling. Why didn’t you call to warn us you were coming?” his mother said as she got up. She had on a very stylish one-piece swimsuit and slipped a very elegant wrap over the top when she saw us. For sixty she looked wonderful. Her figure was still trim and she was a very attractive woman.

“Hello Mama,” Francisco said, giving her a big hug.

Little Carlos pulled himself out of the pool and ran across the lawn to his father.

“Papa, Papa. What did you bring me from ’Gland?”

I smiled at his word for England.

Francisco picked up his son, so he was now holding both children. His mother smiled and then looked at me with an obvious question on her face. I was standing watching Francisco and I glanced at her. I saw her gaze drift down my body and back up. Then I saw she noticed the ring on my finger. Her eyes widened and she looked at her son.

“I have some little things in my bag that I’ll give to you later, but first I want to show you someone special whom I found in Granny’s country.” He looked at me and smiled. He reached out a hand and I took it.

“Mama, ‘Chita, and Carlos. This pretty lady is Jemma. Jemma has graciously agreed to become my wife. So, I have brought you kids a new Mama from Granny’s country.”

“Oh dear Lord. Thank God,” his mother said, promptly bursting into tears and flinging her arms around me.

To say I was surprised was an understatement.

Little Carlos looked at me with a very serious expression on his face.

“Will she read to us in bed?” he asked.

“You will have to ask her,” his father said.

“Of course I will,” I said, dreading it. My reading was still very poor.

“In Spanish?”

“No, only English,” I said, and he frowned even more.

“Can you play football?”

“Of course, can you?”

“Yes. What else do you do?”

“I can box and I’m a brown belt in karate”

“Cor, really?”

“Yes.”

“Will you teach me?”

“If you like, but don’t tell your Papa.”

He giggled, as little ’Chita simply held her arms out to me. I took her from her father and she wrapped her arms around my neck.

“Mama?” she said, looking at her father.

“Yes, Mama,” he said.

It was my turn to burst into tears.

Little Carlos grinned and ran back into the pool, shouting, “Watch me, Papa. I can bomb Granny.” Which he promptly did. But as Granny was standing next to me, I was drenched as well.

Francisco, ran into the house, coming out moments later with his swimming trunks on. He jumped into the pool, much to the delight of his children.

Diego appeared with a tray of chilled Champagne.

“Sit by me, child, and tell me how you have brought my son back to the world of the living?” said his mother.

We sat at a table as she poured me a glass.

“Thank you,” I said, feeling very awkward. She smiled, but seemed to understand.

“You must call me Roz. You have no idea how much I have been praying for him to meet someone.”

“We met by chance in London just a couple of weeks ago. I went to the Grosvenor House for tea and he was staying there. He saw me and followed me in. He came, sat with me and asked me to dance. I fell in love with him then and there.”

I felt really odd, as it sounded so trite and silly.

She laughed.

“Oh, how typical. Tell me what were you wearing?”

“A pale yellow dress, why?”

She smiled and nodded.

“Can I ask you a personal question?”

“Is it about having children?” I asked.

She paled visibly.

“Why?”

“I can’t have children. Francisco told me that you had said that he would meet someone who couldn’t. Well, I was in an accident some years ago and lost my parents. I also lost any chance of having children of my own.”

She smiled.

“You probably think it’s nonsense, but it’s a sort of gift I have. However, there is one thing I have to ask, and I have never told Francisco this. It is embarrassing, and I don’t mean to pry. No, perhaps I shouldn’t,” she said.

“I don’t mind, I’ve only the usual skeletons in my closet,” I said, cautiously.

“Jemma, have you ever been locked up?”

Despite the warmth of the sun, a chill ran right through me and I felt a little sick.

I couldn’t meet her eyes.

I nodded.

“I was young, it was a mistake and I have since been exonerated, as the conviction was overturned by a judicial review, but I was in for a while. I prefer not to talk about it. It’s part of a different life. I’ve a different name and everything now.”

I looked at her.

“Shall I leave now?” I asked her, standing up.

“Oh, you poor child, of course not.” She was out of her chair and held me in a close hug. The tears welled up and I started to cry.

“Jemma, I am so sorry. It was so beastly of me to ask that. I promise that I’ll never speak of it again to anyone, particularly to Franco.”

I still sobbed. I knew it had all been too good to be true.

“Listen, Jemma. All I know is that the girl I dreamed that Franco is to marry had been locked away for a short time. I don’t know or care what for. Oh dear God, I am so sorry. I’m a meddling old cow.”

I managed to stop and she persuaded me to sit down.

I cleaned my make up with a tissue, and sipped some Champagne.

“You are so young. How old are you?”

“I will be twenty-one in August.”

“Are you sure that this is for you? After all he is almost middle-aged.”

“I was, but now I am less sure,” I admitted.

She laughed, but with little humour.

“Oh, I’m so sorry. You are such a pretty child, it seems such a waste to marry at such a young age.”

“My life has been far from happy. Your son has given me more happiness in a few weeks that the rest of my life put together. But how about what he feels, what he wants?”

She stared at me, and her face broke into a smile.

“You’re a strong young woman,” she observed.

“I’ve had to be.”

She nodded. “You will need to be if you marry Franco, as he needs a strong woman to keep him in line.”

“I’m strong, you really don’t want to know how strong I’ve had to be.”

“Have you a swimsuit?” she asked, completely changing the subject.

“Yes, why?”

“Then go and put it on, dear, and join your family.”

I smiled, and did exactly that.
 
 
I helped Francisco put the children to bed, even managing to read them a story. Fortunately, the book was an easy one, so I coped. We then dressed for dinner, finding ourselves being joined by several of Roz’s friends, whom she had invited for the meal. I was grateful that I had bought some chic dresses in London recently, as this lot were loaded.

They were mostly English ex-pats, or other wealthy residents, all of whom spoke excellent English. I was able to conduct myself well in all the conversations during the pre-dinner drinks and found my trick with the accents very healthy. The Hurlingham Deb was shining through, but several of the men made very un-subtle passes at me.

Whenever possible, Francisco would try to be with me, as I was formally introduced to the smart Monaco set as his fiancée.

We sat down as twenty for dinner, with Francisco sat at the head of the table and his mother at the opposite end. I sat to his right, so we played footsie for most of the meal.

After the meal, I retired and went up to bed. It was assumed that I would share Francisco’s bed, but nothing was said. I undressed and looked out of the window across the Mediterranean. I had come a very long way in a very short time. I could hear voices coming from underneath the balcony. It was Francisco and his mother. I stepped onto the balcony and heard them talking about me.

“She is so young, Franco. Are you sure?”

“Mama, she has set me free. She’s a delight. Her smile warms the core of my heart and her laugh makes me feel young and without a care. I knew she was the one as soon as I saw her across the hotel lobby.”

“But, how much do you know about her?”

“Enough. She has had a hard life and I know that there is much she will not share with me for a long time. She has such scars, Mama. I have heard her cry in her sleep and she is too young to have such scars.”

“Are you sure she cannot conceive?”

“She tells me she can’t and she takes no contraceptives. I believe her. I know she weeps for the fact and I so wish she could, but I do believe her.”

“She’s but a child and you’re nearly twice her age.”

“Believe me, she is no child. She is more woman than any I’ve ever met, including my dearest Maria.”

His mother laughed.

“Oh Franco, I’ll grant you she is very pretty and a strong girl. But she is to be the Condesa of Valdarez.”

“You were, so she will be. You are both strong women. I would hate to cross either of you. She was like a ray of sunshine and she can’t have children. But regardless of your dreams, Mama, the main thing is that we love each other, and I will have her as my bride.”

“Then I shall love her too. For I can see she has brought you back to me. She is just so young, Franco. I pray she will not grow tired of you.”

“Mama, she told me she wanted a man, the boys she has met bored her and she did not like their petty childish games. Jemma is a woman, forget her age, she will be the mother my children need.”

“Then, Franco, I am so happy for you. For she will make a truly beautiful bride.”

“Goodnight, Mama.”

“Goodnight, my sweet.”

I stepped back into the room, closing the balcony door. I was sitting at the dressing table when he came in.

“I thought you were never coming to bed. What were you doing, finishing the brandy?”

He laughed and came over to me. I stood and he took me in his arms.

“No, my mother was grilling me about you. She thinks you are too young.”

“I happen to like dirty old men,” I said and his grin broadened.

“My mother is torn.”

“Why?”

“One the one hand you meet all her funny little dreams, yet on the other, she imagined someone older. But I think I have won her round.”

“Talking of dreams,” I said.

“What?”

I was almost ready to tell him everything, but then at the last moment, I chickened out.

“Do I cry out in my sleep?”

“What makes you ask that?”

“I had a bad dream the other night, and I dreamed that I cried out. Did I?”

“You quite often do. You seem to be frightened of someone or something.”

“Francisco, my past is not a pretty one. There are things there that are better not known about. I will not live a lie to you. If you want me to tell you, I will. But I fear that if I do, you will no longer love me, and everything we have will be lost.”

“Then I need not know. Jemma, I have only just found you, so as we grow together, I hope you will come to trust me. But for my own peace of mind, I need to know where I stand. Just answer me five questions.”

“Yes?”

“You told me you can’t have children, now I accept that, but, have you ever had a child?”

“No, you know I cannot. I never have been able to, and have not the necessary equipment any more. Oh, Francisco, I wish I could, above all things.”

“Have you a criminal record?”

“No, and that is the truth. Many years ago, I was in trouble, and I was accused of something. I was sent to a detention centre for a bit, but they overturned my conviction, so I do not have a criminal record, not any more.”

“Have you taken drugs?”

“Only those given to me by a doctor.”

“Do you love me?”

“With all my heart.”

“Will you marry me?”

“Of course.”

“Then I am content, and never want to know about those things that trouble you, unless you choose to tell me.”

I wrapped my arms around him, hugging him so hard. I didn’t deserve him.
 
 
Part 11
 
 
We stayed in Monaco for a month, as Roz gradually introduced me to her social set. From hobnobbing with criminals, I was now associating with royalty and the very wealthy. Suddenly, I was one of the smart set, and this set looked down on the film stars and sports personalities.

We often entertained Prince Ranier and Princess Grace, who invited us to the palace on numerous occasions. I began to be photographed in these surroundings and the gossip columnists started asking, “Who is this girl?”

I kept very quiet and Francisco was equally silent, but this encouraged the vultures. When our engagement was made public, in Spain, France, England and Monaco, there was a flurry of interest amongst the press. Maria’s tragic death had made the papers in Spain, so they led with our engagement.

As always, the British tabloids were curious and smutty, as one photograph, through a long distance lens, was of me sunbathing at a friend’s villa. Thereafter, they hounded me at every turn. The Sun produced a piece on me, entitled, “Luck of the Irish.”

Luck of the Irish.

Irish beauty Jemma Adams (21) was snapped sunbathing in Monte Carlo recently, just days after the announcement of her engagement to Count Francisco De Valdarez (36). Miss Adams came to public notice a few months ago when she stood up to a pervert in her beauty and massage centre in Windsor. The man was recently sent to prison for assault and other offences. Lovely Jemma, seen recently at the villa of wealthy Italian playboy Luigi Palatoni, has shunned the limelight and, along with her wealthy fiancé, is rarely seen in public. The Count has two children by a previous marriage, and his wife, Maria, died tragically after a holiday in the far east. The children, Carlos (4) and Conchita (9 months) stay for much of the time with their English Grandmother who also lives in Monte Carlo.

The couple met in London, and their announcement is believed to be very sudden. Sally Moss, a friend and business partner of Jemma said yesterday, "Jemma is a lovely girl and my greatest friend. She is so gorgeous and they are just so much in love. It's a real life fairy story. They both deserve so much after what they have both been through."        Jemma is the only daughter of James Adams, a soldier in the Irish Guards, who with his wife Rachel, died in a car accident in Europe several years ago. Jemma was injured in the same crash, and has been brought up by various relations. She came from nowhere, to suddenly become the darling of Monaco society. Indeed, Prince Ranier and Princess Grace entertained her and her fiancé, the Count, only last week.

I found out by accident, as I was in Menton one day and saw the paper on sale near a hotel that catered for English tourists. I was horrified, and almost couldn’t go out, but Roz brushed it aside as if it were of no consequence.

“Jemma, you have to realise that we are now fair game for these bastards, but we do get the better deal.”

“Better deal? How?”

“We get to sue their asses every time they print something untrue.”

I smiled, but inside I was terrified. When one lived a lie, then it didn’t take much to expose it.

Life went on. The children were wonderful and I grew to become very fond of them. I read to them every night, and they both started to call me ‘Mama’. Francisco and I discussed dates for the wedding, so I started looking at wedding dresses.

I knew that my luck would not last. I got a phone call from Stuart Collins; the one man who knew enough about me to destroy me completely.

“Ah, Jemma. You have no idea how difficult you are to find.”

“I know exactly how difficult I am to find. What do you want?” I asked.

”You don’t sound pleased to hear from your old friend.”

“I’m not particularly. You belong to part of my life I would rather forget. What do you want, Stuart?”

“Well, this is a bit tricky. It seems that, well with the mortgage rates and everything, I seem to have somewhat of a cash flow situation.”

So, that was what the bastard was up to. Blackmail.

“How much?”

“Well I thought fifty thou should cover it?”

“Or what?”

“Well, I could find myself dropping certain information off to all kinds of people. And I am sure your fiancé’s family would not be best pleased.”

“You utter bastard, Stuart. This is blackmail.”

“I know what it is, I just reckon you owe me.”

“I paid you.”

“Call it a bonus.”

“I’ll think about it. Call me tomorrow.”

“What’s to think about?”

“Lots of things. Call me tomorrow,” I said, and hung up before I said something I’d regret.
 
 
Francisco found me silently weeping.

“Jemma, what is the matter?”

I shook my head. I just couldn’t bring myself to speak.

For an hour and a half, he just stayed with me, as I was beside myself.

Finally, I took off my engagement ring, placing it into the palm of his hand.

“Francisco. I’m being blackmailed,” I said.

He stared at me for a moment and then nodded, slowly as if he half expected it.

“Your past?” he asked, and I nodded.

“It’s truth time. My story is not a happy or nice one, but I intended to tell you before, yet each time I chickened out. But I will tell you now so you have the opportunity to rid yourself of me, or not as the case may be.

“If you turn round and decide that I’m not a suitable person for you, I’ll understand. It will devastate me, but your happiness means everything to me, and if that means life apart, then I accept that. Please believe me when I tell you that I love you with all my heart, and if I have been dishonest, then it was because I didn’t want to lose you.”

I paused; he frowned at me, looking at the ring in the palm of his hand.

I then told him the truth - The entire, absolute, whole, rotten truth. By at the end I was crying so much, I had to run up to my bedroom. I convinced myself that he would hate me and want me to leave.

I had managed to tell him about the blackmail attempt, and that was it. I flung myself on the bed, weeping. Then I got up and started to pack, wondering how I would face the children, and what I could say to them.

I was sobbing so much I did not hear him come in.

“Jemma,” he said.

I jumped, as he startled me.

I stood, staring at him, tears running down my cheeks, with my make up streaming and eyes all blotchy.

“What are you doing?” he asked, his face grave and his voice stern.

“Packing.”

“Why?”

I stared at him.

“Because you won’t want me any more,” I said, as the tears started again, even stronger.

“Did I say that?”

“No, but..”

“No, but what?”

“I know that I’m not the right sort of person for you.”

“Since when did you know my mind better than me?” he said, quite sternly. I had never heard him angry before.

I stood, just looking at him, feeling so miserable, that I wanted the ground to swallow me up.

He smiled slightly and without an enormous amount of humour.

“Your story surprised me, most of it did anyway. But I actually knew you were slightly different than most girls and that is one of the reasons I love you so much.”

I noted he said ‘love’ and not ‘loved’.

“How?”

“Little things. Nothing important on their own, but together they made me ask certain questions. Like, why there were no photographs of you as a child? Why so many things seemed so new to you? Why you never spoke of friends or family, except those from recent times, and why you avoid the press and publicity so actively?”

“Oh.”

“But never did I ever dream you had not always been a girl.”

I smiled, a little sadly.

We were standing, about two metres apart, and I was holding a pair of dresses that I was going to put in the case.

“Well?” he asked.

“Well what?”

“What are you going to do?”

“What do you want me to do?”

He shook his head.

“I’m not sure. Why don’t you put those down so we can go for a walk and discuss our options?”

I put the dresses on the bed, and he held his hand out to me.

He pulled me to him and stroked my cheek.

“You look a mess.”

“I feel a mess,” I said.

He smiled and allowed me a few moments to tidy myself up.

Then we left the house, setting out for a walk along the side of the huge marina. We talked about everything. I was able to lay myself completely bare before him, and it was very cathartic. It was as if a huge dark beast had been freed from my soul. As he held my hand, I gripped it with all my strength.

We came to a little café, so we sat and he ordered some coffees.

He looked at me so tenderly that I felt the tears start to well up. He smiled, squeezing my hand reassuringly.

“All right, it’s decision time,” he said, and I nodded, still fighting back the tears.

“Option one. You leave my life, and we never see each other again. Your blackmailer still has the opportunity and I am still open to the dirt he could release.

“Option two. We stay together, and you simply become my lover. I find another wife and we drift apart. Still we would be vulnerable to this man.

“Option three. You become my wife and the mother to my children. We face this man, and you let me deal with him. End of story.”

“Which option do you want?” I asked.

“Logic tells me I should have nothing to do with you. But, I find myself in a strange situation. After revealing what you have to me, I feel that I should be shocked, manipulated, offended and disgusted. But, in fact, I find myself feeling none of these.

“Indeed, what I feel is sympathy, compassion and sadness at the way you have been treated, and at the abuses you have received. I find that, despite the realities of your past, I still love you, if anything a little more than I did before. I see nothing of who you were, but only who you are and what you mean to me. If you accept, then I will repeat my proposal, and this time, if you accept, there is absolutely no way I will ever allow you to back out.”

“You still want me?” I asked, my voice trembling.

“Perhaps I am very foolish, but, yes, I do.”

I stared at him, and while I sat there, stunned into silence, he slipped the ring back onto my finger. Never had I dreamed that he would have reacted like this. My heart soared, as the tears were of joy this time. I let out a whoop of pure happiness, jumping up and sitting on his lap, hugging him as if my life depended upon it. The little chair threatened to dump us on the ground. He simply stood up, holding me off the ground.

“Well, it would appear that we are engaged again,” he said.

“Oh yes. I’m so sorry to have brought this on you.”

“It is just another challenge along life’s path. Mr Collins is going to regret his greed.”

We walked back to the villa, arm in arm. I would have happily given my life for this man, right now.

We found his mother concerned about us, so Francisco told her an edited version of the truth. My original gender was one of a few truths that he carefully omitted.

“The little shit,” she said, “and him a lawyer to boot.”

The three of us sat down and discussed how we were going to respond. Finally, Francisco suggested that when he called back, I arrange a meeting with him in London. I agreed. So he went to make some calls.
 
 
Stuart was obviously impatient, for he called early the next day.

“Well, made your mind up?” he asked.

“Meet me in London, in three days,” I said, as per instructions.

“Why London?”

“Why not? It’s where I have my money.”

“Okay, where?”

“You choose,” I said.

“Somewhere public, how about Trafalgar Square?”

“Fine, noon in three days,” I said.

“Okay, and don’t get any silly ideas, I have enough to hang you out to dry.”

“You’re a greedy bastard, how do I know you will stop at fifty thousand?”

“You don’t. But then that is not my problem, is it?” he said, hanging up.

I looked up and Francisco nodded. The man with him switched off the tape recorder. The two of them spoke rapid Spanish to each other.

“Are you ready?” Francisco asked.

I nodded.

“Then let’s go,” he said, and we left the house. Our bags were already in the car, and the black van that followed us to the airport looked very suspicious. Only I knew that it contained friends.

At Nice airport, we drove to the Private Terminal where a Lear jet was waiting on stand. Within twenty minutes, eight of us were on the plane heading northwest for London. My fellow passengers were all dressed in dark clothing, speaking only in Spanish. They rarely looked at me.

My only concern was for Franco. He saw my expression and smiled.

“These are friends of mine from my days in the military. Let’s say it is the ‘Spanish old boys’ network.”

We landed at Heathrow, cleared customs and immigration. A van and a large Rover were waiting and soon we were heading out on the M4 to Windsor. The van pealed off and Francisco and I returned to my flat.

“What happens now?”

“We wait,” he said.

I went out and did a little shopping, so we had a simple lunch of bread, cheese and some soup. He spent all afternoon on the phone, once going out for a couple of hours. My nerves were frazzled by the time he returned. But he simply kissed me and told me not to worry.

I cooked us a meal in the evening. He spent some more time on the phone. He took me to bed and make love to me in such a way that I cried at his tenderness. I held onto him for most of the night.

The next day, I awoke early, as I had not slept well due to everything on my mind. I made him breakfast and we sat together on the bed, munching toast.

“What’s the plan?” I asked.

“If you don’t know, then you have no worries,” he replied, enigmatically.

“You aren’t going to kill him, are you?”

“Oh no, much worse.”

I worried more, so he took me in his arms.

“Look, this man has decided to take us on. He will regret it.”
 
 
I stood by one of the lions at the base of Nelson’s Column, dressed in a summer dress, a white wide-brimmed hat and sunglasses. It was nearly noon on Wednesday, as agreed.

Stuart was in his usual suit, and he ambled over to me.

“Well, look at you, all tanned and glamorous,” he said.

I turned to him.

“Stuart, you’re a bastard! You realise that if there is any way I can get you back I will?”

He laughed.

“Silly threats from a silly girl. You don’t frighten me.”

“No, I realise that. So, what do I get for my fifty thousand?”

“My silence.”

“Not enough,” I said, and he frowned.

“What do you mean?”

“I want anything you have. Documents, photographs and everything. Otherwise, you get nothing.”

“Don’t be silly, that’s my insurance. I need to stay safe, after all, you have threatened me.”

“I never threatened you. I made you a promise,” I said, taking off my sunglasses.

He stared at me. I think this was the moment it dawned on him that this was not going to plan. He actually looked a little worried, as I was too calm and too self-assured.

“Look, don’t even think about doing anything. I have everything in a safe place. If anything happens to me, it goes public.”

I opened my bag and took out a sheaf of papers and photographs.

“You mean these?” I asked.

He stared at them.

“These were in a safe deposit box in a bank in Watford. There was a key at a certain address in Chorleywood. You see; you made two mistakes. The first was to assume that I would even consider paying you, and the second was to underestimate my resources. So, how much is your life worth, Stuart?” I said with as much menace as I could.

“I have other copies,” he said, but rather uncertainly.

“You mean the ones that were in your office safe?” I asked.

He stared at me. The colour drained from his face.

He looked around, becoming aware that six men, all dark and Spanish looking, were standing at different points around the square. Francisco walked up from behind him.

“You haven’t met my fiancé have you, Stuart?” I said, as he spun around, looking very nervous.

The two men looked at each other.

“May I present, Count Francisco de Valdarez. Francisco, this is my ex-solicitor and the man who is blackmailing me, Stuart Collins.”

“This woman is not what she appears,” Stuart said.

“I know all about her past. It is your future you should be concerned about,” Francisco said, his quiet voice full of hidden menace.

As Stuart stared in terror at Francisco, I slowly and calmly reached out, injecting him with the hypodermic I had in my hand.

He jumped, staring at me, his terror slowly disappearing, as unconsciousness took hold. He slumped and would have fallen, had not Francisco caught him. Three men appeared, and within seconds he was on the ground. Two of the men were wearing ambulance service uniforms. An ambulance pulled up and Stuart was placed on a trolley and within seconds was away.

The crowd in the square were hardly aware of anything happening, so Francisco and I casually walked through the bemused tourists and jumped into the Rover as it pulled up. Moments later, we were heading out of the centre of London towards Heathrow. No one questioned the poor man in the ambulance being flown to Barcelona for critical surgery. His documents and papers were all in order and the Lear Jet landed at a small airstrip in Spain an hour and twenty minutes later.

When Stuart came to, he was lying on a cot in a small cell. I was on the other side of the door, looking through the eyehole. He put one hand to his head as if he had a headache and groaned. One of the men came to the door and grinned at me. He was wearing the green uniform of a member of the Guardia Civil. Using a noisy bunch of keys, he opened the door, as Stuart struggled to sit up.

The man went into the cell, standing over the bedraggled lawyer. He spoke rapid Spanish at him. Stuart gaped stupidly up at the man.

I walked in and stood by the door. He saw me and paled.

“Stuart, I once told you never to judge me by my looks and never cross me. You stupidly chose to disregard my warning,” I said.

“You can’t do this to me. I have rights.”

“Seá±or, you lost those rights when you decided to blackmail this young lady,” said the Spanish officer, in very good English.

“Where am I?”

“You are in jail in Spain. Your attempt to blackmail the family of the Count of Valdarez was perhaps the most foolish thing to do. The Count was a Colonel in the Guardia Civil Special Unit and he has many friends,” the Spaniard said.

Stuart looked frightened and started to shake.

“Jemma. Look I’m sorry, you must help me,” Stuart said.

“Had you asked me for a loan, I may even have given it to you. But, no, you had to get nasty. I owed you a lot and trusted you, but you betrayed that trust. These people play for keeps and they are my people now. If you want to live, you need to have something worth bargaining with,” I said, and turned and walked out. As the door was slammed in his face, I head him start to sob.

I went upstairs, into the main office of the police station. I was amazed that each of the ‘kidnappers’ was a police officer, each of whom, at some time or other, had served with Francisco.

Francisco was drinking a glass of wine with the local area commander in his office. The latter poured me a glass as soon as I walked in.

I smiled, and kissed Francisco’s cheek.

“Perfect, exactly as you planned. How did you find out everything so quickly?” I asked him.

“Well, my colleagues are experts in counter-espionage and counter-terrorism. They simply utilised those skills normally reserved for such activities,” he said.

In my presence, he burned all the documents that Stuart had collected.

“What will happen to him?”

“That is up to you.”

“Me?”

“Yes. After all, it is you he has wronged.”

I thought for a moment.

“Enough people are hurt in this world. I want him to learn, but I can’t live with blood on my hands,” I said. I noticed that Francisco winked at the commander.

“Okay, what was that for?” I asked.

“My little love, I told my friend that you would say something like this. He seemed to feel you would want him more permanently dealt with.”

“I do want it permanent, but not through violence. When I needed someone to help me, he was there for me. His greed must be punished though.”

“Will you trust me to deal with him?” my fiancé asked.

“Of course.”

“No questions?”

“None.”

“Then I shall. Please go and wait outside,” he said, so obediently I did so.

Half an hour later, he joined me.

“Right. Home,” he said, and we got into the car.

I was silent all the way to the airport.

“Don’t you want to know what happened to him?” he asked, as we boarded the Lear.

“Yes, but I agreed to ask no questions.”

“You would obey me to that degree?”

“I would give my life for you, if you asked me to,” I said.

We sat together and he took my hand.

“Never have I met anyone quite like you.”

“You’re never likely to again,” I said, with a smile.

“That is very true. Mr Collins told me a little of your life since you left that place. You seem to have been remarkably resourceful for one so young.”

“Needs must,” I said, and again he smiled.

“You trusted me with everything. It must have been very hard for you?”

I nodded.

“The hardest thing I have ever done. I risked everything for you to know the truth.”

“Never must we have secrets. You see, you are not the only one with secrets,” he then told me something of his military career. I should have guessed when I observed the style in which his ‘friends’ worked. Sufficient to say, I was impressed, slightly shocked, and yet enormously respectful of this gentle man, who had as much in his past as did I.

“I have never told anyone this. So now we are even.”

My love for this man was so strong, that I simply cried and held him close. He did me the honour of crying with me and I felt that, at last, I had come home.

---

 
To Be Continued...

 
Synopsis
A wealthy and beautiful Spanish Countess prepares for a private dinner party with her husband and children at the White House with the President and First Lady. As she arrives, she casts her mind back to a very different life.

Jim, a young boy, is brought up in a deprived and abusive home in London’s East End. Aware of his TS condition, he suffers abuse and humiliation, culminating in a homosexual predator taking advantage of him. Finding himself in jail, undergoing special ‘treatment’ to combat his ‘anger’ problems, the young man finally is abused by the state.

When you hit the bottom, there is only one way to go. And a girl called Jemma decides to go up.

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Tanya has a new website where she will display her latest works first and then to BigCloset TopShelf a few weeks later is here at Tanya Allan's Tales .
Tanya's Book Shop where she is selling her works in book form is at http://tanyaallan.authorshaunt.com/shop.php . Please Visit!

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The Legal Stuff: A Fairy’s Tale  ©2004 Tanya Allan
 
This work is the property of the author, and the author retains full copyright, in relation to printed material, whether on paper or electronically. Any adaptation of the whole or part of the material for broadcast by radio, TV, or for stage plays or film, is the right of the author unless negotiated through legal contract. Permission is granted for it to be copied and read by individuals, and for no other purpose. Any commercial use by anyone other than the author is strictly prohibited, and may only be posted to free sites with the express permission of the author.
 
This work is fictitious, and any similarities to any persons, alive or dead, are purely coincidental. Mention is made of persons in public life only for the purposes of realism, and for that reason alone. Certain licence is taken in respect of medical procedures, terms and conditions, and the author does not claim to be the fount of all knowledge.
 
The author accepts the right of the individual to hold his/her (or whatever) own political, religious and social views, and there is no intention to deliberately offend anyone. If you wish to take offence, that is your problem.
 
This is only a story, and it contains adult material, which includes sex and intimate descriptive details pertaining to genitalia. If this is likely to offend, then don’t read it.
 
 

 
Please enjoy.

Tanya
 
 
Part 12
 
 
“Senorita, telephone call for you. Seá±or Collins,” Diego said.

“Thank you Diego. I’ll take it in the study,” I replied.

I walked through the villa to the study. It was late October 1975, and I was now relaxed and much more at peace with the world. The wedding was set for the next June, as Roz wanted me to be a June Bride. Francisco was currently in America on business and I had become very fond of my mother-in-law to be. Roz and I formed a relationship that was as close to mother and daughter that two unrelated people could ever hope to achieve.

A couple of months after the blackmail attempt I had told Roz the whole truth. To my surprise, she had been as accepting as her son had been. I was very humbled by the whole experience, knowing full well that I did not deserve such wonderful people.

I had not asked any questions of Francisco over the Collins affair, until eventually he told me what he had done. I was so surprised, that I had had to sit down.

“I offered him a job. But I told him that if ever he betrayed any trust again, he would be very, very sorry indeed.”

“A job?”

“I need a good lawyer, who asks no questions sometimes. My business is legitimate, but some of the dealings I undertake are with persons who are not as legitimate as I am. I need to be safe from any legal repercussions. What better than to have a hold of a man so thoroughly, that he would never dare betray my trust?”

“I accept your decision and admire you for it. I’d have castrated the little shit.”

“You had the option, yet you shied away from it.”

“I know, my love. Really, you have done the best thing.”
 
 
“Mr Collins?” I said on the phone.

“Miss Adams. I need to contact the Count.” Stuart was ever so formal with me.

“He’s in the States. How urgent is it?”

“It can keep for a couple of days, but I need to speak to him by Friday.”

“I will tell him when he calls me tonight.”

“Jemma?”

“What?”

“I just want to apologise.”

“You already did.”

“I know. But I still feel bad.”

“Good. You were a stupid, greedy little bastard. Because of that, you have lost a perfectly good friend.”

“I know. But I also wanted to say thanks.”

“What for?”

“For not doing to me what you could have done.”

“That wasn’t me.”

“Yes, it was. The Count told me that you decided not to have me done away with.”

“So?”

“Thanks. I mean it. I have this job and all. So, I just wanted to say sorry again.”

“Apology accepted. But trust is a fragile thing; so don’t expect me ever to trust you as I did before. What Francisco does with you is different. But, never think things will ever be the same.”

“Okay. If it makes any different, I think I have finally learned my lesson.”

“Yeah,” I said, and he laughed.

“You always were a hard little cow,” he said.

“You’d better believe it.”

I hung up.
 
 
The tabloid press had tried digging up facts about me, but were not successful, and as other more startling and spectacular news to cover, like the IRA bombings on mainland UK, and industrial unrest. So I slipped into the murk of disinterest.

Except, there was one journalist, coincidentally, the man who was convinced I was worthy of investigative journalism, and the same man who was interested in James Gardner; a certain Robin Hawksmith. He’d once told me that he never liked not knowing, so he did not like not knowing about me.

I shared my disquiet with Francisco, who smiled.

“Would you like my friends to deal with him?”

“No, that wouldn’t help. He is a journalist, so he’s totally different to corrupt greedy lawyers. I shall have to deal with him another way.”

“I have a suggestion.”

“Yes?”

“Give him what he wants, only through an untraceable source.”

I frowned, was he mad?

“Not the truth, but a story that is so unreal as to be believable, but once published, leaves him open to be sued by everyone.”

“Go on.”

“At present, your past is vague, military father, no fixed school, no set of relatives, or guardians, correct?”

“Yes.”

“Then give him a different past, one with a father of high office, a politician or even Royalty - with an illegitimate birth and government cover-ups. He will take flimsy evidence, publish, and be open for litigation, but not by you. Let everyone else threaten to sue, and you keep quiet. That silence will convince him that he is correct, so he will embarrass himself out of a job.”

“I can’t do that. I don’t have the resources or the contacts. And even if I did, I can’t risk my real past being discovered.”

“I have certain resources at my disposal,” he said, smiling that gentle smile.

I just shrugged and left it at that. It was one of those conversations that one has and I thought no more of it.

Then, one morning, Stuart called.

“Jemma?”

“Hello Stuart, do you want Francisco?”

“No, it’s you I want to speak to. Have you seen the Sun this morning?”

“Even if I wanted to, I’m hardly in a location where everyone has instant access to one.”

“You’re on page two.”

“At least I’m not on page three.”

“It isn’t funny. You should read what they say.”

“Go on.”

“It says, ‘The Sun has exclusive evidence that beautiful blonde Jemma Adams (21) is hiding a great and embarrassing secret. Recently engaged to dashing Spanish Count, Francisco del Valdarez, the sexy Jemma’s past is very secretive and until now has been mysterious and unknown.

‘This reporter is in possession of information that proves that Jemma is the illegitimate daughter of a very prominent figure, and not, as is claimed, the daughter of a dead British serviceman. Her father is alive and well, and if the full facts are published, he is likely to be caused great embarrassment, and indeed, he is known to be married and has several children.

‘Photographs reveal the young Jemma playing in the grounds of Balmoral Castle when about six or seven, add fuel to the speculation of he highly placed father.

‘Miss Adams was unavailable for comment, and a palace spokesman said this was highly speculative and fictional rubbish. More tomorrow.’

“What do you think?”

“What bollocks,” I said.

“The photographs actually look as if they could be you, a sort of young version. They have a recent picture next to it.”

“You know it’s bollocks,” I said.

“Jemma, it looks like you.”

“It isn’t me. You know that’s impossible.”

“So how did it happen?” he asked.

I remembered my conversation with Francisco.

“Don’t worry about it.”

“Do you want me to start legal proceedings?”

“No, we will simply deny it to another paper and let Hawksmith dig a bigger hole for himself.”

“How did you know it was him?”

“I can guess. He always was an arse.”

“So, what do you want me to do?”

“Call the Times on my behalf. Issue a statement to the affect that it is untrue and that Hawksmith should be very careful what he says about other people.”

“Is that all?”

“Unless your contact in the Irish embassy wants to get arrested, that is enough, don’t you think?”

“He is not there now.”

“Oh, am I in danger?”

“Hardly, he died of cancer three months ago.”

“So?”

“All the records have been transferred to central registry in Dublin, including yours. You are legal.”

“Completely?”

“Absolutely.”

“How do you know?”

“Your fiancé asked me to check. So I did.”

“Then offer to show the Times my birth certificate.”

“Okay.”

I rang off, not a little troubled.

Francisco came and found me, and I turned on him.

“You could have bloody warned me,” I said, quite angry.

“I was going to, but things got out of hand. Hawksmith didn’t even wait to verify the information; he just went ahead and published. I am sorry Jemma, truly, I was going to tell you about it, and the other things.”

“Other things?”

He smiled.

“Come with me,” he said. I followed him to his study, still angry and frightened.

He went behind his large desk, and sitting in the big red leather armchair, he opened a drawer, taking out a folder. He passed it over to me.

“All you need to do is deny it and offer some proof of identity. This may help.”

“Already done?” I said, reaching out for the file.

He raised an eyebrow in surprise.

“Good, now let nature take its course.”

I opened the file.

My birth certificate was there, as was a photograph of a man in the uniform of a British Army Sergeant with Irish Guards insignia on his uniform. A pretty woman was seated on a bench in another photograph, and there were several photos of them with a baby girl, and a couple with a little girl who looked remarkably like I should, or could have been at that age. There was a series of different school reports and photographs of school children with a pretty blonde girl in each. They were very well done, and I was amazed.

“By the way, who is supposed to be my father?”

“I thought the Duke of Kent was quite a good choice.”

“Franco! No?”

He smiled.

“Don’t worry, there is no way the source can be traced and the photographs are very well done.”

“Who is she?”

“She is a young girl in Canada, one of my friends thought she resembled you very closely. The photographs were adjusted accordingly. No one will suspect, so don’t worry.”

Over the next few days, the Sun continued the story, never actually printing the name of my supposed father, but the hints became stronger. More photographs appeared, as the London Times issued my denial and the threat of legal action. Upon close examination, one could see that the photographs in the paper were all of the same girl, but it was as if she had been pasted into the background photograph. They looked false, good ones, but still false. The Sun was going to have egg on its face.

As soon as mention of my birth certificate appeared and verification was completed with Dublin, the Sun closed the story. I imagined that Hawksmith’s services were about to be downgraded.

I called the Sun.

“Robin Hawksmith’s editor, please.”

“Who is calling?”

“Jemma Adams.”

There was a mild panic on the other end.

“Mark Ritchie, Assistant News Editor.”

“Mr Ritchie. My name is Jemma Adams. For some obscure reason a reporter from your paper has got it into his head that I am the illegitimate daughter of someone famous. I find this fascinating and highly amusing, but the joke is wearing a bit thin. What do you propose to do about it?”

“That really depends on you, Miss Adams.”

“You want to know whether I am intending to take legal action, don’t you?”

“Are you?”

“Well, I understand that further supposed evidence is being published soon, if Mr Hawksmith is to be believed. Although intrigued as to the inventiveness of this desperate hack, I don’t actually believe that his false evidence will do the unfortunate famous person, your paper or me any good whatsoever. How he is kept on, beats me.”

“That doesn’t answer my question.”

“Put it this way. I know that the evidence is false and I can prove it. I have the original photographs from which these were taken. I don’t know how Hawksmith got hold of them, nor do I know who tampered with them and altered them. But even I can see that they are constructed. So, if a full retraction and an apology are not forthcoming within three days, I will. Is that fair?”

“Three days? That does not give us much time.”

“How long does it take to kill a story and print a few lines, or would you like the sight of my birth certificate and all the school reports that Mr Hawksmith doesn’t want to use, in case he loses his precious story?”

“You’ll get your apology.” Mr Ritchie said.

“Oh, and Mr Ritchie?”

“Miss Adams?”

“I have been hounded by your paper for long enough. I am a simple girl, who just happens to have been lucky in love. If Mr Hawksmith ever even thinks about doing another story on me, I will take it very personally. And, I now have quite a considerable legal resource at my disposal.”

“Point taken. You need not worry. Mr Hawksmith will not bother you any more.”

“Don’t misunderstand me. I’m quite open to press coverage where I am involved. But really, my formative private life is an open and very dull book. But I do strongly object to lies and fiction made to look like fact and my fiancé will see it as a personal insult should it happen again.”

“I accept that, and believe me, this paper will ensure that any story is properly verified.”

“Thank you. I look forward to seeing that in print,” I said, and hung up.

Sure enough, two days later the Sun published a full retraction and an apology to all those involved, both named and hinted at. Mr Hawksmith’s services were dispensed with, and I felt slightly more relaxed. I had learned never to become complacent.
 
 
Part 13
 
 
The wedding was over in a flash. My feet never touched the ground, although I was in a complete daze throughout most of it.

It took place in Spain at the local church, where generations of Valdarez ancestors had been baptised, married and buried. The main hacienda hosted the reception, with worthies coming from all over the world to attend.

My dress was the most magnificent creation that Roz’s friend from Paris had ever produced. Yvette Blanchfleur was a leading independent dress designer, who had won awards some years ago. Specialising now in wedding dresses for the rich and famous, her creations were often five figures or more.

The ceremony was conducted by the local priest in Spanish and English. The church was full to overflowing, so the hall next door was used as an overflow with audio link. At the moment when the priest asked if any person present knew of any just cause why we should not be wed, the pause seemed extended to me. Someone coughed, and I had to resist the very strong urge to turn round to see the culprit. However, to my relief, we were declared man and wife, and that kiss that sealed the vows was, to me, the most wonderful kiss ever!

One thousand people had been invited and after shaking hands for what appeared to be an age, I guessed that not many declined the invitation. The handful of my friends who did make it, were completely awe struck at the splendour of the occasion. I dreaded to think what it had all cost. The hacienda had been transformed into a floral wonderland, and Roz had enjoyed herself immensely in organising the arrangements.

George Jameson had been completely overcome when I had asked him to give me away. Lynette dissolved into tears, and they had both made the trip. They were the only other people, apart from Stuart, who knew the truth. Both had sworn to secrecy, and as they had given me the helping hand when I was at my most vulnerable, I loved them the more for it.

Sally and my three friends from the old Massage Centre days made wonderful bridesmaids, and I was tempted to ask Darren’s Morris to don a dress just for a laugh. When he turned up dressed as a girl, completely convincing, I almost died! He was in a powder blue twin set suit, of a silk blouse, bolero style jacket and skirt. He had grown his own hair and had it styled in a neat bob. He looked wonderful, fully made up and with exceptionally long crimson fingernails and teetering on stiletto heels. He even sported a cute blue cowboy-style hat, and he looked so relaxed and feminine.

It turns out he had changed his mind about dressing as a girl. He wasn’t going for a sex change, as Darren liked certain parts as they were, but he just adored the clothes. He had already had breast implants, and looked about as feminine as one could get.

When he and Darren came forward to be introduced to Francisco and Roz, we kissed cheeks and Darren introduced him as Marissa. He took the kiss from Francisco, who arched his eyebrow. He had recognised him, but said nothing.

It wasn’t a formal sit down occasion, and once the speeches were concluded, it turned into a wonderful celebration that went on deep into the night. The speeches were short and witty. George Jameson was very nervous, but he was excellent in the end. He had stood up, stared at the vast sea of faces and put his notes back into his pocket.

“Your Royal Highnesses, my Lords, Ladies and Gentlemen. My humble speech is of no consequence in such august company.

“As I stand here, in loco parentis, for the lovely Jemma, I am humbled beyond belief. Jemma came to us with nothing. She was a desperate child of tragic and unhappy circumstances. Such was her will and determination to make something of her life, I am not in the least surprised to now find her amongst Europe’s titled nobility.

“It is rare to find someone with such a damaged past, whose temperament and character has allowed her to rise above that past and we have all marvelled at watching her become the lovely young bride of this wonderful occasion. I feel privileged to have been part of her life, and that part of her life which has witnessed her rise up and accept the challenge to succeed.

“Her amazing ability to adapt, her incredible determination, her exuberance and infinite capacity to love, has no doubt made her the charming girl she is today.

“I would be proud if she was my own daughter, and I am honoured to be standing here on such an occasion.”

The speech ended with a toast, and I felt at one with the world.

I circulated amongst the guests, stopping finally at the small but very select English group.

I sat next to Morris, giving him a hug.

“You look simply wonderful! How long have you been dressing like this?” I asked.

“Well, a week or so after that conversation we had in the pub, Darren and I went to s special function at a club. There was a glamour competition for T-girls and the one that won it was really quite butch. Darren bet that I’d make a more convincing girl, so I tried it the next time. I won, so took to dressing more often. It’s now so much me that I live all day and every day en femme and Daren loves it, don’t you lover?”

Darren grinned and nodded.

“We went to a pub in Camberley the other day. Marissa was like this and I bumped into two blokes I knew from the mob (army). They had suspected I was gay, but when they saw Marissa, they changed their minds. It is such a buzz, being able to kiss my boyfriend in public, as no one turns a hair,” he said, still with a huge grin on his face.

“It really turns me on, too,” said the sexy Marissa, as he fondled Darren’s leg.

I so wanted to tell them the truth about me, but knew it wasn’t either the time or the place. I also knew it was no longer important.

Sally disappeared at eleven with one of Francisco’s cousins. They were headed towards the stables, and I knew Sally wasn’t interested in the horses!

After the cake was cut and distributed, my husband and I went and changed. I was reluctant to change out of my fairy princess dress, but the going-away outfit was almost as expensive and equally stunning. A helicopter landed on the polo field, and whisked us away. I waved at all the faces below, finally able to relax with my husband. From there we went to the airport, and ended up, many hours later in the Maldives.

We spent two weeks in the sunshine, enjoying the sea and each other. Wearing clothes rarely, we acquired all-over tans and I became my husband’s devoted and willing slave. I worshipped the ground he walked on and there was nothing I wouldn’t do for him. I loved him completely and utterly, which he reciprocated in every way. We made love often and experimented with numerous new positions and sensations. He had been a slightly staid lover as far as that was concerned. I shocked him a little with my obvious skills at oral sex.

He was well endowed, not as big as my ski instructor, but still he filled me comfortably. He seemed to exist to please me and was the most unselfish lover I had ever had. In turn, I sought new ways to please him, so we both experienced new heights of pleasure. In giving we each received a hundredfold!

“Jemma?” he asked, as we lazed on the beach, one day.

“Mmm?” I said, rolling over so I could look at him.

He was regarding me closely, smiling as I made eye contact with him.

“Are you sure you were ever a boy? You seem all woman to me.”

I smiled, but said nothing. It was still painful to me and I didn’t like being reminded of it. We had rarely talked about it, but I knew that we would have to, eventually.

“He’s dead. He died inside that place.”

“I’m sorry, but it seems so far fetched that that person is the same as you are now.”

“He isn’t.”

He moved closer to me, and with his index finger traced the line of my breasts down to my belly button, and then down to my fine pubic hair. I shivered in anticipation.

“Was it very bad?”

I nodded.

“How old were you when you realised that inside you were a girl?”

“I can’t remember, very young. Four, five, I guess.”

He shook his head slightly, catching a tear on his finger as it fell from my eye. He placed it into his mouth.

“What was it like?”

“What, knowing I was a girl inside a boy’s body?”

He nodded.

“Incredibly frustrating, depressing and painful. The bum really isn’t designed to take men, you know?” I said, trying to inject a little humour into a depressing subject.

He rested his hand on the flat of my tummy, by my belly button.

“You had many men, that way, I mean?”

I nodded.

“Why?”

I shrugged.

“Because I was a girl, and that’s what girls do, they let men come inside them.”

“Did you enjoy it at all?”

“Sometimes. It isn’t bad once you get used to it, and have the right technique. Why, do you fancy it for a change?”

“No, my love. I’d like to think that’s one place I have no desire to go.”

“I wouldn’t mind, as long as you’re gentle,” I said.

“Don’t even think about it. You’ve everything I need right here!” he said, caressed my labia.

“I went through a lot to have that, so I adore you wanting it!” I said, opening my legs to allow him to caress further. I held his hand tight against me.

“When I think of what you went through, I get so angry. It was barbaric.”

“Yes and no. If they hadn’t done what they did, I wouldn’t be the person I am now. I’d never have met you and gone to heaven!”

He smiled.

“Is that how you feel?”

I nodded, tears falling freely now.

“You have made me feel like a complete person. Your unconditional love has freed me from my demons. I just feel so dirty when I think of my past and what I did just to survive.”

“Don’t! You have risen above all that, as you are now a beautiful woman whom I adore. You were right, the person you were died, and I think we should bury him forever!”

He kissed me so tenderly, I cried as he pulled me towards him. I went willingly and sighed with contentment as he entered me. I adored feeling him inside me, yet I felt a little guilty that I had quite enjoyed the anal sex all those years ago. However, this was so much better, there was no comparison and no going back now. Thank God!

It was the last time he ever mentioned my previous existence, and I hoped that in the past it would remain.
 
 
We returned to real life and became a family. Roz was relieved to pass responsibility for the children over to me and picked up her old social life once more. We set up home in London, although Francisco’s business empire was truly international, he was happy to base his family in London for a while.

I was now moving in a whole new world, and as my wonderful husband spent most of his time travelling on business, he left me to organise the children and their education. Carlos was an energetic young man, who thought up many different ways to test and assess his new stepmother. I taught him the rudiments of Karate, which seemed to meet with his approval. I never thought that something I learned in prison to defend myself from sexual assault would come in handy as a mother!

Conchita was a solemn little two year-old, yet she was the exact opposite of her hyperactive brother. Whereas Carlos would be active from the moment he first awoke, until he went to bed, Conchita was content to just sit wherever I was, playing with her dolls, colouring or looking at books. I think she was confused about me. One moment she had a dark mother, and the next moment a blonde one appeared. She was quite clingy, and didn’t like being separated from me very much. I adored both children, but was quite relieved when Carlos went off to pre-prep school, and peace rained in the house for a short time every day.

I was still very young, and so we employed a Norland Nanny to assist me. Rachel McGuire was from Dublin and was in her late twenties. She was a big girl, ruddy of complexion and with flaming red hair, which she put up whilst at work.

I explained that I was not into strict regimens as far as childcare was concerned. I expected discipline, but I wanted it nurtured through love and creative freedom. She looked at me with a strange expression.

“I had a very deprived childhood,” I explained. “These kids have everything. I want them to learn the value of people and things so they take nothing or no one for granted. The real wealth is in those aspects of life that money can’t buy and that is what I want them to learn. I want them to learn self-respect and to respect others, no matter how humble their origins. I want no notions of superiority to rub off on them. They may be privileged, but they must learn that that is a responsibility not an advantage.”

Rachel’s face broke into a wary smile.

“Yes, Ma’am,” she said.

“And another thing, my name is Jemma. I never want to hear you call me anything other than that, is that clear?”

She looked a little pained.

“Is that a problem?” I asked.

“Not with me, ma’am, but the agency wouldn’t approve.”

“Stuff the agency. You may have been trained by them, but you are paid by me, and as far as I’m concerned, you call me Jemma, okay?”

“It will be a pleasure, ma…Jemma.”

“And don’t be getting any funny ideas that just because I’m a bloody Countess, I don’t know what happens in the real fucking world!” I said, in the best Dublin accent I could manage.

She gaped at me for a moment, but then her smile threatened to split her face in two.

“My Da was from the old country!” I explained.

From that moment we became friends as well as employer and nanny.

The house in Kensington was huge, and with a staff of three, not including the Rachel, I was soon bored when Francisco was away. My husband was very wealthy and even my own investments had grown beyond all projections. The first couple of years were exciting. Francisco encouraged me to accompany him on many of his business trips, which I did and thoroughly enjoyed. Travel was one experience that I had never had, so I made the most of it.

I began to get an idea as to my husband’s business at the same time. His main concern was the realisation of opportunities. By that I mean, a client wanted to start a venture, Francisco’s company identified the optimum site for the factory, the most appropriate market and the most effective distribution location. He’d actually buy land and sell it, conduct market research, and gauge employment markets. He’d end up reselling the land, charging fees on successful completion of business, retaining consultancy options with the many companies he worked with.

Life in Kensington was good. I didn’t have to try to form friendships. Francisco’s established position in society and business meant we were constantly socialising with the rich and influential. I found many powerful men had highly intelligent and equally ambitious women behind them. I also found out that many of these men and women were hardly discreet about their extramarital affairs. Several men, and I include cabinet ministers amongst them, made overtly obvious passes at me, even when Francisco was in the same house.

When he was away on business, I was surprised at the amount of male callers who turned up at the house on some pretext or other. All claimed to have forgotten, or were allegedly unaware Francisco was away, and then proceeded to attempt to get me to go to bed with them. It took some time, but eventually they all got the message that I wasn’t interested, and would tell Francisco after each attempt. He would use this information when forming new business deals, and those who I had rebuffed sexually, would find themselves suddenly out of favour in the financial field.

By the time I was twenty-five, Conchita was in school too. It was 1979 and although I was blissfully happy and Francisco’s Countess, I wanted to do something constructive with my own life. I began to look for ways I could make a difference. I found that many charities were always on the lookout for famous or titled people who could patron their charity. As the Condesa de Valdarez, soon I was inundated with offers.

I was opening my mail one morning, as the children were getting ready for school. Another charity was seeking to add my name to a list of patrons in order to increase it’s standing in a highly competitive field.

Five Fingers was: - ‘Dedicated to helping those young offenders who come from abusive backgrounds, or have been the victims of sexual abuse whilst institutionalised, in order they might have a better chance of leading near normal lives.’ The stylised five fingers, or helping hand was shown reaching out to those in trouble.

This struck a chord. So as soon as I dropped the children off at school, I drove my Range Rover to call on the charity at their registered address.

The executive officer was a retired nursing officer called Richard Mabley. He’d worked in the Prison service for many years and had seen first hand the abuses of sexual assault and ritualistic rape.

I couldn’t tell him my story, but he was rather at a loss as to how to deal with me.

“Um, your, um Countess, um Vald….”

“Richard, my name is Jemma, so forget the countess crap and use my name. It will make life much easier,” I said, and he was stunned into silence.

I laughed.

“I was born to poor circumstances and suffered abuse. I can understand what these young people are going through, and will keep on going through, unless something is done. Too many people turn a blind eye to a corrupt and overtly abusive system, in the mistaken belief that those who run these places actually care. You and I know that they are paid to keep offenders off the streets, and only that. The courts sentence them, so they lock them up, and rarely is there any thought to rehabilitation or education.

“If only government would place sufficient resources into that sector, then some good could be done. If offenders didn’t re-offend, then the police and courts wouldn’t be so busy and the prisons wouldn’t be so full. There just aren’t enough votes in such radical action!”

Richard shook his head.

“I’m speechless, Jemma. I had no idea you were so passionate about this. Certainly, nothing in your manner would indicate a deprived childhood, and I am so surprised to hear that you suffered abuse.”

“I don’t seek to advertise the fact, and as you see, one can successfully rise above it.”

He showed me round their head office and I then drove him to a halfway house where eight youngsters were staying. They’d all been released from one institution or another, and were suffering from varying degrees of trauma.

I sat and chatted with the kids, all boys. I cried a little as each one told me their tale. Notwithstanding the obvious embellishments, their stories were such that I could identify with each one.

I stayed and had lunch with them, returning to the office with Richard afterwards.

“Would you be willing to join an inspection team?” he asked.

“What team?”

“We’ve been asked to supply a member for a Home Office inspection team to visit various Young Offenders Institutions, to compile a report for the Home Office Minister for Prisons. Would you be interested?”

“You bet your life, I would.”

He seemed relieved.

“Well, that is one worry less. We are so short of reliable staff that I can’t afford to release a permanent member. Your arrival on the scene is a Godsend. If I give you all the information, I’ll put your name forward on behalf of the charity, if that’s okay?”

“Perfectly, only don’t give me too much reading, I’m dyslexic, and will never wade through reams and reams of bumf.”

I never realised that in a few short weeks, I’d cross the threshold of Garside once more.
 
 
Part 14
 
 
As the bus drew close, it was as if some invisible demon had his claws into my heart. The last time I had travelled this road, it had been on my release in the winter of 1973. It was now April 1980, I had been married for a few short years, yet my life was completely different. Hell, I was completely different!

Five Fingers had developed and had joined with another charity and now called itself Helping Hands. I had not really been asked to do much. I had attended a few fundraising events, dinners and concerts for the most part. There’d been a couple of meetings, where a faintly patronising civil servant from the Home Office had lectured us on his view of what the Inspection Team should be looking for.

I had my agenda, but was not overly impressed with the other team members:

There was an elderly Judge, who had prostate problems and kept having to go to the loo.

Then there was a very snobby housewife from Guildford called Natasha, who still believed in the birch, and kept loudly proclaiming that hanging was too good for some people.

A retired Anglican Canon moaned about the permissive society, stared at my tits and dribbled at every opportunity.

A social worker from Brixton called Ruth, seemed so highly strung, that if the coach backfired, I thought she’d have a heart attack.

Roger was an alcoholic retired detective Superintendent from Birmingham, and he spent all his time dozing and waiting for his next drink.

Wesley Phillips was a Jamaican outreach worker from Lambeth. He was a lovely God-fearing man, with three sons and two daughters. The eldest of which was my age. He was a kind and gentle man, and the only one who actually shared my agenda - to see what we could do to help these abused kids and give them a chance in life that would otherwise be unavailable.

“Most of these people have no idea what kind of world these kids have to exist in!” Wesley said. We were sitting together on the bus, and Garside was only three miles away. This was our fourth visit to a YOI, and the one I had hoped not to have to make.

I stared out of the window. The rain lashed the side of the coach, and the grey day made the whole experience seem even more depressing.

“Are you alright, Jemma?” the kindly man asked.

I stared at him and smiled.

“Yes, sorry Wesley, I was miles away for a moment.”

“Now, take your good self, how much do you really know about these kids?”

I looked at him.

“You’d be surprised, Wesley, believe me.”

“You think you know, but in reality, your upbringing and whole experience of life can never give you a feel of what it is like.”

I sighed. I yearned to tell him the truth, but I couldn’t. We, that is, my husband and I, had agreed that the past was dead. My life now consisted of a complex fabricated version, into which much time and money had been invested to appear convincing. I stuck to it like glue.

“Wesley, I may look and sound like someone born with a silver spoon in her mouth, but I promise, I’m not! I was abused as a child, and although I don’t want to go over old ground, let me just say, there is nothing in there that will either surprise or shock me.”

He looked at me over the top of his spectacles. I could tell he didn’t believe me.

“Let me explain. My father was a drunk and beat the living shit out of me. Then while I was supposed to be in the care of the state, I was raped when I was fifteen. Need I say more?”

His greying eyebrows shot up his mahogany forehead.

“I don’t want to talk about it any more, but just accept what I tell you. I want to help these kids because I’ve been there, not out of some egalitarian sense of noble philanthropy.”

We pulled up at the outer gate, which I observed, was now firmly shut.

A uniformed prison officer got onto the bus. I half expected it to be bloody Mr Simpson. It wasn’t.

“Ladies and Gentlemen, welcome to Garside Young Offenders Institution. We will proceed immediately to the staff canteen where some refreshments will be available and the governor will address you. He will give you an overview of the facility. Please be advised, we will ask you to leave certain items at the reception, which you may collect when you leave.”

I alighted from the bus with a degree of dread in my heart. The place seemed smaller and shabbier than when I left a few short years ago. Only this time, I was wearing a luxurious Kashmir dress, a very smart coat, nylon stockings and high heels. I may look like and behave the Countess that I was, but in my heart, a very frightened little boy was all but crying.

We walked through the small door in the large blue outer gate straight into reception. The ladies had their handbags searched, and one or two lost items like scissors and nail files. I hadn’t brought anything, knowing what had happened on the previous visits to similar facilities.

While I waited, I looked round. This was where I had assaulted the doctor on my first day, and it had hardly changed at all. Noises echoed around the bare walls and floors and there was an atmosphere of hopelessness and gloom everywhere. Paint was peeling from the walls, while someone had obviously attempted to clean some of the place, much of it was hardly touched.

Memories were sharp, and I could remember everything that happened to me on that first day. When the screw had beaten me for not answering properly and supposed insolence. I looked down at the scruffy yellow line painted on the floor. It was still there. And, as I stepped forward to have my bag searched, I put my toes over the line.

I half expected to be shouted at, yet when I wasn’t I was surprised.

“Are you sure you can cope with my toes over the line?” I asked the officer.

He looked at me blankly, and then looked down at my toes. His eyes met mine again, and he frowned. I didn’t recognise him, but that meant little. There was always a quick turn round of staff, so he may have been here when I was.

“I’m sorry, Ma’am?” he said, still frowning.

“Isn’t this where you bring inmates on the first day, and make them stand behind the line?”

“Oh, that doesn’t happen any more, Ma’am.”

Yeah, like I believe that! I thought to myself.

“Oh, when did that practice cease?”

“Some years now. We find that young people respond better to a more positive approach.”

“I don’t think a bit of discipline hurt anyone, do you, Countess?” Natasha said.

I turned to look at this middle class matron. She had lived in blissful ignorance for years and I suspected she believed every unconvincing platitude spouted by countless rightwing politicians eager for her vote.

“Discipline? No, I believe that discipline is an important part of life, but state sponsored torture and sanctioned sexual abuse isn’t quite the same thing, is it?”

There was an embarrassing hush, as my voice echoed around these bare walls. It had a hard edge to it, and Wesley touched me on the arm.

“Gently, Countess, gently,” he said, ever so quietly.

I smiled sweetly at Natasha, turned and took my handbag back from the officer who had been searching it for files, chainsaws and rope ladders.

We followed the officer out and into part of the facility in which I had never ventured before. We found ourselves in the canteen and they served us tea in china cups.

I saw the officer whisper to the governor and both looked at me. I must learn to keep my bloody mouth shut. The governor was relatively new. He was a tall man in his forties and had a pleasant smile that never touched his eyes. He had hard eyes, born out of working for the prison service for twenty years, no doubt. His smart suit was undermined by his rough London accent. Although in his speech he welcomed us to ‘his’ institution, I could see that he clearly didn’t want us here and couldn’t wait for us to leave. I didn’t listen to his empty words, I was eager to get this unpleasant experience over and done with.

They split us into two groups and took us on a tour of the place. Some inmates had apparently been selected to meet us in the recreation hall, so were there so we could talk to them without intervention or interruption.

As soon as we went through the familiar double barred gate into the main wing, the whistles started. I smiled. These whistles were the last memory I had of the place when I had left. I had blown kisses to those I left behind, and I was keen to do the same again now. I restrained myself.

“Show us yer tits, darlin’!” came a voice.

I was temped to shout back, ‘Only if you show me yours first!’

This was very hard.

We reached the hall and the officer remained outside. There were half a dozen boys in the hall, looking nervous and uncomfortable. I tried to imagine the kind of pep talk that the officers would have given them before our arrival. There were semi-private booths, set up so we could have private conversations.

I immediately was drawn to a slender young lad who was sitting on his own. His body language screamed at me -‘effeminate! He had long hair drawn and tied back in a ponytail. His prison uniform hung off his slim frame, while his slender wrists and hands seemed languid and very fluid in their movements. He was immature for his age, which must be fifteen or sixteen.

I went and sat opposite him.

“Hello, I’m Jemma,” I said, aware that my cultured voice immediately created a vast gulf between us. I sounded educated and sophisticated, and despite trying not to, I’d been doing it for too long, and was unable to lose it.

“I’m Stephen,” he said, eyes widening as he looked at me, taking in my youth and clothes. I smiled, and he frowned.

“’ave you go a fag?” he asked.

“No, I’m sorry, they wouldn’t let us bring any in with us. But I don’t smoke anyway.”

“Fuck all else we can do.”

“I know it must be pretty fucking awful!” I said.

He looked at me sharply. “Sounds odd, a classy woman swearing like one of you lot, doesn’t it?”

“Wot you trying to prove?”

“I don’t have to prove anything; not any more. Tell me, does old Ron Clarke still work in the kitchens?”

His eyes narrowed, but he nodded.

“’ow do you know him?”

“Do you know who I am?”

“Yeah, the screws told us, you’re a fucking Countess of sumfink.”

“And he told you not to tell me how it really is, didn’t he?”

The boy’s eyes flicked to check who was watching or listening, then flicked back to me. He nodded.

“You don’t need to tell me anything. I already know. Someone who was here once, he told me everything.”

“Who’s that then?”

“Ever hear of Jimmy Gardner, or Larry Sparks?”

He shook his head.

“How about the kid who sued the prison service for giving him drugs?”

“Yeah, I heard of him. He’s fucked off. Got a fair old pay-out from the government and no one knows where ’e is.”

“Well, I’ve met him and he’s in good shape. He’s very happy.”

“Is it true, then?”

“Is what true?”

“The drugs they gave him, they turned him into a girl?”

“Is that what you heard?”

“Yeah. They said he was more a girl than a boy when he left. The bloke who shared a cell said he even had tits.”

“Is that right?”

“Yeah.”

“Well, I couldn’t possibly comment, except to say, he’s found happiness.”

His eyes widened and he actually smiled, almost.

My eyes warned him not to react too much, so he stared at me, willing me to say more.

“Let’s say, he’s become an acquaintance of mine, and leave it there.”

“I hope he’s okay.”

“Oh, he is, believe me.”

“Good. Life can be shit, sometimes,” the boy said, his face looking more forlorn than ever.

“Do you identify with him?” I asked.

“You what?”

“I’m not blind. It must be tough in here if you aren’t macho like some of them.”

He nodded but his eyes were wary.

“Look, if I could read you within seconds of walking in, so can most people. It is really bad?” My voice was soft and I tried to sound caring. It must have worked, as tears started welling up in his eyes. I could see him trying to fight his emotions, but they were too strong for him.

“How old are you?” I asked to give him space.

“Sixteen.”

“How long have you known?” I asked, looking at his long slender hands. His nails were nicely shaped and pointed.

“Known what?”

“That you should have been born different?”

He frowned and looked uneasy again.

“Wot you mean?”

“Your nails. They’re a lovely shape,” I said.

He looked panic-stricken for a second, so he thrust his hands into his pockets.

“When do you get out?”

“Eight weeks, why?”

“Have you a home to go to?”

“Yer joking, ain’t ya?”

“No, why?”

“I’m in ‘ere for setting fire to my folks place.”

“Oh, I didn’t know. Was it your dad?”

“Was what my dad?”

“Let me make it easier for you - My dad used to beat me,” I said.

His eyes narrowed again, then he relaxed and looked down. It was like a cloud left him, as he finally lowered his guard. The tears started, and I handed over a tissue.

“I knew I should have been a girl when I was about six. When I was eight or nine, my dad found me dressing in my sister’s clothes and damn near killed me. I was careful after that. But he caught me again and put me in hospital. That was just a few months ago, now. When I got out of hospital, I burned the fucking place down. I wish I’d killed him, but he lived. They said I was mentally unbalanced due to the beating, but he did more than beat me, the bastard!”

“He sexually abused you, didn’t he?”

Stephen looked up in surprise.

“I was raped when I was fifteen. So, I know what it’s like,” I said.

“By your dad?”

“No, not that bad. Why?”

“I don’t know. He said if I wanted to be a girl that bad, then I should feel a real man! He was drunk, but he shouldn’t have done it, should he?”

“No he shouldn’t. What happened, did you tell the police?”

“I couldn’t. My mum made me promise not to say anything. Why did he do that to me?”

I took his hand, but he was weeping almost uncontrollably now.

“Shh, I’m so sorry, sweetie. Maybe he did it because it was done to him by his father. He’s sick, you’re not!”

“Not sick? I want to be a girl, for fuck’s sake! They all tell me how sick I am.”

“So, what’s wrong with that?” I said, and he stopped crying. He looked at me with a strange expression.

“Huh?”

“You want to be a girl, then become one!”

“How?”

“When you get out, call me. I’ll come and get you, and give you a job. Okay?”

“Why?”

“One day I might tell you, but pretend it’s my way of getting back at a crappy system.”

“Are you on the level?”

“Don’t you trust me?” I asked.

“I don’t trust anyone, why should I?”

“I’ve nothing to gain and nothing to lose. You don’t have to call, but believe me, it could make a difference to you.”

He looked at me suspiciously. I didn’t blame him in the slightest. I remembered how I felt not that long ago. Good things just don’t happen to people like us!

“Stephen, please call, I really can help!”

He looked at me with those big, moist eyes. I could see he desperately wanted to trust someone, so he nodded, still not entirely convinced.

“Is the food okay, or still awful?” I asked, changing the subject. He frowned again.

“Still awful, have you ever tasted it?”

“As I said, I’ve spoken to lads who have been here before.”

“Oh, it’s okay, I suppose.”

“Any chance of seeing the kitchens?”

“Dunno, I could ask, if you want.”

“Why not?”

I stood up and walked to the door. I knocked and it opened. An officer stood there.

“Is it possible I could see the kitchens?” I asked.

“I’ll check, ma’am, please wait here.”

He went off to phone, returning a few minutes later.

“Ma’am, if you come with me, the governor has approved your request.”

I accompanied the officer through the facility. Memories came flooding back, as the place had hardly changed. The inmates glared at me with a mixture of disbelief, sexual desire and contempt. I tried to look as if I cared, but was only too well aware that to them, to care was to be weak.

Ron Clarke had hardly changed.

Still fat, sweaty and red in the face, his good humoured laugh and booming voice echoed down the corridor before I turned the corner and caught sight of him.

I paused for a moment, reliving all the hours I had spent in this particular kitchen. I had actually found a degree of peace and contentment here, so I didn’t hate the place as much as one would expect. To see Ron standing there brought tears to my eyes. I had to look away to gather my thoughts.

“Mr Clarke, word of your culinary expertise has travelled far!” said the sarcastic prison officer. “The countess here has specially requested to visit your hallowed portals.”

Ron wiped his hands on his filthy apron.

We locked eyes and he frowned. Somehow, a spark of recognition had come alight in his mind.

“Mr Clarke, this is very kind of you to allow me a glimpse behind the scenes,” I said, my voice at its poshest I could manage.

He was still frowning as I approached.

“I am La Condesa de Valdarez, but please call me Jemma,” I said, offering him my hand.

He took it, shaking it very slowly. He retained it after we had shaken. The escorting officer wandered off, peering into a steaming vat.

“Condesa? Is that foreign?”

“Yes, I’m married to a Spanish Count.”

“You aren’t Spanish, are you,…ma’am?” he asked, adding the ma’am as an afterthought.

I laughed.

“No Ron, I’m not Spanish,” I said. “I was born in the East End of London. I was just very fortunate to marry well. In fact, my early life was pretty bloody awful. Is it hard to get good help in the kitchens, these days?”

“Good help?” he repeated, still frowning.

“Still trying to get a quart out of a pint pot?” I asked, using one of his favourite phrases.

I walked along the row of ovens, peering through the dark stained glass fronts.

“Looks like steak pie, it must be Wednesday,” I said, turning to look at him. I flicked my hair back in the same way as I used to when I’d been working here.

His eyes opened wide, as the truth slowly dawned on him. He looked about, as if frightened of discovery. I released my hand from his slightly damp clutches.

“So, Mr Clarke, what’s on the menu for today?”

He went through the motions of showing me his kitchen and the preparation of the food. He waited until we were away from eves-droppers.

“You seem familiar, ma’am, just how is that?”

“Come on Ron, you know me, surely?”

“How? My God, it’s unbelievable!”

“Where there’s a will!” I said, smiling enigmatically.

“It is you, isn’t it?”

“Oh yes, although I’d deny it if anyone asks. Fancy claiming the reward?”

“My God, no. Every time I read about how Jimmy Gardner has fooled the press and can’t be found, I said to my wife, ‘Good for you’. Are you really are a countess?”

“Absolutely. I just wanted to come back and say a special thank you for being the only person to treat me properly.”

“My God, you’re taking a risk!”

“No, Ron, that’s all in the past. I’m now able to do something about what happens in places like this. So, my special friend, thank you from a very grateful lady!”

“I often wondered about you. I had no idea you were, you know who. My wife reads all the society gossip, so she told me about your engagement and marriage. The missus gets all the magazines, as you were in the colour supplement when you got married. I never twigged, and yet I suppose I knew you as well as anyone. The press came snooping after the pay out.”

“I thought they might. Did anyone say anything?”

“Shit no. It was more than their job was worth. The new governor told us that anyone who spoke to the press would be dismissed. I don’t think anyone expected this!” he said, looking me up and down.

I smiled.

“No, me included. How have you been?”

“Okay, pissed off with the job, but while I’ve mouths to feed and a mortgage, I need to keep working.”

He shook his head, a huge smile on his face.

“I can’t believe this! You look so, … shit, … so fantastic! No one would ever guess you were that poor soul.”

“That’s my hope.”

The warder came over, so I thanked Ron for his kindness.

“Thank you so much. I hope we can manage to persuade the powers that be to improve the budget for food.”

“No, thank you, Countess, you’ve made an old man very happy!”

With a smile, I left him grinning after me, returning to the group, which was now doing a tour of the training facilities. These were new since I’d been here. There was a fully functioning machine workshop and engineering shop. It was in full use, but I gathered by the obvious ineptitude of those young men taking part, it wasn’t in use very often.

Wesley, bless him, asked the question about how often the place was used.

“As often as possible,” came the reply.

Wesley then asked one of the boys the same question.

“I dunno. This is the first time I’ve been here.”

The visit was soon over, so we boarded the bus to the outside world, once more. I never got to speak to Stephen again, but I doubted he’d contact me. Fear and mistrust are always difficult to shake off.
 
 
Part 15
 
 
It took me a long time to get over my visit to Garside. I hadn’t realised how much of an impact the place had on me. The over-riding emotion I experienced was anger. I was angry that society treated these kids like this, I was angry that the parents had allowed the kids to get to such a state and I was angry that the kids allowed themselves to be manipulated by bad role models and their environment to get into such a situation.

However, with my lovely family, I was able to retreat from my anger, to provide them with as much love as I could. The visit produced a report, which, in my opinion was tempered too much to be of any use. But I was able to get my oar in and instigate an improvement in the catering budget.

Government cut-backs and efficiency savings meant that little constructive work could be done in the attempt to rehabilitate those poor kids who would be left to fend for themselves whilst inadequately prepared for what life would throw at them. I was not naíve enough to think that there weren’t those who deserved to be locked up, and no amount of rehabilitation would make a scrap of difference. However, if we, as a society, could actually reduce the likelihood of those ever getting to that stage, we’d be helping future generations.

It was with some surprise that I got a call about ten weeks later. It was early evening. The children had just gone to bed and I was settling down to watch TV. Francisco was abroad on business, Brussels I think. But as it was only a two-day trip, I had declined to accompany him.

It wasn’t Stephen, but a casualty nurse from Whipps Cross Hospital in East London.

“Hello, I’m staff nurse Carol Green, could I speak to the Countess Jemma? I’m sorry but that’s the only name I have.”

“I am the Condesa Jemma de Valdarez, how may I help?”

“Um, I’m not sure. We’ve just had a young lad brought in having taken an overdose. We don’t believe it was a serious attempt, as he didn’t take enough of anything to do much damage, but there is no doubt the poor kid is at the end of his tether. I asked if he had anyone who cared about him and he said you were. He had ‘Countess Jemma’ and a phone number on a piece of paper. He has no one else and I was hoping you’d know what we could do.”

“It’s Stephen, isn’t it?”

“Stephen Bayliss, yes.”

“I didn’t even know his surname. I’m involved in a charity that helps ex-offenders and so I met the poor kid on a prison visit a couple of months ago. I told him I might be able to help him when he came out, but he never called. I’d assumed he’d forgotten.”

“Can you help?”

“What’s the situation?”

“It appears he’s homeless, undernourished and very depressed. We can’t keep him in for longer than a day or so, as he’s no longer on the danger list, and the psychiatrist doesn’t believe he’s a danger to himself or anyone else. There’s no psychotic illness that can be treated, so we will discharge him.”

“Just like that?”

“That’s why I called. The poor child needs some TLC, and the NHS don’t provide a lot of that in these circumstances.”

“He’s only a child!”

“I know. Look, I’m a mother too, but I can’t do anything for him. I was hoping you’d know what to do.”

“How is he at the moment?”

“He’s asleep. The doctor gave him something to calm him down. That’s part of the problem, he hasn’t been sleeping well of late. His mind keeps him awake, he says, and in the dark hours he thinks about all the bad things that happened to him.”

“I can identify with that,” I said.

“You? I’m sorry, I just didn’t think…”

“No, it doesn’t matter. I wasn’t always a countess, that’s all. I’ll be there in an hour.”

“Are you sure?”

“My children are in bed. I have someone who can watch them.”

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean for you to come out. I just thought that you’d know someone who could help.”

“Sometimes, we must do what we can. As I said, I’ll be there in an hour.”

I found Rachel in her sitting room and told her what had happened. She was no longer a nanny, having left Norland and taken up full time employment in my service. Her official title would be ‘household manager’, but in effect, she was my friend and confidant. She was also on the point of becoming engaged to Miles, Francisco’s English chauffeur.

“Don’t you worry about anything, as I’ll get the children to school if you’re not back. Just take care of the poor soul!”

Taking the Range Rover, I drove through Westminster and the City, and out towards the east. I parked the car in the large car park at the hospital, which was an uninspiring edifice on the fringes of Epping Forest.

I went to the reception desk in the busy casualty department.

“Hello, I’m the Condesa de Valdarez. I’ve been called by Staff Nurse Green. It’s about a Stephen Bayliss.”

The fraught looking receptionist looked up at me with tired eyes. Taking in the smart clothes, the cultured accent and expensive jewellery, she nodded wearily.

“Please take a seat, madam, I’ll call the nurse.”

It was only a few minutes later that a nurse, much the same age as myself, came out of a door marked, “Staff Only”.

“Hello, Countess?” she asked. Several of those waiting glanced over at me.

“Call me Jemma. Are you Carol?”

“Yes, thanks for coming. Please come through.”

I followed her through the doors and found myself in an area of curtained cubicles.

“Stephen’s been admitted to a ward, but it’s only for the night. Beds are very scarce, yet there is no reason to detain him any longer.”

I went with her to a long ward. Stephen was in an end bed, by the window. He was so thin he hardly made any impression on the bedclothes. His hair was slightly longer and unkempt. His pale face looked gaunt and haggard, with large dark rings around his eyes. His chest was rising and falling slowly, but it was the only thing that showed he was alive. Taking his hand, I noted his skin was very cold to the touch. The poor child looked almost like a corpse.

“I’ll stay with him for a while,” I said, sitting in the chair next to the bed.

“Are you sure?”

“Yes. If he comes round, he’d like someone to be here.”

“Thanks, you don’t have to, you know?”

I stared at the pathetic boy.

“Yes, I do.”

Carol walked off, leaving me with the boy.

He seemed at peace, but then strange expressions flitted across his face. He frowned and moved, moaning softly.

“It’s okay, sweetie, you’re safe now,” I said, feeling inadequate and rather useless.

Surprisingly, he calmed down and seemed to be sleeping peacefully. I simply sat and held his hand. I found his breathing almost hypnotic, and rested my head on my other arm.

I must have dozed off, for I was wakened by Stephen speaking. His voice was soft and was full of surprise.

“You came?” he said.

I smiled at him. He was still holding my hand. He was holding it very tightly, but now he increased his grasp.

“Hi, yes, it seems I did. How do you feel?”

“Why?”

“Because I care, why else?”

He began to cry silently. Tears just rolled down his face.

I cradled him, letting him cry into my shoulder.

“I just wanted to die!”

“I know.”

“I can’t face my life. I’m so unhappy!”

“I know.”

“What can I do?” he asked, despairing.

“What do you want to do?”

“I want to be me!” he said, a real cry from the heart. I knew that cry so well!

“Then will you trust me to help you find out who that person is?”

He nodded.

“Then, go to sleep. I’ll be here when you wake up tomorrow and you will come home with me. Your old life is over. Tomorrow, we’ll start your new one.”

“Don’t leave me!”

“I have to go home to my children. But I promise, I’ll wait for you to go asleep and I’ll be back tomorrow morning.”

“You have children?”

“A boy and a girl, why?”

He shook his head.

“I dunno. I thought maybe you were the boy we talked about.”

I smiled.

“Really?”

He smiled an embarrassed smile of someone who realised he was wrong.

“I’m sorry, it was daft of me. I just hoped if it happened to you, it could happen to me.”

“It might at that. Just go to sleep.”

He smiled and relaxed. Within a few moments, he was asleep again, this time with a faint smile on his lips.
 
 
I returned home, updated Rachel as to what was happening and we prepared a bedroom on the second floor.

I was back at the hospital at eight the next morning. Carol wasn’t on duty, but had told the duty staff nurse to expect me. I was to wait in the reception area while the doctors did their rounds. It was twenty past nine when this frail form appeared clutching a small plastic bag of belongings.

“Hello Stephen, how are you?”

“Confused. Did you come to me last night?”

“Yes, why?”

“I don’t really remember. They’d doped me up to make me sleep, so I thought I dreamed it. Are you really taking me home?”

“Unless you don’t want to?”

“No, I want to. I’m just tired of running away from everything.”

I gave him a cuddle and led him out to the car. The poor child was so thin and frail that I thought if a strong wind came along, he’d blow away.

He was silent on the drive across London, until we left the City and travelled through Westminster.

“You’ve got lovely nails,” he said, out of the blue.

I glanced at my long varnished nails. I should do, I spent enough time on them.

“Thanks.”

He looked out of the window at the passing scenery. I was so used to this part of London, I no longer really thought about it.

“This is posh. I’ve not been here before. Where do you live?”

“Kensington.”

“Is that the posh bit?”

I smiled.

“Some of it is.”

“I like the car. Are these leather seats?”

“I think so.”

“It smells nice, like you do.”

I smiled again.

“You know, you told me I could become a girl?”

“Yes.”

“Were you on the level, or were you pulling my plonker?”

“I was on the level. You can, you know?”

“Yeah, but what would I look like? A bloke in a dress?”

“No, you’d look fine.”

“Yeah!” he said, sarcastically.

“Really, you’ll be fine. First, though, we need to feed you up a little and take you to see a doctor.”

“Why? I’m not ill.”

“No? How often did you have anal sex in Garside?”

“So?”

“Disease has a habit of being transmitted a lot that way.”

“Oh.”

“Also, we need the doctor to find out whether you should be psychologically evaluated.”

“Why?”

“Stephen, you might feel that inside you’re a girl.”

“I do!”

“I know, but before a doctor will start you on any course, they need to know it’s the right thing to do.”

“Why? I know I should be a girl!”

“Yes, I know you do, but it’s irreversible, so they like to make sure it’s the right course of action.”

“Why?”

“Because they have to prescribe you the necessary hormones for the change.”

“What change?”

“The sex change, silly!”

“Oh.”

He was silent for a while.

“How does it work?” he asked.

“The change? First, you see a doctor, then you see a shrink, who makes an assessment of you and whether it is justified and essential. Then you get put on hormones to block your male development and other hormones to bring out the girl in you. You have to live as a girl for about a year, as your body changes and you grow breasts and things. Once all the doctors agree, the surgeon cuts off the old bits and makes you a set of girl’s bits.”

“A whole year?”

“It sound a long time, but really it isn’t and it’ll go very fast.”

“What will I do?”

“I said I’d give you a job, so I will.”

“Doing what?”

“I have in mind to make you my Household manager’s assistant.”

“What’s that?”

I smiled.

“General dogsbody. You can help around the house. My husband and I entertain a lot of influential people, so we need people to serve food and drink, tidy the place and help in the kitchens. It might not be rocket science, but you’ll be kept busy.”

“Why are you doing this?” he asked. I glanced over and he was staring at me.

“Because no one else will and I care about you.”

“Why?”

“Because I was once at the bottom of the shit heap, so I know what it’s like.”

“You?”

“Me.”

“When?”

“When I was your age. Only there wasn’t anyone to help me. Some people did a bit, but if I hadn’t made an effort myself, I’d still be down there in the shit.”

“But you’re posh!”

“I haven’t always been, I promise.”

Further discussion came to a halt as we arrived outside our town house. I took the car to the underground garage and parked.

Stephen’s eyes were as large as saucers as we entered the house through the basement. It was a lovely house and, had I come straight here from Garside, I would have been completely bowled over.

As it was, Lynette’s house had seemed luxurious to me, but now I took it all in my stride.

We went up to the kitchen where Rachel was preparing some pies.

“Hi Jemma, the Count called. He’ll be back tomorrow at about noon. He asks if it would be alright to have a small dinner party tomorrow evening for eighteen people.”

“In other words, we’re having a dinner party, so get on and make it happen!” I said.

She chuckled, and then saw Stephen.

“Hi there, you must be Steph?” she said, pronouncing it to rhyme with ‘F’.

The boy glanced at me.

“Rachel is my manager; you’ll be working closely with her. She knows what I know about you, so we’ve no secrets here,” I said.

“Oh.”

“Sit yourself down, let’s get some breakfast inside you,” she said.

I left them to make a couple of calls.

My surgeon, Mr Brown, and William Hardcastle, the psychiatrist, were the only other men to know the truth about my previous life. I trusted them implicitly and knew my secret was safe with them. I’d rarely spoken to them over the years, but as I was hardly out of the public eye and we’d met socially on a few occasions. I knew I couldn’t hide from them.

It was they whom I called now.

I explained the circumstances of Stephen and his predicament. Both were sympathetic and we came to an arrangement. They needed a referral from a GP or specialist, so I called my own GP, James Clarke. He was willing to drop round at the end of his surgery this very afternoon.

I returned to the kitchen, made myself a coffee and sat down by Stephen who was eating a large breakfast as if his life depended upon it. He looked up with those big green eyes of his watching my every move. I sat down next to him.

“Right, first we need to decide what to call you!” I said.
 

* * *
 
The next few days passed very quickly. Dr. Clarke was a lovely man and, despite feeling nervous and unwilling to be examined, Stephen actually warmed to him and allowed a full examination. This led to a visit to the surgery on the following day for blood to be taken for various tests. There followed a series of letters and consultations.

Stephen, or Stephanie, as she decided she wanted to be called, went through a thorough medical and psychological evaluation. As we both already knew, she was severely gender dysphoric, so they had no trouble diagnosing her as a transsexual.

As her father and mother were still technically her legal guardians, we waited the three weeks for her to turn seventeen before starting her on the hormone regimens. It was actually quite fortunate, for the doctors discovered she had a serious infection of the bowel, which had to be treated by a course of antibiotics. Any hormones at that time would have been a complication, so we simply fed her up and let her relax at home.

She was keen to dress as a girl, but was terrified of going outside where anyone might see her and immediately tell she was a boy dressed up. So Rachel and I spent the time gently reassuring her and helping her with makeup and small dressing adventures, which she had never even attempted before. Her sexual experience was as passive recipient of male sexual ardour. She had no particular desire or curiosity about girls, so she was determined to be a girl in everything but birth.

Rachel was a little unsure why I was doing this, so I explained that I just felt I had to.

“Rachel, there was a time when I was an unhappy youngster too. I was very fortunate in the way things happened, so I want to play the Lady Fortune for this poor kid.”

“But a sex change, isn’t that taking things a bit far?” asked the staunchly Catholic Rachel.

I smiled.

“Sometimes nature makes a mistake, so rather than let someone destroy themselves, I feel that I have a duty to help that person find their true self and reach unforeseen potential, don’t you agree?”

Rachel shrugged and accepted my decision, helping all she could in our efforts to turn poor bedraggled Stephen into a girl called Stephanie. She took some measurements and then went to Marks & Spencer’s to buy a selection of clothes that would suit a slender and very shy almost female teenager.

Francisco returned on time, to a house with a new addition. It wasn’t long before he was informed of my pet project by the bubbly Chita.

“Daddy, Mummy has found a boy and is keeping him in the attic until he turns into a girl!”

Francisco looked at me with his aristocratic eyebrow raised.

I explained everything to him, and he looked thoughtful.

“Are you sure this is a good idea?”

“Good or not, it’s something I have to do!” I said, rather defensively.

Placing both hands up in mock surrender, he smiled.

“Jemma, my darling, I am not trying to stop you, I just wonder where this will end. Will you have to help all foundlings you come across, or is this a one off?”

I looked down, as he had hit the nail on the head. I hadn’t thought it through to that extent.

“I think this is a one off. Perhaps I can set up a charitable foundation that can offer help to others after this one.”

He nodded.

“Okay, that sounds a good idea. My suggestion would be to find an organisation that already exists and offer some small financial assistance. That way you will not draw undue attention to yourself.”

Reminding me that the press may still become a pain in the proverbial, he was wisely in touch with reality.

“Yes, dear,” I said, meekly.

He laughed as he drew me into his arms.

“Oh, you pickle, of course I approve. When do I meet this unfortunate creature?”

“When she feels ready. I have to say, she is rather shyer than I ever was.”

“Then I look forward to it.”

He went off to play with the children and I went to see how Stephanie was faring in her room.

I found her wearing a denim skirt and a pretty top, kneeling on the window seat staring down into the garden at Francisco and the children.

“Your husband is very handsome.”

“Thanks, I think so too.”

“Will I ever be able to lead a normal life?” she asked, turning towards me. She was wearing a little makeup, looking remarkably pretty, if still a little forlorn.

“Of course. Why shouldn’t you?”

“I’ll never look like a real girl, will I?”

“Haven’t you looked in a mirror recently?”

“Yes, why?”

“Then didn’t you see the real girl look back at you?”

She smiled coyly.

“You’re only saying that.”

“No, honestly, I’m not. That day in Garside, I could see the girl and you were trying to hide her. Well, she’s out now, and as we progress, I hope to see her blossom.”
 
 
Blossom she did. Within a week, she was confident enough to meet the family. Once the hormones started, she would venture out with either Rachel or me for a walk around the local vicinity.

A month later I took her shopping and then to have her hair done. This was a crucial point, for here the hairdresser, a gay young man called Pierre, was effusive with his praise of her colouring and features that she blushed a very rosy red. Pierre never had a clue as to her real identity and therefore her confidence grew enormously.

She lasted the course, underwent the surgery and became Stephanie in truth and fact. I never told her my secret, but it was an unspoken understanding we had. As soon as she discovered my children were my step-children, she twigged, and looked at me in a different light. We were close, almost like mother and daughter.

A couple of months after the surgery, I gave her the option to seek her fortune out in the big wide world. She declined.

“No, you have given me my life, so if you don’t mind, I’d like to stay and repay some of what you’ve given me.”

So it was. She is still part of my life. As we drove to the White House for dinner, I imagined her going back to her apartment to wait our return. Frank was a good man and an excellent chauffeur. He was also very much in love with his pretty little wife. He was another scarred soul swept up on my beach of life. Francisco used to tease me about the waifs and strays I collected, but he never questioned my decisions. I smiled as I realised that I also managed to find wives for all my husband’s chauffeurs.

Stephanie was a success, so much so that I created a trust fund for girls like her. Anonymously and quietly, I helped some of these girls try to find a life for themselves, but it was expensive and lengthy, and I couldn’t help them all!

Stephanie’s tale is such that I should never presume to tell it all. One day, she shall tell it herself. Once she has settled down with her own adopted children. Who knows, maybe there’s more to my story, yet to come!

The car pulled up at the side entrance and a liveried servant opened the doors. I alighted, and accompanied my family into the White House. The smile on my face said it all.
 

---

 
Fin

 
David buries his wife after she loses her fight against cancer. He is nearly 50, and their children are now grown up, so he breaks the news that he is going to undertake that which he wanted to do for as long as he could remember — a sex change. He had struggled with his transsexuality all his life, but his love for his wife and respect for her meant he just played the hand that he had been dealt, up to now, that is.

Meanwhile, in the USA, grizzled Police Chief John Collingwood comes to near breaking point. Stressed from his job, his grief over his dead wife, and the despair of near alcoholism, he embarks on a trip to the UK with his brother to seek out his family tree.

Two very different people find a very different future, they also find each other...

but will it work?

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Tanya has a new website where she will display her latest works first and then to BigCloset TopShelf a few weeks later is here at Tanya Allan's Tales .
Tanya's Book Shop where she is selling her works in book form is at http://tanyaallan.authorshaunt.com/shop.php . Please Visit!

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The Legal Stuff: A Girl Can But Dream  © 2006,2009,2010 Tanya Allan
 
This work is the property of the author, and the author retains full copyright, in relation to printed material, whether on paper or electronically. Any adaptation of the whole or part of the material for broadcast by radio, TV, or for stage plays or film, is the right of the author unless negotiated through legal contract. Permission is granted for it to be copied and read by individuals, and for no other purpose. Any commercial use by anyone other than the author is strictly prohibited, and may only be posted to free sites with the express permission of the author.
 
This work is fictitious, and any similarities to any persons, alive or dead, are purely coincidental. Mention is made of persons in public life only for the purposes of realism, and for that reason alone. Certain licence is taken in respect of medical procedures, terms and conditions, and the author does not claim to be the fount of all knowledge.
 
The author accepts the right of the individual to hold his/her (or whatever) own political, religious and social views, and there is no intention to deliberately offend anyone. If you wish to take offence, that is your problem.
 
This is only a story, and it contains adult material, which includes sex and intimate descriptive details pertaining to genitalia. If this is likely to offend, then don’t read it.
 
Please enjoy.
Tanya
 
 

 
 
 
Chapter 1
 
 
David
 
It was April 2001, so I had spent nearly thirty years getting to the top of my profession. I was used to dealing with any, and all, personnel problems, whether they be disputes with the union, or with staff who were incompetent, burdened with a chemical dependency, or simply lazy. I had faced tricky, challenging and even some nasty situations and I had relished the experience. Our commercial catering business had flourished and grown. We even bought out our main competitors, twice!

After catering college, I had begun my career as an assistant chef in a top London restaurant, graduating, over time, to the top position. Then I had started my own catering business with my wife as a partner. She looked after the office side of the business, while I concentrated on the food. We specialised in providing commercial catering, whereby our teams would take the contracts inside firms and use their facilities. I rented a unit on an industrial estate in Amersham, which was close to our home, and kitted it out with the latest equipment. There I had the resources to manage the bulk cooking to an exceptional standard. I had the facilities of a top restaurant, without the burden of the restaurant part.

We also undertook large outside catering jobs, such as weddings and similar functions. It was hard, but we both worked very hard, and it paid off.

Yet, what I had to do today was the most difficult thing I had ever contemplated, more difficult, even, than sitting through my wife’s funeral, which had been hard enough.

I stared at my reflection in the hall mirror. I thought that I looked tired and drawn. I was reasonable under the circumstances, as I was forty-seven next year, so that alone was a hard truth to accept. I looked at the man who looked back at me, full head of fair hair, slightly greying at the sides, cut short because I was lazy in the mornings.

I was only 5’ 7”, but slim and fit. I had recently had my annual check-up, and the doctor had given me a clean bill of health. I played squash twice a week and Golf on Saturdays, or rather I used to, as my long-term opponent was no longer able to play. I liked to think I looked okay, but Delia always claimed I was very handsome. She had been biased. She had been only 5’ 2”, but she always told me she was glad that I hadn’t been taller, as she wouldn’t have liked having to stretch so far to kiss me.

I smiled at some memories, but then the tears came to my eyes. This was so damn painful.

The funeral had gone well, if that is the right expression. I had watched my wife of twenty-five years slide into the crematorium in a box.

Well?

No, it had been absolutely horrendous!

Inside I was numb, and now, as the numbness crept away, my life was taking on a bleak and barren outlook. Full of memories and with each one a sense of emptiness and loss. That loss had yet to sink in properly, as I had to keep reminding myself that she was never coming back.

I would never again be able to tell her how my day went, or listen to what she had been doing, not ever again. I felt a pang of guilt as I recalled the times I hadn’t listened, because what had been on my own mind was so much more important or interesting.

I would gladly listen to her just once more.

But it wasn’t to be.

We had been relatively young when we married, having started our social lives independently at about sixteen, so by our early twenties we were both ready for marriage. We had been best friends first, then lovers, and finally man and wife. Yet the first two aspects of our relationship never left us, so I like to think our marriage had been a very good one. She even learned to play golf with me so we could be together in our leisure time.

We loved each other and we were happy to grow old together. However, fate decreed that it was not to be. It started with a lump in her breast. Then, six months later, she was dead. The cancer had spread so fast that the various treatments hardly touched it. Those treatments were almost as harsh as the disease they were trying to kill.

We had three fine children, two boys and a girl, all now in their twenties. They gathered in the drawing room, as I had told them that I had something important to tell them, which would affect all our lives.

I swallowed, as my mouth was dry. I watched as my hand shook - I was terrified. Still, I had to get this over with and must face the consequences.

I went into the room, to find the children were already there. Sarah was sitting on the piano stool, tinkling on the keys. She had always been a good pianist, so I intended that she should have the grand piano. Delia had played, but I didn’t, and had no desire to learn.

She was a tall girl and, at twenty-four, was expecting her first child. Another hurt, as Delia would have loved to have been there for her. People said that Sarah looked very like me, as she was about my height with my general colouring and features. She had my fair hair and that skin that tanned so easily. She was pretty girl, having married a man she had met at Bristol University. She worked for a multinational corporation as an interpreter and translator, as she was fluent in both French and German. Charles, her husband, was an architect, and they lived not far away from us at Gerrards Cross. Charles wasn’t present, at my request.

Us?

Another hurt, as I sincerely believed that I was destined never to be part of an ‘us’ again!

Stephen was lounging on the sofa, in a way he had always done since a young boy. He was twenty-three and a Lieutenant in the Royal Marines. A few inches taller than me, he was much stockier and a tough looking young man. Broader and heavily muscled, he was a confident and powerful man, whose lively smile and charm was the first thing one saw. His face was a very masculine version of Delia’s, so I could see her in him every time I looked at him.

That hurt too.

Jonathon stood by the window, he was the youngest at twenty-one and was still at Oxford University. He was also taller than his siblings, somehow managing to reach six foot. He had Delia’s darker hair and pale complexion, but otherwise he was very much himself. Not really resembling either of his parents. They were all super kids and I loved them dearly, so that was why this was so terribly hard for me.

“Ah, Dad. What’s this all about? Jon said you were ever so serious,” Stephen asked.

I held up my hand.

“It is. Just bear with me. I have to say this my way, and it’s very hard, so please don’t interrupt,” I said. I walked over and looked at Delia’s picture on the wall above the fireplace.

I turned and faced them, I already had a tear in my eye, but I knew that I just had to do this.

“Your mother, bless her, told me that I must, and so I must. It is so hard, and I don’t really know where to start, but just please listen. What I will tell you will shock, hurt and upset you. I know this, but believe me, I have to do it now, rather than leave it until later. I owe it to you to be completely honest and up-front.

“I have to go back to when I was little. I stress my story is true, but not a very honourable one. I was about seven or eight when I first realised that I wanted to be a little girl, and not a boy. But, like you, I came from a loving, but very traditional family, so I knew that there was nothing that I could do about it.

“I grew up, throwing myself into everything I did, to compensate, perhaps. I was good at games and reasonably bright, so I did well at school. The feelings stayed and got stronger as I grew through puberty into a man. Not a day went by without me earnestly wanting to be a girl. Every night I prayed to wake up a girl, and each morning I cried when it hadn’t happened. It was a constant strand of unhappiness that blighted an otherwise very happy existence. I thought of ending it several times, but could never inflict that hurt on those who loved me.

“I compensated by becoming a perfectionist who worked really hard. I went to catering college and qualified top in my year. I worked my way up to head chef at a top London hotel. I was, to all outward eyes a normal adolescent and teenager. I had several girlfriends, losing my virginity at sixteen to an eighteen-year old French girl whilst on holiday. I adored girls, for every day I wanted to be one more and more.

“I met your mother, and the tale of how we met is known to all of you. We became friends, as we were both seeing someone else at the time. Our friendship grew, so when the other relationships ended, we sort of melded into a deep relationship with each other. We married and then you lot happened.

“Whilst we were just moving into from the ‘friends’ to the ‘lovers’ stage, we both got very pissed one night. I shared with her the secret I shared with no one else until this moment. I knew I had to tell her before we became seriously involved, as I didn’t want to have this secret between us. I almost expected ridicule, but she was sympathetic and so understanding. She knew that there was no way I could put my parents through the terrible stigma of my undergoing a sex change.

“You must remember this was 1974, so although we may have been going through a cultural revolution, traditional values still hung close around the bulk of society. We both agreed that I should just get on and live my life as best as I could with what I had. You see, I was not gay or a transvestite, as I didn’t want to have sex with men, neither did I want to dress in women’s clothes. I just felt that I was a woman trapped in a male body. And I still do today.”

Sarah tried to interrupt, but I held up my hand.

“Sarah, please dear. Let me finish. This is hard enough,” I said. She nodded, looking slightly upset.

“We married and I worked hard to provide the stable and loving home for you all to grow up and develop, so praise be, you’ve all managed to reach this stage without getting arrested. Then along came the cancer. We thought we could beat it, but we couldn’t. Six weeks before she died, your mother asked me what I would do when she had gone. Note, she said when, not if, but when. She knew that there was no hope.

“We wept together, and I was about as depressed as I could get. She had given me a full, happy and contented life for over twenty-five years. I loved her deeply and completely. Now I was going to be alone, while my feelings were as strong as ever. She told me that I must do what I felt I needed to do for the first time in my life. She said that I had bent to conform all my life and that wasn’t fair. I tried to explain that I had no desire to change anything as long as she was with me, but she smiled and told me that she was not going to be able to help me any more.”

I had to stop, as the tears were pouring down my face now, so all my children cried with me.

I blew my nose and continued.

“She made me promise that if I still had the feelings, I should make my life complete. She wanted to write to all of you, to explain. I told her that I would tell you, as I am now doing. She said that that would be too hard, but I told her that it was the only way I could face you. You see, I need you to understand what I am going through, and earnestly want you to be there for me. Despite this, she has written to each of you, so I have her letters to you here. I will give them to you in a minute.

“It’s been four months since she died, so I saw the consultant last week. I am starting the lengthy process to become a woman on Monday. I have sold my business and I will sell the house. I can’t live here alone, not without your mother, as there are just too many memories. I have a superb pension and enough investments so I will have no financial worries. Your mother and I put together a trust before she died. There is a sizable sum invested, so each of you will receive your share when you reach twenty-five. So Sarah, you have only a few months to wait.” I paused, watching their faces, as the enormity of what their father had said slowly sank in.

“So, here are your letters. I am so sorry that I have to shock and upset you like this, but there it is. I am going to follow a dream that I’ve had since I was very little, regardless of where it might lead.

“I am going outside now. I will be by your mother’s favourite tree in the garden. You can read her letters and talk about what I have said. If you no longer want to have anything to do with me, I will understand. I will be devastated, but I promise that I will understand. I would rather go through this with your support, but I am prepared to go it alone.

“I have no desire to embarrass you, so I fully intend to do this as discreetly as possible.” I finished and put the letters on the table. I then left them alone.

I walked across the lawn and sat on a small bench under a large horse chestnut tree. The view from here over the Chiltern Hills was lovely, so I could just see the old windmill at Coleshill.

“Well Delia, my darling, I told them. You said it would be hard, you weren’t wrong. Oh, why did you have to die?” I cried and wept openly, but a great burden seemed to have fallen from my shoulders.

I had no idea of the time, or of how long I sat there, quietly crying. I had been building up for this moment all my life, I realised. Finally, I had actually decided to come out of the closet!

I never heard Sarah approach, but I became aware of her when she wrapped her arms around me. We cried together for a while. There was no need to say anything, and then we were joined by the boys. Their unconditional love in the face of such a thing broke me completely and I started to sob uncontrollably.

It was Stephen who made us stop. The pragmatic Marine, who had both feet firmly planted on the ground.

“Dad, if you become a bloody woman, what on earth will we call you?” he asked, and the tears changed to laughter, I did not deserve such children.

And so, with my children as support, I started on my long journey to turn a dream into a reality.
 
 
The journey was a hard one and not for the faint hearted. I started on a regime of medication, female hormones and testosterone blockers, which caused strange things to happen to both my physical body and my emotional state. I started to grow out my hair, shopping from catalogues and on the Internet for most of my needs. When I did venture forth to any centres of humanity, I always went in jeans and old baggy sweaters.

The last thing I wanted was to look like a man dressed as a woman. So I tended to stay as male as possible, at least until my physical shape made it too difficult. Only then, would I start on my Real Life Test, and live in the form I always knew I should have been,

A few months down the line, I sold the house and moved over a hundred miles away, to a smaller house in Dorset, not far from the picturesque village of Corfe, in a village called Church Knowle. No one knew me here, so I started using the name Deborah Cartwright, instead of David Cartwright. My full name had been David John Adam Cartwright. I planned to use Deborah Jane, from now on. The kids had decided they couldn’t call me ‘Dad’, or ‘Mum’, so they settled on ‘Dee’, which is the name that Delia used to call me.

I informed my bank and my solicitor, enclosing a letter from my specialist, stipulating the course upon which I was embarked, and the potential outcome. A couple of weeks later, my first chequebook in the name Ms. Deborah J. Cartwright arrived, with credit and cheque cards too! It was quite exciting.

I received no visitors, spending a lot of my time lounging about in old jeans and tee shirts, painting the wonderful countryside. I had always loved painting, so now I planned to do it as much as I could. I found that all the friends we had as a couple were friends because of Julia, and not really for me. I discovered that I had been a solitary, single minded and rather boring man. It was a miracle that Delia loved me as much as she had.

So most people stayed away, relieved, most likely, that they didn’t have to face a grieving husband, for whom they had no words that would really help. I gave no one my new address and enjoyed my solitude for the most part. I started writing a journal and then I began a romantic novel, with the heroine based on Julia.
 
 
I started getting sensitive in the breast area and my body hair grew less fiercely. Fatty deposits shifted, my hips became wider and my waist narrower. I kept on a strict healthy diet and took lots of toning and aerobic exercise. It took many months, but Sarah was over one day, looking larger than life. She was now only a month away from giving birth.

“My God Dee! You can’t wear men’s stuff anymore, not with your figure,” she said.

I honestly hadn’t noticed, but as she only saw me once or twice a month, the differences were more pronounced.

“A lady in a shop called me ‘missus’ the other day,” I said, making her laugh.

“We are going to have to do something about you. It is time for you to break with David for good,” she said.

That weekend, we threw out all my old clothes and formally drank the health of Deborah, welcoming her into my life. Sarah helped me buy some clothes from a catalogue, as I did not feel confident enough to go shopping!

I had to convince the doctors that I could live as a woman, before they would even think about slicing me up and making the change complete. I had a long course of laser treatment and electrolysis, which finally, yet painfully, removed the need to shave, so I actually began to feel good about into whom I was turning. Until this moment, I hated the rather androgynous lump that I felt I was.

I persuaded the nice Mr Collins, the cosmetic surgeon, to do a little initial work for me. I had breast implants inserted, to give me a 38C bust, and he shaved away some of my nose, jaw line, Adam’s apple and made my lips fuller. While he was at it, he did some work around my eyes, removing my bags and some wrinkles. However, after the bruising went down and the stitches removed, I began to feel more confident in myself.

I looked into a mirror and a strange woman looked back at me. It was not my face, but the longer I looked, I began to see that it was still me, but much, much more feminine. I thought I looked about fifteen years younger. Sarah and Jon were amazed, and were so effusive in their positive comments, that I no longer felt that I looked like a man - almost.

“Shit Dee! You look just like Sarah’s older sister,” Jon had said.

The doctor told me that with continued female hormones, the breasts would still grow slightly, so, if necessary, the implants could be removed or reduced.
 
 
Sarah came to stay with me as Charles was in Europe on business. I swear she looked so huge that she would burst at any moment. She spent a long time helping me with make up, clothes and other things that I had not even thought about. She taught me about posture, how to approach people, the handshake and the use of feminine hand gestures. The daughter became the mother, and I was so grateful for her involvement. I just had no idea how tricky it all was. I found a wonderful role model in Delia. Every time I wondered how to approach something, I thought about she would have done it, and tried to emulate her. I realised how much I had watched her over the years, and how many of her mannerisms and attitudes seemed to be stored away in my brain.

Sarah was wonderful. She was so encouraging, so when I was hypercritical or despondent, she would just let me know what I really looked like and would build up my sagging self-esteem.

“Dee, now you have had the implants and the facial surgery, you look a hundred percent female. No one will ever guess, so just relax, you look really elegant.”
 
 
We went out for lunch together just after the marks of my minor surgery had disappeared. I was wearing a summer dress, tights and quite low-heeled shoes. My hair was quite long, which she managed to coax into something reasonably feminine. She had helped me do my make up, but I still felt very awkward.

I was convinced that everyone was staring at me and knew what I was underneath, but Sarah just laughed at me.

“Don’t be paranoid, Dee. No one is laughing and you look lovely,” she told me.

I smiled, but was still very nervous.

After lunch, she dragged me into the hairdressers.

“Hi, can you do something for my Mum, she has no idea of a decent hairdo, so can you get rid of the grey and give her some nice shape and highlights,” she said.

I could have killed her, but she just laughed and left me alone. I was terrified, but the girls seemed to have no clue, and were simply charming. I actually relaxed and enjoyed the experience. When they had finished, I was absolutely delighted. They had really done a superb job, as I almost didn’t recognise myself. My mother, had she been alive, would have walked straight by me in the street.

Sarah arrived and gave me a hug.

“I didn’t think it was possible when you started, but you actually look very feminine and attractive already. You’ll have all the men after you,” she said.

I blushed, but felt very pleased. It suddenly dawned on me that men may find me attractive, so I examined my attitude towards men and women. As a male, I had been reluctant heterosexual, in that I admired women too much to consider men as a viable alternative. Also, the social and personal prejudices prevented me exploring any same sex relationships. However, now I looked at men in a completely different way. I used to see them as competition, but now I appraised them as something quite different, but I was unsure exactly what. I certainly no longer saw women as potential sexual partners, so was quite pleased.

Then Sarah took me to have my ears pierced. I was mortified, but it was quick and did not really hurt. I even came away with a small set of ear studs. We spent some time shopping for clothes and I actually bought some.
 
 
I still had my male genitalia, somewhat reduced and virtually useless due to the huge amounts of female hormones I had taken over the preceding months. The hormones made me moody and emotional. Some days I just stayed in bed, such was my feeling of fatigue, other days I just wept, for no good reason. The doctor prescribed mild tranquillisers to keep me more level, which I tried to avoid taking, unless things got too bad.

I did not really have any sex drive to speak of. I started fantasising about having a relationship, but on an emotional level rather than a sexual one. I rarely fantasised of making love to men. However, as time went on, my fantasies became more adventurous. Sex had never been really important to me, as the gender identity problem was always upper-most in my mind. I actually may have considered having anal intercourse for the first time in my life, had I had a partner. I was perhaps fortunate in not having a partner, so I waited for my SRS. (Sexual reassignment Surgery).

The voice was the trickiest, but with coaching from Sarah, I was able to alter pitch and tone, managing to sound quite husky and sexy. Fortunately, I had never had a very deep voice, so I was given a boost when attended voice therapy at the local clinic. There, I met some other transsexuals undergoing the same procedure as I. When I attended, I was early, so was the first to arrive. I sat in one of the eight vacant seats that were put in a circle. I was dressed in a grey skirt and navy top. It was June, so because it was warm, the top was low-cut, showing my natural cleavage and had straps rather than sleeves. I had ventured onto higher heels and was made up conservatively.

“The trick,” Sarah told me, “is to put just enough on. You don’t want to look like a tart or a transvestite.” She had been wonderful, and as I no longer had any six o’clock shadow to cover, I used my make up wisely and, I think, effectively.

The door opened and two women came in. I saw immediately that they were also in transition, but perhaps not so far advanced as I was. One was about 5’10” and still had a problem with facial hair. The large jaw and nose accentuated her masculinity, and she was very broad. She had on very thick make up, which I thought was rather garish. She was dressed in a floral dress and rather silly sling backs. She looked very like a man dressed as a woman.

The other was smaller, but still looked very masculine, particularly as she was wearing jeans and a baggy sweater. She was so obviously wearing an inappropriately long blonde wig, designed for someone slimmer and younger. I felt embarrassed for her.

I smiled at them and the taller one said, “Sorry we’re late, the bus was behind schedule.” She had a very deep voice, which as she tried in vain to sound feminine, sounded faintly silly and rather camp.

“I don’t think you’re late,” I said. “No one else is here yet. My name is Deborah, but most people call me Dee.”

“I’m Charleen,” the tall one said.

“And I’m Stephanie,” the other said, as I shook both their hands. Charleen was wearing several bangles on her wrists, so they jangled garishly as we shook hands.

“Is this your first time to therapy?” I asked, to which they both nodded. I realised that they were even more self-conscious and embarrassed than I.

We sat in silence for a minute, then Stephanie said, “Do you get many to these groups?”

It dawned on me that they thought I was the voice coach, so I smiled.

“I’m not the coach. I’m here for coaching too,” I said, realising for the first time that my voice was already better than theirs.

“Gosh, really? I thought you were the coach,” said Stephanie.

“How many sessions have you attended?” Charleen asked.

“This is my first,” I said, to which both expressed surprise.

At that moment, a rather plump, but obviously genetic female came bustling in, carrying a clipboard. She was followed by three more women, all in transition, and I felt that they were all very obviously transsexuals.

The session was actually quite valuable, as Carol, the coach was able to give me certain pointers and helpful suggestions. After the session Carol took me aside.

“Dee, I am so pleased you came, but really there is no need for you to return. You are actually already speaking very nicely, so you should have no problems whatsoever. If only the others were as advanced as you, my job would be so much easier. I have to confess, I at first thought that you were the female partner of one of the members of the group. When we went round and introduced ourselves, I was amazed when you said you were in transition,” she said. This one statement gave me the biggest boost of the whole procedure. I grinned all the way home.
 
 
I applied for a new drivers licence with a photograph, writing a letter to the DVLA, with my doctor’s letter confirming my situation. As I had to send in a photograph, I was grateful to have visited the hairdressers.

The local community slowly grew to know me as Deborah, even ‘Dee’ to some, and I found myself invited to various women’s homes for coffee and tea. I kept these to a minimum, but I detected no suspicions over my true nature. Having Sarah around seemed to legitimise my role of her mother, as Sarah would often call me ‘Mummy’ in front of people. We were so alike that it was often remarked upon, so verbal statements were usually unnecessary.

When she gave birth to a daughter, I was there as a doting grand parent. I took the job of grandmother seriously, and the first time I held little Amy, my breasts ached. Charles, her husband was actually very understanding and, thankfully, he accepted me completely. He had to attend a convention in Brussels so I was only too happy to stay with Sarah to help her.

Sarah breastfed little Amy, and one night I heard the baby crying, so I got up, knowing that Sarah was very tired. I just wanted to know what it felt like, so I allowed the little girl to suckle on my breasts. It was a wonderful sensation, I had a tingly feeling all over and I felt so content. Poor little Amy was not getting anything, so I took her into Sarah’s room, to allow her access to the real thing, but over the next few weeks I would often repeat the experience and it felt so good. In fact, my own breasts did become fuller and the nipples grew considerably. I swear, one day, there was a trace of milk on each nipple.
 
 
Then, over a year after the whole process started, the moment I had been waiting for arrived. I went into the clinic near Brighton, and came out a few days later, missing those small pieces of flesh that had given me so much despair for so long.

The surgeon told me that he was delighted with the operation and, when I returned two weeks later for a check-up, he seemed thrilled that everything was looking as good as it could be. He told me that only the absence of the cervix would point to my original gender, but to all intents and purposes, I looked as female as if I had been born that way.

He had utilised the skin from the penis and scrotum and created a vagina and labia and by using a small section of the head of the penis, he constructed a clitoris. Part of the vaginal canal had sections of colon attached, so there was a risk of scar tissue at the join. Should this occur, then a second operation would be required before sexual intercourse was possible.

It was an exact working replica of female genitalia and looked absolutely perfect. He told me that it was perfectly feasible to achieve orgasm once the nerve endings had repaired themselves, and even to generate a degree of lubrication moisture, but not as much as a naturally born female. For several weeks after the operation I had to exercise my vaginal channel with a progressive series of dilators. The largest of which terrified me. If I ever found a man with equipment that big, I would call the Guinness Book of Records!

However, I persevered and the surgeon announced that everything was looking very clean and he was very pleased with the results. I was fortunate not to develop the scar tissue and so he told me that sex was now possible, but I should wait for at least twelve weeks after the operation. As I was nearly fifty, I did not have the advantages of youth. I did, however, have a small stature, slight figure and a healthy bank balance. All of these were a distinct advantage, but the most prized commodity was having the love and support of my children, without them I should have never made it.

Having paid him the large cheque, and believe me, the sum was considerable, I returned to stay with Sarah. I had a long, warm bath, and never tired of gazing at my new equipment. For the first time in my life I felt that I was the real me. I felt complete and very content. The fact that my family were still alongside made it so wonderful, and I was so happy. Perversely, my only regret was that Delia wasn’t here to share the moment.

Sarah came into the bathroom and looked me lying full stretch in the bath. She looked at my figure, and she was amazed at the skill of the surgeon.

“My God, Dee! It really does look just like the real thing. It’s fantastic! You look so good. You have a lovely figure. So if pressed, I’d say you were in your late thirties or early forties at the oldest. I can’t believe how much younger you look,” she said.

I almost wept with pleasure. I got out and she handed me a large towel. She asked if she could have a closer look. I agreed, so she gently examined the new part of me. She kept shaking her head and muttering.

“I suppose when your pubic hair grows back fully and the scars heal, there will be absolutely no way anyone could tell you haven’t always been female,” she said.

“So the surgeon tells me,” I said.

“Well I have to confess, I never in a million years believed that the end result would be as brilliant as this. You look like a woman and you act as if you have always been a woman. I am so proud of you,” she said, hugging me. We cried together for a while, out of sheer relief and contentment on my part.
 
 
The next day, which was a Saturday, Sarah left Amy with Charles, and the two of us went into London for a spot of shopping. I bought so many clothes, shoes and cosmetics that I realised just how expensive it was going to be as a woman. We went to a lingerie shop, and although I was a size twelve, due to my broad shoulders, my figure was such that I could wear some of the most wonderful and sexy lingerie. I spoilt myself, and Sarah too. She was still struggling to get her pre-pregnancy figure back, so it was terrific therapy for both of us.

We stopped off for lunch at a nice little wine bar, where two thirty-something year old men wearing suits started to chat us up. Sarah and I were sitting at a small table for four and the place was packed. These two men came over and asked if they could join us, as there were no other tables free. There was no reason to say no, so then they started talking to us, after we moved the several hundred-weight of carrier bags.

“I see you ladies have been assisting the flagging economy by redistributing some cash,” said one, who said he was called Richard.

“My daughter has recently had a baby, so this is more retail therapy rather than any act of charity for the chancellor,” I replied.

“Your daughter? I thought you were sisters,” the other man, James, said.

Sarah rolled her eyes and I smiled, genuinely pleased, but aware of the obvious flattery.

“That is a very old line,” I said.

“No, seriously, you don’t look old enough to be her mother, does she Rich?” James said.

“Absolutely not,” Richard said, with a grin. “The family resemblance is obvious, but you don’t look older than thirty five.”

“Now you have ruined it. Had you said forty, I might just have believed you,” I said, still smiling in spite of myself.

The waiter arrived with our food, and the men ordered theirs.

They were charming company, and I must admit to hogging the conversation. Eventually we paid and left, but the men were complimentary and charming to the end.

As we walked down the road, Sarah shook her head and laughed.

“Dee, no one needs to teach you how to be a woman, you’re a terrible flirt,” she said.

“No, I’m not, I just responded to their conversation,” I said, somewhat defensively.

“Dee, you’re such a flirt, you’re going to have no problems being a woman. In fact you could probably teach me a few things!”

“Well, I really enjoyed it. They were charming and I actually felt like an attractive woman for the first time.”

“Dee, I have news for you. You are a very attractive woman. I think we’re going to have to keep the men off with big sticks,” she said, laughing. We returned to her home by train. Charles was pleased to see us, as Amy had been grizzly for most of the day.

The next week Stephen returned from wherever he had been, and Jon returned from his girlfriend’s parents’ villa in Spain. The house in Gerrards Cross was full and very lively. I took them all out to dinner to Loch Fyne, a superb fish restaurant in Beaconsfield. We had a very nice meal, and I got a little sloshed on champagne. I openly wept when Stephen stood and proposed a toast to me, ‘his new mother’, and the others joined him in the toast.

The next day, I realised that I had rather overstayed my welcome with Charles, so I bade my daughter and Amy a fond farewell, and returned to my home in Dorset. Stephen and Jon decided to follow me down, to spend some of the month of August 2002 with me. I had healed up perfectly now, and it was almost as if I had always been female. I had no pictures or photographs of myself as a male in my house. The only picture I had from the old days was the portrait of Delia, which once again hung above the fireplace.

September came, Stephen returned to his unit, while Jon went back to his flat in Oxford and his girlfriend Sophie. I was alone again, but this time, I didn’t have to hide myself away. I had missed the bulk of the summer visitors to the area, but was around for some of the festivals that happened in the later season. Some of my new friends encouraged me to start attending church regularly, so I increasingly found myself in a growing social circle.

I even took up riding again. I made a friend called Elizabeth who had some horses. She had been widowed quite recently, so she wanted company when she went riding. I had ridden a good deal when younger, so it was super to start again. We got on very well, as neither of us wanted to be desperately social, but were happy in each other’s company, chatting about trivia for the most part. She assumed that when I told her that ‘my other half’ had died of cancer, I was referring to my husband. I thought it wise to allow her that assumption, as it was far less complicated that way.

There were a few widows and divorcees of my general age or older, but I tended to keep myself a little apart and, without being rude, actually felt happier by myself. I was in regular contact with my accountant, and he informed me that my investments were solid and doing very well. It was bringing me a regular income of around  £3,000 a month, as well as gaining and adding to the capital. My pension fund was behaving itself, and should kick in when I was fifty-five.

I sold the BMW saloon that I had had for the last three years, and bought a silver Mercedes sports convertible. I thought that as all the Mercedes sports I had seen were driven by blonde women over 45, so I may as well join the club.

I filled my days gardening, riding, painting some of the lovely countryside and writing my novels. I was blissfully happy, despite being alone. I still missed Delia dreadfully, but in a funny sort of way, I felt that she had become part of me, and I her. Loneliness is different to being alone. There were times when I was so pleased that I was alone, but others when I felt lonely, even when I was with other people. Our society tends to promote a ‘couple culture’, so if one is no longer part of that culture, through death or divorce, it is very hard to feel one actually belongs.
 
 
Then, one warm September day, my life changed completely when a strange American voice disturbed my concentration, as I was working on my novel on my laptop in the garden.

“Excuse me, Ma’am. I’m sorry to intrude, but I wonder if you could help us?”
 
 
Chapter 2
 
 
John
 
The Duty Sergeant knocked on my door.

“Come in, Pete,” I said.

“Chief, we got a 2/11 down on Main, at Wendy’s.”

“Who?

“Richards and Wiley. Don’t know who is down,” he said.

A 2/11 was an officer down, so it was the call all cops least liked to hear.

“How many we got responding?” I asked, as I pulled on my body armour and grabbed a shotgun out of the rack.

“We only got the three units out, and then there’s the two of us,” he said, as we went out into the hot August Arizona sun.

“Call the State Police,” I said.

“Already have, they’re sending who they can, and the Sheriff’s Department is sending two units. Sam has notified the FBI as well.” He slid behind the wheel of the Police liveried Cherokee Jeep.

“Okay, let’s go,” I said, pumping a round into the chamber of the shotgun.

It was not that far, but the siren seemed to accentuate the anticipation.
 
 
We arrived at the corner of Decker and Main, where two police cars blocked the road. The officers were crouched behind the front and rear of their cars.

“Shit!” I said.

I got out and ran to the nearest officer. It was Steven Gunn, a good man. I looked down the street, and saw another of our cars parked with both doors open. There was a beaten up red Ford pickup in front of it, and someone was lying in the road between the vehicles.

I could not see anything else.

“Okay, what the fuck happened?” I asked Steve.

“Wiley and Richards were stopping the pickup, Chief, and there were two guys in it. No sooner had they stopped, when the passenger gets out and shoots out the windscreen of the cruiser. I think Wiley got hit, anyway he is still in the car. Richards took out the bad guy, but then the driver reverses into the cruiser, so Richards jumps out and is in the hardware store, he fires back and takes out the front tires of the pickup. The driver ran to Wendy’s Diner. He is holed up, but he has at least three hostages in there with him,” the patrolman said.

“Who are the hostages?”

“Miles and his wife, and I think Jean’s in there as well.”

“Any customers?”

“I don’t think so, Chief.”

“How bad is Wiley?” I asked.

“Don’t know, Chief, we can’t get close. Every time we try, the perp shoots at us.”

“Shit!” I said.

I looked at the problem for a moment. The cop could be bleeding to death, so he was my first priority.

“Sergeant. Get two vests onto the side of the jeep. We’ll pull alongside the cruiser and get Wiley out of there,” I shouted.

The vests were put onto the driver’s side and Pete got in behind the wheel. I jumped in and we went off down the street.

Pete pulled up next to the stricken officer in the car, so I jumped out. He was wounded, but still alive despite being in some pain and having lost a bit of blood. Someone fired shots at us from the diner, and I saw Richards peering over some cover.

“Stay there and keep your head down,” I shouted. He nodded, waving at me.

I dragged Wiley back to the jeep and pulled him into the back seat.

“Go!” I shouted, so Pete floored it and the Jeep took off with squealing tyres.

There was a paramedic unit round the corner, so we handed Wiley over to them. He’d been shot in the shoulder. He was bleeding a lot, but was not too bad.

“Do we know who the guy is?” I asked him.

“The guy who shot me is one of the Johnson boys, I didn’t see the driver,” Wiley said, as the paramedic cut off his shirt.

“Why the fuck weren’t you wearing armour?” I asked, knowing the answer.

“Too damn hot, chief, sorry.”

“You will be. Hell is a damn site hotter than here,” I growled. It was so unnecessary, they had the equipment, but they all believed it would never happen to them. Morons!

“Have we I.D.’d the body yet?” I asked Pete.

“Yes, it’s Hank Johnson.”

“Then that will be Luke in the diner. Shit, why did they do it?” I asked.

Pete shrugged.

“No doubt there’ll be some drugs or stolen property in the pickup, Chief,” he said.

“I guess you could be right.”

I walked out to the street with a loudhailer.

“Luke. This is Chief Collingwood. Your brother is lying in the road. I want to get a paramedic to him. What do you say?” I said.

“He’s dead, and you motherfuckers killed him. No one goes nowhere,” a voice shouted back.

“Chief, we are ringing the diner,” Pete told me.

“Pick up the phone, Luke, and we’ll talk,” I said.

Pete handed me the phone. I knew the diner, so I knew the phone was at the rear on the left. The toilets were on the right and the window opened up onto the parking lot.

Covering the mouthpiece, I told Pete to get two officers into the toilet.

“Luke, what are you doing?” I said into the phone.

“Fuck off, Chief. I ain’t goin’ back to jail,” Luke said, his voice sounded bad, he was on the edge. I knew he took drugs, so now he was real strung out. I guessed he’d missed his last fix.

“Okay, but first you gotta let the people go. The Feds will be here soon, and you know what happens to people who take hostages. They end up in body bags, boy,” I said, watching as two pairs of legs disappeared through the toilet window.

“I ain’t lettin’ anyone go. I’m safe while I have them,” Luke said.

“How do I know they aren’t already dead, boy?” I asked.

“They’re alive,” he said.

“Says you. I heard many shots. How do I know they’re fine and dandy?”

“I’ll show you,” he said.

“I tell you what, I’ll come on over. I won’t have a gun, so I can take a look. You let them go and you can have me then, instead. What do you say?” I said.

He thought for a moment.

“Okay.”

I took my .38 snub from my ankle holster and shoved it down by my balls. Then I walked into the street, so he could see me take my 9mm auto and put it on the hood of the nearest cruiser.

I walked slowly towards the diner, watching the many curtains twitching in neighbouring houses and buildings. The last thing I wanted was for the State police or the Feds to get here and take over. This was my town; I sorted out the problems here.

I stood just outside the door. The curtains had been pulled, so I could not see in. The door opened a bit and the proprietor, old Miles Silverman, was pushed into the gap.

“You okay, Miles?” I asked.

“Sure Chief,” the old man replied.

“Shut up! Throw your guns away, cop,” Luke said.

“I’ve left them on the car, see,” I said, showing him my two empty holsters.

“Get in here,” he said, waving a cheap pistol at me.

“You let them go and then I come in. That’s the way we work this,” I said, calmly.

Miles and his wife Helen left the diner, followed by Jean the waitress.

“That it?” I asked.

“That’s it,” Luke said, pointing the revolver at me. I saw that every chamber I could see had a round in it.

“Okay,” I said, walking into the diner.

He searched me and, just as I expected, he missed the .38. He was rough and tough, but didn’t have the stomach to put his hand near another man’s dick!
 
 
I sat on one of the benches, so he looked at me, with his back to the toilet doors.

“Okay Luke. What do you want to happen now?” I asked. The door opened very slowly. One of the officers slid on his belly towards the servery, the other one slid the other way, and was in a booth just out of sight.

“I just want outa here, man,” he said.

I nodded. “There is a problem with that.”

“What?”

“Well you see, your brother went and nearly killed a cop, and you are an accessory. So we can’t let you go,” I picked up a coffee cup and walked to the coffee jug.

“Where are you going?” he screamed.

“Getting’ a coffee, you want one?” I asked.

“No. Sit your ass back down,” he said, waving the gun about.

I had the jug in my right hand and the mug in the left.

I walked slowly towards him.

“Have a coffee, we could be here some time,” I said as I walked.

He frowned, trying to understand what I said.

I threw him a mug, saying, “Catch!”

He actually tried to, but then I threw the jug, covering him in hot coffee. I grabbed his gun hand, wrenching the pistol from his fingers. I think one broke as I took it off him. He screamed and lashed out, I punched him once and he went down. I’m six-six and two-forty pounds of muscle. I only had to punch him the once.

The other officers were at my side in seconds.

“Cuff him and book him, attempted murder of a police officer,” I said.

I turned and walked back out into the sunshine. Luke was dragged to a waiting cruiser. I smiled as a dark sedan pulled up and two suits got out. The Feds had arrived.

I walked over to Pete and he handed me my gun.

“Make sure you check out the pickup,” I said. He nodded and instructed Richards to search the perp’s vehicle.

One of the FBI agents came over.

“Chief Collingwood, I am Special Agent Adams. We were informed you had a hostage situation here,” he said.

“Mr Adams, you were informed correctly. However, I have dealt with the situation, and we have one man in custody and one perp dead. One officer is in hospital from the original incident and no civilians have been killed or wounded. So you can go back to your office. Thanks for coming,” I said and went over to the Jeep. Pete grinned and we took off.
 
 
As we got back to the office, the troops had gathered, so they grinned as I came in.

“If I have to tell anyone about not wearing their armour, then you can look for another job. Is that clear?” I snarled and went to my office. They all knew that this incident may have been avoided if body armour had been worn.

I poured myself a whisky. Pete came in and shut the door. I poured him one too.

“That was a bit tough on the guys, John,” he said.

“Goddamn it, Pete, when will they learn? The vests are there to prevent this from happening. If Wiley had been wearing his, he wouldn’t be in hospital now,” I said.

“Yeah, I know it and now they know it. But you should have waited for the Feds. You know what they say about hostage situations?” he said.

“I know. But this is my town, so I sort things out my way,” I snarled, filling up my glass again.

“How’s Wiley?” I asked, taking a swig.

“He’ll be okay, he needed a transfusion, but no serious damage,” he said.

“I’ll go by the hospital later. Has anyone told his wife?”

“Yeah, Sam called her.”

Samantha was the dispatcher and virtually ran the department.

Pete watched me down the second scotch.

“What?” I said.

“John, you can’t keep on like this,” he said quietly, as I sat in my chair. A biting remark was on the end of my tongue, but I curbed it in time.

“Yeah, I know Pete. I’m sorry, but the job is the only thing that keeps me going.”

“If you collapse with a breakdown, you ain’t doin’ anyone any favours,” he said.

“I know. But I don’t like going home right now.”

“It’s nearly a year, John. She’s been dead a year next month. You gotta move on.”

I looked at Pete. He and I had been in Phoenix PD together years ago. We had been Sergeants together, and then I made Lieutenant and went to Detectives’ Division. I went onwards and upwards, but Sally wanted us to move away from the city. Ten years ago, I applied for the post of Chief of Midhurst PD. Midhurst is a small farming town on the edge of the desert, with twenty-five uniform officers and six detectives.

We bought a small ranch for Sally’s horses and life was great. The kids grew up and we settled into the community real well. Then one of the sergeants retired, so I asked Pete to come out and join us. His wife, Ellen, was sceptical at first, but then came to love it. We would go on vacations together, just the four of us and the kids, until they got too big. It was like a big happy family, until Sally died of cancer.

I nursed her through all the treatments, watching as she shrivelled up and died. Part of me died with her, and if it hadn’t been for the job and our two girls, I think I would have seriously considered ending my own life. My sister, Pam, and my brother, Ed, were there for me. Ed kept trying to get me to play golf with him, and Pam kept trying to match me off with her divorced friends.

But, as everyone kept telling me, ‘Life goes on!’ That didn’t mean I had to like it.

“My brother wants us to go to England and check out the origins of our dad’s family. Our great grand dad was an English sailor who fell in love with a girl in Maine, and he jumped ship to stay with her. He came from someplace near Bournemouth, called Wareham. You think I should go with him?” I asked.

“You haven’t had a vacation since Sally died. Go for it.”

“Hmm, he also wants to visit an old air force buddy who married a girl in Wales, and he now owns a pub over there.”

“Hey, that’s what I call a good marriage,” Pete laughed. “So when is this all happening?”

“I don’t know; it is just an idea at the moment. I guess if I said yes, next month sometime,” I said.

“Sounds good to me. A change of scene is always a good thing.”

“Yeah, maybe,” I said, standing up. “Come on, let’s go check on Wiley.”
 
 
We found Wiley leaning up in bed, supported by pillows. His wound was dressed and he had IV drips into his arm. He looked pale and drawn.

“He’s lost a lot of blood. Don’t stay too long, Chief, he needs to rest,” the doctor said.

He left us and Wiley looked at me.

“Chief. I’m sorry, sir,” he said.

“So I should think,” I said and smiled, just to reduce his guilt.

“I reckon I’ve learned my lesson, sir,” he said.

“I guess you have, at that,” I said. “How do you feel?”

“Sore, sir, very sore.”

“Well, two inches lower and you’d be fucking dead, boy,” Pete said.

“I know that, Sarge. How’s Nathan?”

Nathan Richards was his partner.

“Nathan’s fine. He will be along soon, he is picking up Janine,” Pete told him. Janine was Wiley’s wife.

“Did the perp die, sir?”

“Yup. But his brother Luke is in the cells now,” I told him, and he nodded.
 
 
At that moment Nathan and Janine arrived, so we left them to it.

“Thanks for coming, Chief,” Wiley said, as we left.

Standing in the sun, I turned to Pete.

“Shit, Pete, this job don’t get no easier,” I said.

“That’s a fact.”

“I must be getting old, I don’t seem to get the same kick out of it all anymore,” I said.

“We both got 30 years in. But what the hell would we do?” Pete asked.

“Fancy a beer?”

“No, I’d better get back, Ellen has some family over,” he said, aware that even that innocent comment hurt me.

“That’s okay. Pete, I understand,” I said, so we returned to the station.
 
 
Alone again, I sat in my office, examining the whisky in my glass.

“I am seeing far too much of you, my friend,” I said, carefully pouring it back into the bottle. I stood up and looked out of my window at the scene that had remained virtually unchanged over the last few years. I suddenly felt a need to escape and to get away, just for a while. I picked up the phone and called my brother.

Ed worked for an Insurance company in Phoenix, and was doing real well. He was a couple of years younger than me, but was divorced. He still remained on good terms with his ex-wife, and spent a lot of time with his two kids. He had a girlfriend who was a doctor at one of the hospitals in the city, and he lived a high life.

He wanted to track down our family origins, so it was his idea to go to England and trace a lead he had on one of our great, great grand dads.

He answered.

“Hi Ed, it’s John.”

“Big Jay. How ya doin’?”

“Okay, I guess. We had a little excitement today. One of my officers was shot, so we had a small siege situation,” I told him.

“So I gathered, you’re on the news already,” he said.

I swore silently to myself. “Oh yeah. What are they saying?” I asked.

“Just that Chief Collingwood entered the stronghold. Then, single handed and unarmed, exchanged himself for the three hostages, and proceeded to disarm and restrain the armed man. Hell, Big Jay, when you gonna walk on water?” Ed asked.

“Next week, sometime,” I said.

He laughed, but with little humour. “Seriously bro, you still trying to get yourself killed, or what?”

“Or what, Ed, or what.”

“Why the call? Not that I don’t like hearing from you?”

“You know you mentioned this trip to England?”

“Yup, what about it?”

“I’ve been thinking about it. I guess I’d like to tag along. I need to get the hell out of here for a while,” I said.

“Great! When do you want to go?”

“As soon as possible,” I said.

“Okay, I’ll make the booking and call you. You mind going first class?”

“Not if you’re paying, remember I’m just a poor cop.”

He laughed and we hung up.
 
 
I drove back to the ranch and parked my jeep in the garage. Sally’s old MGB convertible was still where she had last parked it. I stood and looked at it. I could still see her sitting behind the wheel. I occasionally sat in it, as I could still smell her and sense her presence. No one had driven it since she’d last driven it. However, I could never sell it, despite the girls wanting me to.

Jenny was twenty-two and Annie was twenty. Both were working in Phoenix, getting their funds together for college, which started again in the fall. They shared an apartment close to where Ed lived, so he kept an avuncular eye on them. They were both good girls and very pretty. They both looked like their mother, Jenny particularly, who had her mother’s sense of humour and quick temper. Annie was more like me in temperament, which meant slow to anger, but keep clear when riled.

I missed them, but recognised that this was a dull place for girls their age. The local boys were nice guys, but not necessarily the brightest sparks in the box, so life in the city was far more exciting for them.

Annie had a nice boyfriend who was about to start his second year in med-school with her. Jenny had dumped her third boyfriend, so was between men at the moment. She found guys her age too immature, she told me. I hoped she would steer clear of the older, married men. She was doing law and was a bright kid.

José, my right hand man, came out of his cabin, and wandered over to me.

“Seá±or John, Maria wants to know if you want supper tonight?” he said.

“Sure. Tell Maria that I would love supper. And José?”

“Seá±or?”

“I’m aware I have been a royal pain in the ass recently. Thanks for just being there. And tell Maria the same,” I said.

He grinned and wandered away. He was about sixty and his plump wife was about ten years younger. He looked after the horses and the ranch, while she was housekeeper and cook. They were wonderful people, and I don’t know how I could have coped without them.
 
 
I went to the house and entered. It was always so empty and bleak. I had loved the house, but now it was a love-hate relationship. Sally’s spirit was still here, so I could never sell it, or leave. But it was a constant reminder to me, and I hated that.

Jenny and Annie had made me clear out Sally’s clothes, despite me not wanting to. When we were done and they had left, I put them all back. I just liked having something of her around me.

I kept her jewellery as she had made me promise to give her engagement and wedding rings to my next bride. I had laughed, saying, “You know I could never find anyone as wonderful as you.”

“Oh, John, no one should be alone. Promise me you will at least look,” she had said.

So I had promised. I kept meaning to start looking, tomorrow.

Maria brought me some supper to the dining table, so I munched my way through her good solid cooking.

After supper, I took one of the horses for a ride out to the desert, trying to imagine Sally was with me. I often did this, and talked to her as if she was with me. Sometimes I almost heard her reply.

God, I missed her so much!
 
 
Two days later, I was in the office when Ed called me.

“Big Jay, I got the tickets.”

“Okay, when?”

“We fly into London Heathrow on the 2nd September, at 07:00 local time,” he said.

That was only a week away.

“When are we coming back?”

“We come back on the 24th, so we’ll be there for three weeks. Is that okay?”

I thought for a moment. Looking at my diary, I could see nothing to stop me going. I realised I hadn’t taken any time off since the funeral.

“Okay, where are we flying from?”

“Phoenix, direct. Okay?”

“Sure, and did you get first class?”

“Yup.”

I laughed.

“Okay, fax me the details, and I’ll see you at the airport,” I said.

“Sure, see ya!”

It was nice having something to look forward to for a change, so the day of deparure couldn’t arrive soon enough. Pete was happy to take over and hold the reins while I was gone, and I had let the county sheriff’s office know that I was going to be away.

Pam, my sister, called the evening before we left, to make sure that I met some nice English women. I told her that the chances of me finding a bride in England were about a million to one.

I had never flown first class before, so I thoroughly enjoyed the experience. Being six-six tall meant that most flights were murder for me, so it was real nice having all that room. We were on a United Airlines flight. They gave us a superb dinner, and I settled down to watch the movie.
 
 
I surprised myself by sleeping for most of the way. The flight was an overnight job and, due to the time difference, we lost about eight hours somewhere. We arrived at a little after seven am, local time, and it was much cooler in London.

Ed had hired us a car, so we caught the small bus to the rental offices. I had never been to Britain before and I was surprised as to how busy the roads were. Ed had hired us a Mercedes sedan. It was a comfortable and a beautiful piece of engineering. He had driven in England before, so after I got over the initial terror of finding myself on the wrong side of the car, the wrong side of the road, and surviving my first roundabout, I settled down to watch the scenery.

Ed had this idea of driving straight down to the county of Dorset and finding the village in which our ancestor was last recorded as living. He had made no hotel reservations, saying that there were pubs every few hundred yards, with bed and breakfast places all over the place. I was not convinced. I would have been happier knowing he had reserved a decent motel room or something.

He called his old Air Force buddy and arranged to stay with him for the second week. Leaving the last week open for us to do anything we wanted. I just relaxed and watched the green English countryside float past. It really was green. I was used to the yellows and browns, so found the greens refreshingly strange.

The sun came out and it turned into a beautiful day. I read the map, as we followed the M3 motorway down until it turned into the M27, and then we drove through the New Forest. We stopped at a lay by and I saw the wild horses grazing free in a huge piece of open countryside. I was surprised at the amount of open spaces. I had always pictured England as a crowded place, but I was finding my preconceptions shattered every mile.

Ed had this piece of paper, with the following thereon: -
 
 

Henry James Collingwood. B. 1834 Wareham, Dorset. Late of Hutchings Farm, Church Knowle, Dorset. Joined RN (Royal Navy) 1850, deserted 1860, Maine, USA. m. Eleanor Ryan 1861, died 1907. Had issue: 1. John b. 1862, 2. Mary b. 1864, 3. Rufus 1866(d.1866).

 
 
There was more, but it related to the family in the States, and we knew all about them. We were aiming for this farm at a place called Church Knowle.

Ed had bought a road map, so I looked at the area we were headed to. All these little lanes, they looked like the tracks of drunken ants in the sand. We reached Bournemouth in a couple of hours, and we got lost trying to find the ferry to a place called Studland. Finally, we found the ferry, crossing a tiny piece of water, to find a different world on the other side.

I fell in love with this little piece of England, with its wide-open spaces and the wonderful views of the ocean. I saw the deer roaming through the heather and the wild horses amongst the gorse. The road to Corfe was something else. It went up and down, bending here and there. I loved it, as it was just so different to Arizona.

When we turned the corner and saw the ruins of the castle at Corfe, I was amazed. I thought all castles in England were all repaired and had lords and ladies living in them. I had no idea of the history of this castle, so I wanted to stop and have a look round.

But Ed wanted to get to Church Knowle and get a room in the pub. So we went across at the cross roads, heading up an even narrower and windier lane for a while. Then we were in Church Knowle, but before we blinked we were out of the other side. Ed turned the car round and we headed back into the village. It was really quaint, with flowers everywhere! They were in the ground, in tubs, hanging baskets, window boxes and anywhere else you could think of.

We parked in the parking lot behind the pub, The New Inn, and found the place packed out. There was a walking group there, so we ordered our lunch and we went and sat at a table outside in the sunshine. I had my first pint of English beer. I found it real nice, as it had a lot more flavour than our American beers, and it was even chilled. Another preconception shattered.

By the time we got our food, which was also very good, we had both had two pints of bitter, but they were way more powerful than what I was used to. It was just as well I had no driving to do. I had a huge piece of fish in beer batter with large French fries, called chips. It was very different to anything I’d had before, but I liked it.

We sat and watched the world go by and I found myself really relaxed for the first time in over a year. I had no worries and nothing to do, and it was great. Ed went and asked about some beds for the night, but the place was booked solid. The landlord rang around the village to see if any of the B&B places had vacancies, and we lucked out.

Still, we were told that there were plenty of places within half an hour’s drive, so not to worry too much about it. After lunch we set off on foot to find Hutchings Farm.

The pub landlord directed us to the road back to Corfe, so off we went. After fifteen minutes, we came to a delightful cottage, set back from the road, with the most wonderful garden, with beautiful flowers in the borders. My first thought was that Sally would have fallen in love with this house.

Ed went to walk on by, but I saw the name on the gate. “Hutchings Cottage” it said.

“Ed!”

“Yeah?”

I pointed to the gate.

“We want Hutchings Farm, not the cottage,” he said, looking at his map, which had neither marked.

I went to the gate and saw a lady sitting in the garden at a patio table, shaded by a large parasol, using a laptop computer. I felt guilty disturbing her, so I watched her for a while, hoping she would glance up and see me.

She was around thirty-five to forty I guess, with blonde hair in a nice style. She was very attractive with a lovely figure, wearing a summer dress. Her skin was tanned a golden brown. Her long legs were stretched out under the table and her bare feet had painted toenails. She was not an expert typist, but a heck of a lot better that me. Her delicate fingers, with crimson, shaped nails, danced across the keys, as she concentrated on what she was doing.

I could see this could go on all day, so I cleared my throat and spoke to her.

“Excuse me, Ma’am. I’m sorry to intrude, but I wonder if you could help us?” I said.
 
 

*          *          *
 
End of Part 1
 
 
To Be Continued...

 
David buries his wife after she loses her fight against cancer. He is nearly 50, and their children are now grown up, so he breaks the news that he is going to undertake that which he wanted to do for as long as he could remember — a sex change. He had struggled with his transsexuality all his life, but his love for his wife and respect for her meant he just played the hand that he had been dealt, up to now, that is.

Meanwhile, in the USA, grizzled Police Chief John Collingwood comes to near breaking point. Stressed from his job, his grief over his dead wife, and the despair of near alcoholism, he embarks on a trip to the UK with his brother to seek out his family tree.

Two very different people find a very different future, they also find each other...

but will it work?

---

Tanya has a new website where she will display her latest works first and then to BigCloset TopShelf a few weeks later is here at Tanya Allan's Tales .
Tanya's Book Shop where she is selling her works in book form is at http://tanyaallan.authorshaunt.com/shop.php . Please Visit!

---

 
The Legal Stuff: A Girl Can But Dream  © 2006,2009,2010 Tanya Allan
 
This work is the property of the author, and the author retains full copyright, in relation to printed material, whether on paper or electronically. Any adaptation of the whole or part of the material for broadcast by radio, TV, or for stage plays or film, is the right of the author unless negotiated through legal contract. Permission is granted for it to be copied and read by individuals, and for no other purpose. Any commercial use by anyone other than the author is strictly prohibited, and may only be posted to free sites with the express permission of the author.
 
This work is fictitious, and any similarities to any persons, alive or dead, are purely coincidental. Mention is made of persons in public life only for the purposes of realism, and for that reason alone. Certain licence is taken in respect of medical procedures, terms and conditions, and the author does not claim to be the fount of all knowledge.
 
The author accepts the right of the individual to hold his/her (or whatever) own political, religious and social views, and there is no intention to deliberately offend anyone. If you wish to take offence, that is your problem.
 
This is only a story, and it contains adult material, which includes sex and intimate descriptive details pertaining to genitalia. If this is likely to offend, then don’t read it.
 
Please enjoy.
Tanya
 
 

 
 
 
Chapter 3
 
 
Dee
 
I jumped, as I was miles away. I looked up and saw this very large man looking at me from over my garden gate. He smiled, looking sheepishly at me.

“I’m sorry, Ma’am. I didn’t mean to startle you. But we are kinda in a fix, so could do with a little help,” he said.

I saved my work, shutting the lid of my laptop. I stood up and walked towards the gate. He was a very tall, powerfully built man, who could be anything from forty-five to fifty-five, dressed in a red and white checked shirt and blue jeans. I had to smile when I saw the cowboy boots. He had very short sandy hair that was mostly grey now. His deeply tanned face was almost leathery with the time he had spent outdoors in the sun, which was why it was so difficult to estimate his age. He had the most wonderful grey eyes, with laughter lines around them. He was very rugged looking, but he had ever such a gentle voice.

“Oh yes, what seems to be the problem?” I said, realising that I sounded very English and proper.

“Howdy Ma’am. My name is John Collingwood, and that’s my brother, Edward, down there, about to get run over,” he said, smiling. “We arrived from Arizona this morning, and we are looking for Hutchings Farm. Can you help us?”

“Why don’t you come in, and do try to get your brother off the road?” I asked, and opened the gate. “You really should tell him that it isn’t a good idea to play with the motor cars like that.”

John laughed, turning and shouting for his brother. He stepped through the gate and came into the garden.

“Thank you, Ma’am, I appreciate this,” he said. He stood looking at the garden for a few moments, as we waited for his brother.

Edward was puffing when he arrived. He was completely different to John. He was shorter, overweight and pasty faced, as if he had spent all his time in an office. He looked very unfit. He also had an almost greasy smile, which gave the impression that he was always trying to sell me something.

“You have a beautiful garden, Ma’am. My wife would have adored this place,” John said.

“Would have?” I said.

“Yeah, she died a year ago. Cancer,” he said, but the hurt was ever pervasive through his eyes.

I smiled, but with little humour.

“I’ve been there. I’m alone now too. Cancer, eighteen months ago,” I said. What was I doing? Here was I opening up my darkest miseries to a total stranger.

He turned and looked at me. I saw reflected in his eyes the pain that I felt. He smiled and I smiled back.

“Hey guys. Hutchings Farm?” said Edward.

John looked annoyed for the briefest moment, but then his eyes softened again.

“Yeah. I’m sorry, Ma’am, I forgot for a moment,” he said.

“My name is Deborah, but all my friends call me Dee,” I said.

John smiled and his straight white teeth gleamed. His face was transformed by the smile, but I guessed that he hadn’t smiled very much recently.

“Hi, Dee, it’s a pleasure,” he said, smiling again. The way he said it was such that I believed that he felt it really was a pleasure. He held out his large hand, so I placed my smaller hand in his, and we shook. He had warm, calloused hands, but he was gentle, not crushing. I liked him immediately.

Edward was too busy looking at the map, so I invited them to sit down.

“Can I get you a drink?” I asked.

“No thanks,” said Ed.

“That would be real nice, Dee,” John said and I laughed.

“Let’s see the map, first,” I said, peering at it. I immediately saw their problem.

“This map is no good. It’s too recent,” I announced. “Hutchings farm is no more, as it was split up before the last war. Hutchings House is up the lane over there, and Hutchings Yard is the old converted farm buildings and barns. There are four separate homes there now, mostly holiday homes. The farmland is now all part of Knowle Farm, but some of it is now the campsite.

“This cottage is the old farm hands’ cottages converted into one four bedroom house, with garage. I’ve only been here a few months. I came here after, well, to get away from memories.

“There is another small apartment above the garage. When my children come to stay there is plenty of room. My daughter Sarah and her husband and baby, Amy, usually go into the flat, as Amy can scream to her heart’s content, so no one else is disturbed,” I said.

“You have a grand-daughter?” John asked, surprised.

“Yes, she is nearly four months old now,” I said. “Why?”

“You don’t seem old enough!” he said, and I blushed.

“My daughter is twenty-five, so I was twenty-three when we had her. My sons are a little younger. So work it out,” I said, smiling.

“Then you look mighty good for your age. I put you at under forty,” he said.

“Keep going, I like you very much,” I joked, and he blushed deeply under his tan.

“So these cottages are where the farm hands lived?” Edward asked.

“Probably, here and in the village,” I said, “Why?”

Edward explained their strange quest, so it seems very likely that Henry James Collingwood actually lived in my house, or part of it, at one time!
 
 
“Well, I’ll be blowed,” Edward said.

“Not by me,” I muttered, but to my embarrassment John heard me. He grinned and I blushed again.

“Would you mind if we took some photographs?” Edward asked.

“Be my guest,” I said, and he must have taken a roll of film on the house, the garden, me and John, John, me, himself by John, John and him, by me. I wished I had shares in Kodak.

He went off to take pictures of the other parts of the old farm. John made no move to follow him. I gestured to another chair, so he sat.

“Would you like that drink now?” I asked.

“Don’t go to any trouble on my account,” he said. He grinned when I rolled my eyes at him.

“I am going to have a drink, will you join me?” I said.

He grinned again and, oh, he had such a nice smile.

“Sure, that would be nice.”

“What would you like?”

“What are you having?”

“I was going to have a mug of tea, but I have cold drinks, and I think my sons may have left some beer.”

“No beer, I had some for lunch, so I’m still working that off. I have never had real English tea, may I try that?”

“Of course, if you don’t mind a mug. I hate the little cups, you don’t get enough,” I said, going into the kitchen.

He followed me in, but his huge frame filled my small kitchen. His presence made me feel strangely safe.

“Can I help?” he asked.

“Will your brother want anything?”

“Give him a coffee, as he’s addicted to the stuff - black and very sweet. I swear he will have a cardiac arrest soon,” John said.

I boiled the kettle, but was conscious that he was watching me.

I looked at him, so he dropped his gaze.

“Have you any children?” I asked.

“Two girls, Jenny is twenty-two, and Annie is twenty. Jenny is in law school, and Annie is going to be a doctor. How about you, you mentioned your daughter, what about your sons?” he asked.

“Stephen is twenty-three, he is a Lieutenant in the Royal Marines, while Jonathon is at Oxford studying engineering,” I said, and made the tea. “What do you do?” I asked.

“I am the Chief of Police in a small town called Midhurst, in Arizona.”

“Gosh, how exciting. Can they spare you?”

“Sure. This is the first vacation I have taken since Sally died.”

“God, it is so hard. Every day is such a struggle, don’t you find that?” I said.

Once again, I could see his eyes mirror the pain I felt, and he nodded.

“I don’t think the pain ever goes away, I guess you just learn to live with it,” he said.

“I miss not being able to share the little things. Amy was born just after….” I choked, unable to continue. I had not shared this much with anyone before.

A warm strong hand reached out and held my forearm.

“I know. You don’t have to tell me. I know,” he said, and I looked into those grey eyes. Through my tears, I saw his tears. I’m not sure how it happened, but we wept together. Before I knew it, he wrapped his arms around my waist, drawing me close. I placed my arms around his neck and we sobbed silently together.
 
 
After a while, I managed to stop, but he kept going. I had cried many times, but I sensed that he had never been able to cry for her before. I sensed this was probably the first time. So, I just held him in my arms and let him cry. I was in bare feet, so he was about a clear foot taller than I was, yet his head was nestled on my shoulder, as his tears rolled down my bare arms, making my dress damp.

He smelled of sandalwood and his muscles beneath his shirt were very firm and well defined. He was a big and powerful man, yet was crying in my arms like a baby.

“It’s okay,” I said and stroked his hair. “You need to cry, she needs you to cry.”

“I’m sorry,” he said, muffled against my shoulder.

“Shhh. It really is okay. I understand,” I said, as his tears just kept on coming. His large frame was wracked with heaving sobs, yet even so, I sensed he was trying to control himself. But the grief and the pain were just too great, but it needed to come out, whatever he felt.

Finally, after what seemed an eternity, he came to a stop, breaking away from me, blowing his nose on a large white handkerchief.

“I am really sorry, Dee, I don’t know what came over me,” he said, embarrassed. I reached out my hand and touched him on the arm.

“You’ve never cried for her before, have you?” I asked.

He shook his head, unable to speak.

“Then I know what came over you.”

He looked at me, frowning. I squeezed his arm.

“You have always been surrounded by people you know, and those who know you. You are a Police Chief, so you represent strength and power, so you have to be seen as in control at all costs. Or at least that is what your subconscious thinks. Your daughters looked to you for support, as did everyone else, so at last you are with someone who knows your pain, but doesn’t know you. In stands to reason, I have no preconceptions about you, you don’t have to prove anything to me, so you feel free to release all the stress and pain with me,” I said.

I handed him the tray with three mugs on it.

“Take this out, I have to go to and repair my make up, my mascara has run dreadfully. I must look a real sight,” I said.

He held onto my hand. “No. You look beautiful. Thank you. Thank you so much,” he said, as my heart gave a lurch.

I smiled and squeezed his hand in return.

“It is perfectly all right. It’s fine. How do you feel?” I asked.

He frowned and then smiled. “I feel okay, it is almost like a bit of my darkness has gone,” he said.

“Good, then you need to cry more often. I am continually crying, and it really does help,” I said, going up to my bedroom to fix my mascara. I sat at my dressing table, watching as my hand shook with the little mascara brush. What was happening to me?

I had a funny butterfly feeling in my tummy, and I felt sort of excited. I wondered if big John was having an effect on me. I smiled at my reflection. I examined myself, critically, but could only see Dee, the woman. David was gone.
 
 
Chapter 4
 
 
John
 
With my emotions all in a whirl, I took the tray out to the patio table, and Ed appeared.

“That was amazing,” he said.

“Yeah? What was?”

“I met this old guy standing by a wall, just down the road. He says that there is an old woman in the village called Eileen Collingwood. I guess she could be a relative,” he said.

“You don’t say. You’d better go see her. Oh, there is a coffee here for you,” I said, handing him the mug.

He sat down and rambled on about the conversation he had with the old guy. I didn’t listen. My mind was still whirling over what had just happened in Dee’s kitchen. I felt so embarrassed, but she made it seem so right. Just as I was trying to work out what I felt, she came out into the sunshine again, carrying a cake on a plate.

She had repaired her make up and although she didn’t wear very much, she looked stunningly attractive to me. She had crystal-clear blue eyes, which were what Sally used to call ‘smiley eyes’. She gave me a big warm smile and sat down, picking up her mug.

“If you want sugar, John, there is some on the tray,” she said.

“No, I take it without. Thanks,” I said.

“Help yourself to some cake, I made it yesterday, as I had some friends over,” she said.

She had cut a few slices, so I took one. I wasn’t into cake, but I wanted to be polite.

It was really light, with fresh strawberries and real fresh cream in it. It tasted wonderful.

“I put some fresh Dorset clotted cream into it. I hope you like it.”

Ed took a second slice and she smiled at me. She had a lovely smile. I really did feel so much better.

Ed asked her whether she knew anyone called Collingwood.

“No, but then I haven’t been here that long. You could check the phone book, or even the Parish records at the church. If it is a village family, then all the births, baptisms, marriages and deaths are recorded there.”

Ed stood up.

“Right, come on Big Jay, let’s get to the church,” he said.

“Hey, Ed, just chill a little. We’re here for three weeks, so we don’t have to do everything on the first day. Besides we have to find somewhere to stay tonight,” I said. This passion he had was not really shared, so I was able to stand back a bit.

“Have you nowhere to stay?” Dee asked. Part of me willed her to offer us a room, but part of me was afraid of what might happen if she did.

“Not yet, the pub is full and all the B&Bs are full, but we may find something in Corfe or Wareham,” Ed said.

“Look, I have some rooms. If you need a bed, then you could stay here. I won’t charge you, as I could do with the company,” she said, looking straight at me.

“Are you sure? That would be really great. We could say that we stayed in the place old Henry came from,” said my brother.

“Dee, you don’t have to do this. We don’t want to put you to any trouble,” I said, but my heart seemed strangely excited.

She stared straight into my eyes and smiled.

“It’s no trouble, I promise. I want you,” she paused, “to stay!”

I responded to her smile, returning it. Her eyes almost mesmerised me, so I forced myself to look away, taking another mouthful of tea.

“Thanks, it’s very good of you,” I said.

“Hey. I’ll go get the car. Is it okay to park it on your drive, Dee?” Ed asked.

“Yes, that’s fine, just keep to the left so I can get my car out,” she said, looking at me. She dropped her gaze and smiled. I felt like a teenager again.

Ed finished his coffee and went off to get the car.

“Do you like the tea?” she asked me.

“It’s okay,” I said. “I’m not used to it.”

She laughed. It was a delightful sound. I guess she hadn’t laughed much, rather like me, I suppose.

“I used to hate the stuff, but I find it quite refreshing now,” she said.

We sat for a moment, just enjoying the surroundings. The birds were calling and the breeze rustled through the trees. It was so peaceful here.

“What made you come down here to live?” I asked.

“We used to live nearer London. We needed to be close for work reasons. We ran our own catering business, but when I became alone, I decided it was too painful to stay in the home we shared for twenty-five years. The children have all grown up and have left, so I wanted to make a complete break. I sold up and came down here, as we always loved Dorset.”

“Twenty-five years. We’d been married for twenty-six,” I said, and she gave me a sad smile.

“It is the loneliness I hate most. Things happen in my life that I would so like to share. But I can’t,” she said, and I thought for a moment we would both start again. She changed the subject abruptly.

“So, you are here for three weeks?”

“Yeah, Ed wants to trace our ancestor and then go to Wales to stay with this buddy of his. They were in the Air Force together, but this guy married a girl over here and stayed. They run a pub somewhere. I don’t even know where they are,” I said.

“Are you going to Wales with him?”

“I guess, unless something else happens,” I said, not really knowing why I said that.

She smiled at me. Suddenly, I wanted to reach out and touch her, but I couldn’t. Sally’s memory was still so strong.

“I love the garden in the afternoon. The sun comes in, and it is just divine,” she said, putting her head back and closing her eyes.

She had a lovely slender neck. Her golden hoop earrings caught the sun, while her silvery blonde hair reflected the sunshine. She had shapely legs, and her breasts were firm and round as they pressed against the thin fabric of her dress as she leaned back in the sun.

I wasn’t really an expert, but she had the figure and grace of a much younger woman. She also seemed to give me an impression of hidden strength. This wasn’t a prissy, middle-aged woman who’d faint at the first sign of blood. She had strength that reflected from her eyes; eyes that told me of hurts and trials that she had suffered and over which she had triumphed. Dee looked like a delicate English rose, but I sensed that she had a very strong stalk and sharp thorns.
 
 
I felt the stirrings of sexual attraction and arousal for the first time since Sally died. It made me feel very uncomfortable, as I had no idea how to deal with this.

She still wore a wedding ring, and seeing it made me feel mine. I rolled it around my finger, drawing strength from its familiarity, a gesture I had seen her do. We shared so much pain, so it was so nice not having to explain.

She opened her eyes and caught me looking at her. She simply smiled and brushed some hair back. She was so graceful and cultured that I immediately knew that Sally and she would have got on well.

Unable to deal with the feelings I was experiencing, I picked up the tray and carried it back to the kitchen. I put it on the worktop and started to come out again when I noticed riding boots and a safety helmet by the back door. I went out and asked, “Who’s the rider?”

“Me. I ride most mornings. I have a wealthy widow-friend with stables. She’s away at the moment, so she’s asked me to exercise her horses. Do you ride?”

“Do bears shit in the woods?” I asked, with a grin, and then regretted it. I hadn’t meant to be so coarse. But she grinned mischievously.

“I don’t know, do they? We don’t have any bears in England,” she said.

I laughed. “We, no, I have a small ranch, we raise horses. I ride whenever I can,” I said.

“Then you can both join me, I go out at about seven,” she said.

“You won’t get my brother near a horse, but I’d love to. I guess you have what we call the English saddle over here?”

“Yes, sorry, we don’t have your heavy cowboy style,” she said, with that smile of hers.

Ed arrived with the car, parking it when she had asked him to. I went and collected my bag. It was so strange, for even leaving her for a few moments made me want to go back to her.

What was happening to me?
 
 
I almost felt relief when I was back in her company. I felt very confused, but somehow eager to see where this would lead.

She led us into the house, where I saw the beautiful antique furniture and tasteful décor. She certainly had real good taste. Sally would have approved! We followed her upstairs, where she pointed to various doors.

“That’s my room. That’s the guest bathroom, and John you have this room, Edward, you take that one there. There are towels in your rooms, I have my own bathroom, so don’t worry about hogging the shower. There is plenty of hot water, so if you want a bath or shower, just have one. I expect as you have been travelling so far, you may like one now. I am off to the shops, I have to get some supper,” she said.

Ed rubbed his hands together.

“Oh, a shower, I could do with one, how about you Big Jay?” he asked.

“You go ahead,” I said, taking my bag into my room. It was a pleasant, airy room. It had a large double bed in it, and the room colour was predominantly pale green, with red roses in the curtains and counterpane. It was cool and smelled fresh, like her. I suddenly remembered the smell of her hair as we wept together - it was lavender. Sally had loved lavender water.

“Hey Sal, are you trying to tell me something?” I said aloud.

I went downstairs and found her putting some shoes on.

“Is everything all right?” she asked.

“Yeah, it’s a beautiful room. Thanks, you’ve been so kind.”

“Well, I’m off, I won’t be long, but I need to stock up. I need to get some stuff if I have guests.”

“Let me come and help carry,” I said.

“There is no need, I am quite strong,” she said, smiling again.

“It is the least I could do.”

“Fine, I’d love the company,” she said.

I told Ed what I was doing, and walked out onto the gravel drive. She opened the garage and drove a silver Mercedes sports car out into the afternoon sun. She pressed a button and the top came down.

“Jump in,” she said, so I slid into the passenger seat.

She drove far faster than I felt comfortable, but she drove well. I kept seeing Sally drive her convertible; they even drove the same way.
 
 
We arrived at a town called Swanage, where she parked the car in a parking lot next to a supermarket. We went into the supermarket and she pushed a cart, only she called it a trolley. I found it easy to talk to her, as we chatted away about everything and nothing. She filled the trolley with goods as we went.

“Is there anything you two don’t like?” she asked.

“I guess, but I wouldn’t worry. I’ve never been to Europe before, so it’s all new to me! I’m a rather dull guy. I like steak and Mexican food. I haven’t been very adventurous,” I admitted.

“How about your brother?”

“I don’t know. He never liked nuts, but I guess he’s okay now.”

She smiled, as we walked through the liquor section.

“What do you guys like to drink? There is a little beer, but I will have to get some more. The boys always drink it, so it won’t be wasted.”

“I know Ed likes his Miller Lite, I really don’t care,” I said.

She pointed to a case of Miller.

“Then you can put that in the trolley,” she said, so I did.
 
 
We went to the checkout, where she paid by credit card. I saw the name on the card, Deborah J. Cartwright. Then I did a silly thing, as I immediately worked out that if she married me, she would have the came initials. The stranger thing was that I felt Sally smiling at me.

We loaded the trunk of the car and then, instead of going home, she set off into the town, on foot.

“I must go to the butcher,” she said.

“There was meat in the market,” I pointed out.

“Yes, but I never get meat there, the butcher has much better meat.”

I liked the small shops, so we talked about the differences between here and Arizona.

“I’d love to see it, one day,” she said.

“Well, anytime, you can come and stay,” I said, and meant it. I found that I really wanted her to see the ranch.
 
 
We went into the butcher’s shop, where a large man with a blue and white striped apron greeted her.

“Missus Cartwright. How are you today?”

“I’m well, thanks George. How’s your wife’s ankle?”

“Much better, she can weight bear on it now, so she is getting back to normal,” he said, glancing at me with mild curiosity.

“Right, I need enough to feed two large American friends. George, this is John Collingwood from Arizona, he and his brother are staying with me for a few days as they trace their family roots,” she said.

“Really? Well, all the best, I hope you’re successful, sir. What can I get you?”

Dee then seemed to spend a fortune on cuts of meat that I didn’t recognise. I carried the bags back to the car, and they sure were heavy.
 
 
We drove back, not quite so fast. It was almost as if she was trying to stretch out the time we were together. I had no problem with that. I watched her as she drove.

Her hair was blowing in the slipstream, so she kept brushing it out of her face. Her gestures were so similar to Sally’s that they pained me a little. She had on some sunglasses, so I thought she looked like a movie star. She pointed out items of interest as we passed them, and then I saw the castle again.

“The castle was destroyed during the civil war. That is the English civil war. It was one of the last bastions of the Royalists in this area, and the Parliament soldiers took it, destroying it. The end of the war was not long coming after that,” she told me.

“The civil war, huh? That wasn’t that long ago, was it?”

“Let’s see, there is belief it may have been a Roman defensive site, but the castle we see the ruins of today was a rebuild in the 11th century of what was a wood castle back into the 9th century. The village and its famous castle are built mainly from the local Purbeck stone which is probably the finest limestone available for building and polishing in England, and is used throughout the world.

“In the 13th century King John went to great lengths improving his accommodation and the defences. He built a fine hall and chapel together with domestic buildings.”

“King John, is that the one who mixed with Robin Hood and the Sheriff of Nottingham?”

“So Hollywood would have us believe. Actually King John is mainly remembered for taking the first steps in relinquishing total power and giving a degree of power to lesser mortals. Have you heard of the Manga Carta?”

“Sure, but I guess I don’t know what it was,” I admitted.

“It was a document, in a way, not unlike the declaration of independence, whereby the barons and other powerful nobles backed the king into a corner and made him agree to what became the first tentative steps to democracy. Mind you, equal votes and power to the masses was a long time coming after that.”

“I can see I’ve some reading to do. What about the castle?”

Dee looked confused for a moment.

“The castle? Oh, the castle. Well, Henry III constructed additional walls, towers and gatehouses. Monarchs had come and gone until 1572 when Queen Elizabeth I sold it to Sir Christopher Hatton, her dancing master and some suppose a suitor.”

“How do you know all this?” I asked.

She grinned, looking much younger for a moment.

“I thought you might ask me, so I read it on the website,” she said.

I was impressed, as she could have told me she was an amateur historian and had an interest, but she displayed a rare trait, simple honesty. I respect that more than any other quality in a person.

“Anyway, in 1635 the Castle was sold to Sir John Bankes, the then Lord Chief Justice, more as a holiday home rather than as a first home. By 1643 the Parliamentarians occupied most of Dorset, the castle then survived a six-week siege. Sir John Bankes died in 1644 and the castle endured a number of half-baked blockades. Later in 1645 a second siege was started by Colonel Bingham, Governor of Poole, and courtesy of an insider the Roundheads took over in February 1646.

“The Castle was systematically destroyed by the Parliamentary forces, but the fact that some remains is surely testimony to strength of construction. Ownership remained with the Bankes Family until 1982 when it was bequeathed to the National Trust,” she said.

“Can people get to see the ruins?”

“Oh yes, it’s still maintained by the National Trust, so anyone can go and have a look. Why are you interested?”

“Yeah, I’d love to have a look sometime. I must confess to be more interested in that sort of thing than the old family tree.”

She laughed. “So why did you come?”

“I don’t really know. I just had to get away, and Ed paid for the tickets,” I admitted.

“Are you and your brother close?”

“Not especially. We lead very different lives. He is divorced and is very materialistic. I am more down to earth and have more basic ideals. But he’s family, and I believe that family should stick together. You can choose your friends, but you can’t choose your family, so if you get along, so much the better.”

“That’s true. I am blessed with a wonderful family,” she said.

“Are your folks still alive?”

“My parents? No, my Dad died about ten years ago, while my mother died four years ago. How about yours?”

“Mom is still alive. She lives near my sister, Pamela, at a place called Flagstaff. It is the town nearest the Grand Canyon. But old Mom, is not that well now. She will be eighty-four next birthday,” I said.
 
 
She pulled into the drive and stopped the car.

We unloaded the groceries and carried them into the kitchen. Ed was watching TV in the drawing room.

“Hey Dee, I think your remote is busted, I can only get five channels,” he said.

“That’s because we only have five channels,” she said, grinning.

“Five? Last time I was here the people I visited had more than that,” Ed said.

“They probably had satellite or cable. I don’t watch that much TV, as it is mostly total bollocks,” she said.

“Bollocks?” I asked, frowning, and she laughed.

“I’m sorry. Bollocks is a slang word. It this context it means rubbish, but bollocks is the same as balls or testicles,” she said.

“So you reckon your TV shows are total balls?” I asked.

“Yup,” she said.

“Well at last!” I said.

“What?” she asked.

“John loathes TV with a passion, they only had one because of the kids, he rarely watches it,” Ed said.

“I can’t remember the last time I watched TV,” I said.

“No, I can’t either. I sometimes watch the evening news, but perhaps once or twice a week. I get all the news I want off the internet or from a paper,” Dee said.
 
 
The time was half past five. I was feeling quite tired, so I sat with Dee and Ed on the patio. I felt more relaxed than I had for a couple of years. So much so that I must have dozed off.

I woke up when Dee handed me a glass of ice-cold beer.

“Here, have this. It will give you an appetite.”

I looked at Ed, and saw he had already nearly finished his.

“You’ve been snoring, Big Jay,” he said with a smirk.

I took the glass and thanked Dee. It was real cold and went down smoothly.

Dee went into the house, as I sat with Ed in the garden. He was grinning.

“What’s so funny?” I asked.

“I just can’t believe our luck. I mean, here we are, actually staying in the same house as old Henry lived in, all those years ago. It’s uncanny!”

“He might not have done, and besides, the house is very different now,” I said.

“Yeah, I know that. But I still think it is all a bit cool. And that Dee, she’s a real nice lady,” he said.

“Yes, that’s a fact,” I said and drank my beer. I thought she was more than that, but kept quiet.

“So what did you guys talk about?”

“Death, grief and lots of little things. She’s asked me to go horse riding with her tomorrow,” I said.

“That’s great. I was going to check out the church. You coming?”

“No, you go ahead, it’s your project. When are you off to Wales?” I asked.

“What’s this, do I detect a hint of something like reluctance to join me in Wales? Are you staying here with the lady?” Ed asked.

“I don’t know. Maybe. She hasn’t asked me, but I like it here. I may just hang around for a while,” I said.

“No problem. I can go when I like. Are you sure you don’t want to come to Wales?”

“He’s your buddy, Ed. Besides, I have made a new friend here, and I feel it might go a little deeper.”

“You falling for Dee, John?”

I smiled, feeling conflicting emotions - some guilt, a little embarrassment, but mainly a tingle of excitement at what the future could hold in store.

“Hell, I don’t know,” I said, and then thought about it. Ed was my brother and knew me better than most. I liked Dee, I enjoyed her company, I liked her home, I found her attractive and fun to be with. As I thought of her, I found myself smiling.

“Maybe, Ed, maybe. She makes me smile. I haven’t smiled much recently. We get along real well. We’ve got a lot in common and I feel that Sally would have liked her,” I said.

“I’m glad, but Pam will be pissed though.”

“Why?”

“She was planning to introduce you to one of her divorced friends, Mary Ellen someone, a rich bitch with a penchant for horses. Pam thought you two would hit it off.”

“I am quite capable of looking after myself,” I said, getting annoyed with Pam now.

“So I noticed,” Ed said, as Dee came out with two more beers.
 
 

*          *          *
 
End of Part 2
 
 
To Be Continued...

 
David buries his wife after she loses her fight against cancer. He is nearly 50, and their children are now grown up, so he breaks the news that he is going to undertake that which he wanted to do for as long as he could remember — a sex change. He had struggled with his transsexuality all his life, but his love for his wife and respect for her meant he just played the hand that he had been dealt, up to now, that is.

Meanwhile, in the USA, grizzled Police Chief John Collingwood comes to near breaking point. Stressed from his job, his grief over his dead wife, and the despair of near alcoholism, he embarks on a trip to the UK with his brother to seek out his family tree.

Two very different people find a very different future, they also find each other...

but will it work?

---

Tanya has a new website where she will display her latest works first and then to BigCloset TopShelf a few weeks later is here at Tanya Allan's Tales .
Tanya's Book Shop where she is selling her works in book form is at http://tanyaallan.authorshaunt.com/shop.php . Please Visit!

---

 
The Legal Stuff: A Girl Can But Dream  © 2006,2009,2010 Tanya Allan
 
This work is the property of the author, and the author retains full copyright, in relation to printed material, whether on paper or electronically. Any adaptation of the whole or part of the material for broadcast by radio, TV, or for stage plays or film, is the right of the author unless negotiated through legal contract. Permission is granted for it to be copied and read by individuals, and for no other purpose. Any commercial use by anyone other than the author is strictly prohibited, and may only be posted to free sites with the express permission of the author.
 
This work is fictitious, and any similarities to any persons, alive or dead, are purely coincidental. Mention is made of persons in public life only for the purposes of realism, and for that reason alone. Certain licence is taken in respect of medical procedures, terms and conditions, and the author does not claim to be the fount of all knowledge.
 
The author accepts the right of the individual to hold his/her (or whatever) own political, religious and social views, and there is no intention to deliberately offend anyone. If you wish to take offence, that is your problem.
 
This is only a story, and it contains adult material, which includes sex and intimate descriptive details pertaining to genitalia. If this is likely to offend, then don’t read it.
 
Please enjoy.
Tanya
 
 

 
 
 
Chapter 5
 
 
Dee
 
I was preparing Boeuf Stroganoff for dinner, so while things just bubbled, I took Ed and John another beer. As I approached, they stopped talking, but I realised that Ed was looking smugly at his brother, who was unable to meet my gaze. I guessed they’d been talking about me.

“Some more beer, gentlemen?” I said.

“Thanks Dee, but you don’t need to wait on us,” John said.

“John tells me he's not coming to Wales with me,” Ed said, with a cheeky smile.

“Oh?” I said, and my heart raced a little as I looked at John.

John smiled again, I though he looked a little sheepish, as if he was a little boy caught out doing something he shouldn’t.

“I feel kinda outa line asking, but I was wondering if it would be okay to hang around here for a while longer? There’s so much to see and, well, I’m not here for very long,” he said, flushing slightly under his tan.

I didn’t want to show too much excitement, but I was so pleased. I was wondering how to ask him without offending his brother.

“Of course. Stay as long as you want. As I said, I like the company,” I said, smiling, but trying to sound as casual as I could. I went back to the kitchen quickly, so they couldn’t see my huge grin.
 
 
I laid the dining room table with the best silver, and opened a bottle of Cote du Rhone. I returned to the kitchen and finished everything off. I had prepared prawns fried in olive oil with garlic and chili, served with French bread. Followed by Boeuf Stroganoff, with rice, baby carrots, mange-tout and scallop potatoes. I had baked an apple pie for desert, and felt quite pleased with myself. Then I reflected on how a simple act of doing something I earned my living for so long could bring me so much pleasure. Then I realised that I desperately wanted to impress both men, but mainly John.

I shouted for them to come in for dinner.

As they walked into the dining room, I placed the sizzling prawns onto their mats.

I asked Ed to pour the wine, stating that the beer was in the fridge if they preferred. John joined me with some wine, but Ed stuck to his beers. They seemed to like the starter, while conversation flowed naturally. Ed was really into his ancestor hunt, wanting to track old Eileen Collingwood down. I cleared away the starters and brought out the main course.

I had to explain about the fillet of beef and what was in the recipe, as both men seemed very suspicious. I had not realised that if it wasn’t a steak, it probably wasn’t worth eating.

However, after a few mouthfuls they became effusive with their praise, and cleaned their plates. I had made a little extra, which they almost fought over. All the vegetables and side dishes were finished, so there is no greater compliment to a cook.

“Oh my God! I forgot the apple pie,” I shrieked. I rushed out and managed to catch it before it became too dark brown. I brought it in, but was surprised to see John looking very sombre.

“I’m sorry, was it something I said?” I asked.

“No, Dee. It’s me - Sally was always burning her apple pies. Just one of those silly memories,” John said, giving me a weak smile.

“Oh John, I am so sorry. I didn’t know,” I said, feeling awful, so I put my hand on his arm.

He took my hand and said, “There was no way you could have known. It isn’t your fault,” he said, gently squeezing my hand.

“I know. These bloody booby traps just spring out without any warning,” I said.

“That pie smells real good,” said Ed, changing the subject.

I dished up the pie, which we ate in a rather subdued mood. I gave them a coffee, cleared away the dishes and loaded the dishwasher. I was just washing up the pans when John appeared behind me, making me jump.

“Shit! You made me jump,” I said.

“Oh, I’m sorry Dee, I didn’t mean to,” he said, looking even more guilty.

“It’s alright, I was deep in thought,” I said.

“I came to apologise. You gave us a superb meal and I spoiled it at the end. I didn’t have to go all stupid,” he said. I loved the way he said it, pronouncing it as stoopid.

I put down my pan and took his hand.

“Oh John, you know you don’t have to apologise. I understand. I do exactly the same. Nearly every day something makes me cry. It could be a flower, a smell or a sound. Last week it was a piece of music. So why not an apple pie?” I told him.

He smiled, “Why are you so wonderful?” he asked.

“You don’t know me very well. I’m like you, a weak and foolish person, but I do understand, so that means a lot,” I said.

“You're damn right, there. Here, let me help you,” he replied, picking up a tea towel.

We finished the pans, so I cleaned the surfaces. It only took a minute. I caught him looking at me again.

“What?” I asked.

“I just want to say thanks. Thanks for the room and the food. The pie was great, just as good as Sally made. Thanks for your company, and for being understanding. But mainly thanks for just being there, I didn’t realise how bad I was.”

“Oh John, don’t be silly. It's a pleasure, really. Because it helps me too,” I said. I kissed him on the cheek and went to walk past him to the drawing room, but he held my hand, gently pulling me back to him.

He bent forward and, very tenderly, kissed me on the mouth. Before I knew what I was doing, my arms were round his neck and I was kissing him with so much passion, I didn’t know where it was coming from. Our tongues were exploring each other’s mouths, as his hands were grasping me tightly on my bottom. He pulled me close to him. I could feel him becoming aroused, so I pushed my pelvis tightly against him. One of his hands started to caress my right breast, and I felt my nipple harden under his touch.

I broke away, breathless and excited. I wanted him badly, as I never wanted anything before. I just wanted him to want me, but I was terrified of losing him.

He opened his mouth, but before he could speak, I placed my fingers against his lips.

“You were going to apologise. Don’t! I wanted that to happen, but it is me who should apologise,” I said.

He smiled, pulling me close to him again.

“I haven’t felt like this in years. Where are we going with this?” he asked frowning slightly. I sense we were both fumbling in the dark a bit.

“I don’t know. Where do you want it to go?”

He shrugged.

“Then let’s take things a day at a time. Okay?” I said.

“That suits me,” he said and then he kissed me again.

I wanted to tell him the truth, but I was terrified of losing him at this stage. I was so torn, as I didn’t want either of us to get hurt.

“John, I have to tell you.”

“What?”

My nerve went.

I shook my head.

“It’ll keep,” I said and kissed him.
 
 
The guys claimed they were very tired, as their body clocks were shot to hell. They were both in bed by half ten, so I went to bed as well. I lay awake for a long time, excited on the one hand that a man was so obviously interested in me, and I in him. I was desperately unhappy at the prospect of living a lie, or even worse, of telling him the truth and watching him walk away from me. I knew that I had to tell him, and tell him before anything got too serious.

I also rather hoped that he would pay me a nocturnal visit, but as two o'clock arrived, I knew he was too tired, so I drifted into an uneasy sleep.
 
 
I was up at seven the next morning, dressed in my jodhpurs and a pale pink blouse. I had taken some time to get my hair and make up look nice. This was like my first date, so I was excited.

I went down to the kitchen and boiled the kettle. I was just getting out some plates when a pair of strong arms gently engulfed me from behind and John kissed me on the nape of my neck. It sent tingles up my back.

“I have to tell you, those pants are the business,” he said. I laughed and turned round. Our lips met and we kissed for a long time.

Reluctantly, I broke off the kiss. He still held me close.

“Well, good morning. Did you sleep well? I asked.

“Too well. I got into bed, and the next thing it is seven a.m. I had half a mind to…” Then he stopped.

“I wanted you to, with more than half a mind,” I said, knowing what he was trying to say. He smiled and kissed me again.

“You look great, Dee. I really do like those pants,” he said.

“These are jodhpurs. You’re in England now. Pants are called underpants here; trousers or slacks are what you call pants,” I said.

“Whatever, you look real sexy in whatever you want to call them.”

“Do you want some breakfast?” I asked, changing the subject.

“Sure, what you got?”

“What do you want?”

“Are you on the menu?” he said, laughing. I stared at him, serious.

“Do you want me to be?”

He stared at me and slowly nodded. “I guess.”

“Then you may have to wait, how about some eggs and bacon to keep you going?” I said.

“Oh, okay. Thanks.”

“How do you like your eggs?”

“Dee, what have you done to me?” he said quietly. There was a slight tremor in his voice.

“What do you mean?”

“Why do I feel like a sixteen-year old on his first date?”

“Do you?”

“Yeah. I haven’t felt like this in years.”

Guilt over my secret hit me. I opened my mouth to tell him, but it didn’t come out.

“How about scrambled?” I asked instead, making him laugh.

“Sounds good to me.”
 
 
I busied myself with the bacon and eggs, so I got him to load the toaster and get the coffee. I opened a carton of orange juice and we sat at the kitchen table, like a real domesticated couple. I felt relaxed and safe in his company.

We munched in silence for a moment. I so wanted to tell him, yet was fearful of the consequences.

“You’ve done the same to me,” I said.

“What?”

“I feel like a girl on her first date.”

He laughed and took my hand.

“It all happened so fast, it's kinda taken me by surprise.”

“What has?”

“Dee, I think I’m falling in love with you,” he said and kissed my fingers.

“I know that I'm falling in love with you, Big Jay,” I said, quietly.

“What happens now?”

I shrugged.

“John. I must tell you something,” I said, trying to get my speech sorted in my mind.

“What is it?” he said, and kissed my fingers again. Once again, I couldn’t tell him.

“I didn’t want you to go to Wales,” I said.

“Neither did I.”
 
 
We finished breakfast and washed up. I left a note for Ed as to where everything was, but John told me that Ed only has coffee for breakfast.

I put my boots on, slung on a body-warmer and picked up my hard hat. John appeared wearing a big white Stetson on his head. It suited him.
 
 
We walked up the lane to the stables. They were only a couple of hundred yards away. As we walked along, he took my hand, so we walked hand in hand. My heart gave a lurch, so I vowed to tell him as soon as an opportunity presented itself, or at least before the day ended.

We arrived at the stables, where Jilly, my friend’s daughter was just mucking out. There were eight stalls and all were or had been occupied. We helped her with the mucking out. Then we saddled up a mare called Daisy for me, and a large gelding called Star for John.

He looked every inch the cowboy, appearing very much at home in the saddle. We took the horses at a walk along the road for half a mile, and then through a gate and onto the bridleway. We followed this for a few miles, and then onto the open heath. I galloped Daisy to the top of a small hill, where there were half a dozen trees. John followed and we gave the horses a break under the trees.

I sat on a fallen tree, where I took off my helmet and body-warmer, as the sun was now quite warm.

John sat beside me and put his arms around me.

“It really is lovely here. I can’t get over how green it is. Arizona is so different,” he said.

I leaned back and rested against him. I loved him holding me. I never wanted this time to end. We just sat there, the horses grazing under the trees, their reins tied to prevent escape.

He kissed me and I responded. It was rather strange, as he was the first man to make me feel this way, and I had never kissed a man before him. I actually liked the experience, as I felt myself becoming sexually aroused.

John broke off and immediately apologised.

“What for? I was hoping you would kiss me again,” I said, and he smiled.

“I guess I felt that we were trampling on memories,” he said.

“Would Sally want you to remain a celibate?” I asked.

He laughed. “No, in fact she made me promise to remarry as soon as I found the right woman.”

I smiled. “Oh well, in that case, you’ll probably remain celibate. You're far too nice for most women,” I said.

“How about you?”

“Is that a proposal?” I said, teasing him.

He looked at me, smiling that gentle smile, “It wasn’t intended to be, I wondered what your husband would have wanted you to do,” he said.

“Me? I don’t know. I suppose I made a similar promise, but somehow I had sort of let it slip,” I said, aware that I had let another opportunity to tell him the truth pass by.

“I meant what I said, this morning. I think I've fallen in love with you, but I'm terrified of making a mistake, it's been so long,” he said.

“I know. Let’s just go slowly and carefully. I meant what I said too,” I said, trying to steel myself to tell him. I opened my mouth to tell him but he went and spoiled it by kissing me.
 
 
The moment passed and he broke away, stood up and untied his horse.

We remounted the horses and rode back to the stables, the long way. It was a lovely ride and he told me all about his Sally. He told me how they had met and of their time together, right up to the funeral. It was very emotional and he clearly had difficulty telling me.

“She was my strength. She was always there for me. I loved her to bits, and she was my best friend,” he said, to finish up.

I nodded. “That was the same as us,” I said, I didn’t need to say any more.

He looked at me.

“You're the first person I've been able to talk to. I’ve never shared this with anyone before,” he said.

I simply said nothing, but took his hand and gave it a squeeze.

“Thanks,” he said.

“I haven’t done anything.”

“You here, and that means everything,” he said, which choked me up completely.
 
 
We finally rode into the stable yard and rejoined the rest of the world. We wiped the horses down, returning them to their boxes, where Jilly fed and watered them.

“Will you be here tomorrow?” she asked. I looked at John. He grinned and nodded.

“Yes, if that’s alright?”

“That’s brilliant, it means I have two less to exercise. You two are doing me a real favour,” Jilly replied.

We walked slowly back to the house, it began to rain, I noticed that Ed had gone out, as the hire car was missing from the drive.

“I'm going to have a shower, I smell like a horse,” I told John.

I went up and took my riding clothes off, I was right, as I did smell like a horse. I stepped into the shower and turned on the water. I closed my eyes and let the hot water cascade off the top of my head and down onto my breasts. I started working out the best way to phrase my terrible secret so I didn’t cause him too much grief. No matter how I tried, I knew it would come as a devastating shock, and I considered, and rejected, not telling him.

I felt a draught, so I opened my eyes just as John opened the shower door. He too was naked.

“May I join you?” he asked, gently.

I reached out a hand and took his arm, stepping back as I pulled him in with me. He wrapped his arms around me and we kissed. I felt his penis stirring against my belly, so my knees almost turned to jelly. I had one hand behind his head and the other up in the small of his back. He really was a big man, as the top of his head was almost touching the showerhead.

I felt his hand caress the cheeks of my bum, while the other just held me close to him. I had often fantasised what it would feel like to be loved by a man, but the reality was so much better!

His penis was erect now, so I pressed myself as tightly against him as I could get. I felt myself become very aroused, and I ached with desire for him. I let my right hand drop and I held his penis. It was so hard and warm; I felt a tingle of anticipation. I wanted him inside me so much, as it was the single most important thing in my life at this moment. I had a momentary panic, as he was so big, I wondered if my new vaginal channel would be able to accommodate him.

He turned the water off and led me to my bed. He took two big towels off the towel rail and spread them onto the counterpane, while I slipped some lubricant where it mattered. I lay on the bed and opened my legs, pulling him on top of me. He kissed my breasts, as my nipples hardened under his caresses. His tongue danced from nipple to nipple, so I grabbed his head and kissed him desperately, I just wanted him to make love me.

He knelt between my legs and placed his hand gently on my vagina, caressing my clitoris until I no longer had to worry about whether or not I could achieve orgasm. I came, shuddering and squirming under his touch.

“I think I may be ready for you now,” I said.

He smiled and kissed me, sliding his penis where I so wanted it. He thrust it as far as it would go, right up to the hilt. As I felt his pubic hair rub against my clitoris, I gasped with pleasure. He started to make love to me slowly and ever so tenderly. I was in another world as he thrust and retracted slowly to start with, becoming faster and faster. I moved with him, and once we had the rhythm, it was as if we became one entity. I stroked his head, running my hands down his powerful, broad back, feeling the muscles ripple under his tanned skin. I wrapped my legs around him, as he pounded into me, faster and faster, deeper and deeper!

I felt myself coming again, so was almost screaming with breathless pleasure, I know I dug my nails into him as I climaxed, and he grabbed my bum, but just kept going faster.

His breath was coming faster now and he began to grunt with pleasure too. I managed to get my hand between his legs, and caressed his balls. He suddenly thrust deep inside me, giving an almighty shudder as he exploded his seed deep within me as I came for the third time, just at the same moment.
 
 
He seemed to collapse on top of me, so I just held him. I felt his penis shrink, and the sensations of this, together with the flow of combined juices almost brought me to a fourth orgasm.

He rolled off me and we lay on the towels, damp from the shower and from our mingled sweat. He propped himself on one elbow and reached out a hand and brushed the hair from my face.

“My God, you're beautiful,” he said. I took hold of his hand and kissed it.

“So are you,” I said, and for some reason started to cry.

He frowned, touching my tears with a finger.

“Dee, honey, what's the matter? I thought you wanted to.”

“Oh John. I did. It was the most wonderful thing that has happened to me for a very long time. It’s not anything you did. It’s me,” I said.

“You?” he said, as he stroked my hair.

“Yes me. I really wanted you, and I am so happy, but before we can go any further, there is something I have to tell you,” I said. I knew that I would have to tell him now. It wouldn’t be fair to him other wise.

“Look, John. What I am going to tell you will change the way you feel about me. I accept that. All I ask is that you don’t hate me too much. You see, I love you, and the last thing I want to do is hurt you. If I tell you, you may be hurt, but only a little, for you perhaps will be able to forget me. But if I don’t tell you and you find out later, the hurt will be so deep as to destroy both of us,” I told him. I was crying now, and he looked lost.

“Oh shit, this is so hard,” I said. I got off the bed and put on my robe.

I sat down on the stool by my dressing table.

“John, I was born on the 27th March 1956. I was named David John Adam Cartwright. I was born a male. The picture above the fireplace is of a wonderful woman, her name, when she died, a little over a year and a half ago, was Delia Cartwright, she was not my mother, as you assumed, but my wife. I was a transsexual, I have not always been what you see me as today.”

I just managed to complete my speech, before the emotion became too much, and I completely broke down. My chest heaving with sobs, I saw his shocked expression, and just managed to mutter, “Oh God, John, I am so sorry, please forgive me,” before I ran from the room and out of the house.

I didn’t know where I was going, but I just knew that I had to go away. I wanted to die, as I had found something so wonderful, and then immediately lost it. All because I didn’t want to live a lie!
 
 
I ran across the lawn in my bare feet and through the little gate into the meadow. I ran through the long grass, down to the river at the bottom. The rain was heavy now, but I was oblivious to everything.

I threw myself into the grass on the bank of the river, where I just wanted the earth to open and swallow me up.
 
 
Chapter 6
 
 
John
 
I sat on Dee’s bed, totally numb. When she said she wanted to tell me something, never in my wildest dreams could I have imagined that it would have been that.

I don’t know how long I sat there, but once the shock wore off, I took a long hard look at myself and the situation we had gotten ourselves into. I initially felt tricked and betrayed. However, I then tried to analyse my feelings. It wasn’t she had pretended to be something she wasn’t, and she certainly hadn’t deliberately tricked me. I had followed my emotions, as she had, and it had led to us making love out of a mutual need.

I thought back, recalling several occasions where she had tried to tell me something, and then there was the ride and the sex. As I thought back, I realised that I’d been blind. She’d wanted to tell me, but I hadn’t allowed her to. I’d been so wrapped up in my own feelings, that I had never considered hers.

I thought about the sex. I realised that she was definitely a woman, as there was nothing the slightest bit male about her. I shook my head. This was all too much. I put on my jeans and shirt and slung on my boots. I went down stairs, but she had gone.

I looked in the kitchen and then I walked through the house. I saw the picture on the wall. I had assumed it to be of her mother, but now I knew who the woman was. I remembered that Dee had never once mentioned her husband, or a man’s name. I had just assumed. I smiled, how many young cops had I told never to assume anything?

I went back to her bedroom and sat on her bed, where I had recently had the most wonderful sexual experience. I could still smell her perfume, and I noticed a small journal on the bedside table. I picked it up. Feeling a real heel, I opened it to the most current entry, written the previous evening.
 
 

The two Americans are nice, John particularly. I find him gorgeous! He makes me laugh, despite being still in deep grief over his wife. Oh, how I ache to tell him the truth, but I can’t. I know if I do there is a danger he will go away, and I will lose him. He cried on me, as we share so much pain. I love being with him, and I would love to get closer, but I am so afraid. I lie here half wanting him to come into my room and make love to me. But if he does I will have to tell him. It won’t be fair to him, and I could never live a lie! Oh why was I ever born? I can’t be a man, yet I can’t even get being a woman right! I am destined to grow old a lonely and bitter woman! I hope tomorrow is a good day. I feel like a girl on her first date - I am a girl on my first date! Oh, how I hope I don’t have to tell him! If only I could tell him, and he would say- “I don’t care, I love you for who you are, and not who or what you were!” Fat chance! I think I love him! Oh God, what do I do? Delia, why did you have to die?

 
 
I thought about the woman I had fallen for, realising with some surprise that nothing had really changed. Had she not told me, I would still be her lover, and who knows what else would have developed. No one would have been any the wiser, and we could have grown old very content. Yet, it was her honesty and goodness that had made her tell me. I respected her for that. Hell, I even loved her a little more for it.

If I was confused and hurt, how much worse would it be for her?
 
 
I looked out of the window and saw it was still raining. I started to worry about her now. Would she try something foolish?

I thought not, but I knew she was hurting and that I needed to stop that hurt, if I could, we could talk through the hurt and confusion once I knew she was safe.

I went downstairs and followed the route I thought I had seen her take. I went through her garden and out of a little gate into the meadow. There were the marks in the long grass where she had run, so I followed. She had run a long way, but I found her lying in the grass by a small river. She was sobbing, real big sobs, and wailing. Her robe was open so she was soaked to the skin, as I was.

I sat in the grass beside her. She was lying face down, not even aware that I was there.

I sat and watched her. She was beautiful, even though she was crying. I tried to see anything of the male in her, but just couldn’t. She was all-woman; from the top of her head, to her dainty painted toes. Her figure was an hourglass that went in and out in all the right places. Many a thirty-year old would have been happy with her muscle tone, complexion, skin and figure. Her breasts were perfectly formed, and as natural as any I had had the pleasure of seeing or touching. As for her lower regions, I could vouch for everything working perfectly there too.

I just saw a hurting girl, who needed me as much as I needed her.
 
 
I placed a hand on her shoulder, but she tried to shake me away.

“Hey, Honey,” I said. She still sobbed.

“Dee, listen to me. You’ve had your say, now hear me out,” I said, quite firmly.

“Oh John, I’m so sorry,” she said, but the tears just flowed.

“Dee, listen. I don’t care. Do you hear me? I really don’t care, I heard what you said, and I understand it all. But I love you for who you are, I don’t give a damn who or what you were. I love you as you are, with no conditions and no strings!”

The sobs subsided, as she rolled over and stared at me.

“What did you say?” she sort of whispered, incredulity in her voice.

“I love you Dee,” I said. “I love you as the person I met, not someone I never knew.”

She looked at me with a strange expression on her face.

“But how can you?” she asked, the incredulity still in her voice.

“Because I do,” I said.

“But you know what I was!”

“No, I don’t, not really, but so what? I just know what you are! I have just made love to a beautiful woman, and I happen to love and respect that woman. And, to me, right now, that is all that matters.”

I held my arms open to her and she literally flung herself into them, sobbing even harder. This time I knew the sobs were of relief and joy.

“Hey, Honey?”

“Mmmm?”

“I really like England and all, but do we really have to sit out here, in the wet, all day?”

She started to giggle and she looked at me. Even though I had seen her looking better than this, I knew that I still loved her, no conditions and no strings.

I kissed her and she stroked my face.

“I don’t deserve you,” she said.

“You deserve some happiness. Hell, even I deserve some happiness. What do you say we try to give each other some?” I asked, and she nodded.

“With all my heart,” she said.

“And, honey, no one else ever need know. I would never have guessed, so no one else will. Let’s just take things as far as we want to. Okay?”

She nodded. I stood up and helped her to her feet. We walked slowly back to the house. I took her upstairs and stripped the wet robe off her. I started the shower in her bathroom and placed her in the shower. I stripped off and joined her again.

She just clung to me, as the hot water streamed off us. I felt myself becoming aroused again and she got out. We wrapped ourselves in fresh towels and she sat on her bed.

She looked up at me, looking miserable and very vulnerable. Her towel fell open, so I sat beside her and helped her dry off. I kissed her, and she fell back onto the bed. We lay together in her bed, just enjoying holding each other close.

“Let me just say one thing. You are most definitely one hundred percent female,” I said.

She grinned and snuggled in close to me.

“I hoped and prayed that you would come to me, I so wanted you to say that you didn’t care. I couldn’t have gone on without telling you the truth,” she said.

“Look, Dee, I know how hard it was for you to tell me. I just wanted you to know that I respect you so much for telling me. It made me realise what a special kind of person you had to be. To risk being miserable just so I was not deceived at all.”

“Oh, John, I couldn’t go into any relationship without everything being open and honest. I just couldn’t do it. Even if you go back to the States in a couple of weeks and we never see each other ever again. I will know that the time we have together is not false,” she said.

“Okay, we got over that, so where do we go from here?” I asked.

“I don’t care, ten days with you is more than I ever dreamed possible. I’ll not make any demands on you at all,” she said, and I suddenly felt so tender towards her.

“You’ve had a real bum deal out of life.”

“Not any more, you’re my ace,” she said.

We heard the sound of a car on gravel. Ed had arrived back.

“What do we do?” I asked.

“Shut the door and come back to bed,” she said. Her confidence was returning.
 
 
As it happened, we didn’t go back to bed. She changed into a white dress. I slung on a dry shirt and another pair of jeans. We went down stairs and found Ed spreading documents all over the dining room table.

Dee put our wet clothes into the dryer, and went back up stairs to dry her hair and put some makeup on.

“Get wet, Big Jay?” Ed asked.

“Yeah, we were just caught out and got soaked. But we had a real good ride. What you got there?”

“This is the family tree of the Collingwoods. I found old Eileen Collingwood and she had the whole lot in her old family Bible. Henry had three brothers and four sisters. She had all the details of all the brothers and sisters and their families. I was able to fill in the American side, and she was real interested. We can now trace the family back to 1420. Isn’t this exciting?” Ed said.

Dee came in looking radiant, but giving no hint of the trauma she had gone through. I began to see that I had been right, she was a strong person, albeit with vulnerabilities.

She came over to me and gently rested her hand on my arm. I got the message. She wanted Ed to know how the land lay, so I put my arm around her and kissed her. I thought Ed’s jaw would hit the floor.

“Do you want lunch here, or shall we go to have lunch out. I thought that we could have a look round Corfe this afternoon, what do you chaps want to do?” she said.

“I have to meet the Rector at two. He's letting me have a look at the parish records. I may be able to fill in some of the gaps,” said Ed.

“Well, let’s eat here. John and I will go to Corfe later. I’ll get some lunch out. I hope cold snacks are okay, it’s all I’ve got,” she said, going into the kitchen.

Ed was quick, “Hey buddy boy, so you and Dee are an item?” he said.

“Something like that,” I said.

“I thought that might happen. I have to admit to being surprised at the speed, but I’m pleased for you, she’s just what you need.”

“Yeah, I guess she is at that,” I said, smiling.
 
 
We sat in the kitchen and had some fresh rolls with ham and cheese. She had some lettuce and tomatoes from the garden, with fresh raspberries with cream to follow. Washed down by some beer, it was a veritable feast.

Ed scuttled off to meet his Rector friend, so Dee drove us to Corfe. It had stopped raining, so we went and had a look around the ruined castle. Dee was rather subdued, having lost some of her earlier sparkle. We looked around the shops, and came to a small gemstone shop.

I noticed a pair of pendant earrings in the window. They were blue, the exact same blue as her eyes. So I dragged her into the store and bought them for her.

They were beautiful and matched her eyes perfectly.

“I can’t take these, John. They are far too expensive,” she said.

“Dee. You have made us welcome in your home, you have fed us and become our friend. These are a poor token of the value of what you have done for us. Not least the love you give me,” I said.

She almost started to cry, so I paid and we left. As we walked down the street, I caught her admiring the earrings in shop windows. She grinned, and I saw that some of her sparkle had returned.
 
 
Ed and I took her out for a meal that evening. Ed drove us to the town of Swanage to a small restaurant that specialised in seafood, and being from a part of Arizona that is about as far from the ocean as you can get, I had to confess that my knowledge of fresh seafood was limited. Ed was a keen fisherman, as he and some buddies would go off for a weeks fishing, but nothing prepared us for the meal we had.

We had a huge bowl of fresh mussels cooked in their shells in a wine and herb stock to start, followed by sea bass and salmon en croute (in pastry), and then a bramble sorbet, that slid down real nice at the end. We had a bottle of chilled white wine, while Ed stuck to his beer. Dee wore a very elegant black dress, and I noticed she was wearing her new earrings. She looked beautiful, and I kept looking to see any hint of the person she said used to be. I just couldn’t see anything other than an elegant, sophisticated lady, whom I now knew I loved dearly.

Ed was single minded about his quest and, frankly, he was beginning to bore the pants off me. Dee was charming with him, actually managing to sound interested when she asked him questions.

But the food was so good, that even Ed shut up while we ate. I had never eaten mussels before. It was interesting, as the ‘liquor’ at the bottom of the bowl was almost the best part.
 
 
Three hours later, we left the restaurant, feeling well fed and relaxed. Dee took us along the front, where there was a beach. She took her shoes off and paddled in the gently lapping water. I was nice walking along the beach, in the cool of the evening.

I saw a group of young men messing about near an ice cream kiosk, a couple of hundred yards away. They were clearly under the influence, and were shouting and being what drunk young men often managed to be, a real pain is the ass.

A single English Bobby, with his high helmet and bright yellow florescent jacket walked towards them. One man, deciding that alcohol made him very brave, started to swear at the officer. One of his friends started to try to drag him away, but the game had started.

I walked towards the group, I heard Ed telling Dee that he would go get the car.

One of the men knocked the officer’s helmet off, so the officer grabbed the man, obviously attempting to arrest him. The other two then tried to pull their friend free. There was a lot of shouting and swearing, and the officer, who appeared very young, looked increasingly concerned. Every time he tried to talk into his personal radio, the men grabbed it off him.
 
 
I approached the group, slowly. I saw the man the officer was now holding, try to punch the officer, while the others continued to try to pull him free.

I walked over and said to the Constable, “I’m an off-duty officer, it looks like you need some assistance.”

I turned to the two men who were still trying to free their colleague.

“You two, back off, or you will be arrested. Do it NOW!” I shouted, and moved towards them.

They looked startled, so for a moment let go of their friend.

“Okay officer, get your man out of here,” I said to the constable.

“You two, stand very still, because interfering with an arrest will get you both busted,” I said, and they stood looking warily at me.
 
 
The officer called for back up, then he handcuffed the man he had arrested.

The other two looked at their friend, now on his knees with handcuffs on. Then they saw a blue light on a rapidly approaching police vehicle.

“Now, go home, sober up and thank your lucky stars that it ain’t you in the handcuffs,” I said. After a moment’s uncertain hesitation, they turned and walked away.

“You okay?” I asked the young Bobby.

“Thanks. You are American, aren’t you?” he said.

“Good guess. I'm Chief John Collingwood of the Midhurst Police Department, Arizona,” I said, producing my I.D. and badge.

“Chief? Shit! I mean, thanks very much for your help, sir,” he stammered.

“No problem. It was a pleasure. I couldn’t let you get the shit kicked out of you, now could I?”

A police van arrived and two officers got out. They helped the young drunk into the back. I noticed that Dee had come over, grinning at me.

“You just can’t resist being a hero, can you? Save a damsel in distress in the morning, and then swoop to the aid of the constabulary in the evening,” she said.

“Back home on Krypton, I’m just another weakling,” I said, grinning. Dee kissed me.

“What was that for?”

“For being you. For seeing and doing the right thing,” she said.

“Excuse me, sir?” the young officer interjected.

“Yeah?”

“Sir, did you see any of the incident?”

“Yeah, I saw the guy you arrested knock your helmet off and call you a fucking dickhead,” I said.

He grinned, “Is it possible you could make a statement to that effect?” he asked.

“Sure. When, now?”

“It would probably be easier, unless you are staying nearby?”

I looked at Dee.

“Do it now. It will be over and done with then,” she said.

“If you and your wife want, we can give you a lift to the station,” the officer said, just as Ed arrived in the Mercedes.

Dee smiled at me, but made no attempt to correct the officer’s mistaken assumption. We were both old enough to be his parents, and we were both wearing wedding rings.
 
 
We followed the police van to the station, and it only took ten minutes. The senior officer at the station was a female Inspector, the equivalent to a Lieutenant in the US, called Caroline Mercer. Caroline showed me round the station, and gave me a spare helmet plate from the Dorset Police. I promised to send her some patches after I got home and gave her my card. I explained that I was only going to be in the country for a couple of weeks. She said that if he didn’t plead guilty, she would be very surprised. But in any event, she didn’t think that I’d be required for court.

Ed drove us back to Hutchings Cottage, where Dee offered us a nightcap. She gave me a single malt scotch and Ed, ever the cultured caveman, had another beer. I sat on the sofa, savouring the excellent Scotch.

Ed drank his beer and excused himself, as he told us he was setting off for Wales early the next morning. This came as news to me, as I had thought he was taking off at the weekend.

“How come? I thought you planned to go down there on Friday or Saturday,” I asked.

He grinned at me. “I called him today. It seems that there is a Beer Festival starting tomorrow, so I thought, what the hell, you don’t have one of them every day. So, as you guys are getting along so well, I thought I’d leave you to it,” he said.

“So when are you coming back?” Dee asked.

“I have no fixed plans. I have your number. I’ll call you this Sunday, to let you know what's going on and then, if necessary, the following week before we’re due to fly out. I’d like to come back for a couple of days, to tie up a couple of small loose ends on the family tree, but they aren’t vital. I've left the details of the pub on your hall table by the phone if you need to contact me.”

I looked at Dee and caught her smile.

“Anyway, goodnight folks, and thanks Dee, for making us so welcome,” Ed said.

“It’s a pleasure. What time are you getting up?” Dee said.

“Oh, early, around seven,” he replied.

“I’ll be up. I’ll get you some breakfast. John and I are going riding again at half past,” she told him.

“Oh, that would be good. Thanks. Well, goodnight,” he said, and went upstairs.

“Another whisky?” she asked me.

“No, but thanks. I must try to keep my intake down. I got rather familiar with old Mr Scotch recently,” I replied. It was amazing the secrets that I shared with her. I suppose in comparison to her secret, they were not that large, but still, she managed to get me to open up better than anyone else.
 
 
She came and sat next to me on the sofa, folding her legs up underneath her. I found myself constantly amazed at just how naturally feminine she was. I still could not quite believe that she could ever have been anything other than what she was now.

I put an arm around her shoulders and she snuggled in close to me.

“You make me feel so good,” she said.

“That’s because you are,” I said.

“Sarah tells me that somehow I managed to acquire all Delia’s grace,” she said. It was the first time she had mentioned her.

“How did your kids react when you told them?” I asked.

“Oh God, that was so hard. I gathered them in the drawing room in our old home and just came out with it. Delia, bless her, wrote them all a letter before she died. I don’t know what she wrote, but after I told them, I went outside and waited to see what happened. They all read their letters, and all have been wonderfully supportive. I’m very lucky,” she said.

“You have a habit of just coming out with it, and then going outside,” I said, with a smile.

She smiled, a rather sad smile I thought.

“I’m sorry. If you don’t want to talk about it, then…”

“No, John, I must. It helps. You see, I haven’t really spoken to anyone about her since I started on my great adventure. So like you, I have an awful lot bottled up inside,” she said.

“Did she know about you, I mean about your, um, er…” I didn’t quite have the words.

“She knew what I was long before we married. She was a saint, so for twenty-five years, I had a fully contented life. But when she died, I knew what I had to do,” she said.

“This is all a bit weird. Did you tell her, or did she just find out?”

“I told her. I couldn’t go into a relationship with that kind of secret, could I?” she said, smiling.

I smiled too. “Where have I heard that before? Your honesty is going to get you into trouble one day,” I told her.

“I know. I thought it had today,” she said, looking at me. “I thought I had frightened you away. It was almost too much, I wanted to die.”

I saw a tear start to well up in her eye.

“Hey, I told you, it’s over. No more secrets left now. We just look forward, not back, except for the good memories, so we help each other with coming to terms with the sad ones, okay, honey?” I said.

“Okay. I love the way you speak. No one ever called me ‘honey’ before. I like it,” she said.

“Good,” I said, kissing her. She returned the kiss very tenderly.

“I heard your brother call you Big Jay. What did Sally call you?”

“She called me Jay, or honey, or John, or who hasn’t wiped their feet?” I said, and she laughed.

“Would you rather I didn’t call you any of those?” she asked.

“Honey, you can call me what the hell you like, I got no problem with any of them,” I said.

“Well, I'm off to bed. We’ve got some riding to do tomorrow. I only hope the weather is nice. What do you fancy doing after the ride?”

“I don’t give a damn, as long as I’m with you,” I said, and she laughed again.

I stood up, taking my glass into the kitchen while she switched out the lights. I followed her upstairs. She opened her bedroom door and turned to face me.

“I don’t quite know how to say this,” she said.

I kissed her. “If you need company tonight, I’ll be happy to oblige, but if you want to be alone, I understand,” I said.

“I have to be honest, I don’t ever want to be alone again,” she said, so I kissed her again.

“I’ll get my things,” I said and went to my room and collected the tee shirt and shorts that I slept in. I picked up my wash and shaving kit, and went into her room. She was already in her bathroom, so I changed. She came out wearing a real pretty nightdress.

“All yours,” she said, with a lovely smile.
 
 
I went into the bathroom, peed, had a wash and cleaned my teeth. I came out and switched out the main light.

Her bed was a king size, with a cute awning above it, with material drapes hanging down at the head. There was a light each side, and the light on the right was on.

“Which side do you like?” she asked.

I had to think for a moment.

“I’m not fussy, I used to sleep on the left,” I said.

“Good, I used to sleep on the right,” she said, lifting up the duvet.

I got in and tried to relax. This was the first time I had got into bed with anyone since Sally died. It was going to take some getting used to.

Dee snuggled down and said, “Light!”

“Okay,” I said, so she turned it out.

I lay there a while. I could hear her breathing softly. Then she started to giggle.

I smiled. “Okay, what’s so funny?” I asked.

“Us. Aren’t we ridiculous?” she said.

“Why?”

“It has been so long since we shared a bed with anyone, we’re all stiff and tense,” she said, still chuckling.

“I know how to solve that,” I said.

“Oh, how?”

I reached for her, pulling her gently to me, I found her mouth in the dark and kissed her. Her hands were all over me, so it wasn’t long before I lost my shorts and tee shirt, she lost her nightdress and we were making love.
 
 
We then slept naked and relaxed, entwined with each other. We made love again before her alarm went off at seven, and then we made love again. I felt completely shattered, I was behaving like a teenager, but hadn’t the stamina.
 
 

*          *          *
 
End of Part 3
 
 
To Be Continued...

 
David buries his wife after she loses her fight against cancer. He is nearly 50, and their children are now grown up, so he breaks the news that he is going to undertake that which he wanted to do for as long as he could remember — a sex change. He had struggled with his transsexuality all his life, but his love for his wife and respect for her meant he just played the hand that he had been dealt, up to now, that is.

Meanwhile, in the USA, grizzled Police Chief John Collingwood comes to near breaking point. Stressed from his job, his grief over his dead wife, and the despair of near alcoholism, he embarks on a trip to the UK with his brother to seek out his family tree.

Two very different people find a very different future, they also find each other...

but will it work?

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Tanya has a new website where she will display her latest works first and then to BigCloset TopShelf a few weeks later is here at Tanya Allan's Tales .
Tanya's Book Shop where she is selling her works in book form is at http://tanyaallan.authorshaunt.com/shop.php . Please Visit!

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The Legal Stuff: A Girl Can But Dream  © 2006,2009,2010 Tanya Allan
 
This work is the property of the author, and the author retains full copyright, in relation to printed material, whether on paper or electronically. Any adaptation of the whole or part of the material for broadcast by radio, TV, or for stage plays or film, is the right of the author unless negotiated through legal contract. Permission is granted for it to be copied and read by individuals, and for no other purpose. Any commercial use by anyone other than the author is strictly prohibited, and may only be posted to free sites with the express permission of the author.
 
This work is fictitious, and any similarities to any persons, alive or dead, are purely coincidental. Mention is made of persons in public life only for the purposes of realism, and for that reason alone. Certain licence is taken in respect of medical procedures, terms and conditions, and the author does not claim to be the fount of all knowledge.
 
The author accepts the right of the individual to hold his/her (or whatever) own political, religious and social views, and there is no intention to deliberately offend anyone. If you wish to take offence, that is your problem.
 
This is only a story, and it contains adult material, which includes sex and intimate descriptive details pertaining to genitalia. If this is likely to offend, then don’t read it.
 
Please enjoy.
Tanya
 
 

 
 
 
Chapter 7
 
 
Dee
 
I was in heaven!

My dream had become a reality. Not only did he tell me that he didn’t care about what I had been, but it was almost word for word from my journal. I thought at first he was just being kind, but after we made love when my alarm went off, I knew that he would have to be the kindest man in the world to make love four times and then come riding with me.

Ed saw us both coming out of the same room and his eyes said it all. After I cooked them both a decent breakfast, and we’d waved Ed off in the hire car, John and I went to the stables again. We spent the morning exploring the local countryside on horseback. The weather looked as if it could go either way, but at about ten, the clouds cleared and the sun came out.

We were back home by eleven-thirty. I can’t remember feeling quite so elated over life, ever. There were times when I remembered feeling close to what I felt now, such as the birth of our children, and many moments within our marriage. The feeling of total contentment I now experienced came from deep within the centre of my being. At its core was the fact that I was a woman, so everything, for the first time in my life, seemed to hinge of that one piece of perfection.

I kept having to mentally pinch myself, as I was not only in love with a wonderful man, but he loved me back, in the full knowledge of my past, and despite it. In all my dreams of what life could possibly have in store for me, I never dared hope that this would be a possible scenario, and certainly not within such a short space of time.
 
 
It was a glorious day, which just added to my feeling of euphoria. We went upstairs, and I was changing out of my riding clothes when he came at me from behind. He made love to me as I was undressing, I had never experienced sex from behind and I found it incredibly erotic! There was something animalistic about it, as with the smell of the horses mingled with our own sweaty bodies - I admit that I became rather passionate.

Having achieved a near- orgasm in this position, I slipped out of his clutches, pushed him onto his back and I mounted him. I let him slide back inside me again, with me on top. I rode him very hard and I was much happier seeing him face to face. He was able to kiss and play with my breasts, and I lost myself in the wonder of the moment.

Finally, he arched his back, almost throwing me off as he came. I fancied I felt his semen spurting inside me. I think that I came with him, and we just held one another as we relaxed. After many minutes, we went and showered. I just wanted him to hold me all day. I felt so safe and warm when he held me.

"Now what are we going to do?" I asked, as we dried each other off.

He smiled, "To be honest, I don’t really care, as long as we're together," he said.

"We could go to the beach for a picnic," I suggested, which he thought that was a fine idea.
 
 
The days flew past. Each was better than the last, as John and I grew together in a very deep and loving way. I was conscious that he kept comparing me to Sally, even though he told me he wasn’t. In that respect, I was fortunate, as the difference in my circumstances were so great to make it all new and fresh for me. We also talked about those things I never dreamed I would talk about. Although he didn’t want to know much about my previous existence, he was a pragmatist, realising the potential problems should my past become known. He wanted to know, while at the same time didn't. I understood completely.

We talked through how he felt about me, and how I felt about myself. He was having difficulty coming to terms with who I had been, but had no difficulty with who I was now. I was content to have a man love me for a short time. If he was going to walk out of my life, then I was content, for he had given me more than I ever expected!

However, with only a few days to go, we were lying in bed one morning, having made slow and very sensuous love. Enjoying the sun stream through the window, as we just enjoyed that feeling of relaxed euphoria in each other’s arms.

He turned to me and stroked my shoulder.

"Dee?"

"Hmm?"

"Come back with me."

"I’d love to."

"No, I mean it. Fly back with me when I go."

"I can’t, I have a meeting with my publisher, and there is the exhibition of paintings."

"I just want you with me."

"So do I, but life goes on."

"Look, I could take another week off!"

"And then we’d just face the same problem in a week’s time."

He was quiet for a while. "You’d love the ranch."

"I’m sure I would, so I will come as soon as I can."

"I don’t want this vacation to end."

"All good things come to an end, eventually."

He fell silent again. In my philosophical way I sensed I had touched a nerve, and guessed why. We'd both experienced the end of something wonderful, a fact that neither of us could or would forget.

"Sally said that didn’t she?" I asked and he nodded.

"I’m sorry, that was insensitive of me," I said.

"Don’t be silly, you're one of the most sensitive people I've ever met. I was just reflecting, this is the first time I've thought of Sal in over four days."

"Is that good?"

"I guess. Not so much good, as encouraging. I don’t know about you, but I couldn’t go through a day without thinking about her for most of the time. Work helped, as when I was busy I managed to go longer, but every thought brought home the pain of loss."

I gave him a squeeze.

"I was the same, but somehow, I sense she is happy for me now," I said.

"I don’t want to lose you," he said.

"Why should you?"

"I don’t know, it’s just a heck of a long way across the Atlantic Ocean."

It was my time to fall silent. I realised that the publisher could be put off, and I didn’t actually have to be around for the exhibition, as they already had the items to exhibit. I formed a germ of an idea and smiled.

"So, when is your brother picking you up?"

"He said he would be here the day after tomorrow at about five. We’ll spend the following day with you, and then off the next day. We’re booked on the midday flight from Heathrow Terminal Three on a United Airlines flight. So how long will it take to get to Heathrow from here?"

"You want to leave at about seven in the morning, give yourself two hours to get there, with a bit for bad traffic, so then you’ll have plenty of time to relax before the flight."

"Well, that’s when we’ll go."

I was quiet, but my mind was very busy. He took it that I was sad and gave me a cuddle.

"Hey, just come on out as soon as you can."

"Oh, I will, I certainly will."
 
 
We spent the day quietly at home. He helped me with some odd jobs. I watched him as he replaced some fencing down in the long grass by the gate to the meadow. He saw me looking at him, and he stopped and smiled.

"Okay, what are you thinking?" he asked.

"I’ll miss you. I’ve got used to having you around."

"I like being around you."

"Thank you for being here. I don’t remember ever being quite so happy."

He put down the sledgehammer and came over to me, wrapping his large arms around me. He smelled of sweat and power. It was faintly erotic.

"When I came to your country, I was on the verge of alcoholism and a breakdown. I was miserable and like a bear with a sore head. Now, I'm like a kid again, in love with a beautiful girl."

"Hardly a girl."

"Don’t fool yourself. Age is not an issue here. You’re a girl and I’m a boy, so forget the wrinkles and aching joints."

I laughed and he kissed me. I ached just then, but not my joints. My soul ached, as I just wanted him so much. He seemed to sense it, so before I knew what happened, we were lying in the long grass and my dress was off. He made such wonderful love to me that I felt that I wanted to die. I knew that life could only get worse, so if I died now, then I wouldn’t have to go through the pains of old age, bereavement and death.

We lay naked in the grass, with the smell of summer all around us. The insects were chattering and the birds were singing.

"Marry me, Dee?" he said, completely out of the blue. It was so unexpected that I started to cry.

"If only I could," I said. "It's against the law in this country for transsexuals to marry."

"Then marry me in the States, it's legal in some states."

"I’d love to, but I'm conscious of the potential scandal for you if my past got out."

"Dee, I don’t care; if you don’t."

"It wouldn’t do your public credibility any good."

"You can shove my public credibility. I want you for my wife!"

"Oh John!" I wept as the emotion just became too much.

"Dee, please?"

"On one condition."

"Go on."

"We wait until after you retire as Chief of Police."

"Is that really what you want?"

"No, but I can’t damage you then."

"So it makes a difference being my mistress or fiancé, does it?" he observed, laughing at my naivety.

I could no longer find an argument, so was quiet.

"Dee?"

"Of course I’ll marry you. But I just want what is best for you."

"Having you as my wife is the best for me," he said with a grin.

"But, John, if the press get hold of it, your life could be made a living hell."

"Then we don’t tell anyone."

"You know that these things always get out."

"Why should it? Unless we want them to know?"

"Well, if you are sure?"

"I've never been as sure of anything in my life. Look, honey, don’t see you as anything other than a beautiful woman, whom I love dearly. Okay, had I known about your past before I got to know you things may have been different, but I doubt it. I fell in love with the woman I see, so then will everyone else. It's not like we're in the flush of youth, or in the public eye. Hell, you've a grandkid, for Pete's sakes!"

We left it at that, I agreed to be his wife, but we set no time schedule to it. We both had things to sort out, so we both knew that if the time we spent apart changed things then neither of us had lost anything. I wanted to be his wife more than anything else, but I was still terrified of bringing any embarrassment or scandal on him. I also had got used to the peace and security of being me in a very quiet neck of the woods, so I was a little apprehensive at change.

Although the prospect of his departure threatened to cast a small shadow over everything, we didn’t have time to let it bother us. Sarah phoned and asked if I minded if she came down for a couple of days, as she was on her own again. Charles was in Brussels at another conference, and Amy was draining the poor girl.

She sounded tired on the phone, so I didn’t even try to explain about my change in circumstances.

"Of course, darling, come down for a couple of days. You know I’m always happy to see my granddaughter."

"Thanks, I just need some space. I’ll be there for lunch."

John looked at me.

"Didn’t you tell her?"

"I didn’t have the words. It’ll be better in person," I said, willing it would be so,

Sarah arrived in time for lunch, so I went out to the car as she pulled onto the gravel. I hadn’t seen little Amy for a few weeks, and she had grown even in that short length of time. I took her from Sarah, and the little girl gave me an enormous smile.

John came out and watched from a few yards away. Sarah looked at him and then at me, one eyebrow arched.

"Heck, there’s no doubt who’s daughter you are!" said John.

"Sarah, this is John Collingwood. John has been staying with me for a couple of weeks. John, this is my daughter, Sarah, and granddaughter, Amy."

"Hello Sarah. It is real nice to meet you at last, your M…, Dee has told me so much about you," John said. Sarah smiled, giving me another strange look.

"Sarah, let’s go inside. I’ve actually got quite a bit to talk to you about," I said, so we went into the sitting room.

"Do you want me, as well?" John asked.

As I took his hand, I thought that Sarah’s eyebrows were about to take off!

"Of course, my love, I think it best you stay," I said.

"Look, why don’t I put a kettle on and then come back in a couple of minutes?" he said, leaving us alone.

I turned to Sarah. "Sarah, John has asked me to marry him, and I agreed."

She stared at me, blinking once, and then looked at the kitchen door.

"Ah, um, are you sure this is, ah, wise?" she asked. "I mean, have you thought this thing through?"

I smiled and shook my head.

"No, it isn’t wise, but I love the man, so I’m about as sure as I can be that he loves me."

"What about,… you know?"

"You mean who I was?"

She nodded.

"He knows."

"You told him? When?"

"After we’d made love the first time. I couldn’t keep it from him after that, could I?"

Sarah’s jaw dropped.

"You…and him…you’ve, ..you know, …done it?"

I smiled and nodded.

"Shit, Dee, that was quick!"

"Oh, and just how long was I supposed to wait? At my age, eligible men don’t come past my gate every week!"

I told her how we’d met, with a short history of our time together. She ended up smiling, with a tear in her eye.

"Oh, Dee, it is so you! You must be one of the most romantic people I know," she said, and was giving me a hug as John came back.

"Is it safe?" he asked with a smile.

Sarah stood up and gave him a hug too.

"Congratulations, you're absolutely mad, both of you. You realise that, don’t you?" she said.

John looked at me and smiled.

"Yeah, but, hey, you only live once!"

We enjoyed being together and spent a very lovely day being incredibly domesticated. John barbequed some steaks for lunch, as he told us that he wanted to show us how to eat properly. I looked after little Amy while Sarah relaxed and grilled my future husband about his prospects and intentions!
 
 
The next day he wanted to buy some gifts for the folks back home, and he said he needed a haircut. I didn’t see it, as his hair was pretty short in any case, but we drove into Swanage for him to achieve his set objectives.

While he was in the barbers, Sarah and I popped into the travel agent. I enquired about any flights to Phoenix on the following day, and discovered that a BA flight took off from Heathrow Terminal Four an hour before John’s United Airlines one. (Terminal Five was still being built) Pausing for only a second, I booked a first class seat on the BA flight, on an open-ended ticket, paying by credit card. Such is the system of ticketless flights, I was told that the ticket would be waiting for me at the check in. I was then asked if I needed a hire car, so I smiled and said that I didn’t.

Sarah thought it was typical of me, the last romantic, and chuckled dreadfully when we went to meet up with John again.

"Stop it, as you’ll give the game away!" I told her, so she reduced the chuckle to a permanent grin.

I met John as he came out of the barbers, having to fight hard to stop grinning inanely as well. We wandered around the shops, where he bought various terrible presents for people. The sort of things that you don’t think anyone would ever buy because no one in their right minds would ever have the courage or stupidity to display them for anyone to see.

I had to pop to the bank, so was able to buy some US Dollars. I thought that the credit cards would be fine for most things, but a little cash would come in handy.

We had lunch on the beach, just some fish and chips from the paper, and an ice cream. We paddled in the water, which was chilling off as September was coming to a close. Sarah sat on the wall, watching John and I hold Amy just so she could dabble her toes in the water. She loved it and kicked her legs, squealing with delight.

As we walked back through the town to the car, we passed a little jeweller’s shop. He stopped and pointed to a lovely little ring. It was a diamond surrounded in sapphires on a white gold mount.

"Do you like that?" he asked.

"It’s very pretty."

He led me into the shop and asked to see it. The assistant took it from the window and gave it to John. He took it, examined it closely, then he took my left hand and slipped it onto my ring finger. I had taken my old wedding ring off now, as it didn’t seem right anymore.

It fitted, so he smiled. "I’d like to have given you the one that I gave Sally, but somehow I feel we should start afresh. Now you gotta marry me," he said.

He paid the assistant, while I found myself on the verge of tears again. Silently I cursed the new hormones I had in my body. I had an implant in my thigh, which released the correct levels of oestrogen into my system over a six-month period. I blamed my emotional state squarely on them.

I kissed him and we left, with his arm around my shoulders. I felt about sixteen. I had thought yesterday that I could never be so happy, but I had been mistaken. Sarah had a silly smile on her face, which, I think, mirrored mine.

Sarah gave Amy her last feed and we put her to bed. We had a lovely evening in. I cooked crepes, with a savoury filling for entree, and with maple syrup and cream for dessert.

Sarah went to bed early, so John and I curled up on the sofa watching some inane movie.
 
 
The next morning saw John and I off riding early again. Sarah was up with the baby, and seemed content flopping about in her dressing gown. The weather was cooler, so we rode hard. It was a crisp clear morning, as autumn was approaching now. The views were amazing, so as we paused at the top of the hill, the world seemed to belong to us.

After our shower, John and I took Amy for a drive, allowing Sarah to have a stress free morning. She went back to bed, while we went to Wareham.

It felt odd pushing a pushchair again. Particularly as this time, I was the woman, and my new love was this handsome man beside me. We stopped at a café and had some coffee. The lady who served us smiled indulgently at the baby.

"She’s lovely. Yours?" she asked, to which I laughed.

"Heavens, no, my daughter’s, but thanks for thinking she could be!" I said.

We ordered our coffees, and John was smiling at me.

"You look young enough!" he said.

"Not you too?" I said, but was so pleased.
 
 
I drove back to the house, with Ed arrived shortly after we did. He became aware that his brother had changed since he had last seen him, so John told him that we were engaged. He was shocked at the speed at which events had occurred, but he seemed genuinely pleased that he had at last found someone to share his life.

I introduced Sarah to Ed, and put together a light lunch.

"You look just like your mom," Ed said to Sarah.

"Thanks, everyone says that," she replied and looked at me, as if to say, ‘so, you never told the brother, then?’

We went out for a final meal at the pub, and had an early bed. Neither of us slept much. John was feeling sad that he was leaving, and I was excited at the prospect of surprising him at Phoenix Airport. Our lovemaking was almost desperate and our passion was matched by our profound and deep love.

We clung to each other for a long time and fell asleep in each other’s arms. Although, as usual, we ended up on opposite sides of the bed and not touching at all.
 
 
My alarm went off at six. I was up and downstairs cooking breakfast for the boys while John packed. Sarah appeared, having been woken by Amy.

"So, do you want me to lock up after you’ve gone, or what?" she asked.

"Could you? That would be super."

"How long are you going for?"

"I haven’t a clue. It may all turn into a disaster, so I could well be back on the first flight home."

She smiled. "No. I suspect that you've found the one in a million there. He adores you. Don’t you realise how special he is? With all your baggage, he still worships the ground you walk on. Dee, you have no idea how rare someone like that is!"

I smiled, giving her a hug.

"Oh, Sarah, I know exactly how special he is. But, there are his daughters, his mother and everything else to take into account."

Our conversation ended as the brothers appeared.
 
 
The mood was sombre, so I dressed and packed as they ate breakfast. I had managed to pack most of my stuff the previous evening, when Ed was showing his brother the photographs of this time in Wales.

We had a rather sad farewell, as I tried to look as miserable as I could. I even managed to squeeze a tear out just for good measure. I waved them off, just as my taxi arrived to take me to Heathrow too. I raced against the clock to get my stuff into the taxi and on the road myself. I had phoned my publisher, so that meeting was on hold. The gallery understood that I had family crisis, so would not be present at the exhibition. I think they were quite pleased, as clucking artists must be the bane of their lives.

We overtook them long before we got to Ringwood, reaching Heathrow in good time. I was flying from a different Terminal, so we would not meet. My flight took off just as John and Ed were probably going to the departure gate. I settled down and relaxed, with a huge smile firmly fixed on my face.

I had flown a lot as David, but never as Dee, but found myself enjoying the flight immensely. The prospect of standing at the arrivals channel as John walked through made me stupidly giddy with excitement. I could not stop grinning. There was a suited businessman in the seat next to me. He introduced himself as Archie McRae from Edinburgh. He had no discernable Scottish accent, and told me that he was in the oil business.

We chatted generally about things, and he noticed my ring. I explained I was flying in to Phoenix as my fiancé was from Arizona. I explained that our previous spouses had died of cancer, so it was our second time around for each of us.

He was actually charming and good company. His wife was back in Edinburgh and his children were in their late teens, so were still at home. He was looking forward to his retirement when they could enjoy each other’s company.

"What happens if something happens to either of you now?"

He was quiet for a while.

"I hadn’t considered that. I suppose one thinks that it will never happen to you, doesn’t one?"

"It happened to me, and to John. We are both determined that we are going to spend as much time as possible with each other from now on," I said.

He looked quite thoughtful and then smiled.

"I think I may seriously reconsider my future plans, there is no point working your balls off, if you never get to appreciate the best things in life. And they can’t be bought!"

I laughed and agreed, telling him about my plans to surprise John. He thought that it was a wonderfully romantic thing to do, and wished me well.

It was two o’clock in the afternoon when the flight landed. I took my time and approached the U.S. Immigration desk a little nervously. But I needn’t have worried, I must have looked a safe bet, as I was asked the minimum of questions, and was permitted to pass through to collect my case.

I wandered through onto the arrival’s concourse, checking on the TV monitor to see that John’s flight was just landing. I stood by the rails about as excited as one could be. I saw that the monitor stated the baggage was in the hall, and my excitement built up to the point where I was ready to burst.
 
 
Finally, they came through. Ed was pushing the cart (we are in America now) and John was ambling along in that loose-limbed stride I had come to love so much.

Ed walked straight past me, without a glance. John looked at me, looked away and then back again.

His eyes opened wide and his mouth opened, but no sound came out.

"Hi honey. Remember me?" I said, in a poor attempt at an American accent.
 
 
Chapter 8
 
 
John
 
They tell me that I'm a difficult guy to surprise. Well, when I came through the arrivals door and saw Dee standing there, you could have knocked me down with a feather. I was feeling really down at that moment. The flight had been long and dreary and I missed Dee a lot. The prospect of going back to the ranch full of memories did not fill me with enthusiasm, and neither was I even particularly keen to go back to work. In fact, I seriously thought about booking on the return flight to England!

Ed just walked on by, as he didn’t even see her. I saw her, but discounted what my eyes had seen as being wishful thinking, but then had to look back to check.

She was wearing that pretty, floral dress that I liked so much, showing her tanned shoulders and arms. She had that wide brimmed white hat on, with the pale high-heeled sandals, showing off those amazing legs of hers. I saw her suitcase by her, and worked out that she must have got a slightly earlier flight. She looked stunning and every inch the lady she was.

But when she said, "Hi honey. Remember me?" My heart lurched, and I realised that I had been right. This woman meant the world to me.

I swept her off her feet and we were both laughing and crying at the same time. We were getting some funny looks from everyone else, but I couldn’t give a damn. Ed stopped saw us, shaking his head in wonder, a huge grin spreading across his face.
 
 
We went out to the parking lot and said goodbye to an incredulous Ed. I put our cases into the pickup. She slid in next to me and I drove out onto the highway.

"Ed will be telling our sister Pam all about you already," I said.

"I don’t care. I just couldn’t face life without you," she said, snuggling close to me.

I felt as if I had just won the state lottery. I couldn’t stop grinning, and when I looked at her, she was the same.

"Hell, I love you, Dee," I said.

"That’s a good thing," she said in that wonderful English accent, and I laughed. I was just glad to be alive.

It was a two-hour drive to Midhurst, so I pointed stuff out to her as we travelled along. But she just sat with her head against my shoulder, smiling at me. Somehow it didn’t matter what passed us by, we were just happy we were together.

I had to drive through the town to get to the ranch, so she told me that she was interested to see the place.

"Shall we stop for a coffee or something?" I asked, as it was six pm.

She just smiled. "Whatever you want. I’m in your world now," she said.

I parked out front of Wendy’s and went in, sitting down next to each other in a booth.

Jean, the waitress, came over and seemed pleased to see me. The last time I had seen her was the day of the siege, when I had affected her release prior to taking down young Luke.

"Hi Chief, good to see ya back. Did you have a nice vacation?" she said.

"I had a wonderful time, thanks, Jean. This here is Dee, she’s from England. We’ll be getting’ married sometime soon," I explained.

Her reaction was a joy to behold. She stared at me, then at Dee and then back at me again.

"You’all getting married?" she asked, incredulity creeping into her voice.

Dee waved her left hand at her, so Jean stared at the ring.

"Well, I’ll be….," she said, a smile breaking across her face.

"Can we get something to drink, or what?" I asked.

She gave us the menus, and shot off to the kitchen. I knew that I didn’t have to tell anyone else, the whole town would know by sunset.

Dee was smiling.

"What?" I asked.

"Nothing, I am just so pleased to be here."

"It’s a small town and word gets around real quick," I explained.

"I come from a village, so I know how things work," she said, taking my hand.

Jean brought us some iced water and took out her pad to take our order. We didn’t want anything to eat, just some iced tea.

As we sat, I saw a police cruiser pull up and Pete got out. I smiled, as the jungle drums must have been working overtime. He saw me and waved, and then he came into the diner.

"Hi Jean, just a black coffee, please, honey," he said as he came over to our booth. He looked at Dee and then at me.

"Hey John, I heard you were back, and am I to understand the message correctly?"

"Pete, this is Deborah Cartwright, Dee to her friends. Dee this is my friend and colleague Peter Collins. Pete, Dee and I will be getting married, so I’ll be needing your services as best man, again."

Pete shook Dee’s hand, sitting opposite us in the booth. He had a huge grin on his face.

"Million to one, hey, I wish I had put a bet on with those odds," he said, as I remembered one of the last conversations we had before I left for England.

Jean brought over his coffee, while Pete brought me up to date with events in town. Nothing had really happened, so I believed that the time was right to retire. I noticed he could not stop looking at Dee, and he just kept smiling.

"You’ll have to come over for dinner, this week, I can’t wait for you to meet Ellen," he said to her.

"I’d like that," she replied.

"At some point, I have to tell the girls," I said.

"Don’t they know yet?" Pete asked, a little surprised.

"Heck, Pete, we only got engaged a two days ago, and we flew in a couple of hours ago. Give me a chance," I said.

"Well, enough people were hoping something like this would happen, but very few of us expected it. Particularly to someone as beautiful as Dee here," he said, as Dee blushed.

I noticed that there were an awful lot of police officers who were just happening to be passing the diner, and Dee smiled at me.

"What did you expect?" she said and I laughed. I knew that it was probably better this way.

Pete asked me about the vacation, so I told him how Dee and I had met, on that first day. As I recounted the events that had passed, I began to realise just how low I had gotten. Over the three weeks, Dee and I had helped each other find a place where we could hold our heads up and be part of the human race again. I looked at her and she held my hand tightly under the table. I was aware just how hard this was for her, particularly in such a strange place. She looked so serene and calm, but I knew that underneath she was going through all her worries over who she was.

I told Pete how Dee had looked after us in England, and then how she had surprised me at arrivals in Phoenix.

I remembered the visit to the police station and dug out Inspector Caroline Mercer’s card.

"Pete. Could you dig out some patches for this lady, and stick a ‘with compliments of the Chief’ slip in the mail to her?"

He looked at it. "Sure, what was that about?"

Dee told him, in exaggerated and graphic details about how I had assisted the young constable in his moment of need.

Pete smiled and shook his head.

"Always gotta be the hero, John!" he said, chuckling as he slipped the card into his shirt pocket.

I realised that we had been travelling for fourteen hours, so I wanted to get Dee home. I told him we had better get on out to the ranch. We said goodbye and hit the trail again.

"Pete seems a nice guy," she said, as we set off once more.

"Yeah, he and Ellen have been good friends to me. Particularly through the illness and after Sal died. I was pretty shitty for a while. The booze nearly got the better of me."
 
 
I drove the pick up out of town, and we hit open country immediately. Dee was looking out the window at the passing the scenery, which was very different to the lush green of England.

"I can’t get over the huge expanses of nothing," she remarked.

I just smiled. I looked at her profile, and once again tried to imagine her as a male. I couldn’t! Everything about her was so perfectly feminine, from her gestures, the way she moved, her speech and her looks. She was just lovely, and I realised that I loved her deeply. I was just so pleased she had flown out to be with me. She turned and caught me looking at her. She smiled, reaching out to me with her hand.

"I am sorry to have intruded into your life," she said.

"Don’t be. I was just thinking how pleased I was that you were with me."

"But, I’m a potential problem for you, as well."

"Problems like you I can have every day," I said and grinned.

It had just gone seven when I parked the pickup by the front door. José appeared as I opened Dee’s door for her.

"Seá±or John. Welcome home," the old man said.

"Hi there, José. How’s everything been?"

"Everything is fine, seá±or," he said looking at Dee with a smile on his face.

"Dee, honey, this is José, my right hand here. Jose looks after the horses, while his wife looks after the house. José, this is Dee, she and I are getting married."

"Married, seá±or?"

"Yup," I said, staring straight at Dee. "So we’ll be two for dinner from now on."

José’s smile said it all, as he dashed off shouting for his wife.

I got the bags out of the back of the truck and, taking her arm, led her into our home. This was the hardest thing, as I felt Sally was watching us.

I looked at the house differently today. I actually tried to imagine how Dee would see it, comparing it to her cosy little English cottage.

Set out on one floor, with a huge basement below, the house was spread out over a large area. I liked big rooms, so all the rooms were large, with big windows.
 
 
Sally and I liked the scenery out here, so every room had a superb view, the living room particularly. It was rectangular, with a dining area to the left. I had steps down into the sitting area, with either polished wood or ceramic tile floors everywhere to keep things cool. It was light and airy, with Sally’s portrait hanging above the fireplace.

Dee stopped and looked at the portrait, as I found myself close to tears. Sally was smiling, but staring over my shoulder into the distance.

"She is very beautiful," Dee said. I noted she said, ‘she is, and not ‘was’.

"I think so," I said.

"She looks fun," she said, and that was it. The tears came, so she turned round to see them rolling down my cheeks.

"Oh, my God! Oh, John, I’m so sorry," she said, coming over to me and holding me close.

I had another ‘moment’, as she simply held me as I released another load of grief onto her.

I looked through my tears at the picture, but through the dampness, I swear I saw Sally wink at me!

It stopped me cold, and a shiver ran down my spine, so I shook it off and told myself I was seeing things.

It stopped me crying though.

"Are you okay?" she asked.

I smiled and nodded.

"I thought this might happen," she said.

"Why?"

"I don’t know, I suppose I knew that it would be hard to introduce me to her,"

I looked at her, but realised that she had hit the nail on the head. That is exactly how I felt, and the remarkable thing was that I felt Sally approved.

I looked up at the portrait.

"Sally, meet Dee. Dee, this is Sally, I think you’d have liked each other," I said.

She smiled, staring up at Sally.

"Hi Sally. Thanks for having such a wonderful man. I'll try to look after him for you," she said, and I cried again. I kissed her, as she wiped my face with her hand.

"If it gets tough, please tell me," she said, so I nodded.

I showed her the huge bedroom, with her dressing room and the bathroom.

"My God, how many clothes did she have?" she asked, on seeing the vast wardrobe space.

"She never filled it, but it was always built in case."

"In case of what?"

I grinned and shrugged.

"I always reckon you need lots of storage space, so when we designed it, we took that into consideration."

She opened the cupboard and saw the rows of dresses, skirts and blouses.

"You couldn’t get rid of anything?"

I shook my head.

She turned and looked at me.

"This is something you have to come to terms with. I don’t want to step into her shoes, or dresses for that matter," she said with a small smile, "but, I will help you all I can. The past has to be dealt with. If we have a future, then it is the two of us. I’m not into threesomes."

"The girls came over and made me put the lot into bags to give away. But as soon as they left I took them all out and hung them up again," I admitted.

"Oh John, you aren’t a closet TV are you?" she said with a grin.

I smiled and shook my head. "Hell no! Besides, Sally wasn’t even as big as you. So there is no way that I could get into her stuff."

"I’m just teasing," she said, putting her hand on my arm.

"If there is anything there you’d like?" I said.

She looked at me. "Do you really want me to wear her clothes?"

I went to her jewellery box and brought it to her.

"She asked me to give you this, so I guess she didn’t mind."

Dee took the box with a frown, and opened it.

She sat on the bed, with tears rolling down her face. I sat next to her, so we simply held each other and cried.

"My God, John. This is hard enough for me. What it must be like for you?" she said.

"You have no idea."

"Oh, I think I do," she said, snuffling into a tissue.

I smiled. "Okay, maybe you do. But you're probably the only person who does."

"You’d be surprised how many people have to deal with death. It’s one of two certainties in life," she said.

"Yeah, I know — death and taxes!" I said and she smiled.

I looked at the rows of clothes and shoes.

"Will you help me?" I asked.

She smiled and kissed me.

"Of course. And if there is anything you feel she’d like me to have, then it would be an honour to wear it, but only occasionally," she said.
 
 
So, then and there, we found some large trash bags and took all Sally’s clothes from the racks and shelves to sort through them. It was the second time for me, so I cursed myself for being so stupid after the first time, because it was almost harder the second time.

Dee was very cool and calm, but was firm with me. In the end she kept just six items, and the rest she helped carry out to the pick up. Fortunately, she was slightly broader than Sally, so few of the items were her size. Her feet were bigger, so all Sally’s shoes went.

She was thorough and even went to the airing cupboard to seek out items of which I had no knowledge.

Finally, she declared that the job was done, placed her case in her dressing room, and hung up her few clothes in the vast, but now empty wardrobe.

I unpacked and discovered that Dee had washed all my dirty clothes prior to us leaving. I smiled and put things away. She kept surprising me.

The phone rang, so I answered the one by the bed. It was my sister Pamela.

"John! Ed has just called. Is it true?" she said.

"Is what true?" I asked, teasing her.

Dee came into the bedroom, came over and put her arms around me. I smiled.

"Oh, you can be so annoying at times. Ed told me that you met a beautiful English lady and you're planning to get married," Pam said.

"He did?"

"Are you?"

"Might be."

"John!"

I laughed. "Okay Pam. Yes, I met a beautiful English lady, and yes, we're planning on getting married. Okay?"

"Oh my God! How wonderful. What's she like?"

"Well, she's beautiful, about five seven, blonde, a couple of years younger than me, a widow with three grown up kids. She is an artist and writer, who adores riding, and is in my arms as we speak."

"You brought her back?"

"Nope! Didn’t Ed tell you?"

"Tell me what?"

"We stayed with Dee in England, as she lives in the cottage that the guy Ed was trying to track down might have lived all those years ago. Anyway, we sort of fell in love, and then Ed and I left to come home. She raced us to the airport, booked herself on an earlier plane, and was waiting for me in Phoenix when I arrived. It was the most wonderful surprise I have ever had."

"Oh my God! How romantic! You must bring her over. Mom is dying to meet her. Hell, we’re all dying to meet her."

"Mom knows?"

"Yeah, Ed spoke to her first."

"Okay, look, don’t tell the girls, I want to do that myself. Okay?"

"Okay. John?"

"Yeah?"

"You have no idea how pleased we are."

"Oh, I have. I’m mighty pleased myself," I said, kissing Dee.

"I’ll let you get on. Mind you, there are few ladies who will be slightly put out that you've gone abroad for a bride."

"Too bad," I said, and we hung up.
 
 

*          *          *
 
End of Part 4
 
 
To Be Continued...

 
David buries his wife after she loses her fight against cancer. He is nearly 50, and their children are now grown up, so he breaks the news that he is going to undertake that which he wanted to do for as long as he could remember — a sex change. He had struggled with his transsexuality all his life, but his love for his wife and respect for her meant he just played the hand that he had been dealt, up to now, that is.

Meanwhile, in the USA, grizzled Police Chief John Collingwood comes to near breaking point. Stressed from his job, his grief over his dead wife, and the despair of near alcoholism, he embarks on a trip to the UK with his brother to seek out his family tree.

Two very different people find a very different future, they also find each other...

but will it work?

---

Tanya has a new website where she will display her latest works first and then to BigCloset TopShelf a few weeks later is here at Tanya Allan's Tales .
Tanya's Book Shop where she is selling her works in book form is at http://tanyaallan.authorshaunt.com/shop.php . Please Visit!

---

 
The Legal Stuff: A Girl Can But Dream  © 2006,2009,2010 Tanya Allan
 
This work is the property of the author, and the author retains full copyright, in relation to printed material, whether on paper or electronically. Any adaptation of the whole or part of the material for broadcast by radio, TV, or for stage plays or film, is the right of the author unless negotiated through legal contract. Permission is granted for it to be copied and read by individuals, and for no other purpose. Any commercial use by anyone other than the author is strictly prohibited, and may only be posted to free sites with the express permission of the author.
 
This work is fictitious, and any similarities to any persons, alive or dead, are purely coincidental. Mention is made of persons in public life only for the purposes of realism, and for that reason alone. Certain licence is taken in respect of medical procedures, terms and conditions, and the author does not claim to be the fount of all knowledge.
 
The author accepts the right of the individual to hold his/her (or whatever) own political, religious and social views, and there is no intention to deliberately offend anyone. If you wish to take offence, that is your problem.
 
This is only a story, and it contains adult material, which includes sex and intimate descriptive details pertaining to genitalia. If this is likely to offend, then don’t read it.
 
Please enjoy.
Tanya
 
 

 
 
 
Chapter 9
 
 
Dee
 
I could see that John exacted enormous pleasure from winding his sister up. So I went and gave him a hug so he’d behave himself a little at least.

He put the phone down.

“Well, Ed’s told my mother and sister. I suppose I’d better tell the girls.”

I just held him, enjoying feeling him close to me.

He wrapped his arms around me, so I got a warm fuzzy feeling.

“Honey, we should go eat. Maria will have done supper for us.”

“Mmm,” I said, reluctant to move.

But move we did, and we went to the open area to the rear of the house. A long table was on the deck next to the pool. Flowers and vines were growing in borders all along the side of the house and were climbing up the walls and across the wooden arched structures designed for such a purpose.

A large Hispanic lady with a huge smile was placing some dishes on the table.

She stopped and looked at John and then at me.

“Seá±or John. It is such happy news,” she said, coming over and giving him a hug.

She then turned to me. “Seá±ora, it is so good to see him smile again. We never thought he would,” she said embracing me as well.

“Dee lost her spouse to cancer too,” John said.

“Oh, Seá±ora, I am so sorry.”

I smiled. What could one say?

“We are both in the same boat, so it helps being able to understand,” I said.

John opened a bottle of Californian wine, so we sat down to a real authentic Mexican dinner. It was superb.
 
 
My cooking was always either traditional English or European, particularly the French Cordon Bleu style. So as soon as we had finished I was in the kitchen asking Maria all about her cooking and she seemed quite surprised at my interest.

John grinned.

“Maria, Dee is a professional cook by training. She ran her own company.”

She looked worried then, so I could see her feeling that her job was under threat.

I put my hand on her arm.

“Maria, I was a professional cook. Now I am a writer and artist. Your cooking is wonderful, so I have no intention to take over and push you out. In fact, I think we’ll make a really good team,” I said.

She smiled at me, but I could see she wasn’t convinced.

Well, time would tell.

It was strange having someone to cook and clear up. So much so that I remarked on it to John as we sat on the deck watching the wonderful sunset.

“Well, they have meant everything to me over the last few months. They kept me going.”

“I appreciate that, and I am delighted that they are here. I am just not used to it. But I feel that I can get used to it very easily,” I said with a grin.

I was snuggled up against him on the swing seat. I must have nodded off, for he gently woke me with a kiss, before lifting me up in his arms and carrying me to bed.

We undressed and were in bed quite quickly.
 
 
I sensed an awkwardness in him, so drew him to me.

“Now John, if you feel that this is too hard, I’ll sleep in a spare room,” I said.

He pulled me close.

“No! It’s strange, but I need to deal with it. Like you, I never want to be alone again.”

We snuggled together and I fell asleep very quickly.
 
 
I awoke feeling disorientated.

It took me a moment to remember where I was, as it was quite dark, and unfamiliar. But I remembered, reaching out and touching the sleeping man next to me.

Every house had its own unique sound, so this one was new to me.

I looked at the clock. - 05:00.

My body clock was several hours ahead, so I was wide-awake.

I got up and went for a pee, fumbling for the light switch, but failing, so I peed in the dark.

I went back to bed and snuggled close to John, wrapping one arm around him.

He stirred in his sleep and reached out and put his arm round me. I smiled, as I just loved him so much. I breathed in his smell, as it was almost intoxicating. Despite myself, I felt myself becoming aroused by his mere proximity and maleness.

I tentatively reached down and found his manhood. To my surprise it was erect, so I curled my fingers around it gently.

He stirred again, flexing his pelvis slightly.
 
 
I lay there, holding him and feeling my body respond to the sexual stimulae.

I didn’t have to move, but felt myself becoming moist and ready, purely through mental images of him.

I looked at him in the gloom. I felt very humble and privileged that he loved me so unconditionally despite all my history.

I moved my hand, gently rubbing his penis.

Laying on my side, I looked at his face, then supporting my head on my hand, resting my elbow on my pillow, so I got a better look at him.

My hand was moving a little faster now and his eyes opened.
He focussed on me, as a slow smile spread across his face.

“What ya doin’?”

“There’s a snake in the bed, so I’m trying to strangle it.”

“You may have to suffocate it between your legs,” he suggested.

He rolled onto his back, so I mounted him, allowing him to impale me completely.

To feel him so deep inside me was the most fulfilling sensation in the world. I had often tried to imagine what it would be like, and never in all my dreams had I come close.

As I gently raised and lowered myself on him, feeling his hands on my bottom and his face at my breast, I knew that everything had been worth it. If I were to die now, I should die completely happy.
 
 
We made love very slowly, gathering pace gradually. My eyes were accustomed to the gloom, so I was able to watch his expression.

I smiled, so he pulled my head down so he could kiss me. It was a very passionate kiss but his stubble was very scratchy against my face. But somehow this added to the almost animalistic feelings I had.

I could smell his musty maleness, and it was so erotic! I built up some speed, and soon felt the now familiar approach an orgasm. The doctors had told me that it was not possible to state whether or not I would ever achieve a true female orgasm.

Well, whatever I achieved would do!

It was ten times the feelings I recalled experiencing as a male, and when more than one occurred, I was more than happy to settle for what I had.
 
 
Finally, he arched his back, thrusting himself as deeply into me as he could manage and, as before, the thought of his semen spurting deep inside me, brought me a further amazing feeling. I felt weak and completely sated, as I simply cuddled him, still lying on top of him, and allowing him to shrink inside my vagina. I wished I was fertile so I could conceive his child.

He kissed me, gently rolling me off him, getting out of bed and going to the bathroom. I lay there with a silly smile on my face. I put one hand down to my very wet vagina and felt the wetness, bringing it up to my face so I could breath in the scent of our union.

John returned, sliding into bed beside me.

“What brought that on?”

“I just wanted you!”

“I’m pleased. Better now?”

I smiled and nodded.

He pulled me close and we lay there for a while. I still wasn’t sleepy.

I placed the palm of my hand on his flat muscular stomach, letting my fingers play with the hair leading down to his penis.
 
 
I suddenly got an overpowering urge to taste him, so I snuggled my head on his tummy and took his soft penis into my mouth.

He didn’t object, and I could taste our combined juices on it as I licked the head with my tongue.

“Dee, you don’t have to,” he said.

“I do!” I said, with my mouth full,

He started to respond, so soon it was erect once more. It was really quite big, not as large as number five dilator, but bigger than number four!

I caressed and kissed his balls, and licked up and down his shaft. He moaned and writhed in almost blissful agony, as I took the head into my mouth and let my tongue dance around like a dervish.

He started to thrust down my throat, so I held the shaft to prevent being gagged. Then he muttered about coming, and my mouth was suddenly full of hot sticky semen.

It surprised me in a way. I expected the sticky, but not the hot!

It tasted quite neutral, a little salty and bitter, so I swallowed it, licking him clean. I was so aroused now, as his hand was rubbing me to climax.
 
 
Eventually I settled down, and he held me again.

“What has got into you?” he asked.

“Why, are you complaining?”

“No way. But if you keep this up, I’ll be dead in a month!”

I chuckled. “I just adore pleasing you,” I said.

“Is that it?”

“No, I love you inside me as well!”

We dozed for a while. I was so content it was unbelievable. For all the years of anguish and torment, this was what I had been born for.

I actually went to sleep again, because he woke me by rubbing my vagina.

I stared at him, and he grinned.

“My turn,” he said, rolling me onto my tummy and entering me from behind, with my bum in the air.

He went for it very hard, and it was amazing.

I came to climax very quickly, and screamed as several came at once. He just kept going, as he had been spent twice already, he had more reserves this time.
By the time he came in me, I was a spent force. I was almost shaking and my limbs felt like jelly.

I felt well and truly fucked.
 
 
We dragged ourselves to the shower and cleaned up.

I shaved him, finding it really strange shaving someone else.

“I love you Dee,” he said, as I cleaned off the gel.

“Me too,” I said, kissing his nice smooth face.

“Do you fancy a ride?” he asked.

“I though we’d already done that?”

He laughed, shaking his head.

“On a horse.”

“I’d love to,” I said, and went to dress in my jodhpurs.

“Have you any jeans, Honey?” he asked, on seeing how I was dressed.

“Why?”

“Well, the saddles out here are different, and most people wear jeans!”

“I’m happy in these. Besides, you like the look of them.”

“I sure do,” he said, grabbing my bum.

It was instant. As soon as he touched me, I wanted him again.

“Don’t!” I said.

“What?” he asked, surprised.

“Every time you touch me, I want you,” I explained.

He smiled. “This is gonna make life kinda interesting.”

I touched his trousers, so could feel his erection.

“You too?”

He grinned and nodded.

“It’s them pants!” he said.

“No, it’s you. I love you so much, I want you inside me all the time.”

“Now that really would make life interesting.”
 
 
We went to breakfast and sat on the deck in the morning sun.

“Coffee?” he asked.

“No thanks, just some orange juice, please.”

He handed me a glass.

I looked at the rugged beauty of the surrounding countryside.

“It is really spectacular here. I can see why you love it.”

“Yeah, it sort of changes moods. I mean England is very different, but the contrast is quite remarkable,” he said.
 
 
We ate fruit and cereal. I felt quite at peace with the world.I became aware that he was watching me.

“What?” I asked, getting self-conscious.

“I’m sorry. I keep looking to see if I can see any of your past.”

“Do you?”

He shook his head.

“Nope. I just see a beautiful woman whom I love.”

I smiled, what could anyone say to words like that?

“I also think you look right at home here.”

I smiled again. “You mean I have a choice?”

He looked me in the eye.

“Oh yes, I’ll never ever make you do anything you don’t want to do.”

The phone rang, so he went indoors to answer it.

I looked at the remarkable colours, and wondered how hard they’d be to paint. I thought it would be fun finding out.
 
 
I finished my breakfast and went in to see he was in deep conversation.

“It’s Annie,” he said, covering up the phone for a second. Annie was his younger daughter, the one with a boyfriend. I could only hear one side of his conversation.

“I was going to call you, honey, it was we just got in late and were tired after the long flight,” he said.

“No, I’m not embarrassed of you or her. Look, why don’t you and Jenny come over for dinner, so you can all meet?”

“Well, tomorrow then?”

“Okay, what time?”

“Fine, we’ll see you at seven tomorrow.”

“What?”

“No, we met on the first day in England!”

“Why?”

“She is a couple of years younger than me, and she has her own kids.”

“No they are all grown up.”

“Three. Two boys and a girl.”

“No, only her daughter, Sarah. The boys aren’t married.”

“One is a student and the other is an officer in the Marines.”

“No, honey, that’s the Royal Marines, not our Marines.”

“Sarah is older, she’s twenty five and has a daughter called Amy.”

“Yes, I’m marrying a grandma,” he said, and laughed.

“Look, we are about to go for a ride, say hi to Jenny for me, okay?”

“Okay sweetie, bye then,”

“Phew, talk about the Spanish Inquisition,” he said, and I immediately thought of Monty Python.

I almost expected Michael Palin dressed as a cardinal to come bursting in the door saying, “Nobody expects the Spanish Inquisition!”

“So, I am on display tomorrow?” I asked.

He smiled. “They’ll be fine. I could hear Jenny asking about the Marine in the background.”

The thought made me smile. I imagined a wedding between one of my kids and one of his.

He was obviously thinking the same thing and we laughed together, although slightly uneasily.
 
 
We spent the morning riding, when I saw some wonderful wind sculptured rock formations and knew that I’d have to try to paint these. The colours, with the reds browns and yellows were fantastic, and depending on the light, seemed to change the shape of the rocks.

It was a lot warmer than in England, so I felt my skin burning in the dry heat. I was wearing a light short sleeve shirt, and wished I had brought a hat like John’s Stetson.

“I must get a hat,” I said.

“And some boots!” he said looking at my trainers. I thought about bringing my riding boots, but there wasn’t enough room.

“Okay, so we’d better go shopping,” I said.

“I need to go into town in any case, so we could grab some lunch and do a bit of shopping as well.”

“Okay,” I said, and we slowly made our way back to the ranch.

Jose was waiting for us, so we wiped down the horses and let them out into the pasture.
 
 
We went back into the house and I started the shower. The phone rang again, so I was a shower by myself. Which was just as well, as I didn’t want to kill the poor old man off.

“That was my mother,” he said, as he came into the bedroom as I was dressing again.

“Oh yes?”

“Can we go down and stay with her next weekend?”

“I’m in your hands. I’d like to meet her.”

“Okay, then we will. Are you sure you are okay with this?”

“Positive,” I said, not really knowing whether that was wholly true.
 
 
Chapter 10
 
 
John
 
We drove into town at about eleven, and Dee was looking as fresh as a daisy.

She was wearing a pale yellow shirt and a pair of blue jeans, which looked as if they were sprayed on. She had a tremdous figure; one for which someone fifteen years younger would have sold her soul. I mean, I know that she told me she’d once been male, but looking at her shape, I had the most enormous difficulty accepting it as true. She sat close to me, saying little. I know she said that she was happy to meet all my folks, but I knew it must be hard for her and that she was worried.

I was feeling a little tired, but very content. Sexually, she was almost insatiable, so I found it a challenge to satisfy her. Once again, I found it almost impossible to believe that she could ever have been male, so filed that fact deep in the darkest corner of my mind.

Sally and I had had an active and good sex life, but I wasn’t prepared for Dee’s appetite. Whereas Sally was loving and giving, our lovemaking had been quite gentle and fun. Dee was something else!

With Dee, it was adventurous and exciting. It was almost as if she was on a voyage of discovery, so was pushing the bounds out every time. She gave of herself completely, taking anything with such enthusiasm that I found her very physical presence sexually arousing.

Even now, sitting in the pickup driving into town, she was casually caressing my arm in such a way that I very sensual and erotic. It was all I could do not to stop the truck and take her here and now.

The real problem was that she would love it, so may come to expect it all the time.
 
 
I smiled, as I felt her hand drop to my pants.

“No Dee. Not when I’m driving.”

“So, why have you got a woody?” she asked, with a cheeky grin.

I smiled. “You have this effect on me,” I said. And it was true, as it was like being sixteen all over again. Every day started off with the same sort of anticipation and excitement.

Smiling at me, she removed her hand, and I relaxed.

I parked outside the office and we went in together. Sam, the dispatcher, stared at Dee for a moment and then at me, as I was behind her.

“Chief, and the future Mrs Chief. Great to see you back,” she said, grinning.

Within moments, the small office was filled with people, while Pete watched with a knowing smile on his face. I introduced Dee to everyone, so she smiled and was typically Dee. Gradually, they all went back to work, so she looked at me and smiled.
 
 
We went into my office and she sat in my chair as I opened some of my personal mail. Pete had looked after most of it, so there were just a few bits for me to look at.

Pete came and knocked on the open door.

“Come in, Pete.”

“So, how long you staying on?” he said.

I smiled, as Dee was watching me.

“Long enough to get a replacement. Do you want the job?”

He shook his head. “No thanks. Ellen and I talked it over last night. When you go, I go.”

“The new guy will need breaking in.”

Pete smiled. “I’ll stay on for a few weeks, but our time is up, big buddy.”

I looked at Dee.

“Yup, it sure is.”

She smiled and looked away.

I looked out the window, remembering the despair in my heart a few short weeks ago when I looked at the same view. Suddenly, the world was a nicer place again, as I had hope in my heart and love in my soul.
 
 
I took Dee across to Gates’ Boots and Tack store. Steve Gates seemed pleased to see us, and even gave Dee a discount on her new cowboy boots and hat. She looked a million dollars when we walked out of there, she was wearing the boots and hat, and I swear she was looking younger every time I looked at her. She glowed with contentment.

We had lunch at Maggie’s, where a lot more people came up to us for an introduction to my new woman.

She was charm personified, and sounded ever so English. I was real proud of her, so I told her so.

“Then it's all worth it,” she said, giving me a kiss.
 
 
We were just finishing, when Jacob Glennister, the town mayor, came in. He saw me, smiled and came over, taking his hat off to Dee.

“John, I heard you were back and that you had a charming companion,” he said.

“Jake, meet the future Mrs Collingwood. Dee, this is Jacob Glennister, the town mayor, and I suppose my employer. Jake, this is Deborah Cartwright, from England, who has agreed to be my bride.”

Jake took Dees hand and kissed her fingers.

“Ma’am. It's a real pleasure. I'm sure I'm not alone in thanking you for bringing the old John back to us. It's good to see the old man smiling again.”

Dee smiled.

“Well, we've both suffered similar losses, so he brought my smile back too,” she said.

“And may I say what a pretty one it is,” Jake gushed, the old charmer.

Dee laughed, so Jake sat down next to me.

“Now, what’s this I hear about you wanting to quit?” he said.

It was my turn to laugh, as I knew the news would reach him.

“Jake, I’ve been a cop for over thirty years. I’ve buried one wife, and my kids are in a different city. It's time for me to collect my pension, to enjoy whatever time I have left with my new bride, and to grow old in peace.”

“You’ll be a hard act to follow.”

“Not really. There are a lot of good cops out there, so you’ll get someone who will be just fine.”

“When were you planning on telling me?”

“My first day back at work is Monday. I'll put it in writing then, okay?”
 
 
Jake was deep in thought. I could almost hear the cogs going round.

“No, Jake, Pete doesn’t want the job. Hell, we joined together.”

“Have you anyone in mind?”

“There is a lieutenant in Phoenix who expressed an interest. He’s around forty and has a good record.

“Who’s that?”

“Lewis Grant. He was a detective on homicide last I heard.”

“Hmm, would he want to come to a small town like this?”

“Who knows? I did, and my career was quite similar to his.”

“Okay. Have you any objections if I put out some feelers?”

“None at all. I’ll do the same, and I won’t go until the post is filled.”

He got a crafty look in his eye.

“But if you haven’t filled it by the New Year, I’m getting married and going.”

“That only gives me three months.”

“Yup, that’s what I made it.”

He stood up and bowed slightly to Dee.

“It’s been a pleasure, ma’am. It’s just a shame that John feels the need to desert us in our hour of need.”

“Jake, you can be a real asshole at times,” I said, laughing.

He looked at me and shrugged.

“John, you’ve done this town proud. It sure will be sad day when you stand down.”

“Yeah, well, Dee promised to marry me, and I promised to retire, so I have to get my priorities right.”

Jake smiled and put his hat back on.

“Take care, you two,” he said, and left us alone.
 
 
Lunch was fine, but I could tell Dee had something on her mind.

“Penny for them?” I said.

“I was wondering about your mother and the rest of the family.”

“You mean whether to tell them the truth?”

She smiled. “Yes. You know me, I don’t want to live a lie,” she said.

“Dee, look in a mirror. The world sees what I see, a beautiful woman. There’s no lie in letting the world make its own mind up. My family will love you for what you are, as I do. I don’t feel you should beat yourself up over the past. There’s no deception, no lie in being true to who you are now.”

“But, I don’t want to keep secrets from people.”

“Dee, everyone has some secrets, that’s life. I love you and I want what’s best for you. I believe that there will come a time when you could tell anyone who you want, but leave it a while, please.”

She smiled and looked out the window.

“I don’t want to bring any hurt to you, you know that?” she said.

“I know, honey.”

She looked at me again. I could sense this was giving her problems.

“Okay, I’ll hold it for a while. I’m not happy in keeping things in the dark forever, though.”

“Whatever you decide, I’ll respect.”

“I want your girls to know before we marry,” she said.

“Okay.”

“And if they disapprove, then I call it off.”

“They won’t!”

“John, this is important to me!”

“I know my girls, once they get to know you, they’ll be fine.”

“Thanks,” she said, taking my hand again.

I went back to the department to make a couple of phone calls. Then we drove home after Pete had asked us to go to dinner with him and Ellen that evening.

I wanted to show her around the ranch, so we went for another short ride, taking in some of the better views. She looked so much more at home with the boots and hat. She was a very accomplished horsewoman, and I kept hearing Sally chuckle at how well we seemed to be matched.
 
 
Dinner with Pete and Ellen was relaxed and good fun. Their kids were away at college or working as well, so it was just the four of us. Pete cooked the steaks on the barbeque as we sat drinking cold beers and chatting.

Ellen was really curious about Dee, but as soon as we arrived, they seemed to get on well. Dee went and helped Ellen prepare some salad, even showing her how to make a new style dressing. Dee was quite nervous, which I knew, but was thankful she didn’t show it.

She seemed to relax quite quickly, particularly when talking about her children and little Amy.

“You have a grand daughter? You don’t look old enough,” Ellen said, which made Dee laugh with genuine pleasure.

“Sarah is the exact clone of Dee. They look more like sisters than parent and child,” I said.

Dee looked at me, thanking me with her eyes for the way I had phrased that statement.

“So, John, did you meet all Dee’s Family?” Pete asked.

“No, just Sarah and little Amy.”

“So that’ll make you a step-grandpappy!” said Ellen, with some glee.

“Yeah, I guess it will.”

“How about having any more kids?” Ellen asked Dee.

Dee went bright red but stared right at me.

“I’d love to have John’s children, more than anything else in the world, but I’m afraid, I don’t have the equipment any more. Even if I could, I think I’m too old to start again,” she said.

“Yeah, holding little Amy was fine, but I don’t think I could go through all them sleepless nights again!” I said.

Ellen and Dee talked about babies and even breast-feeding. I was amazed at the way Dee answered, it was as if she had always been a woman and was as natural a mother figure as I could imagine.
 
 
Pete and I walked across the yard to look at his latest project. He was restoring an elderly Ford Mustang convertible.

“She’s some woman, John, I’m so pleased. Sally would approve,” he said.

“You reckon?”

“I sure do. She’s a real lady, she’s changed you, buddy.”

“How so?”

“You’ve come back to us, Big Jay. You’re human again.”

I smiled. “Yeah, she’s very special.”

“But you were so goddamn fast. What happened?”

I looked up at the stars in the clear inky sky.

“I’m not sure. As soon as I saw her, something happened. From the first few words we exchanged, I just knew that we had something that was starting to draw us together. We’ve both been hurt, so we can understand without having to speak. For all her outward strength, she’s very fragile and feels vulnerable. I’d hate for her to get hurt.”

“Well, the way she looks at you, I’d say you are both crazy in love.”

I looked back to where Dee was talking to Ellen. She said something that made Ellen laugh. Dee glanced at me, met my eyes and smiled. My heart sang.

“Yeah. I think you’re right.”

We got home long after midnight and went straight to bed. I felt tired but strangely content. We simply cuddled and fell asleep in each other’s arms.
 
 

*          *          *
 
End of Part 5
 
 
To Be Continued...

 
David buries his wife after she loses her fight against cancer. He is nearly 50, and their children are now grown up, so he breaks the news that he is going to undertake that which he wanted to do for as long as he could remember — a sex change. He had struggled with his transsexuality all his life, but his love for his wife and respect for her meant he just played the hand that he had been dealt, up to now, that is.

Meanwhile, in the USA, grizzled Police Chief John Collingwood comes to near breaking point. Stressed from his job, his grief over his dead wife, and the despair of near alcoholism, he embarks on a trip to the UK with his brother to seek out his family tree.

Two very different people find a very different future, they also find each other...

but will it work?

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Tanya has a new website where she will display her latest works first and then to BigCloset TopShelf a few weeks later is here at Tanya Allan's Tales .
Tanya's Book Shop where she is selling her works in book form is at http://tanyaallan.authorshaunt.com/shop.php . Please Visit!

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The Legal Stuff: A Girl Can But Dream  © 2006,2009,2010 Tanya Allan
 
This work is the property of the author, and the author retains full copyright, in relation to printed material, whether on paper or electronically. Any adaptation of the whole or part of the material for broadcast by radio, TV, or for stage plays or film, is the right of the author unless negotiated through legal contract. Permission is granted for it to be copied and read by individuals, and for no other purpose. Any commercial use by anyone other than the author is strictly prohibited, and may only be posted to free sites with the express permission of the author.
 
This work is fictitious, and any similarities to any persons, alive or dead, are purely coincidental. Mention is made of persons in public life only for the purposes of realism, and for that reason alone. Certain licence is taken in respect of medical procedures, terms and conditions, and the author does not claim to be the fount of all knowledge.
 
The author accepts the right of the individual to hold his/her (or whatever) own political, religious and social views, and there is no intention to deliberately offend anyone. If you wish to take offence, that is your problem.
 
This is only a story, and it contains adult material, which includes sex and intimate descriptive details pertaining to genitalia. If this is likely to offend, then don’t read it.
 
Please enjoy.
Tanya
 
 

 
 
 
Chapter 11
 
 
Dee
 
I wanted to show John’s daughters that I was good enough for their father, so Maria and I worked out a compromise menu that was partially English and partially familiar.

After our morning ride, John had some correspondence to do in relation to finding his replacement. I accompanied Maria in the Pickup to the local mall to buy some ingredients for the meal I intended.

Maria knew what the girls liked so, to a greater extent, that determined my choice of menu. Maria would have prepared a salad and let John cook some steaks and burgers on the barbeque. I wanted to show them there was another side to culinary delights.

I bought a whole fillet of beef, surprised at the low price. I hoped it would be as fine a quality as the Scottish beef I normally selected. We bought some local ingredients for the starter and dessert.

We then returned to the ranch where I pan fried the fillet in garlic and olive oil, simply browning the outside and sealing the juices in. I made a chicken liver pate, which I coated the fillet and surrounded the whole thing in pastry. Beef Wellington was one of my specialities in the old days, so I hoped it would be a success.

I felt unreasonably nervous of meeting John’s daughters, so as the day progressed, I became more and more jumpy. After a light lunch, John and I went for a ride, when he showed me some of the horses he’d bred. The whole way of life was so different from everything I had experienced that every moment was like a new adventure. I even managed to forget the daughters’ visit, for a short while at least.

In the event, I’m not sure who was the most nervous.

Maria and I had prepared everything, so the beef was in the oven on a low heat. I’d changed into a light summer dress and was feeling so jittery that John had to calm me down.

He held me for a few moments, just letting me shake.

“You’ll be fine!” he said.

I didn’t feel fine.

“What if they hate me?”

“They won’t!”

“They might!”

“Dee, they won’t. Trust me on this.”

A dog barked and he looked out the window.

“They’re here, come on,” he said, taking my hand and almost dragging me out to meet them.

They were both out of the car when we got to the front door. I could immediately see the resemblance to their mother, and to a degree to their father. Both girls were taller than I, but not by much, and both had long fair hair.

“Daddy!” said one, rushing over and giving her father a hug. I later learned it was Annie.

The other came over and smiled at me.

“Hi, you must be Dee. I’m Jenny,” she said.

We shook hands awkwardly, but then she grinned and embraced me.

“Hello, Jenny. Yes, I’m Dee. News travels fast, it seems.”

Annie looked at me and then at her father, who was grinning like a Cheshire cat. She simply gave me a hug too.

“Hi Dee, thanks for saving Daddy,” she said.

I laughed. “I think it’s as much a case of him saving me,” I admitted.

“Dee’s been through the same as me, girls. She’s a widow, to cancer too.”

“You’re looking so much better, Daddy,” said Jenny as she gave her father a hug.

“So, do you like Arizona, Dee?” Annie asked.

“I love it, so far. But I haven’t seen much of it yet.”

“Daddy, when are you going up to Flagstaff?” Jenny asked.

“Next weekend. Why, are you going to join us?”

“Would you mind?”

“Of course not, why should I?”

The girls were both dressed in jeans and short-sleeved shirts. It seemed to be the unofficial uniform of residents in these parts.
 
 
We all went inside, so I left the girls with their father as I checked on the kitchen. Maria virtually told me to go away, as she was in charge. The beef looked good, so I returned to the cool shady veranda overlooking the pool.

“What’s it like in England, Daddy?” Annie asked.

“It’s so green. I liked Dorset the best with so much unspoiled countryside, the narrow lanes and the history. There’s a ruined castle near where Dee lives. It was destroyed in the English civil war, that’s two centuries before ours. The Royalists were holding out against the parliament’s forces and the roundheads won. Then a few miles further on there’s the ocean, with the sandy beaches and the boats.”

“Cool! Is the ocean real close?” Annie asked.

“Britain is very narrow, so you're never further than about sixty miles from the sea, no matter where you are,” I explained.

“Wow, sixty miles, that’s not far!”

So it went on. The conversation changed, but never getting too deep.

“I understand you’ve three kids, and one’s a Marine?” Annie said, nudging her sister.

“Annie, behave!” she said, but smiled.

I couldn’t help but smile.

“I have two sons and a daughter. Sarah is my daughter and she’s the one with the baby. Then there’s Stephen, he’s the officer in the Royal Marines. He’s twenty-four now. Lastly, there’s Jon, who’s twenty-two and at Oxford University.”

“Have the boys got girlfriends?” asked Annie, giggling.

“Jon has, she’s called Sophie and is at Oxford with him, but Stephen doesn’t seem to have time.”

“There you go, Jen, a hunky marine!”

“Shut up, Annie!”

“Do you have any photos?” Annie asked.

“I have actually,” I said, delving into my bag.

The photograph was the one that was taken quite recently. Charles had taken it of the five of us before we all split up at the end of the summer. I was holding Amy, with Sarah to my left and Stephen to my left. Jon was next to Sarah. It looked such a lovely natural photograph, one couldn’t tell the changes that had occurred before that.

“Your daughter looks just like you.”

“Thanks.”

“Which one is the Marine?”

“The one next to me.”

“He’s cute, isn’t he Jen?” Annie asked, passing the photo over to her sister.

Jenny looked at the photo.

“Who took the photo?” she asked.

“Charles, my son-in-law.”

She smiled and handed it back.

“That’s a great family. You must be very proud.”

“I am, just as John is proud of his wonderful girls,” I said.

“Have you any pictures of your home?” Jenny asked.

“Not with me,” I said.

“Uncle Ed took about fifty rolls of film, so you will soon see where she comes from. She has a cute cottage and a lovely flower garden. The village is typically English, you’ll love it,” John said.

Suddenly, I was eager to share my home with these people.
 
 
John then went through how we met and happened to fall head over heels in love within twenty-four hours.

Jenny seemed genuinely pleased with the way events had panned out.

“Oh, Daddy, you’ve now idea how much we were all praying you’d find someone. I guess none of us expected things to happen this fast.”

“None of did, sweetheart, least of all Dee and myself. Heck, we were just two lonely and hurting people that happened to meet when our needs were greatest. I have to confess that Dee helped me to cry for your mother for the first time.”

“Daddy was a real mess, did he tell you about the drinking?” Annie asked.

“Annie!” admonished her sister.

“Yes, he told me all about the drinking and the prostitutes,” I said with a straight face.

“Prostitutes?” both girls said in unison.

John chuckled. “Hey, girls, she’s kidding. Just to show that although she comes over as a cool English lady, she has a wicked sense of humour,” he said.

I left them laughing in relief and went to check on the food.

“Senora, the food is ready, it looks wonderful. Why don’t you go and sit down?”
 
 
I returned to the veranda and ushered them into the dining area. The starter was avocado and prawns, which went down every well. However, when the beef came out I was rewarded by surprise and compliments.

The beef was excellent, a nice pink colour. It cut beautifully, complimented by the paté and the pastry.

“Dee made this, just to show you how good a cook she is,” John explained.

“You cook too? Hey daddy, don’t let this one get away!” said Jenny with a smile.

It was a very happy meal, so as I relaxed, I warmed to the girls. They were so nice and supportive, that I wondered why I’d been so nervous.

“So, when are you guys getting married?” Jenny asked.

“I’m not sure, Dee wanted to have certain conditions met before we could go ahead. Dee?” John said, looking at me.

I felt embarrassed.
 
 
“I simply stated that if your family hated me, we ought to think again.”

“Oh, Dee, don’t do that, Daddy needs you!” Annie said.

I smiled. “Then it’s up to your grandmother,” I said.

“That’s okay, she’ll do what we tell her,” said Jenny.

“Do you need any bridesmaids?”

“Gosh, I really hadn't thought that far ahead. I suppose Sarah will want to take pride of place, so you’re both more than welcome to be, if you’d like to, that is?”

“Great! I’ve always wanted to be a bridesmaid, and then we’ll get to meet the Marine, right Jenny?”

I smiled.

It was like coming home.
 
 
I don’t know why, but I expected them to leave after the meal, but they’d come to stay for a while. We all bade each other a good night and went to bed at about one am.

I lay snuggled up to John.

“See, I told you there was nothing to worry about!”

“It’s early days,” I said. “They don’t know me yet.”

“They adore you, they told me so when you were out of the room.”

“It’s still early days.”
 
 
They stayed for five days, and we managed to do a heck of a lot in those days. We rode, went shopping, walked and talked a good deal. I showed them how to make some easy and stunningly good food off a small budget, and in return they told me about their mother.

I came to know Sally quite well through her daughters, and truly began to feel that we would have been friends. She was very like my Delia, with the same supportive and loving nature. I wished I had met her, but realised that had she been alive, John would never have come to England.

People started dropping in, friends of John who had known Sally. I began to feel that I was under close scrutiny by the local community. It unnerved me slightly, but no one was unkind. It dawned on me that John was well respected by everyone, perhaps with the exception of some miscreants behind bars. Those who did hold him in high regard wanted to make sure that their John was in safe hands.

I must have passed the invisible test, for whenever I ventured into town, everyone was very polite and friendly.

So, feeling more confident, I faced the next test — John’s mother.

We drove up to Flagstaff with the girls. I was now almost dressed as they were, in jeans and a shirt. Only I wore a denim skirt. I revelled in being a woman, so tended to wear jeans or trousers only for riding or working on the ranch. My skin was tanned and I no longer looked quite so out of place.

John promised we would visit the Grand Canyon as we were so close. I was still very nervous, having convinced myself that John’s mother, Jean, would see through me and instantly know what I once had been.

Jean’s home was a delightful white house; a typical example of local architecture. It was on one level with a small yard and lots of shade from tall trees. It was built to keep cool, so I had yet to see any brick-built homes, such as we had in England. Jean came out to meet us almost before the engine had stopped.

She instantly reminded me of my own mother, now dead for a number of years. It wasn't her looks, as she was very different, buther general manner and her smile. She had white hair, set in a short and easy to manage style. She was a tall, slender woman, or had been in her younger years. Now age had caused some stooping of the back, but she was still an imposing woman.

“Come here, child,” Jean said to me, after her grand-daughters had greeted her and her son and dutifully kissed her cheek.

She’d taken me by the hand and escorted me to a swing seat in the shade in the garden. She sat me down and sat next to me.

“Now, tell me all about it,” she said.

I did.

I told her about my grief, how we met and how we fell in love. I told her about my family and how wonderful John had made me feel. I almost told her everything, but realised that it was unnecessary. The past was what crippled us. The future was what gave us hope and something to live for. It dawned on me that she neither wanted nor needed to know the gritty details of an irrelevant past. Who was I to bring such potentially harmful matters up?

I showed her the photograph of my family.

“My goodness, how like your daughter you are!” she said. I said nothing.

The girls seemed to want to help my sales pitch, for they continually sang my praises all though the visit.

As her son and the girls were sent on some minor errand, she had me alone.

“Tell me, Deborah, is this what you really want?”

“With all my heart, if he will have me.”

“Don’t be silly, of course he’ll have you. I just want to thank you, as one mother to another.”

“You don’t have to, I promise.”

“I do, Deborah. You see, I know how close to the edge John came. He’d never admit it, even to himself, but he was on a self-destructive path, from which you have managed to pull him off. I’ve my son back. For the first time in two years, he can smile and laugh. So, you will always have my gratitude and love. I thought I might bury a son, and a mother should never have to bury a child!”

I wept then, as did she, so John returned to find us embraced and weeping together.
 
 
We stayed the weekend. John andf the girls took me to see the Grand Canyon and it took my breath away. The spectacular splendour of nature is truly awesome, putting mans’ puny efforts to shame.

On the Sunday, Ed and Pamela arrived, along with their other halves and diverse off-spring. I felt so accepted that I felt ashamed for ever having been nervous. Ed had so many pictures of Dorset, so everyone had a very good idea of where I came from. The girls expressed a desire to come and stay, so persuaded us to set a date to marry soon.

John wouldn’t be pushed. He took the mantle from me, as all my reservations had been met.

“We’ll marry when I’ve retired,” he told us all.

“But that won’t be until next year!” wailed Annie.

“Where are you going to get married?” Jenny asked.

I hadn’t thought about it. I knew the laws were different in Europe and indeed they altered from State to State within America.

“Dee?”

“I’m not sure. There are many things to take into account. Your family is a lot more extensive than mine, so the expense of transporting all of you to England would be horrific. I don’t want a big affair, just immediate family. So there’d only be my children, their partners and my grand daughter, of course. As I’m taking steps into a new life, in a new place, I think I’d like to get married over here.”

Jean looked relieved, as the thought of a transatlantic flight was not high on her list of things she wanted to experience.

I left Jean knowing that I had a real friend. She accepted me as I was, with no reservations and with such love that I felt humble. It was like finding another mother. We wept a lot together over the weekend, as I was able to express some grief over my own mother’s death. When John and I returned to the ranch, the girls left for college, so life calmed down and started to settle into a more humdrum existence.

I thanked God daily for allowing me such happiness.
 
 
Chapter 12
 
 
John
 
“Are you sure we can’t persuade you to stay on?” Jake Glennister asked me. We were in his office, enjoying a coffee at the beginning of the day.

“Quite sure, Jake. I’ve a life to get back to. Besides, my family are all pressurising us to get married soon. Dee is being very patient, but now we’ve five applicants, I feel it’s time to go.”

Jake nodded, scratching his balding head.

“We want you to be on the interview board. It’s only right that you have a part in selecting your successor.”

“I’d be happy to.”

“Can you stay on for a week as a handover?”

“I’ve already said I would, sure.”

“How’s Dee?”

“She’s fine, thanks.”

“She’s a mighty fine woman, you’re very fortunate.”

“I know that Jake.”

“You must be missing her.”

“Yeah, but she’s coming back in a week or so. She dropped everything to come over with me. In the four weeks she’s been here, she’s finished her novel and completed some real fine paintings, so she now needs to go home to sort out some affairs.”

“Where are you going to settle down, here or in Europe?”

“We’ve talked about it a lot. She’s more than happy to make the ranch our home, as long as we can go back to the old country every now and again. She has a real fine cottage there, which she’s reluctant to part with, and I have to admit, I fell in love with that little part of old England. She also has family over there, like her son and daughter and grand-daughter, so we’ll probably spend summers over there. Besides, she told me that winter in England is not the best place to be unless you’re a duck.”

Jake laughed.

“Yeah, I heard that. My cousin was over on the west coast of Scotland in the navy some years back, and he told me that it gets so wet, one develops webbed feet. When’s the wedding?”

“After I retire, so that depends on you.”

“Okay, we’ve written to the applicants, so we should be interviewing them in the first week of December.”

“That’s fine. We can hand over in January or February, depending on how much notice their current employer needs, so it should work out just fine. Looks like a spring wedding.”
 
 
I left his office feeling pleased to have now some degree of certainty about the future. However, I was missing Dee more than I ever thought possible. The ranch was feeling empty again, but in a different way. After Sally died, the emptiness was dark and soulless. It was like the light had been turned out and I was walking in permanent gloom.

Now, the light had been left on. I saw evidence of Dee all over the place, her clothes in the wardrobe, her boots stood by the door and the flowers she’d left in vases and pots all over the house were constant reminders that she was coming back.

I understood that she needed to get back home to sort things out. Plus, the time gave me ample opportunity to do those chores that I had been putting off for too long, but I still missed her.
 
 
I spent some of my time researching transsexuality. My experience in this matter was precisely nil. I knew that it happened, so to speak, but had little experience in dealing with anyone with gender disorders. Apart from a lot of off-taste humour, in which the transgendered were often the butts of a myriad of jokes, my experience had been as a young cop, working the streets and dealing with drunken transvestites and fights in gay bars. I’d come across a few young girls who had been boys. Forced into a life of prostitution and drugs by the high costs of surgery and drugs, and often compounded by the rejection they faced from their supposedly loving families. Many were HIV or Hep B infected, hooked onto heroin by their pimps and forced to work their asses off (literally) in order to survive, let alone afford the surgery they so desperately wanted.

I found a wealth of information on the Internet, in fact there was almost too much. I found the personal accounts the most moving, particularly when they expressed the anguish and torment they went through in living every day lives in the body they clearly never identified with. It was a testament to Dee’s fortitude that she managed to put her real feelings aside for so long. In a way she was one of the fortunate, as her family had stuck by her and she had accumulated sufficient capital to afford the high costs of transitioning. Nevertheless it was still a tough decision followed by a gruelling experience.

It made me examine myself. We take so much for granted, so that unless we are faced with other’s difficulties, we never really have any idea what it must feel like for them. The world likes categorising people into boxes, but if someone doesn’t fit, it is so hard for them to live a normal life. The mental anguish, the physical hardships and pain that these people experienced, just to attempt to bring some sense of balance and rightness to their lives is a real example of courage and sheer guts.
 
 
On returning to my office, I looked over the résumés of the applicants for my job. They were all good men, or to be precise, four good men and one good woman. I was pleased to see my old colleague, Lieutenant Lewis Grant, had applied. He’d do well here, as long as his wife appreciated the slower pace of life. I didn’t have any knowledge of the others, so I knew I’d have to work hard to remain objective.

I found that I was anxious for the time to pass now, whereas, a few weeks ago, I cared about very little. As each day was a struggle to get through, my only goal was to exist in the present with little thought of the future. I was looking forward again, and it was a very pleasant feeling.

I glanced at my watch, trying to imagine what time it was in England and so what Dee was up to. It was almost nine, so that made it around midnight in the UK. I toyed with calling her, just to hear her voice.

My phone rang instead. I answered it.

“Chief of Police.”

“Hi lover, how are you?”

I grinned in spite of myself. “Hi honey. I was just thinking about you. I was about to call you, but thought you’d be in bed.”

“I hate going to bed without you, so I tend to stay up until I’m so tired I just fall asleep immediately. I miss you, what are you doing?” she asked.

“Thinking about you. I was just looking through all the applicants for my job and it got me thinking.”

“What about?”

“You. Where shall we go for our honeymoon?”

“I don’t care, really. I miss you so much.”

“When are you coming back?”

“Hopefully, in a few days. I’ve sorted out someone to check on the house. I thought about selling it, but then again, realised that it might be worth hanging onto. If we come over, it would be nice to have our own little bit of peace and quiet, so we’re not beholden to anyone. I adore staying with my kids, but I am too aware they have their own lives to lead.”

“How’re things going?” I asked.

“Good. I’ve given my manuscript to my publisher, so that’s now taken care of. I’m just getting my legal documents cleared, as there’s a case that’s just gone through the European courts that might be very important.”

“Oh yes?”

“It was brought by a TS who was trying to have her new gender legally recognised by the government for marriage purposes. She was successful, so I’ve applied for a Gender Recognition Certificate by sending in all the doctors’ certificates and reports. I had to pay a fee, but if successful, I can get a new birth certificate stating that I’m female, which will make getting married so much easier.”

“Okay, when will you know for sure?”

“I’m not sure, hopefully in a few days, but it will save another visit or loads of letters.”

“Does that mean we’ll have to get married in the UK?”

“I don’t think so. As I will have a new birth certificate telling whoever is interested that I’m female, I guess all I need is my passport, the certificate and the necessary licence.”

“How are the kids?” I asked, changing the subject.

“Fine, or at least I think they’re fine. I’ve seen Sarah and the baby, and they’re doing brilliantly. I can’t believe how big Amy has got. Not seeing her for a few weeks makes such a difference at this stage. The boys, on the other hand, are far too busy to come and see me. I’ve spoken to them, and they tell me they’re fine. Stephen is off to the Middle East, so I’m a bit concerned about him.”

“Such is a mother’s prerogative, but I’m sure he’ll be fine.”

“How are the girls?” she asked.

“They’re good too. Annie was nagging me to make sure you get your Stephen over here soon.”

“Can you imagine how complicated things would get if those two got together?”

“I don’t have a problem with it, unless you do?”

“Annie is a sweetie, but I don’t believe in forcing these things. I don’t think she’d appreciate being a Royal Marine officer’s wife.”

“Maybe, still, it isn’t our problem. We all have the right to make mistakes. Mom was wondering if we’ve set a date yet.”

“Have we?” she asked, making me chuckle.

“Well, if all goes to plan, I’ll be free in January or February by the latest, so how about in the spring?”

“That sounds fine. It would be good if we can get a day when Jon has finished his studies at Oxford.”

“Okay, how about the Easter break?”

“Yes, that’ll do.”

“Have you given any more thought to where you want to get married?” I asked.

“Not really, I have to admit to being more concerned over these silly legal complications. Do you have a preference?”

“Heck no, I just want a day to remember and one in which you will be happy.”

“You are so sweet, John, I don’t really care either, I just want it to happen!”

“Me too, but you know how moms are.”

“I do, and in a way I’d adore it for my mother to be still alive, but I suppose it’s best she isn’t. I’m not sure how she, or my dad if it comes to that, would take to the new me. I know your mother would not be keen to take a trans-Atlantic flight, so maybe we could marry there?”

“I’d like it, but I want you to be happy.”

“Oh, you big idiot. I don’t give a proverbial where I get married, or even if I do. I just want to be with you forever!”

“Sorry, babe, that I can’t arrange. How about till one of us kicks the bucket?”

She chuckled on the other end of the phone.

“Deal,” she said, still chuckling.

“John?”

“Yeah?”

“How about we get married on the ranch, is that possible?”

“You’d like that?” I asked, feeling inordinately pleased.

“Very much. It keeps it private, so just close friends and family, as well as keeping the cost down. It sounds a bit odd, but I think Sally would have liked that as well.”

I felt some tears come to my eyes. I was lost for words for a moment.

“John?”

“I’m here, Hun. I’d like that too. I’ll make the arrangements.”

“Thanks, but don’t if it’s not what you want. I just think it would be fun with all the family around. I’m also very conscious that I don’t want to make waves and instigate any press interest that would create a scandal.”

“Don’t you worry none, we’ll keep it tight.”

“Oh, and my publisher is keen to get my latest novel into print, as she says it’s just the sort of stuff that sells well at the moment.”

It was my turn to laugh.

“You want to keep things low key? I suppose being a best selling author isn’t low key?” I asked.

“Hell, John, getting a book into print is a far cry from being a best selling author.”

“I have hopes for you.”

“Thanks. It means a lot to me.”

“Look, I’d better get some work done. Hurry back to me, okay?”

“I will. I love you so much, John.”

“Me too,” I said, partly embarrassed at saying such mushy stuff on the telephone and partly please I had someone to say it to.
 
 
The rest of the day was an anticlimax. I had a couple of meetings to attend, and there were some decisions to be made concerning replacement equipment. At around three in the afternoon, I received a call from my old buddy Lewis Grant.

“Hi, John, how’s it going?”

“Fine. I see you’ve applied for my job. Will Lara go for the change?”

“Hell, John, Lara’s the one who told me to apply. I think she’s sick of the big city and she hankers after the kind of life she saw you and Sally had.”

There was a moment’s silence as it dawned on Lewis what he’d said.

“Heck, John, I’m sorry, I didn’t think.”

“Hey, don’t worry. I’m past that, and I’m pleased for both of you. Just so you know, I’ve met someone else and we’re planning a spring wedding.”

“You don’t say? Wow, I’m pleased for you both. Do I know the lucky lady?”

“I doubt it very much, unless you’ve spent a lot of time in England.”

“England? How?”

“I went over with Ed in the summer to track down some family tree. We found her living in a cottage that our great, great something may have lived in at one time. We got together and, well, sorta stuck.”

“That’s great. How have the girls taken the news?”

“Great, they’ve met her and they all seem to get along fine. Even my mom approves.”

“That’s something. No, seriously, I’m pleased for you, man; I know how hard you found things after Sally’s death.”

“Well, things are better now. Why did you call, Lewis? I’m sure it wasn’t for idle chat.”

“I was wondering, how many applicants you got?”

“Five. You and four others; one woman and four guys.”

“Who are the others?”

“I don’t know them, but as I’m on the board, I’m not sure I should talk about it.”

“You on the board? Great. I mean, okay, good, that helps me. I think. Or then maybe it doesn’t. Shit, I don’t know what I mean.”

I laughed, for he was clearly at a loss.

“Lewis, if it was only up to me, you’d have the job, but it isn’t and we have to do this properly. Besides, the others seem to have all the necessary qualifications and experience, so we have to do what’s best for the department.”

“Okay, point taken. Is there any specific area I need to take a look at?”

“Most of the crap I deal with has to do with managing the budget and dealing with idiots who think they own me.”

He laughed again.

“Right, point taken. Is Pete Collins still your number two?”

“Yeah, and he’ll stay on a while until whoever gets the job has their feet under the desk. He’s planning on retiring after a couple of months, so the new chief can either promote from within the department or bring someone in like I did.”

“Is there anyone in the department up to that standard?”

“A couple come to mind. Steven Gunn is a good man, and a couple of the others will be there in a year or so. I’ll send you last years departmental report. It’ll have all the facts, figures and trends that will help you. I’ll be sending them to anyone else that asks. Okay?””

“Okay. That sounds good, thanks John.”

“No problem, and good luck.”
 
 
It was a quiet day, so I left work around four thirty and drove home. I’d driven this route countless times, and for many over the last couple of years, it had been a depressing experience. Now, however, I had everything to look forward to.

Life was good again.
 
 

*          *          *
 
End of Part 6
 
 
To Be Continued...