It's What I Want - Part 8

Printer-friendly version
It's What I Want
by Tanya Allan

Don is a bit of a geek. But his intelligence was matched by his kind heart, and his flat mate and friend Steve appreciates his help in his university course work.

Don is a little confused as to why Steve and two other friends want him to join them of a motor cycle tour of France in the summer holidays, but he is pleased to be asked, and goes along. On their first stop, a cool group is playing at a night club, but it is a couples only evening, and Don is persuaded to become Donna for one evening, just so the four friends can see the show.

But no one expected to find Donna still there on the following morning.

In fact, Don never returned...

And Donna was anything but a Geek!

 
 


Viewing Note: This story should be viewed with the Edwardian Script ITC font installed on your Windows platform in the c:/Windows/Fonts directory. Microsoft Word installs this font automatically.


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: It's What I Want  © 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.
 
 
Chapter 8
 
 
When we arose, near noon, James was feeding Kelly cornflakes while she was sitting on his knee. She smiled at me rather sheepishly, so I just grinned. The following day Steve, Jenny, Kelly and I went up to Pinewood Studio in Steve’s VW, to meet with David. He fell for Kelly immediately and arranged a screen test for her. Steve, Jenny and I watched, and she was actually very good.

“Right, Steve, can you help me out for a sec, boy?” David asked his son.

“Sure, Dad, what?”

“I want you to stand there, as we are having a little difficulty with the links from this camera. Just follow my directions and I want to see whether the zoom and focussing are working properly.”

David and the casting director, Mike Stone, stood behind the camera, giving Steve some simple directions and even a few lines to say. Steve, for his part, was totally relaxed, having no clue as to what was going on. In fact, he hammed it up for the benefit of the rest of us, making us laugh.

“Thanks Steve, that was great.” David said, and then he and Mike went into a huddle. The end result was both Kelly and Steve being offered two parts, Kelly as the American teacher on the bus trip, and Steve as the plucky and resourceful driver, and my love interest.

David explained what he had in mind to Jenny, and she was really chuffed to be included. It was a real adventure for all of us.

Steve was completely gob smacked, but thrilled beyond words. He wandered about with a fixed grin on his face. Kelly was equally pleased, so when I arranged for Penny to act as their agents as well, she was over the moon.

We travelled back to Portsmouth in very high spirits, and Kelly was rather eager to see James again. She called her father, who, already pining for my mother, was planning to come over and visit her at her flat in Chelsea. Her trip to Arizona had been a great success, during which their romance progressed in a very mature and gentle way. Considering that they were two hurting people, it was remarkable that it progressed at all.

Dad was seriously involved with Penny now, and he almost appeared to me to be a reformed character. However, I still was wary of believing miracles could actually happen, so was cautious in my dealings with him. I was reluctant to allow him to batter my emotions ever again, so maintained a slightly cool and distant relationship with him.

My accounts were in tip-top shape, as he was investing very wisely in property as opposed to stocks and shares. The stock market slumped drastically, yet my return over the last six months was very healthy indeed. He was beginning to mutter about the potential for a general crash and recession, so began to look at investing in areas that were more secure.

Samantha’s boyfriend contacted his school secretary, who was rather bemused by the suggestion that even a minor celebrity such as a pop singer might consider getting involved with their charity ball. Rather reluctantly she contacted me. When I told her that I would be delighted to come, along with my co-stars Steve Granger, Jenny Hills and Kelly Carnell, with their partners, she was completely struck dumb. Then I told her that we would like to sit with my friend Samantha and her date for the evening.

I told the gang about the charity ball, and they all thought it was a cool idea. They remembered Sam, and were all looking forward to meeting ‘her’ again.

There is something weird about walking away from your final exams at university. It was all over and although I knew I'd passed, I still wondered how well I'd passed. With all my assignments completed with good grades, I could actually dip the last exam catastrophically and still pass, but I wanted to get at least a two-one if not a first.

We house-mates all went to a little wine bar and quietly celebrated. Gone were the days of long drinking binges, which hadn't been my scene in any case, but Steve had changed almost beyond recognition. He'd done all his own work for his last few assignments, and had come out of his exams satisfied that he's at least passed.

We watched a crowd of first years students go past, pushing a couple of their number in a shopping trolley dressed as babies. They were all roaring drunk.

“Miss it, Steve?” Mark asked with a smile.

Steve smiled back and shook his head.

“Nah, I've grown up and moved on.”

“Grown up or got old?” Kelly asked.

Steve looked at me and shrugged.

“You choose,” he said.

“Seriously, mate, you've changed,” Mark said.

“I know, and it's all your fault, Donna,” he told me.

“What is?”

“You've made me see what's important. Besides, I've found something more important in life than me.”

“Aw, how romantic,” Mark teased, ducking as a rolled up paper napkin flew past his head.

Later, when we were in bed, Steve asked me a serious question.

“Donna, was I a pillock?”

“A bit, I suppose, but then I think we all probably were.”

“I don't want to get old.”

“We haven't a choice about it, love, but we can choose how we grow old.”

“As long as we do it together, I don't mind that much. I'd hate to have to start again.”

I laughed and tickled him.

“You're just lazy,” I said, and he disproved me by making love to me.

The end of our time at university was an anticlimax. After a long and boring ceremony, we collected out certificates of degree, and I was chuffed to get a first. Steve was happy with a third, while the others did okay.

It was then time to go our separate ways. For many students, this really was a parting of the ways, but for us it was different, as we were all getting together in a short time to start the movie. Oh, and we had to attend Samantha's summer ball, which was promising to be an interesting experience.
 
 
As you all know, the film was a great success, and paved the way for my career to develop with a third in the series and then offers started arriving at my agent's door every week. Steve and I married just after the film's premier, and have now settled in our new home in California. We still have a home in England as well, and spend at least half our time there, as we have many friends and family that seem to want us around.

Mum married Bruce a couple of months after Steve and I tied the knot. Kelly, Jenny and I were bride's maids, making the trip to the States for the happy event. Mum even invited Dad, who suggested that he give her away.

Needless to say, that kind offer was declined by the blushing bride. Dad came with Penny, as they'd moved in together. I hoped Penny knew what she was doing, but I wished them both every happiness.

Oh, how our life has changed, and as I sit in the sun, with a swollen belly that contains our first child, I have so many memories to think about. Those days of France and camping are still the fondest memories I have.

I received an email from Samantha this morning. She's just graduated from university with a degree in design. She's hoping to get a job with one of London's top fashion designers. She has a head start, as I got her to design and make an evening dress to wear at a celebrity charity event in L.A., and managed to drop her name to some people in the know.

I called her and we chatted at length. She's decided to write a journal on her story, so emailed me the first draft. I thought I'd add a few bits here, as it seems to tie up some loose ends nicely. It even covered the summer ball, so I'll let her tell her story, her way.

She's called her story, - It's What I Want!
 
 
SAMANTHA’S STORY
 
 
As I sat on the edge of my hospital bed, swinging my legs over the side for the first time since coming round after my operation, I saw the enormous bunch of flowers that Donna had sent.

There was a small card that read; “To a special girl at her moment of birth!”

I smiled and cried at the same time, as it was just so Donna.

In fact, that chance meeting with her in France all that time ago was the most fortunate thing that ever happened to me. Despite being nearly two years ago, I remembered it as if it was yesterday.

When my parents stated they wanted to go off for the day, I took advantage of my level of independence and told them I preferred to stay at the camp-site and read. I could do the washing, I offered.

For the whole day before their trip, I experienced mixed emotions. Part of me was excited at the prospect of being able to dress. I rarely got the opportunity and I needed the sexual release as well as the sense of rightness and freedom that dressing as a girl gave me. However, a lot of me was racked with guilt and shame for feeling the way I did. In fact, it hadn’t been a lie about me feeling suicidal. I was so down at not being able to be the real me, that I had thought about it quite often. I just hated being a boy, but felt guilty about it. However, to be perfectly honest, I was too chicken, as I hated the thought of what my suicide would do to my parents, and I wasn't prepared to put them through it. There didn’t seem to be any way out.

You will never know the embarrassed shock I experienced when Donna’s few French words knocked me sideways as I started dressing in the laundry room. My excitement had given me tunnel vision, so I hadn’t thought to check the windowsill to see whether there was anyone else in there with me. I couldn't see anyone, so I assumed I was alone.

From being so low, she managed to make that day the most wonderful I had ever experienced to date. The fact that her friends didn’t realise that I was not a real girl at first was so amazing and gave my confidence a real boost.

I suppose the biggest shock was when Donna told me that she’d been a boy up until quite recently. When she showed me her driver’s licence with photograph, I realised that she probably had never been a real boy, as she had been very effeminate and actually quite pretty, even though at that time, she thought she was a boy too.

I knew I wouldn’t be so lucky, as I was a boy, with all functioning parts. I also knew that I liked boys.

I’d sort of fibbed when I told Donna that I didn’t really know what I liked. I suppose the truth is I was ashamed of my feelings. I initially thought I was gay and wanted to be female because it would somehow legitimise my desire to make love to boys. However, after being a girl for that wonderful few hours, I realised that I liked boys because I was a girl inside, and my expression came through my male persona as well.

I’d never had sex with anyone, particularly a boy, although had fantasised about it many times. The strange thing was, each time, I was male to start, often dressed as a girl, but by the end of my fantasies, I was always either completely female, or almost. There was something erotic about imagining myself as a beautiful girl, except for my genitalia. In those early days, I was not sure whether it was guilt or a genuine desire to be female that made me want to become completely female.

My psychologist sorted me out.

I didn’t think I was that screwed up, but I found out that I was pretty bad.

After going to the doctor with my mother, soon after getting back from France, I’d begun on my path of seeing the psychologist and first dose of hormones, I thought it would be easy.

It wasn’t.

I had life to live at the same time as all this crap.

One word of advice, never initiate something like this in the middle of an exam syllabus. Exams fuck you up without any help, so I’d selected the most difficult time of my young life to start things rolling. Then again, I was so keen to get things going that I don’t think it would have mattered when I’d started.

I stayed as Sam until I finished my GCSEs. Not only because my body hadn’t started to develop, and it would have been too hard for me to go back to the same school suddenly wearing a skirt! You can say what you like about equal opportunities and what-not, but I can tell you that fifteen and sixteen year olds just adore taking the piss out of anyone who is slightly different. So a bloke turning up wearing a dress is more likely to attract a host of unwanted attention and abuse than anything else.

In a perfect world, everyone is kind and understanding. I don't live in a perfect world. Some people say that it's all in the mind, and that the reality is never as bad as you imagine. I've news for them, - reality is much worse! Reality has bigots who just can't accept different people. They lack the intellect to reason things out, so react with the only thing they understand, violence and aggression. A psychologist would say it's cause by a root fear and insecurity in their own sexuality.

I don't care, their fists and names hurt just as much as a rational and well balanced person.

I know that I could go to my new school as Samantha, but it was murder having to live each day as a boy that was ever so slowly turning into a girl. Oh, how bloody slowly!

I had school work as well as a limited social life, and I had to deal with the flack from my relatives.

To start with, it wasn’t too bad, as there wasn’t a lot of change. I had to dress and pretend to be Sam for all family events, to give mum time to work out how she was going to explain what was happening. Thinking back, it must have been a nightmare for my parents, to have their only son turn round and declare that he wanted to be a girl.

After a few months I refused to dress as a boy anymore, which was in line with my psychologist’s recommendation that I begin living as a girl. The psychologist had managed to straighten out some of my kinks, so I was now happy that I was going down the right road. I briefly went through a sexually active period, mentally that is, where I wanted to experiment and looked for a boy to share my feelings. I was also very fearful and shy, so the two extremes didn’t mix well. In the event nothing happened, until I met Dean.

I don’t think I realised just how screwed up I was, because when you go thorough life as the person you are, all those quirks that you see in others are hidden from you.

I was, by virtue of my hidden nature, quite selfish and defensive. I was attracted to boys and at the same time so appalled and guilty that I denied the reality to myself, and so sort of bumbled along in a kind of asexual middle of the road. I expressed as much to Donna, but I remember her expression when I looked at that waiter. She knew!

Now I was able to be the outward person that I always wanted to be, I didn’t have to hide my feelings from myself, let alone others.

I first met Dean at the Tennis club.

I’d spent all week as Sam at school, as next week was the start of the GSCE exams. Mum allowed me to wear a tennis skirt and girl’s top when we played. She had become a member of this club very recently, so I had never been as a boy, so no one knew me here.

While we were playing, I noticed a boy playing a game with an older woman on the adjoining court, so I guessed she was the boy's mother. He was taller than me, and probably a year or so older. I’d never seen him before, but he was slim and had dreamy eyes.

We finished first and sat on the bench to have a drink. They finished their game not long afterwards and both drifted over to the benches, as their bags had been left here as well.

“”Hello, you’re new, aren’t you?” the woman asked Mum in a friendly way.

“Yes, I’ve just joined,” said Mum. “I’m Caroline Pickering and this is Sam.”

I smiled and nodded. I had hoped that she’d have said I was her daughter, but, hey, I suppose she didn’t want to fib.

“Wanda Gelling, and this is my son, Dean.”

“Hi,” said Dean, smiling at me. I felt the flush rise from somewhere down below and didn’t stop until above my hairline.

“Hi,” I replied, looking down.

The two women started gassing and Dean ended up sitting next to me. We chatted aimlessly for a while, about schools and stuff, and then he asked me a question that shook me.

“Are you seeing anyone?”

I was unable to reply, as I was simply stunned.

Eventually I muttered something like, “Not really.”

“Why not?” he asked, as if it mattered.

To my amazement, I actually tried to explain the semi truth.

“I’m not really in a position to date any one at the moment, as I’m going through a medical thing.”

“Oh yeah, what?”

I was backed into a corner now, and I felt angry that he was quite so determined to be forthright. The anger made me stronger and more foolish than I should have been.

“I’m undergoing gender transition, so I’m not exactly in the market, so to speak.”

I don’t know who was more amazed, him or me. At least our mothers were just out of earshot, but even so, I immediately regretted my angry outburst, as I prepared for the abuse and disgust that would be the natural reaction.

“Woah, cool! I’d never have known, you look great!” he said, without batting an eye.

“What?” I said, disarmed totally by his attitude.

“I’ve never met a dude who wants to be a girl. I’ve read about it and seen TV programmes, but I’ve never met anyone going through it. You’re amazingly up front about it, good for you.”

“I didn’t mean to be, you sort of confused me,” I stammered, feeling embarrassed and ashamed.

“Don’t be. Are those your own, or what?” He asked, nodding at my chest.

“They’re breast forms, as I’ve not grown big enough yet.”

“How long have you been in whatsit?”

“Transition; not long.”

“How do you fancy going to a movie sometime?” he said.

I stared at him with something akin to shock.

“Hello, are you okay?” he asked.

“F.f.fine, yes, no, shit, I’d love to, but…” I looked to my mother for support, but she wasn’t even looking my way.

In the end I agreed.

“Look, please don’t tell anyone about what I said, as I didn’t mean to tell you,” I pleaded.

“Why did you?” he asked, frowning.

“I don’t know, I think you pushed me too hard and made me cross. I thought it might shock you enough to frighten you away.”

“You want me to go?”

“NO! I mean, no, not now.”

“Okay, I’ll call you, but I need a number.”

I hesitated a moment, but then gave him my number. I never thought he’d ring me.

After a while, he left, but not until he’d kissed me on the cheek. That stunned me almost as much as his reaction. When I told mum about him wanting to take me to a movie, she was horrified. When I told her that he knew, she was even more horrified. In the end, I was tempted to call him to forget it, but she decided that I had better leave it, as it would be unlikely that he’d call me and call off may make things worse.

Oh yeah?

“Hi, Sam, it’s Dean. How about Friday?”

SHIT, SHIT, SHIT!

“Oh, hi Dean. This Friday?” I asked as casually as I could, with my heart thumping in my chest.

“Yeah, still up for it?”

“Up for it? Oh, yes, if you still want to.”

“Of course, I'll meet you at the cinema, okay?”

I now had something else to look forward to.


 
To Be Continued...

 

up
163 users have voted.
If you liked this post, you can leave a comment and/or a kudos! Click the "Thumbs Up!" button above to leave a Kudos

Comments

The story made a sharp left turn

Or, to elaborate, decided to change the main character and follow Samantha instead of Donna. It is understandable, since Donna's story has come to a certain milestone, most issues have been resolved, and continuing will be... less fulfilling IMO. Samantha however has much to tell us about herself, so let's hear her out!

Faraway


On rights of free advertisement:
Big Closet Top Shelf

Where you can fool around like you want to and most you get is some bemused good ribbing!

Faraway


On rights of free advertisement:
Big Closet Top Shelf

Where you can fool around like you want to and most you get is some bemused good ribbing!

Thanks for

Tanya Allan's picture

Thanks for understanding.
But, please don't think you've heard the last of Donna, but through Samantha, it will be in the third person, which perhaps migh be nice getting a more objective view.
This is a TG story site, and to be fair, Donna just isn't any more, so that was my rationale.

Thanks to all my readers who bear with me.
One thing I must point out, I never know where any of my stories are going until they get me there. I have never sketched out a plot or story line, and sometimes a conversation will just go with it and take me to the next part of the story.

Tanya

There's no such thing as bad weather, just the wrong clothes!

There's no such thing as bad weather, just the wrong clothes!

Thanks so much for giving us a nice

finish (for now) of Donna's story.

I am thrilled that you are going to let us into Samantha's life! Whether it is a continuation of It's What I Want or its own standalone, I am very keen to hear of her adventures.

SuZie

SuZie

Please Finish The Story

Hi peoples . Tanya please finish this story? The story is Fantastic! But it's 2016 Pleeeeeeeeze don't have what a lot of other authors have? ANNOYING UNFINISHED STORIES! Love your stories. Keep well! ...Love you all! Bye. Natasha.