Dreamer: Part 2

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MIRROR.GIF

Dreamer Part 2

By Tanya Allan
Original Version Copyright © 1972
Revised version Copyright © 2012

The author asserts her moral right under the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act, 1988, to be identified as the author of this work.

All Rights reserved.
No part of this publication may be reproduced, copied, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means, without the prior written consent of the copyright holder, nor be otherwise circulated in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser.
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. Any commercial use by anyone other than the author is strictly prohibited.

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.


Philip Coates is seventeen and convinced that he is not only trapped in a boarding school for boys, but also trapped in the wrong body. He spends most of his time lost in a world of his imagination. In this world he is the girl he always wanted to be. The girl who screams at him to set her free in every minute of every waking hour, and most of the sleeping ones as well.

Trapped in a social square hole, he becomes simply what everyone - parents, friends, teachers - want and expect him to be. He knows that he wants to be a round peg, but will, in reality, never make it.

Well, he wakes up one morning convinced that his dream might just be coming true.. or is it?

The signs are there, but then again, are there other explanations for what he is going through?

After a rough few days, the girl is set free.

The future is now gloriously uncertain and fresh, as she sets out on a journey, turning her back on her school, her friends and her old home.....


My thanks to PEGLEG for help with proofing


Dreamer Part 2

By Tanya Allan

"Come on Phil, you're late again. If you....fucking hell! Who the fuck are you?"

I woke up on hearing Andy's voice.

I was on my side, with the duvet was on the floor. Andy was staring at me as if I had suddenly grown two extra heads, doing a passable goldfish impression with his mouth.

I stared at him blankly, but to my amazement he turned away, going bright red. He opened the door and looked up and down the corridor.

"What?" I asked his back.

He turned back towards me.

"Look, I don't know who you are, or how the fuck you got here, but if Phil doesn't get you out of here, we’re all in the shit!" he said.

I swung my legs off the bed and stood up. The jockey shorts immediately fell down, so I bent over to pull them up.

It was then that I noticed that I was no longer male. So did Andy.

“Oh, bloody hell!” he said, turning away again.

I was only conscious of this weight on my chest, my breasts were really enormous! I stayed bent over looking in terrified fascination at the gentle mound and light blonde fuzz around it. I tentatively touched it with my hand, and smiled when the truth hit me. My breasts swung free inside the tee shirt, and I could feel a strange sensation as the nipples touched the material.

Actually, looking back, they were, and still are, a nice size, but to me then, they were fucking ginormous!

I was also smaller in height and build than I had been, so I was standing with my eye level several inches shorter of what it had been previously.

"Fuck!" I said, pulling up the shorts.

It had happened; it had actually bloody happened!

What the bloody hell did I do now?

"Where's Phil?" Andy asked, half turning round to see if I was still exposing myself..

"Huh?" I asked, not really with the rest of the world at this precise moment.

"Where's the boy whose room this is? You know, Phil Coates?" he asked, his voice bordering on the panic that I already felt.

I walked over to the mirror, holding my shorts up with one hand. I had to stand on tiptoe to see my face. I’d shrunk at least five inches!

A complete stranger looked back at me - a completely strange girl at that.

She was a very pretty girl, but she was not what I expected at all. Her hair was the same length as mine, but somehow more golden and thicker. Her eyes were mine, blue and familiar, but the lashes were long and thick. It was lovely to see that my splattering of facial acne was gone, and the small nose was slightly turned up at the end. The biggest difference was in the mouth and chin. The mouth had full lips, so seemed much larger. The old square chin had been replaced by a neat, small round chin, which was less masculine.

I gasped. It was better than my best dream. I looked like my sister, had I one, that is.

"Bloody Hell! Is that me?" I said.

Andy was getting really stressed.

“Look, we can’t bugger about all day. Where the fuck is Phil?” Andy asked.

I turned round and looked at him. He was clearly worried and embarrassed.

“I’m right here, you daft pillock!” I said.

It was his turn to stare and mumble.

“Huh?”

“Andy, it’s me, Phil. I’m just a little different, that’s all!”

“Huh?”

“Oh, for fuck’s sake! Andy, I ‘m Phil. You know, your friend, Phil Coates. This is my room, and well, something has happened. I told you I’d tell you when I found out what was wrong. Well, it looks like we both know what it was now!” I said, my voice tailing off as the full reality of the situation hit me.

“You’re a girl!” he said.

“Duh! Tell me about it!”

“Phil’s not a girl, so who are you?” he asked. He still hadn’t got it.

I sighed and sat on the bed.

“Andy. Look, I don’t know how, or why, but I went to bed a boy and woke up a girl. You know I wasn’t feeling right for the last couple of days?”

“Uh, yeah.”

“That must have been me changing from the inside. If you don’t believe me, you tell me how the fuck Phil could get a girl into this room and be nowhere in sight when you come and wake me up?”

He stood frowning. He looked so funny I giggled. This made him even more uncomfortable.

“If you don’t believe me, ask me anything you know that only I know. Like, who you snogged at the Christmas party with the Nicholls? Or, who it was who put frogspawn into the art master’s Mini’s windscreen washer bottle?” I suggested.

He stared at me again.

“Phil?” he asked, very uncertainly.

I nodded.

“’fraid so.”

“Fucking hell!”

I nodded.

“Yeah, that’s what I think too.”

“How?”

“I haven’t the foggiest! Wishful thinking?” I said, as I looked around for some clothes that would fit my new altered shape.

“Wishful thinking?” he asked, with an odd expression on his face.

“Never mind, you wouldn’t understand,” I said.

“What the bloody hell are you going to do? I mean, you don’t even look like you, so you can’t just get dressed in your usual clothes and pretend to be the old you. If the Head finds out, there’ll be an explosion!”

I shrugged.

“Get dressed, I suppose. I also need a pee,” I said, taking my tee shirt off without really thinking.

Andy stared at my tits, went bright red and turned round, facing the door again.

“Shit!” he said.

I grinned and looked down at my new breasts.

They looked great. I had always wanted some of my own, but never imagined I would ever actually have some. I felt them with my hands, revelling in the feel of my soft skin, and the sheer weight. I had never imagined they’d be so heavy.

They were round and pert, not saggy at all, and very firm. As my fingers brushed the nipples, they expanded under my touch. I felt a flutter of pleasure in my belly. I had a daft smile on my face that even the thought of my current predicament couldn’t shift.

I found a clean tee shirt and pulled it on. I realised I would have to go shopping and get some proper underwear, bras and stuff.

I took the jockey shorts off and slipped on a tight pair of briefs, or they used to be tight, I had less to put in them now. Fortunately, my bum and hips were larger, so they stayed up. I pulled on some jeans, but they were very tight in the bum, while being loose round the waist, so I slipped a belt through the loops and fastened it.

My trainers were much too big, even with three pairs of socks, I would never be able to wear them.

“I need a size six or seven. Tens are just silly!” I said, pulling off all those socks again.

Andy was staring at me, shaking his head and muttering.

“What?” I asked.

“You’re very pretty, I can’t believe this,” he said, with surprise in his voice.

I just smiled. It was like my dream.

“It still doesn’t help; what are you going to do?” he asked.

I stood up and finding my jeans were too long, I turned up the leg ends.

I was in bare feet.

“I need shoes. And I still need the loo!” I said.

He frowned again.

“Look, you’re a girl in a boys’ school, you should be a boy, but you aren’t. This is a fucking nightmare,” he said, scratching his head.

For the first time, I actually felt calm. The panic had gone. The uncertainty was gone also. All I had left was a feeling of wholeness and contentment. I found I didn’t care about anything apart from the wonderful feeling I had being finally what I always wanted to be — a girl.

“No Andy. It’s a dream come true,” I said.

Even my voice was different. I smiled, going through my jacket pockets. I had a wallet with six quid and a cash point card in it. I had about a hundred pounds in my account, and that was it.

“Can you lend me any money?” I asked.

“What?”

“Look, I’m going to have to leave. I can’t stay here, as I can’t let anyone know what has really happened, because they’ll turn me into a freak. So, I am going to fuck off and start a new life somewhere. I need some money, can you let me have some? Your dad’s rolling, after all.”

He fumbled with his wallet.

He handed me twenty pounds.

“That’s all I have here. I can get you more, but not for a bit.”

“That’s fine. It’ll have to do. I do need some shoes, though.”

“I’ll go look in the changing room. There might be some old trainers belonging to a fourth former lying about,” he said, and left me alone.

I opened my wardrobe, located my old leather bomber jacket and put it on. It was a little large, but it looked quite chic. I put a few tee shirts and other clothes into a holdall. I also packed some of my books and personal stuff. My one fear was that I would change back. There was very little here for me, so the bag was quite light.

I looked into the mirror again and fluffed up the hair. I put a brush and comb into the bag, together with a towel, a toothbrush and toothpaste. I would definitely have to go shopping soon.

There was a knock on the door.
It was Andy.

“Try these,” he said.

They were some old tatty plimsoles, but they almost fitted. A little big, but with a pair of thick socks they would do me until I bought some decent shoes.

“Where will you go?”

I hadn’t thought.

“I dunno. Perth, I suppose. It’s the nearest town, and then I can get a train south.”

“Why south?”

“Why not?”

“What about your parents?”

“What about them?”

“Won’t they be worried?”

“Probably. But they couldn’t really give a shit about me, only what other people might think and say.”

“How do you mean?”

“Look, this isn’t the time or the place for this conversation, but let’s just say what you see is the real me. This is what I have dreamed about every moment of every day for as long as I can remember. Once, I was foolish enough to tell my parents how I felt, and their reaction was that I couldn’t possibly be a transsexual, because of what all their friends would say?”

“You’re a transsexual?” he asked, his voice going up several octaves, displaying his incredulity.

“No, dummy! I was a transsexual. Now I am a girl, in heart, body, mind and soul. And, you know, I actually feel happy for the first time ever!”

He stared at me.

“I never knew.”

“Duh! I’m hardly going to wear a badge saying, ‘I’d rather be a girl.’”

“I suppose not.”

I looked at my watch. The strap was done up on the tightest setting and was still loose.

“You go and see if the coast is clear. I’ll duck out of the fire escape, and nip through the kitchens.”

He stared at me.

“I can’t believe this,” he repeated.

“Believe it. Look, thanks for being a friend. If I can, I’ll be in touch. I owe you twenty quid in any case.”

He nodded.

“What shall I say?”

“The truth, you haven’t see Phil Coates since yesterday.”

“What will you call yourself?”

I hadn’t thought about that either.

“Philippa, I suppose. Pippa for short.”

“Pippa. I like it!” he said, smiling for the first time.

I did something that for the life of me I don’t know where it came from. I leaned forward and kissed him on the cheek.

“Thanks Andy. As I said, I’ll try to keep in touch.”

He went bright red and then smiled sheepishly at me.

“You must be a girl, because if you weren’t I wouldn’t feel like I do,” he said.

I smiled.

“How do you feel?” I asked.

“You don’t want to know,” he said, still ginning.

“Best you keep that to yourself, then,” I said.

“Phil, no, Pippa?”

“What?” It was really weird hearing my feminine name; nice, but weird.

“Shall I come with you?”

I stared at him.

“Would you?”

“If you’d like me to.”

I shook my head.

“You’ve a life to lead, exams to finish. Your father wants you to follow his footsteps, whereas mine couldn’t give a shit! I appreciate the thought though. You still look like you. I am a new person, and even if they launched a search, they’ll never find me, you would be identified straight away.”
He nodded.

“I just thought I’d ask.”

I smiled.

“Thanks, I appreciate the thought. Now go see if it is clear.”

He smiled uncertainly and nodded. I watched through the door jam as he waved me down the corridor. I grabbed my bag and ran for the loo. I sat and did what I had to do. I didn’t have time to dwell on the differences, I just found it all perfectly natural. It was as if I had always been a girl. I finished and made a dash for the fire escape. I was down into the back kitchens and out the service door like a Jack Russell down a rabbit hole. I waved at Andy who watched me from the window. He waved back.

Ten minutes later I was on the main road, heading towards Perth. I never turned and looked back.

Glenallan is a large boys’ public school perched in a picturesque glen in the hills of Perthshire, some fifteen miles west of the city of Perth. Bleak in winter and simply secluded at the best of times, it was a guarantee that your offspring can get up to no trouble.

Offering the finest education and sports facilities that money can buy the generation of ‘Haves’ send their sons there to ensure that the next generation will be ‘Haves, plus a little bit more’.

My father cared little for my future, as long as I didn’t bring disgrace to him or his family name. Not that he has done much for either. To say we were not close would be an understatement.

My mother was so wrapped up in her own family bitterness over her feelings of being cheated by her brother, that she had little time for anyone or anything else. I had been sent off to boarding school at eight, and now, nine years later, I discovered that we did not really know each other. I had tried to tell them who I really was, but failed through a mixture of cowardice on my part and denial on theirs.

Fortunately, the sun shone as I made my way along a road that I had often run with other poor inmates of our wonderful institution.

I heard a car approaching, so instinctively I stuck my hand out with thumb upraised to hitch a lift.

To my surprise, the car pulled up just past me. It was a Volvo 145 estate.

My surprise turned to horror when I recognised the Headmaster’s wife, Mrs Matheson.

(For the benefit of those not of these Isles, I ought to explain at this juncture, that at this time in Scotland, the landed and wealthy classes, many of whom send their offspring to private schools, did not speak with Scottish accents in the main. Well educated and somewhat interbred, they sounded as posh and as upper-class English as the royal family, and still do. I was blessed (or cursed) by being born to the younger son of a younger son of such a family (not HRH, Honest!). Despite being Scottish born, bred and educated, I was always expected to speak the Queen’s English. I have, over the years, developed the knack of a vocal chameleon, being able to adapt to my surroundings, and therefore obviating any barriers to effective communications through sounding too posh. Although I can when I want to!)

“Hello, you are taking a bit of a risk, young lady,” she said.

“Aye, well, I missed the bus te Perth,” I said, switching to the local vernacular.

“Well, hop in. Are you a local girl? I haven’t seen you before.”

I sat in the front seat, with my holdall on my lap.

“I’ve been staying wi’ ma cousins on the farm at Glenchapel.”

“Glenchapel?”

“Aye, it’s a wee way up the glen.”

“Oh, not at school?” she asked as we set off.

“No. I left school when I was sixteen wi’ some O levels. Wi’ Dad dead, I need te get a job.”

“Really, how old are you now?”

“Seventeen.”

“You really should have stayed on at school, you never know what qualifications you will need.”

“Aye, but I want te be a model or something, so maths an’ stuff is no’ that useful to me. An’ I can’t afford to stay on.”

She glanced at me and smiled. She was always a nice woman, somewhat remote, probably due to shyness more than anything else. She wasn’t a teacher, but always supported her husband through his career as a housemaster at successive schools and now as a head.

“At least you don’t smear all that hideous makeup all over yourself, like some girls of your age. You’re a pretty girl, so it’s refreshing to see natural beauty as opposed to so much out of a jar,” she said, so I just smiled.

We chatted about trivia for the journey. She dropped me in St John’s Square, where she parked her car.

“Thanks very much,” I said.

“You’re welcome, my dear. Good luck with your modelling career.”

We went our separate ways. I went straight to the bank and withdrew fifty pounds. I could only withdraw that much each day, so I now had seventy-six pounds. It felt a lot, but I knew that it wouldn’t last very long. I also knew that if they started a search, they’d check with the bank and find out when the money was withdrawn and from where. It didn’t bother me, so confident was I in my new persona, I was completely happy no one would recognise me.

I did have a problem. I had no official identity, and I could not think of how to get one. I was unwilling to use my real surname, so once my money was gone, I’d lose the card. My driver’s licence was just a piece of paper with a boy’s name on it. I needed a new identity, and an official one at that. I had no idea how to get hold of one. I didn’t even know where to start.

I was also aware that as a pretty, seventeen year-old girl, who was not worldly-wise, I was very vulnerable.

I had two things on my immediate agenda.

One, to get some proper clothes.

Two, to get as far from Perth as I could sensibly afford to. The rail fare to London was about thirty pounds, but I didn’t want to spend that much yet.

I walked the main streets, window-shopping. I kept seeing my reflection in the shop windows and couldn’t shake my silly grin that was stuck on my face. This pretty girl with shoulder-length fair hair grinned back at me. I was only 5’ 7” now, having lost a good four inches, somehow.

The biggest difference was my shape. My waist went in and my hips went out, and my chest, well that was something else. I grinned as I felt my breasts swing free beneath my shirt.

I honestly could not recall feeling constantly happy like this, ever!

There were so many different clothes and, looking at the prices, I realised that being female and well dressed would mean I would also be skint.

I went to a couple of charity shops, finding nearly everything I wanted. They each even had a small changing booth. With the exception of underwear, (I just didn’t fancy second-hand knickers and stuff.) I was able to pack my holdall with some nice clothes. I bought a couple of mini skirts; one in denim and one in a bright red material, with about five assorted tops and tee shirts. There was a little black dress that fitted me perfectly, and a black coat that was quite smart. I also bought a navy blue skirt, a cream blouse and a matching navy jacket. The last were just in case I needed to be smart for an interview or something.

I found an ornate waistcoat and two pair of trousers that fitted me much better than my jeans. In fact, I swapped my jeans for a pale blue pair, which, being girl’s jeans, fitted me in all the right places. I kept them on, with the waistcoat.

I was just leaving the Oxfam shop when I saw a canary yellow waterproof ski jacket. It was just so obvious, I tried it on and it was just right. Then, to cap everything off, I bought a denim shoulder bag. I had nothing to put in it yet, apart from my brush, comb and my wallet.

I didn’t like the idea of wearing other people’s underwear or shoes, so I went to M&S and was helped to buy three bras that were the right size and a pack of six plain white girl’s pants. I saw some tights on the rack, so bought three pairs, two in flesh colour and one in black.

I changed into one of the bras and pants then and there, throwing the old briefs into the bin as I left the shop, having paid, of course.

Finally, I went to a shoe shop that had a large SALE sign in the window. They were getting rid of the summer stock, so I bought a pair of trainers, a pair of smart high heel black shoes to go with my black dress, and a pair of suede knee length boots with three inch heels.

I had only spent twenty pounds, so was well pleased with my haul. The shoes and underwear cost more than the rest put together. My bag was quite heavy now, and I found myself looking into Boots the chemist.

There was a huge advert for makeup, and it dawned on me that I would need some, but I hadn’t a clue as to how to go about it.
I had mucked about with my mum’s makeup, but really I was totally clueless about the whole subject. I went in and wandered the make up section becoming more confused than ever. There was just so much.

“Are you okay, or do you need a hand?” a female assistant asked.

I looked up and saw a dark haired girl about my age smiling at me.

“I am so confused. I’ve never really used make up, so don’t know what to get,” I said, as honestly as I could be.

“It’s a nightmare isn’t it? I’m Kathy. You’ve got a lovely complexion, you don’t need that much,” she said.

After twenty minutes, I was nine pounds, twenty-three and a half pence poorer. I was, however, now the owner of a make up case full to the brim of alien artefacts, of which I only had a faint idea as to how to use them.

Kathy had made my face up in order to show me the products, so I had watched her techniques avidly. As a result of her efforts I now looked nearer twenty, and as I walked down the street, I became aware that my progress was watched by many of the males as I passed.

My smile just got bigger.

It was lunch-time, so I went into a little café and ordered a roll and a cup of coffee. I opened up my wallet to see what I had left.

I had just blown more than a third of my funds. I only had forty-five quid left now, so things would get tight. Tucked away in the wallet was my little red driving licence. It was a small red covered book, with paper inserts stuck to the main page. It was a full licence, as I had passed my driving test in the summer holidays just gone. It was also in the name of Philip Coates, so was therefore completely useless.

“Excuse me, is zis chair being sat upon?” said a foreign voice.

I looked up.

It was a boy. A young man really, older than me, say about nineteen or twenty. He had very blond, almost white hair, cut very short, and he looked very Scandinavian. He was wearing an old green denim type military jacket, jeans and a check shirt. He was holding a backpack, which he put on the ground. It was almost as big as he was, and he was as tall as I used to be, if not taller.

“No, feel free,” I said, keeping the Scottish accent.

“Thanks you,” he said, sitting down with obvious relief.

The waitress came over and gave him the menu, plonking my roll and coffee in front of me.

He looked at the menu with a frown.

“Are you having problems?” I asked.

“Some of zese verds. I am confused. I come here two days since. And my English is, how you say, not yet good,” his accent was very sexy. I blushed as I realised what I had thought.

“Och, it’s no that bad. Where are you from?” I asked.

“I am from Norway. My name is Thor Larssen.”

“Thor, as in the god of thunder, or Thor Heyerdral the explorer?”

He smiled.

“Ah, you know Norse mythology and of the Kon-tiki expedition?”

“A wee bit,” I admitted, blushing.

“What is your name?”

“Philippa. My friends call me Pippa,” I said, and he extended his hand to me. I shook it.

“Pippa. It is a nice name. I like it,” he said, still holding my hand.

I went redder, as the waitress came back and hovered expectantly. He let go of my hand.

Thor looked at the menu, and I helped him with some of the choices. He ended up ordering toad in the hole and chips. He was a bit worried he was going to get a real toad.

We chatted for a while, or rather, he chatted and I listened. Any questions he asked me, I answered shortly and asked one back. He didn’t mind talking about himself, a typical male!

I discovered he had come over by boat and landed in Aberdeen a couple of days before. He was on his year out before university and was travelling Europe. He wanted to get the UK out of the way before winter set in, having spent the summer working on in his uncle’s logging plant in Norway. I think he wanted to get to the South of France and Spain by the winter.
He was going to go to medical school in Oslo the following year, and I thought that he was a very nice boy. I liked him and it was very strange. I felt very different in his company compared to how I would have done had I been still Phillip.

I gazed past his shoulder out into the street and my heart almost stopped.

My mother was walking down the pavement with her friend Ruth Wells. She didn’t appear upset, so the school hadn’t discovered my absence yet. I had not considered seeing my family, so I must have shown my concern, because Thor stopped talking and asked if I was alright.

I forced myself to look away from my mother, and smiled at him.

“I’m fine, I just forgot something. Not to worry,” I said.

Then, to my deeper shock, my mother and Ruth came into the café. I should have remembered, she often used this café on her shopping trips, and I had automatically come in here through familiarity.

She looked right at me and our eyes locked for a second. I looked away and smiled at Thor.

“So where do you go from here?”

He shrugged.

“I am not sure. I like this town. Maybe I stay here for a bit, yes?”

I smiled, as he was trying to find out where I lived.

“I’m off to Edinburgh. I need to get a job,” I said.

“You live in Edinburgh?” he said, pronouncing it Edeenborg.

I laughed, and finished my roll.

“No, I am just off to seek my fortune. I’ve left home, so I need to make my own life.”

“You are very brave,” he said, very solemnly.

“No, just loony,” I said, and he frowned.

“What is loony?”

“Loony is mad. In English, loony is slang for the word lunatic. It comes from when they thought the moon made people mad, so the word comes from the Latin, Luna, meaning moon,” I explained.

“Ah, I see. You know much I think.”

I shook my head.

“Nah. A wee bit only.”

“What is wee?”

“Wee is Scottish for little.”

“So, Scotland has its own language?”

“Not really, there are a few who speak the Gaelic, so some words are from that. We speak English, but use some words that the English don’t.”

He smiled.

“I like Scottish.”

“Good.”

“Are all Scottish girls as pretty as you?” he asked.

I went beet red, and looked down.

“I am sorry, I did not mean to be rude,” he said, apologetically.

I looked up at him from under my lashes. I smiled.

“Don’t apologise. I liked it. And I don’t know. Am I pretty, then?”

He smiled.

“I think so. Ja, very pretty.

His toad in the hole arrived.

He looked at it so suspiciously that I laughed loudly. My mother looked over to me and I realised that she had absolutely no idea who I was. It made me feel much better.

Part of me wanted to go and tell her. The rest of me knew that that was something for the future. I needed more control of my life first. It was odd, as I felt nothing towards her. I liked her, and was sort of fond of her, so don’t get me wrong, but we’d always had as distant relationship, me and my parents. I had to admit that we were not exactly close.
If you asked me, did I love my parents, I’d hesitate and say something like, ‘I think I used to love them; I just don’t feel close to them anymore.’

I stayed and chatted to Thor and ordered another coffee that I could scarce afford. He was good company, teaching me a few rude Norwegian words. My accent made him laugh, so I taught him some words that nice wee Scots girls should never have known.

He actually enjoyed his toad, and it dawned on me that we were both sitting here because the other was here. I paid for my roll and drinks, while he paid for his food too.

I stood up.

“I have to go,” I said.

An expression of loss flitted across his face.

“You go Edinburgh now?”

“Aye,” I said, just to get away from my family.

“If you like, I come with you?”

I stared at him. I didn’t know him, but I didn’t think I was ready for getting too close to anyone, yet.

“Okay, if ye want,” I heard my voice say. No one was more surprised than me!

His smile said more than a thousand words, and I experienced a strange sensation deep inside.
We left together, as he heaved his enormous pack onto his broad shoulders.

“So, how we get there?”

“Bus. It’s cheaper than the train.”

“We not hitch-hike?”

I looked at him.

“Nice girls don’t hitch,” I said, conveniently forgetting that I had earlier.

“Oh. It is dangerous?”

“Can be. But if I’m with a six foot hulk like you, I should be safe, but who’d ever give us a lift, with you carrying half a house?”

He grinned.

We walked to the bus station. It started to rain and I was glad I hadn’t worn a skirt and heels. I dug out my ski jacket and put it on. We each bought a ticket for Edinburgh and sat in the waiting room. A bus went every hour, so we only had ten minutes to wait.

I left him guarding my bag and went to the loo.

It was my first time in a ladies loo. It was just like the gents, but without the urinals. It smelled as bad, but didn’t have quite so much piss on the floor.

I did what I had to do. Once again, I was surprised as to how normal it all felt. I imagined that it was going to be all so different, but it wasn’t. I just had different bits, and I loved every moment.

I repaired my makeup and returned to Thor and the bags.

He smiled as I approached. His smile had a funny affect on me. I liked the feeling.

“Better?”

“Lots, thanks.”

He grinned.

“I was told that the British were not too friendly.”

“Aren’t we?”

“You are.”

I smiled.

“Don’t get any funny ideas. There’s friendly and friendly,” I said.

It was his turn to blush, so I thought I’d shocked him a little.

“I have no ideas. I am sorry, my English is not good, you misunderstand, I think.”

I leaned over and touched him gently on his arm. It was unlike me to be tactile. I was surprising myself every minute.

“Don’t worry; your English is very good. I am teasing you; that’s all,” I said, and he smiled.

“It is difficult for me. Your humour is different.”

I smiled and watched a bus pull into the bay. The destination board was changed at the front to read ‘Edinburgh’.

“Come on, that’s our bus,” I said, so we went and boarded it. My memory of school trips was such that as we were the first, we placed our bags in the luggage space underneath and went in and straight down the back.

I went and took the rear window seat and the tall Thor slid in beside me. There were five seats at the back, and he didn’t need to sit quite so close. The bus was about half full, and no one else came to the very back. We set off and he stayed sitting close to me. I found I didn’t mind.

I knew the route to Kinross and then across Fife to the Forth Road Bridge. I was able to point out various places of interest, like the Castle on the island in Loch Leven where Mary Queen of Scots was imprisoned for a while.

I relaxed with Thor. His name made me giggle, as it seemed such a silly name, but I couldn’t tell him that.

“So, what do you do in Edinburgh?” he asked.

It made me think. I actually had no plans, and I suppose I had been floating on a euphoric feeling without actually thinking through my future.

“I don’t know. I just had to get away,” I admitted.

“You were in trouble?”

I shook my head.

“Not really. I just couldn’t stay where I was any longer. I needed to get away and lead my own life.”

He looked at me.

“You leave school early?”

I nodded.

“That is not good. You need school to get to university.”

“Thor, not you as well?”

“Me?”

“Never mind. Look, I am not interested in a degree. I just want to get a job that gives me enough to live, and to do something I like doing.”

“What do you like doing?” he asked.

I smiled and shrugged.

“I haven’t a clue. I won’t know until I try it.”

He shook his head. I was obviously too spontaneous for his well-ordered mind.

“I know! I’ll find a dishy doctor, get married and have loads of children,” I said, and he went bright red again.

I felt bad.

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

He grinned at me.

“You didn’t, I liked it,” he said, repeating what I had earlier said to him.

I smiled and looked out of the window. My brain was in a whirl. The only thing I had ever wanted had happened, and the rest seemed unimportant. I needed to get thinking straight, because it did matter, and I needed to be sensible about this. He was a boy, and I had mixed with boys all my life. Why was he affecting me like this? I felt all fuzzy and warm, and liked being close to him. It was most disconcerting.

I tried to focus my brain.

I needed to get a job, but before that, I need to get a proper identity. I had male identity but that wasn’t going to work now, particularly as I didn’t want to be found. I thought of all the hullabaloo that would be caused by me ‘miraculous sex change’.

The last thing I wanted was a media circus and to be labelled a freak.

“Pippa?”

I almost jumped. He had been so quiet that I had almost forgotten he was there.

“Yes?”

“Have you somewhere to stay?”

“Not yet.”

He pulled out a small booklet, with a typed itinerary he had prepared earlier, by the look of it. He had Edinburgh planned in, but not for several weeks. I had upset his plans by about a month.

“I go to the youth hostel. I have its address here. You come with me, yes?”

I shrugged. It was the best option so far.

“Okay,” I said, and he gave me a huge grin.

“What’s so funny?” I asked.

“Not funny. I am happy. You are my first friend here, and I get to see more of you,” he said.

I had to look away. There was that funny feeling again.

We arrived at the Firth of Forth, and he was amazed at the railway bridge that had been built over a hundred years before the new road suspension bridge. There was a warship sailing into the Forth.

“Ah, a battleship!” he said.

I looked down at it.

“No, that’s only a Destroyer, type 82, I think. They started building them in 1966. It has a displacement of 5,650 tons, and is armed with Seadart surface to air missiles and the Ikara anti-submarine weapon,” I said, and then realised what I had said. Girls just didn’t know such stuff.

He looked at me with a very odd expression.

“You are a very strange girl,” he said, and I simply smiled.

“You got that right,” I said.

“Is there anything you don’t know?”

I grinned.

“Lots,” I said.

“Good, let me know when there is something you don’t know.”

I don’t know why your smile turns my legs to jelly! I nearly said, and smiled at the thought of how he’d react to that statement.

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Comments

Thank you Tanya,

The story is everything that I expected it to be,
wonderful and entertaining and so well thought out.

ALISON

A great story

from an author whose name to me is one i always associate with engrossing well written stories... Thank you for sharing your talent with us Tanya :)

Kirri

Well done, as always!

As to the question of identity, I've often wondered, why wouldn't one just go to a hospital or police station and tell them you don't know who you are? Especially in this instance, where it is a complete change, wqith no physical resemblance to your previous self. Why worry about coming up with an ID? Let the government do it!

Wren

identity

Tanya Allan's picture

Good point.

having been a person responsible for undertaking such identity checks on occasion.. it isn't as easy as it sounds, or at least, not in the Uk. The problem here is with the immigration regulations. We get so many illegal entrants with no identity and often no English, they aren't the problem. The ones who speak almost perfect English.. i.e. Caucasians from an English speaking nation. They often lose their papers deliberately, formulate a new identity, or as you suggested, claim to have amnesia (Easy to disprove) and try it on. With DNA and other methods, it will bring on a whole more complicated set of problems for the individual trying to start afresh.
I admit, I struggle with how to make it realistic, which is why this one is set in the middle ages (the 70's) when central records were not as well organised as they are today.

Tanya

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

The story of my life... I wish!

This is so spooky. It's like you were there reading my mind when I was a teen. Of course I never actually woke up transformed, but I did spend most of my nights dreaming about it.
.
.
Leather_and_jeans.jpg
The girl in me. She always there,
but she missed the bus to Edinburgh.

Dreamer Part 2

Maybe a Leprechaun granted her wish or some other magical creature. But whatever the catylist, Pippa has landed on her feet and has two possible beaus.

    Stanman
May Your Light Forever Shine

So familar

I agree. Parts of this is like you were reading my mind. At least what I had of one some 40 or so years ago.
hugs
Grover

There was only the Bristol as

There was only the Bristol as type 82 - the other three never happened.
I left Rosyth in 1972 as a Marine Engineer. Shithole of a place.
Jenny (again)