(This should keep me in Sephy’s good books for a week or two!)

Mrs Pearce looked up at the two young women who entered her living room. “Where’s Nick?” she tried to glance behind them assuming her son was bringing up the rear. “Nick, where are you?” she called and her daughter blushed.

“It’s me, Mum.”

Mrs Pearce looked at the girl who suddenly looked familiar, in part anyway.

“It’s me, Mum.”

Mrs Pearce looked shocked. Then regaining her poise just a little she asked, “Why are you looking like a girl?”

“Because she is one,” answered Sophie.

“I think I know a boy when I see one, especially as I gave birth to one–and that is a...oh dear.”

“Mrs Pearce, Nicki isn’t a boy, she might have dangly bits but they don’t work.”

Feeling a little taken aback by the assertive young woman who had to be behind this charade, she glared at Sophie and asked, “And how would you know they don’t work?”

Sophie rolled her eyes and said, “How d’you think?”

Slumped in her chair, Mrs Pearce gasped, “You’ve had sex with my Nick?”

“No, of course not, but we did have a little cuddle together and well one thing led to another and she has tits the same as I do, and well–how many boys do you know who have multiple orgasms yet their willies stay floppy?”

“What?” gasped Mrs Pearce, the processing of what Sophie had said was taking her a moment. Her eyeballs were almost out on stalks as she looked her daughter up and down looking for signs of her son, but there weren’t any.

Sophie had deliberately used the word tits instead of breasts to shock and it had certainly done that. Mrs Pearce didn’t know what to say or do, her mind was stuck in between programs. “Make your mum a cuppa, Nicki,” Sophie nudged her new friend.

“Tea, Mum?” asked Nicki heading towards the kitchen.

“Uh–yes, please.”

“Soph?”

“Yeah okay.”

Nicki went out and Sophie heard the tap running. “Have you seen her body lately?” she asked Mrs Pearce.

“No of course not, he’s thirteen.”

“She’s thirteen,” corrected Sophie, “and a thirty B in bra size. She’s a classic size 8.”

“I suppose you measured her,” said Mrs Pearce dismissively.

“No, they did it in M&S.”

“You took my son into M&S and let some strange woman examine him?”

“There was nothing strange about the sales lady, and she was trained to fit bras and so on.”

“She fitted my son with a bra?” Mrs Pearce was now glowing redder than the centre of a volcano and feeling just as explosive.

“Well you weren’t going to do it, were you?”

“I bought him some sports bras.”

“Like every mum does for her son, didn’t that tell you something?”

“It’s just a little gynaecomastia–the doctor said so.”

“So that would give her a small waist and bubble butt too, would it?”

“A bubble butt?”

“Nicki has a girl’s body–Nicki, come in here–take your clothes off.”

Mrs Pearce nearly died as her ‘son’ wearing makeup and girl’s clothes began to disrobe. “You can keep your bra and pants on,” instructed Sophie. With eyes absolutely wide with horror she saw that Sophie was correct. Before her stood a young woman in her underwear; her slim body curved in all the right places and her bottom and breasts filled the panties and bra perfectly.

Sophie felt vindicated though when she looked at Mrs Pearce, there were tears streaming down the woman’s face. “What would his dad have said?”

Sophie told Nicki to redress and finish the tea, then she went over to Mrs Pearce and squeezed her hand. “It must be a bit of a shock, I guess she’s been hiding it from you?”

Mrs Pearce simply nodded unable to speak.

“She’s been getting a lot of stick at school.”

“Has she?” Mrs Pearce asked absently, unaware that she’d changed the pronoun relating to her child.

“You haven’t lost your son, you know?”

“How d’you mean?” Mrs P looked bewildered.

“Nicki is still the same person, she was never a boy despite trying her best.”

“How d’you know?”

“I’ve seen her around for quite a while, at first it used to puzzle me why a boy should be acting more like a girl than a boy, the way she walked and so on. Then I wondered if she was a girl who was pretending to be a boy, but that didn’t work either. We spoke one day when she was in tears because she’d been bullied at school and it became obvious that he was really a she. We became friends and I tested my theory and it was obvious, so obvious no one seemed to see it. Then one day when she fell down in a puddle and I saw her body–I gave her some dry clothes and they fitted better than the boy ones and I knew, she had a serious problem, either hormonal or she has girl bits and was wrongly diagnosed as a boy.”

“Quite the detective, aren’t we?” said Mrs Pearce with just a hint of venom.

“Well, let’s face it, you weren’t going to do anything, were you?”

Nicki entered with tea and biscuits and the two women took a mug and a biscuit.

Nicki sat down and watched the contest, unsure of who she wanted to win. In the blue corner was her mum, and she loved her mum–we always do–even when they could have done a better job.

In the red corner was her new best friend and romantic interest–did that make her a lesbian? More importantly, was Sophie–she seemed to enjoy playing with Nicki’s tits, so maybe she was–or that way inclined, at least some of the time. Sophie seemed to have taken the initiative and was leading the conversation.

“I had enough of doctors and hospitals with Nicki’s dad, he was in and out for five years with cancer, and it got him in the end–but he gave it a bloody good run for its money. So, I’ve been reluctant to go near one since.”

“Nicki needs to go and have her problem sorted.”

“I can hardly take him dressed in girl’s stuff, can I?”

“But, boys clothes don’t fit her–you’re not listening. The only reason her trousers stay up because she has her belt pulled so tight they look ridiculous–they look like she’s wearing her big brother’s. And she needs to wear a bra–she can hardly go round with a chest like that being called Nicholas, can she?”

“No, alright–I’ll have to get him some new clothes.”

“It’s her, Mrs Pearce, you have a daughter not a son, doesn’t she, Nicki?”

“Um–I dunno, do I?” Nicki blushed as Sophie gave her a killer glare, “Yeah, I s’pose I’m a girl really.”

After they drank their teas, Mrs Pearce and the two girls went up to Nicki’s room and Sophie demonstrated what was wrong with the boy’s clothing–it was the wrong shape and too big everywhere except in the hips and bust, where it was too small.

Trying to seize back the initiative, Mrs Pearce announced they should go shopping for a few things for her ‘new’ daughter, although the word nearly stuck to her tongue. Sophie was in her element spending someone else’s money and they bought two pairs of black trousers which fit but didn’t scream girl. They bought a couple of blouses and some tights and socks.

Sophie talked her into buying some girl’s pyjamas and slippers and some camisole vests, finally, she convinced Mrs Pearce to pay for some makeup and a small handbag–and to take her daughter to the salon as soon as she could.

Back at the house, Mrs Pearce was still upset but was trying to deal with her shock, though she knew Nick wasn’t quite like other boys–she just turned a maternal blind eye to it–now it had returned and bitten her. It looked as if that little madam from down the road, was right–damn her–and she might well have a daughter not a son. She’d have to talk with Nicki later and see what she wanted to do about school–she could keep her home for a few days if necessary and see what the doctor suggested.

She’d get an appointment within a few days and hopefully he’d be able to advise her–she had no idea how common this was–presumably not very, or she’d see it in the Mail more often. The stories there were always about men claiming to be a woman in a male body or vice versa, not ones where the body started changing by itself.

No matter what the outcome, she’d do her best for her child. She wasn’t by any measure the best mother in the world, but she loved her child–after all, he, no she, was all she had now and they needed each other.

She wondered about trying to stop the friendship with Sophie, but she realised that Nicki would need all the friends she could get and especially those who could help her learn to be a girl, if it transpired that that was what she really was.

Mrs Pearce withdrew to her bedroom with a couple of aspirins and glass of water, leaving the two teens chattering away in her living room. Certainly, Nicki seemed far more engaged than he–sorry, she–usually was, so she left them to chat while she went for a lie down in the hope when she woke this would all prove to be a bad dream–some hope.