Charlotte's Tale part 4.

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The headmaster walked over, so I pretended I was just mingling with my mother, walking away as he approached. “Christine, thank you for your help in making the concert a success.” He led me away from the main crowd. “You’re at St Margaret’s?”

“Yes.”

“I phoned this afternoon and spoke to Mrs Edmonds, their headmistress, to thank her for loaning you to us.” I felt my heart sinking. “She didn’t recognise your name.”

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This was originally posted on Sapphire's Place but is now offered here as the largely rewritten and enlarged edition.

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Charlotte’s Tale.
Part 4.
by,
Angharad.

I knew it would be months before the pills did very much, if anything, but just taking them made me feel that I was doing something towards some form of resolution. They also seemed to calm me down, although after just one, I suspect it was more wishful thinking than anything else.

The next day it was back to rehearsal for the concert, and this went on twice a week for three weeks, then in the final week it was every night. I met the school choir, none of whom recognised me. But then why should they equate me, a mini skirted vixen, with a small bullied boy. I only needed to show a bit of leg or cleavage and they would do anything for me. I used to watch several of them dashing off to the toilets during breaks, to deal with their stiffies. It made me smile, at times almost laughing out loud. It also increased my sense of confidence and contentment with myself.

Maybe the pills were working. I knew my nipples were bigger and more sensitive, sometimes itching like mad under the breastforms. But I coped, it was self-inflicted, so I coped.

I saw Dr Phillips a week or before the concert. I was his last patient of the surgery, so he could have some time to talk with me. “Well you look better than last time I saw you,” he declared.

“I feel better, thank you.”

“No more thoughts about killing yourself?”

“No none.”

“Good, any effects from the pills, sickness, things like that?”

“My nipples have been itchy, but that’s all.”

“Well I have to say this, you make a cracking girl. Any regrets?”

“No,” I lied because it wasn’t entirely true, but he didn’t need to know that.

“Anything else?” he smiled.

“Yes Doctor, can I give you these?” I handed him two tickets for the concert.

“You’re doing a concert at the old school is that wise?”

“It’s okay, I disguise myself and no one has twigged yet. In fact it’s quite fun getting all the boys worked up, even if it is with a flash of silicone. They can’t tell the difference.”

“Just be careful, okay?”

“Yes Doctor, I will be.”

“So you’re Christine Monk?” he said reading the ticket.

“For this concert, yes.”

“Well thank you ‘Christine,’ I’ll ask my wife if she’d like to come.”

“I hope you both can.”

“I’ll see what I can do.”

For the concert, I wore a black mini dress with a scoop neck, black tights and a pair of black court shoes with three inch heels. I’d spent much of the week before walking about in them, to practice for the concert. They did get more comfortable as time went on.

The concert was an unqualified success. I managed to stay on key for all my stuff and so did Miss Daws. The applause was loud enough. It wasn’t quite a sell out, but there weren’t too many empty seats. Mum sat with Dr Phillips and his wife, they were all suitably impressed. At the end both Miss Daws and I received a bouquet of flowers. Much to my amusement, mine were presented by Dinosaur Watson, to whom I gave a peck on the cheek. At least he smelt a little fresher than before.

There was a small buffet afterwards, with wine for the adults and fruit juice or sodas for the kids. There weren’t many other girls there, so I had the boys hovering around me like flies round a muck heap. I managed to avoid giving any of them a direct answer when they asked me for dates, including Godzilla himself. He looked absolutely heart broken, which served him right. Perhaps James had been avenged at long last.

Old blue eyes and his wife came to speak to me. “Christine, this is my wife Mary. She’d like to ask you a favour. That was absolutely brilliant. I didn’t appreciate you were so talented. Perhaps you should think about it on a semi-pro or even professional level.”

“That’s what Mr King says.” I felt myself glowing with pride.

“Well he might have a point. Anyway, I’m off to get some wine, red or white, Mary?”

“White please. Sorry Christine, I’m putting together a charity show, would you be prepared to do a song or two?”
“I’d be pleased to help. Anything in particular, you’d like me to sing?”

“Summertime, plus something else of your choosing.”

“I’ll speak to Mr King, have you met him?” She shook her head, so I dragged her off to meet him.

“Christine, that was absolutely wonderful,” he kissed me on the cheek and I blushed.

“Thank you Mr King. This is Mrs Phillips, she’s putting together a charity concert and has asked me to sing, perhaps you’d like to discuss it briefly.”

I left them locked in deep discussion, avoiding Godzilla, I sidled up to Dr Phillips and my mother. “Hello, I’m just trying to avoid being chatted up by that mountain of flesh.” I indicated with my eyes. Dr Phillips was sipping some wine at that moment and nearly choked himself. Even my mother had to smile.

The headmaster walked over, so I pretended I was just mingling with my mother, walking away as he approached. “Christine, thank you for your help in making the concert a success.” He led me away from the main crowd. “You’re at St Margaret’s?”

“Yes.”

“I phoned this afternoon and spoke to Mrs Edmonds, their headmistress, to thank her for loaning you to us.” I felt my heart sinking. “She didn’t recognise your name.”

“No she wouldn’t, I don’t actually start there till next term.”

“Oh, well that would explain it. I must say you have a lovely voice, it reminds me of a chorister we once had here. You’re not related are you, sister and brother maybe?”

“I might be,” I bluffed.

“It’s okay Charlotte, I won’t say anything, other than to thank you for you time. Are you happier now than you were?”

“Yes Sir, I am. Life here was hell.”

“Which makes me wonder why you came back to help us out?”

“Loyalty to Mr King. As the only teacher who had any time for me, I thought I’d repay the favour.”

“I have to admire your courage Charlotte.”

“It’s Christine, Sir.”

“Of course it is. Well thank you again, good luck at St Margaret’s.”

He left and my mother and Dr Phillips walked up, “Everything alright Christine?” asked my favourite doctor.

“Yeah, he twigged and had to demonstrate his cleverness.”

“But you’re okay?”

“I’m fine, but ready to go home now.”

My mother nodded and went to get the car. I said my goodbyes to Mr King, who insisted on kissing me again! I collected my bouquet, waved goodbye to all and sundry, with two boys pushing their phone numbers at me as I left.

I slept soundly that night, although I do recollect one dream. I was dancing with Dr Phillips. It was lovely too. When I woke up afterwards, my knickers were damp and I hadn’t peed myself! Oh dear I thought, am I becoming gay? Then I reconciled myself with the fact that I was now a girl, taking girly pills, so what could I expect?

But that last dance, he had his hands on my back, my breasts, my bum, while I was clinging to him like a limpet on heat, and my hands brushed against his bum more than once! I must try and dream that one again, like now!

The next few days were a blur. The concert had proven several things to me, and all of them were positive. Firstly, I could still sing well enough to please me and others. It was important because it may be the only talent I ever have. Secondly, I had fulfilled my deal with God, so now wouldn’t go to hell. I wasn’t sure I believed in it anyway, or in fact, if I actually believed in God. However, I decided if there was one it might be useful to keep in his good books, if there wasn’t it didn’t matter. That was my reasoning, and so far it had worked for me.

Completing on my promise to God meant I was released from that one, but I entered into one with Dr Phillips, my yummy GP! Oops, I shouldn’t say things like that should I? Officially, I’m still a boy, so does that make me gay? I asked this before but nobody gave me an answer. I’ll have to ask Dr Phillips ‘cos it looks like a medical question to me.

Anyway, he is a wonderful man. I’m sure he took some risks to give me those pills. I have them locked away so no one can get them back. No one will ever find them without my help, and I wouldn’t give it for anything. Okay, anything might be a bit vague, but I certainly wouldn’t give it to just anybody, they’d have to be like threatening to kill my mum or my dad, or Dr Phillips. Then I’d probably help them.

We had a letter from Dr Cervantes telling us that Dr Phillips would be supervising my transition in future. What transition is he on about. The man is a total dweeb! I am walking around in skirts with my rubber tits poking out like Jordan, and he’s on about transitioning! Transitioning into what? I’m already there — well nearly. My nipples have grown and they itch, and that dark bit around them, the harriola or whatever they call it, is quite a bit bigger.

‘nuff about transitioning, I am a total boy magnet! I need to speak to Dr Phillips about this, ‘cos it seems to be entering my head more and more. This was the other thing that happened at the concert, or the lead up to it.

I knew anything with tits would make an impact at my old school. Let’s face it the headmaster’s mother visited one year and several boys fancied her! Yuck! So you can see what I mean. Then when I like, turn up with tits ‘n’ bum on display, I got noticed.

It still makes me laugh that only a couple of months before they wanted to see Watson kill me. They encouraged him to call me names and humiliate me in public, to declare myself a girl with the same name as the Welsh singer girl. It still hurts, I’ll have to stop and think of something else, ‘cos it will make my mascara run.

That’s better. Maybe I should thank whoever it was who attacked me that day, and glued up my goolies. I can laugh about it now, because of who I am today. Then, I was widdle James, the loser with the nice singing voice. Now I am Charlotte (or Christine) with tits and a lovely voice!

Then people avoided me like I had some awful disease, now they can’t get close enough. I went shopping with Jane the other day, and in the crush a couple of boys actually brushed against me, quite deliberately, copping a quick feel of my bum, then they went past again and brushed past my chest. Jane got similar treatment.

When we saw them again, we deliberately allowed them to come close, then a quick swing of our handbags at groin level, and we ran off like mad. I thought I was going to wet myself it was so funny, especially as they copped a feel of silicone.

My friend Jane, has taught me lots about being a girl. I seem to do most things automatically, like sitting with knees together when wearing a skirt. But with makeup and hair, I learned lots. She’s helped me with clothes too. She is a year younger than me, but I suppose, she has been doing girl things a bit longer, so she knows more.

She is a good friend, and she goes to St Margaret’s too, so I’ll have someone there that I know. In fact if I screw up the assessment, I could even end up in the same year as her. But then everyone will think I’m stupid. (Maybe I am to be going to a girls’ school, or was it even dumber to put me in a boys’ one before?).

I have yet to finish my SATs, the tests to assess my educational abilities. I think I shall be okay, I’ve done so much more work. Mr King has given me good marks for music and my visiting teacher, Miss Parsons, has been encouraging once she saw I was serious about passing them. She spends longer than she is supposed to with me. I gave her some flowers last week and I have managed to discover her favourite perfume. My dad is going to bring some back duty free when he next comes home.

I am getting so sneaky, just like a girl! I wanted to know which perfume Miss Parsons wore. If I asked her outright, she’d have been suspicious, unless I’d have done the, “You smell nice, what is it?” routine, and that doesn’t have enough subtlety, not for this babe! (There I go again).

What happened was, I asked her for some advice. I mean, she knows all about me, so it seemed quite a good strategy.

“Miss Parsons,” I said, putting down my books, “can I ask you something personal?”

“That depends on what it is.”

“Well you know all about me. My past I mean.” I didn’t have to use method acting here, I was genuinely embarrassed.

“You know I do Charlotte, and it’s not a problem.” She had a gorgeous smile with lovely, even, white teeth; very small teeth.

“Thank you.” I smiled back, looking at the floor. This is a bit embarrassing, we haven’t talked about any of this for some time.

“That’s okay,” she smiled again, while I blushing like a Christmas tree, felt so stupid. Perhaps this was a mistake.

“I wanted to ask you about perfumes.”

“Perfumes! Gosh! I don’t know much about them either.” Now she was blushing. Oh boy! This was a big mistake, it would definitely have been easier to have asked her outright.

“You must know more than I do.”

“Not much.”

“Well you always smell nice.”

“Thank you, but it’s only some old stuff from the Body shop.”

Oh bugger! So much for plan B! “What would you use if you were going on a date?” I asked sneaking a look at her. She was still smiling and blushing.

“I don’t know. I have two or three, I don’t know which one I’d use. It might depend on the date or the occasion.”

Subtlety is obviously wasted on my elders and betters, just go for it. “So which one is your favourite?”

“I don’t know, I like them all.”

Gee- whiz, I thought to myself, try an oblique tack again. “Which one would you suggest for someone like me?”

“You going on a date, how lovely for you.”

Oh man, where is this going? “Not especially, I just thought I ought to be prepared in case I did.”

“Well there’s nothing like forward planning, young lady. Perhaps you should join the Girl Guides.”

The relevance of this remark sailed over my head, and it showed. She blushed again, very beautifully, then said, “You know, be prepared…..Girl Guides…..forward planning.”

She saw the light switch on as I got it. However, I still didn’t know about her perfume. Which was completely aborted when she told me to try some in Boots or Debenhams, “they have testers there.”

Oh boy! I know they have testers there, Jane and I were using them on Saturday, we came out smelling like French Whores, according to Jane’s mum. I thought she said, ‘horses’ first. Jane had to explain it to me, ‘cos I couldn’t see what French horses had to do with us smelling like a perfume shop.

About the perfume, in the end we settled for Chanel No.5, that was Mum’s decision because she said most women love it. I know I do when she wears it. As for me, I’ll stick with my Anais anais, which isn’t as heavy as the Chanel.

Jane gave me some cheapo stuff for everyday wear, from the Bodyshop, I think. It smells okay to me, and I have matching shower gel and body lotion.

I was at Jane’s the next day, telling her about the episode with the perfume and Miss Parsons. She thought it was hilarious, but agreed with my mum, that No.5 was a good choice. Her mum has some too.

We were sat in her room listening to some CDs and talking generally. Then we finally got around to boys. Despite what I said just now about the topic, I am still quite anxious about the species. I feel so different to how I assume they are.

Being in school with them was like living in a zoo, where I seemed to be the main exhibit. When they got fed up, just tease Church, that was always good for a laugh. So I hardly know what normal boys are like. I mean, is there such a thing as normal boys?

I thought I was one, but obviously not. How could a normal boy enjoy looking and acting like a girl? How could a normal boy, be sat in a girl’s bedroom talking about other boys? Like talking about their bums and things, like I mean, is that normal?

Does that make me gay? I don’t know. I don’t know what I feel I am apart from Charlotte. I have become Charlotte whether or not I like it. The problem is, in making the best of a bad job, I appear to have come to like it, increasingly so. Here I am, besporting breasts, whilst growing my own underneath, my boy stick hidden and effectively neutralised under what looks like a fanny. If it hardly makes me feel or look like a boy, can I be gay if I am not really a boy anymore?

Jane doesn’t care, she seems to have forgotten I was ever a boy. Her mother either doesn’t know or chooses not to consider that she is up in her room with a biological male. They both assume I am now a girl, so unless I am a gay girl or lesbian, she is safe.

Now there’s a thought, me a lesbian. I am laughing at that, because while my initial reaction to my meeting with Jane was surprise at being almost intimate with a girl, and although my equipment was glued inside me, I was so frightened of everyone and everything, my todger couldn’t have done anything anyway!

Lets face it, I was outed by Astley at Debenhams while trying on dresses, having just come from that cretin Dr Cervantes, and the less said about him the better. I was in a state of anxiety and depression, in which, only weeks before I had wanted to kill myself. So I wasn’t my normal sweet natured self. And as we all know, it was during this crisis that I met Jane, me cowering in the fitting room, her rushing to my assistance. She was a compassionate friend then, she has become a good one ever since.

So do I fancy her? No, neither do I fancy Simon her brother. He’s all right I suppose, but too many memories of that zoo. I don’t recall him directly tormenting me, but neither do I remember him coming to my assistance.

Do I fancy boys? I have started dreaming about them, but in real life while I see myself as a girl, and enjoy their attention, no make that, I love their attention, I don’t know what I am feeling, other than scared.

I suspect Jane is much the same. She is thirteen, and I know some girls are sexually active at that age, she isn’t one of them any more than I am, at age fourteen. It’s all rather scary, yet fascinating. Boys are like playing with snakes, safe while you are in control, dangerous if you are not, and very dangerous if they assume it.

So do we date? Not really, we hang out with some other girls, meet in town do shopping, watch the boys watching us. A lot of it is being seen, and being seen in the right gear, with the right people. Nothing much has changed over hundreds of years if not thousands, just look at the pages of Hello. These magazines are bought by wannabes, who else could care what Tom Cruise’s bathroom looks like or Victoria Beckham’s garden? I ask you, it’s hardly serious social comment. It’s about envy and greed.

We are quite lucky, we are comfortable because my dad has a good job, so I don’t want for anything, except a proper girl body. I’m sure if he could organise it, he would. So maybe I can be less materialist about things. Before my little accident with the superglue, we had a debate in class about materialism.

In this I and another boy, Alan Smith, spoke against the motion, ‘This house believes materialism makes us all happier.’ They went on about failed communism and the triumph of the market forces of capitalism. They quoted economists and philosophers. Alan responded to all that, global warming, Bhopal, third world poverty and all the other well reported stuff. He did very well. I did the girly bit. I hadn’t thought of it as such until just now, oops! I spoke from the heart. I asked them,” What was the most important thing in their lives.”

Of course they derided me, calling out things like, ‘Chelsea wining the cup’, or ‘getting a date with Jasmine Smart’, ‘winning the lottery’ was another. So I asked them, “Okay, so you win the lottery, or date Jasmine or see Chelsea win the cup; then your Dad dies. Would you give up your winnings to bring him back?” With a few exceptions, they all said they would.

So I asked them again, “Does money or material things make us happy, or is it the special people in our lives. Is it better to win the lottery and go blind, or to stay poor and see the sun rise?”

That was a silly question, I got shouts of, all sorts about staying in bed rather than see the sun rise, or ‘If I won the lottery, I could get someone to fix my eyes. What happens if you’re poor and go blind?”

It probably didn’t help, when I told them, “You are morally and spiritually dead.” I got the response, “That’s better than being like you, girlyboy.” At this point I was nearly in tears.

We lost comprehensively. It seems that money is more important than anything else to most of us, even though we can’t eat it. Gold is a metal which has certain properties including its colour and its softness. You can’t eat it, but people often kill for it.

Why do we hunt animals for fun, killing things we can’t eat. It can never be justified to me, it’s abhorrent. But men pay thousands to kill as many grouse or pheasants as they can. Why?

So back to hanging out with the others. Why do we do it, because it’s fun or safety in numbers? I don’t know, but we do sometimes. When I go to St Margaret’s and make more friends, I expect I shall do it even more. It’s expected of me and until I am big enough to do what I want, I have to do what others want or expect of me.

Some of the girls we see, smoke. I think they are stupid, they think they are cool! But pressure is on to conform. Why did I want breasts? To conform. I was scared of being a nothing, which was pretty well what happened in the boys school. It’s frightening when I sit here and think about it.

I’m getting far too rapt in my own thoughts, as Jane told me. “Hey you, the Jordan look-alike.”

I blushed, “I can’t help being who I am, I’m a celebrity get me in there!” I laughed mocking a recent reality television programme.

“Drop you in the jungle?” mocked Jane, “the girl who gets lost in her own bathroom.”

“It’s not my fault the bathroom is so big, and is full of houseplants.” I pouted back at her. “Do you know, Miss Smartarse, that when it’s dark we can hear the crickets calling.”

“Oh yeah, what do they call, LBW or ‘owzat?” retorted my companion.

“As long as it’s nothing about ‘bowling a maiden over’, I don’t care.” We both giggled then sat listening to the music, having exhausted our knowledge of the fine game of cricket, and our stock of jokes.

(For those not having been processed by an English boys school, LBW means leg before wicket, and is a way of getting the batsman out, owzat is a corruption of how is that, called by a bowler when he thinks he has got the batsman out, and a maiden over, is an over completed without any runs being conceded).

“A little birdie tells me you were kissed by the Dinosaur.” Stated my friend with a knowing look. “Is there anything you’re not telling me?”

“Who’s been telling tales then? And getting it wrong, too.”

“So you don’t deny it then?” continued my accuser.

“I do.” I humphed back at her. “He didn’t kiss me, I kissed him.”

At this Jane shrieked and nearly fell off the bed. “Ugh, how could you? According to Simon, who’s in his year, he never changes his underwear and smells like a pigsty.”

“I had little choice.” I pouted again.

“I thought we all had a choice about kissing, obviously I am mistaken!”

I looked at my friend, she looked good as always, in her tee shirt and jeans, her long hair in a pony tail. For my sins I was in a skirt and top, and my hair, nearly as long as Jane’s was up. She had done it for me, when I got to her house. In return I had painted her toenails in some new colour I had bought.

“He presented me with a bouquet after the concert. It’s customary to kiss the presenter.”

“Did you kiss him when you were a boy?”

That hit me like an arrow, straight in the heart, or it might have been the throat from my inability to reply. I felt my eyes well up, and a tear escaped, rolling down my cheek.

Jane must have seen the effect this had on me and came rushing over and hugged me. “I’m sorry Charlotte, that was horrible of me.” Within moments we were both crying and holding each other. She kept saying, “I’m sorry.” It still hurt.

Later when I tried to understand why she had hurt me, I could only think it was some form of power thing, ‘I’m the real girl, you aren’t.’ I didn’t know if I could trust her after that, although I needed her. Without her, I was friendless. The other girls with whom we hung out occasionally, weren’t friends just acquaintances. So I needed Jane, what I didn’t know was how much she needed me.

We parted on good terms but it left me feeling very vulnerable, the problem with having such a massive secret is, it is always just waiting to be revealed. Maybe it wasn’t such a good idea to go to the same school as Jane, but that was pretty well set now. Mum would go ballistic after she bought me their uniform and everything.

I could of course reveal it myself at the first opportunity, and take the consequences, which would be unknown, but probably awful. The alternative, is to have two types of people, those in the know, and those who aren’t. This is where I am, with Jane’s family and one or two others being in the know, and six billion others who aren’t!

All of this began simply because we were talking about boys. I’m never going to speak to one again, I decided as I walked down the drive from Jane’s house. I had just turned through the gate on to the pavement, when I bumped into Simon, her brother.

“Charlotte, just the person I want to see.” He was smiling awkwardly at me, as if he wanted to borrow some money, or an had equally improbable request.

It had taken me two months to stop calling him ‘Astley’, and to use his first name. He on the other hand, like most of the inmates of the zoo, had been calling me Charlotte for some time.

“Er, hello Simon.” I replied looking down at his new trainers. “Nice shoes.”

“Yeah, thanks. Got ‘em last week.” This was probably true, they were still white and the maker’s name was still visible alongside the three lines of their logo.

“Look Charlotte, can we talk a mo?” He looked increasingly agitated about what he wanted to say.

“I have to get back for my lunch, can we talk as we walk?” I thought, whatever it was, the closer I was to home the better, especially when I said, no!

“Course,” he replied. We walked in silence while he obviously searched his small boy’s brain for the exact words. Actually that was unfair, Astley, was a capable student and had won several prizes for English. However, my feelings towards his clan were a little jaundiced at this minute.
“I need to ask you a favour, a big one.” I looked in his eyes as he said it and I could swear he was really nervous, verging on terrified.

We had stopped at this revelation, and he was practically shaking with nerves. My animosity changed to pity, at least until I heard him out. What could he want that caused him such discomfort?

I quickly scanned my hormone riddled brain and all that came up was, ‘he wants a date!’ But he knew who I was, so what else could it be? I was nearly as apprehensive as he was. Goodness, what did he want?

A second or two later, I found out.

I had said nothing, except to offer silent support. Then he spluttered, “This is difficult.”

I continued my silence, but was agreeing with my eyes. This time he had trouble maintaining eye contact. His pain was almost physical.

“Oh shit! Iwantyoutocometotheendofermdancewithme.” This came out at such speed, I had no idea what he had said.

“Can you repeat that in English?” I said to him smiling with sympathy.

“Oh fuck!” he blushed, “Oh shit! I didn’t mean to say that.” He was digging a pit for himself nicely, and I could have found it amusing except that, I could feel his pain. I had tried to decode what he had said, but mumbled at speed, it had defeated my ears.

I put my hand on his shoulder and to my surprise I could feel him trembling. “Simon, you are shaking, are you okay?”

“Y…yes, I…I’m fine.” He nervously responded.

I took his hand and walked him over to some seats near a bus stop. Thankfully, they were deserted. “Come and sit down, and tell me again.”

He accepted my offer, and taking a deep breath, he began. I hadn’t noticed but I was still holding his hand, rubbing the back of it with my thumb.

“Can I take you to the end of term dance?” He spluttered in a monotone in a single breath. Then he sheepishly looked away.

“Are you taking the piss Astley?” I snapped withdrawing my hand quickly, and standing up to emphasise the point.

“N.no, honest. I want you to come with me.” He was finding this hard, but so was I.

“There are hundreds of girls in this town, why have you asked me?” The unsaid, was understood by both of us.

“I needed someone to take, and I thought you might like to go.”

“That’s not good enough? There’s something else isn’t there?”

“I knew you’d see through it. You bloody girls are all the same.” He was sat on the bench talking to the pavement.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” I snapped back at him.

He glared at me, then back at the ground.

“Alright, I’ll tell you. The place is full of the mystery soprano who sang at the school concert. I just thought it would be nice for her to turn up with me.”

“Oh I get it, lots of point scoring involved is there?”

“Something like that.”

“So your status goes up, for getting the mystery bimbo to come with you.”

“Yeah.” He paused, “No not that, at all.”

“I don’t believe you.” I said, and began to walk away. He was lost in his thoughts for a moment before he realised I’d gone.

“Charlotte, please wait,” he called running after me.

“I might look like a bimbo, but I’m not one.”

“I know that,” he said, almost running to keep up with my increased pace.

“If you’d told me the truth in the beginning, I might have said yes.”

“I’ve told you the truth now.”

“It’s too late now.”

“Oh come on Charlotte, I’ll make sure you have a good time.”

I reached my own gateway, and stepping through closing it against him, I said, “It’s too late Astley.” Then to really turn the knife I said, “I might go with Watson.”

“He said he’d win the bet. Jammy bastard.”

“What bet? Astley tell me about this bet.” I paused while he was shaking his head in disbelief. “Astley, tell me about this bet now!” I repeated my exhortation with increased volume.

Looking more sheepish than ever, he began, but before he could say anything the fates interrupted, my mother opened the door. “Your lunch is ready Charlotte. Oh hello Simon, did you want some?”

“No thanks Mrs Church,” he called back, then quietly to me,” Can we talk about this later? Please.” Now he had puppy-dog eyes. I must be going soft in the head because I didn’t actually tell him to get lost.

Checking that my mother had gone back in, I said, “Maybe.”

“Great.” He said, turned on his heel and left.

I spent the whole afternoon in turmoil. I started to watch the film on telly, but couldn’t concentrate. Surely, Astley didn’t expect me to accompany him, not to that place. I had had my fun watching them all get stiffies from my fake cleavage, however, I was the only girl there. While I quite fancied the attention, this time it would be against competition. There would be lots of real girls there showing real tits. I could be in real danger of exposure.

At the same time, part of me craved the attention. I had never been so in demand, except as a punch bag. Then they were in control, now I was and I liked it. This was becoming perilous and while normally, I’d be alert to it, my seeming addiction to the attention was blinding me.

“Are you alright Charlotte?” asked my mum, noticing my listlessness. “Nothing to do with Simon, is it?” She had put two and two together, but I didn’t want her to know.

“Not really. It’s Jane, we had a disagreement, and he was trying to patch things up.” It was an outrageous lie, at such short notice.

“Oh dear. Why don’t you phone her up and make it up with her?”

“It’s okay Mum, don’t worry about it.”

“Well you can’t afford to lose her.”

“I know that Mum, it’s okay I tell you.” Before she could say anything else I went upstairs to my room, shutting the door noisily.

The night was awful, I tossed and turned. How did I get in such a mucking fuddle?

On one hand I was so angry with him. How dare he, bet on me, or on his ability to charm me to do his bidding. On the other, apart from a thumb and four fingers, was the danger of entering the enemy camp again, the attention I craved, and the chance to put one over on Watson, again!

“I’d have to buy a new dress.” I said out loud to myself. “Hang on,” said the first hand, “not if you’re not going. It’s insane.”

“Yes,” said the second hand,” that’s part of the fun, watching all those stupid boys who used to beat you up, drooling over you.”

“You are not a sex object, you are a decent and proper young woman,” argued the first hand.

“Yeah, and look where that’s got you. Absolutely nowhere. Astley is only the beginning, you could meet someone really nice at the dance and….”

“Really, at that place you called a zoo, if one remembers correctly. In which pen would they be?”

My mind continued this stupid conversation most of the night. I felt like I was schizo-what-ever-they call it. Listening to the voices. It was like a bad edition of The Archers*, going on and on without anything ever happening. *(A radio soap opera which has been running about 40 years, in which plenty happens but not of interest to a fourteen year old!)

The result was I overslept big time. “Darling, Simon Astley is on the phone.”

“Huh? Wha? Who?” I grumbled something of this order as my sleep was disturbed.

“I said, Simon Astley is on the phone.”

“What does he want?” I mumbled sleepily.

“I could go and ask him, but I suspect he would prefer to talk to you, as he was asking for you.”

“Oh bugger!” I grumped as I lifted my sheets and put on my slippers.

“And we’ll have none of that language if you please, young lady.”

“Yes Mum, ”I wearily conceded, adding, “no Mum, three bags bloody full Mum.”

“I heard that, Charlotte Church.”

“Yes Mum, sorry Mum.”

I eventually got to the phone, it’s actually a cordless one, so she could have brought it up with her, instead of having me sit on the stairs in my nightie. “Yes.” I said as I pressed the little green button.

“Charlotte?” asked a nervous young male voice.

“No it’s Hannibal the cannibal, do you want to be beaten or eaten?”

“Either if you’ll come to the dance with me, first of course.”

“So you can win your lousy bet?”

“Yeah. But after what he did to you, I’d have thought you’d like to get one over on Watson.”

“That was a long time ago, I’m different now.”

“I had noticed, that’s why I’m asking you.”

“I don’t know.” Now I was really confused about what I wanted. I looked at the hand which wasn’t holding the phone. Staring at the long thin fingers with their manicured nails, painted a pale, pearlised mauve. It clashed with the colour of my nightdress, which was bright pink.

“What don’t you know, darling?” Quipped my mother as she brought the washing down the stairs.

“This is a private conversation, if you don’t mind.” I retorted, grasping the phone to my chest.

“Oh, like that is it?” she muttered as she went past.

“Sorry about that, my mother just came past, she has ears specially designed for eavesdropping.”

“I heard that,” came from the utility room.

“Yeah, mine’s the same. Look just say yes and I’ll make it worth your while.”

“What d’you mean?”

“I’ll split the winnings with you, fifty fifty.”

“How much are we talking about.” I tried to sound hard nosed, but in a pink nightie it was difficult.

“Half of fifty quid.”

“What, twenty five quid?”

“Nothing wrong with your brain. Spot on.”

“You bet Dinosaur Watson, fifty quid that you’d get me to come to the dance?”

“That’s about the meat of it.”

“How dare you!”

“It was easy really, I know where you live. He doesn’t.”

“No, I mean how dare you bet on me.”

“We’ll bet on anything, so don’t take it personally.”

I was just about to say, “You bastard!”, when my mother reappeared. Instead I put down the receiver. Actually, I pushed the little button again, then put it down. Huffing as I went back upstairs, “The nerve of some people.”

I was tempted to go back to bed, but it was nearly ten, so went for a shower instead. I was still in there when my mother, shouted something.”

“Can’t hear you.” I called back.

“Switch off the water.” I did as she instructed. “Simon and Jane are downstairs, what is going on?”

“I don’t know.” I answered as innocently as I could shrugging my shoulders for increased effect.

“Why don’t I believe you.”

“You are so hurtful at times, mother-o-mine.” I then pretended to be in deep grief.

“Get some clothes on you fool.” She said throwing a towel at me.

I quickly dried myself, threw on some knickers and shrugged on my towelling gown, wrapped a towel around my hair, and after donning slippers, went downstairs.

Mum provided us with some drinks and biscuits, then left us to it. “What d’you guys want?”

“I think you know that,” replied Simon.

“I know what you want Simon Astley, what’s Robin doing here?”

Jane flounced uncomfortably. “Can’t do his own dirty work, eh?” I continued, and she nodded uncomfortably. I looked at him, “Don’t tell me, if I don’t accede to your demands, the goil gets it?” I said this in my best Bronx accent, although I suspect it may have sounded rather sad to a real New Yorker.

Taking his cue from me, Simon said, “You’ve had your chance Patsy Malone, marry me or da broad gets it.”

At this point we all fell about laughing, made worse by the towel falling off my wet hair, reducing Jane and me to giggling wrecks. My mother looked in to see what the commotion was all about. When she asked if, ‘everything was alright,’ it set us off again. Adolescent girls will giggle at anything, so will some boys, as Simon demonstrated.

It probably took about quarter of an hour for the hysterics to calm down. Simon took his leave, me assuming Jane was now going to try the persuasion.

“I can’t think why Simon wants to ask you to go, but then he never did have any taste.” Thankfully, I saw the wink before she started the sentence.

“What about me? Being seen with anyone related to you is bound to affect my credibility.”

“Look here Miss hoity-toity, I’ll have you know my grandfather fought the war for people like you.”

“That’s nothing,” I responded, “my grandmother flew bombers in the war for people like you.”

“She didn’t ,did she?” asked Jane, incredulous.

“No, but it sounded good.” Which set off another fit of giggling.

“So are you going with him?”

“Dunno. Why?”

“I think you must be mad to even consider it.”

“Who said I was?”

“Simon seemed to think you were.”

“Simon is a boy. They have funny thoughts.”

“So are you saying no?”

“Why?”

“I just wanted to know. He’ll have to ask someone else, won’t he.”

“But then he won’t win his bet.”

“What bet?”. Jane appeared to be unaware of Simon’s ulterior motive, so I filled in the details. “The rat!” she snorted, “you wait till I get home.”

I went up and dressed, and Jane came up and styled my hair. We redid each other’s fingernails, this time I went for a metallic blue colour, primarily because my mother hates it. Well, I can’t be good all the time.

We chatted and played some music, then, it was time for lunch and she went home. As I was eating my lunch, unbeknownst to me, Jane and Simon were having theirs and a conversation. “So, is she coming?”

“Not yet, but she will, assuming you pay up.”

“I am a man of my word,” said Simon, “you get twenty quid if she comes. But it has to be in the babe outfit she wore to the concert.”

“Don’t worry,” my ‘friend’ replied, “I know how to push her buttons.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Comments are appreciated if you have energy left after working through this.

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Comments

I love this story

Always glad when Charlotte appears... It's nice that she has some old emotional connections that move with her into her new life.

I also like the fact that there is no promise of fairy-tale happily-ever-after. I'm glad and fearful for the girl.

Charlotte's

marie c.

I didn't get all the way through but consider your Charlotte's Tale to be one of the best found on this website. I've read the earlier versions.

I keep practicing my writing and hope some time to approach your skill - and that of Maddy Bell. I promise to read it all sometime later today.

Ciao e amore.

marie c.

Manipulative Jane

Watching Jane turn manipulative like that really bugs me. I guess I'm just bugged by manipulation/coercion. But, that's me.

I wonder how things turn out THIS time.

Phran

No how no way!

I'd not be doing any dance with any guy at the place where most of my torment occured. He could kiss me arse.

Gwen

I'm afraid I agree

Given the type of abuse that Charlotte received there I have to agree. If it was me and the school was burning to the ground I wouldn't spit on it for not wanting to cool the coals.
hugs!
grover

I'm with them.

I agree with Grover and Gwen. I was torrmented in school........ not as bad as Charlote but pretty bad....... i don't even go to my reunions. they can all kiss my arse but only after I use the bathroom and don't wipe.

I am really enjoying this story, Keep up the goo work.

A.A.

Small disagreement...

...in that the school itself wasn't so bad, and I had some friends and decent teachers (and the career counseling staff were gems). No, the ones I'd get the bellows to fan the flames for are the little s**ts whom I tried, mostly successfully, to be on the opposite side of the building of from kindergarten through the end of high school.

(Year+ late comments for the win!)

-Liz

Successor to the LToC
Formerly known as "momonoimoto"

Pant, pant, pant. darn boys

Pant, pant, pant. darn boys with their bets. And Jane, 20 pounds for her !

Karen

Unusual for me

Jamie Lee's picture

I usually reserve my comments until the end of a story, but each chapter, so far, show a different stage in Charlotte's growth. And deserve comment.

While James has resigned himself to forever being a girl, if only not to hurt his parents, there are still times she wants her James life back. But even then she finds her current life happier than before.

All of her current experiences are forcing her to examine herself, making her face questionable thoughts. Making her examine her true feelings about what was done to him.

This is another story which like a good chip. One taste and you can't put them down.

Others have feelings too.