Prologue:
“My name is Mandy Collins and I'm a transgendered woman.”
When I first wrote those words, I expected only two people to read them — myself and my psychologist. Indeed it was at her suggestion that I started to write my life story as a means of coming to terms with my situation. The very fact that I see a psychologist will make some people look askance. It's a strange thing that a physical illness gains sympathy, but admitting to seeing a psychologist causes some people to assume that I have a mental illness. In order to prove that that is not the case I have decided (with my doctor's permission) to publish my story, so here it is.
Prologue:
“My name is Mandy Collins and I'm a transgendered woman.”
When I first wrote those words, I expected only two people to read them — myself and my psychologist. Indeed it was at her suggestion that I started to write my life story as a means of coming to terms with my situation. The very fact that I see a psychologist will make some people look askance. It's a strange thing that a physical illness gains sympathy, but admitting to seeing a psychologist causes some people to assume that I have a mental illness. In order to prove that that is not the case I have decided (with my doctor's permission) to publish my story, so here it is.
Chapter One. 'To thine own self be true.'
My name is Mandy Collins and I'm a transgendered woman. Born a boy and named Michael, from a very early age I knew I was not like other boys. My parents, Jim and Jane already had two girls when I was born, and my father especially was desperate for a son. Instead he got me.
We lived in Rockhampton, Queensland. Dad was a carpenter and spent his working days in the blokey all-male world of tradesmen, because in those days it was out of the question for a woman to become a carpenter. Mum worked part-time as a typist for a legal firm and occasionally brought home some documents which she typed on a big old-fashioned Olivetti. Because I showed interest, she taught me how to touch-type and this was to stand me in good stead later in my life.
Dad wanted to take me fishing, shooting rabbits, or going along to football, and was disappointed that I showed no real interest in any of those 'manly' pursuits. Instead I asked Mum to teach me how to knit, but, sensing Dad's reaction she replied “Not now Michael, maybe when you're older.”
As I mentioned, I had two older sisters — Kate, older by six years, and Elizabeth, or "Bessie" as she was always called, who was three years older than me. In those days, girls dressed in a much more feminine manner than they do nowadays. Skirts or dresses were the rule, worn over petticoats, and stockings held up by suspenders or garter-belts, (depending on where you are from), were an absolute 'must' for a lady, and marked the transition from child to young woman.
I was about fourteen when it happened for the first time. I was alone in the house, with my parents and Kate at work and Bessie at school. I think I must have had a cold. Anyway, getting bored with my books, I started to wander around the house and eventually into the room my sisters shared. Neither was particularly tidy, and were often in a rush to go out in the mornings, so their beds were strewn with items of female underwear and some skirts and dresses. I think it was the silky feel of a petticoat that intrigued me first, so much nicer than my cotton underpants and singlets. Then I picked up some knickers and finally a bra — and again that silky feeling. Suddenly it entered my head to wonder how they would feel if I put them on. This was a perfect opportunity. No-one was due home for hours, so I stripped off all my clothes and gingerly stepped into some knickers and pulled them up. It was an electric feeling — the soft material against my skin, and inevitably I started to get an erection, something I'd only recently discovered.
Next I tried on a bra, and finally figured out how to connect the hooks and eyes in front of me and then working the strap around to the back. The cups sagged, so I found some stockings, rolled them into balls and filled the cups; next came a suspender belt, and then the stockings. Ah the stockings! They were sheer and light, and the feeling as I drew them up my legs and attached them to the suspenders was total bliss. I picked up a white full slip with a generous lace trim around the hem and bust-line and put that on too. From the skirts on the bed I selected a pretty pale blue one with a flower motif, stepped into it and drew it up to my waist. Then I looked at myself in the mirror and realised that I needed a blouse, which I duly found on a hanger in the wardrobe. I was slim and had small feet, and I was pleased to find that I was able to wear Kate's heels, so now I was fully dressed. Looking in the mirror I was delighted with what I saw. Somehow, even with my short boy's haircut, I had been transformed into a girl!
Now what about some make-up? I decided to put on just a little lipstick, and the feel of it on my lips and the subtle scent, added yet another level of sensuous delight. I posed in front of the mirror, pirouetted, and then walked around the room, getting used to the technique of walking in heels and loving the sound they made on the wooden floor, enjoying the swish of the skirt, and how it felt against the petticoat and the nylons covering my legs.
'Why are girls allowed to wear such delightful clothes, but could still wear pants if they wanted, while boys would never dare to wear skirts in public?' I mused.
I was in total heaven, and could have stayed there dressed for hours, but the sound of the old hall clock striking the hour brought me to my senses and I realised that I only had thirty minutes before Bessie arrived home from school, so reluctantly I started to take off all those wonderful clothes, replacing them more or less where I found them, and put my drab boy's clothes on once more. I was just about to walk back to my room when I suddenly remembered the lipstick, and carefully wiped it off with some tissues which I flushed down the toilet.
I had not long settled back in my bedroom and started to read a book when there was a knock on the door. Phew! I had just made it in time! It was Bessie at the door and she had forgotten her key.
“Thanks Michael” she said as she walked past me, and appeared to sniff the air. For one heart-stopping moment I thought I had left the lipstick on, but no, I was sure I had wiped it all away.
After that wonderful experience of wearing my sisters' clothes, I couldn't wait for another opportunity, but of course it was not going to happen very often that I would be in the house alone, but still the memory of that wonderful afternoon stayed with me.
My next opportunity was on a weekend day about a month later. Mum had agreed to go with Dad to the football, and the girls were out doing something. I told my parents I was going to visit a school friend to finish some homework, but in reality of course I was going to have the house to myself and then spend a delightful hour dressing in my sisters' clothes once more. After I changed back, I would go out and actually visit my friend Tom, but I wouldn't be telling him what I had been doing of course. I knew for sure that I was the only boy in the world who wanted to dress up as a girl, and in those pre-internet days, why should I suspect otherwise? I would get Tom to agree that if my parents inquired, I'd been with him all afternoon.
Once more I enjoyed the sensuous delights of pretty, silky underwear, stockings and heels, and the delight of trying on several dresses and skirts. I was sorely tempted to keep dressing for a long time, but I didn't dare risk getting caught, so once again I reluctantly removed the clothes and my lipstick, dressed in my boy clothes and cycled over to Tom's place.
We were sitting quite close together as we worked on the project and suddenly Tom said “I know what you've been doing!”
I could feel myself turning red as I replied “What do you mean?” and thinking 'How could he possibly know?'
“You've been with a girl!” he said triumphantly “I can smell her lipstick on you!”
My heart skipped a beat. I suddenly remembered the first time when I had dressed, and my sister Bessie had seemed to sniff the air as she passed me. She had smelt the lipstick even though I had removed it. She knew!
I somehow managed to smile at Tom and said “Well, you're the clever one!”
He smiled smugly and said “So what's her name?”
I thought fast “Mandy”, I said “but don't mention it to anyone, ok? My parents say I'm too young for a girlfriend.”
“I won't.” he replied “It's our secret.”
I don't think I made too great a fist of that homework, my mind was too full of other things.
“The best laid plans of mice and men
Gang aft agley,
And leave us naught but grief and pain.” Robert Burns.
In my life I've discovered that we are most often caught out when others do something unpredictable, and such was the case with me.
It was my third opportunity to dress, this time on a weekday and once again I had a cold, something I was very prone to in those days, so again I was in the house on my own. I gave everyone thirty minutes to be well clear of the house, and then I was off to the girl's bedroom, which I was pleased to see was in its usual state of disarray. That made it easy to replace the clothes in approximately the same position as I found them, and the girls wouldn't notice the difference.
I spent the whole morning trying on various dresses and skirts. My sisters had far more clothes than I did, and being of similar size, often wore each other's. I had decided to dress until three o'clock, giving me plenty of time to get back into boy mode before Bessie came home from school. I was so wrapped up in the vision of myself in the mirror that I didn't hear the front door open.
“What the?!!” The roar of my father's voice made me freeze on the spot. Then I slowly turned, my face a flaming red.
His jaw was working and he was clenching and unclenching his fists, and suddenly I was not only embarrassed, I was very afraid, and I started to sob.
“What on earth are you doing?” he shouted “Do you mean to tell me I've bred a nancy boy? Get those bloody clothes off this instant! I'm going to tan your hide until you can't sit down for a week!”
“No Daddy, please.” I sobbed and that only seemed to increase his rage.
My rescue came from an unexpected quarter.
“Leave him alone Dad!” It was Bessie, who had entered the house unheard with all the noise of Dad's voice and my crying.
“Leave the room Bessie which I give this little queer the hiding he deserves.” snarled Dad, but Bessie was made of stern stuff.
“I'm not leaving,” she declared “Even if you beat me too, I'm going to stand here and watch you.”
Dad stared at her for long seconds, and then suddenly he pushed past her, ran down the stair and left the house, slamming the door behind him. I threw myself into Bessie's arms, still sobbing and gasping ”Thank you Bessie, oh thank you.”
After a while my sobs turned to snuffles and eventually stopped. Bessie slowly stepped away from me and examined me critically.
“You make quite a pretty girl you know. I've thought that for a while. You just need some longer hair and some makeup.”
“You thought that for a while? You knew?”
She smiled “Oh yes. That first time you put on some lipstick. I know you wiped it off, but I could smell it on you. I suspected you were doing more than just that, so today I was very careful in arranging how my and Kate's clothes were left on the bed. That would have confirmed it for me, as you would never have put them back exactly how they were.”
I managed a wan smile “It almost sounds like you are ok with it.”
She smiled “I suppose I am. You've always been a rather feminine boy, and I don't mean that unkindly, it's just who you are.”
“Would it shock you if I said I wish I'd been born a girl?”
She laughed “Why should it? It's a compliment to my sex in a way.”
“But what are we going to do about Dad? I'm sure he's gone to the pub and when he comes back he'll be still angry. And what's worse, he'll be drunk”
“I know,” she replied “And I suggest you ring your friend Tom and ask if you can stay over with him tonight. In the meantime I'll tell Mum, if she hasn't already suspected, and Kate as well. Dad may be tough but he'll be up against three women.”
I rang Tom and asked if I could stay the night because something had come up at home. He readily agreed and fortunately didn't quizz me on what it was.
“Right,” said Bessie, “Mum's due home soon, so I suggest you give us back our clothes, and head over to Tom's.”
Strange though it sounds, with the recent traumatic events, I had forgotten I was wearing my sisters' clothes, and I blushed again at being reminded of it.”
“I'll go out and give you some privacy.” said Bessie. "Just leave everything on the bed and I'll sort it out.”
I did as she said and soon met up with her again, in my boy's clothes this time. She sniffed the air again and said “Yes, I can still smell the lipstick, perhaps we should do a better job of removing it.”
“Yes, Tom smelled it on me once, but he thought it was because I kissed a girl.” I said.
“I'm curious.” said Bessie “When you're dressed as a girl, what name do you call yourself?”
“Mandy.” I replied “It's the name I thought of when Tom asked me who I had been kissing.”
“Mandy.” said Bessie “Yes I like it.”
She helped me to thoroughly cleanse the lipstick off my face and then pack a spare set of clothes for the following day. I would be going along to school with Tom, and wouldn't return until mid-afternoon. Hopefully by then my father would have calmed down.
To be continued
The next morning I awoke in the spare bedroom at Tom's house, and for a moment lay there relaxed until the events of the previous day came flooding back and I started to shiver with fear. I had to go back home after school, and what sort of a mood would my father be in when I saw him?
Tom's mother knocked on the door and asked if I was awake as she was about to prepare breakfast.
“Yes thank you Mrs Shore. I'll get my shower now if I may?”
“Of course you can. We'll see you downstairs in about twenty minutes, alright?”
I quickly had my shower, dressed and ran downstairs to where Tom was already eating his breakfast. I was given a plate of bacon, eggs and a sausage, all on two pieces of toast. It smelled and tasted delicious! There was a glass of milk to wash it all down.
After breakfast, Tom and I walked to school. That day was not one of my best. I was worried about my reception at home, and more than once a teacher inquired caustically if I would 'honour' him with my attention. On our way home, Tom looked at me with a worried look on his face. I hadn't told him what it was all about of course, but he knew it was something serious.
“Do you want to come home with me again Mike?”
“No Tom. It's very decent of you, but I'll have to face the music sooner or later, and Dad might be even madder if I don't turn up today.” With that I turned off to my street, my heart thumping with fear. When I came in sight of the house, I was relieved to see that Dad's old truck wasn't there yet. I could find out what happened last night before I had to face him.
When I entered our house it was unusually quiet. I wondered what was wrong and walked into the kitchen to find my mother sitting at the kitchen table staring into space.
“Mum?” I said.
She turned slowly and looked up at me “He's gone.”
“Gone? Dad?”
“Here. You're old enough to read it for yourself.”
It was a short note scribbled on a piece of paper torn from an exercise book and read 'Jane, I've moved out. Last night was the final straw. Don't ask me to come back as I'll be with someone else. I'll send money for the kids, so don't worry about that. Jim'
Tears welled up in my eyes, not because my father had left, but because it was all my fault and Mum would blame me for ever.
When I told her as much, she managed the ghost of a smile and held out her arms, saying “Come here you silly possum. It's no-one's fault, it's just the way things turned out.”
“Mum, what happened last night when Dad got home from the hotel?”
“Nothing really,” she replied. “He was so drunk it's a wonder he managed to stay on his feet and find his way home. The girls and I dragged him upstairs and I put him to bed.”
“But did he say anything about me?” I persisted.
“Well only indirectly. As we half-carried him up the stairs he was muttering 'Three daughters! Now I've got three frigging daughters!' She even managed a smile when she said it.
“And this morning?”
“He was still asleep when I left for work, and I thought it was best to leave him to it.” she said, “Michael, do you know who that 'someone else' is that he's gone to live with?”
“I think it must be Gloria. She's the secretary at a company where he's been doing at lot of work lately.”
I had seen Gloria a few times when I reluctantly went along to local football matches with Dad. She was very much the peroxide blonde, loud and brassy, with a penchant for short skirts and revealing tops. I remember one day hearing a mate of Dad's say to him “She's got a great pair of puppies” and in my innocence I asked what their names were and could I see them? They both roared with laughter and I had no idea what I'd said that was so funny.
Besides her physical attributes, Gloria had something else that made her attractive to Dad, three strapping brutish sons who were into all the things that I wasn't. They barely had half a brain between them, but that actually appealed to Dad who valued brawn above brains any day. The eldest played for one of the local amateur football teams and I was sickened one day to see him spear an opponent into the rock-hard ground and walk away smirking, leaving the other guy convulsing on the ground. He was 'sin-binned' of course, but I wondered why behaviour which in the street would have landed him a jail sentence. was apparently acceptable in a football match. I heard later that the guy he injured made a fair recovery but never played football again.
“Gloria.” my mother mused “Yes, I think you're probably right there.”
“I suppose my sisters told you about me?” I ventured, changing the subject again.
“Yes. I confess I had my suspicions, but I didn't want to say anything before you did.”
“But are you alright about it?”
“You are my child darling, whether you're my son or my daughter, it doesn't matter.”
“So does that mean you don't mind if I dress as a girl?”
“If it's what you want to do, but please, only in the house at this time, for your sake as well as ours. People can be very cruel.”
I believe that she thought it was probably a phase I was going through and that I would grow out of it, so when I asked if she minded seeing me dressed as a girl she nodded her assent. The girls were up in their room so that Mum could talk to me alone, so I ran up the stairs and told them what we had agreed.
“She wants to see me dressed as a girl.” I said. That wasn't strictly true of course, but I couldn't wait to dress in pretty clothes once more, and also to prove to her that I would look convincing while wearing them.
Kate and Bessie looked at each other, and Kate said “Ok then, lets see how pretty we can make you.”
They selected a pair of knickers for me and left the room while I stripped off my boy clothes and put on the knickers. Then they came back in and got to work on me. Strangely this time I didn't feel in the least embarrassed, even though there were two girls in the room with me. I didn't even get an erection, because girls can't ok? That doesn't mean that I didn't enjoy the sensuous feel of the gorgeous garments I was slowly putting on, and I'm sure my feelings were obvious to them.
This time my appearance was even better, because they expertly applied makeup to my face, and Kate had a wig of long curly black hair which she'd used in a school theatre production and somehow never returned. They had turned me away from the mirror while they applied the make-up and adjusted the wig, and then said “Alright, now you can turn round and see yourself.”
I did saw, and what I saw in the mirror rendered me speechless. I could scarcely believe that the girl in the mirror looking back at me really was me.
“Welcome, new sister.” said Kate. “Oh I forgot to ask, what is your name?”
“It's Mandy, Kate. I hope you like it?”
“Mandy” said Kate and Bessie simultaneously. “Yes we do.”
The two of them were wearing jeans and a top, so I was the only one wearing a dress, stockings and heels. I realise now they did it deliberately so that I would look the most feminine of us three. They took up station one on either side of me as I carefully walked down the stairs in three inch heels, the first time I had ever done so.
When we entered the kitchen and Mum saw me dressed for the first time, she sat there with her mouth open so long that Kate said “Catching flies Mum. So what do you think of Mandy?”
Mum seemed to come back to earth, and in a whisper said “I never would have believed it if I hadn't seen it with my own eyes.”
“She looks good doesn't she?” said Bessie,and Mum nodded slowly.
“It seems your Dad was right after all - I have three daughters now.”
To be continued
For the next few months I led a dual existence — Michael outside the house, and Mandy inside. I could hardly wait to get home each day and transform into the person I knew myself to be. Eventually of course just dressing inside the house wasn't enough for me, and I began working on Mum to persuade her I should go out dressed.
I had the support of my sisters who said “She looks totally convincing Mum, so why not let her go out as a girl?”
Mum was still not totally convinced, but finally she relented.
“I'll tell you what I'll do. I won't let you three go out alone in case something happens, but I will take the three of you out shopping, and then I'm there if anyone says something.” So we had to be content with that.
The day we were due to go out, I suddenly started to get nerves. What if someone did say something? How would I cope? It was too late to back out now — after all, I was the one who had nagged Mum to let me go. I was deciding what to wear when Mum knocked on the door.
“Can I offer you some advice Mandy?” she said. “I know you love to wear dresses and skirts, but the first rule you must obey is to blend in. Most girls don't wear skirts to go shopping any more, so you neither should you. You look so much like a girl that even in jeans you will still look feminine so don't worry about that.”
I opened my mouth to protest and then, for once, realised that 'mother knows best'., and accepted the loan of some jeans from Bessie. They were definitely girl's jeans, with some embroidery on the pockets, and teamed with a pretty top I still looked very much a girl.
We went down to the local shopping centre and spend several happy hours in the clothes shops. I must admit that when we first entered the centre my heart was beating so fast and so loudly that I was amazed no-one turned around to see where the noise was coming from! It wasn't long though before I started to relax and enjoy myself. Mum had little money to spare but she did manage to buy each of us something. In my case it was a pretty skirt that had been marked down in price. We girls insisted she buy something for herself, so she chose a scarf. During the whole day, no-one took any special notice of me — I was just one of a group of a mother and three daughters. I had to admit that mother's advice on how to dress had been sound.
After this first experience I naturally wanted to have more trips as a girl into the outside world, and due to her other commitments it was going to be some time before Mum could arrange this. Being young and foolish, of course I decided to take matters into my own hands.
An opportunity presented itself a few weeks later when I had a day off school, but Mum and Kate were working, and Bessie was at school, since she went to a different one to me. I paced up and down for a while and then took the plunge. I was already wearing girl's clothes, and thanks to my sisters' tuition, I was quite good at applying makeup, although as a young girl, I did not use very much. Confident, or perhaps over-confident that I would be accepted as a girl, I changed into Bessie's jeans and a top once again, and went down to the shopping centre alone and wandered around, looking in the shops, and not attracting any attention, except from a couple of older boys who whistled at me. I blushed at this but kept walking, secretly pleased. Then it happened. Who should be walking towards me but my friend Tom, and totally forgetting myself I said “Hello Tom” as he was about to pass me.
Instantly I realised what a mistake I had made. Tom paused and looked at me. For a second I was tempted to say “Sorry, I thought you were someone else”, but it was too late for that. Looking hard at me he said “Michael? Is that you?”
I was blushing furiously. Struck dumb I just nodded.
“What on earth are you doing?” he said.
Somehow I found my voice. “Please Tom, not here. Is there somewhere quiet we can go and talk?”
“Well, there's that little park just down the road, how about there?” I nodded again, and we walked out of the shopping centre together, across the car park and into the little park which was all that remained of the big plot of land that was now covered in concrete, asphalt and buildings. We sat on a seat together.
“Now are you going to tell me what this is all about?” said Tom “It's not Halloween so presumably there's some other explanation.”
I took a deep breath and started to talk, telling him how I'd felt from when I was very young and how I had been caught dressed as a girl by my furious father. “That was the night I first came to stay with you.” I said,
He nodded slowly. “Now I remember, the scent of lipstick. It wasn't that you'd been kissing a girl, you were the girl.”
“Well, when my Mum heard about it, it confirmed what she had suspected about me, so she agreed that I could dress as a girl at home to see if I would get it out of my system. That hasn't happened of course because this is who I really am. I've been out officially once with the family, but they don't know I came out today on my own, so please don't tell them.”
“Of course I won't ,” said Tom “You're my friend and I'd never let you down.”
“Thank you Tom” I said, and for the second time that day did something without thinking. I leaned towards him and kissed him on the cheek, then blushed again.
“You really are a girl aren't you?” said Tom, who looked rather pleased at what I had done.”So what is your name when you are a girl?”
“It's Mandy, Tom”
“Mandy! I do like that name.” he responded. “So are you going to be a girl all your life?”
“I hope so,” I said “I think there are things that can be done nowadays for people like me, hormones and surgery to make me almost a complete girl. Mum's going to talk to her doctor about it soon.”
“Well, I think you look like a girl now. I would never have known you if you hadn't spoken to me at the shops. Anyway, would you like me to walk you home?”
“Yes please”, I said, and we walked to my street together.
As we walked along, Tom said to me “I don't know if this sounds weird but while I like you as Michael, I like you more as Mandy.”
“Well, as Mandy I like you more than I do as Michael.” I replied, and we both laughed.
When we reached my street, we stopped and I said “I'd better do the last part by myself, just in case someone is home, although they shouldn't be.”
Tom turned to face me and now he took hold of both my hands. “When I said I liked you, I meant I really like you.” he said. “Umm, would you like to be my girlfriend Mandy? May be we could go to the pictures together and things like that.”
“I'd love to, Tom, but we'd both have to ask permission from our parents. Are you sure you wouldn't prefer a girlfriend who is a girl all the time, not spend half the time pretending to be a boy?”
“Where's the fun in that?” Tom laughed “No, I want you to be my girlfriend.”
“Oh Tom!” I said, and didn't resist when he drew me to him and this time he kissed me, and what's more, full on the lips. I felt my body quivering with excitement. It was my first real kiss.
When I entered the house all was quiet and I breathed a sigh or relief. I'd made it out and back without anyone knowing. Ten minutes later Mum arrived home and I almost skipped down the stairs to meet her, but stopped when I saw the look on her face. She was holding a large bundle of papers and looked tired and angry. Her first words set me back on my heels.
“So where have you been young miss, and don't lie to me.” She pointed to a pile of papers on the kitchen table. “I brought those home at lunchtime and you weren't here!”
Tears welled up in my eyes, but she was not mollified. “Mandy, if I can't trust you, what am I to do?”
“I'm sorry Mum.” I said “I was so bored at home so I went down the mall, and no-one recognised me until....”
“Yes?” she said.
“I saw Tom from school down at the shops and said 'hello' to him by mistake.”
“Oh great!” said Mum “Now it will be all over the school tomorrow.”
“No it won't Mum. Tom is a really nice guy and he really likes me as Mandy. In fact he asked if I could be his girlfriend.”
Mum stared at me “Really? And what did you say.”
“I said I would like to be his girlfriend if you and his parents agree.”
“Well, I don't know what to say. He seems a really nice boy, and I'd rather you were with someone I can trust than wandering around on your own. We'll have to wait and see what his parents say.”
A couple of hours later the telephone rang and I answered it. It was Tom.
“Hello Tom, have you spoken to your parents?”
“Well, just my Mum. You see she and my Dad are divorced but I haven't told anyone about that. You'll keep it a secret won't you?”
“Of course I will Tom.”
“Well Mum was a bit surprised when I told her. She wants to talk to your mum and she also wants to meet you.”
“Ok Tom, I'll go and get her.”
When I told Mum that Tom's mum was on the phone she laughed “You two don't let the grass grow under your feet do you? Now let me talk to her alone alright?”
I sat in the lounge room, twisting my fingers and waiting to hear the outcome. Mum was gone a long time. When she finally entered the room I looked up expectantly.
“Well Pam Shore seems a really nice woman.” she said “ We had a good chat, and she would like us both to visit them on Saturday afternoon so she can see Mandy for herself. And a word of advice for you — you want to look like the girl I realise you are, but you mustn't dress 'over the top' alright? You can wear a skirt this time, but take my advice on this, just like you did last time, ok?”
“Yes Mum.” I said quietly, while inside I felt like I was dancing a jig.
To be continued
Saturday came, and I felt nervous and excited at the same time. So much rested on Tom's mother accepting me as a girl, and I had only one chance to get it right. Mum sensed my feelings and sat down with me to decide what I should wear.
“It's important that you look like a girl of your age, so I've selected some clothes I think would be suitable.” She produced a tartan skirt that Bessie had worn, and a white blouse. “I know you like to wear stockings but I think on this occasion you should wear ankle socks and Mary Janes. We'll put just a little padding in your bra and you can have just a touch of pink lipstick.”
I did not argue with her — 'mother knows best' — as I really wanted her support. She was right about what I should wear. A more sophisticated look might well have scared Tom's mother off. This way I looked like an innocent little girl in her early teens, which of course I was!
We walked to the Shore's house which was only a few streets from our place and knocked on the door.
Tom answered and said “Hello Mrs Collins, Mandy, please come in.” He was obviously on his best behavior too. “Mum's in the kitchen” he said as he showed us into the lounge room, and a few moments later Mrs Shore came in, looking slight flushed as if she had been bending over a hot stove, which in fact she had been. She greeted us both and I saw her eyes widen slightly as she saw me as Mandy for the first time. I wished then that I had never been there as Michael, but it was too late now. 'What's done is done.'
“Thank you so much for coming over and bringing Mandy, Mrs Collins.” she said.
“Please call me Jane.” said Mum.
Mrs Shore smiled, “And you must call me Pam.” she said.
“What a lovely house you have.” I said, and Mrs Shore looked at me almost suspiciously. It wasn't something a boy would say, and I think she thought for a moment that I was trying to be funny. When she saw I was serious she said “Thank you. It takes a lot of hard work, especially with a boy as messy as Tom.” and everyone except Tom laughed.
After a few minutes more chat on such illuminating topics as the weather, and how school was going, Mrs Shore got up and said “I hope you would like some tea?”
“Yes please.” Mum and I chorused, and I got up and said “Can I give you a hand Mrs Shore?”
“Yes thank you Mandy, that is a very kind thought. Tom can keep your mother company.”
I was taking a calculated risk here, but I felt it was important to speak to her on her own,and I was right to do so. When we entered the kitchen and were out of earshot of the others, she turned to me, and said, “Well young miss, if I hadn't seen you with my own eyes I would never have believed it. But for the fact that I've seen you as Michael you would have fooled me completely.
I felt tears starting in my eyes, I was afraid this might be her attitude.
“Please Mrs Shore, I'm not trying to fool anyone. I have felt from a very young age that I should have been born a girl. I started dressing in my sister's clothes a while back and my father found out and that might be part of the reason why he left us. My mother is letting me do this to see if it is a phase I'm going through, but I can assure you it's not. I want to live my life as a girl and then a woman, and although I know that's not totally possible, I will do the best that I can. I know that it's not going to be easy.”
Pam Shore's expression changed as I spoke, and she said “I'm sorry, perhaps I spoke a little harshly, but you must see that I am worried about Tom having you as a friend.”
“I understand what you mean Mrs Shore, and believe me I've told him he would be better off having a girlfriend who was born as a girl. If you are concerned that he might be homosexual, I assure you he is not. He sees me as a girl, and not as a boy dressed as a girl. You can't blame me for liking a boy like Tom when he treats me the way I want to be treated.”
“You are a very mature young person,” Mrs Shore said slowly. “I had quite made up my mind before today to forbid Tom to go out with you, but what you say has made me think about it again. Now! The others will wonder where on earth we are. Would you carry this plate of scones into the lounge room please?”
When we entered the lounge room, my mother said “We were just about to send out a search party for you.”
“We had to wait for the scones to cool.” said Mrs Shore. We sat down to eat the delicious Devonshire tea. As a boy I would no doubt have wolfed down a number of scones, but as a young lady I felt it was only appropriate to have one — after all they were quite large!
“These scones are delicious Mrs Shore.” I said and Mum nodded her agreement.
After we finished eating scones, jam and cream, and drinking our tea, Mrs Shore said “Tom, perhaps you'd like to show Mandy your model railway?” I had seen it very briefly when I had stayed there before. The fact that Mrs Shore specified where we should go, especially not to Tom's room, said to me that she was finally accepting me as a girl, since there had been no such direction when I'd visited the house as a boy.
I followed Tom into the spare room where a magnificent model railway layout went around all four sides of the room.
“Wow, this is amazing Tom, did you do it all yourself?”
Tom's face fell as he said “No, my Dad helped a lot with it.”
“You miss him don't you?” I said softly. He nodded and looked like he was going to burst into tears, so I stepped forward and hugged him.
After a few moments he straightened himself and said “Come on, I'll show you how it works.”
We spent a happy fifteen minutes working the trains until I said “All these models are amazing, did you build them yourself?”
“Most of them. Some are kits but I have to paint them. Would you like to see how I do it? Maybe you'd like to have a go?” He pulled out a small table from under the layout. Several half-finished model houses were there and also some complete but half-painted. There were a number of small tins of paint and some very fine brushes. After a little tuition, and taking great care not to spill paint on my clothes, I was soon busy painting a Tudor-style public house, as the railway layout was of a fictional English countryside.
We were both so engrossed that we did not notice our mothers enter the room, and they were probably there for some time.
“Perhaps you'd like to come over again and do some more painting, Mandy? I can see you have a real talent for it.” said Mrs Shore. It appeared I was accepted. “Your mother and I have had a long chat, and we have both agreed that you and Tom can go out together if you wish.” I'm sure Tom's and my smiles positively lit up the room.
“Thank you so much Mrs Shore.” I said, and Tom thanked my Mum too.
Our first 'date' was the following Saturday. We were planning to go to a local park for a picnic, but it was raining, so Tom suggested the cinema instead and I readily agreed. We sat in the back row of the stalls (cliched I know). I can't remember what the film was. We just enjoyed being together, holding hands, and finally kissing, and this time, greatly daring we were French kissing too.
After the film was over, we had a cappuccino, which felt terribly sophisticated, and then, holding hands, Tom walked me home.
About this time Mum took me to see her doctor. He was quite sympathetic to my wish to become a girl. He suggested that I live as a girl full-time for two years and if I was still determined to become a woman, then he would refer me to a specialist who could give me hormone treatment.
If I was to live full-time as a girl, something had to be done about school. It hardly seemed practical to start wearing a girl's school uniform and keep going to the same school, since children can be so cruel, and Mum was concerned for my welfare, so she went to see the headmistress of my sister Bessie's school. Mrs Edwards was very understanding and after interviewing me, agreed that I should attend her school as Mandy.
It was only a few weeks until the end of the school year, so I stayed at school as Michael, and did not mention to anyone that I would not be coming back. I didn't have any close friends, apart from Tom of course, so didn't feel bad about that. I had already started to let my hair grow a bit, but not so much that other boys would make comment, and I hoped that by the time the new school year started, it would be long enough to be styled as a girl. I could hardly wear a wig to school, and anyway it was uncomfortable in summer and I wanted my own longer hair.
There was another problem too. Up to now I had been wearing a bra with cups filled with rolled up stockings and obviously this was not suitable if I was to attend a new school as a girl. There would be occasions when I had to change in front of other girls and my true status would have been instantly exposed. Mum solved the problem by making some enquiries and then taking me along to Dr Fleming and obtaining a letter from him explaining my intention to become a female. A week later we made a trip to Brisbane and went to a company that sold breast forms to women who had undergone mastectomy, and asked them to supply suitable breast forms for me.
They didn't seem in the least surprised at my request and told me that they supplied breast forms to quite a few people who were transitioning. It gave me some confidence to know that there were others like me in Brisbane, and I thought that once I started my treatment, maybe I could meet up with some of them.
A rather motherly woman called Margery took Mum and I into a room and asked me to strip to the waist. She eyed my body and then held a few breast forms of varying sizes against my chest to help the three of us decide which would be an appropriate size. She also checked them with the bra I was wearing. We agreed on a 'A' size cup for the present (I think she was relieved that I didn't ask for the largest ones she had!) and then she asked me to lie down on a couch and set about showing me how they were fixed to my chest with double-sided tape, and the edges concealed with makeup. It was quite a strange sensation when I sat up and felt the weight of the breasts on my chest, much heavier than the stocking-filled bra cups I had previously used. Looking at myself in a mirror, I was delighted how real they looked, and when she helped me to put on my bra I was so thrilled I was nearly speechless. Margery the fitter smiled with real pleasure. No doubt she had seen many other girls like me see themselves with breasts for the first time, and shared our pleasure at the experience. From now on I would have breasts that would pass all but the closest scrutiny. Mum was pleased too and quite impressed by how feminine her new daughter now appeared even when not dressed.
I was readily accepted as a girl in my new school, and made several new friends within a few weeks. No-one asked why I had changed schools and if they had I would have given them a story about being bullied at my previous school. I missed seeing Tom every day of course, but since we had both felt awkward meeting with me in “Michael” mode, it was probably for the best that I was now at another school. It wasn't too far away, and we quite often met and walked home together.
Tom and I mostly went out each week on a Friday or Saturday night and perhaps because our time together was limited, we enjoyed each other's company more. The first time we kissed after I started wearing my breast forms, Tom noticed the difference in my body, and blushing deeply I explained to him about my new 'breasts'. I did not show them to him of course because I can say truthfully that we were quite good kids. Some girls at my new school confessed to going 'all the way' with their boyfriends which of course excited the rest of us, although when one of the girls stopped coming to school and we learned she was pregnant, that dampened the enthusiasm of other girls to follow her example. In the case of Tom and I, of course 'all the way' was not an option, and we had an accepted point beyond which we didn't go. In my case, while I enjoyed what we called 'petting' in those days, Tom knew that I found the 'non-girl' bits of my body embarrassing, so his hands never got too close to them. In his case of course there were no such restrictions, and on some occasions I used my hands to stimulate him to a climax, and that was pleasurable for me too. I looked forward to the day when I could have surgery and be a 'proper woman'.
There was very little in the news-media about transgender in those days. We knew of a few groups like “Les Girls' but whether they were transgendered or just dressing as girls we didn't know. Much later it transpired that the star of the show 'Carlotta' did have SRS some time in the seventies, but the rest of the 'girls' were young men. As for boys who enjoyed dressing as girls, each probably thought he was unique since there was no internet to reveal that he was one of millions.
Tom and I continued to go out for the next two years. I had long ago given up suggesting that if he wanted a wife and kids he had better find a genetic girl, since he seemed totally content with things as they were, and anyway, I was approaching the time when I hoped to be able to take steps to become in body as well as mind much more of a woman.
To be continued
Happiness is ephemeral. Just when you think you have it in your grasp, it can slip through your fingers like grains of sand.
It happened this way. Tom had gone to Sydney for a couple of weeks to see his Dad, and before he went he arranged that on the day he returned we would go to the cricket together. I was not that interested, but I had been before and was prepared to do it because it made Tom happy to have me with him. A week after he left, some of the girls at my school contacted me. Excitedly they said that there was a new teen girls' clothing store opening and they were having an opening sale with huge bargains. I had been saving the money I earned by working part-time at a fast food outlet, so of course I said I'd go with them, totally forgetting about my date with Tom.
It was a very hot day when Tom arrived at our house the following Saturday. Mum told him I had gone out shopping and I must have forgotten about our date, which indeed I had.
Tom was always good-natured, and learning what had happened he said something like “Oh well, I'm sure she's having more fun than going to a cricket match. Tell her I'll catch up with her later please, Mrs Collins.” and headed off down the street.
When I got home, very excited at having snapped up some bargains; three skirts, a summer dress and some tops, Mum met me at the door and said “Tom was here. He said you arranged to go to a cricket match together.”
My face flushed as I gasped “Oh no! I completely forgot about it. I'll give him a ring and apologise.”
Just then the phone rang and Mum answered it as I went up to my room to hold the new purchases against me and admire them. The look on Mum's face when she came to my room, made me stop what I was doing and stare at her.
“That was Pam Shore on the phone. Tom's been in an accident.” she said quietly.
“Oh no! What is it Mummy, is he...is he...?”
“He's in hospital. They don't know yet how bad he is.”
“Oh Mum, I must go and see him! Oh this is all my fault.” I gasped.
“Not tonight Darling,” said Mum “They're treating him and only his Mum is allowed to visit. Perhaps you can go tomorrow. I'll be ringing Pam to see how he is.”
That night I barely slept. Over and over again I kept thinking that if I hadn't forgotten about our date, this wouldn't have happened.
The next morning, Mum rang the hospital and was put through to the ward and eventually to Pam Shore who was already there. She found out that Tom had decided to go for a swim instead of the cricket, and had dived into shallow water, hitting his head. She also said that Tom was now conscious, and I could pay him a brief visit in the afternoon.
The hours ticket by interminably until it was time to leave for the hospital. Mum came along too of course. Hospitals are scary places, but I had to see Tom and beg his forgiveness for forgetting our date. Pam Shore was sitting next to the bed where Tom was lying flat. He was sporting a big bandage, but otherwise seemed unharmed and I breathed a sigh of relief. After a brief chat, Pam asked my Mum if she'd like to go down to the small cafe run by the hospital auxiliaries for a cup of tea — very diplomatic!
I sat close to the bed and held Tom's hand.
“Tom, I'm so very sorry for forgetting about going to the cricket with you. If I'd remembered, none of this would have happened.”
“It's alright really.” he replied “I knew you didn't deliberately stand me up. What could be more important that a dress shop opening anyway?” he smiled.
“Oh stupid clothes! “I cried. “Nothing's more important than you. So when will they let you go home?”
Tom's smile faded. “Well it could be a few weeks or more.”
“For a cracked head?” I said “Can't you get over that at home?”
Tom suddenly looked very serious “I didn't want to tell you really, but it might be more serious than a cracked head. You see when I dived into the river I did something to my spine, and now I can't feel my legs. The doctors say I may get the feeling back, but right now I can't move them or feel anything.”
The room spun and I'm sure I turned white as the full implications of what he was saying came home to me. Perhaps he would never walk again.
I started to cry “Oh Tom, truly it's all my fault, how can you ever forgive me?”
He smiled and stroked my hand “There's nothing to forgive. You didn't know I would decide to go for a swim instead of going to the cricket, and it was my own fault for not checking the water depth. Goodness knows, people are warned about that all the time.”
Just then Mum and Mrs Shore came back. It was obvious to them from looking at my tear-streaked face that Tom had told me what might have happened, and I could tell by looking at Mum that Mrs Shore had told her too.
“I'm so sorry to hear about your injuries Tom.” said Mum, and then to me “We really must be going now Mandy. The nurses did say a short visit.”
“I'll come and see you again soon Tom.” I said, and leaned over the bed to kiss him. I'm sure it was the first time either of our parents had seen us kiss, but it would have felt strange not to have done so in the circumstances.
When I got home, I threw the clothes I had bought into the bin, I felt I couldn't bear to wear them. Mum later rescued them and persuaded me that neither the clothes nor I were to blame, and anyway it would cheer Tom up if I looked as pretty as possible when I visited him.
I was as good as my word about visiting him, going to the hospital almost every day. I say this because I have done some bad things in my life, so perhaps some good things help to balance the bad. Sadly the news was not getting better, as Tom still could not feel his legs, and after many tests, it was concluded that he had a form of paraplegia and would need to get around in a wheelchair. I did my best to be brave when he finally told me the bad news, holding back my tears until I had left the hospital.
It never occurred to me that Tom's accident should make a difference to our relationship, but Tom had long hours to ponder his future, and it did weigh on his mind. One day when I was sitting with him in the garden of his home, he took my hand in his and said “Mandy, please don't misunderstand me. You are a wonderful friend and I don't know what I would have done without you these last few months, but I want you to seriously consider finding yourself another boyfriend, especially after you have your surgery. Find someone who can give you all the things that I no longer can.”
I was shocked and tears started in my eyes “Tom, please don't send me away. You are the only one for me, and so what if you have a physical problem, so do I and that never got in the way of our friendship, so neither should this.”
“But you will be able to fix your problem, and I doubt if I ever can. I'm just suggesting the best thing for you, and whatever happens, we'll always be friends, you know that.”
As I walked home, I pondered his words. It hadn't crossed my mind for a moment that we should break up over his present condition. I wondered if there was more that he wasn't saying. Had the injury made him impotent, and did he think that would be enough to make me go away? I confess that at the back of my mind I had always looked forward to the time after my surgery when we could make love as a man and woman. Now I had to consider the possibility that that might never happen, but even that would not have made me leave him. In the end though, Tom made the decision for me.
It was about two weeks later. I had been away for a week of school holidays staying with a girlfriend on the coast at Tom's insistence. Before I left I told Tom I would be back to see him on the Sunday. I arrived at his house, bubbling with excitement and ready to show him my holiday photos. Mrs Shore opened the door and from the look on her face I knew that something was wrong.
“Hello Mrs Shore, here I am again.”
“Hello Mandy, I..I'm sorry but Tom isn't here.”
I was puzzled “How do you mean?”
“Please come inside,” she said “He's left a letter for you.”
I followed her into the house. My heart was thumping painfully. What did that mean? She took me into the lounge-room and handed me a sealed envelope with my name on it.
“I'll made some tea while you read it.” she said and left the room. I sat down slowly, holding the letter in my hands. I noticed, almost as though I was looking at someone else's hands that they were trembling. Slowly I opened the envelope and unfolded the single sheet of paper.
'Dear Mandy,
You will think me a terrible coward writing to you instead of telling you face to face, but if I was looking into your beautiful blue eyes, I would never have had the strength to say what I now must write.
I am going away for a while. Please do not ask me where or try to get my mother to tell you. I'm doing this for both our sakes, but mainly for yours. You deserve so much more than I can ever give you now. By leaving, I am giving you the chance to be the wonderful woman I know you are, and find a man who can give you all you deserve.
You are my dearest friend, and in my heart you always will be. I know that you would never have left me if I had stayed, you are too good and selfless. Now spread your wings and fly. Please think kindly of me sometimes.
Love,
Tom.'
I sat staring into space for a long time, before carefully folding Tom's letter, replacing it in the envelope and putting it into my purse.
Mrs Shore came back into the room, carrying a tray with a pot of tea, milk, two cups and saucers and some biscuits. She poured the tea out silently, waiting for me to speak first.
“You knew what he wrote?” I asked quietly.
“I didn't read the letter, but yes, I knew what he was going to write to you. Mandy, I'm so sorry. Tom agonized over it for weeks. He cares about you very deeply — you know that?”
“Yes.” I said sadly “He signed the letter 'Love, Tom'. We never spoke about love, but I think we both knew.”
I sipped the hot tea. It's surprising how comforting it was, and at that moment I needed all the comfort I could get. There didn't seem anything more to say, but then I thought of one thing.
“If I write Tom a letter, will you see that he gets it?”
“Of course I will my dear.” She held me in her arms for a moment and murmured “I'm so sorry my dear.”
“It's not your fault or Tom's, it's mine.” I said sadly.
I left the house, my world shattered. It was my fault my Dad left, not that that bothered me, and now it was my fault Tom had left, and that bothered me more than I could say. Was I feeling sorry for myself? I suppose I was. I walked down to a local bar. I was under-age but they wouldn't know, or possibly care. Girls can always get away with looking older than they are provided they dress that way. Right now, getting drunk seemed like the ideal thing to do. I ordered whisky, and the fiery spirit nearly made me choke, but then it felt like fire in my veins. Then I ordered red wine and took the glass to a corner booth where I slowly sipped it and stared into space.
I was into my third glass and feeling light-headed when I looked up and saw a man in his forties standing there and looking at me. “Mind if I join you?” he said and I nodded. What the hell? Tom had gone and I was 'free'.
He introduced himself as Jack. Three drinks later and he was nuzzling my ear and telling me how pretty I was, and after another drink his hand was under my skirt. With Tom it had been an unspoken agreement that he went so far and no further, but Jack wasn't Tom. Before I realised what was happening, he had found my secret and even in my befuddled state I expected him to recoil, but he didn't.
“Well well,” he said “I never would have guessed.”
“So what happens now?” I said, slurring my words slightly.
“Well that depends on you my dear, but I've always been curious about special girls like you. How about we continue this conversation somewhere quieter?”
“Alright.” I said. I had been saving myself for Tom, but it seemed a bit pointless now, and Jack didn't seem in the least disappointed that I wasn't like other girls, in fact he seemed rather pleased. He took my hand and led me out of the bar to where his car was parked. We got in, and this time there was no restraint. His mouth descended on mine and he forced his tongue into my mouth. His hands were all over me and mine all over him.
He drove us to a motel, and for just one moment I hesitated before entering the room, but again I thought -'What the hell?' and I went inside with him. When he entered me the pain was so intense that I cried out, but he didn't pause for a moment, and after a while I started to enjoy the feel of his urgent thrusting. So was this what it was like to be a woman? I liked it.
I'm ashamed to say that I thought of Tom at that moment, and I said in my mind 'To Hell with you Tom. This should have been you and me.' and I urged Jack on to a shuddering climax. Now that I had lost my virginity as it were, once was not enough for me, and not long afterward I was using my fingers and mouth to get Jack into a state of readiness once more. This time he took me as I lay on my back and it felt even more like it would to be a woman, and this time he was not the only one to reach a climax.
I awoke to see the sun streaming in through the window, and for a second I didn't know where I was. I had a thundering headache and my mouth was dry. I looked around, but I was alone. On the bedside table were two fifty dollar notes and a short handwritten message.
'You were great. Thanks for everything. I hope this defrays your expenses. Jack.'
'My goodness,' I said to myself 'I've just been paid for sex. I'm a whore.' I got off the bed and had a shower, and then I used the mini-kitchen facilities to make myself a cup of strong coffee and I breakfasted off the packets of sweet biscuits they provided. Then checking around the room to make sure I'd left nothing behind, I picked up my bag and left the room. I walked a few hundred yards up the street, having no idea where I was, until I managed to hail a taxi and get him to drop me off one block from my street. It cost me twenty dollars for the taxi so I was still eighty dollars in profit.
Fortunately for me, Mum had already gone to work when I arrived home. She left a note saying 'I don't know where you stayed last night Mandy, but please give me a ring at work when you get in, otherwise I'll be worrying all day. Love, Mum.'
I picked up the phone and rang the office where she was working.
“Mandy! Where on earth did you get to last night? I was worried sick.”
“Sorry Mum, Tom has left home and I was upset, so I visited a girlfriend and I fell asleep on the couch. She didn't know I hadn't told you where I was, so she covered me with a blanket and let me sleep.”
“Oh I see.” she said and I wasn't sure if she believed me or not. “Anyway, you'd better hurry up and get to school.”
I went to my room and quickly undressed, cleaned off my make-up and put on my school uniform. I would probably be a bit late, but it couldn't be helped. There was something surreal about the situation. Last night a man paid me for sex, and this morning, I was a schoolgirl, heading off to classes. Just as well Jack didn't know that, he could have been arrested!
There was one more thing to think about. I had asked Tom's mother if I could write to him, but how could I do that now when I had effectively been unfaithful to him? I decided to 'think about it', and in the end I didn't write at all.
Next time: Starting my transition.
Time passed. I couldn't wait to leave school, but Mum encouraged me to continue to the end of Year Twelve. I wasn't academically inclined. I'd already made up my mind to be a secretary/typist like Mum. Thanks to her I could touch-type and my English was very good. Of course my chief aim in life was to transition and have a woman's body as well as a woman's mind. Alright, I knew it wouldn't be a perfect woman's body, but it would be as good as could be achieved now. Who knows, one day it might be possible to transplant ovaries and a uterus so that transgendered women can have babies too. Now that I had grown, my 'A' cup breast forms were too small, so I returned to the company in Brisbane and 'upgraded' to 'B' cup forms which I intended to start wearing as soon as I had left school, so that no-one would notice a sudden change.
I left school with some subjects passed, including English, and soon found myself a job as a secretary in a law firm. I had an advantage in that Mum had allowed me to type some of the less sensitive documents she brought home, although I wasn't stupid enough to mention that in my job interview. I just said that my Mum typed legal work and had taught me some of the terminology.
As soon as I passed my eighteenth birthday, I went back to the GP who had seen me two years earlier and told him that I had now lived full-time as a female for two years and would he please refer me to a specialist so that I could commence hormones and start to transition.
Dr Fleming leaned back in his chair and looked at me with some surprise. He referred to his notes and said. “Well Mandy, I have to admit that you've come a long way since I last saw you. So you are still determined to live permanently as a woman?”
“Yes doctor, more than ever.”
“What about your family, how do they feel about it?”
“They've been a great support to me doctor, they know that it's who I am.”
“Very well,” he said. “I'll refer you to a specialist, but you'll have to go to Brisbane to see him. His name is Dr Brentwell, and he has rooms in a large medical centre there. I'll ring and make an appointment for you.”
He lifted up the telephone and dialed a number. When the call was answered he told them his name and asked to make an appointment for me to see Dr Brentwell. There was a pause and after a while he said 'I see”, and made a note on a pad on his desk.
After he hung up he said “I'm sorry but it will be nearly a month until he can see you. He's very much in demand, but he is an expert in this field.”
“Thank you very much doctor.” I said, taking the piece of paper with Dr Brentwell's address, phone number and my appointment date and time.
Never did a month take so long to pass, but eventually the day came when I took my suitcase to the station and boarded a train for Brisbane. I had booked into a budget hotel, not too far from the medical centre where I was due the next morning. I didn't sleep much that night, and by seven o'clock I was showered and starting to dress. I wanted to look very female but not over the top like a drag queen. I put on a knee-length tartan skirt with a white cotton blouse, and wore pale tan stockings and pumps with three inch heels. The weather was warm so there was no need for a coat. I went down for breakfast, but I was so nervous and excited that I found it difficult to eat,
My appointment time was 11.15am and I arrived at 10.30. This was a mistake I suppose. It always seems that the more senior a medical practitioner is, the longer you have to wait to see them. In my case this was not a good thing. I picked up one of the magazines, but I couldn't concentrate on the content at all. Thirty minutes past the appointment time I was looking at the clock on the wall, and the doctor's secretary caught my eye and smiled sympathetically. Another twenty minutes past, and by now my heart was pounding and I was keyed up to the point where I was ready to run out of the waiting room. Doubts started to assail me. What was I doing here? Was this what I really wanted? Then finally I heard a door open and a young woman appeared and walked towards the receptionist's desk. She was blonde and quite pretty, and if I had seen her anywhere else I would never have guessed she was like me.
She caught my eye and must have seen how terrified I was because she then did something extraordinary. She stepped over to where I was sitting and touched my hand gently, saying “Don't worry, he's such a nice man and so understanding.”
I can't remember if I said anything in reply, but that act of kindness suddenly made me feel calmer, and I knew that is was right that I was there. As she walked over to the desk, another woman stood up and walked over to her, obviously a friend of hers, and I envied her that because I was on my own.
Just then I heard a man's voice say “Miss Collins?” I stood up and followed Dr Brentwell into his consulting room. He showed me to a comfortable chair and sat in another one facing me, a clipboard on his knee.
“Before we begin doctor, that young lady you just saw.”
“I can't discuss other patients,” he began but I continued “Oh no! I wouldn't expect you to. I just wanted to say that she was so kind to me just now in the waiting room. She saw how nervous I was and offered me words of encouragement. I...I wanted you to know that.”
“Thank you Miss Collins,” he smiled “It's very good of you to tell me that. I have here a letter from your G.P. Dr Fleming and he tells me he saw you two years ago when you were sixteen. Since then I gather you have been living full-time as a female?”
“Yes, that's right doctor. When I first saw Dr Fleming I was sixteen and he told me I was too young to receive any treatment and that I would have to live as a female for at least two years before that happened. I suppose he thought I was so young it might be a passing phase in my life. I was so determined that I actually changed schools so that I could live full-time as a girl. Dr Fleming now he accepts that I am serious in my intention to transition to living as a female, which is why he's referred me to you.”
“Well I can see that you pass very well as female,” said Dr Brentwell “In fact more so than many of my patients when they first come to see me. I will explain what can happen from this point. First I take a full history from you, and then you need a full physical examination and some blood tests. You will have to return for a second discussion and a review of your test results If you pass all of these stages satisfactorily, then you will be referred to an endocrinologist and can be given oestrogen therapy which will make your body more feminine. You will have to be monitored while the hormones take effect of course. The final stage is that you may undergo sexual reassignment surgery. Up until that point everything is reversible, but you have to be aware that once you have surgery, it is not possible to restore a functioning penis. should you should change your mind.”
I opened my mouth to speak but he held up his hand “I know you are going to say that you won't change your mind because that is what everyone says. What I must tell you is that a few of my patients have decided against surgery. There have also been a few cases, none were mine thank goodness, where someone has had surgery and then later decided it was a mistake and wanted their male body restored. Naturally they also looked for someone to blame for the position they found themselves in and that person or persons were the medical practitioners who had treated them. You will now understand why we are very careful in assessing all candidates for gender reassignment.”
“Yes doctor.” I replied. It occurred to me that the path I was taking was likely to be more difficult than I thought. Dr Brentwell then went on to take a detailed medical history from me, asking when I first felt that I was really a female, and my early cross-dressing and the effect on the family. He made notes when I explained how I felt it contributed to my father leaving, but he made no comment. I continued to describe my relationship with Tom and how I also felt responsible for his accident, and how bad I felt when he went away.
Finally Dr Brentwell asked “And did you ever have sex with him?” He saw me hesitate and said “You need to be totally candid with me Miss Collins. Nothing you say will go out of this consulting suite unless it aids in your treatment, and then only with your informed consent.”
“I understand doctor.” I drew a deep breath “I didn't have sex with Tom, but I did with another man. It was right after Tom left and I felt so lonely and miserable, I allowed myself to be picked up in a bar.”
“And was the sex oral or anal?”
“It was both, doctor.”
“And how did it make you feel?”
“After the initial discomfort I enjoyed it. It made me feel very feminine.” I hesitated again. “I spent the night with him. He was gone when I awoke in the morning and discovered he had left me some money.”
“And how did you feel about that?”
“I felt ashamed. I hadn't done it for money. I wished I'd done it with Tom. I wonder now if in some way I was sort of paying Tom back for leaving. It only ever happened the once.”
Dr Brentwell sat back in his chair and looked at me. He didn't look in the least bit shocked. I suppose he'd heard everything there is to hear about people's actions. I had flushed bright red as I confessed though. I didn't need a mirror to confirm that.
“Very well Miss Collins. Thank you for being so frank with me, that couldn't have been easy. I still have my certificate of general practise in addition to being a psychologist, so if you wish I have time to give you a medical examination and take some blood for tests.”
“Yes please doctor.” I said. I hadn't really expected to get this far at my first appointment. He showed me into the room next door where there was an examination couch, asked me to undress, put on a gown, and let him know when I was ready. The examination was very thorough, including my genital area, but I realised that there would be a lot more of this before I was through. He asked how long I had been using the breast forms, and I said it was over two years now as I had started at the time I changed schools to live as a girl full-time.
“Whoever supplied them picked a suitable size for you.” he commented.
“Well I did start with an 'A' cup.” I said “And as I grew older I changed to the 'B' cup I use now.” He smiled at that but made no further comment. Finally he took blood and placed it in several tubes with brightly coloured stoppers, and then told me I could get dressed.
When I returned to the other room, he told me that that was all for the first session. I should see him again in two weeks for the results, and all being well, he would refer me to an endocrinologist who would monitor my hormone treatment.
“There is one final thing though,” he said “And that is the cost. I am prepared to vary my fees according to a patient's capacity to pay, and also to bill you as much as I can in a way that you can claim on Medicare. However, you should realise that this will not cover all your costs and you must be prepared for some considerable expenditure which sadly Medicare does not cover at this time. Surgery, should you wish to have it, is much cheaper in places like Thailand, but still costs thousands of dollars, plus of course there are travel and accommodation costs involved. They have considerable experience in Bangkok so I have no hesitation in referring you to some surgeons over there.”
“Thank you doctor.” I said and he showed me to the door. I noticed he did not offer to shake my hand, something he would surely have done with another male. I went to the reception counter and spoke to his secretary. She asked if I would like to pay now, and I said 'Yes'. The bill was rather more than I had hoped, and I realised that I was going to have to save every penny I could. I made an appointment for two week's time and left the building.
Next time: My next appointment, and a new job
Author's note. This chapter and Chapter 4 modified due to errors kindly pointed out by reader Eric.
I had booked two nights at the hotel, not knowing what might be required at my first consultation, so rather than waste the money, I spent the rest of the day walking around the city. It seemed so big compared to Rocky, and there and then I decided that if I was going to have regular consultations with Dr Brentwell, I would move to Brisbane. There was another reason too. In our small local community I frequently ran into Mrs Shore, Toms mother, and these meetings were somewhat awkward. I would ask how she was and she would do likewise, and then I would ask after Tom and she would say he was well. I would ask to be remembered to him and she said he asked to be remembered to me. Then we would part and I would find myself with tears in my eyes, knowing that the passing of time had made no difference to my feelings for him, not matter how much I tried to convince myself that Tom was in my past and I should forget about him.
When I reached home, I told my mother and sisters what had happened and how I was confident that the test results would mean I could start hormone treatment. I didn't yet tell them of my decision to move to Brisbane, I would leave that until after my second consultation and its hopefully positive news. In truth I didn't feel as confident as I made out, and was afraid that all my hopes might be dashed.
Two long weeks later I was in Dr Brentwell's office, my heart beating wildly as I waited to hear his news.
“I won't keep you in suspense Miss Collins, all your results are good, and as a result I am happy to refer you to an endocrinologist and you can start your hormone treatment.” My face broke out into a wide smile as I heaved a sigh of relief. Dr Brentwell smiled too.
“I thought that would please you.” he said. “You can chose your own specialist of course, but I often refer my patients to Dr Hall who has rooms in this building. Would you like to see him or have you someone else in mind?”
“I'd be happy to see Dr Hall if he comes with your recommendation.” I replied.
“Good.” he said. “I have made an appointment for you to see him in thirty minutes. I imagine you would like to start your treatment as soon as possible?”
I laughed. Suddenly I felt relaxed for the first time. “Yes indeed!” I said.
“You will of course have to see me on a regular basis. I need to know about your response to the hormones. Don't forget that there is no shame if you ever decide that this is not for you. Dr Hall will explain about the side effects you can expect, and I will want to hear how you cope with them.”
During my visits to Dr Brentwell, I half expected to see the lady who had been so kind on my first visit, but I never did see her again there. I suspected that was by design.
Dr Hall was a charming man in his sixties at a guess. I was shown into his consulting room with only a few minutes waiting, and he explained the treatment that I would be having — a hormone called Oestradiol. Taking this would cause my testosterone to fall to the very low level found in females (I was surprised to learn that women had any at all). He already had my pre-treatment level and would monitor me with a blood test every month to see how the level of testosterone was falling.
“There are a few things you should be aware of.” he continued. “The effect on your body is like that of a young girl entering puberty. You may have mood swings, you will find your skin softening, there will be a redistribution of body fat and your breasts will start to grow naturally, so eventually you may wish to stop using the breast forms. One bonus is that oestrogen protects against heart disease, which is why women on average live longer than men.”
“Wow!” I said, “I never knew that was the reason.”
Dr Hall smiled and wrote me out a script for the hormone. There was a pharmacy in the medical centre, which must have done good business with all the doctors there, and soon I had my first box of Oestradiol safely in my handbag. Taking the tablet for the first time that evening felt like a new chapter opening in my life.
When I arrived home I told my mother and sisters my good news and then followed it up with the announcement that I intended to move to Brisbane — 'for a new start'. Mum was a bit upset although I assured her that I would return to visit quite often. I think she understood that I needed to get away from the old surroundings and start my new life.
In those days there was plenty of work, so I had no hesitation in handing in my notice. They wished me good luck and gave me a glowing reference and the chief clerk promised to back it up if there were any telephone enquiries from a prospective employer. A week later I was on my way back to Brisbane. I found a room in a hostel for single women and set about looking for a job. I looked in the Courier Mail and there were several advertisements for typist/clerks in legal practices. I telephoned one and made an appointment for the following morning.
I dressed carefully in a black pencil skirt, white silk blouse, stockings and 4 inch heels, hoping I looked the picture of a legal secretary. Baker, Thompson and Brown had their offices in one of the city's older buildings in the legal precinct. It looked very prestigious. A young woman led me to the office of the Chief Clerk in charge of the typing pool, Miss Evans, a lady in her late fifties at a guess, very smartly dressed. She glanced through my reference and then asked me about my experience and typing skills. She seemed satisfied with my answers and said that she would be willing to give me a month's trial, and if I proved satisfactory, then I could have a permanent position.
I started there the following day. There were four other typists, all married, and they were very friendly. Apparently they had been short-staffed for some weeks after one girl had left suddenly, so they were very pleased to have someone to share the load, and quite a load it was. I was surprised just how much work we had to get through. I had to get used to typing on an electric typewriter since I'd only use manual ones previously, but I soon adapted to it and my speed increased as a result. Miss Evans seemed very pleased with my progress and I had little doubt that I would be offered a permanent position. The pay was adequate, but not overly generous, but the hostel was quite cheap, so I found that I could manage to save some money, but not much.
The other typists made a habit of going out for a drink on Friday evenings, and meeting up with staff from other law firms. I wanted to be friendly, but I also did not want to spend more than I needed to, and of course I couldn't explain to them why I needed the money. However it seemed diplomatic to be friendly, so I went along. I was pleased to find out that unlike men and their habit of 'shouting', the women all paid for their own drinks, so by making one glass of wine last a long time, I kept the cost down.
It was soon time for my next appointment with Dr Brentwell. I had arranged to have an hour off 'for a medical appointment' on the understanding that I made up the time that evening. He asked me how I was finding my reaction to the oestrogen, and I told him I felt fine. I'd hardly noticed any changes yet, but he said that was quite normal. He also took another blood sample to check my testosterone level. Based on this result, my hormone dose might have to be adjusted, but he said he would ring me if that was needed. I explained I was living in a hostel, so it was arranged that I would ring his rooms in a week's time to check on any changes. Those were the days before we all had mobile phones, so communication was that much more difficult. When I rang, I was told that I should continue of the same dose.
The following month I again asked for an hour off and Miss Evans raised her eyebrows slightly, but again permission was given. I could see that there could be a problem. What if she thought I had some awful disease? I wondered if I dared tell her the real reason for my appointments and if that would be the end of my career as a legal typist?
The news about my testosterone was good. It was falling slowly and Dr Brentwell said that was excellent as a sudden drop would not be good for me. We spoke for half an hour about how I was managing my life. I told him I had occasional mood swings but nothing severe. Then I broached the subject of getting time off to come and see him, and how I didn't want to reveal the real reason in case they thought I had been deceptive in not explaining my situation when I first applied for the job.
“You should have told me before.” said Dr Brentwell. ”You are not the only person who is in 'stealth mode' as we call it, so one evening a week I consult until 9pm, and you can come and see me then.”
“Oh that is such a relief!” I said “I really didn't know what I was going to do.”
When I returned to the office, Miss Evans happened to be in the typing area.
“Everything alright my dear?” she said.
“Yes thank you Miss Evans. I won't have to ask for time off any more.”
The next couple of months went well. My testosterone level was steadily falling and I felt my skin was getting softer. Fortunately I had never had much body hair, and I now started having electrolysis which was more than a little painful, as much to my bank balance as my skin. It was about this time that I started to worry about how I was going to afford my transition. I had made tentative enquiries about surgery in Thailand, and while it was much cheaper than in Australia, when taking into account the air fare and accommodation, and the need to recuperate for several weeks, it looked well beyond my means.
Next time: A big decision
Author's note: Due to an error kindly pointed out by a reader, I have made amendments to chapters 4 and 7.
This next part is difficult to write, but Dr Johnson, my psychologist insists that there is no point in writing a self-censored account of my life — it has to be all or nothing, so here goes.
I considered getting a second job to boost my income, but it would have to be something I could do in evenings or weekends. I considered waitressing, even stacking supermarket shelves, but these were very poorly paid jobs and would be exhausting when I had to return to a responsible job the next morning. A possible solution came to me one day when I was passing through Fortitude Valley, the nightlife and adult entertainment centre of Brisbane. I saw several houses with discreet red lights over the door, and I thought back to Jack with whom I'd had sex and how he had left me $100. At first I mentally rejected the idea, but the more I thought about it, the more I thought that it was not particularly hard work and probably quite well paid. There was the question of morality and self-respect but I reasoned that I could put those on hold until I had achieved my goal of the necessary funds to pay for my transition.
The following day after work, I went back to the Valley. I decided the only course of action was to visit one of these 'massage parlours' as they were called and inquire whether there was interest in girls like me. I stopped before one house, and looked around, hoping there was no-one around who knew me. Then taking a deep breath I pushed open the door.
The contrast with the rather drab exterior of the house was amazing. The door led into a corridor with rich gold-patterned wallpaper on the walls and deep red drapes. I emerged into a room where a lady sat at a desk. She reminded me of Miss Evans at work and the thought nearly made me giggle, but fortunately I suppressed the urge.
She looked up and said “Can I help you dear?”
“Err yes. I was wondering about the possibility of some part-time work. You see I'm transgendered and I need the money to fund my treatment and surgery.” I knew I was blushing deeply.
She didn't look in the least shocked. “You are very pretty my dear, and most convincing. We only have genetic females here, but I do know of an establishment nearby that might be able to help you. It's at No 69 (here she gave the name) Street, most appropriate don't you think?” and she smiled.
I tried to smile back to show I understood the reference.
“Here, I'll write it out for you. Tell Miss Betty that Madge sent you over.”
“Err, thank you Miss Madge.” I walked back to the front door of the house, turned and left the way I came, resisting the temptation to run.
I found the other establishment quite easily, partly because the number 69 was displayed in very large numerals on the wall. No-one could object because it really was their street address.
The interior of this house was not unlike the previous one. I thought that there must be a standard décor for brothels — err 'massage parlours'. It was similar even down to the Miss Evans look-alike I found in the room at the end of the corridor. When I say look-alike, she did wear more makeup than I'd ever seen Miss Evans wear, and she did have a rather deep voice for a woman.
This time my enquiry met with genuine interest.
“As a matter of fact we do have a vacancy for a special girl like you,” she said. “We usually have two, and one has just left us for a trip to Thailand for her little op.”
'Little op?' I thought 'Not if the information I have is correct.'
“I do intend to have the operation myself, sometime in the future,” I said.
“So you are still 'entire' at present then? That's good. Our gentlemen prefer that. Now how about experience?”
“I've not had a great deal, but I'm willing to learn.”
“Excellent!” she exclaimed. She consulted a paper on her desk “Our other t-girl Chloe is free right now. I'll ask her to show you around and then you can come back and we can have another chat.”
She pressed one of a number of buttons on a small console on her desk, and a few moments later a tall ravishing redhead entered the room, wearing a diaphanous robe that left little to the imagination.
“Chloe my dear, this is Estelle, another 'T' who may be coming to work with us. Would you be a dear and show her around?”
'Estelle'? I hadn't even told her my real name yet, and already I had a 'professional' name, and I wasn't even asked!
“Certainly Miss Betty. Hi Estelle.” her voice was somewhat husky, but quite feminine-sounding.
I got up and followed her out of another door and into the main area of the building. The colour scheme continued on here — red drapes and subdued lighting.
“So you're a t-girl too?” asked Chloe. I hadn't heard the expression used before but recognised it as short-hand for 'transgendered girl'.
“Yes I am. I'm looking for some part-time work to save money for my surgery.”
“I don't know if I'll be doing that,” said Chloe “The gentlemen seem to like me how I am.”
As we walked down the corridor, muffled noises from some of the rooms indicated that they were already occupied. Chloe stopped at one and opened the door. The room was dominated by a large bed, and there was a small ensuite on the far side.
“This is my room today,” said Chloe. ”My next client is due in thirty minutes.” She showed me how the lighting was controlled and the situation of several alarm buttons which could be used in an emergency. “John our security guy is a South Sea Islander and the sweetest guy you could imagine, but one look at him and anyone making trouble turns to water.”
“Err, does that happen often?” I inquired.
“Very rarely, but it's good to know that help is at hand if you should need it.” She indicted the ensuite “We ask each client to shower first. Body odour is such a turn-off.”
She took me to a sitting-room where a couple of girls were having coffee and reading magazines.
“Hi girls, this is Estelle. She's a 'T' and may be coming to work here.” Ordinarily I would be blushing by now, but strangely I was starting to get used to this house where absolutely nothing was off-limits it seemed.
“Well that's a quick intro. If you come to work here, you'll get a more thorough introduction. Any questions?”
“Err, do the men have to wear condoms?”
“Absolutely!” Chloe replied, “We have a saying — 'if it's not on, it's not on'. Anyway, I'd better get ready for the next client, so I'll take you back to Miss Betty.”
She led the way back to the office where Miss Betty looked up with a bright smile “Well my dear, what do you think of our little establishment?”
“It looks very stylish.” I replied. Chloe asked to be excused and left the room.
“I do have a couple of questions” I said. Miss Betty smiled and slid a piece of paper across the desk towards me.
“These are our standard rates for the range of services we provide. The house keeps forty percent and you take the rest. Should any gentleman be so pleased that he chooses to leave you an extra gratuity, then that is yours to keep. I should mention that because these establishments are strictly speaking illegal, you don't have to declare your income and pay tax on it.”
Seeing me look puzzled, she smiled and went on “I don't suggest we are totally invisible, but we have an err arrangement with the relevant authorities which means we continue to trade and they turn a blind eye...for a consideration. Everyone's a winner. Now what sort of hours would you prefer to work?”
“Well I have day job, so I was hoping for evening work a few days a week if that is alright?”
“How about 7pm to 2am? That would give you time to have a meal before you start. You can have coffee breaks between customers if time allows, but if we are exceptionally busy, we would expect you to work through.”
“The other question is what I should wear?”
“Well, our gentlemen usually prefer our ladies in black lacy lingerie, and stockings and suspenders are a must of course. Chloe will help you with your make-up the first time. Its usually a bit heavier than usual, oh and no perfume, for obvious reasons. Some of our gentlemen are married. So, would you like to start in two days?”
“Yes that's fine thank you. It gives me time to go lingerie shopping.”
Dr Johnson said I do not have to go into details about my work at the parlour, and I'm grateful for that, since what I have written is embarrassing enough. What I did find unusual was that while some clients wanted a full service, others required very little, and the occasional man just wanted a person to talk to. How sad that there is so much loneliness in the world.
One thing I soon realised was that it wasn't practical for me to continue living at the hostel and keep arriving back there at past 2am several days a week. Fortunately there was a solution. The girl who had gone to Thailand for her operation had previously shared with Chloe, and didn't intend to work any more, as she had found a gentleman who was prepared to support her and provide accommodation, so when Chloe suggested that I share with her, it solved both our problems.
Like many people, previously I had not had a high opinion of the women who traded their bodies for money, but now that I was in fact one of them, and had opportunities to chat with the genetic women who worked in the parlour, my opinion did change. For many of them it was the only way to survive financially.
One woman was putting her very bright daughter through a private school education and related with some amusement how one day she realised that her client was Chairman of the Board of Governors of the school. “The last time I saw him he was sitting on the stage at the annual prize-giving and speech night, and gave a very nice speech about morals and honesty,” she said the a smile. “Fortunately I was just one of several hundred parents present, so there was no way he would have recognised me. I must say his wife didn't look the sort of woman to offer the services he asked me to provide!”
So I continued to live my double life — Mandy by day and Estelle by night. I was young and so managed the long hours I worked some days without too much trouble. I kept in touch with my mother and sisters, and occasionally travelled north to visit them, although I confess my visits there always brought up memories of Tom, and I just wished I knew what he was doing. I was so glad he didn't know what I was doing, as I still harboured a fantasy that some day we would be together once more. Meanwhile my savings kept growing.
Each month I went to visit Dr Brentwell, and he expressed satisfaction with my progress. My testosterone level was down to the very low level of a female, and with continuing hair electrolysis and the effect of the oestrogen, I could see steady progress in my journey to becoming a woman. As far as Dr Brentwell was concerned, I was working purely as a typist. I did not think it necessary to mention my 'after hours' work which although it was part-time was earning me nearly twice as much as my day job.
Like many of the girls at the parlour, I found I was acquiring a small group of 'regulars' who asked for me by name. Miss Betty was pleased, saying it showed how much satisfaction I was giving to these men. It surprised me how many of them were married. They did not always tell me this, but the indentation caused by a removed wedding ring was too obvious not to notice. Perhaps they felt that because they were seeing a non-genetic female, they were not being as unfaithful as they would have been had I been born female? That's my theory anyway and perhaps I am totally wrong.
During a break between clients one day, Chloe informed me that a regular client had booked both of us in a few day's time. “He enjoys watching two girls like us together.” she said “Do you have a problem with that?”
I was a little surprised but answered “Not at all.” By now I was inured to almost anything that might be required of me, and after all I had no boyfriend to hide it from, so why should I care? Anyway I had wondered what sex would be like with another t-girl.
“I'll go through with you what's expected later. By the way, he can be very generous.” said Chloe, but in fact neither she nor I had time that evening.
When I got back to the apartment around 2.30am, her bedroom door was shut so I assumed she was already asleep. I was sitting at my dressing table, in my night dress and brushing my hair when there was a gentle knock on the door.
“Come in” I said, and Chloe appeared in the doorway. She was wearing a diaphanous night dress that left nothing to the imagination and her voice was low and huskier than normal.
“We didn't finish our conversation today,” she said. “In fact I thought that rather than describe what the client expects, it might be better to show you.”
She advanced into the room and I felt my heart beating faster. I suppose you could describe what we had as almost lesbian sex — it certainly didn't feel like two men together. Both our bodies were smooth, soft and hairless, and we spent much of the time kissing and caressing each other before we advanced to greater intimacies.
When I awoke in the morning, Chloe had gone back to her own room sometime during the night, and I was in a hurry not to be late for work. The previous night still felt something like a dream. Did she really mean all those things she had said, or was it all part of the act we were to put on for the rich client?
Chloe was right about the client. He just sat there watching as we went through a routine similar to what we had done together at the apartment, occasionally urging us on and saying words of encouragement, while stimulating himself with his hand.
When we finally finished, he got up and said “Thank you ladies. That was very err... entertaining.” Then he opened his wallet and left $200 on the little table “In token of my appreciation.” he said as he left the room. Chloe had been right — he was generous.
In those days before email, I kept in touch with my mother and sisters by writing letters. The telephone was far too expensive unless it was an emergency. Thus it was that they knew the address where I was living, One evening the doorbell rang, I opened it and was shocked to see my sister Bessie standing there.
“Hello Mandy, I thought I'd surprise you!” she said cheerfully. She wasn't wrong there. At that precise moment Chloe came wandering down the hall behind me. She was working that evening, so she was dressed in black lingerie that left little if anything to the imagination. I knew my face was puce as I stumbled over introductions.
“Err Chloe, this is my sister Bessie. Bessie, this is Chloe my flat-mate.”
“Hi Bessie, it's nice to meet you.,” said Chloe with a bright smile. I had to hand it to Bessie. Her eyebrows only went up a millimetre as she responded “It's nice to meet you too.”
“Come down to the kitchen and I'll make you a cup of tea,” I said to Bessie, as Chloe disappeared into her room. I put the kettle on and Bessie sat at the table as I got out cups and saucers, trying to delay the inevitable explanation as long as I could.
“Come on sis,” said Bessie “What on earth's going on? I couldn't help noticing that your flatmate wasn't exactly a 'she'.”
“Err no, she works in a massage parlour that caters for special tastes.”
“And how did you come to share a flat with her?" she paused "Oh no! Don't tell me!” But one look at my face did tell her.
“I do have a proper day job,” I said defiantly “But it doesn't pay enough and I need money for my surgery. It's only a temporary thing.”
“Well I'll be,” said Bessie slowly, “I'll say this for you sis, you're full of surprises.”
“Please don't tell Mum or Kate, please!”
“You know I won't, but what about Tom? What would he think?”
I flushed again. “Tom's gone for ever, you know that sis. Do you think I could do this if there was the slightest chance?”
Bessie sighed “I guess not.” We spend a couple of hours catching up on what was going on back home where it seemed all was well.
I couldn't resist asking if she'd seen Mrs Shore, and it seemed she had, and 'yes, Tom was well', as well as you can be when you spend your life in a wheelchair.
“You still love him don't you?” Bessie said softly, and then when my face crumpled, she got up and hugged me as I couldn't hold back my emotions any longer.
“But what's the point?” I sobbed “He doesn't want me. If he did he'd have never gone away.” Bessie said nothing. She just held me until I stopped crying.
Time passed and I was sure it wouldn't be long before I had saved the cost of having my surgery in Thailand, where it seemed it was almost commonplace. In some medical centres they performed several thousand SRS operations a year. It got me thinking that this has only become possible in about the last sixty years when some brave pioneering women such as April Ashley and Christine Jorgensen had surgery, although they weren't the first to do so. What of the women born in the wrong bodies over the centuries — they had to suffer in silence. Thankfully, times have changed and I was now able to have my body match my mind.
Writing this biography has forced me to face up to some of the silly mistakes I have made in my life. The money I was earning at the parlour was paid in cash of course, and instead of putting it into a bank account, where I was afraid someone might question how a typist was able to earn so much money, with remarkable lack of imagination, I secreted it in plastic bags under my mattress.
The time had come when with Dr Brentwell's permission, I had made a booking with a hospital in Bangkok, famous for transition surgery. He had written to the surgeon and everything was lined up for a date in another month. I had booked and paid for my plane ticket and also the hotel where I would be staying for a week or so after I came out of hospital. I had the money ready in cash to pay for the surgery. I had not discussed the financial side of things with Dr Brentwell and if he considered it at all, I suppose he assumed I had saved the money or obtained a loan for the surgery.
Everything was going so well, and then one evening after work, three days before I was due to fly to Thailand, I turned the corner of my street leading to the apartment I shared with Chloe, and was alarmed to see the blue flashing lights of police cars and the red flashes of an ambulance outside the building. I hurried up to the house and spoke to one of the policemen holding back a small crown of curious onlookers.
“I live here. Can you tell me what's happened please?”
“You are?”
“Mandy Collins. I share an apartment with Chloe Blake.”
“Chloe Blake?” he looked down at a notepad in puzzlement “We have a Miss Ann Blake in the ambulance.”
I realised that I had used her 'professional name' by mistake.
“I meant Ann. Chloe is a nickname her friends call her. Can I see her please?”
He led me to the ambulance and conferred with the paramedics “Ok, but just for a minute.”
I climbed into the ambulance. “Ann, what happened?” She had a bandage around her head and some bruising on her face.
“Mandy! Someone broke in while I was out in the yard. I tackled him but he was too strong for me. I'm not sure what he took”
“Never mind that, how are you?”
She managed a crooked smile “I'll live. Will you let them know at work what's happened?”
“Of course” I said “You just concentrate on getting better.”
“We have to leave for the hospital now, miss.” said one of the paramedics, so I got out of the ambulance and it drove off, lights flashing.
Later the police let me into the apartment to see what was missing. My room had been turned over, the mattress thrown aside and of course all the money was gone, but I could hardly mention that. Aside from how I came by it, the police would think me an absolute idiot for keeping it under the mattress. Instead I mentioned a few items of cheap jewelry that were missing, and when the policeman said “It seems you got off lightly.” all I could do was smile and squirm inside. How was I going to pay for my surgery now?
They kept Chloe in hospital for observation overnight and released her, a bit the worse for wear the next morning, and now I was officially on holidays I went to the hospital to collect her.
“Did you let them know at 'Sixty-nine' that I wouldn't be fit for work for a week or so?”
Yes I did. Madam Betty was very sympathetic and said you mustn't come back until you feel well enough.”
“She's not a bad old stick,” said Chloe. “What about you? Did he take much of your stuff?”
“Only all the money I was going to use in Thailand for my op.” I said with a grimace. “I kept it all under my mattress. I guess there's no accounting for stupidity.”
“Oh Mandy, I'm so sorry. If I had any money I'd lend it to you, you know that. So what will you do now?”
“I guess I'll just go back to my two jobs and save up again, only this time it goes in the bank, and if anyone asks, I got lucky on the gee-gees. I should have thought of that in the first place.”
I was scheduled for one final appointment with Dr Brentwell the following day, prior to flying out. Even though I couldn't pay for the surgery now I had a few dollars left, so I thought I might as well fly over to Bangkok and make it just a holiday. At least I wouldn't waste the air fare and hotel booking. I cursed myself for my stupidity in 'hiding' the money in the first place a burglar would look.
I arrived at Dr Brentwell's rooms the next day. Vicky, his receptionist knew me well by now and said brightly “All excited about your trip to Bangkok?” and then took one look at my face and said “Oh dear Mandy, what's wrong?”
“We had a burglary,” I said “They took my surgery money, so it's off for now.”
Vicky almost looked like she was going to cry. She really was a sweet girl.
“That's terrible!” she exclaimed.”Couldn't you get a bank loan or something?”
“I don't think so on my income. (I was referring to my typist's income of course) Anyway, I don't think there would be time.”
I sat down and waited for my appointment with Dr Brentwell. When he ushered me into his room and I sat down he said “Well it doesn't take a trained psychologist to see that something is wrong. Please tell me about it.”
“I took the cash out to take over to Thailand for my operation and we've had a burglary and it's all gone. I hid it under the mattress of all places. I might as well have put a notice saying 'here it is'. I've been such a fool.”
He looked at me with a serious look on his face and to my surprise said “Is that really what happened?” I felt myself colouring up. You'd have thought by now nothing would make me blush, but it was my worst failing.
“Yes” I replied, and then under his steady gaze I said haltingly “Well, sort of.” The fact was I just couldn't lie to him — he could see right through me.
“The fact is I have a second job, an evening job. That was the money I put under the mattress.”
“You don't have to go into details,” he said gently “I think I know what that job is.”
By now I felt if I got any hotter I'd burst into flames. Tears were rolling down my cheeks as I said “I felt too ashamed to tell you, but the typist job was never going to earn me enough money to afford all my treatment and the surgery. It's ironic but I had already made up my mind that I was going to give it up as soon as I saved enough and had my surgery. Now I see no option but to go back there and start saving again.”
Dr Brentwell leaned back in his chair, and I couldn't read the look on his face. Finally he said “I believe it's important for your mental well-being to have your surgery as soon as possible. I can't promise anything, so don't get your hopes up too much. Would you mind waiting outside for a while while I make some phone calls?”
I could hardly believe my ears. Was he saying that somehow he might obtain the money for me?
“If you can help me doctor, I promise I'll pay you back, every last cent.” I said in a choking voice.
“I can't promise anything right now,” he replied, “Just wait outside for a short while and I'll let you know the outcome.”
I got up and left his room and went back into the waiting room. There was a young girl waiting there. She looked up as I approached with that 'rabbit in the headlights' look I knew I'd had the first time I ever came to the rooms. I didn't hesitate but walked over to her.
“Hello. My name's Mandy. May I sit down?” I did so before she nodded dumbly. Now I was close to her I could see she was literally shaking.
“Are you, are you Dr Brentwell's assistant?” she quavered. I did not laugh — that would have been the worst thing to do. Instead I said gently. “No, I'm his patient, a girl just like you except I'm a bit further along the road, that's all.”
She looked at me with something like wonderment in her eyes “Really?”
“Really.” I replied as I took her hand. “The first time I came to see Dr Brentwell I was so frightened I nearly ran out of the door.”
She actually managed a weak smile “I was just wondering if I should do that.” she said softly.
“But you're not going to, because you are taking the first steps to making the most wonderful change in your life. Believe me I know that.” I said. I suddenly realised she was no longer shaking, and I thought to myself 'Well, you've done one good thing today'.
We started to chat about the path we were both taking, and how I was hoping to go to Thailand for my surgery, but there was a bit of a problem that Dr Brentwell was trying to sort out, and were so engrossed that we didn't realise Dr Brentwell was standing there until he spoke. “Miss Collins, would you come back into my room please?” and then to the girl “Miss Martin, I'll only be five minutes more.”
She actually smiled at him and said “I'm fine now doctor.”
When I sat down back in his room, Dr Brentwell looked at me and said “That was a fine thing you did just now.”
I blushed of course and replied “You won't remember, but the first time I came here, I was just as scared as she is and a young woman came out of your room and gave me words of comfort and reassurance. I've never forgotten that, and today I got the opportunity to return the favour to someone else. What sort of a person would I be if I didn't do that?”
He smiled at me “You're wrong on one point, I do remember what happened that day and what a difference it made to you. Anyway, I have good news for you. I have access to some funds that can be used at my discretion in deserving cases. I've spoken to certain people, including the hospital where you are going, and you can have your surgery after all.”
I started crying, I couldn't help it. “Oh doctor, you don't know how much this means to me.”
“I think I have some idea.” he smiled. “The money will be transferred directly to the hospital for your medical care, and I presume you have enough for your personal expenses?”
“Oh yes doctor. Oh this is such a relief to me.” I suddenly had a thought “The young lady I was talking to...if it would be any help, I would be more than happy to act as a mentor to her...if you think I could do that and she agrees? I know what it's like to go through this process alone, and there were many times I wished I had someone to talk to about what was happening to me.”
Dr Brentwell smiled “I will mention it to her in the course of talking to her, her name's Michelle by the way, and I'll let you know if she is interested. In the meantime, off you go to Thailand, and I'll see you when you return.”
I left his room walked over to Michelle to tell her I was going for my surgery after all. I gave her an encouraging smile and a 'Good luck' as Dr Brentwell called her into his room. She smiled back and said “And good luck to you too....and thank you so much.” It was stupid I know, but I had tears in my eyes as I walked down the corridor to the lift.
I had already packed my suitcase before the burglary, but of course the contents had all been tipped over the room, so I set about packing it again. I hated the thought that my clothes had been touched by the burglar who presumably was looking for more items of value, but he would have found nothing there. Anyway there was no time to wash them again, so I just carefully folded them up again and soon I was all ready to go. Thank goodness my passport and plane ticket was in my handbag which I had with me. If they had been stolen I really would have been in a mess.
The following day found me at the airport, ready to board a flight to Bangkok. I'd never flown overseas before so this was very exciting. I had a letter from Dr Brentwell explaining that I was going to Thailand for SRS and that why I was dressed as a woman and didn't look quite the same as in my passport photo. I made sure that I had arrived at the airport with hours to spare in case there was any problems arising from this, and indeed they did refer me to one of the senior officers, but she had dealt with similar cases to mine before, and in no time my passport was stamped and I was sent on my way with an encouraging 'Good luck'.
The plane wasn't full, and I was pleased when the seat beside me was not filled. Economy Class is always very restricted in space, they don't call it 'Cattle Class' for nothing, so it was good to have the room to spread out a bit. As we headed north, my mind went back to an interview Dr Brentwell had arranged for me with Lindsay, one of his patients who had completed all her surgery about a year previously.
As he put it “I can tell you all that happens in theory, but it's better for you to talk to someone who has actually experienced the surgery.” I couldn't help thinking that this was a further test of whether I was totally committed to having surgery, since as he informed me, there were some women who were content not to fully transition.
Lindsay was a charming woman and not in the least given to dramatic descriptions, but she left me in no doubt that I should expect a number of days of severe discomfort.
“Was there ever a time after the surgery when you wished you hadn't gone through with it?” I asked.
“Not at all,” she replied. “I guess it might be likened to when a woman has a baby. At the time of giving birth it can be very painful, but when the baby is born then the memories of the pain are forgotten in the joy she feels. I think for me, knowing that I was now as complete a woman as is possible, made all the pain disappear into the background. In a sense I did feel reborn.”
I slept for part of the flight, had a couple of meals and watched a movie, and then the announcement came that we were landing in Bangkok. After clearing customs where they scarcely seemed to notice the difference in my passport photo, I proceeded into the arrivals hall and searched for the person who should be there to meet me. Finally I noticed a person of indeterminate gender holding a misspelled sign saying “Miss Colins” in large black letters.
I walked over and introduced myself “I am Miss Collins.” The person holding the sign, who I will now identify as 'she' for if not genetically female, she struck me as very effeminate in appearance and demeanor smiled and said “I am Chen, Miss Collins, very pleased to meet you. Please follow me. A car is outside.”
I followed her out of the arrivals hall and into the heat and humidity of Bangkok which struck me almost physically. I couldn't help hoping that the hotel and hospital were air-conditioned, and of course they were.
On arrival at the hotel I was shown to my room and Chen left me her phone number and asked me to call if I had any problems. I unpacked my suitcase, and not for the first time wished I had a companion with me, as I was feeling very alone. I slept fitfully that night, perhaps due to the hum of the air-conditioning or perhaps it was all the thoughts that were whirling around my head. I did finally drop off to sleep, and when I awoke it was already daylight. The room was provided with a hot water jug, tea and coffee, but no toaster, perhaps they are considered a fire hazard. I made myself a hot drink and used the small supply of margarine, Vegemite and marmalade I had brought along to spread on dry biscuits for breakfast. I determined to see if I could order some toast in the future, but that depended on when my surgery was to take place.
I had an appointment that morning with Dr K, a well-known surgeon in the field of SRS, and that went on for an hour and seemed to cover everything. His English was very good, much to my relief. He had studied medicine in England, and it seemed he had many patients from English-speaking countries where SRS is available but much more expensive than in Thailand. This applied particularly to the United States where I understand all medical expenses are very high. I was told that my surgery would take place in three day's time, and as arranged this would include breast augmentation as well as the SRS.
I returned to the hotel and prepared myself as much as possible for the surgery, including a trip to the local market to stock up on some extra food for when I returned to the hotel, although I knew this would most likely be around six days post surgery. Then it was matter of waiting for the 'big day'. I confess I felt nervous, but what person doesn't when they know they are about to have major surgery?
After fasting the previous night, I arrived at the hospital early on the day of the surgery, was shown to my ward, and went through all the usual pre-operative checks. Now that things were actually happening I felt a lot calmer. I had to hand my body over to the experts and just let them do their jobs. I was given a sedative which calmed me still further, and in due course the orderlies came for me and I was wheeled down corridors, into a lift, then along more corridors, all the while looking up at the lights flashing past which was rather disorientating. Soon I was in a room next to the operating theatre where I was given a blanket to keep me warm. Dr K arrived and checked me again, asked me what surgery I was to have, and gave me a few reassuring words. Then came the anaesthetist who asked if I have any allergies, but fortunately I have none. Thanks to the sedative I was almost dozing when I was wheeled into the operating theatre with its massive overhead lights, and shuffled across onto the table itself. I drew a deep breath, thinking to myself 'Well, this is it.' A drip was inserted into my arm and the last thing I remembered was a sensation of cool fluid flowing into a vein, and then..nothing.
The next thing I heard was a voice which seemed far away saying “She's coming round” and then a blurred face appeared above me and asked how I was. My mouth felt totally dry but I managed to mumble “Alright” which was manifestly far from how I felt. Over the next half hour or so I felt myself slowly returning to full consciousness. Dr K appeared and told me that everything had gone well. More observations were taken and after that I was wheeled back to my room. Feeling about gingerly, I identified bandages all around my genital area and also my breasts which appeared much enlarged but whether that was just the surgical dressings I could not tell. Feeling further down, I detected various tubes coming from my genital area. I had been warned that these were to provide drainage.
I would rather draw a veil over the next few days. I did not suffer great pain because I was given injections each time it got too hard to bear, but just being forced to lie on my back and do nothing made the days seem endless. There was a television screen and I was provided with a remote control, but most of the channels were not in English. I slept a lot of the time, although regular checks of my blood pressure and pulse made sure I did not remain asleep too long. Dr K called by briefly the day after the operation and again told me all had gone well, presumably thinking I might not have taken in what he said after the operation. A couple of days later he arrived again and this time examined his handiwork and pronounced himself happy. Even if I'd had a mirror, from my prone position and with all the bandages I would have seen nothing, so I was just happy to take his word for it.
On the third day I was started on juices and soups and tolerated them quite well after an initial bout of nausea. I could not help thinking that I must have lost a little weight with only intravenous feeding for three days and then a very restricted liquid diet. Every cloud has a silver lining! Gradually solids were introduced, and then on the sixth day I was told that the bandages would be removed, and I would finally be able to see for myself what the 'new me' looked like. I was warned that there would be swelling and bruising so not to expect too much, but that as time went on things would look a lot better. My depth was also checked and found to be six inches. Over the following days, I was taught to dilate myself with a stent, which I learned to do under the watchful eyes of the nurses. I also started to take baby steps around my room and eventually was able to shower myself which was bliss!
On the sixth day I was returned by ambulance to my room at the hotel where I would be visited several times a day by nurses from the hospital.
Time passed slowly, but now I was sitting up, and I had brought along a number of books to read, and also DVDs to watch, so all in all it was not too bad. I had been warned what things would be like, but of course the actual experience is a lot different to just hearing about it. Each day I had a regimen of dilations and also breast massages. I was very pleased with my new breasts which were a large B cup bordering on C which I found very satisfactory.
I was now allowed to leave my room and a few days later I ventured outside for the first time, but I felt it was necessary to take very small steps so I did not travel very far. Eventually I took a taxi to the local shops to stock up again on some delicacies, although by now my usual robust appetite was returning. Each day saw me feeling stronger and able to walk further, which was just as well as my time in Thailand was coming to an end.
I can understand why people who have to spend a long time in an environment where everything is done for them, tend to become 'institutionalized', and don't want to leave it and go back to the real world. However, I would be running out of money soon, and couldn't afford to extend my stay. Anyway, I was on annual leave and they were expecting me back at the lawyers' office.
There was another thing I had to consider. I had made up my mind before the dramas that preceded my trip that my new vagina was not for sale. Yes, I hoped to get the opportunity to 'road-test' it at some stage, but it would be on my own terms, not because someone had paid me. However,this meant a drop in my income, so I might have to consider getting another part-time job in the evenings. Then there was the question of should I keep living with Chloe? One of the other girls had moved in to keep her company while I was away, as she was still nervous about being on her own. Perhaps I should make a clean break and find somewhere else to live if I could find something I could afford.
I arrived back on a Saturday, and Chloe greeted me warmly. She had fully recovered, and the minor bruising she still had was easily disguised with makeup, so she was working again. It appeared that Cheryl, one of the genetic girls from the parlour who was staying with her was sleeping in her bed, so for the time being I thought I'd let things ride.
On Monday morning I was back at work, and everyone asked how I'd enjoyed my holiday, and of course I said I'd had a great time! When I'd recovered, I'd been out and about a bit in Bangkok, taking numerous photos to make up for the days when I couldn't do anything, so from the point of view of the other staff members, I had had an enjoyable holiday.
They asked me if I'd had a holiday romance, so I described meeting a doctor and my description of him was remarkably like my surgeon, Dr K, who I must admit I had rather fancied. They pressed me for further details, especially what he was like in bed, so I was deliberately vague but contrived to give the impression that it had all been very satisfactory. Fortunately, we had completed our chat and were hard at work when Miss Evans came into the office.
“Ah there you are Mandy, I trust you had a good holiday?” and without waiting for a reply she continued “Would you step into my office please?” I don't know about you, but every time I hear those words I always think the worst, and wondered what I'd done, or worse still, had she found out about me and was going to 'let me go' as it's euphemistically put nowadays? When I entered her office and took the chair she indicated, to my surprise she smiled at me.
“We've really missed you while you were away, and so have the partners. In fact they suggested to me that we offer you an increase in your salary so that you wouldn't be tempted to leave. However something else has happened. Jenny our senior clerk/typist has handed in her notice, so I suggested to the partners that we offer you her position, with of course, an increase in salary. How does (and here she mentioned a sum beyond my wildest dreams) sound?” For a moment I was stunned, but found my voice and trying not to sound too excited, replied.
“Thank you Miss Evans, I would be happy to accept, but what about the other typists? They've been here longer than me, won't they take it badly that I've been promoted above them?”
“I've already spoken to them and they are quite happy. As you know, they are all married women and just want to do their job and get home to their families. The position I'm offering you involves more responsibility and sometimes longer hours, and they don't want that. I trust you errr are not thinking of getting married any time soon?”
“No Miss Evans, I can guarantee that!”
“Good,” she said “Well I mustn't keep you from your work, it's piled up bit since you've been away.”
'Well I never,' I thought to myself 'That's pretty much solved my financial problems, and I didn't even have to ask for a raise!'
The following evening I had an appointment with Dr Brentwell to report back on my trip to Thailand and the surgery, although Dr K had told me he would be sending over a report. I was in a very happy mood when I arrived at Dr Brentwell's rooms and greeted his secretary with a smile. She must have seen quite a difference from the way I looked the last time she had seen me.
I only had a few minutes to wait when Dr Brentwell ushered me into his room. I sat in the big comfortable chair while he took the other one. He had a paper in his hand and as I suspected it was a report about my surgery.
“Well young lady, you are looking very cheerful,” he said “I see the surgery went off without a hitch. How are you feeling?”
“Very well doctor. I've just about completely healed up, but of course I'm still following the post-operative regimen I was given, and it's all going very well. In addition. I've been given a promotion at work, so I'll be able to repay you sooner than I thought.”
He smiled at me at said “There's no desperate rush for that, give yourself a little time to get back into work again. Now you will need to have regular check-ups for some months, and there is no real need for you to come here for those. You are free to chose your own doctor of course, but I've had very good reports from some of my patients about a Dr Merryn Taylor who has a practise only about ten minutes walk from her. You may even feel more comfortable seeing a woman doctor now.”
I smiled “Well if she comes with good recommendations, I will certainly go to see Dr Taylor and see how we get along.”
Then I changed the subject “That new patient of yours that I saw before leaving for Thailand, Michelle Martin, did you ask her if she'd like me to assist her?”
His face clouded “Yes I did, and she would be most grateful if you would do that. However I did have some bad news this morning. She's in hospital after being attacked by some teenage girls yesterday. Sometimes I wonder what the world is coming to.”
“That's terrible. What hospital is she in? Can I see her?”
“She's in the Mater, and yes I'm sure that would be alright.”
I left his rooms and hurried to the front of the building where I knew there was a constant stream of taxis picking up and dropping off patients, and sure enough I managed to secure a taxi in a few minutes. At the Mater I inquired where Michelle was, and managed to buy a small bunch of flowers from the Auxiliary shop.
A nurse in the ward directed me to the four-bed ward where she was. Two other women had visitors and the fourth bed next to Michelle was empty. Michelle had no visitors and her face lit up when she saw me.
“Mandy! I didn't know you were back. How did it all go? It's so good of you to come. I suppose Dr Brentwell told you what happened?” she said in a breathless rush.
“Only the bare facts.” I replied, speaking quietly, although the other visitors seemed engrossed with the people they were visiting. Michelle had a bruise on her cheek, a black eye and some scratch marks on her face.
“I was so stupid,” said Michelle quietly, “I was walking down an almost empty street and these three girls were walking towards me. I should never have made eye contact with them but I did. When they passed me I heard one say 'Get a load of that guy in a dress — what a freak.' I saw red and turned around and said “What did you say?” They stopped and walked back towards me and then suddenly they attacked me! I got such a shock. They were punching and scratching me, and it was only by good luck that some people came around the corner, and chased them off. I was on the ground then and crying, so they called an ambulance, and here I am.”
I took hold of her hand. "That is so awful, and girls too, it's hard to believe what's happening nowadays.”
“I think it looks worse than it is. The doctor said I can go home tomorrow.”
“Will you be on your own then?” I asked.
“Yes, I have a tiny bed-sit, but it's big enough for me. At least I have it for now, because I just lost my job so I don't know if I can afford to keep renting it. My life's a bit of a mess isn't it?” she tried to smile but looked almost as if she would burst into tears.
“Why don't you come and stay with me for a few days?” I said impulsively, “I share with another girl, but there are two bedrooms and I'm sure we could fit you in somewhere.”
“That is so kind of you.” Michelle said, and she brightened visibly.
“What happened to make you lose your job?” I asked.
“Well in order to transition, I have to live full-time as a woman for two years, well you know that. I was working in a call centre, so no-one ever saw me, so I went to see the man in charge. He'd always struck me as a bit of a 'ladies man' and he seemed ok about it.
The next day I turned up in a skirt and top. I deliberately kept it low key, nothing flashy, and only minimal make-up. All the girls were fine about it, so I thought 'Well this is ok'. Then Mr Grey asked me to come into his office. I thought nothing of it. He asked me to shut the door, and when I turned around again he'd unzipped his pants and had his thingy out. I was shocked, even more so when he told me to get on my knees. I said to him "You must be joking" and he said "It's no joke. How do you think some of those girls keep their job?”
I saw red and said “Well this is one girl who isn't going to do that to keep a job.” and he replied “Ok then, you're fired.” and that was that. I took my coat and bag and left.
“Good for you” I said and then I had a terrible thought. Here was a girl who was too principled to hand out sexual favours and I was inviting her to stay with Chloe and me!
I gulped and said “Michelle, there's something you need to know about me, and if you decide you don't want anything more to do with me, then I'll understand.”
She looked at me solemnly “Well this sounds serious, you'd better tell me what it's about.”
“The girl I live with, Chloe, well she's one of us, except she had no intention of transitioning. She works in a massage parlour, and,” I paused and then said in a rush “and the reason I met her is because I was working there part-time too to raise the money for my surgery. Ironically it was all stolen just before I was due to go to Thailand and if it hadn't been for Dr Brentwell and a source of funding he has, I wouldn't have had my surgery. That is what happened the day that I met you.”
I tried to read in her face what she was thinking, but I couldn't as I went on, tears streaming down my cheeks “I'm so ashamed, especially when I heard how you were prepared to leave a job because you have principles. I, I guess I just blew our friendship.”
I made to get up and leave, but Michelle said urgently “Stay.” Some of the visitors looked across at us, and then turned back again to their relatives. I did as I was told.
“So, are you going back to the parlour?” she asked.
“Oh no!” I replied “I'm not for sale any more, and I intend to pay back Dr Brentwell so someone else can be assisted like I was.”
Michelle smiled “We've all done things we wish we hadn't. Mandy, I would be very happy to take up your offer and stay with you for a few days — that is if you still want me to?”
“Oh yes!” I cried as I took her hand once more. I felt like a great load had been lifted off my shoulders. It occurred to me that in coming to see her, and indeed with my offer of being a mentor, I was making myself out to be superior to her, but now with my confession and her forgiveness we were on an equal footing, and it I'm sure that boosted Michelle's confidence, so all in all it had turned out very well.
The following day was a Saturday, so I turned up at the usual discharge time of ten o'clock to collect Michelle. She was out of bed and dressed, waiting for the doctor to finally give her the 'ok' to leave, and as so often happens, he was caught up somewhere, so it was another hour before we were finally able to leave the hospital.
I drove us to her 'bed-sit' so that she could pick up some clothes, make-up and toiletries. It was indeed a very small unit of the 'no room to swing a cat' variety, but she had everything laid out very neatly, unlike me I must confess.
We drove to the apartment I shared with Chloe. Chloe had already been told about Michelle and how she would stay in my room for a few days. She raised her eyebrows slightly at that, but I thought 'Let her think what she likes.' I promised that I would be responsible for the extra costs involved. Chloe was home when we arrived and greeted us politely. I showed Michelle my room which was about as big as her tiny 'bed-sit'. I had purchased a 'camp bed' which could be folded away, and insisted that I would be the one to sleep on it. There was a minor tussle about this, but we finally agreed that we would alternate beds every day.
After a couple of weeks, with us settling in very happily together, after checking with Chloe, I suggested to Michelle that she leave her 'bedsit' and move in with us on a permanent basis, and since she was almost out of money she was happy to do this.
Michelle needed a job, now that she had left the call centre, and for a moment I considered inquiring about a possible position where I worked, but only for a moment. Michelle was not yet totally convincing, so they would have to know all about her, and then they would be wondering how I'd come to know her, and of course I had never told Miss Evans about my gender status when I first started working there. Was I being selfish and thinking only of myself? I knew Michelle would never consider working in the massage parlour so I didn't even mention it. In the end she found a position in another call centre, one where they accepted her for who she was. Personally I couldn't think of a worse job, but I suppose 'beggars can't be choosers'.
I suppose it should have occurred to me that the pay at a call centre is not great and that Michelle might have looked to some other means of boosting her income in preparation for her surgery, in much the same way as I had. Even if I had, Michelle's apparent high moral values would never have made me suspect what she was actually doing. It just goes to show that although we think we know people, sometimes we don't really know them at all. Later I even wondered if that story she told me about the teenage girls attacking her was true.
One evening I came home from work and found Michelle already at home. One look at her face and I could tell that something was badly wrong, but initially I had no idea just how bad it was. She looked about as scared as the first time I had met her in Dr Brentwell's rooms, as she sat in a chair literally trembling..
“What's wrong Michelle?” I asked.
“Oh I am in the deepest trouble.” she said, and her voice shook.
“Here, sit down and I'll make some tea and you can tell me all about it.” I said.
The story she had to tell was almost unbelievable, but one look at her face and I could tell she was deadly serious. Some weeks previously, so she told me, she had arranged to go to the cinema with a girlfriend, and when the friend didn't turn up, she had gone to a bar alone for a drink. She had got into a conversation with a man there who seemed pleasant enough. They had both got a little drunk, and the man Harry, had told her how he made easy money providing party-goers with some special pills that made their evenings even more enjoyable. He insisted they weren't drugs as such, just stimulants. He explained how he was always on the look-out for attractive girls to help him sell his merchandise and thought Michelle was ideal for the task.
As Michelle's story unfolded, certainly things started to fall into place. Some evenings, she had come home very late and even seemed a little disorientated although not apparently drunk. My suspicions weren't aroused. After all, this was a girl with high moral values and the thought of drugs never entered my head.
After I had listened to her story for while, I gently brought her back to the present.
“So what is the trouble you are in?” I asked.
It seemed that she was supplied with some of the drugs on credit, and as she became more experienced and sold more, so the amount of drugs supplied to her had grown. However two nights previously she was at a bar, doing her usual discrete trading when it seemed her drink was spiked. She woke up to find her handbag gone and all the pills and cash with it. When she tried to explain to Harry her supplier, he suddenly stopped being 'Mr Nice Guy'. He wasn't the 'Mr Big' of the operation of course, but he was accountable to him, and the net result was that Michelle needed to come up with $20,000 in two days, or 'bad things would happen' to her.
“How can I come up with that sort of money?” she wailed.
“Surely you have some savings?” I asked, but it seemed she hadn't. She'd done something even worse than selling the drugs, she'd sometimes taken them herself, so a lot of the money she'd been making from selling them had been going back to the supplier.
“Can't you ask for more time to pay?” I said.
“You don't know these people,” she replied, ”They aren't exactly patient types and when they say 'bad things will happen' they mean it. I hate to ask this Mandy, but can you lend me some money? I need to go away for a while, somewhere they can't find me.”
I wasn't that well off myself as I was doing my best to repay the money I owed to Dr Brentwell and my mysterious benefactor, but I said “I can loan you two thousand dollars but that's all I have.” This wasn't strictly true, but I had a feeling I'd never see the money again and perhaps not Michelle either, so I wasn't going to give her all that I had, but at least enough for a head start. I certainly didn't have the $20,000 she needed.
“Oh thank you Mandy, that is so sweet of you.” and she got up to give me a hug.
'Mandy the mug' I thought to myself but out loud I said “But what about your treatment?”
“It will have to go on hold for a while.” she said. “If I don't get away within the next two days I mightn't be around to have it anyway.” That sounded like a particularly chilling remark. Who were these people she had got herself involved with?
The following day I drew two thousand dollars in cash from the bank, knowing I was almost certainly kissing it goodbye, but still feeling a certain responsibility for Michelle. After all I had offered to help her, just not in the way I was called up to do now. She thanked me profusely when I handed it over.
“Is anyone likely to come here looking for you?” I asked.
“I've never told them where I live” she replied.
“Well, don't tell me where you're going.” I said “If I don't know I can say so, truthfully.”
The next day when I came home from work, she had gone. There was just a note say
“Dear Mandy,
Thank you so much. I promise to repay you when I can.
Love,
Michelle.
So it seemed that was that. Life went on as normal, and there was no word from Michelle, and I was glad of that..
It was two weeks later that I saw a small paragraph in the newspaper headed
“Bizarre drowning in Sydney Harbour”
'A Brisbane man Michael Martin has drowned in Sydney Harbour. Local police said they thought he had been to a fancy dress party since he was dressed as a woman. The most likely scenario was that he was drunk, went for a walk beside the harbour and somehow had fallen in.'
A chill ran through my body. One thing I did know about Michelle was that she was a good swimmer. Ok, she might have been drunk, but surely she could have scrambled to shore? No, there was more to this than met the eye, I felt sure of it. Then a thought struck me — would the police be contacting me about it?
As it turned out, the police were not the first to call. Late that night the telephone rang and I answered it. It may seem strange to say that a voice can send shivers through your body but this one did.
“Miss Collins? Miss Mandy Collins?” he enquired.
“Err, yes.” I replied, wondering if I was doing the right thing.
“Miss Collins, I wonder if you've read the newspaper today? A friend of yours drowned in Sydney Harbour, most unfortunate. I understand you loaned him some money. Can you tell me why you did that?”
“She, er he said he needed to go away and didn't have any money.”
“And did he explain why he needed to go away?” I realised my answer to this question was critical.
“No he didn't, he just said he needed a holiday.” I replied.
The voice chuckled “And that is what you will tell the police if they contact you?”
“Of course.” I replied “It's the truth.”
That chuckle again “Yes indeed it is Miss Collins, and it always pays to tell the truth don't you think? By the way, how good are you at swimming?”
“Err, not very good.” I replied and this was certainly not the truth.
The chuckle had turned into a laugh now. “Very good Miss Collins. Well, if you stick to your story, there's no need to find out how well you do swim.” he said, and I suppose this was the nearest thing to a threat in the whole conversation, but it would never stand up in court if I had been stupid enough to put myself in that position. “Anyway, why don't you watch the television news tomorrow night?” On that enigmatic note he hung up, leaving me shaking.
During our conversation it did occur to me to wonder how he had found me so easily, but it was not the sort of question to ask in the circumstances. Perhaps Michelle had told him everything in the vain hope it would save her life? If his intention was to put the fear of God into me, he had succeeded. I would be telling the police exactly what I told him I would say.
'Poor Michelle' I thought, and I wondered just how much of what she had told me was the truth. Perhaps she had already been selling drugs when I first met her.
After a sleepless night, I felt so bad the following morning that I rang in sick, and that was a bad move as it turned out. I did watch the evening news as 'the voice' suggested, and one story featured a dapper smiling gentleman in a shiny suit and a loud tie, walking down the steps of the local courthouse with his lawyer to face a pack of waiting media.
The anchorman read the accompanying story of how ''colourful racing identity' Jack Fogarty walks free from court when all charges against him were dropped after the chief prosecution witness refused to give evidence.'
It was when Jack Fogarty started to answer the reporters' questions that my blood ran cold. I knew that voice only too well, the same one that had spoken to me on the telephone the previous night. I later read about Jack Fogarty's nickname “Mr Teflon” because charges against him never seemed to stick.
The next morning I went to work. If the police contacted me, I knew exactly what I was going to say and it certainly wasn't that Michelle owed money to Jack Fogarty. The other women in the office greeted me and asked me if I was better and I said I was. I'd hardly had time to sit down before my desk telephone rang, and it was Miss Evans.
“Mandy, would you mind stepping into my office please?” In the circumstances that request had an ominous ring to it, but whatever was to come, I couldn't avoid it, so I stopped what I was doing and went to her office and knocked on the door.
When I entered I was surprised to see she was not alone. There was a devastatingly handsome man, probably in his early forties who had obviously been discussing something with her. He made as if to leave, but Miss Evans said “Take a seat Mandy. Would you mind staying Mr Thompson?” Then looking at me she said “Mandy, this is Mr Thompson, one of the partners.”
“Greg Thompson” he said with a smile that made me go weak at the knees. “I've just returned from six months overseas.” So that was why I hadn't seen him before. He was not sort of man a woman would easily forget. You've heard of that term 'instant chemistry' before? It usually refers to film stars on the screen, but this was it in real life. I knew it, he knew it, and I didn't doubt that Miss Evans sensed it too. When she spoke again it was like a cold shower coming from nowhere on a sunny day.
“Mandy, the police were here yesterday. They wanted to speak to you in relation to the drowning death in Sydney of a young man called Michael Martin.”
I'm sure I turned white, I certainly started to tremble. I should have been in the office yesterday, maybe I could have kept it private, but it was too late for that now.
“Do you want to tell us what your connection is with Mr Martin? The police said something about him being a transvestite and they believed he was staying with you until recently.”
I drew a deep breath. I remembered that old Sir Walter Scott quotation
'Oh what a tangled web we weave,
When first we practice to deceive.'
There was nothing for it but to make a clean breast of things, so I told them everything. I explained that Michael, or Michelle wasn't a transvestite but was transgendered as indeed I had been, and also how we had first met at the specialist's rooms. I noticed their eyebrows rise a little at that revelation. I told them how my trip to Thailand hadn't been for a holiday, but so that I could have sexual reassignment surgery.
Throughout the story I found myself unconsciously referring to Michael and then Michelle, and 'he' and 'she'. Finally I told them about Michelle and the drug money and how Jack Fogarty had rung me, so in order to keep living I fully intended to perjure myself and lie to the police about what I knew of Michelle's reason for leaving Brisbane. Finally I said to Miss Evans that I was so sorry I had deceived her about my gender status when I applied for the job, but I truly believed it did not affect my ability to do the job. I knew that thanks to the tabloid press, some people felt that transgendered people had mental issues, and I really needed a job, so I felt I couldn't take the risk.
That last sentence came out in a rush, and when I stopped talking I felt that the silence was deafening, so I filled it by saying that I realised that in the circumstances I had to tender my resignation, and I hoped that any publicity didn't reflect badly on the practice because I had really enjoyed my time working there.
It was Greg Thompson who broke the silence. “Well Miss Collins, that is an interesting story. I suggest you go and make yourself a cup of tea while Miss Evans and I discuss what is to be done.” For a moment I allowed myself to see a glimmer of hope, although in reality I didn't see how there could possibly be one, so I did as they asked and went to make myself a cup of tea. The other women in the tea room knew something had happened, but were kind enough not to press me about it.
Ten minutes later the telephone in the tea room rang. One of the other women answered it and held it out to me. It was Greg Thompson.
“Would you come back to Miss Evans' office please Miss Collins?”
I duly walked back to her office, feeling like I was walking to the gallows. I knocked on the door, entered, and took a seat as requested. It was Greg Thompson who did the talking. I supposed as a partner in the company, it was his decision anyway.
“Miss Evans and I have discussed what you have told us. First let me say that we were impressed with your honesty and explanation of all that has happened. It seems to us that Mr, err Miss Martin brought her problems down upon herself and that your only fault, if fault it is, was in trying to help her. As far as the police are concerned, if they wish to interview you, I am happy to be your legal representative and I suggest you tell them the bare minimum, namely that Mr Martin told you he was in trouble and asked for a loan so that he could leave Brisbane. If they press you for more details, as your legal counsel I will advise you to make no further comment.
“Miss Evans has spoken to me in glowing terms of your application and efficiency in your work so I hope you will reconsider your offer to resign, and continue to give us the good service you have provided in the past.”
I felt rather overwhelmed at all this, and when Miss Evans chimed in with “I agree with all that Mr Thompson has said Mandy, and I hope you will stay with us.” I felt the tears starting in my eyes and was barely able to stammer. “Thank you, oh thank you so much, both of you.”
“Perhaps you would like to take the rest of the day off? It has been rather stressful.”
“Thank you Mr Thompson, Miss Evans, but I would rather stay and get back to work, I think that would be the best medicine for me at this time.”
The police did come back the next day, and seemed a little intimidated to face me sitting next to an eminent QC. I told them the bare minimum as Greg Thompson had advised me, and they seemed satisfied with that and left.
You may wonder why I am prepared to write this down now even though it is years later. While the police never managed to convict Jack Fogarty of any crime, apparently someone else took a more direct approach because his body was found floating in the Brisbane River a few years later. It seemed he was the victim of a turf war which had turned particularly ugly. I could hardly feel any sympathy for him, and it even seemed poetic justice that he too had ended up in the water. I think Michelle would have appreciated that.
I settled back into work, but I confess I spent more time than I should have thinking about Greg Thompson. I was careful not to show interest in him, but the other women did chatter, and I discovered that he was married to the daughter of Albert Baker, one of the original partners, now long retired after a distinguished career as a judge. There was also the suggestion that he had an eye for the ladies, and one of the married woman remarked “He can park his slippers under my bed any time he likes.”
'Hmmm, mine too,' I said to myself.
In the following weeks, Greg came into the office area once or twice about some case or other, but he paid no particular attention to me, and I came to the conclusion that the 'chemistry' I had felt that first day I met him was all in my imagination.
Another week passed, and one day I stayed back in the office to finish off some urgent work, for one of Greg's cases as it turned out, and when I walked through the front door of the building to head for the bus stop I discovered to my dismay that it was pouring with rain, and I had no coat or umbrella with me. I huddled by the door, peering at the sky, hoping the rain might ease soon, when the door opened behind me and a voice said “I hope you're not planning to make a dash for it — you'll get soaked.”
It was Greg Thompson and I knew I was blushing with pleasure at seeing him.
“I tell you what, my car is parked in the basement — why don't I run you home?”
“Oh that's very kind of you but I couldn't possibly...”
“Nonsense,” he interrupted “It would be my pleasure.”
We took the lift down to the basement car park. There was only one car left there — a shiny new model Mercedes. He opened the front passenger door and I sat down, swiveling into the seat, my legs together in the approved ladylike fashion, sinking into the soft leather, and inhaling that 'new car' smell. Greg sat in the driver's seat and grinned at me.
“New car,” he said “I like to turn them over every two years before they depreciate too much.”
“It's lovely,” I murmured “So comfortable. I've never had a car, let alone a new one.”
“I tell you what — since you've stayed back to finish off that file for me, why don't we go for a drink somewhere?” Greg said as he started to drive out of the car park.
“I'd like that.” I replied. I knew I was blushing again, but hopefully he was concentrating on his driving and wouldn't notice. We reached the street and I noticed that the rain had stopped as suddenly as it had begun, leaving the streets shining with the reflections of lights. I half expected Greg to say now that the rain had stopped he would drop me at the bus stop, but he didn't.
Instead he said “I don't know about you, but I skipped lunch and I'm positively ravenous. How about a meal as well as a drink?”
I had missed lunch too, and I wondered if he had heard my stomach rumbling but was too polite to say so?
“That would be lovely.” I replied, wondering if I was starting to sound like a broken record.
“Good.” said Greg as he drove on with apparent purpose. When we stopped at some traffic lights he punched a number into his hands-free car phone.
“Ciao Georgio,” he said “Posso ordinare un tavolo per due? About ten minutes? Grazie mille.”
I was greatly impressed. “You speak Italian?” I asked
Greg laughed “Just about enough to order a table at a restaurant.”
A few minutes later he swung the car into the forecourt of one of Brisbane's top hotels. This time it was one of the hotel staff who opened the door for me, and I again performed the maneuver to alight in a lady-like manner. Meantime, Greg walked around from the driver's side and handed over the car keys to the valet, saying we'd be about two hours.
We walked into the hotel foyer, and it was like entering a palace. I'd never seen such an impressive building. Without hesitation, Greg steered me towards the lift and punched the first floor button. At the entrance to the restaurant we were met by Georgio himself who smiled and greeted us warmly. He led the way to a table by the window overlooking the city lights, held the chair for me to sit and placed a snowy-white linen table napkin on my lap before producing two copies of the menu. I noticed that mine did not mention the price of any of the dishes. I looked at it feeling rather overwhelmed. Greg noticed this and came to my rescue.
“Do you fancy meat, fish or poultry?” he asked kindly.
“Err meat, steak I think.” I answered.
“In that case may I suggest the filet mignon? They do a particularly good one here.”
I gratefully went along with his suggestion, and he ordered one for himself too. In the meantime the sommelier arrived (I learned later that that was what he was called) to discuss wine with Greg, After some discussion he disappeared and returned with a bottle of French Cabernet Sauvignon and poured a little into Greg's glass for tasting. The wine receiving approval, he then half-filled my glass and then Greg's. All this I watched with fascination. I had drunk wine before of course, but never had I seen it delivered with such ceremony, and I guessed correctly that this was not your average red wine. I took a cautious sip, and even my uneducated palate could tell that this was something special.
Greg smiled “I can see that you are enjoying it.”
“Oh yes!” I replied.
The fillet mignon when it arrived was amazing. It almost melted on the tongue. I ate slowly, savouring every mouthful. Meanwhile a trio of piano, bass and drums had set up on a tiny stage in the corner of the restaurant and started to play softly. After we had finished our main course, Greg asked if I would like to dance.
“I err haven't had much experience,” I said. The truth was I'd had no experience of dancing and knew that as a woman I would have to move backwards and I was afraid I'd make a fool of myself.
“No problem,” he said “I'll teach you.”
In fact we started to shuffle slowly around a very small dance floor which we shared with two other couples, so there was no danger of me falling over. When a man is dancing and is aroused, he has two options — either to keep the woman at arms length where she can't feel him, or hold her close where she most certainly can detect what is happening. Greg chose the later option. The effect of course was to arouse me too, but with a woman the most obvious sign is usually hardening of her nipples and this is what happened to me. Since Greg was holding me very close now, I was sure he was quite aware of my response. We continued to shuffle around the dance floor, enjoying each other's responses very much.
After the dance we returned to the table and decided to forgo desert and just have a coffee. By now I knew that if Greg didn't somehow take me to bed that evening I would be very disappointed. As men should, he took the initiative, as well as my hand which I had conveniently left lying on the table within easy reach.
“I'm staying here overnight as I have an early start in the morning. Perhaps you'd like to see the lights from the tenth floor? They really are quite amazing.” Of course I would, so after Greg had signed a chit that the waiter brought, we walked hand in hand to the lift which quickly took us to the eighth floor. I was hoping, indeed expecting him to kiss me in the lift, but another couple got in and went with us to the seventh floor.
When we reached Greg's room, he swiped the card in the door and opened it, allowing me to walk in. The room was dimly lit by a single lamp, and was dominated by a queen-size bed. I walked over to the window to view the panorama of lights which was truly amazing, and a moment later I felt Greg's arms around my body and his lips nuzzling my neck. His hands gently massaged my breasts and touched my nipples which were once again hard. I slowly turned and he held me against his body and we started to kiss. I could truly say that my body melted against his hard masculine body — well that's what it felt like. I could feel his arousal and I move my thighs against it. Then we slowly started to undress each other.
I have always worn pretty lingerie. Perhaps it's a left-over from my pre-transition days, but wearing something soft and silky against my skin, even when no-one can see it makes me feel feminine and sexy. I saw in Greg's eyes his appreciation as he helped me off with my skirt and blouse. I've also always preferred to wear stockings rather than pantyhose, and this I knew from my days at the massage parlour was certainly appreciated by men.
When we were both totally naked I looked at Greg. He resembled a Greek statue with his magnificent body, except I've never seen a Greek statue with that degree of arousal! I watched his eyes as they caressed my body, and knew he loved what he saw. He took my hand and led me to the bed. I had not been with a man since my trip to Thailand, since I was determined that when it happened it would be a man of my own choosing, and there was no doubt that Greg was the man I was happy to choose. When he entered me and I arched my body to receive him fully, I knew that all the work, pain and cost of transitioning had been worthwhile. I have experienced orgasms before, but nothing like this one. It left me shaking with a pleasure so intense it was almost painful. Greg's orgasm seemed to match my own judging by his shuddering climax and his loud moans. We lay together for a while, both gasping for breath, our hearts pounding. Now I truly knew what it felt like to be a woman, and I smiled.
Greg said “How good was it for you?”
“Good comes nowhere near describing it,” I replied. “It was my first time, and I never guessed how good it would be. That's thanks to you of course” and I turned to him and kissed him. He looked very pleased, and even more so when shortly afterwards I set to work arousing him again. Once was certainly not enough for me!
This time Greg lay on his back and I straddled him, lowing myself onto him and watching the look of pleasure on his face as I did so. We took things more slowly this time, both enjoying the delights of our love-making, and leading once more to a shattering climax.
Some time later, I reluctantly said that I had better be getting home and let Greg get some sleep. He didn't argue with me, although I half hoped he would. I went into the bathroom and had a shower. When I came out, I assembled my clothes which were scattered about the room. It's strange but suddenly I felt rather embarrassed about dressing in front of Greg. He seemed to sense this because he went into the bathroom and took some time, so I was fully dressed by the time he emerged, a towel wrapped around his torso.
“I'll ring for a taxi.” I said, and was told it would be there in about ten minutes.
I walked up to Greg and kissed him. “Thank you for a wonderful evening. It meant so much to me,” I said.
“It's I who should thank you,” he replied “I haven't felt like that in a long time.”
I left the room and took the lift down to the foyer. I didn't really feel embarrassed leaving the hotel at that hour. I'm sure hotel staff see women do that quite frequently. There was a difference of course — I hadn't been paid for what I'd been doing, indeed I paid for the taxi myself. I was glad Greg hadn't offered me any money for the taxi fare — I would have been quite embarrassed if he had.
I don't know what you must think of this confession. After all Greg was married, and I suppose you could say his was the greater fault, but I had certainly encouraged him and it was not to repay him for saving my job. The plain truth was that I had lusted after his body from the moment I first saw him, and now that I had tasted its delights I knew that I would not be satisfied until I was with him again.
I was back at work the next morning, but I didn't see Greg for several days, and when I did we were back to 'Mr Thompson' and 'Miss Collins' of course. While I certainly hoped that we might have time together again, I wanted to keep it a secret from the rest of the staff if possible. I certainly wasn't going to be the one to ask Greg if we could meet again. I didn't even know if our night together was a 'one off', or even if he had seen it as a repayment for saving my job.
I heard nothing from Greg for two weeks, and had reluctantly come to the conclusion that our encounter was in fact a 'one off', and then he telephoned me at home.
“I wondered if you are free this coming weekend?” he said. I had tentatively agreed to meet up with some friends, but the thought of more time with Greg obviously took priority over that.
“Yes I am,” I replied.
“Excellent. Perhaps I could pick you up at home? That way you don't need to bring a bag to work.”
“Could you tell me what sort of a weekend it is, so that I know what to pack?” I asked.
“It's a small country resort,” he replied “They have a very nice restaurant so perhaps something suitable to wear for dinner, and we can go for some country walks too.”
He didn't say so, but I suspected there would be a fair amount of time spent in bed as well, but I was all for that. It was the perfect excuse to buy some new French lingerie, not that I ever needed an excuse. I'd had my eye on a gorgeous Charnos silk nightdress, so that was on my shopping list too, and I also bought a new dress which would be suitable to wear to dinner. I had given Greg my address and warned him about Chloe just in case they met, and it was agreed that he would call for me at six o'clock Friday evening. I was very excited at the thought of spending more time with Greg — a whole two nights this time. I didn't ask how he was able to get a free weekend in order to meet me, that was his business not mine. No doubt your opinion of me has fallen, but after all, I wasn't the married one.
I packed everything the previous night, left work on time and I was ready and waiting for the door bell to ring, but gave it thirty seconds before answering so that I didn't seem too eager! Greg greeted me with a kiss, picked up my small suitcase and put it in the boot of his car before opening the door for me. I sank into the luxurious soft leather again and prepared to enjoy the weekend. It did cross my mind to wonder if a weekend away on an occasional basis was to be our relationship, or whether I was in fact going to become his mistress and see him regularly. However, I was too smart to ask that question. I was sure I would find out in good time, and meantime I would enjoy the pleasures that going out with a rich and virile man provided.
We drove for about an hour into the countryside. I had no idea where we were going, but eventually, we turned into a dirt road and after about five minutes drew up outside a building which I took to be the main part of the property. Greg had told me that we would be staying in one of the cottages on the estate, but of course we had to sign in first. This Greg did while I waited in the car, wondering if we were 'Mr and Mrs Smith' and giggling to myself at the thought. Then we drove about 100 metres to our unit, a charming cottage furnished in an old-fashioned styling, with a lounge/dining room, a bedroom, small kitchenette and bathroom.
Greg hadn't booked for dinner, but a small supper was provided in the refrigerator, so after unpacking, we opened a bottle of champagne and had our meal of salad and cold meats. With the dishes stacked in the sink, we snuggled up together on the couch and watched some television, although it wasn't too long before our attention was diverted elsewhere. I was thrilled to see that my presence aroused him once again, and indeed he wasn't the only one feeling that way! Before long we walked into the bedroom and began the enjoyable task of undressing each other. Our love-making was just as intense as on the first occasion, and of course this time there was the added bonus that we would be spending two full nights together.
We awoke to a sunny morning and a polite knock on the door to tell us that the breakfast tray had arrived. Greg got out of bed and put on one of the dressing gowns provided before going to the door and returning with a large tray which he placed on the table. I put on the other dressing gown as Greg removed the two plate covers revealing fried eggs, bacon, tomato and sausage. Plenty of toast was provided, and a jug of coffee and milk. We set to immediately — making love can be hungry work, especially the way we did it!
When every last piece of toast and every last drop of coffee was consumed then it was time for a shower. The shower was quite large and the obvious thing to do was shower together and save water! We didn't really achieve this since the act of soaping every inch of a lover's body can be very erotic, and it wasn't long before Greg lifted my body with his powerful arms and lowered me onto his manhood. I put my arms around his neck to assist him in holding me, but he was incredibly strong and didn't seem to have a problem in that regard. It was not long before we both reached another shuddering climax, after which we carefully disengaged and completed our ablutions. That was the first time I had made love in a shower, and I hoped it wouldn't be the last.
After our shower we got dressed. This was the first time Greg had seen me in jeans and boots but we did plan to have a walk around the property and it was a bit muddy, definitely not high heel country! We wandered around hand in hand and I confess I was in seventh heaven just being with Greg. He was the sort of man any woman would give their eye teeth to have, and I confess I never once gave a thought to his wife.
That evening we showered again, (separately this time!). I went first because it always takes women longer to get ready. While Greg showered, I dressed in my new pretty black lingerie and my new dress as we were to have dinner in the restaurant. The owner was a well-known chef and we were promised an exceptional meal. By the time Greg came out of the shower, I was fully dressed and had done my makeup.
He looked at me and drew a deep breath and said “Wow!” What woman doesn't like to hear appreciation like that? I could well have said the same of him as he stood there in all his naked glory. I was very tempted to say “Forget about dinner”, but it was already booked and promised to be something special, and anyway we had all night to be together. It didn't take Greg long to dress, and then hand in hand we walked up to the restaurant.
The chef didn't disappoint. The meal was delicious and I was getting to appreciate 'haute cuisine'. When we had reached coffee, Greg took my hand and looked earnestly at me. He seemed a little nervous which wasn't like him at all.
“I'd like to put a proposal to you.” he started, and I felt my heart skip a beat. Surely he wasn't going to say he wanted to leave his wife for me? I really didn't want to hear that.
“I own a one-bedroom apartment in Sandgate, overlooking the sea. It's currently rented, but the young couple are moving out next week. I wondered if you would be interested in living there?”
As it happened, I did want to leave the apartment I was sharing with Chloe. She was a good friend, but I wanted to make a break with my past and it was still there as long as I was sharing with her. I sensed a problem though.
“It sounds lovely Greg, but I don't think I could afford the rent in an area like Sandgate.”
He smiled “I wasn't going to ask you to pay rent. Call it a non-taxable bonus if you like.”
That really was a surprise. Effectively Greg was asking me to be his mistress, and a rent-free apartment was the equivalent of a 30-40% pay rise. In return for entertaining Greg which I would have gladly done for nothing, I would have a new place to live. How could I refuse?
“That's very generous of you Greg. I did want to move to a new apartment and it sounds perfect.”
“Good! That's settled then. We'll go and see it next week. I'll get it thoroughly cleaned before you move in of course, and it's fully furnished, but you may want to add some things of your own.”
This was more than I could have imagined or wished for. Rich and powerful men have had mistresses from time immemorial. I suppose it originated from the times when marriages were arranged as alliances between powerful families, to preserve or gain fortunes. While the couple 'did the right thing' and produced some heirs, the men would often seek partners of their own choosing to whom they were attracted. Their wives usually knew but chose to ignore what was going on, and they of course were not allowed to choose lovers for themselves. I wondered about Greg's wife. Did she know about his mistresses (I didn't think for a moment I was the first)? If so, she must chose to turn a blind eye.
After we finished our dinner, we walked back to the unit. I had a surprise for Greg. I undressed and went into the bathroom to remove my make-up, and when I re-appeared I was wearing my new Charnos silk nightgown in a deep plum colour.
Greg whistled softly. “My God, you're beautiful.” he murmured. He took me in his arms and we kissed deeply. In no time we were in bed together and making long slow love. I admit I wished the night would last for ever. Greg was a magnificent lover, strong and dominant but also gentle and thoughtful. I was in seventh heaven.
We had a late check-out the next morning for which we were both grateful. The previous night I had tested the limits of Greg's stamina and was pleased when eventually it was I who had to call 'Enough!' As a result we slept late, not waking until the discreet knock on the door to announce the delivery of breakfast. After breakfast we could not resist the last chance to make love before we had to shower, dress and leave the room.
Greg dropped me off at my apartment and we had one final lingering kiss before he drove home. Nothing had been said but I presumed that his wife and children were away for the weekend.
Towards the end of the following week, Greg drove me to Sandgate so that I could view his apartment. It was located on the first floor of a small block of four, and looked out over the sea. The furniture was modern and the young couple who had just vacated it had obviously taken care of the apartment and its contents, so I imagined little needed to be done to make it ready for me to move in. I had spoken to Chloe about my intention to move out, and to my relief she was not offended. I think she understood my desire to draw a line under my previous life when I worked at the parlour. They had a new transgendered girl working there now and she was looking for somewhere to live, so it all worked out well for everyone concerned. I said to Chloe that I hoped we would remain friends. She was a really nice person, but her lifestyle was not mine.
I moved into the apartment a week later. I really had no furniture of my own, just the camp bed I had bought when Michelle stayed with me, and which I brought along in case anyone came to stay who would not be sharing my bed. I had a few nick-knacks of my own and wanted to put my own stamp on the apartment, including rearranging some of the furniture, but it was here I came up against a problem. Like many others, in transitioning I had lost male body strength and there was no way I could shift some of the larger pieces. Then I had an idea. I had noticed a rather handsome young man entering the ground floor apartment below mine, the day Greg showed me the apartment, and thought that by using my 'feminine wiles', I could surely get him to help me move things around.
I checked and saw that there was a car in his space, so he had to be home, so I went downstairs and knocked on the door. There was no answer, so I knocked louder and this time I heard a voice call out “Just a minute.”
The door opened shortly afterwards and there was the handsome young man, with bare feet, wearing shorts and a tee shirt and looking rather hot as though he had just been exercising.
“Hello. I'm Mandy from upstairs. I was wondering if you could possibly spare some time to help me move some furniture?”
“Oh, hello Mandy, I'm Michael. You'd better come in.” he replied.
I followed him into the apartment, and the first thing that struck me was how neat and tidy it was, nothing like a typical 'bachelor pad'. There was even a vase of flowers on the table. Then I noticed the sound of the shower running and then stopping. So he was not alone. 'Oh dear' I thought 'I could get him in trouble here, some girlfriends are so jealous'. It turned out I was completely wrong. A few seconds later the door to the bedroom opened and another handsome young man came out, wearing nothing but a towel around his midriff. He stopped when he saw me, but didn't seem particularly perturbed.
“James, this is Mandy from the upstairs apartment.” said Michael, and he did seem a little embarrassed.
“Hi James. I just came to ask for some help moving furniture. I'm sorry if I came at a bad time.”
“It's not a problem. Just give me a minute to get dressed.” said James, disappearing back into the bedroom. He was as good as his word and was back very promptly, dressed in similar shorts and tee shirt to Michael.
Michael said “Actually, do you mind waiting a few minutes for me to have a shower too? We've been out exercising and I'm rather sweaty.”
“Not at all.” I replied, “If you are kind enough to help me with the furniture, I am more than happy to wait.” So now Michael disappeared into the bedroom. It was all too obvious that 'feminine wiles' wouldn't cut it in this household, but that didn't seem to matter. Judging by the glimpse I'd just had of a rather crumpled bed, I was willing to bet that their exercise hadn't been just confined to outdoors, but who was I to criticise alternative lifestyles?
Meanwhile James, who seemed the more assertive of the two, chatted with me while we waited for Michael.
“This is a lovely apartment” I said “Did you jointly chose the furnishings?”
“As a matter of fact we did.” said James smiling “We moved in just over a year ago.”
He was relaxing now, since my comment showed I understood and acknowledged their relationship.
“As a matter of fact we're both airline stewards — how clichéd is that?” and he laughed.
“The same airline?”
“No, I'm with TAA and Michael's with Ansett. Our shifts vary, so sometimes one or other of us is here, and sometimes both.”
Just then Michael appeared once more and James said “I've just been telling Mandy about our jobs and how our shifts keep us apart at times.”
“I imagine that makes it all the more special when you are home together?” I said
“It certainly does” replied Michael.
They came upstairs with me, and after admiring the view from my big bay window, they made several helpful suggestions about where the furniture might be rearranged — ideas I certainly hadn't had.
By way of thanking them, I put the kettle on. Fortunately I'd just bought a Madeira cake, so I was able to entertain my guests in the appropriate manner.
“How did you manage to secure the apartment?” asked Michael. “Ones as good as these are scarce as hen's teeth.”
“As a matter of fact it belongs to a colleague at work.” I replied, and hesitated, but what the heck “You may see him visiting from time to time, so don't think he's a burglar!”
“Is that the man I saw you with last week?” said Michael, and I acknowledged that it was. I didn't go into details about our relationship — they could work that out for themselves.
I let my family know of my change of address of course, and Bessie wrote back saying she understood Sandgate was a very upmarket area and had I won the lottery? She came down to Brisbane about a month later and stayed with me for a night, sleeping on my camp bed. I never could keep anything from Bessie, so I explained about Greg and our arrangement.
Bessie was never judgmental about my lifestyle and merely remarked “I hope you don't get hurt, that's all.”
“I don't think so.” I replied “Greg's a nice guy and an amazing lover, but I don't love him.”
Bessie's cheeks grew a little pink at my frankness. I suppose after my life experiences to date I was used to 'telling it as it is'.
'What about you Bessie?” I said, changing the subject “Is there no-one special in your life?”
“As a matter of fact there is.” replied Bessie, her cheeks definitely pink now. “His name is Andrew and I met him at work. He's a really nice guy.”
“Good in bed too?” I said teasingly.
“As it happens he is — very good,” she laughed.
“I assume he's single,” I said “So when's he going to 'pop the question'?”
“Quite soon I believe,” she answered “But you know men.” Then she laughed “Well you should do!” Now it was my turn to go pink, but I always enjoyed sparring with her. Sometimes I felt a little guilty since I was always closer to her than to my elder sister Kate. Was it because we were closer to each other in age, or because I had never forgotten how she stood up for me when Dad first caught me dressing?
Andrew proposed to Bessie a couple of weeks later and six months later they were married. Kate and I were bridesmaids, and I think we made a very handsome trio. Bessie was more forgiving than I could ever be, and she actually invited Dad to her wedding. I felt a little nervous about that but I needn't have worried. He had aged remarkably in the intervening years, and I couldn't help thinking that they had not been kind to Gloria.
When he first saw me, he stared hard as though he couldn't believe his eyes. I didn't go out of my way to talk to him, but he eventually came up to me. He seemed embarrassed and a bit tongue-tied,but eventually came out with. “Mandy, I didn't realise it was you at first. You look....” His voice trailed off.
“Like a woman?” I said, unable to keep the bitterness out of my voice.
Dad flushed “More than a woman, a beautiful woman. Look, can you forgive me for what happened? I didn't understand, honestly I didn't.” He broke out in a fit of coughing.
What the heck? I probably wouldn't see him again, so I could afford to be generous.
“Alright, I forgive you Dad.” I said shortly, and then walked away. I wondered if this was coming from him or was it Gloria or Mum who had urged him to make his peace with me?
What I didn't know was he had cancer of the lung, perhaps not surprising after all those years of smoking and boozing. It was four months later that Bessie rang me to say he was in hospital and not expected to last long. He'd asked if I would come to see him one last time. I could hardly refuse, so I arranged time off work and booked a train for the next day. However, when Bessie met me at the station at Rockhampton she had news that Dad had died overnight.
I stayed for his funeral of course, I even gave Gloria a hug. I knew she had genuinely loved him, even if I couldn't understand why. I guess we all have good and bad in us, I should be the first to acknowledge that. I was unfortunate enough to experience the bad side of Dad, but now I'm older I can believe that it was just that he couldn't understand me, at least in the beginning.
Gloria surprised me when she took me aside at the obligatory refreshments after the service.
“Your Dad talked quite a lot about you in the last weeks,” she said “He wanted you to know how sorry he was for not understanding you when you were younger. He wanted your forgiveness. He said to me 'She's grown into such a beautiful woman. I could hardly believe it when I saw her.'”
I knew I was blushing, and worse, I had tears in my eyes, and this for a man I had hated for so many years.
“Gloria, I did forgive him. I told him so the last time I saw him, at Bessie's wedding.”
“I know you told him that, but he didn't quite believe it, and he understood why it was difficult for you to say it.”
I hugged Gloria again. “Well I did mean it Gloria, so if that was troubling him at the end, he can rest easy now.”
“Thank you,” she whispered. She really did love him.
How strange it seemed that while I didn't really mean it at Bessie's wedding, I did mean it now.
Two years passed, years which were for me mostly ones of contentment. Greg came to the apartment on average once a week, and occasionally we had a weekend away together, so my physical needs were well met. You may wonder if I loved Greg? I was very fond of him of course; if I had not been and still slept with him then I would have been nothing but a whore, paid in kind instead of cash, and those days were well and truly behind me. As for love, there was only one man I had ever loved, could ever love. In the stillness of the night when I was alone, I sometimes whispered his name, and woke to find my pillow damp with tears.
One evening when Greg visited me in the apartment, after our session of sensuous lovemaking which we never tired of no matter how many times we were together, we were lying quietly on the bed and he was tracing the contours of my body with his fingers.
“How would you like to come to London with me?” he said. “I have to attend a conference and I'll be there just over a week.”
I was so surprised I nearly did the thing I'd always avoided — mentioning his wife.
“But won't....?” I started and then stopped, furious with myself.
Greg grinned at me “You were going to say 'But won't my wife want to go?' isn't that right?”
I blushed and didn't reply.
“The fact is she hates flying. She'll only do it if it's a matter of life or death. I have to give one of the talks and may need to amend it in light of what others say, so I could do with a secretary there. You could see it as a 'working holiday' if you like,” he said.
“In that case the answer is 'yes, I'd love to go',” I said.
It was decided that I would apply for annual leave and actually start it a week before we were due to leave for London. When someone asked, I told them I was going to to Singapore for a couple weeks.
Two months later we arrived at Brisbane Airport ready to board our flight to London. I hadn't really thought about it, but of course Greg travelled Business Class, and this was going to be a whole new level of luxury that I wasn't used to enjoying when flying. When Greg told me, I was thrilled at the prospect, so instead of the usual loose comfortable clothes which are almost a necessity in Economy, I wore a smart business suit with a pencil skirt, stockings and moderate heels and felt like a million dollars, all ready to enjoy the luxury of all that extra room.
However there was even better to come. As Greg handled our luggage and tickets at the Business check-in counter, I noticed he was in earnest conversation with the clerk there, and afterwards he turned to me with a huge grin on his face.
“Guess what? They've upgraded us to First Class!”
This was beyond my wildest dreams and frankly the experience has ruined Economy for me ever since, as I can still imagine what the people up the front of the plane are enjoying.
We were ushered into the First Class lounge and invited to have a drink and a few 'nibbles' while we waited to board the plane via our special boarding lane.
Once on board we were ushered to the First Class cabin and took our seats. These were more like arm chairs than airline seats and later we were to receive a demonstration of how to convert them into beds. There were several stewards and stewardesses ready to attend to our slightest request. Of course like all the other passengers we had the mandatory pre-flight demonstration of putting on life-jackets and the location of exits. Then we settled back as the airliner pulled back and slowly taxied to the runway. In no time we were in the air and heading north-west.
I have to say the meals were superb, and we were also offered snacks in between meals, not that we needed them. I did have a little wine with my meal, but most of the time I drank water to avoid dehydration. Thanks to being able to sleep comfortably, the whole journey passed very quickly, and I was almost sorry when the aircraft began its final descent, and Greg pointed out to me the famous 'white cliffs of Dover'. A short time after that and I could see the winding river Thames as we descended towards Heathrow Airport, and the rumble of the wheels on the tarmac signalled the end of our outward journey.
We were first off the plane and apparently our luggage was prioritised too, for it did not take long to appear. We were soon through Customs and then had to make our way to central London. The conference was to be held at Claridges Hotel, and Greg had booked a room for us there. I had already checked it out and knew it was 'Five Star', one of London's top hotels.
Greg hailed a taxi and as the driver was loading up our suitcases, he asked him to take us to Claridges. The driver muttered something that sounded like 'Gor blimey' under his breath. I gathered this meant he was impressed.
Once in the 'cab' as they are called there, he became quite chatty, telling us his name was Charlie and that he was a genuine Cockney. I had heard the term but asked him exactly what it was.
“Lor luv ya,” he replied, I suspect exaggerating his accent “It means I was born wivvin the sound of Bow Bells.” A further explanation was this was the church of St Mary-le-Bow in the East End of London. He was obviously not one to let an opportunity slip since he asked us if we'd like a tour of the sights of London.
“Not today thank you,” said Greg to my relief. “We've just flown for nearly thirty hours and we're a bit tired. Maybe tomorrow?” So it was arranged that he'd pick us up at ten o'clock the following morning and take us for a tour of the famous sights of London.
When we arrived at Claridges, a doorman wearing an ornate outfit and top hat opened the taxi door for me and I got out in the approved manner, not showing too much leg. Greg meanwhile settled the account with the taxi driver and confirmed our appointment the next day.
To enter Claridges is to enter another world. You step into the entrance hall with its gleaming black and white check floor tiles and feel that you are almost in a palace. I thought Brisbane's top hotel was luxurious, but it was nothing compared to this. Greg checked us in, and a porter carried our bags. Our room was magnificent and I didn't dare think what it cost. It was Art Deco in its furnishings, a period I just love, so I was in seventh heaven. I noticed that Greg slipped the porter some money, and I was to learn that gratuities are an expected part of life in England and apparently provided a 'top-up' for the rather low wages paid to those who provide services, such as waiters, taxi-drivers etc..
It was mid-afternoon, although my body clock was saying it was the middle of the night. Experienced travellers had told me the best way to overcome jetlag was not to give in, but to stay up until evening. We just about made it, and when we finally went to bed we were too exhausted to do anything other than sleep.
The next morning, after breakfast, we showered and dressed ready for our day of tourist-style sightseeing with Charlie the taxi driver. We waited in the foyer, and true to his word he was there at five to ten.
“Now what would you like to see especially?” he asked, mainly directing the question at me.
“Buckingham Palace, Trafalgar Square, St Pauls, the Tower, all those places,” I replied enthusiastically, but then had second thoughts and turning to Greg said “Oh I hope you will not be bored, you must have seen them all many times.”
“Not at all,” he replied gallantly. “I shall enjoy seeing them afresh through your eyes.”
London 'cabbies' as they are called, know the city like the back of their hands. Charlie explained how they have to acquire what's called 'The Knowledge', by cycling with a map around the city until they know every hospital, railway station, hotel, and virtually every street. This way they know the shortest route to every destination, and it's only after passing a test that they can be licenced cab drivers. This normally takes about two years, and Charlie had been driving for twenty years so his knowledge of London was encyclopaedic.
He started by taking us down Regent Street and around Trafalgar Square to see Nelson's Column; then down the Mall to Buckingham Palace; round Birdcage Walk and down to Westminster to see the Abbey and Houses of Parliament, where I learned that Big Ben is the hour bell, not the whole clock which sits in St Stephens tower. Then it was down Whitehall and past Downing Street where the Prime Minister's residence is at No 10, and later St Pauls and the Tower. Oh I could go on and on, but I would bore you, you need to see them all for yourself. Greg sat back and looked at me with gentle amusement as I stared open-mouthed at all these historic places I'd seen in pictures so many times, and could hardly believe that I was actually seeing them for myself. Charlie kindly took many pictures of us standing in front of these famous places, even though I knew I could never show them to anyone.
We did stop at one point and treated Charlie to lunch, and then went on for another couple of hours. He in turn gave me a map of Central London, and seemed almost surprised that I could read it so easily.
“Blimey,” he exclaimed “You're one in a million. Most women just can't read maps to save themselves, but you're doing a treat.”
I looked at Greg and he looked at me, and I suppressed an urge to burst out laughing.
“There's also a saying that while women can't read maps, men won't ask directions,” I replied and Charlie guffawed.
“Well, you've got me there,” he replied “If I'm out of London I just hate asking directions.”
We arrived back at Claridges mid-afternoon. I was very tired and just had to have a sleep, and I dreamed of London.
The conference started the next morning, so while Greg was busy, armed with my new-found knowledge of London and my map, I set about exploring for myself. I must say that Claridges could not be better placed, being only a short walk to Bond Street and all its fabulous shops. I was charged with finding a suitable dress to wear to the conference dinner on the closing day, so I spent many happy hours checking out what was on offer. It was on my second visit that I came across a dreamy gown in palest blue satin and knew at once that this was 'the dress'. It was expensive, but Greg had been generous with his budget. Next I had to find suitable shoes to go with it, so some more intense shopping was required. Finally I was satisfied with my purchases and then knew I could spend the rest of the week seeing the particular sights I wanted to view the most.
It was on the third day, after a morning's walk to Grosvenor Square and Hyde Park that I felt tiredness overwhelming me and knew I had to return to the hotel for a siesta. As I crossed the entrance hall, a young woman crossed diagonally ahead of me. She was wearing a black knee-length pencil skirt, white blouse and about four inch heels. Suddenly she dropped a big pile of legal briefs she was carrying, and I hurried up to her and assisted her to pick them up. She looked up at me and smiled and I suddenly realised I had seen her before, two days ago in the foyer when she had smiled at me. I'd returned to smile in that 'Do I know you?' sort of way when you are not sure if you do. Now here she was again.
“My name is Rose,” she said as she assembled the scattered briefs.
“I'm Mandy,” I replied, and followed it with “I'm sorry, but do I know you?”
“Only from two days ago,” she said and I didn't know what to reply to that, so I changed the subject.
“The trouble with barristers is that they never consider how much paperwork their clerks have to carry.”
“Oh I agree with you there. You see I am a barrister and these are some briefs I have to check through as well as attend the conference. Fortunately I'm not particularly interested in this afternoon's session, so I can catch up on them.”
I could feel my cheeks glowing.
“I'm sorry. I only open my mouth to change feet,” I managed eventually.
Rose laughed. “It's alright, really. Women barristers are few and far between. I'm the only one in our chambers, and the junior one at that, so guess who gets all the crap cases no-one else wants?”
“Can I help you carry them to, well, wherever you're carrying them?” I felt I was making a fool of myself but somehow I couldn't stop.
“That's kind of you. I'm actually taking them up to my room,” she replied. We took half each and I followed her into the lift.
Rose's room was similar to mine and Greg's. She saw the look on my face and said
“Don't think I'm used to staying in this sort of luxury. It's back to Premier Inns in future.”
In response to my blank look she explained “They're a big budget hotel chain.”
She took the pile of briefs from me and set them down on the table next to the others.
“How about a drink to celebrate getting them here without any more accidents?”
“Yes please,” I said. There was something going on here and I didn't know what it was, but somehow I couldn't leave. Rose poured two small glasses of Scotch, which I never usually drink, but it seemed impolite to refuse it, so I downed the glass as she did, and immediately started to cough and splutter as the fiery liquid hit my throat.
Rose laughed and handed me a small handkerchief. She was standing very close to me and I could feel my heart racing. Then she leaned forward and kissed me on the lips. I was shocked, but in a nice way. I understood now why I had sensed something would happen but didn't know what.
Rose looked at me. “You've never kissed a woman before have you?” I shook my head, speechless.”Shall I do it again?” I nodded slowly, and with that she stepped forward and kissed me again, a long slow lingering kiss, with our tongues entwining, her arms around me and gently stroking me as our bodies pressed together.
Then Rose took my hand and led me towards the bed. I could have backed away at any time, but I didn't want to. Instead I let her slowly undress me as I undressed her, and then we lay naked on the bed and I learned all about sex with another woman.
I only had one uncomfortable moment. As Rose made her way down my body, her fingers, lips and tongue causing my every nerve-ending to tingle, I realised where she was heading and suddenly tensed up. Would she detect signs of my surgery and reject me? However she mistook the reason for my reaction and murmured in a muffled voice “Don't worry darling. I know it's your first time and I'll be very gentle.” After that I relaxed and gave myself over to the total enjoyment of the moment.
I know what you must be thinking. Greg had brought me to London and now I was effectively being unfaithful to him, but somehow it didn't seem like that, perhaps because it wasn't with a man. It was my first and only experience of sex with a woman, but looking back I wouldn't have missed it for worlds. At the time I knew that this would only happen once with Rose, but that was alright. Since she obviously did not detect anything to suggest that I wasn't a genetic woman, I certainly wasn't going to tell her.
Mid-afternoon, after dozing for a while I said “I had better get back to my own room.”
“And that handsome man I saw you with?” said Rose with a quizzical look.
“That's right,” I replied. “Rose, thank you so much. I wouldn't have missed it for anything.”
Rose smiled as her finger-tips stroked my breasts.”You wouldn't be the first hetero woman to enjoy the delights of the sapphic life.”
I dressed, kissed Rose goodbye and went back to my room, where this time I really did sleep for a while. When Greg returned he seemed surprised to see me in bed.
“Tired?” he said.
“Not any more,” I replied, for my body was still tingling from my encounter with Rose and all I needed now was to take Greg's body into mine. He didn't need any further invitation to strip off and join me. I held out my arms to my naked Adonis and in no time our bodies were locked together and I was experiencing more ecstasy than I could have imagined in one day. After we finished and finally broke apart panting, Greg gasped “Well travel certainly agrees with you!” and we both burst out laughing.
I enjoyed the rest of my time in London. I saw Rose a couple of times and we exchanged smiles but nothing more. The final event of the conference was the dinner, held in the ballroom. This was of course the opportunity for the women to shine. The men looked very fine in their dinner suits, but basically it is one style for everyone, whereas the women can really stand out. I spent most of the afternoon getting ready — well these things take time! - and the look on Greg's face and his low whistle of approval meant it was all worthwhile.
When we arrived at the ballroom, like every other woman I cast an eye over the gathering to see how I compared, and I felt that I stacked up well to all the others. I was wearing a wedding ring I'd purchased in Brisbane, and the intention was that if anyone inquired, then I was Greg's wife, but I wouldn't be volunteering the information, and if anyone assumed that was my relationship to him, well I wouldn't be saying otherwise.
The meal was excellent as befitted an hotel of Claridge's five-star quality, and a small band provided music during the dinner and for dancing between courses. Feeling more confident now, I was only too happy to shuffle around the dance floor with Greg.
There were speeches — mercifully short, as one might expect a gathering of professional talkers like lawyers might be tempted to go on a bit. Perhaps the fact they were professional meant they understood that a short speech always goes over better than a long one.
The evening passed without incident. There were several other couples sitting at our table, all from England, and they were interested in the legal scene in Australia. Greg answered their questions, while their wives assumed I was a legal wife too and we bemoaned the amount of time our men had to spend away working. One asked me if we had children, and I replied we had two boys, just in case she asked Greg the same question.
When we finally retired for the evening, Greg helped me take off my dress very carefully so not to spoil it, but once it was safely hung up, then we could unleash the passion that had been building through the evening, leading to a thrusting exhilarating climax that left us both gasping for breath.
We had one final day of sightseeing together before we finally took our leave of London and Charlie took us to Heathrow where we boarded the plane for the return journey. It was Business Class this time, with no upgrade, but still very comfortable and I had no complaints. I had three days to get over jetlag and then it was back to work.
At work, I was now very much Miss Evans' right-hand woman and she was giving me more and more of her responsibilities. It's funny that I never thought of her retiring, even though she was well over sixty and had been working at the practise for nearly forty years. I did eventually discover that she had a first name — Mavis, but no-one, not even the partners ever called her anything but 'Miss Evans'.
One day my desk telephone rang and it was Miss Evans.
“Mandy my dear, would you mind stepping into my office?” The 'my dear' gave me reassurance that I wasn't being called to account for some unknown transgression.
Entering her office, I saw Miss Evans seated at her desk, and standing behind her were two of the partners — Charles Baker, son of one of the original partners, and Maurice Matthews, the latest partner in the firm. There was no sign of Greg.
“Sit down please Mandy,” said Miss Evans and I sat down on the chair in front of her desk, starting to think that I was about to undergo some sort of grilling, but I was wrong.
“Mandy, I have decided to retire,” she said “and after discussion with the partners, we would like you to succeed me in the position of Chief Clerk of the clerical department.”
To say I was shocked was an understatement, but eventually I recovered my voice to say “Yours are very big shoes to fill Miss Evans, but yes thank you, I accept.”
“Congratulations,” said Mr Baker. “Miss Evans assures us that the department will be in very good hands.” With that he and Mr Matthews left the room.
Miss Evans smiled at me “I suppose you thought I'd be staying until they carried me out in a wooden box?”
I felt myself blushing and she laughed “No need to answer my dear. The ironic fact is that I am not well, and that wooden box may not be too far away.”
She saw the look on my face and said “Don't feel sorry for me Mandy. I've had a good life and have thoroughly enjoyed my work. I recommended you to this position because of your honesty, efficiency, and work ethic, not because of any 'external factors'.”
So she knew! I suppose I shouldn't have been surprised. It was a relatively small office and although Greg and I had done our best to be discreet, I don't suppose Miss Evans missed much of what was going on.
“I will do my best to live up to your expectations.” I replied.
The partners gave Miss Evans a splendid farewell dinner in a private dining room at Brisbane's best hotel. She was presented with some beautiful diamond earings and some crystal vases. Everyone made speeches and said how they didn't know how the firm would cope without her but thank goodness they had Miss Collins to take over. Miss Evans then made a short speech thanking everyone and saying she hoped we would all stay in touch. No reference was made to her health.
Greg's wife Marigold was present, as indeed she had been at the regular Christmas dinners, but this time she seemed to make a point of talking to me.
“Congratulations on your new appointment.” she said.
“Thank you very much Mrs Thompson.” I replied and she responded “Oh please, call me Marigold. After all we're almost family now.”
I suspected my cheeks were colouring at that remark. Did she mean 'family' as in both being connected to the firm, or was there more to it than that? Was she subtly letting me know that she knew about me and Greg? On reflection that shouldn't have surprised me, since women have a way of detecting when their man is straying. If she did know then obviously she was prepared to live with it. After all she had much to lose if she divorced Greg.
Miss Evans was right, as indeed she always was, and it was only four months later that most members of the firm, somberly dressed, gathered on a grey drizzly day to bid her farewell. A couple of nephews and nieces turned up, but it was quite a small gathering, and talking to a couple of them at the obligatory post service refreshments, it seemed none of them had been particularly close to her.
As a legal firm, we had the job of settling up her small estate, and I was surprised and humbled when she left me the beautiful diamond earrings that had been given to her on her retirement. It seems I really had meant a lot to her. I have those earrings still and wear them on special occasions.
The more we think that life is settled, the more it is likely to spring a surprise on us. One of the married typists had left and I appointed a replacement, a pretty blonde called Helen. I gave her the job based on my assessment of her ability to perform the required tasks, but perhaps I should have been less confident of the security of my relationship with Greg. The first warning signs were when he seemed to be dropping by the office more frequently than usual, and often paused to share a joke with Helen. Well, there was nothing I could do about it. To look for an excuse to sack her would have seemed churlish, and anyway, her replacement might have been even more attractive in Greg's eyes.
So I was surprised when a few weeks later he asked if I was free to go away with him for a weekend. Of course I agreed — I never refused him anything. In this I felt I was the perfect mistress — always available, never demanding, and certainly without any designs on replacing his wife, even had it been possible in my case. The only problem for me was that I had been Greg's mistress for about three years, and had probably reached my 'use-by' date. I went away fully expecting that at some point we would have that awkward conversation where he would say 'it wasn't me, it was him' and I would have to make it easy for him by saying that I fully understood and how soon did he want me to move out of the apartment?
To my surprise, he took me to the same country retreat where we had spent our first weekend together. Did he forget that, or was it a way of rounding out the start and end of our relationship? Knowing men, I suspected the former. It was a pleasant weekend, even though I was expecting 'the conversation', which didn't happen. When we made love, the thought crossed my mind that this would be the last time I felt him inside me, but soon enough I abandoned those thoughts and myself to the sensuous delights of joining my body to Greg's.
All too soon the weekend was over and we were driving back to Brisbane. Greg had now added a Ferrari sports car to his 'stable' and had shown it off to me this weekend. Like most women I suppose, I looked upon it as a 'big boy's toy', but I had to admit that there was a certain rush about being carried along in it, my hair streaming in the wind. Greg usually drove fast and confidently, but this time he drove more slowly,seeming to have something on his mind. There had been a shower of rain and the road was wet and slippery. We had reached a point in the road where it was narrow and wound around a hill, the land high on one side and a steep drop on the other.
“There's something I wanted to say to you,” he began, but got no further. As we rounded a bend, there was a semi-trailer that had skidded and was now angled right across the road. There was nowhere for Greg to go. I remember looking up and seeing the truck driver's white face as Greg hit the brakes and spun the wheel. I heard the crunch of steel on steel and then blackness.
Faint noises. Voices indistinct and echoing as though in a tunnel. Then lights — bright but blurred and I screwed my eyes shut against them.
I heard a voice, more clearly now ”She's coming round.”
I tried to speak but what came out of my mouth was more like a croak. A face appeared above me, still blurred but the words were clearer now. “Mandy, I'm Doctor Lester. You're in hospital. You've been in an accident, but you're going to be alright.”
I tried to move my hands but the right one wouldn't move. The voice went on “You've got a broken arm and some bruises. Your right arm is in plaster.”
Memories started to flood back. I remembered how the left side of the car was sliding towards to truck towering above us and how at the last moment Greg had spun the wheel so that his side of the car took the full force of the collision.
“Greg,” I croaked “Is he...?”
“Mr Thompson will be alright. He was injured too, but he will recover.”
I felt a single tear run down by cheek. Thank God for that. Greg had risked his life for me and could have been killed.
“You'll be taken to the ward soon, and you must rest now.” said Dr Lester. “I'll be back to see you later.”
I hadn't been in hospital since my transition surgery, but the routine seemed similar. Every so often a nurse arrived and checked my pulse, blood pressure and the drip that was running into my left arm. Then I would drop off to sleep again.
I was gradually coming back into the world again and eventually asked the nurse if my family had been notified. “Oh yes,” she said “Your mother is taking the train from Rockhampton and should be here tomorrow She was very relieved to hear you will be alright.”
It was some hours later that I opened my eyes and was surprised to see Marigold Thompson there beside the bed. She smiled thinly but there was no warmth in her eyes.
“Greg insisted that I come and see how you are.” she said.
“I'll live.” I replied “I've got a broken arm and some bruises. How's Greg?”
“He took the brunt of the collision — a broken right arm and leg, massive bruises and they say he may have a ruptured spleen so they're keeping a very close eye on him. He may need more surgery.”
What could I say to her? If she didn't know about Greg and me before, she certainly did now. One thing I did have to tell her.
“He saved my life you know? He spun the wheel at the last moment so that his side of the car hit the truck. I....thought you should know that.” I paused. “I suppose you've known about us for some time?” She nodded.
“It's ironic,” I went on. “That was our last time together. He was just about to tell me it was over when we rounded the corner and saw the truck.”
“I knew that too,” Marigold said “He's already got his next conquest lined up — that pretty young blonde you recently employed.”
'This is the strangest conversation,' I thought to myself.
“He'll be asking you to move out of the Sandgate apartment so that he can move her in.” She saw the look on my face. “Oh yes, I've known about the apartment for a long time.”
“Why do you....?” I began and stopped.
“Why do I put up with it? I suppose it's partly because I love him despite everything, and I'm not prepared to lose my status and lifestyle just because he can't keep his pants zipped up, so I pretend not to notice. You're a woman, you know what men are like.” Well that was one positive, she apparently didn't know about my past.
“Well, it's no good saying I'm sorry for what we've done, that would be hypocritical,” I said “But I am sorry if you have been humiliated by the way it's all come out in the open.”
Marigold managed a slight smile.”I'll cope,” she said “Anyway this will have cramped his style. He'll have to stay home with me for a while, and who knows, he might even have a change of heart, but somehow I doubt it.”
A nurse appeared around the beside curtain and said “I'm sorry but Miss Collins really needs to rest.”
“It's alright, I'm leaving now,” said Marigold, and then to me “I'll tell him you're on the mend.”
“Thank you,” I said. “Please give him my best wishes for a speedy recovery.”
After she had gone, I had things to think about. I had to find a new place to live, and I also wondered about my position at the firm. Would I have to leave? It seemed a distinct possibility.
If you want to rest, a hospital is the last place you should consider. Even throughout the night there is so much coming and going. A nurse arrived every hour or so to check my pulse and blood pressure, and there was the occasional loud noise, someone crying out, a crash which sounded like someone dropped a tray or a bedpan. I felt like I had only just dropped off to sleep when the lights came on and the breakfast trolley arrived. I ate some scrambled egg and drank some coffee. Then the nurse was back to do her checks and change the drip, saying they might be able to take it down later in the day after the doctor had seen me.
After all that excitement I was feeling tired and despite wanting to be awake for when Mum arrived which I knew would be sometime that morning, I drifted off to sleep again.
“Wake up sleepyhead.”
I'd know that voice anywhere. Lying on my back, I opened my eyes and gazed up at Mum's face, a mixture of forced amusement and concern, looking down at me.
“Mum!” I said “I'm so glad you're here. I guess they told you I'd been in the wars?”
“You certainly have,” replied Mum, leaning over to kiss me. “Judging by the picture of the car in the newspaper, it's a wonder you came out of it as well as you have.”
'Oh Lord!' I thought to myself 'It's in the papers. BTB won't like that at all — bad publicity.'
“It's not as bad as it looks,” I said, trying to sound brighter than I felt.
“Well I'm glad of that,” replied Mum “Since I've brought someone to see you.”
I heard a strange thumping noise and then another face appeared looking down at me. I stared at the face, hardly able to believe my own eyes.
“Tom!” I cried out “Oh Tom! You're standing!” and I could feel the tears starting to run down my cheeks.
“I'll go and have a cup of tea and leave you two to get reacquainted,” said Mum tactfully, and disappeared.
I realised what the noise was. Tom was on crutches, but he was definitely standing! Carefully he eased himself down onto the bedside chair, and that gave me time to compose myself. He had changed slightly in appearance — a little more mature and there was a touch of grey at his temples, but it was still the Tom I had thought about during so many lonely nights.
“Oh Tom, I must look such a mess!” I cried.
“You never look a mess, not to me anyway,” he said quietly. I extracted my left hand from under the bedclothes, and his big hand enclosed it.
“How did you hear about my accident?” I asked.
“Well, being a dutiful son, I ring my mother about once a week and as you know she and your Mum get on really well. They must have been talking about us because my Mum asked me if I was ever going to try and get in touch with you, especially with the progress in my condition. I confess I didn't give her a straight answer, though I had certainly been thinking about it. After the way I left you I thought you'd probably tell me you never wanted to hear from me again, and I couldn't bear to hear you say that.”
I smiled and shook my head. Men have so much to learn.
“Then the following day she rang me in Sydney and told me about your accident, and that was such shock. I realised that you could have died without me ever getting a chance to tell you how I feel about you, so I rang your Mum and asked if it would be alright for me to come and see you. She said 'of course', so I organised a few days off work, booked the train, and...well, here I am. I hope I did the right thing?“ he finished a little tentatively.
“Oh yes!” I replied, so vehemently that he had to smile.
“Mandy,” Tom started haltingly “The thing is it's true I've never wanted anyone else but you. I even wondered if I'd been stupid writing that letter and going away. You know I did it thinking it was for the best — for you?”
“I know,” I said softly “And your thoughtfulness is just one of the things I've always loved about you." I hesitated and then plunged on. "I have to tell you Tom that since I came to Brisbane, there's been things I've done, shameful things. I really am 'damaged goods' and it would be unfair of me not to tell you that. Even when the accident happened, you know I was with a colleague from work, a married man?”
“Mandy,” Tom covered my hand with his other hand, and it felt so good “That's all in the past now, and I'm prepared for it to stay there if you are. When I started getting feeling back in my legs, the doctors said it was a miracle, and that someone must be praying for me. I think I know who that person was.”
I knew I was blushing now. It's true in the still of the night I had prayed for him to get well, but after what I had done, I never really expected that my prayers would be answered.
“I've been so stupid. I love you Mandy,” he went on. “I've never loved anyone else and I never will. If you don't love me, then I understand, but I have to tell you now, especially as I could have lost you and never said the words.”
“Tom,” I said softly. “Are you going to kiss me?”
He leaned over the bed and our lips met. It had been so long, far too long, but now it was as though the intervening time had never been.
“I love you too Tom, always have, always will. The accident has changed me. I realise how fragile we are and how easily I might never have had the chance to tell you how I feel about you. If you've been stupid, then I've been stupid too.”
It was about this time that my Mum arrived back from a rather long tea break. She told me later that she took one look at us and knew that we were reconciled. All three of us chatted for a while and then the doctor arrived and checked me over, saying that it should be alright for me to leave hospital in a couple of days, so long as there was someone to stay with me.
Mum said she could stay with me, and also that my sisters Kate and Bessie were going to drive down and would arrive the next morning. There and then I decided that I would return to Rockhampton with them, but there were some things I had to do on my own first.
A nurse arrived to do my 'obs' and suggested that I should get more rest, so Tom and Mum said they would leave for a while and return in the afternoon. After they had gone, I asked the nurse to check discretely if Greg was alone and when she confirmed that he was, I asked if she could take me over to see him.
"Well, I shouldn't really," she said, but she smiled and brought a wheelchair to my bedside and took me to Greg's ward.
He was sitting up in bed but looking rather pale and I noticed that he was receiving a blood transfusion. He smiled when he saw me but the wattage was decidedly dimmed from the smile that usually made me go weak at the knees.
“Mandy, it's so good to see you. You are looking well.” he said.
“I see you need some of the red stuff,” I replied, looking at the bag of blood on the pole beside him.
“Yes, it turned out that my spleen was ruptured after all so they had to remove it.”
“Greg, I came to see you because I have some things to say. First I want to thank you for what you did just before we hit the truck. If you hadn't spun the car, I might not be here now. You probably saved my life.”
Greg smiled at that “Well it's what any gentleman would do.”
“I don't know about that but you did it and I'm very grateful. Another thing — I know what you were starting to say when we rounded the corner and saw the truck, and I agree with you, our relationship is over. Unfortunately, it's also out in the open and even your wife knows about it. I've therefore decided that I will leave BTB and also I'll move my things out of the apartment as soon as possible, probably in a couple of days once I'm discharged, because all my family will be here and can help me. There remains the question of what to do about the keys. I could leave them at the office, but I suggest a better option would be to leave them with Michael and James who live in the apartment below. I'm sure they will keep an eye on the flat until you can get down there.”
“The gay guys,” said Greg “Yes, I've seen how tidy their apartment is, they'd be a great choice to keep the keys.”
I didn't mention that Marigold knew about the apartment. It was up to her if she told Greg. I suddenly realised that our relationship dynamic had changed. Previously, Greg had made all the decisions and I had gone along with them. Now it was me taking the initiative and making decisions. It felt good.
“I will post in my resignation, effective immediately.” I sent on. “It will take me some time to recuperate anyway, but in view of all that has happened I think it's for the best that I leave immediately.”
“I'll be sorry to see you go.” said Greg “But I understand it's for the best. We'll give you the best reference ever. You'll be very hard to replace.” He paused and then in a quiet, almost pleading voice went on “We did have some good times didn't we?”
“Yes Greg, we did. But you know what they say 'All good things must come to an end'”
“I guess this is goodbye then.” he said.
I leaned over and kissed him on the cheek. “Goodbye Greg.” I said, and wheeled myself out of the ward and out of his life.
Managing a wheelchair with only one hand is not easy and after nearly colliding with a wall and narrowly avoiding running over several people's feet, a nurse came to my rescue, and after scolding me severely, wheeled me back to my room.
The next morning I couldn't wait to see my Mum, sisters and Tom. I felt like I was starting a new life again and just had a few odds and ends to clear up from the old one. After hugs all round and a final clearance from the doctors, I was wheeled out to where Bessie had parked her car. I had explained about the apartment and how I was leaving it immediately and everyone agreed to drive me there and help me pack. It was fortunate that Bessie had brought her husband's seven-seater SUV, as there should be enough room to pack in all my belongings as well as the five of us. We stopped off on the way to Sandgate to buy enough packing boxes (I hoped) to take all my things, and arrived at the apartment quite early. I was glad to see that a car was parked in Michael and James' spot, so someone was home.
I led everyone up the stairs to the apartment, and after they had admired the sea view, they set to work packing. I felt a bit awkward about Tom seeing the bedroom, so I suggested that he could pack some of the items in the rest of the apartment, while Mum and my sisters starting packing my clothes. Greg always left a change of clothes plus some toiletries in the bathroom, so those would be staying. Everything else was mine apart from the furniture, but basically it consisted of my clothes and some personal items like ornaments and a few paintings and prints.
“I'm just going downstairs to see the boys about looking after the keys,” I said, picking up one item from the small table.
I walked down the stairs and knocked on the door. Michael answered it and I was glad it was him. I like them both, but I had a special affinity for Michael. His welcoming smile changed to a look of concern when he saw my arm in a sling.
“Why Mandy, whatever happened? We wondered where you were when you didn't return Sunday evening,” he said.
“I was in a car accident with Greg who owns the apartment,” I replied. “I have a broken arm and some bruising but he is more badly injured and still in hospital. He'll be alright though.”
“Oh you poor thing, please come in,” said Michael.
“There's something I have to tell you. Greg is married and now of course his wife knows about us, so it's best that I leave the apartment immediately. My mother, sisters and Tom are upstairs packing.”
“Tom?” said Michael with a smile. “Am I to believe that he's 'The One'?”
I smiled “Yes he is, and it was my accident that brought us back together, so every cloud has a silver lining.”
“I knew it!” Michael said. “There's always been a bit of an air of sadness about you, but it's gone now. You're positive glowing.”
I glowed some more as I started to blush, but he was right — I felt happier than I had for many years.
“What I came down to ask you was would you look after the keys of the apartment until Greg comes to collect them?”
“Of course.” said Michael “One or other of us is usually home or he can leave a note and we'll arrange a time to hand them over.”
“Michael, you and James have been such great friends and I may not see you again for some time, so I brought this down as something to remember me by.”
I held out a small wooden, brightly polished and beautifully crafted with inlays of different woods.
“Your music box?” Michael seemed incredulous, “But that's one or your treasures.”
I smiled “Yes it is, but that shows the high esteem in which I hold you both.”
Michael lifted the lid and the little ballerina began to twirl as 'Lara's theme' from 'Doctor Zhivago' tinkled out. For a second I almost regretted giving it away, but I knew they would care for it.
“It's not too 'girly' I hope?”
“Not at all,” he replied, “We will find a special place of honour to display it and it will help us remember you until we meet again.”
I was about to leave, but then stopped.
“Michael, there's something I never told you before, but friends shouldn't have secrets from each other. When I was born, I was called Michael too.”
“Really?” his eyebrows shot up.
“That's why I came to Brisbane. My gender specialist practises here. I've been through the whole transition, including going to Thailand for surgery.”
“Wow. That is so brave,” said Michael.
“Not really. It was something I had to do. Right from when I was very young, I knew I was not going to grow up as a man.”
He smiled “You know, there is only one thing that might have made me guess, and that's that you are more feminine than almost any other woman I know. You always wear make-up and have your hair styled nicely, and you almost always wear a dress or a skirt.”
“Well, when someone like me has to work so hard to be a woman, I suppose we want to make the most of all that being female has to offer.”
“Thank you for sharing that with me,” he said, “it makes you even more special in my eyes. May I tell James?”
“Of course,” I replied. “You're both very special friends and I do hope we meet again.”
His eyes were glistening as we hugged, and so were mine.
To break the mood he said “I've just been baking, you can probably tell from the smell. When you've finished packing, why don't you all come down to have some tea with me?”
When I arrived back in the apartment it was to some comments like “Here comes Her Ladyship! It's alright, we've done most of the work.”
“I'm sorry everyone, but I had to go downstairs to see my friend Michael and arrange about the apartment keys.”
“Michael eh?” said Tom in mock alarm “Should I be worried?”
“Yes you should!” I replied, “Gay guys are always a girl's best friend.”
“By the way, is that your car in the other parking bay?” asked Bessie.
“Oh Lord! Yes it is. That complicates things.” I replied.
“Not really,” she said, “Three out of the five of us can drive at present, so I suggest two of us go in the Mini, and three in the wagon. After two hours we can switch around so everyone gets a break and only drives four out of six hours. It also means we have more room to stash all your stuff.”
After all the boxes and my suitcase were loaded into the cars, I took one final look around to make sure nothing was left behind, and we all trooped down to the ground level apartment where Michael greeted us warmly. He always knew how to play the perfect host, and we were treated to tea in the best china, and some delicious cup cakes.
“I'm sorry James isn't here to meet you,” he said, “but he's on a late flight and won't be back until nine o'clock.”
“Michael and James are both airline stewards but for different companies,” I explained. “I'm sure we'll be down this way again, Michael, and we'll definitely call by and see you both.”
With that we made our farewells and walked to the cars. I went in the Mini with Kate driving and me as Navigator. Knowing Brisbane better than the others, I could show them the best way to the main highway heading north. After stops for driver change-overs and a meal, it was evening when we finally arrived at Rockhampton and pulled up outside Mum's house. I had been thinking of sleeping arrangements, but had said nothing. Ideally I wanted to sleep with Tom of course. Now we were together again I didn't want us to be separated.
It was Tom's mother who provided the solution. Mum had rung her to let her know we were home, and when she arrived at our house and greeted us warmly, she made a suggestion.
“I wonder if you two would like to sleep at my house? I have a double bed in my room and a single in the spare bedroom, and I'd be more than happy to let you have the double bed.”
I felt myself blushing slightly (it's been a lifelong embarrassment that I blush so easily, but it would be worse if I was a man).
Tom said “Thanks Mum, that would be great.”
After sorting out some clothes, and saying goodnight to Mum and my sisters and thanking them for all their help, Bessie drove us down to Tom's mum's house.
That night I discovered something new and wonderful. As far as sex goes, I was experienced of course, some might say too experienced, but now at last I was in bed with the man I loved. I don't think Tom expected that with us both to a degree incapacitated, we would do anything more than literally sleep together, but I was not ready to give up, and when after a careful cuddle, I discovered that it wasn't just his legs that were working again, how could I not help to see what I could do to encourage him even further? He was not yet mobile enough to take a dominant position, but that was alright. With great care, using my sole available arm, I managed to straddle his body, and then with a sigh which changed to a deep groan of satisfaction I lowered myself onto his manhood.
That was when my discovery began — making love to the man I loved was like nothing I had ever experienced before. We had to take care of course, but perhaps that was even an advantage as we slowly built each other up to the heights of ecstasy, and when finally the great wave of pleasure broke over us and carried us along with its power, I finally realised what I had been missing all those years.
“Oh Tom! My Tom,” I gasped “I adore you. I never want to be parted from you again.”
Only then did we sleep together, 'like babies' as the saying goes.
The next morning Mrs Shore greeted us at the breakfast table by saying “I hope the bed was comfortable enough for you?”
“Oh yes! Very comfortable indeed,” I replied, knowing I was blushing, but not really caring.
Much though we didn't want to be physically parted, Tom had only managed to wangle three days off, so the next day I reluctantly bade him a temporary farewell, managing to hold back my tears until he was on the train and out of sight. I realised I had to be sensible and it wouldn't be fair to him to have to act as nurse as well as do his job, whereas I could stay at home with Mum until my arm was healed enough, and then drive down in the Mini.
I must admit I was a bit concerned how I would manage financially after sending in my resignation to BTB. I knew that I had some money owing from accrued annual leave, but that would not keep me going for long. However I was pleasantly surprised when a very generous cheque arrived which the partners said was a bonus for all my good work over the years. It was accompanied by a glowing reference and an offer to provide a verbal reference when I had recovered sufficiently to apply for another job. I feel ashamed to say this, but it did cross my mind that there might have been a hidden agenda present. After all they didn't want me revealing Greg's affair to a wider audience. Perhaps I was wrong to think this for it had never entered my head to do so. I was grateful to BTB for all they had done for me, and I would always be fond of Greg, how could I not be?
After three weeks my cast was removed and I was given physiotherapy exercises. I was phoning Tom every day and he came up twice to see me, but I was desperate to go to Sydney and live with him. He lived in Pennant Hills, an outer western suburb, close to his company's headquarters, which was convenient especially when he was using a wheelchair taxi to get there. Finally, and more than a little reluctantly, my doctor agreed that I could go to Sydney, but said that driving my car all that way was out of the question. I didn't argue. Perhaps with increasing age I was getting more sensible!
Kate came to my rescue. She liked Sydney and said she would drive me down there in exchange for a couple of nights accommodation while she toured the shops. That was most agreeable. I could go shopping with her too!
Tom's one-bedroom unit was a reasonable size with a lounge/kitchen, bedroom, bathroom, toilet and a tiny laundry. On seeing it for the first time, I couldn't help thinking that for a male living on his own, it was remarkably tidy, although I suspected he had made an extra effort in anticipation or my arrival. He had a double bed which he explained in a slightly embarrassed manner was because he liked to 'stretch out'. I didn't follow it up with any questions. If indeed he had shared it with anyone else that was none of my business and certainly not something I could hold against him in view of my past.
Tom offered to sleep on the couch while Kate and I shared the bed, but Kate wouldn't hear of it and insisted the large couch was fine by her. She stayed three days and we had a great time touring the stores in town. It's true that in those days Sydney, and probably Melbourne were the fashion capitals of Australia, while Brisbane was still something of a 'country town' and the clothing available was not quite up to the latest fashions. I was careful with my money and did not go mad in the shops. I hoped to get another job in the legal area, but that would have to wait until my arm was totally healed which might take a few months.
In due course, particularly with the glowing reference from BTB I was able to find an excellent job in the city, and together with Tom's income we were very comfortably off indeed. By now I had changed my name by deed poll to become Mandy Shore. The lawmakers of Australia might not allow Tom and I to marry, but I could at least take his name. Tom continued to heal and eventually walked with a stick and sometimes even for short distances without one. We were very happy together.
You may well think this is the point at which I would have written “And they lived happily ever after” and it's true that we have, but there is one more incident that I must relate and this came about purely by chance.
It was some years later, and I was forty-six. Where do the years go? Tom's company had started a branch in Brisbane and appointed him in charge, so we had moved back there, and this time bought ourselves a house. I had found another job in a legal firm, and this time we were both working within fifteen minutes of home, which was much more convenient. I was in the waiting room at the doctor's for a regular checkup and happened to be glancing through the 'Weekly Times', the main rural newspaper which covered all Australia, when an article and picture stopped me in my tracks.
The article title was “Passing of a Rural Giant” and it went on to describe the death of John Brodie who ran a cattle station in south-west Queensland near the little town of Heywood's Crossing. It was the accompanying picture that really caught my attention. It was of John and his wife Lesley and the moment I saw her I recognised her as the woman who had been so kind to me in Dr Brentwell's waiting room all those years ago. She looked older of course, perhaps in her mid fifties by now, but I knew I was not mistaken. John Brodie's funeral was in three days time and I just knew I had to go and pay my respects. It was the least I could do to repay that moment of kindness I had never forgotten.
When Tom came home I told him about my discovery. He knew about that moment at Dr Brentwell's rooms of course, but now I had a name for the woman who helped me. I told him that I wanted to go to the funeral and pay my respects and he was a little doubtful.
“I don't suppose anyone out there knows her background. You don't think she'll be worried you intend to expose her do you?”
The thought had never entered my head, and I brushed it aside.
“Of course I'd never do that,” I protested.
“Well alright, but I'm really busy at work right now. Do you mind driving out there yourself? It's quite a way.”
By now we had one car, a Toyota Land Cruiser which we used to pull a small caravan when we went away on touring holidays. It was sturdy and reliable, and I had no worries about making the trip. I hurriedly packed a black dress and heels, plus a couple of changes of casual clothing, and set out early the next morning. Fortunately I had two clear days to get there according to the newspaper. It sounded like there would be a big attendance so I phoned the hotel at Heywood's Crossing and was lucky to secure the last room they had, otherwise I might have had to tow the caravan and I didn't really want to do that.
I've always enjoyed driving out in the country, and I arrived at Heywood's Crossing the night before the funeral. The hotel was packed, and it was obvious that this was going to be a big occasion. I didn't even know if I would get a chance to speak to Lesley Brodie, I might just have to write her a note later.
The small local church was packed to overflowing, and I was one of those who had to sit out in the blazing sun. Fortunately a kind woman sitting beside me gave me some shade with her umbrella.
“Do you know the Brodies well?” she enquired.
“Not that well,” I replied “but Lesley did me a great kindness once and I had to come and pay my respects.”
“That would be Lesley,” she replied,”I knew John's first wife too and never thought he would find another wife to match her, but Lesley has and more.”
I smiled and hoped I would not get a grilling about the 'kindness' from Lesley, but fortunately the service started then and we had to stop talking. It was a nice service, and I learned quite a bit about John and the contributions he had made to the local countryside. Then Lesley spoke, and I could hear the pain in her voice, but also the strength, and when she read that lovely poem by Elizabeth Barrett Browning
“How do I love thee? Let me count the ways,”
I don't think there was a dry eye anywhere in the congregation, mine certainly weren't.
After the service was over, we were invited as tradition demands, to take refreshments in the church hall while the chief mourners went up to the graveyard to lay John Brodie to rest. I did not expect to see anyone I knew so it was quite a surprise when I suddenly realised that a man standing close to me was Dr Brentwell, so I introduced myself.
“Why Mandy! It's been a long time,” he said “but you're looking very well.”
“Thank you,” I replied. He looked well too, although he had to be in his mid seventies by now.
“So what are you doing here?” he enquired.
“I came to pay my respects when I found out quite by chance who the kind person was who encouraged me the first day I came to see you.”
“Oh yes, I remember now,” he replied “and of course there was...” He suddenly stopped as if realising he had said something he shouldn't have mentioned. I stared at him, the realisation hitting me like a thunderbolt.
“It was she and her husband who provided the money for my surgery when I lost it all wasn't it?” I blurted out.
Dr Brentwell looked very uncomfortable, so I let him off the hook.
“It's alright, you don't have to answer that — your face says it all.”
“They are very good people,” he said. “They've helped many people financially.”
“That makes me even happier that I came,” I said. “And don't worry, if I see her I won't mention what you said.”
In fact I did see Lesley Brodie later when she returned from the cemetery. She was standing in the middle of the crowd consuming their sandwiches and drinks, but for all that she seemed terribly alone, and no-one was talking to her at that moment, so I walked up to her and said “Please accept my condolences, Mrs Brodie.”
She looked at me in a puzzled sort of way and I continued “You don't remember me do you?”
“I'm sorry,” she replied.
“My name is Mandy Shore, it used to be Mandy Collins, and you only ever met me once, in a doctor's waiting room — a doctor who had a particular speciality. We have something in common, Mrs Brodie.”
She suddenly looked shocked and I could see she did remember me after all. There was something more in her eyes too, perhaps it was fear?
Just then someone came up to talk to her and she hurriedly said “I'm sorry we can't talk further today, but do get in touch. You know where I live.”
“Yes Mrs Brodie, I'll certainly do that, and once again, I am truly sorry for your loss,” I said and then as she was led away, I turned and walked back to my car.
The thought had suddenly occurred to me that maybe she thought I was going to threaten to expose her past. Perhaps Tom was right and I shouldn't have gone to the funeral.
I had intended to stay another night in Heywood's Crossing, but now I changed my mind and decided to head back home. Perhaps Lesley Brodie's loss had made me realise how much I appreciated having Tom, and I didn't want to spend any more time away from him. I did check where she lived and the telephone number before I left as I thought a phone call in a few days time might reassure her my intentions were not bad.
I took off my black dress and put on jeans, a check shirt and boots, much more suitable for bush travel. Then I checked out and loaded my bag into the Land Cruiser and headed east. The sun was starting to set and perhaps I should have waited until morning, but I was anxious to get home. The highway was generally quiet but as night fell a number of giant road trains approached and passed me with a thundering roar, shaking the Land Cruiser which is not a small vehicle. It was a little scary to say the least. I carried on, and some time later a mob of kangaroos bounded over the highway in front of me. I jammed on the brakes and the tail of the last one just caught the bull-bar as he leaped clear. That was enough for me.
'You didn't come all this way to get yourself killed,' I chided myself.
I drove slowly into the next small town which fortunately had a truck stop, where I parked among the big rigs, pushed my seat back and settled down to sleep.
I awoke at dawn, cold and cramped, got out of the wagon and stretched my legs. The cafe never closed so after a visit to the 'ladies' where I did my best to look human again, I tucked into a 'big breakfast' of bacon, eggs, sausage, and fried bread, plus a big mug of coffee, studiously avoiding the curious stares of the truckies. Thus fortified I took to the road again, and this time I stopped and checked into a motel before it got dark. I reached home without incident the following day. Tom had gone to work, as he wasn't expecting me until that evening, so I phoned him to let him know I was back, and then, feeling quite exhausted, went to bed.
When Tom came home that evening I clung to him as though I was scared to let him go.
“Darling, you've only been away five days,” he said gently.
“Well they were five long days and going to that funeral made me realise how precious our time is together.”
“So you spoke to Lesley Brodie then.”
“Yes I did, and Tom I think you might be right — you usually are. She may have thought I intended to expose her. She was polite though, and asked me to get in touch.”
“Well in that case I think you should, if only to reassure her.”
I waited three days. I didn't really know when the right time to ring might be, but perhaps this was a good a time as any.
“Lesley Brodie speaking,” her voice still sounded slightly strained. Had I miss-timed my call? It was too late now.
“It's Mandy Shore Mrs Brodie. Please tell me, are you still on a shared line or is it alright to talk freely?”
“Oh yes,” she replied, “we have an automatic exchange now, no-one listens in.”
“Mrs Brodie, I'm sorry if I alarmed you when I met you the other day. Please be assured that I have no intention of revealing your past, any more than I would want mine revealed. I came to pay my respects because of your kindness to me that day at Dr Brentwell's rooms when I was on the point of running out.”
“That's so long ago,” she replied, “I'm surprised you remember.”
“There are moments in a person's life they never forget,” I replied, “But during my trip out there, I discovered that I have something more to thank you for. I ran into Dr Brentwell and wondered why he was present. Then it occurred to me that it had to be something more than the fact he was your specialist all those years ago. I suddenly realised that you and Mr Brodie supplied the funds that enabled me to have my surgery after I lost all my money. Dr Brentwell didn't betray your confidence, he didn't have to. Just the look on his face when I blurted out my discovery was enough. What I wanted to say was 'thank you again' as you probably saved my life. I don't know if I could have faced starting over again to save the money for my surgery.”
“We didn't give you the money Mandy, it was a loan and you repaid all of it,” she replied.
“It was the least I could do, but you didn't know that when you loaned it to me.”
She laughed softly “Well, let's just say that Dr Brentwell had faith in you, and that was good enough for us.” Then she changed the subject. “Are you back home now?”
“Yes, in Brisbane.”
“Ah Brisbane, I know it well. I've flown down there many times.”
“Are you a pilot?” I asked.
“Oh yes, in the country you have to do many things, but I've always loved flying.”
I felt that perhaps she was being polite, making conversation with me, a comparative stranger, so I said “Well, I must not take up too much of your time, Mrs Brodie, but it's been nice talking to you and especially making sure there wasn't any misunderstanding.”
“Please call me Lesley. It's been nice talking to you too Mandy. Did you say your name is Shore now?”
“Yes Tom is my partner. He's a lovely man. As far as the world is concerned we are husband and wife.” It suddenly occurred to me that maybe I was rubbing salt into an open wound.
“It was the same with me and John,” she replied softly and I could hear the sadness in her voice. “Cherish your Tom, Mandy, life is so short.”
“I will,” I replied and then again “I'm so sorry.”
“I'm alright, really. I have good friends here, and a new one in Brisbane now. If you ever find your way out here again, you must come and visit, even stay. There's plenty of room.”
“Thank you, I should like that,” I said. "The next time you are in Brisbane, please let us know. I'm sure Tom would really like to meet you too."
Then it really was time to say our goodbyes.
When Tom came home I told him about my conversation with Lesley Brodie.
“Well I'm glad that was sorted out,” he said.
And now perhaps it really is time to say “And they lived happily ever after.”
Who knows what the future will bring, but loving and being loved by the most wonderful man in the world, I'm sure I can face it with confidence.
THE END