Skipper! Chapter 15

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Skipper! by Beverly Taff

 

This chapter is a complete re-write of the old chapter 15 and it explores new developments in Skipper's life. From here on there are new chapters that take the story beyond what is posted on Fictionmania.

 


Chapter Fifteen

 

After having decided to meet our ship the Speedway on her arrival on Sunday, we spent the rest of Friday evening relaxing.

I explained to Jennifer and Beatrice that I had to go up to London on Monday to re-register our new ship’s name as the Speedwell. Then I had to fly to Amsterdam midweek to complete the transfer formalities subject to a satisfactory survey.

“Oooh! Gasped the girls, Can we come?”

“Sorry girls. This is an important business trip and I’ll have no time for tourist fun. Besides, Jenny and Chenille’s exams are looming.”

The girls sulked a little and Jenny argued her case.

“But we’re going to St Angies next year. Our exam results won’t matter if you’re paying for us.”

“Oh yes they will. There are several scholarships on offer and if you or Chenille win one, or better still, one each, then that will ease the fee burden appreciably. You’re bright kids and I know if you put your minds to it you could win scholarships but the competition is tough. This half term is a really important one. If you study for the scholarships into St Angie’s it will do no end of good if you win one Firstly it will make more money available for other things. For example, Sian tells me you’re growing out of your ponies and you’ll need bigger ones soon. I’m not going to throw money at your education; you have to work as well. If you really want to go to Amsterdam, you can go in the summer holidays on the Speedway. It will be a nice little cruise for you.

You can go to Cork and Le Havre as well. The apprentice’s cabins will be empty during the summer holidays because I haven’t taken on any new lads for this year’s apprentiship scheme yet and the other boys have to trade down to Morocco to get their foreign going sea time in. There will be three cabins empty on the Speedway for the whole summer.””

“What about Spain?” Pleaded Jenny, “I heard you saying that the Speedwell will be going to Spain and Morocco as well.”

“Spain; yes that’s quite true, but Morocco’s not fixed up yet, the dates and the schedule have got to be ironed out and there’s some business to sort out in Tangier. The charter has some loose ends to resolve. That’s one of the things I’ve got to do on the Baltic in London before I fly to Amsterdam.

“I thought the Baltic Sea was in Russia,” Protested Jennifer.

“No. It’s in Sweden corrected Chenille.”

“Well whatever. It’s not in London. You’re lying Mummy Bev.”

I smiled and wagged my head.

“Well darlings your Geography is impeccable. Yes, the Baltic Sea is in both Russia and Sweden; and Poland, Finland, Germany, Denmark, Latvia, Lithuania and Estonia. But I’m not going to the Baltic Sea. I’m going to the Baltic exchange. This is big office in London where people match ships to cargoes. So I’m not lying darling, the people in London who fix up business for ships just call the Baltic Exchange; ‘The Baltic’.

Now this is a very busy week for me .Once it’s fixed up and if you’re very good and you do well in your exams, then we might make another holiday sometime later in the year. There will be plenty to see and do in France, Ireland and Holland all this summer.”

This mollified Jennifer and we heard little more about it. As we cleared the dishes and chatted in the kitchen, Angela turned to me while the girls left to sleep over at Chenille and Martina’s.

“I’m glad to see that you don’t spoil them.”

I grinned softly.

“It’s hard sometimes. They’re such lovely kids.”

“Do they sleep over with Chenille and Martina a lot?”

“Nearly every alternate weekend. And often on weekdays usually Thursday and Wednesday because of the way their school lessons fall.” It’s Sian and Margaret’s turn to have them this weekend.”

“Do they, you know, climb into Sian and Margaret’s bed in the mornings?”

“I don’t know. I’ve never thought to ask but I suppose they do.”

“They are such lucky girls.” Sighed Angela. “So many kind and caring adults.”

“Well I’m glad you approve. I had serious worries that you might not approve of Sian and Margaret or indeed, me.”

“I’ve learned a lot since coming here Bev. It’s hard to think of a man mothering kids, but you’ve made a damned good fist of it. You’re really nice and the children absolutely adore you. I mean it’s not just the way you mother them and cuddle them but you run the home as well, cooking, cleaning, laundry; all the grotty stuff as well. . That Mrs Bad -, Bol -, what’s her name?”

“Mrs Bodkin, she works for the social services in the next county, where your mum used to live.”

“Well. I’ve just got to meet her and thank her. She saw it in you and she must have been very brave to choose you but she’s made a splendid choice. “

“Steady on Angela, I’ll have to take my halo off in a minute, and there’s enough cleaning and polishing around here. Anyway, what about the judge, Elizabeth Porter, she was very brave too and Sandie; she had a huge part to play.”

“Yes. Those two as well.”

We settled in the drawing room to savour a quiet evening while the girls were over at Sian’s. As we watched television, I caught Angela constantly looking at me. The first few times I simply smiled, but after the umpteenth glance I turned curiously.

“What is it?”

Angel simply turned red.

“Oh I -, I -, I’m sorry.” It was rude of me to keep staring.”

“Well what is it. Is there something wrong with me.”

I checked my skirt and closed my legs thinking I was ‘flashing my panties’ or something but no, the hem of my favourite blue frock was modestly below my knee. Angela smiled as she replaced her chocolate on her occasional table.

“No. There’s absolutely nothing wrong with you.”

“Well what is it then?” I asked nervously.

Angela hesitated and her colour deepened. I realised she was as embarrassed as me. Finally after a long pregnant pause she managed to look me in the eye.

“Do you -, do you still -, do you still, you know; uuuhhm, function as a man?”

“Where’s this going?” I hedged.

“Well -, well I was just curious. I was speaking to Sandie while we were watching the riding lesson and she says that you can still uuuhhm -, you know.”

“Sandie’s got no right to talk about me like that. It’s private.”

“But, if I’m going to live here, I need to know. For instance, do you get urges? Am I safe?”

“If you’re worried, go and live next door to Sylvia. You can ask Sian, or Margaret or even young and very pretty Sylvia. She’s an eighteen-year-old ‘single girl’ sex siren and I find her very attractive but I’ve never, never tried it on or pushed myself onto any of them and I have no intention of ever trying. I’m NOT that sort of a girl!”

“Yes but they’re lesbians. You know they would turn you down flat. I’m a normal woman and I’m still quite attractive. Sandie says that underneath that skirt and camisole there’s a heterosexual man.”

“Sandie should know better. Even the girls know that under this skirt there’s a man, but under the camisole beats a woman’s heart, - a mother’s heart and more importantly, it’s strictly a woman’s brain between my ears.”

“I think Sandie was only speaking figuratively.”

I changed tack and took a more direct approach.

“Why? Do you feel threatened by me?”

“Well. No, not at all actually. In fact it’s quite the opposite.”

“What? What d’you mean?”

“Well you’re very likeable. You’re friendly and caring but I don’t feel threatened
“Good. Well neither do I feel threatened by you, but if you keep asking questions like this, I’ll start to become frightened. Now I think you’d better have another chat with Sandie and she can explain all the rest about transvestites and she-males. This she-male wants to go to bed.”

“No! Please wait. Perhaps I started on the wrong tack. Please, I want to talk some more. Sandie explained all about you when we came home from school.”

“So what is there to ask? You must have had the full two barrels from Sandie. If there’s one thing about Sandie, if she's noyhing else, she’s forthright.”

“It’s not about your con, - your condition I want to talk; it’s about you -, you as a person.”

“What else is left? If you know about transvestites and she-males you know about me.”

“No. You can’t get away with it that easily. That’s too pat. I want to know about you. What you feel, your hopes and ambitions, all the private stuff that makes you who you are, not what you are!”

I fell silent. This was getting too personal and I felt it would inevitably lead to something painful. I always found this sort of talk painful. Only recently I had eventually got over whining about my childhood past. My modest business successes with the Speedway had in some small part helped me raise my self esteem. I know it was only through money and successful business deals and stuff but they were the only effective avenues left open to me. Anything emotional or social or personal were avenues that would forever remain closed to me now. I was terrified of ever getting too involved with people or a particular person again. .I had kept my ambitions and hopes secret all my life and being what I was, a tranny; had always made me circumspect about long term or permanent adult relationships. The childhood abuse had also left me permanently damaged on that score always distrustful of adults and always doubly alert.

Money, ships, business; yes, bring it on! People, emotions, relationships; sorry, shoal ware shoal cry I!
My defences were starting to click in. I’d been here so many times before and things had always turned out bad. I adopted my usual arsenal of tried and tested devices.

“You can’t know who I am without understanding what I am.”

“Ok. So it’s to be Fortress Beverly, is it?” She countered. “Nothing about your feelings, nothing about your thoughts or your fantasies; nothing about the very building blocks of your being; just, ‘I’m a transvestite, take it or leave it!”

“Whatever ‘building blocks’ as you call them, that are used to build my being, that being rests on one basic foundation stone, my transvestism or my she-male nature. If you can’t get past that, you will never get to me.”
“So we’re going to have this wall between us forever.”

“What d’you mean, ‘wall between us’. I don’t see any ‘us’.”

“D’you not have any feelings for anybody?”

“That’s not fair. I have feelings for lots of people. Take Jenny and Bea for instance. I care a lot about them. I, - I, - oh what’s the word? I cherish them. That’s it! I cherish them!”

“Yes but -, No but -! What I mean is emotional feelings.”

“Hell Angela, cherishing is an emotional feeling. What else can feelings be? My heart flips every time I see them come dashing up the lane when it’s raining or when they’re dawdling and looking at flowers in the hedgerows if it’s sunny. I sigh with pure pleasure when I see them erupt out of the school gates and charge towards my Landrover or when they loiter in the school yard to chatter with their friends and I have to beep the horn to hurry them up. I feel a flush of pure joy when I see them returning from riding. I know they are back safe with me. I feel a wave of motherly compassion when I see their little heads asleep on the pillow.”

“But I’m their mother.”

“Of course you are! I did not say you weren’t. All I said was that I had motherly feelings for them as well; it’s hard not to after rescuing them from certain death.”

“You’ll always let me see them then?”

“Is that what this is all about?”

I realised it was Angela’s emotions that were all over the place. She wasn’t being tearful but she was having one of her doubting fits. She struggled to answer.

“No, well, - partly yes. Oh damn! I’m going about this all wrong,” countered Angela, “I mean emotional feelings with others, with adults.”

“Adults. Why do you say adults? I’d love to love adults, I love humanity. It’s just that humanity doesn’t seem to like me or my kind very much.”

“Oh, but you say that in a general way. Individual people grow to like you; when they get to know you that is. You’re a very likeable person.”

“Yeah but that’s just in my private life. Society doesn’t like me, you know, in the general caring way, the humanitarian way, the way that prompted me to stop my ship and save Jenny and Bea.”

I looked at her cautiously, I was getting an inkling of where Angela wanted to go, but I was loath to go there. That was where all the hurt lay. I chose my words carefully.

“That humanitarian way is the only way open to me in my dealings with adults. Any other personal or private emotional way invariably leads to some sort of entanglement, and then inevitably to some sort of catastrophe, usually some sexual catastrophe.”

“You’re too cynical.” Sighed Angela with frustration.

“Surprise, surprise Angela! Oh and hard bitten as well; don’t forget hard-bitten. I’ve been around girl, believe me all around.”

“You’re like a Jekyll and Hyde.”

“Yep.” I finished tersely then relented slightly as I remembered an old saying. It was about getting too deeply involved with other people. I repeated the lines.
.

“Touch me only on the skin.
For there I am your kith and kin.
Touch me not within the heart.
For I can’t share that central part.”

“Where did you learn that?” Asked Angela

I paused for I couldn’t remember; in truth I think I might have made it up long ago in some maudlin, introspective reflection about some previous emotional catastrophe. Alternatively, I might have plagiarised it somewhere and altered it to suit my own feelings. I honestly couldn’t remember.

“Dunno,” I replied, “it goes way back. Look, is this over, can I go to bed?”

Angela realised I was not lowering my defences so she shrugged resignedly.

“If you must.”

I thanked her and picked my way upstairs. As I settled into bed, Angela called ‘goodnight’ from down the landing and I responded. I did not sleep though. I was worried that Angela seemed to want to know too much about me and my lifestyle. I was worried that she might take it upon herself to try and start some sort of relationship for I knew that always seemed to lead to disaster. Or, alternatively, she was looking for flaws and ammunition to throw up if and when she got better and wanted her children back. I was getting nervous.

I lay awake long into the small hours staring through the window at the stars.

Saturday came and went in a hectic round of riding lessons followed by a shopping trip into town. The girls slept over at Sian and Margaret’s then returned on Sunday morning as we prepared to meet the Speedway when she docked in the harbour.

Jenny, Beatrice and one of the apprentices gave Angela the ‘Grand tour’ of the ship whilst I discussed changes with the crew following the addition of the Speedwell to make ours a modest little ‘two ship’ fleet.

Jesse and Supan were eventually to take permanent positions as Captain and relief captain of the Speedwell trading to Spain. Their brief span as Captain and mate of the Speedway was to give them a gentle shoe-horn into the types of responsibilities they would find when they inaugurated the Spanish run. Both of them being educated Filipinos, spoke good Spanish as well as English. It was the obvious choice. Besides, Billy and Mac preferred the North European ports and they were after all partners so they had a choice.

Billy and Mac were on the Speedway as well that Sunday as they completed the temporary hand over to Jesse and Supan.
We all had dinner aboard the Speedway then stood on the quay with Billy and Mac to wave her off as she departed for Cork. It was a busy schedule but a profitable one. As we drove home Angela chatted about the ship and the part she played in rescuing her daughters. This also elicited a further account of the event from Jenny and Bea, which I was occasionally required to confirm or correct. I finally realised that Angele’s return from the dead had been the catalyst that triggered the girls’ willingness to eventually discuss the events. It was as if having their mother back made the whole thing seem to have never happened. The girls felt safe again.

That night the girls slept at home and with their bedroom door casually left open, I heard Angela talking with them in the bedroom as I prepared some papers for my Monday visit to London.

When the children were asleep, Angela returned down stairs and made us each a nightcap and joined me in the drawing room. I was just packing the papers away.

“Don’t forget to collect those lovely nightdresses you promised me and the girls.” She reminded me.

“You can come up with me and collect them yourself if you wish. The Speedwell’s new name registration will only take a few minutes and the Baltic business is only an hour or so. I’ll be finished before twelve and we can have the afternoon together, shopping in London.”

“I was hoping you’d say that.”

“Just remember, if you go to pick the nightwear up yourself, you’ll be getting an insight into the twilight side of my life. Don’t be upset or disgusted by what you see in her shop. This lady caters to all tastes. Mine are pretty mediocre by her standards. She gets all sorts of weird commissions.”

“Oooohh! It sounds spicy.” Giggled Angela.

I gave her a knowing look over my chocolate and shook my head.

“It may seem sensuous or spicy now but when you see the stuff in her shop it feels seedy and demeaning. I’m just warning you, that’s all.”

“Will I be able to try them on before bringing them home?”

“I don’t know. Although we’ve ordered them and told her your measurements, it was a bit late and yours might not yet be ready. I don’t know. You shouldn’t need any second fittings though, she’s a pretty good seamstress; and she usually gets it right first time. Even from just a set of measurements given over the phone.”

“Well, goodnight then. What time are we leaving?”

“I usually catch the six o’clock and that means I’m up at five. I’m meeting Mac and Billy in London, they’re there to record their shared interests in the ship and its registration; literally, a couple of hours in the morning and we should be finished before lunch.”

“Oh. It’ll be quite a social event then.”

“Yes we’ll be late lunching together if we have to cross the city to meet you; then they’re coming down on the same train to Bournemouth so they can check their house before we all go to Amsterdam to bring the Speedwell out of dry-dock. D’you want to join us or are you still ill at ease with men?”

“Oh I met Billy and Mac on the Speedway. I think I can manage them. They didn’t seem at all threatening. They didn’t make a single pass and no salacious looks.”

“That’s because they’re gay and they’re partners.”

“Oh! Gosh. What a waste. Billy’s a bit of a dish. Are all your friends gay or transvestite?”

“More or less. It’s the comfort zone thing. Like you, I’m leery of men.”
“Oh dear! Why?”

“I’ll not go there now. Anyway, it’s getting late. See you in the morning.

OK then five o’clock it is, night, - night.”

She followed me up and we separated on the landing. I thought she made to offer me a kiss but I slipped into my bedroom before the opportunity presented itself. The following morning she proved to be reliable as she knocked gently on my door at precisely five o’clock.

“Are you up?” She whispered.

“Yes,” I replied, “I’m already showered. Come in, I’m decent,” I replied as I flung my dressing gown over my lingerie.

She slipped around the door in her beautiful emerald green lingerie and I did a double take as I turned away respectfully.

“Oh. I’m sorry. I thought you were already dressed.” I apologised.

Angela ignored my apology.

“I was just wondering what to wear. Is this a shopping expedition or a business trip?”

“Well, it’s business trip for me.” I indicated my navy pinstripe two-piece and high-necked pale grey blouse with the ruffled lace collar laid out on my bed. “These London city types have got to accept a woman if she’s the one with the money, but they still like to see a professional image especially from someone who has clearly smashed her way through their glass ceilings. My money gets me lots of respect, but my business acumen gets me more.”

With Angela standing there in her bra, panties and tights, I followed her lead and slipped off my dressing gown to stand there in my silky dove grey teddy and suspendered stockings.

Angela smiled as she studied me and her gaze fell to the unsightly bulge in my crotch.

“I prefer tights,” she said, “they’re so much more comfortable. Wouldn’t they be better for you as well, - you know, to hide that uuhm, bulge.”

I was glad she seemed to take no offence at my unsuccessful attempts to tuck. After the injuries I had suffered to my genitalia as a transvestite child, tucking was always painful. The scar tissue pulled and my scrotum hurt if I tried pushing my testicles up into my abdomen or I tried tucking my penis away. That’s why I invariably chose firm control panties if transition or modesty was an issue. However, it seemed that modesty was not and issue with Angela for she had chosen to boldly enter my bedroom in only her tights, panties and bra. I made a wry face as I chuckled at her suggestion.

“Tights darling? Come on Angela, take a reality check here. I’m a shemale tranny darling and trannies invariably prefer the feminine. It’s all about erotic, silky and femme.”

I briefly explained why I could not ‘tuck’ and her smile faded as she reached out to hug me.

“Oh my God! Just what did they do to you Bev?”

I shuddered as her question struck a raw nerve but I refrained from going off on yet another self centred sympathy trip. I was getting over it myself and I felt others were getting bored with me repeating the tale ad nauseaum.

“Oh it’s long time ago now and it’s water over the dam. Firm support panties are uncomfortable as we’ve both agreed so at times like this I choose to go ‘san’s modestee’ I’m not expecting anybody to go groping me or something and the full cut tails of the stretch teddy are sufficient to hold in my little boy bits properly.

This is purely a business trip. When I get to be measured for a new suit, I’ll have slipped on my panty girdle just so I’ll not offend my tailoress. Angela smiled and nodded approvingly as I held the tailored pencil skirt to my waist and studied myself in the mirror. My ‘bulge’ did not show.

I was getting tired of dark winter colours so I decided I would order myself a new light grey twin-set and possibly a cream one when we collected the nightdresses. To this end, I slipped a ‘firm control’ panty into my laptop case. Angela studied my navy suit and sighed.

“I haven’t got a proper business suit suitable for town.”

“But you’re not on business. You’re going shopping.”

“What shall I do in the morning though? I’ll be on my own.”

“Oh gosh dear! If you need to be told what to do in London between nine and twelve on a Monday then sister; you’ve missed out on a lot of girly shopping lessons.”

“No, it’s not that. Believe me Bev, I know how to shop, what girl doesn’t? Trouble is I’m broke. It all costs money and I’ve only got a modest allowance from my insurance and my state widow’s pension.” Jenny and Bea inherited everything when my mother, Grandma Fotheringay died.”

“I’ll draw some cash for you at Victoria station. Let me indulge you, please; but if you really feel guilty about that, you can pay me back if or when you start work.”

She studied me briefly then wrinkled her brow.

“Thanks Bev, you’re ever so kind. I cant imagine why people should have wanted to hurt you as a kid.”

“Yeah, well as I said, it’s all water over the dam now. I’m mostly over it. I’ve made something of myself and I’m pretty close to realising my dreams.”

“Yes. You are. I’m so happy for you. Look, we’re about the same size, can I borrow one of your suits. Just this once.”

“OK. If you wish, there are several on the second clothes rail past the shoes as you go into the closet. Take your pick they’re more or less the same except for slight differences in colour,. I’m afraid it’s black, navy blue, charcoal or grey. Please don’t touch the white or the pink ones; they are new lightweight summer outfits for when I go to Spain on business with this new venture. I need to look my best, the Spanish are second only to the Italians for style, well at least, I think they are.”

Angela needed no second bidding and I smiled as I watched her beautiful frilly butt sticking out from the clothes as she quickly selected her outfit. She emerged with the lightest possible grey one and gave me a twirl.

“What d’you think?”

“Yes. That seems fine to me.” I replied. “It’s the least formal of the twin sets. Do you have a camisole top or blouse?”

“Yes. I’ve decided like my lingerie, emerald green. Don’t you have any suits in cheerful colours?

I wagged my head. Apart from the new pink and white lightweight ones for Spain, I tended to do go for serious and professional in the city. I only wore my more colourful and outrageous outfits for wild trannying excursions down at Sissy’s club or in London.

Angela’s lingerie was emerald green so it was obvious she had already selected her mood and matched it. She slipped away and I resumed dressing. As I descended the stairs, Sylvia appeared yawing as she prepared to look after Jenny and Bea. After a quick breakfast we were on the road to Bournemouth for the early express to London.
On the train we chatted briefly and Angela smiled as she spread herself out in the luxury of the empty compartment. Then she promptly dozed off. I busied myself with my laptop while I studied some notes and annotated the figures as the train hurtled along. She woke up as we approached Guildford and yawned as she saw the commuters massed on the platform.

“It makes me feel important, going up to London on business.” She remarked.

“Believe me; you’d soon tire of it. Just study some of the faces getting on the train as we stop here.”

As we approached London, Angela caught my eye and nodded. The mood in the carriage changed as more commuters filled the compartment with each stop and it soon deteriorated into cattle-truck conditions. The once empty seats had long since filled up and any attempt at reading or writing was out of the question. Elbows and briefcases accidentally invaded our space as the train became more packed and any attempt at good manners became impossible as the corridor also became packed.

When we emerged at Victoria Station Angela was gasping.

“My God! And it’s like that every day.”

“That was first class darling. Back there in second class it’s worse, though the crowding has become commonplace now. The class division breaks down in the commuter belt. Demand for seats and standing space is too strong. Welcome to hell on the six o’clock.”

“My God. I’m glad I don’t have to do that every day.”

“So am I Ange’ so am I.” It was the first time I had ever consciously shortened her name. “However,” I added, “now you’ve got the delights of the tube.”

I collected some money from the special cash dispenser, gave her a useful thousand quid which made her gasp with shock.

“I can’t accept all this!”

“Oh for God’s sake girl it’s only money. I’ve just invested three quarters of a million of my own money in my share of a second ship plus another half a million in a portainer crane. A thousand is bugger all! Take it. I’ll be hurt if you don’t. You’ve done wonders for Jenny and Beatrice since you arrived on the scene, I’ve seen them really blossom. Think of it was a sort of ‘thank you.”

Angela stared at me and started to tear up again. I hurriedly grabbed some tissues from the depths of my shoulder bag and handed them to her. She dabbed her eyes and we slipped into the station hotel to fix her makeup before we parted company, she to Oxford Street and the West end for shopping, me to the city and business.

After Mac, Billy and I had completed the registration formalities and other business, we crossed the city and met Angela for a late lunch. Then we separated and she and I visited my little seamstress friend. Angela had been a little shy of visiting by herself. She had peeped in earlier in the morning and blanched at the idea. Even the window display was too risqué for Angela despite it being discreetly tucked away down a narrow back street.
As we walked from the tube we chatted.

“Where have Mac and Billy gone,” she asked.

“To a gay club most likely. It’s what they do.”

“Oh. Sorry, I’m too nosey for my own good.”

“Well, yes, you are a bit, though I don’t suppose they would be offended if you asked them. I’ve never bothered them about their sexuality and they don’t ask me about mine. We respect each other’s privacy. Like me, they’re of an age when they’re comfortable with their sexuality. We’ll be meeting again for the train back to Bournemouth and Poole. It’s best to get out of London either before or after the bloody rush hour. Billy and Mac want to go clubbing a bit so it’s the later train. Ah, here we are my most favourite shop in all of London town.”
Angela paused hesitantly and clutched my arm as we entered. The bell tinkled as I opened the door of a discreet little shop tucked away down a back street alleyway in Pimlico.

“Janet, meet Angela, Angela this is Janet.”

Janet was a sweet elderly lady who looked every inch the picture of an east European refugee, which was exactly what she was. Her uncle had escaped the holocaust with only one niece, namely Janet. All her siblings, parents and other relatives had been gassed and burned in the death camps. She had never properly recovered after her parents had died thus leaving her alone. Her uncle died from the horror of it all sometime in the sixties.

She must have been a stunning girl in her youth and I had often wondered why she had never married. I found out soon after making our first acquaintance when I realised Janet had her own sexual axes to grind. Janet had little time for men and lived with a female life partner in Pimlico. Sadly they had never had children for in Janet’s youth just after the war, lesbian couples daren’t have babies unless they had a watertight story about some lover’ killed in the war’ and they had a big enough house to maintain their privacy and keep any lesbian liaison strictly secret. It was Janet’s biggest regret and I had huge sympathy for her. During her younger years she had been struggling to get established and never had the wherewithal to make a pretence of genteel widowhood.

No woman, whatever her sexual orientation, should be denied that one basic right namely motherhood, if she wanted it. Lesbian couples like Margaret and Sian today were just so lucky.

After introductions, Janet stepped out from behind her counter come worktable and gave Angela a hug as she spoke to me.

“So ziss iss your new firend then?” She croaked in her thick Jewish Slovakian accent.”

“Yes Jan,” I replied as I gave her a customary hug, “it was Angela’s daughters who we rescued.”

“Oh. Golly! How beeauteeful is dat? I’m so hapeee for dose gurls. How wonderful for dose sweeet leetle gurls! So you are der mudder! We everybody thought you wass dead.”

“You know about the story then?” Replied Angela.

“Oooaahh yess. But I haff to deeg de story out off diss dumkoff gurl. She not talk too much, but she verry brave.”

So saying Janet turned to kiss me and I felt her thrust her belly against me. Her smile turned to disappointment but not anger when she sensed the heavy control panty-girdle under my skirt. Angela also noticed the interplay and gave me a knowing smile.

Then Janet pulled away and smiled at me again.

“You want I measure you, hey?”

“Well. Yes. I want to order some new suites.”

“Ooooaaahh. Just suites again isss it?" Why always suites?”

“Hold on Jan darling!” I protested “We’ve just ordered two dozen assorted nightdresses, peignoirs and matching sleep suites from you only two weeks ago. The adults and various children’s s tuff; are they ready?”

“Of course dey ready. I ever let you down?”

“Well. No. You’re very good. Are those they?”

“Yess. All packed and ready, see! I good worker! Now you take off clothes and I measure suit!”

I had been measured by Janet several times and had no qualms because I always wore my firm control panty girdle. I had slipped it on earlier in the loo at the restaurant. She didn’t bother to take me behind the screen as she made me strip to my teddy, control girdle and stockings. The panty girdle looked utterly incongruous but I always wore it to avoid any accidental intimacies. Janet studied me approvingly.

“You in good shape for lady so old.”

“Well thank you darling. I’m only in my fifties love. You’re not so bad for a spring chicken yourself.”

Janet smiled but ignored my riposte as she motioned with her hands.

“Now, arms out.”

I followed her instructions as she briskly measured me up. Angela watched fascinated by my lack of concern or modesty.

“Will she have to measure me?” Asked Angela.

“If you want a suit, yes.”

“I’d prefer the screen; I’m not wearing a panty girdle.

Janet nodded and then invited Angela behind the screen. I heard Janet comment about Angela being a ‘proper lady’ and smiled as I heard Janet discussing Angela’s most intimate dimensions; just as she had mine, earlier.

“If you want skirts and matching trousers sets miss, I need measure inside leg.”

“Oh all right then. If you must.”

There was a pregnant silence then finally, Angela was released. She emerged from behind the screen flushed and a little embarrassed but smiling.

“That wasn’t as bad as I thought it would be.”

“If you want trouser suites my darling, you have to be measured for trousers. Boys get that inside leg thing every time.”

“But not you,” grinned Angela as she wriggled into her skirt.

“I’ve got a couple of trouser suites if I go to the continent in winter but otherwise I never wear them because I far prefer skirts. I’m a tranny, - go figure!”

“Yes, I’ve learned that bit at least. This skirt is a bit tight on me. I think I indulged too much at lunch” She grinned knowingly.

“Well my hips are a not quite as delicious and femme as yours. Don’t worry, Janet does an excellent job. Your suits will fit perfectly. Now is there anything else that takes your fancy?”

Angela studied the displays as Janet completed her notes. She ran her fingers over some lingerie and sighed.
“These are lovely. I see why you come here now.”

“Beverlee, shee good customer,” added Janet, “shee have good tastes.”

“Yes. I can see that. D’you make all this yourself?”

“No. I now have two assistant. They off today but very good. One girly boy and one girl.”

“A girly boy?”

“Yes, like Beverly but more like a boy. He iss very nice! Now my clients can chooss a boy or a girl to measure them.”

“That’s a good idea. When can we collect our suits?” Finished Angela.

“Thursday.” Replied Janet. “I work as fast as any Soho tailor.”

“No don’t rush for them.” I said. “I’m going to Amsterdam on Thursday so best make it Friday. I’ll be coming back from Amsterdam then.” I confirmed.

“I didn’t know you were going to Amsterdam.” Cried Angela.

It’s business darling. Billy and Mac are returning to the Speedwell and I’m going over to help sort out some finance, and restructure some loans now we’ve got two ships, plus I want to attend the undocking.

“Gosh we are a busy boy aren’t we.”

“No Ange, I’m a busy girl.” I corrected her softly.

Janet tut-tutted at Angela’s faux-pas and scolded her.

“Beverly, now she a girl OK! You remember that, and don’t forget and you treat her nice.”

“Oh I will you can be sure. She’s a real sweetie.”

“Good, now; ‘ave you chosen frillies?”

Angela finally selected some delicious frilly lingerie and we completed our business. Finally we made our way to the station and met Mac and Billy as arranged. It was the eight thirty express and a better, later train to avoid the rush hour crush between five and six o’clock.

Mac ribbed me good naturedly.

“Oh no, have you been shopping again Bev?” He grinned.

“What else,” I grinned back.

“I dunno; you trannies.” Riposted Billy.

“It’s in the genes darling,” I replied. “I’m packed with girly shopping genes.”

“Yeah. Don’t I know it. Come on lets get on and grab a compartment to ourselves."

As we took the express home Angela waited impatiently for the carriage compartment to empty of another single late commuter then she could not resist opening the parcels and fingering the goods. She looked up at me self-consciously and blushed as Mac and Billy smiled..

“This is lovely material.”

“You don’t have to tell me dear. I wear it all the time.”

She opened another parcel with ‘M’ on it and held up one of the delightful creations as she smiled knowingly.

“This will be for Martina I guess.”

“You’ve guessed right. I think she’ll love it.”

“Why have they got buttons up the back? All the others have got ribbon ties under the bust or bodice.”

“Promise you won’t be offended.” I replied.

“Not me darling, I’m learning every day.”

“Martina is a transvestite with slight bondage tendencies. Don’t ask me how I know, it’s a tranny thing but I exactly understand her needs and wishes. I’ve watched her discreetly and noted certain little preferences.

You just watch when she gets dressed for bed in those.”

Angela blushed an even deeper red as Mac and Billy wagged their heads and smiled again. She smiled back then her smile widened with delighted surprise as she noticed them contentedly holding hands.

Eventually the train pulled into Southampton and some noisy late night revellers got on. Fortunately we had our compartment to ourselves and when the passing drunks glanced in they saw two large men accompanying two ladies so they moved on. Billy and Mac were both large men though Mac was a veritable giant; two metres if he was a centimetre.

Angela continued examining her various items and grinned at Billy and Mac who seemed to take no offence and not even present a threat. It was obvious that Angela had come to terms with Billy and Mac. She finally put her purchases away and suggested a cup of coffee.

“OK. I’ll get ‘em,” replied Billy as he hauled the compartment door back and set off up the corridor.

It was as he was returning that we heard the screams in the corridor Mac glanced at me and almost simultaneously we heard Billy shouting furiously. Mac sprang to his feet and bolted down the corridor and I minced after him as fast as my pencil skirt would allow. As we passed through the connecting concertina to the next carriage, I saw Billy punching the living daylights out of two drunks and a girl lying bleeding on the floor.

“What the hell?” I squawked as Billy gasped to Mac.

“Hold on to one of these bastards Mac. They were beating up this girl!” .

Mac, a giant Scot simply grabbed the other drunk who was still throwing punches and nearly crushed his wind-pipe as he tore him away from Billy. With odds evened up Billy soon had the other drunk under control and I pulled the emergency stop to alert the guard. The train slowed but did not stop and the guard arrived to investigate the problem. I was already checking out the girl. She could not have been more than about fourteen because her figure had not even begun to fill out. Blood was still leaking from her crotch and I quickly called Angela to come and sort it out.

Angela was the only proper woman amongst us and I was terrified of somehow incurring all sorts of accusations if I attempted any first aid ‘down there’. Fortunately Angela had once been a casualty nurse before she had worked in the bank and met her husband. Confronted with the mess she did not panic and immediately gave me instructions. Fortunately the girl was still conscious and appeared not to have any broken bones.

After the guard ensured that the fight was under control, he thanked Mac and Billy then dashed off to get the first aid kit. Angela and I had to lift the girl bodily as best we could and carry her back to our compartment. It was the nearest one with first class ‘three across seating’ where we could lay her out. She whimpered in agony as we gently set her down.

“She’s in a bad way, I declared, she’s conscious but breathing raggedly. Most of the trauma appears to be to her genitals.”

“Where’s that bloody guard with the dressings,” cursed Angela as she carefully checked inside the torn panties and suddenly gasped.

“Shit, she’s a tranny! Take a look!”

I stared stupidly at Angela then cautiously peeped at the bloodied mess. Her scrotum had been torn.

“I think you’d better treat this one. Giggled Angela”

I was shocked at Angie’s giggling but I quickly realised it was Ange’s way of dealing with the shock of her discovery. She soon resumed a professional manner as she dealt with the kid’s distress. Angie looked up at me and cursed.

“Just go and get that stupid guard. Where the fuck is he. She’s bleeding like a pig!”

I was shocked at Angela’s language but as she finished her tirade the guard appeared with a box and I thanked the gods that it contained several large dressings. Angela snatched them from my hand and quickly moved to stem the bleeding.

“Here. Don’t just stand there like a bloody tailor’s dummy! Hold these dressings like that while I call an ambulance!”

Immediately Angela was on her mobile phone describing the types of injuries and alerting the emergency services to meet the train at Bournemouth. The guard listened to Angela’s report and immediately alerted the driver who overrode the emergency stop and speeded up for Bournemouth station.

By now the kid was beginning to moan and we had hell’s own job keeping her calm. I was hugely grateful for Angela’s obvious skills. Then I realised the kid was trying to talk.

“What’s she trying to say?” I shushed as I bent down to make out her words.

The kid gave another whimper then I finally made out her words.

“Not the hospital. N,- not the hospital. My dad. My dad’ll kill me!”

“Why darling?” I tried to reassure her, “why not the hospital, you’re bleeding badly and you’ve had a bad beating.”

She smiled as she realised I was calling her darling. My tactful declaration that I recognised her transgendered state obviously seemed to calm her.

“Thanks. I, - I can’t go to the hospital. They’ll have to tell my parents. It’s my dad, he’ll kill me is he sees me like this again. He’s warned me.”

I decided to lie.

“That’s alright darling. My friend and I will pretend to be your nearest and dearest, and claim to be your relatives, is that OK. Or you could pretend that you’re an orphan or something. Are you trying to tell me that your Dad knows about your cross-dressing but he disapproves. The t-girl nodded weakly as Ange returned with a glass of water.

“She’s conscious, she can try and drink this.”

“Are you sure?”

“Try her. If she can swallow a bit and hold it down, it’ll tell me if she’s got any serious internals. Fortunately I can’t see any bruising to her body. It’s her face and crotch areas”

“The t-girl smiled weakly and tried a few sips. They stayed down and Ange nodded with satisfaction.”
“Good, that’s enough water. Now we can only wait until this bloody cattle truck gets to Bournemouth. Christ these bloody trains are slow.”

We established that her femme name was Christine and chatted to the poor kid while we organised a plausible story to address her terror of her father learning about her repeated cross-dressing. Mac and Billy were alerted to the situation and they glared at the drunken transphobic yobs that had attacked her. They cowered in the corner realising that their number was up.

Billy and Mac had not gone easy on them once they had got the upper hand.
Finally the lights of Bournemouth appeared and the train screeched into Bournemouth station. There was a full reception committee on the platform and we attended to Christine whilst the guard, Billy and Mac handed the two transphobic drunks to the police. We arranged to accompany the girl to the hospital with Angie in the ambulance and me following in the police car.

Quite frankly we lied about our relationship to Christine by telling the police that we had travelled down with Angies transexual daughter from Southampton.. Angela had already carefully secreted what few possessions the girl owned so that they couldn’t do any identity checks. Christine had made it abundantly clear yo us that she did not want her family to find out about her excursion to Southampton whilst cross dressed. I was more concerned that the kid was out at such a late hour.

In the police car I gave what information I could, making sure that I did not lie but not telling the whole truth.

“We think the two men who assaulted her may have thrown her bag out of the window in the new forest.” I lied to the Police officer as they and I followed Ange and Christine in the ambulance.

In casualty, we maintained our deception thanks to Ange’s familiarity with casualty procedures and within an hour the casualty registrar appeared.

“There’s no permanent damage, fortunately the scrotum is not too badly torn and the testicles are intact. It’s a brutal injury though and I could see why you were mistaken. She’s very badly bruised and the scrotum bag has been torn somewhat. The wound is not very deep and we’ve put some stitches in.. It’s lucky it was stopped when it was. There appears to be no damage to the testicles and stuff. Now we have to report it as a hate crime. Are you prepared to wait until we release her in the morning?”

“Of course!” Declared Ange, “I’m her bloody mother, what do you think?”

I was shocked at Ange’s boldness, furthermore I was surprised at her compassion for what most people would have considered a little pervert.

“Are you OK with this?” I whispered to her.

“I’m in it up to my neck now. She’s Christine Hunt for all practical purposes. When I worked in casualty these poor buggers showed up all the time. They’re always getting beaten up, especially if they’re new to it and are not street wise. Christine was obviously very naive.”

“He said he had to report it as a transphobic crime.

“Yeah. He’s got to. They’re very up on this sort of stuff these days.”

“Shit! That’ll ‘put the cat among’ if this comes to court.”

“What d’you mean, if! ’It's when this comes to court’!” Snapped Angie. “Don’t forget the police have got the bastards in custody. It’s a bloody certainty that this will come to court!”

The registrar returned and invited Ange to attend the police interview. As Christine’s supposed mother Angela was allowed to be present and she garnished all the necessary details of Christine’s background as Christine gave her false identity.

Eventually the police smiled reassuringly and told Christine that the case was going to court because there were plenty of good witnesses and they had the culprits in custody. The train had been delayed in Bournemouth for an hour for forensics but the best result was the apprehension of the attackers by Billy and Mac. Finally Christine was given a sedative and some painkillers and she was soon asleep. Once the police business was completed and there was nobody in the hospital to identify Billy or Mac, Angela and I phoned them to come and provide a plausible dad. If a mum and dad appeared then suspicions would not be aroused.

Billy played a magnificent part as a distressed dad who had come so quickly he had even forgotten all his I.D’s. Angie had to conveniently vouchsafe for him as her partner.

In the morning Billy had to ‘go to work’ after the doctors reassured him that Christine was going to be OK. When she woke up, Angie was waiting for her and eventually Christine was released. Mac had brought my car over so we slowly eased her into the front seat as she winced and whimpered with every step. Soon we were parked up and chatting to Christine about her situation.

“So what now?” I asked.

“I can’t go home now. It’s daylight. I won’t be able to get into the shed without being seen.”

“The shed?” wondered Angie.

Christine nodded tearfully.

“It’s where my male clothes are hidden. I was going to creep into the shed last night, get changed then turn up on the doorstep with some story about having missed the last bus,”
“So that’s a no-no now,” I finished for her.

“They’ll be wondering where I am.”

“We’ll sort that out when we get you some clothes. Can you remember what you were wearing?”

“Yes, Jeans and a tee-shirt and a brown hoodie.

Shoes?

“Trainers, black ones. My boy clothes; ugh.”

I studied Christine’s pink frock and ridiculous heels and smiled at her.

“And these are your girl clothes. I presume your preferred outfit.”

She nodded self-consciously and we set off to find some clothes that resembled the clothes left in the garden shed.

Fortunately, Christine’s female brain readily located the correct outlets and before ten o’clock, we had her kitted out as a boy again in the same clothes as were probably still hidden in the shed. As she changed back into her ‘boy clothes’ she shuddered with revulsion and so strong was her re-action that I felt forced to dig a little deeper into her sexuality

“Are you transvestite or trans-sexual?”

“Uh. What, I don’t know what you mean.”

“Do you just like dressing up in girly clothes or are you really distressed with your boy bits and all that stuff?”

She hesitated nervously then weakly confessed to not liking her boy bits and wanting to get rid of them.

“Those two who attacked me would have done me a favour,” she declared remorsefully.

“Don’t be bloody stupid! They would have killed you if they had torn your balls off. Besides, if you had survived, there would have been nothing left to fashion into a vagina, if that’s what you’re wanting.”

Christine looked at me curiously.

“Do you know something about it?”

“Yes! A lot. I’m a transvestite myself and I fully understand your dilemma. That makes me sympathetic. Angela in the back is a casualty nurse who’s dealt with the aftermaths of many encounters like yours.”

“What! You’re a tranny!” Gasped Christine.

“Yes. That’s what I said wasn’t it.”

“Oh shit! Can you help me, you know, help me to find someone, a doctor or something.”

I paused thoughtfully for I knew I could. However the priority was getting the kid sorted out for the return to her family. We chatted at length and finally arranged a plausible story that we had found the boy staggering around after being in a fight earlier that morning and we couldn’t sort it out because her phone and stuff had been stolen. (Angela had them in her bag.).

“We could say you were confused with concussion and it wasn’t until you came around that we realised you weren’t drunk or drugged.”

“Will it work,” wondered Christine nervously.

“Well blame it on us for not sorting it earlier. If they want to go to the police later then say you don’t want to because it was partly your fault. Say it was over some girl or something.”

Christine wavered fearfully then declared.

“I don’t want to go home. Just let me out. He’ll just keep asking questions until I slip up or something.”

“And what will you do if we let you out, here now?” Asked Angie.

“I’m going away. I can’t face it anymore.”

“That’s not what I wanted to hear.” Replied Angie.

“So what can I do? If it’s not this time, it’s the next. He’s beaten me up lots already because I used to borrow my sister’s frocks and he’s made it very clear what will happen if I do it again.”

Angela fell silent and I wracked my brains. Despite my own lifestyle, I did not have many contacts in the social services in Dorset. The only people I knew and trusted were Sandie and Mrs Bodkin from Devon Social Services. I decided to phone Sandie and I explained to Christine.

“I’m going to phone a friend of mine who might be able to help, she’s a psychiatrist.”

“How’ll that help?”

“I don’t know yet Christine, bear with me here, I’m trying to sort something OK!”

I turned the speaker up so that Christine could hear every word of our conversation. At least then she’d know I wasn’t bullshitting. Sandie answered almost immediately and I quickly explained the situation.

“Put her on, let me speak to her,” ordered Sandie.

I handed the phone to Christine and Sandie quickly established the situation. As Christine explained her situation and fears Sandie simply listened. Finally Christine dried up and it was several seconds before Sandie asked to speak to me.”

“I don’t think it would be safe for Christine to return to the family home.”

“Neither do Angela or I.”

“Is Angela with you?”

“Yes in the back of the car. My phone’s on voice and she can hear everything as well.

“Right,” Said Sandie after a brief pause, “I’ve got my computer up and I’ve got an address. It’s an emergency social services hostel for runaways and suchlike in Bournemouth. I’ll phone them and explain.”

With the pertinent information, we quickly despatched Christine to the address and sorted out the details. It transpired that Christine could stay there on a daily review until something better was arranged. For the time being, she was safe. After settling Christine into a safe place, Angie and I sighed with relief and took Christine for a late breakfast. The poor kid was starving. We returned her to the hostel exchanged mobile numbers and stuff then finally made our way home to my cottage.

We had kept in touch by mobile so Sian and Sylvia were expecting us.

“Welcome back. By the way, your nighties and stuff are in Poole lost property office at the station. They phoned us this morning. You left the receipt in the packaging with your address and everything.”
Angie blushed at this news.

“Oh Crickey! I wonder what they’ll think. I completely forgot what with all the palaver.”

“No harm done, what’s a few nighties?” I observed dismissively.

Angie yawned and her response was infectious, we both showered and went to bed. It had been a long night.”

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Comments

Collboration!

Bonzi put you up to this, I just know it!

Coincidence or what? No a blast from the past.

I promise you that Bonzi had little to do with these new chapters. (Though I'm sure Bonzi and Suschi (she's my boss,) have been secretly communicating.)

I have a picture of Suschi somewhere, showing her with one of her paws on the keyboard and I deem it to be the only evidence of her secretly going on line when the family are sleeping.

I work nights and often come home to find her looking sheepish. (Can cat's look like sheep I wonder. Maybe Welsh cats can, and Suschi's from Wales like the rest of her family.)

Anyway, these extra chapters were roughed out a couple of years ago but like a lot of my stuff,it's never been completed.
The proof of these early endeavours is partly to be found in a follow-up story fom Skipper called Martina's Story and it deals with Martina's transgendered childhood at St Angies. Martina's Story was posted on Fiction Mania soon after the original Skipper. (It was about 2006 or 2007 I think and those dates I think disprove any allegations that I might have been influenced by Bonzi) It's just a happy co-incidence that Angharad and I have similar feelings and beliefs about the awful abuses that transgendered people frequently suffer.

Sadly Fictionmania is down again at the moment and that is a bit inconvenient for me when I want to refer back chronologically..

Happily I have 'Martina's Story' backed up on my own discs and soon to be transferred to a stick. I will be re-writing Martina's story with amendments subsequent to and consequent upon the recent amendments to Skipper.

That's all for now.

Love and Hugs,

Beverly.

Beverly Taff.
This is wierd. I haven't changed my password but the site wont dispayl all my thingies at the side like 'Submit Story'!

Continuation

From here on there are new chapters that take the story beyond what is posted on Fictionmania.

Bev, this is good news indeed. When you posted the first chapter, I popped over to FM (it was working then), and read the whole lot. I found it really engaging. So, naturally I'm looking forward to the future chapters. Thanks for posting it here on BCTS.

Pleasing Signs

As it looks like there will

As it looks like there will be another "mouth to feed" at the Skipper's humble little cottage, guess the rest of the new family best get a room and bed ready for Christine. As Beverly will soon find out, she just might become a county foster home. She and Cathy, (in "Bike") need to meet up sometime and each take notes from the other, as they both seem to be finding "new girls" to care for. Jan

Into Harm's Way

Well Bev, Ange and the boys seem to have stepped into a hornet's nest. It also appears that the barn will be a bit fuller when Christine moves in.

Bev has a way of attracting strays. It also seems that this incident may go a long way towards helping Ange find her way. She certainly has a way with words.

I'm certainly looking forward to the next chapter.

Thanks for sharing.

As always,

Dru

As always,

Dru

Bev not only attracts strays

NoraAdrienne's picture

but in this case I think she's going to have a teenage daughter to call her own. LOL

Embellished new lines are great

for your story Miss Beverly

Hello Beverly!!

Thanks for some new embellishment. I definitely love the breath of fresh air into the story. I'll sit back and enjoy it.

Have a great week everyone.

Rachel

Besides

ALISON
'a teenage daughter.Beverly may have a partner and I am not talking about a business partner!!Yes!

ALISON

Yes, but no?

Athena N's picture

I've enjoyed reading this tale very much, except for one thing. I don't know how it is in the UK, but to me terms like 'tranny' or 'she-male' are very insulting and exploitative. Seeing them used in the way they are here really makes me wonder, and not in a good way.

What's in a name.

I don't really know how far political correctness might have gone in whatever part of the world you hail from but I am a tranny. I call my self a trannie or tranny and my tranny friends in the clubs where I go often refer to themselves as trannie. It's a useful shorthand for the word transvestite and very prevelent amongst northerners in britain.

I am a scouser but born in North Wales and then removed to Liverpool where I spent the large part of my childhood (6 years from 6 to 12 in psychiatric dare and the next two and a quarter years in a borstal, 1958 to 1960) During those eight years I was abused horrendously but I survived to become better than the adults who abused me, (raped me) and I have survived physcally intact to the present day. I have no intentions of dying by my own hand through psychological trauma or bad memories.

During those traumatic childhood years I naturally absorbed northern ways and northern speech habits.
In Liverpool hundreds of words are shortened in the local vernacular.
A corporation bus is often called a corpy bus, girls used to call their suspender belts suzzies, cigarrettes are called ciggies and transvestites are called trannies and so on.

In Liverpool lots of common or garden household nouns with three or more syllables often have a short version. Potatoes, spuds; Spectacles, speccies;football, footie,
If transvestism comes up in a conversation and my perspective might add understanding to the discussion, I openly refer to myself in that conversations with ordinary straight people as a tranny.'

Nowadays I make very little secret of the fact if it legitimately comes up in the conversation or argument and I can contribute to that argument.

I am not inarticulate but old habits die hard. In my culture and amongst my tranny friends,a transvestite is a tranny and that's what I am.

I have little idea what other words exist for a shemale. That's an individual who has breasts but still has her cock. My shemale friends collectively call themselves shemales but every one of them agrees that like us trannies, they are at different points along the vast transgendedered spectrum.

I have b cup breasts and a penis. I don't consider myself to be a shemale but my shemale friends say that I am despite how I see myself in my own head.

The words tranny and shemale are everyday currency amonst we transgendered people in Liverpool, Manchester, South Wales, Bristol and London. I can't speak for the rest of the UK.

I hope my input is helpful. I'm just comfortable with the words and I use them all the time.

Beverly.

I'm a tranny, I have been all my life. I was born a tranny.

Beverly Taff.
This is wierd. I haven't changed my password but the site wont dispayl all my thingies at the side like 'Submit Story'!

All right, sorry.

Athena N's picture

It's just that I have virtually never seen she-male outside a pornographic context, and tranny rarely used in any other way as a slur. Thank you for telling about the cultural differences; now back to enjoying the story...

What's in a name

Hello Beverly

Thank you for that insight. Your experiences are your own. I have no knowledge that comes close to understanding what you went through. Yes, each of us has our own experience that defines us.

You became determined not to be defeated by the 'normal class' out there. I think you wanted to prove that you can provide a voice for those who can't speak or won't speak for themselves.

You and for the rest of elder TG folks, you grew up at a time that we had nothing to look forward to. Your persistence helped paved the way for doctors to take a longer look at the spectrum of life. The internet really provided that connection to help us connect with each other and retrieve information. There were no books on the TG spectrum or computers twenty to thirty years ago. Medical science was not looking for an explanation in the TG spectrum. If it was, only one or two doctors were. Now there are more.

Yes, there are still societies out there that want to make the entire TG community to disappear as it has never existed. But, we'll still be around regardless. Sure it takes a male and female to produce a child. The TG spectrum can provide other insight and jobs that are useful in society such as teachers, scientists, politicians, judges, etc. etc.
If they come with force, we hope we have a force that will meet them. More than likely God will answer that force with one of His own.

How many times is a child left alone by parents who do not see the light? Probably too many to count. Adoption is a means yes. For the female who wish to have a child like it is presented in your story with Sian and Margaret. That's special as well.

But, in this day of advance medicine, there are still diseases and viruses that are appearing every year. It is a tough battle to stay ahead on that war front. We are learning the nuances of what little changes occur in the DNA strands that make each of us different. Or where the mutations occur for that.

Yes, I do believe in a God or a Maker of the Universe. We are making the best of what is given to each of us. I think there is life else where in the galaxy and the Universe. There has to be. To think we're the only ones with life on our planet, is a bit narrow minded. It was this thinking that Galileo pushed society for his time.

Anything is possible. We just have to accept it and live it.
What's in a name? It's just a label that describes what we see in life.

Have a wonderful weekend everybody.

Rachel

A question.

Hi Rachel.
Thanks for your post.
Here's an interesting conumdrum that I often pose to doctors and priests.

If medicine located 'The Tranny gene' and the doctors found a way of somehow 'curing' it, then told you as a parent that your unborn baby had the tranny gene. Would you as a parent, (male or female.)

Have your child aborted.

Have your child 'cured'

Or let the child be born a tranny.

Answers please on a post card. Reasons for your actions possibly in a huge book.

Think about it,

Beverly.

Beverly Taff.
This is wierd. I haven't changed my password but the site wont dispayl all my thingies at the side like 'Submit Story'!

Granny gene'

What if your child had a Granny gene (Grandmother).

Most of us would look after our Granny, some don't!

We should look after our Tranny the same way, some won't!

I'd love to have a Granny or a Tranny to Love, some wouldn't.

We'd be complete if it was love, wouldn't we?

Some wouldn't, but that's their loss, they don't know how to love!

LoL
Rita

PS Bev - Is this an answer to your conumdrum?

Age is an issue of mind over matter.
If you don't mind, it doesn't matter!
(Mark Twain)

LoL
Rita

Love

The operative word here Rita, is love.
Love conquers all.
Love resolves the conumdrum.

Love resolves all things. (But hasn't that been the case right through history?(

Thanks for your thought provoking response.

Bev. XOXO

Beverly Taff.
This is wierd. I haven't changed my password but the site wont dispayl all my thingies at the side like 'Submit Story'!

Skipper! Chapter 15

Beverly's family keeps on growing. And we see more of her Spirit as we meet her friends in London. Now it will be fun to see how Bev and Ange help Christine.

    Stanman
May Your Light Forever Shine
    Stanman
May Your Light Forever Shine