I took a deep breath as I marched into the living room where dad was watching TV. Defiantly, I stood between him and the television set, earning a confused stare from the middle-aged man.

"Something you want to tell me, Jason?" Dad asked as I dramatically placed my hands on my hips.

"Dad," I said in a loud, proud voice. "I- I'm gay." An eternity passed as dad's face remained neutral, before he simply nodded once.

"Okay," dad said. "Can I go back to watching my TV programme now?"

"Wh-what?" I asked. "Didn't you hear what I just said? I said I'm gay!"

"Yes, you were very easy to understand," dad said.

"Do you even know what that means?" I asked. "I'm GAY! I'm attracted to other men! I want to have sex with other men!"

"Whoa- I don't revolt you with details of my sex life, do I?" Dad said, putting me on the back foot.

"So- so you're okay with this?" I asked.

"Any reason I wouldn't be?" Dad asked. "It's your life, you need to do what makes you happy, gay, straight, bisexual or whatever."

"Even though I'm only sixteen?" I asked.

"Last time I checked, that was over the age of consent," dad shrugged. "Jason... I want- I've always wanted you to be your own person, to be who you want to be regardless of my wishes. Would I have liked grandchildren some day? Perhaps. But it's much more important to me that I have a happy and healthy son right now. So if you're gay, then I'm happy that you're gay, son."

"Well- okay, I guess," I said as it sat down on the sofa next to dad's chair. "You're really-"

"Yes!" Dad snapped, immediately silencing me.

"...I'm going to bring boyfriends home," I said.

"Not until you're eighteen, you're not," dad replied.

"Fair enough," I shrugged.

"Anything else you want to tell me today, or is the gay thing all?" Dad asked, making me roll my eyes.

"The gay thing's all for now," I replied, even though deep down, the real answer to dad's question was a big, firm 'no'.

My name is Jason David Hanley. I was born on the second of February 1996 to two parents who loved each other and adored and spoiled me. When I was young, I was never left wanting for anything.

Then, a month after my sixth birthday, my mother was diagnosed with terminal cancer. Three months later, she died, and dad and I were devastated. I stayed away from school for the rest of the school year, and when I returned in September, all my classmates- even though there were also only six years old- all teased me and whispered behind my back.

All, that is, apart from three- three amazing and friendly girls named Caitlin, Jessica and Noor. For the remaining five years at primary school, they were my confidantes and my confidence. To all intents and purposes, I was the fourth girl in their gang. I didn't care what the others said, as long as my three REAL friends loved me and supported me. I even dressed up in the same costumes as the girls for their birthday parties- fairies, princesses, you name it. Back then, of course, I had no concept of what crossdressing was, or even of the difference- the REAL difference- between boys and girls. To six year old Jason, it was just a bit of fun, being 'one of the girls'.

Then, at the start of secondary school, everything changed. At a whole new school, the stigma I'd inherited after my mum's death was replaced by another stigma. Everywhere I went, the same names followed me- 'gay', 'queer', 'homo'... And then, to make matters worse, my three friends all entered puberty... And so did I. And very quickly, I was no longer 'one of the girls'... Even though I desperately longed, more than anything, to be so. I spent my thirteenth birthday wishing that I could just tear off my boy's uniform, pull on a skirt and once again be part of that 'clique' that had so cruelly abandoned me. It didn't even have to be with Caitlin, Jessica or Noor, just being part a clique with ANY girls would have been enough for me. By my fourteenth birthday, that longing had become desperation. And by my sixteenth, just a few months prior, that desperation had become urgent.

I'd try to offset the desperation by pretending to be a girl at home, of course- the usual girlish things such as singing into a hairbrush - but there's only so much you can do when you don't have the 'equipment' you need to pretend. Sure, I could wrap a towel around my waist and pretend I'm a runway model, but most models don't go around displaying the crest of Brighton and Hove Albion Football Club on their arse.

Of course, I'm not lying to dad when I say that I'm 'gay'. My obsession with girls is purely about becoming one. I feel no attraction to girls. Well, not beyond their clothes, anyway. But the more the girls at school became obsessed with boys, the more I did as well. I couldn't come out whilst at school, of course- being teased is one thing, but getting my face pounded in every day? Not my idea of a relaxing life. So I held out, endured school just as long as I could and not one second longer, and as of that fateful day, Tuesday the 7th of August 2012, I was out and proud as a gay man. It's just a pity that I'd rather have been out and proud as a straight woman.

But, we learn to take whatever victories we can get. Throughout the remainder of the summer holidays, my new 'status' enabled me to be much freer in my actions. Whenever I giggled girlishly, dad brushed that off as a 'gay thing'. Whenever I played with my growing hair, it was the same thing. Whenever I spoke softer than usual- well, I'm sure you get the image. And to his credit, dad never once showed any signs of discomfort at my actions. I wasn't 'Jason, the gay son', I was just 'Jason, the son who just happens to be gay'.

In September 2012, I started studying at a sixth form college, doing resits of my GCSEs (I'd only got a D in maths, and virtually employers or further education colleges require a C or higher). There, for the first time, I didn't have to hide who I was. Well, I didn't have to hide SOME of who I was, anyway. With my long hair, my increasingly androgynous dress sense and my camp mannerisms, it was obvious from day 1 that I was very different from most of the other boys on campus.

...'Most of' being the important words there, much to my relief. There were still meatheads at the college who took one look at me and snorted at the 'queer', but there other boys there who took one look at me and liked what they saw. Kinder, more sensitive boys who provided a safe space for me to enjoy my life at college. And yes, there were some extra-special boys who wanted to share their 'safe space' with me.

I got my first boyfriend at the end of October. I'd been invited to Martin's (one of my gay friends) Halloween party, and I had literally never been so excited in my entire life. I of course knew the Mean Girls quote that states: 'Halloween is the one day a year when a girl can dress up like a total slut and no other girls can say anything else about it'. I chose to interpret the quote to mean 'Halloween is the one day a year when a boy can dress up like a girl and no other boys can say anything else about it'.

Of course, just like when the quote is applied to other girls, this isn't necessarily true- if I'd gone to anyone else's party dressed as a girl, I'm sure the boys there would've had plenty to say about it. But I didn't go to anyone else's party, I went to Martin's... And when I walked through the front door in the tiny pleated skirt and tank top that made up my cheerleaders' outfit, I immediately felt at home in a way I had never done so before.

"Jason!" Martin beamed, whilst looking VERY sexy in a fireman's outfit. Assuming firemen regularly put out fires whilst not wearing a shirt, anyway. "Or should I say, 'Jasonette'? Or maybe, I dunno, 'Jacinta'?"

"'Jason' is fine," I giggled as I greeted Martin with air kisses.

"Well, either way, I LOVE that costume," Martin teased. "I never knew you had such great legs... You should get them out more at college."

"Umm, in November when it's freezing outside?" I retorted, making my host snort with laughter.

"In the summer, I mean!" Martin laughed. "Maybe pull on a sexy pair of shorts... Unless, of course, you prefer wearing miniskirts?"

"Heh," I laughed as I found my way through the small crowd of partygoers to the drinks table in Martin's kitchen. As much as I liked Martin- and as much as I 'liked' him- I needed to be 100% sure I could trust him, and the accusatory tone in his voice immediately put me on the back foot.

"...Maybe just at Halloween," I laughed as I hastily downed the can of ridiculously weak lager Martin had laid on and thanked god that I wasn't the only person at the party who was crossdressing. Unless, of course, the schoolgirl at the back of the living room moonlighted as a grizzly bear...

"You, um, didn't see any other costumes you liked?" Martin asked, making me groan internally as my suspicions about him were confirmed.

"Nope," I said. Well, I thought to myself, not apart from a French maid, a playboy bunny, an air stewardess, a latex catsuit...

"Well either way," Martin said, "you look SERIOUSLY cute tonight."

"I'm not the only one," I giggled as I played with my long brown hair. "Many people coming tonight?"

"Probably eight, tops," Martin sighed. "No point in advertising a gay party to the meatheads at the school."

"'Meat' isn't the word I'd have put in front of 'head'," I say, earning a giggle from the sexy young man.

"They probably think we're having some kind of gay orgy here or something," Martin laughed.

"More's the pity," I shrugged as I reached for my second can of lager.

"...What?" Martin asked. "Pity they're not coming, or pity we're not having an orgy? Or worse yet, pity we're not having an orgy with them?"

"I can think of worse ways to spend an evening than having an orgy with half a dozen footballers," I teased.

"Umm, Jason..." Martin said with a concerned look on his face. "You- you've never actually had sex, have you?"

"...No," I mumbled as my cheeks flushed. "Never even had a boyfriend before."

"...Neither have I," Martin said with a nervous laugh.

"I only came out to my dad a couple of months ago," I laughed as Martin smiled sympathetically at me.

"Same here," Martin sighed. "Wanted to wait until I'd finished school, so I didn't have that hanging over my head... School really sucked for me. Think that'd apply to everyone here."

"Definitely does for me," I sighed. "So, um, are you, you know, looking for a, um, boyfriend?"

"...Depends on the boy," Martin said as I bit my lip. Dressed the way I was, I didn't exactly qualify as a 'boy', and I had even less desire to live my life as a boy. I may have been dressed as a girl, but all I was was a boy in a skirt, and crucially, that was all that Martin saw. More crucially, though, he definitely seemed to like what he saw...

"Could we, umm..." I mumbled. "Continue, you know, this conversation in, um, private?" I giggled nervously as a wide smile spread across Martin's handsome face.

Ten minutes later, I had a smile almost frozen onto my face as I emerged from Martin's bathroom. As I adjusted my skirt, however, it just hammered home how differently Martin and I viewed our encounter. Martin inevitably saw it as two guys having sex, but I... Every time Martin touched my body, I tried to put myself into the mind of a girl who was about to give up her virginity, and for one brief, perfect moment, I was that girl. However, it wasn't to last.

I wanted my man to treat me like a queen, to lavish me with attention before finally taking me... Instead all I got was a quick 69 on a cold floor where I had to do as much 'work' as the guy I was (in my mind, anyway) making love with.

Martin and I remained a couple for the next month or so, but as you might infer when I described him as my 'first' boyfriend, it didn't last long. I can't help but feel that this is partly because during the rest of our relationship, I didn't get the chance to so much as touch another item of women's clothing. Technically, I hadn't even done so at Halloween- the cheerleader costume was advertised on the website I got it from as being a men's costume- none of the female costumes would fit my 5' 10" frame.

My stress only increased at Christmas, and on my birthday the following February. The previous year, I'd turned sixteen, and my presents had included men's deodorant, jeans, t-shirts, DVDs... For my seventeenth birthday, my first after coming out, I got men's deodorant, jeans, t-shirts, DVDs... Despite my coming out, I was no closer to being 'one of the girls' than I was on my sixteenth birthday. The only difference was that I was no longer a virgin, but even that was no comfort.

I had other boyfriends during my year at sixth form college, of course, but none of those relationships lasted long. Whenever it came to lovemaking, I had no problem being 'the woman', but whenever it was my turn to be 'the man', it just felt fundamentally wrong, like it was not who I was supposed to be- and every guy I was with seemed to notice, contributing to the end of each relationship.

That single moment of blissful femininity at Halloween would prove to the only time in over a year that I would come even close to realising my dream.

By the time the 7th of August 2013- the first anniversary of my coming out- rolled around, I was once again miserable and stressed out. I was due to start college again the following September- this time at a further education college, studying photography- but I had no reason to believe that matters would improve when I began my course.

Much to my surprise, however, on my first day at college, I would meet the person who would set my life on the path I had always dreamed- and perhaps even more surprisingly, that person was a girl.

Naturally, I didn't go into my first day of college with particularly high hopes of 'getting' anything other than a decent education. As I'd done the previous year, I 'set out my stall' early with my shoulder-length hair, androgynous dress sense and, just to hammer it home, a rainbow flag pin on my rucksack. And, of course, I got the usual whispers from the 'meat'heads, and the occasional glance from the other gay or bisexual boys- many of whom I 'glanced' back at, even though I knew that none of the glances would lead to anything more- not sex, not a relationship, and most definitely not me being allowed to be the princess I was always destined to be.

Then, at lunch on my first day, I saw something I never expected to see, sat at one of the corner tables of the cafeteria. I'd entered the vast room expected to find a seat with the other gay men, but when I saw her, I knew deep down that she was the person I had to eat with that day.

As the college was art-and-fashion centred, every girl who walked its halls had their own look. And they were all virtually identical. The latest trends, the most expensive make-up, perfect nails, perfect hair, perfect tans... I would've given anything to rip away my 'boy skin' and get lost in that world. It seemed like heaven to me... Until my eyes were drawn to a brown-haired, deathly pale-skinned make-up free girl sat in the corner of the room wearing a dress that looked like it had been made from an old duvet. It was obvious just by looking at her that she didn't belong in this crowd, and she knew she didn't. And I knew a thing or two about 'not belonging'.

"H-hi," I nervous stammered as I approached the reclusive girl. "Can- can I sit with you?"

"...If you must," the brown-haired girl replied with an almost stereotypical working class accent.

"Thanks," I said, too nervous at the time to pick up on the girl's hostility. "I- I'm Jason, by the way. Jason Hanley."

"I'm Amanda Lowe," the girl replied. "And I'm also not interested. I don't do 'pretty boys'." I smirked at what was obviously intended to be a double-edged compliment.

"Good," I retorted. "I don't need the competition!" I giggled as, for the first time since I entered the cafeteria, the brown-haired girl smiled.

"So why are you sitting with me, then?" Amanda asked. "There are plenty of 'pretty boys' in here. Plenty of whom will be interested in other 'pretty boys'."

"Because you look like you don't belong here," I said bluntly, wincing as Amanda frowned at what she no doubt saw as an accusation. "And I know a thing or two about 'not belonging'."

"What makes you think that I 'don't belong'?" Amanda asked me.

"Well for starters," I replied, "you've got a really working class accent, but you used the word 'whom' two sentences ago. We live in a coastal city and it's still technically summer, but you look like your skin's never even seen the sun, and that dress is clearly meant to look like it was cobbled together in minutes but the stitching looks almost professional quality."

"...Are you sure that your name is 'Jason' and not 'Sherlock'?" Amanda asked, before letting out a snort of laughter that caused her brown eyes to sparkle. "I apologise, I shouldn't have accused. You're of course right about the dress. It is home-made, and yes, I did make it myself over the course of the summer. I spent most of the summer holiday indoors, making clothes to wear for college."

"Studying fashion design, then?" I asked.

"You hardly needed to be Sherlock Holmes to work that one out," Amanda retorted, snorting with laughter again as I stuck my tongue out at her. "But yes, I've always been fascinated with fashion design, how someone can take something as plain as a piece of cloth and use it to create a statement that can be heard around the world. And as for my manner of speaking... Yes, I come from what most would consider a lower-class background. My mother gave birth to my eldest sister when she was fifteen. She became a grandmother when she was thirty-two. My two other older sisters all became mothers before the age of twenty. My younger sister is fourteen, and she smokes ten cigarettes a day."

"So you're kinda, like, the black sheep?" I asked the young woman, whose eyes suddenly looked a lot older than the rest of her body's sixteen years.

"I prefer to think of myself as the white sheep," Amanda replied. "...I apologise again, I'm talking too much. I've spent my whole life keeping quiet, after a while you become used to it."

"Used to sitting in a corner, where no one can see you?" I asked, smiling sympathetically as Amanda nodded.

"Tell me about yourself," Amanda ordered. "All I know is that your name is Jason Hanley and you like pretty boys."

"There's not much to tell," I replied, wincing inwardly at my lie. "I'm seventeen, not sixteen- I did GCSE resits last year. I study photography, I live with my dad, I don't have any brothers or sisters- my mum died when I was six."

"Oh, I am terribly sorry to hear that," Amanda said softly.

"It's okay," I whispered. "I came out to dad just over a year ago and he couldn't be more supportive. Thinks it's great that I'm doing photography as it'll set me up with a career, even though I really, really want to go to university when I'm nineteen."

"That's always been my ambition too," Amanda replied. "Mum doesn't see the point in it. But then she's never even had a job, she's just lived off of benefits for her whole life."

"And that doesn't appeal to you?" I asked.

"It does not," Amanda sighed. "It feels like I've been born into the wrong life, into the wrong body. Every morning I wake up, and it's like I know that this is not who I am supposed to be. ...I apologise again, I must sound like a crazy woman."

"...Actually, you make a lot more sense than you think," I whispered. "Umm, can I- can I add you on Facebook? So we could maybe talk more?"

"I don't believe in Facebook," Amanda said, shaking her head. "...But I can give you my mobile number, you can text me if you'd like."

"I would like that," I said, earning another genuine smile from Amanda as she wrote her number on a napkin and handed it to me.

I had a smile on my all throughout the remainder of the first day at college. I may not have found the 'prince Charming' I was looking for, but in Amanda, I had the next best thing- my 'fairy godmother'. Not that I was going to refer to the aloof brown-haired girl in such a manner, of course, but over the course the week, the two of us became nearly inseparable away from classes. I was happy to play the role of her 'GBF' as she opened up to me about her dreams of being a famous fashion designer, her frustrations with her home life and her strong feelings that she never truly 'belonged' anywhere, and she listened intently as I moaned about my love life (or lack thereof), my miserable school days and, on occasion, what little I remembered of my mother.

Whenever I opened up about my mum, Amanda no doubt took that as me confessing my deepest feelings to her. At the time, she had little idea that I was harbouring an even deeper secret- though that was soon to change.

"Hi Amanda!" I said with an excited giggle as I intercepted my friend on her way out of the college. As always, the brown-haired girl was dressed 'uniquely' in a long-sleeved, short dark blue dress that seemed to have been made out of a very shiny satin-like material. When combined with her jet-black tights, Amanda's look was earning some confused, disapproving stares from our classmates... And one look of pure envy from me (though I tried my hardest to hide it from my 'fairy godmother', of course).

"Hello, Jason," Amanda said, again entertaining me with the formality of her words and the commonness of her accent.

"One week down," I say, trying to tease a smile from the normally-stoic girl. "What do you have planned for the weekend?"

"I plan to work on my course," Amanda replied. "It shall be a welcome distraction from my family."

"Of course," I whispered- even after a few days, I knew better than to question Amanda over her attitude toward her family. "I'm planning on doing the same... Do you, um, do you want to work on our courses, you know, together?"

"...We are studying different subjects," Amanda retorted.

"Well- yeah," I said. "But, you know, they kinda go together, I mean, you make the clothes, and I photograph them for you, and, umm, you make the clothes, and I photograph them, you know, for me..." Or I could model them for you... I self-pityingly thought to myself.

"Jason," Amanda sighed. "If you wish to spend time with me over the weekend, all you need do is ask."

"I wish to spend time with you over the weekend," I instantly replied, earning a smirk from the eccentric young woman.

"I should warn you," Amanda said, "all the items I require for my course are at my home. This means that you will need to come to my house. This means that you will meet my mother and at least one of my sisters."

"...I would say 'they can't be that bad' but I know that that's something you don't like hearing," I replied, making Amanda smirk again.

"Already, we are becoming best friends," Amanda said, making me giggle excitedly. "Would you like to arrive by, say, half past ten tomorrow morning?"

"I would like that very much," I replied, giggling as I headed home.

Obviously, when I told dad I was going round to a girl's house the following day, it caught him somewhat by surprise- he'd had thirteen months to get used to a gay son, after all- but after I explained that she was just a friend, he calmed down and took it in his stride, as he always did, and even gave me a lift to Amanda's house... Though when he saw the run-down condition of the house, he was somewhat wary... And in fairness, so was I. Nonetheless, I had promised Amanda that I would visit her, so I got out of the car, made my way through the litter-strewn front garden and knocked on the front door, grimacing as that simple action caused loud yells to come from the living room. I tried to keep my smile on my face as the door was answered by a young woman with bleached blonde hair skin so tanned it was practically orange. It was obvious from the way she was playing with her phone that my mere presence on this Earth was a massive inconvenience to her.

"Who are you?" The young woman asked in a coarse voice, the likes of which I'd only ever heard come from the roughest of Jeremy Kyle Show guests.

"I'm, um, Jason," I mumbled. "I'm, um, Amanda's friend."

"Who's 'Manda?" The young woman barked at me. "Ya mean Mandy?"

"Umm... I guess?" I replied.

"Mandy!" The young woman shrieked up the stairs behind her, loud enough to cause the dog in the neighbour's house to start barking. "Ya fuckin' boyfriend's here!" I bit my lip as I heard a door at the top of the stairs open, only to breathe a sigh of relief as Amanda emerged from the room dressed in one of her home-made dresses.

"Thank you, Candice," Amanda said as she skipped down the stairs toward me.

"What you fuckin' call yourself 'Manda?" Candice sneered at my friend, before returning to playing with her phone.

"Hello, Jason," Amanda said in a weary voice. "Please, come in."

"I'm almost scared to," I mumbled as I followed Amanda back up her stairs. "Was- was that one of your sisters?"

"My youngest sister, yes," Amanda replied, momentarily confusing me.

"You- your YOUNGEST?" I replied. "But I thought she was fourteen?"

"She is," Amanda said matter-of-factly. "She was born on the 26th of May 1999. Why, does that confuse you?"

"Just a bit," I said, shaking my head with confusion. "She looked about twenty, what with that hair, that tan, all that cheap jewellery..."

"You would hardly be the first man to fall into that trap," Amanda sighed. "And you will undoubtedly not be the last. Candice believes that the only purpose to her life is to have as much sex as possible with as many men as possible, and she believes that if they know she is fourteen, they would be less likely to have sex with her."

"...She's going to get herself hurt one of these days," I whispered.

"I hope not," Amanda mumbled. "But I learned a long time ago that there is only so much help I can give to my family, especially to my sisters. They are their own women, and I must respect them as such."

"I suppose," I sighed, before turning to my friend with a quizzical look on my face. "...Mandy?"

"Ugh," Amanda spat, showing uncharacteristic emotion. "I hate that name. It's undignified, only slightly better than 'Candice'. Hence why I prefer to be addressed as 'Amanda'. Have you never wished that you could live your life by a different name?" Such as 'Jacinta'? I thought to myself.

"...Sometimes," I whispered, trying not to let Amanda know just how raw a nerve she had touched.

"For GCSE English we studied Hamlet," Amanda explained. "There was a name in it that always... Resonated with me."

"...Never read Hamlet," I confessed with a grimace. "What was the name?"

"Ophelia," Amanda said.

"Beautiful name," I whispered. "Though 'Ophelia Lowe' does sound a bit like the name of a porn star."

"Or the name of someone who lives her life the way she wishes," Amanda stated firmly, clearly irritated by my remark. "But regardless, we shouldn't stay out here conversing when we both have work to do."

"Right," I said, nodding as Amanda opened the door to her bedroom. However, I was soon stunned into silence once the door was fully opened and I saw what waited inside the room.

"Come on in," Amanda said. "I apologise for the limited size, but there should be enough room for both of us."

"You- your room..." I gasped.

"...My room, yes," Amanda says. "I understand if you have little experience being in a girl's bedroom, but I assure you that most others are similar in nature to this one."

"That's just it," I said. "It- it's so- so- ordinary..."

And it was. Amanda's small single bed had a floral duvet covering it. Flat-pack furniture filled the room, the centrepiece of which was a moderate-sized dressing table with a plain rectangular mirror. Pictures of models- some posters, but mostly newspaper or magazine clippings- wearing fashionable clothes filled two large pinboards hanging about Amanda's bed. Once the shock had worn off, only one emotion remained- envy. My bedroom may have been larger than Amanda's, but I would have traded it and its posters of footballers and cars in a heartbeat.

"I AM a sixteen year old girl, Jason," Amanda reminded me, snapping my attention away from the unapologetic femininity of the room. "Just because I choose to be atypical, it doesn't mean that I don't conform for the sake of not conforming."

"Are the pictures of models for studying?" I ask. "I mean, the dresses, etc?"

"Mostly, yes," Amanda replied. "It helps me with my own designs, and I have to study other designers for the course. I assume you must study other photographers as well?"

"Yeah," I mumbled as my eye was instantly drawn to one photograph in particular, of a model who had caught my attention during the summer. "Is- is that- is that Charlotte Hutchinson?"

"Yes," Amanda replied. "From this year's Amsterdam Fashion Show, one of her final appearances before leaving Spencer and Hall. How do you know Charlotte?" I took a deep breath as I prepared to confess my greatest secret to Amanda, but despite everything, I was still terrified.

Sure, she was as 'atypical' a person as I had ever met. To say she was the black sheep of the family would be an understatement. She had utterly no problem with me being gay, and she trusted me enough to invite me into her bedroom, alone, after knowing me for less than a week. All of this should be enough evidence that I could implicitly trust her. And yet, there are people in the world who will accept literally anything and everything except cross-gendered behaviour. I crossed my fingers behind my back, before beginning to speak.

"It- it's not Charlotte I really follow," I whispered as I cursed my heart for beginning to race. "It's her friend, um, Jamie, Jamie-Lee Burke, that girl. The transgendered one, the transgendered model."

"Oh," Amanda said, before an awkward silence filled the room. It took me seconds to realise that I hadn't actually told Amanda what I'd intended to.

"The reason I like Jamie is because I wish I was a girl," I blurted, before the realisation of what I'd said caused me to almost hyperventilate.

"Jason..." Amanda whispered. "Umm..."

"I know, I'm a weirdo, a freak," I sighed. "I'd understand if you wanted me to leave."

"I want you to stay," Amanda said firmly. "The way you are... It doesn't make you a 'weirdo' or a 'freak'. And as someone who lives her life in an atypical manner, I speak from authority."

"...Thank you," I said, sitting down next to Amanda and smiling as she gave my hand a comforting squeeze.

"Do- do you dress up often?" Amanda asked.

"No," I whispered, bring a sad look to Amanda's face. "My mum died when I was young, dad didn't keep any of her clothes, I wouldn't get away with buying any and bringing them home... I dressed up as a cheerleader last year for Halloween, but even that was just a piece of fun. Even if it did kinda lead to sex."

"During which you could feel that you were a girl being romanced by the man of her dreams?" Amanda asked.

"Trust me, there was no 'romance'," I snorted, making Amanda chuckle despite herself. "No... These thoughts have occupied my mind for so long I can't even remember. But that's all they are, just thoughts."

"Thoughts form ideas," Amanda said softly. "And ideas are the basis of reality. Have you even told your father about this?"

"No, I couldn't," I sighed, wiping away a tear.

"You told him that you were gay," Amanda reminded me. "And he continued to love you just as he had before. Why do you believe that telling him this would cause him to love you any less?"

"I- ugh, I don't know," I moan. "I mean, I wouldn't even make that great a girl. I'm 5' 10", I have hairy legs, a deep voice..."

"Many of the women on the wall behind you are over five feet and ten inches tall," Amanda countered. "You can always shave your legs. And it is possible to change the way one speaks." As if to punctuate her argument, over the course of her sentence, Amanda alters her voice from her usual working-class accent to a much posher Received Pronunciation way of speaking.

"...You sound like one of those old BBC presenters, from, like, 1940," I said with a snort of laughter that Amanda simply brushed off.

"And why should I be criticised for speaking the way I wish?" Amanda asked, continuing to use her 'posh' voice. "Any more than you should be criticised for being the gender you wish to be?"

"I wouldn't know, I'm not an idiot," I answer, making Amanda giggle. "Though every time you use THAT voice, I'm going to call you 'Ophelia', okay?"

"That is most acceptable," 'Ophelia' replied. "And what would you like me to call you whenever you wear feminine attire?"

"Jacinta," I said confidently. "Not like that'll ever happen, but-"

"Please remember," 'Ophelia' said, "that you are friends with a young woman who makes her own clothing. In exchange for your continued friendship, one would be more than willing to make clothing for you."

"...I wouldn't feel right just accepting charity like that," I grimaced.

"Then pay me for them," Amanda said, abruptly reverting to her 'normal' voice. "Jason- Jacinta, it's not fair that I was born into this family. It's not fair that you were born into that body. But we can take steps to improve our circumstances."

"Like you going to college?" I asked.

"Precisely," Amanda confirmed. "Or you embracing 'Jacinta'. I already own several dresses that don't fit me as well as others. It would be a simple matter to alter them to fit you. I can even give you some of the make-up that I no longer wear. Jas- Jacinta, sorry... I've never met anyone as accepting as you."

"I've never met anyone as accepting as you," I whispered. "...You know, if you were a guy, I would probably kiss you now." I smile again as Amanda involuntarily lets out another giggle.

"Lucky me for being a girl," Amanda said.

"You said it," I sighed.

"We should do some actual college work now," Amanda said in a voice much more relaxed than her usual, formal way of speaking. "But I will keep my promise, Jacinta. Come back to this house a week from today, and I will have a surprise for you."

"Deal," I said with a grin as we got out our college folders and began to study.

That night, I could barely sleep, I was so excited about the prospect of the following weekend. I almost texted Amanda and asked if I could come back over the following day, only realising just before I sent the text that she would actually need more time than a couple of hours to alter the dresses, which had no doubt been made for her petite 5' 5" frame.

I had a smile on my face all throughout the following week of college- a smile that 'infected' Amanda more than once with its enthusiasm, much to her annoyance! However, no matter how many questions I asked her about her 'special project', she refused to crack, only giving me vague, cryptic answers.

By the time Saturday rolled around, I was so excited by what awaited me that I barely slept the previous night, meaning that when I knocked on Amanda's door, I was momentarily surprised by the bright orange, bottle-blonde monstrosity that greeted me.

"Mandy!" Candice yelled, barely acknowledging my existence. "Ya boyfriend's 'ere!"

"Thank you, Candice," Amanda said with a tired sigh as she skipped down the stairs. "Good morning, Jason, please follow me."

"Good morning," I replied, trying not to roll my eyes as Candice sneered at the two of us as we headed up to Amanda's bedroom. "Is- is everything-"

"Everything is ready and waiting," Amanda said, clearly suppressing a wide grin. "The question should be, are YOU ready?"

"I've been ready my whole life," I said as Amanda shut her bedroom door behind us. "Was the money I gave you for underwear enough, Amanda?"

"More than enough," Amanda said, momentarily surprising me by slipping into her 'posh' voice. "And whilst we reside within this room, we must adhere to certain rules- or rather, to certain names. Inside this room, I am not 'Amanda'. You may address me... As Ophelia."

"Agreed," I said. "But only if you address me as Jacinta!"

"Agreed," Ophelia said with a dignified nod of her head. "The underwear I provided for you can be found in the bag on my bed. I shall obviously turn my back to allow you to change."

"O-okay," I said nervously. "Are- are we doing this NOW, then?"

"You would prefer to spend less time as the woman you wish to be, Jacinta?" Ophelia asked, turning her back as she promised.

"Well- no, I guess not," I sighed as I tipped Ophelia's bag onto her bed. I hadn't provided much money- and Ophelia obviously didn't have much of her own- but she had done a good job with what she had, providing a packet of three pairs of panties, one lacy bra and a packet of three pairs of black tights, the mere feel of which between my fingers caused me to gasp with excitement.

"This will be the first time I've worn anything like these," I breathed as I pulled off my own clothes, folding them neatly onto the chair in the corner of the room. "What- what if, you know, I don't like any of it?"

"Tell me, Jacinta," Ophelia asked, "what did you ask yourself before the first time you had sex with a man?"

"...I asked myself 'what if I don't like it'," I conceded.

"And did you like it?" Ophelia asked.

"Yes, a lot," I replied. "But this, it- it's different. I've built up this moment so much, dreamed about it for so long... What if it's not what I hoped it would be?"

"We only regret the things we DON'T do," Ophelia said, making me sigh and nod in agreement.

"...Are you sure you're sixteen?" I asked the brown-haired girl. "Because you're wiser than, well, everyone I know."

"I was born on the 17th of December, 1996," Ophelia stated matter-of-factly. "I would get you my birth certificate, but it doesn't have my REAL name on it."

"...Which real name?" I asked with a giggle.

"Ophelia, of course," the brown-haired girl replied, making me giggle even more. "Are you dressed, yet?"

"Not yet," I said, shivering as I slipped off my underpants and placed them on the pile on the chair. "I want to take my time, savour this moment..."

I took a deep breath as I stepped into the soft panties one leg at a time, shivering as I pulled them up past my knees before coming to rest on my hips. Even though they were outwardly similar to the underpants I had just removed, to me, they couldn't be any more different. The material was softer and smoother, the lace trim was delicate and feminine, and they 'clung' in a way no boy's underpants ever could.

Next came the tights. As with the underpants, I thought they would just be a case of 'like socks' but different, but I knew that was wrong the second I poked a toe into the rolled-up leg of the garment. The tights were soft and silky smooth, and completely skin-tight against my legs without any sagging, as socks tended to do. After they were on, I spent several moments simply smoothing them against my legs, relishing the sensations they provided (and being thankful that Ophelia had bought control-top tights to help control my 'excitement').

"I, um, need help with the bra," I mumbled, trying not to blush as Ophelia turned around and, despite herself, grinned at the sight of me stood wearing nothing but a pair of panties and a pair of tights.

"Put one arm through each armhole," Ophelia instructed, and I shivered as I felt the lacy cups of the underwired garment touch my bare chest. After Ophelia fastened the bra behind me, she opened her underwear drawers and withdrew two pairs of thick, thermal socks, shoving one pair into each cup.

"And now, for your dress," Ophelia said with a smug grin- a smugness that I immediately conceded was well-earned as she opened her wardrobe and removed my dress.

The garment was a shirt dress, with buttons running up the whole of the front. It was brown, but had a floral pattern to it, and had a loose, low-cut collar. When I had it on, it looked like it would come to about knee-length on me. Most excitingly of all... It was almost identical to the dress that Ophelia herself was wearing.

"Is today a disappointment so far?" Ophelia asked, her grin growing smugger.

"Not even slightly," I breathed as I pulled the dress on like a shirt and began fastening it, while Ophelia rummaged in the bottom of her wardrobe, eventually emerging with a wide, white belt, a dark purple hairband and, most surprisingly of all, a cape, which she wrapped around my neck the second my dress was fastened.

"I did promise you make-up as well," Ophelia said, sitting me in front of her dresser, before smearing my face with a liquid foundation. Next came a thick mascara, followed by eyeliner and a subtle purple eyeshadow. Last of all was a deep red lipstick that somehow made my lips look thicker than they already were, not to mention more inviting for any boy who might want to kiss them...

"Fashion is all about accessorising," Ophelia said as she brushed out my shoulder-length brown hair into a feminine bob, before holding it back from my face with the hairband she had produced earlier. I lifted my arms as I felt Ophelia wrap the elasticated belt around my waist, cinching it in slightly and giving me a more feminine figure.

"...Feels like I'm wearing a corset," I laughed as Ophelia fastened the belt shut.

"Maybe next time, you will," Ophelia said. "Maybe next time, I will too, as I've never worn a corset before, but I've always wondered what it was like..."

My look is completed when Ophelia places a small chain of black plastic beads around my neck, allowing them to fall into my dress and, by extension, my new cleavage.

"I do apologise for not having any shoes," Ophelia says. "Our feet are different sizes, and there was no money left over, and most charity shops don't sell high heels in size nine..."

"I don't care," I sighed as I did a quick twirl, giggling as my dress billowed out away from my nylon-covered legs. "This is perfect. Thank you SO much."

"So might I assume that 'Jacinta' is everything you imagined?" Ophelia asked, her earlier smug grin returning to her face.

"Everything and more," I sighed, before surprising Ophelia with a gentle hug. "I- I'm sorry, I know you don't like being touched, but I- I just had to- you- you're like the sister I never had, but always wanted."

"Warn me, next time," Ophelia said with a stern glare, before breaking into a fit of giggles. "I have four sisters, but you are the sister I always wanted. I can immediately tell that you seem so much more happy, more free like this."

"I do, thank you so much," I said as I did another happy twirl. "This- this feels so RIGHT. I feel almost like a princess..."

And I did. I felt like the single most beautiful, most important girl in the world, and even though I knew that at the end of the day, I would have to remove my new clothes and go back to being boring old Jason, I was determined to enjoy every single second, every single sensation that being 'Princess Jacinta' would offer.

My only regret was that I didn't have a 'Prince Charming' there to whisk me off my feet...