I made zero progress in putting any of my new clothes away. I had just chilled out, curled up in the single corner of my king size bed that had been kept clear of clothes. For what was probably an hour, I played on my phone. I don’t use social media, but I do watch YouTube. Lots lately. The last hour had been makeup tutorials and clothing haul reviews. I couldn’t get enough of it.

I went downstairs to get a drink, and found my Mum and Sister both in the kitchen.

“Hey honey,” said my Mum. “I’ve got another call shortly, but we were just discussing dinner options. What do you fancy?”

“How about I cook us a spaghetti bolognese? I don’t know about you Claire,” I said, turning to my sister, “but after today’s exertion, I need carbs!”

My Mum and Sister both nodded.

“Wonderful idea, and thank you,” my Mum said. “I think you’ll need to pop to the shop though. We’ve got everything except the minced beef. Claire bought a lovely Barolo the other day, how about we open that.”

Claire shifted where she stood. “Er, Mum, about that wine...”

“And a bottle of red wine,” Mum said, looking to me, realising that Claire was going to advise the wine was gone. “Claire, you do need to think about how much you’re drinking.”

“Okay,” I said, “but I don’t know if I’ll be able to get the wine. I’m not quite eighteen yet, and they’re really strict at Tesco. I get asked for ID every time, and I don’t have any fake girl ID.”

Clare allowed a single booming laugh escape, and I realised I’d just suggested to Mum that I’ve been using fake ID to buy booze.

“Two things, Sam. One, if you have a fake ID, you will throw it away. Understand?”

“Yes, sorry.”

“And two, have you looked at yourself?” my Mum added.

I must have looked confused.

“Claire, how old would you say your sister looks?”

Claire thought for one moment, “Twenty one? Twenty Two?”

“Yes.” said my Mum, “I don’t think you’ll have any problems. If you do, go to a till that has a young man working on it.”

We all laughed.

“Do me a favour, Sam, change out of my shirt-dress before just start cooking,” asked Claire. “Your work in the kitchen leaves what looks like the after effects of a small explosion. I don’t want the tomato sauce shrapnel all over my clothes!”

We all laughed again.

“Okay, I’ll go change and then go to the shop. I’ll start reducing the sauce for a good hour once I get back. I like it to be nice and rich.”

“You’ll make someone a lovely wife, one day,” teased my Mum.

Only Mum and Claire laughed this time.

“Oh, ha ha!” I mock laughed

“Sorry Sam,” apologised Mum, “I couldn’t resist.”

“If you’re really sorry, you’d let me borrow your car, to go to the shops?” I tried

My Mum stopped to think.“Go on. But drive carefully. I can always see how it has been driven through the dash cam app. Remember, if you abuse it, you lose it. The keys are in the bowl.”

“You never let me borrow your car, when I was seventeen,” moaned Claire.

“No, but your Dad let you drive his, didn’t he? Until you crashed it.” Mum replied.

I thought it was a good idea to leave them to finish that conversation without me. I went upstairs to get changed. I thought about what my Mum had said about me being someone’s wife. I know she was only saying it as a joke, but surely that is now something that could now happen. I could get married, and be the wife. I mean, if James and I got married, I’d be the wife. I sat on the cleared corner of my bed. Young women probably think about being a bride for years, perhaps starting when they’re little girl’s, I’m suddenly thinking about it, the day after I admitted that I enjoyed being a girl.

My mind wandered. There I was, stood at the front of a full church, wearing an elegant, body-hugging strapless white lace and satin gown, my hair tied up, with a veil attached that went down my back. Across from me stands James, who takes me gently in his arms for the traditional kiss. Suddenly, my mind jumps, to me in a white silk and lace strapless basque with suspenders, white silk stockings and white satin heeled pumps. I still have my hair tied up. However, I’m now kneeling at the edge of a bed, my pink lips kissing, licking and sucking James’s eight inch long cock. My head bobbing up and down, taking the full length of his shaft in my mouth, whilst one of James’s hands guides it, the other supporting his naked body. I snapped myself out of my daydream, my heart beating ten to the dozen, and my tucked member straining. “Where did that come from?” I thought to myself.

After pulling myself together, after my vivid and exciting daydream, I got changed. I think my choice of what to wear would’ve been what Claire would call either activewear, loungewear, or some other category invented by retailers to make us think we need more clothes. It’s what I would have called a tracksuit. A girlie tracksuit, very soft to touch, quite lightweight and with butterflies embroidered onto it. I thought it was cute, Claire hadn’t been so keen, but she was happy for me to start to develop my own style.

I thought about what to do with my hair. I was loving having long blonde hair, the hairpiece that Mum had got for me was super high-end and could be worn for days, slept-in, washed, and styled. Having it down all day shopping was probably a mistake, and think it would have been more practical keeping it tied up from when I tried on the first dress. I decided to try something a bit different, and wear it is as bunches from the side of my head. I couldn’t recall if I’d seen the style anywhere else, but I thought it looked cute. My sister agreed, when I said goodbye before popping to the shops.

I climbed into my Mum’s car in the garage, and pushed the button to open the automatic roller door. As it raised, and flooded the garage with sunlight, I adjusted the seats, steering wheel and mirrors; my Mum was probably two inches or so taller than me.

I was a very inexperienced driver, and this was a very large, powerful car. My Mum had always liked the traditional-style Mercedes 4x4s, and when she got her last promotion her treat to herself was a G63 AMG. It was an absolute beast, and we all loved it. After putting it into drive, I pulled away extremely carefully, having not driven the car for several weeks, making sure the garage closed automatically behind me as I went.

As I drove through the supermarkets car park, I saw a good space near the front of the store, and was able to drive straight into it. I was only popping in for a couple of items, so that was really convenient. There were a couple of tradesman stood chatting outside the store, waiting in a queue to use the cash machine, and plenty of other people milling about.

As I passed them, I was slowed by congestion caused by a bottle-neck entering the store.

“Did you see the arse on that? Fit as fuck!” I clearly heard one of the tradesmen say to another, obviously taking about me.

“Yeah. Fucking amazing. Bet she’s a footballer’s wife, if you saw what she was driving. Sure I’ve seen her in some of the mags.” Replied his colleague, as clear as anything.

It made me feel quite uncomfortable, but also, in a funny way, quite proud that they thought I was attractive enough to be mistaken for a WAG.

The rest of the visit was uneventful. I did see an ex girlfriend working on one of the tills, but not only did she not see me, I doubt she would have recognised me if she did. I hadn’t even started to consider many of the people Mum must have been thinking about, that she said might have opinions of how I was living my life. I paid at the self service till, with another older shop assistant approving my alcohol purchase. In addition to the minced beef and bottle of red wine, I picked myself up a couple of pairs of tights. I didn’t really know what I was doing. I got one black opaque pair and a silkier natural colour. I had no idea if I needed them, I just wanted to try them on; I’ve always enjoyed touching legs that were wearing them, and wondered if they felt as nice to wear.

Leaving the store, those tradesmen were sat in their van, parked in the area marked ‘drop off only’. I had to look into their direction, to check that the road was safe to cross; out of the corner of my eye, I could see they were staring at me. I got into my Mum’s car, and as it was still sunny, I thought I’d borrow her shades.

“Beep! Beep!” went my phone, as I left the supermarket car park and onto the main road.

“I wonder if that’s James?” I thought to myself. I wasn’t, however, going to look at my phone whilst driving. I’m not, and never have been a goodie-goodie, but beyond simply breaking the law, I had promised my Mum that I’d be careful. I was reminded of something my Dad used to say ‘integrity is doing the right thing, even when no one is looking.’ He’d never subscribe to what some of my rugby coaches said, when they suggested something was only illegal if the referee saw it.

I couldn’t resist any longer. I pulled over, to read the message. It was my friend Martin.

“Just like most girls, you’re already ignoring me! How did you not see me, as you were leaving Tesco?”

“Ha! Sorry. Too busy trying not to crash my Mum’s car. You okay? X”

“Before that. Walking out of the shop. I waved as you got into your Mum’s drug-dealer car, then you put on your sunnies. You looked like some kind of pop star, hiding from the paparazzi lol”

“Yeah, sorry. I missed you. X” not sure if this was going anywhere else.

“Just wanted to let you know, we’re all happy for you and James. Surprised, but we’re all cool. If anyone gives you any stick, we’ve got your back.”

“Thanks Martin. Very kind. X” I sent, and headed home.

“That was lovely. Add a few more dishes to your repertoire, and Mum’s right, perfect wifey material.” Claire tried to drag out Mum’s earlier joke, but suffered an embarrassing tumbleweed moment. “I’ll get my coat”, which did raise a laugh.

“Yes, that was perfect. A toast to the chef. To Sam!” My mum added.

“To Sam!” my sister joined in. “Are you showing Mum any of what we bought today? Other than this ridiculously cute play suit?

“Oh, yes. Please!” pleaded my Mum

“There’s so much! How about what the options are for Saturday night?” I suggested

“Good idea.” said Mum.

“Options? What options?” Asked my sister.

“Well, I think I’d have four options, if the little black dress wasn’t needed for the play. There’s the one we got when it was potentially for Manchester with you - which James has seen. Then there’s the two we got from that dimly lit store at the other end of the centre. The one that’s like tied around, with the open sections down the front, and then there’s the tight one, with quite a high neck - with the black swoosh down one side.

“Oh,” said my sister. “I just assumed it would be the first one we got. It’s not like a wedding dress, you know? It doesn’t matter that James has seen it. And they’re all tight ones!”

We all laughed, at both her jokes.

“I think I’d like to surprise him.” I suggested.

“It’s going to work out very expensive, if you get a new outfit, every time you go out with your boyfriend!” Claire joked

“He’s not my boyfriend!” I declared

Mum piped up, “Stop teasing your sister. James is not Sam’s boyfriend. Yet.” she said with a wink.

“Thanks Mum, I think.” Not sure if she was sticking up for me, or joining in with the teasing herself.

“Let’s see them all,” Mum requested, “then we can see what we think.”

Once I’d modelled the three dresses Mum hadn’t already seen, it was a two to one split decision. Claire had changed her mind, and went with my choice. My Mum thought that one was a bit too revealing, with two patches on my midriff that were open, and thought the ‘original’ dress was the one to go for. Claire thought that with my flat stomach, you work with what you’ve got. Somewhat ironic that I’d been trying for the last two years, with zero success, to get a washboard stomach.

We both tried to persuade her that it was relatively modest, compared to what you many see other girls wearing. Mum dismissing that argument, on the basis that her daughters weren’t other girls. This made me think. Just like I haven’t yet got my head around being a girl in one situation and a boy in another, I wondered how my own family would find it, a daughter one day and a son the next, or brother or sister, depending upon how I was presenting myself. I wondered whether any of this was really fair on my family.

“You look beautiful in all of them, Sam,” Mum shared. “Your choice was a very close second for me.” I thanked her, for her kind words of support.

“You know?” Mum went on. “Unless you’ve got a better option, I think my clutch would go brilliantly with that dress.”

“Careful with that one,” Claire added, “It’s a genuine one, and definitely worth more than my car!”

After a restless night’s sleep, my Friday was not as productive a day as I had been hoping for. Whilst I wasn’t out shopping or playing in Welsh rivers, for several weeks I had been considering not being in school on that day. It was, however, not bunking off this time. I’d got up early to make my way on the train to Nottingham.

I was visiting the university there, to help decide if it was going to make my short-list of options of where to study after I left school. It wasn’t my first choice university, and until last night I’d not decided if I were to visit the open day event there, or not. Just before bed I had told my Mum that I’d decided it were a good idea to have a back-up plan, should I not get the grades that I needed to secure my first choice. Its business school has a decent reputation, and I had found a course that looked interesting to me. My visit there was to explore what it was ‘like’, beyond what a website can show you.

My mind, however, was elsewhere. Once at the university, all of the questions I had thought of in advance for the professors and current students who had volunteered to meet visitors, completely escaped me. I knew I was kidding myself. I wasn’t there to explore my back-up options; I was pretty confident I’d secure the grades needed for my first choice, and if not, I’d re-sit exams.

No, I was there because I didn’t want to put on the uniform detailed in the rules of my school. I didn’t want to wear a black blazer, grey trouser, white shirt and house tie. I didn’t want to have short hair. I didn’t want to leave my face free of makeup. I didn’t want to use my other voice. Not just yet, anyway.

I realised that I had basically spent much of the day in train stations and on trains, to just wander quite aimlessly around a university campus. I learnt nothing that I did not know before visiting, other than that the Starbucks in the students union heated milk in a latte to a temperature I thought only possible on the surface of the sun.

“There you go, Sam,” said the friendly-looking barista, reading my name from the side of the paper cup he was passing me. Before I realised he was a sadist, and was in-fact on a mission to strip the skin from the inside of my mouth.

“Ouch!” I cried, after taking a small sip of the drink, as I walked from the counter, followed by a more emotionally charged reaction to the surprise. “Fucking hell!”

“Careful, miss. That will be hot.” The barista suggested.

I turned back towards the barista, and half-laughed at the understatement. “Thanks for the tip, but this isn’t my first coffee; just the hottest I’ve ever been served. Can you put a bit more cold milk, or perhaps an ice cube in there?”

“Yeah, sure,” he said with a smile reaching a hand over the counter to take the cup on the opposite side to what I was holding it. He surprised me when, even though I sensed he already had a full grip of it, he clasped his other hand around the cup and my hand. With both of us holding the cup, and him also holding my hand, he smiled and winked. I pulled my hand away from under his; him fumbling to keep a grip of the coffee cup. I just frowned at him, and waited for my cooler drink.

After a couple of hours of the aimless wandering, I did manage to snap out of my distracted state of mind. Conscious that it would either likely creep back or I’d stop kidding myself as to why I am there, I used the moment and decided to cut my losses, and I headed home.

I played on my phone on the train, all the way home. Having to plug it in at one point, as the battery level was getting low. “New Message” flashed up at the top of my screen. I opened it, and saw it was a photo from James; him stood in the middle of six other of his classmates, all stood in the middle of a small river. His size making him look like an adult teacher posing with several of his junior school students. It made me laugh to myself.

“Having fun at school? Bet you wish you were stood in a river! ;) XXX” read the accompanying message.

“Erm…” I thought to myself