I'm posting this early because I have a long day in the saddle tomorrow when I ride from Ulvik to Geiranger in Norway. 240 miles, one ferry, and a tunnel with a roundabout inside! The Arctic Circle is getting closer!

This story is a little different from anything I've written before. I hope you like it.

[At a nightclub in London]
The booming bass was doing my head in and not for the first time, I wondered if this was this was a sign that I was getting old and grumpy? Anyway, I'd had enough of the club for one week, so I headed for the exit.

The evening was fast turning out to be a total washout. The club is far more crowded than ever, and what passed for music louder and more bass-driven than usual. None of the old regulars was there, and the newcomers were hardly communicative. Mind you, the noise level meant that having a conversation with anyone other than yourself was next to impossible. Although advertised as a place to ‘get social’ the new management seemed to be doing its best to squash that idea on its head.

To add to my down mood, I'd taken a lot of time to get ready for tonight. I'd even bought a new outfit, but my feet were telling me to get home ASAP. Wearing new shoes to a TG club was a disaster. The shoes that I'd ordered had arrived in plenty of time only, for me to find that they were the wrong size and sent back. The correct ones, had only been delivered that very day, so I'd risked wearing them to the club without breaking them in, and now my feet were paying for it.

Heading home seemed to be a good idea and would cut my losses sooner rather than later.

As I stepped out of the club into the cold January air, I pulled my coat tighter in a feeble attempt to keep at least a bit of warmth on my body while I headed for the main road and a taxi to the nearest tube station or if I was feeling generous, right to my home. The chill breeze that was coming from the north made the second option the more likely with every step.

I’d only gone a few steps away from the entrance when I heard a voice call out,
“Toyah! Wait a minute.”

Toyah is my en-femme name.

I turned around to look for who had called out. My hopes sank when I saw who is was that had called out and was now waving at me. The voice and waving hand belonged to none other than that slimeball come sleazebag, Jonathan Masters. Masters by name only. He is a regular visitor to the club and one of the few members that I went out of my way to avoid. His sole aim for coming along is to pick up young and beautiful and innocent Transwomen. His patter is very slick and enticing, but he only wanted one thing and that is to get them into bed as soon as possible. Then he dumps them as if they have the plague. Most regulars know his little game and won't give him the time of day.

"What do you want, Jonathan? I'm hardly going to get into bed with you, now am I? I'm most certainly not your type, so what is it?"

"Nice to see you, Toyah. Right to the point as usual, then?"

"Well? If you hadn't noticed, I'm not exactly dressed for standing around chatting in the middle of winter, so why don't you get to the point then, we can both get off to our respective homes?"

“I have some business that might prove worth your while.”

"And even more profitable for you, I assume?"

“Not this time Toyah. I’m just being paid a finders fee. Anything else is all down to you.”

"And I'm the real Elvis Presley…?"

"I mean it, Toyah."

“What is this all about then?”

“A client of mine has a daughter who needs your guidance.”

“What sort of guidance would that be? She said no to when you tried to get her into bed?”

"Toyah, give it a rest. I didn't. I don't do that with business clients. I do have some ethics, you know."

“Then email me the details. You do still have my email address, don’t you?”
I smiled.
“Oh wait, I still get your circulars despite me unsubscribing almost every week…?”

“Ok. Ok. I get the message.”

“Good. Then I’ll look forward to seeing your email oh… next week.”

I didn’t wait for him to respond. I turned on my new, soon to be thrown in the bin heels and headed for a Taxi and home. Option 2 had won the day.

---

The dreaded email from Jonathan Masters arrived two days later. I’d just finished with a patient. Yes, I’m sort of a non-doctor. I’m a counsellor. I see people with problems that don’t quite warrant going to see a Psychiatrist. Most of my work involves 'Marriage Guidance' which, frankly sucks, but it puts bread on the table. Steering the clients onto a manageable course that both can agree on, is what my job is all about. Naturally, my Toyah alter ego is nowhere to be seen while I’m at work.

I read the email at least a dozen times that day and even more times the next day. The problem that Jonathan had described was way out of my league. By rights, I should have told Jonathan to take a running jump from the top of 'The Gherkin' where his stupidly expensive suite of offices was located, but I didn't.

After three days, I sent him a short but to the point reply.

"Jonathan, thanks for the email. After due consideration, I'm willing to look into the problem, but that's all I'm able to commit to this client at the moment.

Vince Parks
“

Once I hit 'Send', I closed down my laptop. I could not face reading a totally cringeworthy reply that Jonathan would no doubt send the moment he received my email. Besides, I needed to head into Central London to do some research into the problem that he’d described to me in the email.

---

My trip into the city proved interesting, but it only served to confirm that I’d only just skimmed the surface of the subject. That left me with no other option, but to do some searching on the internet. Thankfully, I owned a tablet that had some very NSFW (not safe for work) content on it. None of it was in any shape or form illegal, but the more puritanical people in the world as well as those at work would have had a fit if they saw it. Most of it is related to Transgendered things and beyond. Sometimes those unmentionable subjects came up in my real work sessions and knowing at least something about them usually helped move the satiation along or that is what I told myself…

Two evenings of browsing increased my knowledge about her problems enormously. There was nothing left but to arrange to meet the young lady in question once I’d confirmed one point that Jonathan had made in his email.

“Jonathan,
I’m going to arrange a meeting. Are you sure that they want to meet Toyah rather than Vince? If it is Toyah, I’d like to know how they know about her and why?

Vince, aka Toyah.
“

I pondered over the email for quite a while before sending it. I thought back to when I'd decided on the name of Toyah. As a teenager, I'd never been part of a gang or set or whatever. That marked me out as a loner and therefore a target for the bullies. One wet Saturday, I was in West London when I ran into a bunch of thugs from school. They chased me down Portobello Road. I only escaped their desire to beat the living crap out of me when I ducked into 'Rough Trade Records'. There, right in front of me, there was this Vinyl copy of Toyah's 'Best of' album. Her dramatic eye makeup leaped out at me. From, then on, I was deeply in love with her, her music, her clothes and everything. I bought the album with almost the last of my savings. I still had the cover. It was framed and hung on my bedroom wall. Some scumbag had nicked the record when I was a student.

Thus, my very own version of Toyah was born. Similar but different, I called it. Every time I became Toyah, the harder it became to take her off and become my male self again. I would have made the transition some years ago if I could have been sure of keeping my job. Being primarily a marriage guidance counselor and transitioning is not that good for client confidence, so I'd postponed the day when I'd finally pick up the courage, jack the job and change my name to Toyah Snow.

“Sod it,” I muttered after a good deal of procrastination, and hit ‘Send’.

---

I didn’t hear from Jonathan for over a week.

“Toyah,
Sorry, I was away skiing in Aspen. From what the client said, they saw you at the club. That's all I know, and yes, it is Toyah they want to see. Please don't screw this up, as I have a big deal pending with the family.

Jonathan.
“

I nearly choked when I read the email. Jonathan's idea of a big deal was AFAIK, screwing the client out of a lot of their money for very little in return. He'd cut his teeth in the bad old days of Enron and the rest of those Ponzi schemes. I doubted that this particular creature could ever change its spots. Now, he was following his idol, Nigel Farage into flogging bitcoin and other digital things especially something called an ‘NFT’. All were snake oil scams as far as I was concerned.

If I did take on them as a client, I knew that I'd have to watch out for him. The last thing I needed was him taking all their money, and being unable to pay me for my services. That was exactly how we'd met in the first place and why I could never ever trust him an inch.

I put my loathing of him aside and concentrated on my research. I had a lot of ground to cover if I was going to be sufficiently briefed for my initial consultation in a few days.

---

I travelled down to leafy Surrey on the train from Waterloo. Sunningdale is generally not a place you live in unless you are pretty loaded. No, make that very well loaded. Waiting for me was an almost brand-new White Range Rover Vogue. If this was to be my only visit, then at least I could enjoy a bit of the good life while doing it.

Loaded was a term for having lots of money. The entrance to the property was impressive. A pair of huge electrically controlled gates swung open as we approached. I could see several CCTV cameras were covering the entrance to the property. The long, tarmacked drive twisted amongst the trees for quite a way before revealing the house. It wasn't quite a palace but by far the largest private residence short of a stately home that I’d ever visited.

I got out of the 'Rover, which immediately took off and drove around the rear of the building. There was nothing for it but to climb the steps to the front door. There wasn't a bell or a knocker in view. I needed not have worried as the large oak door opened in front of me.

“Ah, you must be Toyah,” said the woman who greeted me.

"Please come inside. That wind goes right through you, does it not?"

I stepped inside. It was like stepping into one of those stately homes that are open to the public.

“Welcome to Heath House. I’m Miranda Roberts. My husband Simon will be joining us in a few minutes.”

I undid my coat which might have been adequate for London but was nowhere near warm enough for this part of the world. Miranda took the coat from me and hung it up on a mobile coat rack. There were a couple of the inevitable waxed cotton jackets already hanging there. The chequered linings told me that these were not the cheapo versions. I also took this as a sign that this was not a place where things were always in their place. The mere fact that they were not hanging on the many hangers that were available told me that this was a home to be lived in and not a house for show. That made me feel a little easier. Sometimes I would visit a client and see a show house not a home. That usually told me a lot about the relationship between the couple in question.

Miranda showed me into a side room that felt warm and homely which is as a living room should be. I got the feeling that this was where they hung out most of the time. A large wood-burning stove was well alight and had warmed room. A big change from the almost icy entrance hall.

"Please take a seat, Toyah. That is an unusual name. I don’t anyone with it other than Toyah Wilcox."

I sat in the large and very comfortable armchair that she’d indicated.

“A childhood encounter with a gang of bullies is to blame. I ducked into a record shop just off Portobello Road and there was Toyah’s ‘Greatest Hits’ album telling me to buy it. I fell in love with her music and the way she looked back in her punk days.”

Miranda laughed.
“I remember those days well. It is surprising how some of the songs from those punk bands are still popular these days. Do you have a favourite?”

“Golden Brown by the Stranglers,” I said without even having to think.

“Excellent choice. One of my favourites.”

Just then another door opened and a man walked in. I recognised the face from somewhere but a failing of mine is putting names to faces.

“Coffee?” he asked as he held up a Coffee Pot from the tray he’d just put down on the table.

“Please. Milk no sugar thanks.”

He smiled as he went about the task of pouring the strong-looking brew into a cup.

“I’m Simon by the way. I hope my wife has been keeping you entertained.”

Miranda giggled.
“You owe me a tenner. Toyah’s favourite track from the punk era is Golden Brown.”

She turned to me grinning.
“Sorry about that. We had a little bet on what your favourite song from that era was going to be. Simon insisted that it would be one of Toyah’s so we had a bet and I won.”

Then I remembered where I'd seen his face before. He'd been the manager of a few non-punk bands from that period. He'd obviously done well for himself over the years.

Simon handed me the coffee and sat down after helping himself to a cup. I looked at Miranda. She didn’t have a drink.

“I’m limiting myself to two cups of Simon’s brew a day. It is far too strong for me.”

I got the message loud and clear.

“Thanks for coming all this way. How much do you know about my daughters’ problem?”

“Only what Jonathan Masters told me in an email.”

"That man is a real pain. He keeps trying to get me to invest in his latest little scheme. I'm only sweet-talking him until you are on board then he’s history. My accountant tipped me off about him being a scam artist.”

That made me very happy.
“Good for you. In my opinion, that man is a first-class scumbag and not to be trusted.”

“Oh, we know all about his little tricks,” said Miranda.
“Following the tip, we found that one of our friends suffered at his hands some years ago. It took them ages to get their money back. Even then, they only got about half before he put the company into administration.”

Simon began to speak after nodding at his wife.
“Our daughter Mia has spent the last four years at University in Tokyo. We all lived there for five years while she was growing up and stayed on to study when we returned to the UK. She came back after graduating last summer but, she had changed. I don’t mean just growing up. No, far more than that.”

He looked at his wife who had so far not disagreed with what he was saying.

“Mia has become obsessed with certain parts of Japanese Culture. How much do you know about Anime and Manga?”

“Very little,” I replied hoping that the little I did know would not expose me as a fraud.

“Since she returned to England, Mia has adopted the persona of a fifteen-year-old Japanese girl, but she's almost twenty-three, by the way. But she has expressed other desires that have made us very worried hence us calling you in," said Simon changing the subject.

“It sounds like she needs a proper shrink rather than someone like me?”

"That might be the case, but that involves medical records and all that stuff. We just want her to be happy in her life. We'd like you to spend some time with Mia and try to connect with her. She saw you at that Trans Club a few weeks back and loved your makeup. We saw the photos that she took of you that night. That gives you something in common that a shrink won't have."

Then Miranda added.
"If you recommend that Mia goes to see a shrink, then that's the course, we'll go down but, there is very little we can do as she is an adult."

I saw their point as I sipped the Coffee. It was as strong as Miranda had indicated.

"I think I had better meet Mia and see what is wrong. It might not be easy, but I'm willing to give it a try."

“That’s all we ask,” said Miranda.

“She’s upstairs in her rooms,” said Simon.

I stood up and walked towards the door. Miranda joined me as we climbed the stairs.

“Lunch is in an hour. Please come and find us and you can share your initial conclusions,” she said when we reached the top of the stairs.

“I very much doubt that I’ll have much to say after such a short time.”

“I perfectly understand that. Whatever you have to share will be most helpful.”

Miranda pointed to a door on the left.

“That’s Mia’s room. She is expecting you. Just go straight in.”

---

I tapped on the door more out of courtesy than anything. I didn't hear a response, so I went inside.

Mia was sitting at a dressing table with her back to me. She was brushing her hair. I was immediately struck by the fact that the mirror had been covered by a large towel. It was as if she could not bear to see her face.

“Mia?” I said softly.

Mia stopped brushing her hair and turned toward me. I found myself looking at a Japanese Anime character. The large featureless eyes hid her face entirely.

For half a second, I found it strangely attractive. Then I looked at her clothes.

As I'd been told, she looked very much like a teenager from Japan. The white blouse, the pleated blue red tartan skirt, the over-the-knee socks, and the high-heeled Mary Jaynes. She looked like the perfect schoolgirl only the pigtails were missing.

The white gloves that adorned her hands seemed rather odd until I remembered my research from a few days before. Wearing gloves was a common practice amongst teenage girls in Japan.

She held out her gloved hand for me. I took it and immediately felt that there was something smooth under the glove.

"Hello, Toyah. It is nice to see you again."

"Hello, Mia. I know that we are supposed to have met, but with that mask on, I can't tell one way or another."

She ignored me.

“Do you like how I look?”

“Mia, you look great. Great for a fifteen-year-old. Why are you hiding?”

“It is a long story.”

“I have plenty of time.”

She shook her head.

“Did they say that?”

“More or less.”

"Daddy wants to send me away. I'm not doing anything wrong. I just want to be left alone to be myself."

This was going to be a hard nut to crack if I could that is.

“I’m here to try to find out why you want to look like this? This isn’t Japan, is it?”

"No, but I like looking like this. It makes me happy."

Talking to a mask that didn't move its lips or had eyes that blinked was a bit disconcerting.

"Talking to a face that does not move is hard work. Would you remove the mask for me, please?"

Mia didn't react for several seconds. Then after putting down the hairbrush, she removed the mask.

She was effing beautiful. At least her face was. She'd done her makeup perfectly. It matched what I'd been wearing at the club, right down to the fake beauty spot on her cheek.

“Thank you. You have got the look I normally go for at the club perfectly.”

“I hope you don’t mind? When ‘they’ told me that you were coming, I couldn’t resist.”

Her voice was soft. Her black hair was slightly disheveled from wearing the mask.

I sensed an opportunity to try to make her relax.

“May I brush your hair?”

She nodded her head just a little bit. It was clear that she was nervous about the whole thing.

I picked up her hairbrush and began to gently brush her hair. After a minute or so, she visibly relaxed.

“Is that good?”

“Yes. Please don’t stop.”

The more I brushed her hair, the more she relaxed. Her hair was black and shiny and cut in a style that would be very common in Japan. She’d emphasised the outer corners of her eyes in an attempt to give them an oriental slant.

Mia had, in my opinion completely adopted a Japanese schoolgirl plus anime persona. My immediate dilemma was that she looked perfectly at home with it. That was the thing that was troubling her parents.

It was then that I noticed something under her blouse. Then I remembered feeling something under her white-gloved hand. Mia was wearing a latex bodysuit.

“Mia,” I said as I carried on brushing her hair.
“Do your parents know that you are wearing latex?”

Her body stiffened up in a flash.

“Shhhh. I'm not going to tell them if you don't want me to."

Gradually, she relaxed again.

“You look pretty good so why?”

“I was initiated into it.”

“What like a sorority?”

“Sort of but worse.”

“Worse? How?”

“We had to dress like this to please the house mistress.”

“Just for the initiation?”

Mia shook her head.

"All the time. For the last three years of my course except when Mum and Dad came to visit."

"Did this include the undersuit?"

Again, she nodded her head.

“That must have been difficult.”

"It was at first. Then, gradually your body adapts. Then it became the norm. Now I feel totally naked and exposed without it on during the day."

Some memory of her past triggered her body to shudder. That told me that there was more to this than meets the eye. It was also obvious, that it was not going to be easy to extract the truth from Mia.
We talked for almost two hours but even then, I knew that I was just brushing the surface of this incredibly complicated woman.

---

I wandered downstairs hoping, that I wasn't too late for some lunch. Mia and I had talked longer than I'd anticipated. Almost two hours had passed in a virtual flash.

Miranda was in the kitchen looking at something on her laptop.

"Oh, there you are, Toyah. How did it go?"

"Mia is a very interesting and complex young woman. It is clear to me that something happened to her in Japan that has deeply affected her."

“We didn’t know.”

"She just does not want to talk about it. I've got a few bits of information that I can work on."

"Oh, what?"

“If you don’t mind Miranda, I’d rather not speculate about what it might be. Debating hard facts are a lot better than speculation don’t you think?”

Miranda didn’t answer right away.
“I suppose so.”

Then she said,
“Do you think that you can help her?”

“I do but it is going to take some time. A Psychiatrist could do it just as well as me though.”

“Is that your recommendation then?”

"That's not what I said, is it? I was giving you an out if you wanted it."

Miranda smiled.
“There was a bit of a glint in your eye just now.”

“I have to admit that Mia does present an interesting if not unique problem and yes, I’d love to carry on working with Mia if you want me to that is?”

“I think we do. I discussed things with Simon earlier and he’s happy to let me decide.”

“Ok, but there is one thing that has been troubling me.”

Miranda smiled.
“About you being a man underneath that?”

“Yes. Does it matter?”

“Toyah, I have to admit that I was a bit concerned at first. When Mia said that she’d met you at a Tranny Club, I had all sorts of visions of… well, you know, a man in drag. But the moment I saw you, I realised that you were … more like the real deal.”

“I could never be the real deal. I’ll always be an impostor in the eyes of an awful lot of people out there in the big bad world.”

“Don’t say that Toyah. From where I sit, I think you make a very presentable if slightly eclectic woman in her late 20’s.”

“Thanks for the compliment. This is all a façade at the moment. Being a counselor who deals mostly with marriage problems, my clients might not take kindly to being confronted by this version of me. My Bosses tend to agree.”

“That’s rather sad, isn’t it?”

“It is but that’s life, I’m afraid.”

I left their home just as I had arrived, in the Range Rover. My visit had tempted me professionally but at the same time, it was troubling me. As I stepped onto the train to London, I was not sure what it was. All I knew was that I needed to do a lot more thinking and research before I did anything else as far as Mia was concerned.

[to be continued]