I opened the year with an end-of-the world story, and this continues the subject of earth-shattering occurrences . Like the previous story, this one was started early last year, and had to wait until the end of the year, when my muse came back from where-ever it had disappeared to.
Marianne.

Part 1

“Say cheese!” Those two words summed up a lot of my young days. My father, Allan, was an avid photographer, while my mother, Wanda, had been a model. They told me that when they met, it was a marriage made in heaven.

Before I came along, they had worked almost constantly on advertising. Fashion, underwear, homewares, you name it, they had done it. Whenever I looked through their scrapbook it was almost like living their lives all over again. Sometimes, when we went on holiday, we saw old posters still up with my mother looking beautiful.

We seemed to have a lot of holidays. Whenever there was a break in work, Dad would load us into the car and we would head for quiet, remote spots with good scenery, mainly as a background for his scenic collection that he sold on-line. Mum and I would often feature in them. Often, on shoots for clients, she would brush my hair out, dress me in something feminine, and we would do ‘Mother and daughter’ shots. Other times I would have my hair in a cap, and we would then do ‘Mother and son’ shots. Sometimes, but it wasn’t often, Dad would let Mum get behind the camera and we would do ‘Father and son’ pictures.

We had a lot of weekends away, in the hills, by the beach, on every bit of moorland and forest we could find. By the time I went to High School I was a seasoned camper. Our house was on the edge of a village and was a wonderful place to run free in the open air. When it was time for me to go to the High School, we had a family conference.

“Brien, your father, and I have decided that we will sell this place and get somewhere closer to a town with a good school for you. The house is on the market.”

“Don’t I get a say in this, Mum? I love it here. Do I have to go to into town to study?”

“Yes, you do,” my dad insisted. “We have looked around and there’s a reasonable place within walking distance of a good High School. We want you to have the best chance at a future and it's your earnings that will enable us to make the shift. What you don’t know is that you have been getting income from pictures you’ve been in. We’ve been putting it aside for you.”

So, as a family, we could afford a place. We moved to the outskirts of a large town, in a reasonably sized house with a nice garden and a big shed to take all our camping gear. I went off to my first term and that’s when the problems began.

Me, Brien Weyland, became a regular visitor to the first aid room in that first term. I was all right at home on weekends, and perfectly good when we went off to the open air on weekends. No-one could figure out what was wrong, the occurrences were not regular, nor were they life-threatening. It was mainly a sudden onset of breathing problems, a bit like bronchitis. There was a supply of inhalers in the first-aid room, just for me. They helped me through my studies, and I was lucky not to miss much.

There were a few visits to the first aid room which had nothing to do with my breathing problems. As I have said, earlier, I was not a big boy. I looked a bit effeminate, and was the subject of some bullying, so gaining some cuts and scratches and more than my fair share of bruises.

I was in my third year when the pandemic changed our world. The school went into lock-down and we all had to study from home. Dad was able to make a reasonable living from on-line sales of his pictures, the scenic shots being very much sought after into the second year of being stuck at home. I guess everyone wanted a picture they could get lost in.

Unable to get out and about, Mum decided that, as an experiment, I was to be her daughter for three days out of seven, just for fun. She had saved up her older clothes. She had bought shoes in my size and collected a range of underwear and sleepwear. I didn’t make much of an argument when I was informed of this, it wouldn’t have done any good if I had. It was just clothes and I had been in and out of feminine attire most of my life. Living some of the week in skirts and dresses was different, though, as I was now expected to live as a girl.

One of the things that was good for me during the pandemic was that I had more than two years without a single occurrence of my breathing problems. We had a good computer that Dad used for his photographic sales, as well as a laptop when I needed to write essays, so it was easy to keep up with my studies. I found that, as Brienna, I could concentrate better. When restrictions were lifted, Mum cited my earlier breathing problem, and I was allowed to continue home studies. I graduated without going back to face the bullies or spending time in the first aid room. By that time, Brienna was often my normal personality.

The paperwork was delivered by post and Mum showed a remarkable skill in forgery so that Brien Aubrey Weyland was now Brienna Audrey Weyland, with her school certificate. My marks weren’t good enough to consider university, so it didn’t matter, I looked like a girl, I spoke like a girl, I dressed like a girl and my paperwork showed that I was a girl when I left school. I didn’t have to go looking for work, straight away, as I was now modelling for Dad with a new burst of advertising pictures. I had taken over Mums’ place on the hoardings.

When things started to get back to normal, we would go out to locations for a photo session. As I looked like an outdoors girl we were in high demand for camping and holiday posters. As part of Dads’ on-line sales, we had spent a whole weekend at Windsor Castle, creating a file of imposing photos. This came in handy when the Queen died, as they flew off the shelves, so to speak. When the new King came to the throne, things slowly changed in the advertising world. There was more of a demand for ‘male oriented’ advertising, reflecting the new King and a line-up of male heirs to follow.

By the time I reached nineteen, I had a decent bank balance and a very good closet full of outfits. My contracts we in the name of B.A, Weyland so it didn’t matter whether I was on set as a girl or a boy. I hadn’t taken any drugs to aid my femininity and could slip from one gender to another in ten minutes. As the need for Brien to be the subject increased, I had all the work I could ever need. That was mainly down to my aquiline face that looked upper class.

My wardrobe full of dresses and skirts was put to one side and more manly outfits took their place. I say ‘manly’ with my tongue firmly in the cheek. There wasn’t a lot of ‘butch’ about them, but my features allowed me to carry them off. If anything, my work increased as advertisers wanted to make it look as if the toffs used their products. The only set-back was the onset of my breathing problems, especially when we had a set near the city center.

One day we were contracted to do a series of shots with me standing next to large trucks. My lack of height made it look as if they were bigger than they really were. That’s when things went wrong.

The first part of the day was normal. The trucks were lined up and I was photographed standing alongside them, in front of them, leaning out the cabin, all the normal things. Then they decided to concentrate on their latest release, so the others needed to be driven away to leave this one to be seen on its own. I stood to one side as the engines were started and I could feel my throat constricting. One drove by me and it had a side-exhaust that pointed directly at me. That’s when I found that I couldn’t breathe and blacked out.

When I came around, I had a breathing pipe in my throat, and I was in hospital. Over the next few days, we found out what my problems had been all my life. I was allergic to the chemicals in diesel exhaust. When my parents looked back to when I had reported sick in school, they found out that it usually happened on those days the bins were emptied by a big truck.

I spent two weeks in hospital and had medication to alleviate the massive reaction I had suffered. When I could breathe normally, the tube was removed, and the gap stitched up. I was told that I was one of about a hundred known cases in the country. I was, however, listed as a high-risk patient and had to attend some meetings with the doctors and my parents before I was allowed to leave.

I was told that I had been lucky, one of the truck drivers had paramedic training and had worked on my throat with a penknife, and a tube from a biro. I was told that I was just seconds from being dead. That being the case, the doctors didn’t want to let me back into the real world as it would leave them liable to litigation.

The problem had become more frequent as the country came out of the pandemic and the business had come back to life. We were told that there had been a few high-powered meetings in the National Health and a solution had been put into place.

The solution, until a way to rid me of my problem was discovered, was in the form of purpose-built clinics, with internally pressurised living accommodation, where people like me could live without any fear of diesel smoke. These, we were told, went under the banner of the Allington Refuge Project, so named because the first three had been created, all near villages called Allington, well away from busy roads or industrial centers.

There were two in Wiltshire, one near Chippenham and the other near Devizes, both converted private houses that were big enough to house up to a dozen patients. Another was in Lincolnshire, also in a converted stately home. There were plans for others across the country, but the rate of building new ones was quite slow.

The place near Chippenham was for boys and the one near Devizes was for girls and my parents were assured that I would be well looked after while I was a guest. They even used the term ‘Guest’ in the paperwork I had to sign, saying that I was happy to be a guineapig for new drugs. I would be able to go out for trips, if I made sure I had oxygen handy. I was told that the clinic had high-speed internet so I could do gaming if I wanted, or even take on-line courses. It sounded all right and they assured me that there could be a vaccine or drugs soon that would allow me, and my fellow sufferers, to live a normal life. My parents were all for it and I didn’t want to die, so it was agreed that I would be transported to the Chippenham Allington as soon as transport could be arranged.

The transport showed the amount of thought that had gone into the project. It was an electric ambulance, fitted with a sealed cabin, with air being thoroughly filtered and an outlet to the rear, the inside being slightly more pressurised than the outside. It was a nice ride, my folks following behind, and I arrived at the Refuge in mid-afternoon.

Now, as you may have gathered from my account, so far, I was not used to a lot of contact with other people. My world had revolved around my parents, camera crews, and a few doctors since the pandemic. Being in hospital was the most people I had spoken to in some years. What with doctors, nurses, aides, and a few other patients, I had been almost giddy with all the different faces that looked in on me. The Refuge was, I thought, going to be a bit of a rest from that.

I couldn’t have been more mistaken. The place was, as I had been told, a converted country home. The grounds were substantial, the property was isolated, and the house would have been magnificent to live in, if you had the money for the upkeep.

When we arrived, we were shown the main house by a lady who was wearing a plain blue dress with her name badge that told us she was Sister McDonald. She said that the staff didn’t dress in full nurse outfits as we, the guests, weren’t sick while we were kept safe. The ground floor was set up as a general living area, dining room and a kitchen good enough for a hotel. The upper floor was, we were told, staff quarters and a small ward, big enough for two, with full oxygen and treatment facilities. That’s where I would be if I was trialling a new drug.

There was a covered walkway to the guest accommodation, entered by an airlock at each end. The building where I would live had once been garaging and a stable but was now a rectangular building with big windows. When we got inside, it had a communal lounging and games area, its own kitchen and dining and downstairs toilets. All the windows were triple-glazed and didn’t open.

Upstairs, we were told, was twelve, self-contained, suites, with ensuite bathrooms and big beds. I was shown into mine and Dad set the two bags he had been carrying on the bed. Mum had a smaller hold-all which she told me to look in when I was alone. We all went back to the main house where I hugged and kissed my parents and they left.

I asked Sister MacDonald if I was the only one here and she told me that the others were out, on an excursion, into Chippenham for some shopping, and would be back soon. We had use of a pressurised coach that had oxygen on board. Excursions would happen at days where there was enough breeze to ensure clear air. Other days, she told me, we could go out but had to carry a lightweight oxygen kit with nose breathers.

I went off to my room to unpack and have a shower. It was a little finnicky getting through the two airlocks, but I was sure it would all become easy with use. In my room, I looked out of the window at the rear garden and orchard. There was a big shed up near the back fence, which I thought may be the workshop. I unpacked my cases and put my clothes away. It was mostly Brien’s’ outfits, but Mum had sneaked in a few skirts and tops. In the hold-all I found everything I would need to be Brienna, underwear, sleepwear, cosmetics and even a packet of condoms. That one surprised me as I had never had a romantic attachment to a girl, or boy, since puberty, not that puberty did much for me.

After my shower, I dressed casually and lay on my bed until I heard some commotion from outside my door and went out into the corridor to see what was happening. It was then that the full impact of my life to be came home to me. I walked into a crowd of smiling, chattering guys who obviously were not upset at being here.

“Hello,” said one, “we’ve got a new boy.”

I nodded and said, “Hello, I’m Brien.”

One guy, who looked about the same age as me, smiled. “Hello, Brien, I’m Adam. I’m in the room next to you.”

As he spoke, I looked into his eyes and a jolt ran through my body. It wasn’t like anything I had felt before. At that moment I knew that I would follow him anywhere. It was a new, and frightening, feeling. What if he turned out to be horrible to me. I wouldn’t be able to resist him. I suddenly wondered if I had fallen in love.

He suddenly looked surprised, himself, but then gathered his wits together and introduced me to the rest of the crowd. The oldest was Jim, a mechanic who, at the ripe old age of thirty, had been found under a truck he had been working on and had been here since. Peter and Alf were in their late twenties and had both been working in London before their own narrow escape from death. I was informed that I had better have an open mind as they had become a couple since they met, here, and slept together.

Frank, Neville, and George were all in their mid-twenties. Frank had been an electrician; Neville had worked in radio and George had been a driver of light trucks. The last two were Norman and Ralph, both looked as if they could crush you just by looking at you. Both had been in the military and both resented being here but, like every good soldier, knew that there were things out there that could kill you, so keeping safe was the only option.

We all went down and into the main house to the dining area. The meal was good, certainly not the standard NHS fare. We were waited on by the two live-in nurses, Jane, and Penny, who joined us at the table once we all had our meals in front of us. Sister ate, so I was told, in her own quarters, along with her husband, who looked after the gardens. The talk was lively, and I found myself warming to the company. The only embarrassing moment, for me, was when Peter suddenly sat up and looked closely at me.

“You look like a toff and I’m sure I’ve seen your picture on an advert somewhere.”

I nodded and then Jim looked up.

“You used to be a girl in some adverts. I used to have some on the wall of the garage. Now I’m embarrassed to say that I lusted over you, especially in those perfume shots. The resemblance is uncanny.”

I couldn’t hide it. I nodded again.

“Yes, when I was younger, I was a girl in a lot of shots, then there started to be a demand for more guys and my appearance got me work as Brien, rather than Brienna.”

Adam looked straight into my eyes and said, quietly, “Brienna, I like that. Will you introduce her to us, some day?”

I smiled. “Maybe, but I’ll have to get to know you all a lot better before that happens.”

That evening we watched a bit of television and then went off to our rooms. That’s when I found out that the two nurses were sleeping with the two soldiers, June going in with Norman and Penny with Ralph. At the door of my room, Adam reached out and gave my arm a squeeze.

“Goodnight, Bri, I think you’ll fit in well. This is more like a hotel than a clinic. If you have any hobbies, you’ll have the chance to follow them. Sweet dreams.”

In my room I stripped off and opened the drawer where I had put my Brienna items. Having showered earlier, I brushed my teeth, splashed my face, and went into the bedroom to put on one of my nighties. That night I slept well but had some very interesting dreams that included Adam and activities I had never thought about before.

The next day, after breakfast, Adam and Neville showed me the rest of the complex. The shed that I had seen on the fence-line was an emergency generator, petrol driven, of course. There was another long building to one side of the house. These were workshops for carpentry, car mechanics, steel fabrication and one, Nevilles’ hide-away, set up as a ham radio station. Norman and Ralph had a track around the property, where they ran every day. I decided that I would join them if they’d have me tagging along.

Over the next couple of weeks, I settled in. I took up running to keep fit, Adam also joining me, and we let the others catch up with us, often twice a session. We were determined that we would keep up with them, one day.

As we ran, we talked a lot. Adam had been brought up in a sheltered household, like me, and he, was also finding it difficult to become sociable. We became sociable, together. Talking about being sociable, we would go into Chippenham every two weeks for the local dance. It was held in a hall, quite a long way from any main road, and we all were able to enjoy ourselves, knowing that the coach outside had all the equipment needed should we have an attack.

Adam and I were quite popular with the local girls, and I learned a lot about ‘sociability’ in relation to the correct activity expected of a guy when dancing with a girl – and afterwards, before we all went back to the Refuge. The locals were all on board with our situation and a lot of care was taken to not put us into any bad situation.

We went out on excursions, to local tourist spots, parking well away from the tour busses. We also visited the girls at the Refuge near Devizes. That was interesting. The more we went there, the closer we all became. Adam was smitten with a girl called Hayley. One, Cathy, nearly swooned when she saw me for the first time. The other girls escorted me to her room to look at the advertising posters on her walls. All were of me, in both Brien and Brienna mode. Cathy was determined to have me for her own and it wasn’t long before she and I were walking, hand in hand, in the garden, stopping out of sight of everybody to kiss for the first time.

While I found all this bonding with a girl a wonderful experience, I had my reaction to Adam in the back of my mind. I stayed in Brien mode and that helped me to maintain my distance from him. The desire to kiss him never went away but remained firmly in my thoughts.

I started studying again, taking a computer course in Modern History. It was interesting to have an interest to keep my mind active. As time went on, we became two, melding, groups. We would go down to visit the girls and they would come up to visit us. We would stay overnight at their Refuge, having several spare rooms. Cathy and I slept together on several occasions. Adam would go in with Hayley. Jim, and an older girl called Shirley, became a couple. Like our refuge, there was one same-sex couple, Gemma with Fiona. Neville, Frank, and George were friendly with Anne, Gloria, and Maureen, but were not in sleeping relationships.

Life passed, we stayed fit, me getting fitter, had our regular visits, went out, did a lot of dancing. I don’t know where any new patients were sent to, as we didn’t add any more to both places. Maybe they were now being sent to new refuges.

We had regular visits from family and friends. I went out, at times, with my parents, in the electric transport vehicle, with George driving. These were often to secluded areas where advertising photo sessions were waiting for me to be in front of the camera. If we went past Devizes, we would pick up Cathy. She was in seventh heaven to be on set and got on well with my folks. I’m sure that marriage was discussed when I was otherwise engaged.

Odd things started in my third year in the refuge. There were several sightings of strange lights in the sky from places all over the world. The television news was showing them almost every night. This carried on for almost three months and then they stopped in the early winter.

Late, one evening, after a normal spring day, a fog came in from the sea. The news was that this fog was being reported over the whole world. It was white and damp, from the reports, and smelt like disinfectant. We were sent off to bed with the pressure turned up just in case it could influence us. Sister McDonald told us that all the refuges were following emergency procedures.

Next morning, I was awoken by a terrible scream. As I dived out of bed and flung on a dressing gown, I looked out the window to see a lovely, sunny, day. It didn’t give me any indication of the horrors that were to follow.

Marianne Gregory © 2023