A Change of Life

by Paula Mortenson

  

Part Three (concluding)

Chapter Six

  

"Where are we going, this evening?" surprisingly we were ready early and sat chatting in the living room.

"To that Indian restaurant in Park Street. George has booked a table for 8 pm. After we thought we'd go to the Mayfair Club but we don't want to be too late. We certainly want an early night and we don't suppose you and George want to be late, either. He can stay, if you want."

There was another one of those knowing looks between them. They must be sex mad, after the session this afternoon they still wanted more. Mind you, I was longing to see George and the thought of being in my little bed with him sent shivers down my spine.

"What's the Mayfair Club like?"

"Well, George you will have to stick close together but you'll enjoy it. It's a gay club and we're members. You'll find out how good you are."

"What do you mean?"

"Whether it's the women or the men who try to chat you up. Don't worry; we'll keep an eye on the two of you."

I was still trying to work that one out when the doorbell rang. My heart jumped. George stood on the doorstep looking sheepish. I wasn't much better, not sure whether to make that first move. "Go on, bring him in and for goodness sake, give him a kiss."

There was a cheer from my flatmates as I cautiously extended my cheek but George took the initiative and threw his arm around me before nuzzling his lips against mine. I liked being a girl, the way I gave him the opportunity to make the first move and then accepting his approach or not.

Five minutes or more later our ears were ringing to the very unladylike comments of the girls as we were still clasped together in that first kiss. It had progressed from an initial peck, to a mutual interest and finally to a tonsil bashing, tongue exchanging bedroom invitation. His hands moved seductively down my back and bottom and my arms were around his neck pulling him ever tighter into our clinch.

When we disentangled George asked for forgiveness and my answer was to start another marathon clinch which would have resulted in us retiring to the sofa or the bedroom, anywhere for privacy but for the comments of our friends. By this time we were both panting with lust for each other's bodies and I noted with a mixture of pride and anticipation the massive bulge in his trousers. The arrival of the taxi prevented any further engagements.

With so many things flashing through my mind the chatter in the taxi, George constantly trying to touch me in ever more interesting places and my struggle to keep my hemline at a relatively decent level I had little time to worry about my reappearance in public. My only major concern was that hemline but that only added to my feminine appearance to the outside world. Those Lycra skirts had been fashionable for nearly a year now and nearly every girl who wore one had become adept at gripping the hem each side and pulling/pushing downwards but only to have to repeat the exercise within minutes. I had by this time been living in a totally feminine world for the past five days. I was completely comfortable as a woman except for that battle with my skirt and even that seemed natural for it was as a female that I clasped at the hem and yanked it to a less revealing level.

At the restaurant we were shown to our table with George and me facing the girls. My confidence grew as I realised that no one stared at me and I even managed a smile at the waiter who helped me off with my jacket and pointed generally in the direction of the "ladies" as a helpful piece of information for a female customer.

There were already groups at two other tables and I do admit both George and I got worried when a middle aged male detached himself from one table and staggered slightly unsteadily towards us. It transpired that he was one of George's tutors who had a reputation for drunkenness, debauchery and lechery. He insisted on kissing all the girls' hands (I am not clear who was less impressed, Sandra and Mel or me) but then kept hold of mine whilst alternately chatting to George and leering at me.

"Are you coming to the ladies', Paula?" whispered Sandra. They were life saving words as both George and I were mesmerised by the tutor's barrage of touching, combined with a string of tasteless sexual innuendo. Somehow he sensed our reluctance to make a fuss, seeming to feel there was no bar to his behaviour.

He stood so close to me that as I attempted to rise from my seat he blocked any movement on my part. As I began to feel a rising panic I knew I had to get up and as I forced myself upwards the back of my chair tilted backwards producing a strange strangled cry from his lips. He stepped back and his hands swooped to the front of his trousers, leaving my escape route free. Amidst giggles from the girls and knowing smirks from other customers we scuttled off to that secret reserved place but was this from the frying pan to the fire, for me?

The meal was a great success once the tutor disappeared with a very disapproving wife who glanced a last smile to me over her shoulder as they left. We ate our fill and I was aware I had drunk enough to make me easy meat for any boy who wanted to push his luck but then I was desperate that George was going to push more than his luck. Mel leaned across the table, her eyes smoky and unfocused.

"I think our young friends look very tired, don't you, Sandra? I think they want an early night and I don't think that one of those wouldn't do us any harm, do you? Whad doo doy dink?" Those final words made it very clear she had drunk far too much and that they were certainly not going to the club.

George and I waited while my friends made a last visit to the ladies' and though I needed a visit as well I could not face grappling with the hooks, eyes and poppers on my underwear. At my earlier visit I had learned the very important lesson that a girl must be careful of the trailing ends of her underwear as she sits on the toilet as the dampness reminded me. I was disturbed from my thoughts by Sandra appearing at the door of the toilet anxiously calling me over.

Fortunately we were the only ones in there as Melanie swayed back and forth, her skirt hitched around her waist and her fingers already stickily working at herself. Her eyes were glazed and she was muttering a ditty to herself. "Sandra got a cock and a fuck. I got nothing, I'm out of luck." As she repeated this over and over I glanced enquiringly at Sandy. "It was me this afternoon, now Mel wants one as well. She's jealous of me having the chance for a baby. "

Mel besides being big busted was very fit and powerful and despite her drunkenness there was no chance we were going to get her to move without a major scene. Mel's eyes focused unsteadily on me.

"Good, you're here. Come on you'd better get on with it. " With those words she lay down, spreading her legs wide. I glanced pleadingly at Sandra.

"Will you? Can you? But quickly and then I can get her home."

If anyone else had been watching they could not have told whether it was dream, nightmare or farce. Sandra hitched my skirt skywards, slipped poppers, hooks etc. to reveal my very unexcited manhood. I was trying to forget my gender! On my return home I was fully expecting to be treated by George in the very manner that I was being expected to perform for Melanie. Sandra came to my rescue.

Standing behind me she nuzzled her face into the back of my neck reaching with her tongue and teeth to alternately nip and lick my earlobes. One hand slipped under my top, reaching the sensitive skin under my arms on its way to reach inside my bra. She pushed the silicon out of the way and pinched my nipple sending an electric shock through my body. As this happened the other hand explored over my shaven pubic area to arrive at my dormant manhood at exactly the right moment. The effect was outstanding!

"Go on get down there. Work at it hard. Whisper in her ear, admire her tell her the things you want to hear from George later."

I lay there on top of her and humped, there is no other way to describe it. I wanted to come as quickly as possible. Of course, though, men's parts have minds of their own. Despite whispering my admiration, love, lust for every part of her and her body and despite her juiciness and obvious response to my efforts nothing would happen for me.

As I humped with increasing desperation I became aware of a cold creaminess at my buttocks. Sandra whispered her encouragement as she offered her assistance. An insistent pressing at my bum cheeks suddenly reminded me of George's attentions, attentions I was looking forward to this evening. That pressure matched it's rhythm to my humping as a cock ( though clearly it wasn't…but who cared?) slipped into me and slowly a glow of interest and pleasure began to spread through me. I was being used the way I longed to be and I was loving it. Thoughts of George and his cock filled my thoughts and finally tingles of pleasure reached into my own penis and I exploded into the body beneath me.

"Come on, there's no time to enjoy it. Here's some tissues, clean yourself up while I try to sort her out."

As Sandra struggled with a doll like, grinning Melanie I struggled, more successfully this time with the poppers etc. I glanced at myself in the mirror and was horrified to see a very dishevelled Paula. Now I was tutted at while I determinedly repaired the worst ravages of the evening and brushed my hair to an acceptable approximation of it's former style.

George was pacing back and forth as we appeared supporting Mel between us. Our taxi was already waiting so we didn't have to do more than briefly face our fellow diners. "Where the hell were you?" George hissed as we tumbled into the taxi. There was no way we were going to say anything in front of an obviously inquisitive cab driver so poor George had to sit in the front seat and seethe on the way home. Melanie was flopped between Sandy and me, quietly humming to herself as we hoped she wouldn't break out into one of her drunken ditties.

Once home we were able to get Mel to bed and calm George with an edited version of the evening's events. I certainly had no wish to tell my male lover of my escapades. Sandra told me that she had commandeered one of those slim hairspray canisters as a makeshift dildo this evening and I have never been able to see or use one since without just a little shiver running through me.

Finally I was able to slip away to check my makeup again but more importantly to replace my damp underwear with skimpy knickers and suspender belt and the polo top with a wisp of a blouse, borrowed from Sandra.

 

Chapter Seven

 

After completing our explanations of the evening's events the three of us sat chatting for a few minutes. Eventually, Sandra stood making her excuses, leaving George and I alone. Though I had longed for this moment there was a short embarrassed silence. We both knew and lusted for what was to happen but we both wondered how to make the first move. George admired my replacement outfit and asked whether I now felt comfortable, relieved of the dampness, which thanks to Sandra's graphic and funny description he had found more than amusing.

"Yes I'm dry and cool, thanks to those skimpy knickers you bought me. Do you want to see them?"

At that I hitched my skirt upwards to flash my underwear at him. I had made sure I was within his reach and before I knew what was happening he'd grabbed me and we were in a cosy pile on the sofa. Before long those skimpy knickers were around my ankles, my blouse was unbuttoned and his hands were exploring every intimate crevice of my body. It all seemed so natural and his gentleness was in complete contrast to Saturday. His every move was preceded by an enquiry whether that was good for me and other than nodding in agreement and responding to his increasingly passionate kissing I had little chance to respond. As we finally took a breather from a particularly passionate embrace I struggled to my feet and led him to my bedroom.

By now I was stripped down to only my bra, suspender belt, stockings and shoes. I stood before him, pressed a finger to his lips, to silence his passion, and began, slowly and artfully to strip his clothes from his body. I ran my fingernails up the front of his chest, slipped his tie off and ran my hands back down unbuttoning his shirt as I went. As the last button popped open I whipped his shirt out of his trousers, which were by now showing a distinct damp patch. He grabbed at me but this evening I was determined to be in control so I slapped his hands away before whispering, "You're mine tonight so you will do as you are told. Put your arms by your sides."

Amazingly he did as he was told and I began to enjoy myself. I unclipped his belt and slowly, so slowly dropped his trousers to his ankles, ensuring as I lowered them that I touched and caressed every inch of him from his waist to ankles. I do admit that I paid considerably more attention to the area above his knees and below his waist. His shorts tented massively but before I took a peek inside I extracted the pack of condoms I had been given earlier from my bag.

"Now then, big boy," I whispered in my huskiest voice, "You are not leaving this bedroom until one, two three of the have been used up."

I counted the rubbers from the packet, tucking the first two into the waist of my suspender belt, like guns into a holster. The third I ripped open with my teeth and pulled out the ribbed black rubber.

I knelt before him and eased his shorts downwards. It was as massive, knobbly and oozing as I remembered. I just could not resist flicking my tongue over that amazing head, finally taking it completely in my mouth. But I was determined that he was going to pleasure me to exhaustion before was came tonight so with some regret I allowed it to slip from my mouth and eased the rubber over his massiveness. It was a tight squeeze but eventually I had rolled it right to the base before gently stroking his balls. A groan of pleasure came from his lips.

When I had changed my bra earlier I had used the adhesive so my silicon breasts stayed in place as I unfastened the clips at the back and allowed it to fall across my own excited prick. Walking passed George I knelt on the bed and peered backwards over my shoulder.

"Slowly now, just play it around and caress me all over."

George understood exactly what I wanted and needed. The shock of his fingers as they played me like a musical instrument was incredible. He teased me with his rubber coated prick, running it up the inside of one leg, nearly to where I longed for it too impale me and then it retreated down the inside of the other. All the time it caressed those sensitive areas. Finally he nestled it at the very entrance, nudging gently, teasing me my starting it back down the inside of my leg. All the time his fingers strummed at my erogenous zones, which seemed to be everywhere. My desperation for him became unbearable.

"Come on George, make love to me." I pleaded.

There was a kindly laugh, "Say please nicely."

"Please, George. Please screw me. I need you."

By now there was no asking nicely, it was a shrill, pleading desperation that came from my lips. The tip again nudged at me and I lunged my hips backwards at it, longing to capture it. That movement coincided with a playful nudge forwards from George and it rested momentarily, just penetrating to half the head of his penis. Unintentionally he had given me the chance and I thrust desperately back and then he helped by driving forwards, propelling himself deep inside me. We both gasped as I flexed my muscles to grip him tightly and he fought to drive himself ever deeper. I discovered I could manipulate his cock as artfully as any hand, pussy or mouth as we battled for control.

I could hear George's breath become shorter as excitement gripped him and I gradually became aware of a glowing, roaring sensation spreading from my pussy substitute, through my bottom, testicles and into my own cock. Every inch of my body was alight with the feeling, even my nipples stretched and longed to burst forth and finally my balls seemed to explode at the very moment George screamed that he couldn't hold on any longer and pumped himself desperately into me.

I "came" as a man and then I came as only a woman can. I hit the very heights of ecstasy. I could not have stopped, I had wanted to, that roaring glow that engulfed me. I longed for it to go on for ever.

We dared not move for ages after. I flexed myself at his now flaccid cock just topping up that glow but finally we had to disengage to indulge in a post coital cuddle.

We both drifted off to sleep but the memory of the night is only a blur as we explored our mutual likes and dislikes until the sun glinted through the curtains and we had used up the supply of rubbers.

We sat enjoying a cup of coffee in the kitchen the following morning when Sandra appeared.

"Well, you two had a good night, judging by the silly grins on your faces, not to mention the screaming and bumping that came from your room last night."

George and I betrayed ourselves with beetroot cheeks.

"How's Mel?" I asked trying to change the subject.

"She won't be up before midday. She's sworn off drink for life. But I don't think that'll last too long. We were planning to take the next couple of days off for private study time. When are you going back, Paula?"

The sudden mention of reality came as a shock. I was registered as a male student and while there were others who had "come out" in respect of various things I had not considered what I was going to do and I knew it needed consideration and considerable courage. I looked to George for advice.

"Tell you what we'll do. You're not expected back til Monday so I'll take the next couple of days off and we'll talk about what is going to happen. That suit you?"

I knew I was only postponing any decision but it did at least give me time to think. Anyway, I longed to spend more time with George.

The succeeding days passed so quickly. I made my first foray out in daylight as Paula, in a foursome with George and the Girls and then again with George. We went shopping, giving Paula to get one or two things for herself. Shopping as a girl was so different from shopping as Paul and I seemed to take my time to make up my mind about my purchases. I nearly gave myself away the first time we went out by offering to pay with my credit card, in Paul's name and it was only George's quick thinking by insisting on paying that saved exposure.

The nights were a blur of sexual experimentation, lust and discovery. George outdid me by buying a cowboy belt and holster set and insisting I wore it, complete with a full ammunition supply of six rubbers of various types. He would select the type of rubber he wanted to wear and I would remove it from my belt and fit it. It really was too much of a good thing and gradually I became more exhausted and not a little sore from our constant enthusiastic lovemaking.

 

Chapter Eight

 

It was Saturday, our week anniversary, if you see what I mean. We had been out shopping and for a walk in the park. We had been talking about all those silly things that lovers talk about. Our families, our hopes and dreams, everything and anything. George told me how the first time we had met he thought I was so shy and how that had appealed to him. He'd asked the girls about me and how they'd been reluctant, it seemed, to properly introduced us. He'd pressed them and they explained there was something very special and unusual about me. That had intrigued him. He, bless him, had kept on insisting that he wanted to be introduced.

They had shown him that photos they had taken that first time and explained they were the first to be ever taken of Paula. It seems that intriguing titbit, both true and misleading had made him even more determined. Sandra and Mel had got him round to our flat when he helped me with the washing up and I dropped the plate. That seemed to be the next stage of my flatmates' plan. The night after they spent the entire evening at his place, cross examining him about his feelings for me and what he wanted. I recognised the technique; they had done exactly the same with me. Probing and suggesting. Each time getting me to reveal just a little more of myself.

For him, it eventually all came out. His constant pursuit of girls, using them and then discarding them, somehow dissatisfied.

"Why are you dissatisfied?"

"I don't know."

"Have you ever wanted a man?"

"I couldn't stand the hairiness, the masculinity."

"What about a feminine male? One who dressed, talked acted and smelled like a girl? Your age or a little younger?"

That was it. They had got him hooked, just as they hooked me. When he had confessed his deepest desires, they offered him hope. They manipulated him in a most amazing manner but in a way that was all too familiar to me. They then left it that evening, leaving him in a total funk in case they outed his innermost secrets to the whole world.

The afternoon of the "Ladies Night Out" Mel had gone round to see him. I hadn't realised she was missing but there had been just a hint of blackmail and then an invitation for a drink at our flat when we got back. Just as she was leaving she asked whether he still fancied me. She was apparently outrageous. First hinting that Paula was like them, then that she was hetro, then that she was not a she at all, but a he. Poor George was in complete confusion. Then, out of the blue, a straightforward question.

"If Paula enjoyed being Paula but underneath everything there was Paul, do you still want a date? But only if you treat her entirely as a girl. She does fancy you, you know."

He was flabbergasted but also delighted and not a little relieved. He had to promise to look respectable and treat me entirely as a girl. His treatment of me, that first night was also partly as a result of what he had been told. Once our lovemaking had got to the point where it was obvious that we were going to.. (do I have to draw a picture?) then he was told that he would fail himself and myself if he didn't ensure there was no going back. We both needed to discover the real us.

Well, he had certainly made certain there was no going back. He confessed that he never realised how carried away he would be and how sexually arousing our encounter would be. When I had gone down on him he never went soft even after he had come and he just had to have me. He forgot how strong he was and he had never realised I was a virgin. Anyway, I had forgiven him.

When we got back to the flat George needed to get a change of clothes and I wanted a bath and to get ready so we reluctantly bade farewell to meet again in a short time. My tiredness was made worse by the soreness caused our constant Olympian efforts and I admitted to myself that this evening while I was more than happy to satisfy George by hand or mouth I was looking forward to giving my back pussy (as I thought of it) a chance to recover from the very considerable bashing it had received recently.

The weather had turned warm for October so I planned to wear an ankle length cotton skirt with knickers but no tights or stockings. The cool night air playing on my bare legs was an experience I was looking forward to.

George returned just as I put the finishing touches to my make up. Sandra and Melanie had already gone out for the evening so we cuddled on the sofa, together. George's hands inevitably became inquisitive and his excitement very soon became apparent as he discovered how little I wore under my skirt.

It was one of those stupid arguments that happen between lovers. I pushed his hands away, we were after all going out in a few minutes and if we carried on the way he was going we were never going to get out. Don't get me wrong, I was interested and I was enjoying his attentions but I was looking forward to going out and we were now late.

"Don't George, please. We're late."

"Don't you want to, then?"

"Later, when we get home, if you like."

"If I like? You've gone off IT, haven't you? That nonsense you were spouting about last night, about wanting female bits and pieces. That's what it's about, isn't it?"

As he had impaled me last night, I had casually mentioned that it would be nice if we could make love in the missionary position, sometimes, like a man and woman. In fact we found it more comfortable with me on my knees but what I'd really meant was that I wanted to kiss him while we made love without having my knees around my ears. He seemed to have misunderstood that I wanted to "operation" but it set me thinking about my gender and what I wanted longer term.

It just went downhill from there. In moments we were shouting at one another and without any warning we were into a full scale row. Those terrible things people say to one another in arguments were exchanged with no quarter given or taken. I found that the meek Paul became a real spitting hell cat as Paula. We almost, but not quite, came to blows and it all ended with me sobbing my heart out and George storming out the door.

For the first time in weeks I was alone. I lay on the sofa sobbing, angry at myself as much as George. I cried myself to sleep and it was past nine o'clock before I woke. I had a headache from the crying and my guilt made me feel miserable. I knew my flatmates would not be home until the early hours of the morning and I could not face being alone all evening so I determined to go out. I kicked off my shoes and padded into the bathroom.

Such had been my transformation over the past weeks that it was Paula who peered into the mirror to be horrified by the tearstained face that looked back. My reaction was immediately to splash cold water on my face and within minutes I had repaired my makeup and tidied my hair. I looked down at my skirt, creased beyond help unless I ironed it so an idea formed in my mind. I had long since laundered the red polo necked top I had worn to the restaurant so I changed into that outfit.

Absentmindedly I slipped on my jacket, scooped up my bag, made certain I had some money meandered aimlessly from the flat. The bright lights of the pub down the road attracted me like a moth to a bulb. Saturday nights were always lively so I wandered in, just another girl without a boyfriend for the evening. Looking back I took a terrible risk going in on my own. If a boy had picked me up heaven knows what would have happened. I bought a glass of wine and found a corner seat, as far away as possible from everyone.

I sat quietly sipping my drink letting the incessant beat of the music from the juke box wash over me. Glancing around I saw groups of males, females and couples out enjoying themselves. Regrets for my selfishness and sorrow for George's absence niggled at me. What a self centred madam I was. I realised how much I had drunk when I knew I had to go to the ladies'. But by now I was boxed in and I didn't want to leave my seat without finishing my drink. If I left my seat my neighbours would certainly move, in the way that people do in pubs, to make the most of the space available. So I sipped away for another five minutes, constantly reminding myself not to gulp the drink down in the way that men do.

I slipped away from my seat, trying to make myself as inconspicuous as possible, just another girl out for a solitary drink, just a little wary of other people. The ladies' was at the rear of the bar, so with a growing fear of recognition but not unlike the solitary female I aspired to be I edged my way through the crowd. One final obstacle faced me. A couple who I vaguely recognised were arguing at the entrance to the toilets. The girl glanced up at me, smiled and mistaking my growing panic for a desperation to get into the ladies' stood to one side.

Safety! The past days with my friends had made me feel safe in such places. Indeed, Mel and Sandy had insisted on all our outings that we visited just about every toilet we had passed. Initially, my visits had been accompanied but then they had insisted that I enter alone, at first, followed by them. After each call my actions and behaviour had been assessed and appropriate advice given. I now felt comfortable, safe in the knowledge that I acted naturally.

I locked myself away in a cubicle but despite my confidence I still struggled with those hooks, eyes and poppers. I carefully directed my stream to avoid the distinctly male torrent as I squatted. As I struggled to close the hooks, etc. the outer door slammed open, followed by screaming and shouting, familiar as a row between a male and female. Heels clicked over the tiled floor and a cubicle door was slammed shut and locked. There were angry words as the bearer of a very angry male voice invaded our territory. I was petrified and dared not leave the safety of my cubicle for fear of what I might face. There was another male in the ladies' toilets very angrily hammering on the doors, yelling for Christine. There was a shrill and very obscene response from the adjacent cubicle, telling the male, in basic Anglo Saxon to go forth. The rumpus continued as I cowered away from the door. Other voices shouted and screamed in reply and then suddenly silence reigned.

A scuffle broke out just outside my door and a male foot appeared thrust under the gap. There was another silence broken only by heavy breathing, indicating some sort of struggle. A female voice called out authoritatively, "This is the police. We've arrested a man. It's now safe for you to come out."

Safe for me to come out? If ever I had been scared, it was at that moment. I heard two other cubicle doors opening and quiet words. There was a gentle tap on my door.

"Hello. It's safe to come out, Miss."

Miss!! The policewoman was expecting a miss. The old adage of own up and tell the truth came back to me from childhood. I took a deep breath; made sure my hair felt right and unbolted the door. If it had just facing the policewoman, smiling and assuring her that I was unharmed, I would have got away with it. But they wanted statements and statements meant names and addresses and identification. By now the woman PC and I were alone so if I was going to come clean, now was the time.

She listened in amazement as I explained that there had been two men in there but that I had been trapped in a situation not of my own making. I had to convince her, it was so galling, confessing when I didn't have to but she wanted name, address and identification. Even then I nearly got away with it before her sense of duty overcame her sympathetic curiosity and I was very discreetly shipped off to the police station.

Looking back, there was a sense of farce about the whole situation. They weren't exactly certain what to do about me or with me. I now understand that I was fortunate in the treatment I received. But this was a university town where the university had power and was not to be lightly offended. Details were taken and then I was shut away in an interview room on my own, for ages.

My tutor was called as well as the student union duty officer. I learned later that the union officer pleaded and pressured the tutor to speak on my behalf to the police for me to be released with only a warning. The police agreed and the woman PC was delegated to issue the telling off.

Frankly, it was not so much a telling off than a grilling by her on my situation. She was fascinated and very friendly. Her questions seemed endless about my life as Paula (such as it was) and compliments about my dress sense. She even gave me a lift around to the Mayfair Club when I discovered I had left home without my keys.

As she drove off she gave me a wave and wished Paula luck. It took a deal of persuasion for the doorman to let me into the club principally because I had been dropped off by a police car. Once inside I hunted for my friends only just avoiding being cornered by a large and very aggressive female who mistook what I was looking for. The gay men ignored me so I had unthinkingly passed another test.

My explanation about the evening's escapades was listened to by Sandra and Melanie with the usual combination of concern and amusement. When I described the policewoman there was further hilarity as they recognised her as a member of the Mayfair Club.

I knew I had to do something about my position as my luck just could not hold like this.

It didn't!

 

Chapter Nine

 

The following morning all hell broke loose.

The phone rang at eight. It was Sunday morning and the girls and I had stayed at the club until the early hours. We were all a little hung over and it took an age before I realised that it needed answering.

"I would like to speak to Paul, Paul Mortenson, please. " The voice of my Father boomed from the other end of the line. He was, at the best of times officious but not there was no doubt that he was in the foulest of moods. There would be no arguing, or getting a word in edgeways, in this frame of mind. I pretended to be one of the girls, softening my voice as much as I dared and offered to get Paul to call him back.

"No. Go, wake him and tell him I will call back in ten minutes. You had better make sure I can speak to him then, young lady."

I assured him that I would wake Paul immediately and he immediately slammed the phone down.

I knocked, hesitantly, on the girls' bedroom door. As soon as there was a sound from within I dashed inside, explaining the dreaded call. Immediately they saw the state of panic that I was in. I was certain there was no way even my Mother could reason with my Father in his present state of mind. Their reaction, once I had convinced them of the futility of any argument we might put up, was totally supportive and practical. Paula's clothes disappeared from my room to be replaced by Paul's which had languished at the back of my wardrobe. My precious chiffon nightie was stripped from me and replaced by boring, male Y fronts, jeans and T shirt. Just as I slipped on my trainers the phone rang again and my heart fell.

It was that terrifying non stop tirade, called Dad. I understood then why I got on so well with Gramps, my grandfather. Gramps, however much my Father shouted and blustered was never afraid, always ready with a pomposity pricking remark. He never met force with force but somehow he was able to gently and unerringly put Him in his place. But now I faced, or rather listened, to my Father and I was, in all honesty, scared of Him. He knew that and like all bullies took advantage of those who feared Him.

The words He used to batter me into submission I cannot recall. But make me submit, He did. I was not to move an inch, my Mother and He were on their way to collect me at that very moment. He had had a most concerning and embarrassing conversation with my tutor in the early hours of this morning and I had disgraced him, the family, my Mother and had put His position in society in jeopardy. It was made quite clear that I had personally engineered the whole thing, solely for the purpose of ensuring that His application to join some society or other could be turned down by His enemies. My Father had a lot of enemies, particularly when things were not going exactly the way He wanted.

After a wait of a couple of hours, during which the thought of Him reduced me to jelly, the Whirlwind swept into the flat. Sandra and Melanie wisely decided to keep a low profile, remaining silent throughout the Royal visitation.

I was told, in no uncertain terms, that since I could not be trusted I would be treated like a child and kept on a very short rein. The metaphors were mixed in every direction but at no stage was I given the opportunity to explain or defend myself. The Prosecutor, Judge and Jury have reached their verdict and the Jailer had come for His prisoner. The girls and I had cooked up a lame excuse about a Rag Week escapade but at no time were we given the opportunity to redeem the situation. Through all of this my Mother stayed in the background, seemingly waiting as she often did for the moment to pour calming oil into the state of affairs. But even she, with all her experience of dealing with His tantrums never once got the chance to speak. He ranted and raved endlessly, picking up this and that of mine and thrusting them demandingly at my Mother for her to take them to the car.

Amidst all this mayhem, George appeared clutching a massive bunch of flowers. Goodness knows where he had managed to find such a bunch at this time on a Sunday morning. His astonishment as he regarded my parents, the twin brother to his beloved Paula and the farce being played out had to be seen to be believed. I closed my eyes, in fear and trepidation expecting the sight of His son's male lover, on a Sunday morning with a bunch of flowers to be the thing to turn my Father into a mass murderer.

Melanie, to everyone's surprise, leapt forward and threw her very considerable charms around George and proceeded to attempt to suck his tongue out through the back of her neck. To my Father's disgust and despite George's size, she bodily dragged him off to the bedroom, never detaching her lips from his. At that moment Mel succeeded in only blow on behalf of the occupants against the invader, my Father. As He stood silent and bewildered, cries of passion came from the bedroom, signifying, I am sure misleadingly, that they were hard at it. Within a minute or so she was screaming for more and pleading that he mustn't stop, ever. The last straw was when her screaming rose to a crescendo, urging him to screw her hard and long.

That settled it. My Father was now convinced that he was in some sort of brothel and couldn't wait to leave. My Mother was directed imperiously to drive my car home and I was instructed to sit in the back of His. I was not fit to sit beside Him. Little did He realise that made him look like a chauffeur but though I thought it, I dare not mention it.

Next following months were hell on earth. The atmosphere at home never relented or relaxed. Mum was not permitted to talk privately but only for the necessities of life. My sisters were packed off to my other grandparents for Christmas and it was though I was permanently shackled to my Father. He never let me out of his sight. I was made to work at the factory, sharing an office with Him. He drove me to and from the factory and He watched my every move. I might as well have been in prison.

I did escape, but only for brief minutes, once or twice and managed to speak with Mel. From her I learned that my Father had paid my share of the rent for the whole academic year and that George had been devastated both by my departure but also by Mel's pretend assault upon him. It was as a consolation for me, for George's involvement with another T girl he had met at the Mayfair that the girls risked a visit to my home.

Their criminal ingenuity was incredible. Using the pretext that that had been some of Paul's clothes left at the flat, they calmly visited our house and handed over, right under the jailer's nose, my precious silicon breasts and some of Paula's underwear. There was also a note saying they had the rest of my things safely stored away.

And so I thought that the Paula episode of my life was history until I could find the courage and money to return to femininity. At night, I still wore my bra as a reminder of happier days. But during those long and lonely nights I wondered and thought about Paula. Whether a real and physically complete Paula was the answer but I knew little or nothing of that world. The jailer was determined that he knew my every move.

During all this time Gramps had been recovering from the terrible car accident that had cost Grannie's life. My Mother had been determined that he was coming to live with us, which my Father was not comfortable with. Eventually, he came out of hospital to stay with us for a period of recuperation. When Mum pulled up in the car it was apparent he was very weak and he staggered as he got out. My Father was so angry when I dashed over to help my Grandfather but from that moment my brutal regime eased. Those quiet pomposity pricking remarks shrank my Father's power over the whole house and gradually my Mother's influence calmed everything. It was though Gramps had freed her from an evil spell.

I even managed to sneak a little perfume that my Mother had discarded and dabbed it here and there to bring back memories of happier days. It was strange but Mother never noticed.

And so that fateful day when it was agreed that I would drive Gramps down to a seaside hotel for a short convalescent break. The freedom and the chance to be a little more feminine in dress and actions was irresistible.

 

Postscript

 

I had never realised how well off Gramps was until we pulled up in front of the smartest hotel in Brighton and had our bags taken off to a suite. Two bedrooms, separate bathrooms and a common living room, it was a dream for me. I could retire to my room and be just a little closer to being Paula.

I had, of course, packed Paula's things that I had but I couldn't resist visiting the shops in the "Lanes", a quaint shopping area behind the hotel. Gramps had made certain, in his usual generous way, that I had sufficient money in my pocket and I found a delicately embroidered pink nightshirt. Every girls dream. It was an absolute joy to experience it slinkily slide over my newly defoliated skin.

Of course the fire alarm in the middle of the night gave me away, when Gramps came into my room to see that I was awake. But he took it all in his stride and within minutes I was telling him everything (well, not quite everything, he is my grandfather). He told me how he had wondered, when he saw me in that school play but felt he mustn't sat anything. I had to find out for myself. Then he talked of his hopes and fears and how Grannie knew that he liked dressing. But it was more than that but he had waited out of respect for Grannie. She had been ill for years and he couldn't leave her, it would have killed her.

I cannot believe how much has happened to me over the past months. The shocks and surprises and the final bombshell that Gramps is not going to be my grandfather for much longer. I'm sure he (she) will be my Aunt Maggie. I cannot say whether she will be physically Maggie but there was a very determined look when he (she) was talking about it.

Maggie, like Gramps is so determined, so organised. As we talked of finding a flat and perhaps me going back to university but as Paula, I have no fear of Dad interfering. We chatted about so many things. I did blush when Gramps talked about the school play and told me that he saw my inner femininity even then. But it is the time that Gramps has had to wait to become Maggie, that's incredible. I know the torture that I suffered over the months since I came home from university but he endured it for years. He said he felt he couldn't let Grannie down.

Me? What am I going to do? Certainly, we're going to take that flat together. But after that? As I think of George, with some fondness, I wonder whether he saw more than I did. Whether he sensed that I wanted not to be treated as a boy in a skirt, but as what? Did he see the real Paula? The sex was great but surely there's more to life than that. Mel and Sandy wanted children, without the involvement of men and they chose me. They looked upon me as another female, but one able to fulfil their dream for a child. I giggled as I thought of my family tradition of twins. In a way I was a twin, all by my self, one male outwardly but whose core was female. Am I going to be luckier than Maggie and fulfil a partly recognised dream of my inner self?

I think…. I think that I may be following in a family tradition, every inch of the way!!

 

The End (?)

  

  

  

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