Life in a Female State          by: Andrea

 

Chapter 1

 

Well, just think about it for a minute or two. Just how would you feel? It was already well after midnight and the dinner was absolutely ruined. I’d especially asked permission from the floor supervisor to leave work early. I told her it was for a doctor’s appointment but actually I just wanted to get to the supermarket early. Of course I’d gone to the hairdresser’s at lunchtime. After all I’d booked my appointment for a hairdo and a manicure weeks before. Then I went to the supermarket. The menu had been planned well in advance but, you know how it is, some things just have to be fresh. I bought lots of special things for our anniversary meal, dragged them back to the house in two great, and exceptionally heavy plastic bags, and then spent hours slaving over a hot stove to get everything perfect. I’d even bought new placemats and napkins and the tableware was absolutely spotless. I’d saved up our meat ration for weeks and with a whole half pound of steak I’d made the most absolutely fabulous goulash with tomato and herb sauce. I even opened a bottle of our favourite Syrah wine to go with it. Then I spent just ages putting on my makeup. I was wearing my most sexy silk underwear with black stockings and suspenders. And that very special dress – the one my partner liked so much - the short blue satin one with the puffed sleeves and the darling little lace bows on the bodice. In anticipation of the special evening ahead I had even lit scented candles in the bedroom and laid out my sexiest nightgown on the bed. Not that I really though I’d need to put it on! Everything was going so well. I was ready at nine o’clock, sitting in my favourite chair facing the door. But by ten I was walking about the hall rehearsing my lines about how sorry I was, but I must have mistaken the time we had planned to eat. By eleven, my lines were becoming, ‘Darling, I really wish you’d called. You are just so impossible. I went to all this trouble and dinner is ruined.’ By eleven thirty, the bottle of wine was half empty, the goulash was caramelising in the oven and I was beyond words; but even then I suppose that when my partner walked through the door and been contrite I could have almost been forgiving. But what actually happened was just so absolutely awful I couldn’t really believe it.

The door burst open and she barged in, drunk as a skunk, with her arms wrapped over the shoulders of a slimy boy who was barely eighteen. The sort of toy boy you could pick up in any bar. You know the type. Dyed blonde hair, thin T-shirt and black leather trousers that left nothing to the imagination. Goodness – it made me sick to my stomach. After all we had meant to each other. All the little tender, caring moments that had meant so much to me obviously didn’t mean anything to her. I’d put up with her philandering before - but that she would just pick up a strange teenage boy on this night of all nights was just to much.

‘This’ Susan slurred, by way of introduction, ‘is my new friend .. Ian. Ian, this is.. er.. this is, er.. hic.. my ..er.. flatmate. Do be a sweetheart, and get Ian and me a couple of beers.’ Then she collapsed unconscious on the couch.

The boy and I were left staring eyeball to eyeball. He was a lot taller than I am but I was swinging a half empty bottle of wine in my right hand and I am very sure that my eyes communicated the fact that I was angry, very angry. I am convinced that he thought I was going to hit him.

‘Look’, he stammered ‘I didn’t mean to get into this. She just asked me back for a drink, you know. How was I to know she had a live-in lover?’

I was so mad I could have killed him – but he was just a boy. It wasn’t his fault, it was Susan’s. So I hissed ‘If you have any sense you’ll leave before I get really angry. Please leave us now!’

After he left I sat down on the chair. The chair. The chair that Susan and I had bought together at an antique fair. We’d recovered it in a single piece of precious blue antique velvet that I’d found in a flea market in Battersy. ‘This,’ Susan had said triumphantly when she’d driven in the final upholstery tack, ‘is your special chair. When I’m away I shall always think of you sitting in this chair.’ Then she had run her slim fingers through my long hair and kissed me. Her kiss had laid long and lingering on my lips. But that had been a long time ago. That had been a quite different Susan. That was the darling Susan I’d fallen head over heels in love with. That was the Susan who had always admired my choice in clothes and bought me flowers, chocolates and sexy lingerie. That was the Susan who, on hot summer afternoons, had laid her head on my lap and told me that I was the prettiest, most wonderful person in the whole world. That was the Susan I would have walked through the fires of Hell for. But she had gradually changed. At first I’d put it down to the pressures of her work After all she had a high profile job in the judiciary office. Then again, because of her public profile, she had been initially disinclined to actually advertise our relationship. I’d been hurt at the time, I’d always wanted to be married. Eventually she’d agreed since it meant so much to me. Of course our relationship was such that a normal wedding was out of the question. So in the end we had a simple ceremony involving an exchange of vows before a few friends. We meant so very much to each other at that time that formalising the relationship probably didn‘t really matter so much. However, the fat lump of blubber now snoring on the couch wasn’t the same person. This Susan was definitely not the woman I’d fallen in love with. This Susan was a coarse and insensitive bitch who could pick up a boy in a bar and not even think about me.

So I left. Granted I left quickly, terrified that she might wake up before I actually got out of the house. I threw a few things in a suitcase, paused at the bathroom to grab my makeup case then snatched my coat and her keys from the hall table before disappearing from her life forever.

I took her car. This was undoubtedly a very bad idea. But her BMW 928i convertible was the one thing she really cherished. So I took it. The bitch could walk to work! However taking it and driving it were quite different things. I had never really learned to drive properly and driving that powerful beast in high heels was awful. The damn thing lurched about the road and roared off at tangents at every little touch of the wheel or throttle. It was terrifying. If I hadn’t been so damned angry I’d have collapsed at the wheel long before I’d got out of London. When I got to the Bicester road I think I finally had control of the thing but I then realised that I didn’t have the faintest idea where I was going. Look, where was I going? I pulled into the next layby to try to work this out.

Suddenly there was a bright light in my eyes. Then thankfully it moved away and I could see the vague but reassuring silhouette of a police constable. I wound down the window.

‘Look’ said the officer. ‘This isn’t really a good place to stop Lovie. You don’t have any idea of what sort of people hang about these places.‘ Sorry, are you all right?’

No I wasn’t. My face was tear stained, my mascara was running and my life was absolutely ruined. I struggled to speak. ‘Look Officer, it’s all right. I’ve just had a disagreement with my partner but I’m perfectly all right now and I have to get back home and apologise’

The voice behind the light shouted to another shadowy figure somewhere in the gloom. ‘Looks like just a lover’s tiff. The pretty young thing here is in tears but just wants to go home.’

Then the constable turned. The torch was pointing at the floor of the car and I was aware that my skirt had ridden up well over my thighs.

‘Are you sure that you’re all right, darling? You don’t need any help?’

I bit my bottom lip and tried to pull my skirt down towards my knees. ‘No, but thank you, officer I’m quite all right, officer.’

But as they walked off to their car I could hear their conversation. The one who had talked to me said sarcastically, ‘You can’t feel sorry for those little city types. They’re all la-de-da airs and graces and a bottle of Chardonnay. Serve the stupid thing right if some country yobo came along and gave the silly thing a right good shagging.’ They were laughing as they walked away.

God I hated them. But they were absolutely correct. I was a silly stuck-up tart. I hadn’t been so bright at school but I had definitely and single mindedly made the absolute best of what I had. Which truthfully was only a great pair of legs and a cute bum. Since college I’d done all the right things and flicked my eyelashes at all the right people and climbed into all the right beds. But now look where it had got me. Exactly nowhere. Sitting in a layby crying my eyes out for Susan. Susan, the only person who I had ever loved, the woman who had promised to take care of me, the woman who had sworn her eternal love – and who had eventually betrayed me for a piece of street trash. So, please pardon my French but ‘Damn you Susan’ -- I am definitely not going to crawl home and apologise – instead I am going to take your precious car for a little ride.

It was exhilarating at first. I threw that bloody machine round every bend the road had to offer. That car had chewing gum on all four corners. It stuck to the road like glue. That is, until we came to the bridge. I have no idea where the damn bridge came from but suddenly it sprang out of the darkness. The next thing I knew the stupid machine was nose diving into the blackness and then I was in a river, tumbling over and over in the cold water. I remember thinking ‘I’m going to die’ and wondering if Susan would be sorry.

 

Chapter 2

I remember being in a bed. God, was I sore; so very, very sore. The room was swimming in technicolor but I could hear a woman’s voice reassuring me that I was all right. Then she spoke to another person but I could only hear fragments of the conversation.

‘Another hour and it would have been too late … Hypothermia…. Lucky… Just bruises and a couple of cracked ribs… Emotionally scarred.. Might have been a suicide attempt.’

Then the sharp prick of an injection in my arm and blessed oblivion.

When I eventually woke up there was a lady in a white coat sitting beside my bed. She was middle aged but she wasn’t altogether unattractive. A bit thick in the hips with short-cropped greying hair. Susan had had a word for that look. Matronly, I think it was. She spoke slowly.

‘How do you feel?’

‘Just sore, thank you most kindly for asking. Who are you? What happened? How long have I been here?’

She smiled ‘Whoa up a bit. One thing at a time. First, my name is Sharon and I’m the medical officer here. Second, you were found in the water at the weir by one of our girls. You have to thank her for your life. She broke the ice and swam out in the freezing water to drag you in. When they got you here you were half drowned and your body temperature was seriously low. It was touch and go for a long time that you would pull through. Guess you got really lucky. The answer to the third question is that you have been here for three weeks. Now if that is all right – could you answer a question for me.’

I nodded ‘I suppose so.’

‘Well, for a start you could explain to me how you came to be in the river in the first place.’

So I told her everything. You probably have realised by now that I find it much easier to talk to women than men. I told about my insecurity in my relationships and how the fight with Susan came about and how her pride and joy had ended up in the river. I suppose I told her my entire life story but I didn’t once mention Susan’s real name. That was the least I could do. Despite my garrulousness I retained enough sense to know that the least breath of scandal could ruin her civil service career.

She smiled again. ‘You really are stupidly loyal. Most people would have shopped an unfaithful lover like that to the tabloids. You know, something like – Senior civil servant in rent for sex scandal.’

Then she stood up and brushed some imaginary dust from her trousers. ‘I guess that is enough for tonight.’ Then she switched off the light and left.

I was tired but I couldn’t sleep properly. Weird images of Susan kept flitting through my mind. Sweet Mary, would she would be furious about the car. I tossed and turned all night.

I must have dozed off before dawn. Dr Sharon woke me.

‘How do you feel this morning?’

‘All right, my chest is still very sore. The bandages itch but I suppose that is to be expected.’

She was professionally noncommittal ‘Probably.’

I tried my most winning smile, ‘Do you think I could get up today?’

Her voice was surprisingly neutral ‘Don’t see why not. There are some clothes I looked out for you on the chair. My office is across the corridor.’ Then she left.

Getting out of bed was surprisingly easy but after that everything went crazy. The first thing was that apart from the bandages round my chest I was stark naked. Not even a pair of panties! The room was incredibly cold and quite basic. There weren’t even any mirrors. But the worst thing was when I picked up the clothes she had left out for me. They were very definitely not my clothes. Just a plain sweat shirt, jeans and ugly hobnailed boots. The only underclothes were a pair of rough cotton Y-Fronts. Ugh! These were the type of clothes that Susan wore when she was knocking down a wall or digging the garden at the cottage. Shit, there was no absolutely way I could wear these clothes. They were just so, so .. so very ugly. I’d never want to be seen wearing clothes like these. This had to be some sort of elaborate joke.

However, for modesty’s sake, I had to take a chance. I put on the wretched sweatshirt and trousers and looked out into the corridor. There wasn’t anyone there so I darted to the room across from mine. Sharon was sitting writing behind an enormous desk. I closed the door quietly behind me. Then I stood still. She looked different. The white coat she was wearing earlier was hanging on a coat rack and she was dressed in what I took for battledress fatiques. However there was no mistaking the insignia of an medical officer in the Special Forces on her shoulder pads. She nodded and waved vaguely towards a chair, ‘Please sit down, I won’t be a minute.’

I curtsied politely and then said automatically ‘I do thank you kindly Ma’am. I thank you for your politeness.’ Then I sat down and crossed my legs.

‘Well’ she said softly, ‘What is it?’

‘Look, Ma’am’ I began apologetically, fingering the clothes I was wearing. ‘I’m very grateful for your help and all that, but these aren’t my things. I find wearing these embarrassing. If you could give me my own clothes and perhaps call a cab I would like to go home.’

She looked me in the eye. You know, in the condescending superior way that some women can do. Then she laughed. ‘I don’t think you can.’

‘Look Ma’am. You’ve lost me there. I feel so embarrassed in these clothes. I feel like some sort of transvestite. I’m sure this is just a joke, so if you could give me my own things and call my partner. I’m sure she will come and collect me.’ With that I fluttered my eyelashes and gave her my most winning smile.

She smiled back. ‘You don’t really understand, do you?’

‘No Ma’am.’ I stuttered ‘What do you mean?’

‘I suggest you look in a mirror. There is one over there.’ She gestured towards the far wall.

I looked in the mirror. Oh, Sweet Mary. That wasn’t me. I wasn’t wearing any makeup and I had a faint trace of stubble on my face. But worse than that my hair was short. All my curls were gone. I was shaven almost to the scalp. Just like a girl. The hairdo that had cost half my month’s wages had gone completely. I looked like total shit.

I was beside myself with rage and I stamped my foot on the floor. ‘What have you done?’

Considering my emotional turmoil she was infuriatingly calm. ‘I’ve just been testing a rather exotic theory of mine. You see as a medical woman I’ve always thought that gender specific appearance can be induced. So, when you dropped into my lap, so to speak, I decided that I’d deprive your body of P&O’s for a while and see what happened. And it looks like I was quite right. You’re really turned into quite a handsome girl.’

Oh, Mary. I must have been without P&O’s ever since I got here. I’d been faithfully taking those little pink pills since the age of ten. Every night before us boys went to sleep in Hostel Number 82 we were taught to recite;

‘Each evening before I lie in bed
I brush my teeth and then my head
And, at last, before I go
I must take my P&O’

I was devastated. I was a good boy. I’d never even thought of missing a pink. Honest. But it had happened. If she was right, I hadn’t had one for almost a month. And here I was, with hair on my face, looking like a pansy-boy in woman’s clothes. Oh, Sweet Mary, this couldn’t actually be true.

She was droning on and on but I was shocked rigid. Shocked to the very frills on my knickers, so to speak, and I could only vaguely take in what she was telling me.

"Look" she said "You aren’t very well, so just get back to bed and we’ll talk later."

I went back to the sick bay and sat on the bed. Sweet Mary, it was so unfair. I buried my head in the pillow and cried myself to sleep. I dreamt about Susan. She was wearing a black suit and a black tie, standing in the rain on a wooden bridge. She was looking down into the river and there was anguish in her handsome face. She obviously hadn’t shaved for a couple of weeks and there was a barely perceptible shadow of dark hair on her upper lip. Tears started to appear at the corners of her pale grey eyes as she threw rose petals one by one into the swirling black water. Oh, my heart went out to her. I wanted to shout. To tell her I was alive. To run to her and melt into her strong arms. Then I woke up and the dream faded. I tried to hold onto it for a while thinking that it could almost be true. But then I realised that if she was mourning by a silent riverbank then it was most likely to be for her stupid car. Of course it was much more likely that she was in a bar somewhere getting paralytic and trying to chat up some pretty young secretary. I could almost hear her using the sad story of my untimely death to get the boy’s sympathy before suggesting that she couldn’t go back to her lonely flat alone and perhaps he could go with her for a coffee. The next thing the stupid hopelessly-romantic little bullock would remember would be moaning in her arms in bed. My bed! That stone-hearted, manipulative bitch! I clutched my knees beneath the blankets and cried myself to sleep.

The next thing I remember was a pin prick in my arm and Doctor Sharon talking to me. I felt very drowsy and at first I didn't quite understand what she was saying.

She smiled and tried again. ‘Look, I want to help you. But I have to understand you. Tell me about your first sexual experiences.’

‘Do I have to?’

‘If I’m going to help you I have to know.’

I didn’t even realise I was speaking until I heard my disembodied voice. ‘Well, it was in my first year in college. This girl, Rowenna, she was very nice. She was studying Physics. We met at a college dance and she gave me a lift home.’

‘What happened.’

‘I was slightly woozy. It was the first time I’d had wine and it went to my head. We kissed and cuddled in the back of her car and she told me I was beautiful and… Well you know..’

‘Know what?’

‘Well, we had feelies. She held my balls and tickled the underside of my penis till I felt warm inside and then she guided my hand to her slit. I fingered her clit a bit. You know, just feelies.’

She was writing on her notepad. ‘No more than that, just feelies?’

‘Well, we had a date a week later. She was a movie freak. She took me to see a really old film called ‘The Third Woman’ After that we went to a wine bar and I got quite drunk.’

‘Then what happened?’

‘We went back to her flat near the University. We kissed and cuddled for a while then she dropped her trousers and I gave her a licking. Please understand I was young and quite drunk at the time.’

‘That’s it? No real sex?’

‘Oh Mary, No. I was a good boy. At that time I wanted to save myself for Miss Right.’

‘So when did you first have penetrative sex?’

‘That wasn’t until I started working in the Government Legal Department.’

‘Who was she?’

I blushed, ‘My floor supervisor. Look, Charlotte was attractive and she fancied me. And anyway I wanted my upgrading.’

‘Did you enjoy it?’

‘Oh yes! I’d always wanted to be a grade four.’

‘That’s not what I mean. Did you enjoy the sex?’

‘What do you mean?’

‘Penetrative sex. Do you enjoy it?’

I felt embarrassed. This was the sort of thing that boys talk about among themselves but never with women. But perhaps this was a time to be honest. After all she was a doctor.

‘No… not really. I know it’s a way to show a woman that you are hers, but it hurts and with an insensitive woman it can be totally degrading.’

She leant forward. ‘I don’t understand. It’s a perfectly natural act. What’s your hang up?’

I looked at her. Perhaps she was a doctor, but she was still a woman. How could she possibly understand? However I tried to tell her.

‘Look, it’s not the same for a man as for a woman. A man requires a commitment of love. When a girl straps on her dildo and reams you she has to respect you after.'

‘What do you mean?’

‘Well, at the very least, she has to have a suppository ready for afterwards. But it’s just as important that she gives you cuddles until the pain goes away. You really don’t understand male psychology do you?’

She looked pensive for a moment ‘I suppose not as much as I should. But, go on. If you find sex so distasteful how did you end up in a stable relationship?’

‘You mean with Susan?’

‘Yes. Tell me about how you met.’

Mary, It brought nostalgic tears to my eyes just thinking about it but I went on. ‘Well, it was almost by accident. I was just standing by the photofax chatting to the operator, he was only a grade two, when this high powered young lawyer burst into the room. She demanded to have a senior secretary instantly. One look at her and my hormones cut in and I just had to volunteer. She was so cute, a big strapping lass who obviously worked out in the gym. Goddess, she was a virgin’s prayer come true. And that was that.’

She looked at me quizzically, ‘What was what?’

‘I mean that I fell head over heels in love, Stupid. I worshipped the ground that woman walked on.’

‘So you offered to shag her?’

‘No. I was a nice boy. Do you take me for a hundred euro whore? I played her like a fish. I was always there when she needed a secretary, wearing my sexiest little outfits. If she was working late I stayed behind at nights and made sure I took her a cup of coffee and a chocolate biscuit before I left. Eventually she began to notice me and at the next Marymass party she backed me into a corner and suggested that we go for a meal afterwards.’

‘What happened?’

Goddess, I had tears in my eyes just thinking about it. ‘Honestly, It was like something out of Men’s Own Romance Magazine. We went to some fantastic little Pop and Mum restaurant. Then we walked along the riverbank. Then we kissed and time stood still for both of us. It was then I knew she loved me.’

‘But, What happened?’

‘Well, You know. Everything.’

‘Everything?’

I looked straight at her. ‘Yes, Everything. She was hooked and I just knew she’d propose. For a month she bombarded my flat with flowers and chocolates."

"So, When did you move in with her?"

"She was going to Paris for a conference and she asked me to go as her secretary. When the conference was finished she suggested we went to the Ardennes for a few days. Well, it just happened. Just like the movies. After a wonderfully romantic meal in an old chateau we went to bed and she was everything any boy could wish for. She was so strong, so caring and so considerate. She cuddled me and even gave my peeing thingy a little sucky after sexual intercourse. It was just so wonderful. What else could a boy hope for? I was in love with the most wonderful girl in the universe. When we got back to London I just packed my clothes into the back of her battered old Ford Victra and moved in with her."

She smiled and then rested her chin on her hands. "So it was just a simple girl meets boy story. But I suspect you and your princess in shining armour didn’t live happily ever after, or did you?"

I felt tears well up behind my eyes and I struggled to speak. "No, that’s not quite correct. We were idyllically happy for two years."

"Then what happened?"

The memory was still painful and I was almost in tears. "George happened – Look, I don’t really want to talk about this. I’ve never talked to anyone about this."

She put her hands on my shoulder to console me. "Look it’s better if you talk to someone. Get it out of your system."

"All right" I gulped. "George was the typing pool slut. By the time he’d been in the job for a month he’d licked out more lawyers than I’ve made hot meals. We, I mean the boys in the office, called him the yoyo."

"What do you mean?"

"Oh for Mary’s sake. It’s just boy talk. I mean that his panties were up and down at least twice a day. Anyway, I was working late one night and when I finished I went to Susan’s office. There they were. George was bent over Susan’s desk with his skirts up over his shoulders and Susan was screwing him with a massive dildo."

"So what did you do?"

I looked at her in total amazement. "What do you mean? What did I do? I went home and cried myself to sleep."

"And did you talk to Susan about this?"

I was incredulous "Of course not. What do you take me for? I’m not a complete idiot."

"What did you actually do?"

"I had it out with George in the men’s powder room. I told him that if he ever even looked at Susan again I would scratch out his eyes and feed them to the pigeons beneath Emma Hamilton’s Column in Trafalgar Square. He got the message and applied for a transfer to the Foreign Office."

She sighed. "You’re a vicious little doggie, aren’t you?"

"No, You don’t understand at all. It was probably all my fault. I adored Susan but by that time our love life had become very ordinary. I rationalised that she needed the domination thrill and as a red blooded woman she couldn’t be held responsible for screwing the first decent arse that pushed itself in her direction."

"So, What did you do about restoring the relationship?"

I blushed. "I went a bit overboard for a while. I went down to that Andrew Summers’ shop in Soho and bought some tarty underwear and when she got home at night I put on soft music and played the ‘homme fatale’ bit to the hilt. I mean literally. I told her she was wonderful. I let her ream me with her largest dildo and, despite the fact that it hurt so much, I cried out for more."

"But, despite your efforts, I take it that the relationship was going downhill?"

I bit my bottom lip. "Yes, I suppose it was, but I didn’t realise this for a long time. I should have worked out that all those late night emergency meetings at the Justice Ministry were just excuses for her casual affairs. But, please understand, I was both faithful and forgiving. I didn’t want to lose her."

"So, What finished it in the end?"

I was getting very angry, tears were starting to run down my face and I really blew my top. "What do you think? Don’t you realise that I have some pride! How would you feel if your boyfriend was being reamed by every cunt he met! It’s just the same for a boy – when she had the effrontery to bring that tart, that horrible little street boy, into our home on our anniversary night I just couldn’t take it any longer."

Then finally the dam broke and I burst into tears.

It was morning when I woke up again. Pale winter sunlight struggled to illuminate the spartan interior of the ward. Dr Sharon’s voice came from somewhere ‘I’ve had some breakfast sent up from the canteen. Get dressed and come to my office.’ So I struggled into those hateful clothes and poked my head round the door. There was no one around so I darted across the corridor and into her office.

She was siting behind her desk with one leg over the arm of her chair munching a bacon roll. Her finger pointed to a pile of rolls on the desktop. ‘Help yourself.’

I glanced hungrily at the plate but I kept myself under control. ‘No thanks, I really have to watch my figure.’

She grimaced and when she spoke a fine spray of food covered the desk. ‘You men, always worried about putting on weight. But, please yourself, I can probably eat the lot.’

‘Look Ma’am’ I said, trying to keep my voice firmly under control. ‘Look Ma’am, I hope that you won’t mind but I think this has gone quite far enough. I’m well now and I’d like to leave. If you could please get me some P&O’s and some decent clothes and shoes – look, just a plain little dress and a pair of flaties would be fine – I could just walk out and find my own way back home. I wouldn’t tell anyone about this, honestly.’

She seemed to think about that for a moment. Then she started to laugh. ‘Oh Dear Goddess, you just don’t get it do you. You silly thing. You could try to get out but you wouldn’t make it very far. This is an army camp, not a branch of ‘Homme Store’ We don’t do sweet little lines in dresses or frillies. Dressed as you are you’d be shot for desertion. And even if you did make it to a police station you’d be arrested for impersonating a woman. After all you don’t even exist.’

I interrupted. I knew it was very rude to interrupt a woman but I couldn’t help myself. ‘What do you mean I don’t exist?’

She smiled. ‘Just that, boysie.’ She lifted a flimsy single piece of photofax paper from her desk. ‘Here is your personal file; And it reads ‘James Brown, boy number 1237, born 6th March, 2010 in unit 82. Selected as genetically unsuitable for sperm donation, June 2020. Reasonably intelligent, scored M122. High school diplomas in art, english, housekeeping and needlework, 2027. Graduated Pontefract Men’s Secretarial College October 2030. Described as an efficient, obedient worker. Paired with Susan Phillips, senior civil judiciary officer, June 2030. Missing, presumed deceased, following a car accident on December 15th 2033. ’ Then she lit a match and burned the paper.

‘So you see.’ She said, ‘You don’t actually exist any more. Poor little Jamie Brown drowned after crashing his lover’s car in the river.’

My mind was racing, my entire life had just gone up in smoke. But for one thing. ‘Wait a minute Ma’am, You said that some girl rescued me. She must know I’m a man.’

‘Sorry to disappoint you, Sweetheart. Corporal Nancy Graham was flown to a special operations unit on the Baltic front two weeks ago. Apparently she was aboard a helicopter gunship which the Swedish Navy shot down a week later. She was killed in action. Anyway she just lifted a half drowned boy out of the river. For all she knew you were already dead.’

I was. I was dead. If that bitch had been a man I’d have scratched her eyes out at that moment. But my years of training cut in. So I bit my lip, courtesied properly and said ‘Ma’am, I’m tired and I humbly beg your leave to withdraw.’

She looked at me a bit more kindly. ‘That’s right, Sweetheart. Go and lie down for a bit. We’ll talk again this evening.’

Tears were forming in my eyes and I turned to go but she hadn’t quite finished with me. ‘Wait just a minute’ she said throwing an envelope across the desk, ‘ You forgot your new papers. I suggest you study them. And another thing … ‘ She added as an afterthought. ‘Please don’t courtesy in future, a simple salute is enough’

Then she turned back to her paperwork, ‘That’s all for now. I’ll give you a few hours to memorise your new papers then I expect to see you back here. – At ..’ she consulted her watch – ‘at exactly 1645 hours.’

I returned to my room and threw myself on the bed. It was so very unfair. I didn’t deserve this. Mary, I was furious. I suppose that getting angry helped. It’s difficult to feel as sorry for yourself when your mad. That stupid folder was lying on the floor where I’d thrown it so I opened it. There were two packets inside. One was clearly an information pack so I put aside. The other was a set of personal documents and someone had obviously been very busy.

First there was a military ID card made out to someone called Desiree Philips. The photograph was a little blurred but her facial structure was unmistakably like mine. Desiree had obviously gone to the same barber, poor girl. She was almost exactly my age, height and weight and was apparently a lance-corporal in the Marines. Then was a short CV and … for Sweet Mary’s sake … that girl was a tough little bitch. Raised in Nursery No 12, Mile End Road, East London. Accused of aggravated assault of an sixty year old man at age fourteen but offence classified NFW. Didn’t finish junior school. Enlisted as a girl soldier at age sixteen. Military driving school for a year then an overseas posting to Germany with Queen Alexandra’s Tank Regiment. Some accusation about beating up a prostitute in Hamburg but the offence was classified NFW and dismissed.

NFW – Each one of these letters stuck in my throat. How often had I typed them on Susan’s court documents. ‘Case Dismissed - Offence classified NFW.’ NFW - No Female Witness. A legal loophole, a license for every mentally challenged little bitch who ever wanted to rob, beat up or rape a man. Mistress, It made me so angry I wanted to puke. Even if the poor victim managed to get the police to bring the case to court the defense would argue that he led her on. I’d typed up so many of these cases that I should be immune by now but they still made me sick to my testicles.

The typical speech the defense lawyer made was: ‘My client only asked him in for coffee and biscuits. When she got back to the room he was sitting on the sofa clad in only his frilly chemise and panties. The next moment he was all over her, ripping her trousers off and demanding to be reamed. My client’s flatmate, who was in the adjacent room, distinctly heard him say that he wanted her to strap on her thickest dildo and give him the reaming of his life. Well, your Ladyship, I submit that any normal young woman, faced with such a rampant display of overt masculine sexuality would have acted in the same way my client. She certainly does not deny having sex with the boy. However, after the act the boy decided to leave the flat. Being a caring, sympathetic young woman, my client tried to persuade him to stay. However at this point the boy appeared to get very agitated. Still only clad in his underwear he pushed my client aside, gathered up his dress and ran out the door calling her – and I ask your Ladyship to excuse the language ‘a Father-sucking bitch’ a fact confirmed by her flatmate. My client does not deny having sex with the youth but she strenuously denies that she forced herself on him. Furthermore she contests the fact that he was actually injured on the basis that his claimed anal injuries and his broken arm were only attested to by a male nurse.’

Shit! If you read between the lines, that rotten bitch had lured a stupid, innocent young boy home to her flat and forced him to have sex with her and probably with her flatmate as well. Then, after they’d reamed him completely stupid, they’d thrown the poor, confused little dog down the stairs. However, there could only be one proper legal result, ‘Case Dismissed - Offence classified NFW’

But the CV went on,

‘..Posted to the Marine Corps. Above average aggression profile. Applied for Special Forces training. Accepted 20th January 2034 for the Officer Training Unit at Blagley Camp.’

Oh, Sweet Mary in heaven! Not Blagley! Please Sweet Goddess, tell me this isn’t Blagley. Blagley, the home of the SS, the Special Services – the so called ‘Satan’s Sisters’ – the toughest, meanest little bitches in the armed forces.

 

Chapter 3

‘Understandably’ said Dr Sharon ‘I’ve arranged that you have quarters close to the medical wing. That way I can keep a close eye on your progress. And now I’d like you to meet a friend of mine.’ She nodded towards a stocky figure in the corner. ‘This is Mistress Sergeant Pamela Nicols. Don’t worry, she is in my confidence. She knows all about your special circumstances. Nicols is the resident instructor in unarmed combat. You will share her quarters.’

I eyed Nicols cautiously. What I had first taken for flab now looked surprisingly firm and muscular. Disturbingly, she had a tattoo of a dagger dripping blood on her left forearm. She was also looking at me strangely and I had the very distinct impression that she didn’t care to much for what she saw. I suddenly felt very sick and dizzy.

I think I must have fainted. The next thing I remember I was lying on a bare mattress in a very basic room. I was trying to orientate myself when that brute Nicols came in. ‘Ok’ she said ‘I don’t like this one bit boysie, but orders is orders an’ if what the Captain says is right an’ the army is doin’ a top secret experiment I’ll just have to do what I’m told. But then, I’m only a Sergeant, ain’t I.’ At that point she leaned over me and stuck her evil little mouth close to my ear. I could smell her rancid breath. ‘Which’ she growled ‘is exactly what you will do! I ain’t no lickin’ nurseboy! So, you do exactly what I say or I will peel the soft skin from your private parts and eat them with toast! Now get out of that reamin’ bed, pick up your reamin’ kit from your locker, get reamin’ dressed an’ report to me in the reamin’ Sergeant’s office.’ Then she turned to leave.

‘Wait a minute, Sergeant’ I smiled my most winsome smile at her and tried to flutter my eyelashes. ‘Wait a minute. I think there has been a terrible mistake. I’m not meant to be here and if you could telephone my friend I would be most terribly grateful. Look, if you would be kind enough to find me a pen I’ll write out her number… ’

She took one of my wrists in her hand and pulled me closer. Her touch was even more loathsome than her breath. ‘Really’ she said softly ‘An’ how grateful is grateful where you come from?’

I gulped. I hadn’t actually meant that in the sense she appeared to understand. However, if she could get me out of here I suppose I could just about go through with it. I put my hand on her cheek ‘Just that sweetheart. Anything you want.’

I felt a horrible pain in my wrist as she twisted it. Then she hit me in the face with her forehead and I went over backwards landing with a bone crushing crash on the floor. My vision was swimming and I didn’t know what hurt more, my face or my arm. ‘Mary!’ I screamed ‘you’ve broken my licking nose!’

‘That’s exactly what you deserve you reamin’ slut! You lickin’ good time boy! Mary, I’m reamin’ glad I was given this assignment.’ She shook her fist in my face and I tried to press myself into the floorboards. She was screaming at me ‘You understand one reamin’ thing. I don’t like boys. I never liked boys. You’re all filthy manipulatin’ sluts!’

Well, what did I expect, she was a Lesbo. After all lesbianism is encouraged in the armed services. All that female bonding in combat thing you hear on TV documentaries. I’d insensitively missed the meaning of the word ‘friend’ in our introduction. She was probably Dr Sharon’s current lover.

She looked down on me and I covered my face with my hands. I was thinking ‘Oh, Please Sweet Mary, don’t let her hit me again’ when she threw something at my feet.

‘Captain told me you have to wear these kevlar reinforced knickers. I suppose they’ll disguise your pretty little bum and protect your pathetic little squashy bits. The rest of your kit is in the locker. So tuck up your sad little sausage an’ meatballs and in ten minutes be dressed an’ ready at the door or I’ll come back and adjust your features again.’

Then she left. I’d never felt quite so alone in the world. However, I did what I was told. The panties were seriously reinforced. They came above my waist and padded out my shape so that I now had a small protruding stomach and a seriously different hip and arse shape. Tucking my private parts in was difficult to say the least. Fastening the lycra breast band was hard but I finally managed. No wonder girls want to have breast reduction surgery. Thank Mary I'd refused Susan’s pleas to go the complete sow and get bigger silicone implants. It was all I could do to flatten my modest tits under the damm thing. The locker was a revelation. Inside the door were a couple of posters torn from Playgirl which showed boys dressed in the most elaborate tarty frillies waggling their tongues and arses at the camera. I’d never seen anything quite so demeaning to the male sex in all my life. It really made me feel quite ill. When I’d finally struggled into the rough and inflexible uniform and tied up my boot laces I looked at myself in the mirror.

Sweet Saint Michelle, I was a complete mess. I looked like some hard case squaddie. In fact I looked just like Desiree Philips.

The next few weeks were complete hell on earth but I will spare the sensitive reader the gory details. Suffice it to say that I suffered badly. Being kicked out of bed at 0400, sorry, I mean four in the morning, and forced to run eight kilometres isn’t exactly fun. Evasion training, when you have to crawl through wet bracken for hours with a soaking wet tushie, isn’t entirely a bowl of laughs either. The jarring of a silenced M29 automatic rifle against your shoulder is hardy pleasant and using explosives scared me to death. They are so loud. Another thing that got me down was the boredom of the free evenings. I could hardly go to the recreation room. Anyway it was full of loud mouthed, smelly soldiergirls whose only topics of conversation were boys and football. So I sat in my room, rubbed my aching shoulders with liniment, sucked Tylenol tablets to ease the pain and read. However the reading material available wasn’t up to much. It consisted of an eclectic assortment of dirty magazines and military manuals. There was a curiosity value in glancing through such weird literature as ‘Big Balled Men’ and ‘Wet Look Schoolboys’ with articles entitled ‘Live one-on-one with real college boys who love to give themselves to horny women’ and peculiar adverts like ‘Virgin schoolboy wants to be spanked by a dominant mistress and take her biggest d**** up his a***’ Eventually, I resigned myself to reading such enticing literature as ‘The operation of the F28 grenade launcher’ and ‘General Shirley Williams account of the British Invasion of Switzerland’. It’s rather sad isn’t it. What I wouldn’t have given to curl up with a big box of chocolates and a glossy men’s magazine such as ‘Le’ or even ‘Man and Home’.

However the thing that was really beginning to disturb me was the way my body was behaving. Muscles were appearing in places where no decent boy should have them. Then there were the dreams. I was having weird fantasies about Susan and sometimes even about the other cadets. Once or twice I woke up with my peeing thingie all stiff like a dildo. That was something that had never ever happened before. I tried to soothe it by rubbing it with a warm flannel soaked in bodycream but although it was a pleasant sensation the stupid thing only got larger. The only way I could make it return to its normal shape was to bathe it in ice cold water. It made me cry to realise just how much I was deteriorating physically. My hands were hard and callused to an extent that no manicurist could possibly cure. My body hair seemed to be out of control and small hairs were appearing on my legs and chest. Worse still there was the distinct shadow of stubble on my face. I had to beg Dr Sharon to give me a surgical razor and I scraped it off every other morning. As the weeks went on I also realised that I was outstripping my classmates. Despite the fact they were hard nosed bitches, most of them with combat experience, I was a heck of a lot stronger than they were and to give them their due they seemed to respect me in a funny sort of way. Even Margaret-Anne, who was the toughest of them all, sidled up to me during the run back from a particularly hard exercise and panted. ‘Desiree, or what ever your lickin’ name is, you are one incredibly tough bitch. The girls are calling you ‘the six million euro maiden’. Will you just slack off a bit and give the rest of us a chance?’

So what would you have done? I put on a little spurt and left her eating the dust from my boots. I heard her yell out something like ‘You lickin’ cunthole’ somewhere behind me. However I did take her comment to heart. I had to slow down and let some of them pass me in the ratings. After all, if what they told us was true, I just had to stay in the top six. The top six cadets got a weekend pass at the end of week eight and if I got beyond that gate I was free. Once I got back up to London I’d disappear and they’d never catch me. So for the next two weeks I didn’t try very hard. I drifted back to third place in the runs, shot at a nine point three average and made a few unforced errors on radio transmissions.

Finally the great day dawned. We, I mean all the soldiergirls and I, sat in the mess hall listening while Major Barbara read out the scores. I’d judged it just right, fifth place. I remember thinking ‘Just watch my smoke when I clear this place.’ However cruel fate had a trump card yet to play. Just as I was leaving the Major called me aside. ‘I’m sorry Coporal, but it seems like your number came up this round and you’ve been selected. You report to transport for Centre Ten at 0800 tomorrow. But, don’t worry, you may get back on the course in a couple of years.’

I could not work this out. ‘I’d been selected’, selected for what? So when I got back to the medical wing I asked Sergeant Nicols. She’d been a little more amenable to my conversation since I’d talked to her in her own language behind the barracks. Camp gossip had it that she had to have treatment for a broken nose and a fractured clavicle sustained in a fall.

She was absolutely delighted at the news. ‘Oh, how reamin’ wonderful. This is where you get truly reamed. Centre Ten is a baby breeding unit. They take you off your blues – like they withdraw your testosterone tablets – and after a few months you start to bleed out your cunt. I’m told it really hurts. Then they inject you with something that makes you sick every morning. Then you swell up like a balloon. Eventually they cut you an’ take out the babies’ She smirked "Of course, that would be what would happen if you was normal woman. But since you’re a flamin’ freak it’s the end of the line for you, boysie! You unfortunate little dick!’

Oh Sweet Mary, this was so awful. If I turned up at the centre I’d be discovered immediately and most likely terminated on the spot. So I went and explained the predicament to Dr Sharon. I must say however that it took her an hour or two to come up with any sort of answer.

Finally she said, ‘I’ve been thinking about your problem and I’ve hit on a solution.’

‘Whatever it is had better be good and virtually reamin’ instantaneous!’

She smiled ‘It is. Look, you’ve come to see me complaining about a pain. I admit you for minor emergency surgery, let’s say an appendectomy. I’ll carry out some surgery but there will be minor complications and you’ll then need lots of bedrest. That should keep you out of the draft and then you can continue the programme here.’

I didn’t like that option so I said, ‘I’ve a much better idea. What about suspected cancer. Then you could get me out of the programme, a medical discharge and a prescription for enough P&O’s to help me get my life back.’

‘No’ She smiled. ‘You don’t actually understand. I’ll be giving you a much better life. A very full and satisfying life. I will actually operate. Except I’ll remove your testes and and construct a proper vulva from your penis and scrotum. Why I could even remove your prostheses and give you a more modest, less masculine bosom. Of course you will have to go onto a course of T’s to maintain your feminine nature, and …’

Something snapped inside me. I reached over the table and caught the woman by the throat. Two months of pent up aggression welled up. I shook her like a rag doll.

‘You horrible, conniving bitch! You obscene, father-sucker! There is no way that you will touch me there!’ Oh Dear Mistress, she really revolted me. I threw her back into her chair and she gasped for breath. She glared at me,

‘You just don’t understand.’ She croaked. ‘Your testes and penis are redundant organs, just like an appendix. In the dim prehistory of our species they were probably important in reproduction but they serve no real function now. After all we’re not wild animals anymore. What I’m offering you is a new life. The chance to be someone. As a real woman. You’re definitely officer material and with some combat experience you’d rise through the ranks quickly. In a few years you could be in charge of a regiment!’

‘I don’t think so. Just give my life back, bitch!’

‘But?’ she continued, ‘ I could help you so much, can’t you see. I could even hack into the computer and find the questions for the officer’s exam. You could pass out as the first cadet in the next class! ’

‘I have an alternative solution.’

‘And what’s that?’ she wheezed.

‘I’m going to see the duty officer.’

She tried to laugh. ‘You’re mad! She’ll call the civilian police! You’ll end up in Hollywell being serially reamed by every warder in the place!’

‘I don’t think so. You see you are going to give me a note saying you have to take me to a civilian hospital for examination. That way I get out of this place and then disappear.’

She laughed in my face. A great belly laugh. ‘You’re crazy! Not a chance in Hell! There is nothing that you could do to make me compromise myself like that.’

‘Sorry ‘bout that. But you lose.’ I opened my tunic and showed her a tape recorder taped to my chest. ‘This tape contains everything you’ve said to me in our last three conversations. All my pleas about how you got me into this mess and all your replies. It should make great listening for all the girls and boys in the Army Legal Section. What do you think will happen to you then?’

She collapsed in the chair. ‘Just what do you want me to do?’

‘First the note to Major Barbara. Then I lock you in the broom cupboard. When I get back you countersign the travel warrant then we take a little ride in your car.’

I packed a few essentials in my rucksack and half an hour later we were driving through the front gate.

‘Where to?’ She growled.

‘Just Aldershot station. There is a London train in half an hour.’

 

Chapter 4

She parked just outside the station. ‘OK, we’re here. Here is the travel warrant. Give me the tape.’

I gave her the tape. It was a really good tape. It was Big Martha and the Beach Girls singing their eternal classic ‘My Baby, He gives good lickin’’ She threw it back in my face. ‘We had a deal!’

‘Not a chance, Captain. You just thought we had a deal. I don’t even know how to work a bloody tape recorder. And now here is a little something you taught me.’

She was much stronger than I had expected. I had to hold her down very firmly just to get the syringe into her arm and it took a full minute for the cocktail of drugs to take effect. Then I tucked the tape and the travel warrant into her tunic pocket and carried her to the train.

‘Sorry’ I said to the guard. ‘This is my commanding officer. She’s been out on the town with the girls and she’s plastered. Her travel papers are in her pocket. Try to wake her up before Paddington.’ The guard was most understanding. She sighed to indicate that she’d seen it all before.

Then I left. There was only one place I could go. An old college friend of mine ran a rather shady nightclub in Cardiff. It was a long time ago when I’d interceded with Susan to get him off the hook on a drugs and prostitution charge but he still owed me big time and now I had to collect.

Three hours later I parked the captain’s car about a mile from the club, retrieved my rucksack from the backseat and made my way down the dark streets. Several prostitutes called to me from alleyways. Young boys with big boobs and flimsy miniskirts halfway up their thighs. ‘Hey, Soldiergirl, how about a quickie!’ It was half past two in the morning, I actually thought about it as 0230, when I got to the club. I hid behind a dumpster and watched the patrons leaving. Two drunken business women in suits weaved close to my hiding place and I held my breath while they vomited. Eventually they wandered off, tunelessly singing some stupid football song. I waited till long after the neon sign advertising the delights of ‘Joseph’s Closet’ flickered and died. The inside lights were being turned off when I moved in. I knocked, praying that Joe would be on duty that night.

It was relieving to hear his familiar voice. ‘Go away. We’re closed!’

‘Look Joe. It’s James, you’ve got to let me in!’

An eye came to the peephole. ‘James who? I don’t know any James’s!’

I stepped back into the shadows. There was no use frightening him. ‘James Brown, remember. We were roommates at Pontefract College. You remember I helped you out once. I need a favour.’

The door opened a crack ‘Friend, if you are him, tell me who Freddy was.’

‘Oh, Sweet Mary on the Cross, Joe! Open the frigin’ door please! Freddy was the lickin’ peach-faced lovebird we kept in a cage in our room until the College Principal found out. She crushed him in her hand and we buried him in the rose garden. Now, for the dear Goddess’s sake, let me in!’

The door opened and I jumped through, slamming it behind me. Joe was obviously dressed in his work clothes – a schoolboy’s short pleated skirt and blouse complimented by black nylons and extravagantly high heeled shoes. I bet that outfit went down well with the type of customers the ‘Closet’ catered for. His eyes widened as he took in my appearance. He clapped his hand to his rouged cheek. ‘Oh Mary, James, I thought of ALL people you were straight!’

I grabbed him by the arm "Look Joe" I said "This isn’t me. But it’s a very long story. All I want is a supply of P&O’s, some decent male clothes and a place to hid up for a month or so."

He winced. "James, you’re really hurting me!"

Eventually, after some persuasion, he agreed to help. But he drew the line at any suggestion that I stay with him. After all, he was still on probation and if I was caught he’d end up doing time. But, a friend of his – a girl he’d had some sort of relationship with - had a cottage in the Lake District. However her number had come up in the lottery and she was at one of the reproduction centres now. As he put it, smirkingly, ‘She’s doing her patriotic duty for the next generation’. Which meant she wouldn’t be using it for at least another twelve months. He had keys for the place back at his flat that he could loan me. He suggested that it wouldn’t be very convincing for me to travel as a man but he’d look out some clothes, get me some P&O’s and the keys and leave them in a bag at the back door of the club the next morning.

You would have to have been a complete, absolute amateur not to spot the stakeout round the club. Two plainclothes policewomen sitting in an old Vauxhall Astrus and a very unconvincing tramp raking through the rubbish in the skip. She was wearing shiny police issue boots. I did an about turn and walked away. As I passed a doorway someone touched my arm. The combat reflexes drilled into me at Blagley cut in and the next thing I knew I had my erstwhile assailant pinned against the door frame with one hand round the throat and the other raised to deliver a death blow. It was then that I realised that I was holding a terrified young boy. I let him down slowly and he sat on the doorstep rubbing his neck. Tears were rolling down his face. I felt really sorry.

‘Look’ I said, apologetically ‘Don’t ever do that again. I thought you were attacking me. I thought you were police.’

He looked up at me with plaintive eyes and cheeks smudged with running mascara. It took him a few minutes before he could speak. Eventually he croaked ‘Joe’s my friend. He’s been taken in for questioning but he told me to wait for you. There is a bag of things here he said you wanted. He says that he’ll cover for you and won’t say anything but he doesn’t ever want to see you again. Does that make any sense?’

Then he got up, wiped his face with his sleeve and tottered off down the alley in the direction of the club, his short cotton miniskirt swinging round his thighs. I waited till I could no longer hear the click of his high heels on the cobbles. The poor, stupid, loyal little bugger. He knew the risks he’d taken and he was walking straight towards the police. Mary knows what sort of abuse he would take from the constables before he got through their cordon.

I couldn’t go back to the car so I hit the local supermarket carpark. Eventually some silly little boyfriend left the keys in his girl’s car and I soon found myself roaring up the M6 at close to eighty kilometres per hour. With great effort I rolled the car into a lake near Keswick and watched it slowly sink out of sight beneath the dark waters. I thought this was rather funny in a perverse sort of way, my life might be a mess but I was getting rather good at drowning automobiles. Then I checked the map, shouldered my bags and made off over the hills on foot.

It was well past midnight when I actually managed to find the cottage. Joe’s directions were fairly minimal but I don’t think he couldn’t have imagined that I would be approaching it from this particular direction. The fact that the key fitted the door was at least some reassurance that it was the right house and I was incredibly relieved as I pushed the door open.

All I remember after that was the sickening crush as some very solid object met the back of my head.

 

To be continued……..

 

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