This is only a story, and it contains adult material, which includes sex and intimate descriptive details pertaining to genitalia. If this is likely to offend, then don't read it.

Unfortunately no politicians were injured or killed in the writing of this story, and no one else was either.

If you enjoyed it, then please Email me and tell me. If you hated it, Email me and lie. I will always welcome contact.

tanya_jaya@yahoo.co.uk

The legal stuff.
This work is the property of the author, and the author retains full copyright, in relation to printed material, whether on paper or electronically. Any adaptation of the whole or part of the material for broadcast by radio, TV, or for stage plays or film, is the right of the author unless negotiated through legal contract. Permission is granted for it to be copied and read by individuals, and for no other purpose. Any commercial use by anyone other than the author is strictly prohibited, and may only be posted to free sites with the express permission of the author.

12.

We spent our honeymoon in tropical paradise, in Tobago. I turned golden brown, and we spent most of the time making love, sunbathing, lying on a beach or swimming.

We had two weeks of it, and I knew by the end of the first week that I was pregnant. It was odd. I just felt different, as if my body was changing, and I was humbled to be allowed to bear new life. I told Steve, and he thought I was joking. However, he gradually realised I wasn't, and treated me very tenderly, until I threatened to beat him soundly.

Once we arrived back, I went to the doctor and he confirmed what I already knew. I was over the moon, and was on the phone to Mary immediately. The fact that I called her first made her cry.

I then told Marcia, Steve's mother, and anyone else I thought of. My regret was that my own mother was not aware and wouldn't care even if she did.

It made me curious as to her origins, as all I knew was that she had met my father in the South of France a year before I was born.

I asked Ron to do some digging, but he didn't have the time, but put me onto a retired police detective who ran his own private investigations company.

George Ruskin was about fifty-five, and looked very unhealthy, but he came with good references from Ron. I met him in his office in Oxford, and gave him as much information as I could. He had my parents' marriage certificate and all the details about my mother I could find.

“I'll give you a ring when I have found something,” he told me, and I heard nothing more for ages.

I watched my mother being sentenced to prison, and somehow I managed to divorce myself from the dishevelled figure slumped in the dock. I no longer recognised any ties, and I cried for that reason.

Steve took me home in a sombre mood, and he just cuddled me, knowing that words were useless. The phone went and it was George Ruskin.

“I have found out where she comes from. She was born near Lille, and comes from a poor farming family. Her mother is still alive, but her father died ten years ago. Her elder brother runs the farm, and she has two sisters, both younger and married to local men.

“Her mother is called Helene, and her brother is Jean Brochard. There are loads of kids, and as far as I am aware, they have not heard from your mother since before she got married to your dad.”

“She has a family?” I asked staggered. She had never even hinted that her parents might be alive.

He promised to send me all the details in a report with the invoice. I was in a daze, as here was a family I never knew existed.

“What are you going to do?” Steve asked.

“I don't know. I can hardly just turn up and announce, hi, I'm your granddaughter.”

“Why not?”

“I'll write first. Just to let them know.”

So I did. After George's report arrived, I tried my rusty French and wrote a simple letter introducing myself, and told them I'd like to meet my Grandmère.

A couple of weeks later a letter came back written in a spidery hand. It was from my grandmother, she was shocked and surprised as she thought her daughter was dead. (I hadn't told them what had happened, so I had something to talk about to them if I ever visited.)

She invited me to go and see them. Steve and I took a long weekend and caught the early ferry from Dover, and drove to Lille.

The farm was just outside a small village. It was rather dilapidated and in need of extensive repair. I could see that it was in full use, and despite the missing slates, the machinery and tractors were relatively new, and the cows seemed in good health.

I was obviously pregnant now, not heavily, but just obvious. I was dressed in a smart dark dress, and my bump was for all to see. Steve parked the car, a new Range Rover, outside the farmhouse, next to a beaten up Citroen. I got out and felt very nervous indeed.

“Seems deserted,” Steve said, just as a terrific yapping started from behind a door.

The door opened, and a small furry creature with more noise than was good for it appeared, and dashed round increasing in pitch and volume. A tall man, with receding hairline and a large paunch appeared. He was wearing a set of faded blue overalls, and a pair of slippers. A pair of heavy work boots lay by the doormat.

“Est-ce que tu es Emma??”

“Oui, je suis Emma, est tu mon oncle Jean?”

He gave me a huge smile and wrapped his enormous arms around me.

“C'est mon mari, Steven,” I said.

He shook Steve's hand and gave him a hug too.

“Bienvenu. Viens sur, entre,” he said, and ushered us inside.

The interior was completely different from the scruffy outside, and was really lovely and clean and well presented.

I stood in the hall, and a small thin woman dressed in black came from what I found later was the kitchen.

“Mamam, c'est ta fille grande, Emma, d'Angleterre.”

The lady looked at me, burst into tears, and came and embraced me. I could feel she was ever so thin, as I could feel her bones.

“ Good God. So, you are Brigette's daughter. I never even knew she was married. Where is she?”

“It is a very long and not a very happy story.” I said.

"Well, I have made lunch, so you can tell me everything as we eat. Your aunts will be here soon." she replied.

She led us into the large kitchen, which was old fashioned, but well equipped. A simply huge table filled one end, with about fifteen chairs set around it.

Another woman was there, fussing with some pots, she turned as we came in.

“C'est ma femme, ta tante Jeanette,” my uncle told me, and we embraced.

“Oh, ma fille, est-ce que tu attends un bébé?” my grandmother said, noticing my bump.

“Oui, notre premier bébé,” I said.

Steven, who's French was limited to ordering a couple of beers and a bottle of wine, was left floundering a bit, so I updated him with the conversation.

“Ah, your husband, he does not spik de francais?” my uncle asked in broken English.

“Non.” I said.

“I spik a leetle of the English,” he said and grinned at Steve.

“You like a beer?” he asked, and Steve grinned and nodded.

He took Steve off, leaving me with the women. Two more arrived, and these were obviously my mother's sisters. They brought their husbands, and several children ranging between teenagers and toddlers. The men kissed me, and disappeared, obviously to find the beer or wine.

I told the story of my parents' marriage, my birth and my father's premature death. I omitted to disclose my original gender as I thought that would confuse. I then was brutally honest about my treatment at my mother's hands, which caused mush teeth sucking and tut-tutting.

I then explained about my father's will and the trust, again not disclosing the rather large monetary figures involved. I then gave them a brief history of my short yet quite successful career to date, and at one point one of my aunts clapped her hands and said, “Aha, est-ce que tu es Emma Pearson, la chanteuse?”

I nodded.

“Oui, je suis Emma Pearson, mais mon nom marié est Emma Roberts.”

The fact that they knew me here surprised me, and they seemed pleased to have someone famous in the family. There was some discussion about the songs that I sang, and they argued about which ones they liked the best.

I then told them about my mother trying to have me killed, and then trying to cheat me out of my inheritance. I finally explained that she had been sentenced to imprisonment just a few weeks ago. My grandmother shook her head and looked really quite cross.

“Your mother was always a very wilful and unpleasant child. She left home as soon as she was sixteen, and went to work down south. I heard that she became pregnant and had an abortion in Marseilles. She moved to Nice after that, and got a job as a hostess in a nightclub. We never heard from her again,” she told me.

“Well, I am not my mother. And you are the only family I have left,” I said, and this made her cry.

Lunch was a very noisy and typically French occasion. The wine and beer flowed very freely, and Steve seemed quite content, as the men were practising their English on him, and encouraging him to try his very rusty French.

I never managed to remember everyone's names, and strangers seemed to arrive throughout the afternoon. Lunch seemed to just turn into dinner, and the party grew. I became aware of a police uniform, and it turns out one of my cousins was a police officer, and he and Steve were the same age. I saw them disappearing out together to look at the French Police car.

Whatever turns one on!

The food was very simple, but wonderful, and in such quantities. I was full before the main course of goose was plonked on the table. When I say goose, there were two, both roasted to a golden brown, and looking as good as they smelled. Then there were tarts and cakes, followed by the most wonderful local cheeses.

I had to tell my story repeatedly, and I felt a little guilty about casting my mother in such a bad light. The truth was told, and the family took me to their heart.

By ten o'clock, some of them started to drift off, as they had children to get to bed. I was universally known as ‘Cousin Emma.' and got a hug and a kiss from everyone, even the smallest.

Steve and I had planned to spend the night at a local hotel, but they gave us a very comfortable room, which obviously hadn't been used for a while, but was still very nice. Steve was just short of being completely intoxicated, and was asleep before I got into bed.

The weekend was very successful, and when we left we were treated like part of the family. My grandmother hugged me very tightly, and put a hand on my tummy.

“You look after yourself. That baby is very precious. Mind you come and see me often.”

“I will, I promise.”

She was actually crying, and my uncle gave me a hug and kissed both cheeks, twice.

“Uncle. This may not be the time. But I am quite a wealthy young woman, and I just wondered if there was any way I could help the family?”

He looked at me, and then at his mother, who hadn't heard.

“Telephone me, when you get home. We are having trouble with the bank, and there is something you could do. But I hate to ask.”

“Uncle. I have more than enough, and I feel that if I am part of this family, then I have a responsibility to help. I will call you. I promise.”

They watched us drive away, and I was sad to be leaving, but pleased to find that I had some family, and that they hadn't all been like my mother.

“They were a lovely bunch. I hadn't a clue what the fuck was being said for most of the time, but it was okay.”

“Did the policeman speak English?”

“Yeah, a little, but it was amazing how quickly my school French came back.”

He came to the main road, and turned left instead of right.

“Steve, what are you doing, the coast is the other way?”

“We are not going to the coast. Or not that one anyway.”

“What?”

“I have taken a week off. Now I remembered you solicitor saying you had a villa and a yacht in Monaco. So, you and me are going there for a week.”

“You sod. I haven't packed enough for a week.”

“You are going to the rich person's shopping capital, and are complaining that you haven't any clothes?”

I smiled, as it was a lovely surprise.

He drove fast and well, and we arrived in the evening. He had managed to get the address, and even contacted the housekeeper to say we'd be arriving. I wondered what sort of reception we'd receive, as my mother lived here for so long.

As it happened, I needn't have worried.

We drove up a sweeping drive through some majestic gates, and stopped in front of the enormous villa. It was off white, just with a tinge of pale pink. The red tiles on the roof and maroon shutters gave it a Mediterranean feel. The Hibiscus and geraniums were all in full bloom, and the scent was heavenly.

The garden was immaculate, and I gathered that mummy dearest hadn't been here for some time. She had been on bail in the UK for months, restricted to remaining in England until the trial, and was now languishing in Holloway Prison.

As we were still getting out of the car, a liveried butler appeared. He was tall and very smart, his grey hair the only indication of his advancing years.

“Mrs Roberts?”

“Yes?”

“Madam, I am Michael. I was your father's butler, and I have been managing the house for the last twenty years,” he spoke excellent English, with just a hint of an accent that I could not identify.

“Ah, how nice to meet you Michael. Unfortunately, circumstances precluded me from visiting before this,” I said, and he took my offered hand and raised it to his lips.

“I understand, and, you have my deepest sympathies. The whole situation was most disagreeable.”

He was looking at me very strangely, and as he noted that I was so obviously with child, his frown deepened.

I smiled.

“Dear Michael, you look so confused. You are asking yourself, ‘How on earth did young Russell suddenly become Emma, and is now very pregnant.' Well, I don't know how or why I suffered from the strange gender dysfunction, but clearly, someone goofed when I was born. As soon as my hormones started, I became the normal female you see before you. This is my husband Steven, and I understand you have spoken with him when he planned this little surprise?”

“Yes Madam. May I say, it is so wonderful to have you both here.”

I smiled, and turned to him.

“Michael, now, please put me out of my misery, where is that accent from?”

“I am Canadian, Madam, but I have lived in Europe all my life.”

“Ah, that's it. I knew it wasn't American, but for the life of me, I just couldn't identify it. Thank you.”

“You are welcome, Madam. Have you luggage?”

“I got it, don't worry,” Steve said, carrying our two cases.

“My dear husband didn't tell me that we were coming, so I will have to go shopping tomorrow,” I said.

“Ah, that will be so distressing for Madam,” Michael said, perfectly straight-faced.

Steve laughed.

“That's what I said,” he said, and I hit him.

Michael relieved Steve of one of the bags, and took us inside. The place was immaculate, and I wondered how much damage my mother had done.

“Michael, did my mother ..?”

“Madam, you mother tried many things, however I was able to prevent the serious works of art from being removed by locking them in the vault just after you father died. I also removed the silver, gold and crystal. The items that were left were either reproductions or fakes.”

“I get the impression you two weren't the best of friends.”

“That is an understatement, Madam.”

“Michael, we are now in the twenty-first century. Do you think you could call me Emma?”

“I doubt it, Madam.”

I smiled.

“Please?”

“How about Ma'am?”

“Michael, a woman who runs a brothel is a madam, and we call the queen, Ma'am. My name is Emma, please call me Emma, when it is just us, at least.”

“I shall try, m..Emma.”

“Thank you.”

He showed us up to the master bedroom, which was truly magnificent. There was a painting on the wall of two semi naked women, and I was sure it was a famous one.

“Yes, M..Emma, it is an original.”

“Are all the paintings original?”

“Yes, M..Emma. I have replaced everything to exactly how your father liked it.”

“Have you seen the size of bathroom, Em?”

I shook my head, as I was having a moment.

“Michael, what was Daddy like?”

“He was one of the finest men I ever met, Emma. He adored his wife, and when you were born, I had never seen him so happy. He was kind and generous, but a very good businessman, nonetheless. I respected, admired and looked up to him.”

“I only have so few memories of him. I came here a couple of times, and I remember it vaguely. I'd so like to meet him again. I'd like him to know his grandchild,” I said, stroking my bump.

Michael had a tear in his eye.

“I'm sure he'd like to have done both.”

I wiped my eyes, and smiled.

“Well, he's not, so I just have to accept it. Is there any food in the house, or shall we go out?”

“Dinner has been prepared by my wife, and it will be served in the dining room at your convenience.”

“Michael, have you eaten?”

“No, we will eat after you.”

“Michael, you and your dear wife will eat with us, and we shall join you in the kitchen.”

“Madam.”

“Michael.”

He smiled.

“Thank you, that is most gracious,” he said.

“No, it isn't. Michael, I am twenty-two, my husband is twenty-five. You are old enough to be our parents, or worse. I will not step into a class system to which I do not belong. I accept that you are paid to undertake your responsibilities, but that doesn't mean we have to perpetuate an outdated system of “us and them”. If we entertain, then I will accept usual practices, but when it is just us, I will become offended if any barriers exist.”

“Emma, I understand. Unfortunately, your mother..”

“My mother is no longer an issue. She is in prison, and will not be mentioned in this house again,” I said, very firmly.

He smiled.

“Yes Madam,” he said, and I punched him lightly on the arm.

“My grandmother, my mother's mother, is at this address. Please could you ring the number and ask for my Uncle Jean. I must have a pee, I'll take it when I get out,” I said, and gave him a piece of paper, and dashed to the loo.

He was talking in French to Jean when I reappeared.

“Your Uncle,” he said, and gave me the phone.

“Hello, Uncle Jean?”

“Emma. Thank you for calling. It was not possible to talk earlier. Were you serious about your offer to help?”

“Of course.”

“Well, we have a debt with the bank, and they are talking about foreclosing. Now I have extended it twice, but we are just not making enough to keep all the family. Times are hard, and we make enough to live, but not to pay the interest to the bank as well.”

“How much?”

“Three hundred thousand Euros.”

“Which bank, and the account number?”

He told me and I wrote down the details.

“What is the manager's name?” I asked.

He told me.

“Consider it done.” I said.

“That easily?”

“Uncle Jean. My mother was a selfish cow, who lived for herself, and no one else. My grandmother worried about her for years, and she never even called. Not once. How can a child do that to her mother? And yet as a mother, she tried to have me killed and then to cheat me out of my father's money. I am not my mother, and I owe it to my father to put right what wrongs she has done to my grandmother.”

“But, it is a lot of money.”

“Uncle, it is a drop in the ocean. It is not what you attain that people remember you for, but how you lived your life.”

“Gracious child. How will we repay you?”

“You already have. You gave me a family.”

I sensed he was crying, and so I said goodbye.

Supper was a little strained to start with, as Michael's wife, Claudette, a round jolly woman of about sixty, was clearly unused to having people in her kitchen.

I laid the table, and Steve put the glasses round as Michael opened a bottle of wine. We sat and enjoyed the most superb seafood medley. Fresh fish of about eight varieties and salad, with some exotic and delicious sauces made for a very happy meal. Claudette thawed remarkably quickly, and even managed to call me Emma once.

We helped wash up, and I kissed Claudette soundly on the cheeks, and thanked her for just being there.

We retired at eleven, and stood on the balcony looking out across the sea. The stars were out, and the lights were twinkling on the mastheads of the many boats in the marina. It was a magical scene. Steve wrapped his arms around me, and held the bump with both hands.

“Happy?”

“Mmmmm,” I said, and he kissed my neck. Shivers of pleasure ran down my spine.

I turned and kissed him.

The kiss went on, and I wanted him. I pushed him onto the bed, and started undressing him.

“Emma, careful. The baby.”

“Shh. I claim my marital rights,” I said, and took his growing erection into my mouth.

“Emma!” he said, but made no move to escape.

Firmly, he prised me off before he came and undressed me, kissing every inch of my body until I was naked next to him, and tingling with anticipation.

He was so damn gentle, but he took me to new heights of pleasure as he dutifully impaled me and made slow delightful love to me for ages. We finally slept, curled together naked, with the sea air just gently cooling our bodies.

I awoke first, the baby was pressed against my bladder, and so I had to go. I slipped out of bed, and found a black silk ladies robe behind the door. I put it on and went to the loo. It was only six o'clock, and the sun was rising across the Principality. I had my pee, and walked out onto the terrace. The air was still, and there were few sounds from the city. I could see vehicles moving up the Grande Corniche behind us, and took in the spectacular views properly for the first time.

I caught my reflection in the glass, and a tall blond young woman looked at me, with a twinkle in her eye and a smile in her heart. I opened the robe, and saw my firm breasts, which had swollen some since I had become pregnant, and the round belly, within which rested my hope.

I was so happy. I closed the robe, looked across the flowers, and thought back to that moment when I discovered that I had become female.

Ever since that moment, my life turned round. From the point of desperation, where I actually considered taking my own life, I had come full circle to the point of giving new life back. I still don't know how or why it happened, but I offered my daily thanks to the unseen power that allowed it to happen.

A pair of strong arms caught me from behind, and I smiled as my husband nuzzled my neck.

“I missed you,” he said.

I turned and kissed him. He was all scratchy, and needed a shave. I ran the palm of my hand down his cheek, and kissed him again.

“I love you so much,” I said.

“Jolly good job,” he said.

I stripped off my robe, and naked again, turned and dived into the pool.

He followed suit a couple of moments later, and we ended up making love in the shallow end. The buoyancy of the water was wonderful, and I found the whole experience so erotic.

We climbed out, and lay on the grass.

“You are so randy now you're pregnant,” he said, as he kissed my breasts.

“Are you complaining?” I asked, as he did something very remarkable with his tongue.

“No, not at all. I just adore you, did you know that?” he asked.

“Mmmm. I don't know what you are doing, but don't stop,” I said, as he brought me to orgasm, again.

“You are insatiable,” he said.

“Are you still complaining?”

“Would I?” he said, as he took me from behind, and screwed me into submission.

“Oh my God. Steve. YES. Oh Yes. Oh shit. Oh. Oh. Oh.”

We returned to our room, and had a spa bath together, and yes, we fucked again. I couldn't get enough of him today, and by the time we went down to breakfast, I was ready to go for a rest.

We had breakfast on the terrace by the pool.

Steve was looking into the filter, and being nosy.

“Do you think pubic hair clogs the system up?” he asked, and I got the giggles.

“Well?”

“I wouldn't know,” I said. “Look.”

He turned to look at me and I opened my legs. I was wearing a short dress, and no knickers. I had shaved my pubic hair, and so the cool air on my now completely bald fanny, was amazingly erotic.

“Bloody hell. What are you like?” he said, and was by my side very quickly.

He bent down and I felt his tongue brush against the lips, and titillate my clitoris, and I immediately came, and he simple swept me into his arms and carried me to the bedroom.

He placed me on the bed, and buried his face into my groin, letting his tongue reach as far inside my vagina as it would reach. I moaned and clawed his clothes, and he shook off his shorts, and we formed a classic 69 position, and within moments I was swallowing a huge mouthful of delightful semen as he licked my now soaking fanny clean.

We eventually found the energy to dress, and walked the short distance to the Marina. Dad's yacht was an eighty-foot luxury Sunseeker, which promised to be enormous fun. We shared visions of cruising the Greek islands, and swimming naked in desolate coves.

Oh yes, life looked exceptionally good, and my baby chose that moment to give me a hearty kick.

I kissed my husband, and decided that I liked being Emma very much indeed.

The End (Of the Beginning.)

Tanya Allen

© 5 December 2004