I finished processing the Internet orders, and sat back and stretched. I glanced at the clock, and relaxed, I had another 3 hours to go. The shop was quiet, and a single customer hadn't interrupted me, so I was way ahead of schedule. I took out my books and got down to my assignment. With luck, I could finish it tonight, and that would give me two weeks before I needed to do any more work! In fact, with the Easter holidays only three weeks away, I might get away with no more work until next term.

It was chucking it down outside, and I watched the rain lash at the grey Oxford streets. I noticed my reflection in the window, and felt that painful feeling in my gut that always hit me when I saw what I was.

I was a short guy, about 5' 6", slim, wearing a baggy sweater, a beaten up old tatty brown leather jacket and jeans. I tied my long fair hair back in a ponytail, and wore large clumpy brown boots on my feet. I stared at my reflection, and felt the anguish in my heart at what should have been.

My mobile buzzed at me, it was my sister, so I answered it.

"Hi Jezzy."

"Joe. Are you busy?"

"What's up, sis?"

"What are you doing?"

"I'm working in the shop. And I have this assignment to do." I said.

"Can I come round?" she asked.

Shit. She was a real pain at times.

"Yeah, if you want, what is the matter?"

"I need to talk, I have a problem."

Double shit. That's all I needed, a twin sister with romantic difficulties. It was bad enough being me and living with my problems, let alone having hers dumped on me every time she had a fight.

"Okay, give me an hour. I really need to finish this assignment."

She muttered and rang off. I was just getting down to the assignment again when the shop phone went.

"Still Life Dot Com," I said, automatically.

"Joe?" It was Martin, the co-owner of our little business.

"Yeah, how's Birmingham?" I asked. He was up at a Movie Buff's convention at the NEC. (National Exhibition Centre)

"Busy. Have we had any orders through?"

"Yeah, I just finished processing them. I think eight or nine were from your stand."

"Cool. I think we should have a few more."

"That's good. Trade in the shop is dead."

"It always is on a Monday, but we can't afford to close, just in case."

"Yeah, but at least I got up to date with the orders. And my assignment is almost done."

"Great. Okay, I'll call tomorrow, are you sure you are okay keeping an eye on the shop until the weekend?"

"Yeah. No problems."

"Great, see you."

He rang off, and I got my brain back into assignment mode when the shop bell went.

"Shit!"

I went out and saw this tall, well-dressed man, in a suit and tie, looking at the prints in the frames. We dealt with stills from movies, digitally enhanced and in any shape, or form, the customer wants - whether you wanted them in glassware, mirrors, pictures, or even on tee shirts or even wallpaper.

It had started as a joke, my friend Stewart and I managed to work out a program that captured and manipulated old film, transferred the cells to digital memory, and then had a multitude of uses. There were commercial programs and products that did similar, but ours was cheaper and more effective, as far as film was concerned. Then we approached Martin, who was into tee shirts and other souvenir production, and showed him what we could do.

Not having capital was a drag, but he took us in as partners, despite at the time we were both only sixteen. The shop in Oxford was a leftover from his tee shirt days, but the dot Com side was the real moneymaker. We even attracted tourists in who wanted some tacky film souvenir, and that alone paid the shop lease.

People could drop off, or send us 8mm, 16mm or any other size of film or video, and we produced first class stills from the cells of their choice.

The prints the man was looking at were simply copies of some of our work.

"Can I help?" I asked.

"Are these originals?"

"They are examples of what we can do with your film. The original cells are still on the film, which we put onto DVD or video."

"Do you enhance film?"

"You mean focus and clarity, or do you want individuals isolated and others removed from shot?"

"You can do that?"

"Yeah. We've got better stuff that the local police, they even use us to capture number plates when their machines can't."

He pulled out a small can of Super 8.

"I need to identify a relative on this. Its quite old, but it has only recently come into my possession. The shot is over a distance, could you do it?"

I shrugged.

"I'd have to see it first."

"Oh, how long would that take?" he asked, looking at his watch.

"Two minutes to set up, and as long as the film is to run. Do you want it on DVD or CD Rom?"

"You can do that now?"

"Yeah, that leaflet sets out the charges," I said pointing to the display box.

He passed over the film.

"May I watch?"

"If you want me to isolate your relative, you'll have to," I said, and went to the small lab off to one side. I expertly threaded the film through the projector, and switched on the PC.

Once the screen was on, he was standing behind me.

I started the system, and a very shaky and grainy film started. It appeared to have been shot out of a stationary car window, and all I could see was a cottage. No clues as to where it was, except England, somewhere. Nothing happened for a while, and a couple of cars passed in each direction. Judging by the cars, it was in the 1970s.

Then a person came out of the cottage, a man. He opened the gate, and came into view

"Him!" said the customer.

We watched the film of the man as he walked across the road, slightly towards the camera, and then disappeared out of shot. There was about seven seconds of footage.

"That's it?" I asked.

"Yes, can you do anything?"

I stopped the projector, and rewound the film, and gave it to him back.

I then started the program, and selected the short piece of footage. I removed some of the graininess, and cut so I just had the man. I worked my way forwards until I had the best frontal shot of the man's features.

I enhanced the dpi, and increased the resolution, and dithering.

After a few minutes, he was a lot clearer, and looked almost recognisable.

I saved and printed the best still I could get. It came out on A4 photographic paper.

I let it dry, and then handed it over in one of our card folders.

He looked at it for a while. His eyes narrowed.

"George Lambert. I've got you now, you bastard!" he muttered.

"Sorry?" I asked.

"Nothing. This is really very good. What happens to the footage in your computer?"

"Nothing, I never save the footage, only the still, if you wanted a second, for example."

"I don't, and I would be obliged if you would eradicate any of this from your computer memory. Could I get a copy on floppy?"

"No problem!" I said, and saved the enhanced footage to floppy.

"I'll have to WINZIP it, as it is just too big," I said.

I then deleted all records from the C drive, he watched me closely as I hit the 'Delete' key.

"How much?"

I made a rough calculation, and added a bit for buggering me about.

"Sixty pounds," I said.

He paid with three crisp new twenty pound notes, and left the shop declining a receipt.

Not bad, for ten minutes work.

I smiled, and put the cash into my pocket. Then I recovered the footage and stills from the recycle bin, and captured the shop's CCTV footage of my customer and burned them both onto a CD, which I put in my bag.

I then cleared the PC's memory of the whole incident, and went back to my assignment.

I just finished my conclusion and Bibliography, when my darling sister arrived looking worried.

I suppose I had better explain.

My sister was a very good-looking girl, some would even say beautiful.

However, she was about as stupid as they come. All the blonde jokes, well, they could all refer to Jessica. She had left school at sixteen, having managed a couple of scraped passes at GCSE.

Whereas I was now at Sixth Form College, she was working as a rep for a travel firm. She spent most of her time out in exotic places looking after morons in Newcastle or Liverpool football shirts. I did admit that she worked hard, however, she also kept falling in love with the wrong blokes! Countless times I had to try to help her see the truth even when it was so blatant that a cod with an IQ of 0.3 could see it!

I on the other hand, was not a good-looking girl - mores the pity! Instead, I was a boy who had always wanted to be a girl, as long as I could remember. Our darling mother, already having two boys, gave birth to the pair of us, (me first by half an hour) and insisted on presenting us wearing similar clothes for all our formative years.

We weren't identical, apart from not being possible as different gender twins, but we were very similar. Apparently, I had screamed when my father, a rather lofty professor of archaeological studies at Oxford, decreed that enough was enough, and at four, I should start wearing boy's clothes.

Although I don't remember the incident, I can certainly relate to it.

When I was thirteen Jezzy caught me at home wearing her clothes, and had held it over my head as a blackmail lever ever since. She wasn't too dumb to realise a good thing when she saw one.

She then added salt into the wound by actually encouraging me in my little vice. Whenever our parents and older brothers were away, which was quite frequently, as Mark and Jeremy were in their twenties before we reached fifteen, she would dress me up, and practice with her makeup on me. Then she taught me how to put makeup on, and we would go on bus trips to unfamiliar towns and shop for clothes and makeup for me.

We ended up more like sisters than anyone imagined. At first she thought I just got a kick from it, but then, as we became more aware of my condition, we both realised that I wasn't just a transvestite, I simply wanted to be the girl I should have been born as.

I wore my hair long, and in a ponytail for most of the time. But when I became Josie, it would be brushed out, and allowed to hang down to my shoulders. Jessica had the same long fair hair, and when I was en femme, we were frequently taken for twin sisters, albeit not quite identical.

It got to the point at sixteen that I was Josie whenever I could, and started taking low doses of female hormones, just to keep me from becoming more masculine. Jezzy had a boyfriend in the pharmaceutical industry, or to put it another way, he dealt in all kinds of controlled drugs - mostly illegally!

My dream was simply to be a girl, but I had no idea how or when it would become a reality.

I was, as I explained, a gawky bloke, but made up and dressed up, I was the nearest thing to my sister's identical twin as I could manage. My figure was slim, and with a little devious dressing and some padding (less these days thanks to the pills), I was more than passable.

I had never had a girlfriend, nor a boyfriend either, if it came to it. I suppose, if I had to be honest, I wasn't after a girlfriend, but if I found the right bloke, who could love me as a girl, then... ah well, one can but dream!

But as I was, the very thought of a homosexual relationship revolted me slightly, only because I was so afraid of everything to do with sexuality. I had a gender identity problem, so I wasn't that bothered about sex. But when I was Josie, I fantasised about being a complete woman, and eagerly submitted to sex with an imaginary man.

Needless to say, this increased the lever she had against me, and I found myself forever doing her favours.

Much to father's disgust, Jezzy was not at all academic, and was more like our mother. Mum was one of the gentlest and kindest persons I knew, but she was about the most naïve person in the world. My parents were very ill-matched. Dad was very tall and thin, with great dignity in his bearing, and was able to trace his forebears back to before William the Conqueror's outing to Kent all those years ago.

Mum had been the daughter of a farmer from Shropshire. Dad had been a young man doing post-graduate studies at Oxford, when, once on a dig in rural Shropshire, he was put up in the farm on which the dig was located.

There was this little local lass, who was small and cherubic, with a lovely smile, who fell in love with the tall and rather gauche student. He in turn had never felt comfortable with the very forward, liberated female fellow students, was suddenly at his ease with this girl who thought he was like a god. He lost his heart to her, and just after he qualified, they married.

Everyone said it wouldn't last, and they were all proved wrong. They celebrated their thirty second wedding anniversary last year.

But, back to me.

I knew what I was, and so did Jezzy (I think), but to announce to my parents that I was a transsexual, and was considering a sex change, was one task I could not bring myself to do.

So, I was now eighteen, still studying at sixth-form college, (as I did have some brains) was living a lie, and I was basically bloody miserable. Financially, I was a lot better off than most eighteen year olds. The company was nearly two years old, and last year made a gross profit of ninety thousand pounds. However, we had then to pay for the machinery and computers, and the shop's lease, and the bills. I had a nice little bit put away, none the less.

I did not tell my family, as my father was opposed to the whole computer generation, and my mother wouldn't understand. They just thought I helped out in Martin's shop to supplement my income.

"Hi Jezzy. What has happened now?"

She came in, and immediately put the kettle on. She was wearing a pair of jeans that looked as if they had been sprayed on, and a tight top, which left nothing to the imagination. Her leather bomber style jacket was undone, and her scarf was so long that it almost touched the floor. I looked at her boots, which went up to her knees and had 4" heels. She looked absolutely gorgeous.

I ached with jealously. I so wanted to have a body like hers.

"Oh Joe. I don't know what to do."

This did not give me much of a clue. It could be a simple choice between a green dress and a blue one, or it could be the Turk or the Greek.

"Tell me about it." I said, and made us a couple of coffees.

She started to talk, and the tale took about half an hour, and I still was none the wiser. She went off on so many tangents and mentioned so many first names, that I was completely confused. But I nodded and grunted at appropriate intervals, and she seemed to take some comfort from me.

I think she was saying that she had an offer of a holiday with a wealthy American boyfriend in the Caribbean, at the same time she had the offer of a month or so as a rep in some ski resort or other over the Easter period.

Basically, the company wanted her to do one, and she wanted to do the other.

"Why not tell the company to go stuff themselves? There will be other jobs."

"But I want to get on with the company, and if I don't do this, they will be less inclined to give me the good jobs in the summer," she said, and looked at me with those scheming eyes.

"Are you suggesting that I pretend to be you for four weeks?"

"Five."

"Four, five, who gives a fuck? Jezzy, you must be mad."

"Why not, you look brilliant, and you fooled everyone at that party last Christmas."

"That was in poor lights, for a few hours."

"You know you'd like to."

"Jezzy, there is a difference between fantasy and reality."

"Only in opportunity," she said.

"Oh come on, don't be ridiculous. You may be able to pressurise me into some things, but this? No way, besides, how the hell will I get a month off college over Easter? I have 'A' levels just after I get back in the summer."

"Look, it's not as if you need to put a swimsuit on, or anything. You look enough like me to pass for me, your languages are better, and you ski. What more could you want?"

"Jezzy, don't you listen? I am at college."

"I'll get you some more pills," she said, with a devious tone in her voice.

"Look, I appreciate you getting me the hormones, but I told you, you don't have to. I could go to the doctor."

"Yeah, you could, but you won't," she said, and knew she was right.

"What about college?" I asked.

She looked around.

"So, which classroom is yours then?" she asked.

"Look, I have time off for my assignments," I explained.

"Well, I have to have an answer by Friday, the plane leaves on Monday. You would be back before the start of next term,"

I was running out of objections.

"What about passport, mine clearly states I am a boy?"

She pulled out her passport from her bag.

"You can have my spare," she said.

"Spare? Don't be silly, you can't have a spare."

"I do. I thought I lost this one, and they sent me a new one, and then it turned up. See, they are the same."

"Jezzy, that is illegal!" I said.

"I have used both since then, and no one seems to mind," she said, and I banged my forehead with my fist!

See! I told you she was dumb.

"No, Jezzy, not this time. It is too bloody complicated. Too many things could go wrong."

"Ah, well, you don't need to decide now, let me know by four o'clock Friday."

She finished her coffee, and walked out as I shouted, "What bit of NO don't you understand?"

"Fuck!" I said, to the empty shop.

I logged on to Sapphire's Place on the Internet, and read some wonderful transgender stories. It was so nice to know that I was not alone, and it helped to read the fantasies of others. I took another couple of calls, and there were three more orders on the website.

I dealt with them, and the machine had finished processing the previous orders by now. I finished off the new orders and I packed up the finished products, and looked at the clock. With luck, I could just make the post box before the last post, and have nothing to do tomorrow morning.

I slung my bags over my shoulder, and switched everything off. I set the alarm, and locked up, pulling the grills down and locking them in place.

I managed to post the parcels before the last post, and caught the bus home.

We lived in a large mausoleum of a house on the north side of the city. The top floor had bats in it, I was positive.

Mum was cooking and was perpetually cheerful. Dad was in yet another meeting and would be late. I was the last of the offspring to leave home, as Jezzy now had her own flat near Heathrow.

She was rarely there, as she was abroad or here with us. But she had decided that she needed a place of her own, and Dad had dutifully bought her a two bedroom flat in Staines. It was worth about £10,000 more in the year she had been in it.

"Hello darling, good day at school?" she asked.

I didn't bother correcting her.

"Fine Mum, fine. That smells nice. What time is supper?"

"Eight, as always. Your father may be late. He has a meeting. Is your sister coming home?"

"I have no idea, I saw her at about four, but she didn't mention it," I said, and went up stairs to my room.

Since the others had moved out, I had annexed two rooms at the back of the house. One was my computer room/study and the other was my bedroom. I had a double bed, and a large wardrobe. The dressing table seemed innocuous in a boy's room, but then I wasn't a normal boy.

I kept my wardrobe locked, as I had more girls' clothes than boys'.

I stripped off, and went for a shower. I washed my hair, and checked for body hair. I regularly waxed, and used Immac on my legs. My beard had never started, and I was completely bereft of body hair, except for my trimmed pubic hair.

I washed my hair, and rinsed it off. I stepped out, and looked at my reflection in the mirror.

My figure was definitely more feminine than masculine. I had a narrow waist, slightly wider in the hips and the beginnings of breasts. My legs were brilliant, and my arms were slender, as were my hands and fingers!

I dried my hair, and slipped on a black silk wrap. I adored the feel of the material next to my skin, and I tucked my hated genitals between my legs.

I was probably capable of a partial erection still, but thanks to the pills it rarely happened these days. I pulled on a pair of seamed stockings, and fastened the suspender belt around my waist. I dug out a matching bra and panties in black lace, and put them on. I slipped the breast enhancers over my existing flesh in the bra, and looked at myself. I dried my hair, and brushed it out. It looked gorgeous and full of shine and body.

Dumb blonde? Not me!

Blonde maybe, but dumb? - Never!

I slipped on a black slip, with lacy straps. I put on some make up, and a pair of earrings. I then felt my penis twitch, and simply sat and waited for it to go down. I felt irritated, as this wasn't a sexual thing. I was not into dressing for kicks, as I just wanted to be like this always.

I slipped on a pair of strappy heels, and went into my study, and logged on to the Internet.

My Emails as Josie_36_24_36 were frequent and varied. I occasionally logged on under various alias profiles and went to Transgender chat rooms. But I found them rather silly most of the time. When I chatted, I liked to pretend I was a real girl, and my web cam told it how I looked.

I answered my Emails, and then slipped into chat mode for a laugh.

I didn't need to log into a room, as my 'friends' saw as soon as I went on-line, and within seconds had several men lusting after me. I was left with six open IM boxes to deal with. All could see me if they logged on to my cam, and there was no doubt that I was a girl.

They were all known to me, in that we had chatted before, and all thought I was a girl. I had fun with them for a while, and teased them by taking my slip off, and showing them my barely clad upper torso, and then stood so they could see my stockings.

I heard Dad arrive home, so I shut down and took my make up off.

I slipped a baggy sweater over my bra, and pulled on a pair of jeans. My boots covered my stockings, and I went and greeted the old man.

"Hi Dad."

"Joseph. Good day?"

"Yes thanks, you?"

"So-so, bloody meetings. It is so degrading to keep grovelling for funding."

He wandered off mumbling about petty minded bureaucrats and helped himself to a strong whisky.

I went and laid the table, and helped mother dish up. Jessica did not show.

Dinner was very quiet, as usual. Father was distracted by work and mother just sat and smiled at us both. Conversation was never exactly free flowing, and I yearned for people just to be silly with.

I helped clear the dishes, and went to my room. It was nine o' clock. I collected a small holdall, and went downstairs again.

"I'm popping out for a bit. I have a key," I shouted, but Dad was watching the news, and mum just smiled and waved.

I went out to my old Mini, and opened it. I got in and drove out and off to the ring road. I arrived at the club at twenty past, and had ten minutes.

I dashed in the back, and into a small cupboard of a room. I took off my jeans and pullover, and opened my bag. I pulled on the very short black sequined dress, and hastily did my nails and make up. I brushed out my hair, and slipped onto my high-heeled boots. I was using the curler to put some ringlets in my hair when a head popped round the door.

"Hi Babe. Thought you might not make it."

"Hi Mike. No, I'm here. Many in tonight?"

"The usual, but several are only here for you."

I laughed, and just had a final check.

"You look hot. If I didn't know, I'd swear you were a girl," he said, and grinned lewdly at me.

"I am a girl, Mike, in my heart!"

"Yeah, you know it and I know it. Anytime you want some action, let me know."

"Thanks, but I'm off luxuries this week," I said, and he laughed.

The club, Sister Act, was one of a few genuine TG/TS clubs in this part of the world. I had found it on the Internet by accident, and it took me a long time to summon up the courage to go.

I had gone in normal clothes the first time, just to see what it was like, I had taken a holdall with me, as changing facilities were advertised on the website.

Suddenly I was no longer alone, despite being out numbered by transvestites and gays, there were several Transsexuals, with whom I was able to relax and discuss our common problems. I was a huge relief to me to be with people who knew what I was going through.

I took to arriving, availing myself of the changing facilities and then just hung about and chatted with the friends I made there. It was odd, as the mix was a peculiar blend of types. We even had curious 'straights', who came to gawp as if it was a freak show. Many predatory gay men came to try to pick up a 'girl'. And I found myself turning down a heck of a lot of propositions, and a surprising amount from straight men who really thought I was a girl.

I would always dance with anyone, gay, TS, TV, straight, male, female or somewhere in the confused grey area in between. In fact, I had several rather severe lesbians come on to me, believing I was one of them.

The revues and acts were pretty dire, and one day I just turned up and asked if they needed a new act.

"What do you do, kid?" Mike, the manager, had asked.

"I do a cool Britney Spears and Kylie Minogue impressions." I said.

"Show me."

I then went and changed into a mini skirt, and makeup, and went through a routine I had practiced in front of my sister and the mirror for months.

He and his partner, a very tall glamorous girl called Celleste, who had been a Colin many years ago, had watched me grind my stuff.

"When can you start?" she asked, and I grinned.

"When would you like me to?"

I had been performing three evenings a week for six months, with the occasional breaks when I had to be elsewhere.

I went onto the small stage, and performed three numbers as usual, and was whistled at by the small but incredibly loyal crowd, to whom I blew some kisses as I finished. There were about fifty people in, and half were dressed as girls. It was sometimes difficult to tell who was male, who was female, and who was half way between.

I stayed for a drink with a couple of acquaintances, as Kylie, of course. I sat at the bar, and perched on a stool, showing my legs off in all their glory. A stocky guy in denim approached me. I had never seen him here before.

Here we go again. I said to myself.

"That was very impressive. Even your own voice," he said, I caught a north American accent in his voice.

"Thanks. But hardly Stars in their Eyes."

"Don't do yourself down, have you ever considered doing the London scene?"

"Not really. Maybe later, but hopefully I won't need to go to TG clubs then."

"Planning SRS?"

"Dreaming, more like, but eventually - yes. But life is too complicated to say when."

"You look tremendous. How much is padding?"

"Not that much actually. I've been on hormones for months."

"You even look a lot like Kylie."

"Thanks. But I know I am far to tall." I said, aware that in my heels I was about 5'10".

"Yeah, that's true, she is really small. I saw her perform live once, and couldn't believe she was so short."

I smiled, and looked at him. He was mid twenties, about my height, perhaps a little taller but certainly broader! He had thick dark hair, cut short, and looked remarkably 'straight', and I wondered what the hell he was doing here.

He smiled at me.

"My name's Paul," he said, and held out his hand.

I shook it, saying "I'm Josie."

"Nice to meet you Josie!"

He had quite a small hand, as it was the same size as mine, and I had very small hands, for a bloke at any rate.

I suddenly twigged, and smiled at him.

"You guessed?" he asked.

I nodded.

"Because I'm one too. If is any consolation, if it had been anywhere else but here, I would never even have considered it. How long?" I asked.

"I had my final surgery about twelve weeks ago, but I have been living as a man for eighteen months."

"You look brilliant. Though why you want to be a bloke beats me," I said, and he grinned.

"I could say the same to you."

We smiled together at the ridiculous nature of our weird condition.

"Any regrets?" I asked him.

He shook his head, and finished his drink.

"None at all. Even though my family have disowned me, and I have literally had to start a completely new life thousands of miles away from home."

"You are American?"

"By birth I am British, but my folks moved to Canada in the 80s, and I was brought up there. All my family are still there. I came home to change, so to speak."

"I like the accent, it is cool."

"Thanks. Look, do you want another drink?"

I looked into my empty glass and nodded.

"The last one was tonic, perhaps a little gin with it this time?" I asked.

He smiled, and ordered for us. I couldn't help but notice he kept glancing at my legs.

"So, why come here? Surely you could find action in any ordinary singles club or bar?" I asked.

Paul smiled, and took a swig of his pint.

"I still have a confidence thing. I mean, look at you, you could go to any bar and come away with any straight guy, and he'd be none the wiser. Why don't you?"

I smiled, and looked into my glass, as I thought about my answer.

"I suppose it comes down to what happens when I leave the bar. How far do I let him go before telling him, and what will the reaction be?"

"So, it is the same with me. Even with the surgery, I am still not quite all there, so to speak. So, I know here I will be accepted for what I am."

"Sad aren't we?" I said, and he smiled.

"It certainly sorts out the tough nuts from the wimps.!"

"Yeah. That's true."

"So how long have you been taking the hormones?"

"Since I was sixteen. They are not prescribed, and only low dosage."

"Not prescribed? You mean you haven't gone to a doctor about this?"

I shook my head. My large hoop earrings banged against my neck.

"Not yet, it's a little tricky."

"Tricky or not, you could be doing yourself an injury. I read of one guy who didn't go through a doctor, and he ended up with serious cancer problems."

I had read that too, but chose to ignore it.

"Maybe this week." I said.

"Please do. I'd hate to see you suffer because of something avoidable like this."

I stared at him. He sounded as if he cared, and that surprised me. The one thing about our complaint, it made one very self-centred and selfish. One became rather introverted and insular. It surprised me that he cared.

He looked embarrassed and looked down at his drink.

"Okay, I will," I said.

He looked at me.

"Promise?"

I grinned and nodded.

"Great. So, what are you in real life?"

"Student, doing French, I.T. and Design and Technology for A level."

"A level? How old are you?"

"Eighteen, why?"

"You look way older than eighteen. I'm sorry."

"I've had a hard life," I said, secretly pleased.

"I know what you mean."

"What do you do?"

"I write travel features and books."

"Cool, does that mean you get to go to all the nice places?"

"Yes, it is a good job for a loner."

"Did you do that before?"

"Yes, it is quite amazing the change in attitude of people now."

"In what way?"

"They treat me so much differently as a man. I never looked as sexy as you, so I suppose that is different, but as an ordinary girl, I found it tough to get on. Whereas as an ordinary guy, life is so much easier."

We chatted for ages, and I actually found myself forgetting what I was for the first time in my life. I was a girl, and he treated me as one. It was wonderful!

He asked me to dance, and for the first time ever, I stayed for the slow ones. He held me close without crushing me, and I just enjoyed being held. He was nice.

I looked at my watch.

"Shit! I have to go."

Paul looked embarrassed.

"Are you supposed to be somewhere?" he asked.

"I have to get home, and then open the shop tomorrow."

"Shop?"

"I have an interest in a little business in Oxford. My boss is in Birmingham and so I am looking after the shop."

"What about college?"

"It is all coursework, and I've done my work and I will hand it in sometime."

He was looking really quite uncomfortable, and I felt he wanted to proposition me.

"You still live at home?" he asked.

"Yes, but my parents go to bed at ten, and I always leave before they get up. I always keep a change of clothes in the car, so I sometimes stay out with friends."

"Have you anyone special, a boy, that is? Or are you into girls?"

"No. I have no one, boy or girl. Given a choice, I think I'd go for a bloke. But, I have found that most boys I like are disappointed with what secrets I have. I tend to chicken out before I get to that stage. Bummer, but it saves on getting the shit kicked out of me," I said, and he chuckled.

"Where do you live?"

"Oxford, you?"

"Just up the road. Look, would you like to come back for a coffee or something?"

I looked at him, and he dropped his gaze, reddening a little.

"Can I ask you a personal question?"

"If you want."

"How many girls have you picked up using that line?" I asked, and to my relief he laughed.

"It depends."

"On what?"

"On whether you accept."

"And, if I were to?"

"Then it will bring my grand total to one."

I laughed, and nodded.

"Okay, let me get my stuff. I have my car here, so I will follow you home."

He looked surprised when I accepted, and smiled at me.

"Oh, Josie?"

"Yes?"

"Stay as you are, please?"

I smiled and stood up. I kissed his cheek, and said, "Okay." His cheek was slightly bristly.

I followed him the couple of miles that was 'just down the road'.

He lived in a picturesque little cottage with a thatched roof. I parked next to his car, and followed him into the cottage. It was warm and very snug. All the furnishings were in keeping with the old feel of the place.

"This is lovely," I said.

"Thanks. I used a little inheritance to buy and renovate it, I like it."

"It's gorgeous!" I said, and he looked pleased.

I had repaired my makeup before leaving, but needed the loo.

He showed me where it was, and I went and did what I had to do. I looked at myself in the mirror, and thought I looked like a tart. But maybe that is what he wanted.

I was quite curious to find out what was going to happen, as he had been a she, and it was all very peculiar. I had never had relationship with anyone, which went beyond mere friendship. I was not really into sex, as my main concern was to get my head round my gender. Having a girl's mind and spirit in a bloke's body was not the best recipe for a successful relationship.

The hormones I had been taking must have reduced my libido, for sex just wasn't something I thought about.

I came out and he asked if I wanted milk and sugar.

"Milk and one sugar please," I said, and sat on the sofa.

He passed me a mug, and sat beside me.

We chatted for a while, and I found that as Pauline, she had been aware of her trans sexuality from an early age. But her home background was as stilted as mine, and she was unable to realise her dreams while still staying with her parents.

She went off to college in Guelph, and drifted into a series of lesbian relationships, simply because she was attracted to girls and not boys. However, she wanted to be a man, and not a lesbian female.

She became a travel journalist and then, after a few years her parents found out that she was a lesbian, and virtually disowned her at that point. This proved that she had nothing more to lose, and taking her inheritance from her grandmother, she returned to England, and at 25 went for the sex change.

"You poor thing. It is so awful knowing that parents won't accept you," I said.

He looked at me.

"You're the same?"

I nodded, and despite myself, I felt a tear form in my eye. It was partly my frustration, but also partly the way life had treated Paul. I said so, and before I knew what was happening we were kissing.

It started as a sort of cuddle and make-you-better type kiss. But as his hands caressed me, we became more and more turned on, and the kiss became vacuum-packed.

I had never kissed or been kissed like this in my short life, and I felt things that I had never experienced before. Strange feelings coursed through my body, and I found myself wanting more.

The coffee half drunk, we spent the next ten minutes kissing, and I loved it. Here was someone who treated me like a girl. He appeared to be a man, and knew and didn't care what was between my legs.

We moved to the bedroom, and partially undressed each other. I kept my padded bra and knickers, I had never been naked with another person like this in my life. He turned the lights down low, and we just lay cuddling and caressing each other under the huge duvet.

I caressed his scarred chest, now covered in quite a thick layer of hair. His double mastectomy was a hell of a price to pay to feel part of the human race again.

"You poor soul. Why couldn't we have just swapped?" I said.

He smiled, and held my hand to his chest.

"You will experience more than your fair share of pain before you are through. It is so unfair."

Sexually, neither of us had the equipment necessary to really provide the gratification that the other really wanted, but we had a really good go. I caressed him letting my fingers slowly make their way towards his crotch, not really knowing what to expect. He had taken his boxers off, and I was pleasantly surprised at what my questing hand found.

He undressed me completely, and kissed and licked my small but very sensitive breasts. It drove me wild and I allowed him to do things to me that I would have never even considered before, and I did things to him that gave him pleasure. As we lay in a close embrace, smiling at the silliness of it all, I felt the nearest thing to being a woman I had ever felt in my life.

"Thanks," I said, kissing him.

"Ditto, I was wondering what we could do, between the pair of us."

I laughed.

"Well, I have to admit to have not thought about sex very often. I think I am more concerned with becoming what I want to be rather that what I want to do. And I now really want the right equipment. Because if that was as nice as it was, then to actually have a man inside me must be better," I said, and he stroked my bottom again.

"I'm not as big as some men," he said, almost apologetically.

"I'm hardly equipped to accommodate you."

"Are you sure you wouldn't consider using what you do have?"

"Quite sure! As I said, sex is not important to me, as I just want to be loved. I think it must be something to do with the hormones."

"I have to admit that I never used to think about sex until I started on testosterone. Now I think of it all the time," he said chuckling, and looking at his penis.

I held it, and it seemed fine to me, sort of semi rigid, and of a reasonable size.

"I like you touching me," he said.

I moved round, and rubbed my bum against him, he slid his member between the cheeks of my bum, and just rubbed against me. He didn't penetrate me, but I loved it. It made me feel so, I don't know, desirable.

I awoke at seven, and for a moment forgot where I was. I was still in his bed, and one of his arms was pinning me down. I moved and he opened an eye.

"Hi!"

I kissed him, and we played with each other for a little while.

"Sorry. Loo!" I said, and went to the bathroom. I sat on the loo, and peed. I wanted to be a girl all the time so badly, it hurt!

He came in and kissed me. I was naked, and so was he, and together we represented that grey area between the genders. We showered together, and I dressed in my jeans and tee shirt. I kept my bra on, and wore my high heel boots. I put makeup on, and figured - what the hell, I only have to open the shop. I could change later!

We had breakfast together, and it was surreally domesticated. I was the female and he the male, and we seemed so normal. Just as I got my stuff together, there was a knock on the door.

A small middle-aged woman stood there, and Paul let her in. She was the daily.

"This is my friend Josie, Mrs Hawkins. She stayed the night," Paul said, trying to keep a straight face.

"Hello," I said, and smiled.

"Oh, right Mr Gardner, will the spare bed need changing?"

"No, it didn't get used," Paul said, and I escaped before I got the giggles. He followed me out, and kissed me goodbye.

"My reputation is now secure," he said, with a grin. "I think she thought I was gay."

I slung my stuff into the car.

"Josie, will I see you again?"

"I don't see why not. After all, you are my first one-night stand, ever. And I'd like to think I was capable of more than one night."

He looked embarrassed again.

"Well, you are my first since the operation."

"I'm sorry I wasn't the real thing for you," I said, meaning it.

"You are more the real thing than many girls born that way. I'd really like to see you again,"

I gave him a card with my mobile and the shop number on it.

"Ring me. Or, if you want a coffee, drop in anytime," I said, and kissed his cheek. "Thanks for making me feel like the person I want to be," I said, and left him watching me drive away.

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