Skipper - Chapter Three free porn video

Skipper, Chapter 3 - By: Beverly Taff I arrived home in the early afternoon and stopped by at the local supermarket to restock. That night I indulged myself and savoured a delightful night in my brand new silky sleep suite. It was a beautiful royal blue long legged all-in-one with delightful lacy details at the ankles and sleeves. I had ordered it a few weeks earlier from a specialist shop in London and collected it that morning. It came with an accompanying, matching peignoir and I was delighted with it. As I slithered erotically amongst the satin sheets I finally settled into a blissful sleep. This was what I had dreamed of and planned for throughout the whole of my life. I had my own private bed, my own private house, my own private transvestite life and I owed nobody anything! As the summer dawn broke I stirred and swished my silk clad legs again against the satin sheets. First I lay savouring my new lifestyle as the sun climbed the morning sky. There was no hurry. I was retired now and had all the time in the world. Then I indulged my cross-dressing needs and the slithery sensations sent a fricassee of delight through my loins. Next I pulled the sheets tightly around me for one last delightful snuggle before surrendering to the inevitable call of nature. After visiting the bathroom, I slipped on a pair of heeled mules and sauntered down to the kitchen to savour my first coffee of the morning. With the coffee in my hand I sauntered into the conservatory and savoured the panoramic views over Poole and Bournemouth. The morning summer sun had already warmed the conservatory and I savoured the beautiful views. Yes, I reflected, Dorset was a beautiful county. Because the cottage was isolated up its own private lane, I became slightly emboldened. There was nobody overlooking me so I stepped out onto the front patio that overlooked the lawn. The beautiful morning sun took my mood and a made a series of imaginary dance steps across the patio pretending I was in a ball gown and going to the ball. My peignoir swung and swished against the silky sleep suit and the sun was already warming the patio flagstones. I was in heaven. After indulging a few more turns around the 'dance floor', I settled on the patio balustrade and once more savoured the view. Finally, I reluctantly returned inside the house and debated whether to dress fully or lounge around all morning in my silky night attire. I decided to start as I meant to go on. If I was to live as a woman I would have to first dress as one. There was nobody living within half of a mile of my beautiful old cottage, so I returned to my bedroom to dress. The biggest luxury was being free to finally experiment all morning with makeup and styles until I was happy with my appearance. By noon, I had achieved a look and style that I thought suited me. I studied my appearance in the full-length mirror and nodded my head in satisfaction. For the first time in my life, I had not been in a hurry to slap makeup on then clamber into a frock and sneak away to some club. This time I spent time on my makeup until I was certain that for once, I did not look like a man in a frock. Fortunately I was a smallish slender man so my size was not a problem. I studied myself in the mirror and concluded that 'on a dark night as a casual passer by'; I believed I might even 'pass'. I was tempted to go and visit Sissy's gay hotel in Poole but decided against it. I really needed to 'fine tune' my modest skills. The next step would be to get some decent wigs and some professional advice about 'passing'. I had seen some adverts in the national press about a 'Change-away' service and I decided to give it a whirl. The next day, found me up in London again, near King's cross station in a specialist transformation shop being pampered and educated about many of the more important subtler points of 'passing'. I wasn't sure about their advice concerning my wigs though. I still dreamt of being a 'pretty young thing, despite my age. The next morning I practiced my newly learned skills and amazed myself at the change in my appearance. After double-checking my appearance in the full-length landing mirror, I decided I would definitely visit the club. That lunchtime I prepared a light lunch and took it out onto the patio. There was absolutely no wind and the summer sun was getting hot so I read a book about makeup as the sun warmed my bones. Eventually I dozed off. I was woken by the sound of children's voices laughing as a car door slammed in the back yard. My blood froze as I recognised the Devon Social worker's voice >from the phone. Fortunately the still air had carried their laughter and given me an early warning. I dashed into the house and up the stairs. I just reached the landing as the doorbell rang and I shouted down the stairs. "Who is it?" "Mrs Bodkin with Jennifer and Beatrice." "Mrs who?" I shouted again. "Mrs Bodkin; the Devon social services officer." "Oh, wait a minute. I'm in the middle of a shower. The door's not locked, make yourself comfortable in the living room." The door opened and the trio step respectfully into the living room as I frantically struggled out of my frock, cleaned up my makeup and stepped into the shower. In no time flat, I was lathered up, rinsed off and dressed in a casual pair of slacks and polo shirt. I presented myself in the living room and both girls shrieked with delight. "Skipper! Skipper!" the girls squealed as they swooped towards me and hugged me around the waist. I struggled forward to shake Mrs Bodkin's hand as the girls clung to my legs and giggled. The Social worked smiled, then looked down at the girls. "They still like you.You've made a huge impression." "Have you got the forms for the court hearing?" I asked trying to keep to the straight and narrow. "No, not yet, there's a matter of Mrs Fotheringay's will." "What? What will? What's it got to do with me?" "Here, read it for yourself." I took the envelope and opened it. There were several pages but I quickly swept through the preamble about the Bank's rights and expenses as the executors and got to the 'nitty-gritty'. As I read the second page my jaws slowly sagged. "This can't be right. Surely, there're other relatives?" "None I'm afraid. Our searches have come up with nobody." "That's impossible. A great aunt or uncle or something; even a second cousin twice removed; anything!" "No. After Grandparents and aunts or uncles, the duty of the courts and the social services is complete unless somebody comes forward and claims the children. Nobody else has come forward so that puts you in the frame" "How so?" I challenged.. "Technically, in the narrow letter of the law, you came forward in Iran when you adopted two female orphans of unknown identity." "Yeah but that was just a, -" "I know what you said. It was, just a convenient legal device, but in the narrow definition of the law, that so called device, is still a legally binding agreement. You are still legally liable for the girls. If you read the last page of Mrs Fotheringay's will you'll see that she is adamant, that she wants you to have custody. She firmly believes you must have a soft caring heart under all that nautical bluster. Otherwise, you would never have stopped and rescued the girls with your ship. What's more, the girls are absolutely besotted with you. They've been chattering about you all the way up from Devon." "Oh this is utterly preposterous! How can I look after two girls?" "It's not impossible you know. Thousands of young inexperience unmarried mothers are doing it all over Britain. Both girls are house trained and able to see to their own needs. They're nine and eight for goodness sake! They're not helpless babies!" "But I'm a man and a stubborn, stuck in my ways, old salt at that! What do I know about kids?" "It's easy to see the girls adore you. It can't be that hard can it?" "But what, - What if they get sick or something?" "Take them to a doctor stupid! That's what every body else does with sick children." "I can't be hearing this right. You're a social worker! You know that girls need a mother. What happens when they, - you know, reach puberty and all that -, that stuff?" "Take them to the doctor stupid! It's not rocket science!" I stared stunned out of the window as the girls inspected some of my unusual artifacts. A man cannot wander the planet for a lifetime without accumulating the odd memento. Then I turned to Mrs Bodkin in one last desperate plea. "Look. I'm just not equipped to be a father at this late stage in life. What happens if I pop my clogs?" "Then Social services will step in." "So why can't you step in right now?" "It wouldn't be ethical. Besides just look at them! They adore you and they're two lovely little girls. If social services were to become responsible for their care, there's a good chance they might become separated." "Oh that's stupid. They've been through enough all ready." "It's not stupid," she snapped, "social services don't have bottomless resources. There aren't that many takers for older children and we have to be ultra careful. We have to double check and triple check the carers and that takes forever. All the while, the children are developing complexes about rejection and stuff. Then the children have to like the carers and that can be a minefield. One child might like the carers whilst the other hates them. What's more, they can soon spot favouritism and discrimination. These may be two beautiful little girls but it might take months or even years to place them properly. In that time, irreparable damage could ensue." I looked at Jenny and Bea playing with my collector's bits and pieces. Then I gave Mrs Bodkin an old fashioned look. "I don't believe you. There a million people who'd tear your arm off for two beautiful kids like those." "Yes. You're quite right. And that could be a million perverts, or bullies or fashion snobs who'd want them as little more than sexual playthings or victims or fashion accessories. Do you know it's easier for us to fix up ethnic children or disabled children? There's a better chance that potential carers for disadvantaged children are really just that, caring, loving individuals. If I put these two on some sort of pick list, and I assure you no such list exists, the first rich, conceited, self-righteous, do-gooder to step through our doors would snatch them off the list." Her arguments were sound. God knows! I'd met enough scheming, manipulative snobbish women in my time. Usually they were after what they thought was my fortune. Inevitably, they had quickly shown their true intolerant colours if, on those very rare occasions, I had intimated my cross-dressing. I fell into a thoughtful silence because I had exhausted all my simple obvious arguments. She seemed to have all the answers and trumped all my tricks. I did not want to play my trump card but it seemed the 'game' was coming to that crunch point. As I mulled the final irrevocable step over in my mind, I remained silent. I still found it hard to believe her. As the silence grew she adopted another tactic. "We know about you're once being in care." I tensed quietly as I mustered my defences. 'If she knew about that, she'd know about every thing else.' I swallowed nervously as I struggled with my worst fears. But then a shaft of reason and light pierced the black clouds of my worst fear. 'Hang on,' I thought, 'If Mrs Bodkin knew about my childhood history and of course my transvestism, then why would she even remotely consider me as suitable parenting material?' She either didn't know the reasons why I was shunted into care or somehow, she didn't care.' I swallowed again as I decided how to go about finding out. I had to tread carefully. "So if you knew I was in care as a child, you'd surely know that I'm damaged goods. I'm utterly unsuitable for parenting. I've never had a proper role model or anything. I was in care at aged six for heaven's sake. What do I know about parenting? I know next to nothing about fathering and as for mothering; well, I rest my case. I'm a man for God's sake! These girls need a mother!" I thought that would settle the argument but no. Mrs Bodkin was persistent. "It's not about parenting, it's about caring. The word is care!" "Ye-es," I replied patiently, "but doing what I was legally required to do as a ship master and rescuing two shipwrecked survivors, does not make me a qualified carer. Look I've had this argument before, with your colleagues in London. Just speak to them." "We have. But then the children's care wasn't an issue. Mrs Fotheringay was available and willing to look after them. Her passing has put a whole new perspective on the issue. Besides, there's the matter of her last will and testament." I hesitated for an instant. "Hold on. Are you saying that you have spoken to the London people?" As we talked, I was glad to see the girls step out through the French doors onto the Patio. Now they were out of earshot. "Yes." "And do you know why I was shunted into care?" "Yes. You were deemed beyond parental control." "Oh sure! That was for the family's sake, to avoid all the adverse publicity and stuff. I mean do you know the real reason?" "Yes." The finality of her reply stunned me. If my jaw could have dropped any lower it would have fallen off. I felt a cold empty hollow space growing in my stomach. Finally I decided to take the plunge. If she didn't know the truth she was about to find out and then some. "No. I mean the cross-dressing and stuff. The, -" "Yes. We know about it," she interrupted, "you don't think we didn't check with the London people. We've researched you pretty well." "Then you'll know all about it then. It's bloody obvious that I'm not fit to be a-," "Parent," she finished my sentence for me. "Exactly," I finished smugly, certain that my argument was won. "There. It's out now," I declared, 'boldly I thought'. "And?" replied Mrs Bodkin as she probed further under my armour. "Well, perhaps I should have said it in the first place. I wasn't trying to be deceitful or anything. It's just -, well it's private thing and it still hurts if I'm exposed or outed. So. That's it then Mrs Bodkin. Meeting over. You've got all the evidence you'll need. You can go about your job with a clear conscience. Just make sure you find the girls a proper home." "Oh no, not yet, please don't be so hasty," she countered, "there are other issues." "Oh come on. Surely enough's been said. I'm a transvestite for heaven's sake! Is that plain enough for you? Short of being a paedophile, there's nothing much worse is there? What sort of father would that make me?" "I said earlier, it's not about parenting alone. It's also about care." "That's as maybe, but to provide proper care I'd have to sacrifice my little peccadillo wouldn't I? Think how it would devastate the girls if my activities became public? I had no plans to keep it a secret any longer. I've been doing that all my working life. That's what this cottage is all about. It's somewhere secret for me to retire to and indulge my thing. I was cross-dressed when you called just now. What would the girls have said if I'd answered the door in my dress? That's why I pretended I was 'taking a shower'. It was a fit of panic whilst I got changed. Listen. Don't you get it? I can't put it any blunter. I'm a bloody tranny! If other people learned about it, it would bring shame or ridicule on the girls. Surely you don't want that sort of horror to befall them," "I suspected that you might be cross dressing when you didn't answer the door immediately," she replied calmly, "That's why I kept the girls in the living room." Her attitude got me worried. 'What the hell was she after?' I'd admitted my cross-dressing. I'd made it abundantly clear that I did not want embarrass or hurt the children. I knew I'd never abused a child or caused the authorities any cause for concern. I had absolutely no predatory interest in children. I had always lived an obscure life 'over the horizon', far from any public social spotlight. Most of that lifetime had been spent at sea. I was not a dummy; I knew that pedophiles usually tried to find employment in some sort of field dealing with children. God knows! I'd seen enough and endured enough as a child in care. I knew exactly where pedophiles congregated and how to avoid them. I had learned about them the hard way, as an abused child. As a consequence, I had long ago chosen a career as far from any contact with children as was physically possible. What in God's holy name was this woman after? I wondered.' I wished I had been recording this meeting. Then they could not trap me. Then I had a darker thought. 'Did they suspect me of having done something when the kids were on the ship or something?' I sighed wearily and sagged in the chair. "Look. What is it you want?" "We want the children to be happy. They've had enough turmoil and horror in their short lives." "So what d'you want of me, how in God's name can I possibly make a pair of kids happy?" "They like you. Mrs Fotheringay spoke a lot about you after she took ill. The kids worship you. She said they never stopped talking about you and somebody called Supan. Who's Supan?" "He's the third mate on my ship, well, he's second mate now. We promoted him when I retired from command." "You're ship?" she gasped. "Yeah, I've got shares in a ship. I was once the captain, but I only do a few trips a year now when the officers want to take some leave." "A ship, you own a ship?" "No," I was being scrupulously honest now. I didn't want the smallest innocuous mistake to be construed as a lie in some later court case. "I only own one third of a ship. Look, where's this going? There's nothing odd about Supan. He's just a hard working kid. All he's doing is just the same as I did as a young man. He's just saving money to start his own business back in Manila. What have those kids been saying about him?" "Nothing, they spoke very highly of him. In fact they spoke highly of your whole crew." "I'm glad to hear it! So where's all this going?" "Well, if we can put the transvestism to one side for a moment, we -," "Put my transvestism aside!" I nearly choked with cynical laughter. "That shows how much you know about transvestism! It would be like trying to put my legs or my head to one side. It's what I'm all about. I couldn't ever 'put my transvestism aside'. D'you think I've never tried. It always comes back. Believe me lady, after fifty odd years of this -, this transvestism thing, there's one thing I know for sure. It always comes back." "Yes, I know what you're saying, but try and disregard it for a moment." I gave her another sardonic look. "Alright, I understand your doubts but the girls really do need somebody they trust." "Trust! Trust! Every time I cross-dressed I'd be betraying any trust. This is just crazy. I just haven't got the facilities to do this. I don't have the emotional means." "No. Please; hear me out. You could have them on a trial basis. The department would supply all the support you'd need. There's no need to worry about financial support. The children have a substantial inheritance." "No you misunderstand me. It's not the money thing. I've got plenty of money! Well enough for my own plans and needs. It's not money, it's time. When would I be able to indulge my needs? I want to cross dress whenever I want and mostly at weekends when I go clubbing. This means weekends in London and stuff. Who would baby-sit the girls? Besides, the cross dressing keeps me sane. I get stressed sometimes if I can't indulge." Mrs Bodkin fell silent as she digested my revelations. Then she spoke again. "How often d'you need to cross-dress?" "Oh that's a crazy question. How long is a piece of string?" "I'd be interested to see you dressed." My alarm bells began to ring and I wondered if I was being set up. Immediately I refused point blank. "Oh no! That would be a guaranteed mistake. What would happen if the girls saw me? No, no. Definitely no!" "But you suggested you might like to live as a woman." "Look, I just don't know. This morning I was contemplating living full time as a woman. All I know is that having kids around would utterly destroy my carefully laid retirement plans. Plans I might tell you that have been forty years in the making. For God's sake, I might even go whole hog and become a woman. I've got the funds to go privately for SRS. I just don't know. How would that sit with the girls?" "Are you saying you might be a transsexual?" "I don't know! I just don't know what I'll want." "It would be easier if you did undergo a sex change. Then there would be no question of any abuse, at least sexual abuse." I stared shocked at Mrs Bodkin. I thought the whole pedophile thing was dead and buried but now here she was averring to it yet again. "So you still think I might abuse them then. If I didn't have a dick, there would be no risk of penetration. Huh! That's a bit naive isn't it? Believe me, speaking from personal childhood experiences; women can abuse a child just as brutally as men! If that's what you feel about me, why ever did you come here in the first place?" "I'm sorry. That was a bit crass of me. I do not think that about you. The children's responses to you make it abundantly obvious that you're not an abuser. Children soon show signs if they're being abused. I was just reflecting on society's reactions." "Yeah, well I don't need to be told of that, trannies know all about 'Society's reactions'. And as for victims of abuse, well hello!" My bitterness was made obvious as I almost spat out the last two words. Mrs Bodkin sensed my subcutaneous rage and fell silent again. The silence became oppressive so I offered to prepare some food. "D'you want some tea?" "Oh yes. That would be nice. D'you want a hand?" "If you want but I'm reasonably capable in the kitchen. Forty years alone makes anybody fairly competent where food's concerned." She followed me into the kitchen where I dug out some home made cake and prepared some sandwiches. She sneaked a sly nibble of the cake as my back was turned and remarked on it. "This isn't bad. Did you make it?" "Who else." Her eyes scanned the kitchen professionally then she spoke again as she ran a professional finger under the worktops. It came up clean, as I knew it would. "You live quite tidily for a man. Is that also the seafaring thing?" "You got it. It was beaten into me as a deck boy on my first ship. It's a lesson that sticks." "More beatings," she observed darkly. "Yeah, but beatings that had a genuine purpose, there was no sexual perversion or malice behind them, just a simple lesson that brooked no argument. It was real decent men in male company. If you live cheek by jowl in a shared cabin, you have to be clean. I was an angry dirty little kid. The lessons were simple. Be clean in your habits, be punctual in your watch keeping, and be careful in your work." "Good lessons," she remarked. "They kept me alive." "Well that's pretty basic I suppose." "Yes, but very true. I'm still here." The silence descended again as I buttered the bread. I called Jenny and Bea from the garden and handed them some fresh juice and two huge wedges of my homemade cake. The girls thanked me, which I was pleased about, and they returned to feed whilst swinging on the seat in the orchard. I handed Mrs Bodkin some delicately prepared sandwiches and we sat facing each other across the kitchen table. She eyed me thoughtfully. "Would you really consider reassignment surgery?" I stared at her puzzled. "You're not suggesting that I change my sex just to please some interfering social workers or rescue two girls are you?" "Oh no!" I didn't mean that. I -," "You were just trying to get inside my head." "Well, truthfully, yes, I suppose I was." "Well truthfully I can tell I just don't know. I've learned that some transvestites finally go down that route when they get to my time of life. Perhaps some of them are like me. They've struggled with tranny stuff all their working lives, conforming to the mores of society and the workplace. Then, when they finally retire, they are utterly free to do their own thing. On the tranny lifestyle scale, I don't really know where I am. The thought of SRS has crossed my mind but I just don't know. " "That seems odd. To not know what sex you want to be." "Yeah, tell that to the doctors, particularly the psychiatrists." "Have you ever met a psychiatrist?" I gave her a dumb look but she didn't seem to get it. Her brow wrinkled in puzzlement. "I was in care God dammit! I met one almost every bloody day! They wouldn't leave me alone. Every bloody weirdo and his pet theory was tried out on me. I broke and ran when I heard them mention prefrontal lobotomy. I'd seen what it did to others. They put me in a psychiatric unit for a short while. It was the nineteen fifties remember" "What, prefrontal lobotomies! You actually saw it?" "I saw the results. I was wandering around the common areas of a bloody psychiatric hospital at one stage of my childhood. I saw it all. If that doesn't mess a child up then I don't know!" "But you seem so -, so." "So what; so normal?" "Well, in a word yes; normal." "You mean apart from the elephant in the room, my transvestism. The truth is Mrs Bodkin, I escaped. That did my self-esteem no end of good. I beat them at their own games. They never caught me after that. I ran away to sea. Anyway enough about me, what about these two kids? What's to become of them?" "Well that's up to you." I fell silent. I felt sorry for the kids but I also had the remains of my own life to consider. God knows, I had penny pinched and slaved all my life and now I had finally made it. Now I had my own means and I was beholden to nobody. Now they, the ubiquitous 'they' were asking me to sacrifice everything I'd slaved for and take on two admittedly delightful young girls. Mrs Bodkin seemed to read my mind. "Look. I can see it's all a bit much for you in one day. Have a long think about it and we'll meet again next week." "I dunno'" I sighed, "D'you know I like kids, but -, well I dunno." "Are you worried that you might be tempted?" "No! For God's sake it's nothing like that. God forbid. I know what that's like looking from the dark side, the kid's side. No! That stuff just isn't in me. If it makes you sick, I can assure you it makes me violently ill. Uuuughh!" "Yes. I understand. I'm sorry to have even suggested it. Well, I'd best be going. Give me a call if you reach a decision." She presented her card and stood to rise. She called Jenny and Bea from the orchard and turned to me as they skipped through the untended grass. "That's a huge orchard, you'll need a pony to keep the grass down." "Stoppit! Right now," I protested. She smiled knowingly as I watched the girls run shrieking towards me for one last hug. "They like you. That's a rare thing when kids are taken in by carers." "Stoppit, again!" I objected. "There's a mountain to climb before anything tangible happens. If it happens," I added hastily. Mrs Bodkin let a small knowing smile escape her lips as the girls pounced on me. They demanded that I bend down to kiss them and I reluctantly lowered my face so that they would have to stretch. Mrs Bodkin noticed my reluctance and realised where my fears lay. "Pick them up in your arms. They don't break!" I compromised by crouching down to their level and giving them a cautious hug making sure to keep my hands extended so that there could be no accusation of inquisitive fingers or intimacy. I knew that the social worker was watching me but she said nothing. It was obvious that she understood my primordial fears of any unsavoury accusations. She called and the girls reluctantly released their grips on me. I stood to watch the car disappearing down the lane. Then I turned to return to the house with my mind in turmoil. God dammit, I really liked those kids! But did I like my cross-dressing better? I wondered. Back in the house I made another cup of tea to steady my nerves. I was just so confused and I was too stressed out to think straight. As evening approached, I decided to get dressed again. Dressing certainly helped to calm me when I was bothered. I was not angry, just stressed by everything that had happened that afternoon. There was so much to take in and so much to think about. I spent a good hour deciding what to wear then slowly and deliberately, I started to prepare. It was still midweek and the gay pub in Poole would be very quiet. As darkness fell I drove to Sissy's hotel, Once dressed and safe in the warm dark womblike shelter of Sissy's hotel I felt I would be able to think better and possibly pick Sissy's brains. "And they want you to adopt them?" gasped Sissy. "It's worse than that. Technically I've already adopted them. The legal thing in Iran is deemed binding. All parties were agreeable to it, the Iranian police, the British consul, the Iranian revolutionary council equivalent of our social workers, the Iranian judge and me. It's all up front and legal. I'm still technically the guardian of two young kids." "D'you want to adopt them?" asked Sissy. "I dunno'. It'll play hell with my cross-dressing." "Hmmm, Yess," replied Sissy thoughtfully. She knew exactly how important dressing was to a transvestite. Indeed she lived permanently as a woman and was quite a local celebrity. Even straight people stayed at her little hotel because they were curious about her. Sissy had transcended the line between ridicule and acceptance, at least in the local area of Poole. She described that now most local business people accepted her for what she was and she was even invited to join the local business organisations. I envied Sissy her position but I knew it had been hard won. In her earlier days she had endured all the usual ridicule and recriminations. We sat drinking our Sherries in the quiet of the reception lounge as Sissy kept an eye on the reception desk. Her mind ticked away. Finally she spoke. "Why don't you become their mother?" "Oh don't be-," I gasped. "No! Listen to me a minute. Just look at you now. Several of the residents have walked past you and acknowledged our being here. Not one of them has batted an eyelid and at least two of them I know to be straight. They just like the cleanliness and ambience of my friendly establishment. In this light you are passing. They think you're a woman." "Oh come on. I know I've worked at it before I came out tonight, but I'm still a man in a dress." "Of course you are. But you've made a bloody good stab at it. Look, come over tomorrow and we'll really work at it. Margaret is my accountant and she's a very smart fashionable woman. She gave me a lot of help transitioning. She understands us trannies. Let her work her magic on you." I stared pensively into my empty sherry glass and reluctantly nodded. "OK then. But she won't out me will she?" "She'll lose my account if she does and I was one of her first. She got a lot of 'pink' business through me and she knows the side her bread is buttered." "So why d'you want to get me all dolled up?" I pressed. "You could pass for real," replied Sissy. "You're small enough and you don't seem to have much of a beard. I reckon you really could pass even in the brightest sunlight." "To what end?" "Well. If you can pass as a woman, you could possibly carry off the pretence of being the girls mother." "Oh come on! Get real. The Social workers will never wear that." "Don't be so sure. They even allow gay couples to foster and adopt children today. Things have moved on. They know all about your cross- dressing. You told me that. It can't be that much, of an issue for them, if they are still keen to have you care for the girls." "Yeah, but full time, that's a whole new ball game. I mean, the girls, it could really bugger them up." "Don't you be so sure! Kids are pretty resilient little things. They can survive a hell of a lot of bad stuff provided they can still run to somebody who really cares, somebody who loves them and nurtures them." I fell silent as I reflected on a whole bunch of stuff in my past life. "Yeah I suppose you're right. If my mum and dad had cared I might have turned out different." "Your parents didn't make you a tranny. We're born trannies," countered Sissy. "No not that. Of course I know we're born this way. No. I mean all the other stuff." "You haven't turned out too badly. You're a successful ship owner and sea captain." "Yeah with the prospect of a long lonely retirement, d'you think I'm considering adopting them because I'm afraid of old age." "Oh so you are considering it then?" I fell silent again as I dragged things through my mind. The truth was I really liked the kids. They had brought two real rays of sunshine into my life. Was I really being selfish and just using the kids as potential carers in my dotage? The thought depressed me and Sissy caught up on my mood. "Hey. There's many a real normal parent who thinks that their children are there for nothing more than caring for them in old age." "Yeah, but that doesn't make it right. Anyway, I can honestly say that I've made ample provision for my old age. Nobody can accuse me of being dependent on others. I've always made my own way and always will. At least until my body fails me." "Then," prodded Sissy. "I dunno'. A quick end I hope. The last thing I want is to linger in some hospice bed forced to dress as a man or whatever." "That's what happens to most of us. That's what'll happen to me I suppose. I've got no family either." I stared at Sissy as the realisation struck me. He was in exactly the same situation but he wasn't making a big thing of it. He lived as he wanted and met each day as it came. I was being the maudlin one. I was now too drunk to drive so I ordered a room for the night and continued drinking. The last thing I remembered was Sissy helping me up the old Elizabethan stairway and along a crooked corridor to my room. "Good night you old bugger. See you for breakfast." Like me, Sissy was a heterosexual transvestite. He had no wish to abuse or assault another middle-aged drunken tranny and he left me to sleep it off. End of Chapter Three - To Be Continued