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I looked down as the plate arrived before me. Dill-encrusted salmon steak on a bed of celeriac mash with a raspberry dressing. Seeing my date reach for his cutlery I settled the solid silverware into my fingers and dipped the fork tines into the dressing. It was just sharp enough to matter, trimming any edge off the salmon. The mash was just bitter enough to tickle. I couldn't possibly vocalise my pleasure in the way I wanted to, as that would just be unladylike, and ladylikeness was being sensitively but surely drilled into me. I was out for the ballet, dressed in a dark blue gown with a short, white mink jacket. The gown was bought with borrowed money, the coat on loan, but the earrings, three teardrop pearls cascading down a platinum chain in each ear, and the necklace, with a similar three pearls hanging like pendants from the chain, were a gift from my date, which I'd been instructed quite clearly not to refuse. My date was a youthful looking Arab, a prince of the Al Saud family which ruled Saudi Arabia and quite clearly had more money than should be permitted. He was Oxford educated and Sandhurst trained, highly westernised, and spoke English better than I did. His French was fluent too. Initially Mrs. Milner had introduced us at a soiree that she held. She called it a soiree, I called it a party. She won, I learned to call it a soiree. He, Tariq ibn lots of things ibn Saud, was looking to invest in China and Mrs. Milner introduced me as someone who knew about the area. I understand now that our five minute chat was the teaser, and Tariq was very soon investing in my time. We had spent three evenings together in the last three weeks, always in high society, always very visible, but always discussing Chinese economics in some detail. I was getting used to being visible. I was getting used a lot of things, and I think Mrs. Milner was to blame for much of that. Firstly, some time back, she did that promised background check on me. It took a few weeks, as expected, during which time I did some other work and stuff which I'll get back to in a moment. Anyway, she phoned me out of the blue to meet her down at the Savoy again. I managed to throw some clothes together and look as though I might belong there, and managed to get in to meet her in the bar. "Tiffany!" she exclaimed, like I was some long lost friend. "Do sit down with me dear! Now, I'm going to come straight to business. I am going to offer you a job, but only if you agree to undergo training appropriate to the role." She waited. I paused a moment, then a moment longer. "I accept your offer," I finally said. "And the training? What changed your mind?" "I know now that I have to remain a woman for quite some time before I can start the process of change. More than that, I'm not so certain about my decision, because of the past few weeks, and need more time to consider. So, whilst I remain physically female, I should embrace acting female, otherwise I'm not really giving it a fair go, or so I've been told. Also, I'm intrigued by your thoughts on how women become successful, by using their own methods. I think the whole learning process might be fun!" "You've obviously thought about this, given that rehearsed speech. But you're still contemplating destroying that beautiful body that you have been given?" "Maybe, yes, I don't know. I'm still a man, and this still isn't me." "It is amazing how the mind operates, my dear, in so many different ways, but the strongest minds are those adaptable to change, flexible, and willing to learn. I'm so glad that you are willing to learn." Mrs. Milner handed me a number of forms to fill in. Some were like application forms, one was a simple request for bank details. There was a next of kin form, and some medical questionnaires. There were some contractual documents which I was to take away, read and sign. The paperwork that I could do there took about twenty minutes whilst we drank coffee. As I finished, a bottle of champagne arrived at the table. The waiter poured. Mrs. Milner toasted. "To a long and successful partnership." I smiled back at her. "My dear," she commented after a sip, "you look wonderful when you smile. My job," she continued, "is to make sure you smile a lot. So it is your responsibility to come to me if anything makes you unhappy. Anything at all." "Mrs. Milner?" I asked. She interrupted. "Please call me Margaret." "Margaret," I confirmed. "Why are you offering me this job? I mean, I went for it on the off chance, you know, given my situation. But you run a really professional agency. You can pick and choose." "Tiffany, the first thing you have to learn is not to use extemporising phrases in your conversation. 'You know' will have to go." She smiled at me again, deeply, with her eyes. "You ask a good question. Let me clear a few things up. Your assumption is that there are many young women vying for a place with my agency. There aren't. Most, like you, come into this line of work because they need the money, and treat it as a last resort. I wouldn't accept many of these. I want successes, not failures! Those who are successes are hard to persuade. I do generally approach the women that I think would fit my requirements." She took a sip of her champagne as I let this sink in. "So why did I accept you when you came to me needing the money? I keep repeating myself on this but it is true that you intrigue me. You came to me out of need, yes, but not out of failure. In fact, I have discovered that you were quite a success! A promising young executive, and yet also a happy one, with a stable homelife. A balanced lifestyle. Loved. "Physically you are not the most beautiful woman that I have working for me. There is no way I could say that to any other woman working for me, but you don't blink an eyelid. My problem is actually the other side of that coin, that you don't pay attention to how beautiful you actually are. I said you had a sterile beauty, like you were crafted, and now I understand that you were. You are an average of beautiful, but without the character that really shines, the beauty spot, the buck teeth, the high forehead. So I want to bring out that inner character that will personalise and enhance your physical beauty. "Of course, there are also the details. You are trilingual. Where would you suppose I could find a trilingual model? Europe, of course, and I have European girls on my books. But a white woman who speaks an Asian language? I have three girls who speak Arabic. One is forty four years young and earns as much as any five other girls. China is new money. There is the added bonus that you understand their economy, have some experience there, and understand working for a Chinese business. You are a prize asset!" "So how does this work? Do I get any training? When do I start?" "You start as soon as you can. You get whatever training you want, or that I ask you to undertake, beginning with an introduction to a few of your colleagues later this evening. I will supply you with a phone, which is for work purposes only. I will call you if I need you to undertake an assignment. I will pay you for each assignment you undertake, which will be limited to the hours I give you. For that time you are a gentleman's companion. You are there to entertain the gentleman, accompany him, and make his time with you interesting and enjoyable." "What are they likely to want?" I asked, with a tinge of nervousness as I thought about desperate men wanting particular things from me. I was prepared for that, but not perfectly. "Entertainment!" laughed Mrs Milner. "Some want a companion, some want a trophy. No matter what they want they are contracted with me to treat you as an equal. You only give them what you want to give them, and sex during the hours of contract is absolutely out of the question. One of the forms you have to sign for me is effectively a waiver of any claims you might have against the agency under prostitution laws. I will never permit or propose that you have any form of sexual intercourse with one of my clients during contract hours." The last was stated very firmly. "That's good," I sighed, relieved. She smiled at me, slightly puzzled but with a laugh in her eyes. "Again you show me how different you are. Unlike the other girls, I see that I have to clarify things with you. Outside of contract hours, when you are not working for me, your time is your own, and your companion is no longer my client. What terms you discuss then are none of my business." I realised that she was encouraging me to sleep with the clients. I knew it was possible, of course, but the thought of sleeping with men still made me squirm. Though once again, I had that feeling coming back, that craving, whenever I considered the act. "I'm not sure I can do that," I responded. "Will it count against me?" "Sometimes. Sometimes not. If you let me know in advance, I can select for your preferences." "Just out of curiosity," I whispered, leaning in a little closer to Margaret, "how much?" "Well," said Margaret, leaning in as well, "the basic agency rates are five hundred pounds per hour, but depending on the girl selected. I believe in private enterprise that some girls command twice their agency rate." I choked on a mouthful of champagne, with the bubbles going right up my nose. Mrs Milner handed me a napkin instantly. When I finally managed to calm down I expressed my amazement. "I thought maybe fifty or a hundred pounds an hour. Five hundred?" "Basic agency rate. You get forty percent. I don't run advertising in men's magazines; my escorts don't accompany their clients down to the local supermarket. You are unlikely to be watching many movies or dancing in nightclubs. Expect to attend dinners at embassies, functions at large companies, and parties on yachts. You might be invited out riding or sailing, to Henley or Glyndebourne." I'm sure my jaw was dropping, but it explained all the cachet that Mrs Milner had. "You might think that you've landed on your feet, my dear. With an accountancy qualified, Chinese speaking English rose, I know I've landed on mine." She raised her glass, and waited for me to raise mine. "Here's to a very profitable friendship!" I did meet some of the girls that night, and the thing that amazed me about all of them, apart from the fact that they were stunningly beautiful, was that they were all interested in me. That, I discovered, was lesson number one. I had to learn to be interested in the client. With most, it wasn't difficult. What was more difficult was not being overawed by the client. That lesson was learned by being brought into Mrs Milner's social circle, of company owners, government ministers, ambassadors, peers of the realm, and playboys. Soon, the awe inspiring became merely impressive. Other lessons were more obvious. Some had started before Mrs Milner got back to me about the position. I'd had to make some major decisions about how I was going to lead my life, and those started way back on that Saturday when I met up with Jan. She picked me up from the library. Luckily, I'd found just what I was looking for, and felt both relief and a sense of nervous anticipation at where I was going next. Well, immediately next was out with Jan, shopping, and that was causing enough nerves. We were deep into Selfridges before we really started to talk. "What have you told the children?" I asked Jan, as we ascended to the first floor. "I guess I haven't said anything firm." She looked at me. "I think I'm waiting for you to tell me what to say." "How have you explained my absence?" "I told them you needed to stay a little longer in Hong Kong." "And when I turned up at the house?" "A work associate." "Did Richard buy that?" She turned away. "No," she said, sighing. "I don't think he did. But he hasn't pushed it." We walked off the escalator into Women's Clothing. Jan started to browse, though most of the clothing, especially now, was way out of her price league. "What do you think of wearing women's clothes?" she asked me, taking me slightly by surprise. "I've been thinking about that," I responded eventually. "How do you mean?" "Well, I'm not comfortable wearing clothes that are obviously feminine. Though I've been forced to wear some, obviously." Jan looked me up and down, pointedly assessing my present jeans and t-shirt combination. I was wearing my denim jacket again, to cover up. I smiled. "Okay, so this proves it, right?" She nodded and shrugged. "Anyway, I tried to figure out why I feel so uncomfortable, and I reckon it's about cross- dressing. I carried on from there and tried to figure why cross- dressing would feel so uncomfortable and it's pretty easy, it's about looking silly, being embarrassed." Jan waited. When I didn't say any more she came up with a question. "Do you feel embarrassed wearing women's clothes then?" I took a slim, brown dress off a rack and held it against myself, turning to Jan. "Who, honestly, would look at me wearing this and say that I looked silly?" She laughed. I did too. "Actually," she finally got out when she caught a breath, "you should try that on. I think you'd look stunning." And that was it, really. The comforting thing was that I could look in a mirror and realise that I wasn't making a fool of myself. If anything, I looked more of a spectacle in jeans and a jumper than in a skirt and body. I hadn't managed to throw the feelings completely, but I was less uncomfortable with wearing women's clothing, and less prone to imagine that it was concerning anyone else. I tried on the brown dress, and many others. I got the feeling that Jan was having a lot of fun dressing me up, and I didn't dislike it myself, making Jan happy that is. We sat in the caf?, still empty handed, and took lunch. This time, Jan took the initiative. "It's Richard's birthday next week." "I know." I'd been thinking about it since going to the house. "We've invited a few of his friends over for a sleepover. Sam, Connor and Harry. Richard wanted Abby too, but I thought that might be a little bit much for Abby, and I think he got the idea." "Probably true. He's about to become a teenaged boy." "Sam already is." "Yeah, I'd be worried about Sam." "He's Richard's best friend." "Yeah." Jan took a bite of her sandwich. I sipped my juice. "You have to come, Michael," Jan blurted out. "Thank God, Jan," I sighed, "I thought you were going to ask me to stay away." "You're not dead. I won't lie to them. And I can't pretend you're away for ever." "So we're going to tell them the truth?" "Yes we are." "How?" "Somehow." Which was how I then ended up visiting home a few days later. But before then, to top off a very interesting few days, a couple of other things happened. The first was that I went to the gym. Now that may not appear to be very interesting, but to me it was shocking and hugely enlightening. I had a kind of induction come training plan session at which my trainer tried to find my levels on everything in order to work me up a training plan. I was weak. It was really strange because Andy, my trainer, kept passing comment on how strong I was! No, I was really weak. Most of my lifts were performed with the pins three or four weights down in the stack. I managed a twenty five kilo bench press, and perhaps as a result of that I couldn't manage anything but girly push-ups. I could only do push-ups with my knees on the mat! Sure, I've seen women in gyms lifting empty stacks, but I always thought that was because they didn't want to do anymore, not because they couldn't! I couldn't run on the treadmill. Physically it was uncomfortable. The motion of my chest simply made it impossible to run, and sometimes painful. Andy wasn't embarrassed to raise the subject of me getting a proper sports bra. I could only move the cross-trainer at a walking pace, spent one minute on the rowing machine before I thought I was going to burst, and I've always found the cycles boring. Of course that's what Andy recommended I start out with. I liked Andy's professionalism. I could hear the chat behind me as he took me round the gym. It was all about me. Yet Andy paid no attention to it, and very little to me outside of what was obviously acceptable for a trainer. When we finished the induction he told me that my plan would be waiting for me in the office the next time I came in. Of course, I was fit, in a flexible, supple way, and fit enough to dance. I just wasn't fit in the way I remembered or actually felt fit in. My plan turned out to be very easy, as far as I was concerned, with studio classes three days of the week and total body workouts for three other days. I'd told him I could manage to work out every day. Anyway, the total body workouts were really soft. Ten minutes walking on the treadmill, followed by fifteen minutes on the bike and five on the rower. A small set of machine workouts and a number of dumbbell exercises for the mats. Yet I couldn't do them. It took me weeks before I could keep going for five minutes on the rower. So I went to the gym nearly every day, and worked late nights, which leads me to my second of the couple of things that happened before Richard's birthday. I was heading over to the strip club. I had to, it was my only job back then and I had no idea what was going to happen with any other options. Luckily I'd never seen that guy that found me there again. I've got to admit, I'd have no idea what I would do if I did. My attraction to my self-satisfaction was increasing, and had done ever since he'd found me. That's an aside. I happened to be slightly early that night, so went into the bar just the far side of the strip club door. About ten seconds after I got my drink a guy sat down next to me. I noticed him because he smelt strange. It wasn't that he smelt strongly or that the smell was bad, no, not at all, in fact his scent was very good. The strangeness was that I looked around because I smelt almonds, honey, coconut and flowers, and then caught sight of a fit looking guy about thirty years old in jeans and a loose shirt, not the twenty year old blonde I was expecting. He caught me looking at him just after he placed his order. "Hi," he said, reaching out his hand, "I'm Simon." I took his hand and shook it. It was big! I was just about to say Michael before I caught myself. "Tiffany." "Tiffany? Like the jewellery?" "That's right. Simon like the crane?" He looked perplexed. Then his eyes lit up. "Oh, like the trucks that go up to fix the streetlights. Simon Snorkel? Something like that, isn't it?" I laughed. "Yes." He smiled sheepishly. "My surname isn't Snorkel." He looked like an odd combination. Really dark hair and really bright blue eyes. He was handsome, but in a slightly girlish way, with really dark lashes and large lips. Yet he was built large, obviously muscular. He looked nice overall, honest. "Can you smell flowers?" I asked him. He looked perplexed again. I'm not sure why I kept putting him on the spot. Again though, it dawned on him very quickly. "Ah, the soap. I've been staying over my sister's place, and she's got nothing else. I guess I should shower over the gym until I get my own place." "Why don't you have your own place?" He smiled, and took a large throatful of his drink. "I just moved to London, for a new job. My sister's putting me up until I find my feet, though I reckon that could be a pretty long time. I don't have much in the way of finances, and I certainly don't know my way around yet. Are you a local?" "I guess you could say I am." "Where do you come from?" "At the moment I'm staying in North London." "Do you work round here? Just finished?" "I do. Just about to start." "Oh, really?" He paused for thought. "What do you do that starts around nine at night?" "Oh, come on, Simon," I began to tease, "can't you imagine what I might do?" I don't know exactly why I was winding him up, except that he was a nice guy, fun. I liked him. "I guess you either work shifts, as a nurse or something, though you wouldn't be having a drink before that, or you always work late and a drink doesn't matter. You work in a bar or a club." "I do." "You're a barmaid?" "Sorry to cut your guesses short, mate." I responded, because I suddenly realised that I didn't want to tell perfect strangers that I was a stripper. Sure, it was a sexy thing to be, but it reminded me of what I was doing and my position, which didn't feel good. "I have to go." "Gotta get to work?" "That's it." Simon reached into his back pocket and brought out a small notepad and a pen. "I don't suppose you're a football fan, are you?" "I am a bit." "Listen, me and a mate of mine have got season tickets for Arsenal. Lifelong Gunners fan, me." "More valuable than a place of your own?" I interrupted. He grinned that sheepish grin again. I liked his style. "Yeah," he replied, "it was the first thing I wanted on getting here. Anyway, my mate's away for a few weeks. Would you like to come see a few matches? If you're not working, that is?" "That's very tempting." I didn't mention that I followed Arsenal myself, which was what made it very tempting. "Write me your number down, and I'll call you to arrange it. I'd love the company, and a bit of local knowledge in return." "There's always a catch," I smiled as I wrote my number down, and took his. As I stepped away from the bar I recalled Dan and Becky, who were also looking for local knowledge, and I had their number in my purse too. I could get a party together. So, the second thing was that I met someone. Of course I didn't realise it at that time, because I was just thinking mates going to watch a football match together. Dessert was caramelised orange segments, bitter chocolate, and Cointreau infused cream. The plate was pure white, with the orange segments fanned out in one half and the bitter chocolate melted and laced over them before cooling quickly on the iced orange. A coulis of loganberry held the cream in the other half of the plate, but dots of strawberry coulis in the blue gave the whole plate an Art Deco feel. I didn't want to eat it, I wanted to frame it. Tariq looked across at me and smiled. He enjoyed impressing me. Of course, I was trying not to be impressed, not just with him, but with anyone. I think that made it more of a game for him. Our last two dates had ended with me telling him exactly what I'd enjoyed of the evening, and he seemed to really appreciate that. In a way I suppose I was competing for his time with the girls who spoke Arabic; I know he'd been escorted by at least one of them before. I guess that by telling him what I'd enjoyed I was sort of summing up the evening, more like the end of a business meeting. I think that kept the date on level terms. I knew I was there to impress and entertain, and I did that, but it was a paid function, and I considered myself more of a consultant than an escort. Perhaps Tariq was trying to break that shell. I liked that, it said that he was interested in me. Margaret, Mrs. Milner, didn't mind my attitude to the role. She concentrated on the details. She trained the discomfort out of my walk with classic finishing school techniques like balancing a book on my head, and also with model training, teaching me how to walk a catwalk, and turn. She began to alter my accent slightly, to lose the London and gain a more Home Counties sound. She always insisted on me wearing dresses to her training sessions, never even skirts, let alone trousers. And underneath was the most uncomfortable underwear, wired and pinching, lacy and scratching, sometimes even boned and crushing. It all looked absolutely stunning. Never tights, always stockings, sometimes garters, sometimes suspenders. Always high heels, never too high and never platforms. She disapproved of the gym entirely, and tried to get me to give it up. "Riding and swimming are all the exercise a lady needs," she would tell me. "Control your weight by controlling your plate." And, "Never run; a lady should never run, jog, or even walk! A lady glides. That is all." I thought the aphorisms were quaint, outdated even, but nevertheless she held them to be true, and I supposed that they would work if you lived by them. One of my favourites was "don't exist until you wish to be seen." It meant that you should aim not to be noticed until the evening, and there were all sorts of pieces of advice that made that possible. We laughed about going out shopping, as Margaret actually had a maidservant do it for her! I couldn't do that, but there was internet shopping with delivery to the door, or many ways of dressing down to effectively pass incognito. "The only time you should remove your makeup is when you are sure that nobody is going to see you. A woman without makeup is naked. If you have to go out, use foundation to give your face an element of blandness, and a skin toned lipstick. Use very light blush on the cheekbones so that you don't look unnatural. No one will give you a second glance. Yet, if I were to give you one minute to get ready for a client, just one careful pass of red lipstick and you're ready to turn heads. A brush of mascara and you'll keep their eyes on you." So I sort of learned to disguise myself with makeup. "Don't ever listen to anyone who tells you that with makeup, less is more. The reality is that more is less. Prepare your face properly before even beginning. Foundation should cover the whole face to maintain the even tone. Powder is necessary to reduce shine. Blush powder has to be put on so that you don't look artificial. Lip pencil frames the lips so that lipstick looks even. Eye liner frames the eyes so that the most naturally beguiling part of the face becomes the focus. Shadow evens the lids, and mascara continues the focus on the eyes. You need makeup to ensure focus goes to the right places, the eyes and the lips. The rest must fade into the background by making it appear naturally unremarkable." She schooled me in classic femininity. Seeing how little I knew at the start I treated the whole as a challenging learning experience. I practised makeup to see if I could achieve the standards she set. I practised dressing, and walking, and hours of posing in front of mirrors and cameras, coming to understand my new body. The practice passed into my normal life with an unnoticeable inevitability. Instead of walking I began to naturally sashay, sway and glide. My accent began to move up a class. I got back into reading The Times, The Financial Times, the Economist, and Newsweek. I got into reading Tatler, and Harpers and Queen. She schooled me in people. I studied hard to observe, and to listen. I learned culture, and how to deal with people from various parts of the world. I studied negotiation and diplomacy. I was taught how to converse with, understand, and deal with men. I knew most of this. It was a shame she didn't teach me how to converse with, understand, and deal with women. Jan, you see, was on edge when I arrived at our house. I'd gone for the invisible makeup look, with black boots, a black skirt, silver camisole, black cardigan and a long off-white coat. Katy arrived at the door first after I knocked, but Jan followed soon after to open it. She smiled weakly as she did so, and I could feel the nervousness radiating from her. "Come in," she invited. And that was it. I took my coat off and hung it in the hall. I walked through into the living room and saw Kim immersed in the television. Katy was sat next to her, having run back from the door. I stepped through to the dining room, and saw the table laid for dinner, which from the smell of it would be pies and chips. There were bottles of cola on the table which indicated it was a party meal. They never appeared at any other time. Finally into the kitchen, where Jan leaned back against a beech counter, a large glass of white wine half-full to her left hand side. "Richard's upstairs," she said, "with Sam. Connor and Harry will be over in a few minutes." "I thought I might have a few minutes alone with him." I shrugged. "Would you ask him to meet me in our bedroom?" Jan didn't flinch at that. I think I expected her to. She took a sip of her wine, then another, looking as though she was biting on the glass. Finally she nodded and pushed away from the counter. I followed her toward the stairs. "This is my son," she whispered as we went up, "but I've no idea what is going to happen. Please be careful!" What a birthday present, I thought to myself. There was a brief tap and then the door opened. "Oh," Richard mouthed his surprise as he saw who was waiting for him. I was sat on the bed, at the head, away from the door. "Hi, Richard," I smiled nervously, "could you close the door?" He pushed it shut behind him, and waited there, expectantly. I had no idea what he was expecting, and I paused a moment too. Maybe I paused a moment too long. I was startled slightly when he spoke. "You look a bit like my dad. Are you family? I saw you when you came by to visit mum." "What has your mum told you about your dad, Richard?" "She said he stayed in Hong Kong longer than expected, but then she stopped calling him. You're not an aunt. Dad didn't have any sisters. Gramma and Grandpa didn't mention any. Were you adopted?" Richard's mind was racing. Cleverly, but he was nervous and trying to fill in the blanks. I motioned for him to come sit on the bed, which he slowly did. I looked at him as he came over. Skinnier than a rake but he'd probably grown an inch or two over the summer. He was trying to grow his hair too, by the look of it. I smiled, then shook myself. I was getting distracted. But what was I supposed to say? What do you say to a thirteen year old boy to explain that his father is now the blonde woman sitting in front of him? How will he react? At thirteen my father never had such difficulties, and I suppose I wouldn't have thought too much of it. My father was much less of a figure in my life than I was in Richard's. But was that really true? Or was that the perspective that the situation gave it? Honestly, would my change impact Richard in any way other than providing him an outlet for teen boy questions? What should I say to a girl, and all that type of thing. Could I give him the father to son talk about sex which he was due for? It would be better informed, I have to admit, but to play the role of a father, don't you have to be a man? "I'm not an aunt, not even an adopted one, Richard. While your dad was over in Hong Kong, something happened to him, or rather, was done to him." I paused. What would I think if I'd come back and Richard was sat in front of me, in a dress, with makeup, long hair and breasts? I'd have questions, probably issues, but I'd sort them out and support him in his choice. And if it wasn't his choice, then I'd help him sort things out. But I was on the other side of the relationship, and this wasn't about supporting a child's decision. Jan was right when she said that I was a father figure to Richard. I fit in that mould, that space that he had in his life, and therefore it was easy for him to accept me as his dad. Children should never be fit into a mould, but be encouraged to develop in their own way at all times. Parents should always remain within their mould, providing stability and anchorage for their children. Boring for the parent, perhaps. Uncool in the child's eyes? Definitely. But safe and secure. That's what children need. Solid foundations on which they can build themselves. Suddenly I didn't feel like I was a solid foundation. Could I become one? Was I about to give Richard the choice of building on sand, or building on nothing at all? "Richard, I am your dad, Michael." He looked at me in surprise. Then wonder. "Really?" He asked. I could hear the curiosity in his voice. "Really, I am." "Wow." He mouthed it again and looked me up and down. "You're Michael?" And that was it. With one negligent, na?ve, flippant question I had been removed from the role of father and relegated to the role of acquaintance. "Yes, Richard, it's me." "Really? You're a woman now?" "I've been made to look like a woman." "Are you gay?" "Gay?" "Yeah, do you prefer men?" This really wasn't what I expected. "No, Richard, I do not prefer men. I love your mother. I didn't ask for this to happen." I was getting a little frustrated, I have to admit. "Are you coming back here then? To stay with mum?" How can children ask such simple, direct questions without understanding that there are few simple, direct answers? I guess thirteen year old boys really weren't as adult as they were starting to appear. "I don't know. We're still working that out." He sat there quietly for a moment, expectantly. Then "can I go now?" "Yes, sure." "I missed my dad while he was away," he said. "I hope he comes back." Then he got up and was gone. Something in me broke, my emotions ran away with me, and I wept into a pillow. Jan came in and shook me. "Michael, stop crying," she gently demanded. "I don't remember you crying. What happened?" I pulled myself together and told her. She looked at me for a moment. "Basically, you sorted out nothing." "What do you mean, nothing?" I suddenly felt angry, what was Jan accusing me of? "Easy, Michael, I mean you've told him, but you've not told him how you're going to be with him, the time you're going to spend with him, what he should call you, what your relationship is going to be." "I thought we'd figure that out as we went along?" I almost whined. "As you go along what? You haven't laid the ground rules." I snapped again. "We haven't set the ground rules, Jan! How am I expected to relay them to him?" "Whoah!" she started, backing up slightly. "What's up with you? If I were to hazard a guess I'd say you were suffering from PMS." I don't think I'd dare say that to a woman. I laughed. Jan smiled. "You know," I thought out loud, "I might be. I've been pumped full of all kinds of hormones. I do feel really on edge today. How do you deal with it?" "You know me, I hardly suffer the mood swings." We both laughed. "Usually you don't figure it out until too late, but if you do, it's a case of taking a deep breath before launching into anything." I took a deep breath. "Jan, you and I need to set some ground rules." "Okay. Go on." "Can I move back in here?" "I guess," mulled Jan, "that coming back into the kids lives means coming back fully." I grinned. "I can?" "You can. Tomorrow. We'll argue sleeping arrangements then and start working on everything else." I grabbed Jan and hugged her. I was careful not to do anything else as I knew where the boundaries lay at the moment. She put her arms around me and hugged me back. "I do still love you Michael, and we'll get through this." "I'm not sure how we'll end up," I whispered back, "but I love you too, and I always will." As we separated I thought of something. "Oh, Jan, I think it would be easier if we agreed that my name is now Tiffany. I'm sure there are women called Michael, but I can't think of any." Jan looked questioningly at me. "Are you sure? Isn't that sort of an acceptance of what's happened to you? Won't it be strange when you start changing back?" "I'm beginning to think that I'm going to have to stay a woman for a while, mainly because there are certain things that I need to sort out before I can start the transformation process. Plus I would have to stay a woman for a year or two even then." I didn't explain the box or Lucy's notes or my job. "It'll be easier around neighbours and friends, especially for the kids." "I don't know, but perhaps you're right to keep Tiffany and Michael as separate people. It'll make sense if you become Michael again." "If?" "I still think a whole Tiffany is better than a half Michael." "Jan, why do you think I'm a whole Tiffany? Because I look whole on the outside?" "You're right." Jan responded quickly, before I started a rant. "You're not a whole woman regardless of how you look. So let's sort out the rest of our ground rules?" "I work late evenings, so I'll sort out the kids in the day." "Okay," Jan responded tentatively. "What do they call you?" Simon called me Sara for a while, short for Sarafina, but it just didn't fit. He was joking anyway. He then switched back to calling me Tiffany or Tiff. He called me on the Saturday morning when Arsenal were playing at home that afternoon, and we arranged to meet near the ground. I knew the pub, and it was raucous, being filled with troupes of young guys decked out in red, already a few sheets to the wind. The pub did have some female clientele, which I presume was why Simon chose it. I dragged my colours out of the closet. It was last season's shirt but that didn't matter. Not everyone updated their strip with the team. The kids always did. Otherwise I was jeans, boots and my long, off-white coat, which gave me a certain physical anonymity that I appreciated. I wore an Arsenal scarf too, so that the bouncers would let me in the pub without me taking my coat off. I hadn't experienced it before, outside of the strip club, but I experienced it now. I felt a hand on my backside, and spun round to see nothing, a group of lads chatting over their pints, another few heading for the bar, an older bloke with his teenage son. It was so busy there was no way of knowing who it was. I carried on through the crowd looking for Simon. The next grope was more obvious. The "Looking for someone, darling?" was shoved into my ear at the same time as the hand settled onto my coat and stroked. I turned around slowly. "Fuck off," I said clearly to the bodybuilder with the gaping grin who was an even four inches shorter than me. He held up his hands and stepped back slightly. "Bitch." I heard him mutter as I turned to carry on. Now I was beginning to get a bit heated. Getting touched in the crush at the bar was acceptable. Getting felt up whilst walking around the pub was inexcusable. And by blokes! The crazy thing was I loved getting my bottom pinched, because it meant a girl somewhere was interested in me. Or even a guy, and that was still an ego boost. But now it was stopping me getting places. And now it was a confusing thought. Yes, it meant that I was attractive, which was an ego boost, but it was guys fancying me for being a woman. I spotted Simon and positioned myself against the wall next to him, my back against it. That was almost as hard, as looking around the room there were plenty of guys trying to catch my eyes, so I concentrated on Simon. There were a few girls in the pub, some nice looking, but they didn't even give me a second glance. Still, I felt such an instant boost in knowing that I was attractive, even if I thought of the guys as gay. I'm sure women would feel somehow abused if they were treated in the way I was. I was hassled, yes, but it wasn't a feeling of invasion or abuse. Logically, to avoid the hassle, I figured that I needed somebody to appear to be my boyfriend, so I needed to stay close to Simon. The game was great. Even though it was only a one-nil win for the Gunners, the atmosphere was amazing. I was a bit out of touch with the team and the players but Simon enjoyed filling me in on the details. We talked football mostly, and a little about tv and films. I hadn't watched a film for months, so Simon invited me to one that evening and I accepted. Straight after the game we headed back to the pub, and sat and chatted with a group that we'd been sat with through the game. We must have got through three pints, and coupled with the few I'd had before and during, I was starting to feel drunk. I walked into the men's toilets without thinking at all. There was one embarrassed face, but two smiling ones with their "Alright, Darling"s, and "Are you lost, or looking for someone?" I smiled and walked into one of the cubicles. I remembered to sit after a slightly dizzy moment, then had another dizzy moment where I put my hands down between my legs to position myself before remembering that I had nothing to position. Wiping with something that felt like greaseproof baking paper wasn't a pleasure, and I resolved not to forget which way to go next time. The women's toilets always had soft toilet paper. I had a great time with Simon and the other guys around. I couldn't go to a film because of work, but we went for an Indian meal as he joined me for the trip into the centre of town. We were still analysing the game when I left him as he went off to meet some other mates and I headed for the club. I checked out of the hotel and took a taxi home. My room in the hotel had been a good, solid location for me to get my bearings. In that sense it seemed odd to leave it as I was headed back into a lot of uncertainty. Jan met me at the door, and took my stuff up to our room. It was time for Sunday dinner, and the family was getting ready to gather round the table. I went straight out to the kitchen, to see if I could help out with anything. I wasn't surprised that Katy hid behind her mother as soon as I walked in. We had played together the day before, for hours, but children are both shy and fickle. Kim looked round from the chair she was stood on while she helped to rinse carrots. "Katy," she said, "don't be silly! I'm not silly." She continued as she concentrated on her carrot for a moment. She looked back at me. "I know you're daddy and I'm going to call you daddy, and not Tiffany because Tiffany works in the nursery and I don't like her." Jan and I looked at each other in mute astonishment. Tariq lifted my coat onto my shoulders. We descended the steps to where the car was waiting, the door held by the chauffeur. It was a black Phantom, the rear doors facing the wrong way, apparently known as coach doors, I suppose because they open like the doors on stagecoaches used to. The Phantom was Tariq's, bought for our second date as I commented that the stretch limo that he brought to our first one was really quite tacky. He commented in return that women were impossible to understand, from which I gathered that a woman had asked him for the Limo. I wondered which was more Tariq, the Limo or the Rolls. And, in that sense of being his, which was I more like, the flash, eye-catching Limousine, or the understated, exquisite Rolls Royce. What did he think I was? Of course, I thought inside the car, he assumed that I was a woman, without question, as did my other clients. My training was going very well. Being a man gives you a great idea of what men think. Unfortunately it also can make you forget on occasion that you appear to be a woman. Away from Simon I was careful about how he perceived me. I knew that we were getting on very well, but I was looking for a friend, and I wasn't sure what he was looking for. So football matches, either at the stadium or at the pub, in public, were fine. Whilst I was waiting for Mrs. Milner to call and offer me an alternative role, the strip club kept me busy most evenings. I was on the lookout for something else anyway as I got home so tired and slept late, which was no good for looking after children! But anyway, busy many evenings, and looking after kids in the day left me very little time but the weekends, so I was happy that Simon called one Sunday and just invited me round for lunch. Jan was with the kids at her parents, somewhere that I'd not dared to tread yet, so my time was free and I was looking for company. I should have realised that it was just us two, but I didn't even think, and when I got there it was too late. The fact was, it was a great meal, and a great bottle of wine, and Simon once again was great company. His sister was away on holiday, so he had the flat to himself. After dinner he suggested a dvd, and showed me his sister's collection, which mostly consisted of Disney films and romcoms. I've got nothing against romcoms, but I prefer a bit of action, so I asked Simon if he was willing to pay for something from the cable box office channels. We found an action adventure we both wanted to watch and sat down with the second bottle of wine. That bottle became a third, and while I'm sure Simon was drinking his fair share, I knew I was really feeling it. I was also feeling something else, an irritation, a stress, an urge. I've mentioned that my attraction to my self-satisfaction was increasing, well there was another side to it too, a sense of desire, a craving, developing the longer I went without it. So I wasn't thinking straight at all when I mentioned looking for a porn movie. Simon seemed surprised, but I don't think I could really tell. He was very quick in returning with a dvd though, and quite happy to fill my glass again. It was soft, with a beautiful, busty blonde lead who was happily seduced by the good looking gardener into removing most of her clothes. She was so beautiful and feminine and busty that she completely turned me on. I don't know when Simon realised this, but for some reason we found ourselves wrestling on the sofa. It was fun, but I had no idea how strong he was! I was laid onto my back on the cushions, both wrists pinned next to my head, and he kissed me. I didn't like the kiss. I didn't want to be kissed by a man. I liked Simon. He was good looking and great company, but that didn't mean I was having homoerotic thoughts about him. At least, I wasn't until that moment. You see, when he kissed me, I became aware of another feature of his anatomy, other than his lips, being pressed into mine. I was horny, I was drunk, I was really craving something inside of me, and his cock was available. I remembered clearly that a man's cock was really good for relieving my urges, and they were so strong it was getting difficult to think straight. In fact, I decided that I could put up with Simon kissing me, as long as he didn't mind if I used his cock for a while. So I asked him to get up off me. He did, and I got up, and, grabbing my purse, I led him into his bedroom. He wanted to go slowly, trying to kiss me on the shoulders and neck, but I really wasn't into any of that at all. I didn't like it, and I was starting to feel irritated. I wanted one thing, so I fished around in my purse for a condom and gave it to him. He got the idea and stripped off quickly while I watched. I do remember thinking that he had a body to be envious of, and it was hairless. I ran my fingers over his chest to see if there was any stubble, but it was completely smooth. As his cock rose fully, he pulled the condom down over it and I saw the object of my desire, just a hard, rubber implement that I needed desperately to use. I wanted to do a little dance for him, just to make him really horny, but in my drunken haste to remove my jeans I tangled my ankles up in them and fell onto the bed face first, one foot managing to extricate itself and kicking out sideways in an ineffectual attempt to regain my balance. I started to laugh. Little did I realise that Simon was looking at my ass sticking in the air and my legs spread wide, so his cock sliding straight into me was a major surprise that caused me to suck in a breath. I don't remember too much of that first fuck, but I do remember being pinned down onto the bed and being shocked at how deep a cock could get inside me. Every time I tried to relax and breathe he would push in again and touch something that bordered painful in such a way that it was pleasurable. I had no control over his actions whatsoever, and he held me down and did whatever he wanted to me. I could try to breathe or try to say something and he would push in against that point deep inside me and I had to take a sharp breath and tense up, causing his cock to feel so much fuller inside me. I was getting dizzy, and relieved, and relaxing into a state of bliss that warmed me right through. He pushed me up onto the bed. In my state I was simply a doll in his hands. He spooned me, and then rolled onto his back so that I was lying back on top of him, my legs spread astride his, and his hard cock slid firmly up inside me by his tilting hips. He wrapped one hand around my chest under my breasts, pushing them up towards my face and making me conscious of their size as they rocked against his strong forearm. His other hand slipped in between my legs and over my mound, one finger sliding over my engorged clitoris and stroking it hard and fast. It was moments before he gave me the largest and longest orgasm I've ever had in my life. I had to push his hand away from my super-sensitive clit, and he rolled me onto my side again, holding me tight as he pumped inside me. I felt him push deeper and then slam into me, without the depth and shock of earlier, but hard against my asscheeks. I tipped my hips back towards him and squeezed him tight by reflex. Then he slowed and stopped. I relaxed into a warm sleep. I woke incredibly thirsty. I was lying on something hard that felt like an arm. I got up but my head stared to pound and I felt nauseous. I was hot under a duvet and still wearing a sweaty blouse. I looked around in the dark. Simon was lying on his back behind me. I was hungover, still dizzy, and the events of the previous evening were a blur. In my foggy state I did remember that I had kids to look after in the morning, so I needed to get home. It would be so nice to slide that cock into me again, but no. I needed to have words with myself. I'd done something really wrong and might have ruined the chance of a friendship. I didn't want to have sex with Simon, nor with any man. I wanted to sleep with Jan. So why was sex so attractive, even addictive? I knew I had the gist of something there, the beginnings of an idea, but I couldn't follow it up. I concentrated on getting slowly out of bed, around to my clothes, and out. Simon was a man, he'd got what he wanted, and now he'd forget about me. One problem solved, or so I thought. Getting the offer of the job with Mrs Milner, and the success of the first few assignments meant that I needed to move my diary around. The work at the strip joint had to go. Well, it was just to tide me over, anyway, and to ensure that I kept Lucy off my back. In fact, it was to ensure that I threw Lucy off my back. You see, that first night of auditions, when I tripped and knocked another girl's purse over, I happened to swap our invitations. I auditioned as Justine while she auditioned as Tiffany. She was still working there, so I had no problems with that, for the moment. However I also knew that Lucy had access to a lot of data, and that Tiffany Michaels needed to disappear completely. I needed new accounts for my cash and a new id to get me those accounts. Hence all the searching around the cemetery and the library, which resulted in a few people who were no longer with us that I could take the identity of. A couple of letters to a couple of registry offices and I was hoping that one or two might return me a duplicate birth certificate for the one I'd 'lost'. I already had some passport photos certified by reputable officials such as my old headmaster, who had no idea that I'd copied his signature from an old school report. Once I had a birth certificate, I'd be in the passport office next, driving licence after that, and then Sarafina Tiffany would cease to exist. Lucy looked over the items laid out on her bed and decided that the collection of clothes would be enough. Especially as she would be visiting a number of stores in Old Bond Street and the Knightsbridge area. The trip was a little rushed but it would be a pleasure. A little rushed because John had indicated a desire to be out of Hong Kong for the period. A pleasure because she could show off to him what she knew of London, take him to a show or two, and include in those shows a little visit to a strip joint she knew of, where she could reacquaint him with one of his bachelor party girls. One report that she kept had told her that Tiffany was becoming well 'conditioned' and she imagined taking her beautiful, busty ex-boyfriend to a back room where, like a slave, she would submit to Lucy's husband bending her over a chair and fucking her hard from behind. As they both came Lucy would whisper into her errant husband's ear that one slip would put him in the same position. She smiled lightly as she thought it. Yes, she loved him, and loved him dearly, but that only made her more determined to cage him. He would not be anyone else's, unless she made him theirs to use. Like that Michael, she thought, Michael who had ignored her and then forgotten her. What pleasure, to send him back to his wife as Tiffany, the busty blonde stripper addicted to sex. But sending him back had its own issues. It was hard to keep a rein on him, and she needed to show John that she could keep a rein on people anywhere. If Tiffany was still stripping, John would get the message. If Tiffany were to submit to sex, now that would show that she was broken. Lucy laughed. John's last venture had almost broken the back of a small Chinese bank allowing her to walk in and scoop up the assets cheap. She didn't want to break John, he was such a useful, and pleasurable, pet. Tiffany, what had happened to a man called Michael, was a good leash.