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I was working at my desk early, that morning, when I received the fateful phone call from my boss, Bill Williamson. "Could you spare me a minute?" he said in his heavy Scottish accent. This could be good news, bad news or a job. Things had generally been pretty quiet since the end of the cold war, with only a couple of short interludes. My main work now seemed to be full of sorting through endless paperwork and reports, stuff which I really hated, not what I had joined for, at all. "Yes, sir," I replied, felling both eagerness and trepidation at the same time. I caught the lift to the eighth floor, and walked along the oak panelled corridor to where his secretary sat. "Go straight in, he's waiting for you," she said. I knocked and without waiting entered, closing the bookcase lined door behind me. "Have a seat," he said. This was either bad news or a job. Normally, good news was delivered to me while I was standing! It was budget time, the government was looking for additional cuts and there was a great deal of speculation about who would be next for the chop. We had only just moved into our sparkling new headquarters on the South Bank of the Thames, which had cost a fortune, and was bristling with every latest security feature. However, intelligence gathering was not what it used to be and our emphasis had now changed to shadowing dissident and terrorist groups, with particular interest in Ireland, both North and South rather than the much more exiting job of overseas intelligence. "I've got something for you. It's a deep cover operation," he said, with a sly smile on his face. Music to my ears, I thought, so at least I wasn't going to be sacked and would be getting an operation. "Read this dossier and come back in half an hour," handing me the brand new, buff coloured foolscap wallet folder, with an absence of any writing on it at all. I made a mental note of the time 08:32, so would have to back by 09:02. He was a bit of a stickler for time, a hangover from his own operations days behind the Iron Curtain. I went back to my office, passing by the tea machine, with its "Out of Order" notice emblazoned across the front. A multi-million pound building, I thought, and we can't even get a cup of tea when we need it! I sat at my desk, wondering what was in the dossier. A nice office, I thought, shouldn't think I'll be seeing it for much longer. I opened the folder, the dossier inside said on the front "Lesbian Revenge." The information inside was pretty scanty, basically, the group appeared to be a 'gang' of militant feminists, born out of the so called 'Peace camp' at Greenham Common during the late eighties. My thoughts, on that subject were that in fact nuclear weapons had in fact kept the peace far more successfully, than any Peace group and that I considered CND and other groups to be a bunch of people dangerous to both peace and this country's security. Feminism, too was not one of my strong suits and I was certainly no 'New Man'. This group had recently graduated from visiting MPs at their homes and harassing them into listening to their arguments about sexual discrimination, to invading security installations for publicity. They had been successful on several attempts and caused the organisations concerned considerable embarrassment. There were some pictures of the leaders taken from various 'Gay Pride' marches with a brief resume of each. All interesting stuff but I could not really see why I had been chosen for the job of shadowing such a bunch of radicals. My particular forte was usually under cover field work behind enemy lines. In fact, my last job had been skulking around Baghdad with the SAS guiding cruise missiles, on account of my fluent Arabic. This couldn't even be a 'singing canary' scenario, as even my boss must realise that lesbians are immune to male charm and the liklihood of me sducing any of them would be small indeed. I returned to his office. "How did you get on with dossier?" he asked. "Well, Sir, the information seems to be straight forward enough, but what do you want me to do about it?" "We have reason to believe that they are up to something out of the ordinary, something big, and we have absolutely no idea what it is. We want you to infiltrate the organisation and report back on what they are up to." "Shouldn't this be a job for a female operative, sir?. She would actually be able to get right inside the operation, to a position of trust and attend meetings first hand, whereas I, as a mere man, would only be able to glean information from around the periphery. It is unlikely that I could start a relationship with one of these women as they are Lesbians and by definition, with all due respect, sir, don't like men. Furthermore the chance of a man infiltrating a Lesbian organisation would be impossible." "You have been chosen for this operation, Antony, for several good reasons. Firstly, you have a track record unparalleled by any of our other agents. Secondly, last year, we tried to infiltrate this organisation using a female agent. They not only turned her into a lesbian but against us. She fortunately met with an accident before she could do any serious damage to us. We really think that a man should do this and that you are the ideal candidate." "I'm pleased that you should consider me for a mission but I still don't understand what makes you think that I am for this one," I responded. "You do understand that failure to disclose anything of material importance at your positive vetting could be grounds for dismissal or even prosecution, don't you?" "What do you mean, Sir?" "You are a good operative, and I would hate to have you dismissed from the service for failure to disclose at your PV hearing. Would you like me to go into your lack of disclosure chapter and verse?" I was beginning to get an idea to what he was referring but being unsure of what he knew decided to let him tell me. Actually I was quite excited and had already made up my mind to accept the mission. "I'm not sure what you mean, Sir," I replied. "I know that for some time you have been living a bit of a double life. You think you have been careful enough but a chance visit to your home by one of our officers started a full investigation into your behaviour. As he arrived at your house, he saw a woman emerge, get into your car and drive off." He handed me an 10" x 6" photograph. I looked at it determined to play the game right to the end. "He thought nothing of it at the time and proceeded to knock on your door. There was no reply. He was a bit puzzled as there was also no mention in your file of a current relationship. He waited. About four hours later, the woman returned. There was still no sign of you. About one hour later. You came out of the door, got into the car and drove off. This made him somewhat curious, so he knocked on the door again with the intention of getting a closer look at her, pretending to be a Jehovah's Witness. There was no reply again. On your return he took another photograph. He then came back and reported to me. I sent him to observe your movements over the following week. This was during your holiday in August. During this period either you or the woman were seen entering or exiting from the house but never together. You both used the car. She went out in the evenings dressed to the nines, you stayed at home. Yet while she was out you did not answer the phone. One evening, he decided to tail her, she met a man and they had a meal at a restaurant in Islington. She then went back to his place, leaving there about 3 a.m. returning to your house. We could find nothing out about her, until one of the cryptographers happened to see the photo and quite innocently remarked that she must be your sister as the resemblance was so striking. Do I need to say more?" It was obvious to me that he now knew the whole story and there was no point in attempting to deny it. At least he wasn't going to sack me. "No sir, I'll take the job and can we forget about the nonTMdisclosure?" "Good, you might even get to enjoy it!. Regarding the other matter we'll sort it out after the mission is completed." The inferrence was obvious, if the mission was successful the matter would be dropped. "How far do you want me to go?" I asked. "Before you start, we'll give you a new I.D., female, of course. I hear you've been using the name 'Angela Collins'. I'll have the documents made in that name. Ok?" I nodded my agreement. You'll need to let your house, tell the neighbours you're going off on a world trip, find a flat, Central London, and a job, probably secretarial, as a cover. Do you think you can sustain the role?" "Well, I seem to generally be accepted, as a woman when I go out dressed, but full time could be a bit of a strain." "You'll have to lose the boyfriend and you could probably lose a few pounds of flab as well, employers tend to prefer slim secretaries. There is a small health farm in Bucks caters for top people, very discreet etc. I suggest you go there for a couple of weeks to get fit, learn your new cover, brush up on your secretarial skills, make up etc. By the way, you'll obviously need some expenses for rent, clothes and other incidentals, two thousand should cover it. Make sure you keep the receipts." "Thank you, Sir." I could hardly believe my luck. Normally expenses were strictly limited and Bill was certainly not usually the most generous with doling them out. "I want monthly reports on everything you find out, usual channels. Oh, and by the way, you may need these. You don't have to, but they may prove useful. Something the Doctor suggested! Do you know what they are?" He handed me a small brown bottle with small round pills inside, the label said "Ethinyloestradiol 50 Mcg Tablets. One to be taken twice a day with meals." Without waiting for my reply, he said "The're female hormones. We thought they might help your cover, but you better go and speak to the doctor about them, he'll explain. I must stress that the choice is yours. He's waiting for you, now. Good Luck." I left Bill's office with very mixed feelings and went to seek out the doctor in his second floor office. I had not had much contact with him, apart from the standard check ups that we all had annually and prior to missions. He seemed a pleasant enough man, but I felt a bit embarrassed about discussing with him the prospects of me taking female hormones. I need not have worried as his bedside manner was impeccable. He said, "I hear you're going on a mission. So standard checkup, strip down to your underpants and let's have a look at you. Put your clothes on the chair over there." He did all the normal checks. Heartbeat, blood pressure, listened to the breathing and weighed me. "You're rather overweight, I suggest you lose at least 20 pounds but apart from that you're ok. I hear you've been given some tablets, do you want to talk about them?" "Yes," I said, "I'd like to know what effect these tablets are likely to have on me." "Well," he said, "they are normally given to post menopausal women as hormone replacement therapy. The effect they would have on you, should you decide to take them, would be that you would probably grow some breast tissue and put on weight around the hips. I'm informed that they may also improve your head hair and skin softness, but will kill your male sexual drive and have the effect of shrinking your penis. After a time your testes will atrophy and you will stop producing sperm, in fact you will undergo a form of chemical castration. They may also slow down the rate of body hair growth and give a much softer downier form of hair growth. These effects, I'm told, vary from person to person, so it's difficult to predict exactly how long this will take or what the full consequences may be. Also there is the increased risk of deep vein thrombosis, especially if you smoke, and your chance of getting breast cancer is equal to any ordinary woman. Do you still want to take them?" he asked with a slightly evil gleam in his eyes. "I'm not sure I want to take them at all," I lied, knowing full well that I had probably wished for nothing else all my life, but both my social standing, my job and family would have been adversely affected had I done anything like that before. However, now things had changed, not only was my job protected but I was being actively encouraged to do the very thing I had wanted to all along. He continued, "Of course, the effect are reversible afterwards but you may have to have a mastectomy if the breasts grow too large. down below things should return to normal in about two to three months after ceasing the tablets" I went back to my office and booked myself into the health farm for two weeks under my name and though about the rest of the day. There was a lot to plan. I made a list in no particular order:- Health Farm (Lose weight) Ditch Chris Clear House Find new flat (preferably central London not too pricey) Let House New I.D. Get job Infiltrate Lesbian Revenge That seemed enough to be getting on with for now. In fact it seemed quite a daunting list. Chris had been my 'boyfriend' for about a year. We had met in a bar where there were a mixture of people both gay and straight, male and female, transvestite and transsexual. I had been dressed as a woman at the time, and we had been going out ever since. He had never known me as anything other than a woman. At first, it had been fun. We went to the Cinema and ordinary restaurants, everyone accepting me as the woman I appeared to be. However, there was never any real physical attraction for me of him and I found kissing him very difficult. He became more and more infatuated with me and wanted an increasingly sexual relationship. I did not, but felt I had to do certain things for him in order to sustain the relationship. Breaking up would not be easy. I phoned him and made an arrangement to meet on Saturday evening. I planned to break up the relationship on Saturday and then disappear for a couple of weeks so he could phone me as often as he liked for two weeks and not find me in. Finding a flat, and a job, could not begin till I had my new identity, otherwise it would cause all sorts of complications later. I called the documents section and asked them when all the new papers would be ready. They assured me that they would be completed by lunchtime the following day, but they would need four photos for the passport as soon as possible. I asked if first thing tomorrow morning would be ok and was told that I could bring them in when I collected the documents. It is only a matter of fixing the photo, laminating over the top and then stamping it with the foreign office stamp, a job that only takes a couple of minutes. I thought I could start doing some research on flats. It had to be in Central London, not too expensive, in keeping with the job I had to find, and very accessible by public transport. Thinking about the job itself, should it be permanent or temporary? Fortunately, being used to endless report writing my keyboard skills were up to date and I was a reasonably fast typist. I had also done several computer courses in my spare time in the evening, so I was quite familiar with most of the standard software packages available in most offices but more aware of IBM compatible software rather that Apple/Macs. However, never having been a Secretary I was rather concerned about fitting in with the social etiquette of a large office. It might be best to try temping, preferably, to start with, in a small office, if possible. I would need to prepare a CV very quickly and would therefore need to know as much as possible about my new identity. Still, from past experience the department was usually pretty good with things like that, and I would be given a full dossier along with the passport and other documents. I would need to put most of my belongings in store, as I was going to let the house. Some of my things would be used to furnish the flat. I would also need to find an agency to let the house and once I had done that there would be no going back for some time. I would be fully committed to living as a woman for the foreseeable future. The transition would be difficult. As far as I was aware none of my neighbours knew of my double life. I was always very careful when leaving the house not to be observed. This meant usually going out in the evening after dark and in any case always staying out till after nightfall when 'dressed'. When I did need to go out during the day, I would park the car right up to the front door and check everyone's whereabouts quite carefully from the upstairs windows before leaving the house. I know I had been seen once or twice by various neighbours but believe that either they did not notice or assumed that someone else was using my car or even that it was someone else's car. White Vauxhall Corsa's are fairly common in our area. I needed to get the photos for tomorrow. I could get these at any station automatic photo machine. As it was now September, dusk fell about 7.30 in the evening. That would allow me plenty of time to go home, get changed, get my photos and still have an early night. I had a close shave and spent extra time and care over my makeup. I applied a good foundation, exentuated my eyes with liner, shaded my eyelids with blue, blushed my cheeks with a reddish powder and used a luscious deep pink lipstick. I then got dressed in some fairly 'firm control' bra and briefs, black tights, pink silk blouse and black wrapover skirt. Chunky earrings, chains round my neck and wrists and several rings completed the ensemble. I got my gorgeous shoulder length wig off it's stand and put it on carefully. Then I brushed it out with an intense feeling that I was me, again. A feeling that I got every time I dressed despite the fact that I had been dressing up since my childhood. I selected a black handbag and shoes, a light raincoat and I was almost ready to face the world. I checked my image in the full length mirror in the hall and was generally pleased with what I saw, although I could certainly do with losing some weight. The neighbours all seemed to have settled down by now and the light outside had dimmed, so I set the alarm, and left. I drove to a nearby underground station, but not the one I usually used, and parked the car. Went into the booking office and found the machine. There was a group of four teenage boys nearby. Young people always make me feel nervous, in case they see through me, not only are they more aware but also more likely to say something. I thought shall I go back or carry on. I decided to brazen it out, after all, I was going to be living this way for some time to come and could not continue to be frightened by shadows. I approached the machine and went inside. They took no notice of me at all. I checked my appearance in the mirror, adjusted the seat, and put the money in. Knowing that it would take a few minutes for the photos to be ready, I was in no hurry to leave the photo booth, until I was aware that someone else was waiting. I left the booth and waited outside it, fortunately the boys had gone by this time. A few anxious minutes later, the photos were delivered. I was quite pleased with the result and I went back to the car to drive home. On my way home, I was driving along a road where there had been a murder a few months earlier and was stopped by a policeman standing in the middle of the road waving a torch about. I pulled over and He came round to the driver's window, which I wound down. He stated that they were doing a 'document check' and did I have any. I asked if a driving licence would do, he nodded, and with my heart beating quite hard, found it in my handbag, and handed it over. Another few days, I thought, and this would not have been a problem. He looked at the licence and then back at my face, shining the light a bit closer and asked, "Is this your licence?" "Yes," I replied. "Are you sure this is your licence?" he asked, again a mixture of amusement and consternation in his voice, at the same time turning the licence round so I could see it. I chose not to look at it, merely replying "Yes." "But it's a man's licence," he stated incredulously. "Yes," I said, "that's right." At this point the poor man looked totally flustered. So I smiled sweetly at him. This obviously totally disarmed him and made him forget any questions he had meant to ask. He handed me back my licence, thanked me, wished me "Goodnight" and I drove off giggling like a schoolgirl. On arriving home, I parked the car in the garage and went inside. I decided to have a quick bite to eat, watch a bit of television and go to bed early. I found some bread and cheese in the fridge, made myself a sandwich and ate it in front of the television. There was some medical program on about the cost of medicines to the National health and it was then I remembered my tablets. Should I take one? I hardly hesitated. I popped one into my mouth and tried to swallow it. It left a dry bitterish taste so I washed it down with some water, and ate some of my sandwich. Later, I went to bed. For September it was quite a hot night and I felt very restless. I had a very odd dream, which was quite vivid. I dreamt I was a woman lying naked chained spread-eagled to a double bed. The bed had brass bedsteads and I was chained to it by the ankles and wrists. A very large black man, who I had never seen before, came into the room, undressed and then roughly raped me. I could do nothing, I was totally powerless. I struggled but the chains only cut into me more. I pleaded with him to leave me alone, I screamed, but this only made him more violent. He said it was pointless to scream as the room was soundproofed. He kissed me and I nearly threw up. He squeezed my breasts till they hurt, and he forced himself into me till I bled, only ceasing when he was totally satiated. He then calmly got up, got dressed and left the room as if nothing had happened. I was at the point of worrying about AIDS and if I would become pregnant, when I woke up to find I was sweating from head to foot. I went to the bathroom, washed myself down and went back to sleep. This time a lot more peacefully, but a lot more aware of some of the dangers faced by women. The next morning I took the photos and went to the document section. Anne, the girl who ran it told me that all 'the young women's papers' were ready, and asked if I had her photos. I gave them to her and she remarked, clearly not realising that they were of me, said "She's a bit butch, clearly your taste in women has deteriorated since our affair." I just grinned, the fewer people who knew about this little escapade, the better. She completed the work on the passport and put it into a folder which already had other documents in it. I returned to my office to read the dossier and study the papers. I had been using the name Angela Collins but this was a new identity. I was the same age 38. There was a full driving licence, no endorsements, showing an address which I recognised as a 'safe house'. I knew from previous experience that this could be sent to the Driver and Vehicle Licensing centre in Swansea and have the address changed in the usual way as it was a genuine licence with the correct entries on the central computer. The passport purported to be 2 years old and was one of the new red European Community ones. My Birth certificate showed me as being born in London at the Westminster Hospital, sex 'Girl', parents one John Peter Collins Sales Director and Mary Elizabeth Collins nee Flanders of an address previously unknown to me. There was also a briefing on my school days, a girls public school in Northwood Middx, that I knew reasonably well, because my sister had been to it, and a resume of teachers' names, house names and buildings. This could prove useful if I met anyone who had also been there. I apparently had not been too academic as I had only achieved seven 'O' levels an two 'A' levels, one in French and the other in 'Economics'. Subjects which fortunately I could handle perfectly satisfactorily. I had not gone to University, so there would be no records, there to trip me up. I had gone travelling for some time after leaving school and spent some time in the Middle East where I had learnt Arabic (no point in hiding it, it might prove useful). I had returned to England for a few years. then gone travelling again. As I had in fact travelled a lot during my life all of this was quite feasible. Dental records and medical records were also included with the details suitably altered. There were also details of former addresses where I had lived in different parts of London, so I would need to visit them just so I knew the locality suitably well. Looking through all these documents gave me a slightly odd feeling, I was now the woman I had always dreamt of being, for the foreseeable future. A lesbian, feminist with balls. Although, the last part was a secret to be kept to myself. Better still if things didn't work out I could always return to being a man. I thought that as there was little I could do in my present persona, as a man, I would at least visit one of the previous flats I was supposed to have lived in. It was up for letting having previously been used by the department, so I made an appointment with the agent, under yet another assumed name and went to visit it, just off Fitzjohn's Avenue in Hampstead. I needed also to contact an agent regarding letting my house and to tell my sister that I was going abroad, explain about the house and arrange with her to keep an eye on the letting. I knew that several people in my road had used a particular agency who specialised in letting houses to American Servicemen from the nearby bases. I contacted them and the agreed to send someone to look over the property at 10 a.m. on Saturday morning. Then, having spoken to my Sister on the phone, I went home to spend one of my few last evenings, as myself, watching the television. Saturday morning came quickly. I had a luxurious foam bath. Then using my 'Epilady' removed my body hair from my legs, feet, arms hands, stomach, chest area, underarms and back. This took the best part of an hour and a half and left me all red and blotchy. I put on some long trousers and a sweat shirt which hid my arms. This just left the backs of my hands which made me look as if I had measles. i hoped that the blotches would subside by the time the lady from the agency arrived. As I had not shaved that morning and only shaved selective areas of my face the previous day, the hair above and below my lips, on my chin and cheeks was long enough for plucking with a pair of tweezers which took me the best part of the next hour and a half. The letting agency lady arrived and looked over the house, she said she had a particular family in mind, who would want the place in about three weeks time, also at a suitable price. They would come round at that afternoon to view it and if they liked it the wheels could be set in motion. I had arranged to meet Chris at eight o'clock so if they arrived promptly at four o'clock this would give me plenty of time. I mowed the lawn, had a light lunch, did some shopping and waited for them to arrive. They loved the house so it was agreed that they would move in three weeks time. This would give me a week at the health farm and a couple of weeks to find a flat move in and move the rest of my belongings to a store. Bank accounts and credit cards would be a problem until I had a job, although I could continue to use my bank card at cash machines till I had fully settled into my new identity. My pay would still be going into a building society account in my old name while I was under cover, so that would be a good bonus for afterwards. I would have to live on my new earnings so that my lifestyle would not be out of keeping with my new job. I could, though, transfer some funds at the beginning in order to help set me up. At about six o'clock, I started to get dressed. I always dressed smartly in the evening when going out and was often better dressed that most of the other women wherever Chris and I went. They usually seemed to wear jeans instead of skirts, but I almost always wore a black skirt with black tights. One of the things that annoyed me about Chris was that he never dressed really smartly in a suit or smart shirt, tie and jacket but almost always wore jeans. He also took me to rather down market places whereas I considered myself to be a rather upmarket lady. I finished dressing with these thoughts in mind, and was actually quite pleased that we were going to be finishing our relationship that night. Having finally checked myself in the hall mirror, I then decided to check to see if the coast was clear. Unfortunately, the man living in the house opposite was continuing to do, what he appeared to have taken every waking minute of the summer doing, which was painting his house. He must have painted the woodwork round the windows about three times, the pebble-dashing twice and the black beams twice. However, each window had been taken off it's hinges rubbed down carefully, primed, undercoated and top coated individually. I hate to imagine how long the process, would have taken had we not just had the driest summer since records began! Eventually he went inside and just as I was about to effect my escape, the old lady who lived directly opposite came out to water her flowers. This took on average about ten minutes from past experience, so I gave Chris a ring to say I would be a bit late. As soon as she went inside, I gave a last quick look out of the window and seeing no one, set the alarm and dashed for the car. I met Chris at the usual place in London, near Tottenham Court Road. This was a convenient spot for us to meet as it was near an Underground. Chris did not drive a car. I was able to always find a place to park the car and wait, and it fairly central to wherever that we may subsequently decide to go. He was late, as usual, and he also had no idea as to what we should be doing that evening. These were two more things which annoyed me greatly in his character. Eventually, I suggested we went to see a film that was on in Chelsea, to which he begrudgingly agreed. After the film, we picked up the Sunday newspapers at a shop in King's Road, that was always open late on Saturday night. This would save me having to go out for them on Sunday morning after getting home very late. We went back to his place and I parked the car in the road outside. He asked me to come in. I did not want to and told him so. At that point he asked me why not. I thought that being blunt would probably be the best approach. I told him, "Chris, I think we ought to end it." He said, "What?" obviously not understanding the words I was telling him. "Our relationship." "Why?" "Because it's going no where, and I want to." "But I love you," he said. "Well," I said, feeling like a heartless bitch, "I've told you all along not to get too involved with me as I did not want to get involved emotionally." "Is there someone else?" "No," I replied wondering if I should lie that there was. This was all feeling slightly strange to me as I had never had a man fall in love with me before and was far more used to ending relationships with women, or them ending relationships with me. "Well, you've picked a very bad time to do this, I'm about to be thrown out of my flat,and you're thinking of chucking me too. You could at least help see me through this rough patch I'm going through." I was feeling rather guilty but at the same time telling myself I had to extract myself from this relationship. "Please, at least come inside and discuss it," he pleaded. I could not refuse him. When we got inside, he started to caress me in such a way, that he knew always had a tremendously powerful effect on me. Somehow, my breasts felt more sensitive than usual, despite the silicone falsies in my bra. I lay back on the bed, as putty in his hands and slowly rubbed me where, if I had a clitoris, it would have been. This made me feel incredibly relaxed and after rubbing himself off against my body, with his jeans still on, we fell asleep. I woke up at 02:30 and told him I had to get home before it was light or the neighbours would see me return. He asked me to promise to see him again. I refused, but said that I would ring him. I drove home feeling very annoyed with myself that I had not managed to completely end the relationship. Emotional ties are a dangerous liability in my work. Loose ends must be tied. I got home, undressed, washed off my makeup and went to bed in my gorgeous soft silky satin pink nightie, remembering to take my pill. I lay in bed dozing for a while wondering what it would really be like to be a real woman, having a man physically. With that thought on my mind I drifted off to sleep. Later that Sunday, I had to pack my suitcase for my trip to the health farm and the start of my last two weeks, as a man, for the foreseeable future. After this, who would know what might befall me. I packed some casual, some sporty things, and a suit, just in case one was expected to dress for dinner and reflected how different my wardrobe might have been had I been going there as a woman. The health farm was a large country house situated in several acres with a long drive up to it from the gates. Near the house, were large areas of lush green lawn. Further out was some woodland, and some fields. A golf course was in evidence and behind the house was an enclosed swimming pool and tennis courts. I checked in and was shown to my room on the first floor overlooking the back of the house. I unpacked and looked through the various leaflets, outlining what was on offer and meal times. I determined to enjoy myself as much as possible, while I was there and enjoy as many of the facilities to their fullest extent, while at the same time losing weight and toning up. That evening I had a light meal and went to bed early. The next day, I went for an early morning swim before breakfast. played eighteen holes of golf, lunched, had a rest for an hour, worked out in the gym, and had a massage and sauna. The day after, my body told me to take things a bit easier. I was generally, getting to know people. I noticed that there was a considerable imbalance of the sexes with many middle aged and older women there. It was quite interesting observing the behaviour patterns of these women in order to gain some ideas, for although I had frequently gone out dressed, living in the role of a woman would be a completely different matter. It was quite sad really, for a lot of them were there because they felt they were on the verge of losing their husbands and hoped desperately that a week or two at a health farm might change things. There was however a younger group of women there which I got to know quite well and with whom over the next few days played tennis and generally enjoyed the amenities on offer. In fact, I got to know one of them, Maria, the wife of an extremely wealthy Argentinean businessman, considerably better than all the rest. He apparently was off on one of his trips round the world and had left her for a few days in England. He apparently, had lots of affairs, so she did not feel guilty about the occasional indulgence. We both knew it was just a holiday romance and would not last afterwards, but while we were together, we enjoyed eachother to the full. What with the diet and all the sporting activity over that week and the next I lost fourteen pounds. However, towards the end of my stay at the health farm, Maria commented that I seemed to have the 'budding breasts of a teenage girl'. This did not worry her at all, she had added, as she herself sometimes indulged in relationships with women and loved the feel of a woman's breasts next to her. I stopped swimming and kept myself covered for fear of other peoples' comments. I was, however, enjoying the increased responsiveness of the feelings and had noticed how much larger the dark area round the nipple grew when I was sexually aroused than before. When I arrived home, I started to pack up all my male clothes and personal possessions as these would have to go into storage. Some of my belongings I would need in the flat but I decided to only take bare necessities so that I could build up a much more feminine image. My bed, appropriately queen size, dinning room table and chairs an occasional table from the lounge and two of the chairs. The settee was not suitable as it was large and not flouncy enough for my taste. I would need to buy some more feminine bedding also and began to look forward to my new adventure. The phone rang to break my reverie; It was Chris. He had been ringing me all last week and there had been no reply. He asked me out and I refused. Where had I been? I lied that I had found someone else and was in love with him, hoping this would bring matters to a head. It did. He pleaded, cried and begged all to no avail and when finally, he turned nasty, I put the phone down on him, glad that he did not know my address. I started work typing my C.V. on my laptop computer. With a bit of factual information from my life, a lot of information from the file and a bit of artist's licence, I quickly put one together, that I thought read suitably well and would impress the temping agency. My computer and my HP laserjet printer had been a good investment, I would certainly be taking them with me, wherever I ended up. I could also use the modem for filing reports with HQ when necessary. Times had changed a lot since the days of dead letter boxes. Confidential work was not held on the hard disk though but on a credit card unit that fitted into the PCMCIA slot in the side of the machine. This held the encryption codes and communication software along with any confidential reports and was never kept anywhere near the computer except while in use. Because of my job, I had not accumulated too many personal possessions and worked out fairly quickly what I would need. I had decided to keep, one man's outfit handy as I would need something in the transition phase. This would consist of a sweatshirt, trousers, sock and shoes. It was the minimum I could get away with, and would not arouse too much suspicion if subsequently found in my flat. I would also need to wear something when laying the false trail with my neighbours. On the Monday morning, I rang the temping agency, explained the sort of job I was looking for, and arranged an appointment to go and see them at 2:00 that afternoon. This would give me plenty of time to get dressed and make my 'escape' without being noticed. I dressed in a smart office suit. It was a dark grey pinstripe jacket and skirt with a cerise silk blouse, black shoes and handbag, that I had bought from 'Next'. I took special care over my makeup, so it looked like a minimum but was in fact fairly thick. A small pair of earrings, one ring and a smart but functional watch. The weather looked as if it might turn nasty so I put on a blue-grey light raincoat and carried a small fold up umbrella, as I would not want my wig to get wet. I arrived in good time at the agency, presented my CV, was given an interview and a typing speed test, which seemed to be acceptable. They seemed to think there would be no great problem finding me temporary work, but wondered if I might be interested in something permanent. It was quite obvious to me that they had absolutely no idea that I was not quite what I appeared to be. I insisted that at the start I wanted temp jobs as I was not sure I would want to work every week. I said I would be ready for work the following Monday and it was agreed that I would phone on Friday to see if there was an assignment for Monday morning. Things were now beginning to shape up quite well, so I thought I ought to start looking for a flat. So I travelled to Belsize Park and went to an estate agents there, to see what might be available. I was looking for a one bedroom flat with lounge/dining room, kitchen and bathroom, not too expensive. Most of what was on offer seemed to be horrifically expensive but just about affordable, provided I found regular employment. I quite liked the area and it fitted well with both my cover story and my current requirements. I made appointments to see two flats, one that afternoon and one the following day. I drove by both flats to see what I thought of the localities, proximity to shops and the tube. The second looked more promising from the point of view that although further from the tube appeared to have a bit more potential for parking the car more easily. So I agreed to rent it for a minimum for a year and paid a month's rent in advance and a month's rent as security, also providing all the necessary references. I had decided by this time to keep the car but reregister it in my new name. As the flat was empty and unfurnished, the paperwork would be completed by Friday and I could have the keys for the weekend, which suited me perfectly. As I had arranged to let the house furnished, only my personal items needed to go into store, also I needed to prepare three itineraries of the things that would be staying, the things that would be going with me and the things that would be going into store. The week flew by, surprisingly almost without hitch. I had arrange for the removal van to come on Friday. This would be an awkward problem as how could I be a man at one end of the journey and a woman at the other? The problem was solved with a bit of thought. I had made a plan of the new flat and marked on it where the furniture had to go. The flat had two keys. I would greet the removal men and supervise the loading. Then some kind of emergency would crop up. I would give them the plans and the second key, with the instruction that if I had not managed to get there before they had finished they were to post it back through the letter box. A nice large tip would, I felt, ensure the bargain. I could then take the keys of my house to the letting agency. Drive to a quiet spot to apply some makeup, wig and jewellery to an otherwise androgynous outfit and appear at my new abode, as a woman. Surprisingly everything went according to plan and by late Friday afternoon, I was installed in my new flat and unpacked all my clothes. I could not believe it. I walked round and round it a thousand times. I looked in the cupboards in the bedroom and was greeted by a fabulous array of colour and not one man's suit in sight anywhere. I Looked in a set of drawers full of my undies and nighties. I looked down a the cupboard floor and there were my shoes, flatties, sling-backs, courts and heels. I looked in the mirrors and there was me, a woman looking back. I wondered if I would ever revert back to being a man. I rang the agency and was given the address for my job on Monday morning. On Saturday morning, I got up early, and went to the shops to buy some bedroom curtains as there were only nets fitted. The rail was there and looked in good shape. I went to Marks and Spencers and purchased some ready made curtains that surprisingly fitted exactly. I also bought a matching duvet cover. The kitchen had a space for a washing machine but there was not one fitted although all the pipework was in place; at least I had my ironing board and Iron! I thought I would buy a washing machine as a lady deserves some luxuries and I did not fancy trekking to the launderette regularly. I purchased a machine with a tumble dryer and paid by credit card. (I had arranged several years ago that one of my visa cards had an additional cardholder called 'Angela Collins' so I was able to use this without a problem.) They would deliver it next Saturday morning. I also did some shopping for food and followed by a relaxed Sunday walking in the park and getting to know the area. I also made sure my clothes were ironed and sorted out for Monday. Black skirt, one inch above the knee; red jacket with tapered waist, teal silk blouse, black 15 denier tights, black long line bra and corselette (to hold me in the right places), black shoes with a small heal and an assortment of jewellery (earrings, clip on, neck chain and pendant, bracelet watch and bracelet for other wrist and one ring. I tried on the full ensemble as I wanted to be sure to make the right impression. I thought I looked good and that most men would find me quite attractive. After checking the exact address of the office with the A-Z and deciding to go by tube as it was in the West End and would be impossible to park, I went to bed early that evening and set the alarm for early the next morning. When I got up the next morning I had a luxurious foam bath, plucked my face and applied my makeup as lightly as possible although ensuring an adequate cover. I excentuated my eyes to make them look larger without making them look tarty and applied a very light eyeshadow. A trace of blusher on my cheeks and a rather pretty shade of pink lipstick. I looked good and felt good, I just hoped my boss would think the same. I arrived early and introduced myself to him. Peter Lee, was quite what I thought most women would describe as dishy. About my age, and it was obvious he quite appreciated, what he saw also. He explained that his secretary was on holiday and that the general duties would be answering the phone, typing letters and a bit of filing, plus greeting clients and making coffee. It seemed straight forward enough, but then he asked if I took dictation. I replied that I did not do shorthand but wrote quite quickly in an abbreviated form that I used as an aide memoir and provided there was not too much of it I should be able to cope. He asked me into his office and he dictated a couple of letters, which I was able to get down quite easily. He had a certain incredibly sexy tone to his voice and it was only the thought that I was supposed to be a lesbian that kept me on the straight and narrow. Although I think if he had made a pass at me I might well have responded positively. I quickly got to understand that the business was in import/export over a wide range of products and was based entirely on his entrepreneurial skill. I also learned that he was happily married with two children. He saw several clients, all men and I enjoyed being appreciated by most of them. It was almost as if I could read their minds, although I knew the joke was on them. I wondered if after a few weeks or months of exposure to this sort of behaviour I would develop an attitude towards it in the same way as many feminists seem to have, that a man looking at them is not a gesture of appreciation but of a pervert lusting after a sex-object. On Wednesday evening I went along to the meeting of the 'Lesbian Revenge'. I went home first and changed into something a bit more appropriate. Jeans, checked shirt and waistcoat and toned down the makeup and tied back my hair, a bit like something out of 'Prisoner Cell Block H'. I walked into the barn like hall where the meeting was to be held and was almost universally ignored. I thought 'What a friendly bunch of people!'. So I went to the nearest group and said 'Hello, I'm Angela, I don't know anyone here, can I join you?" They all introduced themselves and I sat down. They asked me various questions about myself, how long I'd been on the scene, whether I was 'out' as a Lesbian, married and/ or had children. They explained that this was a social evening but there might be a group discussion later on. I got on quite well with them and I realised I was accepted by them, as a woman, when the talk turned to which was the best vibrator on the market. The general view seemed to be that it none of the battery driven types but was the mains driven Hitachi. Surprising what you can learn by becoming a lesbian, I thought. The discussion was about general feminist topics and no doubt covered all the ground they had all covered many times before. There was the usual theme that 'All men are rapist oppressors' and one unfortunate woman told how she had been raped by her father over a period of several years. Of course, based on this experience all men were evil, but no doubt it helped to re-enforce the group prejudice. There was no sign of any new big event being planned but several former 'successes' were harked back upon and discussed with great feelings of satisfaction. Clearly, whatever was being planned, if anything, must be being planned by an inner core. I would need to identify the leaders and attempt subtly to infiltrate it. Not wishing to push my luck I left at about midnight, when the meeting started to break up, mindful of the fact that I had to be up early in the morning. After a few days I found I actually enjoyed the job, it was not too demanding and by the end of the week was sorry when it ended. Peter asked me for my phone number so he could contact me again directly. Although, I knew I should not have given it to him as appointments should be made through the agency, I did anyway, in the hope that perhaps his secretary would leave and I might be offered a permanent job. I had noticed during the week that it was rather tedious trying to hide my beard growth under make-up and keeping up with the plucking. It had slowed down considerably since taking the pills but I felt I needed a longer term solution. On Friday, I started ringing around various beauticians to see if I could get some electrolysis arranged. I arranged a regular appointment for saturday mornings for two hours but was told not to shave or pluck on the Friday morning. When I went there on the Saturday, the lady inspected my face and was not happy that I had been plucking as apparently this caused the hairs to grow back crooked. She used the Diathermy method and it was very painful. Basically a needle is inserted into the skin next to the hair to be removed and an electrical shock induced. This burns out the root of the hair and hopefully it does not grow again. It would seem that I would need regular treatment for up to a year, in order for it to be effective. My face was very red afterwards and I was advised not to wear make-up for twenty four hours. So for future sessions we arranged what areas would be worked on in advance and I worked the make-up around those areas and blended it in. The treatment was so painful I began to dread Saturday mornings but was determined to continue with it. My next job was in a much larger office and was general filing and typing. The job was fairly boring but I got on reasonably well with the other girls and went for a walk round the local market with two of them on the Thursday. It was the first time I had ever been to a market as a woman, and it was fun to actually be able to closely inspect what was on offer rather than glance furtively out of the corner of my eye. It was also nice to get the opinion of another woman about various items. It was interesting to note my breasts were now of sufficient size to do away with any padding in my bra, at all. When, I stood naked in front of a mirror and tucked my penis between my legs it was virtually impossible to tell that I was anything other than the woman I appeared to be. I had even developed a method of tucking my male part inside me so that when held in place by my corselette it would be almost impossible to tell there was anything there even if touched. I was convinced that my male parts had started to shrink also, and quite frankly, I was not sorry about it. That job lasted for three weeks and ended with the return from sick leave and holiday of the woman whose job it had been. I went to each of the meetings of 'Lesbian Revenge' and was beginning to be accepted by quite a group of them. I tried, gradually, to get to know the leaders but was careful not to appear to pushy. I also started to visit other Lesbian clubs in order to get a wider background knowledge. By this time I was really into my role and was finding it very difficult to even consider myself to be a man anymore. I was also beginning to see the world from a much more female perspective. It was one thing to just dress at weekends and go out, totally different to live one's life in the role. I soon discovered I was a second class citizen if I allowed myself to be forced into that role. I played the game when I had to, and used my feminine charm, when useful and none of my lesbian friends were around. It was actually quite an advantage to be able to get a man on your side before a meeting. However, it was much more difficult to be heard at a meeting and not dismissed as a mere silly woman. There was a great lesbian 'Blind Date' every week at a small club in Hammersmith and the women there were all very friendly. Then on a Saturday evening once a month there was a lesbian singles evening at a pub near Baker Street. I met a really fun crowd and when it closed at about midnight we all went on together to a night club off Mile End Road. The only unfortunate thing about these evenings is that young women generally seem to smoke a lot and lesbians particularly. The end result of this is that all the clothes reek of cigarette smoke and practically need sterilising afterwards or stink for weeks. Over the following weeks, I began to develop a lesbian lifestyle and even got to see some of my friends over the weekend, even baby sitting for some. As many were single mothers, some of whom had very poorly paid evening jobs. Not small babies, however, as I knew nothing about nappies. Of course it was quite difficult from a sexual point of view as although I fancied some of the women, I could not afford to let things go beyond a certain point as discovery would have put my mission in jeopardy. I was, by this time, a regular attender of the 'Lesbian revenge' and my politics and rabid hatred of men seemed to be acceptable to the group. Finally, I got invited by Charlotte to join the group on a 'Gay Pride' march. We would all wear the official tee shirt and it's presentation to me was symbolic of me being accepted into the group. Charlotte and I were becoming quite good friends and I would have enjoyed a relationship with her. In fact, not having had any kind of sexual contact with anyone for several months was making me feel quite randy. I think had I been willing so would she, but we maintained the status quo, until one evening after about three months I was invited to a special meeting that was to be held on a Sunday afternoon in Hyde Park with only a small group of specially invited members. It was at that meeting I got my first inkling of what was being planned or in fact what was already in operation. One of the people involved worked in an oral contraceptive factory but beyond that, I had no idea what the plan itself was. Several weeks later, I saw a program on television about the falling fertility of male sperm and the possibility of it being caused by dioxins or the increased use of oral contraceptives passing through women, out into the water supply, and being drunk when the water was re-cycled further downstream. They had also found some fish at the outfall of sewage works had actually 'changed sex'. I wondered if there was any connection between this and the operation that the 'Revenge' were involved in. So I filed a report just in case, pointing out that it was only a very remote possibility, but just in case anything happened to me. About this time I was having problems with my teeth and made an appointment to see a dentist. During my visit to the dentist, it was decided that I should have all my wisdom teeth removed. So I booked into hospital, as a private patient. Of course, it was not possible to keep my past a total secret as there were various formalities to be gone through regarding any medication I was on, blood tests and physical check ups. Everyone was very understanding in this hospital as it transpired it was one of the centres in London for gender reassignment surgery. The evening before I went for surgery, Charlotte came to see me and brought me some lovely flowers. Little did I realise that a chance meeting in the corridor with one of the Nurses, Carol, a former lover of hers, was to seal my fate. It was only a considerable time later that I learned the truth about what had really happened. Apparently, Charlotte had asked her where I was and Carol recognising her made some comment about it being unusual for Charlotte to be interested in a man and was she still a lesbian. Charlotte did not know what she was talking about and asked her what she meant, whereupon she explained that I was a transvestite and not a woman at all. Charlotte was quite annoyed at the fact that I had duped her so successfully and that a mere man had been able to infiltrate 'The movement'. Carol had made a chance remark that if I got mixed up with the patient in the next room, who was having a sex-change operation, I might lose a lot more than that for which I had bargained. Thus the two of them hatched a machiavellian plot, we were both going down for surgery at the same time, that evening and would be in the lift together, all it needed was for the wrist identity tags to be switched and I would get a sex-change and she would have her wisdom teeth removed. There was one problem, blood type. Carol said that if either of us needed plasma during the surgery if the wrong type was used, it could have serious consequences. So Carol went to have a look at the other patient's chart and would return to my room while Charlotte was still there to say if the plan was a possible or not. Charlotte was the epitome of friendliness to me that evening and we chatted about many things, including the usual topic about how we disliked men. During this time Carol came in checked my chart and took my temperature and pulse rate. She gave Charlotte a nod which I thought had more significance than just a casual acquaintance. Later, Charlotte left and I was given my pre-med after signing various papers. That was the last I remember, till I came around the next day, while being asked to spit something out of my mouth. I later discovered this was an airway. I felt numb all over and very drowsy and promptly went back to sleep again. When I awoke several hours later, I felt some considerable pain and discomfort in my pelvic region and yet there was no pain in my mouth at all. I rang the bell and a nurse eventually came. I told her my feelings and she checked the charts, and said that it was quite normal and not to make such a fuss. I told her that I thought my wisdom teeth were in my mouth and that's where I felt the pain should be. She said that I should not be so silly and what did I expect after a sex-change operation. I was fairly shocked at this and said that I had come in to have teeth removed not a sex change. She asked if my name was Mary Thomas, which I denied. She went off to get someone else, as she thought I must have gone mad. It was not long before the mistake was realised as Mary, was furious next door when she realised she had not had her operation, the operation she had been waiting for six year's under the NHS. The hospital was of the newly formed trusts and was keen not to have a bad scandal on it's hands. I, of course, played to the gallery about how upset I was, my life devastated and everything else I could think of, but in the meantime was secretly very happy about the whole thing. It had taken the responsibility away from me and saved me considerable agonizing and explaining in the bargain. Everyone was most apologetic and the hospital paid a considerable amount of compensation. I had my wisdom teeth removed a few months later. The operation itself, it was explained to me, had apparently been of the 'penile inversion type' wherby my testes had been removed and most of the inside of the penis as well. A hole had been created and the skin left had been used to line my new vagina. The urethra had been replaced in a more suitable position and part of the head of the penis had been used to create a clitoris. The whole thing had then been padded internally with a large wad of bandages. A catheter had been applied to enable me to urinate. When I finally got to see it. I was quite shocked. It was all black and blue and badly swollen. The next few days were very painful as I had my new vagina dilated by the nurses in order to prevent it closing up. This was done by inserting a lubricated glass dildo into me and moving it both in and out and from side to side. I was often scolded by the nurses for being so troublesome, when the pain could be nowhere near that of childbirth. After a few times, I was told to do it to myself and that I would need to do it for up to twenty minutes a day for several months or until I had a man to do it to me. The healing process seemed to be going quite well and soon they removed the catheter and I was allowed to go and sit on the toilet. It was a great relief that the stream was directed downwards, in the correct direction. I had read that sometimes transsexuals could not pee straight after the operation with the stream being directed outwards or even, in the worst cases, upwards. Charlotte came to see me often. I told her that somehow there had been a mix up and I had a hysterectomy. She appeared to believe me and sympathised. I left the hospital two weeks later and I knew then that there could never be any going back to living as a man. I started wondering what it would be like to have sex with a man but also knew that this would not be possible while I was still a member of the 'Lesbian Revenge'. However, it would enable me to find a lesbian girlfriend as there would no longer be any problems on that score. Gradually, the swelling all went down and when I inspected myself in front of a full length mirror it was now impossible to tell I was anything but a natural woman. I took another couple of weeks off work and then carried on working as a temp, and strangely enough began to feel a lot more comfortable in my female role. There was now no problem that I might be accidentally discovered as a man masquerading as a woman as I was now physically a complete woman. I was able to take up aerobics and swimming, which I had not been able to do for some time on a account of the bulge my former male parts used to produce. In fact, I no longer thought of myself as having been a man at all, and gradually male memories started to fade or to become subtly altered to take a more feminine view. It was also quite curious that I actually started to believe some of the feminist politics. I began to appreciate that women do indeed have a second class citizen status. For instance, it was much harder to get my view across in meetings. The surprising thing was, though, that it was not just the men that were discriminatory but very often, the other women who were present. However, I also realised that the clever woman could often manipulate men by subtle guile rather than aggressive behaviour. As I was not 'out' as a lesbian at work, I was able to flirt with the men and wear attractive clothes and makeup for work. In fact, I was asked quite often by some of the other girls for advice. Out of work, I was careful to tone down the makeup and dress down as I did not want to be accused of being a 'lipstick lesbian' by my 'Revenge' friends. On that front I was now quite well in with them. My friendship with Charlotte had deepened and she seemed to find me attractive. However, as we always met up in groups it seemed unlikely that the relationship would develop further. Until one evening we were discussing a new film that had just come out and agreed to go and see it together the next evening. The film was very romantic. It was about a married woman who was having a tough time with her rotten husband who treated her badly. She met, and fell for another woman and had her first lesbian experience. Then left her husband and they moved in together. We both enjoyed the film and were both attracted to