My Big Sister's Wedding free porn video

My Big Sister's Wedding. By Tanya H. My Big Sister's wedding got off to a good start; by nine pm on the Friday night I'd already lost my virginity to the groom's mum. With her husband not due to come down until Saturday morning, she blatantly flirted with me, ordered me up to her bedroom and followed me there a few minutes later. "Has anybody ever done that for you, Stirling?" she asked, the words a little clotted, in the electric moments after she made me cum in her mouth. I was flat on my back on the wide bed, staring at the ceiling and trying to catch my breath. It was the first opportunity I'd had to look away, for she'd insisted I watched while she enthusiastically sucked, licked, stroked and nibbled me to orgasm. In truth Anita wasn't a bad looking woman, but she was nearly fifty and I was only seventeen. In her day she'd probably been a head turner, busty, curved, blonde and sociable, but now she was managing her hair colour with dye, her diet was overwhelming her exercise regime and she wore too much make up for my tastes. She dressed well though, more expensive labels than we ever saw in our house; her pink lingerie was exquisite - especially to a boy like me - even if she tended to bulge around the edge of her panties, bra and suspender belt. Hers were the first legs, except my own, I'd ever touched through sheer stockings. "It was amazing, Mrs Hall," I managed to whisper. That made her laugh, she had a nice laugh and laughing took years off her. "I've just given you your first blow job, let you cum in my mouth, and you call me Mrs Hall. Priceless!" Heat rose in my cheeks. "Sorry, Anita." "Oh you silly, beautiful boy," she said through her giggles. "I knew you'd brighten my evening." She lifted herself from between my legs, knelt and deftly unfastened her bra to let her very big breasts sag free. "Now you need to repay the favour." She threw her bra on the floor and wriggled her panties down. Between her legs she was perfectly hairless, her lips were surprisingly long, glistening and one had a ring through it. I'd never seen a woman so naked before and sight of her so bare and aroused stirred my cock again. Boy was she heavy! She bounced up and down on me with gleeful squeaks and tight sucking noises from between her legs. Being inside her was like nothing I'd ever experienced, though I only had my right hand for comparison - she was so hot, so wet, and so velvet smooth! She'd obviously thought it through about giving me that blow job first or I might have cum too quickly. As it was I thought she might crack my pelvis and I was grateful when she bounced clean off me, rolled onto her hands and knees and presented her wide arse to my face. That almost finished the encounter. If her boobs were sagging, her dimpled bum was much worse and between her pale skin her pussy looked bright red. She looked beguilingly over her shoulder at me, rocked her hips in what might once have been a seductive motion and told me to get on with it. Having been brought up to do what my elders said, unless they were teachers or the police, and having learnt a survival strategy early in life that it was best just to do what people expected, rather than what I wanted, I took a deep breath, took myself in hand and guided my twitching cock back into her welcoming body. Anita knew exactly what she wanted and told me directly what do - I had to fuck her harder, the first time I'd heard an adult who wasn't my dad or mum use that word, put my hands on her soft hips to I could pull her back onto me, reach around her leg to find her clitoris, which was fully engorged, and when I got everything right she threw her head back, shouted yes yes yes yes yes (each one louder and shriller than the first). She clamped onto me so hard I thought I might be injured, before she loosing a deep, wounded groan that grew like a ship's siren. She trembled and spasmed, gave a last whoop before collapsing down onto the bed so quickly she fell from my cock leaving me to shoot a few strings of cum across her trembling arse. "Oh, you naughty, naughty boy," she murmured in a little voice, in between sucking down deep breaths. She was the naughty one, not me - her being married! I kept that to myself though and wondered what the proper thing to do was regarding my cum on her back, spoiling the symmetry of a tribal tattoo across the small of her back. "I'd better get myself into the shower," she sighed. "Clean myself up, don't want Mr Hall smelling your spunk on me do I?" She gave a laugh and I glanced fearfully over my shoulder, as though he might be unlocking the door behind us. He had quite a reputation; men don't grow in the scrap metal trade being shy and retiring. Little did I know that by this time tomorrow night Mr Hall would have been trying his luck with me as well, but I'm getting ahead of myself. Still chuckling to herself, Anita heaved herself from the bed and lurched, still on her heels, towards the en-suite. It was probably time for me to head off, before somebody missed me downstairs - or even worse, missed both of us and then did the maths. I put my head around the en-suite door, smiled and said goodbye. Having being brought up to be polite to my elders, still not teachers or police, I said thank you as well. She was peeling off her stockings, her allure was almost gone, but she still smiled contentedly. "You're a good one, Stirling. Like your sister, she'll make a lovely wife for our Karl. That was a good fuck, but no telling mind, let it be out little secret. Okay?" I nodded. "Promise?" "I promise." "Good lad. See you in the morning." It took a moment to shimmy back into my pants and jeans, not having got as far as removing my t shirt and socks. Picking up Anita's discarded dress I ran my fingers wistfully over the smooth fabric. It wasn't the right style for the fuller figured woman, but a couple sizes down that dress might have suited me. With a little sigh I let the dress drop back onto the floor and turned to the big, ornate mirror by the wardrobe - to see if I looked more grown up having had my virginity plucked. As the water began to flow for Mrs Hall's shower I ran fingers through my floppy, dark hair and tried a wolfish grin at my new, grown- up man reflection. Imagine how startled I was to see a girl looking back at me from the mirror. To be fair, she looked startled too, as though she hadn't been expecting to see me. Which was a weird thing to think, as I was real and she was supposed to be a reflection, but that's what I thought at the moment - I remember it distinctly. I had a look over my shoulder, to see if there was a dark haired girl behind me, that would have been a shock, but I had the room to myself. Mrs Hall was singing lustily in the shower. As I turned back to the unlikely girl I caught her as she turned back too, like she was mirroring what I was doing, only as she turned her long, chestnut hair lifted away from her in a beautiful fan. She did look like me, even to raising one eyebrow in a questioning way, to the set of her mouth and wide brown eyes (Mrs Hall had liked all of those things). She was unmistakably a girl though; about seventeen, willowy, with full round breasts showing through her t shirt and curves outlined by the snug fit of her jeans. Even her trainers were the same style as mine, though her feet looked a little smaller. "That is just too weird," I muttered to myself. How many bottles of lager had I drunk (at Mrs Hall's insistence)? Before I left I stuck out my tongue at the mirror, but the girl who looked like me was rude right back. I had a room to myself somewhere in the hotel; next to Mum and Dad's and not far from the suite where Big Sis and her bridesmaids would be getting hair, nails and make up sorted before getting into their frocks. At that moment I wasn't quite sure how to find my way back there. The hotel was big, old rambling place - like an old stately home - and there were loads of gardens and paths and ponds all around I'd quite liked to have explored had Mrs Hall not decided to bed me. Following the signs for Reception I could hear the party noise from the bar getting louder the closer I got. Friends and relations from all over the country had turned up for Dakota's wedding and the drink fuelled reunions were well under way. Just as I was getting my bearings and deciding which way to my bed, Dad appeared from the toilets zipping his trousers. "Now then, son!" he boomed, striding over to shake my hand like he hadn't seen me for weeks. Dad has a kind of over the top way of dealing with everyone, usually very jovial, but I had seen him completely lose his rag a few times. Never with me, thankfully. He was a shortish man, powerfully built, but looking like he was smuggling a wok under his shirt - its buttons were straining. Completely bald, he had a full beard and dark eyes. While I had inherited his dark hair, I'd got mum's slender figure and height, which meant that at seventeen I was already taller than him. His grip was very firm, his cheeks glowed with ale. "Where are you sneaking off to then?" he said reaching up and dropping an arm around my shoulders. I burped and tasted German lager. "Not feeling so good, Dad. I'm off to get my head down." "The night is yet young, my son, the night is yet young." He started steering back towards the bar. "I was looking forward to another pint with you, matey. Uncle Jerry from Portsmouth has just rocked up, you remember him and his Thai bride? Come and say hello. Your mother's all over him, poor sod." My belly gurgled noticeably. I winced with a sudden cramp. "I'll catch up with him the morning, okay. Bit queasy." He pulled back a bit and stared at me, blinking with concentration. He might have looked like a balding, over friendly joker, but he'd built up a profitable road haulage business from nothing but a bit of cash and some connections when he'd left the army twenty five years ago and was nobody's fool. "No poofery tonight, son," he warned gently. Dad had very firm ideas on manliness and masculinity. "Tonight, the night before a family wedding - your own sister, is the night for beer and celebration. Tomorrow the women have their time, god bless "em, before we get pissed again. That's the way it has always been, always will be and you need to be there. Don't let me down now." We were practically in the bar by this point, when a great bubble of wind rose up from my churning belly and came out with a rolling belch I could do nothing to control. "Good drills, son," said Da, with approval. Farting and burping, in his opinion, were proper means of masculine expression. He would see that burp as my acquiescence in his beer/celebration plan. I halted, hand over my mouth, and considered bolting for the toilet, sure I was going to puke. My guts felt like I'd been on week-old prawn vindaloo. Maybe the sickly colour that must have gone with the clammy feel to my face must have penetrated the beer fumes circling his consciousness, for he looked at me and frowned. "Alright, lad?" he asked. Then his eyes narrowed. "Is that lipstick on your shirt? My god, you randy little sod, it is, isn't it? Lipstick!" A great grin split his beard, he clapped me heavily on one shoulder. "Good lad. And there was me worrying you might be a whoopsie." He guffawed. "Who's the lucky lady then, son? No wait, don't tell me. Is it... That waitress? The pretty redhead. It was, wasn't it? Come on inside, I'll buy you a pint to celebrate and then you can tell me all about it." "Dad!" "I know, I know. A gentleman tells no tales, but we're blood. No secrets between us, eh?" I rubbed furiously at the collar, what if mum came out! She had the kind of brain Sherlock Holmes would have envied and she'd work out in a flash that they only woman to have been wearing that particular shade of pink was none other than the insatiable Mrs Hall - the almost in law! Her and Mum had been mates for years. "You, my son, deserve a pint for this - no, whiskey. My Dad bought me a wee dram of the good stuff when I popped my cherry. What a girl - Trisha Simpson; fat as butter she was, but the way she could shimmy her hips. Happy days. Come on, lad." So there I was, with my guts churning, Dad's arm around my shoulder and the heat of his delighted grin almost blistering my cheek. To be fair, to have done something Dad massively approved of did feel good, I just didn't want him broadcasting what had happened to everybody in the bar. Especially if the glowing Mrs Hall had returned. Happily she had not yet made a reappearance and Dad was more discreet than that. With a small glass containing a couple of fingers of something Scottish I was steered to a corner where the males of the wedding were clustered. I knew most of them, but the principal guys were Karl, the groom, and Kyle, the best man. I managed to avoid mentioning to Karl that his Mum was currently digesting my semen. Kyle and I had been at school together and I'd long since written him off as strutting cock who fancied himself as a proper Casanova. He had the dark, good looks to carry it off, but interestingly his girlfriend, golden haired Melanie from the perfume counter in a large, well known department store, was on her own some distance away. She seemed to be passing the time by staring into a glass of sparkling wine with a face like she was sitting in a bag of sick. "What's up with her?" I asked. Kyle grunted, "Stuck up cow. She thinks I was trying on with some chick from retail at work, won't stop bending my ear about it. She'll come round later, when she realises what she's missing out on." He guffawed heartily and I pretended to laugh along. I was good at pretending stuff like that. Most of the time I play-acted being Dad's lad, talked the talk about football, women and football. It was a little more difficult this evening, feeling like marsh gas was fermenting in my guts and ants were crawling over my skin. After about thirty minutes, when I had managed to sip most of the awful whiskey, a particularly violent spasm went through my belly and I winced. "Okay, son?" said Dad, noticing me for the first time for a while. I shook my head. "I'm feeling pretty shit, Dad. Going to have a little lay down. Don't want to be looking bad on Dakota's big day." I must have looked like I felt, for Dad looked me over a moment, "Need anything, son?'He wasn't good at providing comfort, his eyes were a little frightened now. That was Mum's job. "See you at breakfast." "Alright, mate." It was an honourable way for him to disengage from the threat of compassionate parenting. "Have a good kip. If you need anything in the night, you know where we are. Good drills though, with that waitress. Hope she was good." With another big slap on my shoulder, he shouted a good night and turned back into the beer. Feeling like I was going to be hunched over the toilet in a few minutes I spun around and almost walked into a woman just leaving a Staff Only door in the lobby. She wore a dark blue skirt suit, her hair was pinned into a very neat bun and while she was probably the same age as Mrs Hall she looked a lot tidier and much more attractive. The ID badge on her lanyard said Hazel and that she was the hotel manager. While we both apologised, and tried to move out of each other's way, a concerned look grew on her face. "You don't look so good," she said. "Just need a lay down," I replied, already heading for the stairs. The concern twisted into a frown. "You're not in Room 13, are you?" "27." "Oh! Must be me, been a long day." She pursed her lips. "Well, if you need anything during the night, ring for reception." I waved an acknowledgement and hurried off to the comfort and solitude of the en-suite in my room. It took me a moment to get my key into the door, I kept burping, had a few farts and my guts felt like they were being tied in knots. A bolt of discomfort shot through my pelvis and I moaned aloud. At last I stumbled inside, pushed down my trousers and collapsed onto the loo. Another long fart, but nothing worse. The nausea subsided a bit while I sat quietly, eyes closed, head back. After a few minutes, maybe more, I stood and pulled up my trousers. They were tight over the hips, but I preferred close fitting jeans and anyway I was too tired to worry about how I might have got them tangled. I hadn't thought I'd drunk that much, but my head felt like it was spinning when I shambled, yawning, from the bedroom. Dad liked a pint and therefore assumed I would too. As for the whiskey, foul Scottish potion, I'd be avoiding that in the future. At least Dad's assumption that I'd had some glorious quickie with a waitress would keep him off my back on that subject. It wasn't that I didn't like girls, far from it. In fact I was generally happier with female company, just that I had to play a game to keep Dad happy: football, boxing, rugby, cars, pubs - I did them all. What I did that he didn't - books, art, natural history and the outdoors - went towards his sneaking suspicion that I was edging towards some kind of dangerous homosexuality. A temptation just to flop on the bed and close my eyes came over me. Sometimes Dad wished I was a little less organised, be like a proper lad, but I liked tidy, organised and it was unthinkable that I could go to bed without undressing and brushing my teeth. There was another struggle to get my jeans down before I stripped off my t shirt and shivered a little - the room was cool and my nipples were hard. Only when I shoved my thumbs in my boxer shorts" waist band did I realise I wasn't wearing any. Instead I found a pair of pretty, purple lace panties. My brow furrowed as I tried to get through the wooziness to deal with this development. I might have been experimenting with some of Mum's clothes, when I was absolutely 100% sure I wasn't likely to be caught, but to be wandering about with some woman's knickers on here was unthinkable. Maybe I'd picked up Mrs Hall's by accident? I stripped them away hurriedly, in case somebody somebody should walk in. They looked a bit small for her ponderous bum, and I couldn't imagine why I should have made such a massive mistake. If she found mine in her room she'd think I'd pinched hers on purpose, as a trophy or something. I shivered again at the thought. For a moment a fantasy of sneaking into her room with some excuse or other tripped through my thoughts, but it really was too cold to be standing naked - my nipples were very stiff. Instead I dropped the panties into the bin in the en-suite and buried them with some tissue and the packaging from all the complimentary toiletries in there. Then I wondered if I should smuggle them home, for they'd fitted better than Mum's; with her being wider across the hips than me. Sometimes I looked at all the elegant clothes, pretty underwear and feminine shoes that Mum had amassed and wished I could be a girl too - so I could wear what I wanted and not feel like a thief or a dirty guilty pervert; that I'could feel comfortable with satin and nylon next to my skin. If I was a girl Dad wouldn't mind that I liked to paint or draw, he wouldn't mind the books and he'd stop telling me how amazing it would be if I was in the Army, where I could be a proper man and learn all about myself and do sport, travel the world and shag exotic women. He never bothered Dakota with stuff like that. He was interested in her, a doting father in many respects, but not intrusive the way he was with me. Dakota could spend her life sitting on top of a mountain writing poetry about clouds for all Dad cared. Time was really running out to try and decide what I wanted to do when I left school - it certainly wouldn't be the Army, but what was there to inspire me? Maybe be a teacher or something. Dad would hate that. Maybe I'd just go to college and work it out from there. After glugging down a load of water I crawled into bed. Normally I like to got to sleep on my side, but the mattress must have been too old and sagging for I couldn't get comfortable. It felt way too hard and made my pelvis stick up, so I rolled onto my back and soon drifted off. Before waking at some dark hour in a state of such sexual arousal I had a hand around my cock before I was really awake. Did it feel good! Stiff and hard and hot, so excited it even felt bigger than usual. My nipples were still hard as well, pointing away from my chest like little pegs and as much as one hand was busy with the over excited cock, the other was gently circling and rolling my nipples in turn. Had they ever been so sensitive? I'd never really been bothered to find out, but I'd clearly been missing something. A gasp passed my lips as I got serious with my masturbation - who'd have thought after a blow job and dirty fuck with Mrs Hall I could be so needy for another orgasm. Perhaps entry into her mysteries had closed a switch in my head. As I lay there I wished Mrs Hall was with me again, even the thought of her bouncing massively on top again was an exciting one. It wasn't very long before I was cumming again, this time streaking my own skin and I lay there for a few moments trying to get my breathing under control, a little smile on my face - the best wank ever! Shuffling into the bathroom to mop up I still felt a little unsteady on my feet - my legs felt wrong; like they were too far apart or something. And even though my tingling nipples had softened a little, there was a flabbyness around them I didn't recognise. All the sports I appeased Dad with kept me lean and trim. My reflection in the bathroom mirror woke me up: made me stare, mouth open. Even with my shortish hair, the sleepy cock and balls swinging at the top of my thighs, there was a definite female curve to my waist and hips. Frowning didn't help. And my skin was so smooth when I ran my hands over those wider hips. Where was the hair on my legs? Being dark haired I'd got used to body hair from my early teens, but my legs looked as pink and depilated as a... As a girls'. Was that why my chest felt different? Rounder? Though I could still feel the lines of my pectorals underneath the alien softness. When I turned to examine my profile there was a real suggestion of breast buds; like when Dakota had started growing hers. She'd been so proud of them, using the evidence of her journey into puberty as another reason why she was better than me. Well, I wasn't turning into a girl because the whole idea was bollocks. Therefore I was having a weird dream promoted by the beer and foul whisky, the lovely sex with Anita Hall and those absent daydreams about furtive crossdressing. The best thing to do was go back to sleep and find a easier dream. Dad woke me. Or him phoning did. It was all I could do to open my eyes, never mind reach with very heavy arms for the cheeping smart phone by the bed. So I squeezed my eyes shut and waited until it stopped ringing. Seconds later it pinged to tell me I'd been messaged. Was I missing something? I propped myself on one elbow, scooped dark hair from my face and reached for the phone to see what he wanted. As a silky mass slithered across my shoulders I froze and had a comedy WTF moment. Hair! Where did that come from? There was loads of it too; all across my shoulders and the pillow, like somebody had tipped a bag of brunette wigs over me. It was soft and heavy and hurt when I gave some an experimental tug. I couldn't have got out of bed faster if I'd found a live snake in it with me. I moved so fast I made myself a little dizzy and when I stopped moving bits of my body wouldn't keep still, for a couple of seconds at least. It had to be a dream, because there was no whey in reality that there could be tiny boobs on my chest. That bloody hair got in the way when I bend for a closer look, I tried to push it behind my ears but it was thick and curled and had a mischievous mind of its own. How could I have tiny, girl breasts? Was I dreaming? I needed to stop and wake up and put this whole thing behind me. It was Big Sister's wedding today, I was an usher - an important job. Thankfully my cock was still there, balls too, though they looked a little sad and shrivelled from all of yesterday's activity and from the lack of my usual thick, pubic hair. Where had all that gone? Maybe it had all wriggled its way to my head while I'd slept and been transformed into the wavy mess that kept getting in the way. The phone started cheeping again. Dad! He'd be mad if I didn't pick it up. My fingers were slimmer, they looked different around the phone - my nails were a little longer and clicked on the screen when I stabbed at it to accept the call. "Hey up, girl," said Dad cheerfully. He was so loud I could hear him through the wall as well as the speaker. "Wakey wakey, you need to get some breakfast down your neck - big day. Five minutes, love, and we're going down." He'd hung up before I could get a word out. Girl! Love! Was this all some massive wind up? Some kind of piss-take to give me hair extensions and wider hips and smooth skin and pointed almost-tits? It was bad taste, that's what it was. After a minute or two with my head in my hands and shut off from the world by a curtain of hair I realised I needed a piss. Walking felt a little odd with my rounded hips, my bum was fuller and softer and those micro boobs twitched with every step, but at least I could stand with my feet apart and let a long stream of processed lager splash into the loo from my cock. Afterwards I stood there with it in my hand trying to detect any sign of it changing too. By the time somebody knocked on my door it was still dangling. Dad's five minutes had gone quickly and I wasn't ready for breakfast. Not that I really wanted anything and I felt a bit sick at the thought of anybody seeing me like this. More knocking. I heard Mum calling. Shit shit shit. I couldn't face her, but I couldn't keep her out either - she'd be so mad, Dad too - they always had to be obeyed first time. I wrapped a towel around my hips. Then I lifted it, to cover my chest as well, scooped my unruly hair over a shoulder and peeped around the door. "Come on, darling," Mum said, caught in the act of knocking again. "Aint you dressed yet. Jeez, come on." Before I could protest she had barged me and the door out of the way and swept into the room. My mum's a tall, elegant woman with strong arms and a stubborn streak that had long since got the better of Dad; I couldn't have held the door against her, even if I'd put the chain across! "We aint got time for you playing princess this morning, come on come on," she muttered with her back to me, throwing drawers open while I retreated around the other side of the bed. A pair of cream, lace edged panties were thrown at me followed by a matching bra with impressive cups, a long dark red pullover and a pair of jeans she found on the floor. "Mum?" I managed to speak, but my voice felt like a squeak. She paused and looked at me, a frown creasing her face like she was seeing me properly for the first time. Here it comes, I thought, she's just noticed what's happened to her son. "Nervous?" she asked. I sighed with frustration. How was I supposed to get any help with this if nobody could really see me. "Mum..." I took a deep breath, avoided her eyes and spoke to the floor, trying to ignore how tight and high my voice was. "I'm turning into a woman." "Darling, that's what happens; can't be a kid all your life. Don't know why it's such a shock. Shoes," she said, pointing to a pair of flat heeled, toe-post sandals I'd never seen before, but which were right where I'd left my trainers the night before. "Two minutes!" she added and stormed out slamming the door behind her. Mum thought I was a girl too. Even though I had a cock! And where had the bra and panties and girl's stuff come from? Two minutes she'd said. Dad would be timing me, he was keen on stuff like that. What else could I do but step into those knickers and pull them up over my bum. They didn't look right with my cock and balls bulging at the front. I wasn't going to wear that bra though! (Especially as those little points on my chest were never going to fill its cups - it was a 34D for God's sake!) Another dream? I'd often dreamt about going out dressed in some of Dakota's clothes. I'd be excruciatingly embarrassed as people saw my boy body barely concealed by women's things, sometimes I'd dream I was actually female - but nothing as vivid as this. But it was pretty amazing. After all, my boobs were only really potential breasts, but they were there. They bounced tightly when I moved and I kind of liked that they did. And having this female figure would make Mum's skirts fit me better... Wow! Dream come true moment - I was turning into a girl! Better than that, Mum and Dad both thought it was perfectly natural that they had another daughter. I wriggled into the jeans, size 12, and while they fitted me perfectly over my hips and bum that cock bulge was much too prominent. Maybe it would vanish a bit later on. Maybe I'd be growing a vagina and a womb and ovaries inside - the thought raised excited goosebumps over my skin. It couldn't be happening though, such things were impossible. Whenever I'd idly daydreamed about some kind of gender reassignment I'd known that Mum and Dad would never have accepted that a man could be want to be a woman - I'd heard their incredulous, disgusted dismissal of such stories they'd come across in the papers and social media. Conveniently the jumper was long enough to cover the unladylike shape at the front of my jeans, it covered my bum and could almost have been a dress in more liberal circles. Slipping my feet into the sandals I went outside expecting the world to fall apart around me, but all Dad did was grin like a happy spaniel, compliment me on my time keeping and usher me along towards the dining room. Mum gave me a funny look - she knew something was wrong, but just wasn't sure enough to jump on me yet. Even so, she chattered all the way - wasn't it a lovely day for the wedding, Dakota was so lucky, it had rained on theirs, hadn't it Steve, poured it did - and so on. Mum spoke lots, even when people weren't listening, people like me who were having some kind of surreal experience. The dining room was busy with relatives, filled with conversation and bacon smells that made my mouth water. My belly groaned in an empty way. Hellos and introductions were made while we queued for the hotplate, people I hardly knew wanted to kiss my cheek - even men - and there was Mrs Hall stuffed into jeans and a very low cut top looking a little confused as we said hello to each other. What must she be thinking? Was she about to break her silence and tell everybody in the dining room about the boy in the jumper, jeans and girl's sandals who she'd gifted with a lovely blow job. That she'd ridden me, that I'd had proper lad's hair when I'd shot spunk down her back. I could hardly meet her questioning eyes, but it was clear that she thought I was a girl too. My hands were trembling when I finally sat down. It was a little uncomfortable as my balls were squashed between tight jeans and soft thighs. If my balls were still balls maybe it meant that all this would this would all wear off - this dream would be over and I'd be boy again. Mum got me a cup of tea, I found myself a plate of bacon, beans, egg and hash browns and poked at it while trying not to make eye contact with anyone around me. I couldn't get comfortable - male balls in female jeans. No mater how I wriggled they couldn't get into any position where they didn't feel like they were getting squeezed back into my body. "Got your furry knickers on, lass?" Dad said, full of good nature and apparently forgetting about the blokey conversation we'd had outside the bar last night. He wasn't even looking at me, beaming around at the friends and family drifting into the restaurant, fully immersed in his role as father of the bride. I tried to sit still after that, and must have found a better position because Mum was talking to me about college, like I could go there like this! My voice felt to tight and high in my throat for any talking. How could nobody see what I was going through was beyond me, but she kept pressing and her frown got more entrenched at my terse answers. Was I suddenly hungry though! I wolfed down the beans and bacon and sausage and scrambled egg and then went up for toast and a croissant. Mum glared at me as I sat down, like I'd forgotten something. Her mug was empty, so I got up and went for another coffee for her. She shook her head forcefully and her chins wobbled. "Not that, you div!" she hissed when I was sat again. "What's wrong with you this morning, Catalina Taylor? Today of all days! Why are you doing this?" Catalina! Could this actually get any weirder? I looked at the table, at my finer fingers, which were trembling again. "I don't feel too good," I mumbled. "It's just nerves, right, honey?" said Dad hopefully. Mum snorted, "Nerves! In thirty years I've never been too nervous to put a bra on!" We all looked at my chest. Dad had the decency to look away. There was something to see now, much more than those breast buds that the loose pullover had concealed. It was now shaped around relatively small, but rounded actual breasts that actually needed a bra. This was really real. I was actually changing sex. A little smile lifted my lips. "What are you smirking at?" My smile vanished. "You think it's funny to show me up in front of all these people? Family, Catalina! They're family." I didn't know what to say to that. My gender was being changed and the only person who knew was me. Even though it was happening right now, in front of them! "I'd better go and put one on," I said softly. I didn't know what else to say; it was more than just medicine, this was some kind of magic. "Finish your breakfast, girl," Dad said. "You'll have to go off with Auntie Liz soon anyway," said Mum and her tone softened. "I can't wait to see what she's going to do with your hair." My cloudy brain finally got a handle on what Mum had just said. Auntie Liz ran a beauticians and had agreed, as her wedding present to Dakota, to do the hair, make up and nails for her and her bridesmaids. I'd been down to be an usher, all I'd had to worry about was fastening my waistcoat up properly and making sure I got the right colour bloom for my lapel. "You'll be a beautiful bridesmaid," said Dad with his beard split by a wide smile. "And you never know, girl, the man for you might be coming here today. Imagine that!" *** It was with some nervousness that I followed Mum into the bridal suite. Dakota was at a dressing table, brushing her hair. I was rather shocked to see she was only wearing an old, pink vest and her broad, pale bum was spread across the stool. She had a tribal tattoo across one bum cheek, I had never seen it before - not having had much call, or desire, to see her undressed. My face went hot again. At the sound of Mum's greeting she turned to have a look. When her eyes met mine I saw her mouth start shaping into the oh too familiar snarl that said little brother was about to get a bollocking for intruding on her perfumed sanctum. But the shout never came. Dakota frowned, then shrugged. "It's only, Catalina," she said, slightly disappointed - as though she'd been expecting Beyonce. Dakota got Dad's build and height, though she carries it well. She's light on her feet, careful with what she eats and makes herself tall by practically living in challenging heels. She got Mum's features though, and her fair hair. Both of us have had to live with Dad's thing about World War 2 aeroplanes. Many of our childhood arguments revolved around the relative usefulness of the Dakota, a wide bellied cargo plane, against the Stirling, a badly thought out heavy bomber. If this sex change thing was permanent she'd be using the Catalina, a long-range seaplane, against me. "Oh My God!" said a woman, with a rich Caribbean accent. There was Auntie Lizzie, eyes wide in her very dark face and fixed upon me. A liquid fear squirted through my belly. She knew! The was some Caribbean, voodoo thing in her blood that meant she could see what I was and what I was supposed to be; she knew! "Oh, God! Catalina, love. I am so sorry," she went on, setting down the hair dryer she'd just unpacked and running over to seize both my hands in hers. They were dry and thin, her long, red nails contrasted with her very brown skin. "What's the matter, Liz?" said Mim, perplexed. "We have forgotten Catalina's dress!" While Mum and Lizzie flustered and tried to account for the oversight, while I stood quietly unsure of how to explain that a dress which did not exist could not be forgotten, Megan - Lizzie's youngest daughter - started rummaging along one of those portable clothes rails that supported a number of plastic wrapped, raspberry pink gowns for bridesmaids and a single cream creation for Dakota. Amongst the hubbub, that Dakota and Lora - her best mate - only added to, Megan had to speak three times, with ever increasing volume, until she got Lizzie and Mum's attention. "We haven't forgotten it, look - it's here," she said, hooking out one of the bridesmaid dresses and rustling it with a determined shake as if to show how real it was. Even through its wrapper it looked amazing and, at that moment, more than anything else I wanted to try on that dress. Smiles all around as Lizzie and Mum inspected the impossible dress, as though Megan wasn't qualified enough to state whose dress it was. Then I swallowed nervously. My infrequent dress-up sessions in Mum's and Dakota's things over the last few years, even the fact that I was magically filling out a bra in a way I could only have dreamt of before last night, couldn't stop the dismay of what was coming next. All the shampoos and conditioners, the hair spray and curlers, the make up and potions, the perfume and polish before I'd be anywhere close to having that dress zipped around me was suddenly very intimidating. What if I were caught out because of some gap in my knowledge that would expose me a fraud? What is somebody saw that my body was still reconfiguring itself? Megan must have sensed some of that, because while the grown-ups were still congratulating each other on recovering the lost dress, she tilted her head quizzically. "Okay, Lina?" she asked, walking over and taking my hand. "Don't worry about her," said Dakota, unkindly, leaving Mum and Lizzie to their relief, "She's just shitting herself at the thought of being seen out without her ripped jeans and hoodie. Most people here will be amazed to find out she's actually a girl." She sashayed away with a backward glance - don't you just love your big sister! I nodded my agreement to Megan. "Don't worry," she said, squeezing my hand warmly. "I'll look after you." You really don't need to know the complexities of how Elizabeth McDonnell came to be our Auntie Lizzie; there was a marriage somewhere between one of Dad's half-brothers, but Lizzie had been a feature at family events and unplanned, very welcome visits for as long as I could remember. Even in middle-age she was still turning heads with her love of bright colours and mini-skirts. Megan and I were of similar ages and had spent a fair bit of time together as we grew up, I think we'd always been good friends and I'd always looked forward to seeing her. She was a very lean, willowy woman, with light brown skin, masses of tight black curls and gorgeous, upswept almond coloured eyes. As well as helping out her Mum in the salon she was a long-distance runner of local acclaim and played guitar, ukulele and banjo for a quirky folk group that always sounded good at the local festivals. I couldn't carry a tune in a bucket, but I liked to sit and watch her play. Her voice wasn't bad either. As I squared myself for the unplanned, supporting role for Dakota's big moment, I couldn't have wished for a friendlier beautician. It had been past 10 in the morning when Mum presented me in that room. Foolishly, naively I wondered what mystery would be used to fill all the time before we were due in the church at half past two. Aside from a short break for sandwiches and prosecco, actually there was probably too much wine available, the time was spent with full-on getting ready. A large-scale military assault couldn't have had more preparation. Of course, it was all new to me. Even in my most detailed, fantastical daydreams of being the gorgeous lady catching the attention at any number of glamorous functions I had never fully realised the depth and detail that was going into my preparation. And I was just the second bridesmaid! "Who is going to see my bikini line?" I hissed at Megan when she proposed that move. "Detail," she said. "Besides, I am going to do your armpits, so I may as well." I kept my legs resolutely crossed and pulled down the hem of the dressing gown I had insisted on being given to wear. Megan raised her eyebrows and I shook my head firmly. I had only been a pee a few minutes before and while I was not really anatomically male any more, my balls having wormed their way inside at some point, above the flat former scrotum between my thighs I had enough of a penis to pee through and to show through my panties. I was playing the massive prude, making out I was very self conscious of my body to give an excuse to keep covered up. Dakota and Lora, her matron-of-honour had no such issue and made gentle fun of me. The other bridesmaids, Karl's cousins Jana and Olivia, age 7, giggled a lot as they were made-up for their parts by their Mum. Sometimes I found myself wanting to giggle at the sheer ridiculousness of what I was going through. How was it that I, Stirling Taylor, seventeen years a boy, was undergoing this masquerade as the fictitious sister - Catalina? By the time I was ready to zipped into the gown I'd had enough though. Maybe if I'd been doing all the work myself, but as pleasant, friendly and pretty as Megan was by the time she had finished with me and been able to attend to her own make up I was bored. Hair washing, conditioning, drying, curling - yawn. Nails, hand and foot, were trimmed, polished and painted. Eyebrow shaping - ouch. I had to keep unnaturally still for my eyelashes and eyeliner to be done and it took three attempts before Megan was satisfied with blending the different eye shadow shades. The effort looked good, more than good - my eyes were glowing, beautiful, when she had done, but I got into trouble with my make-up artist when it came to my skin. "Muuuuum!" Megan yelled at one point. "Catalina is refusing foundation and blusher!" "Catalina likes her freckles," I said with arms folded. "Catalina wants to be a lesbian when she grows up," Dakota snorted. "What's a lesbian?" Olivia and Jana asked, almost in unison. "Like your Aunt Anna," their Mum said casually. "Even lesbians like to look good," Megan pouted. She thought I should go bare legged too. Lora was, but she had been on some kind of expensive tanning regime, with Dakota, and her long legs were bronzed and appealing. Dakota had promised Karl white stockings for his wedding night, too much information, while I had my own reasons for wanting some nylons of my own. Not only were my legs pale in comparison to the others, but having been a lad with a lad's attraction to the sheer nylon until relatively recently was I really going to miss the opportunity to dress my perfectly smooth legs in expensive hosiery? Drawing them on was my favourite bit of the whole experience. They were ivory shaded, lace topped hold-ups rather than proper stockings, but it still made me catch my breath when I gave my newly dressed legs the first tentative brush together. The slight hiss they made and the slippery sensation were exquisite - almost worth the hair/make- up/manicure/pedicure torture. "Much better than bare skin," I suggested to Megan, extending a foot in her direction. She surprised me by brushing her fingertips along the arch of that offered foot, the touch was so fast I could have missed it, but she showed me a smile. "Not bad," she agreed. The raspberry-pink bridesmaid gowns had been made by another aunt - having a big family is a great thing at jobs like this. My gown's skirt was the best bit and I could hardly wait to get it around my legs once I'd seen it revealed, with an excited "ta-dah" from Megan. It was narrow and calf length, shimmering satin, and with an enticing split up the front left side, to a few centimetres above my knee. It rustled delightfully when I took my first, experimental steps. Each time my left leg went forward the split opened elegantly and swished around me. Sensory heaven, almost overload! I took another glass of prosecco to calm myself. The bodice was fitted and modestly cut over my new boobs, which were by now fully grown if my properly filled my bra was anything to go by. Innocent days of upsetting Mum by going braless for breakfast were clearly behind me, assuming I kept this lovely shape for more than the day. One of the bra straps had to be detached, I didn't know such things could be done, for my dress bared my right shoulder. It made up for the loss with a three quarter sleeve for my left arm. Dakota would be wearing, white satin stilettos, but Lora and I were given much less challenging heels. I suppose I might have been a little envious of Dakota's very beautiful shoes, but practically speaking my brief experiments with Mum's court shoes wouldn't have prepared me for an active afternoon in proper heels. "Never, ever seen her in heels," Dakota commented as I edged in my left foot to the ivory coloured court shoe Megan had unboxed for me. "My big sister walked in stilettos before she could crawl," I said, fumbling with the fine ankle strap: my nails looked very pink against the pale satin and thanks to the shoes" open toes you could see my matching toenails through the stockings. The heels were only a couple of inches high, but very slender, and felt good when I finally stood in both of them. "Not bad for a rush job," said Megan with a little clap. Mum put her hands to her mouth to see me and Dakota together, her eyes glistened. When I made eye contact with Dakota a rush of warmth for my sister brought colour to my cheeks and a smile to my lips. With that emotion came the certainty that every slight, every name called, every humiliation and put down were unconditionally and instantly forgiven. I can't remember which of us moved first, but the unexpected intensity of our embrace brought a chorus of "ahhhhs" from all present and Mum wept openly. We brought her into the hug too, the Taylor girls altogether, before Lizzie got stressed about the disastrous potential of my lipstick on Dakota's veil and we drew apart, self-conscious of the sentiment and our warm cheeks. The final ritual, before a last sip of wine, and the walk out to Karl's Dad's classic camper van in which we were to be driven to church, was for Dakota to hand out our favours. Lora and I got identical, raspberry pink jewellery box in which was a matching set of silver bracelet, necklace and drop earrings. "Catalina's ears aren't pierced," Megan crowed happily after she'd helped me on with the necklace. Dakota laughed and said, "Who doesn't have pierced ears!" "Aunt Anna," said Jana and Olivia together. Even they had studs. "She's a unique individual," said their Mum with a half-smile and apologetic shrug. But, as we sat down for that last taste of wine, as Mum, Lizzie, Megan and the others hurried to the church, as I smiled along with Dakota, Lora and the girls, I was only playing along again - using those skills I had learnt to appease Dad over the years. More than the irrefutable fact that I had been male this time yesterday, more than the nub of a penis I could still feel disfiguring the line of my panties, the fact that my ears were not pierced reminded me that all this female form I had been enjoying was likely not permanent. I only hoped I would get sufficient warning that I was changing back to avoid the embarrassment of being caught as a boy in this lovely dress. Until then, I was determined to enjoy being Catalina. The whole afternoon of wedding, dinner and dance stretched away before me: I was mostly female, I was feminine and, without being too immodest, I felt beautiful. It was clearly up to me to make the most of it. The actual ceremony passed very quickly and my memories, up to a certain obvious point, don't really come in any kind of a logical sequence. Maybe my brain was being reconfigured to suit my body, unless it had always been like that and my body was just being brought into line. It's most likely that I was having too much of a good time to process everything in an orderly manner. Some of what I recall was just the wedding, the meal and the evening do that followed: tripping over the church's worn, stone step and almost scattering my flowers; Dad turning to look at me, just before he escorted Dakota along the aisle, with a wide, proud smile and tears running down his cheeks; how beautiful Megan looked in a royal blue dress; the obligatory photograph of Dakota and her bridesmaids where we had to lift our dresses to bare our thighs and stocking tops; feeling self-conscious on the top table between Karl's mum and Kyle; enjoying, for the first time in my life, dancing in public; feeling so proud of Dakota. Other things that flash up came from the periodic, alarming disconnection between the gender I presented as and what I had been the day before. And I got an adrenaline kicked almost-panic attack each time: bright pink fingernails - wow where did they come from; dropping a chocolate chip from my ice cream desert straight down my cleavage - oh my god, breasts; my brain kicking back and deciding I could not dance in heels any more - fell into an elderly relative and stumbled off to one side to reset myself; confusion in the toilets when I couldn't see any urinals and squealing about being in the wrong room - much amusement from the women already in there; pulling down my panties and seeing, for the first time, that my penis had finally gone and the first hint of labia forming - alarm at first as I didn't think I was going to be able to pee, but my body knew what to do. My favourite memory, and this is one I love going back to, was in a quiet, breathless moment in a discreet corner of the hotel garden where Megan and I had retreated to for a moment's peace. There was daylight still, though the air was cooling, and we were glowing after dancing energetically to some 80's crap. I was still trying to catch my breath and she was trying to touch up my lipstick having just done her own. "There," she said, stepping back. "Perfectly kissable." Her eyes had been locked on mine, her head tilted slightly in a manner that suggested curiosity and it came to me that every time I had looked for her, across the church and the meal and reception, she had been looking at me. My heart was suddenly running very quickly and I licked my super smooth lips - tried to find some moisture for my very dry mouth. "If you like," I offered. Lame, clumsy, awkward? Probably. None of that mattered though, because she did. The first kiss was short, experimental - nervous. Every single time I think back to it I tingle. The second followed the first almost immediately. We embraced; her little boobs were pressed delightfully into my fuller ones, I felt her breath on my cheek, her hands on my back and then, after a few more heartbeats, I tasted her tongue around my own. When we finally went inside my nipples ached wonderfully in my dress and there was a warm feeling I could not ignore in my still forming vulva. From there I never wanted to leave her side, and maybe I wouldn't have had to either, but a little drunken high-spirits from one of the guests saw Dakota's tiara pulled out and her hair's spectacular updo collapse. Despite her protestations that it was fine, Lizzie and Megan practically dragged her back upstairs to repair the damage - it was a matter of professional reputation Megan explained just before she left. Within seconds Kyle had grabbed my arm and ran me onto the dance floor with him. I gave a little whoop of surprise and was hurried along as fast as my shoes allowed, dress whipping around my legs. "Told you I'd have a dance with you," he said, stooping close to my air as his arm went around my waist to whirl me around him. Remember I told you I'd thought Kyle was a bit of a strutting cock? I mean, I got on with him okay, but having had to sit beside him throughout the wedding meal had done nothing to change my opinion. In fact, it had probably got a little worse as the realisation slowly dawned that my change of gender had altered the context of our relationship completely. The low point of the encounter had been right after I dropped that chocolate chip into my cleavage; the part of my physique which he had been most interested in since I had sat down. You can probably guess the kind of comments Kyle made as I fumbled for the chocolate chip; none of them taken on their own or together would have made you slap his cheek. Had he been telling the tale of the ice cream and the bridesmaid's tits to a group of lads, they might have sniggered and made suggestions about what they would have done. I would probably have sniggered along if I had been one of those boys. But I wasn't, I was a girl and they were my boobs he was so intent upon. Having being brought up to be polite, not to teachers and coppers, I fended off his clumsy misogyny with female resilience, moved my thigh away from his under the table and tried to put distance between us by bringing Melanie, the girlfriend, into our post-ice cream conversation. (For the record, she had been sitting with some friends a few tables away with her stiff, angry back resolutely turned to him. A little later, close by the dance floor, she flounced past me, brushed my shoulder aggressively and snarled, "slag" into my my ear. I didn't trouble myself to answer or rise to it, I was more interested in the imagined, lingering taste of Megan on my lips.) As Kyle got busy with the wine, beer and champagne on offer he had leant close, cheeks shining, to engage my captive audience with the full list of complaints against Melanie. She was stuck up, thought a lot of herself, wouldn't let him express himself, only bits of fun for fuck's sake and was trying to control his life, like they were married for fuck's sake. Every time he swore or burped he apologised earnestly. By contrast I was prettier, taller, bigger busted, friendlier, smilier and an all-round good girl. It knitted his brows together when he wondered why he hadn't noticed me before now... "Fantastic fucking - sorry - dress, Cat. Love the way it flashes your legs, gorgeous legs you've got. Do you dance, Cat? You've got the legs and body for it." And so on. Having had his hand resting on my thigh, once or twice, and having gently removed it each time I was keen to keep distance between me and him for the rest of the night. The plan worked too, right up until the moment when Megan had gone on her mercy mission for Dakota's hair and he pounced. Maybe it would have ended better if the bloody DJ hadn't decided to play a smooching track a few minutes after Kyle made his move, but he did and there I was pulled tight into him while he swayed and circled his hips against me. The fact that he still had what I had been pleased to feel gradually vanish was evident as he kept grinding it against me, as though contact with it would somehow tip me from passive resistance into full-on gagging for it. At one point, while trying to attract Dad's attention, I wondered, not for the first time since I'd transitioned, about allowing a man to seduce me. The prospect wasn't attractive, less so given Kyle's seduction technique, and while I was certainly curious about the workings of my reformed body, those sensual kisses with Megan had stirred the hope that she would be the one to help me discover my sexual self. Assuming I didn't wake up as Stirling tomorrow. The idea that while my sex could change while my sexuality remained static intrigued me. That I had become a lesbian could be awkward, if everything didn't slide back to normal: Dad and Mum were a little conservative on the subject of same-sex relationships. Time for abstract musing on gender, wedding prospects and whether I would be Stirling or Catalina when the sun came up was needed for more urgent action to get rid of Kyle before he tried to dry hump my leg or Melanie stuck a knife in my back. He was properly spoiling my enjoyment of being Catalina. I did manage to catch Dad's eye after a few circuits, and a footprint on one of my satin shoes, but Dad massively misunderstood my expression and nodded his gracious approval of my partner. After enduring two, slow dances in his arms and trying to keep my pelvis away from the rhythm of his, I made my excuses, extracted from his clinging embrace and hurried to the women's toilet. When I emerged from my cubicle at least ten minutes later I had the room to myself, but for a girl I had only seen a couple of times during the do; she was clumsily touching up her mascara over the sinks. "Is he still out there? Tall lad, smart suit, pissed?" I asked, pretending to be tweaking my hair beside her. I think she must have been drunk as well, from her blotched mascara and the look she gave me. She'd removed her shoes somewhere and didn't seem to mind that her patterned tights were soaking up the water on the floor around the sinks. Anyway, she ignored me, too busy getting lipstick on her teeth. Kyle was lurking out there, leaning on a wall behind a pot plant. It was a classic ambush and nothing I could say seemed to dent his glazed- eyed delight in seeing me again. Even in my heels he was taller than me, where I was softness and curves he was compact muscle and a slight edge of fear touched me as he encouraged me into the deserted dining room we had eaten in just a few hours ago. There I learnt that "no" did not, in fact, mean "no'. Apparently he'd always loved me, fancied me for ages. He could tell I felt the same way: the way I'd been looking at him, touching his hand under the table (when I was moving it form my thigh), leaned in to whisper to him, let the split up the front of my dress fall open so he could see my legs, "let me see your stocking top, didn't you, Cat?" And so on. All this was delivered and repeated in a slurred, conspiratorial whisper, while he backed me against a wall and pawed at my body. I told him no, I really did. He called me a tease, then a cock teaser. When I tried to push him away he pinned one arm with my own back and the other over my head with his arm. When my struggles started to get a little more urgent, when I drew breath to shout, he kissed me harder smearing all the lip gloss Megan had so lovingly applied and swallowed my protests with his tongue. Was this what I had been transformed for? Had I gone through all this so Kyle could force me to the floor and rape me? He pulled down my dress and bra baring my right breast so he could squeeze it so hard I squealed. I'd wanted Megan to be the first to touch my brand-new breasts, I'd wanted to be able to look down and see her sweet lips brushing, kissing and sucking at my swollen nipples - not this. With a great groan that came from deep within, with every bit of adrenaline and fear fuelled effort I could muster, I got one arm free as he abandoned my aching breast and went up my dress for my vulva. I pushed him back just as his finger tips started scrabbling at my panties and he tore the seam above the dress's split as he stumbled back. His face looked as flushed and hot as mine felt, we were both panting, both wearing the smeared remains of my lipstick. "You know you fucking want it," he said evilly, grinning at my distress. I could smell the beer and petty minded superiority fuelling his need and I hated him right there. I may have sworn myself, but as he stepped towards me again, reaching for my neck and my sore boob, I was enough of myself, even in a dress, to draw back my right fist and punch the arrogant bastard square on the nose. Reeling back three or four paces he called me cunt. Blood poured down his face, streaked his shirt and pattered onto the wooden floor. When Hazel, the hotel manager, and one of her staff walked in, still clearing up the meal, moments later I must have looked a proper sight - one breast and one leg fully bared, dropped into a classic boxer's stance with my fists raised to protect my face, just the way I had been taught when I'd been a boy trying to please his father. "That bitch has broken my fucking nose," he squealed with outrage before the gathering anger of the mixed families and friends who rushed to see what the fuss was about. Some of them looked genuinely excited that blood had been spilled. "Best not call my daughter that any more, son," Dad warned, pointing his finger to make the point. He faced me, frowning. "Catalina?" he asked. Dakota had already stormed out, furious about her perfect day ruined and who could blame her. Mum screamed something short and abusive at somebody trying to video me on their phone. Something had gone wrong with my dress and I was struggling to keep my bosom inside it having given up with the violently extended split. I trembled, my knuckles were split and it felt like my poor, new breast was in a vice. "Girl was just defending herself," said Lizzie, arms folded emphatically. "She lead me on," called Kyle in his squashed nose voice. It looked like he might have added something else, but must have remembered Dad in time. Dad raised his eyebrows. His face was white, he was trembling too and his fists were squeezed together like they could make paste of gobby lads. "Best get him out of here," Dad said, with forced restraint, to Mr Hall who was openly admiring my stocking top. He nodded, perhaps appreciating the conflict building inside Dad's compact body. "Did you, Lina?" he asked when Karl was ushered out. "What a thing to ask her!" Lizzie again. Megan was washing my knuckles with warm water and a gentle pressure. I shook my head. Loosened hair tumbled around my face. I was determined not to cry. "He wouldn't leave me alone." "Little fucker," Dad snarled. Mum shushed him half-heartedly, being purple with anger herself. "I'll kill him, snap him in half I will. Nobody touches my little girl like that. And today, what a twat, poor Kota! Spoilt her day he has, fucked it all right up." As if he wasn't mad enough, a copper (bastards all of them) stepped through the door a few minutes later. She was pretty enough, though stocky under her armour, with blonde hair down to her jawline on one side of her head and cropped on the other. She left the door open and walked up like she were on eggshells eyeing up my Mum and Dad cautiously. "Bit of bother then?" she asked carefully, with a glance over her shoulder. Mum stepped in front of Dad before he could express something dangerous about his perceptions of the law enforcement community. "Did the whining toe-rag call the coppers!" Dad raged. "What a ponce!" "What's he said?" Mum demanded, in a distracting manner, arms folded. "Punched him in the face." The cop nodded in my direction and I sighed. Still holding my dress over my chest I stood, wearily and showed her my bloodied fist. The copper looked from it, to me, to Mum. She raised her eyebrows. "Got to be more to it than that?" she suggested hopefully. "You'll tell her fuck-all, girl. Not until we get a solicitor on the scene, darling." "Turn your back, Mr Taylor," said Megan. "Just for a minute." "Go on," said Mum and laid a hand on his arm. "Okay, Lina?" she asked, once his very tense shoulders had turned away. I nodded and Megan beckoned the copper over, showed her the finger