How It All Started - Part III - Suzi free porn video

HOW IT ALL STARTED PART III - SUZI Over a year has passed since I last dressed as my alter ego Katie. It's been a miserable time. I determined at the outset that I was going to rid myself of the compulsion to dress as a girl for good, but it was not as easy as that. My mother was convinced that one day I would need to return to my old ways, and although she never tried to persuade or cajole, she couldn't help making clear by her manner that she didn't expect my change of heart to be permanent. I had implored her to throw away Katie's clothes, and a lot of them did get passed on to charity shops and the like, but she always made sure that there was a dress in my size hanging somewhere in the house - just in case you can't resist, you know, she would say. This put temptation in my way, which did not make things any easier. Lisa was, if anything, more put out than my mother, and she did try to reason with me sometimes. This made me unhappy, which in turn put a strain on Lisa's relationship with my mother, which went through a pretty bad patch. As time went on, and it became clear that there would be no early reappearance of Katie, the two of them had radically different takes on how they should respond. While my mother felt that the best approach was to let me work through my issues in my own time, Lisa wanted to tackle the subject in a more direct way. They argued about this a lot. I would come across them in the kitchen or living room, whispering harshly to each other, and then lapsing into guilty silence when they saw me. Things came to a head after a few weeks when, from my bedroom, I heard shouting from downstairs. I couldn't hear everything that was said, but I heard my - or rather Katie's - name. The argument ended with Lisa storming out of the house, and my mother in tears in the living room. We didn't see Lisa for a while after that, and spent a lonely, sad few months together. Christmas was miserable. Things only started looking up again on my mother's birthday in March. We hadn't seen Lisa in months, but on that day she turned up at the house in her gardening clothes (our garden had become seriously untidy and overgrown in the months when Lisa had stayed away from us). She was riding a motorcycle which, even I could see, was smaller and less powerful than the machine she usually used, and she knocked on the back door, smiling nervously, and handed my mother an envelope with a card. She gestured at the bike. "I've insured you to ride that," she said. "I thought it was high time you learned." Mum's expression was unreadable. She opened the envelope, inside which were a card and a slip of paper. "That's a CBT voucher," said Lisa. "Once you've done your basic training, I'll be on hand to teach you to ride properly and to prepare you for your test. What do you say?" I look from mum to Lisa and back again, worried. I know mum has missed Lisa terribly, but there are unresolved issues between them, and I don't think my mother is one to back down. Mum stepped out of the door, and stepped closer to Lisa. "I say thank you," she said. "I say that I'm glad to see you again. I say it should be fun. And I say why don't you join us for a birthday drink." She leant forward, put an arm around Lisa's waist, drew her to her, and kissed her softly. Lisa had come back into our lives. The arguments about Katie were forgotten (Lisa tacitly accepted that my mother had to decide on the approach she would take herself), my mother got into her motorcycling lessons with gusto, and even the garden benefitted from Lisa's renewed presence. A little warmth came back into our lives. But other parts of my life continued to be difficult. One thing that didn't go well was my relationship with the school. As predicted, Mrs.Simmonds and Mrs.Jennings had spoken to each other, and soon after my return from Jill's I was called in to see Mrs.Simmonds. The two friends had quickly worked out that the Katie that Mrs.Simmonds had met in The House, and the Katie that Mrs.Jennings had met on my visit to Jill were one and the same person, and given the conflicting stories about where Katie lived, Mrs.Simmonds had reached the firm conclusion that Katie and David were also two sides of the same person. I decided that the best tactic was simply to deny everything - after all, nothing could be proved either way. Mrs.Simmonds, exasperated, kept insisting that she wanted to support me and that I was not being disciplined in any way, but when I persisted in my refusal to discuss the matter, she more or less accused me of lying (which was, of course, quite true). She became quite angry with me, and her anger was transmitted to my other teachers, who became distant and disapproving of me - although quite what they disapproved of was not very clear. I became depressed and moody and my school work suffered. On a more positive note, mother banned Jacky and the twins from our home, on the pretext that Jean had warned her that the twins were likely to tease me. Jacky was predictably outraged, said that mum should make me "man up", and, once more pleading poverty, asked my mother to make some clothes for the twins' forthcoming birthday. Although shaken by the force of Jacky's anger, my mother held firm, and the family rift looked like becoming permanent. Perhaps selfishly, I was not at all put out by that. For my part, I kept to my decision to distance myself from Katie until well after my fifteenth birthday. I appeared in public only as David, and indeed never during this time dressed as Katie at home. I consoled myself a little by developing the androgynous style I had cultivated for David when I was younger, but I maintained a firm boundary beyond which I would not go. I enjoyed playing with my look, which stayed just outside the boundary of openly feminine. But hard as I tried to ignore the feeling, I missed Katie. I missed her a lot. Looking back on this time, I should have recognised sooner that eventually I would not be able to resist Katie's call on me. I held out for well over a year, and it was only in the first term of Year 10, my resolve faltered. Oddly enough this happened as a result of my first properly sexual experience with a girl. And so I must tell you about Suzi, who years before had been one of the more important formative influences on my childhood, and who about now came back into my life. The episode I'm about to tell you about occurred in October, one mid-week evening after school. Suzi and I were born a few hours apart in the same hospital, and we lived two or three streets apart. In consequence, our mothers' shared experiences became the foundation for a firm friendship which has lasted until today. But although we were born within hours of each other, midnight separated us: Suzi was born on 31 August, I on 1 September. As a consequence, Suzi started school a year before I did, and forever thereafter we were separated by the impossible gulf of her being in a higher class than me. My mother tells me we were inseparable as infants, but by the time I was six we lived in different spheres, had different friends, and started to develop different tastes and habits. We went to the same schools, but might for a few years have lived on different planets. Girls mature more quickly than boys, and our different trajectories continued after we had started secondary school. Suzi had a circle of lively and popular friends in her own year, grew up to be impossibly attractive, and acquired an older boyfriend by the age of 14. My inhibitions were shaped by my tastes and preferences - particularly in the question of dress - and the question of reigniting my forgotten friendship simply did not arise. What drew us together again, oddly enough, was sport. I was slim, but also wiry and athletic. Unlike my friend Charles, I had no interest in football or rugby, but I discovered an early aptitude for track events and later also - and most particularly - tennis. My game was based on spin, drop shots, and lobs: I dominated the baseline rather than engage in the aggressive serve-and-volley game preferred by my coach, who was always encouraging me to develop a stronger serve. He didn't disguise his surprise when I beat older, stronger boys: I had a good return of serve, a good eye for the line, and I tired my opponents by making them run from one side of the court to the other. In short, subtlety trumped strength. In my first year in secondary school, I was coopted into the junior tennis team, and it was there that I reignited my friendship with Suzi. She too loved tennis, and we soon became doubles partners. Our skill levels - at that time - were similar, and we practised together often. There was a tennis club in the local park a few streets away from where we lived, and we both joined this at about the same time. Suzi, as will become apparent, had her issues too, and for both of us, our practice sessions became a way of releasing our inner tensions, particularly after the incident which I am about to relate. Suzi, as I've already hinted, was developing from an awkward teenager into a truly beautiful young woman. With glossy brown hair and a slim, languorous figure, it was no surprise that even then she was dating boys - men - in their late teens or even their early twenties. She dressed with an easy elegance and more than a hint of glamour, and she was well aware of her attractiveness to men. She was bright too - clever, amusing, and charming all at once. Our acquaintance which had restarted as a purely practical, sporting arrangement soon deepened into renewed friendship. "You are," she would say to me, "quite different from your classmates." But when I asked her why she thought that, she just shook her head. "I don't quite know: something about how you hold yourself and how you behave." She wouldn't elaborate, but she made this statement in a friendly enough way, and I decided to take it as a compliment. ++++++ So here we are walking after school to the tennis club to practise. I'm wearing tight jeans tucked into a pair of knee-high flat-heeled (of course) boots and a white top with slightly flared sleeves. Suzi has already changed into her tennis things. It's October - quite late in the season to be playing tennis in the open during the evening - and we are anxious to get time in before the light starts to fade. We arrive at the park and Suzi goes about seeing to a court, while I change. I notice with irritation that the showers are closed for repair. "We apologize for the inconvenience: we are working to fix the problem as quickly as we can." We?ve been playing at the club for several months. The school courts are poor and we need more time to practise than we can get there. We?ve already been noticed at the club, and Suzi has been sounded out about representing the club in junior-level tournaments. It?s also been made known to me that an eye is being kept upon my progress. On the other hand, I?m told that I need to bulk up to reach the top level. "You should start exercising with weights," says the club coach. I nod, intending to do nothing of the sort. Big muscles I don?t want. On this cool evening the club is quiet. One other court is occupied, by a middle-aged couple enjoying a recreational game. He is tall, slim, and plays carefully and seriously practising different strokes and stretching himself. She is bulkier and less athletic, with grey hair and smiling blue eyes, and plays with enthusiasm but without much finesse. He seems to be winning the match easily, but from time to time she plays the odd, unexpected brilliant shot. These surprising reverses he greets with good-humoured resignation. I guess that she could be by far the better player if she took the game more seriously. Suzi and I are knocking up now. Suzi is measured, careful, and quite forceful, her slim legs covering the court with ease. Her tennis dress is short and expertly tailored, looking elegant while allowing maximum freedom of movement. She is as comfortable at the net as at the baseline, and has an instinctive sense of position on the court. My own game is, as I say, based on subtlety and finesse rather than power, but I regularly defeat players who are physically stronger than me. Our game starts slowly. Suzi builds points and takes games methodically. I carry my service games, but am unable to break hers. On the tie break, Suzi breaks me twice and carries the first set. In the second set, as sometimes happen, I discover a streak of form, and quickly achieve a four game to love lead. Suzi holds her service, and my next service game is hard-fought. I win after the third deuce. In disappointment, Suzi double faults, and then hindered by an unhelpful cross-wind, nets my return. Love thirty. On the next point, I struggle to return her service, but Suzi misses my outrageous lob completely, collapsing in laughter, mid-court. My next return of serve is one of my rare brilliant cross-court shots and I have broken to take the set 6-1. We are both tiring now, and in the third set we both start to make unforced errors. Somehow, the pleasure drains out of the game, and at three-all we agree to call it an evening. The light is going, and the cross-court breeze has strengthened, so as practice the game is unsatisfying. We start packing our kit, and I grumble to Suzi about the showers. "Sweating like a pig," I say. "Can?t possibly change back into my street clothes." "Come to my place," says Suzi. She frowns, winding a long strand of hair around her finger, and looking at me with her head cocked to one side, weighing up how to deal with my problem. "You can shower and change there, and we can have coffee and something to eat." Suzi?s home is about half way between the tennis club and my own house, and my mother, who is working late this evening, won?t return from work for an hour at least. Suzi?s suggestion makes good sense, and in silent agreement, still in our tennis gear, we make our way there. The house is dark when we arrive: Suzi?s mother is at a meeting and not expected home until late; her father is away on business as well. Suzi lets us in after a struggle with the lock, and fixes a cold drink. We make our way upstairs, struggling with drinks and sports bags, and stumble into a bedroom. The bedroom is elegantly decorated in pale pastel shades, with posters on the walls, overflowing bookshelves, and a guitar propped carelessly against the built-in desk that occupies the wall opposite the window. One side of the room consists of sliding mirrored doors behind which, presumably, are wardrobes. The large double bed (shiny pink quilt, a profusion of pillows) stands with its head against the fourth wall. Suzi closes the door: there is a hook towards the top of the door, and I notice a dark blue dress on a hanger which billows prettily as the door closes. "Um," says Suzi, looking oddly flustered, "you go first: I?ll be in in a moment." She motions me towards an en suite bathroom, and I don?t have time to reflect on her rather odd choice of words. The bathroom is warm and well-appointed, and the shower is powerful. I undress, and pause for a moment to contemplate my smooth-skinned, slim body in the full-length mirror next to the sink. My physique, I have to acknowledge, is really not at all masculine. Despite my determination to do away with Katie, I reflect that I?m still quite pleased by this. I look around for soap and shampoo, find it, and step into the shower. Before I know it I?m surrounded by clouds of steam. The foam I?ve found is scented and luxurious, and I start sponging down my body. After a moment there is a click, and although temporarily blinded by soap suds, I realise that the shower door has opened and shut again. Reeling a little, I sense that Suzi has joined me in the steam. I stifle a yelp of shock. "Shh, silly. It?s only me. I?ve come to soap you down." She squeezes foam into her hands, rubs them together to get up a lather, and begins to caress it into my skin, starting with my shoulders and working downwards. Her surprisingly strong hands knead and massage my muscles. Fifteen year-old boys with no sexual experience are not noted for their restraint, and you can imagine the effect this has on me. Shocked, overwhelmed, excited all at the same time, I can?t feel other than immensely sexy, which manifests itself in the most obvious way. "You don?t have a girlfriend, do you," says Suzi conversationally, as her hands work their way teasingly towards my groin. Why is she doing this? I give an incoherent grunt intended to signify that she is right. "Poor boy. Nearly a man and never had a girl." A strangled sound is the only response from me. Her hands wonder from the general area of my groin to the more specific location of my penis, and with her right hand she grips it gently and caresses it. More confusion. "Your turn to soap me now." She withdraws her hand and my body instinctively closes with hers, attempting to re-establish touch. Suzi giggles, and presses her body against mine. My penis twitches. "Not yet," she says, "let?s finish washing first." First?? She guides my hands over her, whispering to me as she does so what needs to be done, and guiding me to places that my mind screams to me really ought to be out of bounds. She prompts me into a gentle, circling motion, sighing with what I take to be pleasure. Again, though, she stops me just as I?m losing any sense of control. She kisses me softly on the lips, turns off the water, and leads me from the shower and enfolds me into a soft towel. I am still, of course, embarrassingly erect. She dries herself, and then helps me to dry myself. "You can take my bathrobe," she says, "I?ll use mum?s: she won?t mind." The bathrobes, which hang behind the door, are made of soft towelling. Suzi?s is cherry-red, her mother?s a more feminine pink. I feel oddly exhilarated as I pull this feminine garment, although in reality the difference between a male and a female bathrobe is more a matter of nuance than a true difference in style. Nonetheless the towelling is reassuringly fluffy and comforting, and walking back to the bedroom, I get an obscure thrill from the thought that Suzi and I are more or less identically dressed. When we enter the bedroom, I make a movement towards my clothes (I have unpacked them from my sports bag before our shower). But Suzi stops me, grabbing my hand, and pulling me gently but firmly towards the bed. "We have something to finish off," she says, drawing me down and untying the belt of my bathrobe. Her cool, assured hands begin to caress my torso and they work their way down below my waist towards that out-of- bounds area around my groin, and then with increasingly rhythmic but gentle movements she works to reignite the excitement I felt in the shower (in reality it is in any case not much diminished). I know the theory of what is to happen, but as a novice, I let her take the lead. She undoes her own bathrobe and with a fluid movement throws it onto the floor beside the bed, and then starts working on herself with one hand, while the other continues to caress me. I am by now groaning with ecstasy and on the verge of coming, when Suzi impales herself on me (there is really no other way of describing it), and with quick, vigorous movements brings me rapidly to a climax, after which she continues to undulate more gently on my still-erect penis. After a while, she starts to shiver and moan and then she gives a strange, suppressed animal-like cry before gently subsiding. We lie in silence for a few moments. "First time?" she asks. "First time," I agree, wondering if I have played my part sufficiently well. Then suddenly an uncomfortable thought strikes me. "What if you get...?" "Shh, silly," she says, "I?m on the pill. Jason insists. Don?t tell mum though." As if. We lie together in companionable silence for a few moments. Jason, I recall, is Suzi?s older, glamorous boyfriend. "Well," she says after a pause, her voice imitating that of one of our music teachers, "that was very good for a first effort, if a little too quick for my taste. You?ll need to practise a lot if you want to perform this piece well." I giggle quietly, but then find my gaze drawn to the bedroom door. There, on a hanger, is the dress I noticed earlier: a taffeta dress in midnight blue with a black lace collar. I wonder for a moment what it would feel like on me, and my penis twitches a little. Suzi notices this, and follows the direction of my eyes. "It?s a pretty dress," she says. "The colour would look good on you. Indigo and blonde ? a combination a girl would die for." A giggle. She is holding my penis as she says this, which, involuntarily, starts to stiffen again. "Ah," she says, "I see you like that idea." Her expression is impish and arch, and she speaks in a light, good-humoured voice that only adds to my growing sense of excitement. "Well, why not?" She continues stroking my penis. "But we need to prepare you first." I?m puzzled by this remark. But preparation appears to consist of talcum powder and perfume, and the selection of some undergarments for me. Suzi pulls a bra from one of her drawers (I had never worn one before) which she stuffs with a couple of pairs of tights. She also hands me some silky briefs and a satin camisole. And then, when I?ve donned these garments, she holds out the dress for me to step into, and then closes the zip at the rear, and I shiver slightly as the slippery material clings enticingly to my body, my still strong erection clearly visible through the fabric. Suzi stands back and smiles ? an encouraging smile; no hint of mockery or sarcasm. But we are not finished yet. "Make-up," says Suzi steering me towards her dressing table. I?m a little startled. I suppose that when I was Katie I?d registered the fact that girls started to use make-up quite early in their adolescence, but Katie had not got around to experimenting in this world before I had banished her from my life. But now that I am wearing what is quite evidently a glamorous article of (I assume) evening wear, the idea of wearing make-up seems entirely natural, if a little intimidating. "I?ve never worn make-up before," I say, and then blush, because I?ve made myself sound as though I?d thought about the possibility. Suzi just smiles. "Let me help you," she says. And then we spend the next half hour experimenting with my look. Deep red lipstick, mascara, a hint of blue on my upper eyelids, a discreet touch of colour to emphasize my cheekbones. At length Suzi nods, satisfied with our efforts, and I stand and look at myself in the full-length mirror. "Lovely. Very sexy." Suzi is complimentary, even gushing, and apparently quite serious. "What do you think your mum would say?" I hesitate, while the world seems to stand still, wondering how much of my past to disclose to Suzi. I don?t quite want to tell her about my past as Katie, but I find myself saying slowly, "I think, actually, she might be quite pleased." Suzi shoots me a look, and I mutter something about mum having always been more interested in girls? clothes than boys?. Even to me, that sounds a bit lame. Suzi says nothing for a few moments, and she and I continue to scrutinise my reflection in the mirror. The look is not quite satisfactory. No shoes, of course. I say this to Suzi, but our feet are of different sizes, so for a moment there seems nothing to be done. And then Suzi says, "You could wear your boots." She looks at me, head to one side, adding, "Of course, they won?t be quite right with that dress, but they?ll do for the journey home." The journey home? I can?t quite make up my mind whether Suzi is serious or not, and stammer something to that effect. "Well, after what you?ve said I think you should show your mum." At last, a hint of mischief. Perhaps she?s not being quite serious after all. But then she pretends to consider the matter, and ? my alarm growing ? I shake my head. "I?m not sure I really want..." I stutter to a halt. Suzi gives me a fierce, sceptical look, and gestures towards my still- visible erection. I feel myself blushing again. Turning my back to conceal my confusion, I dig my soft leather boots out of my sports bag and start to pull them on. I turn to find that Suzi is now giving me a warm smile, apparently of encouragement, seemingly pleased that I am equipping myself for the journey home. I glance again at my reflection in the mirror. As Suzi has said, the look is not quite right ? a dress like this needs court shoes, or at least heels ? but it?s not outlandish, and it will do for a walk outside. I glance for a moment at the window, and see that it is now completely dark. A stiff breeze seems to be blowing: in the streetlights, I can see the branches of trees waving gently. "I think it might be a bit chilly to walk home in this dress at the moment," I say, trying for a final time to avoid committing myself to wearing the dress home. "It looks as though it might start raining." But Suzi waves my objections aside. "We can lend you a coat." And then, when I say nothing, she smiles wickedly, and says decisively, "That?s settled then." Suzi is not yet fully dressed, and twenty minutes or so are taken up as she selects and pulls on a pair of jeans and a bright red roll-neck sweater, and applies her own make-up. After this, we go downstairs, and she bustles into an under-stairs cloakroom and emerges with a knee- length leather trench coat. "This is mum?s, but I think it will fit you. And it will go with your boots," she grins. She has put on a denim jacket which matches her jeans, and as I struggle to button up the coat and fasten the belt, she picks up my sports bag and opens the front door. Slightly dazed, I emerge into the darkness, and we set off in the direction of home. At first, I am terrified that we will meet someone I know, and that I?ll be recognised. But the streets are quite quiet. I stiffen as we pass a bar, with people milling around outside the door chatting and smoking. I think I recognise the older brother of one of my classmates, but he has his back to me, and doesn?t see me. We walk on, and I calm down slightly, although I?m alarmed when we are passed by a bus full of passengers. Again, I worry to myself, what if someone recognises me? But Suzi reassures me that no-one on the bus will have had time to look at me closely, and that even if the bus had come to a halt, they would find it difficult to get a clear view of someone outside because of the reflection of the interior lights in the windows. The walk home takes about ten minutes. We do attract a few glances from passers-by, but that, I think to myself when I?ve calmed down, is probably quite a normal experience for two attractive young girls walking together in the evening. But my nervousness increases again as we approach home, as I start to worry about neighbours, and about the possibility of being seen while we are at the door. When we arrive, I realise that my keys are still in the pocket of my jeans at the bottom of my sports bag, so Suzi rings at the doorbell. After a few moments, my mother opens up. I can hear the sound of a television programme coming from the living room. For just a second, mum stares at us, uncertain of what she?s seeing. "Look what I?ve brought you," says Suzi, her voice rich with anticipation. Mum?s hand flies to her mouth as she recognises me and she takes a step back. I hear her, under her breath, whisper "Katie", which Suzi either does not hear or does not understand. "Er, is that you...David," says mum in a stronger voice. Unable to trust my own voice I nod. Suzi speaks, grinning a little. "I persuaded David into a game of dress-up. We thought you might like to see the results." While she is saying this, I unfasten the belt of the trench coat and undo the buttons, revealing the dress beneath. My mother looks me up and down, an unreadable expression on her face. And then, to my surprise, Lisa emerges from the living room. She is wearing a black cotton jumpsuit and a lot of jewellery, and clutching a glass of what looks like champagne. I wonder for a moment about my mother?s warning that she would be working late. Lisa opens her mouth ? scarlet lips framing pure white teeth ? closes it again as she makes what is to me at least a noticeable effort to collect her thoughts, and then says, "Well, I see you?ve seen some sense at last." Suzi?s eyebrows are raised in surprise, and she looks hard at Lisa, then at my mother, and finally at me. I shrug. I worry for a moment what she might make of Lisa?s remark, and can see her putting two and two together, but she simply says, "I need to take the coat home, David, ?cos my mum will miss it. But you can keep the dress on if you like. I?ll come to collect it tomorrow morning." "Oh yes please," says my mother a little too hastily, before I have a chance to speak, "I want to get a proper look at her... I mean it. The dress." I shuffle out of the coat and hand it to Suzi, who passes me my sports bag in return, kisses me on the cheek, and turns to go. I walk past my mother into the house, brush past Lisa who is standing in the hallway, where I dump my bag. I walk into the living room and sit, followed by my mother and Lisa. Lisa sits down, crosses her legs, and takes a sip of wine. She looks as me, flexing her ankle as she does so. I notice she is wearing strappy, high-heeled red sandals which match the bright colour of her lipstick. Mother switches off the TV, which has been broadcasting a nature documentary of some kind, and then sits down as well. Her wine glass is empty, and she refills it. Suddenly alert to small things, I notice that the ruby-coloured wine is a Vacqueras, and that the bottle is more than half empty. Lisa is evidently staying the night. I suspect that if I?d come home in the normal way, I would have found them in a state of languid, affectionate relaxation. But now there is a tension in the air, and neither of them is sitting in a completely comfortable pose. At last my mother breaks the silence. "Is Katie back, then?" Her voice is a little hoarse, a little anxious. Lisa is looking at me sharply, and I sense that it is a large moment for all three of us. "I think she might be," I say. Mother looks away, then looks back at me, and smiles, moist-eyed, apparently unable to say anything. Lisa lets out a profound sigh, and I realise she has been holding her breath. Not knowing how ? or even whether ? to carry the conversation forward, I stand up again, and carry my sports bag up to my bedroom. But then, unable to settle, and deciding after all that I want to display myself as Katie in all Suzi?s finery before my mother and her partner, I descend, hoping for the first time for a very long time, for a long, lazy, contented evening. ++++++ I receive a text the following morning at around 10.30 to say that Suzi is on her way to collect the dark blue dress. I?ve contemplated wearing one of Katie?s dresses to greet her, but decide that is a step too far. But I push the boundaries of my androgynous style beyond the limits I?ve set myself in the past. Perhaps it?s a conscious rejection of the self- denial I?ve imposed on myself for the past year; perhaps I?m still revelling a little in the glorious sensations of last night; or perhaps I?m trying to send some kind of message ? although what, I?m not sure ? to Suzi. So I dress with care in an outfit consisting of stretchy black trousers in a rather glossy, lycra-like material tucked into slouchy tan coloured ankle boots; and an unstructured cream-yellow blouse which hangs loosely on my torso. The sleeves are slightly puffed, but the cuffs are tight, each of them fastened with three shiny black buttons. I wear a heavy silver chain beneath the soft, pointed collar. And yes, the whole outfit is undoubtedly and deliberately striking and unusual. Taken individually, each garment might just be part of a boy?s outfit; taken together, the overall effect is undoubtedly quite feminine. When she arrives, I open the door to Suzi who looks me up and down, raises her eyebrows and purses her lips. "I thought you might..." she begins, but then tails off. I wonder what she was going to say. Perhaps, I hazard, she is disappointed that I am in fact not wearing a dress. But then again, she has no idea, I think, about Katie?s wardrobe. But although she has seen some of my more flamboyant clothes before now, I am definitely breaking new ground here. I invite her in, but she says she?s got to rush, so I hand over a bag containing her carefully-folded dress and underwear, grab her by the waist and pull her towards me, intending a kiss. "Hey," she says with a smile, pushing me away with the palm of her hand. "Yesterday was a one-off. A very pleasant one-off, but a one-off all the same." I know, of course, that I?m no competition for her older, wealthier, perfect-in-every-way boyfriend, but I suppose I had hoped for a little affection this morning. Perhaps with a conversation about what happened the day before. But it?s clear from her manner that this is not what Suzi has in mind, and I find it difficult to conceal my disappointment. Fifteen year old boys are, of course, not noted for their sympathetic and tactful emotional responses, and I?m afraid I pout a little, making some sulky remark. "Hey," she says again, good-humouredly, "we?re friends, right? A bit of recreational sex is allowed between friends, but we?re not in a relationship, so I?m not to be taken for granted. And if it happens again," (she emphasises the "if", suggesting that she considers the chances to be pretty small) "well, it will be on the same understanding. Now," she leans towards me and kisses me briefly on the cheek, "let?s part on good terms." So we do. I think, when I brood over this encounter later, that we?re both a little bewildered by the events of yesterday ? the shedding of our inhibitions (certainly in my case), the unexpected tenderness, my transgressive dressing, and Suzi?s enthusiastic encouragement of it. I need to decide whether to disclose more to Suzi about Katie next time we meet. I wonder if she has any inkling of the existence of Katie, or someone like her, and I am conscious that anything I tell her might affect my friendship with her in unpredictable ways. For the time being, I decide to play it long and see what happens. ++++++ In the next few days, my mother is in a frenzy of activity. She researches important things like breast forms and makes some on-line purchases of suitable foundation garments which arrive in dribs and drabs over the next few days. When the weekend comes, she, Lisa, and I go shopping, traipsing happily around department stores and boutiques to replenish Katie?s depleted wardrobe. This is important because Katie?s clothes up to now have been styled for a young girl whereas, as Lisa points out, what is needed now is a wardrobe for an attractive young adolescent. My mother, of course, can design and make suitable clothes for me, but this will take time, and she is eager to equip me as soon as possible. There is no suggestion for either her or me that my outing with Suzi was an aberration, and I acquiesce in these frenetic shopping trips without demur. I also need tutorials on make-up, and this task seems to fall naturally to Lisa, who of all of us is, I think, obscurely the most pleased to see Katie return. I am still reticent about going out in public as Katie, but my mother once more improvises a Scottish outfit for me ? the famous Macrae tartan ? and encourages me to accompany her to town in a kilt. The effect of this outfit is strangely more feminine than when I wore it as a younger boy, perhaps because my smooth-skinned appearance is more incongruous now that I am taller and older, perhaps because the kilt is quite a bit shorter and tighter than would be likely to be worn by a Scotsman. But the rig can just about be passed off as authentic highland dress (or at least a pastiche of it). So sometimes on these shopping trips, I?m resplendent in an outfit consisting of the kilt, a double-breasted, carefully tailored military-style jacket fastened with glittering gold- coloured buttons, knee-length socks with tartan darts, and shiny black shoes with a chunky brass buckle. Mother has arranged for my long hair to be styled into soft waves (I conceal this as much as I can at school by tying it back), and for my ears to be pierced. For a few weeks, I find myself dressing almost all the time as Katie when at home, no doubt in reaction to the privations of the past year or more. Christmas arrives, and it is no surprise that the presents I receive from my mother and Lisa are aimed primarily at Katie. And then there are the January sales to negotiate, sending my mother into another furious round of power shopping. When I accompany her, I usually wear my Scots outfit, and while I don?t attempt to try any clothes on in the stores we visit, I sometimes feel that the sales assistants guess that the clothes we are buying are intended for me. Although my outfit can be explained away, it is still sufficiently striking to attract attention, and although my apprehension is overcome by my delight in being able to wear my kilt in public, I am still wary about meeting friends and acquaintances while wearing it. So, when shopping on the first Saturday after New Year, I am startled in the pedestrian precinct when I see Suzi and her mother Tarragon (what sort of parent can have thought that that sort of name was suitable for a new-born baby?) approaching us. Tarragon has seen my mother and seems determined to speak to her. Suzi, who is wearing a belted cream raincoat and tan boots, seems to recognise me and greets me with a cheery wave. The usual conversation takes place: "It?s the Macrae tartan. He?s a Macrae through his father?s family. Clan members have to wear the tartan on high days and holidays. Today?s the clan chief?s Name Day." Tarragon?s expression suggests she doesn?t believe a word of it. (Has Suzi told her about my outing in the blue dress?) I shift uncomfortably from foot to foot. But Tarragon has other things on her mind, fortunately, and draws my mother into a conversation about my and Suzi?s school, where they are both parent governors. Suzi draws me a short distance away, wearing a smile that is amused but friendly, and looks me carefully up and down taking in every detail ? hairstyle, the small gold earrings I?m wearing, military jacket, kilt, shiny shoes ? of my attire. After a few seconds, she compliments me on my outfit, and I thank her nervously, forcing a smile in return. Then Suzi looks at what I?m carrying ? trophies of the shopping trip in stiff cardboard carriers with the logos of Mango, Phase Eight, All Saints, River Island, and of Bennett?s, the little town?s department store. She raises an eyebrow. "I bet," says Suzi, leaning forward and speaking quietly into my right ear, "that you have a whole wardrobe full of dresses at home." I hesitate, hoping that this statement doesn?t require a reply. "Don?t you?" she asks. Time seems to stand still for a moment, and my head swims. Suzi looks at me expectantly, and I feel myself colour. After what seems an age, I give a half nod. Around us, the world goes on. Passers-by give the occasional glance in our direction, but seem not to notice anything unusual, but in my state of heightened and sharply-focused perception, I?m suddenly the most visible person in town. It?s almost like one of those dreams where you suddenly find yourself in a familiar setting stark naked. I search for something sensible to say, something that will explain or justify what I?ve just admitted. But nothing comes to mind. I look hard at Suzi to try to gauge her reaction. But then I realise that Suzi is speaking again. "I?m coming to see you tomorrow morning. I expect a fashion show." I look at my reflection in a shop window, thinking to myself, ?Aren?t I giving you one already?? ++++++ Of course, I tell my mother what has passed between us during her conversation with Tarragon. Her reaction is phlegmatic. "Well," she says, "Suzi has seen you in a dress once, and seemed unfazed by it. Let her come tomorrow and get to know Katie, and perhaps you can get a better idea of what she thinks. I really don?t think she?s about to make trouble for you." She thinks for a minute. "Tarragon might be a different matter, though. You might just want to check on whether Suzi is intending to say anything to her mum, and if so what." That thought sobers me considerably, but it is clear that I must entertain Suzi tomorrow, and I spend a wakeful night thinking about what I?m going to say to her, and (just as important) what I?m going to wear. The following morning, my mother and Lisa ? who arrives at the house at breakfast time ? roar off on their bikes, evidently having decided to leave the coast clear for Suzi and me. (Mother passed her test some months ago, and has since bought herself a powerful and expensive BMW.) For my part, I dress in a taupe-coloured skirt made from clingy, stretchy fabric that finishes half way up my thighs; a silky tailored top in dark fuscia, with a round, notched neckline; dark tights and patent shoes with quite a high heel. I think the outfit makes me look older and more sophisticated, although I worry that Suzi with her grown- up tastes will think I?m trying too hard. So I?m quite nervous when the doorbell rings, and I open the door to let Suzi in. Suzi is dressed more quietly than I: she?s wearing a cream dress with a full skirt, not too short, and tan shoes with a low heel. Suzi smiles, says hello, and crosses the threshold. She looks me up and down carefully (this experience is becoming familiar), and then hugs me and plants a soft kiss on my lips. I sense our two lipsticks mingling (hers a rather darker shade than mine). She stands back and holds me at arms? length. "Well!" she says. This warm greeting reassures me, and, becoming more confident I lead Suzi upstairs. She follows me, complimenting me on my "deportment" as she puts it, and we enter my bedroom which, I admit to myself, is smaller and less luxuriously furnished than Suzi?s. We open my wardrobe, and Suzi browses through the rail of clothes, making the occasional observation about styles and colours. She pulls out a pair of skinny, black trousers in a glossy fabric, and holds them out for me to put on, so I retreat into the bathroom, and swap my skirt for the trousers which, on returning to the bedroom, I team with a pair of long boots. Suzi stands back to admire. I take this opportunity to ask if she has said anything to her mother about me, and she shakes her head. "But mum couldn?t stop talking about the kilt outfit you were wearing. She says that no way was it a Scottish kilt, but more like a girl?s skirt, and that no-one who didn?t know who you were would have thought, seeing you, that you were a boy." She giggles. I think I?m secretly pleased by this remark, although it suggests that Tarragon might have an uncomfortably close intuition about my stylistic tastes. "Does it matter?" asks Suzi when I put this to her. "It might, if she starts gossiping and the word spreads." "Mm," says Suzi, "I think the word?s bound to spread sooner or later if you continue with this lifestyle choice. But," she frowns, "mum?s not really a gossip. I don?t think you need to worry too much, at least for the moment." While we?ve been having this conversation, Suzi has extracted a short, close-fitting purple dress from the wardrobe, and she now holds this out for me, with a clear indication that I should change into it. So I retreat into the bathroom once more. I?m still wearing tights under my slim trousers, and I once more decide to put on the boots I?ve just had to remove, which in fact, I think, look rather sexy with the dress. Suzi evidently shares that opinion, as she pulls me into an embrace, caressing my back through the material of the dress as she once more plants a lingering kiss on my lips. "What are you wearing under that dress?" she asks. I shrug. "Underwear. The usual sort of stuff." "Really? Do you know what I?m wearing under this dress." This with a grin. I shake my head. "Nothing at all," she smirks. And then, when I can think of no sensible remark to make, she looks at me with an unreadable expression and says, quite softly, "You know what I think would be a good idea? I think it would be a good idea for you, too, to be wearing nothing at all under your dress." My heart lurches a little, and I roll my eyes, but retreat again into the bathroom. (It is, in fact, because I did not really want to expose my rather complicated foundation garments to Suzi that I changed there rather than in front of her in the bedroom.) So I take off my boots, and remove the tights and the girdle which has given me gentle curves, and (leaving my under-garments behind me) return to the bedroom, suppressing my sense of anticipation about what might be coming. And then Suzi kisses me again, and brushes the back of a hand down my stomach and groin, lingering somewhat on the erection which is now highly visible through the fabric of my dress, and then placing the palm of her hand on my torso pushes me gently back towards the bed. We both collapse on to it, and then Suzi pulls herself upright and sits astride me. She stares at me for a moment, touches her upper lip with the tip of her tongue, and says, "This time, let?s try to take it slowly." And then she adjusts my dress, pushing it from my groin, and manoeuvres herself so that I can enter her, which I do not hesitate to do, and begins a slow and pleasurable undulation. She leans forward, kisses me again, her proximity inviting caresses. And as I respond to her movements, she guides my fingers beneath her dress and whispers encouragement. "There...and just here...slowly now...yes, like that...ahh...yes, again..." before her voice becomes harsher and more urgent, and I find myself struggling for control. In the end, I think we come a few seconds apart, Suzi?s orgasm following closely on my own, and she collapses on top of me, shivering and perspiring, with an animal cry which seems to be appreciation, or at least pleasure. A little while later, we are both lying on the bed naked (or nearly so in my case, as I?m still wearing a bra over my breast forms), embracing, caressing, and kissing each other affectionately. Nothing much is said, but quite quickly the caresses start to arouse me once more, and by the way Suzi presses herself against me, I can guess that her excitement too is mounting. And of course one thing leads to another, with our second bout of lovemaking if anything more satisfying than the first. I think that after that we doze a little because when my phone beeps and I look at it, it is after one o?clock. The beep signals a message from my mother, advising me that she and Lisa have driven to the coast, and won?t be back before tea time. I tell Suzi this, saying that we can take our time before getting dressed again, but Suzi has other ideas. "Let?s go out for lunch," she says, glancing through the window to check that the weather is holding. As a weak shaft of January sunlight is falling across the bed, there is no need to worry about that, and Suzi bustles about pulling on her dress once more. I open my wardrobe, and start taking out some of David?s clothes, but Suzi places a hand on my arm to stop me, and then pulls out a dark skirt and a purple, round- necked top. I freeze. "I?m not sure this is such a good idea," I say. "What if someone sees us?" Suzi shrugs. "What if they do?" Well, I can think of several unsettling things that might happen, and say so. But Suzi is unmoved. "First of all, we probably won?t see anyone we know. Secondly, even if we do, they probably won?t recognise you. And thirdly, even if they do, we can pass off your outfit as a harmless bit of fun." I am sceptical, and this probably shows in my expression, so Suzi ploughs on. "Come on. We?ve had a great day so far. Don?t spoil it." I am rather doubtful about what might spoil the day. I suggest that an encounter with one or two of our school companions seems quite likely to put a damper on the afternoon, adding with a stammer that I?ve never been out in town as Katie. But Suzi?s powers of persuasion are formidable when she wants them to be, and quite soon I?m dressed and made up, and, selecting a quilted jacket from the coat stand in the hallway, I find myself walking into the cold winter air. We walk towards the town centre, but before we reach the shops, Suzi steers me into a small corner caf?, and we sit down, and a pretty young waitress comes to take our order. We both order coke and a sandwich, and Suzi fishes a purse out of her shoulder bag to pay for our order. Meanwhile, I look around nervously. Although the caf? is quiet, I?m worried there might be people I know there, but in fact I can see only strangers ? mostly middle-aged women, who take little interest us. Detecting my anxiety, Suzi places a reassuring hand over mine. "Stop worrying. You look great. Now, tell me about what your mum and Lisa are doing." This is a pretty transparent attempt to distract me, but we do in fact start to talk about normal things, and I gradually calm down. After we finish our sandwiches, Suzi orders coffee, and we sit in companionable silence for a while, until she says, "Do you fancy a trip around the shops?" I must look horrified, because Suzi smiles sympathetically and shakes her head in mock disappointment. "A step too far? Well, maybe if it?s really your first time out as Katie. Let?s get you home, then, and we?ll find another time to go shopping together." So we walk back to the house, and gossip amiably for a while longer over more coffee. Suzi is tactile and affectionate, and I find myself asking her about Jason and about why, if she?s involved in a steady relationship, she?s spending time playing with me. Perhaps this is a tactless choice of words, but it doesn?t seem to put a damper on our conversation. Suzi thinks for a moment before replying. "Because I?m interested in you and your foray into the female world. Because we?re good friends. Because I want to make you feel good about yourself. And because a girl?s got to have a bit of fun sometimes." And so, although it?s evident to me that Suzi is not looking for any kind of committed relationship with me, I know that her friendship and support are going to be important in the time to come. ++++++ So the circle of people who knew about Katie was getting bigger. Lisa, Jill, Suzi. But remarkably, and despite my increasingly androgynous public face, most of my school friends failed to work out what was happening. Perhaps the changes were too gradual; perhaps they failed to see because the truth would have seemed too bizarre to them; or perhaps they just chose to look the other way. But I had few friends amongst boys. They didn?t exactly avoid me, and because of my success at tennis and in track events, I gained the popularity that success at sports always seems to bring at school. But boys? company bored me, and whilst I didn?t disdain it, I never made a point of initiating friendships. I was of course terrified of Katie?s existence being discovered, but it never was, at least not at that stage. Nor was I ridiculed or even teased because of the clothes I wore in public. Perhaps it was simply that there was a sense of difference, of otherness, that prevented my male acquaintances from becoming friends. It is true that Charles, whom I?d known since infancy, remained constant. Rugby-playing, well-built, strong, and funny, he was popular with other boys, and whenever I attracted attention ? and my appearance did sometimes attract the odd ribald comment ? he defended and protected me. Perhaps it was his protection that stopped these comments developing into anything more serious. With Charles on my side, I never had any problem with adolescent bullies. But as the years went by, Charles also became popular with girls, and by the time we were both 15, he acquired the first of what was to become a long string of girlfriends. To me, his lifestyle seemed impossibly glamorous. As to my own sexual tastes, I had the usual adolescent longings, which were directed at girls rather than boys, but Suzi?s relationship with Jason had become serious, and I had no illusions that her fling with me was the precursor to something serious: a little more than ships that pass in the night, perhaps, but a friendship rather than a relationship. My friendship group therefore more generally involved girls rather than boys, but I did not or could not initiate any kind of physical relationship. I think it was probably my fear of discovery that stopped me from doing so. But girls there were in my life. Suzi and I of course remained good friends, and saw a lot of each other playing tennis. But as always the fact that she was in the year above me meant that inevitably for the most part we moved in different social circles. I found myself instead drawn to a group of four girls in my own year ? Kathryn, Jane, Gopa, and Barbara. They had been inseparable since the start of secondary school, and were cruelly nicknamed ?The Weird Sisters?, for no discernible reason. In fact they were all normal, quiet, intelligent girls. I liked them for their even temper and good humour. They were not, as some girls were, cruel: they did not tease or gossip, and accepted me simply as I was. Kathryn, who was always known as Kathy, was a tall, studious girl who was slim, loose limbed, and unconsciously attractive. She had a quirky style of dress, and a boyfriend called Peter who like Charles was a rugby player. Barbara was a quiet, studious girl with an off-beat sense of humour, who was in my class. I liked her, although I was never attracted to her in any sexual way. Gopa was a curvy, giggly girl of South Asian heritage. She was funny and tactile, but although I was to have a brief fling with her when I was sixteen or so, she was never really relationship material. Her conservative parents deplored the idea of their precious daughter (she was an only child) having a boyfriend, so she was as terrified of having a serious relationship as I was about the possibility of Katie being discovered. Jane was the odd one out ? a slim girl with a pinched face, she was desperate to acquire a serious boyfriend, but she tended to go for clean-cut, muscular boys, quite unlike myself. This was not a problem for me, as I considered her rather shallow. She tended to wear skimpy, close fitting clothes, even in winter, and far too much make-up: scarlet lipstick on her thin, pinched lips, and bright green eye shadow on both her upper and lower eyelids which sometimes seemed to extend over half her cheekbones. And then, not properly part of our group but on the fringes of it, there was Marie, a tall, large-boned girl with a tendency to dress all in black. She had a powerful face ? strong jaw line, high cheekbones, deep-set eyes, a long straight nose, and full, expressive lips. Most boys considered her unattractive and rather intimidating, and she, for her part, disdained their company with a kind of amused contempt. She had, I came to understand later, an active social life outside school, revolving around bars and clubs where heavy rock was played, and her goth-like appearance blended in with the atmosphere. Marie was a true enigma, and I was intrigued by her. While she was certainly not conventionally attractive, there were definitely things there which aroused something in me. But of course, to her, I was of the most trivial significance. Katie?s development over the next two years was gradual and pleasurable. I did have one or two further discreet encounters with Suzi, but for the most part, our friendship continued to revolve around sport rather than sex. I remained reluctant to dress as Katie when going out locally, but mother and I, sometimes with Lisa, would take day trips ? sometimes to the coast, sometimes to various other attractions ? when Katie would parade herself in delicious openness. The fear of discovery was always there, of course, but in such settings it tended to add spice to the atmosphere. Mother and Katie went on shopping trips to London, where we would stay overnight, perhaps taking in a show or a concert. And sometimes we would spend holidays together. I remember one glorious trip involving a flight to Marseilles, where we hired a car and drove through Cannes and Nice, crossing the Italian frontier to Ventimiglia and Traora, ending up in Genoa. Katie wore denim shorts and strappy sandals or espadrilles, with loose, sleeveless tops, and carried a careless shoulder bag with (she thought) stylish aplomb. Lisa, meanwhile, was now more or less permanently living with us, commuting to her work at The House daily. So at least one member of the family was involved in a serious relationship. This easy lifestyle had become comfortable, and left to myself Katie would probably have continued in this half light indefinitely. Again, however, it was Suzi who prompted the next stage in Katie?s development. ++++++ Suzi and I are both approaching our eighteenth birthdays. For Suzi, this will be the precursor to change. She has gained a place at Oxford, reading modern languages, and will be leaving home in the early autumn. I, of course, have a further year at school to cope with. One August day, after a game of tennis, we are relaxing in her room, talking about nothing in particular, when she opens her wardrobe and pulls out a dress. It?s ankle length, in silver grey fabric, and sleeveless. The bodice, I see, is designed to fall in soft folds below the wide neckline, and the skirt is narrow, with a slit up the right side from ankle to thigh. "It?s for my eighteenth ? I?m going to wear it at the party." I know that Suzi?s parents have arranged what seems destined to be quite a lavish party for her in a local community hall, with a paying bar, food, and a disco. I look at the dress admiringly, wondering briefly how it would look on Katie. But then, Suzi pulls out another dress ? also ankle length, red (almost scarlet) with a fine pattern running through the weave in gold filigree. The dress has close-fitting sleeves, a tailored bodice, with quite a full skirt. "I thought you could wear this," says Suzi. It?s a beautiful dress, and I can?t help a little thrill of excitement running through me as I contemplate it. But: "I can?t possibly wear that at your party." Suzi grins. "Why not? We?re about the same size. I?m sure this would fit you. Or if it?s not perfect, your mum will be able to adjust it." "That?s not what I meant and you know it," I protest. But Suzi draws closer to me, speaking quietly. "Darling, one day you are going to have to go public. You can?t keep Katie secret for ever. Or if you do, you?re going to be unhappy for the rest of your life. What happens," she continues reasonably, "when you get involved in a serious relationship? Are you going to conceal Katie from your girlfriend or your future wife? I can assure you that will be a recipe for disaster." I mutter something about it being too soon, about needing to think more carefully about how I want to introduce Katie to the world, about having a proper plan. "But darling, I?ve got a proper plan. We simply say that I?ve persuaded you to do it for a dare. Or perhaps you?ve lost a bet with me and this is your forfeit." I?m not convinced. People will guess, I say. "Of course they will," says Suzi, "but this way they won?t have an excuse to tease you. It?s my party, so they?d bloody well better behave properly. And you can relax and enjoy the evening in the knowledge that you?ve taken the first step. Then you can decide how many more steps you want to take." I?m still not convinced, but Suzi then plays her trump card. "Take the dress home with you. Try it on. See what your mum makes of it. And just think about how gorgeous Katie will look at the party, and how people will admire her. Go on," she says again, "just wear the dress at home and see how you like it." Of course, I can?t resist. ++++++ The night of the party has arrived. Of course, there is no question of me not wearing the dress. I?ve tried it on, and as soon as I do so I?m entranced by it: the close fitting bodice emphasizes my curves, the full skirt swirls around me provocatively as I walk, the slippery material teasingly brushing against my tights. The colour sets off my blonde hair beautifully, and the palette of make-up I select ? red lips and nails, a little shimmer on my cheekbones, copper-gold eye make-up picking out the tone of the gold filigree pattern in the fabric ? sets off the dress perfectly. Mother is gushing in her compliments, and Lisa moreso. They have been trying gently to persuade me to appear in public as Katie for years, and they both leap on Suzi?s suggestion as the ideal opportunity to do so. I can?t resist. Perhaps I don?t want to. It has been arranged that Suzi?s mum will pick me up before the party and we will be dropped off there together. Her mother will ensure that everything is properly in place, and will then go home, leaving Suzi and her guests to it. Suzi has told her mother that she has dared me to appear in costume, as she puts it, but her mother gives me an uncertain look as I step into the car. Suzi herself looks incredible and I say so. "So do you," says Suzi, "doesn?t she mum." "Er, yes. I suppose." Her mother keeps her eye firmly on the road and Suzi gives a throaty laugh. "We?re going to enjoy ourselves tonight." We?re dropped off early so Suzi can greet her guests as they arrive. The hall is big, and the bar staff are setting up as we get there. Suzi buys both of us a drink: "I think you need this." And then she goes to talk to the DJ who is testing his decks, to talk about his programme of music, and to ask whether he will take requests during the evening. I sip the glass of wine she has bought. I?m in a state of delirium ? revelling in the feel of my clothes, apprehensive about people?s reaction to them, determined to carry off the evening with gusto, nervous that I might do something to invite ridicule, elation, jangling nerves, terror all churning inside me at the same time. The hall is large and oblong, and although like most community halls it is a little shabby, the lighting is subdued, and I surmise that once the guests have arrived ? and Suzi has, I know, invited a large number ? the venue will be perfectly fine. After Suzi finishes talking to the DJ we take up a position by the door. It?s understood that at least at first, I?ll join her greeting the guests. "It?s almost a joint birthday party, you know," she says to me. And of course it?s true: as I?ve said that we very nearly share a birthday. The first four guests to arrive turn out to be friends of Suzi from her riding club. Two of them are wearing short, bright dresses and heels, and the third ? a rather plain girl ? is wearing a longer, fuller, flowery dress. The fourth seems to be wearing an ersatz riding habit ? white jodhpur-style leggings, knee-length flat-heeled boots, a red, single-breasted blazer with brass buttons, a white shirt with a narrow black tie. The four gather around Suzi: presents are handed over and kisses exchanged. The girl in the pink coat engages me in conversation while the other three chatter along with Suzi. How do I know Suzi? Do I ever go riding? No? Perhaps I should take it up? You?ve got the physique for it, she says. She looks me up and down carefully. At length I disengage myself, as other guests are arriving, and the first four drift towards the bar. Suzi leans over and says in my ear, "You want to watch Donna. She?s into women in a big way. If she ever discovers there?s a penis under that dress, she?ll be disappointed. Unlike me, of course." Ah. So she wasn?t checking me out because she was uncertain of my gender. She had other considerations in mind. The next group to arrive are friends of Suzi?s from her school, none of whom I know very well as they?re in the year above me. Again, presents are given, kisses exchanged. The boys drift towards the bar, the girls stay to talk to us, commenting on the venue and asking about the night?s music. Nothing particularly profound is said. I?m introduced as Katie, and air-kissed by a two or three of the group. And now there is a steady stream of guests arriving. A few are from my own year. I spot Charles with his current girlfriend (a slim redhead with impossibly long legs), and three of the weird sisters ? Kathryn, Barbara, and Gopa. Jane, I learn later, has not been invited (she and Suzi cordially dislike each other), and Marie has been invited but apparently has better things to do. Like the other guests, they drift in the direction of the bar, and it occurs to me that none of them are eighteen, unlike the people from Suzi?s year and, of course, myself. I wonder idly whether the bar staff will ask for ID, and what understandings have been reached about the sale of alcohol. If I?m asked for ID, the documents I have show photos of David, not Katie. Charles, I suspect, will be able to carry himself off as eighteen, as perhaps will Barbara, who is wearing rather a severe, knee-length dress. Kathryn?s older boyfriend Peter will presumably do the honours if she wants a drink. Gopa, who is wearing a silky black sari decorated with stylised golden suns does not, in any case, drink alcohol, so she won?t have a problem. The place is now pretty full, and the DJ who up to now has been playing fairly quiet background music, announces loudly over the speaker system that it?s time to dance. He invites the "birthday girl" to get things rolling by taking the floor and, to my alarm, Suzi grabs me by the arm and drags me on to the dance floor with her. Suddenly, I sense I?m the centre of attention (along with Suzi) which is not what I?d wanted. The music crashes into life, and Suzi starts a vigorously expressive dance routine, which I do my best so synchronise with until, after a minute or two, other dancers start to join us. After two or three tracks, Suzi retreats to talk to some of her guests and, after a moment, I follow her, pausing to retrieve my clutch so that I can buy a drink for each of us at the bar. That done, I rejoin Suzi who is talking to a boy and girl from her year. I don?t know them very well, but remember they?re called Mary and Jack. I silently admire Mary?s outfit which consists of a long tube-like dress in autumnal colours, and, incongruously, a wide-brimmed slouchy hat. I can?t hear the conversation very well, since I?m not standing right next to them, and both the music and the ambient conversational hum are pretty loud now that the hall if full, but I think they are discussing holiday plans. I know that Suzi is going on holiday with her parents next week, involving a long trip to Venice, Trieste, and the Croatian coast. Suzi?s father is a keen yachtsman, and he has arranged to stay on in Trieste for the Barcolana after the rest of the family have flown home, immediately before Suzi starts at Oxford at the beginning of October. The consequence of this is that I will see very little of Suzi after her holiday has started until Christmas, and I wonder how I am going to manage the consequences of exposing myself as Katie without Suzi?s support. As this thought pops into my head, I feel the hairs on the back of my neck prickle, and I sense that someone is watching me. I turn round and glance across the dance floor to see Charles staring at me, a puzzled expression on his face. For a second our eyes meet, then Charles turns to his girlfriend who is talking to somebody I don?t recognise, taps her on the shoulder and gestures in my direction. She nods, and he sets of across the dance floor, making a bee-line for me. Suddenly, my heart is in my mouth. He stops a couple of paces away from me and stares, mouth open, taking in every detail of my outfit. It is obvious that he has recognised me, but as the seconds pass, he doesn?t speak. "Hi Charles," I say, in my normal voice. He remains silent, and, thinking that I must say nothing to break the tension, I ask him if he cares for a dance. After a second or two he nods, and we shimmy on to the dance floor. For such a bulky guy, Charles is a surprisingly agile dancer with some decent moves, and we quickly become wrapped up in the music?s rhythm. But after a while, a new track starts, and it?s less frenetic and noisy, and at last Charles speaks. "This is a bit of a revelation. I knew you were interested in clothes, and you have your own unique style, but..." He tails off. "Um," I say, "It was actually Suzi?s idea that I should come to the party in this outfit." "So this is your first time in a dress?" I feel myself blushing. "First time in public," I say ? which in itself is stretching the truth quite a bit. Charles absorbs this information, and then gestures that we should leave the dance floor to continue our conversation. I follow him, picking up my glass of wine which I?ve left on a low table. I take a hasty sip. "So, David..." he begins. "Katie," I say. "Call me Katie when I?m dressed like this." "When you?re dressed like that?" Charles?s expression is studiedly neutral. "Do I take it then that I?m likely to see you dressed as a girl again." I find I cannot lie to Charles. "It?s possible," I say. "It?s a sort of hobby of mine. A compulsion, really." "How long...?" he begins. I wave the question away. "Long enough," I say. "Does it matter?" "No of course not." Charles adopts a solemn expression. "You?re my friend David...er Katie...and your tastes in clothing aren?t going to affect that." I try not to smile at the rather dramatic way in which he says this. "Thanks Charles. That means a lot to me." I think for a second or two. "I hope it doesn?t change other people?s attitude towards me." He snorts. "Well," he says, "it?s bound to a bit. But tell me if there?s any, you know, unpleasantness. Some guys ? in the rugby team, for example ? are a bit funny about gays." I feel I need to address this head-on. "I?m not actually gay, Charles. At least I don?t think so. I believe a couple of girls here can vouch for me if need be." "I don?t actually want witness statements, Katie," says Charles, good humouredly. "But let?s talk about it some other time. This is probably not the best place for an in-depth discussion of your lifestyle. I need to get back to Maggie, via the bar. Er, do you want another drink?" But my glass is still half full, and I shake my head. Suzi has been watching this exchange, and as Charles moves away, she comes to join me. "You OK?" she asks, and I nod. "Probably a good thing, on the whole, that Charles knows about Katie," I say. "He was quite sweet about it actually." "Mm," says Suzi neutrally. "But I think it might be time to go and talk to your friends over there." She nods in the direction of the bar, where Kathryn, Barbara, and Gopa have congregated. They are chatting and giggling together, and don?t seem to have noticed me. I think about objecting, but I realise, of course, that this moment will have to be faced sooner or later, so Suzi and I make our way towards the three of them. "Hi." Suzi opens the conversation. "I?d like you to meet my friend Katie." Barbara and Gopa nod absently in my direction, but Kathryn ? acute, intelligent Kathryn ? scrutinises me more carefully, a look of recognition in her eyes. "Oh," she says, "I?m pretty sure we know Katie already." Barbara darts a questioning look at her, and Kathryn leans towards her and whispers something in her ear, and it?s almost comic to see Barbara?s hand fly to her mouth and her eyes widen. "Oh my God," she says, her voice unnaturally high-pitched, "David." "Shit." A most un-Gopa like exclamation. "What made you decide to come in fancy dress?" "Er, it was Suzi?s idea," I say truthfully. "First time?" "Oh, I don?t think so," interjects Kathryn, before I can say anything. "You don?t get to carry off a look like that without long practice." She looks at Suzi. "Well, I have seen Katie once or twice before," admits Suzi. "We?ve had a bit of fun, working on our look together." I?m not sure I?m completely comfortable with Suzi?s openness, but it doesn?t seem to shock or to cause any negative reaction, and soon the conversation morphs into a discussion of style, and I find myself being asked what other clothes I have and where I get them from. I talk a little about my mother?s dressmaking hobby and her interest in style, and admit in response to a question from Barbara, that my mother is well aware of Katie?s existence and has encouraged it. I add, hastily, that she never forced me to dress up, but acknowledge that she?s pretty positive about it, and Kathryn gives me a knowing look, which I find difficult to interpret. I start to relax after the conversations with Charles and my other best friends ? the people whose goodwill I am most anxious not to lose ? and after some more dancing, find myself wandering round the hall and chatting randomly. I don?t make a point of talking about myself, but news and gossip travel fast at parties, and from time to time I see someone talking excitedly in a group of friends, gesturing in my direction, and hear suppressed exclamations of surprise, and see disbelieving looks directed at me. It?s pretty clear as the evening wears on that my story is now well known, and I observe people?s reactions with interest. A few girls make a point of coming over to me to ask about Katie and to reassure me that "it?s really OK". Most boys studiously avoid me. There are one or two ? not many ? rather unfriendly looks. But on the whole I think people have taken things in their stride. I do have one slightly odd encounter with a boy wearing indigo dungarees, pink trainers with white laces, and a pink top with gauzy sleeves. He has a shock of long, rather wiry dark hair, a long, thin face, obscured by large-lens spectacles with heavy black plastic frames. I haven?t seen him at school, and I never do find out how Suzi knows him. He introduces himself as Nigel, and invites me to dance. "I wish," he says after a few minutes, "that I was as brave as you." He gestures at my dress. I think I have a good idea what he?s talking about, but I ask him to explain. He would, he says, love to have come to the party in a dress, but wasn?t brave enough. "It?s not that difficult," I say, perhaps underplaying the terror I felt earlier. "It?s not that simple either," he says. And then, after a few seconds, "You see, my parents don?t know." Ah. "I wonder if you can help me." I?m not sure what it means, and neither, in fact, is he. He has an idea that he wants a friend whom he can visit, and dress, and go out with. But I?m not sure about this. He seems needy, and potentially quite clingy, and I don?t know how convincing he would be in public. His dark, wiry hair affects the complexion of his face, and I suspect a lot of work will be needed before he achieves a look that satisfies him (or me). But although I?m reluctant, I find myself exchanging contact details with him before he retreats, perhaps embarrassed by his openness, into the throng. As the evening goes on, the party becomes more raucous, the banter more extreme, and I begin to feel a little uncomfortable again. Perhaps noticing this ? I?m standing alone, back to a wall, my drink held defensively in front of me ? Suzi comes over and says she needs some fresh air, and will I come outside with her. It?s close to midnight, when my mother has arranged to pick me up. I wonder whether I?ve got time, but Suzi seems to be in an undefinably odd mood, so I follow her out of the hall. I wonder for a moment where Jason might be, but Suzi tells me he?s enjoying himself dancing, and that he won?t miss her so not to worry. Why should I be worrying, I ask myself. And then again, I think, perhaps Jason is the jealous type. In which case, why is Suzi inveigling me outside to spend some time alone with her. We walk into the night, into a pool of light outside the main door, to find groups of people smoking and talking. Some have obviously drunk far too much, which is perhaps inevitable in a teenage party without adult supervision. There are knowing jeers as the two of us pass, and a boy lunges unsteadily at Suzi, but she evades him with a good-natured grin, apparently finding the episode amusing. For my part, I find it all a little threatening, but Suzi steers me away from the group of boys, and around the corner of the building. "Not a completely positive advert for the school," I say, trying to make light of my discomfort. "Mm." Suzi looks at me, but her mind is obviously on other things. She looks a little uncertain, giving me a half smile, and seems about to say something, but then thinks the better of it. I?m feeling slightly mellow and confused, and I puzzle over what the problem might be, because it seems to me that there is a problem. The silence lengthens uncomfortably, and I start to feel restless. The night air is distinctly chilly and I shiver a little. And then she suddenly takes hold of me, pushing me backwards against the wall, and plants a kiss full on my lips. I struggle a little in my surprise, but then find myself responding, and our clinch lingers on for quite a while, becoming more intimate as it does so. Whilst this bracing approach stimulates me quite a lot, I find myself worrying again about Jason discovering us, and as we break I voice my concerns: perhaps someone?s seen us leaving the hall together and spoken to him about it. But Suzi shrugs off my worries and kisses me again. At length she steps back, holding me by the upper arms, and stares into my eyes. "Why," she says, "does it make me so horny when I see you wearing a dress?" I shrug. "I don?t know," I smile, "but I?m glad it does." We kiss again. I realise that in just a few days, I?ll lose all this when Suzi goes on holiday, and then up to Oxford. I try to explain how I feel about this, how sorry I?ll be not to see her for a long while. "I?m not going on holiday until Tuesday," she says. "Monday I?m coming to visit you." She pauses for a moment. "Wear something sexy." I nod, and smile, and feel ridiculously happy, and start trying to explain how I feel. But Suzi cuts me off before I can say much. " I?d better get back before Jason misses me." So perhaps reality is dawning at last. She gives me a hard look. "Not a word. OK?" As if I would. "OK. Go on. I?ll follow you in a bit." I agree that it probably wouldn?t do for us to be seen re-entering the hall together so I linger for a while, and then I check my phone. There?s a text from my mother saying that she?s on her way to pick me up. So after a minute or two, I walk back to the hall, and say my farewells to Charles, and look for Kathryn and her friends. I identify them from the unmistakable sight of Gopa?s flamboyant Sari, and wander over to them. We say our goodbyes and exchange kisses. Kathryn says that she looks forward to seeing me back at school: there is much for us to discuss, and I wonder uneasily what she has in mind. And then I look for Suzi, who I find talking to Jason, and apparently all is well there, so I decide not to interrupt them. Instead, I just wave at them as I pass, which they acknowledge, and then as my phone vibrates to let me know that my mother?s here, I walk out of the hall. I look around to find mum?s car, and a pair of headlights flash, so I stroll over and get into the front passenger seat, taking care to avoid trapping the hem of my dress in the door as I close it. Mum and Lisa are both there, and they have evidently been out. My mother is wearing a short, sequinned dress in a very deep purple which goes well with her hair colouring; Lisa has on a pair of slim leather trousers, and a shot silk top in deep, vibrant maroon. They both look impossibly glamorous, and I wonder how I can ever compare with them for glamour and sophistication. I make some remark to this effect, and Lisa says, "Give it time darling, you?re only eighteen." Mum adds that she thinks I?m doing quite well as it is. As we drive home, I tell them about the party, admitting that I have failed to keep to my intention of telling people that my outfit was no more than a bit of fun, schemed up with Suzi, just a one-off really. Now everybody knows about Katie, and will deduce that she is a fixture. No real harm seems to have been done, however, and my closest friends seem positive and supportive. I sense that my mother and Lisa think that it?s rather a good thing that people have twigged that Katie is an important part of my life and has been for some time. But I wonder again how I?m going to manage without Suzi?s encouragement and support, and whether when term starts Kathryn and her friends are going to remain as upbeat about Katie as they have been tonight. I also worry about Charles?s reaction when he?s had time to digest the information. And then there?s Kathryn?s boyfriend Peter, whom I didn?t talk to on the night. And I remember then that most of my year were not invited to the party, and think that when news of the evening goes round the school, as it inevitably will, the reactions of those who were not at the party will be just as crucial as the reactions of those who were there. Managing all this and judging the right tone to take with people is going to be a delicate task. And how will Mrs.Simmonds react when she realises that her deductions about Katie were correct all along? But as I undress and prepare for bed I reflect that, all things considered, it has been a successful evening. I?ve enjoyed ? revelled in ? appearing in public as Katie; the people most dear to me have been kind; and certainly no-one has shown hostility or negativity towards her. It?s just the next stage of introducing Katie to the world that I have to worry about.