Announcing An Engagement free porn video

Announcing An Engagement. By Tanya H. Part One. To witness the event that started a fractured family's reconciliation you must go to the very end of Roker Pier, near Sunderland in the Northeast of England on May the 17th 2016; about 10 in the morning. There you will find a man and a woman, dressed for the stiff, spume laden wind blowing in from the North Sea and whipping up foaming waves to crash against the pier's stones. Spray even splashed the slabbed roadway, patterning the couple sitting together on a faded bench. From the way they lean comfortably against each other, arms around shoulders, his head on her shoulder where her black hair could wrap him, you would deduce they were very close - deeply in love perhaps - and you'd be right. They have brought thermal travel cups with them, loaded with fresh, strong coffee, but she has yet to sip hers; she doesn't want anything spoiling the intimate aftertaste of their lovemaking. The man, Jasper Flint, has broad shoulders and thick, powerful arms - evident even though his hiking coat. He keeps his thinning hair cropped, though enough remains to shine out carroty red against his pale skin. On seeing his clear, well defined face, you would guess him to be in his late twenties, and maybe admire his thick, ginger moustache waxed to curled perfection at each end. Each time he looks away from the sea to the woman beside him, perhaps to push some of her hair from his face, you'd see warm contentment soften his clear, blue eyes. Not just from the sweet, teasing blow job she'd just gifted him, but because in the eight years he has loved her he has inspired such trust she has opened to him all the rooms in her heart. Soraya Shahi, for that is her name, drew her first breath in Beirut, though she has no memory of Lebanon and no inclination to visit. Her slightly husky voice carries more of England's Northeast than the Middle East and she prefers it like that, though her skin, what little you could see around her red, Goretex coat, carries memories of desert sunshine. Beside her compact and slightly short lover, Soraya looks willowy and tall. She has dark eyes and soft lips, smooth cheeks lightly scared from childhood acne, and a bent, Arab nose. Her thick, black hair curls and swings way down her back when she forgets to tie it up. The contented couple are alone with the waves and gulls, for few others are daft enough to venture down the pier on this blowey morning. Making the most of the solitude, Jasper pushes some black curls aside and kisses her cheek. "Raya?" "Hello." "There's this thing I've been thinking about - a lot," he says. His voice dances with the lively accent of the great city of Liverpool, his home and forever beaconed as the place he first met Soraya. "I thought you'd been unusually quiet." "How would you feel if I said I wanted to marry you?" You would have to be standing close to them to hear the catch in her breath at the question, or to see the flush under her dusky skin. "Interesting," she said slowly. "Is it the sort of thing you're likely to say?" "It's highly likely, probably any minute now." "Is this because I gave you a blow job before we came out?" "Your enthusiastic proficiency with my winkie is a factor, but not the only one." She purses her lips, inclines her head as though she really is thinking the offer through. The racing of her heart and sparkle in her eyes gives her away. "I think I'd probably look favourably on the idea." "In that case, Soraya Shahi would you make me so very happy by having me as your husband?" Part Two. Of course I said yes. We celebrated our engagement with heaped pizza and chilled lager at the Trattoria Dua overlooking Sunderland Marina. When he discovered our news, Izabella - the owner, gave us huge bowls of ice-cream and wafers, with hissing sparklers showering the table. The other diners applauded, Jasper bowed and I curtsied, laughing and blushing together. After another couple of beers at the nearby Harbour View, where the locals were delighted to remind Jasper about Newcastle United's recent, unexpected victory over Liverpool Football Club, we headed for home the long way along the promenade. Arm in arm, cheek to cheek and hips bumping I don't think I'd ever felt so happy. Until my phone started singing from my handbag - that particular ringtone crashing through my joy the way the cold, onshore wind couldn't. "Emmi!" I blurted. I might never have seen the sunrise over Beirut, but my brother and I had always referred to our mum as a Lebanese, Emmi. "Leave it," Jasper said, quickly - instinctively, though he knew I couldn't. Nor would he have expected me to. "Habeebti," she whispered. For the last nine years I had refused to speak Arabic, but sometimes Emmi couldn't help herself. Besides which, she hardly ever called me Soraya; Habeebti, or darling, sat nicely in neutral ground for us both. "Is this a bad time?" she asked. "You're outside, should I call back?" The only bad time for a call from Emmi was at work, when my phone would be tucked into my locker anyway. Otherwise duty meant I'd answer her any time of the day or night. "Jasper and I are walking on the promenade, it's very windy." I'd only told her about Jasper last year; maybe she'd got used to the idea of me having a boyfriend; maybe not. "I could call back." "No, Emmi, just a minute. Here, I've found a shelter. Is that better, can you hear me now?" "Yes, darling, that's better. How are you today?" I looked at Jasper, asked a question with my eyebrows and tilt of my head. He nodded. "Great news, Emmi - the best. Are you ready? Jasper and I are to be married!" From her silence I thought perhaps I shouldn't have told her, but when a (mildly) drunk girl can't tell her Emmi she's getting married the world has become a much colder place. "Emmi? Are you okay? Has he come back?" Emmi wasn't allowed to talk to me, none of the family could, so she only phoned when she got time away from the Man She Married, or MSM for short. In her phone, which he regularly inspected, I'd been listed as Yoga Helen. When I'd been only five he slapped her so hard on the side of her head he'd perforated her eardrum; not a man to be defied. Every time I looked in the mirror I saw the chipped incisor and scarred top lip he gave me with a hurled cup: in his mind a reasonable punishment for a seven year old who didn't make his tea strong enough. She'd often tried to explain his behaviour as the stress of leaving a fractured Lebanon, of crossing Europe and then throwing yourself on the charity of relatives. "No, no - he's in the shower. Did you say... Married, darling? How?" "We haven't worked out the details yet, have we, Jas?" "Hello, Mrs Shahi," Jasper called when I held the phone towards him. When I took the phone back I heard Emmi weeping, so that was my night spoilt. Part Three. I met Jasper seven months into my nursing course in Liverpool. On a night out with some other student nurses I'd fallen heavily - an inexperienced combination of alcohol and high heels - and banged my shoulder hard. My physiotherapist was a short, very muscular gym bunny who didn't take himself too seriously. Aside from the difference he made to my recovery, I found him funny, good looking and pleasant company. Towards the end of my treatment he asked me out. "Just a drink?" he'd pressed, mistaking my surprise, and suspicion, for impending refusal. "Just a drink, with me?" Suspicion of his motives made me hold back a little at first - I'd been warned about those who'd be attracted to my peculiar circumstances and wouldn't have my best interests at heart in a sexual relationship. To test the water we started hanging out together; things like movies and the gym at first, then a drink or two after work, a meal and then one night we found a perfect moment for kissing, so we kissed. "You know that being physically female wasn't my default when I started out in life?" I said, warily, after a subsequent kiss had lengthened into breathlessness. "Not bothered," he said without hesitation. "Personality attracts me, and yours is exceptionally attractive, not the package - I've been happy in bed with both variants, by the way." "Variants? Interesting term. I'm in between, working from one to the other." "A voyage of discovery for both of us then?" he said, and that was that. Not everybody was so cool with me or my life choices though. I don't mean professionally or amongst my friends in Sunderland either; by the time of our engagement I wasn't being read anymore, hardly anybody there knew my provenance and those that did were the ones I'd specially selected. No, I meant family - you know, the ones who should love and support you? Somebody who thought it was particularly uncool to have a self-declared sister was Caleb, my older brother. Once in a while he'd phone to remind me about the appalling life-choices I'd made, or when some family crisis manifested he'd remind me how I was generally part of the problem, not the solution. I usually considered a call from him as sport. This is how he started a very important phone call, though he didn't tell me its importance until much later. "Ishmail?" Obviously I cut him off. "Don't hang up!" he urged when he called again five minutes later. "Why do you persist in calling me that?" "Because that's your name." Ten minutes later he opened the conversation with, "Stop cutting me off." "Welcome to my world," I replied. "Will you stop being so single-mindedly selfish, or at least put it on hold for a few minutes." It pissed him right off when I blocked his number right after that editorial on my life; I knew how pissed off he was when I unblocked it twelve hours later and showed Jasper the messages he'd sent. Jasper treated the car crash of my family life with amused bemusement. To put his family into context, his first gay relationship had been with a fellow student at his home town sixth-form college and the lad remained on Jasper's parents' Christmas card list. That I became more overtly female each time he brought me home to see them didn't bother them at all. How about this for open minded acceptance - I'd had my best ever makeup lessons from Jasper's mum. A Manchester based, British Airways flight attendant, she knew a thing or two about artful cosmetics. Jasper's dad, a squat, thick set, carrot-thatched man descended from a long line of Liverpool dockers, worked as a committed union official at the Ellesmere Port car plant and had scared me into near silence the first few times I'd met him. He'd blown away all my crude stereotyping early on, having never questioned Jasper over his girlfriend or boyfriend choices, and never treating me with anything but acceptance when, for a while, I was kind of both. "There's precious little happiness in this world, kid," he said to me one afternoon early in our relationship, helping with a barbecue in his back garden. "Got to make your own, and work hard to keep it. My boy thinks the world of you and that's good enough for me." "Being civil to me and keeping your own medieval opinions to yourself when we have a conversation should be basic common courtesy," I pointed out the next time Caleb phoned. "Why has everything got to be about you, Ish - " Some people don't learn. Caleb had been everything MSM had wanted in a son, unlike me - the disgusting disappointment nobody was allowed to talk about. If I'd conformed I would have shone along the kind of career path he'd enjoyed in medicine; back then he was head of emergency medicine at an Oxford hospital. Instead I'd risen to a Junior Sister's post on a surgical ward in Sunderland. Don't get me wrong, I loved being a nurse, but the bitterness often crept back - usually when I saw the Doctors' expensive cars or while being patronised by some arrogant prick of a Doctor. My Doctoring finished in a car park at the back of the medical faculty of Edinburgh University after MSM, who had driven up from Salisbury specifically to confront me, made it quite clear, with forceful gesticulations, exactly how I was to live my life if I wanted his money to continue bankrolling my course. "No," I refused, arms folded, head tilted; terrified but exultant at the thought of finally standing up to this monster. "What will you do when the money runs out!" he yelled. I didn't even flinch. "I'd sooner suck cocks at Leith docks than be financially dependent on you." On reflection that wasn't the most conciliatory thing I could have said to a conservatively minded man with a strict, Catholic (Maronite) upbringing and outlook, but I was younger and angry, though not yet at the height of my anger. Perhaps if I had been more measured in my response he wouldn't actually have withdrawn the funding. The university, who couldn't have been more supportive about my transition, reluctantly let me go. No further money for bursaries had been available for another eighteen months. So I went to Liverpool to train as a nurse and while I waited for the course to start I wiped arses and cleaned up sick for dotty oldies in a Birkenhead care home. With each one I cleaned I consoled myself with how it would twist the dagger in MSM's heart to know I would rather be a nurse and a woman than a doctor and a man. Back to Caleb, prodigal son and prime example of the old saying about apples not falling far from the tree. "Stop cutting me off, this is important!" "Say my name." "Ish - " Ten minutes later... "You're being really fucking childish now!" "Say my name." "Every time I start you cut me off!" "My name, Caleb." I switched the phone to speaker so Jasper could enjoy it too. "It's about Emmi!" Caleb finally exploded. "What about Emmi?" I said, climbing down from my high horse. That's when I found out they'd got all the lump from Emmi's breast and it hadn't spread. Great news of course, but as the family pariah they hadn't bothered to tell me about the initial diagnosis. Two days after Jasper and I announced our engagement I had another phone call from Caleb, though I didn't connect one event to the other. He sounded particularly preoccupied, conversational even - which worried me, more so when he asked after Jasper. "We're getting married," I said. "Are you pleased?" "Married? You?" "Yes, now we're in the 21st Century I am allowed to marry. I'm going to have a lovely dress and flowers in a church and everything." "I know. Congratulations. Emmi told me." I muted my phone and stared at Jasper. "Caleb has just offered his congratulations on our engagement!" "Ask whoever it is you're talking to who they are and where they've buried Caleb," he said without looking up from his rugby magazine. "Emmi's the problem," Caleb went on earnestly. "She also told Papa. I don't know what possessed her to bring it up. Anyway, she's got a broken wrist now." "You're joking," I said. "Yes, of course I am - because our relationship has been characterised by biting humour since you... you know what you did." "It's a figure of speech, you penis. What about her wrist; he did it, didn't he? He broke her wrist!" "She says she fell, begged me not to say anything or do anything so that means he did it, doesn't it?" I hadn't a thing to say to the blatant truth in that outburst. Almost all of Emmi's fragile independence was expressed in code - I was Yoga Helen, remember? But to actually break her wrist! He'd sunk to a new low. "We have to get her out of there." His turn for silence. Even Jasper stared. When had either of us suggested we should do something together? Not since I came out as Soraya. "Caleb?" "You know she won't leave him." "There must be something - " "We should meet up... make a plan." Jasper frowned, then made a pantomime of staggering from his chair and fainting. I made a rude gesture towards him and checked my phone to make sure it really was Caleb suggesting he and I should meet up. "After what you said to me the last time we met?" I said slowly, carefully - my voice measured. "I believe the kindest thing you called me was, and I quote, 'a fucking ungrateful freak,' unquote." "For Emmi." "You and your idol both used that argument before." "He's not my idol! I haven't hit you or Emmi!" "Everything but!" "Not with Emmi!" "Lucky me!" Then Jasper was kneeling beside me, he reached for the phone and I thought he was about to end the call, beating me to the action. Instead he angled it towards him slightly. "Caleb?" he said, "This is Jasper, Soraya's fiance." You could almost hear him puff himself up with outrage that he should be addressed by the fucking freak's companion. I could only imagine the contempt a bastard like Caleb would feel for a man who would form a relationship with me. "Caleb?" Jasper tried again. "Hello, Jasper." Maybe he wasn't so puffed up after all. "Good to speak to you at last. Soraya thinks meeting would be a great idea," he glared at me, insisting on silence. "To help your Emmi." That was directed at me. "She's in Bristol next week, Tuesday to Thursday, for an RCN Congress." "Sorry, I can't get to Bristol until Thursday night - I'm on call." "Thursday night we'll both be in a hotel in the Cotswolds." Shaking my head furiously I mimed how I would throttle him and dismember his remains to feed the North Sea fishes. That posh hotel was our treat, a couple of nights away to get in some hiking and good pub food in a part of the country we'd both fancied visiting. I didn't want it spoiled by some horrible encounter with my horrid brother. I might as well not have not been in the room for all the control I had over the matter. Even when I tried to cut off the call Jasper snatched up my phone, held it at arm's length and sat on me. Did I tell you how compact and muscular he was? I had the presence of mind to keep quiet as I tried to lever him off, so Caleb wouldn't think I was having a seizure of something. But I went absolutely limp with shock when he and Jasper finished making the arrangements for the meeting, when they had both said their goodbyes and Caleb said good night to me. Not just, 'good night' either. "Did he just say, 'good night, Soraya'?" I mumbled. Jasper got up and helped me to my feet. "If Ban Ki Moon from the United Nations rings about Palestine, I'll be in the shower." "I hate him," I said, helping him undress. "He called you by your name!" "I hate him for giving me one less reason to hate him." "Women!" Jasper makes the kindest insults! Part Four. The RCN, Royal College of Nursing, is a gentle, tea and biscuit style of toothless union to represent nurses' interests with the government and employers. Four years ago some colleagues suggested I stood as one of the Sunderland Royal Hospital's representatives. Earlier that year I had confronted one of the managers - a pig-headed bully who was ultimately disciplined and moved to a different hospital - and that ensured my election. To be honest it became a bit of a pain in the arse; on top of my day job I had all the complexities of being a union rep - grievances, disciplinary cases and meeting after meeting. It did give me the chance to go to the annual, national RCN congress and in 2016 this was held in a smart conference centre in the old, Bristol docks. After the congress Jasper and I had planned to meet at a smart, Cotswold hotel he'd found to be a base for a couple of days hiking and exploring. Though the idea of actually meeting Caleb took away some of the sparkling anticipation from the holiday, I did have some curiosity about seeing my brother again - particularly as it had been his idea. And because of the opportunity to do something positive for Emmi. After a relatively painless train journey from Bristol I found myself the only passenger disembarking at the pretty, but inhospitable halt, that was closest to the hotel. As such I assumed I'd stand a good chance with the taxis. Wrong - the car park, such as it was, didn't have a single car in it, never mind a taxi. Google suggested a 4.5 km stroll would take me to the hotel; not a problem - I would walk further than that for an ice cream! Though not until I had changed my shoes; I had come directly from Bristol and the Congress, remember? My Congress-smart outfit comprised a dark blue skirt suit, professional makeup, hair in a thick plait and feet in stiletto- heeled court shoes. I'm not saying I couldn't do 4.5 kilometres in high heels, I have proved my determination on many occasions, but it would have to be some kind of emergency. Happily Jasper and I were committed hikers so my boots were packed in my rucksack - I prefer a good, spacious backpack to a suitcase, even one on wheels. The boots went on over thick socks which in turn padded out my black stockings. Taking off my suit jacket I rolled it carefully, strapped it to the top of my rucksack and followed Google from the station car park, looking like a neat escapee from some corporate apocalypse. It was one of those pleasant, late spring evenings when I loved England a little more; when the afternoon's warmth lingered and the sun wasn't in a hurry to go anywhere. Wonderful green trees and succulent shrubs lined the lanes as I heartily put the village and its railway station behind me. I stopped to admire some courting butterflies, scratched the nose of a curious pony which had nodded to me over a gate; I picked a sprig of cow-parsley and tucked it into my hair and felt generally at peace with the world. Even Google's direction that I must climb a stile to cut across a wide, tussocked pasture didn't bother my calm. Clearly my narrow skirt wouldn't permit any climbing, so I looked carefully up and down the lane and hoisted the hem around my waist. Over I went, red panties and black stocking tops bared to the world, but if the world saw it didn't care. I even sang 'Old McDonald's Farm' as I crossed the field, followed by a snorting herd of curious Friesen cows, who tossed their heads and halted warily when I stopped to compliment them on their pasture. The route's last two kilometres followed a lane, much narrower than the first and I stepped considerately onto the verge when I saw a red, VW hatchback coming up behind me. The only occupant, a middle-aged woman, smiled her thanks and then stopped just ahead. She wound down her window and leaned out. "Hello, are you heading to the hotel?" She sounded pleasantly of middle- England, wore her greying-brown hair in a bun and had sparkling, kindly eyes. "Don't ask me for directions, I'm a tourist, but yes, I am heading there." "Would you like a lift, I'm going there myself." I could have told her I like to walk, I even loved walking in Britain in the endless chills and fogs, but a kind offer was a kind offer and I accepted with a grateful smile. "If you don't mind me saying so, you look fabulous," she said, nodding in the general direction of my skirt and hiking boots after I'd stowed my kit in her car. "I can only imagine you're from an international merchant bank's head office's walking club." "Thank you, but if there were such a thing, and they allowed women, we would still have to wear heels!" She laughed, her eyes crinkled nicely at the corners, then shook my hand. "Hazel," she said. "Soraya, Soraya Shahi. Good to meet you." "And you, Ms Shahi. You're booked in for two nights I believe." "Are you a spy, Hazel?" Another laugh - the perfect sound for a summer's evening. I decided I liked her. "I'm the owner and I do the bookings. You have a distinctive, lovely name. I presume it's no coincidence I have another booking for a Shahi." That took away some of the glow. "You do? A Caleb Shahi by any chance? My brother." She nodded. I tried not to let my apprehension show, and to keep Angry Soraya in her box; this was not the place to air family business. But, how dare he spoil my weekend even more! We set off and she pointed out some landmarks, but it wasn't very long before she turned us onto a neat, gravel driveway winding through stands of ancient trees and orderly meadows. At the end stood a warm, stone mansion, quite old I supposed, with the genteel look suggesting it might have housed a prosperous landowning family in different times. Interesting gardens, shrubberies and ornamental ponds surrounded the house, while the number of cars in the more modern car park made me think business was good. It seemed Jasper had picked a good spot for our weekend away. Hazel dropped me at the front, where weathered stone steps between ornate, bloom filled planters led up to big, French doors. I thanked her and, with an eye on the flooring inside, I slipped off my pasture speckled boots and headed for reception. While checking in, and concentrating on the receptionist's paperwork I almost jumped onto the desk when a pair of hands took me firmly by the waist. "Guess who?" said a deep voice, nicely tinged with the warm, Liverpool accent. "Jasper!" There he stood, grinning like a cat and looking fantastic in a collarless, button through shirt, tight jeans and trainers. "How's my lovely Sultana, today? Good trip?" "Not bad. You?" "Roadworks and knobs who don't know how to drive on motorways, in short - without the prospect of seeing you when I got here it would have been atrocious." "You're insane." I handed him my rucksack to balance his own, grabbed my briefcase and made for the stairs. We never used the lift for any floor below the sixth, preferring the exercise, particularly when I had a muscle-mary to shift my luggage for me. "Your bum looks great in that skirt," he commented on the first set of stairs. Past the half landing he enquired about my choice of hosiery. I lied and told him tights, knowing he'd be delighted to expose my deceit once we got into the room. Pushing the door open with one foot, still without shoes, I made the most of the bags occupying his hands and, with a distracting kiss to his lips, unzipped his jeans and started pushing a hand inside. A quick glance before I got busy told me the room looked stately and comfortable, with heavy furniture and a wide, appealing bed. "Down, girl!" he protested, mildly, and pushed me through the door. To be honest I didn't put up much of a struggle. With bags dumped and the door kicked shut we had a laughter filled, but combative game of Trousers Down or Skirt Up. He had a raw strength advantage, but my edge came from speed and flexibility. While ruining the perfectly made bed, I managed to get his belt and trousers undone, distracting him with a view of my stocking tops, before he started tickling and I had to call a TimeOut after practically wetting myself. From the far side of the locked bathroom door he tunelessly sang 'When a man loves a woman' until I came out and silenced him with a long kiss which finished with us back on the bed, my skirt around my waist and my fingers contentedly circling his erection. Then my phone broadcast Emmi's ringtone. "Leave it," Jasper said, but he'd already reluctantly moved his hands from my thighs. As I darted across the room to rummage the phone from my discarded handbag he followed and rearranged my skirt for me, as though she could have seen me. I mouthed my thanks, blew him a kiss and settled onto a convenient stool to answer her call. "Hiya, Emmi. How are you?" "I haven't got long. Are you alright? You sound breathless, have you been running?" "I ran from the shower to get the phone." "How was the congress?" "A great deal of hot air, but the food was okay and they put me in a nice hotel." "I used to go to such things, like you say - hot air." Emmi had been a nurse, back in Lebanon - she and the MSM, a skilled doctor, had met in a Beirut hospital - but had left when falling pregnant with Caleb. Once the MSM had decreed Lebanon too dangerous for Christians, travelled across Europe and thrown himself on the charity of Londan based relatives, Emmi had made herself a full-time Mum. After Caleb and I had left home she'd become something of a medical secretary for MSM, now an orthopaedic consultant in Salisbury, when she wasn't keeping house for him. "You're okay, Emmi?" I asked, watching Jasper as he rearranged his trousers and started to unpack. He boiled the kettle and made tea while Emmi went through her life events since the last time she'd had a chance to call; I heard about her garden, her neighbour's new motorbike and a secretary at work who'd just had triplets. "Triplets, darling! Imagine that?" Her dreams of being a GrandEmmi had gone with my unwanted balls and Caleb's resolute bachelorhood. Then I decided to go for a direct probe. "How's your wrist?" She never even paused. "I've always been clumsy." "Graceful as a cat!" I countered. "It's all fine." "Come away, Emmi. Come North, Jasper and I would love to have you. You'd love it, the beautiful beaches and moors. You'd be happy." "My place is here," she said softly. "Your place is where you're safe." "Have you set a date yet? For the wedding?" "Next spring." "That's a season, not a date, darling." "Will you come?" I heard her sigh and even over the miles between us I felt the weight of sorrow in that breath. Silence fell, tears welled - even if she wanted to, MSM wouldn't let her. "Here's something positive, Emmi. I'm meeting Caleb today; after dinner." A sharp intake of breath. "Our Caleb?" "I don't know any others." "Oh, that's wonderful!" Not the word I would use, but she didn't know how scared I was - or how the old anger bubbled inside. "You be nice to him. Remember, he's your big brother." She meant nothing by that, but her words bit me anyway so I snapped back, "And I'm his little sister!" Another sigh. "Darling, it's been so hard... since you..." "Why does nobody think of how hard it is for me!" She didn't speak, knowing better than explaining again about God's image and her faith's contempt for the road I'd taken. After rejecting MSM's bullying and losing my place in Edinburgh they'd sent a priest to cajole me, a homely London based Maronite who'd first practised his priesthood in Lebanese churches. "God made you this way, Ishmail. It is not for you to question His will, or to change the form He gave you to carry out His work." "There has been a mistake!" Out of respect for the man, who'd been our family priest as long as I could remember, I didn't directly accuse God - that came later, followed by my utter rejection of Christianity. "No mistake, just his unknowable plan," said the priest with that calm superiority they assume when they can't explain a parishoner's problem. "If I had been born with a hole in my heart, would that not be part of his unknowable plan? Would we depart from his purpose by having a surgeon repair it?" "Endurance and selflessness are roads to His heart. Why would you cause all this pain and dischord to your family who have done so much for you?" "Why would they not wish happiness for me?" Emmi and I didn't say much more before she whispered that she'd have to go, he'd obviously got back from whatever errand had given her the chance to call me. We exchanged our goodbyes, I promised to look after myself and despite everything simmering inside I assured her I'd be nice to Caleb. Then sat for a moment staring at the silent phone until Jasper treated me to a tight hug. The fun had gone from me, and he knew it. That's what Emmi's phone calls did, but still I couldn't refuse her. You can be as tough, independent, sassy and happy as you like, but periodic reminders of what your family thinks of you always hit hard. "We'll have a shower," Jasper decided and led me into the generous bathroom where we had a bath big enough for us to have comfortably made love. Without any of our earlier playfighting, that moment had gone, he slowly and sensually undressed me; skirt, blouse, bra, panties and finally my stockings - he always loved to see me in just nylons - carefully folding or hanging garments as required. I felt a little better as he took my hand and had me step into the wonderfully hot shower; while I enjoyed the sluice over my skin he undressed himself and climbed in behind me. "I love you," he murmured through the water's rush, encircling me with his arms and pulling me close. I smiled to feel the sleepy shape of his cock align naturally against my bum, soft kisses moved over my shoulders and neck before he started washing me. As his slick hands started over my body the tension flowed away; his fingers found every bit of my skin from between my toes to the back of my knees, my shoulders and back, my hips and tummy. He firmly, beautifully soaped my breasts raising my nipples into stiff points as my hips rocked with arousal and my breath came in gasps; his fingers boldly explored my bum, probing its cleavage and making me sigh when he firmly pressed a fingertip inside. When he pressed a hand between my thighs I lifted one foot to the bath's side so he could lay his hand over my labia. By now his arousal frequently brushed me as he moved around me, though he wouldn't let me touch it. The familiar aching regret edged into my pleasure, I imagined how it would feel if I could bend over now, rest my hands on the bath's side and push my bum towards him. I could reach behind him, hold his erection and guide it into my hot pussy, throw my head back with happy ecstasy as he pushed deeper, resting his hands on my hips as he filled me. Such intimacy was not for me though, a surgeon's error had seen to that. He'd made my vagina much too small, extra scarring meant it wouldn't stretch and finally he'd damaged enough nerve endings to leave me numb even when Jasper could persuade my body to accept a heavily lubricated finger. That my surgery hadn't left me able to open my legs for him as a woman could had been awful; Jasper had dried many tears in the aftermath, but I'm a strong person and life goes on. That he chose to stay with me, to accept me spoke volumes about his character. It would be easy to say I couldn't have done it without him - I started transitioning on my own, with my family's angry reaction still an open, raw wound - but it would have been a much harder journey. Instead I turned, pushed his protests aside and knelt before him. The water pummelled my back as I gave my beautiful boyfriend's gorgeous cock the full attention on my mouth and hands. To feel him tense, rise on his toes and shudder to an orgasm made me very happy. Afterwards, with my thick curls bound over my head in a towel, I paused by the room's full length mirror and contemplated my naked body. I'd been 19 when I started taking oestrogen and I'd known the kind of figure I could expect from the hormone treatment. To that end I'd reinvented myself from the slightly tubby kid who'd never really been physically active at school. Ten years later I'd become a lean woman, with boyish hips, a badly defined waist and muscular limbs; my leanings towards puppy fat as a kid meant I still carried a bit, even with all the running, kick-boxing and swimming I did, but I had lost my male-pattern tummy to look smoother and more feminine. Electrolysis to remove my beard had been an ordeal, but left me with smooth cheeks to go with my runner's defined jawline; while masquerading as a boy I'd often been described as cute, as a woman I'd become good-looking enough for people to look at twice without reading me. Emmi had always been a top-heavy woman, and though hormones had only given me a B-cup bust, they looked good on my narrow shoulders and I loved them. I'd once planned to have silicone implants, believing another couple of cup sizes would have made me happier, but having become more settled and confident I'd gone off the idea. Besides, the experience of my surgery had put me off surgeons - small and natural was cool for me. "You okay, Raya?" Jasper said. He edged his arms around my waist and gave me a quick hug before his left hand drifted up to cup my right breast. We looked good in the mirror like that - we made a good couple, lots of people said so; even some of the ones who'd misgendered me and said Jasper must be gay. "Very happy." I lay my head back onto his shoulder. "I am healthy, have a great job, work with good people, live in a beautiful part of the country and I have the best fiance. What more could a girl want?" "I've always loved you," he said. His fingers brushed my pubic hair. "Before the operation and after." "I want to be all woman for you." "Your little kitten doesn't define you," he said, kissing my neck and softly pulsing his fingers around my breast. "Neither did your winkie." He gently bit my neck. "You're the woman you believe yourself to be." "Thank you, but you know what I mean." "I'm very happy with your very pretty mouth and sexy bum." "We haven't time for this," I murmured as my nipple stiffened against his palm. "I can't keep the brother waiting!" "You're sure about this?" "It was your bloody idea!" "I was just trying to keep the peace, I didn't think either of you would actually go for it." "Well, we did. Leave me to get dressed." "What the lady wants, the lady gets," he said and nipped my neck again. "I'll look forward to ravishing you later." I didn't think there would be much chance of that later, assuming I wasn't in hospital by Caleb's hand, or in a police cell for retaliating first; I didn't think I'd be in the mood for anything but weeping. Part of why I like to take a rucksack rather than a suitcase when I go away is because, with careful packing, I can get more in it. They are also easier to lug about when travelling by train - my preferred means of travel. So I pack lots of things that can be carefully rolled and densely packed into my rucksack; soft cotton tops and sweaters, leggings and the like, and a dove-grey, knitted mini-dress I'd decided to present myself to Caleb in. I had considered something bland and androgynous, but since I burst out of Ishmail nine years ago I have avoided both bland and androgynous - I am a woman, I like colour and swirl. Caleb would have two choices; stay and deal with me to help Emmi or take off. Jasper pulled a face when I unwrapped a new pair of tights - deep maroon, mostly opaque and out of my usual price range - but the dress hadn't enough above the hemline to make stocking tops decent. Before wriggling the tights on, and to make it up to him, I stepped into a high-legged, black satin and lace teddy which made the most of my slight curves and small breasts. This choice won me a grin of approval and double thumbs-up. Even though my tummy rumbled its urgency I took some time over my makeup. Back when I started as a woman I used concealer over my acne scars, but I'm not so conscious of them now; I like to concentrate on my eyes and lips, leaving my skin bare. Having such dark brown eyes makes it well worth the effort with black eyeliner and mascara, then eyeshadows in variations of brown and bronze. I went for a deep, wine red for my lips and playfully punched Jasper when he pursed his lips to smooch it off. After adding gold, beaded drop earrings, a jasmine stud in my nostril and my favourite butterfly pendant I slipped my feet into the heels from earlier and gave him a twirl. "Am I woman enough?" "That is seriously going to dent his denial." "Too much leg?" I tugged the stretchy dress's hem down a little. "Not enough." "Jasper!" "You wore that dress when we went out with Mike and Omar just last week, to that upmarket Italian place, so it must be respectable." I brightened it with a swirl patterned red and purple scarf and let Jasper take me down for dinner. With every step closer to Caleb my appetite faltered; even so I ordered vegetable soup and meat-free lasagna with a bottle of chilled, Dutch lager. The message from Caleb to say he was in the hotel and waiting in the bar came before I'd got half way through the main course. "Shall I tell him to poke off?" Jasper suggested, touching my thigh under the table as I absently sliced lasagna into smaller and smaller pieces. "That would only feed his pathetic sense of self righteous superiority over me. He can wait until I have finished my dinner." "You're only chopping it up, not eating it." "He can wait until I've finished chopping it up and not eating it then. A fine weekend of debauchery this has turned out to be!" Another touch on my.leg. "I'm so sorry, Raya. You know, it just..." I kissed his cheek and trapped his hand between my thighs. "I know. It's okay. Mostly." His eyes held mine and , without rehearsal or arrangement, we both simultaneously said, "For Emmi," then laughed. For almost thirty minutes I kept Caleb waiting, nowhere near enough to punish him for the way he'd been towards me, but what could atone for that? Jasper held my hand into the bar and for all the heavy turmoil in my belly, I made myself tall and poised; cool and composed. Movement! There he was, at a discreet table away to one side with distance between it, the bar and the other drinkers. He stood at our entrance, my brother who I'd not seen in eight years, folding his arms haughtily and looking down his nose at me. I had wondered if he'd recognise me, but we were too alike in the face for any mistakes. We'd our father's features, our homeland's complexion and hair colouring. He was taller, without the weight I'd carried as a child and perhaps it was more the change in my size that made him frown, more than the long hair, figure and clothing. Somehow I crossed the space until only the low table separated us, gripping Jasper's hand like I was drowning and fixing my brother's dark eyes with my own. His expression might have been carved from stone for all the emotion it revealed. "Caleb," I said, icy cold. "Hello." Jasper broke the moment. He leant over the table, hand outstretched. For a heartbeat or two I thought Caleb might refuse him, but the men shook hands firmly. "I've heard a lot about you," Jasper said. "I can imagine," Caleb replied, a little wryly. "Congratulations on your engagement." He said it to Jasper and didn't look at me, as though he'd become engaged to another woman - or as a woman I wasn't worth talking to. Suppressed anger quivered in my legs. "Please, sit down." Caleb indicated the sofa by the table with a sweep of one hand. "Let me get you a drink, what would you like?" His voice sounded soft, like he'd had a few drinks already. "Nothing for me, thanks," said Jasper cheerily. "I have some rugby to watch while you two settle your differences." A final squeeze of my hand. "Okay?" I nodded, teeth ground together too firmly for words. When Jasper kissed me Caleb looked away, too disgusted to see his one-time brother kiss a man. Fuck you, Caleb. Before he could invite me to sit again, like I'd been summoned for an interview, I slipped off my heels and settled onto the sofa with all the grace I could muster. Folding feet under me, knees modestly together I rested my right hand over my ankles. "You're staring," I said. He shook his head. "I didn't know what to expect." "The tubby kid's long gone." "So I see." When a waitress came over I ordered a red wine, Caleb asked for a pint of beer. There were two empty glasses on the table already. "Emmi called me," he added. "She's really pleased we're meeting." I wonder if he saw how white my knuckles were, they must have been stark against my tights as I gripped an ankle. "What do you think we should do about her and Papa?" he asked. "What are we doing here, Calab?" I had to force myself not to shout, this was not the time or place for ranting or screaming; though the coffee shop where we'd had our last encounter hadn't been either and that hadn't stopped us. "Helping Emmi," he said mildly. "You don't need me for that. To be honest, you could work out something much better for her without me to spoil their reaction." He had the decency to look at his hands. Then the waitress brought our drinks; he'd gulped down about a quarter of his before she'd made it back to the bar. "Well?" I snapped. "Well what?" "What do you think?" I indicated my body. "I'm the elephant in the room, aren't I? So let's get this done. Here I am; what do you think?" Another gulp of beer, he held the glass tight and stared into the deep brown liquid inside. "We had a suicide brought in on Monday. Fifteen, pretty, long hair, make up; girl called Katie - overdose. We couldn't save her." Hearing the sadeness in Caleb's voice made him a little more three- dimensional, even though none of this humanity had recently come my way. Professional empathy cooled me slightly; I'd worked in Accident and Emergency back home, but hadn't enjoyed it and moved onto one of the wards. It hadn't been the deaths in there that bothered me, but the broken, raw, suddenness of them. "Then her parents turned up. Her name wasn't Katie it seems, but Richard, and never was Katie in their minds, no matter what she'd wanted, They were very agitated when they saw the makeup she'd been wearing, more angry about that than upset because their child had killed themself. They were religious." He laughed then, but not with any humour. "They'll have to live with that I suppose. Anyway, poor Katie made me think; that could have been you." At that moment, when he turned his poor, anguished eyes on me I could have punched him, or done something girly and thrown my wine in his face. He actually wrung his hands together. "I wanted..." he started to say. "I needed to..." I held up a hand. "You can stop talking, I don't want to hear it. You think I give a shit how that poor girl made you feel?" That made him stare. I swung down my legs so I could lean close, avoiding the need to shout. "Look at me. No, not the table - look at me! See? I am quite literally a self-made woman. Thanks to you and that selfish hypocrite you sided with I made myself a nurse, you probably look down on me for that as well, don't you! Well I'm a good nurse, a bloody good nurse, I love it - I'm a junior sister, I'll have my own ward in a year or two - I did that on my own because after I made the toughest fucking decision of my life not only did most of my family turn their backs on me, they spat over me as they went. So I did it all by myself!" Then I threw out an arm, like a demented accuser in some Shakespearean play, pointing the way Jasper had gone. "Not on my own though, because that man out there saw me for what I am and loved me. Do you hear? He loved me! Loves me. And what did I ever get from you? Hate. Shit." To be fair, he looked like he'd been punched. He gulped more beer, then set down the glass. "I should go, this won't work." He made to stand. "Sit the fuck down," I hissed. One or two people looked our way and I burned so hot I wanted to fire some fucks in their direction too. Instead I leant back, crossed my legs, adjusted my hem and sipped some wine - very smooth. "You're ten years too late with your empathy." "I'm sorry, Soraya." I could have thrown that apology back at him; did he honestly think the word could turn back time? "What for? What are you sorry for?" It should have sounded angry, but he'd said my name and for all the hate he'd created I knew his sincerity from when we had been brothers. Caleb shrugged. "For turning on you, I should have stood with you." "Thank you." "I mean it." "If I thought for a moment you didn't I'd walk out." "Soraya," he said and my name sounded natural in his voice. Hunching forward, until his chest almost lay on his knees, he placed his beer onto the table and made circles of the glass's condensation there. Then he swigged down the rest of the beer. "Do you want another drink?" I shook my head. "What were you about to say?" "I need another beer." He swayed a little as he got up and walked to the bar. Had I tried walking myself I might have wobbled too, from the intoxication of my brother saying sorry. Instead, I messaged Jasper. [How is the match?] [Boring. How is it going?] [He said sorry and called me Soraya.] [Wow! You okay?] [Dazed.] [I love you, Sultana.] As Caleb returned, with another real ale, he found me fastidiously touching up my lipstick; it didn't really need any attention, but I had a point to make. He stared a moment, but didn't sit. "Can we go outside?" he said. "Walk the gardens?" Dark had fallen outside, it was way past nine pm, and the evening promised to be cool for a girl in a short dress, but his eyes shone with need - I just didn't know what he needed. Was he drinking himself into the kind of courageous state where he could solve Emmi's problems by sneaking a steak knife between my ribs? After updating Jasper I followed Caleb into the gardens. Stars twinkled in the clear sky and bats scuttered overhead hunting the moths around the soft lanterns making pools of light through the gardens. We walked in silence a minute or two, until he found a concrete bench in a secluded spot overlooking a small, kidney shaped pond where a delicate fountain chuckled. Caleb sat at one end of the bench and I sat at the other, crossing my legs and arranging my scarf over my shoulders. "I started questioning my faith," he said, staring at the pond. "Welcome to my world." "You're a prickly person to have a conversation with." "If you wanted a heart to heart with somebody, you've come to the wrong place." "There isn't anybody else." "Emmi?" "You never spoke to her." "Man is man and woman is woman," I said - Emmi's wisdom when I'd started trying to tell her how I felt about my gender. "She was right though, wasn't she?" "Bollocks was she!" "Think about it, Soraya. Woman is woman! You are, aren't you, woman?" "Are you finally accepting I'm a woman? Hallelujah! Took you long enough." "I cross dress." "What?" "You heard." "Say it again." "Why? What for?" "So, the great Doctor Calab Shahi likes to wear a dress. I suppose that's my fault too!" "Wow, that's harsh!" "Harsh!" I swigged the last of my wine and considered throwing the glass against the twee statuette beside the pond. "You called me a fucking freak when you found out about me." "That was a long time ago, you know what things were like at home. I thought you'd understand about... the clothes, you must have done it as well." "What you people regularly can't get into your heads is that I haven't miraculously become a woman, or decided, 'Hey, women get treated like shit by society, I fancy a bit of that myself!' I have always been female, I never crossdressed; I wore the clothes that suited my gender." "Then you understand how I feel?" "Understand! I suppose you chose to make my life a misery because you felt so guilty." "Pretty much," he said, sounding hollow, his word thick with drink. "I've been a real shit, haven't I?" "And the rest!" "You've always been brighter than me, then you... came out and that made me even more jealous; you were going to live your life the way you wanted and I'd have to stay being what Papa wanted. I twisted it all up until I started hating you." "What are you saying?" He finished the rest of his beer and hiccupped. "I'm gay." "What?" "I'm gay." "Gay! What about Charlene Weeks? You went out with her for years." He shrugged, misery dragging at the motion. "Just in denial and going through the motions. You know why." Of course I did, exactly what I had done until I'd left school. I let my head slump slowly back until I'd hyper-extended my neck, tolerating the discomfort as I stared into the stars and tried to put this into some kind of context. "Have you got a boyfriend?" A sad snort replied to that. "I'm super secretive. How can I commit to anybody like that?" "You haven't told Emmi, or him?" "What do you think!" "I would have been there for you. We'd have helped each other - stuck together!" "I see that now. Honestly, I do." "You have treated me like shit all this time because you like men and you were in denial, so you could distract attention from yourself and onto me." "Pretty much." The stars were no longer enough - too distant, too cold for me. I snapped upright and glared at him, not that he could see - with head in his hands he stared into the pond with such heaviness I'd have worried if the water were deeper. If I had any soothing emotion for him. "I hate you," I whispered, with venom in every quiet syllable. He moaned, a raw groan that lifted elation and despair into my heart; I knew that pain and at last, in my whole twisted relationship with my brother, I'd finally hurt him. What a bitch. "Do you think this resets the clock with us?" I said, finding that I'd risen to my feet, almost on my tiptoes, ready to spin like a diva and make a stroppy, clipped strut back into the hotel to find Jasper and another drink. "Soraya?" "What?" "I am sorry." "Thank you." "I'm not as tough as you." "You learn a lot about yourself when you're all alone," I snapped and walked away. Part Five. I got as far as the French doors leading from the gardens back to the bar and stood there with my hand on the handle, weight on my left foot while I made an ugly, agitated tapping on the step with the toe of my right shoe. Thirty seconds stretched into a minute. If somebody else had come out I would have held open the door for them, murmured a 'you're welcome' to their thanks and gone inside. But nobody did. While I waited for chance to take me away from this, a dead girl came to mind; she'd died as Katie and would be buried a Richard with no chance to run with her hair streaming in the wind like I had. Rejection and revenge? Ugly emotions I'd felt the worst of. Could I really turn them onto another hurting person? With a stride that would have suited an emergency on the ward, but not stilettos and a stretchy dress, I stropped my way back to the pond. There my brother hunched over, unable to contain the misery that ran down his cheeks and shook his shoulders. I plonked myself beside him, in full teenaged mode, folded my arms and stared at the rippled water. "I don't hate you." "I don't know why you don't," he sobbed. "Thank you for telling me, I know how hard that is." I couldn't bring myself to reach over and touch him; with Jasper, or any of my friends Up North, it would have been easy - just not him. "It's so lonely," he muttered. "You can't keep doing this to yourself, living the lie will only get worse. That Man can't touch you now, you're doing well; he can't influence that. And if you never see him again - fuck him!" "They're all I've got." "Open your eyes, there are beautiful people out there. Go find one for yourself - be happy!" A cool touch on the back of my left hand startled me - Caleb. He wouldn't look at me, but edged closer and had rested his hand atop mine, almost screaming his need. Ten minutes ago I would have rejected him, Angry Soraya would have found something sharp and bitter to wound him with, but it seemed I had finally put her behind me; for now at least. Instead of allowing him to just hold my hand, I tugged his arm until he looked up, saw the invitation in my eyes and moved closer; close enough that I could put my arm around him. There we embraced, as if there weren't nine year's pain between us and I wished Emmi could see us. When I mentioned this Caleb made no reply but for the slow steady rush of his breathing and I realised he'd fallen asleep on me. Part Six. Jasper found us like that maybe twenty minutes later, when my feet were getting cold , my left arm had turned numb under Caleb's weight and I think he'd drooled, like a baby, onto my shoulder. Jasper had already messaged me twice, but I hadn't been able to reach my phone in my handbag. He sauntered out of the dark, hands in pockets, and visibly relieved to find me. "I never expected this," he said softly, stooping to kiss me. "The night hasn't gone how I thought it would." "You look very mellow. Have you sorted your differences?" "He's pissed as a rat, so we'll see what he remembers in the morning through his hangover before we start celebrating our reconciliation." "So cynical!" "I'm a nurse!" "Of course. We're going to get him up to bed?" "We've done it before. Remember Coops after that party in Liverpool?" "The heaviest girl I've ever levered into bed," he admitted. "And she puked down your back." "If Caleb pukes on me, I'll kill him." Jasper kissed me again. "This time yesterday I would have believed you, Raya. Tonight, there's a strange light in your eyes." Caleb stirred as we hauled him to his feet. He mumbled something about being left to sleep, but that was never going to happen. With Jasper under one arm and me under the other we steered him back inside where the night porter - who must have been used to such sights - pointed us in the direction of Caleb's room, thirteen. His room was a little larger than ours, a little grander perhaps, with a huge four-poster bed, carefully carved furniture and a matching, full length mirror in the same dark-stained wood. It didn't look as if Caleb had been there very long between checking in and heading for the bar. His bag hadn't been opened; his car keys dropped on a dresser and a jacket on the chair were the only traces he'd left. Caleb's main contribution to the effort of getting into bed were mixed mumblings of apologies for his condition and being a hateful brother. He didn't make any mention of coming out, thankfully - I needed a clear head to broach that gem with Jasper. Managing to get him sitting more or less upright on the edge of the bed I knelt to unlace his boots while Jasper started on his shirt buttons. Until my brother gave a little burp and clapped a hand over his mouth, his face drained of colour and he lurched determinedly for the bathroom, knocking me backwards onto my bum as he went. Closing the door on the splattery noises from the en-suite I stood, adjusted my dress and shrugged at Jasper. "What a roller-coaster," I suggested. "It sounds like one," he said, nodding to the bathroom. "His room's better than ours." "He's a doctor, we're minions." Catching sight of my reflection in that big, free-standing mirror I stuck out my tongue then frowned. Perhaps it was the low light in the room, but my reflection looked unusual - bigger around the hips and bust. I turned sideways and it showed me a woman with a fuller figure beautifully outlined by my dress and my perplexed looking face. "Does this dress make my bum look big?" I ran my hands over my hips and looked down, but they didn't look any different from above. "No bigger than usual." "Look in the mirror, I've gone up a dress size in it." "Bigger boobs, baby," he said, coming up behind me for a look, putting his arms around me and looking around my shoulder. "See if it makes your chest bigger," I said, but it didn't and when I looked again all I saw was ordinary me. Further consideration of the reflection was halted when the toilet flushed and Caleb appeared looking crestfallen and pale. "Sorry about that," he muttered. "Think I'll turn in." He waved his hands helplessly at the rumpled bed. "Sorry... Soraya -" "I know, get some sleep. See you in the morning, we'll do breakfast. Nine am, don't be late." He agreed he'd be there, apologised some more and assured us he'd be okay. My teddy must have got skewed during the tumble against the mirror with Caleb, for the right underwire felt unusually uncomfortable. As we closed his door and started down the corridor I pushed at it absently. "At least you didn't finish the night with a punch up," said Jasper. "Did you really think I'd punch him?" "I've seen you kickboxing, I thought he'd have black eyes and a broken nose by now." I folded my arms as he unlocked our room; that underwire still troubled and no matter how I squirmed I couldn't get the teddy to sit comfortably. Jasper plonked himself on the bed beside me and treated me to a hug, which I gratefully leaned into. Then winced as my belly cramped, low down. As if the bloody congress buffets had finally decided to disagree with me. I had a little burp and apologised, not sure if I had some inelegant fart bubbling too. "Tea?" he suggested, stroking back my hair and letting a soft kiss fall on my ear. "We should order some wine. No, it's late - tea would be perfect. Christ, what's wrong with my underwear tonight? Have you been fiddling with it?" Then he frowned, staring at my chest. "You must have done something to it - it looks like you're growing top-boobs." Glancing down I saw I did indeed look like one of those women who needed to go up a couple of cup sizes. My dress clearly outlined a bulge over the top of the teddy's bra cups. Like it had shrunk. "Impossible!" I snorted. "They look bigger." They did too. Noticeably. Most uncomfortable. It forced a frown over my face. Thankfully the bloated, windy bubbling in my guts faded as quickly as it had come, though I found myself stupidly taking shallow breaths as though that might ease my bra's fit. Then I frowned again. Warmth grew between my legs, right at the top of my thighs - the kind of sudden, bloom I enjoyed from the heated seats in Jasper's car. Warmth turned into heat and I froze as a sudden panic rushed me. "What's up?" Jaspers hissed, leaning towards me. "I think I've wet myself!" "Really?" Standing carefully, I checked the edge of the bed, then peered discreetly under my dress, thankfully there was no sign of any incontinence. "I need to pee," I said, letting my dress fall and standing abruptly. "Soraya?" Jasper looked worried. "Just a pee." I hurried over to our bathroom, terrified that every step towards the toilet would be one too many and I'd be pattering a damp trail along the carpet behind me. Slamming the door I hauled the dress up and pushed tights down then frantically unsnapped the poppers in the teddy's gusset. Flopping heavily onto the loo I let go with an unladylike groan of relief. Then stared with disbelief when I went to dab myself dry with a bit of loo roll. The bathroom had a mirror fixed to the back of the door, I stood there with my clothing disarrayed and stared at myself. A deep breath followed a long sigh before I closed my eyes and counted to ten. The image persisted so I stripped off my dress and tights, letting the teddy hang unfastened between my legs; those ugly lines its cups had cut into the tops of my breasts had gone, in fact the cups fit me perfectly just as they had this morning when I'd put it on. Impossibly both it and my breasts were visibly bigger - I had an impossible cleavage, dark and enticing. Jasper knocked, urgently. "Soraya? What's up, are you okay?" I swung open the door and beckoned him in. He stopped a little short of me, like I might bite or something. Perhaps my eyes shone with a deranged light. I'd find out in a moment - I turned my back. "Check the size, on the label!" "What? Soraya? You look different." "Just read it out, will you?" "Soraya, what - " "Please." I felt his fingers squirm under the teddy then twist the fabric so he could read the label. "Okay. 34D. Wait, that's not right, surely?" "I was a 36B this morning." I turned to face him, pushed forward my chest. "Look. Look at my boobs!" "They are bigger, but - " "Never mind that. Look at this." I sat on the bath's edge, tried to ignore the heavy bounce of my enhanced breasts and spread my legs as wide as I could. "Look, have a good look. Get close!" "Soraya, what's happening?" "Please, Jasper. Just have a look, tell me I'm not imagining it." "Imagining what?" he asked, but knelt between my knees, looked up for reassurance, or permission. With both hands I pointed emphatically towards my genitals. "That!" I watched his face carefully as he looked. His brows came together; he leaned closer, then glanced at me. "Can I?" "Please do." I found myself biting my lip, then I squeezed closed my eyes holding my breath until I felt his finger tip brush my labia. Thanks to the surgeon's mistake with the scalpel I'd never really felt much from my labia. Very, very delicately I felt him spread mine and the way they tingled at his touch made me shiver. "I don't understand," he whispered. "It looks... I mean, can't believe this, you look..." "Natural?" "Yes." "I can feel your fingers." He pulled them away. "I'm so pleased you can see it too, I thought I was crazy." "It is crazy." I shrugged, laid a finger along the line of those impossible lips - so soft and warm, a little wet too. Best of all I could feel my finger's cool resilience through them. "Should I?" He nodded. Under a slight pressure those lovely lips parted and warmth engulfed my fingertip as it slipped inside. I could feel it! Inside! A silly grin may have spread over my face, but Jasper frowned so hard his eyebrows almost met. Going a little deeper I met some resistance and my grin faded, I knew that disappointment. But I'd become wetter, something I'd never known before and with that lovely slippery sensation came revelation so my grin blossomed again. "I've found a hymen! I'm a virgin!" "This is..." he shook his head. "I don't know. If I weren't a man of science I'd say a miracle." "What then?" I asked, withdrawing the finger and admiring its sheen. I moved it towards him, offering my finger to his lips. I could see from the set of his eyes and press of his lips the depth of thought whirring away inside him. But the quickening of my breath, the ache rising in my bigger, beautiful breasts and the slippery heat growing in a place I'd never known drove away the need to think - I needed to feel. "Taste me," I urged, my voice thicker. "Soraya?" "If it's a dream, let's make the most of it." His face relaxed a little as he took my hand and bent to kiss the outstretched finger, his breath came cool where I'd made myself wet then I closed my eyes and sighed with the simple, sensual joy of his mouth engulfing my finger. He sucked it gently a moment or two, diligently licked it clean, then he looked up, gave me my finger back and smiled. "Perfect." "Really?" "But how? You've got a vagina!" "Not just a vagina, a natural vagina. And look at me," I stood, pulled him to his feet and showed him my body. To go with my fuller breasts I had wider hips, sleeker thighs - I really looked like my Emmi's daughter. "What's happening?" Jasper said. We stood, arm in arm looking at my body. After a couple of minutes I shrugged off the teddy and turned to see myself in profile. My hips were much rounder, my waist more defined without any suggestion I had ever been cloaked in a male body. "I'm a woman. Actually, I'm a bit mixed up. I'm a woman now, but I was a woman before. If I'm all woman now, was I not all woman before? I always thought of myself as a woman and now..." "Perhaps we're dreaming?" "Dreaming the same dream? Have you ever dreamed of me being like this?" He shook his head. "How about you?" "Idyl fantasies, nothing more." "You're Soraya to me, however you look; all Soraya, all woman. This is just the natural conclusion of your transition." "Natural conclusion? It's impossible," I said, running my hands over my sleeker bum. "But very beautiful," he said, his hands following mine. "Anyway, you've been a woman since... way back? Forever, yes? Now your body has caught up with your mind." "Even in the face of the unexplained, you are a remarkably perceptive person, Mr Flint." "Just the way I see you, Ms Shahi." "I was going to ask if you liked the natural conclusion, but you seem visibly keen." I draped my arms over his shoulders and pulled him in for a kiss, pressing my wonderful, impossible breasts to his chest and my mons to the visible ridge in the front of his trousers. "Are you going to pop my cherry, Mr Flint," I murmured, my voice thickened with arousal and broken by pretty little gasps as he stooped to kiss hellos to my cleavage. "Is the most romantic way you could think of expressing that?" "Stop talking now." "As my silver-tongued lady wishes." Part Seven. Transitioning, like any long term project, has goals and milestones - memorable events along the journey. For example, the first time somebody called me Miss, the guard on a train from Liverpool to Southport; the rush of taking oestrogen, as if my body had recognised the journey was going to get easier; the first bounce of my joyful little breast buds; the first time I could gather my hair into a spikey spray of a ponytail; the first time out in public in a skirt; being able to sit and watch the sunrise with a mug of tea and the certainty that every day from here on, whether one or ten thousand, I would be a woman. Maybe I could have added the first use of my name by my brother, but that should have happened years before so I discounted it. I will always remember that first night, in the hotel after the mirror. Though Jasper and I had been sexually very happy for years previously, I still count that night as my first, though it wasn't the most special of times there. For that, you'd have to skip a few hours until the next morning. I'd enjoyed Jasper's erection, in different, exciting ways before my miracle, and loved it, but that first morning was something else completely - even better than the previous night's slippery moment when he'd ever so gently entered, pricked and then filled me. I woke in his arms, my back pressed to his chest, one of his hands fondly cupping a breast and his sleepy cock resting against the fuller curves of my bum - wonderful. Daylight intruded around the curtains and gave the room a subtle, magical glow as I formed a plan and slowly drew up my knees towards my chest, opening myself to him. With some gentle stroking blood began to flow and his gathering erection pressed me with increasing insistence. Then I just lined it up and softly stroked, encouraging it to grow firmly inside me. "I'll start calling you The Insatiable Shahi," he murmured sleepily. "This time yesterday I couldn't do this," I whispered back, rippling the slick walls of my impossible vagina around him. "I didn't even know how, now I can just..." "You're a natural," he said, his fingers moving like a warm breeze over my breasts. "I wondered if it were a dream, last night." "If it was, we're waking up into it." "Do you like it?" I twisted my neck, to look over my shoulder to kiss him. His hips started moving, very slightly with the delightful suggestion of things to come. "Stop talking now." Part Eight. A small pleasure that never dulls, even now where skirts, lingerie and heels are happily ordinary, is the putting on of lipstick. The simple ordinaryness of smoothing it onto your lips, rubbing them together afterwards and the sensual contentment of painted lips always gives me a lift. Applying lipstick was the last thing I did before leaving the hotel room that morning - a red-brown-bronze shade I particularly enjoyed. We were both starving hungry, it had been a busy night, but some irrational fear kept me dithering, hence taking the trouble with lipstick - as though leaving the room would break the spell. We'd dressed for hiking - Jasper in his grey cargo shorts, red, wicking T and boots, me in a long sleeved purple top that flowed around my enhanced curves very closely. I had a light, fleece jacket and black yoga leggings patterned with starry swirls of white, lilac and purple dots. Over them I wore a black tennis skirt and under them my trusty, well worn boots. My hair had been tamed into a thick plait and I hardly wore any makeup at all - beyond the already mentioned lipstick. Every item of clothing I'd brought to the hotel with me reflected my changed body - all my bras had grown to size 34D, my clothes to a UK size 12 - maybe the only time a woman enjoyed going up a dress size! Having grown used to little breasts, these new ones kept taking me by surprise - I knocked my arms into them, bumped them into things I was trying to edge past. People (men) would stare, but on that morning the pride I felt for them probably meant I wouldn't get too annoyed, as long as they didn't stare too long or too overtly. "I'm still a woman," I said to Jasper as I caught sight of my reflection in a mirror at the stair's head. "You've always been a woman." "Just physically different now." "It's too weird." "I bounce." "You've bounced for the last few years I've known you." "That was just quivering. And I sway when I walk." "Don't do that!" he said, but did laugh as I massively exaggerated the sway of my hips, placing one foot in line and in front of the other as I walked - like a well-coached model on the catwalk. "You're sparkling this morning," Jasper said, with a grin as he held open the fire door leading from the stairwell to the lobby. "Just a girl going for a day with her man." I grinned back. "Still a girl going for a day with her man." He patted my widened bum as I went through the door. "Just an ordinary day then?" "Absolutely. Ordinary as chips." Hazel, who had given me a lift the day before, hurried from the restaurant towards the office behind Reception. Her hair was down, silver-brown, and she wore an elegant, sky-blue shirtwaist dress that billowed around her legs and hugged her figure. She looked across at our entry, our eyes met and for an electric second I felt a sudden warmth for her, as if she were my long-lost sister, or a favourite friend I hadn't seen for an age. "Ms Shahi," she said, stopping and smiling. "Once again you look...fabulous..." Her voice tailed off in surprise and her brows furrowed together. "You looked in the mirror!" Which I hadn't expected. I don't think she'd quite meant to blurt that out either, but she clearly knew something of what had happened. In fact, I felt a concrete certainty Hazel knew what had been done to me. Such was the warmth I felt for her at that moment, and the satisfaction still glowing in me - thankyou Jasper, I had no intention of challenging her. As Emmi always said, if somebody gives you a horse you shouldn't count its teeth. "The mirror?" "In room thirteen? Your brother's room. You must have." I recalled the mirror's reflection that had predicted my shape this morning and frowned. "Oh, wow!" said Hazel, wide eyed. She hurried over, blocking our path to the restaurant. "I had no idea you were... Really I didn't, when I saw you yesterday." She put a hand to her mouth. "Please forgive me, I don't know what the right terminology is." "Woman. I was a woman yesterday, I'm a woman now." I smiled, to reassure the anxiety bubbling in her eyes. "I don't know exactly what has gone on, but only my biology has changed." A delighted grin made Hazel look much younger. "That's incredible! I don't think it's ever done that, the mirror - you knew that didn't you? To a woman like you. Oh wow, what a lovely surprise." She made a frown again. "You're happy aren't you?" "Happy? I really am." "She really is, we both are." Jasper put his arm around my waist and pulled me tight. "Oh my! I think I'm going to cry, you don't mind do you?" She waved her hands in front of her blushing face, her wet eyes over spilled down her cheeks. "Phew! Silly me, it happened to me too you know, thirty years ago - never looked back, it's the best thing that ever happened to me and I wasn't anywhere near as brave as you. Oh Ms Shahi, you look so lovely, I'm so happy." When she opened her arms to me how could I refuse? Even though I only met her the day before she pulled me into a close embrace and held me tight. "The mirror did this to me?" I said, as we separated. "Wonderful isn't it." Her smile grew wider. "Magic! Happy magic." A phone rang then, somewhere in an office behind the reception desk and moments later a dark haired woman put her head from the door and yelled for Hazel, apparently the electrician was coming right now and not after lunch as planned. "Must dash," she grinned, holding me at arms length. "Come and find me later tonight, the girls behind the desk will know where I am. We'll have some wine to celebrate and I'll explain everything I can." I watched her go, feeling like I'd been swept up into a warm and very loving whirlwind. "She said it had happened to her," Jasper said. "How can you have a mirror that makes women out of men." "It didn't change you. Maybe it just finds women and lets them out." "Are we really having this conversation about a magic mirror?" "You've enjoyed the result, tell me it didn't happen." "Good point, Miss Shahi. I think all will become clearer after bacon and eggs with some coffee." "I thought you'd never ask, Mr Flint. Lead on." Caleb joined us about fifteen minutes later; Jasper was enthusiastically tucking into a Full English while I was more reserved with a sausage sandwich. The coffee was excellent and we had toast as a backup. He looked a little pale, his eyes pink, but other than that irritatingly unaffected by last night. "Feeling better?" "Sorry about last night." "We're already over it." Nervously, he looked from me to Jasper and back. "Are we good?" "We're good. Do I look different this morning?" That threw him, I got a quizzical look. "Different? In what way? You're dressed for hiking, is that what you meant?" "No matter, just curious." Caleb shrugged, then glanced at Jasper. "Did you, ah... tell him?" "No. You should, it's good practice. And it feels good. Try it." Without knowing what was going on, Jasper put his trust in me and gave an encouraging smile. "Quick, before the waitress comes back!" "Soraya! This isn't easy." "I already know and Jasper won't care." "I honestly won't." "How do you know? I haven't told you yet." "If Soraya says I won't, then I won't." Caleb looked over his shoulder, as though the waitress might actually have been sneaking up to spy on us. He took a deep breath. Then let it out. "I'm gay." "Don't care," Jasper said and grinned. He leaned across his breakfast and clapped Calab warmly on the shoulder. "Probably the least interesting thing about you." "Feel okay?" I asked. "Telling Emmi and Papa won't be so easy." "I brought my first boyfriend home to meet my Mum and Dad," said Jasper. "Might have been awkward, but wasn't. They're really cool." "You?" Caleb's eyebrows went up as his eyebrows widened. "He likes both variants." "More chance of pulling on a night out," said Jasper wisely. Caleb looked uncomfortable at that and I presumed we wouldn't be meeting a boyfriend any time soon. But he had crossed a line, the genie had been released. "What are you guys planning for today?" he asked when the waitress had taken his breakfast order. "We're walking, as planned," I said. His disappointment was clear. "I thought we could... After last night, I thought... Soraya, I want to get to know you." There I was, right back to where I'd been - clenching my fists under the table, an outburst swelling inside me, then Jasper's hand finding my thigh and giving it a reassuring squeeze. "We will," I managed. "I promise. I need a little time." A tight nod. "I understand." "Do you?" I couldn't help myself. He shrugged. "This time yesterday you hated me." "And this time today I don't." "That's a start. I will be a better brother, I promise. And your friend maybe? One day." I didn't say anything to that, there didn't seem a right answer. We agreed to meet for dinner to discuss what to do about Emmi, but as it happened events overtook us. Being out in the sunshine and fresh air with Jasper helped; simple rhythms of one foot in front of the other, dappled sunshine under trees, plinking pebbles into streams, admiring circling Red Kites; they all soothed me. Happy scenes came one after the other; howling with laughter as Jasper piggy-backed me through a stinging-nettle patch, then ran whooping across a field with me clinging on for dear life until we both collapsed giggling; sharing ice lollies from a village shop we stumbled across; recreating iconic movie fight scenes using sticks for swords or lightsabers. We had slow, sensual, secluded sex at the edge of a copse with England's sundrenched glory spread out before us as I leaned forward over a mossy wall with Jasper moving beautifully behind and inside me. "I love that squelchy feeling inside after you've squirted in me," I said happily afterwards, ambling along through a field of indifferent sheep. "And I love it when you talk dirty like that." "Squelchy, mmmmmm," I said slowly, in what I hoped was a sultry, erotic tone. "Do you think we'll ever have bumsex again, now you're fully equipped." "Does this mean I could have a baby?" "Don't know, probably. Not if we stick with bumsex." "You can, on your birthday." He made a big show of pulling his mouth down at the corners. "On the Queen's birthday too? Both her birthdays?" He laughed. "You're the best girlfriend, ever." "I think I'd quite like a baby, not yet though." "How will you explain that? If you turn up at work with a mysterious bun in the oven you're not supposed to have?" My phone rang out with Emmi's ringtone at that moment. We propped up a convenient five-bar gate and I put the phone's speaker on so Jasper could hear too. "Hiya, Emmi." "Hello, how are you?" "I'm good, thanks. What are you up to?" "I thought I'd ask how you'd got on with meeting Caleb." "What did he say, I know you spoke with him." "I'm so pleased you two got together." "What did he say?" "He thinks you're very angry." "I think I have quite a lot to be angry about." Silence fell between us. "I don't think he should have stopped you from going to medical school." Words failed me, I stared across the fields and bared my teeth at a church tower rising up from a stand of trees a couple of miles away. "Are you there?" "I'm here," I forced out. My eyes stung, tears gathered; I should have hung up, but couldn't because an Emmi who rejected you was better than no Emmi at all. "We were so proud to have a boy, you know. He really wanted a son, you know how important that can be, and you were such a beautiful boy." "Soraya's a beautiful girl," said Jasper into the quiet. "You really ought to meet her." Another silence, then, "Is that you, Jasper?" "Hello, Mrs Shahi." "Caleb said he liked you." "You have two fine children, Mrs Shahi." "He said how beautiful his sister is." "Soraya's the warmest, most caring, funniest, most loyal and loving girl I've ever met. And she's a fantastic nurse, you should see her on the ward - always a smile for every patient, encouragement for her staff, they'd follow her anywhere; you know she's a junior sister? I'm really proud of her. You'd be proud too, if you'd meet her." And then, in a little voice. "Will you take me out for tea? Tomorrow?" I forgot to cry then, for Jasper's warm words had only enhanced my sadness, but tea with Emmi? Tomorrow! "Really?" I said, voice thick with emotion. "Two o' clock, no sooner. He will go and play golf tomorrow at one." I looked at Jasper - the shock of the invitation robbed me of the ability for coherent thought. He nodded. We were due to be driving back to Sunderland tomorrow, Jasper had tickets to a football match in Middlesbrough on Sunday. "We can do that, it would be brilliant, Mrs Shahi - it's about time I met you." "Don't tell Caleb, and don't be early," she said, and then whispered her goodbyes. In the moments after the call ended, when I wiped at my eyes - pleased I hadn't worn mascara that morning, I looked quizzically at Jasper and wondered aloud what had just happened. "I have biology on my side, Caleb comes out, Emmi wants to go for tea! What the actual?" Jasper gathered me into his arms. "Isn't there something about gift horses and teeth you keep telling me at times like this?" "Times like this! When has there ever been a time like this?" "It'll be great, we go to Salisbury, have tea, I get to meet the prospective mother-in-law." "What if he's there? And it's a trap?" "I suppose that's why she doesn't want Caleb to know, in case he tells him." A fair assumption, I thought. I disengaged from his embrace and we walked on in stunned silence, with a kilometre or so to go before we got to the pub where we planned to lunch. Jasper picked a gorgeous pink, climbing rose from a hedge for me, I'd always enjoyed flowers and this one smelt delicious. I wore it in my hair then sat at a picnic table in a discreet part of the pub's beer garden while Jasper went in for beer and menus. "People will wonder when I start having periods," I said after sipping the perfectly chilled lager. "You don't have to tell everyone." "I'm not supposed to have the plumbing. What if we do decide to have a kid or two?" "Why don't we treat this as a fresh start?" "Make a move?" "Sunderland was never the destination, was it? We can go anywhere we want. All your documentation legally and properly says you're female. We can get jobs anywhere there's a hospital! We just go somewhere new where we don't have to talk about being transgendered and where you can go public with periods and fill a house with babies." "I'd go anywhere as long as I go with you." "I wouldn't go if you didn't come. Getting married even means you can change your name." "Soraya Flint?" I grinned. "What could go wrong? When do we start?" "After we meet your Emmi for tea tomorrow." For the rest of the walk we fantasised about where we might go; from the furthest point of the Shetland Islands, through granite towns and harbours of Scotland, the bustling anonymity of London, Welsh valleys or the open skies of Norfolk or Lincolnshire. We amiably compared notional cottages and townhouses, houseboats or apartments; the weather remained kind and we laughed like young lovers as we strode up the last few hundred metres to the hotel. Jasper halted us short of the steps up to reception and put his arms around my waist. "Who'd have thought booking in for a dirty weekend would have caused so much change." Then he insisted I posed on the steps for a couple of pictures before we went in. The remainder of the day passed in discussion, first with Hazel, then Caleb - the first enlightening, the latter stilted. As much as I felt good to have moved closer to my brother, there remained a lot of scabs that would need gradual, careful attention. We parted coolly, with the promise of phone calls, meetings, maybe even a weekend together; all of which I committed to in the sure knowledge that I could excuse myself if I didn't heal. I did promise that I'd do what I could when he decided to come out to family. Hazel took us into her office and poured wine to celebrate my ascension to biological womanhood. I learnt it was the mirror, she didn't have any control over it and she'd bought the hotel many years ago after the mirror gave her the chance to stop being a used car salesman. I saw pictures of her husband and daughters, confirming my notion that I'd been gifted a womb, ovaries and all the associated plumbing. Absent ideas of maybe adopting children were replaced with the mind-blowing potential to conceive, bear and feed a baby of my own. "And this is the best bit, as far as the world is concerned, you've always been a woman - even my own mum thinks I've always been female. How about that!" Jasper and I looked at each other. Both Emmi and Caleb had referenced my background this morning. Hazel didn't seem to notice, in full, enthusiastic flow. "I even had a soldier here who looked in the mirror. Next morning, even the Army's records said 'female'." "That hasn't happened," I said. "Oh?" "But you were already a woman?" said Jasper carefully, like he could hardly believe himself. "I don't know of anybody like you who's ever looked into the mirror," Hazel admitted. "Unique again," I said and shrugged. "And fully female," said Hazel. "I'm so happy for you. If there's anything I can ever do for you, just ask. There'll always be a room for you both here if you pass this way again." By the time she bade us goodnight it was late, but not so late I let Jasper get to sleep. I found I enjoyed sex on top of him very much, especially when he held my breasts. Tired as I was, I endured a restless night as I tried to think through Emmi's sudden change of heart about meeting me, though I must have fallen into a deeper sleep at some point as I woke well past nine in the morning with Jasper already in the shower. I didn't really have the clothes for an ambush, assuming the worst case scenario for when we got to Salisbury. From my limited wardrobe I went for a tall elegant look with a calf length bias cut skirt in raspberry pink that flowed wonderfully around smooth legs in sheer, Soraya shaded stockings. It went with my last clean top from the expedition - namely a cream, scoop necked and long-sleeved T which showed off my new breasts and just a hint of their cleavage. Jasper expressed an interest in me sensually feeding him grapes I had rolled along my cleavage, but had to make do with a sausage and egg sandwich. As always he looked delicious in an open collared shirt and nicely fitted jeans. After a lazy morning reading and ambling around the hotel grounds we took a leisurely drive South. Jasper timed the run perfectly and we rolled up outside Emmi's house exactly on time. I'd never been here, they'd moved here after I'd been outlawed, but it looked modern, opulent and pleasant in a faceless way, sitting behind perfect gardens in a bland estate. Jasper switched off the engine and I watched the front door nervously, in case the raging monster I remembered so vividly would charge us. Instead it opened slowly and a petite figure stepped out, intent on Jasper's BMW. "Is that her?" he asked, but his voice sounded very distant. My hands twisted my handbag's straps cruelly, reflecting the state of my insides; I bit my lip, then raised a trembling hand to greet her. "What if he's here?" "No car on the drive, Raya - he's playing golf." Emmi didn't move. Her hair had greyed until the black was almost gone, she looked smaller than I remembered, paler. She wore sunglasses and a dark green pullover with black trousers; her right arm remained in a sling. Sight of that warped my fear into anger. "I wish he were here," I said through clenched teeth. "I'd come and visit you in prison," Jasper said. Despite myself I snorted with amusement. Like a CIA chief at a very delicate prisoner exchange I eased myself slowly from the car, watching the house's windows. The hairs under my bun agitated as though a sniper were settling a laser sight onto my back. Emmi's mouth lifted at one side, the breeze stirred her short hair and toyed with my skirt. "Hello, Soraya," she said. Her gravel driveway crunched under my heels as I started forward, heart racing and armpits damp. Angry Soraya wanted to wait by the car, to make her come to me, but deeper and older than her lay a little girl who just wanted her Emmi. Remembering her wrist, I threw my arms around her and as my tears marked her top her good arm went around my waist and returned the embrace. "You have a look of your Aunt Amina about you," she said a minute or so later when we parted. "I don't think you ever met her." All I could do was shake my head. "And the Helou bust," she added dryly looking down at my chest - Helou being her maiden name. I shrugged. "Better than no bust at all." "You're lovelier than Caleb said." "Thank you." "And that is Jasper in the car?" "That is Jasper in the car." "Has he ever hit you?" The clouds slid over our reunion, I glanced at the house's dark windows again. "No, Emmi. He's not like that, and I've known him for a long time." She nodded, then took off her sunglasses to show the purple bruising around one eye and the bloom of scarlet over its sclera. "Then you've chosen better than I did. I've been a very foolish woman. Would you pick up my bags from the hallway please?" "Emmi?" "I'm leaving him. I'm so sorry to drop this on you, but would you please take me with you?" Part Nine. Our little house, in one of the terraces behind the seafront in Roker, lay a good five hour drive from Salisbury. We got there around eight pm, after a reasonable journey and dinner, to which Emmi treated us, in a pub near Wetherby. Jasper was a rock, not only for doing all the driving, but for his wide- shouldered, good humoured response to the headline that his prospective mother-in-law was moving in with us. "Jas, standby for something quite big," I'd announced, leaning into the car in the moments after her announcement - when I was still reeling myself. "Can we take Emmi home with us? She's leaving MSM." He'd looked momentarily surprised. "For real?" "Really real." "What a time to be alive! Let's get her loaded up." "Just temporarily," she assured us from the back seat as we drove away from her house. "I have money, I can get myself set up." "Our house is your house," said Jasper. "You'll love the North East; we can get to know you." "I'm looking forward to that." Caleb messaged me when we were well on our way up the M1 towards Derby. [Where's Emmi? A frantic husband knows she got into a grey BMW with a woman who looked like me.] [She's safe, this is her idea! We'll talk later.] [Don't be angry with her.] [Don't worry. I'm not even peeved.] "Why didn't you want me to tell Caleb we were meeting?" I asked Emmi when we stopped for a pee and coffee near Sheffield. "I thought I could trust you not to go to him, but not Caleb." More messages came; a furious MSM had called the police claiming I had kidnapped his wife. Caleb put in his own call and reassured the cops so we didn't get hard-stopped and arrested on the M1. Two local detectives called in for a chat while we were still unloading the car, they spoke to Emmi on her own while Jasper made tea for everyone and I called Caleb to let him know we'd arrived okay and hadn't been arrested. "They were very interested in my injuries," said Emmi when the police had left. "I think I have made your lives much more complex." "We love a break in routine, don't we, Raya?" he said with his arm around my waist. I think Emmi was starting to like him. By the time we got her settled in the spare room we were both pretty done in and after showering together we lay close in our bed, the curtains open, watching the moon over Roker Park. "It's all a bit different to the last time I lay in this bed," I whispered. "Reconciliation with my gay brother, I grew a womb, then my Emmi, who I haven't actually seen for nine years, runs away from her husband with us. You couldn't make this stuff up." "Don't forget the great sex," Jasper said, squeezing one of my breasts fondly. "I'm pleased you got your priorities sorted!" "Of all those impossible things, which one wouild you change?" "None! Emmi's safe, Caleb's less of a bastard, I can menstruate: I wouldn't change a thing." "Me neither. The way you sparkled yesterday makes everything worth it." "Even a mother-in-law moving in?" "You have a family again, Raya. It'll make the church look more balanced for the wedding." "You know it's all your fault, don't you?" I said, kissing the tip of his nose affectionately. "Do I?" "If you hadn't asked me to marry you none of this would have happened." He thought about this for a moment, then squeezed me tight to him. "It would have happened eventually." It's a strange thing to go from feeling you are something close to being an orphan to having your Emmi living under your roof. When I went down the next morning, my hair wild and tangled, wearing only a comforting fleece dressing gown and saw her there at the kitchen table, looking up with a hesitant smile, I felt a stranger in my own house; or that time had slipped somehow to transport me to the old house where I'd been a hostage in their life. "Jasper has gone for a run," she said, half rising. "He's an early bird when we're at home," I said, and relaxed enough to practically dislocate my jaw with a yawn. "Did you sleep well?" Making small talk with Emmi? The whole thing seemed so surreal. Was this another dream to go along with the ongoing one about my body? "Very well, thank you." Another little, nervous smile. She couldn't meet my eyes. Maybe I should have tightly pulled back my hair and worn something boyish to hide my figure and make the whole experience easier for her. Instead, when our stilted breakfast was done, I took her for a walk along the promenade making a statement with my hair unpinned. To be honest, with the usual sea breeze buffeting us, having it constantly blowing across my face was a pain. I wore a red cotton top, with unseasonal long sleeves, under a short, golden-brown dungaree dress, black tights and flat, brown, lace up ankle boots in order to reinforce my gender each time she looked my way. As we walked along the prom towards Seaburn we talked nonsense about the seagulls and sand, the old tram stop and lighthouse, the rocks and passers by. Emmi had a passion for dogs, though MSM had never allowed her one, and stopped and to say her hellos to every dog walker we met. At Seaburn we bought coffee and sat on a bench facing the North Sea wrapped in an expectant silence that meant the acting was done and it was time for us to get down to business. With lips pressed together and gaze resolutely out to sea, I waited for Emmi to come to me - I thought she owed me that much. "Would you be okay if I was very open with you?" she asked, when the coffee was almost gone. "I think we both need that." Another minute, maybe two, went by with only the wind and passing cars to interrupt. "It's not easy for a mother to reconcile her son becoming a daughter." I noted the way she constructed the sentence and said nothing; it had been hard for me to become just a daughter, while I'd longed to be Emmi's Daughter. "And my faith... no, the priests told me what you were doing was a sin Then there was the loyalty..." She snorted unhappily, "... no, the obedience I was taught I owed to my husband. I drank the coffee dregs and crushed the cardboard cup while Angry Soraya roused herself and stretched. "I prayed for you, Soraya. Don't look like that, that's part of my life I draw comfort from. I prayed for you, in the early days when your father raged - we both felt some of that, you know, he is a flawed man - and I prayed later when all mention of you was expressly forbidden." "Constant rejection and dismissal of who I was drove me from God," I murmured. "I don't have an answer for that," she said, sadly. "Jesus taught us to love, didn't he? But I didn't feel much love coming my way from those I thought I could count on. Because I couldn't live within your narrow expectations?" Emmi stiffened at that, maybe it was a slap against her and the church, but angry memories battered the inside of my skull and made me want to scream. "What I had to endure," I said very slowly, "I wouldn't wish on anyone. But here I am, happy. And loved." "I love you, Soraya. Even if you don't want me to. I don't believe in unconditional love, even for your children. But you never did anything to test my love. That test came from my misguided, blind love for your father. I turned to him and turned from you; that cost us both and I'm sorry, truly sorry for leaving you alone." "At least you called me." "Yoga Helen?" We shared a sad smirk to recall her. "It was Caleb who got your number for me," she said. "I swore him to secrecy and worried myself sick he'd tell your father." "I won't say his name nor use that title for him. Jasper and I always refer to him as MSM; Man She Married." That silenced her a minute or two. I dropped my cup in a bin, crossed my legs and unconsciously smoothed my dress. "You're very much the lady," she said. "Very graceful. I always wanted a girl." "You've always had one." She thought about that for a moment, watching the clouds as they sailed serenely overhead. A seagull dropped onto the top of a nearby bin and watched us a moment before losing interest and flapping away. "I haven't been a proper mother to you," she said. "I made my own wishes more important than yours." "I don't think you had much choice." "Perhaps. But I should have found a way to make space for you, Soraya." We walked a little further, without speaking much until she spied an ice-cream kiosk and offered to buy me one. Despite everything I smiled. "When was the last time you bought me an ice cream at the seaside?" "You were fourteen and we'd gone for a day at Brighton," she said, without even thinking about it. "Just you, me and Caleb." I had raspberry ripple, which had been my favourite back then - it seemed appropriate. There were bridges to build, and much time to make up for, but even Angry Soraya had to admit that spending a lazy Sunday with her Emmi felt good. Of course, MSM couldn't leave it. Within a week of leaving him he'd been served divorce papers citing his controlling and coercive behaviour - boy, did that wind him up! Even from the other end of the country he made his anger felt. Spurious allegations came my way, which the police and Head of Nursing casually filed under malicious. Emmi changed her phone number, but one of her friends let her down and passed on the new details to him so she changed it again. She and I received cold letters from MSM's solicitors which we passed onto hers (a friend of Jasper's from the rugby club). She got herself a job as a secretary for the funeral directors nearby and taught both us Lebanese cuisine, we all played games and went for meals and movies together, she gave us distance and space so neither of us felt like our life had become too crowded. I passed (endured) the milestone of my first period with assistance from YouTube and a commemorative, hand-made card and tampon shaped cake from Jasper. A tampon shaped cake! Where did he even find someone to make such a thing? And how did we explain it to Emmi when she got home from work? Easy, we added whiskers and eyes and ears transforming into a mouse, a very tasty tampon mouse. Amongst all this Jasper and I started looking around for work away from the North East to further the idea that we could live away from my trans history in some new part of the country. West Wales, Mid-Scotland or Devon became our favourite options, with health service opportunities for us both and housing within our budget. Emmi asked if she could come too, promising to find a place of her own so that was agreed. Caleb visited and I managed to get along with him; he came out to Emmi over breakfast in our kitchen. She went very pale, very quickly, but recovered her composure and we moved on. Some days I forgot I was trans. They fast-tracked Emmi's divorce and we planned that when it became official we would move. MSM got nasty in the weeks leading up to the hearing, we had threats, nuisance phone calls and allegations of everything from medical negligence against me to theft against Emmi. Happily the police weren't so naive they gave them much credence, though the divorce judge wasn't impressed. The first of November saw Emmi a free woman, we'd given notice at work and had a move to Plymouth arranged with jobs and houses sorted. Jasper would be a team supervisor in the physiotherapy department at the Derriford Hospital, I'd be senior nurse for the Navy's medical centre at Devonport Docks while Emmi would continue in the funeral trade with the Co-op down there. January the thirteenth was the move day - a Christmas program of farewells and visits arranged; we all agreed we'd miss Sunderland. Best laid plans and all that! I worked a late shift on December the seventeenth and by the time I'd biked home in the dark and cold, my feet still aching from the rushing about task after task with barely a moment to stop for a pee, never mind something useful like a mug of tea, I'd had enough. Wheeling my bike through the tall gate to our little, walled off back yard I was looking forward to getting my bra off and hair down, then a shower and finally a glass of wine. We had only a small backyard, a couple of outhouses that would once have been an earth closet and coal room, and a couple of square metres of brick paving we'd brightened with bird feeders and shade loving plants in boxes and wall hangers. Putting my bike under its lean-to I muttered dark things about the yard light not illuminating with my movement, when a scuffing noise, like a whisper of a waterproof jacket on a wall, drew my attention. "Jas?" I said, knowing it wasn't him uncoiling from the shadows beside the glass-panelled back door. A stark spill of adrenaline came as the shape turned man size and rushed me - there I was, living every woman's nightmare. Panic bit me, I stumbled back, a cry launching from my throat. Stupid, blind panic blundered me into the back gate, pushing it shut and blocking my escape. A glint shone from the edge of something metallic sticking from the shadow's fist and I knew then I would be slashed. That certainty cleared the panic long enough for me to employ some of the self-defence training I'd had as a student in Liverpool and a casualty department nurse in Sunderland. Dropping my bag I fended the knife arm away with my left hand and drove the palm heel of my right hand towards the man's bearded chin. That fend off saved me from a stab to the guts, driving it down and to my left as I tried to twist aside, but the knife's tip caught me on my inner thigh. I only felt the blade catching my leggings and a punch into the muscle before my thigh turned hot, as though I'd pissed myself. So I screamed again, and my palm-heel caught his chin, snapping back his head and exploding a gruff cry from him. Pain shot down my arm from the blow. Somebody switched on the kitchen light, partially illuminating the yard and turning the darkness staining my leggings into arterial scarlet. Now silhouetted, the man stumbled back, shaking his head to clear it, before recovering his balance. He spat blood, called me a fucking pervert and raised the blade high for a plunging stab. Dizziness took me, I fell back into the yard wall raising bloodied hands to push him away or catch the knife hand as it drove for my neck. He snarled as I caught his wrist; his maddened strength bore down on me, but my elbows were locked and desperation braced me. Time sided with him though as the yard became blood slick under my trainers. Dull roaring in my ears, the futile hammering of my emptying heart and gathering darkness around my vision told me how fucked I was. Glass smashed. The man collapsed like an empty sack and the knife grazed my shoulder as he dropped it. "Soraya!" Emmi screamed as I slid down the wall. I didn't have long left, my fingers already numb and legs turned to noodles. I saw her throw aside the shattered remains of the wine bottle she'd broken on the head of my attacker and dash forward. I urged her inside, in case he got up and went for her, but she wouldn't have it. She yelled for Jasper. "Lay me down," I said. "All the blood!" "Just lay me down." I started to close my eyes, but that wouldn't end well. Blood wet floor tiles supported my back, I strained my neck to see Emmi leaning over me and her tears splashed my jacket. "Put your finger here," I told her, my voice thickening. Weak as a kitten I rested her index finger against my hip bone on the left side, above the numbing thigh wound. "Stretch your thumb towards my crotch. That's it." Trying to swallow, my mouth so unspeakably dry, I tried to recall all the training I'd ever had for a catastrophic haemorrhage. I could hardly lift my other hand, never mind seize hers and place it between my legs, right at the top of my parted thighs. "Put the edge of your hand there, Emmi, along my crotch - quickly. Now, stretch your thumb up towards your other one. When they touch, press down, as hard as you can." It hurt, more than the stab wound, but I felt the bleeding slow and knew she'd found my femoral artery. Jasper's face appeared over me, creased and pale with concern and still dripping from the shower, phone to his ear. I smiled to see him. "Hiya, Jas," I murmured. "Hang in there, Raya," he said, voice tight - then, to his phone, "She's still conscious, yes, lots of blood. Tell them to hurry won't you?" "Keep pressing down with your thumbs, Emmi," I whispered. I had a banging, hypoxia headache and fatigue pulled with soft, determined hooks. "You're keeping me alive." "There's an ambulance coming," he said. "And the cops. All of them." "It's him, isn't it?" Emmi nodded, face pale and biting her lips with concentration and she leaned her weight into me. "You hit him. Saved me." "Save your strength, darling." "What a bastard," said Jasper. "What an absolute bastard." I heard him grunt, then a wet crunch, but couldn't see what had happened. Thinking I was in good hands and hearing the cavalry wail of emergency sirens I thought a little sleep would be a good idea. Part Ten. Splashes of memories came in; I think one was an ambulance where I had plastic over my mouth. A searing pain burned deep into my left thigh, above it my flesh felt stretched and bloated, thudding and howling with hurt. Below I felt nothing. "Where's my leg?" I murmured, they must have cut it off. "You're wearing a tourniquet, honey," said a broad faced paramedic, leaning over me so I could see her. "I've got you on pethadine, but it'll still hurt like a bastard." Jasper looked down on me the next time I managed to crack open gummy eyes and part my cracked lips. "You look like shit," I croaked; his pale skin looked unusually washed out, his eyes flat and dark ringed. "It's been a long night and a long day," he said, which confused me - it didn't seem so long since I'd been in the ambulance. He forced a smile and bent to kiss me. That touch to my brow felt like the best thing ever. I tried to hold his hand, but found myself restrained by a cannula. Something beeped steadily, the sounds of a hospital ward came in from outside, but I had a room to myself. "How are you, Raya?" "A bit shit, if you don't me saying." "I thought I might never hear your voice again," he said and his face crumpled. I'd never seen him cry before. Emmi cried too, in fact we cried together and she stuttered about how it was all her fault and I told her she'd saved me. "But he wouldn't have come if I hadn't divorced him," she protested. "And he would have killed me if you hadn't smashed that bottle over his head. It's all his fault, Emmi." Flowers and cards covered the cabinet by my bed - they had put me in my own ward so there were always staff coming in to say hello or hold my hand and that felt good. I'd miss them. Of course I had the best physiotherapist when it came to getting some work back out of that damaged leg. With supreme patience, lots of fussing and encouragement along with more kissing and sarcasm that was proper between physio and patient he helped me overcome the muscle damage. The wounding and surgery that followed left me with a neat, six centimetre scar which Jasper suggested looked like a butterfly's body, with a distinctive head, thorax and abdomen; he even traced the shape of its wings with his fingertips over my thigh. With that in mind I went to a South Shields tattoo parlour one of my friends recommended and had a big, wonderful butterfly with shimmering, whorled wings of sapphire and gold inked into my thigh. It peeped from underneath the hems of my shortest skirts and drew much admiration from my swimming club. In a touching gesture of solidarity, did I tell you how much I loved him, Jasper had its smaller twin tattooed onto his shoulder. MSM went to prison for fifteen years having been convicted of attempted murder at Newcastle Crown Court. Emmi, Caleb, Jasper and I faced his arrogant disdain with cold indifference. He looked different from how I remembered him, not just with age, but from his nose being badly smashed during the incident in our yard. The detective who handled the investigation told me the evidence against MSM was overwhelming; aside from the fact he'd been found semi-conscious at the scene, the forensics tied him intimately to the assault. The prosecuting barrister admitted after the trial that the defence council had tried to persuade MSM to plead guilty to reduce the sentence, but he'd wanted his day in court. Perhaps he thought I'd back down and withdraw the charges, but he should have remembered the times when I'd refused to back down from him. Part Eleven. In between starting my transition and having to leave medical school, one of the course tutors - a spiky-haired, long-faced, artfully casual woman called Morwenna, took me to one side. That time had been characterised by incredulous hostility from family members and bemusement from my course colleagues which sometimes stretched to absent misgendering, forgetting to use my real name, but was generally characterised by well intentioned support and humour. "This is a difficult task you're setting yourself," she started once we'd settled in a quiet corner of the campus grounds. "Medical school?" I asked innocently. At that stage I had adopted a gender-fluid, androgynous look reasoning that as my hair grew longer and people started assuming my gender as female I'd start dressing that way. She inclined her head. "Men will distrust you for betraying masculinity and women will fear you're infiltrating and colonising their culture, politics and sexuality." "What do you think?" I asked her. "I deal with people depending on how I find them. I think giving you a hard time over your choices is exceptionally rude, so even if I don't agree I'll call you Soraya and give you the courtesy of female pronouns, but I have some advice and here it is - you'll be happier if you can love the skin you're in." I often thought about that as I went through the process of finding myself; I never hated my body and I could hardly blame it for the accident of biology that left me looking male. I never self-harmed or considered self-mutilation, I even thought long and hard about having the surgery to reform my genitals - Jasper and I certainly had a lot of fun with them before the operation. So I considered I had always loved the skin I was in, though I did love it much more as my skin softened and my breasts developed. But Hazel's mirror took me several steps beyond that and without sounding like a self-obsessed narcissist I think I fell in love with my body a little more as I reaslised what it was to be a natural, cis woman. "What do you feel now?" he asked one afternoon, way before we left Sunderland. He'd come home unexpectedly early, Emmi being at work, and found me slowly, luxuriously and happily making love with myself; I don't know how long he'd stood watching and when I'd finally realised I had an audience, leaning casually on the bedroom's door frame, I'd just smiled and carried on. He didn't try to join in, or undress and touch himself, just watched me loving the body I'd been gifted. (His selflessness did not go unnoticed or unrewarded.) "What do I feel now?" I murmured, eyes half closed, still sprawled carelessly naked on our bed while he lay beside me and traced circles on my skin. I knew he didn't mean the afterglow of my lovemaking and tried to find the words to describe what it meant for me, the ex-Ishmail, to be so wonderfully content. Imposter Syndrome still shocked me, though not as profoundly as it had in the early days when the appearance of a windblown lock of hair into my vision would startle; to be inside the changing rooms of a womenswear shop trying on a dress would sometimes bring on a wave of anxiety. More recently I'd got feelings of displacement to pull down my panties and see a tampon's string tangled in my pubic hair; or to feel my pussy stretching around Jasper as he eased smoothly inside. Sight of my fuller breasts still sometimes brought a quick frown. "Complete," I said after a few minutes of uninterrupted contemplation. "I feel complete, living as I want to live and compromising the ways I want to compromise. I've always been female, but now I am complete - the envy and regrets have gone." Hazel spoke of the back stories the mirror had created for her and the other women her mirror had brought from the shadows, though this hadn't happened for me - I'd already written my female back story. That I'd once been biologically male remained my history, though it became an increasingly vague and woolley concept for those around me. After moving to Devon and registering at a new Doctor's surgery my request to start on oral contraception was accepted without comment; none of the nurses there who do my smear tests ever frown at my medical records and ask why a woman like me could have a cervix for them to examine. I had to disclose my previous names, especially Ishmail, to get through the vetting to work for the Navy at Devonport, but this never appeared on my records almost as if the idea that I could ever have been a boy was simply too difficult to think about. Which makes life simpler, though I haven't forgotten my routes, or my less fortunate sisters; you'll find me mentoring and supporting women like me throughout the Southwest. Time to bring this to a close. I did think about setting the final scene in our new house, on the edge of Calstock on the Tamar Valley from Plymouth; a lovely spot, only small, but big enough for the two of us and maybe a third if the fancy takes us. Emmi lives closer to the city and I see her a lot, so everything came together well. I enjoy my new job, the sailors are a unique breed, and Jasper has settled so we're happy- very happy. But I'm going to leave the story in a Norman church in North Cheshire, close to Jasper's parents' house at the moment where I take a deep breath and cross the threshold. I'd never had those girlish fantasies of the perfect wedding, imagining every detail of my gown or the flowers. I'd never imagined there could be a man who would see through me and look deep enough to see a soul mate to marry. Yet here I am, in a dark cream dress fitted to the waist and flowing from the lines of my hips. The hem swirls around my calves, to show off my slender ankles and satin heels - not too high, I have dancing planned and when I spin, when my husband spins me, my dress will flare out beautifully and I'll laugh with the sheer joy of it. But that's to come, for now I have a convulsive grip on my posy and I'm almost trembling. The organ plays softly inside over the muted sounds of the people we have invited to share our day, sunshine streaks through stained-glass windows, brightening the gorgeous flowers arranged at every pillar. Four paces through the porch and I'll be in the church, with the rows of pews to my right and the long aisle leading to Jasper. Emotion wells up; anticipation, nervousness, self-consciousness; as soon as I turn that corner I'll be the centre of attention and despite everything that's happened to me, for all that was done to me, I'm still anxious in case somebody will point and say, 'man'. "Are you ready, girl?" That's Jasper's dad. He'd volunteered to walk me down the aisle very soon after we'd decided to marry, before we'd started looking into the detail, seeing very clearly where the gaps in the operation were likely to fall. Of course I'd said yes, that kind of acceptance shouldn't be taken for granted. "As I'll ever be." He slips his arm through mine and I thank him. "Ready, Mrs Shahi?" he says checking over his shoulder at my maid of honour. Emmi looks more nervous than I feel, as though she still can't quite resolve who I am with who she thought I would be. Mother of the bride in her culture is a revered, but sidelined position and I have put her into centre stage by asking her to walk the aisle with me. But she is there, looking taller and more confident than I remember, almost completely out of the shadow of a man whose memory has no place in a place of joy like this church. I think Caleb thought it his place to walk me down the aisle, but I'm not a person who believes in places or tradition; Jasper and I make our own. But he's here, organising stuff as the head usher. His boyfriend - a gorgeous radiographer - is here too and the more Caleb comes into living at peace with himself, the better we get along. Time to go - at a nod from Caleb the organist changes to the wedding march and there we are, the three of us making our stately progress down the aisle through family, friends, even a few Shahis and a Helou. I had thought I should keep my eyes resolutely forward, part of a bride's perfect composure, but instead, I look around the people who have come to celebrate with us, smiling my thanks, mouthing hellos, forgetting to be anxious, letting them see my happiness; here I am, Soraya the Bride - I feel beautiful, lighter than air, as though the sunbeams have centred in me then shone out. There, at the front beside a smiling vicar and his brother as best man, is Jasper - looking over his shoulder and grinning like he's fit to bust - weeping too! Who'd have thought a person could do those things together? Surely I can't leave him there on his own. Grinning so madly I forget tradition, forget the dignity of the occasion and excuse myself to his dad who releases my arm with a happy flourish. Gathering my dress I sprint forward as fast as my heels allow and throw myself into his arms, knowing he will always catch me.