A Fairy's Tale
by Tanya Allan
A wealthy and beautiful Spanish Countess prepares for a private dinner party with her husband and children at the White House with the President and First Lady. As she arrives, she casts her mind back to a very different life.
Jim, a young boy, is brought up in a deprived and abusive home in London’s East End. Aware of his TS condition, he suffers abuse and humiliation, culminating in a homosexual predator taking advantage of him. Finding himself in jail, undergoing special ‘treatment’ to combat his ‘anger’ problems, the young man finally is abused by the state.
When you hit the bottom, there is only one way to go. And a girl called Jemma decides to go up.
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The Legal Stuff: A Fairy’s Tale ©2004 Tanya Allan
This work is the property of the author, and the author retains full copyright, in relation to printed material, whether on paper or electronically. Any adaptation of the whole or part of the material for broadcast by radio, TV, or for stage plays or film, is the right of the author unless negotiated through legal contract. Permission is granted for it to be copied and read by individuals, and for no other purpose. Any commercial use by anyone other than the author is strictly prohibited, and may only be posted to free sites with the express permission of the author.
This work is fictitious, and any similarities to any persons, alive or dead, are purely coincidental. Mention is made of persons in public life only for the purposes of realism, and for that reason alone. Certain licence is taken in respect of medical procedures, terms and conditions, and the author does not claim to be the fount of all knowledge.
The author accepts the right of the individual to hold his/her (or whatever) own political, religious and social views, and there is no intention to deliberately offend anyone. If you wish to take offence, that is your problem.
This is only a story, and it contains adult material, which includes sex and intimate descriptive details pertaining to genitalia. If this is likely to offend, then don’t read it.
It was bloody cold. There was snow left from a fall a few days ago, with a cold wind blowing in from the northeast. I was wearing girl’s clothes that were more suitable for summer than winter, and an old parka. A taxi was waiting. I walked over to find the driver was reading the Sun and drinking coffee from a flask.
He wound the window down and seemed surprised to see a girl coming out of a male institution.
“Hi, are you waiting for me?”
“Dunno luv, are you the one going to the station?”
“Hop in then, luv, it’s fucking parky.”
I got in beside him and I saw he looked at my legs.
“I was expecting one of them little shits. What’s a nice girl like you doing in a place like this, with loads of young villains? It’s hardly the place for an attractive girl like you.”
I almost burst out laughing at the cliché he had just come out with.
“I was just visiting,” I lied; well I had been, for eighteen months.
“Cor, just as well they didn’t let you inside with the inmates. They’d eat you alive.”
“I might just have enjoyed it,” I said, and we laughed together.
He took me to the railway station, as I had a travel warrant for Windsor. However, to get from Essex to Berkshire, I had to change mainline trains, underground trains and buses. I finally arrived, tired and cold, at a big detached house in Windsor. It was getting dark, as it was about five o’clock. It also started to rain.
I rang the bell nervously and nearly turned and fled before the door was answered.
However, a pleasant, middle-aged lady opened the door and stood looking at me.
“Yes, may I help you?”
“Mrs Jameson? I am Jemma. Mr Collins told me you were expecting me.”
She looked at me. Her mouth opened, but no sound came out. She opened the door, stood back, and I gratefully came out of the cold.
“Dear God,” she said.
I looked at her. She was about my height and a little plump. Her hair had been brown, but was now greying and was cut quite short. She was wearing trousers and a big woolly cardigan over a floral blouse. She had a kind face and nice eyes, which were green.
“You poor child. I had no idea. It’s a terrible thing they’ve done to you.”
I said nothing, but took my coat off. She gasped when she saw my clothes, or rather when she saw my shape in the clothes. Her hands flew to her face.
“Oh dear Lord.”
“Actually, I’m okay, really,” I said, my teeth chattering a bit.
“Oh, come in. I’ll put the kettle on. Come by the fire and warm up.”
She took me into a lovely sitting room, sitting me in a huge armchair by a roaring fire. I looked round the room. It was bigger than most homes I had been in and was tastefully decorated. It was the kind of room I would have liked to have had as a child. I don’t know why, but I started to cry. Mrs Jameson came in and sat by me, cradling me in her arms.
I was like that for a while, while great sobs came from me. I had lost control and I just opened the floodgates as sixteen years of anguish poured out. I cried for my mother, my broken relationship with my father and my lost siblings. I cried for me and for Larry, Pete, and all the other lost boys. Mainly, I cried for me.
Finally, I managed to stop and Mrs Jameson just held me to her ample bosom.
“I’m sorry,” I said, sniffling.
“Never mind, it had to come out, so better sooner than later.” She handed me a box of tissues.
“Now, shall I get that tea?”
She left and I followed her to the kitchen and she put the kettle on. It was a lovely modern kitchen too.
“You have a super home. I’m sorry if I’m putting you out.”
She looked at me and her face softened.
“When Stuart told me about you, I was not really that keen on having you to stay. He told me that you were more a victim than anyone he had ever known, so I agreed. Now I am glad I did.”
“You don’t know me yet,” I pointed out.
She smiled, “Stuart assured me that you were really a very nice person, so I trust his judgement.”
“You’re Stuart’s aunt?”
“Not really. His mother was a dear friend of mine, so he has called me aunty all his life.”
“He’s very nice and a good solicitor,” I said.
“Yes, he is. Here, get the milk out. There’s a dear.”
I opened the fridge and took out the milk. She made two mugs of tea and I added the milk.
I nodded, “Two please.”
She put in two teaspoons in one mug and a saccharine tablet in the other.
“Have you eaten today?”
“I grabbed a sandwich at one of the many stations.”
“My husband will be home from work soon, so you can help me make supper if you like?”
“I’d like that.”
“Do I call you Jemma?”
“Then you can call me Lynette. None of this Mrs Jameson business. It makes me feel so old.”
We went back into the sitting room where I poured out my tale of woe, holding nothing, and I mean nothing, back. She sat there stunned, and then I saw her crying.
“Oh, you poor, innocent little soul. How cruel can life get?”
“Don’t feel too sorry. I can be determined when I want to be and I probably am a horrible person.”
She shook her head.
“Don’t you dare believe that, if you believe that, then they’ve won. You are the victim of a horrible injustice and I hope and pray we can make part of it right. That horrible teacher from Southend will have to have his comeuppance.”
I shrugged. It was all in the past now.
After tea, she showed me to a lovely bedroom with floral curtains and a matching bedspread. Even the sheets and pillowcases had pink flowers on them. I almost lost it again.
“Where’s your luggage?”
“This is all I have.”
She gaped at me again, tut-tutting through her teeth.
“My daughter is grown up and married now, but some of her old clothes are in the attic. So, if you help, we shall see what we can find. Otherwise, you and I are going shopping tomorrow.”
The attic was easily accessible through a hatch with an extendible ladder. It was a huge room, full of boxes and even an old rocking horse.
“How many children have you got?” I asked.
“Three. James is twenty-seven, an army officer in Germany. He is married with two young children. Mark at twenty-four is at medical school and will be a qualified doctor next year, while Susan is twenty-two. She just got married and is working as a legal secretary in a local solicitor’s here in Windsor.”
“Do you see much of them?” I asked as she was rooting about in an old box.
“Not as much as I’d like. James will be back in the UK next year, so that will be nice. Sue comes here with John, her husband, for lunch every Sunday, but Mark is rarely in evidence.”
She pulled out an old suitcase and opened it.
“Perfect. This was Sue’s stuff when she was about your age. You’re much the same size, so take this down, there’s a dear, and we’ll have a look downstairs.”
I lugged the case down to my bedroom as she put away the ladder. She joined me, and together we examined the contents.
There were two nightdresses and several skirts and tops which I liked. Some of the dresses were a bit too posh for my taste, but Lynette told me that I had to bring my taste up, as I was such a pretty girl.
“I have a sister called Susan,” I said.
She looked at me, “When did you last see her?”
“Before I was sent down. I never got any visits, except for Mr Collins.”
“Oh you poor soul, life just is so unfair at times.”
There was a nice black coat, so I happily agreed to chuck out my old green parka. As it was still winter, I was grateful that there were several pullovers and sweaters. I felt blessed by this sudden windfall. Unfortunately, her feet were a size smaller than mine. I was a six and she was a five.
“Well, it looks like we will have to go shopping tomorrow doesn’t it?” she said.
I just smiled, as that sounded fun to me.
As she helped me hang up the clothes, her hand rested on my shoulder.
I stopped and looked at her.
“I don’t mean to pry, but I can’t really seem to grasp this. Are you really a boy, under all this?” she asked.
“Yes and no. I’ve been a girl inside my head for as long as I can remember. In a way, the prison service did me a favour by giving me hormones. I look and sound like a girl, but apart from a small piece of useless skin and the fact I can’t ever have children, I am a girl.”
“You’re far to pretty to be a boy. I do hope this all works out for you.”
I smiled, almost bursting into tears once more.
She gave me a hug and I felt almost loved properly for the first time in my life.
She suggested that I change into a slightly longer skirt, as the one I had was a little short. I smiled and did what she suggested. The one I chose was only a couple of inches longer, but she seemed happier.
“It’s George’s blood pressure, I don’t want him too excited,” she said, and I giggled.
“How long am I to stay with you?” I asked.
“As long as you want. But if you stay longer than a couple of weeks you will have to either get a job, go to college or something. I won’t have you hanging about doing nothing.”
“That sounds fine to me. I hate doing nothing anyway.”
“So what did you do in that place?”
“I taught myself to read a bit better. I’m dyslexic, so I find it very hard. They used to call me thick at school and even my teachers would ridicule me. I got a job in the kitchens, so learned quite a bit about catering. I love cooking, so I would be happy getting a job in a kitchen somewhere.”
“I have to ask. How do you feel about what they did to you?”
“You mean the hormones?”
I shrugged. “In a way they simply accelerated what I might have done anyway, but I wasn’t given a choice. I would’ve liked to have been given a choice, particularly as it was all done on a base of lies. But I did have an anger problem and they did cure it. So I should be thankful for that.”
“But what lengths to go to. Do you really want to become a girl?”
I looked at her and smiled.
“What do you think?”
She smiled at me.
“Silly question. Well, if your looks are anything to go by now, you will have no problems at all.”
That made me feel very pleased and I said so.
The front door opened.
“That’ll be George,” she said, standing up and going to greet him in the hall. I stayed put, feeling rather nervous. I heard their voices, muted, in the hallway.
Then she returned with a tall grey haired man in a dark blue pinstripe suit.
“You must be Jemma. I’m George. I hear you’ve had a bit of an ordeal?” he said and held his hand out. I stood up and shook it.
“That’s one way of looking at it. I prefer to see it as an adventure, and I’m overdue for a good bit.”
“What a mature view. How refreshing. Well, I must say, you’re not exactly as I had imagined,” he said, and I smiled.
“Aren’t I? So what did you expect?” I asked.
He became rather flustered. “Well, ah, when young Stuart explained the circumstances and asked whether we would be willing, I had imagined … Well, I hadn’t imagined a pretty girl like you.”
I almost started crying again. Lynette noticed and stepped in.
“Jemma and I were just going to get dinner started. So George, make yourself a drink and we will be in the kitchen.” She took me by the hand, whisking me to the kitchen.
We spent a pleasant evening. They were a very nice, middle-class couple, who had no idea how many of us lived near the poverty line. But after supper, I made my excuses and went to bed. I enjoyed a bath for the first time in nearly two years.
My body was so feminine now that I could hardly believe it. The only flaw was between my legs, and they were so small now that they made little difference. I dried myself, slipping on a soft cotton nightdress. I snuggled between the sheets and was asleep in no time.
The next morning, I wore tights and a black skirt that came to just above my knees. I chose a pale green blouse and a thick black pullover with a roll neck collar. I only had one pair of shoes and they were black with high heels. I put my make up on and regarded the girl in the mirror with some satisfaction. I actually felt free for the first time in my life.
It was eight o’clock when I went downstairs, and George was having his breakfast. I made myself some tea and popped some bread in the toaster.
“Did you sleep well?” Lynette asked.
“Brilliantly, thanks. I can’t remember when I slept so well.”
I may not have been very good at reading, but I had a real ear for accents. People would class you by what you looked like and then by what you sounded like. So I had trained myself to adapt to environments, and soon my East-end accent was slowly being replaced by a more educated accent. George remarked on it.
“You sound different today?” he said.
“I want to lose my background, and my accent is a dead giveaway.”
“I understand. I’ve always found the East-London accent very unpleasant.”
“I don’t know whether it is unpleasant or not. But it immediately places me at a disadvantage and I never want that to happen again,” I said.
“So what are your plans?” he asked, to change the subject.
“Well, Jemma and I are going to do a bit of shopping. And then, this afternoon, Stuart is coming over to talk to her. Tomorrow, she is going up to Barts to see Doctor Brown. Then we will see what happens,” Lynette said.
George went to catch his train into London. He worked in a bank, and it sounded very dull. Lynette and I caught the bus into Windsor town centre where she introduced me to shopping, a la femme.
I had a little money and I spent quite a lot of it.
I bought shoes, clothes, makeup and jewellery. And then I bought Lynette a big bunch of flowers for being so kind to me.
We had lunch at a little wine bar where I found myself at the receiving end of flattering glances by several young men. I found I enjoyed the experience and flirted at them with my eyes.
“Jemma, nice girls don’t do that.” Lynette said.
“Make come-on signals with their eyes at all the men.”
“It may be fun, but it could end you up in deep water,” she said.
“Sorry. Thanks, I need as much advice as I can get. I’m a bit new at this.”
“Jemma, don’t kid yourself. You probably know more about it than I do. Just don’t get into trouble,” she said, with a knowing smile
We returned to their home and I put away my new clothes. I heard someone arrive, assuming that it was Stuart.
When I appeared, he was in the dining room, setting out the papers from his brief case.
He stared at me when I came in.
“God. Jemma. You look,… well, you look different.”
I laughed and so did he.
“Shit, you surprised me. You look really pretty,” he said.
I sat down, grinning.
“Okay, first you should think about being legally Jemma Adams. If you’ve signed the deed-poll form, that would take care of the name. Secondly, there is a meeting at chambers between the Home Office and Mr Carmichael tomorrow morning. The word is they want to settle, and soon. We have instructed Mr Carmichael to accept anything over £750,000, plus the surgical restoration to your satisfaction.”
“I thought we were asking for a million.”
“That was our starting point. Mr Carmichael thinks that it would be unlikely that a court would award that amount, but hopes that the Home Office are afraid of the publicity a court case could bring. The government have enough embarrassments without another scandal.”
“Thirdly, I submitted your affidavit to the Essex Police, where a team observed the man you knew as Mike. He is a teacher and he is respected in the Southend community. Or was, as their investigation has exposed him as a paedophile. He was arrested this morning with a twelve year old boy in his bed, having subjected the lad to anal sex.”
“This means that your conviction is being reviewed and the reasons you gave for keeping silent have been accepted by the judicial review.”
“What does that mean?”
“If your conviction can be viewed with doubt as to its safety, it will be quashed and your record will be made clean. You may be in line for compensation.”
“Can we not deal with that all together?”
“That is what Mr Carmichael hopes to do tomorrow. The prison service is anxious to clear this up, as is the Home Office. We have the distinct advantage here.”
“I can’t hang about, as there is a danger that my bits will get nasty.”
“You mean cancerous?”
“That is another factor, but hopefully Dr Brown will be in a position to set things in motion tomorrow.”
We went through various legal technicalities and he explained what I needed to go through before I could be legally a female.
“In this country, you will always be considered the gender you were born with. And unless an accident of identification, verified by medical evidence, is the case, you will never be a legal female. This means you can’t marry a male, and so hold no rights as a legal wife. Some countries do allow such marriages, but not very many. I can see a time, in fifty years or so, where most countries will have to allow them, but for the moment, this one does not.
“You may hold a passport, National Insurance and National health certificates and driver’s licence in your apparent gender, but your birth certificate will always stay the same.”
“Roberta Cowell changed hers.” I said.
“If I remember, she had medical evidence that she was female or partly female, and the law had yet to be tightened, as she was the first. In any case, it is not the same as your case.”
“So I find a country that does.”
“Or obtain a new identity,” he suggested.
I looked at him.
“That’s impossible,” I said.
“Technically, yes. But I am told that it can be done.”
“Is it legal?”
“But you wouldn’t know about such things,” I said.
“Of course not. But I know a man who just might.”
“I honestly don’t know. I’ve never asked. But it would be interesting to know if it could be done, in theory, that is.”
“Yes, it would.”
“Right. Let’s leave it there for today. I will be at the meeting in chambers tomorrow at the same time as you see the good doctor. Who, incidentally, has been so shocked by your case, that he states that regardless of the outcome of the legal side, he is willing to undertake your surgery, whether you win or lose. When the information about the teacher from Essex was passed to him, he became really quite upset.”
“It really is very kind of Lynette and George to have me here. I realise that I’m a real burden, so I want to compensate them somehow.”
“Lynette was saying what a little darling you were, so let’s not worry about this just now. Okay?”
He packed away some papers and I had to sign a couple relating to my judicial review. Then Lynette brought in two mugs of tea and some cake.
“We’ve just finished, so we will join you in the sitting room,” Stuart said. And we did just that.
I felt more relaxed than I had in a long time and, as I sat on the sofa, I actually dozed off. Lynette woke me to tell me that Stuart had left and that George was due soon.
“Would you like to help me with supper?”
I did, and she showed me how to make pastry. We made an apple pie, and I found it good fun.
Once again, we spent a pleasant evening and I went to bed early. I lay awake as there was a lot on my mind. What would tomorrow bring?
“Right. You can get dressed again now, Jemma.”
I gratefully did so, and when I came out from behind the screen, Dr Brown was writing notes in a file on his desk. I sat in the chair in front of the desk.
He seemed to write for ages; finally, he looked up and smiled.
“Well, I have seen everything I need to. How do you feel?”
“Not too bad. I get mood swings and seem to cry at the drop of a hat. Some days I wake up and feel slightly sick. But it passes quite quickly.”
“Any pain from the groin?”
“Good. Well, you have developed all the secondary characteristics of a female and you seem to be much more female than I anticipated. I was right, as you are completely infertile as a male. Your testicles should be removed as soon as possible as they are simply a risk to your health. Ideally, I should like to do that this week.”
“I’m not doing anything now.” I joked.
“You may be in some discomfort, but I can do it under a local anaesthetic. But you are only sixteen and so in an ideal world I would need a parent or guardian’s consent.”
“You know that’s impossible.”
“It’s a medical emergency.”
“This isn’t an ideal world, and I’m not going to report you. Just do it.”
An hour later, I was seated in front of him again, a little tender in the groin.
“None too soon, the left testicle was ready to do something nasty.”
“So now what?” I asked.
The telephone interrupted us. He answered it. He stared at me, and said ‘yes’, and ‘no’ and ‘I understand’ a few times. Then he handed the phone to me. It was Stuart.
“Jemma, we’ve won. They settled out of court.”
“Great. What, and how come so quickly?”
“£800,000 and your SRS. However, it seems that this does not include the judicial revue, so there may be more coming. So you can have your surgery. They settled quickly because of the storm in the press, and the government is anxious to avoid a scandal.”
“The doctor says that I need a parent or guardian to sign a consent form. He was able to do what he did today because it was an emergency. But I doubt I’d get SRS because of that.”
“Lynette has been appointed your legal guardian until you are seventeen.”
“Look, I am coming to dinner at the house tonight, so I’ll explain everything then. You will need to sign to accept it and there is a clause about no publicity.”
He hung up, so I handed the phone back to the doctor.
“As we were saying, I am happy to conduct the surgery, but I would like you to see a colleague of mine first.”
“You mean for psychiatric evaluation?”
“You’ve been doing your homework,” he said.
“I expected it. But is it really necessary in my case? It’s not as if I have a choice any more, is it?”
“Not strictly, but it is good practice.”
“Yes, he is just along the corridor and is free for an hour or so.”
So I had my first and only session with a psychiatrist. William Hardcastle was a tall, very thin man with a quiet voice and a slow smile. I liked him.
He made me go through my whole history, so I did so, the special edited version, whereby I was a victim of the brutal state and circumstances. But as far as wanting to be a girl, I laid it on thick. I spent an hour and a half answering his questions, as honestly as I could be.
He then wrote a quick note to Dr Brown, placing it in an envelope and giving it to me to give to him.
I went back to see Dr Brown and sat in front of his desk again. The small wound in my groin was itching abominably now.
“Would you like to see what he wrote?”
“My reading is not very good, particularly if it is a doctor’s writing.”
“He says; ‘Jemma is a delightful person, and is not suffering from many of the usual self-doubt problems linked with gender dysphoria, she is wholly psychologically and emotionally a female. Her physiological attributes appear to be in line with the rest of her, with one minor exception. In my opinion, in view of her extraordinary circumstances, it would be unkind and unethical to allow her to remain as she is for any longer. SRS recommended at the earliest opportunity.’
“So, when can you come in?”
“I’m free now,” I said, and grinned.
Unfortunately, he wasn’t.
I had to wait two weeks for the full medical team to be assembled. But the good news was that my blood tests were clear, so I had not picked up any nasty Sexually Transmitted Diseases whilst inside. It had worried me quite a bit, so it was a great relief to be clear.
I was visited by a plastic surgeon who recommended that I have my nose made smaller and my lower jaw ‘shaved’ to make my face more feminine. I had no Adam’s apple to speak of, and so, the only other little work would be to make my lips slightly fuller. He told me that he would do it at the same time as the main surgery so no one would recognise me as being the person I used to be.
I was booked into a small clinic in Sussex. Lynette drove me down so I was not alone and sat with me in my room while they conducted tests. Finally, with a sign, ‘Nil by mouth’ on my door, I was left alone.
I was excited and couldn’t sleep, as the ever-present bustle of a hospital was designed to keep everyone awake for as long as possible. I finally went to sleep, holding that little penis for the last time.
A nurse woke me at some ungodly hour. She made me change into a hospital gown that tied up the back and showed my bum to anyone in the right place. She took my temperature, blood pressure and inserted an IV needle in the back of my left hand.
Then Dr Brown popped in to see me.
I nodded and grinned.
“Right. We’ll have you up in a few minutes and you will be back here in a few hours. You will hurt a lot, but there will be pain relief available. So don’t worry.”
I wasn’t worried. He had explained what he was going to do previously, so I knew what I had to do afterwards. There was a box of five dilators on the windowsill; number five looked massive.
I was wheeled up to the theatre and I lay on the trolley as the anaesthetist fiddled about with my hand.
“Try to count to ten,” she said.
I got to eight, and everything went black.
The first thing I remember seeing when I came round was the light. It was set into the ceiling and was square. Dead insects had accumulated on the inside of the cover and it needed clearing out. The next thing to occur to me was a mule had kicked me in the crotch. That, and my numb nose and fat lips made me particularly miserable. The numb sensation wore off and I almost doubled up as the pain crept up on me until tears came to my eyes.
“Fuckfuckfuckfuckfuck.... Ooooh. That fucking hurts!”
“Jemma, can you hear me?”
I stared at the head that tried to swim in front of my eyes.
“Yes, but that fucking hurts.”
“Okay, where are you?”
“Hospital, please take the pain away.”
“Okay. The operation went fine. You will be taken back to your room soon, and we are giving you something for the pain.”
I felt a cold sensation in my wrist, and within seconds the pain was gone and I was floating. I started to giggle.
I tried counting the ceiling lights all the way back to my room, as they wheeled me along the corridor, but after eighteen, I lost count. I then remember waking up in bed with a big bunch of flowers beside the bed, in a vase.
There were two drips feeding into my arm, and a nurse was tidying up.
“Hi, how are you feeling?”
I thought about it for a second or two.
“Sore, woozy, a little sick, and detached. Not necessarily in that order.”
“Well, the pain is normal, and it will get better, I promise. The woozy is partly the anaesthetics and partly the morphine, which will go as long as you don’t use too much pain relief. Feeling sick is a combination of everything and is quite normal too. As for the detached, that will be the morphine again.”
“Oh, goody,” I said, and she laughed.
I dipped in and out of consciousness all day. When I awoke properly, Lynette was sitting by the bed reading a book.
“Hi Lynette,” I croaked, and she looked up and smiled.
“How are you?”
“Been better. But pretty good considering.”
“The doctor popped in, but you were out of it. He will be back soon.”
“He said everything went well.”
“Quite a step, the end of an era?”
“Not really, it is just the beginning of my dream. I can now be me, for the first time.”
She smiled, and I saw that more flowers had arrived.
She looked at them.
“There is a big bunch from Stuart, and some from your sister, Susan.”
“Susan, how did she hear about it?”
“I think Stuart tracked her down and told her. Anyway, she said she is going to try to come and see you.”
“Gosh. I haven’t seen her for years.”
Doctor Brown came in.
“Ah, the patient is awake. How are you?”
“You tell me,” I said, and he laughed.
“Well, everything went very well. I was able to create everything as I told you, so you should be able to have a perfectly normal sex life. Your vaginal canal is almost as long as a genetic female, so you will have no problems at all. We spoke about the importance of the dilators, so that has to start in a couple of days. The facial surgery went very well, so you should be right as rain in a couple of weeks.”
“What about hormones?”
“You’re going to have to take oestrogen for the rest of your life, as you just don’t have what it takes to produce your own. We’re trying out a recent innovation, and I have inserted an implant in your upper thigh. It will release the right level of female hormones for twelve months, but then you will have to have it replaced. There may be a few you have to take orally, as well. As I said, this goes on for the rest of your life, I’m afraid.”
The nurse came in, so Lynette left as my dressing was removed and the area inspected. I took a peek, and thought it looked pretty good considering.
“The sutures will dissolve and once the swelling goes down, you will hardly notice any difference between you and a genetic female. Only by an internal and by not seeing a cervix, will anyone know you have not always been a girl. I am very pleased with your breasts. Normally, secondary growth is nowhere near the normal female growth. In your case, you have developed a very fine pair of breasts, so will not need any enhancement.”
That news made me feel quite proud of myself, and not a little pleased.
“Your implant will have already started releasing hormones, so you will feel some symptoms of this as your body starts to adjust. It is medically more aligned to your needs, compared to what you received in prison. You will feel similar symptoms to normal menstruation, so do not be alarmed.”
I wasn’t alarmed. I was feeling very female and happy.
“I have packed out the cavity that I have created and that packing will come out in a day or two. Then you must start with the dilators and it is very important that you do it regularly.”
I smiled. If he had told me that once, he had told me a hundred times.
He then left me, so the nurse explained the self-administered pain relief system. I had a catheter attached to my waterworks, and she asked me whether I wanted it out, or to wait for the morning.
I opted for it out as I was dying to be able to get up.
I regretted it, as after an hour I wanted to go for a pee.
I rang for the nurse, she helped me up, and the drips came too. It stung a bit and it was very odd not having a certain something. It was actually disconcerting, as I realised that I really never would have it again. I grinned at the thought. At least I could use my arse for the right purpose from now on. I sat and thought about the men who had fucked me, wondering what it would be like with two men at once, or even three, if I took one in my mouth at the same time.
I found the thought very erotic, and almost began to feel aroused, but not in the same way as I used to. I smiled; I was going to enjoy being a girl.
I wiped, as I had been instructed, noticing that there was a little pink on the tissue. I hobbled back to bed, informing the nurse about the show. She smiled and said that was perfectly normal, and that actually passing urine was a good sign. I watched a little TV until the nurse brought me some tea and some food.
I progressed quite quickly. On the third day, the doctor removed all the packing and I started dilating. It was really weird, watching this silver dildo disappear up inside of me, into an opening that hadn’t been there before. I managed to get through numbers one and two with no trouble, but then number three was a little more of a challenge.
I persevered and moved onto number four.
This was the 1970s, looking back, I realise now that I was almost breaking new ground in terms of the surgery. Sex changes were still quite rare, and over the next twenty years, I would see amazing developments and progress in the field. They kept me in hospital for quite a long time, three weeks in all. Partially because they were aware of the potential interest by the press, so the Home Office wanted me to appear as normal as possible before venturing out.
My facial wounds healed quickly. My lips settled down first, having just had an injection of fatty tissue. My jaw was sore, but visually fine, as it had been done from the inside, most of the swelling subsided over the time I was there. My nose took slightly longer. But when I saw my new face in the mirror, I was staggered. I was completely different. I agreed no one would connect the feminine boy from Garside with the person I now was.
I was off the drips and moving around quite well. I was now getting dressed and was venturing around the clinic. I made some friends of some other girls who were in the same boat. Several seemed surprised to find that I had been through SRS, thinking that I was a genuine girl and a friend of someone who had, and was just visiting. I was still sixteen, and therefore was a lot younger than most. The fact that I had managed to change before puberty had completely changed me meant that I had not developed strong masculine characteristics.
One new ‘lady’, Michelle, was fifty-four next birthday and she had waited for her partner to pass on before taking the plunge. It was very sad really, as she had wanted to be a girl ever since she could remember, but society made her lead a ‘normal’ life as Michael. He had joined the army during the war, and even won medals for bravery. He had married and had three children. His wife had died of cancer and it was his children who had told him to just get on and be happy for the last bit.
She told me she envied me my youth, so I looked round and asked where he had got to. That made her laugh, but laughing hurt. She had had her operation a couple of days before me, but was taking nearly twice as long to heal.
I teased one of the girls, Jeanette, by putting on a white coat, and a stethoscope round my neck, and pretending to be a doctor. I went into a real comedy routine, taking off Dr Brown and his fascination with dilators. I had her crying with laughter, so I tried it out with the next room, with Candy. There was a nurse with her, and they both got the giggles.
I returned to my room and found a young woman sitting reading a magazine by my bed.
“Hi. Can I help you?” I said, as she looked up. It was my sister, Susan.
“Sorry, I am waiting for my br… my sister, am I in the right room?”
I realised I was still wearing the white coat and stethoscope. I laughed, and took the coat off.
“It’s me. Hi Susan, how are you?” I said.
She stared at me, looking me up and down.
Then we were hugging, and both were crying.
“My God! Look at you. You look amazing, you sound so different, really posh!” she said when we finished the hug.
“You look good too,” I said, and she did. She was a very attractive girl, but as I smelled the fish and chip shop, I smiled to myself
“So, still with Dave then?” I said, and she smiled.
“It’s the bloody smell, isn’t it?” she said and I nodded.
She laughed, sitting next to me on the bed, still holding my hand.
“What do I call you? Jimmy doesn’t seem right anymore,” she asked, looking me up and down. I noted her eyes lingered at my obvious bust.
“Jemma, it’s close enough, it’s what you used to call me, remember?”
“Oh, I did, didn’t I?”
“Anyway, it’s what most people have been calling me for a while.”
“I couldn’t believe it when your solicitor called me. He said that you were out and you were suing the Prison Service for overdosing you on hormones. He also told me that you had settled out of court for a substantial sum. Then he informed me that you were actually having the operation. So I brought the paper in for you.”
She opened a carrier bag and showed me a cutting of the previous day’s paper.
“Gosh, fame at last.” I said.
“Your solicitor also said that there is some review or something, looking at your case?”
“Yeah, the bloke I hit was caught buggering a twelve year old boy. They found photographs of hundreds of boys he has had over the years, including me. I told the police that he blackmailed me into having sex with him, in that he threatened to tell my father if I didn’t go along with it. I also said that I didn’t want my dad to know that I was gay.”
“But you are not.”
“Not now, no.”
“Does that mean you were?”
“Shit Susan, I don’t know. I’m a girl now, and I suppose I always was, but with the body of a boy. Do you have any idea what it’s like in that place?”
She shook her head.
“I had a lover and I was raped in the showers. It could have been worse, but my bloke stepped in and saved me half way through. I have been having regular sex with men ever since that man in Southend, even a bloody warder, for fuck’s sake. So, as a male I suppose I was gay, but as a girl? All I know is, I used to fancy blokes, I still fancy blokes and I’ve never fancied girls. I don’t really know, as all the edges got a bit blurred.”
“Was it horrible?”
“Not really. At the start, it was bloody scary. I was frightened, Sue, very frightened. I was only fifteen and small. There were big bastards in there, and if I hadn’t had Larry, God knows what would have happened. Larry and I just got it together, so it was quite settled, almost domesticated. I was almost happy for a while.”
Susan looked out of the window. I saw she had tears in her eyes.
“How’s Dad?” I asked, to change the subject.
“Dad’s not at all well. He’s in hospital. His mind has gone. He’s violent and unpredictable. He is in the F wards at Hackney Hospital.”
These wards in the old Victorian Hospital were renowned for mad people.
“Oh. Would he know me if I went to see him?”
“Probably not, he doesn’t recognise me and I go at least twice a month.”
We chatted about the rest of the family. John was still in Brixton Prison and Terry was now a flight sergeant in the RAF. Both the twins were splitting up from their husbands, and each had one child. Ken was doing well at Dagenham, having just been made a shift foreman. He had three kids now, the picture of respectability.
“No kids yet, Sue?” I asked.
“I’m expecting our first. I was told last week.”
“Brilliant. If you need a Godmother, give me a shout.”
“Yeah, maybe,” she said, hesitantly.
“I’m joking. I know what I represent, but I do wish you well. One day I’ll be the respectable one and I’ll be ashamed of you lot,” I said, and we both laughed.
We went to the canteen together and had some tea. It was so good seeing her again. We chatted as if we had never been apart, although she kept giving me funny glances.
“I can’t believe you’re the same person. You’ve even lost the accent.”
“Onwards and upwards, my dear,” I said, in the most educated voice I could, causing her to giggle.
“Seriously, Jemma, you’re really gorgeous, no one would ever know.”
“Thanks sis, but I know.”
She took my hand.
“I do too, but it makes no difference, you’ve always been my sister.”
We both cried a little and I was sad when she left. It was a long way for her to come, and I knew she would not be back. I wondered whether I’d ever see her again.
I went home after another few days.
“You are my finest example,” Dr Brown said on discharging me.
“You have managed the dilators in record time, so you are well on the way to recovery. Remember no sex for many weeks.”
I smiled, nodding, as I was in no rush now.
Lynette drove me home, where I took it easy for a few days. Then I decided to look for a job.
I was sixteen, it was April 1973, and good jobs were not that common, but if you weren’t choosy, there were plenty. I went out to look and I decided that it would be better if I were a little older.
Stuart helped me along by arriving one Saturday for lunch, announcing that the judicial review had decided that my conviction had been unsafe, overturning the original verdict. I was now free to sue for unlawful imprisonment and lots of other things besides.
He stated that if I made the right noises another out of court settlement would be offered.
The money from the first one had yet to materialise, so when it finally did, I was amazed at how much had been taken by ‘interested parties’. Nevertheless, I had £600,000 and immediately found a financial advisor and invested the bulk in property in the South East. I kept £50,000 in my bank account, as I wanted a flat of my own.
One day, while at home with Lynette’s, Stuart appeared.
“Got a mo?” he asked.
“Hi Stew. What’s up?”
He looked rather furtive.
“Do you remember a conversation we never had?” he asked.
“You mean the one where we didn’t discuss alternative identity papers?”
“That’s not the one. Well, there’s a man who may be able to help anyone who, theoretically speaking, of course, may be in the market for such an item.”
“So, theoretically, how would one meet such a person, and how much would it cost, theoretically?”
“Ah, one would be at the Fox and the Pheasant at seven pm this evening.”
“Okay. How much?”
“I’ve checked him out as best as possible. There’s an Irish connection, as the papers seem to be Irish. There are no terrorist or criminal links that I could find.”
“So, is it worth it for me?”
He looked at me for a while.
“It depends; being a transsexual can have its drawbacks, whereas being an ordinary, if infertile, female, is a whole different thing, legally speaking.”
“Shit Stuart. What do I do?”
He looked at me with a serious expression on his face.
“If I wanted a future, free from scandal and with a past that was not going to bite my bum every time I was not expecting it, I would seriously consider it. One needn’t use it, but the investment may pay off in the long run.”
“Okay, any chance you could give me a lift?”
“If you like. I’ll pick you up at six. I’ll book us a table in the restaurant, I hear it’s quite good.”
I went back looking for work, via the bank. I withdrew £10,000. It was terrifying; I had never held so much cash in my life.
We arrived at the pub at six-fifty, and sat in the bar with a drink, perusing the menu. It was a delightful pub, on a quiet country road between Slough to the south and Gerrards Cross to the north. The car park was almost empty, with only a couple of other parked cars. The interior of the pub was old beams and bare brick, with a small bar at the front and a restaurant to the rear.
A tall well-built man came in. He was smartly dressed, looking to be in his forties. He was well spoken, but I detected a slight Southern Irish lilt to his words. He bought a Jameson’s whiskey and sat at the next table to ours. He took out the Times and started to read it. I looked at Stuart, who nodded, leaving me to get another drink.
I moved and sat in the seat opposite the man.
He looked up.
“What can I do for you, my dear?”
My father was from Dublin, so many of his friends had been from different parts of Ireland. I had a friend inside who came from Belfast, thus I was able to put on a perfect Belfast accent.
“That depends,” I said, and he smiled.
“Ah, do I detect a trace of the North about you?”
“Maybe, just a wee bit.”
“So, am I right in thinking you’ll be wanting to be someone else?”
“No, I want to be me, but I want to be me properly.”
“I need to be legally who I am, and not who I was, if you get me?”
“I need a name and a date of birth. And the fee, of course.”
I passed over my name and date of birth on a piece of paper. He didn’t look at it. He just put it away. The date of birth was two years older than I really was, 10th August 1954.
“Half now, with half on delivery,” I said, accent still in place.
He smiled, and nodded.
“You are a chip of the old block. Belfast girls are the toughest in the world.”
“You’d better believe it.”
“Illegitimate daughter of an NCO in the British Army, Irish Guards or such like. Mother not British, a German girl, or some such. Mother killed in a car crash in Germany, Dad died in same crash, not sent to army schools, but obscure foster homes, something like that.” I had had a lot of time thinking up the best story, and one which would be nigh on impossible to verify or otherwise.
“No problem. I’ll need a passport photograph.”
“It’s in with the money,” I said, passing an envelope with £5,000 under the table.
He surreptitiously counted it and looked at the photographs. They had been done at Slough railway station on the way up to the pub, just twenty minutes ago.
“Very fetching. It’s not my place to pry, but I need to know. You wouldn’t belong to a certain republican group now, would ye?”
“Absolutely not,” I said.
“If I could believe you.”
“Listen, I am not and will never have anything to do with terrorism, or freedom fighting, whichever side you take. I just need a new start.”
He looked about him.
“Lastly. If you are with the police, do you think you can call them now? I’m too old to fuck about.”
“No police, just me.”
“There is something about you.”
He sighed, looking me straight in they eyes.
“You’re a very pretty girl, but I ask myself what can have happened to one so young and pretty as you to warrant such drastic action. Why?”
“I have a destiny.”
He smiled, raising his glass.
“I’ll drink to that,” he said, draining his whisky.
“Give me four days. Then meet me back here, same time,” he said, and was gone.
“Well?” said Stuart, after the man had gone.
“Time will tell. If anyone is trying to screw me for my money, they’ll regret it. I can be very nasty when crossed.”
We moved into the restaurant and had a very pleasant meal. Stuart wasn’t married, as he took his job too seriously. He didn’t cover criminal law as there was more money in the civil side, but he had various strange contacts. Over the years, these would prove very useful.
I kept catching him looking at me in a way that wasn’t client-lawyer appropriate.
“Stuart, we are not going to fuck, so stop leching at me, okay?”
He stared at me and than burst out laughing.
“Can you mind-read, or what?”
“I have been fucked by blokes since I was fourteen, so I know what the signs are. The fact you prefer girls makes little difference, the look is the same.”
He looked more serious. “I’m sorry, but looking at you sitting here, so pretty and poised, it is hard to remember what you have been through.”
“Stuart, just for a moment, please try to remember that for the most part, with one real exception, I wanted to be fucked, and actually enjoyed it. So stop feeling so sorry for me. Okay?”
He looked a little shocked for a second, then shook his head and smiled. I then realised what it was about me. He was curious to know what it was like to fuck a transsexual.
I wondered how many others were like him.
I was not going to be a curiosity.
We finished the meal, so he drove me back to his aunt’s place. We sat in his car outside for a moment.
“So, same time in four days, then?”
“I can do it on my own if you are busy,” I said.
“No, I’ll take you. I actually enjoy being with you. You are so different and you make me laugh. I find it very refreshing.”
“You also want to fuck me,” I added, and he laughed.
“I don’t know if I do. But I don’t normally have such conversations.”
“Look, Stuart, you’ve been great. But then you’ve had a fair chunk of the prize money. I’m not the slag I used to be, and I’m not going to be an easy lay ever again. I’m reluctant to just let anyone and everyone fuck me, just because I can. You know my past, and my future, so you hold power over me. But if you ever try to abuse that trust, I’ll castrate you and feed your nuts to the pigs on the prison farm. Get me?”
He stared at me.
“I’m not some willowy blonde who has no idea of life. I’ve grown up the hard way. I learned to box when I was seven and I learned Karate to help prevent myself from being raped in prison, which still happened. I may look dainty and soft on the outside, but I’m hard as nails on the inside. So each time you see the pretty girl, remember what’s underneath, and be afraid, be very afraid, for this girl never forgets or forgives.”
He paled slightly, yet still stared at me.
“Now, still want to fuck me?”
He shook his head.
I continued, but the edge had gone from my voice. I was appreciating what a manipulative cow I could be.
“Thank goodness for that. I’m so glad, because I want and need you as a friend as well as a solicitor. So I need you to keep focussed. I hope you aren’t offended at my methods of keeping you focussed?”
He smiled, or tried to, but I had shaken him. I don’t think the poor man had seen this side of me. I was hardly the kind of girl he could take home to mummy!
“Stuart, you’re a decent bloke. Decent blokes don’t know the things about their girlfriends that you know about me. It would never work, and your family would never forgive you. I’m a one bloke girl, so if we did get it together, do you really want the past always there ready to bite your bum?”
He shook his head.
“You’re ten years older than me, in age anyway. So get real. I’m not the shag you thought I was, and you’ll do much better than me. And, as I’m only just sixteen, you ought to be ashamed of yourself.”
I leaned across and kissed his cheek.
“Goodnight darling, take care now,” I said, and got out. He didn’t move for a long time, eventually driving away.
I collected my Irish birth certificate and passport. My mysterious contact assured me that they were genuine. I found out some time later, that he was something with the Irish Embassy in London. I passed over the rest of the money, so now Jemma Yvette Adams had a whole, new past. Her future had yet to be written.
I was born on the 10th August 1954, in Osnabruck, W. Germany, to Rachel Brunner and James Adams, Lance Sergeant in the Irish Guards. My birth was registered with the Irish Consul in Bonn, and baptised in the Catholic chapel by the Roman Catholic Priest attached to the Irish Guards.
Both the parents died in a car crash in Germany whilst on holiday. Their daughter, Jemma, was quite seriously injured and, as a result, the poor girl is unable to conceive or carry a child of her own. She was educated at a string of schools and convents across Europe, and was found to be dyslexic.
By avoiding the deed poll, I had buried James Thomas Gardner. So there was no link to Jemma Adams, no records - nothing. James had vanished, and Jemma was real and she was nearly nineteen.
After a series of relatives and foster parents, she finally settled in Windsor, and the rest has yet to happen.
I found a job as a sales assistant in Daniels, a department store in Windsor. I gave my new name, and as I was technically nearly nineteen, they accepted me with no reservations. They put me on the cosmetic counter and I loved it. I attended a short sales techniques course and was thrown in the deep end. There were three of us on the counter and we worked all day. We each could take an hour break, but never at the same time. As long as two of us were there at all times, the management was happy. In August, I was officially nineteen, and it was as if I had always been Jemma. I had blotted out my life before my operation and I was the happiest that I had ever been.
My happiness had a knock-on effect, as I was constantly cheerful and polite. The other girls would tease me for always smiling.
“My God! You make me sick,” Sally said, one day. “How come you are always so bloody happy?”
“Because, Sal, life is just bloody wonderful!” I replied with a huge smile.
Gradually, I came to have my own customers who actually asked for me so I could advise them. I read up on all the latest products and tried them out on myself to see whether their claims were correct.
I still hated reading, so it took me ages at night to keep up. I often wouldn’t turn my light out until gone midnight. However, my dedication paid off. The store wanted someone to go on a beautician’s course to start a dedicated department in store. There were twelve applicants, but they selected me. I was sent to Birmingham for a two-week residential course.
It was great fun. I was still the youngest, but it didn’t matter, as no one could tell. I was certainly the most worldly and found it easy to mix with just about anyone. Each day I learned new stuff, and when I explained my reading difficulties, everyone helped me, even the staff. I had never had such help before.
I passed the course, returning to the store to set up my own beautician’s department. It was very popular, and I saw all my familiar customers queuing up for treatment. It was so popular the manager asked me whether I could train someone else to work with me. I thought I could, so Sally Moss started as my trainee. She was seventeen, coming from a well-to-do family. Her main interests were horses and blokes. She wasn’t the brightest bulb in the family box, having left school after O levels. Her ambition was to marry a rich bloke with his own stud, and ride and shag her way to old age. She was a real hoot and we got on really well. Neither of us took life that seriously.
I sensed that although Lynette was happy with me lodging with them, particularly as I was paying my way, she was anxious that I spread my wings and get a place of my own.
Stuart was scrupulously polite to me, and there was no trace of the lust he displayed on the last occasion. I was pleased, as he was not a likely or sensible candidate for a romantic liaison.
One lunchtime, I walked into an estate agent and asked to see any flats on the river. The third they showed me was delightful, but the asking price was an extortionate £15,000 for a two bedroom flat. It did have a garage and a small rooftop garden. I smiled and put in an offer of £14,500. It was accepted.
Much to their surprise, after contracts were exchanged, I handed over £14,500 in cash. So a few weeks later, I joined the property owning classes. I moved out of Lynette’s home, to whom I was eternally grateful for their help and support.
Lynette was in two minds over my departure. I had been clean and decent, and had always been helpful around the house. So she said she would miss me, but I was a cuckoo in a way, and there was always the possibility that I would upset things. They conveniently forgot my past, never referring to it, and we all pretended it never happened. The fact they knew it made me feel uncomfortable, particularly as I had my eyes on improving myself and my position in life. Their knowledge always lurked in the background, so it was a relief to leave.
I moved into my flat, gradually furnishing it in the best possible taste. I applied for my driver’s licence using my new Irish identity. A provisional licence arrived, so I started driving lessons. I took my driving test, and passed. So, to celebrate, I went out and bought a bright red Mini Cooper.
Work went on, with Sally flourishing under my careful eye. She was as randy as a rabbit, with about six boys drooling after her. She turned eighteen and had a huge party in her garden. It was late September, so a marquee was hired and about five hundred Hooray Henrys and Henriettas were invited. So was I.
I was her new best friend, and as such, she invited me to stay at her parent’s home, where she still lived. They lived at Bray, on the river Thames, in a huge house, obviously having pots of money. We went out shopping for clothes. I bought a divine evening dress that cost a small fortune. Yet money had no meaning for Sally, as she spent more money in a day than we both earned in a month I thought it prudent not to mention what I had in the bank!
I drove her to the house on the Friday evening after work. The party was on the Saturday. The marquee was already in place and the caterers were due in the morning. Actually, it was a double party, as her older brother, Clive, was twenty-one and they were combining the events.
I was dressed in a smart skirt and blouse with matching jacket. I was immaculate, as always, looking mature, sophisticated and well to do.
Her father was ‘something in the City’. He was called Roger, and was a pompous ass. As soon as I met him, he held onto my hand for ages and said, “Well hello, where have you been all my life?”
“Well,” I said, “for the first thirty years, I wasn’t even born.”
He laughed, but I could tell it smarted.
Her mother was an attractive woman, but I discovered she was as thick as her daughter. Yet, she had achieved her ambition, in that she had married a rich man who shagged her as much as she wanted, provided her with everything she needed and two children besides. One can’t complain, can one?
They both thought I was wonderful, as Sally had painted this picture of a paragon of virtue. The fact that I had no boyfriend was due to my new bits and not the fact that I didn’t want one. There was also the fact that I had yet to meet one who piqued my fancy.
We sat down to dinner around a huge table with just the four of them and me. I felt out of place. I couldn’t help but recall the squalid conditions in our old flat and later the council house with the greasy fish and chip papers and the smell of suet. (A fat based product)
As I gazed at the fine pictures on the walls, the silver cutlery and the crystal glasses containing finest French wines, I had no regrets at all.
Clive was quite good looking, but he had red hair, and I was always wary of red hair. Gary, the bastard who’d raped me, had red hair. But Clive was charming and quite funny. He was at University at St Andrews in Scotland, reading History.
I used my neutral accent, trying to sound as educated and as middle class as possible. I found it harder than the Belfast accent.
“Tell me, Jemma, what about your family?” her mother, Eileen, asked.
“I am afraid my parents died when I was about eight. Relatives looked me after until I left school. Unfortunately I’m dyslexic, so University and A levels were out of the question for me.”
“What did your father do?” Roger asked.
“He was in the army, Irish Guards,” I said.
“Oh, splendid, fine regiment. Archie “what’s-’is-name” was in the Irish Guards.”
I smiled, as we lost Roger for a while as he tried to remember who Archie was. I almost got the giggles, which set off Sally, which set off her mother. I controlled myself, but they went off on one and Clive looked at me blankly. I shrugged and pretended I didn’t get the joke. This caused Sally to start braying, and her mother neighing. I couldn’t help it and started to laugh, as did Clive, and Roger was muttering, “Archie, Smith, no, Archie Baker, no….”
By the time he yelled “Archie Henderson!” the rest of his family were having hysterics.
I helped clear away dinner. Afterwards, Sally and I took the retriever for a walk along the river.
“You have a strange family,” I said, and she agreed.
“I never knew you were Irish. You don’t sound it?”
“I’m not really. My Dad was, so he registered my birth with the Irish consul in Germany. But I’m more English than Irish.”
“Oh, can I ask you a personal question?”
“Have you ever done it, you know, with a bloke?”
“You mean have I been fucked?”
I thought about the truth, deciding she couldn’t handle the truth.
“Not yet, but I live in hope. Have you?”
“No, but I’ve given some blow jobs.”
“So have I, but that doesn’t count,” I said, as I remembered all the blokes I had had through my clutches. It seemed like a different life.
The next day was chaotic, what with the caterers, the florists and the cakes; it just got worse. I helped, remaining calm whilst everyone else went loopy. Eventually, with an hour to go, everything was ready, so I went and had a shower and changed.
My dress was a long black silk number, with a bare back and a deep V down the front. I didn’t wear a bra, so it was very sexy. My hair was very long, having a natural wave to it. As it was white blonde with golden highlights, the dress set it off even more.
I spent ages getting my make up just right, and knew I looked very hot.
Sally looked very good, with a sleeveless white long dress that threatened to show everyone her ample breasts before the evening was over. I went down to find Roger in the sitting room with a double whisky. He was wearing his dinner jacket and a black bow tie.
“Ah, Jemma. My heavens. Look at you, you look absolutely stunning, my de-ah.”
“Thank you, you look very smart too. You must be very proud of your children.”
“Quite, absolutely proud. Fine pair. Fine Pair.”
I smiled, but felt awkward, as I found him difficult to talk to. His wife was no better, for I was convinced she had recycled cotton wool between her ears. Gradually, the guests started to arrive, so I sort of floated around the fringes. I knew no one, and as soon as one of Sally’s boyfriends arrived, she was off and I knew I wouldn’t see her for a while.
There were loads of people, but very few approached me to even attempt a conversation, and I was too shy to just walk up to a stranger and talk to them. Whenever someone spoke to me, I’d try hard to talk with as neutral accent as possible, adopting the upper-class nasal twang.
Clive found me and asked me to dance. So I smiled and accepted. The disco was pretty lame, as I found the sight of lots of Ruperts dancing in dinner jackets faintly silly, but still, different folks, different strokes.
I danced, finding that, as a girl, one didn’t worry about looking a complete pillock, one just wiggled one’s boobs or bum, and everyone thought one was great.
After that first dance, I found a queue of randy young bucks all wanting to dance with me. I smiled, it was as if I had died and gone to heaven. The fourth, or maybe the fifth guy was different to the rest, and when he opened his mouth it became apparent why. He was American.
We danced, as conversation was impossible with the level of sound.
Then he asked me if I wanted a drink, so I nodded. He took my arm and we squeezed off the dance floor. We crossed the garden and entered the peace and tranquillity of the house. The food and drink were laid out in the dining room, and he poured me a glass of fruit punch.
We then sat on the terrace, cooling off.
“Say, you dance real purty.”
“Thanks, I don’t really, but you are kind to say so. I just wiggle my boobs and my bum, and they do the trick. Testosterone does the rest,” I said.
He started to laugh, and I thought he was about to have a hernia.
“Hey, it wasn’t that funny,” I said.
“You English, you crack me up.”
“I hate to disappoint you, but actually I am not English.”
He stared at me.
“It’s like saying a Canadian is the same as an American, or a Mexican. Same continent, different nationality,” I explained.
“Oh, but you sound English.”
“To me you sound Canadian.”
“Oh, I get it.”
“Thank God,” I said, and he was off again.
“I’m Jemma. I work with Sally.”
“Howdy Jemma, I’m Matt. I met Clive on his year out. My Dad and his Dad do business and he stays with us in Texas whenever he’s over.”
“Ah, how nice for you.”
He started to laugh again, shaking his head.
“You ain’t like the other English girls.”
I looked at him, and he smiled, realising his mistake.
“Ah, that’s why, you’re Irish. But okay, I’ll rephrase it. You ain’t like the other girls I’ve ever met, either here or back home in the States.”
“Oh, what is so different about me?”
“You are cool, but something else too. It’s like you have a different set of rules, but no one knows the rules but you.”
“Ah, an astute young man, go to the top of the class.”
“You see, you speak differently, like you tease everyone, and play a different game.”
I stared at him. For all his large frame and boyish charm, he was quite switched on.
“Do you want the truth?” I asked.
“Will I like it?”
“I don’t know, perhaps not.”
“I am a fraud. All these people, all rich kids with money and ambitions, I came from nothing, having had to claw my way to get half as far. I resent the belief they hold that they are superior through an accident in breeding, and it pisses me off mightily.
“Oh, I look sophisticated and as toffee nosed as they do, and can sound it if I want to, but it doesn’t work, I can’t pretend to be a snotty bitch.”
He smiled. “My dad was nothing either. He worked his way up selling second hand cars. We had a small two-bedroom house on the wrong side of the tracks. But he bought some land he wanted to farm, but he found oil when he tried to dig a well. I was fifteen when he became a millionaire, and you know what, I still prefer people from the wrong side of the tracks,” he said.
“Matt, take me back and let’s dance,” I said.
We danced together all evening, stopping now and again for a drink or a snack. Then the slow ones started and we melted together. He held me to start with, without trying anything. I grabbed his head, kissing him and forcing my tongue into his mouth. He was the first man I had close to me since prison. It was if I had set off a firework. His hands started on my bum, he pulled me tight against him, and then he had one hand inside the front of my dress, caressing my nipples. I moaned, rubbed myself against him, as I felt his erection attempting to escape.
Finally, I could wait no longer, so I pulled him off the dance floor and up to my room. He was putty in my hands. I shut and locked the door, turning to him. He was standing there, breathing heavy and looking a little uncertain.
I took his jacket off, and started on his shirt buttons. He was trying to get his shoes off, and eventually I had him down to his underwear. I pushed him onto the bed and slipped out of my dress, I had only my panties, stockings and suspender belt on. I slipped my panties off, and looked down at him. He was staring at my breasts.
“You like them?” I asked, cupping them. He nodded. I stepped up to the bed as he sat on the edge. He started kissing and licking my tits. I moaned in pleasure, holding his head tightly against me.
“You want to fuck me, Matt?”
“How bad do you want to fuck me, baby?”
He took off his shorts and his cock stood ready; it was big and beautiful.
“You want to put that inside me?”
He nodded, and he was still kissing my belly.
He moved south and his tongue touched my clit. I almost screamed.
“Well, what are you waiting for, Christmas?” I said.
He was fumbling for a condom in his pocket, so I showed him the one I had in my hand.
“A good girl guide is always prepared,” I said, rolling in onto his engorged cock. I pushed him back, knelt astride him, surreptitiously inserting a little lubrication inside my vagina. I then slowly lowered myself onto him as he impaled me with his lovely cock. I sank down until he was right inside me, up to the hilt. He was panting and giving little moans.
“You like that, Matty baby?”
He nodded and started thrusting, so I moved in time with him, faster and faster, until he was grunting and pounding deep inside me, kissing my tits at the same time.
I thought of Larry, as he had kissed my tits the same way, but the feeling I got now was so different to being taken up the ass. It was just as nice, but felt more right, somehow. I watched Matt as he was obviously approaching his climax. I went faster and faster, feeling this warm glow starting to spread until a surge of pleasure hit me. It left me physically gasping for breath. At the same time, he grunted, thrusting deep inside me, and ejaculating. I let my hair swish across him, as I kissed him passionately. I felt him subside, so I allowed him to withdraw. The condom was a protection against disease, as pregnancy was not a concern of mine.
“Okay lover?” I asked.
“That was amazing.”
“Yeah, pretty good. How do I rate against home grown American girls?”
He flushed, looking embarrassed, so I started to smile.
“First time huh?” I asked and he nodded sheepishly.
He grinned and nodded.
“So did I, and it was my first time too, so lets celebrate.”
He gaped at me.
“You were a virgin?”
“Yup, I swear that no man has ever been where you have just been.” Well, that was true, wasn’t it?
“Shit, you seemed to know exactly what you were doing.”
“I did, but don’t you worry about that. Ready for another round yet?”
He grinned and shook his head.
“Men! No stamina. Let’s go get a drink.”
We dressed and returned to the party, smooching a little on the dance floor. Then I felt him rising to the occasion once more.
“Oh, guess who’s woken up again?” I whispered to him and he grinned. We slipped upstairs and this time I let him go on top, but I sucked him a little first, just to prime him.
By midnight, we had fucked four times, and once he had taken me from behind in the shrubbery. I was very pleased, as I discovered that I was actually capable of creating a little of my own natural lubrication. The doctor had not been hopeful, stating that it occasionally happened, but it did with me.
By two am, there were bodies everywhere, and Mat and I were naked in bed, having just fucked for the fifth time.
“Jemma, you are truly amazing,” he said as he kissed me.
“You ain’t so bad yourself, Matty boy.”
“I can’t believe we’ve done it so often.”
“So where are you supposed to be staying tonight?”
“Here. I was staying in the spare room over the garage.”
“No you aren’t, you are staying here with me.”
“I ain’t gonna argue with you, ma’am.”
“So I should think. Ready yet?”
“No, but soon I guess.”
“Wake me up when you are,” I said, wrapping my arm around his naked chest.
He woke me a couple of hours later, and we made it six. Then we both passed out.
I awoke with a pain in my left arm. I opened my eyes to find Matt lying on it. I looked at the clock, nine am.
I moved my arm and he awoke. I smiled as I saw surprise, shock, confusion, and then recall hit his face all within a few seconds.
“Hi lover, how are you?” I asked.
“Ready for more.”
“I gotta pee,” he said, romantically, and I smiled.
I went with him and held his cock for him. It rose after he had finished, and I held it in my teeth as I sat and peed.
We made it seven and then showered together. We went down separately at ten and ten past ten. I dressed in blue jeans which were so tight that they looked sprayed on, and a black boob tube that was the fashion.
Not many others were up, so we made ourselves some breakfast.
“Mornin’ Jemma. Have you met Matthew?” said Sally’s father
“I think we saw a bit of each other last night. Hello,” I said and Matt almost got the giggles.
“Matt’s father did a bit of business with the old firm a few years back. Oil, don’t you know?”
“He did mention it,” I said.
We spent the Sunday recovering. I was delighted, as I now had a devoted slave in Matt who worshipped the ground I walked on. He found out from Sally that I was only nineteen, and was astounded, as he thought I was older than he by a couple of years. I thought it just as well he didn’t know my real age. In the end, I had to drive home to my little flat in Windsor, telling him if he was ever at a loose end to come and stay.
I had been back for forty minutes, when the doorbell rang.
I went and opened the door. Matt stood there in his white shirt, bootlace tie, cowboy boots and Stetson. His suitcase was on the step.
“Excuse me ma’am. I lost my horse and I was a wonderin’ whether you seen it hereabouts?”
“Well, I don’t know, perhaps you had better come in and have a look round.”
I closed the door.
He took me in his arms and literally picked me up and carried me into the bedroom. He stripped my clothes off, and screwed me so hard thought the walls were going to cave in.
We spent the rest of the day, evening and night in bed. I lost count of the amount of times we fucked and we ran out of condoms. He looked hurt and I explained that I was not fertile, so if he didn’t have any disease we should be fine.
The first time without a condom was amazing and the very thought of his spunk sliding inside me gave me an orgasm on its own.
Eventually we slept. The next morning I reluctantly dragged myself out of bed and went to work. Sally was bouncy and bubbly all day, and I could have killed her. She had met a new boy at the party; his name was Stephen and he was a trainee solicitor. She had given him a blowjob, he had sworn his everlasting devotion to her and they were set for a date on Friday.
“So, what happened with you?”
“I met an American, and we fucked all night. Seven times before breakfast,” I said, as I went to see a potential customer.
Sally was dying to know whether I was joking.
“He said his name was Matt and he was from Texas and that he was a virgin. Well he ain’t no longer,” I said.
“Oh my gosh. He went missing yesterday afternoon, just after you left. Where do you think he has gone?”
“Think? I know. He is in my flat. He got a taxi and arrived just after I did. We fucked all afternoon, evening and all night. I am completely knackered. The man is a sexual giant.”
“Oh God. You didn’t?”
“I did, and boy is he good!”
She stared at me, with an expression of awe combined with unmitigated jealously.
It was a quiet day, and I knocked off a little early. I stopped off on the way home and bought some groceries. When I got back to the flat, the table was laid and there were some good smells coming from the kitchen.
Matt appeared, wearing his hat, boots and an apron. He looked so bizarre that I laughed.
“By laughing at my appearance, you have deeply offended me, ma’am, for that I am gonna have to screw you rotten.”
And he did, there on the living room carpet. I didn’t even have time to argue.
He cooked steaks and what he called French fries (Chips). It was a lovely meal.
We ate and went to bed. But, thank God, he slowed down a bit, and we took a long time making luxurious love. We explored each other, discovering where we liked being touched, and where it tickled.
As we lay there, I was enjoying just being held.
“I know this is early and all, but do you think we should get married?”
He was quiet.
“Do you want to know why not?”
“One, we are too young. Two, you need a wife who will give you kids, and I can’t. Three, I like you and we fuck very nicely, but that is no basis for a lasting relationship. Four, ask me again in a couple of years if we are still screwing each other, otherwise let’s just enjoy what we have today.”
He never asked me again.
We had a wonderful week together and he went back to the States to finish his college course, a very changed young man.
“Knees together, and push, push, push.” Franz was the epitome of Aryan manhood. He was also my ski instructor.
Sally insisted that we go skiing to Austria together. So here we were with Erna Low Ski holidays in Obergurgl, in the Austrian Alps, it was Easter 1975.
I was eighteen now, but twenty as far as the world was concerned and had grown up quite a lot since marvellous Matt. He would call me occasionally and we would still make each other laugh. But we both knew that we served each other’s purpose for a brief period and were necessary for only that period. He told me he had met a girl at college, and I was pleased for him. We had something special. It had been beautiful for that short time and no one could ever take that away from either of us.
I thought back over the last year or so. I had met a couple of boys, but they were not what I wanted. They were boys and I needed a man. I think I scared them a bit.
Stuart came through with the last lawsuit. In my case against the powers that be over my arrest and unsafe conviction I was awarded damages of £90,000. I accepted and kept quiet. The papers tried to trace the mystery James Gardner and could find no trace of him since he was released from the YOI.
The Solicitors managed the sum and it was invested without the mystery lad coming forth to be identified. Some of the tabloids started a reward system for anyone who knew of Jimmy Gardner’s whereabouts. I called in to say I had seen him in Sydney, Australia and watched them flounder in the dark for ages.
Then there was that mistake. The day I went to track down Larry.
I had thought about it, deciding that I would just go and look, but not actually do anything else. I knew he came from Colchester and that he had headed back there after his release. I knew his name was Larry Sparks, and I knew roughly which area he used to live in.
I drove over there on a day off, stopping by a phone box. I found three Sparks, and copied the addresses down. The first one was a West Indian family, and the second an old couple. The third was in grotty area, and I knew that this could well be it.
I went to the pub, and asked if anyone knew Larry Sparks.
“Wot you want him for, darling? You ain’t the old bill are yer?” asked one man.
“Do I honestly look like the police?” I asked.
This caused some mirth, and several heads to shake.
“I have a friend who knew him and he wanted to know how he was doing?”
“Well, last I heard he was wanted for dealing drugs,” said the barman.
“Oh,” I said.
“Here, what’s a nice girl like you looking for a little shit like him?”
“I promised a friend I would find him.”
“Well, his old man lives up the road. And last I heard they had a flat over a curry house on the Huntington Road.”
“Thanks,” I said, and left.
I drove to the Huntington Road, parking opposite the only Indian restaurant. I didn’t know what I was going to do, or say. I just wanted to see how he was getting on. He was, after all, the first boy I ever loved.
There was a small shop just down the road, a general store, so I locked the car and went in. There were a few people in there, and I was conscious that I was dressed in a way that set me apart. I had a long mauve jacket on, with a dark skirt and a pale blue blouse. I had knee length boots and I would have looked perfectly at home in Chelsea or Windsor.
I picked up a Daily Mirror, and read the article on the lower front page.
|Missing ex-con - Link to drug bung?|
Then I saw Larry.
He looked like shit. He was probably using heroin, as was the girl he was with. I wondered if she was Marie-Anne. His clothes were stained and unkempt, while his hair was dirty and matted. She was little better, and she looked pregnant.
He was not the boy I remembered, so I bitterly regretted coming here.
He pushed open the door of the shop, glancing my way. For a second our eyes met and he then looked straight at my tits. I flushed, turning away, pretending to look at the magazines on the racks.
He was thin and drawn. His eyes were bloodshot and there were great dark circles around them. His face was pale and he hadn’t shaved for several days. I felt an ache for him, as he looked so ill. By his looks, he would sell his soul for £10,000, let alone my whereabouts. I put the paper down on the pile and walked out with out another glance. I went straight to my car, got in and started the engine.
I wondered what I’d seen in him in the first place, and was so pleased that he hadn’t recognised me.
I drove home crying, promising myself that I would never ever go back, look back, or try to return to what was once before.
Work went very well. Sally and I went on a Swedish Massage Course, which was followed by a Sports Massage Course. Three more trained beauticians joined the team, so we moved into a purpose built salon next door. Much to my surprise and disgust, the store didn’t appoint me as manager, instead appointing a snotty woman who hadn’t a clue.
I lasted two months, but then I just had had enough. I didn’t need the money, so I just walked out when she was being particularly snotty.
Within a few weeks, she’d upset everyone else. Sally and two of the girls, Rosie and Sharla, followed me. The store tried to apologise and offered me the manager’s job as an enticement to return. I declined, as I wanted to start my own business in competition, with Sal and the other two. The store shut their parlour down, so the last girl came to work for me. I went out and bought the leasehold of a ground floor shop at the bottom of the high street, with a view of the castle. Previously it had housed a travel agency, and we had a hilarious week decorating and getting all the equipment installed.
We called the place, ‘The Windsor Beauty and Therapeutic Massage Centre.’ as I hoped to avoid the rather dubious reputation that certain massage parlours managed to attract. We already had a small, but loyal client case and it soon expanded.
By Christmas 1974, we were doing very well. The joy was that we were all under twenty, and were making a very healthy profit. I made sure that everyone went on the courses and we were able to offer a variety of services from manicures, massages and beauty treatments. We also sold beauty products and make up.
By the February of 1975, we had had many requests for specials. I had erected a sign in the main reception, ‘NO SPECIALS.’ I also insisted on certain extras to protect the girls from those who should wish to take advantage. Despite this, one day when I was in one of the five massage booths, a male customer came in for a full body massage. I was well into it when he asked how much we charged for hand relief.
I stopped and looked at him, then continued with what I was doing.
“I’m sorry, what are you on about?” I asked.
“Look love, don’t piss about, just give me some hand relief and I’ll make it worth your while. If you go all the way, I’ll even give you twenty notes.”
“If you came here for sexual relief, then you came to the wrong place. We don’t do that here,” I said.
“Listen, if you don’t, I shall go out of here and tell everyone that you did. Let’s see how that goes down with the good people of Windsor,” he said, with a particularly nasty smirk.
I stopped the massage and looked at him. He was about forty and slightly overweight. He sounded quite well spoken, but he was not what he tried to be.
“Making unwarranted demands with menaces. Last time I checked the statute books that rated at least five years. It’s also called blackmail. Do you wish to repeat what you last said, or shall we stay with the first recording?” I said.
He stared at me, blinking a few times.
“Get up and get out. If you think that you can come in here, make disgusting threats like that and get away with it, then think again. You’re not messing about with some nice little girly who never uses her pretty head for anything important. You are dealing with me, this is my business and I’ll fight very hard to protect it. I installed recording equipment in each booth. I have you clearly making an indecent request, and then making unwarranted demands with menaces. Now you have two choices, either you can get out and never come back, or you can call my bluff and talk to my friends at Windsor Police Station, called the Thames Valley Police.
“Which is it to be?”
He was the naked man on a couch, and I was the angry blonde with a glint in her eye.
“Why you little tart. Who do you think you are?”
“Me? My stupid naked friend, I am your worst nightmare. Not only am I not the tart you so eruditely called me, but I’m a female with brains, and sufficient of them to protect my girls from beasts like you. I’m pleased you selected option two, as now I get to try my alarm system,” I said, pushing the little button on the wall.
A little bell rang by reception and that was all.
The man smirked and said, “Impressive.”
“Yes, isn’t it? You see, that’s the signal to contact the police, and that is exactly what my receptionist is doing.”
His face contorted through disbelief to anger. He struggled to get up.
“You cunt! I’ll fucking have you,” he snarled.
“Get away!” I shouted. The door was opening as he swung a fist at me. Sally shrieked as I Karate punched him in the centre of his chest, causing him to fly off the bench and onto the floor.
We stood over him, as he tried to get up.
“Stay there or you’ll regret it,” I warned. My voice had a hard edge to it. So he lay there, showing us his insignificant flaccid little penis.
A pair of bemused officers arrived and they allowed the man to get dressed. Then, in my office, I played the tape to them, as he sat there with his head in his hands.
He kept muttering, “But I’m married, what will I do?”
I’d been careful to keep my language perfect, no swear words and no smutty remarks. It sounded brilliant when I heard it played back, particularly the bit where he threatened me and attempted to assault me. My ‘Get away!’ sounded almost terrified. I would have to work on that a little.
“I just sort of pushed him on the chest and he fell over onto the floor. I was so afraid he was going to hurt me,” I said, flashing my eyes at the sergeant.
Sergeant Martin Harris arrived faintly amused. However, after hearing the tape, he left an angry man. He took exception to men who tried to take advantage of women. He made a point of coming back, after depositing the man in the cells, to take a very lengthy statement from me. His colleague took a statement from Sally. I was given the impression that he was stringing things out, and was after a lot more than the statement. So much so, that at closing time, I let everyone go, as he finished the statement. He was about twenty-seven, tall with short brown hair. He was well built and quite dishy. I caught myself wondering what he’d be like in bed.
“Well, I think I have enough. I hope he pleads guilty, so then you won’t have to give evidence,” he told me, packing everything away in a folder.
“So, do I. I’ve never been in a court,” I lied.
“Look, I finish work at ten. Is there any chance we could meet for a drink, or something?”
“Won’t your wife mind?”
“I’m not married. I was, but she couldn’t take the job. It lasted three years.”
I smiled, agreeing to meet him for a quick drink at ten in a pub just up the road.
I went home to my flat and made myself something to eat. I actually liked living alone. For a while, I couldn’t get used to it, but I realised that I had never been alone before. Home in the East End had been chaotic and unpleasant, so I had sought solitude in the library. I had never been alone in the detention centre, except for a period after Larry left and before Pete arrived. Even so, the screws had constantly watched me so there was never any real privacy.
So, once I got used to it, I enjoyed it. I ate what I liked, when I liked, doing what I liked, when I liked. Even so, I was forever having one or other of the girls round and, sometimes, if there had been an argument or something, Aunty Jemma had them to stay in the spare room.
So I put my feet up and had some scrambled eggs on toast. I watched a bit of TV, almost forgetting my date.
I prettied myself up, slipping into a slinky black dress, with some nice stockings. As it was bloody cold outside, I wore my ‘fuck-me’ knee length boots, with 4” heels, and a really warm long black coat, with a velvet collar.
I arrived at the pub just after ten past ten, and went in. It was quite crowded, so I had to look about.
“Jemma, over here!” I heard a shout. I saw Martin with some colleagues round a table right at the back.
I smiled and went over. He met me half way.
“Hi, thanks for coming. What are you drinking?”
“A glass of white wine, dry, please.”
I stood with him as he ordered and paid for my drink. Then I went with him as he returned to the table. There were eight of them, six men and two girls. I was introduced, but in my nervous state I instantly forgot all their names.
“Take your coat off, sit down and relax,” said one of the guys. I think he was called Ted.
I took my coat off, smiling slightly as I got the desired reaction from the males.
I sat next to Martin, and was immediately bombarded with questions about myself. I answered most of them, but changed the subject to the guy who had been arrested earlier.
The man, whose name I discovered was Ronald Brewer, had been charged with attempted blackmail, attempted assault, and something to do with attempting to procure sex or some indecency offences. He was a married man, and was a regional manager for a courier company.
“Bail was refused, so he’s in court in the morning,” Martin said.
“Does that mean I’ll have to give evidence?” I asked, slightly worried.
“Not yet, if he pleads not guilty, we’ll get an adjournment. But if he pleads guilty, then it will be heard in the morning.”
“Am I allowed to watch?”
“Do you want to?”
Several of them grinned, so there followed a series of stories about court cases, each trying to out do the other. I just relaxed and settled down.
It was obviously a ‘police pub’, as closing time came and went. Yet, it seemed to matter not to the landlord or the clientele. I discovered the landlord was a retired detective and most of the customers were police officers or friends. The till was locked and some local arrangement was made to use cash pooled before closing time.
I had several wines, so was quite relaxed when Martin offered to walk me home at midnight. He was about as obvious as he could get, and I decided to play hard to get. He knew I was only twenty. Yet, I could tell he was smitten. We walked along the half-mile or so, our breath visible as clouds of vapour in the chilly air. Frost was making the grass and twigs sparkle in the streetlights, and the air was very still. We reached my flat, and I stopped.
“Thanks, that’s the first police escort I’ve ever had,” I said.
“You’re welcome. You’re the prettiest person I’ve ever escorted.”
“You’re sweet, but you could choose better chat up lines,” I said, kissing his cheek.
I opened the door, without inviting him in.
“Jemma, can I see you again?”
“Martin, you’re seven years older than I. Is it wise?”
“I’d like to. You don’t come over as a twenty year old.”
“If you want, yes. I’d like to see you again.”
He grinned like a schoolboy.
“How about lunch the day after tomorrow. I have a day off.”
“I’m working, but I suppose I could take an hour off. Come by the salon at one.”
He reached out and kissed me on the lips and I almost relented. But I smiled and said goodnight. I wanted him to think I was a good little girl - at least for a while.
The next day was quiet, but we ticked by. I went to court and saw Mr Brewer plead guilty. He looked very different to that arrogant abusive sod that had confronted me in the booth. He was meek and mild and his voice was so quiet that no one could hear him. The court decided they couldn’t sentence him so he was remanded into custody, committed to the Crown Court for sentencing. I wondered how he would like prison. Martin spoke briefly to me, and I noticed the press were hanging about so I retreated quickly.
It was still quite quiet at the centre, but things changed on the following day.
I was in early, and the girls were still buzzing from the afternoon two days before. Sally was embellishing how I had beaten the living shit out of the man, and that given a flat enough pond I could probably walk on water.
The day settled down and business was quite slow to start with, yet it picked up nicely towards mid-morning. We had more than our usual number of phone enquiries and bookings for the forthcoming week appeared to be up. Then a female customer came in to make a booking.
“I wasn’t going to, but then I read about the incident in the paper. So I realised that if your standards were that high, then I knew I’d be safe,” she said.
“I’m sorry, where did you read this?” I asked.
“In the local paper, I think you are so brave to stand against all this corruption. And your photograph was very nice,” she said, and my blood went cold.
Sally rushed out and bought a copy of the Windsor and Maidenhead Gazette. We were on the front page, the lead story. And horror of horrors, a photograph of me leaving the court.
|DRAMA AT BEAUTY PARLOUR|
“Fame at last,” said Sally with a huge grin.
“My bloody hair, it looks awful,” I said.
I had mixed feelings. So much for keeping a low profile, but it was good publicity, and although we were managing to pay our way, we could do with a boost like this.
By one o’clock, the place was heaving. We were booked up for three weeks in advance and every booth was full. The manicurist was working flat out and we had sold more products in one morning than the last three weeks put together.
Martin walked into chaos.
I was on the phone, as we were trying to find a supplier to meet our sudden demands for certain products.
“Bad time?” he asked. I shook my head and finished my call.
“No, not really. Thanks for the free publicity. We haven’t stopped all day. When did you speak to the papers?”
“Just after you left. They wanted to speak to you, but I told them you were busy.”
“Thanks. This has made us even busier. Half of them are curious, as they all want to know what happened.”
“Still on for lunch?”
“Sure. Just let me tell Sally.”
I found Sally in mid-massage, and I told her that I was off to lunch.
“Fine, never mind us workers, you just bugger off with your fancy man,” she said with a grin. I left, but knew that if things kept like this I would have to take on more staff.
We walked through the town and over the bridge into Eton. He took me to a tiny restaurant and I watched the Eton boys in their tailcoats walk past. It was a lovely little place, but I smiled. He’d obviously used it before for romantic liaisons.
The food was nice and I enjoyed the wine and his company. We chatted about trivial stuff. Yet I sensed he was after one thing, but I wasn’t going to let him have it easily. I portrayed the intelligent, but sexually naïve twenty year old, and played him like a salmon.
On our walk back, he bought me a set of earrings that I had admired in a shop window. I kissed his cheek, so he put his arm around my shoulders. When we arrived back at the centre, he kissed me and asked whether I would like to have dinner with him and go to the theatre.
“Martin, you’re working awfully hard,” I observed and he grinned.
“I’d love to. When?”
“Tonight. I’ll come by your flat at six thirty.”
“Okay, and thanks for lunch and the earrings. This is getting expensive for you,” I said, and he grinned.
“Maybe it’s an investment.”
“Maybe, but then, maybe your return will make you a happy man.”
He stared at me, unsure how to take that. So I kissed his cheek, leaving him confused. It didn’t take much.
The day actually beat all records at work. I decided to advertise for two more beauticians and another masseuse. I arrived back at the flat at half past five, completely knackered and somewhat regretting accepting the invitation to dinner and the theatre.
After a hot bath and a glass of wine, I felt ready for anything. I dressed in a stunning navy blue dress and jacket, and spent some time getting my make up just right. I had the perfect technique, whereby I could make myself look five years older and very sophisticated. By shading my cheekbones, I could manage a sort of Nordic look, and was pleased with the result.
I was just ready when the doorbell sounded at six twenty nine.
I answered the door.
“Hi,” he said, kissing me and giving me a bunch of red roses.
“Come in, I’m almost ready,” I said, taking the roses into the kitchen. I put them in a vase.
“What are these for?”
“Down payment,” he said, so I smiled.
“Do you want a drink?”
“We ought to go, as the play starts at seven thirty. So if you want to eat, we’d best get there soon.”
I went into the bedroom to put my earrings on.
“What are we seeing?” I said, through the open door.
“I haven’t a clue,” he said, so I laughed.
“You have a nice place here. It must have cost a bomb.”
“Thanks, it wasn’t cheap, but I inherited a few bob. But I need the business to help pay it off.”
“You’re doing very well for your age.”
“Well, I had a tough start, but it made me determined,” I said, returning to the living room.
“You look fantastic,” he said, and I smiled again. I found I liked compliments.
We arrived at the Chinese restaurant ten minutes later. It was next door to the theatre, right in the shadow of the Castle. We had a delightful meal, but rather rushed.
We managed to get in to our theatre seats just as the lights were dimming. It was a farce and, as I sat engrossed, I realised that this was the first proper play I had ever been to. I started to wonder whether I should like to be an actress, but decided that one performance was enough, - my life.
We went for a drink in the interval, where we met some people he knew. He introduced me to them and could see the non-verbal signals immediately. They had obviously known him when he was married, so I was rather shutout. When we returned to our seats, he apologised.
“They used to be friendly with Jane. They still keep in touch, so this will be back to them immediately.”
“What, that you are trying to get into my knickers?” I asked, and he stared at me, but then he laughed as the lights dimmed for the second half.
“Was I that obvious?” he whispered to me, squeezing my hand.
The play was great and I thoroughly enjoyed it. I loved the whole atmosphere and I knew that I would be back often. We walked home, just as it started to snow. My boots were warm, but the heels made them quite prone to sliding, so I held on tightly to Martin’s arm all the way.
When we arrived back at my flat, I had to make a decision.
I looked at him, and he was watching me like a hawk.
“Okay, I give up. Do you want to come in for a coffee or something?”
“If you really don’t mind?”
“I mind terribly. Look, it’s cold, I’ve had a bloody hard day, so I’m not going to piss about. Do you want a coffee or not?”
“Sure, I’d love one.”
I opened up and he followed me in. The central heating was still on, so the place was snug.
I hung up my coat, and put the kettle on.
“Coffee or chocolate?”
“Do you want a whisky or something?” I asked.
“No, I’m fine with coffee, thanks.”
I made him a coffee and I made a hot chocolate for myself. Then I went and joined him in the sitting room. We sat together on the sofa.
“You’re different to most girls I’ve met.”
“Oh, in what way?”
“I don’t know. It’s almost as if you are very innocent one minute and yet incredibly worldly the next. You look and sound like a polite, well-educated girl, but then you say some outrageous things, but never quite clearly outrageous. I feel you are playing a game with me, yet I don’t know the rules.”
I smiled. He was astute, this one. Not a copper for nothing.
“Well, I’ve been through quite a lot. I don’t really want to dig up old memories, but I had what is known as a ‘damaged youth’. I lost my virginity some time ago, so I am very selective with whom I form relationships. You’re right, as I am very worldly, but not well educated. I’m dyslexic, so I never managed any academic qualifications. But I’m bright and intelligent, and I can learn very quickly. I speak well because I was fostered with a well-spoken family for some time and they taught me how to speak properly. I lost my working-class accent, so now feel confident that I can communicate without any disadvantage.”
“So, where in Ireland are you from?” he asked.
“I’m not, not really. My dad was Irish, but I’ve lived all over Europe. He was a soldier in the British army, yet he was fiercely Irish. I went to so many different schools that I can’t remember them all. I went to one for only four weeks.”
He stroked my hair away from my face.
“You are so beautiful,” he said, kissing my neck. It sent shivers down my spine, so I closed my eyes and let him keep going. I felt my nipples harden. At that moment, I knew that I would go to bed with him.
“I’m sorry,” he said, and I frowned.
“What for, it was quite nice?”
“I’m not very good with girls any more. I seem to confuse their signals. I think it was my ex who screwed me up.”
“She pissed off with someone else.”
“Did you know him?”
“Had it been a him, I’d be fine. She left me for another woman.”
“Oh, nasty. What happened?”
“I was on the area team, a crime squad, specialising in burglaries and car crime. I was doing loads of overtime, as we had a big mortgage and I thought we were going to start a family. Anyway she was getting more distant and sex seemed to dry up. I came home early one day, unexpectedly, and I found her in bed with her best friend.”
“We had a fight, and I threw her out. She tried to come back, but the trust was gone, so we divorced. She was in work and earning as much as me, so financially I was okay. We sold the house, splitting the small profit. She moved in with her friend and I occasionally see them around.”
“Does she live around here?”
“No, she’s moved to Reading, but she still has friends here.”
“When did you split up?”
“It’s been a couple of years now, nearly.”
“I’m surprised you haven’t met someone else, a good looking fella like you.”
“I’ve met loads, but I get to this point, and seem to just fizzle out. I’m sorry, but I just sort of run out of courage.”
I half turned on the sofa and looked at him. I tried to guess whether this was a line. He looked so miserable that I decided that it wasn’t, and he was genuinely suffering from a crisis of confidence. I smiled, as I loved a challenge.
I finished my chocolate, and put the mug down on the table.
“So, what is it that you feel unable to do?” I asked.
“Everything. I can meet girls, and make and go out on dates. But then I get to this stage, and it is as if everything freezes. I feel so fucking silly. I’ve not actually told anyone this before.”
“So, why tell me?”
“I don’t know. I guess I feel that you will understand somehow. Shit, Jemma, I am so sorry, I feel a complete idiot.”
“I tell you what, why don’t I give you a massage? That way, you won’t have anything to do except lie back and enjoy it. And if anything happens, just let it. How about it?”
“I don’t know. What kind of massage?”
“One that I don’t normally give to clients.”
He looked frightened.
“Look, Martin. Face your demons. I won’t bite, and I’m not after your body. I’m a big girl; I’m free and happy and I’m not looking for a relationship, but of one comes along, I may catch it like a bus. I’ll take it as long as it goes my way. So you have nothing to lose. Besides, you bought me earrings, flowers and a lovely evening out. Consider this the payback.”
I pulled him to his feet and led him to my bedroom. I pulled back my duvet from the king size bed, placing a large bath towel on the sheet.
“Get undressed, lie on the towel, face up and put this smaller towel over your important bits,” I told him and then I went into my bathroom and stripped off. I put on my short Chinese wrap, the same one I had had inside. I was naked underneath, and I went back out to find him on the bed as instructed. I oiled my hands, and started with his right foot, working up to his knees and then the other foot, then his arms, and chest. I massaged his temples, and neck. I felt him relax.
He rolled over, and I kept the towel over his bum. I stood beside him and oiled his back. I massaged him properly for a while, but then I got onto the bed, kneeling astride him and taking off my wrap. I felt the muscles in his shoulders and neck relax and he had his eyes closed. I moved down and massaged his buttocks; he never noticed the towel had gone. I then massaged his thighs and calves. He was making little pleasure noises, purring like a cat.
He rolled over and still had his eyes closed. I knelt astride him as his cock rose to the occasion. I massaged his shoulders again and then he opened his eyes as I kissed him. His erection was strong and straight. There was nothing wrong with the mechanics. I had smeared oil all over my body, so I rubbed myself against him.
He was kissing me, passionately and his hands were busy. I rose slightly, reaching below me and helping him slip into me. I sank down, letting him impale me up to the hilt.
I rocked back and forwards gently, as he was caressing my tits.
I found the place where his pubic area was directly below my clitoris, and the rocking movement brought me to orgasm.
He started to screw me, slowly and with delicate precision, and we moved in time with one another. Faster and faster, we just kept the rhythm going, he kissed my tits, sucking so hard that I came again and again.
Then he stuck a finger up my ass, and I went mad. I rode him so hard, that I lost count of the amount of times I came, and finally he shuddered and arched his back, forcing himself as deep inside me as he could go. I felt his spasms as he shot his seed inside me.
I kissed him and felt him subside inside me, and slither out as he shrank.
“There, that wasn’t so bad, was it?” I asked.
He reached out and held me, pulling me towards him and holding me close. We were both wet with sweat, oil and natural juices. It was very carnal.
“That was amazing. I have never experienced anything like that. Thank you so much,” he said, kissing me very gently.
“Come on, let’s shower, otherwise we’ll muck the sheets up.”
We showered together, and he was so damn loving. He washed every inch of my body, and kissed it to make sure. By the time we got out I wanted him again. I was as horny as hell.
He then insisted on drying me, kissing each part to check he had done it properly. I would have let him do anything to me by this time.
He dried himself off, and I literally dragged him back to bed. I pulled the old towel off the sheet, and lay down on my tummy, with my ass in the air.
“Fuck me, doggie. Just fuck me!” I said, and boy, did he!
I awoke when my alarm went off at eight, to find him gone. We had been still screwing at four when he muttered about being on early turn. I then went unconscious, but now he had left me.
I staggered to the bathroom, and a single red rose was on my towel, with a note.
“Soppy sod,” I said, stepping into the shower.
I arrived at work on time, to find things already getting going. The appointment book was full, so I went off to recruit some more hands. I dropped into the recruitment agencies and employment office, leaving cards everywhere. I had just got back when the first hopefuls were contacting me.
Most were girls who had been the other kind of masseuses, so I was not interested. However, two girls were qualified and were also beauticians, so I took them on. One bloke applied. Darren was an ex-squaddie who was given a course on his discharge from the army. He was quite well qualified, but had no experience. I also suspected that there was something else, as he didn’t respond to me as most blokes did.
He didn’t tell me, but I instantly knew. It was the way he looked at me and the other girls, or rather the way he didn’t look at us! He was about 5’10”, well muscled and good looking, with very short hair. In 1975 only the police or military had short hair. But he had something about him with which I could identify and it was like an inner anger and fire that needed quenching.
“So, Darren. How long did you do?”
“What were you in?”
“REME. I serviced tanks, Chieftains mainly.”
“Where were you stationed?”
“All over, I was in Germany with the 17/21st, Tidworth with the 4th/7th, and Catterick with the 3RTR.”
“So, why did you leave?” I asked, and he flushed slightly.
“I’d done enough and I wanted out.”
“Darren, you don’t have to answer this and I don’t intend to offend you, nor is it any of my business. But did you leaving have anything to do with, you know what?”
He stared at me. He blinked, and I thought I had misjudged him.
“You can tell?”
He looked down and seemed to crumple slightly.
“Darren, it doesn’t matter. Gay or straight, as long as you can do the job and leave your private life at home, then why the hell should I care? I’m not your mother, so as long as you’re good at your job, you won’t ever fall foul with me. You’ve got the job. Okay?”
He looked at me, frowning.
“You know what I am, yet you still give me the job. Why?”
“Don’t you want it?”
“Of course I want it, but I don’t understand.”
“Darren, lots of things in life seem cut and dried, and other things aren’t. Let’s put it this way, I don’t care what you are, as I want you to find some happiness. If I can help you do that, then I will find a little too. Life is a right sod when it wants to be, so one has to make the best of what one has. When one can’t, then one must fight for what one wants and needs.
“Here, you can be the person you have always wanted to be. We won’t judge you and we won’t hurt you. You can be among friends and relax for the first time in your life.”
He surprised me then, as he broke down and wept.
I gave him a cuddle until he got it together again. Then he gave me a grin.
“You have no idea how hard the last five years have been. Even longer, for I knew that I was gay when I was in my early teens. I’ve not had a steady relationship ever, but I saw your advert and thought, yes, that might be just what I could do with.”
“Darren, when it comes to hard, believe me, you have nothing you can teach this girl.”
He looked at me, frowning slightly. I relaxed and smiled.
“Okay, can you start soon?”
“As soon as you like, how about now?”
“How about tomorrow? A month’s trial, so if you don’t like it, or if we find you’re not up to it, then neither of us lose too much.”
“Fine, that sounds good to me. I appreciate this.”
“Darren, we could do with a bloke around, as we’ve already had one nutter who tried to get nasty.”
“I took care of him, but it might not be me next time.”
He stared at me and smiled.
“You look very capable.”
“Oh, I am, Darren. Believe me, I am.”
Darren grinned, shaking my hand as he left. I shook my head sadly, there were so many screwed up people out there. I was pleased I wasn’t one of them any more.
Life settled down. The rush died back, but to a satisfactory level that justified our new staffing levels. Darren was exceptional, adding a fresh dimension to our family. Once he lost his military starchiness, he was brilliant and he was just another one of the girls.
Business was so good, that I reviewed salary levels, giving everyone a slight increase. I spent a very interesting day with my financial adviser/accountant, Robert, who told me that I was doing very nicely, thank you very much. In fact, I was doing so well that I bought the flat above the shop, converting it to expand the business to create a small fitness centre. We shuffled things around, moving the beauticians and massage booths upstairs, making the ground floor the fitness centre.
Then, in March, Sally and I pissed off to Austria for a skiing holiday.
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