At birth Morgan’s parents had registered him as a boy and reared him as a boy for obvious reasons, he had a penis. He had been a happy child with no siblings, but unfortunately for Morgan his parents had died in a terrorist attack in a shopping mall just before he went to school. With no other relatives he was taken into local authority Social Services care, but was immediately placed with a childless couple in their early thirties who were delighted to have him. He’d dropped lucky with his foster parents, who were good and kind parents who, though they certainly couldn’t have been said to have spoilt him, provided him with everything he needed and more than enough of what he wanted to be envied a little by his friends.

By the time his foster parents had been looking after Morgan for three years they had applied to adopt him, and Morgan was as delighted by the prospect as his new parents. The next five years were very happy ones for the family, but fate, karma, Murphy, call it what you will, had certainly got it in for Morgan when his parents died in a motor vehicle accident. His parents’ few relatives had not approved of them adopting him, for they said it wasn’t natural. The truth was it didn’t match their personal hard line Calvinistic interpretation of scripture which was that the indigent and unfortunate were that way because they were clearly sinners who deserved the vicissitudes of fate handed out to them as punishment by the divine will of God, and to go against the will of God was not something they were prepared to do, especially when it would be so inconvenient. Perhaps more significantly they were all arrant snobs and Morgan’s original parents had left school at sixteen to go to work, and the relatives considered them and their son to be members of the lower classes and beneath them.

Aged thirteen Morgan was back in local authority care again, to be placed with another set of foster parents where he wasn’t to be so fortunate. After three weeks with them he rang Social Services asking them to collect him and provide him with a different set of foster parents. Social Services refused saying they were under pressure with a lot more children to place than they had foster parents for, and he couldn’t expect them to allow him to move placements at will. He told them that his foster parents were mean to him all the time. He was asked “Do they deprive you of food or hit you?” He’d replied that they hadn’t so far, but they frightened him and he believed it would come to that soon. “Well, till they do, you’ll just have to tough it out.”

Morgan was neither tall nor heavily built, and his foster father was both with a short temper too, so Morgan decided it was better to leave before he was seriously hurt. He’d managed to save a reasonable amount of money over the years, and he considered stealing the cash reserve his foster parents maintained for a rainy day, but he couldn’t make himself steal, not even from them. He caught an express bus to a moderate sized market town south of the border three hundred miles away where he’d once had a week’s holiday with his adoptive parents. His logic was that it would probably be safer to go somewhere he had some familiarity with because in the beginning he would be less conspicuous if he looked like he knew where he were going. He’d wondered about contacting the local Social Services, but was worried they would return him to whence he came and that his foster father would seriously hurt him if not worse. So he left the matter.

He managed to survive and keep clean and respectable looking for six weeks before his luck changed for the better. By lying about his age, he’d said he was just turned sixteen, he found a job in a cheap shop called Pound Squeezer. Pound Squeezer was the sort of shop where most articles cost less than a pound, if only just at ninety-nine pence. The kids being back at school after the summer holidays, the shop manager was desperate for low wage staff and despite the law didn’t care how old Morgan was or wasn’t. Since Morgan spent his day keeping the shelves full and tidy, and never operated a till, [US checkout] he rarely spoke to customers other than to tell them where what they were looking for was located. He didn’t earn enough to pay tax, and the shop didn’t want the hassle either, so they treated him as a Saturdays only worker and paid him in cash. He spent a lot of time in the town library, educating himself and keeping warm. When he had just turned fifteen he’d been working at Pound Squeezer for two years, and was thinking it was probably time to move on before the authorities caught up with him.

Murphy reappeared in Morgan’s life at that point, and visited him with the puberty he had been expecting for a couple of years. Though Morgan wasn’t particularly surprised, and indeed was a little relieved, his problem was it wasn’t the event any one else would have expected, for menarche and breast development is usually associated with girls. However, Morgan had always had a complete set of external female genitalia behind his scrotum. It had always been small and inconspicuous as long as he’d been careful at school when showering after games and PE. His birth parents had known, but the midwife who’d delivered him on the hospital ward had been under so much pressure managing three women giving birth with only a nursing auxiliary to assist her she’d not noticed. His adoptive parents had never known. Morgan was bright and well informed, so knew that he needed tampons to manage the matter as inconspicuously as possible. For the first few months his periods were not a problem. But after that his female genitalia were growing and soon were within the normal size range of girls his age. More worrying to him his breasts were growing rapidly. He vaguely remembered his birth mother as a large bosomed woman and considered that if he had inherited her genetics he was going to have a serious problem in the near future. He knew he would have to leave the town soon, and present as a girl somewhere else. Whatever was below his waist was hidden from public view, but if he started sporting a prodigious bosom that would be highly visible to anyone who happened to be looking his way. Morgan was coping, but he was a little gender confused, although he’d never heard of the term. Discretion being his major concern he didn’t even consider trying to find someone he could talk to about the matter.

When to move on was decided for Morgan when Pound Squeezer laid all the staff off with a fortnight’s notice. Up till two years before the site had been occupied by Tesco, a major supermarket chain, for years, but approaching the end of the lease they had relocated. Pound Squeezer had taken up the remaining twenty-one months of the lease and it was coming to an end. Morgan collected his last pay and spent most of it on girls’ clothes using his staff discount to save money. The assistant manager on the till who took his money asked, “Who are these for, Morgan? You trans or something?”

“Nah, not trans, nor even something. They’re for my sister. It’s my last chance to buy stuff on the cheap. We don’t sell anything I want, but all this stuff is her size and style, so I’ll give her the receipt, and she’ll pay me back.” The woman just accepted it, since the clothes he was buying were the best they sold. They were good quality seconds with the labels cut out that were originally intended for upper priced shops like M&S. Usually all that was wrong with them was an inch or so of stitching hadn’t caught both bits of fabric, a matter that a needle and thread could put right in minutes.

Morgan caught a bus to a nearby town, and in a high quality high street clothes shop took some boys’ clothes into a changing room where he changed into the girl’s clothes from Pound Squeezer. Morgan packed the boys’ clothes she just taken off into her bag and left the boys’ clothes from the shop in the changing room. A trip to a cheap shop for cosmetics, cheap jewellery, hair slides, [barrettes] a purse [US wallet] and a handbag [US purse] and she was ready to move on. Another bus and she was ready to start all over again. She bought some bigger bras and a cheap pair of breast forms and the transformation was complete. Given her slender figure and androgynous features none would question her gender and she felt safer from the eyes of Social Services too. She decided all she needed now was a job and a home. Living on the streets was difficult as a boy, but she was aware it would be dangerous for her as a girl. Her previous job had provided her with what she’d needed then, but it didn’t pay enough to run to a room even in the cheapest of boarding houses, so she decided to try the up market high street shops using her real name but adding a year on to her age which would put her at past sixteen, the age at which compulsory education no longer applied.

Morgan was articulate and Mrs. Stone the manageress at D. H. Young’s, the first place she tried was impressed. Morgan told her that she’d missed a lot of school due to illness, but had done a lot of studying at home, and hoped to study some GCSE(1) one year courses at evening class at the local college. She looked embarrassed when she said she’d left home due to problems with her new step father, and Mrs. Stone didn’t press for any more details thinking with her figure it was obvious what Morgan’s problems had been. Morgan told Mrs. Stone about her experience at Pound Squeezer, and when asked if she could ring them for references Morgan said the site used to be a Tesco, but they moved to another site after which Pound Squeezer had moved in. Now Pound Squeezer had closed because the lease was up and the owners intended to redevelop the site. Mrs. Stone was familiar with how that worked and Morgan seemed a confident and reliable young woman. She was given a job on a one month trial and found a small but clean and respectable room a few hours later.

Morgan had been working at Young’s for seven weeks when Mrs. Stone asked her if she could work some evenings too, because some of the staff were off with various Autumnal coughs and sneezes. “Yes, but not Monday through to Thursday, because I’m at college. I can do Friday evening after college and any time from first thing till closing on Saturday and Sunday if that helps?”

“Yes. If you cover some of the staffs’ weekends they’ll gladly pick up some evenings during the week. I’ll get back to you on that with details as soon as I know anything. Thanks. I’ll make sure it’s all booked at overtime rate.” Mrs. Stone remembered that Morgan had said she wanted to go to college. A lot of younger staff said that, but few actually saw it through. “What are you studying, Morgan?”

“English, maths, science, geography and history. That’ll give me five including English and maths, and I’ll be able to go on to do A’ levels(2) after that. The college here won’t accept you on an A’ level course if you don’t have five GCSEs at grade C or better, and English and maths are a must if you want to do anything worth doing. When the exams come round I will have to ask for time off to sit them and for revision too. Will that be okay?”

“No problem, Dear. You’re helping us out when we need it. I’ll see the favour is returned when you need it.”

A week later Mrs. Stone said, “Morgan, you paperwork has just come through from the National Insurance. Your next pay slip will have your National Insurance number on it instead of a row of question marks. Typically for a recent school leaver most of the data is obviously correct, but some is clearly not. Your birthday is correct, but it says you are fifteen and are a boy. I can see ample evidence in front of my eyes that that is clearly not correct.” Mrs. Stone who was not without a bosom of ample proportions herself laught and continued, “One look at some of the men’s faces in this place, both staff and customers as they watch you walk by is more than enough to convince anyone that the National Insurance have messed up yet again. It’ll get sorted out eventually, but I wouldn’t hold my breath if I were you. It can take a couple of years. I’ve several other younger staff with incorrect data on the National Insurance files, some still aren’t right after eighteen months. Funny isn’t it the tax man never makes mistakes and always gets his share, but as long as it’s all sorted out before you reach state retirement age it really doesn’t matter.

Eighteen months later Morgan was a supervisor at Young’s and studying physics, chemistry and biology with maths for scientists as her subsidiary subject. Most A’ level students had to study a subsidiary from a different faculty, but those doing three sciences had to do mathematics because it was necessary. She now had a prodigious bosom and hips and had dumped the breast forms a long time since. Whatever it was that had relegated her gender confusion into the past she was not entirely certain, but she now saw herself mostly as a female who had some masculine desires from time to time, and she was quite happy to live with that. She’d presented as a female since arriving in the town, and her male attributes were handled by appropriate underwear which prevented any embarrassment on her part.

She frequented a number of clubs and entertainment venues that whilst not specifically LGBT+ had a large number of folk who identified as LGBT+ in regular attendance. She’d been looking for a relationship, but hadn’t been lucky. Most, even some members of the LGBT+ community, were either horrified by her admission or were perversely attracted purely for the thrill it would provide. Many had asked when she was going to have things normalised, as if she were a transsexual and should be seeking GRS. She had always told them she wasn’t thinking that way, she was what she was and she was happy with that. One cis man whom she thought she had a relationship with that could lead to better things had said, “Oh for fuck’s sake! I can’t fuck that. With tits like yours I thought you were joking about having a dick,” and left her room slamming the door behind him. Hurt, it was a long time before she tried again.

Her next serious encounter was a similar but mirror image disaster. This time it was with a cis woman who was bitterly disappointed with the lack of size of her male equipment and repulsed when she found out that Morgan too had periods. She’d said, “I’m not a fucking lesbian,” and she too slammed the door behind her on her way out, which Morgan considered to be totally unreasonable since her body and the way she dressed clearly proclaimed her womanhood, even if she did have a little extra. She was puzzled by what the woman had thought she was getting involved in, because she had told her, but decided it wasn’t worth wasting time thinking about it.

Morgan had again been upset, but eventually philosophically had thought, “Well, I’ve tried the cis, maybe it’s time to focus on someone who by their nature may be a little more open minded.” However, none of her experiences with trans men, trans women, and bisexual men and women of both trans and cis persuasions hadn’t even led her past that first conversation, so she decided to leave the matter for a while.

Eighteen months after that Morgan had obtained three Bs at A’ level and a B too in her half A’ level in mathematics. She had also been promoted at work, and Young’s were sponsoring her to study a combined honours degree in business management, economics and accountancy with the Open University. Morgan decided that she wanted to get out of her bedsit and live in an apartment flat. She couldn’t afford to do so on her own, so she was looking for another girl to share with. She had adverts out and read the notice boards religiously for someone seeking a flatmate too. That, however, was not how she met Strath. They met in one of the LGBT+ establishments that also catered for some who were into BDSM and needed somewhere for their activities. They were both getting a drink from the bar, and both had noted the other too was drinking fruit juice with no alcohol in it. Morgan put Strath in her mid twenties. “Hi, I’m Strath. You here looking for anything in particular?”

“I’m Morgan. I came for a drink somewhere I knew that a couple of folk I’m trying to avoid would never go. How about you?”

“I guess I’m just people watching tonight. I’m looking for a flatmate. I live in a bedsit, but I want out and can’t quite afford a flat on my own. Too, I’d rather share because my job make me a bit isolated, and I need someone to make me laugh and live a little.”

“Snap. Me too. You want to talk about it?”

“Sure, but let’s go somewhere quieter. Serious conversation isn’t possible here. You end up shouting over the noise, and then when it goes suddenly quiet you embarrass yourself. How about the Oak Leaf? Or will there be any chance of meeting whoever you want to avoid there?”

“No that’s fine. They won’t go there because there’re a lot of older folk go in there.”

“Okay let’s go.”

It took them fifteen minutes to walk to the Oak Leaf, a big but traditional pub that was a quiet place where folk went to chat. It always had a lot of courting couples in one room and a lot of old men playing crib in another. The other rooms were full of all sorts of folk including some LGBT+, but as long as you were quiet and didn’t upset any one you were welcome.

They ordered a drink, both on orange juice again. In the Oak Leaf it was freshly squeezed not bottled and much cheaper than in the club they’d just left.

“I never heard the name Strath before. Where’s it from?”

“It’s a Celtic word that means a valley like a glen. Both my parents are Scots and they decided before I was born they wanted to pick a gender neutral name then the job was done with no matter what I turned out to be, which was a bit lucky really. Morgan’s a gender neutral Celtic name too. It means someone from the sea. I suppose that means some one from the coast. I have to ask why the club? You LGBT or into BDSM?”

“I’m certainly not into BDSM. I suppose if anything I could be described as a bit bi, but I’m far more into men than I am into girls.” Morgan laught and continued, “but a change every now and again is good for a girl. How about you?”

“Similar. I’m not into BDSM, and I’m bi too. That’s what I meant when I said my parents choosing a gender neutral name was a bit lucky. Unlike you, mostly I’m into girls, but I enjoy a bloke from time to time. Like you said a change is as good as a rest. Now the big question. Do you reckon we could live together sharing a flat? I think we could. No matter how much you tell me in the end I’ll go on my gut feeling which is telling me we could. Anyway if you’re prepared to chance it it’s on.”

Morgan said slowly, “I’m usually very cautious these days. Despite being only eighteen, I’ve had a couple of relationships go south on me that I truly believed could work, so I reckon that I’m not too good at weighing folk up. I suppose since our sexualities won’t bother each other, it’s down to money, tidiness and cooking. I earn enough to pay half the costs of a decent two bedroom flat. I’m a management trainee with D. H. Young and they’re sponsoring my OU studies in business management. I can be a bit OCD about tidiness, and I’m okayish as a cook. I like cooking, but I’m not a good cook. I’m just okay. How about you?”

“The money won’t be a problem. I have a good job in cyber security. I’ve been there since I left university two years ago. I’m not overly tidy, but I don’t live in a mess either. I’m an excellent cook. It’s been my hobby since I was knee high to a grasshopper. What do you think? Is it on?”

“Yes. I have Saturday off this week. You want to go round the letting agents with me looking?”

“Fine. You want another drink? Something alcoholic to drink to our flat with?”

“Sure. I like whisky with just a splash of water.”

“Highland Park okay? I saw some behind the bar. You couldn’t seriously drink to the flat with anything other than a decent single malt could you now?”

“Okay. Highland Park it is.”

Strath came back with the whisky and said, “Easy now, that’s a double. If you get us the same again when we want another that’ll be my limit.” Strath raised her glass and said, “Slàinte Mhath.”(3)

Morgan touched their glasses with a clink and replied, “Slàinte.”(4) After they drank Morgan said in response to Strath’s raised and questioning eyebrows at Morgan’s obviously instinctive response to her toast, “My parents who both died before I went to school were both Scots too, and I lived in Scotland till I was thirteen and always maintained the connection, though unlike you I lost the accent.”

After they finished their glass, they returned to drinking orange juice and swapping details of their lives till it was time for Morgan to buy their last drink. After returning she said, “I hope Laphroaig is okay?”

“We’ll get along just fine, Girl.”

“Well go easy. It’s a double of cask(5) with no water. I thought it’d do to see the night off with. This has been the best night out I’ve had for a long time.”

“Like I said, we’ll get along just fine, Girl.”

It was nearly midnight when the two girls left the Oak Leaf to find a taxi to take them to their respective rooms. Strath got out first handing a tenner [$15] to Morgan saying, “Here put this towards the cab. I’ll text you on Friday evening about going out somewhere and finalising Saturday’s arrangements. Night, Morgan.”

“Night, Strath.”

On Saturday they managed to find three flats they were interested in, but they could only view two of them that afternoon. They were most interested in the third and decided to hold off on any decision till they’d viewed all three. The letting agent at the first flat was pushing them to close the deal, but Morgan told him, “We’ve got another flat to look at today and another on Wednesday. If this one’s not available any more and the others fall through that’s our bad luck isn’t it?”

The agent kept pressing them and in the end Strath said, “Just fuck off, Slack Sac. My friend said no, and I don’t want this place at any price no matter how low now because I’m not putting money in your pocket. Come on, Morgan, we’ve another place to look at today.

Once out in the fresh air Morgan said, “Wow! I wanted to say something like that. That little shit was really getting right up my nose.”

“Yeah well, you don’t need anybody’s permission to spend money. If you don’t like the deal just walk away. You can spend your money somewhere else with no problems.

The next letting agent wasn’t as pushy, but was clearly disappointed when they said they would leave it till Wednesday when they were viewing another flat

“Oh yes,” Strath whispered to Morgan out of the agent’s hearing, “Am I glad I told that first bloke where to go. It’s bigger, better furnished and the décor is a lot better. That box room is big enough to use as a study for two. If we put two desks across one of the long walls with a printer in the corner both of us could work in there easily. And it’s what eighty quid [$120] a month more than the other two. That’s a joke. If you’ve not got your seven hundred and fifty [$1,125] for the deposit I’ll lend it you. What do you think?”

“I’ve got the money, but yeah let’s close the deal now. You want to deal with the man or shall I?”

“You do it if you like.”

Morgan went into the kitchen and said, “Okay we want it. We can pay the deposit immediately by bank transfers over the phone. When can we move in?”

“As soon as you both sign these forms and I know we’ve got the deposit. Ten minutes tops.”

The formalities completed, the agent handed the keys over and said he would inform the caretaker and security that the flat was now occupied. He took a photo of the girls to pass on to them, so the girls would not be inconvenienced by any thinking they had no right to be there. He shook hands with them and said, “I’ve been try to rent this flat for going on three months, but unfortunately was messed about by one prospective client or pair of clients after another. I was begin to think the place was jinxed. Anyway thank you, Ladies. I’ll let myself out. Please don’t forget to change the alarm code within twenty-four hours, or you’ll be locked out and have to get security to let you in."

“So what do we do next, Morgan?”

“Change the code and ring for a white van to collect our stuff. One run should do my stuff, what about you?”

“The same. I reckon we ring for two vans, and then we’ll be done quicker and it won’t cost any more. Then we go supermarket shopping for any household stuff and food we need which shouldn’t be much. I’ve probably got enough to see us for going on a week, and you’ll have some too. I fancy cooking something decent and eating in tonight, but I’ll pick up a bottle of decent red. Hardy’s Bankside Shiraz okay?”

“Yeah and we’ll collect a bottle of malt too.”

The two flatmates had been together for going on twelve months and both were decidedly happy with the situation. They went out together like a pair of sisters and though both were looking for relationships neither were desperate about it. They’d chatted and flirted with folk of all sorts of persuasions, but now they were settled domestically they’d both raised the bar of what they were prepared to accept. Both had admitted they wanted children and that meant a stable relationship with a decent man to father them, but things had not been looking good for either of them. “You reckon we could end up as a pair of old maids, Morgan?” Strath had asked mostly, but not entirely, joking.

“Possibly, but at least we’ve got each other, so we won’t have to get a couple of cats,” Morgan had replied, at which they’d both laught, but their laughter had a brittle quality.

Time went on, and the girls, neither of who had any family, became family. Many thought they were sisters. Both were promoted at work, Morgan to an assistant manager and Strath to a team leader with eight reporting to her. They were both earning a lot more money and they had discussed finding a bigger place to live, but had decided against it because there was no real reason to, so their bank balances went up. Given that both bought feminine hygiene products they both considered the other to be just a girl like any other, but they were letting their guard down with each other more.

Things changed dramatically when Morgan accidentally left some of her washing in a washing basket in front of the dryer. She’d intended to put it away in her room before Strath came in from work. Strath stormed into the living room brandishing a garment in her hand shouting, “What the fuck is my gaff doing in your washing, Morgan?”

Morgan broke down and through her tears said, “It’s not yours. It’s mine.”

There was a long silence as the implications of what they had just said and a lot of small things that had seemed insignificant if puzzling at the time started to make sense. Eventually Strath said, “Oh fucking hell! I’m so sorry, Morgan. And we’ve been hiding and dancing round each other like a pair of nervous virgins looking for Prince Charming, but she was here all the time.” Strath reached for Morgan, and, after they had both indulged in a decidedly unsisterly kiss, said, “You know what? We do need a bigger place after all. This place ain’t big enough for kids. I wonder who’ll get pregnant first? A glass of Lagavulin?”

1. GCSE, General Certificate of Secondary Education, examinations normally taken in the UK by sixteen year olds after a two year course at school. Colleges often offer one year courses.
2. A’ levels, Advanced levels, two year courses usually examined when students are eighteen.
3. Slàinte Mhath, good health. Pronounced slanj-a-va.
4. Slàinte, health. Pronounced slanj-a.
5. Cask, cask strength typically 60.1% ABV.