Sometimes, when you're backed into a corner, friends appear that you didn't know you had.
Are Those Yours?
by Penny Lane
An occasional tale about a man with a problem. Two problems, in fact.
Sometimes my muse ambushes me with odd little things like this. I hope you'll like it.
by Penny Lane
Chapter 1
"Here's your tea, love," the girl said, putting the mug down on the table.
The man carried on eating his Full English breakfast, only nodding briefly to thank her. After a short while he became aware that she was still standing beside him and he paused, knife and fork in mid-air.
"Do you mind if I ask you," she said softly, "are those yours?"
He knew exactly to what she was referring and nodded again, keeping his head low.
"Here's
your tea, love," the girl said, putting the mug down on the
table.
The man carried on eating his Full English breakfast, only nodding briefly to thank her. After a short while he became aware that she was still standing beside him and he paused, knife and fork in mid-air.
"Do you mind if I ask you," she said softly, "are those yours?"
He knew exactly to what she was referring and nodded again, keeping his head low. He resumed eating, his eyes straying to the newspaper on the cafe table beside him. She sensed that he wanted to be left alone and returned to the counter.
It was August, holiday time, and the cafe was quiet this morning. Not until the factory workers came back from sunnier climes would the place buzz with activity again. Diane turned to one of the three proprietors standing behind the counter and asked, in a low voice, "What happened to him? How is it he has... those, now?"
The Indian member of the ownership answered her. "You don't know? Of course not, you've been on holiday, it all happened then. There was a fuss, a terrible fuss. The factory unit was shut down by Health and Safety, a big commotion it caused. In all the national papers, it was. Now poor Dave is stuck, deformed... nobody is going to give him a job looking like that, are they?"
"But how..?"
"Something in the chemicals, they said," spoke up the Jamaican owner. "Some kind of hormone or something. Seems they got a batch that wasn't made up the way it was supposed to have been, came from China so they say, got into the men and altered them." He shook his head. "Bad business, man."
"That's horrible! Was it only him, then? What about the others who worked there, Brian and Ismal?"
"You wouldn't have heard, would you, being away and all that," the Jamaican said. "That's what started the whole thing off. Brian Carswick threw himself off a footbridge over the bypass what, two weeks ago? Possibly the day you flew out to Benidorm."
The Pakistani explained, "That was what started it all right. They discovered the two... growths on his body and immediately started asking questions. The moment they went to the factory and saw Dave they closed the whole place down. Ismal, may Allah bless him, had a breakdown and is in a mental hospital at the moment."
"Oh, the poor men! What are we going to do for them?"
The three regarded her with interest. "What do you suggest, Diane?" asked the Indian.
She looked at them helplessly. "How do I know? He's a human being and he needs help, that's all I can say."
The Jamaican gestured with a hand. "We're going to be quiet today, with many people away on holiday. I think you might be able to help more than three like us could."
She nodded thoughtfully. "I might be able to, at that. I'll take it slow to start with, though. I don't want to drive him away, make him do something stupid."
The time slot for factory workers having ended, the next one for office workers soon began and the four were kept busy for some time until the flow of diners slackened. Diane knew that she would have half an hour before the next batch of customers appeared, those wanting breakfast sandwiches to take back to their places of work, so she approached Dave's table again. He was still there, by now nursing a third mug of tea and working his way through the crossword page.
She sat down opposite him, causing him to start and put his pen down. His face was completely closed, dull, and she knew why.
"I'd rather be left on my own, if you don't mind."
"Please. I want to help."
He looked at her, expressionless. "What can you do?"
"I don't know," she admitted. "But I do know the saying that a trouble shared is a trouble halved."
She left it there and it looked as if he was going to burst into tears.
"You already know the details," he said finally.
"No, I don't," she told him. "I've been on holiday in Spain for a fortnight, today is my first day back at work."
He looked a bit more closely, then. "Yes, I suppose you're right. I wondered where you'd gone, if you'd found a better job somewhere else, or just gone back on the dole or something."
"So."
He gave a great sigh and leaned back in his chair. His eyes looked in her direction but they were fixed in the recent past, the traumatic days that had brought him to this.
"You know where I work, don't you? Worked, I mean. Bradvale Plastics, on Brockmoor Road."
"Yes," she nodded. "I knew a boy tried to get a job there once. Sorry, go on."
"We, I mean they, make small batches of plastic items that would cost a bigger company too much in tooling to do," he explained. "The two men who managed Bradvale had figured out a way we could do it cheaper. So me and Brian and Ismal did the dirty work on the floor, mixing the granules and the plasticisers and colouring powder and setting up the moulds... you don't want me to go on, do you? It gets a bit technical."
"That's all right," she said. "I'd heard the firm was doing all right, though. What happened?"
"We used to get all our raw materials from wholesalers, like every other engineering firm round here does. Our wholesaler found some cheap imports, saved us a ton of money so we said yes. What we didn't know was that the imports came through about three other wholesalers and importers all the way from China, and the Chinese had mixed the plasticisers up wrong. Safe enough if you were just using the finished product, I suppose, but for those involved in the manufacturing process it was too much."
"Oh, no!"
"Oh, yes. First inkling we had was when Jenny Hardwick, the secretary in the office, had a miscarriage. No-one thought much of it then, but the stuff was already beginning to affect us. Soon, we all started growing these lumps."
"But, when I saw you before I went on holiday, you didn't look... like that."
"No. I went to my doctor and he said it was gynecomastia. I was given some special elasticated tops that flattened everything down. Not one of us realised we were all going through the same thing, we were all too embarrassed to mention such things at work."
"Oh, I can quite imagine that!"
"Then Brian went and threw himself off a bridge and blew the whole thing wide open. They did a post-mortem and found... lumps, and then Health and Safety got involved real quick. The factory got shut down and sealed off and the owners got arrested for failing to look after their employees. Ismal, you remember Ismal? He had a breakdown and they had to take him in for his own safety. Me, they decided I was well depressed but not actually suicidal, yet, so they just let me suffer in public." He looked down at his chest.
"What about those elasticated tops you mentioned, then? I can see you're not wearing one now."
"No, because I'm now too big for them to make any real difference. And to be frank, this morning I just couldn't be bothered. Depressed, remember? The only reason I came out at all was because I've got nothing left in the flat to eat. I might try putting one on when I get home, though. I hadn't appreciated just how uncomfortable these things can be when they're let loose."
She gave him a weak smile. "I wouldn't know, sorry. It's funny, really, I'd rather have those and you'd probably rather have my flat chest."
He managed to return the smile. "Ironic, isn't it?" His smile faded. "So, just what was it you thought you could do for someone like me, then?"
"Well, the owners have told me to tell you that whatever happens to you, you'll always be welcome at the Empire Cafe," she said. "They know you'll likely be tight for cash, so they're prepared to cut you a little slack when times get hard. After all, you've been coming here, what, eight years? I remember seeing you come out of here when I used to pass by on my way to school. Loyalty works both ways, you know."
His eyes misted up and he dropped his head so she wouldn't see the tears. "Thank you," he said softly.
"Whoops!" she said suddenly. "Customers. Look, I have to go, but I'll do some thinking and come back, all right? And any more tea you drink will be on the house, you only have to ask."
Diane got up and briskly moved to greet the several people who had come in through the door and spread out amongst the tables. When she came back an hour later, in the slack before the early lunch crowd arrived, she had a suggestion.
"Look, if it's getting too embarrassing for you to do your own shopping," she told him, "I could do some of it for you. That would save you being out in crowds and I really don't like to think of you running out of food, living on your own." She hesitated. "I can't say I'd be able to do it all the time, mind, but I could probably manage a weekly shop for essentials. How does that sound?"
"That's very kind of you," he said, misting up again. "I didn't expect to find such people around, I thought they were all going to treat me like a freak."
She pursed her lips. "We-ll, in one way, you are a kind of freak, aren't you?" A stab of pain came, as he thought of betrayal. She was a young girl, he would just be an exhibit for her 'crowd', wouldn't he? But then he realised that he was being uncharitable as she said, "On the other hand, half the world's population has those and they're not considered freaks."
"But, I'm not a woman," he objected. "There's a distinct difference how a man should look and how a woman should."
"I know," she agreed. "Tell me, what have the doctors suggested to you? For the future, I mean?"
"I can have them cut off," he said bluntly, and she winced. Mastectomy was the last resort option for any woman as they were so bound up with her identity. For a man, a possible solution, but the operation would still leave significant scars, mental as well as physical.
"Now, this may seem like an odd suggestion to you," she said tentatively, "but have you considered the alternative? Keeping them?"
"You mean, exist as I am now? Not a chance. Can you see me getting a job looking like this? I'd become a laughing stock from one end of town to the other. No. They'll have to come off, eventually. The doctors won't let me do it right away in case there's more changes to come, they wants everything to stabilise before they'll consider operating."
"I didn't quite mean stay the same as you are now -"
"You want me to become a woman?" he interrupted. "I'm a man, I can't do that!"
"That's not entirely what I meant either, but it's still an option, isn't it? No, I have another idea in mind. Now, I have a girlfriend who I met at a pub night a while back and we've become quite close friends. Only she isn't entirely a girlfriend, she has what you have down there."
"She's a mixture, you mean? How did that happen, then?"
Diane shook her head. "Nobody knows. She grew up a boy but when puberty came she developed up top as well as down below. Her parents let her choose what she wanted to be and she chose to be neither, so to speak." She frowned. "I think she's still legally male. I'll have to ask her next time we meet up. Anyway, the point is, you'd have to dress as a woman, which would make sense anyway. If you kept those, you'll have to start wearing bras just to support them, and then all the rest sort of follows on naturally, doesn't it? Looking at your face, I don't see any big problem there. You don't look as if you shave much, do you?"
"No, never did. Since... this happened, I've shaved even less, come to think about it."
"There you go, then! Bit of make-up, new hair style, and I'd think you could make a go of it. All the while keeping your assets safe and sound below. And I can tell you there are women who will go for a person like that, even round these parts. Debra gets quite a few invitations."
He shook his head, overwhelmed with concepts he'd never heard of before. Dress as a woman? Crazy, he didn't know the first thing about it, he'd never even thought about doing it, ever. But the thought of having proper support for what was hanging off his chest sort of made sense, and then as Diane said all the rest followed naturally.
But women do things differently! It was a whole secret society no man got more than a glimpse of, normally. He'd have an awful lot to learn... but then, whatever he did, he'd have to do some learning. Could he do it? Maybe not, but he'd be a fool to discard the possibility without finding out more. He looked up at Diane, his expression more animated than she had seen it all morning.
"I'd never heard of such a possibility," he told her. "I didn't know such people existed. Perhaps you're right, perhaps what you say might be possible. It's a whole new idea for me to think about, and I'll need some more information. Could you arrange a meeting between me and Debra, please?"
Suddenly the future didn't look so bleak after all.
My muse simply insists that I develop this tale. There will probably be five or so parts, and at extremely random intervals. But there's a solid tale there, and I have to write it. Enjoy.
by Penny Lane
Chapter 2
Pling Plong.
Dave groaned and forced one eye open. He had fallen asleep on the couch again, his head at a painful angle to the rest of his body. In the corner the television flickered and danced with some daytime quiz program he'd never seen before. He was lying at a low angle, obviously having fallen over as he drifted off. He attempted to straighten up, wincing as his neck assumed its proper orientation. The weights on his chest moved alarmingly, travelling around of their own accord as he sat up, finally assuming their normal hanging position. He yawned.
Disclaimer: The original characters and plot of this story are the property
of the author. No infringement of pre-existing copyright is intended. This
story is copyright (c) 2011 Penny Lane. All rights reserved.
Pling Plong.
The door. Wincing again as he stood, he picked up the remote, hit standby and dropped it on the table as he staggered towards the front door.
"Who is it?"
"Diane with your food."
"Oh."
Dave pulled open the door to find two young women standing in front of him, both holding supermarket carrier bags.
"Uh, come in."
He tried to rub his face, to wake himself up, but decided it looked off-putting. He followed the two into the tiny kitchen.
"Here you go," Diane said, putting the bags on the table before handing him the receipt. "Shall I put them away for you? Oh! Silly me, this is Debra, who I told you about the other day. Debra, Dave."
Dave looked from one to the other. Debra was a little younger than Diane, he guessed. She had blonde hair that almost reached her shoulders, with some auburn highlights in the current fashion. Her face was delicate and heavily made up. She was taller than Diane but still wasn't as tall as himself, which meant that she was about five feet six or so. Both women were dressed in hooded tops, fashion jeans and trainers in an assortment of colours.
"Hello."
The two stared at each other with unrestrained curiosity, Dave because she was a type of person he had never known existed, Debra because she had heard about Dave's problem and wanted to help.
"Hello. You look like a girl to me," he said. "You don't look like you could ever have been a boy."
"Thank you," she replied. "That's kind of what I've been aiming for. I can assure you, though, that I'm just as much a man as you are, underneath these clothes."
"Really?" He raised an eyebrow.
"Leave it, you two," Diane said. "Let's get this stuff put away and then we can sit and talk."
"Right."
"I got you these," she said, pulling a meat pack out of a bag. "The ones you asked for didn't look too good and the date was almost up. They were doing these on special offer, so I got two and I'm taking one home with me. We'll split the price, that all right?"
"Yeah, fine. You carry on, Diane, I'll get the kettle on."
With the two girls on the couch and Dave facing them in an easy chair, teas in front of them on a small table, he started asking questions.
"So, what's your story then, Debra?"
"I was about eleven when these started popping out," she said, covering a breast with each hand. "I was hauled off to the quack pretty quick once my mum found out. Nobody could work out why and they wanted to put me on all kinds of strong drugs to stop them but I didn't want to do that. Seemed to me if nobody knew why they were developing any treatment could just make the situation worse rather than better."
Dave nodded. "That's what my doctor says as well, as it happens."
"Well, so they pointed out that if I grew breasts I'd get all kinds of stick at school and what did I think I wanted to do about it? I told them I didn't really identify as a boy anyhow so it didn't matter to me which side of the school I went in. Then I got asked if I wanted to be a girl and I said not exactly." She rolled her eyes. "You wouldn't believe the number of psychologists I saw! It was ridiculous, and they all came to different conclusions. In the end I told them I wasn't going to even think about surgery till I was eighteen, and I'd keep everything I had." She rolled her eyes again. "Cue more psychologists, lawyers and even Social Services got into the act! Tried to make out my parents wanted to turn me into the Bearded Lady or something out of a freak show." A rebellious grin. "We saw them off eventually, I went to school as a girl - with special provisions for PE, naturally - and here I am."
"So... do they know what it was, then?"
"Not at first. Last year with the modern scanners they found a tumour on my pineal gland. It was extremely small which may be why they didn't spot it before, though I think they weren't looking that hard anyway. I had a keyhole op about a year ago and it all seems to have cleared up now, although I'll have to keep popping pills for a long time."
Dave nodded. "So, that's why you look so female, then. You never properly developed as a man, is that right?"
Debra wrinkled her nose. "Sort of. I did start growing some facial hair, but I've had that taken care of now. Seems my body produces both Testosterone and Oestrogen but because I wanted to present as female some of those pills stop the male hormones from doing too much damage. According to one specialist I've seen recently I'm still fertile, though. I could still father children if I really cared to. What's your story, then?"
"Yeah." Dave drank some more tea before he spoke. "I worked for a small business making short runs of plastic items. One of the chemicals we used wasn't mixed right and me and the two I worked with got contaminated." His face grew grim. "One of them jumped off the footbridge over the bypass."
"Oh! Was that - Ah! So you're one of those. Oh, you poor man. What are you going to do?"
"Dunno. I think I'm too much of a coward to top myself like Brian did, though apparently if you get too depressed it gets easier to think of such things. And I am depressed, clinically so according to the doctors. They won't let me do anything about these," he pointed, "for a while yet until things stabilise. They've taken samples of the chemicals, but they really haven't got a clue what effect they'll have on my body. Apart from the obvious."
"Are you thinking about having them off?" Debra's expression was of distaste.
"I didn't know there was an alternative. Not till Diane here told me about you." Dave made his own expression of distaste. "I'm not so sure I want to get rid of them, actually. They're part of me now, aren't they? But, I've been wondering, how can I live, part man and part woman? I'm a bloke, I don't think I want to go over to the other side, as it were. Not all the way, that is. I like the idea of surgery about as much as you seem to."
"It's possible," Debra admitted. "I've been doing it, which is why you wanted to talk to me, right?" She leaned forwards, her elbows on her knees. "It'll be very hard for you, if you decide that's what you want to do. I was able to grow up as a girl, with girlfriends and so on, and although most of the others in the school knew who or what I was most treated me just as another schoolgirl. Which was just the way I wanted it. But you, you're how old?"
"Thirty-one."
"So, you've had that long to build up male habits and ideas. Now, if you want to live with those on your chest, you'll have to present as one of - as a woman, since the whole world thinks that if you have those you must be a woman. That means ripping out your entire wardrobe and starting from scratch, for one thing. That means learning a whole new way of walking, talking and thinking. That means having men treat you a completely different way, sometimes to your advantage, quite often to your disadvantage. Do you understand that?"
"Some of it." A wry smile. "I've had plenty of time to be alone with my thoughts." He hesitated. "Do you really think I could pull it off?"
"Physically?" Debra cocked her head, examining his face. "I think so. You don't look classically male, like say a boxer or a rugby player, you're like a lot of men, just enough definition so's that someone else can clock you at a glance. Your shoulders?" She shrugged her own. "A bit wide, but then girls who swim or play tennis have wide shoulders, so it's not the end of the world. What about your hips? Can I ask you to stand a moment?"
Dave clambered to his feet.
"Could be worse," Debra said. She snickered. "Actually, I've seen worse, much worse. Of course there's also your legs, but I don't think I'll ask you to drop your trousers, the neighbours will talk."
Dave's lips twisted in a rare smile as he sat down again. "Where have you seen worse, then?"
"Oh, there's a club I sometimes go to for cross-dressers and transgender folk, they have a meeting once a month over a pub down Smitton way. Some of the things you see there definitely shouldn't be seen on the streets, I tell you. If you wish, I'll ask the secretary to get in touch with you, they have lots of support for people, mainly men of course, who either like wearing the other kind of clothing or who wish they were the other gender, and everything in between."
"Hm." Dave pondered for a little while. This was definitely getting into uncharted waters, and he wasn't sure he wanted to move quite that fast. "I think I'm going to need to take things slowly, if you don't mind. But leave the contact details, they might be useful one day."
"You might want to take things slowly," Debra pointed out, "but you have those things on your chest and I think you'll have to make up your mind what to do about them fairly soon. You can't ignore them, and I'm sure the moment you walk out that front door no-one else is going to ignore them either. That's why I would ask you to think seriously about... coming over to the other side, as it were. Then you can hide them in plain sight, while you go about your life in a reasonably normal fashion. After all half the world has those, and there is a life out there waiting for you presenting as a woman. It won't be the same as what's gone before, but whatever you decide your life has been changed, hasn't it?"
Dave nodded reluctantly. "I suppose you're right. I'll give this... chap? woman? a call, all right? What I really need is more information, I need to know what I'm getting myself into. Until a couple of weeks ago I didn't know any of this existed outside a Sunday newspaper. And you know how much of them is the unvarnished truth."
Debra cocked her head again. "I think we can do this slowly," she said. "You don't have to go all frilly dresses and stiletto heels, you know. That's just what the newspapers think. Most women are like us, dress down while we're doing normal things." She swept her hands down her body. "The right sort of shoes, a pair of jeans and some tops and I bet you could walk out of here and nobody would give you a second glance. Just take it easy, it'll take you a while to learn the ropes anyway."
"Do you really think so? It seems like such an alien world to me."
Debra grinned. "The one thing about women that's different to men is that we support each other, that right, Diane? You've already got two friends to help you get through this. If you want us to, and if you want to do it. What do you say?"
Dave pondered. "So what you're saying is, I have two real choices. Chop them off," there were two agonised glances from the women. "Sorry. Um, do that or, what did you call it? 'Present' as a woman."
"Not quite true," Diane said. "You could carry on as you have been, binding them up and wearing baggy clothes."
Dave shook his head. "That would just be delaying the decision. While I can do apathy as well as the next man - or woman - it doesn't solve anything in this case, does it? I think I'm going to say, what the hell, let's give it a go. If it doesn't work, I can always go back to the other option."
Both women flinched again.
"Sorry."
"If there's one thing you ought to do, and soon," Debra said, "it's to get some proper support for them, whatever you decide. Look at how you're sitting."
Dave looked down, and discovered he had folded his arms under them, as he nearly always did these days.
"What you need," Debra continued, "is a proper bra properly fitted. Will you let us help you?"
Dave flushed. "You mean, go out to a shop and have someone look at my -"
"Yes, of course. That's what they are there for. They won't get too many men in the bra department, it's true, but they do get trans folk and cross-dressers, and they treat them just as they would treat a woman customer. That's the critical word, remember, customer. You'll be a punter handing over folding money for goods, so they'll serve you all right. And if one or both of us comes with you we'll make sure you get something that fits you properly. You don't have to go for some lacy little thing, you just want a plain bra that does the job."
Dave looked down at his chest, at the bulges supported by his folded arms. It would be nice, he mused, not to have them flopping around as he moved, and to have some of the weight taken off his chest. They had got well beyond the 'jiggle' size and now were like small bags of flour glued painfully to his skin. Some control was definitely indicated, some support was definitely required.
"Look at it this way," Diane added, "you don't have to wear the things in public if you don't want to. But you'll be spending much of your time in here, where you can wear whatever you like, and if a bra makes you feel more comfortable, why not wear one?"
"You've almost convinced me," he said. "But -" He lapsed into silence. Perhaps it was a step too far at the moment.
"Do you think," Debra asked diffidently, "that I, we, might see them? Don't feel any obligation, but up till now we've just been talking about something that's more or less been hinted at."
Dave stared at her. What a thing to ask!
"Dave," Diane said, "don't forget, we've both got them, and you'll have to get them out if you have a bra fitted. You'll be showing us things we've seen in changing rooms every time we've bought something. Really, it shouldn't be a problem."
"In fact, it's something you'll have to get used to," added Debra, "if you wish to go ahead."
Dave's shoulders slumped, and then he realised that he was making a fuss over very little. Slowly he pulled up his sweatshirt and then his vest, exposing his chest for both women to see.
"Oh my God!" Diane said. "I think that's the first time I've ever had breast envy for what's on a man's chest!"
"Gosh," Debra said. "They're a bit further along than I expected. They're a nice-looking pair, Dave. You really need to get some bras."
Dave pulled his clothes down and made himself tidy again. Part of him thought he was being rushed into a decision, part of him understood that it was a decision that could be reversed any time if things didn't work out. Finally, he took a deep breath.
"Let's do it."
And so this little Ad Hoc tale continues. There won't be any more for at least two weeks, I'm afraid.
by Penny Lane
Chapter 3
The name tag said Shirley. Underneath that, in smaller type, it said Foundation Fitter and underneath that again it said Supervisor.
"Dave? Dave Shepherd? You remember me, don't you? Shirley Boothroyd from school, only I'm Shirley Parsons now. What are you doing in here?"
The man standing in front of her reddened and looked extremely embarrassed, as well he might, since they were standing in the Ladies Underwear department of Maddens, a top department store. They had decided to travel to a nearby city so that he wouldn't meet anyone he knew, and as luck would have it...
Shirley decided that it was more than simple embarrassment that had upset an old school chum. There had been nothing between the two of them to cause any problem so why..? She looked briefly at the two young women with him, and then back to Dave, raising an eyebrow.
"I, um, need to be fitted for a bra."
Disclaimer: The original characters and plot of this story are the property of the author. No infringement of pre-existing copyright is intended. This story is copyright (c) 2011 Penny Lane. All rights reserved.
She automatically glanced down at his body, taking in the way his shoulders were hunched and the fact that his coat looked unnaturally baggy on his chest. Then he straightened up, and the double bulge became more obvious. Her eyes widened, and she looked again at the two women.
"Are these two with you?" she asked quietly.
"Yes, they've come along to help me and give me moral support. I never expected to meet anyone here I knew, Shirley."
She straightened into her business persona. "Yes, well, we offer a professional and discreet service here, as you might expect. Anything that happens inside here stays private, I can assure you." She looked suspiciously at the two women and came to a decision. "If you'd like to follow me, sir." The two started to follow and she turned to them, professional smile in place. "If you wouldn't mind, I'd like to consult with the client on my own, please. If you will wait here?"
She indicated some chairs to the side of the changing area, where the husbands usually sat, and the two reluctantly took seats while Shirley ushered Dave into the cubicle farthest from the doorway and yanked the curtain shut.
"Dave, what on earth is going on?" she whispered rapidly. "Is this legit? You're not being pressured or anything, are you? I can ring the police if you want."
Dave looked at her, startled. This was definitely not the reaction he had expected once he'd discovered he and the fitter knew each other.
"Why would you want to ring the police?" he asked, frightened. "I'm not committing any crime, am I? I've just come here to... buy a bra." The last words came out in almost a whisper.
"No!" She dismissed his fears with a flick of the hand. "No, what I meant is... oh, heck, Dave, what have you gone and got yourself mixed up in?"
"It's not what you think. Here, I'll show you."
He took off his coat and the sweatshirt and vest underneath, showing the elastic device which had been holding his chest in. As he laboriously peeled it up and over his head, Shirley gasped.
"Oh my goodness! Are those yours?"
"Of course they're mine," he replied irritably. This whole business, which he had already expected to be very difficult, had just veered into the bizarre. "Who else's did you think they were?"
"That came out wrong," she said. "We get the occasional tranny in here, and sometimes they have falsies glued on. Sometimes they're so well done you can't tell them from the real thing. I wondered... are you sure you're not in any trouble?"
"I'm not," he said, "and I have no idea what you mean."
"Those two aren't pressurising you? You're not some kind of..." she searched for the word, "submissive, are you? We've had one or two of that sort in here as well, although we discourage it."
"What? Oh, I see what you're getting at! No, these are the result of an industrial, um, accident. I got contaminated with chemicals. Please?" Dave was getting redder by the minute, and wishing the episode was long over.
"Very well... Dave. Do you want me to call your friends in?"
"If you wouldn't mind. Those two have virtually saved my life."
"I'll just measure you up first, I think."
She pulled the tape from around her neck and took the necessary details, estimating the cup size she would start with.
"Hm. I'll start with a thirty-six, I think, and I'll get a B and C cup to test for the breast sizing. Do you know anything about styles?" She looked at him carefully. "This is your first time doing this, isn't it?"
Dave nodded. "I bet young girls can't wait to get in here to get fitted. Not many men would care to, though. Yes, this is my first, and no, I have no idea about styles. We're going for comfort, so just something plain?"
Shirley left to pick stock and shortly afterwards Debra and Diane entered.
"What was that all about, love? Is she upset by the unusual circumstances?"
"Not exactly." He gave a short laugh. "She wondered whether I was your slave."
Diane let out an incredulous "What?" while Debra merely nodded.
"I should have thought of that," she said. "I hope you put her right. I take it you knew each other."
"All through comprehensive school," Dave said. "She's okay, just a bit freaked out, I think. Wanted to make sure I wasn't here under duress."
"What do you mean?" asked Diane, round-eyed.
"I'll tell you later," Debra said.
Shirley reappeared with two bras and looked at the two women. Dave introduced them.
"Shirley, this is Diane, who is a waitress at the Empire cafe up Canning Street where I used to get breakfast, and this is her friend Debra, who is... actually, just like me."
Shirley did a double take at Debra.
"It's true," Debra said. "I'm technically a man with breasts too, though I'm living full time as a woman. Diane told me about Dave's problem, and we're trying to help him come to terms with his new body."
"This I have to hear about," Shirley said. "Now, let's get the fitting out of the way first, if you don't mind? Try this one on first. Put your arms through here and here."
The first one was too tight and the next one a little loose. After some discussion during which Shirley found out that no-one knew if Dave had stopped developing yet, she found one of a different model which fitted better but allowed for some small expansion. Dave dressed again and they adjourned to the till.
"You'll need a minimum three," she told Dave. "One on, one in the wash and one drying. More if you can afford it. These aren't that expensive compared to some we stock. Look, you sure you don't want to wear one now? You'll feel much more comfortable."
"No! No, thanks for the offer but I look weird enough walking around like this as it is. What do you think people are going to say if they see me with them stuck out, kind of obvious, like?"
Shirley stopped, frustrated. There was so much more that she could contribute, that she would say to a female client, that could be quite awkward discussing with a man. She could guess what most women did, she could estimate from their clothing and accessories how they would look after what she sold them and she could advise them accordingly. With a man there was a complete blank. But at least she knew this one.
"Look, this is more difficult than I thought. What are you planning to do after you walk out of here? I know it's late night shopping but we'll be closing in about ten minutes or so."
"That's why we chose this time," Debra said, "because we knew you'd be quiet, less curious onlookers, so to speak. I don't know. Dave?"
"As we're here, I thought I'd treat you two ladies to a meal, if that's all right, before we go back home. What did you have in mind, Shirley?"
"I'll be getting out of here in about fifteen minutes or so. What say you three wait for me outside, I think I need to understand just what's going on here, and if I did I might be able to help." She turned to Dave. "If that's all right with you, of course. If you don't mind an old school mate tagging along?"
"I-I'm not sure, Shirley. You probably know too much already. I really don't want this to go all round the town, do I?"
"Look, kiddo, you're obviously not doing this because you're an exhibitionist, are you? You have a problem, a serious problem, and I might be able to help. I'm guessing this won't be the only time you have to buy yourself bras, will it? I'll tell you now, I won't tell a soul. It's no different to female clients telling me things in confidence. These two will tell you."
"Do you agree, girls?" They nodded, and Dave turned to Shirley. "We'll be in the cafe-diner across the square, okay?"
"Quaglino's?" Shirley nodded. "Good choice. I'll meet you there then, fifteen minutes or so."
"Ah, good, a nice corner booth," she said when she joined them some time later. "This is one of the older restaurants, most seem to go for open-plan and bright lights these days. I think a bit of privacy is what we're going to need tonight. Shall we order first?" She lowered her voice. "That will keep the staff from hovering round us, give us a chance to talk."
They ordered, Shirley contributing the selection of a bottle of wine which proved she ate here more than occasionally. When the waiters had finally left them alone, she turned to Dave.
"I'm absolutely bursting! Come on, time to spill the beans."
"Well, it's like this, unfortunately," he began, and told Shirley all that had happened since the bungled plasticiser had been delivered.
"Oh, you poor sod. Jenny Hardwick?" Shirley said when he'd finished. "She the one from our school, two years younger than us?"
"Yes, that's her," Dave confirmed. "I don't know if things will right themselves now she's away from the contamination, I hope so. She was a good little lass."
"And you," Shirley asked, "apart from the two chesticles popping out, have you noticed anything else happening?"
Dave pondered before shaking his head. "Don't think so. I mean, what else could happen? I'm hardly likely to lose them down below, am I?"
Debra said, "Nope, it doesn't work like that. Once you get them, you get to keep them. If you want rid of either lot, surgery's the only answer."
The other three all flinched at the suggestion.
"You told me," Diane said slowly to Dave, "you were shaving less. Does that count?"
"Oh, yeah, I'd forgotten that."
"And I did notice," Shirley added, "when I was measuring you in the cubicle that you had a nice slender waist. Tell me, how are your trousers fitting these days?"
Dave blinked. "Um, now you come to mention it, there are two pair of jeans I can't wear any more. I just can't get them over my hips. I thought I'd accidentally done something to them in the wash. I have been eating a lot less, Doctor Falmer told me I needed to cut down while I was off because I'm not doing the physical labour any more, so I assumed the jeans had shrunk."
Shirley nodded. "I noticed you chose one of the lighter options tonight." She gave an annoyed Hmph. "If I had known before now what I now do I would have given you a complete all-over measuring in that cubicle, I think. And I did notice that your skin was softer and smoother than my Frank's has ever been. Nicer, I think. More like a woman's than a man's."
"It sounds," Debra summed up, "like you've had a huge dose of female hormones, Dave. It's not just those bumps on your chest, it may be the rest of your body, too. Do you understand what we're saying?"
"Yes, I do," Dave hung his head. "It seems I'm in deeper shit than I ever thought I was."
"It's not just the hormone effects, though," Shirley said. "These are chemicals we're talking about. It might not end well, Dave."
"Yeah, I know that, Shirley. That's why they're taking blood, urine and spit samples weekly. Haven't had any results yet, though."
Their food and drink arrived, and they fell on the food. For three of them, it was already late for their evening meal.
"Do you think you're feeling more emotional than you used to be, Dave?" Diane asked.
"Suppose I am," he replied. "I thought that was just the depression talking." He looked up, a sudden thought in his mind. "You saying that might just be the hormones? That I might not be depressed?"
"Dunno, love," Shirley said. "But they might apply different tests for depression to a woman than they might do to a man, 'cause we're said to be more emotional. Worth mentioning next time."
The meal progressed, and the waiter cleared the table and brought their low-calorie desserts.
"Are we keeping you from anything, Shirley?" Dave asked her. "I mean, normally you'd be home by now, wouldn't you?"
"Yes, well, I phoned Frank to tell him I'd met an old school friend and I'd be having a meal out with her this evening." She grinned. "All true, isn't it? He won't notice if I'm not there tonight, there's European football on the telly and he'll be stuck in front of that all evening. I might just as well be here instead." She suddenly chuckled low. "Don't look round, but that waiter of ours is giving us peculiar looks. Every time he's been to our table, he's looked at Dave's front and completely ignored the rest of us!"
The four had all hung their coats on entering the restaurant and Dave had sufficiently relaxed that, despite the elastic undergarment, he was sitting straight enough that the bulges were plainly visible.
He sighed. "Looks like you're right, Debra. I'm not going to be able to get away with this much longer."
Shirley raised an eyebrow. "You planning to switch teams, then?"
"Looks like I have little choice, if I don't want to make a public exhibition of myself. If Debra can do it, then perhaps I can too."
"Yeah." Shirley switched to Debra. "What's your story, then? I would never have guessed you were ever a man."
Debra outlined her own history, emphasising that she had been 'a little of each' from the start. "So when I managed to start both puberties at once, all kinds of strange things happened. I decided I'd keep everything and appear to be female. It was relatively easy for me, since I was never grossly masculine as a young boy. I was given pills to damp down the male hormones and my teenage years were all as a girl. Now Dave here doesn't have that start in life, but if you look at him I think he'd manage reasonably well if we cleaned him up. What do you think?"
Shirley inspected Dave dubiously. "Well, I don't know. He's a bloke, isn't he? Granted if he had a decent hairdo and a bit of lippy no-one would take much notice of him - I mean, not the way Mario over there is doing now. Dave? You don't want to become a woman, do you?"
"Properly, you mean? No, I think that one's a bit late for me, Shirley. I have these, though, so my choices are limited. I think what Diane and Debra have in mind is that I become like Debra, just look female on the surface, but be me underneath."
Debra coughed. "It's not quite that simple, Dave. You'd have to adapt a little, otherwise you'd be found out the moment you so much as moved a muscle. But basically, yes, I think you could get away with being like me."
"What's the alternative?" Shirley asked. "Surgery, I guess."
"It looks like it," Dave said quietly. "I'm not sure I want to go down that path, not unless I really have to. I wanted to see if there was some practical alternative to surgery. Debra has shown me that there might be, and I'm willing - now - to explore it a little further. I can always back out if it won't work for me."
"The bras you bought tonight," Shirley asked. "Were they to start this experiment off, or what? Physically, you've developed enough you really should be wearing something, Dave."
"Purely practical, Shirley. While I look like this, I can't get out much, can I? So I can wear bras in the flat and no-one will care. But how am I going to start collecting a new wardrobe? I know absolutely nothing about what women wear." Dave shrugged. "Why should I?"
"That's where your little band of helpers comes in," Debra said. "We'll get you the basics and educate you enough to get you going. Our clothing is usually cheaper than yours, so it won't cost you very much to start with."
"How are you for money, Dave?" Shirley asked.
"I'm on the Sick," he replied. "It's enough for now. I may get much more once they figure out what's going to happen to my body. There's also likely to be a compensation award, but that might take months, years even. I've enough put by to start the clothes off. It was for a holiday but I can hardly lie on a beach looking like this, can I?"
"I might be able to help you out here," Shirley said thoughtfully. "We - Maddens, that is - run a personal shopper service. You sit in a lounge and drink tea while your shopper brings you things to try on. I could try and arrange a private session for you if you like. Then you'd be able to get a basic wardrobe going. I might even be able to wangle a staff discount, because of the circumstances. What do you say, should I give it a try?"
Dave looked reluctant.
"Look," Debra said, "it's a good way of getting the basics, and you'll be able to see what kind of effect everything has, without being under any pressure, and you wouldn't have the bother of taking things back, either." She turned to Shirley. "You wouldn't object to one or both of us being there?"
"No, of course not."
He gave a weak smile. "You all keep making sense. I'm sure there are reasons why this is a crazy idea, but I've already committed myself to trying this mad scheme out. Not that I have a lot of choice, is there?"
Shirley nodded. "Let me make some enquiries. This sort of thing is always good, it helps firms tick equality boxes and so on." She rolled her eyes and the others grinned.
The waiter put down a saucer with the bill on it, and the four worked out how much each was paying. They took their bill to the till at the entrance and retrieved their coats. Outside, it was beginning to cool down.
"Did you see that waiter's face?" Dave said. "He couldn't keep his eyes off my chest. They always say that men can be led around by a women's breasts, I don't think I believed it until tonight."
"Yeah," Shirley drawled as she buttoned her coat, "that can be a good thing, or it can be a bad thing. Depends what you're after at the time. I'm guessing you won't be trawling the pubs and clubs for men, then?"
"I don't think so, not in a million years. I'm not gay, never have been, never want to be." He shuddered. "What does that make me, then, if I look like a woman and like women? I'm hardly a lesbian, am I?" He shook his head sadly. "I'm just a freak, whatever I do."
"Not at all," Debra said. "There are women out there who get on well with people like us. They like the idea that we have some idea of what their life is like, that we can sympathise with them. Okay, a lot like the hardened manly men but some prefer something a little gentler, and we fit that bill exactly. Think of us as the ultimate metro-sexuals. I think you may be pleasantly surprised."
"So Diane said, which is what started me off on this strange journey. Shirley, you all right to get home, or can we give you a lift?"
"Car round the back of the store. Thanks for the offer, Dave. So I'll speak to you in a day or two and arrange something?"
"I have a horrible feeling I've bitten off way more than I can chew here. I've been pleasantly surprised by what I've found out so far, though, so I guess the answer is yes. Now let's all get home. Tomorrow, I start my life as a full bra-wearing member of the human race."
A nagging loose end that needs attention. I really don't like leaving things unfinished. Expect one more part after this, but it'll come when it is ready. And when I find the time. Sorry, you'll have to read back through for this to make any sense.
by Penny Lane
Chapter 4
"This is madness!"
The two women looked at their companion, who was neither a man nor a woman, exactly. They were standing on the half-landing looking out over a sea of brightly coloured racks, the Women's Floor of Maddens Department Store.
"I just can't do this! It was crazy of me to ever think I could!"
Shirley looked at the speaker and came to a quick decision.
"Right. Cafe, over there." She pointed to an area of shiny chrome chairs and tables in front of the plate glass windows overlooking the square. "Let's go and sit down for a moment. And have a nice cup of tea."
Disclaimer: The original characters and plot of this story are the property of the author. No infringement of pre-existing copyright is intended. This story is copyright (c) 2011-2012 Penny Lane. All rights reserved.
Shirley and Debra stacked their bags on the fourth chair and began taking off their coats. The third person struggled with the unfamiliar fastenings on his short double-breasted coat before managing to remove it and hang it over the back of his chair. Underneath, he wore one of his own t-shirts, plain but clean, the front stretched taut by the presence of undeniable breasts. The jeans were a present from Debra, anonymous boot-cut women's jeans bought from a chain store the previous week. On his feet, thin dark socks inside new women's trainers, white with green and pink designs on the leather strips.
"I'll get the teas in," Shirley said, heading for the counter, already opening her purse to find her staff discount card. The other two sat on their chairs and looked at one another.
"I'm sorry," Debra said into the silence. "I hadn't really understood just what a shock this all must be for you. Of course, it all came naturally for me. It's like you've been dropped into a foreign country, isn't it?"
It was early in the day still, and there were few shoppers about yet. Dave's eyes flicked around the area, relieved to find that it was almost deserted, and therefore nobody about to notice his expression of humiliation.
"Yeah, you could say that," he said softly. He didn't want his voice to heard and thus people to guess he wasn't what he appeared to be. "Not just a foreign country, Tokyo," he decided. "It all looks kind of familiar, but you know you have no chance of working out what the hell is going on. It's all... alien, know what I mean?" He lowered his head before shaking it in despair. "How did I ever think this was going to work?"
"Look, Dave," Debra began. She stopped and gave an apologetic smile. "We can't keep calling you Dave either, can we?" she said. "I mean... that's an instant give-away, isn't it? What was I saying? Oh, yes, look... we agreed, we'd take things a little at a time, so's you can adapt gradually, become familiar with the way things work in our world. You can change your clothing slowly, so you get used to the new feel and fit, but buying them is a different matter. Shops don't do gradual. They all assume that someone who buys women's clothes is a woman, so everything is laid out for her."
"But..." Dave raised his hand and gestured at the shop floor beyond. "All that! How the heck am I supposed to know where to start? You don't get all this in the men's department. It's all colours and styles and slinky fabrics and frills and... I have no clue what I'm supposed to be doing, and some of what I see actively makes my skin crawl. I can't see how a woman could wear some of that stuff, let alone me."
Debra gave a friendly grin of agreement. "Oh, yes, I totally get what you mean! Some of what's over there makes my skin crawl, and I'd die with embarrassment if I was made to wear some of it." Her face became serious. "See, but that's the thing. There are women out there who would consider what you and I are wearing to be beyond the pale. There are just so many women, and they all have different ideas about what suits them and what doesn't. Trust me, we find this just as impossible as you do."
"There we are," Shirley said, putting a tray on the table between them. She busied herself setting out cups and saucers, and then pouring, before reaching for a shortbread from a small plateful on the tray. "What do we find impossible, then?"
"It's the huge choice we're faced with," Debra explained. "Dave just can't cope with it."
"Know what you mean, love," Shirley said, munching.
"Every woman eventually finds styles and colour combinations that suit her," Debra continued. "You don't have that experience, so no wonder you're stopped at the first hurdle. That's why you have us, to guide you through those first steps. Like we said before, we're not going to force you into anything you don't want to do, so just relax."
"Good advice, kiddo," Shirley added. "Now, let's all drink some of that tea."
They all sipped and munched quietly for a while. Dave began to relax, to think that his first reaction to seeing all... that... had been a little panicky. No one had taken the slightest notice of them, had they? He had got dressed and Debra had driven him to the city centre and not even a head had been turned his way. They had just appeared as a couple of women going shopping, which was just what they were. Almost.
Shirley pointed a shortbread at him. "Look at it this way, kiddo. You're an engineer, aren't you? Leastways, that's what you were, before all this nonsense. So, suppose you got dumped in, say, the cockpit of a Jumbo jet. You wouldn't know anything, would you? It would all look much like it does to me and Debra here, just a load of lights and switches, right?"
Dave nodded slowly. "Yeah. Maybe you're right."
"But you'd soon begin to figure out what was what, wouldn't you? You'd start from what you already knew and then you'd learn about the bits you didn't know. You might not get it all but you'd find out enough to be able to get on with your job. That's the main thing, you don't need to do it all, at least not to start with. You just have to learn enough to get by with."
Dave nodded again. "I get it now. Yeah, putting it like that makes it clear enough, doesn't it?"
Shirley grinned at him. "Thought it might. I had to compare it with something that might be familiar to you." She looked at him carefully. "Seeing you in the daylight for the first time, it looks like Kayley did a good job, didn't she? That hair style suits the shape of your face. Coming here first thing and taking her to the salon was a brilliant idea, Debra."
Her. That was the first time Dave had ever been referred to as her, and he knew it wasn't going to be the last. It sounded strange to his ears. The word her was loaded with so much symbolism and he wondered whether he would ever become comfortable with it, ever become accustomed to the idea that it really applied to himself. Or herself, if this crazy scheme ever succeeded.
"It was, wasn't it?" Debra agreed. "Of course, we didn't have much time this morning, so the hair was all she had done. Next time, perhaps we ought to think about her eyebrows, and she definitely ought to consider having her ears pierced one day, because most women these days do that so it looks unusual if you don't."
Next time. Of course, there was going to be a next time. Dave remembered that women's hair needed more frequent attention than men's did, so he would be subjecting himself to that more often than he had visited the barber's. Balanced against that, he hadn't visited the barber's much lately, had he? For two very obvious reasons.
"What do you think, Dave? About your new hair style, I mean."
"It feels strange," he said. "I don't know about 'suiting the shape of my face', and that, but it's okay." He held up his hands to forestall the objections. "That's all I really want to say till I get used to it, I think. Let me go home and live with it for a week, and then I'll give you a proper assessment, okay? It's going to take me a little time to adjust to all this."
"We understand," Shirley said. "It's just like... when a woman changes her hair colour. For a week it just looks odd, then she gets used to it. You'll be the same, I expect."
"Something I thought of earlier," Debra said. "He needs a new name. We can't keep calling him Dave, not once he's started looking like this."
"No, you're right, Debra." Shirley turned to Dave. "Thought about it? Any ideas?"
Dave shrugged. "Not really. I mean, Dave is who I am, right? I've been Dave all my life, so that's the way I think about myself. I know I'll probably have to find myself a new name, but it's difficult to think of myself another way, especially a female way."
"Why not stick with the obvious?" Shirley said. "Davina, or something like that?"
Debra grimaced. "Too close. Someone might do a double take and recognise him. I don't really like that men's-names-turned-into-women's-names thing anyway. You know, Henrietta or Nigella, that just shows lack of imagination. To do the job properly, he needs a name that could only be a woman's name."
"You're probably right there. How about something with the same initial, then? Makes less fuss with any post or signatures that way. Diana, perhaps. Dorothy. Doreen. Drusilla."
"We've already got a Diane. Don't want to confuse the issue. Those others? Bit old, or not mainstream enough. She really needs something that was popular when she was born. You were in the same year, weren't you? What about names of girls in your year?"
"Get what you mean. Tell you what, we'll each think of some names while we're going round and we'll compare notes over lunch, how's that?"
They sipped and munched some more. When they had finished, each collected their coat and put them on, but left them undone. Dave turned to Shirley.
"So, what's the plan for this morning, then?"
"Let me look at you." She pursed her lips and eyed him up and down, walking all round him. "First thing, I think, is to get you some footwear. You can't wear trainers everywhere, and I bet you don't have much else at home that would be suitable."
"No, you got that right."
"You'll need some women's socks to go with the shoes. Perhaps..." Shirley looked a question at Dave. "How do you feel about tights?"
"No idea. Never worn them."
"We have tights over in Accessories which would look exactly like those socks you have on now. We have the traditional thin flesh toned ones or thicker opaque ones in various colours. You can wear them under jeans and slacks when the weather's cold, no-one will notice or give a damn. The other thing you're going to need is some tops which will match your new body shape. Perhaps a jacket, maybe a pair of gloves. The weather's cool at the moment, going to get colder."
"I guessed as much. I have nothing, well, nothing except what I'm wearing, and I have to start somewhere, don't I?" He gestured to the rows of clothing rails. "After you, ladies."
"Wrong. We're all ladies from this point on, and don't you forget it!" Shirley linked her arm with Dave's, and the three set forth.
Lunchtime came, and the three managed to find an empty corner table in the now-busy restaurant on the top floor. There was space on the floor to dump the impressive collection of carrier bags without tripping anybody up. Dave sat and guarded them while Debra and Shirley queued for food.
Dave thought about his experiences of the morning. No-one batted an eyelid at him, he was just another customer. He had tried on and paid for clothes that once upon a time he would not have gone near at gun point, and no-body cared. The changing rooms had come as a shock, but they had individual cubicles so there had been no embarrassing moments. In the bags were three pairs of shoes, a pair of fluffy slippers, a pair of ankle boots, three packets of tights, eight tops in varying pastel shades and with differing necklines, a denim jacket, a pair of inexpensive black woollen gloves and two handbags.
Oh, and a skirt. Dave wasn't sure whether he was quite ready for that step, but Shirley had explained reasonably that the idea was for him to wear it at home to get used to the feel of such things. As she had pointed out, the cold weather wouldn't last forever and when that happened he would most definitely feel more comfortable in a skirt, so why not get one - or two - and try them on? There had been a rail of end-of-sale odds and ends and they had found something there, a straight knee-length plain grey skirt in his size.
"Mind yourself! This is hot!"
Shirley put down the tray and unloaded the plates in front of herself and Dave. Debra contributed two bowls of chips and three coffees as well as her own lunch.
"They serve ridiculous amounts of chips here so I thought we'd share between us, that all right?"
They set to their meals, hungry after a morning's concentrated shopping.
"You seem to have bought a lot," Shirley remarked during a pause, "but not really. That's just to get you going. You only have the one pair of jeans, you'll need at least a couple more, I reckon, and perhaps two, three pairs of plain slacks as well. You can't wear jeans everywhere, much though some of the younger population would like it otherwise. And those tops are really casual tops, you'll need to think about more formal wear as well, though that can be left till just before you need it. Remember, if you get stuck, we're only a phone call away and we're happy to help. What else? What can I say... that's a never-ending question. You'll probably need a mac, or at the very least an umbrella, and we haven't even started on underwear!"
Dave looked at what was left of his lasagne. "I was afraid someone would get round to underwear."
"Lingerie, we call it," Debra said. "But underwear is acceptable as well. That's for another day, Dave. We don't want to overload you, after all."
"Though, you can't leave it too long," Shirley cautioned. "All you have so far is three bras, isn't it? And if my Frank's underpants are anything to go by, you'll feel much more comfortable with what our team has to offer. Isn't that so, Debra?"
"Up to a point," Debra said. "You won't be able to wear any of the smaller items, at least not comfortably, and the lacier bits and pieces won't be strong enough to support... the boys, as it were. But you probably wouldn't be interested in that sort of thing anyway, would you?"
"I can't imagine so," Dave agreed. "On the other hand, six months ago I couldn't imagine doing this, could I? Funny how life goes." He thought. "Tell you what. What do you have planned for me this afternoon?"
"Nothing much," Shirley said. She grinned. "First we had to be sure you weren't going to run away screaming."
"It crossed my mind once or twice," Dave said with the hint of a smile. "Now I've seen just how easy it all is, I could stand a little more, I think. How about you two? Shirley, I'm not keeping you from work, am I?"
"No, love. We've both got the day off, as it happens."
Dave could feel the moisture welling into his eyes. "You shouldn't have, really. A day off, just to look after weird old me."
"Not so much of the weird, kiddo, and definitely nothing of the old. You're a friend, Dave, and you're now a woman friend, at that. We look after each other."
"Stop it. You're making me -"
"...and you're allowed to, Dave. Here, use this paper napkin."
Food finished, and drinks nearly so, Debra asked the question. "Thought about a name, then?"
"Yes, actually. My middle name is James, as it happens. And my mother's mother was called Jane. So I think I'll be Jane, after my grandmother."
"That's good," Shirley nodded. "Not named after a pop star, or where you were conceived, or any of that nonsense. Just following a good family tradition of handing down names. So, Jane, ready to hit the sales floor again?"
Jane leaned over to gather up the handles of the carrier bags.
"Yes," she said, and meant it. "Yes, I am."