"Alex."

"What?"

"I'm going out. Are you okay to get your own supper?"

"Yeah."

"I'll be back late tomorrow, so don't wait up."

"Okay Dad, I won't," I said, hardly breaking concentration from the computer I was engrossed in. I heard the front door slam, and the sound of Dad's Jaguar drive across the gravel and onto the road. I was out onto the landing, and watched the car disappear over the brow of the hill. Dad was a businessman, and his business was not all above board. I knew enough to realise that most of Dad's deals were the wrong side of right, so to speak. But we had a nice house, super holidays in lovely parts of the world, and I had every material thing I needed or even wanted. But I did not have the love and attention from caring parents. My mother had left my father, and me, several years ago for another man. The pair of them had died in a sailing 'accident' a few months later.

I felt so betrayed by my mother that I didn't think about her death at all. But it was only recently that it occurred to me that it might not have been an accident after all, and my Dad had not exactly been that cut up or surprised about it all.

However, that was in the past. For now, my father was doing deals, and I was left at home to my own devices, as usual. I am not saying that my Dad didn't care; he did. He cared a lot in his own way, and would argue that everything he did was for me. But we both knew that was bollocks.

He could have retired on the money he had made and invested. The truth was simple: he loved the wheeling, dealing, and turning a quick quid. He was a crook, pure and simple, and he got his thrills from making money. He did everything for himself, and I was simply an appendage.

I went back to the computer, and said goodbye to the guy I was chatting with, making some excuse or other.

"Bye, Candi. Keep moist for me, Hun," he wrote.

"I will, Babe. Bye," I wrote, and severed the connection.

I paused, as I really enjoyed living a dream in the chat rooms. I was Candi, an eighteen-year old girl from London. I really enjoyed pretending to loads of guys, particularly in the States, as I felt safe with the Atlantic separating us.

I went into my bedroom, and opened my wardrobe. I removed the false floor, and took out my suitcase.

I stripped off, shaking slightly in excitement and anticipation. I put the suitcase on the bed and opened the combination locks. I stood naked in my room, and opened the case. I looked down and smiled, for I was going to become the person I longed to be once more. I went into my bathroom, and checked my face in the mirror. I was so pleased that at sixteen I still did not have any facial hair. I checked my armpits and then my torso - still no hair. Mind you, I shaved my armpits regularly in the shower, and waxed my legs at every opportunity or as soon as any hair should be found. I took the elastic band off my ponytail and shook my hair free. It was quite long now, and I had washed it only a few hours before, so it was light and had a natural wave to it. I applied the adhesive to the rear of my silicone breast forms, and attached them to my chest in the right place.

I had been cross-dressing for at least three years now, and was getting very good at this. I had purchased the breast forms off the Internet, as I had bought quite a few specialist items. I had been about six or seven when I realised that I should have been a girl, and by the time I was twelve, it became an all-encompassing fact of my life. My mother had left when I was about ten, and my father had simply bagged everything she had left behind and placed them in the trailer for his next trip to the dump. I had gone through the bags and removed anything that took my fancy, and now I had a wardrobe that most sixteen-year old girls would have envied.

It took me a few minutes to dress, and put my makeup on. I wore a blue denim mini skirt with tights and plain white panties. My small male genitalia was tucked in and up between my legs, they spent so much time there they felt as if they belonged. I had a white bra and a pink tee shirt, with a fluffy pullover should it get cold. I grabbed my denim shoulder bag and the overnight case that I had packed earlier. I dashed round the house, and locked everything, and put on my anorak. I grabbed my crash helmet, and locked the front door as I left. It would take me five minutes to get to Jenny's on my moped.

I was about 5'7", slim and fine featured. I was terrified of puberty, as I had no desire to grow to manhood. I wanted with all my heart to be a girl, and would do anything to realise my dream. I had found a huge stash of my mother's contraceptive pills. I had taken one a day for the last two years, and I was positive that this was why I was not developing as I should have been. In fact, my own breasts were actually slightly swollen and sensitive, and my male genitalia were underdeveloped, and I had not experienced an erection for several months. I had read of potential dangers on the Internet, and had gone

to see my doctor and explained my predicament. Dr Shepherd had been horrified, and because of my age had told me that she would have to speak to my father. I had created a real scene, claiming that he was potentially violent, and that he would kill me if she did. I would wait until I was seventeen, and then I was legally an adult. She had relented, and had done various tests. She also had me see a psychiatrist who specialised in gender disorders, and I had had several sessions with him.

Meanwhile, I attended school, and life carried on as normal. I always dressed in a very androgynous style, and I took great pleasure in deliberately confusing people as to my gender. I even wore a little make up from time to time, and even kids at my school were unsure whether I was a boy or a girl. I called myself 'Sandi', and that was no help to anyone.

I had a few friends, and those I had were mostly girls, but for the most part I was a real loner. My father was completely oblivious to me, and my traumas, concentrating as he was on his own dealings. Dr Shepherd saw me each week, and every other week I saw Dr Manning, the psychiatrist. On my last visit Dr Shepherd told me of the results of the tests.

"Well, Alex.."

"Sandi. Please call me Sandi, as my Dad calls me Alex, and that is a boy's name."

"Sandi then. We have stopped the pills just in time, too late for some things, but in time to save your life."

"That bad?"

"You have completely chemically castrated yourself. You will never be able to function as a male."

"Good, what else?"

She stared at me, and smiled, shaking her head.

"You have done some tissue damage to your testicles, and we will have to remove them."

"Fine. When?" I asked.

"There is the problem, because of your age, we can't operate without your father's consent. And you need the operation in the next few weeks."

"I will be seventeen in a month. Can it wait that long?"

"I think so, but not much longer. You could develop a cancer."

"When can I go for SRS?" I asked, and she smiled.

"You know your stuff."

"I should do, I have planned this for four years."

"Well, Dr Manning has started a profile on you, and I am sure he will discuss what needs to happen before full SRS can be a real option."

"How about privately?"

She stared at me.

"Privately?" she repeated, confused.

"Yes, private treatment. I have enough."

"Enough? Have you any idea how much full SRS costs?"

"I have over £50,000. And I know three surgeons who would take my hand off at the wrist for that."

She stared at me.

"As I told you, my father is hardly an honest man, and it isn't the money he takes pleasure from, it is the acquisition of it. I have managed to save a considerable sum over the last few years."

"You would be that determined?"

"What do you think?" I asked.

She smiled, and shook her head again.

"Sandi, I somehow believe that you will get your way, one way or another. So let's deal with things, one at a time."

We discussed my surgical options: firstly the essentials, and then the important, but not life saving. Dates were set, and options explained. She had put me on testosterone blockers, and a very low dose of oestrogen, so low that no further damage would be done. Clearly, she was uncomfortable dealing with a juvenile without my father present, so my birthday could not come quickly enough. She wrote a letter to my school explaining the sensitive situation with my gender dysphoria and my father. I was therefore excused all sports and any kind of activity involving gender isolation and identification. Life went on. Living with a continually absent father had its advantages. It meant I was able to play at being the little housewife, and had loads of time to go shopping and no one checked what I bought. Dad threw money at me in lieu of love and attention. He expected me to sort out my clothes and even the housekeeping was more or less my responsibility.

I became more and more feminine, my shape altered, and my voice was still high and well modulated enough for a girl. It came to a point where my Dad started noticing, and I knew that I couldn't hide it for much longer.

I got up, made my own breakfast, and went to school. My one real pleasure was the way I dressed. The school I went to had a uniform of sorts, but girls could wear trousers or skirts. I always wore trousers, but they were girl's trousers, as they fitted my changing shape better. I wore girl's shoes, and with my long hair, I made everyone play a guessing game.

We lived on the South coast, having moved here from London a couple of years after my mother left. I had one year at a secondary school in Acton, and then we moved. My new school was in Brighton, and although big, the kids were in a different league to those in London. My confusing gender even got most of the teachers. I was teased a little, but most kids found me uncomfortable to be with and my clothing was quite a clear individual statement. Some of the guys called me a queer, but then others thought I was a girl in any case. Occasionally I was asked what I was, and I just smiled and said nothing. I had been sitting on the wall outside school, one Thursday afternoon before Easter, when a girl from my class came up to me. Her name was Jenny Armstrong, and she was a pretty girl whose parents ran a small hotel on the coast, just outside the town not far from our house. She was the closest person I had to being a friend.

"Hi Sandi."

"Hi."

"What are you doing this weekend?"

I shrugged.

"I dunno. Nothing, as usual, I suppose."

She sat on the wall next to me, and I felt jealous that she could wear a short skirt and I couldn't.

"I love your hair like that. It is really pretty," she said, and let my hair run through her fingers.

I smiled, as this was a type of conversation I dreamed about.

"You know you told Harry Adams you were a girl, and his sister thinks you said you were a boy?"

"So?"

She smiled.

"I think you are so cool. No one knows for sure what you are."

"What do you think?"

She looked at me closely.

"You sound like a girl, you look like a girl and you act like a girl. But something tells me that you are a boy. But you don't want to be a boy."

I smiled.

"What makes you so sure?" I asked.

"Some of your mannerisms are too aggressive. Most of the time you are very feminine, but sometimes, when you are not concentrating or are worried, you slip up."

I smiled, a little sadly I suppose.

She touched my arm.

"I don't mean to upset you. I'd never tell. You really are too pretty to be a boy."

I smiled again.

"Have you some friends coming round this weekend?" she asked.

I shook my head.

"I don't mix much," I admitted.

"Yeah, I had noticed," she said, and smiled a little knowing smile. The bus arrived, and we got on.

"Good day at school, girls?" the driver asked us.

I grinned and nodded, and Jenny saw my smile. We went down the to the back and sat down.

"You like fooling people, don't you?" she asked.

I thought about it.

"I used to think that was it, but actually I just like being accepted as a girl. That's all there is to it," I admitted.

"Well, you do a good job, and without even wearing the clothes," she said.

"I wear them at home, when my old man is away."

"What about your mother?"

"She's dead."

"I'm sorry."

"I'm not, not really. She pissed off with her lover when I was ten. They both died in a sailing accident not long after."

"Gosh, how horrid."

"It was probably my Dad, he is a bit of a nasty bastard at times. That's why I have to be so careful. If he caught me as a girl, he'd kill me."

She stared at me, unsure whether to believe me or not.

I then told her about my treatments and plans, and she was captivated. The bus stopped near my house. I knew that Dad was away for a couple of days, so I was alone.

"Look. Dad's away. Do you want to come in for a bit?" I asked.

She looked at her watch, and nodded. We both got off and I opened up the house. She rang her parents, who were busy and pleased she was with a friend. There was a note from my Dad telling me that he had to fly to New York for four or five days. But he would make it up to me when he got back.

"What does your dad do?"

"I don't ask, and he doesn't need to lie. But I reckon whatever it is, it is probably illegal."

But she was not listening; her eyes were popping out at the luxurious fixtures and fittings. I thought them rather gaudy and vulgar, but Dad liked them. It was a big, detached house; six bedrooms and an acre and a half of garden. It was set on a headland, a long way from any neighbours. A high wall surrounded the house, and it was a little on the bleak side. Mature trees in the garden gave it some shade and character, and a small woodland to the left protected it from the winter winds.

Dad had been brought up in Bow, East London, so he was a real Cockney He remembered the small terraced house and six brothers and sisters fighting for the middle of the bed, as it was warmer there. Therefore, his taste in furnishings was not very refined. If it was expensive, he liked it, regardless of how crappy it looked. Mother had been of more genteel stock, and had, while they were together, taken most of the decisions relating to interior decorating and design. But since her leaving, and subsequent death, Dad had no checks and balances in place. I was not old enough to have a say, except for in my own room.

"Wow, this is some place!" she said, looking at a chandelier that would have looked fine in some casino in Las Vegas.

"It's okay," I said, and went up to my room.

She sat on my double bed as I went into my bathroom and through the change, I had never dressed for anyone else before, and I was excited to know what she felt. I had a favourite denim skirt and several tops I liked to wear with it.

I finished my make up and returned to the bedroom.

"Shit, Sandi, you look amazing. You have a super figure," she said.

I smiled, and had a warm tingly feeling all over.

"My God, there is no way anyone would ever think you weren't a girl looking like that."

"You reckon?"

"So your dad is away, right?"

"Yeah, so, he does this all the time."

"How about I stay over?"

"What overnight?" I asked, incredulous. No one had ever stayed with me before.

"Yeah. We could go to school tomorrow from here."

"Yeah, great. What about your parents?"

She took out her mobile.

"Hi Mum, I am with Sandi at her place. Look," she said, turning her phone round, and used the photo capacity to send my photo to her mother.

"And she wants me to stay over so we can do our homework together."

Seconds later, she closed up the phone.

"Easy peasy. As soon as she saw that you were a girl, she relaxed."

"I've never had anyone stay over before," I admitted, and sat next to her on the bed.

She put her arm around my shoulders.

"Hey, you are a sad case, aren't you?"

I tried to be tough, but it didn't work. Some tears came, and all my stress came out. She hugged me for a few minutes, and I pulled myself together.

"I'm sorry, Jenny, but you are the first person I have ever told."

"Hey, don't worry. Look, is your Dad away all weekend?"

"I suppose, yeah."

"Why don't we go into town and see a movie or something."

"What like this?"

"Why not? Have you anything that I could wear?" she asked.

I showed her all the clothes I had amassed over the last few years, and she was amazed. Some of my mother's evening dresses were really expensive top designer names. She dressed in a skirt and top, not too dissimilar to mine, and I thought she looked stunning. I told her so, and she smiled. I smiled, as I was so happy. It had been a dream of mine for ages, but I lacked the courage to do it alone.

We caught the bus into Brighton and went for a pizza. We sat and talked girly talk, and I was able to ask her advice on so many things from clothes and makeup to my mannerisms.

"So, what about boys?" she asked.

"What about them?" I asked, going very red.

She laughed.

"What do you think about boys?"

I thought for a moment.

"At school, they tend to either tease me, or ignore me, so I ignore them. But when I am alone, dressed like this, I fantasise that I have a lover."

"Do you fancy boys or girls?"

I smiled.

"I have never had a boyfriend, or a girlfriend, but I see girls as friends, and I think I look at boys as a normal girl would. How about you, have you a boyfriend?"

It was her turn to blush.

"Yeah, he is called Mike, and he is in the upper sixth," she said.

We were both in the lower sixth, having taken our GCSEs last summer.

"Cool. How long have you been going out?"

"A few weeks. We met at a party just after Christmas."

I was quiet, as I tried to imagine myself with a boy. It gave me a warm feeling, and then I remembered what I had between my legs.

"I can fancy them all I want, but I am not a real girl, so there is no point," I said, rather dejectedly.

"You could fool everyone."

"That's not the point. What happens when I like a guy enough to, you know, get a bit heavy, and he finds, you know what?"

"There are guys who like that."

"I don't care. I don't want to be what they call me: a little queer, a queen, a faggot. I want to be a real girl, with the right equipment. So I want straight guys to fancy me. I'm not a gay."

Jenny looked a little sad for me, and I smiled. I told her about the chat rooms and all the guys who would hit on me on line.

"There are TG rooms, but I stay in the straight rooms, and all the guys who chat me up think I am a real girl. I post my pics to them, and, hey, even you say I pass."

She smiled again.

"Sandi, you are more a girl than many of my friends."

"Thanks, I need to hear that."

"So what are you going to do about your dad?"

I shrugged.

"I can't hide what I am for much longer. I am seventeen in a couple of weeks, so legally I can have the operations done without his consent, but I will have to tell him eventually. He will go ballistic."

I stirred my coffee, and watched the brown liquid circle in the cup.

"Jenny!" shouted a female voice. We looked up, and saw Caroline Warren from school.

"Shit!" I said, under my breath.

"Don't panic," whispered Jenny.

"Hi, Caroline. What you doing?" Jenny asked.

Caroline and another girl I didn't know came over.

"This is my cousin, Andrea, from Devon. She and her parents have come over for a family funeral tomorrow, so we both get out of school for a day,"

Caroline said, and looked at me. She frowned as she tried to place me.

"Hi Caroline," I said.

"Shit. Sandi? It is. Bloody hell! I always thought you were a boy."

I smiled and shrugged.

The two girls sat down at our table.

"This is Sandi. She and Jenny are in my class at school. But Sandi always dresses to hide the fact she is a girl. I was not sure whether she was a girl or a boy, and now I know. Why don't you dress like this at school?"

"I like keeping people guessing. It gives me a kick," I said.

Caroline laughed, and Jenny was watching me like a hawk. We chatted about trivialities for a bit, and eventually they left. We finished our coffees and paid the bill.

"Well, the whole school will know soon," I said.

"So?"

I shrugged again, things were getting out of my control, and I didn't like it. We walked round the shops for a while, and I bought some new clothes. Then went to see a movie, and I just felt so at home as a girl. The movie had Nicole Kidman and George Clooney in it, and I fantasised about being in his arms, and I went all the way. We caught the bus back home, and sat watching the late movie. I then showed Jenny my many chat-room profiles with pictures, and logged on. Within seconds, Stallion2000 PM'ed me, and, with little or no chat, we were being very graphic and, after I told him what I was wearing, he undressed me and we had cyber sex. Jenny sat next to me with her mouth open, not so much at the concept, but at my graphic terminology and powers of description. After ten minutes, the guy, obviously satisfied, disconnected and I followed suit.

"I can't believe what you just did?"

"What?"

"You just brought a total stranger to orgasm on the other side of the Atlantic just by talking dirty."

"Cool, isn't it?" I said.

"No wonder you don't have time for friends," she said with a grin. "It even turned me on a little."

We changed for bed. I loaned her one of my many nightdresses and she declined to stay in the spare room.

"Do you mind if I share your bed?" she asked.

I shrugged.

"I don't mind but, remember, I am hardly a boy anymore."

She looked at me and took in my figure. We sat on the bed and she asked to see my genitalia.

I showed her.

"It's tiny," she said.

"It is still too big for me."

"Mike's is huge compared to yours."

"Mike hasn't been taking female hormones for two years."

"Does it work any more?"

I shook my head.

"Only to pee."

We snuggled into bed, and I was asleep long after her. I smiled. I was in bed with a girl for the first time in my life and she was as safe as houses.

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