My phone woke me, having been set to go off at 7am by some other, much stupider version of me. I batted weakly at it until it shut up and pressed myself back into James’ chest. His arm was still wrapped around me like it had been all night, and I drew an almost animalistic comfort from it. I’d never woken up in the embrace of someone I loved before, and I wanted to indulge myself.

And, God, yes, I loved him. That was the last certainty to snap into place, confirmed by a night of gentle dreams and warmth. I never wanted this beautiful, mildly infuriating man to let go of me, couldn’t imagine a life without him. I felt a primal need to burrow into him, and so I did, pulling his arm more tightly around me. He moaned happily, unconsciously, and I lay there a while, gently stroking his fingers. His warm breath moistened my shoulder; his morning erection poked my butt. I arched my back, trying to extract myself from the ministrations of his dick while still maintaining full-body contact with the rest of him, but it didn’t work, so I reached down and slipped his penis back inside the lining of his underwear. I tried not to linger on the task, lest he wake up with my fingers on his boner and start getting ideas.

It was too early for ideas; too early even for vague concepts. I wanted nothing more than to stay in bed until my brain finished assembling something approaching a conscious mind out of the Lego bricks of id, ego, superego, newly-acquired knowledge about dresses, generalised embarrassment, and the detailed files a small but dedicated part of me was putting together about the exact way James’ dick had felt in my hand.

I let myself drift.

Gradually I woke up enough to realise my feet were cold, so I gathered the sheets around me from where they’d bunched up. A vague memory presented itself: at some point in the night I’d overheated, but rather than wriggle out of James’ embrace I’d thrown off half the covers. Once again I had to give unconscious Alex more points than regular Alex; of the two of us, she continued to make the better decisions.

There was that pronoun again. She. Still something I was getting used to. I liked the feeling of it, though.

She. She. She.

I squirmed a little. How had it taken me so long to come to such an obvious conclusion? I was a woman, and it was the most natural thing in the world.

I was a woman who needed to pee.

Fucksake.

Grudgingly I levered James’ arm off of me, slid out from under it and gently lowered it onto the mattress. With any luck I’d be able to get all the way out of bed without waking him. I took a moment to admire his sleeping body — and to wipe a little drool off his chin; adorable — and escaped to the bathroom.

~

I brushed my teeth and pissed at the same time. I’m a multitasker.

~

My junk was sufficiently sweaty (and residually sore) after a night in the horrible tucking underwear — which I was going to have to get used to wearing for the foreseeable future, I realised with a sigh; I wondered if you could get fast-tracked for surgery if you told the doctors you really really just hated tucking — that I decided I needed a shower before I did anything else. I removed the bra and boobs and put a shower cap on; going another day without washing my hair was pushing it, but I still hadn’t had time to read up on how to wash my extensions.

Unfortunately I caught my reflection in the mirror, and it made me a little dizzy; I was still uncomfortable with my nakedness. Without Ben’s little assistants, which I had become first surprisingly used to and then even more surprisingly reliant upon, I couldn’t lie to myself about the shape of my body any more. It was scrawny and narrow and sort of strangely taut and overall just not very pleasant to be in. I told myself firmly that I was going to be doing something about that very soon, and hopped in the shower, to cover the parts of me I didn’t like with soap.

When I was done I shrugged on a robe and left the bathroom to discover James snoring noisily. I fished a fresh bra and knickers out of my suitcase as quietly as I could, snapped a hair tie around my wrist, and returned to the bathroom to reattach my tits.

So much better. Strange how they made such a difference to my self-image. I blinked at myself a few times in the bathroom mirror, re-fixing my internal picture of myself as someone who looked like this and not like that other person, who’d been alarmingly negligent with her body and not fed it the sorts of things a growing body needs, like estrogen. The fake boobs quickly warmed to my body temperature in the steamy bathroom air, which helped with the sensation that they were a part of me. I couldn’t help giggling a little as I remembered thinking, a mere day or two ago, how much more convenient it would be for the whole modelling thing if I could grow my own, and suppressed a scowl as I realised I should never tell anyone I’d ever thought that or they’d start calling me an egg again.

Back to the bathroom mirror. My hair definitely needed a wash, but it wasn’t going to get one, so I pulled it back into a ponytail with one hand and posed, examining myself, trying to decide if putting my hair up this way or that way would make me look like a man. Shoving it all under a hat hadn’t, but my paranoia was nothing if not proactive.

Having finally accepted myself as a woman — and accepted that ‘passing’ was going to become a thing I should probably keep half an eye on, for safety’s sake if nothing else — I wasn’t the greatest fan of my hairline, but I realised as I shifted my hair around my head that it wasn’t too bad. I hadn’t receded, thank goodness, and while it was a little farther withdrawn at the temples than I’d prefer, it was probably still in the ‘normal’ range for a woman. I gave in to my paranoia a little, though, and teased a couple of locks out to frame my face and hide my temples, giving them a quick blast of hairspray after the rest of my hair was tied into place. A ponytail wouldn’t be as glamorous as my hair had been on Friday and Saturday, but at least it would help hide the extent to which my hair needed a good shampooing.

I frowned at my reflection: a few beard hairs were starting to poke through. I fought against another wave of vertigo — it was like every part of the whirlwind makeover Ben had dragged me though was starting to come apart — and took a deep breath, reminding myself I was going to be able to address this, too. Sternly I glared at myself in the mirror, squashed the unhelpful sensations, and set to dealing with the beard hairs, taking care to moisturise thoroughly after, lest Ben give me the same look he’d turned on me when he’d discovered I hadn’t been moisturising my legs.

As an afterthought, I also moisturised my legs.

~

Hot breath on the back of my neck broke my concentration. I looked up from the laptop screen and there was James, looking down on me like some sort of beautiful naked man.

“Hi,” he said, smiling.

“Hi,” I replied, craning my neck back in my chair, as far as it could go. He took the prompt and leaned down farther, enough to kiss me on the lips. God damn, he felt good. I reached up and caressed the scruffy hair on the back of his neck (and made a mental note to remind him to book a haircut when we got back to London). I scrunched my fingers into his skin.

He continued to kiss me. I continued to let him, writhing gently under his lips.

“Is that…?” he asked when he was done.

I opened my eyes and saw him squinting at the laptop. Grudgingly I let him go, letting my fingers stroke his cheek as I withdrew my hand. My neck was starting to get sore, anyway.

“Yeah,” I said. The web browser was open on the shopping cart for an online pharmacy, the one the FAQ had recommended. I’d loaded up the suggested drug cocktail and had been waiting for my courage to build up enough to make the ‘complete order’ button properly clickable.

James crouched down next to my chair and leaned against my bare legs. I’d slipped a top on when I’d come to sit down but I’d been too seized by the need to start making things happen in my transition to bother with trousers. Seeing those nascent facial hairs, seeing myself naked without the boobs or the pads, it had all bothered me, more than I’d expected. But when I’d sat down, looked up the details and filled the cart, something inside me got scared.

“‘Cyproterone acetate’,” he read off the screen, “and ‘estradiol valerate’. Hormones?”

I nodded. “The first one’s an anti-androgen, but yeah.”

“You’re definitely going through with it, then?” he said, doing that neutral thing with his voice again. I wondered if he was still feeling guilty about having ‘made’ me do all this.

“Yes,” I said, trying to sound more certain than I felt.

“Good,” James said, squeezing my bare thigh.

I dispelled the last of my doubts and clicked the button before any more could show up. The guy who’d talked to me on Reddit was right — as were the other handful of people who’d commented after I’d gone to bed — transition really was just a whole lot of little decisions, very few of which were final.

“You don’t look sure,” James said, frowning up at me. I must have been showing my emotions on my face again. Damnable habit.

“It’s just cold feet,” I said. “I want this, I really do. It’s just kind of scary. Making such a big change.” A whole lot of little changes, sure, but all rolled up together they were still pretty big.

“I’m proud of you, you know,” James said. He stood up and hooked a hand under my arm, guiding me out of my chair. “Come here.”

I fell into his arms, suddenly completely overwhelmed. My life was going to change so much, and while I wanted it — needed it — I couldn’t claim it wasn’t intimidating. James encircled me and I hugged him back as hard as I could, not realising I was crying until my cheeks wettened.

“Oh, James,” I said into his shoulder.

“Sshh, Alex,” he whispered.

I still loved it when he said my name.

“I don’t know what’s going to happen,” I said. “I’m going to change and I know what’s supposed to happen but it’s still— it’s still—”

“It’s still change,” he said. “And change is scary. Even when you want it. You do still want it, yes?”

“I want it,” I promised. “God, I want it.”

“Then,” he said, tightening his hold on me, “whatever happens, and however you change, I’ll be right there with you.”

I buried myself in him.

~

I don’t know how long we stood there like that, holding each other. James stroked my spine, whispered quiet reassurances into my ears, and I just leaned into him, made him my world. He let me have all the time I needed, and when I finally came up for air I felt clear. Unafraid.

Less afraid, anyway.

I pulled away from him a little, enough to look up at his face, and smiled to let him know I was okay. He smiled back.

“Thanks,” I said.

“Any time,” he replied, and kissed me on the forehead.

“Sorry I’m a basket case.”

He rested his chin gently against my head. “As long as you’re my basket case.”

“For as long as you want me,” I said. I wasn’t quite able to dispel the fear that he’d drop me as soon as a real woman came along, and—

I cut myself off. Paranoia was unhelpful. And it’s ‘cis woman’, you dork, I added to myself.

He looked down at me again, smiling gently. “Do you still mean everything you said last night?” he said. “Not just about transitioning; about me? About us?”

I met his eyes. “Every word. Even the stuff I said that made me sound like a complete idiot. Maybe especially that stuff.” I blinked, and braced myself. “Do you still mean what you said?”

He kissed me again. “Yes,” he said. “Even more so now than I did last night.”

~

James, claiming he was ‘cold’ or some nonsense like that, had put a top on, against my protestations. I told him he was making an unwise decision, that he should walk around in just his underwear for his health, like they do in Scandinavian countries, but he saw through my clever ruse somehow. He’d kissed me — possibly to shut me up; he was nothing if not devilishly cunning like that — and sat me back down, making promises about coffee.

I watched him fight with the cafetiere and I pondered. I was glad to have the online pharmacy order done, to have taken a concrete step towards proper, real transition. If the facial hair was going to grow back, if the extensions eventually would fall out, if I had to look at my unadorned body every time I had a shower, at least I’d have the medication waiting for me.

By this evening I’d have left this strange little bubble I’d been living in the last few days, utterly changed in so many ways — or, I supposed more accurately, simply cognisant of the person I’d always been but never been forced to recognise — and I’d have to face up to whatever living the real world was going to be like, as a transgender woman. Intimidating.

James put a cup of coffee down on the desk in front of me, and I blinked, realising I’d zoned out. He’d been talking and I’d completely missed it.

“Thanks,” I said, “and sorry: I was miles away. What were you saying?”

He pulled up a chair and sat down next to me, close enough that our bare legs could touch.

“It’s fine,” he said. “I asked if you wanted to get a blood test organised for next week.”

“Why so soon?” I asked. I’d loaded my online shopping cart with what the internet promised was the usual dose given to newly-transitioning trans women, and I’d assumed that would be that until I worked my way through the system and eventually got to see an actual doctor about it.

“I had a thought,” he said, “so I did a bit of Googling.” He brandished his phone. I tried not to sigh; he could be dangerous with that thing. “So, you pass really easily, right? With just makeup and hair and stuff, but without, uh, hormonal intervention. It wasn’t difficult for people to start seeing you as a woman.” He coughed. “It, uh, definitely wasn’t difficult for me to start seeing you as a woman.”

“Yes,” I said slowly, drawing out the vowel. I had to grant that I’d had it incredibly easy.

“And, honestly, looking at you without any makeup on right now, you still pass,” he said.

I looked away. I felt obscurely bad about that, like I’d been handed a gift I hadn’t worked for, or something. “Yeah,” I said, “but I still don’t really understand how.”

“I mean,” James said, “I don’t think you ever really saw yourself properly before. You always thought you looked younger than your age, and because that’s what you always complained about I always went along with it, but… Okay, hear me out: I think you might have unusual hormone levels for a, um, for an assigned male your age.” Yeah, he’d definitely been Googling, or possibly just reading the same subreddits I had but with a clearer head; ‘assigned male’ was another new term, albeit one that was easy enough to guess the meaning of. “Maybe low testosterone, maybe something else.”

He had a point. “Maybe,” I said. “So you think I should have a blood test to establish, what, my base levels before I start medication? In case the doses I have coming are all wrong?” He nodded. “How long would that take?” I didn’t want to wait any longer than I had to.

James held up his phone again. “Like I said before, although I guess you weren’t listening—” I mouthed sorry at him and he bapped me gently with his phone, “—I was doing some reading and I came up with a plan. Subject to your approval, of course.”

I rolled my eyes, but returned his grin. “Let’s hear it, then.”

“So,” he said, scrolling through the document he’d obviously been working on while I’d been away with the fairies, “you get a blood test to establish baseline hormone levels first thing on Monday. We can register you with the health service I use and then it’s just a matter of asking for all this.” He showed me the screen and thumbed through a list of medical-looking words. “The results ought to be ready before your pills come, so when we get them we consult—” he squinted at his phone, “—the_hormone_wizard on Reddit if your levels look significantly different to these—” he showed me the screen again; fucking hell, he had charts and diagrams, “—and you can hopefully start your regimen immediately. Now, the private gender clinic usually responds to booking requests within forty-eight hours, so by Wednesday…” He trailed off. “Are you okay?”

My ears were whistling. I gripped my reassuringly-solid coffee mug. “I’m a little dizzy,” I admitted.

“Sorry,” he said. “I’m going too fast, aren’t I?”

“No!” I said quickly. “I want to go fast. It’s just… a lot of information.”

“You don’t think I’m taking decisions out of your hands because I think I can make them better than you can?” he asked.

“What? Is that— That sounds like a quote.”

“Just something an ex told me,” he said. “I’m trying to watch out for it.”

“Don’t worry,” I said, “I’m grateful. I honestly think it’s better to have your… organisational assistance.” I grimaced. “You saw how long it took me to hit go on the HRT order. What would I be like if I had to book appointments unaided? I know exactly what I want and I’m still liable to panic over each and every step.”

“Alex,” he said, putting his phone down and fixing me with a serious look, “I’ll help as much as I can. As much as you’ll let me. I’ll be overbearing and insistent and extremely annoying but I want you to promise me: if I start pushing you to do something you don’t want to do, or even something you don’t want to do yet, you’ll tell me. Right?”

“I will,” I said.

“I got extremely lucky that what I wanted from you this weekend happened to coincide with what you wanted as well, but I’m very aware that—”

“I promise,” I interrupted. “I won’t do anything I don’t want to do, no matter how insistent you are. For example.” I set my coffee down on the desk and moved my chair right up next to his, so I could kiss him on the lips. “There. I wanted to do that.”

“Did you now?” he said, grinning.

“Yes.” I kissed him again, but this time he caught me before I could lean away and kept me pressed to him. With a hand on my back he stood us both up. I think my chair fell over behind me, but I wasn’t sure. My attention was kind of elsewhere.

“Is there anything else you want to do?” he asked.

The hand on my back slipped under my top, and the sensation of his fingers against my spine galvanised something inside me. I pushed towards him, making him take a step back, and another, and another, my lips almost reaching his every time, until his legs touched the side of the bed and he fell backwards onto the mattress. I followed him, angling sideways slightly so we both hit the bed at the same time, but I didn’t give up my advantage.

I reached behind his head and took the scruff of his neck in my hand, pulling his head forwards to meet mine.

“Yes,” I said again, and kissed him.

God, I never wanted to let go of him. I kissed him and kissed him, messily and urgently, holding his head exactly where I wanted it, pushing against his body with my own. I felt myself react, down there, inside my knickers, but it didn’t deter me this time; I reached down with my other hand, slipped it inside his underwear, and began to massage the base of his penis. I was pleased to find it already standing to attention.

“Alex, are you—?” he started to say, but I interrupted him with another kiss. I released his head and pulled off his t-shirt, marvelling at the way it slid across his chest. Leaning away from him, I was rewarded with the sight of his naked upper body and it ignited me further. I continued to stroke his dick, delighting in the way it felt under my fingers.

His eyes widened; I took advantage of his hesitation to kiss him again, and then with gentle pressure on his shoulders I guided him back to the edge of the bed, making him sit up. He watched me, obviously wondering what I was planning.

What I was planning was this: I kissed him on the lips, then on the chin, then on his clavicle, then down his chest and stomach. I let him go, stepped off the bed and, without breaking eye contact, kneeled down. I put my thumbs inside the elastic of his underwear and pulled it down.

I hadn’t been prepared for what the sight of his dick would do to me. If I’d been excited before, seeing it bare and erect electrified me in a way I’d never known was possible. Before I even thought about what I was doing I leaned forward and took it into my mouth.

It tasted salty, and maybe a little stale — he hadn’t showered yet — but honestly it was pretty okay. It filled most of my mouth, and I found I couldn’t take all of it so I settled for letting my hand do some of the work. I massaged the base of his penis with my fingers while I licked and caressed the tip with my lips and tongue. Judging by the sounds James started making, it was the right approach. God, I was making him happy, and it felt good.

My own dick quirked in its tight little trap, but I didn’t care about it any more; I was already too far gone. I reached down with my other hand and started stroking myself, through the fabric of my underwear. If I didn’t have to engage directly with the thing, all to the better. I let the friction of the fabric do the work for me, pushing against my crotch and rubbing hard, feeling myself stiffen and flex.

James had one hand in my hair now, bumping up against my pony tail and rhythmically pushing against my neck. I took it as a guide and kept time with him with my fingers and tongue, firmly stroking his dick at the base and tip with my nails and my tongue. James let out a noise I’d never heard from him before, and his other hand dug nails-deep into my shoulder. He pushed my head forward, shoving his dick farther into my mouth, almost too far. I didn’t want to gag, so I pushed back with all my strength, and when I was comfortable I splayed my hand around the shaft of his penis and used my finger and thumb to shorten the length that could be forced into my mouth. I didn’t think I would have been strong enough to push against both his arms normally, but he was trembling, so I had the advantage.

He kept squeezing and stroking my neck and shoulder, and I kept up my ministrations in rhythm with his, rubbing myself through my underwear in time, but as the pressure started to build in my spine I couldn’t help going faster. Locked together, we moved as one.

He made another noise, higher-pitched than before, and it took me a second to realise that it’d been me who moaned that time. Involuntarily, hungrily. Free of the concern that he might accidentally shove his dick all the way down my neck, I unclenched my throat and jaw muscles, and my movements became looser, more relaxed, but still in time with his. My fingers pinched and pushed on my dick, through the underwear, and the pressure in my back became heat, a spreading warmth that concentrated in my head, my chest and my crotch. I arched my back, leaned forward, took him as far into my mouth as I could — I think in that moment I would have swallowed him whole — and my knickers wetted and my legs went limp. My shoulders clenched and I had to stop myself from biting down, managing instead just to push forward on his dick, running the length of my tongue, all the way to the back of my throat, against the head of his penis.

James started making unconscious, quiet noises, faster and faster. In my orgasmic glow, they sounded like the sexiest thing I’d ever heard. Now that I was spent I took his penis up with both hands, putting gentle pressure on the base with my thumbs and concentrating on extracting every bit of pleasure I could get out of him with my mouth. Moments later he shuddered, gripped my neck tightly again, and ejaculated.

I was so surprised, I swallowed it.

~

We lay side by side on the bed. James had flopped back after we’d disentangled ourselves, and inched up the bed until he was comfortable. I’d followed him and curled up against him, in full post-orgasm mode. I just wanted to cuddle.

Plus my knees hurt.

“Oh my God,” James said.

“Was it okay?” I asked. Performance anxiety after my first blow job; hurrah.

He rolled his eyes. “It was really okay,” he said, after making me wait a few agonising seconds.

“Good,” I said, and kissed him on the cheek. “Never done that before.”

“I feel like we should, um, do you now,” James said slowly, still sounding a little stoned.

I blushed. Absurd that I could still manage embarrassment under such conditions, but I’m talented like that. “I, uh, did myself,” I said. “During.”

“Oh. I didn’t notice. I feel kind of bad about that.”

I reached out for a pillow and beat him with it. He was going to have to stop feeling so guilty all the time. “Yes,” I explained, “you’re definitely an inattentive lover because I was doing extra stuff to myself completely out of your line of sight. It’s fine, really.” I kissed him again, to seal the deal, and squirmed a little as the movement made my damp knickers impinge on my consciousness. I needed to change my underwear. “Besides,” I added, “I don’t know if I’m ready to use my, um, my—”

“Got it,” he said, saving me from having to talk about my dick in front of him. “We could always try…?”

His complex mimes were absolutely opaque to me but I was pretty sure I knew what he was getting at all the same. “Anal?” I guessed. He nodded, and had the good grace to look embarrassed himself. Ever since I’d started presenting as a woman I got to see the sheepish, unsure side of James, and I liked it: he was cute when he was flustered. “Between the heels and the uncomfortable underwear I’m walking funny enough, thanks,” I said. “Maybe when we get back home?” Apart from anything else, I needed time to hit the internet and find out the exact mechanics of it. The idea of anal sex was intimidating, but millions of people did it, so it had to be pleasurable to be on the receiving end.

Hah. If the kids at school who gave me shit for being gay could hear what I was thinking. If they could see what I just did. I laughed.

James looked like he was about to say something, but his phone alarm went off. “Fuck,” he said, reaching over to silence it. “It’s eight thirty. Time to be responsible adults.”

“Ugh,” I commented. “Don’t wanna.” I licked my lips. “Hey, do we have any orange juice? I have this strange taste in my mouth and I have no idea how it got there.”

He hit me with the pillow.

~

“Where’s Ben, anyway?” I asked James while he showered. I’d rinsed my junk, found a clean pair of underwear, and finished a whole bottle of horrifically-expensive orange juice from the minibar. Now I was just hanging out in the bathroom. “Shouldn’t he be here by now to make me look pretty?”

James stuck his head out from behind the frosted shower glass and made a show of looking me up and down. “Like you need any help with that.”

“I’ll have you know I degrade without professional assistance. Like Cinderella. I require regular ministrations from a drag queen.”

“A ‘performance artist in the medium of drag’,” James corrected, muffled again by the shower. From the sound of his coughing, I think he got water in his mouth while he was trying to be clever.

“I’ll go text him,” I decided, and left the bathroom to do just that. James started singing while I was gone, so I popped back into the bathroom to tease him for his choice of song, which was ‘Lost in the Supermarket’, before I texted Ben.

Ben’s reply was prompt: Sorry. Running late.

It’s fine, I replied. I’m getting ready now.

I chucked the phone on the bed and returned to the bathroom, in time to see James getting out of the shower, which was entirely the sight I’d been in there for in the first place. Naked, glistening, stepping out into a room misty with vapour, James looked like someone out of one of those movies that make teen girls form violently opposed shipping factions, and I wanted nothing more than to leap on him. Time was pressing, though, so I made do with giving him a kiss and a towel.

“Ben’s running late,” I said when we were done, “so I’m going to make a start on my face.”

“Okay,” James said, and pecked me on the lips as punctuation. “I’ll be out in a minute.”

I slipped the third and thankfully final show dress out of its bag and regarded it for a moment. It was just as horrifically bright blue and shiny as the other two had been, not that I had been expecting anything different. I sighed and laid it on the bed. Then it was time for the hip pads, which I found myself resenting: if I looked fine, fine enough for James, without the extra padding, then I didn’t want to have to put them just to look like I ‘should’. Besides, I’d be growing my own soon enough, although if what I read online was anything to go by, mine were unlikely to grow quite so much.

I felt realigned somewhat, like I’d come to an accommodation with my body. It would change, and that was good, but maybe it wasn’t so awful to inhabit right now.

Then again, it might have just been the post-orgasmic glow.

I examined my body in the mirror, and decided it would do for now. And if I was always going to be a little wider in the shoulder than the hip, then that was okay. Anything but wear foundation garments a minute longer than I had to.

I sighed and pulled on the pads, arranged them to spec, and covered them with the dress. I was sponging foundation around my jawline when James appeared, wearing suit trousers and a shirt which he had, to his credit, not yet buttoned up.

“Hey,” he said, and kissed me on the top of my head.

I waved him away. “Hi, now go away and let me concentrate.”

In the makeup mirror, I saw him frown. “I thought you were supposed to use a brush for that.”

I brandished my blender at him. “You know how long I’ve been doing my own makeup,” I said. “Brushes are advanced class. But anyone can do this.” I spotted a smudge by my nose, and got to work on it. “Almost anyone.”

He left me alone after that, and ten minutes later I had what I thought was a creditable impression of Ben’s makeup job from Friday and Saturday. Perhaps a little iffy in the fine details, but I didn’t think I looked like someone who didn’t know what she was doing. Not entirely, anyway.

I stood up, and posed for James, who hadn’t managed so much as to button his shirt.

“How do I look?” I asked.

“Wonderful,” James said, putting down his phone and favouring me with a generous smile.

I took a step toward him. “Good enough for the show floor?” My confidence faltered. “I don’t want to look crap next to Emily.”

James stood up and came over so he could inspect me close-up. “Definitely good enough,” he said. “You look amazing.”

I couldn’t help smiling. “Thanks,” I whispered.

“Aren’t you going to let your hair down?”

“Oh, uh, yeah,” I said. “No. It kind of needs a wash, but I don’t want to fuck up the extensions, so I put it up. Do you think it’s okay?”

James nodded. “Absolutely,” he said, with feeling. “You look… kind of sexy, actually.”

I took another step forward, erasing the distance between us. “Just ‘kind of’ sexy?” I asked with a grin.

“Okay, very sexy,” he said, putting a hand on each of my shoulders to stop my advance. “Makes you look like a hot librarian or teacher or something.”

I laughed. “Did you, by any chance, have a crush on the geography teacher at school?”

James smiled. “Maths teacher. She wore her hair in a pony just like that, and had these little sweaters…” He trailed off.

“Buy me a little sweater,” I said, standing on tip-toes so I could be closer to his face, and continued in a sultry whisper, “and I’ll make you solve equations.”

I went in for the kiss at that point, but we were both dissolving into giggles at the bad-romance-movie sexiness, and it was kind of sloppy. He kissed me on the forehead instead, and I nuzzled against him.

“I love you, Alex,” he whispered.

I looked up at him again. “I love you, too,” I replied, and we kissed properly that time.

“Hi, kids,” Ben said. “Alex! You’re glowing.”

~

“I’m sorry to have to tell you,” Ben said in the same hectoring tone of voice Tory politicians use when they’re explaining that there aren’t any hospital beds left because they’ve all been sold to Richard Branson and that’s poor people’s fault somehow, “you messed up your makeup.”

I frowned. Ben had sat me back down at the little desk and almost immediately started working on me with the remover pads. “I thought I did okay,” I said, trying not to sound disappointed.

“Oh, no,” Ben said, “you did fine. But I still have to fix it because after you did fine you let that one over there kiss your lipstick all over your face.”

That One Over There paused in doing his tie long enough to say, “Hey!”

“Congratulations, by the way,” Ben said, smiling. “I was wondering when you’d get over yourselves.”

“Oi!” I said, and kicked him. I was still in bare feet, so mostly I only hurt my toes. “Don’t reduce my voyage of personal discovery to ‘getting over myself’.”

Ben trapped me with a look. “That first night? The first time you saw each other? I knew more or less how this was going to turn out. The rest of it is just… details.”

“Oh, uh, yeah,” I said, “speaking of details. And please don’t say, ‘I told you so,’ or anything like that, okay?” Ben just looked at me; I couldn’t meet his eyes. “I’m transgender. I’m going to transition.”

He sat back. “Thank. Fucking. God.”

“You knew that, too?” James said, sitting on the edge of the bed. “Why didn’t you tell me? Or her?”

“I knew something was up,” Ben said to James. He looked back at me. “No straight cis man wears a dress as well and as calmly as you did. But I didn’t know if you were gay, trans, secretly into crossdressing… And I didn’t tell either of you—” he waggled a finger at James, “—because you can’t rush this kind of stuff. I might have chased her right back into the closet. Would Wednesday’s Alex have responded well to me asking if she was a trans woman?”

“Wednesday’s Alex was full of shit,” I said. “So no, probably not.”

“Well then.”

That sentiment earned Ben a hug, but I was worried I’d mess up my makeup again, so I settled for smiling and blowing him a kiss.

~

Emily linked up with us in the lobby while we waited for our Uber, saving me from the conversation Ben and James were having about me. I caught her eye as she emerged from the elevator, and found us a quiet corner together. I had to unlink my arm from James’ to get away; I prayed to any gods who might be paying attention I’d managed to do so before she noticed. I wasn’t sure I was ready for the conversation it might prompt.

“So,” Emily said, gathering her long coat around her so it hid most of the bright blue MCAC dress from view, “that’s new.”

Damn. I felt my whole body blush again. “Yeah,” I said sheepishly. “We kind of got together last night.” I was jealous of Emily’s coat; I’d forgotten mine, and between my dress and my blush I was easily the most brightly-coloured thing in the lobby.

“Really?” Emily said, putting her whole body into that one word. “Bit of a turnaround for Miss ‘I’m not into guys’. How was it?”

I couldn’t suppress my smile. “He came up to my room last night in a bit of a state, and found me also in a bit of a state. We talked it over, decided that, yes, we were into each other and we were both idiots for running away from it, especially me, and he… stayed the night. We didn’t actually do anything until this morning.”

Thinking back on it, it was hard not to melt. No-one else had ever made me feel a fraction as energised; no-one else had ever made me feel so hungry for them. Just thinking about his naked body made me ache to put my hands on him again… I started to stiffen in my underwear, and quickly changed the subject.

“But that’s not what I wanted to talk to you about,” I continued. “Are you still interested in coming to work with us, as an engineer? We’re going to need good ones more than ever if this new contract comes through for us.”

Her face lit up. We spent the rest of the wait for the Uber discussing the sort of work she’d be getting involved in, the NDA she’d have to sign, the length and nature of the trial period, and whether or not James was likely to hit on her, too (I reassured her, probably not).

As if summoned by name, James appeared. He put his arms around me from behind and I sank into him, squeezing his arms around my belly, which pulled the already-snug fabric of the dress tighter, which pulled on the hip pads, which pulled on the tucking knickers, and what I’m getting at here is he started a chain reaction inside me, and I had to put a stop to it before I ripped his clothes off right there in the lobby.

I pushed his arms away, twirled around to face him, and nipped up to kiss him on the lips before he could register his surprise.

“Hello,” he said, when I released him.

“Hi,” I said.

“Good morning,” Emily said, reminding us both of her presence.

“Whoops,” I mouthed to James, and turned around to smile an apology at Emily. She winked at me.

“What I came to say,” James said, sounding a little flustered, “is the car is here.”

~

Between the four of us we were too many for the back of the car, so we banished James to the passenger seat. I, as the shortest, naturally got put in the middle, crammed in between Ben and Emily and thoroughly uncomfortable. I pulled the lap-belt as loosely over myself as I could; I still hadn’t quite recovered from my bout of James-related lust in the lobby. I’d have to be more careful about that, at least until I learned a bit more self-control. I finally understood why some of my friends had seemed so uncontrollably horny earlier in our teen years; I’d been nonplussed at the time, but it turned out I was just as bad as them once I met someone who flipped all my switches. Shame it had to finally happen for me while I was supposed to be a professional adult.

I thought of unsexy things. Self-control sucked.

“Miss Swan,” James said from the front seat, “did I overhear Miss Brewer discussing the arrangements for next week with you?” Great. I was ‘Miss Brewer’ again; James was clearly in a cheeky mood.

“You did,” Emily replied. “I’m looking forward to—”

She was interrupted by a strange, tortured rumbling sound, which after a few moments resolved into an unmistakably gastric growl. We all identified the source at roughly the same time and turned as one to look at Ben.

“Sorry,” Ben said. “I missed breakfast.”

My belly, reminded of the existence of food, echoed his. “Same here,” I said.

“You didn’t miss breakfast, Alex,” James said, turning around to blast me with a grin. I wasn’t sure exactly what he meant until Ben leaned forward and clipped him round the ear.

“Behave,” Ben said.

“She had quite the—” James managed before Ben hit him again.

I hugged myself and blushed. Emily nudged me and asked in a loud whisper if I wanted her to take James out to the back of the expo and shoot him, which prompted a round of protests from James and more violence from Ben.

The Uber driver took our bullshit in companionable silence, but rolled her eyes sympathetically when she saw me looking at her in the rear-view mirror. I rolled mine in response, and gave her five stars and a very large tip.

~

Sunday at our booth was characterised by short periods of intense activity interspersed with long periods of boredom, like a war but with slightly sillier outfits. The expo was winding down, with most of the journalists and reps already having succumbed to the weight of booze and takeaway food they’d consumed over the long weekend.

“So, did you really go down on him?” Emily asked me, between groups of attendees.

“I didn’t mean to,” I said, looking at the floor. “I was just kind of, you know, swept up in the moment. We were kissing and I suddenly wanted to take it further.” I smiled. “I liked making him happy.”

“You’re glowing, you know.”

“I know,” I said wretchedly. “Ben already tortured me with that.”

“It’s adorable.”

“It’s all the embarrassment. I swear I’ve blushed more in the last week than I have the entire rest of my life. It doesn’t help that teasing me is apparently James’ mission in life.”

“Are you two officially together now? Like, a couple?”

“I think so,” I said, frowning. I was pretty sure we were. We hadn’t actually said we were going to be boyfriend and girlfriend — wow, that was a strange word to apply to myself; the latest of many — but it had been implied in the strongest terms. “It’s not been said out loud,” I added. “But he said he loved me.” At that, my apparent outer glow was joined by an inner one.

“That sounds pretty certain, then,” Emily said, giving me a quick one-armed hug. “Welcome to dating men!” She held up a warning finger. “Expect aggravation.”

I shrugged. “I’ll just kick him every time he’s a jerk until he gets the message.”

She grinned. “He’s looking at you, by the way.”

I turned around, and he was. He was on the phone, and waved me over as soon as he saw I was facing him.

“Can you talk to Soph?” he said, when I arrived.

“Why?” I said warily, but he didn’t reply, just wordlessly held out his phone. I took it. “Sophie?”

“Alex!” she shrieked, mercifully moderated by the phone’s speaker. “James told me everything!”

“How much of everything?” I leaned on James; he put his arm around my shoulder.

“You two had sex!” she yelled, in a voice so loud it was slightly clipped by the limited dynamic range of the signal.

I sighed. James had probably heard that. “Yes, we did,” I said. James squeezed me; I appreciated it.

“That’s wonderful!” she enthused. “So does that mean you’re going to, um, transition?”

“I think I already have,” I said. “But yes—” I looked around to make sure I wasn’t likely to be overheard by anyone who didn’t know my secret, “—I’ll be doing all the medical stuff and everything. And before you ask, I’m not going to break his heart, Sophie. Not unless he breaks mine, first.” I looked up at James and he made very reassuring facial expressions down at me.

“Good. Now, I wanted to ask you something.” Oh God. “I’d like to get to know you properly, if you’re going to be my cousin-in-law. Cousin-in-law? Is that the term? Anyway. I wanted your permission to come stay a while, down in London.”

I blinked. “Oh, uh, sure, I suppose, if James agrees, too.”

“I do,” James whispered.

“Don’t worry,” Sophie said, “I’ll get a hotel. I’m sure you two will want your privacy.”

I hadn’t thought my blush could get any deeper, but it turned out that repeatedly talking to people about my sex life could manage it. You could have fried a whole breakfast on me.

“Um, thank you,” I said.

“What are you going to do about James’ family?” Sophie asked. “They’ve already met you as, um, ‘boy Alex’.”

“Fuck,” I said. “One crisis at a time, maybe?” James frowned. I mouthed ‘family’ at him, and he grimaced.

“Sorry!” she said quickly. “Yes, of course. James never sees his dad unless his dad imposes on him, anyway, and I can’t imagine his mum will mind.”

“Oh God,” I realised. “I’m going to have to figure out what to tell my family.” This is what living in a strange, Birmingham-based alternate universe for a few days does to you: you forget about all the little inconveniences of life, like a mother who might object to you growing breasts.

James kissed me on the top of my head. It was still ridiculous he could do that even with me in heels.

“If there’s anything I can do, let me know,” she said, apparently sincerely.

“Moral support,” I said firmly. “Just… be present when I have to see people for the first time, so it’s not just me and James?”

“I’m at your disposal. Oops, must go!” she added. “I have to see a lady about a thing before I leave Birmingham.”

The line went dead before I could say goodbye. My shoulders sagged with released tension; even on the phone, Sophie was a bit much. I gave James his phone back and slumped against him.

“What am I going to do about my family, James?” I whispered into his shoulder. The thought was getting more intimidating the longer it lingered in my brain.

“We’ll work it out together,” he said, and kissed me. “Do you need to take a break?”

I shook myself. “No,” I said. “I’m okay. And I’ll be okay.”

“Good,” he said, and kissed me again. “And sorry about before, in the car. I’m just a little giddy, that’s all.”

I smiled at that. “I am, too,” I said. “And you don’t need to apologise. I can cope with a little teasing, as long as you understand that next time you crack a joke at my expense I’ll kick you in the knee.”

“Understood.”

~

By the end of the day I was so tired I could barely stand. The three days of the expo, the swept-off-my-feet madness before it, and all the sudden changes I’d undergone had all formed into a gigantic weight that was pressing down on me, and I wanted to sleep for a hundred years. Preferably next to James.

I leaned against him as we watched Kit, Mark and Ben take the stand apart. Emily, looking almost as tired as I felt, was slumped on a stool next to Kristen and Maria and three women Emily knew who’d been working at a booth on the other side of the hall. They were sharing the last of Emily’s jelly babies and various other small treats, and between them they’d dumped a pile of discarded shoes like a funeral pyre. Kristen saw me looking and smiled. I gave her a little wave.

I’d kept my own shoes on, uncomfortable though they were after so many hours on my feet; I needed them so I could lean on James and not end up with my face in his armpit.

Despite my exhaustion, I felt at peace. I’d met myself for the first time, really gotten to know myself, filled in all the missing parts of my personal jigsaw puzzle. Sure, I had a journey in front of me, and quite a long one, but I had people who had promised to help me, I had a boyfriend who drove me crazy (in several different ways) and, most importantly, I finally had a map.

“Weird weekend, really,” James said. He was slowly stroking my bare shoulder with his fingers.

“You know,” I said, “I thought if the expo went really well for us, if we found a big buyer for our software, there was a possibility this weekend could change my life. I never expected… this.”

“You’re happy, though, right?” James said.

I squeezed him. “Happier than I’ve ever been.”

“Good.”

We watched the boys continue to dismantle the stand.

“You’ll come with me to the doctor, won’t you?” I said.

“Of course,” James said. “I want to share this whole process with you. I mean, not to the point of joining in, but—”

I laughed. “You’d better not,” I said. I didn’t like the idea of James becoming a girl. I wanted him to stay exactly the way he was. Except perhaps with fewer clothes on.

I felt him take a deep breath. “So,” he said, “when we get back to London, do you want to come back to my place?”

“Sure,” I said. There was nothing I wanted at my flat, anyway; just a cold, empty bed, drawers full of clothes I no longer needed, a life I no longer wanted.

“I mean, do you want to come back to my place to stay?” he said, with an embarrassed little cough. “I can, uh, clear out some space in my wardrobe and everything.”

I leaned away from him so I could look him in the eye.

“James Ian McCain,” I said. “Are you asking me to move in with you?”

He looked away, at the empty spot where our booth had been, where Ben and Kit and Mark were dragging boxes of equipment out towards the doors, chatting, laughing.

“I mean, if you want to,” he said awkwardly. “Do you want to?”

I stood on tip-toes, my heels popping out of my shoes, and whispered in his ear, “Yes.”