Keep Practising

Chapter One

"Oh, I thought you'd be a man."

I sighed. It wasn't the first time, and it probably wouldn't be the last time I would hear those words. With my slight build, narrow face, long dark hair held in a ponytail as per Health and Safety regulations, and topped off with the Corby's Plumbing baseball cap, I looked, to say the least, androgynous. It wasn't unusual for me to be mistaken for a girl, so I flashed a smile at the woman and asked her where her stopcock was.

Women always expect the plumber to be a man. They have greeted me at the front door with way too many of their buttons undone, skirts so short I could see their knickers, and on one occasion a blonde dressed in a see-through blouse. Bored housewives exist, and the porn fuelled vision of a hunky plumber coming to fix their leak is apparently alive and well.

Of course, as soon as the women saw me and decided they didn't want me fiddling with their personal plumbing, the buttons quickly done up and skirts changed for something less revealing. The one time it didn't happen was when an attractive, well-dressed lady opened the door. She seemed surprised and pleased to find a girl plumber. As I struggled with the innards of her boiler, she went upstairs and returned wearing a loose housecoat which fell open to reveal stockings and a lacy bra. But, and I swear this is true, she was going commando. She sat and watched me closely as I took the boiler apart and kept crossing her legs. She asked if I had a boyfriend, and when I said no, did I have a girlfriend.

I was lying with my head in a kitchen cabinet trying to test the flow valve, and when I slid back out to reach for my spanner, she was standing right over me, legs apart, her pussy bald and glistening. Was I hungry and did I fancy something to eat, she coyly asked. Now, I would be a liar if I said it didn't tempt me, but I think she would have been a tad disappointed with my personal plumbing system. I told her I had just got married and my wife had given me something to eat this morning. Was I sure? Surely a little nibble wouldn't do any harm? I thanked her, politely declined her kind offer, and disappeared back into the cabinet.

I finished, tidied up, and packed my tools away when she came back into the kitchen. She had changed back into a dress and was looking every bit the suburban housewife. As I left, she kissed me on the cheek and said my wife was extremely lucky to have a girl like me, but if I ever fancied eating out, to call her. I didn't say anything, these days I never do. When I started, I would tell them I was a guy, but it happened so often that in the end I stopped correcting them and let them think whatever they wanted to. We only see what we want to see, after all. Of course, I'm not married, but a little white lie hurt no one, did it?

The Corby in Corby's Plumbing is my dad. It's his business. It's not big; we have about 15 employees, but have an excellent reputation and the business is doing well. He hadn't wanted me to follow in his footsteps, but I had a bad time at school and left as soon as I could. He reluctantly let me join the company as an apprentice. I believe he thought I wasn't man enough to do the job, but it merely spurred me on to prove him wrong. My small size was actually a benefit sometimes. I could get into spaces the bigger guys found difficult. I did well, learning everything about the business I could, and finally showing my dad I could do the job properly and to the standards he set for me. Standards, incidentally, higher than the ones he expected from the other guys, and if I couldn't get something right, he would say, "Keep practising."

One day, he took me outside the small yard and office from where we ran the business, put his arm around my shoulder and pointed to the sign above the gate. For as long as I could remember, the sign simply read Corby's Plumbing. Today it read Corby & Son, Plumbing & Heating Engineers.

I turned and hugged him. I knew how big a thing this was for him, and I was pleased he was proud enough of me to do this. We went to the pub to celebrate and for the first time I can ever remember he got drunk.

"You know we haven't always seen eye to eye, but that's in the past and I am proud of you." Tears pricked the corners of my eyes. He grinned, "Get away with you lad, and fetch me another pint."

By the time we got back to his house, he was plastered. It didn't take a lot, to be honest, which is why he normally stayed away from the booze. I got him indoors with Mum's help and sat him on the sofa. Mum was laughing her head off.

"Do you need any help to get him upstairs, Mum?"

"He's not sleeping next to me in that state. He can sleep it off down here. Are you staying here tonight, or going back to your place?"

"I'll go home tonight, Mum, but I'll be over Sunday for lunch."

She hugged me as I left. "José, never forget we are proud of you and we love you."

I kissed her cheek. "Love you, Mum. Dad too."

Yes, that's my name, José. José Bernard Corby in full. Mum is from Barcelona, and she got to choose my first name. She told me once she had almost called me Jesus after her grandfather who fought against Franco in the Civil War, but Dad had put his foot down, and José it was. Dad chose Bernard after his father. My parents had met at a party when Mum was an au pair over here, and although they are opposites of each other in character and build, there was an instant attraction.

I get my looks from my mother, who is small and dark, with flashing eyes and a fiery temper. Whenever she gets angry, she bursts into rapid Catalan. Dad and I know to stay out of her way when it happens. She had been a stunner when she was young. In their wedding photographs, she looked so beautiful wearing her mother's lace mantilla. She will always be beautiful in my eyes. I have her build and looks, but my character comes from Dad. He's quieter, more laid back, but stubborn as a mule. They run the business together; Dad does the plumbing side and Mum looks after the admin and the books. They complement each other and somehow make it work.

I made my way back to the flat I had been renting ever since I moved away from home. Taking off my work shoes, I put them neatly by the door. I'm OCD about being neat and tidy, and I can't bear it if my place is anything less than spick and span. I shrugged off my overalls and put them in the laundry bin along with the t-shirt, underwear and socks I had been wearing. Taking off the scrunchie holding my hair back, I ran the bath and tipped some bath foam in before lowering myself in for a nice long soak. It's one of my guilty pleasures to lie back and soak away the stresses and strains of the day, letting the kinks ease out of my body caused by crawling around in tight spaces all day.

Eventually, I had to get out of the bath before I looked like a prune. I dried myself off, wrapped a towel around me, and headed for the bedroom. I thought about what to wear, as all I intended to do was order a pizza and watch Netflix. I kept it simple and picked out one of my favourite short cotton nightdresses and pulled on a pair of matching knickers. When the pizza boy arrived, I'd put on my dressing gown so as not to give him too much of a shock.

OK, yes. It's another one of my guilty secrets. I cross-dress. Actually, that's wrong. It is a secret, but I don't feel at all guilty about it. I love it. I'm not entirely sure how or even when my fascination with women's clothing started. As a small child, I can remember watching my mother get ready to go out. She didn't seem to mind me coming into her bedroom and watching her put on her makeup in her underwear. I would sit quietly on her bed as she applied her foundation, powder, eye shadow, and her lipstick.

If there is one thing I can point to as the root cause of what happened later, it would be the lipstick. The whole theatre of it captivated me. I remember being enthralled as she picked up the small golden tube with her painted nails; the practised and elegant twist of the wrist to push the lipstick from its hiding place, in itself an erotic action. The care with which she puckered her lips and slid the lipstick across them, watching herself so carefully in the mirror, and then blotting her lips. To me back then it was all a magic trick beyond comparison. She would turn to me and smile. 'Do you like this colour, José? Does it suit mummy?' If I was lucky, she would give me a kiss on my cheek and sometimes use a tissue to rub away a trace of lipstick left behind on my face.

It's why today I still get such a thrill from doing my lips. If I had to give everything else up, you would have to prise my lipstick from my cold dead hands. Even though I wasn't going out tonight, I had put some on, because I loved doing it.

I had settled down on the sofa with Reese Witherspoon on Netflix when my phone trilled.

"Hi Josie girlfriend, it's Sofia." Sofia is my best friend. Honestly, my only friend. She has called me Josie ever since she discovered I cross-dressed. The name stuck, and I adopted it as my femme name. Cute, eh?

"Hola, Sofia. Cómo estás?" I was fluent in Spanish, courtesy of Mum. Sofia's dad, Carlos, is a Madrileño, but she had never picked up the language. I do it to tease her.

"English, you bitch. Now, what time are we meeting tomorrow and where are we going?"

"Sofia, I don't remember us meeting tomorrow."

"Are you doing anything, then?"

"Well, no."

"Good, I'll pick you up at ten and we'll go to Oxford shopping, and then we'll get something to eat. You want to go as Josie?"

I don't go out as Josie in our local area. There was too much chance of getting caught. Oxford was far enough away to almost guarantee I wouldn't meet anybody I knew. Sofia always told me not to worry, as when I'm dressed as Josie nobody would suspect I wasn't 100% a girl. But I didn't want to take the chance.

"OK, I'll see you at one. Buenas noches, Sofia."

"Whatever, cow." She giggled, "See you tomorrow."

Sofia and I had met at school. We bonded at first because of our Spanish connection and she helped me through some rough times, and thereafter we stayed close. She's an amazing person. She has seen me at rock bottom and stayed loyal and supportive. You couldn't ask more from a friend.

The pizza boy was rather cute, but I put those thoughts to one side. I woke early and went for a quick run. There's a park close to the flat and I love running there in the morning. It's so peaceful first thing in the morning with the sun burning off the mist. Sometimes there's someone walking a dog or another runner, but I'm often the only person there.

I had plenty of time to get ready for Sofia, and I started with another bath. My legs were a bit stubbly, so I shaved my legs in the warm water, and also trimmed my pubic hair into a nice little triangle. Sofia was on at me to get it waxed, but that would be a step too far, at least for now. I had a sweet little sundress I hadn't yet had the chance to wear. As the day looked like it was going to be bright and sunny, I decided it would get its first airing.

Chapter Two

Sofia had discovered my cross-dressing whilst we were still at school. We were in my bedroom, supposedly revising for exams, but mainly gossiping. I needed to go to the toilet and made the mistake of leaving my computer on. Being a nosy cow, she trawled through my browser history and found the sites I had been visiting. It wasn't anything bad, just a few sites about cross-dressing and transvestism. She had then rifled through my drawers and found the small stash of female clothing I had accumulated.

So, when I came back she was sitting on my bed, a pair of my knickers she had found dangling from her fingers. She had also spread out the rest of my stuff on the bed. I nearly died on the spot before recovering enough to try to grab the clothes and scream at her.

"Give them back. You shouldn't have fucking done that. I thought we were friends. Friends don't do things like this."

She hung onto some of them and hid them behind her back. I was scarlet with shame and terrified she would tell everyone what she had found. Laughing, she easily beat off my attempts to retrieve the rest of my clothes.

"Calm down, José. I assume these are yours, as you don't have a sister."

"Fuck off, Sofia."

I tried in vain once again to grab the clothes from behind her.

"You're so lucky I am your friend. Anyway, what kind of friend are you, keeping a juicy secret like this from me?"

My heart was beating fit to burst out of my chest. I was scared and angry at the same time. I stopped trying to get the clothes back and pleaded with her.

"Please, Sofia, don't tell anyone. I'll do whatever you want."

"How long has this been going on?"

I sat on the bed, tears pricking my eyes.

"José, don't cry. I won't tell anyone. I am your friend. I don't care what you do, honestly."

She hugged me and let me cry my heart out on her shoulder. When I had dried my eyes, I told her about how alone and different I felt. How ashamed I was, but dressing in girls' clothes made me feel calmer and nicer than when I dressed as a boy. How it felt right but wrong, and how I was so confused about it all. How boys didn't attract me, but surely it must mean I was gay, and how much that frightened me.

She held my hands and talked to me for a long time about if it felt right to me. Then it was right. If I was gay, then it was cool, and if I wasn't gay, it was cool too. That I should always be happy in myself, because we are all different and how the world would be a terrible place if we were all the same. She told me she would always be my friend and she would keep my secret whatever happened.

From that moment on, we were inseparable. I never discovered why she decided to be such a close and loyal friend, but I regularly thanked God for sending her to me. She was not only my friend but also my mentor, my shoulder to cry on, and sometimes my protector if the other boys bullied me. I swear she scared the daylights of the boys at school because if she found any of them giving me a hard time, she would descend on them like a Valkyrie. They would leave me well alone, but it meant I didn't have any friends other than her. It didn't matter to me. She was my BFF, and that was the way we both loved it.

She also taught me so much about being a girl. Not only dressing and makeup, but how to move and walk and behave like a girl. Either in my room of hers, she would let me dress up and we would be girlfriends for at least a few hours. She was endlessly patient with me, and if I would get something wrong, she would tell me "Keep practising." After we left school, she studied to be a nurse, and I started work for my dad. We kept in touch like sisters, and to be honest, I don't think real sisters could have been any closer.

Getting ready to go out as Josie involved a long makeup session in front of the mirror, followed by a frantic search amongst my small collection of clothes for something to wear. Having my own place at last meant I could at least build a wardrobe of Josie clothes I did not have to hide from my parents. In the end, I chose the summer dress I had thought about the previous evening and finished getting ready just as Sofia texted me she was outside in her car.

A quick check in the mirror and I stepped out into the real world as Josie. Sofia whistled as she saw me.

"Wow, girlfriend, you get more beautiful every time I see you. You rock that frock."

As usual, I blushed scarlet, making Sofia screech with laughter. She loved to make me go pink. She drove to the station and we caught the train to Oxford. I was confident I could pass after all the years of practice, but going out as Josie in public still brought its frisson of excitement and fear of discovery. A couple of boys on the train were checking us out and we acted cool, ignoring them until we got to Oxford, where Sofia winked at them and I flashed a big smile. We left the station arm in arm and saw them again outside, where they tried to catch us up shouting they wanted to buy us a drink.

We waved and blew them a kiss before crossing the road. We giggled about them, and Sofia put her arm through mine as we waited at the crossing. The bleep bleep of the crossing light started and the green man lit up. We stepped onto the road, still laughing. Someone shouted, and as I looked round I was shoved sideways, followed by a blow to my side, which knocked me to the ground. I heard someone scream, before an explosion of light in my head. Then only darkness.

Chapter Three

The first thing I thought as I woke was why was the light on? It was so bright I couldn't open my eyes. I must have forgotten to switch it off when I went to bed. The strange thing was I couldn't remember going to bed. Had I been drunk? The second thing I noticed was I ached all over. Everywhere hurt when I tried to move. I gagged. There was something in my mouth. I tried to move my hand to pull whatever it was out, but I couldn't move my hands. I was scared. What had happened to me?

"Nurse, nurse, he's waking up." I thought it sounded like my mother's voice, but it couldn't be. I hadn't gone back to my parents' house, I was sure of that, at least. Besides, why would she be asking for a nurse? Somebody took my hand, and I struggled to open my eyes to see who it was. I finally prised open one eye to see Mum's frightened face looking down at me.

"José, thanks be to God, you're awake."

I tried to say something but this thing in my mouth wouldn't let me. Where was I? Why was Mum here? What had happened? Mum let go of my hand and stepped back as someone else leant over me and shone a bright light in my eye.

"Pupil response is good. Nurse, you can take the breathing tube out now." I thought I would throw up as the thing in my mouth was removed. I coughed and tried to speak, but my throat felt like it had been sandpapered and I could only croak.

"Your throat will be sore for a few hours, but it will feel better soon. Here, have a drink." A hand lifted my head forwards until cold water trickled down my throat. I lay my head back down again, and I was so tired I closed my eyes. As I drifted back into darkness, a voice mumbled something I couldn't catch, then Mum said, "I don't know how I can tell him."

I don't know how long I slept, but when I did wake Mum was still there, asleep in a chair by the bed. My head felt fuzzy, and I tried to clear my thoughts. I still ached, and my mouth was parched. Where was l? What had happened to me? Why is Mum here?

"Mum," I tried to say, but nothing came out of my mouth. She didn't move, so I tried again. "Mum." This time she stirred, and her eyes flicked open.

"José, I'm coming." She got out of the chair, rubbing the sleep from her eyes. She took my hand and smiled down at me. "It's alright, you're going to be alright."

"Where am I?"

"You're in hospital, you were in an accident. Don't you remember?"

I tried hard to remember something, anything. But there was nothing. I shook my head.

"Don't worry, José, the doctor said you hit your head hard. You have a concussion."

"What happened?"

Mum hesitated. "You were hit by a car. You were knocked onto the pavement and hit your head. Your arm and pelvis are broken. Does it hurt? I can get the nurse to give you something."

A memory flickered into my mind. I had been with Sofia. "How is Sofia? Where is she?" The look on Mum's face made my heart stop. "Is she hurt?"

She reached out to hold my hands, and I could see tears in her eyes. "José, I'm so sorry, she's gone."

"Gone?" I was confused. "Has she gone home already?"

Mum gripped my hands tighter. "No, José." Tears were now flowing down her face. "It was a bad accident, and Sofia was terribly injured. They rushed both of you to the hospital. I'm so sorry, she didn't make it, she died in the operating theatre."