O Is for Olivia

Yes, I know, trannies don't like to wear the same outfit the next day, most TVs like to celebrate their femininity by constantly changing their feminine appearance. But, on my first day at work, I needed to be more practical. OK so I was working in the Garden Centre. But it was Kate's role there I'd be taking over. Basically the 'inside job' in the Centre, under cover, dealing with the till and the little bookshop there.

So formal attire, smart suit, aiming to give a good 'image' to the centre. I'd chosen smaller earrings than the day before, two small rings in each ear, and a gold chain which sort-of matched. And I'd re-done my nails that morning, removing the deep red varnish I'd worn the previous day and applying a deep pink colour. 'Deep Coral' it is called. And tights, black tights, for practical reasons. There's a time and place for stockings.

I know trannies like stockings. I do too. But I'm not a tranny in the strict sense of the word. All the discussions with my therapists had clarified that one in my mind. Maybe in some sort of legal sense, as a 'male body in female clothing' I'd have been considered as a transvestite, as a cross-dresser. But from that day forward I regarded myself rather differently, as a transsexual. As a woman in a man's body rather than as a man in woman's clothing. I wanted, I needed, to be regarded as a woman.

I looked at the group of people in front of me, at my co-workers. Then, they surprised me. Gina looked at Marie, and lifted her eyebrows. She started, somewhat hesitantly, then the others joined in.

"Happy birthday to you, Happy birthday to you, Happy birthday dear Olivia, Happy birthday to you."

"Hello Marie" I said, as gently and as 'sweetly' and in the feminine tone I'd managed to master after quite some practice.

Actually, I didn't know what else to say but Marie, never short of a word, just looked at me to begin with. Then she took the two steps towards me.

"Olivia. Well, this is a surprise." And she leaned forward and gave me a small kiss on the cheek. "A big surprise. Welcome, Olivia, to the world, and I'm damn glad you're here. None of us wanted to cover for Kate."

Like me really, practical as ever. Charlie didn't kiss me, he just shook my hand, and John didn't even do that, he just smiled and said 'Hello'. Gina had stage-managed the introductions really, almost at once Jim appeared from behind us all with Annie in his arms to remind everyone that it was ten o'clock and that there were customers waiting. Charlie took the keys from him and went to open up. And I went to work.

Even before Gina managed to come and find me, to offer some help and advice in dealing with what Kate had left behind, I had it sorted. Kate is methodical, and the whole check-out and bookshop arrangement was set up to work like clockwork. Everything was to hand, everything in its place. There had been clearly some difficulties the previous afternoon when maybe Jim and Marie and Charlie, and perhaps John, had stepped in at different times.

But Kate's underlying efficiency made it clear how things should work. And so it was, at just after five-past-ten, 'Olivia' made her first sale. To an older woman, she paid cash so I didn't get her name, didn't have to do a card check or anything like that. It was just about half a dozen packets of seeds. In that way unremarkable, but serving her, doing the 'smiling' bit and taking her money and saying thank you and all that, actually doing all those things - as a woman - gave me a thrill.

The day continued. I served customers. Nearly all of them didn't know, and didn't make any comment on, my secret. I was to them just the woman at the checkout. I loved it! OK so, college degree and all, well-educated, maybe I should have expected more. But after all those years of problems with women, with marriages, with sexuality and all that stuff, it was such a relief to be doing what I wanted and, more importantly, being who I wanted.

Then just before closing time I spotted a potential problem. It was a guy I knew. At some time, a couple of months earlier, I'd delivered some stuff to his house. Bags of gravel, I think. And he'd been considerate when I'd had difficulties getting them round to the back of his house, gave me tea afterwards and a bit of a sit down and so on. We'd chatted for a few minutes about the cricket, on that day the Test had been building up to a close finish. I was sure he'd remember me. He did.

I'd noticed him a few minutes earlier talking to John outside. They had been in deep conversation about something or other. I'd assumed maybe they knew each other or maybe they were discussing something garden-related. But when he came towards the till, carrying his wire basket with several pots in it and some other packets, I could tell from the look on his face. He knew.

I was a bit worried. I had been doing pretty well so far, I thought. I'd had to ask Jim to help me out once near the end of the morning when one of the regular customers wanted to settle his account, and the details I got from the computer didn't match what he said he owed. When Jim had mentioned 'delivery' I'd realised the problem, the amount involved matched the delivery charge for large items even though the stuff sent had only been small, and very local too. I settled the problem to his satisfaction and got a very effusive 'thank you'.

And that was the first time, the very first time indeed, that I'd experienced the power of femininity. I've no doubt at all. The fact that his problem had been sorted by a well-dressed, smart, personable - woman - made a difference. I'm sure it did. He really did go over the top with his thank-you, I mean, you never do that, do you. Say a BIG thank you, that is, to somebody you've just paid three hundred pounds to.

But as the man Jim had been chatting to came towards me I foresaw a bit of a problem. I looked round, for Jim maybe. I could see him right over the other side of the centre. No time. I reached out my hand towards the basket as he placed it on the small counter in front of me. I smiled, made eye-contact.

"Hi" he said.

It's really difficult to see just how anybody can put menace into one two-letter word. OK, maybe menace is too strong but there was something there. It wasn't just interest, it was some sort of ridicule, some sort of threat really. So unlike my earlier experience, when I had been pleased with the reaction I'd had to my femininity, this suddenly wasn't a pleasant experience. But I was there, in that situation, in a position I'd put myself into. I had to deal with it.

I didn't say 'hello again' or anything like that, didn't want to acknowledge that we'd met before even though he knew we had and so did I. I just said 'Good evening, sir' and got on with scanning the packets and items he had in his basket.

"Well then, you look different today."

I had to react.

"I am different," I said, still being pleasant.

"You fucking are," he said.

Clearly it was what he said as well as the way he said it. You don't talk like that to a shop assistant, he obviously had some sort of other agenda. I looked out of the window, Jim was still otherwise occupied. I had to sort this myself. As I finished sorting his basket he handed over his charge card. I swiped it through the till. Maybe the best thing to do was to just carry on normally. Perhaps he'd be gone in a few minutes.

"I bet you're wearing sexy lingerie" he said. "And probably stockings as well. I bet you get really horny wearing them all day."

I looked at him. He was beaming widely. then I realised. Not only had he somehow seen through me, but he was getting off on it! He was getting excited at the thought of a man in front of him wearing sexy clothes. Lingerie? Nobody says lingerie in everyday language. He was a tranny-fancier. Probably spent all day or at least quite a lot of it looking at tranny pictures on-line, surfing for sexy images and masturbating. I could see it in his eyes, a tranny fancier and here he was - fancying me.

But he was fancying the wrong woman. Not me. I know some trannies like that sort of thing, I'd had fantasies myself in the past about guys and so on. But I'd come out of the other side of that. What I didn't want was any sort of interaction with people on that basis yet, let alone any proper relationship. Later just maybe but I had enough to deal with during the first few weeks of being a woman. I realised this man deserved to be put down in some way, he was assuming too much about what I was doing, and not at all realising what I was going through.

"Please check the amount and sign, Mr - Henderson" I asked, offering him the receipt.

He signed it and handed it back. I'd decided while observing him that what was needed here wasn't total honesty, and wasn't just some sort of gay-related insult either. It had to be some sort of compromise.

"Thank you, sir" I said.

Then, when he didn't move, I needed to say something. Quickly.

"Look. For your information, I'm wearing tights, and just ordinary undies. I'm transsexual, not just a transvestite. But if you want to meet a proper TV I could put in a word for you with Ronnie at Cesaro's. That's the gay club just off Hurst Street. You probably know it."

He was insulted. Macho guys like that don't like to think of themselves as gay in any way. But he was though. To an extent anyway. The fact that he knew, or thought he knew, about trannies and just something about the way he said it, not solely what he'd actually said. There was something 'gay' in there somewhere, I was sure. I smiled sweetly at him, wondering if he was going to reply. I could see him trying to come up with some sort of smart retort but he couldn't. He just grabbed his stuff and turned round, and he was off.

'One up for me' I thought.

That first day, indeed the whole of the first week, that guy was the biggest problem I had to deal with, by far. I felt pleased with the way I'd dealt with him. OK so maybe he'd not come back again, perhaps I'd lost the Centre a customer but I didn't care. One we could cope with. I'd been wondering just what effect there would be on the customers, with them having to look at and deal with a man in drag.

And it just went on, getting steadily better and better. Some of the customers had known be, albeit not well, as 'Oliver' and knew about my change-over. Usually they were the older, or more established rather, clients, people who'd known Jim and Gina for a while. Without exception they were supportive and even bought small gifts for me occasionally just as they had for Gina when she'd worked full time before Annie arrived. Some of course actually found out during their shopping that there was a transsexual working at the Centre. Of them inevitably, some avoided me, others looked out for me.

Even the 'curious' ones who wanted to satisfy their inquisitiveness by actually meeting a transsexual were nice about it. Not at all like that nutter on day one, I think I was just unfortunate there. Most of them, very nearly all in fact, were very pleasant, asking me about how I felt and what had made me want to change, and did I want a total sex-change, that sort of thing. We had some interesting discussions about sexuality and gender, occasionally rather heated I admit but I was OK with that. A few people didn't approve of what I was doing, me being a man and working and serving them while wearing women's clothes. But nobody was actually nasty about it.

It was almost two months after that memorable first day that something happened to change things. I was serving in the shop when one of the customers, a nice man maybe ten years older than me, came in and looked round. I recognised him, Mr Dunham, 'T Dunham' I thought, trying to picture his credit card as I'd swiped it before. Not exactly a regular customer, not every week, but he'd been in maybe three or four times. I couldn't actually remember seeing him in my time in the shop before that, before I started to work there full-time, that is.

"Morning Olivia" he said, handing over a couple of seed packets in my direction for scanning. "Lovely day, isn't it?"

"It is, sure. Going to spend it in the garden, then?"

"I thought I might. I've got a bit of shopping to get before I can start, though. I think I'll get a coffee first though."

Jim had just had a coffee machine installed in a small room just off from the shop. Nothing special, he'd just put one of those tall machines in there with a small variety of 'flavours' - espresso, cappuccino, latte and so on. I've always favoured the latte myself, and just before Mr Dunham had arrived I'd been intending to take a break myself. I'd called Maria to take over for a few minutes and she was standing beside me as I'd done his transaction. Mr Dunham's, that is. I think she heard what he'd said though I don't believe there was anything intrusive in her suggestion I go there and then to my break. I'd suggested it a few minutes earlier, after all.

Which is how Mr Dunham and I ended up in the small 'arbour' Jim had equipped with the machine. And, being staff of course, I didn't have to pay, I knew the 'code' to press on the keypad to get a free go. Mr Dunham stood back in true gentlemanly fashion to let me go first. I didn't deliberately stand in front of him of course, well, it was a bit like at an ATM, I didn't want him to see the code. Anyway my latte arrived and I, whether I was allowed to or not, decided to treat him. Hell, he was becoming a regular customer, and you look after them, don't you?

"My treat" I said, keying the code in again. "What's your poison?"

"It's not that bad, is it?" he joked. "I've not tried this before. Another latte, I thought."

So I pressed the buttons and handed him his coffee.

"And waitress service too!" he joked again. I decided I liked him. We chatted on for a few minutes, just near the end of which I responded to a comment he'd made about a film he'd been wanting to go to see. It wasn't a come-on, honestly, that sort of thing just wasn't on my mind. And really I don't think he took it as one, he was just looking for an opening and I'd provided one - on a plate as it were.

"It's on at the multiplex next week. How about it, Olivia? Friday, maybe?"

And he stood there. Expecting an answer.

"I'm sorry, I can't, I .... Oh shit!!"

"What's wrong?" he asked, looking worried. Not so much because I said 'no', I think, more because of the way I'd said it. I was upset and it clearly showed.

"Pleas, Mr Dunham. It's not you, it's me. It's just that .... Oh shit!!"

I'd said it again. I'd sworn. I was clearly disturbed, Mr Dunham could see that. I looked at him, he was upset too still.

"Please, it's David. Look, Olivia, I didn't want to speak out of turn, it just seemed like a good idea."

I paused for a think. Gina had mentioned something like this. A week or so earlier when I'd said that I thought I had been coping well with the customers, especially those who obviously didn't know my secret, and even more especially the men, she'd asked me to sit down. Because she needed a serious talk. She'd made a really flattering comment about how I'm been managing and especially about how my 'look' had been changing. I really just thought I'd been getting more used to the routine, the getting up and showering and smoothing may face and doing my make-up, and then dressing appropriately for a day at work. Gina, apparently, had noticed more of a change.

"Olivia. It's simple really, you're becoming more of a woman. And it's not that surprising really, is it? I mean, the whole point is to spend some time being in this sort of situation so that you can find out where you want to go. In terms of - well - carrying on as a tranny, or giving up."

I was still thinking of the nice things she'd said, I smiled at her in appreciation of what she'd said. But before I could speak she butted in.

"Or going ahead with a sex change."

It's not that I'd never even considered it, it's just that there would be so many complications I'd pushed it to the back of my mind for the moment. Right then I was totally committed to looking and sounding and acting like a woman at work and going home and so on. Not socially, I really didn't have much of a social life. I'd been to the pub in the evenings a couple of times, once with Gina on her own, once with Jim as well. And that had been nice, being a woman in a different situation.

"Olivia. When you and I went to the 'Grey Goose ' a couple of weeks ago. A friend of ours saw us there."

"A friend of yours?" I couldn't see what she was getting at.

"Yes, Neil, he's a mate of Jim's from the Darts League. He asked about you?"

"About me? Why? Has he been to the Centre, I mean, is he a customer?"

"No. Never been there. He was just asking about - what did he say? - 'that good-looking girl you were buying a drink for, Jim'. That's what he said.

"Wow."

"Wow indeed. Jim put him off though, Neil has been married before and he really didn't think he'd be suitable. For you, he meant, Olivia. But the point is, Neil thinks you are attractive, and I'd bet quite a few other men who you serve at the Centre, and guys who see you in the street or in here, Olivia, they're interested too. You're going to have to deal with that, my girl, and soon rather than later I imagine. Some guy's not going to ask me or Jim. He's going to ask you out. So what do you say then?"

I knew she was right. OK so I hadn't realised just how much my general appearance and demeanour was becoming more feminine though I was delighted at what Gina had said. But I had noticed myself, in the mirror and occasionally in shop-window reflections. There was definitely progress in the right direction. And to be honest, twice in the past fortnight I'd noticed men looking at me with maybe some sort of appreciation. One was a customer, the other was a shop assistant in Woollies.

It had to be addressed. And David had brought the whole thing to the fore before I'd properly had time to think it through. I had to do something, right there and then. I looked at David. Really for the first time properly, you tend just to see people as customers most of the time until you begin to recognise them as regulars. He turned and began to walk away, maybe looking a little disappointed. I couldn't let him go like that but - was I about to make things worse?

I couldn't leave the till so I had to call out, before he got too far and I'd have to shout. "David!"

He did hear me and turned round, then got the message that I wanted to speak to him. He didn't smile though, my body language probably told him I hadn't changed my mind.

"David, I'm so sorry, I am really grateful, thanks for asking me. It's not you, not any sort of problem, that is. It's me, I'm the problem. Oh, no, this is coming out all wrong."

I took a step closer to him, not exactly to whisper but to speak to him quietly. A couple of people were looking, they'd no idea what but clearly something was going on here.

"David. It's me. I'm not an ordinary woman. I'm a transsexual."

There. Said it. For the first time outside close family and medical people and so on, the first time in a sort-of social situation, I'd 'come out'. I actually felt good. A mini-wave of relief shuddered through me as I looked at David to try to gauge his reaction.

"Right. You mean, well, you mean you're really a man?"

This I'd rehearsed. I'd had a mental script in my mind, exactly what I was going to say when something like this happened. The script idea had seemed so important to me, so that the words were well-chosen and thought about, so that they would be clear and there would be no ambiguity or anything, no room for misunderstanding. But the script had just gone from my mind. I got the message across, hoping I wasn't saying anything I shouldn't have.