Sheena's New Girlfriend

Okay, here's my second attempt at a story for this site: it starts slowly, so if you are after instant gratification: look elsewhere. Thank you to the people who advised me about story classification after "Plaything": I'm pretty sure that I have got this one right, though! Please let my have your constructive comments as they will help me to improve. Please note that it is written in British English (I'm a Brit) and not the American dialect so spelling may differ from what you are used to.

1. The Orphanage.

I'd known Sheena for years: we'd been at school together, only she wasn't Sheena then. Yes, she's been my best friend since I left the Army and we've stood by each other through thick and thin.

When Sheena walks into a room, she is the instant centre of attention: 5'10" tall, slim, fantastic face and figure and long wavy golden hair that hangs down to her shapely and well padded arse. Sheena attracts the boys like jam attracts wasps... Sometimes she gets stung and its me she comes crying to. She also attracts the girls at least she does until they find out what she is. When things go wrong guess who she runs to... Me!

The other blokes always wonder why I'm not attracted to her, why she's not my girlfriend, or as we say in the UK: 'my bit on the side'. The ones that don't know me wonder if I'm gay because of this: some of them are a bit disappointed when they find out I'm not. But that's another story: this one's concerned with my best female friend. Yes, I'm more than happy to describe Sheena in that way: even though we are both now married (to other people) we still spend time together when we can.

My wife, Andrea, knows the full story: Sheena was a Maid of Honour at our wedding and I was Best Man at hers. Its a long, complicated story which I'll try to tell without giving away any information that might embarrass anyone, so pretty well everything has been changed... Names, dates, ages, locations, facts, appearances: I've spent too much of my life protecting Sheena so I'm not going to expose her to ridicule now.

Okay, Sheena, Sheena, Sheena...! Let's go back to the beginning: I'm about four years older and like Sheena, I'm an orphan, I think. Either way I have no close family. I was sixteen and had been in care for ten years ever since the car crash that killed my parents: by the time that Sheena was put into care I was pretty much institutionalized and as I'd been in "the system" for so long. I knew who I could trust and who I couldn't; I knew which of the staff were okay and which ones would give you a thick ear as soon as look at you but above all I knew which kids were bullies and who were their victims. As I got older I began to stand up to the former and look after the latter.

When Sheena arrived she was a little lost soul over-awed by the enormity of the system: she was small for her age and definitely at the mercy of it all. She also carried a metaphorical sign around which said "please kick me". Her name wasn't "Sheena" then, it was "Donald"! Yes, that's right, she was a boy and in a place like that his/her chances of coming through without major psychological trauma were negligible.

"Ah, Anthony," the matron of the home said as soon as I slouched into her office one Saturday morning, "thank you for coming to see me."

I was taken by surprise somewhat. The normal greeting that I received from her was more along the lines of: "Tony! What the hell have you been doing now, you little sod?" Normally screamed at about 140dB with several police officers present.

Okay, I may have been institutionalized, but I was no angel. I stood up for myself and my friends which tended to upset the smooth running of the place.

Except today was different: the system in the form of the Matron, needed me so she was all sweetness and light. "Anthony," she was the only person to use my full since my mom died. "Anthony," she had purred, "this is Donald. He's only been here for a few days but he is being picked on."

'Picked-on' was her euphemism for 'having the crap kicked out of him on a daily basis'. The two of them looked at me with sad expressions. But me, well at sixteen and already a shade over six foot, I was the hard man. "Yeh: well?"

"Could you please take him under your wing and show him the ropes around here?" Matron asked through gritted teeth. My response had got right up her nose, which it was intended to.

I looked at her, the kid looked at me, I looked at the kid who seemed to come up to no higher than my knee. I was met by a pair of tear-filled baby-blue eyes, one of which was half closed by a bruise. I looked back at the Matron and asked: "Luigi?"

She managed to nod and say: "I'm not allowed to give you the name." Both at the same time. She'd owe me for this! Suddenly I looked up and said. "Oh listen! Sounds like there's a fight in the pool room, I'll just go and sort it out."

The Matron visibly paled. "Thank you." She said to my departing back. As I had said, it was a Saturday morning which meant that there were only two staff on duty besides the matron and one of them was the cook.

The pool room was a shambles by the time that I had finished explaining to Luigi Trotter and his gang that the new kid had a right to a peaceful and relatively bruise-free life at the home. It was fairly good natured in that he came at me with a pool cue and received a '4-ball' in the face for his troubles, Philip Smedly, his 'capo', tried to grab me from behind and ended up flat on his back on top of the pool table, landing on the pool balls must have hurt, but so what?. Luigi then pulled his flick knife, which needless to say he didn't know how to use; he lunged forward – straight into the chair that I swung up between us. I used it to run him backwards into the wall and he dropped the weapon.

The gang... They called themselves a 'gang' despite the fact that there were only four real members plus half a dozen fair-weather hangers on... The gang suddenly lost interest in violence when Luigi whined. "Alright, alright, Tony, we hear you."

I lowered the chair and sat on it. Lou remained leaning on the wall as I reached down, scooped up the knife and threw it underarm into the dartboard. There where a few gasps and one muttered "bloody hell" as I left the room. They were more impressed by the shot than I was – the knife had hit double twenty but I had been aiming at the bull.

I won't say that Don had an easy ride after that but it was certainly easier than it would have been if I hadn't explained the facts of life to Luigi.

Actually he was only in the home for a couple of months while his family worked out what to do with him and he was taken in by an aunt who lived locally: this meant that he went to the same school as most of the inmates from the home and I got to spend the rest of the year 'baby-sitting' him. He had a knack of wandering into trouble and it was while he was living with his aunt that he began wearing girls clothes... But again that is definitely another story...

I left school at seventeen and went straight into the Army: this was part of the usual progression – orphanage; army; living rough. A lot of the lads and quite a few of the girls followed this route: by the time we had spent most of our young lives in the home's regulated environment, the Army was a natural choice as it was another regulated environment. After the Army what else was there other than living rough? Most of us could not cope with living on our own; we'd had no practice at making our own way in the world: a few ended up in prison – yet another institutionalized form of existence that suited ex-orphanage kids particularly well in that everything was taken care of on their behalf.

Me? I was lucky. By the time I was de-mobbed there were two women in my life: Andrea and Sheena, although I didn't know it at the time.

2. Ten Years Later

I liked the Army which trained me as a paramedic. The Army made me, but after nine years, I'd had enough and was ready to move on. Besides, Andrea and I were planning on getting married and she did not fancy being a British Army-Wife or being the mother of a couple of Army-Brats.

I'd known Andrea for several years: we'd met when I was on leave one time in Bielefeld, Germany. The wall had been down for nearly ten years and the country was finding out that it could stand up for its self and didn't need us Brit Squaddies getting drunk and vomiting everywhere. Andrea and me didn't quite hit it off straight away and it wasn't love at first sight... Actually it was more like disdain on her part but, luckily, I ignored her when she called me a Britischer pig. Well everyone is entitled to their own opinion. We got to know each other during the fortnight that I was there and we stayed in touch. By the time that I was coming up for discharge, we were engaged and she managed to wangle a transfer to her employer's UK arm.

I'm glad that she did because she was the one thing that kept me on the straight and narrow. I was out of the Army, I had no support mechanism, nobody to tell me when to get up, when to eat and where to go to get a job. If it hadn't been for Andrea, I would have given up but she was my rock: she took charge and sorted things out for me... For us. She found me a temporary job with her employer: I became a Security Guard with a special responsibility for first aid. I had been a corporal in the Army and the new job didn't pay anywhere near as well. Andrea, on the other hand was a department head and earned more than twice as much as I did... No I did not resent that, in fact I was pleased: it meant that we would be able to get married all the sooner.

So here I was: I still wore a uniform to work which suited me because it made me feel secure. I had a "wealthy" fiancé and the future looked secure. Our employer was one of the biotech companies and were in the process of expanding. New developments led to growth which led to greater capacity and new customers. Andrea was in charge of the UK accounts department while I manned the main gate. I was happy, I had a job that I could do so it was only natural for my wife to be to take charge of the finances: hell I'd only have spent the money faster than it came in: I had no experience of budgeting. The only reason that I left the Army with money in the bank was that I had earned it quicker than I could spend it, or even drink it. No, I wasn't going to sulk just because she earned more than me: that would have been plain macho and silly. Besides, I looked upon the period when I worked as a security man as a chance to sort out my place in "civvy street".

Then it happened: or rather Sheena did! But then Sheena always seemed to happen, she was that kind of woman.

Andrea and I were out on the town one Friday night. Well, out in West Bromwich, to be more specific... In case you didn't know it, West Bromwich was where I went to school. I still liked a drink now and then and my fiancé was more than happy to go along with this... Besides, I think that she was working on me – trying to manoeuvrer me into taking a job as a paramedic with the local NHS ambulance service. It was, she pointed out, a good, steady, well-paid, secure job and it carried a pension. "Besides", she added quickly. "your government has invested a lot of money into your training for you not to take advantage of it,"

Drink was beginning to get the better of me so I stopped and looked at her. "You want me to be a mercenary?"

Andrea closed her eyes and breathed out slowly, no doubt counting to ten as she did so. "No, you stupid British pig, I want you to make something of your self!"

I should point out that Andrea did not really drink and never touched a drop when she was driving. She always drove on our Friday nights out.

I stopped dead and looked at her... She hadn't called me that since we had first met, "I'll have to update all of my qualifications!" I answered suddenly feeling sober.

"So? What's stopping you?" Our night out was suddenly turning serious and would have continued to do so if Sheena hadn't happened then and there. Andrea's probing had just about put the lid on our celebrations and we were on the point of heading back towards the car park when I suddenly found myself swamped by a tidal wave of femininity.

There was a sudden girlish squeal of delight and a blur of movement and I felt a pair of arms fling themselves around me as a cloud of golden hair obscured my vision and my nostrils were over powered by highly expensive perfume. I heard Andrea snort in annoyance at about the same time as a pair of ruby-red lips were pressed against mine and I found myself being kissed expertly and enthusiastically.

Somewhere in the back of my befuddled mind, a little voice called our: "You're for it now, Soldier!" Things could not get any worse so I kissed the woman back. The kiss went on and on until giggling, the gorgeous blonde pulled away and stared up at me. It took several seconds to sort out my thoughts during which I swear that I could hear Andrea's foot tapping.

I was looking down into a pair of pale, baby-blue eyes.

"Donald?!" I mouthed in surprise.

The blonde shook her head vigorously. Her hair rippled and flew as she did so. Hell! It WAS Donald: I was sure of it. Suddenly I began to panic: would my fiancé be any happier if she found out that I was kissing a bloke in drag? It was like calling "tails" on a double-headed coin: I'd be lucky to get out of this and still have a fiancé!

I glanced sideways and saw a thunderous-looking Andrea out of the corner of my eye: I prepared for the worst. Here was I, kissing a strange woman who I was pretty sure was really a rather strange man while my fiancé looked as if she was going to begin a re-run of "The Battle of the Bulge." The real one, not the film and I was on the verge of panic when the blonde (Donald???) came to the rescue by telling the truth!

She straightened up, broke the clinch and said. "Oh, I'm so sorry, but I haven't seen Tony since he left school and joined the Army!" She smiled sheepishly and continued. "Please forgive me, but we were childhood friends."

Andrea's expression softened somewhat in that she no longer looked murderous, just angry. "Oh?" She purred. "Aren't you going to introduce me to your friend?"

Darling. I would like you to meet Donald. I could just hear myself saying it and was about to when the other "woman" came to our/my rescue.

"Oh, hi!" She gushed. "I'm Sheena and I'm ever so glad that Tony's found someone nice!" Then she grabbed both of our arms and steered us into a near-by nightclub and over to a secluded table in the corner and sat demurely. Her expression invited us to join her.

To say that she attracted male attention like a magnet attracts scrap metal was an understatement. Her face was heart-shaped with a pert little nose, a rosebud mouth and two pale blue eyes that seemed to smoulder like ice on fire. Combine perfect features with the cascade of long golden-blonde hair that framed them and you had the face of a woman straight off the cover of Penthouse magazine.

My eyes travelled downwards to take in her perfect C-cup breasts that were elegantly contained by an electric-blue satin top. Was this Donald??? Frankly I was past caring – I'm going to say it for the umpteenth time: she was gorgeous. Suddenly she jumped up and scampered over towards the bar.

As she vanished into the crowd; I prepared myself for the coming artillery barrage: For what we are about to receive, may the Lord make us truly thankful. Instead I received a quizzical look and a questioning. "Well?"

I did what any self-respecting man would do: I feigned innocence and lied. "She was my girlfriend during my last year at school... I think that she's just pleased to see me."

"Ah! And you her?" Andrea's German accent was beginning to reassert its self. Not a good sign.

"Well..." I hesitated... "Yes, I guess so."

"That explains why you seemed to have a canoe in your pocket."

I could feel myself going red. My God! It takes a lot to embarrass a soldier. "Andrea!" I pleaded. "We haven't seen each other since I ran out on her nearly ten years ago. I was as surprised as you were."

Her left eyebrow rose about half an inch and she gave me a knowing little smile. She knew something that I didn't, but before I could try and find out, there was a rustle of satin and the clink of glasses as Sheena deposited three Bucks Fizzes onto the table in front of us before sitting demurely on the empty seat.

I tried to change the subject. "How did you get served so quickly? There was one hell of a queue."

"Was there?" She answered brightly. "I never noticed." Then she turned her baby-blues on my Andrea. "So, tell me everything – Where did you meet? When did you get engaged? When's the wedding?

I don't think I said more than two words during the next hour while the ladies verbally spared with each other. I drank my drink and went to the bar for another round, needless to say it took me a lot longer than it had taken Sheena. When I got back to the table, their heads were about three inches apart and they were both talking quietly, Suddenly both of them looked straight at me and began laughing, not a good sign. I delivered the drinks and sat down quietly... One thing led to several others and we all ended up on the dance floor, well – dancing : me stiffly; Andrea, sort of constrained and Sheena with wild enthusiastic abandon.

The band all seemed to be playing something different, but the racket just about passed as music and had a good beat, or two so we all relaxed and began to enjoy our selves.

Suddenly something else surfaced from my past. I felt a hand on my shoulder as a silky male voice spoke to me in a clearly phony Italian accent, which I won't attempt to copy. "Hey, man, like relax and you won't get hurt 'cause me and my friend are going to dance with your women!"

I relaxed, like the man said and turned around slowly... It was Luigi.

"Tony?" He looked as if I had just hit him... Something that I hadn't needed to do for ten years. "My God, Tony, I was only joking man, its good to see you! Aren't you going to introduce me?"

"Nope, because you are just going to walk away quietly and take that dip-shit Philip with you."

"Hey, how d'ya know it was me?" Philip whined from somewhere behind me,

"lucky guess!" I began to loosen up as I prepared for the inevitable fight. I heard the quiet "click!" of a flick-knife: some people never learn. The room seemed to get noisier as I looked from Luigi to Philip and back... They weren't fourteen or fifteen now and they were both nearly as big as I was. Suddenly I noticed the crowd part as a couple of police officers entered the place.

"Luigi, police, lose the knife!" I hissed and saw Andrea frown slightly.

"Thanks, man." The Italian accent was replaced by his native Black-country one. I heard another click as the knife hit the floor and I toed it surreptitiously across the dance floor where it vanished under the feet of the mass of dancers.

Luigi gave me a wry grin. "Still looking out for everybody,eh Tony? Thanks pal, I owe ya one: see y'around."

I watched him saunter away with his one-time Capo in tow, No! Luigi would never learn and neither would Philip. I gathered up Andrea and Sheena and headed for the exit: I didn't want to wait around to see why the police were there: it wasn't my problem, not any more.

Outside on the pavement there was a brief discussion.: Andrea was refusing to drive for the same reason that I was... We were both over the limit. Sheena couldn't drive... No license: also over the limit, but on several occasions.

"Oh, don't worry!" Sheena cut in. "Leave your car on the car park and come home with me, I only live a couple of miles away! I've got plenty of room so you can both stay the night."