C is for Charlotte

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Transgender-themed stories which I hope will be of interest to those who like women, or would like to be a woman. Which includes me!

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Freaky isn't the word for it. I mean, weird. Totally weird. Ultra-weird. Whatever. Basically totally mind bogglingly weird, oh so freaky. I even hesitate to tell you about it. Well, I know, you're just not going to believe it. But I have witnesses, my brother and my sister.

They'll tell you, well, they will now, after the events of yesterday at least. I'm sure they just didn't know what was going on, they both thought everything would be normal when they woke up this morning. I suppose I did too. But it isn't. It's still freaky. This is going to be a very exciting Saturday. And yesterday was definitely a freaky Friday.

It really started out yesterday morning, well before eight when we all met up at George's house. We had a public appearance, our first for quite some time. A double celebration. First we were earning the extra money and second, it was our birthday. But you probably knew that. We are famous after all, the Tranter triplets, you remember.

It's not as if triplets are all that common in the Midlands - we got quite well known in our younger days. We did adverts and so on, that sort of thing. We opened a few supermarkets, we even made a record - a cover of 'One-Two-Three' would you believe.

OK so it didn't really sell, not many at least, probably got to about number 300 in the top 40. George on drums, me on guitar, Michelle on keyboards. It's a pity she was the only one of us who could really sing. That was the end of our search for fame really. George went off to university, Michelle and I both did college courses and started up in jobs and so on, her in a bank, me in an estate agent's office.

We all did quite well, George stayed on at the University doing research, Michelle and I both got promotions. Then, surprisingly, at 23 years old they - my brother and my sister - both decided to get married. Which is why we were all three being driven by John, Michelle's husband, yesterday morning just after half past eight, for the short drive into town for the shop opening, our public appearance on our birthday.

"This isn't going to take us too long, Charles, is it?" George asked me.

"Don't worry. It's an opening. Just an opening. A couple of hours at the most," I replied.

The new store, 'We R Toys', was due to open at nine and the company had milked the publicity as much as they could, getting out the local press and TV station for the event. I mean, all we were doing was opening a toy shop, for goodness' sake. But they'd hired the Tranter trio for the event and got the pictures up outside the store, pictures from some of our earlier 'appearances'. Like the one of the three of us in football kit to celebrate City winning a cup tie, and that awful one with George and I gazing lovingly at Michelle. It always struck me as being a bit weird that, gazing adoringly at our sister.

But in pride of place was THAT picture, you remember it. The one with the three of us all dressed in green, it was to advertise a vile-coloured fruit drink. It was an awful picture really, the three of us with our signatures scrawled across our midriffs. An awful picture, an awful drink. I can't even remember the name of it. The picture though, yes, it's ingrained in my memory. We weren't even holding cups or bottles of the drink, just dressed in green, the three of us. And the toy shop had a massive print of the picture all over one big window, dominating Millennium Square really. The drink didn't last long but we did get an awful lot of money for that picture session. It's a good job we weren't on commission.

Anyway the three of us piled into John's big car yesterday morning. Michelle was driving, John was left at home looking after their daughter Maria, a gorgeous little thing. We'd done a short rehearsal a couple of days earlier, we all knew exactly what we were doing. The local TV crew were there too, we'd had quite a lot of good publicity from them over the years. Probably because Nigel, the male anchor guy, had fancied Michelle. I still remember he'd look disappointed when they'd done a feature on Michelle's wedding. Or maybe because his presenting partner Helen fancied me - I'd noticed it was always her who ended up doing my interview bit in any of our appearances.

We got through the speech-making on time, finished it and handed over to the store's MD at exactly one minute to nine. I smiled across at Michelle, we both knew George was really fed up and didn't really want to be there. We'd taken the lion's share of the script and kept George out of it - we really didn't want him to lapse into the sort of language he had used in the past. Really the three of us, despite being triplets, were so different. Michelle is quiet and sweet, George is so macho and really has got something of a foul mouth, very much a man's man.

And me, the one in-between. Not on the pictures, they always had Michelle in the middle for obvious reasons. I wasn't as macho as George, certainly I was appalled by some of the language he used, especially in female company. Just rude, I called it. And I wasn't as quiet and sweet and homely as my sister. Not quite homely as in plain, you understand, she really could look gorgeous when she made the effort. But she wasn't a glamour-puss by any means. Still, I liked her. Obviously, she's my sister. Or rather she was.

Anyway, just on nine we were ready. We stood there together, side by side. We always were photogenic, triplets are, the flashbulbs were popping as Michelle cut the tape. Everyone cheered and the customers filed into the store to get at the opening special offers. We turned, job done, but agreed to one last photo by the fountain, tossing coins in for luck like you do. The guy from the Post just said 'Say cheese', which we did as we all stood by the rail together and each threw a coin in.

His camera flashed just as my coin hit the water, I remember closing my eyes just for a moment. I opened them. I stepped forward down the inclined path. I stumbled and George caught me.

"Careful Charlotte. Are you OK?"

I stopped. I stood still. George's hand was on my arm, I looked at it. Not at his hand, at my arm. It was bare. I mean, no shirt, no hairs even. Smooth. What the fuck! I saw Michelle moving round in front of me, I looked at her face. She looked concerned.

"Charlotte? Careful darling, are you really OK?"

Charlotte? What the...?

Then I noticed that big picture of the three of us, behind her head on the large toy-shop window. It looked right but wrong. The three Tranter triplets, but... There was George, in the middle, he should be on the right with me on the left and Michelle in the middle. But Michelle was on the left, this was confusing. And on the right - I looked at the signed name. It was quite clear, 'Charlotte'. Not Charlie, I remembered doing that signing. For some reason I'd taken my name down-market at the time, I'd written 'Charlie' instead of 'Charles'. But the name I was looking at was 'Charlotte'. It was a picture of a woman, well, a girl back then. But...

I moved my feet a little and stumbled again a little as George let me go, something was definitely wrong. I looked down - at a pair of black high heels on my feet, and nylon-covered legs. I was wearing tights! What the fuck was going on? And then, the clincher, as the TV van drove away on our right I saw the three of is reflected in the other big window - George was there, and Michelle - and another woman. I moved my leg. She did too. I nearly fainted.

Michelle grabbed me by the shoulders and steadied me to lead me towards one of the benches in the square. Two older men who were sat there stood up to let us sit down, giving me a friendly but rather unfamiliar kind of smile as they moved. I waited beside Michelle and realised. I was wearing a short dark skirt, and a blouse and a jacket. And I could feel a bra. Hell, I had tits!

I didn't say anything for a moment or two, I just had absolutely no idea what to say. Something had happened, something totally freaky, totally strange. But everyone round me, even my brother and sister, were behaving as if absolutely nothing out of the ordinary had happened at all. I was shaking, worried rather than cold. I saw Nigel from the TV news programme heading our way. He sat down beside me and took my hand. My hand? Well, yes it was, I felt his gentle grasp, but what I was seeing was his own large slightly hairy hand holding my thin fingers, decorated with red nail varnish and with three rings. They were definitely female rings if you know what I mean, the sort of ring 'Charles' would never have worn.

Nigel was speaking to me, he obviously realised something was wrong.

"... if you like, Charlotte. I mean, you really don't look well, are you fit for work today? It is Friday, maybe you should have today off, recover over the weekend. How about I drive you home?"

"Hey, Nigel, watch it!" George had been listening, he'd butted in. "She's not well, OK, but you just don't try anything, we all know you fancy my sister. There's no need to take advantage of a woman when she's off-colour."

"George, you know me better that that. Look, I'll drive Charlotte home, and I promise, I'll be a good boy. Scout's honour. OK?"

I really wasn't taking any part in this, I was just sitting and trying to take it all in. The big picture on the window, my hands, my shoes, my clothes... What the hell was happening? Then - the tannoy outside the store, it started playing a song. OUR song. I listened. 'One - two - three, that's how easy...'

The song was right, the rhythm was exactly as I remembered it. Three voices, not really in harmony, but different. The singing trio, I could hear the voices well, it was - one male and two female voices. Which was not at all how it had sounded when I'd last played the song, to a friend from work about three days earlier. Somehow it was true. The Tranter triplets. George, Michelle - and Charlotte. And somehow, now, I was Charlotte.

I don't remember much about the trip home, only that my mind was pre-occupied. Well, it would be wouldn't it? What had changed? Had I somehow flipped into some sort of parallel universe? Had I been dreaming? For 25 years, even, had I been dreaming that I'd been a man? But I had all these memories, football at school, taking Danielle to the pictures, groping Sarah at the office party last year.

Surely if I was a woman they wouldn't have happened. So how come I remembered them? I do recall Nigel sat beside me, driving. He obviously knew where he was going. Had he driven 'Charlotte' home before? And what had happened then? Come to that, where the hell did Charlotte live?

The answer arrived soon enough as he pulled up outside my block of flats. MY block, Charles's. I was going to get out of the car and leave him. I turned to thank him for the lift but he'd already followed me. He took my arm as we went in. Should I go to the same flat? I didn't know. All these questions!

So I did go along the passage to the same flat, number 4, at the back and looking out towards the garden. My key fitted the lock, I turned it and pushed.

"Er - Charlotte?"

Nigel was behind me, on the threshold.

"Look, Charlotte, I know we've been here before, I mean just that once when I took you to dinner. I'd hoped then - well, you know, but you really did make it clear then that you didn't want to go any further. Anyway after what George said I'm not so sure, I mean, I'd love to come in, really. I'm not due into the studio until about two, Helen is doing the lunchtime bulletin today."

It was about half past nine. I'd been a woman for half an hour. I was still totally perplexed by the whole thing but I had realised that for the moment - somehow - I had to make it work.

"Nigel, please, do come in. Let's have a coffee. I could do with someone to talk to. Just talk, OK?"

Nigel was obviously happy to get the invitation, he went past me into the main room in the flat. I looked round. It was the same flat, well, of course it was. Buildings don't just change. What was I saying? My whole life seemed to have changed, in an instant, at that moment when I'd thrown that coin in.

Hang on, maybe if it really was some sort of wishing well or something like that, maybe I'd made a wish. To be a woman or something. But that would be some kind of magic, wouldn't it? And magic didn't happen. It's some sort of trickery usually, or illusion, it couldn't really happen. Yet somehow it seemed to have happened - to me. At that moment I just couldn't come up with any other explanation of what had happened to me. Or of what had happened to my flat.

I looked round again. It was the same shape as the room I remembered, the room I -- Charles, that is - had been in and had breakfast in less than two hours earlier. But it was also different, the walls were a paler sort of yellow, the sofa was the same shape and size but the furnishings were all just a bit different. And the place was tidy. I remembered leaving my trainers by the French windows that morning after my short morning jog. They were there, but they were not mine. They were not the same colour, and they were smaller. I looked down at my stiletto clad feet. They were smaller too. I knew the trainers would fit. They were mine. Charlotte's.

I realised Nigel was still waiting. I still needed time to think about this. I pointed him towards the kitchen, again, same kitchen but differences all over. He set to getting coffee and milk and so on, I left him to it for a minute or two and went through into my bedroom. The same bedroom, this wasn't very much different. Same decorations, same furniture, bed, chair, wardrobe, dressing table. Except there were several pots and jars on the dressing table, and the whole room looked cleaner. Again, tidier. But when I looked in the wardrobe - well! Very different indeed.

Like, no shirts, no suits, except three business-type jacket-and-skirt suits at one end of the rail. And no ties, not one, in fact no tie rack. But shoes, loads of shoes, I didn't count but there must have been thirty pairs, handing in some special shoe-hanger and lined up at the bottom of the wardrobe. And above them tops, blouses, skirts, dresses. Loads of them. This Charlotte was clearly a clothes junkie. No, it was me, I was the junkie, since I was now Charlotte.

I could hear Nigel moving round in the kitchen, cups and jugs clanking a little. I paused for a minute before going back in. I paused to look in the tall mirror on the wardrobe door, one of the few features in there I hadn't had - before. I looked. I saw a woman. Obviously. I tried to assess what I could see. I realised I could describe myself somewhat dispassionately, in a sense I was seeing someone else.

A tallish woman, not as tall as Charles but not far off in high-ish black stilettos. Nearly black tights, I knew from experience that colour was sometimes referred to as Barely Black. A suit, a woman's suit that is, smart tailored jacket and a matching skirt, a deep blue colour with a pale blue slightly wavy stripe running vertically. Pale blue blouse. Not long fingers but again lengthened by longish and well-manicured nails, red but not bright red, not scarlet or vermilion, a bit of a purplish or bluish tinge.

But my face - well, how do you describe your face when you are seeing it for the first time? Slightly resembling Charles's maybe but with definite overtones of Michelle, her cute-ish nose certainly. Not surprising since she was my sister, hell, I was her sister too. Nicely done make-up, not too heavy, nice eyes, enhanced by clever blue eye-shadow but not overdone. Hell, I had pierced ears with fashionable large gold earrings, and quite long blonde hair, sort of dark-ish blonde. Overall, well, I wasn't a 'babe' as I used to say, when I'd been a man, the day before. But attractive, certainly.

Put it this way, I'd have dated me. Charles, that is, though in this mixed-up parallel world situation or wherever I was that probably couldn't ever happen. I mean I had to be one or the other, Charles or Charlotte, both of us couldn't be there together, could we? Heck, what did I know?

"Charlotte? Coffee's ready."

I heard Nigel's voice calling from the small kitchen area. I went back into the lounge, sitting on the sofa and very quickly taking the chance to have a look in my family album before Mike brought the coffee. I had a strong suspicion about what I'd find and I was right. The newspaper clippings of our birth, the pictures all showed - two girls and a boy. All the editorial was about the three of us as I expected, I remembered many of the articles written about us as we'd grown up, but they now referred to the adventures and escapades of 'George, Michelle and Charlotte' Tranter. Somehow I'd known they would.

Mike appeared with the coffee, we sat together on the sofa.

"Charlotte, are you OK now? I mean, you gave us a bit of a shock back there, you looked so pale. I think George and Michelle were worried for a moment. I know I was."

And he put a hand gently over mine, on my lap. I realised that somehow I'd have to deal with this but not now. I was, in my own mind at that time, a man trapped in a woman's body. So I'd had quite some experience of male-female relationships but with me as the male. In this situation I really didn't know how to proceed. Maybe I'd end up lesbian? I just didn't know. The phone saved me.

"Hello. Charlotte? Jack here, look, George rang, said you weren't well and wouldn't be in the office today. Well, I've got Mr and Mrs Langton here, about the house in Halesowen. They were due to visit today, I've found it in your diary. Thing is, Mr Langton says he'll only deal with you. He says you know all the details, so we're a bit stuck. Can you talk to him, I can do the visit, we can sure manage without you today, it's just this one visit."

So. I had a job. The same job, in the Estate Agency, clearly Charlotte worked there - instead of Charles. Everything had some sort of equivalence. I remembered the Langtons, though in my own mind I recalled it was Mrs Langton who had been insistent, she would only deal with me - Charles. I told Jack to put him on, Mr Langton that is.

"Hi there, yes, this is Charlotte. William isn't it? Yes, or course I remember you."

So I was being Charlotte and doing exactly the same buttering-up process as I had as Charles except this time as a woman. I thought quickly, I really was beginning to snap out of the whole confusion thing. I knew how to deal with him.

"I'm SO sorry, William, I was really looking forward to taking you to the house, oh, and your wife too of course. But I really am not fit for work today. Look, why don't you go with Jack and see the property today and then call in on Monday? I should be back by then. Then we can go to lunch maybe and discuss it? OK?"

Which is exactly what I'd planned on doing, on Monday, to persuade Mrs Langton to buy the house. OK so I'd have to use my feminine wiles to work on him instead of - you get the picture. And I had two days to work out how to do that. To begin learning to be a woman.

I hung up and looked again towards Nigel. He wasn't looking quite as worried as he'd seemed earlier but he was still looking towards me. Waiting, I think, for me to make some sort of move or to say something. I realised that I didn't want him there. I needed to be on my own. To think. But I had to find out a thing or two first.

"So, Nigel, what's going on then? What's on the programme today? Anything interesting?"

A bit of a lame question really but I had to start somewhere.

"Well, Charlotte. You are of course, a big event you know. I remember seeing the original feature about when you were born. A big thing, in regional news, you know."