by P R Ellis
Jasmine was taken by surprise. ‘No, not yet, I haven’t.’
‘You will though won’t you. When?’
‘Tomorrow.’
It was Honey’s turn to look surprised and she sprawled back on the old, soiled carpet.
‘Tomorrow? A sex-change?’
‘Biorchidectomy.’ Jasmine found herself blurting the word out.
Honey’s face was wrinkled in thought. ‘I know that. It means having your balls out.’
‘Yes.’
‘So you won’t ever get an erection again?’
‘That’s right.’
‘So you can be more like a woman.’
‘One step closer...’
Honey shook her head, chuckling. ‘And you look down your nose at what Xristal and I had done to fulfil our dreams, while you’re planning your own changes? You and me, we’ll both have bodies we’ve designed and planned and suffered for.’
‘Yes, well, perhaps that’s true.’ Jasmine glanced at her watch. It was getting late. ‘I’ve got an early start tomorrow at the hospital so it’s about time I left.’
Honey got to her feet, drawing her robe around her and stood in front of the door, blocking Jasmine’s exit.
‘You can’t leave here and get the police to come for me! You’ve got to tell them it was someone else that killed Xristal!’
‘Well, you’ve got to tell me all you know. Apart from clients, who else could it have been?’
Honey looked pained. ‘I don’t know.’
‘Tilly Jones?’
‘Who?’
‘The girl in the bottom flat.’
‘Oh, her. Hardly got to know her. Sweet girl. I can’t see any reason for her to kill Xristal.’
‘What about the Taylors?’
‘The landlords? Only met the husband once. A soft guy. She was hard though. A stick-like figure, nice tits though. Used to come to collect the rent. I paid in cash. She stayed pretty distant.’
‘What about Xristal? Did she ever meet Marilyn Taylor?’
‘Can’t see why. Xristal paid by bank transfer. I didn’t trust the banks to do that properly.’
Jasmine stepped towards Honey. ‘That doesn’t help much. You’ll still be top of the list of suspects.’
Honey backed against the door, barring Jasmine’s exit. ‘Look, you’ve got to tell them it wasn’t me. Don’t they listen to you?’
Jasmine wondered how much notice Sloane would take of her gut instinct. ‘Well, they’ve got no evidence that you were in Kintbridge on Wednesday. They may believe me if I say I don’t think it was you. But you’ve got to speak to them. It would be best if you took yourself in for questioning.’
Honey slumped. Every part of her face and body, including her augmented breasts, seemed to sag. ‘OK, but not yet.’
‘Why not?’
‘I’ve got a show tomorrow night,’ Honey went on. ‘Then I’m off for two days. I’ll come to Kintbridge then.’
Jasmine reasoned that she herself wouldn’t be back in Kintbridge till later the next day and then perhaps would not feel like meeting with Tom and Sloane until Tuesday. Would it be holding up the investigation if she didn’t tell Tom about Honey till then? No. Especially if Honey was not the murderer. Besides, Tom would have his hands full tracing Xristal’s clients for a day or two. He might even identify the murderer. ‘OK. I’ll keep it to myself until after I’ve had my op.’
Honey let out a relieved sigh and reached forward to clasp Jasmine’s hands. ‘Thank you, thank you.’
‘But you’ve got to keep in touch with me,’ Jasmine said, extracting her hands from Honey’s grasp. She felt around in her bag until she found one of her business cards. She handed it to Honey. ‘Here’s my phone number.’
Honey read the card. ‘”See the full picture with Frame Investigations”. A bit corny.’
‘It does the trick,’ Jasmine said, feeling mildly hurt, ‘and it’s not half as corny as “Havana Goodthyme”.’
Honey gave her a lop-sided grin. ‘A drag queen’s name has got to have a pun in it.’ She went to the dressing table, opened a drawer and pulled out a card. ‘Here’s my number.’
Jasmine took it from her and tucked it in her bag. Then she moved to the door. ‘Sure you don’t want to stay and see the second half?’ Honey asked, making no attempt to stop Jasmine reaching the door.
‘No thanks. I don’t think I could stand the attention I would get from some of your admirers.’
‘Was one of them coming on to you earlier?’
‘Yes.’
‘You don’t dress like one of the girls, but I suppose some of the blokes just don’t care as long as you’ve got big tits and a hard cock.’
‘Well, I haven’t got the former and after tomorrow I won’t have the latter.’ Jasmine couldn’t believe how blasé she felt.
Honey winced. ‘That’s one cut I don’t ever want.’
Jasmine shuddered at the mention of cutting.
‘Hey, are you sure you’re feeling all right about it?’ Honey said.
‘I want rid of the testosterone but I’ve got a phobia about knives and cutting.’
Honey nodded, ‘I understand. I don’t like anaesthetics. I don’t like losing control and I’m always sick after an op, but I put up with it because it’s the only way to get the body I want.’
‘Yes, and I’ll have to get over my phobia to get what I want.’
‘We’re not so different then, are we?’
‘Oh, I’m not so sure about that,’ Jasmine replied, catching a glimpse of Honey’s penis through her undone robe. She opened the door. ‘Remember, keep in touch or you’ll find the police round here and dragging you off in handcuffs - and I don’t mean for a bit of fun.’
‘Okay, okay. I’ve got the message. Good luck tomorrow.’ Honey was already sliding her arms out of the sleeves of the robe revealing more of her naked body. Jasmine didn’t want to see any more and stepped into the corridor.
She hurried down the stairs, eager to get away from the club as quickly as possible, but the route through the small foyer to the side entrance was blocked by the hefty bouncer and three other characters whose appearance took Jasmine by surprise - despite the venue. One was wearing a parody of a maid’s uniform in a shiny, stiff material, but was obviously a middle- aged man with a glossy, black wig and thick make-up. The second character was tall and slim with flame red hair above a short rubber dress of a similar colour. She had a good enough figure to be female, but Jasmine had her doubts. She was holding the end of dog lead attached to a collar around the third person’s neck - a thin, bald-headed man in his twenties wearing a torn vest and a ragged pair of denim shorts held up only by a large safety pin through the flies.
Jasmine’s appearance interrupted their conversation, and the tall, rubber-clad figure looked her up and down. ‘Ooh, what do we have here? Do you want to join us, love?’
‘Join you? Doing what?’ Jasmine replied, feeling uncomfortable and confused.
‘We’re going to show Abigail how to be a pretty girl and teach her how to serve us,’ she said, tugging on the lead, and Jasmine noticed the young man give a broad smile.
‘What? No thanks.’
‘Oh, come on. It’ll be a laugh. You look as though you need some excitement in your life.’
‘No. I’m leaving,’ Jasmine was determined.
The tall woman pouted. ‘Well, have it your way. Come on, Cynthia, let’s get Abigail prepared.’ She led the other two down the stairs into the basement.
‘You’ve only got it for a couple of hours!’ the bouncer called.
‘That’ll be plenty of time, love.’
‘Where are they going?’ Jasmine asked, not sure if she wanted to know.
‘There’s a fully-equipped dungeon down there,’ he answered, ‘available to members. But you’re not a member, are you?’
‘No, and I never will be,’ Jasmine said, hurrying out of the door into the alleyway. It was a warm, humid night. Jasmine walked back up to th
e street and passed a queue of people waiting at the main entrance. They were a boisterous crowd, high on alcohol and other intoxicants, in a variety of extravagant and exotic outfits. She guessed that the majority were trannies of one description or another, but she noted a number of men amongst them. Havana Goodthyme’s fans were obviously the same cross-section as her former clients.
Jasmine was relieved that the impatient and excited clubbers were more interested in each other than in her and she walked quickly away. She had spent more than enough time in the company of she-males and their acolytes for one night.
9
MONDAY
The hospital corridor was bright and had that typical hospital smell of cleaning fluid and other odours, the source of which she didn’t want to think about. Jasmine sat in the straight-backed chair feeling uneasy. It wasn’t that the chair itself was uncomfortable, but she felt exposed. Doctors, nurses, patients and their companions passed to and fro and she felt their eyes on her wondering what she was in for. She was also tired and anxious.
The journey back to the hotel had been slow with a long wait for the tube followed by a fraught trek through the unfamiliar streets. She had gone straight to bed, but despite it being so late had tossed and turned thinking about what Honey had told her, analysing her feelings about the club and its members, and becoming steadily more anxious about her appointment with the surgeon.
Now she tried to force herself to think about Honey’s story instead of letting her nerves get the better of her. Nevertheless, her mind kept returning to the impending operation and in particular the image of the blade of the scalpel cutting into her skin. Really, she should have been feeling overjoyed as, aside from starting the course of drugs, this was the first medical step in her transition and the first stage of the transformation of her male body into a female one. She knew it was a massively important moment in her life. She was giving up being a man as far as sex was concerned and becoming, well, a nothing really. She wouldn’t become a fully-functioning woman until she had the full gender reassignment surgery, god knows when. Despite her fears of the surgeon’s scalpel, she was certain that this was what she wanted. The dangly bits between her legs weren’t really part of her. They belonged to James Frame who was gone, departed. They were incongruous on Jasmine Frame, a proud, confident woman. She wouldn’t regret this change, but she did wish they’d get it over with - she’d been sitting waiting for nearly an hour now, and that wasn’t solely because she had arrived early.
She wondered if she should give Tom a call or perhaps just a text to see if there was any progress in tracking down Xristal’s clients. Should she mention Honey? She had promised that she would not pass on Honey’s whereabouts until Tuesday. Jasmine was pretty sure that Honey was not Xristal’s murderer, but there was still doubt and a full statement from her was needed. She was thumbing the call button when a passing nurse glared and pointed to the “No Mobile Phones” sign. Jasmine hurriedly hit the off button and dropped the phone in her bag. She sank back into the chair feeling guilty.
At last a female nurse approached her. ‘Jasmine Frame?’ Jasmine nodded. ‘Come with me please.’
Jasmine followed the nurse along a maze of corridors, towing her suitcase, before entering a small ward. Curtains were drawn around most of the beds. The nurse led Jasmine to the sole empty bed.
‘Please undress and put the gown on.’ The nurse indicated the hospital robe in thin, polka dotted material that lay folded on the mattress and she started to pull the curtains around the bed.
Jasmine began to undress, pulling her t-shirt over her head. She froze when the nurse peered around the end of the curtain. ‘OK, there?’
‘Um, yes. What do I do with my, uh, bits?’ Jasmine was unwilling to refer to her breast enhancers directly.
‘Oh, you can put your clothes and personal possessions in the cupboard by the bed.’
‘Will they be safe?’
‘We don’t cover the loss of valuable items.’
‘No? I haven’t got anything valuable, just you know, credit cards, that sort of thing.’
‘Oh, you should have left those with your companion.’
‘I haven’t got a companion.’
‘How are you getting home?’
‘A friend is coming to pick me up.’
‘I see, well it should be safe to leave things here. This is only a day-case ward so there won’t be many staff or visitors coming through.’
‘’I hope not.’ Jasmine wanted to see as few people as possible while she was at the hospital and the possible theft of her bank cards was one worry she did not want.
‘OK. I’ll leave you for a few minutes. Lie on the bed when you’re ready. One of the surgical team will be along soon.’
Jasmine carefully stripped and pulled the robe on. It was the usual backless variety but she was able to tie a bow in the two thin straps that held it together. It wasn’t a particularly discreet garment but she was not too bothered, at least not while the curtains were drawn. She tucked her shoulder bag and her clothes into her case, put it by the bedside table, then lay on the bed and tried to relax.
It was difficult. She kept on seeing that familiar image of a blade slicing through skin, of blood oozing through the cut, the flesh parting. It was quite a shock when the curtain was suddenly tugged open and a bearded man in his mid-thirties leaned over her. He held a clipboard. ‘Can you give me your name please?’
‘Jasmine Frame.’
‘And your date of birth and address.’
Jasmine recited the familiar facts. The surgeon, at least she presumed he was the surgeon, looked satisfied and shifted his gaze from the notes to look directly at her for the first time. ‘So you’re in for a biorchidectomy. You know what that means?’
‘You’re going to remove the testicles.’ As she said it she realised she hadn’t referred to them as hers. She didn’t feel at all possessive of them even though they were attached to her.
‘That’s right. It’s a simple, quick operation with very little risk of complications, but you do understand that it is not reversible?’ He frowned at her to show how seriously he meant what he said.
‘I know. It will mean the removal of my male characteristics.’
‘Well, yes, I suppose that is true but we are not removing your penis and scrotum today. You will need that tissue for when you have the full gender reassignment surgery. I see you’re down for that, but there’s no date given.’
‘That’s why I‘m having this done, so I don’t have to keep taking the anti-androgens while I’m waiting.’
‘Yes, I understand. You’ve had a bad reaction to them?’
‘Yes.’
‘Right, but we have to preserve as much skin as possible so that we have plenty to work with when we build your vagina. You’ll have to exercise your penis.’
Jasmine had heard this before. ‘Yes, I know. I have to stretch it now and again.’
‘Daily. You won’t be getting erections.’
‘I know that,’ Jasmine felt her irritation and embarrassment growing as the surgeon went on referring to matters she preferred not to think about.
‘And we replace your testicles with silicone balls to fill out the sac.’
‘Yes, I’ve been told that.’
‘Well, I’m just checking. I have to make sure you understand the procedure.’
He was just doing his job, Jasmine reflected, trying to reply as calmly as she could. ‘Yes, I do realise what this involves.’
‘Good. You’ve opted for the medium-sized balls. Most people do that. They’re like this.’ He drew a white sphere the size of a squash ball from the pocket of his white coat. Jasmine hadn’t seen one when Dr Gould had talked the operation over with her and she had just gone for the middle option. The ball looked a lot bigger than she imagined her testicles were, but she was not in the mood to argue.
‘Yes, well, fine.’
‘Good. One last thing – you haven’t eaten anything in the last twelve hours
and only drunk water?’
‘Yes,’ Jasmine was reminded of her empty stomach.
‘We wouldn’t want you throwing up on the operating table. Now, if you could sign the form we’ll start getting you ready.’
He handed Jasmine a pen and she scribbled her name in the spaces he indicated.
‘Thanks,’ the surgeon smiled. ‘It won’t take long and you won’t see or feel a thing apart from perhaps a little tugging when we stretch the sperm duct.’ Jasmine swallowed, feeling a little unnerved, as he went on, ‘A nurse will be along soon to prepare you, then we’ll have you in and out in a few minutes.’
He stepped back letting the curtain fall back and left Jasmine alone again. This was it, she thought. She had signed her manhood away: the culmination of years of agonising and debating, both internally and with Angela, doctors and, just once, with her mother.
Jasmine was still thinking back to the fraught conversation she had had when she announced her decision to transition to her mother, when the curtain opened again. A male nurse appeared with a tray of instruments. ‘Miss Frame?’ Jasmine nodded. ‘I’ve come to get you ready for your surgery.’ He placed the tray on the table that stood at the end of the bed and pulled a pair of surgical gloves onto his hands. ‘Could you pull the gown up to your waist please?’
Blood rushed to Jasmine’s cheeks. He was asking her to reveal herself to him. She gripped the hem but didn’t move it.
‘Don’t be embarrassed. I’ve got to get you ready for the local anaesthetic and then the surgeon can see to you.’
Which was most embarrassing? A man or a woman looking at her exposed genitals? She wasn’t sure, but this went against all her instincts. She devoted a lot of time to making herself look like a woman, yet here she was revealing that she was, visually at least, a man. But he was a nurse. She overcame her resistance and pulled the gown slowly up to her waist while looking for a reaction in the man’s face. There was none.