Molly's Boudoir: the 4th Jasmine Frame novel (Jasmine Frame Detective) Read online

  Tom saw Winslade frown. ‘I’m not sure that’s the appropriate term in this case, Tom. She, he, has a contraption around her genitals.’

  ‘A contraption?’

  ‘I think it’s a chastity device.’

  Tom found his mind filled with questions he wasn’t sure he wanted the answer to, but he remembered what he had been reading on his phone. ’I wonder? I’d just looked up the website for this place. If I understand it correctly I think they offer dressing up sessions for transvestites and gear for making them look female.’

  Winslade nodded. ‘I’m sure Jasmine can explain it to you, better than I can.’

  Tom sucked his lip. ‘There’s only one problem. I’m not sure if Jasmine is up to it. It’s only a month since her op. The big one.’

  ‘She’s had her Gender Reassignment Surgery?’

  ‘That’s it. She said before she went in for it that it would be a while before she was back at work.’

  ‘It’s a serious operation, Tom, so I’m not surprised, but perhaps she’d welcome a visit from you if she’s been convalescing for a month.’

  2

  THURSDAY 12th SEPTEMBER 2013

  AFTERNOON

  Jasmine pulled the dress over her head and dropped it on the bed. She reached behind her back to release her bra and lifted out her enhancers as the cups loosened. She felt her customary sadness at still requiring the fillers as she glimpsed a reflection of her breasts in a wall mirror alongside the cabinet by the side of the bed. Now why, she thought, would they bother to put mirrors on the wall in a surgical ward. Surely, none of the patients would relish looking at themselves after surgery. Perhaps it was there so they could check that their appearance was satisfactory when it came time to leave.

  She was standing in just her knickers but, with the curtain pulled around the bed, she didn’t feel self-conscious; no more than usual when she spied her naked body. For years, she had avoided looking at what was between her legs but now she felt an urge to do so. She slipped her knickers down and manoeuvred so that she could see below her waist in the small mirror. The shrivelled thing hung there between her thighs As she had shaved her pubes in preparation for her surgery and each hair on her scrotum had been eliminated by her electrolygist the appearance was unfamiliar to her. It didn’t seem to be part of her, probably because it was already not fully her flesh, being bulked out by the two plastic balls that had replaced her testes last year. If she hadn’t followed instructions and stretched the useless appendage every day it would probably look even more insignificant.

  No regrets. That pleased her. The urge to move on and become the woman she had long felt herself to be was as strong as ever. Tomorrow, or whenever she next felt up to examining herself she would look different.

  ‘Are you ready, Miss Frame?’

  Jasmine leapt at the sound of the nurse’s voice beyond the curtains and hurriedly grabbed the hospital regulation gown from the bed. She pulled it over her head and removed her knickers.

  ‘Yes,’ she replied belatedly.

  The nurse poked her head in, took in her clothed appearance, and drew back the curtains. Jasmine in a nightdress was revealed to the other five occupants of the ward. She had already made their acquaintance, although the lady who had been operated on today was still somewhat groggy in a morphine-induced haze. The others, in various more advanced stages of the recovery process, gave her a warning of what was to come for her – discomfort, plenty of it, plus a growing sense of achievement.

  ‘Hop into bed then please. Your dinner is here.’

  Jasmine responded to the nurse’s instruction beginning to feel the truth of her institutionalisation. “Give yourself up to it”, she had been encouraged, and that she resolved to do. She would be the model patient.

  She was glad to be awoken early in the morning since her recurring nightmare had troubled her throughout the night. As it consisted of knives slashing at her flesh, it wasn’t too surprising the night before major surgery but she greeted the morning tired and disturbed. Jasmine had to tell herself it wasn’t the actual operation, with the very real cutting that was required, that bothered her, but the old fear of knife attack that she had to overcome. She was grateful for the start of preparations for her surgery. No breakfast of course, but the embarrassing and not very comfortable flushing out of her bowels. Then there was the final consent form signing session with her surgeon and her reassurances that she did indeed wish to go through with it. The day she had looked towards for years had finally arrived.

  She walked to the theatre, but didn’t walk back. She awoke, her mouth parched, tongue like old leather, her head heavy and mind foggy, her body not belonging to her. The nurse told her she was in the recovery room, almost five hours had passed, and everything had gone well. Jasmine thought, I have a vagina, I’m a woman, but really all she wanted to do was sleep. The nurse kept talking at her, asking questions until she was sure Jasmine was fully awake.

  They wheeled her back to her ward. She noticed that one bed was now empty but the remaining four women greeted her with varying degrees of jollity but all with congratulations for making it to the ranks of post-op transsexual. She lay, slightly nauseous, but feeling a sense of achievement although to be honest all she had done was lie on the operating table. It was the surgeon who had transformed her, giving her the body she wanted. Gradually she regained the sense that her limbs belonged to her, the numbness of the anaesthetic replaced by a growing ache and soreness that was kept at a distance by the morphine being pumped into her arm.

  She asked for her phone to be put in her hand and her mind was taken off the awareness that the next days would be full of pain. There were best wishes messages of course, from Viv and Angela, sister Holly and even her mother. The last surprised her as her mother had never given her blessing for Jasmine’s planned surgery and only barely accepted that she no longer had a son. She flicked through social media, news and a light novel that she’d had the sense to load before leaving home, happy to have something to pass the time.

  ‘How’re yow doing, Jas love?’

  Jasmine looked up from her screen on hearing the familiar Birmingham lilt. She felt a cute furry animal do a little somersault in her stomach when she saw the beaming smile of Viv. She hauled herself up the bed to a more conversational position.

  ‘Fine, a bit numb at the moment, thanks to the morphine. That I’m grateful for.’

  Viv pulled up a chair and sat beside her bed. He took her hand in his.

  ‘It’s all done? You’re happy with it?’

  ‘They say it went to plan. There’s so much packing and padding down there I haven’t seen a thing yet,’ Jasmine nodded towards her lower half. ‘Not sure I want to yet. I’ve heard it’s a bit of a horrid sight for the first day or so.’

  ‘Ah, yes, I s’pose so.’ He lifted a brown paper bag onto the covers, ‘I wasn’t sure whether to bring you flowers or grapes or what, so I decided on chocolates.’

  Jasmine drew the shiny box from the bag and smiled at him. ‘Thanks. I don’t think I want one now. Do you?’

  Viv shook his head. ‘No, they’re for you, and the nurses and,’ he glanced around the ward, ‘the other, er, ladies.’

  Jasmine smiled, ‘I’m sure they’ll be appreciated.’

  ‘Have you had dinner?’

  ‘A while ago. I didn’t feel like much,’ in fact the thought of eating had made her feel sick, ‘I managed a few mouthfuls of soup.’

  ‘Oh, are you not feeling well?’ There was a look of concern on Viv’s face.

  ‘As well as expected. Look, we went through this Viv. I know it’s going to be pretty uncomfortable for a while.’ In fact, all the reading she had done had warned her that the next few days, once the morphine was withdrawn, would be about as painful as it could be.

  ‘Yes, I know, but, I was sort of hoping…’

  ‘That I was superhuman or something, able to cope with major surgery without batting my eyelashes. Sorry.’

  Viv looked i
nfant-like. ‘No, I know, it’s silly, but I don’t want you in pain.’

  ‘It comes with the consent forms, Viv. It won’t be for long.’ She didn’t feel quite as relaxed as she sounded. The impending pain was not something she welcomed as a challenge. They chatted on for the duration of the short visiting time. When a bell rang, Viv leaned over the bed and placed a kiss on her cheek.

  He stood up straight. ‘Um, I have a meeting in Bristol tomorrow…’

  ‘Don’t worry, Viv, I never expected you to come from Kintbridge every evening to see me. I’ll be home in a few days, and anyway, the next day or two I may not want visitors.’

  He gave her a thin smile. ‘Well, imagine I’m here and you’re holding on to me tight when the pain gets bad. See you soon, love.’ He waved farewell and she blew him a kiss with the hand unimpeded by the infusion. Jasmine settled back on the pillow hoping that sleep would come soon.

  The next two days were as bad as she feared with paracetamol and Ibuprofen hardly taking the edge off the pain. Weirdly, much of the discomfort seemed to be in the appendage that she no longer had, an example of the “phantom limb” syndrome. The padding was removed and she looked at her bruised and bloody groin with distaste, but it was the packing stretching her newly-constructed vagina that caused the greatest discomfort. Somehow, she got through the days and she was grateful for having the foresight, gleaned from previous patients, to have sleeping pills prescribed for the nights. At least they provided a few hours of semi-blissful unconsciousness.

  The following evening, she was trying to read through the pain, and largely failing when another familiar voice makes her look up. The sight of Angela gave her a lift she found surprising.

  ‘Hey, you’re looking great, Jas.’

  ‘I don’t believe you.’ Jasmine managed a chuckle. ‘Thanks for coming.’

  ‘I couldn’t not come and see you when you’ve finally got what you wanted all these years. And anyway, I’ve been up in the City all day, so I was in need of a bit of relaxation. Pity we can’t crack a bottle of wine.’

  ‘I don’t think that’s on my prescription just yet.’ Jasmine looked around and saw that most of the other patients were dozing. ‘Let’s go to the day room for a chat.’

  ‘Can you move?’

  ‘With difficulty.’ Jasmine slowly swung her legs off the bed. A passing nurse disconnected her catheter from the urine bag and leaning on Angela’s arm they walked the few yards from the ward to the small television lounge.

  ‘I feel like an old woman.’ Jasmine said as she lowered herself into an upright armchair.

  ‘At least you are a woman.’ Angela said. In moments, they were chatting as if they still lived together. Jasmine had never lost her love for her ex-wife although she accepted they had moved on.

  ‘How’s the new love in your life?’ she asked, knowing that Angela had a new boyfriend.

  ‘My toyboy?’

  ‘Is he?’

  ‘Well, he’s three years younger than us; tall, dark and handsome.’

  ‘A change from me then.’

  ‘Yes,’ Angela’s face turned serious as a memory or two seemed to flash through her mind but then she brightened, ‘but we’re getting on well.’

  ‘In all ways?’

  Angela blushed, ‘Yes.’ She took a breath, ‘And you and Viv?’

  ‘We’re getting on fine, and looking forward to me being fit.’

  ‘So, you can do it properly?’

  Now it was Jasmine’s turn to flush. She nodded.

  Angela hurried on, ‘And you’re settled in the new house?’

  ‘Yes. You must come round with, er, …’

  ‘Simon.’

  ‘Yes, that’s it, both of you.’

  For a while Jasmine was almost able to forget her discomfort and when it came time for Angela to leave she was surprised how well she had coped. It gave her hope that the worst of post-operative pain was passed.

  She reassessed that optimistic feeling the following morning when the time arrived to remove the packing from inside her. The extraction of the bloody mess of gauze and dressing almost made her faint but with the catheter also removed she was then able to have her first real pee as a woman, and a shower. Then though, it was on to the task which would fill her with anticipatory fears for the next months – dilation. Jasmine started with a heavily lubricated one-inch diameter test-tube-like dilator, which she eased into her vagina, gently twisting it and holding it in place for five minutes. She slid it out gently almost expecting to see a flood of blood, but apart from a few dark flecks of dried blood it was clean. Then it was the turn of the wider dilator to be kept in place for ten to fifteen minutes. She felt as if she was going to tear in half, but in fact the fears were unfounded. The specialist nurse who had trained any number of trans-women in this task nodded with approval.

  ‘That’s it. Three times a day from now on.’

  ‘Forever?’

  ‘For the time being. You will be able to reduce it as you heal and the channel becomes established. Forget it and you’ll quickly close up.’

  Jasmine certainly didn’t want that to happen. She wanted an adequate and useable vagina so she listened to all the advice the nurse had to give.

  There was one more night of pill-induced sleep, and then a day of waiting, hoping that she would be given the all-clear to be discharged. She was more than impatient by the early evening when Viv arrived. She was dressed, coat on and sitting somewhat stiffly on the bed, when he appeared.

  Jasmine waved goodbye to her fellow patients, all of whom had changed since she had arrived. She eased herself into the wheelchair that the nurse provided, grateful that she did not have to walk the couple of hundred yards to Viv’s parked car. She was going home to convalesce and become familiar with her new anatomy.

  3

  SATURDAY 21st SEPTEMBER

  MORNING

  Lee looked up at the sign above the display window. “Molly’s”, he read. This was it; he’d driven a hundred miles to get here, saved up for months – money and courage. He was a little surprised how small the shop appeared. For no real reason at all, he had expected a large emporium with neon signs and bold branding. But here was a small, discreet shop at the end of a country-town high street, keeping to itself what its purpose was beyond selling female clothes. The window was occupied by a couple of mannequins in tasteful dresses along with a few pairs of shoes and sandals, scarves and gloves. Now that he thought about it he was glad that the premises didn’t shout out what it offered. He would have been even more nervous about approaching the door if it had.

  He pushed the door open and an old-fashioned bell jangled. He stepped into a bright, if small, premises with a pair of racks of female clothes standing on the light, wooden floor. Two walls had floor to ceiling shelves and drawers. In front of him a woman was rising from her chair behind a low desk on which there was laptop.

  ‘Good morning. May I help you,’ the woman said in a sing-song voice that did not conceal its low register. She was a good couple of inches shorter than Lee but had a considerably wider girth. She was wearing a high-necked, dark purple, maxi-dress that was almost Victorian in its style.

  ‘I’m Lee Clement. I made an appointment,’ he said, trying not to let his voice waver.

  The woman beamed and moved from behind the desk to welcome him with her arms reaching out to him.

  ‘Of course. I was expecting you. I’m Evelyn. I’ll be escorting you on your journey.’ She moved behind Lee to drop the latch on the door and flip the “Open” sign to “Closed”.

  ‘Come on through,’ Evelyn said, guiding Lee around the desk and through a short corridor into another, slightly larger room.

  Evelyn stood in the centre of the space and stretched out her arms.

  ‘Welcome to my boudoir,’ she said, ‘where all your dreams come true.’

  Lee looked around. It was a windowless room lit by a dozen or more small ceiling lights which banished all shadows. There was another, closed, do
or in front of him and in the opposite corner, a curtained cubicle. In the last corner stood another mannequin which looked somewhat strange. It seemed unusually fleshy, and the skin looked soft instead of the usual shiny hardness. It was dressed in just a bra and pants. Wide, floor to ceiling mirrors occupied the middle of each of the four walls with banks of narrow chests of drawers on both sides with open shelves above them. The top shelf around the room was filled with dozens of wigs on stands. A couple of easy chairs and what resembled a hairdresser’s chair were the only furniture.

  ‘Let me take your coat and then you can have a seat,’ Evelyn said.

  Lee shrugged off his anorak and sat, as directed in the salon-style seat. Evelyn carefully hung the coat on a rack beside the cubicle. She turned, smiling and approached Lee.

  ‘Now tell me what you would like today, Lee.’

  ‘I’d like you to make me into a woman.’ There he’d said it. The first time he’d spoken his desires out loud let alone telling them to another person. But he had to qualify it. ‘I know you can’t really turn me into a woman just like that, but, your website said you could make me look like an attractive woman.’

  If anything, Evelyn’s smile grew broader. ‘That is exactly what we do here at Molly’s,’ she said, then, stepping closer, her voice dropped to a more conspiratorial level. ‘Have you done anything like this before such as dressing, er, in female clothes.’

  Lee felt his cheeks turning red. It was silly to be ashamed of what he did at home when he’d driven all this way to feed his urge to wear women’s clothes. ‘Yes,’ he whispered, ‘I have a few skirts and dresses that I wear at home and a pretty horrible wig.’

  ‘You only dress at home?’

  Lee shrugged. ‘Mostly. I have gone out a few times, at night, but I just don’t feel that I look feminine enough. My figure…’

  Evelyn looked him up and down. ‘Hmm. Yes. Stand up a moment, please Lee.’ Lee did as he was told. Evelyn continued to consider his body. She pulled out a tape measure from a pocket in her voluminous dress and quickly circled it around his chest, waist and hips.