Gina the Transgender

Geoffrey is a transvestite — correction, a transgender person — who goes by the name of Georgina. He (she) likes people to call him Gina. Geoffrey should have been born a girl. He thinks like a girl, acts like a girl and dresses like a girl. He likes expensive handbags and shoes. His hair is thick, long and blonde. For the sake of confusion I shall call him (her) Gina from now on, and I shall refer to her gender as female.

She has always wanted to be a woman. As a young teenager, she remembers how — when her parents were out — she used to dress up in her mother’s clothes, carefully adorn herself with lipstick and eyeshadow and then gaze admiringly at her reflection in the full-length mirror, turning this way and that and smoothing her clothes down to accentuate the profile of her figure. After posing for many minutes, often an hour or so, always with a padded bra and sometimes wearing short dresses, stockings and high heeled shoes, she would move away from the mirror, happy and content and with a profound sense of completeness and well-being, as if she were at one with her identity and her surroundings.

Gina’s therapist, Anna Simpson, is helping her prepare for Gender Affirmation Surgery, which is an operation that will complete her transformation from a man to a woman.

Here she is with her therapist:

“Will I be able to achieve an orgasm like any other woman?”

“Yes, Gina. The sensory glands of the penis will be used to create a neoclitoris, which will have the same sensitivity as a natural clitoris.”

“What about the vagina? What will it feel like?”

“Parts of the male genitalia will be used to fashion a functioning vagina, so you will be able to have intercourse but you’ll need lubrication. When the nerves re-establish themselves after surgery, the new vagina will have some sensation.” Anna Simpson pauses. “You have been taking oestrogen and antiandrogens for a number of years now. Before the operation you’ll have to live publicly as a member of the opposite sex. It is essential that you behave like a woman at all times. The surgery you are about to undertake is life changing and irreversible. You have to be absolutely sure it’s what you want.”

“I have never been more sure in all my life,” Gina replies with utter conviction. * The early September sun is beginning to set. Gina is walking along the high street, just the right swaying movement of her hips to make heads turn, one leg stepping elegantly in front of the other, a slight toss of the head which sweeps her long, blonde hair back and the occasional glance at her reflection in the shop window, admiring the profile of her bottom, implanted breasts, thin waistline and shapely legs. Gina’s smile has a slight coquettish quality as she passes a man whose glance turns to an admiring stare. She is on her way to meet her boyfriend, Jimmy. Gina is almost skipping along, her heart beating faster the closer she gets to the pub where they have agreed to meet. She is deeply in love with him.


Jimmy discovered she was transgender a week or so after they had been dating. For a straight guy it was an immense psychological shock. He questioned his own sexuality, wondered whether there was something slightly odd about himself, something that he wasn’t aware of. It even crossed his mind that he was a latent homosexual.

“Jesus Christ, do you mean to tell me I’ve been dating a man?” he said, bewildered.

“This happens every time, in every relationship that I’ve ever been in. The guy I’m dating finds out who or what I am and then he ditches me,” Gina said wiping a tear from her eye. “I’ve been called a disgusting bitch, a filthy queer, a pervert and a whore slut to name but a few derogatory phrases …”

Jimmy sat with his head in his hands. Many thoughts raced through his mind. Gina was feminine, pretty, compassionate, intuitive. She sounded posh. She looked stylish. She moved gracefully. She was self-confident. He felt aroused when he was in her presence. What was there not to like?

“Please don’t leave me like the others, Jimmy. I’m deeply in love with you.”

“Just give me time. I’ve got to get my head around this…”

She picked up her coat and, feeling the relationship was about to crumble, headed for the front door. Gina was about to open it when he asked her to stop and sit down. Jimmy took her hand in his and gently squeezed it. They embraced. He was in love with her. Suddenly her sexuality didn’t matter. He would never let her go. Sweeping her hair back from her forehead, he said: “I’m here. I will always be here.”


Gina turns a corner and heads towards the pub where she has agreed to meet Jimmy. She sees him sitting at the bar, sipping a pint of bitter. Heads his way. Jimmy doesn’t care what people think, whether people know that Gina is a transgender. He has passed the point of caring. Looking at her, you would never know she was a man. Listening to her, you might just detect a slight deepness in her voice, but it has a warm, tender softness, a sweet feminine quality. He reaches out and clasps her hand, then they kiss. Jimmy orders a gin and orange and they pick up their drinks and move towards an empty table in the corner of the pub, passing people they know, friends whom they joke with before sitting down.

“Well whadoyouknow … if it ain’t a pair of lovebirds just walked in?”

“Cheeky thing,” Gina replies, smiling. They give their friends a high five and then sit down. Their conversation flips seamlessly from subject to subject, chatting earnestly about politics, sex, people, stuff that is going on in the news — the environment and the burning down of the Amazon jungle by illegal loggers.

“Boris is doing a great job,” Gina says. “I like the way he’s dealing with the rebels.”

“Yeah, it’s about time we had a Prime Minister who showed strong leadership,” Jimmy replies.

They have a couple more drinks then decide to leave the pub and go back to Gina’s place. Jimmy has scored a quarter ounce of cheese, which is skunk type cannabis grass. They’re going to have sex, probably lasting for hours. His mouth is dry just thinking about it. Gina sure knows how to blow a man’s cock. She takes Jimmy’s to the root, moves her head in a rolling motion and then slides it back up the shaft before plunging it down again. She understands the anatomy of a man and knows when to stop and when to start. She can keep him lingering on for ages before he finally orgasms, his cock squirting its load deep in her throat. He loves her and will do anything to please her. She loves him. They both love having sex, enhanced by cannabis.


Holding hands, they cross the road and turn into the high street. Jimmy giggles as Gina cracks a sexually explicit joke about some black man standing in the kitchen with his cock in a bowl of custard. The punchline is the guy’s fucking disgusted (dis―custard). Still giggling, they lock arms and turn into the park. Dusk is falling. A blackbird sings from somewhere in the shadows. They clasp hands as they walk through the park and on towards Gina’s flat. They could not be happier. They are in love and everything feels wonderful.

A group of youths loitering in a disused bandstand look their way. One of the youths dressed in a biker’s leather jacket tells his friends that he knows who Gina is. “She is a tranny and a queer,” he says. “The geezer she is with is a gay boy who loves cock.” They all begin to mock and jeer: “You fucking poofters! Brown nosed shirt lifter!”

“Take no notice of them,” Jimmy whispers. “They’re just hooligans. We’ll soon be home.”

The youths climb down from the bandstand. One of them leaps over the railings. Walking behind Gina and Jimmy, they continue their abusive taunts. “Cock gobblers!”

There is nobody else in the park. The blackbird is now silent. The sun had descended below the treetops, deepening shadows. The only sounds now are the menacing shouts coming from the youths. Gina looks back and is horrified to see one of the boys picking up a large stone. Another is miming somebody having a wank — satirising the act with quick movements of his hand. The boys move closer to the couple, their verbal insults becoming ever more threatening.

“Why don’t you fuck off,” Gina shouts.

Jimmy quietly warns her not to provoke them.

The youths continue their taunts. The boy who has picked up the stone throws it at Gina. It strikes her heavily on the back of the head. Another pushes her to the floor. Jimmy can see blood oozing from her head, staining her blond hair. As he reaches down to help her, one of the youths kick him in the face. He staggers back, blood spurting from his nose. Three other youths lay into Gina, frenziedly kicking and punching her. “You fucking gay pervert,” one of them screams. With a final stamp on her head, the youths run off laughing. Wiping blood from his face, Jimmy crawls towards Gina. She is lying motionless on the tarmac path. He turns her onto her back. Her nose has been crushed, her cheekbone caved in and her teeth broken. Her face is a bloody pulp. Bubbles of spit and blood form around her nose and mouth. With trembling hands, Jimmy fumbles for his mobile phone and calls an ambulance.

The paramedics arrive. They treat Gina first, stemming the flow of blood and patching her up the best they can before stretchering her into the ambulance. Jimmy follows, holding a thick dressing to his face. The ambulance speeds off to the nearest A&E unit, blue lights flashing, sirens wailing. The paramedic in the back of the ambulance insert a cannula in the back of her hand, then attaches a blood pressure cuff to her arm. He hooks her up to monitors which checks her breathing and heart rhythm. “Warn the A&E that it’s a code red,” he calls to the driver. “She’s in cardiac arrest …” Despite the paramedic’s life-saving skills, Gina dies on the way to the hospital. She is pronounced ‘dead on arrival’. The time is 10:05 PM.

Jimmy is given the news. He is bewildered. He can’t take it in. What kind of society is this? He collapses onto a seat in the hospital corridor, head in his hands and quietly sobbing.

Many other patients are gathering in the A&E reception area, queueing up to see doctors. Nobody knows what has happened. It’s just another night in the country’s capital city. Another statistic on London’s death toll.

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