Chapter 16: Barrack Room Bettys

The voyage back to Portsmouth was via Fremantle Western Australia, Colombo Sri Lanka, with a final fuelling stop at Gibraltar. It was uneventful until the last night at sea. Barrack Room Bettys had been filled to capacity every night as the ports on the return voyage were not particularly conductive to the sort of carousing that the sailors liked to get up to.

The girls of BRB literally worked their arses off but they made a fortune.

But all good things must come to an end and Michele and Rod knew that one day the inevitable would happen. What happened, happened quickly and quietly on the last night of the deployment.

At 1700 just when the girls and Rod and Knocker expected Leading Seaman Steve Smith to open the doors of BRB to the punters; he opened it up instead to five Masters at Arms or ‘Jossmen’ as the matelots called them. The First Lieutenant or ‘Jimmy’, and the Executive Officer were also present. They marched in without a word and handcuffed the three men and Michele and Mary then they went below bought up Polly and Doris and handcuffed them too.

One of the Jossmen pulled off the girls wigs and they looked quite humiliated dressed in eveningwear, high heels, makeup but with men’s short haircuts. A couple of the Jossmen sniggered but the First Lieutenant gave them a grave look.

“Pick up your wigs ladies if you will,” he said to the four Bettys.

“They ain’t ladies they’re...”

“Shut up Petty Officer Jennings and station yourself outside the door! We’re here to do our duty not humiliate people!” the First Lieutenant growled.

The Petty Officer broodily made his way to the door.

A few minutes later one of the Master Arms came up the ladder from the girl’s messdeck. Michele had left the safe unlocked and he had the BRB books and a small mound of cash. The XO rummaged through the ledger and then looked up at CPO Latham.

“You’ve made a quite the profit here Chief. I doubt there is any more cash on board than what we have on the table in front of us is there?” The XO glared at Rod.

“Deposited sir. In every port I deposited the takings into a numbered account,” Rod replied.

“I guessed that would be the case and I’m sure you all have money invested in your personal Bank of England accounts deposited through the Pusser,” the XO mused.

“Well I hope it’s enough for these five young sailors to live on for a while.”

The seven handcuffed sailors looked at each other quizzically. With the exception of Rod and Michele the others had no idea what was going on.

“Okay you lot; take off their handcuffs and wait outside, and close the door,” the XO ordered the Jossmen; leaving only himself and the Jimmy with the prisoners.

“Listen carefully; I will not be repeating myself and if anyone asks I never ever said these words. In fact I was never here,” the XO began.

“There will be no Courts Marshall, no Captains Table; there will be no public record of what has been taking place in 6QDA on board Her Majesty’s Flagship.”

“If word of this ever got out, the Navy would be disgraced and the officers and sailors a laughing stock.”

“You seven are so lucky! If it was up to me I’d keelhaul every one of you but I can’t.”

“So this is what’s happening. When we berth in Portsmouth tomorrow, after everyone has left the ship, you seven are also leaving; never to return.”

“CPO Latham and PO White, your discharge papers will be mailed to you. They will reflect an honourable discharge from the Royal Navy and your pensions will not be affected. If you ever attempt to re-enlist however, your files are marked ‘not suitable for further service’.”

“As for you four ... whatever you are, and you Leading Seaman Smith. Your naval records will be permanently deleted. You never were and never will be in the Royal Navy. Whatever wages are owing to you will be deposited in your bank accounts. A file will be kept on you marked ‘not suitable for service’ in case you ever attempt to re-enlist.”

“That seems fair enough,” Steve Smith uttered and the others glared at him.

“Shut up you imbecile!” the XO shouted at him.

“If any of you; I mean any of you, tell of what occurred on board this ship you will be hounded down and thrown in cells. The charges will be such that you won’t be outside for years.”

“Get it?”

“Yes sir!” they all chimed in unison.

The Jossmen were called back and the four Bettys were each photographed with a Polaroid camera then taken below and made to strip, clean themselves up and then photos taken of them in their working dress. Rod, Knocker and Spike were also photographed and taken to their messes to clear out their lockers and then bought back to 6QDA.

“You will all spend the night here under the watch of the Master at Arms. Tomorrow you will leave the navy for good,” the XO ordered, spun on his heels and left, followed by the Jimmy and most of Jossmen.

CPO Latham, PO White, LS Smith, ABs Nyland, Perkins, Holiday and Maine spent the night sitting at the table, smoking, drinking and talking. The Jossman didn’t care what they did as long as they didn’t leave the compartment. He locked the door and sat outside with a case of beer.

“It was bound to happen; our luck couldn’t go on for ever,” Knocker said wistfully.

“How long do you think they’ve known?” Polly asked.

“For a while I bet. They would have had to get approval from the Admiralty to do what they’ve just done but there won’t be any records,” Rod espoused.

“Fuck! Imagine if this got out! The press would have a field day!” Mary laughed.

“Don’t even joke about it! We’re getting away Scot free and rich!” Michele stated.

“I’m packing my gear and hitting the rack,” Doris said and the others nodded and followed suit.

The seven of them met for one last time a couple of days later in a pub in Portsmouth. Rod handed out bankbooks to each of them.

“You all have your share; me and Michele double checked and it’s all there,” Rod advised his compatriots.

Michele and Polly were both dressed casually as women but Doc Holiday and Mary Maine were dressed in male civilian clothing.

“I’m thinking of going full time,” Michele said perusing her bankbook.

“What? Living full time in drag?” Doc looked astonished.

Michele just kept her own counsel.

She raised her glass.

“To Barrack Room Bettys,” she smiled and they all clinked their glasses together.

They sat and talked about old times for a while but the small crowd soon broke up and drifted away. They had exchanged phone numbers but they doubted they’d see each other again.

Michael Nyland bought a second-hand VW Kombi and travelled all over Great Britain. He grew his hair long until he no longer needed a wig and dressed as a woman full time using the name Michele.

Michele became naturally feminine living as a transgendered person full time. She stayed in cheap rooming houses or in the back of her Kombi van during her travels and kept mostly to herself except when she got the urge for sex, then she would find a tranny friendly bar and find a nice gentleman. She wrote to Ying almost daily; telling Ying of her adventures on the road.

Eight months after leaving Portsmouth, Michele drove her Kombi down Cheltenham High Street then onto one of the backstreets and pulled up across the road from Pink Pussycats. It looked deserted and decrepit. The dodgy souvlaki restaurant remained open but the club above had all the windows whitewashed over and the Pink Pussycats sign was faded and the neon glass sign was broken. It looked like an abandoned dump.

Michele hopped out of the van. She was wearing flared jeans; a tight purple velour top with long sleeves and cork-soled platform sandals with her red toenails peeking out of the straps. Her fingernails were painted the same bright red, which matched her lipstick, but except for some mascara her makeup was subdued and her shoulder-length hair was brushed out and left flowing. She wore ‘arts and crafts’ bangles, necklaces, rings and earrings, which she had picked up at various flea markets and she looked quite bohemian. She looked nothing like the elegant ‘lady of the night’ which had been her style during the BRB days.

Michele crossed the street and looked at the rusty and rickety concertina door. She rattled it and the rusty lock fell off and it screeched as she pushed it open.

She looked around; saw no one was looking, and then began to climb the stairs. The carpet was ripped and wet from water that dripped from the ceiling. Underneath the mouldy funk was the familiar smell of spilled beer and ground in cigarette ash. The yellow nicotine stained walls were peeling and the sconces and the chandeliers had been removed. The old mirror balls still hung forlornly from the ceiling. The remaining furniture, which was so bad no one had bothered to steal it, was stacked in the old booths along one wall.

Michele smiled as she remembered her and her Bettys partying the night away here on that evening so long ago. She was saddened briefly as she remembered Spike Jones spoiling the evening by throwing a drink over her.

She turned around and walked carefully down the rickety staircase.

“Hey lady! What you doing up there?” the fat Greek man in a filthy apron asked as she came out the entrance.

“Just remembering old times,” she smiled at him.

The man looked at the fresh-faced pretty woman and smiled. She looked like a hippy but there was something about her; something not quite right.

Michele was used to that look by now and shrugged it off.

“Well you should have asked first. That’s my place you know,” the man admonished her but smiled.

“Really? I wouldn’t fess up to owning that dump but never mind; I’ll buy a souvlaki from you how’s that?” Michele grinned.

“Hey a pretty girl like you? I’m buying you the souvlaki,” the vendor laughed and Michele laughed with him.

Two weeks later a hippy looking young man showed his passport at Heathrow airport and boarded a British Airways Boeing 747 bound for Bangkok. He was the youngest person sitting in Club Class and the longhaired, androgynous looking man drew the attention of business types and hostesses.

The plane landed at Bangkok twelve hours later and Michael had slept most of the way. He picked up his luggage and took a taxi to the Nanna Hotel and checked in.

It was Michael Nyland’s twenty-first birthday and it was the last day that Michael ever dressed as a man. He went straight to his room and transformed into Michele. On that day Michael Nyland ceased to exist.

There was a knock at the door and Michele opened it cautiously and was relieved to see Ying. Ying threw herself at Michele, almost crushing her.

“My sweetheart! My lover! My Michele!” she cried, tears streaming down her face.

Michele cried too and they held each other until they were both cried out. Michele closed the floor to ceiling curtains, turned down the lamps and took Ying’s hand and led her to the bed.

Michele and Ying spent the next two days in bed, getting up only for essentials and to answer the door for room service. They explored each other intimately and their love for each other grew.

On the third day they sat across from each other, the curtains wide open, smoking cigarettes and sipping chilled water.

“Are you sure Michele?” Ying stroked Michele’s face and searched her pretty blue eyes; looking for any element of doubt.

“I’m sure Ying,” Michele whispered and stroked Ying’s face.

Four hours later they lay side by side on two hospital gurneys. Both a little groggy with the effects of a mild sedative they held hands while they waited. A nurse burst through the door and took the handles of Michele’s gurney.

“Ok it’s time,” she smiled.

“I love you,” Michele said and let go of Ying’s hand.

“I love you,” Ying smiled back.

Michele awoke in the hospital, groggy and unsure why she was there and then her memory returned and she smiled. She tried to sit up but the pain in her chest and neck was too severe. A nurse appeared and smiled down at her, took some readings and adjusted the intravenous drip-feed and Michele drifted off to sleep again.

When she awoke again she had been propped up in bed and the sun was shining though the curtains of the private hospital ward. Ying was in a bed beside her, awake but obviously in some pain.

“Are you ok. Does it hurt?” Michele croaked.

“If I cut your balls off and turned you cock inside out would it hurt?” Ying grimaced but her sense of humour shone through.

“Well if it makes you feel any better, having silicone bags shoved inside your chest and having your trachea peeled like an apple is no fun either,” Michele could hardly talk with the pain.

“Hey! No talking! Doctor tell you before the operation! No talking for long time!” A nurse who was hovering out sight came over to Michele’s bed.

Ying stuck her out tongue at Michele and smiled, and Michele drifted off again.

Three days later the two women were released from the hospital. Michele had leased a small house outside of the city and employed a nurse and housekeeper to look after them.

Michele recuperated quickly from her breast augmentation and tracheal shave; her voice was hoarse for a few days but she soon recovered and she now spoke with a sexy, smoky, feminine voice without having to make a conscious effort. She was constantly amazed at her breasts. She loved having them. The fine scars were healing nicely. Michele had chosen C-cup size breasts because they suited her lithe frame.

Ying was taking a little longer to heal after her vaginoplasty sex reassignment surgery, as was expected. As soon as she had healed enough she began using a dilator to keep her new vagina open.

A month later Ying was well enough to travel and they took a two week vacation to Phuket, hitting the beach, shopping and bar hopping. Handsome young men constantly hit on the exotic Asian thirty-something and the beautiful young Caucasian woman, but they only had eyes for each other. It raised quite a few eyebrows when the two bikini-clad beauties kissed each other passionately while sunbathing near the pool or rolled in the sand on the beach.

In their hotel room Michele lay back on the king-sized hotel bed while Ying caressed her. She flicked Michele’s nipples with her tongue.

“You should have got the Ds,” Ying teased as she kissed and stroked Michele’s new breasts.

“Shut up and keep doing what you’re going,” Michele giggled and pulled Ying’s face to hers so she could kiss her.

“What about this?” Ying waggled Michele’s erect penis and smiled.

“That’s staying right where it is,” Michele laughed.

“Yeah I think we’ll keep it cause as soon as this is ready I want you to stick it in me,” Ying smiled and pointed down to her still-recuperating vagina.

“In the meantime; my bottom is also off limits but I can still do this,” Ying lowered her face to Michele’s penis and licked it.

Michele groaned.

Michele wound her fingers in Ying’s hair and pushed her face down to onto her penis and Ying opened her mouth obligingly.

Ying used her tongue to slather the head of Michele’s penis and her lips sucked on her silky shaft. Ying got into a steady rhythm coordinating her breathing whilst sucking on Michele’s erect phallus, using her tongue at the same time to tease her.

Ying could sense that Michele was close to climax; she groaned louder and vigorously thrusted her erection in and out of Ying’s mouth. Ying looked up at Michele who was looking down at her. They smiled at each other and Michele moaned as Ying sucked and slathered at her lover’s throbbing member.

Ying felt Michele’s climax approaching and then she felt Michele’s cock spasm and discharge into her mouth. Ying swallowed Michele’s ejaculate as it erupted from her convulsing organ. Michele’s semen tasted warm and sweet to Ying.

Ying moved her free hand up Michele’s body and stroked Michele’s breast, gently milking the last of Michele’s seed with her tongue as she suckled the glans of Michele’s penis and flicked at her nipple.

Michele was still amazed at how much she loved having real breasts and how much she loved having them played with.

When Ying had drained the last of Michele’s issue; Michele pulled her up the bed and cuddled her; kissing her and stroking her breasts.

“I wish there was something I could do to satisfy you Ying,” Michele sighed.

“Your satisfaction is all I need for the moment my love,” Ying replied.

“But as soon as my vagina’s healed you better be prepared to use this thing on me constantly or I’ll be going elsewhere,” Ying chuckled and grabbed Michele by the cock.

“You better not girly!” Michele smiled and pulled Ying to her.

“When are we going Michele?” Ying looked questioningly at Michele.

“The guy is delivering our new passports tomorrow. We leave the day after,” Michele replied.

“Good! I want to see this fucking England you keep raving on about,” Ying grinned.

...

Ying was amazed at the opulence of the Club Class cabin.

As the aeroplane rolled down the runway Ying took Michele’s hand in hers.

“Michele, you paid for my surgery and now you are paying for me to come to the UK. I can’t believe you are doing all this for me,” she sighed.