A few years ago, after my wife and I divorced, I moved to a house out in the country. I usually wandered around the house and garden naked, but since my property was fronted by big trees, nobody could see me unless they came right up my drive — which is exactly how I met Came.

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Being a film stuntman is not a glamorous job, whatever you might think. I do all the dangerous stunts which the big stars are afraid or can’t get insured to do, and I get paid a hell of a lot less than them. But that’s not the worst part of the job. A lot of big stars are temperamental, and they make it hard to get anything completed on schedule. I find this is especially true of female stars. Well, I’m the unknown stunt man who has put some of the film indus¬try’s most beautiful women in their place, because I know how to bring those snooty, pampered superstars down to earth. You see, I’ve found that most of these rich, famous goddess types secretly want to be treated like a real person, not a superstar.

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I’m currently working as a strippogram sex girl, and I’ve done some strange things dur¬ing my time with the agency, like the odd spot of mudwrestling, but the more bizarre event I ever took part in was a ‘gungea-thon’ at the local rugby club. You know what rugby players are like; any excuse to see a girl with very little on, and when the boss at the agency said they wanted a few girls who were prepared to get covered in gunge and lose most of their clothes in the process, I said I’d give it a go. All money raised on the evening was going to the local hospice, so it wasn’t as though I was making a fool of myself for nothing.

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I live in a university town and on my journey to work and back there are lots of sexy students travelling to and from the campus. How many times had I sat on the bus looking at the fit backsides of so many beautiful women? How many times had I imagined myself with one? Loads! But there’s one trip I definitely won’t forget.

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My friend Brian’s parents had a big house in the country, and in the summer he would ask me and a couple of friends to stop with him for two or three weeks. We were there last year when his older sister and her best friend, Georgia, came to stay with us. They had just graduated from university and were about to start job hunting, but first they wanted a holiday.

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I am a professor of anatomy at a university in the North-west of England. You may think that being a professor is a nice, easy job, but it isn’t You are always under a lot of pressure to publish your findings. I hadn’t published anything for quite a while, and I knew I had to get something out before long.

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The wind bit into my neck like an angry dog with teeth of ice. If I could, I would have bitten back. But fighting my way up Fifth Avenue through the blizzard was already taking up all the energy I had. As for my spirit, let me just say that it was already April and winter simply was not letting up. If global warming didn’t kick in soon, I was going to punch another hole in the ozone layer myself. I suppose I would’ve been in a bad mood even if it had been seventy degrees and sunny. My chosen line of work, doing voiceovers for radio and television commercials, wasn’t paying the bills like it used to. There’d been a time when my phone was ringing off the hook with offers for work. But these things go in cycles, and lately there’d been a new set of voices in demand, and mine wasn’t one of them. So when I read in the newspaper about an organisation that arranged for volunteers to read to senior citizens who could no longer read for themselves, I decided to give it a try. It sounded like a good way to forget my own troubles for a few hours a week, and to keep my voice in shape while waiting for my career to pick up again. That’s how I’d come to know Alice. She was 83 years old, and friendly enough, although she didn’t say much. She enjoyed having me read aloud to her, but mostly I think she just liked having company in the afternoon while her daughter and son-in-law were at work. She always offered me tea and snacks and did her best to make me feel as though I was visiting a friend and not just some ‘old lady on the Upper East Side’, which is how she sometimes referred to herself.

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I’m a married man, I’ve been with my wife for about 38 years and she’s a great lady she have lovely big breasts and is as fit as fuck. We have three grown-up kids together and have always got along very well. We’ve always been fairly vanilla and just a normal married couple.

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Helmets to the fore and hoses to the ready! Martin rushed through the open door of the hail of residence to find… Well, girls — lots of girls, standing, sitting and valking up and down the long wide stair-vay. Girls in jumpers and jeans, in lacy tops and ankle-length skirts.

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Sammi, a 42-year-old secretary who lives in West London and has recently undergone gender reassignment surgery: ‘All my life, I knew that I was living in the wrong body. Having a penis felt strange and alien, and I just wanted to be rid of it. That said, it took me a long time to find the right sort of counselling and a GP who was sympathetic to my needs. I suppose they need to make sure that you are serious about gender reassignment and are aware of just what a long and serious process it is. Eventually, after much discussion, I was put on female hormones and began the process of living full-time as a wom¬an. At first, I was never convinced I could pass successfully, but as time went on and my body shape began to change, I began to feel more confident as Sammi.

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