Z is for Zoë

My name is Zoë. Sometimes. At least that's how I like to think of myself. A sexy name for a sexy lady. Again, that's how I like to think of myself. For the last 18 years or so I have lived a sort of a double life. Most of the time I'm Alan, a guy who works in the medical profession - let's just say that shall we so the GMC don't find out - and some of the time I'm Zoë. I hadn't been able to dress much at all while Harriet was alive but in the ten years since her death I'd done so more and more. Initially it was, I suppose, as some sort of therapy really.

Withdrawing into Zoë and allowing my feminine side to come to the fore did indeed relax me and help me to overcome the problems of losing my wife so young and of being in a responsible, stressful occupation. Nobody knew, of course, not even my parents or my late wife. Actually, not no-one.

Jeff and Marie knew, my closest friends and also my next-door neighbours. Since Harriet had passed away they'd become even more friendly, helping me a lot through the early years even though they'd only recently moved in when she died. I'd 'come out' to them simply because they'd shared so many of their problems with me and it only seemed right.

We'd managed to help each other and just before my birthday Marie had confessed they wanted to give me a special birthday present.

"Alan, please, let us. You've been a brilliant friend and - well - you know - we owe you a lot."

Marie was hesitant about speaking about it and I know why. Again, the GMC. If they knew about it we'd all have been in trouble. Basically I'd abused my position of trust at the hospital to help Marie and Jeff. After they'd been trying for a baby for about six years without success, and gone through all the IVF they could afford, I'd sneaked a look at Jeff's and Marie's records. And, totally unofficially because I'd known damn well that the NHS wouldn't fund it and they couldn't afford the private route, I'd decided I was maybe in a position to help them out. So I'd 'borrowed' a couple of items over one weekend after discovering a paper in a medical journal about a revolutionary and slightly odd procedure which had surprisingly good success.