Transgender Model

Cold Sholder

Senior meteorologist Ralph Joll had been at the country’s northernmost observation station on Breakaway Island for five years and was overdue for promotion but wore that because he enjoyed his life in relative isolation. However he was pissed off with the Meteorological Service sending him new graduate assistants who were half-scared and felt half-displaced at being in such wind-swept isolation and usually returned to the regional base within three months of their 18-month posting.

Ralph, when automatically required by Weather Service administration to comment on the withdrawal request , would include a final comment that read something like this: ‘Unsuited for front-line work’ or ‘Immature as an adult and no change has been noted’ or ‘Trembled in terror from the moment of arrival three days ago; please save my sanity and have him recalled’.

Surprisingly, once those useless jerks arrived back in the familiar surrounds of the city and were interviewed by chief administrator Mrs Wynter, they invariably said it was the climate and isolation that had got to them, that ‘Senior Met Mr Joll was a good guy and assisted them all the way and never bawled them out’, or words to that effect. Despite probing questions she never received personal criticism of Ralph apart from odd comments such as ‘Mr Joll is obsessed by accuracy in everything he does’ and ‘my customary diet was turned upside down because we ate fish at least twice a day.’

Michelle had just visited the Far North met observation station with the chief meteorologist during her biannual inspection of seven outposts, arriving by chopper in time for lunch and departing soon after, the two-man crew joining them for a seafood lunch that blew the visitors away, although the shared the knowledge that Ralph had been a chef in the navy for 12 years.

Michelle had a soft spot for Ralph, aged 42, because he was meticulous in his reporting and one of the most accurate observers in the field, although few of his kind were left with the advent of satellite technology. But there were times when a trained eye and steeped understanding of the idiosyncrasies of changing weather patterns could result in the observer filing reports into the system ahead of the analysts dealing with computerised data.

Speedy weather updates were vital to shipping and aviation services and of course farmers and other people on the land such as holidaymakers and people intending to pour concrete or even put the mattress out to air.

The remote stations in ‘weather sensitive’ areas also served as listening posts, picking up weak signals of aviators or sea craft operators facing difficulties or already amid drama.

As Michelle was above to leave Ralph got to his knees in front of the 53-year old woman and said, “Please Michelle, no more these snotty-nosed graduates who have never been far from the arms of mother. Send them to other stations that have road access to hookers and night clubs and bar and sports venues. Please send me a trained officer who needs updating or has insufficient experience of real time weather reporting before receiving a senior promotion.”

“Yeah, yeah, I’ll see what I can do,” Michelle said. “Christ that was the best paella I’ve ever tasted Ralph and I’ve been to some top restaurants in my time and have dined on their paella.”

“Perhaps their chef tried too hard,” Ralph said. “It’s really peasants’ food and needs to be cooked from the heart with the cook’s idea of gifted flair left out of it altogether.”

“I hear you Ralph. Everything is looking okay out here. All I have to ask is when are you applying for leave; you have quite a bit stacked up?”

“When the weather settles,” he said and Michelle smiled and shook her head and kissed him. Well he was her favourite Weatherman although she had a devoted husband. But all Ralph got from her was kissing.

“Michelle and I have started the five-year review of Ops,” said Chief Met. Owen Brown, who rather liked seeing this softer side to Michelle who could be such a bitch at times. “We’ll consider your request. You are after all holding down our most rugged posting where conditions can before extreme.”

“Thanks Owen,” Ralph said and shook hands and handed Owen his pack of fillets from fish that had been caught that morning.

The station was housed in a lighthouse that ceased operating almost fifty years ago with the advance of modern navigation systems and more reliable propulsion systems of shipping. Because of dangerous currents sweeping around from the mainland, yachts kept well clear of this headland area. The tower was high enough to receive cell phone and of course internet connection and that’s why Ralph told new-arriving recruits it was bullshit to say they were in isolation.

The smart ones would then ask how often did supply craft call and Ralph would grin and say, “Every three months weather permitting but the occasional unscheduled chopper comes in and if you develop food poisoning by eating too much red meat you’ll be taken out by rescue chopper, weather permitting.”

Two weeks after the visit by Michael and Owen, she emailed Ralph.

‘That fish was glorious as usual. Sid and I say thanks. We are flying in your new assistant on Thursday, weather permitting.  She’s a mid-grade met officer from England who’s arrived in the country on our met exchange programme and wants experience in our most challenging observation posting.  Naturally I thought well you’d like a more mature person as your assistant even if she is female. Just be a good boy and keep your hands to yourself. She’d damn attractive and her appointment to work with you in isolation has been approved by our Minister on the condition that she reports to me by phone or radio daily. Mickey.’

Ralph scratched his bald spot wondering what the hell. Michael signing herself Mickey for the first time ever was sending him a Weathergirl. Was she nuts? They’d never get anything done because the woman would be bored and would therefore want to fuck all day.

“Mickey Wynter, you’ve finally dropped the ball and gone nuts.”

She just couldn’t do this to him. Jesus having panty hose drying in the observation room and the woman wanting him to present her with cucumber and water crest sandwiches for afternoon tea, and Beef fucking Wellington and blood-leaking lamb chops at nights and…

Ralph went for a walk and decided to call Michelle when he returned and give her a real blast for being so fucking ridiculous.

But it was a warm spring day and nature smelt its freshest best and he returned in a sanguine mood and returned to the novel he was writing about a shipwreck on Breakaway Island in 1930 based on a true event and thought he’d dash off a reply to Mickey in the morning.

In the morning as he was shaving he wondered if he allowed this female to be on the island with him would she permit him to shave her vulva.

Perhaps not.

But nevertheless, imbued by that thought that she might allow him to shave her treasure box, Ralph emailed Michelle:  ‘I suppose signing yesterday’s email as Mickey was part of the softening up process. Well I bashed my head on the concrete and decided yes send her over. I can always demand to be evacuated if she becomes unbearable. If she wants cucumber and watercress sandwiches tell her to bring watercress plants; I grow cucumber. And bring tea if she wants tea. Ralph.’

Two days later Michelle showed Kirsten Beauchamp Ralph’s email.

“Is he likely to flip?”

“No way.”

The 32-year old signed and said well it would be a new experience for her being alone with a guy.

“Hell I didn’t think you guys would wear my request. I read that magazine article about him and his remote station and thought that’s where I’d like to be and he rather shone through in the interview, sounding more like a hero working for mankind than a female molester.”

“I wouldn’t be sending you if I didn’t trust him to behave like a good boy.”

“Boy but he’s…”

“It’s a figure of speech Kirsten. Believe me he’s really a good guy, well-adjusted, in love with his environment after years at sea and is writing a novel.”


“The Under-Secretary for the Minister of Internal Affairs, Communications and the Meteorological Service called your parents to confirm your requests and your parents said they approved of your unusual request, saying you are quite capable for looking after yourself as you gained your honours degree in met and climate while serving in the Royal Navy. So it’s up to you to commit or pull out. We are ready to have you flown to Breakaway Island on Thursday. I’ll await your…”

“I’m already there mentally Mrs Wynter. I wish to go on Thursday for my three-month exchange posting. This experience will be invaluable to my career.”

*  *  *

The chopper landed in a stiff breeze in overcast conditions and that was reflected in the chilled welcome between the two principals after Miss Beauchamp had hauled off her water survival suit.

“Welcome Kirsty,” Ralph said jovially and moved in to kiss her and he got the cold-shoulder treatment.

She pushed him away and snapped, “Don’t you dare touch me and my name is Kirsten.”

“I apologize…”

“Enough of apologizing. Just make sure you bury your sexist attitudes.”


Ralph though this was his island. He was not taking that crap from anyone.

“Well lug your own things in and find somewhere to sleep,” Ralph said, taking the package from the crewman and said, “Thanks John” and asked the crewman how were his wife Jane and two pre-schoolers.

After that brief chat and waving to the pilot, Ralph then headed off to the house at the base of the tower, leaving what he considered to be a cold-ass English tart to look after herself.

John said to the passenger, “Do you wish to return to the mainland Miss Beauchamp?”

“No thanks John. Now not a word about this otherwise I’ll come after you and rip out your tongue.”

“Yes miss,” John said, taking a couple of steps backwards. “I’ll give the same message to Trevor in case he only has part of the picture of this unusual greeting.”

“Unusual, what the hell are you implying?”

“Nothing miss, have a nice day,” John said, running around the nose of the chopper to safety.


Kirsten found Ralph in the kitchen drinking coffee.

“I only stock coffee.”

She said that was fine, she never drank tea.

He poured.

She watched and took the mug and said thanks.

Kirsten looked at the fridge and he said, “We don’t get milk delivery here. There’s some long life milk in the pantry. I’d fetch it for you but fear being accused of indulging in a sexist response.

“I’m sorry. I was extremely nervous being in a chopper again, the first time since I was in one that ditched into the Irish Sea … in fucking winter.”

He didn’t look at her and said he understood.

“Um that was an apology.”


“Um if it will help you may touch me.”

He gritted no thanks and she sighed and said, “I’ve blown it, haven’t I?”

Ralph didn’t answer but said, “Come and bring your coffee. I’ll take you to the observation room up the tower.”

“Oh great, I’ve been looking forward to this. Is it true you get bad weather here, not unlike North Sea conditions at the top of Scotland?”

“Perhaps. Twice since I’ve been here a rogue wave has flooded the floor of the house.

“B-but we are about 80 feet above sea level.”

“Actually 71 feet above mean sea level. It’s high tide at the moment so 80 feet is pretty spot on. I guess rogue waves don’t accept how high they should jump when hitting land.”

She laughed, the laugh sounding quite musical, encouraging Ralph to think she could be a nice person disguised as a bitch.

“You must think of me as being a right proper bitch.”

“Nah you said you were anxious, I understand.”

“Ah yes, you served in your country’s navy and would know about warship roll and what happens at sea when aircraft come down or vessels sink.”

“Yeah a bit of knowledge I guess. I was a kitchen hand.”

“Oh funny that, Mrs Whynter said you were always seconded to shore duty when the Navy had extra-special luncheons or dinners because you were its top chef.”

“Michelle wouldn’t know a good chef from… Um from…” he muttered and looked away.

“From her asshole? I’ve spent years exposed to Navy-speak sailor.”

Ralph allowed a smile to leak.


Ralph set a solid pace up the spiral staircase, expecting Kirsten to be on his heels, red-faced and snorting like a mad cow and urging him to get a move on to show him just how fit she was. But no, she puffed and called she needed a breather.

“God I’ve lost fitness,” she said, moving a little alarmingly in the narrow treads. “Hold me please.”

Reacting on auto, Ralph gently held her shoulders, keeping a gap between her tits and his chest. She felt soft and pliable and he only half-heard her say gently, “That’s nice” because his mind was heeding the call of the wild.

Er good heavens. He shook his head and focused on cobwebs and continued holding her until she said mischievously, her breathing rate dropped, “Didn’t I say you were not to touch me?”

Ralph dropped his hands and went up a step backwards and he said emotionlessly “Oh I apologize for invading your space.”

Kirsten appeared a little despondent and he thought well she’d know who was to blame for that. She should have stayed in England.

“Come on, we have fewer than sixty steps to go. You go first and carefully set your pace.”

“You’ll be watching my ass.”

“You have to be kidding (she was in jeans),” he said harshly and thought about applying to take leave, immediately.

The completed the climb in silence, Ralph watching her swinging butt in her tight jeans and wondered if she’d been introduced to anal sex in the British navy.

The lantern and mechanisms had been removed at the time of restoration and fit-out of the lantern room for weather observation a few years after the lighthouse was decommissioned in 1977.

“It’s a little roomier that I’d envisaged,” Kirsten said, glancing at the single bed.

He said, “When cyclonic weather is approaching I prefer to sleep up here and use a remote-controlled searchlight to check out the sea at two-hourly intervals. I give heavy emphasis to watching sea conditions. ”

“Where would I sleep?”

“On the floor I suppose or back at the house.”

“We might need to talk about that.”

Ralph said nothing, thinking yeah, yeah and guess who’d be doing most of the talking.

“You have a huge array of instrumentation.”

“Yeah almost half is non-issue. I searched the web and imported the equipment at my expense simply because this is my hobby as well as my job.”

“Oh I can see what another hobby is,” Kirsten said, picking up a porn magazine from the table top.

He made no comment.

“I would have thought you would have put this away knowing I was coming. Oh wow,” she said, looking at a spread that might have been of the two lesbians.

“If I put stuff away it would have been me regarding your presence here as an intrusion.”

“I like the way you think,” she said, and turning to the centrespread yelled, “Omigod, look how big her…”

She stopped and dropped the magazine back on to table-top, cheeks flaming.

“There is a small library over there,” Ralph pointed. “It includes some nature and environmental magazines.

“Thanks but I’ll look at this mag later when… when…”

“When you are more relaxed?”

“Yes, exactly.”

“Okay go out and circle the tower on the catwalk but first read the safety notice alongside the door.”

She read the notice and stopped outside after closing the door behind her and stood hands on the railing, but not leaning against in accordance with the safety notice and looked out to the horizon, the clouds and then at the sea, particularly at the wave action over nearby shoals.

Kirsten then circled the tower and returned inside and said, “The railing is well-maintained and I accept the sensible rule about not going out on to the walkway in wind more than 27 knots. Um it’s unlikely we have reticulated electricity supply in this remote area, so I guess it’s battery storage from solar capture?”

“Yes much of this top of this tower is solar panelling and of course there’s a large expanse on the roof of the weatherman’s house which is why the dwelling is angled that way. The house was constructed in the 1982, or more accurately flown in in sections after a cyclone collapsed the existing dwelling. The weatherman had the sense to go to the tower to sit out that big storm and had recovered food supplies from amid the debris and a supply vessel ventured out to resupply him when the seas abated. That guy was ex-Navy too and had radio in the tower of course to advise the regional office he was okay but was almost out of toilet paper.”

Kirsten chuckled and momentarily looked almost gentle by nature.

Late afternoon Ralph said, “Your arrival is a special occasion and so let’s crack a bottle. Red or white wine?”

“Red thanks. God I bet you wouldn’t have offered me even the smell of an oily rag when I arrived this morning.”

They laughed and she went off to change and returned wearing a short dress.

“Do you think I have nicely shaped legs?”

Jesus was this late afternoon fuck the boss time? No way and he grunted he wasn’t interested and she appeared quite taken aback.

“I can relieve you with an alternative to masturbation if you wish.”

“You have to be joking,” he said handing her a glass of ruby red pinot noir.

Recovering from that shock, she sipped and said sounding a little shaky, “Omigod this wine is magical.”

“A great grape and New World wine-making techniques combined perfectly.”

She looked at Ralph intently.

“So we are unlikely to have sex?”

“Night and day I should think if you can manage to get on to my wavelength. You have not had the most successful of arrivals. We need to act with a considerable degree of unity if we are to harmonize in this enclosed environment, so to speak. Forget you were a lieutenant and I was a lowly cook because there’s not a great deal to do here and we two having a fling would be a desirable way to entertain ourselves. Oh you can help in the vegetable garden and with the fishing and collecting seaweed to be used as mulch or to soak to provide liquid fertiliser.”

“How many times a day?”

Ralph thought he knew what she was on about but said, “I go fishing early morning as soon as I’ve dispatched my 5:30 report. I’m banned from using the boat so it’s either set line fishing or kite fishing or rod fishing, all must be shore based as it’s not considered I’m expendable and therefore most not take unnecessary risks, or preferably no risks at all. Fishing is really good here that I usually eat meat but like bacon for breakfast every second day or so. Um how are you with fish?”

“I was asking how many times a day were you thinking of having sex?”

“That would be entirely up to you.”

“Er that also means when you consider we are compatible.”


“Right I’m trying this conciliatory approach: would you like to cuddle now?”

“Yes I would but let’s not rush it and thank you for suggesting that. I suggest let’s enjoy the wine first and then I’ll put dinner on. Fish and pea and potato pie with garden spinach and carrots on the side. I rarely had desert but you can open a tin of fruit.”

“That sounds delicious. Um we won’t have fish pie every night will we?”

“Once or possibly twice every ten days. I put out the crayfish pots while you were napping this afternoon. We’ll have crayfish tomorrow night.”

“Omigod yes please.”

Ralph finished preparing the meal, washed his hands and returned to the table and split the remaining wine evenly between the two almost empty glasses.

They sat in silence and them Kirsten rose and removed her dress.

“Now what do you think of my legs?” she asked.

Ralph he to shift from eyeing the outline of the bulges of her pussy lips beneath the high rise white panties to look at her legs.

“Yes they are very shapely, a credit to you.”

She undid the bra and removed it and looked at him, waiting.

“They are an amazing pair of tits. You have no idea what seeing a great pair of tits is doing to me after me not having seen a pair bared for close to three years.

“I would think it’s making you super-horny.”


“And so all is forgiven now.”

“Yes, totally.”

“And you’d like to remove my panties and ram me?”

“Yes, for sure.”

“Okay. We can catch up with vaginal arousal techniques some other time.”

“Is over the table okay?”

“Yes it’s fine,” Kirsten said, pulling off her panties.

“Christ it’s completely bald.”

“Yes that’s my preference and I must try to persuade you to shave me there.”

Ralph couldn’t believe what he was hearing. He dropped his shorts.

“Omigod that’s a club, not a penis,” Kirsten said, dribbling. “I’ll never get that up my butt.”

Ralph leered and promised, “I can perform miracles. A friend of mine who’s a vet gave me this lube they use on ewes experiencing lambing difficulties. His wife won’t settle for anything less and my buddy has found some of her girlfriends now won’t have anal sex without it.”

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