Soubrette Nick was happy playing the system,unemployed and unemployable but it had to end some time.

Chapter One: Paradise Lost

Miss Meanswell had finally found me gainful employment-the bitch. Still, three years on benefits in a seaside town, where there was always plenty of casual labour vacancies, was quite an achievement. Of course my criminal record helped immensely.
The only thing I was remotely qualified to do was forever barred to me and, employers found it hard to get past a conviction for stealing at work.

Turning right when I left the Jobcentre, I headed down the high street to the address Miss Meanswell had given me. Pausing briefly to admire the wonderful art deco facade of the old Empire cinema, even if Starbucks had ruined the ground floor, I puzzled over the address. I was told it was a cleaning job, but at that number was a fancy dress shop called, Soubrette.

I pushed open the door, and the jingling caused a well dressed woman behind the shop's counter to look up with a start. She appeared amazingly well groomed, in an ivory silk blouse, black satin pencil skirt, very sheer stockings and patent shoes. Neither her hair nor make up fell short of that high standard. I was hopelessly intimidated.

'I've come from the Jobcentre, about the cleaning job,' I said weakly, as she gave me a disdainful look.

'Janice, they've sent us another navvy from the Jobcentre,' she said in a loud, bored voice, presumably to someone in a room behind.

'Send her through,' said the unseen woman, and I was bustled through it before I could wonder what sort of navvy was known as 'her'. I found myself in a dimly lit room, packed with rack upon rack of clothes. ‘It’s, Mr. Parsons isn’t it? I’m afraid you’ve been sent on a wild goose chase.’

'I really need this job,' I said turning to face the source of the voice. A rather harassed looking woman was sat at her desk just inside the door, face lit by a computer monitor's glow.

'Sit down, Mr. Parsons,' she said indicating a chair, 'and let me explain why you don't want this job.' She allowed me to sit down before continuing. 'My brother and I started our company ten years ago, providing French maid kissagrams. My brother was the more successful maid so we recruited another man to take my place. Pretty soon we had half a dozen girls who were guys, tarting around the town. Now we don't have that many kissagram jobs these days, but our girls continue to work at parties as waitresses, and bar staff, dressed as French maids. So unless you like wearing women’s clothes in public and making a spectacle of yourself, this isn’t the job for you.'

I gulped. An hour before I would never dreamt of saying what I was about to, but that was before I’d been hauled over the coals by Miss Meanswell. I was faced not only with losing benefit, but possibly criminal prosecution too. I really did need this job, and secrets didn’t count for anything.

'I love wearing women's clothes,' I blurted, 'in fact I'm wearing them right now.' My heart was hammering as I made my admission, it had been such a long time since I had told anyone my secret. Janice was staring at me incredulously.

'You must really need this job, 'she said smiling, 'but are you prepared to prove what you're saying?'

Very slowly I began to unbutton my shirt revealing the lace on my bodice, continuing down to my trousers as Janice made no indication that I should stop. As my hands reached my belt I looked at her questioningly, and when she nodded I unbuckled it, opened the button so that I could fold the top of my jeans down to expose my knickers' waistband.

'It's a shame to stop there,' Janice smirked, 'can't I see the rest of them?' Grudgingly I slid my jeans down to mid thigh, my face absolutely burning with the shame of showing my pretty pink undies to a stranger.

'Are those directoire knickers? I didn't think anyone made them anymore,' Janice said.

'You can buy them, but not in my size,' I said, 'I had to make these.' Janice asked what size I was, 'I am a dress size ten, but I'm only an eight across the hips,’ I added modestly.

'Bitch,' a voice drifted in from shop.

'Are you gay, are you comfortable around gay people and other trannies?'

'I'm not gay,' I answered, 'but a lot of my friends were in university and so I'm OK really. I don't know any other trannies, 'there was a snort of laughter from the shop, 'but I can't see I'd have a problem.'

'You will certainly meet a lot of gay people at the events we work, and you'll definitely be spending time with the other girls, so it's pretty essential that you get on. Most of the girls however have day jobs, while as our first full time go to or not, your work would mostly be in the shop to start with.'

'Do you have any fetishes?'Janice asked me, which seemed like a silly question considering, but I guessed she meant rubber and stuff.

'I like wearing vintage clothes, from the twenties and thirties, 'I answered, 'They're so glamorous and a little risqué.' My interest went a little deeper than that, but I wasn't going to get into details just yet.

'Bingo!' That voice from the other room was getting louder.

'When was the last time you went out dressed? 'Janice asked, and I started to feel more at ease, even though my jeans were still around my thighs.

'Out of the house? Not since university I'm afraid, but I'm willing to give it a go if I get the job.' I was actually starting to believe it, then she completely threw me by asking about my criminal record. 'It was just a misunderstanding,' I stammered, 'I was working in the local museum as a junior curator, my first job after leaving university, and I took one of the exhibits home to study for a few days. Unfortunately it was missed, and I wound up in court. I didn't go to prison or anything...' half dressed as I was I felt I was about to burst into flames.

'That's pretty much what Miss Meanswell told me,' Janice said softly, 'I'm still tempted to offer you a job. It would be very handy to have someone who can sew - our girls and customers are always tearing the costumes - but you certainly have the figure for a maid's uniform. Can you start on Monday?'
I nodded excitedly, struggling with a simple thank you, for a job I hadn't known I wanted. Maybe it wasn't just Miss Meanswell's threats, perhaps I was feeling guilty about my three idle years, or even that there was just something about wearing a maid's uniform.

'Just be here for eight thirty with your favourite wig and make-up. One thing you will need is black panties, nothing too fancy or too brief - in our uniforms your bottom is in the public domain, and there's always someone pinching it, or tying to pull your knickers down. Now pull up your trousers, and run along home.' Janice grinned, as she led me back into the shop past the disdainful assistant. 'By the way,' my new boss caught in my shoulder, 'have you met my brother, Isabel?'