Synopsis: He thought it was simply a case of helping a friend out of difficulty over Christmas, at the same time solving his own problem with a faulty central heating boiler. OK, when Bob was told what he had to do, he was both terrified and exhilarated by the prospect, but no one could have forecast how it was going to turn out.

AUTHORS NOTE: Like many of my stories, this is a light-hearted romp which I hope you will enjoy. But it does contain adult themes such as: crossdressing, sex, illegal acts, and humour. So if reading material containing those subjects is either illegal or not to your taste, then please do not do it - or at least, don't moan about it afterwards.

***

"Hi, Grant," I called. "How are things? What are you doing for Christmas?"

Grant had been about to step onto the Underground train just in front of me when I'd noticed him. He turned and his face broke into an easy grin as he caught sight of me.

"Hi Bob. You sloping off early from work, as well?"

I stepped onto the crowded train beside him, and we both twisted our heads sideways so the train doors would slide shut without decapitating us. We worked at the same office, and although we only ever met at the tea-point, or standing at adjacent urinals, we'd always got on well together. In fact, it was Grant who'd told me about the house in his road which was up for sale, and was an absolute bargain - a mixed blessing actually, as the house had been a liability from the moment I'd bought it and moved in.

"Grant, this is my last working day before Christmas, and it's almost two pm. This isn't sloping off early - going to the pub at eleven-thirty was sloping off early, and I've already done that."

His grin broadened, as he said, "Me too, and I'm nicely pissed, now. But I've got to get home to finish our packing. Robert and I are going to Shropshire for the Christmas hols."

Even in this age, lots of my male colleagues felt uncomfortable with openly gay Grant, as though he would rape them at any opportunity. In fact, he'd been living with Robert for several years in what sounded like a stable relationship.

"Sounds nice. You going to a hotel, or staying with relatives?"

Grant pulled a face. "It's my Great Uncle Silas. It's certainly not our idea of an ideal Christmas, but my Mum tells me he's remaking his will, so we have to be there. He’s been an invalid for years — virtually bed-ridden, I understand. Mum has always said that he's a millionaire, but I'm not so certain. Mind you, he lives in this enormous mansion which has been in his family for years, so she may be right. Anyway, we've decided to spend the week there. What about you?"

"Just a quiet Christmas for me," I said. "My divorce came through three weeks ago, and I'm still finding absolute peace and quiet a novelty. I shall do a bit of DIY around the house, watch The Great Escape on TV, and sip my malt whisky that I've got in especially."

He nodded. "Sounds good to me. All this fuss about Christmas that starts months beforehand, having to see relatives, and all that crap makes it a real bind - especially this year, with Great Uncle Silas."

"How is he about you and Robert?" I asked. "Elderly relatives can get a bit dogmatic about those kinds of relationships."

He raised his hand, in a touch-and-go gesture. "It's tricky, but I think we’ll manage it. In fact, we're going to announce our engagement on Christmas Day, just for his benefit."

"You and Robert are getting engaged? Grant that's brilliant! Well done. I hope you'll be very happy together."

"No, no, no," he said. "We're only announcing our engagement for Uncle Silas's benefit. I'm not certain we'll ever actually have a formal partnership."

"Well, I hope it works out," I said. I had a thought about the last time I'd seen Robert, and added, "Is the rest of your family going to Shropshire with you, or is it just you and Robert?"

"It's just a small family do," he said. "My mother's coming, and her brother, Richard - he's one of those shyster solicitors who get shady clients out of trouble. And he's so homophobic I suspect it might really be a front, because he's in denial about being gay."

That was so like Grant, I thought. He knew lots of people were suspicious of homosexuality, but he simply couldn't accept that some people - not even a dodgy solicitor - thought it evil and abhorrent.

"What about your sister?" I asked.

Did I notice a sudden stiffening in Grant as he said, "I haven't got a sister."

For the rest of the journey we exchanged tales about just how bad Christmas with relatives could get, but all the time, my mind was tumbling over the paradox of Grant's sister. For I was certain that last week I'd seen Robert in a local restaurant, having an intimate meal with a sexy woman who was so similar to Grant that she must surely have been his sister; even though he told me he didn't have a sister.

***

The forecast over Christmas had been for snow, so before leaving for work this morning, I'd turned the central heating onto its highest setting, and I expected it to be like a furnace as I went into my house. Instead, it was not far from being an ice-box.

I headed straight for the central heating boiler, and spent twenty minutes trying to relight it, to no avail. After that, I rang the emergency plumbing service that I subscribed to. Three hours later, after sitting in my house wearing two sweaters and my thickest overcoat, I heard the bad news.

"It needs a new gas valve," the maintenance man said, as he switched off his mobile. "I've been on the phone to the warehouse, and they don't have any in stock, so with everybody on holiday on Monday and Tuesday, it's going to be at least next Friday before it arrives."

"Friday! But I can't live without heat for a whole week!"

He shook his head, sadly. "A lot of people go away for Christmas nowadays. Maybe you could find something on lastminute.com. Otherwise, you could go out now and buy a few electric heaters. It's all I can suggest, I'm afraid." And he was gone!

The amount of money left over after my divorce definitely would not cover the cost of a Christmas break at a hotel. As for buying electric heaters, I'd been told only last week that the wiring in the house was likely to burst into flames at any moment, and I was to plug in nothing more powerful than my electric razor.

"Bugger! Bugger! Bugger..."

My buggering was interrupted by the phone ringing.

"Bob. It's me. Grant."

"Hi Grant. How's the packing going?"

"It's not the packing that's the problem, I'm afraid. Is there any chance I could come round to your house and cry on your shoulder?"

Shit! It sounded like Robert's sexy woman had reappeared and got in the way of the Christmas engagement.

"Grant," I told him, "it's so cold in this house, your tears would turn to ice. Why don't we meet at The Angel, have a drink and cry on each other's shoulders?"

***

"Poor Bob! No heating over Christmas. You'll die from frostbite in your willy!"

By the time Grant had arrived at The Angel, I had a brandy warming the cockles of my heart. Fortunately, Grant didn't appear hysterical, and so we'd talked about my heating problems whilst the barmaid had served him with his large glass of wine.

"Fortunately, Bob, I have just the solution for you. Why not come away with me, to stay with my Uncle Silas over Christmas? He'll have log fires roaring up the chimneys, as though he's personally trying to destroy all the world's forests. You'd be plenty warm enough"

"Grant, you can't seriously be inviting me for Christmas with your uncle - he doesn't know anything about me."

"I don't see why not. I'm sure he'd welcome you with open arms."

I eyed him carefully, and noticed how he wouldn't meet my eye. "Grant, there's something behind this offer, isn't there? What did you want to talk with me about earlier, when you said you wanted to cry on my shoulder?"

He shrugged. "It's no great shakes, really. Robert and I had a row when I got home, and he's decided he's not coming with me to stay with Uncle Silas. He's going home to stay with his parents, instead. Which means that there'll be a spare place with Uncle Silas."

"Grant, I'm not sleeping with you."

"Oh, God, no! Great Uncle Silas would never have agreed to Robert and I sharing a room under his roof. We were always intending to sleep separately - although there may have been a little creeping along silent corridors in the middle of the night. But anyway, you can rest assured that your innocence will remain unsoiled."

"But you want me to take Robert's part, don't you, so you can announce our engagement on Christmas Day?"

He gave another shrug, and managed to both nod and shake his head at the same time. "More or less, Bob. You get the idea. Uncle Silas is rewriting his will, and I need a fiancée for Christmas. You're the only person I could think of, and since otherwise you'll suffer your own personal inconvenience over Christmas, by having your little willy frozen off, I'm offering a mutually advantageous solution. It's also incredibly convenient that you and Robert share the same name. Come on, you can be my little Christmas helper. It'll be a lark. So what do you say?"

He accompanied his proposition with a wide smile that was meant to totally disarm me. Instead, it made my blood run cold; for I had seen that smile before - on the mouth of the sexy young woman who Robert had been with, the week before in The Angel's dining room!

"Will this lark involve you dressing as a woman?"

He stared at me a little, and then said, "Ah. I wasn't certain whether or not you'd recognised me last week. When you asked me about my sister this afternoon, I realised what conclusion you'd leapt to. But I can tell you that I definitely won't be dressing as a woman at Uncle Silas's Christmas House Party. That would certainly destroy any hope that I might have of an inheritance."

I gasped at his audacity. "But?"

"I don't know what you mean," although his tone of voice said that he knew exactly what I meant.

"OK, Grant," I said. "Let me be more specific. You said just now that you wanted a fiancée for Christmas. I think that Uncle Silas is expecting you to be betrothed to a female, and that Robert was going to pretend to be a woman. Am I right?"

Grant grimaced a little, and then, realising the game was up, he nodded. "Robert wasn't happy about doing it. It's always me that plays the female part. I told him it was simple - that there was nothing to it - and initially he agreed. Then this afternoon, he got cold feet about everything, and simply took off to his mother's. It's left me right in the lurch."

"And you're expecting me to fill the part?"

Another nod.

"So exactly when were you proposing to tell me I was going to have to dress as a woman?"

"I was getting round to it, but I thought I'd get you well and truly pissed first. Would you like another drink, by the way?"

"No thanks, Grant. You're out of your mind. It would never work." Those words were a big mistake.

"Is that all you're worried about - that it wouldn't work? Does that mean that if I could convince you that it would work, you would do it?"

"I didn't say that." I paused for a second, thinking. On the one hand, Grant clearly had considerable expertise at cross-dressing and ought to know what he was talking about. I had never for one moment thought the person in the restaurant had been a man. But then Grant was a far more suitable size for a woman, than me.

On the other hand, the alternative option was an extremely cold and lonely Christmas. So what did I have to lose? Total embarrassment, humiliation and disgrace in front Grant's family - but since I didn't know any of them apart from Grant, did that matter? In any case, I liked Grant and I would like to help him. Also, I had to admit that the thought of fooling every one into thinking I was a woman was tremendously exhilarating - not that I was anything other than heterosexual, you understand, but somehow the idea of passing myself off as a woman was sexually thrilling.

"I still don't think it would work, Grant, but if you can convince me that I stand a decent chance of getting away with it by tomorrow morning, I'm prepared to give it a go. How's that?"

"Brilliant!"

He looked so delighted that for one tricky moment I thought he was going to give me a kiss, but then he realised that would probably kill his plan stone dead, and he stopped himself.

"Come on," he said. "Drink up. We have some work to do."

***

"Just a few props, a bit of make-up, and a few hours coaching is all it will take," Grant said, as he took me back into the house that he and Robert shared.

"Has Robert already left?" I asked.

Grant nodded. "He almost ran out of the door as soon as I produced this," he said, holding up a skin-coloured vest with a huge pair of lifelike tits built into it.

"Bloody hell," I said. "You didn’t have massive tits like those, when I saw you last week."

"No," Grant said. "I don't need to as I have a much smaller frame, and I can get away with B cup-sized breasts. But both Robert and you have fairly wide shoulders. That changes the proportions of everything else. It's normal for a woman to have an A-shaped figure - narrow shoulders and wide hips - although an X-shape is acceptable. But if you see anyone with a V-shape figure - wide shoulders and narrow hips - you'll immediately assume they're a man - even before you get up close to them and can see they're wearing a dress, with boobs poking out the front.

"So, that means we have to pad out your hips and bum," he continued, "to balance out the shoulders, and then we have to give you a large pair of breasts to balance out the big bum. Having a nice pair of tits also has the advantage that you can expose sufficient cleavage that no one is in any doubt that you're a woman when they get close up to you, as they're too busy looking there rather than looking at the stubble on your cheek."

He passed the skin-coloured vest with the built-in tits to me so I could inspect it properly. I rubbed it between finger and thumb, and was surprised at the feel of it.

"It feels just like skin," I said.

He nodded. "This is called a Bustlet," he said. "It's probably one of the best items of its type on the market. They come in a variety of shapes and sizes - and some are adjustable for size. This isn't, as I thought it would be too complicated for Robert to mess with. It does have a facility called Sensotouch, though. The skin has a membrane like you get on touch-sensitive computer screens, and that's connected via a built-in computer chip to tiny electrodes resting against your skin. You'll feel someone gently stroking your tits - I find that incredibly arousing, but you may have other ideas."

"Well, no one's going to be stroking my tits," I said, "so I won't be able to experience that."

"Well I promise I won't," Grant said, "but I can't make any promises for either of my randy, old uncles."

Another surge of excitement flashed through me. Why should I be excited at the thought of a man wanting to stroke my false tits? I didn't know why, but I certainly was!

Grant had picked up another garment whilst I was still admiring the pair of tits I was about to receive. "This is called a Hiplet," he said. "It's made by the same company as the Bustlet, and it incorporates Sensotouch into the buttocks, and the built-in vagina."

"It's got a built-in vagina! You're kidding me?"

Grant shook his head. "No kidding. When you put it on, you put your genitals into a specially designed pocket, and then pull it all back between your legs and fasten it. Your testicles are pushed safely up out of the way, and have no further part to play in activities, and your penis is squashed into a position where it can't get erect, but you can still urinate - as long as you sit down, of course. The vulva is padded out quite a lot, and the vagina slopes backwards, so as to give quite a decent-sized vagina. And there's Sensotouch in all the appropriate places, to give you one hell of a thrill when you're being fucked. I don't know whether it's that good for a normal woman, but it sure as hell beats the enjoyment a man normally gets out of sex."

I shook my head, sceptically. "I'll believe it when I try it," I said, and quickly followed it up by saying, "And I'm not going to try it."

He smiled. "Please yourself," he said. "If we do a good job of converting you, you should have plenty of offers on the train to Shropshire."

I violently shook my head, whilst silently thinking, "Bloody hell! Suppose I did. Better than normal sex with a woman? Impossible. Isn't it?"

***

Over the next few hours, Grant helped me get dressed, after first doing some basic operations such as removing all my body hair with cream, and plucking my eyebrows. He'd already got all the stuff ready for Robert, and since Robert and I were more or less the same shape, everything fitted, after a fashion. By the time he was finally locating a wig on my head, I was desperate to get a look at myself in the mirror, Grant having denied me that all evening.

"Wow!" Even my voice was changed, Grant having got me to swallow a voice-changer pill, which had slid down my throat with a burning sensation equivalent to sipping nitric acid. Now my voice was quite shrill - not particularly sultry as I liked in a woman, but certainly there was no question that the owner was female.

There was no denying the woman facing me in the mirror was large, but Grant had chosen my clothes with care and style: a bright red dress ('Thought it would do for Christmas Day," he said, "when we announce our engagement'). I had a long, flowing skirt, which flared out nicely every time I swivelled my hips; a deep scoop neckline, which showed just enough to get the heart pounding, without making me look tarty; and matching red shoes with spiky heels, which didn't increase my height too much.

Grant had shown me how to apply the make-up, but I guessed I'd need a lot of help in the first few days making me look as good as I did now. No trace of a shadow around the chin; subtle shading around the eyes, which highlighted and made them look wider; and medium length hair cut in a smart style, stopping just above my shoulders. I looked absolutely fabulous!

"So Bob," Grant said. "Do you stand a reasonable chance of passing as a woman, or not?"

"You win," I said. "Shropshire, and Uncle Silas, here we come."

***

"Mr Silitoe says to go straight in," the elderly housekeeper said.

We'd arrived at Great Uncle Silas's house in the mid afternoon, after a gruelling train journey with two changes, each with long waits on freezing cold platforms. At least, my Bustlet and Hiplet kept my vital parts warm, although my legs and feet, without the protection of trousers, were freezing cold.

Finally, we'd arrived at the tiny halt a few miles from the house, and waited there for another half hour for our lift to materialise. In the Good Old Days, I had reminisced, the chauffeur-driven limousine would have been waiting at the station to meet us. Nowadays, it was an elderly housekeeper, Joan, who had met us in a clapped-out Renault Espace.

She had driven us back to the house, and there I had met Grant's mother, Helen - one of those highly superior women who looked down her nose at me, as though certain I was not good enough for her son. If she thought I was not good enough, I wondered what she would think of Grant's real choice of partner. I guessed the idea of her son living with a man was absolutely unthinkable - she simply could not comprehend that he might have tastes different to what society said was acceptable.

Grant's Uncle Richard was also there, and he eyed me up and down, his eyes lingering over my wobbling breasts. Then he gave a shark-like smile. Maybe that was how he smiled at all his clients, but I couldn't help but think that I would have to be very careful with Uncle Richard. And there was Grant thinking he might be gay!

Also staying at the house was the Reverend Bartholomew Bassinger-ffrench ('Call me Bart," he said with a friendly smile). It appeared that he, also, had been invited to stay over Christmas, but - and get this - only so that he could conduct a Christmas Day service in the family chapel attached to the house! And I thought that family chapels went out in the last century!

Bart seemed far friendlier than his stuck-up name might have suggested, especially compared with Grant's mother. He had one of those good-looking faces that meant he would be an immediate hit with most women.

"But not me," I thought. I guessed I had some way to go before I took on all the attributes of a woman - like being sexually attracted to men. Thank heavens for that!

Anyway, we had a cup of tea, and I tried to be nice to Helen - as she had told me to call her, in a manner that suggested that was a great privilege - and talk as any potential daughter-in-law might when first meeting her potential mother-in-law.

After a few minutes, Joan had appeared and told us that Uncle Silas would "see us now", and she had taken us upstairs to the master bedroom. She had knocked on the door, and in response to the curt command, had bid us to enter.

Silas was sitting up in bed - a huge four-poster with curtains all around — in a dressing gown, and he had been working on a laptop - something which appeared quite incongruous in that position. Next to him, was a huge briefcase.

"So, this is your lady friend, Grant?" He eyed me up with a far more approving eye than I had expected, judging from his mother's reception of me.

"Yes, Uncle," Grant said. "This is Roberta. We met at work, and I immediately fell for her, although it took me ages to pluck up courage to ask her out." It was the script we had agreed - and practised - on the long railway journey up; based as closely to the truth as my position would allow.

"Mmm," he said, eyeing me up and down, which I found quite unnerving. Was he about to pronounce me as a man dressed as a woman?

"Looks like you've got some good taste, at last," he continued, his gaze finally returning to Grant. "OK, you can go back downstairs now. I'll send Bobbie down when I've finished with her." He turned to me. "You don't mind if I call you Bobbie, do you?"

Gulp!

"Oh," Grant said. "I thought you might like to talk to the two of us together."

"I've spent years listening to the stupid twaddle you talk, Grant," Silas said. "Let's see if Bobbie can talk a bit more intelligently. Anyway, she might read to me with a bit more compassion than I've ever heard you do. Now bugger off, and leave us alone."

"Oh. Right. I'll, er, go then." Grant cast a hopeless look at me, and then turned and abandoned me.

I gave another silent gulp as the door closed behind him!

"Right," Silas said, in a businesslike tone. "Are you really a friend of his from work, or are you simply a tart he's hired for the house party?"

"I'm sorry?"

He snorted. "You heard me perfectly well. I asked if you were really a friend from work or a..."

"Yes, I did hear you, and I can assure you that I am a friend from work, and definitely not a tart."

"Pity," he said, looking me up and down again. "Only I quite fancied you, and I thought I might be able to afford more money than Grant is likely to be paying you."

"I think I'd better leave now," I said, turning towards the door.

"Not if you want to help Grant," he said.

I paused. "What do you mean?"

"That's why you came, isn't it? To help your friend Grant."

"We really like each other. We've known each other for several months and we enjoy each other's company." None of that was a lie. "Grant invited me as a guest at your house because he thought I might enjoy being with him, rather than staying on my own in London."

"I bet you haven't had sex with him."

Outwardly, I bristled, but inside, I realised, I was actually beginning to enjoy this rousting. "That is none of your business. But I can tell you that Grant and I are very close."

"I've always known that Grant was more bent than a nine-penny coin," Silas said, "so it's no good trying to convince me that he's about to tie the knot with a female, even one as good looking as you.

"And don't bother to contradict it," he added, as he saw the denials flashing through my mind. "I even suggested to Helen that he could bring along a male friend for Christmas, but she refused to countenance it - thought it would be 'most unwise'. Silly bitch!"

"Oh!" I said, a little lost for words.

"So tell me why an attractive woman like yourself is spending Christmas with a gay male friend from work, when you could be properly enjoying yourself."

So I told him the truth. How I'd recently got divorced; how I'd always liked Grant at work; how we'd met on the Underground train the previous afternoon; how I'd got home and found the central heating not working; and how Grant had invited me as houseguest because another friend had let him down at short notice. Oh, I forgot to tell him I was actually a man.

"You have beautiful breasts."

I gasped. As a man, I had never had the gall to come straight out with it like that. Oh, I'd certainly thought it enough times, but usually a woman only had to observe that I'd noticed those protrusions from the front of her body, and she'd be telling me not to be offensive.

"Will you show them to me?"

"How dare you!" That's what a few of the women had said to me, when they saw me peering sideways into their blouse, trying to catch sight of a nipple. "I most certainly will not."

"Five hundred pounds if you do." From his briefcase he pulled a wad of money, held together with an elastic band, and threw it towards me, landing just a few inches from the edge of the bed where I stood.

I eyed it. It was a pack of fifty-pound notes, and I could well believe there were ten of them. Five hundred pounds, simply for showing my tits. Money for old rope, or...

"And I suppose, if I was to be so foolish as to expose my breasts in front of you, you wouldn't try to touch them at all."

He spread his arms and indicated his lifeless legs. "It's not as though I can chase you around the bedroom, is it? I give you my word, I won't try to touch your beautiful breasts. Only, it's been so long since I've seen a woman's breast, perhaps this will be the last opportunity. That's why I'm prepared to offer you five-hundred pounds for the privilege."

I considered. The last time he might see a woman's breast. How sad? Perhaps if he'd been poor I might even have refused his money, but he wasn't and I was, so I didn't.

"You promise?" I said. "Absolutely no touching?"

"I promise," he said. "No touching."

So I put the wad of money in my handbag, and then undid the buttons on my blouse, and let it slide off my shoulders and down my arms, until it was hanging from the waist. I pushed my bra-covered breasts in front of his face as I fumbled behind my back for the fastening. I guess he thought I was teasing him, but in fact it was sheer inexperience that made me take ages to release it.

Then I slowly lowered my bra away from my breasts, and Silas gasped as I exposed myself.

"You ARE beautiful," he whispered.

I gave a little shake of my torso, which sent a delicious quiver through my breasts. Even I thought it was superb; he looked so excited I thought he might have a heart attack. I kept up the shaking as I moved closer to his face, and closer, and closer, until my boobs were wobbling either side of his nose, and his eyes were going cross-eyed, trying to keep them in focus.

"Another five-hundred if I can touch them," he gasped.

"But Silas, you promised," I declared. "No touching."

"And now I'm offering five-hundred pounds more to touch them," he said. "I simply have to stroke them, and lick them and squeeze them."

Maybe if they'd been my own breasts I might have felt differently about it - but then, if they'd been my own breasts I would be a real woman and I very definitely would feel differently about it. As it was, how could I deny him a play with my plastic breasts for another five-hundred, much-needed pounds? I could buy a new gas boiler with the money I received this afternoon.

"OK," I said. "But please don't expect me to go on making these concessions."

He threw me another bundle of money, which I slipped into my handbag, and then he used both hands to grab my breasts and squeeze them hard.

"Ow!" I yelled. I hadn't expected them to hurt like that — after all, they were simply made of plastic. But what had Grant said about them? Something about having a touch-sensitive covering which was connected to electrodes on my own skin, so I would feel them being stroked and squeezed. Well, I certainly felt that.

"That's enough," I yelled at him, as he gave another fierce squeeze. "Go gently with them, otherwise the deal's off."

"I'm sorry my dear," he said. "It was just too exciting for me. I'll try to be careful."

He flattened his hands and moved the palms in a circular motion about my nipples.

"O-o-o-o-h-h-h-h!" I said. If I hadn't expected the pain before; I certainly didn't expect the pleasure this time. I felt the blood suddenly surging through my veins. Wow, I think I'd pay Silas five hundred to do that again.

In fact, he did it without me offering. Then he bent his head forward and his tongue shot out and started giving me long slow licks.

"Oh, yes," I said.

"Yes?" he said, looking at me expectantly.

I suddenly caught the drift of what he was leading to.

"No!" I said. "Touching my breasts only, was the agreement."

"I'll give you another five hundred for a tit fuck."

Hell! He wanted me to get out his prick and rub it between my tits. What a revolting thought. "Absolutely not."

"OK, a thousand, then. One thousand pounds, on top of the thousand I've already given you, for a tit fuck."

"A thousand?" Bloody hell! It was, after all, only a pair of plastic tits he'd be rubbing his prick against, and he was only an old man. It was almost a charitable act, accepting his money in return for favours.

He passed over another two bundles of money, which I put into my handbag, and then he lay back.

Hell! I thought, he's expecting me to get out his prick and do all the fondling. On the other hand, I had two thousand pounds of his cash. I could get the house rewired as well as a gas boiler with that.

"My God! You feel hard," I said, as I ran my hand down the front of his dressing-gown. He did too, although thankfully he wasn't that big. As I parted the two halves, his prick came lurching through to meet me.

"That’s nice," I said, reaching out for it, and I think I meant it, although it was probably more a sign of how relieved I was not to be looking at an obscene monster. It was quite a bit smaller than my own prick (and I'd have been gutted if it was not) and without any horrible blue veins protruding from the shaft. All-in-all, I thought, a perfectly respectable penis.

I lifted my skirt so I could straddle his legs, and sit astride them. I thought that might cause him to yell, but he gave no sign, other than excitement, as I did so. Then, I bent forward and lowered my torso towards his prick. It was all a lot more difficult to manoeuvre than I'd thought it would be. I simply wasn’t used to controlling breasts (not my own, anyway) which had a weight - and a life - of their own, and his dick was so small I had to lean forward a long way to get within straddling distance.

Eventually, we managed to connect, with my hands squeezing my breasts against his prick, and I even got as far as getting a rhythm going, whilst he closed his eyes and muttered a series of thanks.

But after a while, it became obvious that he wasn't going to come. I worked his prick harder and harder, but still he was nowhere near ejaculating. I did it fast, and then gave him slow, long strokes. Still, he didn't come.

I considered what I should do. If he didn't get his tit fuck, then he might want to claim back his thousand pounds, and I needed that. Oh well, a girl has to make sacrifice if she's to earn an honest crust. I moved back a little, nervously licking my lips before taking the plunge.

I'd never have been able to do it if I'd considered he had an obscene prick, but it did look so innocuous that I simply opened my mouth and went down on him. There was a gasp of pleasure as I allowed most of his prick into my mouth. Personally, I was amazed that I managed to get so much in without gagging. OK, we're probably only talking about three inches, or so, but it wasn’t the kind of thing I’d had previous experience in.

For him, he was in heaven. He started to groan, as I went up and down on him, and I could see he was going to come at any minute. That's when I pulled my mouth away, and went back to sliding my tits around his prick.

"Oh, you bitch," he said.

"That's right," I said, and we both grinned.

I reckon I kept up the rhythm for a remarkable thirty minutes before finally allowing him to come — in my mouth, can you believe it? I didn't think I was going to go through with it, but towards the end it seemed so churlish to deny him what he desperately needed.

And he was so grateful, profusely thanking me, and having just enough strength to throw another bundle of five hundred pounds at me before I left, after promising that I would visit him again the next day.

***

I couldn't wait to tell Grant exactly what had just happened, as I thought he'd probably be mad with jealousy. So I went down to his room, threw the door wide open and marched in. But the words, "You'll never guess what just happened to me," were frozen on my lips, and in fact, were never to be uttered. For, in front of me, amongst the tangle of legs and buttocks on the bed, was the largest cock I have ever seen.

It was the size that would make a horse envious - at least as thick as my wrist - and all the distasteful features, which had been thankfully absent from Silas's tool, were here in overabundance. The throbbing blue veins which protruded around the shaft, a glistening purple head, although from this angle I could fortunately only see the underside, and the hairy testicles hanging like coconuts from a palm tree.

As I stared at this apparition in shocked amazement, so the purple head started to disappear; then the shaft did the same. By now, I'd worked out that the monster belonged to the person on top, and I realised it was slowly being shoved into an orifice in the body underneath.

"Jesus, Bart," Grant's voice said. "Don't keep me waiting. Shove it all in. Hard."

I silently stepped backwards and closed the door.

***

"It would be most unfortunate," Richard said as I met him on the landing, "if Helen was to find out what you had just been doing with Silas."

"Silas wanted me to read to him," I said.

His shark-like smile appeared. "Bollocks," he said, "Silas is well known to try it on with every woman who enters his room. They either leave immediately, or they stay; you stayed. When Helen hears, I think she will tell Silas exactly what she thinks of him, and when he rewrites his will, that won't do me any harm at all."

"Then why haven't you gone directly to Helen?"

His grin grew wider. "Oh I think you realise that I'm not a vindictive man - as long as I'm kept sweet. In other words, you have to treat me exactly the same way as you treat Uncle Silas."

***

Everything that was nice about Silas was abhorrent with Richard, particularly his large, throbbing, purple-headed prick, with the blue veins standing out from his shaft as though they would burst at any minute. So why did I have such a wonderful orgasm when he shot his load into and over me?

As soon as we'd entered my bedroom, he'd pushed me to my knees and grasped me by the hair (thank God my wig was glued firmly on). His trousers were released in a second and then he forced his prick into my mouth. All I could do was to try not to choke and to breathe at every opportunity.

With his hands grasping my head on either side and forcing me onto his prick, I realised I was being totally fucked! This was how it was for a woman. I felt an excitement run through my body. Again and again he thrust his cock hard down my throat, and I was powerless to stop him. I was suddenly reminded of that film where the girl had a clitoris in her throat, and I realised I, too, could feel the glans of his cock against my tonsils.

He suddenly held me rigid for one second, then rammed his prick further into me than ever before and I felt the burning semen shoot down my throat. As I started to choke, he pulled right out of my mouth - probably worried I might bite off his prick as I did so - and his next load hit me straight in the eyes, blinding me. I lifted my hands to try to clear my eyes, and got another smack of semen on my nose, blocking my nostrils. I turned my head to one side and he shot semen into my ear and all over my hair.

In the middle of all that, a wonderful sweetness swept though my body. It was all the nicer because it was totally unexpected. I lost all control of my senses - all I could do was to keep still as he sprayed the rest of his lovely semen over me, whilst I made silly noises like, "Gah! Gah! Yah!"

Afterwards, as he left my room, he said, "If you think Helen would have been upset by your frolics with Silas, you can imagine how upset Silas would be with your frolics with me. There really would be a curse on Grant's house for bringing such a little tart here. So you'll keep our little affair quiet, and ensure that I am serviced as regular as Silas - or else."

What could I do? Except get used to it.

***

"I invented the Christmas Day church service in the family chapel as an excuse to get Bart here," Silas told me on my visit next day, after I'd relayed details of my visit to Grant's bedroom. "Don't tell Helen, but he was defrocked as a clergyman, after giving his choirboys more of an education than their parents appreciated."

I shuddered at the thought of that monster being used on a choirboy.

"In any case, the chapel was deconsecrated years ago," Silas continued. "I heard that Bart had just been released from prison, and I thought he might be good company for Grant. From what you say, he is more than adequate."

I had been totally honest with him about Grant and Bart. Needless to say, not a word had passed my lips about Richard.

"That's rather an understatement," I replied. "It was frightening seeing that monster." But nothing like as frightening as being on the receiving end of Richard's somewhat smaller one - whilst at the same time it had been thrilling, exhilarating, tremendous and quite simply awesome.

"And I thought that size matters to a women," he said with a twinkle. "But you're obviously different. Perhaps that's why we get on so well together. Now, shall we say the same business arrangement as yesterday?"

"Silas," I said. "You're such a smooth talker."

***

Later, after being on the receiving end of a bag full of money, and a squirt of semen in my mouth, we talked together as only lovers (for that is what I now classed the two of us as) can.

"So is it true you're remaking your will?" I asked him.

His eyes twinkled. "Maybe."

"Who have you left your money to?"

He smiled. "Wouldn't you like to know. Wouldn't THEY like to know." He burst into a forced laughter.

"If it's a joke," I told him, "it will be funnier shared."

He considered what I'd said, and then nodded. "You're right of course. When I first made my will, I thought it was so funny - just thinking of their faces when they heard it - but it does wear a little thin after a while. So, you want to know who I've left my money to; the answer is a cats' home."

I thought about that a little, and then said, "But you don't keep cats. Do you like them?"

"No," he said, "I absolutely loathe them. And the really great thing is that all my family know that I loathe cats."

"So when they hear your will," I said, "they'll realise you hate them more than you hate cats?"

"Exactly," he roared. "Isn't that a laugh?" and he chortled away for some time. Then, "You're not laughing."

"Humour is a very personal thing."

"And you don't find this funny?"

"By the time the punch line is delivered," I said, "I don't suppose you'll be laughing that much."

That took the laugh off his face. "You think I'm being cruel?"

"Yes."

"But they never come to see me."

"They’re here now, and you really should be honest with them."

He nodded. "I'm a bit of a bastard, actually, aren't I?"

"I think you could do a lot of good with your will, and make people happy."

"You mean people like you?" he suggested.

I shook my head. "You've paid me for the services I've given you. I was thinking of Helen and Grant."

"But not Richard?"

"I don't really like him." Even though he'd given me a fantastic fuck - or perhaps because of that.

"You're telling me you like Helen? In truth, I don't like her very much."

I shrugged. "They are all your family."

It was his turn to nod. "I guess it would make me feel more self-righteous. It wouldn’t be as much fun, though." He thought for a little, and then added, "Unless…"

"Unless what?" I asked.

"Unless we make a bit of a game with it," he said.

"What sort of game?" I asked suspiciously.

"The kind of game that's better left as a surprise. You'll know when it comes - just go along with it, and I'll see you're appropriately reimbursed. Alright?"

I nodded. He was a rich old man and had realised he couldn't take his millions with him. He was more than happy to pay for services received from me.

Unlike Richard, who later that afternoon demanded exactly the same service in return for keeping quiet - and giving me another great orgasm!

***

It was Christmas Day; we’d had our turkey with all the trimmings, including a compulsory dollop of overcooked Brussels sprouts - a vegetable I hated, even when properly cooked. But apart from the sprouts, it had been a more than acceptable meal. An excellent wine had been freely flowing, and we were all rather merry.

I'd even been able to have a conversation with Grant, although from his lack of concentration and the expression on Bart's face, he was plainly fondling Bart - or vice versa - under cover of the tablecloth.

Helen seemed blissfully innocent of what he was up to, and I think she thought Grant was fondling me! Certainly, she gave me a number of knowing smiles during the course of the meal, and we'd had quite a good chat about the best fashion houses. At least, she'd told me about them and I had politely listened and asked occasional questions, just to show I was taking note.

We had finished our Christmas Pudding and cheese and biscuits, the bottle of Courvoisier had been passed around and we were taking the first sips from our glasses, when Silas brought the general hub of conversation to a halt in the conventional manner, by tapping a spoon on a wine glass.

"Family and friends," he said. "I'd like to say how much I have enjoyed Christmas, surrounded, this year, by my family and friends." He gave a rather evil grin. "I have to tell you that I deliberately announced that I was about to remake my will because I thought it might encourage you to put up with a miserable old bastard like me over Christmas.

"Had you known," he continued, "that under my existing will, none of you inherited my wealth, you would probably have appeared well before I made that announcement."

There was a slight shiver - almost a gasp - which ran around the table. They all sat poised, staring at Silas, wondering just what he was going to say.

It was Grant who, in the end, asked the inevitable question. "So exactly who does inherit under your existing will, Uncle?"

Silas nodded his head, acknowledging it was a fair question, and that Grant had had the courage to ask it.

"The cats' home."

This time an audible gasp ran around the table. "But Uncle Silas," Helen said, "you don't like cats."

"After this Christmas break," Silas said, "I fully intended to change my will to leave everything to the dogs' home, instead. I thought it would be an incredibly amusing joke to play upon you, at the wake, when you were all sat around the table listening to the solicitor reading the will."

Clearly, his sense of humour was not shared by anyone else.

"It was this lady here," he pointed towards me, "who convinced me that I was hardly likely to find it funny at the time."

They all turned and stared at me, wondering what part I was going to play in Silas's will.

"She argued," he continued, "that my responsibility lay with my family. Maybe she's right. I certainly respected her for not trying to get me to leave some of my money to her. So I have decided that, when my solicitor arrives after you have all departed on Monday morning, I shall tell him to amend my will exactly in accordance with Bobbie's instructions."

They all looked just as puzzled as I was.

"What do you mean, Silas," Richard said. "In accordance with Bobbie's instructions?"

"Simply that," he said. "Between now and Monday morning, I shall ask Bobbie to draft my will, and whatever she puts into it, I will accept."

There was a gabble of panic-stricken responses, this time. "What do you mean?" That's ridiculous!" "How can you trust her?" "She'll take it all for herself." The latter remark from Helen.

Silas chortled. "She might well do that, Helen. She might do. But there is going to be one other significant event between now and then which will also have a major effect upon my estate.

"I never realised," he continued, "that inviting you all for Christmas would lead me into making the very happy announcement that I am now about to make."

Helen, who from the expression on her face had been wondering what was to come, gasped, and a wide smile broke out on her face. She turned to Grant, and said, "Oh, Grant! How wonderful. I never suspected."

In turn, Grant looked at me with a question in his eyes. Since I had barged into his room and caught him being snookered by Bart on that first afternoon, we hadn’t managed to talk about anything that had happened to me. He was far too involved with rushing off to impale himself upon Bart again - and again - and again.

"Helen," Silas said to her, "whatever you allowed yourself to suspect about Grant, I’m certain it wasn’t true, and it certainly has nothing to do with the wedding announcement I am about to make. You see, Bobbie has agreed to be my bride." His smiling face wandered around the table. "Isn’t that wonderful?" he asked.

There was a moment of shocked silence - followed by another - and then another. Finally, Richard said something like, "Why you old bastard. You are a dark horse. Congratulations," and the others chipped in with muttered congratulations. It was fortunate that no one looked at me for a few seconds, as my mouth had dropped open as wide as everyone else's. After Silas's promise of a 'bit of a game', I'd been expecting something, but nothing like that.

By the time the others remembered to congratulate me, I'd recovered sufficiently to become the blushing bride to be.

"Presumably you'll be planning a long engagement, Uncle Silas?" Helen said. "After all, you hardly know Roberta, and until a few minutes ago, she was engaged to be married to Grant."

"Not a very long engagement," Silas said. "I've had a word with Bart, and he tells me we can dispense with the formalities and get married tomorrow, in our family chapel, here."

More shock and horror. "But that's impossible." "What about calling the bans?" "You need more time to think about it, Silas." And so on.

"The bans are unnecessary," Bart said. "Because Silas and Roberta will be getting married in a family chapel where there are no regular services, it won't be necessary to have called the bans. There is no bar, whatsoever to the pair of them being married tomorrow, here in the family chapel."

It was said so emphatically that no one could doubt its accuracy, but it was at that moment I remembered Silas's earlier comments about the chapel being deconsecrated and Bart being defrocked. Of course, it was a great big sham; something to wind up the family.

"OK," I thought. "This is going to be fun."

***

"What the hell do you think you're up to?" Grant said. As soon as I had left the dining room, he had come dashing after me, temporarily abandoning the attractions of Bart's enormous dongle.

I smiled at him. "You heard Silas," I said. "He's asked me to marry him and I have accepted."

"Look, let's set aside for the time being the issue of you laying your grubby hands on Silas's millions. What I'm saying is that you can't legally get married in a church. A civil ceremony would be OK, but what you're doing is against the law."

I checked there was no one in the vicinity who might overhear. "Not if it's a deconsecrated church, and the vicar is defrocked," I said.

"What?" He stared into my face, then as realisation dawned, his face relaxed and broke into a grin. "Jesus!" he said. "That's some fucking con trick..."

He broke off as Helen left the dining-room and walked up to us.

"For once," she said, in her most caustic voice, "I think you are totally justified in using that kind of language to this little slut. She was engaged to you just a few minutes ago, and now look at her."

"Helen," I said. "I don't think you should forget that I shall be rewriting Silas's will at the end of the weekend. I do think you might be a little nicer to me."

She stared at my face and then turned and walked away. "Oh, I don't have any hope," she threw over her shoulder as she retreated, "but perhaps you will think kindly of Grant. He has been very good to you, and you have behaved abysmally towards him."

And she was gone.

I pulled a face at Grant, and he grinned back.

"Did Silas mean what he said when he talked about you rewriting his will," he asked.

I shrugged. "I don't know. That is certainly what he told me he'd do, but you never know with Silas."

He nodded agreement.

"Why don't you come up to the attic with me?" I continued. "Silas says that his wife's wedding dress is mothballed up there. Do you want to come and help me find it?"

"Wow!" Grant exclaimed. "Just try and stop me."

***

We found the wedding dress in a trunk, which reeked of mothballs, but which, miraculously, was fully preserved. We pulled it out and hung it up on a rail - a beautiful white creation with a long train, and a wide sash ribbon around the waist. Underneath the dress, was a frilly white lace petticoat, and underneath that, some other items of underwear, including a corset.

"Mmm," I said. "I don't think I'll be wearing that."

"Yes you will," Grant said. "Have you seen the size of the waist on that dress."

He pointed, and I gaped.

"There is no way I could possibly get into that dress. Perhaps your mother could alter it."

"If you'd ever seen my mother with a needle in her hand, there's no way you'd suggest that. She would butcher it. In any case, there's hardly any spare material to let it out. I'm afraid we're going to have to get you down to size with the corset."

Ten minutes later, I was staring at my waist getting smaller and smaller as Grant heaved on the laces of the corset. I was half mesmerised by the increasingly shapely figure I was becoming, and half by the pain and difficulty of breathing I was experiencing. One half of me wanted to tell Grant to stop, whilst the other was silently encouraging him - I was hardly up to cheering him on.

Finally, Grant tied off my corset laces, stood back and said, "I think we could give it a try now."

He lifted the dress from its hanger and held it down so I could step inside it. He pulled it up over my arms and fumbled at the rear with the buttons.

"Hmm," he said. "I'm afraid we still need to take in the corset by another inch, but look at yourself in the mirror. Don't you think it will be worth it?"

He pulled me over to a dirty and blackened mirror by the wall. Even in that, I had to gasp at the beauty of the woman reflected in it.

"God Grant! It's beautiful."

"It will look far better when we get it properly buttoned," he said, "and the petticoats on beneath the skirt. We need you to try on the shoes and make certain they'll fit you. Silas's wife was obviously no miniature and most things seem to more or less fit you. I suggest we take the dress off you and just leave you in the corset whilst we play about with the petticoats and the shoes. In fact, you've got to get used to it. I suggest you wear it for the rest of the evening."

"Rest of the evening!" I gasped. "Grant, I can hardly breathe. You must take it off now."

He smiled. "Sorry old girl. You know you want to look your best for your wedding day so you'll just have to suffer for a little while. After all, it's what women always have to do, isn't it, suffer for their beauty."

I smiled at him. I couldn't help but agree and, when I glanced again in the mirror, I realised I was deliriously happy!

***

The wedding went absolutely beautifully. I got into the dress without tearing it and I looked absolutely ravishing. Grant gave me away, and Richard was best man, whilst Helen fumed behind me in the tiny chapel. Joan took all the photographs. I knew I rather towered over Silas in his wheelchair, but I thought it would make things even more comical when the joke was finally revealed.

Afterwards, we had our reception in the grand hall, and Silas, Grant, Bart and I got merrily drunk on excellent champagne. Then Silas and I went to our wedding bed.

***

"That went pretty well, I thought," Silas said with a rather weird grin on his face, after his second orgasm of the evening.

I had to admit, he'd certainly pulled a few bells for me. I may have been wearing a false vagina, but it unquestionably tickled the right spots.

I was debating how I was going to raise the difficult question of Richard when Silas said, "I don't think I'm feeling so good."

I turned to look at him. The smile had disappeared, and in its place was the haggard face of an old man in terrible pain.

"I'll get an ambulance," I said.

***

"I am Gerald Harker of Harker, Bateman and Harker," the solicitor said. "I know this reading of the will is a little premature, but I am instructed to do it immediately after Mr Silitoe has been pronounced dead. I'm afraid Mr Silitoe feared that some of his personal artefacts might disappear if I failed to make an immediate presence."

Helen had gone to the hospital with Silas, after pushing me brusquely out of the way. She had returned several hours later to say he had not recovered consciousness before his death. Barely an hour later, Harker had appeared.

"Mr Silitoe's will is very short and concise," Harker continued, although I was hardly listening. My mind was in turmoil after what Bart had just told me.

After expressing my condolences to everyone, I had gone into the chapel for some quiet contemplation - not that I'm religious, you understand, but I simply felt I needed a little quiet time after the whirlwind of events that had happened since first meeting Grant on the tube.

Bart had already been in there, kneeling before the alter and offering a prayer for Silas. I let him continue, and quietly sat in a pew, lost in my own thoughts.

"You have my sincere condolences, Mrs Silitoe," Bart said. "May God be with you."

"Thank you," I said, "and I'd rather you still called me Bobbie. Death is always shocking but this time... well, I feel I caused it."

Bart smiled at me. "It is God's will. I suspect you brought more joy to Silas in the last hours of his life than he'd had for many years before. You should not punish yourself for that."

He hesitated a little before adding, "This is rather a delicate time to raise the subject, but you will be asked about the funeral arrangements."

I hadn't even thought of that! I'd been wondering how on earth I was going to break the news to Helen that Silas and I were not really married. I wanted to ask Bart about it, "Yes, but..."

He butted in before I could say any more. "I should like to conduct the funeral service here, and bury him in the family cemetery outside."

"Is that legal?" Surely if Bart was defrocked, he couldn't conduct a funeral?

"After Silas announced his wedding," he said, "Helen informed me that not only was it well known that I had been defrocked, but this chapel was deconsecrated. Obviously, I could reassure her on the former, but I had to check the latter before conducting your wedding service. I discovered that although both chapel and cemetery here had not been used for many years, they had never been formally deconsecrated, so your wedding was perfectly legal, as would be the funeral, if you wish it to take place here."

His words hit me in the stomach, and I had to mentally repeat them to make certain I hadn't misheard. "But Bart, I don't understand your status. Silas said it would be alright, but..."

"It's perfectly alright," he said, and I gasped with relief.

"At the time of my trial," he continued, "it was expected that I would be defrocked. But my Church believes in forgiveness. I admitted my sins and the Church forgave. I don't have a parish at the moment - perhaps I never will - but I am still a member of the clergy. Your marriage is perfectly legal."

Legal, I thought, except that I was the wrong sex.

***

"There are instructions that if anyone does contest the will," Harker was droning on, "I am authorised to take all possible measures to prove the will, up to the point where the whole of the capital has been used up in legal expenses."

Helen slumped at that point, and I could sympathise with her. No one could possibly afford to take on a legal challenge against that opposition.

"Mr Silitoe has left his entire estate to the Feline Home of St Felix," Harker said.

The silence was deafening.

What a miserable bastard, I thought. All those relatives and he hated them so much, he gave it away to a cause which he hated almost as much.

"Of course," Richard said, "you would only try to prove the will, if it was a valid will. Is that not correct."

"This will is perfectly valid," Harker said. "It was made and signed by Mr Silitoe and properly witnessed."

"The will is only valid if later events do not overrule it."

"This is the last will and testament," Harker said. "There was no later will than this. I spoke to Silas on Christmas Eve and he said he might alter it after Christmas, and we made an appointment for me to see him tomorrow."

"I'm afraid," Richard persisted, "that Silas's marriage yesterday made the will you are holding invalid."

"Marriage?" Harker stared at him suspiciously. "Is this some kind of joke?"

"That's certainly what we thought when he announced it on Christmas Day," Richard said. "However, Silas was deadly serious - and I use my words advisedly. Meet Mrs Roberta Silitoe."

He pointed towards me and I forced a smile at him. Was this the right time to confess all - to tell everyone it had been a terrible mistake? I kept silent.

"But how could he get married?" Harker blustered. "He'd have invited me. Which church would perform the ceremony at such short notice?"

"I performed the ceremony," Bart said, and went onto explain the legality of the wedding. Fortunately, I was not asked to intercede, although I was asked to produce the wedding certificate which I duly did.

"Then I have to agree that the will I hold is invalid and that Silas Silitoe died intestate," Harker said. "I will withdraw from any further participation in this estate." He stood up, packed his briefcase and went to the door.

"Helen, perhaps you'd show Mr Harker out," Richard said.

Helen obediently stood up and left the room with Mr Harker."

"Bart, would you excuse us. We have some family business to discuss."

Bart also left the room, closing the door behind him.

"Right," Richard said, looking directly at me. "Bart has just assured us that your marriage to Silas is absolutely legal, so we have absolutely no reason to think otherwise, do we, Robert-a?" He separated the "a" from the rest of the word, so it came out as 'Robert' with an 'a' on the end.

As the implications sank in, I tried not to let my jaw drop open, but I don't think I wholly succeeded. He had me sussed.

Grant started to say, "You mean you know about Roberta being a..."

"Don't say the word," Richard hissed. "I have my professional reputation to uphold."

He'd known I was a man all along! Yet, he'd made me give him several blow jobs. Grant had been right - Richard was a closet gay!

"Bugger me!" I muttered under my breath. Well, he hadn't yet but it was probably on the cards.

"Of course," Ricard continued, "we would all lose out if it transpired the wedding was not legal - the estate would go to the cats' home and you, Roberta, would undoubtedly go to prison for providing false information to the clergyman. It's in all our best interests that we reach an amicable settlement over the estate."

"Richard! What are you stitching up whilst I'm out of the room?" Helen's voice came aggressively from the door, which she had silently opened.

"I was simply asking Roberta to agree that it was in all our best interests to reach an amicable settlement over Silas's estate. I suggest we split it 50:50 between you and I, Helen. If you want to give part of your share to Grant, that's up to you."

"Why should Roberta agree to that?" Helen was suspicious.

"As his widow, she will receive half of Silas's pension. That should equate to about fifty thousand pounds a year." He turned to me again. "Would you find that an acceptable deal? I'm sure it's far better than the alternative." He didn't have to say that meant going to prison.

I shook my head, trying to clear it. Things were happening faster than I could cope with. "You and Helen share Silas's estate, and I get fifty thousand a year as a widow's pension? What would I have to do for that?"

"Give me permission to undertake probate, and I will do all the paperwork. Clearly, you would have to remain here until I get everything completed, but you're more than welcome to stay in my half of the house. In fact, knowing you as I do, I'm sure we'll get along perfectly."

And he gave me another of those shark-type smiles which sent a tingle through my body, much to my annoyance.

"I didn't quite say, "Fuck me!" but that's what I meant when I replied, "That seems a perfectly acceptable arrangement, Richard."

You may be interested to read the author's notes which tell a little about the trials and tribulations of writing of this story. Click on the link below but first...