When the train slowed the young woman stood and took her small suitcase down from the overhead baggage rack. A young soldier across the aisle leapt out of his seat to assist but she already had the case resting on the vacant seat across from her. She smiled appreciatively at him and he sat back down.

She took a compact out of her purse and freshened her makeup and touched up her lipstick; she brushed her hair and put the compact and hairbrush away. She put her purse in her lap, folded her hands over it and crossed her ankles demurely. The young soldier kept glancing her way but she ignored him.

The steam engine puffed and wheezed at it approached Brussels railway station as if it was labouring and glad that its journey finally was over. A long blast on the whistle announced its arrival and the woman looked nervously out the window at the crowds as the train shuddered to a stop.

She knew that trying too hard to be inconspicuous will would be counterproductive. She was young and very attractive, and although she wore a sombre brown suit and white cotton blouse it was impossible to disguise her slender figure, her long shapely legs, elegant neck and alabaster skin. A brunette bob sculpted in voluptuous waves framed her pretty face, she had long eyelashes and red lips. Her legs were sheathed in flesh-toned silk stockings, a luxury for the times, and on her feet she wore brown slingback wedge-heels.

Knowing that she stood out from the throng of dowdy and downbeat women, she had devised a strategy to use her good looks to her advantage. Of course she was not the only attractive young woman on the train nor on the crowded platform; but they were few and far between.

She stood up as soon as the train came to a complete stop; she smoothed her skirt and straightened her jacket; she wanted to be in the middle of the crowd of disembarking passengers so that she would not be too prominent. She declined the young soldier’s offer to carry her small suitcase and stepped down from the carriage and strode confidently down the platform towards the exit. She knew that behaving furtively would only draw unwanted attention. She didn’t mind the approving glances that she received from many of the men; she just didn’t want anyone to be suspicious of her behaviour.

Major Klaus Keppel was a predator. He preyed on anyone trying to evade capture, or travelling illegally on the Deutsche Reichsbahn, the German National Railway. Those who raised his suspicion or who presented as timid enough to be manipulated or bullied by him were fair game. He particularly liked to intimidate and harangue the frail and the meek; but he especially liked to intimidate women and girls. Klaus Keppel would exhort anything of value for those he apprehended with promises of release from custody and safe passage. He would then hand the person over to ‘proper authorities’, which in most cases meant the Gestapo.

From women he would take not only their money and valuables but he would convince them that by providing him with sexual favours they could continue their journey unencumbered. Not that it really mattered to him if they were compliant or not; if the woman refused she was likely to be bent over the table and taken against her will in any event.

A craven coward with a sadistic streak, Klaus Keppel’s family had just enough influence to keep him from fighting at the front and obtained for him a commission in the Feldjägerkorps, or military police. He secured a series of cushy postings at border crossings or major transportation hubs where he could practice his evil trade under the guise of carrying out his lawful duties.

His NCOs were checking travel documents and identity cards at the exits while Klaus prowled the platform looking for victims and when he saw the delightful young creature striding confidently down the platform he grinned evilly.

He scrambled to place himself directly in front of her and held out his hand and gave her his most charming smile. He was a handsome man, tall and resplendent in his Wehrmacht uniform, his chest bedecked with medal ribbons, most of which he hadn’t earned.

“Papers please Fraulein?” he asked politely in German.

“Madame, please sir. I am married and I am French,” she corrected him and returned his smile.

She rummaged in her purse and produced her French National Identity card issued by the Vichy government and German travel documents approving her to travel to her final destination at Calais.

Klaus made a show and postured himself importantly as he scrutinised her documents while the young woman waited patiently. The documents had been checked many times during her journey and she was confident that they would pass another inspection.

Klaus tucked the documents into his pocket and took a clipboard from under his arm. It held photographs and wanted posters of suspected spies, escapees, and collaborators. He flicked through them quickly knowing full well that there was nothing there that even vaguely matched the description of this pretty young lady.

“You will have to accompany me to my office Madame,” he leered at her.

His modus operandi was to intimidate and bully his prey.

“Is there something wrong with my papers?” the woman asked self-assuredly.

Klaus’ smile slipped from his face, replaced by a scowl. He was not used to such impertinence from a foreigner, especially a young woman.

He took her elbow in a firm grip and led her down the platform to his small office. Some in the crowd turned to watch but most kept their eyes averted knowing not to become involved.

“You’re hurting me Major,” the woman said indignantly.

Klaus ignored her and pushed her inside the door to his office and locked it behind him.

“Take a seat please,” his demeanour changed now that he had her where he wanted her.

The woman sat down, smoothing her skirt underneath her, aware that Klaus was brazenly staring at her. His eyes drifted from her face, down her body and lingered on her legs.

“Not many women today can afford to wear silk stockings when they travel; those that can afford them at all usually save them for special occasions,” he reached out and ran a finger down her leg to her calf.

“I was fortunate. Generallieutenant Ernst Huber bought me several pairs as a going away present from my last position where I worked for him in his offices in Frankfurt,” the woman smiled sweetly at the Major.

Klaus baulked at the mention of a Generallieutenant, a position that was many ranks his superior.

“So what where you doing in Frankfurt with Generallieutenant Ernst Huber and why are you travelling to Calais?” he regained his composure.

“I am an interpreter for the Wehrmacht and I am being transferred to Calais where I will join my husband. I am fluent in English and of course my native French. My German is passable,” the woman held her purse tightly in her lap.

“Your German is excellent,” Klaus had decided to use charm again, because intimidation wasn’t working.

Klaus pulled a chair up beside the woman and made a show of rifling through another clipboard, then he suddenly he stopped. A grainy picture of a woman took his interest. The text on the document read that anyone seeing a woman who fit the description should detain her and call the Luftwaffe Feldjägerkorps immediately.

He held the picture out to her and then put it beside her face.

“This could be you,” Klaus said without conviction.

“It could be any woman under thirty Major,” the woman took a package of cigarettes out of her purse.

Klaus scrambled to light it for her and took one from a box on his desk and lit up himself.

“You know I can make this all very easy for you. If you cooperate we can finish up here quickly and you can go on your way without further hindrance,” Klaus put his hand on her knee and squeezed.

“But I’ve done nothing wrong and my papers are in order,” the woman countered, blowing smoke in the Major’s face.

He slipped his hand under her skirt and began to stroke her thigh.

“You forget who is in charge here young lady,” his fingers caressed the welt of her stocking.

“Maybe we should call Generallieutenant Huber and have him sort this all out over the phone,” the woman smiled sweetly.

Klaus was about to give up and let the woman go, but he saw her glace at the picture of the wanted woman on his desk and flinch infinitesimally. It was enough. He’d had many a victim try to deceive him in this office and the woman’s tell was a give away that might indicate that she was lying.

“That’s a good idea Madame. Let’s call Generallieutenant Ernst Huber,” Klaus grinned calling her bluff.

He picked up the handpiece and dialled the switchboard.

“Major Klaus Keppel, Feldjägerkorps, Deutsche Reichsbahn station Brussels, connect me with Generallieutenant Huber adjutant’s office, 17th Infantry Division Frankfurt,” Klaus barked officiously into the phone.

The woman put out her hand and pressed down on the telephone cradle and broke the connection.

“Yes?” Klaus smirked at her wolfishly.

“You said if I cooperate we can finish up here quickly and I can go on my way without further hindrance?” the woman pushed out her small breasts and uncrossed her legs.

Klaus’ erection was tenting his uniform trousers.

“Go on,” he stared down at the dark welts of her stockings as he slid her skirt up her thighs.

“Well I’m French as you know; and French girls have a reputation for doing things the French way,” the young woman slid her tongue along her lips salaciously.

Klaus had heard of being satisfied ‘in the French fashion’ but he had never experienced the perversion himself. As much as he would like to fuck this delightful young woman, the thought of her sucking his cock was overpowering. Besides, he could always fuck her later; he had no intention of letting her go.

The young lady slid out of the chair and got on her knees before the Major. He leaned back in his chair and opened his flies. For a man who wielded so much power his penis was mediocre in both length and girth.

The woman leaned forward and began to lick the proffered organ, running her tongue along the underside and then working on his sensitive fraenulum. She was hopeful that this wouldn’t take long; the Major was writhing in his seat and moaning like schoolboy copping his first feel.

“Wait! Wait! Wait!” Klaus bleated, leaping from his chair.

He wanted to look down on the girl’s pretty face while she sucked him. He unbuckled his trousers and let them fall to the floor along with his underwear. The woman scooted forward so that she was looking directly up into his eyes. She took his manhood and guided it to her mouth and enveloped it with her lips.

“Jesus Christ!” the Major bellowed as the woman suckled his penis.

She expertly used her tongue on his glans whilst she slid her lips up and down his engorged shaft. He would not last long.

Klaus didn’t. He clasped the woman’s head in his hands and fucked her face as he orgasmed, ejaculating a hefty glutinous wad of sperm into her mouth. Despite the fact that he’d promised himself that he would look into her eyes when he climaxed he couldn’t help himself. He raised his eyes to the heavens at the pinnacle of his orgasm.

“Oh, oh, oh,” he moaned.

His moan became a silent scream.

Klaus’ vanity had been his undoing; he was wearing an SS Ehrendolch, or ceremonial dagger, to which of course he had no entitlement.

The woman had slipped Major Klaus Keppel’s dagger from the sheath on his belt and drove it into his groin, severing his femoral artery.

As the shock set in and his body began to spasm she sprang to her feet and pushed Klaus back against the desk, directing the arterial spray away from her. She put her hand across his mouth to silence his cries and held him there while he bled out.

When he finally stopped breathing she let his pale exsanguinated corpse fall to the floor; his pants still around his ankles. She took her papers from the desk and stamped her travel documents with the official stamp.

She adjusted her clothing and checked to see that she had no blood on her. Satisfied that she was presentable she made her way to the door.

She stopped, turned around and came back to the desk. She ripped the wanted poster with the grainy picture of the young woman from the clipboard, screwed it up and put it in her purse. She unlocked the door and took the key out of the lock, then opened the door and looked both ways. Seeing the coast was clear she hefted her small suitcase in her hand, stepped outside, locked the door and strode confidently down the platform towards the exit.

She showed the official stamp to the NCO standing at the exit gate and he waved her through. He followed the curve of her buttocks and her long legs down the street until she disappeared in the throng.

He checked his watch. Another three hours until he was relieved at his post; he wondered what that peacock of a Major was up to, tucked up comfortably in his little office.

September 1943

Corporal Daniel Collingwood was almost blind when he was released from ‘the cooler’, also referred to as ‘the hole’, a small, whitewashed stone cell about ten by five feet sparsely furnished with a bed, a small table and a chair. There was no heating and the tiny window was boarded over.

He had been punished for escaping from Stalag Luft Oberursel, which was located just outside Frankfurt. He had been on the run for just over a week disguised as a French businessman making his way to Paris when he was arrested trying to cross the border. At his hearing the overly ambitious prosecutor had tried to have him sentenced to death as a spy but the court was aware that allied prisoners of war considered it their duty to try to escape. He was unarmed and carried no subversive paraphernalia.

He was sentenced to three months confinement in the punishment cell, the cooler, with no contact allowed except for the guards. He was permitted one hour exercise each day, to be taken only at night. The intention was to break his spirit and take away any appetite for further escape.

Daniel was haggard, his body frail and his hair long; he had allowed it to grow prior to his escape, hiding it under his hat hoping that it would help disguise him. It was now down past the bottom of his neck. He was filthy, emaciated and half-blind. He was allowed a week to recuperate in the barracks before he would have to abide by the camp’s routine.

Daniel left the barracks and walked over to the shower block, still half-blind and even though the water was icy cold he considered the three buckets of water and small block of soap a luxury as he rinsed, soaped, and rinsed again. He put on the ill-fitting secondhand faded uniform provided for him that had likely had once belonged to a dead man, and made his way back to the barracks anticipating a shave and haircut.

“The devil’s luck eh Danny?” Paddy O’Reardon an Irish Aircraftman from the same squadron as Danny said as he put a tattered towel around Daniel’s shoulders.

“I nearly got across the border though; if I’d had just a little more luck; a better disguise, perhaps I might have made it,” Daniel was pragmatic about his capture.

Daniel leaned back and let Paddy get to work with scissors, cutting away his beard and luxuriating in the feel of hot water and soap on his face as Paddy followed up with a razor.

“That’s taken ten years off yer Danny; yer look like a girl with your long hair and all,” Paddy joked as he snipped the scissors in the air, ready to cut Daniel’s hair.

“Don’t cut his hair! Don’t cut his hair!” an effeminate voice shrilled.

Flight Sargent Matthew ‘Benny’ Benquist ran down the bare-boarded barracks waving his hands in the air like an excited schoolgirl.

Flight Sargent Benquist had worked in the theatre before the war and was a well known West End producer and sometime columnist and theatre and movie critic for The Times newspaper. He had been inducted into the Royal Air Force to work as a reporter and media relations officer, which basically equated to being a propaganda specialist. It was his job to ensure the Allied news services received only positive stories about how the RAF was winning the war in the air and driving the Nazis to their knees with a succession of successful bombing raids.

He’d made the mistake of insisting on flying at least one combat mission so he could ‘really experience’ the war in the air and had been shot down over the North Sea and became a prisoner of war.

The fact that he was obviously gay was overlooked when the Airforce recruited him because they needed the man’s unique talents.

Benny somehow managed to keep a rotund figure while the rest of the airmen were kept slim on their diet of camp rations. The Stalag Camp Commander, Oberst Kurt Wessel, found Benny very amusing and he was a frequent dinner guest, regaling the Oberst’s dinner guests with stories and anecdotes of the famous actors and actresses that he had met. The prisoners condoned this behaviour because he bought back vital intelligence and news of the war.

Benny was puffing and panting by the time he arrived at Paddy’s makeshift barbershop.

“Don’t cut his hair! I need him just like he is,” Benny panted.

“What are you talking about you lunatic?” Paddy looked at Benny sceptically.

Daniel was also perplexed.

“You are the perfect female lead for my latest stage production. That lithe frame, that wonderful face, that alabaster skin, those bangs; so much better than some wrinkly-skinned bloke wearing a wig,” Benny huffed.

The prisoners had been allowed to form an amateur dramatic society in the camp. This served a number of purposes for their German captors. It kept the men busy outside of work hours, maintained their spirits and kept the camp amused. The premise being that prisoners engaged in recreational activities were happier and easier to handle; they were also less likely to attempt to escape. The prisoners also had a football team, an athletics club, a poetry society, and were allowed to undertake formal tuition and schooling.

“Let me get this right Benny. You expect me dress up like a woman for one of your stupid plays!” Daniel had nothing but contempt for prisoners who engaged in so-called approved recreational activities.

To his mind all prisoners should be trying their hardest to escape.

Of course there was an Escape Committee chaired by the senior officers. Wing Commander Smyth-Waddington was the chairman, but its existence was kept very secretive for obvious reasons. The Committee had helped Daniel with his recent unsuccessful escape attempt and he was anxious to rejoin the few who were selected to escape.

“Look at you Daniel. You have long hair, unblemished alabaster skin, you’re short, slim, and let’s face it, you’re quite delicate with that posh demeanour of yours,” Benny stroked Daniel’s shoulder, courting him.

Daniel was about to unload his fury at Sargent Benquist when an idea began to germinate.

“You really think I could pass as a woman?” he asked.

“Well with my expert guidance and tutorage I definitely think so,” Benny grinned.

“Ok I’m in!” Daniel smirked and leapt out the chair.

“Perfect!” Benny clapped his hands.

“But where do you think you’re going?” Benny eased Daniel back in the chair.

“We still have to sort out that rat’s nest you call hair. Now listen to me Paddy I want…” Benny gave directions to the camp barber, who had now become a hairstylist.

And that marked the beginning of Daniel Collingwood’s second escape attempt.

Stalag Luft Oberursel was located on the outskirts of Frankfurt. German POW camps holding soldiers and sailors were classified as either an Oflag - a camp for officers or a Stalag a - camp for enlisted men and housed about 4,000 or 50,000 prisoners respectively. Stalag Lufts held only Allied Airforce personnel, and although they lived in separate quarters, they held both officers and airmen and were run by the Luftwaffe.

The dedicated amateur dramatic group at Stalag Luft Oberursel had turned an old barn into a sloping auditorium known as the 'Oberium Theatre' where they gave their performances. Productions were lapped up by packed audiences made up of both the British POWs and their German captors and included performances such as Dick Whittington, The Importance of Being Ernest, HMS Pinafore, and The Mikado.

The POWs even manufactured and wore women's clothing for the female roles in their shows and prisoners bartered their Red Cross parcels with German guards for materials and props, and then spent weeks creating perfect costumes and sets for their extravagant productions.

To accompany the productions there was the 'Oberium Theatre Orchestra' that included saxophones, trumpets, tubas and guitars. To accompany their shows the men would create professional-looking theatre programs for the cast to sign for the audience

The rationale of allowing the POWs to indulge themselves in creating these lavish productions was that the enormous effort put into producing the shows gave the prisoners involved a focus and purpose during their internment. Although the Germans were losing to Russia on the Eastern Front they still controlled most of Europe and they could afford to be benevolent to their British captors who were treated relatively well and were reasonably well fed.

Being allowed to drill and parade, play sports, work in their own gardens, and put on their amateur dramatics kept the POWs occupied and away from mischief. Or so the Germans thought…

The POWs actually used these activities to execute escape attempts. The costume department kept the best of the discarded civilian clothing and footwear given to them or traded by the guards to make suitable attire for escapees. The men who printed the theatre programs used the ink and stationery to make maps, counterfeit and forged documents, and the props department also assisted making suitcases with false bottoms, improvised personal weapons and other ‘tradecraft’ items to be used by escapees once they were outside the wire. The Escape Committee called these men collectively ‘The Shop’.

There were no mass escapes; that would be counterproductive and shut down the Escape Committee’s access to extremely valuable resources. Potential escapees were selected by merit; by their chances of success. Ability to speak German, French or some other language was highly desirable and some prisoners attended language class in order to become proficient. The ability to act natural and blend in, to remain calm under pressure was also considered essential.

Paddy O’Reardon finished cutting and styling Corporal Collingwood’s hair to Benny Benquist’s exact requirements giving him a brunette bob sculpted in voluptuous waves. Paddy was used to styling the wigs that Benny bought him for the ‘female’ actors in his stage productions and he was very happy to be styling real hair.

Daniel still had difficulty seeing but he insisted that Paddy hold up his mirror.

“I can’t get around the camp like this!” Daniel bemoaned, although the feminine haircut definitely softened his face and gave it a womanly countenance.

“Smithy has approved it so long as you hide it under your hat when you’re outside of the barracks and when the Krauts are around,” Benny clapped his hands, delighted that he had a new lead actor who had the potential to look convincingly feminine.

All the British POWs called Wing Commander Smyth-Waddington ‘Smithy’ behind his back but they would never have the gumption to call him Smithy to his face.

Daniel was still very weak and after a cup of hot tea with lots of very valuable sugar he went to his cot and immediately fell asleep. When he awoke Wing Commander Smyth-Waddington was sitting beside his bunk smoking a cigarette. He offered the tin of Players Navy Cut to Daniel who gratefully took one. Cigarettes came to the prisoners in Red Cross parcels and were considered a valuable commodity to be traded as well as smoked.

“Dashed bad luck old chap. I hear the Krauts got you crossing into Luxembourg?” Smithy asked a question to which he already knew the answer.

“My papers were fine sir; I just didn’t have a good enough excuse when I was questioned. A French businessman travelling to from Germany to Paris seemed a fine reason for travel when we thought up the gig but it just didn’t hold water. They dug further into my backstory and I was stuffed,” Daniel explained.

“So back on the old horse eh? With your French and German language skills you’re still the best chance we have of making a successful escape,” Smithy blew smoke.

“I have a great idea sir. Benny, er, Flight Sargent Benquist has proposed I that I take on the role of his female lead in his next production. He claims he can do a good enough job that I will be able to pass myself off as a woman,” Daniel said excitedly.

Wing Commander Smyth-Waddington mewed.

“Not really your thing is it Danny? Sort of thing the fags and queers go in for,” Smithy sniffed disapprovingly

“But the Krauts won’t be looking for a girl sir; and if I can pass...” Daniel was about to go on but Smithy shut him down.

“Look Danny, all of the Escape Committee wish you well and we’ll talk soon about your next attempt. We thought you might take another chap with you, try to get two for one so to speak.”

“For now have a go at whatever that queer, Benny Benquist has got for you. It will keep you out of the work parties and give you an excuse to work with our boys in The Shop to get yourself sorted. There, there,” he patted Daniel’s knee, got up and wondered off, stopping to talk to other enlisted men on his way out of the barracks.

“Jesus! The ego on that man!” Daniel blew smoke at the ceiling.

His men loved Wing Commander Smyth-Waddington but he had a reputation for being hard headed.

Benny Benquist was tired of producing period pieces and his latest production was to be a contemporary American play ‘Clash by Night’, a romantic triangle drama written by Clifford Odets that had premiered on Broadway in 1941 and Daniel Collingwood was cast as Mae Wilenski. The play chronicled Mae's anguish in her marriage to a simple, hard-working guy named Jerry, and her subsequent affair with a complicated, drifting layabout. Mae's affair comes to a violent end in the book but Benny changed the final scene so that Mae ends the affair and goes back to her bland but loving husband. Everyone liked happy endings during the war.

While he recovered, Daniel learned his lines by rote and was ready for the first reading. Flight Lieutenant Steven Boyd was cast as Earl Pfeiffer, the drifter. Steven Boyd was a tall, handsome athletic man whilst the man playing Mae’s husband Jerry was a rather toady looking Aircraftman.

“What about all the kissing and stuff; some of it’s a bit racy,” Daniel complained.

Steven Boyd nodded his agreement as the cast sat around the table for the first reading.

“Look! Professional actors don’t complain when they have to act out love scenes with people they might not like; it’s a play not a dating game!” Benny slammed his script down on the table.

“I can easily have you replaced!” Benny said indignantly.

“Besides; I bet there are plenty of girls out there who would love to have good snog with Steven,” Matthew Benquist winked at Steven who shuddered at the thought.

“Ok we rehearse on stage tonight and tomorrow you go to costume to get fitted up for your wardrobe. Let’s do another read through,” Benny insisted.

Benny had been encouraged by the Escape Committee to produce a contemporary piece so that The Shop could make costumes that potential escapees could wear once they were over the wire.

Whilst Stephen Boyd was fitted into two old suits, traded from the guards, Daniel suffered the indignity of being fitted into a sombre brown ladies suit and white cotton blouse and brown slingback wedge-heels. Surprisingly the heels were a good fit; they were left over from a previous production. The brown suit and another more modern and stylish blue pinstriped suit had been re-purposed from fabric obtained from discarded men’s clothing also traded from the guards.

Some parachute silk had been purloined and dyed to make a mauve long-sleeved blouse for Daniel and a pair of black high-heeled pumps acquired. The pumps would need to be re-sized to fit his feet.

The rest of the cast made do with costumes from previous productions altered and updated for their respective roles.

“We’ll knock you up or get hold of some new knickers and bras and some falsies to fill the cups. We’ve got some old stockings you can use for rehearsals and we’re trading for some new nylons for you to wear on opening night; they’ll cost us a fucking bomb!” Aircraftman Harry Bollard whined around the cigarette that was almost perpetually stuck in his mouth.

Harry was The Shop’s ‘procurer’.

“Is all that really necessary?” Daniel whinged.

Benny took Daniel aside.

“Look! You can’t just pretend to be Mae Wilenski; you have to actually become her! I want some half decent performances out of you before you go over the wire,” he said seriously.

“If you intend to do what I think you’re going to do, in your own words you need to be able to pass as a woman. Dress like one, talk like one, walk like one, have the mannerisms of one; you need to fucking think like one! And I’m the one who can transform you, ok?” Benny said sombrely.

“The deal is you give me the best Mae Wilenski there has ever been for at least one week’s worth of performances and I’ll make sure that you can pass as a woman. The rest is up to you. Deal?” Benny said determinedly.

“Deal!” Daniel stuck out his hand and Benny shook it.

“All I need to do is get Smithy to agree to it,” Daniel sighed.

“You put on the performance of your life during opening night and we’ll convince Smithy ok?” Benny raised his brows.

“Ok just one thing. I’ll need to get into character from scratch and I’ll need to take that character over the wire with me. Rewrite my part so that my name is Danielle Bouvier, a French woman living in America. It won’t affect the play at all and I’ll get used to responding to her name. Like you say; I will become her,” Daniel grinned.

And so he did. From that moment on Danny became Danielle Bouvier in his mind; and transformed into her for every rehearsal whether he was in costume or not.

There were a small group of effeminate men who persistently took the female leads in Benny’s productions. There were rumours of course. All these men locked up in a POW camp for so long with no female company. Homosexuality was not only illegal it was considered abhorrent but was still practiced in secrecy by a very few. Strange as it may seem, taking a dalliance with one of ‘Benny’s Girls’ was not considered an act of detestable homosexuality rather it was condoned on a ‘don’t ask, don’t tell’ basis.

The ‘Girls’ were quite angry that Danny had the female lead in the latest production and that he hadn’t even had to audition; but when they saw him in full costume and makeup even they had to agree that Danny was indeed beautiful.

Senior Aircraftman Douglas ‘Mary’ Mayne played Peggy, the second female lead in the production. She got around in full makeup and dressed enfemme whenever there was a production on; she needed to get into the character she claimed. The NCOs allowed her to do so but forbade her from entering the barracks dressed like a woman. She was given the task of mentoring Danny and transforming him into Danielle.

Danny’s first costume fitting was a revelation.

Daniel sat at a small vanity table that the propmasters had made; it was even fitted with lights above the mirror. Mary Mayne had done Danny’s makeup. Danny didn’t recognise the face staring back at him. With her perfect makeup and coiffured hair; Danny was looking at a gorgeous young woman.

“Ok ducky; you are now Danielle; Danny no longer exists,” Mary was proud of her work.

It hadn’t taken Mary long to shape Danny’s eyebrows and his skin was so smooth and pale that applying the makeup had been a dream. Lipstick and eyeliner was traded for with the guards but the prisoners made their own foundation, finishing powder, blush, eyeshadow and mascara. They used charcoal, cocoa powder, beeswax, vegetable oil and coloured powders made from natural products from the garden.

“Show me how,” Danielle asked eagerly, turning her face from side to see the perfect results in the mirror.

“Hold on ducky; it’s not like face painting you know. I could do my face and pass myself off as a woman at sixteen but it takes practice. I’ll show you the basics later and you can spend as much time as you like getting it right,” Mary patted Danielle’s shoulder.

Mary was already dressed in her costume, a black form-fitting ladies suit that hugged her curves, nylons, black high heels, platinum blonde short blonde bob wig and full makeup. She looked stunning.

“Sixteen? You were performing before the war then?” Danielle asked.

“Yeah honey; you could say that. I was performing my arse off,” Mary laughed and patted Danielle on the shoulder.

“Ok let’s get you in costume,” Mary pulled a screen around them for privacy.

Danny could not describe how wonderful the exquisite sensation was as he slid the very first nylon stocking up his leg. He rolled it up as he had seen his girlfriends do, slipped his foot in the dark toe of the stocking and smoothed it up his freshly shaved leg. The feeling was magnificent and he felt himself becoming erect. Lucky for him he was wearing boy-leg knickers that had plenty of room to hide his erection. He fastened the dark welts to the silver garter clips and put on the other stocking, invoking an equally astonishing excitement.

The knickers didn’t help at all; they were satin and once he became semi-tumescent they rubbed on his glans and excited him further.

“I too remember the very first time I put on my stockings; I had that exact look of bliss on my face,” Mary sighed.

Danielle blushed.

“It’s a means to an end Doug; I just really wanted this role,” Danielle snapped.

“You keep telling yourself that ducky. I’ve had them in here before, masculine types who think it’s a lark to dress like a girl; but you’re not that at all are you? I can tell,” Mary stood and brushed Danielle’s suit where it hung on the clothes rack, turning her back.

“And don’t call me Doug when I’m in character ducky,” Mary huffed.

“Deal. If you stop calling me ducky,” Danielle replied, feeling that she had been put in his place.

“Look we have to stay in character and I’m really not Doug when I’m dressed like this am I? You can see I’ve fully transformed into woman and you have to do the same,” Mary said or rather demanded.

“Agreed Mary,” Danielle sighed.

“Good Danielle; now lets crack on,” Mary rubbed her hands together.

Mary spun on her heels dramatically; holding forth the blue pinstripe suit on its hanger like it was the Holy Grail.

“I remember when they tailored my clothes to fit,” Mary over-dramatised, putting the back of her hand to her forehead and sighing; then she laughed.

“Put that half-slip on and I’ll help you into this,” Mary instructed.

The feel of the nylon half-slip sliding up her legs and over her knickers did nothing to quell Danielle’s excitement. Mary held open the skirt so she could step into it. Danielle had tried on the skirt many times before while it was being made but this was the first time she would be wearing the full costume.

“We cut the hem a bit shorter than propriety would dictate but the boys like to see a bit of leg,” Mary chuckled as she buttoned the waist of the skirt and smoothed it down Danielle’s midriff.

Danielle was wearing a brassiere, the cups of which had been filled with what Benny’s Girls called breastforms, made from discarded stockings filled with rice to give the appearance and heft of real breasts. Mary helped Danielle into the mauve long-sleeved silk blouse that the tailors in The Shop had made for her. She had difficulty buttoning it because it buttoned on the opposite side.

“It’s so hard being a woman!” Danielle huffed as she struggled with buttons.

Mary smiled knowingly.

“You have no idea darling,” Mary stepped forward and helped Danielle with the buttons and tucked the tails of her blouse into the waistband of her skirt and smoothed it again.

“We have a problem honey,” Mary smiled mischievously.

“What?” Danielle frowned.

“Well the tailors have done a wonderful job; the skirt and blouse fit you perfectly but for one thing,” Mary said earnestly.

“What? Tell me?” Danielle demanded.

“This,” Mary placed her hand on the bulge at the front of Danielle's skirt.

Danielle looked down to see that her erection was tenting her skirt.

Mary had not moved her hand.

“We have a simple way of dealing with that; it’s called a gaff and I’ll show you how to do it,” Mary explained.

“But first we have to get rid of that nasty erection and we have simple way of doing that too,” Mary squeezed Danielle’s penis through her skirt.

Danielle was stunned and stood frozen.

Mary peeked over the screen to check that they were alone and had privacy then she lifted Danielle’s skirt and squeezed her cock through the layers of nylon slip and satin knickers.

Danielle gasped; she was overwhelmed but unable to move.

Mary stepped in close to Danielle, put an arm around her and kissed her as she gripped Danielle’s penis and began to stroke it.

Danielle was overcome with feelings that she could not explain. Mary felt soft and feminine against her; she smelled nice and her lips were velvety, she could taste the lipstick. It was just like kissing a woman but more exciting because Danielle felt soft and feminine herself. She could feel the sensual caress of her nylons, the swish of her slip, the silky graze of her knickers against her sensitive skin.

Danielle was awestruck.

She responded when Mary slipped her tongue into her mouth; she moaned and thought her knees would buckle. She could feel a climax building and her penis throbbed as Mary caressed it through the gossamer layers of slip and panty.

“Let’s not get a mess on your new clothes shall we?” Mary whispered in Danielle’s ear and playfully bit her lobe.

She slipped her tongue back inside Danielle's mouth; her hand snaked under the slip and inside Danielle’s knickers and fondled and massaged Danielle’s erect phallus. Danielle didn’t know what felt better, being caressed through the layers of silky material or feeling Mary’s soft bare fingertips cosset her penis.

Mary hiked Danielle’s slip up her waist and freed Danielle's penis from her knickers. She continued to stroke Danielle’s cock, which was leaking pre-ejaculate and ready for release.

Danielle groaned and her knees buckled as an intense orgasmed gripped her.

“There, there,” Mary kept Danielle upright, still kissing her while she supported her. She kept one arm around Danielle holding her slip and her knickers away from her ejaculating penis.

Mary directed Danielle’s ejaculate onto the floor away from her clothes. Danielle's final spurts dribbled down onto her feet and soaked into her stockings but that was ok; stockings rinsed out easy but semen was almost impossible to get out of skirts and blouses; Mary knew that from experience.

Danielle held onto Mary and kissed her passionately as she reached her apogee; she had never felt anything so exciting and provocative. She knew what they were doing was wrong but that only added to the excitement.

When Danielle had finally finished ejaculating and ceased dribbling semen Mary calmly disengaged. She took a handkerchief off the vanity table and dabbed at Danielle’s deflating member and slipped it back inside her knickers, pulled down and smoothed her slip and then her skirt.

Danielle stood stock-still, still awash with feelings that were indescribable.

“Be a love and squish yer spunk into the floorboards with yer stocking feet ducky. Let’s not leave any evidence,” Mary chuckled.

“Now. Where were we? Oh yes; let’s see how that jacket fits,” Mary said straightforwardly, as if what had just happened either hadn’t happened, or was such a common occurrence that it defied further discussion.

To be continued