Author's note: When I began this story just before Corona Virus changed our lives, it was going to be a short story about forced feminisation. With time on my hands because of the compulsory isolation the story grew and morphed into a love story and finally a 'whodunnit'.

I hope you enjoy the twists and turns and please leave comments to let me know how you feel about it.

Michele Nylons

May 2020

*****

September 1984

Charlotte Ward sat on the hard-backed chair in front on the dresser and admired the fully-fashioned stocking in her hands. For as long as she could remember she had been fascinated by the delicate garments: the eight denier, ultra-bare, flesh-toned nylon, cut to the shape, the darker shadow welt just below the coffee-coloured gauzy top-welt where the garters were attached and the manufacturers brand stylised in white lettering above the keyhole-shaped finishing loop. The dark back-seam, reinforced heel and toe, the same colour and texture as the welt.

Even though Charlotte was wearing hosiery gloves she was well aware of the cool silken sensuous feel of the garment and shivered in anticipation of sliding it up her recently shaved leg.

She lay the stocking aside and picked up the pair of peach-coloured Harlow vintage knickers. They were manufactured from polyester and lycra at the back and sides with a satin tummy panel for light control and were high-rise and high-cut to give the knickers 1950's styling. She held them to her cheek, relishing their soft luxurious feel against her skin. She could smell the residue of her perfume on the garment from the last time she had worn them. She laid the knickers beside the matching Harlow vintage brassiere and six-gartered suspender belt.

The vintage lingerie and hosiery was expensive but money was no object to Charlotte.

She checked her makeup in the mirror; it was heavy and very vintage: foundation and finishing powder, rouge to accentuate her sharp her cheekbones, black mascara and eyeliner and blended eyeshadow to emphasise her emerald green eyes, blood-red lipstick gave her lips fullness and matched her nailpolish, her jet-black, bob-cut hair with a fringe in front that framed her face and curled under her chin.

She was not being conceited when she thought to herself that the visage in the mirror looked stunning.

Charlotte shimmied into the garter belt and then pulled the knickers up and smoothed them out; the girdle of the suspender belt sat above the knickers and six garters hung down through the leg holes. She put on and adjusted the bra, then she shuddered with delight as she slid the rolled-up stockings up her legs, fastened that garters to the welts and straightened the seams; her favourite part of the ritual.

She took off the hosiery gloves and stepped into a tight, navy-blue pencil skirt; it was knee-length with a kick-pleat in the rear. She buttoned up a fitted mauve satin long-sleeved blouse, tucking it into the waistband of the skirt, smoothing it, and then zipping her skirt closed at the side. Charlotte sat down again and put on her costume jewellery and then put on her black patent leather four-inch high heels and sprayed herself liberally with perfume.

Although she had checked it twice already she once again confirmed that the door to her dorm was locked and the bolt latched.

She stood back and admired herself in the full-length mirror and was pleased with what she saw. Charlotte was only eighteen but she looked like a sophisticated sexy woman in her twenties. She turned on the floor-lamp and turned out the overhead light and spent thirty minutes or so posing in front of the mirror and then practicing her walk, made sexier because of the constraints of her tight skirt and the high heels. She blew kisses to herself and congratulated herself for being so feminine, alluring and beautiful.

Satisfied that the sound was muted on the television she inserted the video cassette into the VCR, reset the counter and hit play. The tape was titled Trans Sexcretary and it was old and had been played so many times that it took her a while to adjust the tracking but she got it right and then she fast forwarded to a pre-set position on the counter.

She stared at the television wishing she could turn up the volume but she couldn't do so in her current circumstances. Not that it really mattered; she knew every line of dialogue in the movie.

A woman came on screen dressed similarly to Charlotte but not the same. She was pretty and sexy and looked to be in her mid-thirties. She was very feminine in her mannerisms and countenance but you could tell that she was a man under the lipstick powder, heels and hose. She had entered an office and a man in a business suit sat behind a desk, the woman appeared to be his secretary. She looked shy and trepidatious and when the man spoke to her she shook her head.

The man barked angrily at her and reluctantly she walked over to where he sat and the man pulled her into his lap. What followed was a typical popular porn story: the woman at first struggling and then reluctantly succumbing to the man's advances.

The video was soft-porn, an edited version of an X-rated movie that Charlotte had been unable to purchase because at the time she was underage. She was now eighteen but hadn't been able to find a copy in any of the video shops she had been to.

The video was poorly edited and although still erotic it did not explicitly display any genitalia, sexual penetration, fellatio, or ejaculation. The woman remained fully-clothed throughout. The woman on the screen was at first reluctant but the man was insistent and as the action progressed they kissed and fondled each other. There followed a scene where the man forced the woman to her knees and she fought him but eventually she succumbed and the scene suddenly cut to her kneeling with her head bobbing up and down in his lap.

Throughout the movie, Charlotte re-enacted the part and spoke the dialogue of the woman but when the actors on the screen began to struggle again as the man pushed the woman towards the desk Charlotte pulled a silk stocking and her pride and joy, one of the newly available vibrating dilos, out of the dresser drawer along with a tube of KY jelly.

'Steven... you know I shouldn't be doing this,' the woman on the screen said.

Steven had bent the woman over the desk and hiked up her skirt and Charlotte imitated the scene, bending over the desk in her room and hauling up her skirt.

'You know you want it Doris,' the man on the screen pulled down her panties and kicked her legs open and moved in behind her.

Charlotte opened her stance and greased the rubber dildo with the KY jelly. She was fully erect in her knickers and she pulled them down to her knees and slipped the silk stocking over her erect cock. It would serve two purposes: enhance her stimulation and catch her semen so it didn't spatter over her clothes or on the floor.

'No Steven! No!' Doris struggled on the screen and Charlotte wriggled her buttocks, mimicking her.

The actual penetration on the screen had been edited out so the camera zoomed in on Doris' face. Her eyes opened wide with shock as Steven began to enter her.

So did Charlotte's as she pushed the tip of the rubber cock past her sphincter. It did hurt a little; it always did because she was so tight and the dildo was so big but it also felt wonderful. She felt so vulnerable bent over the desk with her skirt rucked up and her knickers around her knees.

'Please Steven; don't!' the woman on the screen pleaded.

The man ignored her pleas and thrust forward and as he did Charlotte slowly inserted the rubber cock all the way into her anus. The man on the screen did likewise, resting once he had fully impaled Doris.

'You know you like it,' Steven huffed; as corny a porn line as any.

'Stop! Don't! Stop! Don't! Stop! Don't! Oh my god... don't stop!' Doris squealed and Charlotte whispered the same lines to herself as she worked the dildo in and out of her anus.

Charlotte had used the device so often that she was an expert in ensuring it gave her maximum pleasure. She drove the rubber cock inside her anus, twisting it slightly so that it simulated the sensitive nerves ringing her sphincter eliciting little sparkles of pleasure and then she pushed the head of the penis-like device up so that it pressed on her prostate and evoked deep waves of bliss that spread outwards from the tender gland.

The camera panned out to show Steven with his trousers around his ankles pushing the pretty transvestite down on the desk, her skirt hiked up showing off her sheer black stockings, the pink nylon panties around her knees and her 'fuck-me' four-inch high heels. Her face was screwed up in a combination of pleasure and pain. The actual penetration was hidden by the nape of her skirt falling across her thighs and buttocks but Charlotte knew that in the X-rated release of the video, the man was actually fucking her.

'Oh god Steven I feel so naughty but I feel so wonderful,' Doris sighed and pushed back against the man fucking her.

'I knew you wanted it Doris... I've always known,' the man quoted the banal lines that the scriptwriter had given him.

Charlotte didn't care. Even though the tape was edited you could tell the expressions on the actor's faces were real; they enjoyed what they were doing.

Steven fucked Doris with long hard strokes, holding her hips and grinding his pubis into her soft buttocks. Doris had stopped talking coherently and simply moaned and groaned as the man assaulted her anus, his strokes getting harder and faster, she pushed back to meet his thrusts.

Charlotte too was grunting and squealing with pleasure. Her wrist was aching from the awkward angle as she worked the dildo in and out of her anus. She could feel her orgasm approaching even though she hadn't yet touched her cock. The tip of the silk stocking over her erect penis was wet with pre-ejaculate.

The screen images alternated between long shots of the businessman fucking the pretty transvestite and close-ups of their faces, wanton with desire.

Charlotte knew that the actors release was close and she flicked the little button on the base of the dildo and the intensity of her pleasure increased astonishingly as the dildo began to vibrate. On the screen the actors were at the pinnacle of their desire, the camera showed their faces screwed up in lust, the man pounding into the woman and then pulling her hard against him as he orgasmed. The woman sighed with lust, her hand under her skirt frantically stroking her cock and evoking her own orgasm.

Charlotte pushed the dildo hard up against her prostate and had to bite her lip to suppress a scream as waves of incredible delectation and gratification washed over her. She filled the silk stocking covering her cock with creamy semen. Her knees began to buckle and she held onto the desk with her free hand to support herself.

Later as she carefully undressed and folded her clothes, put her high heels back into the velour storage bag, removed her wig, brushed it and put it with the others, removed her makeup and sat at the dresser removing her nailpolish she felt the usual pangs of guilt and regret but knew that before long the compunction to dress and present herself as Charlotte would return and could not be denied.

The clothes, shoes, wigs and makeup went into a suitcase which she carefully locked and put away in the top of the wardrobe

Charles Ward, now dressed in cotton underpants and pyjamas, sprayed Right Guard liberally throughout his dormitory room to mask the scent of Charlotte's perfume and checked himself carefully in the mirror to ensure not a skerrick of makeup remained on his face or nailpolish on his fingernails. He knew the drill by now.

*****

Charles Ward had always had a fascination for women's clothing, especially lingerie and hosiery and had begun to collect them and secretly wear them from early adolescence. He was particularly attracted to retro lingerie and stockings. Women had recently switched from stockings to pantyhose as a matter of convenience and he agreed they had their practicalities and looked particularly good when women were wearing them with miniskirts or hotpants. He liked to wear them to bed under his pyjamas.

In his middle-teens Charles' fascination stretched to the full gamut of women's attire and he acquired a small collection of skirts, blouses and shoes. He was small statured and slim so he had no difficulty obtaining garments that fit him. His main obstacles were how to obtain them, getting the opportunity to wear them without being caught, and how to hide them from his parents and siblings.

At first he had simply borrowed his sister's clothes from the laundry basket or sometimes he snuck into her room and appropriated clothes from her wardrobe but this was risky. Being one year older than Charles, his sister's clothes fitted him perfectly.

He didn't know why he had this compulsion to dress and present as a woman, he just knew that it delighted him and made him feel comfortable...it made him feel right. Many times he had purged and vowed never to do so again but the compulsion always returned and he regretted throwing out his collection.

He began experimenting with makeup and became quite adept at it and the longer hairstyles worn by young men at the time allowed him to have a haircut that could easily be brushed into a feminine do.

The Ward family was wealthy so money was not a problem for Charles, he had a generous allowance. Provided he performed well at school he could pretty much do whatever he pleased. His parents had busy lifestyles and were often away and his brothers and his sister had their own friends and their own interests that did not include Charles and he was more than happy with those circumstances.

The Ward's had a holiday cottage in Otford. It was secluded and surrounded by woods. His father liked it because there were plenty of golf courses nearby and his mother liked the seclusion and healthy outdoor life that she and the children could enjoy. They frolicked outside in the woods, went for country walks, even camped out when they were younger. As the children became teenagers they grew less interested in the cottage and preferred city life and the Ward seniors lost interest too and rarely used the cottage but kept it as an investment.

They were delighted when Charles asked if he could use the cottage on weekends and during the holidays and allowed him to do so. This solved Charles' problems of secrecy and gave him the opportunity to dress enfemme; he would do so as often as he wanted to, sometimes spending days transformed into Charlotte, the name he had picked for his femme personality. He soon became adept at presenting Charlotte as a convincing woman; he worked on perfecting Charlotte's mannerisms, speech, gait and countenance. Charlotte's personage took up residence in Charles' psyche when she was present, nothing remained of Charles; Charlotte was an attractive and vivacious young woman.

There was a second-hand clothes shop called Cash for Clothes in Otford and Charles was one of their best customers. The two little old ladies who ran the store had their suspicions as to why a teenage male was buying ladies fashion but they weren't concerned; Charles paid in cash and was polite and effusive when talking to them about their wares. They began to put aside good quality ladies clothing and shoes in his size and preferred style knowing that he would pay a good price for them.

Charlotte had quite an extensive wardrobe in her room at the cottage and an excellent selection of makeup, perfumes and accessories.

In the mid-eighties almost every household had a VCR and the cottage was no exception. When video cassette players became freely available there ensued a boom in video cassette tape rental and sales. Video rental stores popped up everywhere and most had an adults-only section containing X-rated videos.

By now she realised that not only did she feel most normal when she presented herself as Charlotte, she also often felt sexually aroused and fantasised about having sex with another crossdresser or in some cases with a man. The video rental stores Charles frequented did have plenty of transvestite themed porn in their adults-only section but the problem was that although he could browse the aisles, he couldn't rent the movies without showing proof of age.

The good thing was that VCR tapes deteriorated quickly and ended up in the for-sale bin at a reduced price. Charles was able acquire a couple of soft-porn videos to titillate himself including Trans Sexcretary.

Charlotte's happiest days were spent at the cottage, holding her own fashion parades or just sitting around relaxing or completing Charles' school assignments for him. She often sat around reading women's fashion magazines and even took walks in the woods where on occasions she ran into people who never seemed to suspect that she was anything other than a young woman. She desperately wanted to go out in the town but she knew the consequences would be dire should she be exposed for who she was.

This idyllic period in Charles life all came to a crashing halt one Saturday afternoon when his life would be changed forever.

*****

July 1984

"Come on in Betty," Reginald Ward slapped his pretty secretary on the arse as she squeezed past him in the tight doorway of the Ward family holiday cottage.

"Come on; let's get a drink in us before we start wearing out the mattress. Just through here in lounge room there's a..." Reginald Ward stopped in his tracks.

Who was the pretty young woman lying on the lounge watching pornography on his television? How had she got into the cottage and why was she here?

Charlotte was wearing shiny pink lycra dance tights, sheer nylon footlets, black stiletto high heels, a loose fitting sleeveless top with a padded bra to give it some shape, full makeup, jewellery and perfume.

She looked gobsmacked at her father unable to speak.

It took one full minute for Reginald Ward to realise who the person was that had been lying and was now sitting, on his couch.

"Charles? Charles? Is that you?" Reginald stammered.

Charlotte didn't answer. A thousand thoughts were going around in her head and not one of them seemed to be a suitable answer to her father's question.

"Who's this Reggie? You aren't planning some kinky threesome or something are you?" Betty interrupted their train of thought.

Reginald came out of his reverie.

"Come on Betty; back to the car," he grabbed Betty by the wrist and began to drag her out of the lounge room.

"You fucking stay put!" Reginald turned and pointed at his son.

Reginald refused to tell Betty who the pretty woman was laying on the couch and despite her protests he ushered her to his black BMW 733i.

"You drive this back to the railway station and leave the keys on the rear tyre. Get a train home," he opened the driver's side door.

Betty was amazed. Reginald never let anyone drive this car.

"What about the weekend in the country you promised me?" Betty whined.

"Get in the car you dozy bint. Drop off the car like I told you and catch a train to London and then get a minicab home," Reginald stuffed a twenty pound note in her hand and pushed her towards the car.

"Will you call me Reggie or will I see you next week at the office?" Betty grumbled as she climbed into the car.

"I'll call you if I can. I fly to Paris on Monday as you well know. Don't hurt my car; drive it carefully," Reginald slammed the door and leaned in the window to kiss Betty goodbye.

Reginald stormed back into the cottage, slamming the door closed on his way into the lounge room where Charlotte sat quietly sobbing with her head in her hands.

Reginald took a fistful of her hair and yanked Charlotte to her feet. He stared at his son's face with loathing and disgust. Still holding Charlotte by her hair he ran his fingers across her face, smearing her lipstick, blush, eyeliner and mascara and then he dragged her by her hair to the door and threw her onto the floor in the corridor.

"Go and wash that shit off your face and get changed into some proper clothes!" he growled, barely containing his anger.

Charlotte scampered along the floor, her heels skittering on the polished wood. She reached up and her fingers found the wainscoting and she hoisted herself unsteadily to her feet and staggered to the bathroom.

Reginald watched his pathetic excuse for a son lock himself and the bathroom and cursed.

"Fucking pansy!"

He and his wife had long suspected their youngest was different. Charles was small and effeminate in his ways, even the way he spoke. He was a loner who preferred his own company. Charles' mother Penelope had found his stash of feminine attire and hosiery and had spoken to Reginald about it. She also suspected that Charles was wearing his sister's clothes and borrowing things from the laundry basket. She'd found some of her intimates and nylons stained with semen.

Penelope encouraged Charles not to confront their son and 'beat it out of him' which was what Reginald wanted to do. She said it was a phase that a lot of teenage boys went through and that he would grow out of it.

When Charles started staying weekends at the cottage, in their mind pursuing outdoor activities, his parents were relieved. The stash of ladies clothing had disappeared from his bedroom and Charles had stopped fiddling with his sister's clothes and masturbating with their nylons.

"I should have guessed!" Reginald reprimanded himself and strode off to Charles' bedroom.

He ripped the wardrobe door open causing the hinges to buckle and flew into a rage when he saw the array of women's fashion hanging up and the shoes neatly paired together at the bottom of the wardrobe. He ripped the clothes off their hangers and threw them on the floor; the collection of high heels followed. Then he went over to the dresser and raked all of the cosmetics and accessories onto the pile and emptied the drawers full of lingerie and hosiery on top of the heap.

By then Charles was standing at the door wearing nothing but a towel, his face scrubbed clean and his smooth alabaster skin still damp.

"I need to get some clothes," he said timidly.

Reginald pushed past him.

"Get dressed and pack that pile of shit up and bring it out to the back garden," he growled.

Charles dressed in jeans T-shirt and trainers, all the time looking at his feminine accoutrements thrown together in a heap on the floor, crying but trying hard not to.

He scooped all of the clothing, shoes, makeup and accessories into two suitcases and two carry bags which he bought outside to the back garden as directed. He had to make two trips.

"Throw it in there!" his father pointed to a fire-pit that the family had sat around roasting chestnuts whilst warming themselves on crisp autumn evenings.

It broke Charles' heart to throw all of Charlotte's essentials on top of the kindling that his father had layered in the bottom of the pit.

"Now that," his father nodded sternly to a can of fire-starter liquid.

Charles shook his head.

Like lightning, his father's hand flew out and slapped him across the face.

"Do it you little poofter!" Reginald picked up the can of fire-starter and pushed it into Charles' chest.

Charles had no choice but to hold onto the can. His father made him shake the contents all over the clothes and other female accoutrements until the can was empty.

Reginald snatched the can out of his son's hand and thrust a box of matches, the kind that had long wooden shafts with red phosphorus tips.

Charles threw the matches on the ground.

His father picked them up and took one out. He forced the match into Charles' hand made him ignite it and then he held his son's hand over the fire-pit and squeezed it until Charles had no choice to release the match.

Everything that Charlotte owned went up in a sea of flames and became immediately engulfed in the blaze. Charles fell down onto the lawn and sobbed. His father spat into the roaring fire and went back inside the house. He came back with a pair of scissors.

"Hold still you fairy or you'll lose an eye!" Reginald huffed as he held down his struggling son and hacked at his hair, throwing the shorn locks into the fire.

When he had effectively shorn his son's head he grabbed Charles by the neck and forced him into the cottage and got him to pack up his things while he called for a taxi to take them to the railway station.

They both sat in the back of the taxi angry and silent.

"What was Betty doing at the cottage? Where you going to shag her? Does mom know?" Charles grumbled.

Reginald's fist flew out and connected with his son's cheek.

"Hey! Enough of that!" the taxi driver called from the front seat.

"Shut and drive," Reginald called back.

"Yes I was going to fuck her. That's what men do. They fuck pretty women; they don't dress up like one. Do you dream of being fucked like a woman when you're dressed like that? You disgust me!" Reginald yelled at his son.

"And of course mom knows. She likes a bit on the side too. A bit of young cock livens the old girl up and makes her a bit more chipper when I shag her," Reginald chuckled.

"Don't talk about mom like that!" Charles would never be able to look his mother straight in the eye again.

He'd suspected that his father played around, he was hardly ever home. But his mother! His mother was playing around too! His respect for his parents dissolved.

They transferred their bags from the taxi to the BMW at the train station and Charles climbed into the back so as to be as far away from his father as possible. His head was a mess of short spiky outcrops and dangly strands that his father had missed.

They stopped at a barber on the way home and Reginald took Charles inside.

"Short back and sides!" Reginald growled at the barber.

"I'm eighteen. I can decide how I want my hair cut," Charles protested.

But he had no choice really; his hair was in such disarray that only a short haircut would fix it.

Upon arriving home a family crisis meeting was held with Reginald, Penelope and Charles all shouting at each other. Charles' main argument was that he was technically an adult and could do as he pleased. Reginald countered that Charles didn't have a penny to his name but could do whatever he wanted but not while he was living under his roof.

Penelope acted as a calming influence; she didn't want to lose her son and definitely did not want to see him destitute. So she called for a compromise.

"I'm not going to pay his allowances and college fees so he can go around playing dressup!" he ranted.

"I'm not going to be told how to live my life!" Charles shouted back.

"What about if... what about if... Charles... you agree to curtail your dress-ups as your father calls them until you graduate from university and we give you access to your trust fund," Penelope began.

"Oh, bollocks to that!" Reginald swore.

"Let me finish!" Penelope said impatiently.

"But you go to a school of your father's choosing. Somewhere a bit less liberal," Penelope finally finished.

Charles knew he had no choice. He was reliant on his parents until he graduated. If he dropped out now he'd have nothing and be homeless.

Chelmsford Private College was a throwback to the long ago days of British boarding schools where the schoolmasters' authority was limited to the classroom. The school was beholden to a strict system whereby the upper housemen enforced discipline and good order on the junior housemen. It also had draconian rules such as: all boys must participate in a team sport: rugby, soccer or lacrosse. During their first year the boys must join the school cadet corps who paraded one night a week and held weekend bivouacs. The boys must abide by the code of conduct and defer to their seniors.

The College was elite and its academic performance was astounding with most of the students finishing in the upper ten percentile of their curricula.

Reginald loved the idea of Charles attending the school and Charles hated it.

Charles had no choice and was enrolled to start at the beginning of the next term.

*****

September 1984

Charles hated Chelmsford College as soon as he saw it. It was a large brooding grey granite monstrosity that had been continually added onto over the ensuing years since it had opened and it loomed over the manicured lawns, playing fields and flagstone parade ground. It was rectangular with five stories and towers and spires protruding haphazardly from the roof. The college was surrounded by dense woods, almost cutting it off from the outside world.

The minimum curriculum offered was a three year bachelor's degree and most stayed the additional two years for their masters. Tuition cost ten thousand pounds per annum with an additional ten thousand pound boarding fee. Charles was expected to perform at the highest level and make the most of the money his parents were paying for his education.

The junior year students joined the college over a long weekend where their parents dropped the young men off and saw them settled. Being young men out on their own for the first time, most were standoffish and embarrassed when their parents bade them tearful goodbyes. That was not the case with Charles, whose father dropped him off with his suitcases and a warning to work hard and do well and give up any pretentions he had of pretending to be a girl.

Charles just sneered at his father and went to find a luggage trolley to take his suitcases up to his dorm. He would not be going home for three months because during the first year of college the students were not allowed off campus except during the holidays between terms.

Charles was lucky; his father had paid for a single dorm room so he wouldn't be sharing. It was one of the stipulations that Charles said was a deal breaker and Penelope supported him. He claimed that living alone he could concentrate on his studies with a view to gaining his degree as soon as possible, which would both free him of being ensconced in a boarding school and limit his parent's financial obligations. It was agreed to by all three parties.

He found a luggage cart and loaded his three suitcases and two carry bags onto the cart which had one wheel that wanted to go in a different direction to the other three. He wheeled it to the rickety lift that looked like it had been in operation for at least fifty years. The lift rattled and groaned its way to the third floor where Charles' allocated dorm room was located at the end of the corridor. The room was considered luxurious by college standards but if it was a hotel room it would be lucky to rate two stars.

The cart banged into the wall half a dozen times on the way to his room courtesy of the wonky wheel but Charles managed to push the cart into his dorm room, unpack his luggage and take the cart back downstairs and stow it in its allocated space under the stairs in the foyer. He climbed the stairs back to his room rather than risking the dodgy lift and he was later to find out the juniors were not allowed to use the lifts anyway unless they were hauling a load of some sort.

Charles locked himself in his room and surveyed what was to be his home for at least the next three years.

The main room was a simple box with a window that looked over the quadrangle; the walls were papered in fading and water-stained wallpaper. Charles went to the window which was painted shut, a dozen or so new arrivals were wandering around looking confused as they tried to find their dorms. Charles closed the thick drapes and turned on the overhead light and the floor and desk lamps. He lugged the three suitcases to the bed which was roughly the equivalent of a king single. The carry bags contained luxuries that his mother had packed for him and he stowed them away in a small cupboard next to the heavy desk which was pushed against the wall opposite the bed beside a small dressing table. The scarred old oak furniture made the room feel cramped.

One suitcase contained his army uniform and fatigues that he would wear when he paraded with the school cadet corps. His father had actually accompanied Charles to the tailor for the final fitting of his dress uniform and he almost swelled with pride when he saw his son dressed in his Private's uniform. Charles hated it. He hung up the uniform, and fatigues, and the boots he had been told to spit-polish went on the floor under the uniform; the cap on a shelf above. The second suitcase contained his school uniforms: grey trousers, white long-sleeved shirt, a blazer with the school emblem on the pocket and a jumper with the school's colours in piping around the collar and cuffs, two school ties and black brogues. Into the drawers went a selection of underpants, vests and socks.

The last suitcase contained his PT rig, trainers, some personal effects, toiletries and pyjamas. These also got packed away in the large, three-door wardrobe; on the back of one wardrobe door was a full-length mirror. He took the toiletries kit into the bathroom which consisted of a large stained porcelain enamelled bathtub, an equally water-stained sink; a small cabinet over the sink had a mirror on the door with the silver backing peeling away in places. There was a toilet with a wooden seat and bucket full of cleaning products that he would have to replace from his own funds as he used them.

Except for a weekly change of sheets left outside the dorm room each Friday, there was no such thing as room service and he was expected to keep his room immaculately clean. The upper housemen and faculty could inspect his room any time they felt like it and he had to stand formal rounds every Monday morning before classes.

Charles checked the door was locked and then came back to the bed and opened the zippered compartment in the third suitcase and he smiled for the first time since he had arrived at Chelmsford College.

He had been secretly purchasing and squirreling away his contraband since he had agreed to enrol at Chelmsford Private College. Before him, neatly folded in the suitcase were two skirts, two blouses, a micro-mini cocktail dress, three sets of bras and knickers, two suspender belts, two pairs of high heels, several packages of stockings and tights, three wigs, a cosmetics case, a small valise full of costume jewellery, packets of facial wipes and face cream. He took out the small bottle of perfume and sprayed just a scintilla into the air and breathed in the delicious aroma.

Charlotte might be down but she was not out.

Against the wall opposite the bed and close to the door was a lowboy on which sat a small colour television, a VCR, and a cassette player-radio combination. These luxuries were paid for by his parents but could be taken away at any time should he transgress the school rules.

Charles fingered the video cassette that his father had forgotten to burn when he had burnt all of Charlotte's belongings at the family cottage. He put the copy of Trans Sexcretary into the suitcase that contained Charlotte's new clothes, locked it and put it away in the top of the wardrobe and put the other suitcases on the shelf next to it.

He produced a brown paper bag which contained a simple steel hasp-and-staple door bolt, fitting-screws, and a screwdriver which he had bought at a hardware store. It took him a while to fit the hasp and staple to the solid oak door and the architrave surrounding it because he had no means of drilling into the wood, but once he got the screws started he was able to exert enough force to secure them. He was happy with his handiwork; the last thing he wanted was someone to come barging into his dorm while was dressed as Charlotte.

It was time explore the college grounds. He had visited the college when his enrolment had been accepted and one of the lower housemen had given him a cursory tour of the place but it was time to get acquainted with his new home.

*****

Charles took the stairs to the ground floor and crossed the quadrangle to the college proper. A small group of boys were reading a noticeboard and Charles sidled up to it. There were several notices pinned to the board for the attention of the lower housemen. The first notice he read was a flyer advising for all of the freshmen to muster in the Grand Hall at eight o'clock on Monday for induction. The second was the selections for team sports. Charles was slim and fit and could run fast, he'd been a cross-country runner at his previous school and there was cross-country running here at Chelmsford but it wasn't considered a team sport. It was offered as an alternative for the twice-weekly PT sessions.

Charles had selected soccer as his first choice, then lacrosse and put down rugby as his least desired sport. He been selected for rugby and was disappointed. The next notice he read was the house selections. There were four houses at Chelmsford College named after the heraldry and blazon on the Chelmsford City coat of arms. They houses were: Lion, River, Crozier and Bridge and the school motto 'Many Minds One Heart' was also taken from that heraldry.

Charles was to be inducted into Bridge House. The College kept the archaic House system alive and Charles had read the leaflet provided in the 'joining pack' the school had sent him with some trepidation. It stated:

The upper housemen have a responsibility to be exercised by them over the lower boys, for the sake of securing a regular government among the young men themselves, and avoiding the evils of anarchy. Chelmsford Private College maintains the tradition and recognises that the advantages of thus granting the young men a kind of autonomy have stood the test of time is obvious from the fact that this system existed in almost all the great public schools founded during the 19th century. The rights of the upper housemen carry with it certain well-defined duties. The housemaster is the protector of his House, and responsible for their happiness and good conduct. In cases of bullying or injustice their appeal is to the house master not to the form master, and, except in the gravest cases, all such cases are dealt with by the housemaster on his own responsibility and without report to the form master.

What Charles interpreted this to mean was that the lower housemen were committed to a form of vassalage and subjugation to the upper housemen, with little right to appeal to the faculty if they feel they are being treated unfairly.

Charles noticed that already some of the new students were starting to bond within their houses. They sought out other members of their House and introduced themselves. He had no interest in doing so, he was here under sufferance and would abide by the school rules but he didn't have to like it. He continued to explore the college and located the Grand Hall, the dining room in which the tables were arranged by Houses with the upper housemen's tables being at the front and lower housemen's tables at the rear of cavernous room. There was a gym, an indoor heated swimming pool and of course lecture theatres and classrooms.

Charles purposely located every place that he would need to be during the ensuing days of indoctrination so that he didn't look like a dummy who didn't know where to go and when. He studiously read and reread the timetable he had received in the joining pack and located the venue for each activity. He eventually found the Bridge House common room which was the domain exclusively for the housemen of Bridge House. Emblazoned on the door was the heraldic three arched stone bridge that crossed the River Can. He tried the door but found it locked.

"What do you think you are doing?" the gruff voice came from behind Charles and startled him out of his reverie.

He turned so quickly that he almost stumbled and felt a little guilty and embarrassed even though he had no reason to. Standing there looking overly-confident with a sneer on his face was a young man who was obviously an upper houseman. He projected a sense of arrogance and self-assuredness that came from knowing he was incredibly handsome and intelligent. One tail of his shirt was untucked, his tie loosened and a little askew, his expensive black brogues were scuffed but despite this the young man had a casual sense of style that made the dreary college uniform look dapper. His sandy French-cut hair was too long to be regulation, dipping over his collar at the back and a sweeping fringe that accented his deep blue eyes.

"I'm to join Bridge House and I just wanted to see what our common room looks like," Charles answered as confidently as he could.

"Robert Fellows, housemaster of Bridge House," the young man extended his hand and offered a smile that could have graced the cover of a fashion magazine.

Charles smiled back; relieved that his housemaster was a pleasant friendly chap. He offered his own hand and Robert took it in a firm grip and shook it.

"Charles Ward sir, pleased to meet you," Charles returned the smile.

When Charles tried to take back his hand Robert held it tight, and then tighter still, squeezing it until it began to hurt. The smile on Robert's face reverted back to the sneer with which Charles had originally been greeted. Robert crushed Charles' hand and pulled him closer so that Robert was towering over him.

"You little snot! You're not a Bridge houseman until I induct you and the common room is off limits to lower housemen unless they are invited or summoned. Do you understand you little faggot?" Robert released Charles hand and he fell back against the wall.

"Taking a rip on your very first day; not a very auspicious start young Mister Ward," Robert pulled a white card out of his blazer pocket.

He wrote something on it using a Mont Blanc fountain pen, holding the cap between his teeth while he scribbled, and then handed it Charles.

A 'rip' was issued for sub-standard work or a breach of school or house rules and must be submitted to the boy's housemaster for signature. Young men who accumulated too many rips are liable to be given a 'White Badge' which they have to wear displayed prominently at all times. A houseman wearing a white badge is considered in disgrace and can be called upon at any time to do extra work, chores or run errands for the upper housemen until they have 'paid off their rips' only when agreed to by a meeting of the House council.

"Here; take this and fuck off. I'll be keeping an eye on you Mister Ward," Robert walked casually away.

"Fuck!" Charles stuffed the rip into his pocket.

"What an archaic and demeaning way to run a school," Charles huffed and hurried away back to his dorm.

This was one of the rub points between Charles and his father when his father had directed that he attend Chelmsford Private College. Although the college curriculum was very progressive, the rules and regulations hadn't changed since the early nineteen hundreds.

Charles sought sanctuary in his room, carefully locking and bolting the door. He took a bath, shaved the few fine hairs from his soft cheeks and bought down the suitcase in which Charlotte resided. He took solace spending the rest of the afternoon and evening as Charlotte. Although she was confined to her room it was wonderful just to allow her out after being locked away for so long.

*****

On Monday morning Charles was ravenous and he quickly dressed, checking himself carefully in the mirror before he left his dorm to make his way to the dining hall. Breakfast was served between six and seven thirty in the morning and was the only informal meal of the day. Lunch and dinner were taken together by the students and faculty and were formal affairs, especially dinner.

Charles stood in line at the servery and was plated a hearty breakfast by a plump, pretty matron with a pleasant disposition whom he would come to know as Mrs Figgis.

"Get that inside you lad, you're going to need all your energy over the coming days but you'll soon get used to the school. The freshmen are sitting at those tables over there until they are inducted into their House," Mrs Figgis waved his plate towards a line of tables where groups of new students were eating breakfast and chattering away.

Charles found a seat by himself and began to scoff down his breakfast between slurps of hot tea served in a large mug. He felt self-conscious sitting by himself and was very aware that he was the most diminutive of all the young men sitting at the table. That was until a scrawny young man in an ill-fitting uniform approached and asked to sit beside him.

"May I?" the youth nodded at the chair beside Charles who nodded his consent.

The young man's plate was filled to overflowing with a good old English fry-up and Charles wondered where the lank young man was going to put all that food.

"William Larkin," the boy muttered around a mouthful of sausage and egg, he rubbed his hands together and offered Charles a hand.

"Charles Ward," Charles offered his hand in return.

Over breakfast Charles learned that William Larkin was one of the few scholarship students at the college and was also to be assigned to Bridge House; William had been selected for the soccer team and claimed to be an excellent goalkeeper. They had several classes together and struck up a loose friendship. This was the antithesis of Charles' usual behaviour as he was a loner and seldom made friends easily but there was something about William's demeanour that Charles liked.

After breakfast they made their way to the Grand Hall where around one hundred freshmen had gathered for induction. The Headmaster, one Francis Lister, introduced himself and droned on about the history of the college and repeatedly reminded the young men that they were indeed privileged to be at a university that has kept the traditions of the past unlike the modern universities that had become coeducational and lax in their discipline.

After the introductory speech the young men were directed to follow their timetables which had them attending their academic classes in order to meet their tutors, receive an introduction to their subjects and collect their text books. The next day they were to meet on the sporting fields. The inductees soon discovered that except for those who were exceptional at a particular sport, none of the lower housemen had been assigned their preferred sport. It would be character-building to play a new sport to which they were unaccustomed it was explained.

Charles' was not surprised to discover that Robert Fellows was Captain of the rugby team. He initially divided the young men by their size, assigning the larger boys the roles of forwards and handed them off to the Vice Captain to begin training and be assigned their on-field positions.

"Righto you lot, let's see what you can do," he growled at the remaining slender lads.

They were put through a series of sprints and then made to run a zigzag course through cones placed on the field to test their agility. He split them up into twos and had them run up and down the field passing and receiving the ball. Charles' failed to partner-up because of the odd number of backs and his reluctance to participate.

"Righto snotty; looks like you're with me," he threw the rugby ball at Charles, who to his own surprise caught it.

Robert ran Charles ragged but he managed to keep up; all those years of cross country running paid off. He fumbled the ball a few times but soon became adept at catching and passing the ball once he got used to the shape and feel of it. Charles was feeling quite chuffed until they began tackling practice.

"Righto snotty, you're up first. Don't let anyone get past you," Robert ordered.

Charles had to meet a succession of players head on and tackle them which began to take a toll on his stamina and his body. Charles began to miss tackles and Robert continued to deride him, screaming at him that he was useless every time an attacker got through his defence.

"Righto, you little shit. I'm coming at you full belt heading for that try-line and if I get past you, there will be hell," Robert expertly kicked the ball downfield, ran under it and caught it.

He turned and ran at Charles at full speed and Charles steadied himself to make the tackle. Just before Robert was level with Charles he jinked right and Charles dived to stop him. He smiled to himself the instant that he got his hands around Robert's waist and used all his force to try to drag him to the ground. Robert tried to fend Charles off and Charlie's hands slid down to Robert's knees, who then squirmed sideways to break the tackle. Charles hands slipped down to Robert's ankles but he hung on and Robert fell to the ground with Charles following but still holding on. The tackle had been made and Charles was pleased with himself until he realised that as Robert had been bought down he had managed to reach out one-handed and ground the ball over the try-line.

Robert got up with a smug grin on his face and came over to Charles and offered him his hand to help him up. Charles put out his hand and Robert pulled him to his feet.

"Not a bad effort," Robert smiled at him and tousled his hair.

Charles smiled back and was rewarded by Robert putting his leg behind Charles and then pushing him in the chest so that he fell heavily to the ground.

"But not good enough you plonker; if that happened in a game it could have been the match winning try you just let through," he kicked Charles in the shin.

"Now get up and give me fifty and fifty."

Fifty and fifty was fifty push-ups and fifty laps of the rugby field.

Robert called the team together and gave them a pep talk while Charles began his push-ups. The team left the field leaving Charles to complete his fifty and fifty by himself. Finally, exhausted, he hobbled back to the deserted change rooms to find that Robert had written him a rip and put it in his kit bag.

That evening after dinner, the freshmen were to be inducted into their Houses. The lower housemen were directed to report to their House common rooms dressed in shorts and t-shirts and to bring a towel and spare pair of shorts.

Charles and the twenty or so pledgelings lined up outside the door to Bridge House common room and were summoned in one at a time. The floor had been cleared and the housemaster sat on a throne-like chair at the front of the room surrounded by the upper housemen who were wearing their House jumpers and football shorts.

The pledgelings entered one at a time recited the House pledge and were then sent to kneel on the hard wooden floor. What followed was a series activities involving harassment, abuse or humiliation. Each of the pledgelings was ordered to lower their pants and received a paddling on their buttocks and then they were offered a mug of vile liquid that they had to drink and keep down. They were pelted with eggs and rotten food which they had to lick off the floor. Some of the pledgelings including Charles became sick and were made to lick that up as well. Charles and William stuck together through the hazing, giving each other moral support.

After further abuse the pledgelings had to clean up the mess the upper housemen had made and when the floor was spotless they were led outside, stripped naked and hosed off with cold water. They towelled off and put on their clean shorts.

The pledgelings were paraded back inside the common room and lined up before housemaster to be assigned an upper houseman for whom they would be indebted to fag. Charles was mortified when he was assigned to the housemaster Robert Fellows who grinned at him evilly when the announcement was made.

After the announcements the atmosphere changed completely. The lower housemen were issued with their house jumpers and two of them were ordered to roll in a barrel of beer from the pantry whilst the rest of them rolled out the carpets and rearranged the furniture. Then the drinking began.

Drinking on campus was only allowed in the house common rooms and on special occasions in the dining hall but most of the upper housemen kept a bottle in their dorms. The newly indicted lower housemen were directed to fill and keep refilling the glasses of upper housemen to which they were committed to fag. They were expected to match the consumption of their seniors and a bout of binge drinking ensued.

The lower housemen did not sit with the upper housemen of course, they were confined to the back of the room but had to keep an eye on their elders and ensure that their glasses were refilled with alacrity.

Charles and William sat together drinking ale and chatting, bounding away to refill the glasses of the upper housemen when required to do so. As the ale flowed the upper and lower housemen began to mingle, singing the house anthem and bawdy rugby songs. Lubricated with alcohol there was almost a sense of friendship developing.

Near the end of the evening Robert Fellows drunkenly put his arm around Charles and pulled him close.

"Do you know why I selected you to be my fag?" he muttered almost incoherently.

Charles shook his head.

"Because I think you are going to make a good winger or half back on the rugby field. I have checked your academic records and you performed exceptionally well on your A-levels," Robert burped.

He pulled Charles even closer and whispered in his ear.

"Also... I know your secret you little princess."

Charles paled and passed out.

To be continued