Poppy lay on the couch in a very undignified repose. She was wearing a black vinyl micro-miniskirt, a pink crop-top and transparent white lycra tights. Her legs were splayed, lying side-on watching TV. Elliot could see what he thought was a camel-toe in her tight pink nylon panties, but he knew it wasn’t and quickly averted his eyes.

“I saw you looking,” Poppy caught him averting his gaze

“You're intrigued aren’t you? How has she got a god-dammed camel-toe there where there should be a moose knuckle?” Poppy opened her legs wider.

“Can you behave with a little decorum at least?” Elliot huffed and left the room.

Elliot was not happy with this assignment. He believed it was beneath him and a waste of his investigative talents. Even worse, the pretty whore was often insufferable, deliberately giving him a hard time. She was the most uncooperative, cooperating witness he had ever met.

Poppy had been taken from the interview room and treated remarkably well considering how badly she had been treated up until then. A female officer had taken her to a small room where she was given breakfast, coffee and had her rights explained to her by a junior ADA. Saul Ginsberg sat there and said nothing; Poppy thought he was as useful as a knitted condom.

As a material witness she was being held in protective custody for her own safety. She would be taken to a safe house and guarded around the clock until her presence was required in court. Only a few trusted souls would know where she was being held and contact with the outside world would be severely limited and under no circumstances was she to disclose her location.

In another office upstairs Detective Elliot Granger was in a heated argument with Danny Logan the Chief of Detectives, a Deputy Police Commissioner and Brett Mendelsohn the senior ADA who was handling the case.

“You can continue to interview her while you have her in custody and prepare her for the witness chair,” Brett Mendelsohn pressed.

“You’ve been with her since she was picked up at the Metropole, you’ve got a rapport with her,” Danny Logan added.

“Just keep the tranny cooze alive long enough to testify, you don’t have to buy her dinner or read her bedtime stories,” the Deputy Commissioner growled.

“Luca Tattaglia made bail and the Napolitano crime family have the best defence attorney in the city defending him. They took out the concierge who was working the Metropole the night of the killing. The hooker is the only witness left, how hard do you think they are going to come looking for her?” Danny Logan continued.

“Corruption is rife in City Hall and Police Plaza. Half the force is on the take and so are the courts; I need someone I can trust on this. No one except me and a select few are going to know where you are,” Brett Mendelsohn added, receiving withering glares from the Deputy Commissioner and Chief of Detectives regarding his comments about officials being on the take.

Elliot raged and argued until he was blue in the face but he got nowhere. He was stuck looking after the smart-ass tranny hooker until she had given her testimony.

With the support of a Tactical Response Team they visited the housing project where Poppy lived to pick up her personal effects. Elliot was surprised at how neat and clean her tiny one-bedroom apartment was kept. One wall was fitted with a bookcase filled with books, not fiction but text and reference books. He was still waiting for her to start jonesing and fully expected her to pull a stash and a fix-kit from some hidey hole but she packed everything she needed into two battered suitcases and one box of books.

“Let me get this right. I’m not under arrest but I am in custody. I can make one phone call a day but I can’t disclose my location which is impossible because I have no fucking idea where I am being taken anyway. The State is going to pay me a stipend while I’m in protective custody,” Poppy repeated again, irritating Elliot Granger even more.

“The ADA explained all that to you at the precinct,” Elliot kept his eyes on the road.

Poppy was deliberately annoying him. She sat slouched in the front passenger seat of the unmarked car her miniskirt high on her thighs, her breasts hanging out of her tank top and her fuck-me heels propped on the dash.

Elliot reached over and pushed her heels off the dashboard.

“This car belongs to the State, show a little respect,” Elliot glowered.

Poppy swung her legs up and propped her feet in Elliot’s lap which was the last straw. He jerked the wheel to the right and slammed on the brakes pulling into a dusty parking area on the side of the interstate. He leapt from the car and dragged Poppy out of the passenger seat and slammed her against car, entwining his fists into the material of her tank top.

“You listen to me you fucking tranny whore! You’re nothing but lowlife scum. You’re the dogshit I scrape off my shoe. You're not even a person as far as I’m concerned. If you weren’t a material witness I’d choke you until you croaked and claim that you were resisting arrest,” Elliot hissed, his face inches from hers.

“Who’s going to miss you? Who’s going to fucking care if some lowlife tranny hooker disappears off the streets never to be seen again? You're a shit-stain on the toilet bowl of society you fucking freak. We’re going to have to spend some time together because it’s my job to protect you until you testify but I’ll decide how pleasant that is going to be for you. You understand?” Elliot was screeching so hard and loud that he was spitting in her face.

Elliot finally saw fear on Poppy’s face. Despite her heavy makeup, dyed hair and slutty clothing there was no doubt that she was attractive with her green eyes, full lips, pert breasts and long legs. Her skin was clear and toned and she had good teeth, Elliot had changed his mind about her being a junky but she was still a whore. A tranny whore!

“Well do you?” Elliot seethed.

Poppy nodded, genuine fear on her face.

“I’ll behave, I promise,” she added.

Elliot let go of her and turned away. He suddenly realised that her pronunciation had changed, her voice was clipped and polished and she no longer had her street accent. For some reason this infuriated him even more.

“I’m sowy Elliot,” Poppy said in a singsong little-girl voice.

Elliot turned around and swung a punch that hit Poppy in the midriff, winding her. She doubled over and Elliot brought his knee up into her breastbone and she collapsed onto the ground.

“You still want to be a comedian? I’ve got custody of you all by myself sugar and I can hurt you like you have never been hurt before without leaving a scratch on you. Got it?” he seethed, standing over her as she lay in the dust.

Poppy nodded because she couldn’t speak.

“Here, let me help you up,” he offered her his hand and she took it.

He lifted her halfway to her feet and then dropped her.

“Get up yourself, you skank,” Elliot left her in the dust and sat in the driver’s seat waiting for her to get in the car.

Poppy slowly got to her feet using the car for support. She had a burning pain in her side and her chest but she tried her hardest not to show it as she gingerly made her way to the passenger door. She grimaced as she slowly lowered herself into the seat.

“Put on your belt,” Elliot barked as he put the car in gear.

“We clear on how this is going to work?” Elliot kept his eyes on the road.

“Yes,” Poppy whispered.

She played with the hole in her pantyhose and rubbed her skinned knee. Elliot glanced over and then put his eyes back on the road.

The safe house was set on the beachfront well away from the other houses in the area. It was three bedrooms with two baths, a laundry, and a combined kitchen-family room with windows that overlooked the beach. It was surrounded by lawns with very low shrubs running along the boundaries. Anyone approaching would be easily seen.

The fridge-freezer in the kitchen was well stocked and there was another in the garage that was fully stocked as were all the cabinets. The house was virtually a fortress with bullet-proof glass windows, triple-locked doors and a fitted alarm system.

“I’m taking the master bedroom; you take one of the others. You can watch TV or spend the day jacking off for all I care, just keep quiet and stay where I can see you,” Elliot opened the trunk.

“Let me get this right? You want to watch me jacking off all day?” Poppy couldn’t help herself.

“Jesus!” Elliot left her to carry her own suitcases and her box of books.

A wary truce developed between them. Poppy would push Elliot’s buttons until he was about to crack and then she would back off. He would never tell her so but he admired her spunk. She had taken the beating without complaint and some of her quips were amusing.

He was intrigued by her polished accent but she still dressed like a streetwalker. Elliot guessed that she did it to annoy him.

Their first night at the safe house Poppy took it upon herself to cook dinner. She made a brisket with mustard sauce, sautéed potatoes, carrots and onions. She set the table and plated the food.

“You going to eat?” she leaned against the table looking nothing like a housewife in her moot-skimmer miniskirt, come-fuck-me-heels and troll makeup but the food smelled delicious.

Elliot got up from the couch and sauntered over to table. He lifted the plate to his nose and sniffed the food. Then he walked over and scraped it into the trash, dropped the plate in the sink and went back to the couch.

Unfazed, Poppy picked up her plate and utensils and took them over to where he was lying on the couch and sat on the coffee table blocking his view of the TV. She took a forkful of brisket and poked it at his mouth.

“You want me to feed you like a kid?” she smiled at him and he couldn’t help smiling himself.

He opened his mouth and she put the beef into it and Elliot chewed it and swallowed.

“Nice?” she asked, picking some veggies up with the fork.

“Yeah, it’s ok,” Elliot said begrudgingly.

Sitting like she was he could see all the way up Poppy’s skirt. He could see her toned thighs clad in shimmering flesh-toned nylons and her pink satin panties covering her cooch or whatever it was she had under them. He didn’t know if she was doing it on purpose or if she was even aware that she was doing it but either way it was distracting.

He took the plate from her and got up off the couch and went over to the table and she followed. She made herself another plate and sat across from him. They ate together in silence.

Every evening at 7pm Poppy made a phone call. He repeated the warning about not disclosing where they were and she repeatedly told him that she would abide. She wasn't stupid and knew that her safety depended on keeping her location secret. She took the long-lead phone into her bedroom and talked for about an hour. She spoke softly and affectionately to whoever it was she was speaking to. Elliot guessed it was her pimp or some boyfriend.

After she returned the phone she stayed in her room reading until the early hours of the morning. In the morning she did a brisk workout in the back garden under his watchful eye. Elliot wouldn’t let her leave the grounds without him and after a couple of days she convinced him to let her go running. Her ass was tidy in the lycra sports tights but Elliot was too much of a professional to be distracted and he concentrated on checking their surrounds as they ran along the beachfront. Poppy wasn’t too concerned, she knew that he wouldn’t have let them leave the house unless it was safe.

The records the State held on Poppy were sketchy at best. She had changed her name by deed poll when she was eighteen. She had applied for subsidised housing. She didn’t have a driver’s licence, all she had was a social security number and several solicitation arrests.

Elliot was tempted to demand that she tell him who she was talking to on the phone each evening and to ask her what she was studying but he didn’t want her to think that he was that interested.

Some nights they played scrabble after dinner and it was obvious to him that Poppy was educated and intelligent. Despite her bravado, street smarts and appalling dress sense, she was articulate and bright. She deliberately teased him but she was smart enough to know her boundaries, one beating was all it had taken.

Elliot guessed that she had taken far worse. Sometimes when she wasn’t watching he studied her and he noticed the scars from healed wounds on her otherwise perfect skin. He couldn’t help but being curious about her but he was never going to give her the satisfaction of asking her about her past and how she had come to be living like she did.

Every day he grilled her about the murders at the Metropole Hotel and prepared her for the witness chair. Every second day Brett Mendelsohn would visit and check on their progress. They both asked the ADA when he expected the trial to start and the he was continually non-committal but optimistic that it would be soon. Luca Tattaglia’s lawyers kept filing motions and asking for continuances, he explained.

After nearly a month in the safe house Poppy asked to see Brett Mendelsohn alone in her room. Elliot was not happy when Brett agreed. He heard Poppy and Brett having a heated discussion for a while and then it went quiet and all he could hear was murmured voices. Brett came out of the room, his face was flushed and he looked agitated.

“Detective I need you to escort Miz Evesham to attend to a personal matter tomorrow,” Brett said indignantly.

Elliot was about to complain but Brett held up his hand to stop him.

“She’s got us over a barrel. We facilitate her request or she refuses to testify,” Brett hissed.

“I’ll make the bitch testify!” Elliot balled his fists, his face full of anger.

“No, no, no. Just drive her and protect her. We need her to cooperate. Straight there – straight back; she doesn’t get to make any other stops. I’d put another car on the security detail but the more people know where she is the more likely she gets hit. Word on the street is that the Napolitano family are willing to pay big to find out where she is,” Brett explained.

He took a handkerchief out of his pocket and mopped his brow.

“What were you doing in there?” Elliot nodded at Poppy’s bedroom, his face filled with disgust.

“She bribe you Brett? She put a bit of honey on it?” Elliot gave him a salacious grin.

“Fuck off detective. I treat her with respect because I need her testimony but I wouldn’t touch that thing with your dick,” the ADA hissed.

Elliot flinched when Brett called Poppy a ‘thing’.

Poppy made pasta for dinner that night and Elliot could no longer contain his curiosity.

“How’d you get the ADA to approve our little field trip tomorrow,” he asked around a mouthful of garlic bread.

“I gave him a hummer then took him down the dirt road. Didn’t take long, his wife’s a prude who won’t take it up the ass so he was gagging for it,” Poppy glared at Elliot, her accent was all street.

Elliot pushed his plate away.

“Why do you talk like that? Why do you dress like that?” he folded his arms across his chest and glared back at her.

“Because it’s what you expect of me. It’s what all men have ever expected of me. I’m a freak who is just a shit-stain on the toilet bowl of society remember?” Poppy pushed her own plate into the middle of the table and stormed off to her bedroom, snatching the telephone handset on the way.

Elliot sat there fuming but his eyes followed her, taking in her coltish legs and tight ass in her little miniskirt, nylons and cum-fuck-me heels.

There was no PT or beachfront run the next morning and Poppy had not made breakfast. Elliot stood at the breakfast bar drinking coffee and eating a pop-tart.

“That shit will kill you,” Poppy announced as she purposely strode out of her bedroom and sashayed to the coffeepot and poured herself a cup.

She was surrounded by a miasma of perfume.

To his amazement she was dressed in a navy blue business suit, white cotton blouse, black patent leather heels and sheer flesh-toned L’eggs nylons. Her makeup was perfect and the bulk of her hair was pulled back in a sleek ponytail the remainder tucked behind her ears. She still had her bangs but even with the blue and cerise highlights in her blonde hair, it looked professionally styled and elegant.

She looked professional, she looked sophisticated and polished, she looked beautiful.

“Well you look dressed to kill; do you always dress like that to see your pimp?” Elliot needled her.

Poppy just frowned at him and handed him a card with an address on it.

“Jesus! This had got to be a two hour drive,” Elliot complained looking at the card.

Elliot didn’t know exactly where he was taking her but he knew the area well enough. He had been raised in the town of Braidwood across the county line but only a few miles from the address on the card. His sister still lived in the house that had been left to him by their parents. He’d started his policing career in the Braidwood PD before he had moved to the city.

“You can keep preparing me for the stand during the drive or you can keep reminding me how worthless I am. If we’re stopping for a beating I would prefer that you give it to me on the way back after I’ve had my meeting,” Poppy sipped her coffee and glowered at Elliot with her emerald green eyes.

Elliot just grunted and took his suit jacket off the back of the stool and put it on. Poppy had to admit that she found the presence of the big semi-automatic pistol tucked beneath his armpit comforting.

“If you need a piss take one now because we ain’t stopping,” he growled, picking up the car keys.

“I don’t think so honey, I’ve got my tuck down perfect and I don’t wanna ruin it. Feel how good it is,” she snatched his hand and put it under her tight skirt but he snatched it back.

“Jesus,” Elliot shook his hand like he was shaking poison off his fingers but the feel of her slinky nylons and silky panties remained ingrained in his memory for the whole trip.

Poppy just laughed and strode over to the interconnecting door to the garage. The trip took place in silence although Elliot had a thousand questions he wanted to ask her, not the least being: Who was she meeting? Where exactly where they going? How long would they be there? But he refused to ask and Poppy remained steadfastly silent, studying a package of letters she had brought with her.

Elliot looked down at the card and realised that they had arrived at their destination; he turned to Poppy and looked at her inquisitively.

“Turn down here,” she pointed to well-tended gravel road.

“Pull over here please,” she said as they approached a set of wrought iron gates with signage that read ‘The Grosvenor School’.

Poppy’s bravado had dissipated and she stared down into her lap.

“I have a favour to ask,” she whispered.

Elliot was intrigued and said nothing.

“Don’t tell him why you’re with me. Don’t tell him what I do. That’s all. Anything you want from me after just ask but please just do this,” she looked up from her lap and her eyes were brimmed with tears.

Elliot said nothing; he just nodded. He didn’t know where exactly they were and what they were doing here but this was the most quiet and well behaved he had ever seen Poppy.

They drove in silence while Poppy checked her hair and makeup in the mirror.

“Here,” she indicated a visitor’s parking lot.

“Poppy!” she wasn’t halfway out the passenger door before a young boy came running across the lawn with his arms out.

Elliot stood leaning on the car, a look of amazement on his face as the boy leapt at Poppy who hugged him and kissed him and then spun him around, his feet lifted off the ground.

She lowered the boy to his feet and Elliot studied him. He was about eight years old and good looking. He was wearing grey shorts, a white cotton longsleeved shirt, striped tie, a navy blazer with the Grosvenor School emblem on the pocket and black shoes. The clothing was expensive and he looked well fed and cared for. The similarity between Poppy and the boy was amazing.

“Robert, this is Mister Granger, please introduce yourself,” Poppy pointed at Elliot, her nervousness evident.

She gave Elliot a beseeching look.

“Pleased to meet you Mister Granger, I’m Robert Evesham,” the boy extended his hand.

Elliot took the boy’s hand and shook it.

“Call me Elliot, Robert,” Elliot smiled down at the kid and then looked across at Poppy.

“Mister Granger drove me from work today because I have an important meeting to attend this afternoon, that’s why I can’t stay overnight with you in town,” Poppy said, as much for Elliot’s benefit as for Robert’s.

“Let’s go visit over there on our favourite bench. Mister Granger can sit just over there, a little away from us. How’s that?” Poppy asked Robert who nodded enthusiastically.

“Now... Mrs Frobisher tells me you are making good grades, how is everything else going?” Poppy asked the boy leading him away towards the bench.

Her love for the boy was evident and the boy’s adoration for Poppy was obvious and he made no attempt to hide it. Elliot took a seat on a bench a respectful distance from them and studied them. They were extremely comfortable with each other’s company and their love for each other was manifested in their gestures and their constant touching. The visit lasted three hours and they talked constantly, the only interruption was when a school employee brought them sandwiches and iced tea. He offered Elliot the same refreshments but Elliot gave a polite no.

“Goodbye Mister Granger, thank you for bringing Penelope to visit,” Robert extended his hand to Elliot when it was time to leave.

Elliot gave Poppy a wry smile when Robert called her Penelope and she gave him a ‘don’t you dare’ glare in return.

Elliot turned away to give them some privacy as they hugged and kissed each other goodbye, Poppy wiping lipstick off Robert’s cheek before she let him go.

The return journey was silent for the first hour.

“Not your son obviously,” Elliot broke the silence.

Poppy scowled at him and he smiled.

“Your brother?” Elliot raised his brows.

Poppy nodded.

“So… your mother? Your father? Other family?” Elliot turned to her.

Poppy just shook her head and looked out the window steadfastly.

Elliot said nothing for a while and then suddenly slammed on the brakes and pulled into a dusty parking area on the side of the interstate just as he had before. Poppy raised her hands to protect her face, expecting another beating.

Elliot gently lowered her arms and studied her face. She looked back at him, her face devoid of emotion.

“Jesus! No drugs. No pimp. The apartment. The law books. The accent. You’re hooking to put your brother through school,” Elliot sighed.

Poppy’s expression didn’t change.

“Why? You're smart, you're articulate, you’re… well you're beautiful…” he let the question trail off.

“How many transgender legal secretaries or businesswomen have you met? How else am I going to make enough money to give him the education and the care that he deserves?” Poppy glared at him and Elliot looked away.

He put the car in gear and continued driving. It was dusk when they arrived back at the safe house but Poppy insisted on going for a run so Elliot had no choice but to go with her. When they returned they showered and Poppy came out of her bedroom dressed in her usual attire, short skirt, crop-top, heels and nylons. Her makeup was heavy and she’d frizzed out her hair.

“Why do you dress like that?” he asked her for the thousandth time.

“It reminds me of who I am. It reminds me of what I am,” she replied matter-of-factly and began to make dinner.

Elliot shook his head and turned on the TV. Namath was past his heyday but he was still quarterbacking for the Jets and Elliot was a fan. Poppy made sandwiches and coleslaw which they ate in front of the TV drinking cold beer. Elliot explained some of the finer points of the game to her but Poppy seemed tired and distracted.

She started to doze and fell against him, her head on his shoulder.

Elliot’s instinct was to push her off him but he stopped himself from doing so, instead he settled back into the cushions and Poppy lay with her head on his chest fast asleep while he watched the remainder of the game. He absentmindedly stroked her hair and she smiled in her sleep and snuggled up to him.

Poppy awoke with start and quickly sat up, looking around startled and ready to defend herself, her hands covering her face.

“Oh… I’m here,” she said, regaining her composure.

She got up and cleared away the dishes and cleaned up. Elliot decided that one more beer wouldn’t affect his reflexes. He checked to make sure the place was locked up securely, the alarm set and settled back down the couch.

Poppy sat across from him in the big overstuffed lounge chair, her knees drawn up under her chin.

“Thank you,” she whispered.

“For what?” Elliot studied her.

“You know for what. He thinks I’m a hotshot lawyer with a big law firm in the city. I’m too busy with work to look after him full-time so he has to go to boarding school,” Poppy answered one of Elliot’s unasked questions.

“What does he know?” Elliot asked intrigued at how she maintained the ruse.

“He knows I’m transgender but I’ve always been his big sister. I was already presenting as female when he was born. He’s smart enough to know not to talk about it,” Poppy shrugged.

“What about the holidays, surely you can’t bring him home?” Elliot pressed on.

“I’m an enterprising young woman. I visit him once a month and we stay overnight at a nice bed and breakfast near the school. During the big holidays I take him away somewhere nice but where I can still work after he’s gone to bed. I can make enough money selling my ass to pay for our holiday in places like Tahoe, AC, Chicago or LA.”

“I’m a doting sister during the day and a whore by night. It’s tiring but it pays the bills and he wants for nothing,” Poppy said pragmatically.

“There’s more to it. How did you end up living like you do and with custody of your brother?” Elliot asked.

“That’s a story for another day,” Poppy smiled.

She got out of her chair, stretched and yawned.

“Thanks for today,” she surprised him when she leaned in and kissed his cheek.

Elliot didn’t recoil; instead he took her wrist and held her there.

“I misjudged you. I shouldn’t have insulted you and I certainly shouldn’t have beat you,” he gave her a meaningful look and Poppy just shrugged.

“It’s what I expected. It’s what I am,” she looked away from him.

Elliot pulled her back to him and kissed her softly on the lips and she let him, leaning over him and keeping perfectly still.

“Good night,” she whispered, breaking the kiss.

She took back her hand and padded off to her bedroom, her heels dangling by the straps from her hand.

Elliot was sleeping fitfully when he heard his bedroom door open. He intuitively reached for the 9mm automatic on his bedside table and then he smelled Poppy’s perfume. He rolled over and saw her framed by the light of the corridor briefly before she closed the door behind her.

She crept silently over to his bed and lifted the covers and slid in beside him.

“What…” Elliot muttered.

“Shh,” Poppy put a finger to his lips in the dark room.

She snuggled up to him and put her leg over his. Elliot was naked except for his boxers and Poppy was wearing rayon babydoll pyjamas and pantyhose. The pantyhose were a precaution to keep herself tucked because she knew that Elliot would not want to feel her penis. The silky nylon hosiery felt delightful against his skin.

As did the soft silky rayon of her pyjama top and before Elliot could say anything Poppy clambered onto his body and pressed her lips to his. He instinctively put his arms around her body and held her. She kissed him again and then put her head on his chest.

“Are you ok with this?” she whispered in the dark.

Elliot didn’t answer; instead he lifted her face to his and kissed her. He knew that she was different to other women but all he could feel was her plump breasts pressed against his chest, her smooth skin on his flesh and her tight buttocks which he cupped in his hands.

He squeezed her buttocks and caressed her thighs. She froze when his fingers grazed the front of her panties and she took his hand away and guided it back to her breasts.

She moaned quietly when his hands went inside her top and stroked her breasts. He tweaked her nipples as they hardened to his touch. Their kisses became more passionate and Elliot put his tongue in Poppy’s mouth and she met it with her own. She felt his cock, hard and hot, pressing against her through his shorts and she rolled off him so that she was lying sideways against him and had access to his groin.

Her fingers found him proud and throbbing when she freed him from his shorts and Elliot lowered his mouth to her breast, suckling her nipple, causing her to sigh contentedly.

They remained silent, letting their fingers and their mouths express their feelings. Poppy kissed him deeply, thrusting her tongue into Elliot's mouth as she gripped his cock and began to stroke it. She smiled when he groaned and felt the pre-ejaculate begin to dribble from his glans.

Elliot caressed her flat stomach through the satiny garment and his fingers worked down to her pelvis and she firmly redirected it to her thighs. Elliot tickled her thighs while he suckled her breasts and Poppy gasped as did Elliot when she squeezed his throbbing cock.

They kissed and caressed each other, taking their time, exploring each other’s bodies but Poppy steadfastly refused to let Elliot put his hands anywhere near her pubis. She was erect and her penis was uncomfortable taped to her perineum but she was prepared to put up with the discomfort rather than suffer Elliott's disgust at her repulsive genitalia.

When Poppy broke the kiss and began to explore his body with her mouth and her tongue Elliot was at first disappointed but when she nuzzled his neck and licked and kissed his chest he lay back and was content to let Poppy do what she was expert at doing.

She licked his hard belly with her tongue and her soft lips, making Elliot squirm and then she took him in her mouth and cupped his scrotum.

She used her tongue on his glans and her lips on his shaft masterfully and in such a way that Elliot had never felt before. The feeling was wondrous and his hands went to her head to guide her but she impatiently pushed them away. She was an expert fellatrix and needed no guidance.

Elliot began to gasp and writhe on the bed as Poppy fellated him in ways he hadn't dreamed possible, the feelings of bliss she illicited from his throbbing organ were mind-bending. Three times she bought him to extremis and then backed off and started all over again, teasing him, bewitching him.

He couldn’t help for a fleeting second thinking that this is what she was paid to do. This was her calling. She was a whore.

The thought disappeared as Poppy suckled him in such a fashion that he was unable to hold back his orgasm and his cock exploded in her mouth. Poppy swallowed the musky offering whilst continuing to work her tongue and lips on his phallus, she squeezed his scrotum and sucked every drop of his seed from him.

She continued to suckle him even as his penis began to slowly deflate. Elliot lay exhausted on the bed, recovering from the most tremendous orgasm he had ever experienced. Poppy let his flaccid penis fall from her mouth and she tucked it back inside his shorts. She worked her way slowly back up his body until she was face to face with him.

When she tried to kiss him he pushed her face away. He just couldn’t do it. He was seized by post-coital regret and he just wanted her to go.

She sensed it and unwrapped herself from his body and got out of the bed.

“Call it payment for being nice to my brother today,” she whispered from the door.

“Don’t go,” Elliot called after her but it was too late, she had closed the door behind her.

She’d heard what he said through the closed door and knew that it was just guilt; Elliot was glad that she was gone.

She climbed into her own bed and relieved herself before falling into a deep dreamless sleep. She wasn’t disappointed with Elliot. Poppy expected men to treat her this way. They couldn’t wait to feel her body against theirs and then they couldn’t wait for her to leave once they were sated.

Elliot came to her bedroom door in the early hours and opened it and looked at her sleeping. She looked beautiful and serene and he hated himself for being thankful that she was not awake so he would not have crawl into her bed and whisper lies into her ear.

He couldn’t sleep for the rest of the night and finally fell asleep exhausted just before dawn.

The next morning Poppy was dressed in her running gear as usual: black lycra tights, matching sleeveless top, running shoes and ponytail sticking through the back of her ball cap. She was sipping orange juice and rearing to go. Elliot was not as enthusiastic but he went back into his bedroom to change when he saw her dressed in her PT gear.

At least they wouldn’t have to talk, he thought, as they set out on their run. Poppy was behaving as if nothing had happened last night although her usual small talk was not evident.

Elliot took station behind her and as much as he tried not to he couldn’t help but look at her tight ass clad in the tight lycra. He recalled the things she did to him with her mouth last night and he was glad he was wearing baggy shorts.

They got to the turnaround point which was a small beachfront park with a drinking fountain and they headed over to it both parched.

Poppy stood aside so Elliot could go first, she was panting, bent over with her hands on her knees.

“Ladies first please,” he too was bent at the waist and taking deep breaths.

“You go. You won’t want to use it after I’ve had my mouth on it,” she said caustically.

“Here we fucking go! I was waiting for this,” Elliot whined.

“Waiting for what?” Poppy said innocently.

“You know what I mean. Reprisals for me turning you out of my bed last night,” Elliot breathed deeply.

“Nothing that I didn’t expect. Most whores don’t expect to stay the night,” Poppy said sarcastically.

Poppy didn’t know why she was so upset. Elliot had behaved exactly as she had expected him to. It’s not as if there was anything between them.

Elliot lost his temper and pushed Poppy against the wall of the ablutions block next to the drinking fountain.

“I didn’t call you a whore last night,” he glowered.

“You didn’t need to, it was unspoken,” Poppy glared at him.

“Fucking hell Poppy I don’t know what’s going on with you,” Elliot let go of her shoulders.

“You’re an enigma. You told me to call last night payment for taking you to see your brother. You’re obviously intelligent, you love your brother, you’re enchanting and amazing when you want to be but most of the time you’re a… you're a...” Elliot was lost for words.

“I’m a shit stain. Maybe I need another beating,” Poppy ducked under Elliot’s arm and started sprinting back the way they had come.

Elliot took after her and caught her, crash-tackling her off the path and onto the beach. He pinned her down on the sand and straddled her as she fought him, lashing out at his eyes with her nails. Elliot grabbed her wrists and pinned her arms back behind her head.

“Time for that beating?” she goaded him.

Robert looked down at her face. She still had her mascara, eyeliner and lipstick on from last night and it had run. It made her look sexy.

“Shut up!” Elliot snapped and lowered his face to her and kissed her.

She fought him briefly, trying to turn her face away and then she capitulated and put her arms around his neck and returned the kiss.

“Now what?” Poppy panted into his mouth when they stopped kissing.

An elderly couple walked past hand in hand and smiled at them.

Elliot was still straddling her.

“We go back to the house,” Elliot panted his reply.

“Then what?” Poppy asked, not letting him off the hook.

“I don’t know. We talk I suppose,” Elliot got off her and helped Poppy to her feet.

“Talk about what?” she wouldn’t let it go.

“We talk of many things: of shoes and ships and sealing-wax, of cabbages and kings,” Elliot brushed the sand off his knees.

“Don’t be facetious!” she berated him.

He spun Poppy around and brushed the sand off her back and legs, taking longer than was needed on her bottom.

“Hey, hands off my fanny,” Poppy slapped his hand away.

“Come on, keep up Penelope,” Elliot slapped her on the ass and took off down the track laughing.

“Don’t you dare call me Penelope!” she called out and ran after him.

They both showered when they got home and Elliot was surprised when Poppy came out of her bedroom dressed in a bright summer dress and sandals. She had toned down her makeup and her hair was still wet from the shower.

Elliot was sitting on the couch wearing shorts and a t-shirt sipping coffee. He’d poured her a cup and it sat steaming on the coffee table. When she went to sit in the lounge chair he caught her wrist and hauled her down beside him and pulled her close. She put her feet up on the couch and he handed her the coffee.

“Brett Mendelsohn won’t be here until later this afternoon so that leaves you all day to tell me,” Elliot stroked her damp hair.

“Tell you what?” she looked up at him.

“Everything,” Elliot leaned down and kissed her forehead.

“In that case I’ll need something stronger than coffee,” Poppy said.

“It’s not even ten o’clock,” Elliot cautioned her but she gave him a reproachful look.

He came back to the couch with a glass of scotch which he put on the table. When he sat back down Poppy lifted her head and put it back in his lap and curled her legs under her.

She told him her life story.

…..

Poppy had been born Paul Evesham to middle-class suburbanites who treated him as their pride and joy. He was raised in comfort wanting for nothing. He went to the right school and had the right friends.

By the age of six Paul was displaying signs of gender dysphoria. Terms such as transgender and gender dysphoria were not yet being used but Paul’s mother recognised that Paul was special.

He showed some classic symptoms. He preferred to sit to urinate and he preferred to play with girls rather than boys and to play with girl’s toys when they visited with friends and family who had daughters. He would sometimes wear their clothes and play dressup. His mother noted other nuances about her son that exhibited subtle femininity.

Margaret Evesham saw these things in her son whilst his father, Daniel Evesham, only noted his son’s budding proficiency in track and field events and his dexterity when roughhousing with other children. Daniel and Margaret were visiting friends and ten year old Paul was upstairs playing with their friend’s daughter. Daniel went up to check on his son because the children had been upstairs now for quite some time and they were suspiciously quiet.

He found Paul dressed in a frilly dress, tights, and Mary Jane’s, with his hair brushed out and an otherwise hilarious attempt at makeup. The two ‘girls’ were holding a tea party with their dollies. Daniel blamed Margaret for mollycoddling his son.

Paul was already calling himself Penelope and dreaming of being a girl instead of a boy when this incident occurred. Margaret and Daniel’s marriage was already shaky; Daniel was philandering and Margaret was using alcohol to numb the pain.

Daniel left Margaret when Paul was twelve, leaving them destitute and homeless when he sold the house out from under her and cut her off from his bank accounts. Margaret and Paul moved into a cheap apartment and the luxuries and good schools went by the wayside. Margaret had to go back to work as a real estate agent and she was a minnow in a shark tank, a good looking recently divorced woman approaching middle-age who was a lush, looking for affection and needing money.

Margaret started coming home late or sometimes not at all. She was day-drinking and had stopped paying attention to her appearance and the men at the office had passed her around to the extent that she no longer interested them and when her work performance started to deteriorate she was fired from her job.

The cheap apartment became an even shoddier flat in a disreputable neighbourhood and Margaret started to hang around with a seedier crowd. She took low paying positions and went through a succession of bad boyfriends eventually settling on a detestable lowlife named Raymond ‘Ray-Ray’ Smith.

Paul worked hard at school even though the school was populated by children from a lower the socioeconomic status and the teachers were apathetic. He was outwardly androgynous, wearing long hair and some makeup. Many of the fashions of the day were unisex anyway: flared pants, platform-soled shoes, psychedelic puff-sleeve blouses. It would amuse Paul’s friends to know he was wearing satin panties under but by then the eclectic crowd he hung around with suspected that he was gay and knew he was effeminate.

When they first moved into their cramped apartment Margaret was hardly ever home and Paul presented as feminine but when she gave up work and Ray-Ray moved in Paul kept his crossdressing proclivities confined to the bedroom and presented as androgynous to the outside world. Ray-Ray called him a fag and a loser which didn’t hurt Paul one bit. What really hurt him was that his mother didn’t defend him but by then Ray-Ray had introduced Margaret to the delights of addictive narcotics and specifically meth.

Ray-Ray was selling drugs out of their apartment and tricking Margaret out to those men who had a penchant for older women who would do things that other women wouldn’t.

Paul spent most of the time in his room adopting the persona of Penelope, his feminine alter-ego. Unable to attend college Paul had taken menial but reasonably paid positions and continued to study at night school. Paul would have left home but he still loved his mother and cared for her and tried his best to keep her from destroying herself with booze and drugs.

Margaret would get sober, throw Ray-Ray out and clean up the apartment and then a few weeks later Paul would return home to find Ray-Ray had moved back in and his mother high as a kite defending Ray-Ray to her son.

The best and worst possible thing happened to Margaret when she fell pregnant to Ray-Ray. Despite Ray-Ray’s insistence that she get rid of it, Margaret saw out the pregnancy and gave birth to her second son who she called Robert. Born underweight and suffering from the effects of his mother’s addiction, Robert was still a beautiful baby and it was Paul who took care of him. He loved his baby brother.

One day not long after his eighteenth birthday Paul came home from work to find the house was cleaner than usual, Robert was fed and playing on the carpet and his mother looked better than he had seen her in weeks.

“Honey I know all about your thing. I always knew that you wanted to be girl not a boy but it was your father who tried to beat it out of you remember, not me,” Margaret sat her oldest son down beside her on the couch.

That wasn't quite how Paul remembered it but he was not about to argue with his mother who was showing him affection for the first time in months.

“Come on honey; I’ve bought you some presents,” Margaret took his hand and led him into her bedroom.

“Let me show you how to do this properly. I’ve been remiss as a mother not showing her little girl the secrets of womanhood,” she smiled at Paul and stroked his hair.

She helped him undress and wasn’t surprised to find that he was wearing feminine undergarments.

“Do you have a name honey?” Margaret asked as she seated Paul at her vanity.

“Penelope; what a beautiful name,” she picked up her scissors and straightened Penelope’s bangs.

Penelope had some rudimentary makeup skills but Margaret taught her the secrets of feminising her face so that her best features were highlighted: her emerald green eyes, her full lips and arched brows. She showed her how to style her hair, painted her nails and then led her to the bed.

“This is all yours. Let me show you how to wear it properly,” Margaret waved her hands at the packages and boxes scattered on the bed.

When Margaret had finished Penelope was dressed in a black taffeta ruffled miniskirt, a mauve satin blouse, sheer flesh-toned pantyhose and six-inch high heels. Her hair was frizzed out and her makeup was heavy and exotic. It was not exactly how Penelope wanted to present herself to the world but she loved how feminine and pretty she looked.

Then Margaret committed the ultimate act of betrayal.

She opened the bedroom door and Ray-Ray entered.

“I’m sorry Penelope. What else can I do?” Margaret took the baggie of powder that Ray-Ray handed to her and left the room.

By the time Ray-Ray left the bedroom four hours later Penelope knew things sexually that a girl her age had no right knowing. Ray-Ray came out of the bedroom sweating, dressed only in his shorts, whilst Penelope lay on the bed sobbing, her clothing stained and dishevelled, her makeup ruined and her body broken.

“Get cleaned up, I got customers lined up for you,” Ray-Ray growled.

Ray-Ray turned Penelope out and added her to his small stable of prostitutes. She lived full-time as Penelope and any vestiges of Paul were discarded as she hardened her heart and set her resolve to keep her mother and her brother safe. Robert now had a sister but he couldn’t pronounce her name; he mispronounced Penelope as Poppy and it stuck.

Margaret died of a drug overdose when Robert was five and Poppy took Robert and all of their meagre possessions with her and left the apartment late one night while Ray-Ray was so high that he didn’t even know they were leaving.

She also took with her the scars that Ray-Ray and his friends had inflicted on her. One night he had held her down and burned the letter R into her shoulder blade with the end of his cigarette. He told her that he had branded her and that she would always be his. He liked to burn her, cut her, blacken her eyes and break her fingers. Poppy told the emergency room doctors that she was accident prone; not that they cared about a teenage transsexual hooker.

Poppy had squirrelled away enough money to get a fresh start. She found a small apartment and set up house. By now she was passable as a woman; Ray-Ray had paid for breast augmentation because he saw it as an investment. Poppy had wanted the surgery of course and she had been especially nice to Ray-Ray when he offered it to her but she wanted breasts proportional to her body but Ray-Ray had insisted that she get big tits ‘because guys want girls with big tits’.

Poppy put Robert in daycare and hit the streets fighting off the other hookers and pimps who saw her as competition but she eventually established her own patch. She always dressed conservatively to drop off and pick up Robert from daycare and whenever she was in his company. She led a complicated life hooking to survive, raising Robert the best she could, presenting as a law abiding model citizen whenever she wasn't hooking.

Her first solicitation pinch put the fear of God into her. She used her one phone call at the precinct to call a friendly neighbour and got her to collect Robert from school and care for him until she was released. She told Robert she had been called away urgently for work and went on to explain that he would have to go to boarding school because she couldn’t look after him properly and work the busy schedule she needed to provide for them both.

Poppy enrolled Robert in the prodigious Grosvenor School using every penny she had saved to pay the deposit and almost every penny she earned to pay for his ongoing board and tuition. When he was old enough to understand she told him about her being transgender but by then she always been his big sister and he wasn't fazed by it.

What Poppy did keep from her brother was how she lived and made her money. He was convinced that she was a high flying legal eagle who travelled the country extensively and for that reason she had to keep him in boarding school except for the holidays.

*****

“And that’s everything,” Poppy drained the last of her scotch and put the glass on the coffee table.

Elliot remained silent and she wondered if she had put him to sleep with her story.

She looked up at him and saw the tears falling from his cheeks.

To be continued