|
Everything a great crime mystery should have: romance, a detective and a road chase - except that this is no "Love Story", "Sherlock Holmes" or "Bullit" and there certainly isn't a great crime. Follow our intrepid narrator as he falls in love with a girl in London, becomes a woman in Seacombe, then on to modeling in a West End fashion house and, in a "Not The Thirty-Nine Steps" finale, to the Scottish Highlands to uncover… by Charlotte Dickles |
Author's Note:
"I'm hungry," Stevie said, surfacing from beneath the bedclothes, her infectious grin stretching from ear to ear.
"Hungry?" I said. "You're insatiable!"
If possible, her grin got even wider and she gave a mock smack on my arm. "Not for sex, you idiot - for food! And in any case, it's you who's insatiable."
Not to put too fine a point on it, we'd been at it like rabbits since around eleven that morning, and it was now four-thirty. I had never known a woman who could excite me so much I was able to go from one wonderful orgasm to another over so many hours - and she said I was insatiable!
"Actually, I feel quite hungry, too," I said. On the drive down to Seacombe, we'd stopped for a coffee and a Danish pastry, but that's all we'd eaten since a quick breakfast at six am. "Do you want to go out somewhere?"
"In Seacombe," Stevie said, "there's only one decent place to eat - The Grand." Then, she added, "And it's on me."
As I started to argue she said, "And I don't want any of this crappy, female discrimination thing, OK? I have much more money than you, so I pick up the bill when we go to my expensive places, and you can pick up the bill when we go to cheap places. That's fair."
I wasn't happy, but her tone had a certain edge which indicated she would argue if I quibbled, and argument was the last thing I wanted. "Thanks," I said. "That's nice of you."
I'd only known her for just over 24 hours, having gone into the bistro-diner in my London hotel after a lousy business meeting on that Friday morning, at which I'd got kicked from pillar to post. It was love at first sight!
Well, I'd better just qualify that. Probably like many guys, I fall in love at first sight with several girls a week. I get on a train, and there she is - the woman with whom I'd like to spend the rest of my life. Except that she's with her boyfriend who looks like Brad Pitt, or I can't get a seat even close to her, or think of anything witty to say, or... The list goes on. Let's face it; I'm not the world's best puller of beautiful random girls on trains, in restaurants or anywhere else for that matter.
So when I saw her in the restaurant, I didn't realise that occasion would be any different from any other love at first sight. Doesn't stop you hoping, though, does it?
I'd been intending to have a quick lunch, before getting a taxi to the station to catch a train back to my Manchester home. She was sitting at a table with a couple with whom she was obviously talking business, and she looked so ravishingly beautiful, she took my breath away. I made my way to an adjacent table and sat so her female companion had her back to me, and I could look at my beauty from the side, with none of them being aware I was watching. So fascinated was I, the waiter had to ask me twice for my order, and I haven't a clue what I eventually ate or drank.
Her black hair was cut in a chin-length bob, and it really did bob around as she talked animatedly to her companions; her grin was so wide that her face shone with excitement. She looked devoid of make-up, although I later discovered that was due less to reality and more to her skills with make-up, and she was wearing a 1950s' style, knee-length dress, which was pink with a tight bodice. Beneath it, I could just see the hem of the kind of frilly petticoat which would make the dress swirl out wonderfully when she stood or moved.
From their conversation, upon which I unashamedly eavesdropped, it didn't take much to work out that she was a fashion designer doing business with the couple who owned a dress shop, and clearly they were in the buying mood. They went through her portfolio and placed an order, which she promised to have delivered early the next week.
After they had left, she turned to me - her wide grin taking any pain from her words - and said, "My mother told me that if I left my mouth open as long as you have, I'd stick like it."
"Sorry," I stammered, "I didn't mean to stare."
"If you hadn't meant to stare," she said, "you'd have chosen another seat. But I have half a bottle of wine left." She held it up for inspection. "It's far too good to let it go to waste. Would you like to help me finish it?"
We finished that bottle and another before we left. By then, we'd chatted endlessly and what's more, she even seemed to enjoy talking with me. As I'd guessed, she was a fashion designer and she was in business with her sister - who looked after the business side - whilst she designed and helped make sales, such as the large order she'd just taken.
Finally, she was saying, "I'm sorry, Rick, I have to go back to my fashion house now and get this order rolling. And afterwards, I have ticket for a fashion show, and I'm afraid it was difficult enough getting my ticket - there's no chance I could get you in."
"What about tomorrow?" I asked. Hell, if she really was interested in me, I'd stay in this hotel for ever.
She hesitated for a second and I thought, "Ah, ah. Here comes the brush off."
"Tomorrow morning, I'm driving down to Seacombe for a week's break," she said. "It's going to be part holiday, part chance to get on with my first draft of next season's fashions."
Oh," I said, disappointment surging through me.
"You'll probably think this a stupid idea," she said, "and you must have all sorts of plans, but you could come with me if you wanted. I mean, obviously you wouldn't have to stay all week, and we might find we hate each other, but..."
"I'd love to," I said.
Within a second, arrangements were made, and she'd disappeared back to her business, or The House, as she called it.
It was pouring with rain all the way from London, but it might have been a bright, sunny day for all that it dampened our enthusiasm. She had a fantastic car - a BMW Roadster - but with the top up we were as snug as bugs in the proverbial rugs and a four-hour drive had never seemed so short. We had to dash from the car to the beach villa where we were staying, but we still got soaked, and there we were in the hallway, and I brushed the rain off Stevie's shoulder. Then I was pulling her to me, and we were kissing, and stroking and pulling off clothes.
And five and a half hours later, Stevie suggested going out to eat at The Grand Hotel, and rang them to make a reservation.
"They're fully booked tonight," she said, putting the phone down. "We need to be there by five or they can't take us. I'll have a quick shower first, whilst you're booking a taxi for five minutes to five - the number's by the phone. I'll only be a few minutes in the shower then you can have yours. We'll simply throw on the clothes we were wearing earlier. We should just do it."
"It'll be quicker if we shower together," I suggested.
She pulled a face. "No it won't," she said.
By some miracle, the rain had stopped and the sun was shining as we stepped into the taxi.
"The forecast says it's going to be a scorcher tomorrow," the taxi driver said. "And the rest of the week is going to be hot, as well."
"Hey, great," Stevie said. "We can pop into the shops after we've eaten and get something for a barbecue on the beach."
"Fantastic," I said, realising that I hadn't any bathing trunks and wondering how Stevie would appreciate it if I went naked to the barbecue.
Within a few minutes we were driving through Seacombe town centre, and Stevie casually said (as though it didn't really mean much to her, when patently it did), "When we turn the next corner, there's a shop called Tweeds on the left. They usually have a display of my designs in their first window."
Sure enough, the window had a big sign Stevie's, and it was full of flowing 1950s' dresses of different designs and colours, all of them very bright and attractively coloured, similar to the dress Stevie had been wearing the day before. I thought they looked fabulous and I told her so - her grin appeared to stretch wider than her face!
The meal was as perfect as Stevie had promised it would be - that is, until she got the call on her mobile.
She pulled it out of her handbag and looked at it, and suddenly her face changed, and I saw a side of her that had been invisible until now - a kind of haunted, miserable look.
"It's my sister," she said. "I wonder what she wants."
"Hi Sue," she said into her mobile, then, "I'm in Seacombe, staying at the Watts' villa..." "I told you ages ago I was coming down here for a week's break..." She grimaced at me. "Well, I thought I had given you the date..." She gave me a little smile. "Yes, I am, actually... Yes very special..." A much bigger smile that time. (They were talking about me, I surmised.)
Sudden concern came into her voice. "Surely, you don't need to do that!" "But we're having a barbecue tomorrow..." "Oh! If you must!" She flipped her phone shut with a crack.
"It's not fair!" she said.
"Stevie," I said. "What's the problem?"
"Sue says there's some issue at The House and she needs to come down and talk to me. She's coming for lunch tomorrow."
I thought of saying that we could stop having sex whilst she was there, but decided she wouldn't appreciate the joke. Instead, I said, "That's not a problem. I run the barbecue whilst you two girls talk. I can keep out of the way as much as you want - as long as we can make up for the missing time afterwards."
She looked at me. "Thanks, Rick, but you don't understand. You see, Sue has always stolen my men from me. She's a nymphomaniac, and she'll shag anything in trousers." (I definitely did not suggest that the nymphomania obviously ran in the family!)
She paused a little, and then added, "Look, you probably picked it up from our conversation that, although I'd been planning a trip to Seacombe for some time, I didn't decide to come down today until I met you, yesterday. But, you see, Sue and I share a flat above our fashion house and I didn't want to take you back there. I wanted to get you right away from London - and her - so we could get to know each other properly first."
"We do know each other properly," I said. "We did that this afternoon. Don't worry that I'll be spirited away by her - I won't let her take me alive."
"Men don't have any choice in the matter," she said. "It's her pheromones, or something. She simply locks her gaze on them and they're hers."
"Look," I said. "I can make myself scarce for a while - have lunch somewhere and wait until you call me on my mobile."
She shook her head. "She won't go away until she's seen you. Then you're dead meat."
I smiled at her. What a silly girl she was. Didn't she realise that every word she uttered would make her sister sound more attractive to most men? It was a good job I was in love with her - wasn't I? Don't even think about the sister, I thought, but I said, "Maybe I should disguise myself - perhaps put a giant carbuncle on my face so I look revolting."
"I've told you," she said, "that wouldn't matter. She'd probably put a blanket over your head. As long as you were wearing trousers, she'd have sex with you."
Hell, that did sound erotic! But I was in love with Stevie. Definitely. No question.
She suddenly perked up. "I've had an idea," she said.
"What's that?"
She gave me a little grin and my spirits lifted. "You didn't hear Sue's side of the conversation, but she said something like, 'Are you with someone?' to which I said, 'Yes, I am,' and then she said, 'Someone special?' and I said, 'Yes, very special.' Which means Sue really hasn't a clue what you're like, so there's an opportunity for us there."
"What's that?"
"You'd have to be very brave," she said.
"I draw the line at murder," I replied.
"Oh no," she said, her smile getting wider, "murder would be easy compared with this. It's perfectly legal, but you'll need much more courage." She gave me a beseeching look. "Are you up for it, Rick? Will you do anything I ask to protect our relationship?"
"You bet," I said, then thought I'd better add a rider. "Anything legal. But what is it?"
"I gave myself the answer," she said. "I said Sue will shag anything in trousers, so you won't be wearing trousers when she arrives."
I paused, uncertain. "I'm not certain that will work," I said. "After all, when she sees me stark naked, she may feel even more randy than normal."
"Only if you've got dangly bits," she said. "But suppose she sees a bikini-clad woman?"
I paused again, even more uncertain. "When I said I'd do anything legal," I said rather cautiously, "it didn't include being castrated."
"Ha!" she said, rather crossly. "Just like a man; chickening out already!" Then her face broke out into another of her smiles. "No, it doesn't mean being castrated, but I'd better start explaining, otherwise you'll probably die of fright."
She pulled a face, in the way I'd noticed she did when pausing for thought. "Most of our dresses are modelled upon 1950s' wear, and they can make even quite large women look good. Consequently, for any design, we put in a lot of trial and error to get the dimensions just right across the whole size range - and not just on a dressmaker's dummy - we want the dress to flow nicely as a woman walks or swivels or sits."
I nodded comprehension, wondering where this was leading. Nowhere, that I could see.
"We're not a big enough company to employ a range of models of all shapes and sizes - in fact Alison, who runs the office, is an ex-model and she does all our in-house modelling trials. Obviously Alison is only one size - a size 10 actually - and yet we need to increase her size in steps through the whole size range. Hence, the Torsolet."
"The what?" I asked.
"It's called a Torsolet," she continued. "It covers the torso from the jaw line to the knee - a bit like a diver's shorty wetsuit. But it's very realistic - it looks just like skin - and, even more importantly, it has pouches built into it which you can inflate with water, so we can increase Alison out to the right bust, waist and hips for any particular size. We want to go a size up - we feed more water into the pouches; a size down - we let some water out. Fortunately, Torsolets are made by a company located in Seacombe, which is quite handy for us now."
"But what's this got to do with me getting naked in front of Sue?"
"We can nip down the road now and buy a Torsolet for you. It will give you a nice female figure. We'll need to get a wig, of course, and a swimming costume, and I'll apply some make-up.
"Don't you see?" she added, as she sensed my incomprehension, "you'll look just like a woman, and I'll pretend I'm having a lesbian relationship with you."
I opened my mouth and then closed it. "I'm not certain that will work," I tentatively said.
"You think you won't look like a woman," she put the words into my mouth.
I nodded.
"Trust me, Rick, I can do it. If it turns out I'm wrong then we'll have to try something else, but I'm convinced we can convert you. As long as you agree, but that's really down to how serious you are about our relationship."
I considered. Certainly Stevie believed she could do it, and I was inclined to trust in her judgement in what made a person look feminine. But did I really want to go to such extreme lengths to protect myself from a nymphomaniac? As I considered the question, I had a startling thought - I wouldn't really mind dressing as a convincing woman - it would be getting found out and exposed that I'd hate.
"Have you ever had a lesbian relationship with anyone?" I asked.
"I had terrible crushes on some of the girls at school," she admitted, "and Sue will remember those, so we should get away with it. Well Rick, are you up for it?"
What could I say? I had the choice of what looked like a long-term relationship with Stevie - who herself must rate pretty highly in nympho stakes - or a quick but thorough fucking with her sister. "I'm in your hands," I said.
"Great," she said, the grin stretching wider than ever. "Let's finish our meal and get down there. Before we go, we need to resolve one question, and that's how long you're going to need to be converted.'
"Just a few hours, surely?" I suggested.
Stevie shook her head. "That would be alright if she goes straight home after lunch, but you know I suggested she might hang around if she suspects I really do have a male in the closet. If she was to stay all night, we'd have a real problem, especially in the morning since there's only one bathroom."
"Does it really matter at this stage?" I asked.
Stevie nodded. "Yes, I'm afraid it does. The problem is that the Torsolet is impervious to water, so unless you do something about it, you quickly get drenched in sweat. The company supplies two types of gel to go next to the skin: there's a green gel that Alison uses when she only needs to wear it for a morning's work - four hours is probably the tops before she starts sweating again and she has to take it off. Then there's a red gel which she'll use if we need her for a couple of days of continual use. The problem with the red gel is it contains glue which it's difficult to remove, so if we use that - and I think we should - the Torsolet won't come off, even if Sue is physically trying to rip it off you."
She gave me one of her wonderful smiles. "I know I'm being a bit paranoid about Sue and her seducing you, but it's happened so many times before. I simply couldn't bear it if she took you. So using the Torsolet with the red gel is a bit like locking you in a safe."
"Or a chastity belt," I added. I wasn't certain I was so keen on that idea.
"Oh, you and I could still have sex," she said, "as long as we know how to get around the problem, which I do. I can tell you, Alison doesn't go celibate whilst she's wearing it, and neither shall we. Please Rick, say you'll do it."
I couldn't refuse her, could I?
In fact, being converted to a woman was incredibly simple. After our meal, we walked through the town centre to a shop called 'Big Busts'. From the outside, it appeared to be catering for tourists, selling made-to-order head and shoulders busts of themselves. But after we entered and Stevie said she wanted a consultation, we were shepherded upstairs, to more luxurious surroundings.
"They make real bust enhancers here," Stevie explained, "so the name of the shop has a double meaning. Hi, Toni," she added to the woman who came to meet us, giving her one of her grins. "My friend Rick has agreed to help me out by pretending to be a woman. I thought one of your Torsolets would be just the thing."
Damn! I thought she was simply going to buy the Torsolet, rather than explaining everything to this stranger. She must feel I was some kind of kinky weirdo. I felt my face reddening.
"That's no problem at all, Stevie." The woman gave me a friendly glance, eying me up and down, and then smiling and saying, "Nice to meet you, Rick. Don't worry, we have plenty of male customers wanting to look like women, and our Torsolet is perfect for them. Obviously, you'll need a good shave before we get you converted, but before that, come into my consultation room and we'll measure you up and do some skin colour matching."
Stevie was right that the garment looked exactly like a shorty diver's wetsuit, except that the surface looked just like skin, and for the most part, it was only the thickness of skin.
Toni spent some time matching the colour of the suit to my own skin colour. Then she sent me off to a bathroom for my shave - "Shave all over," she advised, and I did so. When I returned, she started to tell me about the anti-perspirant gel.
"If your transformation was only for a short period," she said, "we'd use the green gel, but since Stevie tells me you may have to wear it for some days..."
"We've already talked about it," Stevie said, "and Rick's happy to use the red gel."
"But the consequences are..." Toni started to say.
"Rick understands he won't be able to revert to being a man for while," Stevie interrupted. "But we need to buy him some clothes tonight, and if we don't get out of here quickly, the shops will be closed. Please, Toni," she pleaded, "can we get a move on?"
I had entered Big Busts a reasonably slim man, and I waddled out of it with large breasts bouncing around inside my shirt, and my jeans barely fitting over my huge arse. Both Toni and Stevie had insisted that my wide shoulders demanded wide hips and bum, and that I needed the big tits to balance it all out. Consequently, I'd had several pints of water pumped into my various parts to give me this voluptuous female figure.
I even had a vagina! ("We go for total realism," Toni had said, "so you two can continue to enjoy yourselves like a pair of lesbians.") It was only then that I realised I wasn't actually going to be able to see - and use - my prick again until I'd removed the Torsolet, but it was too late to do anything about it.
Toni had also supplied me with a black wig, in a style not dissimilar to Stevie's, so I could pass muster as a woman. Finally, she had sold me some voice-changer pills, which worked in a similar way to helium, increasing the tension on my voice chords, and giving me a voice as sweet as a canary's.
"Right Rachel," Stevie said (she had decided upon that name as it could be shortened to Rach, which was not dissimilar to Rick). "We'll nip around to Tweeds now and get you fixed up with a range of my fashions. I have some nice beach wear in my range, as well as something more suitable..."
"Hang on, Stevie," I interrupted her. "Sue is only coming for lunch on the beach. I don't need anything else."
"But what happens if she stays overnight?" she asked. "We'll probably go out to a restaurant so you'll need something for that."
I gulped. When Stevie had talked about pretending to be a woman, I'd thought it would all be in the privacy of the beach villa or its secluded surroundings. "You mean we'll go to a restaurant with me dressed as a..."
"No need to go into details here." That time, she interrupted me, pulling a face to warn me not to say stupid things on the pavement. "But if we go out to a restaurant, then of course we'll need to dress up."
I looked around. I'd been so involved with myself, all my body parts wobbling in a most unusual way, that I hadn't even noticed the late night shoppers surrounding us, crowding the pavements. I suddenly realised my female shape was bulging out of my male shirt and jeans, and apart from one or two leering looks from blokes walking by, no one was taking any notice of me. I was passing!
"Besides," she added, "I'm a fashion designer. You don't seriously believe I could go shopping for my best friend without ensuring she has a complete range of my outfits.
"We'll also need to get you some lingerie," she continued. "Bras to stop you bouncing around like that; panties and petticoats; nightdresses. You'll also need some make-up and I'll show you how to put it on. Oh, Rachel, we are going to have some fun, aren't we?"
As usual, her happy enthusiasm was infectious. I nodded. "I may feel incredibly stupid," I said, "but hell, we're going to have some great fun."
Sue arrived at the beach villa at just gone midday on Sunday. By that time, I felt quite at home as a woman! Obviously, having a pair of tits continuously attached to my chest made a big difference, but it was the Sensotouch which really made them feel like they were part of me.
"What's Sensotouch," I had asked Stevie when we were preparing for bed the night before. After our shopping trip, I'd come home laden with dozens of parcels, all contained in a brand new, red suitcase which Stevie had insisted I buy. ("You can hardly put all these lovely clothes in the tatty old suitcase you brought with you," she had said, "and Sue is bound to nose around our bedroom.") Then we had spent hours with Stevie showing me how to put on make-up to best effect. ("Obviously, I can't come to the bathroom with you every time," she had said. "You need to be able to do it for yourself.")
Only after all of that, did we revert to being lovers. She had just admitted that my newly-applied make-up looked ravishing, and I took the opportunity to kiss her full on the lips, smudging my lipstick something rotten, but who cared?
We had barely got into a wonderful snog before she was pushing me away and saying she needed to turn on the Sensotouch. Hence my question.
Another impish grin. "I'll let you feel for yourself," she said, producing one of those little remote controls you get with CD players. "You're currently set at zero, because Toni advised letting you get used to wearing tits before letting you feel them. Now let me set it to five."
She pointed the remote at me and pressed a button.
Zing! My breasts came alive! I could feel them quivering. "What the hell?" I muttered, lifting my hands to cup my breasts and giving them a squeeze. They felt divine.
"My God! That's clever," I added. "How do they do it?"
"The skin is like a touch-sensitive computer screen," she said, "and the signals are applied to tiny electrodes in contact with your skin, so you can feel them. Alison says it's just like the breasts are part of your body. Now try this." She pointed the remote again and pressed the red Record button.
Zang! My nipples popped out, and when my thumbs automatically caressed them, they were so sensitive it was painful.
"Not like that," Stevie said. "Like this." She bent her head down so she could take my left nipple in her mouth and sucked.
"Agh!" It was heaven.
She put her mouth to my right nipple.
"Oooh!" I thought I was going to orgasm.
"If you think this is good," she said, "just wait until I get my tongue on your clit. Toni says that most of her male clients believe it's far better than any sex they have as males."
It was!
We licked and stroked each other to mutual orgasms for the next three hours, and it was only when I woke up next morning without an erection between my legs that I remembered we hadn't actually had male to female sex.
"Are you trying to tell me you didn't enjoy last night?" Stevie responded when I pointed this out. "Was it true what Toni claimed - that sex as a female wearing a Torsolet was better than sex as a male?"
I had to think about that. "Sex itself is always fantastic," I said. "I think the big difference is in staying power. After that long round of bonking yesterday afternoon, my poor willy would have had a hard time keeping on for as long as we did last night."
To be honest, I'd been staggered I'd managed to keep it up all afternoon. Over dinner, with that pleasant 'I've been fucked' feeling still lingering, I had been speculating whether I'd stand up to her demands that evening.
"As it was," I said, "the sex last night was fantastic."
She smiled and nodded agreement. "What about the sex this morning?" she asked. "Do you think that will be fantastic?"
I looked at her, looking at me with that great smile on her face. "I think it will be better," I said.
We only managed to get dressed and ready a few minutes before Sue was due to arrive. Of course, my preparation had taken ages longer than normal, and Stevie insisted I did my own make-up rather than relying upon her.
I had a bikini bottom to put on, but Stevie suggested I wear a sarong over the top with a matching tie-front blouse.
"Toni warned me about the dangers of suntan," she said, "and I'm not talking about skin cancer. The Torsolet has been colour matched to your existing skin. It's fatal if you develop any tan, because obviously the Torsolet does not, and it will become perfectly obvious it's fake.
"Of course," she added, "it has nothing to do with the fact that there's a matching sarong and blouse in my range, and we don't do bikinis on their own."
"I never thought I'd be saying this," I told her after I'd taken her suggestion, "but I feel so good wearing these things. You are an incredible fashion designer."
"I know," she smirked with pleasure. "It's good isn't it?"
Just then the doorbell announced the arrival of her sister, Sue. Stevie went to answer it, whilst I hurried to the kitchen to sort out some drinks to offer her. Fortunately, Stevie had put some bottles of white wine in the fridge, and I put one on a tray along with a bottle of red, some glasses and a bottle opener, and carried it all back into the lounge.
"Rachel, this is my sister, Sue," Stevie said.
She was very different from what I expected. No mini skirt or low-cut top barely containing a figure to die for; no blonde, film star hair. Simply a rather rounded woman in jeans and tee shirt, with a mop of mousey-coloured hair which, in combination with her glasses, made her look quite frumpish. Still, perhaps she deliberately dressed down so her attack would be all the more surprising.
"Hi Sue." I smiled and she smiled back, although without any predatory look, which I guess meant I was safe from being raped at the moment. "Would you like a glass of wine? Or we've some cold beer in the fridge?"
"Thanks, Rachel," she said, eying me with some surprise. "A glass of white wine would be superb."
I opened the bottle and poured out three glasses, and then said I was going outside to get the barbecue going. I walked out onto the terrace and down the steps to the beach below, where the brick-built barbecue stood. Even before I got to the bottom of the steps, I could hear their voices raised, arguing and then shouting at each other, but with the sea breeze, and the sound of the waves on the beach, it was impossible to distinguish what was being said, and who was saying it. I wasn't certain I wanted to know, anyway.
I stacked a few firelighters in the base of the barbecue, some charcoal bricks on top, and was just about to put a match to it when I heard the front door slam, and seconds later, the squeal of tyres as a car took off as though it was on the starting grid of a racetrack.
I retraced my route up the steps, and across the terrace, already to give some TLC to Stevie, who I guessed would be in tears by now. But as I stepped inside the lounge, it was Sue who sat there, not Stevie.
She looked at me and said, "I guess I blew it."
"Where's Stevie gone?"
"Back to London," she said.
"But she's gone without me."
I couldn't believe it. An hour before, we'd been having the most wonderful, loving, sexual relationship that two beings could ever have. And now she'd left. "We must go after her."
"She has a BMW Roadster; I have a Ford Mondeo Estate. We'd never catch her up. Even if we could, it would be suicidal to try to overtake her and force her to stop."
Sue's words made sense, but I guess I was in shock. I'd gone from heaven to hell in the space of a few seconds. I sniffed. Surely, I wasn't going to blub, even though I very much felt like it. I sniffed again.
"Do you want a tissue?" Sue offered a pack from her handbag.
"Thanks." I blew my nose and said, "What made her leave?"
"There's a problem with the order she took on Friday. The first delivery was supposed to be tomorrow, and when we went to make it up yesterday, we found a large amount of stock had gone missing. I wanted Stevie to ring up the customer and explain we'd be late, but with her obsession, she wants us to get in our seamstresses and make up the order overnight. She's gone rushing back to London to supervise them, and as she was leaving she bawled at me to ring them all up and get them in."
"Is that practical?"
Sue nodded. "We probably can do it for this first delivery, but we'll spend a fortune on overtime. Normally, we have everything made up in China, and I've already contacted them with a rush order but it will be the end of the week before that arrives."
I shrugged. I could see both sides of the argument - busting a gut to keep a promise made to a customer, compared with saving a lot of money by delaying the shipment. The sort of business discussion that should have been reasoned out between them, rather than having an almighty row about it and dashing off without even thinking of me.
"You said Stevie had an obsession?"
Sue looked embarrassed. "Did I? I shouldn't have used that word to you. She does tend to get fixated upon whatever she's doing." She gave a tiny smile, nothing like one of Stevie's. "That's what makes her such a brilliant designer - she applies herself totally to producing fantastic designs, and she's a natural leader of fashion - not someone who simply copies the lead names."
"I'm not certain what I should do, now," I said.
Sue looked even more embarrassed. She took a deep breath and said, "I don't mean to be heavy, but I have to go back to London after I've made some telephone calls, and I don't think I can leave you here. The villa belongs to a friend of our parents, you see, and they're happy about us staying here, but..."
"They wouldn't be happy about seeing a perfect stranger living here," I finished for her. "I can understand that. Perhaps you could give me a lift to the station and I can get a train home to Manchester from there." It would mean going back home as a woman, I realised, as the Torsolet would be stuck on me for at least another day. But I'd be able to change into my male clothes on the train, except...
"My suitcase is in the boot of Stevie's car," I said. "She's driven off with it." Of course, I had the red suitcase with the clothes Stevie had bought for me, but I could hardly arrive at my house wearing those clothes.
"If you could do without it for a day," Sue said, "I could get it put onto one of the courier vans going up your way tomorrow. It would be with you by the afternoon."
"Thanks," I said, and then something else struck me. Stevie had tossed the clothes I'd been wearing on Saturday into the boot of her car, so that Sue wouldn't see them lying around.
"I haven't got any money or my keys. They're all in the boot of Stevie's car."
"I could lend you enough money to get you home," Sue said. "Don't you leave a set of keys with a friendly neighbour, or put them under a rock or something?"
I certainly did. I could just imagine going round to my neighbour, Mrs Bull, dressed as a woman and asking for my keys. Within twelve hours, the whole of Manchester would know about it. I shook my head. "No, I'm kind of stuck."
"Well, you'd better come back to London with me," Sue said. "You can stay the night in our flat, and by then, Stevie will probably have sorted herself out of this crisis, and you and she can decide what you want to do."
I smiled. "Thanks Sue," I said, still wondering about the difference between Sue as she appeared to me, and the way that Stevie had described her.
I slept for most of the journey, and when I awoke, we were just approaching the end of the motorway.
"She must have worn you out last night," Sue said, with a smile. "I didn't realise that lesbian sessions were so hectic."
"I guess it depends," I said. "But you're certainly right that Stevie wore me out. I feel much better after that sleep. Sorry if I got a bit sniffy before."
"We all get sniffy over our loves occasionally," she said. "Actually, it's quite fortunate how things have worked out, as a couple of our people I asked to come in this evening can't make it, so if you could lend a hand with things, it would be very much appreciated."
I was pleased at the idea of having something useful to do, rather than standing around like a prune, not certain how Stevie and I were going to get on. "Sure," I said. "I'd be happy to do so."
"Great." A nice smile, but still nothing like Stevie's.
"You said you some stock had gone missing," I said. "Was it stolen or just mislaid?"
Sue grimaced. "It's not the first stock to go missing recently," she said, "and it's difficult to see how it could have got mislaid. Everything is checked into our storeroom and out again by our storekeeper, Nancy. She was beside herself when we discovered this latest discrepancy, and I'm convinced she's not stealing stuff. But then that goes for the rest of our staff. They're mainly female, and have been with us for some time. They can all buy our clothes at cost - which is vastly reduced over normal prices - so I can't imagine any of them stealing the stuff for their own use."
"I got the impression," I said, "that what was discovered missing yesterday was far more than would be simply for personal use."
"Precisely," Sue said. "Twenty-one dresses were missing yesterday - that's about thirty in total."
"Have you called in the police?"
She shook her head. "No, both Stevie and I hate the idea, but I think we're going to have to do it. Anyway, let's get this current panic out the way first."
It was about five when we arrived in the area behind Oxford St and parked outside a building with a big sign above the window: Stevie's Fashion House. Four staff were already there, in addition to Stevie herself, who was marking up material for cutting out.
She looked up as we entered and gave a little, apologetic smile. "Hi Rachel, Sue." She raised her voice to address everyone. "This is my friend Rachel, and I'm hoping that with Janet and Tracey not able to come in, she will give us a hand."
I nodded acceptance, and several of the girls gave me a nice smile of greeting, and a girl called Jenny took me into the staff area and lent me a spare staff uniform - a very 1950s' looking shirtwaister dress, with a belt, in a pastel pink shade, and Stevie's embroidered upon the breast.
I had enough sense to know that, whereas men faced with a change of clothes would retire somewhere private, women have no inhibition about stripping off in front of each other. With my body wobbling around as it did, I had no worries about being sussed for a man. So I got changed in the staffroom in front of Jenny, who constantly chatted. She allocated me a locker into which to put my sarong and crop top, which a few hours before, I'd been wearing on the beach. The shirtwaister was a bit tight on me, but I reckoned it would be fine.
I was put onto the task of using machine shears - lethal things if you weren't careful - to cut out the material Stevie had marked up, whilst the women set to the sewing machines to stitch the pieces together. Sue put on the labels and the wrapping ready for dispatch.
We worked for hours on end, having a brief break at about ten for a coffee, and then setting to again. But what amazed me is that, whereas in a male circle, they'd have spent all their time moaning about having to come in on a Sunday, this lot happily chattered - with not one complaint - about all kinds of things, from holidays to TV - not forgetting blokes of course. Thank heavens, I thought to myself, that I'd swallowed another voice-changer pill just before coming in from the car, so I was able to participate in with them.
One of the main topics was the question of what had happened to the stock, and that was the only time the conversation turned sour.
"No one has broken in, and the security system is always set," Joanne said. "It must be an inside job."
"It can't be!" Jenny and Anna said, almost together. "No one would do a thing like that."
"What about Alan?" Joanne asked. "He's always lurking around looking strange."
Alan, I had already discovered, drove the small delivery van used for local collections and deliveries - they used haulage contractors for the rest.
"That's only because he likes looking at us women," Anna said. "Just like most blokes. In any case, he doesn't have access to the stockroom unless Nancy's there."
"Well perhaps Nancy..." Joanne commenced.
"No!" Jenny said, quite vehemently. "Nancy's my friend and I won't hear a word said about her."
"It's no good throwing out accusations at everyone who's not here," Sue said. "Stevie and I do need to get to the bottom of this, but it won't help if all the good guys start fighting each other. Now, has anyone got anything ready for me to pack, or can I have a rest for a bit?"
We finished at about two in the morning, feeling totally shattered. Sue offered everyone a choice of drinks, but they had all said they had to drive home and they'd prefer to get straight off. So the three of us sat together, large glasses of white wine in our hands, with a sense of comradeship that had been totally lacking at lunchtime.
"We can't go on losing stock like this," Stevie said. "It will destroy our name for delivering on time."
"Apart from ruining us financially," Sue added.
"So who can it be?" I asked. "Is Joanne right, that it must be an inside job?"
They looked at each other, and then looked away. Finally, Sue said, "It's the only explanation. It must be one of our employees."
"Cleaners?" I suggested. "Maintenance men? Telephone engineers?"
"We employ our own cleaner, Jackie," Stevie said. "And we haven't had any of those other sorts of people around, and even if we did, there's no way we'd let them into the stockroom on their own."
"Customers? Temporary staff? Husbands and boy-friends of staff." I ticked them off on my fingers.
"There's a keypad on the door to rear of the House," Sue said, "so customers can't get through, and they'd be immediately challenged if they did. We've had no temporary staff for ages. Husbands and boy-friends? It's possible, but they'd need knowledge of the keypad number to the stockroom, and it's not the kind of thing you'd tell your boy-friend unless you were conspiring with them to steal the goods."
"Make a list of all your staff," I suggested, "then go through them one by one and look at the usual things - means, opportunity, motive - for example, have you had a row with any of them or do they feel cheated by you?"
"You sound very experienced in this, Rachel," Sue observed. "Are you a police officer?"
I shook my head. "No, but I work in the headquarters of a bank, and we've had a few employees stealing things - everything from toilet rolls to office furniture. They have a special department for the banking frauds, but this kind of petty pilfering usually gets dumped onto me."
"Well I think," Sue said, "it would be really useful if you could stay here for a while. Alison is on holiday in Scotland for the whole of this week and we don't usually bother about getting cover for her - but it's always a problem and we could say you were going to fill in for her. Then you could keep an eye on things. It would be good having someone from the outside, who doesn't have all the prejudices that we have."
I shook my head, holding back my smile as I thought about how surprised they'd all be when my Torsolet came off the following evening and they realised I was a man. "I could stay until tomorrow afternoon, but I have to get home that night."
Sue gave Stevie a look, and said, "You haven't told him how long it stays on, have you?"
Stevie said nothing, and I asked, "Told who?" I suddenly felt very vulnerable.
"Well, have you?" Sue repeated of Stevie.
"Told who?" I repeated, desperately trying to stop myself from blushing. Clearly, she couldn't be talking about me, could she? Please!
Sue turned to me. "Told you, of course, Rachel, or whatever your name is. When Stevie got you to put on the Torsolet, what did she tell you - it would only be stuck on you for a couple of days?"
"No, I didn't," Stevie said.
"Yes, she did," I said.
Stevie turned to me. "Well I didn't actually. I simply said that when Alison needed to wear one for a couple of days, she'd use the red gel. I may not have actually spelt out the exact length of time you'd have to wear it for."
"Which is?" I asked.
Stevie mumbled an answer which I didn't catch.
"I don't think Rachel heard that, Stevie," Sue said. "Are you going to tell him or shall I?"
"Two weeks," Stevie said in a quiet voice.
"Two weeks!" I repeated. "I'm stuck in this for two weeks!"
She nodded.
"But why?" I asked. "You made up that entire thing about Sue being a nymphomaniac, didn't you?"
"Me being a nymphomaniac?" Sue shouted at Stevie. "You, of all people, told him I was a nymphomaniac!"
Stevie shrugged. "Sorry."
"I think Rachel deserves an explanation," Sue said, "and I think we both need an apology."
"Sorry," Stevie said. "To both of you."
"But why?" I asked.
"It's too complicated."
"It's not really," Sue said. "Stevie, get the bottle of wine from the fridge and replenish our glasses whilst I explain to Rachel why you deceived him."
Stevie stood up to do as requested, as Sue started to speak. "Stevie has an obsessive personality problem. It means she is a perfectionist in everything she does - so her fashion designs are absolute first rate and she feels compelled to give the customer exactly what they've ordered - but it also means that her sexual relationships also have to be perfect. In effect, that means having non-stop sex with her lover."
"Another drink, Rachel?" Stevie asked, returning from the kitchen area and mouthing another, "Sorry," at me.
"Please." I held out my glass.
"Sue?" Stevie asked. "Sorry."
"Thank you."
"Of course," Sue continued, "men can never keep up to her sexual demands, so before it gets to that stage, by some strange quirk which even her shrink can't explain, she has to convert them to being women so their relationship can continue as a perfect lesbian sexual relationship."
"I see," I said, but I didn't really.
"Have I explained it correctly, Stevie?" Sue asked.
"I suppose so," she said. "I can't even explain it as well as you." She turned to me, and added, "It's simply something I feel I have to do."
"It's happened before?" I asked.
"Once," Stevie said.
"Twice," Sue said.
"How did the men react?"
Sue grinned. "It was quite funny, actually. They both absolutely hated it. Of course, Stevie only asks the blokes to convert when they're half pissed and shagged out, so they're not really thinking straight. They threatened all kinds of legal action, but they each bottled out when it came to going to court."
"You don't seem very sympathetic to them," I observed.
"I thought both of them were simply there for the sex, and they didn't really care much for Stevie as a person." She turned back to her, adding, "I take it you didn't tell them your sister was a nymphomaniac?"
"I told them I was staying at a girls' boarding school, where I was redesigning the uniform, and I would smuggle them inside," she said. "I may have also mentioned that half the sixth form were sex-starved nymphomaniacs."
"Oh Stevie!" Sue said, and started to snigger.
It was infectious. Within seconds I was laughing so hard my tits were bouncing about and I burst a button on my shirtwaister, which made Sue laugh even harder.
"Well I didn't think it was that funny," Stevie said, rather upset at our reaction.
Of course, you can guess the result of all that: I agreed to stay on, at least for this week whilst Alison was away, partly to help and partly to see if I could detect who was nicking the stock. It gave me a safe haven where I could continue being a woman - as far as I know, none of the other women had sussed I was not a real woman.
As regards where it left my relationship with Stevie, I hadn't a clue. In the short term, it was clearly sex as usual, for Stevie took me up to their flat, pressed the red button on the remote to turn up the Sensotouch to maximum and pounced on me. Thank God I'd had a few hours sleep in the car, for I got hardly any more for what was left of that night!
Next morning, Sue woke me up and I realised that Stevie had already gone.
"I brought you a cup of tea," she said, "but don't get the idea you'll get this kind of service every day."
I smiled. "Thanks."
"No," she said. "Thank you for not going ballistic over what Stevie did to you. She doesn't intend to do wrong, you know, it's simply that she can't stop herself from trying to maintain the perfect relationship."
I know," I said. "After the revelations last night, I hadn't intended to sleep with her - I thought it might be taking advantage. Instead it was she who took advantage of me."
"Well, you don't look like you suffered by it," Sue said, "and from Stevie's behaviour this morning, she certainly hasn't. Obviously, in the longer term, you're going to need to work out what you want to do."
I nodded. She was certainly right there, and I hadn't a clue of where I wanted to go.
"I'll go and get you a uniform to get dressed in," she said. "But as you'll be taking over Alison's job, you'll be wearing the office uniform - not the one we use in the cutting room. I'll also make certain it fits you properly."
"Thanks," I said.
My new uniform was laid out on the bed when I returned from having my shower. It was a pink, calf-length pencil skirt and a pink blouse with, of course, Stevie's embroidered on the breast, and burgundy coloured shoes, fortunately with flat heels.
"Sorry I couldn't find any tights that would fit you," Sue said, coming back into the bedroom a few seconds later, "but I think these fully-fashioned stockings will do very nicely. And I have a matching pink long-line girdle with suspenders to go with them, as well as these panties and bra."
I grimaced. "You're doing this on purpose, aren't you?" I accused her.
She smirked almost as wide as one of Stevie's grins. "You bet," she said. "I haven't had this much enjoyment for ages. The two guys Stevie trapped before were simply too serious for words. They hid away in our spare bedroom all the time and wouldn't come out. It was extremely inconvenient! But I think that you, Rachel, are a real fun person."
I couldn't help grinning along with her. "It's fun as long as I'm not outed," I said. "Then you'd better watch out."
"How could you be outed," she asked, "when you have such a feminine shape and wear such sexy clothes? Except if you forget," she added, "as you have today, to take your voice-changer pill."
Oops! It was a good job she reminded me.
"It's just gone eight, now," she said. "I do like staff to be in the House by nine. You do want to set a good impression, after all." With that, she disappeared and I was left trying to get dressed.
Of course, I started by pulling on my panties, before I remembered a previous girlfriend had always put her panties over the top of her stockings and suspenders - "Essential when you go to the toilet," she had remarked. So I took them off again and pulled on the girdle. It was an extra-firm one, with a long zip, which I found incredibly difficult to do up. I had to breathe in and stand up straight, and pull up the zip, all at the same time, but eventually it was done. I sat on the bed and bunched up each stocking over my hands, as I had seen my girlfriend do, and then slowly fed them over my feet and up my legs.
Except that I realised I hadn't shaved my legs that morning and I had stubble, so I had to dive back to the bathroom and find a razor. Then back to the bedroom and put on my stockings again, and then fasten them to the suspenders hanging from the girdle.
It took me ages to do up the bra, as I simply couldn't get the hook and eye fixing at the rear to fit together. Eventually, I worked out the best way to do it was to put on the bra around my waist back-to- front and hook it together; then to twist it around my body and pull it up, slipping my arms through the straps as it came. Fine.
On with the panties and my blouse, then I had to feed my legs into the skirt and pull it up my body and zip it up. But it was so tight around my bum, every stage was difficult. I originally called it a pencil skirt but now I wasn't certain that was the correct name - you see, I'd expect a pencil skirt to be straight, like a pencil. But this wasn't, it narrowed below my hips so it was a tight squeeze all the way down my legs. By the time I'd got it zipped up, it wasn't only my VPL you could see, but every one of my suspenders!
It only remained to put on my shoes and I would be ready. But the skirt was so tight, I couldn't bend over to put them on! I struggled for ages, then came to the conclusion I had to remove the skirt again, put on the shoes and do them up, and then put the skirt back on.
Finally, the one area I was getting more adept at doing - putting on my make-up. I tried to dash downstairs to the ground-floor office where I was due to work, but I found my skirt so tight, I could only take very small steps, placing one foot in front of the other, and swinging my bottom as I did so.
"Rachel, as it's your first day working here, I really thought you'd be trying to make an impression," Sue said, in a severe voice I hadn't heard before. A girl was in there that I didn't recognise, as well as Jenny, who I'd seen the day before.
"Sorry, Sue," I said. Presumably, she was putting on this act in front of the girls. "I'll make certain it doesn't happen again."
"Just make certain it doesn't," she said. She turned to the two girls. "Nancy, this is Rachel who's going to fill in for Alison for the week."
"Hi, Rachel."
"Hi, Nancy. Hi Jenny."
We all smiled at each other, but I was wondering whether Nancy would prove to be the person pilfering the stock. After all, she was in control of the stockroom. Surely she should have realised stuff was going missing, even if she wasn't directly responsible for it. Sue interrupted my reverie.
"Rachel. There's the big delivery going out this morning and we need to enclose a delivery note and an invoice with it. You'll find templates on the computer - here's the customer's name and a list of the items, so get typing."
It took me ages to type up the respective forms, and print out copies ready to be put with the delivery. I then had to run along to the stockroom where Nancy was waiting for them, and she attached them to the hanging rail, which was just about to be loaded onto the van, retaining one copy of the delivery note which she placed in a filing tray near the door. I watched as Nancy pulled the hanging rail out of the stockroom and walked it across to the loading bay towards the van, leaving the stockroom door wide open.
But when I got back to the office, I couldn't discuss it with Sue as the post had just arrived and she wanted me to open and sort it into piles. A couple of orders had arrived, so I then had to enter them onto a ledger on the computer, and then go to a separate sequence of files - one for each stock item in each size - to determine whether we could fulfil the order straightaway, or we would have to order from the manufacturers in China.
"It's all a bit archaic, Sue," I said when I had a minute to spare.
"It's a good job Alison isn't here to hear you say that," she said. "We've had to wean her into the computer age. Every little step was a major victory."
"But every job takes ten times as long as it should do," I said. "And from what I saw just now, Nancy has her own stock-control records which bear no relation to the records on this computer."
"They do get out of step," she admitted.
"But it's no wonder stock is going missing when you're working from different records. There should be one set of records to which everyone who needs it has access. And I've spent ages typing in orders this morning, and tomorrow I'll probably have to type out delivery notes and invoices for them. A decent system would mean you only do things once."
"But we haven't got spare money to throw away on expensive computer systems."
I realised from her tone that I'd rather overstepped my position. "Sorry Sue," I apologised, "I know it's tough in small business. I'll keep my mouth shut."
"No." She nodded, thinking over what I had said. "You're right. No one here is particularly au fait with computers, and there's probably a lot more we should be doing. Perhaps you could have a think about that in addition to catching our thief."
"And in addition to doing Alison's job, as well?" I asked.
"Oh yes," she said, "and don't forget you have to keep my sister happy. A woman's work is never finished, you know."
It was fortunate she didn't hear what I muttered.
It was about thirty minutes later that the telephone calls started. Shops from all over the country ringing in with orders. With each one, I had to go through the same laborious process as with the orders in the post, except that I had to do it whilst the person was waiting, which took ages. Sometimes, two calls would come in together, so both Sue and I would be taking orders at the same time, and only occasionally did I get time between calls.
"Is it always as hectic as this?" I asked.
"No," she said with a smile. "Normally it's a lot busier," which I took to be a joke.
I didn't see much of Stevie all morning, although she popped in the office from time to time. But then, just after twelve, she came in looking just as stunning as when I had first met her. I thought she might have come in to ask me out to lunch, but instead she said she had to go out to lunch with a potential client.
"Is that the tall, dishy guy from Debenhams?" Sue asked, giving me a wink.
"He may be tall," Stevie said with one of her fabulous grins. "He may be dishy. But he's not getting to inspect my range of underwear until he's placed a whopping great order!"
Sue and I both laughed, but under the surface, I was mortified. Didn't I mean anything to her? Saturday, she'd been so anxious to keep our relationship perfect, she had sealed me inside a female persona. Today, she was joking about sealing a deal with a good bonking by some anonymous customer.
"You have to remember she can concentrate upon only one thing at time," Sue said, when Stevie had left the office, "and she concentrates on that to the exclusion of everything else. First it was you; then it was fulfilling the customer order; now it's making the sale."
"Right," I said, feeling rather sniffy again.
"Enjoy Stevie for what she is," she said, "rather than what you want her to be. She can be tremendous fun, and from what I hear, very good in bed, but if you want a partner who continually thinks of you to the exclusion of all others, you need to find someone else."
I nodded. "Thanks Sue," I said. "You're right. I've only known Stevie for three days and I have no right to expect her to be something she patently is not."
"It may not make up for it, but how do you fancy lunch with me? I usually go to the sandwich bar down the road."
So we walked out of the building and along the road. By now, I no longer lived in trepidation of being outed, but I still found that walking in that tight skirt was incredibly difficult. I had to make certain I placed one foot just a few inches in front of the other, and swivelled my bum at the same time. I remarked to Sue how difficult it was in this tight skirt.
"I thought it would be," she said. "But when I first saw you in the beach villa, I obviously wondered about whether Sue was up to her old tricks, and I only had to watch you walk across the room to realise she was. So whilst you were having your shower, this morning, I took a couple of inches off the width of your skirt near the hem. That means you either have to learn to walk like a woman or fall flat on your face. So far, you haven't done that." She smiled to take the edge of her words.
"Thanks, Sue," I said. "I hadn't realised you'd sussed me so quickly."
"I had the benefit of previous experience," she said. "Now you're getting your movement sorted, I don't think anyone else will."
"I bloody hope not," I muttered under my breath.
We reached the sandwich bar, and got served and settled at a tiny table, closely surrounded by other diners.
Sue took a little look around before speaking. "Obviously we have to be circumspect about what we say here, but as regards that little problem we were talking about last night, I've made up a list of all the girls who could have been involved."
She passed it over and I had a glance at down it.
"There are two names obviously missing from the top of the list," I observed.
"You mean Stevie and me?" Sue asked, trying to keep the outrage out of her voice. "You think that we would..." She broke off, realising the proximity of the other diners. "It's Stevie you're thinking of, isn't it? Well I can tell you, she simply wouldn't do that."
"Sue, don't be cross with me," I said. "You asked me to get involved so I could look at things objectively, and clearly Stevie is a risk in some areas, as you must surely agree. I can't rule her out, even if you can."
She nodded. "Fair enough; include our two names."
I wrote them in at the top, and then had another glance. "What about this Alison person? She's not there."
"Oh, Alison has been with us from the start. We've never had a problem with theft before the last few weeks. In any case, Alison is strictly a front of house person. She wouldn't be seen dead in the rear where the stockroom is."
That morning, I had realised the difference between the customer-facing areas and the rest of the work area, at the rear of the ground floor, where the stockroom was, as well as upstairs where we'd been working last night. Just like in the theatre, they referred to the zones in the same way. Woe betide any employee who created the slightest bit of untidiness in the front of house. That also accounted for the difference in uniform between the practical work wear used in the rear of house, to the far more elegant uniform used by Sue and I, and Stevie (until she'd got dressed up to go out with her dishy buyer from Debenhams).
"But I had to take the invoice and delivery note into the stockroom this morning," I said. "Surely, Alison has to do the same."
Sue looked rather embarrassed. "Well actually, she doesn't. She always insists the girls come to the office rather than the reverse. It's something that many of them resent, as though she is somehow better than they are. I certainly didn't want you to get into that same position, so I sent you along. As a result, I think you're getting closer to the girls than Alison ever did."
"Which means," I said, "that Alison is not a team player. She goes on the list."
Sue shrugged philosophically. "You're probably right. With her having so much time off, it's difficult for her to fit in with everyone else."
"Is that because she has a problem with her health?" I asked.
"Oh no," Sue said. "She has a tiny cottage in Scotland - it's a converted pig pen - can you imagine it? Anyway, she likes to go up there quite often so we have an arrangement whereby we pay her a part-time salary, and she works normal hours for three weeks out of four, and the fourth week she takes a week in Scotland."
"I can see why none of the other girls particularly like her," I said. "That's the kind of thing which can lead to a lot or resentment."
We were coming to the end of our sandwiches, and clearly did not have time to go through all the names, but there was one other person I wanted to discuss.
"Sue, have you formally spoken with Nancy about the missing dresses?"
"Well, we had the panic on Saturday morning," she said. "Nancy was with me when we went to make up the order, and we both sort of freaked - running all around the stockroom looking for the stuff, and then all round the building. But that was anything but formal."
"Then you should formally speak with her," I replied. "After all, she is responsible for stock control, and to put it bluntly, she hasn't controlled it. Even if she's not the one stealing the stuff, she's certainly not done her job properly to let it get nicked in the first place. You need to tell her that."
Sue nodded again. "I know you're right," she said, "but I've been chickening out of it all morning. I'll definitely do it this afternoon."
"Shall I make an appointment with her for you?" I volunteered. I could sense that Sue would 'forget' to get round to it, otherwise.
She nodded again. "I suppose so. But why don't you come into the meeting and take notes? Alison has done that in the past when we've had these kinds of meetings."
"Sure," I said, regretting my bullying Sue into it. This was one meeting at which I did not want to be a fly on the wall.
"Thanks for coming in, Nancy," Sue greeted her. "I wanted to talk with you about the missing stock, and I've asked Rachel to take notes of the meeting."
"I've been on tenterhooks all morning, expecting it," Nancy said. "You want to give me a good slapping for losing the stock, and I totally deserve it."
With those initial words, the suspicion I had of Nancy disappeared. Maybe she was a fantastic actor, but I didn't think so. I also gave myself a mental pat on the back for forcing Sue into doing something that Nancy had been worrying about. Smart arse!
"Obviously I have to say that it is your responsibility to manage the stock, and this was a failure," Sue said, "but this wasn't just about a slapping. It's also about us working out how the stock disappeared. It arrived on Tuesday, didn't it?"
Nancy nodded. "That's right. I watched the driver unload it from the lorry; I counted the items and signed the driver's receipt." She'd obviously been mentally reliving those moments. "Then I closed the roller door to the loading bay, and wheeled the whole lot into the stockroom. Once it was in there, I moved the individual items to their proper location in the stockroom, checking the contents against the original order as I did so. So I'm convinced that at midday on Tuesday, all the stock was there."
Rather belatedly, I remembered I was supposed to be taking notes, so I hurriedly started scribbling.
"Did you notice any discrepancy before Saturday morning?" Sue asked.
"No." Nancy shook her head. "But then it would be unusual to do so. There are several movements a day in and out of the stockroom, and you know with hanging rails, everything gets slid about to make room for other things. Whoever took the clothes would simply have moved stuff along the rail to hide the gap which they'd left."
"And there's been no sign of forced entry into the stockroom?" Sue asked.
"No. I'd have come to you if there had been."
"So it's down to an inside job?"
Nancy grimaced. "I'm sorry, but yes, I believe it was one of us who took the things."
"And in those three and a half days, it could have been anyone?"
"Yes."
"So where do we go from here?" Sue asked.
"Sue," I said, "apologies for butting in, but could I ask how many staff know the keypad number to the stockroom? Obviously, everyone knows the keypad to get to rear of house, although 1234 is hardly the most challenging of pass numbers, but how many know the 5678 to get into the stockroom?"
"How did you know it was 5678?" Sue demanded, looking rather surprised.
I watched you type it in yesterday afternoon when I helped you put the stock away," I said. "Can I take it that it was an open secret?"
Sue looked at Nancy and they both nodded assent.
"Then one horse may already have bolted," I said, "but let's change the passkey before any more do."
"That's a good idea," Nancy said. "What shall we make it, 8765?"
"Why don't I select the number," I suggested. "Something that no one will think of. I'll tell you two, but no one else."
"Stevie will have to know," Sue said.
"And Jenny," Nancy added. "She always looks after things if I'm not around."
"The next time something goes missing," I said, "everyone who knows the number will come under suspicion. Do you want to include Jenny on the list of suspects?" I deliberately left the issue of Stevie to a later moment. "If Jenny needs to get into the stockroom, why not ask her to come to the office and either Sue or I can let her in?"
"It's like we don't trust them," Nancy said.
"But that's the whole point," Sue said. "One of us has stolen the gear. Limiting the passkey to just a few people at least means we're limiting the suspects if it happens again."
"I think you need to write a letter to all staff," I added. "Everyone seems to know about the theft, so that won't be news. Explain the passkey is changing and that it's for their own protection that they don't know the new number, or make any attempt to find out. We should also change the passkey to the rear of house at the same time. You can put that number into your letter, but explain it shouldn't be told to anyone else - not even nearest or dearest."
"Maggie Banks will be annoyed at that," Nancy said.
"Maggie!" Sue said. "She left ages ago. Has she been around here recently?"
"She sometimes pops in at lunchtime," Nancy admitted. "She came in today, actually. Brings her new baby with her. He's a real darling; got eyes just like his dad..."
"Why hasn't anyone mentioned she's been coming in?" Sue was clearly furious.
"Well, we all know that you and she fell out when she left to have her baby," Nancy said. "She's always fun and... Look, you don't think Maggie would be responsible for the thefts, do you? She's not like that."
I could sense Sue was about to explode, so I jumped in first. "She must obviously be a suspect, like everyone else. Presumably, she sometimes needs to take the baby to the toilet to be changed?" I didn't need to add that the toilet was just next to the stockroom entrance.
Nancy nodded.
"And she was here, today?" Sue asked, tight-lipped.
Nancy nodded again. "Sorry, I should have told you."
"Yes," Sue said. "You should have done. I'm really angry, Nancy, that we've all been suspecting our colleagues, when someone who left here with a chip on her shoulder is given the run of the place, and no one sees fit to tell me."
There was a silence, which I eventually broke. "Can you check to see whether anything else is missing?" I asked Nancy.
"Yes," she said, and stood up and abruptly left.
"So what's the story behind that?" I asked Sue, once Nancy had gone.
Sue took a deep breath. "Maggie Banks was a slacker, always looking for an opportunity to have a break. She smoked, and we've never allowed smoking in here, even before the law changed, so I used to be generous in letting smokers go outside for a smoke. She abused that so much. I was on the point of getting rid of her when she announced she was pregnant."
"So what was the row about?" I asked.
"She hadn't been here long enough to be given maternity benefits, but she expected them all the same. I told her, we comply with the law, but we're not a charity. She got stroppy and asked me how she and her husband were going to manage financially. Did I want her to abort her unborn child?" Sue shrugged.
"As you told her, Sue," I said, "you're not a charity. It was the right decision, but sometimes it can be tough making the right decisions."
"Maybe if I'd have wanted her back, I'd have made some sort of offer," Sue admitted. "But I told you, I was thinking of getting rid of her anyway."
We were interrupted from further philosophising by Nancy returning. "I think there's another dress gone missing!" she said.
"Hi, Maggie," Sue said, giving her a beaming smile. "How are you?"
To judge from the answer on Maggie's face, she looked gobsmacked. "Er, fine," she said, pulling the housecoat she was wearing closer to her body.
"They've only just told me at work that you'd had the baby," Sue said, "It must have been very premature." Privately, Sue had expressed the belief that Maggie had given her a false date for the predicted childbirth, so that her claim for maternity benefits wouldn't appear so blatantly false. "This is Rachel, by the way. She's filling in for Alison whilst she's on holiday."
"Hi, Maggie," I said. "We'd love to see the baby."
"Oh, right," she said. "It's not really convenient at the moment..." Then, since Sue had already stepped past her whilst she'd been talking to me, she added, "You'd better come in. Did you come over here especially to see me?"
"We were coming over, anyway," Sue said, as we moved up her hallway. "There's some mess up with the order over at Jane's in London Road. I have to go and grovel a bit, and I thought I'd introduce Rachel into the art. But it seemed a good idea to come over here and see you and baby first. How is everything?"
"Er, yes. We're both fine," Maggie said. "Come on through." She took us through into the main living room, which looked the usual kind of tip you see in the homes of new parents anywhere. "Here's Dale," she proudly said, pointing to a bundle of fluff in a cradle."Do you want a coffee?"
"What a beautiful baby," Sue exclaimed. "Why, his eyes are just like his dad's. Yes please, white without," she added in response to the question about coffee,
"I didn't realise you'd ever met Darren," Maggie said. Maggie was clearly suspicious of our sudden arrival.
"Maggie, do you think I could use your toilet?" I interrupted that conversation before it could go any further. "I'm having a few problems at the moment."
"Er, yes, of course," she said. "The bathroom's upstairs at the front of the house."
"Thanks," I said, adding, "White with one sugar," as I left the room and headed to the stairs.
Needless to say, the whole thing was a sham into which I'd been reluctantly talked. "Much better to do it without police involvement," Sue had said, "and that must be the other alternative. But we can't send the mother of a young child to prison. At the same time, we have to catch the thief."
"Yes but Sue..."
"It'll be easy," she had said. "All you have to do is to ask to use the toilet, and then whilst you're upstairs, you have a good look around."
"But I'm not even certain what I'm looking for," I'd said. "Why don't you..."
"Oh, come on," Sue had said. "Firstly, I can't do it as she'd be dead suspicious about letting me upstairs, especially if she has stolen goods in the wardrobe. Secondly, you know what our stock looks like now. Let's go to the stockroom and Nancy will be able to show an exact replica of the dress which has gone missing."
So here I was, scurrying up the stairs, intending to do an illegal search of someone's house. That's when the enormity of what I was about to do hit me. I worked for a bank, for God's sake. If I was caught, whatever career I might have would be down the drain! Not only that, I'd practicality forgotten about my sex. Of course, I knew really that I was a male, but I'd got used to being a female for the last 48 hours - as being treated as one of the girls - as peeing like a girl, even as making love as a girl would. In actuality, I was a cross-dressed male, climbing the stairs of the mother of a small baby, about to search though her clothes claiming they might have been stolen. Why the hell hadn't we called the police? Because there was absolutely no evidence against Maggie, whatsoever - that's why.
I decided I would simply go to the toilet, and tell Sue that I had thoroughly searched the house and there was nothing incriminating there. The problem was, when I tried to open the door of what I thought should be the bathroom, it was wedged shut. Had I made a mistake? I thought Maggie had said it was at the front of the house but given the stress I was under, I may have misheard. I decided to try one of the other doors.
I walked into what was obviously the main bedroom. Shit! I'd vowed not to come in here. Still, I thought, now I'm here, I might as well have a look around. The shameless slut! She hadn't yet made the bed. But, I thought, perhaps with the kid awake all night, she'd taken the opportunity to have a little sleep, and our call had disturbed her - hence the housecoat she was wearing. I opened the wardrobe and scanned the row of clothes for...
It was there! A dress just as Nancy had shown me, except maybe the sleeves were slightly different. I reached out to touch it, and it fell off the hangar onto the floor. Shit! Shit!
I scrabbled around on the floor of the wardrobe to pick it up, and then grabbed the hangar to put it back on. Of course, a dress never seems to have a problem falling off the hangar, but to try and feed it back onto the hangar is impossible. I couldn't get the hangar into the neck of the dress, so I was having to feed it up the inside... When I heard the toilet flushing! Shit! Shit! Shit!
It was supposed to be me in the bathroom - no one else! I heard the bathroom door open, and then I could hear someone walking along the landing towards the bedroom I was in. I did the only thing I could think of - I stepped inside the wardrobe and pulled the door closed, just as the bedroom door opened!
I tried to pull the wardrobe door fully closed, but it was inevitable there was still a gap, and just as inevitable that I should peer through it to try to suss out what was what. It could have been Dale's father, Darren, lying naked on the bed, but if so, the colour of his eyes was the only feature he could have shared with the baby, for this guy was as black as coal, and he had a dongle on him that one could have used as a pick-axe handle.
And it wasn't simply a limp dongle - this was a stiff, glistening dongle that said, "I've been having it away with Maggie until some busybodies came knocking at the door, and I'm going to continue the job as soon as she's got rid of them." It was pointing at the ceiling. Hell! It almost reached the ceiling!
You should have seen his bollocks - they were the size of tennis balls!
Then, I saw a hand wrap around his cock - well, actually, he could barely reach around his cock - and start to give slow strokes, up and down, up and down. Clearly, he'd got tired of waiting for Maggie and could do with a little light relief. I wondered whether he would have a problem getting his cum off the ceiling, or indeed whether he might shoot a hole straight through the ceiling.
And at some stage, Maggie was going to have to come looking for me, not find me in the bathroom and then start searching the rest of the house. Sooner or later, she was going to find me. Then, he would realise I'd seen him wanking off...
The results were unthinkable.
Desperation somehow puts the mind into super drive mode. I opened the wardrobe door and stepped out.
"Hi," I said conversationally. "It was just as I thought, which means that I win the bet."
"Ugh!" he said, and then, "Where did you come from?" and then, "What bet?"
"I'm Darren's ex," I said, "and I knew that he wouldn't be able give Maggie everything she needs - randy cow - and she'd certainly need a bit on the side. I was absolutely right, and Sue was wrong. We had a fiver on it, and I won.
"It's alright," I said, as he stared at me trying to understand what I was talking about. "We won't tell Darren that you're shagging his missus. We won't even tell Maggie that you've given the game away to us, either. Bye."
I was downstairs in the time it must have taken him to shake his cock from side to side. I stuck my head around the living room door.
"Sue," I said. "I'm really not feeling well. Do you mind if we go straight back to the House?"
"It wasn't even the right dress," I told her as we drove back towards the West End. "Sure it was one of your designs, but it had been worn many times and the model number was completely different to the one you showed me."
"Never mind," Sue said. "It was a good try."
I kept my mouth tight-lipped.
"Tell me," Sue said. "What did you think when you saw that guy with his huge cock?"
"Nausea," I said. "It was absolutely disgusting."
"Oh, I know," Sue said. "I sometimes feel the same. Was it really huge?"
"Yes. Horrible."
"What?" Sue asked. "About this big?" She held her one index finger about six inches above the other.
"God, no!" I said. "I must have been at least twice as long as that, and probably about this wide." I held my index finger and thumb as far apart as they would go."
"God, that's a horrible thought," Sue said. "Particularly if the veins are standing out on it. Were they?"
"They were disgusting," I said. "Big purple veins, you could virtually see them throbbing. And the head, that was the same - purple, throbbing, and glistening with... Well, you know."
"And you said he had big bollocks? Like a bull, you mean?"
I shook my head. "I've never actually stared at a bull's bollocks. Let's just say they were bigger than tennis balls - only with wrinkles like a pickled brain - and with hair growing over it."
"It's incredible, isn't it?" Sue shook her head again. "We women should run a mile when we see something like that, but what do we do? We think, 'Hell, could I really get that inside me? What wouldn't I do for a chance to try?' "
"Precisely," I said, and then, when I'd played through her words properly, I added, "That is, women like me do run a mile; we don't think about getting it inside us."
"No, of course you don't."
I looked at her. "No, Sue, really. That bloody cock absolutely filled me with terror."
"Why?"
"Why?" I repeated. "Cause it was so bloody huge and obnoxious."
"Yes but why should a large cock terrify you, unless you were actually contemplating it going inside you?"
"Well I don't know," I said.
"Of course," Sue said, "you'd never get a cock that size into the pussy you have in your Torsolet."
"Thank God for that."
"So he'd probably slip it up your arse. I hear an arse can take almost as large a cock as the average vagina."
"Jesus, Sue!" I said. "Can we change the subject?"
"Of course," she said. "It's just that I thought you were obviously interested in his cock, as you'd taken such a good look at it."
"But I..." I started to say, but I knew I was on a loser, so I shut up.
"Stevie rang in," Jenny said, when we got back to the fashion house. "She says she's got the Debenhams' order. That's brilliant, isn't it?"
"Oh, fantastic," Sue said. "Is she bringing the order in this afternoon?"
"No, she says it's for next seasons designs, so it's not urgent," Jenny said. "Anyway, she has to give the buyer his commission. Having seen that hunk, I'd have given him his commission without him spending a penny."
"Which is why you're not our Head of Sales," Sue quipped, and they both laughed.
"If you're feeling bad about Stevie," Sue said when Jenny had left the office, "I'll buy you dinner tonight. I guess you deserve it, after that Austin Powers stuff, this afternoon." She smiled as she added, "Or after our discussion in the car, do I really mean Felicity Shagwell?"
The bitch! But I had to smile.
We were both wearing Stevie's designs that evening. They were of the same material, but whereas Sue had a sleeveless dress with a quite high neckline, I was wearing a one with puffy sleeves and a low-cut neck. We both had long skirts over frilly lace petticoats, that made them swirl out deliciously as we moved.
"I never stop selling," Sue said, as a woman at an adjacent table complimented us on our dresses, and Sue gave her a card.
"That's because your dresses are so good," I said. "I feel absolutely fantastic wearing this."
I did too. It would have been unbelievable last week. In fact, I surmised, everything that happened from Friday lunchtime onwards was pretty unbelievable, but going out to a restaurant not only dressed as a woman, but feeling good dressed as a woman was out of this world. To be honest, I had rarely felt good when dressed as a man. And as the meal progressed, I felt it was one of the best meals I'd ever had.
Hang on, I can hear you saying; what about Friday lunch and Saturday evening. I can only say that those meals were different; on Friday I was desperately trying to pull the most beautiful woman I had ever seen, and on Saturday, having pulled her, I wanted her to stay pulled. For me, those meals weren't about enjoyment, per se, but about establishing and maintaining a sexual relationship. The adrenaline had been coursing through my veins for the whole meal, and there was none of the gentle, non-sexual enjoyment that Sue and I took in each other's company on that Monday evening.
Two heterosexual women together seem to have far more fun than two heterosexual men. To be honest, I've never taken great enjoyment in being with other blokes. I had no interest in sport and - until now - little success at sex, so that was the only two potential topics of conversation gone. But Sue and I talked about so many things. I told her about my job in my bank's IT department, trying to deliver projects where the customer - the bank's marketing group - kept changing its mind about what it wanted, personnel recruited mediocre staff - but then you get what you pays for - and the finance department were always chopping our budget. And as project manager, everybody blamed me when it went pear-shaped, as it inevitably did! How nice, I said to Sue, to work in a small company where you had a good product and you were all on the same side.
But it wasn't as easy as that, she told me. How she envied the big businesses ability to spend money where and when it was needed, rather than either waiting forever for the time when you could afford it, or to borrow money at crippling interest rates - and in the recent climate, even that avenue had been closed.
We talked about our personal lives - and here it seemed that rather than Sue stealing Stevie's boyfriends, the reverse had been true, with Stevie being an attractive and willing bed-mate for most of the few boyfriends that Sue had had.
We had gone out to dine quite early, but it was turned eleven before we returned. That's when the shit hit the fan.
"Where have you two been?" Stevie yelled at us.
"You rang in and said you weren't going to be back," I said with a smile, "So Sue and I went out for a meal."
"I didn't say I wasn't going to be back," she shouted. "Simply that I had spend some time with my new buyer."
"And which hotel did you go to do that?" Sue angrily retorted.
"That's none of your business," Stevie returned. "Anyway, he had to go home to his wife just after six, so I came back here and find you two out together. That's just typical of you, Sue. Always stealing my boyfriends."
"She hasn't stolen me," I said. "We went out for a meal together."
"What all this time?" Stevie looked incredulous. "And which hotel did you two go to? Perhaps we were at the same one. Perhaps you checked into the same room that I had just vacated. How does that thrill you? I'm going to bed to leave you two at it."
She stormed off and it suddenly became very quiet.
"Well," Sue said. "Do you like lamb?"
What the hell was she talking about? "Lamb?" I asked.
"Well, we've just been hung for stealing a lamb," Sue said, licking her lips, "so we might as well enjoy it."
She kissed me right on the mouth. I could taste her lipstick, and then her tongue was forcing its way into my mouth.
The kiss went on for ages - a kiss that was very, very nice. When we finally broke away from each other, Sue picked up the remote for the TV set, upon which Stevie had been watching some rubbish, and said, "Pushing the red button on this not only turns off the TV set..." She pushed it.
Zing! My nipples shot out.
"...it also turns on the Torsolet."
Next morning, Stevie profusely apologised, several times over.
"Sorry." "It was stupid of me to get so wound up." "I don't own you, just as you don't own me." Etc, etc.
"It's alright, Stevie," I responded several times. "I know you were on a high after getting the Debenhams order. I can understand why you wanted to seal it afterwards. But I did feel it meant we weren't exclusively tied to each other. As for Sue, we really had been out simply for an enjoyable meal."
"But that didn't stop you two from bonking each other for half the night, did it?" Stevie responded. She held up a hand to stop my protests. "It's alright. I agree, you and I do not own each other, and that my anger probably forced you together. But that's no reason why we can't continue as friends. Deal?"
"Deal," I agreed.
And that was the last of the matter.
Anna came into the office at about eleven. I had spoken with her on Sunday when we'd arrived from Seacombe and she'd been on one of the sewing machines upstairs, but I hadn't seen her since. It turned out that she looked after the on-site shop, in which members of the public could come in and purchase goods.
"Sue," she said looking rather anxious. "There's a fashion editor from the Daily Recorder in the shop, who wants to talk to someone about our range."
"Right!" Sue said, standing up. "I'll go and see her. Rachel, can you get hold of Stevie - she's upstairs, I think - and tell her to come down straightaway."
She went with Anna back to the shop, whilst I dialled the workroom upstairs. Stevie was there, and when I told her who was on the premises, she said she'd be, "Right down."
She was too. Less than thirty seconds later, I saw her running down the stairs and disappear into the shop. Clearly, the possibility of an article in the Daily Recorder was pretty important.
But the phone started ringing just then, so I picked it up and started to take details of another order.
"Rachel," Sue said, rather startling me as I put down the phone; I hadn't heard her come into the office. "We need to put on an impromptu fashion show, so we'll need your help."
"Okay," I said. "What do you want me to do? Collect dresses from the stockroom?"
"Don't be stupid," Sue said. "We want you to model for us."
"Model!" I was aghast. "I can't model. You could get one of the other girls to do it."
"But we need to show how our range fits both smaller-sized women and larger," Sue said. "We'll get Anna, who's a size 12, as the one model. Normally, it would have been Alison in a Torsolet blown up to size 18, to do the other. You're doing Alison's job; you are a size 18; and besides, there's no one else."
Of course she was right, or else they would never have asked me. "I'll do my best," I said.
"Thanks," Sue said. "This way."
She grabbed my hand and dragged me through the door to the rear of house. Anna was already there standing on the loading bay outside the stockroom almost naked, whilst Joanna tightened a corset around her waist. Anna had lovely tits, I noticed, not too large, but very firm and nicely shaped. There was absolutely no sign of any droop and they...
"You'll need to get undressed before we can start dressing you," Sue's voice cut sharply through my reverie. I think she'd realised my mind was somewhere else. She raised her voice to talk to Nancy through the open stockroom door. "Nancy, they'll both be wearing identical clothes, Anna in size 12, Rachel in size 18. Anna goes first each run. We're starting with the Fiona range, so Rachel will need a corset."
She gave me a look as I opened my mouth to protest, and I promptly closed it again. I'd been about to protest that a corset was taking my femininity too far, and that in any case, they were trying to show that their clothes fitted larger women. It was rather cheating if I wore a corset. I could hardly use the former argument in front of the other staff, and in any case, I had agreed to be a model so that meant I had to simply shut up, wear what I was given, and do my best to look good in it. As for my other argument, this was the fashion industry; their whole world was about making people look far better than the appearance nature on its own had given them.
I stripped off right down to my panties, and Sue made me slip on a pair of white stockings to start.
"You won't be able to bend over to put them once the corset is on," she said.
Then, Nancy brought out a corset for me and slipped it around my waist from behind, whilst Joanna knelt in front of me to fasten the busks at the front. That done, Joanna moved to the rear to start pulling on my corset strings, whilst Sue adjusted my boobs in the bra cups, and gave the corset little tugs here and there as it got tighter - and tighter - and tighter. But what did I care about how tight it was? I could see myself in the mirror. I had started off as a woman with a huge bum, tits most women would consider were huge, separated by a bulging stomach which was no longer constrained by the girdle I had been wearing. As I watched in the mirror, I transformed into a woman with a wonderful hour-glass figure - the kind which any woman would be jealous of, and any man would lust after.
"I think that will do nicely," Sue said, looking critically at my figure.
"Nicely!" I thought, as I twisted around to fasten my suspenders. "I look bloody gorgeous."
Nancy brought a long, white petticoat, with layers and layers of frilly lace, nothing like the kind I had worn beneath my dress last night. This was the kind of petticoat that any woman would die for. I had to step into it whilst Joanna held it, and as I pushed one leg at a time through the frills I thought I might orgasm with excitement.
"I don't need a dress," I thought to myself as I stared in the mirror at a tall woman wearing a wonderful petticoat soaring out from the waist and over my hips, and almost down to the ground
But then Nancy brought out the dress I was to wear. Oh my God, it was so lovely. A beautiful pink with little white flowers on a tight fitting bodice. The skirt flowed out and down almost, but not quite as far, as the bottom of the petticoat, so you could just see it beneath the dress. They fastened it behind my back, and that stretched out the scoop neck across my breasts, exposing them to perfection.
"Don't forget your shoes," Joanna said, holding out a pair of red sandals with short heels. (Thank God.) Joanna dropped to the floor to feed my feet into them and fasten them.
"Let's have a look at the two of you together," Sue said. It was the first time I had noticed Anna since she'd been standing virtually naked before me. Can you imagine that? I'd stopped looking at a beautiful, half-naked girl in preference to looking at myself! As I stared at Anna, I realised we both looked incredibly good, even though her face was so much more attractive than mine, and her body size was that of a female's. OK, given the choice, most men would go for Anna first, but I thought that few would refuse me as a second choice.
"Why does it matter what most men would think?" The thought flashed through my mind, bringing a blush to my cheeks.
"Right," Sue said. "Stevie's ready for us, so Anna, off you go. Rachel, watch how she walks and moves and try your best to mimic her. It's your first time and Stevie has explained that to the reporter, so no one's expecting perfection - just do your best."
The adrenaline was coursing through me as I watched Anna step through the curtained doorway and walk along the catwalk the other side. Sue made certain the curtain didn't close completely, so I could keep watching Anna's movements as she walked down to the end, did a complete swivel around, and then stand presumably facing Stevie and the reporter who were out of my line of vision.
"OK, Rachel," Sue said. "Go. Do your best, and we're all pulling for you."
I pulled myself upright, took a deep breath, gave a nod to Sue and she pulled aside the curtain and I went walking through.
Nowhere is the change from rear to front of house as abrupt as stepping through that curtain. Stevie's Fashion House was a small company without the extensive facilities of larger fashion houses. The models changing room was the loading bay - God knows what happened if a lorry was loading at the same time as a fashion show was needed - probably the driver got a free strip show!
But as I stepped onto the catwalk, I was suddenly in the luxurious client area, with carpet on the floor, comfortable upholstered seating, subdued lighting, oak tables on which were a selection of drinks, and matching oak panelling around the room with large photographs of models wearing the range. Naturally, none of that extended to the catwalk itself, which was illuminated by floodlights so I could barely see Stevie and the reporter.
That made it easier, actually. I didn't have to worry about them. I'd seen Anna walk the boards, I could do the same.
And I did, even getting the swivel at the end without falling over, and ending up standing slightly behind and to the side of Anna as we faced the two figures I could barely see.
"You can see that even though Rachel is much bigger-boned and heavier than Anna," Stevie was saying, "she looks equally good in our Fiona range."
"She certainly does," the other voice responded. "How have you cut the material to achieve that same effect?" I was rather surprised it was a male voice.
"We give it a rather different bias," Stevie said, moving towards us. "Come and have a look."
She plucked at Anna's skirt with her right hand, and mine with her left. "Look," she said as he came forward, lifting both our skirts to expose our petticoats, "We've cut the smaller size quite tightly along the hip, whereas with this size 18, we've brought it right back."
"I see," he said, grasping my skirt in his hand and lifting it upwards, accidentally raising my petticoat as well. (Yes! Of course it was an accident, just like I accidentally sat next to Stevie's table on Friday.) "Yes, that's quite effective," he added, releasing my skirt and unintentionally brushing my leg.
If he'd done that to me when I'd been a bloke, I'd have punched him, but as a woman - indeed, as a fashion model - I simply smiled.
"OK," he said. "Let's see some more designs."
I let Anna start walking first. She gave another full turn before starting to walk, and when she'd moved a few yards back towards the curtain, Sue gave me wave through the doorway to do the same. I followed.
Once through the curtain, it was a frantic panic to pull off our current dresses and petticoats, and replace them with shorter versions - the Bridget range. Down the catwalk we both again went following just the same pattern as before, but this time I wasn't fondled by the reporter. After that, we modelled the Melanie (a more Edwardian looking dress) and then the Diane (similar in design to the Bridget but only the most gorgeous ball gown you have ever seen).
The reporter was incredibly impressed with the latter, and looked minutely at the stitching around my heart-shaped bodice which just - and only just - covered my nipples, and gave me a cleavage to die for.
Finally, we were heading back to the curtain and the loading bay changing rooms for the last time.
"Well done, girls," Sue said, beaming at us both. "Particularly you, Rachel, as it's your first time. I think you really impressed that reporter."
"I simply followed Anna's lead," I said. "I couldn't see a thing of the room when I was out there - all I could see was Anna."
"You get used to it, with experience," Anna said. "Anyway, it's probably a good job you couldn't see him. He was virtually salivating every time you walked in. I reckon he'll give us a great write up, just on the basis of having a good ogle you."
"Thanks a bunch," I said. "The last thing I want is some hairy-arsed reporter fancying me."
But secretly, I was bubbling with excitement. I may not be woman all the way through, but I was still overjoyed at the thought of a bloke fancying me. And if that makes sense to you, it certainly doesn't to me!
It made even less sense thirty seconds later. The phone rang and Sue answered. There was a brief conversation, with lots of 'Great's and 'Fantastic's in it, from which Anna and I reckoned the ad hoc fashion show had been judged OK by the reporter, and Sue ended the call saying, "OK, I'll tell her."
She put the phone down and turned to us two. "Stevie says that went down really well with the reporter. She's taking him out to lunch now, and the reporter suggested that you two join them."
"I'm sorry, Sue," Anna said. "I've arranged to meet a friend for lunch. I'd have loved to come otherwise."
"Are you OK to go, Rachel?" Sue said, turning to me.
"Of course she is," Anna said. "A girl can't miss an opportunity like this."
"But…" I said.
"That's settled then," Sue said. "I think it would be best if you wore the Bridget to lunch, so let's whip that Diane off you straightaway and get you changed."
It was with great reluctance that I handed over my Diane dress. That was a dress to die for. On the other hand, it really was not the dress in which to go out to lunch in a London restaurant.
But I felt pretty good in the Bridget dress, as Daniel Fotherby, the fashion reporter from the Daily Recorder, ogled me in the hotel restaurant - the very same hotel where I'd first seen Stevie. I'd realised straightaway why Anna had been rather scornful of the reporter. He was a short, little man with a bow tie, which in Britain is a well known to be a sign of unbearable pomposity - the bow tie, that is, not the lack of height.
Still, I was predisposed towards him; I certainly wouldn't have been a fashion model without him, and in any case, he was going to give us some free publicity. The way he kept staring down my cleavage was a tremendous turn on for me. I was fully prepared to play the part of the helpful dolly bird over lunch - laugh at his jokes and not mind too much when he gave my legs a squeeze under the table. After all, that's what dolly birds did, and by now, I didn't feel at all self-conscious that somewhere underneath, I was not quite what I appeared on the surface.
The good wine flowed, the meal was superb, and the service was excellent. As usual, Stevie played to perfection the part of a vivacious, attractive fashion-designer, which took me straight back to that day when I'd first met her. She could be so persuasive, it was almost impossible for Daniel not to agree to write her up for next week's fashion column, which he had almost - but not quite - done by the time the meal came to an end.
"But I'm still intrigued by the way you maintain that your dresses are cut differently to most others," he said. "I'll certainly want to say a little about that in my article."
"Let's go back to the fashion house now," Stevie said, "and I'll take you into the cutting-room and show you the difference in the unassembled pieces."
Daniel looked at his watch. "Sorry Stevie," he said. "I'm getting a bit pushed for time. It will take too long to take a taxi back there, and get onto my next appointment. Perhaps we could arrange it for sometime next week."
And miss next week's fashion column slot, I thought. Typical reporter; drinks your wine, eats your food and then pisses off! But Stevie was well up to that kind of manoeuvre.
"No problem," she said. "I'll go and book a room in this hotel. We can go there, Rachel can slip off her dress and I'll show you how we cut our cloth."
Excuse me? Did I hear that correctly? But as a dolly bird and a fashion model at that, I knew when to keep silent. I smiled, as though I was totally unphased by such an event.
"Sounds good," Daniel said, giving me a questioning stare. Was I going to object to undressing in front of him, giving him a much better view of my superb boobs by which he was clearly obsessed?
I gave him an even wider smile. Oh the poor, unsuspecting fool. But I did have one question to ask. "Stevie, am I going to have to travel back to the House in only my underclothes?"
She laughed at my naivety. "No, you won't have to do that. You can stay here afterwards whilst I'll take what's left of your dress back to the House and get it stitched back together. It shouldn't take too long. Then I'll ask one of the girls to bring it over to you. Say a couple of hours at the most."
My God! She was setting me up. Left in a hotel room with no clothes; she goes back to the House whilst Daniel would amazingly find he has plenty of time, after all. What on earth could he and I do to occupy the afternoon?
"So Daniel," Stevie said, "if you're promising me the article will appear in next week's fashion column, I'll clearly be happy to sort out your questions about the cut of our dresses upstairs. Obviously, I don't want to go to that expense if you've still not decided about running it next week."
So Stevie was not going to let him take the bait (ie me) unless he was firmly on the hook. Either he guaranteed an appearance in his column, or he didn't get to see me undressed and a chance at whatever might follow.
But his tongue was almost hanging out; there was no way he could refuse. "Deal," he said. "You're in next week's column."
"I'll go and arrange it," Stevie said, and shot off.
"How do you like working in the fashion business?" he asked me.
"I'm really enjoying it," I said. "I used to work in a bank, but there's such a lot going on here, and people are so much more fun. I've only been here a few days, and I really feel as though I belong."
"I'll have to make certain I get plenty of photographs of you so I can print the best of them. There can be a big future ahead for a model who appears in one of my articles."
Uh-uh! Could I see where this was leading? Can a dog bark?
On the other hand, I was incredibly excited by being propositioned by the guy. He thought I was sexually attractive. He wanted to shag me. If only he knew! I couldn't deny that the scene at Maggie's house, followed by the conversation in the car with Sue had aroused my curiosity about the whole aspect of having sex as a woman - with a man! And the woman in Big Busts had assured me the Torsolet would function perfectly satisfactory for male to female sex. So, why not?
"That would be fantastic," I said to Daniel. "I'm really keen to develop my career."
When Daniel and I walked into the hotel room, Stevie was already there and she'd been watching the midday news on TV. She switched it off as soon as we entered, and as she'd pressed the button on the remote, I could feel my nipples zing into life, and feel the quivering of my breasts.
Was that deliberate? I wondered, and again it was the same answer: Can a dog bark?
Daniel saw my nipples harden, and he obviously imagined it was the thought of him in this luxury room with the king-sized bed that had done it. Already aroused, it clearly got him to the point of a desperate need for sex. I knew that as soon as Stevie left the room, I could be a willing participant in the romp, or I'd have a fight on my hands. I smiled; I hated fighting.
"OK, Rachel," Stevie said. "Slip off your dress and I'll unpick the seams. It's fortunate I always carry around a little sewing kit precisely for such events."
She was already rummaging through her large handbag, so I accordingly stepped towards Daniel, turned my back to him and asked. "Do you think you could unzip me, please Daniel."
I thought he might ejaculate on the spot! His fingers were shaking as he fumbled at the top to get it started, and he got the material caught in the zip a couple of times. Out of the corner of my eye, I could see Stevie smiling at his efforts, but making no move to assist.
Finally, my zip was undone, and I turned around and thanked him with a smile, before pulling the front of my dress down, exposing my boobs almost toppling out of my corset. Another almost orgasm.
Then, of course, I had to bend over in front of him as I stepped out of the dress, before handing it over to Stevie. I looked up at him and caught him staring down my cleavage. I gave him a little smile, and then turned around to pass it to Stevie, my petticoat swirling out as I did so.
There was no doubting Stevie's dress-making skills; within ten seconds, my dress was in several pieces. She laid out a few pieces on the bed, and then said, "OK, Daniel. You can see how this piece is quite sharply curved around here," she pointed, "and much flatter here, so it gives shape to the hips whilst disguising the size of the bum. A conventional dress would be shaped much more like this," she turned over the hem to demonstrate, "so that…"
"Yes, I think I get the message," Daniel said. "I'll put that in the article. Now I know you were in a hurry to get back to your business, so I won't delay you. Is that a mini-bar I see over there? I could just do with a drink. You don't mind if I help myself, do you? What about you Rachel?"
I admitted that I could do with another drink, and by the time Daniel had got two mini-bottles of wine and glasses from the mini-bar, Stevie had magically gathered together all the pieces of my dress and left the room.
"Didn't you say you were in a hurry to get back to an appointment, Daniel?" I mischievously asked.
He paused. "Did I? Oh yes, of course. Well I think I've probably missed it by now, so I might as well keep you company. After all, you'd be in a bit of a mess if there was, say, a fire alarm and we had to evacuate the building."
"You mean you'd lend me your trousers and jacket" I asked, "and let me escape, whilst you stayed behind in the burning building?"
"Er, well, perhaps that's taking it to an extreme," he said. "But I could, er…"
"Lend me your bow-tie?" I asked, walking over to him, reaching up to his neck and pulling one end of his tie and watching it unravel. I could hardly believe I did that! Whilst we'd been downstairs, I'd certainly been toying with the idea of having sex with Daniel, but that's all it was - simply idle thoughts. But after the business with the remote control and my nipples going rock hard and - let's face it - getting so sensitive, I realised that I too wanted a good romp
"I think I could lend you that," he said.
"Can you tie it around my neck," I asked, holding it out for him?"
He put his one arm behind my neck, so he could feed the tie around, and then tied it in a bow, our lips only inches apart. Later, when I looked in the mirror, I had to admit he was expert at tying bow-ties, but I never got a chance to look just then, for his lips were upon mine, his tongue forcing my kips apart and starting to joust with mine.
No doubt many of you are thinking, "Hang on, you're a heterosexual bloke. How can you suddenly turn homosexual?"
I can only say that ever since Saturday evening, I had been thinking myself into the role of being a woman. I'd tried to shun the pseudo-macho way of standing and walking - you know, throwing the chest out and the shoulders back - and instead of pushing out my large tits out for all to admire, I tended to hunch my shoulders and try to minimise them - except when pulling someone like Daniel.
My social skills had changed beyond recognition. I'd always tried for the strong, silent type of role - a behaviour pattern which had got me exactly nowhere. Now, I was being nice to people, taking an interest in what they did, complimenting them upon the way they dressed, and generally trying my best to be sociable.
But I guess it was the episode at Maggie's, and the conversation with Sue afterwards, which had really got me thinking as a woman. The memory of that guy's huge prick had become a fascination, rather than a horror. OK, I knew that with the physical limitations of the vagina in my Torsolet I was never going to get anywhere near taking that monster inside me (and the idea of it going up my arse really did scare me), but my curiosity was certainly aroused about what it would be like to have a reasonable-sized penis inside me. As a woman, it was no longer going into a territory that my upbringing had told me was taboo.
And finally, there was the sex I'd enjoyed as a woman with Stevie and Sue. The Sensotouch thingy was incredible, and orgasms that lasted for a minimum of ten minutes had become my norm - many went on for thirty minutes or more. The woman in Big Busts had been right; I was enjoying sex more as a woman than I had done as a man. Consequently, I wanted more sex, and I wanted to experiment. So here was Daniel with his bow-tie around my neck and his tongue down my throat. What did I do? Slip my hand onto the front of his trousers, that's what, and feel his prick straining to get out.
Well, who was I to deny a rampant prick?
Unzipping his trousers and releasing his prick was like pressing the button on a Jack-in-the-box. He lunged against me, making me fall backwards onto the bed, with him between my legs lost somewhere in the folds of my frilly petticoat.
But not for long! It was fortunate the petticoat was loose and could easily be lifted over my hips, otherwise the sod would have torn it off me, and I've been furious with him. (Well, maybe a bit of me would have been incredibly turned on by the frenzy I was arousing in him.)
Then he was sliding his prick inside me. Ecstasy! Then he was out - then in - then out - then in - then out - then in.
If it had been a race I wouldn't have minded. But hell, we had two hours and I could already feel him starting to reach his climax! Bugger this, I thought, I want a long, slow fuck - not a quick one.
I put my hands on his hip and waited until he was at the top of his throw; then I gave him an enormous shove with one hand. If he hadn't been such a small guy, I'd never have done it, but as it was, I pushed him over and he rolled off me, closely followed by me, so now I was on top of him, and the real action could start.
I wriggled up his body, his cock flopping out of me as I did so. He gave a cry of desperation, to which I took no notice - plenty of time for that later. I continued to wriggle up until my boobs, which at some time in the frenzy had come free from my bra cups, were level with his face.
"First things first," I said to him. "Suck on these beauties."
With the Sensotouch turned on high, I could get an orgasm just by having my nipple sucked, and I had a very nice one from my left tit in just ninety seconds, and an even better one with my right tit a few minutes after that. Daniel, meanwhile, whenever his mouth wasn't filled with tit (which wasn't often) groaned with frustration at not being able to shag me.
Daniel certainly wasn't as good at oral sex as either Stevie or Sue had been. On the other hand, Daniel did have something else up his sleeve - or do I mean sheath - and so, after he had given me those two very nice mini-orgasms, I decided to move onto the next stage.
That Saturday afternoon with Stevie had given me tremendous insight into how a woman could prolong a male's pleasure before he ejaculated. It wasn't difficult to imitate the simplest of her moves. After moving backwards until I could feel his prick nuzzling against my pussy, I squatted down on it and let it completely fill my vagina. Mmm! That was nice!
I leant right back, supporting my weight through my arms on his lower legs and then lifted both my feet until they were resting on his shoulders. It meant he was totally pinned down by my weight, and with him being so small, it was far easier to prevent him moving than Stevie had found it with me. It also meant his prick was pointing almost towards his knees. Slowly, I made tiny movements which rubbed his shaft against my clitoris. I knew from Saturday that he was experiencing exquisite pleasure - but not enough to send him to orgasm - whilst I went into one huge, crashing orgasm that lasted for ever and ever.
I've already mentioned that I'd had fantastic orgasms as a woman with Stevie and Sue, but this was like nothing I'd ever experienced before. I gasped and moaned with pleasure, driving him even more desperate to shoot his load. I could feel him wriggling beneath me, but with my weight advantage, I simply kept him there, as the volcano erupted in my groin and surged all through my body. Every slight joggle of my body caused another eruption of pleasure, and all I had to do keep it going.
But after aeons in that wonderful state, I could feel the tension building inside him - he simply had to come to orgasm or he would implode - and I felt the former would be more pleasant for both of us. I took my feet off his torso and moved my bodyweight forward to resume the standard squat position. Then I let him have his head.
It was like riding a bucking bronco - not that I've ever done that but you get the idea. He was lifting me so high, my head was almost banging against the ceiling, and we almost parted company at the top of every stroke. Within seconds he went into such a massive orgasm, his ejaculation filled me inside like a fire hose.
"Thank you very much, Rachel," he said, about five minutes later as he came out of the bathroom. "I'd better be going, now."
"I don't think so," I said. "You've only been here less than an hour. You have to keep me company for another hour."
"Well, yes," he said, "but…"
His words faltered out as I went onto my knees in front of him and took his limp cock in my mouth
Sue was waiting for us when Jenny and I arrived back at The House, my dress once again intact.
"Can I have a word, Rachel?"
One look at her and Jenny disappeared. What the hell had I done wrong? I wondered. Surely she wasn't pissed at me at sleeping with the reporter. She had been brimming over after the fashion show; now she was very serious. We went into the office and Sue shut the door.
"Rachel, what bank did you say you worked for?"
The question took me by surprise. "Barclands. Why?"
Sue grimaced. "It's just been on the news. Barclands are closing down their Manchester headquarters, with a loss of 1,500 jobs. That's where you work, isn't it?"
I took a deep swallow, and I could feel tears swelling in my eyes. "Yes," I said. "Did they say when… When they were closing it down?"
"I'm sorry Rachel," Sue said. "They said with immediate effect. Do you want to ring someone about it? The Personnel Department for instance."
I nodded, and Sue helped me find the number from the internet. She left me alone to talk to them, but it didn't make any difference to the result. I no longer had a job. I had to make arrangements within the next two weeks to clear the personal effects from my desk, and they would write to me about redundancy payments and salary. That was it. Eight years of blood, sweat and tears, and I was finished.
"We'll pay you for the time you're working here," Sue said when she returned to the room. "We were intending to sponge the time off you, but it's different now you're out of work."
"Thanks Sue," I said, and my heart warmed at her kindness.
"I'd offer you the afternoon off," she said, "but I don't think it would be good for you. Far better to be busy than to mope around."
I couldn't disagree, but my work that afternoon was only half-hearted until I remembered my session with Daniel, and then my heart gave a little flutter of excitement. Wow! Had I really done that? Life had throw some strange things at me that day, what would it offer tomorrow?
"Rachel. Do you have the pass number for the stockroom?" It was Anna coming into the office on Wednesday afternoon who interrupted my reverie, as I imagined myself in my new career as an international fashion model, having sex with every passing man. Both Sue and Stevie were out of The House.
"Yes," I said. "Why do you need it?"
"There's a customer in the shop who wants to try a size 18 Bridget, and we haven't got one in the shop, and Nancy's gone out with Sue. I've got the order form." She waved the pad in front of me, and I took it off her and made certain it was properly made out. The order pad used by the shop was one of the few systems they had in place in this business which actually worked efficiently.
"OK," I said, tearing off the top order sheet and putting it into the tray on my desk marked 'Orders'.
I handed the rest of the pad back to her, and stood up and took her to the stockroom door. Taking care she couldn't see the number that I punched in, I unlocked the door.
"Thanks, Rachel," Anna said. "You can leave me now, if you want."
I managed not to gasp with surprise. Only Monday, Sue had sent out a letter to all staff explaining that no one, apart from Nancy, Stevie, Sue and I were allowed in the stockroom on our own, and it would be a serious disciplinary offence if anyone else was caught there. This had apparently gone right over Anna's head. "Sorry, I have to stay," I said.
She grinned in exchange. "I know," she said. "Anything for a few minutes' rest from the job." She walked over to one of the hanging rails and started looking for the size she needed. "I was impressed the way you adapted to modelling, yesterday," she added. "You must be a natural. I hated it when I first started."
She picked out a garment, checked the size again, and pulled it off the rail. "That's it," she said. "Mustn't keep the customer waiting."
She was walking out through the stockroom door when I said, "You haven't dropped the copy of the delivery note in Nancy's tray."
"What?" she asked.
I explained that the copy of the delivery note had to be put in the tray.
She flicked through her pad. "Do you mean this?" she asked, waving the correct form at me.
I nodded, and she pulled it off and said, "Where's it supposed to go?"
I pointed. "In there."
She obediently put it in the tray.
"Haven't you done that before?" I asked.
She shook her head. "No one's ever told me to," she said. Then she returned to the shop.
When Sue, Stevie and Nancy returned to The House about five pm, my desk was in disarray, with papers everywhere.
"What's going on?" Sue asked in quite a cross voice. She hated untidiness.
"I've cracked it," I said. "Or at least, I've cracked part of it."
"We'll deduct the cost of breakages from your pay," Sue quipped. "What have you cracked?"
"The missing dresses," I said. "Some of them anyway."
Suddenly, I had everyone's attention. I told them what had happened whilst they were away, with Anna failing to put the despatch note into Nancy's tray. "So because Nancy didn't know that it had been legitimately taken," I concluded, "she would assume it had been stolen. I went into the shop and collected all their past copies of orders. All the extra despatch notes were still there and they line up with all the odd dresses which everyone thought had gone missing. In fact, the dresses weren't missing at all; they'd either been sold to a customer, or they are in the shop."
"Brilliant!" from Sue.
"Fantastic!" from Stevie.
"I'll murder Anna," from Nancy. "I can remember telling her when she first started how important it was to put the despatch note into my tray."
"Don't be cross with her," I said. "Give her a prize instead, because by solving that imagined problem, the real problem has been exposed: the twenty dresses which went missing last week. I asked Anna and she said Alison had asked her to despatch a large rush order to Scotland last Friday, when Nancy was at the dentist. Anna would have made the same mistake as she's always done, and presumably sent the extra despatch note along with the invoice to the company in Scotland. The problem is, I can't find any order from Scotland on Friday."
Stevie was shaking her head. "We don't have any stockists in Scotland. It was just too remote for us to do sales support."
"There was one company which Alison brought in," Sue said. "It was near her holiday cottage, and she talked them into placing an initial order. That was the only order they placed though."
She stood up, opened one of the filing drawers, pulled out a thin folder and opened it. "Here they are: Macs of Inverbrow. Just the one order, eighteen months ago. Not surprising really. According to Alison they mainly sell rainwear, but she got them to give our dresses a try."
"Macs of Inverbrow?" Nancy asked. "There's been more than one order. I can remember the name - it's quite unusual and I'm certain I've seen it lots of times."
We all stared at each other as we realised the implications.
"I'll go and get my files of used despatch notes," Nancy said, standing up and leaving the room.
"You realise," I said, "that Macs spelt backwards is Scam."
"But not Alison," Stevie said. "She helped me right from the start, even before Sue came in and got everything on a business footing."
"But she's always resented me being here," Sue said. "Especially when I tried to get her to implement better management systems."
"Perhaps she didn't want better stock control," I suggested.
Nancy came in carrying so many box files her face was hidden behind them. "These are the despatch notes for the last twelve months," she said. "They're all in roughly date order. The problem is, knowing where to start."
"When did Alison last go on holiday?" I asked.
"Four weeks ago," Sue said.
"So the last time she was away," I said, reaching for the office diary, "started on… Monday 4th. So why don't you look for a dispatch note dated Friday 1st."
Nancy rummaged through one of the box files. "Here it is," she said within a few seconds. "Despatch goods to Macs of Inverbrow - eighteen dresses from our Abigail, Bridget and Fiona ranges."
"But there was no order for that," Sue said, hopelessly staring at her almost blank page.
"It must have got typed out," I said turning to the computer, "and probably on this machine. Let's see if it's in the Recycle bin."
"What's that mean?" Sue asked.
"When you delete something on a computer," I explained, "it isn't really deleted, at all. It's simply shifted to a folder called the Recycle bin. Most people don't appreciate it, but it's easy enough to go into that and recover anything you want... Here! Look at this." I pointed to the file amongst the list of deleted files.
Seconds later, I had on the screen the computer version of despatch note that Nancy was holding. In her naivety, Alison had simply deleted and thought it had gone for good. A few more seconds and I located the invoice for the order and recovered that also.
Nancy, Sue and I spent the next twenty minutes going through each of Alison's monthly absences and finding despatches to Macs of Inverbrow for the Friday before, for which no orders had ever been received - and of course, no payment made for goods received. There must have been hundreds of dresses.
"So what do we do now?" It was Nancy who put into words what we had all been thinking about.
There was an awkward silence, and I decided I ought to say it. "You have to report it to the police."
"We can't report Alison to the police," Stevie said. "We're friends."
"Your friend is stealing stock from you," Nancy said. "And this is clearly not simply the odd dress here and there for her own use. She's selling this stuff on. Hell, she's running her own business financed by you two."
"Not only that," I said, "but she had a lot of your stock delivered on Monday. The police need to catch her red-handed, still in possession of your goods. Otherwise, it's all circumstantial."
"Rachel's right," Sue said. "We can't close our eyes to this, no matter how good friends you are. We must call the police."
"I suppose so," Stevie admitted.
Sue reached for the telephone directory.
"Bloody hell!" Sue cried, as she threw down the telephone handset.
"What happened?" Stevie asked.
We'd all been listening in to Sue's side of the call, but found it difficult to work out what had been said at the far end.
"They have a special fraud department in the Met," Sue said, "so they put me through there. But it turns out that with the banks all tottering financially, there are new multi-million pound frauds being exposed every day. Ours counts as pretty small beer. They said someone might get round to us in the next few weeks. As for catching Alison, red-handed - no chance. Not unless she does the same thing again, next month - and she's bound to find out we've all been running around looking for the stuff she nicked last week."
"In a way, I'm glad," Stevie said. "I really didn't want the police involved. Much better to sort it ourselves."
"Then if the police won't do anything," Sue said, "why don't we catch her red-handed. We could make a citizen's arrest. The police would have to take action then."
"But she's in Scotland, Sue," I said.
"So? We have wheels. Alison drives there; so could we."
Stevie nodded. "I guess so. It might be better actually if one of us does catch her red-handed; better than her simply coming back here for the police to arrest her."
I could see the psychological sense in that.
"In fact," Stevie continued, taking a deep breath, "she's my friend. I think it would be better if I went. I could drive through the night and be there in time to do a dawn raid."
"I wasn't quite envisaging smashing down her door," Sue leapt in, concerned that Stevie was taking a rather extreme position. "More a case of walking in when she opens for business and catching her with our stock. I'd better come with you."
You'll be needed in the House, Sue," Stevie said. "We can't leave it unmanned."
"I could look after the office," I volunteered. "I guess I've picked up most of the..." My voice tailed off as Stevie shook her head.
"Don't be stupid," she said. "You need to come to Scotland with me."
"Me?" I said, rather hopelessly. "Why?"
"Alison knows everyone else," Stevie said. "If we're going to catch her out, we'll need someone she doesn't know to act as a plant. You know... Try to buy something off her."
"Oh God!" I silently thought, "Not again!" but I actually said, "I suppose so."
"Hi," I said. "You're open at last. I've been past here lots of times hoping you would be."
Alison looked at me rather non-plussed. Clearly she hadn't expected me to walk in off the street whilst she was still unloading her car.
"We're actually a wholesaler," she explained. "We don't normally sell direct to the public. What exactly were you looking for?"
I smiled at her. I'd been told she had once been a professional model, but I hadn't been prepared for just how very attractive she would look. She was tall, of course, as most models are, and she was wearing one of Stevie's Abigail range - the only dress that really did not suit larger women, such as me. It had such a short skirt it barely covered her bum, and the white, lacy petticoats made it flare out wonderfully, so you were always in suspense about what you might see beneath as she twirled around. Not only that, she had long, long legs that went on forever, with sexy, incredibly-high-heels and highly-patterned white tights. She looked fantastic!
"I'd been told you stock Stevie's fashions, here," I said. I glanced around the room as I spoke. There were four garment rails against the walls, and only one of them contained any clothes. I could spot a few of Stevie's range on it, and I walked over to inspect them. "I can't seem to find anywhere else in Scotland that stocks them."
"There aren't many stores," Alison admitted. "I'm sorry, that stock isn't for sale."
"Not for sale?" I queried. I was immediately suspicious. Had she already sussed me as the plant? But when I looked along the line of clothes none of them had price labels - or any other labels for that matter. In fact, some of them looked quite used.
"I have limited room in my own cottage," Alison said with a smile. "Those clothes are my own personal wardrobe."
I was embarrassed. "Oh, I'm so sorry." I indicated the other empty rails. "Does that mean you don't have anything in stock?"
"I could probably order you something in special if you knew what you wanted."
"It was the ball gown they do," I said. "My partner has just remembered we've been invited to a ball in two weeks time. Apparently, he's known about it for months. Still, he has promised to buy me a gown, and I've always fancied the one made by Stevie."
"A ball," Alison said. "Is it somewhere local?"
Gulp. What did I say? "No," I said. "It's at his old college. In Cambridge." They did have balls there, didn't they?
"Really?" she said. "I went there. What college was he at?"
Lies may start off pretty small, but they just grow and grow. Did I know the name of any Cambridge colleges? But hadn't my previous girlfriend gone to Cambridge? "Newnham," I said.
She laughed. "I don't think so," she said. "It's all female."
Oh shit! Deeper and deeper. But the words of my salvation came to me from nowhere. "I always thought there was something funny about our sex life," I said
She laughed in response, the question forgotten. "I'm Alison," she said.
"Rachel," I replied. "I take it you're not going to be able to help me with my ball gown." I made as if to start walking away."
"I actually have a ball gown in the car," Alison said. (Well, I already knew that as I'd looked inside as I'd walked past it.) "What size are you?"
"Size sixteen," I said. (OK, so I was really a size eighteen, but I knew from the despatch note what size had been delivered on Monday.)
"Oh right," Alison said, suddenly looking really interested, eying me up and down. "The one in the car had been a special order. You've no idea how difficult it was to get a special order made up by my suppliers."
Especially, I thought, if it had to be done illicitly.
"I drove all the way over to Stirling this morning, she continued, "but when I got there, the customer had cancelled."
"That's really mean," I said. "They might have told you."
Alison shook her head. "They said they'd left a message on my answering machine," she said, "and it has been playing up a bit recently. Anyway, my loss is your possible gain."
Can I see it?" I asked.
"Of course. I'll get it from the car."
It was a huge box she dragged in, about five feet high, three feet long and just narrow enough to bring it through the door. It was funny, here was I, ace investigator, on the trail of employee fraud, and I felt far more excited about seeing that beautiful ball dress again, than anything else. The fact it was in such a large box made it all far more exciting - like unwrapping a Christmas present as a child.
The side of the box opened like a wardrobe doors, and the mixture of white and pink made my heart leap into my mouth, it looked so wonderful - and I was going to wear it.
Alison lifted it out of the box and hung it on one of the garment rails so I could properly see it.
"It's absolutely gorgeous," I said. "Can I try it on?"
Even if Stevie and I hadn't already agreed that I needed to try on a dress and then pay for it, at which time she would come in and make the 'cop', I'd have desperately wanted to try it on. Sure, I'd worn one at the fashion show on Tuesday, but I'd been in a virtual daze then after trying on so many different, wonderful clothes. Now I was fully in control of my senses and I wanted to wear that dress more than anything I'd ever wanted in my life.
"Of course," Alison said. "I'd better warn you that it is a size 16 XL - that's extra long, as the original client was extremely tall."
"Surely not as tall as me," I said. Fortunately, I wasn't that tall as a man, but as a woman I was taller than almost any other.
"Probably about the same as you," Alison said. "I'm sorry I don't have a changing room - as I said, I don't normally cater for the public - but there's no reason why you can't change in here. Let me shut this door properly." She gave the door out to the road a good slam.
Damn! I'd deliberately left the door slightly ajar - the idea was that Stevie would come marching in and find us, but I'd have to find an excuse to open the door to let her in at the right moment. I was starting to feel quite mean about it all. I'd got to quite like Alison in just the few minutes I'd been in the shop. I could see why Stevie was unhappy about the whole business.
On the other hand, it did mean I got to try on this fabulous dress.
I stepped out of my shoes and then slipped off my skirt and top and put them on a spare hanger on the rail. My current clothes weren't from Stevie's range, as we'd decided that might alert Alison that I was connected with the House, so Stevie had bought me some new clothes yesterday afternoon.
When I turned around, Alison had pulled out the petticoat from beneath the dress and now held it open at the top for me to step into. Oh God! So many frills! You should have seen them. I fed one stocking-clad leg into the opening and down until I could stand on it, and then did the same with the other. Alison pulled the petticoat up to my waist.
"Oh dear," she said, looking down at the petticoat trailing on the floor. "I fear this is going to be too long for you. I think your legs must be proportionally shorter than your top half."
"Oh no!" Of course, women do have proportionally longer legs than men, with higher waists. I could see the possibilities of wearing the dress receding. "Can't you pull it further up my body?"
Alison shook her head, thoughtfully. "I could with the petticoat, but the dress still won't fit you properly. You could try some much higher heels."
Ever since Saturday when Stevie had bought me flat-heeled shoes on the basis that I was already over tall for a woman, the highest-heels I'd worn were some spiky one-inch shoes. Now, Alison bent over and started unfastening her own shoes and said, "Here. Try mine. We're probably not that different in shoe size."
She held up her shoe which sent my heart into overdrive. The heels must have been at least five-inches high - far higher than I'd seen on any woman before.
"Alison," I gasped, "I couldn't possibly wear those. I can't even manage anything half as high."
"That's only because you've never tried," she said. "Come on; it's the difference between trying on this fantastic dress and not. Are you game?"
It was a no brainer question. I'd have sold my own grandmother to wear that dress, and if Alison said I could wear her shoes, I was willing to give it a go. I nodded. "You'll have to help me. You know, tell me how to walk in them."
"No problem. First of all, sit down here and we'll slip them on you." She motioned to the seat in the corner.
I looked at myself in the mirror. I simply could not believe how beautiful I looked, and how good I felt. Alison had shown me how to get my weight right back on my heels, and after a bit of practice at walking around wearing just my petticoat and bra, I felt fine. Alison said the length of the petticoat with my new heels was just right.
Alison then lifted the dress of the hangar and lowered it over my head.
Ecstasy! The petticoat protruded just half an inch beneath the hem of the dress, and it just brushed the ground as I moved, with brief glimpses of my toes and my fantastic heels appearing now and again as I took a pace towards the mirror or back.
The bodice was strapped at the back with lacing, so as Alison tightened it - it was like being squeezed into a corset all over again - except that I'd lied to Alison about my size, and she was extracting revenge in a big way. But she simply made me look better and better in that dress. Now I could hardly breathe but did I care?
"How do you think it suits you? Alison asked.
"I feel like a princess!" I said, a big smirk on my face.
"Does that mean that you'll take it," she asked.
"You bet. I'll pay by cash."
"I'll give you a discount, seeing as I'd have been stuck with it, otherwise."
She named a price that was almost as much as my monthly salary, but I was prepared for that. I had the money in my handbag; I counted it out and she checked it and gave me a receipt.
"You look as though you don't want to take it off," Alison said.
"I don't," I replied. "But the problem is that all that squeezing of my intestines has meant I need to go to the toilet. I can hardly go to the public toilets like this." Stevie and I had made many visits to the public toilets in the car park opposite, whilst we'd been staking out this place. It was the kind of toilet one preferred not to go into under any circumstances - never mind wearing a fantastic ball gown.
"That's not a problem," Alison said. "I have a toilet on the premises. It's through that door." She pointed.
"Thanks." I made my way over, opened it and squeezed my dress inside.
Just as I was about to close the door, Alison said, "Having a dress like yours makes you realise why it was only in the 20th century that women started wearing panties. Do you want me to pull yours down for you?"
"What?" I said.
"With all the layers of petticoat and the hoops in your dress, I think you'll have terrible trouble removing your panties. Do you want me to pull them down for you?"
I didn't know where to put myself. I had virtually got used to the way that most women happily undress in front of each other in a way that most men would never do. But the idea of this sexy woman pulling down my panties was incredibly erotic - only I couldn't allow sex to creep into this event. On the other hand, I needed to go to the toilet - like really, really needed.
"Yes, please," I sheepishly said.
She got down on her hands and knees, lifted the hem of my skirt and started fumbling up my thighs. Oh my God! Thank heavens my cock was strapped down somewhere beneath the Torsolet. If I hadn't been so desperate to have a pee, I'd probably have orgasmed on the spot. As it was, she hooked her fingers into the top of my panties and pulled them down, and I was able to step out of them.
Then Alison stood up and helped me to lift the rear of my skirts so I could manoeuvre myself backwards over the toilet, before lowering myself cautiously down. As Alison withdrew and closed the door, I was finally able to relieve the pressure on my bladder!
Actually, after leaving the toilet, I was able to set the trap by opening the door onto the street without a problem.
"It looked as though it might rain, when I came in," I said. "That would be a good excuse not to leave just yet and stay dressed like this for a while longer. Can you check?"
Obediently (I felt really guilty), Alison opened the door onto the road.
"Hello Alison," Stevie said, and stepped inside. She took one look at me and said: "So I was right. You are stealing my stock and selling it here."
"Well I wouldn't call it stealing…" Alison started, but she was immediately interrupted by Stevie.
"Not call it stealing? Would you prefer to call it fraud? You made out false despatch notes to get this dress and hundreds others delivered to this address." With every sentence, she aggressively stepped forward and Alison was forced to step back. "Alison Brack, I'm making a citizen's arrest. You don't have to say anything but it may…"
"You can't arrest me like this! Fuck off!"
Alison accompanied the words with an enormous shove with both hands which caused Stevie to stagger backwards. Unfortunately, she stumbled into the box which had contained my dress, which in turn was knocked backwards.
It was doubly unfortunate that just as Stevie was swinging her left leg backwards to regain her balance, her foot struck the lower edge of the box, now a few inches off the ground, which really tripped her. She fell straight backwards inside the box, which was already falling over, and the two hit the ground with a thud. As a finale, the hinged lids flopped shut.
Alison and I stared at the cardboard box from which, within a second commenced a series of expletives which would have made a sailor blush. I was about to move to help Stevie, but Alison unexpectedly made a dash for the door and was through it. I took the view that if Stevie could swear, she could probably get herself out of the box. I picked up my skirts and followed Alison in hot pursuit.
Fortunately, Stevie had double-parked her car alongside Alison's estate, so she couldn't drive off. Unfortunately, this seemed to be blocking all the traffic in Inverbrow, and a traffic warden was already bearing down on it. I looked to the left. Alison was by now twenty yards down the road. In these heels and with this dress, I couldn't possibly run, but I could follow in her wake, and try to see where she was heading. I pulled my skirts up higher, and managed to totter along without falling over.
Alison had turned into a side alley between the buildings, and running in her bare feet, she was almost at the end of the alley as I turned into it. I would have given up within seconds but for the fact that, as the tarmac path left the buildings, it turned into compressed hard-core.
As soon as Alison stepped onto it she said, "Ouch!" And then, "Shit!" then "Ouch!" again. With every step she swore, and instead of running, she had to pick her way carefully along the stony path. I lifted my skirts even higher and continued tottering along. I may have had five-inch heels, but on that surface, I could totter faster than her careful stepping.
So we continued for several minutes. I'd had to slacken my initial speed as, with the dress being as tight as a corset, I couldn't breathe deeply enough to keep up the pace. The pathway joined up with the Inverbrow cycle path - Inverbrow's method of attracting tourism to the town. The cycle path went all around the loch upon which the town stood - a distance of about ten miles - and according to the brochure Stevie and I had read whilst we were staking out Alison, there were several interesting stop off points on route. It certainly had attracted tourists, with dozens of people milling around, and three cycle hire shops and several cafes and bars flourishing in the town with their trade.
Unfortunately, Alison and I attracted lots of comment as we strode along the cycle way - even though she was trying to place her bare feet on the ground with such great care, the petticoat beneath her mini-dress made it bounce up exposing her arse with every stride. Ten yards behind, I tottered in my ball gown, my boobs wobbling out of the low-cut top and the skirts lifted clear of the ground to expose my ridiculous heels which might, at any moment, twist over to send me sprawling over. So we both got jeers and wolf-whistles, although I seemed to get the most raucous comments.
As we approached an ice-cream booth, I thought Alison had decided to give up and call it a day, as she veered over towards it.
"Thank God!" I thought. "I don't think I could continue this chase much longer."
But instead of purchasing an ice-cream, as I thought she was going to, instead she grabbed one of the cycles propped against the wall of the booth, threw a leg over the saddle and set off, cycling for all she was worth.
"Damn! Damn! Damn!"
"Oi! That's my bike!" A couple who had been eating ice-creams a little further on ran into the track after Alison and started to give chase.
There was only one way I could continue pursuit. I grabbed the other cycle propped against the wall, lifted my skirts right over the saddle, and then, like Alison, threw my leg over and got going. It was the man's bicycle so the crossbar meant my dress was bunched up around my waist, but it would only have got mixed up in the chain, otherwise.
Fortunately, the couple were so intent upon trying to outrun Alison that they didn't look round at me following a dozen yards behind. Only when their breath started to fail them and they staggered to a halt, did they become aware of me. They turned, just as I furiously rang my bell.
Ding-ding-ding.
It must have been a terrifying spectacle! A flying ball-gown bearing down on them! They each dived to the ditches on either side of the pathway and I sped between them.
The man shouted a short comment at my back that somehow contrived to be blasphemous, obscene and racist against English. I decided not to lower myself by replying. Actually, I decided that getting air into my lungs was more important, as by now I was having real difficulties.
But in fact, it looked as though Alison was having greater difficulties, having spent herself in trying to escape the pursuing couple. As the path sloped slightly upwards, so her speed dropped slower and slower. The Gods must have been on my side, for just at that moment, a following breeze picked up, and it caught in my skirts and started to push me along a little faster, like a yacht before the wind.
For the first time, I really was gaining on Alison. The gain encouraged me a little and I peddled even harder. Realising I was gaining on her, Alison turned to look at me, and then she also set to peddling faster. As we approached the top of the slight incline, I knew that victory could only be seconds away. A group of guys walking in the opposite direction clapped and cheered as first a woman with long, long legs and no shoes in a mini dress came by, closely pursued by a woman in a ball gown, with her huge boobs almost shaking clear out of the top, and her high-heels scraping on the ground with every turn of the peddles.
So near, but yet so far!
The descent the other side was much steeper than the climb we had just made. Alison, being slightly in front, started to pick up speed earlier, but that on its own wouldn't have been a problem. The problem was that once we were over the brow, the following breeze died to nothing, and as my speed of descent started increasing, so the underside of my dress started filling with air like a parachute, billowing right out on either side. Just like a parachute, it kept my speed at a gentle run, rather than whizzing along as Alison was doing.
I took my right hand from the handlebars and tried to flatten the dress downwards, but it was incredibly difficult. You never realise how much power there is in the wind until it catches something large and you try to manoeuvre it. I had to use all my force in my arm to push the dress slowly downwards, until the air had virtually deflated from the one side.
Disaster! With the dress still fully inflated on my left side, and nothing to counterbalance it on the right, I almost toppled sideways. I had to release my dress and give an enormous swerve of the handlebars to keep my balance, and I'd just managed that when the wind refilled the right side of my dress and pushed me over in the opposite direction.
I was almost a goner, that time. By the skin of my teeth, I managed to stay on my bike, although a woman cyclist had to ride into a ditch to avoid my swerving antics. You'd never guess the four-letter part of her anatomy she used to describe me. I decided to live with my dress being a parachute, and accept that I could make up some of the gap which had lengthened between us on the next uphill section.
Except that Alison had so much momentum at the bottom of the slope, she shot up the next incline, without having to peddle at all! Meanwhile I was still slowly descending. There were a number of cyclists coming from the opposite direction making heavy weather of climbing the hill down which I was making my descent, and I started to notice a different reaction in them to the previous people I'd met - a kind of jaw-dropping, eye-opening surprise, rather than the raucous joviality which most others had exhibited. I didn't care - I knew I must present a weird sight, and I'd got used to being the focus of attention by now.
It was when I was halfway down the slope, where a family of four were resting on a bench that I heard the little girl say in a shocked voice as I freewheeled past, "Mummy. That lady has got no knickers on."
As you go through life, you get to know when to give up and call it a hopeless task. I couldn't breathe properly; the sweat was pouring from me; I must be hundreds of yards behind Alison and losing ground all the time, so I'd already decided that when I got to the top of the hill, I'd pack it in.
It was a good place to stop. There was an excellent view across the loch, and with the sun behind me, it illuminated everything so clearly. A long set of steps led from where I stood down to the water's edge, and as I regained my breath, I counted them in time with my breathing. One, two, breathe - three, four, breathe - right up to: thirty-seven, thirty-eight… Damn! I felt cheated there weren't thirty-nine steps, because then I'd be at villain's mansion.
Still, it was a magnificent view from here. In fact, as I looked around, I realised I could see almost the entire cycle path around the loch - except that Alison was nowhere to be seen on it!
Had she fallen off? Perhaps she was in a ditch - or even worse - fallen into the loch? I scanned every inch of the path. Still no sign. Perhaps she'd gone down the thirty-eight steps to take to a boat. But there were no boats within a mile of where I stood, and I thought a German submarine on an inland loch was most unlikely.
A slight noise behind me made me turn around. There, slightly above and beyond the cycle path was a tiny cottage; and when I say tiny, it was more reminiscent of the holiday chalets in which my family used to stay when I was a child. It had obviously been some kind of cattle shed at one time, with what would have been a large opening across the front now filled in with a huge picture-window which would look out onto the tremendous view. There was a bald-headed but youngish-looking guy wearing jeans and tee shirt painting the wall an even more brilliant shade of white than it already was.
I shouted to him, "Excuse me."
He ignored me. Perhaps he was deaf, and with his back to me, he wouldn't know I was speaking.
I went through the gate into his garden and stepped a little closer to him. "Excuse me."
"Donna bother ta ask if ya can come in to ma gardn, will ya?" His Scottish accent may have been soft, but the words were hard.
"I'm sorry. I did try to attract your attention."
"Well, maybe I didna wanna be attracted."
I sighed. This was going to be difficult. "I'm looking for a friend who went by on a bicycle."
"Therra hundreds, lass. Do ya think I've nothing berra ta do than look at bikes?"
Perhaps he was hiding her in his cottage!
I stepped a little closer, so I could peer through the picture window. It was exceptionally tiny inside - just one bed-sitting room, with a kitchen area at the rear. I could even see through the open door into the shower room and toilet. Unless she was in the wardrobe - and people do get into such strange places to hide - she wasn't there.
"Ha ya finished spying on ma hoos?"
"Sorry." I turned towards him. He still had his back to me and was painting around the name of the cottage, which had previously been obstructed by his body. The Sty. Now why did that name seem familiar?
Got it!
"Are you keeping your back to me so I can't see the tits of your Torsolet pushing out of your tee shirt, Alison?" I asked. "This red gel really does make it impossible to get it off, doesn't it?"
The paintbrush froze in his hand and he stood motionless.
"Or maybe," I added, as another brainwave hit me, "your name isn't really Alison at all. It's Alistair."
He turned around so I could verify that he did indeed have a nice pair of tits bulging out the front of his tee shirt. "It's Alasdair, actually," he said, in the same voice that Alison had used in her shop. "You're right about the red gel, although I always prefer the green. But it still takes a long time to take a Torsolet off."
"Oh my God!" I said, staring at his face.
For the face I'd seen on Alison in the shop had looked beautiful. There was no doubt that make-up had played an incredibly important part in that appearance - no doubt at all, since the sweat had made the mascara run all down his face, and there were deep rivulets down his cheeks as though a water course had rushed through, completely washing away lines, whilst leaving the rest of his face caked with gunge, like the debris from a tsunami.
It was only when I'd stared at his face for a few seconds that I realised that Alasdair had uttered exactly the same words, "Oh my God!" at almost the same time. That puzzled me. Surely, if he'd known what he looked like, he'd never have come outside after removing his dress. He'd have spent some time wiping it all off. So why had he said it?
Then it hit me at exactly the same time as it did him. "OH MY GOD!" we both yelled, each realising that our faces looked just the same as each other.
"It was love at first sight," Alasdair was saying, after we'd both cleaned ourselves up and were sitting down in his picture window, looking at that tremendous view. "I was a male model doing a lot of work for the fashion house where Stevie used to work. When I met Stevie, it was like seeing the most beautiful woman in existence. It was tremendous for a few days."
Longer than it had been for me, I mused. "What happened then?" I asked.
"I showed her my sketchings," he said, and laughed at my expression. "No, we'd been shagging like mink well before then, so it wasn't a way of getting her into bed. But I got on my hobby-horse and told her that I felt most of the fashion industry was going in the wrong direction - designing clothes that look good on size zero models, but not on normal people. I'd made some sketches of the kind of clothes they should really be designing."
He bent over and lifted a large sketch pad from the floor. "This is what I showed her."
The pad fell naturally open at the right page - clearly it had been opened a thousand times before at that page.
I gasped. There were sketches of five dresses which could clearly be identified as most of Stevie's current range.
"Are you saying that Stevie stole your designs?" I asked. I had to tread carefully here.
"No, it was nothing like that," Alasdair said. "We were in love. We wanted to do it together - to design a new range of clothes - to start our own fashion house. Oh, Stevie did all the real design work, getting bolts of cloth and trying different ways of cutting and sewing the bits together until she reached our first designs. And it was about that time that I realised she was more obsessed with those designs than she was with me. That's when she suggested I wear a Torsolet. We were clearly doing everything on a shoestring, so we couldn't afford real models - apart from me. The Torsolet meant I could do all the modelling work, right across the size range we were aiming for.
"It also meant," he continued, "our love-life continued on a different plane, as you obviously know."
"When did you realise I was really a man?" I queried.
He smiled. "As soon as you entered the shop," he said. "It takes one to know one. But then I have a lot of male customers who cross-dress - a few even who have Torsolets. That's why the Diane ball gown was so long - it was for a tall male. But I obviously don't have a problem with cross-dressing, and I thought it indiscreet to tell you I had sussed you."
"So what happened about your dreams?" I wanted to hear the end of the story.
"We needed capital to start a fashion house. Stevie asked her parents for it, and they agreed, provided Sue would manage the company. Well, that's what I'd been doing, so I got pushed aside. Somehow, I was no longer part of the company, just an employee." He shrugged.
"I started to feel bitter about the way I'd been treated," he continued. "After all, it was my initial sketches which started everything, and I'd been left out. That's when I started Macs as a front for a company to take a share of the profits - profits which I should have been getting anyway. I knew it was illegal, but I felt morally justified."
I could understand his view.
"Why did you run away from the shop when Stevie challenged you?" I asked. "You must have known we'd catch up with you sometime."
"Isn't it obvious?" he asked. "I was a man dressed as a woman. Can you imagine the way I'd get treated in jail? I wanted to get changed back to a man. I'd have thought Stevie would have understood that."
I certainly could. The thought of being in jail dressed as a woman made me shiver.
"So where do we go from here," he asked.
"Oh Alasdair." Stevie's voice came from behind us. "You are bloody stupid. Why didn't you tell me how you felt?" She'd been listening in to our conversation for some time, I realised. "You know how easily I can get obsessed, but my friends have to put me on the right path."
"Does that mean you're not going to arrest me?" he asked.
"Don't be stupid," she said.
I went outside to admire the view, whilst they did some serious talking. Stevie was going to ring Sue and get her involved in the decision making. It was strange, I thought, but I hadn't considered my own future in the time since I'd heard my career had just been terminated. In a week's time, I'd be out of the Torsolet and back in the male world. Shame really; I'd enjoyed myself tremendously ever since Stevie had tricked me inside it.
"Rachel," Alison shouted. "Can you come back inside?" I noticed she was wearing her female clothes again, and she'd replaced her make-up so she looked once again like the fabulous woman I'd met only a couple of hours before.
I went in and sat down whilst Alison went off to make a pot of tea.
"I've agreed with Sue," Stevie said, "that we're going to formally ask Alison to set up a Scottish office for the fashion house. She will do legally what she's been doing illicitly for the last eighteen months. Which means there'll be a vacancy in our London premises. Sue and I were wondering whether you would want to fill it? There'll have to be a lot of changes, of course; we need a proper stock management system, but more importantly, with us making it into the press next Thursday, we'll need a proper internet ordering site setting up as a matter of urgency. Are you game?"
I smiled. "Is the Pope Catholic?" I asked.
They both smiled back, and I detected a closeness between them that, instead of making me feel jealous, made me feel warm inside.
I gave them both a smile. "Did you drive your car here, Stevie?" I asked. Presumably there was a road to this cottage, and clearly, Stevie had not ridden a bicycle here.
"I knew Alison's address," she said, "so I guessed that was where she would return to. Thanks to both of you for helping me out of the box, by the way."
"I don't want to be a party pooper," I said, ignoring her moan. "Shall I drive the car back to Inverbrow, book into a hotel and wait for you to call?"
"It's you being stupid now, Rachel," Stevie said. "I'm normally monogamous…" She held up a hand at our dual protests.
"…Just one lover at a time," she added. "However, on this occasion, I'm willing to try a little bigamy."
She lifted her hand to reveal a remote control which she must have pulled from her handbag. Her thumb moved to the red button.
"Oh shit!" we both said, as four nipples popped out, and four breasts turned into super-sensitive erogenous zones.
Comments
Definitely one of the better ones.
All the Seacombe Saga stories have a certain charm but this one is a classic and will definitely be saved alongside the others. I know Seacombe doesn't feature strongly in this little story but without the little sea side town and Bustlets where would Charlotte be? The little images add something too.
Thanks a lot
Geoff
An hilarious piece of nonsense, very well told!
That was Brill. It was hilarious. Complete nonsense of course, but well told, with so many twists and turns and surprises, right to the end. Nobody got hurt, it was full of fun... What more could one ask for? Thank you Charlotte DICKLES for sharing it with us - if you go on producing stuff like this you will soon be eclipsing your famous almost name-sake!
Briar
Briar
Lots of Fun!
Crazy, silly, sexy. Thank you for sharing here. Too bad those torsolets aren't real.
Oh What Fun
That is good silly fun. I love the Torsolet. If only they were real! *sigh*
I think Stevie needs therapy, but at least she has Sue to look after her. Sheesh!
I think my favorite part is the bicycle chase. That is too funny! hahahahahahahaha
Rachel is such a good sport. I wonder if she really is transgender. I think she wonders too. Heh.
This story is such good fun, I hope you consider writing a sequel. I'd read it. :)
Thanks.
- Terry
Stevie Does Have a Shrink
There's a reference to her Shrink when Sue and Stevie first (more or less) come clean with Rachel.
Is it just me,
or doesn't the ending follow the story? One thing I have learned managing a restaurant is, you don't become friends with the help. Oh you can be nice, and show gratitude for a job well done, but fraternizing is a definite no no. That is what I get from Stevie saying Alison/Alasdair was her friend, and towards the end we see why. But allowing Alison/Alasdair to set up a satellite store just isn't what a real business would do. Alison/Alasdair would have been arrested by the police after being told that she/he had been caught red handed with pilfered stock.
The rest of the story before the last few paragraphs, was very nicely written, and there were a few grammar errors even for being written in the U.K. It is just that I wasn't expecting to be thrown off the story by the ending.
Be strong, because it is in our strength that we can heal.
Love & Hugs,
Barbara
"With confidence and forbearance, we will have the strength to move forward."
Love & hugs,
Barbara
"If I have to be this girl in me, Then I have the right to be."
It's all Silliness Really
It did make sense though in that Stevie did understand Alison's view that she'd been more than an employee (her fashion idea inspired the business, she helped start it, and was treated as a partner before Stevie's parent's money and Sue showed up). You'll recall that Stevie really didn't want to get the police involved. I think that she realized after overhearing Aison's explanation to Rachel that her friend deserved a share of the business.
Happen in real life? Probably not.
I Was Just Reading
On the adjacent ads "Crossdressers Playground" about their special bodysuits. You haven't licensed the patent for Torsolets, have you?
You always make these tales great fun, Charlotte,
Joanne
Another gem!
Well I think this story fits together perfectly. First of a it is a farce and full of fun and mischief and Stevie can't really bear to really hurt someone while she is concentrating on them. So she never did want Alasdair to go to jail. But she often does hurt friends and lovers when she is on to something else. Stevie really is the limit though I suppose I have met a few ding dongs like her before.
This is well written and well conceived in your usual playful manner. Just love this story and all its sexiness and silliness. Fun reading along imaging we are Rachel's shoes, dresses and so forth. Good job!
Hugs, Kristi Lynne Fitzpatrick
Kristi Lynne Fitzpatrick
So addictive!
... I desperately want to read it slower to draw out the fun, but I find my self helplessly going back and reading more!
Very entertaining!
What a laugh, screwing the reporter, Stevie falling into the box, the bicycle chase, reminds me of the good old English comedies.
A cross between Monty Python, Benny Hill, and probably The Vicar of Dibly??
It would make a great movie.
Thanks for the laugh!
LOL
Rita
Age is an issue of mind over matter.
If you don't mind, it doesn't matter!
(Mark Twain)
LoL
Rita
And A Good Time Was Had By All...
Hilarious. A laugh a minute, and so many twists of plot and surprises, especially at the end.
This is Brilliant.
Briar
Briar
Hey!
Just found these stories. Brilliant.
I will return,
Beverly.
Growing old disgracefully.
superb....
...great fun.... frivolous nonse and a great story-tell! Thank you! Ginger x
superb....
...great fun.... frivolous nonse and a great story-tell! Thank you! Ginger x