Peter Simpson trained his flashlight on the dresser and for a minute he thought he’d found the jackpot.

The jewellery box was full of glittering emeralds, rubies and diamonds, all set in gold and silver. He took a pair of emerald earrings and put the light to them.

“Fuck!” he hissed.

He took the jewellery box over to the bed and emptied the contents on the duvet and stirred through the necklaces, earrings, rings and bracelets with a gloved finger.

“Fuck! Fuck!” he hissed again.

“Costume,” he sighed, but he scooped up the jewellery and put it in his carryall anyway.

“Maybe they hide the good stuff?” he pondered.

The costume jewellery was still worth something. It was good quality even if the gemstones were synthetic and the gold wasn’t twenty-four carat and the silver wasn’t the finest.

Peter opened the dresser drawers.

“Bingo!” Peter grinned.

In the top drawer hidden under the cotton underpants, vests and socks he found a gold man’s wristwatch, a pair of gold and onyx cufflinks and two gold chains. There was also a gold-plated lighter and two tie pins that would fetch a few quid.

He’d found the man’s jewellery. He’d found the woman’s costume jewellery; now he needed to find the woman’s good stuff.

Women liked to hide stuff under their lingerie. The next drawer he opened contained folded men’s T-shirts, shorts and sportswear.

The third drawer was filled with usual bric-a-brac that a man was likely to keep in his bedroom dresser… all worthless.

The bottom drawer was filled with lingerie. A few neatly folded satin and nylon slips and half-slips, also some nice satin and lace brassieres. The matching knickers were folded beside them along with two suspender belts. Next to them was the hosiery: some very nice fully fashioned stockings and Pretty Polly tights. Peter took off a glove and caressed the sheer slippery fabric of a pair of stockings then raised them to his nose and sniffed them.

They held the faint lingering scent of perfume. He rubbed them on his cheek. They were soft and silky-sheer, as was the pair of sheer-to-the-waist tights he lifted out next. The kinky side of Peter liked that the lady of the house sometimes wore stockings and that her tights were good quality. A lot of women today wore those cheap Tesco tights that bagged and wrinkled at the knees and ankles.

He replaced the hosiery and put his glove back on. The lady of the house didn’t have much in the way of lingerie but what she had was nice. Peter wondered briefly if the woman who owned the lingerie might not be the owner’s wife; possibly a girlfriend who stayed over now and then?

Peter moved on to the wardrobe.

He found three cheap business suits and office shirts and some casual clothing. Jumpers and cardigans were folded on a shelf. One ladies skirt-suit, two dresses, two skirts and a couple of blouses took up what little space was left on the clothes rail. There were two pairs of high heels in the corner at the bottom of the wardrobe, the rest of the floor space taken up with men’s shoes and boots. The amount of men’s clothing considerably outweighed the ladies. Once again Peter pondered if the woman didn’t actually live in the house permanently.

On the top shelf he was surprised to find two wigstands. One had a shoulder-length blonde wig mounted on it, the other a black bob. They were both synthetic and wouldn’t fetch anything. Human hair wigs could a fetch a few quid if they were good quality.

He played his torch back over the dresser. The woman might not have a lot of clothing but she had a lot of makeup.

But then he hit pay-dirt.

A camera case held a nearly new Nikon F3 camera with an assortment of lenses and filters and a there was a good quality camera tripod. He put the camera case and tripod next to his carryall and checked his watch. He still had some time.

He found a cheap cashbox at the back of the shelf which he pried open with a screwdriver and found a little over one hundred pounds in notes and coins. He emptied the contents into his carryall.

He went back to the wardrobe and found a shoebox filled with colour photographs. They were mostly pictures of the woman he presumed owned the clothing. This was confirmed when he looked through the large collection of pictures and saw that she was wearing the skirts and blouses, the dresses, the suit and the shoes he had found in the wardrobe. In some of them she was dressed only in lingerie and posing provocatively put not pornographically.

Peter scooped up the pictures and was about to put them back in the shoebox when he realised that the woman was also wearing the wigs he seen on the wigstands.

Peter grinned to himself and scrutinised a couple of the photographs closely

“Fucking noncer!” he grimaced.

When Peter had picked up the occupant of the house in his minicab a little under an hour ago he hadn't really taken much notice of the man. He remembered that he was slim, almost petite, and dressed in a nice suit. His face was finely featured from what he could recall. Peter’s main concern at the time was determining whether or not the man was out for the evening so that he wouldn’t return when Peter went back to rob the house.

Peter pocketed a small stack of the pictures of the woman dressed in lingerie posing provocatively on the bed and put the rest back in the shoebox.

Beside the shoebox was a vinyl bag with a drawstring closure. He shined his torch inside the bag and grimaced. There was a douche, a vibrator and a flesh-coloured dildo. There was also a tube of KY personal lubricant. There was definitely no market for second-hand sex toys. He pulled the drawstring closed and put the bag back where he’d found it beside four VHS tapes in plastic cases. He took down the tapes and examined them. They were all ‘tranny porn’. They were the kind of tapes that some newsagents kept under the counter and sold to punters who liked that sort of thing. He perused the titles and on a whim he threw the copy of Crossdressed Sluts Banged Bonkers in his bag

The rest of the house gave up some nice silverware: a boxed set of Stirling silver antique cutlery, a platter and two candlesticks. There was also a silver picture frame and a couple of small antiques.

“Not a bad haul,” Peter said to himself as he shouldered the camera case, tripod and carryall.

He rifled through the occupant’s mail and found nothing of interest, except for a couple of payslips from the First Bank of Manchester paid to a Mister Lester Millington. Lester might work for a bank but was not rolling in money; he must be employed in a mid or low-level position Peter thought as he read the amounts on the payslips. He unlocked the front door and opened it a crack. The street was deserted and Peter simply walked out into the street and after the placing his carryall and the camera case and tripod on the back seat, he climbed into his minicab and drove away.

As he drove through the dark streets of Manchester he wondered what he might do with the pictures in his pocket and the video he had pilfered.

*****

Lester Millington, the owner of the house Peter Simpson had just robbed, had been dropped off at Bloom Street in Manchester. His final destination was the Black Sheep pub on Richmond Street but he didn’t want his driver to know that.

Lester always went there on Saturday night because it was drag queen bingo. Two sassy drag queens called the numbers and cut back-and-forth insulting each other with licentious banter which was also directed at the crowd. After bingo there was a sing-along led by the drag queens. An overtly gay man played piano to accompany them.

The Black Sheep was also a well-known haunt for transvestites and their admirers. Some of the girls were almost unclockable but some of them were obviously men dressed up in feminine finery.

Lester was jealous of the transvestites; especially the ones who looked beautifully feminine. It was not only their clothes, hair and makeup. It was the way they moved with feminine grace and their lilting voices: their tones were gentle and flutelike.

Lester practiced walking and talking like a woman when he was at home dressed as Lilly. He practiced female mannerisms and he was pretty good at it if he did say so himself.

But what he was mainly jealous of was that these transvestites had the courage and nerve to go out in public. He knew that some of them were married men with families who just needed to express their femininity but for some of the transvestites their love of crossdressing extended to sexual relations with each other and with men.

Lester could never do what they did. He worked as a bank clerk and was a respected member of the community with an extended family who lived nearby. The very thought of being caught presenting himself as Lilly terrified him.

He went to the Black Sheep and just watched, imaging himself sitting at a table dressed as Lilly, talking and laughing with the other ‘girls’, fobbing off admirers when they approached looking for a bit of slap and tickle. Lester just knew that Lilly would be a popular girl.

But she was never going to be a popular girl because Lilly was NEVER going to leave the house.

Lilly enjoyed just sitting around the house or walking around her living room talking to her imaginary girlfriends and admirers with her engaging girlish lilt and effeminate mannerisms. If the urge overwhelmed her, and it usually did, she would finish off the evening watching pornography, pleasuring herself with her sex toys, imagining that a handsome admirer had pressed himself upon her and she had willingly submitted to his charms.

On the night of the burglary, after being dropped off at Bloom Street, Lester had walked around the corner and then down Richmond Street and into the Black Sheep public house.

The place was in full swing and Lester bought some bingo tickets and settled in a corner at the back of the bar where he could see everything. The drag queens called the bingo numbers and amused the crowd with their rowdy and colourful banter. Then the lights were lowered and a projector screen dropped from the ceiling against one wall so that everyone could follow-the-bouncing-ball and sing along with the openly gay pianist and the raucous drag queens. After the sing-along finished the pub got quiet and the most of the out-of-towners who had come to see the show left the place to the gays and the transvestites and their admirers. The lights were further dimmed and there was a lot of kissing, cuddling and canoodling.

Lester kept his eyes on three very attractive transvestites who sat at a small table accompanied by three fellows who were trying their luck. Wendy, Brittany and Crystal were not the youngest trannies in the Black Sheep. They were about the same age as him and projected the same sense of style: short skirts, animal print blouses, high heels and smart jackets. Their hair and makeup was flamboyant and distinctive.

Lester had enjoyed his night out so far but this was the part of the evening when he became particularly melancholy. He really wished that Lilly was here instead of Lester, engaging with the other trannies and their admirers. He usually called it a night around now but tonight he was feeling particularly rancorous and he decided to do what he seldom ever did but felt so devious when he did it. He would follow one of the girls down to the canal.

Crystal was tall and slim and her flaming-red hair was worn with a fringe. She was wearing a pencil-skirted navy-blue suit with a single-breasted jacket and a burgundy satin blouse. The suit was cinched at the waist and fitted to the curves of her body. Her long legs were clad in black Cuban-heeled, fully-fashioned seamed stockings and her high-heels were open toed to show off the reinforced toes of her nylons.

Crystal's makeup was perfectly elegant, her eyes defined by eyeliner and mascara and her lips ruby-red. She was talking to a man about the same age as her who was nattily dressed in a suit and it was obvious that they knew each other well. Every now and then they would stop talking and kiss. The man’s hand was under the table stroking her stocking-sheathed thigh.

At closing time they got up to leave and Lester followed. He knew that Crystal was actually a married man with two kids and that the admirer was named Richard and was also married. If you stayed around the pub long enough and kept your mouth shut and your ears open it was amazing what you learned.

Lester followed the couple, now walking arm in arm along Chorlton Street and down the slippery stone steps to the towpath that ran alongside the canal. Crystal and Richard stopped frequently to kiss and cuddle which meant Lester had to stop too, pressing his body against the brickwork, watching Richard squeeze Crystal’s buttocks whilst slipping his hand under her skirt to stroke her legs. Lester was already jealous but now he was also becoming concupiscent.

Lester squeezed his cock through his trousers as he watched the lovers kiss and caress, then they moved off further down the towpath towards the places where people went to have illicit sex.

They passed men hiding in the gloom, embracing each other passionately. In a cut-out cloister in the brick wall running along the towpath he saw Brittany bent over with her skirt hitched up and her knickers around her ankles while a virile young sailor buggered her.

Crystal and Richard continued along the towpath until they came to a bricked archway and Crystal looked around furtively to ensure there were no coppers and then the couple ducked inside the cloister. Lester had followed Crystal here before and he pressed his body into one of the many cut-outs so that Crystal couldn’t see him. He sidled up to the entrance to the cloister and looked inside.

A streetlight across the canal cast gloomy yellow light but Lester could see the couple pressed against the wall kissing, Richard now had his hand right under Crystal’s skirt and Crystal was stroking Richard's cock through his trousers.

Lester became fully tumescent and he put his hand in his coat pocket and fished out a single nylon stocking.

There was an old mattress on the ground in the corner with a threadbare comforter on top. The cobbles around the mattress were littered with empty beer cans, pop bottles, cigarette butts and decaying condoms. It was not a nice place but it was located conveniently close to the Black Sheep and was relatively private. The gays and transvestites, most whom were closeted, really had nowhere else to go except for the lucky few who lived alone.

Lester watched as Crystal smoothed out the comforter on the mattress and lay down on it and Richard joined her. She hitched up her tight pencil skirt and opened her legs so that Richard could lie on top of her.

Lester unzipped his fly and freed his throbbing cock. Not even the cold night air could wither his throbbing phallus. He slid the nylon stocking over his cock, never taking his eyes of Crystal and her beau.

He watched them kiss, their lips firm but not crushing, their bodies pressed together but not yet frenetic. They were slowly building their desire and in no rush. The couple were happy to kiss and caress and let their desires slowly build to a crescendo, oblivious of their tawdry surroundings.

Lester improved his erection; the nylon stocking on his cock sending out little wavelets of pleasure as he slowly masturbated. He didn’t want to climax too soon. If he timed it right he could come right along with Crystal and Richard.

Crystal was stroking Richard's penis which was fully tumescent and aching for release. Her skirt was hiked all the way up and Lester could see Crystal’s hard cock tenting her knickers. Richard caressed Crystal’s cock through the silky knickers and she shuddered and pulled Richard tighter, her kisses became fully impassioned.

This was usually when Crystal would fellate her punter but tonight the couple seemed intent on foregoing that particular peccadillo and proceeding straight to coitus.

Richard eased aside the gusset of Crystal’s knickers and poked his cock inside them. Crystal’s hand scampered about, trying to find her purse, and when she did her fingers slipped inside and came out with a tube KY Jelly. She handed the tube to Richard who squeezed a gobbet of the viscous substance on his finger while Crystal pulled her skirt right up her waist out of the way so as not to stain it. Richard slipped his finger between Crystal’s stocking-sheathed legs into the crevice of her buttocks and smeared the lubricant on her sphincter and rubbed the remainder along the head and shaft of his erect penis.

“Ready?” Richard looked lovingly into Crystal’s eyes and she nodded.

Richard slowly pushed his engorged manhood into Crystal’s anus, her face contorted in a grimace as the steely tool pierced her sphincter.

“Go on honey, you know I’m always tight at first,” Crystal breathed and locked her ankles behind Richard’s back to encourage him.

Richard slid the full length of his cock all the way into Crystal's back passage until his scrotum was resting against her knickers.

Crystal smiled up at him and pulled his face to hers and kissed him, tightening her legs around his body, encouraging Richard to fuck her. Richard began to fuck Crystal with long slow strokes, easing his cock nearly all the way out of her tight anus and then pushing it back in slowly, relishing every scintilla of pleasure.

Lester began to stroke his cock in time with Richard’s thrusts although in his mind he wasn’t Richard, he was Crystal, lying on her back, being lovingly buggered by one of her many admirers. He could imagine what it felt like to be wearing the tight skirt and satin blouse, the sheer nylon stockings caressing her freshly shaved legs, her silky knickers cradling her buttocks and her scrotum, looking up at her high heels crossed behind Richard’s back.

Lester knew what a dildo felt like as it slid in and out of his bottom and he wondered if a real cock felt the same. It would likely feel far better he reasoned.

Crystal began to encourage Richard to fuck her harder and he complied, hammering his cock in and out of Crystal’s tight channel as she sighed and whimpered underneath him.

Lester stroked his cock harder and faster, keeping time with Richard’s thrusts.

Richard drove his cock all the way deep inside Crystal’s anus and grunted as he expressed his issue deep in her bowel. Crystal raked her heels on his back and howled with delight as she creamed her knickers. Lester’s cock exploded and he sighed along with them as a torrent of semen burst through the stocking and spattered on the cobblestones. A puddle of creamy white semen formed on the stocking as it caught the remainder of his seed as his climax peaked and then began to subside.

Crystal and Richard clung to each other as Richard ground his cock into her tight anus, and she held him close and gyrated her buttocks to encourage him and maximise her own pleasure. Their mouths were locked together in a kiss that went on for what seemed like eternity.

After the crescendo of their lovemaking Richard and Crystal had to deal with the practicalities. Richard withdrew his penis from her anus and Crystal dabbed at the front of her knickers with a handkerchief to soak up her semen, then she handed it to Richard who wiped his cock and put it away. Crystal pulled a fresh pair of knickers out of her purse and shimmied out of the semen-drenched knickers she was wearing. She put the damp knickers in a plastic bag which went into her purse and then she pulled on the clean pair. She straightened the seams of her stockings and pulled down her skirt and Richard helped her to stand up.

Lester pulled the semen soaked stocking off his cock and put it in his pocket. He watched Crystal straighten her clothing and then she and Richard engaged in long farewell kiss. She wiped her lipstick off his mouth with a tender gesture and then Richard left the cloister and walked quickly down the towpath, heading home to a bed where his wife snored contently, knowing she wouldn’t have to endure her once-a-week shagging.

Crystal fixed her lipstick and left the cloister and walked the other way. She would walk home and slip through the back gate into her garden and unlock her small workshop where she would emerge wearing men’s work clothes, the scent of perfume washed away and replaced with the smell of two-stroke engine oil and bottled beer. Crystal’s wife knew exactly what her husband got up to on the nights when he pretended to be working late into the night in his workshop. She’d found his stash of ladies clothing, heels, makeup and wigs years ago but she asked no questions and got told no lies. Other than her husband’s fondness for crossdressing their marriage was happy.

Lester had long since dropped the semen soaked nylon he had used for masturbatory purposes into the canal and arrived home around the same time as Crystal and Richard. He had walked home to clear his mind. He found the front door to his house unlocked and his house burgled.

*****

Detective Constable Steve Vogel wouldn’t normally attend a domestic break-in, especially where the burglar hadn't taken anything of great value but there had been a string of break-ins across Greater Manchester where the victims had been dropped off by a minicab and their house robbed shortly after.

The police suspected that a minicab driver was picking up fares from residences, dropping off the customer and then going back to burgle the house.

The house was a typical two-up two-down in a nondescript area on the outskirts of the city. Steve parked out front on the single yellow line and put a ‘police business’ sign on the dash to deter the overenthusiastic wheel clampers. He knocked on the door and was greeted by a slim little man with longish hair wearing a business suit. The man had a cup of tea in one hand and a piece of toast in the other and he had to juggle the tea and toast in order to open the door.

“Detective Constable Steve Vogel,” Steve said and showed the man his warrant card.

“Come in detective. Sorry I was just about to leave for work. I didn’t expect the Greater Manchester Police to send a detective. I just thought they’d send a wooden-top,” Lester Millington immediately regretted using the pejorative.

“Can I come in?” Steve ignored the sleight against his uniformed colleagues.

“Yes of course. I haven’t touched anything. I slept on the sofa bed in the front room so as not to disturb the crime scene. Fingerprints, forensics and all that,” Lester giggled a little nervously.

Steve winced and followed Lester inside, grimacing a little. ‘Did this little squirt think someone had nicked the crown jewels or something?’

“Sure I’ll take a look but all I really need is a list and a description of the stolen items. What I want to talk to you about is your movements before the burglary,” Steve said.

Lester baulked a little. He didn’t want to have to explain what he was doing in Canal Street.

“Ok. I have written up a list and a description of the stolen items. I feel a little silly now,” Lester choked down his toast and slurped tea.

“So sorry, how rude of me. Can I make you a cup of tea?” Lester blushed.

“No, please don’t feel silly and yes I’d love a cuppa; white and two please,” Steve followed Lester into the kitchen.

Lester handed Steve the list and put the kettle on the hob. Steve studied the list.

“Most of the stuff was stolen from my bedroom,” Lester said as he spooned PG Tips into the teapot.

“Do you mind if I go upstairs and look around. As you’ve gone to the trouble of leaving the crime scene untouched, who knows, I might find something,” Steve made his way to the bottom of the staircase.

“Sure; go on up. I’ll bring up the tea,” Lester fussed with cups and saucers.

Steve climbed the stairs and went into the bedroom. It was clean and neat and smelled vaguely of perfume. He saw that the dresser drawers were open and the wardrobe doors were ajar. He put on a pair of latex gloves and looked in the dresser drawers and then made his way over to the wardrobe. He opened the doors wide and looked at the clothing hanging from the clothes rail. The men’s suits were cheap. If they were any good the burglar would have taken them. Same with the women’s clothing.

He looked at the shelves and rightly figured that the camera, tripod and cash had been taken from there. The tin cashbox was still on the duvet, the lock would have taken seconds to break. Steve was studying the list that Lester had given him when Lester came through the door carrying a tea tray. Lester reminded Steve of his sister, the way he balanced the tray and took delicate little steps so that he didn’t spill the tea.

There was an assortment of digestive biscuits arranged on a little plate. ‘Did this peculiar little man think they were having a tea party?’

Steve took the proffered cup of tea, carefully balancing the saucer. He took a sip and put the teacup down on the tray and flicked open the paper that Lester had given him.

“It looks like your wife's jewellery is missing but I didn’t see any of it listed as stolen,” Steve commented and picked up his tea and took a sip.

“Wife? What wife? I don’t have a wife,” Lester blanched and felt the blood drain from his head.

The detective nodded at the array of cosmetics carefully laid out on the dresser and pointed to the wardrobe with his teacup indicating the women’s clothing.

Lester thought he might faint.

How stupid was he? He had deliberately left the stolen costume jewellery off the list but he should have cleared away the makeup, the wigs and the female clothing and shoes, maybe put them in a suitcase and hid them in them in the attic.

“Are you ok Mister Millington? You look a little pale,” Steve asked.

“I’m fine. As I said I’m not married,” Lester sounded skittish.

Steve pondered this for only a second and then he realised what the situation was.

“That’s ok Mister Millington. I understand,” Steve gave Lester a knowing smile and Lester thought he would definitely faint now.

“You have a lady friend who keeps some clothes and makeup here but doesn’t live here. She keeps her jewellery at home,” Steve gave Lester a licentious grin.

“Don’t worry sir. We are neither the morals police nor are we likely to tell her husband… if that were the case of course,” Steve sniffed.

Lester was immediately and profoundly relieved.

“Thank you for your discretion Detective Constable,” some colour returned to Lester's face.

“I only asked because the wristwatch, the cufflinks and tie pins and the gold chains and the lighter were on the list so I wondered why no ladies jewellery had been taken when I saw the ladies clothing and makeup,” Steve was still a little suspicious.

“Lilly… that’s my lady-friend’s name, is only over a couple of times a week so you are correct. She only keeps a few clothes and some makeup here. Maybe I should show you where the flatware and the candlesticks were taken from down in the dining room,” Lester was suddenly in a hurry to get the policeman out of his bedroom.

Steve had made detective because of his investigative and analytical skills and suddenly it dawned on him what was going on here and why Lester Millington was so nervous and behaving so furtive.

When he was a Trainee Detective Constable, Steve’s first assignment had been with the vice squad

The Chief Constable of Greater Manchester, had accused gays of swirling in a cesspit of their own making and encouraged his officers to stalk Canal Street’s dank alleys and the canal’s locks and bridges and expose anyone caught in a clinch. The police denied that they were motivated by anti-gay prejudice and was merely enforcing the law on sexual activity in public places. The vice squad also enforced a strict licensing regime for bars and nightclubs in the central Manchester area.

Trainee Detective Constable Vogel was well aware that many of the provocatively ‘dressed to the nines’ ladies in those bars and nightclubs were transvestites. He’d nicked enough of them having trysts with their admirers along the canal wall and in the cut-outs. Many a married man or white-collar professional had offered him a bribe to let them go and not report the incident and the transvestites had offered him sex to keep them out of the nick. It was an easy way to make beer money and get a free blowjob.

All Lester could think of was getting rid of the incriminating VHS tapes, photographs and the sex toys in his wardrobe before the copper saw them. He couldn’t remove the wigs, clothes and makeup now because that would raise suspicion. The detective had given him a perfect alibi for being in possession of ladies clothing and he would cling to that story.

“I’ll send a fingerprint technician around to see if we can get any usable prints Mister Millington so please don’t touch any of the surfaces near where your valuables were stolen. I’ll get him around this morning,” Steve said, finishing his tea.

“He’ll need to take your fingerprints for elimination purposes. We might also have to talk to, what is her name, Lilly? We might need her prints also,” Steve set down his cup and saucer and snatched up another digestive biscuit.

“I’ll show myself out,” Steve started walking towards the front door.

Lester followed him and asked a question.

“Is there any chance my stuff will be recovered. I know it’s not worth a great deal but the lighter and the tie pins and cufflinks are heirlooms,” Lester held the door open.

“The reality is that burglars usually wear gloves but I’ll be checking a few fences to see if your property turns up. You can say goodbye to the cash,” Steve said.

“One last question about your movements last night, did you use a minicab?” Steve asked.

“Yes. I called for one about seven-thirty from Caroline’s Cabs. It was a Ford Cortina,” Lester offered, grateful that the detective had not asked for his destination.

Steve made a note in his police notebook and waved goodbye.

Lester shut the door and hurried upstairs and put the vinyl bag containing his sex toys and the videos and the box of photographs up in the attic. He noted that one of his VHS tapes was missing but that wasn’t really important, he was hardly likely to report the theft of illegal pornography was he?

He called the bank and told his manager about the burglary and him needing to stay at home until the fingerprint technician arrived and his boss was sympathetic.

*****

The fingerprint technician arrived about an hour after Detective Constable Steve Vogel had left Lester Milligan’s house and went straight to work. He took some exemplar prints from Lester and began dusting for prints in the bedroom and then in the dining room.

“I’ll need to take these back to the station and process them but just looking at them on the cards there appears to be only one set of prints, which are yours. I guess Steve told you that burglars almost always wear gloves,” the technician said as he packed up his gear.

“I’m supposed to get a set of exclusion prints from a lady named Lilly but I don’t see the need now because yours are the only prints I’ve found. Strange that this Lilly woman didn’t leave any prints,” the technician closed his case and stood up ready to leave.

“I’ve given the place a good clean since the last time Lilly was here. I probably wiped them away,” Lester lied and breathed a sigh of relief.

When the fingerprint technician finally left, Lester went to work hoping that the police would recover the family heirlooms. He gave up on ever seeing the cash again but he had home contents insurance with his bank which covered up to two hundred pound in cash and would also cover the loss of his photographic equipment, provided Lester submitted a police report to the insurer.

He was mainly glad that he had been able to get away with hiding the fact that he was in fact Lilly and once again berated himself for not putting away the clothes, wigs and makeup.

*****

Peter Simpson was sipping a pint in the bar of the Old Wellington public house when Detective Constable Steve Vogel walked in, looked around and sat down next Peter at the end of the bar away from the prying ears of the other drinkers.

“The usual please Betty,” Steve said when the barmaid approached.

Peter Simpson’s eyes went straight to Betty’s long legs sheathed in flesh-toned nylons. Betty was an old style barmaid who dressed to show off her tits, bum and legs which made her popular with the punters and earned her generous tips. Englishmen were not known for tipping bar staff but Betty had figured out that strutting her stuff behind the bar paid dividends.

“You come to feel my collar Detective Constable Vogel?” Peter said with his eyes locked on Betty’s arse while he sipped his pint.

“You’ve been a busy boy Peter. I’ve been investigating a few of your recent escapades. You have been very busy indeed. What have you got for me?” Betty delivered Steve’s pint and left them alone.

“Just as well that it’s you investigating me then isn’t it. Here’s a couple-a ton. I’ll have some more for you next week when my fence shifts the jewellery,” Peter tapped a folded newspaper and slid it down the bar.

Steve Vogel picked up the newspaper and surreptitiously peeked inside the envelope secreted in the folds. He gave a satisfied grin when we saw the neat bundle of twenty pound notes.

“What did you make of that Lester bloke on Smith Street?” Peter asked.

“I was around there this morning. I think he might be one of those Canal Street Mollies,” Steve studied his pint critically and happy with what he saw, he took a generous gulp, drinking half of it.

“I’m sure he’s a Molly. Look at these. I lifted them from his gaff,” Peter slid an envelope across the bar.

Steve studied the photographs and smiled when he recognised Lester Millington in drag. Not that anybody who didn’t know Lester’s secret would clock the attractive transvestite in the pictures.

“I’ll bet you a monkey her name is Lilly,” Steve sniggered at his own joke and handed the envelope back to Peter.

“What are you going to do with the pictures?” Steve finished the remainder of his pint and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.

“Not sure. There may be something in it. A little blackmail or extortion. I bet that nonce will pay a few quid to get these back,” Peter waved the envelope like a fan.

“They aint noncers Peter. They are just misunderstood gentlemen who like to dress as women occasionally. They’re only criminals when they go down to the canal to play the skin-flute or take it up the chuff,” Steve said sarcastically.

“Stay away from Smith Street,” Steve said, suddenly serious.

“You know how this works. You never knock over the same place twice and you spread your crimes far and wide around the manor. Get rid of those photographs,” Steve pointed at the envelope and got up off his stool ready to leave.

“You pay for my pint and forget about our Lilly or I will be feeling your collar. See you next week,” Detective Constable Steve Vogel left The Old Wellington with the newspaper firmly tucked under his arm.

*****

A week after the burglary Lester Millington was relieved that the kerfuffle surrounding the crime seemed to be over. He was informed that no prints other than his own had been recovered from his house, that the cash was well and truly gone for good and that the description of his valuables had been circulated to the local pawn shops but it was unlikely that any of it would be recovered.

Lester was just thankful that his life could return to normal. He put all of Lilly’s accoutrements back in place, including the sex toys. He hadn’t dressed as Lilly since that fateful night and the urge to do so was overwhelming. He took his time preparing. He languished in the suspense and excitement that always washed over him as he began his transformation. First came the careful close shaving of his face, legs and genitals, plucking the few rouge hairs from his chest. Next, the unpleasant but essential requirement to douche until the water ran clear.

Lilly didn’t always use the dildos and vibrators on herself but she did more often than not and when she first began crossdressing and using sex toys she had been caught out now and then because she hadn't douched. The consequences of not doing so were very disagreeable so she had learned her lesson and made douching part of her routine.

The ritual continued and it was at this time for Lester to become Lilly; his feminine alter ego.

It was always the same, once established, Lilly’s transformation ritual never varied. It was proven by years of practice. She pulled Lester’s collar-length brown hair into a crude ponytail and stuffed it under a wigcap, pushing some stray locks under the elastic and into the mesh. With Lester’s natural hair corralled, Lilly’s face was unobstructed and she could begin her makeup ritual.

First the concealer, not too much, just enough to cover a blemish here and there and fill in some ancient acne scars. Then she applied liquid foundation using a sponge to achieve full facial coverage, right down to the base of her neck followed by a liberal dusting of finishing powder. The base completed it was time for some colour: some blush, applied carefully to accent Lilly’s fine cheekbones. Next she applied the eyeliner above the lash line, heavy and black. This was the hardest bit to get right. Yellow eyeshadow with a hint of shine, applied liberally to the upper eye socket, then mauve on the inner lids and crease, and finally purple on the outer lids. It sounded garish but it looked effective when she smoothed it with her fingertip.

Lilly finished off with a heavy coating of black mascara on her upper and lower eyelashes and finally an application of ruby-red lipstick. Lilly used two-coat Maybelline lipstick. It was supposedly smudge-proof and non-transferrable but Lilly didn’t know. She had never even kissed a man, let alone given a blowjob.

Lilly placed the black bob over her natural hair, pinning it through the wigcap. It framed her face beautifully and caressed her shoulders as she combed the nap and the fringe until it shone glossy jet black. The face looking back at her in the mirror looked nothing like mousy little Lester, it was beautiful sexy Lilly.

Lilly stood up and left the dresser to walk over to the wardrobe. Tonight she would wear the skirt-suit, her mauve satin blouse and the black heels; she’d already laid out her lingerie and hosiery on the bed ready to wear. She laid the suit, blouse and heels beside them on the bed and sat down on the edge. She’d already slipped into the red-satin, black-lace trimmed suspender belt and sliding the sheer, fully-fashioned black stockings up her legs and clipping the garter snaps to the welts invoked shivers of pleasure. She pushed her testes into her inguinal canal and tucked her penis and scrotum between her legs and pulled the red satin full-cut knickers up tight to hold her tuck in place.

Lilly straightened her seams and then stepped into the tight grey skirt with the kick-pleat in the rear. She didn’t bother with a brassiere tonight; she wanted to feel the satin blouse against her flesh. She buttoned her blouse, tucked the tails into the skirt and zipped it closed. Lilly had replaced some of her costume jewellery: faux emerald earrings and a matching necklace and bracelet. She put them on and stepped into her high heels, put on her jacket and then checked herself out in the mirror.

She looked gorgeous; stunning in fact. The emeralds contrasted nicely with the grey skirt-suit and complemented her emerald-green eyes.

Lilly sprayed herself with perfume and was ready. She would go downstairs, drink some wine, maybe smoke a cigarette and walk around the house, maybe even venture into the backyard but she wouldn’t leave her residence. Finally she’d look at some ladies fashion magazines and then finish the evening watching pornography on the VHS while she used her sex toys.

She laid her sex toys and a tube of KY Jelly on the nightstand and inserted her copy of Trannies At The Truck Stop into the small television with the inbuilt VCR that was set up on a lowboy facing her bed. The burglar had stolen her copy of Crossdressed Sluts Banged Bonkers which was her favourite.

She switched off the light as she left the room and walked downstairs carefully, using the glow of the hallway lampstand to guide her. The hallway was dark which was strange because she would have sworn that she’d left on the lamp beside the easy chair in the living room. Her heels click-clacked on the oak timber floorboards as she made her way into the living room, careful not trip on the scattered throw rugs.

She could just make out the shape of the television set, the easy chairs and the coffee table in the gloom. She walked into the middle of the room and then she gasped and rocked back on her heels as the table lamp was suddenly illuminated

A strange man was sitting in the big comfortable easy chair. He looked up at her appreciatively.

“Hello Lilly,” he grinned.

Lilly stepped back out of his grasp as Peter Simpson lunged for her.

“Don’t be shy Lilly. You weren’t shy when you took these,” Peter tossed a small stack of polaroids at her.

The photographs hit her in the chest and fell to the floor. Lilly could see that they were some of the pictures she had hidden in her wardrobe. She knelt down and picked one up. In the picture Lilly was wearing nothing but a matching bra and knickers, suspenders, stockings and high heels, lying on her bed posed provocatively. Her face was fixed with an inviting smile; her makeup heavy and slutty.

Anyone looking at the photograph would never guess that it was Lester… that is until you told the person that it was Lester and then the resemblance would be obvious.

“I have more. You have quite a collection in that shoebox in your bedroom. I bet you didn’t even notice that some of them were missing,” Peter chuckled and patted the armrest of the easy chair.

“Come and sit beside me and we will talk about how you might get the other pictures back,” Peter grinned again.

Lilly was overcome with fear. She couldn’t believe that this man was in her house, sitting in her chair uninvited. Even scarier was that the man knew her name.

Lilly wasn’t stupid. The man had her photographs and he was vaguely familiar. He was the minicab driver! He was the burglar who had robbed her house. And he had more pictures of her!

“Come on Lilly; sit,” the man patted the armrest again.

Lilly’s feet didn’t seem to be working properly and she barely made it to the easy chair. She perched her bottom on the armrest seemingly in a daze.

“That’s a good girl, now let’s get a good look at you,” the man reached out and switched on the standard lamp beside the chair, suddenly enveloping the corner of the lounge room in bright light.

Peter was amazed at the transformation. Lilly looked nothing like the mousey little man he had picked up in his minicab and driven to Bloom Street. Peter knew all about what happened on Canal Street; he had picked up enough fares there. He’d seen the transvestites. He’d had them in the back of his cab but they held no interest for him. He didn’t understand why a man would want to dress up as a woman.

But over the preceding week Peter had become obsessed with the pictures he had stolen from the house on Smith Street. He had also watched Crossdressed Sluts Banged Bonkers thinking he would be repulsed by it but instead he had become fascinated.

When Steve Vogel had told Peter that the person in the pictures used the name Lilly it made perfect sense to him. The person in the pictures was Lilly. She looked like a Lilly. He didn’t think of the person in the pictures as a man, in fact he never thought of Lester Millington at all when he looked at the pictures. One of the ‘actresses’ in Crossdressed Sluts Banged Bonkers resembled Lilly and Peter would repeatedly replay the scenes in which she appeared.

Peter had become infatuated with Lilly despite the fact that Steve Vogel had told him to ditch the pictures and stay away from Smith Street. Peter had become obsessed with her.

“You're the man who burgled my house,” Lilly whispered, still terrified.

Peter just smiled at her. Lilly was aware that Peter was scrutinising her.

“I took those pictures as souvenirs. I was advised to throw them away but then I thought they might be worth something to someone,” Peter answered.

Lilly felt a wave of dread wash over her but then a thought crept to the front of her mind.

“You called me Lilly. How do you know my name is Lilly?” she asked tentatively.

The only person she had told about Lilly was Detective Constable Steve Vogel when Lester had lied to him and told the detective that he had a lady friend named Lilly, implying that Lilly was a married woman with whom he was having an affair.

“I have my sources,” Peter replied and realised that he’d made mistake using her name.

Lilly sat primly on the armrest with her feet planted on the floor trying vainly to keep her short skirt from riding up. Peter could smell her perfume and in the light from the standard lamp he could see how attractive she was. His eyes were drawn to her legs swathed in shimmery nylon. He placed a hand on her knee and she baulked but didn’t get up.

“When I dropped you off at Bloom Street you were dressed as a man and I didn’t see you carrying a bag or anything. Do you go somewhere else to dress up?” Peter had incorrectly made the assumption that Lilly went to Canal Street dressed as Lester and then dressed as a woman before hitting the establishments that catered to her kind.

“I don’t go out. Lester goes there sometimes. Just to look. He doesn't do anything distasteful,” Lilly answered, feeling totally awestruck to be speaking about Lester in the third person.

“So you are… what is the term your kind use… in the closet?” Peters was absentmindedly stroking Lilly’s leg.

Peter loved the feel of the slinky nylons on his fingertips, they were cool and silky and the flesh underneath was soft and yielding. Lilly was aware of what the man was doing and at first she was terrified but deep down inside herself she was flattered that this man found her attractive. She had always thought that if her secret were to be exposed that the person who uncovered her ruse would be repulsed by her. In some ways it was comforting that this man was content to talk to her as if she was a woman and that he didn’t find her repulsive. She knew that it was madness but she had no control over her thoughts.

“Lilly never goes out,” she whispered.

“She should. She’s beautiful,” Peter softly squeezed her thigh.

Lilly was flattered but she wasn’t stupid. This man hadn't broken into her house to complement her on her femininity.

“What do you want? You have all my cash and everything else of value. You even have some of my pictures,” Lilly said a little heatedly and then it dawned on her.

“You’re here to blackmail me aren’t you?” Lilly gasped.

Peter smiled wickedly. Then he said something totally surprising and incongruous.

“I know that you keep a bottle of scotch in the kitchen cupboard. Why don’t you pour us both a drink and we can discuss it?” Peter’s smile became a leer.

Lilly sprang to her feet, happy to move away from the burglar but wasn’t there also an inkling of disappointment? Wasn’t the man’s complements and his soft touch comforting? Wasn’t there a bizarre feeling of contentment and satisfaction in finally talking to another person while presenting as Lilly? Wasn’t it something she had always dreamed of?

But not like this! Not with a man who had stolen from her and was now here to blackmail her.

Lilly walked into the little kitchen. Peter watched her through the alcove connecting the two rooms. He liked the way she walked, striding primly and sensuously on her high heels, taking small confident steps, swaying her hips, her long coltish legs displayed to perfection in the short skirt. Her buttocks were pert, the tight skirt emphasising their shape.

Lilly briefly considered making a bolt for the front door but then what? She would be out in the street but where could she go for help? Her neighbours would be appalled; they might even laugh at her or ridicule her. She was sure that the burglar and the detective were somehow in cahoots so she couldn’t even call the police, could she?

She stood on her tippytoes to open the cupboard door and her skirt rode up exposing the gauzy welts of her stockings and Peter felt his cock begin to engorge. He imagined what it would be like to stroke those gauzy black stocking-tops. But then what? If she was a woman he’d slip his hand up under her skirt and stroke her knickers but Lilly had something in her knickers that he’d find repulsive.

Or would he? ‘Let’s just see where this goes,’ he thought to himself.

He had come here to blackmail Lester but had ended up having a delightful if improbably surreal conversation with Lilly. Peter hadn't even thought of Lester once since he had met Lilly. It was as if Lester no longer existed.

Lilly poured three fingers of scotch into two glasses with trembling hands. She had her back to him but she could feel the burglar's gaze on her body as she did so; his eyes coveting her bottom and her legs. She self-consciously tugged at the hem of her skirt. Peter smiled when he saw her do it. It was a little cute.

When she turned around and began walking back towards him the sight was even more delightful. This woman was stunning: so pretty, so sexy, so feminine. She seemed to glide across the floor, taking dainty sensuous steps in her heels, carefully holding the glasses in front of her. Her only fault was that she was flat chested but Peter had never been a ‘tit man’. A nice pert bottom and long sexy legs did it for him every time.

Peter noticed that Lilly’s nailpolish matched her lipstick when she handed him her drink. He was the kind of man who paid attention to details like that in his women. He liked women who dressed to show off their best assets.

Lilly’s head was spinning. What the fuck was she doing pouring this man a drink? She should have kicked off her heels and raced upstairs and locked herself in her bedroom. But she hadn't, had she?

Peter patted the armrest and Lilly perched her bottom as instructed but this time she felt slightly more comfortable doing so. So far the burglar had not been violent or even raised his voice. She was caught in a trap but she didn’t feel the menace of physical violence. Best see what this man wanted from her and see what she could do to extricate herself from the situation.

Lilly handed Peter his drink and their fingertips touched briefly. Lillie’s long delicate fingers with manicured and painted fingernails grazed Peter’s callused digits. They both felt a little spark of excitement but neither of them acknowledged it.

The man returned his hand to her knee and rested it there and Lilly flinched but remained seated. She gulped her drink and the scotch burned her throat as she swallowed it.

The burglar seemed content to just sit and drink his scotch and Lilly became annoyed at his silence. Scared as she was, she desperately wanted to know what the man wanted with her.

“Now what?” she whispered, taking another anxious sip of her scotch.

“I know that you work at the First Bank of Manchester. I’ve seen the payslips,” Peter began.

“A man of my capabilities could easily track down your family; as I said, I have my sources. What do you think would happen if I was to send a picture or two to your bank manager or slip them through the letter boxes of your family?” Peter held his drink up to the light and studied it.

“You know what would happen. My life would be ruined,” Lilly sighed.

Despite being terrified, Lilly was relieved that the man was finally getting to the point. She knew that she was going to be blackmailed but having the burglar confirm his intention meant that she could find out exactly what the man wanted from her.

“Well I have a proposal for you Lilly. As you have guessed correctly I drive a minicab but my main source of income is derived from burglary. As I said, I have resources at my disposal to assist me in these endeavours. Not to go into detail but there are people who are willing to exchange stolen property for cash,” Peter paused and took another sip of scotch.

“The problem that I have is that I can’t deposit the proceeds of my ill-gotten gains in my bank account. That would raise a few eyebrows and bring unwanted attention from certain people, not the least being Her Majesty’s Revenue and Customs,” Peter sighed.

“There are also other villains out there on both sides of the law who know about my proclivity to steal who would like to get their hands on my proceeds. Keeping cash at my gaff or in my lockup is really not very secure. Do you know that there are some very bad people out there Lilly?” Peter chuckled at his own joke.

Lilly didn’t bother answering the rhetorical question but she couldn’t help a wry grin at the thought of someone thieving from a thief.

“Now, if I had a friend who worked in a bank, they could set up an account for me in another name. A what do you call it… a pseudonym? And that person could act on my behalf making deposits and withdrawals for me and no one else would need to know, would they?” Peter mused.

“Of course that person would need to know the intricacies of the British banking system and I would have to trust them implicitly,” Peter continued.

“So we finally get down to it. You want me to set up a bank account under a pseudonym so you can hide the proceeds of your illegal activities from the authorities and other criminals?” Lilly sounded almost relieved.

At least now she knew why the burglar was here.

“Exactly,” Peter drummed his fingers on Lilly’s knee absentmindedly.

“I can do that. It’s risky but I can do it,” Lilly sighed.

“Everything is risky darling. I live in a world of risk and reward,” Peter smiled at her and for the first time Lilly realised how handsome the man was.

Peter was tall and lean with wavy black hair. His face was weathered but handsome with a long nose, high cheekbones and brilliant blue eyes. He looked like some rugged outdoorsman.

“And if I do this, you return the pictures and leave me alone?” Lilly asked.

“Well not really. I wouldn’t want to show my face at the bank so you would have to make deposits and withdrawals on my behalf so that would mean we would have to meet regularly,” Peter squeezed Lilly’s knee.

“Ok, I’ll do it!” Lilly said impulsively.

“We can arrange a dead drop that only the both of us know about,” Lilly continued.

“Nah, I don’t think so Lilly. I don’t want anything to do with Lester Millington, just you darlin’. I’ll come around here about once a week and we can do our business and maybe have a drink and be sociable, just like we are now,” Peter grinned.

Lilly baulked.

“I’d hardly call this sociable,” Lilly snapped.

“Oh, once you get to know me you’ll find I’m very sociable,” Peter laughed.

The burglar's laugh wasn’t unpleasant but it was disarming.

“I don’t want to get to know you!” Lilly hissed.

“Well that’s all part of the deal I’m afraid. Now why don’t you take me upstairs so you can get to know me better,” Peter grinned.

Before Lilly could answer Peter sprang from the chair and pulled Lilly to her feet. He took her glass and put it aside and turned her around and pushed her ahead of him.

“I know the way but I prefer that you lead,” Peter chuckled.

Lilly had no choice but to comply and she walked slowly towards the staircase feeling trepidatious and fearful. She knew deep inside herself what was going to happen to her and her head was spinning.

But deep down wasn’t she also a little excited?

Lester Millington lived a boring life with few friends and a mundane job at the bank. His only release was dressing up as Lilly but Lilly was too scared to do anything other than sit around the house playing dressup, watching pornography and using sex toys on herself.

On her behalf Lester made forays down to Canal Street to see girls living the life that Lilly wished she could live. Was this the opportunity she had waited for all her life? To live a second secret life full of intrigue and deception and to be coveted by a handsome man who appreciated her femininity and beauty? These thoughts ran through her head as she reached the staircase and began her assent.

Was she going to fight the burglar or submit? She doubted that she would win if the altercation became physical and she had decided that calling for help was not a course of action available to her. Wouldn’t it be better if she just surrendered?

If she surrendered she couldn’t blame her herself for any consequences could she? She would not be responsible for her actions. It would be self-preservation. Wouldn’t anybody else do the same thing in her predicament?

Peter was close behind her, his eyes glued to her bottom and her legs. He was a bum and leg man and Lilly’s were magnificent. He was tempted to reach out and squeeze her buttocks and stroke her thighs and calves but he resisted the temptation. He preferred to wait until he had her in her bedroom where she would have no choice but to submit to him, besides, why spoil the main course by overindulging in the appetiser.

But a little taste wouldn’t hurt, would it?

When she was halfway up the staircase Peter reached out and traced the backseam of her stocking with his fingertip. The gossamer hose felt smooth and silky to his touch. Lilly shuddered and came to a halt on the stairs, her right foot on the riser one step above her left. She gripped the banister tightly.

Lilly felt the man’s finger on her leg, tracing the seam of her stocking. She was shocked but the feeling wasn’t exactly unpleasant. In fact it felt very sensuous. She froze and hung onto the banister as she began to shake.

She felt the man’s finger trace the seam right up the top of her stocking and then all the way down to her ankle. Then she felt the man’s hand caress her calf and slowly work its way up her leg until his fingers found the dark welt of her stocking-top where his fingers lingered, playing with the silver clasp of her garter.

Peter followed his hand with his eyes as his finger stroked Lilly’s nylon-sheathed calf, working his way upward, pausing to make little circlets on the gauzy fabric where tiny wrinkles formed at the back of her knee. The house was silent and he could hear Lilly’s breathing quicken and become laboured. She shuddered as his hand continued its journey up her thigh and under her skirt, halting when he found her stocking-top.

He breathed in her perfume as he fingered the garter clasp and stroked the gauzy dark band on the welt. Lilly’s skirt had a kick-pleat which had opened because of the way she was standing with one foot above the other and he caught a glimpse of red satin knicker sheathing her plump buttock.

Peter was fully erect and eager to progress.

He removed his hand from under Lilly’s skirt.

“Go on,” he pushed her lightly in the back and Lilly continued her assent until she came to the first floor landing.

Lilly stopped on the landing and turned to face the burglar.

“Are you sure you want to do this?” she whispered.

Peter looked down at Lilly’s beautiful face. He gently brushed her fringe aside and studied her emerald-green eyes embellished by the eyeshadow, eyeliner and mascara. Her full ruby-red lips were fixed in a pout. She probably didn’t realise how sexy she looked with her lips pursed that way.

Peter leaned down and kissed her.

Lilly felt the man’s lips press softly against hers. He didn’t grab her or maul her. He didn’t even press that hard; his lips lightly caressed her own. In a way it was more sensual than if he had mashed his lips against hers and drove his tongue into her mouth. The kiss was almost childlike, soft, sensual and tactile without being overly eager or brutish which is what she had expected. In some ways it was even more erotic because the passion was restrained.

Lilly hadn't been kissed intimately since Lester had kissed Susan Winthrop whilst playing a game of kiss-chase at school. Because of the implied menace, this kiss was far more salacious despite being chaste. This kiss was an indicator to Lilly of what lay ahead for her, even more so than the groping on the staircase. The intimacy and solicitude was a harbinger of the near future. The man wasn’t going to force himself on her. He was going to seduce her.

Peter breathed in Lilly’s perfume as his lips brushed hers. Her lips were full and ripe and pillowy and he could taste her sweet breath and a creamy tinge of lipstick. His cock was throbbing and he was tempted to pull Lilly into his arms and press himself against her; to drive his tongue into her mouth while he fondled her.

He resisted the urge and with some regret he broke the kiss.

“If you are going to kiss me at least tell me your name,” Lilly whispered.

Peter realised that despite their engaging conversation and their intimacy, he hadn't introduced himself.

“I’m Peter Simpson, Lilly. Now if you will just continue onto your bedroom please,” Peter put his hands lightly on Lilly’s shoulders and turned her in the direction of her bedroom.

He followed Lilly into her bedroom. Her smell was everywhere. The musky exotic fragrance of her perfume, the sweet vanilla scent of foundation and finishing powder, the almost nostalgic and wistful redolence of OMO washing powder from the fresh sheets on the bed. He imagined Lilly dressed in a negligée making the bed, sad because she was the only person who would ever occupy it.

It suddenly occurred to Peter that he probably knew more about Lilly than anyone else, even though he only knew her because he had burgled her house and from the conversation they’d had downstairs. Lilly was trapped in her house but longed to be out in the world.

Lilly turned to face him and he saw the apprehension in her gaze. She was trembling and her lips had once again pursed into the pouty moue that she probably didn’t even realise was sexy. He felt sorry for her. Peter realised that she was nothing like the salacious actress in Crossdressed Sluts Banged Bonkers, she was demure, closeted and frightened.

Peter stepped into Lilly and put his hands on her shoulders and gazed into her beautiful green eyes and leaned down. She puckered her lips slightly in anticipation of a kiss that never came.

Peter kissed Lilly’s cheek and backed away.

“I’m sorry. I should go. This is all wrong,” Peter whispered apologetically.

He was turning to leave when Lilly put out her hand and gripped his wrist.

“Stop!” she breathed and stepped into him.

She searched his handsome face and saw remorse. It wasn’t what she wanted to see. She wanted to see the hunger and covetousness she had seen on his face downstairs. Lilly wanted him to want her.

“I surrender,” she whispered.

“I don’t understand?” Peter was confused.

Peter wanted this woman so badly but he didn’t want to coerce or blackmail her into submitting to his wants.

“Shut up and kiss me,” Lilly fell against him and he wrapped her in his arms and kissed her.

This time the kiss wasn’t chaste or childlike. There was passion and need and it was reciprocated.

Lilly gasped as their lips crushed together and Peter’s tongue slid into her mouth. She curled up in his embrace and basked in the moment; clinging to him, feeling his hard masculine body pressed against hers, smelling his manliness, feeling his manhood pressing against her belly.

It was heaven. Better than anything she had dreamed. She slid her tongue into Peter’s mouth and was delighted by the experience. His mouth was warm and moist and tasted of scotch and faintly of cigarettes. She felt very feminine and sexy but also very secure in Peter’s embrace. They shared secrets and soon they would share her bed.

Lilly became acutely aware of herself. She could smell her perfume, taste her lipstick, feel the soft caress of her hair on the nape of her neck, the tight waistband of her skirt around her waist and the hem tickling her thighs, the sensual caress of her nylon stockings on her freshly shaved legs, the slippery satin of her knickers caressing her buttocks. This self-awareness was reinforced by Peter’s actions. His hands were everywhere, scrunching her buttocks, stroking her thighs, caressing her face. He was both loving and needy.

Lilly could feel her cock tenting her knickers, the slinky fabric rubbing on the sensitive head. She was worried that she might orgasm involuntarily.

Peter had to admit that he had been apprehensive. It was one thing to get aroused watching crossdresser porn, it was another to be in Lilly’s presence and feel attracted to her, but it was a leap of audaciousness to actually take her in his arms and kiss her.

There was a nagging doubt that he would be repelled; that when he embraced her and felt her body against his and put his lips on hers, the illusion would dissipate and he would think of Lilly as a man in a skirt.

He needn't have worried.

Lilly felt wonderful. She tasted delightful. She smelled lovely. She was as captivating and luscious as he imagined she would be. There was no sense of doubt or renitence or any perception that she was anything other than a woman. A special, unique woman who was exotically different to any other woman he had ever desired.

Peter’s hand slid down the small of her back and he cupped her pert buttocks, his fingers slid under her skirt and caressed Lilly’s stocking-clad thigh and drifted languidly across her knickers, his middle finger pressed into the crease of her bottom and then he removed his hand and stroked her cheek while he kissed her, expressing both desire and tenderness.

Locked together they swayed the last few steps towards the bed. Lilly felt the mattress press against the back of her legs and realised that they were at the point of no return and then Peter lowered her onto the bed, never breaking the kiss.

He lay on top of her, supporting his weight on his elbows and knees so as not to crush her delicate frame. Lilly clasped her hands together behind his neck and returned the kiss with even greater passion. She didn’t flinch when Peter’s fingers once again slipped under her skirt and toyed with her garters and stroked her thighs. When they drifted across the front of her knickers she baulked momentarily, terrified the illusion of her womanhood would be interpreted as deception.

She needn’t have worried. One of Peter’s fingers lightly brushed her cock as he fingered the slippery fabric of her knickers. She reached for him, taking her first precarious step towards lasciviousness. She struggled to unbuckle his belt and pull down his fly. She was nervous and impulsive, eager to feel his manhood.

She’d always imagined this moment but never believed that it would manifest itself because of her self-imposed exile and now that the moment was finally on her she intended to relish it.

Lilly found his phallus engorged and pulsing with vitality. She sensed Peter’s eagerness. He gasped when her fingers caressed his cock and he kissed her passionately when her fingers fondled his bloated rod. She tentatively explored the engorged flesh. She delighted in the feel of the silky smooth translucent flesh encasing his shaft, the little blue veins prominent and pulsing, the dorsal artery throbbed as Peter’s penis became fully engorged.

Lilly smiled to herself as Peter kissed her vigorously, knowing that she was the cause of his tumescence. Her fingertips explored the spongy glans and tickled the sensitive sinew of his fraenulum and became slick with pre-seminal fluid as he began to leak copious amounts of the precious fluid from the eye of his cock.

Peter was over-stimulated. This beautiful transvestite lay under him, returning his kisses, toying with his penis, her breathing hard and ragged. He could feel her engorged penis through her knickers as he played with her stocking tops and fingered her gluteal cleft.

He’d managed to kick off his shoes and he was awkwardly trying to wrench his trousers and underpants down his legs. Lilly stopped ministering to his penis long enough to assist him. She helped him pull his shirt over his head and her hand searched for him as soon as he was unencumbered by his trousers and shirt.

Lilly cupped Peter’s scrotum softly and ran her manicured fingernails along his wrinkled sac, making him shudder. His lips returned to hers and his tongue darted into her mouth and she eagerly moved her hand back to his engorged manhood and took up where she had left off. His penis was still fully tumescent and she began to stroke it, her hand and wrist slick with pre-ejaculate. Her own penis was throbbing, aching for release and although Peter seemed reluctant to grasp it, his hand brushed against it intermittently as he played with her legs and her knickers.

Peter was participating in the most exciting sexual encounter that he had ever experienced and he’d had many. He worried that Lilly might bring him off in her hand if she kept doing what she was doing and he desperately wanted to fuck her. He moved her hand away from his groin and pried open her legs, hiking her skirt up.

Lilly suddenly felt exposed and vulnerable. She sensed Peter’s need but now the reality of what he wanted overshadowed the unprecedented sexual experience she had craved. Lilly had wondered what it would be like to have a real man make love to her when she watched her pornography and worked the vibrating sex toy in and out of her anus. Now that is was eminent she was tremulous. Part of her wanted Peter to ravish her and another part of her wanted him to just continue what they were doing.

Things were moving too fast.

As it turned out the choice was not hers to make. Peter made the decision for her.

He snatched the KY Jelly off the nightstand and squeezed the cool viscous lubricant onto his fingers.

“No. Wait!” Lilly uttered alarmingly as Peter smeared the lubricous lotion between her buttocks.

A finger slid inside her anus and a jolt of pure delight diverged from her sphincter and lit up her pleasure centres. Peter slathered his phallus with the remaining balm and eased aside the gusset of her knickers and nestled his glans in her puckered bud.

Lilly looked up at him, pleading silently with him, alarm and trepidation on her face.

Peter froze.

He realised that he was being selfish and rapine. It dawned on him that Lilly was a virgin and he was forcing her to take a step beyond what she had consented to.

“I’m sorry. I just…” Peter whispered his voice filled with shame and regret.

Lilly looked up at him. Her lipstick smeared around her mouth, her eyes filled with trepidation. She was beautiful and vulnerable.

“I went too far. I should have…” Peter didn’t get to finish his sentence.

Lilly kissed him and locked her legs around his waist and raised her buttocks off the bed and slowly impaled herself on his cock.

Peter’s cock was nothing like any of her sex toys. It was turgid yet resilient. It was alive and responsive and she could feel it throb and pulse as her sphincter opened to accept his flesh. Sparklets of intense pleasure radiated from her bottom and Lilly shivered with delight as Peter’s glans slid past her puckered ring into the tight channel of her anus.

She locked her ankles together behind his back and drove herself upwards until the full girth of Peter’s manhood was inside her, kissing him passionately as she did so.

Peter gasped into her mouth as he felt his cock slowly slide into Lilly’s back passage. It felt better than any vagina he had ever penetrated. Her sphincter was tight and clung to his shaft; her anus caressed his cock like a velvet glove. Her silky stockings rubbed on his sensitive flesh, her lips were soft and yielding, her tongue fluttered in his mouth.

Peter could feel Lilly’s cock pressing against his belly through her silky knickers. It didn’t repulse him one little bit. If anything it spurred him on, knowing that she was enjoying the encounter as much as he was.

He cupped her buttocks and began to slowly fuck her, terrified that he would prematurely ejaculate. Lilly raked her fingers down his back and moaned like a slattern as Peter’s turgid manhood began to slide in and out of her, his glans pressing on her prostate, the thick shaft stretching her sphincter as it clung to his steely weapon.

Lilly was in sensory overload, feeling Peter’s lips on hers, his tongue exploring her mouth, his body pressed needily against hers, his fingers gouging her buttocks through her knickers, her legs wrapped around his torso and her cock pressed against his belly.

A momentous orgasm blossomed, starting in her prostate, spreading along her anus to her sphincter, permeating into her engorged penis trapped in the silky prison of her knickers pressing on Peter’s hard belly.

She flooded her knickers and began to shake. She gyrated her buttocks, forcing every millimetre of Peter’s cock inside her as she climaxed. She moaned and whimpered like a wounded puppy as Peter’s cock erupted inside her.

Peter pulled her close to him and drove his cock all the way inside Lilly’s clenching anus as he ejaculated, planting his seed deep in her bowel. He could feel her anus contract around his flesh, milking him of his essence, her stockinged legs whispering against his flanks, her nails raking his back, her heels goading him on, her mouth sucking the substance of his consciousness. He felt the orgasm in his conscious as much as he felt it in his flesh.

This was something special. Lilly was giving herself to him, offering him her very substance. Their lust was unbridled.

They clung to each other, kissing, and pawing, mauling, holding on to each other as if their very survival depended on it. Lilly had never dreamed that sex with a man would feel like this and Peter had never experienced anything like it.

Peter expressed every scintilla of his spend inside Lilly’s clutching void and Lilly disgorged her essence into her knickers as waves of illicit pleasure radiated from her anus.

When they had both exhausted themselves they lay in each other’s arms kissing each other tenderly. Peter’s cock slowly deflated and Lilly’s sphincter reluctantly expelled it with an almost audible plop. A rivulet of semen dribbled from her distended anus, ran down her thighs and soaked into her stockings.

Neither of them cared. They had never felt so content and fulfilled.

Eventually the cool night air forced them under the covers. Peter removed his clothing while Lilly went to the bathroom to clean up the semen. She came back to the bedroom and changed her knickers and stockings and slipped into her négligée. She brought the bottle of scotch and their glasses up from the living room along with her cigarettes but they were ignored as they rolled under the covers and ignited their passions once again.

“I wonder what that tastes like?” Lilly chuckled cheekily as she playfully waggled Peter’s hard cock.

She decided to find out and her head disappeared under the coverlet.

To be continued