TRANS MADAME ARRAIGNED IN EARL OF BEDFORD MURDER CASE Gillian Dixon, a transgendered woman and alleged Madame of an exclusive London ‘Gentlemen’s Club’ will today stand trial for allegedly murdering Lord Edward Beaumont, Earl of Bedford. No stranger to the criminal courts, Ms Dixon has previously been charged with offences relating to drug distribution, blackmail and solicitation but the cases were quashed when prime witnesses recanted their allegations. This time it would seem that the beautiful entrepreneur and socialite will not be so lucky. Reliable sources have disclosed to this journalist that the DPP has an ironclad case against her.

“What a load of bollocks!” Gillian glanced down at the headline and lead story in the Daily Mirror, a tabloid that fed the masses their daily dose of schlock.

Gillian stood five foot six inches in her stockinged feet. She was an imposing woman with a lithe figure, pert breasts, long legs, shoulder length red hair and alabaster skin. Friends often compared her to Jessica Chastain; her enemies to Jessica Rabbit.

She looked down and nodded her approval at the Saint Laurent navy-blue business suit and white silk blouse laid out on her prison cell bunk. A pair of black, four-inch heeled Christian Louboutin’s were on the floor under the bunk and a small but extensive cosmetics case sat on the bunk next to a packet of Wolford Neon pantyhose and a red satin bra and panty set.

Her lawyer, Brian McCaffey, had wanted her to dress down for her court appearance and had sent her a twinset and flats which remained unopened in the suit-cover bag hanging from the cell bars.

Ignoring the corrections officers who paced up and down the corridor of the remand facility, Gillian removed her prison coveralls and stripped naked. She was being held in the women’s wing of the remand facility but was confined to her own cell because she was transgendered, which suited her. Gillian preferred her own company.

Gillian still had male genitals which she expertly tucked and gaffed before slipping into her pantyhose and lingerie then she opened the cosmetics case and studied her face in the mirror before going to work with the makeup. Satisfied with her face, she dressed and then sat on the bunk to slip on her heels.

“Look at Lady Muck; thinks her shit doesn’t stink,” one of the female officers gawping through the bars chided.

The three prison officers on duty in the wing had gathered outside her cell to watch the performance; one male and two females.

“I’d still give her one,” the male prison officer snickered.

Gillian looked at him contemptuously and repressed the urge to decapitate him with her sharp wit. She had used her wiles to get the Guvnor of the remand facility to grant her special privileges and she had no intention of losing them by setting the guards against her. Besides, the buffoon was not worthy of her attention.

Instead she brushed her hair which she wore straight and parted on the left side, it swept across her forehead and cascaded to her shoulders. Her fiery red locks, smoky eye makeup and bright-red lipstick complemented her luminous porcelain skin superbly.

She heard the clanging of metal doors and the clatter of boots on the linoleum floor and braced herself.

“Gillian Dixon, Rose Appleby and Victoria Edwards standby your cell doors ready for transport,” a craggy voice bellowed down the corridor.

She took a deep breath. This was it. She was off to the Old Bailey, the Central Criminal Court of England, to face her accusers. Gillian didn’t speak to the other women during the ride to the court in the prison van; instead she cast her mind back to how it had all began.

Julian Dixon had never doubted that he was born in the wrong body. He had feelings of dissatisfaction, anxiety and restlessness and developed a preference for feminine clothing and interests during his developing years. Despite the protests of his father, Julian’s mother took him to see a psychiatrist and a medical professional. Both agreed that Julian was displaying the symptoms of gender dysphoria but neither recommended intervention at this early stage. The psychiatrist was more disturbed by Julian’s growing narcissism. Julian was self-centred and manipulative to the extreme.

Neither parent was happy with the diagnosis so they compromised and allowed Julian to present himself to the outside world in whatever gender he felt at the time. Julian grew his hair long and put together an eclectic wardrobe. Sometimes he would present himself enfemme, dressed as girl, and sometimes the polar opposite. As he progressed through school he soon realised that presenting himself totally enfemme created problems that he’d rather not have to deal with. He was called a sissy, bullied and sometimes found himself in fights despite being enrolled at a very progressive public school.

By the time he entered puberty and made the transition to university he had mastered the art of androgyny. He kept his long red locks and wore provocative, ‘alternative’ clothing often favouring lycra leggings and sometimes even wore makeup. He hung with a group who considered themselves alternative, progressive, elite; better than the other students. At home he would dress totally feminine if the mood took him and sometimes he would go out dressed as a girl. He had mastered the art of ‘passing’ and could present as a very pretty young woman. He adopted the name Gillian when in female persona.

But Julian was no sissy. Far from it, he worked out daily; not to build muscle but to tone and shape his body which was slim with an hourglass waist and tight buttocks. He was flat-chested of course but he was not concerned; he sometimes wore a padded bra for definition if the ensemble required it but he planned to remedy that situation permanently in the not too distant future.

He was good at sport and very competitive but was egotistical, ruthless and sometimes vicious. He was banned from the local soccer team for repeatedly fouling opponents and from the university fencing team for the same reason. During a lacrosse match he took to an opponent with his stick when the opponent called him a fag.

Julian’s parents finally relented and allowed Julian to start hormone therapy in the vain hope that his disposition would change as he began to transition.

And indeed his anger and violent tendencies did begin to abate but his narcissism and manipulative leanings grew.

At twenty two years of age Julian had his name changed by deed poll to Gillian and applied to the Gender Recognition Panel for a Gender Recognition Certificate. Gillian presented herself to the world as a transgendered woman. She was the talk of the campus at first, but given her previous history of gender swapping, no one was surprised. Her small circle of elites considered her a prized possession and welcomed her into their clique.

It was at this time that Gillian realised that her good looks and overt sexuality could be used to her advantage.

Gillian had been taking puberty blockers before she started HRT and had shown little interest in sex but her libido became elevated almost immediately when she stopped. She found herself attracted to both sexes but she was particularly attracted to men.

Being concupiscent and individualistic she decided to put her new found sexuality to use for her own gain.

Gillian’s grades had been slipping and she was on a formal warning pending expulsion from college. A highly intelligent person, Gillian could easily have attained the necessary grades if she applied herself but she was too busy with pursuits that served her own interests and vanity.

Peter Hosking was a member of her clique and she was acutely aware that he desired her. The clique feigned only a passing interest in sex but they were victims of their libidos and Peter’s was raging. Gillian invited him around to her house for a study date and engineered it so that they would be alone.

Peter was astonished when Gillian met him at the door wearing a micro-miniskirt, satin blouse, pantyhose, high heels and full makeup. He couldn’t take his eyes off her legs and buttocks as he followed her upstairs, occasionally rewarded with a peek of her purple satin and lace panties.

“Come in Peter,” Gillian leaned against the door to her bedroom seductively.

He walked past her inhaling her perfume trying to hide an erection. Gillian closed the door and when she clicked over the lock it sounded both ominous and provocative.

“You don’t really want to study do you?” Gillian strode over to him and invaded his personal space.

“Would you like some?” Gillian produced a silver vial and put it to her nose and sniffed once into each nostril.

She put the vial to Peter’s face and he took a couple of hits.

“God that stuff makes me horny,” Gillian tucked the vial back into her blouse and smiled seductively.

Peter reached for her and Gillian allowed him to pull her into his embrace. When he kissed her she opened her lips to let him put his tongue into her mouth. She enjoyed the kiss as much as he did. She felt herself becoming aroused but remained in control and allowed Peter to stroke her thighs and put his hand under her skirt.

Gillian caressed Peter’s erection through his jeans and she marvelled the new-found power she had over him when he gasped into her mouth. She smiled. She realised that she liked playing with Peter’s cock but also that she could manipulate him easily because he desired her so intently.

“Gillian I’ve wanted to be with you for so long,” Peter whispered in her ear.

She nibbled his earlobe.

“I’ve wanted you too,” she said breathlessly.

She allowed Peter to steer her to the bed and lower her onto the bedspread. Her flaming red hair spread out like a fan, her legs were parted, her nylons glistening; her skirt high on her thighs. She smiled at him with those bright-red lipsticked lips and sparkling blue eyes and Peter fell in love with her instantly.

“What are you waiting for?” she sucked on a finger invitingly.

Peter sighed and shucked out of his clothes. He was pale lean and rangy and his long thin cock stood out proudly. Peter gasped as Gillian reached out and grasped it. She studied his appendage, feeling its girth, tracing the veins with a long red-lacquered fingernail. She traced the outline of his fraenulum and giggled when he shuddered with lust. She circled his glans with a finger and kneaded a globule of translucent pre-ejaculate which she bought to her mouth and tasted.

Peter fell on her, kissing her deeply, his hands exploring her body. He opened her blouse and removed her brassiere, tossing it aside along with the silver vial of cocaine, and found that her breasts were meagre but he still managed to excite her nipples into tumescence. Gillian gasped when he used his lips, his tongue and his teeth on her nipples. It was a new experience for her and she liked it.

She continued to squeeze his throbbing cock, stopping when she thought he might climax. Then Peter decided to explore her legs. He traced her calves and caressed the little wrinkles in her nylons at the back of her knees. Gillian liked that and she liked it more when he caressed her thighs. She lifted herself off the bed so he could remove her skirt and blouse and lay back down wearing only her pantyhose, purple full-cut satin panties with the lace trim and her high heels.

Peter was besotted by her beauty and he took up where he had left off, tracing his fingers around the lace-edge of her panties teasingly, before he reached inside and freed her penis from between her legs. Her erection tented the gusset of her pantyhose and Peter impatiently ripped a hole in the diaphanous fabric and freed her seven-inch phallus of its silken swathe.

It was Gillian’s turn to gasp as Peter began to stroke her cock, bringing it to full tumescence. He lowered his face to her thighs and kissed them, tracing his tongue along the velvety appendages until his lips found her sex and he took her into his mouth.

“I’ve never done this before,” he removed his mouth from her and gazed up at her from between her legs.

“You’re doing fine,” she smiled down and guided his face back to her cock.

He lapped at her with his tongue and she sighed when her took her back into his mouth and began to suckle her. Gillian encouraged him to swivel around and straddle her so that she could use her mouth on him. He watched her take his penis between her luscious red lips and begin to fellate him. She used her tongue and her lips to good effect and he was soon moaning with lust as he sucked and slathered at her cock.

Gillian sensed his climax approaching and she worked her lips on his shaft and her tongue on his glans as Peter reciprocated and she felt her own orgasm building.

When Peter filled her mouth with warm piquant semen it invoked her own orgasm and a magnificent sense of rapture washed over her as she ejaculated. They both shuddered and moaned as they drained each other and swallowed each other’s issue.

They were both spent and Peter lay beside Gillian and cuddled and caressed her. Gillian allowed him to do so until she descended from post-coital bliss. She had enjoyed the sexual encounter with Peter but now it was time for business.

She extricated herself from Peter’s embrace and began to dress.

Peter lay on the bed and watched her, but he slowly realised what he had done and was beginning to feel post-coital regret.

“Gillian?” he sounded like a schoolboy trying to get the teacher’s attention.

“Yes Peter,” she replied matter-of-factly.

“We should keep this secret,” Peter blushed.

“Why Peter?” her blue eyes were icy.

“Well our parents, our friends, they… well you know; they might not understand,” he stammered.

“Why should we care? We are both over the age of consent and haven’t done anything wrong,” Gillian glared at him.

“Well it’s you know…” his voice trailed off.

“You’re whining Peter. Is it because I’m transgender? Didn’t you like sucking my cock?” Gillian sneered at him as she purposely buttoned her blouse.

“People might not understand,” Peter said feebly.

“Really!” Gillian strode over to her desk and fiddled with her laptop.

“Then how do you think they might feel when they see this?” she looked at him coolly.

Peter became deathly pale and his mouth opened and closed but he was speechless.

Gillian had recorded the whole session.

“Personally I don’t give a fuck if this gets out. Everyone knows what I am. But you… well you do seem to enjoy sucking that cock Peter,” Gillian smiled wickedly.

“Some in our little clique are secretly homophobic and I’m sure you will get hazed by the bullies. And mommy and daddy will be disappointed that their little Petey likes to suck the occasional schlong as our American cousins call it,” Gillian barked callously.

Peter snatched up his clothes and hurriedly got dressed.

“You’re a conniving bitch Gillian!” Peter was angry but he was also fearful.

“Where do you think you’re going?” Gillian ripped his hand from the door lock.

Peter had forgotten that although Gillian might be very feminine, she was also extremely strong. He looked at her questioningly.

“It’s still a study date. My assignments that are due this week are right there on the desk,” she pointed with her chin.

“You expect me to do your assignments?” Peter was flabbergasted.

“Well you don’t have to do them here. Take them home. I want a passing grade on everything I give you from now on. It won’t be hard for you; we are in the same classes and even someone as gormless as you knows to make sure my assignments don’t look like plagiarism,” Gillian studied her fingernails.

Then she looked at him with those cold blue eyes.

“Or should I post that video online and send copies to your friends and family?” her smile was soulless.

Peter stood there shaking with rage, speechless, and stared at her hatefully.

Finally he snatched up the pile of assignments and made his way to the door.

Gillian stood aside for him.

“That was a great blowjob by the way. I want a passing grade, don’t forget. Don’t let the front door hit you in the arse on the way out,” she turned away from him sat down in front of her laptop.

With her academia taken care of it was time to get to work on her next undertaking. Gillian desired two things: power and money. One led to the other.

Her parents were comfortable but not exceedingly wealthy and she had no intention of working for a living when she graduated. Her degree in Humanities would be pretty much useless anyway. She wanted the finer things in life but had no intention of working hard to get them. She had studied the lives of models, actresses, performers and other women who it seemed to her had it easy, but she soon realised that even they had to apply themselves and work hard. She probably could become one of the few transgendered celebrities who were becoming almost de rigour at this point in time but there appeared to be a class of women who seemed to get along very well by just being beautiful and witty. To her they seemed almost parasitic; they lived the high life without having to do anything. They were the socialites; women who seemed to drift through life wanting for nothing but doing very little to earn their good fortune.

Gillian guessed that to become a kept woman one had to at first become accepted in the right circles and that meant having the means to do so. Her uncle Andrew was the family’s black sheep and he moved in those circles but he only did so because he had money and power. She decided he would be her stepping stone into the world of the upper classes and she had an idea how that might be achieved.

Andrew was a handsome man in his mid-forties and he was also a randy goat who was always seen with a beautiful woman on his arm. Her family had excommunicated him but he was always the subject of gossip at family get togethers.

“Did you hear what Andy did? Did you see Andy in the newspaper again? Who was that young debutante that Andy had on his arm at Lord so-and-so’s party.”

But first she needed a ready supply of cash herself. Gillian, like a lot of women her age, had a penchant for alcohol and drugs, the latest gadgets, and of course beautiful clothes. She quite liked cocaine but it was expensive. The provider of her drug of choice had been one of her elite friends but suddenly she had no friends. Peter Hosking had undoubtedly told them about her blackmailing him but that didn’t matter, she didn’t need friends, she needed money, nice clothes and recreational drugs.

On the surface Tony Carlotta was a respectable businessman whose business folios ranged from promoting rock bands, real estate investments, selling new and used cars, and investment banking. His criminal activities ranged from importing stolen gems, importing and selling drugs, prostitution, blackmail, protection rackets and any number of profitable illegal activities.

Tony had settled down and was enjoying retirement having passed the running of most of his businesses onto his nephew Alfonso. Alfonso or Alfie as he anglicised it, had captains who in turn ran dealers selling drugs all over London. Posh schools were a cash-cow for dealers because the students had veracious appetites for drugs and plenty of money to buy them.

Gillian knew her clique’s dealer; she had bought drugs from him herself plenty of times. She dressed down and wore skinny jeans, trainers, and a hoodie and followed the dealer to a pub in Earls Court and watched him get into an intense conversation with a handsome Italian-looking young man who was obviously his supplier, one of Alfie's captain’s. She witnessed the furtive exchange of product and waited for the dealer to leave then slid into the booth beside him.

“Who the fuck are you?” the captain did not sound one iota Italian; he was pure cockney.

“You’re wasting your time with him you know,” Gillian sipped on her cherry cola.

She pulled down her hood and shook out her lustrous flaming locks. The smoky eye makeup she preferred complemented her ice-blue eyes and her full red lips embellished with bright red lipstick. Even dressed as a tomboy she was stunning.

“Once again ducky, who the fuck are you?” the young man looked around the pub to see if Gillian was setting him up.

“Relax. I’m Gillian Dixon. I buy coke from your riffy pal who just came to you for a re-up,” Gillian smiled and her eyes sparkled.

“Look; you might be a lovely looking young lady but if you don’t get to the point soon I’m going to take you outside and do things to you that you won’t like,” he said gruffly.

“Oh! Promises, promises,” Gillian grinned cheekily at him.

His face clouded over and he looked ready to carry out his threat.

Gillian put her hand on his forearm and leaned into him.

“Relax. I’m sorry for being a twat. Look, I study at the campus where your dealer sells. He’s disadvantaged because he can’t get on the university grounds. The security guys and faculty know that he’s a dealer so he has to do business in the park across the road,” Gillian began.

“So what?” the man grunted but he could see that she had piqued his interest.

“So I can deal directly for you on campus. I’ll probably double the take and I won’t rip you off,” she smiled at him again.

“How do I know I can trust you?” the man frowned.

“I told you I’m Gillian Dixon. My uncle is Andrew Dixon… the Andrew Dixon who sometimes associates with Tony Carlotta the father of your boss Alfie Carlotta. Now you know who I am so you can find me any time you like if I fuck you over or Alfie can take retribution on Andrew,” Gillian smiled.

“So I’ve got a posh schoolgirl offering to sell drugs for me on a hoity-toity campus because mommy and daddy won’t give her enough pocket money?” the man scoffed.

“A beautiful posh schoolgirl, who will give you a blowjob every time I re-up,” Gillian batted her eyelashes, mocking him.

“I don’t take blowjobs from schoolgirls,” he finished his drink and put his glass down on the table.

Gillian put her hand under table and squeezed his cock through his trousers.

“I’m nearly twenty three years old; I’m no schoolgirl and I’m prettier than any girl who’s ever blown you before,” she squeezed him again, he was getting hard.

“What about a fuck instead?” the man leaned into her and inhaled her perfume.

“No. I’m saving that, but I give great blowjobs,” Gillian was stroking him through his jeans, he was fully erect now.

“Ok then. Right now. In the bogs,” he nodded towards the toilets.

Gillian didn’t even think about it. She eased herself out of the booth and sauntered over to the corridor that led to the men’s and ladies toilets, swinging her hips and buttocks clad in her tight jeans all the way.

The man left the booth and followed her as Gillian looked around furtively and then ducked into the men’s toilets. She went into a stall, pulled down the lid and sat on the seat. The man crowded into the booth and closed and locked the door. Without any preamble Gillian unzipped him, freed his cock and began to suck it. She tried to put the stench of the toilets out of her mind and concentrated on working her lips up and down the hard cock whilst looking up into the man’s eyes.

The man didn’t last long; his knees buckled and he had to put his arms out to hold onto the stalls as he ejaculated into Gillian’s mouth. She slavered at the man’s cock eliciting every drop of semen from his pulsing dick.

When he had finished he pulled his cock from her mouth and zipped up. He opened the door to the booth just as the door to the gents opened and a customer strode in. Gillian stood up, lifted the lid and spat the drug dealers issue into the toilet bowl and flushed it away. The man who had just entered the lavatory stood gobsmacked as Gillian walked past him to sinks and rinsed her mouth and spat into one of the sinks.

“What’s the matter? Haven’t you ever seen a transsexual woman give a drug dealer a blowjob in the bogs before?” Gillian teased him.

“Come on you dozy bint,” the captain pulled her out of toilets and led her back to the booth.

“I’m Terry Belkin by the way,” he put out his hand to shake hers.

“Bollocks to that Terry, I just blew you in the bogs I’m not shaking your hand,” she leaned in and kissed him quickly on the lips.

“Now… where and when do I get my drugs,” Gillian grinned at him.

Gillian spent her last year at college slinking off from courses and selling drugs. She was probably the most unpopular person on campus being so narcissistic but she had what everybody wanted… party drugs and plenty of them.

She met Terry Belkin once a week to get her re-up and dutifully gave him a blowjob but that’s as far as she would go despite his badgering her for a fuck. She refused to meet him in the pub or any public place as the amount of gear she was shifting grew exponentially. They met at Terry’s flat instead.

Just before graduation one of Gillian’s professors called her and Peter Hosking into his study and accused them of plagiarism and cheating on assignments. Gillian deliberately wore one of her shortest skirts and highest heels and gave the professor, a well-known philanderer, a panty-peek every opportunity she could. She persuaded the professor to let Peter go and used her wiles and her mouth to convince the professor to lay off reporting them to the Dean. Then, as she was want to do, she told the professor that she would be visiting his wife and telling her what had happened if he didn’t excuse her from all future lectures.

The professor compromised, his wife was used to him womanising but he didn’t need the nagging, so they agreed that Gillian would let him feel her up and give him a blowjob once a week.

When she graduated she had about thirty minutes of video on her phone of the professor groping her and her fellating him which she emailed to the professors wife and the Dean of colleges.

When the Dean called her in to substantiate the professor’s claim that she had blackmailed him into giving her a pass she refused, saying that it was a ‘he said – she said’ situation and that unless the university wanted to be dragged into a ‘Me Too’ scandal they had better take her word for it.

Gillian had enough money saved to move out of her parents house and rent herself a very nice apartment in Kensington. She had a stylish wardrobe of designer clothes and shoes. She was ready to move onto the next phase of her life but there was one important matter that she needed resolved.

While the doctors and psychologists at Gillian’s Gender Identity Clinic agreed that Gillian had more than met the ‘social gender role transition’ minimum requirement of living full time as a woman, they still had concerns about her narcissistic tendencies and inability to make friends or to socially interact with others. Also the hormone therapy was taking too long to produce the results she wanted. Although her body was definitely becoming more feminine her breasts were still little more than bumps on her chest. Gillian had undertaken speech therapy as soon as she came off puberty blockers so she presented as a perfectly-formed passable woman, but a flat-chested one.

A trip to the Philippines fixed that problem for her and she came back with an impeccable set of C-cup breasts which she was very proud of. Her doctors at the GIC raged at her for doing so but she told them to go fuck themselves; she had a steady supply of female hormones from other sources and was not thinking of full sex reassignment surgery anyway, she was happy how she was.

With a dwindling supply of punters to sell drugs to now that she was persona non grata on the campus Gillian’s funds were starting to dwindle so she proceeded with the next chapter of her life.

Gillian had been regularly calling on her uncle Andrew at his large apartment in London. Andrew had supported Julian when he was battling with dysphoria and unlike some in the extended family was delighted when Gillian came out. Now that Gillian was a dazzlingly attractive fully-grown young lady her uncle doted on her. It was he who paid for her overseas travel and her breast augmentation surgery.

He was a little ‘handsy’ with her at times, especially after a few libations but even someone with his morals knew better than to try to shag his niece. Andrew was keen to show off his glamorous young niece and Gillian was ready to move up in the world and rub against the upper classes. She’d listened to Andrew’s stories so many times she thought that she knew almost everyone in Andrew’s circle intimately, even though she had never met them.

The event was to be held at Lord Chelmsford’s country home about an hour out of London with about a hundred people in attendance. Instead of taking one of the bevy of young beauties he seemed to have on call for such events, Andrew invited his niece Gillian to attend as his companion.

The pretext of the party was to raise money for some charity or the other for which most of the attendees couldn’t give a toss; it was an excuse to party outrageously outside of the purview of the tabloids and gossipmongers. The guest list comprised of one very minor royal, a few titled lords and ladies, celebrities, businessmen of various pedigrees and of course the socialites who seemed to flock to such events like moths to flames.

Gillian preened for over an hour getting ready for the party much to the chagrin of her Uncle Andrew who paced the downstairs living room floor sipping twelve-year-old scotch and wishing he’d never invited his precocious niece to the event. Andrew had provided her with his charge card to purchase her ensemble for the soiree and even though he was a man of means he choked when he saw the bill.

When Gillian glided down the spiral staircase of Andrew’s London residence all was forgiven. She was wearing a bright red floor-length Saint Laurent slinky satin sheath detailed with spaghetti straps, a ruched waist and dramatic low back; it was split to the waist.

Underneath she was wearing flesh-toned Wolford Fatal 15-denier seamless pantyhose and had forgone panties to eliminate any lines or creases in her dress. She wore a red Vassarette push-up bra with a deep centre plunge to show off her magnificent cleavage and red Christian Louboutin Alminette suede pumps. She’d accessorised with a diamond-studded choker, matching drop earrings and a bracelet care of Andrew’s extensive jewellery collection.

Gillian wore her lustrous hair in her signature style, straight and parted on the left side, sweeping across her forehead and cascading to her shoulders. Her fiery red locks, smoky eye makeup and bright-red lipstick complemented her luminous porcelain skin superbly.

Andrew was nearly speechless. He had seen his niece dressed formally before but tonight she was stunning. One part of his mind was thinking how lucky he was to have such an enchanting young woman to escort to the party whilst another part was crestfallen that the gorgeous young woman was his niece and that he wouldn’t be able to seduce her.

“How do I look?” Gillian pirouetted for her uncle.

Andrew swept her in his arms and smiled at her.

“You are the most beguiling and captivating woman that I have ever had the distinction and prestige to escort to an affair of any consequence,” he let her go and held her at arm’s length studying his niece from top to toe.

“Words escape me. I can’t believe that inside this sumptuous young lady is the little boy I used to pass a rugby ball to in the park,” Andrew beamed.

Gillian was not one to be dismayed when someone reminded her of where she came from. She didn’t go around advertising that she was a transgender woman but neither did she hide the fact.

“Well that little boy is well and truly gone Uncle Andrew. If you would be so kind as to escort this debutante to her first social event,” Gillian picked up her red Céline calfskin clutch which had cost Andrew over a thousand pounds.

Inside was a gold cigarette case and matching lighter, a vial of cocaine, a hairbrush, lipstick, a compact, a spare pair of pantyhose and two hundred pounds cash.

Gillian offered her hand and Andrew took it and led her outside to the waiting Rolls Royce.

Gillian was a long way from being seated in a Rolls Royce; even if she was wearing Saint Laurent and Louboutin. The back of the Black Maria was uncomfortable and she was jostled and jolted every time it drove over a bump. Rose Appleby and Victoria Edwards nattered incessantly the whole way to the Old Bailey mostly about being in the company of one of England’s most notorious Madames.

In the United Kingdom photographing defendants on court premises is illegal and the ‘perp walk’ is almost unheard of but Annabelle Creighton, the prosecutor in Gillian’s case, always had a means of getting her own way. The usual practice is for the prison transport vehicle to drive into a yard at the back of the court and for the defendants to be escorted to the holding rooms until they are called before the court.

The contracted prison services were paid just above award wages and through a third party Annabelle had bribed the officers to stop the van outside the general entrance to the court and for the prisoners to be led through a throng of press and gawkers.

Gillian held her head high and refused to make any comments despite the microphones being shoved into her face. Rose Appleby and Victoria Edwards thought the whole charade was wonderful, they felt like celebrities. Being arraigned on the lesser charges of theft, forgery, and counterfeiting they were not the celebrities that the press wanted to interview but they took some soundbites from them anyway. The vacuous media touts made the best they could of the situation commenting on Gillian’s fashion and her looks.

Much to their delight Gillian stumbled and fell to the ground as she walked under the portcullis and the cameras zoomed in despite the efforts of police and court officials to keep them at bay.

Gillian refused any assistance and regained her composure as she got to her feet and was finally led inside the court grounds and free from harassment from the press.

“Annabelle Creighton! That conniving cunt!” Brian McCaffey ranted.

Gillian paid him little attention, she had taken off her skirt and was changing into a new pair of pantyhose to replace those laddered in the fall. The pantyhose were provided by the other person in the interview room, Gillian’s assistant, Cecelia Flick.

Brian was not at all disturbed by Gillian changing her underwear in front of him, it was nothing new to him, but he was livid at the way Gillian had dressed for court.

“Jesus Gillian, you might as well rub it in their faces dressing like that,” he grumbled.

“I am not presenting myself to the public wearing a house dress,” Gillian countered, pulling down and smoothing her skirt.

“It was an expensive designer twinset!” Brian was furious.

“It was a monstrosity with flat shoes. Enough said,” Gillian pretended to pick lint off the sleeve of her jacket.

“And you, you little harpy. You’re the one who smuggled in her miniskirt and fuck-me shoes I suppose,” Brian glared at Cecelia who ignored him.

“Don’t rant at Cecelia; she was acting as instructed, besides, myself and the Guvnor of the remand centre have an arrangement,” Gillian replied and waggled her fingers at Cecelia.

Cecelia dug in her purse and produced a Marlboro menthol cigarette and lighter. She lit the cigarette and passed it to Gillian who took a long drag and blew the smoke into the exhaust vent.

“Jesus Gillian; there’s no smoking here! When are you going to take this seriously; you’re charged with murder for fuck sake and at this point in time we have no defence,” Brian shook his head, exasperated.

“So it’s just as well one of us has her shit together. Those dim-witted, boneheaded, tabloid schlock dealers will be reporting what I was wearing and how graceful and beautiful I was which will distract the unwashed masses from the fact that I’m accused of murder,” Gillian flicked ash into a saucer held out by Cecelia.

“And yes that cunt Annabelle Creighton did arrange for me to be unloaded outside the courts but I knew about it. Did you like my dramatic stumble? I can see the headline now ‘Beautiful Socialite Stumbled but Regains Her Composure Outside Of the Old Bailey’. The footage of me struggling to my feet unaided should invoke a bit of sympathy and if I showed a bit of knicker that will help my plight too,” Gillian stubbed out her cigarette in the saucer.

Cecelia Flick brushed the cigarette butt and ash into a ziplock bag which she slipped into her purse then she produced a little can of aerosol deodorant and sprayed the room.

Gillian Dixon checked her makeup one last time and pulled down the hem of her jacket.

“Well counsellor; are we ready?” she smiled at Brian McCaffey.

“Not really Gillian; but we’re going in there anyway,” Brian opened the door to the corridor that led to the courtrooms.

To be continued.