Sprung
A Short Story
By Maryanne Peters

“It’s time”, he said.

I had only just laid down on the sliding bed that was to pass me into the MRI machine. Minutes before the two prison guards with me had been told that no weapons or anything metallic was allowed in the room while the MRI was operating. The Hispanic one had handed his belt and weapon to the other and gone inside with me, his charge. He now lay unconscious on the floor nearby. The man standing over me spoke again:

“This is it. You’re sprung. Come with me and keep it quiet.”

I was ready for this, but I was not feeling too well. The plan had been arranged months earlier. Over an extended period drugs had been smuggled into prison for me to take which stimulated symptoms that would bring me to this room.

He turned to the MRI technician, an overweight and rather plain lady: “I’m going to use the chloroform on you now Jenny”, he said, “You’ve done well”.

She nodded and he pressed a cloth to her face and gently helped her to the floor.

It was then I saw the cable from the overhead vent. The ceiling was high to accommodate the large MRI machine. I seemed too high to climb.

“You came from there?” I asked.

“I dropped and hid after they checked the room”, he said. “That’s our way out. Quickly”

I stepped into a harness. My body was reduced in mass and weakened by this course of drugs. I was hoisted to the overhead duct and my rescuer followed. In the duct was a second man – dark, Middle Eastern maybe. I noticed both he and my rescuer were wearing orange overalls marked “Paramedic”. The vent cover was pulled closed behind us. The duct was cramped but we moved easily.

We dropped down a short distance away into a small storeroom, and from there to a parking bay where a small paramedic fast response vehicle was parked. It was a hatchback with equipment filling the trunk space. But when the hatch was opened a small hiding space was revealed and I was bundled in.

As I curled up there it only then occurred to me that I was free.

---

I blinked at the first rays of that freedom as I was helped from the vehicle to what appeared to be a cabin in the woods, although a little larger than a cabin when we were inside. It had an open living area with a high ceiling and a mezzanine with rooms off. It was clearly isolated and secure. A perfect hideout.

“We are both aware of the deal, but let me make it clear to you again”, my rescuer spoke.

“Can I first ask who you are?”

“Call me Cliff”, he said. He was a fairly large and athletic looking man, hair light colored and thinning, and a strong handsome face. There was a clear intelligence in his eyes. He continued:

“It works like this and can only work like this”. He was clearly in control. “You will be disguised so that we can work together. You will not leave my sight until the deal is done. We will find your business partner. We will secure the payoff. We will divide it three ways – one share to me, one share to you and one share to this partner of yours. Are we clear.”

“I set the deal”, I observed, “so of course that is clear”.

“One more condition”, he began, “I have chosen the disguise and you must follow the rules that it demands”.

I waved my hand in agreement. “Can I have a drink?” I demanded rather than asked.

“You may need one”, he said. “I need to explain that in order to operate freely without risk of being caught, you will be disguised as a woman.”

I smiled: “I have just got out a prison with my manliness intact. A prison full of ass bandits who would have loved to make me their bitch. Why the hell would I be one now?”

“Three reasons”, he explained: “Firstly, your size is the single feature that will make you stand out. They are searching for “the Jockey” right now. The hunt is on for a small guy – 5 foot 4 inches tall and slightly built. In heels you are average size for a woman. That’s reason one. Reason two: We need to stick together. Two men together raise suspicions. A man and a woman travelling together is normal.”

He put his case with measured logic. He knew his way around this guy. He was everything I expected in a man who could organize an escape from a high security corrections facility. “And reason three?” I asked.

“Reason three: You’ve already started. You’ve taken the drugs and followed instructions not to cut your hair for the last few months. It’s already happening.”

My hands immediately went to the tender swellings on my chest, symptoms of some created disease I thought. “What the fuck have you done to me?”

“Calm down”, he said. “If you don’t like the deal then getting back is easy. Believe me, I have thought this through. It’s about minimizing risk. You have nothing to lose and we have everything to gain.”

“If you think I am parading around in a dress you can forget it”.

“You’re thinking with your dick”, he said. “Nobody is questioning your manliness as you say it. I just want us to be able to do what we have to do in public without being seen. It is a few months maybe. When this is over you can be whoever you want to be in South America or wherever.”

“And are you saying that I have been on female hormones for months?”

Cliff ignored the question: “The disguise needs to be good. I have lined up a friend to coach you. She arrives in less than an hour. Work with me in this or I dump you outside the nearest police station. I mean it. You might be prepared to risk it, but I’m not. Make your choice and do it now.”

I could see that he was serious. It was a standoff.

All my life I had strived to be as manly as possible. It may be hard to understand but as I was so small and my face looked too much like my mother’s, I felt that I needed to reaffirm my masculinity. I became aggressive from an early age and got into trouble. That led to a life of crime. It was entirely true that my small size made me recognizable in a lineup, so that I moved more into planning and arranging crimes of violence. The Garrison City Box Heist was just such a crime. $34 million in cash and gems. Only $8 million recovered from the “hired help” that did the deed, with some spent leaving a convenient $21 million to be split.

“The alternative is that you stay here and direct me to the stuff”, said Cliff. He knew that this would be totally unacceptable. I knew that I could trust no one. I had to be able to move around in public. He was right. A disguise was needed and it had to be a good one.

“How do you think I could get away with pretending to be a woman?” I was conceding. I was prepared to do it.

“Donna arrives soon”, he said. “She has only been a woman for the past seven years. But you wouldn’t know it.”

Cliff brought over a large glass of bourbon. I took and enjoyed my first taste in a long while.

It suddenly occurred to me that I was still wearing the hospital robe. So I asked “Hey Cliff, what about some clothes?”

“I’m sure Donna will have something nice for you. She has your size.”

---

When she did arrive, I did get a bit of a shock. She was a large woman but definitely a woman. There was no way that I would have guessed that she had once been a man. She kissed Cliff on the cheek and he hugged her in a brotherly way. He was then dispatched the dark guy to her car to collect some cases, with a friendly slap on the behind.”

“I’m Donna”, she smiled, “and I know we are going to be friends”.

“My only concern is that this disguise must work”, I said, setting my demands before any pleasantries.

“That is exactly the attitude I need”, she said, “and therefore I can guarantee that it will. I just need you to follow my lead. And just one other thing … just so you know, this is not a disguise. You will not be dressing as a woman or pretending to be a woman. That will not work. You need to become a woman. Just as I have become a woman. If you do that you will never be found out.”

“So how does that happen?”

“Well, from now on you will live as a woman 24/7. There will be no taking the wig off when you get in the door. In fact there will be no wig. I am a hairdresser and beautician. I have prepared extensions for your hair, which is long enough to take them. We need your body prepared and new clothes on as soon as possible.”

Preparing my body consisted of a vigorous depilation using a variety of compounds and then standing coated in moisturizers under a heat lamp in the bathroom. As I stood naked throughout the procedure Donna laughed at my modesty. “Don’t be embarrassed about the body”, she said, “I had one just like it, once.”

She then wrapped me in cling wrap and still naked, she moved me to the hairdressing station that she had established in the living area. The extensions took ages with Cliff occasionally walking by to inspect progress.

“While you’re being beautified we need to run through the access to your business partner”, he said. “I am expecting you to be ready for society by Monday.” Only 5 days away.

“You need to place an ad in the Saturday New York Times personal column”, I explained. I gave him the text. We planned to run it consecutive Saturdays. He needed to get it in today to meet the deadline, and he went off to do just that.

Donna set forth her plan in more detail: “I have decided that we need to regress to give you the right feminine background. You and I are going to share a little girly childhood tomorrow. I have brought some Barbie dolls and some girly clothes. It’s going to be fun.”

“You have got to be joking.”

For the first time Donna became very serious: “Look, I promised you that this will work when you said that you would follow my lead. I know what I am doing. I am not joking. I want you to understand what it is to be female. I never had a childhood as a girl. That is my only sadness in life now. But it is thinking of that childhood that shapes me. Please do as I say. I have made you a promise that I will make you a woman. Now you promise to be one.”

“I’m sorry”, I said. It was not something I said often, and I was a little surprised that I had said it now. But I understood just how committed she was and I felt the need to respect that. I also felt that I needed to just let my guard down and go with this. I was sitting naked in front of a stranger, in a strange house, about to have my body and my head altered. I had conceded that this was the right course. Now I had to follow it.

I now realize that the female hormones were working on me too. I have explained just how aggressive I had always been, but the months of hormones and other drugs had not just made me ill (or appear that way to promote my escape) they had also taken the edge off the hard man. In addition to being a little emotional from time to time, I had become more peaceful and pliant. It was not a bad state to be in when you are in prison. It was useful now.

In any case, at that time I reasoned the logic of it. If Donna could pull it off, it could be a great disguise. I could easily appear in public. I could experience real freedom, without looking over my shoulder or jumping at the sound of a siren.

The police would not be looking for me in such a disguise. I felt that even the cops thought it a possibility they would profile me they would rule out me appearing in drag. They would figure that as the tough guy I was, I would never agree to it. But I just had.

But when Donna showed me my first dress I had to fall about laughing. It was a primrose flouncy little number with petticoats underneath. It was a fancy dress party girl’s dress, but in my size.

“Please don’t laugh. I have something similar. We’re going to dress tomorrow as princesses. Every little girl wants to be a princess. It will be a little girl’s day – just you and me. We’ll explore what it means to be a girl, and then we will build the woman from there.”

The idea seemed ridiculous but I had agreed. I put it on. It made me feel like a little girl dressed for a child’s party. I suppose that was exactly what Donna wanted.

Donna then said: “For now we have some time to work on your voice. We are going to sing a song or two to check how high you can go, and then we are going to lift you voice to the right level. You need to be able to speak in public and sound like a woman.”

Cliff reappeared in time for dinner, a chicken casserole that Donna had prepared, with baked potatoes and French beans. Donna brushed my new long locks back and clipped them up on my head. She unwrapped me and wiped down my body. She gave me a ridiculously feminine lacy and silky robe to wear. The three of us sat down together to eat, Cliff, Donna and me, with the dark guy (he answered to Sid) patrolling the grounds outside.

“I have to say that you are looking really good,” said Cliff. “Have you given any thought to a name for yourself?”

“You’re kidding,” I sneered.

“You’d better stop right there,” said Donna. “Now we are going to work on that voice later, but for now that tone is all wrong. It is aggressive and entirely unladylike.”

I had been told off. Cliff smiled. “You’d better get with the program,” he said. “If you don’t have a name I will call you … Rosemary.” He picked up a sprig of the herb from his plate.

“Sure, why not,” I said. Then I added in my new girly voice: “Hello, my name is Rosemary, but you can call me Rosy.”

Cliff’s eyebrows shot up, and he laughed. He said: “I think you are going to pull this off.”

---

The following day was truly bizarre, but by the end of it I understood what Donna was trying to achieve. It was sort of a roleplay where only girly behavior was allowed. As pretend little girls nothing was too over the top. And we talked only in girly voices. I never my voice drop the whole day.

In addition to my frilly dress, which was very awkward with all the petticoats, I had a little plastic tiara in my hair. I was “Princess Rose”. Donna was sometimes an evil witch, sometimes my mother the queen, my servant, my sister, or my rival for the heart of the imaginary Prince Charming.

I had to say that it was fun. I completely let go. In particular I let go of the macho me, that had been so essential in prison, and in my life as a criminal. As Princess Rose I had none of that. I was innocent and good. I was at the beginning of life, before the world turned it to shit.

Cliff did not return for dinner. He was out getting together my papers together. Donna and I had a dinner party with places set for two imaginary princes. I went to bed with a smile on my face, for the first time in forever.

I had a strange dream that night. I dreamt that I was a princess and I was imprisoned in a tower. A man scramble through the window and took me in his arms. A prince! It was Cliff. We kissed. I woke up. It was very unsettling.

---

The following day childhood was over. Donna had some clothes for me to wear. But first came the padding and the gaff. My body was smooth but shapeless. It was perfect for the little girl – except for the extra appendage. Now I needed the bra with the gel inserts, with waist and body shaping panties, and the gaff to conceal my cock and balls. It was what was called a permanent gaff which just means you can wear it all day and piss through it, but you need to take it off to have a shit. It was very uncomfortable at first but I got used to it eventually.

The previous day we had played with some girly hairstyles including pigtails and braids, but now I was ready for more mature styles – ponytails, twists and buns. I could do her hair as well as it was about the same length as mine now was with the extensions. I found that I was quite good at this – yet another surprise.

About lunchtime Cliff turned up with Subways and some papers.

“Wow,” he said. “You look fabulous.”

I curtsied and gave him a coy smile. As princesses, we had practiced this the day before. It just popped into my head to do it. I had a sudden image of him as my prince again. He was the man who had taken me from my imprisonment. But this was almost flirting.

“So, you will be pleased to see we are married,” he said. He put on the table some papers, with the one on the top being the marriage certificate of Rosemary Jane Pettit and Clifford John Hansen, married just last week.

“So, Cliff is not your real name?” I asked. I was maybe a little disappointed. Somehow Cliff seemed like the right name for him.

He seemed a little taken aback, but I then realized that he had not heard me talk this way before, in my honey sweet girly tone. He said: “No. But it is now. And yours is Rosemary. I have your social security number and drivers license, and in a few days, you can pick up a credit card on our joint bank account.”

“We need to get you a purse and a handbag for all of this stuff,” said Donna.

“Do you think she is ready to go to town?” Cliff asked her.

“Only two days … maybe not,” Donna replied. “But let’s work hard on it and maybe tomorrow. We need to work on the walk and gestures. I think tomorrow.”

I was keen to get out so I devoted myself to the tasks that she set for the balance of the day. I walked in heels. I practiced sitting and standing. I borrowed her handbag to get used to that. I worked as hard as I ever had to get things just right.

I was exhausted by the time I went to bed. And that night I had another dream – one even more unsettling than the night before. I dreamt about the wedding day of Cliff and Rosemary. It was in a cathedral, even though the wedding certificate had said that we were married in city hall. In my dream it was a magnificent wedding and I wore a white dress with a train 6 yards long. Donna was my bridesmaid in lilac. Cliff was the groom. He looked handsome and he looked into my eyes with adoration. The priest said the words “man and wife” and he kissed me. This time I didn’t wake up. I just drifted off to a very happy place. It was not until the morning that I began to worry: What is happening to me?

I felt close enough to Donna to mention that I had dreamt of the wedding. She said: “It’s always good to fill out your story. Dreams help to do that. This is a positive thing.”

It did not seem that way. I was starting to feel that I was losing myself.

---

Before we went into town we got dressed up and I practiced getting in and out of the car – front seats and back seats. It took over an hour. Donna said: “Some born women still can’t get it right.” I did. Eventually.

Sid stayed at the house and the three of us drove into town in a late model Mercedes that was kept in the garage beside the paramedic vehicle that Sid was now repainting.

I sat with Cliff in the front. My gaff was on tightly but it was quite comfortable. My legs were bare and moisturized. My dress was perfect for a summer’s day. I wound the window down a little and a breeze wafted through my hair. It was a bright and beautiful day.

The seat was warm and I found myself wondering what it would be like to have a pussy – to be sitting in the passenger seat with a man at the wheel with a vagina. I shuddered. Was I going crazy?

The sign said: “Welcome to Branston”. I had never heard of it. Where are we? I tried to think of how far we had come in the paramedic vehicle. Much further than I thought maybe.

“Drop us here,” said Donna. “I have scouted these two boutiques and then we have an appointment at the salon for the works. So, we will meet you at the Italian Restaurant at 1:00 pm.”

“As you wish, ladies”, said Cliff. He pulled over and was getting out, presumably to check to see if I knew how to alight. I swiveled out perfectly and smoothed the skirt of my dress. He drove off with a wave.

Donna had a shopping list of sorts. Some underwear, two more dresses in my size that I had a hand in selecting, plus a skirt and two tops, and a light jacket. Then a purse, handbag and a shoulder bag. Even those needed to be tried in front of the mirror to get the right look. So even with knowing what we needed, shopping as a woman takes time. Not to mention the steady stream of feminine chatter between Donna and myself. I found that I liked shopping. I never had before.

Next stop the salon – the first time I had ever set foot in one. To my surprise, or perhaps even shock, I liked the place from the moment I did. There was warmth, and scents, and chatter. There were pictures of beautiful women with beautiful hair on the walls. Donna gave her specifications to the woman in charge. Basically some of her work would be undone. She was not that good a hairdresser after all. My new extensions would be woven in and then colored and washed.

While all this was going on both Donna and I enjoyed manicures and pedicures. We chatted together and with the girls in the salon. It was “girl talk”. I do not mean that is was all about clothes or celebrities – it was about people, and relationships, and feelings. These were not things that I talked about. But I found that I really enjoyed listening, even though I had no idea about the people involved. Donna was able to talk freely as a woman from that perspective, and I just enjoyed pretending. It was a wonderful way to spend a morning.

To cap it off my hair was done up in a sophisticated “French roll” style. I felt like a real lady.

We arrived at the Italian Restaurant “appropriately late” at 1:15. Cliff was waiting and stood to help us to our seats. I could see that he was impressed by my appearance. That made me feel nice, in a slightly disconcerting way. We looked at the menu and ordered too much.

“I need to go for a piss,” I said, getting up. I was a little surprised when Cliff rose, apparently a polite gesture. It had never happened to me before. But then I had never been a woman before.

“You mean that you need to go to the Ladies’ room,” said Donna. “And I’ll come too.” I had assumed that this was part of the strange female tradition of toileting in pairs, but as Donna steered me away from the Gents Restroom to the Ladies I understood.

“That was a close call,” I said.

“And you are sober,” she said. “Make sure that you don’t stumble into the wrong room after a few too many. God knows I’ve done it. And just some advice, we freshen up rather than going for a piss. You could use the word ‘pee’ if necessary. Only men piss.”

For the rest of the meal and the afternoon I made an extra effort to be aware of who I was and how I needed to present myself.

“Don’t worry,” said Donna. “It will get easier and then, after a while, it will come naturally.”

---

We got back to the house after dark and Donna made a sandwich for our evening meal. “We had a big lunch,” she explained.

“It was a great lunch,” Is said wistfully. “But the funny thing is, as we sat there, two girls and a guy, we were really three guys and nobody knew.”

“Speak for yourself” said Donna, indignantly. “I’m no guy. I had the surgery years ago. I am all woman.”

“Really?” I said. I have no idea why I should be surprised.

“I don’t do this normally, but if you like I could show you,” she said. I leaned forward.

She checked to see if Cliff and Sid were about. Sid was out in the workshop and Cliff was in his study and would be for hours. She pulled down her panties and lifted her skirt. And there it was – a trimmed muff and beneath it a perfect pussy.

When I looked at it, it was not like looking at porn. I was not thinking “I would like to stick my dick in that.” It was just thinking what a beautiful thing it was. How it could fit in her panties so snugly. How perfect it looked between those soft smooth thighs. Between thighs like those a shriveled sack and some pink and purple dangly thing would be offensive. She had a wonderful thing. I found that the feeling I had was not desire, it was envy.

“Thank you,” I said. “You must be very pleased with it.” A very odd thing to say. She was smiling at me with a look that I now understand, was the satisfaction of achievement.

We took the night off training. We watched three chick-flick movies in a row. We both cried, sharing a box of tissues. We leaned in close to one another, like girlfriends do.

That night I had the worst dream so far. I was in my wedding dress again, but this time I was lying on a bed with the taffeta up to my heaving breasts. I had a pussy just like Donna’s. Cliff was there too, wearing his wedding jacket and tie, but with no pants. His penis was in my pussy, and he was ploughing me. And I was giggling, panting, screaming for more.

I woke up and quickly began to panic. Fuck! After that I was afraid to go to sleep. I decided to picture myself fucking any one of the many women I had bedded over the years. The strange thing was that I could not think of a single face, or any single experience that could help me out of my perverse thoughts. I unsuccessfully fought sleep until dawn came.

I felt close enough to Donna to tell her about this dream too, even though I had promised myself that nobody could know.

“It’s just the hormones,” she said. “You were giving a shot before the MRI at the hospital. That strong a dose can play with your head a bit. But, he is a very good-looking man that Cliff. I don’t think that there is anything unusual in a dream like that.”

“Listen Donna,” I said, and for the first time my day as a princess, my voice dropped to male mode. Through gritted teeth I whispered: “I am not gay. This is not normal. Something is happening to me and I don’t like it.”

“Don’t talk like that,” she whispered back, equally forcefully. She said: “Just today and tomorrow to make sure you can do this. Do not push Rosemary away when everything is going so well. Two more sleeps and you leave for wherever you are headed. If you are having girly dreams that can only help you in your disguise, believe me. Be Rosemary until you have done what you have to do.”

It was clear that she knew nothing about Garrison City. She was here to help me to live a disguise and she had done a great job. Maybe too great a job. But there was still more to be done.

---

That day we concentrated on using the bags we had bought, and doing things like putting on pantyhose. It was summer and I had not worn pantyhose before, and probably would not have to, ever. And surely, I only needed one bag? It occurred to me that I was being prepared for an extended period as Rosemary.

That could not be bad. I had appeared in public, in the shops, at the restaurant and at the salon. Maybe at the salon they knew, but they never said. Nobody looked at me as if was an oddity. I had proven that I could pull this off. I could keep this disguise on until after I had collected, and then until I could get away. Maybe I would not have to leave the country? Maybe just see out a reasonable period while the search for a dangerous escaped convict continued, then take off the disguise and blend in?

I looked at myself in the mirror and said: “You really are a smart little minx, aren’t you Rosey?”

She was looking back at me. She was beautiful. I pushed a curl away from my face and checked for a blemish in the makeup on my smooth cheek.

Then the satisfied smile evaporated. Who was this person?

---

That night I had another weird dream. I dreamt that I was pregnant with two toddlers in tow. I was married to Cliff and we were a happy family. He was stroking my swollen belly and telling me how much he loved me. The children said together: “We love you too, Mommy”. I was just so full of happiness that I started to cry.

I woke up thinking that my life had been a succession of sad and shitty moments. If I had been born a woman, with a pussy to please a man and womb to bear children, my life could have been happy. I found that I was crying for real this time, just a little. The hormones I guess.

I needed to slap myself, but when I faced myself in the mirror I became confused. I had brushed out my hairdo the night before, but my long extended blonder hair held some curls and fell about my shoulders. Even without a single smear of makeup I was pretty. The face looking back at me was feminine. Rosemary, not the Jockey.

There was a knock on my door and Donna called out: “Rosey, are you up?”

“Just coming, Girlfriend,” I called back, in my high lilting voice. It was just the voice that came out of the face I was looking at. There was no deliberation about it. It was my voice now.

---

Later that morning the burner phone buzzed. Cliff picked it up and looked at the message.

“Tomorrow at noon,” he said. “In the lobby of the Garrison City Sheraton”. He brought the phone over to me and I checked it, momentarily distracted by the beautiful job that had been done the day before on my shaped and painted fingernails.

“I don’t want to reveal myself,” I said. “I will pretend to be the Jockey’s girlfriend and you, my security. We will get the keys and all go to the Bank together.”

“How big a bag will we need?” Cliff asked.

---

We were in a state of excitement for the rest of the day. We decided to go into town for a meal, with another chance for Donna and I to window shop until the stores closed.

“You are ready,” she said to me. “I did not think that you would respond so quickly, but you have. I think that there is a woman inside who has found her freedom. I think that she has always been there.”

For some reason that made me feel really happy. We hugged one another.

Was she right? Was I able to succeed in this because of some innate femininity that I never knew was there? It seemed plausible. This just seemed too easy.

“You stay in touch,” she warned. “I will be packing up tomorrow and leaving, but here are all the contacts that you will need. Make sure you call me.”

---

We did not stay out late. We had an early dinner and went to bed, so that we could get up and drive to Garrison City leaving well before dawn. I had some sleep and dreamt again – this time about being rich. But instead of dreaming about fast cars and speedboats, and cocktails around the pool accompanied by scantily dressed women, I had a vivid dream of being at a party in my own fabulous mansion. I was wearing a long red satin ball gown, and I was bedecked in sparkling jewelry with my hair up in an ornate do. I descended the stairs to where my husband waited, his adoring face looking up at me. It was Cliff, in a dark green velvet tuxedo.

I sat beside him for the long drive. He was in dreams for fuck’s sake. I felt as if I was going insane. There was a woman inside me that wanted to throw her arms around this man and kiss him. There was a man who had hired him to do a job, and that is all.

“I think I need to tell you how this will play out,” I said. I found my female voice was doing the talking, but I just carried on: “We hid the stash in the place we thought would be the last place they would look. We hid it right there in the Bank.”

I looked across at him. He was listening. His profile looked so good. The strong chin and the full lips.

I corrected my thoughts and continued: “We had inside help. We broke into the boxes on the right hand side because we knew there was value there. We left the other side. We had a copy of the Bank key, which they change every year, and three personal keys to three boxes. That is what we are going to pick up. Three keys with the numbers removed from them. I know the boxes. He has the keys.”

“So what is the split?” Cliff asked.

“It was a four way split based on $32 million, although we got a bit more. The hired help took half of their share each and were caught with it. They are still in jail but I owe their families another $4½ million each. The fourth man, the inside man, he was down for $8½ million too, but half of that belongs to me by prior arrangement. So I clear around $13 million. And you get your $5 million for springing me, as agreed.”

“So you are saying that the guy we are meeting works at the Bank?”

“No, he used to work at the Bank. He was fired. That’s why he gave us the information and a copy of the Bank key.”

“He must have been a suspect,” said Cliff. “This could be a trap. He could have turned State’s evidence. It could be a trap to catch you. They could have already cleaned out the boxes.”

“It’s possible,” I said. “But I have two other boxes of the left side held by my cousin and his ex-wife. In both cases the Bank would have to advise whether they are accessing boxes under warrant. As for trapping me, I only escaped last week.”

“I am glad you told me,” said Cliff. “I am good at what I do because I am careful, and I plan. I am still going to be cautious.”

---

He became further concerned when we got a message later in the morning, that my contact was delayed a full day. We needed to book into a hotel to wait. We took a room overlooking the square with a view of the Bank. The only room available was the bridal suite – large and with only one bed – king size.

“I think that you should meet him alone, but as the Jockey’s girlfriend,” said Cliff. “If it is a trap they would not spring it until the Jockey appears. I can look for surveillance. Then, when you go to the Bank, I suggest a dry run without actually going to the boxes, so I can do the same thing – make sure that you are not being watched.”

He suggested that we go down to dinner together in the hotel. I tidied myself up at the dressing table while he sat on the bed and watched.

“I think you quite like being Rosemary,” he observed, with a smile.

“Don’t tell anybody, but maybe you are right.” I said playfully, checking my hair.

“I like you being Rosemary,” he said. It seemed a serious comment. “I think we look like a genuine couple,” he added. That was what he liked about it. He thought the disguise was working. He was not complimenting me. I was momentarily hurt.

We talked about what we liked to eat over dinner. I told him that my tastes seemed to have changed in the last week.

“I think you have changed,” he said. He looked at me. I mean, he really looked. As if he was looking at the person behind my eyes. He could see me. He liked what he was looking at. I knew it and I felt encouraged. That meant he was looking at a woman. I had that urge again. I wanted to throw myself at him. If the waiter had not appeared to take our order, I think I would have.

Maybe we drank a little too much wine, or maybe my ability to hold my liquor had been reduced. Anyway, we were in a frisky mood when we got back to our room.

“What are the sleeping arrangements going to be, Mrs. Hansen?” he asked.

“Why Mr. Hansen,” I replied playfully. “Just a week or so after our wedding and you are proposing that we sleep apart?”

I already had dropped my dress to the floor and I was there in my underwear. He approached me and I felt a quiver of excitement. It seemed like part of me was crying out “Take me. Make me your wife”.

He walked behind me and unhooked my bra. It was padded – a training bra I think. But now exposed were two definite breasts. Small, but breasts nonetheless. It seemed so foolish now that I had ignored the swelling in prison. Now they seemed so obvious. He moved in front of me again and examined them. He cupped them and released them. They jiggled like the breasts they were. Then he did something totally unexpected. He kissed my left nipple. I gasped and I nearly fainted. The nipple turned pink and shot out. He kissed the right nipple. I found my hands were in his hair. He lifted his head. He kissed me on the lips. His tongue penetrated my mouth. My little girly tongue played with his huge manly tongue. His hands were under my arms and I was in the air. He handled me as if I was an inflatable doll, taking me to the bed and gently lying me on it.

“I don’t know why I am doing this,” he said.

“Please don’t stop,” I replied. And thankfully, he didn’t.

---

I woke in the morning curled up beside him. His body was hard and hairy. Mine was soft and smooth. The sheets were crispy with dried cum. Plenty of it. From both of us.

After all those years of fighting to be the tough guy, last night I had let a man shove his erect penis into my lubricated asshole. And I felt no shame.

He sun was coming in. I remember thinking that this day was like the first day of a new life. I felt as if I was a new person. I had to be. The old me would never have done what I did the night before. Somehow, I knew that I was never going back.

---

I followed his instructions. Carl Gubbins had no idea that it was me when I approached him in the lobby. I had taken the effort to go to a nearby salon to have my hair washed and blow dried, and some make up applied. I was still learning these arts.

I suggested that we have some lunch. I looked for any sign of nervousness. I saw none. And he had no idea that I was the Jockey who had once been his partner in crime.

“I am not sure whether you understand just how rich your boyfriend is going to be,” he said. I felt that he was treating me like the Jockey’s bimbo. I did not like it.

I explained: “My boyfriend is worried that we might be being watched.”

But, looking around, I saw nothing – no sign of surveillance. Despite Gubbins being impatient, we still went through the suggested dry run. We went all the way down to safe deposit area before I explained to the bank staff that I had the wrong keys. Then went back across to the Hotel.

Gubbins was obviously annoyed. He said: “Can we just get on with this. I have waited for years for this.”

Cliff appeared. He had bought a bag of the size I suggested and a smaller one for Gubbins.

“Where is the Jockey?” Gubbins demanded.

“He is watching us now,” replied Cliff. “And he will be watching us in the Bank as well. He cannot reveal himself for obvious reasons. He is on the run.”

We went back to the Bank and down into the vault area. We extracted three boxes and were shown a room where all three of us could go through them together. The cash was spread across all three boxes in packets, and the jewelry, loose gems and other items were bagged up to equivalent values. Everything was divided up then and there. No discussion. No argument.

Gubbins shook Cliff’s hand. He said: “Tell your boss that I wish him well.” I offered him my hand to shake too but he did not even turn to me. That pissed me off, but I could see that it just made Cliff smile. Still, it was as much my ill-gotten gains as it was his. To him, I was just eye candy.

I caught sight of myself in the mirror on the stairs. Eye candy I was not, but candy to the eye I could not deny. Added to the beautiful face a hair and petite and well-formed body, I had the look of confidence and sophistication that comes with money. The money that I now had.

Gubbins was long gone as we walked back across the square. It seemed a long walk. I had a feeling that at any moment law enforcement could appear and arrest us. But that would have to be in the proximity of the bank. As we reached the hotel I knew. I was rich – rich and free.

I could have thought about anything at that moment. I could have imagined how I was going to spend all the money that I would make from the jewelry in the bag. But what I was thinking about was being under Cliff, my ass on a pillow so that he could fuck me face to face, and play with my hair and my breasts, and fill me with his seed.

But it suddenly occurred to me that it was all over. Once he had his money he would be gone. It was a business arrangement. I was the fool. In a moment of passion fueled by the foreign hormones in my body, I had let a man take me up the ass. How stupid I had been.

“I don’t have enough cash to pay you out in full today,” I said to Cliff. “Are you happy to hang around to allow for me to cash in some of these other items?”

“Let’s take our time,” Cliff said. “There’s a prisoner on the loose, and it is well known what is missing from the robbery. They will be watching the pawn shops and back street jewelers for weeks. I can take a down payment from some of the cash, but you should know that my intention is to spend most of it on my wife Rosemary.”

He was smiling at me again. My heart leapt. Could it be true?

“Well thank you, Mr. Hansen,” I said with a cheeky grin. “But I think that I just about have the capacity to buy whatever I want without anything from you.”

“Well I’m hoping to buy something for you that I want,” he said. “But only when you are ready”.

It was not until he booked the confirmation surgery that I realized what he was talking about.

The End.

© Maryanne Peters 2018