Author’s Note: This is a little two-part tale similar to my early stories. It has all the trappings of a Michelle Nylons story: a little incest, a little blackmail, a lot of sex and a surprising ending. I hope you like it.

Crystal Palace sat at the bar watching Melanie Starr singing The Crying Game. Melanie sang it so well that the club was silent and Crystal suspected that some of the patrons were actually tearing up. The shocking twist in the movie of the same name was no longer a secret of course, the movie had been released nearly a year ago but Melanie’s poignant rendition of the classic was, in Crystal’s opinion anyway, as good as the original by Dave Berry and better than the Boy George version used in the film.

Crystal slipped off the barstool being careful not to snag her pantyhose. The Horseshoe might resemble a fashionable nightclub in the gloom but when the lights came on after closing time all of its cheap tacky foibles were revealed including the odd nail-head protruding from the regularly-repaired ancient barstools that had claimed the hosiery of many a performer and customer alike.

She made her way through the dark club to the stage door with such familiarity that she was able to avoid the many pitfalls such as ripped carpets, uneven flooring and puddles of stale sticky beer that had been the bane of many a customer. She slipped inside and carefully climbed the four rickety stairs to the stage. The sound guy Steve was sitting at the deck and he nodded at Crystal and handed her a cordless microphone. Crystal remained in the wings until Melanie finished her song and congratulated on her on her performance and gave her an air-kiss when she came off stage, both women being careful not to smudge their makeup.

Crystal took a deep breath and stepped into the spotlight. The spotlight followed her to centre stage accompanied by light applause from the audience and a wolf-whistle from some larrikin.

She did look splendid in her off the shoulder red sheath, the sequins on the bodice sparkled in the bright light; the thigh-high split displayed her long legs, sheathed in glossy pantyhose. She wore red six-inch heels to complement her dress, her ‘stage heels’ she called them because they were too dangerous to wear around the club. Her copper-blonde hair was perfectly coiffed and her heavy stage-makeup accented her emerald-green eyes and sculpted cheekbones.

Standing centre-stage with her legs slightly parted and her head bowed she waited for the intro to her song as the applause died down. Steve cued up the track and the intro to Our Lips Are Sealed wafted through the speakers. It was the Fun Boy Three version and Crystal sang it in her own style, her raspy-voiced rendition pitch perfect and soulful. She left the stage to raucous applause and more wolf-whistles and catcalls; the crowd was getting rowdy as the night was coming to a close.

Steve the sound guy cued up Are You Gonna Go My Way and left the sound board to play the pre-recorded compilation he’d put together over the weekend. Performing his secondary role as cellarman, Steve went down to the cellar to tap another keg, although Barry Culpepper the owner of The Horseshoe Club would argue that it was Steve’s primary role. The girls could work the soundboard if they had to.

Crystal made her way backstage to the dressing room, if you could call it that. It was a pokey dark alcove with nicotine stained walls that reeked of years of stale cigarette smoke, beer and cheap gin. Overlaying that was the smell of cheap perfume, makeup and hairspray. Melanie Starr sat before the vanity table removing her makeup.

“You’re not staying to mingle with the punters?” Crystal asked, slipping off her six-inch heels and slipping her feet into the more manageable four-inch heeled version of the same shoes.

“Not tonight love. Eddie taped East Enders and we’re going to watch it together in bed eating crisps and drinking pop,” Melanie replied, standing to slip out of her blue sequin-spangled form-fitting evening gown. She’d already dispensed with her heels and hose and put them in a carry bag.

“Crisps and pop… that dress won’t fit you if you keep that up,” Crystal chided her, dropping her stage heels into her own carry bag.

“Fat chance of that. When we finish East Enders we work off the calories under the covers,” Melanie started to put on her street clothes.

“TMI darling,” Crystal waved a hand at Melanie and went back out to the bar.

Mingling with the customers after the show bought in a few extra much-needed pounds. Barry paid the girls a flat rate to perform and five quid per hour to mingle with the punters after the show. The girls also got free drinks although they weren’t supposed to, and sometimes the punters gave them a tip. It was the girl’s job was to keep the punters in the club and get them to spend money over the bar. If a punter bought them a drink, they pocketed that money too, splitting half with the barman.

With Melanie heading home that left Crystal, Bianca and Pamela to work the crowd. Crystal hated schmoozing up to the punters but it came with the job and she did like to hear the accolades regarding her performance. Bianca and Pamela were sitting with a crowd of high-rollers who had come into the place slumming it after a night out in the West End. Crystal went back and perched on her favourite barstool and hoped that she would be left alone for the rest of the night.

“Can I buy you a drink?” the baritone voice came from behind her and Crystal turned on her stool, a forced smile on her face.

The smile froze when she saw who was addressing her. It was Alan Wright, a co-worker at the financial institution where Crystal worked during the day.

Alan studied her face and a spark of recognition passed across his face and then vanished.

“Sorry. Thought I recognised you from somewhere else; anyway, can I buy you that drink?” his face was handsome when he smiled.

The blonde wig, the heavy makeup and the poor lighting helped keep Crystal disguised. She doubted the management at Stills and Shipley Financial Services would condone her extracurricular activities as a cabaret singer in a seedy nightclub.

“Yes you can. Gin and tonic please,” Crystal gave him her best painted smile.

She deliberately kept her head low and avoided making eye contact.

When the drinks came Alan put a finger under Crystal’s chin and lifted her face.

“Even in this awful light you are beautiful,” he said.

Crystal blushed. She was used to being hit on; it came with the territory, but this was different. She knew this man, even though he didn’t know who she was.

“And that song was amazing; you sing so well,” Alan kept laying on the compliments.

“I’m Alan. Alan Black,” he offered his hand awkwardly.

Crystal gave him a bemused smile; she knew he was lying. He too had secrets to keep; sneaking around sleazy cabarets late at night was not considered de rigueur for a London banker.

Crystal took his hand but when he leaned in to kiss her cheek she pulled away.

“I’m sorry. I’m new at this,” he blushed and stammered.

“New at what?” Crystal couldn’t help but be amused.

“Nightclubs. Party-girls. Late night drinking,” Alan managed to smile again.

“Are you calling me a party girl?” Crystal harried him.

“No! No! No! That’s not what I meant. I meant hostess… no that doesn’t sound right either,” Alan stammered and Crystal pretended to be shocked.

“What about if you just refer to me as a performer?” Crystal came to his rescue and smiled at him, genuinely amused at his discomfit.

She patted the stool beside her and Alan sat down. At first she had hoped that he would just buy her a drink and move on when she showed him disinterest, but she was amused by the fact that Alan didn’t recognise her. She was probably playing a dangerous game, she had no rights working in a club like the Horseshoe but Alan Wright shouldn't be here either.

When he was settled at the bar Alan seemed more relaxed, although when Crystal caught him staring at her long legs sheathed in the glittering stage hosiery he blushed. She smiled at him and patted his hand.

“You know most of this isn’t real. Most of it is just padding, lipstick and powder, as Dave Edmunds sang back in the seventies,” Crystal took a sip of her drink.

Alan studied Michelle’s pretty face and long, pale, elegant neck; he was fascinated by the little heart-shaped mole in the hollow.

“Well I think you look beautiful and you sing beautifully too,” Alan moved his hand to her knee.

Crystal stopped smiling and firmly removed his hand.

“Buying me a drink doesn’t mean that you get to maul me,” she reproached him.

“Patting your knee is hardly mauling you,” Alan baulked.

“Ok. Thanks for the drink Alan, I think I’d better get changed and go home; I also have a day job I need to tend to,” she smiled wanly at him.

Alan looked at his watch.

“Shit! Is that the time? I have to go too, I have an important meeting first thing this morning,” Alan finished his drink and stood up.

He held out his hand and Crystal took it to steady herself as she alighted from the stool. Her long fingers were elegantly embellished by bright-red acrylic fingernails. She stumbled a little and Alan pulled her close to him to stop her from falling.

Her soft body pressed against his and he inhaled her perfume. He leaned into her, his lips millimetres from hers and then he whispered in her ear.

“Elvis Costello’s version was better.”

“What?” Crystal looked confused.

Alan was still holding her close.

“Girls Talk. There are some things you can’t cover up with lipstick and powder. You said it before. Dave Edmunds. But the Elvis Costello version is better,” Alan gave her one final squeeze and let her go.

“Maybe I’ll come and listen to you sing again sometime,” Alan smiled at her.

He lifted her hand to his lips and kissed the back of it.

Crystal gave a sigh of relief when he headed to the door.

“That was close,” she said to herself.

Crystal headed back to the dressing room and sat at the vanity and removed her high heels. She carefully guided her acrylics under her wig and prised it loose, wincing a little when patches of the glue stuck stubbornly to her skin. She brushed out the wig and carefully arranged it on a wig stand then she removed her wig-cap, really just the panty of a pair of pantyhose with the legs cut off, and brushed out her hair. Her own hair was brunette, shoulder-length, long and straight.

She used moisturiser and towelettes to wipe away her heavy makeup and went over to the small sink to wash her face with soap and water and dried it on the towel hanging from the rusty nail. The towel was still damp from when Melanie had dried herself and she found a dry corner of it to pat her face dry. She carefully removed her acrylic nails and tossed them in the bin. She bought them in boxes of twenty sets for a quid.

Crystal sipped the gin and tonic that Alan Wright had bought her, the ice had melted and it was insipid but she was thirsty. She struggled out of the red sheath and noted that a couple of sequins had fallen off during her performance; she would sew on replacements at home tomorrow. The dress was designed so that she didn’t have to wear a bra and she carefully removed her lifelike breastforms, once again wincing when the glue proved difficult to budge. Patience was required; the breastforms were expensive and she didn’t want to damage them.

She wiped her recently shaved chest with a flannel to remove any remnants of the glue then she slipped out of her red satin panties and dug the hip pads out of the panty of her dance tights. She was lucky that she had full shapely buttocks and didn’t need padding there. She shimmied out of her flesh-toned, shiny, seventy-denier dance tights as they were correctly called, although the generic term pantyhose was used by the girls, and removed the surgical tape holding her genitalia in place against her perineum. She stood up and tensed and relaxed to lower her testes from her inguinal canals down into her scrotal sac.

Crystal put on underpants, jeans, a longsleeved stretch t-shirt and pulled a woollen jumper over and then put on thick woollen socks and ankle boots. She carefully put the dress in a garment bag and the wig into a silk bag and packed everything into her ripstop carry bag. She brushed her hair again and put on her overcoat.

Crystal looked at herself in the cracked and spotted full-length mirror. Her transformation back into Michael Tanner was complete.

Michael picked up the garment bag and carry bag in one hand and hooked them over his shoulder so that he had one hand free to open the door. He left by the back exit of the club after signing out.

It had been a good night; his performances had been well received. He was just a little disconcerted that he had ran into Alan Wright but he was certain that Alan hadn't recognised him. He smiled wryly to himself as he walked home in the cold and the dark. If Alan Wright had realised that he was caressing the knee of Michael Tanner dressed in drag he would have had a fit. He sniggered to himself as he let himself into the small walk-up flat where he showered quickly, set the alarm and went to bed.

*****

Michael had an interest in women’s clothing for as long as he could remember. He adored the feel of silk, satin, nylon, lycra, rayon and the tickle of lace against his body. The flick of a hem against his thighs, the freedom he felt when wearing a skirt or dress, heels and hose were almost indescribable. It wasn’t really sexual, at least not until he entered puberty, it felt comfortable… it just felt right.

When he was younger he had borrowed items of clothing from the laundry basket, his sister was only a year older and her clothes fitted him. Then his mother’s clothes fitted him too as he got older and bigger. He remained slim and svelte and grew his hair long. He was confronted by his mother after his sister complained that her brother had been wearing her clothes, although his mother suspected that he had been wearing her clothes too.

Michael broke down and confessed his obsession with dressing enfemme to her and she was as understanding as any mother could be. Her husband had abandoned his wife, son and daughter just after Michael’s birth and she had been forced to become resilient and self-supporting.

Michael was sent to see a phycologist who diagnosed him with mild gender identity disorder, as it was called at the time, possibly linked to the absence of a male role model but more likely deeply rooted in his psyche. The phycologist didn’t observe any traits in Michael that indicated that he actually wanted to physically become a woman; he didn’t seem to want to undergo gender reassignment. Michael just seemed happy to spend time dressed as a girl. It comforted him; made him feel special.

The phycologist explained that there were thousands of men and boys who liked to dress like a woman in the privacy of their homes and they were not in any way abnormal, not was their crossdressing linked to any sexual deviancy. In the nineteen eighties the spectrum of gender dysphoria disorders, as it was coined back then, was only just being understood. She recommended that, provided that Michael did not show any abhorrent behaviour, he be allowed to continue to dress as a girl in private. Obviously it was best kept a secret.

Lucy Tanner was a progressive woman who was fiercely protective of her children and always did what she thought was best for them and allowed them to experience the world in their own way provided they were not doing anything illegal or dangerous. She sat down with Michael and Janet – Michael’s sister, and explained what the psychologist had said. There were very few secrets in the Tanner household.

Michael would be allowed to dress enfemme at home and Lucy and Janet would keep his secret. Lucy would buy him his own small wardrobe of female attire that he could wear in the confines of his bedroom or around the house if it was safe to do so but his secret must be kept. As progressive as the world was in the nineteen eighties, transphobia was still rampant.

To Michael and Lucy’s surprise, Janet was supportive of her brother’s penchant for crossdressing. She not only kept his secret she actually helped him in his quest to look as feminine as possible.

Sixteen year old Michael Tanner walked into his sister’s bedroom in the winter of 1986. He was wearing a black denim miniskirt, mauve satin blouse with puffed sleeves and padded shoulders, sheer nude pantyhose, and strappy four-inch heels with a small platform. He was adept at walking in heels having been getting around in them now for over a year. His brunette hair was cut in a shoulder-length bob which he could get away with as being fashionable at the time. He’d had the same hairstyle for so long that people just associated it with him as part of his style.

“I want you to show me how to wear makeup,” Michael said a little sulkily to his sister.

Janet was sitting cross-legged on her bed and she looked up from the book she had open in her lap. Her face lit up.

“About time Michelle, you look so good when you’re dressed but without makeup you’re just not finished,” Janet grinned.

Michael had adopted the name Michelle when he was dressed enfemme. At first his mother was concerned but the phycologist said that it made sense because although his dysphoria had not progressed beyond crossdressing Michael would want a girl’s name because while he was crossdressed he identified as female. Both Lucy and Janet were careful not to misgender Michael or Michelle: Michael was he, him, his and Michelle was she, her, hers.

By the time Michael turned eighteen he could pass convincingly as a woman. His makeup skills exceeded those of his sister; he had closely watched and mastered female mannerisms, even his voice when dressed was a sultry sexy feminine rasp. He and Janet even put on little performances for themselves: fashion shows and song and dance routines. Although Lucy allowed her children latitude, she had to admit that she was little concerned when Janet started to treat Michelle as a pet project, almost like a younger sister. She tolerated their little dress-up performances but she would be glad when Janet left home. She and a girlfriend had saved enough to get their own flat.

Two thing things happened around this time that profoundly affected Michael. One was illicit and remained a secret; the other was quite traumatic and had a tumultuous effect on Michael and the Tanner family.

The first thing happened the day before Janet was to move out of the family home. She and her girlfriends had a hen’s night to celebrate her last night living in the family home. Janet came home drunk and tried her best to sneak upstairs to bed without waking her mother or her brother.

As she passed Michael’s room she saw a light under the door and feeling playful she decided it might be fun to play a prank on her brother. She opened the door a crack and saw that it was Michelle not Michael lying on the bed reading. Michelle was wearing rayon babydoll pyjamas over stockings and suspenders and was still in full makeup. She had her back to the door and was concentrating on her magazine. The room was lit only by the bedlamp over which was draped a red gauzy scarf which gave the room an eerie pink glow.

Trying not to giggle Janet slipped off her heels and slipped into the room in her stockinged feet, carefully closing the door behind her. She tiptoed up to the edge of the bed and was about to grab Michelle by the shoulder and shout “boo” to scare her.

But just as she was about to grab Michelle, Janet realised that Michelle was reading a pornographic magazine and masturbating. Her long sleek-skinned cock protruded out of baby-doll panties and she was slowly stroking it. Janet recognised the red nylon knickers that Michelle was rubbing on her cock. They were hers.

Michelle sensed Janet's presence either because of the smell of alcohol or because Janet gasped when she saw what Michelle was doing. Michelle looked horrified and threw the magazine on the floor and pulled the covers over herself.

“Shit! I’m sorry honey,” Janet whispered, careful not to speak too loudly and wake her mother.

Michelle and Janet often used sweet terms of endearment when Michael presented as Michelle.

“I’m sorry Janet,” Michelle whimpered, she was close to crying with embarrassment and shame.

“You have nothing to feel sorry about sweetheart. What you are doing is natural, everybody does it,” Janet said reassuringly.

“Not every boy does it dressed like girl looking at other girls dressed in lingerie,” Michelle sighed.

Janet looked at the magazine which lay open on the floor. It featured an attractive mature woman dressed in sexy black lingerie, stockings and high heels. She knew the magazine, Fiesta, which was a soft-core pornographic periodical; her current boyfriend read it.

“Don’t be silly Michelle. Your crossdressing has nothing to do with your sexuality… does it?” Janet frowned.

Michelle had been adamant that she was not sexually stimulated by wearing feminine clothing, she just felt comfortable: normal, whole, well-adjusted, natural. These were the terms she used to describe how she felt when dressed enfemme.

“No… not really but sometimes it feels nice when I do… you know… do it when I’m dressed as Michelle. I like looking at women dressed like that and I like being dressed like that when I do it,” Michelle admitted, pointing her toe at the magazine.

“Michelle… Michelle… are you a virgin?” Janet crept onto the bed and lay on her side stroking Michelle’s back and shoulders, comforting her.

“I’ve had girlfriends. We do stuff… you know… but no, I’ve never done it,” Michelle blushed and turned to face her sister.

“I see. But you like to do stuff with girls?” Janet couldn’t help but be inquisitive.

“Yeah… kiss and that. Wendy Spencer let me touch her through her knickers and she touched me through my trousers. I was wearing panties under them so I wouldn’t let her put her hand inside because I was too embarrassed but it felt good. Too good,” Michelle blushed a deeper shade of red.

“Too good? Did you come?” Janet whispered.

Michelle just nodded; she couldn’t look her sister in the eyes.

“And did it feel good because you were wearing knickers or because Wendy Spencer was touching you?” Janet reached out brushed Michelle’s fringe out of her eyes.

“Both really,” Michelle murmured.

“Michelle? You know mom and I sometimes find stains in our knickers and on our stockings when we do the laundry. We know what they are but we haven’t said anything because we don’t want to embarrass you. But why do you do that with our underwear; you have plenty of your own?” Janet stroked Michelle’s arm to comfort her.

Michelle’s face burned crimson and she shed a tear.

“It’s because… well it’s because you have worn them. I do it at aunty Joan’s too when we go visiting. I go to the loo and take her knickers out of the dirty laundry. I don’t know why it feels so much better knowing they have been worn,” Michelle sighed.

“You know what you need? You need a girlfriend. She doesn’t have to know about your crossdressing but you can tell her that you like knickers and stockings and stuff and she will probably wear them for you. Tim is always asking me to wear stockings for him,” Janet said, trying to cheer Michelle up.

“Do you and Tim?” Janet put her hand over Michelle’s mouth before she could finish the question.

“There are some things even sisters don’t share,” she smiled conspiratorially.

Michelle smiled back and Janet snuggled up to her and pulled the coverlet over them.

“Just two girls gossiping,” she snickered.

“I’m going to miss you when you move out. I love you sis,” Michelle sighed.

“I love you too sis and I love my brother when he’s around too,” She kissed the tip of Michelle’s nose.

Michelle put her arms around Janet and pulled her close. They often hugged each other; the Tanners were a very touchy-feely family but this was the first time they had snuggled under the covers and there was an intimacy to it.

The two ‘sisters’ cuddled and whispered, Michelle asked Janet how her hen’s night had been. Janet was fully clothed except for her shoes and Michelle was dressed in satin lingerie and stockings. They clung together in the soft glow of the bedlamp, both of them becoming sleepy until Janet became aware of something.

She could feel Michelle’s erection pressing against her thigh. Michelle’s penis was shrouded in the soft satiny material of her baby-doll pyjama bottoms but there was no doubt about what it was. An uncomfortable silence ensued.

“Sorry,” Michelle whispered.

“That’s ok,” Janet murmured.

“Are you really a virgin Michelle?” Janet whispered.

Michelle nodded.

“Michelle… I’m going to do something for you but you have to swear to me that you will never tell anyone about it, including your psychologist ok?” Janet looked into Michelle’s heavily made-up eyes.

Michelle nodded again.

“Say it,” she whispered harshly.

“I, I promise,” Michelle stammered.

“No one! Ever!” Janet hissed.

“I promise,” Michelle said a little more forcefully.

“You can’t fuck me because I’m your sister, but I’m going to help you ok?” Janet said frankly.

Michelle nodded once more. Then she gasped when Janet’s hand lightly brushed her swollen appendage through the rayon knickers.

Janet brushed it again, this time her fingers lingered and lightly grasped the shaft before she let go.

“Oh!” Michelle drew in a deep breath.

“Nice?” Janet smiled at her sister.

“Mmm,” Michelle replied.

Janet took Michelle’s hand and guided it between her thighs. Michelle softly stroked Janet’s pubis through her satin panties and pantyhose.

This time it was Janet who gasped.

Then she took Michelle’s cock in her hand, gathering the slippery material around the shaft and began to softly stroke it.

“Now you do that to me, nice and soft and slow,” Janet whispered in Michelle’s ear.

Janet put her calf over Michelle’s thigh, opening her legs wider. Their bodies remained pressed together while their fingers explored each other’s private parts. Michelle liked the feel of Janet’s warm, nylon-clad leg pressing on her own stocking-sheathed thigh. She purred and pressed a little harder against Janet’s groin, she could feel the outline of her vulva, the heat generated by her sister’s cunt and the spreading dampness. Janet was rhythmically humping Michelle’s hand.

Michelle pressed against Janet’s hand insistently and Janet took the hint and gripped Michelle’s penis tighter and stroked it a little harder and faster. When Michelle pressed her lips against hers she let her. They could taste each other’s lipstick and smell each other’s perfume. It was a soft, intimate and feminine experience; new to both of them.

The sisters stroked each other, building the tempo and then tapering off. Michelle’s penis swelled to full tumescence and began to throb whilst Janet’s knickers and pantyhose were soon dank and soggy with her juices.

“Ok Michelle, be careful now, no penetration ok?” Janet moaned as she opened her legs wide and eased Michelle on top of her.

She wrapped her gossamer-sheathed legs around Michelle’s flanks and lifted her groin so that Michelle’s satin-sheathed member pressed on her pubis. It felt good but it felt even better when Janet freed Michelle’s cock from the confines of her knickers and let her rub it directly on her panty-clad cunt. Janet let Michelle slide her cock inside the gusset of her panties so that just the translucent fabric of her pantyhose prevented Michelle from entering her.

Michelle drove her tongue into Janet’s mouth, as much to stifle her moans as to kiss her. The delightful sensation of her cock being enfolded in Janet’s vulva evoked the most indescribable pleasure she had ever experienced. Janet adjusted her buttocks on the bed to ensure that Michelle’s penis pressed directly on her clitoris as Michelle began to hump her lustfully. She returned Michelle’s kisses and locked her arms and legs around her and rose up off the bed to meet Michelle’s thrusts.

Janet’s sex was suddenly awash with hot creamy semen; the musty smell of it rose to her nostrils and inflamed her desire. Janet began to shake as her own climax erupted. The two beautiful creatures rutted and rubbed against each other, extracting every scintilla of pleasure from one and other. Their tongues lashed and their teeth cracked as their passion soared.

They clung to each other in a paroxysm of lust and desire until their orgasms subsided.

Michelle lay panting on top of Janet, her cock slowly contracting. Janet’s panties and the crotch of her pantyhose were a sodden mess as were Michelle’s knickers. They disengaged from each other and Michelle rolled onto her back.

As they descended from the dizzy spiral of their lust-fuelled tirade they realised the enormity of their transgression. Neither felt guilty but they both knew that what they had done was forbidden and immoral.

Janet turned on her side and Michelle turned to face her.

“We tell no one and we never do it again ok?” she whispered.

Michelle nodded sagely.

“Was it nice?” Janet smiled wickedly.

“It was wonderful,” Michelle returned her smile.

“Make sure you wash the sheets tomorrow while mom is out,” Janet said and sat upright, ready to get out of the bed.

And they never did tell anyone about it. It remained their secret.

*****

The second thing happened not long after Janet moved out of the house.

Michael missed his sister. He missed playing dressup with her and confiding his secrets in her. He visited Janet at her flat but there wasn’t the same intimacy because he had to go as Michael. The days of the ‘sisters’ putting on their little concerts and fashion shows were gone.

Because Lucy worked so hard Michael had the house all to himself most of the time which allowed him to bring Michelle out of the closet whenever he wanted to. He spent most of his time at home dressed as Michelle and had become comfortable doing so. One advantage of Janet moving out was that her girlfriends and boyfriends no longer visited. Michael was sure that his mother was dating but she never brought men home although she would sometimes stay out overnight.

It was one such evening that Michelle was home alone, her mother had told her that she wouldn’t be home and would be out all night so Michelle decided to put on her own little cabaret. She put on her prised possession, a green satin cheongsam that she had found at the street market and begged her mother to buy for her. It was form-fitting and split from hip to heel down one side.

She wore sheer-to-the-waist pantyhose with it to show off her long toned legs. She had learned how to tuck and had tucked herself using the tight gusset of the pantyhose to keep her genitalia in place. The dress was too tight to wear knickers under without showing VPL so she went sans panties. She didn’t yet have breastforms so she used two rice filled stockings to fill the cups of her bra. She spent a long time getting her makeup perfect and selecting the songs she would sing, stacking them in order on the record changer on the Panasonic stereo.

She and Janet would sing along with their favourites, sometimes singing as a duet and sometimes solo; tonight Michelle would be singing solo.

Michelle was belting out her rendition of Material Girl mimicking Madonna’s moves in the video clip as much as possible and she didn’t hear her uncle John’s car pull up in the driveway. John came to the front door and pressed the doorbell, he smiled to himself when he heard the loud music. He knew that his sister-in-law liked to listen to popular music.

John did not approve of his brother abandoning the Tanner family and he helped them out as much as he could. He also had to admit that he quite fancied Lucy Tanner and had let her know it. Maybe it was because she had once been married to his brother but for whatever reason Lucy had rebuffed his advances. He did not hold a grudge and kept in touch and assisted the Tanners whenever he could. He had heard that his brother had a windfall at the greyhounds and had shamed him into donating half his winnings to Lucy.

John had arrived unannounced to surprise Lucy with her share of the windfall with hopes that the influx of cash might tempt her to be a little more receptive to his advances. He’d had a few whiskeys in the pub and it had given him some Dutch courage. When no one answered the doorbell he tried the door and finding it unlocked he let himself in.

John was very surprised when he saw the beautiful young woman dressed in the tight evening gown standing in the middle of the cleared lounge room singing into the microphone plugged into the auxiliary jack of the stereo swaying her body in time with the music. He wondered who she was and where Lucy was. The girl was likely some friend of Janet but he thought that Janet had moved into a place of her own. She might be a friend of Michael’s but that seemed unlikely. Michael seemed a little effeminate to him and unlikely to have attracted the sexy young woman strutting her stuff before him.

He particularly liked her long legs, she had a good figure although her hips were a little slim but from what he could see of her face she looked pretty.

He stood in the archway admiring the woman who was engrossed in her performance and hadn't yet noticed him. She spun on her heels as part of her performance and suddenly saw him.

Michelle froze mid-verse. The music played on while she stood in the centre of the lounge room absolutely stunned.

“Hello darling,” John smiled at her and walked over to the stereo and lifted the arm off the record.

To Michelle the silence seemed like the calm before the storm.

“Who are you and where is Lucy?” John asked, approaching her slowly.

There was something about the woman that seemed familiar and she was indeed stunningly beautiful and sexy with her theatrical makeup, teased out hair and form-fitting dress.

“Lucy is out for the evening,” Michelle had recovered her composure enough to answer her uncle.

Her smoky feminine voice came naturally to her when she was dressed enfemme.

She realised that her uncle John had not recognised her but now she needed to maintain her subterfuge and somehow get him to leave before he did.

“And I’m Michelle, Janet’s friend,” she said, the irony of the half-truth not lost on her.

“And I’m John Tanner, Janet’s uncle. I’ve come by to see Lucy but she’s out as you say, so where is Janet… or Michael for that matter?” John suddenly suspected that this girl might be here on her own, which raised his suspicions.

Michelle put down the microphone and moved across the room as far away as John as possible. She was caught in a conundrum; how was she to explain being in the house whilst none of the family members were present.

“Janet and I are amateur performers and we were supposed to practice tonight but she’s running late. I started without her. I don’t know where Michael is,” Michelle countered.

John strode across the room and fronted Michelle. He looked at her closely, examining her. His face showed complete amazement when he finally realised who he was addressing.

“Michael?” he whispered.

Michelle lowered her head in shame.

John lifted her chin and gazed at her.

“You're beautiful,” he gasped.

“I’m not Michael; I’m Michelle,” she replied softly.

John looked confused.

“Here. Sit,” Michelle sat and patted the seat beside her on the couch.

John sat, still stunned. He was amazed at how sexy the young woman was. She was so beautiful and feminine and her perfume was driving him a little crazy. When she sat the split in her dress opened wide exposing acres of shimmering nylon-clad thigh.

“It’s a family secret but I guess you are in on it now,” Michelle gave her uncle a condensed and sanitised version of why she was a crossdresser and her mother and sister’s acceptance of her presenting as female.

John listened intently but he was distracted by Michelle’s appearance. She was not his nephew; she was some amorphous female presence who he felt unrelated to. If he was honest with himself he would admit that as well as fancying Lucy, he also had licentious thoughts about his niece Janet as she had entered adulthood. This person Michelle resembled them both a little, but her makeup, dress and demeanour presented her as a sexy amalgamation of them both.

John scooted across the couch so that he was sitting close to Michelle. She was prevented from moving further away from him by the arm of the sofa.

“So now you need me to keep your secret too,” he smiled at her lecherously.

“Yes I do uncle John,” Michelle replied, but she misread his lecherousness for kindness.

That idea soon dissipated when John put his hand on her thigh.

“You’re very convincing,” John rubbed her thigh sensuously.

Michelle froze but she could feel the heat generated by John’s hand and deep in her psyche she had to admit that she was flattered. It was the first time she had presented herself enfemme to a man and it was somewhat empowering to know that the man found her attractive and feminine.

“And don’t call me uncle John; just think of as your new friend John and I won’t think of you as my nephew Michael but as my new friend Michelle,” John began to stroke her leg all the way from her knee to the top of her thigh.

“Ok; if you say so. Do you promise not to tell anyone?” Michelle sighed.

“Not even your mother or your sister. It will be our little secret,” John smiled at her.

Michelle sensed that she was standing into danger but what could she do? She could tell her mother that John had found out about her secret but she doubted there was much her mother could do to make sure he kept it a secret. Michelle was on her own. It was up to her.

“Do you understand what quid pro quo is Michelle?” John leaned in even closer.

“It means something for something or a favour for a favour,” Michelle was well educated and intelligent.

“That's right. A favour for a favour. I want a favour from you Michelle,” John whispered in her ear.

The feel of his lips on her flesh and the warmth of his breath in her ear felt strangely alluring. She could smell the whisky on him.

John got up from the couch and Michelle was relieved but, even though she would never admit it, she was also a little disappointed. She quite liked the effect that she was having on her uncle. She quite liked being appreciated as an attractive woman.

He went over to the sideboard and poured them both a large whisky and then stopped at the stereo and picked through her record collection. He took the stack of records off the spindle and put a record on the platter and lowered the tone arm to it.

A slow song began to blare out of the speakers, Up Where We Belong. John lowered the volume then took the drinks back to the couch.

“Here; drink this,” he offered the drink to Michelle.

Michelle, still frightened, gulped down the spirit. It burned her throat but she didn’t care. John put out his hand and she took it; what else could she do? He pulled her into his arms, held her close and began to slow dance.

Michelle felt awkward and a little silly dancing with her uncle, but she had to admit to herself that she kinda liked it too. She admitted to herself that this was what she had been missing. Janet treated her like a sister and her mother treated her like a girl when she presented enfemme but his man treated her like a woman, like a desirable object, he made her feel more feminine than the two women in his life could simply because of his maleness.

After starting off stiff and clumsy, Michelle found the rhythm and the steps and began to dance with John. She rested her head on his shoulder and he held her close as they shuffled around the room. Michelle felt so soft and dainty in his arms. John knew that Michelle’s breasts were fake but they still felt nice pressing into his chest and feel of the sleek satin gown was delightful as was the scent of her perfume.

Michelle felt safe and comforted in John’s arms, his hard body pressing against hers made her a feel comforted and relaxed, she closed her eyes and enjoyed the sensation of their swaying to the beat of the music, she smiled and sighed contentedly. If this was the favour her uncle John wanted, she was more than willing to offer it.

Michelle’s eyes suddenly shot open. There was no doubt as to what she felt pressing into her belly through the satin cheongsam. Uncle John was hard. She tried to arch her back to prevent him from pressing his penis into her midriff but he pulled her hard against him.

“When I was in the navy I used to go to a couple of bars in Portsmouth where special girls like you hung out. On the odd weekend I’d take the train to London and go down to Soho and watch girls like you perform. After the show, if I was lucky, one of them might invite me home or we’d get a room,” John whispered in Michelle’s ear.

“But I’m not like that uncle John. I don’t dress like this to do that,” Michelle struggled a little but John held her tight.

The struggle was half-hearted but Michelle was not about to admit to herself that she liked the effect she was having on this older man; her father’s brother.

“How do you know Michelle? You only ever come out at home in front of your mother and sister, you told me so yourself. This is the first time that you have presented yourself to a man,” John countered.

“It’s not right uncle John, for all sorts of reasons,” she replied.

John lifted her head from his shoulders and studied her pretty face. Her green eyes, highlighted by the multi-hued eyeshadow, the black eyeliner and the mascara applied to her long eyelashes, her fine cheeks defined by the pink blush, and those full red lips with the red lipstick, just begged to be kissed.

So he did.

And at first Michelle was unresponsive. It felt so wrong to be kissed by a man… and then it felt so right. She opened her lips a little and returned the kiss and when John slipped his tongue into her mouth she let him. He tasted like whisky and cigarettes and she could smell his musky aftershave and underneath it his sweat. It wasn’t a bad smell; it was a manly smell and the feel of his hard body, his virility, the graze of his stubble on her soft cheek, the pressure of his lips and yes… the heft of his penis pressing into her belly, made Michelle feel fully feminine. John made her feel desired and wanted and treasured.

But she knew it was wrong.

John broke the kiss and gazed into her eyes once again.

“I know what you’re thinking. But it’s this Michelle; this to keep me quiet. No one need ever know,” he smiled at her.

Michelle knew that she was being blackmailed and deep down inside she was glad. She could justify her actions by pretending that she had been an unwilling accomplice, an innocent pawn, duped into allowing her uncle to molest her against her will.

Her thickening penis threatening to spring free from between her legs might signify otherwise however.

She closed her eyes and opened her lips in anticipation and was rewarded when John leaned down and kissed her. She let him use his tongue and she had to admit that it felt very sensual. Michael had kissed plenty of girls and Michelle had kissed Janet but this was different, she was the passive receptive participant and it felt so right.

Michelle baulked when John guided her hand between their bodies and put it on his penis but she didn’t hesitate much before she gripped the appendage through her uncle’s trousers. She imagined she could feel the heat radiating from the engorged flesh and she could certainly feel the tumescence as it pulsed and throbbed.

The song finished but John kept holding her close and guided her over to couch. When the back of her knees came in contact with the cushions she dropped down on it and John followed her. They lay side by side smiling at each other.

“Was that nice?” John asked, his breathing was laboured with lust.

“I had no choice did I? But it wasn’t exactly awful. If I forget that you are my uncle I think I can bear it,” Michelle said, the lie on her lips was more than evident to John.

“Can you turn out the light?” Michelle asked.

Although he didn’t want to move, John got up and turned out the overhead light and opened the curtains so that the room was lit only by the moonlight steaming through the windows. Michelle usually closed the curtains so she would not be seen but the house was surrounded by a large hedge and with the lights off she was not concerned about being seen from the street.

She used the opportunity to free the burgeoning erection that had become increasingly uncomfortable tucked between her legs and let her testes descend into her scrotum. She assured herself that she had done so only for own comfort.

But when John came back to the couch with refilled glasses she had no interest in the drink he had bought her. She swilled it down quickly to give her some fortitude and lay prone on the sofa when John settled himself on top of her, keeping his weight on his elbows.

“You’re beautiful,” he whispered as he lowered his face to hers and kissed her and she instinctively wrapped her arms around him.

When John began to free his penis from his trousers Michelle began to panic. The kissing and caressing were wonderful but she had no idea what John’s intent was once he had his flesh out. She was not naïve, the romance of the kissing and cuddling might be delightful but she was horrified at the thought of John putting that thing anywhere near her mouth or her bum.

Her fears were unfounded. John was so excited that he had no intention of asking his niece for fellatio… at least not yet. He wanted to feel those firm silken-shrouded thighs on his flesh and when he opened the split in Michelle’s cheongsam and put his cock between her legs Michelle actually felt relieved.

She’d heard of the Oxford Rub at college. It was joked about by the gays at college who were no longer repressed and openly expressed their homosexuality. There were still plenty of homophobes of course, but time was marching on and acceptance was more common than ridicule.

John kissed Michelle harder and more passionately and she assisted John by opening her legs a little and then clamping them around his cock. John groaned and Michelle had to admit that feel of the throbbing veiny appendage pressing against her flesh felt quite delightful.

When John began to grind against her she put her arms around him and raised her buttocks in time with his thrusts. Her own cock was fully tumescent and leaking pre-seminal fluid into her pantyhose and she reached between their bodies to move the fabric of the cheongsam away from her groin. She may have been in the throes of an illicit tryst, but this was the most expensive dress she owned and she had no intention of ruining it.

John smiled to himself when she did this. He could feel Michelle’s cock hard and trapped inside her pantyhose. It lay flat against her belly shrouded in the gossamer fabric, leaking droplets of precum.

Michelle was a little disappointed when John stopped rubbing against her and lifted himself onto his elbows but he had only done so, so that he could unbuckle his trousers and pull them down to his knees. When he lowered himself back down on top of Michelle he directed his penis so that it pressed directly on hers.

Michelle struggled a little. This was a little further than she was willing to go but her struggles only enhanced the pleasure that John was feeling as his cock grazed and kneaded Michelle’s erect member. The slinky hose felt delightful against John’s sensitive phallus and Michelle began to experience the same wonderful sensations and when John kissed her and humped her she wrapped her legs around him to encourage him.

The two forbidden lovers kissed and caressed and ground against other, groaning and moaning with wantonness. Michelle could no longer pretend that she was anything other than a willing participant. The feel of her uncle’s hard throbbing penis pressing on her own with only a scintilla of translucent fabric between their flesh felt both lecherous and divine. This was even better than the time Michelle had panty-popped her sister.

John drove his tongue deep into Michelle’s mouth and he put his palms on her shoulders and drove her into the sofa as he wedged his cock against her and ground it hard, pressing the pulsing flesh onto Michelle’s throbbing cock. The first hot, viscous gobbet of his spend splashed on her belly and soaked into her pantyhose, followed by spritzes of hot, milky, musky semen which Michelle felt spatter on her tender flesh.

Rather than being repulsed, Michelle felt excited, lustful and debauched. The improperness of the situation only heightened the intensity of the wondrous feelings that were surging though her body. She shuddered and writhed under her uncle as her own orgasm exploded and wracked her body. She kissed John passionately and pulled him harder against her with her legs which she had crossed behind his back. She raised her groin off the sofa and rubbed her ejaculating penis against her uncle’s.

And that was how Lucy Tanner found her brother-in-law and her son.

Rutting on the sofa in her lounge room.

Lucy’s date had turned sour and she had abandoned the man who was fully expecting to spend the night with her in his council flat. She had left him in the pub after they got into an argument and caught a taxi home, only to be confronted by the bewildering sight of Michelle and John rutting on the lounge.

The fallout was catastrophic. Lucy set about beating John with her fists as he valiantly attempted to pull up his trousers and flee. She followed him to the door and told him never to return and threatened to go to the police. Then she turned her anger on Michelle.

“You told me there was nothing sexual about your crossdressing! You lied to me Michael!” this was the first time Lucy had misgendered Michelle.

“I don’t know what happened. Uncle John got me drunk and took advantage,” Michelle cried, her back turned to her mother while she wiped at her crotch with a tea towel whilst holding the cheongsam out of the way.

She had never felt as undignified as she did then.

“I’ll go back to see the phycologist, I promise never to do it again… mom… I promise,” Michelle pleaded with her mother.

“I’m sorry I’ve had enough. I condoned your crossdressing and even put up with you spunking in my knickers and tights but this is just too much! We’re finding you your own digs. You’re an adult now. You’re moving out!” Lucy stormed off to her bedroom.

Michael went to see the phycologist as promised and told her what had happened. He did not tell the physiologist that the man she had sex with was her uncle nor did he tell her about what happened with Janet in his bedroom. The psychologist once again questioned Michael as to how he felt about his gender. Was his intent to undergo transformation or to present as a woman full-time?

Michael repeated his stance that occasionally crossdressing made him feel content and that he had no intent to change his gender or present himself to the world as a woman.

As Michael was now an adult the physiologist requested that Michael permit her to share her findings with his mother in order to reassure her that what she had witnessed was most likely just a one off glitch. An experimentation that had gone horribly wrong and that Michael promised would never happen again. Michael agreed.

Lucy Tanner was comforted a little by what Michael’s psychologist told her but she could no longer tolerate seeing her son dressed as a woman. If Michael wanted to pursue his transvestism, he would have to do it elsewhere.

Michael moved out one month later into a dormitory in the university where he was studying Economics and Business Administration. He was able to dress in his dormitory but it was infrequent and unsatisfying and when he graduated and took a position at Stills and Shipley Financial Services and got his own flat he was delighted.

After the debacle with his uncle, combined with the guilt he felt about having sex with his sister, he vowed that he would keep his sex life totally divorced from his penchant for crossdressing and he stuck to his druthers and never engaged in sexual activity when he presented as Michelle.

As well as being able to present as Michelle in the privacy of his own flat Michael explored the London nightlife. Now that he had a steady if meagre income he could afford to pamper himself a little. He had a string of girlfriends but never had the courage to tell them about his alter ego Michelle. He preferred to have sex with them when they were clothed in sexy attire and wearing full makeup; for some girls that was a problem and some of them were willing to pamper to his fetish but none of his relationships lasted long.

What he did discover during his exploration of London nightlife was a thriving burlesque and drag scene. He visited the Royal Vauxhall Tavern and other venues, mainly in Soho where drag queens performed. He was immediately taken with the queens and their performances although he preferred the realistic female impersonators who sang live compared to those distorted overly feminised drag queens who dressed in exaggerated costumes and mimed to pre-recorded music.

He became a regular at The Horseshoe Club, which whilst being a little seedy and not as opulent as some of the better venues, presented convincing female impersonators who sang live. Michael eventually convinced Barry Culpepper, the owner of The Horseshoe, to let him audition.

Michelle was an instant hit and Barry hired her to perform under the stage name Crystal Palace which Michelle thought was cliché and gauche but she put up with it because she loved presenting herself enfemme and it was a safe place to do so. She perfected the skills that she and Janet had worked hard at all those years ago and she became a popular and professional performer.

Most of the ‘girls’ who performed at The Horseshoe were gay and a couple were in various stages of transitioning, presenting themselves to the world as transgender women. Michelle had no compunction to do so and did not consider herself queer, despite the one indiscretion with her uncle John who was now banished from the Tanner household.

She also kept her female persona secret from her employers at Stills and Shipley Financial Services, knowing that she would likely be fired on the spot if they found out. In 1993 transgender and gays were not covered by the employment and equality laws and she still felt profound guilt about her crossdressing proclivities. She knew that she would be harassed and bullied if her secret was ever revealed.

However Michelle was comfortable presenting herself as Crystal Palace, when she looked in the mirror she didn’t see any evidence of Michael, only a slight family resemblance to her sister and her mother.

*****

The morning after her performance at The Horseshoe Michael awoke to the alarm clock. Working The Horseshoe four nights a week was tiring, especially Thursday because he had to work his day job on Friday. Today he couldn’t be late because he had an important meeting first thing. He left home in a hurry without breakfast.

Michael had just enough time to grab a cup of tea and a finger bun off the tea lady’s trolley before he entered the conference room five minutes late.

Most of the others were seated at the conference table and Michael managed to squeeze himself between two other attendees, one of whom was reading the agenda and the other the morning newspaper. Michael took a bite of his bun and slurped his tea. He scanned the agenda and prepared himself for two hours of boredom whilst the managers reviewed the investment and fiduciary performance of their teams.

Putting down the agenda, Michael was suddenly aware that Alan Wright was sitting to his right. Alan looked a little haggard after a late night and Michael smiled inwardly knowing the reason why. Michael was also feeling tired and as the meeting began his mind drifted off and he began to think about what he would wear and what songs he would perform at The Horseshoe that night.

He began to doze and was rudely awakened when Alan Wright dug him in the ribs with his elbow.

“Wake up mate; at least pretend to be interested,” Alan whispered.

Michael sat upright and tugged at his tie and undid the top button of his shirt to make himself more comfortable. An hour into the meeting they took a break and the tea lady wheeled in her trolley.

“Thanks for waking me up Alan, can I shout you a cup of tea to thank you?” Michael said as he stood up and pushed back his chair.

“Yes you can mate; splash of milk and two sugars please,” Alan said and then got into a conversation with the person on the other side of him about the performance of a certain investment fund.

Michael returned with two mugs of hot tea and offered one to Alan who took it dismissively without saying thank you. But then Alan suddenly did a double take and took notice of Michael Tanner.

Michael’s shirt was open at the collar and in the hollow of his neck was a heart-shaped mole.

“So what do you think of the meeting so far?” Alan asked Michael, striking up a conversation so he could study him.

He noted Michael’s diminutive stature and his mannerisms which were very delicate. Michael had long fingernails and the fingers gripping his mug of tea were long and slender. Alan noted what appeared to be the remnants of glue stuck to a couple of Michael’s fingernails. He studied Michael’s face as they spoke and noted the emerald green eyes. He was unsure but he thought there might be a skerrick of eyeliner on his right eyelid.

Alan tried to picture Michael with copper-blonde hair instead of the straight brown shoulder-length hairstyle that he sported. Some of the younger types liked to wear their hair long, there was nothing wrong with that but Alan wondered how Michael could change his hair colour and style. He knew it was possible, he’d seen plenty of drag shows.

But the women at The Horseshoe Club weren't really drag queens, they were female impersonators and almost passable as real women, that’s why he had gone there last night.

This was interesting… very interesting and Alan decided it warranted further investigation.

To be continued