Lingerie Thief
A Short Story
By Maryanne Peters

Part 1.

“You may not be surprised to know that in the week before Valentine’s Day, we get a lot of this,” said Frances Digby, casually. The manager of the classy lingerie boutique “Dessous” looked at her captive with condescending disdain.

Keith Gubbins was not in a position to be so matter of fact. Ivan Solokov had his arm in a lock, so the faintest movement by Keith put him in agony. On the table in front of him was the sexy ensemble that he had stuffed into his jacket, and the snips that he had used to cut off the stock tags.

“It’s for my girlfriend.” Keith was pleading for sympathy. Hopefully this woman had once been somebody’s Valentine, many years ago. “I can pay, if you could give me time.”

“The issue is not money,” said Fran. “We have a principle of reporting all theft.”

Keith had a brief vision of violence. He was the victim. He needed to seek mercy, and fast.

“Look, to be honest I have been in trouble before,” he said. “Not big stuff. Misunderstandings really but treated as auto theft. If I get a third conviction I am in deep trouble. I won’t survive any time in prison. I mean look at me.”

“He’s a pretty boy alright,” said Ivan, as if he had some knowledge of the fate of such people when incarcerated

“He is,” agreed Frances. “And as it happens, I might be able to use someone like you. So that it is not theft, you will need to buy it, and a second set as well, but in your size. And you will need to pay it off by working it off. Do you understand?”

“Yes,” he said shamefully, but he didn’t.

“I can see that you are out of work,” Frances said. “I pay quite well and there is a commission on sales. Ivan, empty his pockets, get his details in case we need to notify the police, and take a photo of him. You start the day after Valentine’s day, so enjoy your girl while you can.”

His confusion deepened, but there was relief too; not just avoiding facing a judge again, but the job that he had been looking for – maybe stacking boxes out the back.

“Thank you,” he said. “I promise I will work hard.”

“I insist on it, and you know the consequences if you don’t”. She was stern and slightly terrifying, but he had the feeling that they would get on, and he was right.

Part 2

“Is this really necessary, Mrs. Digby”, complained Keith. “I look so much like a girl that I cannot face any of my friends.”

“I told you the terms of your employment right at the beginning,” Frances pointed out. “I need and want a salesgirl. Men cannot sell ladies’ lingerie. It is too personal, too feminine. It is the only job going. You have to adapt, and I think that you have.”

“But the waxing and the eyebrows; I can’t hide it. I look like a fag. I have to wear my day clothes home, or I would be attacked in the street as a sissy tranny!”

“Jessica,” she said, addressing him by the name tag on his left breast, a weighty silicone dome snuggled into the high quality and perfectly fitting bra that he had been obliged to buy the day before Valentine’s day. “We need to get you some more clothes. I can pay and add it to what you owe me. The good news is that you can sell, and with commissions you’ll be out of this in no time.”

How long was that? He had picked up his second weekly pay check and the debt was scrawled on it, only reduced a fraction. But maybe because he needed cash. He had debts. At least he had a job, and even without the guys he had his girlfriend. But Keith’s girlfriend was becoming concerned at the changes in him.

“It’s the job,” he had said to her. She was certainly happy that he had one, and she was happy with the gift that she had received for Valentine’s day, but that was weeks ago, and he was changing. He told her about the deal, and the terms of employment. When she first went to the boutique she expected to snigger at her man in drag, but instead she was shocked. She could not find him at first, and she wondered if the whole thing was a lie. And then she saw the pretty blond girl staring at her – Jessica was the name tag.

“Is that you, Keith?” she said, somehow hoping that a girl’s voice back to deny it. But it was his voice, or a higher version of it, that whispered: “Yes. It’s me”.

That change was dramatic enough, but there were other changes too. Had she known that Frances Digby’s compulsory “retail energy drink” was a cocktail based around female hormones and associated drugs, and she had known the effect of the administration of such drugs, she might have recognized the beginning signs of a female puberty in her boyfriend. But for now, he seemed moody and disinterested in sex. It was not a situation that could continue.

But Fran was right: He could sell. Once he overcame his lack of confidence, he discovered that he could easily converse with customers. He had quickly acquired a female timbre to his voice, but for any of those who might be confused about his gender, he had a simple story: “I am a transgirl, but who better to work in a lingerie shop and advise on form wear and comfortable undergarments. Still, he found himself saying those words less and less.

The recent trip to the salon had been a turning point. Mrs. Digby had added the cost to his debt, but it was worth it in obliterating the last of his maleness. The makeover including a radical skin treatment and extensions of his own dark hair in place of the blond wig that he used to hide under. Now he could brush his hair back and reveal his smooth face. He always knew that he was more pretty than handsome – it was the very reason why he feared jail so much. Now it was an asset.

It just meant that dressing as a man now seemed weird. He no longer looked like one. He could go out with the girls from his store and the neighboring shops in the mall, but not people he knew before he became Jessica. To them, this girl would be a stranger.

And it seemed to his girlfriend that a stranger was what Keith was becoming. The more he lived in the skin of Jessica the less of Keith remained. They drifted apart.

“Don’t get depressed about it,” said Ivan. “People change. The world turns. Life gets better if you think that it will. And anytime you want to go out, call me. I would be happy to escort you, Jessica.

He had to learn to answer to that name. So she did.

Part 3

She had her hair up and was wearing the pink dress that he liked her to wear, with lipstick to match. He crept up behind her, cupped her shoulders in his strong hands and kissed her on the neck, breathing in her perfume.

She started for just a moment and then melted in his grip.

“Ivan, I’m working,” she scolded.

“Wear the red bustier tonight, my darling,” he said. “I am going to fuck you to heaven and back.”

“Fuck me and leave me there,” she said. “You usually do.” She giggled, like the girl she was should do.

Ivan walked back out, smiling at her lustfully as he did. He was on a security tour of the whole mall. That was his kingdom, and Jessica was his queen. She knew it. She felt proud and happy, and in that moment her asshole tingled with anticipated excitement.

The store was tidy. Sales were up. There were customers on the floor. But one caught her eye. She moved quickly.

“Excuse me Madam, did I just see you slip something into your bag?” The red haired woman was shapely and attractive. Jessica had already assessed her bra size. But the look on her perfectly made up face was one she recognized. It was guilt.

“I was going to pay for it,” the woman protested. “I didn’t pick up a basket, you see.”

“Well let’s just buy it, and a spare, and we’ll leave it at that,” smiled Jessica. She was not a hypocrite. She was not like Frances and her principles.

“Of course, thank you,” said the redhead. Jessica pulled an extra off the shelf and led her customer to the register with both items. Her experienced hands worked the keys.

I see from your tag that you are Jessica. I’m Jessica too,” her customer said. “So I guess that makes you Jessica Three”.

“I’m sorry?” said Jessica. It just seemed an odd thing to say. Was it a joke?

“I mean I used to work here before you,” the woman said. “That was my name tag. You’re my successor. And I see that you are friendly with Ivan.”

“Were you? Friendly with Ivan I mean,” said Jessica, momentarily jealous.

“Oh no,” said the stranger. “I fell for a man who did not know me as a guy. I have fully transitioned now, and married.”

And Jessica Three realized that the woman was a panty thief just like she was.

The End

© Maryanne Peters

Author’s Note:
This is a reworking of a story by Julie, published on Fictionmania as “Lingerie Shopping” by Amanda Pretty. I loved this story, but still Julie suggested that I take the idea in another direction. My thread is: “Shoplifter punished by being humiliated, ends up as an employee and girlfriend.” I could not resist a twist at the end.