Charlie Ringwald put a Consulate menthol cigarette between her lipsticked lips and lit up, drawing the smoke deep into her lungs. The smoke gave a false illusion of warmth on the bitter foggy night. She put her cigarettes back into the cheap handbag hanging from her shoulder by the thin vinyl strap and wrapped her arms around herself in a vain attempt to warm herself.

She was wearing a black vinyl miniskirt, mauve satin blouse, a short faux leopardskin jacket, sheer black tights and high heels. The way she was dressed and her stiff, perfectly coiffed red hair, which she’d copied from David Bowie’s Ziggy Stardust heyday, heavy makeup and general countenance as she leaned against the rough redbrick of the railway underpass proclaimed in no uncertain terms that she was a Tom.

There were half a dozen other Toms or Brasses, pick your favourite British euphemism for prostitute, working the long dark tunnel in the early morning hours that Saturday. They were dressed similarly to Charlie, although some favoured boots, most wore stockings rather than tights, or pantyhose as they are referred to outside of the UK, and one adventurous young lady was wearing hotpants.

The Old Bill mostly left them alone, there were far more nefarious crimes afoot than prostitution to keep them busy. The women plied their trade along the slippery pavement, suddenly coming to life and strutting their stuff whenever a kerb crawler turned into the tunnel or a prospective punter walked along the underpass looking for a blowjob or a knee-trembler in one of the recessed archways let into the walls.

Charlie decided to finish her cigarette and call it quits for the night. She had made ten quid so it had been a good night, she’d make her rent and have some spending money for the weekend. Then a man entered the underpass from the southern end which meant he would pass her first, if he was a punter she could make one last score for the night.

The man walked briskly down the pavement and Charlie stubbed out her cigarette and struck a provocative pose, head held high to show off her pretty face. There was a single sodium vapour streetlight near both the entrances to the underpass and a couple of yellowing carriage lights mounted in the curved ceiling. She could see that he was dressed in coveralls and boots and wore a heavy duffle coat and as he approached Charlie she got a good look at him. He was dark haired and handsome and his face lit up when he saw her.

“You’re one my Flaming Girls,” he smiled at her.

“I’m what now?” Charlie had no idea what he was talking about.

“Never mind; what will this get me?” the man produced a five pound note from his pocket.

“Anything you want darling,” Charlie gave him her sweetest smiled and eyed the money hungrily.

For five pounds a punter usually wanted a girl to get into a car and go to the punter’s flat or a seedy hotel and spend the evening. Five pounds for turning a trick on the street in 1975 was almost unheard of.

“Come on then,” the man took her elbow and led Charlie into the closest recess between the brick and mortar abutments that supported the tunnel.

The recesses were perfect places for street prostitutes to ply their trade. They were dark, quiet, and provided an element of privacy and shelter from the elements.

The man stuffed the fiver into Charlie’s hand and she slipped it into her purse. He pressed her against the wall and kissed her. Charlie usually didn’t let punters kiss her but for a fiver the man could pretty well do as he pleased. Unlike most of her customers who smelled of cigarettes, stale beer, fish and chips or doner-kebab, this man smelt of aftershave and his breath was fresh. When he put his tongue into her mouth she let him and she reciprocated, returning the kiss and opening her legs slightly as he pawed at her thighs. He spent some time kissing her, which she actually quite enjoyed, he was a good kisser and the hands stroking her nylon-sheathed thighs felt soft rather than the rough navvy’s hands she was used to.

She squeezed his erect penis through his overalls and he grunted with satisfaction. He was well endowed and eager to use it. He put his hands on her shoulders and she took the hint and squatted down on her heels before him; kneeling on the filthy ground was out of the question and would certainly ruin her tights. She fumbled around trying to free the man’s cock from his overalls and he brusquely pushed her hands away and popped the press-studs open and a rather handy erection plopped out of his coveralls which Charlie stroked to full tumescence and then put into her mouth.

Some of the cocks she sucked tasted rancid but this one was quite clean and circumcised. She used her lips and her tongue on the engorged phallus hoping she could bring him off in her mouth and save herself the chore of actually having to fuck, but although the man sighed contentedly as she fellated him, he was not going to allow her to satisfy him orally.

He lifted Charlie to her feet and she obligingly leaned against the wall, pulled down her knickers and tights and bent over. She rummaged in her bag and produced a rubber which she offered to the man.

“I don’t think so luv; not for a fiver,” he grunted.

This was six years before AIDS was even heard of and most working girls would go bare for the right price.

Charlie tossed the unopened prophylactic back in her purse and took out a tube of KY jelly and smeared a healthy dollop on the man’s penis.

“Turn around, I want to look at you while we fuck,” he demanded.

Charlie turned to face the man and took in his handsome features. He lifted her legs and put his hands under her buttocks to support her as he jabbed at her entrance. He found his target and slid inside her up to the hilt.

He fucked her slowly, kissing her and caressing her as she locked her legs around his waist and put her arms around his neck so that with her back against the wall she was fully supported. Charlie seldom enjoyed copulating with customers but this man knew how to fuck and his cock was doing some amazing things as he slid it in and out of her tight channel.

She sensed the man was about to orgasm and she kissed him passionately and wriggled and writhed to stimulate him to climax. She was close herself and because she was going home after this she allowed herself to come. As her orgasm spread from the pleasure centres in her groin throughout her body she closed her eyes and she didn’t see the man reach into the pocket of his duffle coat.

When he slashed her throat the knife was so sharp that at first she didn’t register what had happened. She just felt a sharp sting then the flesh of her upper body felt warm as her lifeblood saturated her blouse.

The man stepped back, quickly putting his cock away. He held her against the wall letting her bleed. Her legs gave way and she tried to scream but her mouth was filled with coppery blood and all she could do was gurgle.

“Good girl, now just lie there while I get your knickers before they get bloody,” the man whispered.

He let Charlie fall to the ground and then he tugged at her panties until he had them free and put them in his pocket.

“One more souvenir and this will soon be over pet,” his voice was almost soothing.

He ripped the earring out of her right earlobe and pocketed that as well.

“Ok nearly done,” he sighed.

The man ripped open Charlie’s blouse and began to use the knife on her stomach.

“Oi! What the fuck are you doing!” Charlie heard one of the other brasses call out.

The woman’s voice sounded like it was coming from far away, she was losing consciousness and the pain in her belly was unbearable, she welcomed the darkness when it came.

*****

Charlie woke up in a strange bed on a hard mattress under stiff white sheets. She opened her eyes and saw that it was a hospital bed, her heartbeat was being monitored by an ECG and there were tubes attached to her body. Her throat was sore and her mouth tasted stale and metallic, her belly burned and a nurse leaned over her and adjusted something and she fell back into darkness.

The next time she awoke she felt a little better but her throat was itchy and her stomach throbbed with a dull ache. A doctor stood at the base of her bed looking at her chart. He looked up at her but didn’t smile.

“You are in Chelmsford public hospital. You have suffered knife wounds to your throat and abdomen; you’re lucky to be alive,” he said coldly.

“A nurse will give you some ice chips to suck on to partially quench your thirst but you are still nil by mouth,” he slammed the chart closed and stared at her.

“What happened?” Charlie said, her voice hoarse and her words no more that whisper.

“That’s what the police will be asking you as soon as you’re fit enough to talk to them. I’ll let them know you’re conscious,” the doctor turned on his heels and left the room.

A nurse came in and positioned an over-bed table and raised the bed so that Charlie was sitting up.

“Take one chip of ice at a time and suck on it until it dissolves. Don’t rush because you’ll choke,” there was no compassion in her voice.

“Those tubes going into your veins are providing you with fluids and a steady flow of morphine; if the pain becomes worse press the button and I’ll up the dose,” it was the nurse’s turn to leave Charlie alone with her pain.

Charlie tried to recall what had happened to her and her memory started to return. She could recall everything right up to the man slicing open her belly and a rope of her intestine protruding like an unwanted bicycle inner-tube. The other working girl crying out, the man cursing and running away, the brass screaming for someone to dial 999, the cold creeping into her body and then the blackness, the glorious blackness that took away the pain.

*****

“I'm Detective Sargent Robin Sparrow. I’m aware of the irony so no need to make a pun about my name,” the man in the rumpled suit said brusquely.

As if Charlie was in any condition to crack jokes. She had lain in the hospital bed for another day after she gained consciousness being tended to by the surly nurse and sporadic visits by the equally sullen doctor. Charlie felt like she was the offender rather than the victim.

“Charles Huxtable Ringwald, of flat 7 Crown Road Chelmsford, born April twelve nineteen fifty two, expelled from Thomas Street College at eighteen and changed name by deed poll to Charlie, arrested three times for soliciting in a public place and released with a formal warning on each occasion,” the Detective said dourly.

“That’s right but my name is now Charlie Ringwald and I identify as a woman,” Charlie replied.

“Be that as it may mister Ringwald you are not legally a woman,” Robin grunted.

Charlie was used to being treated this way. The term gender dysphoria had not yet been coined and although there were many men living as women in England, they generally did so in secrecy.

“You’ve summed up my life in one sentence, do you have any actual questions for me?” it still hurt to talk and Charlie took frequent sips of water.

“This is a preliminary interview. I understand you are still in pain but I would like to record your recollections of the evening you were assaulted,” Robin looked down at his notes, not meeting her gaze.

“I personally believe it was a case of mistaken identity; your punter paid for sex with a woman and when he realised that you weren’t what you professed to be, he stabbed you in retaliation,” the detective sniffed.

“But there are some in the Serious Crime Division that believe your case could be tied to the Essex Slasher.”

Charlie was already pale but she went deathly white at the mention of the Essex Slasher; a madman who had mutilated and killed five women and was still on the loose.

“Tell me everything you can remember about the evening,” the detective raised his eyes and looked at Charlie expectantly.

*****

Don’t let Ruffe Ingersoll’s Scandinavian heritage fool you, he is a third generation Londoner working for the scandal-sheet known as The Daily Sun. He calls himself an investigative journalist but he is better known in journalistic circles as a muckraker.

It was he who had famously snuck into the Fleur de Lis Gentlemen’s Club and taken a picture of Lord Mycroft Huntington chained to the wall dressed in stockings and suspenders being paddled by a voluptuous lady wearing fetish leathers and high heels. After the story broke the MP resigned his seat in the House of Lords and retired to his manor house and drank himself to death. He couldn’t stand the shame.

Ruffe got a ten pound bonus for the story and the accompanying photograph.

But Ruffe was not some thug; he was intelligent and articulate and was also a bit of a charmer. When he arrived at Chelmsford public hospital he saw his brethren journalists clamouring at the entrance to the women’s section of the hospital. Ruffe had visited the underpass where the crime had taken place and taken some photos and chatted up a couple of working girls who were still plying their trade despite what had happened to Charlie.

“Well she was always different if you know what I mean,” a middle-aged strumpet wearing a miniskirt, laddered stockings and too much makeup sniffed.

“She kept to herself mostly; she was special, she attracted that type of punter,” the woman patted the side of her nose with her finger.

Ruffe fished a one pound note out of his pocket and the prostitute eyed it greedily.

“She’s a tranny luv. Good looking though and very feminine, you’d never know to look at her. I’m sure some of the tossers that went with her never suspected,” the woman reached for the note and Ruffe let her snatch it.

“Thanks for the information missus; you’ve been very helpful,” Ruffe gave her a brilliant smile.

“For another oner you can shag me up the back of the viaduct,” the woman’s bright-red lipsticked lips parted to reveal a row of ill-fitting dentures

Ruffe smiled at the pun that the uneducated tart didn’t realise she had made.

“Thank you madam, maybe next time,” he took her hand and kissed it gallantly.

So Ruffe had a vital piece of information that would make a great headline for The Daily Sun: Sixth Slasher Victim Survives! Transvestite Prostitute Lives To Tell Tale.

Ruffe was getting hard thinking about it. This could be his best story yet. He scoffed at the crowd of reporters waiting uselessly near the women’s wing of the hospital and made his way to the men’s wing. He was wearing his best suit and he stopped to purchase a large bouquet of flowers and box of Milk Tray at the gift shop.

He found a pretty nurse and chatted her up and soon found out the information he needed. Ruffe was surprised to see the door to Charlie’s room was unattended. He’d expected to have to lie to a uniformed policeman about being Charlie’s uncle but it proved unnecessary. He slid past the nurses station at the end of the ward where the on duty nurses were drinking tea and gossiping and made his way to Charlie's room. He slipped inside and closed the door.

Charlie was asleep and he put the flowers and the chocolates down on the bedside table and studied her. She was not wearing makeup and her dyed red hair was a bird’s nest but she still had a pretty face. There were lines on her forehead and bags under her eyes but that was to be expected for a woman who had almost been disembowelled and had her throat cut. There was a large bandage around her neck. He picked up her chart and scanned it quickly, he was a speed reader.

Ruffe was a lot of things but he was not prejudiced. He moved in circles where people came from all sorts of ethnic backgrounds mixed uninhibitedly, sexuality was often blurred and gender was decided by how you presented yourself. Booze and drugs were consumed with relish, sex with any gender and any number of partners was considered cool and people pretentiously thought of themselves as ‘arty’ and ‘with it’. Ruffe didn’t mind what they thought just so long as they let him in on the gossip and offered him free booze. Ruffe had no animosity or bias against the transvestite prostitute lying in the hospital bed; she was just another story.

Ruffe fussed with Charlie’s hair, giving her a fringe to embellish her pretty face. She was pale and needed makeup and he would certainly like to get some glam shots of her later but for now he wanted her to look vulnerable and victimised. He opened her pyjama top a little so that the wounds on her neck were visible. He wondered if there was any way that she would let him photograph her stomach while the wounds were still fresh.

Ruffe took out his Cannon F1 35mm camera and took a series of stills. He opened the blinds a little to let in more light and then closed them to get a couple of shots of Charlie with shadows on her face.

Charlie stirred and Ruffe quickly put his camera away, although the bulge it made in his suit pocket would be obvious to a trained observer or someone who wasn’t groggy with painkilling drugs.

“Hello Charlie, I bought you something,” Ruffe held up the flowers and chocolates.

“Who are you?” Charlie roused herself out of troubled slumber.

“I’m Ruffe Ingersoll,” Ruffe gave her his best smile.

“You’re a vulture. How did you get in here?” Charlie made a vain attempt to find the nurse’s call button.

“Wait, wait, wait, wait, sweetheart,” Ruffe intercepted her hand and held onto it.

“Do you know where you are?” Ruffe asked.

“Chelmsford hospital,” Charlie replied.

Her voice was till hoarse from the attack and tubing that had been forced down her throat during surgery.

“Yes that’s right Charlie. But you’re in the men’s wing. Your chart is written up as Charles Huxtable Ringwald and I know that’s not your real name is it Charlie? You changed it by deed poll. They’re treating you like a man for no good reason aren’t they?” Charlie said in a pitying voice.

“I’ve lived with those prejudices all my life, why should they change now? And how come you know so much about me?” Charlie withdrew her hand.

“I talked to a few of you colleagues at the underpass,” Ruffe’s smile never left his face.

“Deirdre Edwards I bet. She ask for money? I bet she did. When she was in school she’d show you her knickers for a bite of your toffee apple,” Charlie winced in pain when she smiled at her own joke.

“Then I made few enquiries of my own. You’ve had it rough Charlie, not many could live the life you do, and now you’ve survived an attack from the worst murderer we’ve had in England since Jack the Ripper and the Old Bill are treating you like you’re the criminal,” Ruffe said sympathetically.

“Bollocks! You shouldn’t be here. You just want a story,” Charlie grimaced again and reached for the water.

Ruffe intercepted her and poured her a glass, carefully handing it to her.

“Am I right in what I said though?” Ruffe took the glass from her when she’d took a few sips.

Charlie sighed.

“I’ll give you fifty quid,” Ruffe got down to business.

“The tabloids are going to make up a story anyway so why not tell me your story and I’ll print the truth.”

Charlie went into a coughing fit she laughed so hard. That caused her stomach to remind her of the indignity done to her as sharp pain lanced her innards.

Ruffe wetted a flannel and patted Charlie’s forehead with it soothingly and offered her more water.

“I want fifty quid. I want makeup and a hairbrush. I want a nightdress and knickers. I want a packet of fags. And after I tell you what I’m about to tell you, you get nothing more until you come back with all those things and a contract for twenty quid for every follow-up piece I give you,” Charlie folded her hands on the bedcovers.

“You’ve had it hard haven't you? Always having to scheme and battle to make a quid,” Ruffe said soothingly.

“Don’t try to wank me off Ruffe. I was right the first time, you’re a vulture but you’re obviously a smart vulture, you got yourself in here. Do we have a deal?” Charlie stuck out her hand and Ruffe shook it.

He pulled up a chair next to her and took out his notebook.

“You don’t get everything Ruffe. Not yet. I’ll tell you what happened to me on Saturday morning under the railway viaduct but the rest you have to pay for,” Charlie’s throat was sore but she went on.

Ruffe wrote down everything Charlie said never once interrupting her even though he had a thousand questions and wanted more details. Charlie was right. There was money to be made out of this story and a series of follow-up pieces would keep the masses enthralled, his editor happy, and Ruffe’s pockets filled. For now his headline scoop would do. He’d ask for a hundred pounds and if the Daily Sun wouldn’t pay it, he’d take the story elsewhere.

Charlie told Ruffe most of what she could remember about the lead up to and the actual attack but she couldn’t remember every detail and she deliberately withheld some information. Ruffe’s mind was ticking over thinking of the mileage he would get out the story. Not just the attack itself, but Charlie’s backstory, a story about the poor women forced to sell their bodies on the streets of Essex, a story about how Charlie had been treated after the attack… it was a goldmine!

They both heard brusque voices outside the door to Charlie’s room and Charlie looked panicky. Ruffe kept his cool and slipped the chair back under the table near the window and slid into the ensuite bathroom putting a finger to his lips and winking. He closed the door but left it ajar.

“You look a lot better mister Ringwald,” the doctor picked up Charlie’s chart and began to scribble.

“That’s Miss Ringwald,” Charlie replied.

“Whatever; you’ll soon be well enough to go into the public ward,” the doctor said dryly.

Detective Sargent Robin Sparrow had followed the doctor into the room.

“Are the police going to let a woman who was nearly murdered out into a public ward? A ward which is not compatible with her identified gender?” Charlie said angrily.

“The police have no control over hospital policy and procedures,” Robin pulled the recently vacated seat out from under the desk and placed it beside Charlie’s bed.

The doctor fussed around, taking Charlie’s blood pressure and looking at her wounds.

“They’re healing nicely. I’ll have a nurse come and change the bandages when the Detective Sargent has finished,” the doctor said before departing.

“What now?” Charlie sighed.

“Some follow up questions. We have your story but now I’d like some details if you’d please,” Robin opened his notebook.

He grilled Charlie for more details about the description of the man who attacked her.

“Anything else, anything out of the ordinary?” he asked, giving Charlie a glass of water only after she asked for it.

“There’s nothing ordinary about seeing your intestines in your lap,” Charlie sneered.

“Any minute details, anything in particular that might help us identify the man or link him to the crime?” Robin ignored her sarcasm.

Charlie thought hard.

“Yes. He said something strange when he approached me. He said ‘you’re one my flaming girls’; I don’t know what that meant,” Charlie furrowed her brow.

Robin looked hard at Charlie and then wrote down what she had said and underlined it.

“We err… we err, didn’t find any underpants at the scene. Were you wearing any?” Robin blushed when he asked the question.

“Of course I was wearing knickers! What do you take me for? I remember now. He took them; he said he wanted them before they got blood on them. And he took my earring,” Charlie put a hand to her right earlobe and felt the scab where her attacker had torn out her earring.

Detective Sargent Sparrow visibly stiffened and wrote something in his notebook, his face earnest.

“Does that mean something? Him taking my pants and my earring?” Charlie asked.

Robin Sparrow didn’t answer; he just stared at his notes.

“You don’t like me do you? Is it because I’m a brass or because I’m a transvestite?” Charlie asked, she was tired now and wanted to be left alone.

Detective Sargent Sparrow got out of his chair and stood over Charlie and gazed at her, moving his eyes up and down her body, finally settling on her face.

“I don’t know how you can stand yourself. If he’d killed you he’d likely have done the world a favour, you’d be better off dead,” he said through gritted teeth.

He closed his notebook and left the room.

Charlie had heard worse but this man was supposed to her protector, her saviour. She turned on her side and drifted off into a dreamless sleep.

Ruffe slipped out of the ensuite bathroom grinning like a Cheshire Cat.

“What a fucking story!” he whispered to himself and almost skipped down the corridor.

The nurse came into Charlie’s room while she was sleeping and threw the flowers in the bin and stole her chocolates.

*****

Walter Middleton opened the garage door using the remote control clipped to his visor, he loved modern gadgets. He parked his Bentley in the four-car garage, his wife’s new blue and white Ford Cortina was parked closest to the door that let into the main house.

Walter got out of the car and stretched; it had not been a long drive but morning twilight was just breaking. He opened the boot and took out the carry bag and went over to the little workshop attached to garage, he unlocked the workshop door, entered and locked it behind him.

He took off his suit jacket and put it on a hanger then his trousers and folded them neatly over the back of a chair. He unlocked and opened the large tool box that had never had a tool anywhere near it and gazed at the contents with awe. He became tumescent immediately.

Laid out in the top tray were six resealable plastic bags each containing a pair of panties and a single piece of jewellery. His fingers caressed the bags lovingly, then he opened the carry bag and took out Charlie’s knickers and earring and put them on the workbench. He put the knife down beside them. He opened a drawer and took out a resealable bag ready to take the next trophy for his collection.

Beside the box of resealable plastic bags were ten packages of Pretty Polly sheer stockings. Walter opened a package and took a single stocking out of the cellophane wrapper and placed it carefully on the bench next to his new trophies.

He bought the most recent of his Flaming Girl’s knickers to his nose and inhaled. Walter hadn’t known she was a transvestite until she had pulled down her tights and bent over for him, but it didn’t matter. When he first saw her and she became one his Flaming Girls, her fate was sealed. Her perfume lingered on the satin panty and when he held them up to the light he could see two little stains on the back panel.

Walter had really liked that she had climaxed, unfortunately not many of his Flaming Girls had, but the conclusive evidence was right there, two little dried semen stains in her knickers where it had dribbled when she came. He found it no more repulsive than the crusty vaginal discharges in the crotches of the other Flaming Girl’s knickers, he liked that he had some part of their physical being remaining on the totems he collected. He picked up the earring and wiped the blood off the hook with a tissue dipped in methylated spirit and then he carefully wiped his knife.

He loved the smell and texture of blood, the way it sprayed from a severed artery, the way it percolated from a dissected belly, the sweet, metallic aroma of it when it was fresh and bright red. But blood can be a nuisance as he found out when he first began to collect his Flaming Girls. Blood gets everywhere and on everything, hence the collection of coveralls and boots in the locker in the corner, brand new still in their wrappers and boxes. Half a dozen duffle coats hung in the locker for when he had to do his work outside.

Walter had stopped at a services on the A12 and had taken his little suitcase with him to the bogs. The toilet block was decrepit and filthy but it served his purpose perfectly as the building was located well away from the petrol bowsers and the café which reeked of fried food and over-steeped tea. He had taken off his duffel coat, his coveralls and boots and put them into a plastic garbage bag; he washed his hands, cleaned his knife and changed into his suit. The plastic bag went into one of the two huge garbage skips behind the toilet block and then he drove up to the bowers to top off his tank.

There were a couple of prostitutes leaning against the wall near where the trucks pulled up, all miniskirts, stockings, high heels and over-fussed hair. One of them was a redhead but she wasn’t a Flaming Girl, she didn’t immediately excite him like the transvestite prostitute had tonight. He knew as soon as he laid his eyes on Charlie that she was a Flaming Girl. Thinking about what he done to her caused his penis to dribble pre-ejaculate.

Walter sighed and pulled the Pretty Polly stocking tight over his erect penis and bought Charlie’s panties to his face and inhaled her perfume. The memories were fresh and came flooding back: ejaculating inside her, her own ejaculate dribbling into her panties, the look of surprise as the knife sliced through her neck, the gush of blood down the front of her blouse, the stifled scream when he opened her up and then that look of surprise transformed into a look of disappointment when she realised her pathetic life was over. But for one brief moment she had become engulfed by flame, she had burned brightly but then she had fizzled out like all of them did when they died.

Walter rubbed himself and the stocking darkened and a globule of semen extruded from the toe as Walter climaxed. There wasn’t much; most of his semen was inside the Flaming Girl’s anus.

He was sure the girl was dead, he’d slashed her throat and started to disembowel her but the old tart had interfered. He was tempted to give her the same treatment as Charlie but she wasn’t a Flaming Girl and she didn’t deserve it. Walter had simply walked back down the railway underpass and along the dark street to where he had parked his car. The plastic he had used to cover the driver’s seat and the floor mat had gone into the same skip as his coveralls.

The semen filled stocking went into the bin and Charlie’s panties and her earring went into the resealable bag and took pride of place beside the other trophies in the tool box which he closed and locked. The knife went into another resealable bag and he hid it in the hidey-hole behind a loose piece of skirting board.

Walter took his suit with him to the main house and tossed it into the hamper to be dry-cleaned, then used the downstairs bathroom to shower. He changed into clean underwear and pyjamas, padded upstairs and slipped under the covers next to his sleeping wife. She snuggled up to him.

“Another all-nighter?” she asked, still half-asleep.

‘What a stupid question,’ he thought.

“Yes dear,” Walter patted her plump buttocks and immediately fell asleep.

He dreamed of his Flaming Girls and had a nocturnal emission. His sex drive was insatiable.

*****

Ruffe returned the next day with the fifty quid, the makeup and hairbrush, a packet of Consulate and lighter and a wispy pink rayon baby-doll nightdress and matching panties. He put them down on the over-bed table along with the morning edition of the Daily Sun.

“There you go Charlie, I’m a man of my word,” he grinned.

The money and the cigarettes she put in a drawer in the bedside table then she opened the makeup box. There was a mirror built into the lid and Charlie went about brushing her hair and then using the cosmetics.

“Help me out of bed,” Charlie said.

The tubes had been removed from Charlie’s arms but she still had difficulty getting up. Ruffe was a lot stronger than he looked he took most of her weight as she unsteadily gained her feet. He knew what she was about to do and he really wanted to get pictures of her ruined belly but he didn’t ask; he needed Charlie to trust him. He turned away while Charlie removed the faded cotton pyjamas and underpants that the hospital had provided. Slipping to the panties and nightdress completed Charlie’s transformation and she felt normal again.

“Do you mind?” Ruffe bought out his camera.

Charlie nodded and tried to pose as best she could while Ruffe snapped away. When he had finished taking his shots he helped Charlie back into bed and took a couple of frames of her sitting up in bed.

The makeup had made an amazing difference to Charlie’s appearance. She had looked ‘plain but pretty’ before, now she looked downright beautiful. She hadn't done her ‘working-girl’ makeup but instead had applied the cosmetics carefully to highlight her best features. Ruffe had only just realised that she had amazing emerald green eyes, the kohl and mascara brought out their full effect. Her dyed red hair, which she wore stiff and spiky on the street was now brushed out into a soft bob which complemented her unblemished alabaster complexion.

“There he is! That’s the fucking cunt!” the door to Charlie’s room burst open and Detective Sargent Sparrow stood there accompanied by the doctor, two uniformed policemen, and a policewoman.

Ruffe knew what was coming and he stuffed his camera inside his jacket pocket to protect it.

The two uniformed coppers roughly took hold of Ruffe, driving his hands painfully up near his shoulder-blades and frogmarched him out of the room. They took him to the stairwell and commenced punching him but the blows were mostly ineffective as Ruffe covered his face with arms. The policemen threw him down the stairs and he tumbled onto the landing below.

“Fuck off Ruffe and don’t come back you piece of scum!” one of the policeman shouted after him.

“Wooden-tops!” Ruffe gave them the forked fingers and scampered down the stairs when the constables came after him again.

It took Robin Sparrow a while to realise that Charlie was wearing makeup and female night attire because he was so angry he could hardly see. He slammed the door shut leaving just himself and the WPC in the room with Charlie.

“You fucking bitch!” Robin glared at Charlie.

“Sargent. Sargent, settle down, you’re doing yourself no favours here,” the WPC said calmly.

“What did you tell that shit-raker?” Robin was wheezing he was so angry.

Charlie was just happy that Robin had called her a bitch; he’d inadvertently acknowledged her as being female.

“I only told him what happened to me. I didn’t tell him about the things that obviously piqued your interest, the things you so enthusiastically scribbled in that little notebook,” Charlie said calmly.

“Bullshit!” Robin seethed.

“Why are you so angry?” Charlie asked, perplexed that he would be so furious.

“Here! Look at this!” the detective flung the newspaper that was sitting on the table at Charlie.

Charlie straightened the newspaper out on the over-bed table.

Sixth Slasher Victim Survives! Transvestite Prostitute Lives To Tell Tale the headline read.

What followed was pretty much the exact story that Charlie had told to Ruffe Ingersoll about her attack; at least he used the words ‘the name of the victim has been withheld’ in the text, saving Charlie the indignity of besmirching the family name. A picture of her asleep sans makeup, looking defenceless, the wound to her throat covered by a large bandage, graced the text. Inside the paper Ruffe had padded out the story, summarising the Exeter Slasher’s previous murders and making comparisons to Charlie's ordeal.

Then she found a sidebar: Police Torment Slasher Victim.

‘Detective Sargent Robin Sparrow leading the investigation into the transvestite prostitute’s vicious attack told the Slasher victim that the Slasher would have done the world a favour if he’d killed her because she’d be better off dead.’

The story that followed alluded to Charlie being discriminated against because she was transgender.

“He heard you say it. I didn’t tell him,” Charlie said matter-of-factly.

Robin Sparrow turned on her, his screwed up face was so red that Charlie though he was having a heart attack.

“He was here!” Robin screeched.

“In the bogs over there,” Charlie pointed to the ensuite bathroom.

“And you didn’t think to tell me!” Robin seethed.

“Why should I. You’ve treated me like shite since you first saw me. I’ve done nothing wrong and I’ve been mutilated and you and the doctors treat me like dog-shit sticking to their shoe,” Charlie refused to cry, she was made of sterner stuff.

The policewoman interjected at this point.

“And all that stops now,” she said.

“I’m WPC Glenda Savage and I’ve been appointed as your police liaison officer. I have been assigned as point of contact between you and the police officers investigating your crime.”

WPC Glenda Savage was a pretty woman in her late twenties with blue eyes and cupid-bow lips; she had a halo of black curls surrounding her pretty face. She filled out her tight-fitting dark-blue uniform but she carried the weight well and she had a fine set of legs sheathed in non-regulation fully-fashioned black stockings, her skirt sitting a lot higher above her knee than was mandated by the police uniform manual Charlie would bet.

Charlie pegged Glenda as being a no-nonsense type who didn’t mind speaking up to those in power, even if they were men.

“So how has all this come about? What's changed?” Charlie asked.

“Can you answer her question please Sargent Sparrow,” Glenda said firmly.

“Because of the newspaper article I was dragged before the Chief Constable and made to explain myself. He appointed Glenda here as your liaison officer while the case remains active,” Robin Sparrow said, the bitterness in his voice evident.

“And?” Glenda encouraged him.

“And I have been directed to deal with you as I would any other female victim and I am to apologise,” he said in a hoarse whisper.

“Is that my apology?” Charlie asked, but you could tell she was amused.

“That’s all you’re getting. I’ve got work to do. Even more so now that Ruffe has spilled everything we have on the case,” Robin grumbled.

“He didn’t spill everything Robin. May I call you that?” Charlie deliberately taunted the detective.

“He’s chosen to hang onto some vital titbits; just like you have,” Charlie sipped water again.

“Titbits?” Glenda interrupted.

“We withhold certain facts from the public. It’s helpful to weed out the loonies who confess to every murder they read about. You know about Lenny the Loop?” Robin began.

Glenda nodded. Lenny the Loop turns up at Chelmsford Police Station every time a major crime is reported in the media and confesses. He often wears fancy dress and is obviously mentally unstable.

“But keeping some of the facts secret helps us weed out the other more serious false confessions or so called eye witnesses who just like to get involved in the case,” Robin explained.

Charlie wrinkled her brow.

“Say for example someone came forward to give evidence in your case. When I interviewed them I could say something like ‘her white blouse was almost dyed completely red because she’d lost so much blood’,’” Robin offered.

“But my blouse was mauve,” Charlie interjected.

“Exactly. So if the person agreed with me about the blouse being white I’d know they were lying but if they corrected me and told me the blouse was mauve I’d be very interested,” Robin said authoritatively.

“There also facts in evidence or exhibits that could prove to be exculpatory or inculpatory evidence when we find a suspect,” Robin had a self-satisfied look on his face.

“My earring! If you found the earring that was ripped out of my ear on a suspect it would make him a credible person of interest,” Charlie remarked.

“You’re not just a pretty face are you Charlie?” Glenda complimented her new ward.

Robin had to admit that he was surprised at this strumpet’s intelligence. And there was no denying that she did have a pretty face.

“Can I go now?” Robin looked anxiously at his watch.

“Doesn’t he outrank you? Why is he asking if he can go?” Charlie asked Glenda.

“Technically he does outrank me, but because I’ve been appointed personally by the Chief Constable as your liaison, I have ultimate authority when it comes to dealing with the victim, in this case you,” Glenda explained.

“Please tell the Detective Sargent that I accept his half-arsed apology and he can fuck off any time he likes,” Charlie said to Glenda, deliberately ignoring Robin.

Robin didn’t wait for Glenda to repeat what Charlie had said. He sulkily turned away and left the room, resisting the urge to slam the door.

Charlie burst out laughing and Glenda joined in, Charlie laughed until her throat hurt and then stopped abruptly. She was surprised that Glenda had joined in the laughter, she had a feeling that she and Glenda just might get along.

“You shouldn’t laugh at him; he’s your superior,” Charlie said when she had finally stopped giggling.

“He’s an officious twat but he’s smart. If anyone is going to solve this case he will,” Glenda smoothed out her uniform which had become rumpled when she belly-laughed.

Glenda was a big girl and her uniform was ill-fitting, she’d obviously put on the weight since joining the police.

“He’s also kind of handsome, in a ruffled, smudgy, unkempt kind of way,” Charlie teased.

“Oh I’ve got my sights set on someone a lot higher than a Detective Sargent; I’m not giving this away to any underling,” Glenda struck a pose.

Charlie was now convinced that she and Glenda would get along just fine.

“Can you help me out of bed?” Charlie asked.

Glenda assisted her but Charlie was already finding it easier to get around. The pain in her abdomen was now just a dull throb and except for her throat being sore the wound on her neck didn’t bother her.

Charlie took the cigarettes and lighter from the drawer and made her way over to the window above the table and chair set against the wall. Glenda watched amused as Charlie lifted herself onto the table and opened the window. Then she saw Charlie put a cigarette in her mouth.

“Oh no, no, no! You’re not doing that in here!” Glenda shrieked.

“Oh pants! I’m having a fag and no one is stopping me!” Charlie said defiantly lighting the cigarette.

She sighed with gratification and blew a plume of smoke out of the window.

Glenda locked the door and joined Charlie at the window, settling her ample bottom on the desk.

“Gimme one of them then.” Glenda held out her hand and Charlie handed her the cigarettes and lighter.

The two women sat side by side on the desk near the window, turning their heads as necessary to blow smoke out the window. There was contentment; they obviously liked each other and a bond was forming between them already.

“So what’s it like being… you know? How did that come about?” Glenda nodded down at Charlie’s crotch.

Charlie took a deep breath and then told Glenda her life story.

Charlie had never really been a boy, she certainly wasn’t the son her father desperately wanted and her mother longed for. As early as she could remember she had eschewed manly pursuits. She didn’t want to play with dolls or pine for a pony but Charles liked all thinks feminine. From an early age he had dressed in his older sister’s clothes; she had told him that Charlie could be girl’s name if he wanted it to be and she treated Charlie like a sister, playing dressup and snuggling under the covers reading. Fairy tales when they were younger and progressing to serious novels and even the classics as they matured.

Charlie was not good at ball games but was quite agile with his svelte frame and he excelled at indoor athletics and at running both short courses and cross country. This came as some consolation to his parents who were well aware that their son was very effeminate and was being encouraged by his sister Joan who they constantly riled on to stop.

“Why can’t you accept Charlie for who he is or who she might become?” Joan had screamed at her parents one day after being admonished.

This had resulted in a back-hander and confinement to her room for a week. They tried the same heavy-handed tactics with Charlie but the more they hounded him, the more he pushed back. As a last straw the wealthy Ringwald family took Charlie to a behavioural specialist.

The physiatrist described a litany of feminine behaviours which he had catalogued including: feminine posture, gait, arm and hand gestures, feminine inflection in speech, as well as interest in feminine clothing, games and conversation topics. Using classical behaviour modification techniques he set about extinguishing the problematic behaviours in Charles. Enlisting the help of his parents and occasionally teachers to provide rewards and punishments corresponding to behaviours identified as wanted or unwanted. They were instructed to alternately praise or ignore him depending on whether he showed feminine or masculine behaviours.

As an act of defiance Charlie turned up to a family party wearing a skin-tight bodysuit, heavy makeup, dyed flaming-red hair and platform shoes. She was fifteen at the time and claimed to be doing her David Bowie impersonation but she knew deep down it was just an opportunity to be out publicly whilst dressed enfemme.

Charlie started dressing unconventionally at school, wearing makeup with her long hair coiffed different ways. It was the experimental seventies and she wasn’t the only one doing it but she bet she was likely the only one wearing satin knickers over sheer tights under the regulation school uniform they had to wear every Friday. Her dress style was androgynous, not exactly feminine, but certainly not masculine. The school was progressive and expensive but still adhered to an old-fashioned moral code.

Charlie was dressing as a girl almost constantly while she was at home and identified as girl not as a boy, her father had given up on her and her mother drowned her disappointment in gin.

Sex was confusing for Charlie. She knew that when she was dressed enfemme she had a hankering for physical comfort of some sort with a boy. She was also aware that some of the boys at school were taking a particular interest her and unnervingly an uncle had snuck into her room and had her sit on his lap while he stroked her thigh and did something to himself that she couldn’t quite make out. Her mother came in and found them and after a shouting match the uncle left, never to return.

Joan had started to date and she told Charlie what she got up to with her boyfriends. Kissing or snogging as they sometimes called it, letting the boy touch her budding breasts and even put his hands under her skirt but not inside her panties. She was going to marry as a virgin she said, but she admitted to masturbating her best boyfriend. Despite the so called sexual freedoms of the nineteen seventies, most teenagers weren’t having intercourse until their late teens and good girls saved their virginity for the man they intended to marry.

Charlie was enthralled with her sister’s tales but she knew that she didn’t have the right equipment to satisfy a boy in the conventional way. She certainly knew how to masturbate and it was one of her favourite pastimes when she fantasised. She had heard the boys at school talking about fellatio but she guessed correctly that they were just boasting. The pornographic movie Deep Throat had just been released and they were all talking about it.

She had also heard rumblings of anal sex or ‘taking it up the wrong ‘un’ which was said disparagingly about homosexuals. Charlie didn’t think of herself as homosexual because in her mind she was a girl; she had just been born with the wrong plumbing.

By the time Charlie was in her late teens she’d had a couple of boyfriends and they had kissed and cuddled and even stroked each other to orgasm but she suspected that they were just homosexual boys looking for a same-sex partner but she wanted a boy who saw her as a woman. Brian Hennessey was just such a boy. He wooed her slowly over three months, at first just showing interest, then befriending her and doing innocuous things like taking her to the movies or studying together but he encouraged her to dress enfemme for him whenever they were alone and before long they were lovers.

That is they’d kissed, cuddled and masturbated each other but Brian was impatient to go all the way. After discussing it with Joan who was now engaged to be married, Charlie made up her mind that Brian could have her virginity and they planned it perfectly. Brian rented a cheap hotel room and anxiously waited for Charles to arrive and transform into Charlie. Brian put on some soft rock music ostensibly to mask the anticipated moans of pleasure through the thin hotel walls he’d explained, and doused the overhead lights leaving on the bedside lamp to make it romantic.

Charlie dressed sexy for him in lingerie she had purchased especially for the evening. She wore a red and black satin and lace basque which she liked because it covered her meagre, almost non-existent breasts, expensive black fully-fashioned stockings, red and black nylon panties to match the basque, shiny black high heels and lashings of makeup and perfume.

Brian was hard just looking at her.

They lay on the bed and Charlie took Brian in her hand and stroked his hard cock, usually he would reciprocate but this evening he didn’t. Charlie didn’t mind; this evening was all about pleasing Brian.

When he guided Charlie’s head down to his groin she didn’t resist like she had in the past, she took him in her mouth and suckled his hard penis. His groaning and the swelling in her mouth excited her; she was in control. She bought him to extremis with her lips and her tongue a number of times before she allowed him to release into her mouth. He held her head tight to his groin and pumped her mouth full of creamy semen which she swallowed greedily; her own cock was tenting her panties and dribbling pre-cum.

It took Brian less than fifteen minutes to be ready to go again and this time Charlie lay back on the bed with a pillow under the small of her back, her legs hanging over the end of the bed. Brian lubricated his cock with K-Y jelly and lifted her legs high in the air. He positioned his glans in her puckered bud and Charlie smiled up at him.

Brian slowly penetrated Charlie with his long sleek cock. When it was buried in her all the way she nodded. It felt wonderful, the hard flesh filling her passage, pressing on her prostate and stretching her sphincter.

“Fuck me,” she whispered.

Brian did, but not for long. He came after about half a dozen thrusts because Charlie's tight anus caressing his cock with its velvety flesh was just too much. Charlie came too, filling her panties with her hot spend at the same time Brian ejaculated inside her.

They were not done. They fucked all evening trying out different positions and taking breaks now and then to have a drink or a smoke and then going right back at it. It was during one of those breaks while Charlie was using the bathroom that Brian’s best friend Stephen Smith let himself out of the wardrobe holding his instamatic camera and a carry-bag full of exposures. The soft rock from the radio and their absorption and fascination with each other’s bodies had masked the whirring of the camera as Stephen took a series of X-rated exposures. Stephen had stopped taking pictures at one stage to masturbate, watching Charlie and Brian fuck.

The term ‘slut shaming’ had not been invented yet but that’s what happened to Charlie. The Polaroids were passed around Thomas Street College and people gossiped, sniggered and pointed at Charlie who eventually snagged a photograph from one of the students. Brian Hennessey’s broken nose and fractured jaw was the reason Charlie was expelled from college.

The scandal and the pictures was also the final straw that got Charlie kicked out of home. With nowhere to live and because none of her family wanted her, Charlie ended up on the streets making a living the only way she knew how. Even Joan was forbidden by her husband to let Charlie into their home. When the family found out how Charlie was making a living to support herself she was disowned.

“So that’s what’s it like being… ‘you know’, as you put it,” Charlie snubbed out her cigarette and took it to the bathroom and flushed it.

Glenda was standing, staring at the floor when Charlie came out the bathroom.

“What’s wrong with you standing there like one o'clock half struck?” Charlie made her way back over to the bed.

“It’s… it’s just such a sad story,” Glenda looked up and Charlie could see tears forming in her eyes.

“Don’t you dare feel sorry for me! This is my life! This is how I choose to live. Don’t think that I haven’t had the do-gooders, usually carrying a bible, come to me on the street and offer me salvation and offer to cure me and change me back into the man I was born to be,” Charlie said angrily.

Glenda walked over and looked deeply into Charlie’s eyes.

“You are a beautiful woman Charlie. I wouldn’t dream of trying to convert you into something that you’re not. I just think life had been unfair to you,” Glenda softly stroked Charlie’s cheek, her fingers drifted down to the bandage on her throat.

To be continued

Walter Middleton was a mommy’s boy. His overprotective mother smothered him with love and he adored her. She was a socialite who had inherited quite a sum of money when her husband had died young, drunkenly driving his sports car over an abutment. The press played up the fact that there was also a pretty young model in the car with him when it crashed.

Mary Middleton put all her efforts into spending her husband’s legacy and doting on her son. He went to a public school and excelled at everything he did. Walter was fit and handsome and by the time he entered his late teens he was being considered as a potential spouse by a number of well-to-do young women.

Walter suffered migraine headaches for which the doctors had been unable to provide a remedy. When he was younger he would crawl into his mother’s bed and she would close the curtains and turn out all the lights and cuddle him. Her soft body, billowy satin nightdress, her perfume and her soft lips on his brow was the only thing that comforted him.

Mary Middleton was a striking woman with a voluptuous figure, a flaming red mane of curly locks and striking blue-green eyes. The vultures had circled when her husband died but she resisted any temptation to remarry. Not that she didn’t like men, she adored men and Walter hated every man who wooed his mother.

He’d sit outside her door listening to her moan like a slattern while she entertained her latest beau, he would seethe with jealousy and hatred for his mother but the hatred would turn to love as soon as he saw her. His headaches had abated as he grew but returned with a vengeance when he turned eighteen. They were so bad that sometimes he thought he’d die.

Mary found Walter curled up on the floor of her bedroom one evening, sobbing with pain. She knew what worked for him and she slipped out of her dress and took him into her bed and cuddled him. Walter curled up in the comforting arms of his mother, the solace he found having her curvaceous body pressed to his returned. The familiar smell of her perfume, the feel of her satin full-slip against his bare skin, the slippery softness of her nylon stockings against his legs, red lipsticked lips pressing on his forehead dissolved the agony in his head.

Mary felt her son become tumescent against her, something she was quite familiar with but not with her son.

“I love you mommy,” he sighed and Mary felt her love for her boy wash over her.

If letting him cuddle her while she smothered him with devotion bought relief from the demons in his head then that was a small price to pay. She felt him rubbing his erection against her and she knew that it was wrong but she would do anything for her son.

“Here; let mommy,” she kissed his cheek and took his hard penis in her fingers.

She used her fingers with feathery deftness and soon felt the warm ooze of his spend on her hand.

“Lovely mommy,” Walter sighed and snuggled up to her and fell into a peaceful sleep.

Whenever Walter was home from college he seemed to be plagued by migraines, particularly if Mary had a gentleman caller around. His mother knew what they were doing was wrong but she’d do anything for the love of her son. She started wearing sexy lingerie to bed and allowed Walter to rub his body against her and then she would use her hand to bring him relief. Walter would then invariably fall into a deep, comforting sleep.

After a while Walter started using his hands on her, stroking her thighs and squeezing her breasts as he humped against her. She let him ejaculate against her stocking-clad thighs if she was in the mood, knowing it bought him relief. Then one day his hand glided across the front of her tight satin panties.

She slapped his hand away.

“No Walter! You must never touch mommy there, ever! Do you understand?” she scalded him.

Walter nodded, looking sheepishly guilty.

“There, there, my lovely boy; let mommy help you,” her fingers went to his manhood and Walter growled with pleasure.

This thing they had between them became a sick fascination. Mary would get around the house dressed in a satin housecoat, lingerie and heels, letting the garment fly open to reveal her long legs clad in shimmering hosiery and her pubis clad in an ever changing repertoire of underpants: tight satin full-cut panties, see-through nylon French knickers, rayon directoire-knickers, and very rarely bikini panties.

The forbidden area between his mother’s legs fascinated Walter and he became frustrated that she seemed to delight in showing it off to him but any attempt he made to touch her there resulted in his hand being slapped away. One day Mary found a pair of her panties under Walter’s pillow. They were stained with his semen but instead of being disgusted she smiled to herself. He became careless, leaving snails-trails of silver semen in the stockings she left hanging over shower-rail, taking her underwear from the clothes hamper and returning it soaked with his semen, he didn’t care that she knew.

Rather than reprimand Walter she teased him and encouraged him, he was in her bed most nights when he was home from school with real or feigned migraines that needed his mother’s special remedy.

“You never tell anyone what we do together do you Walter?” she would ask and he would always shake his head.

Walter was becoming frustrated, but worse; he was fixated on his mother. Thoughts of her flaming red locks, her emerald-green eyes, her body clad in silk and satin, her long legs sheathed in glimmering sheer stockings but most of all, the deep V of her pubis, filled his every waking minute. His studies began to suffer and he was unable to engage with his friends and dating a girl was out of the question; none of them compared to mother.

Mother and son were both suffering from guilt but were unable to stop. Mary treated her guilt with alcohol but Walter began to have increasing fantasies about fucking his mother whether she wanted him to or not. In fact the images in his head of his mother trying to fight him off while he defiled her began to replace the images of her lovingly soothing him.

But if he did the unspeakable… if he crossed that boundary… if he committed the ultimate sin… no one could ever know. They must never speak of it. He would need to make sure that she never told a soul, not even in one of her drunken soirees.

Walter’s thoughts became darker and dangerous. He was going to fuck his mother, make her scream for not letting him do what she knew he wanted desperately to do, make her regret teasing him and then taking away the prize he desired, longed for, deserved! He’d sniffed it, he’d tasted it, but only when he stole her dirty panties of course; he’d even seen the outline of it through the gauzy nylon and satin. Her cunt belonged to him and he wanted it!

Being an intelligent being Walter took his time and hatched his plan. It would need to be perfectly executed if he was to get away with it.

On the evening he had selected he plied his mother with alcohol, it was easy, she loved to drink. As usual she was wearing her housecoat, stockings and suspenders, panties, bra and high heels. Her makeup was heavy: dark eyes, rouged cheeks, bright red lipstick. She teased him, allowing her housecoat to open so he could see her thighs and the V of her pubis covered in pink satin panties. Walter was hard.

He told his mother that he felt one of his headaches coming on and could they to her room so she could work her magic and sooth the deep pain slicing into his head. This time he didn’t have to fake it, he genuinely had a tremendous headache. He wondered if it was because he knew what was coming; what he had planned.

Walter stripped naked and his mother took off her housecoat and kicked off her heels and held the bedclothes open for him to join her.

“”Come to mommy darling; let me take away your pain,” she whispered through those red lipsticked lips.

Walter slid into the bed beside her and his mother enveloped him in her arms and kissed his forehead as he inhaled her scent. His cock was pressing on her sleek stockinged thigh. He was allowed to do this and he began to hump his mother’s leg. She reached for him, ready to bring him off in her hand hoping he would fall asleep as usual but tonight was different.

When she took her son’s erect penis in her fingers, instead of easing away from her a little so she could stroke him, he rolled on top of her and pinned her to the bed.

“Walter! What are you doing? Stop that!” Mary could feel her son’s cock prodding between her legs.

She slammed her legs shut, but it was too late. All she had achieved was trapping Walter’s hard cock between her legs and he continued to hump her satin-sheathed mound.

“You know you’re not supposed to do that Walter,” she wriggled underneath him but she couldn’t break free.

What’s more, by wriggling and bucking like she was, she was stimulating her son further, his cock was enfolded in her labia, the satin panty fabric stimulating it and she had to admit that she too was aroused. She always was when she did what she did with her son and usually she rubbed out an orgasm when he fell asleep or sometimes she just came when he spurted against her body.

Maybe she would just let him come against her panties; he hadn't penetrated her so they had not yet committed the mortal sin. She actually liked the feel of his hard flesh pressing into her cunt, rubbing on her clitoris through her panties.

Walter had other plans however and he pressed his feet between his mother’s ankles and forcefully opened his legs, forcing his mother’s legs open.

“No Walter! No!” she screamed.

He let her. There was no one in the house to hear her and their house was a walled estate so they had no neighbours.

“Ok mother; here we go,” Walter pressed his lips against hers but she shook her head trying to stop him.

The lapse of concentration as she tried to stop him kissing her meant she stopped focussing on trying to keep her legs together. Walter eased aside the gusset of his mother’s satin panties and entered her.

They both stopped struggling.

He looked down at his mother, her flaming red hair framed her face, fanned out on the pillow like a blazing halo, her green eyes burned with hate or desire, he wasn’t sure which; maybe both. But they had now committed the ultimate sin, even though Mary had tried to resist. Her cunt was his finally. He had the part of his mother that should have been his all along. A single tear rolled down his mother’s face but Walter didn’t care; he liked that she was crying.

He pressed his lips to hers and this time she didn’t resist. She let him kiss her. He crushed his mother’s lips with his, tasting her lipstick and then her sweet breath tinged with gin as he slid his tongue into her mouth. Her cunt was warm, moist and tight; clinging to his cock, he could smell her secretions.

Walter fucked his mother. He pressed himself against her body wanting to feel her breasts against his chest, her silken thighs against his, her lips on his lips. Her vagina clutched at his cock almost like it was reluctant to let his swollen organ leave her wet, warm passage. He’d bring it all the way out and then push it all the way in, delighting in the feel of his mother’s labia opening like the petals of a flower as he pushed himself inside her.

Mary couldn’t help how her body responded to her son’s assault. He may have been a virgin but he was fucking her as well as any of the men she had invited into her bed, maybe better.

She surrendered and wrapped her arms around her son’s body and lifted her legs to his flanks. She slid her tongue into his mouth. Walter loved the feel of his mother’s body against his and her response to his fucking her. But why hadn't she allowed him to do this before? Why had she teased him? Why had she withheld what was rightfully his?

“Oh god Walter this is so wrong but this is so good,” his mother moaned.

Walter fucked her harder, he was close to coming and she was getting wetter and the stench of her cunt was getting stronger. Walter pushed his mother’s head down on the pillow and held her there by her shoulders as he jackhammered his cock in and out of her. He wanted to see her face. He watched her face contort with lust, her eyes light up with wanton lechery. She wrapped her nylon-sheathed legs around him tighter and bucked beneath him. Her sodden panties rubbed against his scrotum.

Mary orgasmed and Walter came with her. Her cunt quivered and pulsed and gripped his cock, expressing the huge load of ejaculate he had saved for tonight. Walter gazed down at his mother’s face; a mask of ecstasy. His cock was on fire, his orgasm incredible, like nothing he had ever felt.

Walter quickly reached beneath the pillow and found the knife he had hidden there. Mary never knew what happened to her. Walter was so quick with the knife that her neck opened like a sluice gate and her blood gushed over her body and sprayed onto Walters face. She was aflame, her red hair glowing her blue-green eyes glittering and Walter spontaneously orgasmed a second time.

When he had finished he cut open her belly wanting to disfigure the part of her that she had denied him for so long; he didn’t know what he was doing but he found satisfaction in it anyway. He removed her panties and the wedding ring from her finger and went to the bathroom to shower.

When he was clean he changed into fresh clothing and took down the small suitcase that he had already packed with his most precious possessions. He put the stolen panties and the wedding ring in the suitcase for safekeeping. Walter went back to the bedroom and drenched his mother’s body with mentholated spirits and tossed a match on her. Her body held no interest for him now that the lights in her eyes had extinguished.

Walter took the suitcase downstairs and smashed all the liquor bottles on the floor and threw some newspapers on top of the puddle of spirits and tossed matches at it until it was ablaze.

He left the house and took his suitcase over to the old barn and hid it in his secret hidey-hole than he sat on the manicured lawn and watched the fire take hold of the house. When it was fully ablaze he ran down the long curving driveway to the road and began to scream.

Walter was a good actor and when a car pulled up the driver was convinced that Walter was absolutely devastated by the fire engulfing his house and was genuinely concerned and distressed that his mother might still be inside. He was inconsolable and incoherent for nearly a week which wasn’t an act. He genuinely missed his mother but when he snuck back to the property and recovered his suitcase from the barn it didn’t hurt as much. When he fondled the ring and sniffed his mother’s panties he missed her not at all because in his mind she was with him.

Mary Middleton was the first of the Flaming Girls. There would not be another one for fifteen years but there would definitely be more.

*****

The doctor removed the bandage from Charlie's throat and looked pleased with himself.

“I’ve done a bloody good job there if I do say so myself,” he inspected the scar and poked at it with gloved fingers.

A pretty young nurse holding the instrument tray cooed and preened, agreeing with the doctor; obviously infatuated with him.

“That big red scar will begin to fade and the lumpiness will disappear leaving just a thin silvery line across your throat. You seem adept at makeup Miss Ringwald, I’m sure you’ll conceal it well,” the doctor actually smiled at Charlie.

Charlie wondered if he realised that he had called her ‘Miss’ or if it was just an instinctive response now that she was able to wear makeup and feminine attire. Today she was wearing a powder blue chiffon teddy and matching nylon knickers of which the doctor got an eyeful when he pulled down the bedclothes to inspect the wounds on her belly. She was deftly tucked and the doctor spent an inordinate amount of time studying her pubic area, obviously wondering where her genitalia had disappeared to.

“That will be all thanks nurse,” he dismissed the pretty little thing and her disappointment was evident.

“I’m leaving the dressing off your throat, you may cover it with a scarf when you go out but I want it to get plenty of fresh air until it begins to fade,” the doctor fussed with her chart.

“I’ve put a lighter dressing on your stomach which is also healing well. The internal injuries will trouble you a little until they fully heal but nothing too painful, just the dull ache you describe.”

“We’ll remove the dressing from your abdomen next week and then you’ll be free to go. You’ll just need to make follow-up appointments with your GP and come back to the hospital if your pain returns but I doubt it will.”

The doctor was smug and full of himself. We walked over to the door and clicked the lock.

“I told you that I’d be releasing you to the public ward as soon as possible and I can longer justify you taking up a private room,” the doctor stood over her.

“You’re putting me in the public men’s ward, even though I look this?” Charlie asked.

“I’m sorry I can’t put you in the women’s ward because you aren’t one; although I must say you are a magnificent creature,” the doctor slid a hand along Charlie’s thigh, onto her hip, along her body and then lifted her chin.

“Quite beautiful,” he stared into her eyes.

“Exactly! What do thing is going to happen to me in the men’s ward!” Charlie said angrily.

“Yes. I can see your conundrum. If only there was a way to keep this private room for a few more days until you are discharged?” the doctor smiled like a crocodile.

Ever since she had been kicked out of home Charlie had faced discrimination and prejudice. Because she was a transvestite every man she met immediately thought that she must be promiscuous. She had turned to prostitution out of necessity, when she wasn’t working the streets she didn’t lie around all day and think of cock.

But she was a pragmatist. She traded her body for money; hell, she had even traded the story of her vicious attack for money. What she was about to do was nothing but trade.

“So I presume that if I provide you with a service, you will let me keep this room. Sort of quid pro quo?” she smiled up at him.

The doctor just nodded.

Charlie eased herself into a sitting position on the edge of the bed and reached out and opened the doctor’s lab coat and unzipped his fly.

“There’s a good girl,” he smiled down at her.

“You are quite the pretty thing,” he sighed.

Charlie freed the doctor’s penis from his trousers and put her lips to it. She used her tongue on the delicate fraenulum and before long was rewarded with a globule of clear sweet pre-ejaculate as the member became fully engorged. Charlie thought the doctor’s penis was rather pathetic given some of the monsters she had dealt with; it was probably why the doctor over-compensated in other areas.

She traced her tongue around the corona of his glans and the doctor groaned and put his hands on her head and encouraged Charlie to take him in her mouth. Charlie obliged and he began to frantically fuck her mouth.

“Take my cock you tranny whore!”

“Suck it you dirty bitch!”

“Swallow my load you slattern!” the doctored howled obscenities which bounced off Charlie like feathers off a carapace.

The doctor plunged his cock in and out of Charlie's mouth viciously. Had he been well endowed she might have choked, but his meagre offering was easy for her handle but she knew that this man craved subservience and deference so she feigned a fearful look and pretended she was choking whilst lashing at his penis with her tongue to invoke his orgasm as quickly as possible.

He pulled her face into his groin and held her there while he ejaculated a sad little puddle of sperm into her mouth. The doctor released her as soon as he had finished coming and Charlie spat his offering into a glass on her bedside table.

Charlie pretended to compose herself, all the while almost feeling sorry for the pitiful little man who man who compensated for his lack of penile dimensions by being an officious, overbearing and a self-centred prick. She looked up him, behaving like a frightened puppy, pretending that he had dominion over her.

“Thank you Miss Ringwald, I’ll see you here the same time tomorrow,” the doctor said as he adjusted his clothing.

“It’s a shame you have that stomach wound otherwise I would have loved to have fucked you up the arse,” he quipped as he unlocked the door.

He looked surprised to see WPC Glenda Savage standing outside the door.

“Afternoon doctor,” Glenda smiled at him but the smile never reached her eyes.

“Afternoon Constable,” the doctor sniffed and moved aside to allow Glenda to enter.

The doctor closed the door and Glenda entered carrying a shopping bag.

“I don’t like him, I think he’s officious and egotistical,” Glenda said looking back at the door.

“He’s ok. He’s a bit rapey but he’s putty in my hands,” Charlie got off the bed and went to the bathroom to rinse with mouthwash.

“He’s a bit what?” Glenda wasn’t sure if she’d heard Charlie correctly.

“Never mind; what did you bring me?” Charlie came out of the bathroom smiling.

“Christ I wish I had your figure. I gotta give up eating faggots, peas and chips and drinking Tizer,” she patted her ample belly.

“Bollocks you’re lovely,” Charlie replied, patting Glenda on the bottom.

“So what’s in the bag?” Charlie asked.

Glenda put the paper bag on the table and produced two bottles of beer, two packets of crisps and a packet of Consulate cigarettes.

“All the nutrition that two good girls need,” Glenda sniggered.

“And heaps better than the bollocks they serve from the hospital kitchen,” Charlie added.

Glenda popped the tops off the beer bottles using the aluminium strip on the edge of the table and handed Charlie one.

“Can I ask you another question? Why do you talk like that?” Glenda took a slug of ale from the bottle.

“Like what?” Charlie sipped her beer.

“You talk like a working class cockney but you come from a posh home and you are well educated,” Glenda commented.

“It disguises my upbringing and keeps me safe on the streets. Can you imagine me speaking The Queen’s English to the other brasses; they’d kick my arse in,” Charlie replied.

“Or talking to the punters with a posh accent: ‘sir, may I interest you in a spot of fellatio or perhaps a little buggery up against the wall’,” Charlie pulled off a perfect British upper-class accent.

“Let’s face it; there’s not many Sloane Rangers working the Chelmsford railway underpass is there,” she giggled.

“There you are; putting yourself down again,” Glenda admonished her.

“Changing the subject… what news of my case?” Charlie asked.

“Well funny you should ask. I’ve asked Ruffe Ingersoll to join us if you don’t mind,” Glenda ripped open the crisps and put a handful in her mouth.

“Here’s today’s Sun by the way,” Glenda said around a mouthful of Smith’s cheese and onion.

Charlie’s story had moved to the inside pages but Ruffe had written a great follow-up, describing life on the streets for London streetwalkers and the perils they faced daily trying to earn enough money to survive. He had included a picture of Charlie posing in the hospital room dressed in her pink rayon baby-doll nightdress. She looked pretty and seductive and next to it was the picture of her lying asleep in the hospital bed, wan and wounded.

He had used the caption: From This to This to make his point.

“I don’t look half bad in those baby-dolls but I look shit in the other picture. I didn't know that prick Ruffe had taken it,” Charlie studied the newspaper.

The Daily Sun had gone to the expense to use coloured ink on the better of the two photographs, the one of her lying in bed asleep they had left black and white to emphasise how peaked she looked.

Ruffe bustled through the door and closed it.

“Good evening ladies; you both look beautiful by the way,” Ruffe gave them his best smile.

Charlie accepted the compliment but Glenda gave him a sceptical look and took another beer out of the shopping bag and handed it to him.

“If I’d known it was going to be a cocktail party I would have bought you both a Babycham,” Ruffe deftly sprang the cap off his beer using the table’s sharp edge.

Ruffe was in fine form. Today he was carrying a small briefcase which he’d dumped on Charlie’s hospital cot. He took a long pull on his beer and popped the locks on his briefcase and took out a sheet of paper.

“Did you tell her?” Charlie looked meaningfully at Glenda.

“Nope; thought the pleasure would be all yours,” Glenda replied.

“Did she tell me what?” Charlie looked at Ruffe and then at the paper he was holding.

Ruffe simply offered Charlie the piece of A4 paper and sat on the edge of the bed and sipped his Whitbread Pale Ale.

The document was a Photostat copy of a handwritten letter. The cursive script was flowing and elegant.

I didn’t know the tranny whore lived until I read your article in the Sun. I thought for sure I’d done for her even though I was disturbed; she looked empty with her pale skin and her guts in her lap, nothing like the Flaming Girl who had burned so brightly when I slit her throat.

Her red hair and green eyes were ablaze when I first laid eyes on her. Never mind, alive or dead she will always be one of my Flaming Girls, perhaps I’ll finish the job, perhaps not. If you see her again tell her to fret not, her knickers are being put to good use by me.

There will be more, there will always be more. So long as there are Flaming Girls out there it is my duty to ensure they burn brightly before I snuff out their fire.

VULCAN

“It’s him,” Charlie said in a shocked whisper and the letter fluttered to the floor.

Ruffe bent down and picked it up while Glenda came to Charlie’s side and led her to a chair.

“It was addressed personally to me at The Daily Sun. The coppers have the original, I made that copy before I gave it to them,” Ruffe dusted off the letter and put it back in the briefcase.

“Scene of Crime Officers have made a preliminary inspection and the Criminal Investigation Division has a copy. They believe there are no fingerprints on the letter or the envelope. The cheeky bastard posted it in the pillar box on the corner of the Chelmsford railway underpass,” Glenda added.

“He went back to the scene of the crime,” Charlie murmured.

“We know it’s him from the details that no one else would know,” Glenda continued.

“Inculpatory evidence,” Charlie summarised.

“Exactly. This is the first time the Essex Slasher has made contact with the news services and you can be sure he’d know that it would wind up in police hands,” Glenda said.

“It’s not unusual for murders to leave notes at the scene or to send messages after the fact; it goes all the way back to Jack the Ripper. We believe it’s likely because you survived and he’s making excuses whilst bragging at the same time. He’s also taunting us; we can’t catch him and he’s going to kill more women.”

“He mentioned my knickers. What do you think he means by putting them to good use?” Charlie asked.

Neither Glenda nor Ruffe answered, the answer was obvious and distasteful.

“He writes well and uses good grammar and prose. CID thinks he’s well educated so that gives them a little more to go on,” Glenda said.

“What about his threat to finish the job? Do you think he’ll come after me?” Charlie shivered.

“Another reason I invited Ruffe to join us. I have a little proposition for you both,” Glenda said and pulled hard on her beer.

*****

The first Woman Detective Constable was appointed in 1973 which was also the year that the separate Women's Department was fully integrated into the Metropolitan Police. Female police officers did not get equal pay with male police officers until 1974 which was when the first Woman Chief Superintendent was appointed to take charge of a subdivision.

Glenda Savage joined the police during this exciting period and excelled during her basic training. She wanted a career in the police; and whilst she was still only a Woman Police Constable, she had set her sights high. She had sat and passed the Sargent’s exam and was just waiting for a position to become vacant so she could be promoted and she had also applied to become a Detective.

Her career had stalled and to make matters worse she was taken off patrolling duties and assigned to the Chief Constable’s Office.

Essex Police is a territorial police force responsible for policing the county of Essex, in the east of England, consisting of over 1.7 million people and around 1,400 square miles and Edward Bard, the current Chief Constable, was responsible for it. He was in his early fifties, handsome, intelligent, articulate, and freethinking and often used progressive, alternative and sometimes radical means to fight crime. He was also the highest ranking black man outside of the Met.

Edward surrounded himself with smart people and at first WPC Glenda Savage was unaware that Edward Brad himself hand selected her for the position, working directly for him as a liaison officer during high profile crimes.

“You’re very intelligent and you have street smarts, you’re going to go a long way Glenda but first just do this one job for me. You will report directly to me and you will be working the most important and high profile cases so you will get valuable exposure to all aspects of policing. When you finish up here I promise you a promotion and an appointment as a detective,” Edward had said to her during the interview.

Edward had sad brown eyes, full sensuous lips and coiffed black hair. He had a way of taking you into his confidence and making you feel almost sorry for him, devoted to him almost.

Glenda took the job and had worked closely with Edward for nearly two years. She was hoping to have been promoted and moved after a year but Edward held onto her. Glenda wasn’t stupid; she knew that he held onto her to keep her close, because he was dependent on her.

Their affair had started late one evening when they were both working late in his office. Glenda had taken off her jacket and was sitting on a hard backed chair with her legs crossed concentrating on a case file in her lap. Edward Bard sat behind his desk also in his shirtsleeves and was contemplating her.

“Is that regulation uniform WPC Savage?” he asked, breaking the silence.

“Sorry, what’s that sir?” she asked.

“Your skirt seems rather short and those stocking surely are not regulation?” he nodded at her legs.

Glenda blushed.

“They are my variation on the uniform regulations which demand WPCs wear black or navy-blue hosiery and skirts may be worn above the knee but are not to be too short,” Glenda quoted the manual.

“My stockings are black and fully-fashioned, my seams are straight so they are regulation,” Glenda had stood and she extended a leg and ran her fingers along the backseam of her stocking.

“And who determines when a skirt is too short?”

“Is this too short?” she pointed to the hemline of her skirt that rested six inches above her knee.

“Or this?” she raised her skirt a couple of inches which showed the dark shadow-welt on her stockings.

“Or this?” Glenda hitched her skirt above the tops of her stockings, nearly but not quite showing her panties.

The Chief Constable swallowed.

“You’re the Chief Constable, you decide,” Glenda sidled up to Edward, getting uncomfortably close.

He breathed the exotic perfume which she always wore and he had to admit drove him a little crazy, his eyes should have been on her blue eyes or her lipsticked cupid-bow lips or the halo of black curls surrounding her pretty face, but they were locked on her thighs.

Glenda took his hand and put it on the hem of her skirt.

“So show me sir, which length is acceptable?” Glenda leaned in, her lips nearly touching his.

Glenda took his hand again and this time she put it under her skirt.

“May be you should check my knickers while you’re at it,” she whispered and placed her lips on his.

Edward pulled her against him with his free arm whilst his other hand pressed against Glenda's black, rayon panties. He could feel the warmth of her sex through the slinky material. He put his tongue in her mouth and kissed her passionately and she responded, opening her mouth for him and pressing her breasts against his chest.

Glenda squeezed him though his trousers and Edward moaned and shivered.

Edward was not a womaniser and he had not selected Glenda Savage to work for him because he’d fancied her or even because of her looks, she was the right woman for the job. But he was in sexless marriage. Not a loveless marriage, he and his wife Alicia loved each other very much but his wife was raised in a strict religious household and believed that now she had given her husband two children there was no need for sex.

On the rare occasion that she had consented Alicia would raise the hem of her nightgown, pull down her plain saggy cotton knickers and lie still while he rutted on top of her. Her single act of participation would be to rub his back and say ‘wonderful Edward’ as she pulled up her knickers and pulled down her sexless linen nightgown when they finished.

She had kept her virginity until their wedding night so Edward had no idea that he was going to be in for a marriage without sex when he married his wife.

Edward’s passion rose at Glenda's display of wantonness. Edward had become attracted to Glenda not long after she had started working with him. They spent a lot of time working together and because of the confidentiality required of a liaison officer, they were often alone. When she’d lean over him to show him something on a document he would breathe in her exotic perfume, her breasts would accidently graze his shoulder, she would sometimes absentmindedly open her legs while she was concentrating on reading or writing something, she exuded a subtle sexuality that he found alluring.

And now he had her in his arms and he was kissing her. They both knew it was wrong but they both couldn’t stop. They craved each other.

Glenda led Edward over to the couch, stopping to lock the door, and pulled him down on top of her. They struggled with their clothing, she unbuttoned her blouse and freed her large pillowy breasts and Edward unbuckled his trousers and awkwardly hitched them down to his knees. He lifted Glenda’s skirt and put a hand inside her panties, he wanted to touch her there, to feel the moistness and heat of her sex.

Glenda moaned when Edward opened her labia, he was obviously inexperienced as he struggled to find the right place or to do the right thing but Glenda guided his fingertip to her clitoris and he soon figured out how to please her as she gyrated beneath him, moaning and sighing.

He wanted to play with her breasts but he was close to coming and Glenda was grinding her pubis against his hand so he thought it would be rude to move it. Glenda took his dark throbbing penis in her hand and guessed rightly by the string of glistening pre-ejaculate drooling from the eye of his cock that he was close to extremis.

She removed Edward’s hand from her labia and guided his cock inside the gusset of her panties and placed it at the entrance to her vagina.

They kissed deeply as Edward slipped his long thick cock inside her. Glenda had never been filled by such a large organ before and it felt wonderful. Edward’s wife was perennially dry when they fucked and to him it felt wonderful to be inside Glenda’s tight, warm, wet, spongy quim.

“I’m sorry,” Edward moaned as he ejaculated.

“Oh god!” Glenda shrieked as she orgasmed, holding Edward’s body against her by locking her legs around him and pulling him close as she kissed him intensely.

Edward kissed her and mauled her breasts as he continued to climax inside this beautiful sexy woman. They stayed locked together kissing and caressing each other and within ten minutes Edward was hard again.

This time he fucked Glenda energetically for nearly an hour, they experimented with multiple positions and explored each other’s bodies; she stripped down to knickers, stockings, suspenders and heels and he fully naked.

They never played up in Edward’s office again. They met surreptitiously at hotels or motels at least once a week; at work they were nothing but professional. Glenda knew all about Edward’s wife and that he would never leave her, it was a relationship of convenience for them both. Edward got regular sex from a woman he cared deeply for but didn’t love and Glenda got the sex which she enjoyed, but she also manipulated Edward ensuring she got her way at work but couldn’t break free of his hold over her.

Glenda was starting to resent Edward. As far as she was concerned he was getting a great deal, shagging a pretty young WPC and then going home to his wife while she was stuck working in the Chief Constable’s office with no sign yet of the promised promotion or detective’s assignment. She had started to become lazy and let herself go putting on weight and she resented herself for it.

The Essex Slasher case might just be the antidote to her recent apathy.

“I want to open a Special Crime Investigation,” WPC Glenda Savage sat across the desk from the Chief Constable.

“Come on now Glenda. This is all a bit much. Not long now and you’ll be promoted and seconded to CID,” Edward smiled patronisingly at her across the desk.

“And will my collateral duties in CID still involve me dropping my drawers for you once a week at some seedy motel. Lying on the bed waiting for you wearing my whore’s makeup and those black stockings and high heels you like so much?” Glenda retorted.

“Shh! Keep it down Glenda, people will hear you!” Edward said in a harsh whisper.

“I’ve formed a bond with Charlie Ringwald. She’s the only victim to survive the Slasher and she knows more about him than she thinks. The Slasher has opened dialogue with Ruffe Ingersoll who has a strange but effective symbiosis with Charlie,” Glenda continued.

“So what are you going to be? The three stooges? Two stooges and a tranny brass?” Edward chuckled and lowered his eyes to a document in front of him dismissively.

“Look sir, I know that the minimum rank to head up a Special Crime Investigation is Sargent, you can second someone from CID. Just so long as they know we will be a collaborative team with equal standing,” Glenda would not be cut short.

“You’re dreaming Glenda,” Edward refused to look up or to be drawn any further into Glenda’s preposterous idea.

“Did you hear about WPC Golding over at Redditch?” Glenda changed tack.

“What about her?” Edward said disinterestedly flicking through the file in front of him.

“She was shagging the DCI but they had a nasty breakup. She started sending the dirty sexy knickers the DCI had bought her to his wife through the post. Apparently it took some explaining but they’re still together, although he’s on a short leash,” Glenda speculated.

“Of course he’s been demoted and reassigned to a boring administrative position up north.”

She had finally got Edward’s attention.

“You wouldn’t!” he hissed.

“Nah, I like my knickers too much. I’d probably send her my laddered stockings… you know the ones with your spunk on them… you do like coming on my stockings Edward,” Glenda smiled at him.

“Keep it down!” Edward hissed again.

“I doubt Alicia will be as forgiving; she’s a very pious woman I’ve been told. Of course my reputation will be besmirched but there’s plenty of WPCs dropping their kit for senior officers, its passé; but a Chief Constable shagging one of his junior aids? That’s not going to go down well at all,” Glenda’s smile widened.

“And the first black Chief Constable, the highest ranking black policeman outside of the Metropolitan Police. There will be some who will be bitterly disappointed and some who will say ‘told you so’.”

“All right Glenda. You know I’m not averse to using alternative crime fighting techniques. You can have your Special Crime Investigation and you can include Ruffe and that tranny in your little band of merry men but I’m putting a proper member of the CID in charge. Your SCI is to hand over anything they find of interest to the CID officers assigned to the Slasher Task Force so that proper policing procedures are followed,” Edward said angrily ceding to Glenda’s request.

“I want someone to keep you steady and ensure you don’t breach police protocols and especially make sure that snake Ruffe Ingersoll isn’t given anything out the investigation to print without my approval.”

“Thank you sir. I’ll head down to Chelmsford public hospital and tell Miss Ringwald, who I have to tell you is not the stupid strumpet you think she is, and who’s life might be in danger if you believe what the Slasher wrote,” Glenda stood up.

“Thanks WPC Savage, another reason to justify why I’ve stood up an SCI, to protect our star witness and the only person who can identify the mass murder,” Edward sighed.

Glenda moved around the Chief Constable's desk and ensuring that no one could see into the office she bent down and kissed Edward on the lips and shoved his hand under her skirt. He did not resist both acts.

“Wednesday; the usual place. You bring the wine and I’ll bring my sexy seamed stockings and those French knickers you like so much,” she whispered in his ear and nibbled his earlobe before moving away, leaving him with quite a prominent erection.

*****

Of course she did not give any of this detail to Charlie and Ruffe, just that she had the Chief Constable’s blessing to form a Special Crime Investigation team and that Ruffe and Charlie could be seconded to it as civilian consultants.

“What’s in for me?” Ruffe asked immediately.

“We collaborate. Anything you get through your sources or if the Slasher writes to you again you share and I’ll share stuff from the CID and SOCO,” Glenda promised.

“And me? I don’t get anything,” Charlie said.

“You get protection and also the chance to participate in the investigation of your own case; almost unheard of,” Glenda countered.

“All right I’m in. I need another story to follow up my story about the Slasher’s letter. Your lot have put a court order on the newspapers printing the letter or transcribing it; but I am allowed to print that I received a letter from the Slasher and that he has for all intents and purposes admitted to all of the murders in the letter,” Ruffe said.

“Plus I’ve got to give sexy-knickers here twenty quid every time I do a story about her, so I’m going broke,” Ruffe playfully mussed Charlie’s hair.

Despite swapping insults their camaraderie was real.

“So I guess I’m in too,” Charlie whipped the beer out of Ruffe’s hand and took a slug.

“There is just one thing. The Chief Constable is going to appoint a more senior police officer to head up the SCI, someone from CID. But we are all going to collaborative and have equal standing when it comes to the investigation,” Glenda paraphrased what she had said to Edward.

“Who’s that going to be then?” Ruffe snatched the beer bottle back off Charlie who gave him the finger in return, but she was smiling.

Just then the door opened and in walked Robin Sparrow. The joviality left the room like a chill wind blowing in December.

“Is this your doing WPC Savage? Are you the reason I’m heading up an SCI comprising of a tranny brass, a conniving scrivener, and a fat policewoman?” Detective Sargent Sparrow eyed each them individually and menacingly.

To be continued

Walter Middleton had just released himself into a Pretty Polly stocking and the garment hung pathetically from his still engorged penis. A gobbet of thick creamy semen had burst through the sheer fabric of the stocking when he ejaculated and threatened to spatter on the workshop’s concrete floor.

Walter took the panties away from his face and carefully put them back inside the resealable bag, carefully folding them and treating them with the deference they deserved. The turquoise ring went back into the same bag and he resealed it.

He carefully removed the stocking from his penis, dabbing at his cock with it to wipe off his spend and it went into the bin. He took the bin-liner, nothing more than a disposable plastic shopping bag, out of the bin and tied it off to throw it in the big bin outside the kitchen. These new plastic bags that all of the shops were using now instead of paper bags were supposed to save the planet because the forests were being destroyed to make paper. To him it was all a load of bollocks anyway, every time they thought they’d saved the world some other new-found catastrophe awaited. Apparently a new ice age was around the corner and the world was soon to be a frozen wasteland.

Walter looked down at the green satin knickers and the cheap turquoise ring now safely ensconced in their plastic bag and thought it ironic that the colour of his second victim’s knickers matched the colour of the ring she was wearing. Quite a coincidence. There wasn’t much scent left on the knickers, just a scintilla of her fruity perfume and a hint of vaginal odour embedded in the flaky stain in the crotch.

He remembered she was a big Scottish girl with unruly ginger hair. He’d seen her standing outside the cinema studying a movie poster when she had flamed for him. Once she became one of his Flaming Girls he had to have her and he had followed her for three days before he managed to catch her early one morning taking a shortcut through a park on her way to work. He was prepared for any eventuality and he’d managed to drag her into the toilet block and take his time with her.

He liked that she was wearing a business suit and that she was stout girl with billowy tits and thick legs, her makeup professionally applied ready for work; sheer tights and high heels and that gorgeous ginger hair. She put up a fight but he had managed to come inside her pressed against the rough brick wall with her tights and knickers pulled down and her skirt torn away.

The Scottish girl had flamed, her body a burning torch when he climaxed and slit her throat and then like the others the flames had died. He’d struggled to remove her knickers and in the end had balled them up with her tights around her ankles and ripped them off. The ring was stubborn too but he’d got it.

Not counting his mother the Scottish lass was only his second Flaming Girl back when he was still learning his trade.

He carefully replaced the trophy in its correct place in the drawer of the large toolbox and admired his collection.

The headache that had plagued him all morning had retreated. Relieving himself whilst fondling his trophies brought temporary relief but the headaches would soon become migraines and he would need to find another Flaming Girl to appease the demons in his head.

*****

Charlie Ringwald had fellated the doctor on four consecutive days just so she could keep her private room in the hospital. On the fifth day the doctor had told her that she had recovered enough so that she could bend over and let him take her ‘up the wrong ‘un’, to which she had replied if she was well enough to be fucked she was well enough to work and had promptly discharged herself.

She came home to her bedsit flat located in the dodgy end of Chelmsford, well away from where the more affluent east enders lived. The terrace housing where she lived had once been council flats but greedy slumlords had moved in and converted the two up – two downs into bedsits.

Charlie was lucky that she could afford a room to herself and now that she had her windfall from Ruffe she was able to get ahead with her rent. Unlike most of the prostitutes working the streets Charlie had neither a drug habit, children, nor a lazy husband to support, every penny she made she was able to keep for herself.

She was saving up for breast implant surgery and she thought she might get a few other bits and bobs done at the same time; a tracheal shave perhaps? She knew that more complicated and expensive gender reassignment surgery was probably beyond her means but she had been using female hormones obtained illegally from a sympathetic doctor ever since she had started work.

Charlie’s body had changed subtly as the doctor said it would. She first noticed that even though she had no beard to speak of, she had stopped developing almost any body hair at all and she had gained weight which seemed to redistribute itself on her lithe frame, giving her a slimmer waist, wider hips and plumper buttocks. Her flat chest sprouted two little protuberances with pink sensitive nubbins that could hardly be called boobs but they filled a padded B-cup and gave shape to her décolletage.

Shakespeare had written that ‘misery acquaints a man with strange bedfellows’ and Detective Sargent Sparrow, WPC Glenda Savage, Ruffe Ingersoll and Charlie Ringwald were certainly that. They were a Special Crime Investigation team or SCI that was the brainchild of Glenda Savage and reluctantly approved by the Chief Constable but only after Glenda had effectively blackmailed him.

Glenda wanted to work a high profile case with the hopes of promotion or appointment to the CID. Ruffe had been contacted by the Essex Slasher but stymied in his attempt to publish the letter but he got on well with Charlie and Glenda and he hoped he would get more titbits from them to inform his newspaper stories. Charlie was along because she needed protection as the Slasher had made a veiled threat to finish her off having failed to kill her during his attack. Detective Sargent Sparrow had been titularly put in charge; a penance for receiving bad press when he was quoted in the newspapers as telling Charlie, the sole surviving Slasher victim, that she was better off dead than living transgender.

“No way Glenda! You’ve got your little band of merry men but two of them are civilians and shouldn’t really be working the crimes, so your SCI will not be operating out of any of my police stations. Find somewhere unobtrusive to work from but make sure it’s secure,” Edward replied to Glenda when she came to him for more resources.

So the ragtag little group set up at Glenda Savage’s flat. During the first days after they had formed their SCI, Robin had taken copies of anything useful from the Slasher task force, while Glenda had purloined some essentials such as stationary, copies of related crime files, and police hardware. She had turned the spare bedroom of her flat into a temporary office, put up a crime wall including timelines, survey maps and other useful scraps of evidence and created a filing system. Ruffe had taken copies of all of the Essex Slasher stories written since the first murder and filed them in chronological order. He had written another newspaper article regarding the letter he had received from the Slasher, paraphrasing the content and speculating that the Slasher was far from done.

Charlie meantime was still recovering and other than giving the doctor his daily blowjob, didn’t have anything to do. Glenda, Robin or Ruffe was usually in attendance at the hospital to keep her company and offer her protection. When she discharged herself from hospital, with Ruffe’s assistance avoiding the small crowd of reporters who had been tipped off that she was leaving, she was glad to be home and reluctantly part of the team, although she wondered what role she would play.

The four of them met at Glenda’s flat the afternoon that Charlie was released and Charlie had made tea while Glenda set up seating around an old wooden dining table she had put in the centre of the room as their workspace. Folding tables and chairs had been arranged along two of the walls to hold all of their files, paperwork and other detritus relevant to the crimes. One wall was taken up with the crime wall; coloured woollen yarn and drawing pins linking various documents to the timeline of the murders.

Charlie, Glenda and Ruffe sat at the table sipping tea while Robin Savage paced up and down in front of a large blackboard resting on a wooden easel.

“Ok, let’s get started. It’s no secret that I don’t want to be here, but here I am and at least I’m still working the Slasher case,” he began.

“Credit where it’s due, WPC Savage has done an amazing job putting together our crime office here in her flat. Even Ruffe has contributed, collating every single newspaper story about the Slasher and his murders. Just a reminder Ruffe that anything we uncover must be handed over to CID and the Chief Constable needs to approve anything you want to print.”

Ruffe nodded but his smile was far from genuine.

Robin just smiled back at him and continued.

“We also have err… Miss Ringwald here to assist us. She is the only person who is able to identify the Slasher and of course as the only survivor, has first-hand experience with his modus operandi. We are also to some extent, although neither CID nor the Chief Constable are taking the threat seriously, acting as protection for her just in case the Slasher returns to finish what he started,” Robin nodded at Charlie who self-consciously rubbed at the scar on her neck.

It was obvious to everyone that Robin Savage barely tolerated Charlie Ringwald and begrudgingly called her ‘her, Miss or she’, even though Charlie was undoubtedly feminine and attractive.

“WPC Savage and myself as serving police officers still have our day jobs to do and will be working the SCI part time. Miss Ringwald and Ruffe you are obviously here as volunteers and we appreciate your support and request that you attend our regular meetings,” Robin continued.

Charlie didn’t care. Working this case gave her something to do with her days other than sleep because even though she hadn’t told anyone here, she fully intended on going back to work. She needed the money for her surgery and she wanted to move into a better place than her bedsit. In 1975 there were very few ways for a full-time transvestite to make money other than on her knees or her back. Charlie had dreams of becoming a hairdresser one day; maybe after she had her breast augmentation surgery.

“I’ve been thinking long and hard about what we know about the Slasher and especially the information provided to us by Miss Ringwald,” Robin turned to the backboard.

“He referred to his victims as Flaming Girls in the letter, and he also told Charlie that she was his Flaming Girl. All of the victims have red hair,” he wrote on the blackboard.

“They all have green or blue eyes,” he wrote that.

“My hair is dyed,” Charlie called out.

“I know and one of the other victims dyed her hair too. I think it’s the bright red colour that attracts him, natural or otherwise,” Robin answered.

“We know he takes trophies, the victim’s knickers and a piece of jewellery. These are likely fetishes he uses to re-enact the crimes, to relive the thrill and excitement he gets during the rape and murder,” Robin wrote the word ‘trophies’ on the board.

“Were all the women raped? For all intents and purposes I wasn’t. He paid me and I gave him what he paid for,” Charlie blushed.

“Good point Charlie. Two of the victims were prostitutes and there was no sign of a struggle so he likely paid them too. Two of the other women were found in their own homes with their throats cut and disembowelled but no signs of forced entry or a struggle so he may have charmed his way into their beds,” Robin nodded sagely.

“Two were definitely raped before he killed them; there is evidence that they tried to fight him off.”

“We think he uses the same knife because it has never been found at the scene and the wounds are identical, but that’s not certain. The knife itself might be a fetish.”

“What about the locations? Is there any connection to rail schedules, bus routes or traffic patterns?” Ruffe asked

Robin was impressed. His little cadre were actually contributing useful information and asking pertinent questions.

They all looked at the map on the crime wall. The locations of the attacks were localised around Chelmsford with two occurring in the city itself including Charlie’s and the others at random locations not necessarily on the bus or rail routes.

Ruffe got up and pointed to the railway underpass.

“When I spoke to Deirdre Edwards she said that she thought the man walked down Duke Street and turned into Victoria Road.”

“She told the same story to CID. She said he was wearing a duffle coat and seemed in no rush. That ties in with your description right?” Robin looked at Charlie.

“That’s right a duffle coat and coveralls but he didn’t talk with a working class accent, sounded posh to me,” Charlie shivered as she recalled the mental image of the man approaching her.

“So if he didn’t take the train he might have parked on Victoria Road or here in the railway car park,” Ruffe pointed at the map.

“All of the other murder sites are accessible by car but not all are accessible by bus or train, so let’s assume our man drives,” Robin wrote this up on the blackboard.

“Not many working class men around here would own motors. Charlie said he sounded posh, so he could be middle class,” Ruffe said and Robin chalked that on the blackboard too.

“The coveralls and duffle coat are nondescript and perfect clothing for what he does. He must get a lot of blood on himself. The clothes would work both as a disguise and provide protection from blood spatter. My guess is he ditches them after each crime; it would be too risky to wash the coveralls or dry-clean the duffle coat,” Glenda chipped in.

“Especially if he’s married or living with someone else,” she added.

Robin nodded sagely.

“Let’s get back to the theory that he might be middle-class, passing himself off as working class. That would fit in with the murders of the women he killed in public places and the prostitutes he attacked,” he nodded deferentially to Charlie.

“Elspeth Morrison and Winnie Fletcher were both murdered in their homes and were last seen at work, one was a secretary and the other a nurse. They were respectable women,” Robin pointed to the grainy black and white pictures of the victims on the crime wall.

“Tall, dark haired, handsome and well-built was how you described him Charlie?” Robin looked at her.

Today she was wearing jeans and a tight sweater with platform heels. Her makeup was a little heavier than what she had worn in the hospital and her red hair framed her pretty face. It was the first time Robin had seen her fully-clothed and up and walking around. He had to admit that if he didn’t know otherwise he would swear she was a woman... a pretty woman.

“So victims are picked at random not by where they live or their demographic,” Robin tapped his teeth with the chalk.

“He told us in the letter he wrote to me. Red hair and green eyes. All of the women had red hair and blue or green eyes, the same colours found in a flame, hence the Flaming Girls? So he sees them and becomes smitten and if the opportunity presents, he takes them like he did Charlie. If not he follows them until he can get them alone or he somehow gets into their houses and does the job in private so to speak,” Ruffe surmised.

“So… two brasses, a nurse and secretary in their own home, an accountant he overpowered and dragged into a toilet block in Admirals Park, a shopgirl found on the grounds of the Cathedral. What if there are more? What if these aren’t his only victims?” Glenda speculated.

There was no criminal profiling per se in the UK at this time but police still collated information and consulted psychologists and medical experts to help them with high profile cases.

“The psychologist that CID is using noted that the Slasher’s crimes are becoming more violent, he didn’t disembowel his first two victims and the period between crimes is getting less. He also speculated that the Slasher likely started off committing sexual assaults and then progressed to murder,” Robin added.

“Do we have anything that CID doesn’t have? Is there something we need to handover to them?” Glenda asked.

“They have everything we have pretty much; but believe it or not we have a better hypothesis. And with deference to you Glenda I think it’s because of our diverse approach to the crimes. CID have a bunch of old suits rehashing the same evidence but don’t really have the coordinated approach we are using,” Robin admitted.

“Fuck em. Let’s keep the ideas we have to ourselves,” Robin grinned.

“Over there are the case files and press cuttings from similar rapes and murders throughout Britain; we don’t know for sure that the Slasher has always lived near Chelmsford,” Robin pointed to a stack of files on the table.

“Well this is where I bow out fellow team members. I need to write a story for tomorrow’s Daily Sun. Can I print that all the victims have red hair and green or blue eyes?” Ruffe asked Robin.

Robin and Glenda looked at each other quizzically.

“It would be common knowledge if anyone was to look at colour pictures of the victims so I don’t see why not?” Robin looked at Glenda for confirmation; she was going to have to tell the Chief Constable.

“We’re doing a community service I think and we should make the information public so that red-haired women fitting the demographic can take precautions; he said in his letter that he was going to keep killing,” Glenda agreed with Robin.

“Ok; I’m off to the Sun,” Ruffe reached for his coat.

“And I’m going home. I’m no copper so I have no idea what to look for in those files,” Charlie pulled on the new faux fur coat she had bought with Ruffe’s money.

“Can you walk Charlie home?” Glenda asked Ruffe.

“Sorry, wrong direction luv and I have a deadline,” Ruffe grinned.

“I can walk myself home,” Charlie complained.

“Bollocks to that! I’ll do it and when you get home lock the door and don’t answer it,” Robin surprised them all by volunteering.

“I’ll bring back an Indian and a couple of bottles of lager from the off licence. We can work the files until you tell me to piss off home,” Robin said to Glenda.

“Works for me,” Glenda’s stomach rumbled at the thought of a curry.

“I don’t need to be walked home,” Charlie said petulantly.

“Well you’re getting an escort whether you like one or not,” Robin reached for his thick woollen trench coat.

Ruffe had bolted while Robin and Charlie were preparing to leave.

“Get some poppadoms and naan bread,” Glenda called after them as they left.

“That woman likes to eat,” Robin said to Charlie as they made their way downstairs.

Charlie stopped at the bottom of staircase and turned to Robin.

“Don’t talk to me like I’m your friend. You told me I’d be better off dead,” Charlie self-consciously tightened the scarf around her neck.

“I’m a pratt,” Robin said and reached around Charlie to unlock the front door of the terrace house.

Charlie flinched involuntarily and Robin smiled wanly. Her perfume was exotic; this was the closest he’d been to her since the hospital.

“Sorry,” he whispered and stepped past her so he could check outside.

They walked in an uncomfortable silence on the cold cobbled streets. It was getting on for dusk and there were few pedestrians.

Charlie’s faux fur coat was all style and no substance and before long she started to shiver. Robin took off his trench coat and put it around Charlie's shoulders. At first she resisted but when the warmth of the garment enveloped her she conceded. Robin had her stop and adjusted the coat around Charlie, pulling it closed around her; it was too big to button.

Just then it began to drizzle and tiny raindrops sparkled in Charlie's hair under the lamplight like small jewels. Robin was standing close to her, pulling up the collar of the big coat to protect her face from the cold. Her green eyes shimmered and he could feel her sweet soft breath on his face.

Charlie looked up at Robin. His rumpled face matched his rumpled suit and his brown hair was mussed and damp. He had deep set sad brown eyes, a prominent nose and five o’clock shadow graced his olive skin. But he was handsome in a dishevelled way, like a puppy you wanted to snuggle.

“Robin Sparrow… really?” Charlie teased him.

“Shut up,” Robin smiled and his features came together.

He was no longer the lost puppy; he was very handsome.

“Take me home detective,” Charlie thrust her hands into the deep pockets of the coat.

They walked home side by side saying little but content that a fragile truce existed between them. When they arrived at the entrance to Charlie's bedsit it got a little awkward. Robin helped Charlie take off his trench coat, once again getting uncomfortably close.

“Don’t forget to lock your door and do not let in anyone unless you are absolutely sure who they are,” Robin reiterated.

Charlie nodded.

There was an uncomfortable silence broken by Charlie who stood on tiptoes and leaned in and quickly brushed her lips on his cheek.

“Thanks,” she said meekly.

Robin blushed and shuffled his feet.

Charlie ducked inside quickly, glad to be out of the cold. Robin was grateful to have his coat back and he put it on. It was still warm from her body and smelled of her perfume. He felt confused. How could he go from despising someone to respecting them in such a short period?

Robin looked across the road and saw the gaudy lights of the Taj Mahal Indian Restaurant and Takeaway. He crossed the street to order dinner for himself and Glenda. He would get the beer at the off licence next door to the restaurant.

Charlie pulled back the curtain of the grimy window three floors above street level and watched Robin Sparrow cross the street. She was used to people being uncomfortable around her but Robin Sparrow was an enigma. A few days ago he wore his acrimony and prejudice for her on his sleeve; he now seemed to have begrudging respect for her… and was there something else?

“Strange man,” she whispered to herself and began to undress.

The bedsit was little more than a slum but at least the central heating worked, even if it caused the radiators to groan and complain as the hot water gurgled through the rusty pipes.

Charlie changed her jeans, sweater and platform shoes for a black vinyl miniskirt, red satin blouse, black leather bolero jacket, fishnet stockings and red high heels having first seen to the practicalities of preparing for anal sex. Under her blouse she was wearing a black lace bustier to hide the scars on her belly. She spiked up her hair and doused it with hairspray to hold it in place and stood in front of the mirror and applied heavy makeup and bright-red lipstick. She put a red chiffon scarf around her neck to disguise the scar.

She pulled her cheap vinyl ‘working girl’ shoulder bag down from the wardrobe and rummaged around inside it. Consulate menthol cigarettes, lighter, K-Y jelly, prophylactics, compact and lipstick, hairbrush, chewing gum, cheap perfume, spare pair of knickers, and spare pair of tights; she was good to go.

She pulled on her overcoat and gloves and peeked out the window again but Robin Sparrow was long gone. She locked the door behind her and click-clacked down the stairs putting on her gloves. Charlie walked down to the railway underpass, her heels clattered on the damp cobblestones and Charlie hurried between the pools of lights radiating from the streetlamps. She was not really concerned that the Slasher would come for her again; he’d pretty much said she no longer flamed for him but it never hurt to take precautions. It was not only the Slasher who preyed on working girls like her; they were fair game for all sorts of dangerous and unsavoury men.

“Didn’t think I’d see you back here,” Deirdre Edwards sucked on her cigarette leaning back into one of the recesses to keep out of the worst of the cold.

The dull glow of cigarettes came from two of the other recesses and muffled grunting came from another; one of the girls was busy with a punter.

“A girl’s gotta make a living Deirdre,” Charlie quipped as she walked past Deirdre and took up her station in the recess she considered to be her own.

She reluctantly took off her overcoat and gloves and shoved them into her handbag, the women needed to show off their wares. She took out her fags and lit up, waiting for her first customer of the night.

Charlie didn’t have to wait long. A car turned into the underpass and the girls came out of their recesses like butterflies emerging from chrysalises putting on a display for the potential customer. Charlie dropped her cigarette to the ground and crushed it out with her heel and walked along the pavement strutting her stuff.

She recognised the car. The baby-shit brown Morris 1300 was driven by one of her regulars, or she should say irregulars; she only saw him sporadically about once a month. He was an older gent who used the name ‘Benny’ who had a soft belly, hairy body and a comb-over. He liked to take Charlie back to his bungalow in Moulsham and take his time with her, treating her like she was his girlfriend. He was just the sort of punter that she needed to ease herself back into the game.

The car pulled up alongside Charlie and the other girls disappeared back into their hidey-holes to keep warm while Charlie leaned in the driver’s window. Sure enough, Benny grinned at her with his tobacco stained teeth. He was wearing an old wool cardigan over a white shirt and nondescript grey trousers. She could feel the warmth from the car’s heater through the window.

“Hello Charlie, are you available to keep an old man company for a couple of hours; I’ll drive you home after,” he smiled.

Charlie looked down into Benny’s lap and saw the bulge then to his face with his friendly eager grin.

“I’ve been saving me pennies for weeks now and I’ve got five quid if you want it,” his smile widened.

“Ok Benny. It will be nice to get out of the cold and be in the company of a real gentleman for a change,” Charlie leaned in and gave him a quick peck on the lips.

She scrambled to get into the small car, all heels and knickers as she squeezed into the tight seat. Benny seemed delighted at the view and when Charlie was finally settled in the passenger seat and had pulled down the hem of her skirt to provide a modicum of decorum, he patted her knee and put the car in gear.

“Did I ever tell you about my time in the merchant navy?” Benny began, driving with one eye on the road and the other on Charlie’s legs.

Charlie had dumped her overcoat on the back seat and put her shoulder bag between her feet. She foraged in her bag for cigarettes and resigned herself to listen to Benny’s merchant navy story for the umpteenth time.

Benny didn’t wait for Charlie to answer but began his tale.

“I was a Purser on the Blue Star Line serving in cargo ships. It was a lonely life for a young man, with long sea voyages and short port visits to unload cargo with little time for shore leave.”

Charlie lit two cigarettes and handed one to Benny who took it unconsciously and continued his story.

“But then I was introduced to a special kind of life that went on in the ships that was kept secret from most people outside of the Andrew. The ships, depending on their size, carried between two to four stewards. One of those was the Captain’s valet and the others served the officers in their mess and assisted the cooks in the galley. Do you see?”

Charlie nodded and opened the window a crack to let some of the smoke escape.

“Stewards were called ‘day hands’; that is they didn’t keep watches like the seamen and the engineers, they had pretty much knocked off for the day after they had cleaned up after supper. Just like the airline stewards today, in those days most of the stewards were gay, but a special kind of gay.”

“I’d completed my training and been given my first ship, the Adelaide Star; I was on there about three months I suppose when one night after dinner I was invited into the Chief Purser’s cabin, which was as big if not better than the Captain’s. Pursers are the officers responsible for all administration, including the ship's cargo and manifests and the cooks and stewards answer to us too.”

“Too my amazement there was three gorgeous looking young women in the cabin, dressed to the nines, makeup, hair, heels, nylons, perfume, the whole lot. It didn’t take me long to realise they were three of the stewards dressed in drag. The Second Engineer was also present and we had right party.”

“After a few rums my inhibitions left me and I rolled around with Daisy, who was actually Danny, the Captain’s valet. Long story short I took her back to my cabin and she took my virginity so to speak.”

“I’ve been infatuated with your kind ever since. Every ship I served in I had my favourite girl as it were, but time moves on and I swallowed the anchor and I live in my little bungalow here in Moulsham and make do with my pension.”

“When I found you working the wall I was delighted. There are a few others of your type, they leave their cards in telephone boxes, but I don’t really like visiting them for a quickie. I like that you visit me at home,” Benny patted her knee again, this time his hand drifted up her thigh.

Charlie didn’t mind; he was only playing with what he’d paid for.

“You’re wearing fishnets,” Benny’s mouth turned down in disappointment.

“They look good but they feel like shit, too rough,” Benny continued.

“Don’t worry Benny; I’ve got a pair of sheers in my bag,” Charlie patted the bag between her legs.

“I bet they’re those awful tights aren’t they?” Benny squeezed her thigh.

“Don’t worry. I’ve bought you a present… well I’ve bought us both a present I suppose,” Benny grinned at her.

Charlie guessed that Benny was in his mid-sixties and although he appeared to live comfortably, he didn’t have a lot of money. He was a widower and lived by himself and had a fetish for transvestite girls after being seduced by them in the merchant navy. Benny was quite the gentleman and when he’d saved up enough money or had a windfall on the horses he would pay for Charlie’s company.

Charlie thought that he was reliving his days at sea. Drinking and canoodling with a pretty transvestite in the privacy of his lounge room. For a man of his age, he could drink with the best of them and it did not seem to affect his libido; he certainly got his money’s worth. Charlie could hear the clink of a bottle on the back seat and it seemed that tonight would be no different.

She liked Benny and she liked that it was safe, warm and comfortable in his house; a lot better than getting shagged up against the wall by some navvy reeking of beer and pork pies.

She opened her legs to let Benny have unfettered access to her and enjoyed the rest of short drive in silence. Benny turned into the driveway and parked next to his small house and let Charlie go in first, reaching around her to open the door. He had a bottle of wine in one hand and Charlie’s bottom in the other.

Benny’s little bungalow was warm and cosy and Charlie could smell the fish and chips he had for dinner. Charlie sat at the kitchen table while Benny took wine glasses out of a cupboard.

“That’s for you,” Benny nodded at a brown paper bag on the table.

Charlie peeked inside and then shook the contents out onto the wooden table top. It was a suspender belt and a packet of Pretty Polly fully fashioned stockings, flesh toned with dark welts and seams.

“I know the practicalities of girls wearing tights, or pantyhose as our American friends call them, and don’t get me wrong they look lovely under a short skirt, all sheer and shiny, but I am a man of my generation and I like my women to wear real stockings,” Benny poured wine into the two glasses.

“Most men prefer women to wear stockings Benny and I usually do but it’s been so fucking cold lately. It’s right polar under that underpass; cold enough to freeze the knickers off the vicar’s wife,” Charlie joked.

“Anyway they’re a gift for us both to enjoy. Why don’t you go put them on while I take our drinks into the living room where it’s warm,” Benny picked up the wine glasses and started towards the door.

Charlie knew her way around the little bungalow and she picked up the package and made her way to Benny’s bedroom. She went inside and dumped her shoulder bag and her overcoat on the unmade bed. The room smelled vaguely of cheap aftershave and old man farts. She wrinkled her nose and got down to business, taking off her bolero jacket, her skirt and then her blouse. She shucked out of her tights and knickers and stepped into the suspender belt, adjusting it carefully around her waist under the bustier and over the bandage on her belly.

She sat on the bed and smoothed the delicate stockings up her legs and clipped the welts to the garter snaps and then stood and straightened the seams and smoothed out any wrinkles. Next she pulled on her full-cut satin panties. She stepped into her black high heels, took the compact, lipstick and hairbrush out of her bag and freshened her makeup and brushed her hair, looking in the dressing table mirror with its flaking sliver backing and then she sprayed herself liberally with perfume. Charlie put the leather miniskirt back on; it looked good with the black lace bustier and red satin panties and the translucent red scarf.

Charlie came out of the bedroom to find Benny sitting in an overstuffed chair wearing a dressing gown. He’d been to the bathroom and his hair glistened from whatever product he used to keep his comb-over in place and she could smell Brut aftershave. The room was warmed by an open coal fire.

“Come here Charlie,” Benny opened his arms to her.

Charlie obligingly sat in his lap and Benny wrapped his arms around her and pulled her close. He nuzzled her neck, inhaling her perfume, there was soft romantic music from a time gone by playing in the background. Benny lazily stoked Charlie thigh on the welt of her stocking and he turned her face to his so he could kiss her. She let him and he was quite good, very romantic, at first just tentative closed-mouth lip-caresses, slow and soft and comforting. His hand rested below her ear, his thumb caressing her cheek as their breaths mingled.

The kisses became heated and Charlie opened her mouth to accept Benny’s tongue. Benny slid his tongue into her mouth and his hand grazed the front of her panties, purposely causing her cock to engorge but teasingly moving back to her thigh. Charlie squirmed in his lap and gasped in his mouth and was rewarded when the lump under her buttocks beginning to swell and palpitate.

Charlie opened the stained woollen dressing gown and ran her fingers across Benny’s pale flabby chest, her red lacquered nails caught in the stiff curly grey hair. Benny’s hand moved from her face, lightly caressing her neck through the chiffon, and ventured inside her bustier where he caressed her meagre breasts, causing her nipples to harden like ripe berries.

Where others were disappointed with her small décolletage, Benny enjoyed teasing her nipples and caressing her paltry bosom; the girls on the Blue Star Line didn’t use breastforms either and Charlie’s flat chest reminded him of the pretty ship’s stewards who were so feminine without the Mae West breasts that were so desired at the time.

Charlie slid her hand down across Benny’s generous belly and found him erect inside his saggy grey Y-fronts. He might be a balding, flabby, sexagenarian who smoked and drank too much but his virility was beyond question. He had a full seven inches of iron-hard cock inside his old-geezer drawers.

She had generously lubricated herself with K-Y jelly when she changed in Benny’s bedroom and when he lifted Charlie off his lap and lowered her onto his rock-hard shaft, it slid in easy.

Charlie gasped and Benny helped take her weight, cupping her buttocks in his hands so she could get used to being impaled on his engorged penis. He held the leg-hole of her knickers aside so his cock had unfettered access to her sphincter; he greased the portion of his shaft that was not inside her with the excess splodge of KY that ringed her anus when he had entered her.

“Are you ok luv?” Benny asked as he always did.

“It’s lovely Benny,” she lowered herself into his lap so that he was fully inside her.

She lovingly mussed his hair and lowered her face to his and kissed him deeply. Taking her weight on her knees, she put her hands around Benny’s neck to steady herself and began to slowly rise up and down, riding his cock. She buried him deep in her anus and then rose so that just his glans was inside her tight sphincter and then slowly lowered herself until her buttocks rested in his lap.

She kissed him deeply and used her tongue the way she knew he liked it, fluttering it just inside his lips and then driving it deep into his mouth.

Benny encouraged her; his hands on her hips easing her up and then driving her down on him, his cock was perfectly positioned to press against her prostate and she was leaking into her panties. She would definitely be wearing the spare pair of knickers home.

Their gasps and wheezes became frantic as their climaxes approached.

Benny pushed Charlie down into his lap with all his might and lifted himself off the chair a few inches as he thrust his cock deep inside her as far as it would go, his body convulsed and he growled like a wounded lion as he spent himself inside her. Charlie felt his cock pulsing and quivering deep in her anus and she ejaculated into her panties. They kissed and clung to each other as they sated their lust, letting the intense pleasure course through their bodies until they were spent and Charlie hung onto Benny, depleted and drained.

Benny’s breathing was ragged. The first time he had bought her home and shagged her she thought he was having a heart attack but it was just Benny recovering from the intensity of his orgasm.

Charlie’s ankles were aching and she shifted in Benny’s lap to take the weight off them. Benny was still kissing her softly and stroking her hair. He took a small break and reached for the wine glasses passing Charlie’s to her and sipping his own cautiously so as not to spill any on her.

He put down the glass and softly stroked the chiffon scarf around her neck.

“I read about what happened to you in The Daily Sun,” Benny broke their contented silence.

Charlie felt a little awkward with Benny’s spongy phallus still inside her and her knickers soaked in semen but she didn’t complain. There was something comforting about being nestled in Benny’s lap, it was soothing after the all the drama of the last couple of weeks.

Charlie just nodded.

“You are a very brave girl; I was surprised to see you out working tonight so soon after what happened to you,” he stroked her arm.

Being called brave by a man who had crossed the icy Atlantic numerous times in convoys ravaged by German wolf pack submarines made her feel a little ignominious. She put up with Benny’s shitty little car, his repetitious retelling of stories about the girls on the Blue Star Line, his shabby dressing gown, his saggy old underpants and his white flabby body because despite of all that he was a beautiful man. He genuinely cared for her and was grateful for her attention. He had given his all for Queen and country and been rewarded with so little that any comfort that Charlie could give him she felt was well deserved.

Benny’s fingers lightly touched her belly through the lacy bustier.

“I didn’t hurt you did I Charlie? You know I’d never hurt you?” the concern in Benny’s voice was genuine.

Charlie stroked his stubbly cheek and smiled at him. She kissed him softly on the side of the face.

“Of course not Benny, I always feel safe with you,” She snuggled down deeper in his lap.

“You can stay the night if you want to; you know that luv,” Benny hugged her.

Charlie winced a little. She’d lied about the pain, her belly was throbbing with a deep blunt pain but it was quite manageable. But there was no way Charlie was spending the night in that rumpled musty mess of sheets and duvets, breathing stale old man farts all night; her devotion to Benny only went so far. She would stay as long as he wanted her to but Charlie always went home, even when the rare punter splurged on a nice hotel room. She’d made it a rule to always wake up in her own bed.

Unbeknown to them both, from the comfort of his Bentley parked down the street from the underpass Walter Middleton had watched Charlie lean into Benny’s baby-shit yellow Morris 1300 and then get into the passenger seat. He’d come back to the underpass out of curiosity. But Charlie no longer burned for him; he had extinguished her flame and she no longer held his interest.

He rubbed at his forehead as he drove away, his headaches were getting stronger.

Back at Glenda’s flat she and Robin had finished for the night. Remnants of the Taj Mahal’s finest chicken korma, saffron rice and garlic naan were scattered over Glenda’s small kitchen table and four empty beer bottles graced her draining board.

“A good day’s work,” Robin stood up and pushed back his chair.

“And a productive evening, whoops, excuse me,” she stifled a burp.

“My breath is going to stink of garlic and curry for days,” she put the back of her hand to her mouth to stifle another.

“Mine too,” Robin smiled.

“Just as well I’ve no one to care about it,” he grinned sadly.

“No special girl in your life then Sargent?” Glenda asked.

“It’s Robin and no,” he shook his head.

“Did Charlie get home alright then; I forgot to ask,” Glenda smirked.

“Yes. The tranny brass got home just fine,” Robin said gruffly.

“All well and good then,” Glenda reached out and rubbed a paper napkin on Robin’s cheek.

She held up the napkin, stained with Charlie’s lipstick, to Robin’s face.

He blushed.

“Charlie got home fine,” he smiled at Glenda, caught in the lie.

“She’s… I don’t know… she’s not who I thought she was,” he mused, pulling on his coat.

“Be careful with her Robin, she’s got a way of making you like her even though you know you shouldn’t,” Glenda said showing him to the door.

To be continued

It had been a lousy night for most of the girls working the railway underpass. A lucky one or two had driven away with punters to service them in their cars or gone to cheap hotel rooms for the night but otherwise business had been slow.

Tottenham Hotspur were playing at White Hart Lane and a lot of potential customers had made the pilgrimage. Spurs had won the League Cup in 73 and hopes were high that they might do well despite their current form. The girls working under the railway viaduct were hoping to cadge a punter or two when the supporters returned by train.

The girls heard the rattle and hiss of a train stopping at the station and waited expectantly. Three men wearing supporter’s scarves entered the underpass and walked confidently up to where the girls were working. Deirdre Edwards and two others were quickly taken into the recesses by the men and Charlie was disappointed that she had not been selected. Then she spotted another man walking on his own.

He was a very big man, at least six foot six inches with a big belly and he was wearing a Spurs football jumper, scarf and beanie. His clomping footfalls echoed of the curved walls of the underpass. As Charlie was the only girl unoccupied he made a beeline for her.

Charlie was wearing her usual ‘uniform’ of black vinyl miniskirt, blue satin blouse, bolero jacket, black stockings and high heels. Her makeup was heavy and her dyed red hair teased. She almost hoped the man would pass her by as he was obviously intoxicated.

“Aren’t you a pretty little thing,” he breathed beer fumes all over her.

Charlie just nodded meekly.

“How much?” the man asked, a little unsteady on his feet.

Charlie hated drunken punters because they either took forever to come or couldn’t come at all and blamed the girl for their erectile dysfunction. She tried to dissuade him the best way she knew how.

“You know I’m a transvestite right?” she looked up at him meekly.

The man looked up and down the street and saw there were no other girls available.

“That’s ok. I can stand the shit if you can stand the pain,” he leered at her.

It was not the first time Charlie had heard this disparaging comment.

“It’s a pound for a handjob, two for a blowjob and three up against the wall,” Charlie rattled off her menu from rote.

“I’ll pay you after I’ve finished,” the man burped.

The number one rule of street prostitution is to get paid before the deed but this man was too big and too intoxicated to argue with.

Charlie led him into the shadows of the recess she called her own between the brick and mortar abutments that supported the tunnel. The man pressed her against the wall and Charlie obligingly unzipped him and took out his rather large appendage that was semi-tumescent. She began to stroke him while the man pawed at her, she kept dodging his attempt to kiss her, he reeked of pale ale and cigarettes and his breath was fetid.

“Come on sweetheart give us a kiss,” he whined, squeezing her thigh painfully.

The man couldn’t maintain an erection and he was getting frustrated.

“I don’t kiss punters,” Charlie lied.

“Well kiss this then you trollop,” the man pushed down on Charlie’s shoulders so hard that she fell to her knees.

The man’s crotch stunk of stale urine; he’d obviously forgotten to shake before putting away his penis after taking a piss.

The man held Charlie's head still with his giant paw and pressed his cock against her lips. Charlie’s throat stung where the scar was fresh. She decided to suck the man off and get rid of him but despite her best efforts he could not maintain an erection.

He dragged Charlie to her feet and put his hand around her throat, driving her into the brickwork. Memories of being assaulted by the Essex Slasher raced through her consciousness.

“You’re fucking hopeless you tranny tart! Can’t even get me hard,” the man grunted through gritted teeth.

Charlie was struggling to breathe and was scared that she would pass out.

A disembodied hand suddenly appeared out of nowhere and like lightening a cosh crashed into the crown of the big man’s head, toppling his beanie and driving him to his knees. A second blow knocked him to the filthy cobbles. The hand went inside the man’s collar and felt for a pulse then retracted.

“Come on Charlie,” the same hand took hers and pulled her out of the recess and led her under one of the pale yellow carriage lights.

Detective Sargent Robin Sparrow inspected Charlie’s neck, gently easing away the silk scarf she used to cover her scar. The big man’s fingerprints were impressed in her alabaster skin but they hadn’t drawn blood. He examined Charlie carefully for any wounds while her breathing began to return to normal.

“Arsehole!” Robin was about to go back to the recess and kick the man lying prostate on the ground.

“Don’t!” Charlie barked, pulling Robin away from the recess.

“I’ll get the blame for it and if he makes a complaint to the Old Bill they’ll be down here hassling the girls and I’ll be blamed for that too. You know how it works,” Charlie said heatedly.

“Come on,” Robin took Charlie's hand and tried to lead her away.

“Come where?” Charlie tried to shake his hand free.

“I’ll take you home,” Robin said, still holding her hand.

“I don’t want to go home!” Charlie said petulantly.

“Surely you’re not staying here?” Robin was exasperated.

“This is where I work,” Charlie replied angrily.

“After what happened to you here? How can you? How can you do what you do?” Robin let go of her hand.

“How else am I going to survive? Seen many tranny bus conductors, tea ladies, shop assistants?” Charlie said acidly.

“All right then. I’ll pay for your company and at least you won’t work tonight,” Robin said resignedly.

“Fine. It’s a pound for a handjob, two for blowjob and three up against the wall…” Charlie didn’t get to finish; Robin’s hand stopped short of her face.

He had stopped himself from slapping her.

“Don’t talk like that,” he whispered and his hand caressed her cheek.

“A girl’s gotta make a living,” Charlie challenged.

“Ok. From what I remember from my days working Clubs and Vice it’s five quid for all night. All-nighters - all-righters, we used to call it,” Robin reached inside his coat for his wallet.

Charlie couldn’t help but smirk at Robin’s quip. She dropped the fiver he gave her into her shoulder bag.

“Are you offering to take me home Sargent? That’s an offence under the solicitation act of 1893,” Charlie’s smirk widened into a grin.

“And that’s a load of bollocks; there is no such act, you just made that up,” Robin couldn’t help but return her smile.

“Anyway, if I pay for your company it doesn’t mean I have to take you home,” Robin said petulantly.

“You got a caravan down the road then?” Charlie grinned.

“Shut up. Let’s go before we both get nicked,” he took Charlie's hand and this time she intertwined her fingers in his.

Charlie leaned into him and Robin opened his coat and put his arm around her shoulders so that it covered them both.

“Where are we going?” Charlie looked like a little mouse peeking out from under the trench coat.

“That’ll do,” he nodded at The Plough, a pub down the street aways.

Just before they got to the door of the Plough Charlie came out from under Robin’s coat and he let go of her hand. He opened the door and let Charlie enter first with him close behind her. The din of conversation quietened a little as they entered and people looked their way and then picked up their discourse, displaying the usual inquisitiveness when new patrons arrived, except for a dishevelled man who eyed Charlie perceptively.

“Over there,” Robin pointed to a booth near the fireplace.

“What are you having? My round,” Robin said studying the offerings on the beer taps.

“Gin and tonic please,” Charlie said and made her way over to the booth.

Now that she was in the light she could see that her knees were dirty and her clothes dishevelled. She brushed off her knees and straitened her skirt and tucked in her blouse so she looked presentable.

Robin came over with a pint of bitter for himself and a gin on ice and small bottle of Brit Vic tonic water for Charlie.

“Don’t drown it!” Charlie said as Robin poured her mixer.

Robin gave her wary look and stopped pouring.

“There. Perfect,” he handed her the drink which she studied carefully.

“Not bad. I’m going to fix myself up a little bit in the ladies. I look like I’ve been dragged through a hedge backwards,” Charlie grabbed her shoulder bag and made her way to the ladies lav.

When Charlie entered the ladies lavatory the dishevelled man made his way over to four young men sitting next to the ladies convenience and engaged them in conversation briefly.

Charlie came out a few minutes later looking refreshed. She’d changed her laddered stockings for sheer tights and touched up her makeup. She started to walk back to the booth when a likely lad dressed in brown baggies, paisley wide-collared shirt and platform shoes sitting at the table near the conveniences grabbed her wrist.

“Didn’t you just go into the wrong bogs mate,” he grinned evilly at her.

“The men's are over there,” he pointed with his chin.

His three mates, dressed similarly and sporting long mullet hairstyles laughed.

“Let me go,” Charlie pulled her arm but the youth refused to release her.

“If you give us all a blowjob out back we’ll let you go, you poofter,” the youth sneered.

Robin seemed to appear out of nowhere and the gang of youths looked like they might lose their nerve when they realised he was not to be messed with.

“Let the lady go,” Robin said quietly but with determination.

“This thing here,” the youth had drunk just enough to show some courage.

Robin stepped forward and crushed his heel on the top of the lad’s platform shoe and ground down. The boy yelped and let go of Charlie’s wrist.

“Now apologise,” Robin growled.

“Fuck that,” the youth said, full of bravado.

Robin stomped down harder on the youth’s foot, grabbed his wide tie and slammed his head down onto the table then picked up the lad’s pint and poured it over his head. The others made to move and Robin produced his Warrant Card from his jacket and showed it to them, still holding the youth’s face down on the table.

“If you want I’ll put my Warrant Card away and take you outside and give you all a spanking,” Robin looked at each of the youths in turn.

They all shied away.

The landlord arrived on scene.

“Any problems here Sargent Sparrow?” he asked.

The landlord was holding a wooden beer tap handle menacingly in one hand.

“These lads have lost their manners is all Ernie. They’re about to leave I think,” Robin glared at the youths.

Three of them scrambled out from behind their table and stumbled quickly to the doors leaving their mate to his fate.

Robin yanked on the other boy’s tie and lifted his beer-soaked head off the table.

“Well?” Robin shook the boy’s head with his tie.

“I’m sorry Miss. Very sorry,” he mumbled.

Robin yanked him out of seat and kicked him in the buttocks on the way out.

The landlord went back to the bar and lifted the dishevelled man off his stool and dragged him to the door and threw him outside.

“We don’t need shit-stirrers in here you fucking twat; fuck off home,” the landlord called after him.

Robin escorted Charlie back to her seat. The conversation in the pub quickly picked up where it had left off.

“My hero,” Charlie batted her eyelashes at him comically and blew him a kiss.

“Piss off Charlie and give me a fag,” Robin blushed.

Charlie rummaged in her bag for her cigarettes and lighter and slid them across the table.

She scooted around the bench so that she was sitting beside him and leaned in and kissed his cheek, squeezing his knee at the same time.

“Seriously…thanks,” she smiled sweetly at him and then scooted back to where she had been sitting.

“I can’t figure you out. You’re educated, eloquent and kind under that façade,” Robin lit them both a cigarette and passed one to Charlie.

“I can’t figure you out either. Not long ago you detested me and now you’re behaving like my big brother,” Charlie countered.

“I admit I was bigoted and ignorant; a product of my upbringing and years of police prejudice. I once again sincerely apologise. I can’t imagine what it must be like to live with that prejudice every day and to have to do what you do just to survive,” Robin replied.

“Is that all?” Charlie sipped her drink and looked at him over the rim of her glass.

“I’ll be candid. Not that long ago all I saw was a man pretending to be a woman. Now I see a woman, admittedly a different kind of woman, a special woman if you will. You’ve educated me and changed my point of view,” Robin sighed.

“Aren’t you curious?” Charlie took a drag on her cigarette.

“Curious about what?” Robin looked puzzled.

“About this,” Charlie smiled and gestured to her face and body.

Robin blushed.

“I see a beautiful young woman who I know is different. She looks like a woman, talks like a woman, walks like a woman, smells like a woman and feels like a woman. Am I curious about what makes her different? Of course I am, but I’m too much of a gentleman to ask,” Robin countered.

“What exactly do you want to know?” Charlie smiled at him cheekily.

“Nothing I need to know right now Charlie. I think I know enough about you to enable our professional relationship and friendship to continue unchanged,” Robin took a long pull on his pint.

“So we’re friends are we?” Charlie was amused.

“I’d like to think we are,” Robin was equally amused.

“So friend… you just happened to be passing the railway underpass this evening did you?” Charlie’s gave him her best resting bitch face.

Robin sighed again.

“A little bird told me that you were out tomming again. I knew that if I was to bring up the subject you would baulk so I’ve just been keeping an eye out for you, that’s all,” Robin admitted.

Charlie felt her anger building and Robin was astute enough to see it in her eyes.

“I’m not spying on you Charlie. I’m just offering you a little protection is all,” Robin reached across the table and tried to take her hand in his.

“I’m a transvestite prostitute and you’re a Detective Sargent. That makes any friendship we might like to have incompatible with who we are, we are total opposite ends of the spectrum,” Charlie began to pack her things into her shoulder bag and put on her jacket.

“Thanks for the drink,” Charlie stood up and swung her bag over shoulder and walked to the door.

*****

The investigation into the fire at the Middleton household concluded that Mary Middleton had accidently started the fire in her bedroom, likely from a burning cigarette whilst smoking in bed whilst under the influence of alcohol. When interviewed, Walter Middleton had confirmed that his mother was a heavy drinker and that he had heard her arguing with someone on the phone that evening and had flew into a rage and smashed several bottles of spirits. Walter had hidden in his room afraid of his mother and had eventually fallen asleep.

He had awoken to find the house ablaze and despite his best efforts had been unable to save his mother.

There was no reason for anyone to disbelieve the poor young man who was heartbroken at the loss of his mother. He went to live with an uncle and aunt briefly until his mother’s estate was settled and his inheritance was awarded to him. Walter became a full time border at his university and went on to graduate with degrees in accounting and finance.

During his time at school he kept his mother’s panties and wedding ring hidden away and bought them out whenever he felt the need to relieve himself. He would masturbate sniffing the panties, recalling the times he had spent in bed with his mother. He collected soft porn magazines, his favourite being Mayfair and took out the centrefolds and full-page pictures of any models with red hair and put them into a special folder he kept hidden with his mother’s knickers.

The migraine headaches ceased the day the house burned down but his infatuation with red headed women who had his mother’s blue-green eyes continued and they were the kind of girls he pursued.

Walter entered the banking industry and joined Barclays Bank rising steadily through the ranks, eventually taking on the role as the manager of the Chelmsford branch. He had kept the title to the family estate and rebuilt the house over the ruins of the dwelling he had burned down.

Walter chased quite a few women during this time but they all sensed there was something not quite right about him, especially those he managed to bed. His fascination with snuggling up to them in bed whilst they remained dressed in their lingerie and stockings was more than a little unnerving, he behaved like a timid boy in bed rather than a man.

The exception was Alice Farmer who was a buxom redhead with bright blue eyes. She quite liked retro clothing styles and Walter’s requests to cuddle her while she was dressed in her vintage underwear quite appealed to her as was his penchant for spunking on her nylons or frillies. This might mean that she had to rinse her unmentionables after almost every visit, but it also meant she could keep her virginity for marriage as she’d promised her mother she would.

It helped that Walter was quite wealthy with his well-paid job, his inheritance and a nice big house that he owned outright. Alice came from a good family herself and she was intent on living a life of leisure. She had visions of being a ‘lady who lunches’ and doing the rounds on the social calendar.

Walter took Alice home to her new home on their wedding night and was quite prescriptive as to how she was to present herself for the marriage bed. Heavy makeup, perfume, red lipstick, stockings and suspenders, slinky nylon full-cut knickers under a satin half-slip were to be worn and Alice gladly obliged. She was eager to lose her virginity. Her mother described sex as a chore but her friends had told her that it could be quite wonderful.

Alice lay in bed dressed as dictated by her new husband, waiting for him, her sex moist in anticipation. Walter joined her and snuggled up to her under the covers just like he did before they married. He kissed her and stroked her breasts and her legs, his fingers luxuriating in the sensual nylon and satin, his cock pressed against her leg and he began to rub it on her thighs and body.

Alice was disappointed when he ejaculated against her nylon-sheathed thigh.

“Don’t worry darling, that was just an appetiser,” he whispered in Alice’s ear and kissed her passionately.

Walter mounted his wife and lifted her slip out of the way so he could press his cock against her panty-clad mound and pressed hard. Alice shuddered as the girth of his considerable weapon pressed against her sex. She became wetter and wrapped her arms around her new husband and rose to meet his thrusts.

He slipped his penis inside the leg-hole of Alice’s knickers and prodded at her mound until his glans parted her labia and found the hot, moist entrance to her vagina. Alice grunted as he slowly entered her, deflowering her with a minimum of pain. Alice wrapped her legs around his body and Walter moaned at the feel of the cool, silky nylons on his sensitive flesh.

He fucked Alice with long slow strokes, pressing his pelvis into her so that the base of his penis pressed on her clitoris. Waves of incredible pleasure wracked Alice’s body and she realised that she had just experienced her first orgasm, then she felt Walter’s cock convulse deep inside her and fill her with his scalding issue.

Walter lay on top of his wife panting and she held him close, whispering how much she loved him in his ear. When he had recovered he began to kiss her and she kissed him back.

“Can we do that again?” she smiled at him meekly.

“Oh yes darling. We are going to do it again,” Walter kissed the tip of her nose.

And they did… all night. By the time they were ready to leave for their honeymoon in France the next day Alice’s lingerie was reduced to tattered, semen-soaked rags. She walked with a little pain; her cunt hurt, but it was a nice hurt.

Walter was thirty three years old and had been married for ten years when the migraines returned. Alice’s buxom figure had become a little more rounded but they still had a healthy sex life. They made a conscious decision not to have children and Walter had a vasectomy right after their honeymoon. Snuggling up to Alice and having sex with her bought little relief from the pain in his head.

Then one day he went out for lunch, his head pounding and his stomach aching, and he stopped at a newsagent to buy a packet of Rennies. The shopgirl who served him was a pretty little thing with pretty red ringlets and blue eyes. She was wearing a black short-skirted dress with white piping, black tights and shiny black flats as were the other two girls working in the shop.

But she flamed. Her red hair appeared to glow and her clear blue eyes glittered. She looked at him quizzically as she worked the till. He was staring at her. She was a little flattered, the man was older than the boys she went out with but he was handsome and by looks of his suit and his styled dark hair he was wealthy. She flirted with him a little but he hardly spoke, he just stared at her.

Walter’s head began to pound and he could hardly breathe, the little shopgirl’s hair appeared to be a halo of fire and her eyes blazing blue coals.

Walter extinguished the fire that night in the grounds of Chelmsford cathedral. Her body was found with her tights lowered and her knickers missing under a tree near the Church Street wall. Her throat had been cut and an attempt made to cut her belly. She was missing a silver bracelet that her boyfriend had given her. Police questioned the boyfriend for several hours before they decided he wasn’t the murderer.

Walter was shaking with both fear and exhilaration as he drove away from the scene that night. His migraine had disappeared the moment he came inside the shopgirl's tight little quim while she squirmed beneath him and he reached for the knife he had purchased that very afternoon.

His suit was covered in her blood as were his hands. He was lucky he hadn't been caught in the act or making his escape. He had to control himself more, to plan better, to be better prepared and to make sure that any blood evidence that transferred to his clothing could be disposed of. Walter knew there would be more Flaming Girls.

Lucky for Walter, Alice was attending the opera with her friends that night so he was able clean up during her absence and take his new trophies to the little workshop attached to the big garage. He put the bracelet and the shopgirl's cute little white nylons panties with pink polka-dots on the workbench and immediately became tumescent at the sight of them. He raced into the house and took a pair of Alice’s nylon stockings from her lingerie drawer and bought them back to workshop and slid one of the stockings over his cock and bought the panties to his nose. He ejaculated without even touching himself.

Over the next few days he purchased coveralls, boots, gloves and duffle coats, resealable plastic bags, a big red tool box and several packages of good quality stockings. He put a heavy padlock on the door to the workshop.

Alice was quite pleased with Walter’s increased libido over the ensuing days and weeks; it was almost like they were on honeymoon again.

But eventually the headaches returned and became worse and developed into full-blown migraines. Walter knew there was only one way to ease the pain.

The second Flaming Girl he found working on the streets in one of the seedier areas of Essex after driving around the streets night after night for a week. He had everything he needed in the boot of his car and he changed into his coveralls and boots before he picked her up and took her somewhere quiet where he could take his time with her. The prostitute thought it a little strange that a man wearing working class clothing was driving a Bentley but the offer of five pounds was too good to refuse.

Her body was found in a backstreet, sans knickers and cheap necklace.

Walter was getting better at his craft.

*****

Robin sat at the table fuming, staring at the remains of his pint.

“Fucking ungrateful bitch!” he was seething, his emotions in turmoil.

“Fuck it!” he downed his pint and stormed out of The Plough determined to walk home.

Except he didn’t. He turned in the opposite direction and started walking towards Charlie’s flat. He caught up with her as she rounded the corner to her street. Charlie heard the footfalls and turned to see who it was. As soon as she saw it was Robin she increased her stride but walking in high heels she was no match for Robin who caught up with her easily before she got to the entrance to her building.

She turned and backed against the wall defensively.

“Come for your five pounds worth have you?” she sneered at him.

Robin stepped in close to her, winded from chasing her.

“What if I have? What if I don’t want to be your big brother and protector, what if want to be something else?” he wheezed.

Charlie fumbled in her bag and produced the five pound note. She threw it on the ground.

“There! A full refund for services not received,” she hissed into his face.

Charlie turned sideways against the wall intending to walk away but Robin turned her head to face him.

“What? What do you want?” she murmured.

Robin leaned in attempting to kiss her but Charlie turned away. He followed her and his lips fell on the side of her mouth. Charlie tried to push him away and turned to face him to tell him to leave her alone but his lips covered her mouth. Charlie remained closed-mouth, her body rigid and unresponsive.

Robin realised what he was doing to her and stopped. He took a step back.

“I’m sorry,” he breathed and turned to leave.

Charlie reached out and pulled him back. She pressed herself against him and raised her lips to his. Robin enfolded her in his arms. She felt soft and delicate; almost fragile and he kissed her tenderly. Charlie clung to him and stood on tippytoes and put her arms around him, returning his kiss.

The kiss seemed to last an eternity, neither of them wanting it to stop. Robin inhaled her scent, felt her body pressed against his, her lips on his, he sensed her ragged breathing, her heart pounding, as was his. Finally, after what seemed like a lifetime, they broke the kiss. They stood locked in their embrace, foreheads touching, searching for breath.

“Do you want to come up?” Charlie whispered.

“More than anything in the world,” Robin said softly.

“But I’m not going to. I’m going to kiss you again and then I’m going to say goodnight and watch you go through the door to your building and I’m going to regret not following you inside. I’m going to go home longing to be with you, hating myself for not spending the night with you, but ultimately commending myself for not following my base instincts.”

“Because I don’t want one night of passion to replace what could be a long term relationship. That is I do want a night of passion, I want you more than anything right now, but I want us both to consider what might be, what sort of relationship we might cultivate together if we give ourselves a chance.”

“Fuck! You’re a romantic,” Charlie smiled up at him timidly.

She raised herself up and kissed him again and if it was at all possible it lasted longer than their first.

“Good night,” Robin whispered, not wanting to let her go.

“Good night,” Charlie clung to Robin for a while longer and finally they let go of each other.

Charlie unlocked and opened the door to her building and disappeared inside. Robin watched her and then turned away and began the long walk home.

The five pound note that Charlie had dropped blew away on a gust of wind, bouncing along the footpath.

*****

The Special Crime Investigation team came together at Glenda Savage’s flat; Robin arrived early and got busy reviewing copies of the case files, Ruffe Ingersoll drifted in around ten o’clock having gone first to his desk at The Daily Sun to check messages and sit in on the morning newsroom meeting. Charlie arrived around ten thirty looking well rested and wearing a skirt, blouse, nylons and heels; her hair silken and shining like a flame and her makeup perfect.

Robin looked up when she walked in and immediately looked away back to his files when she met his gaze. Ever astute, Glenda noticed the brief exchange.

“Now that we are all here, are you happy to update us please Sargent Sparrow?” Glenda said after clearing her throat.

“The Slasher has not been active since he sent his letter to Ruffe and looking at the periodicity of his crimes, he’s likely going to strike again within the next week or two,” Robin began.

“The pattern of the crimes indicates he hunts in and around Chelmsford, even though he has a vehicle. I hypothesise that once he sees his so called Flaming Girl, he becomes infatuated with her and has no choice but take her. This indicates to me that he lives or works in Chelmsford, possibly both.”

“I think we can safely narrow our search to the greater Chelmsford area,” Robin concluded.

“Ruffe?” he turned to Ruffe to chime in.

“I have extensively reviewed the newspapers looking for similar crimes across England during the last ten years and there are none that fit the Slasher’s MO or victim profile other than the six we know about. There were a series of attacks on prostitutes in Manchester last year but they involved strangulation, the perpetrator killed two of the seven women he attacked and anyway he was caught and put away,” Ruffe announced.

“Glenda?” Robin turned to Glenda who was wearing her uniform today.

“I’m off to brief the Chief Constable and I’ll drop into CID and see if they have anything new. He’s going to ask what our next course of action will be,” Glenda answered.

“I propose we visit the scenes of the crimes. It’s a long shot but I think we should take Charlie along and see if she sees anything there that might trigger a memory or something specific that links the crimes besides the victim’s appearance,” Robin said.

“Are you ok with that Charlie? We’d be in an unmarked car and you would have protection,” Robin looked directly at Charlie for the first time since he had glanced at her when she arrived.

“I’d like to do something. I feel like a spare dick at wedding at the moment,” Charlie grinned.

She thought it funny that Robin was obviously uncomfortable in her presence after last night.

“Ok. I’ll brief the Chief Constable accordingly. I’ll be back around five o’clock and I’d like to invite you all to dinner to celebrate the first few days of our SCI team if that’s ok,” Glenda looked around the room.

“I’ll post a story this afternoon. Charlie, The Daily Sun would like a follow-up piece on life after the Slasher if that’s ok?” Ruffe looked at Charlie who nodded her consent.

“I can make it. It’ll be better than take away or soup in the can,” Robin looked guiltily at Charlie.

“It’s not like I have anything else to do. Thank you Glenda is there some way I can help?” Charlie asked.

“Do your interview with Ruffe here and then if you don’t mind, go down to the co-op and fill this shopping list,” Glenda handed Charlie a shopping list and a one pound note.

“Looks like we’ve all got things to do, I’ll see you at six o’clock for dinner,” Glenda said, threading her arm into the sleeve of her uniform jacket.

“Can I bring a friend?” Ruffe asked.

“A girlfriend? Of course Ruffe. What about you Robin?” Glenda turned to the detective.

“I’ll be stag,” Robin blushed.

“Ok, I have to run. See you all later,” Glenda picked up her handbag and keys.

*****

“You’re wearing your uniform,” Edward Bard said when Glenda entered the cheap hotel room and closed the door.

“I told my team that I was coming to see you, which is true, so they think I’m down at the station so of course I’d be wearing my uniform,” Glenda explained, hurriedly unbuttoning her jacket.

“My lot think I’ve gone to a meeting at Scotland Yard but obviously they think the meeting is in mufti. I couldn’t very well check into a no-tell hotel for the afternoon wearing a Chief Constable’s uniform could I?” Edward took off his underpants and was now naked.

He lay on the bed, his penis getting harder as he watched Glenda undress.

“I came up the back stairs. No one saw me,” Glenda hung her skirt and blouse in the closet.

When she had stripped down to her underwear Edward reached out and pulled her down on the bed.

“I’d like to come up your back stairs,” he traced the backseam of her black nylon stocking all the way up to her thigh and then squeezed her buttocks through her black satin panties.

“You can come wherever you like after you’ve given me a good shagging. Seems like ages,” Glenda snuggled up to him and threw one leg over his so that his cock rubbed on her nylon-sheathed thigh.

“It has been ages but we have the room all day,” Edward rolled Glenda onto her back and lay on top of her.

He kissed her and rubbed his cock on her panty-clad quim. Glenda writhed beneath him, returning his kiss and lifting her groin up to his cock pressing on her mound through the slinky fabric of her knickers.

Edward could feel that she was wet, the crotch of her knickers was soaked with her juices and he could smell them. He pulled the gusset of her panties aside and slid his big black cock inside her juicy sheath.

Glenda moaned and lifted her legs and locked them around him.

“Is that good?” she smiled up at him.

Edward nodded and lowered his face to hers and began to grind against her, burying his cock deep inside her, pressing down on her clitoris to stimulate her.

Glenda arched her back and rose to meet his Edward’s rhythmic thrusts, his slick, black weapon driving deep into her quim and the almost withdrawing, then plunging back inside her. She could feel it swelling to full tumescence which she knew meant that Edward was about to orgasm. Glenda grated her raw sex against the base Edward’s penis, bringing on her own climax. Edward pulled Glenda hard against him, almost crushing her as he voided his semen deep inside her. Glenda shuddered and groaned, locked in his embrace as she climaxed.

Later they lay on the bed awash with post coital bliss when Edward spoke.

“How is you little SCI going along? Solved the case yet?” he lazily circled her areolae with a long dark finger.

Lying on her back like she was, her breasts where like soft white fat pillows with her nipples like cherries gracing the top of cupcake.

Glenda hated it when Edward took his condescending tone with her. Humouring her.

“We might have some ideas that CID haven’t thought of,” Glenda quipped.

Edward rolled onto his side, and popped his head up on his fist.

“You’re giving everything to CID right? You’re not really trying to solve this case are you?” Edward said, the seriousness evident in his voice.

“You never take me seriously Edward. I sometimes think you selected me to work with you just so you could get into my knickers,” Glenda removed his hand from her breast.

“Which were a few sizes smaller when you first started working for me if I recall correctly,” Glenda had rolled onto her side and Edward spanked her plump derriere playfully.

He didn’t see the anger in Glenda’s face because she was turned away from him, nor the tears forming in the corners of her eyes.

Glenda sat on the edge of the bed. She pulled off her sodden knickers and replaced them with a pair from her handbag and then stood up to inspect her stockings. Happy there were no ladders she pulled up the welts and straightened the seams.

“Are you going? I have the room for the whole afternoon Glenda. I thought we might get up to bit of slap and tickle as been as we haven’t been able to be alone for so long,” Edward sounded petulant which Glenda hated.

“You’ve had your slap and tickle. I have work to do,” Glenda hitched up her skirt and tucked in her blouse.

She rummaged around in her handbag and found the knickers she had been wearing when they fucked.

“Here! Enjoy yourself. I’ll see you next time I’m summoned to perform the duties your wife refuses to do,” she tossed her sodden black satin panties at him.

“Glenda! Glenda get back here!” he called after her as she slammed the door behind her.

*****

Dinner that night was a cosy affair with five of them huddled around Glenda’s little dining table. Glenda deliberately sat Robin and Charlie beside each other having seen the exchange between them this morning and sensing that there was possibly a spark between them. Ruffe had brought his sometime girlfriend Maggie Reardon who was dressed very bohemian and had long curly blonde locks and spoke with a broad Irish brogue. She was very intelligent and lifted the conversation, taking it away from talking constantly about the Essex Slasher.

Maggie had worked for Petticoat magazine which responded to the emergence of more liberal teenagers and young women of the late sixties and early seventies but was now defunct. She now worked freelance producing articles for the more successful avant-garde women's magazines and had a niche for obtaining interviews with celebrities who were notoriously hard to pin down.

Over poached fish with asparagus, baby carrots and buttered potatoes she regaled the audience with stories of her encounters with the famous and infamous.

Ruffe and Maggie had brought wine as had Robin, and Glenda had also stopped to get two bottles from the off licence on her way home from CID. The alcohol loosened inhibitions and tongues.

“So Charlie, you’re almost a celebrity now,” Maggie turned to her, eyes glittering.

“I suppose so, but for all the wrong reasons,” Charlie replied.

“Sales of pink rayon baby-doll nightdresses have gone through the roof,” Maggie teased.

Charlie blushed. She knew that Maggie was referring to the photograph that Ruffe had taken and The Daily Sun had printed of her posing seductively in her hospital room.

“Do you know there is a look out there now? The Charlie,” Maggie took a generous gulp of Riesling.

Charlie’s anonymity had been sold off for ten pounds by Deirdre Edwards when a reporter from a rival newspaper interviewed her about the Slasher attack. Charlie could no longer work the underpass; it had become a place where people came in hopes in stealing a glance of the only surviving Slasher victim or of snapping a picture of her to sell to the tabloids.

“What do you mean a look?” Charlie was amused.

“Small-framed, flat-chested girls with teased dyed-red hair, heavy makeup and long legs are now de rigueur. Young women all over the UK are flattening their chests, cutting their hair and dying it red,” Maggie said excitedly searching for her cigarettes.

“Are you serious?” Glenda asked.

“I thought that when we released the profile of the Slasher’s victims all having red hair and blue or green eyes that red-headed women all over the south of England would be dying their hair some other colour.”

“Well a lot of them are. But celebrity is a funny thing; all it takes is one photograph to start a trend. Just like Twiggy had the waif look, some girls are going ‘Charlie’. It’s a fad. It won’t last long but you have to admit it’s an interesting response to a rather morbid story,” Maggie lit up and offered her cigarettes around the table.

More wine was drunk and stories told as the evening wore on. Charlie went upstairs to use the toilet and was confronted by Maggie waiting for her on the landing.

“I’d like to interview you Charlie. I know Ruffe has done a couple of follow-up stories for the Sun but I’d like to do an in-depth piece. You would have complete control over the story and final say on what is printed,” Maggie gushed.

Charlie shook her head and tried to get past her.

“Charlie. You know there are many more like you out there. Boys who know that they are born with the wrong bodies. Some of them, like you, are able to live as women but they mostly live in the shadows. Ruffe and I know of many. There is a sexual revolution coming Charlie and it’s not just the emancipation of women. Some experts in the field are now using the word transgender,” Maggie said excitedly.

“Let me think about it,” Charlie eventually replied.

“Ok babe; you can contact me through Ruffe if you change your mind,” Maggie patted Charlie’s arm and went into the loo.

Ruffe and Maggie got a minicab and Robin offered to walk Charlie home when the dinner party finally broke up. Charlie walked with her head on Robin’s shoulder and he with his arm around her waist. They walked in silence just content to be in each other’s company each hoping the walk would last forever.

When they came to the door to Charlie’s building she turned expectantly and Robin held her tight and kissed her. He was again amazed at how fragile and delicate she felt in his embrace. Her lips were warm and soft and her breath was sweet despite the wine and cigarettes she had indulged in during the evening. Robin finally broke the kiss and held her at arm’s length.

“Safe home again,” he smiled at her.

“I’ve been thinking,” Charlie smiled up at him.

“You said we might have something, a relationship you called it. Well we can’t start a relationship until we start a relationship.”

Robin furrowed his brow and looked at her quizzically.

“We can’t get to know each other better unless we spend time together,” Charlie explained.

“Come up. Just have a cup of tea and a chat if you like,” she reached out and stroked his cheek.

Robin nodded.

Charlie unlocked the door and led him inside, pressing the button to turn on the timer on the staircase lighting. Robin followed her up the narrow staircase for three flights trying his hardest not stare at her long, nylon-sheathed legs and pert bottom displayed to him at eyelevel as she preceded ahead of him. She unlocked the door to her bedsit and stood aside to allow Robin inside.

The place was neat and cosy and smelled of Charlie’s perfume. A drying rack standing next the radiator was draped with stockings, tights, knickers and other undergarments and Robin blushed when Charlie saw him staring at it.

“Excuse me a minute Robin. Be a dear and put the kettle on will you?” Charlie went over and took the lingerie off the rack and put it away in a little chest of drawers next to a clothes rack on which hung a myriad of skirts, blouses, dresses and coats.

Underneath it, neatly arranged, was a multitude of high heels and other footwear. Charlie ducked into the miniscule toilet-cum-bathroom and Robin was glad when he finally heard the flush and sound of water running in a hand basin. By then he had boiled water and made them both coffee.

Robin sat on the two-seater couch and Charlie extinguished the overhead light, leaving a single muted lamp in the corner to provide shallow mood lighting. Charlie sat next to him and tucked her feet under her; she was still wearing heels and hose.

“So what would you like to know about…” Charlie was about to ask a question when Robin leaned in and kissed her.

Charlie sighed and relaxed, letting Robin kiss her softly at first, caressing her cheek and then the kiss became more demanding, pressing his lips hard against her and driving his tongue into her mouth. Charlie fell back against the assault, letting Robin push her into the couch as he pressed his body against her. His hand moved from her cheek to her shoulder, and then from her shoulder to her waist and then from her waist to her knee.

And then he stopped.

“I’m sorry Charlie. I expect every man you have ever met behaved like this. You said yourself that everybody assumes you are promiscuous,” Robin sat back and put his face in his hands.

Charlie stroked his shoulder affectionately.

“Did you hear me complain?” she lifted his head out of his hands and smiled sweetly.

“Can I tell you something Robin?” she leaned in and kissed his cheek and then withdrew.

The softness of her lips and scent of her perfume were intoxicating.

“I’ve had one boyfriend in my life and he turned out to be a shit. Every other man I’ve met wants one thing from me. When you took me to The Plough it was the first time that a man had taken out in public for a drink. I do go there by myself sometimes but I constantly have to rebuke potential punters.”

“Yes but look at me; I’m no better than the rest,” Robin sighed.

“If I asked you to leave now Robin would you go?” she engaged his eyes with hers.

“Of course,” he said determinedly.

“If I asked you could we just sit and talk and not do anything else, would you do that?” she searched his eyes.

Robin nodded.

“And you wouldn’t be resentful? You wouldn’t feel I’d led you on?” she touched his hand which was resting on his knee.

Robin smiled wistfully.

“I’d feel frustrated of course; I’ll be honest. But like I said last night I feel something for you I can’t explain. I hate myself for how I treated you when we first met. I was deplorable. And now I find myself thinking about you all the time; I miss you when I’m not with you. And you’re so gracious. I really don’t deserve your friendship,” Charlie could see the beginnings of tears in Robin’s eyes.

“In that case I would like you to stay,” Charlie squeezed his fingers and was rewarded with a smile.

“The coffee’s cold. Should I make more?” Robin asked, sitting up straight and composing himself.

“You could. Or you could kiss me a little more and then make love to me,” Charlie eased herself down on the little couch and pulled Robin down with her.

He kissed her softly and stroked her hair.

“I would love to Charlie but I’m not sure I know how,” he kissed her again.

“You just treat me like you would any other woman and when it gets to the tricky bits I’ll help you,” she smiled up at him but the sweetness in her gaze had been replaced by desire.

To be continued

“You just treat me like any other woman and when it gets to the tricky bits I’ll help you,” Charlie smiled up at Robin but the sweetness in her gaze had been replaced by desire.

Robin took off his coat, kicked off his shoes and then removed his shirt, tie and pants and then impatiently tugged at his socks.

Charlie sat on the couch watching.

“There is no romantic way for a man to take off his socks is there?” she giggled.

Stripped down to just his underpants, Robin Sparrow was a fine specimen of a man. He was a swimmer and although his summer tan had long since faded, his ropey muscles were still well defined beneath his pale unblemished skin. Charlie reached out and ran her hands across his chest and Robin shivered.

“It’s not fair; I’m nearly naked and you’re still fully clothed,” he grinned at her.

“Don’t you want to undress me? Think of it like unwrapping a Christmas present,” Charlie teased.

Robin surprised her when he lifted her and carried her the short distance to her bed. He lay her down gently and then lay down beside her.

They kissed for a long time, neither of them in any kind of rush, they had all night. Charlie snaked her hand across Robin’s chest outlining the curves of his pectorals. She put her leg over his and rubbed it up slowly and down, Robin put a hand on her thigh and encouraged her, his fingers delighting in the feel of soft flesh encased in the wispy nylons. Their kisses became more demanding, their tongues intertwined and their lips locked.

Charlie continued exploring Robin’s body, stopping at his flat muscled abdomen where she traced the washboard of muscle and sinew. Robin gasped in her mouth and then moaned as her hand continued its journey down to his groin, grazing the considerable lump stretching his briefs.

“I think I want to unwrap my present,” Robin whispered, rolling away from Charlie and then looming over her.

She lay still while Robin unbuttoned her blouse and lifted herself up a little to help him remove it. She was wearing a mauve satin brassiere with padded cups and it contrasted magnificently with her flawless alabaster skin; the pink star-shaped scar on her belly the only blemish. Next he unbuttoned and pulled down her skirt, pooling it around her ankles.

“What about my heels?” Charlie asked.

Robin just gave her a look that could only be interpreted as abject lust.

“Ok. I guess the heels stay on for now,” she chuckled.

Robin gazed at Charlie lying on the bed in the lamplight. She was incredibly beautiful and desirable. Her pretty face with her bright green eyes accentuated by her dark eye makeup and bright-red lipstick was framed by her flaming red hair, which lay tousled on the white pillow case. Her body had a slender frame, but with curves in the right places. She had a tiny waist but well-defined, full hips and a tight buxom bottom. Her breasts were understandably small but helped by the padding in the mauve satin bra they were proportional to her body.

The matching satin full-cut knickers clung to her body and Robin had to admit to being stupefied as where her genitalia might be but he was more interested in continuing his inspection of her body. Under the panties she was wearing flesh-toned, high-gloss, sheer-to-the-waist tights that clung to her long legs like gossamer and appeared to glisten in the lamplight. The bright-red stiletto heels were the icing on the cake.

Robin fell on her and stifled her surprised squeal by mashing her lips with his, driving his tongue deep into her mouth. Charlie wrapped her arms around him and locked her calves around his. She could feel the substantial girth of his erect penis pressing into her belly.

Charlie managed to snake her hand between their bodies and when Robin realised what she was doing he lifted himself off her a little to cooperate. He moaned as Charlie traced the outline of his phallus through his underwear and drew a deep breath when her fingertips found the glands of his penis protruding from the top of the waistband. She worked her hand inside his underpants and took his manhood in her hand. It was massive.

Robin disengaged so that he could shuck out of his underpants and when he was naked he lay down on top of Charlie again. She felt soft and warm and smelled wonderful under him, his cock pressed on the front of her panties and he revelled in the sensation of the satin panty against his sensitive flesh but at the same time wondered where Charlie was hiding her genitals.

Charlie wrapped her legs around Robin and encouraged him to rub against her; she was uncomfortably erect and would need to do something about it soon or it would become painful. She was determined to let Robin fully explore her body and if what he found repulsed him, so be it.

Robin slipped his hand inside Charlie’s knickers and tights and found a clean-shaven pubis and the base of what was unmistakably a penis. Charlie opened her legs a little to facilitate him and Robin put his hand between her thighs and found Charlie's penis strapped to her perineum. It was wrapped in her empty scrotum and held in place by medical tape.

“Does it repulse you?” Charlie whimpered; her face buried in his neck.

She couldn’t bear to see the disgust in his eyes.

Robin tugged at the edge of the tape.

“Can I take it off?” he whispered in her ear.

“It’s like a Band-Aid, the quicker the better but I understand if you would just rather…” she didn’t get to finish the sentence.

Robin put his mouth over hers to stifle the yelp and ripped away the gaff. He carefully eased her semi-hard penis out of its nest and it filled the front of her tights and panties.

“Is that better?” he smiled down at her.

Charlie nodded and hunched up on her heels briefly and clenched then relaxed the muscles that allowed her testes to descend back into her scrotum.

“Now. Where were we?” Robin lowered his face to Charlie’s and kissed her.

He pressed his cock into her groin, feeling the flesh of her penis become harder inside her panties as he began to rub against her. They enjoyed that for a while, Charlie stroking his muscled back and rubbing her legs on his while he rutted against her. They kissed fervently. Charlie wanted to feel his powerful manhood in her hand and she worked it between their bodies and gripped his hard veiny flesh.

Robin rolled off her so that they lay side by side, kissing and caressing while Charlie stroked his huge cock and cupped his scrotum. She froze when Robin tentatively put his hand in her knickers and touched her penis.

“You don’t have to… of my god!” Charlie purred when Robin took her in hand and began to stroke her through the diaphanous fabric of her tights.

Robin broke the kiss and smiled down at her.

“I don’t have to do what?” he grinned, squeezing her cock, teasing dewy drops of pre-cum from her.

“I know how these things work you know,” he smirked.

“Well you better be careful mister because if you keep that up it’s going to go off in your hand,” Charlie smirked back at him.

“Me too sweetheart. I’m close,” Robin sighed.

“Ok. Here we go. You be careful with that thing; go slow ok?” Charlie looked up at him with genuine trepidation on her face.

Charlie opened the drawer on her bedside table and took out a tube of KY-Jelly.

She grabbed a handful of pillows and put them under the small of her back and lay there with her legs open invitingly and Robin climbed between them. Charlie had prepared and lubricated herself for just this eventuality while she was in the toilet but she had never considered that Robin might have such a monstrous girth.

Charlie unscrewed the cap of the lubricant and covered Robin’s erection with a healthy coat of the slippery gel.

“Be careful or I’m going to come before I’m inside you,” Robin gasped.

Charlie pulled down her panties, leaving them dangling from one ankle, her cock tented the gusset of her pantyhose which were soaked with their pre-seminal fluids.

“Ok lover, take it slow,” she smiled up at him.

Charlie guided his glans between her buttocks and snagged the crotch of her tights with her long fingernail to make a hole big enough for his cock. She pressed Robin’s glans against her puckered bud and bit her lip in anticipation.

Robin pressed himself very slowly against the resistance of Charlie’s sphincter, letting the lubricant do its job. Robin had women complain that he was too big for them during vaginal intercourse so he knew that he had to be careful and totally attentive to Charlie’s responses.

Charlie relaxed her sphincter and the head of Robin’s cock eased inside her, stretching her flesh to full elasticity. Expecting searing pain, Charlie was pleasantly surprised to feel a pleasant fullness, there was some dull ache for sure but it was a nice dull ache.

Robin lowered his face to Charlie and kissed her, keeping his body still even though he wanted so much to be fully inside her. Charlie slowly and surely impaled herself on Robin’s magnificent manhood until it was inside her all the way. Robin had to force himself not to come when her slick, velvet sheath enveloped his throbbing cock.

“Oh god Charlie; I can’t stop it!” Robin cried.

“Then don’t,” Charlie crushed her lips against his and rode up to meet his thrusts as he began to fuck her.

She wrapped her silky legs around his waist and her arms around his neck as he lifted her bodily from the bed, cupping her buttocks in his big hands as he pounded his cock in and out of Charlie’s tight anus.

Charlie orgasmed first, biting her lip and grinding herself against his fearsome weapon as it scoured her anus, sending ripples of intense pleasure through her body. She flooded the front of her tights and Robin felt her scalding issue on his belly. He roared with intense satisfaction and delight as his scrotum contracted and a torrent of semen filled Charlie's back passage.

They clung to each other, moaning endearments as they luxuriated in the most wonderful orgasms that either of them had ever experienced. The rolled around the small bed extracting every scintilla of pleasure from each other’s bodies.

They lay panting and exhausted on the bed, both perspiring despite the cool evening.

Robin rolled over and sidled up to Charlie and stroked her face, his finger followed the curve of her chin down to the silvery scar on her neck. He looked down at her belly and saw the fading pink scar and traced it with his finger.

“Did I hurt you?” he sounded genuinely concerned.

“Yes,” she replied.

“And I want you to hurt me like that again as soon as you’re ready,” she snuggled up to him and mewed.

Robin chuckled.

“If it’s any consolation I think your high heels have scarred me for life,” Robin pretended to wince when he dabbed at the marks where Charlie’s heels had raked his flanks.

“Serves you right! You’re the one who wanted me to leave them on,” she taunted him.

*****

The migraines were getting worse and sex with Alice and masturbating with his trophies bought only temporary relief. Walter needed to find another Flaming Girl to ease his pain, to satisfy the terrible hunger that plagued him. To make matters worse that muckraker Ruffe Ingersoll had posted a story in The Daily Sun hypothesising that the Essex Slasher, as they called him, was fixated on women with red hair and blue or green eyes which would further reduce the pool of eligible ladies.

Sadie Smithers was a barmaid at the Trunk and Brick pub just off the A12 outside of Chelmsford. She was in her late forties and a rather buxom matronly woman that some would have mean spiritedly said was mutton dressed as lamb. Her usual garb for tending bar was a short black tight-fitting skirt, white satin blouse worn open to show her ample décolletage, black seamed stockings and shiny black high heels. She favoured heavy makeup and wore her hair in a bouffant. The more generous patrons compared her to Miss Brahms and the less generous patrons compared her to Mrs Slocombe from the popular TV series, Are You Being Served.

Sadie was gregarious, chatty and always up for a laugh. She flirted with the patrons but only in fun and liked to lift her skirt and flash her stocking-tops after a couple of shandies after work.

Her bouffant of fiery red hair was her trademark and with piecing blue eyes she copped a few quips about being an ideal candidate for the Slasher.

“Don’t be silly love; he’d not be interested in old biddy like me, he likes ‘em young and lively does the Slasher,” she joked.

Walter Middleton stopped in the Trunk and Brick for a pint on the way home one day; his first time ever visiting the establishment. He sat at a table in the corner mesmerised by Sadie Smithers whose hair flamed like a torch and whose eyes glowed like a perfect blue flame.

It was miserable English weather, drizzling and foggy the next evening when Sadie Smithers was waiting at the bus stop and she was grateful when the handsome man driving the Bentley stopped and offered her a lift.

She was found the next day in a wooded copse with her skirt hiked up, her legs open wide and her knickers were gone along with the silver anklet that she always wore. Her throat had been slashed and her innards arranged like a garland around her neck. There was a sealed envelope addressed to Ruffe Ingersoll beside her body sealed in plastic baggie to keep it safe from the elements.

*****

“So what do we do?” Charlie and Robin sat in the seedy café across from Glenda Savage’s flat.

Robin had spent the last five nights in Charlie’s bed.

They were both ravenous and had eaten a good old English fry-up for breakfast.

“What do you mean?” Robin reached across the table and took Charlie’s hand in his.

“You’re a Detective Sargent and I’m a transvestite prostitute. We’re hardly a perfect match,” Charlie rummaged in her bag for her smokes.

“What if you weren’t?” Robin mused.

“What if I wasn’t what? Do you have a magic wand that’s going to turn me into a real woman?” Charlie lit up her smoke.

“There you go again. As far as I am concerned you are as much a woman as any other girl I’ve met,” Robin replied.

“I bet you say that to all the pretty transvestites you’ve bummed,” Charlie said sarcastically and immediately regretted it.

“I’m sorry,” Charlie squeezed his hand.

“It’s ok Charlie. I know that self-depreciation is just your defence mechanism,” Robin squeezed back.

“Do you want to wag school today?” Robin smiled at her.

Charlie furrowed her brow.

“You want to go home and do it all again? I’m surprised you have the energy,” she smiled at him mischievously.

“As much as I’d like to, no. I want you to come with me into London; I have a surprise for you,” Robin returned her smile.

“Are you taking me out on the town Detective Sargent Sparrow?” she teased.

“Sort of. Finish that fag and lets go,” he stood up, finished his tea and went to the counter to pay.

It took just under an hour on the train and Charlie slept most of it with her head on Robin’s shoulder, only waking to change trains at Liverpool St. He dozed too and woke Charlie as their train was pulling into the Oxford Circus underground.

Soho in the seventies was a mecca for locals and tourists looking for ‘sex and drugs and rock and roll’. Homosexuality was decriminalised in the UK in 1967 but there still weren’t that many gay friendly or alternative gender venues. Soho was the antithesis of most of the UK with a plethora of gay and transgender bars and nightclubs, cafes and shops. The sub-culture attracted those whose affections were so inclined, including the lookie-loos and not to mention the sticky overcoat brigade. It was a melting pot.

Charlie was fascinated as Robin led her through the streets, she didn’t know which way to look there was so much happening. Pop music blared from cafés and bars, there were ‘working girls’ of all persuasions and rent boys openly plying their trade.

“You’re not getting me a new corner to work on are you?” Charlie punched Robin in the arm playfully.

“Far from it. Come in here,” Robin pulled Charlie into a garishly appointed unisex hairdressing salon.

‘Fringe Chic’ was a very avant-garde hairstyling salon which catered to people of all persuasions. Inside it was painted rose-pink and teal, although you could hardly see the walls for the posters of famous musicians and movie stars and other arty paraphernalia. Mirror balls hung from the ceiling and strings of coloured lights were strung along the coving where the walls met the ceiling. Pop music was blaring from speakers in all four corners of the shop.

The walls were lined with long benches where hairdressers were hard at work washing, drying, colouring, cutting, and styling.

A very tall blonde girl wearing pink jeans and a blue puffy-sleeved top under her white hairdressers smock squealed and dropped the scissors and comb she had been using and ran to the door. She literally threw herself at Robin who had to catch her as she hung onto him with arms and legs wrapped around him. She smothered him with kisses and Charlie felt a pang of jealousy.

The girl dropped to her feet but still draped herself around Robin hanging onto him for dear life.

“Charlie, this is Samantha and Samantha this is Charlie,” Robin made the introductions.

“Oh my god! My stiff upper-lipped, straight-laced and so square he’s a cube big brother is hanging around with you! Aren’t you just precious, come here so I can see you,” Samantha latched onto Charlie just like she had her brother.

After a generous hug and kiss on the cheek Samantha held Charlie out at arm’s length.

Charlie was wearing a denim miniskirt, a mauve satin blouse, her favourite bolero jacket, pale pink tights and red platform shoes.

“So cute. I’ve read about you of course and seen your picture in the paper but you are so much more beautiful in the flesh. Who does your hair?” Samantha gushed.

Charlie was still overcome and almost speechless.

“I do,” she eventually whispered.

“We’ll fix that. Anyway, what do you think?” Samantha waved her hand around the salon where four hairdressers, three girls and one boy, were busy cutting hair.

They all wore stylish clothes under their smocks and their hair was outrageously perfect.

“I think it’s wonderful,” Charlie gawped at the shop and its fittings.

“So when can you start?” Samantha’s smile was wide and addictive.

“What do you mean?” Charlie smiled back but was bamboozled.

“My dear brother told me that you’ve always wanted to be hairdresser and I have an apprenticeship vacant so…” Samantha left the sentence hanging.

Charlie’s smile dropped from her face and was replaced by anger.

She turned around and walked out of the salon with Robin hot on her heels.

“Charlie, Charlie, Charlie, slow down… stop. Let’s talk,” Robin had to run to catch up with her.

“How dare you!” Charlie turned on Robin and unleashed her venom.

“Look. You can’t keep doing what you have been doing even if you wanted to. I spoke to Sam on the phone during the week and told her about you and she is really keen to take you on,” Robin explained.

“So… you told her all about me did you?” Charlie's anger roiled.

“Look. She can read a newspaper just like anybody else but I told her how gracious you are, how lovely a person you are, even though the world seems intent on hating you, you deal with it in your own glorious way. Sam doesn’t want you because she feels sorry for you; she wants you because you have pluck and personality,” Robin elaborated.

“Wait! You told her this before we… you know, before we shagged?” Charlie’s anger started to abate.

“Yes. Just after I joined the SIC and realised what an arsehole I’d been and how lovely you are,” Robin’s voice was pleading.

“So this wasn’t a ruse because you didn’t want your girlfriend to be a prostitute,” Charlie asked.

“Charlie. Everyone knows you used to be a prostitute. It’s in the fucking papers! I don’t care. I’d love you whatever you chose to do,” Robin said.

Charlie let the word ‘love’ sail past; she guessed correctly that Robin didn’t even know he’d said it.

They started to walk slowly back to the salon where Samantha was waiting at the door.

“Lover’s tiff?” Samantha grinned.

Robin blushed.

“So you want the job? There is no one here to judge you. Just work hard and be willing to learn and keep an open mind as to the clientele,” Samantha gushed.

“Open mind! You know I’m a transvestite right?” Charlie replied.

“Of course I do. That’s part of the appeal. Not only are you a gorgeous transvestite, you’re a famous gorgeous transvestite and if you can turn my broomstick-up-his-arse brother into someone half-decent you really must be the wonderful person he says you are,” Samantha grinned.

“Hey!” Robin protested.

“What are you doing here? Piss off and come back at closing; us girls have work to do,” Samantha put her arm around Charlie’s shoulder and led her into the salon.

On the way home Charlie regaled Robin with how exciting her day had been, the interesting people she had met and although she spent most of the day sweeping up hair, putting out trash, washing and blow-drying scalps, she realised that she had to start at the bottom.

Charlie snuggled up to Robin on the train and they received a few ‘shouldn’t be allowed’ looks from some of the older passengers; not because they thought Charlie was a transvestite, but because they were behaving like teenagers.

“Do you know that your sister is wonderful,” Charlie gushed.

“Yeah, I kinda knew that,” Robin smiled.

“No I mean really wonderful! And so are you. So how would you like me to reward you?” she asked, seductively nibbling his ear.

“I’d like you to behave like a grownup while we are out together and you can be as naughty as you like when we get home,” Robin, removed her hand from his crotch.

“Oh, pants to that! You’ll just have to accept me as I am,” she grinned at him but settled back into her seat and put her head on his shoulder.

“Really Robin, thank you so much,” she sighed and drifted away.

*****

To make up for Charlie’s absence from the SIC, Glenda and Robin took her on a tour of the Slasher’s crime scenes in the vain hope that being at the scene of the crime might trigger some sort of memory or response from Charlie but it came to no avail. Back at Glenda’s flat that night over a take-away dinner they pondered over what little evidence they had.

“Look. Despite the overalls and boots he was wearing he was undoubtedly posh,” Charlie reiterated.

“He spoke posh, he had soft hands, his mannerisms and everything about him seemed posh. He was clean and wearing aftershave. He writes well and we all agree that he probably owns a motor. That’s something. That eliminates all of the working-class and less salubrious types. It narrows down our field,” Charlie said.

“You're right Charlie. Let’s go through our files and ditch every suspect that doesn’t fit that profile,” Robin said.

It was then that Glenda's phone rang and she turned white as a sheet as she answered it. She listened for a while and then put the phone back in the cradle.

“He’s struck again. A man walking his dog near the A12 found a barmaid from the Trunk and Brick in the woods. The body was staged this time but it’s definitely him. He left another note for Ruffe but CID has it,” Glenda said picking up her things.

“We’re taking you home Charlie then Glenda and I will go over to CID,” Robin said stridently and Charlie knew not to argue.

“Are you coming home later?” she asked picking up her things.

Robin helped her on with her coat. When they got to Charlie’s place she leaned in and kissed Robin goodbye.

“Is that a good thing?” Glenda looked at him through narrow eyes as they entered the evening traffic.

“Is any relationship ever a good thing? You never know until it pans out,” Robin replied.

“Christ Robin! She comes with some baggage! What do you think our superiors are going to think when they find out?” Glenda sighed discontentedly.

“I’m hoping the same thing they think about you shagging the Chief Constable. Don’t ask – don’t tell,” Robin said through gritted teeth.

“How many people know?” Glenda said resignedly.

“They’re calling you ‘bury me in a Y-shaped coffin Glenda’ down at the station,” Robin smirked.

“Touché,” she couldn’t help but smile.

Glenda and Robin spent some time at CID talking to the Essex Slasher Task Force but they were too busy with this latest development to give them too much of their time. They did get to see the note that the Slasher had left at the scene and Glenda distracted the CID detective constable who had a crush on her while Robin made a Photostat copy and put the original back in the Ziploc bag.

They decided it was too late to visit the crime scene but Glenda called Ruffe at home and asked him to come into the SIC the next day.

Ruffe

I saw the whore again at the underpass but she doesn’t flame any longer, she is just another pathetic street walker, made more so because she’s a transvestite. I did enjoy fucking her and slitting her throat but my interest in her has gone. Now… the plump barmaid was a find. She was very much a Flaming Girl who burned so brightly when I slit her throat. I took my time with her and enjoyed every second, I climaxed in her twice before the inevitable conclusion; I think she liked it, she didn’t know who I was until she saw the knife.

So much for your pathetic efforts to warn the public. There will always be girls who flame for me; there will always be my Flaming Girls and I am duty bound to ensure they burn brightly before I snuff out their fire.

Are you going to write another story about me? If you do I’d love to read it, I like how you keep retelling the stories of my previous exploits, it stimulates me. It makes me want to take out my trophies and play with them. You know what I mean. Tell the tranny her knickers still hold her scent.

VULCAN

Ruffe read and reread the note that had been addressed: To Ruffe Ingersoll C/- The Daily Sun.

“He’s playing with us again but he’s inadvertently confirming some of the things we suspected about him,” Robin took the letter back.

“What can I print?” Ruffe asked.

“We’re not supposed to have a copy but Glenda and I saw the original. Attribute me as saying in an interview that the Slasher left a letter at the scene which confirms that Sadie Smithers is the Slasher’s sixth victim and that he claims he’s not going to stop,” Robin said.

“I’m supposed to run anything that Ruffe prints past the Chief Constable,” Glenda said.

“But fuck him; we aren’t exactly on the best of term at the moment,” she said, turning her mouth down.

“I’ll be seeing him this afternoon so I’ll let him know what you are going to publish Ruffe,” Glenda said.

Ruffe beat a hasty retreat to the news room to write up his story while Robin and Glenda updated the crime wall and sifted through the sparse information they had regarding the latest victim.

Meanwhile at Fringe Chic salon Maggie Reardon paid a call on Charlie Ringwald and Samantha Sparrow. She took Charlie and Samantha for coffee.

“Sam, Charlie has agreed to be interviewed for a story I’ve been commissioned to do for Modern Girl magazine. I’d like to use your salon as background for the accompanying art,” Maggie sipped coffee and reached for her cigarettes.

“Does Robin know about this?” Samantha turned to Charlie.

“He knows I’m considering it,” Charlie said coyly.

“Why does Robin need to know?” Maggie thought she’s sniffed out something to embellish her story.

“Wait a minute? Robin Sparrow? Samantha Sparrow? That can’t be a coincidence. What’s going on?” Maggie scrutinised Charlie and Sam, waiting for a response.

“Robin found me a job is all. He recommended me to his sister Sam who graciously took me on as an apprentice,” Charlie lied.

“So there’s no hank-panky there then?” Maggie smiled knowingly, circling the fingers of her left hand and sliding the forefinger of her right hand in and out of the tunnel.

Samantha blushed but Charlie became flushed with anger.

“Look Maggie. It’s enough that I’m going to bare my all and tell you about my life as a transvestite and my work as a prostitute. What is happening in my private life right now remains private. You do not mention Robin anywhere in the article ok?” Charlie said flintily and made as if to leave.

“Ok; calm your farm. No mention of Robin in the story; got it!” Maggie sighed and encouraged Charlie to sit back down.

“And you can use my salon as backdrop but I want a plug for Fringe Chic in the piece ok?” Samantha chimed in.

“Done. Charlie if you don’t mind sticking around I’ll interview you now and drop by the salon with my photographer tomorrow. Sam I’ll just get a couple of quotes from you before you go,” Maggie took a notepad and pen from her bag and was all business.

Maggie wrote her story titled: ‘Everything’s Coming Up Charlie’. The story began with: Charlie is one of the most beautiful, vibrant, intelligent women I have ever met. What’s so special about her? She was born a boy. She has overcome adversity that you would not believe: prejudice, poverty, antipathy and hostility. And finally she became the sixth victim of the Essex Slasher and survived that.

Forced to work the streets in order to survive, Charlie has overcome all of these roadblocks and now works as an apprentice hairdresser at Samantha Sparrow’s ‘Fringe Chic’, a trendy salon in the heart of Soho.

The rest of the piece summarised Charlie’s life and told of her encounter with the Slasher and of her recovery. Maggie wrote about the ‘Charlie fad’, where young girls were copying Charlie’s appearance based on the pictures of her printed in the Daily Sun. She extrapolated the story of Charlie being offered legitimate employment at Fringe Chic and quoted Samantha who described Charlie as a wonderful person and a hardworking employee. Accompanying the piece was a series of pictures of Charlie dressed in a variety of the latest fashion ensembles posing in the salon, Maggie also got permission to reproduce Ruffe’s picture of her lying wounded in her hospital bed. There was even a shot of Charlie cutting hair, even though she was not yet a qualified hairdresser. Poetic licence Maggie called it.

The piece finished with Charlie responding to a Q&A session. When asked if she had a boyfriend, Charlie had blushed and answered: “I think I do; I’m just not sure if he’s sure”.

The piece was well received by the editorial staff at Modern Girl magazine and a picture of Charlie dressed in a yellow minidress, white opaque tights and strappy white high-heel sandals leaning against a barber’s chair would grace the front page of the next edition under the headline: Everything’s Coming Up Charlie. It was to be the lead story and would be published in the next edition of the weekly magazine.

*****

“Ah, Glenda. I want to run something past you, I’d value your advice,” Edward Bard said when Glenda reported for duty in the Chief Constable’s office two days after the Slasher’s last murder.

“There is pressure on me from above to cancel the Annual Ball due to the Essex Slasher still being active. You’re my senior Community Support Officer; how do you think the public feel about it?”

“Sir, I think it would be a huge mistake to cancel the Ball. The public will view it that the police service is being dictated to by the Slasher. It would be a sign of weakness,” Glenda replied.

“The whole thing has been booked, paid for, invitations accepted; it would be a huge embarrassment to cancel it.”

“Thanks Glenda. That’s exactly how I feel,” Edward sighed deeply.

“Are you taking anyone this year?” Edward asked hesitantly.

Since their altercation at the hotel things has been icy between them.

“You’ll be taking Alicia so why should you care?” Glenda replied curtly.

“Just showing interest in your welfare, when are we going to get over this rift?” Edward rubbed his forehead.

“When you post me to CID or promote me Edward. You can have as much slap and tickle, as you like to call it, when I’m either a detective or a Sargent,” Glenda turned and abruptly walked out of his office.

Edward eyed her ample derriere and long, black stockinged legs intently, his penis becoming tumescent under the desk. He regretted the comments he had made about her being fat the last time they had been together and not for the first time realised that he took her for granted. Maybe he should cut her loose and let her continue her career but he was so used to having her around. He sighed and went back to the never-ending pile of paperwork on his desk.

*****

Charlie had become a new person. She had always been strong willed and confident but she had as a necessity built a shell around herself to protect her from the harshness of the world. Working in Fringe Chic she learned to engage with people and the types that frequented the salon and Soho in general were far more empathetic and considerate than the close-minded people she was used to dealing with; people who either wanted to deride her or shag her.

Even travelling to and from work she was just a pretty face in the crowd. Some recognised her from the articles in The Daily Sun but to most she was just a pretty girl travelling to work. She soon came to realise that the appreciative glances she was receiving from men were not because they curious about her gender but because they found her attractive.

All this would change when the next edition of Modern Girl was published but that was nearly a week away. Charlie was still debating when she and if she should tell Robin about the story and had asked everyone at the salon and Ruffe and Maggie to keep schtum.

Charlie and Robin split their after work hours between his flat and her bedsit. Robin was even considering offering Charlie the opportunity to move in with him if only to save money as her wages at the Salon was not as much as she had earned on the streets. Robin knew that Charlie would see the offer as charity and besides, he had to admit it was a little early yet to move in together.

They did all the usual things that a dating couple did in 1975: they went to the movies, nights down the pub, dinner dates, and on weekends they went for walks and went sightseeing in London and took train trips to other destinations. They even caught up socially with Samantha and others from Fringe Chic who were at first sceptical when they found out Robin was a policeman.

Until Charlie started working at Fringe Chic Charlie didn’t have any real friends so there was no one for Charlie to introduce Robin to but Charlie was acutely aware that other than Glenda Savage, Robin had not introduced her to any of his friends from the police service. That was until Robin made her a proposition.

Robin and Charlie were lying in Robin’s bed snuggled under the covers listening to the rain outside and watching the television. Robin was naked and Charlie was wearing her pink rayon baby doll pyjamas and sheer tights, partly to keep her legs warm but mostly because she knew they drove Robin wild. They were spooning and Robin was lazily stroking her thigh, occasionally allowing his hand to drift across her shorts and brush against her erection. She thought this only fair as he had his hard cock nestled in her buttocks and was grinding against the slippery fabric covering her soft bottom.

When a commercial came on Robin broke the silence.

“How would you like to come to the Annual Essex Police Ball,” Robin waggled Charlie's penis playfully.

Charlie smacked his hand away, turned around and engaged him with her eyes.

“Are you serious?” she said solemnly.

“Why not? Glenda and I are going. She’s going stag but everyone else is taking their girlfriends, husbands or wives so why shouldn’t I take my girlfriend?” he leaned and kissed the tip of her nose.

“Is that what I am? Your girlfriend?” Charlie was not going to let him get away with changing the subject.

“We’ve never really discussed our relationship, but yes I consider you my girlfriend. I’ve been exclusive to you since we first slept together and presume you have too,” Robin answered.

“What do you mean presume?” Charlie slapped him playfully.

“Of course I have. Also… remember what you said to me the day you took me to meet Sam?” Charlie squinted, wondering if he did.

“I said I’d love you whatever you choose to do. So choose to come to the ball or choose not to, I’ll still love you,” Robin caressed her cheek.

“Don’t say that if you don’t mean it Robin; I couldn’t stand being rejected again,” Charlie whispered, tears forming in her eyes.

“Look I know it’s complicated, I know it’s difficult, I know it’s scary even; but I know I love you.”

“I love you Charlie Ringwald,” Robin leaned in and kissed her tenderly.

Charlie snuggled up to Robin as much for comfort as to hide her tears.

After a few minutes of nuzzling Charlie peeked out from the hollow of his shoulder.

“I don’t have a ball gown,” she smiled cheekily.

“I’ll buy you one,” Robin stroked her hair.

“In fact we can go shopping for it on Friday. The ball is Saturday,” Robin was excited.

Then he saw Charlie's face fall.

“What?” he asked.

She smiled at him coyly.

“As much as I respect your fashion choices Robin; I would much rather go shopping with Samantha. Look on the bright side, it will be a nice surprise when you see me in my gown for the first time,” Charlie leaned in and nipped his ear seductively.

“Yes, that’s true. It will be a nice surprise,” Robin agreed.

“So I can then? Go shopping for a dress with Sam?” the delight in Charlie’s voice was evident.

“Sure you can,” Robin kissed her quickly.

“Well… for being such a nice boyfriend, maybe I should reward you,” Charlie said, her head disappearing under the covers.

“Ok… but only if you insist… oh my god!” Robin moaned as Charlie engulfed him.

Charlie took Robin’s semi-hard cock into her mouth and used her lips and her tongue to bring it to full tumescence. Robin groaned and heaved the blankets away so he could see Charlie’s beautiful face while she fellated him. Her pretty face, blue emerald-green eyes, bright-red lipsticked lips framed by her shocking-red hair, dishevelled but still sexy. She smiled at him around his penis as she worked on it, making him shudder with lust.

Lying head to toe as they were gave Robin unfettered access to her body and Robin yanked at her baby-doll shorts pulling them down to her knees and exposing her hard cock encased in the gusset of her tights. Robin stroked Charlie’s shaft through the gossamer material and was rewarded with a bubble of pre-ejaculate which soaked into her tights. Charlie whimpered with her mouth full of cock.

Robin yanked down the waistband of Charlie’s tights and freed her erection and then leaned in and took her in his mouth. The first time he had done this with Charlie he thought he would be repulsed but because he loved Charlie so much he found that he enjoyed pleasing her this way and was surprised that it felt good, it turned him on.

Charlie and Robin sucked and slavered at each other’s penises bring each other close to orgasm and then backing off, edging each other and enjoying prolonging their bliss.

Charlie spat out Robin’s cock and pulled her own penis from his mouth.

“Hey! I was enjoying that!” Robin whined but stopped when Charlie lay on top of him and kissed him.

“I was too but I want you inside me. You know I love to see your face when you come in me,” Charlie smiled at him.

She kicked off her shorts and reached into the bedside table and took out a tube of K-Y Jelly and used it where it was needed. She kissed Robin passionately and straddled him, directing his penis into the small hole she made in the crotch of her tights. She teased Robin as he tried to push his slippery appendage into her puckered bud, she circled his glans around her sphincter and rubbed it in the crease between her buttocks, frustrating Robin but also making him more excited. She loved the feel of his hard flesh on her delicate pink crinkled entrance and she was fully erect, her cock tenting the front of her tights.

Robin caressed Charlie’s cock, wrapping the silky tights material around the bloated appendage, squeezing and stroking it.

Finally Charlie eased the glans of Robin’s cock into her sphincter and raised herself a little and then squatted so that he was fully inside her, filling her anus with his huge cock. She rode him cowgirl, throwing back her head in rapture and then falling forward so she could kiss him while he fucked her. Robin held Charlie by her slim hips and helped lift her up and down on his shaft, enjoying the feel of her buttocks, wrapped in the silky shroud of her tights, rubbing on his scrotum and his thighs.

He took her cock in his hand began to earnestly stroke it. He was close to extremis and he wanted Charlie to climax with him, which she did.

Robin drove his cock all the way inside Charlie’s tight, slick sheath and ejaculated while Charlie writhed with pleasure, her own penis depositing a puddle of creamy semen in the front of her tights as Robin milked her, squeezing every drop of the precious fluid from Charlie’s cock.

Charlie fell forward and kissed Robin passionately and he put his arms around her and held her close as the last of his issue was deposited deep in her anus. They held each other, kissing and caressing, Charlie’s spend a sticky mess between their bodies and Robin’s semen dribbling from Charlie’s sphincter, soaking into her tights.

Charlie liked staying at Robin’s flat because he had a proper shower in his bathroom and Robin carried her to it and they showered together, lathering each other up. Charlie left on her tights and peeled them off when she had lathered and rinsed them. She tossed them over the shower rail to dry.

“No wanking in them you!” she playfully tweaked his nose.

“I’ll leave them here to dry and they can be our play tights has been as you insist I wear them when we fuck,” Charlie squeezed his deflated penis.

“I like to fuck you in stockings too; I’m an equal opportunity fetishist when it comes to hosiery,” Robin returned the favour and squeezed Charlie's limp cock in return.

They dried off and Charlie slipped into a pair of black leggings and a loose jumper whilst Robin wore a quilted satin smoking jacket. They snuggled on the carpet near the fireplace drinking wine.

“I’ve been thinking darling,” Charlie began.

“Here we go… you have never called me darling before,” Robin smiled to himself.

Charlie wriggled around so she was sitting in his lap. She softly caressed his face.

“You know if I get a new evening gown I’m going to need some new shoes to match it,” she pinched his cheek playfully.

“I knew it!” Robin laughed.

“Well if you love me…” Charlie pouted like a spoiled girl.

“I knew those words would come back to haunt me,” Robin play-wrestled Charlie down on the carpet and loomed over her.

He suddenly became serious.

“I do love you Charlie Ringwald,” he looked deeply into Charlie's eyes.

To be continued

Samantha and Charlie went shopping and spent a tidy amount of Robin’s money on an evening gown and shoes. They had become close friends working together in the salon and although technically Samantha was Charlie’s employer, they were more like companions and confidants.

Charlie told Samantha everything about herself and Samantha was astute enough not to appear sorry for Charlie, knowing that Charlie hated that, but there were times when she experienced heartfelt sorrow for Charlie when she described periods of her life where she had been rejected and abused.

“If you hurt that girl Robin I’ll renounce you as my brother,” Samantha said one day when Robin got off early and came to the salon to pick up Charlie after work.

Samantha told Charlie things about Robin that she guessed Robin would never tell her. He was an excellent swimmer and all-round athlete but had injured himself before the trials for the English swim team. Although he was handsome and athletic he was hopeless around women and had only had one serious relationship with a girl named Emily Waters.

It had lasted three years and Samantha had never warmed to Emily who kept her nose in the air and looked down on the Sparrow family. Robin was infatuated with Emily and it broke his heart when he found her in bed with one of his friends. Emily had laughed at him and told him that he had been a cuckold for most of their relationship.

After this, Robin had become withdrawn and surly and had not been with another woman as far as Samantha knew. It was also when he had transferred to Chelmsford from The Met.

“But how can he stand being with me after being cuckolded by Emily? I am a… I was a prostitute,” Charlie said.

“Exactly! But I think your uniqueness and the fact that you only did what you did in order to survive is part of what makes you attractive to him,” Samantha speculated.

“I have to admit that I had concerns that Robin saw me as a charity case. Did he tell you what he said to me when I was in hospital?” Charlie asked.

“Yes he did and I think that hatred had been festering inside him since Emily betrayed him. Men are complicated Charlie, you know that. It’s possible that he went from despising you to feeling sorry for you and then on to loving you,” Samantha said.

“He does love you, you know. He confided in me that if it came down to you or the job, he’d give up being a policeman to be with you.”

“He keeps telling me that he loves me and I genuinely feel that he does. But deep down inside I wonder how we can make a go of it. I still haven’t told him that I love him you know,” Charlie admitted.

“Do you?” Samantha asked.

Charlie looked away wistfully and changed the subject.

*****

Modern Girl magazine hit the newsstands on same Saturday as the Essex Police Ball. Samantha came to Charlie’s flat to do her hair and makeup and help her dress for the ball while Robin went to the formalwear hire service to rent a dinner suit.

Glenda had debated whether to attend in uniform, as some of the other PCs and WPCs were going to do, or to buy a ball gown. She was worried that her figure had blown out to the extent that she would not look good in an evening dress but when she tried on a teal satin gown, low-cut with spaghetti straps, both she and the assistant in women’s fashion had been impressed with how good it looked. The dress clung to her curves but did so such that she looked voluptuously sexy not dumpy. Glenda splashed out and bought the dress.

Chief Constable Bard was hoping that his wife Alicia would not want to attend the ball; she hated social events and saw them as a chore but she surprised Edward when she told him she was looking forward to attending.

All serving policemen and women were eligible to attend the ball but as a matter of practicality only about a quarter of Essex Police could actually be present and the Chief Constable ensured that there was an even split between the ranks. Invitations had also been sent to the gentry and privileged personages in Essex as the ball was as much about networking and public relations as it was a celebration and social event.

All of the invitations were sent out ‘plus one’ and Glenda hated the fact that she would be there without a partner especially now that Robin had told her that most of the station either knew or suspected that she was sleeping with Edward Bard. It was so cliché; a junior WPC sleeping with a superior to advance her career. But Glenda didn’t even have that. Edward had kept her on as his senior liaison officer so he had unfettered access to her; she felt like a chattel.

“Fuck it!” Glenda picked up the phone and dialled Ruffe.

*****

Charlie stepped out of the rented limousine in front of the Chelmsford Shire Hall which had been backlit and the entrance emblazoned with floodlights for effect, and those people waiting outside the hall all turned to gaze at her, not only Detective Sargent Robin Sparrow who was waiting patiently and rendered speechless when he saw her.

The chauffer opened the door and a long shapely leg sheathed in diaphanous high-sheen nylon and shod in four-inch cherry-red heels emerged. A matching leg swung onto the pavement but was glimpsed only briefly before the skirt of a blood-red satin evening gown closed around the legs and the rest of Charlie’s body appeared at the car door, bending her head slightly under the sill as the driver helped her out of the car.

Samantha had hatched the plan for Robin to meet Charlie out front of the hall so he could see her in her new gown for the first time at the ball. Sam had paid for the limousine as a gift to Charlie.

Robin rushed forward, almost bowling the chauffer over in his eagerness to take Charlie’s hand. Charlie stood erect and smoothed out the blood-red, floor length, figure-hugging dress that flared slightly from the waist and was split at the side from the hip. It was worn off the shoulder and Charlie's meagre décolletage, narrow waist, wide hips and perky buttocks complemented the gown perfectly.

She had accessorised with matching necklace, earrings, and bracelets; all silver set with faux emeralds. She carried a red sequined clutch purse, with sliver hardware.

Sam had done an outstanding job on Charlie’s makeup and hair. Gone was the Bowie-eque shag, replaced by a layered bob with all the individual waves overlapping each other hovering just above her shoulders looking attractively delicate, coloured in differing shades of red. Her eyes were smoky to emphasise her emerald green eyes and her lips blood-red to match her gown and pick up the highlights in her hair.

Charlie felt overwhelmed but also elated to be at the ball and to be the focus of the crowd’s attention. She had gone to the extreme to please Robin, almost as a gesture of gratitude and to ensure he would be proud to have her on his arm and not be embarrassed by her.

And Robin was overcome by her countenance. Charlie had never looked more beautiful and feminine; his heart soared when he saw her, any trepidation he had regarding taking Charlie to the ball disappeared when she alighted from the car.

Charlie took his arm and Robin leaned in and kissed her chastely on the side of the mouth so as not to ruin her makeup when what he wanted to do was take her in his arms and kiss her passionately.

Charlie felt like she was walking on a cloud and could hardly feel her feet; she was glad that she had Robin, dressed eloquently in a black dinner suit and looking handsome, to lean on, especially when they ascended the sandstone steps.

Robin showed his invitation at the door, acutely aware that many in the crowd were staring at Charlie. He paused to examine the seating plan and then guided Charlie through the large double-doors into the ballroom proper. He breathed a sigh of relief when he saw Glenda Savage and Ruffe Ingersoll standing together sipping champagne and he escorted Charlie over towards them, actually glad to be lost in the crowd.

“Don’t you look gorgeous,” Glenda leaned in and kissed Charlie on the cheek.

“You too Glenda, absolutely lovely,” Charlie replied.

Robin kissed Glenda on the cheek and shook hands with Ruffe; both men seemed glad to have each other’s company and scooped fresh drinks from a waitress as she passed.

The men complimented each other’s partners, getting the preliminaries out of the way.

“Charlie, let me compliment you on your story in Modern Girl. I saw it today and I thought Maggie did a magnificent job but you are undoubtedly the triumph of the article,” Ruffe opened the conversation.

Robin looked surprised.

“I knew that you were considering giving Maggie an interview but I didn’t know you already done so,” Robin looked questioningly at Charlie.

Glenda gave Robin a withering look and Robin felt a cold chill despite the warmth of the room.

“Yeah, we did the interview and the photo shoot last week at Fringe Chic,” Charlie glared at Ruffe.

“Hey! You made us promise to keep it secret until the article was published. It hit the newsstands this morning,” Ruffe shrugged his shoulders and sipped champagne.

“What about you Glenda? Were you part of this?” Robin fumed.

“Don’t drag me into this. The first I knew about it was when I bought the magazine this morning; I naturally assumed you knew,” Glenda looked over her champagne glass, waiting for the sparks to fly.

“Why do you care Robin? It’s my life. There’s nothing in the article that isn’t true and in case you’re worried, your name is never mentioned,” Charlie suppressed her anger; she didn’t want this to ruin the night.

“Look, what’s done is done. Let’s go to our table, eat the rubber chicken dinner and enjoy the ball. I got a hot young lady I’m itching to dance with,” he slapped Glenda playfully on her ample buttocks and she feigned anger but was flattered.

What made Glenda feel even happier was that Edward and Alicia Bard were standing with a small crowd of people close by. Alicia, looking very matronly in a nondescript shapeless off-white lace gown, flat shoes and her hair piled high on her head and only a smidge of makeup. She looked more like Edward’s mother than his wife.

Edward had been eyeing Glenda off since she arrived and she could sense that he was unhappy that Ruffe had escorted her. Glenda knew that Edward disliked Ruffe intently and when Ruffe slapped Glenda on the arse, she saw Edward grimace.

The four of them made their way through the throng to their table; the MC for the evening had requested that everyone be seated so they could start the event.

“Please don’t let the magazine article spoil our evening,” Charlie whispered in Robin’s ear and he nodded curtly and pulled out her chair so she could sit and eased it under her when she sat.

Ruffe did the same for Glenda. There were four other couples at the table: two from Essex Police, a local politician and his wife and a local businessman and his wife. Ruffe being naturally gregarious encouraged everyone to introduce themselves as the waitstaff fussed around pouring wine and taking orders.

“Hey I know you!” Daniel Shutter, the businessman smiled at Ruffe.

“You report for The Daily Sun,” he gushed.

“Guilty as charged,” Ruffe took an impromptu bow.

“Hey I’ve been following your Essex Slasher pieces. Sorry to bring up shop at a social event but do you chaps think you’ll ever catch him?” Daniel looked around the table at the policemen.

“All I can say is we are working hard to do so. Say Daniel, is that your new club-restaurant that just opened on the high street?” Robin knew the best way to get a businessman to change subject was talk about his businesses.

“Yes but wait. Are you? Are you the Charlie?” Daniel looked incredulously at Charlie who blushed and lowered her head.

“I saw the article in Modern Girl today. You are an amazing person and I have to say you looked magnificent in that photo spread, didn’t she dear?” he blathered, turning to his wife.

Daniel Shutter’s wife Muriel looked far from impressed and she just grunted and nodded at Charlie.

The comment piqued the interest of the other table guests and conversation centred around Charlie’s article, her brush with the Slasher and her newfound celebrity. Muriel Shutter and one of the other policeman’s wives obviously did not approve of Charlie but the rest of the table were fascinated by her.

“And you Sargent Sparrow. I think it’s quite generous and chivalrous of you to escort Charlie to the ball after all she’s been through. Above and beyond the call of duty I say,” he lifted his glass in a toast.

Robin became angered that the other guests thought he had bought Charlie to the ball as a chartable act. Charlie sensed his anger and took his hand under the table and squeezed it.

“Let them think what they want. I know you love me and that’s all that matters. It’ll keep them from prying further,” she whispered in his ear over the din of conversation and the police band playing dinner music.

Robin squeezed her hand in return and gave her a wan smile.

Ruffe managed to change the conversation to Tottenham Hotspur’s recent two nil win over West Ham and the men spoke about football while the women endured it. Muriel Shutter and the other disapproving lady left the table to talk to other couples seated elsewhere. Charlie switched seats with Ruffe so she could talk to Glenda.

“You should have told him Charlie,” Glenda admonished her friend.

“I know that now. I just wanted some independence,” Charlie sighed.

“Well you have it now and you also have celebrity. A lot of people here are going to be talking about you tonight and Robin’s going to get the third degree at work. Don’t worry he’ll stick by you and I count you as my closest friend so we’re all in it together,” Glenda stroked the back of Charlie’s hand.

“Really?” Charlie knew that she and Glenda were friends, but being told she was Glenda’s closest friend made her feel very happy.

“You know when I bought this dress the one thing I didn’t think of is how am I going to take a piss?” Charlie joked.

“I feel like I’ve been trussed in a satin cocoon,” Glenda chuckled.

“But you look fantastic in it,” Charlie complimented her.

“I believe I do. And that prick Edward Bard can see what he’s missing out on,” Glenda replied and they both giggled.

Dinner arrived and the men ate heartily while most of the women only pecked at the lukewarm poultry, stodgy veggies and congealed gravy, too scared they would spill food on their gowns or pop a zip. Desert was Pavlova and received the same treatment.

The dreary thank-you’s and complementary dribble that made up the bulk of the speeches finished just as the tables were being cleared and the band began to play dance music. Edward Bard and his wife went onto the floor and danced the first waltz, as was the tradition and were quickly joined by other couples and eventually the ball was in full swing.

Robin took Charlie onto the dancefloor despite her reluctance. She hadn’t danced since school and there she had taken the male lead; here she had to dance backward and in high heels as the famous quote goes. Not that it mattered to her, she clung to Robin during the slow numbers and he was delighted to hold her in his arms. Her scent, the soft caress of her hair, the feel of her delicate body against his, the glimpse of those impossibly long legs when her dress opened, the delicate brush of her lips on his face, made it all worthwhile and he forgot about the magazine article.

Ruffe was dancing with Glenda who was surprised that she was actually enjoying herself. Ruffe was an accomplished dancer and quite handsome with his chiselled blonde Scandinavian looks and tall svelte figure.

“So Maggie did a great job with Charlie’s interview and those pictures were amazing,” Glenda said as Ruffe whisked her around the floor.

“She has a knack for getting people to open up. Charlie certainly did. I’m not sure Robin is going to be happy when he reads the story,” Ruffe replied.

“It’s certainly tell-all, that’s for sure,” Glenda agreed with him.

“How long have you two been together?” Glenda asked.

“Maggie and I? We’ve been friends since we were both studying journalism at Oxford. We get together when she’s in town but she travels a lot. She’s off on Monday to New York to interview some new band,” Ruffe sniffed.

“Oh. I thought you were a couple?” Glenda said, a little shocked.

“More like friends with benefits; like you and the dark knight over there,” Ruffe nodded to where Edward was dancing awkwardly with his wife who he held at arm’s length.

“He is no longer getting any benefits from me and I think I ruined our friendship,” Glenda chuckled.

“Really?” Ruffe pulled Glenda closer and pressed against her and his hand drifted to her buttocks and gave it a squeeze.

“Mister Ingersoll, what kind of woman do you think I am?” she said primly.

Ruffe balked and distanced himself a little from Glenda.

Glenda stepped back into him and pressed her body against his and placed his hand back on her buttock. She leaned into him and bit his earlobe.

“I am that kind of woman tonight. I want to have some fun,” she licked his earlobe and then smiled at him.

Ruffe smiled back and held her close and Glenda was quite satisfied to see that Edward Bard was fuming as he watched her misbehaving.

Ruffe and Glenda took advantage of the free drinks and were soon both tipsy, alternating between sitting down to drink and then getting up to dance. Ruffe was taking liberties, holding Glenda very close feeling her ample bosom press against him and placing his hand on her bountiful behind. He made no attempt to hide the erection tenting his trousers and blatantly rubbed it against her.

“You are becoming very forward there Mister Ingersoll,” Glenda teased him.

“You haven’t complained Miss Savage,” Ruffe smiled down at her and squeezed her buttocks.

The lights in the ballroom had been dimmed now that dinner was over, there was some subtle ceiling lighting and a spotlight or two reflecting off strategically placed mirror balls. Glenda took advantage of the gloom and slid her hand down and squeezed Ruffe’s cock through his trousers.

Ruffe stuck his tongue in Glenda’s ear and she giggled.

“Wanna come outside for a smoke,” he slipped his had inside the split in her dress and stroked the plump V of her sex through her gauzy knickers.

“I don’t smoke,” Glenda said gasping as Ruffe fondled her quim.

“Neither do I,” Ruffe sighed as Glenda worked his cock.

Ruffe reluctantly disengaged from Glenda, glad that the dim lighting camouflaged his erection. He took her hand in his and led her to the doors. Once outside the ballroom and in the foyer of the building it was obvious that their plan to proceed outside would be a disaster as it was pouring rain. Ruffe held onto Glenda’s hand and led her up a marble staircase to his right. Once at the top of the stairs and out of public view Ruffe whipped Glenda against the wall and pressed his body against her and kissed her.

Glenda fumbled around Ruffe and found the handle to a nearby door. If she remembered correctly it was an office and nobody would be in it tonight.

“In here,” Glenda said around Ruffe’s insistent mouth.

Glenda pulled Ruffe into the office and Ruffe closed the door and slammed Glenda against the wall and ravaged her. His hands were everywhere, under her dress, inside her bra, squeezing her buttocks.

“Fucking dress!” Glenda slipped off the straps and pulled down the bodice so that Ruffe could get to her ample bosom. He lapped at her breasts and nipples while Glenda cradled his head, encouraging him.

She wanted it fast and brutal.

“Over here!” Glenda pushed Ruffe off her and staggered over to the office desk.

She bent over it and offered her big fat backside to Ruffe.

He dropped his pants and stood behind her, a rather useful erection protruding from his groin. He pulled aside the gusset of Glenda’s satin granny-panties and poked a hole in her tights. He slammed his cock into her sloppy wet cunt.

Glenda was so wet that Ruffe could smell her pungent stench.

Ruffe grabbed Glenda by the hips and began to fuck her hard and fast, bringing his cock all of the way out and then slamming it all the way back inside her.

“Guh! Guh! Guh!” Glenda grunted every time Ruffe’s cock slammed into her sodden minge.

She put her hand inside the waistband of her knickers and tights and found her sloppy cunt inside the thatch of pubic hair, she opened her thick labia and pressed her finger to her clitoris and rubbed it hard. Waves of pleasure reradiated from her cunt.

Ruffe interrupted Glenda. He pulled out of her, spun her around lifted her onto the desk. She opened her legs wide and Ruffe slammed his cock back inside her and Glenda closed her big thighs around Ruffe to keep him close. They could kiss now while they fucked and the base of Ruffe’s cock stimulated Glenda’s clitoris. She wrapped her arms around Ruffe and pulled him tight against her as she orgasmed, screaming obscenities into his mouth.

Ruffe pushed Glenda down on the desk and slammed his cock inside her all the way and ejaculated; his scalding semen filled her slippery twat and dribbled down the crack of her buttocks, soaking into her knickers.

When Ruffe had finished coming Glenda pushed him away from her and scrambled around the desktop until her hand found what she was looking for. She snatched up the box of tissues and took a handful and began to wide herself between her legs. Ruffe snatched a handful and wiped his cock.

“If you’ve got spunk on my dress Ruffe I’ll kill you,” Glenda whined.

“Oh fuck off Glenda; you wanted it as much as I did,” Ruffe grinned.

“Yeah, I suppose I did. You fuck pretty good for a skinny, Scandinavian, newspaper reporter,” she joked.

“Hey! Enough of the Scandinavian, you copper bitch,” Ruffe pulled her into his arms and kissed her and she let him.

“Ok. I’ll go down first and then you go and pretend to have a smoke and then come join me,” Glenda said.

“So that no one knows we snuck away for a fuck?” Ruffe stated the obvious.

Glenda nodded.

As she walked away Ruffe failed to tell her that back of her dress was caught in her tights.

*****

Robin and Charlie danced the night away both noticing and commenting about how close Glenda and Ruffe were dancing.

“Who would have thought? What a strange couple,” Robin commented.

“Really! Is that the pot calling the kettle black?” Charlie smiled up at him amused.

Robin got it and smiled back at her.

“Drink?” Robin nodded at the bar and Charlie nodded her assent.

Robin went to the bar and got them both drinks while Charlie sat at their table, rubbing her feet; it had been a long night on the dance floor. Muriel Shutter and the other policeman’s wife who had displayed their dislike of her left the table again as soon as Charlie sat down. She was used to being shunned by some people so she didn’t care; she now had a circle of good friends and a man who loved her.

Robin came over with the drinks and they both took some time to relax and chill out.

“I’m going to the ladies,” Charlie whispered in Robin’s ear over the din of the band.

Robin nodded and leaned back in his seat and surveyed the room feeling very contented.

Chief Constable Edward Bard slipped into the seat beside Robin, his face fixed with a scowl.

“Good evening sir,” Robin offered his hand.

Edward looked at Robin’s hand like he was holding turd but he eventually reached out and shook it limply.

Edward Bard was in foul mood. He had seen Glenda and Ruffe canoodling on the dance floor and watched them sneak away. If Alicia wasn’t watching him like a hawk he would have gone after them. His wife had been distant all evening and he suspected that some evil cunt had told her that he was having an affair with Glenda. As much as they had tried to keep the relationship discreet, tongues till wagged. Unfortunately for Robin he was the only target on which Edward could inflict his venom.

“I hear your little SCI hasn’t produced anything productive. Probably time to shut it down,” Edward swallowed his whisky in one gulp and waved his empty glass at a waiter hovering nearby.

“On the contrary sir we have some ideas but we need to refine them and follow them up before we pass them on to the CID Task Force,” Robin countered.

“I’m moving Glenda on and as I only set up the Special Crime Investigation team as a favour to her, there is no need for me to let your motley crew continue to waste police resources,” Edward considered the bottom of his empty glass.

A waiter put a fresh drink in front the Chief Constable and then looked inquiringly at Robin who shook his head.

“And you need to seriously consider what you’re doing or you’re likely to end up on the scrapheap with her, or maybe even discharged from the service as unsuitable,” Edward picked up his fresh drink and sipped it.

“I beg your pardon sir?” Robin asked incredulously.

Edward reached into his jacket and produced a copy of Modern Girl, one of many that had mysteriously appeared and had been circulating the room. He slapped it down on the table.

“You can’t get it right can you? You vilify that thing within earshot of the media and then you do a complete turnabout and start shagging it,” Edward said through gritted teeth.

“How could you bring her here? You mug! People thought that you had brought her here as a charity case and then you carry on like a love-smitten schoolboy on the dance floor.”

“She, him, it, whatever, is a common prostitute… a fucking transvestite prostitute. And you get her a job with your sister cutting hair in London. At least she’s with the other freaks in Soho I suppose. If you had kept your tryst with the miscreation secret it would be tolerable; but this! This!” Edward slammed the flat of his hand down on the cover of the magazine to emphasise his point.

“I want your SCI wrapped by the end of next week. No more press releases from that Scandinavian shitraker, the tranny goes back to hawking her arse or cutting hair – I don’t care which and Glenda reports to my office for reassignment Monday week and you go back to CID.”

“Then you can come in and hand me your resignation or if you still want your job you can take a demotion to Detective Constable provided you dump her; your choice,” Edward arose unsteadily before Robin could answer.

“Make the right choice Sparrow; other than making some stupid errors of judgement recently you’re really not a bad copper,” Edward patted Robin’s shoulder heavily and walked away.

Charlie noticed the line-up at the ladies as soon as she entered the corridor. A couple of women were leaning against the wall smoking, contrary to the building regulations. Charlie rummaged in her clutch for her own cigarettes and then she looked up and saw a delegation of women blocking her way.

Alicia Bard, Muriel Shutter and the surly policeman’s wife stood in front of her with their arms folded. The other women sensed that trouble was brewing and squeezed past them and left them alone.

Muriel Shutter held up a copy of Modern Girl and spat on it, dropped it on the floor and ground her heel into it.

“You’re going to the wrong toilets Mister. The men’s is down the next corridor, I don’t think they have a toilet for perverts,” she hissed.

“What the fuck are you even doing here? You admitted yourself that you’re a prostitute and really a man under that lipstick and powder. You’re a fucking disgrace and dishonour us all for even being here,” the policeman’s wife chimed in.

“Why don’t you just leave and take that other whore with you,” Alicia said bitterly.

“Other than you three I don’t see any whores here,” Charlie countered.

The three women narrowed their eyes and gritted their teeth.

“Oh, here comes the other whore now,” Alicia pointed over Charlie’s shoulder.

Glenda had entered the corridor and was approaching, adjusting a shoulder strap on her gown.

“What’s going on Charlie?” Glenda asked as she approached.

“What’s going on is this maleficent perverted man in a dress is trying to use the wrong toilets,” Muriel screamed, pointing at Charlie.

“He’s not welcome here and neither are you fat home-wrecker,” Alicia added.

“Charlie is twice the woman of any of you harpies and if you have an issue with your husband putting his cock around, maybe you should consider opening that plugged-up pit between your legs Alicia. Now if any of you would like to take this further I’m sure Charlie and I can sort you out and send you home crying,” Glenda stood beside Charlie.

“You three look like you couldn’t beat the skin off a rice pudding and I’m versed in self-defence and Charlie here has taken on the Essex Slasher. Any of you tarts fancy being punched arse-up bring it on… together or one at a time,” Glenda challenged.

“That’s the sort of behaviour I’d expect from your sort. Common as dirt!” Alicia replied but the fear in her eyes was evident as was the reluctance of the other two women to engage physically.

“Don’t go home angry; just go home ladies,” Glenda and Charlie stood aside so the three women could leave.

“Whores!” Alicia called out as she scuttled past.

“Frigid old frump!” Glenda called after her.

Charlie and Glenda burst out laughing and clung to each other as they nearly collapsed laughing.

“Just as well they didn’t want to fight; I’m pissed as a parrot,” Glenda chuckled.

“And I can fight alright but not in this skin-tight satin sheath,” Charlie added.

They both went into the ladies and stopped at the mirror to fix their makeup; Glenda’s was particularly smudged and Charlie had a good idea why.

“I’m going to be a while Charlie, I need to do a little housekeeping and change me knickers,” Glenda cackled as she closed the door to her cubicle.

“Too much information Glenda,” Charlie sniggered and went into another cubicle.

Being a transvestite in this situation was actually an advantage. As was usually the case the ladies loo had been overburdened by the crowd and the cleaning staff had not been able to keep up. The floor was soaking, there was toilet paper everywhere and the seat looked manky. There was no way Charlie was sitting on that and letting her gown touch the floor.

She opened the split in her dress and pulled her knickers and tights down her thighs. She hadn’t taped because the gusset of her tights and her snug-fitting knickers kept her genitals in place so she was able to piss standing up. She sorted herself out and left the cubicle to wash her hands.

“You ok in there Glenda?” she called out as she dried her hands.

“Just wiping away the last of Ruffe,” Glenda called back, rather drunkenly.

“Again, too much information. I’ll see you at the table. I think it’s time we called it a night don’t you?” Charlie tossed that waste paper in the bin.

“Couldn’t agree more; see you out there,” Glenda called back.

Charlie come out of the ladies surprised to see a line-up of women waiting to use the loo. Word had got around obviously. She shrugged her shoulders and walked down the corridor and nearly collided with Walter Middleton who was coming the other way from the gentleman’s lavatory.

Charlie froze. She was speechless and unable to move, she leaned against the wall to stop herself falling to the floor.

“Hello Charlie; nice dress,” Walter said flippantly as he walked passed her, not even looking back.

Charlie thought she was made of sterner stuff. She envisaged that if they ever found the Essex Slasher she would kick him in the balls or at least give him an earful of cheek. She had imagined being on the witness stand and pointing to him in the dock telling the court… ‘it was him milord’. But all she could do was lean against the wall, legs like jelly, trying not to puke as she shivered with fright.

No more than a minute passed until Glenda found her that way.

“What the fuck Charlie did those women come back? Did they do something to you?” Glenda tried to get through to Charlie who was incoherent.

“It was him,” Charlie thought she was shouting but it was barely a whisper.

“What?” Glenda leaned in closer.

“It was him. It was the Slasher,” Charlie murmured, still shivering.

Glenda slapped Charlie across the face.

“Charlie! Charlie! Get your shit together. Say that again,” Glenda said excitedly.

“The Essex Slasher just came out of the pisser and walked past me like I was nothing. He’s here Glenda! He’s here!” Charlie found her voice and was screaming.

“Where did the fucker go?” Glenda shook Charlie again.

“In there! In the ballroom!” Charlie was starting to gain control of her faculties.

“Let’s go find him,” Charlie pushed past Glenda but Glenda grabbed her shoulder and stopped her.

“Wait up sister, let’s go find him together,” Glenda took Charlie's hand and they entered the ballroom.

It was impossible to see properly with just the ceiling lights and the reflected lights of the disco balls, faces were brilliantly lit for a millisecond and then they became dark and fuzzy as myriad little squares of light passed over the crowd. Charlie looked frantically around the ballroom with Glenda hanging on to her. Glenda thought briefly of trying to find Robin but they might lose the Slasher so Charlie and Glenda started going from table to table trying to find him.

They both figured he would not be on the dance floor after what had just happened. It didn’t help that all of the men were wearing dark suits so he had no distinguishing clothing.

Glenda suddenly stopped and pulled Charlie to her and shouted in her ear.

“He’ll be leaving. He won’t stay around now that you have recognised him. We’re wasting our time let’s go to the door and we’ll see if we can catch him on the way out.”

Charlie nodded and they pushed their way through the crowd to the door.

They arrived at the top of the sandstone steps at the entrance to Chelmsford Shire Hall just in time for Charlie to recognise a man getting into a late model Bentley which had been brought around to the front by a valet. They could just make out the face of a woman in the passenger seat but Charlie was sure it was the Slasher getting into the driver’s seat.

The car pulled away and lurched into the traffic to the tooting of horns.

“Fuck he got away!” Charlie lamented.

“The fuck he did!” Glenda growled.

“Kilo Mike Alpha three seven five, Kilo Mike Alpha three seven five, Kilo Mike Alpha three seven five,” Glenda kept repeating the sequence.

“Glenda! Glenda!” Charlie was overexcited and distraught.

“Shh. Shut the fuck up Charlie! Kilo Mike Alpha three seven five, Kilo Mike Alpha three seven five,” she kept repeating it.

Glenda ambled down the steps as fast as could in her tight dress and rushed over to the valet.

“Pen! Pencil! Paper! Anything! Kilo Mike Alpha three seven five, Kilo Mike Alpha three seven five,” she screeched.

The valet looked at her like she had escaped a looney bin.

Glenda snatched a parking stub out of the valet’s hand and a pen from the pocket of his red waistcoat. She scribbled on the flimsy cardboard while the valet tried to snatch back his pen and paper.

“Fuck off, I’m a police constable you idiot,” Glenda held the pen and paper away from the valet.

She held the parking stub up to the light and read what she had written on it ‘KMA 375’.

“Gottcha you bastard!” she hissed.

“Any idea who was driving that car?” Glenda asked the valet who still regarded her as some sort of maniac.

“We don’t put names on parking stubs. We just put the ticket on the keys with a lackey band and rip off the stub and give it to the driver and park the car round the back. When the driver picks up the car we just check that the numbers match,” the valet explained.

“I didn’t think it would be that easy,” Glenda sighed.

“Don’t go anywhere, one of my colleagues will be here to interview you soon,” Glenda said authoritatively.

The excitement and adrenaline had sobered her up.

Glenda and Charlie went back inside to find Robin. He was seated at their table looking dejected.

They both excitedly poured out their story and finally Robin roused himself and began to listen.

“Come on let’s go into foyer so I can hear you properly; I’m only getting every second word,” the band had switched from classic ballroom dance music to contemporary pop music and it was hard to hear over the screech of guitars and drums.

“You go first Charlie,” Glenda said catching her breath as they stood in the corner of the foyer.

Ruffe had found his colleagues and was smart enough to know that something important was afoot and the best way for him to find what was to remain silent and listen.

Charlie explained how she run into the Slasher coming out of the gentleman’s lavatory and then Glenda filled in the remainder about the search and seeing him drive away.

“I have his registration Robin! We’ve got the fucker!” Glenda said excitedly.

“We need to tell the Chief Constable to stop the ball and get the Task Force down here now and start interviewing people. CID can run the licence plate down at the station,” Glenda was almost breathless.

“You two stay here. Glenda you come with me,” Robin had come out of his fugue and was ready for action.

He half dragged Glenda over to where Edward Bard was sitting with his wife.

“Sir, something terribly important has come up. We have to speak to you immediately,” Robin shouted over the band.

The Chief Constable was well into his cups and his wife was not much better. They had to plead with him to get him to come outside into the peace and quiet of the foyer.

Robin nodded at Charlie who had recovered her composure and told Edward what had happened in the corridor leading to the conveniences and then Glenda took up the story.

“We have him sir. We have the bastard!” Glenda said excitedly.

Edward stood nonplussed for what seemed like an eternity as he ruminated on what he had just been told, meanwhile Glenda and Robin had to hold their tongues and wait patiently, worried that the Slasher was right now fleeing and making an escape to who knows where.

“So let me get this right. The Essex Slasher was invited to the Essex Police ball and came along with his wife. He went for a piss and when he came out he ran into the err… the woman whose throat he had slashed and nearly killed and is the only person in the world who can identify him and all he did was compliment her on her dress.”

“He went back into the ballroom and escorted his partner to his car and drove away but conveniently not before WPC Savage gets to write down his number plate,” Edward looked in turn at Robin, Glenda and Charlie.

“And all of this happens right after I tell you that I’m disbanding your SCI, putting WPC Savage back on the beat, and demoting or sacking Detective Sargent Sparrow,” he shook his head in disbelief.

“I’m not stopping the ball. I’m not bringing in CID to interview my guests. What do you two take me for? An idiot!”

“The Mayor of Chelmsford and the Lord Mayor of Essex are in there,” Edward nodded at the ballroom doors.

“Half the elite of Essex are in there! ‘Excuse me Sir and Madame, might you have been sitting with The Essex Slasher tonight, can I take down your particulars?’”

“Don’t be so fucking daft! I’m not going to take the word of that!” he pointed at Charlie.

“And you would have me believe two police officers I’m considering sacking! Fuck off; what do you take me for?” Edward seethed.

“The last act of your useless little shitty Special Crime Investigation team will be to hand that registration number to CID on Monday. It will turn out to be useless. Christ it’s likely to turn out to be the licence number of the vicar.”

“And all because a transvestite prostitute happened to look up while she was sucking someone off in the bogs and saw some bloke who she thought she recognised who had fucked her up the arse and knifed her when he found out she had a cock,” Edward turned to walk away and Robin grabbed him by his coat and turned him around, his fingers clenched into fist.

Ruffe leapt between Edward and Robin and took Robin’s hand off Edward’s shoulder.

“Smartest thing you’ve done tonight Ruffe, maybe Glenda fucked some sense into you,” Edward straightened his jacket and turned to walk away again.

“It was him! I saw him! It was him!” Charlie cried out.

“Take her home Robin; she’s already made a fool out of both of you.”

“Feel free to suck a few cocks in the parking lot on your way out Miss Ringwald, we have an amnesty on prostitution during the ball,” Edward sneered and walked away.

Both Ruffe and Glenda had to physically restrain Robin to prevent him from going after the Chief Constable.

******

“Did you enjoy the ball dear?” Walter Middleton patted his wife’s knee but kept his eyes on the road as he drove home at a sedate speed.

Once he was clear of Chelmsford and heard no ‘blues-and-twos’ he figured there was no need to panic.

“It was lovely dear,” Alice stifled a yawn; she was glad Walter didn’t want to stay any longer.

When they got home Alice went straight up to bed and Walter told her he would be up soon. When he heard her footsteps overhead in the master bedroom Walter unlocked the workshop door, entered and locked it behind him.

He took off his dinner jacket and put it on a hanger. He unlocked and opened the large tool box that had never held a tool and gazed at the resealable plastic bags, each of which contained a pair of panties and a single piece of jewellery from his victims. His fingers caressed the bags lovingly and then he opened the drawer beneath the trophies and ran his fingers across the neat blocks of currency, each secured with an elastic band.

Walter had accumulated close to fifty thousand pounds in cash over the years; some of it legitimately but most of it carefully embezzled from Barclays Bank.

In a rented lockup just outside of London was a nondescript but mechanically perfect Morris 1100 with a suitcase in the boot containing everything he would need to make an escape, including forged identity documents that would pass any form of scrutiny.

He had hoped that he would never to have to use his escape plan but he had been a Boy Scout and adhered to their motto of ‘Be Prepared’. But it was not time to panic yet. He still didn’t know what the police knew and what they intended to do with what they knew. He was well versed in police procedures and the first thing if anything he expected would be a knock on the door.

Walter knew that they had nothing linking him to the Essex Slasher crimes other than the word of a transvestite prostitute who had used her celebrity to her advantage and to further her financial gain. She was hardly a credible witness against someone of his standing in the community. But to be safe he would take some necessary precautions.

As the Manger of Barclays Bank he could well expect to be invited to the Annual Police Ball but it helped that he was very good friends with the Chief Constable and played golf with him on Sundays. It gave Walter the ideal segue into asking how the hunt for the Slasher was going and Edward was known to speak freely after a few gin and tonics.

Whilst at the ball he had taken a great deal of delight in hobnobbing with the very people that were searching for him. He had no doubts that should his name come up in any investigation his good friend would warn him out. After all, who would believe a respected Bank manager could be the Essex Slasher. No need to panic indeed; just keep calm and carry on, as was the fine British tradition

*****

Back at Glenda’s flat Robin, Glenda, Ruffe and Charlie drank tea and pondered the night’s events.

“We have no time at all to find out who was driving that Bentley,” Robin was ropeable.

“Ok, we all need to calm down. We all know what’s at stake but it’s nearly one in the morning so there is bugger-all we can do. First thing tomorrow I’ll access the motor registry records and find out who owns the Bentley and then we put him under immediate surveillance. Neither the Chief Constable or CID are going to be interested in anything we say unless we can get concrete evidence that the person is in fact the Slasher,” Glenda said.

“How are you going to do that?” Ruffe asked.

“We’re going to break the law is how,” Robin said through gritted teeth.

“First things first. The Slasher knows that Charlie saw him at the ball so he’s likely to change his mind about finishing the job he started.”

“You’re staying with me tonight Charlie and then you’re going around to Samantha’s and staying with her. She won’t let you out of her sight until this thing is over one way or the other. If you’re not with me; you’re with Sam,” Robin said.

Charlie was about to get her back up but she realised what Robin said made sense.

“I’ll take you to work tomorrow at the salon while Glenda searches for our man at the MOT office, Ruffe you get all your camera and surveillance gear and meet Glenda and I here. Once we know who owns the Bentley and where they live we’ll finalise our plans. Agreed?” Robin said.

They all nodded.

Charlie fell into Robin’s arms as soon as they were inside his flat. She kissed him and clung to him.

“I was so scared Robin. I thought I was brave but I was terrified,” Charlie sobbed into his neck.

Robin held her close and comforted her.

“You’re braver than anyone I’ve ever met Charlie Ringwald and I love you,” Robin nuzzled Charlie’s neck.

“Make love to me Robin. Make me feel safe,” Charlie whispered.

Robin put an arm under Charlie's legs and carried her to the bed. He gazed at her lying there in the red satin gown, the side split was open showing off her long legs clad in gossamer hose. He stripped naked as he watched her, his erection proudly poking out in front like the prow of a ship.

“Do you want to take off that dress; it’s expensive?” Robin smiled down at her.

“Do you want me to take off the dress? You paid for it,” Charlie smiled up at him cheekily.

“I want to fuck you in that red satin dress. I’ve wanted to fuck you all night,” Robin said throatily.

“Then do it,” Charlie got up on her hands and knees and offered Robin her behind.

Robin took the K-Y out of the dresser drawer and opened the slit in Charlie’s skirt exposing her luscious panty-clad buttocks.

“Do it! Do it hard!” Charlie groaned.

Robin ripped off Charlie’s knickers and then tore out the crotch of her sheer tights. Her sphincter was a crinkled freckle and he daubed it with the lubricant and the put some on his cock. Charlie was hard already and he reached under her and stroked her cock.

“Fuck me darling. Fuck me! Fuck me hard!” Charlie wriggled her buttocks invitingly.

Robin climbed on the bed and pulled Charlie's ankles apart and got in position behind her. He pressed his cock against her sphincter and pushed his cock all the way inside her. Her tight anus was like a silken sheath gripping his phallus.

“Oh god yes! Fuck me!” Charlie writhed; impaled on Robin’s huge cock.

Robin gripped Charlie’s hips and began to vigorously fuck Charlie, making her squeal and moan as he thrust his magnificent manhood in and out of her tight anus, pressing his glans on her prostrate and slipping a hand under her so he could stroke her cock.

“Oh yesss!” Charlie screamed and ejaculated, her semen spattering on the duvet.

“Oh Charlie I love you!” Robin pulled Charlie’s buttocks into his groin and drove his cock all the way inside her and spent his load.

They both writhed and moaned as they simultaneously orgasmed.

Later, under the covers, Robin naked and Charlie wearing only her torn pantyhose, they cuddled. They had made love again not long after Charlie had bent over for Robin, but this time it had been tender and loving and now they lay spooning, Charlie’s derrière pressed into Robin’s groin.

“I don’t know why I feel so scared and so insecure. You’ll never leave me will you Robin?” Charlie whispered.

“Sometimes I feel like I’m like a stone in your shoe; easily cast aside and forgotten about,” Charlie began to sob quietly.

Robin rolled her over to face him.

“I will never leave you Charlie Ringwald. I love and I will always love you. I’d do anything for you, anything to be with you whatever the consequences. My life’s work is to make you happy,” Robin pulled her close and kissed her.

“I love you too Robin,” Charlie whispered.

*****

Glenda had a friend who worked at the MOT and she cashed in a few favours and got the girl to open the office on Saturday morning and let Glenda search the records.

Glenda was shocked when she found out the Bentley was registered to Walter Middleton, Manager of the Chelmsford branch of Barclays Bank. What was even more incredulous was that she knew that Edward Bard played golf with Walter Middleton almost every Sunday because afterwards Edward would meet with Glenda at a motel near the golf course, telling Alice that he would be home late because he was at the ‘nineteenth hole’ while he was actually filling Glenda’s hole.

Glenda went back to her apartment to find Robin and Ruffe waiting anxiously.

When Glenda told her what she knew they were both as flabbergasted as she was. Ruffe went off to scour the newspapers to find a decent picture of Walter Middleton that they could show to Charlie whilst Robin and Glenda pulled out a road map.

Walter Middleton’s address was a small estate near Fryerning, eight miles southwest of Chelmsford which fit the profile of the person they looking for: middleclass, owns a car, lives and works in or near Chelmsford. It would also explain why the Slasher was so good at what he did. Someone with the meticulous brain of a bank manager would be the perfect type of person to plan and execute the crimes without leaving any clues to his identity.

Ruffe returned with a good quality recent picture of Walter Middleton taken at a charity event and he and Glenda drove to London to show it to Charlie who nearly collapsed when they showed it to her at the salon. Swearing her to secrecy they drove back to Chelmsford with Charlie and made their plans.

Sunday morning with Charlie safe and sound at Samantha’s flat Robin, Glenda and Ruffe set off for Fryerning with all of the requisites they needed to conduct surveillance and conduct a burglary. They had also purloined three of the latest handheld radios, which although limited in range, would be perfect for their task. They tuned the radios to a discrete channel so as not to be intercepted.

Robin took up position in a hedgerow near the Middleton estate where he had a good view of the house. He hid the bag containing his burglary tools under some shrubs and used his binoculars to watch the house. He was wearing clothing typical of the type worn by bird watchers and even had a copy of British Birds in his coat pocket in case he was seen or questioned. This ruse also explained the binoculars around his neck.

After dropping Robin off, Glenda and Ruffe parked in a layby near the driveway entrance where they could see the house and the attached garage. Glenda knew that Edward teed off around seven in the morning to beat the rush at the golf course and also so he could finish the round with enough time to spend most of the afternoon and early evening with her at the motel.

Ruffe’s research revealed that Alice Middleton was a socialite and usually attended some social event or another on Sundays so they crossed their fingers and waited.

Walter left first at six thirty, his Bentley passed Glenda’s car and she and Ruffe were in a lusty embrace as he drove past so that he couldn’t see their faces. They hoped correctly that Walter would take no notice as the laybys in the area were often used for lover’s trysts.

They had a long cold wait until Alice’s Cortina finally emerged from the garage around ten in the morning. Robin watched her through the glasses and it looked like she was dressed to the nines for some social soiree. He just hoped it would take up most of the day.

After Alice drove past them, Glenda radioed Robin to let him know. Then she dropped Ruffe up the road about a mile; which was about all the range that the radios had. He too was dressed for bird watching but his job was to lookout for either Walter or Alice’s car returning from the city end of the road whilst Glenda drove a mile the other way and kept lookout there. When they were both in position, Glenda radioed Robin the all clear and he strode purposely towards the country house like he had every right to be there, determinedly pulling on his latex gloves.

His years on the job had made him very familiar with burglary tools and he was inside the house in a trice.

Robin lowered his tool bag to floor gently and called out.

“Hello? Hello Mister Middleton? Hello Mrs Middleton? Anybody home?”

Robin was sure that neither Walter nor Alice had returned and he hadn't seen anyone else in the house while he watched from the hedgerow but who was to say there wasn't a relative or friend staying over or even worse a large pet dog. They really hadn't had time to plan this perfectly. Robin’s piss poor excuse for being in the house if there was someone there was that he was here to change the locks due to recent break-ins in the area.

The house remained eerily silent and Robin wasted no time. He proceeded upstairs and located the access panel to the attic and the rod used to push the panel aside and snag the catch of the pull-down ladder. He gingerly climbed the ladder and using his torch he found a switch which turned on a bare bulb which dimly lit the attic, exposing old furniture, some rusting shelving on which were stored mouldy cardboard boxes, and two large trunks in the corner. The place was dusty and full of cobwebs; if the Slasher was hiding his prizes up here he was doing a great job.

A half hours’ worth of dirty work produced nothing. Robin was a little disappointed, crooks often kept booty and contraband in the attic but not the Slasher.

Robin worked his way methodically though the second floor rooms, checking for hiding places, false bottoms, false walls, loose skirting, anything that would indicate a hiding place but found nothing. Alice Middleton did have an extensive and exotic collection of sexy lingerie, underwear and hosiery which he found surprising and a little arousing he had to say. There was something intimate about clamouring through a married woman’s unmentionables. But there was no time to waste.

Robin checked in on the radio; nothing to report from either Glenda or Ruffe.

The next obvious place was the garage and Robin soon located the door to the workshop and he picked the lock. It was not unusual for a man to lock his workshop to keep out the kids or even the wife but the Middleton’s had no kids and the lock was expensive and heavy duty. Suspicious perhaps?

“Oh fuck yeah!” Robin exclaimed as soon as entered the workshop.

It screamed subterfuge and secrecy. He doubted that a single tool had ever been lifted in the pristine, meticulously-swept concrete floored room.

Robin opened a large metal locker in the corner and found a collection of coveralls and boots, brand new still in their wrappers and boxes and also six duffle coats hanging from hangers. From his tool bag Robin took the Polaroid Land Camera that Ruffe had given him and took a series of photographs. He carefully closed and locked the locker. The big red toolbox on the bench beckoned and Robin went to it and picked the lock.

He opened the first drawer of the toolbox and stared at it; mesmerised.

He gazed at the eight resealable plastic bags, each of which contained a pair of panties and a single piece of jewellery. He could hardly believe it. He took another series of photos and then it dawned on him. Eight bags of underwear… eight! There were only seven known Slasher victims. There had been another!

When he opened the drawer below it he was astounded. The bundles of cash all of various denominations were almost hypnotising. He guessed that Walter being a Bank Manager had arranged the bundles in equal denomination and counting the first bundle he estimated there was around fifty thousand pounds, give or take a thousand.

He lifted the camera to his eye and was about to take the picture and then hesitated. There were more important things to do and time was running out.

Robin closed and locked the toolbox and took a screwdriver from his tool bag and began to tap on the skirting board. He soon found the hidey hole and the knife. He gingerly removed it photographed it and put it back. He took a series of interior shots and checked that everything was as he found it. He left the workshop and replaced the lock.

He checked in again with Ruffe and Glenda who had nothing to report. He’d been in the house for nearly two hours and was anxious to leave.

Robin walked over to the fence and climbed back into the hedgerow and ran across the field to the road, talking on the radio as he ran. Glenda picked him up and then they drove off to pick up Ruffe.

“Well don’t be a cunt; tell us what you found,” Ruffe said anxiously.

Robin said nothing but took the stack of Polaroid pictures from inside his coat pocket and passed them to Ruffe who worked his way through them taking his time to examine each one.

“Now you’re both being cunts! Tell me what you found!” Glenda slapped the steering wheel.

*****

They went back to Glenda’s flat after picking up Charlie from Samantha's flat and worked on a strategy. As damning as the photographs were they were virtually useless as evidence. They had been obtained illegally. They needed a legitimate reason for CID to request a search warrant and they needed to find someone in CID willing to do so.

It was decided that Ruffe would hit the microfiche at The Daily Sun to see what else he could find out about Walter Middleton, Robin would take the photograph they had of Walter to the Trunk and Brick pub to see if any of the customers recognised him and Glenda would start returning the files they had borrowed so it looked like they were wrapping up the SCI as they had been ordered to do.

They needed time and they prayed that Walter didn’t panic and make a run for it. He had the nous and the resources to go into hiding, possibly overseas, if he suspected the police were onto him.

Walter on the other hand had played golf with Edward Bard who told him, in confidence of course, that the transvestite prostitute who was making a splash in the print media claimed to have seen the Slasher at the Police Ball but that no one believed her and that it was just another ploy by her to get more attention. He was disbanding the Special Crime Investigation team and likely sacking the two officers involved.

Walter was quietly confident and decided he had made the right decision to keep calm and carry on.

Ruffe spent the day analysing microfiche at the Sun, fending off demands from his editor to post another story and assuring the editor that if he was patient Ruffe would deliver him the greatest scoop The Daily Sun had ever printed.

Robin waited patiently at the Trunk and Brick and when the lunchtime crowd came in he showed the picture of Walter Middleton around but no one recognised him. The evening crowd arrived and he showed the picture to the bar staff and the customers but once again drew a blank. He was about to leave when he was approached by a middle-aged man wearing a duster and flatcap.

“I hear you’re showing pictures around looking for someone who might have something to do with Sadie’s murder?” he asked.

“Sure. Why not? Do you recognise this man?” Robin put the picture of Walter Middleton on table and the man picked it up and put on his glasses and stared at it myopically.

“That’s the fucker that was staring at her all night,” the man said stoically.

“Are you sure?” Robin asked sceptically.

“Of course I’m sure. I’m short-sighted not long-sighted. I quite fancied Sadie Smithers myself so when this geezer kept staring at her I was not a happy man, ya ken? There was something about him; he wasn’t quite right. Smart suit, flash car, and he hadn't been here before as far as I know. A right tosser,” the man said vehemently.

Robin took out his notebook and spent nearly an hour interviewing the man.

When they regrouped Ruffe had news.

“Walter Middleton went to live with his uncle and aunt in his teens before he became a boarder at university. Guess why?” Ruffe had a knowing grin on his face.

“Fuck Ruffe just tell us; this isn’t show and tell,” Robin was impatient.

“Because his mother died in a house fire on the very same estate we were at yesterday. The fire was put down to his mother, who was an alcoholic according to Walter, smoking in bed. Walter escaped unharmed,” Ruffe had a self-satisfied grin on his face.

“Mary Middleton, late thirties, red hair and blue-green eyes,” Ruffe slammed down a grainy black and white picture on the table.

“Walter rebuilt the house on the exact spot,” Ruffe continued.

“Jesus! Could it be his mother was the first victim? Was she the unknown eighth woman?” Robin speculated.

“Eew! He raped his victims before he killed them. You don’t think…” Charlie couldn’t finish the sentence.

“Stranger things have happened. I’m no psychiatrist but I’m guessing Mary Middleton was the first flaming girl. Her description and the fact she died in a fire is too much of coincidence. Maybe he has an Oedipus complex which he transfers onto his flaming girls?” Glenda speculated.

“Again… eew!” Charlie screwed up her face.

“I don’t care what complex he has; he’s a murdering bastard and he needs to be put away,” Robin slammed his fist on the table.

“Do we have enough for CID to get a search warrant? Once they get inside the house and find everything in that workshop he’s done for,” Glenda speculated.

“I’m heading down to the Plough to see Mitch Tarry for a drink. He’s on the Slasher Task Force and he’s not averse to using dodgy evidence to get a conviction. In this case I think he will agree that the means justify the ends. Charlie, I want you to stay here with Glenda, I’ll be back as soon as I’m done.”

“Give me those pictures, the newspaper cuttings and the notes from my witness at the Trunk and Brick,” Robin grabbed his coat and headed out.

Mitch Tarry sat a table in a corner of the pub away from the throng at the bar.

“Here he is, Robin Sparrow, tranny fucker,” Mitch arose from the table and grinned at Robin.

Coming from anyone else the insult would have resulted in a punch in the mouth but Mitch Tarry had a sick sense of humour and was one of Robin’s true friends in the service. He had been out socially with Robin and Charlie and had treated Charlie only with respect.

“And there he is, Mitch Tarry, fat fucker,” Robin grinned back.

Mitch Tarry was quite rotund and his days of chasing down villains were long gone.

Robin wasted no time.

“Don’t ask where the pictures came from because I’m not telling,” Robin began and then laid out everything that the SCI had on Walter Middleton.

“You know my Guvnor fucking hates that bastard Edward Bard so he’s going to love locking up his golfing buddy,” Mitch grinned.

“So there is enough there without the photos to get a warrant?” Robin asked.

“We’ll get the warrant. The only thing that is going to piss my Guvnor off is that Edward Bard will know about it before we crash into that mad fucker’s house. The Chief Constable is informed of all warrants involving serious crimes,” Mitch picked up the clippings, the record of interview and the other evidence that Robin had brought.

He pointed to the envelopes full of Polaroids.

“Robin. You’re astute enough to know why I didn't ask where you got those photographs and they are a great help because we’ll know exactly where to go when we enter the bastard’s house but if I were you I’d burn the fuckers,” Mitch finished his pint and stood.

“I’ll see you get some credit for this. Rub that fucker’s nose right in it,” Mitch tapped Robin on the shoulder and strode away; a man with a mission.

Robin went back to Glenda’s flat and appraised the SIC of the situation.

“Glenda, you need to stand by at the Chief Constable’s office, he’s going to hit the roof when that warrant is served. Ruffe, you probably want to write up the story ready to submit to your editor as soon as Walter Middleton is arrested, Glenda you call him as soon as it happens,” Robin paced up and down the room.

“What about me?” Charlie asked?

“You’re coming with me right now. See you all later,” he kissed Glenda on the cheek and shook Ruffe’s hand.

Robin hailed a minicab and had it take Charlie and he to Moulsham. Charlie protested as he half dragged her down a dingy alley used by streetwalkers and drunks, littered with used condoms and broken booze bottles. Robin knocked on a nondescript door and which was answered by a thin handsome man with long hair.

“Hello gorgeous,” John Benstead looked Charlie up and down lasciviously.

“Knock it off John; you know what we we’re here for,” Robin led Charlie inside.

“Of course Detective Sargent Sparrow, I know exactly what you’re here for,” John Benstead held out his hand and Robin slapped a wad of cash in it.

“What are we here for?” Charlie was totally confused.

“Just take a seat here love; in front of the camera,” John invited Charlie over to a wooden stool.

*****

Later that night Walter Middleton took a phone call from a good friend; he listened carefully and hung up the phone.

“Ah well; it’s not like I wasn’t expecting it eventually,” he said to himself and took the key to his workshop out of his pocket.

Later that night Walter sat in the antique Lois XV chair waiting for Alice to return from her theatre group outing. He heard her Cortina pull into the garage and then the click-clack of her heels on the stairs.

“Oh Walter, you waited up for me,” Alice had been drinking.

“Yes I did dear,” he smiled back at her.

“Did you want something? Do you want me to put on my sex clothes; I quite fancy a good shagging,” she giggled.

“Yes we’ll do that after, definitely. But first there is something I need to tell you. It’s a matter of life and death… your life and death actually,” Walter produced his knife and spun it deftly in his fingers.

It glittered evilly in the lamplight.

*****

Several things happened the next day.

First thing in the morning Mitch Tarry and the Essex Slasher Task Force raided Walter Middleton’s estate. Alice Middleton was taken into the kitchen for questioning whilst her husband was forced to hand over his keys and accompany the detectives to his workshop.

They found nothing. The place was spick and span, the drawers in the toolbox, the shelves in the cupboards and lockers were bare. The hidey-hole was empty and Walter denied that he even knew it was there.

“I’ve been meaning to buy some tools and get myself set up for some do-it—yourself, but who has the time?” Walter said smugly.

Despite being grilled by expert interrogators Alice Middleton was unwavering in her alibi for Walter for all of the dates and times of the Essex Slasher crimes. Her vagina was tender, but in nice way. She quite liked the way Walter had held her down fully-clothed and violated her on their marriage bed last night, she just wished he’d not left the knife on the bedside table while he did it, it was a little disconcerting.

Glenda was summoned into Chief Constable Edward Bard’s office and summarily dismissed from her position as chief community support officer and advised that she would be starting the night shift, walking the beat on the streets of Chelmsford forthwith. Her application for CID and promotion recommendation had both been rejected.

She was also advised that the Chief Constable’s office had received Detective Sargent Robin Sparrow’s resignation that very morning.

Ruffe pulled the single sheet of A4 paper on which he had typed his story about helping to catch the Essex Slasher from the typewriter and balled it up and threw it in the bin. He took a bottle of scotch from the bottom drawer of his desk and took a long pull. He picked up the phone and dialled Maggie Reardon’s number in LA.

In 1975 British passports were rather simple affairs, hand-written, with black and white photographs and an embossed stamp from the Foreign Office. Security was a lot more lax in these days and the Customs Offer paid more attention to Charlie’s long legs and short skirt than he did to her passport when he stamped it.

“Here we are luv,” Robin indicated the first class seat on the top deck of Boeing 747.

“I still can’t believe this is happening,” Charlie eased herself into the big seat while Robin put his carry-on bag in the overhead locker.

“Well it is. Just enjoy the flight and I’ll explain it all to you once we get to Bangkok,” Robin sat down beside her and ordered champagne from the attentive hostess whose name badge read Candace Pops.

“Funny name for a hostess,” Charlie commented.

“She’s got great tits though. Now let’s continue the discussion we were having in the taxi about the size of the tits you’re going to get,” Robin grinned.

Charlie punched Robin in the arm playfully and he leaned in and kissed her.

*****

Two months later Walter Middleton was on holiday in Scotland with his wife and was walking the streets of Edinburgh by himself when a young woman with fiery red hair and emerald green eyes caught his attention. He stared at her and she began to flame.

His Bentley was parked not far away at the hotel where Alice was taking afternoon tea and looking forward to Walter returning later in the afternoon to give her a good shagging. Everything Walter needed to attend to the Flaming Girl was in a suitcase in the boot of the Bentley. He stealthfully followed the girl, his erection hidden by his long overcoat.

As he followed the girl he once again considered the events of the last few months. It was a shame that someone had stolen his hard earned cash from toolbox but he could hardly report the crime now could he? Never mind, he was well on his way to building another nest egg.

“Now. Back to the girl,” Walter focussed on the prim young woman with the long legs and the flaming hair.

The End

Author’s note: Well readers; did you like the story? Was the ending to your satisfaction? Please let me know by leaving a comment.

xxx
Michele Nylons

Yes this is me