Author's note: When I began this story just before Corona Virus changed our lives, it was going to be a short story about forced feminisation. With time on my hands because of the compulsory isolation the story grew and morphed into a love story and finally a 'whodunnit'.

I hope you enjoy the twists and turns and please leave comments to let me know how you feel about it.

Michele Nylons

May 2020

*****

September 1984

Charlotte Ward sat on the hard-backed chair in front on the dresser and admired the fully-fashioned stocking in her hands. For as long as she could remember she had been fascinated by the delicate garments: the eight denier, ultra-bare, flesh-toned nylon, cut to the shape, the darker shadow welt just below the coffee-coloured gauzy top-welt where the garters were attached and the manufacturers brand stylised in white lettering above the keyhole-shaped finishing loop. The dark back-seam, reinforced heel and toe, the same colour and texture as the welt.

Even though Charlotte was wearing hosiery gloves she was well aware of the cool silken sensuous feel of the garment and shivered in anticipation of sliding it up her recently shaved leg.

She lay the stocking aside and picked up the pair of peach-coloured Harlow vintage knickers. They were manufactured from polyester and lycra at the back and sides with a satin tummy panel for light control and were high-rise and high-cut to give the knickers 1950's styling. She held them to her cheek, relishing their soft luxurious feel against her skin. She could smell the residue of her perfume on the garment from the last time she had worn them. She laid the knickers beside the matching Harlow vintage brassiere and six-gartered suspender belt.

The vintage lingerie and hosiery was expensive but money was no object to Charlotte.

She checked her makeup in the mirror; it was heavy and very vintage: foundation and finishing powder, rouge to accentuate her sharp her cheekbones, black mascara and eyeliner and blended eyeshadow to emphasise her emerald green eyes, blood-red lipstick gave her lips fullness and matched her nailpolish, her jet-black, bob-cut hair with a fringe in front that framed her face and curled under her chin.

She was not being conceited when she thought to herself that the visage in the mirror looked stunning.

Charlotte shimmied into the garter belt and then pulled the knickers up and smoothed them out; the girdle of the suspender belt sat above the knickers and six garters hung down through the leg holes. She put on and adjusted the bra, then she shuddered with delight as she slid the rolled-up stockings up her legs, fastened that garters to the welts and straightened the seams; her favourite part of the ritual.

She took off the hosiery gloves and stepped into a tight, navy-blue pencil skirt; it was knee-length with a kick-pleat in the rear. She buttoned up a fitted mauve satin long-sleeved blouse, tucking it into the waistband of the skirt, smoothing it, and then zipping her skirt closed at the side. Charlotte sat down again and put on her costume jewellery and then put on her black patent leather four-inch high heels and sprayed herself liberally with perfume.

Although she had checked it twice already she once again confirmed that the door to her dorm was locked and the bolt latched.

She stood back and admired herself in the full-length mirror and was pleased with what she saw. Charlotte was only eighteen but she looked like a sophisticated sexy woman in her twenties. She turned on the floor-lamp and turned out the overhead light and spent thirty minutes or so posing in front of the mirror and then practicing her walk, made sexier because of the constraints of her tight skirt and the high heels. She blew kisses to herself and congratulated herself for being so feminine, alluring and beautiful.

Satisfied that the sound was muted on the television she inserted the video cassette into the VCR, reset the counter and hit play. The tape was titled Trans Sexcretary and it was old and had been played so many times that it took her a while to adjust the tracking but she got it right and then she fast forwarded to a pre-set position on the counter.

She stared at the television wishing she could turn up the volume but she couldn't do so in her current circumstances. Not that it really mattered; she knew every line of dialogue in the movie.

A woman came on screen dressed similarly to Charlotte but not the same. She was pretty and sexy and looked to be in her mid-thirties. She was very feminine in her mannerisms and countenance but you could tell that she was a man under the lipstick powder, heels and hose. She had entered an office and a man in a business suit sat behind a desk, the woman appeared to be his secretary. She looked shy and trepidatious and when the man spoke to her she shook her head.

The man barked angrily at her and reluctantly she walked over to where he sat and the man pulled her into his lap. What followed was a typical popular porn story: the woman at first struggling and then reluctantly succumbing to the man's advances.

The video was soft-porn, an edited version of an X-rated movie that Charlotte had been unable to purchase because at the time she was underage. She was now eighteen but hadn't been able to find a copy in any of the video shops she had been to.

The video was poorly edited and although still erotic it did not explicitly display any genitalia, sexual penetration, fellatio, or ejaculation. The woman remained fully-clothed throughout. The woman on the screen was at first reluctant but the man was insistent and as the action progressed they kissed and fondled each other. There followed a scene where the man forced the woman to her knees and she fought him but eventually she succumbed and the scene suddenly cut to her kneeling with her head bobbing up and down in his lap.

Throughout the movie, Charlotte re-enacted the part and spoke the dialogue of the woman but when the actors on the screen began to struggle again as the man pushed the woman towards the desk Charlotte pulled a silk stocking and her pride and joy, one of the newly available vibrating dilos, out of the dresser drawer along with a tube of KY jelly.

'Steven... you know I shouldn't be doing this,' the woman on the screen said.

Steven had bent the woman over the desk and hiked up her skirt and Charlotte imitated the scene, bending over the desk in her room and hauling up her skirt.

'You know you want it Doris,' the man on the screen pulled down her panties and kicked her legs open and moved in behind her.

Charlotte opened her stance and greased the rubber dildo with the KY jelly. She was fully erect in her knickers and she pulled them down to her knees and slipped the silk stocking over her erect cock. It would serve two purposes: enhance her stimulation and catch her semen so it didn't spatter over her clothes or on the floor.

'No Steven! No!' Doris struggled on the screen and Charlotte wriggled her buttocks, mimicking her.

The actual penetration on the screen had been edited out so the camera zoomed in on Doris' face. Her eyes opened wide with shock as Steven began to enter her.

So did Charlotte's as she pushed the tip of the rubber cock past her sphincter. It did hurt a little; it always did because she was so tight and the dildo was so big but it also felt wonderful. She felt so vulnerable bent over the desk with her skirt rucked up and her knickers around her knees.

'Please Steven; don't!' the woman on the screen pleaded.

The man ignored her pleas and thrust forward and as he did Charlotte slowly inserted the rubber cock all the way into her anus. The man on the screen did likewise, resting once he had fully impaled Doris.

'You know you like it,' Steven huffed; as corny a porn line as any.

'Stop! Don't! Stop! Don't! Stop! Don't! Oh my god... don't stop!' Doris squealed and Charlotte whispered the same lines to herself as she worked the dildo in and out of her anus.

Charlotte had used the device so often that she was an expert in ensuring it gave her maximum pleasure. She drove the rubber cock inside her anus, twisting it slightly so that it simulated the sensitive nerves ringing her sphincter eliciting little sparkles of pleasure and then she pushed the head of the penis-like device up so that it pressed on her prostate and evoked deep waves of bliss that spread outwards from the tender gland.

The camera panned out to show Steven with his trousers around his ankles pushing the pretty transvestite down on the desk, her skirt hiked up showing off her sheer black stockings, the pink nylon panties around her knees and her 'fuck-me' four-inch high heels. Her face was screwed up in a combination of pleasure and pain. The actual penetration was hidden by the nape of her skirt falling across her thighs and buttocks but Charlotte knew that in the X-rated release of the video, the man was actually fucking her.

'Oh god Steven I feel so naughty but I feel so wonderful,' Doris sighed and pushed back against the man fucking her.

'I knew you wanted it Doris... I've always known,' the man quoted the banal lines that the scriptwriter had given him.

Charlotte didn't care. Even though the tape was edited you could tell the expressions on the actor's faces were real; they enjoyed what they were doing.

Steven fucked Doris with long hard strokes, holding her hips and grinding his pubis into her soft buttocks. Doris had stopped talking coherently and simply moaned and groaned as the man assaulted her anus, his strokes getting harder and faster, she pushed back to meet his thrusts.

Charlotte too was grunting and squealing with pleasure. Her wrist was aching from the awkward angle as she worked the dildo in and out of her anus. She could feel her orgasm approaching even though she hadn't yet touched her cock. The tip of the silk stocking over her erect penis was wet with pre-ejaculate.

The screen images alternated between long shots of the businessman fucking the pretty transvestite and close-ups of their faces, wanton with desire.

Charlotte knew that the actors release was close and she flicked the little button on the base of the dildo and the intensity of her pleasure increased astonishingly as the dildo began to vibrate. On the screen the actors were at the pinnacle of their desire, the camera showed their faces screwed up in lust, the man pounding into the woman and then pulling her hard against him as he orgasmed. The woman sighed with lust, her hand under her skirt frantically stroking her cock and evoking her own orgasm.

Charlotte pushed the dildo hard up against her prostate and had to bite her lip to suppress a scream as waves of incredible delectation and gratification washed over her. She filled the silk stocking covering her cock with creamy semen. Her knees began to buckle and she held onto the desk with her free hand to support herself.

Later as she carefully undressed and folded her clothes, put her high heels back into the velour storage bag, removed her wig, brushed it and put it with the others, removed her makeup and sat at the dresser removing her nailpolish she felt the usual pangs of guilt and regret but knew that before long the compunction to dress and present herself as Charlotte would return and could not be denied.

The clothes, shoes, wigs and makeup went into a suitcase which she carefully locked and put away in the top of the wardrobe

Charles Ward, now dressed in cotton underpants and pyjamas, sprayed Right Guard liberally throughout his dormitory room to mask the scent of Charlotte's perfume and checked himself carefully in the mirror to ensure not a skerrick of makeup remained on his face or nailpolish on his fingernails. He knew the drill by now.

*****

Charles Ward had always had a fascination for women's clothing, especially lingerie and hosiery and had begun to collect them and secretly wear them from early adolescence. He was particularly attracted to retro lingerie and stockings. Women had recently switched from stockings to pantyhose as a matter of convenience and he agreed they had their practicalities and looked particularly good when women were wearing them with miniskirts or hotpants. He liked to wear them to bed under his pyjamas.

In his middle-teens Charles' fascination stretched to the full gamut of women's attire and he acquired a small collection of skirts, blouses and shoes. He was small statured and slim so he had no difficulty obtaining garments that fit him. His main obstacles were how to obtain them, getting the opportunity to wear them without being caught, and how to hide them from his parents and siblings.

At first he had simply borrowed his sister's clothes from the laundry basket or sometimes he snuck into her room and appropriated clothes from her wardrobe but this was risky. Being one year older than Charles, his sister's clothes fitted him perfectly.

He didn't know why he had this compulsion to dress and present as a woman, he just knew that it delighted him and made him feel comfortable...it made him feel right. Many times he had purged and vowed never to do so again but the compulsion always returned and he regretted throwing out his collection.

He began experimenting with makeup and became quite adept at it and the longer hairstyles worn by young men at the time allowed him to have a haircut that could easily be brushed into a feminine do.

The Ward family was wealthy so money was not a problem for Charles, he had a generous allowance. Provided he performed well at school he could pretty much do whatever he pleased. His parents had busy lifestyles and were often away and his brothers and his sister had their own friends and their own interests that did not include Charles and he was more than happy with those circumstances.

The Ward's had a holiday cottage in Otford. It was secluded and surrounded by woods. His father liked it because there were plenty of golf courses nearby and his mother liked the seclusion and healthy outdoor life that she and the children could enjoy. They frolicked outside in the woods, went for country walks, even camped out when they were younger. As the children became teenagers they grew less interested in the cottage and preferred city life and the Ward seniors lost interest too and rarely used the cottage but kept it as an investment.

They were delighted when Charles asked if he could use the cottage on weekends and during the holidays and allowed him to do so. This solved Charles' problems of secrecy and gave him the opportunity to dress enfemme; he would do so as often as he wanted to, sometimes spending days transformed into Charlotte, the name he had picked for his femme personality. He soon became adept at presenting Charlotte as a convincing woman; he worked on perfecting Charlotte's mannerisms, speech, gait and countenance. Charlotte's personage took up residence in Charles' psyche when she was present, nothing remained of Charles; Charlotte was an attractive and vivacious young woman.

There was a second-hand clothes shop called Cash for Clothes in Otford and Charles was one of their best customers. The two little old ladies who ran the store had their suspicions as to why a teenage male was buying ladies fashion but they weren't concerned; Charles paid in cash and was polite and effusive when talking to them about their wares. They began to put aside good quality ladies clothing and shoes in his size and preferred style knowing that he would pay a good price for them.

Charlotte had quite an extensive wardrobe in her room at the cottage and an excellent selection of makeup, perfumes and accessories.

In the mid-eighties almost every household had a VCR and the cottage was no exception. When video cassette players became freely available there ensued a boom in video cassette tape rental and sales. Video rental stores popped up everywhere and most had an adults-only section containing X-rated videos.

By now she realised that not only did she feel most normal when she presented herself as Charlotte, she also often felt sexually aroused and fantasised about having sex with another crossdresser or in some cases with a man. The video rental stores Charles frequented did have plenty of transvestite themed porn in their adults-only section but the problem was that although he could browse the aisles, he couldn't rent the movies without showing proof of age.

The good thing was that VCR tapes deteriorated quickly and ended up in the for-sale bin at a reduced price. Charles was able acquire a couple of soft-porn videos to titillate himself including Trans Sexcretary.

Charlotte's happiest days were spent at the cottage, holding her own fashion parades or just sitting around relaxing or completing Charles' school assignments for him. She often sat around reading women's fashion magazines and even took walks in the woods where on occasions she ran into people who never seemed to suspect that she was anything other than a young woman. She desperately wanted to go out in the town but she knew the consequences would be dire should she be exposed for who she was.

This idyllic period in Charles life all came to a crashing halt one Saturday afternoon when his life would be changed forever.

*****

July 1984

"Come on in Betty," Reginald Ward slapped his pretty secretary on the arse as she squeezed past him in the tight doorway of the Ward family holiday cottage.

"Come on; let's get a drink in us before we start wearing out the mattress. Just through here in lounge room there's a..." Reginald Ward stopped in his tracks.

Who was the pretty young woman lying on the lounge watching pornography on his television? How had she got into the cottage and why was she here?

Charlotte was wearing shiny pink lycra dance tights, sheer nylon footlets, black stiletto high heels, a loose fitting sleeveless top with a padded bra to give it some shape, full makeup, jewellery and perfume.

She looked gobsmacked at her father unable to speak.

It took one full minute for Reginald Ward to realise who the person was that had been lying and was now sitting, on his couch.

"Charles? Charles? Is that you?" Reginald stammered.

Charlotte didn't answer. A thousand thoughts were going around in her head and not one of them seemed to be a suitable answer to her father's question.

"Who's this Reggie? You aren't planning some kinky threesome or something are you?" Betty interrupted their train of thought.

Reginald came out of his reverie.

"Come on Betty; back to the car," he grabbed Betty by the wrist and began to drag her out of the lounge room.

"You fucking stay put!" Reginald turned and pointed at his son.

Reginald refused to tell Betty who the pretty woman was laying on the couch and despite her protests he ushered her to his black BMW 733i.

"You drive this back to the railway station and leave the keys on the rear tyre. Get a train home," he opened the driver's side door.

Betty was amazed. Reginald never let anyone drive this car.

"What about the weekend in the country you promised me?" Betty whined.

"Get in the car you dozy bint. Drop off the car like I told you and catch a train to London and then get a minicab home," Reginald stuffed a twenty pound note in her hand and pushed her towards the car.

"Will you call me Reggie or will I see you next week at the office?" Betty grumbled as she climbed into the car.

"I'll call you if I can. I fly to Paris on Monday as you well know. Don't hurt my car; drive it carefully," Reginald slammed the door and leaned in the window to kiss Betty goodbye.

Reginald stormed back into the cottage, slamming the door closed on his way into the lounge room where Charlotte sat quietly sobbing with her head in her hands.

Reginald took a fistful of her hair and yanked Charlotte to her feet. He stared at his son's face with loathing and disgust. Still holding Charlotte by her hair he ran his fingers across her face, smearing her lipstick, blush, eyeliner and mascara and then he dragged her by her hair to the door and threw her onto the floor in the corridor.

"Go and wash that shit off your face and get changed into some proper clothes!" he growled, barely containing his anger.

Charlotte scampered along the floor, her heels skittering on the polished wood. She reached up and her fingers found the wainscoting and she hoisted herself unsteadily to her feet and staggered to the bathroom.

Reginald watched his pathetic excuse for a son lock himself and the bathroom and cursed.

"Fucking pansy!"

He and his wife had long suspected their youngest was different. Charles was small and effeminate in his ways, even the way he spoke. He was a loner who preferred his own company. Charles' mother Penelope had found his stash of feminine attire and hosiery and had spoken to Reginald about it. She also suspected that Charles was wearing his sister's clothes and borrowing things from the laundry basket. She'd found some of her intimates and nylons stained with semen.

Penelope encouraged Charles not to confront their son and 'beat it out of him' which was what Reginald wanted to do. She said it was a phase that a lot of teenage boys went through and that he would grow out of it.

When Charles started staying weekends at the cottage, in their mind pursuing outdoor activities, his parents were relieved. The stash of ladies clothing had disappeared from his bedroom and Charles had stopped fiddling with his sister's clothes and masturbating with their nylons.

"I should have guessed!" Reginald reprimanded himself and strode off to Charles' bedroom.

He ripped the wardrobe door open causing the hinges to buckle and flew into a rage when he saw the array of women's fashion hanging up and the shoes neatly paired together at the bottom of the wardrobe. He ripped the clothes off their hangers and threw them on the floor; the collection of high heels followed. Then he went over to the dresser and raked all of the cosmetics and accessories onto the pile and emptied the drawers full of lingerie and hosiery on top of the heap.

By then Charles was standing at the door wearing nothing but a towel, his face scrubbed clean and his smooth alabaster skin still damp.

"I need to get some clothes," he said timidly.

Reginald pushed past him.

"Get dressed and pack that pile of shit up and bring it out to the back garden," he growled.

Charles dressed in jeans T-shirt and trainers, all the time looking at his feminine accoutrements thrown together in a heap on the floor, crying but trying hard not to.

He scooped all of the clothing, shoes, makeup and accessories into two suitcases and two carry bags which he bought outside to the back garden as directed. He had to make two trips.

"Throw it in there!" his father pointed to a fire-pit that the family had sat around roasting chestnuts whilst warming themselves on crisp autumn evenings.

It broke Charles' heart to throw all of Charlotte's essentials on top of the kindling that his father had layered in the bottom of the pit.

"Now that," his father nodded sternly to a can of fire-starter liquid.

Charles shook his head.

Like lightning, his father's hand flew out and slapped him across the face.

"Do it you little poofter!" Reginald picked up the can of fire-starter and pushed it into Charles' chest.

Charles had no choice but to hold onto the can. His father made him shake the contents all over the clothes and other female accoutrements until the can was empty.

Reginald snatched the can out of his son's hand and thrust a box of matches, the kind that had long wooden shafts with red phosphorus tips.

Charles threw the matches on the ground.

His father picked them up and took one out. He forced the match into Charles' hand made him ignite it and then he held his son's hand over the fire-pit and squeezed it until Charles had no choice to release the match.

Everything that Charlotte owned went up in a sea of flames and became immediately engulfed in the blaze. Charles fell down onto the lawn and sobbed. His father spat into the roaring fire and went back inside the house. He came back with a pair of scissors.

"Hold still you fairy or you'll lose an eye!" Reginald huffed as he held down his struggling son and hacked at his hair, throwing the shorn locks into the fire.

When he had effectively shorn his son's head he grabbed Charles by the neck and forced him into the cottage and got him to pack up his things while he called for a taxi to take them to the railway station.

They both sat in the back of the taxi angry and silent.

"What was Betty doing at the cottage? Where you going to shag her? Does mom know?" Charles grumbled.

Reginald's fist flew out and connected with his son's cheek.

"Hey! Enough of that!" the taxi driver called from the front seat.

"Shut and drive," Reginald called back.

"Yes I was going to fuck her. That's what men do. They fuck pretty women; they don't dress up like one. Do you dream of being fucked like a woman when you're dressed like that? You disgust me!" Reginald yelled at his son.

"And of course mom knows. She likes a bit on the side too. A bit of young cock livens the old girl up and makes her a bit more chipper when I shag her," Reginald chuckled.

"Don't talk about mom like that!" Charles would never be able to look his mother straight in the eye again.

He'd suspected that his father played around, he was hardly ever home. But his mother! His mother was playing around too! His respect for his parents dissolved.

They transferred their bags from the taxi to the BMW at the train station and Charles climbed into the back so as to be as far away from his father as possible. His head was a mess of short spiky outcrops and dangly strands that his father had missed.

They stopped at a barber on the way home and Reginald took Charles inside.

"Short back and sides!" Reginald growled at the barber.

"I'm eighteen. I can decide how I want my hair cut," Charles protested.

But he had no choice really; his hair was in such disarray that only a short haircut would fix it.

Upon arriving home a family crisis meeting was held with Reginald, Penelope and Charles all shouting at each other. Charles' main argument was that he was technically an adult and could do as he pleased. Reginald countered that Charles didn't have a penny to his name but could do whatever he wanted but not while he was living under his roof.

Penelope acted as a calming influence; she didn't want to lose her son and definitely did not want to see him destitute. So she called for a compromise.

"I'm not going to pay his allowances and college fees so he can go around playing dressup!" he ranted.

"I'm not going to be told how to live my life!" Charles shouted back.

"What about if... what about if... Charles... you agree to curtail your dress-ups as your father calls them until you graduate from university and we give you access to your trust fund," Penelope began.

"Oh, bollocks to that!" Reginald swore.

"Let me finish!" Penelope said impatiently.

"But you go to a school of your father's choosing. Somewhere a bit less liberal," Penelope finally finished.

Charles knew he had no choice. He was reliant on his parents until he graduated. If he dropped out now he'd have nothing and be homeless.

Chelmsford Private College was a throwback to the long ago days of British boarding schools where the schoolmasters' authority was limited to the classroom. The school was beholden to a strict system whereby the upper housemen enforced discipline and good order on the junior housemen. It also had draconian rules such as: all boys must participate in a team sport: rugby, soccer or lacrosse. During their first year the boys must join the school cadet corps who paraded one night a week and held weekend bivouacs. The boys must abide by the code of conduct and defer to their seniors.

The College was elite and its academic performance was astounding with most of the students finishing in the upper ten percentile of their curricula.

Reginald loved the idea of Charles attending the school and Charles hated it.

Charles had no choice and was enrolled to start at the beginning of the next term.

*****

September 1984

Charles hated Chelmsford College as soon as he saw it. It was a large brooding grey granite monstrosity that had been continually added onto over the ensuing years since it had opened and it loomed over the manicured lawns, playing fields and flagstone parade ground. It was rectangular with five stories and towers and spires protruding haphazardly from the roof. The college was surrounded by dense woods, almost cutting it off from the outside world.

The minimum curriculum offered was a three year bachelor's degree and most stayed the additional two years for their masters. Tuition cost ten thousand pounds per annum with an additional ten thousand pound boarding fee. Charles was expected to perform at the highest level and make the most of the money his parents were paying for his education.

The junior year students joined the college over a long weekend where their parents dropped the young men off and saw them settled. Being young men out on their own for the first time, most were standoffish and embarrassed when their parents bade them tearful goodbyes. That was not the case with Charles, whose father dropped him off with his suitcases and a warning to work hard and do well and give up any pretentions he had of pretending to be a girl.

Charles just sneered at his father and went to find a luggage trolley to take his suitcases up to his dorm. He would not be going home for three months because during the first year of college the students were not allowed off campus except during the holidays between terms.

Charles was lucky; his father had paid for a single dorm room so he wouldn't be sharing. It was one of the stipulations that Charles said was a deal breaker and Penelope supported him. He claimed that living alone he could concentrate on his studies with a view to gaining his degree as soon as possible, which would both free him of being ensconced in a boarding school and limit his parent's financial obligations. It was agreed to by all three parties.

He found a luggage cart and loaded his three suitcases and two carry bags onto the cart which had one wheel that wanted to go in a different direction to the other three. He wheeled it to the rickety lift that looked like it had been in operation for at least fifty years. The lift rattled and groaned its way to the third floor where Charles' allocated dorm room was located at the end of the corridor. The room was considered luxurious by college standards but if it was a hotel room it would be lucky to rate two stars.

The cart banged into the wall half a dozen times on the way to his room courtesy of the wonky wheel but Charles managed to push the cart into his dorm room, unpack his luggage and take the cart back downstairs and stow it in its allocated space under the stairs in the foyer. He climbed the stairs back to his room rather than risking the dodgy lift and he was later to find out the juniors were not allowed to use the lifts anyway unless they were hauling a load of some sort.

Charles locked himself in his room and surveyed what was to be his home for at least the next three years.

The main room was a simple box with a window that looked over the quadrangle; the walls were papered in fading and water-stained wallpaper. Charles went to the window which was painted shut, a dozen or so new arrivals were wandering around looking confused as they tried to find their dorms. Charles closed the thick drapes and turned on the overhead light and the floor and desk lamps. He lugged the three suitcases to the bed which was roughly the equivalent of a king single. The carry bags contained luxuries that his mother had packed for him and he stowed them away in a small cupboard next to the heavy desk which was pushed against the wall opposite the bed beside a small dressing table. The scarred old oak furniture made the room feel cramped.

One suitcase contained his army uniform and fatigues that he would wear when he paraded with the school cadet corps. His father had actually accompanied Charles to the tailor for the final fitting of his dress uniform and he almost swelled with pride when he saw his son dressed in his Private's uniform. Charles hated it. He hung up the uniform, and fatigues, and the boots he had been told to spit-polish went on the floor under the uniform; the cap on a shelf above. The second suitcase contained his school uniforms: grey trousers, white long-sleeved shirt, a blazer with the school emblem on the pocket and a jumper with the school's colours in piping around the collar and cuffs, two school ties and black brogues. Into the drawers went a selection of underpants, vests and socks.

The last suitcase contained his PT rig, trainers, some personal effects, toiletries and pyjamas. These also got packed away in the large, three-door wardrobe; on the back of one wardrobe door was a full-length mirror. He took the toiletries kit into the bathroom which consisted of a large stained porcelain enamelled bathtub, an equally water-stained sink; a small cabinet over the sink had a mirror on the door with the silver backing peeling away in places. There was a toilet with a wooden seat and bucket full of cleaning products that he would have to replace from his own funds as he used them.

Except for a weekly change of sheets left outside the dorm room each Friday, there was no such thing as room service and he was expected to keep his room immaculately clean. The upper housemen and faculty could inspect his room any time they felt like it and he had to stand formal rounds every Monday morning before classes.

Charles checked the door was locked and then came back to the bed and opened the zippered compartment in the third suitcase and he smiled for the first time since he had arrived at Chelmsford College.

He had been secretly purchasing and squirreling away his contraband since he had agreed to enrol at Chelmsford Private College. Before him, neatly folded in the suitcase were two skirts, two blouses, a micro-mini cocktail dress, three sets of bras and knickers, two suspender belts, two pairs of high heels, several packages of stockings and tights, three wigs, a cosmetics case, a small valise full of costume jewellery, packets of facial wipes and face cream. He took out the small bottle of perfume and sprayed just a scintilla into the air and breathed in the delicious aroma.

Charlotte might be down but she was not out.

Against the wall opposite the bed and close to the door was a lowboy on which sat a small colour television, a VCR, and a cassette player-radio combination. These luxuries were paid for by his parents but could be taken away at any time should he transgress the school rules.

Charles fingered the video cassette that his father had forgotten to burn when he had burnt all of Charlotte's belongings at the family cottage. He put the copy of Trans Sexcretary into the suitcase that contained Charlotte's new clothes, locked it and put it away in the top of the wardrobe and put the other suitcases on the shelf next to it.

He produced a brown paper bag which contained a simple steel hasp-and-staple door bolt, fitting-screws, and a screwdriver which he had bought at a hardware store. It took him a while to fit the hasp and staple to the solid oak door and the architrave surrounding it because he had no means of drilling into the wood, but once he got the screws started he was able to exert enough force to secure them. He was happy with his handiwork; the last thing he wanted was someone to come barging into his dorm while was dressed as Charlotte.

It was time explore the college grounds. He had visited the college when his enrolment had been accepted and one of the lower housemen had given him a cursory tour of the place but it was time to get acquainted with his new home.

*****

Charles took the stairs to the ground floor and crossed the quadrangle to the college proper. A small group of boys were reading a noticeboard and Charles sidled up to it. There were several notices pinned to the board for the attention of the lower housemen. The first notice he read was a flyer advising for all of the freshmen to muster in the Grand Hall at eight o'clock on Monday for induction. The second was the selections for team sports. Charles was slim and fit and could run fast, he'd been a cross-country runner at his previous school and there was cross-country running here at Chelmsford but it wasn't considered a team sport. It was offered as an alternative for the twice-weekly PT sessions.

Charles had selected soccer as his first choice, then lacrosse and put down rugby as his least desired sport. He been selected for rugby and was disappointed. The next notice he read was the house selections. There were four houses at Chelmsford College named after the heraldry and blazon on the Chelmsford City coat of arms. They houses were: Lion, River, Crozier and Bridge and the school motto 'Many Minds One Heart' was also taken from that heraldry.

Charles was to be inducted into Bridge House. The College kept the archaic House system alive and Charles had read the leaflet provided in the 'joining pack' the school had sent him with some trepidation. It stated:

The upper housemen have a responsibility to be exercised by them over the lower boys, for the sake of securing a regular government among the young men themselves, and avoiding the evils of anarchy. Chelmsford Private College maintains the tradition and recognises that the advantages of thus granting the young men a kind of autonomy have stood the test of time is obvious from the fact that this system existed in almost all the great public schools founded during the 19th century. The rights of the upper housemen carry with it certain well-defined duties. The housemaster is the protector of his House, and responsible for their happiness and good conduct. In cases of bullying or injustice their appeal is to the house master not to the form master, and, except in the gravest cases, all such cases are dealt with by the housemaster on his own responsibility and without report to the form master.

What Charles interpreted this to mean was that the lower housemen were committed to a form of vassalage and subjugation to the upper housemen, with little right to appeal to the faculty if they feel they are being treated unfairly.

Charles noticed that already some of the new students were starting to bond within their houses. They sought out other members of their House and introduced themselves. He had no interest in doing so, he was here under sufferance and would abide by the school rules but he didn't have to like it. He continued to explore the college and located the Grand Hall, the dining room in which the tables were arranged by Houses with the upper housemen's tables being at the front and lower housemen's tables at the rear of cavernous room. There was a gym, an indoor heated swimming pool and of course lecture theatres and classrooms.

Charles purposely located every place that he would need to be during the ensuing days of indoctrination so that he didn't look like a dummy who didn't know where to go and when. He studiously read and reread the timetable he had received in the joining pack and located the venue for each activity. He eventually found the Bridge House common room which was the domain exclusively for the housemen of Bridge House. Emblazoned on the door was the heraldic three arched stone bridge that crossed the River Can. He tried the door but found it locked.

"What do you think you are doing?" the gruff voice came from behind Charles and startled him out of his reverie.

He turned so quickly that he almost stumbled and felt a little guilty and embarrassed even though he had no reason to. Standing there looking overly-confident with a sneer on his face was a young man who was obviously an upper houseman. He projected a sense of arrogance and self-assuredness that came from knowing he was incredibly handsome and intelligent. One tail of his shirt was untucked, his tie loosened and a little askew, his expensive black brogues were scuffed but despite this the young man had a casual sense of style that made the dreary college uniform look dapper. His sandy French-cut hair was too long to be regulation, dipping over his collar at the back and a sweeping fringe that accented his deep blue eyes.

"I'm to join Bridge House and I just wanted to see what our common room looks like," Charles answered as confidently as he could.

"Robert Fellows, housemaster of Bridge House," the young man extended his hand and offered a smile that could have graced the cover of a fashion magazine.

Charles smiled back; relieved that his housemaster was a pleasant friendly chap. He offered his own hand and Robert took it in a firm grip and shook it.

"Charles Ward sir, pleased to meet you," Charles returned the smile.

When Charles tried to take back his hand Robert held it tight, and then tighter still, squeezing it until it began to hurt. The smile on Robert's face reverted back to the sneer with which Charles had originally been greeted. Robert crushed Charles' hand and pulled him closer so that Robert was towering over him.

"You little snot! You're not a Bridge houseman until I induct you and the common room is off limits to lower housemen unless they are invited or summoned. Do you understand you little faggot?" Robert released Charles hand and he fell back against the wall.

"Taking a rip on your very first day; not a very auspicious start young Mister Ward," Robert pulled a white card out of his blazer pocket.

He wrote something on it using a Mont Blanc fountain pen, holding the cap between his teeth while he scribbled, and then handed it Charles.

A 'rip' was issued for sub-standard work or a breach of school or house rules and must be submitted to the boy's housemaster for signature. Young men who accumulated too many rips are liable to be given a 'White Badge' which they have to wear displayed prominently at all times. A houseman wearing a white badge is considered in disgrace and can be called upon at any time to do extra work, chores or run errands for the upper housemen until they have 'paid off their rips' only when agreed to by a meeting of the House council.

"Here; take this and fuck off. I'll be keeping an eye on you Mister Ward," Robert walked casually away.

"Fuck!" Charles stuffed the rip into his pocket.

"What an archaic and demeaning way to run a school," Charles huffed and hurried away back to his dorm.

This was one of the rub points between Charles and his father when his father had directed that he attend Chelmsford Private College. Although the college curriculum was very progressive, the rules and regulations hadn't changed since the early nineteen hundreds.

Charles sought sanctuary in his room, carefully locking and bolting the door. He took a bath, shaved the few fine hairs from his soft cheeks and bought down the suitcase in which Charlotte resided. He took solace spending the rest of the afternoon and evening as Charlotte. Although she was confined to her room it was wonderful just to allow her out after being locked away for so long.

*****

On Monday morning Charles was ravenous and he quickly dressed, checking himself carefully in the mirror before he left his dorm to make his way to the dining hall. Breakfast was served between six and seven thirty in the morning and was the only informal meal of the day. Lunch and dinner were taken together by the students and faculty and were formal affairs, especially dinner.

Charles stood in line at the servery and was plated a hearty breakfast by a plump, pretty matron with a pleasant disposition whom he would come to know as Mrs Figgis.

"Get that inside you lad, you're going to need all your energy over the coming days but you'll soon get used to the school. The freshmen are sitting at those tables over there until they are inducted into their House," Mrs Figgis waved his plate towards a line of tables where groups of new students were eating breakfast and chattering away.

Charles found a seat by himself and began to scoff down his breakfast between slurps of hot tea served in a large mug. He felt self-conscious sitting by himself and was very aware that he was the most diminutive of all the young men sitting at the table. That was until a scrawny young man in an ill-fitting uniform approached and asked to sit beside him.

"May I?" the youth nodded at the chair beside Charles who nodded his consent.

The young man's plate was filled to overflowing with a good old English fry-up and Charles wondered where the lank young man was going to put all that food.

"William Larkin," the boy muttered around a mouthful of sausage and egg, he rubbed his hands together and offered Charles a hand.

"Charles Ward," Charles offered his hand in return.

Over breakfast Charles learned that William Larkin was one of the few scholarship students at the college and was also to be assigned to Bridge House; William had been selected for the soccer team and claimed to be an excellent goalkeeper. They had several classes together and struck up a loose friendship. This was the antithesis of Charles' usual behaviour as he was a loner and seldom made friends easily but there was something about William's demeanour that Charles liked.

After breakfast they made their way to the Grand Hall where around one hundred freshmen had gathered for induction. The Headmaster, one Francis Lister, introduced himself and droned on about the history of the college and repeatedly reminded the young men that they were indeed privileged to be at a university that has kept the traditions of the past unlike the modern universities that had become coeducational and lax in their discipline.

After the introductory speech the young men were directed to follow their timetables which had them attending their academic classes in order to meet their tutors, receive an introduction to their subjects and collect their text books. The next day they were to meet on the sporting fields. The inductees soon discovered that except for those who were exceptional at a particular sport, none of the lower housemen had been assigned their preferred sport. It would be character-building to play a new sport to which they were unaccustomed it was explained.

Charles' was not surprised to discover that Robert Fellows was Captain of the rugby team. He initially divided the young men by their size, assigning the larger boys the roles of forwards and handed them off to the Vice Captain to begin training and be assigned their on-field positions.

"Righto you lot, let's see what you can do," he growled at the remaining slender lads.

They were put through a series of sprints and then made to run a zigzag course through cones placed on the field to test their agility. He split them up into twos and had them run up and down the field passing and receiving the ball. Charles' failed to partner-up because of the odd number of backs and his reluctance to participate.

"Righto snotty; looks like you're with me," he threw the rugby ball at Charles, who to his own surprise caught it.

Robert ran Charles ragged but he managed to keep up; all those years of cross country running paid off. He fumbled the ball a few times but soon became adept at catching and passing the ball once he got used to the shape and feel of it. Charles was feeling quite chuffed until they began tackling practice.

"Righto snotty, you're up first. Don't let anyone get past you," Robert ordered.

Charles had to meet a succession of players head on and tackle them which began to take a toll on his stamina and his body. Charles began to miss tackles and Robert continued to deride him, screaming at him that he was useless every time an attacker got through his defence.

"Righto, you little shit. I'm coming at you full belt heading for that try-line and if I get past you, there will be hell," Robert expertly kicked the ball downfield, ran under it and caught it.

He turned and ran at Charles at full speed and Charles steadied himself to make the tackle. Just before Robert was level with Charles he jinked right and Charles dived to stop him. He smiled to himself the instant that he got his hands around Robert's waist and used all his force to try to drag him to the ground. Robert tried to fend Charles off and Charlie's hands slid down to Robert's knees, who then squirmed sideways to break the tackle. Charles hands slipped down to Robert's ankles but he hung on and Robert fell to the ground with Charles following but still holding on. The tackle had been made and Charles was pleased with himself until he realised that as Robert had been bought down he had managed to reach out one-handed and ground the ball over the try-line.

Robert got up with a smug grin on his face and came over to Charles and offered him his hand to help him up. Charles put out his hand and Robert pulled him to his feet.

"Not a bad effort," Robert smiled at him and tousled his hair.

Charles smiled back and was rewarded by Robert putting his leg behind Charles and then pushing him in the chest so that he fell heavily to the ground.

"But not good enough you plonker; if that happened in a game it could have been the match winning try you just let through," he kicked Charles in the shin.

"Now get up and give me fifty and fifty."

Fifty and fifty was fifty push-ups and fifty laps of the rugby field.

Robert called the team together and gave them a pep talk while Charles began his push-ups. The team left the field leaving Charles to complete his fifty and fifty by himself. Finally, exhausted, he hobbled back to the deserted change rooms to find that Robert had written him a rip and put it in his kit bag.

That evening after dinner, the freshmen were to be inducted into their Houses. The lower housemen were directed to report to their House common rooms dressed in shorts and t-shirts and to bring a towel and spare pair of shorts.

Charles and the twenty or so pledgelings lined up outside the door to Bridge House common room and were summoned in one at a time. The floor had been cleared and the housemaster sat on a throne-like chair at the front of the room surrounded by the upper housemen who were wearing their House jumpers and football shorts.

The pledgelings entered one at a time recited the House pledge and were then sent to kneel on the hard wooden floor. What followed was a series activities involving harassment, abuse or humiliation. Each of the pledgelings was ordered to lower their pants and received a paddling on their buttocks and then they were offered a mug of vile liquid that they had to drink and keep down. They were pelted with eggs and rotten food which they had to lick off the floor. Some of the pledgelings including Charles became sick and were made to lick that up as well. Charles and William stuck together through the hazing, giving each other moral support.

After further abuse the pledgelings had to clean up the mess the upper housemen had made and when the floor was spotless they were led outside, stripped naked and hosed off with cold water. They towelled off and put on their clean shorts.

The pledgelings were paraded back inside the common room and lined up before housemaster to be assigned an upper houseman for whom they would be indebted to fag. Charles was mortified when he was assigned to the housemaster Robert Fellows who grinned at him evilly when the announcement was made.

After the announcements the atmosphere changed completely. The lower housemen were issued with their house jumpers and two of them were ordered to roll in a barrel of beer from the pantry whilst the rest of them rolled out the carpets and rearranged the furniture. Then the drinking began.

Drinking on campus was only allowed in the house common rooms and on special occasions in the dining hall but most of the upper housemen kept a bottle in their dorms. The newly indicted lower housemen were directed to fill and keep refilling the glasses of upper housemen to which they were committed to fag. They were expected to match the consumption of their seniors and a bout of binge drinking ensued.

The lower housemen did not sit with the upper housemen of course, they were confined to the back of the room but had to keep an eye on their elders and ensure that their glasses were refilled with alacrity.

Charles and William sat together drinking ale and chatting, bounding away to refill the glasses of the upper housemen when required to do so. As the ale flowed the upper and lower housemen began to mingle, singing the house anthem and bawdy rugby songs. Lubricated with alcohol there was almost a sense of friendship developing.

Near the end of the evening Robert Fellows drunkenly put his arm around Charles and pulled him close.

"Do you know why I selected you to be my fag?" he muttered almost incoherently.

Charles shook his head.

"Because I think you are going to make a good winger or half back on the rugby field. I have checked your academic records and you performed exceptionally well on your A-levels," Robert burped.

He pulled Charles even closer and whispered in his ear.

"Also... I know your secret you little princess."

Charles paled and passed out.

To be continued

September 1984

Charles lived with the veiled threat made by Robert Fellows that he knew Charles' secret, whatever that meant; but Robert didn't bring it up again over the ensuing days and Charles was just too busy to ruminate over it as the days turned into weeks.

Besides the hours he devoted to class and studies, his compulsory extracurricular activities took up most of his spare time. There was rugby training three times a week and Charles had become quite adept at the game and as Robert had predicted became a useful winger. Charles was also a Private in the school cadet corps and paraded one night a week and attended weekend bivouacs once a month.

He was not really interested in marching up and down the square or playing squaddie, it reminded him of a Monty Python sketch in a newly released movie. That said, he became quite a capable member of his platoon and was promised a promotion to Corporal or possibly even Sergeant if he stayed in the corps as a middle houseman when enrolment in the school cadet corps became elective rather than compulsory.

Any spare time Charles had was spent fagging for Robert Fellows, the housemaster of Bridge House, who enjoyed the luxury of a dorm room that resembled a small apartment. Charles was required to keep it clean and tidy, clean the housemaster's shoes and boots, press his clothes and run errands for him.

This left Charles little time to present as Charlotte but she appeared at least twice a week. Because the compulsion was so strong he would sacrifice precious sleep to spend hours dressed as Charlotte in the privacy of his dorm. Lack of sleep led to the occasional faux pas and one day he was close to dozing during a particularly boring lecture when he noticed little half-moons of nailpolish on his cuticles and once when washing his hands after using the lavatory he saw the remains of eyeliner on his lower eyelids in the mirror.

He and William Larkin continued their friendship and although there was little time for socialising, being in the same house meant they were often together at house functions where the lower housemen were used as cheap labour, setting up, serving drinks and cleaning up after, but as the school year progressed the middle and upper housemen let up on them a little and allowed them to participate in house activities. After all they needed to pass on the Bridge House traditions to the next generation of housemen.

Charles found that he and William were alike in not only being small and slender in stature, they often affected the same mannerisms. William spoke with lisp and had rather a high voice, Charles noted that William often seemed to be appraising the older youths during sports and wondered if he might be gay. There was an undercurrent of homosexuality at the school. It was never spoken about but some of the older boys seemed to be on very friendly terms with some of the lower housemen, especially the more epicene.

Robert Fellows continued to bully Charles, issuing him rips for menial or imagined breaches of the rules which caused Charles to work even harder as part of his punishment. The only time he seemed pleased with Charles was when they were on the rugby field. Charles became a prolific try scorer. Being fast, agile and slender he had the ability to outrun his opponents, break tackles, and set up tries.

During a close game against their arch rivals Harrow College, Chelmsford College were down by ten points at halftime and the boys sat in the dressing rooms dejected, catching their breath, guzzling water and eating quartered oranges.

"We have to score first after halftime," Robert growled.

"Pay attention; I have a plan," he stalked up to the blackboard and picked up the chalk.

"Their defence is almost impenetrable but I've noticed they tend to use a blitz rather than a sliding defence to defend their tryline hoping to win the ball in the ruck."

"Ward... I need you to take one for the team," Robert's eyes drilled into Charles.

Charles simply nodded. The opposition forwards were big men and their backs were not that much smaller, the team relied on brute force rather that agility.

"I want you wide on the wing at the twenty-five yard line ready to take the pass. But I don't want you to run full-bore zig zagging past the first line of defence."

This was how Charles had scored two tries in the match already but the opposition had figured out his tactics and effectively shut him down.

"I want you to run down the sideline at three-quarter pace to draw in the defensive line to you in as a pack. You, Steven, will be at outside centre and at the last second Ward will flick you a pass enabling you to run around the pack and score," Robert drew the little circles and crosses on the chalkboard to depict the manoeuvre.

"Those Harrow lads will chew Charles up when they make the tackle," someone at the back of the room mumbled.

"Who said that?" Robert scrutinised the assembled team for the dissenter.

The team remained silent.

The teams took to the field after half-time and as soon as Chelmsford got to Harrow's defensive line they made the play.

Winning the scrum, the fly-half got the ball out to Charles on the wing who slowed his usual lightning speed to a canter which Harrow's defence saw as a weakness they could exploit. Their middle opened up as the defensive line swarmed at him and at the last second Charles threw a pass inside to Steven Belfour-Brown at outside centre. The defence hit Charles like an express train and he felt the wind knocked out him and then an aggregation of pain as fists, shoulders and boots crashed into his body driving him to the ground in a sea of agony.

Charles lay on the turf under a pile of hard heavy bodies, barely conscious but he smiled when he heard the referee blow his whistle indicating that Steven Belfour-Brown had scored under the posts.

When the melee finally got off him he lay dazed on the ground and his teammates came over to him to see how he had fared. The waterboy came over with the 'magic sponge' and splashed water on his face while two of his teammates dragged him to his feet.

"Great play Charles," Steven Belfour-Brown came over with a wide grin on his face.

The fullback kicked the goal and the team reset for the kick-off. Charles was visibly limping when he took up his position. He lagged in the play, his body battered and bruised and several of his teammates told him to go off the ground injured but he refused.

Chelmsford were about to set up for a lineout at Harrow's twenty-five yard line when Robert Fellows called out to make the play again from the next ruck.

"Fuck off Robert; they'll kill him," Steven Belfour-Brown called out.

"Make the fucking play!" Robert snarled.

Charles took up position wide on the opposite wing and the ball passed through many hands and found him. This time he didn't need to pretend to run at half speed, it was all he could do. The men of the defensive line wanted revenge and were determined to crush him before he could pass.

Charles made the pass a split second before he felt a crushing weight and felt something popping in his shoulder and then he blacked out. He woke up on a stretcher on the sideline and despite being ordered to the infirmary he watched the end of the game. Chelmsford won by six points.

Charles was taken to the infirmary for a full check-up and had to remain overnight for observation for the concussion he had suffered. Most of the team visited him and congratulated him on his courage which had won them the game.

William Larkin visited him that evening bringing chocolates and pop.

"Christ Charles; the whole school is talking about your two tries and the sacrificial runs you made up the wing," William plonked himself down on the edge of the cot.

"The soccer team won two nil too. I saved a penalty," William grinned.

Robert Fellows came into the infirmary the next day and issued Charles a rip for failing to attend the morning dorm inspection.

Charles expected nothing else.

The nurse gave Charles a physical examination the next morning and issued him a chit excusing him from PT, rugby training and cadet parades for five days due to the injuries he had sustained. He was given the morning off to recuperate. Monday morning was a slow day for Charles anyway. After breakfast and dorm inspection he was programmed to attend lectures and then finish the morning with PT which for him usually meant a cross-country run.

He ambled back to his dorm and found the door wide open. Because he had failed to stand outside his dorm and report it for Monday morning inspection the housemaster had opened the door with his master key. He'd found Charles' room immaculate but had flew into a rage and scattered Charles' possessions around the room.

Charles gingerly picked up his chattels and cleaned up the mess. He sat at his desk and sighed, opening a text book to study the lecture he was missing. He flicked through a few pages and then something caught his eye. The doors at the top his wardrobe were ajar. Charles paled and wincing with pain he got out of his seat and locked the door and opened the wardrobe doors wide.

His suitcases had been moved; someone had taken them down and then put them back. He took down the two cases that held his 'civilian clothing' and put them aside and then he took down the case that held Charlotte's things.

The locks had been sprung and he carefully opened it. Lying on top of Charlotte's accoutrements was a rip. Written in Robert Fellows' handwriting were the words: 'As you are excused evening parade you are to report to the Bridge House common room ensuring you are neat and clean as you should have been for this morning's inspection. Bring this suitcase.'

He rummaged through the suitcase but the search was to no avail; his copy of Trans Sexcretary was missing

*****

Charles spent the rest of the day terrified. It was obvious that Robert Fellows knew his secret; he had told him so the night of his house initiation but now he knew for certain, the evidence was damning. William Larkin joined him at lunch and dinner and he was still upbeat about Charles' performance of the rugby field, so were most of his housemates who congratulated him on being instrumental in the win.

Charles could hardly eat, his mind wandered during lectures and he was quiet and withdrawn which William put down to Charles' concussion.

After dinner Charles returned to his dorm, and as instructed, he forewent the cadet parade and used the toilet, took a bath, shaved, ironed a clean shirt and dressed in a clean school uniform. He took down the suitcase that held Charlotte inside it, took a deep breath, and headed for the stairs. If it hadn't been such a cold evening he would likely have been sweating, not so much from the weight of the suitcase but from trepidation. He could hear orders being shouted out on the parade ground by young men playing at soldiers; the commands sounded almost ghostly as they echoed down the stone corridors.

He met no one, all the junior housemen were on parade and middle and upper housemen were either in their dorms or their house common rooms. Charles approached the Bridge House common room with fear and apprehension.

There was a sign taped to the door: Closed for Council Meeting. He knocked on the door.

"Come," Robert Fellows deep voice beckoned.

Charles opened the door and as it swung open the hinges moaned; almost a vocalisation of the dread he felt.

The common room was empty except for the housemaster, an almost unheard of situation unless there was a House council meeting. The House council was purportedly elected by the House to support the faculty appointed housemaster. The fact that the three current members were Robert's cronies and rugby teammates didn't raise an eyebrow; no one expected a fair election, the housemaster wanted a council who supported and rubber-stamped his every decision. Every House at Chelmsford College was the same.

"Ah, Charles, welcome. Put your little suitcase over there and come sit," Robert's faux friendliness was disconcerting.

He was wearing tracksuit pants and a longsleeved t-shirt, definitely not house attire but who was here to chastise him? He would have been freezing except for the roaring fire behind his ornate, almost throne-like chair.

"Come and sit here and let's have a chat," he pointed to a hard-backed chair set up in front of him.

Charles knees nearly gave way on him as he made his way to the chair; his body still ached from the pounding he had taken on the rugby field. As he sat he once again noted Robert Fellows' chiselled features, his perfectly coiffed hair, a little long with the sweeping fringe that accented his deep blue eyes. He was incredibly handsome and he knew it.

"You did a half decent job on the field yesterday Ward but we're not here to talk about that," Robert said with some finality.

"We're here to talk about this," Robert picked up a VCR tape and turned it over slowly in his fingers.

Charles stomach swooped and if he had eaten any dinner he surely would have bought it up. He just hung his head and remained silent.

"You know it's against College rules to have pornography on campus," he continued to twirl the damning tape in his hands.

Of course every lad in College had a stash of pornography. While cleaning Robert Fellows' room Charles had found a stack of Mayfair and Fiesta magazines and once he had seen the cover of a VHS tape on top of Robert's VCR player titled Naughty Maids depicting a woman dressed as a French maid impaled on a huge phallus. It was an open secret that students hoarded pornography and besides, young men cooped up in a male-only environment needed relief.

Charles just nodded.

"Interesting movie by the way; the House Council found it intriguing too," Robert grinned at him and reached for his cigarettes.

Charles thought he was going to faint.

"Don't worry; we can keep a secret. We have many secrets," Robert lit two cigarettes and handed one to Charles.

Charles seldom smoked but took the offered cigarette and drew deeply on it.

"Funny how us Brits call cigarettes fags... and you're also a fag aren't you? You're my fag," Robert blew on the tip of his cigarette making the red ember glow in the gloom.

"Do you know what fag also means?"

"It is a synonym for tired or exhausted," Charles croaked.

"Now you're just being coy. Our American cousins use the word as slang for something else don't they?"

Charles remained silent and took a puff on his cigarette.

"Anyway; we're disappearing down rabbit holes," Robert smirked.

"My father, Grange Fellows, is a member of Brooks's, which is a gentlemen's club on St James's Street. It is one of the oldest and most exclusive gentlemen's clubs in London."

"But I'm telling you nothing you don't already know because Reginald Ward, your father, is a member of the same club. Isn't that interesting?"

"Do you know that your father and my father are friends Charles? Isn't that a coincidence? Our fathers are friends and we're at the same college and we're friends too... well sort of. You're more my servant than my friend."

Robert placed the video tape on the table and slid it across in front of Charles.

"Your father was in his cups one night at the club and told my father, in strictest confidence of course, that he had found his youngest son dressed up as a girl. Isn't that interesting?"

"No need to answer; the question is rhetorical."

"Anyway... he told my father that he had sent his son to a university college that was very strict and disciplined. It was going to make a man out of him he said. My father, who is usually quite discreet, passed on the little titbit of information to me when I was home at the end of last term... sort of warning me to be on the lookout for a pansy who might need a little manning-up so to speak."

"I thought I'd done a pretty good job too. Your grades are excellent and you are highly regarded by the Cadet Under-Officers, silly chaps playing toy soldiers if you ask me, and you have become a very useful rugby player."

"But then I find that," Robert pointed accusingly at Charles' suitcase.

"I've often wondered what the fascination is with dressing up like a girl. Don't get me wrong; it's a fine English tradition. Dressing up in women's clothing has long been a custom in the theatre, amongst certain effeminate types, and even the odd MP has been known to slip into a pair of knickers and stockings when it takes their fancy."

"But then we looked at that tape. It seems that you not only like to slip into a skirt and blouse, slap on the paint and put on a wig, you seem to like a little bit of sodomy," Robert grinned evilly.

"No! I don't! I just use the video for stimulation, just like you look at those women on the tapes in your dorm, dressed in lingerie and being shagged," Charles face turned scarlet as he retaliated.

"Be that as it may. Bring along your little suitcase and follow me. The council wants to see why you are so fascinated with women's clothes," Robert arose from his throne and beckoned Charles to follow.

"Be a good chap and take the sign off the door first will you?"

Charles took the 'closed' sign off the door to the common room and then followed Robert through a door in back partially hidden behind a hinged bookcase. He had never been here before and followed Robert down a gloomy brick corridor and then down an even gloomier stone staircase where they came to a heavy door bound with sturdy old iron fittings. Robert inserted a key into the lock and the tumblers clicked ominously in the silence.

"The House council's inner sanctum," Robert said over his shoulder.

"You should feel privileged to be here; very few housemen ever get invited," he said as he opened the door, ushered Charles inside and then locked the door behind them.

The sanctum looked cavernous with its brick walls and granite flagging. There were no windows but the walls were decorated with the house flag, plaques and rich deep-burgundy and gold brocaded curtains. Expensive and ornate Indian fukari rugs gave relief from the cold stone floor; the furniture consisted of a series of red velour couches and recliners, black marble tables and brass standard lamps that gave the place a feeling of opulence, an open fireplace with a black wrought-iron fire guard and matching toolset commanded one corner.

The other three members of the of house council lay sprawled around the room, a bottle of expensive scotch whisky in a crystal decanter sat on one of the low tables and the council all held drinks in their hands. Steven Belfour-Brown and Wayne Jenkins were engaged in a heated conversation while Brian Nichol read a newspaper. They turned briefly to watch their housemaster enter the room and then went back to their conversation.

Charles had heard of this place but he believed its existence a myth. He was proved wrong.

"Follow me," Robert parted a floor-to-ceiling brocaded curtain and they stopped behind it.

"That's the privy," he pointed at a door that was nowhere near as ornate as the rest of the room.

"When you come out we want to see... what do you call yourself when you're dressed up as a girl?"

"I don't dress up; I become," Charles whispered but there was indignance in his voice.

"I become Charlotte. I transform," Charles bowed his head, embarrassed.

"Well goodbye Charles and hello Charlotte I suppose. Now run along and do what you do and let's see what all the fuss is about shall we?" Robert tapped him affectionately on the shoulder but Charles hated being talked down to like this.

There was some relief when he entered the privy and found that it had been converted into a modern bathroom with black and white tiled walls, a porcelain urinal, a toilet cubicle, a shower and a tiled bench with a sink and stainless steel fittings with a large mirror on the wall behind it. It was the antithesis of the common room and council's inner sanctum, being well lit, contemporary and functional.

Charles hefted his suitcase onto the bench and took a nervous piss. He looked at himself in the mirror and sighed. There was nothing he could do but to start his transformation.

Charlotte had longed to present herself to the outside world but not like this. She knew the other members of the council from rugby. They were bullies just like Robert Fellows and she fully expected to be ridiculed, taunted, teased and likely take a hiding. She would let them deride and beat her if that's what made them feel superior; she would take it all but they couldn't take her dignity.

"Jesus fucking Christ; look at her!" Wayne Jenkins stammered, spilling his drink as he pointed at Charlotte as she entered through the curtain.

Charlotte was dressed in a pencil skirt and satin blouse, stockings and high heels and wore her favourite jet-black wig which was bob-cut with a fringe in front and framed her face and curled under her chin. Her makeup was dramatic: rouge to accentuate her sharp cheekbones, black mascara and eyeliner and blended eyeshadow to emphasise her emerald green eyes and blood-red lipstick to give her lips fullness. She wore matching nailpolish, and had accessorised with ornate costume jewellery.

She had debated with herself as whether to do a half-arsed job and come out looking like 'a bloke in a dress' but she decided to remain true to herself despite what the consequences may be. She also suspected that if she tried to present an amateurish version of herself that Robert would see through the ruse and her punishment would be swift and brutal.

"Get over here!" Robert ordered.

Charlotte walked over to where Robert lay reclining on the sofa sipping scotch. Despite not wanting to present herself that way her tight skirt and four-inch heels gave her a seductive gait and her hips swung provocatively. She was extremely self-conscious as she stood in front of Robert. She was effectively encircled by the other members of the council lazing on their sofas, watching her intently.

"You would never know would you?" Steven Balfour-Brown looked her up and down.

"It's still a bloke in a dress and I don't want anything to do with it," Brian Nichol sneered.

"Tell the council your name sweetheart," Robert teased.

"My name is Charlotte," she spoke to the ground.

The four youths were amazed at the sound of her voice. Her looks, her mannerisms and the way she walked and talked; she was for all intents and purposes an attractive young woman. The only dissenter was Brian Nichol.

"Don't be shy. Lift your head and pirouette for us; let's see what you've got," Robert said.

Charlotte did as she was told; she raised her head and looked the young men in the eye as she turned around to face them one at a time.

"Come here," Robert beckoned.

The other three lads were amused and content to watch Robert torment Charlotte. One of his favourite pastimes was tormenting Charles and they expected nothing different just because he was wearing a skirt.

"Let me see you up close," Robert rose to his knees on the couch.

Charlotte stepped up so that she was eye to eye with him.

"Closer," he whispered.

Charlotte stepped in closer so that her face was only inches from his.

Robert studied her face. She was beautiful, her skin soft and glowing, defined cheekbones, the dark makeup accentuated her wide green eyes; her lips were full and pouty. He lifted a hand to her face and Charlotte winced in anticipation of a blow but instead Robert stroked her cheek, his fingers softly traced a line down to her mouth where his thumb brushed her slightly parted lips.

Robert smiled at Charlotte and edged forward so that his lips were almost touching hers. He could smell her perfume. He put his hands on her shoulders and moved his fingers slowly down her arms; then he caressed the back of her hands which hung limply at her sides. His hands moved to Charlotte's hips and she inhaled sharply and then even sharper when they moved to her buttocks, tracing the pert globes covered in the tight pencil skirt. His fingers continued their exploration down her thighs, softly caressing where the hem of her skirt touched her knees, lingering on her flesh.

Charlotte was visibly shaking with fear and possibly something else; she had never felt so confused. The sight of her standing before Robert, inches from his body as he slowly and silently explored her with his hands whilst gazing into her eyes was both exotic and erotic. Wayne Jenkins and Steven Belfour-Brown were sporting erections that were clearly visible in the front of their tracksuit pants.

When Robert's hand disappeared under Charlotte's skirt there was an audible gasp from everyone in the room. Charlotte was trembling but she refused to look away from Robert Fellows. If she was going to suffer indignity, she would suffer it proudly; she would not cower before this man.

Robert's fingers traced the backseam of her stocking to the silky dark welt and then followed a garter strap to the leg opening of her Harlow vintage knickers. The fabric felt cool and shimmery as he fondled it between his fingers. The other young men could see Robert's hand outlined through the fabric of Charlotte's tight skirt and they wondered when he was going to stop. He was getting close to putting his hand somewhere that they found both repugnant and excruciatingly arousing.

"Don't do it Rob. You're not some kind of poofter are you?" Brian Nichol called out breaking the spell.

Robert glared at Brian who glowered back at him. Charlotte stood stock still, her eyes lifted to the ceiling.

As an act of defiance Robert continued to explore under Charlotte's skirt. The audience watched in wonder as Robert's fingers grazed the glossy back and side panels of her knickers, lingering on her buttocks and then continuing onto the satin tummy panel.

Charlotte was trembling but she had returned her gaze Robert's face.

"Fuck this! You lot are crazy!" Brian Nichol arose and left the room, slamming the door behind him.

No one else in the room took any notice, they were all mesmerised.

"How do you do it?" Robert whispered.

Charlotte knew exactly what he meant. Why was there no bulge in her panties?

"I can err... I can... I can retract by testes... my balls," Charlotte stammered.

"And I just tape the rest underneath."

It was just bizarre. Charlotte was standing millimetres from a man who despised her but had his hand under her skirt, caressing her knickers while she explained the art of tucking and taping.

"Show us," Wayne Jenkins called out.

"Yeah... show us!" Steven Belfour-Brown followed suit.

"Well Charlotte dear... show them," Robert breathed heavily into her ear.

He took his hand from under her skirt and turned her to face his two chums.

Charlotte took the hem of her skirt in her fingers and began to pull the garment up her thighs. It was tight but the kick-pleat allowed a bit of give and she was able to shimmy the skirt slowly up her legs. The shimmy added to the provocativeness of the act, almost like she was performing a striptease.

"Oh I love a girl in stockings," Wayne Jenkins whispered.

All eyes were fixated on Charlotte as she disclosed her eight denier, ultra-bare, flesh-toned nylon stockings. She struggled with the hem of her skirt until the darker shadow welt appeared and then the coffee-coloured gauzy top welt where the garters were attached. The men gasped as her skirt continued to rise until Charlotte had it rucked around her waist exposing the peach coloured high-rise, high-cut, knickers.

Charlotte stood indignantly holding her skirt up, trembling but contemptuous, despite the single tear that ran down her cheek.

All three of the men were fully erect at the sight of the beautiful woman lifting her skirt to show them her underwear. Not one of them thought of Charles, all they could see was Charlotte.

"Can I pull my skirt down now?" she breathed softly.

"You may," Robert broke the tension.

"And would you like a drink Charlotte?" he asked almost affably.

Charlotte pulled down and straightened her skirt and as she did do she did not want to admit to herself that she had become slightly tumescent whilst she was being ogled and degraded. She would not be that girl.

"Come, sit here," Robert patted the cushion beside him.

Wayne and Steven crowded in, pulling their chairs close to where Charlotte sat stiffly upright on the edge of the seat next to Robert. She held her glass in both hands and sipped the pungent liquor.

Robert leaned out and picked up a remote control off the low table in front of him. The cord snaked across the floor to a lowboy television stand on which was perched a colour TV and VCR. The picture was frozen on the screen, distorted by fuzzy horizontal lines. He pressed the play button.

"So what's your favourite part of the video? Is it that?" Robert pointed to the television.

The sound was muted and on the screen and the 'secretary' was on her knees fellating the businessman who was standing, guiding her head with his hands as she bobbed up and down in his crotch. The shot was taken from behind the secretary and although you couldn't actually see any flesh, it was obvious what was happening.

Charlotte blushed.

"I told you; I just watch it for stimulation, I don't actually do anything like that," she whispered and lowered her head again.

Robert turned sideways and lifted Charlotte's face and as she turned to him she could see the bulge in the front of his tracksuit. She wasn't stupid and had seen that Wayne Jenkins and Steven Belfour-Brown were also tumescent. This was a bizarre situation for her; she was used to cleaning Robert's dorm or fagging for him or running around the rugby field with all three of them throwing passes or making tackles. Now they were ogling her like she was some kind strumpet they had paid to amuse them.

Robert studied her face again.

"I can't believe how beautiful and feminine you are," he sighed.

Charlotte didn't think she could blush any redder than she already had but she did, she flushed a deep crimson.

"What do you think your father would do if he knew that Charlotte still existed and was traipsing around the hallowed halls of his alma mater?" his face turned from amiable to villainous in an instant and Charlotte's face became pale.

"I'm not traipsing around the halls! I confine myself to my dorm; you're the one who forced me here!" Charlotte quipped.

"True enough but what would he think?" Robert countered.

Wayne and Steven were enjoying watching Charlotte squirm. As much as they found her delightful, the wicked streak in them shone through. It made it more titillating knowing that this woman was here against her will. Neither of them thought of her as Charles any longer; she was just Charlotte, the sexy coquette who was currently at their mercy.

"How would he find out?" Charlotte snapped back.

"What if say... an upper houseman whose father was friendly with Reginald Ward was to tell his father, who then passed the information on."

"Men can be very indiscreet in their cups," he chuckled.

"I take it this going somewhere? You've had me at your mercy every day since I arrived but now you have me entirely under your control. I'm no idiot Robert," the desperation in Charlotte's voice was tangible.

"Then get on your knees. Time to take one for the team," Robert's voice was thick despite his attempt at humour.

"Hey Robert, don't you think we've gone far enough?" Steven Balfour-Brown was having second thoughts.

"Your choice Steven, you can leave any time you want," Robert said without taking his eyes off Charlotte who had gotten on her knees in front of him.

Neither Steven nor Wayne moved. Instead they leaned forward in expectation.

Charlotte guessed what was coming. She had hoped that someday she might be able to do this with a nice man who desired and respected her; who treated her like a proper lady but it was not to be. She resigned herself to her fate. What was the saying her mother sometimes said jokingly: 'just lie back and think of England', except she wouldn't be lying; she would be on her knees instead. Somewhere deep in her psyche she wondered if her mother had ever done what she was about to; she supposed most women did, it was the eighties after all.

"I say Rob; you're not really going to make her do it are you?" Steven whispered.

"I'm not going to make her do anything. She can get up off her knees and walk out of here any time she wants to. She can even use the bogs to clean off her makeup and change before she leaves," Robert said, dry-mouthed.

"But if I do leave I suppose your father and my father are going to meet at Brooks's and have a conversation that will ruin my life?" Charlotte looked up at him.

"That's possible Charlotte. Anything's possible," Robert said dryly.

"I thought so," she leaned forward and her delicate fingers tipped with blood-red fingernails hooked into the waistband of Robert's tracksuit.

He eased himself up a little to assist as Charlotte pulled his tracksuit down. It bunched around his knees. His cock stood proud. It was rock-hard, long and slim with blue veins pulsing through the almost transparent silky skin. The pink glans was almost pretty, a single bead of silvery pre-ejaculate oozed from the tip.

Charlotte put her middle finger on the viscous bubble and collected it; then she enfolded Robert's cock in her fingers, delicately working them down the shaft.

Robert groaned and leaned back on the sofa but his eyes remained locked on the pretty young girl stroking his phallus.

Wayne Jenkins and Steven Belfour-Brown were transfixed watching the gorgeous lady dressed so provocatively with her heavy makeup, nylon stockings and high heels masturbate their friend. It was just like the pornos they liked to watch where three men used one pretty woman for their pleasure. They looked at each other and glared. They both wanted to be next.

For Charlotte, taking Robert's cock in her hand was not really that unpleasant. She had enacted out these scenes in her mind many times. She was the Sexcretary and an unnamed faceless man was her boss. She was compelled to pleasure him but she really wanted to anyway, she didn't need to be forced.

That was her fantasy. This was not.

Although taking a man's cock in her hand did not nauseate her; she still felt belittled and disgraced. She thought again about what her mother said about thinking of England and decided it would be best if she got this over with as quickly as possible.

Charlotte softly stroked Robert's hard flesh making him moan with desire. She gripped it a little tighter and increased the pace using the little droplets of pre-seminal fluid leaking from the eye of his cock to lubricate the substantial organ. She bought her other hand into play and softly cupped his scrotum, gently squeezing and caressing it, making Robert writhe a little on the couch.

Fleetingly she thought how easy it would be to crush his testes and bend his phallus and make him scream but the three men would take retribution so it was easier to capitulate.

She worked on Robert's cock expertly, bringing him closer and closer to extremis. It wasn't difficult; she had a penis of her own and she knew how to manipulate it to achieve the greatest satisfaction.

Robert suddenly shifted and he sat up and leaned over her. She knew what was coming and when he put his hands on her head and guided her face down into his crotch she offered no resistance. Instead she opened her lips and took him into her mouth.

Charlotte had seen enough pornography to know what to do. She took Robert's shaft in her hand and worked on his glans with her tongue, slavering at the organ as it began to throb. She continued to gently squeeze his scrotum and she made sure she looked up at him and kept eye contact while her red lips and velvety tongue worked the head of his penis.

Robert looked down on the gorgeous woman, her exotic face framed by the jet black hair, her dark smoky eye makeup and brilliant green eyes looking up at him seductively as she used her blood-red lips and soft tongue to stimulate his phallus; but he could also see her renitence, she was not doing this voluntarily. She was his captive and that somehow made it even more pleasurable.

Licking and sucking Robert's cock was not as repulsive as she thought it would be; under different circumstances she probably would have been delighted to fellate the handsome young man but he was ruining her dream of what it would be like the first time. She was supposed to be with a considerate lover, not some arrogant bully who thought that she was no better than the dirt beneath his feet.

She felt Robert's cock begin to pulse and sensed his orgasm approaching. Robert tried to push his cock all the way into her mouth but she resisted. She worked the shaft with her hand and caressed his scrotal sac and pursed her lips around the head of his cock and lapped at his fraenulum with the tip of her tongue.

Robert gripped her head tighter and she was rewarded with a mouthful of steaming semen. Freshets of the creamy issue gushed from his penis in long sustained spurts, filling her mouth to the extent that it ran from the corners and down her chin. Runnels of the glutinous spunk dripped down onto her lap soaking into her skirt and stockings.

Wayne Jenkins and Steven Belfour-Brown were captivated by Charlotte's performance. They both had their cocks out and had been stroking them to full tumescence watching the pretty girl as she was forced to suck their friend's cock.

Robert sighed as the last of his issue dribbled from his cock and then he pushed Charlotte's face away from his groin. Before she could recover Steven Belfour-Brown leapt off his couch and gripped Charlotte's head in his hands and turned her to face him. He prodded at her mouth with his throbbing organ which looked almost ready to explode.

And it did. He pushed his cock into Charlotte's mouth just as he orgasmed, filling her abused mouth with viscous musky liquid which she had no choice but to swallow. Steven howled with pleasure as Charlotte used her tongue on him to elicit the last of his issue, wanting to get it over with. Steven pulled his phallus from her mouth and smiled down at her just as Wayne Jenkins who was standing beside her sprayed ropes of scalding semen over her face and hair.

Freshets of the searing slippery secretions spattered in her hair, in her eyes and mouth. Her face was covered with congealing ejaculate. It glistened in the lamplight, even with her makeup smeared and her face glazed with drying semen she still looked beautiful; like a perfect painting that had been scoured by the final brushstroke.

Charlotte refused to bow her head as the three men stood over her, their cocks still dripping droplets of their issue onto the granite floor.

"Go fix your face and come back here," Robert panted, his heart still racing from the tremendous orgasm.

Steven offered his hand to help her to her feet but Charlotte refused it and struggled to stand on her high heels. She stumbled and fell against Robert Fellows who held her to him briefly. For a fleeting second she thought she saw compassion in his deep blue eyes but he eased her out of his embrace, turned her around and patted her buttocks, sending her on her way.

Charlotte staggered into the privy and stood before the mirror and looked at herself.

"Oh god I'm so sorry," she cried as she hoisted her skirt and freed the throbbing erection from her knickers.

She barely touched her cock as she ejaculated onto the tiled floor having to grip the bench to prevent herself from collapsing as the most intense orgasm she had ever experienced wracked her body. The shame she felt could not suppress the absolute bliss she experienced as she remembered her mouth being filled with milky spunk as Robert's cock erupted. It was deplorable but it was the most exciting thing that she had ever experienced.

Charlotte staggered to the toilet cubicle and ripped a handful of tissues from the dispenser and dabbed at her diminishing erection, then at her skirt and stocking tops where gobbets of the three men's semen clung to the fabric. She went back to the sink and dabbed at her hair and then filled the sink with warm soapy water and thoroughly washed her face.

She looked at herself with disgust. How could she be so aroused by what those men had just done to her. She had no time for self-derision; she hated the look of her face sans-makeup and went to work with her cosmetics.

When she returned to the inner sanctum the lads had gone back to lazing on the couches, drinking whisky and joking.

"Ah there you are Charlotte. Now be a good girl and pick up that newspaper," Robert put down his drink and fiddled in a bag on the floor beside his sofa.

"That's the girl now hold it up under your chin."

"Say cheese," he joked as he snapped half a dozen pictures of her with his Canon F-1.

"I always like hard evidence rather than rumour and innuendo; don't you?"

Charlotte didn't reply. She knew what Robert Fellows had done. He now had the pictures to prove that Charles was still playing dressup. He could corroborate his accusations if needed.

"We've finished with you for tonight. Please tell Charles I'll see him bright and early tomorrow and for him to bring his school timetable," Robert turned away from her and resumed his conversation with his friends.

Charlotte went back into the privy and stripped, removed her makeup and took a long hot shower.

Charles emerged from the privy half an hour later dressed in his school uniform but no one paid him any attention as he let himself out and skulked down the dim corridor and ascended the stone steps to the Bridge House common room. A few heads turned his way as he silently made his way through the small crowd and out the door. Brian Nichol watched him intently and when Charles left the common room he swung open the hinged bookcase taking out his key to the inner sanctum as he descended the steps.

William Larkin had also watched Charles walk through the common room dejected. He followed his friend outside.

"Charles? Charles? Are you ok?" he called after him.

"I'm fine William I just want to go to bed," Charles called out without stopping.

Charles came to the staircase and began the ascent to his dorm.

He lay in his bed and tried to sleep but he couldn't. He kept reliving what had happened to Charlotte in the inner sanctum. He took the silk stocking out of the drawer and draped it over his pulsating erection and found release, as he ejaculated he imagined the three cocks ejaculating over Charlotte's face and in her mouth.

He cursed himself for it but he soon fell into a dreamless asleep.

To be continued

October 1984

Charles reported to Robert's dormitory room as directed the next morning straight after breakfast. During breakfast service William Larkin was upbeat and caromed around Charles like an excited puppy under his feet.

"So we're hanging around with the upper housemen now that we're a top rugby player?" he teased.

"If you think what I'm doing is hanging around William, you have it totally wrong. I'm... what am I? I'm like their vassal, sort of like their servant if you will," Charles replied sipping hot tea.

They sat at a table away from the other lower housemen.

"Sort of like a maid?" William mused over his mug, eyeing Charles carefully.

"Why would you say that?" Charles snapped.

"Why wouldn't you say butler or servant? Why maid?"

"I don't know. I guess it just sounds more demeaning. Gentlemen tend to treat their manservants better than their maids and from what I've witnessed Robert Fellows treats you like shite," William replied.

"Speaking of Robert Fellows, I need to run, I have to fag for him this morning before class," Charles kicked back his chair and dropped his napkin on the table.

"You've hardly eaten a thing Mister Ward. How are you going to take on them Warwickshire forwards on Sunday if you don't bulk up? You're built like my daughter Daisy," Mrs Elaine Figgis chided as she cleared away the breakfast plates.

William gave Charles a knowing look and went back to his toast and marmalade.

After knocking on the door, Charles was invited inside Robert Fellows' dorm. Robert sat in a lounge chair eating a bacon sandwich and sipping a mug of tea whilst watching the morning news. The lounge room looked like a bomb had gone off in it and the bedroom looked worse.

"You can start in there. Did you bring your timetable like Charlotte told you to?' he said around a mouthful of bread, bacon and HP sauce.

Charles reached into his blazer, bought out the document and handed it over. Robert took it gingerly between the ring and little fingers of his left hand, the other fingers being covered in sauce and bacon grease. He nodded at a napkin on a breakfast tray on the hassock in front of him and Charles took it, shook it, and handed it to Robert.

"Start in there," Robert nodded at his bedroom.

Charles took off his blazer and began to strip the bed.

The situation was bizarre. Not twelve hours earlier, Charles, dressed as Charlotte had been fellating the man who was now sitting next door heartily eating a bacon butty. Robert had obviously disassociated Charlotte from Charles; to him they were two separate people. Charles had to say that the idea appealed to him; Charlotte was a totally different entity and the disaffection of Charlotte from Charles was the only way he could deal with the house council and not go batty.

Robert took Charles' timetable over to his desk and sat down and studied it. He began to scribble on it while Charles made the bed and cleaned up the dorm. Robert never spoke to him while he completed his chores. Charles asked to be excused when he had finished and began to put on his coat.

"That was quite a good effort against Harrow on Sunday by the way. Not sure we'll be using that play again though... took rather a toll on your body I'm afraid and we can't have that now can we?" Robert surprised Charles with the compliment.

"Good chap. Now take that tray down to the kitchen and thank Mrs Figgis for me. I've reviewed and revised your timetable, I'll make sure that your form master approves the changes and make sure you show it to Charlotte so that she knows her new duties," he tucked the folded document into the pocket of Charles' blazer dismissively.

Charles went back to his own dorm and opened the timetable. His lesson plans had not changed, just his extra curricula activities. He still had the Army Cadet parades on Monday evening and Saturday mornings but now additionally after parades there was a new entry: common room duties for the house council, these duties had also been added to his timetable on Wednesday after rugby training.

Essentially this meant that Charlotte was going to have to service Robert Fellows, Wayne Jenkins and Steven Belfour-Brown two evenings a week and all of Saturday afternoon. She assumed that Brian Nichol was still a dissenter. Charlotte considered the ramifications. These were essentially the days that Charlotte made her appearances anyway so at least it meant that Charles wouldn't be kept busy conducting menial tasks during these times which was what often happened. However, it was with dread that Charlotte realised that she would be employed by the council as their personal fellatrix. She had effectively been sentenced to spending hours on her knees sucking cock. But if she found it so degrading why was there a lump in the front of Charles' trousers?

But what choice did she have? Tell the college faculty? They would likely punish the Bridge House council and most likely remove them, but she would be expelled for sure.

Tell her father? She'd end up penniless and disowned by her family for bringing such disgrace. She recalled the picture that Robert Fellows had taken of her in her spunk-stained clothing holding up yesterday's newspaper. He had definitive evidence that Charles was still crossdressing which he could use at any time. It was like the sword of Damocles hanging over her head. There was no time to ponder the situation now; Charles had lessons. Charlotte vacated Charles' psyche and let him proceed to his lectures.

Charles was surprised to find Robert waiting for him in his dorm room when he finished his day's studies. He had Charlotte's suitcase open on the bed.

"You can't keep lugging this through the common room, the chaps will get suspicious. I quite like the way Charlotte was dressed the last time she visited. Just bring those clothes and the other things she'll need," he absentmindedly fondled a pair of French knickers.

Charles went cold.

"Be there sharp, as soon as you've finished playing soldier. I'll leave the door to the sanctum open but make sure you lock it when you come through... or don't, if you're happy with someone accidently finding Charlotte committing carnal acts on the house council," Robert sniggered.

"Go straight to the privy and what do you call it? Transform. We don't want to see Charles; sort of spoils the illusion old boy," Robert left the room without looking at him.

Straight after parade Charles bustled into his dorm and shucked out of his uniform. He used the toilet, cleaned himself and then took a shower and shaved a few wisps of hair from his chest. He slipped into a tracksuit for convenience and took down the small backpack from the wardrobe. Housemen often carried backpacks full of textbooks and other sundries around the campus so it would not draw attention.

He checked his watch: eight thirty. He needed to hurry.

Charles skipped down the stairs and jogged to the common room and took a second to catch his breath. He opened the door and stepped inside. The place was pretty busy, some boys were watching a movie on the telly, others were playing board games, some were in little study groups but none of them paid him much attention. He worked his way to the back of the room and into the passage behind the bookcase.

In the inner sanctum bathroom he transformed into Charlotte dressing just like she had before: pencil skirt, satin blouse, bob-cut jet-black wig with the fringe, heavy makeup, blood-red lipstick and high heels. This time however she had decided to wear pantyhose for convenience. She checked herself out in the mirror and was satisfied with what she saw.

She had noticed stains on her blouse and skirt when she had returned to her dorm after the last time she had been here. She knew from experience that semen stains were notoriously difficult to remove. She'd brushed the dried semen out of her wig, shampooed it and hung it to dry in the wardrobe and had been able to rinse her blouse clean but the skirt was a problem. She couldn't wash it and she could hardly put it in with her weekly dry-cleaning could she?

Two pairs of school uniform trousers, one pair of army khaki parade trousers, one army khaki blouse, one school blazer and one satin-lined navy-blue pencil skirt with kick pleat... she could just imagine handing over the dry-cleaning docket to Mrs Figgis.

She had brushed as much of the dried semen as she could off the skirt and dabbed at the stains with a damp cloth because she couldn't wash it; it would be ruined. She decided that it would be her 'blow-job skirt'; she would just wear it when she went to the inner sanctum and when she was finally released from these debasing and perverted duties, likely when the upper housemen graduated, she would throw it away.

She set her resolve and entered the inner sanctum to find Robert Fellows, Wayne Jenkins and Steven Belfour-Brown lounging on their couches watching a porn video and drinking pints of beer and tumblers of scotch. College rules did not allow the consumption of hard spirits during the week but who was going to stop them? Brian Nichol was conspicuous by his absence. All eyes turned towards Charlotte as she walked over to them.

"My giddy aunt, she still looks ravishing," Wayne Jenkins commented.

"She does and I'm going first," Robert Fellows declared.

Charlotte set her resolve. She said nothing and simply walked over and stood in front of Robert Fellows who had stood up and divested himself of his tracksuit pants and t-shirt and was now naked and sporting a throbbing erection. The other lads turned in their direction to watch the show.

Charlotte stopped short of Robert and although she was tempted to bow her head she looked up at him defiantly. She was close enough to notice that he was wearing aftershave and deodorant, he was freshly showered and his hair was combed. At least he was considerate in that regard; he was confident in his good looks and he smiled at her.

"Hello Charlotte, good to see you again," he reached out and stroked her face.

Despite her intense dislike for this man she couldn't help admiring his toned body and rugged handsomeness. In another time at another place she might have been flattered but for now, all she felt was despair.

Robert pulled her into his embrace and for a fleeting second she thought he was going to kiss her, she even parted her lips slightly in anticipation but he simply held her close and pressed himself against her. His head rested on her shoulder and his hands found her buttocks, squeezing them, caressing them, sliding the fabric of her skirt against the slinky Harlow knickers. When he hiked up her skirt she heard the others gasp. Robert's hands explored the satiny material of her knickers and roamed over her taut thighs.

"Wearing tights today dear? I suppose that's practical," he whispered in her ear.

Robert snaked his hand between their bodies and pushed his erection down between her thighs and encouraged her to close her legs. He began to thrust back and forth, rubbing his engorged penis between her thighs, delighting in the feel of the slippery nylon on his sensitive member.

"Put a bit of effort in old girl," Robert chuckled and held Charlotte by her hips and encouraged her to rock and forth on her heels to meet his thrusts.

Charlotte had to put her arms around Robert to keep her balance and the firm flesh of his body pressed against her through her clothing, she could feel his muscles and the heat from his phallus as it grazed her legs. Charlotte's soft body pressed against his and the scent of her perfume was very stimulating, Robert leaned back a little so he could look at her pretty face while he abused her. Her emerald green eyes glared at him, challenging him. He was tempted to lean in and kiss her; he so wanted to. But not with the other two present. They had agreed that so long as they didn't kiss her or sodomise her, what they were doing wasn't gay. It was a stupid assumption; a hypothesis that theorised that as long as they didn't cross certain boundaries they remained completely heterosexual.

Charlotte continued to undulate her thighs, which she kept clamped closed against Robert's hard cock. She could feel the girth of it, the heat, the pulsing of the veiny shaft against her nylon-clad flesh; she held onto him, pressing herself against his body, staring vacantly into his eyes.

He saw the look of shock replace her empty stare as he ejaculated, her lips parted and she gasped. Robert pulled her closer and buried his head in her shoulder, nuzzling her neck as his cock juddered and convulsed, spewing his issue between her legs. He sensed Charlotte clamp her legs tighter around his organ, gyrating her thighs to elicit his issue; she was breathing heavily, her sweet breath a zephyr on his cheek, her perfume exotic and arousing.

Wayne Jenkins had stripped naked during the performance and stood behind Charlotte enraptured. When Robert's spunk erupted from between Charlotte's thighs and dribbled down her legs and turned the sheer flesh-toned nylon dark as it soaked into the gossamer fabric he couldn't help but take his own member in hand and begin to stroke it.

Charlotte clung to Robert, her heart beating as hard as his was, letting him finish and slowly descend from the pinnacle of his orgasm. Robert could have held Charlotte against him for hours, luxuriating in the feel of her body against his but it was his place to show the others that she was just their plaything.

Wayne Jenkins was pawing at Charlotte, anxious to take his turn. Robert sensed that she was reluctant to let go of him but he could just as well have been imagining it. He extracted himself from her embrace and fell onto the sofa quite satisfied and a little exhausted.

"My turn," Wayne Jenkins cried enthusiastically.

He didn't turn Charlotte around as she expected, instead he pushed her down to the floor. She thought he would turn her around so she could fellate him but instead he coaxed her onto her hands and knees and raised her buttocks. She felt him behind her and then the heat of his cock as he slipped it into the crease of her buttocks and began to thrust against her panty-clad behind. It took him only a couple of thrusts and then she heard him moan and his scalding semen saturated her panties. He pressed harder against her and she fell to the floor on her belly as Wayne lay on top of her, rutting against her knickers. He licked her neck and pawed at her legs as he ground his penis into her pillowy bottom until he was satisfied and then he leapt to his feet like an athlete who had won a wrestling match.

Charlotte was suddenly shocked as she felt a spattering of warm spunk splash across her calves and ankles. Steven had ejaculated prematurely but had just enough time to rip off her high heels and cup her feet together and thrust his cock into the silken channel as the last of issue dribbled from his cock.

"I've always been a foot man," he chuckled as he dropped her feet to the floor and pushed himself up to the standing positon.

The young men surveyed their handiwork. Charlotte lay prone on the floor, her skirt hiked up and her buttocks, legs and feet covered in rivulets of creamy semen that soaked into her knickers and nylons as it cooled.

Steven prodded her with his foot.

"Get up old girl; the evening has only just begun. Go and clean yourself and powder your nose or whatever, then come back and you can have a drink before we start again," he chuckled.

Charlotte felt utterly degraded as she tried to get to her feet. She struggled, her palms slipping on the cold stonework. Robert bent down and helped her to her feet and steadied her while she put on her high heels.

"Thank you," she whispered, and walked away with as much dignity as she could muster holding her skirt away from her come-spattered legs and buttocks.

Charlotte entered the privy and locked the door. She had decided to wear pantyhose for practicalities but also for another important reason. She unzipped the side of her skirt and carefully lowered it to the floor. She surveyed her semen soaked thighs, the musky fluid darkening her nylons. The other reason she had decided to wear tights was quickly revealed. She put her fingers into the crotch of her pantyhose and extracted her throbbing erection. She stroked it twice before she ejaculated; the orgasm so intense that she fell to her knees. When she recovered she stripped off her knickers and pantyhose, balled them up and put them in her backpack. She took out a fresh pair of pantyhose and a clean pair of satin knickers and put them on. She fixed her makeup and looked at herself in the mirror.

"You slut!" she whispered and began to cry.

When the sobbing jag was over she dabbed at her eyes with a tissue and left the privy, returning to the three men who were waiting anxiously for her. On the screen a mature woman dressed in sexy lingerie and high heels was fellating two young men, sucking on their cocks alternately. She guessed what was coming next and prepared herself.

*****

November 1984

This was to be Charlotte's life now; she was trapped. But strangely enough the bizarre became the norm. She slotted her visits to the council's inner sanctum around her other after-school activities. A summary of Charlie's timetable might read something like: Mon - Cadet Parade, Charlotte sucks cock. Tue - Rugby training. Wed - Rugby training, Charlotte sucks cock. Thu - Study Group. Fri - Rugby training. Sat - Cadet Parade, Charlotte sucks cock. Sun - Rugby match.

Charlotte did not like being the Bridge House council's sex toy but she was pragmatic about it. At least she got to dress up and become a woman, a woman the young men found very attractive. What they did to her however she found demeaning, rubbing up against her, using her mouth as a depository for their sperm, spurting their issue over her buttocks and legs without any display of affection, sentiment or tenderness made her feel used, dejected and common.

She was also pragmatic about her physical reaction to her treatment. Charlotte knew that becoming sexually aroused during these sessions was just a physical response to a stimuli and her need for release afterwards was just a primal urge that needed tending to. She did not actually like what the young men were doing to her; her body just betrayed her. She was sure of it.

There was an advantage or benefit if you will for Charles, because of Charlotte's interaction with the council. Charles was no longer the subject of bullying and the constant issue if rips reduced to a trickle. If Robert Fellows, Wayne Jenkins and Steven Belfour-Brown wanted Charlotte to pleasure them three times a week, then Charles needed to be cut some slack. If he got issued a White Badge, his extra curricula activities would be curtailed and his free time would be taken up with compulsory study and extra work.

Charles was like a life support system for Charlotte. The council needed to take care of Charles to ensure that Charlotte was at hand and in a reasonable frame of mind when they wanted her Charles and Charlotte lived a simpatico existence, one could not exist without the other but they could not exist simultaneously.

After the arrangement had been in place for a few weeks, Charlotte noticed subtle changes in Robert Fellows' attitude toward her. He had always been controlling but he seemed possessive and protective of her, sometimes admonishing Steven and Wayne if in his opinion they went too far. At times he seemed almost affectionate, stroking her hair, caressing her fondly and talking to her pleasantly, sometimes even offering endearments.

Things changed dramatically one day when Charles returned to his dorm to find it vacated. Robert Fellows was in Charles' dorm lying on the bare mattress with his hands folded behind his head.

"What's going on sir?" Charles asked, alarmed and anxious.

"I've used my position to have you installed in better quarters young man. As my fag, I think it only reasonable that you abide next door to me so you can better tend to your duties. Follow me," Robert leapt from the bed and beckoned Charles to follow.

Charles followed a familiar route to Robert Fellows' dorm room. The door to the room next to Robert's was open and Robert led the way in. It was larger than Charles' previous dorm and much better appointed. He was surprised to find that all of his personal possessions had been relocated and everything had been put in place as it had been before.

Charles immediately checked on his suitcases and was relieved to find them as they should be.

"I suppose I should thank you sir for upgrading my quarters," Charles looked around his new dorm and was pleased with what he saw.

"Oh, it's self-interest on my behalf that spurned me on. I'm expecting better service from you now that you live next door. With privilege comes responsibility."

"Also, when you see Charlotte again let her know that I have left a little present for her in the wardrobe and I hope she likes it. Also tell her that she may use the door that adjoins our rooms any time she pleases," Robert smiled expectantly.

Charles immediately saw through the ruse.

"I'll let her know but I'm sure she is too busy with her current workload sir," Charles responded.

"Well let her know that this would be in addition to her current workload but would remove a considerable burden on you. She could undertake all of your personal responsibilities to me in my dorm. She can use the interconnecting door to come and go as she pleases," Charles said a little gruffly, working hard to make his point.

"I'll let her know sir," Charles reiterated.

"You may not use the conjoining door Mister Ward; you will come to the corridor entrance, knock and seek my permission before you enter. Nothing has changed there," Robert harrumphed and left the room, closing the door behind him.

Charles noted that the latch and bolt had been relocated form his old dorm to this new one. His privacy was guaranteed except that Robert Fellows had unfettered access to his room through the interconnecting door.

Charles opened the wardrobe and couldn't help but burst out laughing when he saw the 'present' that Robert had left for Charlotte.

It was a French maid's uniform consisting of a black satin dress with white lace trim with a full skirt that would rest just above the knee. There was also a white half-apron embellished with ruffles and lace and a matching headpiece.

Did Robert really expect Charlotte wear the little outfit and tend to him while she was carrying out Charles fagging duties?

That was definitely not going to happen!

For the next two weeks things progressed as normal, if you could ever think of Charles' life as normal. Charlotte appeared three times a week in the sanctum to service the three senior members of Bridge House. Robert was frustrated that Charlotte refused to undertake Charles' fagging duties and let her know of his displeasure by treating her rather cruelly and dispassionately.

Sunday was a return match against their nemesis Harrow and the Chelmsford College rugby team was fired up. There would be no replay of the 'suicide run' that Charles had been made to play the last time they met but the intent of Chelmsford was to get the ball out wide whenever possible. Chelmsford had a comfortable lead in the dying minutes of the match and Charles had scored two tries and been instrumental in setting up two others. Harrow decided that if they couldn't win the match that would reap revenge on the player who had been most responsible for their loss.

Charles received a pass out on the wing and began to run full pelt at the Harrow defensive line with the intention to zig infield and unload a pass to one of the centres and then continue cross-field behind his own forward line who would provide him with protection from the blitz defence. He was so concentrated on locating a suitable recipient for the pass that he did not see the huge Harrow forward that had him lined up ready to crash tackle him.

Just as Charles unloaded the pass he saw the gigantic Harrow loose-head prop looming in his peripheral vision and realised that he was about to be pulverised. Charles prepared himself to be driven into the ground and crushed when Robert Fellows came out of nowhere and put himself between Charles and the hulking front-rower. The sound of their collision was sickening as both players crashed into each other and hit the turf. They were both taken off the ground on stretchers whilst the two teams traded insults and several scuffles broke out before the referee blew full time.

Charles realised that Robert had sacrificed himself to save Charles and was likely badly hurt. He wanted to find Robert and thank him but the team insisted on putting him on their shoulders and parading him around the ground. When Charles was finally able to sneak away from the after-game celebrations Robert Fellows was nowhere to be seen.

Charles went to the College infirmary where he was advised that Robert had been given medical treatment and released to his dorm with instructions to bed-rest for two days and then return to the infirmary for a check-up before he would be cleared to return to his studies.

Robert lay on his queen-size bed propped up by pillows. He was watching a movie on TV whilst sipping a can of lager, which was totally against the medical advice he had been given. His left arm was in a sling but at least the pain had subsided to a dull throb. He had other cuts, bruises and contusions on his body but nothing major; the doctor's main concern was the concussion he had received and a badly sprained wrist.

He heard the doorknob rattle on the door that joined his dorm with Charles' and then the door opened.

Charlotte stepped through the door dressed in the French maid's uniform. She was also wearing black fully-fashioned stockings and high heels. The lace headpiece perched atop her black bob looked cheeky; her makeup was perfect and seductive, she had a pout on those inviting red lips.

Robert was lost for words as he watched her close the door and then walk to the main entrance and throw the bolt. Charlotte turned out the ceiling lights and switched on the standard lamps to give the room a cosy glow. Robert was mesmerised watching the pretty maid silently perform these tasks, her perfume enveloped him and he drew in her scent deeply. He was becoming tumescent already.

Charlotte came over to the bed and motioned for Robert to scoot over. Robert tried to say something but Charlotte put her finger to her lips instructing him to remain silent.

"Don't spoil this by saying something stupid," she whispered.

Charlotte climbed on the bed and lay down beside him. She snuggled up to him and he rested his head in the nook of her shoulder so he could nuzzle her neck and breathe her perfume. She felt soft and yielding lying beside him.

"Thank you," she whispered.

"For what?" Robert replied; his response muffled.

"You know for what," Charlotte lifted Robert's face from her shoulder and looked at him reproachfully.

Robert softly stroked Charlotte's cheek. He had done this many times in the past but when he leaned into her she pulled back. Robert winced as he changed position so that her head was resting on the pillows and his was hovering over her. This time when he lowered his face to hers she didn't resist.

His lips closed on hers and he sighed. Robert had wanted to do this for so long. He pressed his lips to Charlotte's for what seemed like an eternity, tasting her lipstick, inhaling her sweet breath, enraptured by the feel of her soft lips on his and her satin swathed body pressing against his tender flesh. Charlotte froze, she lay still and silent and once Robert overcame the rapture of their first kiss he realised that she was not responding.

Robert removed his lips from hers. He studied her face but it was emotionless.

"I'm sorry. I shouldn't have..." Robert stammered.

Charlotte cut off his sentence.

She reached up and pulled his face to hers and opened her lips slightly as their lips met. At first they kissed chastely, their lips barely touching. Charlotte had never felt so womanly as she did at this very moment. A handsome young man was kissing her, showing her affection and she revelled in her first kiss. She tentatively extended her tongue and Robert reciprocated. He tasted like beer and cigarettes but not in bad way but in a distinctly male way which she found quite appropriate.

The kiss gradually increased in intensity until they were exploring each other's mouths with their tongues. Robert caressed Charlotte's cheek with his uninjured hand as he kissed her and she held his face between her hands, softly stroking his face with her thumbs.

Robert was fully tumescent and Charlotte could feel him pressing his erection against her body. He was naked except for his underpants. Charlotte was also inflamed; her penis lay along her perineum, held in place by surgical tape that was going to give at any moment as she became painfully engorged. Her bloated member broke free of its bonds and sprang forward into her black nylon French knickers. She felt both relief and despair. She would hardly be able to hide her excited state from Robert who might be repulsed. But she was too enamoured with her first real kiss to worry too much about it.

"Let me do this for you," she crept her hand between their bodies and found him hard and throbbing.

"You don't have to Charlotte," he whispered.

She smiled up at him wanly then squeezed him though his underpants and he gasped.

"Just let me. Kiss me," she sighed.

Robert kissed her and this time there was no pretence of chastity. They crushed their lips together and opened their mouths and extended their tongues. Charlotte freed Robert's erection from his underpants and began to softly caress him, taking the little globules of pre-ejaculate that oozed from the eye on her fingertip and smearing it over his glans and fraenulum.

Robert kissed her harder and began to grind against her hand as she gripped him tighter, allowing him to fuck her hand as he thrust back and forth. Before long she felt his body tense and he moaned into her mouth as he released. She felt the warm slippery discharge on her fingers and the musty smell of semen filled the room. Robert held her close with his good arm and mewled into her mouth as he orgasmed. She kissed him and squeezed him, draining all of his issue.

They held each other this way for a very long time, enjoying the closeness and intimacy. Both of them realised that this was their first display of affection for each other and basked in the afterglow.

"Thank you Charlotte," Robert said softly.

"No thank you," Charlotte smiled at him and mussed his hair.

"Can you reach into my bedside table and grab a handkerchief; we need to clean up," Robert smiled back at her.

"I could do that... or I could do this," Robert hissed with pain as Charlotte pushed him onto his back.

But not for long.

Charlotte got onto her knees and kissed him again and then her lips and her tongue took a long circuitous route along his neck, his chest and his belly until her face was at his groin. She lapped up the warm salty fluids from his belly and his around his pubis. Robert had become engorged again and when Charlotte finally put her mouth on him he moaned. He resisted the temptation to put his hand on her head; he let her do unto him as she wished.

And Charlotte wished to take her time, teasing him, bringing him to extremis and then retreated. She edged him closer and closer to climax and then backed off. She was actually giggling as he bucked under her, arching his back, begging for release.

"Please Charlotte, please," he begged her.

"When I'm ready." she said around a mouth full of cock.

She hadn't touched herself but she was close to climax herself and when she finally relented and worked her lips and tongue on Robert's shaft to elicit his orgasm she came with him, filling her knickers. Robert saw the bulge in her panties and then the wet stain spreading through the satiny fabric. Rather than being repulsed he found the sight profoundly arousing and it increased the intensity of his own orgasm.

Charlotte willingly swallowed what he gave her; this time it was no chore, she genuinely wanted to please him. She licked him clean and patted his flaccid penis and tucked it back into his underpants. She lay down beside him smiled.

"Better?" she asked.

Robert nodded vigorously.

He tried to pull her face to his and kiss her but she resisted.

"I don't think so Robert. I have your issue in my mouth," she lamented.

"Oh bollocks to that! Come here," he growled and pulled her to him.

He yelped when he bumped his injured arm but he was relentless and Charlotte laughed at him but he won out and pulled her to him. She eased him onto his back and straddled him, kissing him passionately. They kissed and canoodled for an hour or so as the shadows lengthened and the afternoon turned to evening.

"I'd better go. It's nearly dinner time and I'll be missed. How are you going to eat?" she asked.

"Elaine Figgis has been tasked to bring up my meals until they let me out of jail," he joked.

Charlotte paled.

"Christ Robert! What if she turns up while I'm here?" Charlotte barked.

"The door's locked. She can't come in," Robert laughed.

"She could be listening through the door!" Charlotte disentangled herself from him.

"The old bat would likely have a heart attack if she did; she has to be fifty if she's a day," Robert chuckled.

"Oh Jesus Robert!" Charlotte picked a pillow and threw it at him, but she was smiling.

She tidied up a little and then walked to the interconnecting door.

"Do you like me now?" Robert was propped up on his pillows looking like the cat that ate the canary.

Charlotte stopped at the door and turned to him.

"I don't know if I like you; but you're not the arsehole I thought you were," she ducked under the pillow that Robert threw at her.

"Come back after dinner!" he called after her.

Charlotte closed the door and leaned back on it and considered what had just happened. It required some serious contemplation.

She looked at the time and realised that she needed to get a move on. Charlotte disrobed, rinsed her semen-soaked panties and hung them up to dry on the shower rail. One of the improvements of her new abode was the addition of a shower over the bathtub.

Charles showered quickly removing the vestiges of Charlotte as fast as he could and changed into evening dress and hurried down to dinner. He was embarrassed as he entered the dining hall and the diners rose as one and applauded his efforts on the rugby field. He took his preferred seat next to William and zoned out as the headmaster droned on about Chelmsford's annihilation of their arch rival Harrow and Charles magnificent performance and Robert Fellows sacrifice to bring about the win.

"You know that even though the house council is granting you privileges that none of us humble lower housemen would ever dream of, no one is jealous of you, you are still the hero of the lower house," William niggled Charles as the soup course was served.

"Fuck off William I nearly got creamed today on the rugby field," Charles replied, flicking his napkin and laying it in his lap.

"Don't tell me to fuck off Charlie; there's something going on between you and the Bridge House council, I can feel it in my water," William looked at Charles knowingly.

"Don't be stupid, what could that possibly be?" Charles retorted.

"There's something that's not quite right about you Charlie. My gaydar isn't pinging so it's not that; but there's none as queer as folk as my sainted aunt used to say," William mused.

"You're gay?" Charles tried to sound surprised.

"Oh come off it! By the way honey, you need to get right into those cuticles with your nailpolish remover and you're still wearing eyeliner," William smiled and took a sip of his soup.

Charles excused himself and raced to the toilet and looked carefully in the mirror at his eyes and sure enough there where skerricks of eyeliner on his eyelids. He curled his fingers and examined them; there were tinges of red nailpolish in his nailbeds. He used a handful of tissues on his eyes and gouged them into his cuticles to remove the offending evidence.

In his rush to get to dinner Charles had failed to remove all evidence of Charlotte's existence. He was getting slack. He re-entered the dining room and took his seat.

"Left over from theatre group William; there is no conspiracy," Charles said smugly.

"If you say so, but I don't remember your character in the play wearing nailpolish," William replied just as smugly.

Instead of going back to his room and transforming into Charlotte as Robert had requested, Charles went to the Bridge House common room where he could not pay for a drink. He was everyone's hero and the free pints kept flowing. Charles had taken William's barbs to heart, if he wasn't careful his secret would get out.

Charles and William patched up their tiff and drank and chatted together.

"Honestly William, I wasn't really certain that you were gay. I always thought the lisp and your mannerisms were just a trope," Charles explained when they were well into their cups.

"I've always known but never really advertised it. British boarding schools have a long history of suppressed homosexuality. A good looking but impoverished scholarship student like myself can, shall we say, quite make do if he's not opposed to offering the occasional 'Oxford rub' to a generous upper houseman," William gave Charles a sly wink.

This gave Charles more to think about but his head was fuzzy from too much beer to spend time pondering the matter. He went to bed late and Charlotte never returned to Robert's dorm.

The next morning Charles was more than a little hungover when he knocked on the door of Robert Fellows' dorm and requested permission to enter. He found Mrs Figgis fussing around Robert. She had bought him up a full English breakfast and a mug of tea and was busy fluffing his pillows and tucking in his duvet.

"As you can see Mister Ward I do not require your services today. Mrs Figgis has kindly decided to bring up my breakfast and tend to my needs," Robert said coldly.

"Tell our mutual friend that the meeting planned for this evening in the council's inner sanctum has a change of venue. We will convene here in my dorm due to my incapacitation," he glared at Charles.

"Will the rest of the council be in attendance sir?" Charles was a little alarmed.

Robert just waved Charles away dismissively and resumed his conversation with Elaine Figgis.

Once again Charles found himself spending the day worrying about what would transpire in the evening. After the cadet parade was completed he transformed into Charlotte but this time in the comfort of his own room.

Charlotte decided that a change was as good as a holiday. The outfit she had been wearing down in the inner sanctum was just about ruined. The satin blouse had been washed so many times that the fabric was barely holding together and the navy-blue pencil skirt was a crusty rag of dried semen despite her efforts to clean it after each session.

She was now effectively down to three remaining ensembles not including the French maid's uniform which she discounted. She laid the blue micro-mini cocktail dress out on the bed and admired it. It would be a shame to ruin it but the end of term was approaching and she could replenish her meagre supplies.

Charlotte did her makeup and this time selected a blonde shoulder-length wig that she hadn't worn before. She brushed it out and sprayed herself liberally with perfume. She eyed the packages of stockings lovingly but the dress was just too short for stockings; she selected a pair of Wolford eight denier, sheer-to-the-waist, nude, pantyhose. She delighted in the feel of them as she slipped them on. The gusset was very tight and she was able to tuck without taping.

She had bought a pair of tight blue nylon full-cut panties to wear with the dress and she slipped them on too and smoothed them out. She didn't have a blue bra but she had a white satin bra with padded cups that would go perfectly under the dress giving her a bit of shape where she needed it. She slipped on the dress and zipped it closed with a little difficulty and then she pulled down the hem and smoothed out the seams. The dress was very short indeed. She slipped on her white high heels, accessorised, and was ready to go.

Charlotte had to admit that she quite liked being able to transform in the privacy of her own bedroom with the convenience of just walking through the adjoining door to make her assignation. What she didn't look forward to was the hours that she would spend on her knees sucking cock and if those boys wanted to ejaculate over her bottom and legs as they often did she would damn well be taking off this dress!

She set her resolve and opened the adjoining door to Robert's room and walked confidently through the door. She stopped dead in her tracks when she realised that they were alone.

"Where are the others?" she peered around the lounge and then through the open bedroom door looking for Steven and Wayne.

"They're not invited," Robert said straightforwardly.

"Really? Does that mean they are waiting at the inner sanctum? Did you just not tell them?" Charlotte asked.

"What do you care Charlotte? Wouldn't you just rather it was just you and I?" he had turned his back to her to pour them both a drink.

Charlotte walked over to him and placed her hand on his shoulder.

"Is this wise?" she stroked his shoulder affectionately.

Robert turned around and took Charlotte in his arms and gazed into blazing green eyes and surveyed her luscious red lips. She lifted her face to his so that he could kiss her as he moved into her. The kiss was wonderful; just like she remembered from the last time. It was lusty and passionate but there was also genuine tenderness. Robert no longer wore his sling and he put his arms around her and held her close, inhaling her scent as his tongue searched her mouth. There was no roughness, no wanton urge to defile her like when they were in the sanctum. He stroked her hair and then her cheek as they kissed and caressed.

There was no need for Robert to rush. No need for him to seek instant gratification before he passed her on, they were alone and had all the time in the world. He was crazy horny for her and as much as Robert would have loved to have dragged Charlotte to the bed and used her mouth on his manhood, there was a feeling of tenderness. He realised that she was being genuinely affectionate rather just submitting to his will and that was better... so much better.

"I like that dress," Robert smiled at Charlotte and offered her a drink.

"Thank you. I really can't wear the pencil skirt and blouse anymore; they're... well they're ruined," Charlotte blushed.

"Spunk stains don't wash out once they've dried," Robert grinned at her mischievously.

"Don't be flippant Robert; you were so nice up until now," Charlotte batted her eyelashes at him playfully.

"But you're not here to be nice; you're here to be naughty," Robert pulled her back into his arms and kissed her again.

Charlotte out down her drink and put her arms around him.

"Do you like it when I'm naughty?" she said around crushed lips.

"I like both naughty and nice but yes, I like naughty best," Robert grinned.

"I can feel it," she squeezed the erection poking her in the belly.

"Oh my!" Charlotte squealed when Robert picked her up and carried her to the bed.

"What about our drinks?" Charlotte teased.

"They're not going anywhere," he said and laid her on the bed, her blonde hair fanned out on the pillow.

He gazed at her. Her pretty face framed by the long blonde locks, the tight-fitting blue dress which had crept up her thighs revealing her long legs clad in shimmering hose. She was trim, curvy and girlish; he knew that the small breasts that gave her shape were fake but they helped make her look feminine. He was smitten with her.

She lay there smiling up at him as he stripped naked and then lay down beside her.

"You are so lovely," he closed his mouth over hers.

They pressed their bodies together and Charlotte folded her leg over his and held him tight. They spent some time just kissing but Charlotte wanted to feel him. There was something not only erotic but powerful about taking him in her hand. It was she who had caused his tumescence and she who would provide release... when she was ready.

Robert rolled on top of Charlotte, her dress had ridden right up around her waist and he put his cock between her thighs. Charlotte closed her legs and he began to hump her loins while he kissed her. He felt her smile.

"What are you grinning about?" he asked.

Charlotte had remembered what William had said to her about getting-by by offering the occasional 'Oxford rub' to a generous upper houseman.

"Nothing. Kiss me," she pulled his face to hers.

Robert kissed her passionately and ground against her. She could feel her pantyhose becoming damp where he humped her, he was leaking and she liked it. In fact she was leaking too, she was getting uncomfortably hard; her cock becoming engorged trapped between her thighs. It soon sprang free and filled the front of her pantyhose. It was hidden under her blue satin panties but the bulge was noticeable. She hoped Robert wouldn't be repulsed.

But on the contrary, Charlotte gasped when she felt him remove his cock from between her thighs and press it against hers, he moaned as he rubbed his cock against her through her panties and pantyhose.

"That feels so good," he mumbled into her mouth.

"Mmm," was all Charlotte could respond.

The feel of the gossamer pantyhose and slick satin panties pressing on her penis as Robert slid his cock up and down her shaft was incredible. She knew that the French word for it was frottage but words couldn't express how wonderfully decadent it felt. She arched her back to meet Robert's thrusts and ground herself against him. She could feel her orgasm approaching.

Robert suddenly slipped his cock back between her legs and she was a little disappointed. Maybe he found what they were doing unnerving. Maybe it was against their stupid inner sanctum rules. Maybe it was too 'gay'.

But Robert didn't leave his cock between her thighs; he burrowed it under her panties and rubbed it on her buttocks. That was cheeky she thought and very, very decadent.

Robert lifted Charlotte's legs and opened them so he could press his erection into the crease of her buttocks, enjoying the sensation of his cock rubbing on her pantyhose-clad derrière. His belly was pushing on her cock and it felt rather nice, as did the feel of his cock rubbing on her buttocks. This was very adventurous and very naughty. Charlotte sighed with pleasure and looked up into Robert's face.

His eyes were half-closed and he was concentrating, his face lit up with bliss. She figured he was close to orgasm as he rutted at her faster and faster.

Without warning he slipped a hand inside her knickers and tore out the gusset of her pantyhose and began stabbing at her sphincter with his engorged weapon.

"No Robert don't" she screamed and beat her fists on his back.

But Robert had her pinned to the bed, her legs high and wide, and even though she squirmed and struggled beneath him she was no match for his size and strength. She felt his cock digging into her perineum as he tried to find her entrance but he couldn't find it because she was struggling so much. Charlotte just hoped he would come soon; he had to be close.

And then it happened.

Robert's glans pressed against her tight puckered sphincter. It was smothered in his pre-ejaculate otherwise he would never have pierced her tight bud. Charlotte was to some extent responsible for her own undoing because she bucked at that exact moment causing Robert's cock to slide inside her.

"Oh my god!" she cried.

The pain was almost unbearable.

Robert suddenly realised what he had done and he lay still. Charlotte was crying and had given up the fight. But even though he regretted what he done he couldn't help but enjoy the feel of her tight velvety flesh clasping his cock and her tight sphincter clenching the base of his shaft.

"I'm sorry. I got carried away," he said genuinely contrite.

He tried to withdraw but Charlotte locked her legs around him. The pain was receding and what replaced it were the most wonderful sensations she had ever felt. Robert's glans was pressing on her prostate and the girth of his cock triggered the delicate nerves in her sphincter releasing little ringlets of pleasure.

Charlotte relaxed. Her makeup had run and she could feel her tears drying on her face.

Robert looked down at her and she looked so sexy and vulnerable that he couldn't help but begin to fuck her. Charlotte held onto Robert gasping with the pleasure and the pain as he drove his cock in and out of her tight anus.

Robert plunged himself all the way inside her and pulled her hard against him and ejaculated deep in her anus and Charlotte climaxed with him. Her cock convulsed and filled her knickers as she felt Robert's cock quivering inside her as he spent his load deep in her back passage. They both lay still, their bodies quaking as they clutched at each other. Robert tried to press his mouth to hers but she tried to move away and he followed her with his lips until she capitulated and opened her mouth and drove her tongue into him. She clung to him and shuddered; whimpering until her orgasm began to subside.

Charlotte lay underneath Robert, she could feel his heart pounding and he was gasping for breath. She could feel him becoming flaccid and his penis slipped from her anus. She eased herself from underneath him and sat on the edge of the bed, pulling her knickers back into place. Robert's spend was leaking from her, soaking into the gusset of her panties.

She silently arose from the bed and went through the door that adjoined their dorms and when she returned she had changed out of her cocktail dress and was wearing a negligee. Robert was lying on his back with his hands under his head smiling contentedly. Charlotte walked up to the edge of the bed looked down at him indignantly.

"I'm not going to be able to stop you doing what you just did to me so I'll do you a favour and make it easier for us both. From now on I'll make sure I'm prepared and I'll wear stockings so you don't have to tear my tights but you have to do something for me in return."

"Use this... and use plenty of it," she dropped the tube of KY jelly on his hard belly.

"Now shove over and make room for me," she said.

Charlotte climbed onto the bed and Robert folded her into his arms and kissed her as she snuggled up to him.

"Sorry Charlotte," he whispered.

"No you're not," she squeezed his flaccid member and felt it begin stiffen.

To be continued

November 1984

Robert wanted Charlotte to stay the night but they both knew it was fanciful and a downright dangerous idea. Robert Fellows may be the housemaster of Bridge House but he was still a student at Chelmsford College and would be subject to expulsion if they were caught.

"Do that thing to me again and then I'll leave, but I'll come back tomorrow night and every night after if you want me to," Charlotte kissed him and stroked his burgeoning erection.

"What thing?" Robert teased.

"The thing that made me cry," Charlotte said wistfully.

The look of shame and disappointment on Robert's face was worth the hyperbole.

"I'm sorry Charlotte I never meant to hurt you. I err... I like you so much; I desire you and I couldn't help myself. I wanted you... I mean I want you... I mean I think about you all the time... Christ I don't know what I mean," Robert stammered.

Charlotte put a finger to his lips to shush him.

"Can I tell you something?" she murmured.

Robert nodded.

"So long ago now that I can hardly remember, when I had my first sexual awakening, I used to fantasise that a handsome young man would seduce me. I would play coy and rebuff his advances. He would become insistent and force himself on me and I would feign abhorrence as he ravished me but I would eventually submit and let him take me and would secretly enjoy it."

"It's a common young woman's fantasy but I actually got to live mine," Charlotte kissed him softly.

"But I hurt you," Robert stroked her cheek softly.

"Yes you did at first but then it was kind of nice and then it became wonderful. You were my first Robert. You will always be my first and I'm glad it was you," she smiled at him.

"Now... can we stop all this sentimental drivel? I want you in me. All the way," she squeezed his dick very hard and rolled over, offering Robert her derriere.

*****

Robert was very satisfied with this new arrangement. Charlotte could come to him every night if she wanted to and she did most nights. But Wayne Jenkins and Steven Belfour-Brown were not. They had been cut off and they were angry about it. They were also determined to do something about it.

Charles had just changed into his rugby kit and had gone to the toilet before running out on the pitch to train, when the door to the cubicle he was using was suddenly kicked in.

"Sitting down to piss like a girl. Appropriate I think," Wayne Jenkins squeezed into the cubicle followed by Steven Belfour-Brown.

"Don't bother screaming. There's no one in the dressing rooms except for us," Wayne Jenkins hissed.

He produced a copy of the photograph of Charlotte holding the newspaper. It had been so long ago that Charles had almost forgotten about it.

"My father might not be a member of Brooks's but he's well-to-do enough to get an audience with Reginald Ward. I'm sure your dad will recognise his youngest son, even through the wig and the makeup," he pushed the photograph into Charles' face.

"What do you want?" Charles asked.

"We want Charlotte back. We want her in the inner sanctum three times a week doing what she does best," Steven Belfour-Brown snatched the picture and shoved his face into Charles'.

"What about Robert?" Charles retorted.

"What about him? He can have Charlotte when we're not using her. She's House property not his personal plaything," Steven replied.

"I don't think he sees it that way," Charles said indignantly.

"I don't care what he thinks. He might be the housemaster but he can't take everything for himself. You tell that slut that she had better get her arse back to the inner sanctum tomorrow night or Reginald and Penelope Ward are likely to find out that their son is still a sissy!"

"You can keep this; we have plenty of other copies," Wayne Jenkins tossed the photograph at Charles.

"Now pull up your shorts and get out on the track Mister Ward; you're late for training," the two thugs left the lavatory, the studs on their football boots clattering on the concrete floor.

Charles immediate reaction was to tell Robert. But what could Robert do? He could confront Wayne and Steven and do what? He couldn't go to the faculty; what would he tell them? 'I moved a young man into the dorm next mine and almost every night he transforms into a pretty woman who sneaks into my room and pleasures me. Oh I forgot to mention, before she became my girlfriend I threatened to expose her to her parents and made her give my friends blowjobs. Now I want to keep her all to myself.'

The whole situation was too bizarre to be true.

This was a situation that Charlotte would need to tend to on her own. There appeared to be only one option which was for Charlotte to give Wayne and Steven what they wanted.

Charles was sitting at the breakfast table, his food untouched, pondering his quandary when William Larkin plonked himself down across from him.

"If you're not going to eat that don't let it go to waste," he leaned across and speared a sausage off Charles' plate and stuffed it into his mouth.

"How do you stay so slim? You eat like a bear about to hibernate," Charles looked at the 'full English' that William was devouring before him.

"Well I train hard for my soccer team, I run cross-country with you, I fag for an upper houseman who won't lift a finger to help himself and I spend all night studying to make my grades. It's tough being a scholarship student," William replied around a mouthful of bacon and eggs.

"Yes I sometimes forget that most of us are privileged," Charles mused.

"Oh don't worry Charlie, I get by. I have my skills," William chuckled.

"Skills?" Charles' mind was drifting back to his own problems.

"Well no one gives an Oxford rub like I do and I'm pretty good at..." William picked up a sausage off his plate and pushed it in and out of his mouth, sucking on it.

"Jesus William!" Charles blushed.

Then he thought about what William had just said.

"You said you get by, using your skills?" Charles was suddenly very interested.

"You toffs take everything for granted but some of us have to work for a living. There are plenty of upper housemen who like us younger pretty boys. They'd never admit it to each other of course, but a hard dick has no conscience," William smiled.

"There are a couple of blokes over at Crozier House who hand out fivers for handjobs," William reached over and took one of Charles' uneaten fried eggs and stuffed it in his mouth.

Charles hardly noticed; he was lost in thought.

"William? Can you skip the lecture on ethics this afternoon and come to my dorm?" Charles asked.

"Wow! It's like being asked to come to the palace," William teased.

"Oh stop it. Can you?" Charles asked earnestly.

"Sure. Of course I can Charlie, I have no ethics anyway. Now can I have the rest of your baked beans?" William asked and Charles pushed his plate across the table.

That afternoon William climbed the stairs to Charles' dormitory. The corridors were silent with most of students in class. He knocked on the door and waited.

"Is that you William?" William didn't recognise the voice that called to him but he responded anyway.

"Yes of course it is? Who do you think it is; the Queen Mother?" he answered sarcastically.

"Come in and lock the door behind you," the voice called.

"Oh intrigue. I like a bit of intrigue. Nothing like a... well fuck me!" William was gobsmacked.

He had entered Charles' dorm and closed and bolted the door behind him fully expecting that Charles' might have some booze or a joint to puff on, hence all the secrecy. What he did not expect was to see was a rather delightful young woman dressed in a French maid's uniform, black stockings and high heels. She sported a black bob hairstyle and full makeup.

"Jesus Christ you look like that waitress in Allo Allo," was all William could bring himself to say.

Charlotte stood dead still in the centre of the room and William circled her looking her up and down.

"If I was at all interested in women I'd have to say I'd give you a good rogering any time," William touched the frilly hem of her dress.

"I'll take that as a compliment I suppose," Charlotte replied.

"I knew it! I guessed you were into crossdressing. Those little ringlets of nailpolish on your cuticles, the eyeliner and mascara that you failed to wipe away. But my god, you're... you're... you're passable. I mean if I saw you on the high street I'd think you were a woman," William gushed.

"The highest compliment a person can give a tranny," Charlotte stopped posing and walked over to the side table and handed William a beer.

She took one herself and sat down, smoothing her skirt under her legs.

"You even move and sound like a girl. Where did you learn to do that? The French maid thing is a bit cliché though isn't it?" William took a seat opposite her and popped the ring-pull off his beer.

"Robert sometimes likes me dressed this way," Charlotte replied bluntly.

"Does he now? I never would have thought you batted for the other team Charles. Congratulations on taking up with the handsomest guy in the College though. I guess that explains why you moved into these quarters," William took a long pull on his beer and looked around Charlotte's rooms.

"My name is Charlotte, William, if you don't mind," Charlotte replied, pouring her beer into a glass and taking a ladylike sip.

"Well Charlotte. Don't leave me guessing. Tell me how this all came about," William took another sip of his beer and reached for his cigarettes.

Charlotte told William her life story, omitting nothing.

"I wondered why you kept sneaking out back of the common room. But you didn't like what those rugby lads were doing to you down in their inner sanctum but now you like being Robert Fellows' girlfriend?" William tried to make sense of recent events.

"I can't say I didn't like it. I just didn't like that they were forcing me to do it. I'll admit to you, but nobody else, that I quite liked being their plaything... but now Robert and I have this arrangement and that's that," Charlotte explained.

"I have to admit I quite fancy those big rugby types but I never would have guessed they were gay," William helped himself to his third can of Carling.

"That's just it. They don't consider themselves to be gay. As long as I'm dressed as Charlotte they rationalise it all away," she explained.

"Just like the lads who give me a fiver for a blowjob and then go home to their girlfriends during the half-term holiday. They rationalise that it's just a public school trope; like house initiations, getting rips for no reason, midnight feasts, pranks between the houses... nothing like a bit of discreet buggery to keep the public school traditions alive," William said sarcastically.

"Well that sort of gets me to where I was going anyway William. Did you say that you charge the upper housemen five pounds for fellatio?" Charlotte mused.

*****

When Charlotte came out of the privy that evening down in the house council's inner sanctum Wayne Jenkins and Steven Belfour-Brown were waiting eagerly for her. It had been some weeks since they had last defiled her and they were both randy as old goats.

She had brushed off her old sperm-stained pencil skirt and mauve satin blouse. She did not intend to give either of the two men the satisfaction of seeing her dressed in better clothes, even her stockings were laddered.

Not that either of the young men cared, they were both sporting erections that they wanted Charlotte to take care of for them.

"I have some good news and some bad news for you chaps," Charlotte strode confidently into the centre of the room.

Wayne and Steven sat in their usual seats eagerly awaiting her return, a porn movie played on the television set providing titillation prior to the main event.

"Get over here and suck my cock Charlotte!" Wayne Jenkins called out.

"There will be plenty of time for idle chit-chat once I've come in your mouth," he sniggered.

"Not happening I'm afraid; at least not with me. That's the bad news. The good news is there is another sexy transvestite who will satisfy your every sordid desire, the only caveat is that it will cost you both a tenner each," Charlotte pulled back the brocaded curtain and a stunning young woman sauntered into the room.

"This is my friend Wendy," Charlotte introduced a very different looking William Larkin

Charlotte had lent William one of her skirt and blouse sets, some lingerie and stockings and one of her wigs. She had sat in her dorm with Wendy and painstakingly instructed her in the application of makeup until she was reasonably proficient. There is a saying amongst crossdressers and transvestites: 'A pretty boy makes a pretty girl' and this was certainly the case with Wendy, the name she had chosen for herself.

Wendy said that she didn't mind dressing enfemme but could take it or leave it.

"Seems like a lot of work for the same results?" Wendy had said as she looked at herself in the mirror whilst Charlotte fussed with her hair.

"What do you mean?" Charlotte asked.

"Well either way you're going to end up on your knees sucking a dick or bent over taking it up the wrong 'un," Wendy smirked.

"That's not what Robert and I do," Charlotte sniped.

"Oh my god it's not 'loorve' is it?" Wendy teased.

"No! It's nothing like that! We just have respect for each other. Our lovemaking is tender," Charlotte quipped.

"Sounds like 'loorve' to me," Wendy couldn't help badgering her friend.

"Hey you want to make twenty quid, three times a week or do you want to keep sneaking around dormitories offering a handie, an Oxford rub or a BJ for a fiver?" Charlotte retorted.

"I suppose you're right. And I have to admit I do look quite pretty. If I wasn't gay I'd shag myself," Wendy snickered.

And that explained Wendy's existence.

"Jesus Charlotte! Where did you find her? She's fucking gorgeous! Who is she?" the two young men spoke over each other in their eagerness.

"All you need to know is that her name is Wendy and she's my surrogate. She'll sneak down here three times a week, go into the lavatory without you ever seeing her and emerge looking just like this," Charlotte explained.

"And we have to give her a tenner every time she does?" Steven frowned.

"Each. But don't you think she's worth it?" the two young men were circling Wendy, touching her and admiring her.

"I guess we will find out. Are you joining in?" Steven Belfour-Brown asked wistfully.

"I'm afraid not. I'll stay long enough for you to get acquainted and then I have other matters to attend to," Charlotte replied.

"Hello my pretty," Wayne Jenkins, stroked Wendy's hair.

"Hello luv," Wendy replied.

Charlotte poured herself a drink and settled on one of the couches.

She stayed long enough to watch Wayne and Robert paw at Wendy who did not seem to mind the attention at all. Charlotte returned to the privy and transformed back into Charles.

Charles peeked around the curtain before he left.

Wendy was on her knees on the couch sucking on Wayne Jenkins' penis while Steven Belfour-Brown knelt behind, sodomising her. So much for the rules about not kissing or sodomising the transvestite because that would be gay.

Charles went back to his dorm and transformed into Charlotte. Slipping into a negligée she opened the door to Robert's room and found him sitting in an overstuffed armchair moping. He was wearing nothing but his underpants but the room was warm from the fire.

"You're late; I thought you weren't coming," he brooded.

"I had little chore to take care of. Don't sulk, it doesn't suit you," Charlotte sidled over to him and sat in his lap.

His put his arms around her instinctively. She swivelled in his lap so she could kiss him and he returned the kiss. She could feel his growing erection pushing into her buttocks and she liked it. She liked the effect she had on Robert; he was besotted with her and treated her like she was his girlfriend, which she supposed she was, but she wasn't stupid enough to think that it was any more than a contrivance of convenience for them both. She knew that Robert was popular with girls and had plenty of women who gladly gave themselves to him outside of college.

Whatever this was it suited them both for now and she was determined to make the most of the situation. She was in some respects living her fantasy. A handsome, articulate, well-endowed young man was smitten with her and treated her like a lady. That is to say treated her like a lady when he wasn't shagging her senseless as she bucked beneath him coaxing him, whispering obscenities into his ear to spur him on.

Charlotte wriggled her backside appreciatively, pressing her buttocks against Robert's erection, feeling it grow to full tumescence. Normally they would take their time and draw out their love-making but Robert was right; it was getting late.

Charlotte reached behind herself and took Robert's hard cock in her hand. She lifted herself up a little and slipped his cock inside her knickers so that his glans nestled in her sphincter. Charlotte had pre-lubricated in anticipation and she put her heels on the floor and her hands on his knees to steady herself and then slowly lowered herself so that Robert's shaft slid all the way inside her. She was sitting in his lap with her back to him, impaled on his hard throbbing cock.

Robert held her waist and Charlotte rode up and down on his long slender cock, burying it deep inside her and then drawing it nearly all the way out.

Robert tried to encourage her to go faster and rose up out of the chair to meet her but she deliberately kept the pace of their fucking slow and rhythmic. His penis was pressing on her prostate and when Robert's hand slipped under her negligée he found her knickers distended with her erection and soaked with pre-ejaculate. He stroked her and Charlotte purred.

The fullness of his cock buried in her anus and the delectable feel of Robert's fingers rubbing the silky fabric of her knickers against her cock triggered the reaction that Robert so desired. Charlotte began to ride him faster, bucking and writhing in his lap as she worked her buttocks, driving him deep inside her.

Robert put a hand on her shoulder pushed Charlotte down into his lap and pushed himself up out of the chair as he thrust his engorged manhood into her as far as it would go and ejaculated inside her. He squeezed her cock and was rewarded when a sticky puddle of semen flooded through her knickers. They moaned and writhed and extracted every scintilla of pleasure from each other.

Charlotte spun around to face him, still impaled on Robert's cock. She drew herself up so that her knees rested on the seat either side of Robert and she kissed him as she continued to ride his swollen member. As was often the case, Robert didn't lose his erection; it diminished slightly but never became flaccid.

Charlotte kissed him passionately driving her tongue into his mouth and ground her soft buttocks into his groin until she felt him become engorged once again and then she fucked him a second time, Robert held her by the waist and guided her up and down on his throbbing member until she felt he was close to release again.

Charlotte leaned back and threw back her head and moaned as he came inside her. She ripped the hem of her negligée out of the way so she could get to her cock and stroke it, spattering Robert's tight belly with her seed.

They were both exhausted and Charlotte climbed off him and fetched towels so they could clean up and then she snuggled back into his lap content to just kiss and caress.

"So what was this little chore you had to take care of?" Robert asked as he lit a cigarette for them both to share.

She told him.

*****

"So how did it go?" Charles asked William the next day.

They were sitting under a tree on the common where they had privacy.

"Well the dressing like a girl thing isn't really my cup of tea but I'll get the hang of it. But on the plus side, I got to have sex with two of the biggest rugby hunks that I've ever fantasied about... and they paid me for it," William grinned.

"You know they won't go anywhere near you unless you represent yourself as Wendy don't you?" Charles frowned.

"Oh yes they made that quite clear. They don't know who I am and they don't want to. They just want Wendy to miraculously appear from behind that curtain so they can ravish her; three times a week!" William grinned.

"I can put up with the makeup, the wig and the knickers for that kind of money and for that kind of sex," William appeared to be very pleased with himself.

"You do make a pretty girl though. Keep up those makeup skills and enjoy yourself," Charles stood and brushed leaves off his clothes.

"I've got Commercial and Industrial Law for the next two hours so I'd better get going," Charles picked up his backpack.

"I've got Creative Writing," William started to rise.

"Want to meet in the common room after dinner?" William picked up his own backpack.

"I can't... you know..." Charles smiled coyly.

"Maid duties?" William replied.

Charles nodded.

"You're no fun since you devoted yourself to Robert Fellows," William said as he threw his backpack over his shoulder.

"I'm not devoted to him!" Charles snapped.

"The lady doth protest too much, methinks," William grinned.

"See you later Charlotte," he began to walk away.

"Yes I think so... Wendy," Charles said sulkily.

William did not respond; he was already thinking about his forthcoming lesson.

*****

March 1985

The arrangements that Charlotte had put into place became a matter of routine after a while. Wendy looked after Wayne Jenkins and Steven Belfour-Brown three times a week which kept them happy and kept Wendy in a sound financial position. Rugby season was over and although Chelmsford College had made the finals they were ousted in the first semi-final. Charles tried out for cricket but didn't make the first eleven so he had no weekend sport or after school training.

This freed Charlotte to spend more time with Robert and as much as she thought that Robert would get bored with her the opposite was true. The more time he spent with Charlotte the more he craved her company.

Charlotte and Robert had a serious conversation about their relationship and agreed that they needed to be careful. William Larkin, Wayne Jenkins, Steven Belfour-Brown and Brian Nichol knew their secret but were hardly likely to blab; but discretion was still essential.

Robert and Charles made a concerted effort to get out and about on the college campus with their peers and they made sure they enjoyed the time they spent alone together, which was still considerable, and of course they had their academic responsibilities to attend to.

End of term was fast approaching and Robert and Charlotte were looking forward to it and dreading it both. It was going to be wonderful to escape the confines of the boarding school and Charlotte would return as a middle houseman with all the restrictions that applied to lower housemen lifted. No fagging, no Army Cadets (Charles had decided it wasn't for him) and more personal freedoms.

The university had been petitioned to move out of the dark ages and become more progressive and so next term there would be a more relaxed dress code, fagging would cease, and rips would be no longer be issued. Charles had already started to grow out his hair.

But it would mean that Charlotte and Robert would not see each other for nearly two months. Charlotte was a pragmatist and knew that Robert would have no problem finding a girlfriend during the break, as a young virile man he had needs that had to be satisfied and in any event she knew what they had was temporary so jealousy was not a factor.

"I have an idea if you are up for it," Robert announced as they cuddled on his bed on the last day of term.

"Oh yeah, what's that," Charlotte looked at Richard expectantly.

"I'm going to Brighton for a week during the break. Why don't you come too?" Robert sat up, excited by his cunning scheme.

"It's far away from Chelmsford and I could take you out; I know you've always wanted to take Charlotte out and about. You're so passable that no one will know that you're not a genetic a woman. It would be a hoot and I'd love to have you on my arm out in public."

"I can take you shopping; we can go to bars and restaurants. Brighton is a fun town," Robert said enthusiastically.

"I don't know Robert. It sounds dangerous. What if I'm clocked?" Charlotte frowned.

"So what? Like I said we will be miles from either of our homes and Brighton has a reputation for being liberal, there are some places where your type are very welcome," Robert replied.

"My type?" Charlotte said angrily.

Charlotte sat up and folded her arms.

"You know what I mean," Robert put an arm around her and pulled her to him.

"Well I have always wondered if I could pull off being a woman in public and I've dreamed of going somewhere where I can be social. Plus it will give us the opportunity to meet somewhere outside of this musty old prison," Charlotte was warming to the idea.

"Speaking of pulling things off," Robert guided her hand to his groin.

"Be serious for a while Robert. Let's plan the logistics of this thing," Charlotte seemed committed to the idea.

"Trust the bachelor of commerce student to want to work out logistics," Robert teased.

"Trust the commercial law graduate to only think about his own gratification," Charlotte teased him back.

"But once we've decided how we are going to pull this off, I promise I will pull you off... and maybe do some other things that I know you will like," she patted his growing erection.

*****

Arranging their weekend away required the couple to communicate as Charles and Robert, which is something they seldom did. Neither of them really wanted to acknowledge Charles; he was a fifth wheel but a necessary one. As their communication was by phone it was easy enough for Charles to allow Charlotte to appropriate his psyche and for Robert to imaging he was talking to Charlotte.

The other issue Charles had was that because he had returned from boarding school having appeared to his family to be finally settled down and doing well in both his academia and sports and had obviously, so his parents thought, given up his preponderance to dress enfemme, they were actually taking an interest in him for the first time.

"Bob Delaney at the club tells me that you're quite the winger. One of the top scorers and playmakers," George Fellows commented at dinner on Charlie's first evening back at home.

"I was a front-rower of course. But you don't have my build; you take after your mother that way," George crammed a piece of fillet mignon into his mouth.

"To be fair George, you rarely made the first fifteen and was often sent off for fighting from what I heard," Penelope Fellows came to her son's defence.

"And if you keep eating and drinking like you do you'll be the size of two front-rowers darling," Penelope chided her husband about his ever expanding waistline.

"I'm so glad you're doing well at university Charles; I'm very proud of how far you've come and where you're going," his mother patted his hand.

"Yes, and speaking of which, I hope you are getting along with the other lads. Friends you make in your college days are friends for life and often help you out down the track. You know... the old boy's network, back-scratching and all that whatnot," George tapped the side of nose meaningfully.

"Well as a matter of fact I was fagging for Robert Fellows. You know his father from Brooks's," Charles took the opportunity to segue the conversation to his advantage.

"Oh yes; fine fellow. Lawyer for some of the top London banks," George slurped Bordeaux.

"And his wife Silvia and I are on some of the same charity committees," Penelope chimed in.

This tidbit of information troubled Charles initially; he had no idea that his parents were so well acquainted with Robert's but in this case it served his cause.

"Well Robert and few of the other chaps are going to Brighton for a week to celebrate the end of term and I've been invited," Charles sipped his own glass of Bordeaux expectantly.

"Seems a bit odd the upper housemen inviting a lower houseman to something like that," George frowned.

"Middle houseman now dad," Charles chimed in.

"And we all played rugby together. Made the semis too," Charles added.

"Well of course. Bit of rugger on the field... blood on the ball and broken noses in the scrum and all that and then after the game it's pints of ale in the pub and pretty college girls with torn tights and knickers down," George Fellows reflected on his college days.

"George! Really! At the dinner table!" Penelope scolded her husband but she didn't blush.

Charles couldn't help wondering if in his mother's college days she had been one of those girls with her tights torn and her knickers pulled down; his mother and father had met in their college years so it was highly likely. He tried to clear the image from his mind.

"Come on Penelope. The boy's nineteen now and sowing his wild oats with the upper housemen will stand him in good stead. The battle of Waterloo might have been won on the playing fields of Eton, but England's commercial engine was forged on the fields of Chelmsford," George boasted.

"More likely the pubs and brothels nearby," Penelope huffed.

"You've done well and we're over all that frilly-knicker nonsense so go and make a man out of yourself at Brighton. I'll slip you a few quid before you leave so you can enjoy yourself properly," George forked another slab filet mignon into his face.

"Just don't go knocking up any of those strumpets down there. They'll see a well-to-do young man like yourself as a ticket out of the tenements," Penelope warned.

"Stick to the four 'Fs' old boy... find 'em, feel 'em, fuck 'em and forget 'em," George laughed so hard that he nearly choked on the lump of steak in his maw.

"That's it George! Enough of that language at the table," this time Penelope did blush.

"Just keep it in the bedroom where it belongs; right dear," George smirked at his wife.

"George... really!" but Charles thought he saw a glint in his mother's eye as she chided her husband.

That was enough for him. He did not want that picture in his mind and he excused himself and went up to his room where he had a private line and called Robert Fellows' residence. When Robert answered he used Charlotte's voice and told him the meeting was definitely on and they finalised their plans and made sure their cover stories matched.

Charles was certainly in the good books with his father. He gave Charles a wad of cash and the keys to his 'weekend car'; his beloved Ford Capri. Charles was excited and as soon as he left the family's estate Charlotte appropriated his psyche. She was excited to be out and about and feeling confident. She had been living as Charlotte part-time almost every day for months. Everyone so far who had seen Charlotte had told her that she was passable and now was the time to put it to the test.

Where the M25 met the M23 there were roadhouses, service stations and cheap motels. Charles paid for a cheap room at the Travellers Inn, a fleapit mainly used by lorry drivers. She parked next to her room, a cinderblock hovel with ripped, faded curtains, stained carpets and musty bedding. Charlotte didn't care. She would only be using the bathroom and wouldn't be more than an hour or so. She laid out her travelling clothes on the bed, stripped, cleaned herself with her douche, and took a shower, deliberately avoiding looking at the mould in the corners.

Her hair was getting longer but was not long enough to be styled so she had brought along a couple of wigs. She painstakingly applied her makeup, she wanted to look good for Robert, positioned the black bob wig and brushed it out and dressed. She had been shopping since she had been home and she wore a sunny yellow silk Ungaro wrap dress that had been made famous by Jean Shrimpton, nearly-nude sheer-to-the-waist pantyhose and over them white nylon bikini panties. The matching bra with a little padding gave her a modest décolletage and white Tatiana high-heeled court shoes complimented the ensemble. She wore a string of faux pearls around her slender neck and a matching bracelet and earrings.

The dress and the shoes were expensive but Charlotte had plenty of money and she wanted to look bright and summery but also sexy for Robert when he first saw her outside of the claustrophobic and foreboding confines of Chelmsford College. She packed everything away carefully, sprayed herself with perfume, took a deep breath and stepped confidently outside.

She almost collided with the big-bellied lorry driver who was lugging a battered carry-all to his room which obviously adjoined hers.

"Nearly got me luv," the burly man chuckled unashamedly appraising her.

"Although I have to say I wouldn't have minded a saucy little thing like you rubbing up against me," he winked at her salaciously.

"You're not working the rooms are you? A bit early for the brasses to be out but you never knows your luck," the man's grin was positively lecherous.

Charlotte stood there speechless; her white handbag slung over shoulder and her wheeled suitcase at her side. It took her a while to understand what the man was implying.

"Are you insinuating I'm a prostitute?" Charlotte blushed.

The irony was not lost on her. She had been a concubine during her first weeks at college.

The man appraised her again and looked at the shiny red Ford Capri parked outside her door.

"I'm sorry Miss, you're obviously too beautiful and classy to be a brass but we don't normally find your type staying in a dump like this," the man actually doffed his cap.

"Exactly. And I'm not staying but the roadhouse toilets are atrocious so I paid for a half day for the room to freshen up and change my laddered tights," she immediately regretted giving such a long and involved explanation that wasn't really warranted.

Charlotte turned her back on the man and loaded her car very aware that the man hadn't moved and was staring at her, especially when she bent over to push the suitcase into the Capri's hatch and again when she slipped in behind the wheel, she was nervous and ungainly, 'all legs and arse' the uncouth were liable to say.

She started the car and was looking in the mirror ready to reverse when the man came over and tapped on the window and Charlotte rolled it down.

"I'll give you a fiver for your laddered tights," the man's smirk was downright indecent, his tobacco-stained teeth revolting, his filthy crotch bulging.

Charlotte gunned the engine throwing out a spray of gravel and dust which caused the man to stagger back and cover his eyes, much to Charlotte's delight.

As she entered the on ramp to the M25 she realised that she was shaking. She ruminated on the incident for a while as she drove towards Brighton and an arrière-pensée occurred to her. What had happened was not really a bad thing. After the initial shock she had handled herself reasonably well but more importantly the man had no idea that she wasn't a real woman. And she had to admit that besides the man being totally prurient, she was a little flattered that he found her so alluring.

Five pounds for a pair of ripped pantyhose was a considerable sum.

Charlotte arrived at Brighton and some of her confidence waned. The traffic was heavy and the streets were crowded but then she rationalised that it was easier to get lost in crowd; there was in fact safety in numbers.

Robert Fellows had paid for a single room and two parking spaces at a small boutique hotel. This was going to be Charlotte's first real test and she knew that confidence was the key. It was the eighties after all and it was quite common for men and women to share a room outside of wedlock, the hotelier couldn't care less so long as you paid up front, didn't create a ruckus and were discreet.

"Charlotte Ward checking in," Charlotte had stridden confidently up to reception, that was until her heel caught in the threadbare carpet and she careened into the counter.

Now she was flustered.

"Sorry about that pet. I've been telling Harold to fix that carpet for months now," the middle-aged but stylishly dressed and attractive receptionist smiled at her sympathetically.

"Harold! Put down that chip butty and get your arse out here and fix the bloody carpet! We nearly knackered one of our guests," the woman screamed over her shoulder at a tall sophisticated looking gentleman wearing a threadbare suit.

"Yes Gladys. I'll get right on it," the man called back around a mouth filled with bread and spuds.

"That means it won't get done for another month," Gladys smiled warmly at Charlotte.

"Gladys Chatterton, owner, operator, receptionist, barmaid, chief cook and bottle-washer of The Ambassador," she extended her hand and Charlotte took it.

"Let me look here. Oh you're staying with Mister Fellows. You're a lucky girl, he's quite a hunk and very handsome. Are you engaged?" Gladys had a mischievous twinkle in her eye.

"It's complicated," Charlotte couldn't help but smile back.

"Well don't let it get too complicated. He'd be quite the catch, going to be a financier and all," Gladys winked at her.

"We chatted for a while when he was checking in. A very pleasant and considerate young man, taking the time to talk like an old biddy like me," Gladys' self-mockery was not lost on Charlotte; she was far from being an old biddy.

Charlotte couldn't help but giggle. Mrs Chatterton was a hoot, the epitome of the nosy hotelier. Now she knew who Gladys reminded her of, Sybil Fawlty, she had the same dress sense, style and prying demeanour.

Gladys had Charlotte fill in the registration card while she rummaged in the keyboard for a key, all the time chattering away about the delights of Brighton, the history of the hotel and the laziness of her husband.

Harold Chatterton came out of the cubbyhole of an office and joined his wife.

"You know I can hear everything you say in there," Harold said to Gladys.

"Don't worry about Gladys, she's just inquisitive; some would say nosy," Harold came over and stood next to his wife.

"Aren't you the pretty little thing," Harold smiled at Charlotte but he was inoffensive and genuinely friendly.

"You keep your eyes and your mind on the job Harold Chatterton," Gladys chastised him.

"Says the woman who fawned all over your boyfriend," Harold chortled.

"Doesn't matter where you get your appetite so long as you eat at home lovey," Gladys patted his cheeks affectionately.

"I don't mind eating at home, so long as I get seconds," Harold smacked Gladys playfully on the buttocks.

"Harold Chatterton! Not in front of the guests!" Gladys chided him but you could see that they loved each other.

"I'm off to get a carpet square to fix that carpet," Harold kissed his wife and lifted the counter top.

"There's no carpet for sale at the Sail and Anchor Pub Harold," she called after him as he stepped outside.

Harold gave her a dismissive wave and continued on his way.

"Men! Can't live with them; can't live without them, although Mrs Smithers tells me she keeps her mother's little helper in the top drawer of her nightstand and it's a pretty good substitute, doesn't eat or drink and only needs the batteries changed once a week," Gladys burst into peals of laughter at her bawdy joke.

Charlotte couldn't help but laugh along but by now she desperately wanted to get up to her room and be reunited with Robert.

"You go on up love. I'll get your suitcase bought up later. The porter will knock and leave it outside your door," Gladys gave Charlotte a knowing wink.

"It's ok I can manage," Charlotte returned Gladys' smile.

Charlotte climbed the stairs and found the door to their room locked. She frowned. Had Robert gone out?

She unlocked the door and immediately smelled Robert's aftershave. He was lying on the couch dressed in a robe waiting expectantly. He rushed to the door and pulled her into his arms. He kissed her and guided her into the room, kicking the door closed behind them.

"I've missed you so much," he held her tight and kissed her again.

The kiss was long and passionate and Charlotte could feel his excitement.

Charlotte was able break free of his grasp and drop her handbag on the table.

"Can I look around?" she asked.

"Of course you can darling. I'll open some champagne and pour us a glass; there's not much to see really," Robert went over to the little bar-fridge and brought out the champagne while Charlotte admired the snug little sitting room.

The furniture was old but in good taste and they had views of the beach from the bay window. There was a cosy bedroom with a tiny ensuite bathroom. It was modest but clean and well appointed.

It was not lost on Charlotte that Robert had called her 'darling' and was affectionate but reserved. She'd half-expected him to ravage her as soon as she arrived but he had shown great restraint. He was indeed treating her like his girlfriend rather than his strumpet. It was just how she had dreamed it would be.

"I'm going to freshen up," Charlotte called out as she closed the door to the bedroom.

Robert was a little disappointed but she'd had a long drive so it was to be expected.

When she emerged from the bedroom ten minutes later Robert was assured the wait was worth it.

Charlotte emerged wearing a black nylon and lace negligee under which he could see that she was wearing red satin knickers, a matching suspender belt to which were attached long, fully-fashioned black stockings and her feet were shod in red high-heels. She reeked of 'Poison' his favourite perfume.

"Don't get up," she grinned at him as he tried to scramble out of the overstuffed armchair.

She sidled over to him and sat in his lap and let him explore her body as he kissed her deeply. His breath was sweet and his tongue explored her mouth, his hands caressed her insignificant breasts but her nipples hardened to his touch, they ranged down her soft white flesh to her thighs were they lingered at her stocking-tops. He stroked her thighs and then his fingers found her hard inside her knickers. He softly stoked her erect penis through her silky panties while he continued to kiss her passionately.

She explored his muscled chest and hard flat belly and when her fingers found his manhood he gasped into her mouth. He lifted her out of the chair and carried her to the bedroom and lay her on the bed.

"I'm sorry I can't wait," he whispered into her mouth.

"I can't either," she opened her legs for him to lie between them.

He put a pillow under her buttocks and lifted her legs, all the time staring lovingly into her beautiful face. The expression of bliss on Charlotte's face as he entered her conjured both lust and endearment. She wrapped her legs around him, content to feel her lover deep inside her. It had been weeks since they had been together and they were both excited.

Robert kissed Charlotte as he ever so slowly thrust himself in and out of her tight channel, barley moving, scared he would climax too soon. She wrapped her arms around his neck and pulled his face to hers, kissing him lovingly as she pressed herself against him, content in the feel of his hard body on top of her. His pubis pressed against her hard cock still trapped in her panties. He was being considerate, he knew that she loved it and it was her favourite way to climax; he deep inside her, his hard belly rubbing on her cock.

Charlotte wriggled her buttocks indicating that she was close and Robert was glad because he was having trouble holding back his orgasm. He pushed himself inside her all the way and released.

Charlotte felt his cock pulsate and the heat of his ejaculate as he came deep in her anus and she locked her legs tighter around his torso and rose up and gyrated her groin into his belly, flooding her panties with her issue.

They never broke the kiss all through their lovemaking and clung to each other like sole survivors cast adrift. There was genuine tenderness between them, an understanding that their contentment could only be fulfilled by fulfilling the needs of the other.

Robert bought the champagne into the bedroom and they lay on the covers talking, kissing and caressing until it got cold and then Charlotte kicked off her heels and they snuggled under the covers which lead to another bout of tender lovemaking. They fell asleep in each other's arms.

When they awoke it was dark and Robert arose first and turned on the lights before heading into the ensuite to freshen up.

"Are we going out tonight?" Charlotte called through the door, draining the last of the champagne.

"Of course we're going out. I'm taking you out on the town," Robert called back.

Like any young woman about to go out on a date for the first time with her boyfriend Charlotte was in a quandary as to what to wear. Robert's had said they would explore St James's Street in Kemptown and find a pub that served decent food. She wanted to dress to please Robert but not too proactively.

She laid out the clothing she had bought on the bed and selected a body-sculpting lightweight stretch black cocktail dress with sheer mesh sleeves. It was long enough that she could wear her black fully-fashioned stockings with it. They were holdups so there would be no unsightly bulges from a suspender belt. Speaking of unsightly bulges, she carefully tucked and taped and pulled on a pair of tight black lycra panties to hold everything in place. She had a matching bra that was lightly padded.

When she slipped on her back stilettos and looked at herself in the mirror she was pleased with what she saw. She was wearing her favourite blood-red lipstick and had accentuated her green eyes with a blend of violet and mauve eyeshadow and black mascara and eyeliner. She had rouged her cheeks to accentuate them and selected a shoulder-length brunette bob with honey highlights.

Charlotte must have looked good because Robert kept pestering her and she had to keep slapping his hands away.

"Plenty of time for that later," she chided him but was pleased that he found her alluring.

Robert was wearing a tailored charcoal suit with an oversize coat and had washed and styled his now shoulder-length hair. He looked good and Charlotte could hardly wait for them to step out together.

They ran into Harold and Gladys Chatterton who were also dressed for dinner but would be dining in The Ambassador's modest but well-appointed dining room.

"Don't you both look gorgeous," Gladys faffed around them at the bottom of the stairs.

"Where are you off to?" she asked.

"We thought we'd just meander along St James's Street and see what's happening," Robert replied, his arm around Charlotte's waist.

"Oh yes, plenty of places for a young couple like yourselves to have fun there," Gladys smoothed the lapel on Robert's jacket.

"Ok Gladys, settle down and leave the gentleman alone," Harold shook his head but he was smiling.

"Have a good evening you two and don't mind Gladys; she's a bit of a flibbertigibbet as you now know," Harold put his arm affectionately around his wife and guided her to the door leading to the bar.

"See you both later. Enjoy yourselves," Harold said farewell and Charlotte and Robert stepped out into the fresh air laced with the scent of the sea.

Charlotte and Robert walked slowly along the Brighton seafront; the streets were well populated with holiday makers despite the chill in the air. At first Charlotte clung to Robert, still unsure of herself and Robert had to admit he quite liked having Charlotte's body pressed against his. He had his arm around her waist and held her close as they enjoyed the bright coloured lights, the savoury smells and the sounds of music and laughter.

When they entered Brighton Palace Pier the crowds thickened and Charlotte began to feel more comfortable. They walked hand in hand looking at the sideshows and listening to squeals of delight coming from the fairground attractions at the end of the pier. Charlotte also began to realise that it wasn't because everyone had clocked her as a tranny that she was being stared at; it was because she looked so beautiful and alluring. Robert was a handsome man and she a pretty woman, people were bound to stare. She relaxed and Robert sensed it.

"I told you so," he whispered in her ear and she punched him softly in the upper arm, but she was smiling.

They left the pier and turned onto St James's Street where the demographic changed. The family groups and older sightseers were concentrated around the pier. This area had a bohemian ambience and attracted an eclectic crowd. There were young people wearing everything from the height of fashion, to street-trash punk with Mohawk hairstyles and face jewellery, to the elegantly dressed nouveau riche. The bars and restaurants were loud and overflowing and laughter and frivolity filled the air.

More importantly to Charlotte there were openly gay couples walking hand in hand, even kissing and quite a few trans types, everything from outrageously dressed drag queens to elegantly dressed crossdressers. They flaunted their differences rather than hiding them. But Charlotte was comfortable that she was passable and highly unlikely to be clocked.

"Let's go in here," Robert pulled Charlotte into a crowded bar-restaurant.

They were lucky enough to arrive just as a couple was leaving and they snagged a counter-top table with four stools. Robert parked Charlotte on a barstool, kissed her and went to fight a battle at the bar to get them drinks. Although she was no longer self-conscious, she was aware than she was being looked at, particularly by young men. She nervously pulled at the hem of her dress and wished she'd either worn a longer dress or foregone the hold-up stockings. Perched on the stool it was hard to keep the welts covered.

A man who looked to be in his forties was staring blatantly at her from where he stood against the opposite wall of the long narrow bar area. He was dressed in an expensive suit and was confident in his good looks as he smiled at Charlotte. She deliberately broke eye contact and surveyed the crowd.

It was mostly small groups of younger types out for a good time, drinking heavily, eating bar snacks and chattering loudly over the top of one and other. A group of middle-aged gentlemen was sitting at a table just through the divide that separated the barroom from the restaurant proper, surrounded by the debris of a feast, drinking scotch and smoking cigars. Charlotte thought of her father, it was just the sort thing her father was into.

Across from her at a round table was a group of five transvestites, they were dressed very provocatively in miniskirts, nylons and heels and their makeup was overdone and their hair flamboyant. They were not trying to disguise who and what they were; they were just out for a good time and enjoying themselves. If they could be so outwardly enthusiastic about it, what did Charlotte need to worry about, she thought to herself.

"That dress would look great on the floor next to my bed," the man who had been ogling her from across the room was now leaning on the counter-top openly appraising her.

"I'll put you on the floor next to your bed if you like. You'll be there because you will be too wounded from the beating I gave you to climb into it," Robert put down the drinks he'd bought from the bar and glared at the stranger.

The older man looked at Robert and realised he'd be no match for the young fit rugby forward.

"I'm sorry I thought the young lady was by herself," the man tried his sleazy smile on them.

"Look, I don't want any trouble," he apologised.

"Then piss off and find a woman your own age. The pub on the corner is having a grab a granny night. Parents Without Partners are having their weekly get together. Just try not to wake up the kids when you sneak out of the bedroom of the poor unfortunate woman you pick up tonight," Robert stepped in close to the man who took a step back.

"No need to be aggressive," she man swallowed.

"And no need for you to try to pick up a girl young enough to be your daughter. Now fuck off!" Robert growled.

The man turned on his heels and pushed his way through the crowd to the door.

"Tosser," Robert hissed, handing Charlotte her rum and coke.

"I thought he was quite handsome and sophisticated," Charlotte teased.

"I can call him back for you," Robert countered, smiling at her.

"Don't bother, there's plenty of other handsome mature men here to choose from," Charlotte sucked on her straw.

"I didn't know you liked granddads," Robert sipped his drink, playing along with the farce.

He pulled his stool close to Charlotte so that their knees were touching.

"Seriously, thank you so much," Charlotte leaned in and kissed him.

"Don't thank me for defending my girlfriend," Robert replied.

Charlotte was taken aback. There was no doubt that Robert was treating her like his girlfriend, to some extent she thought of herself as his girlfriend but he had never articulated their relationship that way. There was a lot to unpack but now was probably not the time to do so. As it turned out their conversation was about to steered in a totally different direction.

"Robbie! Robbie!" a pretty little thing in a silver lame minidress was waving frantically as she approached their table.

"Shit!" Robert's face fell.

To complement the silver lame minidress the girl was wearing glossy flesh-toned pantyhose and silver strappy heels and if the diamond necklace, bracelets and earrings were real, about a thousand pounds worth of jewellery. Her platinum blonde hair and fringe had been hot crimped and her makeup was perfect: heavy layered foundation, bright pink blush, heavy black eyeliner, blended blue purple and pink eyeshadow, bright blue metallic mascara and pink lip-liner and lipstick.

Her voice was shrill and annoying as she kept calling out Robert's name and determinedly made her way through the crowd to where they were sitting.

The girl sidled up to Robert and planted a big kiss on his cheek. She ignored Charlotte as if she wasn't there.

"Robbie you shit! You didn't tell me you were coming to Brighton. I'm here with Flopsy and Tiggy staying at the Grand. Where are you?" she clung to him like a limpet.

"Rebecca this is Charlotte; Charlotte this Rebecca," Robert ignored her question and made the introductions.

"My friends call me Becky of course," she drawled in a plummy accent.

"I'm just Charlotte," she smiled at Becky.

"So how do you know Robbie?" Becky raised her brows inquisitively.

Robert and Charlotte had a backstory to tell anyone they met casually at the hotel. They were friends on holiday together both taking a break from university but such an inane story would not hold up to scrutiny.

"As you know Robert goes to Chelmsford College and is on a break. I go to Essex University and my family lives near Chelmsford and as is turns out my father and Robert's father are friends and work in London. We ran into each other and he invited me out for a drink," Charlotte decided a half-truth would suffice.

"So you two aren't friends then? You can't be because I know all of Robbie's friends, don't I Robbie?" Becky stroked Robert's arm possessively.

Robert was caught in the lie and obviously didn't know what to say.

"No Becky, Robert and I aren't friends per se, we ran into each other in the hotel lobby and recognised each other from some family get together or the other and as we're both on our own Robert invited me for drink," Charlotte elaborated.

"I did say only my friends call me Becky," her affected accent was beginning to grind on Charlotte.

Charlotte looked befuddled and was about to apologise.

"Don't apologise; I'm just kidding," Becky smiled but the smile never reached her eyes.

"Robbie and I go way back don't we darling. He, Flopsy, Tiggy and I and a bunch of our friends used to play-spin-the bottle when we were young didn't we Robbie? He was the first boy to stick his tongue in my mouth," Becky giggled.

"That was long time ago Becky," Robert looked embarrassed.

Becky had managed to worm her way between Robert and Charlotte and was still clinging to him.

"You were the first boy to stick something else in me too weren't you Robbie?" she grinned salaciously.

"You need to be careful with him Charlotte. He'll be up you like a rat up a drainpipe, you're just his type when he's out slumming, but he always returns to his old stomping ground don't you Robbie?" Becky pecked him on the cheek again.

"Please excuse me while I use the ladies," Charlotte just wanted to get away from the bitchy 'Sloane Ranger', and she did need to go.

It was only when she arrived at the door to the ladies lavatory that she realised that this would be her fist time using the facility. For a brief second she panicked but she soon realised that she would have the privacy of a stall to conduct her business so she confidently opened the door and went into a vacant stall.

She thought that men's conveniences were bad but they had nothing on this pub loo. The floor was wet, the bowl was unflushed, there was toilet paper strewn all over the floor and only three sheets remained on the roll and through the pungent stench of perfume, a scintilla of stale urine assailed her nose.

She was glad she was wearing holdups because it made things easy for her. Her nylons and knickers were going nowhere near the piss-stained floor. She hung her bag on the back of the door, hiked up her dress sat on the seat after flushing it and wiping it with one of the precious leaves of TP. She put her hand in her knickers and freed herself. The first few dribbles soon became a torrent as she relieved herself into the bowl. She used the remaining leaves on the roll to dry herself and then tucked herself away. She flushed and left the cubicle and was nearly bowled over by a waiting patron who had been bouncing up and down on her heels to keep it in.

Charlotte fought for a space at the vanity unit where she washed her hands, freshened her makeup and brushed her hair. Checking that she looked presentable before she exited the ladies.

She noticed that Becky had perched herself on the stool next to Robert and had a fresh drink in front of her as did Robert. The toilets were behind where they were sitting so as they couldn't see her as she pressed through the crowd.

"Oh come on Robbie her family might have some money but she's uncouth. She dresses like a drag queen for fuck sake. Black seamed stockings and that awful do; she's been taking makeup tips from Danny La Rue," Becky was saying as Charlotte came into earshot.

"Hey! Watch yer mouth!" one or the transvestites sitting across from them sniped.

Charlotte watched Robert squirm because what Becky unknowingly was saying was close to the truth.

"You know what Becky? You've always been a snob and you're right... she is my type and I'm not out slumming. Charlotte is articulate, graceful and caring. When I first met her I treated her like shit because that's how I've been conditioned. Well she's changed me. I don't see a trollop in a black minidress; I see a woman who I am proud to be seen with. A woman who I'd much rather spend my time with than you and your toffee-nosed pals."

"So fuck off back to Flopsy and Tiggy and enjoy your holiday and we'll enjoy ours," Robert fumed.

"Oh dear Robbie, you're not shacked up with her are you? Never mind, once you've had your bit of rough you'll come back to where you belong," Becky's plummy accent was grating.

"Oh there you are Charlotte. I was just telling Robbie that I have to leave but I'm sure we'll catch up later. Maybe one day we'll meet up at the same soiree. Your parents are friends of Robbie's after all. Funny we've not met before; but there you go."

"Bye Robbie; pleased to meet you Charlotte," Becky pecked Robert's cheek and walked away.

"You heard what she said," Robert hung his head.

"Yes," Charlotte sat down on the recently vacated stool.

Robert shook his head remorsefully.

"But more importantly I heard what you said," she took his hand in hers.

"Wanna go back to the hotel and play spin the bottle," she leaned into him, kissed the side of his mouth and squeezed his hand.

To be continued

May 1986

Detective Sergeant Archie Sanders and his partner Detective Constable Sandra Tingle had stopped at a layby on the A12 near Mountnessing and were drinking tea purchased from the take away food van and smoking cigarettes.

"This is the worst cup of tea I think I've ever had," Archie Sanders poured most of his drink onto the cracked asphalt.

"Shouldn't we get a wriggle on Archie?" Sandra Tingle tossed her styrofoam cup into an overflowing bin.

"SOCO will want the scene for a while and the local wooden-tops will keep the vultures away. Lucky for us the university sits on private land so entry is easily controlled," Archie replied, studying the glowing tip of his cigarette.

He dropped the half-smoked gasper into his cup and listened to it hiss as the remaining dregs of his tea snuffed it out.

"Alright Sandra; let's go," gravel crunched under their feet as they strode over to the Metropolitan Police issued Ford Granada.

Archie looked around the layup and saw three lorry drivers lined up at the food van, no one was looking their way. Sandra was walking ahead of him a pace or two and he reached out and grasped the crook of her arm and spun her around and stepped into her. He kissed her, holding her close as he softly squeezed her buttocks through her drab navy-blue skirt.

Sandra struggled and pushed him away.

"For fuck sake Archie! Anyone could see us! We're on the job for fuck sake!" she smoothed her skirt and looked angrily at him.

"Who's going to see us and who cares if they do? We're a long way from London; no one knows us," Archie grinned that infectious boyish grin.

"We're on our way to a murder scene," Sandra admonished him.

"It's just the sight of you with your hair pulled back in that awful bun, that shapeless suit, those thick blue tights and those scuffed low heels gets me going," Archie smirked, reaching for the door handle.

Sandra was used to his sarcasm. They had been partners for three years and had begun their affair in earnest just over a year ago.

"Get in the car you muppet, we've taken too long already," Sandra opened the door and slid into the driver's seat, smoothing out her skirt under her.

The skirt was knee-length and didn't show much leg but she was self-conscious about Archie's comment about her thick, dark-blue tights, flat shoes and rumpled dark woollen suit which she wore for efficiency. She was a police detective on the job and fashion had no place for the practicalities of policework.

As they re-entered the A12 Archie Sanders opened the slim file on his lap to review the case.

"This is one strange fucked up case. If there wasn't a bunch of toffs involved the locals would have it and they would be welcome to it," Robert tapped the file with his biro.

"If the tabloids get hold of it they will have a field day," Sandra Tingle said around an unlit cigarette.

She slammed the cigarette lighter into the socket and waved the packet at Archie who took one.

"You're a bad influence Sandra, I told Pauline that I was giving up," Archie reached for the lighter and held it so Sandra would light up and then put the hot coils to his own cigarette and puffed.

"I don't want to know what you and Pauline discuss at home," Sandra stared frostily out the window.

When they'd started their affair they had agreed to limit conversation about their respective partners. Both felt guilty about cheating but neither was prepared to cease their relationship which had started as a fling whilst conducting a police training course in Liverpool and developed into something that neither of the two was prepared to put a name on, nor resist the temptation of continuing at every opportunity.

"So... Chelmsford College... university boarding school for the entitled and a couple of scholarship students. The place looks like a throwback to something out of an Evelyn Waugh novel," Archie continued.

"Just look at the place," Archie pointed out the windscreen.

They were approaching the two granite pillars from which hung foreboding wrought iron gates. There was a panda car parked at the entrance and a WPC checked their warrant cards before opening the gates to let them through. She spoke into a police radio announcing their arrival to police at the scene.

Archie shivered as they drove up the gravel driveway to the large brooding grey granite building. Across the manicured lawns, and playing fields he could see a few outbuildings on the edge of the dense woods. There was a small assemblage of police vehicles including the white Transit van used by SOCO outside of one of the buildings. A PC standing in the middle of the driveway waved his white gloves directing them to follow the ruts cut in the lush grass caused by the tyres of police vehicles driving to the crime scene.

"We're supposed to visit the Headmaster; one Francis Lister, before we begin our investigation," Sandra said.

"Fuck the headmaster. I know how these places operate. They have a strict pecking order and he will want to control where we go, who we interview and what we do. We'll let him know it's our investigation and we'll run it how we damn well please," Archie tossed his cigarette out the window.

"You'll get him offside, he won't cooperate as fully if we antagonise him," Sandra commented.

"He'll call the Chief Constable and complain. He'll use the public school old boy network but fuck 'em; I'm not going to be led around by the nose by a bunch of upper-class, entitled wankers," Archie unbuckled his seat belt as they pulled up next to the SOCO van.

"Say what you mean why don't you Archie," Sandra smiled to herself as she set the parking brake and turned the motor off.

"Detective Constable Raymond Smith, Chelmsford police," a tall skinny man offered his hand first to Archie and then to Sandra.

"This is a strange one. Not even sure it's a murder... I don't know what it is. SOCO would like to show you what they have in situ before they remove the body.

Detective Constable Smith led them to the SOCO van.

Unlike what is portrayed on American television, Scene Of Crime Officers and their CSI counterparts do not attend crime scenes dressed in Armani and Gucci with flamboyant coiffed hair and big pistols strapped to their sides. Nor do they solve cases. They gather and interpret forensic evidence and to them the crime scene is sacred.

Archie and Sandra were issued with disposable Tyvek full-body suits, over-boots and surgical gloves. They followed Detective Constable Smith down a pathway to a ramshackle small brick cottage. He left them at the door and they stepped on rubber pavers laid from the door to the crime scene.

The interior of the cottage was not as bad as the exterior. The power was on and as they stepped into the kitchen it was obvious to them that so was the water. The kitchen looked like it had recently been used even though the furniture and fitting were old and decrepit. There were crisp packets, bottles of pop, cans of beer and spirit bottles on the countertop and a stack of cardboard cups in one corner.

They continued through to a small reception room furnished with a musty old sofa and two armchairs and a scarred coffee table with an overflowing ashtray, open beer cans, and styrofoam cups scattered on it. A small television with a VCR connected to it sat atop a board supported by wooden beer crates. Archie walked over and looked at the small collection of video tapes beside the VCR and studied them briefly.

"Porn. Well it is a male-only college so that's not surprising," he commented.

"Looks like it's some sort of party house; there has definitely been a party here recently."

"Don't they have house common rooms for that kind of thing? You know... pissed young men full of Newcastle Brown Ale singing bawdy rugby songs, bullying the weaker and less entitled lads?" Sandra knitted her brows.

"The college has four houses: Lion, River, Crozier and Bridge; but I'm sure the house rules forbid pornography and drinking would be somewhat controlled. Look over there," Archie pointed to a makeshift bar set up in the corner.

They followed the crime scene tiles into a corridor that gave access to four small rooms: two bedrooms, a toilet and a bathroom. The carpet was faded and threadbare, the wallpaper was ripped, bleached, and mouldy and some sheets were hanging loose.

"What a shithole," Archie sighed, looking around.

They heard muttering and footsteps coming from one of the bedrooms and they made their way to the door and knocked softly.

A small women encased in Tyvek came over to greet them.

"Sarah Pheffington; senior scene of crime officer," she smiled but didn't offer her hand for obvious reasons.

"Follow me," they trod carefully over to a large bed.

The bed was old but the bedding was new. Lying in the middle of the bed was a young woman who was obviously deceased.

Despite the pallor of her skin they could see that she was very pretty with carefully applied makeup and black, shoulder-length hair styled into a bob with a fringe that rested on her brows. She was lying on her back and was wearing a cerise satin blouse and a black leather miniskirt. Her legs were sheathed in expensive fully-fashioned flesh-toned stockings and her feet shod in black stiletto high heels. Her arms were spread imperceptivity and slightly curved with the palms facing each other in a position described as Demi-seconde in ballet. Sandra Tingle noticed the blood-red fingernail polish through the plastic bags that SOCO had put over the deceased girl's hands.

Her legs were spread rather lewdly, her stockings were laddered and her skirt and blouse were stained and her skirt rested at the top of her thighs, bunched up a little.

"Was she posed?" Sandra asked.

"We don't know. This is the position she was in when we arrived and the groundsman who found her and the attending PCs claim that other than checking her for signs of life they never touched the body," Sarah Pheffington replied.

"We photographed her of course and then did some preliminary forensics so we have moved her. I had her put back into this position so you could see how she looked when she was found."

"Cause of death?" Archie asked.

"We won't know until the coroner does the autopsy but to me it looks like strangulation or suffocation. There are signs of conjunctival and facial petechial haemorrhages but they are common to both causes of death. There are no signs of any serious wounds to the body," Sarah Pheffington pointed to small bloody contusions in the woman's eyes.

"There is some bruising around the neck but that might be the result of rough sex or it could support the strangulation theory."

"Sexual assault?" Sandra Tingle asked.

"Well that's where it gets interesting. You can see how provocatively she's dressed and her skirt had been hiked up but you'll be surprised when I show you this," Sarah reached into a soft carry-case and brought out a large torch.

"Lights please Jim," she called out to the SOCO photographer who was standing by the door.

The window had been covered over by tarpaper so when Jim switched out the light and closed the door the room was pitch black.

Sarah switched on the torch which turned out to be a high intensity ultra-violet light. She trained the light on the woman's body, starting at her feet and working her way upwards. As soon as the light got to the woman's thighs, tell-tale fluorescent splotches began to appear. The tops of her thighs seemed to be soaked.

Sarah lifted the woman's skirt higher. The crotch of her knickers was one big iridescent splotch.

"Help me roll her over," Sarah asked and Archie assisted.

The back of the woman's panties glowed eerily under the UV light.

"Christ!" Archie said disgustedly.

"I'll have to test it but surely you can smell it," Sarah trained the light around the scene.

Both Archie and Sandra recognised the musty smell of semen but they had originally thought it was just the mustiness of the cottage. The bed clothes were covered with phosphorescent stains. Some glowed brightly; others were faint. There was even trace evidence on the floor rug.

"The bedding in the second bedroom yielded the same results," Sandra explained.

They rolled the woman onto her back and Jim turned the ceiling light on and Sarah switched off the UV light and put it away.

"That's a lot of semen if that's what it is," Sandra commented.

"First off I need to confirm that it is semen but I'm ninety-nine percent sure. But that's not the most interesting part. This is," Sarah entwined her fingers in the dead woman's hair and gently pulled at it.

It came away in her hand. It was a wig. The woman's actual hair colour was brunette; she had a collar length, shag-styled pixie-cut with a soft fringe.

"And that's not all," Sarah lifted the woman's skirt out of the way and pulled her knickers down at the front.

The young woman had a penis.

"Jesus Christ!" Archie stepped back from the corpse.

Sandra was speechless.

"Tingle; with me now!" Archie stormed out of the room.

He led Sandra out of the cottage to a small copse of trees and fumbled for his cigarettes inside the Tyvek bodysuit.

They both lit up and drew smoke into their lungs before Archie spoke.

"I thought this was going to be pretty simple. Some over-privileged toffs lured a brass or a girlfriend to an on-campus party and one of them either got carried away or deliberately killed her," Archie was walking in a small circle talking as much to himself as Sandra.

"But this... this is going to be a shit sandwich!"

"First we need to establish the identity of the young woman. Is she a student? Is she a local? Or is she a prostitute whose services they paid for?" Sandra speculated.

"What if they thought they were paying for the services of a woman and one or all of them find out that she's a tranny and they lose it and kill her? The same hypothesis could apply if they had invited what they though was a girl down here to party and then found out she was trans," Sandra theorised.

"We're getting ahead of ourselves. First thing we need to know is if she's a student," Archie sounded resolved.

"Detectives! Please come back inside a minute," Sarah Pheffington called from the cottage doorway.

"What now?" Archie hissed as he strode back to the cottage with Sandra following behind.

"In here," Sarah pointed to the wardrobe in the room where the body had been found.

Ian the photographer had just finished taking a series of photographs of whatever they had found in the wardrobe and Sarah reached into the wardrobe and brought out a handful of small clear plastic baggies. Ian took more photographs and then backed away.

Sandra carefully opened one of the small Ziploc bags and examined the contents with a small plastic spatula while one of the other SOCOs arrived with a small case that the detectives recognised as a field test kit.

Sarah took a sample of the white powder from the Ziploc bag; put it in a phial with the reagent and immediately the pink liquid turned blue.

"Preliminary positive result for cocaine," she noted more for her records than for the benefit of the detectives who knew exactly what they had witnessed.

"The fucking hits just keep on coming!" Archie Sanders puffed out his cheeks and exhaled.

"Jim, take a couple of Polaroids of the woman's face... are we still calling her a woman? Take a couple of Polaroids of the deceased for me and a couple of the bags of white powder. Time to call on the headmaster I think," Archie went back outside and Sandra followed.

They disposed of their protective clothing and wrote up their contemporaneous notes while they waited for the photographs to be taken. Archie called over Detective Constable Raymond Smith.

"Do you know what we have in there?" Archie nodded his head towards the cottage.

"Dead girl; looks like a Tom or a party-girl. Evidence of a party... that's about all I know," Detective Constable Smith replied.

"And that's all you and these wooden-tops need to know. Anything else leaks out before a formal police statement is made I'll hold you personally responsible... get it," Archie growled.

"I was warned that you Met types can be a bit pugnacious; don't worry Sergeant, I don't know anything else and I don't want to know anything else. The Chief Constable called you in for a reason and I'm glad he did," Raymond shrugged his shoulders and gave Archie a pragmatic grin.

"Pugnacious... living near a university has obviously improved your vocabulary," Archie turned away and walked over to the SOCO photographer who was waiting for him.

"Here you go," Jim handed over a small stack of polaroids.

"I'd like some of the trans woman without makeup because I bet you a pound to a pinch of shit that she is a student here," Archie flicked through the photographs and handed them to Sandra.

"I know you would but we can't remove anything from the victim's body until the coroner does the autopsy but I took one of her with the wig removed if that helps," Jim told Archie what he already knew.

Archie and Sandra got back in their Granada and drove back across the field and turned onto the gravel road leading to the university.

"I'm fucking confused here Sandra. Do I call her-her or her-him or what?" Archie shook his head.

"Convention says that a trans woman identifies as female and should be addressed accordingly but in this case we are talking about someone who is deceased. Once we identify the body we'll have a better idea," Sandra was looking at the pictures.

"But fucking Christ Archie, I never would have guessed. She's prettier and more feminine than most women her age, even dead," it was Sandra's turn to shake her head.

Detective Sergeant Sanders and Detective Constable Tingle were not amused when they were made to wait outside Francis Lister's office. When they were finally escorted into the Headmaster's grand office they were fuming.

Archie Sanders stormed over to a huge mahogany desk and dropped the photographs of the dead girl in front of Francis Lister.

"While you're fucking us around playing silly games, that person is lying dead in one of your old groundsman's cottages," Archie stabbed a finger at the polaroids.

Francis arose out of a throne like chair, straightened his jacket and tie and offered his hand.

"Professor Francis Lister, Headmaster of Chelmsford University College," Francis kept his hand extended although Archie made no effort to shake it.

After an awkward silence Francis withdrew his hand and gestured at two seats at the front of his desk.

"Let me get things going on the right foot here headmaster. This is a murder investigation and I won't be treated like a schoolboy. My partner and I intend to fully investigate what has happened here and I expect your full cooperation," Archie ignored the seat the headmaster was pointing at.

"I'm sorry I was on the phone to the board of trustees. I thought it imperative that they knew what has happened Detective," The headmaster dropped back into his seat.

"Detective Sergeant Sanders and this is Detective Constable Tingle and how can you tell the trustees what has happened when I don't bloody well know myself?" Archie spat.

"I merely informed them that there had been a death at the college, that it was suspicious and that the local constabulary has requested support from the Metropolitan Police as they are ill-equipped to deal with the case," Francis replied calmly.

Sandra Tingle could see that this adversarial sniping back and forth was not helping.

"Professor, can you please look closely at the pictures on your desk and tell us if you recognise who it is in the photographs?" Sandra got the interview back on track.

Sandra witnessed a spark of recognition on Francis Lister's face as soon as he picked up one of the prints but the Professor took his time studying each one.

"I'm almost certain that it's Charles Ward," the headmaster sighed.

"Almost certain? He's wearing full makeup and a wig," Sandra needled him a little.

"I've seen Charles in makeup before; one Halloween he dressed up as the character Elvira, Mistress of the Dark from that silly American TV show; she has a cult following amongst the lads. His friend William Larkin dressed as Blondie, you know Deborah Harry, and they ran around the campus creating mayhem. I had to discipline Charles that evening, he'd taken the whole thing quite too far," can I see the picture with the wig removed?" he pointed to a photograph.

"That hairstyle is quite unique and the facial features match. Do you have any pictures of the deceased without makeup?" Francis continued to study the pictures.

"The SOCO won't let us remove the makeup until a thorough forensic examination is complete and the coroner has completed the autopsy. We might remove trace evidence by removing the makeup," Sandra explained.

"It's him. It's Charles," the headmaster's voice cracked and for an instant his pomposity disappeared and he looked vulnerable.

"Any idea why he might be dressed like a woman and down at the old cottage last night?" Archie interposed.

The headmaster ruminated on the question for a while before he answered.

"The university has a strict code and each of the houses also has their own rules. Chelmsford College is one of the last British universities to be run along the lines of a public school. The strict discipline and code of conduct produces outstanding academic results and outstanding young men," Francis began.

"But we are dealing with young men here; not boys and they have men's appetites," he nodded sagely to himself.

"I'm sure there are shenanigans going on, on the campus. Sneaking in girls, drinking parties and so on; I'm sure that some of the students have experimented with drugs, it is the nineteen eighties after all," the headmaster harrumphed.

"Yes it is," Archie had withheld the pictures of the bags of cocaine and decided that he wouldn't show the headmaster just yet.

"Look. Our preliminary inspection of the crime scene suggests that the old groundsman's cottage was being used as a regular venue for what you call shenanigans. We will need to interview Charles Ward's friends and acquaintances," Archie explained.

"We haven't had a positive identification yet and someone is going to have to inform the deceased next of kin," Archie put out a hand as the headmaster reached for the phone.

"Someone from the police service will undertake that task Professor and request a family member make a formal identification so let's not get ahead of ourselves. That said; your identification from the photograph is enough for us to continue our investigations here on campus."

"Very well. Charles was very good rugby player and up until recently he was in the first fifteen and was pivotal in the College team making it to the semi-finals but for some reason he was dropped from the team. I'd start there. To my recollection he never really fitted in and didn't have a great many close friends. He fagged for Robert Fellows when he was a lower houseman," the headmaster consulted a file he'd taken from a compactus.

"Fagged?" Archie looked bemused.

"I'll explain it to you; it's not what you think," Sandra interjected.

"Where do we find this Robert Fellows?" Archie asked.

"Look Detective Sergeant, this school is attended by the sons of some of the most prodigious people in Great Britain. We could do without the scandal. I would ask that you be a little discreet," Francis puffed out his chest.

"If I can rely on your full cooperation, we will be as discreet as we can," Archie gave the headmaster a mirthless smile.

"Very well then. Mr Fellows obtained honours in his Bachelor of Business Management and stayed on to get his Master's despite his father being well to do in international banking circles. His father could have started him off in a very substantial and well paid position. I presume that Robert decided the prestige of a Master's would obtain him a better position in his father's corporation," Francis explained.

"I'll have you escorted to Robert Fellows' dormitory room and have him brought to you there. I dare say you will want to examine Charles Ward's dormitory and as it turns out, it adjoins Robert Fellows. Perhaps you might want to do that while you wait for Robert?" the headmaster said.

Archie and Sandra looked at each other quizzically when the headmaster told them that Charles and Robert's rooms were adjacent.

"Sections 8-18 of the Police and Criminal Evidence Act 1984, gives police statutory protection to enter and search premises for evidence. These powers can be put into practice with or without a search warrant but I would prefer that you consent to us searching Charles Ward's dorm," Archie said.

"And in return for my cooperation?" the headmaster asked expectantly.

"We will be as discreet as possible," Archie relented.

Francis Lister pressed a button on his intercom.

"Mrs Frobisher, please escort these police officers to Charles Ward's dormitory and give them the key," Francis spoke into intercom.

*****

April 1985

Charlotte returned to Chelmsford College on the Saturday before lectures began. Most students would arrive on the Sunday to prepare themselves for the grind of the summer term. Charlotte returned early so she could prepare herself for Robert. She waited by the interconnecting door to their dorms and when she heard the rattle of the key in the front door of Robert's dorm she threw open the interconnecting door and entered Robert's dorm.

Robert dropped his suitcases and opened his arms and Charlotte ran into them. She clung to Robert as he kissed her passionately, guiding over to the bed. She was wearing the French maid's costume for him as a treat and his hands pawed at her buttocks and thighs. When the back of her legs came up against the edge of the bed, he pushed her and she fell onto the bed, her arms open, smiling up at him.

Robert gazed down at Charlotte, his initial impatience restrained. She looked exotic and erotic in the black satin dress with the white lace trim, the skirt was high on her legs and the welts of her provocative black fully-fashioned stockings emphasised her creamy alabaster thighs. Her makeup was heavy and seductive, she lay how she had fell, her legs lewdly open showing off her pretty red satin knickers. She was not tucked and he could see the distinctive bulge of her penis.

"Are you just going to keep looking or are you going to fuck me?" Charlotte said, her tone mocking and indecent.

Robert could tell that she wanted it quick and hard.

"You can suck this first," he wrapped his fingers in her hair.

He realised that the brunette pixie-cut was actually her own hair and not a wig as he pulled her face into his crotch.

"Come on honey, suck my cock," he unzipped himself with his free hand.

Charlotte needed no further encouragement and she swallowed all she could of his hard flesh. Robert kept his hand entwined in her tresses and held her face on his cock while he fed her his engorged phallus and Charlotte used her lips and tongue to good effect. She could feel his already erect penis become fully engorged and begin to pulse as she slavered at the hard flesh, swallowing Robert's pre-ejaculate as it oozed from his glans.

Her own cock was rock-hard and tenting her knickers, the red satin was dark and wet where she had leaked into the silky garment. She stroked it softly, too sacred she would climax if she squeezed it too hard.

"Ok sweetheart, let's get you sorted," Robert pulled her face from his groin and pushed her back on the bed.

She opened her legs invitingly and smiled up at him seductively.

"No not like that. You want to be fucked, well I'm going to fuck you," Robert grinned as he shucked out of his jeans and underpants.

He rolled Charlotte over and climbed on the bed and lifted her onto her hands and knees. He pulled her knickers down her thighs and saw that she was already lubricated so he wasted no time and pushed his glans into her puckered bud and then thrust. Charlotte howled with both pain and delight as Robert's cock drilled into her all the way.

"Now we're going to do some fucking," Robert grunted as gripped her hips and began to vigorously fuck her.

"Oh god yes, fuck me darling," Charlotte gasped coarsely, wriggling her buttocks and clenching her sphincter to encourage him.

She liked him taking her this way. Most of their lovemaking recently had been soft and tender but there was something to be said for a good plain old fashioned shag.

Robert's cock was deep in Charlotte's anus, pressing on her prostate while his thick shaft stimulated her sphincter, her velvety tight soft channel had not been used for a quite a while and it was tight and clung to Robert's cock, enveloping it, her anal muscles undulating, almost milking him.

"Come on Robert fuck me! Fuck me hard!" she moaned pushing her buttocks into his groin.

Robert obliged and pounded his cock in and out of Charlotte's tight hole hard and fast.

"Here it comes baby," Robert pulled on her tresses as if they were reins as Charlotte swung her head from side to side in a delirium of lust.

She felt him explode as his penis swelled and quivered, filling her with hot cum.

"Yes give it to me! Give me your spunk!" she squealed.

Charlotte was stroking herself vigorously and she came, splashing her seed on the bedcovers.

Robert viciously fucked her as he emptied himself inside her tight anus and when she collapsed under his onslaught he continued to fuck her, grinding her into the bed until he was fulfilled. When he had finished he lay on top of her exhausted, his cock still buried in her anus.

After a while she struggled free and Robert rolled over and pulled her close and kissed her.

"I missed you," he smiled at her.

"I missed you too," she smiled back at him.

"I'm ready to go again," he grinned at her.

Charlotte reached down and found him tumescent.

"So am I," she grinned back.

And so the new term began and time flew until once again it was time for the term break.

*****

Charlotte noticed subtle changes in Robert when he returned in September from the summer break. They had been unable to meet during the holiday. That is to say Charlotte was keen to rendezvous somewhere discreet but Robert claimed he just couldn't get away from his family. This seemed a strange excuse for a twenty-one year old man.

At the college his appetite for sex had not diminished however and he encouraged Charlotte to come to him every spare moment she had. But he was no longer as caring as he was before; his little absentminded affectionate touches had been replaced by insistent encouragement. The sex was still good but had become perfunctory, a means of satisfaction with little sentiment.

When Charlotte raised her concerns Robert told her she was imagining things. Things came to a head halfway through the term when Charlotte came into Robert's dorm one evening carrying a folder. Robert was lying on the bed naked, ready for sex.

"Did you bring your homework?" Robert joked.

"No silly. I've been working on something else," to Robert's chagrin Charlotte sat on the couch.

Robert reluctantly got out of bed, put on a robe and joined Charlotte on the couch after pouring them both a drink. He began to paw at her and she shooed him off.

"Be serious for a minute Robert and look at this," Charlotte opened the folder.

There was a thick sheaf of paperwork related to gender transitioning. There were press articles, serious position papers, case studies, legal documents and photographs. There were even excerpts from the book April Ashley's Odyssey.

"What's all this?" Robert took a gulp of his drink.

"I'm thinking of the future, Robert. I can't keep popping up like a daisy in your dorm or in a hotel room, transitioning from Charles to Charlotte on a whim," Charlotte said.

"You know I hate it when you talk about Charles," Robert said sulkily.

"Exactly! Let's get rid of Charles all together. I want to be Charlotte not Charles. I want to undergo gender reassignment surgery," Charlotte tapped the file in her lap.

"What?" Robert was incredulous.

"I want to travel somewhere overseas and have breast implants and have some other changes made so I can live full-time as a woman. Then after I've lived full-time as a woman for a while I'll see if I have the appetite to fully transition and undertake gender reassignment surgery," Charlotte said.

Robert downed his drink and poured himself another. A big one.

"What are you talking about?" Robert asked.

"I'm talking about becoming a real woman so that I can live as Charlotte. No more sneaking around. We can be together openly," Charlotte said earnestly.

"Are you crazy?" Robert's temper flared.

"You stayed on at Chelmsford to get your Master's so you can be with me, so why can't we be together after college?" Charlotte asked.

"I stayed on to get my Master's because I want my Master's. It'll set me up in my father's business. Spending time with you is an obvious fringe benefit," Robert replied.

Charlotte suddenly became cold despite the heat from the open fire.

"What did you think was going to happen? You transition and then we live together playing happy families? Get a two-up, two-down in the city? You kiss me goodbye in the morning before we both go to work?" Robert said sarcastically.

"Who the fuck is going to hire a transgender businesswoman and who the fuck is going to hire a business manager who is living with a transgender woman? I'd be the laughing stock of London finance! My father would disown me; yours will certainly disown you."

"Look Charlotte; I've been meaning to tell you. I'm getting engaged to Rebecca Delaney at Christmas. I need to settle down when I start work and she comes from a good family," Robert sat beside Charlotte and stroked her arm affectionately.

"You know that what we have here is temporary but there's no need for it to end. You'll get a good job in the corporate sector too. We can get away together for business conferences and the odd weekend. Just like now, you can get dressed all pretty and sexy for me and we can have some fun. Then you change back and go about your life; maybe find a wife of your own."

"So let me get this straight. You want to marry Becky Delaney but sneak away every now and then and poke me in the bum and then go home to your wife?" Charlotte said bitterly.

"It won't be like that Charlotte. It will be like it is now. We will have the best of both worlds. Outwardly we will be smart, innovative young businessmen... rich businessmen... but every now and again we will secretly be Robert and Charlotte; lovers," Robert put his arm around Charlotte.

"So I'll be your transvestite concubine. You call me up and give me the secret password and I pop down to the nearest hotel and get all gussied up for you and then you pop in and bugger me and then go home to Becky," she said scornfully.

"I keep telling you it won't be like that," Robert tried to hug her.

"No it won't be like that Robert. It's probably good that you told me about your plans now to avoid disappointment later," Charlotte extracted herself from Robert's embrace.

"Where are you going?" Robert was incredulous that she was leaving.

"I'm going back to my room Robert. This is over; I won't be back," Charlotte put on a brave face but inside she was breaking.

Robert was overcome with anger.

"Well fuck off you tranny whore! I'll always remember you on your knees sucking the cocks of the Bridge House council. That's the Charlotte I'll wank over when I'm bored," Robert said viciously.

Charlotte slammed the door behind her and she just made it to her bed before she began to sob. She heard Robert throw the bolt on the interconnecting door and she got off the bed and angrily threw the bolt on her side of the door too. Her sorrow and disappointment was quickly becoming anger and rage.

Things got worse when Charles turned up for the first rugby training session of the season. He found that he had been dropped from the First side and relegated to the second fifteen, the Reserve grade. He confronted Robert Fellows in the dressing room. He waited until it was just the House council and himself present.

"You vindictive cunt!" Charles spat at Robert.

"I'm arguably the best back on the field and you relegated me. You coward!" Charles seethed.

"It's bad enough that you still live next door to me. I don't want to see your face; you remind me too much of her," Robert didn't look up from tying his bootlace.

"Say her name!" Charles screeched.

"You know who I mean; the tranny whore. So if I don't have to look at your smug dial I won't be reminded of her will I? Why don't you just fuck off," Robert looked at Charles hatefully.

"Ok. Have it your way but I'm not switching dorms; that room is one of the best in the college and I'm not giving it up just because I remind you of your deceit. I'm quitting the team so except for the lectures we have in common we won't see each other," Charles was seething.

"Suits me perfectly," Robert tied the knot in his shoelace.

Wayne Jenkins and Steven Belfour-Brown were sitting beside him and they gave each other a knowing look.

"Come on you two; time to work off that summer fat," Robert rose and started running for the tunnel leading to the ground.

Charles sought solace with his only real friend, William Larkin. She transformed into Charlotte and invited William to her dorm to have girl's night in together. Charlotte told Wendy everything that had happened.

"Look Charlotte; I guessed this was going to happen. Steven and Wayne had already told me about your breakup with Robert but you don't have to be the victim here. There's a way to get back at him," Wendy said.

"They say revenge is a dish best served cold well I say bollocks to that! Serve it hot!"

"You're not going to pack Charlotte away in a suitcase forever; she's more you than you are Charles. But don't spend lonely nights alone pleasuring yourself with a plastic cock when you can have the real thing," Wendy grinned.

"Are you proposing I come back to the inner sanctum?" Charlotte asked.

Wendy had become quite adept at makeup and had expanded her wardrobe. She was wearing a black leather miniskirt and tight leopardskin top under which she had breastforms stuffed into her black satin lace bra. Sheer, fleshtoned tights embellished her legs and she was shod in black high heels. Her face was feminine and pretty and she had a very expensive blonde wig atop her head.

"For someone who said that dressing up was just a means to an end, you have certainly become good at it," Charlotte commented.

"Yes I kind of like it. It's a means of escape and the things that Wendy does don't transpose into William's life. She is a separate entity," Wendy gave Charlotte a conspiratorial grin.

"And Wendy does some pretty wild things," Wendy's grin widened.

"Things have changed since you set me up with Steven and Wayne. They got tired of paying for my services so we came to a better arrangement."

"This campus is full of horny young men living in some Dickensian throwback where the only opportunity they have to tend to their sexual urges occurs during the term holidays. As I told you there are plenty of them willing to have their itch scratched by the local rent boy provided discretion is assured."

"We figured that there would probably be a lot more of them willing to pay for sex if it was with a pretty little thing in a skirt, and we were right. But we couldn't have a line of horny young men traipsing in and out of the Bridge House inner sanctum; the council would never allow that."

"I've been servicing men in my dorm but that's dangerous... suicidal really... I'm going to get caught eventually. But if you were to come on board as another player we could share the load, pardon the double entendre."

"You want me to be a prostitute?" Charlotte looked shocked.

"I'm sorry; it was a silly proposal," Wendy put out her cigarette and drained the can of lager she was drinking and made to leave.

A malicious grin spread across Charlotte's face.

"It's not silly; it's perfect. Robert is bound to find out about it and it will drive him wild," Charlotte grinned.

"Are you sure? In the past you reluctantly serviced the council until you found loorve with Robert," Wendy regretted the barb as soon as she had said it.

"I'm sorry. I shouldn't have said that."

"No you're right. I was a fool and I deserve the ridicule for thinking I could live in that dreamworld permanently," Charlotte offered Wendy another drink and patted the couch beside her indicating for Wendy to sit back down.

"But as much as I'd like Robert to see a stream of young men coming and going from my dorm and hear them moaning and groaning through the walls, that won't work. It won't work for the same reason you explained. We need to find somewhere else on the grounds where we can ply our trade," Charlotte was more than warming to the idea, she was fixated by it.

"I like the way you're thinking," Wendy grinned.

"Another thing I was thinking. I've sometimes wondered what it would be like to be with a woman; a special woman just like me," Charlotte leaned in and kissed Wendy on the lips.

Wendy put down her drink and put her arms around Charlotte and pulled her close.

"Why don't we find out?" she whispered seductively in Charlotte's ear.

The two women took their time exploring each other's bodies. They both delighted in the feel of nylon, satin, rayon and silk on their bodies but the sensations created by touching another transvestite clad in the same fabric were delightful. They started with each other's legs, softly stroking each other's nylon-sheathed thighs, their fingers lingering and seductively caressing the soft skin through the gossamer fabric.

They gasped into each other's mouths as their fingers began the slow journey under their skirts to their throbbing cocks imprisoned inside layers of satin and nylon. They had moved onto the bed and lay side by side, their lips locked together, their skirts hiked up, seeking pleasure in the feel of their soft bodies rubbing up against each other.

Charlotte found Wendy's engorged penis trapped inside her panties and pantyhose, she softly stroked it through the layers of translucent material, gently squeezing it, feeling the heat and the girth of it and listening to Wendy's breath become ragged as she gasped with pleasure. Wendy returned the favour and found Charlotte erect and ready inside her knickers and hose and she slowly stroked the engorged member and felt Charlotte quiver in her arms.

Charlotte climbed on top of Wendy and lowered her face to meet Wendy's lips. They were soft and yielding and tasted of lipstick, her scent was intoxicating, Wendy's soft body so different from Robert's. She rubbed her silken-clad thighs on Wendy's who hooked her ankles around Charlotte's so that they could press against each other and enjoy the sensation of their womanly bodies writhing against each other.

They pressed their panty-clad cocks together and ground them, delighting in the feel of their appendages being massaged by hard flesh clad in satin and nylon. Wendy relented first and hooked her thumbs into the waistband of her tights and knickers and pulled them down a little and then sought to free Charlotte's cock and guide it to her sphincter.

The two gorgeous creatures studied each other's faces marvelling at each other's beauty and femininity. Wendy nodded imperceptibly at Charlotte who acknowledged the request by slowly sliding her cock inside Wendy's anus. Charlotte had never fucked anyone before, she had always been the recipient and the feel of Wendy's tight anus gripping her penis as she pushed inside her was amazing.

"Oh God," she gasped.

"Quite nice isn't it?" Wendy smiled up at Charlotte.

All Charlotte could do was nod, she was trying not to come.

"Now fuck me honey," Wendy raised her legs and wrapped them around Charlotte's back.

Charlotte needed no further encouragement and ploughed her cock into her sexy feminine girlfriend. It was such a delightful experience, all the makeup, perfume, soft caresses through silk and satin, so different to the hard masculine fucking that Robert liked to use her for.

Charlotte locked her lips to Wendy's and slipped her tongue inside and tasted her sweet mouth, Wendy wrapped her arms around Charlotte and tightened her legs around her body.

"Come in me Charlotte. Come in me. I know you want to," she hissed.

And Charlotte did, so much. Her cock felt like a soft velvety glove was caressing it as it as she erupted deep inside Wendy. The sensations she experienced were unique and incredible, she sobbed as she orgasmed and Wendy held her close and quietly filled her own knickers as she climaxed with her best friend deep inside her.

They caressed, kissed and fondled each other and eventually they disentangled long enough to strip down to their intimates and bring drinks and cigarettes over to Charlotte's big bed where they spent the remainder of the evening drinking, smoking and making love.

They discussed options as to where and how they might set up their business, Charlotte becoming more excited at the prospect as the evening progressed. She never once thought of Robert.

To be continued

May 1986

Mrs Frobisher turned out to be a rather attractive forty-something matron who exuded suppressed sexuality with her tight skirt and jacketed business suit, long legs, stiletto heels, red hair and milky-white skin. Detective Sergeant Archie Sanders fell in behind her breathing in her scent, his eyes locked on her Rubenesque hips and bottom. This was not lost on his partner Detective Constable Sandra Tingle who smiled wryly to herself as she walked beside him and explained the public school tradition of fagging. She suspected that Mrs Frobisher inhabited the fantasies of many of the all-male students when they filled 'crusty the sock' before they drifted off to sleep. She also suspected that Mrs Frobisher was well aware of the fact.

"This is Charles Ward's dormitory. It's a premium single apartment so mommy and daddy must have plenty of money. Well that's a silly statement, all of our students parents have plenty of money, except the scholarship students, but anyway it doesn't come cheap," she held out the key to Archie who took it, trying hard not stare at Mrs Frobisher's ample décolletage.

"I'll go and collect Robert Fellows for you during the break between lectures."

He watched her hips swing seductively as she walked back down the corridor.

"What do you make of her?" Archie turned to Sandra who was leaning against the wall amused by her partner's fascination with the woman's derriere.

She looked up and down the corridor and seeing it was empty she stepped into Archie, her face inches from his.

"I think that if you think about her when you're fucking me tonight I'm going to do this," she reached between his legs and squeezed his balls.

Archie squealed like a girl.

"That's not fair! It's like saying don't think of an elephant," Archie complained.

"Shall we get back to work Detective Sergeant?" she nodded at the door.

Archie unlocked the door to Charles Ward's dormitory and they stepped inside and closed it. The first thing they noticed was the scent of perfume.

"Smells like Poison," Sandra Tingle sniffed the air.

Now that Charles was a middle houseman, soon to become an upper houseman, he was no longer subject to dormitory inspections and he no longer needed to keep Charlotte's accoutrements locked away. As Archie and Sandra methodically searched the room they were surprised to find that if they didn't know better they would assume that the room was inhabited by both a man and a woman.

Charles' uniforms were neatly hung on one side of the wardrobe, his shoes and rugby boots neatly arranged beneath the hangers, the drawers full of underwear, sports attire and casual wear. The other side of the wardrobe contained a selection of ladies garments, expensive high heels placed under the hanging clothes, the drawers full of lingerie and hosiery. Three coiffed wigs were neatly arranged on styrofoam wig-stands.

"Looks like she does her own domestics," Archie joked as he held up the French maid's uniform for Sandra to see.

"That's more fetishic than practical Archie," Sandra commented flippantly.

"No shit," Archie hung the garment back where he'd found it.

"We'll get SOCO up here when they've finished at the cottage," Sandra called as she entered the small bathroom.

The selection of cosmetics far outweighed the meagre supplies of male toiletries. She noticed the rubber douche on the side of the bath-shower combination and winced. The array of makeup and perfume continued on the dresser in the bedroom. Tucked into the top left corner of the dresser's mirror was a cheap postcard embossed with cheerful scenes of the Brighton Pier and seafront. She turned it over and found an inscription that Charlotte had written and also the words 'courtesy of the Ambassador Guesthouse' with the address and phone number of the establishment beneath it. Sandra put the card on the dresser to be bagged and entered into evidence but she took down the number in her notebook.

Scattered around the room were texts, manuscripts and reference books, as one would expect for someone studying for a Bachelor of Commerce. On the nightstand she found a slim file.

The file was unmarked but inside was a thick sheaf of paperwork related to gender transitioning. There were press articles, serious position papers, case studies, legal documents and photographs.

"What do you make of this?" Sandra spread the documents out on the bed, her surgically-gloved fingers having difficulty separating individual sheets of paper.

Archie looked over her shoulder at the assortment of papers.

"What do you make of it?" he asked.

"Looks like our girl might have been considering gender reassignment; that is she wanted to become a full-time woman," Sandra pointed to a case study of a woman who had gone to Thailand for surgical treatment.

"I'll bet mommy and daddy would not be happy with that," Archie commented.

"Don't do that Archie. The poor parents haven't even been notified yet and you're taking their inventory like you know them," Sandra scolded him.

"Look around this place Sandra. They are paying a fortune to send their son to an elite boarding school that is run like something out of Tom Brown's School Days and he's playing hide the sausage while dressed as a girl. How do you think they're going to react," Archie replied.

Sandra nodded her head. There was no denying Archie's assumption was likely spot on.

"Check this out," Archie handed Sandra an eight by five index card.

The front of the card was embossed with pictures of four attractive young ladies dressed stylishly but posed provocatively. One of the young ladies was the young woman found dead in the cottage. On the back of the card was imprinted the words 'One For The Team -- Gentlemen's Club'.

"What do you make of that?" Archie asked.

Sandra turned the card over in her fingers and studied it.

"It's almost like an advertising flyer but more upmarket... more personal. Almost like a business card," she ruminated.

"You don't suppose they were advertising their services?" she studied the card closer.

"Look. This other blonde girl could be a genetic woman but the other two... they're attractive but I'd bet my left nipple that they're transvestites," she handed the card to Archie who scrutinised it and then put it into an evidence bag.

"This shit sandwich just got bigger. Let's keep this to ourselves for now until we find out if it has anything to do with the investigation," Archie put the cellophane evidence bag into his pocket.

There was a knock on the door and a young man poked his head around it.

"I'm Robert Fellows. I was told you wanted to see me?" Robert said nervously.

"In your room please Mister Fellows," Sandra smiled at him; no need to antagonise a potential witness.

"Did you notice this?" Archie tapped on the interconnecting door between to the two dorms.

Sandra nodded. She also noticed that it was securely bolted on this side.

Archie took an instant dislike to the overly-confident, arrogant young man with the French-cut hairstyle, classic good looks and deep blue eyes. Robert flopped down in an overstuffed armchair and looked at the two police officers like they were dogshit stuck to his shoe.

Archie decided to knock the wind out of his sails.

He walked over and dropped the forensic photographs in Robert's lap. Robert turned one over and his arrogance and confidence dissipated in a second.

"Oh my god Charlotte!" he cried.

He flipped through the remaining photographs and then threw them on the table like they were too hot to touch.

"Who's Charlotte?" Sandra asked sitting down beside him uninvited.

"She's Charlotte," Robert extended a shaky finger towards the pictures.

"Is Charlotte also Charles Ward, the student who rooms next door to you," Sandra nodded to the interconnecting door.

"Well yes and no. They're the same person except they're not really. Charles plays rugby and studies Commerce; he takes some of the same classes as I do and he's in my House. I'm the housemaster of Bridge House," Robert was regaining his confidence.

"And he used to be your fag?" Sandra encouraged him.

"Well yes, when he was a lower houseman. All of the students had to fag for an upper houseman during their first year, but the college has stopped the practice," Robert explained.

"And he lived next door to you? That's very convenient," Archie nodded at the interconnecting door.

"Oh no! He wasn't allowed to use that door; he had to come to the front door. Anyway he stopped fagging for me over a year ago," Robert said dismissively.

"And what about Charlotte? Did she use that door?" Archie asked.

They watched Robert squirm while he considered his answer.

"Some time during his first year Charles confessed to the House counsel that he was a crossdresser and offered his services so to speak," Robert began.

"Look... none of us are gay... as in homosexual... but you've seen her. Charlotte is very attractive if you like that sort of thing. We let her provide us with oral and hand relief. She liked it and we liked it. It was a matter of convenience for us, that's all," Robert straightened the crease of his trousers and dug into his blazer looking for cigarettes.

"But she lived next door. We have searched her room. It would appear to us that Charles spent all of his time as Charlotte when he was in there," Archie leaned forward and extended his lighter, lighting Robert's cigarette.

"She has a French maid's uniform and that door just looks too inviting not to use when you have an attractive transvestite living right next door who according to you 'offers her services'," Archie stared at Robert who looked away.

"Ok. Charlotte came into my room one day dressed in that ridiculous costume and she offered me regular oral services, which I accepted. But after a while I realised that what I was doing was quite inappropriate; I'm engaged to be married. I stopped all that nonsense a year ago," Robert could not meet Archie's eyes.

"So you had a sexual relationship with Charles Ward for a little over a year and then called it off?" Archie continued.

"Not with Charles Ward! With Charlotte! I was with Charlotte! I'm not a poofter!" Robert screeched.

"You don't understand! Other than on the rugby field I had nothing to with Charles once he stopped being my fag. Charlotte was another person, a different personality entirely," Robert began to regain control of his temper.

"She could be beguiling, manipulative, seductive. She had sex with most of the House council and god knows how many other men on the campus. She was a whore! That's another reason I stopped letting her in here."

"She was a joke on campus. Charlotte the harlot they called her. Her and that other slag Wendy," Robert stubbed out his cigarette.

"Wendy?" Sandra asked, scribbling in her notebook.

"Ask that fag William Larkin. He is a poofter. A snot-nosed, dirt-poor, scholarship student who likes to dress up as Wendy; Bendy Wendy the chaps call her. You can imagine why," Robert stood up and straightened his blazer and tie.

"So you're telling us that there were two transvestites on the campus who were very promiscuous and that members of the House council and possibly other students used them for sex?" Archie was dubious about the claim.

"Look. Unless you want to formally interview me I've said all I'm going to say and if that is the case I will be calling on my father's lawyer to sit in. Now if you'll excuse me I have a lecture to attend," Robert went to the door and held out his hand to indicate they should leave.

"I don't suppose you'd consent to a search of your dormitory?" Archie asked cheekily.

Robert closed the door with some finality and locked it. He stormed down the corridor back to the campus.

"Your shit sandwich just got bigger," Sandra said.

"Did you notice the scratches on the backs of his hands?" she asked and Archie nodded.

"You didn't ask him about them?" she looked at him speculatively.

"No. I want to see what forensics they come up with on the body. They'll do it anyway but we'll get them to expedite any trace evidence they find under Charlotte's fingernails," Archie said.

"But until we can put him at the crime scene and I can confront him with any trace evidence I don't want him concocting an alibi. The most obvious one would be to say he got the wounds playing rugby, or training. Let's let him think we didn't notice for now."

"Lock the door to Charlotte's room and let's get Sarah and her team up here. If they've finished with the crime scene we'll have another look around the cottage and then head into town and sort out some digs. Check in with the Chief Superintendent and let her know what we have but let's not get into specifics," Archie sighed.

"You called her Charlotte," Sandra commented.

Archie looked at one of the crime scene photographs.

"Well it appears that's who she is. It's almost like Charles was just a habit Charlotte wore for convenience," Archie replied.

"And that young toff was lying through his teeth," Archie tapped the photograph against his palm.

When Archie and Sandra returned to the cottage Charlotte's body had been removed and the SOCO team were packing up.

"We've made a preliminary identification of the deceased; Charles Ward otherwise known as Charlotte Ward. We've searched her dormitory but I'd like your team to give it the once over and also take some pictures," Archie held out the key to Charlotte's room.

"You keep referring to her in the feminine vernacular," Sarah Pheffington said taking the key.

"We've interviewed the headmaster and the man who lives in the adjacent dorm. It would appear that Charles attended classes and was achieving a solid academic performance but that he spent most of his free time as Charlotte. It would also appear that Charlotte was considering gender reassignment surgery," Archie explained.

"Archie, can you follow me please," Sarah led Archie to a small grove of trees out of the way of the others.

"About a year ago I attended a crime scene in a brothel in one of the seedier areas of London. It was a thriving concern but it was a real shithole. That cottage reminds me of it. Some effort has been made to clean the place up and make it comfortable for the punters while they wait but it's really just a blow-and-go establishment," Sarah explained.

"But this establishment, if that's what it is, has no business being on the grounds of a prestigious university. I found an envelope full of these," Sarah handed Archie one of the index cards with the pictures of the provocatively dressed attractive young ladies embossed on it.

"It's similar to the solicitation or 'tart cards' found in telephone boxes. They even named the dump: 'One For The Team'," Sarah pointed to the card.

"We found one in Charlotte's dorm. It would appear that good old Chelmsford College had a knocking shop operating on the grounds staffed by transvestite prossies. I've promised the stick-up-his-arse headmaster discretion and warned out the local bill. If this gets out the scandal sheets will have a field day. Make sure your team are briefed accordingly," Archie said.

"We're SOCO Archie; some of the things we've seen would curl you're your toes and we could write a best seller with all the scandal we know," she patted him assuredly on the arm.

Archie patted his pockets looking for his cigarettes.

"Light me one of those will you? I can't get to anything wearing this suit," Sarah removed her gloves and pulled down the hood of her coveralls and Archie realised that Sarah was quite attractive.

The bodysuit hid her curves but he guessed she had quite the figure under all that Tyvek.

She took the proffered cigarette and grinned at him. She held up her left hand and tapped her wedding band.

"You're a couple of years too late and I don't play around," she smiled at him.

"Am I that transparent?" Archie grinned back at her.

Sarah studied him for a minute. He was tall with sandy hair styled in an out of date mullet but it suited him. He had a thin handsome face and sensuous lips and a rangy body under the tight dark suit.

"You're the type that can get away with a casual roll in the hay and the girl won't feel too guilty about it after," Sarah met his gaze.

"What does that mean?" Archie was more than a little annoyed at the comment.

Sarah leaned into him and whispered.

"You're the guy you let fuck you a few times for fun but you never get serious with and never tall mummy about. You're not the guy you imagine walking you down the aisle," she said, her breath disarmingly sweet in his ear.

"Tell that to my wife!" Archie said indignantly.

"Yeah? How's that working out for you Archie?" Sarah studied him for a second and then looked across purposely at Sandra Tingle who was walking in circles as she spoke into the bulky brick-shaped mobile phone that the Met had just introduced into service.

"I'm SOCO Archie; I'm paid to be observant. I'll get back to you with the results from the cottage and the dormitory once we've had a chance to process the evidence. Give us a couple of days. The autopsy is tomorrow so you should have a coroner's report around the same time," Sarah pinched out the cigarette and put it in her pocket; she was used to preserving crime scenes.

Archie watched her walk away and muster her troops into the SOCO van. He smiled to himself and went over to join Sandra.

"The Chief Super is happy to leave the case in your capable hands. She wants an update this evening and of course she went on and on about keeping a lid on it. She's sending a notification team around to Charles Ward's parents' house. Once they've made a positive identification we can interview them," Sandra tossed the brick on the front seat of the car and plugged in the charger connected to the car's cigarette lighter.

The place was eerily quiet now that SOCO had left. The local constabulary had also gone, all that was left to indicate the police had been here was the crime scene tape fastened to a few gnarled trees and a 'Do Not Enter -- Crime Scene' notice pinned to the door.

He and Sandra took their time looking around the cottage. The two bedrooms appeared to be used for the sole purpose of sex. The bedside drawers contained lubricant and condoms and there was a laundry basket in the corner of each room which had once contained soiled underwear that had been bagged and taken away by SOCO. The bedsheets had also been taken away but clean sheets and pillowcases were stacked in the rickety old wardrobes.

The bathroom shelf was littered with makeup and bottles of cheap perfume, the toilet was clean and a rubber douche sat atop the cistern.

The open drink containers and disposable cups had also been taken into evidence but the lounge and kitchen still looked a mess. There were smudges of fingerprint powder everywhere and all of the cupboard doors and drawers were open.

"Sarah thinks the place was a knocking shop," Archie said when they'd finished looking around.

"It looks like a place I raided once in Clapham when I worked in the Vice Unit. A real dump but it was turning over a fortune," Sandra gave the place a final lookover.

"We also need to find out what that cocaine was doing here. Were they selling drugs as well as sex?" Sandra speculated

"They tend to go hand in hand."

"Yeah. Let's go find some digs I need a shower," Archie rubbed at the back of his neck.

"The Met has booked us into the Holiday Inn; no expense spared," Sandra started walking to the door.

Archie pulled her back inside and pressed her against the counter and kissed her.

"Not here Archie. This place is sordid. Let's go to the hotel, get washed up and have some dinner. I'll make it up to you tonight," she kissed him quickly and slipped out of his embrace.

"Sounds like a plan," Archie agreed and they left the cottage, which in the dwindling evening light looked deserted and forlorn.

They parked at the Holiday Inn and went their separate ways to use the payphones to call their respective spouses. Archie had been cheating on his wife for so long that he no longer felt guilty. He'd caught her in bed with another copper less than a year after they were married. They'd tried counselling and had even sat down with the local vicar but they both knew their marriage was a sham.

If not for their son they would have divorced long ago. They played happy families around the boy but fought like cats and dogs when he wasn't around. Strangely enough the sex remained good despite or maybe because of their frequent infidelities. His wife was currently conducting an illicit affair with a senior officer who was black and she'd teased Archie about the size of his cock. Archie's response was to bend his wife over the kitchen table, holding her down while she struggled, and fuck her while she was still wearing the business suit she intended to wear to work that day.

He hadn't even removed her tights or knickers, he'd ripped her tights open and pulled her knickers aside and fucked her hard and fast while she fought him, but the wetness of her minge gave her away. He'd turned her around when he climaxed and spunked all over her skirt and she'd put her hand between her legs to finish what he'd started as he sprayed her with his jism.

"If you'd fucked me like that a bit more often when we were first married we might still have a marriage," she spat at him before going upstairs to change her suit.

To make matters worse she worked at Scotland Yard in the records division where he had first met her and he often ran into her during the day or caught her flirting with one of the detectives. She was incorrigible.

Sandra Tingle's marriage was different. Her husband doted on her. She had deliberately set out to find a partner who had nothing to do with the Metropolitan Police. She'd dated coppers on her way up the promotion ladder and found most of them to be hopeless drunks who just wanted a shag at the end of boozy night out or were serial adulterers who just wanted to get into her knickers. She'd foregone the married men but the single coppers she'd dated were hopeless.

She'd married a schoolteacher who was kind and sensitive and adored her. He'd insisted on waiting until their wedding night before having sex and she'd feigned being virtuous but she needn't have bothered. He had turned out the light and climbed on top of her under the covers and climaxed as soon as his penis touched her sex.

He'd patted her on the shoulder and told her it was lovely and that about summed up their sex life. Sandra had tried to spice things up in the bedroom but it had the opposite effect on her husband who rebuffed her advances except for his Friday night ritual when he would be on her and off her in five minutes.

She knew that carrying on an affair with her partner was cliché and she knew that Archie would never leave his wife while their son was still growing up but Archie was a habit she just couldn't kick. They were a great team on the job and they were great in bed. Archie and Sandra just clicked. Archie had once joked that they'd missed the boat by not finding each other before they married other people. Sandra had cried herself to sleep that night because she knew it was true.

They'd agreed to meet in the restaurant; Chelmsford was far enough away from London for them to not have to be worried about being seen out in public together romantically. Archie was sitting at the table studying the wine list when Sandra walked in.

Gone was the shapeless navy blue suit, thick blue tights and scuffed low heels and her hair was no longer pulled back in a tight bun. She was wearing a black high-waist pleated bandage-skirt with a white long sleeved chiffon blouse, black patent-leather high heels and sheer taupe hosiery. Her hair had been shampooed and teased out and her makeup was perfect.

"You look beautiful," Archie got out of his seat and pulled back her chair for her.

The male customers in the restaurant, mostly travelling salesmen and men away from home on business, stared at them with envy.

Archie bent down and kissed her cheek as he tucked her chair under her. Her hair smelled of shampoo and her perfume was beguiling.

"So I don't look like a dowdy WPC then?" she smiled up at him, knowing full well that she looked stunning.

"You're beautiful even when you're dressed like a dowdy Detective Constable, knee deep in shit. But when you dress up you look like a princess," Archie kissed her softly on the cheek again and then took his seat across from her.

"I bet you say that to all the policewomen whose knickers you want to get into," Sandra teased him.

Archie's smile dropped from his face and she realised she'd hit a soft spot. Since they had become partners Archie had stopped catting around and it was Sandra's first marital affair. Archie still flirted around, more as a ruse to throw people off the scent than anything serious.

"I shouldn't have said that Archie," Sandra smiled wanly.

"If the shoe fits I suppose," Archie was pragmatic.

"Archie..." Sandra gave him a sultry glance.

"I'm not hungry. Not now anyway. Let's go up to my room and we can have dinner after," she started to rise and Archie bolted out of his seat and helped her with her chair.

"After what?" he was a little bemused.

"Now you're just being silly," she smiled at him and Archie's heart skipped beat.

They took as many assignments as possible away from London; their Division was often seconded to police services in other Counties. Most of their squad were more than happy to let Archie and his partner take the out of town assignments, the Division worked long hours and they were happy to spend as much time as possible at home.

Archie missed seeing his son but was happy to away from his witch of a wife and Sandra found the constant doting of her husband oppressive. What she wanted her husband to do was shag her senseless not shower her with flowers and chocolates at every opportunity.

They barely made it inside Sandra's room before they started pawing at each other.

"Let me take this off before you ruin it!" Sandra pushed Archie away and stepped out of her skirt and took off her blouse.

She looked sexy and inviting dressed in her knickers and bra with her sheer holdup stockings and high heels. Archie got naked and was folding his suit pants when Sandra attacked him and dragged him onto the bed. He lay supine on the covers as Sandra straddled him.

"I've been waiting so long to do this," she moaned as she reached out and snapped off light leaving a single bed lamp burning.

Archie kissed her and she returned the kiss. They were both impatient as they hadn't been in bed together for awhile but Archie resisted the temptation to jump on Sandra as much as she wanted him to. Instead he took his time caressing her, freeing her breasts from her brassiere, stroking them, feeling her nipple harden when he tweaked them.

She was working her tongue in his mouth, clinging to him and she mewled her disappointment when Archie broke the kiss but disappointment turned to bliss when Archie used his lips and his tongue on her breasts. He lapped at her hard nipples and then took them one at a time in his mouth and suckled them, gently nipping them with his teeth.

Sandra moaned and writhed on the bed, guiding Archie's face to her breasts and trying to hold him there when he continued his journey down her body. Her cunt was encased in transparent nylon panties and the exotic scent of vaginal juices betrayed her arousal. He licked her slit through the diaphanous knickers and Sandra growled and entwined her fingers in his hair and pushed his face into her crotch.

Archie slipped the gusset of her knickers aside and opened the folds of her labia like the petals of a flower. He sucked her juices and lapped at her coral pink inner lips then found her clitoris with his tongue.

Sandra bit the pillow to stifle a scream as she orgasmed; she pushed Archie's face into her pubis and ground her sex against his mouth. As her climax subsided Archie's ministrations became unbearable and she pushed his face out from between her legs. She encouraged him to work his way back up her body until they were once again kissing passionately. Sandra had recovered and craved him inside her and she guided his hard cock to her sex. He didn't need any encouragement and he slid his cock into Sandra's hot buttery cunt and sighed. She locked her stocking-sheathed legs around his flanks and crossed her ankles behind his back. She knew he loved the sensation of her nylons on his sensitive flesh.

She put her arms around him and crushed her mouth against his and rose to meet his thrusts. They rutted and climaxed together and she felt his seed fill her and dribble between her legs as her vagina quivered and extracted all of his spend. Archie ensured his pubis pressed on her clitoris and was rewarded when Sandra began to shake as another orgasm shook her body.

They lay locked together reluctant to break their embrace but eventually Sandra unlocked her ankles and lowered her legs.

"Cigarettes are on the table and drinks are in the mini-bar. Bring them and yourself back to my bed before your side of the bed gets cold," Sandra kissed him and then pushed him off her.

Archie did as he was told and poured drinks and lit cigarettes for them both. They finished their drinks and cigarettes and lay side by side contented.

"So did you think of Mrs Frobisher," Sandra smiled wryly.

"She was the furthest thing from my mind," Archie rolled Sandra onto her back and lay on top of her.

She smiled up at him and he smiled back and stroked the fringe out of her eyes.

"Oh god Sandra. You're just so perfect; I think I lov..." Archie said with all sincerity before Sandra silenced him by putting a finger to his lips.

"Don't say it. Please don't say it Archie. I can just about stand living with myself doing what we're doing, but if you say that I'll end up saying it back to you and then what do we do?" a single tear ran down Sandra's cheek.

"Now get off me and let's go down the pub and have a pork pie, chips and gravy and a pint of the local ale; I'm famished," she pushed Archie off her and reached for her knickers.

"You'll get fat eating like that," Archie teased, admiring her as she stepped into fresh panties.

"Fat chance. I've got a partner who works me out at every opportunity while we're away from home," she smiled cheekily at him.

"Come to think of it a pork pie sounds good. We can work it off later," Archie leapt from the bed and slapped Sandra playfully on the bottom.

*****

May 1985

Charlotte ruminated on what she and Wendy had discussed as she flicked through the folder containing the information she had researched about gender reassignment.

Robert was correct in that as soon as she announced to her parents that she would be living her life permanently as a women she would be disowned. Her family and the few friends she had would want nothing to do with her and no reputable company would employ her, people talked of tolerance all the time but seldom practiced it.

She had formulated a plan and was about to execute it. First off Charles had been siphoning off his allowances and any money that he received as gifts. Charlotte needed money... lots of money.

Wendy's offer of prostitution had at first repulsed her but having endured servicing the Bridge House council for weeks before Robert had rescued her and taken her for his own had hardened her. She could put with another year and half of servicing randy young men provided she was being paid well. When she left college she would put it all behind her.

She would travel somewhere overseas and have surgery; initially probably just breast implants and possibly a tracheal shave and then she would come back to England and change her identity. She would not be able to legally change the gender on her birth certificate but she could change her name by deed poll and identify as being female. Life was going to be difficult but bearable.

But first things first. One: graduate with honours. This would not be difficult; Charles was performing in the top ten percentile. Two: amass a 'war chest'. She needed enough money to travel, undertake some gender reassignment surgery and to live on until she could obtain gainful employment.

Charlotte had Wendy arrange a meeting with Wayne Jenkins and Steven Belfour-Brown at the inner sanctum. The offer of whatever sexual favours the men desired ensured their attendance.

She and Wendy transformed in the privy and for Charlotte it bought back old memories. Wendy proposed they just dress in lingerie but Charlotte insisted that they dress properly; it was to be a business meeting as much as it was a sexual assignation.

"Hello gentlemen, it's been a while," Charlotte strutted out from behind the curtain that hung outside the privy.

She was dressed in a black leather miniskirt, tight satin blouse and heels. Her makeup was dramatic and a miasma of perfume preceded her. Wendy came out behind her dressed equally provocatively. Wayne and Steven were naked under the silk robes they wore.

"Let's sit and have drink and a chat before we get down to having some fun," Charlotte gave them an alluring smile.

She deliberately opened her legs when she sat down, showing off her pink satin knickers, getting the men to notice her. Steven arranged drinks for everyone and Charlotte took a cigarette when one was offered.

"Wendy tells me that the three of you have been making a steady income by offering her services for money and has asked me to join your enterprise," Charlotte began.

"You would be surprised how many of the students are willing to pay for sexual services with a pretty transvestite. You know how they think; if she's wearing a skirt and looks like a girl then she is a girl for all intents and purposes. They aren't doing anything gay," Steven sniggered.

"Just like you used to say that if you don't kiss me or fuck me it's not gay," Charlotte smirked.

"Hey... you know how it is. Moral compasses swing," Steven's grin widened.

"Ok look I'm in but you're thinking small beer when we could be making some real money. To start with Wendy and I can't work out of our dorms. It's too restrictive and we're going to get caught eventually and besides I bet we can drum up more customers if us girls offer our wares away from the dormitories," Charlotte took a drag of her cigarette while she let what she had said sink in.

"We don't need more money," Wayne Jenkins took a long pull on his beer.

"Everyone needs more money honey. And you guys don't need to do much; us girls will be doing all the work. All you need to do is provide us with protection and give us access to the Bridge House canteen stores," Charlotte continued.

She held up a finger when the men began to protest.

"I'm thinking we are going to run a proper brothel... a knocking shop. We sell booze and keep the punters comfortable while they are waiting their turn with the girls. Almost like a gentleman's club."

"You're fucking joking!" they exclaimed in unison.

"Look. I'm a cross country runner and during my rambles around the forest surrounding the college I've noticed a couple of abandoned buildings. I scoped out the old groundsman's cottage and it's the best of a bad lot and perfect for our needs," Charlotte explained.

"That mouldy old decrepit dump! There's no way I'm hawking my arse in there!" Wendy turned down her mouth.

"That's why it's perfect! We want it to look like a mouldy, old, decrepit dump from the outside. We renovate the inside. Nothing too flash, just make it like a party house with a couple of serviceable bedrooms. Once we get it set up we advertise our wares and start making money," Charlotte grinned enthusiastically.

"Even if we were to agree to this you forgot about old Quinn. He prowls those woods like they're his own personal game preserve. Didn't he used to live in that cottage?" Wayne observed.

"He certainly did until a few years ago when the cost of maintaining the outbuildings became more expensive than paying him a rental allowance on top of his wage. He now rents digs in town. We actually reviewed the cost benefit analysis of outsourcing the college's ground maintenance as part of our course study. The college sacked all of the live-in maintenance staff and took on contractors. Quinn was the only one who stayed on as the contact manager and quality control officer."

"But you're right. He spends most of his time in the woods poaching and drinking. I've seen him plenty of times during my runs. I've asked him to meet Wendy and I at the cottage tomorrow afternoon. I'll be enfemme Wendy will not," Charlotte stated.

"You've got a cheek," Wayne Jenkins looked annoyed.

"It's a simple business proposition. You expand and innovate or your business withers on the vine," Charlotte arose and started to unbutton her blouse.

"Now you boys wanna talk all night or are we going to get down to some sucking and fucking," Charlotte kicked her skirt aside.

*****

Charles and William arrived at the groundsman's cottage and gave it a final inspection. The utilities were still connected which was a bonus but the place would need some urgent minor repairs. The beds in the two bedrooms were still serviceable but the bedding was mouldy and would need to be replaced. The bathroom needed a good clean and sanitisation, the kitchen the same.

The lounge still contained some old furniture that would be useable once it was cleaned.

"Look, the place is a dump but we only need to put effort into the furniture and fittings and do a general cleanup. We advertise it as a gentleman's club but let's face it the lads are coming here to get pissed and shag. It will do," Charlotte said.

"Here comes Quinn. I had no choice but to tell him what we are up to but he's onboard and is coming to negotiate a price. I'm going to transform, you stay on as William and keep me safe," Charles picked up his backpack and headed into one of the bedrooms and emerged fifteen minutes later as Charlotte.

And not a minute too late as Quinn had arrived and the negotiations began in earnest. After haggling for thirty minutes a consensus was agreed.

"So it's agreed then; twenty quid a week," Charlotte said opening her purse.

"Twenty quid and a taste," the groundsman smiled, showing his broken teeth.

William shuddered.

"No! You don't get a taste. We'll give you twenty five quid and you can spend it at the railway underpass in Chelmsford," William replied, referring to the place where the local streetwalkers plied their trade.

"Let's not quibble. Twenty quid and a taste once a week but not from the others, only from me," Charlotte replied holding out the note.

Quinn looked Charlotte up and down, his eyes crawling over her, like he was inspecting a broodmare.

"You'll do," Quinn grunted snatching the note from her hand.

He began to struggle with his belt.

"What on earth are you doing?" William was aghast.

"I'm having my taste aren't I?" Quinn grunted as he was finally able to unbuckle his pants.

They pooled around his calves. His trousers were so embedded with grime that they were as stiff as cardboard.

"Let me take care of this William. You stand guard outside and make sure we're not disturbed," Charlotte said calmly.

When Quinn's reeking underpants joined his trousers around his ankles William was glad to leave. The smell was awful and he couldn't bear to watch what Charlotte was about to do.

Charlotte dropped to her knees and put her hands on Quinn's pale, muscled thighs to steady herself. She took a deep breath and leaned forward.

Quinn's manhood was rock-hard and gnarly, with prepucial lumps and protuberances on the shaft and bulging purple veins pulsing under the translucent flesh. It was huge and a string of pre-ejaculate hung from the eye.

Holding her breath Charlotte buried her head in Quinn's fetid crotch and engulfed his manhood. She pushed back his foreskin with her lips and cleaned away the smegma with her tongue and spat it on the floor. Having cleaned his malodorous appendage as best she could she got to work fellating him.

Quinn put his hands either side of Charlotte's head and drove his cock in and out of her mouth, fucking her face. Charlotte remained passive and sucked and slavered at his cock and cupped and gently squeezed his scrotum attempting to bring him to climax as soon as possible. He drove her face into his reeking crotch, his pubic hair rasping her delicate skin like a wire brush, driving his cock all the way inside her mouth and making her gag.

Despite her discomfort Charlotte smiled; he was going to come and this would soon be over.

Quinn violently pushed Charlotte away from him and she fell to the floor.

"Oh no you don't gilly; I want it the proper way," Quinn reached down and dragged Charlotte to her feet.

He nodded towards the bedrooms but Charlotte recalled the putrid bedding on the mouldy mattresses. She looked around the kitchen but there was nowhere suitable here either. She made her way over to one of the hard backed kitchen chairs and leaned over it. She hiked up her skirt and pulled down the back of her tights and knickers exposing just enough of herself to allow Quinn to do what he wanted to do to her.

She saw her purse on the table and rummaged through it as Quinn came in behind her, kicking her ankles wider apart. Charlotte put her hand behind her offering Quinn the KY Jelly.

"Oh no gilly; that cream is for poofs," he hawked up a gob of spittle and spat in his hand.

He rubbed the spit on his penis and without any preamble he gripped Charlotte's hips and drove himself all the way inside her. The pain was searing but once he was deep in her anus he remained still. Charlotte guessed he didn't want to come too soon so he was resting, but in any event it worked in her favour. She was able to relax her sphincter and anus to accommodate him. When the pain was sufficiently dissipated she pushed back against Quinn and gyrated her buttocks.

"You're a fucking whore you are gilly. You remind me of those ladyboys who strutted their stuff on Bugis Street in Singapore when I was in the navy. You could press them against the wall of the shitter for a tenner and bum them all night and they'd wriggle their little brown arses just like you're doing now," Quinn said.

Charlotte said nothing; she just pressed back against Quinn and wriggled her buttocks, keen to get this over with. To her surprise she became erect as Quinn began to fuck her. She deduced a fat cock working her sphincter and pressing on her prostate had the same effect regardless of who owned it. She flooded her panties when Quinn gripped her tight and slammed himself inside her and orgasmed.

She bit her lip so he wouldn't have the satisfaction of hearing her gasp as she climaxed.

When Quinn had finished with her he withdrew his penis and wiped it on his dirty old handkerchief and put it away and pulled up his trousers. Charlotte found a tissue in her bag and she squeezed her anus to expel as much of Quinn's seed as she could and then wiped it away. She adjusted her clothing and turned to face him.

"Once a week. Twenty quid and a fuck," Quinn grunted.

"Agreed but only with me; you don't get to fuck the other girls," Charlotte took out her compact and reapplied her lipstick.

"You're a cold calculating bitch aren't you?" Quinn smiled, exposing his snooker-set of teeth.

"I do what needs to be done Mister Quinn, now if you will excuse us, my colleague and I have work to do," she dropped her lipstick and compact in her purse and snapped it shut.

Quinn left the cottage and William came back inside. He offered Charlotte a cigarette but she declined. She rinsed her mouth out under the tap to rid herself of the taste of Quinn's penis.

"Did I hear you right when you told Quinn that he would be getting his taste once a week from you but not from the others?" William lit up.

Charlotte nodded.

"Who are the others?" William asked.

"Oh I forgot to tell you. That's another job for you. You need to recruit two more girls. The two of us can't work this place every night and weekends, our grades will suffer and our arses will fall out," Charlotte was walking around the cottage making a mental list of tasks that needed to be completed before they could open for business.

"So I'm just going to walk up to two young gay men and tell them to put on a dress and makeup and bend over to make a couple of quid a week," William said sarcastically.

"Don't be silly William. You know all the gays on campus and I bet there are couple of effeminate types who would be willing to play a little dressup while they are being bummed," Charlotte closed a kitchen closet and then opened another to inspect it.

"You put it so eloquently," William sat down on one of the couches and immediately regretted it as a cloud of dust rose around him.

But Charlotte was right. William's gaydar had allowed him to identify all the homosexuals at the college and in fact there was a set of twins who might be willing to play dressup. William had a formed a casual sexual relationship with both of the twins and like him, they were always short of cash.

"I think I might know a couple of potential transvestites," William said.

"Good. You groom them initially and I'll get this placed cleaned up and organise the booze. I want to open in a week. I'll have a look at the two girls you've recruited once you've taught them to dress and how to present enfemme," Charlotte joined William in the lounge.

"How am I going to groom them Charlotte?" William asked.

"The same way I groomed you ducky," Charlotte smiled and leaned in and kissed William softly on the cheek.

To be continued

May 1986

Detective Sergeant Archie Sanders and Detective Sandra Tingle ate breakfast together in the restaurant at the Holiday Inn. They had slept in their own rooms. It was a rule they had, regardless of how late they stayed up making love they always returned to their own rooms to sleep. It was as much about propriety as it was to establish an agreed boundary. If they just shared a bed now and then, then their relationship was just sex; if they slept together overnight it implied a commitment that neither of them wanted to acknowledge, certainly Sandra didn't.

"I spoke with Glenda this morning," Archie commented over bacon and eggs.

Archie was referring to Chief Superintendent Glenda Savage, their boss.

"She sent a notification team around to Charles Ward's parents, Reginald and Penelope Ward. They will conduct a formal identification this morning."

"Sarah Pheffington also advised me that the coroner conducted the autopsy on Charlotte Ward overnight; amazing the service you get when the deceased family comes from money and moves in the right social circles."

"I think we should divide and conquer today. You take the car and go down to London and interview Reginald and Penelope Ward and pick up the autopsy report and I'll continue to interview people here," he emphasised each point by pointing a sausage at Sandra.

Sandra was in her work clothes consisting of a brown skirt-suit, thick black tights and low heels. She wore only a little makeup and had her hair pulled back in a bun. Archie still thought she looked beautiful.

"Do you mind not pointing that sausage at me please Sergeant," Sandra stirred her tea.

"You didn't mind me pointing my sausage at you last night," he grinned at her.

Sandra kicked him under the table and gave him a stern look.

"Sarah ran me through some of her findings and a brief on the autopsy," Archie continued.

"Charlotte Ward had been sexually active right up until her death. She had motile semen in her anus and both fresh and stale semen on her underwear and on her skin. In fact she had so much semen on her and in her that Sarah thinks it's unlikely to be of any use forensically because of cross contamination," Archie read from his notebook.

"Christ Archie; how many men had she been with?" Sandra put down the slice of toast she was about to eat.

"It's hard to say; but a lot. Her anus was dilated and bruised but there was no tearing so the coroner is ruling out rape at this time; there were also no defensive wounds or cuts and contusions on her body other than the marks we saw on her neck. The good news is that scrapings from under her fingernails produced skin samples which are currently being examined to get a blood type. She had ejaculated into her underwear numerous times during the evening preceding her death. Cause of death was asphyxiation and there is evidence of strangulation but her larynx, hyoid and other bones in the neck were not damaged. In short, she was suffocated," Archie quoted from his notes.

"And there are fingerprints... lots of fingerprints in the cottage and around her body, especially on the bed. I'm going to take fingerprints from everyone we interview and I'm definitely taking them from Robert Fellows," Archie looked up from his notes.

"He said if we want to interview him again he's going have a solicitor with him," Sandra replied.

"As you know, provided we have 'reasonable suspicion' we can fingerprint him without a warrant and if he refuses I'll take him into custody and get them anyway. I'm sure his brief will advise him give us the prints," Archie drained his tea.

"OK. If you've finished you can drop me at the college and head off to London. Leave me the brick and the crime scene kit," Archie was referring to clunky mobile phone and the small case that contained evidence collection material.

At Chelmsford College Archie found Mrs Frobisher and gave her a list of people who he wanted to interview.

"I'd like to start with William Larkin," Archie tried hard not to stare at Mrs Frobisher's ample bosom while she sat at her desk rifling through timetables.

"William doesn't have any classes this morning. You will likely find him in his dorm," Mrs Frobisher looked up at Archie and smiled when he looked away guiltily.

She stood up and came around from behind her desk. She was once again wearing a tight skirt and jacketed business suit that drew attention to her long legs and buxom figure, as did her stiletto heels, red hair and milky-white skin. The skirt had a kick-pleat in the side that showed an expanse of silken-sheathed thigh.

She strode over to a wall map of the college and Archie followed. She stood uncomfortably close to him and he could smell her perfume. He remembered what Sandra had said about her being 'wank fodder' for the student body.

"Here," Mrs Frobisher pointed an elegant manicured red-painted fingernail at the map.

"William Larkin's dormitory. He moved into a single last term, he must have come into some money to be able to afford it," she tapped her fingernail on the map.

"Where can I leave this?" Archie pointed at the bulky cellular phone and his evidence collection case.

"How long are you and your pretty lady assistant going to be here?" Mrs Frobisher asked.

"My pretty lady assistant is Detective Constable Tingle of the Metropolitan Police and she would be a little miffed to be described as my assistant," Archie grinned.

"And does she?" Mrs Frobisher chewed a nail seductively.

"Does she what?" Archie asked.

"Does she tingle?" she sucked on her finger.

"We're going to be at the college today and tomorrow and possibly next week; as long as the investigation takes," Archie ignored the double entendre and stepped away from Mrs Frobisher a little.

"Through here is an anteroom you can use while you're here," Mrs Frobisher stopped flirting and led Archie over to a door leading into a small wood-panelled room.

Archie left his gear in the anteroom and made his way over to the dormitory and located William Larkin's room. He knocked on the door. Given the bizarre series of events that had occurred recently when a pretty young woman answered the door to William Larkin's room Archie was not really taken aback.

He held up his warrant card and introduced himself. The woman looked a little surprised but regained her composure and invited Archie into the room.

"I'm Wendy Larkin also known as William Larkin," she said.

Now it made sense to Archie, she was the girl that Robert Fellows had described as Bendy Wendy.

"Two things. One... you don't seem surprised to find me dressed enfemme and two... what do you want?" Wendy waved at a small armchair and indicated for Archie to sit.

Her room was not as opulent as Charlotte's or Robert Fellows', there was just enough room for the single bed, a wardrobe, a desk and chair and the armchair that Archie was sitting in. It did have an ensuite bathroom however.

Wendy sat herself on the chair next to the desk, her legs were open a little; very unladylike. She was wearing a denim miniskirt, red satin blouse, tan hosiery and black high heels. She was also wearing a blonde wig and heavy makeup, not exactly daywear.

"I'm not surprised to find you dressed enfemme, because you are the second transvestite I have seen on this campus in two days, although it seems a little early in the day to dressed as you are," Archie answered Wendy's first question.

"Really?" Wendy looked a little surprised.

"And to answer your second question, I am investigating the death of Charles Ward otherwise known as Charlotte Ward," Archie explained.

Wendy paled and she stated to tremble.

"Charlotte? You know about the cottage?" Wendy said shakily.

Archie thought it was a strange response.

"Oh my god! Charlotte! What happened to her?" Wendy began to cry.

"I can't tell you the details, but I can tell you that she was found dead early yesterday morning by the college's groundkeeper," Archie offered Wendy a cigarette and took one for himself; he'd noticed the overflowing ashtray on the desk.

"Quinn?" Wendy whispered.

Archie consulted his notebook.

"Douglas Quinn yes," he leaned forward to light Wendy's cigarette.

"So you and Charlotte were close?" Archie began questioning her.

Wendy gave Archie a potted history of their past, leaving out the details that she thought particularly unsavoury. When she came to the part about them acquiring use of the cottage they were interrupted by a knock at the door. Wendy checked her watch and blushed.

"Excuse me a minute," Wendy went to the door, had a hushed conversation and then closed the door.

"That was my ten o'clock," Wendy said demurely.

It took Archie a few seconds to realise what Wendy meant and then it dawned on him and it explained why Wendy was dressed as she was so early in the day.

"I thought you did business out of the cottage; that's what the evidence would suggest," Archie said.

"I was working out of this room until Charlotte took over. Then we moved to the cottage. We became organised, set up a roster, made up tart cards to advertise, we even opened a bar. Although it was a dump, we advertised it as a gentleman's club and called it 'One For The Team'. Charlotte thought the name was funny; it had significance for her," Wendy related.

"You said Charlotte took over?" Archie leaned forward a little, encouraging Wendy to speak.

"Charlotte needed money so she could undertake gender reassignment surgery. She knew her family was going to disown her when they found out her intent to live her life as a woman. She became fixated on the idea, especially after she and Robert broke up. You could say that I was being pimped out by Wayne Jenkins and Steven Belfour-Brown and then Charlotte came up with the idea for the cottage. She usurped them I suppose. They were not happy about it but like I said Charlotte needed the money."

"You say 'we' moved to the cottage and became organised; who is 'we'?" Archie asked.

"Charlotte, myself and two girls Charlotte had me recruit, Pamela and Janet," Wendy gave Archie the male names for Pamela and Janet Lowe so that he could interview them later.

"So Charlotte and Robert had more than just a casual relationship?"

"Ha! They were full on lovers, they practically lived together. They even took a holiday together," Wendy lit another cigarette.

"Charles and Robert took a holiday together?" Archie asked.

"No! You don't get it do you? I'm Wendy and she is Charlotte. When Charlotte and Wendy are present Charles and William no longer exist. The men who admire us never want to see us in our male persona and they have no interest in our male counterparts."

"Charlotte and Robert went on holiday together," Wendy slapped the table to emphasise the point.

"Let's go back to Charlotte taking over as you call it; tell me more about that," Archie settled into his seat.

May 1985

Peter and James Lowe were twins and scholarship students at Chelmsford Private College. They were both very artistic and were taking arts degrees and intended to specialise in fashion design. They were openly bisexual and presented as androgynous. They had been able to secure positions in the catering corps of the College's Army Cadet Corps during their first year as lower housemen in order to avoid all the squad drill and bivouacs. They produced delicacies from the 'camp kitchen' which delighted the Corps and saved them from ridicule and bullying.

They were slim and athletic and William Larkin had played alongside them in the soccer team. They became attracted to William and they had a casual sexual relationship which continued when William started to present as Wendy.

They were the perfect candidates for what Wendy and Charlotte had planned. William invited them both to his dorm where he met them presenting as Wendy and laid out a proposition.

"I've always wanted to dress enfemme; you know I'm a total bottom," Peter grinned.

"You look like a girl most of time anyway," James sniped at his brother.

"Look... we make no secret of our sexuality, being called a fag or bender just bounces off us. But this is a serious proposition. First off, it's illegal, second, if we get caught we will be expelled, and finally, I'm not sure I can pull off presenting as girl," James continued.

"Ok I'll be frank with you both. You're both pretty effeminate anyway and I'll teach you how to wear makeup. Also... you will only present yourselves in your female persona, no one is going to know who it is under the makeup and clothes and the reality is, the men don't want to know," Wendy countered.

"Charlotte has done some rough calculations and if her projections are correct, this is how much you will each be pulling in a week. Cash money, under the table, no one needs to know where you got it," Wendy slid a slip of paper across the desk.

Peter and James studied the slip of paper for a few seconds, looked at each other and nodded.

"I want to be Pamela," Peter grinned.

"And I want to be Janet. Where do we get our clothes, wigs and makeup?" James asked.

"Ok girls. Let's start here," Wendy opened her wardrobe door.

She had so many ensembles that she could have opened a ladies fashion boutique. Her male clothing was relegated to three clothes hangers and a single drawer.

"Now let's get you stripped and get started," Wendy smiled at the twins.

Charles had been busy cleaning out the cottage as best he could. He gave some money to Quinn to purchase bedding for the two bedrooms, purchase a TV, VCR and some pornographic video cassettes. Quinn wanted more than just money and Charlotte had to set aside her repugnance and christen one of the newly cleaned and freshly made up bedrooms by letting Quinn mount her.

Charlotte found that the more she distanced herself from Robert the more she hardened her heart. Sex became a commodity to be traded and although she could pretend to show affection and often obtained physical pleasure during the act, she felt no compassion or affection for those who used her body.

She and Wendy met Wayne Jenkins, Steven Belfour-Brown and Brian Nichol to secure a supply of beer and spirits for their 'gentleman's club'. After much deliberation Steven and Wayne were able to convince Brian to go along. The alcohol would be sold at a premium and the Bridge House welfare fund would benefit. Steven and Wayne had a vested interest; they imagined themselves as managers of the club-come-brothel and would be skimming the cream off the top.

When 'One For The Team' was nearly ready to open Charlotte invited Wendy, Steven and Wayne to come down to the cottage and inspect it.

"You've done wonders with the place Charlotte," Wendy cooed as she inspected the two bedrooms and the bathroom.

"It's still a shithole but let's face it, it's a knocking shop. The customers are only going to be here long enough for a quick drink or two before they are serviced and on their way," Steven Belfour-Brown patted the back of a battered lounge chair.

"Most of the money will be made in the bedrooms but we'll still make a tidy profit on the booze. With the four of us girls sharing the load and working in pairs from six to midnight during the week and afternoons and evenings on weekends we should turn a nice profit," Charlotte added.

"When do we get to see the other two girls?" Wayne asked, obviously keen to sample their wares.

"Pamela and Janet will be joining us later. I thought it might be nice for the original founders to inaugurate the bedrooms before we let the punters in," Charlotte gave the two men a seductive smile.

Steven had poured them all drinks and he and Wayne sat down in the two lounge chairs and patted their knees. Charlotte perched on Steven's knee and Wendy on Wayne's. Both women were dressed only in negligées, bras, panties, stockings and high heels. Wendy was wearing her favourite blonde wig but Charlotte had just styled her pixie-cut into a feminine do.

The men talked about House business while lazily petting the two women who soon became bored. Charlotte changed the tone by leaning into Steven and kissing him; she squeezed his burgeoning erection and slid her tongue into his mouth. Wendy followed suit, kissing Wayne passionately and rubbing him through his jeans.

Steven lifted Charlotte from his lap and put down his drink. He led her to the first of the bedrooms and closed the door. Wendy went with Wayne into the other bedroom.

Steve held Charlotte out at arm's length and studied her.

"You are beautiful. I really missed you when you stopped coming to the inner sanctum," he whispered.

"I was so jealous of Robert keeping you all to himself," he sighed.

"I so wanted to kiss you, to hold you against me, to feel your body, to fuck you," he leaned in and kissed her.

"We had those silly rules about kissing and fucking. I don't have a gay bone in my body but it doesn't matter anyway because I only think of you as a woman," he kissed her again and squeezed her buttocks through the layers of cool, sleek satin.

Charlotte remained silent and disengaged from him so he could get undressed. She helped him and when he went to the wardrobe to hang up his clothes she directed him to the chair in front of the dresser instead.

"Put them here. There are only enough hangers for the girls clothes in there, I'll get some more brought down," she helped him fold his jeans and shirt and put them over the chair.

"Can you get our drinks honey," Charlotte kissed him and ran her featherlight fingers along his shaft.

Charlotte lay on the bed enjoying the feel and smell of the fresh clean bedding. She lay on her side seductively sucking on a finger allowing her negligée to ride up to show off her stocking-tops.

Wayne put the drinks on the nightstand and joined her on the bed. The windows were covered with tarpaper to ensure privacy but the room was illuminated with two bedlamps. The girls figured the punters would want to see what they were doing and with whom they were doing it.

Charlotte took a long pull on her drink and then lay back on the bed. Wayne began by kissing her and exploring her with his hands. He stroked her knees, delighting in the sensuous feel of her stockings and slowly made his way up her legs. He spent some time stroking the bare skin at the top of her thighs while he explored her mouth with his tongue.

Charlotte softly stroked his hard cock and massaged his scrotum, delighting when he gasped in her mouth and began to dribble pre-ejaculate.

She broke the kiss and rolled him onto his back and straddled him, ensuring his penis nestled in her panty-clad buttocks as she leaned down and kissed him. She could feel his manhood pressing into the crevice between her buttocks but she was not yet ready for him to fuck her.

Charlotte worked her face down Steven's body using her tongue and her lips to excite him until she eventually arrived at his erect penis. She took him in her mouth and began to suckle his member, using her tongue, her teeth, and lips expertly on his phallus, backing off when she felt him getting close to extremis.

Steven pawed at her buttocks and thighs and she obligingly shifted so that she was straddling him head to toe so that she could fellate him while he caressed her buttocks and legs. She was hard in her knickers and dribbling pre-seminal fluid. Her panty-clad cock hovered inches from Steven's face.

She smiled when she felt him touch her cock through her knickers and growled with satisfaction as he began to stroke it. She lapped at his cock to encourage him and was delightfully surprised when he took her in his mouth.

"I always wondered what it would be like," Steven sniggered from between her legs.

Charlotte lowered her face back to his cock and began to earnestly suck on it.

"Oh god!" Steven groaned and pushed her off him before he would ejaculate.

He rolled her onto her back and Charlotte obligingly opened her legs. Steven leapt on her and began to prod at her anus with his hard cock. She helped him and guided him inside the leg of her knickers and nestled his glans in her sphincter which glistened with the KY Jelly she placed there when he went to get the drinks.

Charlotte put her arms around Steven and raised her face to his and kissed him passionately as she locked her legs around his back and rose up and impaled herself on his rock-hard penis.

Steven held Charlotte close and kissed her as he rutted between her legs, her tight anus enveloped his cock like a slick silken glove. He was gasping and groaning and close to climax.

Charlotte drove her tongue into his mouth and rose to meet his thrusts, writhing beneath him, encouraging him, raking her heels on his flanks. Her cock was pressed against his tight belly and she was close too. It had been some time since she had been fucked and she was enjoying the physicality of it.

Steven roared as he ejaculated inside Charlotte's tight anus, jackhammering his cock in and out of her. Charlotte climaxed, her negligee soaking up the torrent of semen that erupted from her cock. The feel of Steven's cock pressing on her prostate, his shaft distending her sphincter and his hard belly pressing on her cock enveloped in the satin negligée produced a shattering orgasm and she clung to him, shaking with lust and pleasure.

Steven did not want bask in the afterglow. As soon as he descended from the pinnacle of his climax he disengaged from Charlotte and wiped at his groin with one of the washcloths neatly stacked on the nightstand. He threw the flannel in the laundry basket and began to dress.

Charlotte lay on the bed smiling contentedly as Steven's spend dribbled from her sphincter and her issue cooled on her belly. She leaned over and took a washcloth and began to clean up.

Steven picked up his drink and went to the door and then stopped and turned.

"What happens here is a secret right? No one needs to know," he was obviously suffering from post-coital regret.

"Of course. If we don't guarantee discretion we won't have any customers," Charlotte replied.

Charlotte changed into a clean negligée and came out of the room a few minutes later to find Wendy, Wayne and Steven drinking in the lounge. Wendy was cuddled up to Wayne but Steven made it obvious that he didn't want any attention from Charlotte. She went to the little kitchen and poured scotch into a styrofoam cup then she joined them, sitting across from Steven in the other lounge chair.

She caught Wendy's eye and smiled wryly and nodded her head.

"Come out ladies," she called.

Pamela and Janet Lowe came out of the bedrooms to join the party. They walked over to the kitchen counter and made themselves a drink.

Steven and Wayne looked at each other nonplussed.

"Steven and Wayne meet Pamela and Janet," Wendy said.

Pamela and Janet sat on the arms of Charlotte's armchair, flanking her, almost like it was choreographed. They were dressing in matching miniskirts, sheer blouses, hose and heels, although Pamela wore a black wig and Janet blonde. Wendy had snuck out into town to get the twins wardrobes, wigs and makeup and tutored them accordingly.

"But they just came out the bedrooms! Were they in there while we were fucking?" Steven sounded bewildered.

"Oh yes they were. They are both undertaking art degrees and have an interest in photography," Charlotte smirked and put out her hand.

Pamela and Janet slapped a small stack of polaroids into her palm.

"What the fuck?" Steven bellowed.

"I particularly like this one," Charlotte smiled and tossed a picture on the coffee table.

The picture showed Steven sucking Charlotte's cock.

She tossed the other pictures on the table. They depicted quite clearly Wayne and Steven engaging in various sex acts with the two transvestites. Steven made to grab them but Charlotte beat him to it and snatched them up.

Steven lunged for her but Pamela and Janet shielded her and Wendy leapt out of Wayne's lap and joined the protective cordon around Charlotte.

"Looks like that tables have turned boys. Your ability to blackmail us is considerably diminished. With these photographs in our possession it puts us into what our American cousins call a Mexican standoff," Charlotte shuffled the polaroids.

"What the fuck is going on here?" Wayne Jenkins said angrily.

"What's going on is a change of management so to speak. Wendy and I will be running 'One For The Team' and dividing up the dividends to our own satisfaction," Charlotte rose to meet the two men eye to eye.

"We'll continue to buy our booze from you if you like, otherwise will make arrangements with Quinn who has been quite helpful to us. He's sort of become my guardian; I think he quite fancies me."

"Due to your helpfulness in the past, you get two freebies a week with the girl of your choice and you keep fifty percent of the profit we make selling your booze. You two don't need the money anyway. Our business relationship ends there," Charlotte said with finality.

"You two fucked us over!" Steven growled.

"I think actually that you two fucked us... and you still get to do so. Take it or leave it," Charlotte said dismissively.

"Let's get out of here," Wayne pulled on Steven's shoulder.

"Fucked over by a bunch of trannies," Steven growled.

"Well it was good while it lasted," Wayne grinned, pragmatic about it all.

"That fucking conniving bitch Charlotte! I'll get my own back you'll see," Steven kicked a stone out of way as he made his way up the path leading from the cottage to the college.

"Ok ladies. Let the party begin," Wendy brought out a bottle of champagne she had hidden away in one of the cupboards.

"Thank fuck for that. I'm so glad to be out of that wardrobe. It was claustrophobic, but kinda fun watching you fuck," Pamela laughed.

*****

May 1986

"So if I've got this right, Charlotte usurped Wayne Jenkins and Steven Belfour-Brown who thought they were going to be running some sort of sordid gentleman's club and pimping out four transvestite prostitutes?" Archie asked, scribbling in his notebook.

"Looking back I don't know how this all go so out of hand. When she was a lower houseman Charlotte was being blackmailed by the House council to provide them with sex then Robert Fellows took her for his girlfriend, or whatever, so Charlotte groomed me to take her place. I was already a rent boy for some of the students anyway," Wendy paused to light another cigarette.

"Wayne and Steven were paying me for sex and I saw the opportunity to make more money as Wendy. My family has very little money and the scholarship only pays for the basics, so why not? Then Charlotte and Robert had their big bust-up and she changed somehow; she became fixated on money."

"She convinced Wayne and Steven that they can run this brothel and make money from us. Neither of them needed it, I think they went along because they wanted the power. They are both cruel controlling bastards but Charlotte double-crossed them and she ended up running One For The Team herself," Wendy checked her watch again.

"So Wayne Jenkins and Steven Belfour-Brown were incensed with her?" Archie made more notes.

"I see where you're going. Wayne didn't give a fuck, he was still getting freebie blowjobs from us girls but Steven still held some resentment, but I think they were way past it and like most of us were concentrating on graduation," Wendy stubbed out her cigarette.

"What about Robert Fellows; what did he think about Charlotte running a brothel?" Archie searched for any facial expressions.

"At first he ignored her and he didn't come to the club; absolutely refused to. If he had any love for Charlotte it soon turned to hate. He started the joke about Charlotte the Harlot and Bendy Wendy. One For The Team had become an open secret on the campus and to be honest I'm glad it was soon to close. Except for Pamela and Janet we are all close to graduation," Wendy was becoming anxious, continually looking at her watch.

"Look I know you need to get back to classes so I'll finish up," Robert fumbled around and found the picture he wanted.

"What do you know about cocaine being dealt from the club?" he handed her the picture of the baggies of cocaine they had found in the wardrobe in the cottage.

Wendy looked genuinely surprised.

"We sold sex and booze; Charlotte had a no-drug policy. Some of the lads smoked weed but only outside the cottage, Charlotte insisted on having no drugs on the property. She told me once confidentially that if we got found out running a knocking shop by the college hierarchy they'd likely just shut us down and probably not expose what we were doing to the authorities. The college couldn't bear the scandal so no drugs meant no police."

"Look I really have to change and get to a lecture," Wendy started to rise.

"Ok, I'll be requesting your fingerprints and later I'll need to take a formal taped interview and ask you about the night Charlotte died," Archie said, putting away his notebook.

"I really am sorry for Charlotte. She was so close to her dream; graduating university and then changing her gender. She was ruthless but she was brave and also vulnerable under that hard exterior. Everyone who was supposed to love her turned on her," Wendy walked Archie to the door.

*****

Sandra Tingle stopped in to SOCO to see Sarah Pheffington and collect the forensic and autopsy reports. Sarah made tea and invited Sandra to her office.

"I've worked some interesting cases but this is one that will definitely be making my memoirs," Sarah joked.

"Here's the autopsy file although some of the forensics from the body are still to be processed by my team in the lab. To summarise: Charlotte Ward legally known as Charles Ward died from asphyxiation. She had a very high blood alcohol content and had recently used cocaine. She had also recently engaged in both anal and oral sex; a lot of it, but there is no evidence of rape other than the skin found under her fingernails which is likely the result of her trying to fight off her attacker," Sarah read from the summary report.

"We will process the skin and obtain a blood type but the chances of obtaining funding for a DNA workup are miniscule. The process is still in its infancy and is long and expensive. We've had success recently with DNA evidence but that was for a serial murder investigation. Hopefully with the advances that are being made, sometime in the future DNA profiling might become routine," Sarah slid the files across the desk.

"We'll just rely on good old fashioned police work then," Sandra gave a meek smile.

"We would really like the results of the skin as soon as possible though. We have a possible suspect who has scratches on the back of his hands but we can't place him at the crime scene," Sandra sipped tea.

"The semen in and on Charlotte's body is too co-mingled to be of help, otherwise we might have got a blood type if he is a secretor," Sarah turned down her mouth.

"We'll put the fingerprints in the case file and process them through the system. There are quite a lot though. One piece of good news... it's very difficult to obtain finger prints from human flesh but we think we've lifted a useable latent print from Charlotte's neck. We're working it as a priority," Sarah finished her tea and started sorting the paperwork on her desk.

Sandra took the hint and made to leave, putting the files into her briefcase.

"Can I ask you a personal question?" Sarah touched Sandra's hand briefly.

Sandra nodded.

"I'm paid to be an observer just like you. Is there anything between Detective Sergeant Archie Sanders and yourself?" Sarah asked.

"Why do you ask?" Sandra blushed and looked away.

"I saw the way he engaged with you at the crime scene outside the cottage. Partners become close out of necessity working cases together, but I sensed he's very protective of you, the little touches and gestures," Sarah smiled.

"We're colleagues," Sandra sniffed.

"At the crime scene he flirted with me briefly but it was harmless, like it was almost impulsive but with no real intent," Sarah smiled.

"He flirts with every woman he meets; it's his nature," Sandra said offhandedly.

"None of my business Sandra but I sense his behaviour towards you is more than just flirting," Sarah countered

"You're right Sarah, it's none of your business," Sandra pushed back her chair and rose to leave.

"For what it's worth, if I wasn't a happily married woman I'd be tempted. There's something about him and it's not just his boyish good looks, he seems almost wounded, in need of being nurtured," Sarah rose and showed Sandra to the door.

"Luckily I'm a happily married woman then," Sandra snapped.

"Yeah; right," Sarah sighed after she had closed the door on Sandra.

*****

The Ward estate was large and imposing and Sandra had to use an intercom at the main gate to gain entry. She knew that Chief Superintendent Glenda Savage had accompanied the notification team when Reginald and Penelope Ward had been advised of their son's death and had also accompanied them to the formal identification.

All traces of Charlotte had been removed by then; the makeup wiped away, the wig retained for evidence and the body cleaned. Charles Ward was naked and covered with a sheet. Sandra knew that Glenda had taken the Ward's aside and given them the news that their son had been found dressed as a woman and had likely had sex prior to his death, she thought it appropriate that the details come from a senior officer.

Sandra was led to a sitting room in the large house where she found Reginald and Penelope Ward sipping gin and tonics. It was early afternoon but given the news they had just been given it was understandable.

"Would you like a drink Detective?" Penelope Ward indicated a drinks caddy that held silver decanters and freshly cracked ice in a crystal ice-bucket.

"I'm on the job," she smiled wanly as she took a seat on the plush velvet couch.

Reginald was smoking a cigar and studying a financial broadsheet. He didn't appear to even notice Sandra's presence.

"I'm sorry for your bereavement," Sandra began and took her notebook out of her purse.

Reginald put down the broadsheet and drilled her with a withering gaze.

"You're wasting your time Detective. Glenda Savage had the courtesy to tell us the circumstances surrounding Charles' death and I have to admit it didn't surprise me that much," Reginald said around the cigar in his mouth.

"Chelmsford Private College was Charles' last hope. He'd been doing that crossdressing thing on and off ever since he was a young boy and I sent him there to get some discipline and man-up but once a queer always a queer I suppose."

Sandra was half-expecting a hostile reception.

"Look I'll be blunt. As far as we're concerned we never had a son called Charles. He'll be cremated when the body is released, there will be no funeral. If there was, what would I say? He died with his high heels on?"

"There is nothing we can help you with and to be honest I really don't care if the crime is solved or not; we just want it kept out of the papers and off the TV. So there you have it; I'll have you shown out," Reginald said gruffly.

"Just one thing before I go if I may?" Sandra remained seated.

"Charles went on holiday with Robert Fellows during one of the term breaks; is that correct?"

"I thought he'd finally befriended the right sort of chap. Robert is the son of a close friend and an excellent role model. Captain of the rugger team, housemaster and about to graduate with his Master's and engaged to a fine filly. I was hoping he and Charles were sowing their wild oats down in Brighton, you know, shagging the floozies. I'm sure that Robert was shagging everything in a skirt but their friendship ended; I suspect when Robert found out that Charles was a Nancy boy," Reginald poked his cigar at her to emphasise his point.

Sandra knew that providing Reginald and Penelope with any further details of Charlotte's life in Chelmsford would only pain them so she left it at that. She now knew that Charlotte had been trans since an early age and confirmed her relationship with Robert Fellows.

"Can I leave you my card," she produced one from her purse.

"Leave it on the table; my man will show you to the door," Reginald picked up the paper and began reading where he had left off.

Penelope remained pale and silent throughout the interview and had refilled her glass twice in the small amount of time Sandra had been there.

"I'll keep you informed," Sandra said as she walked to the door.

"Don't bother," Reginald grunted from behind his paper.

*****

"How did you go?" Sandra asked Archie in the car after she had picked him up at the college.

"Mrs Frobisher has given us an anteroom next to her office that we can use to conduct formal interviews and to take fingerprints. We'll set it up on Monday. I've spoken to the Chief Super and she's onboard with it. Keeps everything in the confines of the university away from prying eyes," Archie had the autopsy file open in his lap.

"I had very interesting interview with Wendy Larkin," he looked up from the file.

"Wendy Larkin?" Sandra glanced sideways at Archie.

"William identifies as Wendy; not sure if she intends to transition like Charlotte was but she lives a similar lifestyle. Presents as William on the campus but lives as Wendy in secret, Robert Fellows called her Bendy Wendy remember," Archie said.

"She confirms that they were running a brothel and gave me the background story which I'll tell you about over dinner; it's quite involved. She confirmed that Robert and Charlotte had more than just a sexual relationship. She gave me the names of two twins, Pamela and Janet Lowe who also worked the brothel. I interviewed them but they didn't have much to add, to them crossdressing is all about the money, they're bisexual but not trans."

"You seem to have this whole gender bender thing weighed off now Archie," Sandra smiled.

"I understand it; I just don't get it, if you know what I mean," he played with a strand of his hair.

"Wendy claims to know nothing about the drugs and I believe her."

"I want fingerprints and blood samples from all of our witnesses; I'll call SOCO back in to do that tomorrow and I want photographs of Robert Fellows' hands. I want to formally interview Robert Fellows under caution; I think he's our main suspect. I also want to formally interview Wendy Larkin and ask her about the events of the night of the murder."

"I also want to interview Douglas Quinn but first I want to pay a visit to Brighton."

They were approaching the gates to the college where a uniformed Constable was stationed and Archie noticed a nicely restored 1975 Ford Cortina parked just outside the gates. He recognised Ruffe Ingersoll leaning against the car smoking.

"Pull over here," Archie indicated the layup where Ruffe was parked.

He wound down the window and Ruffe ambled over.

"You've got an interesting case," Ruffe smiled.

"Hello Ruffe," Archie smiled back.

Archie had met Ruffe socially a couple of times when the Special Crimes Division went down the pub together after work. Sandra recognised him but didn't know him. Ruffe Ingersoll and Glenda Savage were an item, their relationship went back years but they had never formalised it. Ruffe was an investigative reporter for The Daily Sun newspaper.

"Can't tell you anything Ruffe, sorry," Archie said.

"Ask Glenda. If there's anything that can be released to the press she'll be the one to do it," Archie smiled weakly.

"She doesn't mix the job with her personal life Archie, you know that," Ruffe grinned.

"Does she know you're here Ruffe?" Archie asked.

Ruffe just gave him a wry smile.

"Ok, Ruffe. Stay out of trouble," Archie nodded for Sandra to drive off.

"Fuck! Pull over around the next bend. I'd better get the brick out and call the Chief Super and let her know that Ruffe's got wind of the story," Archie leaned over the seat to open the small case that contained the cellular phone.

Archie and Sandra finally got to have dinner at the restaurant at the Holiday Inn. They went to Archie's room to make love but they went to bed early. They would be checking out of the hotel early and driving down to Brighton to interview the proprietors of the Ambassador Guest House.

Archie spent some time on the phone talking to Detective Raymond Smith of the Chelmsford police and arranging with SOCO to take samples of the people on his witness list. Robert Fellows' lawyer had called the Chief Superintendent and had given Glenda some grief but had eventually consented for Robert to be fingerprinted, provide a blood sample and have photographs taken. They would be able to get fingerprints from all of the students involved so the only witness who wouldn't be providing fingerprints was Douglas Quinn.

Archie was content to leave Quinn until Monday when he and Sandra would interview him away from the college.

Sandra drove as usual allowing Archie to review the case file which had grown considerably now that they had added the forensic evidence and interview notes. Archie searched for and found the cheap postcard embossed with cheerful scenes of the Brighton Pier and seafront. On the obverse the words 'a week to remember... I think I love Robert' was written in blue ink in a feminine hand.

"A penny for your thoughts," Archie asked.

"It's certainly one of the strangest cases we have ever worked. I can't really see Charles Ward in any of this, all I can see is Charlotte; it's strange. But once I forget about Charles and think only of Charlotte as the victim it makes sense," Sandra began.

"She's obviously been fighting her gender identity disorder all her life not helped by a father who thought he could discipline it out of his son. Sending Charles to Chelmsford College was supposed to fix the problem but it put Charlotte into a worse situation where she was abused by the Bridge House council."

"Robert Fellows rescued her. He put her on a pedestal, although he denies he did, and then discarded her. That must have had a significant effect on her. She spent all her life looking for acceptance and love and when she finally receives it it's snatched away from her," Sandra sighed.

"See. This is why I like having you as my partner, you can always see the feminine side of a case like this, soften it so to speak," Archie patted Sandra's knee.

"I thought you liked having me as a partner so you can get into my knickers," Sandra smiled wryly but kept her eyes on the road.

"Well you do wear nice knickers, I'll give you that. Too bad we can't stay overnight in Brighton," it was Archie's turn to sigh.

"Anyway back to the case," Sandra turned the conversation around.

"Charlotte is no angel in all this. She talked Wendy into taking her place in the inner sanctum and then enjoined her in setting up One For The Team. It takes a certain amount of cunning to come up with a plan like that. She also had Wendy recruit Janet and Pamela and drew Douglas Quinn into the plot. She double-crossed Wayne Jenkins and Steven Belfour-Brown. They get no sympathy but they have motive."

"I just can't believe they could run a knocking shop that close the campus for over a year and not get caught."

"So else who has motive?" Archie asked.

"Robert Fellows for sure. Could be jealousy, could be revenge for some slight; also Charlotte was known to use blackmail. Same goes with Wayne Jenkins and Steven Belfour-Brown, Charlotte has incriminating photographs of them that she used to take the business from under them," Sandra added.

"We don't know about Quinn yet but I doubt the other girls have motive but who knows?" Sandra concluded her deductions.

"My money's on Fellows but we've yet to interview Wayne Jenkins and Steven Belfour-Brown. Pull over somewhere will you, I need a piss and a fag," Archie sniffed.

"Ever the romantic," Sandra chuckled.

They pulled up outside of the Ambassador Guest House just before lunch and Gladys and Harold Chatterton insisted on providing them lunch in the guest house's restaurant. They had crab bisque followed by a seafood pie, chips for Archie and a salad for Sandra. They even allowed themselves a couple of glasses of Chablis.

They managed to get Gladys and Harold Chatterton into a booth to interview them once the restaurant had cleared.

"I remember them well, especially Charlotte. She took such care of her appearance and dressed nicely. There's a few round here could take deportment lessons from her," Gladys was an attractive woman for her age and was dressed stylishly.

Harold had a distinguished appearance and was wearing a natty dark suit.

"She was a good looking girl I'll give her that; very pretty and great legs," he added.

"Trust you to notice. Robert Fellows was a handsome man too, tall and muscular," Gladys cooed.

"I think he made your knickers damp whenever he appeared," Harold chuckled.

"Harold! Don't be rude! These people are police officers!" Gladys slapped his shoulder but you could see the sparkle in her eyes.

"They were a lovely and loving couple. He fawned on her and she worshipped him you could tell; you couldn't pry them apart," Gladys crooned.

"You didn't detect any animosity or sense that Charlotte was just... how do I put this?" Archie looked at Sandra for help but he needn't have worried.

"Look we're a quiet guest house and we guarantee discretion. There's plenty of hanky panky goes on, bosses and secretaries away on business, older men with younger women, married couples away for a dirty weekend but not with their spouses, we see them all. But that wasn't Charlotte and Robert; you could see the love between them. I spoke to Charlotte about Robert and she told me that she was hoping they could live and work together after they graduated college. She said there would be obstacles to overcome but that was the same for lots of couples starting out. There is no doubt in my mind that she loved him and he loved her," Gladys clapped her hands together.

"I have to agree with my wife. It didn't look like they were here just to shag, they doted on each other," Harold nodded his head.

"Well thanks for that. One last thing, we'd like to see your reservation book and registration cards for the period they were here," Archie said.

"Let me get them," Harold squeezed past his wife who jokingly patted his bum.

"You have a bit of a commute to get back to Chelmsford," Gladys said.

"Well we live in London, we're seconded to the Chelmsford police service because of the special nature of the case," Archie replied and then realised he'd said too much.

"As in the case being a possible murder and taking place at the College and all," Sandra leapt in to save him.

"Strange that the poor girl was found dead at a men's boarding school; was she visiting Robert?" both detectives could sense Gladys being nosey.

"Sorry Gladys, we can't discuss the particulars of the case," Sandra added.

"Did I hear you say you want to take down my wife's particulars? That's a bit forward isn't it?" Harold laughed at the old joke.

"Here's the registration card for the room they stayed in and here are their names and signatures: Robert Fellows and Charlotte Ward," Harold handed over the card and then pointed to the relevant page in the reservation register.

Sandra entered the registration card into evidence while Archie noted the entry in the reservation register in his police note book.

"Look it's a bit of a drive back to London, we can offer you a room here at the guest house, free of charge of course, we'll claim it back on tax," Gladys winked at them.

"Oh no that's not necessary," Sandra waved dismissively at Gladys.

"Let me talk to Sandra for a minute will you?" Archie said and Gladys and Harold left them to talk by themselves.

"What the fuck Archie? You know Malcom hates me being away from home... and it's Friday!" Sandra hissed.

Archie knew about Sandra's husband's Friday night ritual. His own wife Pauline could care less if he came home, she would likely be out catting around anyway but he would miss seeing his son little Archie.

"Come on Sandra; it's Brighton. We can go out and walk the pier and the stroll the beachfront," Archie stroked her hand.

"Well Malcom isn't expecting me home tonight I suppose; he thinks I'll be in Chelmsford until tomorrow and I didn't tell him we were coming down here," Archie could see the wheels turning in Sandra's mind.

"I'll ring Malcom while you go get us a couple of rooms," Sandra said excitedly.

Sandra used the phone at the bar and then joined Archie in the foyer who had brought their bags in from the car.

"There you go sweetheart," Gladys handed Archie a single key.

Sandra blushed when Gladys winked at her.

"Remember what I said about discretion," her eyes gleaming.

Archie and Sandra clambered up the stairs carrying their suitcases with Sandra leading trying to stop Archie from putting his hand under her skirt.

"Stop it Archie! I've only got my granny-knickers and work tights on anyway so there's nothing for you there anyway," Sandra whined.

"I might want to shag you in your granny-knickers," Archie squeezed her bottom.

"Shut up Archie; behave yourself," Sandra grumbled.

When they were finally in their room they took the time to unpack.

"Gladys is nosey," Sandra commented.

"Not a bad sort for age though," Archie commented.

"Trust you. She reminds me of someone, someone on the telly," Sandra stopped what she was doing to think

"Sybil Fawlty!" they both said at once and burst out laughing.

Their room had been recently renovated but little had been spent on the main room which retained its old-world features. The furniture was old but more antique than shabby chic and they had views of Brighton beach from the bay window. The money had been spent renovating the bathroom which had all new fittings and a walk-in shower.

Archie shucked out of his suit and hung it up and lay naked on the bed so he could watch Sandra. She took off her jacket and kicked off her scuffed work shoes then dropped her heavy skirt and shimmied out of her blouse.

"Seriously? You're going to watch me take off my old cotton bra, my tights and granny-knickers; that's hardly a striptease Archie," she stood with her hands on her hips defiantly.

"You look magnificent, even in your granny-knickers," Archie grinned at her.

Sandra rolled off her tights and threw them at Archie who deftly caught them and brought them to his face and sniffed them then threw them back.

"You're incorrigible Archie," Sandra laughed.

Archie leapt off the bed and lifted Sandra off her feet and carried her to the bathroom.

"Put me down Archie!" Sandra squealed but she liked his playfulness.

For a fleeting second she felt guilty about her husband Malcom, she wished he had Archie's spontaneity and spirit. She wished he had Archie's hankering for her. The thought disappeared when Archie dropped her to her feet and kissed her. He put his hands in her hair and unravelled her bun and combed out her tresses with his fingers.

"There. Now look even more beautiful," he grinned down at her and pecked her nose.

"Even in my granny-knickers?" Sandra smiled up at him.

Archie put his fingers in the waistband of her pink nylon high-waisted panties with the low-cut legs and ripped them down her legs. Sandra kicked them away and unclasped her brassiere.

"What granny-knickers?" he laughed when he had her naked.

He pulled her into his arms and kissed her, his cock nestled in the V between her legs. Her pubic hair was trimmed and Archie quite liked the scratchy feel of it on his sensitive member. He reached behind her and turned on the shower and adjusted the temperature so it was warm and marched her backwards under the soft pleasant torrent. He kissed her and reached out to squeeze the liquid soap dispenser and filled his hand.

He put his cupped hand to her sex and pressed the viscous liquid between her legs and rubbed it into her flesh. Sandra gasped as he inserted two fingers inside her and used his thumb on her clitoris. He took a second handful of the liquid soap and slathered it on his penis. Archie pressed Sandra up against the tiled wall and opened her legs and slid his cock inside her. Sandra clung to him, putting her legs around his waist and her arms around his neck and hung on while Archie began to fuck her.

They came quickly; the hot water cascading over their bodies intensifying their pleasure. Sandra gasped into Archie's mouth and shuddered like an animal impaled on a spear as she orgasmed . Archie drove her into the wall so that every inch of his pulsing manhood was inside her.

"Oh god Sandra I lov..." Sandra put her hand over his mouth to stifle his words.

"Don't say it Archie... please don't say it," she cried.

To be continued.

May 1986

Sandra dropped Archie off outside his townhouse. They both watched the curtain twitch as the car pulled up.

"Do you think she knows about us?" Sandra asked, biting a fingernail.

"I doubt it. She thinks I'm a womaniser but wouldn't waste my time on my partner, too many loose lips etcetera. Thinks I play around on her as means of getting my own back," Archie stuffed the case files in his briefcase.

"But you are a womaniser Archie, everybody knows it," Sandra replied.

"You're not very observant for a copper are you Sandra?" Archie sighed.

"What?" Sandra was perplexed.

"I haven't been with another woman since we started up. I flirt and I brag but I have only been with you my sweet," Archie leaned in and kissed her cheek.

"Stop it Archie!" Sandra brushed him away.

"You won't let me say it Sandra but you know how I feel," Archie lugged his briefcase and then took his suitcase out of the boot.

It turned out that Archie's wife Pauline was working overtime; the extra money earning time and a half on Saturday would come in handy. The teenage girl from next door was babysitting their eight year old son. Archie paid her for the full day and took little Archie down the park to kick a football, then for fish and chips for lunch and after that they saw a movie.

He bought home a curry and set the table for dinner just as Pauline arrived home from work. It looked like she had been drinking already and the first thing she did was reach for a bottle and glass. They ate in silence.

"Off you go little Archie, kiss me and your dad goodnight and he'll be up to read you a story in a bit," Pauline said to their son who did as he was he was told and climbed the stairs to his bedroom.

Archie started to clear the table while Pauline leaned against the kitchen counter smoking a cigarette, sipping her fourth glass of wine for the evening.

"You'll never guess what happened to me today Archie?" Pauline began.

Archie hated her when she was like this. He knew she was going to tell him some sordid tale or belittle him in some way; it was his wife's favourite pastime.

"You know Eddie Bard?" she drained her drink and began to open another bottle of wine.

Everyone at Scotland Yard knew Inspector Edward Bard. As the Chief Constable of the City of Chelmsford he had famously or infamously let the serial rapist-killer known as the Essex Slasher escape justice. The bungled investigation had been exposed by Ruffe Ingersoll, an investigative journalist working for The Daily Sun newspaper.

After the Chelmsford balls-up Walter Middleton, the Essex Slasher, had moved with his wife to Scotland and before long he taken up where he had left off but was caught red handed by the Edinburgh police raping a red-haired, blue eyed woman, the modus operando of the Essex Slasher and was subsequently linked to the crimes in Chelmsford.

Ruffe published his exposé describing how a Special Investigation Team in Chelmsford had identified Walter Middleton as the Slasher but when CID raided Walter's house they found nothing. Ruffe revealed that Edward Bard was Walter Middleton's golfing partner and although he couldn't prove collusion he had inferred it. The mishandling of the case however led to Edward Bard being bought before a police tribunal where he was reverted to the rank of Inspector, his file was marked 'Never To Be Promoted'.

Edward was now desk-bound pushing paper, waiting for retirement and he spent most of his time chasing skirt. He was still a handsome man at the age of fifty four.

The irony was that one of the Special Investigation Team, WPC Glenda Savage, was now Chief Superintendent Glenda Savage and in charge of the Special Crimes Division in which Archie served.

"What about Eddie Bard?" Archie asked, regretting it immediately.

"He fucked me up the wrong 'un this afternoon. Locked the door, pulled down my slacks and knickers, bent me over the desk and shoved that big black cock of his right up my arse," Pauline looked at him smarmily as she poured another glass of wine.

"It hurt like a bastard Archie but it felt good too. I think I came three times while he was buggering me. I can still feel his jizz inside me and me knickers are stained with blood and shit, I'm sure of it," she smiled evilly at Archie as she saw the anger spread across his face.

"Don't get angry Archie. You're just a cuckold who can't satisfy his wife; come to think of it I'm not even sure if little Archie is yours," she sipped her wine dismissively.

Archie hated rising to the bait. He knew it gave her some sort of sick pleasure to belittle and tease him. Little Archie was the spitting image of him and Archie had no doubt that he was Archie's father but Pauline's constant mockery and taunting incensed him.

Archie flew across the kitchen and knocked the wine out of Pauline's hand and he grabbed her by the lapels of her jacket.

"What are you going to do Archie? Fuck me up the arse with that little todger of yours? I wouldn't feel it if you did," she smirked directly into his face.

Archie spun his wife around and bent her over the counter. He tugged at her slacks until he had them around her knees and then pulled down her tights and knickers. Her knickers were indeed spotted with blood and sticky with semen.

"Go on then Archie; have a go. Your little prick won't even make me jump when you put it in. Edward's was so long and thick I thought it was going to come out of my belly," Pauline laughed drunkenly.

But when Archie freed his erection and pushed it into his wife's anus she did jump. Then she pushed back against him and moaned like a slattern.

"Come on Archie, have a go. I can't feel anything, put some effort in you pathetic tosser," Pauline taunted him but she had her fingers between her legs and was rubbing her clitoris frantically.

Archie grabbed Pauline by the hair and pulled back on it like a mane as he slammed his cock in and out of her tight anus. He'd never taken her this way before, even though she'd offered. Her back passage was tight but the remains of Edward's spend and the sloppy secretions dribbling from her vagina lubricated his shaft.

"That's the boy Archie, you're not as big as Eddie but at least I can feel it. Come on Archie fuck my arse like a good boy!" she hissed as her orgasm approached.

Pauline began a high pitched whine which Archie knew signalled her climax and he grabbed her hips and drove his cock all the way inside her and ejaculated. Pauline writhed and wriggled, pushing back into him, grinding her buttocks into his groin as she came. The stench of her quim juices filled the kitchen.

Archie collapsed over her body, his cock still buried in her anus; his spend dribbling onto the kitchen linoleum.

Pauline pushed her husband off her and tugged at her underwear and pulled up her slacks while Archie put himself away.

"You're pathetic Archie. The only way I can get a good shagging out of you is to provoke you," she wheezed as she buttoned the top of her slacks.

"That's it Pauline. I can't go on like this. I'm moving out," Archie said with finality.

He always felt remorseful after they'd had sex like this but this time he felt disgusted and ashamed of himself.

"I mean it Pauline. I'll explain it as best I can to little Archie but I'm moving out this weekend," Archie said.

"Well fuck off then. Good riddance to bad rubbish I say," Pauline took another wine glass down from the cupboard to replace the one Archie had broken.

When she reached up Archie could see a small wet stain flowering in the crotch of her slacks; it was pink, a mixture of blood, semen and her own secretions.

*****

Sandra felt guilty when Malcom started doting and spoiling her as soon she got home. She changed into a house dress and helped him in the garden and they had a quiet dinner. She told him as much as she could about the case because Malcom was genuinely interested in her work.

His work as a schoolteacher was dull and boring and he enjoyed hearing about her escapades solving crimes with Archie. He didn't have a jealous bone in his body and if he suspected that she and Archie were having an affair he had never said anything. All that did was to make her feel guiltier.

She was unsure how he would be when they went to bed that evening after missing out on his weekly sex session the previous night. She wore a negligée and full-cut satin knickers, if he wanted to make love he could get to her body easily and if he didn't all the better and she could sleep comfortably.

They lay side by side in the dark neither of them saying anything. Malcom's hand drifted across her body and rested in her crotch. Malcom's idea of foreplay was to stroke her through panties until she was wet and then mount her and try to get inside before he ejaculated. Premature ejaculation had plagued their sex life and their marriage. Malcom refused to talk about it and because he was so inexperienced and embarrassed about his condition he also refused to try any form of experimentation or variety in their lovemaking.

Malcom rubbed her sex and eventually his fingers opened the folds of her labia and found her clitoris. It was more by good luck than good management, he had no idea how her vagina functioned and was unwilling to learn. Sandra murmured a little and opened her legs for him, signalling that she was ready.

Malcom climbed between her legs and prodded at her sex while she held the gusset of her knickers aside for him. He jabbed at her, his cock rubbing on her satin panties unable to find her sex.

"Oh no!" he moaned his disappointment as he climaxed without even getting inside his wife.

Sandra felt his hot seed splash on her vulva and soak into her knickers. She wrapped her arms around her husband to comfort him.

"It's ok darling; its ok," she whispered.

Malcom climbed off his wife and lay on his back and pulled up his underpants.

"I want a divorce," Malcom said into the dark.

Sandra rolled over and switched on the bedlamp.

"What was that honey?" she didn't believe her ears.

"I want a divorce. It's not you it's me. I can't satisfy my wife, I can't satisfy myself; there's no point going on," he said.

Malcom stared up at the ceiling, unable to look at Sandra.

"I told you Malcom; it's ok. There's other ways we can satisfy each other, we can try a different counselor or see a sex surrogate," Sandra cuddled up to her husband but he pushed her away.

"I've been seeing someone Sandra. You work all the time and you're never here. Mrs Bellamy invited me in for coffee one day and we got talking," Malcom still stared at the ceiling.

"You've been seeing the cat woman? Mrs Bellamy?" Sandra was incredulous and bemused; she tried not to laugh.

Everyone referred to Alice Bellamy as the cat woman because she kept four cats, and although she used the title Mrs, she was in fact a spinster. She lived across the road and spent her time gardening, gossiping and watching daytime soaps.

"We became friends, close friends and eventually I trusted her enough to tell her about my problems and she offered to help me," Malcom murmured.

"The cat woman helped you with your premature ejaculation problem?" Sandra was sceptical.

"She told me that I should be honest with you and I am so let me finish. Alice took me downstairs to her basement and left me alone while she went away. She told me strip naked and I did. She returned wearing a leather catsuit which is funny right? Don't answer that it's rhetorical."

"She touched me down there and I came as soon as she did. She told me it was ok but that I needed to be punished. She put me over her knees and spanked me, then she touched me down there again when I was ready but I came again and she spanked me again. This went on for a while until I didn't come when she touched me."

"This took place over a few weeks and then she got me to, to you know, to put it inside her; to fuck her in the vulgar vernacular. Needless to say I ejaculated as soon as I entered her and then she put me over her knees and spanked me again. We experimented and after a while the spanking helped. If she spanked me before we fucked I could go for a while. Then I could go for a while and then go again."

"I'm not stupid Sandra; I know you're having an affair and I don't blame you. I guess it's with Archie but I really don't care. So Alice Bellamy and I have been having an affair for nearly a year now and I like what I have with her. We have no children; we can sell the house and split the profits. You can move on and so can I," Malcom finally turned to face her.

Sandra was astounded but she had to admit she was relieved.

"I do love you Sandra but what we have isn't working. We live totally different lives and I can't satisfy you. I've just proved that again. We would be happier apart," Malcom said what Sandra had been thinking for some time.

"But if you can perform with Alice Bellamy you can perform with me," Sandra leaned on one elbow.

"What are you going to do; buy a catsuit and a paddle? It won't work Sandra; you're not Alice. Can you turn out the light please, we can sleep and we'll talk about it tomorrow," Malcom turned away from her and was snoring within minutes.

Sandra lay in the dark unable to sleep. She hated herself for feeling relieved that it was finally over.

Archie and Sandra met in Chief Superintendent Glenda Savage's office on Monday morning and updated their boss on the case.

Glenda had always fought with her weight and way back when she was a WPC she had accepted that she was never going to have the figure of a model so she made the best of what she had. She was somewhere in her forties, but like a lot of big women her face looked younger. She had perfect skin, blue eyes and cupid bow lips, her face framed by a halo of black curls and she was pretty, almost 'little-girl pretty' but anyone who took her for a little girl was in for a big surprise; she could be ruthless when necessary.

Today she had a budget meeting with the Deputy Chief Constable so she was wearing uniform: black skirt, white shirt, black and white checked cravat, black tunic with her rank badges on the epaulettes, black stockings and shoes. Glenda made a point of wearing fully-fashioned stockings and her skirts had always been shorter than was regulation and her heels higher. Rather than feeling sexualised like so many women employed in a job dominated by males, she used her overt sexuality to disarm her male counterparts and catch them out unaware.

Glenda was in a rush and sat on the corner of her desk flicking through the case summary while Archie and Sandra sat waiting. Her skirt had ridden up and Archie could just see a hint of stocking-top as she lazily swung one shapely leg back and forth which mesmerised him.

"Good work you two; I take it you fancy this Robert Fellows as the culprit?" she looked up from the file.

"He's our best suspect yes. We've some more interviews to conduct, fingerprints to match and we're waiting on some forensics but I intend to conduct a formal interview under caution with Mister Fellows very soon," Archie replied.

"Keep me informed please, especially when you're dealing with the toffs. They think that because their fathers have money and know people in the right places they deserve special treatment," Glenda put down the file and brushed a piece of lint off her skirt.

"We've encountered that already," Sandra piped in.

"Well fuck 'em; don't give them any. A word please Archie?" Glenda dismissed Sandra.

When Sandra closed the door Glenda got off the desk and handed Archie back his file.

"Ruffe's onto the case. He knows something's up and he'll be like a dog with a bone," she busied herself sorting papers on her desk.

"What does he know ma'am?" Archie asked.

"He knows fuck all but he knows there is more to the case than just a suspicious death. For a start he knows my Special Crimes Division has been called in and he knows that an exclusive male-only university has effectively gone into lockdown," Glenda turned to face him.

"You know Ruffe and I are in a relationship?" Glenda looked down at her shoes.

"You make no secret of it ma'am. No conflict of interest as far I can see," Archie didn't know if that was the response she was looking for.

"What do I tell him?" Archie continued when Glenda remained silent.

"That's easy Archie... you tell him fuck all."

"How are things with Pauline?" Glenda turned her back on him and began to pack her bag ready for her meeting.

"Shit. I moved out yesterday," Archie said coolly.

"Well that makes it easier for me to say what I have to say I suppose. Pauline has garnered a reputation for herself around the Yard and it's rumoured that she's sniffing around Edward Bard," Glenda turned to face Archie.

"If I can be blunt ma'am he's giving it to her whenever he feels like it. He's welcome to her; I'm done with her," Archie sighed.

"You have a boy don't you... little Archie?" Glenda smiled as she recalled seeing Archie's son running around the Division office one day when Archie had bought him to work.

"Well don't let your work get in the way of bringing him up Archie. I never had kids but I know these years are precious. Edward Bard is a prat who is about to fall on his arse; he'll be lucky to escape with his pension intact if that's any consolation. You never heard that from me and keep it schtum."

Archie stood up ready to leave. Glenda put on her regulation bowler hat and reached out a hand to stroke his cheek.

"You'll be ok Archie, you deserve better. Find someone nice who deserves you; if I was twenty years younger I'd be tempted myself," she dropped her hand and was all business.

She strode to the door leaving a trail of perfume and Archie followed in her wake.

Sandra was fighting through the London traffic when she finally spoke to Archie.

"What was that all about with the Chief Super?" she asked.

"Glenda was just telling me what I already knew. My wife is a slut. It doesn't matter anyway, I moved out yesterday," Archie said wistfully.

Sandra burst out laughing.

"Jesus Sandra I tell you my marriage is on the rocks and you laugh at me!" Archie said sharply.

"No... it's just the timing... Malcom is divorcing me... he's shagging the cat lady across the road," Sandra laughed almost hysterically.

"Jesus! What a couple of losers we are," Archie chuckled.

He reached out and placed his hand over Sandra's.

"Malcom is an idiot; he doesn't know what he's throwing away," He squeezed her hand with his and then withdrew it.

Mrs Frobisher met Archie and Sandra like they were her long lost friends and led them into the anteroom.

"Your colleagues were busy here on Friday. Left rather a mess with that powder they use," she sniffed, wiping an imaginary speck of dust off the table.

She was wearing one of her tight suits and heels so high that Sandra wondered how she walked in them, the kick pleat in the side of her skirt that displayed acres of sheer nylon-sheathed thigh obviously helped. It certainly got Archie's attention as did her low-cut blouse. Mrs Frobisher hovered around Archie, openly flirting with him as she got them settled.

"Mister Wayne Jenkins is waiting outside for you," Mrs Frobisher said.

"Shall I send him in?" she made her way to the door and leaned against it seductively.

"Give us ten minutes please Mrs Frobisher; any chance of tea?" Archie gave her a winning smile.

"Of course Archie; I'll bring in a tea service before I bring in Mister Jenkins," she closed the door.

"You're incorrigible Archie. She might as well throw her knickers at you," Sandra smirked.

Archie pulled Sandra into him and slipped his hand under her skirt and up her thighs while she struggled against him.

"The only knickers I'm interested in are under this skirt," he whispered in her ear.

"Stop it Archie," Sandra broke free of him and pulled the hem her dowdy skirt down to her knees.

"You'd be disappointed anyway; I'm wearing my granny-panties again today. It's a matter of function over fashion I'm afraid," Sandra admonished him.

They settled down and prepared for the interview. Mrs Frobisher came in with a tea tray and fussed around pouring tea and finally ushered in Wayne Jenkins and left.

Wayne Jenkins strode into the anteroom looking cocky. He was handsome, young and fit and he knew it. He blatantly ignored Archie and openly stared at Sandra who subconsciously closed the top of her blouse even though it was fully-buttoned. Archie and Sandra had dealt with his type before and Archie deliberately let Sandra take the lead.

The interview was taking place under caution so they read Wayne Jenkins his rights and advised him they would prefer that he have a solicitor present but he had already declined to do so. Archie switched on the tape recorder and for the tape identified everyone present and had Wayne attest that he did not want legal representation.

"You do not have to say anything. But it may harm your defence if you do not mention when questioned something which you later rely on in Court. Anything you do say may be given in evidence," Archie read the warning and then handed proceedings over to Sandra.

"Before we begin I'll just let you know that we have already interviewed Robert Fellows, William Larkin, who also identifies as Wendy Larkin, the Lowe twins and several other concerned individuals," Sandra began.

"Well Charlotte's death and your investigation was all anyone was talking about over the weekend. I had an interesting interlude with Wendy who told me exactly what she told you," Wayne studied his nails indifferently.

"Interlude?" Sandra wanted to draw him out.

"Well a girl has still gotta make money. The cottage is closed but boys will be boys and some boys will be girls," he smirked.

Sandra summarised Wendy's account of the events leading up to the night of the incident.

"Well of course she's going to paint herself in a better light but what she says is basically true. Charlotte offered sex to the Bridge House council and some of us took her up on the offer. It's better than wanking," Wayne looked Sandra directly in the eyes hoping to shock her but she didn't rise to the bait.

"Then Wendy took over because Charlotte hooked with up Robert but Wendy wanted money. Then after a while we figured out how we could all make a little money and someone came up with the idea of One For The Team."

"Wendy never explained why you called it that," Sandra led him on.

"It was Charlotte's little joke. When she first started putting it out for us she said she was willing to take one for team; we all played rugby you see," Wayne thought he was being impudent but Archie and Sandra had heard far worse.

"So speaking of the rugby team, what can you tell us about the night of the incident?" Sandra steered Wayne to where she wanted him, allowing him to brag.

"It was Wendy and I who came with the idea. The first fifteen had made the finals again and narrowly missed winning the grand final so we thought it would be a great idea to reward them. The team has to wait until term break to go away on our end of season bash because the school is so strict," Wayne leaned back in his chair full of bravado.

"So we came up with idea of renting One For The Team for the night. We charge the lads twenty quid each and they have use of the cottage all night. It's all you can drink and all you can fuck or whatever."

"All four girls would be there to service the lads and also to entertain them and serve them drinks. Some of the lads were dead against it, some were up for it but only as a lark and said they wouldn't touch the trannies, although once they had a few pints those girls became prettier and like I said boys will be boys. Most of the lads that went to the party went with one of the girls at least once."

"The only abstainers were Robert Fellows and Brian Nichol; they absolutely refused to go anywhere near the place," Wayne Jenkins shrugged his shoulders like it was their loss.

*****

May 1986

The first fifteen's end of season stouch tuned into a drunken rampaging orgy about an hour after it started. Ten rugby players and another six hangers-on descended on the cottage and as they had pre-paid they were determined to get their money's worth.

Although Wayne Jenkins claimed credit for the idea, it was Charlotte and Wendy who originally thought up the proposition. The entry fee the lads were paying was to be shared equally between the Bridge House council and One For The Team.

At first the rugby players were a little reticent to engage with the girls except for those who had already visited the cottage before. The two bedrooms were in constant use, Wayne Jenkins and Steven Belfour-Brown took the Lowe twins into a room each as soon as they arrived whilst Charlotte and Wendy entertained the remainder. They played non-stop pornography on the VCR, and Dire Straits, Tears for Fears and Duran Duran cassettes on the cheap sound system and encouraged the men to drink and flirted and amused them.

One of the more reticent young men became infatuated with Charlotte after a few drinks and began to paw at her.

"Look you are really feminine and pretty but I know you're not a real girl. I want to... you know what I want, but I don't want to see your dick," he whispered drunkenly.

The young man was stroking her legs and nuzzling her neck. He really wanted to kiss her but had reservations.

Charlotte had briefed the girls that all those horny young men were going to want sex and lot of it and with only four girls they would have to operate like a production line, taking the lads in and out of the bedrooms and servicing them quickly.

"Both bedrooms are being used I'm sorry," Charlotte said but the man was insistent.

"Fuck it. Come with me," Charlotte led the lad down to the bathroom and locked the door.

Once inside the bathroom where he couldn't be seen by the others the young man began to kiss her and groped under her skirt despite his so called reticence to see her cock. Charlotte dropped to her knees and took him out. He had quite a substantial erection which Charlotte improved with her mouth. When she had him close he pushed her face out of groin.

"I never told the others but I've always wanted to fuck a tranny," he giggled drunkenly.

"Well today is your lucky day," Charlotte grinned up at him.

She got back to her feet and turned away from the lad and leaned against the sink. She lifted her skirt and pulled down the back of her knickers, and ever the improviser, she dispensed a dollop of liquid soap from the dispenser on the sink and lubricated her sphincter and the young man's shaft.

"I love those stockings," the boy pawed at her legs, snagging the first of many ladders for the night.

Charlotte wriggled her buttocks provocatively and the young man got the hint.

She helped guide him to her sphincter and he plunged himself all the way in; his engorged manhood filled her and Charlotte exhaled sharply. He took no time at all holding Charlotte by the hips, driving his cock in and out of her tight passage.

Charlotte found the whole sordid act quite exhilarating and arousing, especially because the lad's cock was so big; it stimulated all the right places. She slipped her hand under her skirt. The lad might not want to see her penis but there was no reason she couldn't touch herself. Her cock was inside her knickers after all.

She stroked her hard cock in time with the boy's thrusts and invitingly pushed back against him to meet him as he fucked her slowly and forcefully. She sensed the young man was peaking and she wriggled her buttocks enticingly and he held her tight and pushed himself inside her all the way and ejaculated.

Charlotte filled her panties at the same time as the young man filled her anus. They were both panting and groaning with the exertion and the pleasure, ignoring the hammering on the door.

When the boy was done, Charlotte handed him a washcloth to clean up and she took another and dabbed at her knickers in a vain attempt to dry them. She had spare pairs in the bedroom but why bother, this lad would be the first of many that she would service that night.

"Wow! That was amazing! Can I do that again later," the young man gushed.

"As many times as you like honey; you've paid for it," Charlotte straitened her hair as best she could in the mirror, adjusted her skirt and opened the door to find an impatient Wendy wanting to use the bathroom, the vice-captain of the rugby team molesting her impatiently.

Charlotte took the young man's hand and led him out into the corridor and kissed him a little. The door to the bedroom she shared with Pamela opened and Pamela emerged with Steven Belfour-Brown in tow.

"Would you like a little something that will help you get it up again later?" Charlotte whispered in the young man's ear.

When he nodded she took him into her bedroom and locked the door. She went to the wardrobe and opened the little compartment where she kept her stash.

"It's a fiver," Charlotte waved the little baggie of white powder under the lad's nose.

The orgy had begun.

At one stage Charlotte was in her bedroom sitting on top of a young man lying on the bed who held her by the waist while he drove his cock in and out of her now well-used anus while she sucked on the hard cock of another man standing on the bed whilst stroking the quivering penis of another man standing beside the bed.

"Oh yes!" the lad fucking her pulled her down hard into his groin and spent himself inside her just as the man standing over his mate filled her mouth with semen.

The imagery of this caused the man she was masturbating to climax and he shot his load over her blouse. At the same time Charlotte ejaculated into her sodden knickers without even touching herself.

*****

May 1986

"And you're adamant that Robert Fellows was not present?" Sandra asked after Wayne Jenkins had detailed the events of the evening.

"Absolutely not and he was dead against it, as was Brian Nichol. Robert loathed Charlotte by now. She and Wendy had been running the brothel for a year give or take and Robert said its existence was a stain on the college," Wayne leaned back in his chair and yawned.

"Look your SOCO guys took my fingerprints and other samples on Friday so is that all?" he was ready to leave.

"And you and Steven Belfour-Brown have alibis?" Archie finally spoke.

"Yes, and not only for each other. We left together with Wendy and the Lowe twins, Charlotte remained behind to clean up a little after the party even though we told her to leave it but she was anal about shit like that. She thought it was her establishment and she took some sort of pride in that shithole," Wayne studied his nails.

"Did you see anyone else when you were leaving?" Archie asked.

"Negative, no, nay, nix, now are we finished here?" Wayne said defiantly.

"Interview terminated at thirteen twenty," Archie spoke for the tape.

Wayne stood up and looked down at the two detectives who were busy entering the tapes into evidence, one of the tapes would be handed to Wayne Jenkins.

"You know under that cheap wrinkled suit and those awful thick tights I bet your girl has got a great body and a nice pair of legs," Wayne said contemptuously.

Sandra held Archie down in his seat as he made to rise to the insult.

"He's not worth it Archie," Sandra hissed.

"No Archie... he's not worth it," Wayne mimicked and mocked her and then sauntered out of the room.

Archie and Sandra had a quick lunch and then headed down to the abandoned buildings in the woods to interview Douglas Quinn. Initially he had refused to be interviewed but Archie had threatened him that it was either an informal chat in Chelmsford or he would haul him down to Scotland Yard and formally interview him under caution so Quinn had agreed to meet near the cottage away from the school. Archie had also leaned on Francis Lister who in turn had leaned on Quinn to cooperate.

Quinn had been to prison before and knew the ropes; you cooperated with the coppers just enough, answered their questions but never elaborated.

"I told you I don't know anything about the gilly's death," Quinn was belligerent from the start.

The three were sitting in the kitchenette of one of the other abandoned buildings that Quinn used as his office.

"You can still help us confirm what other witnesses have told us and put some context to the case," Archie offered Quinn a cigarette and he took it.

Quinn sighed and then began talking.

"That fucking Lister! I had a staff of good local people who maintained the grounds at the college and did all the maintenance. I had a cottage right here on the grounds. Those other abandoned buildings you passed to get here were our workshops, machinery sheds, and a garage."

"Lister convinced the board of trustees to fire us all and bring in contactors; said it would be cheaper and it was. No buildings and equipment to maintain and the contractors worked for less. He effectively re-hired the same people at lower wages and without benefits. Kept me on to manage the contract and to make sure the work is done to a satisfactory standard," Quinn dropped his cigarette on the floor and ground it out.

"I get an allowance to rent a flat in Chelmsford but the groundsman's cottage used to be mine. I tried my best to maintain it and I used it as my office and then the gillys made me a proposition and I moved my office here," he waved at the decrepit kitchenette they were sitting in.

Quinn had an old desk littered with papers, some filing cabinets, rudimentary tea making facilities, a rickety table and a few mismatched chairs.

"What was the proposition?" Archie's asked.

"They paid me a few quid a week to use the cottage and run errands for them in town," Quinn sniffed.

"What sort of errands?" Sandra asked.

"They would give me a shopping list and some money and I'd just buy them what they wanted. Stuff to keep the cottage clean, some sex stuff -- porno tapes and alike, lubricant, extra toiletries. I'm no dummy; the sort of things you might need to run a knocking shop. They even had me buy underwear and other ladies things," Quinn replied.

"And you never questioned why a couple of transvestite students wanted to run a knocking shop in the woods near the college?" Archie asked.

Quinn grinned.

"You got a few hundred horny young men in their sexual prime cloistered in those old college dormitories and they can only get away during the term holidays. They gonna start fucking each other; even the ones who aren't gay. Those gillys looked very ladylike and sexy when they were gussied up. You join the dots," Quinn smirked lasciviously.

"So Charlotte and Wendy ran a knocking shop, as you call it, out of the cottage?" Sandra encouraged Quinn to continue.

"Well Charlotte was the one who ran it really; she was the boss and paid me and gave me the jobs to do," Quinn answered but they could tell there was more to it.

"Did she give you sex?" Archie asked.

Quinn looked wistfully at the ceiling.

*****

September 1985

"This is going to cost you a lot more than twenty quid and a taste once a week," Quinn tossed the small valise up and down in the palm of his hand.

"This is serious shit," he grumbled.

"Forty quid a week and you can have a taste whenever you want but this is only between us, no one else must know," Charlotte replied.

They were sitting at the kitchen table in the cottage, Charlotte had skipped an afternoon lecture and come down to the cottage to transform and wait for Quinn.

"Done, payment up front," Quinn held out his other hand.

Charlotte had the money ready and counted it out on the table. She held out her hand for the valise but Quinn held onto it.

"Payment up front," Quinn repeated himself and looked intently at the bedroom door.

Charlotte had anticipated this. She took Quinn's hand and led him to her workroom as she called it.

Quinn put the money in the valise and put the valise down on the nightstand and hurriedly undressed. He'd been to town and for once was his clothes and his body were clean.

Charlotte surprised Quinn by stepping into him and kissing him. In the past she had refused to kiss him and either done her business on her knees or bent over the table or kneeling on the bed.

Quinn enveloped Charlotte in a surprisingly tender embrace and returned the kiss. His mouth tasted of cigarettes and beer but his breath was not rancid as it usually was. Charlotte felt him becoming hard against her body and she smiled into his mouth.

"You're a very naughty gilly," Quinn broke the kiss and smiled down at her.

Charlotte had come to realise that under the filth and coarseness was a handsome man in his fifties who had simply let himself go. Today at least he was clean and decent looking. She pressed her lips against him again and took his penis in her hand began to softly stroke and squeeze it.

Quinn guided Charlotte towards the bed and encouraged her to lie down. He lay beside her and kissed her while she worked on his cock with her hands and then her mouth. What she would never tell Quinn was that she found his gnarly penis with its prepucial lumps and protuberances on the shaft and bulging purple glans very stimulating when it was inside her. It was like being fucked with what was colloquially known as a French tickler.

Quinn let Charlotte fellate him, enjoying the feel of her wet mouth, her lips and her tongue on his engorged manhood but he had things to do and couldn't spend all afternoon in bed with Charlotte as much as he would like to. He pulled down her knickers and lifted her onto her back.

Charlotte obligingly opened her legs for him. She was surprised when Quinn took the tube of lubricant off the bedside table and used it on his shaft; she was pre-lubricated internally. When he slid inside her Charlotte moaned with lust, his cock felt so good. She wrapped her arms and legs around him and hung on while he fucked her with his usual enthusiasm; she kissed him and whispered endearments and obscenities, encouraging him.

She came first, his hard belly pressing on her cock and the huge appendage pressing on her prostate and stretching her sphincter illicited a colossal orgasm that began in her anus, migrated to her penis and coursed through her body. Quinn was surprised at her open display of pleasure, Charlotte usually seemed revolted by him and let him use her only because she had to. He drove his tongue into her mouth and thrust his cock deep into her bowels and erupted. Charlotte squealed with delight underneath him and held on for the ride as Quinn vigorously fucked her until he was spent.

Charlotte was pulling up her knickers and Quinn was getting dressed when Charlotte spoke.

"If you come to me clean and sober like you did today you get that treatment any time you want it. If you come to me unwashed in your work clothes you get a blowjob in the kitchen or a quick one up against the wall, your call," Charlotte stood and straitened her negligée.

"You're a clever calculating gilly Charlotte," Quinn grinned at her.

Charlotte let him kiss her a little before he had to go.

"You have your money and your freebee now I would like my drugs please," she held out her hand.

Quinn unzipped the valise and took out his money and handed her the bag. She looked inside at the little baggies of white powder and took one out at random and opened it and put a little on her tongue. She smiled to herself.

"This could be good for both us," Charlotte grinned at him.

"You get caught selling that stuff and try to implicate me, I'll slit your throat," Quinn grinned back at her.

"Fair enough," Charlotte leaned in and kissed him and then went to the wardrobe to hide her stash.

*****

May 1986

"Yes I had sex with Charlotte, but not the other gillys. That was the deal I made. Twenty quid a week and sex with Charlotte once a week," Quinn answered Archie's question.

"And the night of the incident?" Sandra asked.

"I did a big shop for them In Chelmsford; they were having some sort of big party. I helped them set up the cottage or the gentleman's club as Charlotte called it," Quinn's response seemed evasive to the detectives.

"Where you there that night?" Archie asked directly.

"I was outside. Wendy thought the gillys might need some security in case those rugby lads got out of hand. There was going to be a lot of them, a lot of booze, and only the four gillys. My remit was to stay close and come running if the girls called out. They gave me a six-pack of beer and a couple of packets of crisps and I set up a camp chair outside the door so the lads could see me when they arrived so that they knew I was there," Quinn replied.

"So you were effectively a bouncer? When did you leave?" Archie asked.

"The party wound down in the early hours. Wendy and those twin trannies left with those two toffs from the house council. I was tempted to go inside and take a turn with Charlotte but she was well pissed and looked like she'd been fucked senseless; even I have standards. When I left she was faffing around cleaning up," Quinn folded his hands across his lap.

"Did you see anybody else as you were leaving?" Archie leaned forward and looked Quinn in the eye.

"I never saw anyone. Is that it?" Quinn asked.

"For now yes but it's highly likely we will want to interview you again under caution at later time," Archie closed his note book.

Quinn grunted and stood up. Archie and Sandra took it as a hint that they should leave as they had no other questions for him at this stage.

*****

Archie and Sandra went back to the anteroom to pack up and were doing so when Mrs Frobisher entered.

"I have Chief Superintendent Glenda Savage on the phone for you Archie," Mrs Frobisher announced.

It was not lost on Sandra that Mrs Frobisher had used Archie's first name.

"It looks like we have our culprit Archie. SOCO have confirmed the latent print on Charlotte's neck belongs to Robert Fellows; we also have his prints on the counter and on the door to her bedroom. The skin samples under Charlotte's fingernails match the samples we took from him. He claims he was never there but we have him at the scene of the crime with his hands around her neck. He's also a match for some semen found in Charlotte Ward's anus but that's inconclusive but he doesn't need to know that," Glenda sounded excited.

"Keep this all to yourselves; don't even tell that pompous ass the headmaster. I'm sending a team from Chelmsford CID to arrest him and bring him down to London. We'll let him sweat in a holding cell overnight and let his parents organise a brief for him and interview him tomorrow. Get your skates and get back to Scotland Yard and prepare for the interview," Glenda hung up.

It was going to be a busy night.

To be continued

May 1986

In the interview room at Scotland Yard Robert Fellows looked pale and tired and he was still wearing the clothes in which he had been arrested, minus his belt and shoelaces. His brief, a barrister paid for by Robert's father looked remarkably composed in his Carnaby Street pin-striped suit. He was rake-thin and effused confidence.

Archie and Sandra got through the preliminaries, stating the date and time and identifying who was present in the interview room and issued Robert another caution. They had coffee and water bought in for everyone and then it was time to begin.

Archie and Sandra had reviewed all the evidence, working late in the night and after considerable discussion had finally agreed on a strategy. They would go all-in.

Sandra made a theatre of it, laying down the exhibits slowly and carefully one at a time. Archie began.

"Before we begin, I will tell you that you are being questioned in relation to the matter of the death of Charles Ward, also known as Charlotte Ward. In deference to the deceased it is our intention to use the name Charlotte Ward as she was identifying as her feminine self when she died.

"On the table before you my colleague has laid out the evidence we have, which we intend to provide to the Crown Prosecution Service," Archie waved his hands over the exhibits.

"First off I'd like to summarise your statement to us when we interviewed you. You claim that Charlotte Ward offered you regular oral services, which you accepted. But after a while you realised that what you were doing was quite inappropriate because you are engaged to be married and you stopped engaging in that activity a year ago."

"You implied that your relationship with Charlotte was nothing more than a casual fling."

"I'll now point out each of these exhibits and explain their relevance."

"This exhibit contains a postcard from the Ambassador Guest House at Brighton, the words 'a week to remember... I think I love Robert' are written on the obverse, it was found in Charles Ward's dormitory. Beside it are a registration card and a copy of the guest register taken from the Ambassador Guest House which proves that you spent a week there with Charlotte Ward and shared the same room."

The barrister was about to interject but Archie shut him down.

"You may consult with your client when I ask him a question, until then please remain silent sir," Archie continued identifying the evidence on the table.

"These documents are excerpts from our interviews with Wayne Jenkins and William Larkin also known as Wendy Larkin who claim that you had a long term intimate relationship with Charlotte Ward."

"These documents confirm that the latent fingerprints found on the kitchen counter of the cottage and on the door to the bedroom where she was found belong to you. This one confirms that the fingerprints found on Charlotte's neck matches the exemplars taken from you."

"This document here confirms that the skin and blood samples taken from you by the Scene Of Crime Officers match the samples taken from underneath Charlotte Ward's fingernails."

Archie took a beat to let the consequences of all the evidence on the table sink in.

"You were obviously lying to police about the extent of your relationship with Charlotte Ward and you lied when you said that you had never been to the cottage where she was found. Now sir, would you like to refute any on the evidence before you or provide an explanation as to how this evidence does not point to your involvement of the murder of Charlotte Ward," Archie couldn't help being pleased with himself.

Robert and his brief whispered between themselves, both their voices rising and becoming angrier.

"Despite my expert advice that he should remain silent, Mister Fellows wishes to make a statement," the barrister shook his head solemnly.

Robert Fellows looked abject and defeated. He was close to tears.

"This is what happened that night," Robert began.

Five days earlier

In the early hours of the morning, after the party was over, Charlotte sent the other girls back to their dorms while she emptied the laundry baskets into plastic bin liners to be washed and dried later in the day. She would strip the beds and remake them later. She went to her bedroom and checked on her stash of cocaine and the wad of money she had secreted in the wardrobe. She had made a tidy sum on the side selling the drug.

Wendy had taken the cash from the liquor sales and the upfront fee that the rugby team had paid for the use of the girls. She and Charlotte would divide the profits later and give Pamela and Janet their share.

Charlotte was closing the wardrobe when she became aware of a presence near the door. Had one of the team come back for a final shag? If so he would be disappointed, Charlotte had had enough for one night. She was half-drunk and coming down off her cocaine high.

"Well I'll be fucked. I thought you weren't coming to the party," she sneered at Robert Fellows.

"You're a bit late but I'll throw you a sympathy fuck if you don't mind going sloppy seconds. Well that's sloppy third, fourth or fifth; I've had so many cocks inside me tonight that I can hardly remember," she smirked at him.

Robert was drunk and belligerent and he studied his ex-girlfriend with distain. Gone was the cute pixie bob. She was wearing a black, shoulder-length wig styled with a fringe that rested on her brows. Her makeup was heavy but her mascara and eyeliner had run and her lipstick was smeared around her mouth.

Her cerise satin blouse and black leather miniskirt were creased and stained with booze and dried semen. Her legs were sheathed in laddered fully-fashioned flesh-toned stockings and her feet shod in black stiletto high heels. She looked exactly like the whore she had become.

"How could you have come to this Charlotte? You're a whore with no self-respect," he leaned against the doorframe, a bottle of ale dangling from his fingers.

"But I won't always be a whore Robert. This is just a means to an end. After my gender reassignment I'll get a new identity, move far away from London and get a decent job," Charlotte leaned against the wardrobe.

"But this! This is so demeaning. I have to listen to the lads talk about what goes on in this filthy rat-hole and it disgusts me," he brought the bottle to his lips and took a slug.

Charlotte put out her hand and Robert passed her the bottle. She took a sip and smiled at him.

"Let me tell you fairy story Robert," she took another drink.

"I don't have time for your ramblings Charlotte; I'm going," he made to turn away and Charlotte moved into him.

"No! Listen! Listen to my bedtime story and you will sleep so much better," her face was inches from his.

"There was once a naïve young princess, except she didn't know she was a princess, she thought she was a hag. Her parents told her she was a hag and sent her away to a cold dark castle to work as a dreary domestic where she would learn how to improve herself because she was worthless," Charlotte stopped to take a sip from the bottle and then continued.

"A handsome evil prince trapped the princess and made her service him and his friends; they demeaned her and used her as their slattern. But the evil prince discovered that he wasn't really evil, he had compassion for the slattern and he rescued her made her into a princess again. The handsome prince worshipped his princess and kept her safe and she felt loved."

"But the prince's father, the king, decreed that the prince should marry another princess, a better princess, a real princess. The princess he was with now had beguiled him; she was really a hag pretending to be a princess. The handsome prince banished the hag and told her that she wasn't a princess at all. She was nothing but a slattern, a pretender, a worthless whore."

"So the naïve young princess hardened her heart and became the hag, the slattern and the whore. She did it so she could amass a golden casket with which she could travel to another land and once again transform into the princess she believed she was. She would be happy living far away from the handsome evil prince, the evil king and her evil parents."

"But her heart would be forever broken because no matter what he had done to her, the naïve young princess would always love the evil prince," Charlotte was crying, tears ruining her already smudged makeup.

Robert put his hands on Charlotte's shoulders and held her away from him.

"I'm sorry Charlotte but we could never be together; it just wouldn't work. You know that," Robert sighed.

"I loved you Robert. I know we never used those words while we together but I'm sure it was love. Was I wrong?" she implored him.

Robert pulled her into his arms and held her close.

"If there was some way for us to be together, yes... but it's impossible Charlotte," Robert kissed her hair.

She nuzzled his neck and he turned her face to his and bought his lips to hers. They kissed. The kiss was soft and affectionate and then Charlotte slipped her tongue into Robert's mouth and kiss became passionate and needy.

Robert guided Charlotte towards the bed and she lay down for him. He lay on top of her kissing her hard, tearing at her clothes. She ripped open his shirt and tugged at his belt buckle, she unzipped his fly and pushed his jeans down to his knees. Her blouse was open and Robert pushed her bra out of the way and suckled her diminutive breasts. She found him hard and dripping and she stroked him to full tumescence.

Robert moved his mouth back to hers and kissed her fervidly as she opened her legs wide for him. He pushed up her skirt, moved aside the gusset of her knickers and slid himself inside her.

"Oh god Robert," she sobbed and wrapped her arms and legs around him.

He was impatient and insistent. He had longed to be inside her again for so long. He missed the feel of her tight anus gripping his cock like a slick silken glove, the way she had of contracting her sphincter and the membranes inside her anus that evoked extreme pleasure. Her fingernails scratched his back and her silken-clad legs rubbed against his tender flesh increasing his gratification.

Charlotte rose to meet his thrusts and Robert could feel that she was hard inside her cum-soaked knickers, she was deliberately pressing herself against his belly to maximise her own pleasure.

She kissed him desperately, mewing and crying as she clung to him and writhed beneath him.

"I love you Robert," she sighed and he felt her orgasm.

Her anus contracted and quivered and a warm wet puddle oozed through her panties and smeared his hard belly. She bit his lip and drummed her heels on his back as she convulsed in a paroxysm of lust and pleasure. Robert pressed her down on the bed and drove himself deep inside her and erupted, his cock quivering as he unloaded his seed.

"Say it Robert! Say it!" she pleaded.

"I love you Charlotte. God help me, I love you," Robert screamed.

Robert lay on top of her exhausted as he came down from his orgasmic high. Charlotte lay still beneath him, her arms by her side and legs wide open. They said nothing for what seemed like an eternity.

Then Charlotte started to laugh.

It started as a soft chuckle and built to a full on cackle.

Robert was bemused. He looked at her confused.

"You romantic fool! How do you think Rebecca Delaney is going to feel knowing her future husband was not only fucking a transvestite whore, but he told her he loved her," Charlotte's emerald green eyes were cold.

"Do I send her a letter or do I tell her face to face? I probably won't do it soon. I'll wait until you're married and I've transitioned, it will be more believable then."

"'Hey Becky, you'll never guess what happened while your husband and I were in college?' I can see the look on her face now."

"The thing I will nurture is that you will never know when I'm going to do it. You'll live with the threat like the sword of Damocles hanging over your head waiting to fall," Charlotte made to get out from under Robert but he kept her pinned to the bed.

"You really are a whore aren't you," Robert's eyes were cold; any love he had for Charlotte had dissipated.

"No. I'm the naïve young princess," she glared up at him.

Robert put his hands around Charlotte's neck and squeezed. At first she didn't struggle she just looked up at him with her vacant green eyes. They were soulless; she had no fear.

Robert squeezed harder and Charlotte's face began to bloat and become red, her tongue swelled and her ears began to ring. She finally began to struggle. She raised her hands and tried to break Robert's grip on her neck, scratching at his hands with her long fingernails.

Then her vision began to blur and finally blackness overcame her and she lay still, her arms fell to her sides.

Robert leapt off her, his anger replaced by fear. He realised what he'd done. If he was caught his life would be over. Robert quickly dressed and looked around the bedroom to see if he'd left anything that would incriminate him. He noticed the beer bottle he had brought with him and snatched it up. He took one quick turn around the cottage and left. Halfway up the pathway he stopped and vomited. He wiped his mouth on his sleeve and hurried back to his dorm.

*****

May 1986

"Are you admitting that you strangled Charlotte Ward to death?" Archie asked bluntly.

"I am," Robert put his arms on the table and lowered his head onto them and began to sob.

"Interview suspended while the subject consults with his legal counsel and police draft a statement for the subject to sign, after which Robert Fellows will be formally charged with the murder of Charles Ward, also known as Charlotte Ward," Archie could barely keep the triumph out of his voice.

*****

Archie and Sandra were the heroes of the hour. They had solved the case and there was undoubtedly some schadenfreude at seeing a rich, entitled, toff brought down. Archie and Sandra knew from their investigation that Charlotte had been no angel but she had been poorly treated by almost everyone who should have loved her. Robert's ever-changing emotions and treatment of her: first using her for sex and sharing her with his friends, then showing her acceptance and love followed by a complete turnaround when he cast her aside and derided her, must have been crushing for Charlotte.

They celebrated at the Trunk and Brick pub, the Scotland Yard local. Most of the Special Crimes Division attended the celebration and Glenda Savage led the conviviality and she had her beau Ruffe Ingersoll with her. Many drinks were consumed but Archie and Sandra moderated their intake, they would have their own special celebration later.

Archie went to use the toilet and was waylaid by Ruffe Ingersoll in the back corridor of the pub.

"So Archie, the story is that a rich university student at a private boarding school killed another rich university student. That's enough to tickle my readers fancy but there must be more to it. What was the motive?" Ruffe offered Archie a cigarette which he declined.

"Nothing more to see Ruffe. Anyway, you know I can't discuss the details of the case; you'll have to wait for the trial for all the dirty secrets to be revealed," Archie replied.

"That college is shut up like a clam; no one is talking and Chelmsford Police are more silent than Scotland Yard," Ruffe considered the glowing tip of his cigarette.

"If there was nothing else to see other than two students falling out and one killing the other there wouldn't be this veil of secrecy. Did you know the college has requested a gag order and the Fellows family have put pressure on the CPS for the trial to be held 'in-camera'?" Ruffe wrinkled his brow.

"Looks like you're shit out of luck then Ruffe. The police aren't talking, the students and faculty at Chelmsford college can't talk and if the if the trial is held in-camera you'll never get to hear what happened other than the facts released officially by the Chief Constable," Archie squeezed past Ruffe and made his way back to the throng.

Archie and Sandra were standing at separate tables surrounded by well-wishers but they kept glancing furtively at each other and when they considered everyone had drunk enough that their absence wouldn't be noticed, they slipped away.

They took a minicab to Archie's new flat, kissing and canoodling in the back during the journey.

Archie's flat was little more than a bedsit but it was neat and clean. He turned on the floor lamp and went into the kitchenette to pour wine and when he turned around Sandra had removed her dress and her brassiere and let down her hair. She had worn makeup to the interview and she looked lovely to Archie who always found her alluring.

She was not a fashion model by any means and she looked her age; years pounding the beat, working late, eating bad, drinking too much and smoking had taken their toll but she had a womanly figure and ethereal beauty that entranced Archie.

He put down the drinks and took off his jacket and stepped into her, kissing her softly. She mussed his hair affectionately as they kissed, she could feel his hardness pressing into her but he was not impatient, she always had that effect on Archie.

"Make love to me Archie. I want to feel loved, to feel needed," she whispered.

Archie picked her up and carried her to the bed. She watched him undress and opened her arms for him when he came to her naked and rampant. They kissed and her fingers gently stroked him, feeling him become fully erect. Archie stroked her breasts and toyed with her nipples, smiling when she gasped with pleasure as he gently caressed them. He was torn between using his mouth on her breasts or to keep kissing her but she made the decision for him. She refused to break their long lingering kiss.

Sandra slipped her tongue into his mouth and squeezed his cock, delighting in the firmness of it, the heat, the girth, the manliness. Archie put his hand between her legs and stroked her vulva through the wispy translucent nylon; there were no granny-panties today. He parted her labia and rubbed her until her knickers were soaked and she was mewing and pressing her pubis into his hand.

She was ready.

Archie put his fingers inside her knickers and stroked her clitoris whilst slipping two fingers inside her vagina. Sandra bucked and drove her tongue into his mouth; she was forcefully directing his penis to her sex. She had opened her legs and magnificent legs they were: long and shapely and sheathed in silky sensuous hold up stockings. She still wore her heels.

Archie relented and climbed onto her, resting on his elbows, his legs between hers. Sandra wrapped her legs around his and moved them up and down to encourage him, rising up off the bed, insistently grinding her pubis into his.

"Put it in me," she whispered and Archie obliged.

Easing aside the gusset of her knickers he slid his throbbing cock into her wet, buttery quim. Her legs closed around him and held him close so that his movements were imperceptible. His quivering member was buried inside the woman he loved and they kissed and held each other, hardly moving, their pubis crushed together stimulating her clitoris while her vagina palpitated around his quivering rod.

They lay like that, allowing their passion to rise in a slow burn, feeling the pleasure spread through their bodies, made all the more intense because they were hardly moving.

Finally Sandra began to whimper and shake and Archie sensed her climax, it triggered his own and he held onto her like limpet, barely moving as his penis erupted and ejaculated causing Sandra to writhe under him as her orgasm intensified.

They lay sated, locked together, neither speaking, just content to be in each other's embrace.

"I love you Archie. Always have, always will," Sandra whispered in his ear.

"I've loved you since I first time I kissed you," Archie replied.

Nothing more was said. They enjoyed the silence.

Finally Archie rolled off Sandra and lay on his back studying the ceiling and imagining a life together with Sandra.

"You know I never wanted to be with a policeman, but here I am. How is that?" Sandra turned to face him.

"Convenience?" Archie replied.

He cringed when Sandra punched him in the arm.

This resulted in a wrestling match which quickly evolved into more love making.

*****

Ruffe waited in The Plough public house near Chelmsford railway station nursing a pint. He looked up when a large muscular man looking very uncomfortable in a shabby suit entered the pub and looked around; he had a carry-bag on one arm. Ruffe nodded at him and Douglas Quinn made his way over to Ruffe's table, stopping at the bar to purchase two pints.

Quinn put the pints down on the table and the carry-bag on the floor and Ruffe stood up and shook his hand. They sat and quickly got down to business.

"You know that you are subject to a court imposed gag order don't you?" Ruffe turned on his pocket-sized tape recorder.

"Well when you've heard my story you can decide whether or not to print it, I don't care if they put me away, I've done porridge before but I doubt they will, it would be too embarrassing," Quinn took a long pull on his pint.

"First off I want confirmation that you will give me the five hundred pounds we agreed on."

"If the story is worth it Mister Quinn; absolutely," Ruffe reassured him.

"Ok. Here we go," Quinn began his tale.

"I've always hated Francis Lister, the Headmaster of Chelmsford Private College. He's a stuck up twat who has always looked down on me. He treated the goundsmen and maintenance staff like shit and in the end he fired them all and then re-hired them as contractors halving their wages."

"When the coppers came and interviewed me I could have said a lot more than I did but I kept schtum; I might be a mere labourer but I'm not stupid. I don't think the CPS could charge me with lying to police but they could certainly charge me with withholding or spoliation of evidence. I'll take my chances."

Ruffe had heard and seen some astounding things during his time as an investigative journalist but when Quinn told him about four transvestite students effectively operating a brothel on the grounds of the university he was quite astounded. Quinn made no mention of the drug deals Charlotte was making on the side.

"On the night of the murder, or more correctly in the early morning when the murder was committed I had been working as a bouncer to keep order at the rugby team's piss-up. Everyone except Charlotte had left and I was about to leave too when young Robert Fellows arrived at the college and went inside so I stuck around and hid in the bushes. I was too tired and too pissed to go home so I was going to sleep in my office."

"Fellows was inside the cottage for a while and when he left he was noticeably agitated; so agitated that he threw up. I waited until he was well gone and was about to go into the cottage when then I saw that cunt Francis Lister come down the path from the opposite direction. I hid in the bushes again and waited."

"You'll want to give that to the police after you've printed your story," Quinn nodded at the carry bag on the floor.

Ruffe picked the bag and looked inside. There appeared to be a liquor bottle wrapped in a plastic bag.

Quinn told Ruffe what happened next.

*****

Five days earlier

Charlotte waited until she heard Robert leave the cottage before she got up off the bed. She had blacked out and lost consciousness but she had recovered just after Robert left the cottage.

"Fuck him! Now he really has something to worry about," she said; her voice scratchy and her throat swollen and sore.

She got unsteadily to her feet and made her way to the bathroom where she drank from the tap and rinsed out her mouth. She looked at herself in the mirror. Her neck was bruising and her eyes were bloodshot but other than that she felt well. She buttoned her blouse and washed her face and then fixed her makeup.

"Almost as good as new," she smiled at herself in the mirror.

She went back to the bedroom and took her stash of cash from the wardrobe and went into the lounge and poured herself a drink and lit a cigarette. The liquor and the smoke burned her throat but she didn't care. She put her feet up on the coffee table and was counting her money when the door opened and a figure entered.

At first she thought it was Robert come back to see if she was alright but when she saw who it was she smiled.

"What the fuck do you want headmaster? Very unlike you to come to my club; in fact you've never been here. Is fucking me twice a week in my dorm not enough for you?" Charlotte blew smoke in Francis Lister's direction.

"Don't call me headmaster here please Charlotte," Francis stood at the counter twiddling an empty vodka bottle.

"This place really is a shithole isn't it?" he looked around at the detritus scattered around the lounge and kitchen.

There were half-empty spirit bottles, mixers, can and bottles of beer and the packages they came in.

"We make do with what we have and you get your cut so it serves its purpose," Charlotte sipped her drink.

"No one would ever believe that four transvestites are running a brothel on the grounds of my university," he shook his head and laughed.

"Well that works out fine for us all doesn't it?" Charlotte smiled back.

"But they would believe that one of my students is dealing A-class prohibited substances and that would be really bad. Bad for the school and bad for me because the police would be all over the university asking questions. A couple of trannies bonking the football team would be considered harmless fun, no harm no foul, just another upper-class sex scandal that would soon be forgotten," Francis spun the liquor bottle on its base.

"But selling cocaine is hardly a little bit of weed is it; not in the quantities you are selling it."

"Who says I'm selling," Charlotte fluttered the notes in her hand as if she was riffling playing cards.

"It stops now Charlotte! That's final!" Francis crashed the vodka bottle down on the counter to emphasise his point.

"No it doesn't. You're in too far headmaster. What if I tell the board of trustees that the incumbent headmaster is fucking one of the students who is confused about her gender? 'He told me that if I dressed all pretty and let him bugger me I'd get preferential treatment. I'm so confused... I don't know if I'm a boy or a girl.' I could carry that off don't you think?" Charlotte smirked.

"'He saw me dressed as Elvira last Halloween and followed me to my dorm. He was so big and strong and I was so frail and feminine and I couldn't stop him seducing me'. They'd like that story and let's face it, there is an element of truth there, is there not?" Charlotte casually ashed her cigarette.

"So why don't we just let sleeping dogs lie and you don't have to worry about being publicly humiliated and out of a job forever and likely lose your wife too," Charlotte leaned over the table to get to the ashtray.

Francis Lister snatched up a plastic shopping bag off the counter and leapt across the room. With lightning-fast reflexes he whipped the bag over Charlotte's head. Standing behind the chair he was able to pull the bag tightly closed around her neck and hold her down as she struggled. Within three minutes she was unconscious and two minutes later she was brain dead. Francis held the bag in place until he was sure she had stopped breathing.

Even dead Charlotte weighed next to nothing and Francis carried her to the bedroom and laid her on the bed. He posed her, lifting her skirt a little and spreading her arms imperceptivity at her side. He softly brushed her cheek with the back of his hand and left her.

He took the money off the table and put it in his pocket and wrapped the vodka bottle in the plastic bag he had used to suffocate Charlotte. Then he left the cottage. He stopped briefly to look back at the faint glow coming from the cottage windows and tossed the plastic bag containing the vodka bottle into the bushes.

"One For The Team; where the fuck did she ever get that name?" he pondered out loud and then turned away and began walking.

The End

Author's note: I know some of you are disappointed that Charlotte died halfway through the story and she deserves our sympathy but she was a strong character and I hope you can appreciate the good and bad in her.

For those unhappy with the ending to The Flaming Girls, I hope you are happy with the resolution provided in this story.

As usual I appreciate your feedback, both positive and negative, and I hope you did enjoy this story.

Michele Nylons

19 May 2020