Author's Note: This is a light-hearted, cross-dressing mystery story, written in my normal style, which I hope you enjoy. It does contain references to adult themes, and some of its characters have little sympathy with the Catholic Church. Please don't read if you feel this will upset you.

CHAPTER 1

"Hi Sam. Have you got a minute?" Sam Dixon had finished his coffee in the Student Common Room, and been just about to leave for his next lecture. He turned to see Charley Hawkins, the sexiest girl at Seacombe University, actually smiling at him.

His heart gave a little lurch at the thought of her asking if he had a minute. When he'd first seen her, he'd have given her as long as she wanted, but after the incident during Freshers' week, he was rather more cautious.

"What is it?"

"Do you remember me saying you looked like one of my relatives?"

***

Did he? As part of the Freshers' introduction for new students, the Students' Union had organised a tour of Seacombe. Obviously, that had included visiting the best student watering holes – ie pubs. They had been a group of ten or so students sitting at a table, sipping their first drinks together and sussing each other out. At least, most of the girls were looking at most of the boys, and most of the boys were looking at just one girl, with her bulging breasts and long blonde hair; Charley Hawkins.

"Where are you from?" one of the boys asked her.

"Size," she appeared to answer.

"Huge," he answered, which drew a chuckle from a few of them.

"Not size," she snapped, "SIGHS."

When everyone looked rather nonplussed, unable to see the difference between the two words, she added rather crossly, "Seacombe Independent Girls High School – it's the only decent girls' school around here. I thought everyone would know it."

The girl sitting next to Sam, who had been getting frustrated at the attention being given to the tart with big tits, said, "Well, it's hardly Cheltenham Ladies College, is it?"

That brought an bigger round of laughter, especially from most of the girls, who'd been thinking exactly the same thing.

Charley looked at her and quipped, "Oh no, it's much better than that," which drew a round of laughter from the boys.

Not wishing to lose her temporary advantage, Charley had nodded at Sam and said, "You remind me of one of my relatives."

"Oh?" he'd responded.

"My great-aunt," she'd replied, which drew a big laugh from everyone, except Sam, who politely grinned. "She not only looked like you," she added, "she was called Sam as well."

"We'll have to call you Charley's Aunt," one of the guys quipped, and Sam's university nickname – usually abbreviated to Aunty – was decided.

***

"I remember," he said to Charley. "You said I was like your great-aunt. I've been called Aunty ever since."

"Sorry," Charley said. "It seemed something funny to say at the time. I didn't realise that would happen." As though she actually cared, she thought.

As though she actually cared, he thought. "What did you want me for?" he asked. He was under no illusions she was going to demand his body for a night of passionate sex.

"I want your body," she said. Seeing his mouth drop open, she added, "No. Not that way. I mean I want you to do me a favour."

He shrugged. "I'm a bit busy at the moment." He wasn't actually but he owned her no favours. "What was it you wanted?"

"It's the start of the Easter holidays a week on Friday. You should have time for what I want you to do." Inferring, Sam thought, that he had nothing to do in the holidays. So what did he care if she was right?

"I want you to play the part of my great-aunt," she continued.

He shook his head. "I don't think that's for me." He made to stand up and move away.

"I'll make it worth your while," she said. Seeing the look on his face, she snapped, "I told you, not that way. I mean I'll pay you. How does a hundred pounds, sound?"

It sounded ridiculous, actually. It was clearly some kind of trick to make him look stupid, and he wasn't having any of it. He shook his head, and said with a smile, "Sorry, I wouldn't do it for five hundred."

"That's a pity," she said, opening her handbag, "because five hundred pounds is the limit of what I was prepared to offer. Are you sure you don't want to reconsider?" She tossed a bundle of fifty pound banknotes onto the coffee table. It had a white paper label around it which declared £500.

***

"Tell me again what you want me to do."

They were in his room in the student hostel block nearby. After Sam had stared at the bundle of banknotes for a few seconds, Charley had scooped it up and put it back in her handbag and suggested they adjourn there.

"My great-aunt is no longer with us, so on Saturday my great-grandfather is having a few drinks at his house in Seacombe in memory of her name. I suggested to him that it would be rather nice to have someone taking her part, and he agreed."

"So you want me to dress up as your great-aunt and go to this memorial do, to represent her? Sounds a bit weird."

"My great-grandfather thought it was a good idea, so we're all going along with his wishes. It's his money, by the way, paying for it."

"How long will it take?"

"You'll need to prepare for it so I suggest we start Friday evening. My grandfather normally lives in London, so his house here will be empty. We can stay there. The drinks start at seven-thirty on Saturday and there'll be a meal as well. You'll be expected to be there until the end of the evening, which will mean staying another night."

"If I was to do it, it would have to be a secret between us. I don't want it broadcasting over the campus that I dressed up as your aunt."

"Don't worry," she said, "I'm not going to tell anyone."

"So you'll pay me five hundred pounds for just over a day's work?"

"That's the deal."

Hell! Even if the story did leak out, it would be worth it for five hundred pounds. "And you'll pay it all now?" He'd trust her as far as he could throw her.

"Half now; half after you've done it."

"It's a deal," he said.

***
FRIDAY
"How long has she been dead?" Sam asked after Charley had picked him up from the university in her Ford Fiesta, the following Friday afternoon. "Your great-aunt, I mean."

"We don't know that she's actually dead," Charley said. "She simply disappeared and she was never seen again."

"That's horrible when something like that happens," Sam said. "Did she leave children behind?"

"Oh, no, she wasn't married. It was her parents – my great-grandparents – who suffered. My great-grandmother committed suicide a few months later and my great-grandfather never really got over it."

"How long ago did it happen?"

"Tomorrow is the forty-eighth anniversary."

There was a moment's silence as Sam did the sums. "But that takes it back to the 1960s. She could only have been a girl or a young woman at most."

"She was seventeen," Charley said.

"Seventeen! Seventeen! But that changes everything. I thought I was taking on the part of an elderly woman, not some 1960s dolly bird. Why didn't you tell me before?"

"Precisely because I thought you'd have this type of reaction."

"You mean you tricked me into it?"

"I never indicated she was any age; if you don't properly consider the possibilities, that's your problem."

"I've changed my mind. I won't do it."

"Don't be silly, Sam. Not only are you in no position to return the £250 deposit I gave you, but also, when you accepted the money it created a contract between us. If you were to drop out at this stage, you'd be in breach of contract, and you could be sued for far more than the money I've given you so far."

"But I can't pretend to be a dolly bird."

"She wasn't that pretty. As I said, her face is almost identical to yours."

"What about her body?"

"There are ways around that, which I have in the boot of the car. I'll show you as soon as we get to the house"

With that, Sam had to be satisfied, but he fumed all the way there.

"I thought the house was in Seacombe," he belatedly said, after he realised they weren't heading towards Seacombe.

"It's rather a big house, set in one of the villages, nearby."

***

A mansion, he'd have called it. But then, if someone was prepared to pay a student five hundred pounds for pretending to be a long-missing daughter, then he should have realised he was no pauper.

"Did you say he lives somewhere else most of the time?"

"After his wife committed suicide, my great-grandfather closed down the house. He and his son, Edward, went to live in London, keeping this house as a shrine to his missing daughter. My mother's just waiting for him to pop his clogs so she can sell off this mausoleum for housing development."

"That's not very nice," Sam protested.

Charley ignored him as she stopped the car in front of the impressive main entrance and got out.

"Help me carry these things into the house," she said, going round to the boot. She picked up a few light plastic bags, leaving him to carry in some large, heavy boxes.

"What have you got in here?" he asked. "A sliced-up body?"

"That's quite a good description," she said, as she unlocked the door and entered the house. It was dark inside, and Sam almost bumped into her as she suddenly stopped, searching for a light switch. After switching the hall lights on, she said, "That's Aunty Samantha. It's a lovely painting, don't you think?"

She stepped aside and Sam saw a life-sized painting of a young woman, throwing back her head and laughing, revelling in the pure exhibitionism of the moment. She was wearing a tight-fitting, long blue dress with a low-cut top which exposed her beautiful breasts. Even more alluring was the curve of the dress around her hips and thighs, with the dress flaring out from the knees, giving her the appearance of a mermaid – a very happy mermaid.

"It was painted after she disappeared," Charley continued, "from a photograph taken by a friend when she first tried on the dress.

"Apparently," Charley continued, "she went out with the friend to buy a dress for her debutante presentation. Her friend convinced her to try this one on and she felt so good in it, she bought it. Her mother was furious. It was hardly the normal kind of dress debs wore for such occasions. But it was the 1960s, and the fashion industry was tearing up all the rules."

"Did they still have debutantes in the 1960s?" Sam asked. "I thought they ended before then."

"The queen ended it as a royal occasion in the late 1950s, but the well-heeled families kept the tradition going for several years, using lesser members of the peerage. In this case, it was Lady Bottomly of Seacombe who dignified the occasion. Incidentally, the girl who went with Samantha to buy the dress later married Lady Bottomly's son, so she is the current Lady Bottomly. She's agreed to officiate for your debut tomorrow night."

There was a short silence as the words sank in. "My debut? Tomorrow night? What do you mean?"

"I told you. This is what it is all about. It's forty-eight years, almost to the day, since Samantha disappeared in the afternoon before her debutante presentation. In her memory, her great-grandfather is holding the presentation she never had."

"But you never told me that," Sam protested. "And you're expecting me to wear that dress and look like THAT!"

"Nothing to worry about," Charley said. "I'm pretty certain we'll get it to fit."

"You're crazy," Sam said. "I look nothing like that. I shall just look stupid. I can't do it."

"Don't worry," Charley said. "We SIGHS girls are well used to converting boys into very passable girls, although this is slightly different from normal."

"Normal! There's nothing normal about this. And what do you mean, I'm different to normal? How many boys have you converted into girls?"

"Not me personally, but I've talked to several girls who have. And it's Samantha's dress which makes it unusual, because it fits so tightly around the hips and thighs – it means we have to pad out your thighs rather than just your hips and bum."

"I don't understand what you're talking about. Never mind her hips, what about her breasts? I don't know whether you've noticed, but I don't have breasts."

"No," Charley said, "but I've brought a pair in this box."

She took one of the heavy boxes from Sam and placed it onto the hall table, so she could open it. "What do you think of these?" she asked.

Sam's heart leapt into his mouth at the sight of a pair of large breasts in the box, which looked as though they had just been surgically removed from some poor woman.

"It's all right," Charley said. "The breasts may look real, but they're not. They're built into a garment that's a kind of a flesh-coloured crop-top, called a Bustlet. In the other box is a Hiplet which pads out the hips and thighs.

"And," she continued with a smirk, "it gives you a vagina, as well." She grinned even harder as he furiously blushed.

"First thing," she said, "is to remove all the hair from your body, then we can give you your girly curves. Tomorrow morning, I have a hairdresser coming to the house, and she'll give you hair extensions and style your hair. In the afternoon, a beautician will do your nails and show you how to make up your face. Now, can you see why I offered you five hundred pounds?"