SYNOPSIS

Just who was it who'd suggested the title for the next performance of the amateur dramatic group? Because when the lead actress drops out, it leaves a vacancy for a big-busted woman to prance naked on the stage, which nobody wants to fill. Fortunately, being a lead actress is not all work and no play.

The complete story has been serialised into eight parts which will be published at approximately daily intervals.

Author's Note: This story is a light-hearted, cross-dressing romp and contains various adult elements including adultery, heterosexual and homosexual acts, and humour. If reading about such themes is illegal or not to your taste, then please do not do it, or don't come moaning to me about it afterwards! It was first published on Fictionmania several years ago, and has now been modified. The first part, which sets the scene, is far longer than the other seven.

CHAPTER ONE - LOUISE GETS WELL STUFFED

Afterwards, we were to have a big row about exactly who had first suggested Well-Stuffed Melons for the next production of the Bramcombe Amateur Theatrical Society, or BRATS, as we called ourselves. I got the blame, but my recollection of events was perfectly clear.

We had just finished our post mortem on A Merchant of Venice, which had completed its run of three performances the evening before. We'd had fantastic reviews in the local press, superb acting from everyone, and each night, we had played to an almost empty house!

"I think," said Louise, who had not only taken the part of Portia, but had also directed, "that for our next production, which is only sixteen weeks away, we should choose something a little lighter."

All six of us gave a collective sigh of relief over that, only too aware that we had given in to Louise's persuasive arguments over The Merchant against our better judgements.

Louise reached into her huge leather handbag and pulled out some heavy scripts. "I therefore suggest we have a read of A Comedy of Errors. That should go down nicely."

For the first time ever, Louise had a revolt on her hands.

"Oh no!" "No way! and, "You must be joking!"

Louise look pained. In her late twenties, with a figure like a centrefold model, she had trained to be a professional actor, and there was no doubt that she was a brilliant actor. Had the Royal Shakespeare Company immediately snapped her up after she'd completed training at RADA, she would probably have become an international star by now. But the indignity of having to audition for minor parts in mediocre plays going on tour in the industrial Midlands, followed by the absolute shock when she received their rejections, was too much. She had given up acting to become an estate agent (and a very good one too, by all accounts).

"Well what are you suggesting?" She sounded exasperated at our reaction. "A Midsummer Night's Dream?"

Helen, a company accountant in her mid thirties (slim, with nice, conical-pointed tits), said, "I don't think people in Bramcombe appreciate Shakespeare. Why don't we do an Alan Ayckbourn?"

"Oh really!" from Louise, but everyone else said things like:

"That's a great idea," "Superb" and "Fantastic!"

So Louise was forced to sit back while we all came in with suggestions.

The trouble was, without Louise's leadership, no one could agree, and our little brainstorm was starting to fizzle out, when Jane, a quiet but pleasant woman (with miniscule breasts) in her late forties, said, "What was the name of that play when those three couples have a weekend in a small hotel with the rather shapely chamber-maid."

She turned to me with a smile (and did I detect a slight wink?). "Charles, you probably know it."

Indeed I did. Although I was only a kid when it first appeared, it had continued to delight audiences ever since. The three couples, Reginald and Rebecca, Steve and Sue, and Phil and Phyllis, stayed at a small hotel and Reggie, who was the lead male actor, fell totally in love with Melanie, the waitress cum chambermaid, who wore a low-necked uniform that nicely displayed her large, rounded tits. Steve and Phil egged him on and even his wife took an extremely broadminded view since, it quickly transpired, she was having a threesome relationship with Steve and Phil! Meanwhile, Sue and Phyllis were also perfectly happy, as it allowed them to get on with their secret lesbian bonding.

The main set on stage was of the three hotel bedrooms, with imaginary walls between them delineated by wardrobes. Three doors were spaced along the backdrop and three double-beds faced the audience. At the very front of the stage, low balustrading indicated balconies with imaginary French-windows leading onto them from the bedrooms. With such a simple set, the opportunities were endless for leaping in and out of bed, jumping from one balcony to another (sometimes with disastrous results!), running between rooms, and hiding under beds and in wardrobes - in other words, the very best of British farce.

The play took its name from the words Melanie used in the dining room (the only other set used) as, in response to a question from Sue, she leant over to point on the menu to the house specials. Her action giving Reggie, sitting opposite, a superb view of the other specials of the house.

"Well-Stuffed Melons," I said.

"That must be it," Jane said.

"Oh really!" Louise was furious. "How low can we possible get? There is no way we're going to put on that rubbish."

Another first for the group - timid Jane hit back. "I think we've always agreed that our choice of production is a democratic decision, and I'm proposing Well-Stuffed Melons. Shall we put it to the vote?"

A vote would suit me just fine. Alan and Geoff, the other two males present, would obviously vote in favour, and with Jane and me, that would make at least four votes for, regardless of the votes of Louise, pointed-tit Helen, and Geoff's wife, Carol.

"Obviously it's a democratic decision, but I really think we should aim higher than that. And please don't assume that, if we do decide to go ahead, I shall consent to direct it, and absolutely no way will I play the part of Melanie."

Even though Louise, with her gorgeous knockers, had the perfect shape to play Melanie, her threat didn't worry me in the slightest. I think I understood the reason why she'd made it, but I also knew her well enough to know that, ultimately, she wouldn't be able to resist the challenge.

You see, when Melons was first written and performed in the early seventies, it was a period when both male and female actors would use any excuse to parade naked on the stage. In this case, no excuse was necessary - the three couples spent most of their time getting undressed and leaping into bed, and only Melanie kept on her clothes until the last scene.

However, as acceptable levels of decency changed (for the worse in my opinion), so successive productions covered more and more bare flesh. First, the male members were hidden behind jock straps; then the women started wearing knickers; finally, the women wore nightdresses of increasingly non-transparent material.

Bill Baker, the playwright became more and more frustrated at what he saw as the watering down of his work, and eventually he put his foot down: the piece de resistance with Melanie in the final scene must be acted as initially written, with Melanie naked apart from high-heeled shoes, stockings and suspender belt. If it was not, he declared, he would sue for breach of copyright, and even serve an injunction to stop further public performances by that company.

Consequently, the final scene is, to this day, regarded as a pure example of 1970's classic farce. Melanie enters Reggie's bedroom and confesses that her hourglass figure is due to a corset, which she had been progressively tightening throughout the play. Now, it was as tight as she could pull it, and she needed the assistance of a strong man (Reggie) to heave it tighter still. Within seconds, her dress is off and she's facing the audience with Reggie sitting on the bed behind her, tightening the corset for all his worth.

But the corset is specially adapted for the performance. With a tearing sound, the front busk suddenly rips apart, and the corset wraps itself around Reggie's head as he collapses backward onto the bed on top of Melanie's dress. Melanie is left wearing shoes, stockings, suspender-belt, and absolutely nothing else. Just then, the bedroom door opens and Reggie's wife is seen kissing Phil in the corridor outside, about to enter the room. With her dress trapped under Reggie, Melanie runs onto the imaginary balcony to escape, pulling down an imaginary curtain as she does so, and tying it around herself before leaping across to the next balcony.

And from then until the end of the play, she performs dressed only in the imaginary curtain. It's actually an incredible feat of acting, since the actor knows that the audience see her naked, but she has to perform as though dressed. Fully aware that every pubic hair and every wobble of her boobs is on full view, she will be smoothing out wrinkles in the imaginary dress, pulling it down at the hem as she sits down or, on a few occasions, having to suddenly grab it as it becomes untied. The public absolutely love it, both for the challenge to the actor, as well as the sheer, unadulterated voyeurism of the moment. Louise, I knew, would not be able to resist.

Helen broke my thoughts and, not unexpectedly, took Louise's side. "I quite agree," she said. "It's so politically incorrect, we'd be pilloried by the press..."

"...and the public would come to see us by the thousands," I finished Helen's sentence for her. "Melons has been playing to packed audiences ever since it launched forty years ago. After The Merchant, we need a highly successful run, and this is a dead cert. I vote we go with it."

"I agree with Charles and Jane," Alan said. "Let's get a successful performance behind us, before we try anything more intellectual. And if Louise doesn't want to direct, I'd be happy to take it on instead."

Alan's comments brought the count up to three in favour. It only needed Geoff to speak up and the vote would be won. Alan and I both looked at him, expectantly.

He hesitated before he spoke. "I agree with Louise," he said. "I think we can do better than this."

The dirty, rotten traitor! How could he desert a noble cause like ours? Why...

"Well I don't."

I think we'd all forgotten about Carol, Geoff's wife, sitting in the corner, and we all turned to gaze at her.

"Melons is a sure-fire winner. We'd be stupid not to go with it.

"And let's not forget," she continued, "that we've always agreed we'll share the leading parts, and Louise has played lead in the last two performances. It's my turn for the lead in the next one."

Her words left us speechless, Geoff most of all. I remembered then how Carol had moaned the last time Louise got the lead female part. Geoff had obviously already seen where Carol was going, and tried to head her off. Now he sat there fuming, and turning a peculiar shade of purple. But as I looked Carol up and down, I recognized it was a perfectly reasonable solution. Carol was in her mid-forties, and looking pretty good, in a chubby kind of way. Although her waist was certainly not as slim as Louise's, her breasts must be considerably larger. Well, no one ever said that chambermaids weren't allowed to be cuddly.

She returned my gaze with a defiant smile, and I smiled back and said, "Carol's right. It is her turn to play lead, and if she's happy, I think she has the right qualifications for the part."

There was a sound of a volcano bursting from Geoff's side of the table, but I didn't care. Carol deserved the praise. Not only had we won the vote, but had nicely put Louise's nose out of joint as well. A highly successful result.

CHAPTER TWO - WE'RE ALL STUFFED!

Eight weeks later, it appeared a hollow victory. Alan had none of the qualities needed to make a competent Director, and we were getting nowhere. We'd spent weeks deciding which role we would each take - not because it was contentious, but simply because Alan never got us together. We'd already spent half our time available before the production, and we'd only had a single reading - although I hadn't complained too much so far, since I'd pulled the male lead role of Reggie. Now, Alan opened the meeting, that Saturday evening, saying he had some bad news. Could it get worse? Yes, it damn well could.

"I'm sorry to have to tell you that Carol contacted me this afternoon. She's decided, I think after considerable pressure from Geoff, that she's not right for the part of Melanie. She realises this has put us in a hopeless position, and so both she and Geoff have decided to resign from BRATS."

Bloody hell!

There was a cacophony of similar comments, followed by an outbreak of sheer panic, which Alan tried to calm by telling us he had decided to abandon the whole production.

"I'm afraid you can't do that." It was Jane speaking. "After the criticism I got last time about lack of publicity, I've already put the dates in the quarterly Arts Council Information Bulletin. They're printing fifty thousand copies as we speak. We can't cancel."

"It doesn't matter," Alan persisted. "If people try to book, they'll be turned away."

"It's really not that simple," Helen broke in to the argument. "I was going to tell you at the end of our meeting, but, as Treasurer, I applied for a Bramcombe Arts Society grant. You know they don't normally give money to amateur theatrical companies, but I heard they had some lottery money spare and I convinced them of the artistic merit in Melons, and they bought it.

"I received their cheque for five thousand pounds last week," she continued, "and I used it to pay off the debts remaining after The Merchant, and as a non-returnable booking fee for the theatre for Melons. There's less than two hundred pounds left. If we cancel Melons, we'll have to find the money to repay it."

I turned to Louise like a dog begging for a biscuit. "Louise, wouldn't you reconsider playing the part of Melanie? You can see what a mess we're in. Please."

That evening she'd come straight from her office and was wearing a pastel-blue, straight skirt with matching blouse and jacket. She looked absolutely ravishing - but as hard as nails!

"Absolutely not. What about Jane? She voted for it." She turned towards her. "Why don't you take the part of Melanie?"

"That's ridiculous! I haven't got the figure."

"So what," Helen said, clearly trying to head off suggestions she might take the part. "After all, Carol was hardly a beauty."

That was a bit unfair on Carol, but I didn't think it worth arguing over.

"Anyway the play was Charles's suggestion," Jane said, stupidly adding, "let him play the part."

"My suggestion!" I was outraged. "You suggested it."

And we then spent several minutes arguing about who said what, in which Jane took the position that she'd originally been thinking of Fawlty Towers, and it was me who was responsible for everything!

"Can I make a proposal?" Louise had kept out of that argument, and she interjected at just the right point to bring us all to silence.

"It seems we're all getting worked up about who's going to play the part of Melanie, when there's a much more important problem to resolve."

That shook us! A more important problem than a missing lead character! We all stared at her.

She waited a moment before answering our unspoken question. "Carol and Geoff, of course. They are both excellent actors, and put so much into our group, and don't forget, Geoff also takes the role of Stage Manager. Now they've resigned from BRATS. Without them, we'll fall apart. I think the Director has to convince them not to resign."

It made a lot of sense to me, except that Alan was shaking his head.

"It's no good," he said. "I spent ages talking to Carol; Geoff won't even speak to me. I can't do anything to stop it."

"Then we need to appoint a Director who can." I surprised myself by saying the words, but I'd been looking at Louise, and knew she was going suggest it. Better that I said it first.

Everyone turned to stare at me, thinking that I was putting myself forward as Director, but I know my own limitations and I kept my eyes lowered during the embarrassing silence. Finally, Alan said, "Well, if you or anyone else thinks they can get Carol and Geoff back, then I'll willingly step down."

I looked up at Louise. "How about it, Louise?" Everyone's eyes turned from me, to her.

She paused just the right amount of time, as though she hadn't been thinking that all along. "If there's a general consensus then, yes, I'll do it." She paused, whilst we all nodded our heads or muttered, "Aye," and then continued. "There is one proviso. Obviously, we'll need to allow Carol to change role, but we have to get Geoff on board, as well. We may need to make some other changes. Is that agreed?"

"Are you thinking of offering him Reggie?" I'd been delighted to pull the lead male role, and now I could see it disappearing.

Louise grimaced apologetically. "Let's just say that if you're willing to be flexible about your role, it will give me much more scope to negotiate, and get this show on the road. But if you're not, my hands are tied. It's your shout, Charles."

I could hardly refuse. I gave in with good grace.

"But we still haven't resolved who's playing the part of Melanie," Jane said.

"Look," Louise said, "I shall probably offer to let Carol play Sue in place of me, and Charles has said he'll be flexible about his part. Let's get Carol and Geoff's agreement to rejoin the group, first. After that, everything else will probably work out."

Yippee, we all thought. Louise is going to play Melanie. And we broke up the meeting with a lighter heart.

CHAPTER THREE - I ALMOST STUFF LOUISE

"Geoff says you always keep a bottle of excellent wine in your fridge. I hope he's right."

It was ten pm, that same Saturday evening, when the doorbell rang. I'd just been thinking about having an early night to bed. It was Louise at the door of my flat, still wearing the pastel-blue suit we'd seen her in earlier.

"Come in," I said, and led the way into my lounge. Louise flopped onto my settee, put her feet up on a beanbag and sank back. She stared up at the ceiling, and gave a big sigh. It was the first time she'd been inside my flat, and she looked more at home than I felt, standing in my own lounge!

Deciding she was overdressed, she removed her jacket without getting up from her seat, which involved a considerable amount of wriggling and twisting of her torso. Without the concealment of her jacket, her breasts thrust through her pale blue blouse like large grapefruit, with her modestly cut neckline exposing just a hint of the Grand Canyon beyond. The wriggling had also caused her knee-length skirt to ride up, and I could see a part of a white suspender securing the top of her navy-blue stockings.

I hurriedly (well, not too hurriedly) averted my eyes, went to the kitchen, and took a bottle of Pouilly-Fume out of the fridge. Whilst I was uncorking it, I called out to her, "Knowing Geoff, he probably said the wine was expensive, rather than excellent. His taste is somewhat different to mine."

Louise was smiling as I went in with the bottle and two crystal wine glasses. "He called it extravagant, actually, and fed me gallons of his home-made barley wine. It was absholutely revolting, but I could hardly tell him so, as I was trying to convince him to come back to BRATS."

Was she slurring her words slightly? It occurred to me that Geoff's wines were renowned for their potency, and if Louise had been knocking them back like barley water for a couple of hours, she must be well and truly pissed.

I handed her the glass of wine and she took a huge gulp from it - far larger than I'd normally have thought was her style - but since she threw her head back and her breasts jutted forwards as she did so, and the movement of her body caused her skirt to ride up even higher, openly displaying her stocking-top, I didn't object.

She gave me a wry smile. "I did it!" She nodded with self-satisfaction. "I've been at their house ever since the end of our meeting thish evening, but I finally got them to agree to rejoin BRATS."

"That's absolutely great, Louise," I said. "How did you manage it?" Of course, what I really meant was: Did you have to offer Geoff my part?

Pissed or not, she saw straight through my hidden question and smiled. "Geoff was incredibly stubborn, at first - really jealous of Carol being sheen naked. That was obviously why he voted against the play as soon as I shaid I wouldn't take Melanie's part."

Definitely pissed as a newt but, pissed or not, she'd brought home the goods. I asked the big question, "So how did you convince him?" I refilled her glass, and took a big draft from mine, to encourage her to do the same.

An even bigger smile, this time. "I had to wait ages until Carol went to the toilet before I told Geoff that if he insisted on being so stuffy about Carol, I'd have to redress the balance, by telling her that last Christmas I'd given him a tit fuck."

I gulped down the rest of my glass. "You gave Geoff a tit fuck?" I was both shocked and jealous. The lucky bastard!

"Well, he wore a condom, so I didn't get a pearl necklace, if that's what you're thinking."

What I was actually thinking was of my own cock thrusting between those massive tits, which so nicely bulged through her silky blue blouse. Perhaps I ought to refill our glasses again. I did so and forced my mind back to the subject.

"So that presumably shut up Geoff. What about Carol?"

"Geoff had really destroyed her confidence. Told her how he could see her waist bulging out behind her breasts - the inference being that her breasts sagged down to her waist."

"That's pretty shitty."

She nodded. "There was no way she could continue in Melanie's role, so I offered her mine."

I tried not to show my excitement, but took a huge gulp of wine, just to show how cool I was. "Does that mean that you'll play..."

"Of coursh not. You know I can't play that part."

Did I? With this much booze inside her, now was the time to try to convince her. I guessed flattery was most likely to succeed. "But why not, Louise? You would play it superbly..."

"You mean you really don't know?" She looked mystified, as drunks often do when the world is unable to keep up with their clarity of vision. "But your ex-wife was at the shame college as me. Shurely she musht have told you?"

I shook my head. "Either she didn't know, or she treated it in confidence."

I think I'd probably guessed Louise's problem. With tits that size, she must have had an enlargement, which can sometimes leave nasty scars. From her remarks, she'd obviously had the operation whilst at college.

I sought to put the issue sensitively. "Louise, is it that you have some kind of blemish or... scar you don't want anyone to see?"

Her reaction flabbergasted me. She burst into laughter! She had a sip of her drink to try to calm herself down, and then choked on it, spluttering everywhere.

Finally, she said, "You really don't know, do you? Well, I guess you'd better have a look."

Without further ado, she sat up and put down her glass on a side-table. Then, without a trace of embarrassment, she unfastened the buttons on her blouse and pulled it wide open, revealing that wonderful pair of huge tits bulging out of her bra cups. She slid the blouse off her shoulders, and let it drop behind her. I hurriedly finished my glass and replenished it.

Pulling her arms out of the sleeves, she then reached behind her and unclipped her bra. There was so little sag as she let the bra drop onto her lap, I think the only reason she wore it was to flatten her nipples, which now came pushing out of hiding.

I tried not to gulp. Here were the most perfect pair of breasts I had ever seen in my life, and they were being exposed before me, not as part of a frenzied sexual coupling, but in drunken innocence, as a greengrocer might display his fruits. To my surprise, there were no signs of scars, or even a blemish.

Louise was smiling at my confusion. "I expect you'd like to get your hands on them, wouldn't you, and give them a nice squeeze?"

I nodded, too surprised at the offer to speak. Louise, some fifteen years younger than me, had never indicated any interest in me, sexually. Now here she was, pissed as a newt and making very pleasant suggestions.

She folded her arms in front of her breasts, as though to defend them from my onslaught, and then hooked her fingers into a garment which I hadn't even noticed she was wearing - some kind of skin coloured vest - and started to pull it up, and over her head. But as she brought it around her neck, her breasts had disappeared!

I gulped, and stared, and hurriedly finished off and then replenished my glass of wine. Underneath the vest, she had flatter tits than me! She'd pulled the garment completely over her head, now, and she bundled it and tossed it over to me.

"Here you are then, have a nice squeeze."

I caught it, realising as it flew through the air that it was far heavier than a thin vest should be. I spread it in my hands and found myself holding one tremendous breast in each hand!

"Holy shit! They're false!"

"Well done Charles. What fantashtic reasoning power you have."

I looked at her again - an attractive, slim woman, with breasts which barely disturbed the line of her flat chest.

She laughed at my expression. "You look so shocked, and yet I thought you knew about my falsies all along."

I drained my glass and filled it again, and then found we'd finished the bottle. I spent a few minutes getting another from the fridge. As I filled our glasses again and sat down, I played for a little more time, trying to sort out my confusion.

"Sorry Louise, it's all a bloody great surprise to me. I simply never dreamt your breasts were anything but real. Well, OK, I may have thought you'd had an enlargement but..." My voice drained away as I again felt those lovely tits in my hands. They were felt so soft and real, damn it!

"It was as we came to the end of our training at RADA," she started to explain. "All the other girls on the course appeared to be getting jobs and I didn't. I'd always had an inferiority complex about my miniscule boobs; I reasoned that was why I wasn't getting the jobs, so I decided to do something about them. Enlargements would have taken months to arrange and recover from, and I heard about Bustlets from someone on my course.

"Unfortunately, it didn't open up the opportunities I was so certain it would. OK, I got plenty of offers for the casting couch, but I was emphatic I needed payment in advance of the goods, so it never worked for me.

"I took a temporary job at an estate agents, just to get some cash. Within three days, I was allowed to escort a client to view a house; I made my first sale next morning. The commission from that alone was probably worth more than I'd have made in my first year on the stage. I'm now a partner in the most profitable agents in town. Of course, as an estate agent, I still have to act a part; it's simply so much more profitable. And I fulfil my dramatic acting needs by being a member of BRATS.

"The problem is that most of my fellow students at drama school knew all about my Bustlets. If I'd have taken the lead role in Melons, someone would have shouted, "Foul - she's not showing her real tits!" BRATS would have had an injunction slapped on it, but even worse for me, the newspapers would have been certain to get hold of the story. My career in the estate agents would have been finished. I couldn't risk either of those two events."

I nodded, understanding now why Louise had been so against putting on the production, knowing that she'd be under tremendous pressure to play the part of Melanie. However, to be honest, I was still having difficulties coming to terms with Louise's tits in my hands. I gave them another experimental squeeze. They were very erotic.

It struck me that normally a major part of that erotic feeling was due to the sensitivity of a woman to being stroked and kissed there. I remembered how sensitive my wife's tits had been - she'd almost come to orgasm simply from my sucking on them. Louise presumably missed all those kinds of pleasures. Without thinking, I asked, "Do you remove your breasts before you make love?"

As soon as I said it, I realised it had been an incredibly clumsy and offensive question - perhaps an indication that I, too, had been drinking too much wine.

But Louise suddenly appeared preoccupied with another issue, and she said, "Bloody hell! Sorry, but I have to go to the toilet."

I pointed her in the direction, and she quickly disappeared. I wondered whether, she would still remember the question when she returned. I hoped not.

She was in the toilet for ages. I thought she might be throwing up Geoff's very worst of barley-wine, mixed with my extravagant addition of Pouilly-Fume, but when she finally returned, she looked fine. She continued my question without hesitation.

"You asked if I take off my Bustlets before I make love? No way. Can you imagine what most blokes" reactions would be? They've pooled a bird with huge jugs and then, just as they're getting her to bed, she pulls her tits off. Worse than taking out your false teeth and sticking them in a glass beside the bed.

"Anyway," she continued, "my original Bustlets may have lacked any sensitivity, but every six months, or so, I buy a new set - on my commission, I can afford them. They've improved in leaps and bounds since the original design. I reckon the latest Bustlets are more sensitive than my real tits."

"Sorry, Louise." I was gob-smacked. "Are you saying you have sensitivity in your false breasts?"

She smiled. "Oh Jesus, yes. It's based upon a kind of touch-sensitive material - like they use in screens you get on computers, and the device amplifies it and gives a tiny jolt of electricity into the relevant area of your own body. Because it's all digital, you can turn the sensitivity up or down, depending how you feel. At the maximum setting, my tits are so sensitive, I reckon I can almost have an orgasm simply by a bloke breathing on them."

I jokingly breathed on the breasts in my hands, and she giggled. "Don't be stupid. You need to be wearing them to feel the effects. Try them, if you don't believe me."

She must think I was born yesterday to accept that. I made a wry face at her, bundled them up, and made to pass them back, but she said, "Sod you, Charles. I'm not having my word doubted. Now, take off your shirt and put them on. Then you can see how sensitive they are."

It was a purely scientific exercise, you understand? Louise was claiming something which, to me, sounded unbelievable - I had to test it out - my being slightly pissed had nothing to do with it. I undid the buttons on my shirt and pulled it off, then fed my head into the garment, which she called her Bustlet.

It was much more difficult to get into than I'd expected. The neck was long, and designed to cover everything, up to right beneath the chin, where it merged into the jaw-line without being noticeable - especially under my beard! It was stretchy material which clung to my face as I tried to force through it, and made me feel quite claustrophobic.

Finally, my head and face popped out of the top, and by this time, Louise had come over and carefully smoothed down the join along my jaw-line. Then she showed me how to slip my arms through the armholes, without damaging the garment. Finally, she was pulling the whole thing down my chest, where it stopped, a few inches below my nipples.

I looked down. Gulp! I reached for the wine glass and emptied it before looking down again. Shit! I refilled my glass, emptied it and then looked down again.

"So do you look good, or do you look fucking good?" she asked.

I couldn't have expressed it better myself. Pushing out of the front of my chest were the two most perfect tits I had ever seen in my lifetime. They looked even better from my viewpoint than they had done attached to Louise.

"And just try to tell me they're not sensitive."

Louise simply touched the underside of my breast with her hand, and I was gasping. She moved her hand closer to my nipple, and I was almost screaming with pain... or was it pleasure?

"The sensitivity setting is quite high, so if I was to squeeze your nipple now, you would almost pass out with pleasure," she said. "However, I think you'll find this much more pleasant."

She bent her head down, and her tiny red tongue darted out and just flicked my nipple. The blood coursed through my head, and I think I had a mini-orgasm.

"Bloody hell, this is erotic," she said. "I'm going to have to fuck you."

That was all right by me. She was pulling down my trousers and pants, and my prick came rearing out to greet her. She momentarily slipped her mouth over it and took me right inside, but the sensation was nothing, compared to that which I'd felt, just seconds ago, in my nipple.

She moved her mouth back there, and I started to lift her skirt, ready to slip my iron rod inside her.

"Condom," she said, breathing lightly on my left nipple.

"Sorry," I said, partly coming to my senses. "I was getting carried away. I've got some in the bedroom."

I took her by the hand and dragged her into the bedroom, and pulled open the top drawer in the bedside cupboard and rummaged through it. I couldn't find them!

I temporarily let go of Louise in order to pull the drawer totally out of the cupboard and turn it upside down on the floor. The amount of junk I kept in that drawer was unbelievable - all kinds of garbage, but no condoms! It had been months since I'd last used them. I spread the junk out across the floor, then went rushing into the bathroom, in the vain hope I'd put them in the bathroom cabinet, instead. Nothing!

I went into the lounge, and searched in the cupboard where I keep some of my other junk. Nothing! I stood up, almost crying with frustration.

"Don't worry," Louise said, kissing my left nipple again, driving me insane with lust. "It's only just after 11 pm. There will be a couple of clubs open in the town centre for hours, yet. We can walk there in ten minutes, and either get a pack from a vending machine in the toilets, or we could walk on to my place, where I've got enough of the things to keep us fucking all night long."

Sweet relief. At least, that's what I should be getting shortly.

"There's only one condition," she said, transferring her mouth to my right nipple, and simply blowing my mind.

"Anything," I said.

"You lend me a track-suit to wear when we walk into town." Her lips went back to the left nipple, and she gave me a very slow hand-job on my prick.

"No problem. But what's wrong with the suit you're wearing - or not wearing? It makes you look incredibly good."

She smiled then put her mouth over my nipple again and sucked part of my breast into her mouth. It felt divine. She muttered something, but with her mouth full, I couldn't understand what she said.

"What? I didn't hear."

She took her mouth off my breast, and said, "Because I want you to wear my suit when we walk into town."

I pushed her away. "Sorry?"

She grabbed my dick and pumped it a few times. "Oh Charles, you heard perfectly well. I want you to wear my suit and blouse - and all my other clothes - when we walk across town. It's so incredibly erotic, seeing you like this. I think I shall burst when I see you properly dressed up."

I couldn't disagree about it being erotic. I had never felt so turned on. I wanted to fuck her like crazy, and what we might do in private could well be the kind of fun and games to die for. But I knew that as soon as I appeared in public, I'd be laughed into shame.

"Louise. It may feel great in here - playing games - just the two of us. But as soon as I step outside like this, we'd attract every lout in the area. They'd ridicule us. Make the journey hell."

"Only if they knew you were a man."

"Well, of course they're going to know I'm a man. They only have to look at my hair to know I'm a man." Actually, it was more the absence of hair which really classified me as such - only thirty-nine years old, and already with a shamefully large bald patch.

"Well, that's no problem, then." She rummaged through her bag, and then produced something with a flourish. "Carol gave me back the Melanie wig she'd borrowed to help her get into character. You can use that."

That was being silly, in treating my objection so literally. There was something more important. "Louise. Have you noticed my prick sticking out like the Eiffel Tower? I think others might, as well."

"Carol also bought an extra-firm pantie-girdle, to help get her into shape for Melanie's corset. She told me that she now hated the thing every time she saw it in her drawer, so would I take it away." Another rummage through her bag, and then she came out with the garment, still in its original wrapping. "It's only size ten, I'm afraid, but that should certainly prevent your bulging stomach from distending the line of my skirt, as well as keeping your rampant prick under control."

I had one final line of defence. "I have a beard."

She smiled. "I wondered when you'd get around to that. It's all right. I have some wax in my bag. It will take it all off - no problem."

"Wax! That'll hurt like crazy."

She bent down and breathed over my left nipple, and then gave it a slow tonguing. "Maybe, but that's only what we women always have to put up with, in order to look so good for you men."

"Oh shit!" I thought for a minute, then reluctantly added, "I guess you could call this the ultimate part to play."

"That's my girl," Louise said, her words muffled as she sucked my right tit inside her mouth.

CHAPTER FOUR - LOUISE STUFFS ME

Stepping into the road dressed as a woman for the first time was like being on Cloud Nine. Sure, the skin on my face was still tingling, where Louise had painfully ripped off my facial hair; my stomach appeared to be held in a vice clamped so tight I could barely breathe; and after the initial excruciating pain in my testicles when she had pulled the tiny pantie-girdle hard up into my groin, my balls and dick appeared to have completely retired from the scene. I was also freezing in the cold night air; Louise's jacket had been too tight across my shoulders, and fearful I might split the seam, she'd instructed me to carry it across my arm.

But on the plus side, I had a tummy which was flatter than Louise's; without the jacket, my tits stuck out like headlamps on a 1920's Bentley; and with every step, my two-inch heels made an erotic clacking sound on the road, followed by a shudder which ran throughout my body. The shudder caused my breasts to give a delicious wobble, and my nipples to move inside my bra, giving me sweet feelings which kept me on the edge of orgasm. Walking was like sexual intercourse - without the intercourse.

There was, of course, plenty of opportunity for intercourse at that time on a Saturday night. There were loads of drunken gangs of blokes roaming the streets, ready to shag any woman who looked even remotely interested.

"Never look at them," Louise told me as we walked, "and keep your hand on the mace spray in your handbag." But she also gave me lots of useful advice about how to walk, and how much to swing the hips and clack the heels, without getting gang-banged. And also, some tips on speaking. "You never know when you might need it," she said. Little did I know, the scheming bitch!

The first club we came to, Gino's, seemed to be full of blokes leering at the few females, who were mainly in twos and threes. I'd have gone on somewhere else, but Louise walked in without hesitation. I had to dash after her if I wasn't to be left on my own on the street.

"I'd better go into the toilet on my own," she said in the lobby, just inside the door. "If you come in with me, strictly you'd be breaking the law, although no one would notice." She glanced at the blokes, already eyeing us up. "You'd better go to the bar and buy us some drinks, and for God's sake, don't let anyone buy them for you." And she disappeared behind the door which said "Ladies".

The problem was, she was absolutely right. If I followed her into the ladies toilet, I'd be committing an offence; the way I was dressed, I certainly couldn't go into the men's toilet; and if I continued to stand around looking like a tart on the game, then I'd pretty quickly have a gaggle of guys more than willing to make me an offer.

I swivelled around, appearing not to notice all the guys staring at me and strode over to the bar, desperately trying to remember everything Louise had told me. Never mind that, after ten minutes walking through the streets, my ankles and calves felt as though they were on fire, and that all I wanted to do was to sink down on a chair, lift one foot onto my knee and remove the shoe, and quickly repeat that with the other one. No, I had to appear totally in control.

"Getcha-a-drink-luv?"

It was a guy on his own, sitting at a stool at the bar, looking totally pissed out of his head, and sounding even worse.

Desperately hoping he would go away, I smiled sweetly at him, and said, speaking precisely in the way Louise had instructed, "No thanks. I'm with a friend who's..." With a zing, my nipples suddenly popped erect, thrusting through my blouse like flag poles with flags shouting, "She's gasping for sex".

The guy did a double take. I guess that, never before had his offers of drinks had such a response. His face broke into a grin from ear to ear, and he stuttered some words like, "He can't be much of a bloke if he lets a beautiful doll like you buy the drinks."

I was furiously trying to remember what Louise had said about the Bustlet - something about it being digitally controlled, and how the sensitivity could be turned up or down, and at the maximum setting, the tits were so sensitive, she could have an orgasm simply by a bloke breathing on them. The way this guy was leaning forward, I was about to have my first female orgasm! The problem was, I couldn't remember if she'd told me how to control my tits, or even if they simply had a mind of their own.

Inspiration came. "It's a girl I'm waiting for," I said. "I'm a lesbian, and I thought you were a woman dressed up as a man. That's why I got, er, so excited. I'm sorry if I misled you."

"Me?" The drunk looked down at himself, as though hoping I might be addressing someone else. "You thought I was a woman dressed as a man? Holy shit! I think I must have had too much to drink." In spite of his comment, he turned and downed the remains of his pint of lager, and asked the barman for a refill.

"Well done." Louise was standing at my elbow. "You managed him superbly." She eyed the bar counter. "Have you not got the drinks in yet?"

"No, I was..."

"That's OK," she magnanimously said, looking across the room for a suitable table. "Mine's an orange-juice and lemonade." And she left me at the bar whilst she walked over and sat at a table!

***

"Bloody hell," I said, as I carried over our two drinks to the table. "These breasts have a mind of their own. I only spoke a few words to a bloke, and my nipples suddenly turned as hard as pebbles."

"Don't be a prat," she said. "I told you that the sensitivity can be turned up or down. There's a little remote control to do it."

"Well, why did my nipples suddenly go..."

I broke off as Louise pulled out of her pocket a small remote control device, similar to those you'd have to control a ghetto-blaster or small hi-fi unit. She deliberately moved her thumb over the red button and held it there for a second, before slowly pressing it; my nipples, which over the last few minutes had returned to their normal size, suddenly shot our again to their previous excited state. I clasped a hand over each breast and could feel their granite-like hardness pushing against my palms, until I became aware that every bloke in the place was staring at me. I sat back in my chair and removed my hands. Let the stupid gits get a hard-on, just by looking at me. What did I care?

"But why did my nipples go erect when I spoke to that chap at the bar?" I asked, still confused at the way my newfound bits of body were behaving.

"Don't be stupid," she said. "I simply watched you walk over to the bar and waited until some bloke spoke to you before pressing the button."

"You did that to me!" I was flabbergasted. "But why?"

"Simply to test you out. I thought you'd take it all in your stride, and you did. So well done."

"You thought I'd handle it. But what would have happened if I'd been exposed as a..." I stopped just in time, before I was overheard.

She smiled. "I'd have nipped off home pretty smartish. What would you expect?"

***

Ten minutes later, I'd calmed down sufficiently to enjoy the joke on me. As Louise had said, I'd managed the situation perfectly, but I'd never have the courage on my own to have dared, had she not deliberately thrown me into it.

"By the way," I said, "there was no need for us to have come out, after all. You had a pack of condoms in your handbag, all along." I pulled out the box I'd discovered in Louise's handbag at the bar, as I'd been searching for money to pay for the drinks, and held it in front of her eyes.

"Oh, how stupid of me," she said.

"I see we have similar tastes," I continued. "These are exactly the same brand as the ones I was looking for in my bedroom."

Then I noticed something about the pack. "Hang on." I turned the pack over, a sudden sickening feeling in my heart. I pushed the pack towards her and said, "This IS the pack of condoms from my bedside cabinet. There's the stain where I spilt some tea over them. You stole these from the drawer whilst you were supposed to be in the toilet."

"That's right."

Her admission took my breath away. "That's right? What do you mean, that's right?"

"I agree that I used my trip to the toilet as an excuse to search your bedroom for your supply of condoms, and then hid them in my handbag. Strictly speaking, it wasn't stealing, as I was fully intending to give them back to you, but I think that's rather playing with words. So, your accusation is fully justified."

"But... but... Why?"

Another playful smile. "I could see how excited you were by my Bustlets, and had got to the point where you were curious about how they would feel. I guessed you'd be prepared to try them on in the safety of your flat, but I reckoned that in order to really get the ultimate enjoyment from them, you'd need to be seen in public. So, I carried out a simple trick. I admit it was wrong, but don't try to tell me you're not delighted that I did it."

Her words brought me to my senses, and I had to agree; the elation I'd been feeling since leaving the flat had been like nothing I'd ever experienced before. I was on a high, which I never wanted to end. I also had to agree that, of my own volition, I would never have had the courage to do it. I slowly nodded as the thoughts sank in, and then I was grinning at her, and then laughing.

"Shhh," she said. "That's a most unladylike laugh."

And then the real truth hit me so hard between the eyes that my laughter was cut off in mid-stream. I stared at her, and she stared back at me, uncompromisingly.

"You already had a blackmail hold over Geoff. So why did you get me to agree to give up my role as Reggie? You didn't need to offer him my part."

She returned a straight bat. "It was useful to have some flexibility."

"At BRATS this evening, when we were in the middle of the argument about who'd suggested Melons, I looked across at you to see whose side you were on. But you were looking as though you'd been struck by a thunderbolt."

She gave no response, simply waited to hear my next words.

"The reason was that Jane's comment had left you totally speechless."

Still, she didn't respond, so I continued. "Jane said that I'd suggested the play and facetiously added that I could take the part of Melanie. Now I started arguing about who'd originally suggested the play, but you'd recognised the more important phrase - that I should take the part of Melanie!"

I'd delivered the last sentence with all the ritual that might accompany the accusation of murder in a dénouement, but Louise's reaction was completely flat. "Absolutely right."

"You admit it?"

"Of course." She paused a moment before explaining. "When Melons was first suggested, I believed there was only one person present who had the acting ability to play the part of Melanie - me - and I simply couldn't do it for the reason we've already discussed. Therefore, I poured scorn on the whole idea, as I didn't want to have to justify my reasons. But tonight, Jane unwittingly opened my eyes to the fact that someone else had the skills to take the part. You, Charles, could play the part of Melanie. It's undoubtedly the biggest challenge you will ever have taken. I'm now the Director, so I can offer you the part. Do you want it?"

"It's not as simple as that, is it?" I ignored her question. "For one thing, have you noticed that whilst the top of me may resemble a well-shaped woman, there's something that sticks out at the bottom that is definitely not woman-shaped? Because if you haven't noticed it, I'm certain the audience will when Melanie prances about naked on the stage. For another reason, there'd be exactly the same problem with me playing the part wearing Bustlets, as if you'd played it."

"Look." Louise was suddenly in her domineering mood. "I admit that I've been deceiving you in order to get you this far, but now you have to make the decision for yourself. I'm convinced you have the capabilities to play this exceptionally challenging role; everyone in this club is convinced you're a sexy woman; you deal with tricky situations as naturally as any other woman would; and you are unbelievably excited by the whole idea.

"If you really want to play it," she continued, "we can get round all the problems. For example, I know that the shop which supplies me with the Bustlets, also produces certain discrete products for men which give them the total appearance of a woman. As for the other issue, the situation is very different to my playing the part. Lots of people know my secret - only I know yours. We keep the whole charade top secret. We could tell everyone, in BRATS and elsewhere, that your sister is filling in the part of Melanie." She let the thought sink in before continuing. "But first of all, you need to decide whether or not you want to play the most challenging role you've ever been offered. So, what's the answer?"

I didn't have to think - indeed, it was probably better if I didn't. "I'll do it."

"I've got you two so-called girls sussed." The voice of my drunken friend from the bar came from over my right shoulder, and Louise's eyes stared up in alarm at him, as he continued. "Your friend is really a bloke dressed up as a woman - Transylvanians, they call them. Now I'm going to give him a punch - that'll teach him a lesson, coming in here dressed like this."

I abruptly slid sideways off my chair to the left, trying to get out of punching range, before I turned and crouched behind the table. He stood, his clenched fist waving in the air towards Louise. I don't think he really would have hit her, but suddenly, a bouncer appeared behind him, and in a flash, the assailant was in a half-Nelson arm-lock, and being dragged towards the door.

When he was almost at the door, he shouted out, "I should have noticed straightaway she wasn't a woman - she hadn't got any tits. Not like you, love," he looked directly at me, "I could tell you was a nice girl."

***

"I'm not going to have sex with you."

How did I know Louise was going to say that?

After receiving apologies from the management about the disturbance, and vouchers for free drinks the next time we visited, we walked briskly back towards my flat. Neither of us spoke as we walked. It might have been the proximity to violence that kept us quiet, but in my case anyway, it was more that I was getting to terms with the commitment I had just made. I was taking a hell of a risk to my personal integrity, and even to the success of my own business, which could fail if people discovered the truth.

"Because you want to keep our relationship professional," I replied, acknowledging that I too had reluctantly been coming to the same conclusion.

"Do you mind?"

I considered. I should have been more frustrated, but the sexual excitement I'd felt that evening was like nothing I'd experienced before and, if I was not mistaken, I'd be getting considerable quantities of the same thing for several weeks to come.

"I think you're right, but what are you going to do right now? Do you want to sleep on my settee?"

"I'll come in for a few minutes so we can sort out our plans for tomorrow, but then I'll drive home. My car's only round the corner."

"Do you think that's wise? You must have had a lot to drink tonight. You don't want to get stopped by the police."

"I know you kept topping up my wine glass every time you emptied yours," she said, "but I reckon I've only had about one glass of wine, in total."

"But we finished two complete bottles," I said. "And what about the stuff that Geoff gave you at his house?"

"You drank almost the whole of those two bottles - I only had just the one glass. As for Geoff's wine, I told you, it was revolting. As he kept feeding it to me, so I emptied it into the tub of that Swiss-Cheese plant he has in his lounge. I'd guess it will be dead by tomorrow."

"It appears to be quite a hardy plant," I said. "I always empty my drinks into that same plant tub." But something was definitely not quite right. "Hang on! You were pissed as a newt when you came round here this evening."

"Was I? I really don't think so."

Shit! Shit! Shit! Never trust an actor, a woman, or an estate agent. And never, never, never trust someone who's all three.