Walk a Crooked Milf

Chapter Five – Can I Get A Passport?

After four weeks of being confined in Mrs Cashmore’s house I desperately wanted to go out, the furthest I had been was the back garden to hang out the washing and assist with the gardening. Delores did the shopping on Saturday and went to church every Sunday. I quizzed her about that but her response was vague. She said that she had been bought up a Christian and despite her chosen profession she still practiced her faith on Sundays.

Most days of the week we entertained gentlemen callers. At first, most of them wanted the services offered by Mrs Cashmore but as the word got around about the young pretty transvestite living with Delores I started to become popular. Sometimes we would entertain gentlemen together down in the cellar and sometimes we would entertain them individually. Some of the punters wanted to engage in B&D or S&M but surprisingly most did not, they just wanted sex.

I became accustomed to providing sexual services daily and was jealous of Delores when my services were not required. Delores continued to feminise me, working on my gait, posture, mannerisms and voice and I was a willing pupil. For all intents and purposes William Baxter had disappeared. When I wasn’t tending to the needs of customers or practicing my femininity I kept house for Mrs Cashmore sometimes joining her to tend to the garden.

My mother saw me outside in the garden on a number of occasions and I wondered how she felt about my chosen lifestyle and also wondered what she had told our acquaintances, which were admittedly few. Not that I cared. I was already wondering if it was possible for me transform from a man to woman. Mrs Cashmore had a personal computer which she used to manage her business and she also had a dialup modem. I found a few fledgling internet websites dealing with transgender issues but there was little information available about how to actually transition. It didn’t help that transsexualism, as it was termed at the time, was still considered a mental illness in the UK in the year 2000.

I openly discussed the possibility with Delores who was sympathetic to my cause but advised me to take baby steps.

“There are quite a few transvestites getting around quite openly Wendy and some are so feminine that they are seldom clocked. You know what that term means right?” she asked me.

“Yes and that would suit me just fine,” I replied.

“Then we need to get you out and about and build your confidence. I can honestly say that you are very passable. The first thing we need to do is get you a suitable wardrobe. Dressing provocatively will attract undue attention,” she explained.

“But before that we need to discuss finances. I intend to take half of what you earn. I think that is fair as it not only covers my stipend as your Madame but includes your room and board. I’m prepared to right off the money that I already spent on your clothes and makeup but you will need to become self-sufficient,” she continued.

“Wait! Does that mean that that I can stay? That the trail period is over?” I asked eagerly.

“You are performing your duties to a very satisfactory standard Wendy and I find you have a tolerable disposition. I quite like your company,” Mrs Cashmore smiled at me.

I hugged her and kissed her enthusiastically until she peeled me off of her. Our relationship had changed significantly since I began to live with her. I still worshipped her and we sometimes had sex if we had a night without having to tend to punters but we had also become sisterly. I was still her pet project and she delighted in teaching me the nuances of femininity and she still occasionally disciplined me but we were companions and confidantes who lived and worked together.

“These are your monthly earnings after expenses,” Mrs Cashmore laid out nearly two thousand pounds in cash on the table.

“Oh my god Mrs Cashmore, really!” I was stunned.

“You’re averaging two to three punters a day Wendy. So over the last month you’ve earned a pretty penny. Our services don’t come cheap,” she picked up and fanned the bills.

“I take it you have a bank account in William’s name that you can still use?” she asked.

“And a credit card,” I replied.

“You will have to keep using that until we can establish Wendy Baxter’s legal identity. Nothing you have in your wardrobe is really suitable for street wear. A matron like myself getting around in a business suit is de rigueur but a teenage girl dressed like that will attract attention. Let’s see what I have in my wardrobe that might be suitable,” Delores said.

“Time to go shopping Wendy,” Delores smiled at my enthusiasm.

Driving to Brent Cross shopping centre I was both apprehensive and excited. I was apprehensive because it was my first foray into the world in my femme persona and I was terrified that I was going to be clocked and ridiculed and I was excited because… well it was my first foray into the world in my femme persona.

Delores found a pair of black leggings and black long sleeve chiffon side-buttoned office blouse with a mandarin collar. It was stylish but not ostentatious and I wore the leggings and blouse with a pair of red three-inch high heels that Delores had bought for me as my other heels were outrageously high for everyday wear. She toned down my makeup and with my brown shoulder-length hair with the balayaged highlights I looked attractive without appearing trampy.

I was experienced at retracting my testes into my inguinal canals and tucking my penis under my perineum. I held the tuck in place by wearing a pair sheer to the waist pantyhose under my leggings and went sans panties so that there was no VPL on display. There was no tell-tale bulge in my crotch area just a smooth V. With my breastforms in the cups of my bra I had an almost perfect figure.

“The boys are going to go bonkers for you Wendy,” Delores teased.

“I don’t want them to go bonkers for me, I want them to leave me alone until I become less self-conscious,” I replied.

“Besides, they are just as likely to go bonkers for you Delores,” Mrs Cashmore was wearing her usual livery: a charcoal grey suit with a tight pencil skirt that rested three inches above her knees, white satin blouse, black heels, and shimmering tan hosiery.

Her makeup and hair were perfect and she was wearing her signature red lipstick.

“Nonsense! We’ll look like mother and daughter,” she smiled at me.

“I’ll keep an eye on you. Stay close and behave as normally as you can. You are beautiful and passable; nothing bad is going to happen, I want you to enjoy yourself,” she reached over and took my hand in hers and squeezed it affectionately.

My heart was in my mouth when we turned off Prince Charles Drive into the multi-story parking garage and got out of her BMW. It wasn’t too bad initially because there were few people in the car park and those who were there were coming and going to their vehicles taking little interest in two women out for a day’s shopping.

All that changed when we entered the open well-lit space of the shopping centre. I immediately felt that all eyes were on me and I clung to Mrs Cashmore for moral support.

“Be cool calm and confident Wendy. Look around carefully and you will see that hardly anyone is looking at you and the few that are, are giving you an admiring glance. People are here to shop not to play ‘clock the tranny’,” she made me halt at a bench near a set of escalators and allowed me to gather my wits.

My confidence built slowly as we made our way from shop to shop and my attention was diverted from the people around me to the wonderful goods on display. We concentrated our efforts on Fenwick, John Lewis and Marks & Spencer and I immersed myself in the shopping experience and thoroughly enjoyed selecting clothing, lingerie, hosiery, footwear, makeup and accessories.

Delores accompanied me to the fitting rooms when I needed to try on various items but I soon felt confident. At first I was very nervous interacting with the staff but I soon realised that their only interest in me was trying to sell me their products. I think one of the more mature shop assistants might have suspected that I was trans but she politely said nothing.

After spending a considerable amount of my stipend and making three trips to and from the BMW I was done. I had a complete wardrobe.

“When we get home I want you to move all of your fetish clothing down to the cellar and leave your daywear in your bedroom,” Wendy said as we sat sipping coffee in the food court.

“I need to go,” I whispered.

“To go where?” Delores frowned at me.

“I need a wee,” I iterated, crossing my legs in discomfort.

“Well go you silly girl,” Delores said patting my hand.

“Time for the butterfly to fly on her own,” she smiled and nodded at the sign for the toilets.

My nervousness returned as I approached the ladies loo. This would be my first time using a ladies convenience and I was very self-conscious. I knew that I needn’t be. I had not been clocked all day except perhaps by one shop assistant who had got up close and personal taking my measurements for a suit.

I set my resolve and opened the door to the loo. There were three young teenage girls hanging around the back corner near the vanities illegally smoking cigarettes.

“What are you looking at you stuck up bint,” a girl with frizzy blue and orange streaked blonde hair wearing black tights, pink hoody and hi-top trainers snarled.

She wore heavy dark eye makeup and pink lipstick and was smacking gum between dragging on her cigarette. Her friends were similarly dressed and they all exuded teenage angst disapproval and rebellion.

I ignored them and went into the closest cubicle and locked the door. My need to pee far exceeded my fear of any teen outrage and indignation. We were in a high-end shopping centre and the girls were hardly a street gang.

I pulled down my leggings and pantyhose and bunched them around my ankles and sat on the toilet. My penis dropped down and I sighed with relief as I unleashed a steady stream of urine into the bowl. I had been sitting down to pee ever since I had decided to live full-time as Wendy so it was not unnatural for me. When I finished I wiped and stood up to tuck, pulling up and smoothing out my pantyhose.

As I leaned down to smooth out my leggings I heard a snigger above my head.

“Hey girls, she’s a tranny,” the rainbow-haired girl was standing on the toilet seat in the adjacent cubicle peering over the top of the partition.

I opened the door to the cubicle and the other two girls were standing against the bank of sinks opposite looking menacingly at me.

“Excuse me, I need to wash my hands,” I said not making eye contact.

The rainbow haired girl kicked open the door to the cubicle in which she had been spying on me and joined her colleagues, preventing me from approaching the sinks.

“You fucking freak. You shouldn’t be in here you fucking perv,” she snarled.

“I’m just using the facilities and now I’d like to wash my hands and leave,” I replied indignantly.

“You’re a fucking bloke dressed as a woman, you shouldn’t be in here,” one of the other girls retorted.

I decided that the best course of action was to leave the lavatory and wash my hands somewhere else but the girls formed a phalanx in front of me preventing me from leaving.

“You’re a fucking nonce and we don’t like nonces do we girls?” the teenage witch looked at me, her rage evident in her stance and on her face.

“You know what we do with pervs with you? We kick their fucking arses don’t we girls?” she looked at her two compatriots for support and they nodded their agreement.

“Are those tits even real?” one of the girls pointed at my chest.

The girls must have been fifteen or sixteen at the most and I could easily take them on individually but with them fighting as a pack I was about to be overwhelmed.

“Ok you bitches, come and kick my arse but at least one of you going to get seriously hurt,” I prepared for the assault.

The girls looked at each other a little unsure if they should proceed but the rainbow-haired witch gritted her teeth and leapt at me. I lashed out with my three-inch heels and caught the rainbow warrior right in the crotch and she came to an abrupt stop and curled up on the tiled floor holding her hands to her cunt.

I knew that a kick pleat is an inverted pleat used at the base of a narrow skirt to allow the wearer more freedom of movement. But it was the first time I ever saw it used to actually allow someone wearing a tight pencil skirt to kick someone which was exactly what Mrs Cashmore did as she came through the door to the lavatory. She kicked one of the teenage girls in the arse so hard that she went sliding across the tiled floor and joined her rainbow-haired friend.

“Would you like a bit of slap and tickle too luv?” Delores glared at the remaining girl who was trembling in her boots.

She scooted past Mrs Cashmore and ran out into the shopping centre.

“Let’s go Wendy, I think we’re done here,” she smiled at me.

I smiled back at her and made to leave.

“Wash your hands first, there’s a good girl,” she admonished me.

I washed my hands looking at the two sorry looking teenage girls curled on the floor, one nursing her twat the other her arse.

“I’m telling my brother!” rainbow whined petulantly.

“Tell him. I’ve probably got a bigger dick than him anyway,” I retorted and left the lavatory to join Delores who was retrieving the last of our shopping bags and parcels from the shopping centre help desk.

We made it all the way to her BMW before we both cracked up. We hugged each other as tears of laughter ran down our cheeks and then the laughing stopped and we kissed.

“Shouldn’t be allowed!” an old crone remarked as she walked past dragging along her two grandchildren who were both staring at us open mouthed.

That remark cracked us up again and we howled with laughter and clung to each other.

At that moment in time I was never more in love with Delores Cashmore.

We both had customers that evening and I was grateful that the man who wanted my company did not want any bondage and discipline play; he just wanted to spend an hour with me.

He was a nice married man in his fifties and Delores explained that the man’s wife was frigid and he’d developed a thing for transsexual and transvestite women. The fact that I was so young had emboldened him to hand over nearly the equivalent of a week’s wages to Delores so that he could spend some time with me.

Delores was entertaining one of her trusted regulars and she took him up to her bedroom allowing me and my punter to use the four-poster in the cellar dungeon.

“Would you like a drink?” I said to the man who was visibly shaking with excitement.

I was wearing a red leather miniskirt, a white satin blouse, tan nylon stockings and the same red heels I had worn to the shopping centre earlier in the day. My makeup was heavy and I was doused in perfume.

The man was speechless when Delores introduced him to me; all he could do was stare at me so I took his hand and I led him down to the cellar.

“I’m Barry,” the man offered me his hand.

“Oh come on Barry, give a girl a kiss,” I sidled up to him and pressed by body against him and kissed him.

He was not a very good kisser, all open mouth and sloppy tongue but I let him kiss and grope me. His hands went straight to my skirt and he squeezed me quite hard and then he hiked up my skirt and groped my knicker-clad buttocks and silken-sheathed thighs.

“I wish Gladys would wear stockings for me. I just wish Gladys would let me touch her,” the man mouthed around squooshy kisses.

Gladys was obviously Barry’s wife.

Barry was getting overexcited and I managed to untangle myself from his grasp.

“Let me get us both a drink Barry. We’ve got plenty of time and you don’t want to come in your trousers do you?” I turned my back on him and was about to pour us drinks when he sidled up to me.

“I’m sorry Wendy. I’ve never been with anyone as young and as pretty as you and I can’t keep my hands off you,” he sighed.

“Maybe I should let you have a quick one and then you can recover and take your time with me,” I turned and smiled at him.

“Would you luv? I think I’m going to cream my jockeys just looking at you,” he gave me a pathetic smile.

“Oh course you can Barry. You know what they say? The customer is always right,” I smiled at him and closed the gap between us.

I let him kiss me, his tongue seemed too big for my mouth, it was wet and fleshy and he moved it around inside me like a snail retracting into its shell. His lips were thin, damp and unyielding and he pressed them to mine, urgently sucking and lapping at me as he held me in a vice-like grip.

I knew that it was just excitement, inexperience and awkwardness on his part and I did not judge him harshly for it. Delores had trained me well. I was here to please the men who paid for my company and it was my job to make sure that they had the best experience possible.

I was wearing tight, white, full-cut translucent knickers and Barry had my skirt up again and was pawing at my buttocks, holding me close against him. I put my arms around him and returned his kisses as best I could, I could feel the heat and hardness of his manhood pressing against me, his need for release was almost palpable.

I was able to slide a hand between our bodies and unzip his flies and free his erection. Gladys, whoever she was, was missing out on a rather useful penis. Barry might be older and clumsy but his cock was a magnificent specimen. Long thick and smooth, it throbbed in my fingers.

I guided it between my legs and closed them tight so that the meaty weapon was clamped between my stocking-tops. I rocked back and forth as Barry began to fuck my legs and my diaphanous nylon-clad thighs massaged his engorged cock. He gasped into my mouth and pulled me even tighter as I felt his cock quiver and palpitate and then his scalding semen spattered down the back of my legs soaking into my stockings.

“Oh god, I’m sorry,” he began to cry.

“It’s fine Barry. I like it. It means that you find me really attractive and sexy if I can elicit such a tremendous response like that from you so quickly,” I clung to him and kissed his neck softly.

He held on to me, sobbing quietly, his semen cooling on my legs. I whispered endearments into his ear and placed soft kisses on his cheeks and his mouth until he calmed down. Eventually he issued a huge sigh of contentment and I disengaged from him. I cleaned my legs with some tissues.

“I’m sorry,” he had his head down like a chastened schoolboy.

I lifted his chin and kissed him quickly.

“Did you enjoy it?” I asked.

Barry nodded his head bashfully.

“Then all is well with the world Barry. Let me fix us a drink and we can go and sit down if you like,” I smiled at him and he grinned back at me and nodded.

He self-consciously tucked his trunk-like appendage into his underpants and zipped up his trousers and took the drink I offered him. We adjourned to the couch and I deliberately sat close to him so that our thighs were touching.

“So Barry, do you like special girls like me specifically?” I asked, stroking his forearm.

“Yes I do but there aren’t that many of you. When I was a young man I used to go to Chelmsford and see a girl called Charlie who worked under the railway overpass but she moved on. She was a victim of the Chelmsford Slasher but that was way before your time,” Barry sighed.

“It’s risky picking girls up off the street so I save up my money and when I have enough I come here to see Delores. When she told me that she had taken you in and that you were available I raided the bank account and booked a night with you. Gladys is going to be pissed when she finds the money missing but you are worth it,” he smiled at me cheekily.

“I’m glad that you like me Barry, I like you too,” I snuggled up to his stocky body and nuzzled him under the neck.

I knew that Barry was fascinated with me so why not indulge him? I kissed him and when he tried to return the kiss with a sloppy open-mouth, thin-lipped smack I stopped him.

“Like this Barry. There’s no need to be so impatient, I’m not going anywhere,” I straddled him with a knee either side of his thigh.

He was naked and his cock was at attention and rubbing on my knickers.

I softly placed my lips on his and opened my mouth just a little.

“Now you do it,” I whispered and he let his lips soften and opened his mouth partially.

I kissed him again and he duplicated my actions. When I put the tip of tongue into his mouth he did the same to me. When I kissed him a little harder, he did the same. He had stopped slobbering and trying to force his tongue down my throat, I had taught him how to kiss… and he liked it.

He put his arms around me and kissed me, bobbing me up and down in his lap. He slid his cock in the crevice between my buttocks and rubbed it on my gossamer-thin knickers. I became engorged myself and my cock distended the front of my knickers and rubbed on his belly.

Barry was getting excited again, thrusting against my bottom so I put a hand down there and slid the gusset of my knickers aside and guided his cock to the entrance of my anus which I had pre-lubricated. Barry stopped thrusting when his glans nestled in my sphincter. I smiled at him and he smiled back as I slowly lowered myself onto his long, thick hard cock.

“Mugh,” I grunted when it was fully inside me.

It was in me so deep that it threatened to enter my bowel.

“Am I hurting you?” Barry said, concern evident on his face.

“No. It’s lovely Barry,” I smiled down at him and then lowered my face and kissed him deeply.

I began to ride his cock, letting it come almost all of the way out of me and then slowly impaling myself on it until it was buried to the hilt inside me. I wriggled my bottom to stimulate my prostate and then set about generating a slow and steady pace even though Barry was becoming insistent.

I kissed him passionately but refused to increase the pace of our lovemaking. I really liked having his engorged manhood inside me. I stroked his face and wiggled my buttocks while I kissed and fucked him. I could feel his cock fully bloated, pulsing inside me. It felt so wonderful that I was tempted fuck him hard and fast but I resisted the temptation until we were both close to extremis.

I drove my knickered buttocks into his lap and kissed him hard and fervently, writhing on his cock, evoking his climax and he held me tight as he spent himself deep inside me. I contracted my anal muscles and milked him of his semen and I felt his warm seed flood my back passage.

I filled my panties with my own ejaculate as I orgasmed with him.

We clung to each other and writhed and wriggled and kissed and fucked until I fell against him exhausted and panting.

“That was nice Wendy,” he patted my back affectionately.

It turned out that Gladys was missing out on more than just Barry’s long thick cock. He had quite the libido to go with it. After recovering quickly he took me over to the big bed and lay me on my back and fucked me long and hard. I was quite relieved when he finally climaxed because my anus was getting sore.

After a break for cigarettes and drinks he wanted to go again but I just didn’t have it in me so I fellated him on the sofa and swallowed a healthy dose of creamy cum. He really liked me using my mouth on him because guess what? Gladys didn’t do that either.

When I saw Barry to the door it was way past the allotted time he had paid for but I didn’t mind because he was such a kind sweet man. He wanted to give me a tip but I refused.

“You’re just a softy Wendy,” Mrs Cashmore teased me after I had showered and changed into my babydoll pyjamas.

We were snuggled up on the lounge watching late-night TV.

“I’m an astute businesswoman Delores. He’ll definitely be back because I looked after him so well,” I replied.

I was lying on the couch with my face was on Delores thigh and she was stroking my hair.

“I suppose so but I hope he hasn’t put that derriere of yours out of action, you have three customers tomorrow,” she caressed my cheek with her long elegant finger.

“I’ll survive,” I stifled a yawn.

“Too bad you’re tired, your face is right where I want it to be, my punter got me close a couple of times but didn’t quite get me over before he came,” she smiled down at me.

I got to my knees and opened Delores’ gown. I could make out the coral pink slit of her vulva through the transparent knickers she was wearing. Her scent drifted to my nostrils and I followed it. Delores opened her legs wide and gasped when I put my tongue on her. I lapped at her vulva through her knickers and was rewarded with the decadent tang of vaginal secretions as she became instantly wet.

I eased aside the gusset of her knickers and continued to lick her outer lips, teasing her and making her shudder. Delores tried to push my face into her sex but I resisted. I made her wait, licking and nipping at her labia majora until I opened the fleshy flaps and found her soft delicate coral-pink inner lips. I circled my tongue around them deliberately keeping away from her clitoris.

Delores was panting and had opened her legs as wide as possible and was pushing my face into her crotch.

“Come on Wendy, please… go there… do it… oh god!” she screamed and ensnared her fingers in my hair when my tongue lashed her clitoral hood.

I used my tongue in a gentle back and forth motion then small circular movements directly on her clitoris knowing it would drive her wild and Mrs Cashmore groaned with contentment. Her vagina secreted more aromatic fluid which I gratefully lapped up then went back to work on her clitoris.

Mrs Cashmore was writhing on the couch, her fingers entwined in my hair, pushing my face into vulva. I slid two fingers inside her vagina and found her G-spot and stimulated it as I licked and sucked her clitoris.

This had the desired result and Delores moaned like a slattern as her orgasm erupted. She held my face to her sex and I lapped at her clitoris and massaged her G-spot until it became too sensitive for her and she tore my face away from her pubis and lay back panting on the sofa.

“Come here,” she whispered and smiled at me when she regained her composure.

I snuggled up to her and kissed her. She could taste her own secretions on my mouth which she explored with her tongue so she could lap up every vestige of her juices.

“You’re a good girl Wendy. I’ve trained you well,” she sighed.

We snuggled on the sofa until we were too sleepy to stay awake, then we trundled off to our respective beds. It was going to be another busy day and we both needed rest.

I settled into a steady routine performing household chores for Mrs Cashmore during the day, keeping the dungeon clean, the bar stocked and tending to punters in the evenings. William’s psyche had totally disappeared and I seldom thought of him except when necessary such as when accessing his bank account which I had seconded. Although my mother lived next door I seldom saw her and she made no attempt to contact me. She was ashamed of me and I suppose she had a right to be.

It wasn’t so much that I was living my life as a trans woman, although that would have been enough for her disown me, it was because I was prostituting myself and living with the woman she hated more than anyone in the world.

As my bank account swelled I gave more thought as to how I might continue my transformation. I knew that to be eligible for hormone therapy or reassignment surgery or any form of support I would have to undergo months or possibly years of therapy. It was not that long ago that gender dysphoria was still considered a psychological or psychiatric disorder and there were plenty in the medical profession who still felt that way.

Because I had come late to recognising that I wanted to live as a woman I doubted I would be an acceptable candidate, particularly as I had not presented any gender dysphoria prior to turning eighteen. I also suspected that when I told my story about how my need to transition had come about and how I was supporting myself through prostitution I would not be accepted as suitable for assisted gender reassignment.

The other issue I battled with was that I had no inclination to fully transition. I just wanted a feminine body inclusive of breasts but I did not want to change my genitalia. I wanted to live as a transsexual, transgender woman… whatever label suited. I didn’t care what others called me. To me I was just Wendy who was a special girl who attracted men who liked special women like me… and there were plenty of them.

Delores Cashmore’s client base had swelled significantly when word of my existence spread. Punters who had a penchant for me told friends they knew who liked the same thing. I still provided B&D and S&M services but most of the punters who came to see me simply wanted to spend time with a young pretty trans girl.

I knew that Mrs Cashmore trusted me fully when she showed me how to manage her booking services. She had a small office set up in a space under the stairs that wasn’t much bigger than a closet. Both of us could just squeeze in. Bookings were still mainly made over the phone and she had an answering machine set up on a separate landline and also had dialup internet.

Most of the clients demanded secrecy and that’s what made Mrs Cashmore, her two cohorts Felicity Bancroft, Amanda Blundell and myself attractive to the punters. Mrs Cashmore manned her business phone from one o’clock to three o’clock in the afternoon on weekdays and Saturdays or clients could leave messages on the answering machine outside of these times. She also had an email address and had Windows 2000 installed on her PC.

Punters could ask for specific services from specific women or just specify what their kink was and when they would like the service provided. Mrs Cashmore ran a spreadsheet in Excel and assigned punters to each of us. She advertised special events such as the orgy she ran once a month.

She would pass punters onto Mrs Bancroft and Mrs Blundell who worked from their own homes and also had their own smaller client lists.

It was a complicated system but it worked. We were all making good money and the clients usually got the services they requested when they wanted them. Mrs Cashmore of course was making the most money, taking a cut from each of us but for that she ran the booking service and paid protection to Steven Cottrell who passed a percentage onto his contacts in the Metropolitan Police’s Clubs and Vice Unit to keep them at bay.

I was still wary when I was out on my own but my confidence grew with each foray I made out into the wider world. My main concern was that I didn’t have any credentials in Wendy’s name so in event I was asked to provide any form of ID I only had that of William Baxter. I used my credit card in cash vending machines and paid for everything in cash.

“Can I get a passport?” I asked Delores after I had been living with her for nearly a year.

“You mean a forgery? A good forgery?” she looked up from the Daily Mail and studied me.

“I want to go overseas and get breast implant surgery,” I replied.

I had been taking black market female hormones and my body had changed somewhat. I hardly had to shave any longer, my thighs, hips and buttocks were bigger and my face was more feminine but my budding breasts had stopped at an ‘A-cup’ and all my research indicated that they would likely not get any bigger. It was a balancing act because if I upped my hormone dose I would lose my ability to maintain an erection which I still wanted to be able to do and so did most of my clients.

“You’re impatient Wendy but I can understand your frustration,” she put down her paper and patted the sofa beside her.

“I’ll be up front with you, I have only one contact that I trust who could get you a passport that will pass scrutiny,” she said and looked at me gravely.

“Steven Cottrell,” I sighed.

“Exactly and I know he is not your favourite person,” she sympathised.

I’d been requested to service Steven Cottrell a number of times and each time he had treated me brutally. I had become accustomed to being restrained and spanked, whipped and caned and provided it was done within the bounds set by Delores I usually enjoyed it. But Steven Cottrell was savage. He liked to punish me until I used the safeword and then take me roughly.

He paid a premium but if possible I preferred not to have to service him.

“Can you negotiate on my behalf? I really want proper breasts, other than that I’m happy with my body. I bet the punters will like it too if I have a decent pair of tits,” I countered.

“We’ve had these conversations in depth Wendy and I know that you want to progress your transformation but I think you should really go and see a psychologist or at least talk to your mother,” Delores took my hand and held it.

She saw the storm begin to build on my face.

“Alright, alright, I’ll see what I can do for you but I hope you don’t live to regret it,” she relented.

“Thank you Delores,” I kissed her on the mouth.

“Ok, go about your chores and join me in the office at one o’clock,” she kissed me and sent me on my way.

*****

John Benstead was still running his forgery and counterfeit business even though his transgender wife Candy Pops earned a good wage working in a managerial position for Goldwing Airlines where she had started out as hostess back in the late 1970s. Candy had also worked as a drug mule for London gangster Tony Carlotta when she was working as a hostess on Goldwing’s premier Skyliner service to and from Singapore.

John Benstead had been Tony Carlotta’s counterfeiter and when Tony Carlotta had died Steven Cottrell had moved in and taken over Tony’s criminal organisation. Now in his sixties and near retirement, John Benstead usually didn’t do mundane counterfeiting or forgery work. He had a small team who he had personally trained who did it on his behalf passing on a percentage of the profits to Steven Cottrell.

His business still operated out of the dodgy dilapidated building in a back street of Moulsham near Chelmsford. It was the perfect front for a fraudster and forger to ply his trade.

As I made my way down the dark alley strewn with abandoned shopping trolleys, junk food wrappers, empty beer cans and bottles, cigarette butts and condom wrappers I shuddered. I was taken aback when I passed a doorway where a fat, middle-aged prostitute wearing a cheap vinyl miniskirt, faux leopardskin blouse and laddered fishnet stockings was being shagged against the wall by a man in a business suit.

I deliberately looked away and continued down the alley until I came to an innocuous looking door with peeling blue paint. The door was actually solid steel and almost impenetrable. I knocked on the door and it opened just enough for me to enter; before me stood a man of indiscernible age but probably in his sixties. His handsome face had had some work done and he was still lean, fit and tanned and he was wearing tight jeans and a Transvixen t-shirt circa 1975.

“What is it about me that I seem to attract girls of your type?” he smiled, the smoke from the cigarette dangling from his lips curling up around his eyes.

“What’s that?” I was bemused by the ultra-modern interior of the building that contrasted completely with its shabby exterior.

There were long tables with gleaming machines, myriad cameras of various types set on tripods or mounted over document tables. There were copiers and printers and reams of paper everywhere.

“I met my Missus, Candace or Candy as she prefers right here in this workshop where I made her first passport before she legally changed her gender and got a kosher one. I made a passport for Valerie Swindon who ran a finishing school right down the road in Chelmsford and believe it or not I made one for Michelle Murphy formally known as Cherri Pops, the lead guitarist of Transvixen. Michelle actually introduced me to Candy,” John grinned at me and put out his cigarette in an overflowing ashtray.

“All before your time dear but if you Ask Jeeves you’ll find them all,” his smile widened.

“Don’t forget Charlie Ringwald, the only survivor of the Essex Slasher, I’ve done my homework,” I smiled back at him.

“So, Steven Cottrell told me I was to handle this as a personal favour for him,” John became serious.

“How’s a nice young girl like you got herself involved with that sadistic cunt?” John opened a drawer and took out some paperwork.

“Does it matter?” I replied.

“Not really. Mister Cottrell is the boss and whatever he wants he gets,” John laid out a number of passport stencils on the table.

“You can go and stand over there next to the wall where that canvass screen is hanging,” John instructed me.

I put down my bag and stood with my back to the canvass screen. I was wearing a short-skirted navy blue business suit, black high heels and tan pantyhose. I’d had my hair styled and paid particular attention to my makeup for the passport photo.

My youthful good looks, curvaceous figure and long shapely legs were not lost on John Benstead who ogled me through the camera lens.

“You’re too young and pretty to be a brass but I can’t figure out what other connection you might have to Steve Cottrell,” John said as he fiddled with the camera.

“Delores Cashmore warned me about you,” I replied, nonplussed by John’s probing.

“That explains it then. You’re one of Delores’ brasses. I never knew that she’d branched out into girls of your type or I might have availed myself of her services,” John lifted his head and smiled at me.

“And what about your wife Candy? What would she think of you using Mrs Cashmore’s services?” I replied satirically.

John burst out laughing.

“The missus would likely want to tag along. We’re both getting long in the tooth but we still like a bit of variety in our sex life,” John grinned.

“Just take the photographs please Mister Benstead,” I huffed.

John shrugged his shoulders and took the pictures. When he finished he offered me a drink.

“I’m driving Mrs Cashmore’s car and I don’t have a licence in my name so if I get pulled over I’m a goner,” I replied, turning down my mouth.

“That’s all right luv, I’ll make you a driver’s licence too,” John smiled back.

“It’s a piece of piss and I can do that for you now if you’d like to wait,” John patted an overstuffed lounge chair.

I considered my options and realised that I should have asked for the licence as well as the passport.

“Can you do me a birth certificate too?” I asked.

“Now you’re pushing it,” John smiled at me.

I ignored the lounge chair and sidled up to John Benstead.

“I can make it worth your while,” I whispered and nibbled his earlobe.

“I bet you can,” John grinned at me.

He fiddled with some paperwork and then had me sign a specimen signature on the blank driver’s licence. It was the first time that I had actually signed my name as Wendy Baxter and I was thrilled to do it. I gave him another signature for the passport.

He put the document into machine and a few seconds later a plasticised driving licence with my picture and signature on it emerged. John walked over and showed it to me.

“Lovely,” I said excitedly.

John snatched it away from me when I reached for it. He hid it behind his back and I rubbed up against him playfully and attempted to retrieve it.

John pulled me against him and kissed me and I responded. I returned his kisses and reached for the bulge in his jeans. John gasped when I unzipped him and dropped to my knees.