Chapter 2: I Am Yours With the Following Caveats

When Michael finally escaped the investment meeting he scurried back to his workstation. Stills and Shipley had installed the latest technological advances in their offices and each of the staff had their own computer which was linked to the office network and some were linked to other financial institutions and even the fledgling internet.

Michael was good at what he did and the portfolios that he managed were all providing reasonable returns. Stills and Shipley were not known for their generosity to their staff, particularly those on the lower pecking order such as Michael but he made a reasonable living which he subsidised working at The Horseshoe Club. The Horseshoe was where Michael would like to work full-time if he could, but there just wasn’t enough money to be made as a performance artist. That was how Michelle saw herself ... as a performer.

Alan Wright spent a lot of his time that afternoon in his office thinking about Crystal Palace. He knew that was just her ‘drag name’ and he wondered what her real name was. What he meant by her ‘real name’ was the femme name used by the man who inhabited her persona. He strongly suspected that Michael Tanner might be that man but he didn’t want to think about Michael Tanner, he wanted to think about Crystal Palace. That said, if he could prove that Michael Tanner was in fact Crystal Palace that would give him leverage. Alan Wright had got to where he was in the in company by using leverage; he was not the kind of man who shied away from using a little blackmail when necessary to get what he wanted.

Alan’s fascination with transvestites and crossdressers began when he attended a work conference in Manchester the previous year. In the nineties these conferences were want to be booze-fests and this one was no different. After welcome drinks at the convention centre on the first evening many participants ventured out to sample the nightlife, including Alan Wright who ended up in a seedy underground bar near Canal Street.

His drinking pals had a great time mingling with the queer folk, in particular the transvestites and drag queens, however one by one his boozy colleagues fell away, victims of over indulgence, some returned to hotel and some snuck off to a nearby brothel.

Alan ended up in a dark corner with a transvestite named Carlotta. Over more drinks she told him about how she had an ordinary day job but dressed up as Carlotta in the evenings. Carlotta was about ten years older than Alan but she looked very feminine and sexy, Alan didn’t even think of her as a man. She was attractive, her face enhanced by heavy makeup and she wore a form-fitting dress which emphasised her hourglass figure and showed off her long legs which were sheathed in fully-fashioned stockings. Alan had a thing for ladies in stockings and high heels.

After a bit of kissy-face and under that table fumbling Carlotta got to the point. She was more than willing to introduce Alan to the delights, debauchery and indulgence that were to be experienced with a ‘special woman’ but it was going to cost him a few quid.

By now Carlotta was squeezing Alan’s hard cock through his trousers under that table and kissing him passionately between sipping the drinks that Alan kept buying her at an exorbitant rate. Alan was drunk enough not to care, his per diem would cover it, and sober enough that his concupiscence and inquisitiveness overcame any trepidation he had regarding going home with this woman.

Carlotta took Alan to her small dingy flat somewhere in the backstreets. Not that he cared about the shabbiness of his surroundings, he was too hell bent on sampling the delights of Carlotta’s body.

“Ok darling, let’s see the fibre of your fabric,” Carlotta locked the door and closed the curtains.

“What?” Alan was confused.

“No money ... no honey,” Carlotta smiled at him and held out her hand.

“Oh ... I get it,” Alan fumbled for his wallet and produced the agreed amount of cash.

Carlotta took the notes and put them in a tobacco jar on the mantelpiece. She dimmed the lights and dropped down onto the sofa.

“Come and get it darling,” she opened her arms and smiled up at him invitingly.

Alan felt a lot safer in the privacy of Carlotta’s flat and whipped off his jacket and tie.

“Don’t stop there honey, it’s nice and warm in here, take it all off,” Carlotta quipped.

“Aren’t we goin to the bedroom?” Alan looked a little bemused.

“Oh honey ... that isn’t going to happen. We’re fine here on the couch,” she patted the cushion beside her.

‘What the hell,’ Alan thought; ‘did it matter’?

Alan wasted no time stripping naked and although it felt a little strange being naked in this stranger’s house he was keen to get to know Carlotta more intimately. Carlotta made no attempt to take off any of her clothing and neither did he want her to. Alan wasn’t stupid. He knew that her tits were fake and whilst he was intrigued by her, he had intention of investigating what she might have in the front of her knickers.

He sat down beside Carlotta and wrapped her in his arms and kissed her. Her lips were soft and her tongue inquisitive and the smell of her perfume was intoxicating. She felt soft and yielding and the satin dress she was wearing caressed his flesh excitingly. His hand went to her stocking-clad thighs; he stroked the gauzy shadow welt of her stockings, relishing their silky texture.

Carlotta found Alan’s penis and gently stroked it and he growled. She knew how to tease him. She stroked him until he was fully tumescent and then rubbed the throbbing appendage on her thigh. The silky sensation of her nylons on his sensitive organ was delightful and he kissed her harder. He wanted to use his hands on her but didn’t know what he should touch so he left to her to lead him on a journey of discovery.

When Carlotta pushed him off her he was disappointed but when she dropped to her knees he was delighted and trembled in anticipation. He had never had his cock sucked and he was looking forward to that pretty face bobbing up and down his crotch, those soft red lips clamping on his penis and her tongue working on his glans.

Carlotta did not disappoint. She did exactly that and when she lowered her hot wet mouth into his goin and locked her lips around the shaft of his penis Alan moaned. Carlotta used the tip of her tongue on Alan’s fraenulum and she giggled when he writhed on the couch and moaned with lust. She worked her lips up and down Alan’s shaft and slavered at his glans with her tongue and when she felt him close to extremis she backed off.

She kept doing this until Alan was begging for release.

She slipped a hand under her dress and freed her penis and stroked it. Carlotta was turned on too. This man was handsome and it was quite exciting, exposing him to his first transvestite experience. She stopped sucking him and looked up from his lap into his lust-filled face.

“Do you want to fuck me?” she asked.

Alan was both excited and bemused.

“I really want to do that but I don’t know how to. I don’t want to ... you know...” his voice trailed off.

“You don’t want to see or touch my dick. I get it. That would be gay,” she teased him.

She saw the storm clouds developing and she hopped up on the sofa and straddled him, lowering her face to his and kissed him softly.

“Don’t get sulky honey; I know it’s your fist time. Let me take the lead and I guarantee you’ll like it,” Carlotta smiled down at him.

Alan nodded excitedly. He wanted so much to fuck this beautiful woman.

Carlotta hitched up her dress and lay on the lounge and opened her arms and legs, pulling a cushion under the small of her back. Looking at the woman with her heavily made-up face, her long legs sheathed in the sheer black stockings, her pretty pink nylon panties above her creamy thighs, her heels high in air; Alan was more than ready to fuck his first tranny.

Alan knelt between her legs, his hard cock sticking out like the prow of a ship, a filament of translucent precum leaked from the eye. Carlotta caught the dribble of pre-ejaculate and used it to lubricate his penis. Her anus was clean and pre-lubricated in anticipation of bringing a punter home.

She pulled Alan’s face to hers and kissed him while she reached between her legs and took his erect penis in her fingers and guided it inside the leg hole of her knickers and nestled it in her puckered bud.

“Just push darling. Nice and slow,” she whispered in his ear.

Alan did just that and as his cock slid into her tight slick back passage he sighed. The feel of her anus enveloping his cock and her sphincter gripping the base of his cock was amazing. He kissed her harder and lay still, scared that he would lose control and come too quickly.

Carlotta had other ideas. This handsome man had a wonderful cock that pressed against all the right places, but it was late and she too was close to coming.

She wrapped her legs around Alan and began to writhe beneath him, encouraging him to fuck her which he did. Alan jackhammered his cock in and out of her tight anus and after a few strokes was ejaculating deep inside her anus. Carlotta felt him orgasm and it triggered her own. She ejaculated into her knickers.

They kissed and writhed and fucked until they were both exhausted and Alan lay on top of her fighting for breath.

“Was that nice?” Carlotta smiled up at him and mussed his hair.

Alan nodded, still breathless.

“Well come on the love, it’s late and I’m sure we’ve both got things to do today,” she said candidly.

Alan climbed off Carlotta and deliberately turned away as she cleaned up the sticky mess in her knickers. When he was dressed she led him to the door. He hadn’t said a word since he came.

“Post coital regret honey?” she asked.

Alan said nothing; he just stood with his head bowed.

Then he spoke.

“Was I ok?” he whispered.

“You were wonderful love,” she lifted his chin and kissed him softly.

“Thanks Carlotta. I’m not sure I’ll see you again but thank you very much,” he said sheepishly.

Carlotta closed the door behind him and walked over to get her cigarettes off the mantelpiece.

“He’ll be back,” she smiled to herself.

And he was. Every night of the conference.

Michael arrived at The Horseshoe early. There were only three good makeup stations in the dressing room and any girl arriving late either had to wait or go to the ladies loo to do their makeup.

He started his transformation by stripping down to his knickers. He had tucked and taped before he left home and was wearing tight red satin knickers under his jeans. He took the acrylic fingernails out of the little box that he kept them in and painstakingly glued them on. Michael bought them in batches of fifty and pre-painted the nails with red nailpolish at home to save time.

Then he took the longsleeved black cocktail dress that he would be wearing for tonight’s show from his carry bag and hung it up and smoothed out any wrinkles. It was cotton-lycra blend and held its shape well despite being folded. He placed a package of fully-fashioned sheer black stockings on the table; Michelle would not be wearing her dance tights this evening.

Wearing stockings with the short-skirted cocktail dress was a deliberate ploy. The punters liked the girls to be as feminine as possible and passable but they didn’t want to see ordinary women. They wanted the trans women to present as overly sexualised nightclub performers, not housewives. Those sitting near the front of the stage would be able to look up her skirt and that was why she was wearing red, rather than black knickers. She wanted the contrast to be obvious.

Whilst she put everything into her performances and it was her primary reason for working in the club, there was plenty of money to be made from the tranny-chasers who pursued the girls and tipped them heavily.

She clipped a suspender belt around her waist. It too was red satin with long black garters which she threaded through her knickers so she could drop her panties to piss without having to unclip her stockings. She smoothed the garment out and then carefully rolled the nylons up her legs and clipped the garters to the welts.

Next she spent some time gluing her breastforms onto her freshly-shaven chest. Some of the girls went in for big tits but Michelle preferred the c-cups she used, which put plenty of cleavage on her small frame but didn’t look ridiculous. She put on the matching red satin bra with black lace trim. The top of the bodice and sleeves of her dress were sheer mesh which ensued a tasteful glimpse of her brassiere.

She was painstakingly applying her makeup when Melanie Starr, Bianca Delight and Pamela Sanderson drifted in and fought over the remaining makeup stations. Michelle finished her makeup and brushed out her hair; she would not be wearing a wig tonight, and surrendered the station to Bianca. She slipped into her dress, smoothed it out and put on her four-inch heels.

Tonight she would be looking for a more natural look rather than the drag queen presentation that some of the girls were going for. She had eschewed her hip-pads. She didn’t need them because to provide shape because the dress was drop-waisted.

She put on her costume jewellery and was ready for the stage. She would be first up with a four-song set and would have a two hour break while the other girls performed until she came back on stage for her second and final set. She went over and gave Steve her set list and stopped to natter with him for a while.

Michelle knew that Steve was sweet on some of the girls and Bianca, who was taking hormones and hoping for gender reassignment, claimed that she had once taken him home and to give him a sympathy fuck. She said he came all over her best sheers when she took him out of his trousers and was so embarrassed that he fled, never to return. Most of the girls were sceptical but Steve certainly gave Bianca special treatment and followed her around the club like a puppy.

As Michelle was settling at the bar waiting for the club to open Alan Wright was leaving his office and making his way across the deserted open-plan office to Michael Tanner’s cubicle.

At first Michael had been very careful to keep Michael and Michelle’s lives separated, he was paranoid about being caught out but as time moved on, as is often the case, familiarity led to complacency. Alan Wright opened the first two drawers of Michael Tanner’s desk and found only work-related paperwork and stationery. He did find a small lobby card advertising The Horseshoe Club. The bottom drawer was deeper and held some subtle secrets.

At the very bottom of the drawer were two packets of flesh-toned, shimmery dance tights that Michael had purchased during a lunch break and forgotten to take home. In a shoe box there was a pair of high heels with one broken heel that Michael intended to drop at a cobbler to be repaired when he got around to it.

It was all very innocuous and in no way incriminating or recriminating but it was suspicious. No doubt Michael could explain it all away but with what Alan Wright already suspected, it certainly fuelled the fire.

Alan knew he would need to be careful. If Michael Tanner was in fact Crystal Palace, as Alan was almost certain, Michael knew that Alan was at The Horseshoe Club on Thursday night and that he had solicited her. But ... there was a big difference between a man coming onto a tranny in cabaret nightclub than a man dressing up as a woman, performing on stage and then mooching the clientele for drinks and tips.

If he was found out, the most Alan could expect was a ribbing from the other managers but he could easily explain away the fact that he had come on to a transvestite as a case mistaken identity in an alcohol affected fugue. Being management made him pretty much invulnerable but there was no doubt in his Alan’s mind that Michael Tanner would be sacked if management found out about his crossdressing peccadilloes and he was sure that Michael knew it.

Alan checked the time. The Horseshoe Club would be open and the first performances of the evening would be beginning soon. He put on his coat and left the offices of Stills and Shipley Financial Services and took the lift down to the underground car park.

Alan went to his local pub and had a pork pie and two pints of bitter, taking his time and planning his next move. He left the pub and drove to The Horseshoe, parking in the backstreet near the rear exit. It was unlikely that anyone would recognise his car this late on a Friday night but better safe than sorry. He walked around to the main entrance and paid his entry fee. When he parted the curtain and entered the club proper, Crystal Palace was on stage performing her last set.

Alan bought a drink at the bar and made his way to a table at the back of the club so as not to be noticed. He hadn’t been seated for more than five minutes when Pamela Sanderson sidled up to his table and took a seat. She was very attractive and sexy in her figure-hugging evening gown that was spilt both sides to the waist. Her perfume was provocative and when she put her plump red lips next to his ear and whispered, his cock twinged.

“Buy a girl a drink,” she took his hand and placed it on her thigh.

She was wearing thick dance tights but the smooth slippery fabric felt very nice and he stroked her leg briefly before he replied.

“Sorry love, I’m meeting somebody,” he gave her thigh a quick squeeze and took his hand away.

“Who?” Pamela put his hand back on her thigh.

“You know Chrystal Palace?” Alan replied, circling his fingers on her flesh.

“Michelle, that’s her real name, and I have to tell you honey you’re wasting your time there. She doesn’t engage in extra-curricular activities, if you know what I mean,” she winked salaciously at Alan.

“But I do. If you don’t want to buy me drink, come out back and I’ll bob down on you for a tenner. Twenty quid and you can have me up the wrong ‘un up against the wall,” she reached for his groin but he batted her hand away and shook his head.

Pamela pouted and then she smiled at him and got up to leave.

“Well handsome, if Michelle lets you down you know where I am and I’m very friendly and I’m free after the show,” she gave him another salacious wink.

If Alan wasn’t fascinated by Michelle he would definitely have taken Pamela up on her offer. It was good to know that Pamela was available if his plans for Michelle fell through.

Barry Culpepper had an explicit rule that the girls were not to solicit sex in his club but the rule was really only issued to placate the authorities. In reality he didn’t mind the girls engaging in extra-curricular activities so long as they did it off the premises; it encouraged the punters to come to the club.

Alan watched Michelle, as he now knew she called herself, finish her last song. She was good singer and pleasant to listen to and she was very nice to watch. She disappeared backstage for a while and then came out into the club to talk to the punters and solicit drinks.

He watched her move from punter to punter, never staying for longer than a drink or two and rebuking any unwanted advances. She was firm but polite. It would appear that Pamela had told the truth; Michelle had no interest in the customers other than idle chat and milking them for drinks. She worked the room and eventually she made her way to the back of the club where he was sitting.

By the time Michelle realised that it was Alan Wright sitting on his own at the very back of the club it was too late for her to pretend she hadn’t seen him. She decided that the best course of action would be to chat with him politely, elicit a drink from him, and move on as she did with the other punters.

“Hello Mister Black,” she smiled at him cordially but did not sit down.

Alan returned her smile but said nothing. Instead he stood and politely pulled out a chair for her. Michelle sat and Alan helped her settle into the chair and then he sat beside her.

“Are you going to buy me a drink Mister Black?” Michelle asked.

There were no waitresses in the club, the entertainers or the punters were expected to go to the bar themselves. Alan didn’t want Michelle to go to the bar; not just yet anyway.

“You know my name is not Alan Black, don’t you Michelle?” Alan grinned at her.

Michelle froze.

“How do you know my name?” she asked, quite shocked.

“One of the other girls told me,” Alan replied and gripped Michelle’s wrist tightly to prevent her leaving.

“But you know my real name is Alan Wright. I forgot to thank you for the cup of tea you bought me at the progress conference this morning. That was very nice of you,” Alan’s grin widened.

Michelle felt faint. She became lightheaded, her vision blurred, her heart was racing and she felt weak; close to losing consciousness.

Alan steadied her by putting his arm around her. Michelle had no choice but to lean into him to stop herself from collapsing, no matter how much he repulsed her. Not that Alan Wright was ugly, far from it; he was tall, handsome and well-built.

“You stay here Michelle; let me get the drinks,” Alan said when Michelle was able to sit upright of her own volition.

“Gin and tonic right?” the question was rhetorical; Michelle was still unable to speak.

When Alan returned, carefully carrying a tray with four gin and tonics on it, some colour had returned to Michelle’s face. He handed her a drink and she gulped at it. He offered her a cigarette and Michelle, who seldom smoked, nodded and accepted it.

“When did you know?” she whispered.

“I had a very fleeting suspicion last night but it was just passing, I think I just noticed a resemblance. Then this morning I noticed this and it clicked,” Alan pointed to the heart-shaped birthmark on Michelle’s neck.

Michelle flinched when Alan touched her flesh.

“Also you need to take more care when you remove your makeup, I noticed a skerrick of eyeliner at the meeting this morning and you still had a little glue on your fingernails,” he nodded at her acrylics.

“You need to take more care what you keep in your desk drawers at work too,” he took her empty glass from her and gave her the second drink.

“The heels,” she whispered.

“And the tights, I think you might have even forgotten that they are there,” he said and Michelle nodded.

“So now what? You turn me in to Stills and Shipley?” Michelle asked.

“They would probably want to know what you, a senior associate, was using a false name at a bar frequented by female impersonators,” Michelle had gained some of her composure and she sipped her drink.

“Oh if I said anything to management about this I doubt they would be interested in anything you had to say,” Alan countered.

“Anyway ... let me tell you about a conference I attended in Manchester a little while ago. Well not so much the conference, that’s boring, but what happened after is certainly not,” Alan smiled.

Alan summarised his encounters with Carlotta, not going into specific details but leaving no doubt as to what had occurred.

“So I have developed a penchant for special ladies such as yourself,” he finished his tale.

“That’s all very interesting Alan but I’m not like that. I don’t do those things but there are some here that do,” Michelle countered.

“Yes that Pamela woman has already approached me,” Alan conceded.

“Well there you go. No need to pester me then,” Michelle tried to get up but Alan pushed her back down into her seat.

“But how convenient would it be for me having you at my beck and call. No more sneaking around venues like this. No more worrying about getting caught in a back alley or a cheap hotel with a lady of the night. You would be my concubine,” Alan glared at her.

“I’ll resign my position at Stills and Shipley. I’ll quit. You’ll have no hold over me,” Michelle said angrily.

“You silly girl. Wherever you go I’ll let them know about you. You’re nothing but a glorified accountant and I’m a business executive. Who do you think they are going to believe?” Alan smiled wolfishly.

Michelle slumped in her seat defeated.

“Why me? You’re a man of means. You can afford to pay for girls like me,” Michelle pleaded.

“For all the reasons I’ve already stated. Besides; I meant what I said to you last night. I think you’re beautiful. I know who you are under the makeup but I don’t care. I don’t see him; I only see Michelle,” Alan attempted to take her hand.

Michelle tried to snatch it back but Alan held on to it.

“See it for what it is. Think of it as a complement. If I wasn’t so sure that you would repel my advances I would never have taken this approach. But I want you Michelle and I usually get what I want and it’s this Michelle; this to keep me quiet,” Alan leaned in and tried to kiss her but Michelle turned away.

Alan squeezed her hand; not hard, just enough to let her know who was in control. Michelle relented and let him kiss her.

To her surprise he was tender, his lips softly caressing hers, no tongue and hardly any pressure.

“I’m going to give you the weekend to think it over. Let me know your decision on Monday.”

Michelle was very surprised when Alan leaned and kissed her on the cheek and stood up to leave. He dropped twenty pounds on the table and walked away without saying another word.

Michelle called in sick for her Saturday and Sunday shows at The Horseshoe and stayed home all weekend worried sick. What was she to do? Alan was right, if Michael quit Stills and Shipley, Alan would simply find out where he had moved to and tell them. He would poison the well. There were all sorts of consequences if Alan Wright outed her. Michael would lose the few friends he had now, he might even be evicted. Some people would consider him a pervert. It wasn’t so much that he was a crossdresser; it was that he kept it secret.

The bold move would be to come out and live full-time as Michelle. He had considered it but working four nights a week at The Horseshoe Club would not pay the rent. He would have the same problem he had now; there was no financial institution in Britain that would hire a transvestite. Michelle would end up doing what most of the trans women in her situation did, turn to prostitution or pornography to make ends meet.

Melanie Starr lived as a homosexual man when not presenting as Melanie. She had a boyfriend and they were in a committed stable relationship. Bianca Delight had already undergone some reassignment surgery and was thinking of having the full suite and fully transitioning but she had a rich benefactor who liked her just the way she was. Off stage her name was Bianca Longmire and she got around without hardly ever being clocked and didn’t give a shit if she occasionally was. She had a rich boyfriend to take care of her.

The more Michael thought about it the more he realised that his options were limited: be outed and lose his job and never find another job in the finance sector, take a low paid menial job where the fact that he was a closet transvestite didn’t matter, become a prostitute or porn star or as a last resort he could possibly emigrate to another country.

The other problem was that Michael just loved being Michelle as much as Michelle loved performing. The Horseshoe Club was a little seedy but Michelle had hopes of working at a more respectable, better-paying venues.

Michael called Barry Culpepper and told him that Michelle was feeling better and would be there for the Sunday matinee. Michelle came out of the dressing room on Sunday evening and sat at the bar nursing a drink waiting for the club to open. She thought about what she had decided to do. After ruminating on the problem all day Saturday and Sunday she realised that she was worrying too much about the future when all she had deal with was the present.

If she just gave Alan Wright what he wanted she could keep her job at Stills and Shipley and she could keep working here at the Horseshoe. She would just have to be his ... what had he called her ... his concubine, available to him at his beck and call.

Was it really any different to Pamela Sanderson letting drunken men fuck her up against the wall outside the club or taking her to some cheap hovel to molest her for money? Was it any different to Sophie Tart who worked as a high-class trans call-girl, selling her arse to the middle classes? For that matter was it really any different to Bianca Delight who for all intents and purposes was a kept woman who only performed at The Horseshoe because she fancied herself a diva?

Most of the girls were using their sexuality in one form or another to get by.

Michelle put on one of her best performances that night and even Barry Culpepper came out of his office to watch and listen to her. She had made up her mind and was finally free of worry and indecision. She was clearheaded and resolved and concentrated only on giving her best performance.

On Monday Michael Tanner deliberately kept out of the way of Alan Wright. Alan could have approached Michael at any time during the day but of course he didn’t and Michael figured that Alan was enjoying making him sweat. What Alan didn’t know was that Michael wasn’t sweating. He was quite serene. He waited for Alan to go out to lunch and entered his office and dropped a bulky plain white envelope of the desk on which was written Alan Wright – Personal.