Chapter 1: Strangers on a Train

Prelude:

’In olden days, a glimpse of stocking was looked on as something shocking but now, God knows, anything goes,” ... song by Cole Porter circa 1934

Bakerloo Line, London, October 1963

Donald Cooper

A glimpse of nylon stocking changed Donald Cooper’s life forever.

He was sitting in a six-car motor carriage on his way to work. He was a lawyer at a mid-size law firm on The Strand near Charing Cross. As usual the carriage was packed with commuters and Donald was sitting on a bench seat reading The Daily Telegraph when a pretty office girl boarded the carriage and Donald surrendered his seat with a nod of his head and a smile, which the girl returned.

Donald was happy to stand in the crowded carriage holding onto the overhead grab handle with one hand whilst holding his folded broadsheet with the other with his briefcase between his feet. Like the rest of the standing passengers he was facing the windows, holding up his folded newspaper in front of his face whilst pretending to read it.

What he was really looking at were the legs of the pretty office girl who was dressed in the livery of most office girls at the time, consisting of a tailored wool suit over a silk a blouse, tan stockings and stiletto heels. The girl had put her purse in her lap and modestly crossed her ankles when she sat down and had taken out her Woman’s Weekly in which she became immediately engrossed.

The more she concentrated on her magazine, the less she considered her modesty and after a while she fidgeted with her purse which allowed her skirt to rise up and she unconsciously opened her legs just a little. There was nothing pornographic on display but Donald could see the shadow welt of her stockings which was more than enough to titillate him.

Being a hosiery aficionado, Donald knew that fully fashioned stockings are knitted from sheer nylon yarn and to support the attachment of suspenders, they have a darker section of double fabric at the top, called the welt. This is followed by a lighter transitional section called the shadow welt. Seeing the actual welt and a garter clip was hoping for too much and Donald was more than happy with the leg show that the pretty office girl was unintentionally portraying.

Donald’s gaze meandered from the girl’s plump thighs to her shapely calves and finally came to rest on her ankles where her sheer tan nylons formed tiny wrinkles. The overhead lighting in the carriage was quite harsh and the sheen of the woman’s stockings shimmered as the carriage rocked and rolled its way along the tube.

The lights suddenly flickered on and off as they were want to do whenever the train ran over a gap in the current-rail and Donald’s gaze was briefly interrupted. He was about to resume his contemplation of the office girl’s legs but he found himself a little disoriented and distracted and found himself instead looking at the ankles of the man sitting beside her.

Was he seeing things or were the man’s ankles sheathed in nylon stockings? He knew that men often wore sheer socks with their business suits, especially in the summer, but it wasn’t summer and the hosiery appeared quite distinctively to be nylon stockings.

Although he could only see the man’s ankles and the bottom of his calves the hosiery looked exactly like expensive fully-fashioned stockings.

Then he saw that the man was wearing ankle socks that had fallen down almost into the upper of the man’s brogues. Donald was fascinated. Why would a man wear stockings, especially on a crowded train? The man was wearing navy-blue suit trousers and near the top of the man’s thigh Donald was sure that he could see the silhouette of a garter snap delineated in the trouser material.

It was almost is if the man suddenly realised that he had been unconsciously showing off his stockings and he quickly bent down and pulled his patterned nylon dress socks up his calves and pulled down the cuffs of his trousers. The man’s face was crimson with embarrassment and he wildly looked around the train to see if anyone had noticed and Donald was able to avert his eyes just as the man’s gaze fell on him. Convinced that he had not been clocked the man settled back into his seat and carried on reading his newspaper.

Donald was bamboozled and also fascinated. Why would a man in a suit be wearing stockings underneath his trousers?

Donald couldn’t let it go. He had to find out!

The train pulled into Charing Cross which was Donald’s stop but Donald didn’t get off until two stations later at Oxford Circus where the man in the navy blue suit stood up and picked up a rather large valise and pressed through the crowd towards the door and Donald found himself following the man across the gap and onto the platform.

The man joined the throng of commuters heading for the stairs and Donald fell in directly behind and two steps below him. As the man ascended the concrete stairs his dress socks once again fell down revealing the man’s ankles and lower calves and at eyelevel there was no doubt that the man was wearing tan nylon stockings. The Cuban heel and backseam were clearly visible.

Donald followed the man to a bookshop where the man unlocked the doors and scurried inside. Donald watched through the shop window as the man lifted the swinging flap in the counter and put his oversize valise and newspaper under the counter and began to fiddle with the till. The man faffed around a little: putting on the kettle, fiddling with an arrangement of books on a display table and switched on the fluorescent lights above the aisles of shelved books.

Donald took three steps back and looked up at the gilt sign above the door. Clifford’s Books and Sundries it read. Julian Clifford Proprietor it said in smaller writing below the main sign.

The man who Donald presumed was Julian Clifford approached the door and Donald pretended to be peering at the window display. The man switched the sign hanging in the glass door from Closed to Open and Donald was finally able to get a good look at him.

Donald pretended to read the hand-printed advertisements in the window as a ruse to watch Julian. One read Passport Photographs Here – One Shilling Each, another read Xerox Copies – Sixpence Each

The man he assumed to be Julian Clifford was small and slender, standing five foot two inches tall. His hair was amber blonde and worn rather thick and long for a man his age. He was neat and fastidious and seemed to glide across the floor rather than walk. Donald watched the man make himself a cup of tea behind the counter and was brought out of his reverie when a customer entered the shop.

“Jesus!” Donald exclaimed as he shot his cuff and checked his watch.

He must get going otherwise he would be late for work.

Julie Clifford

“What the fuck was I thinking? Goodness gracious!” Julian Clifford wrung his hands in embarrassment and frustration.

“I’m sure that man saw my stockings! What on earth was it that made me do that?” Julian sipped tea and tried to settle his nerves.

Julian knew exactly what made him do that. Clifford’s Books and Sundries was barely surviving. It was as if all of Julian’s beautiful books were hanging precipitously near the edge of a cliff. They would be taken away from him and sold for pennies on the pound when the inevitable happened and Julian declared bankruptcy and his creditors picked over the bones of his business.

The bookshop was barely breaking even and Julian had a mortgage on a two-up-two-down in Lambeth and was struggling to keep up with mortgage payments but now his long-time lodger, Peter Forest, had gone and got himself engaged and was moving out. Julian had tried subletting Peter’s room but no one was interested. More lost income!

Julian had just about resigned himself to bankruptcy when hope came his way through the most extraordinary chain of events.

Julian was, and for most of his life had been, a crossdresser, or a transvestite, he didn’t really care about the vernacular.

Sharing his house with a lodger did have its limitations and one of them was that Julian could not present himself as Julie, his feminine alter-ego, in his own home. Julie was actually the dominant personality and consciousness inside the body she shared with Julian.

Julie regarded Julian as another person entirely but someone who was inextricably linked to her. Julian’s transformation into Julie was fully immersive and always had been. She never saw herself as her male alter ego, even though Julian occupied her body for long periods of time. Julian was a necessity and if she had her way she would live her life full-time as Julie but it was just impossible to do so.

Julian had to keep Julie a secret from his family and from Peter Forest of course, which meant that in Julian Clifford’s bedroom closet was only a meagre supply of lingerie and stockings that Julian slipped into alone in his room at night with the door securely locked. It was all he could do to conjure up Julie who slept in sheer tights and blue rayon babydoll pyjamas, clinging to the vestiges of her femininity.

But in Julian’s small office at the rear of the bookshop was a huge French walnut armoire that had been left to him by his late aunt and inside it was everything that Julian needed to become Julie which he did three nights a week. Over the years Julie had perfected her look and was almost unclockable, especially at night. That said, a girl like her was vulnerable and she sought the company of her own kind where they flocked at a pub called the The Elephant and Castle, or as the regulars called it: The Trunk and Brick.

Julie enjoyed the evening tube ride from her shop in Oxford Circus to and from the Trunk and Brick, which was ironically located only a few minutes’ walk from her house in Lambeth. She was often ogled by men but seldom clocked as a transvestite and had been propositioned a number of times but had never been harassed. Julie felt safe.

The Elephant and Castle was a good old British pub where you could enjoy a good old knees-up and a good old sing-along following the bouncing ball above the words to the songs which were projected onto the white plastered wall, the music provided by two elderly but handsome and elegant grey-haired, obviously gay men, who thumped out the tunes on back-to-back upright pianos.

There was good old British pub grub, good old British beer and of course good old British transvestites and their admirers.

The Trunk and Brick was a well-known haunt for gays, drag queens, crossdressers and those attracted to them. On Friday and Saturday nights there was a drag show to which the pianists, Riccardo and Hernando, provided the accompaniment.

Riccardo and Hernando were actually Eric and Herbert Sugden, two antique dealers from Watford but why spoil the mystique? Most of the customers at the Trunk and Brick were there for the fantasy so why not Eric and Herbert?

Julie went to the Trunk and Brick for the company of her own kind, to have a few drinks, a few laughs and of course to be admired. Although she often fantasised about going home with one of the punters, she had yet to do so. Julie’s main concern was being caught in flagrante delicto by one of her colleagues, friends or family. The shame of being caught would ruin her business and she would be shunned.

Riding the tube and spending a night at the Elephant and Castle three times a week was as daring as Julie was prepared to go, given her current situation, although she longed to live full-time as a woman. Then one evening at the Elephant and Castle something happened. Something life changing.

That fateful September evening Julian had taken a long luxurious bath during which he had shaved his legs and the very few hairs that sprouted on his chest. As a teenager in school he had been teased by the other students in the boys change room when he undressed to change into his PT strip. They already bullied him for being small and slender but as the other boys were going through adolescence they began to sprout hair all over their bodies whilst Julian remained smooth-skinned.

As Julian ran the razor down his long legs he now considered it a blessing having a virtual hairless body and legs that only required shaving once a fortnight.

He changed into casual clothing and said good night to Peter Forest who was settling in for the evening, waiting for his fiancé to arrive having purchased a takeaway chicken tikka masala and two bottles of Babycham. Peter thought that Julian was off to one of his boring book clubs which he attended three nights a week.

When Julian arrived at his bookshop he let himself in and locked the door securely behind himself. He went straight to the office at the back of the store, closed the door and turned on the light and opened the armoire.

He surveyed its contents and his heart sang. He removed the large makeup case from its shelf and carefully laid out the cosmetics just as he liked to; each in order that he would use them. He stripped naked and dressed in a satin dressing gown. He would dearly love to slip into stockings and knickers but he denied himself the pleasure. Dressing would wait until he had done his face.

With deft skill he applied foundation, powder, eyeliner, eyeshadow, mascara, rouge and lipstick in that order and finished by sprayed himself liberally with perfume. He had four wigs propped on wigstands on one of the shelves: black, blonde, brunette and redhead. He wore his own honey-blonde hair long, which was becoming the fashion and when he brushed it just right and set it with hairspray it went from being a Beatle mop-top to a feminine layered bob. But tonight he needed something more striking.

Julian selected the blonde Marilyn Monroe wig and carefully brushed and styled the wig and put on a wig cap (a cut down old nylon stocking), then set the wig on his crown and pinned it.

Having selected what he wanted wear Julian got to work dressing. He stepped into a black and red satin and lace suspender belt and sat down on a hard backed wooden chair and began by pulling the nylon stockings up his freshly shaved legs which was always a thrill and tonight was no different. His legs tingled with delight as he smoothed out the wrinkles, snapped the garter clips to the welts and straightened the seams. Pulling the tight red full-cut satin knickers up his legs was a delight unto itself and Julian found himself becoming aroused. He waited for his erection to subside and pushed his testes up into his inguinal canals and tucked his scrotum and penis along his perineum and continued to dress.

He put on the matching bra and filled the cups with balled up nylons to give them some form; stepped into a black satin full-slip, put on a simple navy blue skirt and a red satin blouse, stepped into black high-heeled pumps and accessorised; but not overly. He put the jacket which matched the skirt over the back of the chair.

Julian stood in front of the full-length mirror mounted on the door of the armoire and was pleased with what he saw. Julie had emerged from her cocoon and she looked beautiful, feminine and sexy. She felt herself becoming partly tumescent and she concentrated until the uncomfortableness dissipated. When she presented as Julie she would often find herself becoming concupiscent at inconvenient times and she had developed a mind-control technique to control her urges.

Julie threw keys, cigarettes and cash into a smart leather handbag gilded with faux gold trappings and a shoulder strap. She carried no form of identification. If the worse were to happen she did not want to be identified at Julian Clifford. She put on her jacket and an overcoat, slung her handbag over her shoulder and click-clacked along the street to the tube entrance and twenty minutes later was safely ensconced in the Elephant and Castle.

The pub was crowded, raucous and smoke-filled as usual as Julie made her way to the small table where her friends huddled. Julie had a great night, chatting with her transvestite acquaintances, trying unsuccessfully not to think about her woes. She didn’t consider the trannies friends exactly, because like Julie, they kept their male persona a secret. In the safety of the Elephant and Castle they could be the women they wanted to be but in the real world they would be disgraced if their secret was revealed.

Of course the admirers flocked to the tables where the transvestites clustered and some of the more brazen girls went with them to the pay-by-the-hour sleazy hotels frequented by the brasses who worked the streets of Lambeth and Soho. On this particular night Julie was approached by a very handsome young man who kept buying her drinks and gave her his undivided attention.

The ever-present realisation that she might lose her beloved bookshop and her house caused her to seek solace in alcohol and the attentions of the handsome young man. She drank far more than she was used to and the man offered to walk her to the tube station as she was a little unsteady on her feet.

The man pulled Julie into a dark alley and began to kiss her. Julie had never been kissed like this before. The man’s lips were tender but pressing, his tongue slipped into her mouth and she found it quite exciting. His hand was inside her coat and around her waist, holding her tight, pulling her close to him. He smelled of Vickers gin, Woodbine cigarettes and aftershave.

Julie smelled of Vickers gin, Consulate menthol cigarettes and perfume. The man nuzzled her neck and nibbled her ear and Julie shivered with delight wherever he touched her. She had never felt more womanly and wondered why she had never done this before.

He kissed her again and the man used his tongue in ways that Julie had never experienced but realised that she could come to like. When his other hand slipped inside her coat and journeyed from her waist down to her thigh she made no attempt to stop it and the man thought he had tacit consent to put his hand under her skirt so he did.

Julie baulked and put her hand on his to stop him. They continued to kiss and although the man’s hand did not stray he massaged her thigh with his fingers. She could feel the heat of his hand on her stocking-clad leg which combined with the softness of his lips on hers and the insistence of his tongue in her mouth caused her to become aroused.

Julie had been manhandled and groped in the Elephant and Castle on more than a few occasions. Men had even placed unsolicited sloppy kisses on her mouth. It came with the territory and she had always managed to swipe away the roving hand, slap an insolent face or even kick the shins of men pressing unwanted advances on her but this different. The alcohol and her depressed state of mind had made her more vulnerable. She was seeking solace in this handsome young man’s advances.

She surrendered and removed her hand from the man’s and it continued its journey up her thigh. When the man’s fingers caressed the welts of her stockings, then the band of pale flesh above them she gasped into his mouth and clung to him even tighter. Then he stroked the front of her satin knickers and she nearly collapsed in his arms with the intensity of the lust surging though her body. The man pushed her against the wall and pressed his advances.

She closed off that part of her mind that told her what she doing was foolish and dangerous. She just wanted to forget her woes and take some comfort where she could.

The man took her hand in his and put it inside his coat and rested it in his groin. Inside his trousers Julie felt the man’s penis uncoil like a snake awakened from a deep sleep. She had been in this situation only once before and she had grabbed the man’s scrotum and squeezed it until he screamed; but not this time.

Her fingers instinctively curled around the girth of the man’s penis through his trousers. His cock felt spongy and serpentine; she could feel it thicken and begin to throb dully. Impulsively she squeezed it and the man gasped. He rubbed his hands on her knickers and stocking-tops harder and faster, alternatively squeezing her knicker-clad buttocks under her skirt.

Julie was uncomfortably erect inside her knickers. Her testes had descended and her cock lay bloated along her perineum. The man’s hand ventured between her legs and inadvertently freed her penis which distended the front of her knickers and she felt the man smile around his kisses.

“You randy bitch!” he whispered but Julie pulled his mouth to hers to shut him up.

She kissed him harder, driving her tongue into his mouth. She didn’t want him to speak and ruin the moment or spoil her fantasy.

She gripped his cock and began to stroke it through his trousers but the man slapped her hand away and impatiently unbuttoned his flies. He took Julie’s hand and guided it back to his phallus which was now fully erect and poking out of his trousers.

Her instinct was to snatch her hand away but the man put it back even though Julie had begun to struggle. He tried to push her hand onto his cock but she refused to grasp it, her fingers and palm kept brushing against it but she wouldn’t take him in hand. Touching his bare flesh was going too far.

That was until the man changed tactics and began to slowly stroke Julie through her satin knickers and waves of pleasure, like butterfly wings caressing her most sensitive places, began to radiate from her groin.

Julie capitulated and allowed the man to press her hand to his bare cock. It felt like an iron bar cloaked in velvet. She could feel the veins enveloping the shaft like vines clinging to a tree trunk. They pulsed and palpitated as the man’s blood surged through them and his penis became fully tumescent. With a manicured fingernail she traced a vein from the base of his penis to the spongy glans on the tip and smiled to herself as she expressed a globule of pre-ejaculate.

She worked the precum into his velvety flesh and the man groaned and his cock quivered. Another dribble of slick pre-ejaculate oozed from his glans and Julie collected it and lubricated the man’s shaft as she slowly stroked the hard pulsing appendage. The man squeezed Julie through her slinky knickers and she felt herself begin to leak precum too. If the man had not been holding her tight her knees would likely have given way because she felt so weak and overcome with lechery.

Julie knew what she was doing was wrong. She was no better than the trannies who went with punters to the cheap hotel rooms in Soho and got themselves buggered or the tarts who got down on their knees amongst the empty beer barrels out back of the Trunk and Brick and fellated strangers.

But she rationalised her thoughts. She wasn’t bent over being buggered by a stranger or sucking on some admirer’s dick, she was seeking solace with a handsome young man and they were simply enjoying some foreplay. Julie knew that she was lying to herself. She had been prim and proper all these years, convincing herself that crossdressing had nothing to do with sex. She had discharged that axiom as soon as she let this handsome stranger take her into the ally.

The man began to stroke Julie’s hard cock through her knickers and all thoughts, other than how wonderful it felt, disappeared and she kissed the man harder and stroked his cock a little faster, listening to his breathing become laboured as his passion built.

Suddenly the man whipped his hands under Julie’s thighs and lifted her off her feet and slammed her back into the brick wall. Julie had no choice but to wrap her legs around the man’s waist and put her arms around his shoulders. He didn’t even break their kiss and she didn’t want him to. He moved his hands under her buttocks and squeezed as his cock came to rest on the front of her knickers pressing the satin fabric onto her phallus.

“You can’t fuck me,” Julie whispered in the dark and she felt the man smile.

“I’m not going to,” The man whispered his reply and began to kiss her again.

He thrust his cock against her, the flimsy knicker fabric the only thing between their flesh.

Julie moaned as she felt the man’s throbbing appendage pressing on her own. Then he began to hump her, driving his cock into her knickers, rubbing his manhood on her tingling flesh. The pleasure intensified and within seconds her knickers were wet as they both leaked pre-ejaculate.

The man thrust harder and drove Julie into the wall so hard that her back hurt, his tongue fluttering in her mouth, his lips pressed hard against hers, his fingers digging into her buttocks as he ejaculated.

“Oh dear! Oh my! Goodness gracious!” Julie was caught by surprise when she felt the man’s penis judder and suddenly her cock was enveloped in warm, viscous, slippery coagulant which she soon realised was the man’s semen.

The musky scent of spunk assailed her nostrils, adding to the all-encompassing sensations she was feeling and she released into her knickers, her semen comingling with the strangers.

She drummed her heels on the man’s back and raked her fingernails along his neck as she writhed with pleasure; an orgasm like she had never imagined washed over her like waves breaking on the rocks. Her kisses were fervid as rings of pleasure radiated from her groin, feeling the man’s hard flesh pressing on hers as he continued to spurt his issue into her saturated knickers.

The two lovers clung to each other until they were both spent and then the man abruptly dropped his hands away from under Julie’s bottom and she fell to the ground, her heels giving way on the cobbles. The man caught her before she suffered the indignity of sitting on her arse on the cold damp cobbled pathway. He hoisted her to her feet then pushed his still bloated phallus inside his trousers and buttoned his flies.

“That were a treat love,” the man rummaged in his pocket and pulled out two one pound notes and pressed it into her hand before he hastily fled.

“No! I’m not...” Julie called after the man but she stopped suddenly when she realised that it was late and she was shouting.

Now she had to deal with the reality of the situation. Her knickers were soaked with two loads of semen and she was stranded in an alley around the corner from the tube station. She felt guilty, humiliated and used but she had no time to be maudlin. She dropped her knickers, trying valiantly to keep them away from her skirt and her stockings. She balled them up and wrapped them in tissues and put them in her purse along with the two pounds that the man had thrust into her hand.

She stepped closer to the road so she had some light and was relieved to see that her skirt had only one silvery sliver of drying ejaculate near the hem which she rubbed with the pad of her finger. She couldn’t resist putting the finger in her mouth and savouring the sweet muskiness of the man’s sperm.

“You harlot!” she whispered to herself.

She had laddered a stocking and her face was a mess but otherwise she showed no outward sign of the indelicate situation she was in. Her penis and scrotum hung between her legs and she realised that she had no choice but to put her knickers back on. She dried them as best she could with tissues and then stepped into the warm, damp, silky delicates.

She made no attempt to tuck; she just pulled her knickers tight so they held everything in place. The damp fabric was uncomfortable and the semen was cooling, making her squidgy knickers feel even more vulgar.

After fixing her makeup she hurried to the station and caught the tube to Oxford Circus, convinced that the few passengers sitting in her carriage were staring at her when of course they were not. Not that she didn’t get a favourable glance or two from the man sitting across from her, but he could tell from her body language that she was unapproachable.

Julie let herself into the bookshop and went into her office where she immediately took off her knickers and tossed them in the bin. She had sobered up a little during the sexual encounter in the alley but the alcohol was taking affect again and she was dog tired. She pulled out the little fold-down trundle bed, took off her coat and kicked off her heels and fell on it and was asleep within seconds.

Donald Cooper

Donald Cooper found it difficult to settle down at work. He sat in his office putting the final touches to a brief. It was a motion to dismiss and he was comparing the trail transcript to the eloquent prose in the brief that he would present to the judge in two days’ time.

Donald was usually distracted by the pretty office girls as they flitted around the practice in clouds of perfume with their skirts flicking and heels clacking. But today he was distracted by the image of a shapely ankle and calf clad in sheer fully-fashioned stockings that peeked from the cuff of a man’s business suit: the shapely calf of Julian Clifford.

Why was he so obsessed with it? Donald had no leanings towards men. It was incongruous that a man would wear nylon stockings under his suit but he’d definitely seen the outline of a garter snap on Julian’s thigh. Was Julian wearing knickers too? Donald shook his head to try to clear the image and to take his mind off his obsession he looked at a short-skirted secretary bending over a desk.