Circles In The City Part 1 Of 2 free porn video

Circles in the City By Jennifer Richardson Part 1 of 2 I was sitting on a stool at the bar of a local pub when an elderly man tapped me on the shoulder as he passed by. "You want to watch your back, the Griffith brothers are on the hunt for you." The Griffith being a gang of four brothers who have been in and out of trouble since they were young teenagers. While they were growing up they had gravitated to bigger things, from petty pilfering to burglary, car theft and now they were dabbling in drugs. I'd mentioned as much to an acquaintance who just happens to be a police officer, it appeared that he hadn't been able to, or had chosen not to keep the information confidential. I decided to disappear for a little while so hurried the ten-minute walk to my flat. When I got there I'd been paid a visit already. As it was a ground floor flat it had been a simple thing to smash the downstairs windows. It would no doubt have been seen and heard by neighbours but the police would struggle to find a witness. The Griffith brothers have a distinct tendency to get violent first and ask questions later. Not that they would have been interested in listening to the answers. No matter how creative they might have been. I waited outside, listening for any sounds of disturbance, once satisfied it was all quiet I went in and surveyed the devastation. Everything was covered in thick paint, clothes and possessions, furniture and carpets. The bedroom was the worst where it looked like someone had set off a multi-coloured hand grenade. The bed, walls and floor were covered in slowly drying paint and there was a smell of something even worse. After picking my way over to the wardrobe I crouched down and pulled the false frontage from the bottom. Within the gap were the only things I was really bothered about losing and thankfully they had remained hidden. One is a briefcase, the other a large bulging suitcase. Once I'd dragged them out I was able to calm down a little, checking the locks hadn't been disturbed, though had they been I was pretty sure that the contents would have been trashed the same way everything else had been. I did a quick check round the rest of the flat discarding everything other than my mobile phone as unwanted or no longer needed. With a last look round I hurried from the house and headed out of the estate and back towards the pub. I wanted to be where there were people while I waited for my taxi. It was ten nervous minutes later than it was supposed to be so once I'd given the driver my destination I kept quiet while he tried to make conversation. I watched the streets as we drove, not too many people about yet. I supposed that we were in that twilight time zone between people coming home from work and having meals, before they changed and got ready to socialise. My mind wasn't really on socialising at the time though my mind did register that I could really have done with a tall cool drink. We pulled up outside the hotel twenty minutes later, the driver didn't even bother to help me with my luggage. Generally I don't like to do things on the spur of the moment, I like to plan and keep as many options open as is possible. The briefcase contained a lap top computer from which I ran my world, the suitcase contained the tools of my trade I suppose you could call them. The Griffith brothers may well have courted criminality but I was not exactly whiter than white myself. The reason? Well, perhaps if I tell you a bit about my background you'll see what I mean. My parents had both been members of what is loosely called the diplomatic corp. When I turned up they'd been half way through a tour of duty in Berlin and by the time I was old enough to go to school it had been decided that having to trail me all over the world, if they were posted was just too much trouble. So I was dropped into the welcoming lap of my Aunt Jessica from the age of six until I was thirteen. Aunt Jessica didn't seem to mind having me in the least, in fact she loved having someone in the house with her. The problem was that she wasn't too keen on having a young boy about the place, so she saw to it that as soon as I was in from school off went the shirt and shorts and on went the blouse and skirt. By the time I was thirteen my hair was halfway down my back and Aunt Jessica had convinced me that having soft smooth hairless skin was by far and away preferable to having coils of manly hair sprouting all over the place. Since I'd been tutored in facial skin care from an early age I was fortunate in that I didn't suffer the worst forms of acne. Of course whenever, not often, Mother and Father were back in the country I reverted to type, Aunt Jessica and I sure knew how to keep a secret, I didn't say anything about being feminised or her habit of running a stable full of young men. In return Aunt Jessica didn't stop me from doing more or less what I wanted, both at home and at school. In consequence I got an education in the things that interested me, art, photography, computers, and paid no attention to anything I was interested in, virtually everything else. The bomb was dropped just before my thirteenth birthday, Father had an affair with a young Italian army officer and the newspapers had great fun with the story. It got much more interesting when the officer, one Paulo by name, sold his soul and told the world that Mother had been on the receiving end of his charms as well as Father. Their careers were over, their marriage creaked and groaned and I got packed off to an all-male boarding school. It took a lot of adjusting for me to get my mind away from thinking and acting as a girl and to switch over to being what the rest of the boys saw me as. I didn't make the switch easily and it wasn't long before I began to, well, I suppose you could say that I went into some kind of a relapse. The next three years were an absolute nightmare, sure I got a better education, Aunt Jessica wasn't around to distract me with a pretty new lingerie set when I was supposed to be doing revision. The lack of such items to wear gradually took its toll and I took to raiding washing lines from the teacher's houses that were attached to the school. So, wearing them under the school uniform gave me a slight respite from forced masculinity, until Mr. Burns the Geography teacher caught me fixing my stockings in the ablutions one afternoon. I'd barely been allowed to pull my trousers up before he was marching me to the Head Mistress' office. Now Aunt Jessica had quite a profane vocabulary but Mr. Burns was much well versed. I'll spare you the details as the swearing isn't at all important. Perhaps his most telling remark was reserved for his explanation for our sudden appearance in the Head's office. "Mrs. Davison, I've just caught this dirty little pervert wearing my Vera's stockings!" First, in my defence, I didn't know his wife was into black fish net stockings, second, I can't imagine her wearing them and third, I wasn't then nor am I now dirty. Oh, the pervert bit, can we settle on the fact that I knew it was unusual but didn't see that cross dressing was doing me any harm, nor anyone else. Quite why an all boys' school should have a female Head Mistress I don't know. I'm not saying she was a bad Head, or any worse than a male Head, I just wish she hadn't decided to try to talk to me as if I was a child. All right so I was close to fourteen so technically I was a child, but when I was done up I'd have passed, even then, for seventeen or eighteen. Perhaps this gave me a wider view of the world than most kids my age. Anyway, she banished Mr. Burns from the room and began to interrogate me. "Was it a reaction to my parents recent, problems?" "No." "How long had I been doing it?" "Since I was six." "Does anybody else, any adult, know that you have been wearing the wrong clothes?" I sensed what the implication here was, had I been abused in any way and if so who by. I decided that silence was golden and ignored the question, other than thinking that it was a little ridiculous that clothes could be "wrong." I concentrated on trying to keep my eyes looking straight at a point on the wall, somewhere behind her head. "Were you made to dress that way or did you just play dress up and it turned into a habit?" "I played dress up, liked it and continued to do it." I didn't see why Aunt Jessica should get dragged into it. "You do know that it's wrong don't you Michael?" "It's wrong to do something that you like?" "That's not what I mean, you're a boy Michael, you should be dressing in boys things, do boys things." "But Mrs.. Davison, I am dressed in boys things, I have to do sports, I do woodwork and stuff even though I don't like them." "Where did you get the stockings from Michael?" "I snatched them from a washing line." "Why?" "I like wearing stockings and suspenders." "Have you done it before?" "What, worn stockings under my uniform?" "Well that, and have you stolen from washing lines before?" "Yes." "Many times?" "Quite a lot." "So what do you do with the clothes you've stolen?" "I keep them in my trunk." "Do any of the other boys know what you've been doing?" "No." "Good, well Michael, what I want you to do is to return all the clothes you've stolen. Put them all in a bag and bring them up to my office at afternoon break." "Yes Miss." "And Michael, this has to stop, if you're caught again you will be punished most severely, understand?" "Yes Miss." I was sent out of her office and back to my lessons. At lunch I sneaked back to the dorm and very reluctantly packed a large black rubbish bag with the clothes I'd taken, tied a knot in the top and put it back in the trunk. After a very boring Geography lesson where I had to answer just about every question it was break time, I hurried to the dorm, grabbed the bag and made it to the Head's office without being seen. When she called me in I saw her eyes widen when she saw the size of the bag. She beckoned to me, telling me to put the bag on the desk. She untied the knot and pulled out a silk teddy with a lace trim, I confess I'd have done anything to be allowed to keep. I didn't know it when I'd taken it that it belonged to Mrs. Davison. "I wondered where this had gone!" Mrs. Davison produced various items of my purloined finery, those pieces that were hers went onto one pile, and the rest went back into the bag. Finally she tied the knot back in the top of the bag and put it on the floor. "That is everything isn't it Michael?" "Yes Miss." She nodded and then told me that she would be taking the lovely lingerie to a local charity shop. I was dismissed and almost out of the door when she suddenly called me back. "Michael, what about the things belonging to Mrs. Burns?" "Ah, yes, I'd forgotten." "You're wearing them?" "Yes Miss." "Well I think you'd better hand them over." "What, now you mean?" "I shan't look Michael, I assure you." I still tend to believe her. After all she wasn't to know that her phone was going to ring. She turned to answer it and saw me peeling off my shirt to reveal a white satin camisole top. Also on view was a pair of matching French knickers, the suspender belt and of course the stockings. When I'd pulled my sweater off the tie fastening my ponytail fell off with it so my long blonde hair was draped over my shoulders. For a second time inside of half an hour I saw surprise on her face. I remembered while growing up the pleasure I'd always felt when I saw myself dressed. Aunt Jessica had always said I was very pretty so I suppose this was what Mrs. Davison was seeing now. Perhaps I should have worn a bra, I used water filled balloons to fill the cups, and done my make up, she'd have fainted if she'd seen how good I could look. She stammered to whoever had rung that she'd ring back later. "I'm rather loath to admit this Michael but I think I see why you don't like doing boyish things, you're really very convincing." She suddenly gulped and became all business like. "Use my bathroom to get out of those things." I grabbed my uniform and hustled to the door in the corner of the room. Once free of the lovely lingerie I dressed in the trousers and shirt, feeling the rough material of the trousers on my bare legs was particularly revolting. Back in the office Mrs. Davison regarded me carefully and then put into motion the start of my hell on earth. "Mr. Tyler tells me he always finds it difficult to find students willing to play certain parts in the school productions. Perhaps you would find the drama society a way of releasing your, impulses." I was momentarily puzzled, then what she was saying caught up with me. "He's looking for someone to play Dorothy in The Wizard of Oz, I think it would be perfect for you, don't you? Surely it would be preferable to being expelled." "Yes Miss." So there it was, Dorothy in Wizard of Oz, then Eliza in My Fair Lady. After those there was Annie Oakley, Juliet, naturally and Sandy in a production of Grease. The fifties style skirts and dresses were simply fantastic but the final scenes where I wore a tight fitting black top and shiny black leggings went down in school history. In fact, any show or performance that needed a leading lady and I was it. It didn't help that for Romeo and Juliet the programme was printed with my name as Michelle. It stuck, Michelle I was until I left school, taunted, teased, battered and beaten when I objected. Worst of all was when Mr. Tyson was tasked with producing a show for the board of Governor's. He called me to the hall one morning and outlined his idea. "What I'd like to do is build the show around you. Open with a half-hour of Henry the Fifth, something for the boys to get into, all blood and thunder. Then I thought you might like a slot, half an hour or so? As a finale we'll do the staircase scene from Gone with the Wind." On the night of the show the boys of Henry the fifths army had just come off and the lights went down. This was my cue to enter stage right. Lit by a single spotlight I launched into The man with the child in his eyes, a lovely Kate Bush song. The simple ankle length black gown was slit almost to the thigh, my feet in a pair of black glittering heeled dance pumps. My hair had been styled and set in curls and waves by Mrs. Tyson, a great support to Mr. Tyson and his drama society with costumes and make up. She'd got used to me doing my own make up and fussed about me much like Aunt Jessica had done before. Eventually I'd given up trying to stop her from calling me Michelle. Five songs later and I finished with Don't cry for me Argentina. When the song ended the hall went mental. The staircase scene was bit of a let down after that, the full-length red velvet gown was exquisite and showed off my cleavage beautifully. Poor Jonathon Gray who played Rhett was concentrating on my bust too much, he forgo this lines and forgot to pick up his feet, tripping over my full skirts and taking them with him when he hit the floor. Mr. Tyson had always impressed upon me that being in character was important but I don't think that was extended to wearing his wife's white lace basque, tanga briefs and stockings. I must have looked like a half-undressed bride on her wedding night. The board of Governor's was suitably impressed. At the post show party I'd slipped back into the black gown and was circulated round the Governor's by Mrs. Tyson. "I must say Michelle, I was absolutely moved to tears by your singing!" This came from the local vicar. "I hope you don't mean I was so bad I made you cry?" I giggled. As soon as I'd said it I realised that I was flirting. "Gosh no, I thought you were marvellous!" Well, a girl likes attention I suppose, to say that I was the belle of the ball would have been an understatement. When the local paper printed a review of the show I was both astounded and pleased to be horrified by the resultant attention I received. I quote. "Michelle Anderton stole the show with a stage burning performance of passion, suggestion and open sensuality in her delivery. I can only hope that Miss Anderton managed to escape the school after the show as the students would have held her to ransom as a diamond amid the austere discipline of the regime. Having reviewed the local Amateur Dramatics Society on a number of occasions I wonder how they allowed themselves to miss out on this actress. I look forward to her further shows with undiminished anticipation. Naturally after this I was tormented and bullied beyond belief, with another year to go I don't know how I survived it. I think the only thing that kept me sane was throwing myself into my computer studies. Mrs. Tyson was an absolute treasure, Sunday afternoons at the Tyson's house while he played golf was an oasis of relaxation, and dressmaking. Obviously I had to be measured for my costumes though I often wondered why I was modelling skirts tops and dresses that I never wore on stage. To test a growing theory I sneaked to the hall one Sunday lunchtime, before a visit to the Tyson's and dressed. I went into the dressing room as a fifteen and a half year old school boy and emerged a half hour later as a stunning seventeen going on twenty year old girl. With a pair of black high-heeled court shoes on my feet and a black lingerie set beneath. I'd chosen a thigh hugging knee length pencil skirt and a long sleeved roll neck jumper, I looped a broad leather belt round my waist. I'd done my face and hair carefully added some earrings and a bracelet or two from the society's jewellery box. I'd painted my nails pink, a little longer than boy's nails normally are but no where near the length of the false nails I wore when on stage. With a handbag filled with make up I sneaked out of the fire exit onto the path running toward the sports fields. Being early spring the cricket teams were at net practice so I dodged behind a high hedge and took a short cut to the gates at the back that led to the teachers houses. I passed Mr. Burns washing his car, Mrs. Chalmers, the wife of the senior Math teacher was hanging out her washing next door. I passed her and then turned through the gates of the Tyson's, just as Mrs. Davison came out of the front door. I almost stumbled but kept my balance, then carefully picked my way along the side of the house to the back door. There was a nail biting five minutes before I judged that the coast was clear. I composed myself and walked round to the front door, knocked and cleared my throat. Mrs. Tyson answered the door quickly and greeted me no differently than when she had seen me on her step in jeans and T-shirt. "There you are Michelle, I was beginning to wonder if you were coming." She held the door open for me and ushered me through to the lounge. "You've just missed Mrs. Davison, she popped round to see Martin about something or other." "I saw her leaving when I came in through the gate, I hid along by the back door." "Whatever did you do that for Michelle? I'm sure Mrs. Davison understands that you're not doing anything wrong coming here." "She doesn't like, well, I don't think she likes me wearing girls clothes." "She must know it's important that you understand the role you're playing though." Mrs. Tyson had always been kind, often indulging me when she should have been doing other things so I decided she might as well now the truth. "The thing is Mrs. Tyson, it's not that I don't enjoy the plays and things, it's just that, well, Mrs. Davison made me volunteer to join the drama society. I didn't join because I wanted to, I got caught doing something and Mrs. Davison thought the drama society would channel my energies." "Oh! Well Martin will be disappointed dear, he'd hoped you were happy acting." "I love the acting Mrs. Tyson, is the stuff that goes with it that I don't like, the teasing and the name calling, that kind of thing." "I'm sure the boys who do that are just jealous of your talents Michelle, I wouldn't let it worry you too much." "It's not that they're jealous, it's because I dress as a girl." "You're playing a part dear, how you're supposed to do that in trousers, I'm sure there would be a lot more trouble if two boys played Romeo and Juliet." "Mrs. Tyson, I'm not just playing a part, this is what I was caught doing, dressing as a girl!" I was close to breaking down but managed to explain what had happened. Mrs. Tyson put her arm round me and held my head on her shoulders much like a Mother would do for her daughter. "There, there Michelle, don't cry you'll make your make up run. In fact you have, come on, sit up and tidy yourself up, I'll go and put the kettle on." When she reappeared she was holding one of those instant camera's, the sort that develop the picture on their own. She told me to sit up straight and smile. The camera flashed and then I began posing to her command. Lying on the sofa chin propped on one hand, reclining back, with my ankles tucked up behind me and some more pictures of me standing at the fireside. She wouldn't let me see them until they had all developed, then she handed me the pile and told me to pick out the one with a boy in it. When I said that I couldn't she smiled and told me that I was a very special girl. It seemed that I'd become something of a surrogate daughter and Mrs. Tyson, Linda, was going to do all she could to encourage it as three weeks later she presented me with a large box. I opened the box to find a large number of foil wrapped tablet trays. "They'll do wonders for your complexion dear, you've done marvellously well to avoid pimples but with your hormones going crazy over the next few years these will help balance them out." I'd learned enough in Biology to know what my body was up to, or likely to get up to. I also knew that taking the female contraceptive pill was going to either slow things down or stop them altogether. I wasn't sure what to do but when Linda suggested that I might like to go out for a meal with her, instead of sitting in the house on the Sunday coming, I couldn't really say no to the tablets could I? I moved half of my uniform over to the Tyson's where I became a regular visitor over the weekend. If Mr. Tyson, Martin, thought this out of the ordinary he never said anything, even when he had to wait for me to finish in the bathroom in the morning. The first time I emerged wearing a night-dress and wrap he was a little taken aback but smiled and said "Good Morning Michelle." The only time he ever saw me dressed in school uniform was when we bumped into each other in the corridor. If we were rehearsing something I always did it "in character." In fact I took this a large step further, once in the final year we had a fair number of free periods so if I had rehearsals, say, after lunch, I'd dress for the rehearsal during the free period. I was quite often to be found fully dressed in the canteen or passing from one building to another. The beatings continued whenever the bullies could catch me but they never happened when I was dressed, I realised this quickly and took advantage by dressing all the more. It didn't go down well with all the staff but they didn't pull me up over it, a fact that I asked Mr. Tyson about the following weekend. "Ah, I see, well, I was hoping to have everything settled before I told you but I suppose now is as good a time as any." I was sitting in the lounge, in a flowing dress Linda had insisted was "really me." Nipped at the waist with a tight rounded neck, flaring over my hips and thighs. "You remember the show we did for the Governor's? Well, the thing is they've asked us to do something for the village fete in July." "I'll have left by then." I said softly, the enormity of it striking me suddenly. "Yes, well, the Head is rather in a fix you see, the Governor's are very keen on this fete thing, relationships with the village haven't been to good for a while now. Some of the third year has itchy fingers in the shops apparently and some of your year were caught in the pub. Anyway, I've been writing a play, I call it a play, well, the short of it is that the Head has proposed that you stay with Linda and I after your exams, to do the show." "But if this is supposed to build bridges with the village how are they going to react when they find out that the leading lady is, well, not a leading lady?" "It has been suggested that you might be a student teacher, or a drama student from a college for the summer. Besides, once terms over the boys will all be at home anyway." "So who are the rest of the cast, if the schools empty?" "Linda, yourself, Jonathon Gray, one or two villagers, it's set in Victorian London." "As long as Jonathon doesn't rip my dress off again!" My laughter brought a smile to his face and soon his enthusiasm was bursting out of him while he laid out the plot. "You play Emma Jacobs, daughter of Miranda Jacobs, Linda, brother of Thomas, Jonathon. Your Mother is trying to marry you off to a Lord Allerdene, from the North. The family has hit on hard times since the death of your Father. Thomas doesn't like the idea any more then you do, there's a fight when Lord Allerdene pays a visit which ends up with you running him through with your departed Fathers sword stick. Your brother, being the resourceful type manages to dispose of the body, forges a wedding certificate and you inherit the lot. Until your Mother decides she should have the title, lands and everything else." I was seriously impressed, it would certainly push me as an actress, actor?But first I had to get my exams out of the way. With Linda and Martin both pushing me I did rather better than I would have done left alone. Three weeks after the exams I was handed a big brown envelope by Mrs. Davison, called personally to her office I thought I'd be in big trouble. "Go on then, open it." I tore the flap open and looked at the large greenish certificate inside. I'd passed English, English Literature, History, Information Technology and Drama, French, and believe it or not, Geography, though goodness knows how. I was amazed enough by actually passing the exams but when I saw that the name on the certificate was Michelle Anderton I lost all power of speech. "There is this version as well, Michelle, should you change your mind at some stage." She handed me an exact copy, but for Michael Anderton instead Of the femme name I'd adopted. "Thank you very much Mrs. Davison." I didn't really know what else to say but thanked her for the chance to do the summer show. "I realise that we are using your, talents, and that you may have felt rather hard done by, during your time here. Whatever you do, whoever you choose to be, I wish you good luck." "Thank you Miss." "You never did stop cross dressing did you Michelle?" "No Miss, when it comes down to it you needed me to do it as much as I wanted to, I'm right aren't I?" "Put it like that and I don't think I can disagree." I moved into the Tyson's half an hour after leaving the school. Michael's certificate was burned along with the trunk and my old clothes in the back of the Tyson's garden. Martin was out, down at the village hall. I didn't know Linda had done it until the smoke billowed up passed my bedroom window. As it turned out we never did do the show, the press, who seemed to haunt my family put an end to that and also to my comfortable sojourn at the Tyson's. The reporter who had done such a nice review came down to the village hall to watch rehearsals and to do an interview afterwards with Martin and myself. All seemed to be going well until the reporter asked me if I saw myself pursuing a stage career when I left school. "I don't know, it's such a big world out there, I haven't really thought about it." After that the questions were a little too probing, so much so that I had the impression that something was going on. Martin and I were leaving the hall with Linda when the reporter handed me a small card. He had, so he said, a friend who "did photo's." I understood the hint but just smiled and wandered off, Martin however really over reacted, and he blew his top and shouted his head off. The reporter made a quick escape but something told me that this wasn't the end of it. I was proved right a fortnight later. During that fortnight Martin was busy putting the final touches to the play. Linda and I were doing most of the costumes, including begging visits to haberdashers in the nearest big town. I think we cleaned them out of chiffon, netting and satin. The dresses were incredible creations, stiff bodices and huge underskirts. One had to really hold a neat posture just to move around in them. One afternoon Linda and I were running through some scenes in the back garden. It was incredibly hot, so I was wearing a halter neck crop top belonging to Linda and a pair of tight fitting cut off shorts. I'd tied my hair back in a ponytail with a chiffon scarf. Linda was in a black bikini with a sarong style wrap round her waist. "So Thomas pushes Lord Allerdene, he staggers back then leaps forward. At which point you run him through with the sword okay?" "You be Allerdene then, I can't work out how I'm supposed to grab the sword stick in time for the lunge, Martin's got it on the other side of the stage." We tried to slow walk it through and then got it wrong the first time we tried it at real time. I tripped, snagged Linda's bikini top with my fingers and ended up with my nose in amongst her sarong. I picked myself up only to find myself lips to lip with Linda, it seemed an age but can only have been a second before our lips met and we were kissing deeply. My hands slid up to cup her breasts, Linda slipped a hand into my shorts. Breaking the kiss we both looked shocked, both apologising at the same time. We tried to carry on as normal but there was an electric tension about us. I didn't know what to do and I don't think Linda did either. By the time Martin had come home we were more or less back to normal, even doing each others make up for the evening when Martin suggested a night in the village pub. The evening itself was fantastic, I looked stunning if I say so myself in a tight red mini dress I'd made from some spare satin from one of the costumes for the show. They made a real fuss of me, as did the people in the pub. Two days later Linda screeched from the kitchen. There on the front page of the local paper was a picture of she and I in the back garden. Mouths locked together, Linda's chest and my shorts blurred so folk couldn't see where our hands were, though the blurring told the story. The headline beneath was the clincher. "Lesbian Local Drama!" Not the most imaginative I know but the opening paragraph really went for the throat. "Local ladies, Linda Tyson and Michelle Anderton prove that their sizzling on stage understanding transfers into real life. No so much Mother and Daughter here, it's much more like sisters are doing it for themselves." When Martin came own to see what on earth was happening he looked stunned for a moment. I half expected him to beat either Linda or myself, or both of us, to a pulp. Instead his eyes glazed over and he sort of slumped into a chair. "It isn't what it looks like, or how it reads Martin." Linda said, it sounded rather lame but I guess there was a better way of putting it. He let out a long sigh and picked up the paper again. He looked at me, then at Linda and then at the photo. "It's that reporter isn't it? The one who was trying to get Michelle do pose for his grotty photographer pal." "I wasn't going to do it Martin! I mean, if it got out that, well, you know, I'd be dead!" "It's not your fault Michelle, it's what they've done to the picture that makes it look the way it does." He said. I couldn't quite see what he was getting at, it looked pretty much like exactly what had happened to me. "Martin, all that was happening is that I was trying to convince Michelle to get a better tan. She doesn't want to have white lines across her thighs does she?" "What about the kiss though Linda? It's a bit more than Mother/daughter is it?" He demanded, his temper was rising. "In the script you've got Allerdene kissing me, I've, I haven't kissed anyone before, I didn't know what to do!" I stormed out of the room up to my bedroom, if I say so myself it was quite an exit and I'm pleased to say it worked as Martin came up and apologised. We weathered that day and half of the next, until a line of vans pulled into the road outside the front door. Men with long lens cameras were out in force and trained their equipment on the front of the house. We closed all the curtains and held a council of war in the kitchen. "As I see it we just hang on until they lose interest, it will all blow over by the weekend." Linda said quietly. "If they don't get something to put in their rags on Sunday they'll just make something else up. I mean, look at this." Martin held up the latest edition of the local paper. "Linda Tyson, wife of respected dramatist Martin, is to star in an upcoming performance of a play apparently written as a vehicle of young Michelle Anderton. One has to ask if Mrs. Tyson is teaching Miss Anderton more than stage craft." "Why don't we just tell that lot out front that there is no story?" I asked, realising as I said it how pathetically naive I must have sounded. "Then one of the papers will just print their version of what we said, not actually what we said." Martin pointed out. Just after midnight I finished packing a large hold-all with my clothes, Michelle's clothes, Michael's were long gone. I dressed in a pair of tight fitting leggings and a pair of flat-soled ankle boots that Linda had given me, with a sweatshirt over a T- shirt. I looped my handbag over my shoulder and after tying back my hair, I headed downstairs and left a thank you note on the kitchen table. I then sneaked out of the back door, cleared the low hedge at the bottom of the garden. I broke into the school through the kitchens and holed up in the drama society's store room overnight. Come the morning I raided the cupboards, gaining three wigs, some cosmetics and bits and pieces of clothing. I almost tripped over a large rubbish wagon the way out. I knew what it was even before I'd untied the knot. All my lingerie, stolen lingerie, I shoved as much of it as possible into my hold-all and headed off through the deserted school. My ill-gotten gains also included three wigs, all of which I'd worn in performances previously. A brunette waved bob that came to my shoulders. A long black number which hung thick and straight to the middle of my back and an auburn feather cut which curled in to my neck just under my ears and chin. These I put into the bag over a pair of strappy heeled sandals and a pair of stiletto heeled patent leather courts in red that I had Martin get for me when we did Grease. I hadn't worn them but I so liked them. I narrowly avoided old Dennis the caretaker and burgled the contents of the float in the canteen office. From there I went along to the computer room and fired up one of the systems. I wasn't sure how much I could do but was determined to get rid of all record of me in the system as I could. Someone had been fiddling with things anyway, much of my record had disappeared other then home contacts. I got rid of these and altered the class lists that whoever had been at the records had forgotten. I noted that either Mother or Father had paid two hundred pounds into my tuck shop fund but I had no way of getting at it. Finished, I shut the system down and hurried out. By half past nine I was standing on the southbound platform of the railway station. I'd only ever seen the airport terminals at Heathrow and Gatwick, so to be on my way to the heart of that throbbing capitol city was something of a thrill. I had to sit opposite a snoring businessman, which wasn't much fun, but being out of school soon washed away the memories of the troubles I was leaving behind. This was brought home when I saw the newspaper lying upsidedown on the business mans briefcase. "Lesbian Love nest." There was a picture beneath it of the front of the house, curtains closed. I reached over and picked the paper up, reading the story that went with it. "This is the home of Martin and Linda Tyson. Mrs. Tyson is at the centre of village gossip currently, largely due to a photograph of her kissing a family friend, an aspiring actress Miss Michelle Anderton. Both Miss Anderton and Mrs. Tyson were due to take on the leading characters in a play written by her husband. No one was willing to make any comment about the furore, however, villagers and colleagues have been very supportive to the couple." "Mrs. Penelope Davison, Head Mistress of the boarding school where Mr. Tyson teaches drama said, Both Linda and Martin are very strong people, their marriage is solid as is the work that Martin does here at the school. Michelle is a lovely girl who has only recently been helping with school productions and was really looking forward to working with the Tyson's and the village drama club." "Mr. David Lloyd, manager of the local pub, the Beehive, said, "Martin is a regular, he's a really genuine bloke. Linda used to come in with him for the quiz, they often won. I met Michelle once, she's a really beautiful lass. Linda had taken her under her arm, you could see she doted on her." I read the rest of the article and found that it was really very fair to all three of us. I'd no doubt that all over the country small boys would be bouncing up and down shouting at their parents that there was something not quite right about Michelle Anderton. Still, it really wasn't fair on Martin and Linda, so I decided to do something about it. I wrestled my way along to the toilet with my hold-all and pulled some things out. It was a struggle to get changed in there as it was so cramped and the train seemed to jerk around far more than it really should. I was eventually satisfied and when I stepped out into the carriage again I felt much happier with life. I'd changed from the leggings and sweat-shirt into a black stretch body and a black leather mid thigh skirt over bra and hose. I'd padded the bra out as best I could with balled up stockings, the water filled balloons would never have survived the hold-all. With three inch heels on my feet and my hair brushed out and jewellery in, ear rings, ladies watch and a rope chain wound round my throat. The snoring businessman was still sleeping but a lady sitting over to my right gave me a smile when I returned to my seat. I picked up the paper when I sat down and re read the article, noting the reporter's name and the newspapers general phone number. Twenty minutes later the rain pulled into London. Once off the train I followed the crowd passed the ticket collector and then hunted down the public phone boxes. The float from the kitchen office wasn't going to do me very well for too long, if I lived in a tent it might last a week but I didn't hold out too much hope for the big city. I dug out some change, took a deep breath and then dialled the number. It answered on the third ring. I told the operator that I wanted to speak to the news desk, Tom Pendle in particular. "I'm sorry he's out on a story at the moment, can I take a message?" She asked, too brightly. "No that's alright, I'll ring the Star instead." "Just one moment he's just come in!" Yeah right. A ringing tone sounded for five rings and then a gruff voice, too many cigarettes, came on the line. "Tom Pendle." Mr. Pendle, this is Michelle Anderton." "Really? You're the fourth one today." "If you get to speak to Linda or Martin ask them what was in the note I left on the kitchen table this morning. Or I could tell you right now if you like." "Where are you now?" "If I speak to you there aren't to be any pictures." "Okay Michelle, you're not speaking to one of the sordid red tops." "I'm at Euston station, I'll be in the station buffet for an hour." "Okay, I'm on my way, how will I recognise you? "You've seen the picture." I hung up and then made my way to the buffet wondering if I could make a coffee last for an hour. As it turned out it was only forty minutes. A tall middle aged man in a shabby raincoat bustled in and looked about the place. He looked at me, then went to the counter, coming over with two large mugs and a large tea pot. "Michelle?" "Mr. Pendle." "Whoever took the photo didn't do you justice." He sat down with a groan. "My backs giving me hell, I'm too old to play squash." "Well don't then." "What, and stay at home with the wife?" He laughed pleasantly and poured out the tea. "I thought all you journalists were alcoholics?" "Only on Saturday nights. Right, so what can you tell me Michelle?" "What would you like to know?" He raised his eyebrow at this and took a drink of tea, pulling a face at the taste, then put the mug down. "Got anywhere to stay tonight?" "Your wife must be a very understanding woman Tom." He laughed loudly at this. "The paper will sort you out with a hotel for a couple of nights. Might I suggest that you lay low for a few days, at least until Sunday had passed. Our rivals have great fun with salacious stories on Sunday." "And what do you want for Sunday Tom?" "An exclusive, with pictures, and a story for tomorrow that came from an interview I did with you in, say, Glasgow? That should keep them out of the way. They will try to find you." I wasn't sure that I had much in the way of choice but I wanted to clear things up as best as I could for the Tyson's. What Martin didn't know wouldn't hurt and if Linda kept her story straight they'd be fine. "Okay, deal." He reached into the inside pocket of his cot and drew out a packet of cigarettes, a lighter and an envelope. The envelope he pushed across the table towards me. "You've got to eat." He said simply. I picked the envelope up and put it in my hand bag. "Not going to count it?" "I'll eat it later." Again he laughed, "girls definitely grow up faster than boys!" "Right then, so what actually happened?" "Linda and I were running through one of the scenes in Martin's play. In it, one of the characters lunges toward me and kisses me, at the same time I have to plunge a sword through him. We'd had a couple of slow motion rehearsals. The picture taken looks as though it was taken a bit later. Linda was trying to talk me into getting the sun on my legs. I was objecting." "The kiss does look pretty authentic." He said simply. "Yes, well, I'd rather my first kiss was with someone I knew as opposed to an actor that I don't know." "Your first kiss?" "When was your first kiss Tom, who was it with?" "Phew! I don't know, years ago!" "And I'm never going to be able to forget mine am I, and all it was, was because I was afraid I was going to freeze on stage." "So you asked Linda to kiss you?" "Yes, it's no different than seeing to people kissing on stage, or on telly or in a film. Except that someone was upset that Martin had told him whereto go when he tried to get me to pose for some photo's." "What happened there?" "A while ago I did a show with Martin's drama group at the school. The review was really good, anyway, the reporter must have thought I owed him a favour. He tried to give me a business card of a friend of his, a photographer. Martin overheard and told him where to get off. I figure this is the reporters way of getting us back." "There are some rumours, from kids at the school." "Don't tell me, I'm really a boy." "You've heard it then?" "Of course, were you at an all boys school Tom?" "Well, no, but I can't see where you're going with that." "Well then, what if you're the only boy at an all girls school, how much fun would that be if you had to conform to the uniform requirements?" "So what you're saying is," I interrupted him, "I had to conform to the school rules like the rest of the students. It was only a matter of time before I got noticed or caught. When you're thirteen you're upper halves look similar, add a few months and years and things change. I knew it was only a matter of time and didn't know what to do about it. No one at the school ever saw me naked, but eventually I got caught." "How?" "I was caught adjusting a suspender belt, Mr. Burns wasn't sure what to do so he marched me into the Head's office. Thankfully she caught on quickly and suggested I attend the drama society. If it had got out the school would have been in trouble, I'd have been devastated, imagine the fun the papers would have had with that." "They still might." "True, but as nobody did anything wrong, there's no blame anywhere. The boys knew I wasn't into sports or boy's stuff so they thought I was a sissy, so there was some teasing and bullying. As soon as I was performing on stage I at least had some self respect. Towards the end of my final year I was quite open about it, thanks to Mrs. Davison, Linda and Martin. If there was anything sinister going on why would the board have asked me to do the show in the village?" "You realise the school have no record of you being there?" "Someone's over reacted, that's all I can think, can't really blame them for that." "Right, I think that's enough for now. I'll take you along to the hotel and you can settle in. I'll warn you though Michelle, things might get rough for the next few days." "Since when has it been illegal for an actress to research her role?" "I understand that, there will be a few who won't though." "That's their problem." Tom picked up my bag and guided me out of the station, we took a taxi to the hotel. My home for the next few days. The room was pretty Spartan, bed, and a wardrobe and en-suite bathroom. There was a television and a phone so it wasn't actually a prison cell. "Okay, so you whole up here and I'll come in and check on you every now and again. Is tomorrow too soon for the interview and the photo shoot?" "No that will be fine. Can I eat in the restaurant?" "Sure, but try to get in early, before the rest of the guests come in from their hard days sight-seeing. Is there anything I can get you?" "Any chance I could borrow a lap top?" "I'll see what I can do, in the meantime don't answer the door to anyone but room service and me. The reception desk will ring before they send the cleaner up and I'll ring before I set off from the office and again from downstairs when I get here." He left me to it. The first thing I did was to ring Linda, our conversation, once she'd calmed down was short and sweet. "You shouldn't have run off like that!" "I had to, they'll soon get bored with trying to get someone to talk to." "Where are you?" "I'm in Glasgow." I didn't like lying to her but I wasn't taking any more chances. "Glasgow? Why Glasgow?" "It doesn't matter, just read the Daily Voice tomorrow and stick to what we've said. It'll be okay, I've got to go Linda." I didn't want either of us to get tearful so I hung up. I went through to the bathroom and turned on the hot tap. Stripping naked I looked over myself. Where there should have been wiry dark hair there was nothing, if I was ever going to develop anything remotely approaching the masculine I'd have to stop taking the pill. I looked at my penis, all four inches of it, it reared up under my gaze, flat against my belly. At least it still worked then, I laughed to myself, popped two pills and slid into the bath to soak. I didn't bother with the restaurant, I was too tired to sleep in any case. Once the morning came I rang down to reception and asked of they could send me up a copy of the "Voice." It arrived via the maid who came to clean the room. I stayed hidden under the duvet while she worked, and only emerged once she'd gone. Picking up the paper I saw that I had the front page under the headline, "Michelle talks to the voice!" Tom Pendle had done a brilliant job, the interview was contained exactly what I'd said. His opening and closing paragraphs were just as good. "I received a call yesterday from a nervous young lady forced to flee the only place she felt safe, for Glasgow. Michelle Anderton is yet another victim of our so called investigative media. All they have succeeded in doing, yet again, is frightening the public and in this particular case a bright, beautiful young lady." Then came the interview, he finished with this piece. "Michelle Anderton is by all accounts a talented actress. She has played a part for three years after the type of mix up usually reserved for a comedy farce. Having met her, I can honestly say that rarely is a journalist given the chance to speak to someone who doesn't see the world as something to exploit, or owes the a living. This girl will make some lucky fellow a wonderful wife, she'll be a fantastic mother and I'm certain that Michelle Anderton will be as successful as she is beautiful." There wasn't even a tag line advertising the interview for the Sunday edition. This I thought was a nice touch. Hopefully now that the story was out the rest of the vultures at the Tyson's would call it a day. Tom hadn't been hopeful but even if thy left Linda and Martin alone and came for me they'd be able to get on with their lives. I decided that I'd better get ready, I didn't know exactly when Tom and his photographer were coming so wanted to be ready in time. I opened the hold-all and surveyed the contents. Lovely innocent or luscious Lolita? I decided on the former and after taking my pills I went through to shower. Only after moving to the Tyson's had I been able to pamper myself as much as I did in the hotel. There were plenty of aromatic oils to chose from, also moisturising agents and cleansing creams. Somewhat reluctantly I got out of the bath and wrapped myself in a thick fluffy towelling robe and tied my hair up in a towel turban. Back in the bedroom I opened the hold-all and lifted some of the contents out onto the top of the bed. My choice of lingerie was unlimited though what to wear over it was a lot less broad in its range. I thought about the still uncounted money that lay in the envelope that Tom had given me. I thought about making a quick shopping trip for a moment and then decided that it would have to wait until the weekend was out the way, by then I should have been free to get out of the hotel. At that time there were more important things to think about. Like finding somewhere to live and a method of gaining an income. I put these thoughts to one side and concentrated on the job in hand. I began by painting my nails in a deep pink gloss and while the first coat was drying I securely glued my false nails in place. A second coat on my toes before returning to my fingers. Whilst my finger nails were longer than the norm I wanted to be able to hide behind the talons if needed. Once the nail varnish was dry I turned my attention to the lingerie once more, settling on a pair of black hold up stockings which I clipped to a deep cut boned suspender belt. After tucking my bits back between my legs I stepped into a pair of tight fitting black tanga panties which hid everything back and up. A black lace bra with the last two balloons from the very bottom of the bag that I'd filled with water, just enough to fill the bra cups. I chose a white blouse with frilled cuffs that Linda had donated, it crossed over at the waist and fastened to leave my throat exposed down to the first swell of my chest. Putting a black knee length skirt with it gave me a soft but confident look. I was a little concerned about my Adam's apple being visible but was pleased to find "Sandy's" broad velvet choker wrapped in a ball of stockings. I clipped gold coloured studs on my ears and draped two thin gold chains round my neck. Bracelets peeked out from beneath my cuffs when I moved my hands, a touch I was very pleased with. I slipped the heeled sandal on my feet and fastened the buckles above my ankles. Finally I unwrapped my hair from the towel and dried it with the hotel supplied hair dryer. I did my make up before styling my hair, a touch of mascara, a light slate grey eye shadow blended with a light shade of blue. A burned pink lip stick and light coat of gloss with a touch of blush to finish. I brushed out my hair with a soft brush and then worked around my crown. Pinning my long tresses up so that the remaining lengths cascaded down, framing my face. Without tongs or heated rollers I couldn't do a lot else with it but was pleased to see that the ends curled inwards toward my throat a little. I felt that this only added to the very feminine look of the style. So there I was, all dressed up and nowhere to go. Sitting waiting for Tom Pendle to ring got to be more than tedious. I don't now how many times I read and re-read the newspaper. I had no idea how the stock market worked but I read even these pages avidly. In consequence, when the phone suddenly rang I nearly jumped out of my skin. "Hi Michelle, its Tom, we're setting off now. Are you Okay?" "Yes, I'm going to go crazy if I have to stay in the room for much longer." "Well, if you feel up to it we can meet in the coffee lounge. If you go down to the reception area and turn, left, you'll see two doors. Take the left hand side door and we'll see you in there in about twenty minutes." "Okay, er, Tom?" "You won't make me drink a mug of tea will you?" He laughed and promised that he'd leave the drinks to me. I hung up the phone and straightened myself up. Picking up my handbag and room key I headed to the door. The corridor was empty but I got stuck behind an ageing couple on the way down the stairs. I had little option but to pick my way down the stairs behind them while they chattered on about the sights they hoped to see that day. I couldn't help but think that most of the sites would be closed by the time they got there. Eventually I got to the reception area and saw that there must have been a bus load of new arrivals milling round a group of outgoing tourists. I clipped my way through the crowds as best I could, hoping above hope that there were no hidden reporters amongst the throng. The coffee lounge was quite busy as well but I found a table overlooking a terrace and into the heart of London beyond. A waitress came over and asked me what I would like. "Could I have a coffee please?" I added a winning smile to this and was pleasantly surprised that I had something of a potent weapon on my hands. If a bright smile worked with a waitress where else could it score a hit or two? I had my back to the entrance so I didn't see Tom Pendle come in. He tapped me gently on the shoulder and I jumped in surprise. He laughed and gave a less than genuine apology. "Sorry Michelle, hope I didn't startle you?" "You aren't sorry at all you horrible man!" I giggled and saw him blush. There was no doubt about it, this flirting business worked a treat, I'd just have to learn when to use it and when not to. When Tom introduced me to the photographer, a tall brunette with short bobbed hair, her eyes ranged over me. I wasn't sure whether she was weighing me up or using a professional photographer's eye. "Michelle, this is Janet Noble, Janet, this is Michelle Anderton." We shook hands briefly then Janet turned to Tom. "Are we shooting in here or up in the room?" "How about the terrace, the city as a back drop?" He suggested. "Fine, I take it that we can work out there undisturbed?" "I can't see that there will be a problem but I'll have a word with the lounge manager." Tom said, turning to leave. "Erm, Tom, Aren't I supposed to be in Glasgow? If you publish a picture of me with the Houses of Parliament behind me its a bit of a give away isn't it?" "True enough Michelle, but the rest of the press aren't going to believe you're up in Scotland forever. Once the story goes out on Sunday they'll not have much point continuing hunting for you. Besides, there are too many people wandering round in here and I don't think we want to go with a picture of you in a hotel bedroom." I saw his point and waited with Janet for him to come back through to the lounge. "All set, they're going to put someone on the terrace door until we're finished." Janet and I followed them out onto the terrace, even though it was bright and sunny it was still a little chilly. Janet began setting up and Tom led me to a corner table at the very edge of the terrace. Behind me over my shoulders were the river Thames and the Palace of Westminster. Way down below was the bustle of traffic and people scurrying about like ants. Tom caught me off guard with his first question. "So what's next for Michelle Anderton? Further studies or are you going to dive straight in to a celebrity lifestyle?" "I don't know, I'd thought about trying to get into a stage school but I think I'd always be left wondering if they'd taken me on because of this fuss. I'm hardly a celebrity either am I? I've just been the focus of a lot of unwarranted attention." "Do you think the Tyson's are strong enough to ride this out?" "I think so, I certainly hope so, I'd feel terrible if they fell apart because of anything to do with me." "You're probably unaware that the play Martin Tyson wrote for you has been cancelled." "If it has it's a shame, I think it would have been very well received, with or without me, as for Martin having written it for me, I don't really think that's the case." "From what has been said it seems that he did, write the part for you." "Who's said that? I haven't, if Martin has said so then I'll just have to thank him for it and apologise that I couldn't do my bit." "Do you know a gentleman by the name of Colonel James Talbot?" "I wouldn't go as far as to say that I knew him, I've met him once, he's the Chairman of the schools board of Governors." "I have a quote here, attributed to him in a report in another newspaper yesterday, he said, Miss Anderton has been nothing but a credit to the school in the manner that she has conducted herself prior to and after this unfortunate incident. He says nothing about your conduct during the incident. What do you think of that?" "The Colonel couldn't make a comment about what happened during the so called unfortunate incident. He wasn't there and the incident, if that is what it has to be called, was, as I've already said, merely the rehearsal of a small part of a scene in a play. The newspapers, some newspapers, have latched onto something that a local reporter thought was a story, there isn't a story." "The reporter who first reported on, the incident, says that he had been investigating the school for quite sometime. He denies approaching you with a view to you doing a photo session for a friend." "That's good of him." "It doesn't worry you that he has been investigating the school?" "No, as far as I'm aware there isn't anything to investigate. I just think he thought I owed him a favour for a good review from a show, the fact that in return he expected me to leap at the chance to pose for some sleazy pictures is his problem. Has anyone asked him why he was trying to get a fifteen year old girl to pose for pictures?" Tom Pendle took a breath and then stopped the tape recorder. "Off the record, you're telling me that at the time he approached you, you were fifteen?" "I had two weeks spare until I was sixteen, but technically, yes, I was fifteen." He switched the machine on again. "So when Martin Tyson took umbrage with the reporter, he was protecting you?" "Yes, he had no legal responsibility to do it, we were out of school, we weren't on school business. I suppose Martin was just trying to look out for me." "Some might say he was trying to keep the reporter away from investigating if there was anything between yourself and Linda." "People can say what they like, if they assert that there was anything, inappropriate, between Linda and I they are wrong." "So where does Michelle Anderton go from here?" "Wherever she wants to go, she just hasn't worked out where that might be yet." "Michelle Anderton, thank you very much." Tom switched the recorder off and Janet was suddenly all over me. "Look out over the balcony Michelle." "Now into the camera, don't smile, just look into the lens." "Look into the distance, prop your chin in your hand." "Okay, sit side on in the chair, fingers on your chin, left hand on your right elbow and smile." The commands were punctuated with the click and whirr of the camera and it's automatic flash lighting the silver umbrella's behind her. I lost count how many pictures were taken by the time she was finished. While she packed up Tom led me back into the lounge. I hadn't realised how cold it was until I felt the warmth of the room. "Right then Michelle, I'll send a courier round with copies of the prints. He'll just leave them at reception for you. Ask for an envelope with my name on it. I'm afraid that after Sunday you're on your own." "Okay, and thanks for giving me the chance to put my side of things." He gave me a smile and kissed my cheek, "the ;lap top is at reception, it's one I lost this morning. Good luck Michelle." He scurried off and I walked back over to the table we'd been at earlier. Janet came through with her two cases and gave me a brief smile. "It's a big city Michelle, try and keep out of the murkier parts. If you need a photographer in the future, ring the High point agency and leave a message for me." She shook my hand and I was, as Tom Pendle had said, on my own. I went back up to my room shortly after they had left. As soon as I walked into the room I caught a glimpse of my reflection in the full length mirror which stood in a corner of the room. The blouse I was wearing had two obvious bumps in it, right at the level of my nipples. I realised with some shock that they looked as though they were budding erect. I looked inside my blouse and eased the water filed balloons away from my bra. The tightly tied ends were pointing outwards instead of their usual position next to my skin. When the prints arrived late that afternoon I looked as though the chill air had made my nipples harden. I didn't know which picture or pictures they would use but any of them would show me as a bright confident young lady, I was pleased as punch. Even more so when I fired up the lap top that Tom had given me, not only was it seriously powerful but there was another brown envelope in the software pocket. I still didn't count the cash, I wanted to wait for the reaction on Sunday before deciding what to do next. I played with the computer for the rest of the day, checking out the various programmes, everything from the word processor to the photo editor. It was while I was playing about with this that a thought struck me. I checked the time and saw it was almost six o'clock. I picked up the phone and dialled the newspaper. "Tom Pendle's desk please." "I'm sorry he's gone home for the evening, I can transfer you to his voice mail if you'd like?" "Yes please." I heard the ringing tone, then his message kicked it followed by the message tone. "Tom, it's Michelle, one more favour if you can. Can I have a copy of the prints on a floppy disk? Thanks again, bye." I've never been a great one for watching television, which, as someone who was supposed to be interested in drama may come as a surprise. I just found that most of the programmes didn't interest me very much. By eight o'clock I was getting rat