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"I'm Harriet Kingston and I'm standing as independent candidate for Mayor of Maple Ridge," I announced. I was a bit deflated. I had an audience of two, a cub reporter from one of the local newspapers - the one nobody ever reads - and a woman reporter from WKYA - a radio station that nobody ever listens to. Nervously I crossed my thighs and straightened up my dress which seemed to have a mind of its own and rode up a little. As I was sitting behind a desk I don't think either of my audience noticed. They looked bored. I had hoped that my press release headed 'Transvestite to run for Mayor' would attract a bit more interest than this. I took a deep breath. I suddenly felt very nervous. Much more nervous than if I had an audience of 200. "I'm running to draw attention to the discrimination against transgendered people. I want to put an end to discrimination. Now if you have any questions, I'd be happy to answer them." The cub reporter perked up. "Yes," he said, "I have a few questions. Sam Linfield from the Maple Ridge Observer. Is Harriet Kingston your real name?" "Yes," I said. "It didn't use to be but I've changed it legally so that the name Harriet Kingston will appear on the ballot paper on election day." "And are you a man or a woman?" he asked in his southern drawl. "Oh, I'm a man," I said enthusiastically and then felt a little foolish. After all, there I sat in a dress, high heels, make up and so on. I went on defensively, "I have all the male equipment. It's just that I like wearing women's clothes." "Sally Winthrop from WKYA. And don't you think Ms Kingston," the WKYA reporter butted in, "Don't you think that you're insulting women by coming here wearing a dress and makeup?" "No, ma'am," I said carefully. I had expected this sort of question. "I'm wearing a dress and makeup because I like wearing a dress and makeup." "Aren't you a bit kinky?" she asked. I'd hoped they wouldn't ask this sort of question. It implied I was some sort of weirdo to be bracketed with psychopaths and nutcases. "If a man wearing a dress and makeup is a bit kinky then yes I'm a bit kinky but to me and thousands of other men, it's perfectly normal." "And are you wearing women's panties under that dress?" asked Sam. Trust the Observer to bring up such a personal issue. However I couldn't duck the question. "Of course." "And are those stockings or pantyhose?" asked Sam getting even more personal. "Actually they're pantyhose but I do like wearing stockings sometimes," I confessed. "Do you wear garters with your stockings?" I nodded. "I do but sometimes I wear holdups." The conversation was going quickly in the wrong direction. Sally looked appalled. I could see it all written on her face. 'Why would anyone, especially a man, want to wear anything as uncomfortable as garters?' However she knew that there were more important issues to discuss than stockings and garters. "And what are your policies on jobs and education?" Sally asked. "To end discrimination in employment and education against anyone who is transgendered." "Any others?" she probed. I paused. "No. That's my only policy," I said. "No other policies? So you are not a serious candidate?" she asked. "On the contrary. I am very serious. I would not be sitting here in public in my best dress, makeup, wig and a pair of pretty uncomfortable shoes if I wasn't serious." I lied. It wasn't my best dress. It certainly wasn't my favorite which was considerably shorter and made from black PVC. I had bought the dress I was wearing especially for this news conference. I own hardly any sensible length skirts or dresses and I didn't want to look like a cheap slut in a tiny mini-skirt, so I'd visited eBay and bought this knee- length, pale blue dress with a small white floral print. Under the dress I wore a lovely petticoat, full length, white and silky with lots of lace around the two-inches-above-the-knee hem. As I crossed my legs the other way, the rub of my petticoat against the pantyhose was delicious and made me feel good even if I'd attracted only two journalists to my conference. With the pale blue dress I wore pale pantyhose and white stiletto pumps. I wore a brown shoulder length wig with blonde highlights that I had decided to wear for the whole campaign. I carried a smart brown purse. "Why are you standing, Harriet? You know you aren't going to win?" Sally persisted. "Sally. The election is still three months away. Who says I'm not going to win?" 'What a stupid statement that was,' I thought as soon as I had said it. Of course I wasn't going to win. How could I, a crossdresser with no party machine, beat the incumbent Mayor Johnson? I could feel a bead of perspiration slide down my forehead, into my eye socket and then down my cheek. "Shit," I thought. "My makeup will be ruined." - "It was a disaster, Belinda," I said as I chatted online that evening to my best friend and soul sister. Belinda is a fellow-crossdresser from the nearby town of Pineville. To comfort myself, I had changed into my favorite black PVC mini-dress over a black basque, black panties and black seamed stockings. OK so my garters showed but who was going to see? The heels on my shoes were in the region of four or five inches. Impossible to walk in but so, so sexy. I'd redone my makeup, of course, slutty with plenty of black and I now wore a long black wig. "Nobody turned up, Belinda," I bemoaned. "Just two reporters and no photographers. And I'd bought a new dress and wig especially! I made a complete fool of myself. I got about ten seconds on the WKYA news this afternoon but by six o'clock, they'd taken the story off air and replaced it with a story about a dog that has given birth to six puppies. I've a good mind to withdraw from the race now." "Well don't do anything too hasty, Harriet." - The following Friday there was a small piece in the Maple Ridge Observer, hidden away on page 32. It was headlined 'Kinky candidate.' That was it. There was nothing in the Maple Ridge Chronicle or the Maple County Herald. My campaign was dead in the water. - The next day (Saturday) I was tidying up at home, dusting and hoovering like I did most weekends. I was doing this wearing my favorite French maid's uniform. I always wear it when I clean the house - I'm a transvestite after all and the uniform makes cleaning a whole lot more fun. I just love the sensations of the pull of my garters and the constriction of my bra. I don't suppose that I am the only man to have cleaned the house wearing a maid's uniform. Mine was a black nylon dress with yards of white lace trim, a white shiny apron with more lace, a choker made from black ribbon and white lace and similar wrist bands, a lacy white cap of course, black fishnet stockings and black shoes. My face was fully made-up and I wore the blonde highlights wig that I'd worn to the disastrous press conference. Although I love high heels, they are much too painful to wear for long periods especially if I'm doing the housework and so I was wearing a pair of black flats. The phone rang and I guessed it would be Belinda, my crossdressing friend from the nearby town of Pineville, who I usually meet up with on a Saturday evening. We visit each other's house each weekend and on that Saturday she was due to come and see me and I was going to cook her dinner - dressed as the maid, of course. "Hello," I said. "Hi, is that Harriet?" a woman's voice asked. I was taken aback. Although I was out as a crossdresser, this was only to a limited circle of friends. I don't give anybody my phone number - except sometimes the number of my cell phone. "My name's Tess and I want to help you with your campaign," she said. "My campaign?" "Yes, your campaign to be mayor. I read the piece in the Observer and I want to help," she told me. Was she winding me up? How did she get my phone number? "But I've not got a campaign. I don't think I'm going to run. I'm announcing that I'm withdrawing on Monday," I explained. "But you can't do that," said Tess sounding rather shocked. "You can't drop out before you've started. So many people are depending on you." "Really? How many? Two? Three?" "Thousands. I was hoping that I could call round and see you sometime and talk about your campaign." "My campaign?" I said again. This phone call was such a surprise. I didn't really know what to say. "Yes and the sooner we plan the campaign, the more chance you have of winning," Tess urged. "Winning?" I knew I had no chance of winning. "Yes. You must fight to win, Harriet. As I said, a lot of people are depending on you. Now there's no time like the present. Can I come round right now and discuss it?" "Now?" "Yes. I said that there's no time like the present." Tess was persuasive. "It's just that..." I tried to make an excuse. "The house is in a mess? Don't worry. I don't mind." Tess was more persuasive. "No the house is not in a mess. It's like a new pin. But I'm not dressed appropriately..." I wouldn't have time to clean off all my makeup and change back into being a man. I had just spent half an hour or so sticking on my false finger nails. "Harriet, Honey. I don't care what you're wearing. You could be dressed as a French maid and I wouldn't mind..." "I am dressed as a French maid," I explained. "Really? Cool. It doesn't bother me. Does it bother you? I bet you look really cute. Now please can I come round and talk to you about the election? Pretty please." "Now don't get me wrong, Tess, I am grateful for your offer. Excuse me for being skeptical but this is genuine, isn't it?" "Yes. Can I call round in 15 minutes?" "I suppose so," I said giving in. "I know the address. See you in fifteen," she said and rang off. - I had fifteen minutes before a complete stranger would be entering my den. I went to the bathroom and checked my makeup. I touched up my lipstick and put on a little more mascara. I took off my maid's cap and brushed my hair. Then I put the cap back on. My hair didn't look much different from before. "Perhaps I should just change into something more demure," I thought. Not that I possessed many demure outfits, except that dress I'd worn at the press conference and a couple of longer skirts I'd bought in a promotion. I looked at my watch. There wasn't time. Tess would be here soon. There was a ring of the door bell. I opened the front door a crack. "Hi, I'm Tess." Tess wasn't what I had expected. I'd imagined a large, blustering, middle-aged lady - in fact she much younger (early thirties) and quite petite. She was pretty and wore a casual red top and white jeans. (I notice things, you know.) "Nice costume," she said as I showed her in. I wanted to say something. It wasn't a costume, it was a uniform. Still I bit my tongue. This woman had offered to help me and I should at least hear her out but I took a dislike to her. On impulse I curtseyed - something I'd never done before - and said, "This way, ma'am." "Nice legs," she mumbled under her breath as I followed just behind her. Was she serious or taking the piss? "Please sit down. Can I get you a drink? Coffee? Tea?" She sat down on the settee and started speaking in a business-like manner. "Can I just tell you why I've come to see you, Harriet? Perhaps afterwards we can have a cup of tea and make some plans." "Sure," I said. I still thought that I would withdraw - I didn't need any plans. "Harriet, I work at City Hall. That's how I found your phone number and address from the voters' lists. I shouldn't have done because I broke all the privacy laws but I can't sit back and watch it all happen; the back-stabbing, the corruption, the nepotism, the bullying, the fear." "If Mayor Johnson found out that I had come to talk to you, I'd lose my job. Yes, honestly. He's a bully and a crook. So I was so glad when I heard that someone was standing against him for mayor. We've wanted a challenger to Mayor Johnson for years. Someone who's brave, someone who's strong. It means we'll have a real election and a real candidate standing against Mayor Johnson." "But what about the other candidate? What's his name? Jeff Knight?" "He's a sham. The two main parties have an agreement. The Democrats won't work too hard in Maple Ridge, if the Republicans go easy in Pineville. Why do you think two similar towns like Maple Ridge and Pineville always have mayors from opposite parties?" Tess explained. "Isn't that illegal?" "No, I don't think so. But it's collusion. It's anti-democratic. Anyway if it was illegal we could never prove it." "But what about the press? Couldn't they expose it all?" I asked. "Oh, you are na?ve, Harriet. The media are all in on it too. The Maple Ridge Observer is full of adverts placed by Mayor Johnson. They are guaranteed a quarter of a million dollars of public money every year in advertising income. It's even more in the Chronicle. And the radio stations are in on it too. WKYA were allowed to build their offices in a zone designated as parkland. Why was that, do you think? The owner of the other radio station has a son who was employed by Mayor Johnson as an adviser. He couldn't even advise you on what to have for breakfast." "So for 20 years Mayor Johnson has been re-elected because he has no opposition?" I asked incredulous. This was all new to me. "That's more or else the truth. There was a guy a few years ago who was standing as an independent. Mike Holden, he was called. He got leaned on to withdraw." "Leaned on?" "Yes. The story is that the chief of police called on him, He said that if Mike didn't withdraw he'd better make sure that the tires, the lights, the muffler on his car were working fine. And sometimes lights broke accidentally..." "I see what you mean. But I don't think I want to stand if I get all that hassle," I said. "I don't like that sort of thing. I'm non-violent. You want someone who's brave; I'm a coward." "You're not a coward, Harriet, you're very brave." "Nonsense. Why do you say that?" "Harriet, you're a man sitting talking to me in a maid's dress, apron, makeup and if you don't mind me saying so, a ridiculous but very pretty cap on your head. I'd call that brave." I reddened and listened pensively. "And you had the courage to organize a press conference and go there in a dress. I'd call that brave." She paused. I said nothing. "And you've invited me, a complete stranger into your house to share your beliefs and your goals. I'd call that brave. So you are brave enough to stand for mayor. Look, let's have a cup of tea and discuss it all." "I suppose there is some truth in what you say," I said. "But 'let's have that cup of tea.' That sounds like a job for the maid." I got up and curtseyed to Tess. "Milk and sugar, madam?" "Milk, no sugar please?" "Cookies, madam?" "Yes, please." "And madam ..." I said stopping as I left the den. "These clothes are not the most practical. Would you mind if I changed into Simon?" "Not at all." I curtseyed to her again. I went into the kitchen and put on the water for the tea. Then I slipped upstairs. I opened my male wardrobe. Then I spotted my nails. I'd spent ages doing them. I didn't want to take them off so quickly. And I was in full makeup. I wouldn't have time. I decided to forget Simon and stay as Harriet. I quickly kicked off my shoes, undid the apron, pulled off the dress; then undid the garters and slid off my stockings. I pulled off the cap and threw it on the bed. Then I found a pair of natural colored pantyhose and put them on. That felt more comfortable. In my wardrobe I found a pale green long sleeved top and a nearly knee-length white gypsy skirt. I stepped into my three-inch heels and checked my hair and makeup in the mirror. It looked OK. I touched up the lippy and gave myself a spritz of perfume. I checked my watch. It had only taken two and a half minutes - a record time. I practically ran down the stairs, loving the feeling of the skirt swaying with each step. The water was boiling. "Here you are, Tess," I said as I returned to the den carrying a tray. "Are you Simon?" she asked. "Well, no. I decided to stay as Harriet." "I don't mind. I'd like to meet Simon some other time. And that is a lovely top," she said. I think she meant it. I was beginning to warm to her. I handed her a cup and then sat down not realizing that as I did so, my skirt would ride up and reveal a little more of my thighs. "Look, Tess, I'm afraid I'm not a serious candidate. I don't want to be mayor. I just want to draw attention to the plight of the transgendered community. To fight an election we'd need money and helpers. And we'd be up against an efficient party machine," I explained. "No you wouldn't. Mayor Johnson doesn't have an efficient party machine. He's never had to fight an election. What I mean is, he's never had a real opponent. He's complacent and there is no party machine. He's such a horrible and unpleasant man that the Republican Party helpers have deserted him in droves. He has very few helpers - mainly his family and they don't like him much - and very few donors. And he's not getting any younger. He must be nearly seventy. He looks very old and won't have the energy for a hard-fought campaign." "But, Tess, I've got no helpers and no donors. If he is as corrupt as you say, he will have siphoned city cash into his election fund. Even if I get the support of City Hall workers like you, you can't be open about it. I haven't a chance." "But you have got a chance. And an opportunity. And some helpers. I have a friend, Janet. She has just retired so has plenty of time on her hands. She used to work for the Democratic Party but she got disillusioned. She knows all about fighting elections - she's organized dozens of campaigns. Then there's Felicity. She's worked as a publicist for years. She's the best in the business. She knows all about commercials and how to get yourself seen. On the radio, TV, Press releases, publicity stunts, you know..." "But what about cash? I'd need a lot for printing, advertisements, radio and TV ads. What about helpers?" "Not a problem. Your program is equal rights for transgendered people. You'd have the support of the transgendered community. You will be the first ever transgendered candidate to run for office. Do you know how many transgendered personal web sites there are? Over seven thousand in this country alone. Janet and two of her friends have built a database of email addresses of transgendered people. With your permission we will contact them and ask for donations. If ten per cent of them give 100 dollars that's seventy thousand dollars." "We'll never raise seventy thousand dollars, Tess. We'll be lucky to raise seven." "Will you shut up and listen, Harriet?" Tess ordered. "And we have email addresses for 294 transgendered people in this state alone. If we can get ten per cent of them to come and support you that's twenty nine helpers - far more than Mayor Johnson has." "Twenty nine helpers. We'll be lucky to get two helpers, you and me. And I'm a man in a gypsy skirt and you're missing a few brain cells. No-one cares about politics any more. They don't care, they don't register and they don't vote." "Harriet, honey, trust me. We'll get the helpers. Just you wait and see." "Be realistic, Tess. I don't want to run, we won't get any helpers and we won't get enough money," I implored. "I might as well stand down now. I'll write the letter." "Not so fast, Harriet. Don't you even think of standing down yet! Promise me one thing. That if we do get the helpers and we get the money that you'll run. Janet and I are not going to work our tits off for you to withdraw." "OK, OK. If you get the money and the helpers, I promise I'll stand. But you've got more chance of flying to the moon by flapping your arms. And just suppose we get the money. And the helpers. Will the people of Maple Ridge vote for a guy in a gypsy skirt and three inch heels? They're bigoted. They would say that I was kinky. They would say that I was a pervert. The press are in Johnson's pocket. They would have a field day." "I agree that it's a long shot, Harriet, but we have a chance and it's the only chance of preventing Johnson and his crooked friends getting four more years in City Hall. And we have to give it our best shot. We'll give them an alternative. They don't vote because they can't see the difference between Johnson and Knight. And come to think of it, neither can I. They're both self-serving crooks. If we get the public to see Johnson and Knight as they really are, then they won't vote for them. And if they don't vote for them, they'll have to vote for you." We sipped our tea and chatted some more. It was late afternoon. I was getting hungry and I'd done nothing about dinner. "Say, do you want to go out for dinner?" Tess asked me. "Sure. But I'd better go back to being Simon." "No, Harriet. Stay as you are. If Harriet is to stand for election, to put her name and face up in lights then she can't be afraid of going out to a restaurant. Besides, you are quite convincing and very feminine." I wasn't sure that she was right about me being feminine but she was right about going out. So she was bullying me to go out to a restaurant en femme - something I'd always wanted to do. Sure the guys at the little diner we went to knew I was no lady but they certainly treated me like one. And it was made much easier by Tess being there with me. I'd never have gone on my own. - After that evening I didn't see Tess for a week. Things were pretty much normal for me. I worked at home, usually wearing a short skirt and tight top, changing only when I tidied the house. I didn't do anything about my mayoral campaign and I had almost forgotten about it till Tess rang me Friday. I was tidying the house in my favorite maid's uniform. "I've got some amazing news," she said. "A guy has promised me a hundred thousand dollars for your campaign..." My jaw dropped. Why would a complete stranger give me a hundred thousand bucks? I'd secretly hoped that Tess would end up raising only about 25 bucks and the campaign would be off. But a hundred thousand? That's enough for a small campaign, leaflets, radio air time, TV commercials, ... This was serious. "He's a crossdresser and a multi-millionaire. He said he was only too happy to contribute. I might be able to get some more out of him if I ask him nicely. I've got Felicity booking time on the radio and TV stations already, subject to our budget. Janet has got a friend to write a commercial and we'll video it at the weekend. "This weekend?" I shrieked. "Yes, but don't worry. I've booked a hairdresser and a beautician to come round before we do the filming. Janet is working on your slogan right now. I think it will be something like Harriet Kingston, the independent candidate for Mayor of Maple Ridge, Open and honest. Do you think that's too long?" Things were moving too quickly. I couldn't jump off now. "Open and honest," Tess continued. "I like that. Neither of the other two is either open or honest. Everyone wants an honest politician." "So how come they never get one?" I asked her. "And we've got thirty three volunteers already who are willing to telephone voters on your behalf. I tell you what. These people are interested in politics. And they support your policy of an end to discrimination." "So let's get this right. You've got thirty three helpers and one hundred thousand dollars?" "No," Tess said, "One hundred nine thousand, two hundred fifty six dollars. And twelve cents. Not bad for starters. And we've organized a fund raising rally for you Tuesday." "A what?" "A rally. You know. To rally the troops..." "The troops?" "Our helpers. Twenty eight of the thirty three have promised to be there. Felicity has placed ads in the Observer, the Chronicle and the Herald. Not forgetting WKYA. You'll need to have a speech prepared." "A speech?" It was much too late to get off now. Like it or not I was a candidate... - The next day, the hairdresser, the beautician, the photographer and the video crew arrived. I must say that the hairdresser and the beautician did a good job. I looked so feminine and so pretty. I think I still looked like a guy in a dress, but quite a pretty guy. Then I had a few photos done. A few head shots. Then me sitting at a desk looking business-like. I was wearing a knee-length skirt that revealed some of my thighs as I sat there. Of course, that was deliberate. We went to City Hall and they took some photos of me with the building in the background. Then we started shooting the video. I said a few words to the cameras. They filmed me in the mall talking to two members of the public who happened to be friends of Janet's. Stooges I guess you'd call them. They videoed me in town and then at home. Cooking in the kitchen and working on my computer. Did I look business-like or what? By six they were all done and they all left. By six thirty I had the first brick through my window. I called the police of course. As Simon. I cleaned off all my makeup and put on a drab pair of jeans. The police arrived later that evening to investigate. There were two of them. They asked a few questions about how it happened and what I saw and then one said, "Aren't you the transvestite who's running for mayor?" "Yes," I replied. Open and honest Harriet - that's me. From then on, their attitude changed and made out as if it was my fault. It seemed as if they were thinking that if I was stupid enough to dress in women's clothes and put myself up against Mayor Johnson then the least I could expect was a brick through my window. I deserved it. They left as quickly as they could. It was clear that they'd do nothing about it. I was so stressed that I went straight upstairs and put on my maid's uniform. That calmed me down a lot. I phoned Tess. She was very sympathetic. She suspected that this sort of thing might happen but she said she hadn't expected so soon. That week I had paint stripper thrown over my car and a death threat through the post. Both times I complained to the police and both times they as good as ignored me. I wanted to take it up with my congressman but I guessed that he was friends with Mayor Johnson. I wouldn't be intimidated. I've always been the stubborn sort. I phoned Janet and she said that we ought to have a campaign committee meeting to discuss what to do. She called it for the following day at her flat. I dressed as Harriet and drove over the Tess's place at six. Of course I knew nobody there except Tess but she introduced me to Janet and Felicity, who'd I'd heard a lot about and Mia, Madge and Pippa who were three t-girls like me. Not that you've have known it. They were so convincing. I felt rather ugly in their presence but they made me feel very welcome and very important. We agreed that I couldn't stay at home during the campaign. Mia offered to let me stay at her place and I accepted. She offered to drive me around as well so I was able to lock my car in my garage for the whole campaign. Johnson and his henchmen never did find out where I was staying even though I thought I was being followed once or twice and I suspected that they were bugging my cell phone. We devised a simple code when talking on the phone which I don't think they cracked either. The following Tuesday we held the rally. Sure, the twenty eight helpers turned up. But only nine others. Hardly worth those ads in the press and on the radio. I don't know if they came along because they were curious and wanted to see a man in a dress. Or maybe they hated Mayor Johnson. Anyway we got a few more helpers for which I was grateful and a little more money. We telephoned lots of people, we put out lots of leaflets, the videos were on the local TV station but not enough people said that they would vote for me. Of course we had to be careful what we wrote. You can't put out leaflets saying "Mayor Johnson is a crook" unless you have proof. We had to drop hints. "People keep telling me Mayor Johnson is a crook." "There are a lot of ugly rumors circulating that Mayor Johnson is a crook." But it didn't do any good. People told us they were still voting for Mayor Johnson whatever the rumors said. Our voter identification suggested that roughly 60 per cent would vote for Johnson, 25 per cent for Knight and 10 per cent for me. And most of them because I was what the press were now calling the kinky candidate. I think the editors of the Chronicle, the Observer and the Herald thought that my description as the kinky candidate was derogatory. However some people thought it was a compliment. But not enough to win the election. With four weeks to go we knew it was hopeless. There are no chance but we had to fix a smile on our faces, tell everyone we were winning (we didn't believe it and nor did they) and keep punching the buttons. But it didn't do any good. My vote stayed doggedly at 10 per cent. If it had been a boxing match, they'd have stopped the fight. One night I was round at Tess's house planning the final stages of the campaign. I was feeling particularly stressed after a long day talking to voters to little effect. My shoulders were all stiff as I hunched over Tess's kitchen table. Ten days to go and it was hopeless. I had no chance. "You look like you're all stressed out. You need some of this," said Tess, as she stood up, walked over to behind where I was sitting, placed her hands on my shoulders and started to massage them. She pressed hard with her thumbs on the pressure points. It hurt but it felt great. As if by magic my shoulders relaxed, I forgot my worries and began to loosen up. It felt good. It was a long time since I'd had any physical contact with a woman. And I was enjoying it... Tess adjusted her position and accidentally brushed her leg against mine. All sorts of sexual chemistry was transmitted. I turned round to face her and looked up into her eyes. Neither of us said a word. We didn't need to. We knew exactly what the other was thinking. Our lips met. My lipstick was smudged. So was hers. Our tongues impacted. She was above me. Her hair fell in my face. I didn't care. I was full of pent-up frustrations after years without any feminine company since my wife left me, years of feeling guilty about my hobby, years of hiding away my true feelings, years of only having sex with myself. These sexual frustrations and the mental frustrations of the election campaign suddenly disappeared. I just knew that I had to make love to Tess and she seemed to want to make love to me. Before I knew it, she had her hand up my dress and was feeling around the tops of my stockings. I reciprocated except like any sensible woman she wore hose. She reached behind me and undid my dress. It slipped off. Underneath I was wearing a gorgeous white lacy petticoat. Tess seemed to like it. Tess was wearing a knee-length skirt and a nice top. Soon these too were off and she stood in her petticoat and peeled off her hose and panties. Then she helped me with my panties. Upstairs we lay on Tess's bed and made love. It wasn't the best sex I'd ever had. I was too frustrated and it was all over too quickly but the feeling as our petticoats rubbed was a feeling that I've never known matched. I slept at Tess's house that night. In her bed, in a silky nightie of hers. We made love again before we went to sleep and in the morning we were contemplating a third attempt when the bedside phone rang. "Oh, hi, Mia," said Tess. I guessed that Mia was wondering where I was and why I hadn't returned home that night. Perhaps she would give me a telling off like a schoolmarm ticking off a pupil. But I didn't care... "Turn on the TV? Now? OK. Bye," said Tess. Tess put down the phone and picked up the remote control for her bedside TV. "Mia says I've got to watch the news," she explained. She turned on the TV. The images were pictures of police cars in a suburban street. We saw five or six cops get out of three cars and head for one of the houses. Then we saw them all come out with Mayor Johnson. It was his house. The ticker tape at the bottom of the screen read "Maple Ridge Mayor Arrested." The next headline read "Democratic candidate also taken in for questioning." Johnson and Knight were under investigation. Tess and I just stared at the screen. As we saw pictures of Jeff Knight being led to a police car we laughed and laughed. Tears splashed my cheeks. I think the Germans call it schadenfreude. The police had called on both Johnson and Knight at 5.30 a.m. Strangely the press had been alerted and the reporters and TV crews. Anyone watching the news station would see video tape footage of the mayor's house being sealed off with tape saying, 'Crime scene. Do not cross.' Police officers came out carrying dozens of documents. Mayor Johnson was seen being bundled into a patrol car and then seen arriving at the police headquarters. Similar footage was shown of Knight's house. He too was seen arriving at the police HQ. Now I was pretty na?ve about elections but even I knew that being driven away for questioning by the police does not help your campaign. Johnson wasn't held overnight. He wasn't even charged but we all know what the public think in such cases. 'Guilty until proven guilty.' And how things changed. Suddenly when we telephoned voters, they were telling us that they would be voting for me. Suddenly instead of us having to ring them, they were ringing us to say that they had changed their minds, that they would vote for me and what could they do to help. Johnson went to court to try to get the election postponed but it was thrown out. For the next week and a half news bulletins included the same footage of Johnson and Knight arriving at the police station with a burly police officer on either side. It was a shoo-in for me. Nobody would vote for a crooked mayor. What did it matter that neither Johnson nor Knight had been charged? They will be. Once the investigations are complete. So I'm writing this in the office of the Mayor of Maple Ridge. I'm wearing a nice black business suit, the skirt just above the knee. I'm wearing garters and stockings of course and I've booked to have my hair done tomorrow. Of course I've sacked all the senior staff left by Mayor Johnson. And in their place I've installed my team including my partner Tess. It still feels strange when someone calls me Mayor Kingston but I suppose I'll get used to it. And the police raids? How come they took place ten days before the election? Well I don't know. I asked Felicity if it was anything to do with her and she just smiled and said, "Didn't Tess tell you that I'm the best publicist in the business?"