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The Crossing - Part 3 free porn video
I'd escaped from my PoW camp and had planned on making my way across Nazi
Germany dressed as a woman, but someone has seen through my disguise.
THE CROSSING - part 3
by BobH
(c) 2015
- 6 -
My greatest fear had been realised. I had been found out. I felt numb, my
throat dry. I couldn't move, I couldn't speak, I could barely think. I
stood there before Count von Rumstahl, dressed in women's clothing,
rooted to the spot.
"Do you deny you are a man?" he said.
I shook my head.
"These fake ID documents are really yours, aren't they? You probably
chose Paula as a name because your birth name was Paul."
I nodded, moving my head being the only action I seemed capable of.
"So let me see if I have this right. Dressed as a woman and calling
yourself Paula Grunwald, you were sharing a compartment with the real Eva
Schumacher when the train you were on was halted. At this point a madman
clambered aboard, entered the compartment, and attacked Fraulein
Schumacher. In the process her handbag must have been knocked over
spilling its contents, which included a small handgun. Seizing this
opportunity, you grabbed the gun and fired a warning shot into the
ceiling of the railway carriage, whereupon the attacker fled.
Unfortunately, he had already killed Fraulein Schumacher. Unfortunate for
her, less so for you. For you this was another opportunity, one you
eagerly embraced. There was enough of a resemblance between you that you
could use her ID and pass yourself off as her. So you swapped papers with
her before my sister arrived with Captain Wendt, assuming her identity,
correct?"
Close enough, save for the 'madman' being my fellow PoW escapee Major
Mark Benton and both of us having boarded the train when it halted. I
nodded again.
"I think I understand what must have been going through your mind,"
continued the Count. "You dress and live as a woman because you are
compelled to, because you have no choice, but since the Nazis came to
power such a compulsion could get you killed. Assuming Eva Schumacher's
identity was an opportunity to pass yourself off as a real woman, yes?"
Hang on, what? Things had suddenly taken a very unexpected turn. I had no
idea where they were going, but anywhere had to be better than where it
looked like they were heading just seconds ago, so I nodded again.
"The Nazis are barbarians," said the Count's sister, piping in from where
she was sitting behind me, "persecuting people for what is nothing more
than their basic nature. It's inhuman."
"In this Gerda and I are of one mind," said the Count, a smile appearing
on that handsome face for the first time. "And you have inadvertently
done me a great service. Captain Wendt defers to us in some matters, but
he is a conscientious policeman. Had Eva Schumacher's suitcase belonged
to the murder victim rather than the innocent bystander he would have had
no choice but to impound it. Who can say in whose hands it might have
ended up after that?"
He held up the envelope Gerda had retrieved from the suitcase.
"The real Eva Schumacher fled the castle with this," he said, "the
contents of which, in the wrong hands, would almost certainly have led to
my imprisonment and possibly my death. When I realised Eva had taken them
I sent Gerda to retrieve them - and, yes, she knew from the very first
that you weren't Eva. How could she not? Eva had been a guest in our
home, before so appallingly betraying our trust."
"I gave Captain Wendt a story about a woman who'd been temporarily
employed at the castle stealing our mother's diamond necklace," said
Gerda, "and had him stop the train she was fleeing on. Fortunately I
hadn't given him a name so unlike me he didn't react when you claimed to
be Eva Schumacher. I'd grabbed my mother's necklace on my way out, of
course, so that I could plant it on her when we caught up with her."
"What's in the envelope?" I asked, finding my voice at last.
"Something I'd prefer to keep to myself," said the Count, "for now, at
least. May I enquire as to where you were heading on your train journey?"
"Away," I said, being deliberately vague. Things had been moving so fast
this was a question I hadn't even considered. "I just hoped to find
somewhere where I could be myself."
"I understand," said the Count, "and you have. I owe you a great debt and
for as long as you wish to stay with us our home is your home. You have
to continue to be Eva Schumacher, of course, but I think 'Eva' suits you
better than 'Paula' anyway."
He held his hand out. I took it, but instead of shaking my hand he lifted
it, leaned forward and brushed my fingers with his lips, a courtly
gesture and one which startled me.
"No one else would ever guess you're not the very pretty girl you appear
unless they were looking for it," he said. "I was, and I still wasn't
sure I was right until you confirmed it."
"Thank you," I replied, relieved to hear this. My chances of getting
across Germany, my very survival, depended on people not seeing through
my disguise.
"We have a room for you," he said. "Gerda will take you to it, and I will
see you again tonight at dinner."
Picking up the suitcase, Gerda led me up the grand staircase to the floor
above.
"How many floors does the castle have?" I asked, making small talk.
"There are two more above this in the main body of the castle," she
replied, "where the servants and their families live, though the towers
have several more very small ones above that again, of course. Ah, here
we are."
She led me into one of the largest bedrooms I'd ever been in. It was wood
panelled and contained a large, four poster bed, the sheets turned back.
It also had an en suite bathroom, its door slightly ajar, through which I
could hear the sound of running water.
"Helga is drawing a bath for you," said Gerda, noting my interest.
"Helga?"
"My maid. Come here please, Helga."
Helga emerged from the bathroom, gave a small curtsey, and looked at us
expectantly. She was a plain girl who appeared to be around my age, a few
inches taller (who wasn't?), and was dressed in a maid uniform.
"Helga, this is Eva Schumacher," said Gerda.
Helga frowned.
"Milady?" she said.
"She has always been Eva Schumacher, the only Eva Schumacher who has ever
stayed here."
"Very good, milady. The bath is ready for Fraulein Schumacher. Will there
be anything else?"
"No, you can return to your other duties."
Helga gave another small curtsey and slipped out of the room.
"Will she say anything?" I asked, worried.
"No, and neither will any of the other staff. They and their families
have worked for our family for generations and are completely loyal to
us, Eva."
Eva. I was going to have to get used to being called by that name for
now.
"There are paper and pens on the writing desk," continued Gerda. "Be sure
to write up your statement and I'll drop it off with Captain Wendt when I
go down to the village tomorrow. Now I have something to show you, and I
think you're going to love it."
She slid back a wooden panel I hadn't realised was a door. Behind it was
a large closet filled with women's clothing, the floor lined with dozens
of pairs of women's shoes, and everything appeared to be in my size. I'm
sure my surprise showed on my face, but realizing more was expected of me
I faked a squeal of delight.
"Oh Gerda, I can't believe it!" I said. "It's like I've died and gone to
heaven!"
I ran my fingers along the row of clothing and let out another happy
squeal.
"I can only imagine how wonderful this must be for you," she said,
smiling at my apparent excitement. "Now enjoy your bath and while you're
taking it I'll lay out an appropriate outfit for you for tonight. Dinner
will be at seven, and we always dress for dinner."
- 7 -
After almost a year of communal showering in tepid water at Stalag Luft
XII, having a bath all to myself was amazing. I poured bath salts in then
lowered myself into it, sighing blissfully as the hot water closed over
me. Lying there, my head propped against the high back of the bath, the
rest of me submerged, I ran through all that had happened to me since my
escape, trying to make sense of it.
The von Rumstahls puzzled me. They obviously think I'm some sort of
cross-dressing nancy boy, but it's not something they have a problem
with. How terribly bohemian of them. Surprising, too, given the trouble
it could get them into in today's Germany. The Count said no one would
see through my disguise and see what I was unless they were looking for
it, but why was he looking for it? According to Benton, the Count has
Hitler's confidence, yet when Gerda called the Nazis 'barbarians' he
agreed with her. And what about Benton? Did he survive his leap into that
fast-flowing, swollen river? If he did he's not going to strike out for
the village until tonight. Which means the earliest he would be
attempting contact would be tomorrow. Then there's the woman whose
identity I've stolen, Eva Schumacher. Who was she, why was she a guest
here in the castle, what was in that envelope, and why did she flee with
it? Try as I might, I couldn't force all these elements into a coherent
pattern in my mind. So I stopped trying. Besides, I had my own situation
to consider.
From Wing-Commander Compton's expression when he told me I was being
paired off with Mark Benton for the escape, he knew Benton actually
wanted me to help him complete his mission, and Benton obviously had the
authority to make that demand. During his brief time in the camp he must
have decided having a female companion would help him in some way. He
chose me over Alec Delon because of the two of us I made the more
convincing woman. Lucky me. I wish he'd told me his plan for getting
closer to Count von Rumstahl if Hitler wasn't here, but he didn't. It
probably required us to pose as a couple. Unfortunately, the incident on
the train has completely buggered everything up. Whatever the plan was
it's now moot. And yet, ironically and without even trying, here I am in
position in the castle, without Benton's aid. However, even if I manage
to learn something of great importance to the Allied cause I can't get
that information to them without Benton. He knows the identity of the man
in the village who can radio London, and I don't. Which brings up the
problem of what I do if Benton didn't survive. Unlike him I didn't
volunteer for this mission; I was drafted - you might even say
shanghaied. If he's dead then I need to be looking for a way to escape
back to England. At the very least that'll take a week or two while I get
the lay of the land here, gain the confidence of the von Rumstahls, and
figure out how to do so. But I could worry about all that later. For now
I just wanted to luxuriate in this heavenly bath.
When I got out, I towelled off with the softest towels I've ever
encountered, wrapping one of them around my still-wet hair. There was a
long, heavy bathrobe hanging on the back of the bathroom door that felt
marvellous against my skin when I put it on. If this was how the other
half lived I wanted in. Stepping out into the bedroom I found the outfit
Gerda had selected for me laying on the bed. It was a long, white evening
dress, simply cut but very elegant. Laying beside it were a garter belt,
silk stockings, French knickers, and pearls. On the floor stood a pair of
open-toed white pumps with three inch heels and little bows on top.
Great, just great. Being in drag was supposed to be a temporary thing;
now it looked like it could be twenty four hours a day for some time to
come. Unfortunately, I had no real choice for now but to play along and
be the person the von Rumstahls thought I was.
I picked up the knickers and rubbed the material between my fingers
thoughtfully. The underwear I'd worn beneath my female attire had been
standard RAF male issue, complete with tags in English. I'd need to
dispose of it as soon as I could, or at least hide it, which left
knickers such as these as what I'd be wearing under my clothes from now
on. Dropping them back on the bed I decided to get my statement out of
the way before doing anything else. The account I wrote was pretty much
the same story I'd given Captain Wendt already - two young women sharing
a compartment on a train when a madmen bursts in, kills one, and is
scared off by the other firing a gun. This done, I decided to explore the
room next.
The first thing I checked out was the sturdy chest of drawers next to the
bathroom door. These contained a dizzying variety of female
undergarments, lingerie, and hosiery. I examined a bra. The cups were
clearly never designed to hold breasts and instead incorporated a degree
of padding to create the illusion of breasts for someone who had none.
Curious, I slipped out of the bathrobe and tried it on. It was an
acceptably close fit, being intended for a woman (or more likely a teen-
aged girl) with my size ribcage and a flat chest.
Wandering over to the wardrobe I ran my hand along the dozens of dresses,
coats, and skirt suits it contained, all of them in my size. Who had they
belonged to originally, I wondered? Could they have been Eva
Schumacher's? She was certainly the right size... but, no. She had a bust
and these were clearly made to fit someone flat-chested, though cunningly
cut and discreetly padded to suggest there might be at least small
breasts to be found on the woman wearing them. Above the dress rack was a
shelf containing maybe twenty hat boxes. Had he been here instead of me,
Alec Delon would have loved all this. Not me. I was mostly disappointed
to discover the closet contained no trousers of any sort, not even
shorts.
The dressing table held a wide variety of perfumes and cosmetics. I
recognised enough of the names on display to realise they were all high
quality, top of the line products. Whatever else they might be, the von
Rumstahls were no cheapskates.
On top of the chest of drawers a glass of orange juice, a small
cheeseboard and a couple of apples had been left for me. It would be many
hours until dinner so this was much appreciated. I cut slices of apple,
placed slices of cheese on them, and slowly paced up and down the bedroom
munching away, the deep carpets feeling wonderful underfoot. My bedroom
window looked out over the courtyard two floors below, as did the small,
pebble-glassed bathroom window. I checked the door, of course, and found
it unlocked. Very trusting of them given their experience with Eva
Schumacher.
I returned to the closet, a sudden thought having occurred to me. Sunk
into the wall between the bedroom and the bathroom it was an integral
part of that wall and had obviously been designed in when the castle was
being built. It was about two and a half feet deep, which gave some
indication of just how thick the stone walls must be. Or did it? In one
direction lay the bathroom door, but in the other that wall was
perpendicular to the wall abutting the corridor. Perhaps it was a result
of seeing too many Holywood movies, but I found myself wondering if maybe
there was a secret passage inside the wall in that direction. This was
not quite as fanciful as it sounds. Even in England there were old houses
with 'priest holes', secret spaces where a family might hide a priest
during one of those periods when Catholics were being persecuted.
I tapped the side panel of the closet. It sounded solid, but then it
might simply be substantial enough for that technique not to work.
Retrieving the cheese knife, I ran it carefully up the corner of closet.
This was in shadow, being in far enough that no light from the window
could reach it. When the knife drew about level with the top of my head,
just before reaching the hat shelf, it slid into an invisible recess no
thicker than the blade itself. I heard a click as it engaged
with...something. That was all. Reasoning I might have disengaged some
sort of catch, I leaned in hard on the panel. It took some effort, and
there were protesting creaks, but it swung inwards revealing a dark
passage barely two feet wide. It was full of cobwebs, a thick layer of
dust on the floor. Wherever it led, no one had been down it in a very
long time. A secret passage. Amazing. Looking for it had been little more
than a whim. I hadn't really expected to find one, but I had.
I considered exploring the passage but decided against it for now. It
could wait. I had just bathed and washed my hair. Checking it out now
would mean I'd have to do so all over again. So instead I pulled the
panel shut, hearing that click again as the catch re-engaged.
A wave of tiredness suddenly rolled over me. I hadn't slept since the
ruined barn and would likely be asleep now if Benton and I had found
somewhere suitable to doss down until night. Moving the outfit Gerda had
laid out for me from the bed to the chair beside it, I pulled off the
towel wrapping my head, slid between the freshly laundered sheets and let
out a small sigh of pleasure. Clean sheets always felt so good against a
clean body. All the excitement of the past twenty four hours had pumped
so much adrenelin through my system that sleep could have been difficult.
It wasn't. I was asleep within minutes of my head hitting the soft, soft
pillow.
- 8 -
Rolling silk stockings up my legs for the first time and clipping them to
the garter belt straps at front and rear was a very strange feeling. I
might have worn female clothing for the plays we had performed in Stalag
Luft XII, but this was my first time in women's underwear. When the
stockings were safely attached I pulled on the French knickers then stood
up. I stepped into the shoes, straightened my seams and took a few
experimental steps. I was acutely conscious of the garter belt,
particularly how the elasticated straps at the rear stretched over each
buttock in turn with my every step. Next I donned the bra and dropped the
slip over my head, letting it slide down my body and settle in place.
After the coarser material of men's underwear, all that silk against my
skin felt almost sinfully sensual. It was something it would be very easy
to get used to, but I daren't. Despite my current circumstances I was a
man, and I mustn't lose sight of that fact.
I was about to sit down on the bench seat in front of the dressing table
and attempt to figure out the cosmetics arrayed there when there was a
knock at the door.
"May I come in?" said a voice.
It was Gerda.
"Please do," I replied.
She entered, looking very elegant in a long-sleeved, high-waisted
burgundy evening dress and diamonds, her make-up immaculate. She was
carrying a small, strapless clutch bag that matched her dress.
"Ah, you haven't started your make-up yet," she said. "Good. I was hoping
to catch you before you did. I noticed you were only wearing lipstick
when we met. I hope you don't mind me saying so, but it wasn't very well
applied. If you'll let me, I'd like to help you with your make-up."
"That's very considerate, thank you," I replied.
"By the time they're your age most girls will have had a lot of advice
and help with make-up from older female relatives. You've missed out on
that, but I want to help you catch up."
She lifted my chin, studying my face, which also meant I was looking into
hers. Gerda was undeniably a good-looking woman, but she was too tall and
too angular for me to be attracted to her. I wanted a woman closer to my
own height, one who was softer and curvier. Not that any of this
reflected on her abilities. Having decided what was required, Gerda
selected an item from the dressing table.
"We'll be using make-up to enhance your natural prettiness, of course,
but for the evening you also need glamour."
And then she set to work with various pencils, paints and brushes,
creams, colours, and powders. She went slowly, carefully talking me
through the process at every stage, taking the time to make sure I
understood everything she was doing and why. It was almost as if I was
being initiated into a sisterhood, being given a masterclass in female
mysteries that were usually kept from men. When Gerda was finished I
turned to face the mirror, and gasped at what it revealed.
"I...I didn't think I could look like that," I said, both marvelling at
what she had achieved and feeling deeply uneasy about it.
"And tomorrow I'll help you with your daytime make-up," she said, "then
it's just a matter of you practicing every day until you've perfected
your beauty routine and are totally proficient with cosmetics."
"Thank you, Gerda."
"I feel like I should be thanking you," she replied. "It's a real
pleasure having someone in the castle I can be 'girly' with again when I
want to. Right, let's get you into that dress."
I stepped into the white evening dress Gerda had chosen for me, and she
helped me slide it up my body, closing the fastenings at the rear. I
smoothed it down with my hands then turned to examine myself in the full-
length mirror standing in the corner of the room.
"You look lovely!" sighed Gerda, and the girl in the mirror was indeed
lovely. It was hard to believe she was me.
"Time to go," said Gerda.
She hooked her arm in mine and led me down the staircase, across the
entrance hall, and into the dining room. Sitting at the head of a table
that was long but not stupidly so was the Count, looking resplendent in
an evening suit. He rose to his feet as we entered, his eyes widening
when he saw me.
"Good evening, ladies," he said.
Gerda took her place at the other end of the table while the Count pulled
out a side chair halfway down its length. As I sat down he slid the chair
under me.
"Thank you, Count von Rumstahl" I said, unused to such courtesy.
"Please," he replied, "you must call me Helmut."
"Helmut it is," I said, giving him another smile. He looked pleased.
As the Count...as Helmut resumed his seat so several of the staff entered
in full waiter and waitress uniforms, carrying various trays of food. The
wine waiter filled the crystal goblets that were part of our place
settings as others served steak and various vegetables to each of our
plates in turn. Thanks to rationing followed by imprisonment, I hadn't
seen a steak in years. It was small, but then so am I.
"To absent friends and a return to peace," said Helmut, raising his
goblet and giving a toast. We raised ours, and drank to the sentiment. It
was one we both agreed with. We ate mostly in silence, savouring the
food. As enjoyable as it was, it still felt a bit odd since this was the
first time I'd ever eaten a meal while wearing lipstick. More than once I
caught Helmut staring at me curiously, obviously impressed by how well I
'scrubbed up', as we say in England. When we'd finished both the main
course and our dessert, the staff brought in a decanter of port and
Helmut's humidor. While he selected a cigar from this, Gerda took a
cigarette case and lighter from her clutch handbag.
"Cigarette?" she said, opening the case and offering it to me.
"No, thank you. I don't smoke"
She took one for herself and lit it, blowing a long stream of smoke
towards the ceiling high above.
"So," said Helmut, after he had puffed his cigar into life, "tell me
something about yourself. I'm curious to know more about you."
The golden rule when telling a lie is to keep it simple, and the simplest
thing was to just reverse my biography.
"I was born in Munich," I said, "though my family moved to England when I
was young. We lived in there for several years during the thirties while
my father worked for a British company."
"So you speak English?" said Helmut, looking thoughtful.
"Yes, I soon picked it up. We moved around a bit, but spent the longest
time in London. As the decade wore on my father could see which way the
wind was blowing and he decided it was time we returned to the fatherland
and to Munich."
"That explains the hint of Munich I hear in your accent."
"Are you familiar with the city?" I asked.
"A little, I haven't spent a lot of time there, but I know my way around
the centre."
We then spent a couple of minutes comparing notes, enough to satisfy him
I really did know the city. This was why I'd mentioned it. I needed him
to believe I was what I said I was, and every little helped. Gerda piped
in with a few of her own reminiscences about the city.
"Did you always know you were different from other boys?" asked Helmut.
"I...yes," I said, thinking fast and making it up as I went. "I always
wanted to play with the girls not the boys, and I envied them their dolls
and their pretty dresses."
"And boys," asked Gerda, "how old were you when realised you were
attracted to boys?"
"Thirteen," I lied. "He was the captain of my school football team, and
he didn't know I existed."
I hoped this sounded right. Helmut and Gerda exchanged a look; she nodded
and he smiled. I had no idea what this meant but it appeared they
accepted my story at face value, which was all that was important. Only
afterwards did it occur to me I could have denied being attracted to boys
and claimed I just liked dressing as a woman, but by then it was too
late. Oh well, I doubt if it matters.
"What about your family?"
"Dead now," I said, deciding these fictional parents had to go. "They
were killed a few years ago during one of the first bombing raids. I have
no living relatives left."
"My deepest sympathies," said Helmut, looking genuinely pained for me. It
almost made me feel bad for lying to him. Almost.
"What's the latest on how the war is progressing?" Gerda asked her
brother.
"It's worrying," said Helmut. "Hamburg is still ablaze and Goebbels has
ordered the evacuation of a million citizens from Berlin."
"Why?" asked Gerda. "I thought the raids to date had done little
significant damage to the capital."
"They haven't, but after what happened to Hamburg he's obviously
expecting Berlin to be next. We'll see if he's right in the next few
weeks. Those of us here in rural areas will probably remain relatively
untouched, but I fear our major cities are going to take a pounding."
He was right about Rumstahl. You wouldn't even know there was a war on,
and life for Helmut and Gerda remained very civilised. For now, being
stuck here with them, I was glad. Selfish of me perhaps, but I would grab
for any oasis of sanity in this awful war.
We sat and talked for several hours after that, the staff bringing in
coffees at one point. Helmut and Gerda did not reveal too much about
themselves and I didn't pry - it was too early for that. I really wanted
to know who the bedroom I'd been given once belonged to, and particularly
what was in that mysterious envelope, but I could be patient. It was
Gerda who brought things to a close when she rose to her feet.
"I have a long day ahead of me tomorrow," she said, "so I don't want to
skimp on my sleep. I guarantee there will be a queue forming outside the
office for my morning surgery."
I stood up too at that point, as did Helmut.
"Well, I'll bid you both goodnight, then," he said. And I shall look
forward to seeing you again for breakfast tomorrow morning at eight,
Eva."
Thus ended my first day at Castle Rumstahl.
***
To be continued....
***
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