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"The Anklet" By Deborah Lewis-Smith Synopsis: A part-time cross-dresser gets more than he bargained for when he uses an anklet to try and keep male attention away whilst on a night out with the girls. ----------------------------------------------------------------------- "Damn, I couldn't wait for the day to be over," I said loudly as I shut the door of the flat I shared with Joshua, putting my briefcase down on the table next to the door where it lived during the weekends. Joshua popped his head out from the kitchen with a smile. "You heading out tonight?" he said with a twinkle in his eye. "You bet. Been looking forward to this for the last two weeks." I undid my tie and took off my suit jacket. My job was in tech support for one of the major banks in Canary Wharf and the uniform we were required to wear was a suit at all times, in case any customers came into the server rooms I guess. I hated the suit, for more reasons than I would share with the people I worked with. I wandered into the wonderfully tidy living room and collapsed on the sofa, kicking off my work shoes and putting my socks onto the coffee table. "Get them off," said Joshua as he walked into the room carrying two beers, and I dutifully pulled my feet off and onto the carpet as he handed me a beer. Joshua had a part-time job as a barman at one of Soho's better known gay clubs but his parents were ridiculously rich and somehow, even though he was on minimal wage, he came up with his half of the rent, and more, easily each month. He was gay, but not effeminate, which puzzled and infuriated his father who really didn't understand how someone so handsome and obviously attractive to the girls could 'bat for the other side'. I wasn't gay but his father was always passive-aggressively questioning me in his subtle, annoying way whenever he and his wife came to visit Josh. He couldn't understand how two men could share a flat period, nevertheless knowing his son was gay and suspecting me, even though I'd had girlfriends at the flat many times when he had come over. And as for why we shared a flat? That was easy. I was straight but I am a cross-dresser, always have been since I was a kid. Sharing a flat with the guy who works behind the bar at the pub I tend to hang out when out and about dressed as a girl has it's advantages, and in return my steady income and the fact I had never nor never would hit on him made it a superbly balanced odd-couple style situation. Plus he kept the place amazingly tidy in a stereotypical fashion. He delighted in all those little chores that made the place spick and span, and I delighted in not having to do anything. Plus he enjoyed washing clothes, and when you're a cross-dresser having someone who doesn't care if half of your wash is business suits and the other is short nightclub dresses is a boon. I sipped the beer, a good expensive foreign one I noted, and Josh sat in the chair next to the sofa, unconsciously prim band proper which belied his masculine appearance. I, on the other hand, sprawled, legs open wide like a football supporter about to watch a match on the telly. "I hope you're not going to sit like that tonight, wherever you're going," said Josh with a smile. "Believe me, the dress I have planned for tonight wouldn't let me," I said casually and he laughed. "Short?" "You better believe it. Two weeks of suits and I just want one night where I'm having to pull down my skirt to hide my knickers every five minutes." "You'll have all the red-blooded drunks after you, you know that," he said, teasing me but being serious at the same time. "Ah, I have a plan for that," I said with a wink, and he raised an eyebrow as an unasked question. I put my beer on the coffee table and he tutted before I moved it onto a coaster, stood up and headed into my bedrooms. We had separate rooms although they shared a wall, and we'd both heard each other in the throes of passion because even though the flat was expensive the inner walls were wafer thin. He knew that I knew he was a top, and I knew that he knew my sexual encounters with women were short and to the point. But we were both tactful enough not to talk about each other's love lives. I went to the set of drawers I had specifically for my 'Sophie' stuff. When dressed I go by the name Sophie, a lovely girl's name that gives me a tingle every time someone calls me it. I pulled open the top draw and took the little jewellery box out, and headed back into the living room. "Check this out," I said, opening the box and handing the object I picked out to Josh. "An anklet?" he said, turning the piece over in his large hands and looking closely at it. "Yup. Silver, delicate chain, check out the accessories." He peered at the two objects hanging from the chain. A capital letter 'Q' and the Spade symbol from a deck of cards. "Nope, you're talking to a gay man mate, I have no idea what this is about," he said, handing it back. I smiled at him and sat back down, putting the anklet away and grabbing my beer. "Well, in some circles the anklet is used to advertise a girl's intentions," I said with a smile. "Really?" he said. "Are you sure this isn't just some sales-pitch Sophie fell for online? You know she's not as smart as you when it comes to money," he said. "Cruel," I said. "No, if a girl is wearing an anklet on her left leg it shows she's married but in an open relationship. Basically she's open to sex but only with her husband's permission. Plus the Q and the Spade? Queen of Spades, she's only interested in sex with gentlemen of colour." Josh laughed out loud. "How is that going to help? I know you're not into men but advertising you are? Isn't that dangerous?" "No, here's where the clever stuff comes in. You out tonight?" "No, a quiet night in, some movies, maybe a little tidying." "Good stuff, check this out." I took my phone out of my pocket, unlocked it, clicked on the Contacts icon and held it out to him. "You've got to be kidding me," he said with a smile. "Nope." There was a contact in my phone labelled 'Husband' with Josh's number on it. "So, if you get hit on, what happens?" he said, handing the phone back to me. "I'll send you a text, probably with a picture of the bloke who's bothering me, you respond with 'no' or whatever other negative response you want, I say sorry but no, I get left alone," I said with a smile. "You plan too much, you know that?" said Josh. "What time are you out?" I looked at my watch. "I'm meeting Jane at Bar Twelve at nine, assuming I can get ready by then." Jane was another cross-dressing friend of mine, someone who I dearly loved but also was incredibly jealous of. I'm not exactly big for a man, which meant I could slip on a pair of seven inch heels and still not tower over the men hitting on me, and my shape, once I got a corset and some bum pads on, passed nicely for an average girl out and about, but Jane was just perfect. Halfway through the transition process, with a steady boyfriend, you'd be hard pressed to even guess she was a man under the gorgeous clothes she wore. Granted, she'd been on hormones for a year or so and was just waiting for the snip, but she was a natural. "And then?" "Then we're meeting a couple of her friends, both real girls. Then off to a club, probably Hot Spot, dance the night away, back here by four if I'm lucky." "One of those weeks?" said Josh with a knowing look. "You don't know the half of it. I'm screaming inside for a night of dancing on heels with a skimpy little black dress and as many cocktails as I can stand." "Rather you than me. I don't know how you have the patience to get ready," sniffed Josh, and we both laughed. He was almost worse than me for prepping for a night out and given he normally wore a shirt and trousers it was very impressive his grooming could take too long. "Damn, time is getting on and I haven't shaved properly for a couple of weeks, got to get on," I said, looking at my watch and downing the beer. "Say hi to Jane for me. Tell her I'll steal her boyfriend away while she is in hospital," said Josh half-jokingly as he headed back to the kitchen. I went back into my room, laughing out loud when I spotted Josh had made my bed. It was almost militarily perfect. Before I took off the rest of my work clothes I started my own little ceremony of dressing. For me the whole process of becoming Sophie is a wonderful experience and I loved the sequence of changes but, as Josh had pointed out, I was a bit of a planner. So all of Sophies stuff was carefully laid out on the bed before I started removing 'him'. Her little black dress for the night, a tight, figure hugging, too short number with lace sleeves and a high lace collar. Her evening bag, a little one with a strap I could wrap around my wrist. London is an understanding place but no-one is naive enough to think someone won't lift your purse if they get a chance. A set of stay-up stockings, expensive, still in the packet. Sophies' favourite wig, a long blonde number with cute little bangs, and some subtle red streaks just to be the wrong side of sexy. Her shoes for the evening, insanely high seven inch patent black heels, the kind men refer to as 'fuck-me' heels. My corset, my bra with slightly oversized false breasts in them. When I wear something low cut I have a wonderful latex breastplate but it's terribly hot to dance in; these breast forms could be glued to my bare chest under the bra and would move naturally as I swayed to whatever music took my fancy later in the evening. And the anklet of course. I fumbled around in my jewellery box for some earrings. I was in the mood for hoops, thinking they'd add perfectly to the 'Friday Night Loose Woman' look. I have pierced ears and keep small, innocuous studs in them that are frowned on by my employers but good enough to stop the holes from healing over. And finally, the kinkiest thing of all which I should have been ashamed of but strangely wasn't. About four weeks before I'd been drunk on pornstar Martinis with Jane and we'd made the mistake of going to a 24 hour piercing/tattoo place. I'd also been drunk enough not to say no when Jane suggested we both do something that girls do for a laugh, and ended up with a tongue piercing. Of course, Jane had gone first and waited until the click of the tool that pierced my tongue to tell me that the point of having a tongue ring was to enhance the pleasure you give your boyfriend during oral. The tattooist that performed my piercing, a big bearded man with a lot of metal in his face, had nodded as I looked at him puzzled and even drunk I'd gone bright red. I'd kept the hole from healing over by using a small pin, imperceptible during the day, but I still had the big tongue ring that I'd been pierced with. I hadn't worn it out before, basically because it gave me a little lisp, but having practised in front of the mirror a couple of times this week with the ring in I found it gave my voice a little more of a feminine quality. I don't have the deepest voice in the world and can get away with sounding like a girl if I talk softly, but something about that little lisp at the end of sentences gave me a delicious little girlie thrill, the kind you can't describe to anyone who doesn't get a kick from cross- dressing. So tonight, Sophie was going to be a bit Thophie if that made sense. With all of her stuff out I started to get that lovely thrill in the stomach, that mixture of fear and elation that comes before a dress-up and hit the town session. I checked my watch as I took it off and put it in 'his' set of draws and I had plenty of time to do the transformation. As I took off my shirt and trousers I heard Josh walk past the door. "Just grabbing a pee, I know how long you women take in the bathroom," he said innocently. I'd got down to my underpants as he flushed and I heard him walk past the door. Taking off the pants I looked at myself, naked, in the full length mirror in my room. I didn't have that bad a male body but my muscle tone wasn't pronounced, and if I sucked in and tucked I could almost believe that was a girl's body I was looking at, part from the slight blonde stubble and short hair I sported during the week. In the bathroom I started a bath running, adding some floral smelling bath salts for that extra little touch of femininity. Out came the hair removal cream and I lathered my legs, chest, arms and, where I could reach, back with the stuff. It smelled foul but I'd got used to it. In the old days, when I started, I used to shave every time and that was a chore, even with the light blonde hairs I had. This was quick and once the cream was wash off after waiting the appropriate time, I let myself sink into the warm, wonderful smelling water of the bath, the feel of the liquid against my newly bare skin an experience that is one to savour. After a quick soak, just to get the grime and feel of the masculine day off of me, I stepped out of the bath daintily, already starting to channel Sophies' mannerisms, and wrapped myself in a towel. I got my makeup bag out from user the sink; it used to be on the side until an awkward conversation with Josh's mother who had asked whose girlfriend had left their makeup in the flat when she had been there. I've had a lot of practise at putting on makeup. I'd been cross-dressing for most of my adult life, and had been lucky enough to hang around with a group of girls during my teens who were more than happy to drag up a boy and parade him around as one of their friends. Ten years plus of experience of getting ready for a night out had honed my skill, and after forty five minutes there was no trace of the male me in the mirror as I pouted long enough to apply some glittered lipgloss to my thick, over-sized ruby red lips. I'd gone for the sultry Friday Night look, dark eye-shadow, big lashes, high contoured cheekbones. It was slightly over the top, but that's the best way to be on a Friday night in Soho. I sprayed Chanel No.5, a cliche I know, liberally around my neck, wrists and a dab between the legs which made me smile. I walked back into my room, naked except for my makeup, and started putting on my clothes. I tucked, which came easy nowadays as although I loved the look and feel of Sophies' world I wasn't turned on by it any more. So my very limp member went back between my legs, taped in place, my testicles pushed gently up into my abdomen, the tape holding them in place as well. It was uncomfortable as it obviously would be, but I'd stop noticing after the first drink or so. On went a lacy pair of black knickers, the dark stay-up stockings with the seam carefully positioned next. Then the bra, then the breastforms with a small touch of glue to hold them in place against my chest. I'd learnt the painful way of using too much glue and almost ended up going to casualty with bleeding nipples after having to tear off the breastforms that had been stuck on right up to the end of Sunday. Going to work with an ample bosom would have got me fired. I did my bra up at the back, black lace again. Then the stomach clincher, a half-corset that did a very good job of pulling my insides in and giving me an hourglass figure. Then the dress went on, that wonderful moment when I pulled the zip up to the top and the lace encased my arms and neck, the dress hugging tightly against my body. You could just see the outline of the knickers and that was by design. Then came the hair as I stood in front of the full length mirror, a quick brush after I'd clipped the wig to the wig cap I'd put on. Then the hoop earrings, then a little fumbling to get the slightly over-large tongue ring in and secured. I pulled out 'his' watch and checked the time. Perfect, ten minutes until the Uber I'd ordered will pull up outside for Sophia Dixon. I picked up the anklet with a smile and careful attached it to my left leg, just above the ankle. I hadn't mentioned to Josh about the other meaning; you wearing the anklet over the stocking and it advertises the fact you want unprotected sex. I thought that was just a little too much information for him. And then the final step, which I'd left to last for obvious reasons. Nails. I love long, red pointed nails and whilst they are deliciously feminine, they are also impossible to do anything with them on. I'd tried in the past getting ready while wearing them and constantly prodded myself in the eye while trying to put eyeliner on, couldn't get earrings in, everything was a chore. I got the little pot of superglue out, applied a liberal dab to each real nail and stuck a beautiful red nail on. I sat there on the bed as I slipped the heels onto my stockinged feet, then waved the hands around in a wonderfully femm way to get them to dry. Checked the watch again, two minutes until the Uber arrived. I checked my purse; two hundred quid in cash, a spare lipstick. I picked up my phone and remembered the last thing, taking off the battered black case and putting Sophies' pink glitter case on to the phone. "And I'm ready," I said in my slightly breathless female voice, just as the buzzer went. I stood up and walked in the way only a woman in heels can out of the room. Josh was already answering the door phone. "Yeah, she's here and on her way down," he said and hung up. "See you later, sweetie," I said and blew him a kiss as he frowned at me. "Is that lisp necessary?" he said. "It makes you sound more of a thlut." I stuck my tongue out at him and he laughed. He had thoroughly enjoyed the story of how Sophie had ended up with a tongue ring. "Remember, if I text you, be negative," I said. "Yeah, yeah. Enjoy yourself, send my love to Jane, and behave," he said as he went back into the living room. I stepped out of the flat and closed the door behind me, feeling that rush in my stomach. The light in the hallway hadn't come on yet as I hadn't moved into the sensor and as I did the place lit up and I could see the Uber parked right outside. I tottered my way down the hallway, handbag in one hand, other hand at the limp angle women hold their hands at as I reached and opened the door. "Ms.Dixon?" said the man in the driving seat of the Prius. "Heading to Bar Twelve, Soho?" "Yes please," I said, opening the back door and sliding in as gracefully as I could. The dress was ridiculously short and I had to pull down on it as I sat back. As the Uber sped through London I sat in the back with my heart racing. It always does when I go out as Sophie, that rush of being out in the real world, away from safety, with nothing between me and the harsh London life but a frock and makeup, it's a dark and wonderful thrill. I watched the city go by, enjoying when we stopped at red lights and I could look into other cars. I'd catch the eye of some drivers, male of course, and there would be that flash of contact, followed by a smile, which gave me such a rush. I'm not gay. Sure, drab me hasn't had the most girlfriends in the world, and most of the dates I went on I spent most of the time wondering how Sophie would look in whatever outfit my date was wearing, but for me the dressing is the thrill and the payoff. Spending so many nights partying in London dressed the way Sophie does she had got attention, but nothing, apart from a couple of occasions where no didn't seem to mean no and I'd had to escape by jumping in cabs, beyond that. I'd been brave enough to accept drinks on a couple of occasions, twice I'd been asked to dance and said yes, and once that dance turned into a slow dance the ended with a long kiss. But the moment I'd felt my dance partner's tongue in my mouth and a warmth pressed against my crotch I'd known I'd gone too far, giving an apology and escaping into the night. Tonight I was hoping what I'd heard about the anklet and it's meaning would help. It could have been rubbish or an urban myth, but I'd just wait and see. I wasn't seeking the attention of the male race, just an evening out with a friend and a couple of girls, drinks, dance, home, hangover and makeup stains on the pillow in the morning. Whilst I had been day-dreaming the Uber had got me to my location. I smiled at the driver and he smiled back, a good indication I was passing pretty well tonight, and I stepped out carefully onto the pavement outside Bar Twelve. The Uber drove off and I was alone Well, as alone as you can be outside of a pub in Soho at 21:30 on a Friday night. The pavement was heaving and I carefully stepped around the crowd outside, that wonderful sound of heel clicking on concrete just about hearable above the din of shouted conversation, and stepped up to the bouncer, who opened the door for me with a knowing smile and a 'Good Evening, Miss'. Inside it was slightly quieter and I instantly saw Jane and two other girls sat in a booth on the far side. She saw me as well and waved. I walked across the bar, saying 'excuse me' a couple of times to get past some loud and raucous male drinkers who looked longingly at me as I walked past, swinging my hips the way the girls had taught me to when I was a teen. There was even the slight touch of a hand on my bottom as I walked past the last group but I ignored it. As a woman out and about in a city you get used to that casual pawing. As long as it stays casual it's not that threatening, although the first four or five times it happened I had to physically stop myself from making a scene. Jane stood to greet me and it was as per normal. She was gorgeous, low cut red dress, full fluffed out brown hair, makeup done to a tee. "Soph!" she shouted in a voice loud enough for nigh on everyone to hear, and hugged me close, air-kissing both cheeks as I did the same. "This is Rachel and Brittany, they both work at the salon," she said, introducing her friends. They both smiled and I smiled back, all of us wearing the same kind of 'night club' chic dresses and makeup look. If anyone walked by they'd just see four girls, probably from the same work, chatting and giggling, and that thought made me almost faint with pleasure. "Are you a beautician as well?" asked Rachel. She was dark haired, hair brushed back and styled up very similarly to Jane and I wondered which of them had done both of their hairstyles. "No, I work in a bank," I said. "Ahh, my cousin is a bank teller as well. She says the customers can be very annoying," said Rachel and a part of me was momentarily annoyed she had assumed I was just a bank teller. I caught myself before I responded; it's too easy to forget you look like an airhead even if you've specifically gone for the airhead look. Jane laughed out loud and couldn't help herself. "Yes, Soph is always going on about how the damn customers are always making passes at her. She gets asked to marry more often than a barmaid." They all laughed out loud and so did I. A round of drinks arrived and I delicately lifted the glass, being careful not to grip too hard with my red talons, and raised it in a toast. "To a proper, fun girl's Friday night out," I said. "Cheers" said everyone else, and the drinking began. We stayed at Bar Twelve for three rounds, during which I had to use the ladies twice. That's also a thrill, especially when you sit in a cubicle and overhear some of the conversations girls have while touching up their makeup. I had to bite my tongue, which was quite hard given the ring that jangled against the back of my teeth, as I listened to two girls complaining about the blow jobs their boyfriends demanded. When I came out of the toilet for the second time, making sure I topped up the glittered lip gloss, I noticed a man had joined the table. By the time I walked across the bar, again getting a grope, I recognised him. "Hi Tim," I said, trying hard to keep the disapproval out of my voice. "Hi Sophie," he said. Tim was Jane's long term boyfriend, nice enough, an understanding partner but a bit clingy. Whenever he came out and joined us he would wrap himself around Jane and you'd end up feeling like a third wheel. Plus I got the feeling he didn't trust me. Jane had said he was always asking if Jane and Sophie were sleeping together, something I'd never thought about. Jane thought it was fun to string him along sometimes but I thought that was dangerous. Jane didn't seem too bothered by the arrival of her man and as I sat down, carefully positioning my heels under the table and my legs together like a good girl should, she leant across and asked me, loudly: "Have you got your ring in?" And poked her tongue out to show her tongue ring. "Yes" I said, putting on the lisp a little, and poked my tongue out at her. Rachel and Brittany laughed out loud. "I'll bet your boyfriend loves that," said Tim, and I sighed internally. He knew who I was and what I was, he knew I wasn't into men but it was a standard 'Tim' thing to say. Before I could respond Rachel chimed in as well, as if on script. "I bet he does. I've heard it makes blow jobs so much more fun for the man," she said, a little too loudly. "It does," said Tim smugly as I cringed inside. Jane couldn't help herself either. "Josh said you've been so much better at it since you had the ring," she said, innocently. "Oooo, Josh. He sounds big," said Brittany who had had a little too much to drink and wasn't that bright to start with. I stuck my tongue out at Jane again before I realised it would send the wrong message, and Tim laughed. I decided I was drunk enough to play along as well, might as well be one of the girls completely for the evening. "My *husband* Josh says it's the best thing I've done," I said casually. Jane got the giggles while Rachel and Brittany looked on slightly confused. Brittany even looked at my ring hand. I actually had a wedding ring on as it's another thing that stops the men from hitting on you. "We weren't invited to the wedding?" said Tim, obviously enjoying this. Jane got the hysterics. When she stopped Tim looked at his watch and grabbed her hand. "Anyway, lovely to see you girls, but we've got an early start in the morning." I looked sharply at Jane and she nodded, a little sadly. "It's only just coming up to midnight," I said, and hated how pathetic I sounded. Rachel leant across the table and grabbed my hand. "These lightweights don't know how to enjoy themselves, Sophie. We can carry on." I looked at Jane and Tim, who were obviously starting to prepare to leave. Brittany was also starting to get up. "Brit?" said Rachel. "I need to go home too, Jane said she could give me a lift. I'm working tomorrow at the salon, doing a Saturday morning shift with Jane" "Sorry babe," said Jane, "forget to tell you. These hormones make me a little fuzzy headed. Are you alright carrying on or do you want Tim to drop you off?" I looked at Tim and could see the smugness in his face. He'd always been a but put out by my relationship with Jane and this was just him delighting in spoiling a girl's night out. I squeezed Rachel's hand. "Nah, I've still got a club or two in me," I said and winked at Rachel, who smiled back. "OK girls, behave," said Tim and I came as close I ever did to punching him. Jane air-kissed me and hugged me again as she got up from the booth, followed by Brittany who hugged Rachel and told me how nice it was to meet me. And then they were gone. The bar had quietened down a bit, as bars do when it gets to that time when people move on to clubs. "What's the plan then Rachel?" I said, downing the last of my cocktail and dabbing my lips with a napkin. "Let me text my boyfriend and see where he is," she said, getting out her phone, and I almost sighed out loud. Everyone seemed to have a man nowadays and for us single girls it was often the chore of being the third wheel. As she tapped on her phone a man walked up to the booth and leaned on the table. I could smell the beer on his breath but he looked harmless, just one more late Friday night lonely guy. "You girls alone?" he said, looking at me and then Rachel. "Nah, sorry. Just texting my boyfriend and Sophie is married," said Rachel without looking at him. I waved my ring finger at him and he smiled, a little sadly. "Shame, you're both very beautiful," he said, and before I could pull my hand back he grabbed it, gently, and kissed it, before walking off back to to the bar. "Looks like you could have pulled, how much do you love your husband?" said Rachel with a half smile, looking at her phone. I was taken aback. I was drunk enough to be pleasantly buzzed but to have a man kiss your hand is an odd thing. "Are you thinking about it?" said Rachel with an evil grin. "No, not at all," I said, "I love my husband." I could hardly believe what I was saying. Before I could get a handle on what was going on in my head Rachel squealed slightly. "Yeah, he's at The Grove with some friends. I'll order an Uber," she said. I'd not heard of the Grove. "Where is it?" "It's a little dive club over in Vauxhall, good music, good drinks, you'll love it," she said, clicking on her phone. The Uber came in less than five minutes which was a miracle for that time of night in central London, and after settling the tab, which took a chunk out of my money, we bustled out of the pub, across the pavement and into the back of another Prius. This one was driven by a surly looking Asian guy who was obviously a little unhappy at our appearance and refused to talk during the entire trip. To tease him, I think, Rachel started describing her sex life with her boyfriend and I couldn't work out who was more embarrassed at the intimate details, me or the driver. We reached the road the club was on and got out of the Uber, which sped away as Rachel laughed. "Where's the club?" I asked, shivering slightly in the cold air. The downside of a very short dress is come midnight you are open to the elements, so to speak. "Just up here, Roy is meeting us outside," said Rachel, grabbing my hand. We walked quickly along the road, two girls heading to a late night club. About fifty feet along the road Rachel shouted 'Roy' as a large black man crossed the road, smiling broadly at her. He immediately kissed her deeply and she let go of my hand. I stood there like the proverbial third wheel as they french-kissed for a good ten seconds before she introduced me. "Roy, this is Sophie." Roy stepped back from hugging Rachel and looked me up and down in a way I instantly found uncomfortable, before another big smile broke out on his face. "Good to meet you, Sophie," he said pleasantly, and I stopped worrying, partly because of the alcohol in my system. "You'll love the Grove, Soph" said Rachel, grabbing Roy's hand and dragging him towards a building that music was coming from. I followed the two lovers, feeling something not quite right but putting it down to the drink and latest of the hour. I was starting to think it would have been a better idea to have grabbed a lift with Jane, but nights can be like this. You end somewhere new, sometimes it's wonderful, sometimes it isn't. There's always Uber if it isn't. The entrance to The Grove was just a dark staircase with two huge black bouncers in front of it. Roy laughed and banged fists with one of them, pointed at me and said something I couldn't hear. "He's vouching for you," said Rachel, leaning back towards me, 'It's a members only club, he's signing you in as a guest." The other bouncer waved me over and I thought he was indicating I could go in, but he grabbed my wrist as I walked past. He was a huge man, towering over me even in my seven inch heels, and he roughly patted me down while Rachel laughed. "Checking for weapons, darling," he said in a rough London accent as he padded my bottom, thighs and the areas under my arms. "Let's see your bag, sweetheart," he said, and like a good girl I handed it over. He looked in and then handed in back, nodding to Roy. I felt somewhat unnerved. Bouncers are always patting you down, you get used to it, but something felt off about this place. Before I could sensibly turn around and go home Rachel grabbed my hand and down the stairs we walked, carefully as they were steep and both us girls had ridiculously high heels on. At the bottom of the stairs was a black door. Roy knocked on it, and it opened, and Rachel pulled me on in. I knew I was in some sort of trouble the minute I saw the club. It was the clientele more than anything else, it was made up just of black men and white women, and the women all looked pretty much like women of the night. Granted, my outfit was a little provocative, and it struck me that the way I dressed fitted in a little too well. "I'll grab us drinks. Roy, introduce Sophie to your friends," said Rachel, putting her hand into Roy's coat pocket and taking out his wallet. "This way, sweetie," said Roy, taking my hand in his and putting his other firmly on my bottom and pushing. I'd been to cattle-market like nightclubs before but nothing this obvious. This was a meeting place for black men and white women. And I was completely in one category there. "Love the anklet by the way, need to get Rachel one of those so people can know she's marked," Roy whispered, and I realised my idea had backfired. Badly. Roy led me over to a group of three men, all of which looked me up and down like a piece of meat. "Guys, this is Sophie. Sophie, these are my friends. This is The Grove, lady's night, just for you Queen of Spades. Enjoy." His hand on my bottom pushed me forward and I tottered towards the group of men. "Well hello Sophie, you're a fine piece of ass," said one and the others laughed. Inside I was mortified. For a start in all the time I'd been out and about as Sophie I'd never been referred to in such a crude way. But the other thing was this was the way I was dressed. As far as these people were concerned I was a 'Queen of Spades'. And I doubted they realised I was actually a man. My situation was getting worse by the moment. I needed to play the game, long enough to get outside and leg it as fast as I could on seven inch heels. "Thanks" I said, lisping slightly because of the damn tongue ring which was another thing I could have done without. They noticed. "Ooo, pierced tongue, nice," said one of the others. "Back off Marvin, she's mine," said the third. He was another large man, not as big as the bouncers, but still over six feet tall. He stepped up to me and grasped my hand, pulling me away from the others towards a table further into the club. My mind was spinning. I needed to get out of this club before anything happened, I needed to not give the wrong impression as to why I was there. "My name is John. Been to the Grove before, Sophie? I've not seen you here. If I had I would certainly have made your acquaintance," he said as he held my hand and leant on the table. "No, this is my first time," I said. Rachel interrupted us and for a second I thought she was there to rescue me, but she placed a thin champagne glass in front of me and a pint of beer in front of John. His and hers drinks. "Enjoy!" said Rachel, and I couldn't work out whether she was talking to me or John. "Do you swing much?" asked John as he took a swig from his beer. "Excuse me?" I said. I hadn't reached for my glass yet but decided to, to try and look normal more than anything else, if I could look normal being dressed the way I was and in the situation I was stuck in. "The anklet. The wedding ring. Is your husband here?" he said as he gently rubbed the fingers of the hand he was holding. "No, my husband is at home," I said before thinking. "Good, he trusts you then?" The voice in my head was screaming something and I finally listened. The plan. "I need to ask him for permission if I am to do anything. That's part of the deal" I heard myself say. Inside I was almost celebrating and, maybe a little early, praising myself for thinking ahead. "Go on then." "Sorry?" "I want to fuck you, Sophie. That's why you're here. That's why all these white girls are here. They all want to be Queen of Spades. So ask your husband. I can wait." I went cold, colder than I have ever felt before. I had never had the experience of someone being so direct in telling me they wanted to have sex with me. Male or female. And being straight every fibre of my being was waving red flags. I remembered the plan though. "Can I take a picture so he can see you?" I said. "Sure thing, babe," he said, and smiled as I raised the phone. The flash momentarily blinded me, but the picture was good, good enough for the reason for it at least. I needed to remember to delete it later when all this silliness was done and dusted and I was safely home. I fired up the messenger app and picked 'Husband' from the contacts, starting a message. "Tell him I want to fuck you bareback," said John. I typed 'Husband, guy here would like to fuck me bareback, are you OK with that?', attached the picture and hit send. Unbelievably there was coverage down in this basement and the message indicated it had been delivered. I sipped the champagne and felt John's other hand at the back of my neck, gently touching the high lace collar of my dress. I looked around the club and there were other girls, and I caught myself referring to them as 'other girls' with a wince. All were dressed provocatively, the majority blondes, all of them hanging on the arm of a black man, or actively engaged in heavy petting. And other things. Again I felt cold. "Any response yet, babe?" said John, leaning in close to look at my phone. His weight was against me and to my horror I could feel a warmth at his crotch pushed against my side. The fact he was aroused and the fact it was me that had made him aroused was both a thrill and a terror. "He might be in bed by now," I said. "More fool him," whispered John as he leant in closer and kissed my ear. My heart was pounding. I wanted out of this place. I realised my predicament, realised I was just another one of the white women here, realised my outfit and most importantly that damn anklet were like a billboard for wanting sex. And realising I was very much out of my depth. My phone chimed and I jumped, instantly elated that the plan had worked. John gently grabbed the phone before I could look and read the message. And then he smiled. "Well, that's a shame," he said and handed the phone back. I read the message and my heart almost stopped. Josh had obviously been drinking while sat at home and wasn't taking it seriously. It must have seemed like a joke; he knew I was straight and must have assumed I had been messing about. The message read "No anal. Just oral. You have my blessing. Josh xxxxx" "Still, it'll be nice to find out if the tongue-ring is as good as they say," said John with a smile, his hand shifting from my neck to around my waist. He downed the pint and gestured at my glass. With slightly shaking hands, and in a shocked state, I lifted it and drank the whole drink down in one. "Let's find somewhere quiet," he said, and led me away from the table towards the door. I had literally gone into shock. I let him lead me out of the door, his hand on my hip, and push me gently up the stairs into the outside. We walked past the bouncers and the one that had frisked me nodded approvingly at John. "My car is just around the corner, come on babe," he said, gripping my hand. We walked along the cold road, my steps short, his steps long. Cars went past and all I could think was it just looks like a large black man and his blonde girlfriend heading back from a club. It looks normal. His car was a BMW, expensive. I stood on the pavement as if in a trance as he unlocked it, then opened the passenger door for me. I stepped gracefully in and he shut the door as I sat there, my handbag in my hands, my heart pounding. He walked around the car and got in the driver's side, and the door closed. My mind was racing yet felt disconnected. I couldn't see a way out of this; if I said no I was pretty sure he could and probably would beat me until I did it. If I told him I was a man and I was straight he'd probably beat me. Even kill me. I found myself trying to justify what was about to happen. Another part of me said no. This can't happen. Reason with him. I turned in the seat to look at him and opened my mouth to explain that this couldn't happen, that Josh was my roommate and not my husband, that I was a well paid employee of a bank, that I was a thirty-two year old man. But before I could say anything he misread what I was trying to do, grabbed my head with both his hands and pulled my face onto his. Before I was aware of what was happening his tongue was firmly in my mouth, licking around my teeth, licking the tongue-ring. Instinctively I kissed back, not because I wanted to but because it was hard-wired in me to do it. I tried to imagine it was a woman but it obviously wasn't, I could feel his stubble, taste the beer on his breath, feel his hands in my blonde hair. After thirty seconds he disengaged, breathless. "Unzip me," he said, sitting back in the driver's seat. I reached across, seeing my hands made delicate by the long red nails touching his crotch, grabbing the zip, pulling it down slowly. I tried to send my mind somewhere else, but it wouldn't go. I was suddenly sober, suddenly cold as the adrenaline rushed through my system. I fumbled with his underwear; in all the excitement he had become rock hard and there was a lot of him in there. After a couple of attempts the underpants moved aside and his penis popped out of his fly. I had never touched another man's penis before. It felt different to mine, bigger. There was a smell in the confined area of the car, a raw musky smell that I associated with passion, with masterbation. In a trance I moved one hand up and down on the shaft of his cock, watching almost hypnotised as the woman's hand, because it obviously was a woman's hand with gorgeous nails and a wedding ring, massaged the rock hard member. Something at the back of my mind screamed at me to stop, and I almost did. In fact I would have. But John had his hand on the back of my head and guided it downwards like a good Queen of Spades should. I made the mistake of opening my mouth to gasp in surprise at the pressure of the hand on the back of my head and then, well, it was done. I could hear a woman sobbing, couldn't understand why I couldn't catch my breath. And then I realised the sobbing was from me. And the large object stretching my lips, rubbing along my tongue, knocking the ringlet left and right and filling the opening at the back of my throat was the cock of the man I was sucking. John was saying things and my mind was trying to process them. When my mind recognised the words the shame was so intense I almost started to cry, but the idea of being held head-down in the front-seat of a BMW sucking a black man's cock while he whispered instructions just wouldn't sink in. He called me babe. He called me a cocksucker. He called me a white bitch. He called me a whore as he started to breath more heavily and push harder and deeper. With all the spit my mouth and throat was making involuntarily it was easier and easier for him to push deeper and with yet another bolt of shock I felt the mass of his penis push against the back of my throat and then slip past. I found myself breathing heavily through my nose, my eyes watering, as he pushed until my nose rested in his pubic hair and my lower lip came up against his ball sack. I moaned and he misread that as pleasure, or it gave him that last little rush of domination, and I felt him jerk. I desperately tried to pull my head back but he held it firmly in place as he started to spasm. I felt a warmth in my throat and swallowed instinctively. He released the pressure on the back of my head and I pulled upright, his cock sliding out of the back of my throat with an audible pop and, as my head came up, the last few pulses of his ejaculate landed on my tongue. I had literally never tasted semen before. The stuff that he had pumped down my throat had gone straight down without touching the taste buds, but now the last bit was in my mouth and I had to put my hand over my lips to stop from retching. I looked up at him as he smiled down at me, unbelieving that he had just come in my mouth. And then there was a loud knock on the driver side window. My throat was spasming and I couldn't swallow, and I couldn't take my hand away from my mouth as there was a considerable amount of John's cum still in my throat. My eyes squinted as a bright light was shone through the window. I sat back as gracefully as I could as John wound the window down. "Would you and the woman mind stepping out of the car please," said the Policeman, and my heart literally skipped a beat. With a shaking hand and feeling numb, and still unable to swallow or spit, I opened the door and stepped out, my handbag swinging between my legs as I stood shivering on the pavement. John stepped out as well and the policeman gestured to him to join me on the pavement. Behind the policeman stood a policewoman, both of them in the standard stab-vest uniform of the Met police. "Can you deal with the woman please, WPC Wilson?" asked the male policeman as he approached John, took him by the elbow and walked him further along the road. The policewoman stood in front of me and looked at me with disdain in her eyes. "You better swallow or spit that out, love. I need to read you your rights," she said in a toneless voice. I started to cry, mostly because of the shame of what I had just done but also because the shock of the whole situation was starting to sink in. My throat stopped spasming and I swallowed, grimacing, and the rest of John's ejaculate went down my throat and into my stomach. "Are you aware that it is an offence to perform sexual acts in public?" she said. I nodded, trying to stop the tears that were making my vision blur. I would have tried to wipe them but you always end up smearing your mascara to pulling off a lash. Of course, right now, those were the least of my problems. "Are you also aware that it is illegal to perform sexual acts for money?" she said. "I'm not a prostitute," I said, ashamed at the words. "Well, it looks that way to me dear. We catch you performing oral sex on a man in the front seat of a car. And the way you are dressed seems to indicate that profession." "I'm not. I didn't even want to do it. He made me," I said, hating the sound of my voice. The lisp was actually getting worse. "Wilson, come here a second, and bring the girl," shouted the other policeman. I tottered along the street in front of the policewoman as a car drove by with a group of men staring. I knew what it looked like. I stood next to John, shivering, and unbelievably he put his arm around me. "So, what you are saying is that you didn't pay this girl, Sophie, for oral sex, but in fact you are dating?" said the policeman. "Yes."said John tonelessly. "Now look. This is Friday night. There are real crimes going on right now. The last thing I want to be doing is dragging a man and his girlfriend out of their car and telling you that that kind of behaviour is unacceptable. I believe that you aren't soliciting sex, miss, but I would suggest in future you enjoy yourselves in the privacy of your homes. I'm letting you go with a caution, but believe me you were very close to both spending a night in the cells. Now get out of my sight before I change my mind." The policeman and policewoman walked back to their car and got in. As they drove away the policewoman looked right at me and I knew if she had had her choice I'd be in custody now. And they would have found out I wasn't a woman. And I would have had prostitution charges on my record. The enormity hit me like a sledgehammer and I pulled away from John, knelt down against a bush and threw up. I tasted his sperm as I brought it up and that just made me throw up some more. When I stopped and looked up John had gone, obviously happy with getting his end away and not being locked up by the police, and not wanting to help a damsel in distress. Shakily I got my phone out. There was another text from Josh asking me if the joke was done with now and I literally burst into tears reading it. By the time the Uber arrived I'd just about got the tears under control. By the time I got back to the flat I was just feeling low. Josh was still up when I walked in, took off my heels, lay down on the sofa, put my head in his lap and started to cry. I didn't have the heart to tell him the truth. And while he was making me a hot chocolate to calm my nerves I threw the anklet in the bin.