Seven Years A Woman: Extended Edition free porn video

Seven Years a Woman by Holly Sharp. Seven years ago, Shane Turner became a wanted man. Losing his balaclava during a bank robbery led to him becoming the subject of a relentless nation-wide manhunt. With every police officer in the country chasing him and with a substantial bounty on his head, Turner did the only thing he could do: hide. For seven years, this man has hidden himself away in the last place anyone would ever think to look: under the makeup of a woman named Bonnie Hamilton. Inside the lingerie, heels, and skirts of this pretty, little suburban housewife, Turner has laid low until the statute of limitations on his crimes is finally up. In just under two months, Shane Turner will finally be free. There's only one problem: new DNA matching technology has identified the ring-leader of the heist - Tony Sinclair. The police are now asking him questions about the robbery. Will Sinclair reveal Turner's secret before the statute of limitations is up? Could he have spent the last seven years of his life in high heels and a skirt for nothing? December 5, 1988 Music is blaring inside a large garage. A crowd of young, attractive people are milling around inside the garage, talking, laughing, drinking, and dancing. The sound of motorbikes revving and approaching swells behind the crowd, and the men and women at the party all turn to look in the sound's direction. Five Harley Davidson motorcycles are rocking up to the party. On those motorcycles are four, big, leather-clad men. The motorcycles stop outside the party and the four men turn off their engines. The music beats as the boys kick down their stands and get off their bikes. When they do, their girlfriends immediately run up to greet them. The first man is Jeff Donovan - a dashing young man with blonde hair and blue eyes. His hot, young girlfriend throws her arms around him and the pair lock lips. The second man is Sean Morris - a dark-skinned Italian man with tattoos all over his arms and neck. His girlfriend treats him to the same greeting as Donovan's. The third man is Shane Turner - a man with a mustache, a lean figure, and a cocky swagger. At 5'9", he is shorter than the other men in his group but he looks equally as dangerous. His stunning girlfriend immediately comes into his arms when he takes off his helmet, and he kisses her passionately. The fourth man is Tony Sinclair - a tall, intimidating, tattooed figure with a square jawline who is clearly the leader of the gang. Sinclair has not one, but two women on his arms shortly after he gets off his bike. The four men and their women go inside to join the party. The beats continue to pump in the garage. Amongst the crowd, Donovan and Morris are playing pool while their girlfriends watch, and Sinclair is making out with one of his girls in the corner of the room. Turner is sitting on the side of the room, shirtless and getting an armband tattoo around his bicep. The tattoo process looks painful, but it doesn't seem to faze the muscular man. His large-breasted girlfriend, Angela Kingsley, caresses her man's six-pack abs absently as she watches on. "Get me a beer, will ya, Angie?" Turner asks his girl in his deep, masculine voice. The stunning, buxom woman obeys immediately. "Sure." She leaves atop the red, 5-inch heels her man loves seeing her wear so much. Turner slaps her pretty, little ass when she does, and she quickly returns with a Corona. She pops off the cap with a bottle opener, pushes in a lime, and gives her man his beer as per his orders. Turner's doting girlfriend then takes her rightful place by his side again and continues to watch as his tattoo is finished. Turner sips his beer while his girlfriend resumes running her delicate fingers over his six-pack and his chiseled pecs. He skulls his beer and gives his girlfriend the bottle. She puts down her own bottle of blackberry cider and takes it. "Get us another one, will ya, babe?" Turner's woman produces a wry smile. "What if I don't want to?" "Then you get to sleep outside tonight." All the men around Turner laugh hysterically at his remark. Angela rolls her eyes and gets her man another beer. Eventually, Turner's tattoo job is finished. He pulls on his tight, black T-shirt. His powerful biceps bulge out of the short sleeves when he does. With Angela under his arm, he walks outside to get some air. Outside, he sees two men trying and failing to kick a football through two goal posts in the large, green paddock. Turner shoves a cigarette in his mouth and his girlfriend gives him a light. He puffs on his cigarette as he approaches the two men. One of the men is bringing the ball back from his bungled attempt to make the goal. He seems intimidated by Turner's presence. "Hey, Shane," "Andy. Mike," Turner responds. "You guys are fucken useless. Give us the ball." Andy throws the ball to Turner who catches it with one hand. Turner removes Angela from under his arm. "Stand over there," he tells her, pointing a spot several meters away from him. Angela obeys her bad boy boyfriend. Turner holds the ball out in front of him and looks from it to the goal posts. "Let a real man show you how it's done." Without hesitating, Turner draws his foot back, lets the football drop, and kicks it through the goal posts. Andy and Mike look thoroughly emasculated by Turner's ability to so easily do what they couldn't. Angela looks up at her man with an adoration that borders on worship. Turner leaves Andy and Mike with his chest puffed out, standing tall and proud. He looks back at them as he walks away. "Losers." The man goes over to his girlfriend. He takes her under his arm again and looks down on her. She looks up at him, lovestruck. "What?" "You look so beautiful tonight," Turner replies. Angela blushes. "Thank you." "What's say we strip you naked when we get home tonight, oil up your entire body, and I'll fuck your brains out?" Angela's eyes widen with delight, and she's about to respond, but something interrupts her. Tony approaches. "Shane," the man says in his gravelly voice. "We're ready." Turner nods and kisses his girlfriend. "Good luck, my love," she tells him, in a high-pitched voice. "Be safe." Turner nods and bows to her slightly. Then, he exits. December 6, 1988 A red, Holden sedan pulls up outside an old-fashioned building. On the top of the building are the words 'First Mutual Bank' in a large font written across the facade. Jeff, Sean, Tony, and Shane are in the car. They're all wearing black leather jackets and blue jeans. They look apprehensively across the road at the bank. The street is quiet and there is only one guard at the door. "Get ready, boys," Tony commands. The four men pull on their balaclavas, completely concealing their identities. Then, they pull baseball caps onto their heads. As they do, Turner finds something inside his jeans pocket. It's a piece of paper. He unfolds it to discover that it's a handwritten letter. It reads: 'Good look out there, my love. My heart will be with you xoxo'. Turner smiles and stuffs the note back into his pocket. "Everyone locked and loaded?" Tony asks. Everyone flashes their handguns and nods. "Alright, boys. Let's go!" Three of the four men push open the doors and get out of the car. Donovan stays in the car and keeps it running for a fast getaway. Sinclair, Donovan, and Turner go into the building. The three men don't hesitate to carry out their plan once inside. The only people that can be seen inside the bank are four tellers and a female security guard. The female security guard notices the men's balaclavas and yelps in surprise as she reaches for her gun. Turner is too fast for her, though, and grabs her. "Get down, bitch!" Turner takes the female security officer's gun and throws her onto the floor. The petite, young security guard is no match for Turner's masculine strength. She goes down easily and Turner ties up her hands. She kicks and squeals impotently as Turner pins her face to the floor with his boot. "Can you believe this, boys?" he says loudly, while stuffing a sock in the uniformed woman's mouth. "They let a girl guard the money!" Sinclair shoots the lock off the door to the back and kicks it open. The three men go inside. The four female bank tellers scream and desperately try to escape, but the men brandish their weapons and threaten them into submission and silence. "Which one of you sluts is the bank manager?" Sinclair yells. "None of us!" the tallest of the female tellers replies. "Then where is he?" The girls don't respond, but Turner notices another door leading deeper into the back. He kicks it in. The manager is inside - an older man in his early fifties - cowering in fear. Turner goes in and the man screams as the criminal grabs him by the scruff of the neck. Sinclair aims the gun at the man's head. "Take us to the vault!" The manager doesn't respond. Turner shakes him. Sinclair cocks his gun, causing the manager to whimper. "Take us to the vault and nobody dies!" "Alright! Alright!" the manager screams. The manager leads the boys into the bank, and to the large, metal door of the vault. Morris and Turner stay outside to watch the security guard and the tellers. The men drag the bound, gagged and helpless female guard behind the security screen and leave her there on the ground. The security guard continues to squeal, cry, and hyperventilate behind her gag, but her screams are barely audible. Turner smiles as he watches her struggle. "What was that, sweetheart?" He bends down and rips her blue uniform shirt open, revealing her white lace bra and her boobs underneath. He pushes his hand into one of the cups of her tight bra, and then he begins fondling her breast and tweaking her nipple. Tears stream from her eyes as he does. She is helpless to resist. Turner grins at her displeasure. "Security work clearly isn't for you, toots. Try pole dancing next." Sinclair eventually comes out, holding bags literally stuffed full of money. He's holding a gun to the bank manager's head as he leads him outside. "How much did we get?" Morris asks. "Eight hundred thousand dollars!" Sinclair responds gleefully. "Jesus!" Morris exclaims. "There's still four more bags in there," Sinclair says, indicating the door with a move of his head. "Get 'em, boys." Turner and Morris go into the vault and grab the bags while Sinclair guards the girls and the manager. Then, the two men return to their leader. They see flashing blue lights outside. Police sirens can be heard. They realize they have to hurry. The men begin to make a run for it, relieved that their plan has worked. As they do, though, the bank manager does something that changes of one of the four criminals' lives forever. The bank manager reaches forward and rips off the hat of the last criminal to exit - Shane Turner. He then rips off the guy's balaclava and then dives out of the way as Turner spins around. Turner quickly reaches up to his head when he realizes what's happened, and then roars with anger when he notices that a security camera is pointed directly at his undisguised face. He shoots the camera out but there are cameras all over the place, and their footage is likely being saved remotely. Turner shoots at the bank manager in retaliation for what he has done but Sinclair pulls him away before he can land a hit. It's too late. After the four men jump into their escape vehicle, the wheels skid as they pull away at full speed away from the cops. Inside the car, while Sinclair, Morris, and Donovan cheer their own success, Shane Turner's stomach churns as he realizes that he is now a wanted man. February 5, 1996 Seven years later... A man and a woman are lying in bed together, under a set of thick blankets. The woman is an attractive older lady, early 40s, with long, blonde hair tied back into a messy updo. Her shoulders are visible, and we can't see any bra straps, meaning that she is topless. The man is slightly older than she is, with a greying beard and short hair. He is a rather unattractive skinny and nerdy guy. The female stirs in her husband's arms and her eyes flutter open, waking him. "Morning," the male half of the couple says. "Morning," his wife responds. "How'd you sleep?" the husband goes on. His voice is a bit too loud for his wife's liking. "Sssh. You'll wake Liam!" she scolds. The husband's eyebrows move closer together. "He'll be..." The sound of a crying baby comes from the next room. The male's face goes soft. "Sorry, Bonnie." His wife sits up, revealing her round, D-cup-sized breasts. She looks at her husband severely and rolls her eyes. Then, she reaches down and grabs a white, lace bra off the floor. She sighs irritably as she slides her arms through the loops of the bra. The woman saunters down the hallway wearing a white camisole, grey sweatpants, and a pair of puffy, white and pink slippers. She goes into her one-year-old son's bedroom and sweeps him up from his crib into her arms. She brings the crying child toward her, presses him into her bosom, and bounces him slightly to calm him. She then walks back out into the hallway. There, she knocks on a door. "Emily, get up, it's time to get ready for school. It's almost eight-thirty. You're going to be late!" "Yes, mom!" The couple's twelve-year-old daughter emerges from the bedroom and rushes to get ready. The woman enters the kitchen and puts her son into a light blue baby basket with lace trim. She reaches up to the pantry and removes a bottle of baby food from it. Then, she opens a drawer and grabs a spoon. She sits next to her baby on a wooden stool, twists off the lid of the jar in her hand, and begins to spoon-feed her son. A few minutes later, the woman's husband enters the room. He's now wearing black pants, leather shoes, and a white business shirt. He's doing up his tie as he walks into the room. "What's for breakfast this morning, honey?" "What do you want?" his wife asks. "Bacon and eggs will do nicely." Bonnie rolls her eyes, but her husband doesn't notice. "Just let me deal with Liam first." The man leans down and kisses his woman's head. "Okay." The wife keeps spoon-feeding her child until he's full. Then, she gets up, moves over to the sink, throws the spoon in, grabs a frying pan, turns a dial on the stove, and starts to make her husband breakfast. As she does, her husband's mobile phone dings. "What's that?" Bonnie asks. Her husband is reading a text message on the screen. "It's from the boss." "What does it say?" "It says, 'Andrew, when you come in, can you look over Eliza's additions to the Windsor Bridge plan? Not confident.'" Bonnie cracks an egg. "New hire not working out?" "Eliza got hired because of affirmative action, not talent. I wouldn't want to drive over a bridge she builds." Bonnie laughs. We can see that she's a few inches shorter than her husband as she stands next to him by the stove. Emily enters the room. She's wearing her school uniform - a blue blazer, a white blouse, and a short, blue tartan skirt. "Hey," she says groggily. "Hey, darling," her mother says softly. "What do you want for breakfast?" Emily sits near Liam at the table. "Toast, please." Bonnie immediately goes over and places two pieces of bread in the toaster. She looks sidelong at her husband. "Can you pass me a plate?" Andrew honors his wife's wishes and hands her a white plate, onto which she deposits her husband's bacon and eggs. She sauces it for him, and he sits and eats at the table. The toast pops and Bonnie withdraws the slices from the toaster. She butters them and hands them to Emily. Emily begins eating them. Bonnie looks out the window. A bus is pulling up in the street outside. Her body tenses when she sees it. "Emily, the bus is here! Quick, go get your schoolbag!" The couple's child obeys immediately, and presents her pink, Hello Kitty schoolbag to her mother. Bonnie quickly packs her daughter's lunch - a homemade chicken sandwich in a lunchbox - and helps Emily shoulder her backpack. She leans down to the girl's level. "Give mommy a kiss." Emily pecks her mother on the cheek, and then does the same with her father. "Have a good day, Emily," Andrew says. "I will. See ya!" Andrew nears his wife. "I have to go too." Bonnie pecks her husband on the lips. "Have a good day." "You too." Andrew exits the room, leaving Bonnie and Liam alone. When Andrew leaves, Bonnie's shoulders relax. Her cordial expression disappears, and her facial expression grows serious. She walks out of the room, down the hall, and enters a door. Bonnie walks into the bathroom and shuts the door behind her. She locks the door securely, then makes a beeline for the toilet. When she gets there, she does something we don't expect. Instead of sitting down, she stands in front of the bowl, with her feet shoulder-width apart. Then, she looks around to make absolutely sure that no-one is watching, places a hand on the wall in front of her, and pulls down the front of her tight, grey sweatpants with the other. She reaches into her white, lace panties, and then she extracts a big, fat, wrinkled dick from inside them. The woman then begins to pee standing up. As it turns out, Bonnie Hamilton, the woman we have seen this entire time, isn't a woman at all. Bonnie Hamilton is a man. A man named Shane Turner. February 5, 1996 (Same day) Shane Turner's pink, Volkswagen Beetle is moving slowly down a quiet country road. It passes by a forest of poplar trees and over a livestock grate in the road, leaving a cloud of dust in its wake. The car's left blinker flashes, before the car turns into a gate. The door to Turner's humiliatingly feminine hatchback opens and the man steps out by placing one of his black, 3-inch high heels on the ground and heaving himself out. He is fully disguised in his Bonnie Hamilton costume, with an elaborate, blonde updo, a full-length black skirt, and a matching blazer. He is carrying his tiny son, Liam Hamilton, in the light-blue baby basket we saw earlier. He adjusts the ruffled pink blouse he's got on underneath the blazer and makes his way up to the house. He has no trouble at all maintaining balance on his heels as he traverses the rocky ground, after seven years of practice. He walks to the door with a feminine gait and his wrist upturned. He doesn't know who could be watching. The man's heels thud against the wooden porch as he makes his way to the door. He knocks on the door. A man's voice comes from inside. "Who is it?" Turner looks around to see if anyone's around before he answers in his real, deep, male voice. "It's Shane." A sigh comes from behind the door. "Come in." Turner wraps a feminine hand around the doorknob. A set of long, red fake fingernails extend from his fingers, and we can see that he's wearing a number of gold rings in addition to his engagement ring and wedding band. The thin, gold bracelet around his wrist jangles as he turns the doorknob, opens the door, and steps inside. Waiting inside is Jeff Donovan, Turner's ex-partner-in-crime. The two men greet each other by shaking hands. Donovan stares wide-eyed at his ex-friend's extreme makeover. Donovan looks at the baby in the carrier that Turner is holding and seems disturbed by the sight. "Why the hell did you bring a baby with you??" Turner replies in a gruff, masculine voice. "I couldn't leave the little cunt at home." Donovan shakes his head and avoids eye contact with the crossdressed male. "Make yourself comfortable, I guess. Would you like tea or coffee?" "You got a beer?" "Yeah I do." Turner drops the lady-walk and moves down the hall into the living room with an overtly masculine gait. He places baby Liam's carrier down on a lounge chair. He then undoes the straps on his heels and places the heels next to the hat stand. He shrugs out of his blazer, revealing the pink, ruffled, short-sleeved blouse underneath, and hangs it on the coat-stand. The guy's biceps are very apparent in the short-sleeved blouse. His arms are noticeably thicker than a real woman's arms would be. Turner sits on one of Donovan's leather couches. He sits with his legs wide apart, with his left leg sticking out of the slit in his full- length skirt. He has to maintain no illusions in this house. Seeing the proper-looking, conservative Bonnie Hamilton sit in such a masculine position is a truly bizarre sight. Donovan quickly returns with two beers. He hands one to Turner, who drinks. Donovan eyes Turner with amusement, noticing that the guy is drinking his beer with his pinky extended. Turner's mouth arches in anger when he notices the guy's wry smile. "I've had to pretend to be a woman twenty-four hours a day for the last seven years, asshole. My life has just been one, endless, soul- destroying drag queen performance after the other after that fuckin' heist. Don't get up me for being a bit ladylike. Being ladylike is the only way I've survived." Donovan nods. His gaze then drops downward. A bit of Turner's white, lace women's underwear is visible between the guy's open, shaved legs. Donovan notices. "Nice panties, dude." Turner looks at his crotch and then immediately snaps his knees together. "Fuck off, buddy," he says through clenched teeth. "The only reason you're not sitting here in a disguise too is because the police weren't able to identify you. If they were looking for you as well..." Donovan snorts derisively. "Whatever, dude. Why are you here? Madison's gonna be home in a bit with the kids. I don't want my wife and kids seeing me talking to some Mrs. Doubtfire wannabe, so make it quick and get outta here." Turner arches his painted lips angrily. "It's been seven years since the robbery." "Congratulations. You made it. The police didn't catch you. The statute of limitations is almost up. You can go back to being a man soon. Why are you involving me?" Turner crosses his legs like a lady to prevent being upskirted further. "Mike told me that a police detective came to Tony's house last week. She wanted to ask him some questions about the robbery." "After all these years?" "Yep. I tried to contact Tony but he refuses to speak to me." "That's because he thinks you're a freak." Turner looks the man in the eye. "And do you?" "Yeah," Donovan matter-of-factly replies. Turner suddenly stands. "You two didn't get your masks ripped off!! The police had no idea who you guys were!! My face was on every newspaper, magazine, and TV channel around the country!! I was the target of a nation-wide manhunt!! There was a fifty-thousand-dollar reward for information that lead to my arrest!! My face is still on the national most wanted list!! I had to hide myself somehow!! If the cops recognize me even a second before midnight on the 28th of next month, I could spend the rest of my life in prison!!" "So you got a sex change and became a man's wife?" "I didn't get a sex change, asshole!!" Turner bellows. "I only got a boob job! My cock is still exactly where it should be, and if memory serves, mine's bigger than yours is!!" Donovan shudders. "You could've changed your face..." "I saw five surgeons and they all refused. I even tried to bribe them to change my identity, but all I could convince them to do was give me a nose job. A complete face change surgery is illegal and I didn't have time to find some underground surgeon to do it!!" "But you found one that was willing to give you a boob job instead..." Turner looks down self-consciously at his unnaturally swollen chest. "It was easy to convince the last surgeon that I wanted to be a woman. They were happy to help turn me into a chick!!" "And so where did the part about marrying a man come in?" "Bonnie Hamilton doesn't exist," Turner explains. "I have a fake ID and that's it. I can't rent a house, pay a bill, or get a job. I had to find someone else to do that stuff for me." "So you found a man..." "He was the only one!!" "So you're financially dependent on a man for survival. You're living as a 'kept' woman?" Turner stares at him, eyes burning with hate. "Yes, but not for much longer." Donovan shakes his head once more. "So, what, you're just going to abandon him and the kids in the middle of the night?" "Yeah. Only seven weeks from now. I just have to last until the end of next month without anyone discovering my secret." "So he doesn't know you're really a dude..." "No. He still thinks I'm a woman." "How is that possible after all those years of marriage?" Donovan asks. "I made up a sob story about how I was brutally raped before we met," Turner responds. "He thinks I'm terrified to have vaginal sex and he's never pushed me to do it. He's never seen me down there." "So, what, you've never had sex with the guy?" "Fuck off, Donovan. You know I'd never have sex with a man!!" A smile tugs at the sides of Donovan's lips. "But I'm guessing you've done other stuff with him, right?" Turner gulps. "You don't know what kind of stuff I've had to do to keep that man happy all these years." Donovan looks profoundly disgusted. "Jesus Christ that's gross." Turner's face goes red with humiliation. Donovan points at Turner's blonde updo. "Is that a wig?" "No. I got tired of worrying about my wig getting ripped off or not being on straight so I grew my hair out." Donovan is eyeing Turner's big, real tits. "Why the hell did you even get a boob job? Couldn't you have just stuffed your bra?" "There is no way I would've been able to pull all this off if I hadn't gotten breast implants," Turner reluctantly explains. "I had to get boobs so that Andrew and nobody else would ever even suspect that I'm a man. I needed to get tits to make my disguise unquestionable. The surgery barely even took an hour and the implants can be taken out just as quick." Donovan shakes his head. "If only Angela could see you now!" Turner's eyes narrow at the mention of his ex-girlfriend - the love of his life that fate forced him to abandon. "You used to be so macho," Donovan laments. "And now..." Turner balls his fists. "Fuck off, Donovan. Don't let this skirt fool you. I could still kick your ass. Just tell me if you know anything about what the police wanted with Tony." Just then, Liam starts to cry. His wails are too loud for Turner to ignore. "Oh, fuck off you little shit!!" He goes over to the kid and then reaches into his purse. He grabs a bottle full of milk out of his purse and places the bottle's teat up to his mouth. The baby begins to suckle, calming him. Turner is humiliated by having to play mommy in front of the ex-criminal. Donovan watches on, disturbed. "Why the fuck did you adopt the kid?" "It wasn't my choice." "Whose choice was it?" "My husband's. He wanted another child. I didn't get a say." "So he wears the pants in your relationship?" Turner throws Donovan a dangerous look. Donovan backs off. Turner's efforts to calm Liam by feeding him hit a roadblock when the baby spits out the bottle. The baby pushes it away repeatedly when his 'mother' tries to put it back into his mouth. His crying reaches greater intensity, infuriating Turner. "Oh just shut up!!" Donovan looks disturbed. "What's wrong with him?" "He doesn't like being bottle fed," Turner replies. Donovan sits up slightly. "He doesn't like being bottle fed?! How the fuck do you feed him then??" Turner doesn't respond. Instead, he goes over to the door, steps angrily back into his high heels, throws on his ladies blazer, and picks up the baby's carry basket. "I have to go. I'm gonna ask you again: did you hear anything from Tony?" "No, he hasn't contacted me." "If he does, let me know." Donovan nods. Turner exits the room, and walks down the hallway toward the front door with as masculine a gait as his high heels will allow. Turner emerges from the house and looks around. He can't see anyone around, but he can't afford to take any chances. He sashays down the steps and toward his pink hatchback, with the wrist of his free hand limp and upturned. He gets into his car, sets the baby carrier on the passenger seat next to the expensive breast pump Turner has brought with him, and pulls down the seatbelt over his boobs. He starts the engine and puts the car in gear. He then turns around and drives away, operating the pedals with the toes of his high heels. The crossdressing criminal only drives for thirty seconds before he stops on the side of the quiet road, beneath a large oak tree. Liam is still wailing and carrying on. Turner cringes as he looks at the baby. Then, he reaches up and begins to unbutton his pink blouse. He parts the blouse, revealing his large, feminine breasts, filling out a white, lace bra. He pushes his finger into one of the bra's cups and pulls it downward, bringing his right tit out. Then, he removes baby Liam from his carrier, and brings the child's mouth toward his nipple. Liam wraps his tiny mouth around Turner's swollen, red tit and begins to quietly suckle his 'mother's' milk out of the guy's boob. As this occurs, Shane Turner's face contorts into an ugly, crazed expression, as the hardened bank robber reluctantly begins to breastfeed an infant baby from his own perky set of tits. February 6, 1996 7 weeks until the statute of limitations on Shane Turner's crimes is up. Andrew, Liam, and Emily all sit around a table, while Turner serves them the dinner he'd cooked for them while disguised as the matriarch of the house. The buxom male criminal is wearing a short, polka dot dress and a frilly, red and white checkered apron. His hair is in a messy bun. The man waddles over to the family atop a pair of red, 4-inch stiletto heels, which clomp along the wooden floorboards. He then bends down with his knees together to unceremoniously drop a cooked chicken on a silver platter in the middle of the dining room table. Turner gives everyone their own plate and cutlery, and sits next to Liam in his highchair. Turner spoon feeds Liam as the family begins to eat. "So how was work, honey?" Turner asks Andrew through gritted teeth in his female voice. "Jeremy got fired," Andrew replies. Turner appears genuinely interested in this development. "Wow, really??" "Yeah. The boss ended up realizing that he'd gotten so far behind on the Swanson project that the company wouldn't be able to meet its deadlines." "And so Eric just gave him the boot?" "There was a screaming match in his office and then he cleaned out his desk. He was escorted out of the building." Turner sits back and blows out a shallow, feminized breath. "That's so wild." Andrew smiles gleefully. "It is." "Good on, Eric, but he should've done it years ago." "I know, but what can you do?" Turner nods. Then, he tilts his head slightly, thinking. "So, I guess that means that his job is up for grabs?" "Eric's going to start a hiring round tomorrow," Andrew responds. "Are you gonna put your name in the running?" Turner enquires carefully, in a high-pitched voice. "Do you think I should?" "I think you'd be perfect for it, baby." Andrew thinks about that. "It'd be a lot more work and responsibility." "Yes, but it'd also mean a lot more money for us and our family. Aaannd being able to tell Barb and the other girls that my husband is the Vice President of a multinational corporation would be very, very nice." Andrew smiles and looks at 'Bonnie'. "Being the wife of a high-flying corporate executive would really boost your ego, huh?" Turner smiles a genuine smile. "Yes, it would. Carol would die." Andrew chuckles. "Women can be so competitive sometimes." Turner shrugs. Andrew chuckles again. "Well, I'll see." "Good boy," Turner responds, patting his husband's leg. The crossdressed man then turns to Emily. "How was your day at school, lovely?" Emily looks up from her plate but then looks back down at it. Turner's perfectly sculpted eyebrows move closer together. "Did something happen, sweetheart?" "No..." Emily responds. The tone of her voice couldn't be any less convincing. "Sweetie, look at me," Turner says. Emily looks up and meets her 'mother's' eyes. "Tell me what happened," the disguised criminal says in a feigned maternal tone. Emily goes quiet for a long time before speaking. "Another girl at school keeps picking on me." The two men in the room glance at each other. "Over what?" Andrew asks. "My shoes, my hair, how I talk, how I walk - everything!" Turner appears concerned. "Which girls are doing this, sweetie?" "Vicki and Tami Launceston," Emily says. Turner smiles when he hears the names. "Well, that solves that mystery." Andrew looks confused. "Huh?" "Those girls' mother, Eliza Launceston, is such a narcissist that she sometimes wears a cocktail dress to P&C meetings," Turner explains. "She's always bragging to Sharon and I about how her husband's the CEO of Extel and how he's buying her this and buying her that and taking her places all over the world, trying to make us jealous. She's soooo catty and it annoys me so much! As if our husbands don't buy us things! Her girls are probably just salty that Emily came in first in class last year, even though Eliza got all her kids private tutors." "I see," Andrew says, Turner leans forward and rests his slightly-too-large hand gently over Emily's. "I wouldn't worry about those girls, sweetheart. You're so much more beautiful and sophisticated than those two could ever be. Just stay well-behaved and keep up your grades and you'll show them." Emily looks her mother in the eyes. "Really, mom?" "Yes. Make yourself, your father, and mommy proud. Promise?" Emily perks up a bit. "Okay." The family goes on eating their meal. ~o0o~ Several hours later, Andrew and Bonnie enter their bedroom. Andrew is wearing a dark-blue T-shirt and jeans, while Turner is still in his polka dot dress. Andrew takes off his shirt when he enters the room, while 'Bonnie' closes the door behind them and takes off her earrings. Andrew pats his stomach. "That was a great meal, sweetheart." Turner kicks off his red high heels. "Awww, thank you." Andrew smiles. "I feel sorry for Emily." Turner pulls his dress over his head, revealing his surgically-altered hourglass figure, and leaving him in a white, floral patterned bra and frilly panties, fully tucked. "I'll ask her about it again in a week and if it's still going on I'll phone the principal." "That's a good plan." Andrew surreptitiously watches on as his 'wife' unhooks her bra and pulls it down over her arms and away from her body, leaving her perfect, jostling set of D-cups on display. An erection begins to tent Andrew's pants when he sees the topless man's boobs, and he makes no effort to conceal it. Turner notices the boner in his husband's briefs when he takes off his pants, and he sneers at the sight of it. The topless criminal and his husband then go to bed. Andrew holds the covers open to allow the shorter, disguised man to join him under the sheets. Turner slips in under the blankets, cringing as he gets into bed with a man. Then, Andrew covers the guy. Turner wriggles up to Andrew's side and nestles into the crook of his arm, resting the side of his head on the man's hairy chest. He rests his flat crotch against the man's leg, presses his bosom against the side of his chest, and wraps one of his shaved legs around one of Andrew's hairy ones, playing the part of the doting wife perfectly before they go to sleep. Andrew lies on his back, with his arm around Bonnie, and with his hand resting atop one of her broad shoulders. "I'm so proud of you," Andrew says softly. "For what?" Turner asks, in an equally soft tone. "For being such a good wife and mother all these years." Turner sneers again. "I don't know what I'd do without you, Bonnie. You're my rock, my world - I don't know how I would live if you left me." Turner's face falls and he casts his eyes downward, suddenly looking very guilty. Andrew begins running his fingers through his 'wife's' hair. "You make me happy. You make the kids happy. I'm so glad that we met and that you said yes when I asked you to marry me. After my divorce, I honestly never thought I'd meet anyone ever again." Turner reluctantly pecks Andrew on the cheek with his red lips. "Well, you did, and I'm here now, baby. Just enjoy it." "Okay." Under the sheets, Turner's arm is resting snaked around Andrew's hairy stomach. The criminal moves his arm to massage his husband's abs with the palm of his hand, and brushes past the guy's hard-on with his wrist as he does. Andrew moans. Turner tries to ignore it. "Baby..." Andrew breathes. "What?" Turner asks. He senses what's coming and is barely able to conceal his annoyance. "I'm so hard right now." Turner's teeth clench. "I noticed." Under the sheets, Andrew pulls down his briefs and brings out his penis near Turner's hand. "Quick handjob before bed, gorgeous?" Turner's expression becomes deranged. "Baby..." he pouts. "You haven't given me anything in months, beautiful," Andrew complains. "Please. I need this." Turner thinks quickly. "Only if you promise to put yourself in the running for the VP job." "I will, babe. Don't you worry." Turner smiles - a genuine smile. "Wonderful." Reluctantly, Turner wraps his hand around Andrew's stiff penis. Then, after a hideous expression flashes across his painted face, he begins to move his hand up and down over the shaft, and starts to jerk the other man off. Turner's happy smile becomes smug. "And when you become a high- paid corporate executive, baby, I'm gonna tell Eliza Launceston allll about it." Seven years can certainly change a man. February 6, 1996 7 weeks until the statute of limitations on Shane Turner's crimes is up. A full moon hangs in a starry sky above a large, brick building. A lighted sign on the top of the building identifies it in elaborate, pink cursive writing. It reads: 'Miss Fit Pole Dancing Studio'. Inside, ten fit, middle-aged women in sports bras and tight, little yoga shorts stand on a pink and black checkered floor, next to silver poles connected to the ceiling and ground. Shane Turner is hiding underneath the makeup of one of these women. As Bonnie Hamilton, he follows the hot female instructor's commands, while the song 'Girls Just Wanna Have Fun' plays loudly on the stereo. "Pivot, hook, twirl!" the instructor says in a loud, shrill voice. Turner, along the rest of the girls, hooks one of his legs around the pole and launches himself around, swinging around the pole and landing on his heels. "Okay, ladies, again!" All the women and the man who's made himself up to look like one performs the motion again. "And again!" Again, the girls perform the movement, and then come to stand on their feet. "Okay, I think that's enough for tonight," the instructor goes on. "Good work, girls! Give yourself a round of applause!" Turner and the rest of the women all smile at each other and clap, dutifully obeying the instructor's command. Another song starts playing as they all move to the sides of the rooms to gather their gym bags. Turner's bosom heaves up and down inside his pink, racerback jog bra and his hands dangle loosely in front of him as he walks over and slings his grey bag over his shoulder, taking care not to break off one of his long, fake white fingernails as he does. Turner's flat, sweat-covered stomach contracts and expands as he continues to pant, and as three women approach him. Turner removes a towel from his bag and begins to wipe himself down as he nods at his female friends. Turner greets them in a breathy voice. "Hey, Barbara, Sharon, Carol." "Hey, Bonnie!" Barbara says enthusiastically. "What a workout, huh?" Barbara is an attractive, 39-year-old suburban soccer mom with blonde hair. She has more than a few crow's feet around her eyes but her taut, fit body more than makes up for her age. She is the class instructor, and is taller than Turner by a few inches. She's perpetually optimistic despite her two misbehaved kids. "Yeah," Turner says, still panting from performing his routines. "I bet you're glad we talked you into this," Sharon remarks. "Your ass is looking fineeee lately, girl." Turner feigns a smile. Sharon is a dark-haired mother of three whose children all go to the same school as Emily. She's the shortest woman of the group by a few inches and is the youngest as well at 37. She's married to an investment banker and lives in a McMansion down the road from Andrew and Turner's house. Despite her age, she's hot as hell. Turner would give anything to fuck her if he wasn't stuck (metaphorically) in a skirt. Turner giggles girlishly. "Thanks, sweetie." "Are you ladies still coming over to my place?" Carol asks. Carol is a 40-year-old hairdresser and single mother of two boys, still addicted to the party lifestyle despite her age. Her divorce three years ago was probably the single greatest thing that had happened to the modern alcohol industry. She's tattooed, promiscuous, and not remarkably attractive. Barbara nods. "Yep. It's better than going home to that walking boner I call a husband." Turner leans down to put on a pair of sequined flats and chuckles. "Did Simon end up getting his promotion, by the way?" "Yeah, we totally forgot to ask you about that!" Sharon exclaims. Barbara sighs. "No, he got passed over for someone else." "Oh no, honey, that's so sad." Turner consoles his friend in a tender voice. Sharon holds Barbara's arm softly. "Hey, lovely, that's no good." Carol fawns over Barb too. "How did he take it?" "It got to him a little but he's a strong man," Barbara replies softly. "He can take it." Turner massages Barbara's arm. "That's good. I hope he'll be okay." The girls eventually settle down. "Well, I'm up for going to Carol's," Sharon says. "Bonnie, you in?" 'Bonnie' looks unsure. Her friends notice. "We have ice cream and cake," Carol tempts. The girls all stare hopefully at the man they believe to be Bonnie Hamilton. Turner rolls his eyes and smiles. "Okay." All three girls cheer. "Yay!" ~o0o~ The four women sit in Carol's living room. Carol is pouring the girls a glass of white wine. Turner gratefully accepts his glass of sauvignon blanc and takes a sip. All the women have changed out of their workout clothes into casual clothes. Turner is now wearing a short, navy blue floral dress. His hair is in a bun, secured with an ornate hair clip, and he's sitting with his legs crossed like a lady, just like the other three women, trying to ignore the feeling of his lace panties cutting into his ass crack. He's still wearing his sequined flats, which sparkle in the warm down lights, and a pair of silver teardrop earrings are now dangling from his earlobes. "How's Andrew and the kids, Bonnie?" Sharon asks Turner. "They're fine." "How's the breastfeeding going? Did you get that maternity bra I recommended you?" Turner grits his teeth. "Yeah. It's made things so much easier for me." Barbara smiles broadly. "It's so handy to be able to easily access your nipples, huh?" Turner nods. He finds the three women around him tedious, but they are his only friends. For the first two years since he started wearing his disguise, the only people he had to talk to were Andrew and Emily. He had no friends at all. He felt isolated and alone, starved for company outside his family. He tried making friends with Andrew's buddies, but they didn't treat him as an equal. Andrew's friends treated him as they knew him to be - as Andrew's missus - as a cute, little object owned by their male friend. Being spoken down to and teased like a dumb bimbo filled him with rage, and he never tried making friends with Andrew's mates ever again. Trying to befriend other fathers at school always gave them the wrong impression and made Andrew fly off the handle a couple of times with jealousy, so he eventually had to take having male friends off the table. When Sharon struck up a conversation with Turner about his earrings and shoes one day while they both waited for their kids to finish school, Turner saw a way to get out from underneath the crushing loneliness which plagued him. He met Barbara and Carol through Sharon and he made it a point to maintain his new friendships so that he could meet his social needs. The three women were dowdy, clucking hens with whom he has little in common, but Turner, being an extrovert, couldn't tolerate having no one to hang out with. Having a group of female friends was the best he could do. Having people who knew and liked 'Bonnie' well for years was also great to add legitimacy to his disguise. "Oh, Christ," Carol says. Sharon looks at her with confusion. "What?" Carol is looking at her crotch. "I'm bleeding." "Eww," Barbara complains. Carol rushes to the bathroom. "I'm out of pads!" Turner and the other two women exchange glances. They all roll their eyes. "Do any of you girls have a pad or a tampon I can borrow?" Carol calls from the bathroom. Turner, Sharon, and Barbara check their handbags. Barbara and Sharon shake their heads, but Turner's hand emerges from his bag holding an unopened pack of Stayfree maxi-pads. "I have some pads," Turner admits, humiliated. Carol immediately exits the bathroom. Turner opens the plastic packaging and hands a pad to his friend. "Thanks, Bon," Carol says, and she winks at him. "You're a treasure." Turner smiles and quickly hides the pack of pads he keeps in his handbag for appearances out of shame. Carol emerges from the bathroom after that, looking chipper as usual. She pours herself another glass of wine without sitting down and then goes around behind the couch Turner is sitting on. She sweeps Turner's hair into a ponytail and starts examining his shiny locks. "You'd look so good with braids, Bon." She holds Turner's blonde ponytail up to indicate it to the other women. "What do you think, girls?" Barbara nods profusely. "Yaaasss! That'd be totally you, Bonnie." Sharon nods in agreement. "What do you think, Bonnie?" Carol asks. Turner thinks about it. "I don't know..." "Come on, Bonnie," Carol pouts. "Bon. Bonnie Bon-Bon." Turner chuckles. "Okay, okay." Carol continues to sweep Turner's hair into a ponytail before she begins her work. Turner sits back and tries not to let how much he's enjoying having a woman touch him show. Sharon empties her wine glass and brings up a new topic of conversation. "You know what I hate?" "What?" Barbara replies. "Men." Carol laughs. As the only man in the room, Turner looks uncomfortable at the direction the conversation is going in. "Men and unsupportive bras," Sharon continues. Turner nods in profuse agreement with that last part. Turner Barbara's and Sharon's wine glasses. "Colin still working late, huh?" "Every night." "Did you end up seeing what his secretary looks like?" Carol asks. "I bought him lunch and took it up to his office the other day to have a look." Turner raises an eyebrow at that. "Oh yeah?" "Yeah. It's just what I feared," Sharon goes on. "She's a young, hot girl with big tits and a pretty face." "That doesn't necessarily mean he's cheating on you, honey," Barbara says. "I know, but it worries me. You know how things between a boss and his secretary can be. What if Cole decides to trade me in for a newer, hotter model? Turner smiles. "Then us girls will stay up late one night to egg his house, smash his windows, and let the air out of his tires, sweetie." The other three women laugh. Turner's smile widens. He adjusts one of his bra straps under his dress as Carol continues her work and then has a sip of wine. Barbara leans back in her chair. "Men are just annoying in general." Turner is irritated by having his gender trashed, but he doesn't let it show. "How so?" "They always do stuff that pisses me off." Sharon nods. "Like leaving the toilet seat up?" "And leaving empty toilet rolls next to the bin because putting them in is way too hard," Barbara adds. Carol laughs. "I hate how they're always cheering on sports players on TV. It's like, they can't hear you, babe. You can chill." Turner fakes a smile as the women laugh. "I hate how Simon uses my expensive shampoo when he's run out of the cheap stuff he uses," Barbara continues. Turner nods at that one as he sips his wine. Andrew had infuriated him numerous times over the years by doing that. "I hate how Colin will wear underwear until it literally starts falling apart," Sharon remarks. Carol smiles. "Yeah and I hate how men will use my pink towel after being covered in grease all day. Like, hello, we have his and hers towels for a reason." "And their sex drive," Barbara goes on. "Always with the sex. I guess it's cool to constantly do it when you're not the one washing the cum stains out of the sheets." Turner grits his teeth, definitely being able to relate to that one. All the girls look at Turner. "What do you think, Bonnie?" Turner sips his wine with his pinky finger extended. "At least we have someone to kill bugs for us and to open jars." Turner's female friends laugh. "Surely Andrew drives you nuts sometimes," Barbara probes. "You guys have been married, what, five or six years, haven't you?" "Seven, actually." Sharon takes a sip. "So spill." Turner rolls his eyes. Then, he comes up with an appropriate response. "I hate the daily expectation that I'll be the one to cook dinner, do all the housework, and look after the kids." The three women nod. "And he can be so useless sometimes and he doesn't learn," the crossdressed man goes on. "Every time I ask him to pick me up some low- fat milk, he buys skim. Every time." The other women continue to nod, totally able to relate to 'Bonnie's' struggles. "He snores. He farts," the man keeps going, trying to contain his anger at having to trash his own natural behaviors. "Oh Christ, Simon farts all day and snores all night," Barbara exclaims. "It's disgusting!" "He's always touching his junk," Turner says. "Like, constantly, and he's always rubbing himself against me at night." Carol nods in agreement. "All of my exes did that. It's so weird!" "And he's always touching my boobs. Sometimes he'll grab them in his sleep and start squeezing and kneading them for hours on end, and I just have to lie there and take it. He does it so hard sometimes that it wakes me up and I literally have to shake him awake to get him to stop." Barbara shakes her head. "That sounds awful, Bonnie. We put up with so much from men. I love them, but we should totally get paid just to deal with them." Carol and Sharon crack a smile. Then, the four friends all turn their head when they hear a car pull up in the driveway. "Who's that?" Barbara asks. "That's Michael," Carol replies. Sharon turns and lifts a curtain to look out the window. "Who's Michael?" "My new BF. Didn't I tell you guys about him?" Turner exchanges glances with Barb. "No..." "Well, now I did. You should see him. He's soooo sexy." Carol finishes braiding Turner's hair. Turner picks up an ornate, silver hand-mirror from the table and examines her work. In the mirror, he sees Carol approach the door and open it. He sees a man step through but he can't see him properly just yet. He's uncomfortable at the stranger's arrival. "Ladies, I'd like you to meet Michael, my boyfriend." Turner rotates to face Carol and her new partner. When he does, his stomach drops and he accidentally lets the mirror fall onto the ground. Carol is standing beside a tall and imposing police officer. The man is in a light blue shirt and dark pants, still in uniform after his shift. His arm is around Carol's waist and Carol beams up at him with pride. "Hey, everyone," the new entrant says. All the women greet him. Turner murmurs his greetings in an embarrassingly high-pitched voice. His throat has closed and the color has drained out of his face. "This lovely lady here is Barbara," Carol says, beginning the introductions. Michael smiles and nods at her. "And this pretty jewel here is Sharon," Carol goes on. Michael repeats his action at Sharon. Then Carol indicates Turner. "And this beautiful flower here is Bonnie." Michael smiles and nods. "Pleasure to meet you ladies." Barbara eyes the hunky cop's bicep with approval. She licks her lips. "Yeah, pleasure." Carol turns to Michael. "How was work, sweetheart?" "It was a boring patrol. Nothing interesting happened." "That's good, I guess," Carol answers softly. "A boring night means a safe night." "Yeah." As Carol and Michael talk, Turner begins to shake. He is terrified out of his mind by the police officer's presence, knowing that, if the cop recognizes him, he would be arrested and probably sent to jail for the rest of his life. His heart begins to race. Beads of sweat begin to form over the layers of makeup hiding his true face. He starts to feel nauseated and like he wants to hurl. It isn't long before he can't take it anymore, and he gets up to leave before he has a full-blown panic attack. Carol notices her friend leaving. "Hey, Bon, where're you going?" "I just need to go freshen up," Turner lies, trying to hide the quaver in his voice. "I'll be right back." Carol looks at Turner strangely. "Okay, sweetie." As Turner turns to leave and begins walking away with upturned wrists, a voice stops him. "Hey, wait up a sec," the police officer says. Turner tries to control his breathing as he turns around to face the police officer. Michael looks closely at Turner. "You look familiar... Have we met somewhere before?" Turner sees a flash of recognition in the man's eyes, but the criminal's disguise is too convincing. The flash passes immediately. "I don't think so..." Michael continues to peer at Bonnie's face, trying to figure out why she seems so familiar. "Yeah, I thought... Never mind." Turner forces himself to smile. Then, he nods and resumes heading for the bathroom. When he gets inside, he closes the door behind him, wipes the sweat from his brow, leans over the toilet bowl, and throws up. February 12, 1996 6 weeks until the statute of limitations on Shane Turner's crimes is up. Andrew and his 'wife' are out for an afternoon stroll. Andrew is wearing a smart, red shirt and blue jeans, while 'Bonnie' is wearing a frilly, pink, high-waist dress, a pair of white, two-inch pumps, and a white bonnet. The 'female' half of the couple is pushing a light blue pram as 'she' walks next to her husband. The former bad boy hiding under Bonnie Hamilton's makeup looks absurdly feminine in his pink dress as he pushes the baby stroller, walking behind it with a feminine gait. Turner reaches up and tucks a lock of blonde hair that has gotten free of his messy updo behind his ear. He and Andrew waves at a neighboring couple as they drive past in a ute. Andrew and Turner turn into their driveway. Turner's dress billows in the wind as they do so. The crossdressing criminal takes Liam into his arms and up the stairs. Andrew deals with the pram and checks out his wife's generous behind as she trots on her heels up the stairs and inside. He admires the way she walks up the stairs with one of her wrists upturned and her butt wiggling delightfully from side-to-side. Once inside, Turner checks his watch. It's 6:30. He grits his teeth and then looks at Liam. The door opens behind him and Andrew walks in. "I just need to feed Liam before I go," Turner says to Andrew, in his girl voice. He looks around the room, searching for something. "Have you seen my breast pump?" Andrew locates it and hands Turner the plastic contraption designed to help him express breast milk. Turner cringes at the sight of it. "Thanks," he says, through clenched teeth. Turner pauses for a moment, and then speaks again. "Are you sure I can't bottle-feed this little guy just once?" "We've been through this, Bonnie. I don't want our child drinking that unnatural formula shit." Turner whines. "Pleaseee, Andrew. My breasts are sore today. It'd only be just the once." Andrew holds firm. "Absolutely not." Turner gnashes his teeth. "Fine." The crossdressed man then walks into the bathroom with Liam in the crook of his right arm. We can see him start to get out one of his giant boobs before he turns on his white heels and closes the door. He breathes a sigh of relief that Andrew doesn't want to be in the room with him while he breastfeeds their child. Even he wouldn't want to be in the same room as a lactating male. In the bathroom, baby Liam suckles from Shane Turner's plump left teat. The man's face is hard and severe as he sits there silently, while the baby suckles breast milk from his nipple, and as he shakes with anger and rage. ~o0o~ The sun has begun to set behind the mountains, and the world around Andrew and Turner's house is much darker than it was before. The moon is beginning to rise in the dark blue sky over the house. A disgruntled-looking Turner emerges from the bathroom, cradling a quiet baby. He's finished pumping and breastfeeding, and is now ready to go. He looks more annoyed now than ever. He hands Liam to Andrew, who has gotten up from in front of the news on the television. "When do you think you'll be back?" Andrew asks. The look of concern on his face makes Turner sick. "Probably not until late," the criminal says. "I might end up staying overnight." Andrew nears his wife. "Be careful out there, okay?" Turner fakes a soft voice. "Okay." Andrew gets right up into the crossdressing criminal's personal space. "Tell Barb, Sharon, and Carol I said hello. I love you." "I love you too," Turner dutifully replies. Andrew forces his lips against Turner's. Turner tries to hold it together as he's forced into a deep, passionate, homosexual kiss. He is powerless to resist, trapped in homosexuality by his own web of lies. Andrew slides his hairy hand up Turner's pink dress and caresses the man's shaved buttocks, sitting inside a pair of high-cut, flowery panties. Turner's body tenses with anger as he feels himself being felt up by another man. He silently thanks God he tucked fully this morning. The two men's lips separate. Andrew walks the man he believes to be his wife to the front door. Turner forces himself not to do what he desperately wants to do, which is to run to the bathroom to throw up and disinfect his mouth after the kiss he'd just shared with a man. He manages to keep it together and walks out the door, leaving Andrew and Liam alone. Turner saunters to his pink hatchback with his wrists upturned, maintaining the illusion of femininity before Andrew's ever-watchful eyes. He waves femininely at his husband and then gets into the car. Inside, the man lets his shoulders relax and lets his shaved legs spread widely inside his floral dress. He starts the car and reaches up his skirt to scratch his balls in his white panties, casting off all pretense in the privacy of the car, allowing himself to relax into a natural, masculine posture behind the tinted windows. Then, he places the toes of his high heels on the clutch and the accelerator, lets his stiletto heels rest on the floor, throws the car into first gear, lets out the handbrake, and begins to move off into the sunset. ~o0o~ A waning moon hangs suspended in a starry night sky above a brightly lit motel on a highway. A large, lighted sign on the building marks it as the 'Alexander the Great Motel'. Inside one of the motel's windows on the top story, the sound of a man and a woman having sex can be heard. Turner is in bed with a stunning, brunette prostitute. The half-naked man is on top of her, thrusting his enormous, hard cock over and over between her open legs. The criminal's blonde hair is tied into a man-bun and his bound breasts are hidden beneath a heavy, black jumper. Grey stubble is beginning to appear on his face as his beard starts to grow. The prostitute is completely naked and her brown hair is a mess. Turner's masculine groans and grunts fill the room as he pounds his cock into his woman with reckless abandon. The hooker's feminine moans and screams do the same as she is used and subjugated by a horny male. "Take that, you dirty little slut!" Turner roars. "Pound my little pussy with your big cock, daddy!!" the prostitute squeals. "Do you like that, baby?" Turner bellows, thrusting himself into her even harder now. "Yes!!" the hooker screams. The prostitute's red fingernails and fingers squeeze Turner's shaved butt cheeks. Turner's unpainted lips force themselves against the hooker's bright red lips. Turner's condom-covered erection pounds the woman's pussy with full force over and over. Turner's big, hairy balls bounce against her clit with each brutal motion. The headboard hits the wall repeatedly in time with Turner's thrusts. Turner and the prostitute's moaning reaches a crescendo. The hooker screams in ecstasy as Turner pushes his cock inside the woman and finishes inside his condom. Turner gets off the hooker and flips over. The man and the woman pant heavily, exhausted by their sexual activities. Turner gulps and tries to recover, as he lies next to his sexual conquest. The prostitute just lies there staring at the ceiling - defeated. It's the third time Turner has seen her this month. February 13, 1996 6 weeks until the statute of limitations on Shane Turner's crimes is up. Turner's hatchback comes down the long, dirt driveway and stops in front of the house. The door opens and the man steps out. He's still wearing men's clothing, since nobody is home. Turner walks up the steps and into the house with a masculine gait, with his hoodie and aviator sunglasses on his head. He bears the smug, self-satisfied smile of a man who just got laid. Turner makes a beeline for the bathroom. He steps past the toilet and the shower stall and goes over to the tiled wall. He reaches out toward one of the white tiles beneath the window and feels its edge. He pries the edge of the tile away from the wall until a large compartment slides out. Inside the secret compartment are porn mags, cigarettes, a fleshlight, a half-empty bottle of Jack Daniels, a handgun, bullets, cologne, and an assortment of men's underwear and clothing. Turner then unbuckles his belt, unzips his fly, and takes off his jeans. He then pulls his hoodie over his head, and takes off his socks, shoes, and briefs. He then unbinds his tits, letting the D-cups hanging off his chest swing freely. He folds his men's clothing, hides it - along with his sneakers and glasses - in the compartment, and slides it shut. The tiled front of the compartment blends seamlessly into the wall when Turner closes it. Turner - completely naked - walks out of the bathroom and into his and Andrew's bedroom. There, he pulls out a drawer and selects a bra and a matching set of panties. He pushes his dick back between his thighs, locks his legs together to keep his junk behind him, and then pulls a tight, high-cut pair of leopard print panties over his hips. He then slides his arms through the loops of a leopard print bra, shrugs the bra straps up over his shoulders, and hooks the band together at the back. Turner looks in the mirror. He looks ridiculous wearing lingerie with no makeup, and appears exactly as what he is: a forty-one-year-old man with a beard wearing women's underwear. Turner shudders and turns away from the mirror in shame. The crossdressing criminal raises his wrist to look at his watch. His gold, ladies analog wristwatch reads 2:33pm. Turner has to pick up Liam from daycare at 3:15pm. He only has a limited amount of time to shave, paint on his Bonnie Hamilton mask, and drive over there, so he begins to hurry. Just as the man reaches for his white petticoat, he hears something that makes him freeze: The sound of the door opening. Turner spins around. He spins around and is greeted by the sight of his worst nightmare. Emily is at the door! She must've gotten home from school early! Her eyes are wide and she is trembling in horror. "Oh, shit!" Turner yelps, accidentally letting his man-voice slip through, not that there was a point in hiding it. Emily raises her hands to her mouth and begins squealing in horror at finding a strange man in her parent's bedroom. Turner freaks out and runs past her, out of the bedroom and back into the bathroom. With the sound of Emily's screaming in the background, Turner grabs his jeans and hoodie and makes for the front door. A man wearing nothing but women's underwear scurries to his pink hatchback in broad daylight. Turner throws open the door, tosses his men's clothes and shoes onto the passenger seat, and gets in. He closes the door and starts the engine. The VW's wheels spin as he speeds away in the direction of the nearest women's clothing store. ~o0o~ Blue and red lights flash outside the house. Turner's car pulls into the driveway. He stops the car and emerges from it, sporting a sloppy makeup job he gave himself in a public toilet using cheap, drugstore makeup, and wearing a white blouse and a blue, knee-length denim skirt that he bought from a women's clothing store in Kurrajong. Turner's leopard print bra is visible beneath the man's thin, white blouse. His hair has been tied up into a messy, feminine updo. Turner walks between the police cars holding baby Liam, terrified of the uniformed officers around him. A male police officer holds up a hand to stop Turner. "Sorry, ma'am - this is a crime scene." Andrew approaches with Emily. "It's alright, officer. She's my wife." Beads of sweat have formed on Turner's forehead at this point. The escaped criminal can barely keep it together with so many police officers so close. Andrew takes the crossdressed man he believes to be his wife into his arms. Turner is so nervous that he almost appreciates being held and comforted by the taller man, protected inside his embrace. Almost. He wraps his hand around the man's thumb, endearing himself to his only ally for support by infantilizing himself. "Honey, you're shivering," Andrew says gently. "I'm scared," Turner responds, his female voice quavering. "What's going on?" Liam begins crying. "It's alright, sweetheart," Andrew says to his frightened wife in a hushed tone. "There was an intruder inside the house when Emily got home." Turner fakes a look of shock. "An intruder? Did he steal anything??" "Uhhh, no. He was... doing something else." "What?" Just then, an attractive, young female police officer approaches. The woman is so hot that Turner feels humiliated being near her, wearing women's clothing and being physically intimate with a man. "Mrs. Hamilton? Detective Ellie Harris, St. Albans police." "Pleasure." Turner's response comes out so high-pitched out of nervousness that his face goes red with embarrassment. "We received a call from your daughter at 2:41pm this afternoon," Detective Harris reports. "Apparently she found a man in your bedroom, trying on your lingerie. He ran when he was discovered." Turner feigns horror. "Ewww that's so gross! A man wearing my lingerie?! What kind of sick, twisted pervert would do such a thing??" "I don't know, but we'll do everything we can to try and catch the sicko and bring him to justice." "That's just so goddamned gross!" Turner goes on, overcompensating way too much out of fear. "I can't believe what I'm hearing! Emily, did he hurt you??" "No, mom. I'm okay." "Everything's fine, ma'am," a male police officer goes on. "Aside from your stolen lingerie and your daughter's scare, nothing was disturbed." "He was probably a pedophile too!" Turner continues to deflect. "That goddamned pervert!!" Andrew holds 'Bonnie' tighter. "Everything's okay, baby. You'll be okay." Detective Harris reaches out and shakes hands with Andrew. "We'll let you know if we find anything." "Thank you, officer." Harris and her fellow detectives nod and move toward the cars. As the female officer does, Turner notices Harris glance at the bra visible beneath his blouse. She continues to look at it as she opens the door to her squad car and she stops, thinking. "Emily, what kind of lingerie did you say that man stole again?" "He stole a bra and a pair of panties," the small girl replies. "Yes but what type?" "They were both leopard print." Harris' eyes fall once again on the bra Turner's got on. Then, she looks in the man's eyes. She smiles and nods toward his bra. "Good thing you have a backup, Mrs. Hamilton." Turner glances down at his bra and then looks at the female cop. He fakes a broad smile. "Yes, it's a lucky thing!" Andrew and the other cops laugh. Detective Harris smiles. "Have a good night, guys." The police cars drive away, leaving the family and a very frazzled Turner alone. August 4, 1972 16 years before the robbery Many groups of children are in a busy school playground at lunchtime, all seemingly having grouped themselves in terms of social status. There are groups of jocks, tomboys, cheerleaders, mean girls, foreigners, gamers, hipsters, hippies, troublemakers, peacemakers, class clowns, theatre nerds, gangsters, stoners/slackers, girly girls, scenesters, scene kids, punks, and preps - every stereotype imaginable - all filling the quad, chatting, laughing and playing together. In the middle of the quad are the cool kids. In the center of the group are the coolest kids in school. A teenaged Shane Turner is one of them. He's tossing a ball around with a rough-looking, 17-year-old Tony Sinclair. A young Jeff Donovan and Sean Morris watch the two boys play. All four boys are wearing school uniforms - white button up shirts with grey pants. Turner has his sleeves rolled up so far that his biceps are showing. After a few moments of back-and-forth with the ball, something catches Morris' eye: A girl wearing a tight, white, low-cut shirt and a red, tartan mini- skirt - a drop-dead gorgeous girl confidently strutting across the quad. All the men around her steal glances at her taught little body as she sashays with her two female friends who are holding her books, and all of them are transfixed when she unslings the red Gucci handbag from her shoulders and bends over to search it. "Hey, Shane," Morris says to Turner. Turner looks at him. Morris indicates the woman across the quad with a move of his head. Turner rotates to face the direction indicated. He immediately sees the teenaged goddess Morris is pointing out, twirling her hair as she smiles and chats with her friends. "You gonna do it?" Morris continues. Turner takes his eyes off the beautiful student and starts tossing the ball again. "Do what?" "You've been bragging all week about how you're gonna ask Lacey to the prom." "And...?" Morris is smiling. "Well, do it. Ain't nothing stopping you." Turner's nostrils flare in annoyance. "I'm still thinking about what I'm gonna say. Just step off, bro." Morris turns to Donovan, who's sniggering at Turner's response. He addresses his next words to Donovan, loud enough for Turner to hear. "Did you hear that Jeff? Shane needs more time to think about what he's gonna say." Both Donovan and Sinclair are smiling at Morris' words. "He's not scared, you see," Morris goes on. "He's just planning, strategizing. He's not a chicken; he's just a patient wolf, waiting for the perfect time to strike." "And when do you think Shane will decide the perfect time will be, Sean?" Donovan asks, playing along with Morris. "Probably five to ten years from now." Turner stops playing with the ball and turns to Morris. He puffs out his chest. "Fuck you, Sean. I kicked your fuckin' older brother's ass when he made the mistake of dissing me in front of Shauna last year. If you want to lose a front tooth too, keep going." Morris - still smiling broadly - turns away. Beats pass, during which Turner and Sinclair resume tossing their football back from one to the other. After a more than a few moments of silence, Morris resumes his taunts. "Bok, bok, bok... Bok bok bok..." Turner's entire muscled body tenses with fury as he listens to Morris imitate a chicken, something clearly aimed at him. Turner then tosses the ball hard at Morris who catches it, and looks at Morris with daggers in his eyes. "You know what, cockbreath? You think I'm chicken? Well watch this." Turner immediately rotates and begins to walk across the quad. He struts toward the prettiest girl in school with seemingly all the confidence in the world until he stands proudly before her. He looks down on her. She looks up at him and draws her arms in close to herself. She addresses Turner in a sweet, little, honeyed voice. "Hey, Shane. What's up?" Turner balls his fists to try to hide the fact that his hands are sweating. Despite his bravado, he's nervous as hell. "Hey, Lacey. I wanted to ask you something." Lacey blushes, and she looks downward. "Yes?" "Can I talk to you over there?" Turner says confidently. He indicates a quiet spot next to the library. Lacey smiles and gets up, her interest piqued. Turner rests his hand on the small of the pretty girl's back. He gently guides her toward the library, all the while resisting the urge to move his hand downward to touch her butt. When they reach the library, Turner stops and looks down on her. He places his hand on her forearm. Turner swallows out of nervousness before he speaks. He resists the urge to steal a glance at Sinclair, Donovan, and Morris as he does. He knows the boys are watching his every move. He sucks in a breath and exhales, then just goes for it. "I want you to be my date to the prom," he tells the young woman. Lacey's cheeks redden further. "Really?" "Yeah." He takes a step closer to her and looks her in the eyes, awaiting her response. "I don't know..." Lacey says. "I already promised Jack I'd go with him." Turner shoots an angry glance over to a tall, handsome jock who is also from the cool kid crowd. "Fuck Jack, Lacey. Go with me." Turner reaches up and holds the gorgeous girl's hands. Lacey doesn't resist. "Shane... Please. I need time to think about this." "You don't need time, baby," Turner coaxes. "All you really need to think about, Lacey, is who you wanna be seen with on the most important day of your high school life. Who's arm do you want people to see you on? That loser, Jack? Or me, the captain of the football team?" Lacey looks away again, but she's smiling widely. Many tense moments pass, while Lacey considers and weighs all her options. Finally, she responds. She looks Turner right in the eyes as she speaks. For some reason, the woman's blue eyes staring into his gives him a boner. "Shane..." "Yes, Lacey?" Without warning, she reaches out and lifts Turner's shirt. Her eyes widen when she sees the boy's washboard stomach and six-pack abs. Turner stands proud as she looks approvingly at his hard body. She lets his shirt drop and then turns up her eyes at him in a very sultry fashion. "I will go to the prom with you," Lacey says, her voice almost a whisper. Turner pushes himself right up against her, then, and kisses her on the forehead. "Good girl." Lacey smiles, and Turner begins to walk away. He checks out her bra through her semi-transparent shirt as he does. He eventually gets back to the boys. All of them are in awe of what Turner has just done. Even Sinclair is impressed. The man literally just walked up to one of the hottest, most popular girls in school and got her to agree to go to the prom with him. Turner reaches down and picks up the football on the ground near Morris' feet. He doesn't even look at Donovan and Morris as he throws the ball to Sinclair. Sinclair catches it. "As you were saying, Sean?" Turner says arrogantly. Morris doesn't have a reply. February 15, 1996 6 weeks until the statute of limitations on Shane Turner's crimes is up. Inside Andrew and 'Bonnie's' bedroom, the perverted couple is soundly asleep under several thick blankets. Andrew is sprawled out on his back on one side of the bed, taking up most of it, while the man who he believes to be his wife is curled up on his side, as far away from his husband as possible on the side of the bed furtherest away from the window. The light of the full moon outside softly illuminates the bedroom. In that light, we can see that Turner's face is completely hidden beneath a thick, green clay face mask, and that his hair is wrapped in a pink towel. When Sharon and her husband needed to stay overnight at the Hamiltons' while their house was getting fumigated, Sharon had shown Turner how to make a rejuvenating face mask that he could sleep in, out of French green clay, kaolin clay, aloe vera gel, rose water, and essential oils. Apparently it would harness the active properties of green clay to soak up excess oil, dirt and impurities from the crossdressed man's skin, leaving him with a glowing, balanced complexion, and would gently exfoliate and smooth his skin, replenishing it with skin-loving nutrients. Initially, Turner couldn't've cared less about what his friend was showing him, and just figured that his bout of acne would go away on its own after he switched makeup brands without Sharon's stupid advice. But, when he realized that he could use the green clay paste to hide his real face, allowing him to take a break from sleeping next to Andrew in heavy makeup every night, he started sleeping in the face mask religiously, telling Andrew it was just part of his new beauty routine. All of a sudden, the sound of a cell phone vibrating can be heard. Turner's eyes open when the gentle vibrations wake him. The man immediately reaches over and quiets the alarm. Then, he looks at the red, glowing digits on his and Andrew's bedside alarm clock. Those blocky digits read '5:30 am'. Turner closes his eyes and sighs. He lies there with his eyes closed for a minute, working up the courage to get out of the bed and into the cold morning, silently cursing both Andrew and God for making him do this every day. He shuffles over, onto his back. The guy's giant boobs can clearly be seen bulging out from underneath the blankets - two large mounds on the mostly flat bed, below Turner's chin. Turner looks over to Andrew. He does so with a worried expression, wary that he might be awake. Fortunately for Turner, the man is clearly still asleep, snoring like a buzz-saw as, to Turner's extreme annoyance, he had done all night. Turner's face hardens as he watches the open-mouthed, unattractive nerd he has been forced to pretend to be in love with for the last seven years snore loudly into the night. That snoring had kept Turner awake for hours before he finally nodded off, and the crossdressed ex-criminal is clearly furious about it. Turner watches his husband continue to snore with a severe expression on his masked face. He does so right up until Andrew lets off a loud fart under the blankets. At this point Turner shoots the man a disgusted look, rolls his eyes, and carefully begins to peel the sheets and blankets off his body. It takes him a while, but, eventually, Turner manages to get the blankets off him without waking Andrew, revealing his body. We can now see that Turner went to bed topless, wearing only a set of tight, black lace panties. The crotch of those lace panties is flat and his bulge is completely hidden. Turner evidently makes sure that he is thoroughly tucked and taped before he goes to bed. Turner then raises his toweled head off his pink, silk pillow, and carefully begins to slide out of the bed. The criminal's feet gently make contact with the carpeted ground, next to the black, lace bra and the red high heels the guy had spent most of yesterday in. Turner watches his husband carefully as he heads over to a set of wooden drawers and begins to slowly pull open the top one. He only opens the draw a few inches before he reaches into and withdraws a piece of women's clothing: a classic, white half slip with lace hem trimming at the bottom. Turner gently steps into the nylon skirt and pulls it up over his hips and waist, so that, if Emily happens to be up, she won't see her mother in her underwear. With the man's white petticoat hanging loosely over and around his legs, he grabs another black bra from the drawer (this one underwire) and slides his thick arms into the garment's looped straps. The man reaches behind him to hook up his bra as he tiptoes over to the door. The door creaks almost inaudibly as the disguised criminal opens it. With one last look at Andrew - still snoring wildly but sound asleep - Turner leaves the room. Turner drops the lady-walk as soon as he makes his way out into the hallway. His masculine gait and the way he walks with his arms held away from his body looks absurd while wearing that poofy slip. Eventually, he reaches the kitchen. He stops in front of the fridge with his feet wide apart. The guy opens the fridge and grabs an open carton of milk. He holds the cardboard spout up to his mouth and drinks straight from the carton in a very uncivilized manner. The man puts the milk carton back and carefully closes the fridge. He then makes his way back up the hallway with that same masculine gait. Turner slows down halfway, creeping past Andrew's bedroom door, Emily's bedroom door, and then past the door to the nursery. He checks all around him before he reaches up to the handle of the bathroom door. Then, he slowly turns the knob, and disappears inside, the material of his slip swishing around his ankles as he does so. Turner flicks the light on, revealing the Hamiltons' family bathroom, and locks the door behind him. Turner's feet are cold against the while tiles, prompting him to slip into the pair of light pink slippers he'd left neatly next to the bath. Turner looks down at the humiliatingly feminine slippers and the little pink ribbons on each slippers' front and sneers. He hated that this was the only warm footwear he owned, but at least it was comfortable. The guy yawns and scratches his armpits as he walks over to the mirror. He stands in front of it and peers in. He nods approvingly at how the clay mask has completely hidden his true identity. He seems happy that he's found a way to not have to wear makeup twenty-four hours a day and still look more or less like a chick. Turner then turns on the tap and leans down. He rinses off his face mask and then looks up. The face of Shane Turner stares back at him. He looks at it approvingly as well. Underneath all that makeup, he's still a man, and a handsome one at that. He couldn't wait until he could be seen in public again as his real self, especially after he gets his boobs removed and he starts hitting the gym to bulk up. He cast his mind back to all the female attention he used to enjoy - it'll drive Sophie as nuts as it did Angela. His new girlfriend and his ex shared the same jealous streak - a trait that amused him very much. The criminal reaches down and picks up a can of Gillette shaving cream from beside the sink. Then, he sprays a large wad of it into the palm of his hand, and begins to lather his face in the white cream. He then picks up his pink, triple-bladed Venus Schick Intuition razor, and begins to do what he woke up at 5am to do: shave his face. When he and Andrew were first married, Turner tried shaving his face right before bed, hoping that it would last until morning. His hopes were consistently dashed, however, when every morning he woke up with the beginnings of a 5 o'clock shadow, showing through his layers of makeup. The idea that Andrew might realize that the discoloration on his cheeks and chin was stubble terrified Turner so utterly that he quickly came up with another plan. So, every morning, at half past five, Turner wakes up, creeps into the bathroom, takes off his makeup, and shaves his face. Then, he reapplies his makeup - making it look like it was never removed - and goes back to bed. When Andrew wakes up in the morning, he wakes up next to a completely hairless Bonnie Hamilton, none the wiser to the fact that his wife had been up shaving her beard in the night. When Turner has finished running his pink razor over his face, and is satisfied that every, single strand of stubble on his face is gone, he picks up the jar of Avon foundation that Carol had convinced him to buy a few months ago while she went through a brief Avon rep phase, and begins to reapply his makeup. When he's done, he looks down over his boobs to his stomach. There was stubble there too. His snail-trail was growing back. He knows he needs to wax it, but letting his body hair grow for a while was a difficult thing to hide from Andrew, so he's been procrastinating. There is no way Turner could go back to bed with a hairy stomach like that. So, he sighs and grabs the shaving cream again. He sprays it over his stomach, and starts running the razor over his body hair as well. Then, he removes the towel from his hair, puts his long blonde hair up into a ponytail, secures it with a purple scrunchie, and leaves the bathroom to return to the bedroom, yawning and scratching his ass through his slip all the way. February 17, 1996 6 weeks until the statute of limitations on Shane Turner's crimes is up. Shane Turner walks into a brightly-lit beauty salon. He's completely hidden beneath his Bonnie Hamilton costume, wearing a cream-colored asymmetrical skirt, white 3-inch heels, and a brown, loose-fitting gypsy top. His blonde hair has been placed into an elegant updo, and he is carrying his red handbag in the crook of his arm. He approaches the counter and stops before it with his ankles together. A beautiful, 22- year-old woman smiles at him from the other side. "Can I help you, miss?" "I'm here for my threading appointment," Turner replies in his girl voice. The salon girl looks up at Turner's eyebrows. She notices immediately that they're getting bushy. Turner let them go way too long. The guy definitely needs to get his eyebrows done. The salon girl gets out a datebook and runs her finger down a page. "What was the name, ma'am?" Turner's breaks eye-contact out of embarrassment. "Bonnie Hamilton." The woman finds Turner's appointment in the book and then rounds the counter. She extends her hand and leads 'Bonnie' to a chair. Both Turner's and the woman's high heels click along the tiled floor as they walk. Turner reclines on the pushed-back chair. The woman is pulling the white thread between her fingers. She reaches up with the thread to Turner's eyebrows. Turner visibly flinches when she does, agitating his long, silver dangle earrings. He looks at the thread with apprehension. "It's okay, Mrs. Hamilton, " the salon girl assures him. "It'll be all over in no time." Turner nods and lies back. He watches on in horror as the thread nears his eyebrows. "Now if you could just hold your eyebrow taught for me..." Turner obeys the woman's instructions and holds his eyebrows taught. The woman then begins pulling the man's eyebrow hairs out, causing him to wince with pain. Having his eyebrows plucked makes Turner almost forget himself and yell out in pain in his real voice instead of his fake female one. But, the guy manages to keep his voice high-pitched as he squeaks from the pain. As the woman continues to shape Turner's eyebrows with the painful thread, the man's eyes begin to water, and he starts to sneeze. Tears drop from his eyes and the salon girl pauses several times, as Turner desperately tries to keep his sneezing high-pitched and girly to maintain his disguise. Turner looks like he's about to punch the woman by the time she's done, infuriated by the feminine torture he'd been forced to inflict on himself. The salon girl doesn't notice the man's angry expression as she gets the mirror and holds it up. "What do you think?" Turner checks out his eyebrows in the mirror. The plucked skin around them is inflamed and still stinging with pain, but Turner had to admit that the woman did a good job. His eyebrows weren't bushy at all anymore. They were neat and, most importantly, feminine. "Lovely work." The salon girl smiles and nods. Then, she gives Turner's eyebrows a trim, rubs some aloe vera gel on the disguised man's inflamed skin, and instructs the guy to stand. Turner is still wincing with pain as he pays at the counter. "Have a good day, Mrs. Hamilton. We hope to see you again!" Turner just grunts as he leaves the salon. Outside, in the mall, he checks his ladies wristwatch. It's almost 10am. He looks around and quickly sees what he's looking for. Donovan is approaching. He nods at Turner as he nears the crossdressed man. "My, don't you look pretty today?" Turner cringes at having to respond to everything Donovan says in his lady voice, afraid that someone might hear him use his real voice in public. "Fuck off, Donovan." A smile spreads over Donovan's face at the sound of the ex-bad boy in front of him being forced to talk like a girl. Donovan glances at the beauty salon. "Why did you wanna meet here?" "I had to get my eyebrows done," Turner answers, still using his female voice. "You 'had' to?" "Yeah." "Did that hurt?" Turner hesitates before eventually answering honestly. "It was excruciating." Donovan smiles and shakes his head. Turner's body tenses in masculine anger, but Donovan quickly moves on. "We should go somewhere private to talk." Turner nods and the two men walk away. Turner and Donovan round a corner and walk to the end of a quiet, brick alleyway. Turner is walking like a woman on the way in, taking short, almost mincing steps, but he starts taking long, overtly masculine strides once he's checked to verify that no-one else is around. He stops when they reach the end of the alley and turns to look at Donovan. "So what've you found?" Turner says. He's finally dropped the lady- voice. "You?re not gonna keep using your girly voice?" Donovan asks. Turner?s nostrils flare. "No." "How the fuck do you talk like that all day? How do you talk like that at all??" "It?s not as hard as you?d think," Turner replies, infuriated by the whole line of conversation. "With a bit of practice, even you could talk like that." Donovan recoils. "I wouldn?t want to talk like that!" Turner shifts atop his heels and rests his hands on his unnaturally broad hips. "Whatever. What the fuck did you find out?" "Not much." "You made me put on makeup and a skirt and come all the way down here just to tell me that you haven?t found anything??" "And to discuss our next move." Turner sighs. "Why not just call Tony and ask him what?s going on?" "Because the cops might?ve tapped his phone," Donovan explains. "I don?t want to take any chances. Going over and seeing him presents the same problem." "Okay, so what are you gonna do?" "I?m thinking of going over to see Morris. Turner winces. "His wife won?t like that." Donovan shrugs. "I don?t care at this point. We need to know what Tony?s up to and he might be able to help us out." "How?" Turner asks with interest. "He has contacts." "Yeah, well, hopefully they?ll be able to figure something out. I?m too close to getting out of these skirts to have it all fall apart now." Donovan looks Turner?s feminized body up and down with concern. "I understand." "Good." Turner adjusts his crotch in a very masculine fashion and begins to walk away. "Call me when you know anything." "Will do." Donovan watches Turner saunter away. February 19, 1996 5 weeks until the statute of limitations on Shane Turner?s crimes is up. Andrew and Turner are in bed together. Turner is dressed in a purple satin slip. Bonnie Hamilton?s face covers his own. Andrew is completely naked under the blankets. Turner is in bed with a naked man. The disguised bank robber is sleeping against Andrew?s side, with his nose buried in the side of the man?s hairy chest. Andrew is the first to wake. His movements wake Turner, who stretches and yawns, revealing his smooth, shaved armpits. "Morning," Andrew says lovingly. "Morning," Turner coos cutely. Andrew gently strokes Turner?s blonde hair. "How?d you sleep, my love?" Turner clears his throat, clearly struggling to fake the lady-voice so early in the morning. "I slept okay. Did you sleep okay?" "Not really." "Why not, baby?" Turner asks, absently stroking Andrew?s beard. Andrew presses his nose against Turner?s cheek and kisses the side of his forehead. "Because I?m so horny. It kept me awake all night." Andrew begins kissing Turner?s cheeks and the side of his chin. He then starts kissing the crossdressed dude?s neck. Turner looks supremely uncomfortable by the intimate homosexual contact. "Oh no," Turner says in a high-pitched voice that by some miracle doesn?t betray his anger. "That?s no good." "No it isn?t," Andrew replies. Turner?s eyes drop low, as he feels the man?s hard, throbbing erection digging into his hip. Andrew starts to grind his erection against the smaller man, to Turner?s chagrin. "Any chance you could help me out, gorgeous?" Turner rolls his eyes. "Not this morning, baby. I have a headache." Andrew starts kissing his ?wife? more fervently. "Come on, baby. We haven?t done anything sexual in over a week. I understand that you don?t like vaginal sex, but you have to meet me halfway. Help me out here." Turner?s mouth arches in anger as he feels himself being pressured to sexually please a man. "What did you want?" he says, unable to keep all the anger out of his voice this time. "A handjob?" Andrew smiles. "That?d be nice. But do you know what would be even better?" Turner tries not to vomit as the man turns his face to kiss his lips. "What?" "If you let me facefuck you." Turner?s spine goes rigid. "No, baby. You know how much I hate it when you do that to me." "Please, beautiful," Andrew says, continuing to kiss the smaller man. "No." "Please!" Turner pushes Andrew off him. "I said no." Turner crosses his arms under his boobs. Andrew looks at the crossdressed man for a while and then starts to get out of the bed. Turner starts to get visibly worried as he notices just how much getting sexually rejected has stung the man. He starts to grow concerned as, if he rejects him too much, and compromises his marriage, the only person who can help him exist in the world under his fake identity might leave him. He could not allow that to happen, especially not now, when he?s so close to seeing his plan through and getting his life back. "Hey..." Turner says as his husband begins to walk out of the room. Andrew stops. "Look at me." Andrew obeys and rotates to face his ?wife?. Turner rolls his eyes. "You can facefuck me." Andrew?s face lights up with so much delight that it makes Turner want to kill him. "Just go easy on me, okay. Soft and slow." Andrew walks to the foot of the bed. A broad smile is on his face. Turner?s eyes track the man?s dick, hard as a rock and ready to go. Ready to penetrate him. Turner wipes the newly-formed beads of sweat off his brow with a shaky hand. "Can you do me a favor first?" "Name it." Turner sighs. "Get me the Jack Daniels." "Do you really need to drink to have my dick in your mouth?" Andrew says with a sigh. Turner?s red lips arch aggressively. "Do you want your cock sucked or not?" "Okay, okay." Andrew leaves the room and almost immediately returns with a half-empty bottle of JD. Turner takes the bottle and drinks the rest of it ? an astonishing amount for a lady. Turner is visibly intoxicated immediately. He hands the bottle back to Andrew. Andrew sets the bottle down on the bed. Then, he wanks his rock-hard penis just inches away from the other man?s face. "You ready?" Turner gulps. "Yes." "Excellent. Now lie down." Turner pauses for a moment. Eventually, he summons the courage he needs to lie on his back, with his head hanging off the bed, assume the awful position, and become submissive. "Good girl." Andrew walks over and stands over Turner?s head at the end of the bed. Turner burns with hate as the man?s dick comes toward him and as his head comes to be between a man?s hairy legs. Turner rounds his mouth and wraps his red lips around the other man?s hard-on. Andrew proudly slides his boner in. Turner?s eyes soften and a tear cascades over his cheek, while he lies there, trapped and defeated, as his husband begins to pump. Now silenced by dick, Turner has no choice but to lie there and endure his husband?s thrusts. He rounds his lips and tries to focus on the pleasant feeling of intoxication in his stomach, instead of the feeling of the man?s hairy balls and scrotum whacking against his nose, while he reluctantly allowing his face to be raped and violated by an erect male. Andrew pushes his dick right down Turner?s throat. The disguised criminal closes his eyes and strains to keep it together, as the dick lodged so far down his throat threatens to make him gag. When Turner doesn?t gag, Andrew ups the ante but moving his hard-on around inside the man?s throat, tickling it so badly that the crossdressed man?s stomach contracts and a loud gag rips out of him. Andrew takes his cock out of the other man?s mouth, allowing him a second of rest. "Do you like that, baby?" Andrew asks Turner over his shoulder. "I just think that..." Turner begins, but he's cut off as Andrew slides his dick into his mouth again before he can finish answering. Andrew clearly couldn?t give a fuck what ?Bonnie? has to say right now. All he cares about is his dick. As Andrew begins to slide his dick up and down again past his ?wife?s? rounded lips, fluid begins to build up in Turner?s throat with each squelching thrust. Turner?s eyes dart around as the dick continues to slide in and out of his face, before Andrew shoves his dick all the way into his throat again. Turner lies still, knowing that any movement could break him, and breathes in while trying to ignore the fact that his nose is extremely close to a man?s butthole. Turner lets out a muffled, high-pitched sound as his stomach contracts, just before Andrew withdraws his penis out of him again. Another wretched gag tears out of him as he does. Turner produces awful, wet coughs, and pants during his moments of rest. He holds one nostril closed as he tries to snort out some of the disgusting fluid that?s built up inside his nose from the onslaught. Andrew again doesn?t give him much time to rest before he slides his now-lipstick-covered dick in again. Even though Turner would do anything to avoid touching another man?s ass, he grabs the man?s hairy butt cheeks, sinking his fake, red nails in, and quickly pushes the man?s behind upward, trying to lessen the force of Andrew's thrusts. Turner tries to concentrate on happy thoughts again, as he tries to ignore the mess going on in his throat. The man coughs and sputters as his husband relentlessly starts sliding his dick in again. Slurping, sloshing, squelching, and slobbering sounds accompany Andrew?s deep groans as Andrew resume?s banging Turner?s face. It sounds like what?s happening in Turner?s mouth is absolutely filthy and vile. A few seconds later, Turner?s stomach drops as Andrew groans with ill- gotten pleasure, before he gags up fluid from his throat. A line of this fluid runs down from his mouth and into his right eye. Turner?s eye stings and he closes it in response, and then he reaches up, desperate to clear the cum and spit out of his eye. Andrew gives Turner more precious seconds of rest this time around, by rubbing his cock all over Turner?s defiled face and making him lick his balls. Turner?s face is a complete mess by the time Andrew starts fucking it again. His face is covered in cum and fluid. It?s all streaming down and gathering in his eyes, blurring his vision. His mascara is running. He?s almost crying. This is the sloppiest facefuck he?s ever gotten during his time pretending to be a woman. "Do you like that, baby?" Andrew asks the pathetic wreck of a man beneath him. Turner coughing up a disgusting wad of cum before answering. "You always wreck my fucking makeup!!!!!" Andrew shrugs and then accidentally pokes Turner?s eye with his cock, making the smaller man cry out in pain, before he inserts his dick in the guy?s mouth again and the slurping and slobbering recommences. A few seconds after that, Turner?s worst nightmare comes to life: Andrew leaves his dick deep inside him again, irritating the walls of his wall severely and threatening to make him puke. Andrew then reaches back to pinch Turner?s nose to cut off his air-supply. Turner begins to gag and choke, and his face goes red as Andrew?s hard-on begins to move around inside his throat again. His eyes water as he feels the stiff tip of the man?s dick poking his esophagus, making him cough and gag harder. He gathers all his strength as he begins to suffocate, but he can quickly take no more. Turner uses all his might to push Andrew?s ass up and his dick out of his throat. When he does, brown liquid heaves out of his mouth, and he vomits all over his own face. Turner ? horrified ? wipes the spew out of his eyes immediately, just in time for Andrew to finish in his face. February 20, 1996 5 weeks until the statute of limitations on Shane Turner?s crimes is up. Shane Turner ? wearing his Bonnie Hamilton costume ? approaches the receptionist in a doctor?s office. He?s wearing a medium-length pink dress, a pair of white, sensible 2-inch heels, and a white shawl. He wears an elegant silver chain around his neck, many jeweled rings on his fingers, and he?s tied his blonde hair up in a loose bun. All of his jewelry audibly jangles as he sashays over to the front desk. "Morning," the receptionist says. "Morning. I?m here for my eleven o?clock appointment." "Name?" Turner replies through clenched teeth. "Bonnie Hamilton." The receptionist flips through her appointment book. "Take a seat, ma?am." Turner?s heels click along the tiled floor as he walks into the waiting room. He passes an Indian couple with two kids and sweeps his dress forward underneath him as he sits on the far side of the room. The man takes a seat, drapes one of his shaved legs over the other, and peruses a women?s lifestyle mag as he waits. Eventually, his fake name is called. "Bonnie?" the doctor asks, looking straight at Turner from across the room. Turner stops looking at the recipe he was reading. He places the magazine back onto the pile, uncrosses his legs, stands while keeping his ankles together, and walks into the exam room. The male doctor ushers his perverted patient into the room, and indicates the chair she should sit in, next to his desk. Turner takes the chair and sits with his knees together. The doctor sits in his chair and regards ?Bonnie?. "How are you, Mrs. Hamilton?" Turner cringes at being called ?Mrs.? but he?s gone by that name and title for so long that he pretty much really is Mrs. Hamilton now. Turner avoids eye contact with the doctor, preferring instead to look at the toes of his heels. "Not too good." "The new antidepressants not working out?" "No. I?m still depressed all the time, and I?ve started drinking again. And they?re giving me side-effects." "Such as?" Turner seems reluctant to speak. "They?re making me moody and emotional. Sometimes I?ll start crying for no reason. They?re also making me gain weight. I?ve gained six kilos in the four months I?ve been on them." The doctor looks over the man who he believes to be Bonnie Hamilton. The woman has indeed gained weight since last he saw her. She looks a bit more portly and more matronly, particularly around her bosom and stomach. She isn?t unattractive by any stretch of the imagination, but she has gotten heavier. The doctor leans back in his leather chair. "This kind of thing isn?t uncommon for a woman of your age, Mrs. Hamilton. You might be going through menopause. Weight gain and mood swings aren?t at all unusual for women in their middle age." Turner shakes his head, agitating his hoop earrings. "I think it?s the antidepressant." "We could try putting you on another type, but I?d like you to give the Zoloft a bit more time. It?s the best antidepressant we have for women in your stage of life." Turner?s body tenses inside his dress, betraying his anger. "I want another one." The doctor sighs and begins looking up alternatives on the computer. When he finds one, he begins writing on his prescription pad. "I?ll try giving you an agomelatine-based antidepressant. It isn?t known to cause weight gain like SSRIs are. Take two before and you should start to see improvement within a month. Two per day is 50mg ? the highest legal dose." The doctor tears off the prescription and hands it to Turner. "Thank you." "No problem, Mrs. Hamilton. I will say, though, have you ever considered seeing someone about your depression? I can recommend you a great therapist if you?re interested. She can help you through any problems you might be having personally or at home." Turner shakes his head. "No, I?m fine, thanks." The doctor regards his patient with concern. "Is everything okay at home, Mrs. Hamilton?" Turner pauses for a moment, thinking. Then, he places his hands loosely in his lap, and looks down. He starts shaking and his eyes well with tears. Finally, he can?t hold it any longer. He begins to cry. "I feel like I can never be myself," Turner explains in a teary feminine voice. "I feel like I?ve been trapped for years living as another person. No one sees me. No one hears me. They see and hear someone else. I shouldn?t be living like this. My entire life is an act. I feel like I?m in hiding, constantly terrified that someone will discover my secret. It?s wrong. I should?ve been someone else. My life should?ve gone a different way." The doctor hands the once-macho criminal a tissue, which he uses to dry his eyes. Turner desperately tries to will himself to stop crying, since he knows that real men don?t cry, but the tears continue to flow. "How long have you been feeling this way?" the doctor asks gently. "Since I got married seven years ago." "Does your husband know you feel this way?" Turner sniffles and continues to sob. "No." "Marriage can be difficult, especially when kids are involved," the doctor says. "I know, but my case is different. Everything is so difficult. I feel like I?ve been trapped and I can?t get out. Everyone expects me to be a certain way. I have to look a certain way, dress a certain way, talk a certain way, act a certain way. I have to do things that I really, really don?t want to do. I feel like everyone?s always watching me, waiting for me to make a mistake. I feel like my whole life is one long exhausting act and I can?t afford to break character. I?m trapped in this role. Sometimes I think about cutting myself, but I haven?t given in to those thoughts yet." The doctor looks disturbed. Turner continues to sob, humiliated by his own public display of weakness, and he dries his eyes with the tissue. The doctor places his hand gently upon Turner?s. Turner is too depressed to care about the tender, homosexual contact. "Try this new prescription," the physician says. "If that doesn?t work, come back and see me. I want you to be okay." Turner lifts himself off the chair and stands on his white high heels. The doctor reaches his hand out, and Turner shakes it delicately. Turner sniffles and tries to wipe away all his tears. "Thank you, doctor." "It?s my pleasure, Mrs. Hamilton." With that, Turner rotates on his heels, and saunters out of the room. February 21, 1996 5 weeks until the statute of limitations on Shane Turner?s crimes is up. A sleek, black sedan pulls up outside the Hamilton house. Its windows are tinted and only its dim parking lights are on. The car idles for a few moments and then the engine turns off. All that can be heard on the quiet country road are the crickets, the frogs, and the breeze rustling the trees. Above the house, a crescent moon hangs suspended among the stars dotting the sky. The car?s window rolls down to the halfway point. The driver?s face is revealed. The man inside is a shifty-looking, middle-aged man in his late-30s, with a pudgy body and a cherubic face. He lifts a set of binoculars to his eyes and peers through the lenses. Using an extremely zoomed-in view, the man scans the driveway of the house. There is only one car in that driveway ? Bonnie Hamilton?s pink hatchback. No one else is home, it seems, but her. The man lowers the binoculars from his eyes slightly and smiles over the top of them. The man then places the binoculars over his eyes again and looks through. He points the binoculars at the house?s only lighted window. The warm yellow rectangle stands out against the dark-blue night. A bed, a lampshade, a TV, and a vase containing flowers can be seen in that window. The room appears to be unoccupied, but then silhouette of a woman appears. As this woman walks into the room, the light hits her and we can start to make out more details. The woman is Bonnie Hamilton. She?s wearing a hot pink chiffon playsuit and her long, blonde hair has been tied up in a messy, feminine bun. The chick has no idea that someone is watching her through the window, far away through a pair of telephoto lenses. The man?s eyes widen behind his binoculars as the woman begins to undress in the window. She tugs at the sides of her playsuit and pulls it over her broad shoulders, revealing a set of black bra straps. She pulls the romper she?s wearing downward, extracts her arms from it, and pulls it down over her wide hips and her shiny, toned legs. The woman now stands there in nothing but a black, lace bra and a matching g- string. She scratches her flat crotch with her long, white fingernails and tosses her playsuit on the bed. The man?s breathing begins to quicken. He reaches down to his crotch, unzips his fly and brings out his small penis, allowing it to hang out of his pants. Then, he grips his shaft, and begins to tug at it as he watches the peep show. The man focuses on the woman?s lace bra and g-string, taking in the sight of the intricate patterning, and the way her underwear hugs her curves. Her bra appears to be a size too small for her, and her jiggling cleavage spills out over the cups. The woman then disappears from the window frame momentarily, giving the pervert a chance to look more around her bedroom. There?s a set of shiny, pink shopping bags on her bed, next to her handbag. The handbag is on its side, with the top of it facing the window, allowing the creep to look inside. The bag contains her haul from the mall, including new makeup brushes, mascara, eyeshadow, foundation, rouge, mascara, along with a pack of tampons and pink razors. The woman ? still wearing a bra and a g-string ? reappears in the window. She aims a remote control at the television and it comes to life. She cycles through the channels until she stops on one showing a football game. The man in the car can barely hear the commentator across the distance. "There?s nothing sexier than a girl who likes sports..." the pervert says to himself. As the woman watches the TV facing away from him, the man seizes the opportunity to check out her ass. The binoculars are so powerful that he can actually see the details in the triangle of fabric that is the front of her black lace g-string. He takes in the way her buttocks are so big that they hang down over her legs, and jiggle slightly as she moves slightly from side to side. He rotates the knob on the binoculars to make the focus even sharper, and then he notices something. Bonnie?s buttocks are dotted by black stubble. "Eww. This chick needs to shave her legs." Bonnie?s slightly hairy legs doesn?t seem to bother the man too much, though, as he begins to jerk off with greater intensity at the sight of the woman?s large, perky buttocks. The man lifts the binoculars up to see the woman?s muscled back, just in time to see her reach behind her up to the hooks on her bra. She skillfully unlatches the hooks and the two halves of her bra strap come free. The woman then pulls the loops of the bra over her arms and away from her body. The topless woman then turns around, giving the pervert outside a marvelous view of the heavy, well-developed breasts hanging pendulously off her chest and the big, swollen nipples dotting their centers. The creep begins to tug at his penis with even greater fury as the woman turns to give him a side-view of her tits. He runs his eye down the curve of the woman?s boobs, arching inward and then outward, ending in a magnificent fullness at the bottom. The woman?s soft breasts ripple and jiggle with every step the woman takes as she walks over to the window. She leans over and places two hands on the window sill in front of her and looks out in the darkness. The topless woman stares absently into the nothingness for a time, ignoring the weight of the heavy breasts hanging off her chest, clearly lost in thought. The pervert raises the binoculars from the woman?s impressive rack and focuses on her face. The expression on her heavily made-up face is severe, with not a trace of a smile. "What are you thinking about, pretty lady? Probably flowers and butterflies..." The woman sighs, briefly contracting her stomach muscles and agitating her boobies. "She seems so sad. What?s wrong with you, baby? Husband not treating you right?" The woman sighs again and pushes off the windowsill and begins to walk away from the window. The man lowers the binoculars and watches her magnificent behind wiggle from side to side as she walks. She goes over to the right-most side of the room and opens a door. The pervert flinches, terrified that the show might be over, but then another rectangle lights in the front of the house. In this window, the pervert can see a toilet bowl, a sink, a frosted glass shower stall, and tiled walls. The pervert grins ? he now gets to watch a beautiful woman do her thing in the bathroom. "Jackpot!" the pervert exclaims in a stage-whisper. The woman goes to the sink on the left wall and looks above it, presumably into a mirror. She stretches and yawns as she does, and then stops with her arms in the air, clearly having noticed something. She runs her fingers over her armpits. The pervert turns the focus dial and sharpens the image so he can see the black stubble growing in her underarms. The woman reaches down to the sink and takes a pink bottle of Venus shaving cream in her hand. She then sprays some of the cream on her fingers and rubs the cream into her underarm. She holds her arm up as she then begins to run a pink and white Gillette razor over her armpit, shaving the black stubble away, leaving her underarm smooth. She then repeats her process on the other armpit, so that both her underarms are shaved. The pervert continues to jerk off as the woman extends one of her legs out sexily and twists it this way and that to examine it. She then begins to coat her legs in the Venus cream, realizing that she needs to shave her legs. The man in the car watches her lather her slender legs in the white foam. She then runs her pink razor over them, wiping off the cream, and leaving smooth, hairless skin in its path. He watches her shave her outer thighs, her inner thighs, her knees, calves, and even the top of her feet. She then lathers up her cute butt in the shaving cream and looks back into the mirror to shave her ass. The pervert thinks it?s strange that a woman needs to shave her butt cheeks, but he doesn?t dwell on the oddity too long. Through his binoculars, the man then sees the woman reach into the shower stall and turn a knob. Steam begins to pump out of the stall as the hot water flows. The man?s eyes widen when the woman ? now facing away from the window and the voyeur watching her ? pushes her delicate fingers into the band of her g-string, and begins to pull it down. She removes the band of the g-string from in between her butt cheeks and lifts her legs out of her underwear. The pervert is masturbating furiously by this point. "That?s it, baby. Take off those panties." The lady?s naked and exposed ass is now in full view of the pervert, who is watching it intently through his lenses, taking in every wonderful curve. The man then watches the woman turn slightly, and he silently utters a wish that she is going to turn around completely to let him see her pussy. Alas, she does not. She only turns slightly before she steps into the shower stall, never letting the front of her naked body show. The man lets go of his penis for a time, unable to see anything other than a blurry, moving, pink silhouette of the woman behind the foggy, frosted glass. He waits for a time, before the water finally shuts off, and the door opens. The woman?s hand extends out of the open door, and feels around the side of the shower stall where two towels are hanging. She grabs the two towels and brings them into the shower with her. She then emerges with the white towel wrapped around her body ? covering her chest, torso, and thighs ? and with the pink towel tied up over her hair. She emerges from the shower stall and begins to walk to the sink. As she does, the pervert outside grabs his penis again and starts to jerk off as the show resumes. But, when the woman in the window takes a detour to the toilet bowl, something happens that disrupts the man?s sexual activities entirely. When the woman approaches the bowl, she doesn?t move to sit down as the creep outside expects. Instead, she stands in front of the toilet bowl, with her feet apart. She leans on the wall in front of her, lifts up the toilet seat lid, and then lifts up the front of her towel. The man?s eyes bulge out of his head as he sees a urine steam descend from between the woman?s legs, as she begins to pee standing up, like a man. The man watches her until she finishes. She lets her towel drop and turns away from the toilet. The creep doesn?t know what to make of what he has just seen until something else happens that turns his world upside-down. The woman?s towel gets caught on a clothing hook on the wall. When it does, the towel is pulled free of the woman?s body as she walks, leaving her completely naked. This time, the woman isn?t facing away from the window. She?s facing toward it. The front of her body is revealed as her towel is yanked off, along with the enormous, limp dick hanging off her crotch. When the creep gets a look at the woman?s giant, flaccid, 8-inch cock and her giant balls, he lets out a yelp. He lets go of the binoculars immediately along with his dick, and looks away. He just sits in his car for a time, breathing heavily and sweating as his mind struggles to comprehend what he has just seen. He hadn?t been looking at a woman all this time. He?d been looking at a man! The woman he?d been perving on and getting turned on by all this time had been a man! "What the... She?s a man! What the hell??? That bitch in there is a man!!! Oh my God!!! She?s a man!!!" The man opens his car door as soon as the nausea hits him, and he throws up on the ground outside. When he?s done throwing up and he puts on his seatbelt, he decides to take one last look at the woman/man before he leaves. She/he has wrapped her/his around her/himself again and is now standing over the sink. The creep watches on in horror as she begins to wipe all the makeup off her face ? revealing her true identity to him ? and then he watches him/her/it soap up their chin. When the shemale in the window raises its razor to its cheeks to shave its face, the creep can take no more. He throws his binoculars on the passenger seat, starts the engine, and speeds away, never to return. February 23, 1996 5 weeks until the statute of limitations on Shane Turner?s crimes is up. Turner is sitting on a leather couch in the living room of a woman named Sophie. He had met this woman online several months ago when he took out a personal ad on the Yahoo message boards, under the username ?bigcock47?. He?s wearing a black jumper and grey khaki pants. He?s lying back, his legs are wide open, and he sips a beer in his right hand while watching the footy on the TV. Sophie is on the couch with him, leaning over the guy?s crotch. Turner?s dick is poking through his unzipped fly and is in Sophie?s mouth, as she enthusiastically works to empty her man?s nuts. Turner rests his hand on the back of her head as she bobs her head up and down in quick motions, making slobbering, squelching, and slurping sounds as she does. Eventually, Turner groans, closes his eyes, and leans back. He holds Sophie?s head in place as he jizzes repeatedly into her mouth. Sophie sits up and moves Turner?s hot, sticky load around in her mouth, taking in the taste of it. Turner looks at her expectantly as she does. Then, she swallows it, and shows Turner her empty mouth. Turner gently massages her back. "Good girl." Sophie wriggles up close to him. "Did you like that, baby?" "Yeah," Turner replies, panting. Sophie looks up to him. "I?m glad. I like pleasing you." Turner kisses her on the forehead and then checks the time. He puts his dick away and gets up. "I gotta go, babe." "Okay," Sophie says, getting up as well and following him closely. "Did you want me to make you a cup of coffee or something for the road?" "Nah, it?s all good. I just gotta go take a piss first." Sophie smiles. "Okay." Turner goes to the bathroom. Inside, he pees standing up, shakes, flushes, and goes back out into the hallway. Sophie is waiting for him there, and escorts him out the front door, to his pink hatch. Turner puts his aviator sunglasses on to disguise himself a bit the moment he steps out. "Still driving this thing, huh?" "Yeah," the barely disguised criminal replies, his cheeks redden with embarrassment. "My ute?s still in the shop. It?s got transmission problems." Sophie nods, then notices something on the passenger seat. Something next to the big, black bag that Turner keeps his disguise in. Sophie points at it. "Hey, is that my underwear?" Turner looks in the spot that his girlfriend is indicating. His stomach drops when he sees that he accidentally left the pink, cotton panties he?d left the house in this morning on the seat. He mustn?t?ve packed them away properly! "Uhhh, yeah. I guess it is." Sophie holds out her small hand. "Pass it here." Turner?s jaw sets. He doesn?t want to give her the panties. They were the only set he?d brought with him and he didn?t have time to go home first to get another. He had to pick up Emily from school and Liam from daycare, then meet Andrew somewhere. He didn?t even have any men?s underwear with him ? he?d forgotten to bring a pair and was free-balling it in his pants. Turner reluctantly hands her his panties, choiceless. "Thanks. I must?ve left them there when we did it in the car the other day." Turner?s girlfriend holds her boyfriend?s panties up and outstretched to examine them. "Why is the crotch all stretched out like this?" Turner?s heart rate ticks way up. He visibly flinches at the question. "Uhhh, it must?ve been the heat." Sophie shrugs and then scrunches up Turner?s panties. She holds them in one hand. She then leans down and plants a passionate kiss on her boyfriend?s lips. "When do I get to see you again?" she asks quietly. "Hopefully Friday," Turner responds, still eyeing his panties. "Cool." Sophie kisses him again and Turner starts the engine. He pulls away from the curb and drives off, furious about the loss of his women?s underwear. ~o0o~ Many cars are parked outside Oakville Public School. Dozens of men and women are walking into the school with their children, in the dying evening light. The Hamilton family car pulls up on the curb outside the office. The doors of their black SUV open. Andrew and Emily alight first. Andrew goes around to the passenger side door and holds it open for his wife to get out. ?Bonnie? then steps out, holding Liam in his blue baby carrier. She?s wearing a dark, floral, long-sleeved top that displays her ample cleavage, along with red, 4-inch high heels and a full-length, black pencil skirt. Turner has tied his hair up into stylish, top-knot updo. As the family walks across the road toward the school, a keen observer would notice that Andrew Hamilton?s wife has a large bulge sticking out of the crotch of her skirt. We see Turner linger behind his family a bit, and part his legs slightly, allowing him to push his flaccid dick back between his thighs. The bulge in his skirt is gone ? for the moment. Turner surreptitiously pushes his bulge back between his thighs repeatedly as they make their way through the quad toward the hall. As he?s not wearing any underwear to hold his dick in place, the man?s enormous schlong keeps slipping back into its natural position, infuriating the crossdressing criminal. Eventually, Turner gives up and just leaves his man-meat sticking out of his skirt, but he conceals it with Liam?s baby carrier. The Hamilton ?family? moves into the hall. When he does, the family chats for a while, standing and waiting their turn to see Mrs. Worsman, Emily?s teacher. Andrew stands with his feet apart, while Turner and Emily stand with their feet and ankles together. Turner had to constantly remind himself to stand like this or he?d forget and stand with his legs apart like a man. As they wait, Liam begins to cry. Turner places the baby?s pacifier in his mouth and lets him suckle on it to calm him. Turner shifts uncomfortably on his feet. "Can we find somewhere to sit? These heels are killing me." Andrew looks around the room. "All the chairs are taken, baby." Turner rolls his eyes. When he does, something catches his attention. One of the most beautiful women he has ever seen is standing on the other side of the room, wearing a white singlet and a blue, denim mini- skirt. The blonde chick?s skirt is so short that Turner can see just a hint of her perfect, round ass cheeks and her flowery panties underneath. The young mother has clearly decided to go braless, and her hardened nipples jut out of her singlet. All the men in the room are stealing glances at her, while their wives cross their arms and roll their eyes. Turner is turned on immediately by the sight. He starts to feel horny instantly, but his feelings of arousal are quickly joined by another feeling: worry. Turner finds the woman so attractive that he starts to get hard inside his skirt. His eyes grow wide as he feels his boner grow and grow. Eventually, it reaches its full eight inches, and is tenting his skirt. His raging erection is so visible as it sticks out underneath his skirt that, if it wasn?t for Liam?s baby carrier concealing it, the entire room would realize immediately that Bonnie Hamilton is not at all who she claims to be. Andrew notices that the family seeing Mrs. Worsman has gotten up to leave. He checks his watch. "Looks like it?s our turn." Turner?s eyes widen as Andrew places a hand on the small of his back and forces the erect criminal to walk to the table. As Turner walks, he subtly tries to hide his massive erection by pushing it down between his thighs. That trick doesn?t work this time, though, because his dick is too stiff to bend down very far. Turner is sweating with terror and panic, knowing that anyone with a keen eye could see that ?Bonnie Hamilton? is packing serious heat. The baby carrier doesn?t hide his predicament completely. Despite Turner?s situation, he can?t tear his eyes away from the hot, little blonde bimbo across the room. He keeps glancing at her as he?s led by his husband across the room. He can?t stop imagining taking her out the back, tearing off her skirt, bending her over, and fucking her doggie style. Even though he?d nutted not too long ago, his arousal levels were reaching critical. He had to do something. "Mr. and Mrs. Hamilton?" Mrs. Worsman calls. Andrew smiles at the older, greying woman and nods. "Please sit down." Turner sits in the middle of the family, flanked by Andrew and his daughter. He sets Liam?s baby carrier down over his hard-on, crushing it slightly and causing the man to wince. His boner is still as stiff as it was before, and is still sticking out of his skirt in all its glory. "I wanted to talk to you about Emily?s recent report card," Mrs. Worsman begins. Andrew looks slightly worried. "Okay..." "She?s doing extremely well in reading, writing, and art, but her science and mathematics performance is making me concerned." Turner is barely listening to the teacher. The only thing that rips him out of his head is Andrew resting his hand on his thigh, only inches away from his erect dick. Turner silently curses his girlfriend for putting him in this situation by making him give up his panties, as Andrew begins to massage his thigh. "Have you guys ever considered getting a tutor for Emily? She?s a gifted young girl, and I?d hate to see her continue to fall behind in these subject areas." Turner begins to hyperventilate as the fabric of his dress is ruffled, and Andrew begins to move his hand in the direction of the boner he?s got hidden under the carrier. Turner sucks in a breath just before his husband?s hand reaches his dick, and then stands up abruptly. Worsman, Andrew and Emily look up at him when he does. "I?m sorry, everyone," Turner says awkwardly. "I... I just need to visit the ladies room. I?ll be right back." Turner immediately turns and waddles toward the women?s bathroom, concealing his hard schlong with the baby carrier all the while. Turner approaches the door with a silhouette of a woman on the dress on the front and pushes it open. He passes another mother washing her hands, and places baby Liam down on the floor next to the sink. Then, he enters one of the stalls and closes the door behind him. Turner hikes up his skirt in the stall, revealing his giant erection and his hairy balls. Then, he sits on the toilet bowl, wraps his hand around his penis, closes his eyes, and pictures the gorgeous bimbo he just saw outside in his mind. The perverted man then begins to jerk off in the ladies room. December 16, 1988 Seven years ago It has been ten days since the robbery. Shane Turner sits in a brightly lit examination room in an elaborate disguise. He?s got on a ruffled white blouse and a black, knee-length skirt that he stole out of his girlfriend?s closet. A blonde wig sits tightly over his head, which has a shininess to it that gives it away as fake. His real face is buried beneath a ton of makeup, hiding his true identity and making him look like he?s a woman. There is no way that the hundreds of cops that are looking for him right now could recognize him while he looks like this. He?s sitting with his legs together and his hands in his lap. He wiggles one of his high heels around, clearly nervous as he waits. Eventually, the person he?s waiting for arrives. It?s the prim, female plastic surgeon who recently gave him a boob job. She smiles at Turner when she enters the room and then scans a clipboard in her hand. "Hello, Miss Winters. It?s been a week since the surgery. How are you feeling?" Turner clears his throat and replies in far less convincing female voice than the one he?ll learn to fake seven years from now. "My tits are killing me." "That?s not uncommon for a surgery like this. How?s the morning boob?" Turner gulps. "It?s excruciating." The surgeon smiles again. "It?ll be worth it. Trust me. Did you bring a bra with you to wear home?" Turner goes red with embarrassment. "Yes." "Good." The surgeon gets close to Turner, lowers herself a bit, and reaches up to Turner?s chest. "Mind if I take a look?" Turner looks away from the woman, and nods. The surgeon begins to unbutton Turner?s blouse and then pulls the guy?s shirt open. The man who has reluctantly become a full-time transvestite leans forward to allow her to pull his blouse over his head. Turner now sits there topless, with nothing but a strip of bandages covering his chest. The surgeon looks at the lumps under the bandages. Then, she reaches behind the man and begins to unravel them. "Are you excited to see your new boobs?" Turner doesn?t respond to the woman?s question. He just keeps staring at the wall on the other side of the room in front of him, glassy-eyed as he?s undressed. From behind Turner, over his broad shoulders, the woman takes a step back. She smiles, wide-eyed, as she observes the results of her work. She is clearly pleased by what she sees. "They?re spectacular. Do you want to see?" It takes Turner almost ten seconds to respond. He nods. The plastic surgeon goes over to her desk and wheels a large mirror over to the criminal. She positions it in front of Turner, who looks into it. Two large, feminine breasts stare back at him. The exquisite, tear-drop- shaped set of D-cups would?ve looked beautiful on a woman, but they weren?t on a woman. They were on a man. They were on him. The moment Shane Turner sees two, perky tits hanging off his chest, he begins to break down. He sniffles and wipes his eyes as he continues to peer at his new lady parts. His masculinity is gone. He could never consider himself a man after this. He could never show his face to Angela again. As the plastic surgeon watches on with horror, Turner screws up his face. He then leans forward, places his face into the palms of his hands, and begins to weep. February 25, 1996 5 weeks until the statute of limitations on Shane Turner?s crimes is up. Turner and Emily are having a day out together ? two girls having a day out at the mall. Turner is completely hidden beneath his Bonnie Hamilton costume. He?s wearing a pleated, pink maxi skirt, a ruffled, light-blue blouse, and a pair of white high heels. His blonde hair is in a tight, braided bun and he cradles his pink, Prada handbag in the crook of his arm. He walks with one of his wrists limp and upturned ? forced to essentially do a drag performance for the crowds of shoppers ? knowing that any mistake in his act and deviation from the appearance of a normal, natural woman might land him in prison forever ? and holds Emily?s hand. Eventually, the disguised man and his adopted daughter stop outside the store they came to visit. It?s a lingerie store, with shapely mannequins wearing women?s underwear in the windows and lighted displays showing sexy advertisements. The sign above the entrance to the small store reads: ?Bras N Things?. Turner sighs when he sees the sign. His breasts jiggle beneath his loose blouse as he reluctantly enters the women?s clothing store. Turner?s heels click along the wooden floor of the store as he makes his way inside with Emily. Turner looks over the clothing racks as he walks. He sees sports bras, push up bras, padded bras, strapless bras, racerback bras, and even stick-on bras as he walks inside. He?s eyeing a particularly cute underwire bra when a sales assistant saunters over. "Can I help you, madam?" Turner turns and looks the young woman up and down. She could easily be an underwear model herself, with straight, brunette hair, great tits, and a killer smile. He clears his throat to ready his lady voice before answering. "Yes," Turner replies in his girl-voice. "I?m here to help my daughter buy her first bra. Can you point us to the children?s section?" The assistant points in a direction deeper in the store. "Right over there, miss." "Thank you." The sales assistant smiles. "Do you need any help choosing a bra?" Turner shakes his head and fakes a smile. "No, we got it, thank you." "No worries." Turner and Emily walk over to the children?s section and then they speak. "Have a look around, darling, and choose a few pieces you like," Turner tells the little girl who calls him ?mommy?. "I?ll just be over here." Emily nods and walks over to a neighboring section and begins to browse the bra and panty sets there. Even though he?s close to never having to wear such things ever again, his old bras are starting to wear out, yellowing and tearing and not giving him the support that he desperately needs to deal with being stuck carrying around a heavy set of breasts 24/7. Eventually, he selects a few pieces he doesn?t find totally disagreeable and rejoins Emily. She has also selected some lingerie to try. "I?m done, mom." "Excellent. Let?s go to the dressing rooms, sweetie." Turner and Emily both go over to the dressing rooms. They both go into neighboring cubicles and lock the doors behind them. They talk to each other through the wall. Inside his dressing room, Turner drops his bras on the floor and unbuttons his blouse. He shrugs out of it. He then reaches around to unhook the white underwire bra he?s wearing and pulls it away from his D-cups, sliding his arms out of the straps. A five-dollar note and a cigarette lighter that he?d been keeping in his bra falls out when he takes it off. Turner examines the side of his torso in the mirror. He?s been wearing a tight bra for so many hours since he?d put it on this morning that it has left red strap marks around his body. Turner turns around, and his eyes fall on his large, perky, heavy breasts. The topless man is now wearing nothing but heels and a skirt. His breasts hang down as he bends over to pick up a bra to try off the floor. He slides his arms through the loops of a red, lace bra, brings the loops up over his broad shoulders, and reaches back to hook the bra in place. "How?s it coming in there, honey?" he calls to Emily. "I can?t hook it up," Turner?s adopted daughter says. Turner moves his body this way and that, checking himself out in the bra in the mirror. "Just join the hooks on each side of the bra strap at the back." "I can?t do it!" Turner sighs. "Hang on." Turner notices that his snail-trail is starting to grow back after he?d used Nair to get rid of it a few days ago. It isn?t too noticeable but he?ll have to do something about it soon. Turner shrugs on his blouse but doesn?t bother doing up the buttons. His bra and cleavage is just visible between his parted blouse as he walks outside and enters his daughter?s dressing room. Inside, she?s turned away from him and her bra strap hangs apart over her back. Turner gets closer to the child and easily hooks up the bra. Years of wearing bras has made the man something of an expert in them, and he?s putting his bra knowledge to good use to help his daughter before he abandons her forever. "How does it feel?" Emily winces. "It?s a bit tight." Turner gets down on his knees, lowering himself to Emily?s level. "Let me show you how to adjust it." Turner shows Emily how to tighten or loosen a bra strap using the plastic adjusters built into the garment. Eventually, the ?mother? and daughter manages to make the bra fit perfectly. Turner stands and puts his hands on his wide hips. "Now turn around and let mommy take a look." Emily turns around, revealing her wearing a cute, pink lace bra. "How do I look?" Turner smiles broadly and winks at her. "Very cute." Turner goes behind the girl and looks at the bra?s tag. "What size is this?" "It?s an A-cup." "Yes, but I mean exactly." Turner struggles to make out the writing on the bra?s tag. He wishes he?d put his new reading glasses in his handbag before he?d left the house. "You?re a 12 A. We?ll have to make sure all of your bras are this size before we buy them." "Okay." Emily goes quiet for a second, thinking. "Mom, what size are you?" Turner looks through Emily?s bra pile for correctly sized ones. "I?m a D-cup, sweetie." "Will my boobs get as big as yours one day?" Turner cringes at the question, despising the fact that his surgically mangled chest is an object of female envy. "Maybe. You?ll have to wait and see." "I hope they will. I?m worried that I?ll end up like Erin?s mom. She doesn?t have any boobs at all." Turner wanted to fuck Emily?s friend?s mom extremely badly, despite her lack of tits. Imagining bending her over and fucking her doggie-style for hours at the last Parent and Community Association meeting was the only way he?d kept awake during it. "She?s a beautiful lady regardless, but you?re already a full A-cup so I don?t think you?ll end up like her." "Good." Turner kisses her forehead and sweeps the hair out of her face. "Keep trying on different things. Pick out a few pieces you really like and I?ll buy them for you." Turner turns to leave the room. "Okay. Have you found a bra you like yet?" Turner rotates back to face her, and then points at his chest. "I?ve only tried on this one so far." "Let me see!" Turner scowls. "No, baby." "Please, mom! I wanna see!" Turner stops and turns around before he gets to the door. Then, he grits his teeth and reluctantly pulls the two halves of his blouse apart to reveal the red, lace bra he?s wearing. Emily smiles, revealing her pearly white teeth. "So cute! That bra really suits you, mom." Turner can barely contain his anger enough to muster a smile, infuriated since even gay men didn?t have to wear all this sissy shit. Hs mumbles as he leaves the cubicle and returns to his. Inside, he gets topless again and removes the red bra. He immediately begins to try on a yellow, underwire one. The smell of fresh lingerie is thick in the air as he does. "Mom, what?s it like having big boobs?" Emily asks from the other side of the wall dividing the cubicles. Turner grits his teeth at the fact that he?s being asked that question. He ends up letting out his years of frustration with his breast implants a bit too much. "They?re heavy. They bounce. Running kills me even in a jog bra. Men constantly stare at my chest. You can?t wear anything without looking like a sex object. I don?t even know what it?s like not to have constant back pain anymore ? I have to go and get massaged twice a month just to be able to live with it. I can?t go anywhere without wearing a bra anymore and they?re always getting in the way." "Oh," Emily responds. "Trust me, darling, having big boobs isn?t all that it?s cracked up to be." Emily thinks for a few seconds before continuing. "How big do you wish your boobs were?" Turner wishes he could answer ?non-existent?. "I?d prefer to be a B- cup." "Really?" "Yes," Turner lies. "But don?t you like all the extra attention from boys?" Turner shudders as he recalls all the horrible times men have cracked onto him at the supermarket. "No," he says bitterly. Turner takes off the yellow bra and stares at his jiggly boobs with a mixture of disgust and contempt. Turner and Emily approach the counter with their purchases. "Hey girls!" the perky assistant says. "Found a few things you like?" "Yeah," Turner mumbles. The assistant scans the small, cute, padded bras that Emily has chosen. The assistant then scans the lace, underwire bras that Turner has chosen, as well as the matching, high-cut panties he?d decided to buy. He?d stretched out the crotch of so many panties by walking around in them all day untucked when Andrew wasn?t home that he needed a few new pairs. He doesn?t make eye contact with the assistant, humiliated at having to buy women?s underwear in front of the sexy woman. She knows he?s the one who?ll be wearing it. Turner reaches into his handbag, past the pack of tampons he keeps in there for appearances, and grabs his red, leather purse. He pays for both his and his daughter?s lingerie with his and Andrew?s joint credit card and they both walk toward the exit. "Where next, mom?" Emily asks. Turner scans the room. "I need to visit the ladies room." Emily points in a direction over the throngs of shoppers. "The women?s bathrooms are that way." "Okay," the crossdressed criminal says, angry at not being able to use the men?s room. Emily takes her ?mother?s? hand as they walk. The kid makes conversation as they walk to the women?s restroom. "Can we go to the shoe store before we go home?" "Why is that, baby? Your shoes are fine." "I want to try on some high heels." Turner looks down at her. "You?re still a bit young for heels, my dear." "No I?m not." Turner barely hears her as his attention is caught by some hot girls in mini-skirts buying Subway in the food court. "We?ll see how much time we have. We still need to pick up some groceries and I need to buy makeup." "Cool!" Emily goes quiet for a while as what appears to be a mother/daughter duo continues to walk. "Is walking in heels hard, mom?" Turner seems irritated by the question. "You get used to it." "How long did it take you to get used to it?" Turner grits his teeth as he recalls all the times he?d almost broken his ankles while learning to walk in heels seven years ago. "A few weeks." "That?s a long time. Will you teach me how to wear heels when I?m ready? You walk in them heaps well. You make wearing high heels look effortless." Turner grits his teeth further. After wearing high heels almost every day for seven years, the disguised criminal had gotten good at it. Stairs, gravel, and sewer grates still filled him with anxiety, but the man was more skilled at walking in high heels than any straight man should ever be. "I will." Emily smiles. Emily and Turner enter the brightly lit ladies room. An older woman is inside washing her hands. She leaves as the girl and her perverted mother enters. Turner looks around for a urinal out of instinct, but he of course doesn?t find one. "Do you need to go as well, baby?" "No, I?m fine, mom," Emily replies. "Okay. Just wait here, then. I won?t be long." Turner clears his throat as he enters a stall. His throat is killing him from straining to talk in a soft, high-pitched voice all day. Before he?d worked up the courage to start going out and seeing prostitutes, he?d once gone so long without hearing his real voice that he barely remembered what it sounded like. Inside the stall, Turner stops in front of the toilet bowl and reaches down to lift up the front of his pink, pleated skirt. But, he quickly stops himself. Emily is watching and the door doesn?t go all the way down to the floor. She can see his feet. He can?t let his daughter see her mother pee standing up. He?ll have to pee sitting down this time, like a girl. He closes his eyes in annoyance. Then, he turns around to face away from the bowl, and begins to hike up his skirt. From outside the stall, Turner?s feet are visible under the door. His feet are facing away from the toilet bowl and are slightly apart. We hear the man sit down. Then, we see a pair of white, lace panties being pulled down angrily, and come to rest around the guy?s white high heels. We can then hear him huff irritably, just before the sound of water hitting water comes from behind the door, and the man begins to pee sitting down. October 8, 1981 7 years before the robbery The sun is shining in a blue sky above a large, brick building. A sign on the building identifies the place as ?Adam Gorrel Automotive?. Another sign states that the business provides services for motors, gearboxes, tires, and performs registration inspections along with auto- electrical repairs. A cool-looking red convertible pulls into the car park in front of the building, in front of a big, open garage door. The man inside the car gets out. It?s Tony Sinclair, in his mid 20s. The muscled, tattooed man closes his car door and begins to strut confidently toward the building. Sinclair walks up to a Toyota up on one of the two lifts. A man in a dark, blue jumpsuit is inspecting the vehicle?s suspension. "G?day," Sinclair says. The man in the jumpsuit turns around. It?s a twenty-six-year-old Shane Turner. He?s sporting a beard, and his face, hands, and arms are covered in grease. He nods at Sinclair in greeting. "Hey, bro. What?s up?" Sinclair takes a look at the suspension of the Toyota too. It?s covered in rust. He runs his hands over the coarse surface. "I was hoping you?d take a look at the Mustang." Turner rubs his face with the side of his filthy hand and glances at Sinclair?s car, it?s red paint work shining in the sunlight. "What?s the matter with it?" Turner begins to walk to the car and Sinclair follows him as he explains. "Dave lowered the springs and now it vibrates like crazy on takeoff." Turner gets down and peers around the wheel to get a look at the suspension. "I?ll have to get it up on the lift." The man rises. "It might be something simple like one of the CV joints. Or Dave fucked up your entire suspension. It might be an expensive fix. I?d give you mate?s rates but I?m just an apprentice and I?d need the shop?s tools to do it." Sinclair waves him off. "Money won?t be an issue." Turner?s eyebrows move closer together. "It won?t?" Sinclair produces a slight smile. "Nope." "Just last week you were sweating for a dollar, and now money isn?t an issue? Did you find another job?" "In a manner of speaking." Turner stops and turns to Sinclair. "So then what?s changed?" Sinclair thinks for a bit before answering. "Do you remember how you told me that you want to propose to Lacey, but you don?t know how you?re ever gonna be able to afford a ring and a house on the shit-kicker?s wage you?re earning here?" Turner looks even more confused than before. "Yeah..." "What if I told you I found a way you could easily afford everything you and your girl could ever want?" Turner would?ve chuckled if it weren?t for the serious look on Sinclair?s face. He regards Sinclair with great interest. "Then I?d ask you how you think I could do that." Sinclair smiles and claps his hand on Turner?s back. "And, my friend, I?d say ?By getting your hands dirty?." Turner?s brow furrows even more. "Let?s go somewhere quiet to talk." Sinclair begins to walk over to the side of the building, away from the road. Turner follows. February 26, 1996 4 weeks until the statute of limitations on Shane Turner?s crimes is up. Turner is standing outside the house with Andrew, next to the family car. The ex-bad boy is hidden under a full face of makeup, as well as a frilly, blue, floral muumuu and a pair of white, heeled sandals. Andrew looks sharp and debonair in a black business suit. Turner is buckling a crying Liam into his baby seat. Andrew checks out the crossdressed man?s ass as he?s bent over. Turner stands and moves close to his husband. "Are you sure you?re okay with dropping Liam off at daycare?" Andrew wraps his arms around the shorter man and looks into his eyes. "It?s fine, baby. I?m happy to do it for you." Andrew leans down and kisses the man he believes to be his wife gently on his painted lips. Turner visibly flinches in response to the homosexual contact. "You can be such a sweetheart sometimes," Turner says, trying to keep up the presence of being a loving, doting housewife. Andrew beams down at Turner, lovesick. "So can you. Are you gonna be okay here, all day by yourself?" "Yeah. I have lots of washing and ironing to do so I?ll be keeping busy." Andrew kisses ?Bonnie? again. "Good." Andrew gets in his car, still holding his perverted wife?s hand. He lets the hand drop and buckles himself in. "Have a good day at work, honey," Turner says sweetly. "Will do, baby." "Drive safely." Andrew smiles broadly at his wife?s display of concern for his wellbeing. "Okay." He starts the car. The car slowly pulls out of the driveway and the sound of the engine dies away, leaving Turner all alone. Turner?s plastered-on smile fades. He lets his shoulders sag, he stands with his feet apart, and he doesn?t hold his arms close to his body now that he?s no longer required to comport himself like a lady. The man turns on his heels and walks up the stairs into the house using big, outward, masculine strides. He opens the door and disappears inside. Turner closes the door behind him. He kicks off his sandals and walks down the hall with a masculine gait, as he reaches up to take off his earrings. He tosses the earrings carelessly onto a chest of drawers and then reaches down to take off his dress. He enters the bedroom and pulls the dress up over his head, leaving him in nothing but a white lace bra and panties. The criminal reaches up behind his back with both hands and unhooks his bra strap. Then, he pulls the loops of the bra over his arms and then tosses the bra on the bed. Then, he reaches down to his white panties. The man rotates around and we can now see the back of the man?s high-cut panties. His generous buttocks spill out of the panties? sides. His dick and balls are busting out of the back of his women?s underwear, forming a basket-of-fruit, after Turner stuffed his junk between his legs to do a quick mangina tuck to hide his bulge until Andrew left that morning. Turner?s jiggly, unsupported boobs wobble violently as the man walks out of the bedroom and into the bathroom. He puts his long hair up into a man-bun as he does. There, he proceeds to the wall where his secret compartment is hidden, and pulls out the section of wall that forms the front of the secret drawer. From inside, he removes a black men?s T- shirt and black boxer shorts and shrugs into them. He can only barely pull the shirt and pants over his breasts and surgically widened hips. The shirt makes no allowance for the man?s generous bust, meaning that his midriff is showing. Turner then grabs a porn mag, a pack of cigarettes and a lighter out of the drawer and closes it. The criminal then walks out into the living room ? yawning and scratching his balls ? and turns on the TV. He flips the channel until a football game appears on the screen. He watches it intently as he walks into the kitchen. There, he proceeds to the fridge and grabs a beer. He twists off the cap and takes a refreshing sip. The criminal turns and uses his foot to close the fridge door and goes out into the living room. Then, he draws all the curtains, sits on the couch with his legs spread wide apart, opens his porn mag, takes another sip of beer, gets out his penis, and starts to jerk off. During the day, when no-one is home, Turner is able to take off his disguise, and taste what it?s like to be free. THREE HOURS LATER Turner is done jerking off. The footy game is over. The criminal is now sitting in front of the family computer. DOOM 2 is on the screen. The sounds of gunfire and music blares from the PC speakers as Turner navigates the pixelated halls, mowing down demons using all of his pent- up anger. As he does, Turner hears something that makes his heart sink. It?s the sound of a car pulling up in the driveway. Turner pauses the game and moves over to the window. He draws the curtain and looks outside. It?s Andrew?s car. "Oh, shit!!" Turner spins around wildly and unplugs the computer. Then, he grabs his porn mag and empty beer bottles and makes for the bedroom. He grabs his bra, his knickers, and his dress, and dashes into the bathroom. When he?s inside, he shuts the door behind him, and stuffs his mag and the bottles into the drawer and closes it. Then, bolts to the sink and picks up a jar of foundation, in a desperate hurry to put on his makeup. Outside, Andrew is exiting his car with his briefcase and making his way toward the house. Inside, Turner is furiously painting Bonnie Hamilton?s face over his own. "Oh Jesus... Oh Jesus..." Andrew opens the front door and comes into the hall. He takes his shoes off and then looks around for his wife. "Bonnie?" Turner clears his throat and puts on his female voice. "I?m in the bathroom, baby! Why are you home so early?" Andrew walks to the bedroom, beginning to take off his business suit. "My client didn?t show so I decided to leave early and do some work at home. You don?t mind do you?" "Not at all!" Turner lies as he applies contour manically. Andrew is now in casual clothes. "I?m glad." Turner madly applies eyeshadow as Andrew continues. "What?ve you been up to today, sweetheart?" Turner applies his eyeliner as quickly as he possibly can while he answers. "Just relaxing a bit so far. I was gonna put on a load of washing soon!" "Oh, okay. Well don?t let me interrupt you." Turner fakes a feminine chuckle as he dashes to apply his lipstick, and then to shave his chest hair and boobs with a razor and shaving cream. Once the man is done shaving off the hair growing around his nipples, Turner reaches down to the floor and quickly scoops up his bra and panties. He leaves the panties on the sink and slips his arms into the loops of his bra, frantically shrugging the white straps up onto his shoulders, his boobs jiggling like mad from the commotion all the while. He then brings down the cups of the bra over his boobs, and fumbles with his bra strap and hooks it up. He then holds his panties out, steps into them, pushes his dick between his thighs, and rushes to pull his women?s underwear up tightly over his hips. The perverted male then grabs his dress off the floor, pulls it over his head as quickly as he can, and pulls it down over his boobs and torso, letting the tube of fabric rest around his legs. Turner then looks in the mirror, panting like mad, his bosom heaving. A woman in a muumuu looks back at him. ?She? tugs her hair out of her bun and lets her blonde locks flow loosely over her shoulders. Turner goes to the door and peeks outside through the crack. When he sees Andrew, his face hardens with rage. He balls his fists in anger at the fact that all the hours he had figured he had left to be a man were now stolen from him. Now, he?d have to go out there and priss. The man reluctantly opens the door. He walks down the hallway using a feminine gait, with his hands upturned. He goes into the living room. Andrew is there. "Hey, princess," he says. "Hi," Turner says, hiding the fact that he?s infuriated by what he was just forced to do. Andrew turns on the TV using the remote. "Get me a beer, will you, babe?" Turner arches his lips angrily. Andrew flicks through the channels. "And make me a sandwich. I could go for some ham and cheese right about now." Turner closes his eyes in irritation, desperately trying to will his rage at having to perform his womanly duties when he should be watching porn and playing DOOM away. "Coming right up... baby." Andrew doesn?t even notice the anger in his ?wife?s? voice. Turner rotates away from Andrew and goes into the kitchen, where the other man in the house believes he belongs. In there, he angrily opens the fridge and gets the beer that he?s been ordered to serve. He twists off the cap with his very unladylike strength and a look of bitterness on his face. He then places the beer on the counter, and begins to make a man a sandwich, while dreading a day of laundry, ironing, and other woman?s work. A few minutes later, Turner hands Andrew his sweating beer and sandwich and walks away. "Thanks, gorgeous," Andrew says absently, his eyes glued to the TV. Turner just grunts as he leaves. Outside, on the back patio, Turner closes the door. Then, he raises his foot and kicks a plastic garbage bin so hard in anger that the whole front bows inward. February 28, 1996 4 weeks until the statute of limitations on Shane Turner?s crimes is up. Sophie is inside her apartment in front of her stove, cooking dinner for two. Her hair has been tied up into an elegant, curly updo, she?s sporting a full face of makeup and bright red lipstick, and she?s wearing a simple pink singlet and a pair of checkered shorts with no shoes. A knock sounds on the door. She looks up from the stove. She walks from her kitchenette to the front door and opens it. Turner is on the other side. He?s out of costume and appears completely as a man. He?s wearing a black, baggy jumper, brown khakis, and a pair of sneakers. His breasts have been packed down using a compression bra and are nowhere to be seen. His long, blonde hair has been tied back into a man bun and he stands at the door with his legs apart. He looks like Brad Pitt as he stands on the porch. He?s only half a foot taller than Sophie is. Turner holds up a rose in front of his woman. Sophie smiles broadly as she takes it from him, and then she stands on tip-toes to wrap her arms around his neck and kiss him. "Shane, my love," she says, holding her man in her embrace. "I?ve missed you so much." "I?ve missed you too, baby," Turner says in his real voice. He sniffs the air. "What are you making for dinner?" Sophie lets Turner go and smiles. "I just threw on a couple of steaks for us. I hope that?s okay?" "That?s brilliant," Turner says. Sophie invites the wanted criminal that had recently become her boyfriend inside and indicates the lounge chair. "Dinner should be ready in a few minutes. You should make yourself comfy in the meantime. Would you like me to get you a beer? I know you like VB so I bought a case for you to keep here." Turner sits on the lounge with his legs spread wide apart. "That?d be great, babe," he says, reaching for the TV remote. "You?re a doll." Turner spanks the woman?s ass playfully as she walks to the fridge. He watches it as it sways delightfully from side to side as she saunters away. One hour later, Sophie and Turner are sitting across from one another, staring at each other over a candlelit dinner table. Their plates are empty. They have finished eating. Turner sits back as Sophie begins to clear the plates and cutlery away. She then comes back and stands behind Turner, wrapping her arms around the man, leaning her chin on his shoulder, and producing a small, contented sound. "Did you like your dinner, baby?" she asks softly. Turner reaches around and massages the nape of her neck. "It was great, babe. You did well." Sophie smiles. The couple then goes over to the couch in the living room, and sits down next to each other. "Give me a foot rub, will you, babe?" Turner says. Sophie draws her arms in close to herself and looks at Turner sheepishly. "I was hoping that maybe you?d give me a foot rub." Turner is only half-listening as he flicks through the TV channels. "Maybe later. Do mine now. My feet are killing me." Sophie?s expression hardens at that. She seems genuinely annoyed. "Your feet are killing you?? I?ve been in the office all day! I?m the one who?s spent the last eight hours trapped in high heels while you get to wear regular shoes!" Turner balls his fists in anger. He?s had to spend the last eight hours in heels just like she has. He?d spent most of the day in a killer pair of 4-inch peep-toe high heels while he entertained Andrew?s sister and husband when they dropped by unexpectedly in the morning and endured their kids calling him ?Aunt Bonnie?, while he went out to lunch with Sharon and her sister in the afternoon (while they tried to convince him to take up a gluten-free, dairy-free, sugar-free diet), and then picked Liam up from daycare. The criminal?s toes and calf muscles are killing him so much that he can barely walk, but he can?t say anything about it to his girlfriend. He has to pretend that he hasn?t been walking around all day in women?s shoes. The guy reluctantly sits up. "Sorry, babe," he says through gritted teeth. "Where do you want me to massage?" Sophie lies back and presents her smooth legs to Turner. "My calf muscles first, please." Turner begins to massage her calves. "Alright." Sophie sighs contently and closes her eyes as her partner moves his surprisingly smooth hands back and forth gently over her legs. "You?re so lucky you don?t have to wear stuff like heels like women do," she says sleepily. Turner smiles through his displeasure. He probably spends way more time wearing high heels than she does. He?s the one who deserves the massage. "You men don?t know how lucky you have it." Turner continues to rub his woman?s aching calves, as he gnashes his teeth and arches his lips in anger, while the pain in his own feet, thighs, and calf muscles goes ignored. December 30, 1988 Seven years ago A black, late 80s Toyota Sedan is coming down a quiet suburban street. The rental car he?d hired with his fake license inches past a glowing Telstra phone booth and stops in front of one of the houses on the street, beneath a starry sky. The engine quiets. The headlights shut off. With the sound of the engine now gone, the crickets chirping in the perfectly trimmed hedges and trees lining the street are all that can be heard. One of the vehicle?s tinted windows slides downward a bit, revealing the driver. It?s Shane Turner, fully crossdressed as Martha Winters, the woman he?s been forced to pose as for the last three weeks since the robbery, in a dowdy-looking, 1950s-style purple jacket and skirt combo that looks exactly like his grandmother used to wear and a pair of black, 2-inch pumps that he can barely walk in. Turner is looking at the house, absently fiddling with the secondhand pearl necklace hanging around his neck, his hastily shaved legs relaxed wide apart inside his pleated, purple skirt. The front windows are giving off an inviting, warm, yellow glow. The man looks longingly at the house from beneath his disguise ? his sad, brown eyes the only parts of his face that aren?t hidden under a ton of amateurishly applied makeup. Then, after adjusting the cheap, blonde wig on his head, he reaches into the backseat of the car, and emerges with a powerful set of binoculars. He checks all around him to make sure no-one?s watching him. Then, he raises the binoculars to his eyes, holding them with the tips of his fingers, each sporting a long, bright-red fake nail. The reluctant transvestite?s stomach drops when he sees something in the window. At first, he sees a silhouette, but then more details emerge as the silhouette gets closer to the window. It?s Angela. His girlfriend. Or, rather, his ex-girlfriend now. Turner looks sullen as he watches her in the window. She?s just sitting there, brushing her hair, staring at nothing in particular. She seems sad. Turner figured she would be after he abandoned her when the police started chasing him. He hasn?t spoken to her since the day he went into hiding ? the day after the robbery. For two weeks, he?d thought about calling her, or trying to see her, but he knew he could not. Not just because the police probably had her house under surveillance, but because of what he had become. He was no longer the powerful, dominant male that she had fallen in love with. He was now society?s bitch ? a cockroach, forced to hide in the most humiliating way possible, from both the legions of police officers hunting him, and the thousands of people trying to collect the fifty-thousand-dollar reward for information that would lead to him spending the next forty years locked in a cage with axe-murderers and serial killers. Turner looks down, at the two mounds bulging out of his blouse. He still ached from the surgery that gave him a woman?s chest two weeks ago ? from the humiliating operation that would prove without a doubt to anyone who might start getting suspicious about his disguise in the future wrong. He couldn?t see Angela now ? not with these things hanging off his chest. Not dressed like this. One look at her boyfriend now would send her screaming to the toilet bowl. He looks back up and through the binoculars at the love of his life, so near yet so far. She?s crying. Turner figures she?s crying over him, and he was correct. Tears well in Turner?s lined eyes too as he reaches down into the tacky, red handbag he?d purchased along with his heels and his skirt. From inside, he removes a small, square case no bigger than the palm of his hand. He opens the case and the top folds back, revealing a large, diamond ring inside. When he sees the ring, glinting beautifully in the light from the nearby phone booth, a tear falls from his eye and cascades over his painted cheek. It was an engagement ring. He?d bought the diamond ring for Angela on a payment plan a week before the robbery. One of the main reasons he?d agreed to help Tony and the boys hit that bank was so that he could afford to pay it back. It was meant to be a giant score to pay for the most expensive things he?d ever purchased ? a one-carat diamond and eighteen-carat white-gold diamond ring, and a wedding, a honeymoon and a house in the hills, all fit for a King and his Queen. He had intended to propose to her and reveal his plans for their future the day after the robbery, after a helicopter ride and dinner on the river. Now, there he sits, alone in the dark, staring at the woman he was meant to be with as he did almost every night, knowing that he won?t be able to see her again for at least the next seven years. He hoped that she would wait for him, and never date again, but he wasn?t stupid enough to believe that. Eventually her sadness would give way to resentment, she would grow to hate him, and then she would move on with another man. Turner?s masculine stoicism gives way to full-blown crying as he starts the engine and begins to pull away from the curb. As he makes his way through the quiet streets on his way back to his hotel room, the crossdressed criminal?s thoughts move on from Angela and turn back to ones about his survival. His banks accounts were frozen. All the money he had was in a briefcase back in his hotel room. All of it was from the robbery. It was a lot, but it wouldn?t last seven years. He didn?t have an identity ? at least not one he could use without the cops noticing. He couldn?t get a job, pay a bill, register a car, or rent a house. He couldn?t rob petrol stations and liquor stores for the next seven years. He needed to find a way to live, to survive, but he couldn?t think of one until he saw something in the paper the other day that gave him an idea. It was an insane, outrageously bad idea, but the wanted criminal didn?t have any other choices. Turner reaches over into his handbag again. From inside, he removes a clipping of what he?d seen in the paper yesterday. He can just make it out in the faint, flickering glow from the streetlights moving past the windows of the car. Next to Turner?s fake red fingernail, we can see that it is a personal ad, written by a single father in the neighbouring suburb of St. Albans, who is eagerly looking for love after his wife left him for another man a year ago. The ad reeked of desperation. Turner throws the clipping back into his handbag and then turns his eyes back to the road, clearly thinking hard about what he?d just read. After a few seconds of silence, Turner balls his fists, and pounds on the steering wheel with all his might and roars with anger, as he makes up his mind to finally break down and telephone the number on that ad tonight. March 2, 1996 4 weeks until the statute of limitations on Shane Turner?s crimes is up. A clear blue sky sits above a small shopping complex at the peak of the Blue Mountains. The Hamilton family?s Toyota Land Cruiser pulls into the complex?s busy parking area between a four-wheel-drive and an SUV, and the engine quiets. The driver of the four-wheel-drive steps out into the sun. It?s Andrew. The scrawny but tall man is wearing a grey polo shirt and khakis. He takes in the crisp, cool morning air before he goes around to the side of his family?s four-wheel-drive and opens the passenger-side door. The man who Andrew Hamilton has been fooled into believing is his wife steps out, looking irritable inside a swishy, floral, long-sleeved blue maxi dress. The disguised criminal sighs as he steps onto the concrete, atop his white, 3-inch pumps. Andrew closes the door behind Turner, who?s shouldering his leopard- print handbag. The hem of the man?s loose dress blows in the wind as he goes around to the back door to let his daughter out. Her broad smile and the clear excitement on her face makes the ill-tempered man sick. It was Saturday today, meaning no work and no school and no daycare. That meant that there would be no point during the next 48 hours during which he would be alone, away from his husband and kids. Therefore, he?d need to wear his disguise and keep up the facade for two days straight, without a break. His anger at the prospect of being stuck in women?s underwear and clothing for so long was so great that Turner was unable to hide it. He was so moody this morning that he had to tell Andrew he was on his period. Turner grabs Liam from out of his baby carrier and holds him against his bosom. Then, he forces himself to smile at Andrew, and the family makes their way into the supermarket. Turner is walking with a dainty, feminine gait next to Andrew, who?s pushing the shopping cart. Liam is in the cart?s baby seat, mercifully quiet. Turner ? looking every bit like the suburban housewife he?s spent the last seven years pretending to be ? walks through the colorful aisles and fills the metal shopping cart with everything his family will need for the week. His long, blonde ponytail bounces as he walks, behind his red scrunchie. The man?s high heels click along the hard, tiled floor as he takes short, feminine steps next to Andrew, Liam and Emily, each click infuriating him more than the last. He?d grown to hate that sound over the years. The man makes his butt wiggle from side-to-side as he walks, putting on the public drag queen performance that he needs to pull off in order to stay out of prison. As the family traverses the busy aisles, Turner stocks the cart with everything a wife would need to feed her family: fruit, vegetables, meat, milk, bread. He gnashes his teeth as he buys nappies and more nappy rash cream for Liam. He continues to gnash his teeth as he?s forced to waste a large portion of the $250 allowance Andrew gives him on stuff he couldn?t care less about but needs to keep up appearances, such as more blonde hair dye, a pack of silicon hair curlers, Pantene shampoo and conditioner, some almond body wash, some goats milk soap, and a pair of white control briefs. Andrew frowns when he sees his wife?s unflattering choice of underwear, and Turner?s entire body tenses when he notices. "What??" he demands in an angry female voice. "Well, you have to admit that?s not the sexiest pair of underwear you?ve ever worn, honey..." Andrew explains sheepishly. Turner?s nostrils flare. The criminal can?t help but turn to face his husband atop his heels. He?s so moody that he?s literally jonesing for a fight with this pathetic nerd. He subtly squares his shoulders as he waits for a concerned looking couple who could clearly see that shit was about to go down to pass before he launches his response. "Until you start hitting the gym and start looking like Tom Cruise," Turner spits venomously, "I?ll wear granny panties all day and night if I want." "And you do..." Andrew mutters under his breath. Turner advances on Andrew. "If you have a problem with that, buddy," he says, raising his high-pitched voice, "maybe you should find someone else to cook your dinner, do your laundry, clean your house, and breastfeed your kid." Turner?s clearly henpecked husband looks crestfallen upon hearing his wife?s admonishment. She was almost always like this after the wedding; she?d turned into a harridan, always nagging and criticizing him for this and that. But, she usually wasn?t as bad as this, and she was a good wife and mother. Given his looks, age, and dating history, there is no way he was going to find anyone better. Bonnie was as good as he?d ever get, and Turner knew it. Turner is almost fuming as he stares at Andrew, waiting for his response. The crossdressed criminal?s husband does exactly what he expects: He backs down. "I?m sorry, Bonnie." Andrew?s willingness to just completely back down instead of fight pisses off the man in the lady costume even more. "Oh, whatever." Turner knew he was being extreme, but he couldn?t help it. He was so stressed all the time; so tired of keeping up the act. Even alcohol and his antidepressants didn?t help much of the time. He just needed to be free. Emily, who has been watching her parents argue silently and with wide eyes, moves over to her father. "Dad..." "Yes, sweetie?" Andrew responds, avoiding all eye contact with the guy pretending to be his wife. "I need to go to the bathroom." "Okay. I?ll take you." Andrew glances at Bonnie. "I?m just going to take Emily to the bathroom, honey." "Yeah okay," Turner spits. Andrew takes the trolley and heads toward the bathrooms with Liam and Emily. As Turner watches Andrew take a few steps to leave, worry begins to well in his gut. Again, he?s worried that he?s gone too far; that he?s pushed the only man who can help him live under his fake identity until he claims his freedom too far. He clears his throat and calls to Andrew?s receding back, as he buckles to the fear that ultimately lets Andrew control him. "Hey," he says, faking a soft, feminine voice. Andrew quickly stops and turns back to look at his wife. He looks like he?s almost in tears when he does. "I love you," he says, and he says it meekly, begrudgingly. Andrew can?t help but smile. "I love you too, baby. I?m sorry I said what I said." Turner gnashes his teeth. "It?s okay." He uses all of his remaining willpower to force himself to smile. Then, the disguised male criminal?s husband turns to head toward the bathrooms, leaving Turner for a few moments blissfully alone. Turner moves over into the next aisle, where the magazines are kept. He grabs a packet of throat lozenges out of his handbag as he does and pops one. Changing his voice for hours on end was clearly taking its toll. The guy looks around and adjusts the pantyhose he?s got on underneath his dress to cover up the fact that he hasn?t shaved his legs in a few days in a very masculine manner, and then grabs a copy of Woman?s Day and Cosmopolitan off the shelf. He looks at them and rolls his eyes. Feigning interest in the stupid magazines in front of Andrew, his in- laws, and the girls when they came over was a great way to make his disguise more convincing, but it was unreadable schlock, full of celebrity gossip, makeup tutorials, diet tips, recipes, and parenting advice that the man underneath the costume couldn?t give a fuck about. He usually just skipped right to the crossword puzzles while Andrew watched TV after dinner and only pretended to have an interest in the rest of the boring, female-oriented content. The man takes one last, derisive look at the rest of the women?s mags on the shelf, adjusting his bra strap beneath his blouse as he does, before looking around to check that no-one is watching. When he is satisfied that no-one is around, he leans closer to the rows of magazines and lifts one from the back row. The title of the magazine, shown in big, bold letters next to the fake red, painted fingernail attached to Turner?s thumb, is Hustler. Turner?s lined eyes widen when he sees the taught, naked body of the blonde chick on the front. Her name is Julie Ray, if the caption next to her spectacular tits can be believed, and she is 19 years old ? the perfect age, the crossdressed ex -bad boy thinks. The guy feels heat rush to his panties as he looks her tight, tanned, and youthful body up and down predatorily, like she?s a piece of meat. His penis is literally begging to become erect. He silently thanks God he?s tucked. Words cannot describe how much Turner wants to walk out of the store with that magazine. Just as he begins to move it into his handbag, however, something stops him. It?s a male voice coming from the guy?s left. "Excuse me, madam." Turner immediately lets the magazine drop into the stand and he looks up. His painted face is angry, and he looks like he?s ready to give the man who just shocked him and called him ?madam? a piece of his mind, but his expression immediately changes when he sees who just spoke. It?s an older man in his early fifties, wearing a blue uniform. It?s a police uniform, Turner realizes, to his horror. This must be an off-duty cop. He?s reaching past Turner for a fishing magazine, but he stops when he notices he gave the ?lady? a start. "Oh. Sorry, ma?am," the cop says. "Didn?t mean to frighten you." Turner places his hands behind his back and looks at the ground, desperately trying to hold it together as his body begins to shake. "Oh that?s okay," Turner mumbles in a high-pitched voice. "No problem." The cop looks at the woman strangely for a moment. He thinks her shyness is odd, but he doesn?t think much of it. He just picks up his fishing mag and continues on his way. Turner?s shoulders sag and he breathes a sigh of relief as the cop disappears around the corner into another aisle. He wipes the sweat off his brow, and quickly stuffs the porn mag into his handbag and hides it under the sappy, Mills and Boon romance novel he keeps in there for appearances. Turner, however, isn?t alone for long. Another man ? this one a tall, pasty, extremely creepy-looking guy ? gets right up into Turner?s personal space. The reluctant transvestite immediately gets a whiff of the alcohol on his breath. He struggles to stay on two feet. He?s clearly drunk. He probably came in here on his way back from the pub up the street. "Hey, baby," the man slurs. Turner sneers. The creepy guy gets so close to Turner that he can feel the other man?s body heat radiating off him. "Are you a raisin?" the drunk guy asks. Turner looks confused. "I?m sorry?" he asks in a soft voice. "Are you a raisin?" the creepy drunk goes on. Turner doesn?t know what the fuck he?s talking about. "Uhhh, no. Why?" Creepy guy smiles predatorily. "Because you?re raisin my dick." Turner?s eyes narrow now that he?s realized that the man is cracking onto him. He shoots him a deadly look, but the creepy man is undeterred. The man holds out his hand to the guy he mistakenly believes is a woman. "Hi, I?m Dave. Remember my name because you?ll be screaming it later." Turner rolls his eyes in disgust and begins to strut away. Unfortunately, Dave follows him. The drunk man continues to pester Turner all the way, baring a delirious smile on his face. "If I flip a coin, what are my chances of getting head?" Turner?s nostrils flare. "Zero," he snaps. The pursuing male smiles wider. "I lost my keys. Can I look for them in your underwear?" Turner is still moving away from the guy, faking a lady-walk as best he can. "No." The drunk man checks out Turner?s pretty, swaying, surgically-enhanced ass. "Do you have a shovel? Because I am digging that ass." "Fuck off," Turner says. "You?re so selfish, baby!" the drunk whines. "You're going to have that body for the rest of your life and I just want it for one night." Turner reaches the end of the aisle and then turns around. He looks at the drunk guy with a black expression. "I said fuck off, dude," he says it as threateningly as his female voice will allow. Dave feigns insult. "Come onnn, baby. The FBI wants to steal my penis. Can I please hide it inside you?" Turner is getting wildly angry now. The guy is looking at Turner?s cleavage now, and the nipples jutting out from underneath the thin material of his blouse. "God, tell your boobs to stop staring at my eyes!!" Turner?s entire body stiffens in anger, and he advances on the man hitting on him. "Listen, cunt, I said fuck off!" Dave?s smile grows even broader, and he reaches out and places his hand on Turner?s side. Turner is so shocked at the feeling of the man?s hand touching his body and his thumb touching his stomach that he doesn?t know what to do. Turner steps backward awkwardly on his heels, but Dave follows him until Turner is right up against the wall. As Dave leers over him and Turner leans away, Dave delivers one final humiliating line: "What has 132 teeth and holds back the Incredible Hulk?" Turner, intimidated by the man?s advance, just makes a small noise and shakes his head. "My zipper!" Dave says. Turner ? legitimately intimidated by the fact that this tall man is clearly gearing up to dominate him ? just whimpers. "I?m a married woman..." Turner says, his voice barely a whisper. Turner holds up his left hand to show the guy his wedding and engagement rings. The large, diamond engagement ring and the gold wedding band on his finger that marks him as the property of another man glistens in the halogen lights hanging from the ceiling. Dave merely smiles. Then, he leans in for a kiss. Just as Turner is about to cast off all pretence and use all his unladylike strength to beat this man within an inch of his life, Turner comes up with another tactic: The crossdressed criminal uses his man-voice. "Oh yeah, baby," Turner says, letting his voice slip way down into its natural register. "Kiss me hard." Dave?s eyes widen and he immediately straightens up as what is clearly a man?s voice comes out of the pretty, middle-aged lady in front of him. "What the fuck??" Turner is smiling now. He continues to talk in his real voice. "What?s the matter, baby? I?m sorry I gave you a hard time. Why don?t we go into the bathroom and we can have a sword fight." Dave continues to back away, looking at Bonnie Hamilton with eyes wide, mindfucked. "What the hell??????" "Come on, baby," Turner says, his voice gruff, deep, and masculine. "I?ll suck yours if you suck mine." Dave almost falls over as he spins around and begins to run away. Turner straightens up as he goes. He smooths out his dress and frowns as he sees the drunk guy run away, past a bewildered Andrew and Emily, as they return from the toilets. March 4, 1996 3 weeks until the statute of limitations on Shane Turner?s crimes is up. Clouds dot the blue sky above a massive shopping mall. Hundreds of cars are parked around the building and yet more drive inside into the underground car park. Innumerable shoppers can be seen entering and exiting the building. Turner is reclining on a chair inside a bright beauty parlor. His best friend, Barbara, is in the chair beside him. Both ?ladies? are getting a pedicure from the young Korean women who are hunched over their feet. Turner is wearing a puffy, white, floral midi dress that rests loosely around his thick, feminine curves and wraps around his generous bosom, along with a pair of white, 4-inch sling back heels. One of Turner?s shaved legs is visible inside the slit in his dress as he sits there with his legs together, and his nipples can be seen poking out from under the fabric of his dress. Turner and Barbara flip through their copies of Woman?s Day as the pedicurists begin to trim their toenails, but they soon put their mags down and begin to talk. Turner sighs contentedly. "I needed this." "What?" Barbara asks. "To get out of the house and do something relaxing." Barbara looks sidelong at her ?female? friend. "Andrew and the kids giving you grief?" Turner continues to peruse the latest celebrity goss in his magazine as the conversation goes on. "It?s always so stressful in that house. There?s always something to be done. Between cooking, cleaning, doing laundry, and dealing with the kids, I barely have any time to myself. I?m always under so much pressure." "Welcome to the club, honey," Barbara says sympathetically. "Being a woman is hard work." "I?ve come to realize that," Turner responds honestly. Barbara reaches over and touches Turner?s wrist, next to his pearl bracelet. "Well, Liam?s at daycare, Emily?s at school, Andrew?s at work, and you can just sit back with me and relax." Turner?s painted lips curl into a smile. "Okay." The nail salon girls finish cutting both Turner and Barbara?s toenails, and now move to begin shaping them with a nail file. Barbara produces a contented sigh as well. "I needed this too. Between work and performing my own womanly duties, I could use a break." She looks at Turner once more. "I just wanted the day off to do girly things with you. I love doing girly things with you, Bonnie." Turner conjures a smile, happy about the fact that his friend enjoys spending time with him, but incensed by the idea that he?s essentially her gay best friend and she doesn?t even know it. "The feeling?s mutual, Barb." Barbara produces a warm smile. "We should go clothes shopping after we go to the caf?. What do you think?" "Sounds good to me," Turner says. "I need to pick up some new bras anyway." "Your old bras not holding up the girls up as well as they used to?" "Nope." "There?s nothing like a comfy, supportive bra, is there?" Turner smiles. "No." And the man wasn?t lying. As much as he despised wearing women?s underwear, a good, supportive bra made being stuck with a big, bouncy pair of tits so much easier. The nail workers begin dealing with Turner and Barbara?s cuticles. Barbara reads from her magazine. "Look at this, Bonnie." Turner leans over to take a look. "What?" "Apparently Tupperware parties are making a comeback." Turner raises one of his shapely eyebrows. "Oh really?" "Yeah." Barbara begins reading from the article. "A Tupperware party isn't just something your grandmother did. It's still around today! And it's the best way to touch and see our products in action with a free cooking workshop for you and your guests. When you host a party, it's all about the rewards! The more your guests spend and the more bookings they make, the more host credit you'll receive to spend on anything you like from our catalogue." Turner lifts himself up slightly to surreptitiously unwad his panties from between his butt cheeks. "Sounds like a good offer." Barbara throws ?Bonnie? an excited look. "Wanna throw a Tupperware party?" "I don?t know. Who would we invite?" "Sharon and Carol would totally join us." "I?ll ask Sharon when I see her at school this afternoon." "I?ll call Carol tonight. This is so exciting!" Turner smiles. Then, his attention is caught by something outside the nail salon. Just outside the entrance of the store stands a stunning, middle-aged woman with two kids and a tall, muscular, square-jawed male beside her. Turner?s stomach drops when he sees the woman. It?s his ex-girlfriend, Angela ? the love of his life who he had to abandon when the nationwide manhunt to capture him began and he was forced to start wearing his humiliating disguise so long ago. She?s checking out the nail salon?s price list outside. Seeing her laughing and smiling with her new partner ? mostly likely her husband ? and her two, beautiful children hits him like a punch to the gut. That idyllic scene could?ve been his life, right there outside. He could?ve had a sexy, loving wife. He could?ve been the patriarch of a family. He could?ve been that man there holding the love of his life around the waist, fucking her every night, looking down on her as she sucked him off and swallowed his cum, but instead, he spent his nights shaving his legs and sitting around in women?s underwear. Turner?s eyes begin to water, but he quickly wipes his tears away, so that they wouldn?t fall and make his mascara run. He hates that he has to think about stuff like that, but he quickly recovers. "Bonnie?" Barbara says. "Earth to Bonnie. Are you okay, hon?" Angela and her new family walk away from the nail salon, and Turner manages to tear his eyes away. Turner nurses his stomach to quell the horrible feeling inside. "Yes. I am." "Check this out." Turner returns his attention to Barbara?s magazine again. "What is it?" Barbara reads a headline. "I caught my husband wearing my underwear ? wife tells all!" Turner?s eyes widen when he hears the headline, and he pulls his head back in surprise. "Ewww!" he responds, legitimately grossed-out. "You can say that again. Crossdressers are so disgusting! Apparently this woman has decided to stay with her husband, even though he likes to wear bras and panties. Would you ever stay with a man if you caught him wearing your underwear, Bonnie?" Turner grits his teeth and fakes the appropriate response. "Ewww, no." "If I caught my husband wearing women?s clothing, I?d divorce him immediately and take the kids with me," Barbara says, a bit too loudly for Turner?s liking. "I?d rather be dead than married to a crossdresser. I want to date a man ? not a sissy!" Turner?s getting angry now. "Yeah, they?re so gross." "Freaks, the lot of them. What the hell would a crossdresser want with a woman anyway? Just date a man and be done with it!" "I don?t think all crossdressers are gay, Barb," Turner says. He starts to twirl his hair. "That?s what they say, but I don?t believe it. A real man would never wear high heels or panties. Crossdressers shouldn?t even be allowed to date women. As soon as a guy puts on a dress, he should be legally required to only date men." Turner?s face begins to redden with embarrassment and anger. "Don?t you think that?s a bit extreme, sweetie?" "Tell that to my bible study group!" "I don?t know," Turner says, starting to actually shake. Barbara looks Turner in the eye and holds his gaze. "Bonnie. Imagine your husband ? Andrew ? the man you respect and love so much ? wearing your underwear. Your bras. Your panties. Your heels, skirts, dresses, and earrings. Would you still be attracted to him? Could you be attracted to a man who did stuff like that? Tell me honestly." Turner grits his teeth even harder now. "No." "There you go!" Turner is annoyed by the woman indirectly dissing him and insulting his manhood, but he also couldn?t disagree. The criminal found real crossdressers to be the most pathetic and disgusting people on Earth. Men who actually wanted to wear women?s underwear and clothing were sick and needed immediate psychiatric help. Turner, on the other hand, did not consider himself a crossdresser. He wanted to wear women?s clothing about as much as he wanted to get stomach cancer. Wearing skirts, makeup, and heels was just a disguise, nothing more. It was something he did out of extreme necessity, not pleasure, and, unlike real crossdressers, he could not wait to stop. The pedicurists place Turner and Barbara?s feet into a bath of warm water to soak. Turner lies back, admittedly enjoying the relaxing foot bath and pampering. "You and that church group, Barb," he says to her. "You?ve changed since you met them." Barbara shrugs. "I found Jesus. What do you want me to do?" Turner looks at her. "Find something else." "Like what?" "Sports. Knitting. I don?t know." "Knitting?" "Whatever. I just don?t want to lose my bestie to a bunch of religious nutcases." Barbara smiles. "You and Andrew go to church every Sunday, Bonnie, just like Simon and I do." "Andrew drags me there. I don?t really want to go." Barbara smiles and touches Turner?s arm. "You blasphemer." "I am a blasphemer. I will blaspheme everywhere!" Barbara chuckles. "You?re so silly." Turner smiles. "You won?t lose me, Bonnie. Our friendship is really important to me." Turner?s face becomes genuinely serious. "It?s important to me too. Without you, it?s just me and that fart-machine at home." "Gross." "Tell me about it," Turner giggles. "I?m about to tell you something that?s going to strain the friendship a little, though." "What?s that?" "I forgot my purse." "That?s okay, honey," Barbara says in a caring voice. "I?ll pay for you. You?re always shouting me lunch lately so it?s fine." "Thanks. I?ll pay you back when I get home." "Just don?t worry about it, girly girl." "Thanks, Barb," Turner says. "Now I guess we?re even after you stole my pink dress." "I did not steal your dress!" Barbara exclaims, sitting up a bit in his chair. "I?m just borrowing it!" "For three months?" Barbara?s body deflates. She starts to look guilty. "I?ll give it back eventually..." Turner raises a skeptical eyebrow. "Uh huh." "Well, you still have my red thigh-high boots and my leather mini-skirt after borrowing them two weeks ago, so don?t get all high and mighty on me, missy!" Turner rolls his eyes. "Fine." Barbara smiles. "We should go get coffee after this, before we head to the clothing store." "I?ll need to visit the ladies room first, if that?s alright." "That?s cool. I need to freshen up anyway." Turner smiles this time. "Awesome." "Awesome!" Turner and Barbara lay back and continue to enjoy their relaxing foot baths. March 5, 1996 3 weeks until the statute of limitations on Shane Turner?s crimes is up. Shane Turner emerges from the back door of the family house and walks down the concrete path toward the back of the yard. He is wearing his Bonnie Hamilton disguise, which today includes a tight, white tank top, blue, denim booty shorts, and a pair of pink flip-flops. His cleavage bulges out of the low scoop in his tank top. Long, hot-pink fake fingernails are attached to the ends of his fingers. His hair has been pinned up into a loose bun. The man?s short-shorts are so sheer that the lower quarters of his ass cheeks aren?t covered by the legs, and the pink thong he?s wearing underneath the shorts is visible above the denim band. He?s holding a laundry basket as he walks over to the clothesline. There, he sets the basket down and begins to hang the load of washing he just did on the line. He pegs Andrew?s boxer shorts and trunks on the line, along with some of the guy?s many polo shirts and jeans. He also pegs Liam?s little shirts, shorts, and booties up to dry in the wind. He then attaches a few pieces of Emily?s feminine skirts, pants, tops, and underwear to the line. Then, he starts hanging up his own bras, skirts, and panties. His lingerie and women?s clothing look gigantic next to Emily?s. He?s just finished hanging up his leopard print slacks, and is reaching to peg up his white and red floral panties, when he notices something out of the corner of his eye. When he turns to look at it properly, he sucks in a breath. Sean Morris ? one of Turner?s old criminal friends ? is there. He looks at Turner with a mixture of curiosity and disgust. "What the fuck are you doing here?" Turner demands in his male voice. Morris continues to stare at Turner. His eyes travel up from the man?s smooth, shaved legs, over his flat crotch, and, most disturbingly, up to the man?s large, round and real breasts. He can see the outline of the guy?s bra under his top. Turner?s surgically altered body tenses with fury when the man?s eyes lock onto his tits. "What the fuck have you done to yourself, Shane?" "Nothing that can?t be undone," Turner responds, breaking eye-contact out of humiliation. "I?ve only done what I needed to survive." Morris continues to stare at Turner, mindfucked. "When Jeff told me what you did to yourself to hide from the cops, I didn?t believe him. But now..." "Fuck off, Morris. What the hell do you want?" Morris smiles wryly. "You?re not gonna offer to make me tea or coffee? Aren?t ladies supposed to do that when they have guests?" Turner?s nostrils flare. "I?m not a fucking waitress, dude." "Why the hell are you even dressed like that if you?re home alone?" "Because people will be coming home soon." Morris looks closely at Turner?s flat crotch. "Where the hell is your dick? Did you end up getting a full sex change??" "No," Turner answers bitterly. "It?s just tucked." Morris looks even closer at Turner?s body. "Why are you wearing shorts like that?" "Cos it?s a hot day!" "And how the hell are your hips so wide? Your hips are wider than my wife?s!" "If you have to fucking know, I got silicone injections at the same time I got the boob job and butt lift! I had to make my disguise look perfect! Just get to the fucking point, buddy!!" Morris ignores the man?s feeble protests. "Are you wearing a thong under those shorts? Oh my god it is!! Why the fuck are you wearing a pink thong??" Turner immediately begins trying to stuff his whale tail into his shorts. "It was the only clean pair of underwear I could find in the house, asshole!!" Morris shakes his head. "Have you heard what?s happening with Tony?" "Yeah. Mike told me. We still talk from time to time. All I know is that he was questioned by the cops about the robbery." "Do you know what prompted the cops to do that?" "No. That question?s been keeping me up at night." "It was because the police are now using new DNA-matching technology to link the DNA on crimes scenes to the DNA of criminals they have on file," Morris explains. "Tony has a massive criminal history and his DNA is on file, so..." "So they matched Tony?s DNA with DNA found on the crime scene." Morris nods. As the two men speak, Turner reaches back and tries to surreptitiously pull down the back of his booty shorts so that they fully cover his ass cheeks. He doesn?t want Morris to know that he?s been walking around with his ass hanging out like that. Unfortunately, there is nowhere near enough fabric to cover the lower quarters of his shaved buttocks, and his ass cheeks continue to hang down out of his shorts. Turner clenches his teeth in anger at his failure. "It was one hair, apparently," Morris continues. "That?s all they needed to identify him. One goddamned hair in the bank." "So why haven?t they just arrested him yet?" Turner asks. "They have but he?s out on bail. But, they think that they can make a deal with Tony to identify us." Turner?s body tenses with fear. "How do you know all this?" "One of my ?business? partners is a cop." Turner nods, turning it all over in his mind. "Do you think Tony?ll turn us in?" "I don?t know," Morris responds. "The guy?s nuts. Who knows what he?ll do, but there is the possibility that he?ll rat us out for a reduced sentence." "So what are you going to do?" "What am I going to do? We?re in this together, dude. Tony knows how you?ve been hiding from the cops just like the rest of us. He can easily tell the cops that their fourth man can be found hiding in a dress." "Yeah but whose dress, my friend?" Turner retorts. "Tony doesn?t know who I?ve been posing as or where I am. What do you think the cops are gonna do? Go around to all the women in the country and lift up their skirts to check for a cock?" "If you don?t help the rest of us, I can?t guarantee your secret will be kept for long," Morris responds. Turner puffs out his chest and straightens his shoulders. He advances on the man, trying to look as intimidating as possible despite being made- up to look like a girl. "You?d better fucking keep my secret, cunt, or I?ll fuck you up so badly that they?ll have to identify your body through dental records." Morris is unfazed. "You don?t scare me, sweetheart." Turner?s body deflates as Morris? comment puts him in his place. "What the fuck are we even going to do? Kill him?" "Or talk to him." "And say what?" "I don?t know," Morris admits, "but whatever it is, it just has to get us through to the end of the month. We?re all waiting for the statute of limitations to be up so we can breathe easier." "So, what, we?re all gonna get together and have a good old chat?" Turner says, opening his arms wide. "You don?t think the police will be watching him? If they see us all there, we?ll be screwed!" "I wasn?t thinking that we go. I was thinking someone else goes." "Who?" "You know her well." "Who, Sean?" Turner demands. Morris smiles. "Bonnie Hamilton." Turner?s perfectly shaped eyebrows move toward each other in confusion, just before the two men hear something. A car is coming. "Holy fuck! That?s Andrew! I can?t let him see me with you! You?ve gotta get outta here!" "I?ll call you tonight and we?ll work out a plan," Morris says quickly. "Alright," Turner says urgently. "Whatever. Just go!" Morris nods and starts to back away. He watches Turner rotate and hurry back up to the house. His eyes track the man?s booty shoots and his partially-exposed buttocks as they wiggle from side to side while he walks away. Morris wolf-whistles at the sight. Turner turns to glare at him angrily as he keeps walking, and as he tries unsuccessfully to use his hands to cover his butt. March 8, 1996 3 weeks until the statute of limitations on Shane Turner?s crimes is up. The Hamilton family car pulls into a driveway leading up to a large, impressive mansion. Many other cars are outside the house. Almost a dozen middle-aged couples are getting out of their vehicles with their kids. Everyone wears fancy dress costumes, some simple, others elaborate. There?s a couple dressed as Little Red Riding Hood and the wolf. Another dressed as the Joker and Harley Quinn. Another as Gomez and Morticia Addams. Another as Superman and Supergirl. Kids dressed as Batman, Spongebob, and Homer Simpson. The Hamiltons? car pulls up in the drive and the engine quiets. Then, the Hamiltons step out. Andrew steps out of the car, cutting a dashing figure dressed as the Mad Hatter. He goes around and opens the door for Emily, who looks as cute as a button in her White Rabbit costume. Andrew then goes around and opens the passenger side door, allowing the man who he believes to be his wife to step out. When she does, she stands with her feet together and a nearby male?s eyes sweep up her, from her high, black platform heels, over her white pantyhose, and to the rest of her costume. Turner is dressed in a frilly, blue and white, old fashioned maid outfit. He?s tied his blonde hair in pigtails, and he looks like a sweet, innocent girl from Kansas, dressed as Alice from Alice in Wonderland. He adjusts his bra underneath his lace apron and below his boobs after it has ridden up yet again, and his dress flares as he turns back to the car and grabs Liam in his carrier from inside. Turner reluctantly lets Andrew take his hand and hold it as they walk up to the house. His face goes red as he walks, and he looks downward to hide his face, ashamed and humiliated by having to wear something so effeminate around in public around so many people and look like a sissy. When Turner notices a big, burly man dressed as Fred Flintstone check him out on the way, his lips arch in anger. Today was not going to be a good day. Andrew is still holding Turner?s left hand when they enter the building. Turner holds baby Liam with the other. Emily hides behind her mother?s skirt as they walk. She?s a little anxious by all the people around her. She holds onto her ?mom?s? skirt for protection. Balloons are floating on the ceiling and walls, and a large banner at the back of the room over the throngs of people reads, ?HAPPY BIRTHDAY ALEX!?. Andrew only lets go of Turner?s warm hand when he sees a few of his work colleagues. Two men wave at him in greeting. Andrew shakes their hands when they approach. "Ted, Dave, I?d like you to meet my wife, Bonnie." Ted shakes Turner?s delicate hand. "Pleasure to meet you, Mrs. Hamilton." Andrew now indicates the baby carrier. "And this is my son, Liam." The two men nod. "And this is my daughter, Emily." The two men greet Emily. She looks like she wants to literally hide under mommy?s skirt, something that the man pretending to be her mother would have a serious problem with. Just then, another man approaches. The three work colleagues fall quiet when he comes over. The man smiles and shakes Andrew?s hand. The man is Eric Marsh ? Andrew?s boss, wearing a Batman costume. "Andrew, my boy. So good you could make it." "We wouldn?t miss your son?s birthday for the world," Andrew says. "Excellent, excellent," Andrew goes on. "He?s around somewhere, probably getting into some mischief." Andrew introduces his boss to Bonnie, Liam and Emily. Turner can?t help noticing Eric?s massive codpiece, and he can?t seem to stop himself from glancing down at it. His husband?s boss must be hung like a horse. A part of him is actually impressed. Then, another entrant comes in. This time it?s a gorgeous, ten-out-of- ten woman wearing a skin-tight Batgirl catsuit who saunters toward them. All the men stop to look at the stunning, blonde bombshell as she approaches, including the one trapped in women?s clothing. "Ah! Andrew, this is my wife ? Tiffany," Eric says. Andrew shakes her hand. "Pleasure." He then motions toward his wife. "And this is my wife, Bonnie." Tiffany reaches out to shake Turner?s hand. "Nice to meet you, Bonnie." The two feminine hands meet ? Tiffany?s with long, pink nails and Turner?s with long red ones. Both Tiffany and Turner?s fingers are accessorized with silver and gold rings, and both are wearing loose bracelets. Turner stares at her bulging cleavage, while cringing at being referred to by the hot girl as ?Bonnie?. "The pleasure is mine, Mrs. Marsh." Turner can?t help but look at the woman slightly predatorily as she says something to Andrew. His eyes travel up her body, every curve and bulge of which is hugged tightly by her catsuit. Turner surreptitiously places his hand on his crotch, feeling uncomfortable as the sight of the woman?s trim, sexy figure fills his tucked penis with heat. A waiter comes up alongside Turner as he does this. "Can I offer you a glass of chardonnay, ma?am?" Turner had his eyes on the beers on a nearby table, but he?s spent the last seven years pretending chardonnay was his favorite drink, so he takes a glass to stay in character. He sips his glass of chardonnay with his pinky extended. "Don?t mind if I do." Turner steals another look at his husband?s boss? wife?s cleavage, and then downs the glass. A pleasant wave of dizziness hits him as he drinks the first of many glasses of wine. Turner is standing next to his husband while he talks to his work colleagues, looking up to him and laughing dutifully at all his jokes. Emily is off playing with a bunch of other kids in costume on the other side of the room. A waiter comes up alongside Turner, holding a bottle of wine. He indicates Turner?s empty glass. "Would you like a refill, ma?am?" Turner turns his head to look at the man. He looks at the guy with glassy eyes and then raises his cup. "Go for it." Andrew looks down on his wife with concern. "Honey, are you sure you should have another one of those?" Turner?s answers in a slurred female voice. "Why shouldn?t I?" "Cos that?s your fifth glass, sweetheart." Turner takes a sip. "Whatever, buddy." Turner takes the rim of the glass away from his painted lips and hands it to Andrew, who?s already holding Liam?s baby carrier. "Hold this for me, will you, honey? I gotta go take a piss." Andrew and a woman nearby widen at the ?lady?s? coarse words. His eyes widen further when she steps away from him and stumbles, clearly drunk. He catches her before she falls. Turner giggles as his husband holds him upright. "What a gentleman," Turner says, still just sober enough to keep up the act. Andrew looks worriedly at Bonnie but does not respond. He turns back to his colleagues, who are looking at both his wife and him strangely. "Holy fuck, dude," Ted remarks. "Your wife could out-drink all of us. That lady drinks like a man." Andrew nods absently while he watches his wife stagger away toward the bathrooms with concern. Turner stumbles into the house?s bathroom and locks the door behind him. His heels click along the tiled floor as he walks over to the toilet. There, he lifts his maid dress, reaches into his pantyhose, whips out the giant schlong he?d stuffed between his thighs, and takes a piss standing up. He then shakes his dick and stuffs it back into the white hose he?s wearing. The intoxicated criminal doesn?t bother to tuck it back between his thighs, and just leaves it bulging out of the front of his pantyhose. When he lets his skirt drop, the bulge can barely be seen under the blue satin and frilly apron anyhow. The guy then washes his hands and exits the bathroom. Turner leaves the bathroom and surveys the room. When he does, his eyes lock onto his husband?s boss? wife. She?s leaving the party and is going outside. She?s also unsteady on her heels as she walks; she too has clearly had a bit too much to drink. Turner feels his dick stir in his pantyhose at the sight of the bleached-blonde goddess, but he?s too drunk to care. In his drunken haze, he decides to follow the woman. As he does, he stops a waitress. "Can I help you, ma?am?" the pretty, young waitress asks. "Give us a glass of wine," Turner demands in his lady-voice. The waitress looks confused while she pours the glass and hands it to Turner. He skulls it and hands the glass back to her. "Thanks, toots," Turner says, and he winks at her. The waitress looks infuriated by Turner?s sexist comment as he walks away. "What a bitch!" Turner ignores her and makes his way outside. Turner stands on the steps outside the house with his feet together. The skirt of his maid costume flaps in the wind as he looks around. He quickly spots Tiffany Marsh. She?s sitting in front of a hedge, crying her eyes out. Turner immediately walks over to her. He does so with a confident, masculine gait that looks absurd while he?s wearing such a feminine outfit. "Hey," Turner says, still forcing himself to talk like a girl. Tiffany looks up. Mascara is running down her face. "Hey." The woman lifts a half-empty bottle of Jack Daniels to her mouth and takes a massive swig. She holds it out to Turner, sobbing. "Want some?" "Sure." Turner takes a swig as well and hands the bottle back to her. Then, he sits awkwardly down next to her. He doesn?t bother crossing or closing his legs when he does, and just sits there manspreading in his dress, hunched over. "My husband just told me he wants a divorce," Tiffany admits. "I?m sorry to hear that," Turner says, slurring his high-pitched words even more than before. Tiffany takes another swig. "So was I." "Did he give you a reason?" "Because he?s sick of fucking me and he wants to fuck the cleaning lady." Turner raises one eyebrow. "Did he actually say that?" "He didn?t need to." Tiffany sighs. "All my life men have just used me and thrown me away." Turner takes another sip of JD. "What is it about me? Am I not pretty enough?" Turner places his wrist to his mouth, concealing a burp. "Baby, you?re one of the prettiest, sexiest babes I?ve ever seen." Tiffany looks into ?Bonnie?s? eyes. She?s taken aback by the woman?s masculine phrasing, but she?s flattered all the same. "Thank you, Mrs. Hamilton." "It?s the truth," Turner says. He holds her gaze as he speaks. Tiffany smiles briefly as she continues to cry and sob. "I?ve always wanted a man who would love me and take care of me, who would stick by me through thick and thin. But I no longer believe that men like that exist." "Maybe they do," Turner says. Tiffany laughs ironically. "Yeah right." "I?m serious." "And where would I find one of these unicorns? I wouldn?t even have a clue where to look." "Maybe you don?t have to look," Turner tells her. Tiffany looks at him. "What do you mean?" "Maybe they?re right here in front of you, but you just can?t see them yet." Tiffany sniffles. "Huh?" Just then, Turner does something that takes Tiffany Marsh aback. He places his hand on her leg and leans over, bringing his face close so that it?s only inches from hers. She leans back slightly. Bonnie Hamilton is staring in her eyes. The ?woman?s? face is so close to hers that she can feel her warm breath on her lips. Turner massages the inside of her right thigh softly. "So how about it, baby?" Tiffany looks worriedly into Turner?s eyes. "Bonnie, please. Don?t. You?re scaring me." Turner cracks a smile. "My name?s not Bonnie, you sexy little thing." Tiffany tilts her head in confusion. "Who are you then?" Turner reaches up and pushes his fingers gently into the woman?s blonde hair. Before the drunken criminal can respond, Tiffany notices something in her peripheral vision. She looks down to see what it is and jumps back in fright. She lets out a yelp and her eyes bulge out of her head as she sees the raging hard-on tenting the crotch of Bonnie Hamilton?s dress between her open legs. "What the fuck is that???" Tiffany cries. Turner smiles lecherously, and answers in his real voice. "What do you think it is?" Tiffany spins around wildly and begins to run away, but she doesn?t get far. She stumbles on her heels and falls over. She hits the ground hard and falls unconscious on the pavement. Turner is so drunk that he laughs out loud in his male voice when she falls. ~o0o~ Several hours later, Eric, Andrew, Emily, Liam and a now-sober Turner are gathered around a hospital bed. Tiffany is in that bed, and Turner looks extremely worried as the bruised woman begins to wake. She blinks her eyes several times and looks around to get her bearings. "What happened?" Eric sits down next to her on the bed. "Bonnie found you lying on the ground outside. You must?ve fell down." Tiffany looks at Bonnie through blurry eyes, blinking to try to focus on her. Turner is literally quaking by this point, terrified that Tiffany will reveal him for what he really is. The thin fabric of his dress shakes as she shivers, and he holds onto one of Andrew?s hand with both of his. He stands really close to his husband for protection, terrified of what might happen next. "Bonnie?" Tiffany asks weakly. "Yes, Tiffany," her husband replies. "Bonnie found you and called the ambulance to come get you." "I could?ve sworn..." Eric looks concerned. "What?" Turner squeezes Andrew?s hand tightly. Tiffany looks at Turner. "I could?ve sworn you were out there with me when I fell down. I could?ve sworn..." "What?" Eric demands, Tiffany laughs at what she?s about to say to the man she believes to be a woman. "I could?ve sworn that you propositioned me." Eric suddenly draws his head back. "What? Bonnie??" "Yeah." There?s a pause, during which Turner is so terrified that he almost wets himself. Tiffany smiles. "Guess I had wayyy too much to drink, huh?" Everyone bursts out into uproarious laughter. Even Emily finds it hilarious. Turner tries to laugh along with them, pretending to find the idea of Bonnie Hamilton hitting on Tiffany to be the most ridiculous thing in the entire world, but instead he just stands there, white as a ghost, looking like he?s going to throw up. March 11, 1996 2 weeks until the statute of limitations on Shane Turner?s crimes is up. Bonnie Hamilton is walking out to her car. She?s holding her hands up dangling in front of her. She?s wearing a black scoop-neck top that shows off her ample cleavage, a tight, blue, denim mini skirt, and a pair of black, three-inch high heels. Her smooth, shapely legs carry her to the car and her heels click along the concrete as she leads her daughter to the car. Her makeup looks like it has been put on in a rush, and her hair has been tied up into a messy updo. "Sorry I missed the bus, mom," Emily says meekly. Bonnie rolls her eyes. "It?s okay, sweetie. I need to go to the supermarket anyways." Emily gets into the car and lets her mother put on her seatbelt. "Okay." Turner walks around to the driver?s side door of the car. The door closes and the car reverses and pulls away. The sound of the engine fades away as it drives down the road, away from the house. Two men watch the scene, hidden behind a hedge next to the brick wall of the house. They wait until Bonnie?s car can no longer be heard before they get up from their crouched positions. As they walk around to the front door of the house, we can see that the two men are Donovan and Morris ? two members of the gang who robbed the bank with Turner. They walk up the stairs and try the front door. The handle doesn?t turn. They then walk around to the side of the house, trying all the windows as they go. Eventually, they find a window that pulls up. They open the window fully and then heave themselves inside. The men end up in a bedroom, with a big king-sized bed pressed against the back wall. The room is immaculately neat and the bed has been made. "Turner must be doing a good job as a housewife here," Donovan remarks. Morris sniggers but his expression quickly becomes serious. "Why the hell are we doing this again?" Donovan is looking around. "Because if that fucking shemale is thinking about ratting us out to the cops to save his own surgically enhanced ass, I want to make sure we have everything we need to prove that he isn?t a woman. There?s no way he?ll snitch if he knows he?ll go down with us." "Why can?t we just tell the police he?s not a chick?" Morris asks. Donovan rolls his eyes. "Why would they believe that? You?ve seen the guy. He even has real breasts! Why would the cops ever even consider acting on accusations made by a couple of criminals about some random woman? If we accused Bonnie Hamilton of being a man, the cops would just take one look at her and her tits and then look at us as if we were lunatics." Morris doesn?t have a response. "Okay, so what are we looking for?" Donovan starts opening drawers. "Anything out of the ordinary. Anything that we can prove belongs to Turner that a woman shouldn?t have. Anything that might prove that Bonnie Hamilton is hiding a dick." Morris furrows his brow. "Like what?" "A wig. Maybe a pair of fake boobs. I don't know. Let?s see." Morris and Donovan open the walk-in cabinet on the far side of the room. The cabinet is divided into two sections ? his and hers. On the left are Andrew?s business and casual men?s clothing, on the right is an array of women?s clothing. Donovan flips through Turner?s lady clothes. The guy has all the clothing one would expect a woman to have ? blouses, skirts, casual dresses, gowns, muumuus, onesies, sundresses, and even a grey ladies skirt-suit and a little black dress. Donovan shudders as he turns away from all the lace, pink, and polka dots and shuts the closet door. "Nothing there." "Jesus Christ, this guy owns a ton of women?s clothing," Morris says. "He?s a freak. Let?s look over here." Donovan walks over to another closet and opens the door. Inside they find a similar arrangement. Andrew?s sneakers and other men?s shoes are on one side, and on the other side is his wife?s shoes. The female side of the closet is orders of magnitude larger than the male one. They scan Turner?s impressive collection of pumps, stilettos, wedges, sling backs, slippers, flats, platform heels, and even a pair of red, leather thigh- high boots. Morris removes a pair of pink, four-inch high heels from a shelf and looks them over. "These look like they?d be murder to walk around in. Can you imagine having to spend all day in these?" "I couldn?t even stand up in them," Donovan responds. "I don?t know how Turner does it." Morris puts the heels back. "Why does the guy have so many shoes?" Donovan closes the closet. "He needs to do what women do, I guess. Women always have a lot of shoes, so he has to have a lot of shoes as well to maintain the facade." The two men then open a chest of drawers. The first draw contains a whole bunch of men?s underwear ? all dark-colored boxers and briefs. "That must be the husband?s underwear," Morris theorizes. "It is," Donovan confirms. "Could some of that be Turner?s underwear?" "If it is, we couldn?t prove it. Either way, I doubt Turner would keep his men?s underwear in with Andrew?s." Donovan shuts the drawer and then opens the one beneath it. This drawer is stuffed full of white and pink lace. "This must be Turner?s panty drawer." Morris screws up his face. "Gross." "You can say that again." Donovan picks up a pair of Turner?s pink, lace and satin panties. He holds them up outstretched between his hands and looks at the ex-gang member?s frilly panties and the matching bra in the drawer. "Can you believe Shane?s been wearing this stuff?" Morris looks ill at the thought. "No." Donovan is now holding up a pair of Turner?s white, satin granny panties outstretched and is examining them. "Would you ever wear something like this?" Morris? face hardens. "I?d rather be dead than walk around in that." "What if the alternative was going to prison for the rest of your life?" Morris seriously thinks about it. "I don?t know." Donovan shakes his head, throws the criminal?s granny panties back into the drawer and then closes it. Underneath that drawer, they open another to find an assortment of Turner?s other lingerie and feminine accessories, such as scrunchies, petticoats, stockings, a jewelry box, and even a puffy lace baby doll. Donovan holds up the baby doll. "Can you imagine in what situation Turner would need to wear this?" Morris takes a step back slightly, repulsed. "Do you mean sex?" "Yeah. Turner reckons that he and Andrew aren?t having sex, but I don?t buy that." "Do you think Turner?s gay?" "Course he?s gay." "He says he isn?t, though." "Who cares what he says! He married a man! He?s not just gay ? he?s so gay he ended up changing sex! He?s gayer than a gay man! He?s ultra-gay. The guy?s so gay he turned into a woman!" Morris tilts his head. "How do you think they?re having sex, though? Turner doesn?t have a pussy." "He probably has to let Andrew bend him over and fuck him up the ass." Morris is too disgusted to reply. Just before Donovan closes the drawer, he notices something in the back corner of it, next to a pair of pink, string bikini bottoms. It?s a long, pink box. He removes it and opens the pink box up. He then reaches inside one end and extracts a long, purple vibrator out of it. Both men look at the purple, silicone object with confusion. Donovan flicks the switch and the machine starts humming with vibration. "A vibrator?" Morris exclaims. "Why the fuck would Shane have that?" Donovan raises a finger to his lips to shush him. "Keep your fucking voice down. Again, probably just for appearances. If we found this then so has Andrew. I?ll give Shane one thing, he?s good. No wonder he?s managed to keep his secret all these years. I?m not surprised that all the cops in the country couldn?t catch him." Morris examines the vibrator closer. "Apparently this thing has a ?clitoral stimulator?." Donovan sniggers. "Bet Turner has a lot of fun with that, huh?" "Yeah, with that and his clit." The two men laugh and exit the bedroom after returning the vibrator to the drawer. They look this way and that down the hall before they go into the living room. There, they find something that amuses them. A pair of knitting needles are inside what appears to be an unfinished baby blanket. Donovan chuckles but simultaneously looks disturbed. "Turner?s taken up knitting." Morris smiles through his disquiet. "He?s clearly got his middle-aged lady act down to a fine art!" Donovan points at an unfinished pair of blue baby booties that Turner has been knitting and shakes his head. "He probably sits here at night while his husband watches TV, pretending to enjoy knitting with his legs crossed like a lady." "He?s sick but the dude?s a great actor." Donovan has a look at a framed photo on the mantelpiece. It?s a wedding photo, showing Andrew in a tuxedo, next to his newlywed ?wife? in a white, puffy wedding dress. Both men in the photo are smiling broadly. It looks like a normal wedding photo, but Donovan knew that it was anything but. Morris looks through a pile of papers on the coffee table. He takes notice of one square of paper in particular. "What is it?" Donovan asks. "It?s a coupon for twenty-percent off a bikini wax." "When does it expire?" Morris looks closely at it. "In two days." "Turner will have to rush over to the beauty parlor or he?ll miss out!" The two men chuckle. Donovan holds up a plastic packet for Morris to see. "What?s that?" Morris asks. "Baby wipes." "Do you think Turner has to change the baby?" "Of course he does." Morris shudders. "Jesus." Just then, something happens that makes the two men freeze. The Hamiltons? phone starts ringing ? the landline next to Andrew?s couch. The two men look at it with fear. "What should we do?" Morris asks, panicked. Donovan?s eyes are wide. "Just let the answering machine get it." "Alright." Eventually, the machine picks up. A young woman?s voice comes through the speaker. "Hi, Mrs. Hamilton. This is Karen from The Serenity Salon. Just calling to confirm your Thursday appointment for a manicure and pedicure at 10am. We can do the nail design we discussed on the phone after all, and we look forward to seeing you then. Have a great day!" The call ends. Donovan and Morris exchange glances and then keep looking around. They snicker at the stack of women?s lifestyle mags that Turner has piled up next to the couch with the knitting equipment and then they make their way into the bathroom. In the bathroom, Donovan and Morris find an assortment of feminine paraphernalia, such as perfume vials and bulbs, makeup like foundation, rouge, eyeshadow, an eyeliner pen, and lipstick, unopened packs of pre- made wax strips and pantyhose, pink Gillette razors, makeup wipes, and Nair. They also find an open pack of blonde hair dye which matches Turner?s current color. Donovan notices Morris looking at the toilet after he looks at all of this stuff. "What is it?" "Didn?t we hear the toilet flush before Turner came outside?" Morris asks. "Yeah." "The guy left the toilet seat up." Donovan looks at the toilet seat, which has indeed been left up. "Turner must pee standing up. He forgot to put the toilet seat down ? the guy does make mistakes in his act." "He probably only pees sitting down if other people are around." Donovan looks extremely uncomfortable. Morris notices one of Turner?s white bras hanging over the shower door, and recoils at a pack of tampons on the sink next to a hair-clip, bobby pins, hair curlers, and a pair of gold earrings, as Donovan continues. "This was a bad idea." "Yeah, I don?t think we?re going to find anything," Morris confirms. "It was worth a shot, but all we really found is one thing," Donovan goes on. "What?s that?" Donovan is examining Turner?s moisturizer jar. "Shane?s more of a lady now than my wife is." Morris sniggers. "Come on, let?s keep looking. With any luck, we might find a secret compartment or something where Turner keeps his porn stash." Morris again looks disturbed. "Alright." The two men head back toward the bathroom door to continue their search. Donovan carefully avoids touching one of Turner?s pink g-strings, which is hanging on the door knob as they turn it, and leave the room. March 13, 1996 2 weeks until the statute of limitations on Shane Turner?s crimes is up. The sound of a washing machine can be heard behind a completely undisguised Shane Turner, as he makes his way up the hallway and into the living room. The guy takes big masculine strides and puffs the cigarette in his mouth, as he drops onto the couch beside three empty beer bottles and an open pizza box, after putting on a load of laundry. He sits on the couch in front of the TV with his legs apart inside the empty house. He?s wearing a baggy, black men?s Adidas jumper that almost hides the fact that he has giant boobs, and a pair of grey, men?s shorts with a bulge clearly sticking out of the crotch. His hair is tied back into a man-bun. The analog clock on the wall reads ?11:30am? and it?s a Tuesday. Andrew is at work, Emily is at school, and only Liam is in the house asleep in the nursery, so Turner can drop the lady-act for a while. The criminal reaches over to the small table next to the leather couch Turner is sitting on. The man grabs his beer bottle from next to his knitting needles and the half-finished, red granny square that he?s been crocheting for the last few evenings while Andrew watches the Channel Nine news. He takes a swig and then lets out a loud burp, while he grabs today?s paper off the coffee table, and leans back to read it. Turner continues to drink beer and eat pizza for a while. He uses the light from the nearby lamp to do so, as the house is very dark. Turner closes all the curtains in the house after Andrew leaves each morning, before he takes off all his makeup and women?s clothing, to ensure that no neighbours or passersby see one of Australia?s most wanted men getting pissed and watching porn in the Hamilton family?s living room. As Turner reads the latest political news, peruses the classifieds, and browses the sports section, he stumbles upon something that, when he reads it, hits him right in the gut. The section that Turner is reading now is the obituaries section. One death notice catches his eye. It reads: "Edith Turner passed away on March 4th 1996, after a brief battle with lung cancer. She was 69 years old. Edith was the proud biological mother of four children, Adam, Shane, Ben, and Michael, and she adopted her niece and nephew after the death of her sister, Rachel. Edith?s greatest love was her family. All of her children were proud to call her mom. Edith is survived by her husband, Thomas, her six children, and six grandchildren. They invite you to join them for a memorial service. The service will be this Saturday at 9am at the Saint Matthews Uniting Church on 2468 Main Street in Tizzana. In lieu of flowers, the family asks that donations be made to the American Cancer Society." Turner looks up from the paper and stares absently at the TV, lost in thought. His mother passed away last week. He hadn?t seen her or talked with her in seven years. He didn?t even know she was sick. He was looking forward to seeing her again after the statute of limitations were up, and it was safe to contact her again. Now, he realized, he?d never see her again. The man hauls himself up out of the couch and begins to pace around the living room, looking absolutely despondent as he thinks about what he?d just read. The last time he saw his mother was a week before the robbery. She was happy and in perfect health, jubilant after Lizzy, the wife of Turner?s oldest brother, Adam, had just given birth to her second child. He remembers her smile like he?d seen it yesterday ? so full of life and love and joy. He?d had no time for goodbyes after the robbery. He couldn?t risk contacting or visiting his parents to let them know that he was okay. He can?t even remember the last time he told her ?I love you?. And now, he?d never get the chance to say it again. At that moment, Turner stops pacing. Then, moisture begins to form in his eyes. He wipes it away aggressively, and begins to breathe heavily. His surgically-altered chest heaves up and down as the anger begins to take him. Then, he loses it. Turner grabs an empty beer bottle and throws it at a wall. The bottle explodes and shatters into a thousand pieces when it hits. He roars and leans over the couch, laying into it, hollering at the top of his lungs in his real, deep voice without giving a fuck about who might hear him. He yells, roars, and bellows as he continues to take out his anger on the couch and he thinks about all that was stolen from him. He?d lost his girlfriend, the woman of his dreams. He?d lost his family. And now he?d lost his mom. "I didn?t even get to say goodbye!" Turner bellows, his voice ragged with anger. Turner runs wildly into the bathroom, continuing to holler and bellow in a loud, male voice. He flings the door open and stops in front of the mirror. Then, he pulls off his Adidas jumper, revealing the big, round, floppy D-cups hanging off his chest. He reaches up and grabs ahold of each of his boobs with his hands, his fingers sinking into the soft, squishy flesh as he does, and wails in anger at the sight. The two, heavy masses swinging off his chest were the ultimate symbol of everything wrong with his life. While every man he knew ? family and friends ? had found hot girls and had made their families proud by starting a family, he was stuck in here, trapped in women?s clothing and makeup, playing mommy and wife to two kids that weren?t his and an ugly, nerdy man. Turner lets his tits go and leans onto the bathroom sink. He stares into the mirror, his nostrils expanding and contracting as he breathes with fury. He goes quiet for a moment. He hated everything. He hated everyone. And, most of all, he hated himself. As he continues to fume with anger, Turner looks down and stares at the pair of frilly, light-blue panties he?d left on the sink, and the little bow on the front. That was his underwear. Those was his panties. Turner then looks away from the panties and back up to the mirror. He looks at his only face, and his expression morphs into the blackest look he?d ever seen. Then, Turner reaches up, balls his fist, and smashes the mirror. The glass shatters into a million pieces just like the beer bottle, and his reflection breaks and fractures apart as the pieces fall to the floor. Turner yells and withdraws his fist from the wall, reeling from the pain as a piece of splintered glass slices his fist. The guy holds his fist as his fingers flare with pain and agony. Then, the topless criminal runs back out into the living room ? his massive boobs swinging like mad off his chest all the while ? and drops back onto the couch. There, he leans forward, places his face in the palm of his hands, and begins to cry. The man cries for a while ? producing awful, gut-wrenching wails, until he finally stops. When he does, he slowly takes his face out of his hands and wipes his eyes. Then, he just sits there, staring at nothing in particular, with a pair of glassy, lifeless eyes. March 16, 1996 2 weeks until the statute of limitations on Shane Turner?s crimes is up. Andrew?s ute pulls up alongside the curb outside his wife?s best friend?s house. He beeps his horn to let the man who?s been posing as his wife know that he?s arrived to pick him up. Bonnie emerges a few seconds later. She?s wearing a pink, floral midi dress and a pair of white, 4-inch stiletto heels. She?s holding onto Barbara for support, seemingly unable to stand on her own. Barbara leads her best friend to the car. Andrew steps out of the car and around it to help his wife. "Hey, Andrew," Barbara says. "Hey, Barb. What?s wrong with Bonnie?" Before Barbara can answer, the two hear something that makes them stop and look up. They both look at the house. Carol is standing at the door, holding onto Sharon. Both are waving manically, and each woman holds a glass of wine in their hands. "Hey, Andrew!!" Carol shouts way too loudly. "We?ve been drinking!!" "We?ve been drinking ? a lot!!" Sharon explains. A smile tugs at the side of Andrew?s lips. "I can see that." Barbara turns to face Andrew again. Bonnie?s eyes are closed and she?s quiet. Andrew motions toward his wife. "How much has she drank?" "Two bottles of Pinot Noir." "Two entire bottles?!" Barbara shrugs. "Yeah. I couldn?t even make it through one, but your wife can really hold her liquor." Andrew smiles and holds out his arms. Barbara then carefully passes the disguised male to his husband, who takes him into his arms. Barbara strokes Bonnie?s hair and talks to her softly. "You?ll be okay, baby." She looks up at Andrew. "Take care of her, okay?" "I will." Barbara nods. Then, she turns and goes back into the house, past a screaming Carol and Sharon, and closes the door. Andrew helps Turner into the car. Turner flops down onto the seat and lets his legs spread wide apart inside his dress, not lucid enough to maintain his lady-act perfectly. Andrew pulls the crossdressing man?s seatbelt down over his boobs and around his waist and clips it in. Then, he closes the passenger-side door and enters the driver?s side. He sits in the driver?s seat, puts on his own seatbelt, and then begins to drive away. Orange streetlights flicker on Turner?s painted face as Andrew drives the car in the direction of home. The motion of the car wakes the crossdressing criminal. Turner?s female voice is slurred. "Hey." "Hey," his husband responds. "Andrew?" Andrew rubs his wife?s shoulder. "Yes, baby. It?s me. You?re in the car and I?m taking you home like you asked me to." Turner?s eyes are still closed. "Oh cool." "Did you have fun at girls night?" "I did," Turner answers, and he actually meant it. "A bit too much fun, by the looks of things," Andrew notes. Turner giggles girlishly. After seven years of pretending to be a woman 24/7, he acts and talks like a woman by default 90% of the time now. This fact is why, even drunk, he?s still managing to keep up the facade. "I drank sooo much." Andrew?s face bears a look of concern. "Why is that, sweetheart?" "Because I wanted to," Turner responds cutely. "That?s a good reason." Turner emits a high-pitched giggle. "Yeah." Turner yawns and opens his legs even wider, manspreading as he naturally would in his seat. Andrew notices but figures it?s just another effect of his wife?s drunkenness. "Do we still have that bottle of moscato at home?" Turner asks. Andrew looks guilty. "I drank it last night." Turner slaps Andrew?s thigh playfully. "Bad boy!" "Sorry, honey." Turner shrugs. "It?s okay. Let?s stop at the liquor store on the way home and I?ll grab another one." Andrew?s look of concern deepens. "Don?t you think you?ve had enough for tonight, darling?" "Nope!" Andrew shakes his head. The bottle shop?s roller doors are closed but the main door is still open. Andrew looks at his watch. It reads ?8:57pm?. "Looks like we got here just in time." Turner nods and digs into the expensive-looking leopard-print handbag Andrew bought him for his birthday last year. He removes his red purse and hands it to Andrew. "Can you go in for me, babe? I need to pee." Andrew takes his wife?s purse. "Alright. I?ll leave the keys in here for you." Turner nods. Andrew leaves. Turner then opens his door and makes for a small, brick public toilet nearby. Turner enters the toilet beneath the silhouette of a woman standing in a dress by instinct. He checks the stalls in the women?s bathroom but they?re all occupied. The man is busting to go by this point, so he doesn?t want to wait around. He staggers out atop his high heels back outside. He looks around in all directions to make sure that no-one is looking, then enters the men?s room. Again, the lone stall in the toilet is occupied. Turner is infuriated by this, but then he sees something that gives him an idea. There are two unoccupied urinals on the wall. Turner shrugs and walks over to one. He stands on his high heels with his feet apart in front of the urinal and leans onto the wall above it, barely able to stay standing. The man checks to make sure that no-one is around again, and strains his ears to hear possible approaching footsteps, before he lifts up the front of his dress, reaches deep into his white panties, and flops out the limp, uncut monster dick that he?s kept hidden for the last seven years. Turner exhales as he begins to pee. He yawns as he gushes piss into the bowl, and then he farts and scratches his ass under the loose, floral fabric of his dress. The perverted freak then shakes his penis and stuffs his junk back into his panties, between his thighs. He lets the front of his dress drop back down and pulls the chain to flush the urinal. The man then begins to wash his hands. As he does, he hears a toilet flush from the stall. Before Turner can react, the man using the toilet opens the door and exits. He notices Turner standing there washing his hands immediately and flinches. Turner is too drunk to genuinely care. The man rushes to zip up his fly. "Hey, what the fuck do you think you?re doing in here, lady?!" "Just washing my hands," Turner slurs in his girl-voice. "This is the men?s room, you stupid bitch!" the man goes on. Turner shrugs. "The women?s room was occupied." The man?s eyes widen. "Get the fuck outta here already!" Turner throws him an annoyed look. "Just fuck off, dude," "Suck my dick, lady!" Turner holds the man?s gaze as he walks toward the door. "Lick my snatch, asshole." Turner smiles as he stumbles out of the building. Even though his comeback was thoroughly emasculating, it had the desired effect. It shut the guy in the men?s room up completely. Andrew is already waiting for him when he gets back to the car. Turner ungracefully gets into the car, using the hand rest to swing himself inside. "Did you get it?" Andrew holds out a wine bottle covered in a brown paper bag. "I did." Turner takes the bottle of moscato greedily. Then, he unscrews the cap and takes a giant sip, eager for his high to continue. He lets the open bottle rest on top of his thigh. "Thank you." Andrew pulls away from the curb and resumes driving. "No worries. I put your purse back in your bag." Turner smiles. "Thank you, dear. How will ever repay you?" Andrew double-takes and smiles. "Uhhh, I can think of a way." Turner takes another swig. He then looks at Andrew and raises one eyebrow. "What?s what?" "Have some more wine and I?ll tell you." Turner drinks the bottle in two goes until only a quarter of it remains. Turner?s eyes are now glassy and he can barely speak. After three bottles of wine, the disguised man is absolutely trashed. "Baby?" Andrew says. Turner mumbles something incomprehensible in response. "I have something here for you." Turner?s response is barely audible. "What?" Andrew then does something very unexpected. He unzips his fly and brings out his penis. He begins rubbing the flaccid member so that he?ll get hard. "It?s a long trip home and I know you have a sweet-tooth, so I brought you a nice, big lollipop to suck on." "Oh, cool!" Turner says drunkenly. "Where is it?" Andrew places his hand gently on Turner?s neck and pulls his head down toward his crotch. "It?s right here, baby." Turner, drunk of his mind, grabs the first thing he can feel near his face, and wraps his hand around Andrew?s now-erect penis. Andrew groans. "That?s it, baby. Now you can stay there and suck on that to your little heart?s content." "Thank you!" Turner mumbles. Turner parts his lips and takes the head of Andrew?s penis into his mouth. He then begins to suck on it, not really sure of where he is or what he?s doing anymore. He bobs his head up and down, completely unaware that he?s just gone down on a man. Andrew smiles with delight, completely unaware that he?s getting a blowjob from a man. March 18, 1996 1 week until the statute of limitations on Shane Turner?s crimes is up. Six women of varying ages and attractiveness are standing in a row in a police lineup. Some of the women look humiliated and others look infuriated as they await directions from the police officers on the other side of the two-way mirror. Underneath the red pencil-skirt, black, low-cut top, and thick makeup of the fifth lady in the lineup is Shane Turner. He is visibly nervous, sweating and shaking as he stands there fully crossdressed, awaiting the police?s commands. Eventually, the police speak. A stern male officer?s voice crackles in through the intercom. "Okay, ladies, drop your skirts." The five women and the disguised male?s eyes widen. None of the women move. "Come on, ladies," the officer goes on. "I don?t like this anymore than you do but I?m not going to ask again. Take off your skirts." The six women reluctantly begin to reach down to the bands of their skirts. They insert their fingers under the bands and then they slowly begin to push their skirts downward. Eventually, six skirts sit on the floor by the women?s feet. Turner?s red pencil skirt lies on the floor between the adjacent women?s pink maxi-skirt and a short, sequined bubble skirt, and in front of Turner?s red 3-inch pumps. Now that all the women have been forced to remove their skirts, their panties are visible, sitting tightly around their wide, shapely hips. An assortment of panties and g-strings can be seen, in reds, whites, and purples. None of the women have bulges. All of them ? including the (fortunately) tucked Shane Turner ? appear as though they are dickless. All five women (and the disguised man) look even more embarrassed and infuriated than before. The half-naked, attractive woman at the beginning of the row looks like she could kill someone. Lady number three ? wearing a white, lace g-string ? has gone bright red and can?t bear to look at the mirror. Turner himself is sweating even more profusely than before, and is shaking violently and gasping for air as he tries desperately to keep it together in front of the officers. After a few moments, however, his worst nightmare comes to life, when the police officer issues his next command: "Okay, ladies: drop your panties." In unison, all five women and the disguised man bring their legs together and shut them tight. None of them obey the officer?s commands. They all just stand there, wide-eyed and humiliated, but also defiant, with their legs locked together. The police officer audibly sighs. "Ladies, we?ve been through this. If we have any chance of catching this bastard, Shane Turner, then you have to cooperate. We can?t let this dangerous criminal stay out of jail even a second longer. We have to expose him and for that, we need your help." Seconds go by in silence. "Girls, please. Remove your panties." None of the women move. They all just stand there, with their legs crossed over each other and together, trying to make up their minds what to do. More beats pass. Eventually, all five women relent. Turner?s eyes widen in horror as he watches all the women around him take off their panties. His heart-rate goes into overdrive as he watches them all pull their lace women?s underwear over their knees and let their panties fall to the floor. When this occurs, he realizes that, if he doesn?t do the same as all the other women have done, he?ll be singled out. The disguised man begins to freak out as the seconds go by and the pressure mounts. Eventually, he relents and pulls down his pink, lace women?s underwear as well. The criminal?s lace panties fall to his feet, and come to rest around his ankles. The man keeps his legs locked together the entire time, keeping his enormous dick held back between his thighs, hidden from the police officers? view. On the other side of the mirror, two male police officers and one female lean forward and examine each woman?s crotch. Some are hairy, some are shaved, but they?re all flat. Six, triangular, V-shaped crotches stare back at them. None of the women appear to have a dick. All of them (including Turner) appear to be the perfect figures of women. The male officer in charge of the whole operation, however, knows that it might be a trick. He leans forward and speaks into the microphone again. "That?s very good, ladies, but you all need to do one more thing." Turner?s entire body begins to shiver as the officer continues. "I need you all to open your legs." The women?s eyes all widen again. The left-most woman looks homicidal. Several other women look so embarrassed that they appear as though they could die. Terror wracks Shane Turner?s body. He places a jittery hand on his forehead, and uses all of his willpower to stop himself from whimpering. Again, the women don?t immediately obey the officer?s command. He sighs again. "Girls, please. This is the final step. All you have to do for me now, before you can go home back to your lives and your families, is just open your legs. That?s all you have to do. Please, ladies. Open your legs." Despite their rage and humiliation, eventually, the five real women comply. They reluctantly move their ankles and knees apart, and spread their legs. All five women?s tight cunts are revealed, offering conclusive proof that none of them are men. It doesn?t take the officers long to notice that one woman, however, hasn?t obeyed their command. "Lady number five: please comply with the instructions I have given you." Turner just stands there, skittish and shaking, obviously having a nervous breakdown. The police officer isn?t deterred. "Lady number five, I will say again: please open your legs." Still, Turner doesn?t obey. But, he knows he has to explain himself somehow. "I can?t!" Turner shouts, straining to keep his voice high-pitched. "Why not?" Turner?s eyes dart around as he desperately tries to think of a convincing response. Turner?s wide hips are in full view of the officers, his flat mangina, his toned set of shaved legs he?s got crossed tightly over the other to hold back his dick, and his upturned wrists framing them as he continues to panic. "Lady number five, please open your legs." "No! I?m a lady and I have to protect my modesty!" Turner squeals. "I refuse to be treated this way!!!" A nearby woman rolls her eyes, annoyed beyond reason that the fifth woman in the lineup is preventing her humiliation?s end. "For fuck?s sake just show him your snatch so we can all go home, you stupid bitch!" "Fuck you!!" Turner shrieks. "Lady number five," the police officer continues. "Will you obey my command? Turner says nothing. "Lady number five... obey me!" When it becomes clear that Turner isn?t going to spread his legs on command, the police officer behind the mirror gestures at another male officer. The female police officer looks on with soft eyes as the male officer removes his gun and goes into the lineup room. The women all look away when the male officer enters the room ? all of them horrified by being naked in front of a strange man. The male police officer makes a beeline for Turner and then holds a gun to the crossdressed man?s head. "Open your legs." Turner looks at the barrel of the gun pointed at him and whimpers femininely. The officer then cocks his gun with an audible, threatening ?click?. Turner whimpers again. "Open your legs!" the officer roars. "Noooo!!!" Turner cries hysterically as stares down the barrel of a loaded gun. "Lady number five, I will ask you one last time: open your legs, or face the consequences." Turner?s entire body tenses and he shakes with fear. He?s so scared he almost wets himself. "You have three seconds to comply." Eventually, the disguised man has no choice: He opens his legs. The man lets out a scream in falsetto as his massive, flaccid schlong flops out from between his shaved thighs, exposing him as the dangerous male criminal the cops are looking for to the world. High-pitched shrieks and screams come from all around him as the other women in the lineup realize that lady number five isn?t a lady at all. Their eyes bulge out of their heads as they?re greeted by the sight of the ?lady?s? dick, and they jump back in horror as they reach up to hold their mouths. Turner looks down at the giant, heavy hunk of meat hanging limply off his crotch for all the world to see with hatred. His dick has exposed and humiliated him. His own dick has betrayed him. As the women around him continue to look at his penis and scream, more police officers file into the room. Turner takes a swing at the pretty, female officer who tries to cuff him, desperately trying to fight off the police officers half-naked while wearing high heels. He manages to punch her in the jaw ? his giant dick wiggling wildly on his crotch the entire time ? just before a male officer does the same thing to him. Pain flares in the lower half of his face and he spins around and begins to fall. Just as he makes contact with the floor, however, he... Turner sits bolt upright in bed. He?s panting hard and sweating as he awakes from the nightmare. Turner looks to his right and notices that Andrew is awake as well. "Babe..." Andrew says, looking up at his ?wife? with concerned eyes. "What?s wrong?" Turner struggles to come up with an answer. "Babe?" "I had a bad dream," Turner admits. "Oh no," Andrew says. His voice is so soft and caring that it makes Turner angry. Andrew sits up and wraps his arms around the man pretending to be his wife. He talks to her softly, gently, comforting her after her nightmare. After a few minutes, he?s confident his wife has calmed down. "What was your dream about?" Andrew asks. "Nothing!" Turner says defensively. Andrew recoils at ?her? harsh tone. Turner closes his eyes. Then, he holds the bridge of his nose and sighs. "It?s nothing, honey. You can go back to sleep." "Only if you tell me you?re alright first," Andrew insists. Turner stops himself from biting the guy?s head off. Instead, he fakes a smile. "I?m okay. Go back to sleep." Andrew plants a soft kiss on Turner?s lips. Turner frowns as the man?s lips meet his, but his husband doesn?t seem to notice. Then, Andrew yawns and returns his head to the pillow. Turner continues to stare into space for a few minutes before he goes to sleep. He?s had that dream many times during the seven years he spent hiding from the cops in women?s clothing and underwear. The (admittedly ridiculous) idea that the police would get tipped-off that the man they?ve been looking for for years has been hiding out in a skirt has plagued him ever since he started disguising himself as a chick. The idea that the police would one day launch a full-scale, nationwide cock- check of all the women in the country constantly haunted his dreams. If the police did that, he?d have nowhere to hide. No amount of makeup and lingerie would save him. He?d have to get an emergency sex-change operation in order to avoid spending the rest of his life in prison. Turner gets up to go to the kitchen. There, he pours himself a stiff drink. When the criminal?s mind has detached a bit from reality, Turner decides to go to bed. He turns and walks down the hall toward the bedroom, inside his purple, satin slip. March 19, 1996 1 week until the statute of limitations on Shane Turner?s crimes is up. Shane Turner ? dressed as Bonnie Hamilton in a green crop top, a medium- length denim skirt, and a pair of white, 4-inch heels ? waddles out of a building, beneath a sign saying: ?Venus Waxing & Beauty Salon?. His shiny blonde hair falls across his back in waves and he has a leopard print handbag slung over his shoulder. As he weaves his way through the crowds of passersby, he seems to be holding his crotch and walking slightly funny, even for someone trying to walk in such high heels. The guy has clearly just had a bikini wax. His boobs jiggle above his exposed midriff as he walks down a flight of stairs. A black car pulls up on the other side of the road as he does. Turner spots it and begins to walk toward it, surreptitiously holding his stinging butt as he moves to relieve the pain. The driver?s side window rolls down. The driver watches Turner waddle toward the car. The occupants of the car are Morris and Donovan. Donovan is driving. Turner stops just outside the window and leans downward. "Hey, pretty lady," Donovan says mockingly. "How much for two guys looking for a good time?" Turner looks around the busy street and knows that he has to respond in his female voice. He rolls his eyes. "There isn?t enough money in the world." "Get in the back, sweetheart." Turner?s expression morphs into a black look as he opens one of the rear doors and steps inside. He closes the door behind him and the car drives off. Morris steals a glance at Turner in the back seat. Turner is sitting with his legs apart, looking slightly anxious. "My, aren?t you looking lovely today?" The crossdressed man shoots him a disgusted look. "That?s a cool skirt, Shane," Donovan says. "What kind of panties are you wearing under there? Are they frilly?" Turner?s eyes narrow at Donovan in the rear-vision mirror. Morris sniffs the air. "What is that heavenly perfume you?re wearing?" Turner doesn?t respond. "Turner!" Morris demands. "It?s Midnight Fantasy," Turner replies angrily, in his real voice. "By Britney Spears?" Turner hesitates before speaking. "Yes." Donovan turns to Morris. "How the fuck did you know that?" "It?s my wife?s favorite," Morris replies. "I thought I recognized it." He rotates to look at Turner in the back seat. "Did you hear that, Shane? You and my wife might have a lot in common. You two should organize a ladies luncheon one day to discuss hosiery and bitch about men." "I?m warning you two bastards..." "Ooohhh, Mrs. Hamilton?s getting bitchy!" Donovan mocks. "Oh, I?m sorry Mrs. Hamilton!" Morris adds in. "Here, let me comfort you..." Morris turns around and extends his hand towards the disguised man in the backseat. He places his hand on the guy?s exposed knee, slides his hand up into the slit of his skirt, and begins to gently massage the inside of his shaved thigh, almost touching the guy?s polka dot panties with his fingertips as he does. This infuriates Turner, who immediately responds by reaching into his handbag, and drawing a small, black handgun from it. He points the handgun right between Morris? eyes. Turner shakes with anger. "Get your fucken hands off me, dude." Morris immediately removes his hand from Turner?s skirt and leaps back, terrified. "Now, if you assholes are done mocking me for something I?ve been forced to do just to stay out of prison, let?s talk about what we actually need to do here." "Alright," Donovan relents. "Just put the gun down." It takes a few seconds, but, eventually, Turner drops it. Morris explains the plan. "You?ll be posing as a female police officer. We?ve got you an ID badge and a uniform that should fit you in the back. The ID is fake so don?t let Tony look at it too much." "Okay," Turner says. "What do you want me to say?" Donovan continues. "Just pretend you?re a lady cop who?s recently been assigned to the case and you need to be brought up to speed. Say that you?ll be the one handling things from now on and you?d like to hear his side of the story. Hopefully he?ll tell you everything that?s happened so far and what he intends to do going forward with the police. Try and find out if he?s going to rat us out. If he is, leave and we?ll try to figure out what to do about it." Turner thinks about that. "What if he recognizes me?" Morris gestures at Turner?s gun. "Looks like you?ve already figured that part out." "And where are you two gonna be during all of this?" "We?ll be in the car outside, waiting," Donovan responds. "We?ll park slightly down the road so he won?t see us." "And won?t Tony eventually realize something?s fishy about all this when he talks to the police next?" Turner wonders. "Surely he?ll mention that an officer visited him." "He will, but by that time we?ll be long gone," Morris replies. Turner thinks about all of this, turning it over in his mind. "So you bastards?ll be right outside, waiting to pick me up and get me out of here if I get into trouble." "Absolutely. You have our word," Morris answers. "We?re all in this together." Turner thinks some more. "Fine. Where?s this uniform I?m supposed to wear?" Morris gestures behind him. "In the back on the seat next to you." Turner locates the bag immediately and opens it up. A light blue police shirt is inside. "And what about the badge?" "There?s a badge and a card," Morris tells him. Morris hands a fake police badge and an identification card to Turner. Turner examines it, holding it between his bright red fingernails. Bonnie Hamilton?s face is in the picture, and next to it is a rank and name printed in black block letters. When he sees the name, his body tenses. "Lieutenant Nancy Holloway??" Morris and Donovan glance at each and smirk. "Welcome to the force, Nancy," Donovan says. Turner?s mouth arches in anger. Morris and Donovan descend into laughter. The car pulls up a ways down from a dilapidated-looking house in the suburbs. Turner exits the car wearing a women?s police uniform, consisting of a light-blue collared shirt, a peaked cap, dark blue cargo pants, and black boots. A gun is holstered on his leg. His shirt is a size too small and is much too tight, meaning that his giant boobs are almost busting out of it. The man begins to walk up the street and toward the house with a feminine gait (wrists slightly upturned, one foot before the other like he?s trying to walk a straight line). Sinclair?s house is sandwiched between two other houses that look even worse than his does. The paint is peeling off the walls; graffiti has been painted over the garage door, and part of the roof is covered with blue tarpaulin. Sinclair must not have done well for himself in the years since the robbery. Heavy metal music comes from inside the house, turned up loud. Turner knocks on the door. The music stops. The door opens. A big, burly man appears in the doorway. Turner gulps as he takes in the intimidating size of the man before him. The square-jawed man looks significantly older than he did at the party seven years ago, and now bears the sunken eyes of a drug addict. His shoulders and biceps are massive. The outline of his six-pack abs is visible underneath his tight, blue wife-beater singlet. Turner begins to sweat as he looks up at him ? Sinclair could easily snap him in half and there isn?t a chance that he could stop it. He suddenly feels self-conscious about the bra and panties he?s wearing under his police uniform. He wishes he could take them off so he could face this guy as a man instead of sissy. Sinclair looks his ex-partner?s disguise up and down approvingly, taking in the sight of the ?woman?s? hourglass figure. "Who are you?" he asks lecherously. Turner?s eyes narrow. "I?m..." "Hell, I don?t even care, honey," Sinclair cuts in. "Just tell me you?re single!" Turner just gulps as beads of sweat begin to appear over the layers of makeup on his forehead. He?s terrified both of being easily overpowered by a dominant male, and of being recognized. Sinclair smiles as he raises a beer to his lips using a tattooed hand and arm. "Tony Sinclair?" Turner asks using a surprisingly authoritative woman?s voice. "Speaking?" "My name is..." Turner sighs. "Lieutenant Nancy Holloway, New South Wales Police." The disguised man flashes his fake badge. "I?ve come to ask you a few questions about your situation to get background information. I?ve read all your case documents but I?d like to get your side of the story. May I come in?" Sinclair hesitates a moment, visibly appraising the unfamiliar female cop. Eventually, he shrugs, takes a sip of his beer, and stands aside. "After you, Lieutenant." "Thank you." Turner looks at Sinclair carefully for a moment, searching his face for any trace of recognition, but, to his relief, he finds none. Then, he goes inside. Sinclair ushers Turner into his equally dilapidated living room. A hot woman is inside. She?s covered in tattoos, has a spaced-out look in her eyes, her thin blonde hair is disheveled, and she?s clearly a drug addict. When she sees the female police officer that Sinclair has entered the room with, her eyes widen. She stands and comes into Sinclair?s beefy arms. The woman looks apprehensively at Turner?s police uniform. "What?s she doing here, baby?" Turner?s lips arch slightly; he?d never get used to a hot woman referring to him as ?she?. "She?s here to talk to me about my case." "I?ll be in the kitchen." Sinclair raises a hand to stop her. "Hold up a sec." He then looks at Turner. "Can I get you anything, Lieutenant Nancy?" Turner grits his teeth. "It?s Lieutenant Holloway. And no, I?ll be fine." Sinclair kisses his woman?s forehead and speaks gently to her. "You can go, baby." The drug addicted woman shoots a worried glance at Turner before fleeing the room. Sinclair sits down and indicates for Turner to do the same. "Sit down, make yourself comfortable." Turner follows his instruction and sits on a leather couch next to a sleeping black cat. He crosses his legs like a woman when he does, keeping up the pretense even though he would?ve felt much more intimidating around the big man sitting with them open. "So tell me," he asks in a shaky, high-pitched voice, "what?s been going on? Don?t leave out anything." Sinclair shifts in his chair and begins to speak. "Alright. As you know, new DNA technology placed me at the bank robbery seven years ago. I was approached several weeks ago and was brought in for questioning. I made a deal to plead guilty in exchange for a reduced sentence." Turner?s heavily lined eyes open wide at that. "I made bail and am now awaiting trial. My lawyers have assured me that I?ll lose the case. I?m still in talks with the police and my legal team about getting my sentence further reduced." Turner is now visibly shaking at this point. He seems extremely nervous about what Sinclair will say next. "And how will you do that?" "By revealing the identities of the men who helped me rob the bank that day," Sinclair reveals. Turner crosses his legs even tighter over the dick he?s hiding in his pants. "I?m taken to understand that you haven?t already done that." Sinclair looks Turner directly in the eye. "No." "So, what are you waiting for?" Turner asks. "I?ve been trying to find out the location of the third man who was there with me that day," Sinclair responds. "I already know where two of the men are, but the third one has proven difficult to track down. "Why is that?" "He looks different to how he did all those years ago." "You mean older?" "That and different in general. He was the guy who had his mask pulled off during the robbery. The guy who was all over the news. You know him ? Shane Turner." Turner?s hands are shaking violently at this point. "Yeah." "He got breast implants and started wearing women?s clothing to disguise himself as a broad to hide from all the cops that were after him. He must?ve been convincing because no one ever caught him. There were hundreds of cops looking for him and they still are. From what I hear, he?s still hiding out in women?s underwear, waiting for the day that the statute of limitations on his crimes runs out." Turner feigns surprise at his story, pretending that he didn?t know anything about what Sinclair had just until now. Sinclair looks him directly in the eyes again. "Can you imagine a man being that pathetic, Lieutenant? To be such a pussy that he?d rather spend years hiding under a wig and makeup than just confront his fate directly? To be so weak and scared that you?d rather spend seven years in high heels and a skirt than stay and fight like a man?" Turner has broken eye contact with Sinclair now, twirling his blonde hair absently while trying not to explode with rage. "Mmmm. Seems like what he did was pretty reasonable, given his situation." "I think he?s a freak." Turner can?t conceal his black expression. "That?s your opinion." "It?s the truth," Sinclair says. "That thing is a shemale." Turner fakes a brief, ladylike smile to mask his anger. "So how will you find him? It sounds like the guy is pretty well hidden." "I don?t think I?ll have to look very far." Turner?s eyes lock onto Sinclair?s, who?s still peering directly at him. Turner sits back as the fear hits him but he manages to smile through it. He stands. "Well, Mr. Sinclair, I think I?ve gotten all the information I need right now." Sinclair stands as well. "Yeah, but I haven?t. Sinclair advances on Turner quickly. Turner screams in a high-pitched falsetto and tries to make a run for it. Sinclair catches him easily and pulls him toward his body. Turner flails as he?s held tightly in place by the powerful arms around his body. He tries to reach for his gun but Sinclair has beaten him to it. Sinclair grabs the gun out of Turner?s holster and holds it with one hand. Turner squeals like a girl and struggles violently, scared out of his mind and desperate to get away. He still keeps up the pretense of being a woman, straining to keep his screams high-pitched, desperate to trick Sinclair into thinking he?s made a mistake. While Sinclair holds Turner still, we see Sinclair?s meaty paw travel down the crossdressed man?s flat stomach and slide into his pants. Half of Sinclair?s arm disappears into Turner?s black uniform pants, presumably into the captive man?s panties. His eyes widen when he finds what he?s looking for inside them. "Nice cock, Nancy!" At that moment, Turner knows the jig is up. He drops the act. Real screams now tear their way out of his throat, deep, ragged, and masculine. "What are you doing here, Shane?" Turner doesn?t respond. Shane tightens his grip on Turner?s cock, squeezing the hell out of it and along with his nuts. Turner roars with pain. "I was checking up on you!!" "Wanted to see if I was gonna rat you out to the cops to save my own ass? Wanted to see if I was gonna tell the pigs that the man they were looking for isn?t actually a man anymore?" "Of course I was, asshole!!!" Sinclair walks to the window, taking Turner with him, and takes his hand out of the crossdresser?s pants. He looks out onto the street. He doesn?t see a car anywhere. "Did you come alone?" Turner thinks for a second. "No, there are people outside. If they hear me screaming, they?ll move in." Sinclair smiles. "I doubt that." Just then, Sinclair?s girlfriend enters the room. She looks horrified by what she sees. "What?s going on here, Tony? Why are you holding her like that??" "It?s not a ?her?, baby," Sinclair tells her. "She?s not a woman. This bitch is a man, and he?s not a cop." The woman cups her hands over her mouth. "What??" "I?ll explain later. For now, go get me a couple of cable ties and the phone." The woman leaves and returns immediately with the items she was ordered by her boyfriend to retrieve. "Good girl. Now tie the ladyboy?s hands up." Turner looks furious as the woman binds his hands with the cable ties. He?s helpless to resist given the gun Sinclair has trained on him. He?s even further infuriated when she glances at him with a humiliating mix of confusion and disgust. "Now, give me the phone," Sinclair instructs his girl. The woman obeys. Sinclair holds Turner in place with one arm while he dials the phone and holds it up to his ear with the other. "Hi, my name is Tony Sinclair. I?d like to speak with Detective Ellie Harris please." "What is this regarding?" the man on the other end of the line asks. Sinclair smiles. "Just tell her that I?ve found her fourth man." Turner?s eyes widen in horror. March 18, 1996 (Same day) Sinclair is in the middle of tying Turner to a chair. The crossdressed man flails and struggles against his bonds but he?s unable to get away. He?s stuck sitting in that chair, just where Sinclair wants him. Sinclair stuffs a sock in his mouth to gag and silence him. Sinclair?s girlfriend watches on, horrified. "This is too weird." "Then go home," Sinclair tells her. "I?ll deal with this." The woman steals another horrified look at Turner, before she nods and leaves. Sinclair rounds Turner menacingly. "Shouldn?t be long now, Shane. The cops?ll be here any minute." Turner?s eyes dart around in fear. "And when they do, I?ll be looking at five years for the robbery, tops, while you?ll probably be in for twenty years to life." Sinclair stops in front of Turner and then leans down. He grabs the two sides of the crossdressed man?s light blue police shirt and rips it open. Buttons fly everywhere as Turner?s white, lace bra and breasts are revealed. Sinclair leans down further and examines his ex-partner?s heavy set of tits, taking note of how the man?s cleavage is actually spilling over the cups of his bra. Sinclair eyes the tits. "Woah... Very convincing stuff, Shane. You even had me fooled for a few minutes when you first walked in here. I had to really look closely at you to be sure." Sinclair reaches up and reaches into Turner?s bra. As Turner produces muffled screams and struggles to get free, Sinclair brings out the man?s boobs and leaves the hanging over the bra?s cups. The two, pink teardrop shaped masses jiggle slightly when Sinclair lets them drop and then come to a stop. Sinclair looks disturbed by the sight of the two soft masses but can?t look away. "Holy fuck..." Turner looks absolutely furious as Sinclair then reaches up again and begins to gently tweak his hardened nipples, while Sinclair watches his reaction to it closely, with great interest. "Is that doing anything for you, Shane?" Sinclair asks softly. "Is that stimulating you?" Turner, unable to answer either way, continues to yell through his gag and flail. Sinclair withdraws his hand from Turner?s chest then and stands up straight. He looks around the room, but he doesn?t find what he?s looking for. He places his hand on the back of Turner?s neck and gives him a little massage, before he starts to walk away. "I?ll be back in a second, princess. Don?t go anywhere." Turner stares daggers at Sinclair as the huge man walks out into the hall. He returns shortly thereafter with something Turner recognizes immediately. Turner?s eyes widen when he sees it. A packet of makeup wipes is in his hand. "These are my girlfriend?s," Sinclair explains. "I?m sure she won?t mind us using them." Sinclair reaches into the already-open packet of makeup wipes and brings one of the wet towelettes inside out. He then extends it toward Turner, who screws up his face and desperately tries to angle his head away. Sinclair then begins to wipe all the makeup off Turner?s face. Turner gives up his struggle after a while and just lets it happen. His face goes soft as Sinclair drags the towel over his forehead, cheeks, chin, eyes and nose. He looks like he?s about to cry. He?s totally helpless as his disguise is wiped away and his true identity is revealed. This is the first time that Shane Turner?s real face has been fully exposed in public in seven years. Eventually, every single trace of makeup on Turner?s face is gone. Bonnie Hamilton?s face has been removed, leaving a snarling Shane Turner in her place. His 5 o?clock shadow is now visible, leaving him with long, blonde feminine hair, and a huge pair of feminine breasts, but a man?s face. He looks like a circus freak; a bizarre, perverted cross between male and female. Sinclair recoils from the sight of it. "Ah, there you are, my old friend. You looked better as a chick." Tears begin to form in Turner?s eyes. Sinclair resumes walking menacingly around him. When he?s standing behind the seated man, he reaches downward and pulls his hair. "Is this a wig?" Sinclair tugs Turner?s long blonde hair violently a few times, while Turner sits there looking homicidal. It won?t budge. "Guess not." Sinclair continues to round the man. "You can?t even imagine the favor you did me, Shane. I knew you were hiding out as a chick but I had no idea which one. There are thousands of women in the area, and you could?ve been underneath the makeup of any one. Little did I know that, if just sat tight for a while, you?d sashay your pretty little way in here and deliver yourself to me without me having to lift a finger. The detective leading my case is going to be so happy, after she?s done throwing up." Turner is sitting quietly now, seething with his eyes narrowed. Sinclair is now standing in front of Turner, leering threateningly over him. "All I have to do now is make sure that the cops know exactly what?s going on when they get here." Turner?s eyes widen when Sinclair reaches out yet again. He watches the man?s beefy hands travel toward the sides of his black pants, and as he starts to slide the pants down. Just as the band of Turner?s white and red polka dot panties are revealed, something happens which stops Sinclair. The door busts open. Morris and Donovan rush in brandishing handguns at Sinclair. Sinclair sees them and holds his hands up, despite having a gun. "Sean, Jeff. Come to save the tranny, have you?" Morris goes over to Turner. He looks at the bare breasts hanging off the man?s chest below his masculine face, and shudders before untying him. "No," Donovan responds. "We couldn?t care less about that thing but we heard it screaming. What we want is to know what the hell?s going on with the cops!" "So why not just come ask me?" "Because we didn?t know if or what kind of deal you?ve made with the police! Even talking to you could?ve led the cops straight to us!" Turner gets up. He pulls his panties and pants back up and does up the fly. He then stuffs his boobs back into his bra and closes his shirt over them as best he can without buttons. "What did he tell you?" Morris asks Turner. "He was going to rat us out in exchange for a shorter sentence," Turner responds, rubbing his lacerated wrists. "The only reason he hasn?t done it yet is because he couldn?t find me." Donovan looks at Sinclair. "You son of a bitch." Sinclair?s nostrils flare. "I did nothing different to what you guys would?ve done. I was just trying to save my ass!" "Yeah, well, you?re gonna have to find a way to do that again." Sinclair puffs out his chest. "Meaning?" "Give me one good reason why I shouldn?t kill you, Tony," Donovan demands. "Just one." Sinclair thinks for a second. When he can?t come up with anything, he does something extreme: He aims his gun and fires at Donovan. Donovan cries out and ducks behind a couch. Morris and Sinclair do the same. The three men then begin shooting at each other. While Morris and Donovan fire at Sinclair from one side of the room, Turner makes a run for it. He manages to get through the house and to the back door. He throws it open and then goes around the side of the house, his open shirt flapping in the breeze all the while, revealing his flat stomach and white bra. Turner begins to make a run for it toward the car but something stops him dead in his tracks. Three police officers are running toward the house with their guns out. The lead officer is Ellie Harris, the attractive young female policewoman he?d met a while ago. "Jack, you and Tim try to negotiate from the front door," Harris says to the other officers. "I?ll go in around back." Turner takes a step back, horrified. The sound of gunfire can still be heard coming from inside. "Oh, fuck!" Detective Harris begins to make her way right toward Turner. Turner turns and runs back into the house, terrified that she?ll spot and recognize him as a partially crossdressed Shane Turner. Turner bolts up the steps and back through the screen door. He then looks this way and that, trying to come up with a course of action. The man spots the bathroom. The door is half open. A makeup case can be seen next to the sink. It must belong to Sinclair?s girlfriend. Turner gets an idea. He seizes the opportunity and runs into the bathroom. He then begins to lather his face in foundation. The male police officers are now outside the house?s front door. "Cease fire!!" one of them yells. "Drop your weapons!!" The gunfire ceases. "Now everyone come out with your hands behind your heads!!" Turner dashes to apply contour as all this is going on, desperate to bury his masculine identity under a female one. Morris and Donovan glance at each other, unsure of what to do. Sinclair is behind the couch, thinking. There are only two bullets remaining in the chambers of his gun. Turner rushes to apply eyeshadow as the stand-off continues. The man spots a dark floral blouse hanging on a hook behind him and takes off his police shirt, ready to put the blouse on for when he?s finished with his makeup. "You all have ten seconds to comply before we call for backup!!" Sinclair looks horrified by this turn of events. He then turns and shoots off one round at Donovan and Morris for cover fire before fleeing deeper into the house. The huge man rushes into the bathroom. Turner yells out in his male voice in fright. Sinclair spots Turner immediately and then grabs him violently by his bare shoulders. Turner?s breasts jiggle as Sinclair traps him in his embrace. Sinclair holds the gun to Turner?s head. "Not so fast, petal. You aren?t going anywhere." Turner tries not to scream. "Okay, okay!" they both hear Donovan announce. "We?re coming out!!" Sinclair shakes his head. "Pussies." The first male cop secures the prisoners and the second moves further into the house. They join up with Detective Harris and they all start throwing open doors. Eventually, they reach the bathroom. "Police!! Freeze!!" Sinclair holds his gun to Turner?s head, taking the terrified transvestite as a hostage. He pushes the barrel further into the disguised man?s skull to drive home the situation to the cops. "Don?t anybody move!!" Detective Harris screams. "What the hell is going on here??" "This is him, Detective!" Sinclair roars. Detective Harris? brow furrows. "Him? Him who??" "This bitch isn?t a woman! She?s Shane Turner! She?s a man!!" Ellie Harris looks Shane Turner up and down. Her eyes settle on the bulging set of breasts nestled in his bra for a moment. She then bursts out laughing. Turner looks visibly relieved. The other two police officers come up behind their leader, escorting a cuffed Donovan and Morris. "Tell her, boys! It?s true!" Sinclair goes on. "This thing isn?t a chick! It?s just Shane Turner with a bit of makeup and a boob job. Here, let me show you!" Sinclair reaches for a pack of makeup wipes. As he does, Detective Harris screams: "Don?t make a move!!" "Please, detective, if you?ll just let me show you..." "I don?t need to see anything!!" Turner realizes that he seems to have the detective on his side. When Sinclair digs the gun further into the side of his head, he decides to kick his act up a notch. He screams in falsetto, playing perfectly the part of the hysterical damsel in distress. "Help! Someone help me! Save me!!" As Turner?s high-pitched screams echo around the bathroom, Sinclair begins to look agitated. "He?s lying, detective! I know it?s hard to believe but this woman is really Shane Turner! He?s been disguising himself as a woman for the last seven years, waiting for the statute of limitations on the robbery to be up!!" Ellie Harris no longer looks amused. She?s truly concerned about the safety of the woman that this dangerous lunatic, Sinclair, has in his capture. "That?s the dumbest thing I?ve ever heard in all my time on the force. Let the poor woman go, Sinclair ? NOW!" "Detective, please, protect me!!" Turner squeals. Sinclair?s body tenses with anger. "Shut up, you stupid bitch!" "He?s a rapist!" Turner shrieks, pushing his voice into the highest pitch range it can possibly go. "They?re all rapists! They kidnapped me and brought me here against my will! They were about to have their way with me!!" "Hey, shut the fuck up, Turner!!" Donovan bellows. "We wouldn?t touch something like you with a ten-foot pole!!" "What the fuck, Shane!!" Morris roars. "It?s not true, Detective Harris!! Tony?s not lying! She really is a man!!" Turner starts faking tears. "My name is Bonnie Hamilton! I am a wife and a mother to two beautiful children! I just want to go home to my family!!" Donovan, Morris, and Sinclair look outraged at Turner?s words. "Stop lying!!" Morris demands. "You motherfucker!!" Donovan yells. "Let the lady go, Sinclair!" Detective Harris orders. "This is your final warning!!" "Please, detective! Let me show you!!" Sinclair again begins to lower his hand toward Turner?s crotch. Just as he is about to slip his hand into Turner?s pants, Detective Harris shouts. "Don?t you dare sexually assault that woman, Sinclair!! You have five seconds to let her go before I take action!" Sinclair looks terrified, but he doesn?t let Turner go. "Five, four..." Donovan, Morris, and the two male police officers watch on silently, waiting for Sinclair to decide what to do. "Three, two..." Sinclair is sweating. Terror is in Turner?s eyes. "One." Sinclair finally relents. "Okay!!" The big man pushes Turner away from his body. He throws down his gun and puts up his hands. Detective Harris moves over to Sinclair immediately and moves to cuff him. Turner runs into the arms of one of the male police officers, pretending to seek comfort and protection in the arms of a tall, powerful male. All three criminals stare daggers at Turner (who?s now wearing Sinclair?s girlfriend?s floral blouse) as they?re led away, probably to spend the rest of their lives in prison. Turner is still holding onto the burlier male cop for protection. Donovan, Morris, and Sinclair have given up trying to prove that Bonnie Hamilton is really a man in disguise ? his costume and his act are just too convincing. The men are placed into a police car and are driven away. When they do, Detective Harris speaks to Turner. "Hey, Mrs. Hamilton," Detective Harris says softly. "Are you okay?" Turner tries his best to look like a scared little girl. He makes a high-pitched noise and nods quickly to convey a positive response. "Did those men hurt you before I came?" the female officer goes on. "No, I?m okay." "Good. Did you want to press charges against them? Just say the word and we can make it happen..." "No. I just want to go home." Ellie Harris nods. "We?ll give you a lift." She takes Turner?s hand. He hesitates for a moment before taking it, keeping up the pretense of being a sweet, innocent, skittish woman who was almost raped, but then he takes it gently and allows himself to be led toward a police car. As they walk, Harris continues to speak. "Don?t worry, Mrs. Hamilton. Those men won?t get away with this. We?ll make sure that they?ll go away for a very long time." "Good riddance." Detective Harris laughs and holds the door for ?Bonnie? to step inside. Once the crossdressed man is inside, she gets into the driver?s seat. "I know it?s no consolation, but at least you?ve got an interesting story to tell your family when you get home." Turner manages to fake a brief smile. Detective Harris grins. "You can tell them all about how three male criminals randomly accused you of being a wanted man in disguise!" Turner fakes a chuckle, while dabbing his eyes with a tissue. His mascara is running from his fake tears. "Yeah, how crazy is that?" "That you could be a man?" Detective Harris exclaims. "Yeah, that is crazy! I wonder how they thought that that rubbish would fly?" Turner regards the cop carefully. "Desperate men do desperate things, I guess." "I suppose. Well, wherever Shane Turner is, I guess he?s happy," Detective Harris goes on. "The statute of limitations on his crimes is up next week. At the stroke of midnight on Thursday, he?s a free man." Turner smiles. "Sounds like he?s a lucky dude." Detective Harris shrugs. "I guess he is." March 29, 1996 The day after the statute of limitations on Shane Turner?s crimes is up. A woman is sitting in a blue, bright, sterile-looking examination room. The woman ? really Shane Turner in disguise ? is on the edge of a bed, wearing a light blue hospital gown. He is sitting with his legs together, and is fidgeting with his hands in his lap, as he waits for the surgeon to return. Eventually, he does. "Ah, Mrs. Hamilton," the surgeon says. "How are you feeling?" "I?m fine," Turner responds. "That?s good. Before we begin, I?d like to ask you if you have any questions or concerns before we start the surgery?" "No." "Are you sure, madam? I only ask because removing your breast implants is something that can?t be easily reversed. I just want to make sure that you?re one hundred percent comfortable with your decision." Turner looks the doctor in the eye. "Just get these goddamned titties off me, dude," he answers, letting his voice slip a bit into his male register. The surgeon?s eyes widen slightly at Turner?s coarse, unladylike phrasing. But, he quickly recovers, and nods. He checks his clipboard. "Alright, then. I?ll just need you to take down the top of your robe. I will need access to your breasts so I can mark the areas I?ll need to work in." Turner obeys the man. "Fine." Turner?s face becomes increasingly more severe and angry as he feels the surgeon fondle his boobies, and as he marks off the places he is going to make the incisions. As two female nurses enter the room and prepare to wheel him into the operating theatre, Turner looks down at his boobs. Bye girls, he thinks, as he looks at his breasts for the last time. His mind flashes back to all the times he?s looked down at his chest to see a tiny baby suckling milk out of his own set of boobs and nipples. The image haunts him. He cannot wait to be rid of them. April 5, 1996 8 days after the statute of limitations on Shane Turner?s crimes is up. Andrew?s ute pulls up outside the house. The engine quiets and the man inside steps out. The door closes with a metallic thunk. Andrew looks around the front yard. He can?t see his wife?s hatchback anywhere. It was unusual for her not to be at home. The man?s face bears a look of concern as he climbs the stairs and goes inside his family?s house. All is quiet inside. The sound of the front door closing echoes throughout the silent house. Andrew takes his shoes off at the front door, knowing that his wife will throw a fit if she knows that he walked on her floor with dirty shoes. The floorboards creak underneath Andrew?s feet as he walks inside. "Bonnie?" No answer. "Bonnie?" Andrew continues. "Honey, I?m home!" This time, Andrew does get a response. He hears the sound of a baby crying. Andrew goes deeper inside the house to the nursery. There, he finds Liam in his cradle, looking scared and distressed, all alone. Liam?s father scoops him up and holds him in the crook of his arm. He bounces the baby slightly the way he?d seen his wife do a million times to calm him and walks back out into the hall. Emily isn?t home because she?s at a friend?s house on a sleepover, so that?s okay, but where?s Bonnie? Andrew checks the kitchen (the first place he expected to find a woman), then the bedroom, Emily?s room, the study, and the basement. The house is empty. Andrew goes into the living room and looks around. The TV is on, but it?s displaying static. Andrew continues to look around the room and spots something on the coffee table. He ignores Liam?s continued bawling as he goes over to get a better look. A video tape is on the coffee table. It?s been labeled ?Andrew, please watch this?. Intrigued and excited by the idea that his wife might?ve planned some sort of raunchy sex game where she plays hard to get, he immediately inserts the cassette into the VCR and hits play. A picture of the couch Andrew is now sitting on appears within the frame. The couch is empty, and Andrew is initially confused, but then his wife appears in the frame. She?s wearing a feminine, pink, floral, high-waisted sundress and light brown, high heeled sandals. The recording shows her sitting on the couch, with one leg draped over the other, assuming a prim and proper pose. She sips from a teacup with her pinky extended, and then places the tea and saucer down on the table in front of her. She then begins to speak. "Hello Andrew. By the time you see this video, I?ll be gone." Andrew?s eyebrows move closer together in confusion. She?ll be gone?? "We?ve been together a long time now. I have been waiting, dreaming, pining for this moment for seven long years, counting down the days, marking each off the calendar." Andrew?s concerned expression deepens and a knot tightens in his stomach. This moment? "I have to thank you for everything you?ve done for me," Bonnie goes on. "You helped me get around the fact that I didn?t have an identity while I was hiding out. All my bills were paid in your name. My car was registered in your name. The rent was paid in your name. I got to have a phone, electricity, water, an internet connection, a bank account, a credit card, cable, a car, a house ? all the things that the dead woman?s driver?s license I bought off the darkweb couldn?t let me have while I was in hiding." In hiding?? "What the fuck is going on?!" Andrew shouts at the TV. Liam begins to cry even louder now, as the image of ?Bonnie? continues to speak: "You?re probably extremely confused by everything I?ve said so far, so let me explain what?s going on. You see, seven years ago I did something. Something bad. Something so bad that, if I had allowed myself to be captured by the police, I probably would?ve spent the rest of my life in jail." Andrew leans forward toward the TV, his mouth open. "All I needed to do was hide myself from the police for seven years, until the statute of limitations on my crimes was up, and I would be free. So, I started wearing a disguise ? a costume ? so that no one would recognize until the day that I didn?t have to hide anymore. That disguise was your wife." On the screen, Bonnie Hamilton does something that changes Andrew?s life forever. She pulls up her dress and brings it over her head, revealing her lithe, feminine figure. Then, she reaches into her white, lace panties and whips out the giant, monster cock that she?s been hiding between her legs from her husband for seven years. Andrew cries out in shock as Turner then rips off the wig he?d bought to cover up the new, short, masculine buzzcut that he?d gotten a few days before. Liam?s crying reaches fever pitch as his father begins to yell and scream in horror at what he?s seeing. Turner drops the lady voice. "I was a man this entire time, you dumb shit! Your wife was just a costume I wore ? a bit of paint, fancy dress clothing, a fake voice, and a cheap boob job, and you didn?t even suspect! Your wife doesn?t exist. She?s just a character that I?ve been performing for seven horrible years. And now she?s gone!" Andrew is still yelling out in horror as he stares at his wife?s enormous, newly-revealed, wrinkled penis and her big, hairy balls. THAT?S why she never wanted to have sex! Not because she was raped! Because she was hiding a dick in her panties the entire time!! At first, Andrew?s mind can?t comprehend what he?s seeing, but then it does, and his entire body heaves as he looks at Turner?s giant cock, and he vomits repeatedly onto the floor at the twisted sight. Andrew continues to stare at the horrific recording as he continues to puke, and as Turner takes off the bra he was wearing. When he does, the two, large wads of tissues with which he?d stuffed his bra for the purposes of the video fall onto the floor. His flat chest is now revealed, and the two permanent scars from his boob job are clearly visible under each of his pecs. He holds his bra up to the camera and he sets it on fire with a lighter, his hairy arm pit visible in the background. The flames begin to engulf the white, lace lingerie in the criminal?s hand immediately. "Liberation!!" Turner yells as he burns his bra. "Ahahahaha!!" Turner chucks the burning bra away before the fire reaches his fingers and then spits at the camera. The man then gets down and speaks directly into the lens as he uses makeup wipes to remove the paint covering his real face. Turner?s true identity is then revealed. "I hate you, you piece of shit. Fuck you for making me blow you!! Fuck you for making me breastfeed that kid!! For forcing me to talk like a girl all day and night!! For making me get up every fucking morning at 5am just to shave so that you?d never see me with a beard!! For making me keep my legs together for hours everyday to appear ladylike and chaste!! Fuck you for making me swallow your cum!!!" Andrew is crying his eyes out now, and his voice is so hoarse that his screams come out as whimpers. "I hate you and those fucking kids!! You?re lucky I didn?t kill you for all the hell you put me through!! For having to kiss you! For having to let you fuck me up the ass for hours at a time! For having to be your personal chef, servant, maid, nanny, and sex toy all these years!!!" Turner gets up and moves his dick right up to the camera lens. Andrew shrinks back from the screen as his wife?s dick fills the frame and its owner starts to jerk it. When Andrew notices that the now-naked man on the screen still has faint bikini tan lines on his body from their family trip to the beach last week, he pukes once again. "You can?t even imagine the things I?ve had to do to keep this thing hidden from you for seven years," Turner rants, still stroking his cock. "You can?t imagine all the pain, all the contortions, the tucking, the chafing, the rush to quickly stuff it between my legs whenever you barged into a fucking room, having to walk around with it stashed in the back of my panties so you?d never see a bulge, hoping you never decided to reach back behind me and feel my secret..." Andrew rushes to the phone and starts dialing a number as he watches the man who he had believed to be his wife start to put on men?s underwear and clothing. Turner is completely dressed in men?s clothing in short order. "Go to hell, asshole!!!" Tears stream from Andrew?s eyes as he tries to call Bonnie?s cellphone. He slams down the phone and smashes it to pieces when he can?t get through. He smashes the receiver against the base over and over, screaming at the top of his lungs, before he finally drops it and turns back to the TV. Turner?s face fills the screen again. "You?ll never see your wife again, you cunt. I?m gone. She?s gone. And if you?re thinking about calling the police, think about how much fun you?ll have explaining to them how you?ve spent the last seven years sleeping with a man. Think about the looks on the cops? and the journalist?s faces as you tell them that you married and spent the last seven years kissing, cuddling, holding, and having sex with a man. Everyone will know that, while I hated every minute of doing what I had to do to survive, you enjoyed it! You loved kissing a man!! There isn?t a woman alive who would touch you knowing that you loved being married to a man!! I wasn?t the one who enjoyed kissing a man ? you were!!" Andrew continues to scream and hyperventilate. He looks around the room frantically, trying to locate something. When he can?t find it, he runs out into the hall, flings open the front door, runs down the steps, and gets into his car. Then, he starts the engine, swings the vehicle around, and launches it out the front gate. Dust sprays out behind the car as Andrew wheels it onto the dirt road outside the house. When the car is facing down the long, straight country road, Andrew slams down the accelerator and the engine roars as it picks up speed. The car?s speedometer needle rises to the 120 kilometers-an-hour mark. Through the front windshield, Andrew can see the speeding car approach a bend, but the driver doesn?t move the steering wheel. Instead, he pushes the gas pedal down to the metal, and allows the car to careen into a telephone pole, stopping the vehicle dead in its tracks, and killing the man inside instantly. April 22, 1996 25 days after the statute of limitations on Shane Turner?s crimes is up. Purple and blue streaks across the sky over a full parking lot of cars. Behind that parking lot is a restaurant with a large, lighted sign on the top that reads: ?Penrith RSL Club?. Turner and Sophie walk into the foyer of the Returned & Services Leagues club. They pass the older men and women who are also patronizing the club and go over to the front desk to sign in. Turner is wearing a cool, black leather jacket and blue jeans. His blonde hair is in a man-bun and he looks dashingly masculine. He isn?t wearing a scrap of women?s clothing, lingerie, or makeup, and he walks with his head held high. The statute of limitations on the bank robbery is up. For the last seven years, the man would never have even dared step out of the house in anything other than heels and a skirt, but now he is free. Sophie is wearing a pretty, red skirt, black stockings, red high heels, and a sequined top under her jacket. The couple ? boyfriend and girlfriend ? hold hands as they approach the counter. The woman at the front desk greets the man and the woman with a big, friendly smile. "How can I help you?" "We need to sign in," Turner says. "Sure thing!" The desk clerk opens the visitor?s book and hands Turner a pen. Turner takes the pen, leans over the page, and starts to sign his name. Because he isn?t paying too much attention to what he?s doing, he makes a very big mistake: he accidentally signs his name as ?Bonnie Hamilton?. When he realizes his error, his body tenses and he scrambles to scratch out his alter-ego?s signature. Sophie notice?s her man?s sudden jolt. "What?s wrong, baby?" "Nothing!" Turner stammers defensively. "I just fucked up my signature." "Okay," Sophie says softly. When Turner finishes signing his name properly, he straightens up. He notices that the desk clerk is looking at him strangely, but she quickly looks away. He?s almost certain she saw him sign with a woman?s name. He feels like punching her when she refuses to make eye contact with either him or Sophie after that. She probably thinks he?s a female-to-male transsexual now who made a gaffe in her act. After successfully living as a woman for seven years, and only now starting to venture back out into the world as a man, he kind of was. After seven years of pretending, Shane Turner is more woman than man. He?ll need to relearn masculinity in order to get his life back. "Have a good night, guys," the desk clerk says. Turner seethes when he notices she?s still avoiding eye contact with him. Sophie takes Turner?s hand as they proceed to the escalator. She then stands pressed up against Turner and wraps her arms around him as the escalator takes them to the top floor, enjoying the fact that her man is a bit taller than she is. The couple makes their way past the rows of poker machines and over to the club?s restaurant. As they near the door, a man goes in before them, and Turner?s body visibly tenses when the man doesn?t hold the door open for him as he has come to expect over the years. Then, Turner reminds himself that that would never happen to him ever again and lets it go. Turner and Sophie wait in line for their turn to be seated. As they do, something happens that again puts Turner in a very awkward position. Someone behind him calls out the name ?Bonnie? in a loud voice. After seven years of answering to that name, the man instinctually responds to it before he can think about it. "What?" When Turner wheels around to answer to the name ?Bonnie?, he realizes his mistake. The man pales with embarrassment as he watches an old lady behind him respond to the name as well, and embrace a young man who is probably her grandson. Turner tries to hide the fact that he?s dying of embarrassment after responding to a girl?s name in front of a crowd of people. It?s a loud venue though, with a cacophony of voices providing the ambience, so no one seems to have noticed, except for Sophie. "Shane?" Turner?s girlfriend asks. Turner tries to read Sophie?s face before he responds. She looks confused. "Shit," Turner says quickly. "I thought he was saying ?Shane?." Sophie?s brow furrows. "He was calling for someone named Bonnie..." "Oh, okay." Sophie shakes her head and the couple continues to wait. Eventually, they?re called and a young, Asian waiter shows them to their table. Turner pulls out Sophie?s chair for her like a gentleman, allowing her to sit down, and then he sits down across from her. Both Sophie and Turner cross their legs like ladies underneath the table, both assuming the effeminate, European Leg Cross pose. The criminal?s mind is still acting on years of deliberate feminine reprogramming, after almost a decade of being forced to follow society?s expectations of female mannerisms and etiquette. When Turner hears sniggering at a neighboring table, he looks up to see two young boys laughing and pointing at the fact that he?s instinctually crossed his legs over each other in a ladylike manner. He glares at them angrily and spreads his legs. The two boys look away and Turner resumes scanning the menu. Turner has to consciously ignore how skanky and slutty he feels sitting with his legs spread wide apart. He has to ignore the learned fear that someone might see up his skirt, even though he wasn?t wearing one. Sophie looks up at her date and smiles. "What are you getting, my love?" Turner looks at the menu. He was eyeing the chardonnay, having developed a taste for the stereotypically female drink over his years pretending to be a lady, but he forces himself to look at the beer selection instead. "I?m not sure yet." The waiter returns. He looks at Sophie. "Are you ready to order, ma?am?" Turner and Sophie both answer ?Yes? simultaneously. Turner flinches when he realizes his mistake, and his face goes red with embarrassment. After years of training himself to respond to ?madam? and ?ma?am?, answering to them is second nature by now. If he wasn?t careful, that second nature was going to get him into a lot of trouble. If he wasn?t careful, he might do or say something to reveal to Sophie that she?s dating a man who had spent the last seven years living as a woman. Both Sophie and the waiter look at Turner strangely. "Sorry. I thought you said ?man?," he recovers, starting to get agitated at all the mistakes he?s making. "I?m sorry, sir. Are you both ready to order?" Sophie and Turner both nod. "Excellent. For you, ma?am?" "Can I get the veggie risotto with a glass of white wine?" The waiter nods. "Of course, ma?am. And for you, sir?" "Get me a beef burger with a bottle of Corona," Turner replies. "Sure thing." The waiter bows slightly and leaves to give the kitchen their order. Sophie opens her mouth to speak but Turner cuts her off. He pushes out his chair and stands up. "Where are you going, baby?" Turner?s girl asks. "I gotta go take a leak." "Hurry back," Sophie says lovingly. Turner nods and makes his way over to the bathrooms. As he walks, he notices the nearby bar. A big, lighted sign on the front says: ?Ladies night?. Turner feels slighted by the fact that he?ll have to pay for drinks if he leaves the restaurant area. He?s not used to having to pay for his drinks on ladies night. As Turner contemplates this, he glances at the signs above the bathroom doors, and he pushes open one of the doors and walks inside. He begins to unzip his fly as he walks over to a stall, when he hears something that makes him stop dead in his tracks. "Hey, what the fuck, dude??" a woman cries. He looks up to see another woman come out of a stall, pulling up her skirt. She screams hysterically when she sees a man in the ladies room. Turner immediately realizes that, again, following his learned instincts, he?d accidentally gone into the women?s bathroom! "Sorry! Wrong room!" Turner quickly turns and makes for the door to escape. "Ewww you fucking pervert!!!" he hears the woman scream behind him. Turner quickly enters the men?s room and enters one of the stalls. Then, he unbuckles his belt and pulls his pants down. The ex-bad boy almost sits on the toilet to pee sitting down like women do, the same way he?s peed nearly every day for seven years, but he stops himself. He lifts himself up, brings up his pants again, flops out his giant schlong from his briefs, and pees standing up like a man. He stands tall and proud as he does so, with his chest puffed out, almost as if he?s asserting his masculinity over his learned female behaviors as an act of defiance. Turner exits the stall and washes his hands. Then, he leaves the men?s room. He returns to Sophie. She looks up at her masculine man lovingly as he sits back down. "Hey, mister." "Hey." ~o0o~ Sophie and Turner finish their dinner and the waiter gives them the bill. Turner initially doesn?t go for the check at all. He?s so used to having a man pay for his dinner that his mind doesn?t even register the fact that he should be the one to settle up the bill. When Sophie looks at him expectantly, though, he realizes his mistake and goes to pay for the check. When he sees the almost $200 bill, he almost misses his panties, heels, and skirt. He reluctantly pays, as the man, and the couple stands and leaves the restaurant, hand-in-hand. When they get to Turner?s new four-wheel-drive, Turner has to consciously remember to walk over to the driver?s seat. He is so used to being a passenger and letting a man drive him around that he?s afraid he might go over to the wrong side of the car out of habit. Inside the car, Turner and Sophie look at each other. "So, uhh, what would you like to do now?" Sophie asks. "Wanna go back to your place and fuck?" Turner responds. Sophie smiles widely. "Hell yeah." Turner smiles. His erection grows in his pants as he starts the car. "Excellent," he remarks as he reverses the car. As the vehicle pulls away, it passes a telephone pole. On that pole is a small white sign, with the word ?Missing? printed in bold, black letters at the top. Below that word is a picture of a woman. A picture of a woman nobody would ever see again. A picture of Bonnie Hamilton.