Q Is for Queen

"That's really good of you. Maybe you could have got more without, you know, the conditions and so on."

"Well I'm not so sure. We got some grants from Brussels to help out. Basically, except for Kathleen, everybody wins."

I remembered what I'd read in the library earlier the previous day. Had that been so recent? Less than thirty-six hours really, it seemed like months. Mildred came through with the fruits of her labours and Paul and I sat on the patio enjoying her great cooking with a glass of white wine. We'd just finished the dessert, and Paul was going to pour another glass of wine for me, when something clicked. I stood up.

"Hang on a minute, Paul" I said, suddenly just a little perturbed.

It had been something Mildred had said, I hadn't realised the significance until that moment. I turned and headed back through the house towards the kitchen. I'm afraid I interrupted Mildred and George just as he was wrapping his arms round her, and she was giggling again, not very seriously trying to counter her husband's advances.

"Oh my. Sorry Miss Marie" she gabbled on seeing me walk into the kitchen.

I was probably looking a little angry at the time.

"That's OK. But Mildred, when we were talking, you said something about the blue room, and then you said 'your room'. Is that right?"

"Yes it is. Mr Paul said ...."

"Said what?"

And I was certainly becoming angry, Paul hadn't asked me about anything like that.

"Miss Marie," George interrupted, to defend his wife. "Paul asked me to take your cases up to the blue room. That's all."

I spun expertly on one stiletto and hurried back through the house.

"Paul! Did you or did you not tell George and Mildred that I was staying the night?!"

"Oh shit!"

"You might well swear. Really Paul, you didn't ask me at all. I said I was going to drive over to Claire's, and surprise her. You remember?"

Paul looked quite contrite. Clearly I'd embarrassed him.

"I didn't actually say that. All I said, Marie, was that you might be staying the night. This was before you mentioned Claire. I asked George to make sure the blue room is sorted, you know, sheets on the bed, so that I could ask you if it came to that. It means you have a choice. You can drive over to your sister's or, if you like, you can stay here. You'll be quite safe, I promise, I'm not an ogre."

So he hadn't actually assumed anything. He'd just made contingency plans and it had been me who jumped to conclusions. I might have stayed angry with him even, played up with mock anger to replace the genuine ire which was receding, but at that moment, just behind Paul outside the French windows, I saw a pair of pheasants. Just strolling across towards the lawn, the cock dressed in his glory, the dull brown hen. I just breathed in sharply.

Paul turned and followed my gaze.

"They look happy."

"They do."

And I nearly melted. Paul put an arm round my shoulder and hugged me gently and right there and then I nearly succumbed. I wanted to. It had been a long time since I'd been with a man, and this gorgeous, kind man who was stroking my upper arm seemed to be so desirable I really did begin to wonder if this was some sort of 'turning point'. Whatever our relationship was going to be, at that moment it was so different to anything I'd felt with any other man.

I turned my face up and towards his.

"Paul. If I did think about it, I might stay. Look, this is turning into something - serious. At least I think it is, I've never really felt like this before. I mean, I do, but I don't know about you?"

He just looked at me. For more than a few seconds our eyes met. His are brown, I'd not realised, almost the same colour as my father's.

"This is new territory for me too, Marie. I'd never have thought .... , I mean, I'm not so sure about what this means but .... oh hell, I'm not saying this right."

"Yes you are. You're doing fine. And I've just realised. When you kissed me the other night, in - where was it - oh yes, in Cannock, I didn't understand why that kiss was different. And then yesterday after the show, I felt I needed to kiss you again, just to make contact, just to in some way show you how I was feeling. Not that I really understood it then, and I don't now."

I was blabbering too, neither of us seemed able to put whatever was going on into words.

"Paul. I've just realised. I haven't kissed you today."

He was still gazing into my eyes.

"Look, this is different. I'm not a drag queen right now, this isn't just me being with a fan. This is me really being a transvestite, and standing here with a gorgeous guy. So. What do you think?"

"I've never actually kissed a transvestite before."

"No time like the present."

I moved right round to face him, shivering a little as his arm slipped round my waist, as my lips moved closer to his ....

And then his mobile phone rang. Not that I'm into fate and all that stuff, but just at that moment it occurred to me that this might be an omen. Maybe we'd both made a mistake, maybe I was presuming too much. And just maybe Paul would have recoiled if we'd gone ahead and he'd properly realised he was kissing a guy.

"Blast!" was his one-word response to the bring - bring from the phone in his pocket.

I pulled back, he took it out and looked at the screen.

"Marie, I should get this."

"That's OK" I said, somehow massively disappointed and immensely relieved at the same time.

I had a breathing space, I had to think. I'd been on auto-pilot for several minutes and really had to resume control in some way. In my job, whether dragged up or just cross-dressed, a woman has to stay in control. All sorts of things could disturb her equilibrium, a snagged earring, a broken heel - or a man. I stood back to give him some privacy but I could hear some of what he was saying.

"Hello ..... Yes David .... yes ..... no, I won't be there ...... surely not, it was sorted ages ago, wasn't it ..... no, I definitely can't, I've told you ..... no, it's awkward right now, I've got someone with me ..... what..... all right then, ten minutes ..... what .... well tell him to keep his mouth shut in future. Yes, ten minutes. OK."

He looked annoyed. Well, upset anyway, something had clearly gone wrong somewhere.

"Marie, I'm sorry, I need to go out for about twenty minutes. There's a dinner at the golf club tonight and I'm sponsoring two of the prizes and there's a problem with the engraving. You remember Donald, the young man in the Forester this morning? Well that was his dad. He's worked out why I'm not going. Donald saw us this morning obviously and said something to him about me and my - er - girlfriend. Look, George will do you a coffee. And when I get back, well, you can decide then whether to push on to MK tonight. OK?"

"Paul, you have things to do. Go on, don't let me get in the way. Go, go, I'll get myself a coffee."

He grabbed his coat, turned to go, and then turned towards me again. He kissed me quite hard on the cheek.

"That'll have to do for now, back inside half an hour. Tell George, I'll drive myself."

And he was gone. The romantic mood of five minutes earlier had evaporated. I really was thinking that the interruption might have been fortuitous, surely I'd have found it very difficult to just go if ....

I walked through the house to tell George where Paul had gone and to explain - as far as I knew - about the golf club and so on.

"George, is Paul missing out on the dinner because I'm here. Is that why?"

"No miss, that's not why. He just couldn't go tonight. It's just about a year since Mrs Kathleen went, the dinner was the last time they went out together. Everyone knew what was going on except him it was so very awkward. He just couldn't face it."

That did it. That decided me.

"George. Tell Mildred too, I'll be staying tonight. Did you say you'd taken my cases up to the blue room? Can you show me?"

It was Mildred in fact who showed me up to one of the rooms we'd looked into during the tour earlier. My two cases, the red and the blue, were standing at the foot of the bed.

"Thanks, I'll just get a few things unpacked."

"Right Miss, do you want me to help?"

I declined the offer, I knew I'd need one or two things from the blue case. But it was the red one really, I hung the dresses on the hanger in the large wooden wardrobe and looked at them. Yes, that one, I hadn't been sure I'd brought it. I'd got a new black dress in Harrods a couple of weeks earlier, not for a specific number or artiste but just because it was so gorgeous. And I'd bought it in a 10!

I spread my other clothes in the top drawer of the dresser and then assembled my make-up and jewellery and so on laid out on the actual top of the small dressing table in there. And I was delighted to see there was decent light and a decent mirror. I heard Paul's car returning, he'd been a lot less than half an hour. I rushed down the stairs as he came in the front door.

"All sorted?" I asked.

"Yes, daft engraver. He'd done the right names but on the wrong trophies. We just swapped the labels, that's all. Really someone else should have done that. Now, where were we?"

He'd reached out to grab my waist.

"Wait, Paul. Tell me about this dinner. Why aren't you going? You said you're sponsoring two of the prizes. Shouldn't you be presenting them, isn't that what usually happens?"

"Well, maybe. But I'm not going. If you think I'm going through that again, you're mistaken."

Then he realised he was speaking rather unkindly, and to me.

"I'm sorry Marie. Long story, but I'm not going."

"I'd like to stay the night, Paul. Mildred has shown me the blue room, and I've unpacked."

"That's wonderful. Now I'm definitely not going out."

"And I'd like you to take me to the dinner. I know I can pass OK, remember, it's my job, and I'm good at it."

He really was flummoxed, I'd surprised him yet again.

"Marie, I know you would pass, absolutely no trouble there, but the dinner, well, it starts in three-quarters of an hour. I'm not sure at all about this, and could you be ready in time anyway? It's a good fifteen minutes drive."

That floored me but I wasn't going to be defeated.

"When are the presentations? At the beginning or the end?"

"They're after the dinner, at about half-past ten. They do a long fancy dinner there. But we'd both need over half an hour to get ready, surely."

"Half an hour? Paul, you have no idea. If I'm going to do this I need a major reconstruction. This is a big engineering job. Probably nearer an hour and a half, if you're lucky. I've got a black dress with me I think would suit fine."

"The Shirley Bassey one? Like I saw on the previous show. Long and slinky, you looked great in that."

"No, I don't do her any more, Paul. This one is a bit glitzier. It'll be fine at a golf club dinner, believe me, it's just the sort of thing for your girlfriend to wear. Look, George told me about last year's dinner. Well that was then and this is now. How about it?"

He smiled, very widely.

"Marie, you are wonderful."

"Right, I'd better go and make myself beautiful," I replied.

I did. Make myself beautiful, that is. While I'd been looking through the clothes as I unpacked them I'd been thinking what to wear and how to wear it, how to give exactly the right impression, the right effect. OK so I'd always done the glam aspect of a woman's appearance during my act, and I knew I could dress down to an extent and go for realism as I had earlier in the day. But all day I'd been feeling so feminine. I realised that with the dress I'd decided on, and the right make-up done ever-so-incredibly-carefully, I could do proper female glamour. I'd realised how.

OK so much of it was external, the clothes and the make-up. But that day, and in particular late that afternoon when I'd got very near to kissing Paul, something had clicked inside me. I'd experienced something new about my feelings inside, about me being me, being Marie. I knew, I KNEW, that at the golf club that evening I could actually in some way or other actually BE Marie. Marie the woman, that is, in a way a compromise or rather a combination of the extrovert drag queen I'd been all my career and the convincing woman I'd been that day. I knew I could bring the two together.

Back in the blue room - my room - I locked the door behind me and totally stripped. I mean the lot, make-up, artificial and stick-on bits, wig, the lot. It was time to start from fresh. I showered. I depilated even though really I didn't need to. I slipped on my very best-est black silk thong and nestled my cock into place, tightly tucked between my legs. And then I started on reconstructing myself.

The boobs were easy. I've always gone for a DD-cup myself even from my early days in drag. I reckon it's the right compromise. I've always wondered just how I looked if I went a little more extreme. Not stupid like JJ or something like that but with breasts bigger but not obscenely so. Maybe FF, I still think I could get away with something like that. But DD is pretty full and I've always known I have the frame to carry them.

I have to admit that as I sat at the dresser after sticking them on and smoothing the cover-up gently over the edges to blend their colour in with my own skin, I did wonder just how I was cope with thrusting breasts in that dress. I don't know why I got it in a size 10 knowing full well I'd have problems levering my flesh into it, a 12 or even a 14 would have been a much more practical proposition. I knew the foundation wear would have to do a lot, in squeezing, lifting and thrusting, and I was just hoping I wouldn't have to back off and go back to the glittery tomato-red Dolly Parton dress. It was a very attractive dress and I knew I looked good in it but in that situation I wasn't going to be singing country-and-western. I was going to be as near as dammit a woman.

The corsetry had to come next. The make-up and nails and so on would depend on my success. I knew exactly how I was going to dress the rest of my body, sheer seamed black stockings, my 6" black patent stilettos with the two ankle straps and big silver-coloured buckles, the silver-style jewellery and so on, but the basque was key. I held it up and loosened the back-straps. I shimmied my body into it and got the bra-cups as near as I could in place and then pulled on the straps.

Like I said, a big engineering job. I've read learned articles about how under-wired bras are designed to give women uplift, and about the stresses and strains a woman's body has to endure in carrying large breasts around. And there was a big feature in 'DQ' which is a sort-of trade magazine for girls in my profession about how to choose the right foundation wear. I've always gone for correctness in lingerie, hell, I know one drag queen who insisted on wearing his boxers under his dress but I wasn't into that. Claimed it helped keep some vestige of masculinity for her, or rather him. Me? No way. Silk knickers every time and expensive corset or basque, I'm always into doing whatever is necessary to get the proper female shape.

I pulled tight and then adjusted the bra-cup position. Then I pulled tight again, getting to the 'discomfort' stage. Which is where I usually stopped if I was doing this for my act. But I knew at that stage I wouldn't get that dress on. Too much bulk in the wrong places. I readjusted and got the cups and the under-wiring in their proper position, noticing with some considerable satisfaction that my cleavage was already looking impressive. Then I got my tightening bar.

'What's that?' I hear you ask?

Well, it's my own design. It coils the straps from almost any type of cincher or basque and basically allows leverage. When you pull and twist you can lock it in place, then pull and twist again. It's a bit difficult doing that with your arms round your back, and almost impossible to manipulate if you've made the mistake of sticking your long nails on first. But it works. I'd often used it if I was after a more-than-impressive cleavage, like the Dolly dress, and had gone as far as doing the pull-and-twist process twice.

I needed more. I did it four times. Pull, twist, pull, twist and then repeat twice more. I was breathless, I managed to slip the bar out and unclip the straps, aching rather with the pressure on my midriff and abdomen. I knew if I went for one more go I'd pass out, I'd be restricting the blood-flow somewhere or other. I stood for a minute, just breathing and wriggling to let the basque settle into place and to allow some parts of my body to creep a little and relieve some of the pressure. After another minute the aching was receding. So it still felt ever-so-tight, I'd gone further than before but I knew it was going to be necessary.

When I looked in the mirror I realised I'd reached my limit. If I'd measured there and then I reckon I'd have ended up with something like 40-22-36. Top-heavy, yes, but that was really the whole point. I'd gone for minimal bum-padding, realising some of my own flesh would end up squeezed down there and the full pads would be too much. But I was so pleased with the cavernous cleavage I was revealing and confident I would actually be able to get the dress on. Tits-to-die-for, tits fuller and lifted more than I'd ever managed before. Yes!

I didn't do the dress yet, deciding the general movement around as I stretched and sat and went about the rest of my preparation would be simpler if I wasn't wearing it and that the general easing of bits of my body inside the basque would be able to continue as I moved. But, I realised, though I'd taken quite some time getting the hourglass figure right the other aspects of my look, wig and jewellery and make-up and so on, would have to be exactly right too. So, methodically if not exactly calmly, I set to in sliding my stockings on, teasing out my wig, and doing my face.

There at least I was on more familiar ground even though the vast majority of the times I'd made up before I'd been into big false eyelashes, over-budget lips and eyebrows which, though feminine in shape, could be seen at least from the middle of the hall. But I'd often practiced the more realistic feminine look specially for photo-shoots and so on where you really don't need to overdo things for the camera.

So I was able to quite quickly produce the almond-shaped, very slightly angled eyes with the right coverage and location of eye-liner and eye-shadow. And not do my eyebrows too thickly. And of course not overdo the blusher, a common tranny mistake I've always thought, so that it complemented rather than took anything away from my carefully crafted lipstick, lip-liner, and lip-gloss. With a selection of silver-based rings and my neck furniture and earrings in place, I was ready for the final two steps. I slid my heels on and stood up, relieved that though my basque was ultra-tight it did its job, controlling my body and giving me the shape I wanted without restricting my movement too much.

And then the wig. Really I'd have liked to go for a different colour, not too different from the blonde I'd had before but a little more dramatic. However, with Mildred and George in mind, and of course the young man who'd seen me with Paul earlier in the day, I really had to stay with the same one, same length and same colour. I had just teased it a little, much easier to do with a good quality wig of course rather than a nylon one. Effectively too, I thought, looking in the mirror to get the final effect. Same wig but worn differently, just a slightly more exotic style with several wisps hanging down the one side of my neck. Really, in a sense, a good imitation of a modern-ish hairstyle, better than I'd hoped.

And then the dress. I took it from the hanger, un-zipped it, turned it round and stepped into it. Carefully. I'd bought it on a whim, an expensive whim. I'd been in a sex shop in Fulham looking for a slinky silver dress, having decided to work on a Shania Twain set for my next tour maybe. I'd not found that but I had ended up buying some long false nails in there because they were in a 'sale'. Yes, I'd thought it weird too, having something like that actually in a sale. But the dress had caught my eye just as I'd been leaving, I'd just had to turn right round and go back to the very butch woman who'd served me and ask about it.