Day Fool's April

"I'm cumming now April." He panted.

I turned my head a little and managed to gasp

"Yes Roger, fill my womb with your thick juice."

Which is exactly what he proceeded to do. His pulsating cock pushed me over the edge and I came with explosive force. I grabbed the pillow with both hands and crammed it over my ears, but I was still sure my banshee like scream could be heard for miles around. I was effectively deaf and blind, 100% absorbed by the invasion of the space between my thighs. Eventually he stopped and I reached through my legs to cup his balls and squeeze out the rest of his semen. I imagine it was more than he could bear and I heard a great swoosh as he extracted his tool with some alacrity. It took a few moments before I composed myself and was able to raise my head from the pillow. As my eyes re-focussed I was shocked to discover a Turin shroud like imprint of my face on the pillowcase.

It was at this very moment that this middle class woman in her fiftieth year had an epiphany. This woman who had earlier prostituted herself for the price of a minor sink repair was now on her knees, stark naked with her bottom in the air, her yawning cunt leaking the semen of a man less than half her age onto an 800 GSM Egyptian cotton towel. And worst of all, thinking in the third person.

It was time to make a big change. I resolved there and then that thirty year trademark or not, I was going to cut down on my mascara use. Obviously not to a ridiculous extent; you should never make a life changing decision in the heat of the moment. Besides, Francis was downstairs eagerly awaiting his encounter with a glamorous lady with beautifully made up eyes. I glanced at the clock. Wow! It was a quarter past ten! Roger had screwed me practically non-stop for an hour. He was flat on his back now, the angry monster at peace, laying across his thigh and dribbling après cum onto my sheets. I was pressed for time but couldn't resist the urge to run my tongue down his entire length before taking as much of him as I could in my mouth to suck him clean. He tasted delicious and I lingered a little too long. Roger was a genuine 24 carat stud in the making and he began to harden. I had to summon all my willpower to remove the business end of his cock from my mouth and say

"I'm so sorry Roger, you're going to have to dress now."

"That's fine. We agreed sixty minutes and as long as I live that will remain my finest hour."

It was a lovely thing to say. Then as I made my way to the en-suite, I noticed that streaming through the little gaps in the curtains strands of light were appearing upon the bedroom floor. The early morning gloom was giving way to what promised to be a bright remainder of the day.

"I have to go to get myself ready for Francis, so be a dear and let him in on your way out."

I had a quick douche and have to admit that after I freshened up I took the time to apply some lip-gloss, then a little eye-liner, eye-shadow and mascara. I had a hunch Francis would appreciate such things. And I was dead right.

I peeked out as before and there he was sat on the bed, shoeless, but fully dressed. I decided it would be appropriate to approach him in my birthday suit and bestrode the Colossus. I started to unhitch his dungarees but he put a hand over mine and said

"I'd prefer if you could use your time to give me a lesson."

"But I thought you said that you were the best."

"I'm the best plumber as you'll discover when you check your sink. I've fitted some lovely mixer taps and a waste disposal. My problem is the make-up. I'm an absolute duffer. When I go out clubbing I look like a right tart."

It had been a morning full of shocks and I don't suppose this was the biggest, but it would have won hands down most days.

"You want me to show you how to apply make-up instead of having a fuck?"

"I'm not really one for the ladies but I think with your help I could look like one."

"I wouldn't have thought in a million years that you were a transvestite!"

"And I wouldn't have thought in a million years that you were 39 if I wasn't. You look incredible. You could easily pass for 30, but we both know you're way over 40. Now part of that must be genetic. I mean your body is off the scale, but your face must be partly down to your brush work."

"So you're Franny the tranny?"

"I prefer Frances."

"Well Frances, I'll be able to help you improve your look, but you're so broad and you must stand, what, six feet four?"

"Five."

"Six feet five. You know you'll never pass for a woman."

His lovely brown eyes teared up

"I know that. I just don't want to look like a tart anymore."

I was like Roger. I had the equipment but not the experience. I'd never worked on another person before. Fortunately Frances had a similar complexion to my own. I removed myself from his lap and reassured him.

"You won't look like a tart ever again. Come over to the dressing table and I'll show you how it's done."

I got to work, talking Frances through the whole process. By the time I'd finished he looked beautiful. He was very fine featured and must have had a very close shave before he came over. Thinking of close shaves was a mistake. I thought "I wish I'd had a close shave earlier with Bill instead of..." Then, all of a sudden I was being carried to the bed, thrown onto my back and enjoying the best love making in history. We did it in every position imaginable and several that weren't. Oh God, I couldn't tell you how many orgasms I had. If I was able to, you wouldn't believe it.

I'd been able to summon up an image of my morning rogering as I'd decided to call it and Bill disappeared into a place in the darkest recesses of the back of my mind. As I came out of my little day dream Frances was still transfixed, gazing narcissistically at his reflection, experiencing a far more intense pleasure than I could even imagine. I crossed the room to the wardrobe to fetch a couple of items. He didn't even notice until I came back and demanded

"Take off your dungarees."

He did as I asked and dropped his boxers too. I knew his legs were long and would probably be shaven, but they were slim and shapely too. Alright, his lovely pins weren't the first thing drew my attention. His lovely penis was the first thing I noticed.

"Absolutely magnificent!"

"Don't say that. It's a right pain in the arse. So difficult to conceal when you're wearing a tight skirt."

I'd been given the opportunity to act offended.

"What sort of a woman do you think I am? I didn't even notice your cock. I was talking about your legs."

She was embarrassed.

"I'm sorry. Of course you wouldn't even look. You're a lady."

"Obviously I spotted it you idiot. I'm not blind. I would've liked to be struck blind when your boss was fucking me though."

I conjured up my morning rogering image and all was well.

"He won't be fucking anybody for a while."

"Why? What happened?"

"When he came down he spoke rather graphically about what happened in the bedroom. I don't like men being disrespectful to ladies."

"What did you do?"

"Let's just say he has three Adam's Apples now."

"Ironic really, I was going to give you a tip on how to make your bits disappear."

"I hope you're not going to be vulgar."

"In Georgian times small willies were de rigueur and pants were tight so they developed a device to pull their manhoods up between their legs. Trust me, I'm an historian. Go to the library. Look it up."

"I will."

"Anyway, you were saying?"

"Yes, there was this knee to groin incident and while he was clutching where his testicles used to be, unfortunately he got knocked out."

"You mean you beat him up?"

"Just because I enjoy dressing like a girl doesn't mean I fight like one."

I was delighted, but feigned concern.

"Where is he now?"

"Hopefully in the cells, possibly Casualty. Roger said he was going to dump him somewhere in town. Before I came up we chucked him in the van, stuck a funnel down his throat and forced a bottle of cheap Japanese whisky from your liquor cabinet into him."

That would have been the 1960 Yamazaki Single Malt. But as it meant Roger had probably come around in town, made a nuisance of himself and been arrested, it was a worthwhile investment. If he hadn't been given a good hiding then prosecuted for being drunk and disorderly and assaulting a police officer already, he would be very soon. I could forget what happened with him and finish assisting the new boss.

"Great! I've been trying to get rid of that Jap' crap for ages. Now try this on."

I passed him a floral sarong I'd picked up for a song in Bali. He wrapped it around his waist.

"And now this."

A double platted chestnut wig. I'd bought it for Wolf for his birthday several years back along with a pleated skirt, white blouse and some ribbons. He said it was his best present ever. Frances loved it too.

"It's fabulous darling."

"Wouldn't you just love to be walking on a tropical beach, feeling the sand between your toes?"

"I'm not really a beach girl. I love my shoes too much. I'm very lucky in that respect. I'm only a size six."

In a day of shocks, this was the biggest. I'd not noticed his disproportionately small feet. He'd been wearing bulky work boots earlier. Later I was focussed on having sex with him. Then when that was off the table he was naked and my eye was drawn away from his feet. Even now as a heavily made up man standing six feet five and resplendent in a sarong and wig it was hard to notice his feet. And worst of all, I too am a size six.

"So I'm able to find shoes easily."

This was becoming a very uncomfortable subject. I didn't want it to develop to the point where I was talked into exhibiting my Manolo Blahniks. Who could say what that might lead to?

"Of course because of my weight I can't wear heels. They break as soon as I start to walk in them."

Actually Frances would get a kick out of the Blahniks. She loved shoes. It was just such a drag that she wouldn't be able to try them on.

"That's a terrible shame. Would you like to have a look at my Manolo Blahniks?"

An offer she surely couldn't refuse. But she did!

"No, I couldn't possibly. I love Blahnik. He's a genius and you have such fabulous taste that I'm sure they're absolutely divine. But it would be too much holding them and knowing they couldn't support me."

Oddly enough, only three hours before, I'd decided against trying to use them to support me.

"And besides, I think I hear the van coming back."

She slipped off the sarong and removed the wig to become once more the most beautiful naked man I've ever seen.

"Could I be very forward and ask if I'd be able to keep these?"

"You can have the sarong, but my husband loves me to wear the wig far too much to give it away."

Oh, you thought Wolf liked to dress up in women's clothing too? Never! But he does have his own little foibles. I dress up in the skirt and blouse, put on the wig and ribbons and add my old school tie. He's the headmaster and I'm a schoolgirl. A Sixth Former of course. He's not a pervert. Anyway, that's a completely different story.

All too quickly Frances wiped off her war paint and was plain Francis again. We went downstairs to the kitchen where he put his shoes and socks back on.

"Now don't use the taps for a few hours. Give the sealant a chance to set. I lit the fire to help it dry out, but it'll still take a while."

It was an impressive piece of work. Definitely not worth it, but with Bill surely in custody I could live with it.

"You've done a magnificent job Francis."

He blushed and replied

"Thanks April, so did you. And I love the sarong. I'll think of you whenever I wear it."

"That's lovely, let me show you to the door."

I let him out. But before I put the deadlock on I noticed him bending down and picking something up by the vestibule door.

"April, there's a letter here for you."

He handed it to me and I watched him stride manfully towards his snow white charger. He knew as did she that they would never meet again. He was a veritable Sir Galahad, the noblest warrior in the land. But they were both aware that the black knight's dark forces were invincible and that he would ride to his doom. I'm sorry, I went all Mills and Boon on you there. In fact he did stride manfully, but towards the snow white van in which Roger was waiting to take him to the local greasy spoon for a bacon butty. This I knew because it was what they'd been muttering about excitedly when they'd arrived. I remembered because it was what gave the game away about them being genuine plumbers. Only genuine plumbers become that excited about the prospect of a bacon butty. Which is why I didn't feel the need to examine their credentials earlier on.

Oh please, you've been so good since the early warnings. You must realise we're coming to the climax now, so get a grip. But while we've gone off the subject I should warn all women. Don't do what I did. No matter how professional a group of men appear to be when they arrive at your front door; do not let them in until you've made a thorough examination of their credentials. I've been fortunate, no-one's ever taken advantage of me. You may not be so lucky. End of lecture.

It was my birthday so I expected there would be far more mail than this. I locked the door and took the letter to the kitchen to read. Strangely the envelope hadn't been franked. It just had my name printed on it in capitals. I slid the nail of my index finger into the gap at the top and opened it. Some people think that the maintenance of perfectly manicured and exquisitely painted long nails is a waste of time and money, but yet again I was finding them to be of great practical assistance. I removed the contents. A note. Boring. And an airline ticket. Possibly boring, but it had potential. Jackpot! It was a first class return ticket to Bali, in my name and due for departure from Heathrow at seven this evening. Bearing in mind Wolf's straightened financial circumstances this was a mystery. Who could it be from? I opened the letter.

It was typewritten. "Dear April," it read, "Please find enclosed your birthday present, a ticket to Bali." OK, so far, so obvious.

"At 4:30 PM a brand new chauffeured Mercedes-Benz SL will whisk you to the Terminal 3 First Class Departure Lounge where we will meet for champagne." World class car, but not much space for luggage.

"We will spend two glorious weeks in the Presidential suite at the luxury five star Nusa Dua Hilton." Well I hope whoever it is can afford two suites in the luxury five star Nusa Dua Hilton because I don't sleep with just anybody for the price of a room, a ride in a nice car and airfare.

"After a fortnight of blissful relaxation we will return refreshed to Heathrow where we will be met by the same Mercedes. You can drive it back home if you like because it's not hired; I've bought it for you." Wow! There's no chance I'll be driving it back after a tiring long haul flight, so he'll have to get a taxi to wherever he's going, but I like this chap's style.

"No need to pack. I've bought you new luggage and a full wardrobe of clothes; excess baggage no object." Right, that explains the 2-seater. But I'll need a taxi for the suitcases on the way home.

"And if you don't like my choices, we can go shopping in Bali." A bloody big taxi!

"Just remember to bring your sarong." How the hell does he know about my sarong?

"You know, the one you won at Karaoke last time we were over when you sang 'April in Paris' at the so-called Eurovision Sarong Contest." Oh my God! It's Wolf! But he's broke.

"P.S. I'm not broke. This quarter's bonus was record breaking. Plus I've got serious dosh in numerous offshore accounts; shares in such gilt edged companies as Kodak, Woolworths and Polaroid and safety deposit boxes rammed full of objets d'art squirreled away in various secret locations. Oh, and by the way. April Fool!" You bastard Wulfric Day! He must have left the letter on his way out, but I didn't find it because the plumbers obscured my view.

The remainder of his note was handwritten.

"P.S. I've left a couple of hundred for the workmen concealed in another envelope in our secret hiding place. That will provide you with enough to bung them a sweetener they won't forget for a while, plus a few quid for the driver. P.P.S. Burn this letter after you've read it. We don't want it to fall into the wrong hands!"

April fool indeed! The joke was on him. I'd be travelling sans sarong and would have to parade around our suite bottomless. He'd never get to see me in it. And as for the plumbers, their biggest tip of the year had just gone up in smoke. Our secret hiding place was the hearth! I tossed Wolf's letter onto the flames and burst out laughing.