One for the Team Ch. 04

They were sitting under a tree on the common where they had privacy.

"Well the dressing like a girl thing isn't really my cup of tea but I'll get the hang of it. But on the plus side, I got to have sex with two of the biggest rugby hunks that I've ever fantasied about... and they paid me for it," William grinned.

"You know they won't go anywhere near you unless you represent yourself as Wendy don't you?" Charles frowned.

"Oh yes they made that quite clear. They don't know who I am and they don't want to. They just want Wendy to miraculously appear from behind that curtain so they can ravish her; three times a week!" William grinned.

"I can put up with the makeup, the wig and the knickers for that kind of money and for that kind of sex," William appeared to be very pleased with himself.

"You do make a pretty girl though. Keep up those makeup skills and enjoy yourself," Charles stood and brushed leaves off his clothes.

"I've got Commercial and Industrial Law for the next two hours so I'd better get going," Charles picked up his backpack.

"I've got Creative Writing," William started to rise.

"Want to meet in the common room after dinner?" William picked up his own backpack.

"I can't... you know..." Charles smiled coyly.

"Maid duties?" William replied.

Charles nodded.

"You're no fun since you devoted yourself to Robert Fellows," William said as he threw his backpack over his shoulder.

"I'm not devoted to him!" Charles snapped.

"The lady doth protest too much, methinks," William grinned.

"See you later Charlotte," he began to walk away.

"Yes I think so... Wendy," Charles said sulkily.

William did not respond; he was already thinking about his forthcoming lesson.

*****

March 1985

The arrangements that Charlotte had put into place became a matter of routine after a while. Wendy looked after Wayne Jenkins and Steven Belfour-Brown three times a week which kept them happy and kept Wendy in a sound financial position. Rugby season was over and although Chelmsford College had made the finals they were ousted in the first semi-final. Charles tried out for cricket but didn't make the first eleven so he had no weekend sport or after school training.

This freed Charlotte to spend more time with Robert and as much as she thought that Robert would get bored with her the opposite was true. The more time he spent with Charlotte the more he craved her company.

Charlotte and Robert had a serious conversation about their relationship and agreed that they needed to be careful. William Larkin, Wayne Jenkins, Steven Belfour-Brown and Brian Nichol knew their secret but were hardly likely to blab; but discretion was still essential.

Robert and Charles made a concerted effort to get out and about on the college campus with their peers and they made sure they enjoyed the time they spent alone together, which was still considerable, and of course they had their academic responsibilities to attend to.

End of term was fast approaching and Robert and Charlotte were looking forward to it and dreading it both. It was going to be wonderful to escape the confines of the boarding school and Charlotte would return as a middle houseman with all the restrictions that applied to lower housemen lifted. No fagging, no Army Cadets (Charles had decided it wasn't for him) and more personal freedoms.

The university had been petitioned to move out of the dark ages and become more progressive and so next term there would be a more relaxed dress code, fagging would cease, and rips would be no longer be issued. Charles had already started to grow out his hair.

But it would mean that Charlotte and Robert would not see each other for nearly two months. Charlotte was a pragmatist and knew that Robert would have no problem finding a girlfriend during the break, as a young virile man he had needs that had to be satisfied and in any event she knew what they had was temporary so jealousy was not a factor.

"I have an idea if you are up for it," Robert announced as they cuddled on his bed on the last day of term.

"Oh yeah, what's that," Charlotte looked at Richard expectantly.

"I'm going to Brighton for a week during the break. Why don't you come too?" Robert sat up, excited by his cunning scheme.

"It's far away from Chelmsford and I could take you out; I know you've always wanted to take Charlotte out and about. You're so passable that no one will know that you're not a genetic a woman. It would be a hoot and I'd love to have you on my arm out in public."

"I can take you shopping; we can go to bars and restaurants. Brighton is a fun town," Robert said enthusiastically.

"I don't know Robert. It sounds dangerous. What if I'm clocked?" Charlotte frowned.

"So what? Like I said we will be miles from either of our homes and Brighton has a reputation for being liberal, there are some places where your type are very welcome," Robert replied.

"My type?" Charlotte said angrily.

Charlotte sat up and folded her arms.

"You know what I mean," Robert put an arm around her and pulled her to him.

"Well I have always wondered if I could pull off being a woman in public and I've dreamed of going somewhere where I can be social. Plus it will give us the opportunity to meet somewhere outside of this musty old prison," Charlotte was warming to the idea.

"Speaking of pulling things off," Robert guided her hand to his groin.

"Be serious for a while Robert. Let's plan the logistics of this thing," Charlotte seemed committed to the idea.

"Trust the bachelor of commerce student to want to work out logistics," Robert teased.

"Trust the commercial law graduate to only think about his own gratification," Charlotte teased him back.

"But once we've decided how we are going to pull this off, I promise I will pull you off... and maybe do some other things that I know you will like," she patted his growing erection.

*****

Arranging their weekend away required the couple to communicate as Charles and Robert, which is something they seldom did. Neither of them really wanted to acknowledge Charles; he was a fifth wheel but a necessary one. As their communication was by phone it was easy enough for Charles to allow Charlotte to appropriate his psyche and for Robert to imaging he was talking to Charlotte.

The other issue Charles had was that because he had returned from boarding school having appeared to his family to be finally settled down and doing well in both his academia and sports and had obviously, so his parents thought, given up his preponderance to dress enfemme, they were actually taking an interest in him for the first time.

"Bob Delaney at the club tells me that you're quite the winger. One of the top scorers and playmakers," George Fellows commented at dinner on Charlie's first evening back at home.

"I was a front-rower of course. But you don't have my build; you take after your mother that way," George crammed a piece of fillet mignon into his mouth.

"To be fair George, you rarely made the first fifteen and was often sent off for fighting from what I heard," Penelope Fellows came to her son's defence.

"And if you keep eating and drinking like you do you'll be the size of two front-rowers darling," Penelope chided her husband about his ever expanding waistline.

"I'm so glad you're doing well at university Charles; I'm very proud of how far you've come and where you're going," his mother patted his hand.

"Yes, and speaking of which, I hope you are getting along with the other lads. Friends you make in your college days are friends for life and often help you out down the track. You know... the old boy's network, back-scratching and all that whatnot," George tapped the side of nose meaningfully.

"Well as a matter of fact I was fagging for Robert Fellows. You know his father from Brooks's," Charles took the opportunity to segue the conversation to his advantage.

"Oh yes; fine fellow. Lawyer for some of the top London banks," George slurped Bordeaux.

"And his wife Silvia and I are on some of the same charity committees," Penelope chimed in.

This tidbit of information troubled Charles initially; he had no idea that his parents were so well acquainted with Robert's but in this case it served his cause.

"Well Robert and few of the other chaps are going to Brighton for a week to celebrate the end of term and I've been invited," Charles sipped his own glass of Bordeaux expectantly.

"Seems a bit odd the upper housemen inviting a lower houseman to something like that," George frowned.

"Middle houseman now dad," Charles chimed in.

"And we all played rugby together. Made the semis too," Charles added.

"Well of course. Bit of rugger on the field... blood on the ball and broken noses in the scrum and all that and then after the game it's pints of ale in the pub and pretty college girls with torn tights and knickers down," George Fellows reflected on his college days.

"George! Really! At the dinner table!" Penelope scolded her husband but she didn't blush.

Charles couldn't help wondering if in his mother's college days she had been one of those girls with her tights torn and her knickers pulled down; his mother and father had met in their college years so it was highly likely. He tried to clear the image from his mind.

"Come on Penelope. The boy's nineteen now and sowing his wild oats with the upper housemen will stand him in good stead. The battle of Waterloo might have been won on the playing fields of Eton, but England's commercial engine was forged on the fields of Chelmsford," George boasted.

"More likely the pubs and brothels nearby," Penelope huffed.

"You've done well and we're over all that frilly-knicker nonsense so go and make a man out of yourself at Brighton. I'll slip you a few quid before you leave so you can enjoy yourself properly," George forked another slab filet mignon into his face.

"Just don't go knocking up any of those strumpets down there. They'll see a well-to-do young man like yourself as a ticket out of the tenements," Penelope warned.

"Stick to the four 'Fs' old boy... find 'em, feel 'em, fuck 'em and forget 'em," George laughed so hard that he nearly choked on the lump of steak in his maw.

"That's it George! Enough of that language at the table," this time Penelope did blush.

"Just keep it in the bedroom where it belongs; right dear," George smirked at his wife.

"George... really!" but Charles thought he saw a glint in his mother's eye as she chided her husband.

That was enough for him. He did not want that picture in his mind and he excused himself and went up to his room where he had a private line and called Robert Fellows' residence. When Robert answered he used Charlotte's voice and told him the meeting was definitely on and they finalised their plans and made sure their cover stories matched.

Charles was certainly in the good books with his father. He gave Charles a wad of cash and the keys to his 'weekend car'; his beloved Ford Capri. Charles was excited and as soon as he left the family's estate Charlotte appropriated his psyche. She was excited to be out and about and feeling confident. She had been living as Charlotte part-time almost every day for months. Everyone so far who had seen Charlotte had told her that she was passable and now was the time to put it to the test.

Where the M25 met the M23 there were roadhouses, service stations and cheap motels. Charles paid for a cheap room at the Travellers Inn, a fleapit mainly used by lorry drivers. She parked next to her room, a cinderblock hovel with ripped, faded curtains, stained carpets and musty bedding. Charlotte didn't care. She would only be using the bathroom and wouldn't be more than an hour or so. She laid out her travelling clothes on the bed, stripped, cleaned herself with her douche, and took a shower, deliberately avoiding looking at the mould in the corners.

Her hair was getting longer but was not long enough to be styled so she had brought along a couple of wigs. She painstakingly applied her makeup, she wanted to look good for Robert, positioned the black bob wig and brushed it out and dressed. She had been shopping since she had been home and she wore a sunny yellow silk Ungaro wrap dress that had been made famous by Jean Shrimpton, nearly-nude sheer-to-the-waist pantyhose and over them white nylon bikini panties. The matching bra with a little padding gave her a modest décolletage and white Tatiana high-heeled court shoes complimented the ensemble. She wore a string of faux pearls around her slender neck and a matching bracelet and earrings.

The dress and the shoes were expensive but Charlotte had plenty of money and she wanted to look bright and summery but also sexy for Robert when he first saw her outside of the claustrophobic and foreboding confines of Chelmsford College. She packed everything away carefully, sprayed herself with perfume, took a deep breath and stepped confidently outside.

She almost collided with the big-bellied lorry driver who was lugging a battered carry-all to his room which obviously adjoined hers.

"Nearly got me luv," the burly man chuckled unashamedly appraising her.

"Although I have to say I wouldn't have minded a saucy little thing like you rubbing up against me," he winked at her salaciously.

"You're not working the rooms are you? A bit early for the brasses to be out but you never knows your luck," the man's grin was positively lecherous.

Charlotte stood there speechless; her white handbag slung over shoulder and her wheeled suitcase at her side. It took her a while to understand what the man was implying.

"Are you insinuating I'm a prostitute?" Charlotte blushed.

The irony was not lost on her. She had been a concubine during her first weeks at college.

The man appraised her again and looked at the shiny red Ford Capri parked outside her door.

"I'm sorry Miss, you're obviously too beautiful and classy to be a brass but we don't normally find your type staying in a dump like this," the man actually doffed his cap.

"Exactly. And I'm not staying but the roadhouse toilets are atrocious so I paid for a half day for the room to freshen up and change my laddered tights," she immediately regretted giving such a long and involved explanation that wasn't really warranted.

Charlotte turned her back on the man and loaded her car very aware that the man hadn't moved and was staring at her, especially when she bent over to push the suitcase into the Capri's hatch and again when she slipped in behind the wheel, she was nervous and ungainly, 'all legs and arse' the uncouth were liable to say.

She started the car and was looking in the mirror ready to reverse when the man came over and tapped on the window and Charlotte rolled it down.

"I'll give you a fiver for your laddered tights," the man's smirk was downright indecent, his tobacco-stained teeth revolting, his filthy crotch bulging.

Charlotte gunned the engine throwing out a spray of gravel and dust which caused the man to stagger back and cover his eyes, much to Charlotte's delight.

As she entered the on ramp to the M25 she realised that she was shaking. She ruminated on the incident for a while as she drove towards Brighton and an arrière-pensée occurred to her. What had happened was not really a bad thing. After the initial shock she had handled herself reasonably well but more importantly the man had no idea that she wasn't a real woman. And she had to admit that besides the man being totally prurient, she was a little flattered that he found her so alluring.

Five pounds for a pair of ripped pantyhose was a considerable sum.

Charlotte arrived at Brighton and some of her confidence waned. The traffic was heavy and the streets were crowded but then she rationalised that it was easier to get lost in crowd; there was in fact safety in numbers.

Robert Fellows had paid for a single room and two parking spaces at a small boutique hotel. This was going to be Charlotte's first real test and she knew that confidence was the key. It was the eighties after all and it was quite common for men and women to share a room outside of wedlock, the hotelier couldn't care less so long as you paid up front, didn't create a ruckus and were discreet.

"Charlotte Ward checking in," Charlotte had stridden confidently up to reception, that was until her heel caught in the threadbare carpet and she careened into the counter.

Now she was flustered.

"Sorry about that pet. I've been telling Harold to fix that carpet for months now," the middle-aged but stylishly dressed and attractive receptionist smiled at her sympathetically.

"Harold! Put down that chip butty and get your arse out here and fix the bloody carpet! We nearly knackered one of our guests," the woman screamed over her shoulder at a tall sophisticated looking gentleman wearing a threadbare suit.

"Yes Gladys. I'll get right on it," the man called back around a mouth filled with bread and spuds.

"That means it won't get done for another month," Gladys smiled warmly at Charlotte.

"Gladys Chatterton, owner, operator, receptionist, barmaid, chief cook and bottle-washer of The Ambassador," she extended her hand and Charlotte took it.

"Let me look here. Oh you're staying with Mister Fellows. You're a lucky girl, he's quite a hunk and very handsome. Are you engaged?" Gladys had a mischievous twinkle in her eye.

"It's complicated," Charlotte couldn't help but smile back.

"Well don't let it get too complicated. He'd be quite the catch, going to be a financier and all," Gladys winked at her.

"We chatted for a while when he was checking in. A very pleasant and considerate young man, taking the time to talk like an old biddy like me," Gladys' self-mockery was not lost on Charlotte; she was far from being an old biddy.

Charlotte couldn't help but giggle. Mrs Chatterton was a hoot, the epitome of the nosy hotelier. Now she knew who Gladys reminded her of, Sybil Fawlty, she had the same dress sense, style and prying demeanour.

Gladys had Charlotte fill in the registration card while she rummaged in the keyboard for a key, all the time chattering away about the delights of Brighton, the history of the hotel and the laziness of her husband.

Harold Chatterton came out of the cubbyhole of an office and joined his wife.

"You know I can hear everything you say in there," Harold said to Gladys.

"Don't worry about Gladys, she's just inquisitive; some would say nosy," Harold came over and stood next to his wife.

"Aren't you the pretty little thing," Harold smiled at Charlotte but he was inoffensive and genuinely friendly.

"You keep your eyes and your mind on the job Harold Chatterton," Gladys chastised him.

"Says the woman who fawned all over your boyfriend," Harold chortled.

"Doesn't matter where you get your appetite so long as you eat at home lovey," Gladys patted his cheeks affectionately.

"I don't mind eating at home, so long as I get seconds," Harold smacked Gladys playfully on the buttocks.

"Harold Chatterton! Not in front of the guests!" Gladys chided him but you could see that they loved each other.

"I'm off to get a carpet square to fix that carpet," Harold kissed his wife and lifted the counter top.

"There's no carpet for sale at the Sail and Anchor Pub Harold," she called after him as he stepped outside.

Harold gave her a dismissive wave and continued on his way.

"Men! Can't live with them; can't live without them, although Mrs Smithers tells me she keeps her mother's little helper in the top drawer of her nightstand and it's a pretty good substitute, doesn't eat or drink and only needs the batteries changed once a week," Gladys burst into peals of laughter at her bawdy joke.

Charlotte couldn't help but laugh along but by now she desperately wanted to get up to her room and be reunited with Robert.