Q Is for Queen

I picked up the red case. I paused. Thinking. And I changed my plan.

And I changed my life.

The boy at reception, well the young man, had commented when I'd paid that the room wouldn't be seen to yet. Apparently his sister who did all that sort of thing was in Birmingham for the day and wouldn't be back until nearly four. So I still had several hours of use of the room if I wanted it. I'd made some sort of non-committal comment at the time. But like I said, I'd been thinking. I went back to my room.

I left it at a quarter to two carrying the two cases, regretting that I had to leave my bouquet behind. I'd kept the card though, it was in my handbag. I managed to get out to the car park without going past reception itself and shoved the two cases in the boot. I left the car there and walked along to the street and towards the pub Paul had mentioned.

I'd not checked the name before but when I saw the 'Green Forester' sign I knew I was in the right place. I pushed the door open and walked in, turning left towards the lounge bar. I could see Paul straight away sitting over by the window, with a small glass of something in front of him. Probably a scotch. He was reading the 'Financial Times'. I strolled towards him and stopped, waiting. He was engrossed.

"Good afternoon Paul" I said.

Quietly and gently. He looked up. Just for a second I saw - what? Horror? Shock? Surprise? Then he relaxed. He controlled himself. I really had caught him totally off guard as I'd intended of course. I knew very well that if I'd rung him that morning and offered him a choice he'd have said 'Martin'. But I didn't have his number though I'm sure I'd have been able to contact him somehow. But I hadn't. And I wasn't Martin. I was Marie.

I read a story once where a T-girl did exactly what I'd just done to a man she rather fancied. When he saw her he just came out with 'Fuck me!' and she said 'All right then' and they did just that. The next couple of paragraphs were rather steamy and full of references to all sorts of body parts, male and female, some of which were actually involved in the scenario and some of which were just imagined and referred to even though they couldn't possibly have been there.

Paul's reaction, after that initial horror, was more measured.

"Hello Marie," he said, cool as a cucumber as he stood up.

Old-fashioned and gentlemanly, I agree, but I liked it. I sat down next to him on the corner seat and crossed my legs. I know, it's corny but I loved to do it and to see his reaction. Again, maybe ten seconds after seeing me, he was in total control. He looked round towards the bar and lifted an eyebrow towards the young man at the bar who came straight over. He finished his scotch.

"Another one please, Donald, and a vodka and tonic, is it, Marie?"

"Thank you," I said, smiling at Donald and appreciating the fact that while listening to Paul he'd been looking at me.

We both stayed silent while the barman got our drinks. I sipped mine and Paul looked.

"Marie, you look great. Really great."

That was what I wanted to hear. I mean I wouldn't have minded if he'd said 'gorgeous' or 'stunning' or 'beautiful' but I knew what he meant. 'Great' meant that I looked female. Convincing. And that's what I wanted. I'd been confident of course, having several times passed as a woman in different circumstances. Yet this was different somehow. This was with Paul, and I still hadn't properly decided what he was about. I sipped my vodka again and slid my other hand over Paul's on the small table in front of us.

"I didn't want to ask you or even tell you. Somehow I got the idea you'd quite like me to look - like this."

"Like it? Marie, I love it!"

He looked round. There were only four or five other people in the pub at that time but we had no doubts who was the centre of attention. The tight leather skirt and black stockings and 4" stilettos made sure of that and I was determined to flaunt my attractive legs as much as I could. I put my glass down and slid my other hand across my exposed thigh.

"I rather thought you might." I couldn't help grinning, aware that Paul was still staring somewhat. "It's your fault, you know, you reminded me what it's like to really look like a woman last night. That picture on the back of the CD cover. It reminded me of the good feeling when I'm being seen as a woman rather than as a female impersonator. So when I saw this blouse in that older draper's shop on the high street I just had to have it. And since you'd admired me wearing it on the picture I thought you might like to see the full effect - in real life as it were."

And after that rather long speech I sat up, not entirely unintentionally causing my bosoms to push forward a bit, really to try to emphasise my figure. In the wide belt I thought I looked really slim and what with that and the short leather skirt, well, I was enjoying myself. I sipped again at my vodka. And then I surprised myself.

I put my glass down and took Paul's hand in mine, just stroking it a little.

"Paul, I'm still trying to work you out."

"Really, Marie?"

He took a large sip of his scotch though he didn't make me release his hand.

"Do you like that?" I asked, looking down at our hands and then up at him through my long thickened lashes.

OK so I was teasing him, flirting even just a little. But actually being properly en femme for the first time in a while was a very enjoyable experience.

"Actually, Marie, I know it's a bit weird but yes. I do. It's nice."

We chatted on about the video idea, and then about my tour and what I hoped to do next season maybe and possible panto and all that. I thought was maybe about twenty minutes, yet when I looked at my watch I realised it had been well over an hour.

"Paul, really, this has been so much fun. I'm sure you understand that now, for a woman like me just to be able to spend some time like this. I've enjoyed myself so much but I mustn't keep you to myself any longer."

He'd just realised the time too and was clearly set for a move too.

"So, Marie, what's next? Didn't you say you've checked out already?"

"Yes I have. I'm due in Cambridge for the final date of the tour tomorrow night."

"So, hang on, if you've checked out of your hotel where were you going to change?"

"I thought I might drive over to Milton Keynes en femme. My sister has often said I can stay with them overnight any time on my travels."

"And if you turn up looking like you do?"

"She'll be surprised. She's seen the show of course a couple of times. But she's never seen me actually en-femme as opposed to in drag. It's going to be interesting to see her reaction. And her husband's!"

"I bet! But you're right Marie, we should get going. I know for a fact there's a group comes in here late afternoon for a bit of a get-together and it may not be a good idea for them to find us here."

"You mean you don't want to be seen with me?" I teased.

I took Paul's hand and swung round to face him as we went out towards the pub car park.

"No, it's not that, it's just - oh hell."

"Paul, don't worry. I'm only pulling your leg a bit. I do understand. You're an important person in this community and you have to be careful who you associate with. Anyway my car's in the hotel car park over the road. Maybe we should say goodbye now, it really has been a different sort of day. Have you enjoyed yourself? Better than sitting in a pub with Martin discussing videos? We've not really settled that idea."

Paul was still holding my hand, rather tightly it seemed to me.

"Marie. Look, we haven't talked about it, have we? Maybe we should."

"Well, we can't here in the car park, can we?"

He was STILL holding my hand. He looked me in the eyes.

"Marie. I don't want you to leave."

It was in the circumstances a bold statement. One which said quite a lot about him. He'd been sitting in the pub with a man dressed as a woman for almost two hours, and didn't want him to leave. Her. The trouble was that I didn't want to leave either but I couldn't really come up with a good excuse not to. I was desperately trying to think of one as we approached what I assumed to be Paul's car, parked on its own near the road, when another man got out of the car and came over towards us. Not as tall as Paul, really rather a rural-looking man, you know the type, ruddy complexion, the look of someone who'd spent a lot of his time in the open air. A farmer for example, or a farm hand.

Paul smiled at him and then turned to me.

"Marie, this is George. He's my general factotum really, handyman back at the Grange, decorator, and recently my driver."

I smiled at the newcomer and held out a hand to gently shake his. My own hand, slightly large for a woman really though small for a man, was engulfed by his. He held mine rather delicately as if he didn't want to crush it. He seemed a rather muscular man, probably he could have done.

"Good afternoon, Miss," he said.

"Hello George."

He'd called me 'Miss'! Well, of course he would, wouldn't he.

"George is rather worried, Marie. He's been driving me round for six months. I'm afraid I had a bit of an argument with a speed camera and got myself banned."

"Bit of an argument, Paul? You were doing 140 on the motorway!"

"OK, OK. But the ban ran out two days ago, Marie, and George has rather enjoyed driving me around. It gets him away from Mildred."

George and Mildred! I tried not to laugh or even smile. I turned away from George, and from Paul just for a few moments to regain my self-control. I don't think either of them noticed, their attention had been attracted by a bright red Lotus slowly making its way along the road. The driver was clearly looking for signposts or something. Typical men, cars first and women second!

I turned back, Paul was looking at me and beginning to speak again.

"Look, how about coming out to the Grange. Mildred can do us a bit of a snack and then you can decide on the best plan of action. It's just one stop up the M42, and you'd go that way towards Milton Keynes anyway."

Paul had come up with a plan, and one which enabled me to stay en-femme for a little longer. I was getting such a thrill out of being a tranny rather than a DQ for a while, I had to agree with him. As we turned towards the car park Paul leaned in towards me.

"Er – don't tell George – you know what – yet. Let's just see..."

I didn't hear the rest of the sentence, as a large bus rolled past us rather noisily. We ended up giving George the keys to my car and instructions about where it was and so on and he went off to drive it along to the Grange, whatever that was. Just for a moment, while we were sorting the keys, I had to think about what he'd find in there. The answer was that there was nothing overtly male visible, just a few maps and other things which were not gender-specific. Most of my male stuff was shut in the boot inside my blue case.

I clambered into Paul's vehicle, a big and rather splendid 4 x 4, and enjoyed being driven in some luxury up to the junction near the Services and then up the motorway. As he pulled off at the next junction I noticed we'd caught up with my old Astra which George was driving. We continued about 300 yards along that road and then Paul turned left through a gateway.

"Behold, the Grange," he said.

I looked at the rather large house in front of us as he swung round to the front door, just behind my own car.

"Well, what do you think? It's not very grand but it's home now."

It looked grand to me. It wasn't as big as the large sort-of-stately-home I could see maybe a quarter of a mile further down the road but it was still a substantial residence. As we went in I met Mildred, George's wife. It turned out that I was right, George had started out as a farmer locally but decided to sell up and move into town for some sort of health reasons. And then he and Mildred had ended up working at Caunston House when Paul and Kathleen and his mother had been living there.

Basically the demands of the two women had required five staff in all though when Paul had 'down-sized' and moved into the Grange, he'd just kept the two staff on. Kathleen was of course gone, and his mother had decided she wanted more of the London life she'd had in her youth and had bought an small apartment in Chelsea. Which left Paul, with Mildred and George.

Mildred really was almost as exactly as I'd imagined, rather rotund and jolly, she insisted on providing tea almost as soon as we'd arrived. She was friendliness personified, fussing over Paul who she just occasionally called 'Mister Paul' though clearly he was really on ordinary first-name terms with his staff. And she did, every time, call me 'Miss Marie' just like George did. I liked that! Having been properly en-femme rather than in drag for several hours by then I was really enjoying the role more and more.

It was so lovely in the house, the 'Grange', oak panelling, period furniture and all, the log fire blazing, really no woman could have asked for more. Paul and I sat in the main lounge roasting ourselves and having our tea while Mildred prepared a 'proper meal' for us. Paul had said he didn't want me to go and to be honest, there and then, I still didn't want to. It was so warm and cosy, the house was so inviting.

Mildred gave me a bit of a guided tour of the main house, proudly showing me the decorating she and George had done in two of the bedrooms and going on about how they were going to do up their 'apartment'. It turned out the house ended up with seven bedrooms altogether after the re-design before Paul had moved in. Two were in Mildred and George's end, really they had a 'semi' rather than an apartment, shut off from the main house.

"It's a lot easier to keep up than the big House, Miss Marie. That had about thirty bedrooms, we never really were too sure exactly how many. And it was such a rabbit-warren, very difficult to keep up what with Mrs Kathleen and Paul's mother to cater for as well. George and I have it much easier now, and he's really been enjoying driving Mr Paul round while he's been banned. He's hoping still to be able to do some of that, gets him out from under my feet too."

Mildred could talk for England and she did. I got the whole Stisson family history going back about three generations as we toured round and ended up back in the main kitchen. I mainly listened, it was a new experience for me and I'd been hesitant about it when she'd suggested the tour while the men-folk looked at something to do with George's car. Being with a woman, I mean. As a woman. I'd had some doubts about it. With men I was OK. I was confident about not being read but I really hadn't had much experience of being 'Marie' in female company.

Almost none unless you count that landlady's mother who had got a kick out of being with me dressed up and then getting into my knickers. And that was different, I'd adopted the tranny-female role rather than the drag queen, that's what had turned her on. And when we'd started to get intimate, undressing each other and manipulating each other's breasts and lipstick-kissing and so on, I'd seen it as some sort of lesbian experience. But really even from before the moment she'd got my cock out I'd been a man in women's clothing.

Yet with Mildred, I was Marie. Friend or acquaintance of her boss. As we progressed I became much more comfortable with the role in female company until at the end, when we sat down together for a small sherry while the cooking was finished. We were chatting woman-to-woman across the kitchen table. It hadn't been my intention, honest, but we did eventually get onto the subject of Paul's love life. Mildred had just briefly mentioned having to get that first spare bedroom sorted several months earlier for a woman visitor so I'd asked her about it.

"She really was awful. Dorothy-something her name was. She was a gold-digger, George and I both saw it from the start. I think Mr Paul did too but he was a bit low at the time. It was about three months after the divorce got made final. She was very good-looking though, some sort of writer from London, I think maybe she was a friend of Mrs Kathleen. She only spent one night here though, Mr Paul got it right. He saw through her pretty quickly. George drove her to get the train very early the next morning. And the other one, well!"

"Go on, well what?"

Mildred was giggling, and took nearly a minute to calm down. Then she just said it.

"Mrs Agatha Hortington-Smythe."

And she burst into laughter again.

"No!"

"Yes. True as I'm sitting here."

I had to try hard not to collapse in giggles.

"Bloody awful name and really a bloody awful family if you'll excuse my French, Miss. Came one lunchtime clearly thinking she was going to have her way with Mr Paul and spend the night and all that. But when he took her out to dinner that evening her mother turned up. It seems she'd heard about her daughter's new beau, as it were, and she wanted to see the lie of the land. Mr Paul was steaming when they got back here."

"What? With her mother?!"

"Oh no. It was bad enough though. Mr Paul was horrified, said he could see the cow turning into her mother before his eyes. Said he could see why her husband had kicked the bucket, probably to get away from the cow. He kept calling her a cow, and he was right. Anyway we put her in the blue room, your room that is, Miss, and Mr Paul probably locked his door that night. Not at all what she'd imagined. Very frosty at breakfast they were, anyway she rang her mother straight after and off they went when she got here. The mother, that is."

"So he's not been very lucky with women then, Mildred?"

"Not recently Miss. I mean, we all were happy at the start when Mrs Kathleen first came and they got married. She was nice to us and good for him and all that. But it was that young man from Birmingham, I think he was. He knew he was onto a good thing with her and when it all came out, well, nasty business."

Mildred clearly held her employer in some regard, she had been upset by the events before and during the divorce process.

"It cost Mr Paul a fair bit in the end what with lawyers and the like. But he argued her down when it came to settlement, since it was her fault having the affair and so on. I don't think Mr Paul so much as looked at another woman while they was married. Anyway, Miss, I've probably said too much. I'd better get on with the cooking. Should be ready in ten or fifteen minutes."

I strolled out of the kitchen door having worked out that I could get through the garden back to the main lounge area. Just looking round I felt more at ease than I had done in years. With no gig tonight, and no rush tomorrow, I could still get to Claire's house for the night to give me a shorter drive the next day anyway. The sun was setting over the woods I could see in the distance. OK so there weren't birds singing but there was a brook babbling. It was really idyllic.

I had to be careful negotiating the steps up to the house in my heels but did OK without stumbling. Paul was standing with George looking out of the French windows from the lounge onto the patio. It was still warm and I noticed a small table on the patio with two place settings on it. They saw me and George said something to Paul before turning to go back in the house. Paul came across to greet me, extending a hand which I gladly took, and held on to.

"Paul, this is gorgeous here. Mildred said you kept some of the land when you sold the big house."

"Yes, only about thirty acres though. There's about five with the main house. I insisted they use it for social housing. You know the sort of thing, mainly flats so that youngsters from the area have somewhere to live. The developers weren't happy about that until they realised they had four acres for over-blown big houses to build and overprice."