The Law Rises to the Occasion Pt. 02

Note: This is a work of fiction. The story and characters are entirely fictional.

Sheila told Franko who her previous cop-conversion "project" was, so Franko called him. The guy had made lieutenant before he retired and still lived in the Memphis area.

"So, now they want to make me into a chick with a dick," Franko laughed. "I really don't have a choice in the matter. They have me over a barrel."

"What'ya wanta know?"

"How was it? This Sheila broad is OK, but how did it go on the street?"

"Well, I wasn't too happy doing it, either. But the success of the mission eventually helped me make sergeant and then lieutenant. So I guess it was worth it."

"I mean, how did it feel presenting as a woman, a hooker, and all that?"

"What a trip!" The former cop laughed uproariously. "Sheila really did a great job.

I've always been a bachelor, so I didn't have to justify doing it to a wife. I mean, when Shiela finished and I looked at myself in the mirror the first time, I practically fell over. She did such a convincing job. Of course, after she introduced me to makeup and all, I had to do all the prepping myself, at home. I couldn't tell my neighbors what was actually going on -- I just told them I was playing the part of a hooker for some police academy classes and I guess they bought into that.

"So, here I was on the street, mostly after 4 p.m. up until midnight, working with two other cops at a distance, and horny guys are trying to pick me up. Talk about mind-bending! I mean, seeing the world from a woman's perspective!! Feeling kinda sexy. But I didn't run with that. I was pretty professional. That's the way you gotta be, my friend."

"So, how did you ID the perp and get the arrest and make it stick?"

"Well, you just follow your instructions exactly and use your street smarts, and eventually there'll be a guy or two that makes the hair on the back of your neck stand up. That's the perp, buddy. You gotta be the one in control."

"Just curious -- what name did you use?"

Laughter, and, "Misty."

Franko ended the call with a promise from the other cop to answer further questions later. He wondered what name he'd pick. Something not too sweet, and not too serious. Maybe, "Annie" or "Jess."

Franko was a routine-loving man who loved his two beers with dinner every night, kissing his wife goodbye every day, his regular cop-cruiser patrols, and daily speaking with street people and movers and shakers in his police district. Now as he drove to Sheila's place, S's Fashions, he was a bit groggy from sleeping late and nervous with this new out-of-routine life.

The place didn't open until two hours later, but Sheila was there to let him in, and they passed down aisles with dresses, wigs, tantalizing lingerie, shoes and boots, makeup, jewelry, books, and even sex toys. Up above were female movie-star blowups ranging from Jane Russell to Madonna. Pervasive was the aroma of perfume.

As they walked down an aisle, he noticed her tight, slim dark skirt with fitted cotton white shirt against which her breasts pushed healthily. Her hair was now in a bun. Her lipstick was dark and her silver earrings large and intricate.

The place made him feel like he was reluctantly shopping in the women's section of a department store for his wife. Except here, he figured most of the customers would be men.

In her office, Sheila produced a cloth tape measure and proceeded to take his measurements. "You'll be a size 36 bra," she pronounced in a businesslike fashion. "Do you want a B or C, or even a D cup?"

"Look, Sheila. You know I don't give a crap about all this female stuff. I don't know anything about cup sizes, for god's sake. I'm just going to leave all this to your good instincts. I talked with the retired cop you worked with before, and you gave him a good workup, so I trust you. Just don't make me look ridiculous, so I'd have to live it down for years."

"OK, then, you'll be a 36C." There was something so cool and professional about Sheila, and yet she had an undercurrent of care and friendliness. This, figured Franko, is what made her business successful.

They went back out into the store, with only a female employee getting the place ready, and Sheila quickly proceeded to gather some bras, breast forms, nylons, panties, a padded girdle, a piece of underwear she called a gaff, two wigs, makeup, shoes, and fake glasses. Then they went over to the outer clothing area, when she proceeded to hold dresses, tops, and skirts against him.

"Whoa," he said after a few minutes. "Don't want to be seen like this, through your front window."

"OK." She brought her choices with him back to her office, where she resumed the same routine.

"You know," she said, "hundreds of guys in this town would kill to be in your position, with money no object, and having a style consultant and buyer working for them!"

"But -- speaking of killing -- they wouldn't have to worry about a perp killing them, unless of course they were selling sex on the street."

"Duly noted," replied Sheila. "And now, we're done here, Jim. I will be going to a regular store to get a few more things. After this, everything's at my place. You're not going to get cold feet on doing this, are you? You seem skittish. Sure you can do this?"

"Figure I have to. OK with the wife. Told me I'd look cute in dress and heels."

"After we finish, that's the goal, Jim. You picked a name yet?"

"Could go with Annie or Jess."

"I recommend Jess. More contemporary."

A few days after the store excursion, they met at Sheila's home in the upscale Cordova-Appling neighborhood. Certainly, the mixed white- and blue-collar neighborhood Franko lived in didn't come close to this level of money. Her expansive, two-story home with large swimming pool, exercise room and entertainment theater -- all as neat as a pin -- was impressive. It was apparent that she lived there alone.

All during his tour of the semi-mansion Franko kept his eyes glued on his host -- and teacher. She'd let her hair down and wore a loose beach shift of sorts falling to her ankles that allowed her black bra straps to show prominently, and also revealed hints of her breasts underneath. After the walkthrough, she poured some Johnnie Walker with ice, which Franko dispatched easily.

"So, Jim, are you prepared for your preliminaries today? Just say 'We can do this; we can do this'."

"Figure we should just get it over with."

She proceeded to show him some computer-printer photos of Memphis hookers taken by a local newspaper photographer to illustrate a story about sex workers. "Here's what I was looking at when I selected your wardrobe. These are summertime outfits."

Franko had seen such images before, but had never looked at them very closely. Now he would. They wore tight little skirts and brief tops, usually had longer hair, sometimes with highly styled hairdos. There were more blacks than whites and Latinas. Large loop earrings were popular. Several of the photos showed women in very tight leggings. They always carried substantial purses.

"These, Jim, have the look we want. Like to look like them?"

"Yeah, right. I guess I have to look fetching, to use an old-fashioned term."

"Much more than that. You have to exactly fit the image guys' are driving around looking for. Sexy and friendly, but no pushover. Willing to negotiate a sex act. In a nutshell, you gotta get them hard!"

They settled down in her living room, with high ceiling, candelabra and massive fireplace, and more more whiskey. She had already laid out on the floor all the items she'd purchased, which looked slightly like clothes laid out at a garage sale, except these were all new.

The liquor was beginning to go to his head, despite his good tolerance for alcohol. Sheila pressed a button which lowered the blinds on the rolling windows leading to the swimming pool, saying, "Jim, please disrobe. Completely. Jess time is here."

"You're kidding. I thought I'd be able to wear my own underwear under this stuff."

"You're forgetting that you'll be wearing a gaff, and over that, the padded panty girdle I bought."

"What's a gaff?"

"Very brief little panty that'll help hide your male bulge."

Franko reluctantly disrobed, throwing his clothing piece by piece over to the side of a sofa. He then accepted a slender panty of sorts -- the gaff -- and slipped it on. Compared to his jockey shorts, it was very tight, and when positioned just right, did indeed tuck his business away. He experienced a little thrill in this, but quickly dismissed the thought, thinking that gay guys wore that sort of underwear.

Next, Sheila had him step into the padded panty girdle, which accentuated his hips and derriere to nice effect. He was beginning to feel like he was being outfitted to play some offbeat part in a stage production. He was also feeling more and more vulnerable and ridiculous.

But it had gone too far for him to storm out. He allowed his teacher to outfit him with a bra, breast forms, and patterned panty nylons, along with the fabled short skirt and camisole-like top. That was followed with a voluminous wig, fuck-me heels, and earrings. The feeling was like shedding his own skin and stepping into someone else's. It seemed like everything clung to him tightly, an unfamiliar feeling but still somewhat erotic.

It was time to look at himself in the mirror, with Sheila holding a card in front of his face -- "Because you shouldn't see your face before I do the makeup thing."

What he saw below his neck was rather startling. It wasn't him, it was a woman. If he had seen her on the street while driving, he definitely would've looked twice -- the second time longer. "Maybe," he thought, "it's the whiskey."

"There," said Sheila, "you have the first chapter of your transformation. The basics. Now maybe you have an inkling why crossdressers are into this -- yeah?"

"Well, I'll admit you know what you're doing. This is your business."

Soon, Franko was removing his female accouterments, eager to return to his male cop persona. At the end, he handed Sheila his girdle and gaff, only noticing at the last moment that both were wet in strategic places with pre-cum. As she noticed this too, he blushed mightily. At the same time, his dick rose to attention after its confinement.

"You needn't be embarrassed, Jim," soothed Sheila. "I've found that almost every male on earth gets turned on by wearing what's sexually forbidden to them. The way I see it, your having feelings towards women's things will be a positive."

As Franko looked frantically around for his shorts, Sheila opened a drawer on a nearby cabinet and came over with a bottle of lube. "Here, Jim, I can't have you leave without some major satisfaction," she said with a knowing smile as she gently placed his hand over her tit.

Note: Stay tuned.