I remembered Danny 55, and the Judge’s boots, dirty, exciting. Now that I had a sex drive, should I drive it underground to Mason? Feelings of love, lust, surged through my body; I was pulsating, vibrating. Perhaps female authority was stamped on my soul, in which case my passion could only be sated by swimming in subservience.

  A black spider, maybe a widow, was on the wall watching me. I quickly searched for a suitable swatter, before picking up the glass that had held my toothbrush. I lifted the window, not glancing back, and I and the arachnid were suddenly both free, alive. We understood the meaning of captivity and fear.

  Three floors up, I slid down the drainpipe light as a feather, but not a white one; I was courageous. The Lake, Tilda’s Boat House, was an hour’s run away. I’d cut across the woods, not for speed but cover. My tank was full of testosterone, tostestalone, or whatever they wanted to call it, and risks now felt challenging, not crippling.

  Across the Lake the lights were out, but Tilda’s had wooden shutters on the windows. I jogged, in hope, along the path.

  I was brazen enough to tag behind the crossdresser with the smudged lipstick. He’d wandered out of nowhere, and I followed him down the wooden boardwalk to the entrance.

  “First time?” asked the female at the door; she was in mufti, I was in a leather dress.

  I looked up at her, and nodded. She was in charge and knew it, but it was a different sense of authority. Not quite mutual respect but one of immediacy, intimacy, between user and abused, dominatrix and her sub.

  “Token?” she asked, holding out her hand.

  I handed her the coin Danny 55 had given me. She looked at it, bit it, and then returned it.

  “You’ll need it for later,” she said.

  “Where’s the free ride?” I asked.

  “Take a look in the mirror; you’ll soon find it.”

  I smiled, at least I’d been broken in at the office, but I wanted to take a good look around first.

  Lartley 87 from Rinse Gardens brought me a drink, vodka.

  “I’m not surprised,” he said. ‘It’s always the quiet ones.”

  “I just like my privacy,” I said.

  “Oh don’t worry, there are rooms upstairs. Not everyone likes to put on a show.”

  “How?”

  Lartley sighed.

  “Your token,” he said, “what’s the number?”

  “Twenty-nine.”

  “OK, when one of the Madame’s shouts it out, just follow her.”

  “That’s it?”

  “Oh don’t worry, Valery, she’ll make all your dreams and nightmares, come true.”

  A guy walked by in nipple clamps; it was Coussan 6. He looked whipped, literally.

  A female came close, whispered in my ear.

  “I hope I get you. I just love the newbies,” and she bit my ear.

  There was something strange about her hands, or perhaps not, considering where we were.

  “Walrus teeth,” she said, noticing my stare.

  She wore finger claws attached to silver rings.

  “I’d love to put you through your paces,” she said.

  Her face was pretty, an angel with a demon’s heart. I’d dreamed of her many times before, but the screams coming from upstairs no longer stiffened my intent. She was right though; I was pacing, to the exit. I did a double take on my way out, was that Gillian and Claire?

  I was outside again, but not completely in the cold; I had Anais. I looked over my shoulder, no one was behind me.

  Chapter Fourteen

  No one came for me, nor woke me up. So I made my own way for breakfast. Anais was waiting, and waved me over to her table.

  “So, where did you get to last night?” she asked, stirring her coffee.

  I still had a sore head from the ice cold vodka and night, and now it was spinning. Of course, they’d checked my room.

  “Oh don’t look so worried,” she continued. “I half expected it now that your tanks are full.”

  “Really?”

  I was relieved.

  “Of course you need to explore, invade new territory. So tell me, who was the lucky woman?”

  “No one.”

  “Man?”

  “I’m not gay.”

  “Solo?”

  “I’m not into solitaire.”

  “I’d better put the lab rats on alert. Today is the last injection, a stabiliser. Then it’s your turn to hold the syringe. I thought that would put a smile on your face.”

  I grinned further.

  “You sure you’ll know where to stick it, given the chance?”

  “I get confused easily, Colonel, perhaps you could show me.”

  She wiped her mouth with the serviette and stood up.

  “I don’t think you want to miss your last appointment.”

  “No,” I replied, and was left to make my own way to the lab.

  One final injection and my hormones would be permanently restored as, I hoped, nature intended. Maybe that would be even higher; hell, didn’t we have a war to win? And I was their prototype, protégé. There could be more to follow, but would I want them following Anais?

  The lab rats had turned into sex kittens, the white gowns replaced with short skirts, hosiery, and heels. If this was an attempt to measure the greatest circumference it worked, and they all looked suitably impressed. I guessed it was no coincidence they discussed their dorms.

  I hardly felt the injection in my posterior, and there was one last test to be recorded for posterity: the shopping trip. No Guards, just me and Anais. I was salivating as I heard her footsteps move ever closer, the taps in tune with the beat of my heart.

  Anais was a sex bomb, and she’d just hit my target, boots replaced with booty. Flat shoes, we were on a shopping expedition, but sheer electric blue nylons, a pink knee length skirt, and a tight black shirt. I should have been quarantined; I was foaming at the mouth.

  “Glad you like my outfit,” she said. “Let’s go shopping. And, Valiant, this time you can take the lead. I want to see some initiative.”

  I wanted her so badly, but now my libido had finally hooked up with my brain, I decided to play it smart. The fact she liked what she saw boosted my hand. How could I tell? The way her eyes lingered, the mirrored body language, and for once she seemed interested in what I had to say. The playing with her hair helped. Speaking of which, I needed a drastic makeover, and this time that meant no makeup.

  There were no hairdressers prepared to give me a short back and sides. Instead I bought a pair of scissors. I was still forbidden a beard and moustache, but razors were unheard of. The prescribed cocktail had been our trimmer for facial hair. Eventually I threw in an electric razor from an antiques shop.

  I was wearing my dark brown catsuit, feeling conspicuous, and was busy scouring the display windows for something a tad smarter, crisper, that marked me out as a lady’s man and not a ladyboy.

  There was nothing but men’s chiffons, plaids, bell bottoms, and hipsters. A few shops were already stocking their autumn/winter outfits to get ahead of the game, but it was fake fur and corduroy with frills.

  With a sigh of resignation, I led Anais to the women’s outfitters, and we received our fair share of glances and disapproving scowls. Perhaps she would understand what it was like to be a man. A grey suit caught my eye, but the tranny refused to assist me until Anais flashed him her ID card.

  The suit was packed by a wide mouthed crossdresser, alongside a white shirt. I gave him a wink and Anais threw in a slim black tie without the inconvenience of any additional payment. She had the pips on her uniform, even if it was back at the campus, and he was a pipsqueak.

  After dismissing the fur-lined men’s boots for a rugged terrain all weather women’s pair, we were ready to head back for some head, or so I hoped. I insisted on carrying the bags.

  We hardly spoke in the taxi. The crossdressing driver did it all for us, and all I could do was stare at Anais and drool like a fool.

  “Don’t speak,” she said as the door closed in her apartment and the bags hit the floor. “The bed’s this way.”

  But the banging was coming from the other side of the door.

  “Damn,” she cursed before answering.

  It was her guard of honour, the shemales, and I hated them more than ever.

  “The surgeon general wants an update on your new toy,” said one. She stared frostily down her long crooked nose at me. I could sense the hate, the jealousy.

  Anais hesitated, and the shemale looked over her shoulder, at her superior officer.

  “Immediately,” she said. “Don’t worry about packing, she’s in London.”

  “I’m coming,” said Anais, and suddenly I wasn’t.

  Still, I was certain we’d get another chance soon. After all, I was her toy.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Anais had been gone for two days, and I was both high and low. I liked the new me and the associated feelings; I felt alive, but I was worried too. What was taking her so long? Was Vespertina going to pull the plug on the experiment, on me? After all what had Anais said, ‘we need a new man who can fight without fighting off the opposite sex’? But I could think of nothing but sex, with a female. I wanted love, not war.

  I decided to stretch my legs on campus. I begged my nervous shemale overseer to let me go it alone, and promised to be good. It took some flattery but even a newly qualified heterosexual sex addict like me could appreciate a great pair of legs on the third sex. I, on the other hand, dressed androgynous in trousers and a shirt.

  It was in the canteen he surprised me. I was lazily sipping an iced tea when someone placed their hands over my eyes.

  “Surprise, surprise. No, don’t turn around. Who is it?”

  I had hoped it was Anais, but the voice was distant.

  “Vespertina?” I joked.

  He removed his hands, and was standing in front of me. I was confused; he was in uniform. Dorian 3309 was in the secret police, PUSSI (Police Undercover Search Surveillance and Intel)?

  “I’ve been watching you,” he said.

  His grey uniform was crisp, his long black boots shiny, and his trousers tucked in.

  “I’ve noticed,” I replied.

  “Sorry, Valery 01, I never meant to creep you out. I wanted to save you.”

  “From myself?”

  “Burdizzo.”

  He pulled up a chair. No one was looking at us. The secret police put the fear of Mother Nature into everyone. They were few in number, men who genuinely hated other men, but their responsibility was large.

  “You know?” I asked him.

  “Of course, I read the police reports.”

  “So they did take it seriously.”

  “We didn’t want you to tip her off unwittingly.”

  So I wasn’t witless after all.

  “She’s close,” I said.

  “Closer than you can imagine,” said Dorian.

  “You have a plan?” I asked.

  “I want to trap her.”

  “With me as the bait?”

  “You game?”

  Actually, I was, and nodded. I didn’t tell Dorian I was a new man.

  “What’s it like,” I asked, “being in PUSSI?”

  “The most wonderful feeling in the world,” he replied, grinning. “It gives you a feeling of control, power.”

  “Shouldn’t I tell my shemale escort?” I asked as we headed for the University exit.

  “Don’t worry, we’ll be back before curfew.”

  I took a ride downtown in his unmarked car. I should have felt safe, but I was increasingly nervous with his lack of communication.

  “Burdizzo lives somewhere in this block,” he said, parking on the empty street outside.

  “A man?”

  “A woman in disguise. As a woman she can travel anywhere, as a man she can hide anywhere. Don’t be too surprised, Valery 01.”

  He didn’t use my new name. He may have been in PUSSI, but he didn’t know I wanted some too.

  “There’s a surveillance flat across the road.”

  “Wait a minute,” I said, “isn’t she supposed to see me?”

  I thought that was the plan: to flush her out and identify her. Why else would Dorian bring me here?

  “Sure, but I need to pick up some equipment first.”

  I wasn’t convinced, but I was PUSSI whipped. Although you wouldn’t know it, his uniform was now covered with a black trench-coat.

  We alighted from the lift, and, after fumbling with his keys, we were in. He flicked the light switch; it was still daylight but the curtains were drawn. I asked for a tea, and my host retreated to the kitchen.

  “One or two sugars?” he asked.

  “I’m sweet enough,” I replied.

  “I forgot,” he said, “Of course you are. And great hair too, I wish it was mine.”

  With Dorian 3309, if that was his real name, waiting for the kettle to boil, I couldn’t resist looking at his collection of wigs displayed on the mannequin heads lined across the sideboard. There were five, and the hair felt so real, and the congealed blood on the scalps did too. The blood, scalps, what the hell? I sat down fast.

  “Here’s your tea,” he said, smiling politely.

  “Thanks. You know what I will have sugar after all,” I said. “I’m getting a sweet tooth.”

  Two sugared teas sat in front of us, on the small round table, and no one thus far had taken a sip.

  I looked at him as I swapped them around, and picked his up.

  “Drink up,” I said.

  “You know yours is drugged, of course,” he said. “Out of curiosity, what gave me away?”

  “Curiosity.”

  “Then you should be in PUSSI.”

  I had the same feeling.

  “And you?” I asked.

  “Oh it’s true; I’m in the secret police. The office job’s my cover.”

  “And no one suspects you’re a serial killer? Your superiors, the women?”

  “You know I’ve often wondered that. This flat’s a secret, my hideaway, but why shouldn’t they know, and what would they do if they did?”

  Maybe he was right. Perhaps it suited them, society.

  “Control by fear,” I said.

  “And medication, but you have to admit it does keep the fairies on their toes.”

  “But what’s in it for you?”

  “Every time I kill someone, something in me dies as well. The part I hate.”

  Was he a psychiatrist or did he just need to see one? His eyes were wide, demonic.

  “And the scalps are trophies?” I asked.

  “Hardly, I have alopecia, always have. Boys can be so bitchy you know.”

  I wasn’t a shoulder to cry on. Not here, not now, not with him.

  “So now what?” I asked.

  He laughed.

  “You die of course.”

  He brandished a revolver, and I flicked my eight legged friend off the cushion with a forefinger.

  “I thought you were terrified of spiders,” he said.

  “No, that’s for pussies.”

  He was even more surprised as I stabbed his neck with the letter opener. We looked at each other, both in disbelief, before his eyes closed.

  He fell forward, dead, onto the carpet. His wig slipped, and there was a bald patch, on him as well as the rug. His low life was over.

  I stepped over his body, away from the pouring blood. I tip-toed towards the curtains, I wasn’t sure why no one else was there, and slowly peeled them back, looking onto the street. Dead quiet; all the guys were inside watching the netball final. His car was still there, but it was no use to me. I couldn’t drive; I was a guy.

  The wallpaper was grotesque, like the headpieces, green and orange squares on a white canvas. The furniture was dark wood, old and tired, apart from one glass bookshelf stacked with hair magazines, and some named files. I took mine even though I was leaving a trail of DNA behind. Maybe the flat was a secret, but a rotting corpse wouldn’t be. A pile of papers fell on the floor from a foolscap. They were stamped Top Secret, but it was the name that jumped off the page ‘Professor Cygnus Caveat.’

  Just one thing remained, to return to the University before curfew. I didn’t wash up, but I did find a bus pass on the kitchen drainer.

  “Doesn’t look like you,” said the tranny bus driver inspecting the photo on my pass.

  “I’ve changed my hair,” I said.

  “The face looks different,” he said.

  “Dental work,” I replied.

  “Oh, get on,” he finally relinquished. “I want to get back to the station, maybe I’ll catch the last half hour of the match.”

  I took my ticket and headed for the back of the bus.

  “Hey,” shouted the driver, “just a minute.”

  My heart stopped.

  “Who are you supporting?” he asked.

  “No one, I’m not into netball,” I replied, without turning around.

  “I bet you like women too,” he scoffed.

  “Something like that.”

  “You are kidding, aren’t you, about not liking netball?” said the guy, leaning over towards me.

  “Sure, who doesn’t like netball? I’m not heterosexual.”

  And we both laughed.

  “Valiant 01, I was worried,” said my shemale guard. “Where have you been?”

  “Sorry, Andrea, but ever since the new drugs I’m almost dying for PUSSI.”

  Back in my room I quickly closed the blinds, and threw the files on the bed. I’d been under surveillance for a year. There was the naked photo snapped at my window, and one description calling me chubby, heart-breaking. I was proud of my figure- make that physique.