Fraser stood at
attention in front of Inspector Thatcher’s desk and wondered whether she
realized how easy it was for him to tell when she was nervous. She gave herself
away so easily, trying to look officious while shuffling her papers, making a
big show of examining one of the papers as though it were vital to national
security, making him wait immobile while she called Turnbull on the intercom
and crisply barked out some minor order. Only then would she turn the full
strength of her nearsighted gaze in his direction.
In order to please
her, Fraser would, on these occasions, effect an expression of frightened
expectancy. The Inspector always seemed more secure when she thought he was
intimidated and he saw no harm in playing along.
This morning
Thatcher was as imperious as he had ever seen her. Whatever she had to say,
Fraser reasoned that it must be embarrassing in the extreme. This did not bode
well. He himself had no such games to displace his discomfiture. He’d be
reduced to standing there and blushing, and then stammering when he tried to
talk. However, there was no avoiding it. He stood still, waiting for the
Inspector to get around to whatever it was she was avoiding talking about.
At last Thatcher
put down the receiver of her phone with a decisive ‘thunk’
and favoured her deputy with her sternest frown.
“Fraser,” she
pronounced as though summoning him to her presence, although, in fact, he was
already waiting obediently no more than a metre away.
Fraser tensed and
raised his shoulders just a trace, somehow managing to appear even more at
attention than before.
“I have a very
delicate assignment for you, Constable. The son of the Finance Minister is in
“And you would like
me to escort him around the city?” Fraser was mindful of the sixteen-year-old
Christina he had babysat before. No wonder the Inspector was nervous. True,
that episode had occurred before she came to
The Inspector’s
frown deepened. “Let me finish, Constable. The young man in question has run
away from home and
Fraser returned her
frown. This would indeed be tricky. But he had yet to understand why his
superior officer was so embarrassed.
“Fraser, for the
purpose of this assignment, it will be necessary for you to dress as a woman. A
very attractive woman, if you can arrange it.”
“You wish me to
impersonate a woman?” Fraser sought clarification.
“No, you’ll be
impersonating a man.”
“But I AM a man
already, sir.”
“Yes, Fraser. Which
is why you’ll be dressed as a woman,” the Inspector explained.
The explanation
didn’t help Fraser much. “Sir, if the task requires a woman, wouldn’t it be
more efficient for an actual woman to be assigned?”
Thatcher shook her
head. “The assignment requires a male who is a transvestite.”
Nearly two years in
“This young man has
aligned himself with a group of gay men who happen to like to dress as women. I
want you to become one of that community - not
permanently, you understand - just for the purpose of . . . well, you know what
I mean.”
“I’m not sure I do,
sir,” Fraser confessed.
The Inspector’s
discomfort was deteriorating into impatience. “Constable, try to stay with me
here. You must become a cross-dresser. In that guise, you will penetrate the
community the youngster has aligned himself with, locate him and take him into
custody.”
“But sir, we
haven’t the jurisdiction.”
“The Minister’s son
isn’t likely to know that. But if he does, I’m counting on you to use your
powers of persuasion.”
Fraser continued to
stand without moving a muscle. Only the deep furrowing of his brown betrayed
the effort he was making to understand. Finally he spoke. “I am to present
myself as an attractive woman that everyone knows to be a man. I believe I can
do that, sir. I have once impersonated a woman that everyone thought was a
woman. This only requires the added dimension of . . .”
“Then spend today
working out a suitable disguise and report back to me at
********************************
Fraser still kept
the trappings of his female persona, Miss Fraser, in a cardboard box in his
office. He stopped by Turnbull’s desk and instructed his assistant to hold all
his calls and not to disturb him. Then he retreated into his office before
Turnbull could discuss the matter. Once assured of privacy (as much as one
could be so assured considering Turnbull was the one guarding that privacy) he
pulled from his closet, the box that contained his wig, dress, pantyhose,
shoes, make-up, jewellery and false breasts. As he set it on his desk, a memory
stirred. The girl, Melissa, had told him his hair colour was wrong.
Fraser was under
orders to be not just a woman but an attractive one. Even though Miss Fraser
had attracted the attention of at least three men during her brief existence,
Fraser decided to make a more concerted effort to be sexy this time. Some
assistance would be in order, since during his last attempt he had chosen an
apparently inappropriate hair colour. To whom should he
appeal for help, he wondered briefly. Then he smiled to himself. Which female
of his acquaintance spent more time trying to be sexy than Francesca? Ray’s
sister would be the perfect advisor.
Fraser took up his
box, stopped at Turnbull’s desk to inform the other Mountie that he was going
out, then presented himself at Ovitz’s desk to sign
out a consular car. He drove to Bruno’s Fine Meats to wait for Francesca’s
lunch break.
Upon hearing what
Fraser wanted, Francesca took the rest of the afternoon off. She ordered Fraser
to drive her, along with his boxed womanhood, back to the Vecchio house where,
she said, they could concentrate on the task at hand.
“Now, show me your
outfit,” Francesca commanded once they were closed up in her bedroom.
Fraser shyly opened
the cardboard box and started laying the contents out on Francesca’s bed.
“No, I have to see
how it looks ON you. Change in the bathroom if you’re embarrassed.”
He did so, and
emerged fifteen minutes later as Miss Fraser. He reported back to the bedroom
and, from force of habit, presented himself at attention for Francesca’s
inspection.
This was an area
where Francesca was expert. She snapped out her findings without hesitation.
“The make-up is
okay, but the hair colour is wrong. You should stick with your natural dark
brown, but longer. It should hang curly down to your boobs to soften the upper
body look. Lose the scarf. It
accentuates your shoulders. Hmmm. The dress is too pastel. You’re a winter.”
This designation of
seasons meant nothing to Fraser, but Francesca obviously knew what she was
talking about. He put himself in her hands (figuratively) without hesitation.
“Francesca, please
take me shopping.”
*******************************************
Francesca enjoyed
pulling up to the mall in a limousine and enjoyed even more returning to the
limousine with her own private Mountie carrying shopping bags and boxes. The
purchases were for him, not her, but the people passing by in the mall parking
lot didn’t have to know that.
It was dinnertime
when they returned to the Vecchio house. Francesca led the Mountie back to her
own room and closed the door on him and all his acquisitions. “Put all that
stuff on,” she ordered, “and we’ll test you out on Ray when he comes home.”
By now Ma Vecchio
was in on the plan. Ray walked in from work just as she was setting an extra
place for their guest at the dinner table.
“Somebody
coming for supper?” Ray asked, casually, while hanging up his jacket.
“Great
deduction, bro. You should be a detective,” Francesca teased as she
came down the stairs. “One of my girlfriends. We were
out shopping.”
“Anybody I know?”
Ray was only mildly interested, just in case.
“You’ll see,” said
Francesca, meeting her mother’s eyes. The two women giggled. Ray shrugged and
went to wash his hands.
“No, stay right
here!” Francesca took hold of Ray’s arm and put him in place at the bottom of
the stairs.
“Okay! Now!” Francesca called out.
A tall beauty
appeared at the top of the stairs. Her long dark hair was parted in the middle
and rippled down the front of her evening dress. The top part of the dress was
understated, black satin with long sleeves. The skirt portion of the dress was
a blaze of shimmering silver. It floated around the “woman’s” knees as she
descended the stairs. Francesca had made him search several shops for a dress
that would suitably de-emphasize his chest and shoulders and draw the eye
downward. The full skirted dress added width to his narrow, male hips and
flapped charmingly around his shapely legs.
Ray stood still
taking it all in, right down to the black pumps on feet that seemed too small
for such a big woman. It was the feet, rather than the heavily made-up face,
that tipped Ray off to the “woman’s” identity. That day they had gone to get
the Mountie’s boots repaired Ray had first noticed
that his friend’s lower appendages were tiny for a man over six feet tall. In
fact, he’d teased Fraser about his dainty feet for two good weeks afterwards.
“Fraser!” he
exclaimed.
Fraser continued
his graceful descent to where his friend stood.
“Francesca thought
Miss Fraser needed a new look,” the Mountie told his friend. Ray only stared.
Fraser struck an alluring pose. “You did say I wasn’t bad looking, Ray,” he
purred in his Miss Fraser falsetto.
“Benny, what’s got
into you?” Ray finally managed to blurt out.
“We’ll tell you
over dinner, Caro,” Ma told him, then turned to their
Mountie guest. “Go change your clothes, Benito. You don’t want to spill food
all over your new dress.”
**********************************
O ver minestrone, Fraser, back to his normal appearance, made
Ray swear to keep silent about Fraser’s plan and mention Miss Fraser only
inside his own house.
“So, let me get
this straight, you’re supposed to be gay.”
Francesca gave her
brother a shove with her elbow as punishment for a bad quip. Ray pushed her
back. Meanwhile Fraser, his mouth full of soup, only nodded affirmatively.
Ray thought this
over. “Dressing up may not be enough, Benny. Somebody might expect you to, you
know, walk the walk. Not just talk the talk.”
“Raimundo, you’re at the dinner table,” Ma warned.
Fraser blushed and
kept his attention on his soup.
Fraser’s not going
to last one night undercover, Ray thought as they all ate. He’s so pretty, for sure somebody is going to want him to get in on
the party. If he doesn’t join in, everybody will know he’s a fake. Poor innocent Fraser. He thought he could pass just by
dressing up. The Dragon Lady’s just as bad. If she had any sense, she’d send
him out for some field training. Canadians. OK, Benny
wouldn’t be streetwise. Where he came from, they didn’t even have streets.
Ray concluded that
he would have to take the situation in hand. He chuckled to himself at the
wording that had come into his head. No, not exactly “hand”. A
little on-the-job training. That’s what Benny needed.
When dinner was
over, Ray took Fraser up to his own bedroom, closed the door and then locked it
with the big old-fashioned key that usually perched untouched in the keyhole.
“Benny, I have to
explain something to you,” Ray said with a world-weary sigh. “
Frannie made you LOOK great in that getup but
you’re going to need a little bit of additional training to pull this off.”
“I don’t
understand, Ray.”
“You’re going to
have to do what gay men do,” Ray prompted, hoping his friend would catch on.
The depth of the Mountie’s sudden blush told Ray that Fraser understood at
least part of the message.
“But Ray, I’ve never . . . I couldn’t . . .” Fraser stammered. Then he fell
silent and thought for a moment. “You’re right. As Hamlet says, I have to suit
the action to the word and the word to the action. It’s my duty.”
Fraser straightened
where he stood and assumed a posture appropriate for facing a firing squad.
Then he sagged and went to sit on the edge of Ray’s bed and dropped his head
into his hands, defeated. “How am I going to learn what to do? I guess there’s
some technique to it, but . . .”
Fraser’s a cop, Ray
thought. I can’t believe he’s so innocent that he doesn’t even KNOW what guys
do. He voiced this disbelief to Fraser. The Mountie answered that in
Ray made a
decision. “Benny, I’ll help you out, but only if you promise NEVER to tell
anybody.”
**************************
Fraser watched with
detached interest as Ray shucked his own shoes, socks, pants and briefs. Naked
now from the waist down, Ray ordered his Mountie friend to likewise divest
himself. Copying Ray’s order of operations, since it was a logical one, Fraser
removed his boots and socks first. Then the Sam Browne and tunic had to be shed
before the jodhpurs and boxers could be removed. Clad only in his
Ray had been
planning to keep this businesslike but this idea had come from his large brain.
His small brain sensed impending action and wasn’t interested in whether a male
or a female was going to be party to it. Fraser noticed the change in his
friend’s anatomy and became alarmed. His own cock was shrivelled in embarrassment.
Ray followed the
direction of Fraser’s gaze. “Oh that. Don’t worry about that. It’s just part of
the training,” Ray said, trying to sound nonchalant.
Fraser gulped. “Understood. What shall we do first?”
“We’ll start with
the front end. Then we’ll learn about the back end later. I’m going to lie down
here and you practise giving me a blow job. Everybody knows how to do that.”
“I don’t,” Fraser
confessed.
“Aw, come on
Fraser. Some woman must have done this for you sometime. You just do the same to
me.”
“I haven’t been
with all that many women, Ray.”
“You
telling me nobody ever gave you . . .?”
Fraser shook his
head, unable to speak further.
“Not even
Fraser’s head
dropped to his chest in abject humiliation.
Ray steeled himself
for the next question. “Not even my sister?”
“I never touched
your sister.”
“Okay, but maybe
SHE touched YOU.”
Fraser took a deep
breath before answering. “I didn’t allow it.”
Ray had mixed
feelings about this revelation. Pleased as he was that Fraser had not messed
with his kid sister, he also knew that tonight’s lesson would have gone more
smoothly if Frannie had had her way with him that
night so long ago. Oh well, the burden was on his shoulders, then.
Shoulders. Yeah, right.
It was evident that
Fraser was suffering, so Ray tried to sound gentle and comforting. “It’s not
all that hard, Fraser.”
Fraser’s eyes
strayed down to his own crotch. Misunderstanding Ray, he said “I can’t help
that. I’m too embarrassed to be aroused.”
“No, what I mean
is: it’s not difficult. Come over here on the bed and take me in your mouth.”
Previously red, the
Mountie now turned deathly white. “Ray! I’m your friend!”
“You think I’d let
an enemy get his teeth hear my wiener? Come on, Benny. Just close your eyes and
think of your country. The Queen’s counting on you.”
Still trembling,
Fraser approached the bed. He lowered himself onto it beside Ray and bent over
the Italian’s haunches with every intention of going through with the deed. But
he couldn’t. It was like the Milk Duds all over again. He couldn’t put his
mouth on his friend’s cock any more than he could have put stolen candy in his
pocket. He just looked away, crushed by the idea of letting both the Queen and
the Inspector down.
It became apparent
to Ray, lying there, that nothing was happening. He sat up, exasperated. “Okay,
fine. You lie down and I’ll demonstrate.” Ray’s cock, which had been losing
ground during this period of uncertainty, inched upward again in anticipation.
Ray had never done
this to another man, but he dug into his memory for all the variants he’d been
subjected to in the past by his girlfriends and wife. Ray’s cock crawled up
cautiously as his lips explored Fraser’s nether regions. Fraser’s crotch and
belly were as hairless as his chest. His creamy white dick lay dejected against
his thigh like a sun-bleached dead codfish. None of Ray’s ministrations could
get it to budge.
After a long time,
Ray sat up, rubbing his jaw to ease the stiffness. His own
dick had, in the meantime, settled back into its bed of thick black curls. “Fraser, this isn’t going to work unless you
can show some interest,” Ray said at last.
Fraser sat up with
him. “Don’t sell yourself short, Ray. It was a very enlightening demonstration.
Lay back and let me take a turn.”
“Well, I don’t
know, Benny.”
“Please, Ray. I
won’t let you down,” Fraser vowed, oblivious to the secondary meaning.
The Canadian opened
his mouth wide and wrapped his lips around his friend’s waiting dick.
Diligently he recalled Ray’s moves and duplicated them. But he had no better
luck than his friend had. Ray sat up and faced his pupil.
“Something’s very
wrong here,” he said seriously.
Fraser had to
agree.
Then Ray had an
inspiration. “Benny! Go put on the dress!”
“Ray?”
“And the wig, and
the pantyhose. All of it. Then come back.” Ray jumped
up and unlocked the bedroom door. Then he hurriedly slammed it shut again. “Aie!
Put on your pants before you go out!”
*****************************
Fraser, in his
incarnation as a long-haired, sultry brunette, came into Ray’s room. Ray was on
his bed again, laying on his back with his eyes
closed, his hands behind his head and his elbows sticking up. His elbows were
the only parts of him sticking up as Fraser came back into the room.
“Let’s try this
again, Ray,” he said in his Miss Fraser voice.
Ray opened his eyes
and took in the vision that stood over him. God! What a woman! No, man. No, woman. Never mind, his dick assured him,
eagerly. Whatever it is, I want it..
Fraser tossed his
long, dark hair back with a flick and lowered himself to where Ray and his
little friend waited. Fraser repeated the motions of before. Ray moaned and
stiffened.
Just like a
flagpole, Fraser mused as he worked. He thought of his own tongue as a flag,
red like the emblem of
The Queen would be
proud of me, Fraser thought with satisfaction. “I enjoyed that, Ray. Now you
need to show me that ‘back end’ you were talking about.”
End