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 Chicago . . .”


“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 Chicago but the details were on record.


The Inspector’s frown deepened. “Let me finish, Constable. The young man in question has run away from home and Ottawa wants him found and returned. Quietly. I’ve been ordered to have the boy located and taken into custody without publicity and without involving the Americans.”


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 Chicago had taught Fraser the real meaning of that word and he now understood it signified something far different from what Ray had suggested early in their friendship. But that understanding still did not help him follow what the Inspector was after.


“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 9:00 tomorrow,” she interrupted him. “Draw any shopping money you need from petty cash. Dismissed.”




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 Canada the state had no business in the bedrooms of the nation. What gentlemen chose to do in private was their own concern and he had never been called upon to intervene in the line of duty.


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 Henley, Fraser shivered even though it was quite warm in the Vecchio house.


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 Victoria?”


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!”




“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 Canada, going up and down the pole. He did everything he had done before but this time Ray was breathing hard, grunting, clutching the sides of the bed. With a cry and a shudder, Ray came. Fraser swallowed every bit down leaving not the smallest smear on the sheets or on his new dress.


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.”



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