A Glimpse of Nylon Stocking Ch. 03

She was wearing a carefully brushed and styled blonde Marilyn Monroe wig and her makeup was heavy but perfect: black eyeliner and mascara to frame her beautiful green eyes, contrasted with pinkish hued eyeshadow. Her high cheekbones were rouged, her pretty nose powdered and those sensuous lips coated with plum-red lipstick.

She was wearing a simple blue skirt-suit, the jacket hanging over the back of her chair, a red satin blouse and black high-heeled pumps. Her short skirt had ridden up a little; enough to show off the welts of her fully-fashioned nylon stockings. Her costume jewellery glittered under the subdued pub lighting.

Donald was not the only man to notice Julie. The man sitting beside her was obviously infatuated with her, although Julie showed little interest in him. Several other men in the pub were gawking at her too.

What surprised Donald was that he saw nothing of Julian in Julie. That actually wasn't true: it was as if Julian had been appropriated and subsumed by Julie. Try as he might, he could see nothing masculine in Julie. He studied her sitting down at the table engaging with her friends, standing up to go to the loo and sometimes to dance and he was intrigued by her delicate femininity and poise. Every gesture she made, every footstep she took, and every word she spoke; her very countenance was womanly.

Unless they knew otherwise nobody would ever know that Julian shared the same body. Conversely they might think that Julie and Julian were twin brother and sister.

Donald felt vindicated. He'd been fascinated and obsessed with Julian ever since that glimpse of nylon stocking on the eight-fifty-five commuter train servicing the Bakerloo Line. His detective work had paid dividends. Donald knew Julian's secret.

The irony was that once Donald spied Julie Clifford he immediately lost all interest in Julian. Julie had totally replaced any thoughts of Julian. She was a totally different person and he was infatuated with her; smitten was probably a better word.

But what he was thinking was repugnant surely? It was anathema to him. It was totally against his nature.

Gillian Snodgrass' advice: 'go out and explore the world and find something exotic to tickle your fancy' kept circling his thoughts and he shook his head and looked at his watch. It was close to closing time.

Donald had solved the mystery of the man on the train who wore nylon stockings to work under his suit. That was enough. There was no need to pursue Julian Clifford any longer.

But that night Donald didn't dream about Julian Clifford; he dreamt about Julie!

All the next day he kept thinking of Julie; he just couldn't put her out of his mind.

Later that evening, at exactly five thirty, having imbibed two gin and tonics to fortify him, Donald lifted the receiver in a telephone box near Lambeth tube station and dialled 723 4141, turning the tart card over and over in his hand. He had never felt so nervous.

Julie Clifford and Donald Cooper

Saturday morning Julian opened the bookshop a little later than usual. Julie had imbibed a little more alcohol than she usually did on Friday night and Julian's stomach was queasy. He had a frightful day and didn't sell much but now that Julie was making good money from prostitution it wasn't that important. What was important was that Julian's beloved bookstore was safe from the debt collectors at Barclay's Bank.

Julian locked up early and went home and Julie took over. She took a long luxurious bath and examined her slim body for any stray hairs which were immediately plucked. Julian was not hirsute and had very little facial or body hair. Julia's body was svelte but not skinny; she was hippy and what little fat she had was stored on her pert buttocks. Her amber-blonde hair was growing out nicely and had recently been cut so that Julian could wear it centre-parted and look like some bookish intelligentsia and Julie could wear it styled in a feminine bob.

Julie never wore her own hair at the Trunk and Brick or with her punters. It was something personal to her and she loved to sit in front of the mirror and brush and style it and was a little dismayed when she had to put a wig cap over it and pull on one of her hairpieces but it gave her the anonymity she needed to perform her duties as a whore.

The only part of her body she was not satisfied with was her breasts. She had silicon prosthetics of course, breastforms they were called and they filled the cups of her brassiere nicely and gave shape to her upper body but she would really like some real tits. Nothing over exaggerated; that would be outrageous; maybe a B or C size proportionate to her body. But even if her wish came true and Julie did sprout breasts, what would Julian do with them? Bind them? That seemed a little unkind. She was already making him wear nylons and knickers under his man-clothes.

What if there was a way to do away with Julian? She'd often had this thought but it was impossible. Everything was in his name and how would she explain his disappearance and her sudden manifestation? She put away such thoughts.

She dried herself and poured herself a drink and began the ritual of applying her makeup. A glance at the clock revealed it to be five o'clock. The phone would begin ringing soon. Saturday evenings were always busy.

Julie finished her makeup and slipped into her lingerie, a white satin full-slip, matching full-cut knickers and brassiere, a black lace suspender belt and flesh-toned seamed stockings. As often happened, slipping into her dainties had produced an erection. She was too drunk and exhausted yesterday when she got home from the pub to allow herself self-pleasure and she was concupiscent. She glanced over guiltily at her little dildo and the tube KY Jelly beside it.

Julie had douched as part of her toilette and she smiled wickedly. A little stimulation before she went to work wouldn't hurt. She took off her knickers and lay on the bed and lubed up the dildo and put the tip near the entrance to her anus. She improved her erection to full tumescence and slowly inserted the dildo. It still hurt when it pierced her sphincter but she took her time and soon the tip was pressing on her prostate whilst the girth of it illicited little sparklets of pleasure from her puckered bud.

She took her cock in her hand and worked the dildo slowly in and out of her anus, allowing herself fifteen minutes of sustained pleasure, backing off each time she approached extremis. She would wait until she had serviced all of her punters before she allowed herself to orgasm unless one of them bought her off during a session which sometimes happened if the man was handsome and the sex was good.

She wiped the dildo clean and set it aside and then she wiped the excess lubricant from her sphincter and put her knickers back on. Julie was still tingling with sexual excitement and that wasn't a bad thing. It made dealing with the pasty, fat, working class, middle-aged married men who made up the bulk of clientele tolerable.

Julie had just put on her high heels when the phone rang. It was early; still only five thirty. Normally she would have ignored it but she was in a good mood brought on by post-masturbatory bliss and she click-clacked down the stairs to answer the red phone, dressed only in her lingerie.

"TV Julie," she whispered into the receiver in the sultry tone she used for customers.

"What are you wearing?" Donald whispered; he was so nervous he could barely speak and realised that he sounded stupid as soon as the words left his lips.

"Piss off, tosser!" Julie hung up the phone and reached for her Consulates.

The phone rang again and Julie snatched it up ready to give a mouthful of expletives to the idiot on the other end of the line.

"Don't hang up. I'm sorry; I know I sounded like a tosser," Donald said, his tone genuinely conciliatory.

There was something in the man's tone and his educated accent that appealed to Julie. It was hard to make an assumption based on a telephone conversation but the man sounded genuinely sorry, a little nervous, but also sanguine.

Julie lit the cigarette dangling from her red lipsticked lips.

"Mostly white. A satin full-slip, full-cut knickers and a brassiere that I've yet to stuff with my false tits," Julie decided to have a little fun with him.

"Hosiery?" the man whispered hopefully.

"Tan, or more correctly, flesh-toned, fully fashioned nylon stockings. Black high-heeled courts," Julie let out a stream of smoke.

"Not those horrible thigh-high boots in your picture?" the man sounded hopeful.

"Hey! Those boots cost me a pretty penny and a lot of my customers like them," Julie said indignantly but she had to admit that she was enjoying the banter.

"Your legs are too beautiful to be covered by boots," Donald whispered and immediately realised his mistake.

"How would you know? Have you been here before?" Julie sounded pensive.

"No. But the shape of your legs in those boots leads me to believe they will be even more magnificent just clad in stockings with your feet shod in high heels," Donald thought he had recovered well.

"Well the clock's ticking ducky and I've got money to make. What can I do for you?" Julie got down to business.

"I have a proposal," Donald took deep breath.

"I bet you do. Look you've read my card. The only thing I've got to add is that it's two quid for hand relief and a fiver for fellatio... that's if I offer it to you," Julie wanted to ensure this man knew that she was in charge.

She tapped ash into a cut glass ashtray beside the phone and listened to the man's heavy breathing. He seemed to making some sort of decision.

"My proposal is as follows. You take on no other customers tonight other than me. I have you to myself for the whole evening and I'll pay you seventy pounds Stirling," Donald couldn't believe that he had actually said it.

Julie was shocked. She'd had all sorts of proposals put her way; most of which were downright disgusting and mostly illegal but this was the first time anyone had asked for her company exclusively other than drunken proposals of ardour from admirers at The Trunk and Brick.

"It's a tempting offer but I'm not going to say yes. Turn up to my gaff and I'll take a look at you and if you're clean, healthy and decent looking I'll consider it. I'm not going to do anything dodgy. The only thing on offer is what's on the card," Julie said, half-regretting that she had.

Julie used a lower class cockney type inflection when she was working. It was something that developed naturally. Inside herself she believed that work she was doing was beneath her and if she was to be a whore she might as well sound like one.

Her intuition was to tell this man to throw his hat in the air and take a flying fuck at it but there was something about his manner that tempted her. Besides if he really was some toff with a pocket full of pounds, wouldn't it be nice to just have one customer to deal with? Someone who sounded like they had a bit of class.

Like most of those posh poseurs, he probably wanted his bottom spanked and to be told he was a naughty boy. If he asked to wear her knickers he was out the door short shrift that was for sure.

"Ok done. If you don't like the look of me I'll be on my way. Don't worry I'm not going to ask you to do anything, what did you call it? Dodgy? I really just want to spend time in your company and of course a kiss and cuddle and whatever else is on offer," Donald said, hardly believing that he was saying those words.

"Twelve, Black Prince Road, Lambeth," Julie quipped.

"I won't be long; wear something nice," Donald said and hung up the phone with trembling fingers.

Donald leaned on the telephone apparatus for support. His whole body was shaking and his legs felt like they might give way. How could he have done such a thing? Donald knew that Julie was really just Julian dressed as woman. But she wasn't! He'd seen her, heard her voice; he'd seen her walk and talk. She was a beautiful woman. An alluring sexy woman and the fact that she was anatomically different didn't repel him; it made him desire her more.

This was madness! He needed to stop this now. Go home! Go down the club and get drunk! Go to a nightclub and pick up a woman more his type! Maybe even pick up a brass who was a real woman! Dare he say it: maybe even call Vivian Huxtable!

All these things recurred to him over and over as Donald Cooper walked the fifteen minutes from Lambeth tube station to twelve, Black Prince Road.

"Wear something nice! Who the fuck did this toff think he was?" Julie fumed.

But secretly she was glad that he had said it. She'd half expected him to ask her to put on dominatrix leathers or a latex catsuit. These were the favourites of those in her flock who were into bondage and discipline. Others liked her dressed as the obligatory French maid, perhaps a secretary or school teacher (she used the same outfit for both). One punter had the audacity to ask if she a nun's habit!

It would be nice to wear something less costume but still seductive. She settled on a dark suit. The skirt was tight and had a kick-pleat in the back otherwise it would be difficult to walk in. It wasn't really a mini. It was a pencil skirt that came to just above her knees. That jacket was also tight and fitted over a brilliant white satin blouse. She'd had to lose the full slip she had been wearing earlier and settled on a black rayon half-slip to go under the skirt, otherwise the foundation garments and shoes she was already wearing went perfectly with the outfit.

She poured another drink, lit a cigarette and waited anxiously for her gentleman caller to arrive. She'd seen hundreds of punters since she had started 'being on the game' but she had never felt so anxious about a single one. She weeded out most of the loonies over the phone and those that got through her rudimentary screening process were easily dealt with, usually with a whip, a crop, or cane.

But this man seemed different; a rich toff who wanted her all to himself. If he was handsome he might be the man of her dreams she joked to herself and stopped laughing when the doorbell rang.

Donald took a deep breath and pressed the doorbell. He knew that if he hesitated he would never do it and walk away, likely forever. He would probably be thankful that he did but he also knew that he would regret it for the rest of his life. He would spend the evening with this TV Julie person who had somehow enraptured him, captivating his thoughts, ruining his life. He would let her do the things women of her kind were paid to do and he would satisfy both his lust and his curiosity and he would never see her again.

One thing was for sure! He would be going nowhere near what she kept in her knickers under any circumstances!

Donald heard the click-clack of her high heels in the hallway and took a deep breath and forced himself to smile.

Julie opened the door.

Smiling at her was a handsome man with rugged good looks, wearing an expensive suit and polished brogues. His hair was black, thick and lustrous and he reminded Julie of the actor Richard Burton. There was something worryingly familiar about him and Julie couldn't put his finger on it. He was certainly not one of her regular punters but she was sure she had seen him before.

Julie began to close the door, her senses tingling; sensing danger.

Donald's heart was filled with dismay.

"The Elephant and Castle!" he blurted out.

Julie stopped with the door half-closed and looked at him quizzically.

"The Trunk and Brick! You asked me how I knew that your legs were beautiful and if I'd been here before. I saw you at The Elephant and Castle. I was amazed at how beautiful you were and then I found your tart card in the bogs," Donald held out Julie's tart card, which had crumpled in his hand, as if offering a tribute to a goddess.

It was not really a lie but it wasn't the full truth.

"Look it's my first time doing anything like this and I'm a little unsure of myself. You know, being with a err, a... well you know. You're not going to make this easy for me are you?" Donald sighed.

Julie opened the door and studied the man. She knew that she had seen him before and although his story about seeing her at the Trunk and Brick was believable and likely she was certain that she had seen him somewhere else.

The curtain in the house across the road moved and Julie knew that Mrs Granger, the local gossipmonger, was watching them, gathering more gossip and rumours to spread.

Julie made a split-second decision.

"Come inside," she looped her hand through the crook of Donald's arm and pulled him through the door.

Her touch was electrifying. Donald could feel her long delicate fingers through the sleeves of his jacket. Her long red fingernails seemed to dig into his flesh. He knew that he was embellishing and imagining it but the miasma of her sensuous musk was not an illusion and he breathed in deep as he stepped past her.

Julie felt the man's bicep through the sleeve of his coat and was impressed. His aftershave was something spicy and alluring and she liked it.

Julie closed the door and put her back to it and studied the man closely under the hallway light which was the only light in the house burning brightly. Julie kept it that way so she could examine the punters as they entered. The man was even more handsome under the light with his leonine head, Roman nose and full lips and shock of coiffed black hair. He had an athletic physique despite his age and his suit was cut accordingly.

"Donald Cooper; enchanted to meet you," a smile lit his face as he leaned in and kissed Julie on the cheek.

Julie had never been kissed on the cheek by any of her punters before. Nor had many of them introduced themselves; they demanded anonymity and they were simply 'men'. They usually grabbed her by the arse and forced their mouths on hers or they were the opposite: shy and bashful and Julie had to take them by the hand and lead them upstairs.

Julie felt herself taken with this man immediately. She felt stupidly girl-like and overwhelmed by his good looks and his manners but it wasn't just that. Donald seemed to have a genuine affection for her. How she knew that having just met the man was beyond her. She couldn't assume anything of the sort and realised that she was being silly.

"Ok you can stay. Seventy quid you said?" Julie was being deliberately cold and aloof to hide her true feelings.

"Seventy it is Julie," Donald reached for his wallet and Julie realised that she had failed to introduce herself.

But she had no need to, did she? He had her tart card with her name was on it. He was just another punter; albeit a rich one.

Julie eyed the crystal bowl that sat beside the telephone where she kept her keys and loose change and nodded. It was as if for some reason she didn't want to touch Donald's money. That doing so would somehow degrade her in his eyes. She knew that she was being stupid but she gave a sigh of relief when Donald laid the crisp fifty pound note along with two tens in the bowl.

"Now the preliminaries are concluded, might I suggest that we move elsewhere, it's rather crowded here in the hallway," Donald quipped.

He couldn't help but drop his eyes to her ankles and calves. There were the culprits! The limbs he had seen peeking out from a pair of trousers. Swathed in nylon stockings, they had beguiled him. But the woman to whom the limbs belonged bore little resemblance to the man on the eight-fifty-five commuter train. This woman was the girl of his dreams.

Julie saw Donald's gaze descend to her legs. This was not an uncommon scenario; men often lusted after her legs... and her bottom, but in this case she sensed that Donald was appraising her rather than just lusting over her. It was a strange experience and she wondered if she had made the right decision allowing him into her house.