Christmas has never been a good time for me. Well at least not since the time it started to involve rather more giving than receiving. That was once I started work and realised the deprecations a few presents would make on a sixteen year old’s wage packet. I suppose you could call me an unreconstructed Scrooge — that’s him before he had the three spiritual visits and underwent a conversion to convention. I put up with it for a few years but the sinking feeling I got after Bonfire Night, which I always liked because the thought of throwing a Catholic on the fire, even symbolically, appealed to my twisted sense of humour, eventually got to me.

The fifth of November meant that all too soon fireworks would disappear from the shops, only to be replaced by cotton wool snow, holly and sparkly cut-out Santas. Some shops, obviously not as dedicated to the real meaning of Christmas as others, even had the temerity to display models of stables, shepherds and infants in mangers. The town council wasted my council tax on pointless lights and decorations at the behest of avaricious shop keepers hoping to lure more punters into spending ridiculous amounts of money buying gifts for people that they neither want, nor would dream of buying for themselves. Who on earth buys boxes of chocolate selections … for their own consumption?

This year was no exception. As the nights drew in further my mood darkened to match. The supermarket gangways became more and more congested with shoppers and displays of ‘Christmas Extras’ making the weekly food shopping more of a nightmare than usual - especially so on Christmas Eve. I hefted my rucksack of shopping onto my shoulders and left the shop, careful to avoid the Santa Claus figure that played ‘Jingle Bells’ excruciatingly badly if anyone stepped anywhere near. For late December, it wasn’t a bad evening. Global warming meant frosts were becoming increasingly rare so it wasn’t too cold; in fact if it hadn’t been for the strong north wind blowing straight down the high street it would have been almost balmy. It was still dark though … if you didn’t count those revoltingly cheerful fairy lights blinking away on strings between the lamp posts and the brightly lit shop windows.

One window attracted my attention. I still don’t know why I even looked, but when I did, the sight brought me to a sudden stop. I stood transfixed by the display. It was a novel idea; instead of showing a whole Christmas tree, the window dressers had just shown the topmost branches, as if the rest of the huge tree extended a hundred feet below the floor and shoppers were standing on a high viewing platform. There were the usual tinsel strands and huge glass baubles, but what attracted me was the fairy standing on the top.

She was full size. By which I mean she wasn’t a doll, well, figuratively she was a doll, but not a child’s doll, a grown-up’s doll - a very grown up doll indeed. I’ve always been partial to blondes with big lungs, and this fairy’s lungs were only too clearly on display. She had bedroom eyes, but sleep would be far from their promised intent; they were slightly tilted at the outer corners, long dark lashes, lids just slightly closed and with irises a shade of dark blue designed for lovers to drown in. As I moved from side to side the better to see her perfect form the eyes followed me, her wide, generous mouth curved in a Mona Lisa smile and parted just enough for a tiny pink tongue to caress the lips. Was she real? Were those ample breasts moved by breath, or a hidden electric motor? Then her right eye deliberately and slowly closed in a conspiratorial wink. Her head moved sideways, beckoning ‘Come here’.
I’m still not sure why I made for the shop door. On second thoughts, I’m completely sure — I was captivated by the fairy queen. With hindsight, ‘captured’ might have been a better description, but where ignorance is bliss ‘tis folly to be wise — and what a load of bollocks that is! As I entered the shop the PA system was already warning customers that the shop would be closing in fifteen minutes and security staff were gently herding them to the doors. I hid behind a rack of winter overcoats as the last of the legitimate customers left with their last minute presents. I worked my way along the wall until I estimated I was behind the window with my fairy queen and quietly waited.

I didn’t have to wait long before the door was flung open and my vision stepped out. She glanced quickly up and down the floor and with hardly a glance at me said quietly “Follow me, and don’t be too obvious.”

How could I be any other but obvious? I hardly looked like staff with a scruffy old fawn ex-navy duffel coat that my mum had worn when they were trendy in the late fifties, a pair of patched blue jeans, well worn trainers, coloured dirty, and a heavy rucksack. Considering she was wearing her fairy queen outfit with spread-out skirts like a ballet dancer’s dress, she moved surprisingly quickly, keeping to the spreading shadows as the main lights went out in groups. Eventually we reached an unobtrusive door hidden behind a clothes rack. She opened it, reached inside, switched on a light and pulled me in, closing the door afterwards.

She looked me straight in the eye. “Hmmm, not perfect, but you’ll do.” Then, after wrinkling her nose. “Need a bath, of course.” She spoke in a breathy contralto. I was still slightly (slightly? A lot!) confused. I didn’t know what to say, so I didn’t. She tilted her head to one side and smiled that little smile again. “Cat got your tongue? You cut it a bit fine. I thought you might have got cold feet.”

I’m sure my mouth was hanging partly open. “Cold feet?” I echoed, probably sounding as gormless as I felt.

The room had originally been a smallish store room. It was lit, inadequately, with a dusty, bare forty watt bulb suspended from the middle of the ceiling. The blonde peered closer, then fumbled in the cleavage of her dress before extracting a pair of glasses. She breathed on them and gave them a wipe with a fold of the dress before setting them on her up-turned nose. “Oh!” she said. “You’re not who I thought you were, but you look so much like him.” She continued accusingly.

I was still baffled and could only reply “Who?” which I thought was the most intelligent thing I’d done in the last fifteen minutes.

She repeated. “But you look so much like him. At least without my specs. Who are you anyway?” Still sounding peeved.

“I can’t help who I look like. I’ve always looked like me. I’m Jeremy — Jeremy Howard.” I was beginning to feel a bit more ‘here’ so I added “Who are you?”

My fairy queen was beginning to look and sound less queenly by the second. “Fuck me. What a cock up. Now what?” She was beginning to undress. She removed her tiara, then turned her back to me. “Unzip me, duck, will you? This fucking dress is killing me. I can’t think. What a total fuck up.” She had a posh voice. She pronounced ‘fuck’ as if it was spelt ‘fack’. Must be a southerner, I thought.

As I pulled the zip down, exposing more of her creamy skin and her braless breasts, she turned her head and grinned impishly. “Since you’re undressing me I suppose we’d better introduce ourselves. I’m Sue Hill, and you’re supposed to be Andy Dutton, but, clearly, you’re not.”

She stepped gracefully out of the dress and, wearing nothing but a pair of lace knickers, white, sparkly tights and a matching pair of white, sparkly stiletto heels, she held out her hand. “Pleased to meet you, Jerry.”

I took her hand briefly, nervously “How do you do Sue?” As my confusion subsided I began to appreciate the length of mum’s old duffel coat. It was just long enough to hide the embarrassing swelling caused by seeing a more than half naked and very attractive female dashing around trying to find her civilian clothes amongst the sundry detritus.

Sue smiled again, but this time revealing an expensive row of orthodontised small shiny teeth. She knew my difficulties. “Well it can’t be helped,” she said, mostly to herself, “you’ll have to do. Hang that up will you, duck? Over there, on that hanger.”

I picked up her dress and, once I’d sorted it into front/back and in/outside, hooked it on the hanger. I replaced it over the central heating pipe stretching along the wall just below the low ceiling. Sue had used my distraction to slip on a tight, belly exposing red tank top and a pair of low slung jeans.

I still had no idea what was happening. “Look, there’s obviously been some sort of mistake. Perhaps I’d better clear off. That other guy — Andy? — he’ll probably turn up. Probably held up somewhere.” I edged to the door but Sue, hopping on one foot whilst trying pull a pink trainer on the other, grabbed my arm in a surprisingly strong grip.

“No, wait a bit. Andy won’t turn up now. I know it’s asking a lot at Christmas but I’ll make it worth your while. You busy for the next few days?”

I avoid the remnants of my family like the plague at Christmas — it just isn’t my thing, besides, the remnants are just that, and a bit remote too. I know some atheists still like the parties, but not me. Just naturally anti-social, I guess. My friends were tied up with their families. All I had planned was a day at home with a good book or three, a bottle of single malt and a couple of DVDs. How sad is that?

So, with nothing to lose, and a very lovely girl looking at me very persuasively, I shrugged my shoulders “Well, not really. I usually go underground over Christmas and wait for it to blow over. What’s the deal?”

Sue gave an even broader smile, released my arm, completed her shoeing and kissed me on the cheek. “Thanks, you’re a doll. Follow me and try to keep out of sight. I know the security guys and they usually hide away in their lair and drink tea for half an hour after the shop shuts. It shouldn’t be too difficult.”

If I hadn’t already agreed, the velvet touch of her lips on my cheek was enough to make me her slave for life. Sue turned out the light, opened the door and, after a quick shufti, beckoned me to follow. As she led the way quickly round the edge of the display floor, I was able to appreciate her figure. If anything she was a touch taller than me and not much lighter. I reckoned her extras, like tits and arse, probably made up for my heavier muscles. It was out of season for me, so I wasn’t quite as skinny as I am in Summer when four hundred hard miles a week on my bike keeps my weight down. I ride time trials several times a week; anything from ten mile sprints to stamina sapping twelve hour events. I take it easy from October to New Year, when I’m ready to start steady training ready for competition later on.

We eventually reached an inconspicuous door hidden by some curtains. Sue produced a key, opened it and, with a wink, ushered me inside, locking the door behind us. A dim light revealed a lobby and a small lift.

Sue jumped inside. “Come on, hurry up. We’ve got a lot to do.” As soon as I’d joined her she pressed a button and we shot upwards, seemingly forever, until a little ‘ting’ indicated our arrival.

Sue’s flat was at the very top of the six story building and very comfortably furnished. Despite my reservations about the Christmas lights I was enchanted by the view from the uncurtained window. My bird’s eye view allowed me to see the pattern of the city’s streets in full fairy-land colour. Even the lights of moving vehicles had a certain beauty as they constantly changed the pattern; the distance insulating the noise and fumes I experienced so often.

I looked round the room comparing it very unfavourably with my own slightly less up market accommodation — a rented couple of rooms in an outer-suburb Victorian terrace house. “Wow, this is really something. Must cost a bomb in rent.”

Sue came up behind me and rested her chin on my shoulder. She smelt like heaven might. It was nearly enough to start evil thoughts and inconvenient swellings. “Doesn’t cost me a penny. Daddy owns the shop. I’m a spoilt little rich girl. Can’t you tell? Lovely view isn’t it?”

“If your dad, owns the place, why were you posing in the window?” I didn’t move because I didn’t want her to move either.

“Bit of a long story, but we had a sort of argument, and I ended up betting the old man I could replace the human statue woman who was going to be the Christmas fairy. She cried off — broken leg, broken neck, bit of a chill, or something equally trivial. It threatened to ruin my whole window display … and I’m quite proud of it. I so wanted it to be a success and I opened by big mouth just a teeny bit too much.”

I thought Sue had rather a nice mouth — generous rather than big. I was beginning to have suspicions, but I needed to know. “Where is all this leading? I’m getting more confused by the minute. Not that I’m objecting, but in my mundane life meeting a girl, then, not only being invited to her flat, but also seeing her minimally dressed, doesn’t happen often.”

For an answer, she took hold of my hand and dragged me over to a large sofa positioned to offer a view of the city below and pushed me gently down on to it. Sue sat at the other end and half-turned to face me.

“Well, it’s like this …” I missed most of the rest because I was drowning in her blue eyes with my imagination working overtime, but it seemed I was to take her place for a couple of hours the following (Christmas) morning and, apparently, I agreed. Just because she wanted to go to a ‘super’ party that evening and she’d be too ‘blasted’ in the morning even to think of posing in the shop window.

“ … but,” I started and continued, even after a glare from Sue, “why me? Why a bloke and not one of your girl friends, or at least a female?”

Sue giggled. “Chance dear boy, merely chance. I came across Andy at a club a few nights ago. He’s on my theatre arts course at Uni and always up for a laugh. So I conned him into this. Posing as me, I mean. Unfortunately for me, he was probably too pissed to remember, and, unfortunately for you, you appeared at the window just when I was expecting Andy. On the other hand, fortunately for me, you seem to be up for it too. Aren’t you darling?” I got another soft kiss, but still only on my cheek. “It’ll be a laugh and I’ll make it worth your while … in more ways than one.”

The next kiss was full on, and breathtaking. I’m not really all that experienced with women. Most of them at work are as geeky as I am, and the few girls at the cycle club are all well and truly attached. I’d never met anyone as overpowering as Sue. She seemed to be able to combine girly femininity and assertiveness. Odd really, because I don’t like effeminate, girly women. You know, the sort who get all fluttery when they have to change a light bulb, but Sue was different.

By the time I’d recovered from the kiss, my feet were bare, my jeans were off and I was down to my Y fronts. Blimey, she was a quick worker. Fortunately, I was totally relaxed ‘down there’ — probably still in shock I suppose. Sue had me standing in the middle of the room so she could walk all round me and take stock, as she put it.

“Why do you shave your legs?” she asked. “Have you done this sort of thing before?” There was a little twinkle in her eyes.

“No, I bloody haven’t.” I replied; not entirely truthfully. “I’m a bikie. We all shave our legs. I just keep mine shaved in the close season because I hate the prickly feel when the hair comes back.”

“But why really? What’s the point?”

“Oh, lots of reasons. Everybody does it and it looks better than hairy legs. So poser value, I suppose. Then it makes massage easier and, if you come off and get a few cuts and grazes that need sticking plaster, it doesn’t hurt so much when you pull it off. It’s all crap about wind resistance — doesn’t make a ha’porth of difference to that.”

“You’ve got nice legs, though and your feet are small.” She raised an eyebrow.

“Yeah, I’m a six or sometimes a seven, depends on the make. Got small hands too.”

“Same as me. I’m a six, too; that’s handy. Now, we need to get the rest of the hair off.” She sniffed. “You need a shower, anyway.” I was surprised. I’d had a shower only three days before and I hadn’t been out training since. I’d been told women had a sensitive sense of smell. It must be true. “While you have a shower and get rid of the rest of your superfluous hair I’ll nip down into the shop and liberate a few things we need. Daddy won’t mind and anyway, it’ll be put down to shoplifters.” She showed me the bathroom and handed me a tube of stuff. “Follow the directions. Don’t worry about the stinging. It’s perfectly normal. Use my shampoo for your hair and don’t forget the conditioner. It’s a good job you’re so fair. Andy’s dark. It’d be lots more difficult to tart him up. You’ll be a piece of cake. You’ve a lovely boyish face too.”

With a throaty giggle, she left the room and I heard the lift start up.

I couldn’t believe the bathroom. All pink tiles and mirrors. Gold plated taps everywhere and big fluffy (and clean — there’s a thing) towels hanging on a heated rail. The only drawback was the sting from the depilatory before I was able to get it washed off. The shower was gorgeous and I was still indulging myself in the powerful jets of hot water and watching the last few body hairs disappear down the drain when Sue returned.

“Haven’t you finished yet?” Obviously, I hadn’t, so she turned off the lovely hot water and changed it to freezing cold. I leapt out onto the soft bath mat, shivering and cursing. “Now get dried — not your hair, though and come into the bedroom. We haven’t got much time. I want to get to my party before it’s all over.” As her party was unlikely to end before four in the morning — at the earliest — I thought she was being a bit sniffy. On her, it still looked good.

If the bathroom was good, the bedroom was splendid. A big bed with an even bigger duvet spread over it and a deep pile carpet so white I hardly dared step onto it. The whole of one wall was taken up by wardrobe doors. Spoilt little rich girls obviously had a lot of clothes to store. Over the bed hung a good quality print of Breugel’s ‘Hunters in Winter’ and something new and original and colourfully swirly on another wall. Sue led me to a well equipped dressing table and sat me down facing the mirror, totally ignoring my nudity. I suppose she was used to having naked men in her bedroom — lucky them.

She sat down on the wide stool alongside me and glanced down at the effect her proximity was having. “God, you men! Can’t you control that thing?” She picked up a pen and, without warning, struck me sharply on the embarrassing protrusion (or my cock, if you want to do away with euphemisms). Never has so much become so little, so quickly. Definitely not the most enjoyable way to effect a reduction, but it worked.

She put her face next to mine and stared at us in the mirror. We looked almost like brother and sister. Not exactly twins, but not far off. Our noses were different; Sue’s was generally straight with a slightly turned up tip and mine is … just a nose — more or less straight all the way and a good size. Our hair was almost identical in colour, but hers was wavy, curved in at the bottom with a fringe just skimming her finely arched eyebrows. Unlike most of my friends, I’ve always kept my hair long. It’s a bit inconvenient to get dry, but a low pony tail suits my geek image at work, and it’s not too much of a problem on the bike.

“Right! Let’s get to work on you, and then I can get to work on me.”

“Err, I would prefer it if I could have something to wear. Where are my jeans?”

Sue looked shocked. “I haven’t had you shower and get to smell a bit less manly only to let you get smelly again by wearing those disgusting jeans.” She looked round and grabbed a diaphanous dressing gown from her bed. “Here, put this on.”

It really wasn’t my usual style. It was pink for starters — well, it had a pink aura, at least. I put it on and tied the sash. It felt … different, but not too bad, and the reflection in the mirror was disturbing. The loose top hid my flat chest, and already, without Sue doing a thing, I looked like a girl — like Sue. OK, I had rather bushy eyebrows, but they’re so light coloured they didn’t show up so much, and, while my lips are naturally thin, the small smile was very similar to Sue’s. Fortunately the gown was long, sweeping the floor, even, and it hid my growing interest … in my own reflection. That was a bit worrying.

I’d already discovered that Sue was a no-nonsense girl and she spent little time in thought. She knew exactly what she wanted, and how to get it. Before I realised what was happening she had my hair in rollers and trimmed the front into a fringe.

I protested, but mildly. I was becoming fascinated. “Hey, hang on a bit. I’ve got to go back to work after Christmas and I can’t go with a fringe and wavy hair without causing comment — embarrassing comment at that.”

She waived my protest airily. “Don’t be daft, Jerry. This’ll wash out and be straight again in no time. I’m not giving you a perm, just a bit of a set.”

“… but the fringe.” I whinged. “That isn’t going to disappear, is it?”

“Well, no,” she confessed. “but if we cut it really short you can say you singed it whilst … err, cooking Christmas dinner. See? No problem, my sweet.” And she smiled at me via the reflection in the mirror.

“I suppose.” But I knew I’d first have to convince my mates that I was even capable of cooking anything that didn’t start with piercing a film covering before placing in the microwave. Microwaves aren’t noted for singeing hair.

But I started to get really worried when I first felt the pain of a hair being plucked from my right eyebrow.

Sue explained. “Look, I’m a drama student. I know all about make-up; I’ll just fit you up with artificial eyebrows after the hols. Look, you agreed to this; don’t start whining now. We simply haven’t got the time. Your eyebrows are too bushy. They’ve got to look a bit like mine when you’re standing on the tree tomorrow morning.”

Suddenly it didn’t seem quite so light-hearted any more. I was going to be standing in full view of any passing people for two whole hours the following morning. My heart sank. What if anyone I knew looked in and, worse, recognised me? I’d done some stupid things in my time, like the time I … well lets leave it at that. This was going to be the most stupid, and just because a half-naked rich, spoilt bird wanted to go to some flash party full of Sloane rangers who talked with plums in their mouths. Was it worth it, just on the off-chance I may have a happy half hour later on? I eyed Sue’s reflection in the mirror. She was still the most beautiful girl I’d ever had even half a chance with — so yes, I suppose it was worth it. What had I to lose except every meagre scrap of dignity I’d ever had?

Sue had spent my thinking time wisely and my eyebrows were now mere slender arched shadows of their former selves. Now she was studying my face closely and reaching for the paints and potions laid out on the dressing table. It was soporific as she smoothed, dabbed and drew on my face. The perfumes and even the tastes were strange and entrancing. We ended with us both looking into the mirror, our faces side by side. I looked incredibly sexy. So sexy, I was turning myself on, but she still wasn’t satisfied.

“Something’s still not right. I know!” She disappeared into the bathroom and returned a moment later with a roll of transparent tape. She waved it in the air. “Your nose — it’s too straight up and down. Blenderm’ll fix that.” She took a pair of scissors and cut off a length. “This is just an experiment. If it works I’ll do it properly.” She carefully stuck the tape on the tip of my nose. I resisted the temptation to sneeze. The she gently pulled the tape and stuck along the bridge of my nose, smoothing it firmly down. She took a sponge, dabbed it in the foundation and deftly covered the tape.

The shape of my nose and with it my whole appearance altered surprisingly dramatically. The tape had pulled up the tip just enough to give me a slightly retrousse nose, just like Sue’s. The tape itself was invisible under the covering of makeup. I was no longer me. I was Sue’s twin sister. A strangely eerie feeling.

“Wow, that’s incredible. That’ll do for your face for now. I know I can get you looking OK tomorrow so we’ll leave your face for now and sort out the rest.”

“The rest?” I echoed. Sue looked down below my face and raised an eyebrow — one just like mine. “Oh, you mean the clothes.”

“Not so much the clothes, as the extras you need to fit my clothes. Don’t worry, I’ve got all we need right here. Shopping after hours is so very quick and convenient.” She grinned.

Worry? Me? I wasn’t being given the time to worry. That would, no doubt, come later.

She started doing things to my newly smooth chest using the Blenderm, and before I knew it I had the beginnings of cleavage. The cleavage became even more realistic once Sue had covered the tape with makeup just as she’d done with my nose and strapped me into a padded strapless bra. I had tits. Their size was mostly padding, but the bit you could see was all me — an illusion created by pulling the loose flesh round my pectoral muscles into the middle with the tape. I still looked a bit like a nineteen fifties housewife shopping on Saturday morning, hair in curlers ready for the evening’s fun drinking port and lemon in the local. All I needed was the harassed look and a head scarf, but there was clearly potential for glamour. There was even more potential once I’d wriggled into the padded tightly laced girdle. Now I had shape.

Sue nodded approvingly. “You’ve got a good figure for this. Hardly any fat and not much upper body muscle. We could do with a bit more fatty tissue up top, here”, she stroked my faux chest, “but it still looks pretty good. Your legs are a bit muscular, but the tights’ll make it look more like a girl’s subcutaneous fat, ‘specially if you wear two pairs.”

“My legs are supposed to be muscular.” I protested. “I’m a racing cyclist. I don’t need so much upper body strength. Only sprinters need that — I’m a time trialist. I just need steady effort over a long time.”

She gave me a pair of thin, filmy tights and watched as I rolled them down and eased them over my feet.

“You’ve done this before.” She accused.

I gave her a sarcastic glance. “I have … daily, in Winter. They’re no different from Lycra training bottoms except they’ve got feet.” The second pair slid easily over the first and I had to admit that they did make my legs look softer without spoiling their shape. I’ve always been quite proud of my legs — slender, but strong with long shapely muscles.

She wasn’t very interested. Too busy roughing up my finger nails for one thing. She looked up. “You need long finger nails. Yours are disgusting. Don’t you ever use a nail file?”

“A what? I just clip them at work with a pair of wire sidecutters and finish off by running my penknife round them to round off the corners. Keeps ‘em out of the way when I’m typing.” I tailed off as I became aware of Sue’s expression of disgust. “What’s wrong with that?”

She shrugged, realising I was a hopelessly lost cause. “It’s just so much NOT the way to look after your nails. Now just sit and wait until I tell you that you can move your hands.”

I stared, fascinated by my finger nails — not, so far in my life, a subject for deep contemplation. They’d always been there, and mostly just a nuisance needing to keep them trimmed so I could type easily. Now they were long — 5mm extended beyond my finger tips, and a delicate shade of bright pink. If bright pink can ever be considered a ‘delicate’ shade.

“Well, that’s the basics, now lets see how you’ll look in the costume.” Sue was shuffling hangers along the rail in her wardrobe. “Right, here’s the one we’ll use for tomorrow. Now stand up.” I obeyed — it was becoming a habit. She thrust a white confection of lace and taffeta, or whatever, over my head, carefully avoiding rubbing against the paint job on my face, and zipped the back.

She grabbed a pair of shoes. “Try these on.” ‘These’ were a pair of mauve stilettos with what looked to me like stilts attached to the heels. “They don’t go, but they’ll do to try. You can use the ones in the changing room in the morning. The ones I wore today. If you can manage these you can manage them.”

I put them on and stood with difficulty. After hobbling to one of the full length mirrored doors, I studied the new me. The hair rollers were a bit of a turn-off, but the rest was … spectacular. The dress was a bit like a white ballet dress, but one of those longer ones, not a tutu. It came down to about my knees and left my shoulders bare except for narrow ribbons.

“I’m never going to be able to balance in these things for two minutes, let alone two hours.” I protested.

“Oh, stop whining, Jerri. You don’t have to stand unsupported. There’s a seat to rest your bum on — like a shooting stick, and you can draw the curtains for a couple of minutes every half hour so you can have a rest, or a pee. You’ll be fine.”

I really don’t like my name shortened. I was named Jeremy, and that’s the way I like it, but somehow I heard that ending ‘i’ rather than the usual ‘y’. It had a sinister ring to it, yet I realised I was hardly a ‘Jeremy’ as I looked now.

“Just walk up and down a bit and get used to it all whilst I get myself ready for the party.”

She whizzed round the room like a blue-arsed fly undressing, showering, dressing, painting and still finding time to bark instructions to take shorter steps, swing my bum hold my arms out like fairy — well I guess I was supposed to be a fairy. The trouble was I found it difficult to concentrate on me, as I watched her baring all, almost a strip show for my sole benefit. It began to seem almost worthwhile, almost fun. In fact, if I were honest with myself it was fun.

Once Sue was ready … and, boy was she ready? … she insisted I get out of the dress and showed me how to clean off the makeup. She gave me a lacy dressing gown to wear and showed me where she kept her CDs and DVDs so I could keep myself amused until bedtime. I was to sleep in her bed, unfortunately alone, but I could dream. It was about nine when she eventually left her flat in a cloud of perfume, and me in daze after a blistering kiss that required urgent repairs to her lip stick. She assured me that she’d be back in time to get me ready for my two hour ordeal before crashing out for some necessary sleep.

I left the underpinnings and my face as it was and put my feet up on the sofa. I tried to watch TV, but it was the usual Christmas drivel and I soon bored of it and began a search of Sue’s CD collection for alternative amusement. For a long haired hippy type I have rather unusual tastes — I like classical music. So I was delighted to find Sue had a wide selection of my sort of stuff and I settled down to listen to Schubert with a stiff whisky and water close to hand.

I’m not sure if it was the whisky or my unusual dress, but I quickly became restless and began stalking round the flat and eventually into the bedroom. A movement I caught in the corner of my eye was merely my own reflection in one of the mirrored doors of Sue’s wardrobe. It startled me because it was the reflection of a stranger. A tall slim girl stared back at me when I stood still, and she was turning me on. She was wearing a long gown and when she moved she showed tantalising glimpses of slender, shapely legs. What had I allowed myself to be talked into? I quite liked looking like that elegant girl. She looked confident and self assured — something I never was. She looked like the sort of girl who knew what she wanted and, more, knew how to get it — something I never did. Was I turning gay? I searched my motives. No, I still fancied Sue (as well as the girl in the mirror) and none of the men I knew or knew of appealed in the slightest. Perhaps I was a lesbian? That thought, and the whisky, made me laugh out loud and broke the spell.

Sadly, I cleaned off the make up but was disturbed to find the girl in the mirror was still there. Not quite as glamorous as before, but still unmistakably female. I stripped off completely, turned off the lights and slid, naked, beneath Sue’s duvet.

“Do you really want me to? You have to ask.”

“Yes. Yes. Now, please.” I arched my back so my groin pressed against the ‘thing’ sticking out from between … Sue’s? Yes! From between Sue’s legs. My view was impeded by my breasts, but I ached to feel her inside me and I locked my stockinged legs round her slender waist lest she should change her mind and withdraw. The frilly suspender straps strained as I flexed my quadriceps.

A cold chill swept my body and I heard Sue’s insistent voice. “Come on. Come on sleepy boy. Time to get up.”

No wonder I felt cold. The duvet was on the floor and a slightly dishevelled young woman shook my shoulders. I was on my back, legs akimbo and my morning erection standing proud for all to see — although ‘all’ was just this beautiful young woman with the slightly bloodshot eyes which did only a little to detract from her appearance. Never the less, it was still embarrassing, and Sue’s trade mark smile did nothing to lessen it.

I’m sure I blushed. “OK, OK. I’m up. I’m awake.” The dream was still vivid as I rolled out of bed, grabbed the dressing gown I’d been lent the previous evening and quickly dashed for the bathroom and bladder relief.

Sue called instructions from the other side of the door. “Have a shower, but don’t get you hair wet. You’ll find a new toothbrush in the cabinet to the right of the wash basin. Be quick. It’s gone eight already.”

By the time I got back into the bedroom, Sue had taken off her glad rags and was waiting for me wearing another gown similar to the one she’d lent me. I suppose when you live over Daddy’s shop one tends to acquire an extensive wardrobe. She was wielding a brush and sat me at her dressing table. She ignored my complaints as she removed the rollers I’d been forced sleep in and began vigorous brushing. Soon my hair was looking very like her own - waves down to my shoulders and a fringe just clearing my now elegantly curved eyebrows.

She stood back and examined me critically in the mirror. “Hmmm. Not bad, though I say it myself. I think this is going to work.” She yawned. “God, I’m tired. Had a hell of a time though. Good job I’d booked a taxi, I reckon I’m well over the limit still. But, my love, not so much over the limit that I can’t sort you out.”

I was beginning to feel hungry. “Any chance of breakfast? I’m bloody starving.”

“Nothing more than tea and toast for you this morning, my lad. I’ve got to lace you into this girdle or the dress’ll never fit properly.”

“Don’t drink tea. Coffee?” Sue nodded. “How much toast? Two slices? And marmalade too?”

“OK, coffee and two slices of toast and marmalade. No more. You’d better eat now or it’ll ruin your make up. I’ll put the kettle on, and you can cut a couple of slices of bread. The toaster’s on the worktop.”

We were soon both sitting at her kitchen breakfast bar drinking coffee, and eating delicious wholemeal toast liberally coated with thick cut marmalade. The coffee and the bitter taste of the marmalade served to waken me. It was still a bit dim outside so the window acted as quite a good mirror. A mirror that reflected two attractive young women, identically dressed, munching toast. One of them was eating delicately without spilling crumbs, the other was taking large bites and spraying crumbs all over the place. One of them was me, but the only way you could tell was by the crumb count.

“Leave the stuff on the worktop, it’s getting late. We have to have you in the window and me in bed by ten and it’s nearly ten to nine already. Into the bedroom with you.”

Sue grabbed my hand and pulled me into the middle of the bedroom. I thought she’d changed her mind and we were going forget all the dressing up nonsense and go to bed together, but no such luck.

“Right. Off with it. I can’t put the girdle on over the gown. And do try to keep control.” I was so nervous that keeping under control wasn’t really a problem.

I shivered, partly from the chill of the garment, but mostly from anticipation. I was glad I hadn’t eaten more as Sue hauled on the laces at the back. “Hey steady on. There’s bits of me in there that need room to breathe.”

“Nonsense. Just breathe less deeply. You’ll be fine. You’ve got to have a waist. The flare of the dress and the padding’ll hide your lack of a decent arse. Now, lift your arms up.”

In a trice she had the bra round my chest, complete with padding and Lo! I had tits again. With the aid of the Blenderm and a bit of shading I had a cleavage too.

She threw me a pair of knickers. “Put these on and pull them up tightly.” I did, and there was still a bit of a bulge. Not for long, though. “Here, let me.” She grabbed my special equipment and, after subduing it as she had the previous evening shoved it all back between my legs, somehow. It looked OK, but it wasn’t exactly comfortable .

When I complained, her only response was “You’ll get used to it, and it’ll feel so much better when you let him out again.” She gave a little wink. I prayed she wasn’t merely a prick teaser.

I impressed her again as I expertly pulled on the two pairs of white tights and snugged them round my waist. Sue chucked a pair of white trainers with pink detailing to me. “Put them on. They’ll be a lot easier and quieter to walk in when we go to the window. Anyway, you’re going to wear the shoes I wore yesterday and they’re in my changing room. Now sit at the dressing table and I’ll apply the war paint.”

She was enjoying this, I could tell. She’d suddenly woken up. It was amazing watching my face being transformed. The strip of Blenderm to turn up my nose tip really made my face look much more feminine and the dramatic make up re-created the girl who’d almost seduced me in the mirror the previous evening.

She held the dress open and got me to step into it before zipping it up at the back. It was tight, but bearable and, when I looked in the mirror, fantastically worth it. It just wasn’t me; it was a girl almost as lovely as Sue. It gave me the confidence I needed. No-one, not even my dear departed mum, would recognise Jeremy Howard in this vision.

The pink and white trainers spoiled the image a bit, but they’d make the journey to the window quicker and quieter. I was nearly ready.

Sue pulled on her jeans and a loose sweater; her hair tied back in a scruffy pony tail. “Come on; it’s time for your performance.” This was the first time I’d been with a girl and looked a lot more feminine than she did — weird, to say the least.

The main body of the shop was deserted as we made our way to the old store room where I changed into the sparkly stilettos, Sue fitted my tiara and handed me my wand. It had a big silver star on the end. I waved it experimentally and made a wish. It didn’t work. I was still dressed as a fairy queen and Sue was still urging me to hurry as it was five to ten, and she was knackered and needed sleep.

As we hurried round the periphery of the sales floor towards the entrance to the window, Sue explained how the gadgets worked. “The curtains are closed right now. When you’re in position, you’ll see a switch fitted onto a branch right next to your right hand. All you have to do is operate it, the curtains draw back, and you’re on show. It’s easy. There’s a clock, as well, that only you can see so you’ll know when time’s up. If you’re absolutely dying for a pee, close the curtains and behind one of the dwarves there’s a Portapotti.” She giggled. “You’ll have to sit down though. You can draw the curtains for a stretch every half hour or so, but don’t make it too long.”

I was getting nervous. “Surely there won’t be many people about on Christmas morning, will there?”

“You’d be surprised. I think quite a few go to the cathedral for a carol service, and there’s people, usually dads, who’ve gone to the pub for a quick one while the women folk are getting dinner ready.”

“Quite right, too” I muttered chauvinistically only to get a very dark look from Sue before she realised I was joking.

I clambered into position. As Sue had told me, there was a padded seat to lean my bum on, and somewhere to rest my outstretched left arm holding the wand. I settled back and switched on the curtain mechanism. There was a quiet whirring and I was revealed to the world as this year’s Christmas Fairy Queen.

What I hadn’t allowed for was that drunken young men — even before they’d spent a few hours and drunk a few bitters in the local — would do their best to make me laugh. One gang of lads, probably on their way home from a party, even turned their backs, dropped their britches and mooned me. I tried to think of something boring - like Pascal — to avoid smiling. After about half an hour I sneaked a look at the hidden clock. My heart sank. It read ten o five. It was going to be a long morning.

I amused myself with wide eyed children, who stood staring, trying to decide if I was real or not. Sometimes I just winked; other times I poked out my tongue, which usually generated shrieks of laughter, easily heard through the plate glass. Their dads spent their time trying to look down my cleavage. Wouldn’t they have been disappointed?

What really shook me was how hard it was simply to stay still for a few minutes. I became mesmerised by the clock and time seemed to pass even slower than when I was riding my bike on a turbo trainer - one of the most soul-destroying, but effective ways of getting fit in poor weather. After the first half hour I took advantage of a lull in passers by to close the curtains and have a stretch and move round a bit. Surprisingly, I didn’t find the high heels too much of a problem.

All went well until the last half hour. There were just twenty-five minutes left when a tall distinguished man dressed in a dark, well-cut overcoat hove into view and stood looking closely at me, smiling. He gave a little wave, shook his head slowly whilst raising a quizzical eyebrow. Something about his demeanour looked familiar and my spine tingled as I realised that this was Sue’s dad checking that she was honouring her wager. I was certain that I didn’t look sufficiently like Sue to fool her father, but never the less gave him a slow wink and a smile I hoped was sufficiently like Sue’s trademark to cause him to wonder, at least.

If that wasn’t enough, just as Mr Hill turned away, a more familiar figure stopped to stare. I was already warm from the high powered lights shining on me, but seeing my best buddy made me even warmer. I could feel the sweat beginning to run down my back and, even worse, down my forehead and past my much reduced eyebrows into my eyes. I resisted the temptation to close both my eyes and restricted myself to closing one of them in a wink and pushing my tongue out enough to lick my painted lips in what I fondly imagined to be a sexually loaded way.

Gordon smiled and reflected my wink. He pursed his lips in a simulated kiss and mouthed “You’re beautiful, babe”. At least I don’t think he recognised me. Our next boy’s night out would be embarrassing if he had, and I’d never live it down at the cycle club. I was relieved when, with another wink, he walked of chuckling to himself.

It must be my inherent honesty that made me hang on until the clock showed noon before closing the curtains for the last time. Well, I’d done it. Hopefully without being discovered either by Gordon or, perhaps worse, by Sue’s Dad. Now for the promised reward.

I made my weary way back to the changing room to rid myself of those heels and the other accoutrements - especially that wand that had proved so ineffective. Fortunately none of the security staff were in evidence — probably holed up somewhere with a glass of something and a mince pie.

It was a relief finally to close the door and retrace to the lobby where the lift, Sue’s flat and more importantly, Sue herself was waiting. I was just opening the hidden door when a I heard a voice shouting from a afar “Merry Christmas, Sue!” I looked round and saw a man in a blue uniform waving cheerfully. Luckily, he was too far away to see me clearly, so I simply waved back and ducked into the lobby and into the lift.

Although there was a staircase for safety reasons, it was rarely used and the lift opened right by the flat’s front door, which was ajar as I arrived. I wasn’t really thinking clearly or I might have heard the voices before I barged into the living room, but I didn’t. There were two people sitting on the big sofa. They had their backs to me but I recognised them both and nearly had a heart attack on the spot.

One was Sue … and the other was the man who’d smiled and waved at me about thirty minutes earlier. They both turned to me with big smiles and stood up.

“Well, well so this is the young man you managed to convince to dress up and stand in the window.” The man turned to me. “You were very convincing. I was almost sure Sue had lost our little bet.”

I blinked and stuttered nervously “Lost? Bet?”

Sue walked over, put her arms round me and gave me a kiss on the cheek. “I owe you a little apology. The bet wasn’t quite how I explained it last night. You see, Daddy and I, well we like a bit of fun at Christmas and this year he bet me I couldn’t get a boy to pose in the window as a Christmas Fairy for two hours on Christmas morning.”

“… and you found a prat to do it. Me.” I pushed her away. “I hope it was worth it for you. Now, if you’ll show me where my clothes are, I’ll get out of your way so you can enjoy your winnings.” I turned towards the bathroom, but before I could reach the door Sue grabbed my arm.

“Don’t be silly, Jeri. It’s not over yet. You have to stay for Christmas dinner … and you can’t go without having a little drink with us. Daddy’s got to go soon anyway, haven’t you, Daddy?” She shot what looked like a meaningful glance at her father, and my heart missed a beat or two. “He’s going to my brother’s for lunch with him and his family. He always says it’s not Christmas without kids … and I don’t have any. So, how about having Christmas dinner with me?”

I made a show of thinking about it, but, really, it was a no brainer. “Thanks, I’d like that.”

We had our little drink and Mr Hill left after shaking my hand to congratulate me on my effort and warning me not to get led astray by his daughter. I thanked him for the former whilst hoping for the latter. I was still in my Fairy Queen dress and, I suppose, still looking glamorous — apart from the trainers, of course.

Sue looked me up and down. “You can’t possibly eat dressed like that. Come with me.”

She led me into her bedroom and began sorting through her wardrobe, after ordering me to take off the dress. She eventually found what she was looking for — what I believe is called a little black dress (I’m no expert, but it was black and there wasn’t much of it). Whatever it was, I was soon wearing it and a pair of black patent heels to match. Sue added a silver charm bracelet to my right wrist, a silver necklace and long pendant earrings to my already pieced ears.

As I looked in the mirror, the elegant, confident girl I’d seen the previous evening was back. Instead of white tights, black stockings held up by suspenders attached to the padded girdle made my legs look fantastic, if slightly muscular. She at once both fascinated and frightened me. Where was the old me?

It wasn’t until Sue replied that I realised I’d voiced my thought out loud. “Don’t worry, love, you’re still in there. You’ve just discovered an extra part of yourself. Go with the flow and enjoy it. I certainly intend to. Now, leave me to get ready for dinner and have another drink in the living room." She kissed me gently on the lips and shooed me out.

I poured myself a glass of Muscadet and stared out over the now quiet city. Everyone was at home or with friends enjoying the festival. Normally, I would have been on my own eating a sandwich as I read a book, but this year was different. I too was snug indoors with someone I hoped was to become more than just a friend.

Then I heard a noise and looked round. It was Sue standing in the bedroom door.

I could hardly believe my eyes. She was wearing a lacy bit of nothing much, that left just enough to the imagination to make it interesting. The teddy was a semi-transparent black and left her shoulders and arms bare. Her black stockings were held up by frilly suspenders and she balanced comfortably on a pair of heels that must have been 5 inches tall. Her blonde hair was up, and displayed her long slender neck to its best advantage. Her lips were a shade of dark pink that matched her long fingernails and her heavily lidded eyes offered what I hoped was a promise.

She smiled at my expression of awe. “You like?”

I nodded, dumbly, then managed “I like, err what’s for dinner?” My throat was as dry as a rusty chain - perhaps that’s what made me squeak.

She smiled again. “How about … me?”

* * *

We surfaced several hours later having still eaten nothing but the fruits of love. We lay on her huge bed, wearing rather less than when we started. Sue’s head was resting on my chest and she was licking my left nipple in a way that was likely to get things started all over again when a thought struck me.

“Sue, it’s the Boxing Day ten tomorrow.”

She frowned. “Huh? So what?”

“Well, there’s a fancy dress section and I have a tandem we could ride. That’s if you can think of a couple of costumes.” She giggled.

* * *

I don’t know what my club mates thought when a very glamorous Fairy Queen piloted a tandem stoked by one of Santa’s glamorous pixies put up a very creditable twenty five minute ride, but I particularly enjoyed the second (and third) glances I got from my mate Gordon.

Christmas would never be the same again.