All The Pretty Girls - Chapter 1

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Chapter One - April

Welcome readers. This is another story featuring Penelope Bishop who we first met in my story Cop Town Girl, who nearly came to grief in Sleeping Beauties and became involved in a tragic love triangle in A Dish Best Served Cold. This five-part thriller stands on its own but if you have the time I recommend that you read A Dish Best Served Cold to put this story in context. If you don’t have the time, fine. Now strap in, hold onto your seat and take out your Kleenex and standby for the ride of your life.

Michele Nylons
September 2021


The killer looked down at the girl lying face-down motionless on the bed. Her pantyhose had been pulled down her thighs, her pretty pink satin panties rolled up in the gusset. A puddle of semen pooled in her sphincter. In death her anus had dilated. At least she hadn't shit herself because she was freshly douched.

The killer turned the girl’s face side-on so he could see how pretty she was, even with her smudged lipstick. Her makeup was heavy, emphasising her big blue eyes. She had had red pinpoints of petechiae in the whites caused by strangulation.

The killer studied her sweet innocent face then followed her slim torso dressed in the black body-hugging sheer seamless blouse. He could see the wings and straps of her black lace brassiere through the fabric. Her black cotton-lycra blend skater skirt had been removed during foreplay, before they made it onto the bed.

He studied her round white ass again and his semi-tumescent penis became fully hard.

He nearly lost his erection when he noticed the tip of the girl’s penis poking out from under her thigh.

The killer had slapped her hand away from it when she had started to masturbate while he was fucking her doggy style on the bed.

“You don’t like to see it do you? Are you scared that it’s bigger than yours?” the girl had gibed.

It was the last joke she would ever tell because that was when the man had lost control and snatched the pantyhose he had hidden under the pillow and wrapped them around the girl’s neck. Her struggling as he strangled her had intensified his pleasure. He held onto the pantyhose like they were reins and pulled back on them as hard as he could, his dick still buried in her ass. He had come so hard and fast that he had nearly passed out. He liked to think that he had come right at the moment of the girl’s death.

He rolled the girl’s nylons up over her buttocks and smoothed them out and adjusted her panties so that nothing untoward was showing, careful not touch her genitalia which he found repulsive. Now she was just a pretty girl lying face-down on the bed showing off her ass and legs. She still had her stiletto heels on.

The man jerked his cock, once, twice, three times, and ejaculated over her ass and thighs. He drained his cock and watched his cooling semen soak into her nylons and panties.

The killer didn’t care about leaving his semen. He knew that he wasn’t a secretor and more importantly he knew that his DNA would not be found in any database.

“Too bad you had that mouth on you… you were so pretty. But I was always going to do this to you anyway,” the man grunted as he pulled up his pants and finished dressing.

“You fucking whore! You fucking tranny whore!” the man growled.

He wanted to shout out the insult but the walls of the motel room were thin and you never knew who was listening.

The killer carefully checked that he hadn't left anything behind other than his bodily fluids and his fingerprints, neither of which could identify him, and then he checked the surrounds through a chink in the cheap curtains to ascertain that the coast was clear before he left the cheap motel room.


Steve Edwards had driven to Ride em’ Cowgirl as soon as he had finished work. Steve had managed the nightclub for about six months before he realised that he missed being a police officer more than he had ever thought he would. His fiancee Felicity Benson owned the club and was the MC at most performances when she wasn’t away touring as the famous drag queen Felicity Goodnite.

Mitch Freeman, the previous manager of the club, had no hard feelings when he was offered his old job back. He knew that secretly Felicity was glad that Steve had quit the job because even though cops spent a lot of time in bars, Steve really didn’t have the business acumen to manage one.

Steve and Felicity’s relationship had actually strengthened when he quit working at the club. They lived together and loved each other but working side by side most days had strained the relationship, especially when they both began to realise that Steve was lousy at his job. But when Steve went back to policing, Felicity’s heavy work schedule and frequent absences and Steve’s irregular working hours as a member of Balwyn PD’s Special Task Force caused them to value every precious second that they spent together.

When Steve and Felicity had come out and publicly declared their relationship there was considerable doubt, scorn and ridicule on both sides of the fence. The LGBT community was openly hostile to Felicity for being in a relationship with a cop and the old guard in law enforcement was incredulous that a hardened street-cop like Steve had taken up with a transgender woman.

But neither of them cared and eventually the fuss died down and people accepted them for who they were as a couple. The other queens who worked at Ride em’ Cowgirl had slowly and begrudgingly come to like Steve and his easy-going style. It helped that he was quite a dish: tall and rangy with a stylish shaggy haircut and chiselled features; he looked like a forty-year-old Kevin Bacon. Some of the girls were quite sad when Steve quit managing the place and went back to his job in law enforcement.

“The usual?” Jill Graham asked, pouring him a shot of JD and then slipping her hand into the ice tub and pulling out a Lone Star.

Jill the bar manager and Steve had history. She had hated Steve when he was a homicide detective working a series of murders that focussed his attention on Ride em’ Cowgirl and Steve readily admitted that he had behaved like an asshole. The two had begrudgingly become friends over time but they still liked to snipe at each other.

“Issued any parking tickets lately?” Jill put the drinks on the bar in front of Steve.

“You still watering down the well drinks and short-changing the drunks?” Steve gave her a friendly grin.

“You’d know Steve, you used to be my boss until Felicity fired you,” Jill grinned back at him.

“God, she’s beautiful,” Steve sighed as he turned and faced the stage to see Felicity Goodnite working the crowd before she introduced the next queen.

Felicity was wearing a sequined blue evening gown, split to the waist on one side to show off her long shapely legs, and cut low to expose her décolletage. The gown was sprinkled with Swarovski crystals which sparkled under the stage lights which they never really did when caught on television cameras. Those who got their drag fix from TV shows like Drag Race but never went to performances never really got to experience the splendour and opulence that the girls exuded when they were performing live.

With her red lace-front up-do and heavy stage makeup Felicity looked absolutely stunning.

“She sure is Steve. I’m fucked if I know what she sees in a beat-up old cop like you?” Jill chuckled.

Steve turned and trained his piercing blue eyes on Jill and she gave him a look.

“But I suppose there is something to be said for the tall handsome shaggy-haired craggy-faced hard-bodied type… if that’s your thing,” Jill conceded.

They traded banter like this all the time but Jill never let on that she had a secret crush on Steve who took his drinks and moved to a table at the back of the club. Felicity hadn't notice Steve enter the club and he was able to enjoy watching the woman he loved perform on stage for the next hour without her becoming self-conscious because she knew he was watching.

Just as the show as about to wind up Steve made his way back to Felicity’s office where he poured her a gin and tonic at the small wet bar she kept there. When she came into the office Steve offered Felicity the drink and when she reached for it he pulled her into his arms and kissed her passionately.

“Well this is a nice surprise,” Felicity grinned at him.

In her heels they stood eye to eye but her body was slight where his has muscled and heavy. Up close her secrets were revealed. She was wearing stage makeup: thick, ombré block eyebrows, heavily contoured cheeks, blinding highlighter, and fluttering false eyelashes, what drag queens call a ‘beat’ face, designed to look beautiful from a distance under stage lights.

Felicity didn’t wear thigh, hip or buttock pads like some of the queens but she did wear several pairs of pantyhose. Tonight she was wearing sheer flesh-toned pantyhose over dance tights and was tightly tucked. Her dress was split so high that her crotch was exposed when she walked. All deliberate of course and part of the show but Steve found it highly arousing.

When Steve started to maul her Felicity gently pushed her away.

“Don’t Steve, you know I don’t like to fuck in drag and I’m not in the mood,” Felicity pouted.

“One of my girls was a no-show tonight and I had to fill in for her. A new girl who calls herself April Showers. The little bitch begged me for a gig and when she finally gets an opening in my show she doesn’t turn up. Ungrateful little cunt!” Felicity hunted in her desk for cigarettes.

Felicity’s desk was untidy. Paperwork requiring her attention was overflowing from the in-tray, flyers for other drag shows were scattered here and there along with applications from drag queens requesting auditions. Makeup, brushes, hairspray, tissues and cold cream that should really be on her dressing table lay in disarray beside a small makeup mirror.

Many famous drag queens came from Texas and the scene was cutthroat. Getting a start was difficult with so many young queens trying to break into the profession. Ride em’ Cowgirl was the only first class venue in Balwyn and getting a start there and coming under the patronage of an established performer like Felicity was a stepping stone to what could be lucrative career. Drag mothers often took their daughters with them when they worked bigger venues or did interstate shows.

Young queens fought hard to get gigs in the more prestigious establishments and it was very rare that they didn’t show up for a performance, unlike the established queens who were notoriously late.

As for fucking in drag, Felicity didn’t mind wearing makeup, lingerie, stockings and heels when she had sex. She knew that Steve liked her dressed that way and she also enjoyed the fantasy of having sex whilst dressed provocatively but whilst drag queens often looked sexy, the aesthetic did not really lend itself to actually having sex.

Felicity’s disdain for fucking in drag and her foul mood did not stop Steve who pressed his lips against Felicity’s painted mouth and searched for the tag on her skirt. The evening gown was actually a tear-away reveal. Onstage, halfway through her number, Felicity would pull on the tag causing the skirt to fall away from the bodice revealing a tight sequinned body suit which displayed her trim body and long elegant legs.

Felicity could feel Steve’s hard appendage pressing into her body and his kisses and attention to her were beginning to have the desired effect. Even though Steve couldn’t feel them through layers of lycra and rhinestones, her nipples were hard and her penis was beginning to distend uncomfortably under her tucking tape.

Steve stroked Felicity’s thighs which he knew drove her crazy, his firm fingers massaged her tender flesh through the double layer of nylon and spandex and Felicity gasped into his mouth.

“You always get your fucking way don’t you,” she grasped his penis through his pants and squeezed it.

Steve fumbled at the crotch of her bodysuit until he found the Velcro seam and tore it open. Felicity moaned when Steve stroked her through the layers of silky satiny fabric. Her cock was nearly fully erect and extremely uncomfortable tucked along her perineum.

Steve kissed her deeply, driving his tongue into her mouth, stroking harder between her legs.

“Oh fuck this!” Felicity pushed him away and clawed her hands into the waistband of her tights and pantyhose and pulled them down so she could get her hand between her thighs to tear away the tucking tape.

Her penis sprang free and Steve reached for it, stroking it to full tumescence whilst Felicity fumbled with his belt and flies until she was able to pull his pants down to his knees. She took him in hand and they kissed as they slowly stroked each other’s hard cocks.

“You’ve changed your mind,” Steve grinned into her mouth.

“Shut up and fuck me,” Felicity squeezed his cock harder.

Any hopes Steve had of extended foreplay or fellatio were dashed when Felicity pushed him away and spun around and bent over desk offering herself to him.

Her milky-white buttocks looked inviting. The tights gathered under her buttocks and the bodysuit rucked up the small of her back gave her sluttish countenance, like a beautiful elegant lady offering herself to a ruffian to be quickly defiled.

“Jesus Felicity,” Steve growled.

She never ceased to amaze and beguile him.

Felicity reached behind her impatiently searching for his dick.

“Use this,” she snatched up the jar of Ponds Cold Cream that she used to remove her makeup.

Steve smoothed a dollop of the goop onto his shaft and allowed Felicity to guide his throbbing manhood to her anus. When she nestled his glans into her puckered bud he took her hips in his hands and pushed himself slowly into her.

Felicity sighed and wriggled her buttocks appreciatively, maybe a good fucking would take her mind off the shitty day she had had. She encouraged Steve to fuck her harder, pushing back against him as his big cock stretched her anus, the head pressing on her prostate caused her to dribble precum which Steve used to lubricate her penis as he reached around began to stroke her.

They sometimes spent the day in bed titillating and fondling each other for hours before they actually got down to making love but they also didn’t mind a quick and dirty fuck when the mood struck.

Felicity’s anus was tight and clasped his swollen cock as he thrust it in and out of her, pressing his thighs against hers so he could feel the silkiness of her pantyhose on his flesh. He was close and he knew that Felicity was too, reaching around her body stroking her penis, feeling the heat and meatiness of it as it throbbed in his hand.

“Now!” Felicity screamed as she pushed back against him and ground her buttocks into Steve’s groin.

Steve filled her anus with his steaming load as Felicity’s cock ejaculated hot semen into his hand. Her whole body shuddered and he rode her to extremis, driving his cock as deep inside her as could, squeezing her cock, milking it of her creamy spend as she writhed on the desk, sobbing with lust and passion.

As their orgasms began to subside Steve's cock began to deflate while he kissed and nuzzled her neck. Felicity lay bent over the desk her breathing laboured. She reached out and took a handful of tissues from the jewelled dispenser on her desk and caught a strand of semen dribbling from the eye of her cock before it dropped to the floor.

Steve’s cock slipped out of her anus and she frantically dabbed at the fluids that were dribbling from her sphincter before they could stain her dress and tights. She wiped between her legs and the tops of her thighs. She hadn't douched before the show and she didn’t want to look at the mess in the crumpled Kleenexes. Another reason she didn’t like to fuck in drag.

Steve took a step back and helped Felicity stand up. She turned around and smiled at him and when he reached for her to kiss her she slapped the used Kleenexes into his hand and began to haul up her tights.

“Be a dear and put those in the trash,” she grinned at him and reached for her drink.

She took a big swallow as she bemusedly watched Steve hold the Kleenex between his forefingers and thumb as he took the tissues over to the bin.

“You’re the one who couldn’t wait for me to get out drag and clean up before we fucked so you get to clean up the mess,” she grinned and reached for her cigarettes.

“I’m finishing this smoke, getting out of drag and taking long hot shower, and then you’re taking me for a steak. I haven’t eaten all day,” Felicity studied the burning ember at the tip of her cigarette.

She had an ensuite bathroom annexed to her office. A luxury she had installed when she bought the club. Felicity didn’t mind socialising with the other girls in the show but she was over the histrionics that occurred in the dressing room. Drag queens were notorious for playing pranks on each and throwing shade when they kikied in the crowded dressing room.

“There isn’t going to be much open this late,” Steve called through the ensuite door over the noise of the shower.

“That’s just your excuse to take me to the Longhorn,” Felicity called back.

The Longhorn was Balwyn’s cop bar. It had a twenty-four hour liquor licence and was the favourite hangout for cops after their shifts. Single cops drank beer and chased women who were attracted to them and married cops hid there from their wives. It wasn’t exclusively a cop bar and it attracted an eclectic crowd. Sometimes cops did take their wives and girlfriends there but it was an unwritten law that what happened at The Longhorn, stayed at The Longhorn.

Felicity came out of the bathroom dressed down in blue jeans, a white silk blouse and lighter makeup. Her tousled blonde hair was wet from the shower.

“Your roots are starting to show,” Steve teased her.

“And your grey is showing,” Felicity countered.

“Men only become more distinguished as we age whereas women… well,” Steve drawled.

“Fuck you cowboy! I can spend half an hour putting on makeup and look half my age. I have fans from all over the world begging for a sniff of my panties,” Felicity countered and dropped her cigarettes into her handbag.

“Fans from all over the world eh? You selling them your panties? You got a side hustle going on?” Steve continued to tease her.

“Yeah hon and I charge double if I jizz in them,” Felicity threw the balled up tucking panties that she had recently worn on stage at him.

Steve chased her around the desk a little but gave up as she continued to elude him. She was fit and sprite, working out every day she had a dancer’s stamina.

“Come on then; let’s go get that steak,” Steve said, huffing to catch his breath.

“You need to work out more cowboy,” Felicity jested as she snuggled up to him and kissed his cheek.

They walked out of the club with Steve’s arm around her, holding her close like young lovers. Jill looked up from the register she was cashing out and watched them leave, a little envious of what they had with each other.

The Longhorn was still going strong at 1am. Police officers assigned to patrol duties worked five eight hour shifts with two days off, or four ten hour shifts with three days off. Officers were assigned to a watch by seniority. The shifts had changed at midnight and the off-going shift was hungry and thirsty. A sprinkling of detectives mingled with the beat cops and Steve nodded to a few of them.

Steve Randal, his old partner, scowled and turned away from him. The ‘Two Steve’s’ as they were called had worked together during the hunt for the ‘Lipstick Killer’ when they had been seconded to Penelope Bishop’s Special Task Force.

The Lipstick Killer was finally identified as Melissa Doyle who had hunted down and murdered three former ex-members of the Eta Lambda Pi fraternity who had raped her while she was in college. Steve Edwards had achieved notoriety when he found the evidence that tied Melissa Doyle to the murders. Her suicide was concluded to be an act of remorse after the killings.

During the investigation Steve Randal had been sacked from the task force by Penelope Bishop because he was a lazy drunk who was suspected of being on the take. The ‘Two Steve’s’ friendship dissolved and they came to despise each other.

Steve led Felicity to a booth at the back of the bar away from the noisy crowd. They ordered steaks and Felicity had a glass of Australian Shiraz whilst Steve had a JD with a beer back. The steak was an extravagance for Felicity who needed to watch her figure; she allowed herself one cheat day a week. Steve’s metabolism was mesomorphic and with his regular exercise regime he tended to put on muscle rather than fat.

They both smoked but Steve smoked in moderation and often chided Felicity who was the kind of smoker who replaced meals with cigarettes whilst Felicity chided Steve for his heavy drinking. Neither of their lifestyles was perfect but they both exercised regularly and were physically fit. They were both highly sexed and despite busy schedules they made time for a healthy love life.

“I gotta take a piss,” Steve eased himself out of the booth.

“Just because we’re in a cop bar you don’t have to talk like a Neanderthal,” Felicity said around a mouthful of tenderloin.

“Don’t speak with your mouth full,” Steve smiled at her.

“You didn’t say that last night when you were going down on me and I asked you if you had the weekend off,” Felicity pointed her fork at him.

Steve had a habit of blushing when he was embarrassed. He looked around to see if anyone had overheard Felicity. Everyone knew that she was transgender and most people in Balwyn were tolerant. One of their most famous detectives Penelope Bishop was transgender and had married a Sergeant in the Balwyn PD who was killed on the job. His picture hung behind the bar alongside the other police officers who had died on duty.

Steve was not ashamed of Felicity but her inference that he was going down on her implied that he was sucking her cock which just didn’t seem the right thing to say in a cop bar. He straightened his shoulders. Fuck ‘em! He loved Felicity and what they did in the bedroom was no one else’s business.

“I won’t be long,” he leaned into the booth and kissed her cheek, an outward display of affection to ease his guilt.

“Take as long as you like and bring me back another wine, I’m sleeping in tomorrow,” Felicity smiled at him.

“Me too if I don’t catch a case,” Steve smiled back at her.

Detective cases were assigned on a rotating basis, but the Special Task Force was only assigned high profile cases or cases that required their particular knowledge and skills relating to the offense. Once assigned to a case, the Task Force would follow it through until the case has been solved and the suspect tried and convicted. The Task Force was currently not investigating any cases and Steve was using the time to tidy up the never ending paperwork and to file outstanding reports. Steve’s boss Silvia Bickle was on a well-earned leave break.

“I mean sleeping in as in catching up on my rest, not as in rolling around in bed all morning playing hide the sausage,” Felicity smirked at Steve who just nodded knowingly.

As he made his way across the room he was confronted by a drunken Steve Randal.

“Gotcha yourself set up just nice dontcha? Stole Penny Bishop’s job and hooked up with the pretty tranny cooze,” Steve Randal drawled.

“You're drunk Steve; go home and sleep it off,” Steve Edwards tried to side-step around his old partner.

Steve Randal stepped into his path and blocked him.

“Something about that case wasn’t right. You pick up with the tranny cooze who we both know was a suspect and then Penny Bishop is fucking the Doyle broad who turns out to be the killer. Penny gets shit-canned and you come back into the PD a hero when your tranny girlfriend fires you from her club,” Steve Randal hissed drunkenly.

“You call my fiancé a tranny one more time and I’ll break your fucking nose,” Steve Edwards growled.

“Still ain’t right is all I’m saying,” Steve Randal hiccupped.

“Penelope Bishop should have known better than to enter into a sexual relationship with a witness in an ongoing investigation. She made her own bed to lie in,” Steve Edwards glowered, poking Steve Randal in the chest to emphasise his point.

Steve Edwards’ anger was fuelled by circumstances that only he knew. Penelope Bishop had a brief torrid sexual affair with the college professor Melissa Doyle who it turned out was mentally unstable and had killed herself leaving a suicide note stating her unrequited love for Penelope as the reason. Steve Edwards was first on the scene and had burned the note and planted the evidence to prove that Melissa Doyle was the Lipstick Killer. He had done so because he knew who the real killer was and he would do anything in the world to protect her.

The aftermath of the case was a mess. Melissa Doyle was in a relationship with Silvia Bickle, Penelope’s best friend and partner. When it had come to light that Penelope Bishop had an affair with Melissa Doyle, Silvia Bickle had to be restrained from beating Penelope. Penelope’s husband, FBI agent Bradley Wilson, had requested a transfer back to Austin and Gary Rasmussen the Chief of Detectives at the direction of the Chief of Police had busted Penelope back and assigned her to administrative duties.

It was only because Penelope was a local hero, having cleared up several high profile cases, that she hadn't been fired or brought up on charges. Penelope had been three years sober and in a happy marriage when her world had imploded.

“Still ain’t right,” Steve Randal mumbled as Steve Edwards brushed past him.

Steve’s night went from bad to worse when he entered the corridor that led to the Longhorn’s facilities. Penelope Bishop was obviously drunk and propped against a wall of empty beer barrels. She was wearing a micro-miniskirt, fuck-me heels, taupe pantyhose full of runners and her blouse was open to the waist.

A man half her age was mauling her, one hand under her skirt, the other inside her brassiere as he kissed her fervidly. Penelope opened an eye as Steve squeezed past them and she looked at him with intense hatred.

“Come on Ellery; let’s get the fuck out of here. This place suddenly just got filled with rat-fucks!” she pushed the boy away from her.

Ellery Gamble was a rookie motorcycle cop. Being hit on by a legend like Penelope Bishop should have been quite the coup for a rookie. It would have been if it wasn’t known by the whole of the Balwyn PD that Penelope had reverted to being a drunken whore after being demoted and abandoned by her husband.

Steve felt sorry for Penelope but she was responsible for her own actions. Nothing he had done had caused her demise. At least that’s what he told himself.


Steve slept restlessly that night and when he took a call at 8am the next morning he was still groggy. He wrote down the details on a pad he kept on the nightstand.

“I gotta go honey I’ve caught a case,” he whispered into Felicity’s ear.

She mumbled something he didn’t catch. He kissed her cheek and made his way to the bathroom.

Steve signed into the crime scene and put on the Tyvek over-boots and surgical gloves provided by Alice Leasingham. Alice was a member of the CSI team and had been on temporary assignment to the Special Task Force during the Lipstick Killer case. She was fiercely loyal to Penelope Bishop and treated Steve like an imposter who had stolen Penelope’s job.

Steve followed Alice into the seedy motel room where they found Bob Tanner, Balwyn PD’s CSI team leader and Brendan Scott the medical examiner hard at work. Gary Rasmussen was standing beside the bed on the tiles that the crime scene techs had placed on the stained carpet to prevent cross-contamination.

Steve looked at the young woman lying on the bed and then at Gary.

“What have we got Chief?” Steve asked opening up his tablet to commence taking case notes.

“Looks like a sexual assault and strangulation or possibly consensual sex followed by a murder,” Gary stared at the corpse on the bed.

Steve knew that robbery, jealousy, and vengeance are the three motives responsible for nearly all murders with gang killings loosely classified in the last category. It was rare that someone was killed by a complete stranger.

Taking in how the woman was posed, how she was dressed, and the nylons around her neck, Steve had a bad feeling.

“It looks like semen on her legs and here inside her panties,” Steve flinched as Bob Tanner lifted the girl’s skirt.

Even after years of tending to homicide cases the indignity that victims were subject to during the investigation made him feel uneasy, especially when it was a young woman.

“Looking at the ligature marks, the petechiae in her eyes and the pantyhose tied around her neck I’m guessing strangulation but of course the autopsy will confirm cause of death. Estimated time of death is late yesterday afternoon or early evening,” Brendan Scott said referring to his notes.

There was an uneasiness between the attendees at the crime scene. After Penelope Bishop had been demoted, Silvia Bickle had been promoted to Detective Sergeant and led the Special Task Force but she was on leave which left Steve in charge. After years of working with Penelope and Silvia, the ME and CSI team were not used to having to deal directly with Steve but they were professionals and carried out their duties accordingly.

“Ok Chief, without jumping to conclusions let’s say it’s a crime of passion or possibly rape and murder. Why call in the Task Force?” Steve asked.

“Roll her over,” Gary Rasmussen said gruffly.

Bob and Alice gently rolled the girl over on her back and lifted her skirt. That the girl had a penis was obvious, even though it was inside her panties.

“The media will have a field day when they find out about this. The LGBT lobby will raise hell; they are statistically four times higher to be victims of violent crime and they like to let everyone know it. I want this solved and want it solved fast,” Gary made a motion to roll the girl back to the position she had been found in.

“The case is yours Steve. Get it done and get it done quick,” Gary glared at Steve and then left the crime scene.

“Any ID?” Steve asked Bob who nodded to a handbag on the nightstand.

Using his gloved fingers Steve went through the contents of the handbag. He found a small amount of cash in a purse and two hundred dollars in an unmarked envelope, a credit card but no driver’s licence, also a small baggie of marijuana. There was the usual detritus found in any woman’s bag: makeup, perfume, chewing gum, cigarettes, a bic lighter and a cheap cell phone.

Then Steve came across something he found very interesting. It was a business card advertising Ride ‘em Cowgirl. The stylised girl in the cowgirl costume holding out her cowboy hat as she straddled a phallic symbol left nothing to the imagination. The girl’s skirt had flicked up exposing her panties which appeared to be bulged out at the front.

The same design was replicated in a neon sign behind the bar at the club owned by his fiancée.

Steve turned the card over. Written on the obverse was ‘Thursday 7pm’. Today was Friday.

Steve wrote down the details and then handed the handbag to Alice who was bagging and tagging evidence. He punched the details of the credit card into a secure database on his tablet which came back with the following information: David Summers, age 22 and an address in Balwyn. He punched that information into the criminal database: no outstanding wants or warrants, one misdemeanour count for solicitation resulting in a fine of $200 promptly paid.

He transferred the information into a new case file and sent the name and DOB of the victim to the ME’s office.

“Eyes please everyone,” Alice Leasingham called out before she turned off the lights.

She had already closed the curtains and the door so the room became completely dark when she hit the switch. Bob Tanner switched on his forensic light source, basically a fancy UV torch, and played it over the girl’s body.

“Traces of semen on the sheets and concentrations of spatter on the victim’s legs and in the rear of her panties,” Bob had lifted the girl’s skirt again to shine the light source on her backside.

He asked for assistance to roll her over.

“Faint evidence in the front of her panties, most likely pre-ejaculate. Do you agree Brendan? Get the lights please Alice,” Bob turned off the UV torch.

“Your team will take swabs and examine the clothing at the lab but I agree that the concentration around the sphincter and on the legs is most likely from the man who had sex with her; most likely the killer. I’ll bet the samples taken from the front of her panties match her DNA and are indeed pre-ejaculate,” Brendan Scott nodded sagely.

“Without jumping to conclusions until we’ve processed all of the forensics and seen the autopsy report I’m advocating that the victim, a male presenting as female, possibly transgender, engaged in anal sex just prior to death and the other participant ejaculated into her anus and then on her legs,” Bob Tanner spoke for the recording devices.

Steve was content that they were using female pronouns for the victim as the victim was presenting as female at the time of death.

“It is possible that we are looking at autoerotic asphyxiation gone wrong but I doubt it, the pantyhose are embedded in the flesh of the neck indicating extreme force was used. I’m declaring a wrongful death. Over to you Detective Edwards; I’ll see you at the autopsy,” Brendan Scott began to pack up his doctor’s bag preparing to leave.

Steve stuck around the motel room and helped the CSI team process the scene. He added more data into the case file but most of the detail would be provided later by the CSI techs and the ME after the evidence had been processed and the autopsy conducted. His main concern at this time was to confirm the identity of the victim.

The CSI team had found plenty of fingerprints and trace evidence at the scene but unlike the cop shows on TV the evidence couldn’t just be put into some gazillion dollar machine that spat out the name, address and current whereabouts of the perp. Even if the trace evidence could be linked to a perp, if his fingerprints and DNA were not in the system it would be next to useless until Steve had a suspect to compare it to.

Steve went back to Police Plaza and into the office of the Special Task Force. It felt deserted without Silvia Bickle. He fired up the computer and made a more thorough search for David Summers. He didn’t find much else, just confirmation of the Balwyn address but there was no NOK listed.

Steve drove to Slattery Park, an area of Balwyn where older buildings had been cheaply renovated and chopped up into small apartments which were rented mainly to students and low income families. The area was well kept even though the cars parked in the driveways were old clunkers and the corner bodega’s main staples were discount beer, potato chips and lottery tickets. Kids played on squeaky swing sets and housewives congregated on the stoops of the tenements wearing spandex leggings or housedresses, smoking cigarettes and gossiping whilst keeping an eye on their kids. The dads were at work and the students at college.

Even though it was unmarked, Steve’s cruiser stood out like a sore thumb and the women watched him with veiled hostility when he pulled up outside of a converted redbrick town house. He alighted from his vehicle, checked the address he had found through the victim’s credit card details and climbed the stoop.

Steve didn’t have a warrant or probable cause to enter the building so he pressed the call button for apartment two. The townhouse had been converted into four apartments.

He was pleasantly surprised when a female voice came through the intercom.

“We don’t want any… fuck off,” the scratchy voice said.

“My name is Steve Edwards and I’m a detective with Balwyn PD. Does David Summers live here?” Steve spoke into the box.

There was a pause.

“That’s April’s dead name. She doesn’t use that name,” the female said in a snippety tone.

“Look, can I come in and talk to you?” Steve asked.

“What's this about?” the animosity in her voice was evident.

“It’s best if I talk to you face to face,” Steve didn’t want to threaten her with a warrant; it would be his last resort.

There was an uneasy silence for a beat then the front door buzzed and he pushed it open. The hallway smelled of old cooking smells and cigarettes with an undertone of marijuana. The walls were faded and the hall runner was threadbare but it was clean. The tenants had a certain amount of pride in their abode.

Apartment two was located on the ground floor, a staircase led to the two upstairs apartments.

The door to apartment two was ajar and a face was peeking through the gap. Steve held up his badge as he approached and he tried not to look menacing.

“What did she do? She get busted for soliciting again or smoking grass?” the girl asked, keeping the door blocked.

Cannabis in Texas is illegal for recreational use. Possession of up to two ounces is a class B misdemeanour, punishable by up to 180 days in prison, a fine of up to $2000, and the suspension of one's driver's license. However the municipality of Balwyn had enacted reforms to apply lesser penalties and limit enforcement. With a huge college student population and working class demographic the PD would be overwhelmed if they tried to enforce the laws relating to recreational drug use.

“It’s best if you let me inside,” Steve stood outside the door keeping his badge held high whilst trying to smile.

The girl fumbled with the security chain and then opened the door wide enough to allow Steve to enter the apartment.

The apartment looked like it was inhabited by students or young people on a low income. It was intrinsically clean but there was laundry piled on the sofa, the cramped kitchen-diner with the beat-up appliances, the dining table with four mismatched chairs, the pre-loved flat-screen television and entertainment system sitting on a piece of plywood supported by milk crates said much about the inhabitants.

The walls were decorated with street-art and posters advocating LGBT rights and BLM, the sofa was draped with pink chiffon and the lamps draped by red gauze infused a surreal rose hue, the aromas of perfume, incense and grass gave the place a bohemian feel. He could see three doors which he guessed led to two tiny bedrooms and a cramped bathroom.

“Can I see your badge?”

On closer examination the girl appeared to be in her late twenties or early thirties. She had failed to remove last night’s makeup before she went to bed and her tousled red hair and the fact that she was wearing flannel pyjamas implied she hadn't long got out of it.

Steve handed her his badge noting her chipped acrylic fingernails. She studied the badge as if it was a talisman and then handed it back.

“I’d like…” the young woman cut him off by holding up a finger to his face.

She padded to the kitchen and poured coffee into a chipped mug and looked at him questioningly. Steve nodded and she poured another cup and brought them over. She didn’t ask him if he wanted cream or sugar or invite him to sit. Steve took the proffered cup and the woman knelt on the sofa which was pushed against the wall under the single bay window. She opened the window and snatched up a pack of cigarettes off the sill and lit one, blowing the smoke out into the street.

“It’s on the lease that we can’t smoke in the apartment but I can’t start my day without a cigarette and cup of coffee. I’m Wendy Beaumont by the way. What has April done now and where is she?” the words tumbled out of the woman’s mouth in a jumble.

“I’d like to ask you a couple of questions first if I may Miss Beaumont,” Steve fired up his tablet.

“Shit… no one has called me Miss Beaumont since the eighth grade,” the girl looked at him over the rim of her coffee cup.

Even with her mussed flaming-red hair and messy makeup there was something beguiling about her. She wasn’t pretty in the true sense of the word, she was big-boned, her nose was a little too big for her face and crooked, her blue eyes a little wide and her pale skin was sprinkled with freckles but she seemed self-assured. With her resonant voice she reminded him a little of the actress Natasha Lyonne.

“Wendy this is serious. I need to ask you a few questions about April,” Steve knew that using David Summers’s dead name would only put Wendy offside, even if it was the deceased’s legal name.

“Where is she?” Wendy suddenly became serious.

“Do you know where she went yesterday and why?” Steve countered with a question of his own.

“She had a gig at Ride em’ Cowgirl. That’s a bar and nightclub. It’s a gay bar… well not really I suppose… it’s a bar where they have drag shows and adult entertainment. You understand?” Steve did not let on that he knew all too well.

“She goes by the name April Summers and uses the drag-name April Showers. April’s a drag queen. Well… it’s complicated. She started off as a gay man doing drag and then she realised that she was more comfortable presenting as female than male. She’s only just started to transition but she identifies as a transgender woman,” Wendy explained.

“And she was due to perform at this bar yesterday evening?” Steve had Wendy confirm.

“Do you know what she doing for the rest of the day?” Steve asked.

He immediately saw a shadow pass over Wendy’s face and she took on a defensive posture, pulling her knees up to her chin. She tossed the cigarette butt out the window and glared at Steve.

“Where is she and what has she done? I’m not answering any more questions until you tell me,” she snapped.

Steve gestured to the other end of the sofa and Wendy nodded and Steve perched himself on the edge and tapped his tablet.

“Is this April?” Steve showed her his tablet.

He’d cropped the picture so that April’s neck wasn’t showing. She looked almost peaceful but it was obvious that she was dead.

Wendy emitted a shuddering gasp and began to shake and cry. Instinctively Steve put his arm around her and comforted her. She allowed him to do so for minute or two and then she pushed him away.

“What happened?” her voice was deadpan; emotionless.

“We think she was murdered. We will have to wait for the autopsy and forensics,” Steve remained sitting close to Wendy.

Wendy nodded as if she understood. As if somehow it was inevitable.

“That’s why it’s so important that I find out about her movements yesterday,” Steve extrapolated.

“She needed money. She needed money more than most people,” Wendy began.

Steve didn’t interrupt. He’d let Wendy tell it however she wanted to.

“Do you know how much it costs to be a drag queen? Do you know how much it costs to transition?” they were rhetorical questions so Steve didn’t answer.

“April was paying for the drugs and hormones that she needed to transition and also saving for some surgery. She dropped out of college where she was studying performing arts and was taking any part-time work she could get. She wanted to be a professional drag queen”

“There’s the Catch-22… the dichotomy. She needed money to improve her drag but the only way she could make money was through drag. Ten years ago she would be spending half as much on clothing and costumes as drag queens do today. The audiences want polished, professional and unique performances. Drag has gone mainstream which is good, but it comes at a cost.”

Steve knew all about this. Felicity had educated him and she did her best to scout for young queens with talent and potential to give them a start.

“April wasn’t making much and what she was making she was putting back into her drag and buying bootleg drugs to help her transition,” Wendy explained.

“Come and look,” Wendy got up off the sofa and led Steve to one of the bedroom doors.

The bedroom was crammed with racks of clothing: costumes, leotards, dresses, skirts, blouses, all glittering with sequins and rhinestones. About twenty pairs of ridiculously high heeled shoes and boots were lined up along one wall, a row of wig-stands on a shelf above them held multitude of wigs of all styles and colours. More clothing was overflowing out of the wardrobe. Makeup and brushes were scattered across a scarred old nightstand that had a lighted mirror mounted above it. A cosmetics case the size of a builder’s tool chest sat on the floor beside it.

It reminded Steve of Felicity’s drag room at home where she kept all of her drag accoutrements. The difference being that Felicity’s clothes, shoes and wigs probably cost triple the amount of anything here and Felicity’s clothes were kept in custom made walk in wardrobes and all of her accessories were kept in purpose built drawers and cupboards. She eschewed disarray at home.

“What she couldn’t buy she made,” Wendy pointed to a battered Singer sewing machine and a dress-makers mannequin in the corner of the room.

There was barely enough room for a bed, which was single, unmade, pushed against the wall.

Wendy led Steve back to the kitchen where she refilled their coffee cups. She was doing a good job of keeping it together.

Steve bided his time and sipped his coffee, letting Wendy get to the point of her story and hopefully explain to him where April had been yesterday.

“April is… was… still is… legally a man named David Summers. She was doing everything in her power to fix that. She was awaiting a date to get a court order issued certifying her change of gender so she could get her identification documents changed to her new name and gender. It’s complicated and costly,” Wendy continued her tale.

“Transgender women of little means are vulnerable. Even with today’s equality laws there are many businesses that won’t hire them and the jobs available are usually low paying. April was waiting for her big breakthrough in drag. She wouldn’t have missed her gig at Ride ‘em Cowgirl for anything; she was hoping it would be her big break,” Wendy lit another cigarette and moved to the sofa next to the window and Steve followed, sitting beside her.

“April needed money for drag, to pay for her transition, to pay her living expenses and what she was earning performing at the smaller clubs in the evening, part-time waitressing and selling makeup during the day wasn’t enough.”

“You know where I’m going with this don’t you,” Wendy pointed her cigarette at Steve.

Felicity had told Steve that some of the girls made money on the side. There were plenty of men out there who fetishized crossdressed women and transsexuals.

“She has an OnlyFans. She sells provocative images and videos of herself online and advertises her services to those willing to pay,” Wendy blushed and looked down at the carpet.

“She was working as a prostitute to supplement her income?” Steve stated the obvious.

“You saw all the stuff in her room. She pays her rent and her bills on time. Shit she even lent me money,” Wendy looked up at Steve.

“What about drugs?” Steve asked.

“What about them? Other than the hormones and other medication she was taking to help her transition she only smoked a little weed. She said it was organic, that she wasn’t putting any other chemicals into her body. Everyone around here smokes a little weed,” Wendy shrugged her shoulders.

Steve put to rest any thoughts he had that a drug deal had gone bad. The small amount of marijuana April had on her when she was killed was obviously for recreational use and the two hundred dollars in the envelope most likely came from her john. But why hadn’t he taken the money after he had killed her?

“Any family?” Steve asked.

Wendy shook her head violently.

“April was an only child and her dad threw her out as soon as she presented as gay. Her mother is dead. She never talks about her dad and I have no idea where he is and neither does April,” Wendy crushed out her cigarette and it followed its predecessor out the window.

Wendy kept changing tense when she spoke about her friend; sometimes referring to her in the present tense as if she was still alive and sometime referring to her in the past tense. It was common with survivors of tragedy.

“Can I have a team come in and process April’s room? See if they can find any evidence? Also I’ll need access to her OnlyFans account and any email accounts she may have; are you able to help?” Steve asked.

“Sure. Come and search her room; search the whole apartment I have nothing to hide, anything to help find who did this. I have the login to her laptop and can help there. She wasn’t tech savvy and I helped her with a lot of that stuff. I work as a freelance IT specialist. I have my own business,” Wendy sighed.

“And finally… we need someone to identify April. She has no immediate family so…” Steve hated to have to ask this.

“Sure. When? Where? Oh my god April!” Wendy's composure broke and she collapsed into Steve’s arms sobbing uncontrollably.

He held her and let her cry it out. When she had recovered to the extent that he thought she would be ok he disengaged from her and put away his tablet after writing down some notes.

“The sooner we formally identify April the better. We can work the case better with a confirmed ID of the victim… of April,” Steve corrected himself.

“Let me get changed,” Wendy sighed and lifted herself off the sofa like she had the weight of the world on her shoulders.

As soon as she was in the bathroom Steve made a call. He got onto Brendan Scott’s office and confirmed that that the body of David Summers had been relocated to the morgue and he made arrangements for it to be available for identification.

When they departed the apartment building Steve noted the small pile of cigarette butts in the garden under the window where Wendy liked to smoke.

He tried looking anywhere than at Wendy Beaumont's ass swathed in her tight denim skinny-jeans. Although she was wearing jeans, t-shirt and ankle-boots, nothing provocative, Wendy exuded sexuality. She had touched up her makeup but her red hair remained a disarrayed halo framing her face despite her attempt to brush it. She was wide hipped and broad shouldered, what some would call roomy, but not fat, her legs were long and sturdy. Steve could make out the VPL of the full-cut panties she was wearing under her jeans. Steve looked away from her and cleared his head as he opened the door of his car for her.

During the drive to the morgue Steve explained the procedure to Wendy as much to reassure her as to inform her.

“Usually the ME would be content with an ID from a photograph but as you aware this is a little complicated. First off April has most likely been murdered and second, although she presents as female she is still legally male and needs to be identified as David Summers I’m afraid,” Steve explained.

“I’m not going to refer to April as David; that's her dead name. She wouldn’t want that,” Wendy snapped.

“I can word it for you so that you don’t have to use April’s dead name. I just need confirmation that the person we have is David Summers is all,” Steve said softly.

“I’m sorry I snapped. You’ve been pretty considerate for a cop. I expected a lot of prejudice and resistance because April is transgender,” Wendy sighed.

Steve resisted the urge to tell Wendy that his girlfriend is a transgender woman, especially as it is likely that Felicity knew April and had hired her for a performance at her club. He just nodded.

At the morgue the viewing room had been made ready and April’s body prepared for identification. The procedure was devised to cause as little grief as possible for the person identifying the body. When the identifier is shown their loved one, they can view the deceased at their own pace. They are given all the time they need to work up the courage, with no toe-tapping detective leaning over their shoulder. Afterwards, the ME’s assistant will offer to direct the identifier to grief counselling or other services should they feel they need it.

April’s body was swathed in pristine white sheets pulled up over her neck to hide the bruising and abrasions caused by strangulation. Her makeup had been removed, her face washed and her brunette hair brushed out. Her right arm was exposed to display the tattoo of the fleur-de-lis on her wrist. Only the parts of the body that were necessary for identification were exposed. It was all about making the experience as non-traumatic as possible.

Detectives usually didn’t accompany the aggrieved into the viewing room; it wasn’t like on TV where a grim-lipped copper tapped his foot impatiently waiting for the body to be identified. But Wendy asked Steve to accompany her and had clung to his arm for support when she was confronted with the body of her friend.

She asked permission and was allowed to kiss April’s cheek. All of the forensic evidence had been taken from the body.

Steve took Wendy outside to the smoking area and they both had a smoke to settle their nerves.

“What now?” Wendy asked.

“I’ll get someone to drive you home. I request that you leave April’s room as it is so my officers can look for any clues. I’ll get one of the CSI’s, Alice Leasingham, to contact you so she can access April’s laptop,” Steve crushed out his cigarette and picked up the butt.

“Anything I can do to help,” Steve noted the tears flooding Wendy’s eyes.

She had borne the death of her friend remarkably well but she was obviously stunned and suffering grief.

“Is there anyone you can call or stay with?” Steve asked.

“April and I were close friends not just roomies. We shared our intimate thoughts and feelings. I loved her. Not in any carnal way but I loved her like a sister. I want you to find who did this to her and punish them. I want her life to mean something,” Wendy broke down again and when Steve moved in to comfort her she pushed him away.

“I’ll get an Uber. Send your girl around whenever you want to go through the laptop,” Wendy called as she walked away towards the street.

Steve went back inside the morgue to confirm what time the autopsy would be conducted then he called Bob Tanner and requested Alice Leasingham’s assistance. He put Wendy Beaumont’s details into an email and sent them to Alice then he navigated the midtown traffic to Ride em’ Cowgirl.

Felicity, Jill Graham and Mitch Freeman were sitting at a table near the front of the club going over some spreadsheets. Four drag queens dressed in matching rhinestoned leotards and full makeup were rehearsing a number on the stage. Felicity was providing direction whilst Mitch and Jill briefed her on the club’s financial status. Steve was still amazed at Felicity’s ability to multitask.

Steve caught Felicity’s eye and she gave him a wave indicating for him to take a seat and she would be with him shortly. Steve might be her lover and her life partner but business always came first. Felicity was about to embark on a two month tour of the US and selected overseas cities with an ensemble cast of drag queens. She was leaving on Monday for LA for rehearsals and she wanted to make sure everything was in order at Ride em’ Cowgirl before she left.

Steve watched the queens rehearsing and he noticed that Mitch Freeman often looked up at the stage too. The uber-feminised and overly sexualised women on the stage were quite beguiling.

Felicity left Mitch and Jill and came over to join him. She gave him a kiss which in other circumstances might have led to something much more intimate but they both had work to do. Steve got to it.

“The girl who missed her show last night, April Showers; is this her?” Steve held out his phone so that Felicity could look at the image.

“That’s her. She doesn't look good,” Felicity searched for her cigarettes.

Felicity cared for her fellow queens and was a trans rights activist but she was hardened to violence and death. Steve had to remind himself that the woman he loved had strangled one man to death and shot two others. The men were sexual predators who had raped her in college and had continued to prey on countless other women. Although she had never admitted to it Steve knew that she had committed murder and Felicity knew that Steve knew.

“She was murdered at the Abacha Motel yesterday most likely lured there by a john. What time was she supposed to be here for her show?” Steve asked.

“She should have been here by seven thirty to get into her drag and prepare for her performance. I had only seen her perform a couple of times before but she had potential so I gave her the gig. She was hired to perform a couple of numbers lip-syncing solo and do the meet-and-greets before and after,” Felicity put a cigarette to her lips.

“You don’t seem surprised that she was meeting a john?” Steve said.

Felicity paused with the lighter inches from her face and stared at Steve pointedly.

“You know that some of the girls supplement their income that way, especially when they are first starting out. I don’t ask those sorts of questions so long as their reputation doesn’t detract from my ability to employ them. I don’t think that knowing some of the girls give hundred dollar blow jobs on the side puts off the audience; we’re not dealing with choir-girls here Steve,” Felicity lit her cigarette and blew smoke at the ceiling.

“That said, you find the fucker who did this and make him pay. Anything else I can do to help?” she asked.

“Can you forward me her resume and any references she gave you? It’s possible that the guy who killed her wasn't a john and may have been someone else she knew,” Steve closed his tablet and gathered his phone and keys ready to leave.

Felicity put out her hand and held his.

“Are you going to be late tonight?” her tone had changed.

She sounded demure and coquettish. She used a finger to stroke his palm.

“You know when I catch a murder case I have to give it my full attention and I don’t have Silvia. I don’t know when I’ll be home honey,” Steve put his other hand over hers.

“I need your full attention tonight honey. I’m going to be on road for quite a while. Do your best,” she leaned in and kissed him using her tongue.

The feel of her lips on his, her tongue exploring his mouth, the smell of her, the soft caress of her hair on his face; Steve was instantly tumescent.

The chorus of showgirls on the stage began to whoop and applaud and Felicity broke the kiss.

“See you tonight,” Felicity squeezed his hard cock under the table and abruptly got up to leave.

Steve watched her re-join Mitch and Alice at the table as she shouted instructions to the queens on stage while he waited for his erection to subside.

Steve hated autopsies but he steeled himself and joined Brendan Scott in the morgue. Brendan would normally have delegated the autopsy to one of his two underlings but because the victim was a Special Task Force case he had decided to conduct it himself.

April Summers looked pathetic lying on the stainless steel table under the harsh mortuary lights. She was naked, her clothes had been bagged and sent to CSI for forensic examination and any trace evidence on her body had also been collected and put aside for processing.

She was skinny, pale and looked younger than her twenty-two years. The effects of the hormones and blockers she had been taking were starting to show results. She had budding breasts and her hips and buttocks were full. She looked like a pubescent girl except for the penis lying across her thigh and the scrotum between her legs.

Steve wondered if this in particular had drawn the killer to her; her pubescence not the fact that she was a trans woman which the killer would have certainly knew when he solicited her.

Brendan Scott spoke in a monotone into the microphone as he carried out the procedure, first off noting the physical condition of the body which he described as slightly undernourished but otherwise healthy. He noted that there were no external indications of drug use or cuts and contusions other than the bruising on her neck and the other signs of strangulation.

She had not put up a fight or resisted which supported Steve’s assumption that she had willingly gone to the Abacha Motel to have sex with her killer and had been surprised when he killed her. Although autoerotic asphyxiation could not be ruled out it seemed unlikely and when Brendan Scott found extensive injuries to April’s, oesophagus, trachea, cervical spine, and larynx he ruled the cause of death as strangulation and discounted death by misadventure.

April’s fingernails were chipped and there were scratches on her neck where she had clawed at the ligature although Brendan surmised that April had been caught totally by surprise and had not had not been able to put up much of fight.

There were indications that she had engaged in anal intercourse and he took swabs to be compared against those taken at the scene. There could be more than one secretor if April had been with multiple sex partners that day. Her sphincter was dilated and there was evidence of bruising in the anus which was indicative of vigorous anal sex but not necessarily rape. Her lower bowel was clean and it was likely she had douched prior to being penetrated.

When the ME opened April up to examine the internal organs Steve stepped away and listened to Brendan basically confirm that other than the fact she had been strangled to death, David Summers was a skinny, healthy young man exhibiting early signs of gender transformation.

Steve had a couple of uniformed officers loaned to him who were at the motel interviewing potential witnesses. He took a call from the officer in charge at the scene who said that the reception clerk remembered that April had checked into Abacha Motel around two PM paying cash. The fleabag hotel did not require a security deposit and David had checked in using the name April Summers. The clerk didn’t remember her being accompanied but said he wasn’t really paying attention.

The clerk did say that April was a semi-regular customer who sometimes stayed overnight and had never caused any trouble in the past. An electronic copy of the register was being forwarded to the task force’s communal in-box.

Steve had had a long day and there wasn’t much else he could do except wait for the results of the forensic evidence and the searches of April’s electronic devices and her bedroom.

He was pissed off and sympathised with Wendy Beaumont that April would be officially identified and go to her grave as David Summers instead of April Summers but was determined to continue to refer to her using female pronouns.

Felicity wasn’t working the club as it was her last night with Steve before she flew out. She was anticipating a romantic evening and Steve tried to clear his mind and to be as cheerful as possible when he arrived home at the opulent apartment owned by Felicity and shared by them both.

She was dressed in a silk bathrobe and had just done her hair and makeup in preparation for a night on the town and when Steve came inside and hung up his coat she looked up from the fashion magazine she was reading. Steve forced a smile.

“Can I get you a drink?” she asked.

Felicity could tell from Steve’s composure that he was troubled.

“Nah… I’ll take a shower and get changed. We can get a drink at the bar before we eat,” Steve replied and made his way to the bedroom.

He stripped and went to the ensuite bathroom where he quickly shaved and brushed his teeth. He turned the rainforest shower as hot as he could stand it so he could wipe away the grime and the stink of the morgue. Felicity came into the bedroom and saw his clothes piled on the floor.

Steve was usually upbeat and painfully neat. She knew that he behaved this way when he was working a particularly hard case or a case that affected him personally. She gathered up his clothes and put them in the hamper in the bathroom and looked at Steve’s silhouette through the glass of the walk-in shower. His body was shrouded in a fine mist of steam but she could make out his muscled torso.

She opened the door and Steve turned towards her as she dropped her bathrobe and stepped into the shower.

“You’ve just done your hair and makeup,” Steve said.

“Fuck my hair and makeup,” Felicity growled throatily.

She wrapped her body around him, clinging to him like a limpet; she hung onto to him like a cat on limb. Her mouth found his. Her breath was fresh and sweet, her breasts pressed against his warm wet flesh, her nipples hard red berries.

Steve gasped as she took a handful of body-wash from the dispenser and cupped her hand between their bodies and smeared their hard penises with the slippery gel. She pressed the shafts of their penises together and slowly stoked them and Steve gasped into her mouth.

He disentangled her body from his so he could take a handful of the gel and apply it to her breasts, feeling her nipples engorge even more. They kissed passionately whilst Steve stroked her soapy breasts and tweaked her nipples with his fingertips, making Felicity yelp with pleasure. She squeezed their cocks together and stroked them using a firm foamy caress.

Steve let Felicity do this until he couldn’t take the extreme pleasure any longer; every nerve of his body was tingling with decadent desire.

He spun Felicity around and slammed her against the glass and yanked on the dispenser to fill his palm with body-wash gel. He bit into her neck as he slavered the slippery salve onto his penis and then pressed it into her puckered sphincter forcing Felicity up on her tiptoes. She gasped when he reached around her and took her rock-hard throbbing cock in his hand and squeezed.

“Do it,” she hissed over her shoulder.

Steve slid his cock all the way inside Felicity as she backed down on it wanting every millimetre of his flesh inside her. He thrust one, twice, three times and ejaculated, feeling Felicity’s scalding semen spurt into his fingers as she came with him. He kept her pinned to glass, his juddering cock deep inside her, licking her neck, biting her shoulder as she spent her seed onto the glass wall of the shower. The scalding mist of the water washed over them.

When they were done Felicity extricated herself from Steve’s embrace and took a luxury bath sponge and soaped Steve’s body and bathed him while he stood still under the cascading shower.

Later as they sat in the open-plan living area of the opulent apartment dressed in matching silk robes, sipping gin and tonics Felicity cleared her throat.

“No more melancholy tonight Steve, it’s our last together for a while and I want fond memories,” Felicity studied her drink.

“Of course darling, tonight I’ll think only of you,” Steve perked up, putting away thoughts of the case.

“And when I’m gone?” Felicity teased, arching her brows.

“I’ll think of you every day,” Steve smiled at her.

“You better; even if you’re banging some floozy,” Felicity lifted herself out of the chair and went to the bedroom to fix her ruined makeup and get dressed.

Steve and Felicity had been together long enough and were secure enough in their relationship to have discussed Felicity’s long absences. They were both highly sexed and pragmatic enough to realise that staying faithful to each other was impossible so they agreed to an open relationship.

They had rules. No romantic attachments, Steve was not to bang any of the girls at the club, Felicity was not to bang any of girls she was on the road with and they were both to get tested before Felicity returned.

So far this arrangement had served them well but tonight Steve only had eyes for Felicity and could hardly wait for their evening out to be over so he could make love to her in their big bed.

To be continued

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This one sounds like an episode of CSI

It was ok and since it's a Michele Nylons story I'm anxiously awaiting the next installment. It's just that a bunch of this reminded me of that TV show (no pun intended). I like how considerate Steve is and the references to testing at the end. As usual the characters are well done. So what's the address of Ride em Cowgirl? And do all the patrons wear Covid masks during their visit? I wanna go see a show!

>>> Kay

Slam! Bam! Thank You Ma'am!

joannebarbarella's picture

I do love a Michele Nylons story. No pussy-footing around with the sex, but a real story to go with it.

I'm sure this one will live up to its initial promise.