Magic Dress - Sheila Pt. 02

CHAPTER 4

Maybe it was partly the thrill of being on operation -- the deepest cover I had ever been. It was so satisfying shopping for groceries by myself. I had a natural advantage. I wasn't pretty. I was a plain woman in her late thirties with a modest bust who didn't spend a lot and paid by cash. No interest, really.

I used the local shops just enough to be a familiar figure without being friends. Anyone who tried to get me to talk about my background quickly lost custom, though I would acknowledge the weather and agree how terrible politicians were.

I walked the streets so that I knew the area and had escape plans, knowing where the CCTV was. I did this carefully in a raincoat and not too late. It was not that I couldn't take care of myself, it was the fear that I might beat up some molester and the police would link it with what had happened in France.

The local transport system means that you can buy a day ticket and travel by metro or bus. There were better options requiring registration, a photograph or a mobile phone, which of course I did not use. I had a pay as you go, with only Sheila's number on it, mainly for them to call or text me. It was just faintly possible that I could be linked to Bob, if, for example he got into trouble and they looked at his records.

Sheila gave me an old handbag which she had filled up with useful things and still contained some clutter which should have been removed and was thus realistic. It contained tampons and a spray to use after visiting a public toilet, plus a half-used lipstick and powder and a part-filled little bottle of perfume. Obviously, something I had had for a couple of years. Of course, my mobile phone, purse and a comb.

One of the things I liked about the military was the technology, not just weapons, but all the sorts of equipment and their variations. (Plus the training in locks and vehicles in order to steal them if necessary.) Now Sheila instructed me in the types and technology of women's clothes. I had not realised there was so much to learn, but I needed some proficiency in my cover. She was like an armaments specialist compared with a raw recruit. I soaked up the details with the same interest I had found with weapons and communications.

And perhaps something else. I suppose you might call it aesthetics. Why a top and skirt would be more suitable than a dress in some circumstances. The different sorts of fabrics and cuts. I somehow found it fascinating, and felt the urge to explore more. All the military stuff had essentially been functional in design (not that it always functioned well). But the thing about women's clothes was the non-functional nature. Women tried not to wear the same as each other and changed far more than was necessary. Lace, frills and patterns were purely decorative, and some clothes actually hindered freedom of movement. It was a strange world which I found increasingly fascinating.

I travelled to Gateshead to a big shopping centre and bought some shoes with heels. For my cover there was no reason to, but I found myself buying some nice underwear at a lingerie shop. I bought a matching bra and suspenders, fortunately available as separates, and several types of stockings. Which was mad. I don't know why. On another day I bought some nightwear. Not the practical nightdress Sheila had got for me but one in satin and another in lots of lace.

Somehow it felt really good, in fact delicious, wandering around my little flat in high heels and sexy underwear. I even bought some different lipstick and eyeliner and made myself up like a girl on YouTube did. My outer clothes were rather unexciting, but my underwear was not, and my nightclothes were anything but. I would have liked to discuss it with Sheila, but did not.

I told myself I was just pretending well, but the truth was I was revelling in something so different to the practical functional military world I had inhabited for so long. I was enjoying the secret knowledge of pretty underwear and a nightdress. I relished the feeling of a dress or skirt, and stockings or tights. With time to myself and the internet, I became more adventurous with cooking: another activity far outside the pure requirements of nutrition.

I tried not to impose myself too much on Bob and Sheila, but just what a cousin living in the area might do, and of course any time I could be helpful I was.

CHAPTER 5

Bob's secretary had left, forms had been filled in, and I started my job. I was Sheila, the secretary and only employee. Everyone else were clients or contractors, including some owner-drivers with lorries. There was plenty of admin to do and not many visitors apart from the post or other deliveries. It was agreed that my phone voice was particularly convincing as a woman.

To add to my confidence Sheila had provided me with some breast forms: silicone tits in other words which gave a natural weight and thus behaviour to the bra. I rather liked them, as I did my pretty underwear.

It took a few weeks and some extended office hours (and more than a few mistakes) before I got on top of things. The advantage of being occupied was that I did not think about my situation. I was Sheila, day and night. Another advantage was that some of the dreams and flashbacks to my time as a soldier went away. They were not Sheila's memories. In a sense my memories began to be edited and merge with the fiction.

To prepare for interrogation my back story had been based on some truth. My imperfect Geordie accent could be explained by the fact that my childhood had been in Birmingham, which it had, so I knew the area at the time, the shops, bus numbers and so forth. My school had long been demolished, and the area taken over by immigrants, so there was no-one there who would be expected to remember little Sheila Symes. However, I now remembered my time as a schoolgirl in a skirt, and playing with girls not boys.

Some of my fictional past became more real than the truth, but always more feminine. When I had a wet dream, I realised that I had not wanked for months, and had been dreaming of myself as a woman in sexy underwear walking in the park. Strangely, I felt quite comforted by the fact.

As Tamsin of course dominated the conversation in their household, both Bob and I called her Mummy even when Tamsin was asleep, while Sheila meant me. Tamsin knew her mummy's name of course and was amused but now called me Auntie Sheila. I sometimes took her to the local playground, or as a treat to Jesmond Dene by bus, which gave her parents a break and the opportunity for sex. I was also their baby sitter for a date night, which I was delighted to do.

We had debated whether I should wear a wedding ring to keep men off. The disadvantage would be that I would need to know about and avoid introducing a fictional husband. The eventual conclusion was that I was not attractive enough. The Newcastle area had tons of curvy girls out on the pull, while I had no figure to speak of.

A crunch moment came when Bob's former secretary, Mary, came in to see how I was doing. I think I was doing well enough for her not to worry about Bob, but badly enough for her to be satisfied. Having established that I had no boyfriend, she gave me a pitying look and described her wonderful boyfriend who would probably marry her after the baby was born. She did most of the talking, obviously excited and pleased about her life, so I don't think she paid enough attention to me to suspect anything.

Another test was when some tax officials came in for an unannounced visit on a small trader.

Having announced himself, one looked at the notes and said "You must be the secretary, the wife of Mister Johnson."

"I'm Sheila," said brightly. He looked at his notes and made a tick. (I have had training in being evasive under questioning. Half-truths are preferred to lies, and don't give information any more than is necessary, and they know, or think they know anyway. I hadn't agreed or contradicted him.)

"And there are no other employees?"

"No. All services are provided by contractors. The cleaning of all offices in this building is done by the landlord as part of the rental agreement."

I showed him the files, and he said we were quite well run, and he wished more businesses kept such good records. Bob said it was part of his army training and they left, seemingly satisfied.

CHAPTER 6

There was knock on the door, and a man came in. I couldn't help a gasp, but quickly recovered. It was one of my comrades. We had worked closely together. Could I possibly fool him?

"Good morning. How can I help you, sir?"

"I'd like to see Mr Johnson, please, if he's available."

"Who shall I say, and what is the nature of your business?"

"Green, Jimmy Green. I'm an old friend."

I went to Bob's door, knocked and opened it.

"What is it, Sheila?"

"There's a gentleman asking to see you, a Mr Jimmy Green. Says he's a friend."

Bob's face lit up.

"Jimmy Green! Why show him in, Sheila. God, you must be so pleased to see him again!"

Jimmy came forward, grabbed my arm and peered closely, then laughed.

"Fuck me! Geordie and Sheila, I..."

He paused and said to me quietly "Shit. Is this an op? Are you waiting for someone? Nice camo, by the way."

We explained our unusual situation, and he explained his problem, which was dealt with by Geordie (as I thought of him under the circumstances) giving him some contacts for possible work, me lending him some money which I never expect to see again, and saying he could stay at my flat for the night before fucking off as far as possible so as not to draw attention to me.

As he was in the area, I decided to punish him with a few cans of the local poison, Newcastle Brown Ale (pronounced Newkie Broon) and my cooking. It was actually nice to cook for two, and wonderful to have a friend around. I hadn't realised how lonely I had been.

Jimmy was amazed that I did not change as soon as I got home. I said it wasn't worth the bother. I just took my tights off. He watched with amazement, as I put then put on an apron and got on with the cooking.

We reminisced and had a good laugh, and got a bit merry. Then he pretended he was trying to pick me up, so I went through the process of saying no, then being reluctant and then coyly suggesting maybe. Suddenly he stopped.

"Sorry," he said, "but would you mind if I had a wank?"

"You never used to ask before," I said. "Help yourself -- the bathroom's over there."

His voice was a bit hoarse.

"No, I mean at you. I'm sorry, but I really need it."

I was stunned, but why not.

"Just keep out of range," I said, and posed in front of him like some pinup.

Jimmy was bigger than me and in better physical shape. Seeing a soldier wank had been nothing unusual, but this was something different. As he said, he was wanking AT me. I was the object of the lust in the cock pointing towards me and the desperate face above it. I couldn't help but move myself around and make faces like a model, but I could feel the blood in my cheeks and my groin.

It was a very creditable spurt, and I felt a strange satisfaction in both seeing it and his grimace and groan of satisfaction. I had never considered this from a woman's point of view.

I carefully held my skirt to hide own stiff cock, but would not give him the satisfaction or worry of seeing how he had affected me, so mentally began going through technical sequences in my head while he cleaned himself up, then went to the bathroom. I was determined not to wank, but held my cock down to be able to piss, which helped. I then took off makeup, washed and put on my nightdress and panties.

If anything, he was even more amazed.

"That's what I call deep cover, Sheila!" he said. I went to bed, leaving him with some blankets and the choice of floor or couch.

In the night I dreamt I was dancing with Jimmy while Geordie was dancing with Mary, and I came into my panties. Serve me right for not just wanking in the bathroom! I went to the bathroom to clean up and get a fresh nightdress and panties. As I came back through the living room, I heard a groan from the sofa.

It was already quite light, and Jimmy was sitting there with his cock in his hand.

"Sorry," he said, but would you just mind staying there a couple of minutes?"

"Why not?" I said and made what I thought was a curtsey. "Enjoy yourself!"

Which he did. Again I saw a man wanking at me. Having just come myself, I was not physically uncomfortable, just interested. And I went back to bed strangely cheerful with a sort of girlish glee at what I had caused this man to do. This tough soldier had been overcome by a nightdress! Still, I guess he must have been deprived for some time. I had some sort of dream before the alarm, though I couldn't remember except I was happy. And a woman.

After breakfast I decided to treat both of us by wearing suspenders and stockings under my work dress.

"You're too good at this," he said. "Will you marry me?"

"Fuck off, you cunt!" I said sweetly.

He left and I felt cheerful all week.

That weekend was good as well, as we went to the seaside. One of the joys of Newcastle is that their underground trains actually go out to the coast to several resorts. As Auntie Sheila I was enjoying the sunshine and Tamsin and Adam along with their parents. I had learned to tuck my balls away and my cock backwards, which gives a smooth front to snug clothes. On this occasion I was wearing an elastic swimsuit underneath a flowery summer dress, with a floppy hat and sandals. I wasn't going swimming, but would be believable should anyone see under my dress when lying, sitting or disturbed by a gust of wind. It was a bit of a palaver to piss, and there were of course queues at the Ladies' loos. However, I felt really feminine and enjoyed the sensation. Perhaps I WAS a bit too good at this.