Strangeness at Fellows - Part 2

by:

Nick B

Part II

The intrusion

The card reader was taking its time as he stood there waiting and just before the receipt was printed, he heard a noise.

There was a strange feeling that accompanied it, but Denis was too absorbed in straining his ears to hear what was going on.

He wasn't alone in the building, of that he was certain and he didn't know what to do for the best. Should he hide, or should he go and investigate?

"Nice idea Den," he said wryly. "But not in this outfit."

The noise was that of a number of people trying to be quiet, failing then admonishing one another with "Shhhh!" noises. It was almost like a steam train going "pitter-patter-shhh, shhh, pitter-patter-shhh, shhh", which was getting closer and closer.

"How many more flights?"

"Top floor, now shhh!"

Denis slipped his shoes off and using a mixture of running and sliding, got back to his office.

"Hey look at all this neat stuff," said one of the intruders. "Bet Sally Jenkins wears these," he said gyrating around with a little red satin thong held against his crotch.

"Suits you! Now put it down!" said another. "Let's get upstairs."

"I was just lookin'," said the first.

"Yeah, well maybe there'll be time for that later."

Denis sat in his office. He had contemplated the possibility of changing back into his own clothes, well his masculine attire, but had to rethink on account of the fact that the leader of this particular posse, didn't seem to have very much control over his crew and there was no telling when they would reappear or where.

At least the question of what could possibly go wrong had been answered.

From his office, Denis picked up the phone.

"Hello?"

"Emergency services. Which service do you want?"

"Police please," said Denis, suddenly becoming only too aware that the voice with which he was speaking wasn't the one he was used to hearing.

"And the address please?"

Denis gave the woman on the end of the line the address of the store.

"And to whom am I speaking?"

"You're speaking to Denise Rob... I mean Den...Denise Robson, er..." What the hell was happening? Try as he might, he couldn't say Denis. Each time he wanted to say it, but it came out as Denise.

"Are you on the premises Miss Robson?"

Miss? She called him Miss and he was completely thrown.

"Yes," he said and started to tremble. "But they're on the top floor - Electricals. I'm on the first floor - Ladies wear, Menswear and Hosiery. The police will probably find the side entrance open on the ground floor in Spring Street."

"We'll send someone round Miss. Please do not try and confront the intruders, just wait until help arrives."

Well that was that then.

All he had to do was sit tight and all would be taken care of. Somehow that didn't make him feel that much more secure.

He stuffed his suit and other clothes into a large "Fellows" carrier bag and set it down on the floor beside his desk.

"Just hold it for Christ's sake," muttered one of the intruders.

"But it's heavy. Maybe I should go at the front."

"I don't believe this. Alright, let's change places."

Denis listened carefully. They appeared to be at the top of the stairs on his floor.

He snuck out of his office and was pleased that he was only wearing stockings. Although it made the going a bit slippery, he could be completely silent.

"OW! Gerroffmefoot!" yelled one of the intruders.

"Will you shut up? If there was anyone here, they're sure to know we're here now."

"Does that mean we can stop whispering?"

"Like you even started. Let's just get on with this. Old man Smart wants us out of here as soon as possible."

"Mr. Smart?" wondered Denis.

"THE Mr. Smart?" he wondered even more.

"The Mr. J. Henry Smart of Fellows?" he thought. "The same 'Mr. J. Henry Smart' who signs my pay cheque every month?"

A thought was coming to Denis's mind and he didn't like where it was going - or for that matter where it had been.

"This means that the bungling buffoons wandering downstairs with the TV set are here on the orders of the owner. What did he possibly stand to gain from having a few electrical bits and pieces stolen?" thought Denis some more and the reasoning just didn't add up.

"Unless," he thought, a light bulb coming on over his head, "this is just a part of the plan and the real plan is something bigger."

He liked where this thought was going even less than where the first went.

It was looking more and more like an insurance job and these oafs were just making it worth their while as it where. The question now was; what was the main thrust of their plan?

He planned on stopping thinking as soon as possible since each successive thought was darker than the previous, equally as plausible and despicable.

Denis slithered his way back to his office. So far, the intruders had gone up and down the stairs with three TV's, a couple of stereos and umpteen DVD recorders, players and VCR's. He didn't think there was too much left for them to readily steal. Whatever the real part of the plan was would be sure to happen soon and there was still no sign of the police.

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Denis put the shoes with the rest of his stuff in the bag and started out of the office. He went through the men's section, through the ladies and towards the stairs and waited until he was reasonably sure that all the intruders were at least one floor above him.

From the noise they were making, it sounded like there were just the three of them and right at that time, all three were heading up to the second floor, one of them complaining loudly that this had better be the last trip as he was knackered.

Denis hurtled downstairs and stopped long enough to pull the low heels out of the bag, slip his feet in and exit.

Straight into the waiting grip of a policeman.

"Thank God you're here officer. There are three men in there and they're busy right now trying to empty the electrical section on the top floor, but I don't think this is all they have in mind."

"Right," said the cop slowly. "And you were in there why?"

"I work there."

"So I suppose, you do all your shopping after the store closes?"

"I, er, no. I mean, well sometimes, it's just that this time, I wasn't just shopping for me."

"No I can see that. Perhaps you should have remembered to take the label off the dress next time you want to 'buy' it."

"But officer. I did pay for this."

"Yeeeeees," he drawled. "I suspect you probably did. Would that have been with Monopoly money, or did you just leave an IOU?"

"Credit card."

"Uh-huh? And whose was it."

"Mine! Denise, I mean Den-Den-Denise Robson."

There it was again. Somehow, he just couldn't say his own name. Why? What was happening?

And that wasn't the worst of it either. Any check would reveal a Mr. D Robson had used his credit card, but not a Miss D. Robson. This might take some explaining.

He didn't dare even wonder as to what else could possibly go wrong as he sat in the back of the police car, heading for the station.

"You're making a big mistake officer. There are three men in there who are currently robbing the place. I overheard one of them saying that they had something else planned. That's why I phoned for you lot in the first place."

The policeman thought about it for a moment.

"I have a possible robbery at Fellows Department Store. I need someone to investigate," he said. The radio crackled back something that Denis didn't make out.

"Possibly three men and they may have something else planned - don't know if they're armed," he replied and continued driving.

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In the ten or fifteen minutes it took to get from Fellows to the police station, Denis considered his situation.

There had been no time to think about appearance, things had just happened so quickly. Now, the impact of being outside in public as a woman was starting to sink in.

God only knew what the police officer thought when he first clapped eyes on him and now the fear was rising, but at least the policeman took the robbery part seriously enough to radio it through.

"We got a shoplifter Sarge," said the officer as he roughly pushed Denis forward towards the desk Sergeant. "Says she bought the clothes she was wearing, but the dress still has a ticket on it."

"Is this true?"

"Yes, I didn't take the ticket off, but I did pay for it. I even have the receipt."

"And where is it?"

"It's in the bag with the rest of my clothes." The receipt was retrieved and the Desk Sergeant looked at the police officer.

"So why are we holding her? This all seems to be in order. What time does the shop shut Miss Robson?"

"Six pm."

"See? It has even registered going through after hours."

"The shop was closed Sarge. I thought she had swiped the stuff."

"What about this?" said the Sergeant, leaning forward over the desk and waving the crisp, new receipt in the policeman's face.

"I didn't ask to see it." The Desk Sergeant rolled his eyes heavenwards.

Denis felt like a side show attraction as he stood there in front of the Desk Sergeant. All dolled up in stockings and a party frock, the wig etcetera, but wondered why he didn't feel uncomfortable.

It didn't feel unnatural (although, he was feeling some discomfort from the chest area as the bra had become much tighter than it was when he first put it on), despite what his fears had prompted back at the shop. He felt quite good, given his current situation and was not sure how to deal with it.

"Sarge?" said a young woman who came through from the back.

"We've just had a report of that robbery at Fellows."

The attention turned from Denis to the young woman.

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Denis was released shortly thereafter amidst much patting on the back and abject apologies for having wasted her time and Denis wasn't sure how to take constantly being called "Miss" or referred to in the feminine in other ways, though he did chuckle to himself for having passed so easily.

He left the police station and began the long walk home, carrier bag in hand.

He had not gone more than fifty yards before a call from behind stopped him.

It was the young woman.

"Denise? Wait up," she called and Denis got a nice feeling from being called Denise.

He stopped and watched the young woman as she approached. He hadn't really noticed her in the station, but out in the real world, he took a good look at her. She wasn't as tall as him and her hair was short. Coupled with an angular sort of face, she had an impish look about her that appealed to Denis.

"I'm glad I caught you," she said and the two of them continued down the road. "You were very brave."

"I was?"

"Yes. Not many people have the presence of mind to do what you did."

"Not many people have the stupidity to do what I have done either," he said wryly.

"I don't understand."

"It's alright. I think I'm beginning to see that it's probably a good thing. Anyway, shouldn't we be introduced? You know who I am, but I don't know your name."

"Sorry. I'm Stephanie; Stephanie Watkins."

"I'm very pleased to meet you, Stephanie."

The two carried on walking and Stephanie asked all about what had happened. Denis wasn't sure how much to tell the pretty young thing and kept the masculine parts under wraps, even though for the first time in, well, ever, he wanted to tell her everything.

"Do you always chat up the shoplifters?" he asked and Stephanie laughed.

"But you're not a shoplifter though are you? You're a hero. I make a point of trying to get to know all the heroes I meet."

"Do you meet many?"

"Oh, all the time. It's an occupational hazard that comes with the job."

"Are you hungry?" asked Denis. "I'm starving. No breakfast and nothing at lunchtime and here we are at - what time is it?"

"Just coming up to seven fifteen."

"Well. Here we are at just-coming-up-to seven fifteen and suddenly I feel ravenous."

"I really should get home," said Stephanie.

"Shame. You're the first person I have met today or in a long time that I wouldn't mind spending more time with."

"I am?"

"Yeah, well. I like my colleagues well enough, but they're not really my type - if you know what I mean."

Stephanie's return look was somewhat startled and suddenly, Denis was mortified.

He realised what he had said and how that must have sounded to Stephanie. Somehow, Denis's state of dress (not that the LBD was in a state) seemed to have become unimportant to him and now it was all- important.

For the first time, he had just chatted-up a woman, as a woman and that, he concluded, couldn't be something that happened to Stephanie everyday despite all the heroes she encountered on a regular basis.

"I'm sorry. What must you be thinking? I didn't mean it like that," he said, unconsciously bowing his head in a very coquettish manner and blushing furiously.

"I think I'd like to join you."

"That's what I thought. I wasn't thinking and ... You would?"

"Yes! I would!" she said emphatically, linking arms with her new found friend and the two of them headed for the nearest café, restaurant or even a fish and chip caravan.

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They sat down in a small Italian restaurant and Denis excused himself to go to the lavatory.

It wasn't so much a mistake as an oversight when he pushed on the door of the gents. The waiter inside who was just doing up his flies was dumbstruck, frozen to the spot like a deer in the headlights.

In fact as he froze, so did Denis. The feeling of the dress's hem against his thigh and his bare arms sort of gave the game away.

"Er, sorry. Wrong room!" he said and made a hasty exit, sliding across to the next door and almost pushing it off its hinges to get in before he had a complete meltdown.

He stood in the ladies, not knowing quite what to do. It wasn't that he'd forgotten how to pee, but he hadn't ever had occasion to use a ladies toilet before and was momentarily flummoxed. What felt like an eternity went by and he pushed his way into one of the cubicles.

He lifted the seat and hoiked up the dress to free his privates from their gossamer prison.

"Hell's tits!" he yelled.

He felt around on the outside of the thong and was greeted with nothing, well nothing that felt in any way as it should and slipped his hand down the inside instead.

Nothing.

That's not quite true. There wasn't 'nothing' there at all, but what was there, could in no way constitute the tackle he'd been used to.

"What the...?"

He pulled down the thong, and held the hem of the dress up so that he could better see what was happening down there.

Perhaps it would insult your intelligence to describe what he saw. In the absence of a male conglomeration of bits and pieces and the fact that it has already been stated that there wasn't 'nothing' there, the only thing left to expect was...

Yup, you guessed it.

He replaced the seat and plonked himself down, thong round his knees and dress round his waist.

Nature took its course, much to Denis's bemusement, not having felt having a pee quite that way before. To all you women out there and probably post-ops too, this is not likely to be an alien concept, but when earlier in the day, you were peeing in a vertical position, only to have to sit down and experience the flow emanating from a completely different, er exit point later that same day, you can imagine it's going to have something of a novelty value.

This was something else entirely and required Denis getting his head around the concept. There was the wiping afterwards, rather than just banging the end on the porcelain and tucking it back into one's jockeys. Next there was the smoothing of the dress - ensuring that the back was not inadvertently tucked into the waist of the undergarments.

This was going to take some getting used to.

Something occurred to him at that point. If that had happened to his privates, what else had happened?

He felt around his chest and was astonished to find that the clear silicone 'blobs' that he had used to fill out the bra were actually augmented by something soft and round and - his. What he was feeling was his own although at that moment, 'his' didn't really sound right.

He pulled the dress and bra aside and looked as one of the silicone 'blobs' dropped out and hit the floor with a 'plop!'. He repeated the procedure on the other side and another 'plop!' was heard as the other 'blob' smacked against the tiled floor.

"My God!!" he spluttered. "They're real," and they were too.

He looked at himself in the mirror as he straightened his chest area and noticed stray hairs poking out in all directions from the wig, so he decided to do something about it.

As soon as he touched the wig, he realised that it wasn't a wig at all.

He tugged on a handful of hair, but it didn't shift.

He leant in towards the mirror and lifted some of the hair off his face. He could clearly see the hairline and the hair he had in his hand was equally clearly growing from his head.

Well, this was something he hadn't expected. He sighed heavily, thinking that whatever he had chosen to do that was so simple and couldn't possibly go wrong, had evidently gone wrong on more than a few levels already.

His chest was now infinitely more comfortable now that the 'blobs' had been removed. He held them in his hands discretely and headed back to the table.

Rather shamefaced, he rejoined Stephanie.

"You alright? You were gone for ages."

"Yeah, I wasn't feeling myself and there was something I needed to get off my chest," he said, carefully dropping the silicone 'blobs' into the bag with his clothes.

The rest of the meal went without major incident and Denis paid for it all with cash, just in case he met with any resistance regarding his credit card.

It was now getting on for nine pm. Stephanie and Denis mosied along the road not really saying much.

He was actually getting quite cold. It had been a sunny day, perhaps better than the month warranted, but now that the sun was well and truly gone, it wasn't so warm.

"Cold?"

"Yeah. I didn't bring a coat and what I've got in here," he said, hefting the bag, "isn't really appropriate."

"Does that matter?"

"I suppose not," he agreed and they stopped as Denis took his jacket out of the bag.

"Doesn't really look your style," said Stephanie.

"You have no idea," he replied, giggling.

They walked together with Stephanie again linking arms and Denis felt more comfortable than he had ever felt before. Perhaps this change was for the better, but now was now and fun. He was enjoying this newness, this different-ness, but tomorrow might just be a whole different ball game.