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Less than half an hour later, Layla and her mother had descended the stairwell of the council flats where they lived and were getting into the battered old Focus, which after all these years and all those miles was still reliable enough for Mrs Lampton. Not that she could easily afford a replacement. Layla kissed Marianne goodbye, but couldn't resist a tighter hug and a more slobbery kiss while her mother watched with an indulgent smile. And then mother and daughter were in the car, as Layla's lover strode away in her battered denim shorts and that top that showed off her navel-ring to its very best advantage, her shoulder bag slung over her shoulder."Oh! I love her so much!" exclaimed Layla, watching her lover recede from sight in the rear-view mirror."I know, dear!" grinned her mother. "I could hear you all night!"Layla blushed, her skin turning an even darker colour. "You heard? We didn't make that much noise, did we?"Her mother nodded. "Ours is a pretty small flat. But it's love,. He then stepped intothe dress, enjoying the sensation of the lining sliding up his nylonencased legs and, with a bit of a struggle, did the zip up at the back.Slipping his feet into the shoes he stood up and looked again in themirror. From the neck down, he could now pass as a woman withoutproblem. But his head was still definitely male.Michael looked around for the wig and makeup but they were nowhere to beseen. He walked out back into the shop (now appreciating that he'd beentalked into buying the lower heeled shoes) and saw Maureen sittingwaiting for him."Do you have my makeup and wig?" he asked."Yes," she replied, "follow me," and led him to the cosmetics department.She asked him to take a seat in one of the chairs provided for makeupconsultations and set to work. After about 20 minutes, she stepped backand admired her work."Not bad," she commented herself as she reached into her handbag andbrought out a small box. Inside was a pair of drop earrings and amatching necklace.
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‘What’s this’? she asked. I suggested she read it & find out. When she left, she took it with her. Two weeks later, we were out for dinner. ‘About that book’, she said, ‘is that what you’re into’? I told her I resented the question, and by no means was I going to be put in a position to explain myself. She said she was sorry, and didn’t mean to sound as if she were judging me. I asked if she enjoyed the book, and she replied ‘kinda, yes, but, I can’t imagine people really do things like that.’ I assured her they do, and in fact submission & dominance are a part of almost everyones’ lives to one degree or another, but that I wouldn’t expect that she would understand. ‘What do you mean by that?’, she quipped. I speculated to her that her upbringing would not allow her to venture from the straight & narrow. ‘What do you mean, you think I’m a snob!’. Not at all, I said, ‘but you’re too headstrong to submit yourself to someone.’ After a quiet stretch, she asked, ‘well, what is it you.

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