textfiles/sex/EROTICA/T/toys-012.txt

     God, do I ever pass! I'm gorgeous. I bet every cock on the 
street is hard just from looking at me and every woman on the street 
hates me. The tall. elegant blonde checked out her appearance in the 
plate glass of a store window.

     Bobbie was svelte, leggy, glamorous and he knew it. Heads turned 
when he passed and as many women stared as men. His clothes were 
expensive, only the best designers. Eat your hearts out, you losers, 
he thought. You all wish that you could look half as good as me, and 
I'm a man.

     There were flashing red lights up ahead, they were in front of 
Bobbie's shop. What the hell was this? Bobbie pushed his way through 
the crowd of people who had gathered to stare and looked at the official 
insignia on the car door. 

                           OFFICE OF THE SHERIFF
                        FORECLOSURES AND EVICTIONS

     Eviction! Goddammit, they had until the first of the month to vacate. 
Where did that fucking landlord get the almighty gall to evict them a full 
month early? Bobbie stormed over to the front door as quickly as he could 
in his tight slim skirt and high heels.

     A burley deputy barred his path. Furious, he looked around. Sheila, 
looking ashen, was standing a few feet down the sidewalk.  Sheila DeVille 
was his office manager. Shit, if this was anybody's screw up, it was 
Sheila's. Bobbie pushed past another deputy to confront his employee.

     "What the holy hell is going on here? Why are they padlocking 
our doors?"

     "The lease is up today, it seems, and the landlord is evicting us 
and seizing the property inside for the cost of eviction," Sheila 
responded icily. "It seems that you signed a letter at the last renewal 
period changing the expiration date and waiving any grace period. I 
never saw that letter before today and you never told me about one. 
But the Sheriff sure has a copy."

     "What did you do to us Bobbie? We're out of business now." Sheila 
looked at her boss, lost and dismayed.

     A letter, what letter? Had he signed any such letter? There had 
been all the new forms and the riders, the environmental stuff and new 
insurance coverage. The landlord had pushed some papers through at the 
end of the meeting, but it was all routine he had said. After all, he
was so busy staring at Bobbie's legs in that micro-mini skirt, that 
Bobbie had stolen the place for two bucks less a square foot than the 
going rate.

     Perhaps, Bobbie hadn't been so slick as he had thought. This was 
a disaster. How would the shop meet it's printing commitments? The 
customers would sue. The landlord would sell the presses, the stock and 
the bindery equipment. Bobbie was well and truly screwed.

     Dazed, he went back to the shop's entrance. The same deputy blocked 
his path.

     "Could I get in please? I have to remove some personal items. You see, 
my apartment is on the third floor."

     The deputy looked Bobbie up and down appreciatively, but still shook 
his head no.

     "Look Miss, this court order seals the building. If your apartment is 
in there, you're going to have to get a judge to release your stuff. As it 
stands now, nobody goes in or out without court approval."

     Bobbie stared back, dumbfounded. He had to get in. His things - 
Robert's things - were in there. He would be trapped as Bobbie if he 
couldn't get in. None of his credit cards would be any good and he only 
had a few dollars in his purse. That was nowhere near enough to get a 
place to stay or a meal to eat.

     Red-faced, Bobbie returned to Sheila. The tall blonde coolly ignored 
her former boss and turned away.

     "Please Sheila, I have nowhere to go. I'm sure that I can sort all 
this out, but I'll need your help to do it. Can you give me a place to 
stay? I can't stay out in the cold dressed like this, can I?" The tall 
woman started to walk away, but turned suddenly.

     "You always had all the answers," she sneered. "You knew how to 
make the best deals, what to charge, what to print, how to move product. 
Well, I  don't know much about the printing business, but I damn sure 
would have known what lease I was I signing."

     "If you want back, it's gonna be on my terms. First, I get fifty-one 
percent of the business. Two, you work for me. Three, you get to live in 
my house and, until this mess is resolved and we have some money, you'll 
wear whatever clothes I decide to give you."

     "Sheila, be reasonable. I can't go around dressed like this all the 
time. Couldn't I buy some more mascul..."

     "Bobbie, sweetie," Sheila snarled, "aren't you the one who always 
bragged that he was the best "passer" around. Aren't you the perfect 
little cross-dresser? Haven't I had to listen to you boast time after 
time about somebody else you had just fooled?"

     "Well, the only clothes I have for you are hand-me-downs, things 
my mother and my aunts put away. They stored damn near everything they 
owned. Our attic could start a thrift shop. And we were a house full 
of women. So get used to the idea, Bobbie dearest, you're going to be 
in drag for some time to come. And the worst news of all as far as your 
concerened is that I don't think a stitch of clothing went up those attic 
steps after ... oh, say maybe ... 1963. I do so hope you love those 
form-fitting Fifties fashions.

     Bobbie staggered backwards and slumped against the wall of the 
building. Trapped! I'm trapped as a woman until she lets me go. I don't 
have any choice really. I don't have any money or clothes. I'm dressed 
as a woman right now and eventually someone will find out my secret.
Then, I'll get arrested as a queer or something and they'll put me in 
jail. Bobbie shuddered at the thoughts of his likely doom unless he 
took Sheila up on her offer on her terms. Dejected, he followed the 
woman, whom he realized had just become his mistress, to her home.