The Private Transvestite Detective
(Or The Undercover Dick)
By
Michele Nylons
With apologies to the writers of the various movies from which I borrowed some inspiration (and a few good lines).
Chapter One
It was late Friday afternoon and I sat behind my desk smoking a cigarette, leaning back in my chair with my high-heels resting on yesterday’s newspaper. I contemplated my red-painted toenails through the gauzy nylon of my fully-fashioned stockings. They were overdue for a touch-up, and so was I.
The fading light feebly outlined the sign painted on the glass panel of my office door. It read: ycnegA evitceteD etavirP- snolyN elehciM.
A shadow darkened the glass panel and I leaned forward and filled a glass with scotch.
It was Darleen my part-time secretary and receptionist. Darleen was supporting a five-year-old kid and a forty-year-old husband who drank more than she made. She spent four hours a day, three days a week typing, filing and answering my phone. She also spent five minutes a day, three days a week on her knees under my desk. It was a good arrangement; she needed the cash and I needed the relief.
"You have a visitor; it’s a Mrs Silvia Fellatrix," Darleen announced as she opened the door.
"Pretty?" I asked.
"Prettier than me, but then I’m easier. " Darleen relied.
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I knew that Mrs Fellatrix was trouble as soon as she walked into my office. She was all class; she was the type of woman who could give a guy a hard-on with a flick of her skirt.
She flicked her skirt and I adjusted myself under my desk as I sat up and took a swig of my drink.
"Take a load off?" I motioned to the chair in front of my desk.
"No thanks, I just had this dress dry-cleaned," she replied and nestled her scrumptious buttocks into the offered seat.
"Is that a gun in your skirt or are you just happy to see me?" she asked, nodding in the direction of my crotch.
"Well both actually," I answered, pulling the derringer from where I had it hidden away in my garter.
Mrs Fellatrix reached out and took a smoke from the packet on my desk. She looked me in the eyes and flashed me a brilliant smile.
"Shall we get down to business?" she purred.
"I thought you just had your dress dry-cleaned," I retorted.
"I’m a woman who likes a man dressed like woman to behave like a gentleman," she sighed.
"I need your help; my husband is missing and so is my most valued family heirloom. It’s a statuette called the Golden Cockerel," she stated.
"The bastard waited for me to go away before he absconded with it.
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He’s off somewhere with some tranny whore living the high life and kicking up her heels!" she finished.
"Hang on doll; I resemble that remark; let’s get to the facts. You’ve been away?" I inquired.
"The Islands," she replied.
"Virgin or Caribbean?"
"Let’s just say I’m back from the Caribbean," she smiled.
"And this Golden Cockerel is worth a lot of dough?" I asked.
"Yeah; and I’ll compensate you generously if you return it to me," she added.
"What about your husband?" I asked.
"I’m not giving him any compensation; that’ll have to come out of your end," she retorted.
"I mean what do you want me to do about him?"
This woman was either very smart and playing dumb, or very dumb and playing smart, or she could be very smart whilst pretending to be very dumb and playing smart.
"If he gets in the way; do what you have to," Mrs Fellatrix smirked, "I just want my Cock back!"
"Ok," I said, "I know what that’s like. I’ll take the case.
"But why out of all the transvestite detective agencies in all the towns in all the world did you have to walk into mine? I asked.
"Because yours is the only one," she answered.
"And as I said, my husband has proclivity for transvestites; so you should be able to find him easily enough.
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"
It made sense to me now. While she was away her husband had stolen the Golden Cockerel and taken it on the lam with some low-life tranny.
"Tell me, who was it he left you for? Was this his first tranny, or were there others in between? Or aren’t you the kind who tells?" I asked.
"There have been plenty before this one; all tarts and harlots the lot. But this time he’s taken up with a real sleaze-bag; she’s had more pricks in her than a second-hand dartboard!" she spat.
"Her names Lizzie Swallows and she works in bar down near the docks; the kind that gets full of seamen. That’s the bar, not Lizzie," she clarified her statement.
"I don’t think I know it," I drawled, drawing on my cigarette and taking another pull at my drink.
"That’s funny," said Mrs Fellatrix, "that’s where I found your business card; also your name is scratched into the back of the men’s-room door along with your home and office phone numbers," she countered.
"Ok, ok, I might have been there once or twice for a quick swallow err drink. " I stumbled.
"Anyway the Cock. I’ll get right on it. " I said.
"I would prefer if it you took care of my case before attending to your own pleasure," she smiled.
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She threw a fist full of fifties and a black and white photograph of Lizzie Swallows on my desk and stood up and walked to the door. Her ass wiggled like two ferrets trying to get out of a sack.
"Call me when you find the Golden Cockerel; as for my husband, I don’t care if I never see him again; if you know what I mean," she finished and closed the door behind her.
Chapter Two
I had been home to change. I decided that if Mr Fellatrix had a fondness for slutty trannies, I would pander to his desires so that hopefully I could get close enough to him to get my hands on the Cock.
Of course it was difficult for a classy girl like me to find the type of slutty clothing that might attract a man such as Mr Fellatrix but after spending thirty seconds surveying my wardrobe I picked out something that might work.
I was dressed in a red leather micro-miniskirt, sheer white blouse, cherry-red five-inch high-heels, black seamed stockings and a blonde wig. My makeup was heavier than a doctor’s wallet on payday.
I looked up at the sign hanging over the sleazy bar: ‘The Tented Skirt’. It was not the sort of place that you would ever find me in.
"Hi Michele," the bartender and the dozen or so sailors sitting at the bar sang out as I entered.
I sauntered up to the bar and looked around.
"You got time for a stiff one?" the bartender asked.
"No thanks, I’ll just have a drink," I replied.
At the end of the bar a cheap transvestite hooker held a cocktail in one hand and a sailor’s cock in the other.
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"I’ll have what she’s having," I gestured to the bartender.
"I don’t think she’s finished with it," he replied sarcastically.
"The drink you idiot!" I corrected him.
"One ‘dirty cock-sucking cowboy’ coming up," he smiled.
"Ever since ‘Brokeback Mountain’ us girls have to fight off competition from the closet cowboy queens," I retorted.
"Save the comedy Michele, as a comedienne, you make a great detective," he rejoined.
I took my drink and wiggled my pert ass over to a booth. As I walked to the booth I could feel a pair of eyes glued to my ass. Removing the fake novelty eyes from the rear of my skirt I vowed to remind Darleen that her practical jokes needed to cease forthwith.
Sitting down I took out the picture of Lizzie Swallows and scanned the gloomy bar looking for any sign of her and Mr Fellatrix.
I saw her sitting in a booth across from where I was sitting. You could tell she was a cheap slut by the way she dressed; she wore a red micro-miniskirt and matching red high-heels. Who else but a floozy would wear an outfit like that to an establishment like this.
She was arguing with a guy who was sitting in the corner of the booth. As I watched them, she suddenly stood up, slapped him across the face and stormed out.
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I knew that I wouldn’t get another chance like this so I sauntered over to where Mr Fellatrix was seated nursing his drink.
"Hello," I said, batting my eyelashes at him.
"Won’t you join me in a little drink? What’s your pleasure?" he asked.
"What you have there looks good," I replied.
"I know………but I thought we’d have a drink first," he responded.
I sat next to him in the booth, ensuring that my leg occasionally rubbed against his. I opened my purse and extracted a Virginia Slim; Darleen had commented only yesterday that I should switch to Camels, as they were more reflective of my figure.
"Aren’t you going to light my fire?" I asked seductively.
"Certainly," he replied lighting my cigarette, "I was just looking over your kindling. "
"I’m Michele," I offered my hand and he kissed it like a gentleman.
I actually prefer it when men kiss it like it was a ladies hand.
"I’m William Fellatrix; have we met before? Maybe in church?" he inquired.
"I don’t go to church; kneeling wrinkles my nylons," I replied.
The waitress bought over two drinks and placed them on the table. Mr Fellatrix paid for the drinks and gave her a generous tip.
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"Work hard and be kind to your mother," he said; and then turned away from the waitress and back to me.
"So what sort of a woman are you?" he asked me as he sipped his ‘Tom Collins’.
"I’m a woman who likes talking to a man who likes to talk," I answered sucking on the cowboy (a situation very familiar to me).
"I should have ordered a ‘salty dog’," I went on, "These cowboys are filling me up. " (another situation very familiar to me).
"Funny you should bring up dogs; I have just split up with my girlfriend," he said sarcastically.
"What’s the name of your dog?" I asked, going along with his sarcasm.
"Herpes; if she’s good she’ll heel," he chuckled.
"Anyway; what’s a nice girl like you doing a place like this?" he went on.
"Maybe looking for destiny," I murmured seductively, looking deep into his eyes.
"You’re too late toot’s; Destiny finished her shift at five o’clock," he responded.
I decided to take things into my own hands and threw myself upon him in a fit of passion; taking his thing into my own hands. Mr Fellatrix’s thing was throbbing like a sock full of grasshoppers. I knew now that I had him at my mercy.
"I’d really like to get into your panties," he gasped.
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"Ok you can try; but I’m not sure you’ll squeeze into a size twelve," I gasped back.
"Why don’t you come up sometime and see me? If you’re not busy, I get off at two. Don’t you think two’s a good time to get off on?" I whispered into his ear and nibbled on his earlobe.
"You had me at hello," he replied, "stick with me kid and you’ll be farting through silk. "
I didn’t have the heart to tell him that I already owned plenty of silk knickers; but as he wrinkled his nose and held his breath I guessed that he knew that.
I was all over him like a fat kid on a cupcake and I knew that I had him where I wanted. The problem was that where I wanted him was back at his hangout so that I could get my hands on his Golden Cockerel.
"Do you have a copy of the ‘Texas Chainsaw Mascara’?" I asked.
"Sure; who doesn’t?" he quiffed.
"Ok go home, fire up your DVD player and put it in the slot. I’ll be there at two and then you can fire me up and put something in my slot," I promised as I gently pushed him away and stood up from the booth.
He fumbled in his wallet and produced a small card with the address of his construction company on it. It read: Fellatrix Erections.
"What about your home address," I asked.
"Turn over; on the back," he answered.
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"I don’t normally turn over on my back until the second drink," I smiled, flipping the card over to find the address of his apartment.
"You haven’t finished off your cowboy," (a situation very unfamiliar to me) he said.
"I’ll take a raincheck," I said.
"Here take mine," he said offering me a package of condoms.
"I said raincheck, not raincoat dummy," I laughed over my shoulder and went back to the bar.
As I watched William Fellatrix leave the bar I decided that I would have a ‘salty dog’ after all. The sailor concerned thanked me profusely for having him. I left the bar half an hour later thinking about how I could get my hands on William Fellatrix’s Golden Cockerel.
Chapter Three
I arrived at Mr Fellatrix’s apartment just after two; I’d been held up by a blown Tire. Mr Tire was a regular of mine and wouldn’t take no for an answer.
The door was unlocked and I opened it and entered the apartment. His living room was dimly lit by candlelight and Mr Fellatrix was sitting in front of a half-drunk bottle of wine. This was perfect for me because I always look good to half-drunk men in dim light.
Mr Fellatrix looked up and offered me a glass of wine.
"What is it?" I asked.
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"Legopener thirty two," he answered.
"My favourite wine and my waist size; how can I refuse?" I smiled.
"Well you could just say no," he said.
"I’m the kind of girl that never says no to cheap wine or cheap men," I responded sitting down next to him on the sofa.
Mr Fellatrix was wearing silk pajamas, slippers and a smoking jacket.
I poured some wine on the jacket to stop it smoking.
"I slipped into something a little bit more comfortable before you arrived," he smiled.
"Sometimes men prefer larger women," I went on, "but I hope you saved a little something for me. "
"Oh yes I’ve got something for you; and I guarantee you that it’s little. But I’ve given up on larger women; in fact I’ve just left my wife," he said pouring me glass of wine.
"Was this her favourite wine?" I asked.
"No she’s a New York Jewess; her favourite whine is ‘I wanna go to Miami’" he answered.
We settled down and drank some wine and made small talk for a while. I looked around the place while we talked and spotted the Golden Cockerel on a shelf over the bar. The statue gleamed dully in the dim light; the Cockerel stood tall, its head held proud and erect; just like Mr Fellatrix.
I noticed the bulge in his pants and made my move.
I slipped my hand inside his pajamas and locked my lips on his. In one hand I held his bag and in the other I held mine. I fumbled around the bags until each of my hands held small hard cylindrical objects. I pulled on both of them. From my bag I produced a hypodermic needle and gave Mr Fellatrix a little prick. I thought this was only fair because he intended to give me the same.
Mr Fellatrix collapsed unconscious on the sofa beside me. I had given him a shot of a powerful drug that should keep him asleep for an hour or so. I made my way over to the bar and took the Golden Cockerel off the shelf. It was heavy, hard and shiny; everything that Mr Fellatrix wasn’t.
I put the Cockerel in my bag and was about to leave when the bedroom door opened and out stepped Lizzie Swallows. She held a colt forty-five in her hand and it was pointed straight at me.
"The last time someone pointed their weapon at me it went off prematurely," I smiled at her.
"That’s because you don’t know how to handle them," she smiled back at me, "now toss that Cock over here.
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"
"That’s exactly how that weapon went off prematurely," I replied, rummaging around in my bag.
"Here toots take it," I said and tossed my Cock at her.
As she reached out to grab it I pulled out the little twenty-two that I had hidden under my skirt and shot her. She went down like a cheap transvestite hooker on a sailor. I made my way over to her limp body and snatched up the Cockerel. Lizzie was unconscious and lay there groaning; sort of like me after too much wine and too many sailors. I would call an ambulance from my office but right now I just wanted to get out of here.
Suddenly the door to the apartment burst open and a man entered the apartment holding a pistol in one hand a badge in the other.
"Federal Agent! Assume the position toots," he growled.
I dropped to my knees and lifted my skirt.
"Not that position!" he gnarled, and I stood up with my hands in the air.
"Allow myself to introduce myself," the man stammered, "I’m detective Richard Head and it looks like you’re in big trouble Michele. "
"How do you know my name? How did you find me here?" I asked.
"I interviewed Mr Fellatrix and she told me of the plan you had cooked up. I convinced her to let the police handle the case and she told where you worked," Dick said.
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"I then went your office where I interviewed Darleen and took down her particulars," he went on.
"Cheap slut," I muttered under my breath "even when she was a young girl she’d show you her knickers for a bite of your toffee apple!"
"Anyway she directed me to the Tented Skirt and I started asking a few questions," he continued.
"But no one would know me at that seedy hangout!" I spat.
"Funnily enough every guy in the bar had your phone number. A couple of them even tried to sell me photos of you in action! One of them told me you was talking to Mr Fellatrix earlier this evening so I joined the dots and here we are," he finished.
"Let me explain," I begged, "I’m a victim of circumstances here. I know it don’t look good to be caught in the apartment of a cheap tranny-lover with a Cock in my hand, but I was doing my job!"
"Ok toot’s, you’ve convinced me to let you go. I can see that you’re a good man sister; but if I was you I’d get out of the private transvestite detective business; not only aren’t you very good at it, the competition is fierce. " He said.
"What do you expect me to do Dickie," I said in my best sultry voice; "go back to chicken farming?"
"Well the guys in the Tented Skirt said you raised over five hundred cocks last year so you might be good at it," he smiled.
I took the insult (or was it a complement?) and left.
Chapter Four
I sat behind my desk smoking a cigarette, leaning back in my chair with my high-heels resting on yesterday’s newspaper. I contemplated my red-painted toenails through the gauzy nylon of my fully-fashioned stockings. They were overdue for a touch-up, but I wasn’t.
Darleen opened the door and showed Mrs Fellatrix to a seat.
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Darleen had been sulking because she wanted the weekend off to see her family. She wanted to go down on the train.
The Train are a really bad country and western band that didn’t deserve her attentions I had told her.
Silvia Fellatrix was excited I could tell, she was like a bitch on heat and couldn’t wait to get her hands on the Cock.
"Ok sister; I have what you want so lets see some dough," I came to the point.
"Wouldn’t you rather take it out in trade?" she smiled and seductively opened her legs and raised the hem of her skirt to display her taught sheer nylons and creamy white thighs.
"No thanks; I have enough stockings. Show me the money," I demanded.
She got serious again and threw a small stack of pictures onto the table. In each one a slutty transvestite was committing gross indecency with a man, or sometimes with groups of men, or sometimes with groups of men and women, or sometimes with groups of men, women and gerbils.
"You can’t blackmail me sugar; you can’t prove that’s me in those pictures!" I snapped at her.
"Actually, I found these pictures in my husband’s computer; they’re from a website called Transvestite Detective Slut" she explained.
"There’s thousands of sites like that; that tranny could be any transvestite detective," I sneered.
"Anyway; here is your money," she spat and threw a roll of fifties on the table.
"And here is you Cock," I handed her the statuette of the Golden Cockerel.
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As I watched Mrs Fellatrix saunter out of my office; her arse as tight as a twelve-year-old boy’s, I chewed over what detective Head had told me. Maybe I should get out of the private transvestite detective business? I poured myself a scotch and flicked through the photographs she had left on my desk, admiring the lighting and arrangement in the colour couldn’t give up the private transvestite detective business; I had no other skills!
And; after all tomorrow is another day!
.
