The Interview; Number 01

I'm not drunk and they're not drunk, so I'm in a panic. They're both dressed in suits, impeccably tailored and look handsome in a well-bred, rosy cheek, square jaw kind of way. I imagine they have horses and Aston Martins and butlers. The blonde guy is called Michael and the dark haired one is called George. Very regal. Their accents are upper class and full of confidence only the aristocracy can muster.

George, all dark hair and casual, feline grace orders some champagne and declares a toast to Zermatt and its people. They are on their last night of a two week holiday and look like they've enjoyed every moment of it. Before they approached us, they clearly decided who was going with who. Michael chose me.

Two men approaching a tranny and a lesbian. Sounds like the start of a joke.

So the champagne flows and George pays the bill, happily paying ours too, and we start to relax. Michael hasn't jumped up yet and pointed at me in outrage and anger, he even lays a hand on my leg and I arch an eyebrow at him. He gives a cheeky look and leaves it there. Maybe he knows, I think, and relax, deciding to enjoy the evening and forget about Sean and his Thor like body, stamina and manhood.

They ask if we'd like to go to a nearby bar and we agree, Liz asking to be excused first. I follow her to the toilet.

"This is a bad idea," I hiss as we enter the toilet. She checks we're alone first and flashes a grin.

"They just bought dinner. It's a great idea." I check myself in the mirror, overly critical of any flaws.

"They're not nearly as drunk or desperate as Sven. They'll notice I'm a bloke." I reapply my lipstick, more to calm my nerves than anything else and pull at a loose strand of hair, making it worse. Liz sighs and straightens it for me.

"It doesn't matter," she replies. "You don't need to shag them, just have a nice time. They're sweet enough in an English Toff kind of way." She points to my nether regions.

"Just keep that in there, ok?"

I'm grumbling as she drags me back out and declares us ready for more adventures. The two men cheer and we leave the restaurant behind us in search of new adventures. Within minutes, we find ourselves in the same bar that I met Sean in and I grin at Liz. They must know! I immediately relax and lay a hand on Michael's arm, guiding him to a nearby booth as George takes Liz to the bar to get some drinks. She's flirting outrageously with him and he's loving every second, not knowing that he'll never get anywhere with her.

"So you know?" I say, leaning in to be heard over the noise of the bar. A band is tuning their instruments in the corner and Michael gives me a condescending look.

"Of course I do," I replies and I grin, leaning in for a kiss. His mouth tastes of champagne as he returns the complement.

Ok, so time out for a second. I'm not a complete slut. It may look it, but, if I get the job at LJs, then I won't be sleeping with every customer. Or any of them! I'm on holiday and I'm cutting loose. I'd blame Liz, but she'd deny it.

The evening is wonderful. Michael can't keep his hands off my legs and he keeps stroking the bare flesh below the strips of satin so no one else can see. Liz clocks it and gives me an admonishing look. I give her one back that says he knows, so she gives me a look that says go right ahead! George buys more champagne and then some more after that. It flows freely and we're all feeling drunk by the time the band kicks in.

They're playing a selection of hits from the nineties and we dance for hours, my feet getting sore in the heels. Michael moves with the grace of an athlete and keeps close, his body pressed against mine. I'm grateful for the tight knickers I'm wearing as I can feel my tucked in cock start to strain at its leash as I get all hot and bothered. Liz shoos him off a few times and we dance close, arms wrapped around each other. We catch George and Michael lounging at the bar, looking at us and clearly discussing the trophies they thought they'd won.

"You told him you bat for the other side yet?" I say as she grinds against me, loving the fact that I winced every time she came near my tucked in cock. She turns and gives me a slow, sultry kiss arms, wrapping around me. Minutes later, she relinquishes the kiss and we're both gasping for air. Arms stroking the soft satin I'm wearing, she turns to George and winks at him across the bar. They're both agog, mouths open, champagne all but forgotten in their hands.

They're not the only ones and I feel several eyes on me as Liz loops her arm through mine and we walk to the bar. I'm not sure I've ever felt so sexy in my whole life. We take their drinks and finish off the liquid without a word.

"Thanks," says Liz and grins. "Coming for a dance?"

Several hours later, Michael and I burst through the door to my house. We'd left Liz and George pondering the meaning of life in another bottle of bubbly and Michael and I decided that we'd ponder the meaning of life in a different fashion.

He's kissing me hard and I'm kissing right back, hard as I can, scrabbling at his clothes to tear them of. Tie comes first, then blazer followed by shirt. He's not big and muscular, but lithe and taut, all wiry strength. I grin as I grab his belt and walk backwards to the sofa in the living room, pulling him with me. He's smiling back, swigging from a bottle of champagne as I unbuckle the belt and whip it out, unzipping his trousers and pulling them down.

I rake my nails over his firm belly and kiss his thighs, wrapping my hands round his legs as I move the kisses up, past his pants and over his belly. He chuckles as I tease him, standing over me as I sit on the sofa. Relenting with a sly grin, I pull his pants down and am pleasantly surprised. Not as big as Sven or Thor, but a good size, nicely shaped and clean. I tease my nails down its hardening length and I feel it shudder under my fingers.

Kissing the top, I wrap a hand round the shaft and gently caress it until he's at full attention. I kiss the shaft, run my tongue along the length of it and tease his balls with my hand. Michael groans with pleasure and thrusts his cock forward, begging me to take it in my mouth. I willingly oblige. Just a bit at first, back and forth, suckling the head and letting go. Tease, tease and tease some more. He's moaning louder now and I smile at the effect I'm having on him.

Soon, I have the whole length in my mouth and can feel it pushing against my throat at the back. I angle my neck a bit and take the whole lot in, one hand teasing his balls as I deep throat his cock. My own is desperate to escape, but I'm having too much fun sat on the sofa pleasuring this man as only Jenny can. I pull back, enough to elicit another groan and then take it all in again, slowly at first and then faster as I feel him start to orgasm.

His hand reaches down to my head and I feel him push the back of my head deeper onto him as he cums, gobbets of semen splashing down my throat. I push the whole length down my throat, loving the sensation of the cock as it shakes and spurts, shivers and shudders until Michael is spent. He collapses back with a laugh and hits the floor, pulling his cock from my mouth.

"Blimey," he breathes. "That may just be the best blow job I've ever had. I think I'm in love!" He chuckles, hands me the bottle and watches me as I take a swig.

"My turn now," he says and I wink at him, standing up to pull the zip at the side of my dress, letting it fall in a puddle of silk around my feet. His eyes widen at the basque I'm wearing and he watches intently as I hook my fingers into the knickers and pull them down.

You ever see The Crying Game? You know the scene I'm talking about. I get my very own version here. Michael's eyes widen in shock and he goes through a whole range of emotions from incredulous to terror to anger.

I'm too drunk to react quickly and stand dumbfounded as he struggles to his feet, face twisted in rage.

"You're a fucking faggot!" he shouts, his voice loud in the house. I'm terrified by this point and snatch up the dress to cover myself.

"I'm sorry," I say, hating the whining tone in my voice. "I thought you knew. I asked you in the bar and you said you knew."

"I didn't know what the fuck you were talking about, I just wanted to get laid," he spits, venom in his voice. I see his fists clench and I scoop up the bottle of champagne.

"Don't even think about it," I warn. "I might wear a dress, but I'll still kick your arse." It was a lie. He comes at me, I'm running away. I just hoped he doesn't hear the quiver in my voice. He stands there, breathing heavily before slowly pulling up his trousers.

"Fucking queer," he says, disgust lacing every syllable. He scoops up his shirt and leaves, slamming the door behind him. Shaking with fear and adrenaline, I drop the bottle and collapse on the sofa, sobbing and crying hysterically.

Liz finds me like this rushes across the room.

"What's happened?" she asks, concern etched across her face and sobering her instantly. I tell her everything and she hugs me, trying to soothe and calm me down. I'd gone too far. In London, I was always careful, went to specific places, dressed down when out in the day, checked and double checked everything. Here, I let my guard down, behave like a slapper and get my just rewards. Liz calms me down and takes me to her bed where we cuddle up and drift off to sleep.

We're woken by the doorbell and Liz goes to answer it while I get in the shower and get dressed. I half debate whether to put on the jeans and jumper I wore on the plane, return to man-mode and lay low for a bit, but I remember that it was Michael's last night yesterday so he'll be long gone by the time we leave the house. Besides, the pull of the feminine side is too powerful to resist. Still, I keep it simple. Jeans and a jumper, just the girl version. Knee high boots instead of trainers, jeans you need to spray on instead of a baggy pair and a jumper that reaches to my mid-calf and hugs my waspish waist instead of a loose hoodie. All together more elegant and refined.

I take my time with the make-up, nice and natural, wig in a ponytail and discreet earrings. I even change my nail polish. Less slutty red, more deep purple. Feeling much better, I step into the bedroom to find Liz sombre and downcast. She's sitting at a table with a police officer. He stands to greet me as I enter and seems unsure how to proceed. He settles for calling me "Miss" and asks me to sit down. I look at Liz, but she gives nothing away.

The Police officer looks tired, as if he's been up all night and his accent his thick and hard to decipher, but there's a gentleness to him that I like.

"I'm very sorry Miss, but we have had a complaint." He hesitates and my heart sinks. I sit in stunned silence and he carries on speaking. "Last night, a gentleman came to our station claiming that he'd been raped." I lift my hand to my mouth in shock and Liz scrapes her chair back to come to me, taking my hand in hers. The Officer raises a hand to calm me down. "He claims you lured him back here with the intent of abusing him and, against his will gave him a..." He stops, unsure how to proceed. Liz, forthright as ever, fills in the gap.

"Blow job," she said simply. He smiles nervously at her, part gratitude, part embarrassment

"Thank you Miss," he says. "The gentlemen claims that you revealed yourself to be a man before trying to attack him with an empty wine bottle. He alleges that he was only able to escape by sheer luck." Liz snorts in derision.

"We've discuss this. That's not what happened." The poor man quails under her anger and tries to placate her, but she's having none of it. "There's no proof either way and if you thought there was, you'd be all over Jenny and this house with a team of forensics."

"Please, Miss, if you would allow me to speak." Liz sighs, sits back down. I'm sat in shock, too horrified to speak, a whirlwind of possibilities running through my mind. I'm going to prison. I'll be gang raped in the showers, made to be somebody's bitch. I look to my lap, hands clasped together, making a miserable effort to hold back my tears. The Police Officer's voice cuts through my dark thoughts.

"The gentleman in question is well known in this area. His family own several houses and have given much of their time to charitable work and deeds here. They are very well respected and connected." Liz throws her hands up in disgust.

"Well that's just great," she says.

"As I said Miss, he is well known to us." His meaning is clear and I find a glimmer of hope in his voice. Liz makes to argue, but checks herself.

"Oh," she replies. "I see." He smiles.

"What you do behind closed doors is up to you, but this is a small resort and, despite the constant traffic of tourists, tongues still wag. Might I suggest that we forget this whole matter and you take the next flight home, just to avoid any further unpleasantness." Liz really does argue then, she lets rip and it really is quite impressive. I watch her for a few minutes and then put a hand on her arm. It's my fault and she's only defending me.

"Hey, Liz. It's ok. We should go while we can." She turns to me with tears in her eyes.

"It's not fair," she sniffs. "I just met you and we're having such a great time and I love seeing you like this and he's an arse and..." she tails off and I turn to the Police Officer.

"Thank you Officer," I say and he nods as he makes to leave.

"I'm sorry Miss," he says sadly. "There is a flight in two hours, I have made a provisional booking for you." He gives a laugh without humour. It's clearly not his first time. He bids us safe journey and leaves us alone.

"Come on. Let's get packed. I want to go home."

It's quiet in the car as we pull up to the airport. I've removed all my make-up and gone back to being a man. It was the single most painful thing I've ever done. Emotionally, I felt like I'd just died inside.

My fault. Suck it up like a man. Actually, scratch that, no more sucking for a while.

Liz sees them first and pushes me into a shop and follows me in. I turn to protest and spot them too. George and Michael are checking their luggage in.

"Shit on a stick," says Liz. "Shoulda guessed. Small damn airport, one flight to the UK. Had to be those chumps on it." I struggle to feel her anger. My fault, remember. Michael thought he was having sex with a woman. I'd just given him the best blow job ever. Is it wrong to feel pride on two counts? Best blow job ever and he never knew I was a man. I'll take that to the bank.

"What are we going to do?" I hiss and ignore the shopkeeper giving me a funny look. Liz thinks fast. That's why she got promoted well above me. One reason anyway.

"They don't know what you look like, so you check in by yourself and we stay apart, board the plane at different times . I reckon Tweedle Dee and Tweedle Dum will be in first class, so they won't see us. Drinks in a posh lounge, last on, first off. Perks of being rich."

"They'll recognise you," I reply. Still hissing, still getting a funny look. Regular comedian this guy. Liz shrugs.

"What are they going to do? It's a public place, I'll be fine. They kick up a fuss, they won't be allowed on the plane. It's you we don't want them to see. He went to the police over you. What will he do in London? Something worse if he finds out who you are, so stay low and don't get caught."

It's a good plan. Liz saunters out, checks her luggage and goes to wait in the terminal. I watch from the shop and eventually buy something to appease the Comedian. He's still giving me a funny look. I check in and wander around, keeping Michael and George in the corner of my eye. I see them spot Liz and a quick debate on whether to approach her.

They argue and suddenly start looking around. Looking for me. Panic. Terror. Fear. I'm no hero. I was shit scared. They don't find Jenny, but they're looking. They're looking all the way to the plane and sit by the entrance to the tunnel, looking at everyone as they go passed. No drinks in a lounge this time, but definitely last on, first off.

Liz and I barely acknowledge each other on the flight. Two strangers sharing a few hours next to each other. She goes to sleep, I put on a film. Thor. Bloody typical.

They're waiting as we get off. Last one on, first one's off. Liz goes off first and waves at them, let's them know she sees them. I get off in the middle of a family, help an old lady with her bag. Classic ruse.

Get my bags, get a cab, meet Liz at a bar in Soho. Drink a toast to our successful escape. As good as any spy could have done.

Or so I thought.

A phone call two days later. Liz has stayed over a couple of days as we still have leave and we have a nice relaxing time, watching old movies, having takeaway and generally being slobs. It's my boss on the phone. Some recent indiscretions have come to light. Some old and very wealthy clients of theirs have made some serious allegations.

Blah, blah, blah. That's all I hear.

Turns out we weren't great spies after all. Michael recognises me and has a cab follow us to the bar in Soho. The one where everyone knows me. The one where a healthy tip gets you any answers you want.

Sure we know him. A regular. Usually comes here as Jenny but en homme he's blah, blah, blah...

It's better that I resign. Easier that way. Avoids any unnecessary exposure to all parties. Just don't ask for a reference.

Jenny's story tails off. There's nothing left to say. She's sat in a booth opposite Angela and Nicola, both of them having put their pens down a long time ago and, instead, ordered some drinks. Jenny sips at hers. She's wearing a tasteful light gold knitted top with the shoulder sections of the long sleeves missing, a calf length pleated skirt and black tights. Her leather jacket is beside her on the booth and Angela appraises her carefully. She looks amazing and she has no doubt that she would fit in at L/J's, but there were a few nagging doubts.

"So you've come here as a last resort?" she asked, a little bluntly. Jenny gives her warm smile. She'd talked for what felt like hours, but could happily talk for many more. Some people were just natural talkers.

"Not at all," she replied. "I have a strong network of likeminded friends, several of whom have offered me work. Liz wants me to go and work for her, reckons being out of the City, I could sneak back into the company under the radar."

"So why apply here then?" asked Nicola. "It's hard work with crappy hours." Jenny laughed at that.

"I'm not afraid of those!" she replied. "Your pay is fair, the establishment has the best rep in the area and I get to work with amazing people. But that's not the main reason." Jenny looks ineffably sad for a moment; a fleeting whisper that Nicola noticed. Until Louise and Angela had shown her what she truly could be, Nicola had known that emotion every day of her life. She just didn't know how to articulate it. Jenny knew how and it killed her. Angela and Nicola noticed the catch in her voice as she spoke.

"I can't not be me again. I'm Jenny. I can't go back to man mode, girl mode. I just want to be me. Sure, I can find work, but they will all make me be someone else until I've been there long enough to be protected by law. One minute being what I'm not is too long. I can't do it. I want to work here, not because I can be me, but because you encourage it. I'll give everything I have to this place, I'll work all the crappy hours, take all the crappy jobs and do it with a smile."

Angela reached over and squeezed her hand.

"Thank you for your honesty," she said. "We have a couple other people to see, but we will call you this evening, let you know how it went." Jenny shrugged her arms through the sleeve of her jacket and slid off the comfy chair to the booth. She was stiff and glanced at her watch.