Variety in One Package
Vincent and Craig, Craig and Vincent. Two boys, brothers, born 15 months apart, growing up together, the best of friends and playmates, sharing their toys and clothes. And as they grew up sharing a secret, that each boy wanted to be a girl.
At first they played with their mother’s makeup when alone at home. Then they began going to women’s clothing stores and buying underwear. At their insistence they slept in the same room, often together, talking, playfully touching each other. As their bodies changed and they felt new desires, the touching became more purposeful, and by their early teens each boy’s desires were being satisfied by the other.
When their parents discovered not only was their relationship sexual, but each boy had begun appearing in public as a female, they were deeply shocked. But with tolerance and understanding they supported the boys through an extensive counselling programme, followed by hormone treatment and the initial stages of gender reassignment. By the time Vincent was 18 and Craig 17 each boy had acquired distinct female characteristics. They moved out of home but remained together as best friends and lovers, making new lives for themselves.
Entering the twilight world of the transgender sex trade was a natural progression for both, and a logical way of earning a living. Craig continued with a full sex change and effectively became a woman, returning to education and a mainstream career. Vincent retained his male genitals, whilst presenting as a female and continuing in the sex trade. With this divergence of their physical characteristics and careers, they ceased living together and their sexual relationship ended, but they remained the closest of friends.
After ending the relationship with Maria, Henry felt a sense of relief and empowerment – relief she was out of his life, and empowered from taking the initiative. A few weeks later he received an invitation to the opening of a restaurant on the Mornington Peninsula, on a Saturday afternoon. This was his first trip along the Bay since meeting Jemma and thoughts of her came flooding back.
Approaching Edithvale and slowing down for traffic lights he saw a group of three young women, one lazily holding a thumb out. He stopped beside them. They were talking animatedly and at first didn’t notice his car. One of them put her head through the front passenger window.
“Are you offering us a lift?” “Yes I am.” “Thank you. We’re going to a rock concert near Gunnamatta Beach. How far can you take us?” “I’m going to Rye.” “That’s almost the whole way. Maybe you could take us to the concert, if it’s not much further.” “Maybe I could.” Henry was instantly interested in her. All three girls piled in, the one who’d spoken sitting in the front.
They were talkative and lively. Within minutes the two girls in the back asked Henry to stop at a toilet, four bottles from the pack of stubbies they were carrying already consumed. He needed petrol anyway, and drove into the next petrol station.
The girls raced to the toilets, giggling and pushing at each other. The front seat passenger emerged first. Approaching Henry at the pump she put her hand in her pocket and took out a $20 note. “Here’s our share.” “Thanks anyway, but there’s no need.” “Really, I insist,” and he accepted.
The other girls emerged carrying an assortment of snack foods they passed around inside the car. After an initial burst of conversation they dozed off, leaving the front seat occupants to keep each other company. Henry guessed her age at thirty. She had short, tousled hair and a slim figure, dressed in denim shorts and T-shirt that ended just below her pert breasts. Sitting snugly in her crotch was a small Italian designer-brand handbag.
The rock concert was a triple feature of The Angels, Goanna and Models. The girls knew James Freud of Models and followed the band around. Talk of these bands soon expanded to the Melbourne music scene, politics, the Melbourne property market and Australian art. Close to their destination the other girls awoke, bursting into a rendition of the Models’ hit singles I Hear Motion and Out of Sight, Out of Mind.
“Would you be interested in company on the return trip?” the front seat passenger asked. “Sure.” “Those two’ll be staying here tonight but I’d rather go back. I could meet you here.” “OK. How about 6 o’clock?” “Great, see you then.”
A chorus of thank yous and the three scampered away. Henry spent the rest of the afternoon at the restaurant, twice offered female company for the return trip. Shortly before six he left and drove to the agreed meeting-place.
Stimulated by their interesting and wide-ranging conversation, Vicki was happy about the prospect of the return trip. She liked the way Henry hadn’t attempted to turn the conversation in a personal direction, not even asking her name or hassling to see her again. His familiarity with topics that interested her and his ready friendliness had made her feel at ease with him. As the time approached she felt excited about seeing him again.
She wasn’t in sight when Henry turned up. After thirty minutes he was giving her five minutes to show up before setting off on his own. That was stretching to ten when a taxi pulled up and she hopped out, waved and hurried across.
“Thanks so much for waiting. I’m really sorry for being late. The concert went longer than expected and I couldn’t get transport.” “No problem. I thought something like that might happen,” and they began their trip. She spoke about the concert, then the conversation passed through a string of topics.
She was intelligent, worldly and opinionated, excellent company for a drive. She had a little-girl, waif-like appearance, sexy in an understated way, with an expressive pretty face. Whilst lacking fulsome curves, her self-confidence and forthright way of talking were all sexually attractive.
“Before you rush off and I never see you again, I wonder if you could tell me your name,” Henry said, as they drew up outside a block of four 1920s apartments in a quiet Prahran street. “But aren’t you coming in?” Henry happily followed her through the front security entrance and upstairs to the apartment on the right.
The entrance hall led directly to conjoined lounge and dining rooms, separated by sliding bevelled glass doors. Henry gasped in astonishment. He was in a period museum of the era between the World Wars. All furniture, drapes and ornaments were true to the styles and designs of the era, and the building itself.
He recognised numerous pieces of pottery by well-known Australian and English potters, plus a number of prints and paintings by established 20th century Australian artists. He’d never seen a residence as authentically and tastefully decorated.
Engrossed in his surroundings he hadn’t noticed she’d disappeared. As it dawned on him the rooms contained over a million dollars worth of art objects she appeared by his side, wearing another midriff-baring T-shirt and micro mini skirt. Her hands were on him, unclasping his belt and pulling down his jeans and underpants. He searched for a button or clasp holding up her dress, but she turned and pushed her buttocks into his crotch. Her dress parted to expose a bare bottom and he slid fully into her.
His hands were on her breasts, perfectly shaped like pre-formed works of putty, her nipples hard. She energetically pressed back and forth into him.
“Push into me honey. Push in deep, as hard as you can,” she urged. He moved his hand to her crotch but she pushed it back onto her hips. “Don’t worry about me big boy. Just shove in and out as hard as you can and fill me with your hot cum,” and he promptly did.
As quickly as she’d backed onto him she moved forward, turned and licked his bobbing shaft. Smiling she ran her tongue around her lips. “Now fix yourself up and I’ll be back in a minute,” and she left the room. Henry was in a state of disbelief about how easily and quickly the sex had occurred, as if it were expected, with no talk or foreplay. Straight in, bang, bang, bang and finished.
She re-emerged carrying a bottle of chilled white wine and two glasses. “Do me a favour and pour these would you?” She next brought a plate of cheese and biscuits to a serving table beside Henry. “I called a restaurant. They’ll have meals for us delivered in an hour. You’ll have to trust me on what’s ordered,” and she smiled cheekily, declining Henry’s offer to contribute to the cost.
During dinner they introduced themselves. After the meal Henry thanked Vicki and suggested it was time to go. She had other ideas – walked to him, straddled his legs and sat on his lap facing him. They kissed and she unbuttoned his shirt, running her fingers over his bared chest.
She stood up and removed her tiny skirt, revealing panties that covered her at the front, but left her bottom uncovered. She sat on his lap with her back to him, leaning against him as she guided his erection in. His orgasm building, he wrapped his arms around her and lifted her up and down.
“Oh yes, fuck me honey, fuck me good and proper. Come any time you like,” and energetically bouncing her up and down he did.
“How about you Vicki, did you climax?” Henry hadn’t detected any sign. She kissed him lightly on the cheek. “It was enjoyable for me too, sweetie.” They both dressed. “By the way,” she added. “You needn’t worry about unprotected sex with me – I won’t get pregnant and I’m free of disease.” After the event he could only take her word for it.
She was a fascinating mix: an intelligent, witty and informed conversationalist, a person of real financial means with an impressive taste in the arts, nice to look at and very sexually experienced. There also seemed a hard edge to her, from life experience Henry sensed. He suspected her life was completely different from his, and the evening would be a one-off, a thank you for the lifts.
But she surprised him. “Thank you for your kindness today Henry,” and she held his hands as he was leaving. “Could I call you some time?” “Yes, I’d like that.”
Vicki had also surprised herself by asking Henry for his phone number. Surely she wasn’t serious about contacting him. He was a nice person, bright company, with a genuine interest in art and aware of things happening in the world. Not her world of course. A decent, friendly guy, the type she’d normally never come across, or if she did could never expect to become friendly with.
But there was more to him than that: a personality with spark, a catchy sense of humour, sensitivity that showed understanding and tolerance. Already she knew she liked him, liked him a lot. Why shouldn’t she become involved with someone like him, everything else in her life could continue as usual. Certainly she wouldn’t want him placed in any danger being seen with her, but they could be discreet. At least she’d see him once more, get a better feel for him, then consider if there was a chance of a friendship developing. She wanted that, very much.
A week later Vicki called, as Henry had been hoping, and they went to a quiet restaurant in Williamstown. Back at her apartment she led him straight to her bedroom, where more art lined the walls. Her hands swiftly removed his clothes then her own, down to another pair of bottomless panties, and she slipped under the cover. She lay on her side and cuddling up he slipped into her. Again at her urging his pumping was short, sharp and with an explosive release.
“Tell me what you think of our love-making, and of me, Henry.” He reflected for a moment. “Sex with you is to the point and very exciting. I’m attracted to your body, it’s like a little sex machine. But I’d like to feel you’re getting what you want too. You’re excellent company, very interesting to talk with, knowledgeable, worldly. I’ve enjoyed every minute with you. You’re great, even though I know nothing about you personally.” “Would you like to know more?” “Yes, I would.”
Without a word Vicki took his hand and guided it to her crotch. For the first time he felt this part of her body, obviously not a vagina. She removed her panties and the bed cover to reveal her male genitals.
“I’m a half and half. What do you think of that?” “Fascinating.” “I wanted to be a female from an early age. I began a course of hormonal treatment before my teens. It stopped facial hair growth and other masculine developments. Also gave me boobs and helped me fill out more like a woman. Of course I’m far from curvaceous, perhaps petite best describes me.”
“I think you’ve got a very nice body. The feminine way you move and your impish mannerisms are also sensual. To me you’re a very sexy woman – I’ve always preferred smaller-boned women anyway.” This wasn’t entirely honest. “Thank you sweetie,” and she kissed him.
She briefly spoke of her work in the sex industry. It was because the majority of her customers got a turn-on from the combination of female and male body parts, on a slim feminine body, she’d retained the genitals – they were good for business.
“I can have an erection and achieve orgasm. Some of my clients are very happy for me to perform anal sex on them as part of the service. But I only do that if asked. One day I want to have the things removed and an artificial vagina put in,” as if it was as routine as having her tonsils out.
Henry naturally thought of Marlene, but wouldn’t mention her. There’d be no chance they knew each other. He also couldn’t help think of himself, and the chance of picking up something from her. She anticipated this concern.
“I’m perfectly clean Henry, there’s no health risk from my clients. It’s better I don’t tell you about them though.” She wanted to avoid any risk to his safety. But with risk came financial reward. She owned all four units in the block, using the one underneath for her work and renting out the other two. She owned other apartments in Prahran. Through an estate agent client she was well-informed about the local property scene, with the idea of becoming a developer in the future.
“What else do you want in life?” “I’d like to settle down, if I can find the right person,” and she purposely avoided looking at him. “I wouldn’t mind becoming a step-mum either. I want to love and be loved as much as anyone else.”
“Have you been in any long-term relationships?” “I’ve had one, with another transgender person, but that came to an end a few years ago. We’re still the best of friends though. I’d love to do some overseas travelling too, preferably with my Mr Right.” She knew this was venturing into the realms of fantasy.
Over subsequent days Vicki for once allowed her heart to have a say in her thinking, and decided to allow the friendship to develop. Even a few months of something resembling a normal relationship would be pure bliss. Who knew when, or if, another opportunity might come along. She had good reason to believe she might not see her thirty-fifth birthday, in three years.
She’d been confident Henry would react calmly to news of her sexual status, and was excited her guess was correct. She would never give any hint of how her life had become entangled in Melbourne’s underworld, on both sides – the crims and cops. She was connected with a number of big-time criminals, and had been equally intimate with senior police figures. She had good reason to believe she was a marked person in both camps.
Going public with what she knew about criminal families, and the police investigating them, could destroy ties within those families and the careers of the police. So far they’d all left her alone, with the occasional friendly bedside warning. Now more than ever she hoped that would continue.
Henry felt pleased about the prospect of seeing Vicki regularly and told her. “I’m really happy to hear that. You know darling, I never allow a client to kiss me. Since we don’t usually face each other having sex it’s easily avoided. I actually can have sex in the missionary position, I’ll show you some time. Not now though.”
She turned onto her stomach, raised her bottom, reached behind and directed him in. He pushed hard into her. Kneeling with her hands placed on the bed-head, she pushed equally hard back onto him. “Dump your full load inside me, Henry honey,” she urged, and within seconds he obliged.
In the downstairs working apartment was a panic button with a direct line to a security company, that provided a bodyguard service and vetted her customers. “No matter how respectable a person is, anyone can turn on the rough stuff when they’re worked up. Because I’m not your average whore I attract people whose tastes and fetishes might be a little out of the ordinary. The security service is my back-up, if I ever need it.” But this precaution wasn’t infallible.
“You know Vicki. It’s difficult to believe someone as cultured as you does this kind of work. I’m sure you could do well at anything you tried, but obviously the rewards are very good.” “That’s a major attraction for me, as well as being in control of my life. I liken myself to an actor playing a part that could vary a lot from person to person. The better I act and perform, the better the return. It’s all second nature to me now”
Henry’s developing relationship with Vicki added a sense of excitement to his life. She worked any time, day and night, so her availability varied. He might visit her for lunch or dinner, always fully catered, or at 3 o’clock on a Sunday morning. He didn’t expect sex each time as he enjoyed everything else her company provided. But she claimed sex with him helped her separate her working and private lives.
“Having a full physical and intellectual connection with you makes me feel like a normal person, for the first time in many years,” she admitted one morning, as he was hurrying off to work. “Besides, I simply couldn’t tolerate the prospect of you leaving with an erection, or the ability to have one within say, another 15 minutes,” her smile alone enough to have him ready for her service again.
She admitted she was over-sexed, physically enjoyed being penetrated, and gained satisfaction from her work. But the driving force behind staying in it was the money. In addition to her properties she had a sizeable share portfolio, looked after by another client who, like the estate agent, was married and could be trusted implicitly.
Vicki was very knowledgeable about 20th century Australian artists, potters and authors. She and Henry often discussed the people whose works were on display in her apartment. She seemed to have taken a personal interest in their lives. Or rather, she collected the works of people in whom she became interested. The depth of her knowledge was impressive, their discussions stimulating. She had many superb Australian antiquarian books also, some in series by the same author which alone were worth thousands of dollars.
This mutual interest in Australian art had helped spark their friendship, and they were soon going to art exhibitions together. Occasionally Vicki hurriedly departed, to avoid being seen, or prevent Henry being seen, by someone she knew. They also visited antique shops.
Something else they had in common was their social outlook. They valued their possessions and the assets they’d accumulated, and appreciated the necessity to secure their futures. But they felt there was a need for a safety net to help those less able to fend for themselves. The capitalist system was better than all alternatives, but it had to include an effective social welfare safety net.
Vicki was hard and shrewd, as her work necessitated, but also sensitive and caring, a very appealing mix. As the months passed Henry found himself drawing closer to this multi-faceted person, through her mind and body. With these deepening feelings he also began worrying about her. Not only would she face danger from rough handling while servicing a client, over time there must surely be people who developed a grudge against her simply for knowing of their sexual peccadilloes.
If he could set aside thoughts of parenting, a long-term relationship with her was becoming increasingly desirable. Perhaps he didn’t want to be part of a normal couple, something he’d mostly shied away from, instead preferring to share his life with someone who was different, yet very interesting and loving – someone he’d found in Vicki. Furthermore he believed he was the kind of man she wanted to share her life with.
Virtually from the day they met Vicki believed she was in love with Henry, but dared not imagine he could have similar feelings for her. She was tough in almost everything in life, but her heart could go aflutter as easily as any other’s. At times now she felt like a love-sick schoolgirl. In the early weeks she refused to believe she’d met someone who made her feel this way. She couldn’t imagine he’d want her to remain in his life forever, but after close to seven months there was no sign of his interest waning – quite the contrary.
She’d never been happier than the weekend they spent together at a family-run guesthouse in the Victorian High Country, where they presented as a married couple. She’d felt a little nervous, but Henry was marvelous and they fitted in well with the other guests. On the second evening her heart had taken complete control and she told him she loved him. He responded in kind. She wanted more than anything to believe it was true.
Two weeks later Henry returned home to a call from Vicki on his answering machine. “Hello darling. I have to go away for a few days, to a small house I own on the outskirts of Hobart. I need to meet my estate agent and discuss the future of the property. I’ll be in touch as soon as I get back. Take care of yourself.” There was a slight pause then the message resumed. “I love you Henry. I’ll be constantly thinking of you.”
Vicki often left messages on his answering machine, usually just so he would hear her voice when he came home, but she’d never signed off like this. Was there some other reason for the trip, and danger associated with it?
Uncharacteristically Vicki had let her guard down and crossed paths with a person she’d carefully avoided for years, a person implicated in one of the country’s most notorious unsolved murders. She was shocked by how much he knew of what she knew of the crime, and the very real danger to him her knowledge posed. She was aware of two other prostitutes with similar knowledge who’d disappeared and never been found.
In the past she would have shrugged off the threat and gone about her business. But now she was in love and believed she had a lot to live for. She wanted to be safe. She’d made quick getaways to Hobart before, to become invisible for a while. She’d been thinking of taking Henry there for a weekend, but all happy thoughts were cast aside as she boarded the last flight, a small overnight bag her only luggage.
Over the years she’d tried to keep this property a secret, purchasing it in her legal name and never telling anyone about it. But she couldn’t be sure if she’d succeeded. Perhaps even today she’d been followed to the airport and was being tagged by another passenger. At least this first night she’d stay in a city hotel and decide her next move in the morning. She considered calling Henry but decided to wait.
After breakfast she wrote him a cheery message on a postcard and posted it. She liked Hobart, and walking around the increasingly popular wharves area restored her confidence. But in the taxi she felt nervous, keeping a look-out for any car that might be following.
Approaching the house there was no sense of its usual comforting familiarity. Was it her mind playing tricks, or had one other car completed the trip? Inside everything was as she’d left it ten months earlier, including the handbag-sized Russian pistol she kept secreted in the house.
The weather was mild but walking around the house she felt a chill. Mid-morning she walked to the local store and purchased a few provisions. The walk lifted her spirits, but as the afternoon wore on and gloomy weather set in, her confidence and sense of safety seeped away. For dinner she followed her normal practice and went by taxi to the nearest township. During the meal she decided to stay just the one night.
Returning to the house, that had always been a place of sanctuary, she felt uneasy. All lights blazing did little to dispel a growing sense of foreboding. She retrieved the pistol and called Henry, to be greeted by his answering machine. Oh how she missed him, already after only two days. And she told him so, pouring out her love onto his answering machine cassette, as it wound around to its inevitable end. She knew how long it lasted, and every second recording on it was from her heart.
As she was eking out the last few seconds and yet again expressing her eternal love, power to the house was cut and all around thrown into darkness. Her heart beat surged. She felt panicky yet willed herself to remain calm.
There was enough light to make out shadowy shapes around the room. As she quietly put down the dead phone, from the corner of her eye she saw one of the shadows move, then another. And was that a third?
She crouched down. Holding the pistol she crept along the floor behind a sofa. There was a shape, moving towards where she’d been. She froze and took aim at the head. Holding her breath as she’d been taught she gently squeezed. The shot rang out and a body slumped to the floor. The first one was eliminated.
While maintaining her gaze in the same direction she crawled along the floor. Within a minute she had a momentary view of another intruder. From its shape she recognised the person, her breath taken away in surprise. He bobbed down but she knew he wouldn’t stay there for long.
As his head tentatively rose from behind an armchair she took aim. The bullet smashed through his mouth, a mouth that had often taken great delight in receiving her penis.
Was that all of them? She’d seen the two moving shapes, but maybe there’d been a third. Where was he? One more shot was all she needed and she’d be safe, soon back in Henry’s arms. But she wouldn’t tell him about this. There was a noise, movement, nearby, she raised herself, her finger poised, another four bullets in the chamber.
From behind an arm clamped with mechanical force around her neck. The blade penetrated deeply, from her right kidney through to her stomach, its tip emerging below her navel. Her agonising scream was no more than a throaty gurgle, her windpipe crushed and filling with blood. The pain was excruciating.
Gulping for air she fought back, seeking bare skin on the arm still around her neck. A bite, yell of pain, swearing. She tried to struggle free, but as the blood flowed out of her so did her strength. She could no longer resist, her mind floating in and out of consciousness. The searing pain of the knife brutally wrenched out momentarily brought her to. She tried one more time to think of Henry, his smiling face and look of love, before the time for thinking and living was past.
She had no strength, couldn’t resist, and barely noticed as her upper clothes were ripped off. Facing her assailant for the first time, she could only emit a strangled cry as he sliced off first her right breast then her left. The man’s familiar voice boomed at her as if from a distant echo chamber.
But how stupid could he be? Knowing him, stupid enough to forget she still had the gun in her hand. As he let go of her limp body, life fast ebbing out, she slowly fell backwards over an arm chair. Without the need to raise her arm, as it became aligned with his body a metre away she pressed her finger, successively, four times.
Toppling over the chair and sliding to the floor head-first, she smiled at the sight of the four bullets smashing into him: first his crotch, then his stomach, his chest, and lastly the middle of his face. Hitting the timber floor and snapping her neck, her head came to rest incongruously flat against her shoulder, like a rag doll tossed to the floor. Equally incongruous was the smile that remained on her death mask, her eyes gleefully wide open.
Henry had mixed feelings when he played back Vicki’s message. He was happy to hear from her, and excited at the direction their friendship was taking with her protestations of love. He didn’t feel trapped, he was where he wanted to be.
Yet the strength of her expressions concerned him. She was telling him how she felt, but it also seemed she wanted to record those expressions, for him to have in case the chance to say them again never came. Also there was something about how the message suddenly went dead, as if there was a fault with her phone. There was no doubt it had been cut short.
But these concerns were allayed the following day when he received her postcard. This brought an expectation she’d call him again soon, a call he was looking forward to, along with her homecoming. Two days later, still with no call and his concern returning, he was flicking through the morning’s newspaper when he found an item that seized his attention:
Multiple killing in Tasmania
Responding to reports of gunfire, police yesterday discovered four bodies in a house on the outskirts of Hobart. Three of the deceased were male, all of whom had been shot. The fourth person, who appeared to be female of transgender status, had been stabbed in the lower body. The upper part of the body had also been mutilated.
‘Police indicated the gun, an illegal import from Russia, had been fired by the female. No neighbours were available for comment, and the police reported they would be making no statement until further investigations had been undertaken. It is believed two of the deceased males were known to Victoria Police, and the third is a well-known community figure. The female, also known to police in Victoria and Tasmania, had in the past been associated with at least two, and possibly all three of the males.
Henry felt sick and numb. He wasn’t surprised to read the reference to Vicki’s criminal history, but was shocked and nauseated at the way she’d died. What exactly did ‘upper part of the body had also been mutilated’ actually mean?
He went to the local milk bar and bought the other morning newspaper, which contained the same report. He wanted to drive past her apartment block, but thought it prudent not to. Her violent end was giving him feelings of vulnerability he’d never previously experienced. There was no-one he could talk to about her murder.
No further reports appeared about the killings. Vicki was a larger-than-life person, who he knew loved him and for whom he cared very deeply, perhaps loved. In death she seemed just as mysterious and complex. Her allure, intellectually and physically, had captivated him, leading him to believe they could have a future together. But now she was gone he had to allow his life to move on. He was soon to find he had no choice in the matter. Three months later he received a letter from a firm of solicitors.
Dear Sir
We act for the estate of the late Vincent (Vicki) ______, and advise you have been mentioned in his will. As part of the process of completing probate, we would be grateful if you could attend at our office next Thursday the 28th at 3.00 pm to be advised of your bequest under the will.’
Henry was incredulous that after knowing her barely eight months he was in her will. She’d never given any indication of thinking in this way. Yet he’d often admired her art and pottery collection, including some he particularly liked, so perhaps it was one or two of these she’d noted for him to receive.
Entering the solicitor’s office he was greeted in the usual stiff and formal manner, then handed a sealed envelope. “Please read this, at your leisure,” the solicitor said crisply. The envelope contained one sheet of Vicki’s small but easily readable handwriting.
My darling Henry
For you to be reading this I must no longer be in the land of the living. I don’t mean to be flippant, but an early death has been a real prospect for me for many years. I really haven’t been that careful about the company I keep. The weekend we spent together recently (Henry checked the date of the letter – it was ten days before she went to Tasmania) to celebrate our six months anniversary was the happiest time of my life.
To be honest, my honey, you really are the only person I’ve seriously considered sharing my life with. I’ll never know if you would have agreed to that, but I have a feeling you might have. Just to think of it makes me unbelievably happy. From very early, even the first day we met, I loved you. I didn’t want to burden you with these feelings too soon, so I waited until we’d known each other half a year and were away together before opening my heart to you. I shouldn’t ramble on too much as I expect you’re reading this in my solicitor’s office – by the way, he knows everything about me and is completely trustworthy.
Henry my love, I’ve decided to give you one of the flats in my block. As you know I own the block. Yours is the one on the left upstairs, currently rented out. You’ll soon meet the three other owners, who I’ve known for ages. I decided years earlier to give them an apartment each, so you’re the fourth and final part of the jigsaw. I hope you can all get along OK.
Let me briefly introduce them to you. My apartment, with all its contents, is going to Crea, a girl who, like me, started as a boy but who has had the final snip and is now all girl. If you’re wondering about the name it comes from the word create, as in created by man. The downstairs flat on the left is going to Andrew, a lovely guy, working as a prostitute to a male and female clientèle. The downstairs right flat is going to Maggie, another transgender person who’s had a lot of problems, so I hope this will help her out. She’s been on and off the game over the years, but I think just wants to find a nice person to share her life with.
Thank you so much Henry for all the happiness you’ve given me. You know, when we first met I thought you were a bit naïve, but I was wrong. You’re just very tolerant and understanding, as well as kind and decent. I wish you every possible happiness into the future, including a lovely wife and children. Don’t let me down will you, I’ll be watching. I guess it’s a bit macabre to say this my darling, but you can be sure that if I have anything to do with it, my last moments of consciousness before I die will be filled with thoughts of you. In that case, I will have died happy. Yours forever.
Vicki
ps. Please make sure you get the other letter from my solicitor.
The solicitor was sitting pensively while Henry read Vicki’s note. “Please retain the letter. There is a codicil to Vicki’s will containing her wishes as they pertain to you, along the lines of the letter. She asked me to give you this letter also, for you to read later,” and he handed it to Henry.
“Now, allow me to get down to business regarding her bequest to you,” and the solicitor briefly explained the main procedures of the probate process, as he’d already done in more detail to the three other new owners, plus the other people who’d benefit from Vicki in her death. Being the true fatalist, it seemed she regularly updated her will, adding codicils and leaving notes to her many beneficiaries. At home an hour later Henry opened the second letter.
My darling Henry
Ever since we met, I have purposely kept most of my life a secret. Unless I die in a traffic accident my death will be at the hands of people who want me dead, which is why the less you know about me the better. There is only one person on this earth who knows anything much about me, and that’s Crea, the girl who will take over my apartment.
Crea is my younger sister, originally my younger brother, Craig. We’ve been very close all our lives. In fact we were lovers for many years and lived together when we first left home. Maybe your mind boggles at the thought of brothers having sex, then continuing to do so as they went through the process of becoming sisters.
For us it was all quite normal. We’ve always loved each other, from a very young age, and becoming lovers was a natural progression. Our love for each other has never diminished, even though I now have someone special in my life. This is what I want you to know and believe Henry – apart from Crea, you are the only person I have ever loved. For you I would have had the final snip and tunnel job, to be your real partner in life.
Now you and Crea are co-owners in my block you’ll see each other from time to time. Given half a chance I know you two would really hit it off. It’s a tired cliché, but knowing you two as I do yours is a passion waiting to happen. For many reasons though, I hope it doesn’t.
Goodbye, my love
This letter answered some of Henry’s questions but raised plenty more, especially about Crea and the prospect of a relationship developing with her as Vicki had mentioned. There was so much he didn’t know about Vicki, and never would. With her, life was complete and fulfilled. Without her, it felt like he was living in a vacuum.
The solicitor had noted he was recommending to all owners they meet to discuss plans for their new asset, while in the meantime he would arrange for a Body Corporate to be set up for the property. True to the man’s word, within a couple of weeks Henry received a letter advising of a meeting of the four owners in the offices of a property manager. He anticipated an interesting gathering.
Sex and its various forms and practices, particularly sex with Vicki, was the one thing they had in common and had brought them together. Firstly there was Andrew, a genuine six-footer, athletic, smooth-skinned, quietly spoken, any mother’s dream son-in-law, carving out a lucrative career as a male model and prostitute, with male and female customers.
Secondly was Maggie, originally Martin, a person with male genitals and a troubled past who wanted to live a straight life, as a woman, but had to resort to the sex trade and some weird practices to make a living. Her new-found wealth might just deliver her from that unwanted sideline.
Thirdly there was Crea. “Hello, you must be Henry,” and she reached for his hand as he entered the property company’s reception area. “I’m Crea.” Then she moved closer and spoke more softly. “The one with the man-made vagina.” “Pleased to make your acquaintance,” and Henry smiled in response to her firm, masculine squeeze of his hand, her hip brushing his crotch as they moved through a doorway into the meeting room.
Over the following hour and a half the meeting proceeded smoothly. All owners were unanimous in their intention to retain their bequest, and their desire to honour and respect the kindness of their dear friend and former lover. Henry was in two minds about Crea, whose appearance and body shape were remarkably similar to Vicki’s. After the meeting he was as keen to chat with her as she was with him.
Leaving the room she drew him away from the others. “Henry, if you’re wondering about my relationship with Vicki, as I am about yours with her, and if you’d like to see me naked, which I dare say would be a unique experience, you’ll have to take me away for a weekend, like you did with Vicki. It can be a once-off, or the start of something longer lasting, whatever you like. It’s your call, here’s my number,” and she handed him a card containing her name and phone number, smiled and walked away.
Sensibly, Henry decided he’d wait at least a week before responding, if at all. This would allow the initial rush of blood to his head, and other places, to fully subside and ensure he gave appropriate time and consideration to the offer. He had no burning desire to see her naked, and hardly cared how it felt working around inside her artificial vagina, nor any other orifice she might present to him for his, and probably her, sexual gratification.
What he would like was to get to know her, particularly about her and Vicki, and growing up together. Talk of the finer details of their penetrative propensities with each other could be omitted. He had some concern though. He wasn’t being big-headed, but what if she followed up her initial flirting and came on strongly, then he subsequently wanted out. Future contact as co-owners could become problematic, and he didn’t want to have to miss Body Corporate meetings so as to avoid her. Also what kind of secrets was she hiding, that might be better avoided?
As the week wore on his inclination was veering towards not contacting her. But to help him really be sure he visualised them together, touching and exploring her body, entering her vaginally, or anally, or one after the other, slowly or rapidly in succession, or any other act she might suggest, as he was sure she’d have a more vivid imagination than he, building him up to a peak, letting him down, bringing him back up again then his explosive release inside her wherever. He turned all manner of sex-charged scenarios over and over in his mind, becoming extremely hard in the process.
Once more, for the umpteenth time, he looked at her card, smelling on it the same perfume he always smelt on Vicki. He turned it over and over in his hand, walked to his study, took out the manila folder he’d set up as the file for his new property, stapled the card onto the inside cover of the folder, closed the folder and placed it back into his filing cabinet, to be opened again only when he received correspondence from the newly appointed Body Corporate manager.
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Jump to: Chapter 63 – The wild colonial boy.
All 66 chapters of SJ Peterson’s debut novel first to say it is now available for purchase here.