Gromet's PlazaTG/CD Stories


by Cynthia Trusscot

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© Copyright 2008 - Cynthia Trusscot - Used by permission

Storycodes: Solo-M; tv; fem; cd; wig; heels; public; discovered; court; cons; X

Robert was in the grip of Desire. It had been rising in him all day. Now, late in the evening, it vibrated within him. It was a hot, gnawing need within him. He had been determined to resist it, but it was there, always there. Finally, with a feeling like collapsing walls, he gave in to it.

It was already late, but he thought that might work to his advantage. The decision made, he went back to the his bedroom. The room had two closets, for when two people lived in the one-bedroom apartment. He lived alone, with his “friend”.

Quickly removing his clothes, Robert rummaged in the closet. He first put on a black padded lightweight girdle that held him snugly up between his legs. Then a longline bra with silicone inserts. Dark tights. After some thought, his sexy black suit with the short skirt. He put his blonde wig, and black, high heeled shoes into a bag and headed out to his car.

Driving downtown, he figured no one would notice the clothes he wore. From the driver’s window up, he was just a guy in a car. Parking on a side street, he put on his wig, combed it, applied makeup in the rearview mirror, and put on jewelry. He hadn’t wanted to risk driving in high heels, so he reached down behind the wheel to put on his black pumps. Finally, he was Roberta, an ordinary-looking (he hoped) woman out for a walk through the downtown district.

Scared/excited/nervous/proud/sexy/free, Roberta walked around the corner, her high heels clicking on the sidewalk. She forced herself to slow down, but not too much, lest she be taken for a hooker. She kept her eyes forward, except for an occasional glance into a lit store window. She did not make eye contact with any of the other people, men and women, who strolled the block she was on. She swung her hips a little, just to feel more feminine. One or two comments came her way, mostly rudely complementary, one muttered “faggot!” which scared her. But the person who said it kept going, and she relaxed into her female role.

Then a drunken shout attracted her attention. She stopped walking, backed up a couple of steps. The door of a bar opened, and two men boiled out, fighting while a woman tried futily to stop them. Roberta watched, and saw, and remembered. Suddenly there was the flash of a knife, and one of the men was on the sidewalk, while the other ran past Roberta, dragging the woman by the wrist.

Roberta’s first instinct was to get back to her car. But the man was injured, and no one else was helping. She knelt by him, doing what she could. In moments, flashing lights were at the curb and police – Police! Were there.

“Did you see what happened, Ma’am?” asked a man in a blue uniform. Roberta badly wanted to get away, not reveal what she was, but this was too important.

“I didn’t see how the fight started, but I saw the knifing,” she said in her normal voice. The officer looked startled, then looked her up and down.

“I think you had better wait for the detective, er, Ma’am--?” he said uncertainly.

“I will, of course,” she replied.

“Thanks. Just wait over here in our car.” He led her to a patrol car and sat her in the back seat.

Roberta waited for some time. She watched as the man was taken away by ambulance, and various police officers investigated the scene. Finally a woman in plain clothes that managed to look like a uniform came over to the car.

“I’m detective Allen,” she said, “You witnessed the fight?” Roberta nodded.

“Well,” said the lady cop with a smile, “You’re not under arrest, since walking around in women’s clothes isn’t one of those heavily enforced laws. But I would like to get a statement from you. So, I’d like to take you down to the station. We’ll bring you back. All right?”

At the station, Roberta was led through the brightly-lit lobby and back to an interrogation room. She was seated in a comfortable chair.

“Now, tell me everything you saw.” Roberta did so, describing the knifing and the man and woman she had seen. She was as accurate as possible.

“You’re a good observer, “ said the detective. “Tell me—why didn’t you run off? Dressed like you are, you could only have gotten into trouble.”

“True,” confessed Roberta, “But this was life and death. The guy could have died. Walking around like a woman is no big deal compared to that. It’s just something I do for the thrill.”

“Well, I for one appreciate it. It took courage to stay there like you did.” She left the room, closing the door behind her. Roberta wondered what would happen to her. Would they throw her into a cell, or worse, the tank with the drunks and perverts?

After a few moments, another officer came in.

“I’m supposed to return you to your car, Miss,” he said with a friendly grin. “If you’ll come with me…?” Roberta stood up, and the officer opened and held the door for her. In the hall, he took her hand and tucked it into his arm, then strolled back out through the lobby, past the other cops and denizens of the police station. He handed her into a car and asked, “Where to?” Roberta told him where her car was parked. As they set off, she said, “Thank you, both for the lift and for the – consideration. Why are you being so nice to a, well, er, “

“Queer fag crossdresser? Some of us understand how you feel. And some of us think it was good that you hung around to save a guy you didn’t know and give a statement to law enforcement when the smart money would’ve taken off. And besides, you’re not a queer fag crossdresser. As far as I’m concerned, right now you’re a lady who needs a ride to her car.”

When they arrived, he opened her door, handed her out, and made sure she was all right before leaving. Roberta was so impressed with herself that, instead of pulling off her wig, she freshened her makeup and drove home as Roberta, her high-heeled foot firmly on the gas pedal.

* * * *

A couple of months later, Robert was on the witness stand in the trial of the assailant. His statement had allowed the cops to track him down quickly. The prosecutor had taken him through what he had seen that night, and he had firmly identified the accused. Now it was the defense attorney’s turn.

“Well, MISTER,” he had said with a sneer, “Would you describe to the jury what you were wearing on the night in question?” The prosecutor looked startled, and objected. There was much legal hassling back and forth. Robert sat in the witness box, his mind whirling. Obviously, the defense guy was hoping that getting it out that he was a guy who wore a dress would discredit him. That might be true, but….

The legal wrangling came to an end. “The witness is directed to answer the question,” the judge said.

“Your Honor,” said Robert, “May we have a recess?”

Surprise. “Wellll – it is almost lunchtime. You will have to answer the question when we return. Court is adjourned!” The impact of her gavel cut off the defense attorney’s protest.

Robert headed for the door. Detective Allen caught up with him. “You’re not going to leave are you?” she said worriedly. “Our entire case…”

“I’m going to answer his question,” replied Robert, “But not the way he expects. And I could use your help…” They headed out of the courtroom.

When court re-convened, Robert was not on the witness stand. “Mr. prosecutor,” the judge asked ominously, “Where is your witness?” The defense attorney looked smug.

The prosecutor looked stricken. He looked at Detective Allen, who turned and looked back at the spectators. A woman stood up and walked to the witness stand, high heels clicking forthrightly on the tile floor. She turned and sat in the witness chair, crossing her elegant legs.

“I’m here,” said Robert. “Before the adjournment, you were asking what I was wearing when I witnessed the fight. I was dressed like this.”

Roberta showed no sign of the frantic two hours that had just passed. He and Detective Allen had dashed to a nearby department store. There they had purchased a bra, wig, pantyhose, a conservative dress suitable for going to court. A nearby store had high heels in large sizes. He had put on his new clothes in the store’s changing room. The girl doing makeovers at the cosmetics counter had been a bit surprised, but delighted, to do her makeup. A final stop in the restroom had resulted in the purchase of two condoms, now filled with water and residing in her new bra.

“You see,” she said, “I am not ashamed to be seen in public like this. It’s part of who I am. And being dressed as a woman does not affect my powers of observation in any way. I saw that man,” she pointed at the defendant, “attack the other man outside the bar. I am quite sure of that, no matter what I was wearing when I saw it.”

* * * *

Robert was at home, trying to decide if he had done the right thing, when the phone rang. “Hey, girlfriend!” exclaimed Detective Allen, “He was found guilty!

“That’s great news,” said Robert.

“It is—for you and your friend, ‘ Roberta’”, said Detective Allen. “Unofficially, she is free to walk the streets of this town anytime! Every cop knows what she did, and we all will watch out for her!”

Robert hung up, bemused. He now had a police license to be as feminine as he wanted. He headed back to the second closet in his bedroom—the one that belonged to Roberta.

The End


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