Magic Dress – Sheila Pt. 01



I will be the first to admit that I didn’t make a very pretty woman. However, some of the whores were not that appetizing, but that was no reason for them to be beaten up by some vigilante. So here I was on the street in drag, in what you would probably call the red-light district, waiting to see if the bastard would show up on my patch. I wasn’t looking for custom, I was looking for trouble.

I am probably not the sort of man you would imagine dressing up as a woman. I had been a corporal in the army within, let us just say, a special unit. We worked a lot undercover, frequently in disguise which meant more than dressing. You needed to adopt the posture and attitude of the local you were impersonating. We had no hesitation in putting on a burka, since some of the terrorist bastards did the same, despite the fact that it is supposed to be a great sin in the religion they claim to support. Here attitude was everything. Think subservient and frightened for your life, afraid of rape, afraid for your children, hungry and hopeless. Taking small steps, hurry to get along, shoulders down, head a little bowed. A man striding confidently along stands out a mile.

Though we mainly gathered intelligence, we sometimes took out a target or destroyed sites on orders.

We had done a couple of operations ‘off the book’, that is, targets that we thought deserved it but were not considered of significance by high command. We would have got court-martialled and probably gone to prison if found out by our superiors. We would of course had had a very slow and painful death if found out by the opposition. In one of these it was a great pleasure to slip a knife out of the burka and into the guts of the man who thought he was molesting a terrified woman, while Geordie, my sergeant, suddenly stopped being a cripple and downed the other two with his crutch applied to their crutches. We knew they were more than rapists, but traffickers in young girls, and he topped them without a moment’s hesitation.

I had also acted the part of a woman in several other operations in western clothes. Nothing glamorous: just a tired housewife trudging home with shopping, or resting on a bench waiting for a bus or train. The opportunity to observe while being ignored. I am wiry rather Schwarzenegger, but strong enough to do the business in full kit, pack and weapons. Thus my physique did not look immediately ridiculous. It is part of our training to be as unmemorable as possible, and matters such as the way you walk can be critical. If I may say so I was rather good at this. It was inevitable that I acquired the nickname ‘Sheila’ courtesy of an Australian who worked with us for a while.

I have always hated men that beat women, starting with my father who beat my mother (so much that she ended up a care home) and beat his sons until they got strong enough to defend themselves. He would pretend he was playing or teaching us to box. Myself and my elder brother learned that we had to take some punishment or he would go and take it out on Mum or our two younger brothers. No-one was sorry when he died in a car crash. I suppose it was all that fighting that made us join the forces, Tony in the navy (where he became a boxing champion) and me in the army.

So here I was on the street, padded in the right places with a wig and a short skirt (but not a tight one) borrowed from the girls. I was wearing trainers rather than high heels, which marked me out as an older whore, probably with arthritis, but the punters seem to have no limits. The deal they have in this area is that the most presentable ones are to the front, but if the punter is a skinflint and won’t pay her rates, then a more mature lady will present, so I was hanging back.

A car pulled up beside Terri, who is a single mother and actually very presentable in daylight, and the driver began negotiations. Then she shrieked “Sheila!” as he grabbed her and another man got out of the back and hit her before starting to drag her towards the back. It didn’t take long for me to get across. The driver had his arm out of the window so I took the opportunity to break a couple of fingers before pulling open his door. The fool hadn’t locked it, and wasn’t wearing a seatbelt, (safety first, folks) so I pulled him out where his face made a very satisfying sound between a crunch and a splat Bostancı Yabancı Escort on the pavement. Meanwhile Johnny from the back seat had got her mostly in but had turned and looked startled.

He turned sideways on, crouching in a martial arts stance, and looked as if he might cause some difficulties when I saw one of the most beautiful moments in my life. Terri, lying on her back on the seat brought her foot up between his legs and contacted his family jewels. He went down and I moved in to inconvenience him some more. Trainers are no good for kicking, but I stamped on the side of his knee for a start, then applied an armlock. I injured him a bit more, then helped myself to his wallet, before turning to the driver, who had managed to get a knife in his uninjured hand, which promptly became another injured hand.

“Bloody fool!” I said, and took his wallet as well.

He started cursing me in Arabic, so I cursed back, which startled him. While I was never any good at grammar and such at school, I was a natural mimic, and did impressions of the teachers. It turned out I had an ear for languages, so had picked up a couple quite well in the army.

I switched to French for Terri’s benefit.

“Listen, you pieces of shit. There’s five other bastards like me who are making the rounds, and we now know who you are. I’m the soft one, so be thankful you’re still alive. If you’ve got any mates or the police ask, say you were jumped by six of us in masks, or they will lose all respect for you.”

I took the keys and checked the glove compartment to see there wasn’t a gun in it, then told the girls to clear the area. I went to a phone box and called the police, before taking Terri home.


Word got around about 6 men in drag, and it seems that both the punters and the pimps treated the girls with more respect. I don’t claim to have cured everything, just to have discouraged a couple of types who like to pretend they are being virtuous when beating vulnerable people, at least in that area.

Like many men in my position, I did security of one form or another. I had got to know Terri and some other girls while working at a nightclub. There was a bit of a crossover between the performers and the street girls, and I was sorry for the life that many of them led. That empathy had been good in undercover work, but not always so useful in military work. Some of the guys were genuine psychopaths and thus efficient at killing. So I didn’t go on to be a mercenary or ‘military consultant’ profitable though it would be in some areas of the world. And I didn’t kill the bastards who had been molesting the girls.

Unfortunately someone else did, and my name was being mentioned in connection with that and other offences. I got a message from a flic I knew that it would be best to get lost very soon, as some of his superiors, senior detectives, were hoping to lay a bundle on me to improve their clear-up rate.

I packed my bag and went to a branch of a discreet Swiss bank and withdrew half my savings in cash. As it was only half, I knew they would maintain discretion. This wasn’t millions, just tens of thousands of Euros. I went to my regular bank and withdrew a couple of thousand, then used my credit card to buy a single ticket to Strasbourg, near the border with Germany. I went two stops, got off, and bought a ticket to Lille with cash. From there I got the Eurostar to London, arriving at St Pancras with the alternative British passport I had. Showing this, I changed a thousand Euros into sterling and bought a train ticket to Newcastle. I had time to pop into an internet café and look up the news from France, which was not good. I was a wanted man. Fortunately for the moment, my alternative identity was not.

In Newcastle I headed for a business address off the Scotswood Road and asked to speak to Bob Johnson, a former colleague in arms and a successful businessman. He had had to leave the service before me, having acquired a limp and a facial scar which made him recognisable and thus not suitable for the work we had been doing, where a forgettable face and physique were a great asset.

He didn’t know the name on my passport, so was surprised when the secretary ushered me in.

“Geordie!” I said. “You ugly old bastard!”

“Sheila!” he replied. “You Bostancı Yeni Escort great poof!”

We hugged and punched each other, and he put my Euros in his safe. He took me home for dinner where I met his wife, Sheila. (We had a laugh at my nickname.) She was a nice girl and I was really happy for them, with a two-year old daughter and another well on the way. I stayed in the spare bedroom, which had already been prepared for the children, while little Tamsin was in Mummy’s bedroom.

In the morning I got a shock when my picture was on the news. A European arrest warrant had been issued, and the French police had attached me to several unsolved murders. Obviously I could disguise myself, but I needed my face to match my passport if I was to get work, or do anything much. It also meant I couldn’t contact my brother Jim, in case the police were keeping an eye on him. I really wanted to see him, as I had not been able to come to our Mum’s funeral, since I was on operations at the time, and we had hardly communicated at all since then.

I had to start calling Geordie Bob, now we were in land full of Geordies, of course, and he had to get used to my name Simon. He rented a flat for me, and with dyed hair and a moustache I moved in.

Just to stop me going stir-crazy Bob told me about his business, and even gave me some sort of homework to do on my laptop and with the aid of the internet. Some of it was like the detailed planning we used to do on operations, so it gave me something to think about, and he said it was actually useful. It was essentially logistics, which had been one of Geordie’s great talents. I don’t just mean logistics as the army teaches it. Geordie was also a scrounger and a thief. As our quartermaster, if we needed something, he would get it: honestly if necessary, but any way at all. Often it was stupid things like being provided with night-vision goggles but no batteries. Geordie would trade, persuade or simply nick. In the field he was inventive, seeing resources where others saw none. From what I could see he was very canny (as they say in Geordieland) in his operations. His clients got what they wanted, though not always by the conventional route.

As Sheila’s time came near, they asked me to stay the nights to be able to look after Tamsin when Mummy went to the hospital. I was trained to do everything with her and she was used to Uncle Sime being about.

Meanwhile I looked after myself. The hue and cry had died down, but I was careful to keep a low profile, not engaging with people any more than necessary, shopping for bachelor meals in a large faceless supermarket. When a rather pretty cashier started recognising me and asking how I was doing, I switched to another. A drink in a pub or a meal in a restaurant for a change, but never twice in the same place. It was what I had been trained to do, but with no actual operation at the end of it, was rather disheartening.

I missed exercise. I couldn’t afford to be known for long regular runs and was limited in what I could do in the flat without annoying the people downstairs, so I grew soft and a bit plump.

The main thing that kept me going was waiting for the new arrival.


The birth was a pretty standard event by all accounts (well, Bob’s account anyway).

A middle of the night panic drive, then hours of waiting. Meanwhile I was pleased to get Tamsin breakfast and prepare her for the day. We watched cartoons, we played, we talked about Mummy and wondered about the baby. Eventually we got the news of a baby brother, and Bob came to fetch us to the hospital.

Obviously the new baby dominated their lives and I was increasingly left on my own. However, Bob gave me more to do, and I was glad to lighten his load.

After a few months, they invited me to dinner, after the children had been put to bed. I had the twin privileges of reading a story to Tamsin, and seeing Sheila breastfeeding little Adam.

Despite all our military training, it was Sheila who had come up with a plan.

“It’s now the time it would be reasonable for me to go back to work, if I had someone to look after the children.”

I protested that I didn’t really think I was the person, especially for such a young baby.

“No, I am not suggesting that. I am going to stay at home until Bostancı Masaj Salonu Tamsin is at school at least. It’s silly to have babies and not enjoy them thoroughly. If you can afford to, that is.”

“As it happens, Bob’s secretary is leaving, and he needs a replacement, so it would be perfectly reasonable for him to employ me on the same salary, so that’s what he’s going to do.”

“I’m sorry,” I said. “I thought you said you weren’t…” and I began to get the idea.

“Yes, Simon. I think it’s time for you to be Sheila again.”

“No way!” I said. “For a few hours among strangers on the street, but daily in an office? I’d never get away with it!”

“Bob says you would. He says you can even do the voice and you are incredibly patient, so I think you can learn enough to pass. Anyway, it will be mostly you and him. He says the secretary mostly communicates by phone and email.”

“Look at it this way,” interjected Bob. “For income tax and National Insurance, my wife Sheila will be working for the company. We can give you cash, and at least you will have something to occupy your time. When Adam’s old enough, Sheila really can be my secretary, and we should have sorted you out with a new identity and perhaps a new country by then.”

They had obviously been planning it, as Sheila had some clothes she had got for me. All the underwear was new, but most of the rest was second-hand.

There then began military training in camouflage. The best disguise is that in open sight. To be a bush among bushes, to be grass in a field.

She was actually pretty impressed with my first attempt and I was proud and sort of pleased to have the excitement of being back in the field. They had a wig, and she helped me make up, and I walked around in a print dress, with a walk which she said was not bad. Over the next few days we practised some more. It was a sort of immersion training. I came over first thing, already showered and shaved, put on the clothes for the day and spent the day in character as best I could, trying to control my voice and language. I did some of my homework sitting at the kitchen table with my laptop, but also helped with cooking and housework, which Sheila said was a relief. I also changed nappies and gave Adam the bottle. The best thing I did was allow Sheila an afternoon nap.

But all through it I was worried. I noticed the mistakes when I wasn’t concentrating. Maybe I could fake it for an hour or two, but I didn’t believe I could possibly manage it as a life.

Tamsin was amused and excited to see Uncle Sime in a dress, but quickly got used to it.

I had been avoiding the barber as much as anyone else, so my hair had grown long. Sheila was able to style it a bit. I must have been doing things right, because Tamsin started calling me Auntie Sime, and Bob said that settled it, I was Sheila Symes.

After two weeks they decided I was ready – operational as Bob put it. Sheila had been saving a rather smart green dress which she thought would be ideal for the office. Its flared skirt meant that it hid my man bits and did not show a bulge.

I put it on and my life changed. I knew I could do it. I would be Sheila Symes for as long as necessary. And I wanted to do it. Somehow it all just clicked into place.

The following Saturday we went out on the street, Bob, me and Tamsin with a buggy and the equipment for a 3-year old. I was Sheila’s cousin, helping out with the new baby, if anyone he knew asked. Although he had a car, we went by bus, which was an adventure for Tamsin. Actually, it was really good cover, since people looked at the little girl, just occasionally smiling at Bob and me.

We went to Jesmond Dene, a local beauty spot where there was an animal petting zoo and a playground. Tamsin was really excited. I took her to the ladies’ toilet and helped her. I was touched that Bob trusted me enough, but was quite comfortable. When she was tired, she went in the buggy and we returned home.

After dinner when Tamsin was away, they congratulated me on my performance and I felt a bit of a fraud. It had just been so easy. In fact, I had enjoyed it.

Bob had rented me a new flat, a first floor one with a street level entry up stairs, for reasonable security. (Just automatic for both of us to think this way.) All the bills were direct debit to his account, so I had nothing to pay except for groceries and personal items. (Perhaps I was a mistress!) He changed my Euros in small amounts, and gave me cash when I needed it. He had moved in my clothes and few possessions, and now took my female gear from their home. I was going for it 24 hours a day.

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