Burger Queen

Burger Queen.



‘Would the rain never stop?’ she asked herself, sitting in the useless pile of junk just about recognisable as a car. Water had got into the engine somewhere, probably the distributor cap but she wasn’t going to get out and look; not in this weather. Instead she pulled her coat more tightly around her trying to keep warm. She had an umbrella in the boot somewhere but she couldn’t walk home in these heels. They say, pride comes before a fall, trying to walk home in four inch heels would probably mean she’d fall and break her neck.

Pride–yeah, she just had to outdo the rest didn’t she, at the local trans group, perhaps she should have spent the money on a new car rather than the designer gear. But the ‘Lolly Group’ as she called them were getting her down. This consisted of, Polly, Molly and Dolly and they were all middle-aged cross-dressers with good jobs and plenty of disposable income, whereas she was nineteen with a part-time job and no prospects.

A car went past and she saw herself in the rear view mirror–not bad looking and getting better with makeup, and she had her own hair–yeah, that was something the others couldn’t do, except Cynthia, and Cynthia was a right case. Cyn arrived on a large BMW motorbike, not a car, clad in pink and black leathers and high heeled boots, her long silver locks hidden by her helmet. Cynthia had her own boobs too, something that she coveted like mad. She’d been taking loads of plant sterols which were like weak oestrogens, but apart from making her gain a little weight, nothing much else had happened–except her spots had dried up. So perhaps they were doing something. Her nipples itched from time to time as well and she had to be careful scratching them in work, at the burger place.

Work was dreadful, but it almost paid the rent, that and buying and selling stuff on Ebay meant she just got by. She bought most of her clothes on the net as well, new and second hand and she had more stuff now for Melissa than she did for Mike–he had a pair of jeans and two shirts, besides his work wear, horrible striped shirt and checked trousers–was the designer colour blind? Loud didn’t come into it, by comparison The Rolling Stones were sotto voce.

She also hated burgers, but on her tight budget, the free meal they could have was a real bonus. Usually she had the chicken roll thing with salad and fries, plus a milk shake. She got by then with just toast and tea the rest of the time and the odd piece of fruit. The result was she was as thin as a rake verging on malnourished, so she took a multivitamin as well, hoping the milk shake provided enough calcium to prevent bone disease.

Her parents lived in the same town but she didn’t see them. They’d caught her dressed a few times and it didn’t go down well. Dad got angry calling her a poof and Mum wondered where she’d gone wrong. For a while, they’d called a truce, she could dress in her bedroom but not go out of it, except to the bathroom.

She’d tried bargaining, ‘I’ll do the housework if you let me do it in a skirt,’ however, it didn’t happen, they both worked but as the next door neighbours could see into the house, the best Melissa managed was to do it in a top and jeans and without her boobs in her bra. It satisfied for a couple of months, then it was some makeup and jewellery until Doris from next door asked her mum who was doing the cleaning.

“Mike does it for us,” said his mum.

“No this was a girl, definitely a girl, unless Mike’s chest has grown a bit.”

There was another scene, “We told you no girly stuff outside your room, we agreed.”

“No, we agreed I wouldn’t wear a skirt, I didn’t.”

“You might as well have done.” His mum smirked, “Doris asked me if I had someone would they like to do her place, she’s finding it hard with her bad knees.”

“How much would she pay?” asked Mike.

“I don’t think she’d want some teenage boy in a dress doing it for her.”

“Pity,” he sighed almost to himself.

“What is the matter with you? What’s so special about wearing women’s clothes, I don’t find them so compelling and I am a woman? You get excited by them do you?”

“Not in the way you’re implying, I just enjoy them, it’s not a sexual thing–but they just feel right. I can’t explain it.”

“You’re not one of those sex-changers are you?”

“I don’t know what I am, any more.”

A month later he got himself a part time job, left school and enrolled at the local tertiary college to finish his A-levels and left home, settling in a bedsit which he could barely afford.

However, he began to wonder if his luck was changing, some woman who came to the burger bar last week came again yesterday and asked for his phone number. She gave him her card, she was a model scout. He was almost too flabbergasted to speak. She’d called him last night.

“Have you ever worn women’s clothes?” she asked after introducing herself.

“Why?” he asked defensively.

“Ever heard of Andrej Pejic?”

“Yeah,” he responded, he was well aware of who Andej Pejic was–one of the most beautiful men on the planet.

“I think you could be Britain’s answer to him.”

“Who me?”

“That’s what I said, Mike,” she purred.


“Can you make next Tuesday morning?” she gave him an address the other side of town.

“I’ll be there,” he replied almost delirious with the news.

“Make sure there’s no hair below your eyebrows, won’t you and we’ll need you to stay as thin as you are at the moment.”

He was so excited, he was going to get paid for wearing the clothes he loved, he’d have agreed to anything.

“So, have you ever worn women’s clothes and can you walk in heels?”

“Um, yeah–I can.”

“See you on Tuesday then, wear what you like. Oh and don’t tell too many people, we’ve got to sell you to the big agencies, but I think we’re gonna make it.”

He’d sat on this right through the trans group meeting. The biggest news since the Great Fire of London, and he’d kept mum. He was bursting to tell someone but who? Then the rain had started again and his heap of a car had broken down, he knew now who he’d tell.

He picked up his mobile phone and speed dialled, hoping the right person would answer the phone. “Uh, Mum, you couldn’t do me a favour could you...”

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