This is the nineteenth part of a fiction serial, in 754 words.

Terence hadn’t forgotten Alan. Although it was a bit further for him to drive, he felt sure Alan would be keen to be part of New You. He had kept him informed of developments by messaging him on the old fetish site, and sure enough he was one of the first to book sessions after they went live. This was Terence’s main reason for keeping his Phyllis Harvey identity, when it would have been logical to change the name of the proprietor.

Alan seemed to favour Fridays, and booked a four-hour session for the next ten Fridays. Occasionally, Terence wondered where seemingly ordinary men got the money from to indulge their fantasies, but then he remembered that many straight men spend as much on gambling, alcohol, or constantly changing their cars for new ones. And Alan had some contacts in the crossdressing world, as well as some good ideas about how to keep customers happy.

Female names was a good one. Although they had to pay using their real names on their cards if they didn’t bring cash, they all loved to use female names when they were dressed up as women. Alan had asked to be called ‘Barbara’, and others who had booked were excited to use their chosen names at the sessions. They were mostly old fashioned names, like Patricia, Monica, Susanne, and Vanessa. The age range of the customers was extreme. The youngest just twenty-two, the oldest seventy-three. But even that youngster chose a really old name, Shirley.

Having to get a card reader was a pain, but with half the bookings saying they would pay cash, Terence could pocket that, and just declare income on the card payments. That would save him a lot of tax. The first bookings went well. He was able to keep a straight face when a seventy year-old looked more like a circus clown than a woman, but young Shirley was a revelation. The most convincing transvestite Terence had ever seen. The only downside was that he recognised Phyllis was a man within seconds.

Not that he cared about that.

One day after everyone had left, someone rang the doorbell. On the camera, he looked about sixty, and was dressed in a tweed jacket, casual trousers, and shirt and tie. With nobody expected, Terence was reluctant to answer. But as he had already changed out of his Phyllis persona, he let the man in. The red faced man was overweight, and had bad breath. His accent was definitely local. He extended a podgy hand.

“Norman Tompkinson, pleased to meet you. I am your local councillor, and wanted to welcome you and your business to Horncastle. By the way, what exactly is your business?” Terence used his real name. “Hi, Terence Halloran. I am running a bespoke dress shop. I have a partner who makes the dresses to order. She likes exclusive clientele, and it is going well so far”. Norman wandered around. “Perhaps I could recommend her to some ladies I know? For a small percentage to cover my expenses of course”.

Not about to tolerate being shaken down by this pot-belied idiot, Terence nipped it in the bud. “Sadly, she already has more work than she can cope with. I would ask you to please not recommend her, as she could never cope with the work. But it was nice to meet you”. Norman was miffed. “Perhaps I could deal direct with the lady? What’s her name?” Terence was already ahead of him. “She is Phyllis Harvey, but I act as an agent for her. She doesn’t work in Horncastle, she uses me to take measurements, decide on styles and fabrics, that sort of thing. Anyway, Norman, thanks for stopping by. I will be sure to voote for you in the next council elections”.

As if.

Norman was deflated. Expecting some sort of payoff, he had been second-guessed.

After he had left, Terence was left wondering about who else might turn up and stick their beak into his business. He was legitimate, but not public. If the locals found out he was running a crossdressing parlour, no doubt he would have a few crazies protesting outside, crippling his new business.

He decided that he would look up Norman online, then make a substantial donation to his next re-election campaign. The first month had gone better than he had anticipated, mainly thanks to Alan’s regular bookings, and the introduction of a few crossdressers Alan knew in Nottinghamshire. No need to spoil things by ignoring Norman.

As he knew all too well, greed could be good.