Chapter 45

One eighteen year old schoolboy and his wholly unsuitable escort had entered the store… but two giggling, little whores left it. Somehow you had ended up spending most of your time in that overly cozy booth making out. Terry had leaned in from above to say something… and you'd pulled him into a kiss. From there, there was only a pink, rosy haze as each of you helped each other in and out of a whole parade of scandalous, girly outfits. It had somehow become fun to figure out just how utterly obvious you could dress each other up as nothing but a treat for perverse eyes.

Tight, faux-leather skirts and boob-tubes. Skin-clinging denim shorts with thongs that rode out above. Free-flowing dresses with straps just made to fall from one shoulder or another. Form-fitting leggings and yoga pants for when you were just lounging around being screwed by Skeg and his friends. All these had been tools of your trade for so long that you’d almost forgotten the nervous thrill that blossomed across Terry's face every time he wriggled his emasculated form into them. Baggy trousers and oversized hoodies were the uniform that timid boys, like you both had been, could hide behind. But, to earn your keep as slaves to strangers' lusts… a wholly more garish wardrobe was required. It almost seemed to drive you to wear the most skimpy and outrageous outfits you could, in fact. To detach yourself further from that forgotten other self, and make it clear that your appearance was only ever really for others enjoyment and consumption.

The checkout girl's stare was piercingly polite, as you unfurled a roll of loose notes from your bra. Ideas like 'bank accounts' and 'taxable income' were obviously kept a long way from the dirty side-streets Skeg’s tool shop occupied. You honestly had no idea how much you and your step-sister earned each week, handing over your bodies to stranger after stranger. If you needed something… all you had to do was ask. Your landlord, employer and owner was always more than happy to provide. Which of course implied that whatever your needs cost, your clandestine earnings far outstripped them. It didn’t matter. With a baby on the way and the 'business' expanding… you simply did not want to think about the admin of it all. You just wanted to suck the cock in front of you, with a hand on the next one waiting. Life was so much simpler that way.

The outfits that you and Terry had ended up in were two matching glittery crop tops: one gold, one silver. Below that were a pair of tight and oh-so-short miniskirts, slit down the side to show as much sleek, shaven leg as possible. These were combined with fishnet stockings and the customary stripper heels to leave no doubt at all what kind of glances you might draw. You had spent a good fifteen minutes on your apprentice-in-whoring's make-up, the kind of up-close delicate attention that clearly sent him mad with desire for you. By the time you were done you were positive that no-one who didn't know precisely where to look would have any idea that your two, slim forms were actually masculine by birth. The thrill of basking in femininity still tingling beneath your skin as much as it ever did.

You could see the same excitement in Terry, even by the way he walked. The sultry sway he tried to put into his hips, despite still clumsily coming to terms with pavements balanced beyond stiletto heels. You didn’t quite know where you stood, upon the grand and complex graphs of sexuality. Didn't know if you were actually some glaring insult to those born with wombs or unfairly left without. Personal identity was not something you registered as a facet of your very existence, since you had handed the reins over to others more interested. You lived as a girl because your various masters and mistresses wanted you too. That was all there was to it. The clients you served wanted something soft and squeaky and delicate to bounce upon their laps, so that was what you gave them. The tool to fit their needs, rented right from the shelf.

It was thinking these thoughts that you turned down the street that led towards the shop. Walking arm in arm with Terry through the dirty, trash-strewn neighbourhood. Always keeping one eye open for creeps, perverts and weirdos… although perhaps only to offer a sweet smile towards the ones you recognised. You were part of the scenery around here now, after all. Offered a kiss on the cheek or a cigarette by the other 'girls of the night' you might pass. Given the occasional squeeze on the ass by people who knew you… or some that just wanted to. This was an ecosystem that you had been thoroughly entrenched in now. One that ran endlessly on back-alley exchanges of cash or **** or bodily fluids. Your innocent companion stared out at it from behind false lashes with perhaps the same excitement and terror that you once had… but to you it just felt like sanctuary. The rules and restrictions of the ‘real’ world held no sway here. No-one was shocked or tutting about the amount of flesh you had on display. No cops might come questioning who you were and where you lived. This was the street that you were meat upon. This was home.