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Secret Intelligence Service
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Sexus Tunc Collectae
Part X
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Isbn 9781906503628
(c) 2020. Callassa Media Company Ltd. London
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While in this, my recollecting, I might well appear to be displaying a series of events that I easily accommodated as though an innate tendency so to do was my natural inclination – with regard to the multifarious and complex circumstances that I was introduced to on a constant basis. I can neither sensibly describe my assimilation in totality, nor say it was adequate in certain respects. I must endeavour to describe, but as I said I will be somewhat superficial in certain of my wanderings with regard to specific and deep emotional reacting and I also stop to reconnoitre when I became greatly affected by some things and have felt their residual effect even now, many decades later. I think it is important to say that as a teenager, which I was essentially and I say this often, I was among very much older and altogether different worldly people that any I had known before, and to say I understood their significant place in my development and can write it as though somehow proficient at that age would be wrong, it was not. I was in the sensible presence of a great deal that was novel, remarkable, but I misconstrued it often, was wrong in how I responded, was over-enthusiastic about certain things that were not requiring of such, I mean not so important if at all in the scheme of things.
As a girl from the United States, a different country and culture than the U.K. (a different world) there was a great deal that provoked re-evaluation in my thoughts and this in a very good way, the best way, I subsequently did realise to the upmost extent. Rodney asked that I be aware of the differences between Europeans; the Germans (those free and those otherwise), the French, Italian, Spanish and especially the countries of the Soviet bloc . . . how they had developed subsequent to the war, that I ‘develop a feel’ for the more obvious differences in their cultural norms together with their strategic / political differences. One way of doing so apart from being there (which I subsequently was with certain countries) was to learn the languages, to listen and to observe. I mean to do this rather than go out shopping . . .
As an aside, Rodney said such a very tall order was now much easier for me because of the media facilities available that were not for him. He used to listen to Morse code on an old (way out of date) transceiver he gave to me so I could do the same. Such a sprinkling of indecipherable information sent through the air is an inadequate assessment of what this information flow actually meant, I know. But the point is that my task was very much easier as he had said. I had newspapers, TV and radio.
There were the many voices and the pictures of people I didn’t know at all but was moved greatly by their expressive convictions carried in their particular art, the enigmatic voices who were responding to a circumstance ranging from that of very severe to completely free. The latter (free) pertaining to my new British home of course but the comparisons I could make were stark, for example; how the present time was being made dramatically different in Spain subsequent to Franco, and the GDR, a Soviet satellite, that was highly suspicious of Western thought in totality (interference is a better word) – I would likely have been incarcerated and perhaps even shot if found there as a person with connections to British intelligence (especially so with regard to the USSR). The latter and basically their highly sophisticated capacity to know what other people were doing – I will address this capacity to know later but suffice it to say there was a great deal that intrigued me. I would read certain of Samisdat propaganda messages that were being produced here and smuggled into the GDR (and the USSR) to circulate among underground (dissident) movements. Obviously Radio Free Europe was banned across the Soviet Bloc.
I wish to avoid replaying the more obvious things – more to reveal my inner feelings toward certain international voices, that their very presence affected me with varying emotional intensity and subsequently I was inclined to study them, make mental notes. This took me into various perspectives – flavours if you like, with regard to politics, prevalent thoughts, military activities and so on. Obviously and as anyone will state; it is the bias that one has a curiosity about and in a situation where one is ignorant to a great extent, at a huge disadvantage with regard to language, then an interesting picture builds. There are competing voices, whether they were or they were not, and the tellers all had their own story.
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An interlude before the coming storm. My time with Broddy
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It was a gorgeously bright morning when Rodney made a suggestion we do something together that I must say has remained with me ever since. He wanted to take me to a tailor who I was soon to discover kept a delightful little upstairs shop on Jermyn Street, close to Piccadilly. “Darling special, you beautiful beast you, I must dress you.” I thought he’d achieved far beyond the basic in that respect but he had something additional up his sleeve.
Yes, it was a beautiful morning which had begun with breakfast together in my little kitchenette with a vase of yellow roses stationed between. We had coffee with croissants and raspberry jam, and I mention jam because I had been mildly rebuked prior for referring to it as ‘jelly’. There were similar little verbal detours I had lost too, panties were ‘knickers’, trousers were not and never had been ‘pants’.
This delightful tete-a-tete was after a long night of all manner of talking topics that had scattered my mind, leaving remnants across most countries of the world (during conversation). I think he knew he’d saturated my brain, that I had retained little and now I needed a change of preoccupation. London was calling!
The shop that Rodney took me to I immediately realised was actually a gents outfitter of the up-scale English gentleman type, an old school tailor no less or at least that was what I thought and there was no reason to assume otherwise. I was intrigued by the plethora of items that men could indulge ranging from cashmere socks, fabulous and ‘stuffed’ shirts, old school neckties, to a delightful bowler hat that was sitting atop a glass cabinet. There was a sweet fragrance about the air too. I really was instantly in love.
Rodney had been quickly greeted by a man somewhat short in stature, exquisitely attired in a pinstripe suit. He had black hair and a small moustache. I guessed he was Arabic and for which I was subsequently awarded full marks for being correct because he hailed from Alexandria, Egypt.
Rodney presented me to his friend.
“Hello my dearest (accompanied by a hug), might I introduce Pretty Things.”
I laughed at my unorthodox title, even though I’d owned it for a quite a while now.
“You certainly may, hello dear Pretty Things.”
The short man as yet without a name reached for my hand and received it with a gentle kiss. I liked him.
Rodney intervened. “This is my friend Broddy.”
“Hello Broddy,” I said.
“The pleasure is mine. I am at your service.”
He was very studiously regarding Rodney’s attire but cut short when told why we were there.
“Broddy my dear chap, Pretty Things needs a few suits, double-breasted, large lapels, one English, one Italian. She is determined to invade and occupy men’s attire.”
“Savage beauty,” was the little Arab’s response while studying my chest, seriously studying was how he appeared to me. I guessed there would have to be compromises made but what did I know about tailoring?
He continued after taking a slow walk around me and stopping in front. “A fierce battle and where the woman is the supreme, leaving dead men strewn everywhere.”
Gosh, I just adored this little man and what he said about me. I adored whatever he would make too even before he’d made it.
We all laughed because hitherto I had killed many men, apparently. Suddenly it dawned on me that it was highly likely I had already met Broddy, that he’d attended one of the get-togethers, further that he knew me as intimately well as some and much more than the majority. I have to say I had learned that it wasn’t the done thing – not protocol, to carry the sexual into later conversations and there refer to anything of the sort. We were strangers, but were we really?
“Come and look through a few pattern books would you please, but I have suits made up you can see. The Italian I make from the most exclusive blanks so you can choose whatever you like. Different fabric see, light, whereas the English is more heavy, different styling involved.”
“Broddy tailors for all of us,” Rodney told me when we were comfortably seated at a table facing a shelf full of style and sample books, these arranged in what I assumed was an order of how much they cost.
“Gosh, how much do these handmade suits cost?” I asked him.
“What does it matter,” he said. “I want to see your sex and power on parade.”
“In men’s clothes?”
“Absolutely,” was his frank response. ” It’s important.”
“Have I ‘met him’ before?”
“Shhhhh.”
Until then I had never considered wearing men’s clothes. I must say that after being here for hardly any time at all I was extremely warm to the idea.
“A woman wearing a man’s suit causes a destruction of the senses, man is rendered impotent by her curves and her turns, see . . .”
While talking to me he was pointing to a photograph of a young man attired in a fabulous looking suit, a handsome man, I thought and looked just great in what he was wearing.
“The chest has to be bursting free, the thighs and rear pushing against futile convention, the hair . . . see let it flow in it’s red cascade . . . with lipstick and red rouge !”
“Rodney, you are singing to me and I do adore you so.”
“My daughter, your love is as pink and blue blossom, your voice that of a butterfly in the air of a summer’s day.”
Now I was beginning to weep and it was difficult to fight back the tears because I didn’t want to. I was in love with this man and I wanted him to know he carried my heart tied with a ribbon against his own.
There was a voice at the door to this room crammed with couturistic concepts.
Broddy had two suits folded over his arm. I knew he could tell I was close to tears and that the time now contained the additional and the elemental.
“Hello Broddy,” I said, in case he was uncomfortable, he was not. He was enthusiastic about my new attire.
We were ushered to a different room next door and this one was actually circular with a classical patterned red carpet, regency wall covering and huge chandolier. Yes, there was a tall mirror and one placed strategically so to see one’s rear view. There was a miniature antique chair for him to stand on when required.
“Janet Reger,” he said when seeing my bra.
“Why, yes it is.”
“Fine design.”
I had to remove my jacket, blouse and skirt and of course my shoes. I didn’t mind standing partially nude in this exclusively male domain. I was given a shirt and assisted in putting it on. It had a collar I was unused to because it felt rather substantial though the cotton was extremely smooth. Apparently and according to Rodney the whole idea was to retain all the male elements of style. I assumed it was not the norm for a tailor who would want to make adjustments for my breast size, hips and rear. He said nothing about doing that.
I stepped into the trousers and these had suspenders (bracers) to hold them up. I thought they were slightly baggy but tight at the hips and bum. The trousers had turn-ups. This feature caught my eye. The jacket was double-breasted and it had ample room at the shoulder but not much across my chest. The material seemed to me like heavy wool. The pattern was interesting, a herringbone grey. Rodney placed a handkerchief in the breast pocket and arranged my hair. When I put my shoes on and because of the high heels the trousers lifted up and I could see that Broddy was taking note of that and the length of the sleeves. He had a measuring tape with him and some kind of chalk in his hand.
“My gosh, what a girl!” Rodney was taken by my new look. I was looking at my crotch because the trousers were tight there.
Broddy had left us for a few moments and on his return was carrying a suit and when I saw it I had to do a double take. The material was as green as grass and there were faint yellow pinstripes.
“From a friend in Pisa. This is the finest Italian cloth, too light for wearing here but to take to the Riviera’s then that is fine.”
“I was dying to try on this suit. What else could I have? Really, what better could there possibly be?
Rodney helped me dress in this living piece of art and it was mine for the taking. I was draped in Leonardo da Vinci.
“These neckties and handkerchieves, they are of the French designer . . . see, like nothing else anywhere in the world.”
Broddy had kipper style ties that were yellow silk, pink, pastel blue with flying women, butterflies, among clouds against a sky of the most beautiful blue colour. The handkerchiefs were matching and devoted couples. I was having these too. Every single one. I would place these where I could see them all of the time. These were the ethereal images of music, of poetry. I was at the mercy of men’s attire and it was the reverse of what Rodney had said ! When I said prior that he had ‘something up his sleeve’ well, this was not confined to the gorgeous accoutrements of the visit, the expanding of my wardrobe into one that any gifted artist would approve, but the reason why. The latter being because I was poised to liaise with lesbian and bisexual members of this most elite clique, and to be aimed at targets for the same reason. In addition my attire would produce an added flavour to my relationship with Rodney. In truth an understatement because he told me I could never be a boy no matter what, only stampede the gender attributes in mercillous fashion and in the process ignite desires in him and everyone else for certain acts that would have to be consummated no matter what nor where. To be continued.
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Parts XII – XX in edit stage, do please stay with us
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Isbn 9781906503628
(c) 2020. Callassa Media Company Ltd. London
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Secret Intelligence Service
London
MMXX
Adversitate. Custodi. Per Verum
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