There is no point in changing it, he will be here soon so I change into it. The mirror tells me a lie and at a glance I appear to look glamorous, hair...pinned up, long gloves, high heels. Under the dress I wear his favourite, scoop bra, french knickers, suspenders, a garter and old fashioned stockings with a seam. All this is topped up with just a soupçon of his favourite french perfume, not too much but just enough for him to look at me, raise an eyebrow in question and for me to nod in. This can’t be, I thought. Looked at closely, the material gave the appearance of moulded plastic. The buttons down the left side seemed in fact to be black-painted projections, the slant pockets not pockets at all, but coloured creases designed to look like pockets. How could a garment so authentic looking from a distance, prove to be so fraudulent in reality?“Oh, no,” she moaned. “No, no. No, no, please?”She grabbed my arm. Following her near-panicked gaze, I spotted two men at the far end of. More

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