Agent Parker

This was my first mission as a female. Posing as an air-hostess, I simply had to observe and report back to my Commanding Officer and that's exactly what I did. I stood nervously with a colleague and greeted the passengers as they entered the plane. I did get nervous as Blofeld approached. I still feel like I’ve got my old face. I'm certainly looking at the dastardly arch-villain through the same eyes as last time, only this time I can feel the delicate weight of mascara on my lashes. My colleague directs Blofeld to first class. I direct the couple behind to standard class but glance to see what Blofeld is up to and who (if anyone) he speaks to.

Being an undercover agent, I've learnt many things over the years; surveillance, self-defence, sabotage, seduction, escapology, scuba diving, rock climbing, parachuting... you get the drift. I thought I'd learned everything until a rash decision in Lyon led to my cover being blown. I almost blew the entire mission but luck was on my side and Blofeld failed to actually contain me. Thanks to my slight frame, I was able to escape through the air conditioning system and Blofeld's bumbling henchmen were too fat to follow.

When I got back to HQ, my commanders were more interested in berating me for what went wrong rather than patting me on the back for my cunning escape. They threatened to take me off the mission and put me behind a desk, or worse still... Court Marshall me which at best would result in me being dismissed and at worst, being deep-sixed! I'd been on this mission from the start and they'd be foolish to take me off it. I could change my appearance and continue... all I’d need is a beard and coloured contact lenses to hide my distinctive bright blue eyes ...but they wouldn't risk it. It was Miss Moneypenny who sided with me and suggested that I could continue, with a little work.

Being an undercover agent, I've learnt many things over the years. But since the incident in Lyon, I've had to learn things that I never expected; hair styling, cosmetics, personal grooming, walking, talking and even dancing like a lady. Not so long ago I’d been a red blooded guy for my entire life... now I've got breasts and a vagina, a new smaller nose and a smoother jawline to go with it.

I've spent most of the last few months being mentored by Moneypenny herself. I've had to relearn my own entire past, from joining the Brownies and being a girl at school. I’ve had to re-imagine my days playing rugby and cricket as me playing hockey and netball, and my evenings attending Scouts I have to recall as a few years in the Girl Guides. Moneypenny engages me in endless 'girl-talk'... she'll ask what my favourite lipstick is, my favourite dress or jumper, to describe some shoes to die for... but worst of all is when she asks about my old boyfriends. Despite not having any old boyfriends and my insistence that I’m a lesbian, I have to make something up if I’m going to be a convincing female.

Then there's so many seemingly simple things such as strolling around the shops and habitually pausing to look at some shoes, sniff a perfume sampler, inspect a handbag or admire an outfit. I've learned to sew and knit and crochet. I've learned to assemble an outfit and add accessories, but hardest of all was learning to socialise. I've been to coffee mornings and learned to witter on endlessly about all sorts of nonsense from cake making to flower arranging. I've been to sleazy sweaty night clubs and danced like a slut until the early hours... fending off the unwanted advances from lecherous men and resisting the urge to punch their lights out (that wouldn't be very lady like). I've been to the gym, the sauna, the swimming pool and beach. Libraries, restaurants, galleries and museums... all the while I grew more and more accustomed to living, acting and most importantly, reacting like a lady would.

I've spent so much time in stiletto heels that I actually find flat shoes rather discomforting. The pair of two inch kitten heels I'm wearing as part of my air hostess uniform are a pleasure to wear. Being dressed from head to toe in pink is horrendous but necessary. Being ogled by every guy who boards the plane is getting more than a little tiresome. It's part of my job to smile and greet the passengers. It's not their job to run their eyes over my figure and glare at my tits, especially when their wives or girlfriends are stood right next to them.

As far as the mission is concerned, all I have to do is work out which of my colleagues is Blofeld's contact and report her identity to my superiors. As far as my job is concerned, all I have to do is be pleasant and polite to the passengers who think I’m their personal servant. I've had my arse slapped more times than I care to remember and each and every one is lucky that I didn't swiftly break their wrist. I quickly discover that being an air-hostess takes an awful lot of resilience and restraint.

Eventually we touch down in Cairo. Blofeld disembarks. I presume he's being tailed by other MI6 agents. I've done my bit. I have to pretend to be an air-hostess on her first day and as such, I hang out with the other hostesses and talk about shoes and boyfriends and all sorts of 'girl' talk. When you've been a guy for twenty-four years and a woman for only six months... listening to other women talking freely is a real eye opener. I almost splutter through my drink when I’m asked if I prefer a big cock or a smaller one. As far as being woman goes, I’m still very much a virgin but I recall all my girl-talk chats with Moneypenny and say “I like little cocks best... they try harder.”

They all giggle or gasp at my frank response. A customs officer enters the private cabin-crew lounge and approaches one of the hostesses. Our attention is drawn by Anita's demands to know what's going on as she's escorted away. Being the new girl, I'm told that it's probably just some mix up. “What kind of mix-up?” I quiz. I'm told that some over-the-counter medicines could be controlled drugs in countries like Egypt so one must always be careful what they pack in their case. I consider my own black case that contains a state of the art portable computer as well as an international radiophone. An anecdote regarding a rubber dong almost getting a pilot imprisoned in the UAE lightens the tension a little. I'm told not to worry about Anita and am assured that she'll probably be back in half an hour after proving that her bag of bath salts wasn't a bag of cocaine. Little do they know that Anita will be spending the next few days being deprived of sleep and questioned by MI6 agents. My guise as an air-hostess continues for a couple of weeks before I decide it's not for me and hand my notice in.

When I return the HQ, I'm praised for playing my part in bringing one of Blofeld's contacts in. “You did a top job Steve.” my commanding officer said. I placed my hand gently in his and dropped a tiny curtsey as he limply shook it.

“It's Fiona remember.” I bashfully replied.

“You'll always be Steve to me Agent Parker.” he replied.

“All due respect sir but when I was Steve, you could look me in the eye and not down my cleavage.” I told him.

“Huh.” he grunted, tearing his gaze from my tits and glancing out of the window. “Now... your next mission.” he said as he stepped behind his desk and pressed a button on the intercom. “Moneypenny, can you bring the Red Light file?”

I sit and cross my legs. My nylon stocking stretches over my knee and a patent black stiletto hangs from my toe. I tug my miniskirt over my lap as Moneypenny enters with a file and begins to read aloud. Another of Blofeld's suspected contacts frequents a lap-dancing bar in Soho. I'm handed a photograph of the suspect. “I've arranged an interview for tomorrow at noon.” Moneypenny tells me. “Wear something slutty... and be prepared to dance.”

“You're kidding me!” I gasp.