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From: nostrumo@nienor.IN-Berlin.DE (Nostrumo)
Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories,alt.sex.stories.tg,alt.sex.stories.moderated
Subject: New TG: The New Secretary by Amy Brett (01/11)
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Date: 15 Jul 1997 15:18:15 GMT
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Hi.
This nifty submission is not included yet, but it will be in next
one during the upcoming weekend. This story is a refelction of the
current jobmarket and conclusions which may occur under strange and
rare situations. So folks be happy if you had a job.
As usual I DIDN'T write this story and haven't any claim on it. If
you have some usefull hints or some good coments, your mail is then
welcome. Flames, you know, they will be piped to /dev/null.
If you are an author and wish to remain anonymouns or just try to
avoid the replies to your work. I offer you the chance of posting your
stories and collecting the response for you. This offer only stands for
story postings and for nothing else.
Enjoy the story.
Ciao
Nostrumo
>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>> cut here with a sharp knife <<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<
The New Secretary
by Amy Brett
1. Chapter
The rumors had been flying for weeks and everybody was walking on eggshells
around the office. I'd always done my job as a high paid clerk in the
payroll and records department to the best of my ability, got good
performance evaluations, and seemed to have everyone on my side.
But Friday, it suddenly didn't matter.
Fearfully, I watched a progression of guys go into Mrs. Conklin, the
department head's, office, come out looking shaken, glum, or mad before they
started throwing their things into boxes and, after swift good-byes to their
friends, leaving early. Of course, I knew what it was.
Tiny, the blustery 300 pound guy who ran the mail room and was an occasional
drinking buddy, came out looking pale and stopped by my desk.
"Fuckin' place," he sputtered in his typical vernacular. "Downsizing my
ass. She told me they're getting rid of a bunch of guys. Just can't be
helped. Well, fuck 'em." He stormed off.
Later, Paul Wickam, a records clerk who I thought did a marginally good job,
went in to her office and came back looking like he was going to break into
tears any minute. When I went by to give him my condolences, he nodded with
real sadness, still fighting tears, and told me the same story essentially.
"She says their hiring practices have been so screwy for the last five years
that they have to reorganize," he said. "They've got to get rid of a couple
dozen guys, redistribute the work here, and hire some females for several of
the departments.
"I guess they've been hiring guys and excluding women on a regular basis so
their equal opportunity numbers are all fucked up."
As a guy and as one of the male members of this department, I was worried.
I had a right to be.
My number came up about 2 o'clock that afternoon.
"Hi Andy. Sit down," Mrs. Conklin said. "I suppose you've heard the
news."
"Yeah. It's pretty hard to miss. The place is starting to look like
there's a fire drill out there."
To her credit, she looked like she was enjoying this about as much as
getting a root canal.
"This is really a bitch, Andy. I want to tell you. This is very hard for
me. I don't like laying people off." I'd always thought that was sort of a
cop-out. They weren't really laying people off. They were firing people.
There was no intention to ever give them their jobs back.
My personal situation struck me hard then.
I had the normal number of bills, nothing spectacular, and I lived pretty
simply. But losing my job would change the equation completely. Even if
they were offering some sort of severance pay, I could keep my apartment
about two weeks (until my rent was due) and I'd be on the streets. My car,
even though it wasn't new, was still financed and might last another month
or two before they repossessed it, depending on how fast they figured out I
wasn't working.
I knew the prospects for another job in this town perfectly. Zilch.
"What's a real bitch is that after I get done letting all you guys, who know
your jobs, go, I've got to scramble to find somebody competent to do them.
And there's about as much chance of that as nothing."
I'd heard that the job market for women was tremendous right now for some
reason. We'd had a secretary in the department quit because she got
pregnant and had looked for weeks before we found somebody. And I wasn't
impressed with her at all. I'd had to spend a bunch of time teaching her
what I thought she should have known to get the job in the first place.
"I hope you know how truly sorry I am, Andy. But you need to clean out your
desk. That's the order. Checks will be ready Monday."
"Is there any severance or anything?"
"We're required to give two weeks notice, as you know. You'll get paid off
for the two weeks and any vacation time you've saved up. But that's it.
I'm sorry. I know that doesn't give you much time to find something else."
"There isn't anything else," I pointed out. She nodded. She knew the job
market better than I.
"There are some of these slugs that I don't mind getting rid of at all,
Andy," she said softly. "But there are several of you I'd give anything to
keep. And the other departments are the same way."
"Wish I was a girl," I said.
"Oh God! I'd give anything. If you could change, I'd hire you with a 10
percent increase on the spot. It'd be worth it and then some."
I looked up at her, trying to share a little bit of a smile even though I
felt like someone had kicked me in the stomach.
What was funny was that the thought crossed my mind that what I'd said would
solve all the problems. Mine and hers. Maybe it showed on my face somehow.
She answered my smile naturally and, when my thoughts and, I'm sure, my face
changed, so did hers.
First she seemed to look at me critically. Then she looked kind of
surprised. And finally, she shook her head as if to clear it and the slight
smile returned.
"But, unfortunately, that's impossible," she said. But for some reason, I
heard a question mark at the end of her sentence. I thought about it and,
only after a long stretch of silence, dismissed it.
* * *
Monday morning, I registered with the Job Service and three different
private job search places with the same results. "Don't hold your breath."
One had a job in a city 120 miles away that the lady said would be an "easy"
commute. She obviously hadn't added two to three hours on the front and
back of her job before, just as I hadn't. But I wasn't about to start
either. Besides, the job didn't sound that great and paid less than what
I'd had.
Monday afternoon, I went in and picked up my check. In a vague hope that
Mrs. Conklin had changed her mind, I went to her office.
"Hi," I said to the top of her bent head.
"Oh, hi, Andy," she said with a smile. "You don't know how I wish I had you
guys back here. The place is falling apart and there's just nobody out
there to take your places."
I commiserated but quickly learned that there was no way she could hire me
back. I went to leave more depressed than when I'd walked in and that was
pretty bad since I'd been on the edge of tears when I came in. She stopped
me with a statement as I reached for the doorknob.
"Andy, if you decide to have that sex change, just yell," she said.
"Are you serious?" I said, really wondering. What was strange about the
exchange was that it took about ten beats before she finally shook her head
and smiled rather strangely and said no.
"Of course not." But she didn't sound believable for some reason.
2. Chapter
Okay. So I know that booze is never the answer to a problem. In fact,
going to a bar is the worst answer to financial problems because you not
only don't find the answer in the bottom of a glass but you spend what
little money you have much faster than if you bought a six pack and took it
home.
But I needed a little noise. Companionship. Festivity. I couldn't stand
my own depression that just seemed to feed on itself. Fear. Frustration.
Thoughts of revenge on the world. All that. All I needed was to sit in my
quiet apartment (that might not be mine at the end of the month) and let it
feed off itself.
I'd already thought of the possibility of shooting some EEOC type and gotten
one of my few smiles during the day. Of course, imagining the satisfaction
and knowing the reality were two entirely different things.
At any rate, I ended up leaving my old office and going to the bar a block
away where a lot of us gathered when there was a birthday or birth or
promotion to celebrate. Or, of course, sometimes when we just had "attitude
adjustment" meetings. That's what we called an extended happy hour on the
occasional Friday afternoon after work.
Being Monday, the place was fairly quiet. I say fairly because Tiny was
there with a couple of his red necked buddies (none weighing in at under two
fifty) being far louder and more obnoxious than usual. Usually, he was a
noisy and slightly obnoxious drunk about 10 when he gave it up and staggered
home. Noisy but fairly funny in a macho sort of way.
That night, he was already drunk at five, as noisy as ever, and not even a
little bit funny. He was talking loudly and seriously about "kicking some
butt" in that "faggy, girly joint" he'd been fired from, starting with that
"faggot cocksucker Miller" (the CEO) and ranging through the entire male
staff.
He didn't speak to me and I certainly didn't speak to him in the mood he was
in. I figured he could decide I was a member of the "faggot" society that
had pitched him out of his job as easy as not. He was well beyond noticing
that I'd gotten fired as well or listening to me tell him that tidbit.
Paul was already sitting at the bar nursing a mixed drink as I pulled up a
stool and ordered a beer. I asked him how he was doing and learned the
extent of his efforts. Almost a carbon copy of mine. The gal at the job
placement place had even offered him the same three hour commute and I found
myself getting a little miffed that she'd been so loose with "my" job offer.
A guy I'd seen at work a few times but who worked at the other end of the
building in the executive offices came over after a while, I think to get a
drink from the bar.
"You're Andy Brett, right?" he said.
"Yeah. Mike, right?"
"Reardon. Right. I've seen you around. Were you one of the people got
riffed Friday?" I nodded.
"Yeah. And this is Paul Wickam. Him, too," I noted. Paul said hello.
"Me, too. I guess it was pretty much across the board. I sat there at the
boss's door all day wondering when it would be my turn. There aren't that
many male executive secretaries." Mike was a little guy, like Paul and I,
with a spray of thin brown hair he tried to comb over a bald spot in spite
of only being in his mid-20's.
"Man, they really cleaned house, didn't they?" I noted unnecessarily.
"You guys have any luck with the hunt?"
"Nope. We both got the same offer for the job in Hemsley."
"What? You don't want to commute five hours a day?" he said with a laugh.
"I got that offer, too. It must be a real shit job for them to look so far
astray for somebody."
"Depends a lot on how hungry we all get," I said.
"Yeah. We might all be fighting over it in a couple weeks," Paul said.
There was another outburst from Tiny across the room. Something else about
the CEO.
"Hey, you know, hope you guys don't feel the same way about Mr. Miller. I
was there when the EEOC guys came and told Bill he had to get rid of us and
get some girls in there. 'Or else,' was what they said.
"Bill told me later that if he didn't comply they'd threatened him with a $3
million fine that would shut down the business altogether."
"Yeah, I know," Paul said.
"I don't know how they got so out of kilter. Maybe there's just not many
qualified women in town," I said.
"That's what Bill told them. He said it wasn't that he actively
discriminated against women. Just that the only people he could find to do
the jobs were guys."
About that time, Tiny tried for a behind the back pool shot and fell off the
pool table on his ass. His friends had more than a little trouble getting
him back on his feet and launched into an extended argument about whether it
was time for him to go home and sleep it off or not. When the bartender
decided to help decide the matter, Tiny took a drunken swing at him and got
escorted to the door.
The place was much quieter.
Paul had finished another scotch and water, Mike had just ordered his second
with us and had had at least one before he came over, and I was on my third
beer and a good little buzz. We were all at the break point where we could
still talk rationally and would remember what we were saying but far enough
along that talk was much more fluid than normal. It crossed my mind several
times that this would be a good time to quit, find something for dinner, get
a good night's sleep, and continue with the job search the next day. But
like all good intentions, this one went by the boards as Mike ordered
another for each of us.
It was after six when Mrs. Conklin came through the door, sat down at the
bar a few chairs away from me, and ordered a gin and tonic, thanking the
bartender profusely.
"Tough day, Mrs. Conklin?" I asked, trying to be friendly. She looked over
and smiled at me.
"Miserable, Andy. The second worst day of my life. Friday was the worst
but today came close."
"Still having trouble with the hiring?" Paul asked over my shoulder.
"You just couldn't believe what they've been sending me, guys," she said,
shaking her head. "Air heads. Wives who want to work for a month but need
to quit when the baby is due. Old gals who've never seen a computer and
tell me they think they can do it better on a typewriter. Two, no three
high school girls complete with bubble gum and no skills whatsoever.
"It's terrible!" she summarized. She finished her drink in a gulp and
signaled for another.
"I know some guys who'd be willing to fill in," Paul said.
"Damn! Don't I wish," she said, shaking her head. She got her drink and
looked around for a softer place to sit. I knew from experience that women,
in general, don't like sitting at the bar. Particularly when they're alone.
She picked up her drink and headed for an open booth.
"I feel like suck a hog taking up a whole booth by myself. Would you guys
join me?" We agreed and all went to sit at the big booth.
"Are any of you having any luck with work?" she asked and, of course, got
all the negative head shakes. I introduced Mike but she already knew him
from her more frequent contact with the CEO's office.
"We all got offered the same job in Hemsley," I noted.
"Hemsley! My God! That's three hours away!"
"Don't we know it," Mike said. "Otherwise we'd probably be fighting over
it."
"You poor guys," she said.
"Poor Mrs. Conklin," I said.
"I'll drink to that," she said and did exactly that.
We filled in some details of our days while she filled in more of hers and
we all commiserated for a while. Among other things, she told us about the
emergency meeting the human resources department had held for all the
department heads in the morning and how they really didn't have any ideas
for them.
"The only good idea I've heard since this started was Andy's," she said and
I wondered what she was talking about. "You remember, don't you?"
I'm sure I looked blank. I certainly didn't remember any idea I'd had.
"Andy suggested you just become girls. Then all of our problems would be
over," she said. We all laughed loudly.
Mike picked up a napkin and pulled it over his bald head, pursed his lips,
and said, "Oh, Andy, you silly silly boy!" in a falsetto. I tried it, too,
and about choked responding to him.
We talked for a while more about how we wished we could do it since it would
solve our problems.
Paul took us all by surprise. "You know, if we were serious, we could."
I looked at him, trying to figure out what he was saying. "We could what?
Be girls?" He shrugged his shoulders.
"Sure. Didn't you ever wear something of your mom's or your sister's or
something when you were a kid?" Of course I had. My girl cousins had
dressed me head to toe in their clothes once. But I sure as hell wasn't
going to say it. It was probably lucky that I thought before I opened my
mouth because it gave Mike a chance to speak first.
"My parents left me at home overnight once when I was in high school and I
had a chance to try on a bunch of my mom's clothes," he said with a blush.
"How did you look?" Mrs. Conklin asked.
"Why beautiful, of course," he said, returning to the napkin trick.
"I tried it too a couple of times," Paul said. "I even went to a Halloween
party once dressed as Scarlet O'Hara and won the prize for best costume."
"No kidding?" I asked. "I can't quite see you with red hair." We all
laughed.
"I think you'd all be surprised. I know a lot of women who look more
masculine than any of you," she started.
"Well, you take that back, ma'am, or I'll just have to plug ya," Mike said
in a good John Wayne impression. She snickered. "Not demeaning your
masculinity. It's just that these women are really pretty manly and if they
didn't wear makeup and the right clothes, I'm sure you wouldn't know for
sure."
"I've seen some people that I wondered whether they were guys or girls," I
noted and I had.
"Well, you'd be surprised at what some very pretty women look like when they
don't have their makeup on. And if clothes make the man, like they say,
they really make the woman. Half the women in the world would be confused
for guys if they had their breasts bound and weren't wearing a skirt."
We got another round of drinks, all thinking. I don't know what Mike and
Paul were thinking, but I sure as hell knew what I was thinking. Wondering
would be more like it, I guess.
"You know," Mrs. Conklin said into the silence that had descended over the
table. "The human resources people are trying to find people who can do the
work. Women, of course. There's nothing in the job description about being
pretty women.
"You'd be amazed at how much I'd be willing to overlook to find some women
to replace you guys."
We thought for some more.
"Of course, there are a lot of people still working with us who know you
guys and, well, we don't want any more trouble with the EEOC. But, well, how
often did you get down to my shop when you were working for Bill, Mike?"
He laughed. "Never."
"And you guys? How often did you go to the CEO's office?" We just smiled.
She knew we never did.
We finished our drinks and Mrs. Conklin decided it was time to leave.
"If there's anything I can do to help any of you in your job search, you
know," she added as a smiling afterthought, "just let me know."
She left us, each thinking about the same thing, I think, but no one sharing
their thoughts.
I worked hard and tried everything I could think of from talking to the
grocery store owner to city government, looking for a job. In the process,
I got sincere shakes of the head, many "sorry"'s, and a couple of horse
laughs when I tried for a job on a loading dock. But not even a possible
distant chance of a job.
Friday, I went shopping.
3. Chapter
A stop at a drugstore supplied a small stock of makeup supplies and a can of
hair spray. A stop at a department store supplied a black skirt, a cheap
white brassiere, a pair of pantyhose, and a blouse in a woman's style and
silky material but a man's cut with collar, button front, and long sleeves
"for my girlfriend."
A nervous few minutes in a self serve shoe store gained a pair of plain
white flat women's shoes that I tried on quickly as I stood in the aisle.
A discount store supplied a few pieces of costume jewelry that were probably
the hardest thing to think of an explanation for. Why, after all, would a
man buy his girlfriend a handful of cheap plastic bracelets, necklaces, and
clip-on earrings or a watch almost guaranteed to stop working within a few
weeks just by its $15 price tag. Rather than trying, I decided to just
ignore the salesgirl's questioning looks in favor of a thorough inspection
of a TV Guide.
That set up an afternoon of experimentation and little failures.
It took thirty seconds in front of the mirror to realize the mascara I'd
bought was much too dark and that I hadn't gotten an eyebrow pencil at all.
I washed my face thoroughly, tossed the mascara, and went to a nearby
pharmacy and watched what I was doing more carefully. I added something
called a makeup base.
Having only gotten as far as a thorough shave on the last take, I did better
this time except for the makeup base. Simply, it looked like I'd put the
goop on with a spoon and my entire face was exactly the same color. I
looked dead. I washed my face again and tossed the makeup base. I just
hoped I didn't need it because it was a deal breaker.
The eyebrow pencil was easy enough to apply. Like painting with a crayon.
But when I was done coloring in every hair, I looked like a blond Brooke
Shields with enough eyebrow to take over my entire face.
I decided I might as well try the mascara since I didn't expect any better
luck with it. In the process of putting the stuff on my eyelashes, I also
put it on my eyelids and cheeks and nose.
Maybe eye shadow would cover it and I'd be able to carefully wash it off
cheeks and nose.
That was one of a few good laughs I had during the day. Sparkling silver
eye shadow was not for me. I looked worse than Tammy Fay.
Do it all, I decided, and put on the lipstick. At least I had some idea of
how to put it on from watching my mother when I was a kid. She'd done it as
if it were nothing, a dozen times a day.
I stayed in the lines, didn't put too much on, and didn't end up with
alternating red teeth. But that's about all I could say for it.
Standing back from the mirror, my first thought was strictly a fear
reaction. This was only slightly enhanced by baring my teeth in a snarl and
holding my hands in a Bela Lugosi bat threat.
I'd done best with the lipstick but it was far too dark for my light
complexion and blond hair.
I tried brushing my hair loosely and even spraying it with the sticky hair
spray. It looked like I just got out of bed when I was finished and made
the fright mask complete. I did theatrical routines from movies for myself
for a while. Betty Davis. "I'm ready for my scene ..." More Bela Lugosi.
A little Peter Lorre. None of them were very good theater but they were
better theater than I was a girl.
This time I washed my entire head and, even with my hair recently dried and
sticking up all over, thought it a tremendous improvement. "Where have you
been? Those others didn't ... bite you, did they?" I asked myself in the
mirror.
Okay. So I was almost convinced.
Stripping down to shorts, I wrestled with the bra for a while, stuffing a
pair of socks in each C cup. They were lumpy but impressive. I posed for
myself.
I sat down on the bed and put on the pantyhose (backward first, of course).
I got them to my knees before putting my finger through the strange, sheer
material. Although the blond hair on my legs is virtually invisible, the
pantyhose seemed to be bristling with it.
The skirt was okay and the shoes fit. Little successes.
The blouse was the right size but unfortunately followed the contours of the
lumpy bra perfectly and didn't want to stay tucked in the back of the skirt
when I sat down.
The costume jewelry looked like the junk it is. Little girl toys hanging,
dangling, or interfering. Even with a good rap, the Swatch Watch didn't
work straight out of the box and just added to the "little girl playing with
mommy's things" look.
That was the second laugh of the day. When I looked in the full length
mirror on the bathroom door.
I thought I'd seen this girl once in junior high waiting at one side of a
gymnasium during one of those enforced "dances" they made us go to. She's
the one some guy finally had to take onto the gym floor who looked over the
top of his head as they shuffled around trying not to step on each other too
hard.
If I had to take this nightmare out in public, I thought, I'd have to kill
myself in preference to facing anyone I knew again. The kidding would be
impossible.
"Where'd you find her, Andy? The city pound or the pig farm? Har har har!"
Mrs. Conklin had said a girl didn't have to be pretty. But she didn't say
she could be totally repulsive either.
So any chance I had at this desperate last ditch attempt looked destined for
failure.
I was glad I wasn't wearing mascara when my eyes filled with unbeckoned
tears.
It took half the time to get out of the "ensemble", into pants and a shirt,
and out the door on the way to the bar. This "effort" definitely deserved a
couple of beers.
* * *
I had just ordered my second beer when Paul sat down on the stool next to
me, looking as depressed as I felt.
"Hi Andy," he said and sounded as bad as he looked. "Any luck?"
"Naw," I said. "You?"
"There's not a single damned job in this entire town. I don't think anybody
retires or dies or anything."
"If there is, I don't know where it is."
He looked around as if trying to see if we were being overheard.
"Did you try the other thing?"
"You mean dressing ..."
"Yeah, yeah." He didn't want me to go too far.
"That's what I did with my day today. It was a miserable failure."
"I did, too. Night before last. There's no way. I was too afraid to even
buy clothes let alone wear them in public."
"I did okay with that. No problems. They just looked like shit on me and
the makeup was a disaster."
"Yeah. I did that part. Got stuff all over my face but it didn't look
realistic at all."
We drank our beers.
"Tiny got a job. I saw him out at the Roadside last night." The Roadside
was a rough bar out on the road out of town. "He's a bouncer."
I'd been there exactly once and saw two fights while I finished one beer.
"What were you doing there?"
"I decided I had to try everything possible before I pack up and try to
figure out which direction to move."
"Sorry to hear that. That you're thinking about moving, I mean."
"It's obvious there isn't anything at all here. I couldn't even talk to the
manager at the Roadside. He laughed when he saw me. Said I'd make the
patrons laugh too hard if I was tending bar."
"You could get killed out there. I almost did in about fifteen minutes the
only time I ever went out there."
"Scary place." He finished his beer and ordered another for each of us.
We were so far into our miseries, Mrs. Conklin took us by surprise when she
put her hands on our shoulders.
"Hi guys. How are you doing?" Paul shook his head while I answered.
"Been better."
"Order me a gin and tonic and a scotch and water then come over to join us,"
she said. She walked toward the booth we'd sat at before where, I noticed,
she slid into it beside another woman I could see only from the knee down.
That, I thought, looked interesting.
In a few minutes, we gained the two drinks and each picked up one with our
own and walked to the booth. Paul slid into the booth first before I sat
down. I looked at the second woman with interest. She was, well, quite
interesting.
Before she said anything or looked up from the drink Paul had sat in front
of her, I scanned what I could see. Nicely done brunette hair at shoulder
length with a little inward wave, parted in the middle. Pretty, full lips.
An unremarkable white blouse over a lacy looking white bra that I roughly
estimated at about a B cup. I'd seen the hem of a gray skirt at that knee
I'd seen before and simple gray pumps at the end of that well turned calf.
She looked up at me and blinked unremarkable brown eyes surrounded by a
minimum of mascara that I now recognized as a good, sensible treatment. I
thought her little nose was cute. Then she smiled at my inspection and I
felt that little flutter inside that said a pretty girl had just smiled at
you.
"Michelle, this is Paul and Andy," Mrs. Conklin said, pointing in our
general directions. The girl held out her hand in a loose, feminine way
that I never knew how to respond to handshake or gentler finger shake. She
took my hand in a soft handshake that was both feminine and businesslike. I
liked that. We both said hi and she responded in a slightly throaty, low
voice that I liked.
"Michelle started working for me yesterday," Mrs. Conklin said. "And she's
already invaluable, taking a little of the load you guys left for me."
I frowned to myself. It wasn't her fault that she'd found somebody halfway
decent to replace us. In fact, I had to be happy for her.
"It sounded like you guys aren't having much luck."
"To say the least," I said and Paul seconded the thought.
"You know there isn't a dog catcher in this town?" Paul asked. "And if they
did, I couldn't get hired."
"All the ditch digger jobs are filled, too," I added.
"Oooo. You two do sound down."
"With good reason," I pointed out.
"Have you thought any more about my proposal?"
Paul choked on a sip of beer and I fought a glob of stomach that had just
leaped behind my Adam's Apple.
"We even tried that with such disastrous results we both ended up here
independently with the same thoughts."
"Involving drowning sorrows," Paul added.
"Tell me about it," she said. I looked from her open face to the girl's.
She smiled again and sipped her drink. That was the first I'd noticed the
long, red fingernails.
"Just say it wouldn't work," I noted for the record. I wasn't going to get
into particulars in front of the girl.
"Was it the mascara or the hair?" the girl said in a sultry voice, her mouth
breaking into a self- satisfied smile. A smirk, I thought. A knowing
smile. She had me stopped cold. I couldn't, wouldn't, and didn't know how
to respond or even to clear my clenched throat.
I looked at Mrs. Conklin with the question on my lips. Why did you tell
her? I felt like I'd been betrayed.
"Hey, Andy. Did you fucking try it or not?" It had come from the girl but
with none of the demure sweetness. This had sounded like like Mike.
Suddenly the pretty, smiling face seemed to swim in my vision and reform
under a small spray of brown hair across a shining bald pate. I choked on a
sip of beer I hadn't started to take yet.
Paul, not under that dazzling glare of attention from the girl, said it.
"Mike?" She looked at him. "You...you look great!"
Her smile spread and I thought she was one of the most gorgeous women I'd
ever seen.
4. Chapter
I'd stopped at my apartment, gotten my stuff, and arrived at Mrs. Conklin's
in ten minutes flat. So quickly, in fact, that they'd only just arrived
when I did and hadn't gotten the key out of the front door lock.
"Do you have anything to do this weekend?" Mrs. Conklin had said in the bar
after Paul and I tumbled to Mike.
Paul's answer had been, "Well, are we ready to go?" His eyes glowed with
excitement as he looked from one to the other of us.
"Where do we start?" I asked with equal exuberance when Mike, Mrs. Conklin,
and I were safely inside her house.
"Well, you start by taking a bath. Not a shower. With some bath oil and
the soap that's in the tray. After you've soaked for a while, soap a leg
really well and use the safety razor next to the tub to shave. When you're
done, there shouldn't be a hair I can see from your neck to your toes."
I looked at Mike, who was sitting with "her" legs crossed, on the couch. I
thought if I could look just a tenth as good, I'd be a shoo-in for a job at
the office. I was in the bathtub before I realized I hadn't brought any of
the clothes with me but I dismissed it and settled into the rapidly rising
hot water, the smell of the scented oil heavy in the steamy air.
I'd been there for a while when I heard the doorbell ring and Paul being
greeted. From what I could hear, he'd stopped at a liquor store for a case
of beer and bottles of scotch and gin.
I couldn't believe that getting my fine blond fuzz off my legs was as
difficult as it was. Every little scrape clogged the twin blades again and
required clearing. It didn't take long before I established a regular
pattern of long stroke, shake in the water, brush off the remainder, and on
and on. When I thought I was done, I rubbed my pink streaked leg and felt
the considerable leftovers and started over with the soap.
Thank goodness, I thought, I didn't have any chest hair. Certainly doing my
underarms was tough enough and took almost as long as my legs.
I was on the last armpit when Mike the beautiful girl came into the room and
giggled when I ducked for cover under a washrag, blushing all over. I
watched her with great interest as she collected my clothes and sat a pair
of lacy panties on the edge of the sink.
"How are you doing?" she asked.
"Ah, almost done. Where are you going with my pants?"
"You won't need them for a while. Come out when you're ready." She left.
I checked everywhere for hairs before giving up, getting out of the slippery
water, and drying thoroughly. It took a little longer to dry my hair. But
then I knew I was procrastinating.
I had to look at the panties for quite a while to figure out which way was
front. For one thing, the label was over a leg instead of in the back.
I purposely hadn't bought panties so I knew these weren't mine. If I had, I
would have bought something with a little more to them than this. Resigned,
I stepped into them and pulled them into place.
1
--
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From nostrumo@nienor.IN-Berlin.DE Tue Jul 15 11:16:22 1997
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From: nostrumo@nienor.IN-Berlin.DE (Nostrumo)
Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories,alt.sex.stories.tg,alt.sex.stories.moderated
Subject: New TG: The New Secretary by Amy Brett (02/11)
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Date: 15 Jul 1997 15:16:22 GMT
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Hi.
This nifty submission is not included yet, but it will be in next
one during the upcoming weekend. This story is a refelction of the
current jobmarket and conclusions which may occur under strange and
rare situations. So folks be happy if you had a job.
As usual I DIDN'T write this story and haven't any claim on it. If
you have some usefull hints or some good coments, your mail is then
welcome. Flames, you know, they will be piped to /dev/null.
If you are an author and wish to remain anonymouns or just try to
avoid the replies to your work. I offer you the chance of posting your
stories and collecting the response for you. This offer only stands for
story postings and for nothing else.
Enjoy the story.
Ciao
Nostrumo
>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>> cut here with a sharp knife <<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<
2___The_New_Secretary_______________________________________by_Amy_Brett_
I looked around for a comb or a brush but there wasn't one in the room. I
tried instead to finger comb it into place with minimal positive effect.
Mostly it was standing on end.
I finally gave and opened the door.
Mrs. Conklin looked up with a friendly, welcoming look. Mike, no I was
going to have to remember "she" was Michelle, looked at me with the most
seductive look I've ever seen.
"I hope you don't mind too much, Andy. We looked at your things," Mrs.
Conklin said. "I suppose you know that, with the exception of the skirt and
blouse, this is all garbage."
Defensive, I responded too quickly. I wasn't excited about standing there
in a pair of panties that I was only partially successful at covering with
my cross hands.
"I couldn't afford better or I would have gotten something better."
"It looks more like you snatched the first thing you found off the rack or
counter and ran out of the store," Michelle said with another grin.
"There's nothing wrong with the things," Mrs. Conklin continued. "They're
just wrong for you."
"Besides, you didn't have any panties and you can't feel like a woman
without them," Michelle added.
"Okay. Now put on your bra," Mrs. Conklin said and I tried. Michelle
showed me how to fasten the back fastener in front of my stomach, turn it
around right, and then put my arms in the straps. It was a lot easier that
way. When it was in place Mrs. Conklin carefully placed a heavy plastic
bag in each cup.
"My mother, bless her soul, had breast cancer," she explained. "She used to
say that if she was going to use 'falsies', that's what she called the
breast forms, then she was going to enjoy it and got a bunch of different
sizes."
I looked at the way they moved in the bra cups and chuckled with Michelle
when she bounced them on her palms.
"As a sort of general rule," Mrs. Conklin said, "it's better for you guys
to play down a little. No see-through blouses or really short skirts or
spike heels. And I probably would have advocated a little smaller breast
size for you. But since you already had the C-cup bra, I thought we might
as well fill it out. Maybe it's right for you."
"Put on your pantyhose," Michelle said. I sat down and did as I was told.
We decided we'd have to replace them when she noticed the hole I'd put in
them.
Paul came out of another room I thought must be Mrs. Conklin's bedroom, all
pink, spiky haired, and wearing a pair of blue panties. He looked every bit
as nervous as I'd been when I came out of the bathroom.
"Michelle, why don't you go into my room and help ... ah, let's see. Amy.
Does that sound okay to you, honey?" Amy? My new name? Interesting. I
nodded and smiled.
"Okay. Take Amy into the bedroom and help with the rest. Okay?" Michelle
smiled at me as I got up.
When I followed her into the bedroom, I felt the pantyhose on my legs for
the first time. Now that I'd shaved my legs, they felt great. They seemed
to move and almost caress my sensitized skin as I walked. It was a funny,
enjoyable feeling.
"Now watch what I do," Michelle said as she got out a fingernail file and
tiny scissors. "Because I'm not going to do everything." It wasn't going to
be the last time she said that or that I'd have to do it myself in the
future.
She carefully trimmed the corners of a nail that I'd let get too long, but
left the longest center part. She used a funny shaped stick and pushed at
the cuticle and then filed the tip. Then she turned me loose on the rest
and sat back with her elbows on the bed and watched while I continued the
process with the other fingers.
I couldn't help notice the way her breasts moved under the blouse or the way
her skirt pulled up onto her thighs. It surprised me how comfortable she
looked as a woman.
"You must have made a decision right away after we all talked Monday," I
noted.
"I came home with Margaret Monday night and she showed me the things I'm
showing you," she said.
"You look great! I really thought you were a woman when I saw you at the
bar," I told her honestly. She smiled all over.
"The first couple of days are really scary. Everything's so new. But you
get the hang of it pretty fast."
"And you started work Wednesday?"
"That was the hardest and scariest of all. Walking into the building and
past some of my friends up front. Talking to Margaret was easy, of course,
and I pretty well knew that I had the job before I went in.
"Sitting down with the other people in your old department and getting
grilled about myself was tough. But pretty soon, I got involved in the job
and it pretty much took my mind off myself a little."
"I'll bet there's a lot to remember," I said.
"Funny little things. And maybe big things like the first time I used the
women's room," she blushed. "You don't realize how you've been conditioned
all your life to stay out of the ladies' until you're standing there with
your hand on the door. And things like making sure to watch your skirt and
sitting up right. All those things."
I was finished with the clipping and filing. She sat up and got a bottle of
clear fingernail polish and opened it.
"This is base coat," she explained. "It seals up all the ridges and makes
them smoother."
She painted the thumbnail and one other before handing the applicator to me.
It was harder to do than it looked but I got the hang of it as I went on.
She took care of the bottle while I tried to get it to dry without touching
anything. It dried quickly and she opened a bottle of pink fingernail
polish and did my thumb again before handing me the applicator. This was
harder because you didn't want to leave part of the nail showing but you
couldn't get it on your finger either.
"When you're done, start over with the first one and put on another coat." I
did it finally, getting better at it as I went. She provided another bottle
that said "seal" on it as she took the polish and put it away.
We talked more about work, getting into a batch of the stuff I knew from
doing the job for as long as I had. And she explained how Margaret had
taken her shopping Tuesday and helped her get several mix and match outfits
without spending very much money. Of course, that had been scary for her
too. She kidded me because, she said, that was the plan for Paul and I
Saturday so we'd see exactly what it felt like.
Finally, I was done and they had dried to a high gloss sheen as good as most
cars' paint jobs.
"Okay now. This is the really hard part and there's not enough to it for
you to practice right now. Watch carefully and tomorrow you can do it
yourself."
First she used the fingernail scissors and carefully trimmed my eyebrows,
cutting the lower part and the outsides very short so what you could see of
them was slightly lifted at the outside ends and much narrower.
She took the same eyebrow pencil I'd used with such disastrous results and
applied just a little in an arch which lifted at the edges. I looked from
inches away at what she'd done and thought I could copy it.
The mascara, she said, was the hardest for her but with short outward
strokes, she colored my eyelashes perfectly to just a minimum. It brought
out my eyes without looking at all fake.
The lipstick she chose from Margaret's table was almost a perfect match for
the pink on my fingernails. She carefully traced the upper edges of the top
lip and the lower of the bottom lip and had me purse them as my mother had.
There didn't even seem to be more than a touch of the color where my lips
met.
"You're lucky. Your beard is so light, you shouldn't have to wear any
makeup base. But if you ever do, make sure it's just a little lighter than
your normal skin color and only use it where you absolutely have to and
powder it afterward."
She looked at me critically for a minute.
"I don't think you're going to want to use any eye shadow at all.
Particularly in the daytime. But if you do at night, I'd use blue to bring
out your eyes. They're so pretty."
She smiled at her work so far and turned to a closet.
"I hate to say it, but I'm glad Margaret's mom had breast cancer. She has
all sorts of neat things because of it." In the closet, she reached up to a
shelf and brought down a box. "Oh, neat!"
I could see why she said it when she held up a mop of blond hair that
extended from her hand to her elbow as she used the other hand to fluff it
out and untangle it.
"Brush your hair flat and to the side so you don't look like a scarecrow
after you take this off," she said, bringing it to me and watching as I did
as I was told. Then she settled it on my head like a cap and pulled down at
the sides. Before she'd gotten it on, I saw that the underside of it looked
like a net cap almost like a swimming cap for a woman but without the ear
flaps.
She pulled and tugged at the cap over most of my hair before opening another
drawer and finding some bobby pins. She put two in the front straight back
and almost into my scalp, then two at the back just below my crown from the
outsides in. It felt secure but strange.
She took the brush away from me and lightly did the sides and back over my
shoulders before making light little strokes that moved pieces of hair onto
my forehead.
"Wow! You're going to like this!" she said and I started to look in the
mirror. "No, wait! Get your skirt and blouse on first and then you can
look at the whole thing."
She was grinning with excitement as I stepped into the skirt and started
buttoning the blouse.
"That's hard, isn't it?" she said. "The buttons are all backwards. I
wonder why they did that?" It was hard but I soon had it done.
"Tuck it in a little and I'll show you a trick," she said and moved to the
hem of my skirt as I tucked it in. "This is easier and better, too." She
jerked on the tail of the blouse all around, pulling it down tight, before
letting go of the skirt and smoothing it down.
"I'll find you a belt while you put these on," she said and handed me a pair
of white high heels a lot like the grey ones she was wearing. They were
simple and had only two inch heels or so but I was sure I'd fall on my face
trying to walk in them. As I stood up, she put a six inch wide white belt
around my waist and cinched up three different little buckles at least two
holes tighter than I thought would probably be comfortable.
"You're going to LOVE this!" she blubbered as she took my hand and led me
into the dark bathroom off the bedroom. She led me to the middle of the
dark room and left me standing there, trying to decide if I was going to
fall over from the strange forward tilt of my ankles.
"Ready?" she asked and I said yes. She flicked on the brilliant bathroom
light and I looked into the eyes of a stranger. I had to refocus my eyes to
see that it wasn't someone else in the bathroom. I moved and the stranger
moved as well.
There was a girl in the mirror in front of me. I resisted looking over my
shoulder to see if she was really there. Black skirt, white blouse, long
shapely legs to white pumps. Tits. Yeah. Considerable tits that lifted
the blouse flatteringly. Slim waist held by the white belt.
I looked up again. Pretty blue eyes that seemed to hold you to them.
Moderate pink lips that pointed out the pink fingertips that were slowly
exploring the face. Beautifully long blond hair in a slight disarray.
Loose and easy and almost falling to those full breasts, splitting over each
shoulder.
I smiled and she smiled back engagingly. Her eyes sparkled and smiled back.
She walked behind me, looking over my shoulder, and put her arms around me.
"You're gorgeous. Will you still be my friend?" I laughed.
"You're kidding!"
"Huh uh. If I was a guy, I'd give anything to get you into bed." I looked
into her eyes reflected in the mirror.
"You know. In the bar. I thought that you were one of the prettiest women
I've ever seen," I said. I grinned. "But you're right. If I was a guy,
I'd fuck the blond in a heartbeat."
We laughed together.
5. Chapter
Margaret's eyes twinkled when she looked at me walking into the living room.
The girl sitting between us, turned her head when she saw Margaret's look
past her and I got another start.
"Paula was just saying that she bet you'd be really pretty. She was
certainly right."
"Paula?" I said, grinning.
"You're wow!" she said in an almost disembodied masculine voice that didn't
seem possible from her delicate red lips. The red highlights were plain in
the auburn haired girl's short hair. Her green eyes, huge in her pale face,
enlarged with surprise as she looked at me.
"You think it's okay?"
"Oh, Amy! It's it's impossible!"
She stood up and walked confidently around the chair she'd been sitting in.
She was wearing dark brown women's pants, short heeled beige sandals that
red toenails peeked out of, a red and yellow silk shirt that stood out
moderately at the chest with the collar turned up, and large red and yellow
flower earrings. A matching red and yellow series of stone flowers set in
gold settings marched around her neck over the shirt.
The auburn hair, short but full and curly, had to be her own. Three large,
bright colored dinner rings sparkled from her fingers as her hands came up
as if reaching for my chest.
"Spectacular!" she said with a large smile as I saw she was inspecting my
tits. I blushed.
"P-Paula," I stumbled over her new name. "You look wonderful."
"Yeah. I saw in the mirror. This is going to work. But I don't look
anything like you. I mean, I look like a girl. I know that. But nobody's
going to get a hard-on when I walk in the room." Her eyes looked lustful as
she looked me up and down from this close perspective.
There's only so much praise a girl can handle and maintain any modesty. I
looked past her to Margaret who was still sitting on the couch with the huge
smile.
"So girls. What do you think? Is it possible?"
"I'm still really scared," I said and Paula nodded.
"Me, too. But you look so great "
"So do you! You look like the girl next door. Definitely a girl. But
easy. Easygoing. You know?"
"Yeah. That's what I wanted exactly." She smiled cutely. "At least I'm not
going to have to worry all day about getting felt up."
"Come and sit down," Margaret said and we all chose seats, carefully sitting
down. At least I did because of the skirt pulled above my knees. Paula sat
down easily and I envied her pants. Michelle stopped and asked if we wanted
drinks. I practically begged for a beer and Paula seconded it with a
chuckle.
She brought us beers and glasses that Margaret told us to use in a few
seconds. She returned to make hers and Margaret's. We just made small talk
about fingernail color and my wig and her jewelry until Michelle got back
and sat down.
"Okay, ladies. We've got some work to do," Margaret said. She was
certainly right.
For the next three hours, she drilled Paula and I particularly on walking
(there's a right way and a wrong way for a woman), talking (slightly higher
pitch and softer), sitting in a dozen ways and situations, gestures, and the
fine points of makeup and hair that we'd now had a successful experience
with.
We discussed the options for each of us concerning all of these things and
even discussed what we'd do on Monday to try for jobs.
It amazed me that we were all chattering like crazy, sharing fears and hopes
for our new situations, and speculating on everything. Suddenly, unlike a
few hours before in the bar, we had a future and we were looking forward to
it.
Finally, we were winding down and I could see quite a bit of work to get
ready to go home. At least I had to change clothes and wash my face. I
said so and both Margaret and Michelle smiled and shook their heads.
"We have plans for tomorrow, Amy," Margaret said. "It'll be much easier if
you just stay here for the night."
Not waiting for any kind of agreement from Paula and I, who were still
sitting with our mouths open, trying to decide if this was a good idea, she
got up and went to her bedroom. A minute later, she came back with a piece
of white fluff in one hand and a black one in the other. Momentarily
hesitating, she finally handed me the white and Paula the black.
I held it up in front of myself and saw that it was mostly white lace with
elastic under the breasts and a short silky skirt.
"Leave the panties and bras on. And, Amy, leave the wig, too. In the
morning, you'll be surprised at how much more comfortable you are with it
all."
"You'll want to wash your face though," Michelle added.
Paula and I got up and went to the bedroom as we'd obviously been directed.
I washed my face of the mascara and lipstick and looked in the mirror. With
the wig still on, I was surprised that I still looked like a girl. I stayed
in the bathroom to take off my stockings, skirt and blouse before putting on
the white nightgown.
"Can I use the sink," Paula said when she opened the door. I glanced in her
direction and smiled. She looked cute in the black negligee.
She grinned back and came the rest of the way in.
"That's looks good on you," she said. "I don't fill this one out very
well." She lifted the front of the black nightgown and blushed. She looked
like a pixy.
"It looks right on you," I said, getting out of her way. While she washed
her face, I had the opportunity to look at her. She had thin, boyish legs
and hips. Not male adult at all. And a cute butt I almost patted. I was
sure that wouldn't be appreciated, of course.
She washed and dried her face and looked refreshed and slightly flushed when
she turned back to face me. Feeling the carpet on our bare feet, we went
back to the living room together.
The couch was a hide-a-bed that Margaret and Michelle were just finished
making. It looked inviting and, luckily, they said good night and went to
the bedroom. As Paula and I got into bed and turned out the lights, we
heard them getting ready and then everything got quiet.
"Quite a day, huh," Paula said beside me in the dark living room.
"Yeah. Not the sort of thing you'd expect at all. Right?"
"I didn't think it was possible. But now I do. I think we can really pull
it off. I mean, it's not like it's illegal or anything. Right?"
I thought about it. "It's not illegal to dress as a woman. I've heard
that. But I'm not sure about what we intend to do at work. I think maybe
the EEOC would be a little unhappy."
"Yeah. Well, fuck 'em. If we get halfway good at this, they couldn't come
in for a day and tell. Maybe people at work will know. I don't know. But
as long as they play along when the inspectors are there, it doesn't
matter."
"Yeah. I don't feel bad about the EEOC. That's for sure. They put the
company in as much trouble as us. If there were women beating on the door
asking for jobs, maybe it would be different. But there's nobody out
there."
She was quiet for quite a while.
"I thought I'd hate this. You know?"
"I knew it," I said.
"But I don't. Really, I'm I don't know. I guess I'm getting into it and
it's sort of fun."
"We'll see what happens tomorrow," I said. She was quiet again.
"Yeah. It's going to be scary going out in public, huh?"
"Yeah." I thought about it.
"But at least we'll all be together. It's not like being alone."
"Yeah," I said. The company DID help. I couldn't imagine my fear and my
feelings without them. Maybe I'd feel like some kind of pervert.
I was thinking like that when I felt her move next to me, turning toward me.
Her arm went across my stomach under the bra and her leg across my near leg.
"Amy?" she said. I was still wondering if I liked this or not. "Do you
feel like a girl?" I was thinking about it when she helped. Her hand moved
up and squeezed my breast form through the nightgown and bra.
"Yeah. Yeah, I do. More than I ever dreamed I would." I put my arm around
her narrow shoulders.
"Me, too." She was quiet for a long time but I felt her hand move and
squeeze my false breast the whole time. It felt good and I was responding,
swelling in my panties. "Does it turn you on? Dressing? It does me."
"Yeah," I sighed.
"It's funny, Amy," she said from close to my ear. "I feel gay."
"Yeah. I sort of do. It's all mixed up."
"I feel like a lesbian," she said and twisted my mind around 180 degrees. I
thought about it. I didn't feel like a gay guy. She'd hit it right on the
head.
"Yeah. That's what I've been feeling too. With Michelle when she was
helping me. I got turned on but it was as much from looking at her as
anything."
She seemed to stiffen and I knew what the problem was. It was pretty
insensitive of me not to think before I said anything.
"When I saw you in the living room, that's what I thought, too," I added and
she loosened a little. "I thought, what a pretty girl. I'd like to get in
her pants."
Her hand moved on my bra tentatively. There was a long silence.
"You could," she said and, my mind was spinning so fast, I wasn't sure what
the reference was to. "If you wanted."
I tried running my thoughts in reverse to try to pull out what she was
saying and finally remembered my statement. Then I went into a quandary
about what I'd said. After all, it was a saying. I didn't really want to
do it. Did I? Now I was thinking furiously.
That's when she moved. Slowly, she raised slightly over me and her lips
covered mine.
I know I should have reacted differently than putting my arms around her.
And surely that moan couldn't be mine. But the picture that sprung into my
mind had no relationship to reality.
I should have thought that I'm a guy laying here with another guy wrapped
around me. That was hard reality, of course. I might even have
rationalized a little and thought that I'm a guy laying here a cute little
auburn haired pixy in my arms.
If I was deluding myself, maybe I could have thought I was the girl and
Paul, my friend, was aggressively taking advantage of me.
But the dislocation was complete. What my mind pictured was the blond I'd
seen in the mirror earlier, the long clean legs I'd practiced walking on in
high heels and crossing for hours, and the heavy breasts that were being
pressed and rubbed and that had bobbed and bounded with my movements all
night. What my mind pictured was the pixyish auburn-haired girl with her
cute boyish hips and little tight breasts and cute upturned red lips
squirming against me and kissing me almost wildly.
I saw and felt two women enjoying each other's bodies and getting more
involved in each other by the moment.
Her tongue sought and found entry between my pink lips and mine fought back
playfully. I tasted her lipstick and mine. I tasted her sweet mouth. I
smelled her perfume and the bath oil on her skin and the feminine shampoo in
her short hair.
I felt our breasts pressed together, my leg pressing between her hot legs,
her leg pressing against the coarse material of my panties and exciting me.
She sucked hard on my tongue, our wet lipstick smeared lips sliding against
each other's. I could feel her breath puffing out her petite nose onto my
cheek. I tried to hold, to suck her tongue as it plunged in and out of my
mouth almost wildly and in time with her body's movements against me.
"Oh Amy. You're so beautiful," she said between kissed on my ear.
"Paula. My pixy," I moaned. She kissed my neck and along my chin and
across my chest. I tried to stop her, perhaps, and she kissed my hand and
my fingers. I held her head against my stomach as she sucked one and then
another finger and kissed and licked my palm.
"Oh Paula," I heard myself moan as she squeezed her way between my legs.
When she stopped licking my palm, she was instantly licking the inside of my
left thigh instead. Licking and taking tiny exciting nips at the skin. In
simple reaction, I was moving it away from her bites.
She switched to my right thigh and continued her loving assault.
Spread wide, her fingers and nails tickled at the backs of my thighs and
knees, making me vibrate with excitement. Her fingers moved the crotch of
my lacy panties to the side and her tongue found the skin where my pussy
should be. Should be. Should be!
I came hard and high, losing myself completely in the orgasm for minutes or
maybe hours.
Peripherally, I felt her scrambling up between my legs and locked my ankles
behind hers as she began kissing me wildly again.
As my orgasm passed finally, I felt her humping and pumping against my front
frantically. I put one hand on her neck and took her long tongue to suck.
The other hand found the back of her tiny panties and slid under them to
guide her movements.
I rolled my hips up and back not as fast but in rhythm with hers. And I was
rewarded with her loud moan in my mouth and her loss of coordination. Her
orgasm came in moan driven waves, one after another until it finally passed.
Her head nestled into my shoulder, her breathing loud below my ear as I held
her tight against me.
"Thank you, Amy," she sighed sleepily.
I thought about suggesting we clean up. I thought about rolling her to the
side. But I fell asleep instead.
6. Chapter
When I woke, I was on my side with Paula against my front from her neck in
front of my lips to the back of her knees against mine. She was still
asleep with my arms still around her.
She stirred when I kissed her neck and watched the goose bumps skitter along
her skin. Even the softness of her arms looked perfectly right. There were
even some freckles on her neck, chest and upper arms to match her auburn
hair. The sunlight made the red highlights glisten in the curly tangle.
When I moved away from her curved back, I felt the cool room air displace
the overheated space between us. She moaned slightly and rolled onto her
back. She smiled in her sleep and I leaned on one elbow and looked at the
slightly smeared lipstick around her opened mouth. My thought was that she
was unbelievably cute.
Reality intruded when I got to the bathroom and sat on the toilet as, I
thought, it only could in this particular position. Part of the reality was
the mass of partially dried come in my panties and smeared through my pubic
hair disgustingly. I took them off as I sat there and wiped the pubic hair
with some toilet paper.
A bath was the first order of business, obviously. As soon as my bladder
was empty, I dropped the panties, nightgown, and bra in a wicker hamper,
setting the silicone filled breast forms and wig on top. The bath, filled
with fragrant oils, made me feel good again.
After soaking and washing, I replaced the wig and tiptoed into the bedroom
to search the drawers for underwear. Surprisingly, I found them in the
first drawer I looked in. A blue pair that had more lace on the bra and
less on the panties than those I'd worn to bed. I also found a pair of
pantyhose that were made of sterner stuff than the sheer ones I'd worn
before.
I sat down and tried my best to emulate what Michelle had done with the
makeup. A little eyebrow pencil, careful mascara, slight lipstick with care
to the tops and bottoms of the lips. It looked okay. I couldn't believe
I'd done this well.
"I wish I was as beautiful and you are," Paula's voice came from behind me.
I turned and saw her leaning on one elbow.
"You are. In a different way," I said. "You'll really enjoy a bath. It
made me feel a thousand percent better."
"Good idea," she said and got out from under the sheet. I thought it was
cute the way her bottom wiggled with the way she walked to the bathroom.
In a few minutes, I found a blue skirt and a little white shell top with
tiny blue leaves and pink flowers and blue piping around the neck and short
sleeves.
* * *
"Good morning," Margaret said from the table in the kitchen as she got up.
"Would you like coffee?"
"Yes, thank you."
"You look very pretty today. Did you do your own makeup?" Michelle said
from another chair at the table.
"Did I do okay?"
"It looks great," she said. "You're a quick study."
"Yes. You look wonderful," Margaret added.
"Thanks. I hope you don't mind me wearing your clothes," I said, indicating
the skirt.
"Thank Michelle. They're hers."
"Oh. Thanks Michelle. But the bra fits. I thought you were a B-cup."
"Uh huh. But I tried a C first. It just wasn't for me. You can have
those. I think here are three or four in there."
"Thanks. But I'll pay you back."
"Where's the little girl next door?" Michelle asked.
"She's taking a bath. She'll be out in a few minutes." I blushed thinking
about her and wondered if Michelle and Margaret knew what we'd done the
night before.
If they did, they didn't say anything.
"You get to make the choice for breakfast then. I don't do short order
cooking so whatever you decide, Paula will have to live with."
"Anything would be fine."
"The choice is eggs and toast or french toast," Margaret said.
"Some scrambled eggs would be great," I said.
"Are you ready or are you watching your waistline, my dear," she added for
Michelle.
"That sounds fine, Margaret."
I sat down and watched while the older woman broke eggs and poured a little
milk into a bowl and mixed them with a whisk. A big pat of margarine went
into a frying pan and slid to one side right away. When it had melted, she
poured in the eggs and filled the bowl with water before putting bread in
the toaster. She'd done this before.
"Tada!" Paula said from the doorway as she walked in wearing a pair of black
leggings and a very short plaid dress over a black tee-shirt. It was cute
and little girl just like everything but her red lips and fingertips.
"Wow, Paula! That looks perfect on you. Did you pick it out?"
"Yeah. Like it?"
"It's you. Nobody else could wear an outfit like that but it's perfect for
you," Margaret said.
She served up the eggs and continued to make toast until she finally caught
up with us and served herself.
Though Paula and I procrastinated and delayed as much as Margaret and
Michelle would let us, we ended up in Margaret's car on the way to the mall
half an hour later.
* * *
I'd been shopping with a woman before and wasn't surprised by the approach
to stores and the things in them. But there was a considerable difference
when you were the one doing the shopping and the comments like "Oh, isn't
that cute. It would look wonderful ..." were applied to things you'd be
buying and wearing.
We went into the mall entrance that went through one of the big department
stores on the way to the mall concourse. Margaret and Michelle were cooing
over a little dress, as I'd seen women do before, within a few feet of the
entrance. But they were cooing over it as "perfect" for me because of the
light blues and "bodice" they said I'd compliment.
Blushing, I thought I'd have support from Paula in my resistence. She
shocked me to open mouthed staring by immediately picking out a little dress
for herself and grinning with excitement.
Michelle helped me identify and pick out a copy of the "perfect" dress, and
hurrying me to a draped fitting room at the side of the store to try it on.
I had no choice. It was either do as they all seemed to want me to or make
a much more memorable and embarrassing scene in resisting.
So I found myself taking off my camouflage, the blue skirt and blouse, to
try on the dress in the first seconds of being there.
If I hadn't been scared to death by my first appearance as a woman outside
Margaret's home or the first steps outdoors or the first steps into the
mall, I certainly was then. My hands and insides shook violently with the
fear, in fact. Fear and excitement, I realized.
It helped my self-confidence a lot when I thought the dress fit perfectly,
stepped out in front of the others, and had my feelings confirmed.
"It fits perfectly, honey," Margaret said and everyone had me turn and poked
and straightened and stroked both my ego and the dress. That's how it
started and continued in the same way through the racks of that store, the
cosmetics counter, a dozen other women's stores, and three shoe stores.
By the time we were finished, my savings was almost halved but I had clothes
that fit perfectly for all occasions, shoes, cosmetics (recommended by a
cosmetologist specially for my coloring), and some tasteful though
inexpensive jewelry. The jewelry store was where I got my ears pierced and
small gold posts with complimentary diamonds on them as an introduction.
Michelle was the most restrained, since she'd been shopping once before, and
Paula was the most outrageous with her purchases. Outrageous, that is, in
the numbers of things, not necessarily the styles. In that she was very
conservative, picking the longest skirts of the three of us and the fewest
really outrageous things like corsets (Michelle and I both got one) and
garter belts (I bought two and Michelle bought a fourth for her collection).
Michelle bought the highest heels (5 inch red spikes) but I bought the ones
everybody thought were the sexiest, including the male shoe clerk. They
were black patent leather city pumps with sharp pointed toes and heels about
3 inches high with an ankle strap. They covered nothing else and reshaped
my legs to something that got whistles from everyone.
Of course, most of the things were functional. Skirts and blouses that were
interchangeable, two suits for each of us, A-line and shirt-cut dresses.
And, of course, panties, bras, slips, and nightgowns even though Margaret
told us that the ones in her apartment that had belonged to her mother and
sister were ours as well if they fit and we wanted them.
--
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From nostrumo@nienor.IN-Berlin.DE Tue Jul 15 11:15:29 1997
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From: nostrumo@nienor.IN-Berlin.DE (Nostrumo)
Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories,alt.sex.stories.tg,alt.sex.stories.moderated
Subject: New TG: The New Secretary by Amy Brett (03/11)
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Date: 15 Jul 1997 15:15:29 GMT
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Hi.
This nifty submission is not included yet, but it will be in next
one during the upcoming weekend. This story is a refelction of the
current jobmarket and conclusions which may occur under strange and
rare situations. So folks be happy if you had a job.
As usual I DIDN'T write this story and haven't any claim on it. If
you have some usefull hints or some good coments, your mail is then
welcome. Flames, you know, they will be piped to /dev/null.
If you are an author and wish to remain anonymouns or just try to
avoid the replies to your work. I offer you the chance of posting your
stories and collecting the response for you. This offer only stands for
story postings and for nothing else.
Enjoy the story.
Ciao
Nostrumo
>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>> cut here with a sharp knife <<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<
_The_New_Secretary_______________________________________by_Amy_Brett_ 3
We made an agreement between us that anything that we had that another one
of us could wear, was fair game.
We stopped at the drive-up window of McDonald's on the way home and, in the
last few blocks, Margaret asked us to stay at her house as long as we needed
to get ourselves together.
We had drinks and a two hour style show with all of us participating before
sliding into new negligee to talk over our situations some more.
Paula and I cuddled and giggled until we fell asleep.
7. Chapter
Sunday was the most distressing day I'd had since the day Margaret laid me
off. And for a very strange reason.
Michelle, we learned, had been living with Margaret since the Monday night
before after we'd all talked at the bar. Her decision to stay had been made
before the offer for Paula and I to stay as well had even been offered.
Paula considered it, decided she should return to her own apartment, and
then said she would stay if I did.
And I couldn't decide.
Of course I liked all three of them. Of course I enjoyed what we'd been
doing since Friday. Of course I was on a high from all the attention and
compliments I got from the rest of them.
But I've been a bachelor with my own home for several years and I've been a
male all my life. I was balancing my solitude and "free" space against a
complete life change. And it wasn't easy to make a decision, to say the
least.
There were several things in my apartment that I was concerned about or
needed if I was moving, even temporarily. So, after a long leisurely
breakfast in our negligee's, I decided I needed to make that trip. I wasn't
overly excited about it, but Paula asked if she could come along.
My problem was that I wasn't ready for my neighbors to see me (or some
strange blond) going into my apartment. I had to go dressed normally. And
there was the difficulty of the day.
I went to the bathroom and washed my face thoroughly and stored my wig
before combing my hair as I had for the last twenty years. (When I stopped
having buzz cuts or having my mother comb it for me.)
It looked exceedingly strange though my face looked fairly normal with my
now nondescript eyes, unremarkable mouth, and plain general look. I took
the gold post out of my right ear, knowing several guys who had earrings in
the left ear but not both.
In the closet, I found my slacks, underwear, shirt, socks and shoes and
arranged them to put on. But when I looked at the slightly soiled day-old
underpants, decided to wear the panties I already had on instead. It
actually felt strange to take the bra off and replace it with a shirt.
Paula spent this time dressing in a cute dress and putting on makeup, I
noticed, and, strangely, I envied her. I put on my socks and felt the
strangeness of my pants over shaved legs. They felt ten times more
different than the pantyhose had only two days before.
I stepped into my shoes, that also felt sloppy loose, and checked myself in
the full length mirror. My first instinct was feminine in the way I looked
at myself and, with another almost painful dislocation, I jerked my mind
into a more masculine pose. In general, I thought I looked like shit but,
in fact, I recognized it for exactly how I'd looked for years.
What a depressing thought.
When I went back to the kitchen to tell Margaret and Michelle that I was off
to the apartment and would be back in an hour or two, they showed little
signs of actually disapproving of the way I looked for the first time in two
days. Since I felt the same way, I couldn't blame them.
Paula came into the room behind me in a calf length red plaid skirt and
puffy white blouse that only she, of the three of us, could get away with.
"Can I come along?" she said. For a second, I thought no. Then I realized
it would be perfectly in character for me to bring her to the apartment with
me and that no one would look twice.
"Sure. Yeah, I guess. If you want to."
She grinned and did a feminine finger wave to Margaret and Michelle before
taking my arm as we went to my car out front. Getting into this in a big
way, she waited for me to open the passenger door for her before getting in
and unlocking my side for me.
She took my arm again when we reached my apartment.
Some of the apartment house kids were out on the lawn in front when we went
in and, since I'd played a little lawn football with them before, waved to
me before going on with their game.
Mrs. Maxwell, one of the new wives from the other end of the outside walk
that went in front of our apartments, passed us and said hello to me. I
returned it as she went off to the parking lot.
"Paula. There's some beer in the refrigerator if you want one. I just need
to put together a little bag with some stuff in it," I said and she nodded.
The first thing I needed was my electric razor since I'd never shaved with a
blade before and figured that I'd kill myself if I had to. I hadn't needed
to shave at all since Friday morning but I knew I'd better before I left to
go to an interview the next day.
I also got my own toothbrush and toothpaste and a few other things from the
bathroom.
"Andy?" I heard from the doorway and turned to Paula, who was grinning and
leaning against the jamb. "There's some stuff in the refrig that you should
take over to Margaret's before it molds if you're going to stay a while."
"Yeah. Good idea. There are some grocery bags under the sink if you want
to do that. I'm going to change clothes so I have something clean for the
next time."
"Can I watch?" she said and that took me aback for a second.
"What the hell. You've seen me dressed in all sorts of things and totally
undressed several times in the last two days. Why not? If you want to."
"I want to." I wasn't quite sure what I was hearing in her voice and, when I
recognized I was hearing something beyond the words, I wondered what it was
and how I should react.
I kicked off my shoes and pulled off my socks. With them still in my hand,
I unbuttoned my shirt and peeled it off.
When I unfastened my pants, Paula was suddenly there with her hands on my
chest and her smiling mouth turned up slightly to me. Though I'm only 5'7",
I was slightly taller than her. Her mouth opened more as it covered mine.
"This is the first time we've really been alone," she said. "And ... it's
different when you're a guy. Exciting," she gasped as she almost leaped to
kiss me hard.
Yes, I was surprised but I wasn't put off. After all, we'd been doing this
two nights in a row. The place was different and the way I was dressed at
the moment was different. I didn't feel the pressure of her little tits
quite so thoroughly when they weren't pressing into mine. But I felt them
just the same.
I returned her kiss with as much enthusiasm as I had the night before in
bed. And gasped just as loud when she slid both her hands down my stomach
and into the sides of my pants. But she didn't stop at that, even though my
hands were on her bottom over the long dress.
She kissed her way down my chest as she pushed my pants and panties down to
my knees. She kissed her way down my stomach and, in seconds, into my pubic
hair. She looked up at me with a sparkling smile.
"I've wanted to do this for a long time," she said and took my penis all the
way into her mouth and into a vacuum that took it all the way into her
throat.
"Ahhh!" I heard myself say as my hands vibrated on her shoulders.
She began to move her head back and then forward until her lips were around
the base of my penis. She was like a wild woman then. Sucking. Releasing
and moving all the way to the tip. Sucking completely.
No one had ever done that to me and the surprise and energy of her attack on
me made it something that I couldn't control in the least. I didn't even
have time to say anything and don't think it would have mattered if I had.
I exploded into her mouth, my hand going to the back of her auburn hair.
And I kept exploding until she slowed and, finally, stopped, just sucking
the small head of it.
When I could, I looked down to see my vibrating leg muscles and her smiling
pixy face as she dropped its deflated shape against my thigh.
I didn't have enough moisture in my mouth to make it work and nothing came
out when I opened it. She hugged my legs and almost made me fall over
backward.
* * *
"You make it pretty hard to change clothes," I noted with a laugh as she got
up from her knees.
"I helped you get your pants off," she said with a smile as she hugged me.
"Well most of the way anyway. But now I have an obligation. What can I do
for you?" I asked as she nuzzled into my neck. She started telling me how
I'd already done what she'd wanted but I wasn't going to let it go like that
and thought I had an idea.
I sat her down on the edge of my bed, took my pants the rest of the way off,
and pulled the panties back into place.
"You're so cute," she said with a big grin while she watched me.
"But you're a much more what can I say? A more feminine person. You really
are into it now, aren't you?"
"Yes. I didn't know how much I wanted to do it. My way. Not big tits and
spike heels and short skirts. I just like being female." I nodded. I
really didn't need the second on my opinion.
I went to my bathroom and returned in a few seconds.
"Come on. Lay down with your head on the pillows," I told her before laying
down beside her and kissing her. She turned her body slightly into me and
smiled. I pushed her onto her back enough that I could knead her tiny A-cup
as I kissed her until she was moaning and squirming with need. I don't
think she noticed me unbuttoning her blouse but she noticed when I pulled
her little bra aside and licked her nipple. She curled up around my body
and moaned with the feeling of it. When I sucked the little pea sized piece
of flesh, she squirmed and even let out a little squeal of pleasure
interspersed with giggles.
I teased her with that for a long time before she reacted less and, because
of that, I got tired of it.
While I'd been sucking and licking her nipples, I'd pulled her skirt around
her waist so I could rub the smooth front of her full panties. I kissed my
way across her stomach as I moved between her legs. She put her arms aside
her head on the pillows and looked down at me, wondering what could be next.
I rubbed the sensitive spot between her legs as I looked at her and she
slowly moved her legs apart.
I've known always that guy's penises come in all sizes. You can't help but
see some of that in high school locker rooms and infer it in college
swimming classes by the varying bulges. Guys always talk about it, too.
If you believe talk or dirty books, everyone is 10 inches long and three
inches in diameter. I can't conceive of how someone could live with
something like that in real life though, I guess, it really exists. But I'm
a much more conservative six inches and probably an inch in diameter when
I'm hard. When I'm not and particularly when it's cold or I'm afraid, it
almost disappears.
I pulled Paula's panties down low and saw the other end of the spectrum from
the stag movie guys.
Paula was embarrassingly small for a guy. Perfect, I thought, for her
present role.
It may have been five inches long and very straight to an uncircumcised head
that was no bigger than the rest. The diameter was smaller than mine. And
all of it was clear because she'd shaved her pubic hair.
"Do you like my clit?" she giggled, her finger in the corner of her mouth as
I looked at it.
"Yeah. It's just perfect to lick," I said and proceeded to show her what I
meant by taking just the tip into my lips and licking as she squirmed as if
she were going to try to go between the headboard and mattress.
"And I'm going to finger fuck your little pussy, too," I told her, getting a
good glob of the Vaseline I'd gotten from the bathroom earlier. I moved the
panty material from between her legs and found what I was looking for as I
licked her clit more.
She seemed to roll up onto the top of her head as my finger sunk into her
further and further, the pitch of her moan going up at the same rate. My
finger was inside her to the knuckle when I started moving it to rub all the
sensitive parts deep inside.
"Oh, God, Amy. Oh! Make me come! Oh oh oh OH OHHHH!" And her tiny head
emptied itself sweetly into my mouth. It never stopped as I drank her and
stroked in and out of her "pussy." She talked and moaned and squealed and
pitched the entire time until I finally stopped it by pulling my finger free
and pulling her panties back into place.
"Oh, A-Am-Andy. That was so " I didn't wait for her to complete the
sentence but got up with a satisfied chuckle to find some clean clothes.
I was dressed and had my bedroom the way I wanted it before she sat up,
straightened out her clothes, and joined me to empty out the refrigerator
and pick out a few CD's to take with us.
At Margaret's, I gave the sack of groceries to Michelle and went straight to
the bedroom to change. It was just us four "girls" as we made dinner and
watched TV until bedtime.
8. Chapter
We agreed that the best time to go into the office that Monday morning was
about 10, after the weekly management meeting.
We'd spent some time deciding the way we'd handle applications and
interviews with all of us thinking. After all, between us we'd handled all
portions of the business.
We'd agreed, of course, not to try for our old jobs. That was a little too
dangerous. Michelle suggested I try for the Administrative Assistant's job
with the CEO she'd had before and everyone agreed. I was flattered because
they outlined the qualifications for me from Michelle and Margaret's inside
view.
Bill Miller, they said, would want the prettiest girl as a sort of
showpiece. It just made it better that I was "efficient and knowledgeable."
Since that was Margaret, my former boss's assessment, I was very pleased.
Though I hardly knew him, we agreed that Paula should try for the Admin
Assistant job with the CFO, Roger Wilson, who was sort of a nerdy number
cruncher type. Margaret and I both knew that Paula was great with numbers
so this seemed to fit.
And, of course, Michelle already had my slot just below Margaret in
personnel.
We debated about telling our potential new bosses the whole thing so we
wouldn't have to be quite so careful but decided we'd have to wait and see.
Since Margaret and Michelle were the personnel people we'd be working with,
they could keep us out of legal trouble from filling out "inaccurate"
applications.
We spent part of Sunday afternoon filling out the applications together and
coming up with the little fictions we had to manufacture about schooling,
names, and backgrounds.
Since I really have a sister, we decided that I could sort of "be" her and
keep my last name even though, of course, her name isn't Amy. We made up a
last name for Paula as Michelle had for herself.
It was sort of fun making up backgrounds and work histories. Margaret knew
that company policy would land the applications on her desk for verification
of the facts. We couldn't see how it could mess her up but we were all
concerned, just in case something happened.
"For you kids, primarily. But for the company, too, I'd do it. I really
don't see any problems if you do your work," she said.
"I really appreciate your faith in us, Margaret," I told her. "But I think
we need something to protect you. Just in case."
So we spent another hour on a document that said we agreed of our own free
will to do what we were doing, knowing that it was probably illegal, and
took full responsibility for it ourselves. Then all three of us signed it.
Now, if one of us decided to try to sue the company or Margaret for some
reason, she'd be able to produce it. We spelled out exactly what we were
doing, including the changes from male to female and the falsified
applications.
Margaret added that it was her idea in the first place and signed it as well
so she couldn't use it against us any more than we could use it against her.
Except, of course, in the case of a real emergency.
We made Margaret and Michelle breakfast in our nightgowns and sent her off
to work at about 7:15. Paula and I ate and drank a cup of coffee before
doing baths, makeup, and clothes.
I chose a blue linen suit with a skirt that fell about three inches above my
knees, white pumps, and a white blouse with frills all the way around my
neck. I wore a couple of feminine rings on my right hand, my Swatch watch,
and one of the pairs of earrings I'd picked out when I got them pierced
Saturday.
Paula looked almost uptight in her black pinstripe suit with a skirt just
below the knees, black pumps, a white shirt-cut blouse, and red striped
cravat at her throat.
We had time for another cup of coffee before, butterflies in our stomachs,
we drove my car to the plant.
Walking into work was the second hardest thing I'd ever done behind the
first trip out to the mall Saturday.
We tried not to look too much like we knew where we were going and asked a
guy I hadn't met who was in the hallway at the front of the building where
Margaret's office was. He grinned all over and looked us both up and down
before taking us into personnel. Michelle met us, as we'd agreed, and took
us into Margaret's office.
Margaret talked to us for a few minutes and got more coffee before she let
us both see her recommendation on the interviewer's line at the bottom of
the application. They both said "Highly Recommended."
We followed her through the long hallways to the head offices. She had me
wait as she took Paula into Roger Wilson's office, coming out after a couple
of minutes. I took a deep breath as she knocked on Bill Miller's door,
listened for the "come in," and led me in.
As I'd seen him the few times before, he was looking at papers on his desk
and frowning when we went in. He looked up at Margaret who turned sideways
and said, "Bill, this is Amy Brett who's applying for the Admin Assistant
job. You might recognize her name. She's Andy Brett's sister. He used to
work for me and was an outstanding employee."
She handed over the application and left.
He'd looked up at Margaret but his eyes had immediately slid across her to
look at me. His frown immediately changed to a smile as his eyes met mine,
scanned down my body, and back up.
"Please, sit down, Amy," he said as he came around the desk. I did, very
carefully crossing my legs and gulping at the expanse of thigh I could see
below my hem. He noticed, too, as he sat down in the other chair in front
of the desk.
"You're interested in the Administrative Assistant job here," he stated.
"Yes, sir," I said.
"You have experience with the job?" I nodded. We decided the day before
that I would essentially tell him my real qualifications and hope they were
close enough to get me the job.
"I was in personnel at my last job. Just like my brother here. But it
didn't pay very well and, well, Andy told me about what had happened here.
With the requirement for women. And I thought it might be a chance for me
to get a better position."
"Do you understand the requirements of the job?" he asked, looking at my
thighs.
"Yes, sir. Telephones. Typing. Some spreadsheets concerning budget. Sort
of keeping the world off you so you can attend to business."
"Door keeper and a few minutes of company in the morning to get the outline
of the day and drink that morning shot of coffee." He looked a little more
serious.
"You know I had a guy who held this job before and he was excellent for me.
I could bounce some ideas off him and get an initial idea of what the
reaction might be in the company. We were very good friends, I thought, and
he was of real service to me in a more informal way.
"Would you be uncomfortable with that?"
"Maybe I need to know what you mean by informal, sir," I answered but took
the sting out of it with a smile.
"I've established a very firm sexual harassment policy for the company," he
pointed out and I recognized his discomfort. "That will never be a problem.
I guarantee it.
"It's just that if I have to watch every gesture and movement, I would find
it uncomfortable. I just see an easygoing relationship with someone I work
closely with a lot easier than an adversarial one."
"I doubt it would be a problem, sir," I said. "Of course, an open
relationship like that should allow me to say something if I felt I should."
"Absolutely. Absolutely," he said sincerely. "If I overstep somehow, I
want you to pull me up short immediately. I just want to be able to treat
you like any other co-worker."
"It shouldn't be a problem, sir," I said with a smile. That's certainly the
kind of working relationship I like.
"Okay. If you're going to be sitting outside my door all day every day,
please call me Bill or Mr. Miller when there's someone important from
outside. Okay?"
"Yes, ah, Bill. Does that mean, I can work here?" I asked hopefully.
"That's what I'm saying. Margaret recommends you. Unless there was some
total incompatibility, that would be the stumbling block. I really think
you'll be an asset to the company."
"Thank you, s ... ah, Bill," I grinned. "When should I start?"
"Well, whenever you're available. Do you need time to find some place to
stay?"
"No. Not really. Andy left town and I'm going to see if I can get his old
place."
"Good, good. Then whenever you're ready."
"Let me check on my, ah, girlfriend. She is interviewing with Mr. Wilson.
She'll be in tears if she doesn't get the job. But, if there's no problem,
I guess I could start right away."
"Here," he said getting up. "Let me call Roger and find out what's up." He
rounded his desk, sat down, and picked up the phone, dialing the three
digits from memory.
"Rog? Bill. What do you think of your interviewee?" He listened for a
second. "Okay then. I'm hiring her friend so I'll send her down and they
can go to personnel to fill out the W-4's and things together, right?"
Pause. "Yeah. She's willing to start today, too. Just checking to see if
she needed to commiserate with her friend." Pause. "Good. Great! Yeah.
Talk to you later."
He looked up at me as he hung up.
"He's very impressed with ... was it Paula?" I nodded. "Can you find your
way back to personnel okay?"
"Yes. No problem. If we get lost, we'll explore until we find our way back
anyway. We'll need to know where things are anyway."
"Right. Oh. One other thing," he said as I stood up. "I generally only
have a cup of coffee in the morning and maybe one in the afternoon doldrums.
It definitely isn't part of your job but ..."
"It's no problem, sir. I mean, Bill," I said.
"I mentioned that I'd like to share coffee with you in the mornings. The
afternoon break would be a good time for any problems or anything, too.
Anyway, go fill out the forms and take a good look around the place.
Margaret will introduce you around. Just let me know when you get to the
desk so I can stop answering the stupid telephone."
"Yes, sir," I said and went out the door, looking back and shrugging at my
inability to stop calling him "sir." He smiled broadly and went back to his
work. At least, he went back to work after looking me up and down again
thoroughly.
Paula, all smiles, came around the corner as I closed the door behind me.
* * *
"Yeah. Yeah. Yeah. Okay. Yeah. Right. Fine. Okay." Listening to one
end of the conversation between Bill and Margaret was more than a little
frustrating. A few chuckles. Smiles for us when she looked up. And a lot
of agreement. Finally she hung up and looked at us.
"He wants to start both of you at about what you were making when you left,"
she said with a smile. "Says he wants to be able to show real progress if
the EEOC comes back and needs you two to do that. That and he wants your
salaries to be beyond argument.
"Even better, there's normally a 6 month probation." We both nodded,
remembering it. "You're on a fast track, I guess. One month probation to
full benefits and consideration of a raise. I'm jealous."
We were just excited. That sort of thing only happened when they hired
somebody high up.
Even though I wrote some of the personnel documents, we took our time
reading and signing everything before Margaret took us around the building
to introduce us to everyone. It was really interesting to see the different
ways people reacted to us even though we knew most of them from before and
they didn't treat us anywhere close to the same.
The women didn't seem to have much time for us and they'd been fairly
friendly before. They were "cool" now.
The men, on the other hand, had all sorts of time, energy, and eyes for us.
If I could pass this progression of thorough inspections, I could go
anywhere. Of course, if I walked into a room dressed exactly the same but
without the breasts, none of them would recognize me.
She left us off at our new offices after showing us the cafeteria and
feeding us on the company.
I knocked on the door and went in with the word.
"Hi. I think I'm all signed up now and ready to work."
"Have you had some lunch?" I told him I had. "Okay then. Please answer the
phone as 'Mr. Miller's office' and take a look at the computer to see how
Mike left it set up. If you have any problem, just yell and if I can't
figure it out, maybe we can search around for someone who can."
"Yes Bill," I said pointedly.
"See. You're catching on already," he said with a big grin.
I shut the door behind myself and sat down behind the desk to turn on the
computer. It took the normal extended time for Windows95 to run up before a
graphics program started up automatically and a full screen picture of a
pair of huge, cartoonish tits filled it. Large words drew in across them
that said "Great set, baby! Mike."
As I dumped the file and got it out of the StartUp group, I called Michelle
and told her Bill wanted to talk to her about the graphic she'd put on the
computer. She gasped before I laughed.
"What if he really had checked out the computer before I got back?" I asked.
"He would have thought that mean old Mike left it," she said. "And he would
have agreed. >From what I heard, that's all he looked at in your
interview."
"Any more surprises on here?" I asked and she chuckled.
"Sorry. Nope. If you have any trouble, just yell."
"Thanks." I hung up with a smile on my face.
I grinned some more as I went through the folders and found it perfectly
ordered, well thought out folders and filenames, and easy to locate major
files with long filenames so they were easy to identify. Nothing was
particularly difficult.
The word processor had a separate memos folder by date, a letter folder by
date, and another for reports. Some were fairly long, I noticed.
The spreadsheets were easy to identify and so well formatted that all I'd
have to do is put in new numbers and print.
There were a dozen different presentations that looked well done and some,
given to the staff, were familiar.
There was also a contact manager, a phone directory, a net browser, and an
appointment calendar with 2 p.m. blocked out each day for "consultation."
That, I realized, must be coffee time.
Since it was about five till, I buzzed the intercom and asked how he liked
his coffee.
"Just black, Amy. My cup is in here."
I got up and went in. He handed me a big mug with "Stay Awake!" in
screaming words across the sides.
"Get one for yourself, too," he said. I remembered about coffee time and
didn't need to be told. But I nodded.
I dropped off the mug in the coffee room and, gulping to myself, went into
the women's room, realizing that I had to use that room just at the last
moment. Of course, I sat down to empty my bladder before straightening
everything and leaving the stall. I was pulling my blouse down, my skirt
hiked up on my thighs in front of the full length mirror, when the door
opened and a little secretary I'd seen a few times before and had been
introduced to that morning came in.
Making a note to myself not to do that again, I straightened the skirt as
she went into one of the stalls. I was just touching up my lipstick when
she came out and brushed her hair quickly.
"You're Mr. Miller's new secretary, right? How's it working out so far?"
"Fine. I haven't really had a chance "
"He's a good looking guy," she interrupted. "And rich, too. You're really
lucky. Did he, like, want anything special before he'd hire you?" I
honestly didn't understand her question and, I guess, looked it.
"You know. Like, did he want to see your tits. Mine did and that was okay.
But he told me that to keep my job I can't wear panties anymore," she said
with a giggle.
"That's illegal!" I said, letting my HR experience leap out.
"Yeah, well. I wanted the job and he and I get along real well even if he
is married. You know?"
"You should complain," I pointed out. "I'm sure Mrs. Conklin would "
"What about?" she giggled. "Cause he checks out my puss every now and
then?"
She shook her head and never stopped smiling as if that were a stupid idea.
"I like it as much as he does. Sometimes, he even gets me off," she giggled
again.
Now I needed to remember who her boss was and keep an eye out. I definitely
didn't need to get caught in a copy room with the asshole or something. And
I needed to warn Paula and Michelle, too.
"Do any of the other girls, ah, do that sort of thing with their bosses?" I
asked, wondering how widespread it might be.
"Marva's boss has been stroking her since about the second day she came to
work," she said.
"Stroking her?" I asked, hoping it wasn't what I thought.
"Yeah. Fucking her. You know. She loves it. Says it gets her going in
the morning.
"Linda had to give her boss a blowjob to get the job in the first place and
at least I don't have to do that." She made a face.
I placed her now and remembered all these girls from the marketing
department.
"I think every girl in the department is doing a little something. But
there are benefits, you know. Like Linda got to go to a big conference in
Las Vegas a few months ago."
I could only shake my head in wonder at her stupidity.
"So you didn't have to do nothing?" she asked again.
"No. Huh uh." She shrugged like she pitied me.
I dried my hands and left wondering now if I just hadn't been approached yet
or if Bill was unaware of the potential problem. Then I wondered what I
should do about it. I knew I needed to talk to Margaret, Michelle, and
Paula soon.
My encounter in the bathroom changed my feelings about my job completely and
it took real effort to be calm when I took the coffee back to Bill's office.
I sat the coffee on his desk and watched him pick it up and carry it around
to the front to sit in the chair in front of it as he gestured to the other
for me. Like a gentleman, he waited for me to sit and cross my legs
carefully before he sat down as well, his knees two inches from mine.
"Okay. You've been here a couple of hours. How are you doing so far?" he
asked. I decided not to let my concern about what the girl in the restroom
had said affect me.
"Your secretary before was great," I pointed out factually. "Everything's
very orderly and understandable. I won't have any trouble at all picking
up."
"You've worked with all the programs?" I nodded. He sat back, cradling his
coffee and looking at me.
"You're a very pretty girl, you know," he said with a smile.
"Thank you," I said but it made me a little uncomfortable.
"Do you have a boyfriend?" I could honestly shake my head and the smile came
naturally at the thought of the little duplicity. "You're not dating?"
"No."
"Do you drink?"
"Moderately. Mostly beer or an occasional drink."
"That's reasonable. I usually have to have a drink to unwind when I get
home at night."
"Have you been married, Bill?"
"Once. I'm divorced. No kids, thank goodness. She's a career lady and her
work led her to New York. Long distance relationships, even marriages,
don't work."
"How long were you married?"
"Four years."
"And still no kids?"
"No. We both wanted to wait and by the time we could have been ready, we
could both see that things weren't working out very well," he said.
"Was it bad?"
"Not really. We just grew apart slowly and found we didn't need each other
the way we had when we got married."
"Do you date?" He nodded.
"Occasionally. But nothing very constant or long term."
"Are there any projects coming up that I should know about?"
"Here in about two days we have to work up the monthly budget and get some
numbers ready for the Board of Directors' meeting next Monday afternoon.
I'll help you with that, of course. It shouldn't be a problem." This time I
nodded agreement.
"I have a couple of memos you can type. I've tried dictation Mike didn't do
shorthand but could do the dictaphone but usually it's just easier to
scratch it out on paper. That may take you a little getting used to but ask
questions until you can recognize what I'm writing. You're not going to
hurt my feelings by telling me my handwriting sucks. I already know it," he
laughed.
"Oh, and there may be some overtime next week. We have a project to bid on
and we'll have to put together a proposal."
--
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