Miss Taken

“Don’t steal my panties or any of my clothes.” So I stole a job Sis could have had instead. And then I had to wear panties every day. Nothing unusual about that - if you’re a girl.

“I’ve told you before – don’t steal my panties, Crystal. Don’t steal my stockings or tights. Don’t steal my shoes. Don’t steal my makeup. And especially don’t steal my dresses, skirts, blouses. And absolutely and even more so don’t you dare go outside. You know my rules.” My big sister Angharad was steaming. And rather cross.

“I’m not to go outside unless you’ve checked how I look and have approved everything that I’m wearing.”

“Did my little sister, Crissie, forget the rules? Was she over-excited and went outside without thinking? Weirdly, are you the sort of teen who still wants to be punished for being naughty. There’s that girl down the street – y’know. When she’s bad she is smacked on her bottom – do her parents care that that’s illegal. Next it’s a bare bottom. After that it’s stand on the naughty step by the front door and after that she’s put into a diaper and ultra-frilly nappy-pants. How many of those would you be able to cope with before you were a whimpering little girly puddle on the floor. Eh?”

“Sis, I have NOT stolen your panties, tights, or anything else. I spent my own money.”

“What money, I thought you hadn’t a brass farthing to rub together.”

“I get pocket money the same as you – but I don’t spend it quite as fast as you do. I’ve got a bit tucked away what with birthdays, Christmas and all. And Dad gave me a bonus for taking over doing the monthly entries into the family accounts. So, I spent my own money. I didn’t steal. (I wasn’t going to admit that I HAD stolen her clothes in the past – why make waves for myself? Anyway, technically, Stealing is ‘with the intent to permanently deprive’ and I always put things back.]

“Why should I trust you – I’ve known previous occasions when my things have been moved around, folded wrong – there IS only one person who would have had any interest in doing so – and that’s you. You grubby, panty-thieving sibling. At least, I hope it’s only been panties. Even that’s far too, eeuucchhh, intimate for me to think about.” She glared at me. And as I watched, I saw an idea crawling into her brain – I never said she wasn’t clever. If I wasn’t worried before, I was now. Angie didn’t know everything about me – but what she did know was potentially explosive. I wanted to give her no more ammunition.

“You sit there – at my vanity, on the stool. Sixteen years old, as if butter wouldn’t melt in your mouth. Black haired, blue eyed – looking far too like I used to at your age. Two years younger and you think you can manipulate me. ME. Ha. I’m going to ask questions and you will answer while looking directly into my eyes. If you flinch, look away, blush or whatever then I will be TOO BLOODY CERTAIN that you have been parading around in MY clothes. You’d better not blush more than once, or maybe twice.”
Oh, horror. As the telegram said which made all those men run away ‘Fly, all has been revealed’. A brainwave occurred. “I’m already embarrassed. Just being accused is going to make me blush or whatever - but if you don’t believe me then let’s get this done.”

“Don’t be a baby, Crystal. It won’t take long.” It was nice she was still calling me Crystal.

Are ALL sisters liars. It FELT like it took ages. She took a few minutes to arrange things, collecting a number of clothes together which I thought were her outfit for the day. Then, still in her dressing gown (now that I DID want to have - a gorgeous silky Chinese design with a huge dragon on the back surrounded by flowers) she began.

She put a pair of panties on my hand ‘Panties?” and I did agree ‘Once or twice’.”

She didn’t hesitate. “Balls, (vulgar girl), I’d say more like once or twice a week.”

“Bra? – mmmm not sure.”

“Stockings? …… no, I think.”

“These fancy ruffled panties? Really, oh dear.”

“How about these – my best satin panties? I’m glad you may have some restraint.”

“My school uniform? ….. You oik, don’t want to believe that – why would you want to try on my uniform. Yuk.”

“My prom dress? …… bit of doubt there, I think.”

“Tights?...... Popsocks, maybe?”

“Shoes?” “They don’t fit!” What sort of idiot am I – you volunteer nothing during an interrogation – Name, Rank and Serial number was the wartime rule.

“So, you have been trying things on.” I was deep in doodoo, dead as a dodo.

“That was an accident – we’ve all got Clogs – I put some on and they obviously didn’t fit then I saw they were only nearly the same colour as mine. They weren’t Mum’s – so – yours – and they didn’t fit. I don’t need to try your shoes on anyway. As if I would?”

As if I would – I certainly would have done if they DID fit. My sister spent a lot more on pretty clothes and all the accessories than I did. Wouldn’t most impertinent, pushy, younger siblings do the same.

Like I said, it felt like a long time while she asked all these questions. Somehow she knew that I had evaded and avoided and edited my answers. I KNEW that I had revealed more than I wanted. After all, I KNEW that those lovely satin panties had been held, touched, adored by me – but I’d never put them on. Too much of a risk to interfere with her best and favourite things. Although for Crystal that made them even more enticing.

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“Can I speak to Miss Davies, Angharad Davies. This is Jones and Sons.”

For some reason, perhaps because she was out shopping for an outfit for an interview tomorrow at 9.00, I took the call answering as ‘Miss Davies here’. A small lie perhaps but I was being nosy.

“We wrote back to you about an interview. As you know, we offered an interview for Thursday at 11.00 and, due to circumstances, it would be convenient if you could come tomorrow instead at 9.30. If that’s a problem then we’ll have to re-arrange for Friday.”

Some pesky little imp on my shoulder said ‘Go on, you know you can do it. She can’t have two jobs.”

I answered, “I need to check with my father as he was talking about needing me tomorrow morning for something important about fixing his website. Can I call back in about 10 minutes: he’s at work, I’ll need to check with him. But I expect he’ll be very encouraging of me going to an interview.”

So, there it was. By taking that phone call and knowing Sis was double-booked for an interview that she really wanted – I began my biggest theft. On behalf of my dad I had to deliver some files to another company which was round the corner from the one offering the interview. Perhaps I was a bit out of order, if not foolhardy, but I dressed as tidy as I could and accepted the appointment for the interview. I knew it was the lesser opportunity as far as Sis was concerned but there was still a risk.

As soon as Angie had left for her interview – and she spoke pretty confidently about the likelihood of getting it. She’d spoken with them already and was apparently on a shortlist of 3. For the job at Jones, she believed she was on a list of about 6. Like I say, as soon as she left I started getting ready. I avoided the too-businessy black, grey and white and went instead for a simple mid-blue skirt and a darker blue blouse. I thought I looked pretty smart. I did explain that I had come instead of my sister; I admitted that I was being pushy but since we had very much the same qualifications, I wanted to ensure that they were offered a worthwhile candidate. The owner, Mr Onslow was a bit blunt.

“So, in effect, you’ve lied and manipulated the situation to try to get a job here.”

Gulp. “Yes, sir, the job market round here is so difficult that, for this particular case, where I knew I could do the job and you had already, as far as I knew, shortlisted my sister – well, I’m sorry that I did it but not sorry that I’m at this interview. And I know I can do the job. And I’m confident that I won’t let you down.”

Mr Onslow almost smiled and he murmured to the lady beside him, “huh, can’t see either of my daughters being this bold – or blunt.” He turned to me and said, “You’re not really starting from a good place with a big black mark for having lied. But we’ll do the interview anyway because you strike me as a girl who knows what she wants. That is a mark to your favour.“

To my complete startlement I found myself being offered the job. I would now be employed as an accounts clerk in the buying department of a local factory. Fortunately Sis had got the job she wanted too. All that was necessary, ha, a mere nothing, was to inform Susie that I had a job. That I had a job which she could have had instead. And a job where I was expected to be a girl – full-time, every day, for as long as I had the job.

Was there an explosion? Well, yes, if you want to call the level of outrage and emotion displayed a ‘mere’ explosion - then that is a description of all that occurred. The repercussions lasted about two weeks. Constant indignation, snippy backbites. Repeated references to the ‘job you have that you don’t deserve’ or ‘the job that you stole’. It was difficult to argue with everything that she said.

Now, although she was wrong about almost everything – I had indeed taken her job. Sort of by mistake, mind you. But as the cartoon Italian in ‘Allo ‘Allo ‘Whatta mistakea to makea’.

Did Dad explode. Yes – but differently. He took a deep breath and said ‘I did wonder all those times you tried to do things like Angie. I did wonder how far you would go. Now you’ve gone and got a job as Angie’s replacement, a fake as it were. I’ve stopped arguing with you. I’ve stopped arguing with myself about it. You want to dress up – I can’t stop it. You want to go outside as a girl – I’ve never been able to stop you. Now, this. A full-time girl in an office full of people who will watch your every step. It doesn’t do to be different, y’know. I’ve said it before, being different from what people expect or want can make otherwise apparently nice people vicious, hard, nasty, vile. I know it. You know it from school. I’ve tried to guide and protect you – but this – this is now up to you.”

I whisper-mumbled, {Highlight to read} “I’m sorry Dad.”

He flared. “You’re not sorry. You’ve never been sorry about any of this except when you were caught out. But, it’s your choice and you will suffer the consequences. You’d better be a perfect girl in everything that you do. I won’t accept anything other than your best, Chris.”

Nobody at the office made any nasty comments. For whatever reasons, most of the quips and comments, some nasty, were directed at a poor girl who sat at the far end of the room from me. Layla wasn’t fat or anorexic, short or tall – it was just that she was somehow badly-shaped. Due to her distant middle-eastern background she had a faint built-in tan, I’d guess you could call it. Nobody would have guessed her background because the foreground she displayed was so dull. Together with being hugely uninterested in what she wore, (I think she had five almost identical dull outfits – Monday, Tuesday etc) she was socially drab and dull. And thus had become the local target. But she worked hard, did her work well apparently and wasn’t going to budge for anyone.

There was the almost-expected problem when they processed my pay-cheque. I was called in by the lady who did everything that the boss didn’t do himself. Her name was Barbara Williams; she nicknamed herself Pooh-Barb after the character in the Mikado ‘Lord High Everything Else’. “Miss Davies, can I confirm something about your National Insurance. It makes no difference to your job or your duties. But it says to my surprise that you are in fact a young man. This makes your name Crystal somewhat inappropriate. Would you prefer it if I entered you simply as C Davies?”

I must have gasped or something.

“Don’t worry, dear. I did check a few things. For example, I saw the photograph on the application and did notice that the original applicant, your sister, I would guess, had a beauty spot just beside each ear – and, erm, you don’t. This makes it very evident that you have lied to us. Is this the sort of behaviour we should expect from you? Can we trust you? Do we need a liar in this office? What else do you lie about? This application says that you have some knowledge of computers – that is another lie. You have already proven to be very good with several computer tasks. Your report on our company website has already got us reviewing and thinking about improvements. Any more lies to reveal, please?”

I think it was the ‘please’ and the tone of voice which made me realize that Mrs Rees was on my side – or not actually against me.

“Yes, I am not the Angharad Davies who sent that form in. As you know, I said at the interview, I am called Crystal Davies and I came to ask if I could have the job instead. I did agree at the time that I was being pushy, if not presumptuous but I’ll repeat what I said then ‘If being a bit pushy gets me a job in the current job market then I can’t apologise.’ And Mr Onslow did smile at that and say he wished his own daughters showed as much gumption and determination. And later he said it was being so pushy that made him certain I was right for the job.”

“The Boss does things his own way. And he was the one who noticed the difference between the photograph and the actual arriving candidate. He’s not stupid or unobservant, y’know. And it also meant that you’ve been watched just that little bit more than the average newcomer. And you’ve done very well. You dress nicely. You’re helpful but not a nuisance – we’ve had one of those before. Your predecessor but one was so busy helping others she hardly got any of her own work done. Silly girl. And you think – which is very refreshing. Your report on the website was and may be truly significant. As for being a cross-dresser, we see that as irrelevant unless your behaviour, appearance or performance in some way reflects badly on the company. In such circumstances, we would, sadly I think, have to review the whole situation. And as you have this rather overt lie on your file – we would not be under any pressure regarding discrimination or the like. Having said that, you are not the only minority represented on the staff. And not the only T-girl either, if that makes a difference to you. You work well, you dress well, you behave well and, even after only a few weeks work, you mix well with the other staff. Keep doing so and you’ll have a good job here.”

I blushed. “That’s very kind of you to say, Mrs Williams.”

“I think the most significant thing about how you dress is your attention to detail and the fact that you don’t dress to be noticed. I have seen that mistake with other T-girls here in Swansea. Mind you, that’s no longer the case with the new-girls who work here.”

“Thank you for saying that. I’ve always been aware of how some of my, um, colleagues go a little over the top. I’ve always promised myself to avoid that particular mistake. I mean it’s hard enough to be different without a big label saying ‘Look how different I am – make me a target’. I’d guess that the new-girls is your code for the other t-girls here.”

“Yes, that’s right. And I don’t want you trying to track any of them down. As far as Mr Onslow and myself are concerned, they are perfectly ordinary females. Exactly like you want to be. We’ll leave it at that, shall we?”

“Of course, Mrs Williams. And thank you for being so understanding and helpful.”

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After a few weeks or so, Angie had nearly forgiven me. Her job did pay better and she was really interested in the variety of duties that were being steadily increased. Obviously she was good enough at the job – it made her much happier. She earnt more than I did, which also improved her view of her judgement. All in all, she had, or rather, was doing very nicely.

Being two years younger, I reckoned that I had done well too. I wasn’t surprised to be earning less. We both had about the same amount of holidays. I was the only one of us who got perks such as when damaged goods were sold off at the warehouse.

Her biggest complaint was having to match most of her outfits to the dark red jacket that was required by their front-of-house staff. And this happened on outside trips and otherwise about 5 days a month. Our only uniform was the management’s stated preference for skirts or dresses to the knee in winter shades or in summer florals. And we were expected to wear low heels rather than trainers, sandals or other. Personally, I found the arrangement very satisfactory.

And as for Mrs Williams’ comments, that was never going to be my style. What – you want me to say that every crossdresser (and how many do YOU actually know?) demands to wear clothes that improperly advertise their butt or their boobs or their legs and all with the highest heels available. Don’t be silly. Most of us just want to be comfortable. To look typical. To be ordinary. The ones who wear what YOU call, typical are right out on the edge of the drag scene. They want to call attention to their flamboyance. And they’re keen to make sure you know that beneath the costume is ‘boy’. Not my scene at all – ever. No thank you. Not for Chris-Crystal. Not for me. I LOVE being me and having the requirement to dress up prettily. Wouldn’t you. Perhaps someday, you’ll be Miss Taken for who you really are.

This and a couple of recent stories were written in just a day so that I could keep publishing a new one each time the previous story hit 1,000 -1,200 hits. It would be no surprise to be told they may be a little less polished than some others.