Office Takeover (Extended)

By Susannah Donim (based on a short story by Margaret Jeanette)

Jim and his secretary change places, with far-reaching consequences.

The Christmas party

“Come on – you’re the CEO. You have to push the boat out a bit!”

My wife, Marilyn, was trying to persuade me to splash out on our costumes for the company’s Christmas fancy dress party.

“CEO, hah! There’s only sixteen of us in the company. I’m more like a Team Leader.”

“But you set up the company. We own it and it’s doing very well. You and I should go in really elaborate costumes and give everyone a good laugh.”

Marilyn and my secretary, Missy, had already persuaded me to give every employee a hundred to spend on their costumes at our local fancy dress shop. To be fair, this was a great idea; all the staff were excited about the event and morale was sky high leading up to the Festive Season. Well they deserved it. It had been our best year yet and next year promised to be even better. Our parts supply company was becoming known for fast service. I used to be European Logistics Manager for a global engineering company. I had great contacts and realised I could be doing better by myself. My old company were sorry to see me go, but the parting was amicable. They were happy to be my first client when I set up on my own and they were still my biggest earner.

It had been a really hard three years though. Sixty hour weeks had become the norm. I had taken no holidays. I struggled to remember the last party I’d been to. Oh yes, it was last year’s staff party.

I was dog-tired.

“OK, OK, so what do you want us to go as?”

I usually gave in to Marilyn eventually, and she knew it. Still this was one of our favourite games. My role was to argue and eventually concede gracefully.

“Well Missy decided it should be a couples theme, didn’t she?”

I had a similar understanding with my secretary; what she wanted she eventually got.

“Yes, most of the staff are married,” I said, “and Missy and the other two who aren’t are in good stable relationships. I think she’s hoping he’s going to pop the question soon. So what are you thinking – Robin and Marian? Anthony and Cleopatra? Fred and Wilma?”

“Boring, boring and boring! No, these are our costumes…” She was holding the fancy dress shop’s brochure open at a well-thumbed page. “We’re going as a matador and his senorita.”

“Great! You’ll look fabulous in that gorgeous flamenco dress with a mantilla in your hair…”

Marilyn smiled sardonically. She was well aware of my interest in female fashion.

“Actually, no, sweetie. They do the dress in plus size. I think you’ll squeeze into it nicely with a little firm shapewear…”

* * *

So it was that Jim Palmer, the hard-bitten CEO of Lightning Logistics, Ltd, a relentless negotiator and all-round tough guy, attended his own company’s Christmas party dressed as a sweet, albeit plumpish, Spanish senorita, squired by his wife as the sexiest bull fighter you’ve ever seen. I’m sure she chose our costumes knowing how well the skin-tight matador suit would show off her amazing figure. Even though we were well into our thirties, there wasn’t an office girl at the company who could hold a candle to her.

I, on the other hand, looked a complete idiot, which was obviously her main objective. Under the gorgeous flamenco dancer dress I had had to wriggle into a body shaper, padded to expand my hips and bum to female proportions, to offset my male waist and shoulders. The result was, as I said, plumpish.

“You look amazing!” she said, as we gave ourselves a last-minute onceover in our bedroom mirrors.

“Oh please,” I grumbled, “I look ridiculous, like a man in a dress, which of course I am.”

“No, you really don’t! Obviously you were never going to be a slim woman, but you’re voluptuous, which is much better. Most men find that far sexier than beanpole supermodel shape. And your wig and makeup are fantastic, if I do say so myself. You don’t look like a man in a dress at all. I’d be surprised if anyone recognises you. You might even get picked up.”

“Don’t be silly – everyone at the party will be attached, and they’ll all know who I am, ‘cause I’ll be with you.”

But I couldn’t help being a little pleased at her reassuring comments – even if she was just trying to boost my confidence. I took another look at myself in the mirror. God, my bum looks big in this! That’s just the padding though, isn’t it? Surely?

* * *

Well the girls were right as usual. The party was a huge success. Everyone had a great time, and I was the belle of the ball! Marilyn and I were the only cross-dressed couple, which everyone thought was a hoot. I tried to speak in a higher register and gradually developed a voice that was just about plausibly female.

Marilyn treated me as ‘the little woman’, sweeping me round the dance floor, buying me girly cocktails, bending me over backwards to kiss me, and forever sending me off to the Ladies’ to renew my lipstick. No one batted an eyelid at that and I fitted in perfectly with all the other girls repairing their makeup at the mirror.

I loved every minute of it. My dress was very tight, but I discovered that the lower portion was detachable, so then I could dance and show off my legs!

And I did get picked up. When we first arrived I went to the bar to get our drinks and Missy’s boyfriend, Steve McAllister – who I hadn’t met before – started chatting me up. I tried to sound as feminine as I could to see if I could get away with it. We were getting on famously, till Marilyn saw what was happening and came to break us up. We didn’t say anything to Missy.

What did surprise me was Marilyn’s mood when we got back home in the small hours. Not to put too fine a point on it: she ravished me! She insisted on being on top and rode me like a prize heifer. It was the best sex we ever had.

The first week

Back at work in the New Year, Missy showed everyone the photos she had taken at the party. She had put a particularly embarrassing one of me in a fancy frame on her desk. She wanted to put a bigger version up on the notice board, but I insisted she kept all the photos to just the staff. I wasn’t sure how some of our more conservative clients would react.

Missy had been with me since the beginning and had often mentioned that she thought she could do my job - and probably better. It wasn’t long after Christmas that she began to nag me about giving her a more responsible role in the company. She seemed to be hung up over job titles, which I thought was ridiculous in such a small group. I had already made her my ‘Executive Assistant’, now she wanted more.

* * *

“I’m worried about you,” she said one lunchtime while we were sharing a takeaway in my office. “You’re looking really tired. Marilyn said the same at the party before Christmas. Why don’t you make me Managing Director and take a well-earned rest? You and Marilyn could go round the world. See the pyramids and the Taj Mahal!”

“There’s too much going on at the moment,” I said through a mouthful of pizza. “I need to be here.”

“I could run this business perfectly well, you know,” she said. “I’ve been working for you for three years now; I’ve met all your clients and learned all their funny little ways. You know you’re stressed out. I can manage things here for a few weeks.”

She was right about my stress levels, but I couldn’t go away and leave the business in her hands.

“I don’t think so, babe. I know I make it look easy, but there are all sorts of situations that could come up that you wouldn’t know how to deal with…”

“Oh, please! Who was it who sorted out that Customs snarl-up when we were trying to get those circuit boards in from Shanghai? And what about when our main supplier of soft furnishings went bust just when we had a half-million pound order to fill in less than a week? It was me who rang thirty different companies to find a substitute!”

Yes, I remembered that one. I was out of town at a conference at the time. She hadn’t called me but tried to deal with it herself. When I got back I showed her a much faster way of finding a new supplier through an Internet service I had helped to set up when I had been with my old employer. She had conveniently forgotten that lesson.

I tried to decide how to respond without being too discouraging. She was a great girl and keen as mustard. I really could see her running the place one day… just not quite yet.

“OK, look. I might let you take on more of the admin – I don’t really enjoy that office stuff and it cuts into my time for doing real work – but I’d still have to be around to step in when you are in difficulties…”

”But that’s no good!” she interrupted. “If you’re around the office, everyone will assume you’re still in charge. I want them to come to me with their problems, so that I can make the decisions.”

“Well, I’m sorry,” I insisted, “I can’t let you be in charge if I’m not around, in case of emergencies. I can’t see any way around that, can you?”

She was clearly angry. She was wearing a sheer white blouse with lace trim. You could see her slip through it. The way she was standing, her hands on her hips and her chest thrust forward…

She caught me staring at her breasts and blouse. She tried another tack.

“Do you like my outfit? So sexy, isn’t it! Wouldn’t you like to wear an outfit like this?” She was remembering how I’d behaved at the Christmas party. “After your outing as the Spanish senorita, I’ll just bet you would!”

I ignored that. I finished my lunch and carried on working without answering.

After lunch while I was dictating another letter she caught me staring at her blouse again. I could see she was formulating a plan. She would love to take control and be in charge of everything and everyone. She clearly thought her goals were within reach if she was just bossy enough...

* * *

Later that afternoon Marilyn came in to go home with me. Her office is just round the corner and we often go to lunch together. She is a qualified accountant and makes good money. In fact I wouldn’t have dared to leave my job and set up Lightning without the safety net of her salary coming in. When she arrived I was on the phone. She and Missy were chatting while I finished the call.

In the lift on the way down Marilyn said, “Did you know Missy wants to run the company?”

“Oh yes, she’s always nagging me about it. I see how pushy she is with the rest of the staff and I know she would love to be in total control. I’m afraid she would fall apart the first time she hit a snag where she couldn’t figure out what to do.”

“She told me she thought she could do your job,” she laughed. “I said if she could take over the company to go ahead and do it! I’d love you to take a real holiday.”

“Oh thanks for your loyalty,” I said sarcastically. “I think I know her pretty well, and if she tries to take over, I may just let her. It could be interesting to say the least.”

“You mean you would make her President of the company?”

“Heavens, no! I might make her ‘Acting Managing Director’ on a trial basis. She still has a few lessons to learn and this could be a safe way to teach her. To be honest, I wouldn’t mind taking a bit of a break. I still love solving my clients’ logistics problems, but I’m not really enjoying the management side of running a business that much. Maybe I could stay as President but go part-time. I just need her to learn when to ask for help.”

* * *

The next morning I was busy with phone calls to clients and didn’t see Missy till mid-morning when I eventually buzzed her to bring us both some coffee. She was wearing a sheer blouse with pink and white floral pattern, and a pink skirt with an elastic waist. I couldn’t help but stare at her gorgeous outfit.

She saw me staring and said in a low voice, “You’re staring, sweetie, and I know why. You’ve wanted to get back into women’s clothes ever since the office party, haven’t you?”

Had I? The thought was… thrilling! For the first time I realised she might be right!

“Wouldn’t you like to wear this pretty outfit?” she said in a low, seductive voice. “You’d love it. It feels so sexy!”

She was practically purring. Was she trying to hypnotise me? Was it working? My mouth was dry. I reached for my coffee.

“I don’t know…” I said.

“Come on, we can change clothes and you’ll see how sexy this feels.” She licked her lips and stared into my eyes. “You know you want to!” she purred.

I knew what she was really up to but I just sat mute and staring. She helped me stand up and I did my best to act as if in a trance. It was all I could do to keep from laughing. She took my suit jacket and shirt off me and laid them carefully on the desk. I hoped nobody would come in. It would be hard to explain. I would be wide open to a sexual harassment suit, and I had no idea how I would explain the situation to Marilyn if she found out.

Missy saw my concern and locked the office door. Then she took a black long-line bra from her handbag and put it on me, stuffing the cups with plenty of tissue. Then she took her blouse and skirt off. I realised they were big on her. Underneath she was wearing a black bra, a black stretch lace camisole, and a black nylon half-slip with a wide lace hem.

She soon had the camisole and blouse on me. Then she said my bottom half should match my top, so she quickly had my shoes, socks and pants off.

She got her slip and skirt on me then had me sit while she put nylon knee-highs on my feet. I almost laughed out loud as all of this was going on. I wondered what was going to happen next. She knelt to fasten my shoes. Then she took a silk scarf from her handbag and tied it round my head, concealing my short haircut.

“Now, doesn’t that all feel real sexy to wear?” she said beguilingly. “You’re enjoying yourself, aren’t you? Just like at the party…”

In a low voice I said, “I don’t know...”

But I could feel exciting things happening in my groin. While I was distracted Missy got a make-up purse out of her handbag, and started to apply lipstick and foundation to my face.

“Hey, I don’t think…” I protested.

“Sssh, sweetie,” she said soothingly. “We’re nearly done.”

She held my head still while she added a little mascara and eyeshadow. When she was satisfied, she stood back and looked at me with a satisfied smirk on her face. There was a small mirror on the back of the office door. I turned to study my image. I certainly looked like a woman at first sight. My figure didn’t look quite right, but you had to look closely to see that my hair was actually short and masculine. The scarf drew your attention, and it matched the blouse perfectly.

While I was looking at my new self, fascinated – OK, preening – Missy had put on my suit and all the clothes she had taken off me.

“Well, now which one of us looks more like they should be running the place?” she said. The seductive tone had gone, replaced by an assertive bark.

“Right now you do, I guess.” Actually she looked like a little girl dressing up in her daddy’s clothes. “Can we change back now?”

“Why should we change back? I like how it feels to be in charge. This is how we solve the problem of you having to be here while I’m running the company. You can be my secretary! Obviously everyone will know it’s really you, but you won’t look like the boss anymore. And if they all see you running around getting my coffee, typing my letters, and doing the filing, they’ll learn to treat me as the boss, not you!”

“I suppose that might work…”

“But if you don’t do the job properly you will be demoted to file clerk,” she said sharply. “Do you understand?”

“Yes, I understand perfectly.” That last remark was particularly exciting.

“Good! I think I’ll get Judith to help you become more presentable.”

She called Judith, our most senior secretary after Missy – I mean after me! – and told her to help me pick out a wig and shoes at Hampton’s Women’s shop. She took two hundred out of petty cash and told her to bring back the receipts and change.

There were a lot of puzzled glances as Judith and I made our way through the open-plan area to the lift. Were we having another Fancy Dress party during working hours?

* * *

On our way to the women’s wear store Judith was, understandably, full of questions. I reassured her that I knew what I was doing, and that she and the rest of the team should just go along with it for the moment.

“Well, OK, boss,” she said doubtfully, “but I hope you don’t plan on this going on for long. I don’t think I could stand working for that bossy little cow permanently.”

Not what I wanted to hear – although her statement of personal loyalty was nice.

* * *

At the store I got a blonde wig which they styled in a severe-looking bun for me.

“There! You’ll look just like a senior secretary!” said Judith. “But I think we should get you a nice jacket too, and that pink skirt of Missy’s is just hideous on you!”

So we did. Well it seemed that I had allowed Missy to browbeat me into trying her bizarre scheme now. We also got a pair of black pumps with a two-inch heel, and a medium-sized cream handbag with a shoulder strap. I put my wallet in it.

Judith recommended a smart brown skirt suit, and obviously we had to replace the floral blouse. We got a light blue one, with a smart black skirt, and a cream one to go with the brown suit. That would mean I now had two secretary outfits - for today and tomorrow too, I assumed.

I was a little nervous about stripping down to my bra in a public place – OK, in a fitting room cubicle – but both blouses fitted my new bosom rather better.

Then we stopped at the New Woman salon where I got made up properly. I had a marvellous time. The excitement of the Christmas party was all coming back. I reckoned I now passed easily as a professional woman. I wondered what Marilyn would say when she saw the new me. I remembered the sex we’d had after the party and guessed she wouldn’t be too upset.

Of course we spent far more than two hundred, so I paid for everything myself and told Judith to put the money back. That way I would own all my new clothes, not the company. (I realised I might also have to have a word with Missy about the uses of petty cash. We do get audited, even though it’s my wife who does it.)

Back at the office, Judith went to brief the rest of the staff about our new arrangements, while I reported to Missy in my – now her – office. She approved of how I looked and was glad to be able to put her own clothes back on.

“Now you can go to your new desk, and start entering the orders, and make sure that Kathie gets them filed when you’re done with them,” she said with a smirk on her face. “But first open your pretty new handbag. I have everything you had in your pockets right here.”

So I went and got busy and was entering the orders when Jenny, a bookkeeper, came in and asked me what was going on.

“Well, Missy feels she can do a better job at running the place, so I am giving her the chance,” I said in the feminine voice I had developed at the Christmas party. Her face fell. I hastened to reassure her. “Don’t worry, I think I know what I am doing. I’m sure she’ll find there is more to my job than sitting at a desk and bossing people around. I think I’ll just wait and see what happens.”

“I hope you know what you are doing. Why did you let her put you in a skirt?”

“That was her idea entirely. Don’t worry, I’m only going to be her secretary and I don’t intend to get after you girls like she did. I believe you all know your jobs and you do them as well as you can. Meanwhile we’ll just have to wait and see what develops. I think I know what will happen. Trust me – I know what I am doing!”

“I sure hope you do! I don’t think I could work for her as a boss.”

I felt pretty good at hearing that from Jenny as well as Judith, but it did mean that I would have to watch Missy even more carefully or there would be mass resignations!

* * *

I was soon breezing through entering the orders and really starting to enjoy myself. This was so relaxing! I thought of my own Inbox and the pile of things I had on my plate today, and felt a little guilty for leaving it all to Missy, but I assumed she’d come running back to me if she couldn’t manage. Then she would have learned her lesson and we could go back to normal. I was surprised when I realised that I didn’t really want that to happen, at least not for a while yet…

* * *

Noon arrived, and Marilyn came in to take me out to lunch. She saw a strange woman sitting at Missy’s desk. When she took a close look she saw it was her husband!

“What happened to you? What’s going on?”

“I’ll explain it over lunch. Let’s go, I’m famished.”

I explained as we ate. I told Marilyn how hard it had been to keep a straight face. She was concerned but I assured her it would work out. When we finished eating she reminded me that I needed to redo my lipstick. So we went to the little girls’ room and I repaired it. This was the sort of thing I would have to get used to now. Men had it so easy!

Marilyn still couldn’t believe I had allowed Missy to put me in a blouse and skirt.

* * *

Back at work, the afternoon went fast. At quitting time Missy came out to me and said, “You know, your old job is easier than I thought.”

“Some days go really smoothly but others bring problems. Wait till you hit something hard before you say the job is easy.”

“I’ve seen how you handled problems, and I think I can manage anything that comes along.”

“We’ll see!”

“I hope you’re not being cheeky to your boss, young lady! You’re only a secretary now, you know! Oh, and by the way, I assume we’ll be swapping salaries as well?”

I hadn’t thought of that, but I didn’t mind actually. As the owner of the business I only took a notional salary – higher than hers, of course – but I took most of my remuneration as dividends from our profits. If she was doing my job she deserved to be paid more, but she would probably be disappointed by how small her increase would be.

Anyway it would only be for a few days. I was positive she would soon face a problem she couldn’t handle, and then I would show her how to run a business.

* * *

At home Marilyn said I should stay in my new clothes and wig ‘to get used to them’. Throughout the evening she kept reminding me to keep my knees together. Several times I caught her looking at me and licking her lips.

At supper she said she liked my new image but thought I was stupid to let Missy think she could run the company. I told her that I was keeping a close eye on things and that I wouldn’t let anything hurt our business.

Bedtime was a reprise of the night after the Christmas party. I got another taste of being the helpless little woman in the hands of a passionate lover. Marilyn was wild!

* * *

The next morning I put on one of her fancy blouses with my new navy blue skirt. She hadn’t worn it for a while as it was really too big for her. She laughed when she saw me.

“You really are getting into the secretary role, aren’t you? You look just like an office girl!”

“Thanks. I figure this will disarm Missy into thinking she’s in control of the situation. I want her to believe she has full rein on the company.”

“What do I call you now? You don’t look like my husband, Jim, anymore.”

“Oh right. I hadn’t thought about that.”

“Well no one gets to name themselves, and as your mum and dad aren’t here, I should get to choose. I think you look like a Rosemary. I’ll call you Rosie.”

“Fine, thanks.”

“And, between ourselves, Rosie, you’re just as sexy as a secretary as you were as a senorita. Tonight I intend to give you another good seeing-to.”

I had a feeling Marilyn wasn’t going to object to my temporary transformation too strongly.

* * *

At work I had typed two letters for my boss and was entering the orders from yesterday when Missy called me into her office. Bob, the guy who looked after our IT network, joined us a minute later.

“Bob, I need you to create a new user account for my secretary,” Missy began.

“O-kay-y…” he replied, still not sure of who was who, and who he now answered to. He shrugged. “So what’s the name of the new account?”

“Good point!” she turned to me. “You’ll need a different name, won’t you, dear? Any ideas?”

“Well, when I’m dressed like this, Marilyn calls me Rosemary; um, Rosie, for short.” I was a little embarrassed admitting it to them.

“There you are, Bob. The new user ID will be for ‘Mrs Rosemary Palmer’. You’ll need to take her picture for her new building pass. All the personal details should be the same as for our old boss, Jim Palmer, apart from ‘F’ for female, of course. Rosie’s account privileges should be reduced to those of any of the support staff. Oh, and freeze Jim’s account - he won’t be needing that for the moment. All my emails should be copied to Rosie, as my secretary, except for any marked ‘Personal’. I suppose you should also forward all of Jim’s emails to her too, but Rosie, I want your promise that anything intended for Jim as CEO of the company must come to me. You’re not to respond to anything as if you were still the boss, alright?”

“Yes, Missy.”

“OK, thanks, Bob. You can get on with that now.”

When a perplexed Bob had left, she continued. “I really think you should be calling me ‘Miss Hermsen’ to reinforce your new position.”

“But why? I never made you call me ‘Mr Palmer’. We’ve always been on first name terms here!”

“Well quite a few things are changing now, aren’t they? I need the rest of the staff to see you treating me with proper respect. Don’t worry, you’ll soon get used to it. I’m sure you’ll be much happier as just a secretary.”

Actually she might just be right about that. I was looking forward to only working nine to five and not having to make any tough decisions. I would just have to do as I was told – and nothing more. My new boss dismissed me back to my secretary desk.

I noticed that she didn’t make anyone else use her surname – just me. Perhaps she thought the others would think she was being too bossy – again.

* * *

While Missy was occupied with a telephone call I dropped by Bob’s desk to ask him to set something up for me quietly and not to tell her about it. He grinned with evident relief that I wasn’t handing the whole business over to her. I also suggested he pass the word quietly to the rest of the staff that they could always consult me somewhere out of Missy’s sight if they were concerned about any of her instructions.

Back at my desk I quickly started saving some important documents up to my personal cloud space outside the company firewall, as my new account as Rosie wouldn’t have access to Jim Palmer’s files.

* * *

On the Wednesday morning Ken Nicholls returned from two days visiting clients. He was a bright and charming young Sales Engineer, who I saw as our Sales Director one day, if the company continued to grow. He was the closest thing I had to a confidante at the office. Needless to say he was surprised by the changes that had occurred in his absence. Over coffee in the kitchen – and out of Missy’s hearing – I tried to explain.

“I’m really fond of her, and I think she has a great future here, but she’s always complaining about not being given enough responsibility. I’m afraid she’ll quit if I don’t do something, but she needs to recognise her lack of experience. Think of this as a training exercise.”

“OK, but that doesn’t explain why you have to do it in drag!”

“Well she insisted she couldn’t be the boss while I was around, and I insisted I had to be here to catch her if she falls. So she came up with this idea. If I look like a secretary, and act like a secretary, and treat her as the boss, then everyone else will too.”

“Sounds like rubbish to me,” he grinned. “Are you sure you’re not enjoying the cross-dressing just a bit?”

“Actually, I am,” I admitted with a laugh. “I’m loving being a lowly secretary. It’s been really restful these last few days. I think I was getting close to burn-out as the boss, to be honest.”

“What does Marilyn think – about being married to a woman, I mean?”

“She seems to like it; it’s weird.” I lowered my voice and checked no one was around. “And the sex has been phenomenal. I think she gets off on being dominant.”

“So that makes you her submissive?”

“Hah! I’m pretending to be submissive for the sake of great sex, and to keep her onside for our little ‘training exercise’.”

“Pretending, right…”

* * *

So Missy’s first week as boss continued, and I settled in as her secretary, fetching her coffee, typing her letters, and filing. She also sent me out to fetch her dry cleaning and to buy a birthday present for Steve!

And she was right – I was much happier in my new role. I loved the feelings of my lacy lingerie under my skirt and swishing round the office in my pantyhose and heels, and I was happy to offload the burdens of management, and not having to be responsible for every little decision. Being a ditzy little secretary was fun! I spent nearly half an hour doing my nails one morning when we weren’t busy.

Meanwhile the rest of the staff seemed to think they had to consult Missy over every tiny everyday matter from signing off expenses chits to approving leave requests. When I was the boss I had delegated most of those things to her, but she didn’t seem to want to relinquish any of her old responsibilities to her new secretary. As a result the constant interruptions were wearing her to a frazzle. She finally blew up in the middle of the afternoon when she was trying to finish off some new marketing material that I had started on the previous week. She was struggling with this, mainly because she wasn’t really familiar with the technical aspects of the logistics business.

At that point Judith came in to get her signature on a travel claim and Missy lost it. Shortly afterwards Judith emerged from the office looking a little hot and bothered. She paused by my desk, drew a deep breath, and winked at me. Missy burst out shortly afterwards instructing me to keep everyone out of her office for the rest of the afternoon.

One of the things she delegated to me after that was customer enquiries from our website. She had always responded to these by emailing out company information, price schedules, etc. That task now fell to me. This was a fairly mind-numbing activity and always took Missy at least a couple of hours a day. By the end of the week I was doing it as efficiently as she had. As Jim I had made it a rule that if an enquiry, either through the website or by other means, wasn’t completely routine, she should consult me. So I fully intended to go to her likewise with anything difficult to see if she knew what to do, but nothing like that came up that first week.

I was still expecting her to make a mistake where I would have to step in and save the company from losing business, but in fact it was a quiet week with no major issues and Missy didn’t put a foot wrong. Strangely, she also seemed to be becoming a little less bossy. Several members of the staff commented on it. Perhaps actually being the boss now, she felt more secure and didn’t feel the need to throw her weight about.

I made a point of leaving on the dot of five o’clock, as she always had. Every day she was still at my – that is, her – desk when I left. When I got home I logged back into the network using a secret Administrator account she didn’t know about, just to keep an eye on what she was up to when I wasn’t around.

When I left at close of play on Friday she was still at her desk. She was looking tired, I thought.

* * *

That weekend Marilyn and I talked things over.

“It looks like Rosie might be around longer than you expected,” she grinned. Then she got more serious. “So how exactly are you going to get your job back if Missy doesn’t mess up?”

“What do you mean? I can just step in and put things back the way they were at any time… can’t I?”

“Well it depends on what you said when you agreed the swap,” she said, with a thoughtful look. “She could argue that she has a verbal contract to be the MD until she makes a mistake – or until she decides to go back to being your secretary; excuse me, Executive Assistant. And if she doesn’t do anything wrong, she just might have your job for good!”

“Don’t be silly!” I laughed. “You and I own the business. We’re the Board and we can sack her any time we like.”

“You’re assuming that I would vote for that. If she does a good job and makes the business more profitable, why would I want to sack her?”

“What?” I exclaimed. “You’d vote against me?”

“It’s nothing personal, dear; only business,” she laughed. “Besides I rather like seeing you as a busty little secretary.”

She was eyeing my pantyhose-covered legs and my protruding chest, and licking her lips again. For some reason her attention was making me uncomfortable. I sat up straighter and pulled my legs together.

“It would still be 50-50,” I blustered, “and I get the casting vote as CEO.”

“But you’re not the CEO, are you? She is! I guess you’d better be right about her messing up eventually.”

I was in a state of shock. Surely Marilyn was teasing, wasn’t she? She was certainly better informed about company law than I was. I relied on her. I couldn’t have her taking Missy’s side.

“Anyway, I think you should expect to be little Rosie, the sexy secretary, for a while yet,” she went on. “In which case, we should do something to improve your disguise. You look quite good already, but at lunch the other day I could see some people looking at you a bit strangely. Your figure is too straight up-and-down. You need curves – like you had as the senorita at the Christmas party.”

“I can’t wear that shapewear all day! It’s too hot and uncomfortable.”

“No, I know, but I think there’s a good alternative. There’s a place I’ve heard about that might be able to help. It’s a bit of a drive, but I think we should go there this afternoon. I’ll call for an appointment. Meanwhile you’d better ditch the T-shirt and jeans and drag yourself up as Rosie again.”

Hmm, I thought I could still be Jim in the evenings and weekends. I didn’t want Rosie to take over all my life.

* * *

The place she was talking about was called Transformations. When we turned up at the appointed time, we were greeted by a very well-dressed, coiffed and made-up middle-aged lady. She introduced herself as Mrs McLaughlin, and insisted we call her Ingrid.

She gave me a cursory inspection and was clearly unimpressed. I suspected she might be a product of the shop’s services herself, but she didn’t have a noticeable Adam’s apple, and although her voice was deepish, it was well within the contralto range. More significantly, her mannerisms and gestures were entirely feminine, and without the giveaway exaggerations of a Drag Queen. If she was a man underneath, she was very, very good.

Marilyn was all business. “This is Rosie, my husband,” she explained. (We decided, with Ingrid’s approval, not to share our real names.) “He has decided to live as a woman for a while, and we’d like him to be as convincing as possible.”

To her credit, Ingrid showed absolutely no interest in why I needed to change sex.

“Excellent, I’m sure we can help,” she began, in a business-like manner. “There are lots of things we can do. They fall into three categories: prostheses and other equipment which he can put on and take off again, and which in no way affect his ability to appear as a man...”

“That’s what we want,” I interrupted.

I was preparing to say more, but Marilyn cut me off.

“Let Ingrid finish, dear,” she said firmly.

“Thank you, Madam. Secondly, we can make a few changes which are slightly more lasting, but which again won’t prevent him from returning to his original male appearance.”

“Can you give me some examples of that?” Marilyn asked, before I could. I was beginning to wonder whether I was part of this conversation. (It seemed that my wife was treating me like an office girl all the time now.)

“Well, to be able to use the prostheses he would have to wax all over...”

“Huh?” I began. That sounded painful.

“...but if he is going to stay as a woman for any length of time, he might prefer to go the whole hog and get rid of all his body hair by electrolysis or laser treatment,” Ingrid continued, again ignoring my squeak of protest. “You see what I mean? That’s permanent, but lots of men have little or no body hair. Another example would be a tracheal shave to remove his Adam’s apple, although his isn’t too prominent. That’s a minor op of course; we have an arrangement with a local clinic.

“Then there’s his hair. His wig isn’t bad, though we can do better. But if he’s proposing to stay as Rosie for any length of time, you should consider doing his own hair in a feminine style. That would probably include tinting, highlights, maybe a perm, and you might want to think about hair extensions. That’s all reversible of course, but not so easily. He couldn’t appear as a woman during the day and a man in the evening, say.”

“I’m not sure about that...” I began.

But Marilyn was nodding and looking thoughtful. “Mmm, I think we should stick with a wig for the moment, but I quite like the idea of him being smooth all over...” she said, as though I hadn’t spoken. “What about the third category? I assume that’s the really permanent stuff?”

“That’s right – hormones, obviously; breast implants; tightening of the vocal chords to raise his voice; liposuction, that is we remove fat from his tummy and inject it into his thighs and buttocks; and so on. Some of our ‘girls’ even have ribs removed to narrow their waists. We can arrange pretty much everything short of full SRS – our clinic needs psychiatric consultation to go there.”

It was time to put my foot down. I was owner of my own business, a captain of industry, and I was getting annoyed!

“OK, that’s enough,” I said. “Let’s stick to the prosthetic stuff for now, shall we? This will only be for a few days – a couple of weeks at the outside.”

Marilyn laughed. “I think my little girl is getting squeamish. Alright then, what can we do in Category One?”

Ingrid smiled, sharing the joke at my expense. “If you would like to follow me, I’ll show you our Photographic suite. We make computer models of your body and show you what you could look like. Then when you’ve chosen a design, we use 3D printing to make the prostheses. We’re not too busy today, so we can probably get it all done this afternoon.”

* * *

The next half an hour was my most embarrassing experience so far. I had to strip right down to my panties (pink, with frilly lace around the waist and leg openings, if you’re interested), then stand on a little dais in a small dark cubicle. Ingrid’s voice through a loudspeaker commanded me to stand stock-still with my arms out to my side, and try not to blink when the lights came on. That was more easily said than done as they were very bright. Two cameras mounted on circular tracks orbited around me, snapping away.

After two circuits they stopped and the bright lights went off again. A small safety lamp came on and Ingrid told me I could get dressed, and then to join her and Marilyn at the computer console next door.

When I got there, they were studying the photographs, which had been assembled by the software into a three-dimensional picture of my body. This was something of a shock; I hadn’t realised I was so skinny and with so little muscle definition.

“OK, I can now superimpose an image of an idealised female body the same height as him over his frame,” Ingrid announced.

She did so and the combined picture showed areas where my body was inside the female shape – these were coloured green – and areas where my body overflowed the female shape; these were red. It was a fascinating process.

“So we can make prostheses for the green zones which will pad him out to the ideal feminine shape. Those areas are mainly the hips, thighs and buttocks, and of course the breasts. But the red zones are the problem – the shoulders and waist. A corset or waist cincher would help but would be a bit uncomfortable for wearing all day, and it wouldn’t do anything for the shoulders.”

This was what we had realised when we got the shapewear for my Christmas costume. My hips had to be as wide as my shoulders, with corresponding thighs, buttocks and breasts, or I would look too obviously like a man in drag. This is what had attracted people’s attention in the restaurant the other day. They might not have realised exactly what was odd about my shape, but they had instinctively recognised something was ‘off’.

“So we’ll have to increase all his dimensions slightly to compensate,” Ingrid went on. “I’ll dial up the sizes a little.”

She moved the computer mouse to a sliding scale which seemed to go from 0 to 28 – I assumed the numbers corresponded to dress sizes, or something very like that. The female shape broadened out. She had to go up to dress size 16 to get rid of most of the red zones, and even then my shoulders still stuck out a bit. It seems I was going to be plumpish again.

“Fwhoarr! Dead sexy,” Marilyn said, in a passable imitation of a dirty old man.

Ingrid laughed. “So, if you’re both happy with that, I’ll send the specs off to the 3D printer. It will take a little while for the prostheses to be produced and ‘cured’. Why don’t you go and get a coffee? If you come back in about an hour, I can fit the prostheses and show you how to look after them. You might also want to get some new underwear for Rosemary.”

She consulted a table on the computer screen.

“Her bra size will be 44C – bigger than average for a size 16 dress because of her shoulders – and her statistics will be 44-31-42.”

* * *

After more ridiculous spending on new bras and panties, a sexy black corset, and a couple of size 16 dresses and skirt suits, we made our way back to Transformations. We had agreed – that is, Marilyn and Ingrid had agreed – that I would be waxed hairless. The least said about that ghastly experience, the better.

The fitting process was even more deeply embarrassing as I had to be completely naked for that. Both prostheses were ‘anatomically correct’ and very convincing. You could hardly see the joins. The soft flesh mimicked the real thing perfectly in terms of movement and ‘feel’. Marilyn was particularly fascinated, stroking and kneading my huge new breasts and big round buttocks.

“They’re just like the real thing,” she whispered, hoarsely.

My discomfort from being naked in front of two members of the opposite sex (I assumed) was apparently matched by Marilyn’s – though her discomfort was of a quite different nature. She seemed to be sweating a little and struggling for breath.

The abdominal prosthesis had a little tube for my member, connected at the other end to my faux vaginal slit. It was the only completely rigid part of either prosthesis, presumably in order to prevent unseemly erections, which I imagined might then be a little uncomfortable.

The prostheses were skin-tight and seemed to stay in place quite firmly, but Ingrid recommended that for maximum comfort and realism they should be stuck onto me with medical adhesive. This would be waterproof and, if left alone, would last until I shed a layer of skin – i.e. ten to twelve days! – although I could remove them at any time with an appropriate solvent. She gave us a supply of both.

I resolved to have nothing to do with the adhesive. The biggest benefit of this whole transformation for me was the sex, and for that I would need full and unconstrained access to my manhood!

Getting dressed in my new lingerie with my soft, jiggly and extremely realistic feminine flesh, was a mind-blowing experience. So much so that I wondered (not for the first time) whether it would be easy to give this up when Missy eventually conceded and our little ‘training exercise’ was over.

As a bonus for the amount we spent on my prostheses, Ingrid arranged for one of her minions to style my new wig, paint my nails, and give me a professional makeup lesson. They also shaped my eyebrows which was, if anything, even more painful than the body waxing.

Afterwards I stood in front of a mirror in my bra and knickers, trembling. Ingrid was all smug professional pride, commenting on how well I had turned out. It occurred to me that I wouldn’t be able to turn back into Jim easily…

Marilyn was flushed and hurriedly excused herself, muttering something about needing the bathroom.

* * *

I was really starting to look the part now, and I loved it. It seemed that Marilyn did too. In bed that night she was a tigress, pawing my breasts and my enhanced bum, then tearing my frilly panties and false butt off me. She pushed me down and screamed like a banshee as she impaled herself on my engorged member. She came loudly twice before she allowed me any release.

Cuddling in the afterglow, I asked her what was going on. She had the grace to look a little embarrassed.

“I don’t know really. I just find dressing you up as a girl an incredible turn-on. I’ve been desperate to do it again ever since the Christmas party. I just didn’t know how to ask you.” She added diffidently, “Maybe I have a little lesbian in me...” She giggled when she realised the double entendre. “Or maybe it’s just a fetish...?”

“Do you want to make love the way two girls do?”

“No thanks, I’m very happy with the way we do it now, though I do like being on top. You may look like a girl and wear frilly knickers, a bra and skirts, but that great big thing of yours makes you all man – well, she-male!”

“So it seems my fetish for women’s clothes and your fetish for girly men match perfectly,” I said.

* * *

That conversation seemed to clear the air, and on Sunday morning Marilyn had no further embarrassment pushing me further along this new journey.

“You look great now, but you still have a lot to learn about behaving like a woman. We need to keep you in tight skirts and high heels to force you to walk like a girl. You need to learn what to do with your hands – you keep trying to stuff them in your trouser pockets when you’re wearing a skirt. We’ll go out together as girl friends as often as we can, so I can watch how you move and sit and gesture, and correct you when you do things the way a man would.”

“OK,” I agreed – as if I had any say in the matter.

I was still wondering where all this enthusiasm for my feminisation was coming from – and where it might be going.

“And to help get you in the proper mindset, I think you should start using my car to get to work. That big BMW M5 of yours is hardly suitable for a little office girl. Even my roadster is a bit much, but you should start using that.”

Rats! I loved my M5.

* * *

Marilyn insisted I stay as Rosie for the rest of the weekend. We went out for brunch on the Sunday morning, followed by a walk in the park. We had afternoon tea in a café by the lake. She was continually instructing me on my walk, my mannerisms, and my gestures. Several times we were approached by men, but Marilyn rebuffed them all sharply by taking my hand and kissing me on the lips.

“Don’t you dare even look at those Lotharios, young lady! You’re all mine!”

It was embarrassing at first, but I soon grew to like it.

The second week

So on the Monday morning of Missy’s second week I put on one of my new size 16 dresses – a red, black and grey striped number – and a short black jacket. Then I drove to the office in Marilyn’s little Mazda convertible. It was quite a challenge getting the seating position right. I was bigger than Marilyn in every dimension. With the seat too far back my arms weren’t long enough to reach the steering wheel comfortably. Any further forward and my ginormous boobs were squashed against it. I also couldn’t work out how to fasten the seat belt across my bountiful chest.

When I got to the car park I realised Missy was already in and had parked in my space. No surprise there, I suppose. In the office as I wobbled my way to Missy’s – that is, my desk, I could feel everyone’s heads turning toward me and caught their gasps of surprise. The other secretaries came bounding up to me for a closer look, complimenting me on my hair, makeup, and dress. Judith admired how well I was managing to walk in high heels. They were treating me as one of them, my real identity apparently forgotten – just as Missy had hoped. The men kept their distance though, too embarrassed to approach me.

I dropped my handbag in the desk drawer and switched on my computer. Then I picked up my notepad and went to see if my boss wanted anything.

Missy gaped. “You look amazing! Thanks for doing this so thoroughly. No one would think you were once the boss. Those times are well and truly over now, aren’t they? I’m sure you’ll love your new life as a secretary.”

She didn’t know how right she was. I was beginning to hope that she really could succeed as the boss…

She looked me up and down, appraisingly. “You are a big girl now though, aren’t you?”

I blushed. She held out her coffee mug.

“Right then, Porky, to business,” she grinned, and added briskly, “Wash this up and bring me a fresh cup. You know how I like it.”

At least I had always said please!

“Yes, Miss Hermsen,” I said, humbly.

* * *

The day went on. Missy had learnt to ration her time a little and now had me dealing with some of the more trivial matters that had driven her to distraction the previous week.

But she had gotten in the habit of closing her office door - something I had never done. As a result I had become her gatekeeper to the rest of the staff, and she was in danger of becoming remote to them. I wondered if she realised how that would affect morale.

We had to start our quarterly budget round this week too, which would obviously mean a lot of work for the new boss. We had always done this together before so Missy knew the ropes.

Every quarter our senior staff would ask for time and money to devote to their little projects, and it was always a matter of deciding what to fund, what to refuse, and what to defer till next quarter.

I had glanced through this quarter’s requests and, more importantly, had debriefed each of the applicants to understand what they were asking for and why they thought it was necessary. They were all relieved that I was still involved in the process, though I hastened to point out I was only a secretary now, and the budget would be Missy’s decision as she was the boss. None of them could tell if I was joking. But it meant that I knew what I would have authorised if I were still in charge, so I was ready when Missy called me in to help her.

“Now, Rosie, you understand that this quarter’s budget will be my decision, but I’d be happy to hear your opinions. After all, Jim always listened to my advice when I was his secretary, so it’s only fair.”

“Yes, Miss Hermsen,” I said, dutifully. “Have you talked to anybody yet?”

“What about?” she asked, apparently puzzled.

“To ask them for more detail about their requests. I – that is, Jim - always did that. For example, not being an IT techy, Jim didn’t always understand what Bob wanted, so he had to ask for a layman’s explanation...”

“Well I haven’t got time for all that,” she said crossly. “Look, I saw you going round talking to everyone this morning. As a secretary that wasn’t your job, but as you’ve done it, you might as well tell me what they said. But how we allocate the investment budget this quarter is still my decision, right?”

It seemed she was trying to have her cake and eat it. I decided it was time to put the ‘training exercise’ on hold for a moment. I went to close the office door. Then I turned back to her and, still standing, put my secretary’s notepad down and took my wig off to indicate I was Jim again.

“Look, Missy,” I began, in my increasingly unfamiliar masculine voice, “I went to Bob and Ken and the others as part of my monitoring role to make sure you didn’t make bad investment decisions that could harm the business. You should have done that. Without that information you’re not in a position to set the budget properly. Are you saying you want to swap back and be Jim’s secretary again?”

“No!” she said angrily. “You’re not being fair. A good boss makes the most of all her staff’s abilities. When you were in charge you didn’t need to talk to everyone about their budget bids yourself, you could have sent me! I would have understood their proposals and could have helped you more. You didn’t delegate sensibly, which is probably one reason why you were getting stressed. OK, I may have repeated some of your mistakes, but I’m learning, and I know I’ll be better than you were at delegating.”

I guess some of what she said was true. I sat back down, sweeping my skirt beneath me. I put my wig back on and picked up my pad.

“Thank you, Rosie,” she said with a little smile of triumph. “Now tell me what Bob said about moving our online catalogue to the Cloud.”

We got on with the budget meeting.

* * *

Something much more significant happened the next day: an email came in from Romex Composites, a big regional engineering company. It was an Invitation to Tender to supply a wide range of logistics services. If I were CEO still, I would definitely want to pull out all the stops to get that business. We could double the size of the company in a year! But I really doubted whether Missy would be up to managing our proposal.

The email had come in to our general email inbox. Before forwarding it to Missy, I slipped round to Ken’s office at the other end of our floor. I told him about the Invitation to Tender, and that he would probably have to draft the proposal. He blanched.

“But I’ve never done anything that big before! You’ll have to help. Hell, you’ll have to write most of it!”

“I can’t,” I replied. “I’m only a ditzy little secretary, remember?”

“Oh, for God’s sake, Jim! I knew this silly game of yours with Missy would blow up in our faces. She won’t be able to do this!”

“Relax, obviously I will help you,” I said, in Jim’s voice. “We just have to do it so she doesn’t know I’m involved. I’m going to go off sick this morning. I’ll write the proposal at home and email it to your personal account. Then you can pass it off to Missy as your own work. But don’t do anything until she calls on you. Till then you haven’t even seen the Romex email, right?”

“OK, I’ll wait till she calls me in. You do realise she’s sure to know I couldn’t have written a proposal like this without your input?”

“That doesn’t matter. The important thing is for her to recognise her own shortcomings and see that my job isn’t as easy as she thinks. If she hasn’t at least got you involved by close of play tonight, I think that’s a good enough reason for me to end our little arrangement… which would be a shame because I’m really enjoying myself.”

Ken gave me an odd look.

“I mean I’m having a nice rest… Never mind – just call me at home if you haven’t heard anything from her by half-past five, or if it looks like she’s doing anything dumb.”

He agreed to watch Missy carefully. I went over to Judith and sniffled a bit. I took a tissue out of my handbag and blew my nose. Then I asked her to cover for me for the rest of the day.

I went back to my desk and forwarded the Romex email to Missy and also to my home email account. Then I shut down my computer and started packing up my things. I was rummaging in my handbag for the keys to Marilyn’s girly little car when Missy came rushing out of the office, looking flustered.

“Rosie, did you read this email from Romex?”

“I just skimmed it, Miss Hermsen. I realised it was for you – as the CEO.”

“Well, it’s a really big deal, and…” She broke off when she realised I was standing up and putting my coat on. “Are you going somewhere?”

“I’m so sorry, but I’m feeling dreadful, a touch of the flu, I think.” I sniffed theatrically. “I’m going to have to go home. I don’t want to infect everyone in the office.”

“But you can’t! I mean I’m going to need you to…”

“Oh, don’t worry, ma’am,” I interrupted. “I’ve asked Judith to cover for me as your secretary. She’s not too busy at the moment.”

I waved to Judith as she came over to report to Missy. I turned and made my way to the lift. I wondered how long it would take her to think of calling Ken in.

“But…” came Missy’s plaintive tones.

* * *

I drove home and started work on the proposal. Fortunately it was like many I’d done before, though potentially much bigger than anything we’d seen since starting Lightning. When I read through the ITT, I realised there were lots of gaps. We would need a meeting with the client to quiz them further over details.

Ken called just before noon. He was quite cheerful.

“I hovered around at your desk talking to Judith for a while after you left,” he said. “There were some interesting noises coming from your office - I mean her office. She might have been crying at one point. She eventually came out looking really worried. When she saw me she grabbed me and pulled me back inside. She told me about the Romex ITT and asked what I thought. I told her it was a great opportunity and we should drop everything to win it. She turned a bit paler but agreed. She asked if I had any ideas about how to go about it. I told her I would have to give it some thought.”

“Did she come up with any suggestions herself?”

“Not really. She said we should both jot down our initial thoughts and compare notes at the end of the day. I suppose it’s a good sign that she’s asking for help?” I agreed. “Do you have anything for me yet?” he continued.

“Actually, yes,” I replied. “I’ll send you a list of ideas. There are a number of areas we need to clarify with them, mostly about sizes and types of consignments. At the moment their proposed contract is completely open-ended. We might have to transport anything from a box of pencils to a live elephant – or even a herd of elephants!”

Ken laughed. “So what should we do about that?”

“We need a meeting with them – an hour should be enough. Now, I’m still going to be off sick tomorrow so that I can finish the first draft. Check with Missy first, but get Judith to try and arrange a meeting with the Romex client for Thursday or Friday. It should be for the three of us. I need to hear what they say for myself, so I’ll go as her secretary to take notes. I doubt Missy will object to me going, but if she does, you need to insist I come. I’ll put a list of questions in the email, in case anyone challenges the need for a meeting – but don’t forget: you thought of everything.”

* * *

So on Thursday morning at ten o’clock the three of us trooped into a comfortable meeting room at Romex’s headquarters downtown. Missy introduced herself as the MD of Lightning and Ken as our chief Sales Engineer. As an afterthought she indicated me and hoped they wouldn’t mind her bringing her secretary along to take a few notes? They were quite happy about that. Indeed after studying my legs carefully, the young Romex research engineer winked at me. I smiled back bashfully. Missy was wearing a very serious pant suit, so I guess I was the only totty on view that day.

Everyone sat down. Ken and Missy sat at the conference table opposite the three Romex people. I sat behind my boss at a little secretary’s table. I swept my short skirt under me carefully and made sure I kept my knees together. I got out my tablet, my secretarial notepad, and a pen. Then I put my handbag down on the floor beside me. The young engineer couldn’t take his eyes off me; obviously a man with a preference for the plumper figure. I was concealed from everyone else behind Ken’s six-foot frame.

As Pete, the Romex boss, was introducing his team, Ken placed a large ring-binder on the table, and took out his fountain pen and an A4 pad. Then he made a little fuss about turning the sound off on his mobile phone, placing it behind the ring-binder out of Missy’s sight.

It was a good meeting. After a few general platitudes about how keen we were to work with Romex, Missy grudgingly handed over the detailed questioning to Ken, and he went through everything I’d prepped him with. As the discussion got more and more technical, Missy began to look at Ken uncertainly. She knew he was a decent engineer, but she’d thought he was still learning the logistics business. She hadn’t realised the depth of his knowledge.

But what really floored her – and brought knowing smiles to the faces of the Romex guys – were his follow-up questions. He was impressing everybody with his insight and his deep understanding of procurement, requisition and transportation.

Of course he was getting the follow-up questions from texts on his phone, concealed by his ring binder, and the messages were coming from my tablet computer!

After about forty minutes, we took a coffee break, Missy volunteering me to be Mother and pour and pass the cups around. As I wiggled my way round the room on my three-inch heels, I noticed with smug satisfaction that the young engineer was still fascinated by my prosthetically-enhanced bottom.

Suddenly the door opened and a very tall, very handsome man walked in unannounced. The other Romex guys came to attention smartly. Their spokesman introduced the newcomer.

“Miss Hermsen, Mr Nicholls, this is Fred Murray, our Regional Managing Director,” he said.

But I knew exactly who he was. Fred was my room-mate and best friend ten years ago at college! We’d lost touch, apart from Christmas and birthday cards, and I hadn’t seen him for years. Now here he was and staring hard at me! Would he recognise me in my office girl blouse and skirt? I thought I was going to faint.

“I’m pleased to meet you all,” Fred was saying. “I thought I’d come and introduce myself. I used to know...” At that point he dried up. Was that recognition in his eyes?

“Well, never mind,” he continued. He turned to Ken and Missy. “So are you getting everything you need?”

“Oh yes, thank you,” Missy gushed. “It’s been very helpful. I’m confident we’ll be able to offer you a very attractive proposal.”

“I’m sure you will,” he smiled. “Anyway, carry on with your meeting. I’ll just sit in for a few minutes.”

We took our seats again. It was hard to say who was most nervous at Fred’s presence: me or the other Romex guys. Missy had picked up that there was something in the air but she couldn’t work out what. Ken was oblivious to any change in the atmosphere and happily ploughed on with his questions.

“Nearly at the end now,” he said. “We just wanted to check a few points on volumes and discounts...”

* * *

After about ten minutes, Fred interrupted. “I have another meeting I must get to shortly, but I have a couple of questions regarding Lightning personnel. We’d like to know who we’ll be dealing with if we award you the contract. What exactly is your role, Ms Hermsen? I understood that Jim Palmer was your MD?”

And there it was: the question both Missy and I had been dreading, though for different reasons.

“Oh, er...” Missy started, clearly rattled, “I’m Acting MD. Mr Palmer is currently taking a, er, sabbatical.”

“And what’s your background?” Fred pressed. “Are you an engineer? A Procurement Officer?”

“General management,” she said, helplessly. “I manage... client contacts, the staff, budgets, and so on. I am currently overseeing your proposal, for example,” she added, brightly.

“Uh huh, and how do you do that if you have no logistics expertise?”

“Well, Ken and Jim do all that,” she admitted. “Jim will be writing most of the technical sections of our proposal.”

So she had realised that! I saw Ken looking at her with amusement. I cast my eyes down and focused on my note-keeping. I hoped I was keeping a straight face.

Fred turned to his chief minion. “Okay, give me a shout when you’re finished, would you, Pete? I’ll come down and see them out.”

We stayed on for another half an hour after Fred left the meeting, and it took almost all that time for my heart rate to return to normal.

The Romex team were very friendly and assured us that we had a good chance of winning their business. They were aware we were only a small outfit, but saw that we knew our stuff. We packed up, retrieved our coats from the en suite cloakroom, and prepared to leave. I dropped my tablet in my handbag, threw the strap over my shoulder, and followed Missy and Ken out of the room.

Fred turned up again as Pete led us to the lift. He shook hands with Ken and Missy and wished them good luck with the proposal. As they were stepping into the lift, and I was preparing to follow, he reached out and grabbed my arm in a firm grip. I stumbled to a halt and might have fallen over in my heels if he hadn’t been holding me upright.

“I’m just going to borrow your secretary for a moment if that’s alright, Miss Hermsen. Don’t wait; I’ll see she gets back to your office.”

I caught a last glimpse of Missy’s worried face as the lift doors closed. Pete and the others were nonplussed. What on earth did their boss want with a nonentity little secretary from another company? I wasn’t much wiser myself, but I had no doubt now that he knew exactly who I was. He glanced at me, put a finger to his lips to ward off any questions or protests I might have come out with, and virtually frogmarched me the length of the floor to his office.

“No interruptions,” he barked to his secretary as he pushed me inside, “for any reason at all. Understand?”

He closed the door behind us - and started laughing.

“Jim, you great pillock! How on earth did this happen?”

“I’ll explain, if you stop staring at my legs. After all you’ve seen them before, on the rugby field.”

“Not shaved, in stockings and high-heels, I haven’t. The boobs are new too. C’mon – give!”

So I explained.

* * *

Fred Murray and I were inseparable for three years in engineering lectures, at parties, and on the rugby field, where I was a slippery, nippy scrum-half and he was a massive and terrifying second row. We were each other’s wingmen with the ladies too, though he was effortlessly successful while I was happy just to escort his conquests’ best friends.

His size 14 sock was virtually a permanent feature on our flat’s doorknob, signalling his need for me to spend the evening elsewhere. No doubt the time I spent in the library as a consequence contributed to my first-class degree. How he scraped an upper-second was a mystery to both of us.

Marilyn was the only interruption to our friendship. Like everyone else, he fancied her something rotten, but unlike just about every other undergraduette at the university, she only had eyes for me. He backed off with good grace when it became apparent that she and I were soulmates. I have never looked at another woman since (apart from to admire her dress sense, I mean).

Unfortunately after university Fred and I took jobs in different parts of the country and gradually lost touch, apart from Xmas cards. He joined Romex and was sent all over the place but seemingly never where Marilyn and I were. Finally the crazy work schedule I had to live with to set up our own business ruled out travel, holidays, sometimes even mealtimes.

* * *

“When you sent me the email about setting up Lightning I made a mental note to put you on our ‘Prospective New Suppliers’ list,” Fred said. “So I was expecting to see you this morning – but not dressed like that!”

I had sent that introductory email to pretty much everyone in my Contacts list. I had forgotten it included Fred – and of course I had no idea he had risen to such great heights within Romex. That explained a lot. In my office girl guise I felt even smaller next to him now.

“So I checked on Lightning Logistics,” he said. “I know you have an impressive track record, but you’re still a small player. Give me the gist: how are you going to win this one?”

I took out my tablet and opened the proposal file and the spreadsheet with my financial models. I walked him through them. He picked up the ideas instantly. My old friend might not have been a high-flyer academically but he was as sharp as they come. He thoroughly deserved his senior position.

“Your price schedule is very attractive,” he said after scanning my figures (having already scanned my figure). “How on earth can you manage those discounts?”

“No overheads,” I explained. “We have a tiny, ‘no frills’ office; we hot-desk; and we do virtually everything digitally. Also we have a network of small suppliers and distributors. It’s the Japanese model. We never use big companies, because we’d just wind up paying for their big fancy offices and their CEOs’ private jets. Everyone in our supply chain is lean and hungry.”

“Brilliant!” he laughed. “I shouldn’t say this, but I think you’re very well-placed…”

“That’s great…” I began.

“Or you would be,” he went on, “as long as I don’t veto you.”

“What! Why would you do that? Anyway I thought you had nothing to do with the selection process?”

“Not the selection, but I can still reject their recommendation.” He saw my face clouding over. “But I won’t – if you do something for me…”

“What?”

“Have dinner with me on Saturday night.”

“What!”

“You and Marilyn, I mean! It’ll be great to see her again too.” My relief must have shown. “I mean you as Rosie, of course.” I started to object, but he stopped me. “If I had dinner with Marilyn and Jim, I’d be the gooseberry, but with Marilyn and Rosie, I’ll be a stud – the envy of every man there!”

Same old Fred.

* * *

We spent another half an hour catching up, then he arranged for me to be taken back to our little office in a Romex car. Missy and Ken were waiting on tenterhooks.

“What did he say about the meeting?” Ken asked.

“What did he want with you?” Missy demanded to know, sure that I’d stepped outside my secretary role.

I decided to keep most of my conversation with Fred private. “He asked me out to dinner,” I said, and pushed past them to my desk.

“What!” they said, almost in unison.

“I thought I’d better say yes, if we want the business,” I added.

“But you can’t go out with him!” Missy shrieked.

“It’s like being a call girl!” Ken hooted.

“No, it isn’t,” I said crossly. “It’s only dinner. And he could get us thrown out of the competition if I don’t agree. I’m only doing what any loyal secretary would do. It’s alright for you, Miss Hermsen. I’m sure he’d never ask a CEO to do such a thing.”

Actually, knowing Fred, I’m damn sure he would!

Missy was staring open-mouthed. “But you’re married,” she said. “To a woman!”

“Marilyn will understand,” I said.

* * *

Over lunch Marilyn laughed her head off when I told her about my morning.

“It will be great to see Fred again,” she said. “Where is he taking us?”

“Apparently it’s his golf club dinner dance. He’s got no one to go with.”

“I thought he got married a couple of years ago?”

“Five years ago, and they’re separated. Elise walked out on him two months back.”

“Poor Freddy. I assume he had an affair?”

“He says it was a one-night stand. A moment of weakness and he felt terrible about it afterwards. He really loves Elise, I think.”

“Shame.” Marilyn was not unsympathetic, but she knew Fred of old and his infidelity was no surprise to her. “Anyway,” she continued, “to business: so this is a dinner dance?”

“Yes, so what?”

“You don’t have a thing to wear!”

* * *

Ken and Missy spent most of Thursday afternoon and Friday finishing our proposal, filling in the sections that I had had to leave blank until the Romex team had answered our questions. I had to keep popping in to show them the notes I had taken, and Missy let me draft most of the additional content (which was just as well).

She pretended she could have done it all herself, but claimed it was something a decent secretary could do just as easily from a good set of notes. Which was rubbish, of course, but it just about saved face for Missy.

On Friday morning she was popping paracetamols two at a time and by lunch she was looking like death warmed up. This was hardly surprising. As well as the sceptical grilling Fred had given her, she understood virtually none of the technical proposal and was struggling with the commercial section too.

On Thursday evening I had constructed the financials in spreadsheet form, as requested by the client. I assumed this was so that they could run some test scenarios to compare our prices with our competitors for a variety of complex situations. This was quite common in our business and I knew how to set up models to look financially attractive but still avoid losing money in extreme circumstances.

But it was very complicated, and it took me an hour to explain it even to Ken on Thursday night. It took him most of Friday morning to explain it to Missy, and he had to take a couple of ‘bathroom breaks’, when he dragged me to the kitchen to get answers to some of her questions.

Missy seemed to be in shock when she came out of that session. But she and Ken had made very few changes to my original proposal (which was just as well). It went off to Romex by email at four o’clock, an hour inside their deadline. Surely Missy must have realised by now that she was out of her depth? Why was she being so stubborn?

* * *

At four-fifteen on Friday afternoon Marilyn turned up to take me shopping for an evening gown. She told everyone she was determined I should look my best for my date on Saturday night. Missy was incredulous. Neither of us told her that Marilyn was invited too.

“By the way, Missy,” Marilyn said, “have you sorted out the budget for the next quarter?”

“Not quite. The Romex proposal took all our time this week.”

“Fair enough, but can you get it done by Wednesday? I’ve asked your secretary to save Wednesday afternoon for our half-yearly audit.”

Huh? First I’d heard of it. Missy went even paler.

“And I’m going to have to ask you to start doing regular financial reports for the major shareholders now that you’re in charge. I didn’t used to need that because I slept with the CEO, but I can’t expect to get a proper picture of what’s going on from a scatter-brained little office girl, can I?”

I wasn’t wild about her characterisation of me, but I took her point.

“Of course not, Mrs Palmer,” said Missy through gritted teeth. “I’ll get onto that first thing on Monday, but now I must go home. I’ve got a splitting headache.”

I was glad – and relieved – that my brilliant wife was back on my side, if she had ever not been.

Now I needed an evening dress, and matching shoes, and a handbag, and perhaps a wrap…?

* * *

We went home first in our separate cars. When we got in, Marilyn dragged me upstairs to the master bedroom.

“Okay, sweetie, strip!”

“What? Why? I’m more than happy to have a little afternoon nookie, but I thought we were going dress shopping?”

“We are, but we need to do something about your boobs. You’re going to have to strip down to your bra and knickers – often – to try on evening gowns. Some of them will be low-cut, and any sales assistant worth her salt will soon see your breasts aren’t attached!”

So I stripped to the waist, and she gave my torso a good going-over with a razor to remove any growth since my waxing. Then she got out the medical adhesive that Ingrid had given us and glued my breast forms to my chest. I hadn’t realised how much they would pull on my chest muscles, as they had always been resting in my bra before.

Finally she used makeup to cover up the joins and blend my skin colour into that of the forms. The result was pretty impressive. My bosom looked real!

”You’ll need an underwire bra now – here.”

She handed me one of the bras we’d bought at Transformations, but which I hadn’t worn yet. I was expecting it to be uncomfortable, but it was a very good fit. Ingrid knew her business.

* * *

So we set off in my – Marilyn’s – M5, with her driving, which made me feel even more like ‘the little woman’. We spent the afternoon traipsing round upmarket boutiques in search of the perfect plus size evening gown.

I had expected my wife to have fun embarrassing me with the sales staff but she was sweetness and light throughout. I felt like a schoolgirl shopping with my mother for my first posh dress. It was a very strange experience, but great fun: preening and twirling in front of tall mirrors; wandering around dressing cubicles in my lingerie, fully visible to other women who were also in just bra and knickers (sometimes just knickers); deciding just how much boob I could afford to display; and what colours ‘brought out my eyes’.

Great fun, but I couldn’t help wondering what Marilyn was getting out of this. Is this really what she wanted from a husband?

As this was likely to be a one-off occasion she eventually persuaded me to choose something spectacular – a full-length, low-cut number in black satin.

* * *

Marilyn insisted I started getting ready at four o’clock on the Saturday afternoon. That seemed ridiculously early but she was quite right. She gave me an all-over waxing and oiling. I had a perfumed bubble bath, and an especially close shave.

Nancy, Marilyn’s home hairdresser, came round and attended to our coiffures, washing and setting my wig in a beautiful ‘updo’. I wore a negligée of my wife’s but a lot of me, my prostheses and my lingerie were exposed, given that I was a much bigger girl than Marilyn, and the negligée wouldn’t close properly. I’d met Nancy several times as Jim, so she knew who Rosie really was, but she was totally professional throughout. Anyway by now I was getting used to women seeing me in my bra and knickers. (Was that a good thing, I wondered.) Nancy was also an expert with makeup. Marilyn’s took her twenty minutes; mine more than twice as long.

Dressing took much longer than I’d expected too. I would have to wear my corset to be sure of getting into the tight dress, so it made sense to wear stockings. Also the dress needed to be pinned to my bra to prevent unintended exposure of bra or boob. I needed Marilyn’s help for all of that. She grumbled loudly about ‘being reduced to a lady’s maid’, but it was obvious she was enjoying herself immensely.

Fred sent a limousine for us, which was a big help as I could never have got myself into an ordinary saloon car. It seemed Iike I needed three hands: one to hold the skirt of my full-length dress; one to carry my clutch bag; and one to keep my gorgeous but slippery evening dress shawl from sliding off my shoulders.

Marilyn accomplished it all smoothly of course, and split her sides laughing at my feeble efforts. I fell into the back of the car like a sack of potatoes.

“Very ladylike, darling,” she sniggered.

“You try getting into a car in four-inch stiletto heels!” I muttered.

She pointed down to her shoes, which were practically identical to mine.

“Yeah, well, I can’t even see my feet over this ridiculous 44-inch bust.”

That came out a bit too loudly. The chauffeur gave an involuntary glance in the rear-view mirror to examine said bust for himself. I didn’t mind, as long as he was sufficiently gallant to help me out at the other end.

* * *

Fred was waiting in the vestibule of the hotel banqueting suite. He made appreciative remarks about our outfits, ostentatiously staring at my chest and grinning. He led the way to our table and ordered cocktails. The place was packed with golfers and their spouses all dressed to the nines. I was still feeling self-conscious about my sexy dress and my ‘full figure’ (especially my cleavage), but we fitted in well enough and I was glad we had made an effort.

Each large round table seated eight, and I estimated there were fifteen or sixteen tables. The dance floor was in the middle of the room. Our table was in the front row of the rear section, so we were about half-way back, equidistant from the rear entrance to the hall and the stage, where a small orchestra was tuning up.

We took our allotted seats, one each side of Fred. He was soon deep in conversation with Marilyn, as they hadn’t seen each other for the best part of ten years. Two more couples and a single man soon joined us and introductions were made. A waitress appeared with our drinks.

I studied the dinner menu and the programme. I saw there would be dancing till eight, when dinner would be served. A well-known stand-up comedian was due to give an after-dinner speech; no doubt it would be full of filth and golfing in-jokes. At ten there would be presentations to the winners of the club’s annual competitions, and speeches by the chairman, the treasurer, the men’s and ladies’ captains, and so on. Then more dancing till one a.m.

Just as the band started up Marilyn excused herself to go to the Ladies’. Fred turned to me.

“I can’t get over your outfit, Rosie,” he began, stressing my name. “You may have been a distinctly average-looking man, but you make a really eye-catching woman – and completely convincing.”

I should hope so; the prostheses, lingerie and gown had cost enough.

“Thanks… I think,” I replied, “but could you keep your voice down? I’d rather not be outed as a you-know-what in front of all these posh people. Some of them may be my clients.”

I only played golf occasionally myself, but I had been to this club with some of my business contacts. I had been looking around but I hadn’t yet spotted anyone I knew professionally.

“Sorry, mate, I wouldn’t want to do that. I promise to treat you as a lady for the rest of the…”

He broke off suddenly. He had been looking over my shoulder toward the stage, and the top table directly in front of it, which was just starting to fill up with the club’s officers.

“Shit! Come on, we’re dancing!”

“What? I’m not going to dance with you!”

“What did you think was going to happen?” he said. “This is a dinner dance!”

Anyway he didn’t give me a choice. He grabbed my arm and pulled me to my feet. He was much stronger than me, which was just as well. If he hadn’t been holding me up I would almost certainly have lost my balance and fallen off my high heels. He stuck his arm round my waist and with no choice in the matter I rested my left hand on his shoulder.

“Why are we doing this?” I hissed. “For God’s sake, hold me up. I’ve had very little practice in these heels and certainly not backwards!”

He kept glancing toward the top table. “I was going to ask Marilyn,” he muttered, “but she buggered off to the Ladies’ at just the wrong moment.”

“What? Why was that ‘the wrong moment’?”

“Never mind. I’ll explain later.”

Every time he swung me round I tried to work out what he was focusing on at the other end of the room. The top table had filled up. There were about six couples, mostly people in their sixties, though there was one striking younger woman. She looked tall and athletic, though it was hard to be sure as she was now sitting down. She seemed to be looking in our direction too, and with what seemed to be undiluted hatred. What was going on?

Despite my confusion I started to enjoy myself. Fred was an excellent dancer and comfortably strong enough to hold up his inexperienced and clumsy partner. As we whirled around the floor, my skirt twirling sensuously around my nylon-clad legs, I began to understand why women loved formal dancing so much. It was practically orgasmic! I wondered if Marilyn would like to take up ballroom dancing as a hobby…

After two dances Fred led me back to our table. Marilyn was back now and watching us with some amusement as we approached.

“Well look at you two!” she laughed. “Is there something I should know?”

She had never been one for discretion. The other people at our table looked at us quizzically. I could feel myself blushing scarlet.

“Just a little dancing,” Fred said. “Rosie is surprisingly good. May I have the pleasure?”

She jumped up and he led her back to the dance floor. I sat down, glad to have got through the ordeal without further embarrassment, and beginning to feel the strain in my poor feet. The single man to my left struck up conversation. I was half listening, just making polite responses, but like many men he was perfectly happy with that. We women are not expected to contribute to such conversations; we are only required to hang on to a man’s every witty word!

Bored with my companion’s high opinion of himself I turned slightly to scan the top table again. The tall woman was still watching Fred on the dance floor, now with apparent loathing for Marilyn. She stood up and stormed off to the Ladies’. I decided to take the bull by the horns. I excused myself from my neighbour’s fascinating conversation and made to follow her to the loo.

As I was going into the Ladies’ three chatting women were making their way out, which left just me and the tall woman alone. When she saw me, her beautiful face flashed with anger. I paled; this might have been a mistake.

“I’m sorry,” I said timorously. “Have we met?”

“I don’t think so,” she said frostily, “but you obviously know my husband well.”

“Oh good heavens!” I blurted, just about managing to keep my voice in the feminine range. “You’re Elise!”

“Indeed,” she admitted, and made to push past me. “Excuse me.”

“Wait, please,” I said. “I don’t think you understand…”

“What’s to understand? I don’t suppose I should be surprised he’s moved on so quickly.”

“No, that’s not it at all!” I was almost physically restraining her now, and she was getting even angrier, if that was possible. “I’m not here with him… Well obviously, I am, but not romantically.” She paused in her efforts to escape. “You saw the other lady he was dancing with?” She nodded. “That’s Marilyn; she’s my… partner. That is, we’re together… we live together, um, romantically.”

I stopped, very aware that my burbling was virtually incoherent. Elise was puzzled.

“Then why are you here… with him?”

“We knew him at college – ten years ago – but we’d lost touch. Then this week I bumped into him at the office… on business, and he invited us...” Light was beginning to dawn. “Oh… I assume he knew you were going to be here tonight?”

She nodded. The light was breaking through for her too. “Of course – I’m the Ladies’ Captain. So he invited you two to try and make me jealous?”

“I’m afraid it looks like that. I’m really sorry. I had no idea.”

“Not your fault. He’s a rat!”

“Actually, about that…” I began, diffidently. “I’m not sure he meant it that way.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, he misses you dreadfully. I’ve only spent a couple of hours in his company since we met up again, and he’s spent most of them talking about you.”

Okay that was a barefaced lie but Elise didn’t know that. I just hoped what I was trying to do was in their best interests. I pressed on.

“Obviously, Marilyn and I are off limits to Fred and he understands that, but no woman wants to listen to a man talk about another woman all night!”

Elise had sat down on a chair by the vanity mirror. “So why was he being so blatant – dancing with you two? He should have known it would upset me!”

“He’s a man,” I said ironically. “They don’t understand us. He probably thought making you jealous would get you charging in to take back what was yours – or something…”

Being a clueless man underneath my expensive dress, I was running out of words.

She was smiling a little now. “Okay, maybe he’s more of an idiot than a rat…”

I took a risk and pressed my advantage. “So what do you think? Will you take him back? He seems to have gone to a lot of trouble for you.”

Too right – the tickets to this shindig were three figures. Mind you I’d spent a lot more on my dress.

“Probably,” she sighed. “I miss him too. But By God, I’ll make him pay for it!”

“Quite right,” I agreed. “New dress? Jewellery? Spa day?”

“All of the above,” she laughed. She turned serious. “It’s a really good thing we talked. I was just about to get my lawyer on the phone and start divorce proceedings. I’m very grateful. You and Marilyn must come round to dinner when I’ve sorted my idiot husband out.”

We repaired our makeup together, chatting happily about feminine matters, practically besties now, then returned to our tables. Fred had obviously seen us leaving the Ladies’ deep in conversation and was white as a sheet.

“Nice woman,” I said to Marilyn as I took my seat. “She was telling me what an arsehole her husband is.”

Fred went even whiter.

The food began to arrive. Eventually I took pity on him. When I finished explaining, Marilyn slapped him on the shoulder and told him what an idiot he was. He barely seemed to notice. He leapt up and rushed over to the top table, scattering waitresses with arms full of dinners. We watched his animated conversation with his beautiful wife and were relieved when she rose to her feet and he pulled her to him in a violent bear hug.

She made him return to our table afterwards, and quite right too. He was our escort tonight, not hers. But after dinner, and the terrible comedian, and the prizegiving, and the speeches, he went back to her and they danced together for the rest of the evening.

* * *

“That was a really nice thing you did,” Marilyn said, at around midnight.

“You really think so? What if he screws up again? He is Fred.”

“Then that will be it. She doesn’t look like the kind of woman who’ll let him get away with it twice – and quite right too. I wouldn’t let you cheat on me once.”

“I wouldn’t dare,” I said. “But you’re all right for the moment. It would be difficult for me to seduce another woman dressed like this!”

“Oh, I don’t know. You drive me wild. Anyway let’s dance. You’re not allowed to dance with your old boyfriend and not your wife.”

“We can’t do that! Two women dancing together – people will stare!”

“I don’t care; let ‘em. I want to dance with my pretty little husband, or wife, or whatever the hell you are now. I’ll lead.”

And we did. And she did. And they did.

* * *

Later, at home, while I was struggling out of my tight gown, and Marilyn was seated at her – our – vanity removing her make-up, she said thoughtfully, “You know, Jim wouldn’t have been able to persuade Elise to take Fred back…”

I knew what she was driving at, but I laughed and said, “Well he wouldn’t have been able to follow her into the Ladies, would he?”

She smiled. I was still struggling with my dress, and now my hair was getting in the way. I shouldn’t have released my updo until I’d unzipped my gown. Another lesson learned.

“Hey, can you help me with this zip? I won’t be able to get out of this dress until it’s undone all the way down to my butt.”

She got up to help. I held my hair out of the way and she unzipped me. The expensive dress fell to the floor and pooled around my feet. As I was stepping out of it, she slapped me playfully across my padded buttocks, and went back to the vanity.

“I’m serious,” she continued. “It really needed another woman to plead his case, and one who Elise knew wasn’t interested in him that way.”

“So you’re suggesting I should go into Marriage Guidance as a side-line? Because I’m obviously a lesbian and the wives can trust me?”

“I suppose it might be something to fall back on if the bottom falls out of Logistics, but that wasn’t what I was trying to say.”

I sat on the bed in my bra, corset and stockings to give her my full attention.

“You’re more thoughtful, now you’re Rosie; and kind and – well – gentle. Oh, I’m not putting this very well.” She paused for thought.

“Was Jim such a monster?” I prompted her.

“Oh no – no, darling… Well, you were sometimes a little brusque, and you didn’t always think of other people’s feelings. Not me – I’ve no complaints; but sometimes around the office... I’m just saying, I think being Rosie has been really good for you. I’m in no hurry for her to go away.”

“Well I’m glad you feel that way, because I’m feeling much happier and more relaxed, even though it’s had its ups and downs.”

“Missy, you mean?” she said. “I do think that girl needs taking down a peg or two.”

“I think that’s happening all by itself. She’s looking pretty stressed at the moment. I may have to step in before she has a breakdown – assuming you’ll let me, as our major shareholder, I mean?”

I was thinking back to our earlier conversation. She laughed.

“You goof! I thought you would have realised I was teasing you.”

“Well Rosie isn’t as brash and confident as Jim, so you had me worried there. Actually there is one other thing that’s worrying me…”

When I paused she turned to look at me. I looked down to avoid her gaze.

“If I stay like this for much longer, I’m scared you’ll get sick of your sissy husband and go off and find yourself a real man…”

“You idiot! You’re all the man I could ever want. God, that sounds so camp!” She realised I was serious. “Look, babe, I went out with big hairy rugger types at Uni, and got fed up with their posturing. One of them hurt me.”

I looked up in surprise. She’d never mentioned that.

“For that type, the more they realise that a woman is their intellectual equal – or in my case, superior, obviously…”

“…Obviously…” I agreed.

“…the more they have to show off their superior physical attributes. It got pretty tedious, quite honestly. Then I met you. And you were everything I needed. You make me laugh. You look after me, without ever being patronising. You ask for my opinion on everything. Your judgement is always spot-on. I trust you instinctively. And I know you would never hurt me. And on top of all that, you’re my intellectual equal – well, nearly. So, I know that you’re my soulmate, even behind the bra and panties; hell, maybe even because of the bra and panties!”

A tear had started down my cheek.

“Are you crying?” she said, surprised.

I looked down to my bulging breasts, my lingerie and stockings. “Well, so what?” I snivelled. “I’m certainly dressed for it!”

It was nearly two o’clock in the morning, but we made love till we fell asleep.

The third week

Marilyn and I kept the details of our Saturday night outing to ourselves. Ken and Missy were still under the impression that I had gone on a date alone with Fred Murray, and they were keen to know how it went, and whether it would affect our chances of winning the bid in any way. I told them it was a very pleasant evening; that Fred was a perfect gentleman; but that we didn’t discuss business at all.

“Well, what on earth did you talk about?” Ken asked.

“Oh the usual things people talk about on dates – our families, our life histories, hobbies – you know…”

“Didn’t he realise you’re not actually a woman?” Missy asked, astonished.

“Well he certainly treated me as a lady all evening.”

I was trying not to tell any lies!

“Is he gay?” said Ken.

“Certainly not! He’s married, but separated.”

Well, at the end of Saturday it looked like Fred and Elise were going to get back together again, but they hadn’t actually told us that for certain.

“I don’t want to talk about this anymore,” I said. “It’s personal. Anyway we should all get back to work, or the boss will be angry with us. I have tons of orders to file.”

Missy snorted and stomped back to her office.

“There’s more to this than you’re telling, isn’t there?” said Ken when she was out of earshot.

“You betcha!” I grinned. “I promise I’ll tell you all about it at some point, but I’m quietly confident about the bid.”

* * *

Romex had promised the bidders they would make a decision within ten working days, which meant two weeks in elapsed time. With all the contracts I had competed for over the years, both at Lightning and at my previous employers, I was quite used to this. So I was able to put it out of my mind and focus on other things. For me, it was relaxing secretarial ‘business as usual’.

But Missy was completely unable to concentrate. I felt sorry for her. She had obviously convinced herself that if we didn’t win the bid, it would be her fault, and her ambition would have damaged the business. Every few minutes she would stand up and walk round the office sighing. Several times a day she would ask me or Ken whether she should call them and make some new offer or otherwise try to influence their decision.

“No way,” said Ken. “They expressly said they wouldn’t enter into any dialogue after the proposal closing date.”

She knew Ken’s response was correct, but it just made her more miserable.

“Why ask me?” I said, when she was pestering me with the same questions. “I’m only a secretary. We secretaries don’t know about that sort of thing.”

My response made her angry and miserable, as she knew I could reassure her if I wanted to, but she had made her bed. She yelled and accused me of being unreasonable. I said if she was mean to me I might run off to the Ladies’ and cry, because that was what we secretaries do. She snorted again, and stomped back into her office and slammed the door.

* * *

So after the gruelling Romex proposal, Missy’s next challenge was preparing for Marilyn’s audit. The problem was that we had never had to do it before, for the reasons Marilyn had said – she was married to the previous CEO and I told her everything. Indeed she had always been heavily involved in our budget planning, managing cash flow, juggling bank loans, deposit accounts, and so on. There was no way we could have managed without my wife’s financial acumen.

“But I don’t know what she’ll expect to see in an audit!” Missy complained when we sat down in her office and I waited to be told what to do. “This is your fault!”

“How on earth do you make that out…” I objected, “…Miss Hermsen?” I added hurriedly, lest she decided I was being insubordinate and demoted me to file clerk.

“Well you – that is, Jim – was never audited by his wife; so he never had to ask me to help him as his secretary; so I never got to learn what to do!”

“But… but…” I was struggling, “…but you need to know what happens in an audit if you think you’re qualified to be an MD. You can’t say it’s your predecessor’s job to teach you, when you were his secretary…”

“Well, I say it’s not fair – and I’m your boss. So you have to help me!” She was on the verge of tears.

“You wanted this,” I reminded her, “and I’m a secretary now. Secretaries don’t tell their bosses what to do!”

We seemed to have reached a stalemate. I could probably call an end to this ‘training exercise’ now. But did I really want to? It had only been a couple of weeks, and that included a very hectic few days on the Romex proposal when I was functioning clandestinely as CEO anyway. Besides, I was still mentally and physically exhausted and really didn’t fancy taking up the reins of responsibility again.

Missy was staring at me with a vacant expression on her face. Despite our current positions, she was clearly expecting me to find a way out of this impasse.

“Actually,” I said slowly, “every organisation is different, and since we’ve never done this before, it’s probably reasonable to ask the auditor what she expects from us…”

“Aha!” Missy leapt on the opportunity I had provided. “Right, Rosie, send Mrs Palmer – I mean, the other Mrs Palmer – an email asking her to specify the documentation she will want to see!”

“Yes, Miss Hermsen.”

I picked up my notepad and my handbag and went back to my desk.

* * *

“I thought I’d given you the perfect way of ending this silly charade?” said Marilyn that evening.

“You did, and thanks for that, but I’m not ready to end it yet. I like being a lowly secretary. I only have to worry about my hair, my make-up, and coordinating my outfits. Much easier than running a business!”

“Well if you enjoy it that much, you can come and be my secretary at Harpers,” she suggested, tongue obviously in cheek. “You know that Annie is going on maternity leave next month.”

“You mean, I could be your temp? Tempting, but I’m not sure my typing speed is up to it.”

Marilyn laughed. “I don’t think that matters anymore. A girl with your… attributes… will always be in demand.”

“You’re just a female chauvinist pig, Mrs Palmer,” I pouted. “Seriously, I have to stay and keep an eye on Missy. I may be fed up with running the business – all the admin stuff – but I’m still our principal Subject Matter Expert on logistics, procurement and transportation. The company was built on my expertise, and I can’t quit until I’ve recruited some young engineers I can pass my skills on to.”

“Well you’d better get on with that. At this rate we’re going to be rich enough for you to retire at 40! That would be pretty cool…”

“Anyway, feel free to give Missy a hard time on Wednesday. This job swap should double as a training experience for her.”

“Oh, don’t worry. It’s going to be an experience for her all right!”

* * *

So the early part of the week was taken up by preparing for Marilyn’s audit.

The guidance she had sent was mostly a long list of tables, graphs and pie charts, together with narrative descriptions and assessments. That is, boring stuff which Marilyn had mostly done for us herself in the past, but now, somewhat disingenuously, was demanding from the new MD – who barely knew her way around a spreadsheet. Unfortunately Missy knew I was an expert so I was lumbered with most of the work after all.

However I was able to draw the line at writing the narrative content of the report. I declared as firmly as I dared that that wasn’t something a secretary could do. So I extracted the numbers from the financial system and the spreadsheet modelling tools to produce the graphs and tables, and then handed it all over to Missy to write a description of what the data meant, and an assessment of what could be expected in the next twelve months.

Her English wasn’t bad, and her writing was actually pretty good for a secretary. Unfortunately her efforts were hopeless for an MD. What was worse was that she didn’t realise this. On Tuesday evening I warned Marilyn what to expect. We agreed that it would be better if I wasn’t in the room.

On Wednesday afternoon, Ken and I listened at Missy’s office door. Marilyn was calm, even kindly, but utterly remorseless. She exposed Missy’s lack of experience ruthlessly.

After about an hour, they both emerged from the office. Missy, in something of a sad state, hurried off to the Ladies’. Marilyn signalled Ken and me to come in to the office. When Missy returned, she began.

“Miss Hermsen, I’ve invited Ken and your secretary to join us for the audit report. You, Ken and I constitute the executive management, and Rosie is here to take notes. All right?”

Everyone nodded. I sighed and took my notepad and a biro out of my handbag.

“Well the good news is that the figures clearly show that the company is solvent, indeed doing very well. The bad news is that the audit has revealed certain deficiencies in management, which need to be addressed urgently. I speak on behalf of the shareholders, of course.

“Now we’ve never had an AGM, because the shareholders were the management, but now we have a new MD and she is accountable to me and my husband, Jim. Of course, he’s not here...” She glanced ironically at me. “...but I have his proxy, don’t I, Rosie?”

Ken grinned. I gulped. Now I knew how a rabbit felt in the headlights of an oncoming monster truck. God, I hope she was on my side on this!

“Er, yes, Mrs Palmer,” I twittered.

“So I’m calling an EGM.”

“EGM?”

“Extraordinary General Meeting, at which the MD will be required to present the company accounts, forecasts for the next financial year, and her long-term strategy. This should be a formal report to shareholders. I’ll send a suitable template to your secretary, Miss Hermsen. I’m sure she can help you complete it. Shall we say, by next Friday at ten o’clock? We’re a private company, so fortunately we don’t have to lodge a copy of the report at Companies House. Alright, Miss Hermsen…?”

Missy had glazed over during this as she began to realise how much extra work had just been dropped on her - well on us. She had gone white.

“Miss Hermsen?”

She snapped back to reality. “Um, do I really have to do all that?”

“Well of course you do, if a majority of the shareholders require it. It’s the law. You could go to jail.”

I was pretty sure that wasn’t true, but I noticed a single tear ran down Missy’s ashen cheek. Then a glint appeared in her eye.

“Very well, Mrs Palmer. Next Friday at ten.” She turned to me. “You should plan on working extra-long hours for the next week, Rosie – without overtime. Think of it as being something you have to do for the perks of being the MD’s secretary.”

“Yes, Miss Hermsen,” I muttered.

Perks? Wait - what perks?

The fourth week

The template Marilyn sent was fairly standard. Helpful as ever, she added some notes.

Extraordinary General Meeting - Agenda
Date: Friday
Time: 10.00 am
Place: Lightning Offices

Item Description Responsible
1 Welcome and introductions MD
2 Apologies - Rosie will apologise for Jim not being there! Secretary
3 Review of actions from previous annual general meeting - N/A MD
4 Acceptance of minutes of previous annual general meeting - N/A MD
5 Managing Director’s report – ALL YOURS, MISSY! MD
6 Treasurer’s report – Marilyn to do Treasurer
7 Questions to directors MD
8 Proposed resolutions
Proposed resolution Moved by

9 Acceptance of financial statements – Marilyn to do Treasurer
10 Acceptance of annual report – Shareholders will vote MD
11 Appointment of and questions to the auditor – Marilyn to do Treasurer
12 Election of directors – Shareholders will vote Secretary
13 Meeting close MD

Missy wanted to know what would be expected in Section 5 - the Managing Director’s report. I suggested that it would be a set of standard headings and she could easily find out from the internet.

This time I was firm. I would do what Missy told me to do; nothing more, nothing less. I would not help her with the MD’s report. Well, I would type it if she ordered me to, but that’s all. Of course, I had all sorts of ideas of what I would do over the next twelve months if I were the MD, but I was damned if I was going to share them with her.

Grumbling, she vanished back into her office, and I didn’t see much of her that week.

* * *

Things were going smoothly – at least for me – until late on the Thursday afternoon. I had just put a call from a customer through to her when Missy buzzed for me to come into the office. She had dark circles under her eyes and – by her standards – she was looking unkempt, practically bedraggled.

“Is there anything else you need for tomorrow’s EGM, Miss Hermsen?” I began.

“Oh, never mind that now. Powers Enterprises just called and ordered a Gibson gear assembly for one of their machines. I checked, and we have one in stock, but they want it by seven tomorrow morning! I told them we can’t guarantee that early a delivery, and they said we did it before. I checked with the overnight delivery services but none of them would guarantee delivery by then. I don’t know what to do!”

“Remember I’m only a secretary. Secretaries don’t handle deliveries or anything like that. I’m afraid I can’t help you.”

“You have to help me! We will lose them as a customer if that gear assembly doesn’t get there by seven tomorrow morning! They said we did it in the past but I don’t know how it was done!”

“Why ask just a secretary? When you were a secretary you never had anything to do with deliveries, did you? As a secretary I can’t help you. You have to decide on your own what to do.”

Finally the dam broke: the mounting pressures of the budget planning; the Romex proposal and Fred’s interrogation; Marilyn’s audit, the quarterly reports, and the EGM; and having to deal with a thousand and one tiny problems the staff laid at her door. This last challenge at last brought Missy back to reality.

Through her tears she screeched, “I quit! I want to go back to being a secretary!”

“Then I am back in control of everything?”

“Yes, you are back in control of everything!”

“Then get out of my chair and observe how a problem like this is handled.”

I sat down at my desk, sweeping my skirt beneath me. She watched as I made a phone call.

“Hello, Ritchie,” I said, when I eventually got through. “It’s Jim. How would you like to make a trip to Powers Enterprises again? Usual deal – one full tank of fuel. They need a Gibson gear assembly... You can have it there in two hours? Great! … Sure I can play golf tomorrow afternoon. Two o’clock sounds great! I’ll call Powers and tell them it’s on its way. Thanks a bunch!”

I called Powers and told them it would be there in about two hours by helicopter delivery, like the last one. I told them I knew they had four identical machines and that I could order two more assemblies. They agreed to buy them to save on special delivery charges. I laughed, and said we would get four assemblies - just in case.

I turned back to Missy who was blubbing quietly in my visitor chair.

“Now, Missy, you see? Problem solved. There is a lot more to running a successful business than sitting in the big chair behind the big desk.” She looked blank. “Ritchie is my oldest customer and a good friend,” I explained. “He has a helicopter that he loves to fly, but the cost of fuel makes it possible only when he gets some reimbursement. I’ve found it’s nice to have an ace in the hole.”

I fetched a tissue from my handbag and passed it to her.

“Are you going to fire me?” she snivelled.

“Why on earth would I do that?” I said, rushing to put a motherly arm around her. “You’ve learned a lot of valuable lessons in the last four weeks. You learned that it takes more than a little knowledge to do the job expected. I was afraid that if you hit something you couldn’t handle you would fall apart. You are a great secretary and have a real talent for organising, but you have to realize that it is important to be the best you can be at what you are good at. You didn’t realize you have your own empire out there at your desk. It is your space and yours alone. Appreciate what you do and enjoy the fact that you are very good at it. Would you fire me if the situation was reversed?”

“I might have before, but not now. I never looked at things like you just said.” She managed a rueful smile. “You know it’s funny, the whole time I was sitting at your desk all I thought about was what to do if something happened that I couldn’t handle. I was terrified when we had to do the Romex proposal. I pretended I was running it, and that you and Ken were just being – what did you call it? – ‘Subject Matter Experts,’ but I soon realised I was out of my depth. I should have called it all off then.”

“You didn’t do so badly,” I said. That was a white lie of course, but I needed to restore at least some of her confidence. “The real problem is your lack of financial training. We need to do something about that…”

“Then when the Powers people called I just went to pieces!” she wailed. “I was so afraid I was going to lose a good customer.”

“See, your heart is in the right place. You just have to learn that there are always alternate answers to any problem. I didn’t become successful by sitting still. I had to learn the hard way.”

“Thank you for not firing me! I know you were doing lots of stuff behind the scenes and I know what I did was wrong, and now I don’t know why I did it. But you took everything so easily and didn’t resist. Why?”

“I knew you were striving for higher things and that was admirable. I was confident how it would all go. I took a chance, and it turned out as I’d expected. Part of running a business is knowing your employees and how to get the most out of them with the least problems. I think I know everyone here and what their hopes and dreams are.”

“I believe you. I just can’t believe what I did. Can you forgive me?”

“You are forgiven, so don’t worry about it. There was no harm done to the business – quite the reverse. As for moving up, I want you to go on some Financial Management courses first, but how about we make you Office Manager for the moment – if you just promise not to be so bossy to the staff?”

She perked up at that and nodded vigorously. But there was more we needed to talk about.

“The company is doing so well we’re going to have to recruit,” I continued. “Right now I reckon we need at least one more salesman, another engineer and two secretaries to keep up with our increasing client base. If Romex come on board too, we might easily need to double in size by this time next year. I’ll have to ask Marilyn to come in full time as Head of Finance. And I’m going to need you to handle the recruitments, deal with personnel issues, plan training programmes for everyone, maybe even help with budgets. How about it? Should we say a 15% pay rise with the promotion?”

“That would be fantastic… boss!”

“Now tomorrow is another day filled with new adventures and problems – like how am I going to beat Ritchie at golf if I’m wearing a skirt? I wonder if he’ll let me start from the ladies’ tees…”

We both laughed. Missy gave me a hug and thanked me for understanding.

But I had learned something very important about myself too. I was happier and more relaxed as Rosie, and – weirdly – my wife seemed to prefer me as her! I really loved my women’s clothes. Was there any reason why I shouldn’t wear them all the time – at least at work? It was my company; I could decide the dress code.

I supposed I must be what they now seem to call ‘gender-fluid’. Could I spend part of my time as Jim and part as Rosie? I considered. I’d have to get full identification documents for Rosie. She would need debit and credit cards on our accounts. She would need full Director status at Lightning, with authority to sign contracts for the company…

Would all that even be legal? Why not? It seems all the leading politicians are making loud and pompous commitments to diversity these days…

* * *

I had only been back behind my old familiar desk for a quarter of an hour when Missy put a call through from Pete at Romex. He was a little confused that the woman he thought was the MD answered her secretary’s phone and put him through to me, her secretary. I mumbled something about Missy having been on a training programme, and that I was supervising her and sitting in for Jim Palmer. I managed to persuade him that my role at Lightning was rather more senior than he had realised.

He said he supposed that was why Fred had invited me to stay on after the meeting at Romex? I didn’t correct him on that, and without saying anything specific managed to leave him with the impression that Jim was my brother (false); that I had similar qualifications to him (true); and that I was a major shareholder in the company (true).

After the call I asked Missy to gather everyone in the conference room at five o’clock that evening, and to put half a dozen bottles of champagne on ice. She immediately guessed the call was good news. She looked relieved – and happier than she’d been for at least two weeks.

Then I called Marilyn to tell her that the EGM was cancelled and why, and to make sure she was at the five o’clock meeting too.

* * *

I decided Rosie had one more secretarial duty to perform. I found a lacy apron in the office kitchen cupboard, probably left behind by outside catering staff after some party, and took on the responsibility of handing out glasses of champagne and Bucks Fizz.

I mingled with the staff, first bearing a tray, and then with a bottle to provide refills. No one batted an eyelid as they accepted a drink, assuming this was another duty Missy had assigned me to put me in my humble place. I smiled sweetly at everyone, while Missy just looked embarrassed and Marilyn chortled quietly to herself.

At about half-past five, I handed my champagne bottle to Missy, doffed my apron, and strode to the lectern at the business end of the conference room. I clanged a spoon against my own glass and called for quiet in Jim’s voice. Everyone looked at me, startled. I was a little surprised at the masculine sound myself.

“It’s a while since we’ve had a company meeting,” I began, realising that now that everyone had quietened down, I had naturally reverted to being Rosie. “So I thought that today’s news was a good reason to get together again.” I had their full attention now. “I am happy to tell you that our recent bid to become the main provider of logistics services to Romex Composites has been successful.”

Most of the staff realised this was a big deal. They cheered and whooped. Those who didn’t quite get it soon caught their enthusiasm.

“Ken and I will be meeting with their Logistics Director next week to thrash out the details of the contract and to talk about working arrangements, but I’m assured this will mean annual revenues of two million at the very least, and probably much more. The contract will be for five years with options to renew for a further five. I’m sure you all realise what a difference this will make to us.”

I paused as people were getting excited again, clapping and cheering. Missy and Marilyn went round, refilling glasses.

“Now we’re all going to be working very hard, and we’re going to have to recruit lots of new people. I have no intention of hiring in at senior levels. I want bright young things, and I want you guys to train them in how Lightning works. This time next year, I expect the company to be twice the size, and you will all have been promoted with stonking bonuses!”

Now the cheering started in earnest. When it finally died down, Judith raised her hand.

When I nodded, she asked diffidently, “Um, who’s going to be the boss then?”

Other people seemed to agree that this was a good question.

Marilyn stepped up. “I have a suggestion. Why don’t we take a vote?”

“Just a minute…” I began, “this isn’t a democracy…”

But nobody was listening and Marilyn was already ripping pages out of a notebook and handing them out.

“Write down your preferred candidate,” she said, “and I’ll collect your votes up.”

“But…”

“Sssh, Rosie,” she said firmly.

I sat down and drank a glass of champagne much too quickly. I burped loudly. People were scribbling, then handing their papers to Marilyn. Ten minutes later, she rose.

“I am pleased to announce the results of the Lightning Logistics Presidential Election…” she announced grandly. “Amazingly, the voting was completely unanimous!” She paused – purely for dramatic effect and of course to tease her poor husband. “The winner is… Mrs Rosemary Palmer!”

“So nobody voted for my brother, Jim, then?” I asked forlornly.

“Apparently not, babe,” she twinkled merrily, high on the good champagne.

Three years later

“OK, boys and girls, take your seats, please, and we can get your induction course started. First of all, welcome to Lightning Logistics. We’re delighted you all decided to join us. My name is Missy McAllister and I’m the Managing Director. Can I begin by congratulating… er, Sandra Lockwood?”

She turned to a nervous-looking blonde girl in the front row, who blushed bright scarlet. Missy smiled.

”It’s all right, dear, you haven’t done anything wrong. I’m congratulating you because you are Lightning’s fiftieth employee!”

Everyone laughed and applauded. Sandra looked relieved and managed an embarrassed smile.

“Now here on my first slide, you can see our organisation structure; three main divisions: Engineering, Sales, and Support Services. You should already know which division you will be joining, of course. I’m not going to go through all the staff now – you’ll get to know everyone soon enough, but I will just mention our four senior directors: Mrs Palmer, Mrs Palmer, Mr Nicholls, and myself.

“This is Mrs Rosemary Palmer, our CEO and Technical Director. She set up the company six years ago. Mrs Marilyn Palmer, her wife, is our Chief Financial Officer…”

* * *

The new recruits met both Mrs Palmers later that day, and couldn’t help observing that Mrs Marilyn Palmer was heavily pregnant. Some of them wondered who the father might be. (The longest-serving staff all knew, but they weren’t telling.)

Later they might hear rumours that Mrs Rosemary Palmer sometimes wore men’s clothes at home in the evenings and weekends, but that couldn’t be true, could it? She was obviously such a lady…