LISA’S DREAM

By Susan Heywood

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Robert Pemberton answers an advertisement in a contact magazine. The resulting changes to his life are the stuff of dreams.
------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

DISCLAIMERS AND COPYRIGHT INFORMATION

This is a work of adult fiction, drawn from my imagination. There are no deliberate references to anyone who has ever lived, is alive now or who has passed on.

There is some language that could be termed offensive and the story contains a few scenes of explicit sex. If either of these is upsetting to you, then you are advised to look elsewhere for your entertainment.

It is a given that the reader is entitled to hold my or me beliefs: offence is not intended. Characters are given the appropriate name and pronoun depending upon which gender they present.

This work is copyright of the author. No reproduction in any form, except for personal perusal, is permitted without express permission.

[email protected]

----------------------------------------------------------

Chapter One

“Robert James Pemberton, why can’t you hurry in the mornings? School days are the best days of your life, you know.”

~Yeah, right, Mum, so the rest of my life isn’t going to be worth living? ~

Thus was the essence of my youth. I hated the daily journey to that institutionalized brutality called school. Your typical Mr. Invisible, I was average in all respects, right down to my geeky glasses. Except I wasn’t average in that I wasn’t interested in sport, girls, sowing wild oats, fighting in gangs, swapping dirty stories, or any of the other things that normal adolescent boys are supposed to do.

“Music and reading?” My dad asked. “What sort of hobbies are they for a healthy teenage boy? Join in some sports; get some exercise.” The Colonel I had dubbed him. If he had risen above the rank of sergeant I’d have been amazed. Still he had been in the army — English Civil War I reckoned — must have grown the moustache then.

My peers seemed concerned only with “who won the match” or “that smashing bird over there.” As a matter of self-survival I became quite adept at fiction, the re-telling of stories from my imagination.

Also along the lines of stopping the bullying I had got myself a girlfriend.

~ A girlfriend? Ha! ~

Carol was a friendly girl who lived a few doors away. She was about my age and reasonably pretty, but not stunningly so, which didn’t bother me at all. Carol and Angela, her younger sister, were content if I simply sat and read a newspaper, while they played house around me. This ruse allowed me to keep their company without the usual relationship overtones. In truth I would have liked to have had a much different relationship with them — at least, Lisa would.

Lisa was the sister that not even my own parents knew about. Our thoughts were identical. A make-believe sister, or even an imaginary twin, is common for an only child, but Lisa was different. She was a prisoner who dared not be seen.

She would have loved to have been able to join in, really join in, the games that Carol and Angela played. She would have adored a doll to dress and push around in a pram. She would have loved to play nurses, house, and so on. Lisa envied Carol’s long hair, lovely clothes and school uniform. Nothing would have suited her more than to go swimming, have other girls with whom to go to school, discuss boys, fashions, what they would do at the weekend — all the usual girly things.

These, however, were the stuff of my youthful dreams. Real opportunities for Lisa were virtually non-existent and fraught with danger.

***

Lonely and frustrating years passed, but the day I joined Kennedy & Wise, my life started to run out of control. I’m not complaining, merely observing. It certainly wasn’t anything to complain about.

Unlike my parents and school mates, Kennedy & Wise didn’t seem to be concerned with appearance or hobbies. They wanted accuracy. I was an accounts clerk, a job I enjoyed very much, perhaps because I could mainly work alone. I even gained the necessary courage and confidence to change my glasses for contact lenses. This initially caused some comment, but another subject soon grabbed the headlines and the matter of my eyesight, or lack of it, was filed in the dustbin of the mind where it really belonged.

Mostly, of course, Lisa was much more interested in what the other women wore: their clothes; make-up; perfumes; heels; how they walked; girl talk and so on and I ended up completely tongue-tied when the matter of relationships arose. It’s doubtful if my excuse of being between girlfriends was really believed.

I could be found during most spare moments at the local library. I decided that, as this amounted to free entertainment, I might as well make use of it. As a result of my reading, I learned a lot about Lisa. I also learned something I didn’t want to know — I could never afford to do anything to help her achieve her life’s ambition.

My knowledge of the business and my work experience grew; this brought more responsibility and a small rise in pay. All would possibly have carried on like this had it not been for the arrival of a new Finance Director.

Miss Harriet Armitage was introduced to every member of staff as we stood in line to greet her. I was mesmerized by her commanding manner. She was by no means masculine looking, but had that indefinable air of someone who was quite accustomed to instant obedience.

If I had to guess her age, I would have said that she was in her late twenties and she towered above me by a good few inches. She had a physique, and purposeful agility of a tigress, that any self-respecting netball team would kill for. Her short, straight, brown hair, white roll-neck sweater, midnight blue trouser suit and low-heeled shoes conveyed an impression of femininity, but with no sign of softness.

Indeed she was clearly used to getting her own way; her personality and presence saw to that. She neither needed nor wore make-up. Her faint smile and firm grip on my hand seemed to paralyze my whole body. I felt her eyes bore right through me, almost laying my soul bare. She greeted me in her mellow contralto voice and continued to look at me as I tried to stammer a response.

Making her acquaintance changed my life. I felt myself in the presence of someone who could have absolute power over me and for whom I would do anything in the world.

~ Her slave? Why not? I just want to serve this woman and do anything for her. I’ve never felt anything like it in my life ~

When she had moved on to the next person in the line, I spent a few moments trying to catch my breath. Nothing before in my life had ever had such an impact upon me as that first meeting. Only later was it pointed out to me that I alone had responded to her greeting with the word “ma’am.” I nearly bowed but just restrained myself.

~ Should I curtsey? Now where on earth did that thought come from? ~

I’d have been in deep shit if I had curtsied — but for some strange reason a curtsey didn’t seem at all incongruous.

***

That next weekend I spent the day in the nearest big city where I relaxed for a few hours in the one of the specialist bookshops that catered to my tastes. I liked to buy Lisa a magazine every now and then and would have purchased some lovely clothes had it not been for the problem of storage at my lodgings. At least a magazine could be slid down the back of a drawer.

Back in my room, I was drawn to one particular, intriguing advertisement:

Prof. lady seeks TV or TS for bookkeeping and other clerical tasks, also var. household duties. Sincere applics only, no drag queens, posers or time-wasters. All clothing provided. Discreet accommodation in secluded area. Reply to Box 431.

Excited and frightened I was somehow driven to respond: it was an opportunity which Lisa would not let me pass up. I didn’t see any risks; rather I didn’t want to see. All that mattered to me was the possibility of achieving my life’s ambition to become the graceful, feminine and intelligent woman that I should have been at birth, had my genital defect not indicated otherwise. I wrote straight away, before my courage failed me. I considered using a Box Number for replies but eventually just appended my own name and address. After posting the letter I fell to wondering about the professional lady and where she lived.

After about a month with no reply, I decided that I obviously wasn’t the right applicant and dejected, resolved to forget about it.

The very next day, a Friday, I was summoned to Miss Armitage’s office.

~ Oh shit, a director. Now I’ve got to tell old Cummings, my line manager, and I bet he’ll give me the third degree. ‘What have you done? Why can’t you be more careful,’ ya da, ya da, painful. How do I know what I’ve done? ~

I immediately started shaking but, rather than cause myself more trouble by delaying, I went up to the executive suite and shyly approached June, Miss Armitage’s secretary.

She gave me a quizzical look. “Do sit down; Miss Armitage won’t keep you long.”

I sat down on the edge of a chair, my heart thumping. I assumed that I must have made some dreadful mistake; after all you weren’t summoned to a Director’s office without good reason. Most minor problems would surely have been handled by Mr Cummings.

Eventually June’s telephone rang once. “Yes, Miss Armitage . . . “Certainly, Miss Armitage.” She replaced the handset. “Please go in.”

I got up from my chair and kept a watchful eye on June. She was clearly mystified as she watched me hesitantly walk towards that office door. She kept frowning and glancing over to me as if questioning my right to be there.

I timidly knocked on the door.

A voice commanded, “Come.”

I quaked in my shoes as I gingerly opened the door and entered, closing it behind me.

The office was a fairly large room containing the usual trappings of a Director who, at that moment, occupied a huge leather chair behind a vast expanse of mahogany desk. Bookcases lined one long wall and sat on a carpet done in a sumptuous shade of blue with a small pattern reminiscent of an ancient Greek pavement I’d seen in a book. An imposing array of modern technology occupied a purpose-built workstation set in an alcove to the left of the desk.

Once again Miss Armitage’s attire was female without being in any way feminine.

I was struck by the power of this woman. I stood quite still, except for the thumping of my heart.

“Good morning, Robert.” She greeted with that slight smile I had noticed when we were first introduced. “Please sit down.” She indicated a chair in front of the desk.

I carefully sat on the front edge of it wondering if I should speak, but my brain would not respond. Normally I would avert my eyes if she looked my way while walking in the office but today I had no choice but to look directly at her.

“You recently responded to an advertisement in a contact magazine.”

My heart skipped a beat, or was it two, facing utter devastation. I burst into tears, not knowing how she knew, just seeing the horrible ramifications.

~ My world has collapsed. My lodgings take a large part of my income and were an easy walk to the office. Now what will I do? How do I get another job? Why did I have to answer that advert? ~

Accounts clerks were two a penny and I had no illusions about the difficulty of finding work. In addition, I would have to go back and live with my elderly parents, which didn’t appeal to me.

“Stop your crying!” she commanded and rose from her chair. She opened a drawer in the desk and took out some tissues, which she handed to me.

With a massive effort of will I pulled myself together but rested my head on my hands.

“It is very simple,” she said, “I advertised, you replied. If your application is serious, then I shall conduct a proper interview.”

~ Why on earth did I have to put my name and address on the letter? ~

I nodded and then started to cry again.

She got up, came around to my side of the desk and stood beside me.

I was in full flow and jabbering “Please don’t sack me, ma’am.”

Suddenly she knelt beside me, put her arm around my shoulder, and gently asked, “Do you have a femme name?”

~ Femme name? How on earth could she know about femme names? ~

I slowly turned to her and my eyes widened with astonishment. “L.....Lisa, m.....ma’am.” I blurted out, almost automatically.

“Very good, Lisa Pemberton. Will you trust me?” In that one sentence she had re-christened me.

I was at once shocked, confused, delighted and petrified. I didn’t know why I felt the way I did but my whole being wanted only to serve this amazing woman. “Y…Yes, ma’am”

She helped me dry my eyes. “I need to know more about you. I have your employment and academic records -- and from my observation you appear to be very suitable for the work that I have in mind. Please, now, take your time and tell me as much about your past and your wishes for yourself as you can. You may be interested to know that I have been observing you for some time. Do you believe in fate, Lisa?”

Without waiting for an answer she went on. “I suppose the odds against your even reading the advertisement must be almost impossibly high. For you to have actually responded must surely be fate. Having seen how you relate to other staff here, especially other women, I have long had my suspicions that you would be the ideal person for me. You have simply saved me the trouble, and possible embarrassment, of asking you directly.”

Little by little she drew out my complete history. Finally she asked if I knew my dress size, shoe size and a few other things. I had no idea so just told her what sizes I was in male clothes. At last, after nearly two hours in her office, she was satisfied.

She gave me a card. “Good. Come to my house at ten o’clock on Monday morning and we can discuss it then. Here’s a map.” I nodded, and she concluded by saying, “Now clear your desk and leave. Please ask your manager to come to my office immediately. If anyone asks, you know nothing.”

I looked and felt as though I had been wrung out. I stumbled back to my desk, which I cleared and passed the message to my manager.

“Are you in trouble?” he asked.

“No,” I answered, “I’ve just been told to clear my desk and leave.”

I ignored all other questions and left.

~ How am I going to get through the weekend? ~

My head was thumping, my thoughts all jumbled and my hands shaking. Not only that but my landlady, surprised to see me this early in the day, asked what was wrong.

“I was sent home,” I replied.

“Have you been sacked, then?” she asked, no doubt anxious about her rent and possibly also wondering if her next tenant would be as quiet and reliable.

“I wasn’t well; and I was just told to go home early,” I stammered, and went to my room.

Chapter Two

I had spent a puzzled and anxious weekend in the solitude of my room, sleeping only fitfully and eating even less than my usual meagre appetite allowed. I had taken the precaution of setting an alarm clock even though I was an early riser.

Dressed in my tidiest shirt and trousers, I arrived with plenty of time to spare. Miss Armitage’s home was in a suburb of the same city in which I worked and had my lodging. I had no difficulty finding the large, detached and secluded house, with it curved drive and privacy hedges. It looked to have been built in the early twentieth century, and seemed well maintained.

I checked my watch for what must have been the hundredth time that morning, and then rang the doorbell at precisely ten o’clock. The door opened and I looked up into the face of a strikingly beautiful woman who, I guessed, would be in her early twenties. She smiled, pleased by something, and beckoned for me to enter.

I didn’t register all her features, but noticed that her long, curly golden hair was gathered away from her face behind a white headband. She walked in front of me in a black and white outfit that might have been a uniform. I couldn’t help but notice her large breasts; her outfit emphasized all of her stunning curves.

I dared not do anything but glance quickly at her, while she showed me into what she called “the drawing room.”

“I’ll inform my mistress of your arrival.” She glanced back at me with her enchanting eyes while she left the room.

Miss Armitage entered the room a few minutes later; and I was again mesmerized by her ability to overpower me. Her cream polo shirt was topped by a stylish black trouser suit. Low-heeled shoes again reinforced the masculine image she portrayed at work. Her hands were well manicured, but with no trace of nail polish. She again wore no make-up and her hair appeared as though she had just had a very mannish haircut.

She held out a hand to help me stand. “Hello, Lisa, I’m so glad that you could come. I think you will find my offer interesting; and I hope that we can come to a suitable arrangement.”

~Lisa.~ I pinched myself to make sure that I was awake. ~Ouch.~

“This is Jennifer, my maid and housekeeper.”

The woman who had admitted me had come back into the room, all the while carefully examining every detail of my appearance. Taking my hands in hers she smiled. “Hello, Lisa, I’m very pleased to meet you and I do hope that you will want to join us. I am so looking forward to helping you settle in and working with you.”

I had hoped I would see Jennifer again soon but was just as tongue-tied with her as I had been with the mistress.

~My relationship with Miss Armitage will obviously be strictly business but my reaction to Jennifer is another matter entirely. I already feel drawn to her in a way that causes my heart to do the emotional equivalent of a double back-flip somersault ~

The electricity between us broke when Jennifer addressed her mistress. “Shall I bring refreshments now, ma’am?”

Nodding her assent, Miss Armitage dismissed Jennifer.

She curtsied as she left the room.

Miss Armitage turned her attention to me. “Sit down, Lisa.”

I responded immediately to Miss Armitage order and sat expectantly on the edge of the chair that she had indicated.

She again smiled slightly, sitting opposite to me.

I trembled while feeling puzzled, yet excited.

~She had again used my femme name - no wonder I’m excited! Hang on, though; things like this just don’t happen to boring, obscure people like me, do they?~

I had great difficulty concentrating on what she was saying, because I hadn’t recovered from that delicious all-over tingle caused by the touch of Jennifer’s hands upon mine.

“Well now,” Miss Armitage said, who seemingly had not missed the significance of my inattention. “I wish to employ an Assistant.” She emphasized the word “Assistant.”

~What sort of assistant? Doing what? ~ I daren’t speak.

“In addition to being Finance Director of Kennedy and Wise, I also run my own business, a first class accounting service for successful businesswomen. My business has grown somewhat of late; and Jennifer has neither the inclination nor aptitude for the work, hence the need for someone to join us.”

“But. . . . Wh. . .why am I here?” I stammered.

“That’s very simple. My experience with you tells me that you’ll make an ideal assistant. You’re loyal, hard working and obedient -- and, what’s more, you’re no macho type.”

~ Macho type? Wouldn’t it amaze my father if I found a position by lacking a macho attitude? ~

“But wh. . .what ab...bout...?”

At that moment Jennifer returned with a tray of morning coffee and delicate home-made pastries.

“Jennifer has been with me for many years. I have briefed her on your background and the type of work which you will be doing for me. Jennifer will be helping you with what we will call your ‘domestic arrangements.’ ”

~ Domestic arrangements? What on earth does she mean? ~

She continued, apparently without noticing my look of worried puzzlement. “I, of course, shall supervise the work you do for my business. But I will also take a great deal of interest in other aspects of your life with us.” She apparently sensed that I was still worried. “There are no men in this household. I intend there will never be any. You’ll therefore be expected to adopt a totally female role.”

My heart leapt and I fought to control my growing excitement.

~A female role? Is she joking? I hope not~ The advertisement wasn’t a ruse.

She went on. “We are confident that, with our help, you will suit our requirements admirably. I know that your clerical work and bookkeeping are of a suitable standard. Your studies at evening classes have neither gone unnoticed nor been wasted effort. I have watched you practicing at lunchtimes when you thought that you were unobserved. The work here is well within your capabilities and, I am sure, you will quickly pick up the other aspects of the position. You will, in effect, be my personal assistant.”

~She wants Lisa . . . not Robert. Can I deny Lisa this opportunity? Would I ever want to do so? No -- on both counts ~

“Jennifer, please bring me my briefcase.” She opened it and took out a chequebook. Miss Armitage looked over to me. “I will make out a cheque for four weeks’ rent; and you can take it with you. Collect your belongings and bring them here this afternoon. Oh, and sign these.”

I looked at her questioningly.

She frowned slightly. “I can see by your face that you would like to take this post. Am I correct?”

“Yes, YES,” I whispered. My whole body quivered with anticipation, but at the same time had reservations.

~There surely has to be a catch; things like this are the stuff of dreams ~

Her puckered brow turned to a radiant smile. “Very well, you will resign your employment with Kennedy and Wise with effect from Friday last. You start with me today. Sign your letter of resignation as Robert, your new contract of employment as Lisa and leave the dates blank. We will deal with the official change of name in due course.”

I pinched myself again. ~Yes, I’m still awake ~

Eagerly I took the pen Miss Armitage offered me and signed my names at the bottom of both documents. I realized after I had done so that I had been commanded, not invited, to sign. I also realized that this was the first time I had ever signed myself as Lisa Janice Pemberton. Acting out of trust or expediency, I did not read the documents before signing them.

To Be Continued

My grateful thanks go to Angela Rasch for her advice and her editing skills; she has helped turn my writing into a story.