Summer Intern
A Short Story
By Maryanne Peters

Who could believe such an asshole could become my closest friend? I put it down to the power of womanhood. When it comes down to it, we are the superior sex. Our chemistry can dominate and drown out the worst things about men.

Ken came to work at my uncle’s law firm as a summer intern. You could see that he thought that he was somebody really special in his cheap suit. When you take that suit off there was just a scrawny loser inside. It makes you wonder where guys like Tom get the idea that they are irresistibly attractive to women.

The fact is that the world is full of men who are dragged through life by their dicks. Men who don’t think with their heads if their loins are in charge. Even knowing that the office has full surveillance and that all his bullshit could be caught on camera, Ken had to try it on with me. But when your dick is in control, a playful grope can turn into attempted rape in a flash.

People might argue that it did not go that far, but if you look at the footage, what I was saying was that it looks like 10 years in jail for luckless Ken. I knew enough about the criminal side of the business to know that.

Ken was not happy to hear it. So what could he do? The answer is simple: Anything I want – that’s what. Well I had a plan, but my uncle would not like it.

You see, I wanted to be the lawyer. My uncle gave me work as a secretary, even though I was just as far along as Ken was. Why? Because he looks good it a suit? No – because he has a cock just like my uncle. I look good in a dress, so I am the secretary – or maybe it’s because I don’t have the right genitals?

Employers have a duty to protect their staff against predators like young Ken – did you know that? My uncle was in trouble too, and fair enough. He failed in his duty to protect his staff. So, he agreed to my plan.

Put simply, I will become the summer intern, and work in the civil division learning from the ground up, and Ken will take over my job and my dresses. That’s right – Ken had to become Karen, my uncle’s personal secretary.

My uncle has fairly exacting standards when it comes to being his secretary. Standards of dress, and behavior and performance. On the last count Karen could rely on the keyboard skills and organizing ability that Ken had already, but everything else was up to me. Well, me and my uncle’s credit card.

“You have to become Karen from the skin out,” I explained. That meant starting with body shaping and lingerie. That was a good time to bring forth the first protests – something I had to put down vigorously. It was made very clear to Karen that this was the only way to avoid jail and keep the prospect of a career. But I needed to suggest that there would be an end to all of this, so long as she went along with it. She did, but with a scowl.

As I said, my uncle had standards, and a proper corporate wardrobe for the executive assistant to a senior partner in a major law firm should be elegant and professional with just a hint of hot sex. In the case of Karen I had no real breasts to work with, which was a limitation that I needed to work on, but her legs were outstanding, or soon would be.

So off to the salon and spa for the full treatment, starting with a full body waxing and some electrolysis of facial hair.

“To the regret of every woman, all hair comes back,” I reassured the pained Karen. But I knew that Ken’s beard was a thing of the past. It would not be the last bit of the old Ken to be assigned to the trash.

Ken had been blessed with a full head of luxuriant hair, which could provide the anchor for an even fuller head, capable of being styled in a proper fashion. I know my uncle favours sleek high buns or French rolls, perhaps with an accidental wisp hinting at the sexy long hair awaiting days end. Karen would have work to do to keep such hair looking great, but that was now her lot in life.

Women are beautiful because we choose to be – not to attract shits like Ken. The world is well rid of him.

And on the subject of beauty, Karen had a lot to learn about makeup. The salon girls did a great job – not only making her look totally feminine, but also taking her through a series of looks with explanations. The four key looks are, of course: Office, evening, casual day wear and slutty. Karen had plenty to learn, but (as I explained, yet again) she needed to do the work if she wanted to stay free.

We left the salon with a bag of cosmetics and hair products, but more importantly, a loyalty card. As I explained to Karen, if her look was not just right, she would be coming for a makeover every day, and even with the loyalty discount, that can make a huge dent in a girl’s pay.

“This is only today,” I explained. “My uncle will not be paying for you to look this good every day.” Those words turned out to be untrue, but how was I to know?

I insisted that she walk back to the office in her new heels, so that she could pass inspection. She had some difficulty. It was not so much the pain in her feet, as she said, but the discomfort in her groin. She was too constricted. Well, you may well conclude that what was going on down there while she was trotting along in those heels with her dress swishing against her hairless bare legs, was that she was getting an erection. I wonder why? Was Ken not quite the man we thought he was?

“There’s an answer to that,” I said. “But its not letting your cock tent your dress. I will arrange a prescription and we can keep that little piggy in his pen.” And that is what I did.

When we got to the building and we stood in the lift, Karen was able to readjust herself. A guy in the lift looked on in confusion, but Karen just gave him a pretty little smile. He smiled back. It was as if he no longer cared about what he had just seen. He just saw a pretty woman smiling at him.

I have to admit it, I was not so happy about it. This was a punishment, but I suddenly understood that Karen had seen the reaction of this guy as much as I had. Men will disregard or excuse any behavior from a good-looking woman if they get a smile like that.

The problem was that the salon (and to a lesser extent, me) had done too good a job - Karen was way too pretty. And that was confirmed when my uncle saw her for the first time. Just like the guy in the lift, he was puzzled at first, then she smiled, and he smiled back.

He laughed and slapped his thigh, and said that it was a hoot, but somehow I knew that he was affected by her, even though he knew she was not a her at all.

“You can start Monday,” he said. “But brush up on your general deportment. I don’t want anyone who meets you thinking that my secretary is a tranny.”

Before we left, we checked out his diary and systems, and Karen sensibly made notes about how he liked his coffee and what was the name of his personal trainer, and stuff like that. We had the weekend to improve her “deportment” but I also had a mind to introduce her to some other aspects of womanhood that she might not find so pleasurable.

Friday night in the city can be a horrifying experience for a pretty girl. The place is full of people like Ken. How would Karen cope? She received a lesson in the power of women in pairs that night. Getting stared at is something that can be good for the ego, and the occasional proposition after a free drink can be amusing, but molestation is horrible. I had learned how to deal with it. For her it was an eye-opener.

I suggested that she stay at my place that night as I had a spare bed – my roommate worked as cabin crew on a major airline. I made sure to smack down any re-emergence of Ken. I told her that we could hang out for the weekend so that she could learn more about being a woman, and that meant not even thinking about being the man she had once been.

Saturday morning was when I fixed for Karen her first she-moothie – a morning pick-me-up with fruit, yogurt, LSA and lashing of female hormones. It was my daily treat for her from that day on.

I think that the promise of liberty made her commit herself to improvement, but I like to think that it was something better that made her enjoy that weekend. We both did. I went all out girly for two full days, something that a busy person like myself just does not have the chance to do. We did dress up with catwalk strutting, and we gorged on chick flicks and the fashion channel. We did voice training and Karen learned the feminine phrasebook of put downs and uplifting calls. I even had time to give her a briefing on dealing with my uncle, an inveterate bachelor for all of his years, although a man who only functioned if a woman was sitting at the desk outside his office.

By Monday morning when we walked into that office, we were both ready. I looked forward to the lowly paid but career valuable term as summer intern, and Karen took over the highly paid but punishing role as my uncle’s personal secretary.

We were both dressed to kill, but of course Karen had a shape that was heavily padded. It was not long before my uncle was complaining about that.

“First of all, I have my niece doing the job, and now I have a girl without breasts,” he complained. “Is it asking too much for a guy to expect his secretary to be like a good old-fashioned sexy-tary? Somebody worth flirting with in an idle moment?”

Just in case you think that my uncle is a shit in the mould of Ken, let me explain that he was what he was looking for – old-fashioned. He was a charmer, not a molester. His idea of flirting was to compliment a woman, not grope her. Maybe it’s just because he is my uncle, but I always found his manner endearing. I think Karen felt the same way.

A week or some into our new arrangement, my high-flying roomie quit our apartment, and on my reduced salary rent was impossible. Karen offered to move in and pay a full share of the rent, so that I could help her through things. I needed somebody so I agreed.

I have to say that it did worry me that the person I was basically blackmailing into a form of punishment would be living with me full time, but it seemed to me that Karen was genuine. She had presented herself to the whole firm as a woman, and so basically (you have to exclude my uncle) I was the only person she could share her concerns with. Top of the list was my uncle nagging her to have breast augmentation, paid for by him of course.

“He doesn’t have the power, I do,” I said. “He cannot force you to have the implants.”

“No, he would like me to have breasts for rest of the summer,” said Karen. “Actually, if you are going to have me stay like this for a while then maybe I should have it done?”

Was this testing me, or having me fix a time for the release from punishment? It had only been a few weeks. I was thinking at least a year, maybe two. So, I said: “Get the implants. You’ll get a few years out of them, then you can have them taken out.”

She did not seem fazed at all. She got a week off fully paid, then she came back with a set of D-cup boobs. My uncle sent flowers and a huge box full of bras and little panties. He had left a note in the box, which said: “If the panties don’t fit, I will happily pay for additional surgery.” I was thinking how weird my uncle’s sense of humor was.

But D-cup breasts are hard to hide, so right there is a change for Karen which would force her to make big adjustments. I am talking about her family.

Thanksgiving was coming around and she was to head upstate to be with her folks. She asked me to come with her. She was not going to shock them on the doorstep, so she sent the edition of the firm’s newsletter with her picture in it up to her folks. She told them that she was bringing “A girlfriend” – me.

I have to say that I was thinking that this was going to be awkward, but the truth is that we had become really close. It was not like righteous punisher and deserving victim anymore. She had made the choice to accept her fate, and the breasts had confirmed that.

She spent ages wondering what she should wear. I suggested that the breasts should be on display but otherwise we should both look casual but beautiful. I think that we both pulled off that look.

Her parents were wonderful. Her mother was in tears when she saw her. Her father was horrified but seemed comforted by the fact that I was there. Even more so when Karen said: “This may only be a temporary thing”. She did not go into it. That would have been too difficult for me and she knew it.

Karen had a married older brother who treated it as a joke, although his wife was understanding and very curious. Karen told everybody how she loved her job, and her boss, my uncle. In fact, I had not realized it before, but she clearly adored my uncle. She was gushy when she talked about him. Her father looked at her strangely, so I thought that it was a good time to hold her arm as if to say: “Don’t worry, she is still interested in girls”.

But a week later, my uncle asked Karen to move in with him. This is my uncle the bachelor. I knew he had mistresses before, and some of them he had put up in apartments, but to my knowledge Karen was the first woman he had ever invited in to share his home with. And she was not even a woman. Not then anyway.

Those panties will be fitting now, that’s all I am going to say. And now, on top of sitting my bar examinations and taking on a role as associate in my uncle’s law firm, I have all the duties of bridesmaid dumped on my plate. Oh well …

The End

© Maryanne Peters 2019

My uncle and his bride. That’s me in the background.