The characters are all fictional, except for Thornton, who was my boss and did a number of the things described here.
Although this is not a story about sex, it is a story for adults because it does contain scenes of explicit sexuality. I believe each of these scenes is an important part of the story and that they help us to understand our main characters. There is no sexual violence or gratuitous sex. Because this is the story of a young adult transsexual discovering herself, there is sex between people of the same and opposite sexes (although only one at a time). This is therefore X-rated.
Some readers will find the first part of the story a little rough or perhaps edging into themes they would prefer not to read about. But if you get through that I believe you thoroughly enjoy the rest.
Acknowledgements: Writing is hard work, but being able to share that effort with others makes it more like a joy. So I would like to thank the people who helped me. Specifically I’d like to start by thanking Elaine, to whom I owe my deepest appreciation for being a wonderfully supportive and insightful friend and editor. I would like thank Lesley, who undertook the usually thankless task of proofreading much of this very long story, and who I repeatedly undermined by going back and rewriting parts she had already finished. Ellen Hayes and I would like to thank Ellen Hayes for helping me keep my eye on my target, including a crucial observation about the last part of the story that finally allowed me bring it to life, instead of making it a parody. Vickie Tern read an early version or this story (and then parts of a later one) and identified many of the discrepancies and inconsistencies that drive readers crazy. More importantly, however, she identified some of the key strong points so I could build on them. Finally, I’d like to thank Dawn DeWinter, who worked hard to help me understand what was important and what was not in the early parts of the story.
Thanks girls
Kelly Ann
The characters are all fictional, except for Thornton, who was my boss and did a number of the things described here.
Although this is not a story about sex, it is a story for adults because it does contain scenes of explicit sexuality. I believe each of these scenes is an important part of the story and that they help us to understand our main characters. There is no sexual violence or gratuitous sex. Because this is the story of a young adult transsexual discovering herself, there is sex between people of the same and opposite sexes (although only one at a time). This is therefore X-rated.
Some readers will find the first part of the story a little rough or perhaps edging into themes they would prefer not to read about. But if you get through that I believe you thoroughly enjoy the rest.
Acknowledgements: Writing is hard work, but being able to share that effort with others makes it more like a joy. So I would like to thank the people who helped me. Specifically I’d like to start by thanking Elaine, to whom I owe my deepest appreciation for being a wonderfully supportive and insightful friend and editor. I would like thank Lesley, who undertook the usually thankless task of proofreading much of this very long story, and who I repeatedly undermined by going back and rewriting parts she had already finished. I would like to thank Ellen Hayes for helping me keep my eye on my target, including a crucial observation about the last part of the story that finally allowed me bring it to life, instead of making it a parody. Vickie Tern read an early version or this story (and then parts of a later one) and identified many of the discrepancies and inconsistencies that drive readers crazy. More importantly, however, she identified some of the key strong points so I could build on them. Finally, I’d like to thank Dawn DeWinter, who worked hard to help me understand what was important and what was not in the early parts of the story.
Thanks girls
Kelly Ann
When I caught my breath and looked up, she was staring at me with a satisfied look on her face. From a distance, you might think her plain, in a Midwestern sort of way. After looking at her for a moment, however, you could see that she had a big, full mouth and large, dark eyes that glistened out at you over prominent cheek bones. Her hair was a glossy black, soft and straight for a several inches, with the ends permed into soft curls that hugged her neck and floated softly around her as she moved her head. To me she looked like some kind of tigress who knew she ruled over everything she surveyed. She carried herself with the confidence of a soldier and her body was trim and athletic. Taller than me, with taut muscles under the sleekest layer of feminine body fat, she now threw a lean but curvy hip into the air as she lay on her side. Her breasts were not large and barely sagged at all from her small chest. I was beginning to get lost in her when she spoke.
"You're hairless. Why?" It was a simple question, without any of the derision or cruelty I expected. She reached down, took my hand in hers, and pulled me up to my knees. Then she stared at my crotch. "Roll onto your back and spread your legs," she said calmly, her voice full of innocent curiosity. My prick was rigid, bobbing from side to side as I moved. I kept sucking blood back into my mouth. I was beginning to taste bad memories.
Though I expected her to humiliate me at any moment, she didn't: "You've shaved your body and your pubic hairs are shaped into a sexy little triangle. I've never seen that on a man. I'll bet you could wear a pair of high cut panties and not a hair would show." Her eyes widened for a second as understanding flooded into her face. "That's it, isn't it? You wear panties."
My breath caught it my throat. The enormity of what had happened to me in just one day simply overwhelmed me. I curled myself up into a fetal position and tried not to sob, though my soul was torn apart. I felt totally defeated, angry, and helpless.
There was something about those feelings, and the taste of blood that loosed a chaotic torrent of memories. Suddenly, I was sitting in an alley, my legs splayed out in front of me and my back propped against a filthy garbage can. My head was exploding with pain, I was gasping for breath, and blood was filling my mouth from the hole that had been punched through my lower lip when my teeth had been driven through it. I was with Ginny, my first real girlfriend. We had just been robbed and I had been beaten to the ground. Ginny’s face was flushed and she was standing over me and yelling down at me, her hands jerking around in the air like a crazed puppeteer was controlling them. "Why didn’t you protect me?" she shouted. Why didn’t you do something?
I looked up at her in wonder. What was her problem? I was the one who had been beaten. I was lying in garbage and my mouth was full of blood because I had pushed her behind me to protect her. Ginny’s hands weren’t even dirty and it was obvious she had no intention of getting them bloody by even helping me get up.
So I sat there on the filthy pavement, impotent with rage and humiliation. What was her problem? We had been jumped by three guys. It wasn’t my fault they took her purse. So what, she probably has ten more anyway. How dare she blame me. I was the one bleeding and in pain. I was the real victim here. Why was she blaming me? Why couldn’t she just shut up?
Her inane but poisonous accusations, "Why didn’t you protect me? Why didn’t you do anything?" rocketed around inside my head. I didn’t need her yelling that at me as I sat trying to suck the blood into my mouth so I wouldn’t drip all over my carefully aged, leather bomber jacket. I thought such a classic war hero jacket made me look more like man, but how masculine can you look if your tough-guy coat is covered in blood? But as I looked at her, I began to understand. In a strange way, she was right. She had been robbed. I hadn’t been able to stop that from happening, and I could feel the guilt boiling up inside me. Oh God, not again, I knew guilt far to well. It had been my constant companion since my eleventh birthday. That was the day I first tasted blood. I don’t know what it tastes like to other people, but to me it is the taste of impotence.
I learned that lying on my side in a wrecked car, blood all over me. My birthday had been yesterday and my father had promised me a double scoop Baskin and Robbins Rocky Road ice cream cone. But he had gotten drunk and passed out instead. He was drinking today too, but he was always drinking; a few more shots downed as quickly as they could be poured didn’t mean anything to me. Still, I had finally nagged him into taking me out. I didn‘t really understand what whiskey did to people, except that sometimes it made him angry. And then I knew enough to hide.
My father was fiddling with the radio as our car started to drift left into the opposite lane at the same time another car rounded the bend just ahead of us. I screamed and we abruptly careened back to the right, and then the left, and then right again. The brakes screeched for the longest time, bushes and shrubs rushed passed us madly and then there was a monstrous crashing sound. I was thrown forward hard against my seat belt and shoulder harness. Glass shattered all around me. I lost consciousness. When I came to, I was lying on my side against the passenger side door, still held by my seat belt. The window had been shattered and there were dirt and leaves in my face. The car was on its side.
"Please help me," my father whispered. I looked up. My father was hanging above me, held up by his seat belt, the steering wheel, which pinned his chest to the seat back, and the dashboard, which was all the way up in his lap. He was bleeding so much that his blood was spilling down onto me, and then into my mouth as I gasped for breath. I could taste my father's blood.
I tried to get free to help him, but couldn't. The dashboard was in my lap too and pinned me in place. Under the dashboard, my legs throbbed, but the only movement I could make was to wiggle my toes. I don't know how long we were trapped, but my father begged me to help him for the longest time. "Brad, help me. Brad please help me." He even got angry. "Goddamn it Brad why won’t you help your own father." Sometimes if I’ve had too much to drink, he comes back to haunt me in my dreams. "Brad, why didn’t you help me. Brad why didn’t you help me your own father."
"Dad, I’m trapped, I can’t get out. I’m trying as hard as I can, but I can’t move.
"Brad why won’t you help me, why won’t you help me.
"I’m trying to get free put I can’t move my legs, they’re stuck…, and they hurt." I desperately tried to get free to help him, but couldn't. I cried the whole time from pain and frustration and a sense of failure. He cursed my weakness and reverted to his favorite taunt, calling me a sissy. "If I had a real son instead of a faggot sissy girl, he’d have gotten me out by now." Finally, he fell silent. I had already stopped struggling to get free; the pain in my legs had overwhelmed my awareness and I simply lay in the now bloody leaves and mud that had puddled under my face, whimpering.
By the time the rescue squad got to us he was dead and I was completely covered in his blood. I remember thinking that he must have no blood left in him. It was all on me. There was so much blood the paramedics thought I was seriously injured as well and frantically looked for my wounds. They were in a panic about losing me. They made me think I was about to die. In a way I did. The child in me died that day in my father’s whiskey-soaked blood.
That child might have been revived at the hospital by a caring mother. She could have consoled the child and told him that his father had broken both his legs and almost killed him because his father was driving drunk. She might have told the child that a skinny little 11 year old couldn’t possibly drag a 220 pound man from a wrecked car. She could have told him that no one could have saved his father, because in truth, the rescue squad had been called almost immediately and gotten there as soon as they could.
Instead, my mother arrived at the hospital drunk and out of control, shouting her grief to everyone who crossed her path. When she got to my room she turned on me and accused me of killing my father. "If you hadn't forced him to go out to get you a stupid ice cream cone this wouldn't have happened," she yelled, "you killed him!" And she burst into tears. I still haven’t been able to rid myself of the guilt that was thrust upon me that day. It wasn’t just that I couldn’t help my father; I had killed him. In my mother’s eyes I was to blame. My mother was so unforgiving she never let me celebrate another childhood birthday. She either ignored the day altogether or used the occasion to humiliate me.
Years later I finally understood, intellectually at least, that I had not killed my father. He had killed himself by drinking and then driving. He could just as easily have killed me or someone else. But that particular combination of feelings, the helplessness and frustration and rage that I felt while trapped in that car blasted their way into my memory. Those feelings were back now, fueling my tears.
I can’t always predict when these dreadful memories will invade my consciousness, but I do know by now that the taste of blood will almost surely summon them. And here I was with blood filling my mouth, overwhelmed by feelings of impotence and helplessness and anger. I started sobbing. I was so distraught that I didn’t even notice Cynthia lying there watching, witness to my weakness.
Cynthia knew nothing of the boy or the man who couldn’t protect the people he loved. She must have assumed I was weeping from the humiliation. She moved back from the edge of the bed and languidly turned onto her side again, staring down at me, completely unaware of the tumult inside my heart. I’m not sure what she saw, but I just knew it disgusted her. But she simply reached up and turned off the lamp. "You can tell me about yourself and then get dressed and go home or you can lie there on the floor naked until you do. I’ve got all night."
For a while, there was nothing but the sound of my intermittent sobs as I tried to compose myself. Finally I pulled myself together enough to whisper, "what do you want to know. You've uncovered all my secrets today. It's not just my body that's naked now; it's my soul. Do me a favor, shoot me. My life might as well be over anyway, the way things are going." Again, there was a prolonged silence as I recovered a half step, from sobs to ragged breathing.
Then softly out of the darkness I heard, "I used to think I kinda liked your soul. You used to be a sweet guy; you cared about other people's feelings. Cute too... smart, sweet, and cute. A few of us had crushes on you."
I was stunned. She liked me? Others liked me? How could anyone?
"Then you started acting like an asshole. I still can't figure out which one is the real you. The sweet guy who first came to work in my office four years ago, or the total asshole who's been working there for the last year. You’ve done stuff that makes Bob Thornton look like a good boss."
Sweet, smart, cute? She couldn’t have meant those as terms of endearment. She was putting me down, right? After all, she just compared me with Bob Thornton, that shit. He’s the most destructive man I’ve ever met. I never really understood the meaning of psychopath until he was thrust into my life.
I couldn’t take it. I started to sob again. "I'm so sorry. I'm an asshole and I hate myself for it. I’ve treated you and everyone else so badly. I just can’t control myself. Thornton makes me so angry and I feel so helpless because I can't do anything about it."
Then, after another pause, "keep talking."
I tried to take a deep breath, but a sob caught in my throat and sparked a coughing jag. Even after I had gotten myself under control I didn't know what to say. "I don't understand." I forced out. "I don't know why I do it. It's...it's comforting somehow. No, that’s not true, it's more than that, it’s me. I've always done it. My mother dressed me as Tinkerbelle for a school play when I was four or five. I loved it, I just loved it. I danced and twirled and skipped around in my short, pink chiffon dress, white tights, and white Maryjanes. My mom had curled my hair, made up my face and painted my nails silver. I was totally in love with my nails. Of course, after I had gone on and on about how wonderful it was for a few days. Both my parents made it clear to me that it was not okay to feel like that. After that, I could never admit that to anyone. Then, when I got older, I started dressing in her clothes. When she caught me, she dressed me to humiliate and punish me. This went on through high school. Yet I loved that too. I had a girlfriend in college who dressed me all the time. We even went out clubbing together."
"Are you gay?"
"N… N... No." I stammered, "I just like women's clothes... and women. I like women a lot, that’s why I came to work for Abigail in an office full of women. Then she left and Thornton showed up…"
Another long silence was ended by her voice, "get dressed and go home. I need to think." She said it softly, but with finality. I got up and left her room.
"If you're not at work tomorrow, the police will be the first to know," she said it coldly, without compassion, but then added more gently, "go on, get out of here."
When I got home there was a message on my answering machine from Cynthia. It was only two words, "Wear panties."
I couldn’t sleep. I spent the hours after midnight trying to figure out how I had gotten myself into this fucking mess. I had never been real good at accepting responsibility for my own actions. I was much more comfortable having others make decisions for me. So I searched for someone to blame. Was it my parents? Why not? They had done nothing but harm to me. I left home emotionally scarred and psychologically screwed up… Or maybe it was Cynthia? She didn’t have to do this to me. She could have been my ally against Thornton.
Yes, Thornton, my mind kept coming back to Bob Thornton. He had been the bane of my existence since he first arrived in our office 18 months ago when Abigail Harrison left to have a baby. So I lay awake with Thornton plaguing my thoughts as I recalled the events that led to the awful humiliations of this evening, to the final shame of me lying naked on Cynthia’s floor, bawling like a little girl as my freshly trimmed, femmy little triangle of pubic hair made a joke of my erection. I had bared my soul to her and I had no idea what she would now do with all that information. I couldn’t really blame Cynthia, I guess, even though it looked like she would be the instrument of my imminent destruction. I blamed Thornton for this happening at all. I now knew that I was destined to be another in Thornton’s long line of victims, only with me, Cynthia was to the instrument of destruction. He only got to set the stage,. I laughed bitterly. Thornton would be really pissed if he knew he wouldn’t get the chance to destroy me himself. He so savored the pleasure of doing that personally. He was a real hands-on manager.
"Melissa! Where the hell have you been? Get over here." I should have buried my head back in my monitor, but I looked up as I always did when I heard Bob Thornton yell at one of my hapless office staff. This time it was Melissa Grant, a 25 year old single mother, who was an administrative assistant in our office. She was bright and capable, but working and taking care of her child kept her on the run. Since she had divorced her abusive husband, however, she’d had no choice. And lately, the child support checks had become unreliable and she was under a lot of pressure just to make ends meet.
None of that kept Thornton from beating up on her. He was on her case all the time, especially if she was late or had to leave early to care for her little girl. This morning she had called to let us know that Carly was sick and the day care center wouldn’t accept her. So Melissa had to enlist her mother, and the time it took to get all that straightened out made her late again. It was just her bad luck that Thornton was in the office when she arrived. I could see her shudder at the sound of his voice, but she dutifully trudged over to him, knowing what was coming.
She tried to mollify him, hoping to avoid his wrath. "I’m sorry, Mr. Thornton, but Carly was sick and I had to get my mother to take care of her because the daycare center won’t take sick kids."
Thornton could have cared less. He had already decided to get rid of her, even though her work was excellent. There was something strange about his attitude, we already knew he didn’t think much of women, but there was something about Melissa’s situation that really got to him. We had discussed it privately just a week ago.
"Who do these women think they are," he had said to me. "First they get rid of their husbands and then they expect men like us to rescue them and coddle them at work." He was so smug I wanted to puke. For him the workplace hadn’t changed since 1960. "I’m getting rid of her. She’s a bad influence."
"But Bob," I tried to counter, "she’s a good worker and her husband abused her."
"I know her kind," he sneered, "I can just seeing her baiting him until he doesn’t have any choice but to get physical with her. Women like that want to be roughed up. They love it." He snorted. "And then they turn on their husbands and suck them dry."
What century was this guy from, I thought yet again. I had never heard such Neanderthal attitudes before I met him. Still, I tried to protect her. "But Bob, what good will getting rid of her do? She does good work and think of all the time it will take to train someone new. And then there’s the unemployment compensation we’ll have to pay. It’s just not worth it."
"I’m fed up with the bitch. If you weren’t such a wimp, you would be too. I don’t think I’ll ever be able to make a manager out of you. You’re too afraid of hurting people’s feelings to put your responsibilities to the company first."
What could I do? Now he’d made it my problem, just like every other time I’d tried to intervene when he was dumping on one or the other of us. Right then I knew Melissa didn’t have a chance, and now I could see Thornton acting on his threat.
"I’m getting tired of your little problems, Ms. Grant. We have work to do here and you’re not pulling your weight. I’ve got my eye on you. I know what you’re up to." You arrived 20 minutes late so you’ll have to stay late to make it up."
"Yes sir," she sighed. At least Carly was with her mom tonight, and she wouldn’t have to face the wrath of the day care center, and their extra fee, by retrieving Carly late.
I tried to intervene. I hated to see people be humiliated in front of the entire office just because Thornton enjoyed it.
"Come on Bob, Melissa knows what she has to do…"
"Just shut up, Miller, this is none of your business. You’ve already proven you haven’t got the guts to take care of real problems." He didn’t even bother to turn around to look at me; he just continued to glare at Melissa. Then he said to her "Get to work." Once he had stalked out of the office, Melissa burst into tears. Some of the other girls gathered round to comfort her. I just sighed and went back to my office. Once again I had failed to protect one of my friends and had been humiliated for trying.
Yes, there were lots of reasons to hate Thornton, but I hated him most of all because of the way he treated people. He sucked up to his superiors and clients, and shit on the rest of us. We were things to be manipulated towards his greater glory…, and his greater income. There was no evidence that he had any empathy for other human beings. We were simply there to be used to make him look good.
He tried never to give his superiors or clients bad news, even if the bad news was the truth. He left that to people like Cynthia and me. Yes, Cynthia. How ironic it was: the woman who was poised to destroy me was on Thornton’s shit list as well. For some reason she seemed to escape the worst of his wrath, but no one in the office was immune.
In return for our efforts, he gave us stingy bonuses and cost-of-living raises, along with vague promises that if we kept up the good work, we too would be "getting what we deserved" at some unspecified future date.
But we could both count. It wasn’t hard to calculate that Bob Thornton couldn’t live long enough to keep that phony pledge, even if he had sold his soul to the devil. Yeah, Cynthia and I can definitely count. We are both financial analysts.
Cynthia is really good at it; she’s one of the best in the firm. But I‘m a wizard. I don’t want to sound conceited, but everyone agrees that I am amazing with numbers. I have always excelled at math. For me, solving quadratic equations has always been as easy as adding up a restaurant check. According to my mother, I had an easier time learning calculus than learning to walk. In business school I developed the knack for using my math skills to perform magical feats with financial analyses. Spreadsheets aren't simply rows and columns of numbers to me they are musical scores. I can hear them sing. I see trends, flaws, and implications that are invisible to most other people.
But more importantly, I’ve always been innovative in the way I organized and used numbers. I even created three new analytical approaches, which earned me large bonuses from the higher ups at North State. With tools like these, we routinely waltz around our competitors as if they were flat footed bumblers. We make even more money as a result. Yes, I loved spreadsheets. I could hear the music of the spheres in them.
With all that ability, you might think that I would have progressed further by now. I certainly did. In fact, I had been progressing quite well until Thornton arrived. I then discovered what it’s like when a dominant alpha male comes barging in to your troop, and bellows that he has no tolerance at all for anyone who might challenge him. He had no qualms about insulting us, or making us look bad in public, or repeatedly undermining us in front of each other at staff meetings. The consensus in the office was that he probably pushed old ladies out of his way to get to the front of the supermarket checkout line. And then he expected them to apologize to him for being in his way in the first place!
So, even though the way Thornton treated me hurt, when I saw how badly he treated the people who worked for me, that hurt even more. I couldn’t protect them and this just proved to me (yet again) how weak and ineffective I was. I did try for a while to point out to him how his behavior was hurting people, and how that couldn’t possibly be to his benefit (figuring he would at least understand his own self-interest), but he rebuffed me easily. He just turned my argument back around on me, so that the problem was mine, not his. After awhile, I just gave up. Failing to be brave or assertive enough to do anything about Thornton’s behavior was a burning symbol to me of my own inadequacies. I longed to take care of others, but in reality, I needed them to take care of me.
Because I couldn’t do anything directly about Thornton, I struck out at him in the only way I could, through our books. That’s how Cynthia was able to trap me.
I just love the feel of slinky lingerie against my skin. I wear it almost every day. But when it gets wet, it’s uncomfortable. It gets clingy and soggy and just plain yucky. I guess that’s why most women wear cotton most of the time. It may not be as sexy, but it’s sure more practical. I even wear cotton when I’m cleaning my apartment But I never wore cotton to work. I mean the whole point was to feel sleek and sexy, and cotton just didn’t do that for me. So now I was sitting at my desk with my rayon tap pants stuck to the backs of my thighs and the matching camisole clinging uncomfortably to the small of my back. And it didn’t look like things were going to get any more comfortable for quite a while.
Arrayed on my desk was a set of spreadsheets and cancelled checks that revealed my entire scam. I had been writing out bogus invoices from phony Internet companies for products and services that were never supplied. The invoices got paid as a matter of course, and I pocketed the proceeds. Well, I didn’t exactly pocket them. Instead, I was depositing them in phony bank accounts that I had set up to launder the money I was fraudulently "liberating" from my bass. I had set up one account for each of the women who worked in our office. Getting money for me to spend was not my goal, reducing Bob Thornton’s income, and making sure our staff got their rightful bonuses was.
Our company, North Street Financing is remarkably profitable. It manages and finances large corporate takeovers, and as a Vice President Thornton pulled down big bucks like the other senior execs. Bob was different though. The other VPs shared their generous bonuses with their employees, keeping them quite happy and productive. In my division, however, Thornton, kept it all for himself. He ran the tightest division in the company. Our expenses were always the lowest and his bonuses among the largest. He ran big profit margins and kept the payroll small. He traveled first class, but the rest of us went steerage. And he never let anyone transfer out. The only way to leave Bob's division was to leave the company altogether, and in my office at least, many of us had been together for years. We had been like a small family and didn’t want to split up.
When I first arrived at North State, four years ago, I thought I had found the nearest thing work could be to heaven. We had a woman VP then, Abigail Harrison, and she was a peach. The whole staff loved her and we all worked very effectively under her nurturing hand. Our division was a top performer then too, and she made lots of money, sharing it cheerfully when bonus time came.
I was the last person she had hired and the only one with an MBA. Based on credentials, I should have been the boss, but I quickly discovered two things. First, I was much happier being an analyst than managing an office, and, second, the other analyst, Cynthia Morrison, already had the office in the palm of her hand. Cynthia was at least as good with people as I was with numbers. So while she marveled at the way I could coax information from a balance sheet, I sat in clueless wonder as she got other people to do things for her, and for me.
Cynthia was as attractive as she was effective, and she was very effective at her job. Even though she was six years older than I, we hit it off right away and worked well together. Unlike me, a whiz kid straight out of school, Cynthia had worked her way up and became a good analyst even though she "only" had a Bachelor's degree. She had bucked male dominated hierarchies at virtually every step of her life, but everyone knew that if it hadn't been for Abigail, and one or two other senior women who acted as mentors and protectors, the good old boys would never have allowed her to become a senior analyst. All the other analysts had MBAs, but not many were as good as Cynthia.
Compared to Cynthia I was a babe in the woods. I had no experience in the world at all. I was not yet 17 when I entered college, and after four years at North State, I was still only 26. Really, I felt like a helpless teenager with her, but she was smart enough not to over play her obvious social superiority. In retrospect, it was easy to see how much in charge of things she really was, but because I mostly squirreled myself away with my computer, I didn't understand that at the time. My position had authority, but I didn't. Cynthia, by contrast, had earned authority because of her strong personality and her willingness to accept responsibility. I fostered friendly relations with the rest of the office and they liked me, but they would die for Cynthia. As a result, I was dependent on Cynthia to get almost everything done. And she got it all done with apparent ease. We were a good team.
But Cynthia was more than a teammate. I was deeply, almost painfully, infatuated with her. She represented pretty much everything I admired in a woman. She had looks, personality, brains, and assertiveness. I didn't really know what she thought about me, although it was clear that she liked me. I remember one time when we hugged each other, warmly and without embarrassment while we congratulated each other after a particularly good job. At that moment I felt very close to her and desperately wanted to ask her for a date. But I was too timid, and rationalized my timidity by saying that personal involvement might threaten our professional relationship, so I hesitated. The moment was lost, and I never got the courage to do it again. If I had to guess, I would say she saw me as her little brother. She took pleasure in seeing me do well, but that never translated into any kind of intimacy. I was too in awe of her as a woman, and too insecure with myself as a man to think about any other kind of relationship, even though I longed for one.
After I had been there only 18 months, Abigail left to have a baby and Bob Thornton arrived. Our happy little world began to disintegrate. No one liked Bob Thornton, but everyone respected him. His success allowed him to live the high life on the company expense account, but he nailed me and his other underlings if we even had a light beer at company expense while on forced travel.
"We must maintain fiscal responsibility," he gloated the last time he cut my travel reimbursement to the bone, "the shareholders demand it."
Well, within a year of his arrival, I quit doing my best as I started to slip into a state of angry resentment. He expected us to be on call 24/7 and gave us nothing in return. Then, we had a particularly nasty staff meeting. He sent our youngest and emotionally most vulnerable research assistant, Heather Wilkes, home in tears when he accused her of making a mistake that he had made, and reamed her out for it.
"If you hadn't given me those figures, this wouldn't have happened," he ranted.
How absurd. He asked for those figures specifically. She even tried to tell him that he needed additional data. But he accused her of making his mistake anyway.
"But Bob," I objected angrily, rising to my feet, "Heather didn’t force those numbers on you. She couldn’t do that. None of us could."
"Shut up Miller! Your opinion isn’t worth the hot air that carries it out of your head. You’ve failed at every management responsibility I’ve given you. You haven’t earned the right to an opinion."
As I was sitting down, feeling humiliated and shamed yet again, Cynthia Morrison was rising to her feet. "Well I have," she said." This is not Heather’s fault. You were the one…"
"Oh for God’s sake," he blustered, fluttering his hands around his head, clearly frustrated by her interruption, "none of you ever want to take responsibility for anything. It’s always my fault. Well, you’ll learn." He waved Heather out of the room and ended the meeting a few minutes after that. Cynthia was the only who could stand up to him, the only one he didn’t try to intimidate. It was as if she had a guardian angel.
As my co-workers and I became increasingly demoralized under Thornton's hand, my personal relationships in the rest of the staff started to deteriorate. Frankly, I was pitiful. As I became more depressed about myself and the way Thornton was treating me and the others, I began to treat them just as badly as Thornton was. They certainly didn't deserve it, but I was just too immature to know how to handle all the stress Thornton created. Even at 26, I wasn't much more mature than your average high school cheerleader.
So I hated my situation, I hated myself for being too cowardly to deal with it or to leave it, and I hated myself even more because of the miserable way I was treating my co-workers. Like the guy who gets home from his lousy job and yells at his wife and kicks the dog, I let them have it whenever Bob treated me badly. Everyone knew what was going on and they were pissed at me as much for my cowardice as for my poor behavior.
I remember one particularly bad day in late December when Thornton had us working like dogs on financial projections that just didn’t need to be done then. No one would need them until well into the new year. We all figured he was doing this just to punish us for having the bad luck to work for him. Late one afternoon as we were getting ready to leave, I just lost it.
"Marci! What the hell is this?" I yelled at Marci Richardson. She was a 30-something administrative assistant who always seemed a lot smarter than her job title would suggest. "This is not what I asked for. Can’t anyone do anything right around here?" I was really yelling now, behaving just like Thornton would have. "I work my butt off and you can’t collect a few sets of numbers so I can use them?"
"Excuse me, MR. Miller," she interrupted. "This is how we always do it."
"So what? MS. Richardson." I returned her insult with one of my own. We never used Ms. or Mr. around the office. "Who cares how we always do it? You need to figure out the best way to do things, not just do it any old way. What the hell do we pay you for?"
I could see in her face that she was getting really upset, but I had lost control of myself. I kept after her. "Any 18 year old twit right out of high school could have done it this way…"
"Brad! What the hell is going on here?" It was Cynthia. She had heard me shouting and came to investigate. She didn’t like what she found. "How dare you yell at someone in this office like that. You just apologize.
"Apologize? You must be crazy. She takes hours to do something that could have been done in half the time and then does it wrong…"
"If he had told me what he wanted, maybe I would have done it differently. I’m not a mind reader you know." Now that Cynthia was here, Marci wasn’t going to back down. Worse, I now knew that she was right. I hadn’t told her exactly what I wanted. I was too wrapped up in my own thoughts at the time and just assumed she knew what I was thinking. But I wasn’t backing down now either. Without those figures, I was in for a long night. I stayed on the attack.
"Well, one of us is in for a long night and it’s certainly not going to be me," I insisted.
"Oh, grow up Brad," Cynthia cut in again.
"This has nothing to do with you, MS. Morrison. MS. Richardson will get this job done," I turned to face her, "and then she can go home, but she better get it done." Even though I was looking right at Marci, I was talking to Cynthia. Marci’s face was now a mixture of anger and fear. Before anything else could happen, I turned and walked into my office, slamming the door behind me. Two days before the end of the year, when almost every office in the building was virtually shut down, I had one of my staff working late to produce something no one needed.
Stuff like this fueled a nasty downward spiral in my relationship with Cynthia. She was angry for the way I treated her and let me know it. She was even angrier for the way I treated the staff and let me know that too. For my part, I was so ashamed of the way I was behaving that I began to withdraw. I became more abrupt and thoughtless in my dealings with her and everyone else. She got even angrier, and so it continued.
I was sick about the whole situation and after awhile, I turned my hatred on myself. I became ashamed of myself, and my shame paralyzed me even further. Shame..., that's anger turned inward isn't it? Too weak and immature to deal with the real sources of my anger, I started to let my shame consume me. I was ashamed of the way I let Thornton treat me, I was ashamed of the way I treated Cynthia and our staff, and I was ashamed because I didn't do anything about any of it.
Once upon a time, everyone in the office found me kind, pleasant, and funny. The older women pampered me, the younger ones pursued me. Some even caught me for awhile. People would actually smile when I showed up. They asked me to do things with them. I had been a source of comfort and confidence to them because they knew I would never hurt them and that I would understand when they were down. Now, no one wanted anything to do with me.
My only outlet, feeble as it was, was to embezzle money from Bob's profits - his bonus was going down because of it. That's why I did it and that's what I enjoyed most about it. I had even set up the separate accounts with the office staff in mind. There was one for each person except me. Thornton may not have been giving them bonuses, but I was. Whenever one of the staff did a particularly good job, I added some money to her account. Marcie had gotten a particularly nice contribution after our little altercation just before the new year.
But even stealing Thornton’s money wasn’t working the way I had hoped. Sure, I liked the idea of shrinking his take home pay and helping the women in the office, but the very fact that I had to resort to such a passive form of resistance to Thornton’s rule just emphasized my own weakness.
"I knew it," Cynthia said triumphantly. "There's nothing on the desk that ties you directly to those transactions Brad, but you've admitted to them anyway."
She stood back, fists on her hips, shoulders back, pride radiating from her face. I was such a jerk. She bluffed me without saying a word, and I fell for it.
Now, she was watching me the way a cat watches a mouse that has wandered unaware into striking distance. Her head was slightly cocked to one side and her attention was focused on me entirely. I nearly melted from the intensity of her gaze.
"You’re screwed, buster. Just wait till I tell Bob."
"You wouldn't!" I blurted out.
"He'll have the cops here so fast, you won't have time to pee." Her laughter sounded like fine crystal shattering.
Shit, I can't get arrested today. I mean, I can't get arrested any day, but certainly not today. A man just doesn’t go to jail wearing lingerie, and shaved all over. I’d been keeping myself hairless for quite a while, and last night, just as I did every few nights, I had shaved my legs, chest and underarms. Then I spent an hour lounging in a warm bath filled with a deliciously strawberry-scented oil. It felt just delightful, and my hairless skin was soft and smooth. I was so infatuated with how I felt that I had even shaved my pubic hair into a narrow triangle so it wouldn't show under the French-cut panties I preferred on most evenings. If I ended up in a cell tonight, I was going to be screwed all right, literally, by every guy who was in there with me. I would be the answer to their dreams.
"I'll cut you in," I whispered, without looking up.
"No way," she replied, without hesitating. "I'm not getting involved in this penny-ante shit. I have more ambition than that. And you're going to help me realize my goals. From now on, I own you."
I finally looked up. I needed to see her face. I needed to see if she was for real. She was. Her glare never wavered, instead, it nearly knocked the wind out of me. I cast my eyes down quickly.
"What do you want? I'll do anything."
"That's good," she said, obviously pleased with me. "I like it when you know to keep your eyes down, like a good slave."
"What?" I sat up straight and looked right into her face.
"I don't think you want to challenge me, slave." Let's see, what's the number for the 6th precinct? Doesn't matter, 911, will do. She dropped a finely manicured hand to the phone on the corner of my desk and started punching in the numbers with one glistening, elegant nail.
"Hello, yes, I want to report... I slammed my hand down on the switch, cutting off the call.
"NO!!" I shouted.
She erupted in anger. I had never seen her like this before! "DON'T you ever say no to me again! You little bag of shit! I'm in charge here from now on. Lower your eyes and apologize."
She started dialing again.
"I'm sorry... Cynthia?..." I struggled to say the words. "I need time to... to learn."
"You certainly do!" she cut me off. "Figure this out fast. You cross me and you go to prison. As little as you are (At barely 5'7" and a skinny 130, I was smaller than Bob Thornton. I think that's one of the reasons he liked having me around), you will be thanking the guys in your cell block for raping you before the first day is over."
I quailed. Did she know what I was wearing or just insulting me because of my size? I could hardly defend myself in a pillow fight. She was right. I would be getting it up the ass by the first guy who decided he wanted me. And the next, and the one after him too, and on down the line. Oh shit. I might like to wear woman's clothing, but I had never wanted to be raped by some big hairy man. Not that it hadn't happened before, sort of, but….
"Get out from behind that desk and get on your knees in front of me."
I hesitated for just a moment.
"Now!" I jumped up and stumbled from behind my desk.
"Down, now!"
I fell to my knees and dropped my eyes to her feet. She was wearing dark panty hose and black suede heels. They must have been 3 inches. Despite my humiliating position, I started to imagine how I would look in them. I seemed to spend much of my day wondering how I would look in the clothes of one woman or another. That didn't last long this time.
"Repeat after me!" She barked. "I am your slave. You are my Mistress. I will do your bidding willingly. Your needs and pleasures are my life... Your wish is my command."
Something deep inside my groin started to tingle. I didn't know where this was going, but it was somewhere I had always wanted to explore. I started to look up with wonder.
Smack! She slapped me across the face.
"Don't you dare look at me without my permission."
I threw my eyes down so quickly I almost hurt my neck.
"Say it!" She hissed.
"I am your slave. You are my Mistress. I will do your bidding willingly. Your needs and pleasures are my life... Your wish is my command."
I… I am your.... s...slave," I repeated my face flushed with shame. "You are my Mistress. I..I will do your bidding. Your wish is my c.. c... command."
The room was absolutely still. My voice was barely a whisper. I thought I would throw up. As I started to retch, Cynthia pushed me over with her foot.
"You're pitiful."
She stalked out of the office and I got up after awhile and went to the men's room to wash out my mouth and catch my breath. Just as I got back to my desk, the intercom buzzed. It was Cynthia.
"Get out here," she commanded.
Her office was just down the hall from mine. It was part of what had been a much larger office that had been divided up so two people could have cramped, but private work areas. This was a measure of the inequality in the office. She was senior to me in experience, but my academic credentials, and no doubt my sex, landed me the nicer office. I used to visit Cynthia frequently because I just had to share some exciting finding with her. Her door was always open to me or anyone else in the office. But over the past year, as I had withdrawn, I rarely went out there.
Lately, I had kept my door closed instead of open. Most of the staff had simply concluded that I was a stuck up obnoxious little twerp. So as I left my office and headed for Cynthia's desk, I drew some curious stares from the administrative assistants and secretaries. The hair on the back of my neck stood up as I noticed them. I felt like I was in a glass fish bowl. I knocked on Cynthia's door and stepped around the corner.
"What took you so long?" Contempt dripped from her voice. "Get me a cup of coffee. You know how I like it don't you?"
"B… Black?"
"No, you idiot. We've been working together for four years and you still don't know how I like my coffee? Well, you'll learn that, and lot's of other things I like as well," she said leering at me in the strangest way. "One cream, one half packet of Equal."
I turned for the coffee room to fetch Cynthia's coffee. The pot was almost empty so I started to refill it. Then I realized that I didn't really know where everything was. As I was looking through the drawers, Marci Richardson came in.
"What are you doing?" She asked.
Startled, I turned around and stammered, "I… I'm, I’m… looking for the coffee filters. I was going to refill the pot."
Her eyes widened in amazement. "You… ? You're going to refill the coffeepot? You haven't touched it in…., in, I don' t know how long." And then, even more sarcastically, "what's the matter, don't you feel well?"
I blushed under her scrutiny. "Well, it was almost empty so I thought..."
She snorted in derision. "Third drawer on the left. Make sure you clean up the counter when you're done."
A few minutes later I was on my way back to Cynthia's desk and all the secretaries stopped working and looked up. When I turned into Cynthia's cubicle they broke out in giggles.
"Here you are Cynthia. I'm sorry it took so long, but I had to make a new pot."
She eyed me suspiciously, tasted the coffee and turned her glare on me. "Don't you ever keep my waiting so long again. And if you ever call me Cynthia, or even refer to me that way to someone else, you'll regret it. In the office I am Ms. Morrison. I can see you have a lot to learn. Get out of here. I'll meet you in your office at the end of the day. Don't you dare leave without me."
The rest of the day dragged by as I alternatively hated myself, got angry at Bob Thornton, and had horrible fantasies about what jail might be like. Cynthia showed up at 5:15.
"Alright, your training starts tonight. As my slave you will take care of me and my apartment. Go home, shower, shave, change into a clean pair of chinos and a white shirt, and be at my apartment at 7:00. Here's a shopping list and my address. You're paying for all my groceries from now on too. If you're not there on time, I'm calling the cops."
My mouth was still hanging open as she left, but I really had to hurry if I was going to get to her place on time. At least I would be able to change out of my lingerie. I shuddered to think what might happen if she discovered I was a cross-dresser. I would have to be very careful to hide that from now on.
"Who is it?
"It's me Ms. Morrison, I'm sorry I'm late. I went as fast as I could. I brought you a present to make up for my failure. It's a bottle of your favorite wine. It's chilled. I'd love to pour you some. Please let me in?"
"Hmmmph... Get your sorry ass up here." She buzzed me in and I took the small elevator to her fourth floor apartment. Her door opened as soon as I appeared in front of it.
"Put that stuff in the kitchen. Pour me a glass of your pitiful wine and get back here. I was back in less than three minutes. Cynthia was sitting on her sofa still in her work clothes. I stood in front of her and offered her the wine with an expectant look on my face.
"Down on your knees."
I knelt carefully, making sure not to spill the wine and then lowered my eyes before I held the glass out once more. This time she took it. I stayed on my knees, eyes studying her not so clean carpet for many minutes.
"You're so very clever to bring me my favorite wine, from a good vineyard too."
I started to look up, but managed to stop myself. "That's right, you keep your eyes down when you are in the presence of your Mistress unless she tells you otherwise." Cynthia finished her glass of wine over the next few minutes and then handed me the glass. "Now, go get me another glass of wine and then cook my dinner."
I did as I was told and she showered while I cooked. I cleaned up her small dining area and set the table for two. When the preparations for dinner were finished I called her. "Miss Morrison, dinner is ready."
My eyes almost fell out of my head as she entered the room and I gaped at her openly. She had changed into a stunning floor length black nightgown with matching robe. The skirt was sheer and I could easily see her panties and garter belt beneath it. The bodice was very low cut and shirred in a way that gave me glimpses of her breasts without ever leaving them fully exposed. She had black high heeled mules on her feet which left her lovely polished toenails to glisten in the lamp light as she walked.
As soon as she entered the living room she posed with one hand on her hip and the other flat against her thigh. She eyed me imperiously, but it took a moment for me to look down. I stood frozen next the dining room table with my eyes on the floor. I heard her move towards me and then her feet entered my line of sight.
"How dare you look at me, you worm!" I startled and then cringed because she was shouting right in my ear.
"I'm sorry Miss Mor..." I stammered.
"That's Mistress to you," she shouted right in my face again." You may call me Miss Morrison at work, at all other times it's Mistress, or Ma'am."
"Yes Mistress."
"Don't interrupt. From now on you have no life. You are going to spend your time caring for me and meeting my needs. I have plans for you. I'm going to get even with you for the way you have been treating me and the other staff. And I’m going to use you to get even with that little shit Thornton as well. It will be risky for you, but that's not my problem, you're the embezzler. Now serve me dinner."
"Yes Mistress."
I pulled her chair out and helped her get settled at the table. I brought a fresh salad, some crusty bread I had picked up after my stop at the supermarket, and poured Pellegrino water.
After I served Cynthia, she looked up at me and asked, "why are there two place settings at this table?"
"I thought..."
"You don't think! Haven't you figured that out yet? Clear that other place setting and go stand by the side of the table in case I need anything while I eat."
I carried my dishes and flatware into the kitchen, chastened by the way I was being treated. I stood there silently for a few moments trying to understand what was going on. She was treating my like a damn maid! God, if she learned I like women’s clothes, she’d probably have me in a French maid’s uniform by the weekend. Then I heard Cynthia's fork clank on her plate and realized I had better get back into the dining area.
I went to my appointed station and stood there silently while she ate, apparently unaware of my existence. As I watched her eat, I couldn’t keep the image of myself in a short, frilly French maid’s uniform out of my mind. My imagination embellished that enticing vision until I was fully dressed in a black satin uniform with white petticoats that held the skirt far out from my legs and showed prettily at the hem. The bodice and short, puffed sleeves were trimmed in white lace and I wore a bright white apron tied with a big bow at the back and a cute little lacy cap pinned to my hair. I twitched slightly where I stood trying to feel the garters that would be holding up my sheer black stockings and I even imagined that my feet were starting to hurt as I stood in my black three inch heels waiting for my mistress to summon me for my next task.
That little fantasy came to a crashing halt when Cynthia finished her salad. Because I was so focused on what was in my mind, I wasn’t paying attention to her, and she let me know in no uncertain terms, what she would do to me if that happened again. My face burning with embarrassment, I ran to bring the pasta I had prepared for the main course, refilled her wine and water glasses and returned to my station.
Standing with my hands folded in front of me and my eyes down, I wanted to continue my enjoyable French maid fantasy, but couldn’t if I was going to avoid be chewed out by Cynthia yet again. Instead, I grew angry about the way she was treating me. I felt myself start to rebel, but then got scared about what might happen if I defied her. I could just see myself on my hands and knees in a prison cell somewhere thanking the six guys who had just raped me and begging them to do it again real soon. Having forced me to be their little whore, they were now laughing as they forced me to thank them and beg them for more. I knew that would last until I got AIDS and died a slow, lonely death in the prison hospital.
No, I was going to do what ever it took to stay out of prison. I had to play along with Cynthia, even if the humiliations she was forcing upon me fed the fires of shame that already burned so intensely in my heart. And despite my conscious revulsion at what was happening to me, deep off in a corner of my psyche, I was getting turned on by the humiliation, and dreaming about ways to turn this into a sexual escapade.
"Clean up and then meet me in the living room. You may eat in the kitchen, but you have to be finished with everything in 30 minutes."
She moved to stand up and I rushed to pull her chair back. As she stood, she turned, and gently stroked my cheek with her hand.
"That's sweet." And then she slapped me for the second time. As I stumbled back, more in shock, than pain, she began to shout at me. "Why have you been such an asshole for the last year? You think a few courtesies now will get you out of this? I'm so angry with you I could tear your eyes out!" And she started to sob.
Again, I was clueless. What could possibly be going on in her mind? Her moods had been so mercurial today that I was completely lost. Angry one moment and in tears the next? I wanted to comfort her, but was scared she would get even angrier.
"Mistress?" I mumbled, "I don't understand."
"Of course you don't, you dolt. You've never had a clue. Trying to be friends with you is like having a relationship with a two year old." She sobbed again and then said somewhat hopelessly, "just clean the kitchen and get back in here. I have things for you to do."
She spun her head away from me, turned on her gorgeous heel and strode away.
My "Yes Mistress" was drowned out by the sounds of her heels hammering the floor as she stalked to her bedroom. So I cleaned the kitchen until it was spotless and hurried into the living room. Cynthia wasn't there, "Mistress?" I called out.
"Get undressed, and then crawl into my bedroom," she replied.
Oh shit, I thought, this time keeping my lips sealed. This was getting real weird. I was in big trouble now. I undressed slowly trying to figure out what to do. How could I explain my lack of body hair? She was sure to notice.
"Hurry up you asshole," she shouted from the other room. "If you're not in here in one minute I'm calling the cops."
Despite my fear, I crawled as quickly as I could towards her bedroom. I felt like a total fool, my penis and testicles flapping back and forth as I crawled. When I got inside the bedroom door I was startled to see her sitting on the edge of her bed naked except for her stockings and heels. She had her arms up, running her hands through her shiny black hair. Her breasts were stunning, riding high on her chest, the nipples turned slightly upwards. I looked down as quickly as I could, but she had already seen me looking at her.
"Look at me." she demanded.
I looked up with both fear and lust in my heart. Naked, she was just gorgeous. Her breasts weren’t very large, but they were beautifully shaped and jutted out from her chest like gravity didn’t exist. Her body had no spare fat on it, but was toned and slightly muscular, with a small waist and gently curving hips. As I looked down at her legs, I thought that her smoky black stockings with their lacy tops and her high black heels were just about the sexiest things I had ever seen.
She peered down at me haughtily for a second and then asked, "like what you see? Of course you do. What man wouldn't? Well, enjoy the view, because for you, it's look but don't touch." I realized instantly that she was purposely teasing me with her fabulous body. If I did something aggressive, she would be sure to call the cops. If I submitted to her, it would be a sure sign of her dominance over me. I guess she wanted me to understand that clearly.
She stared at me carefully for a moment, chuckled to herself, and very carefully leaned back on the pillows she had stacked behind her. She thrust her hips over the edge of the bed.
"My pussy needs some reverential attention. Start by sucking my toes, lick your way up my legs and then give me the best head you ever imagined."
I groaned without thinking.
"Oh, and don't you dare touch me with that thing." She poked my hard on dismissively with the toe of her shoe. "Now, get to work."
I had never sucked anyone's toes before, although I was quite experienced inside a pussy, one of my tongue's favorite places. That was another skill I had perfected in college.
"Get to work, I'm getting impatient."
So I bent down and carefully slipped the shoe off her right foot. I nuzzled her instep with my cheek. I felt like such a fool, pretending to adore her foot. Then I started to lick and suck around Cynthia's stockinged foot. The feel of the nylons in my mouth was really rather erotic, although they were kind of dry. My cock really started to throb as I sucked her big toe into my mouth. As I circled it with my lips, I couldn't help but notice the bright red toenails that glistened under her smoky stocking. I wondered how that color would look on me…
It was a good 15 minutes before I got anywhere near the tops of her thighs and it wasn't until I put my lips on the bare skin above her right stocking that I heard a sound out of her, and then it was only a whispered gasp. I then worked fairly quickly to get near the now glistening lips of her vagina. At least she was excited. By now my mouth and tongue were aching from all the effort I had put into licking and sucking just her legs and feet. But I had a goal: to stay out of prison, and this was certainly preferable to getting fucked up the ass by some hyped up serial rapist.
As I moved up her soft sweetly smelling thighs (she had obviously perfumed herself after she showered) towards her vagina, she began to become more active, and was now squirming around as I started to stick my tongue into her pussy. After who knows how long, I finally reach her clit. As I licked it for the first time, she lifted her legs and clamped them around my head.
I lost my balance and the full weight of my body forced my face into her pussy.
"Hurry," she gasped, "you've teased me long enough. Bring me off!"
I did, and that’s how I ended up with my head trapped between Cynthia’s thighs, and how she learned all about me.
She looked well rested and refreshed. I was a mess. I had tossed and turned all night with visions of prison rapes haunting my mind. Even my favorite ankle-length white cotton nightie, with cute lace around the square-cut neckline and puffed sleeves hadn't been much comfort. I had no idea what Cynthia would do, but by dawn had pretty much figured out that whatever it was, it was better than jail.
So with her staring at me like a man ogling a stripper in a sleazy bar, I stood up, unbuckled my corporately correct black leather belt, and let my pleated, gray flannel slacks slide to the floor. It had taken me almost 15 minutes to figure out which pair of panties to wear. I must have tried on nearly 10 pairs, most several times. Even after I was fully dressed, I took my pants off to change, twice.
Did I want to be sexy and wear my high cut, stretchy, black French cut panties, or elegant in a pair of pale gray silk bikini panties with slightly darker lace trim? Or should it be the pale peach satin pair with the cotton crotch and cute bow in the front. I never before worried about how others might see me. Except for one exhilarating period in my life, I dressed only for myself, for how it felt, for how it made me feel.
That other time was my junior year of college. My life was taken over by Rachel Martin, a senior who discovered that I liked to dress and thought that was great fun. When she dressed me, she called me Lilly. It was supposed to be ironic, she assumed I wouldn’t look anything like a flower, but you know what, she was wrong.
Lilly was a girl of paradoxes. Just like Rachel, she dressed demurely (which isn't surprising because she wore Rachel's clothes), but she was flirtatious, and much more socially adventurous than either Rachel or Brad ever were. In fact, she was a bit of a tease. But every guy eventually learned that even though Lilly might have come on to him, she always went home with Rachel. And around Rachel, Lilly was very submissive.
Rachel had developed a game that we both found exhilarating. She would send Lilly into a bar. If Lilly got picked up (and not read of course!), then she could get laid that night. If not, Rachel got oral sex from her lesbian maid, who went unfulfilled. As time went on, Rachel would leave me alone in the bar for longer and longer periods, eventually putting me in the position of having to dance with guys, kiss them, and even give an occasional hand job under the table to keep them at bay.
We did that on at least one night almost every weekend from the beginning of December until the middle of May when she graduated and left town. Those nights were thrilling. I was full of fear and anxiety each time I had to walk into a bar alone dressed as a chaste, young co-ed. I was usually the most modestly dressed girl in the bar, but my goal was to get picked up, so I had to send my message with my behavior. To get some guy to come on to me, I would sit in a suggestive pose, flirt with my legs, shoulders, and head, or in general use body language that was totally at odds with how I was dressed. Guys found this remarkably provocative and I found myself being courted by men even when girls who were far prettier, and who were dressed far more provocatively than I, were still alone.
Of course, once I had attracted a guy, I had to keep his attention until Rachel arrived to claim me. So I learned to flirt, chat, and even dance as a girl. I was very uninhibited on the dance floor. I was always sexually aroused, but scared to death of being read. That combination was exciting beyond words. Especially because I did get read a few times, though I was never harmed. Twice, early on in my experience, Rachel was right there to come to my rescue. She could tell what had happened just by the change in my body language and the body language of the guy who had picked me up.
One other time, around the beginning of April, the guy was enthralled with me even after he figured it out. He promised not to make a scene if I really acted like a girl who had been dying to date him. Rachel wasn't there, so I got to work on a few new moves, hanging on to him attentively, running my fingernails up and down his arm, and staring into his eyes. He caressed me wickedly and kissed me passionately. The first time he did this I was shocked and didn't respond.
He pushed me to arm’s length and whispered to me harshly, "Lilly, if you don’t kiss me like my lover I’m going to expose you out loud to everyone and leave you here." Then he pulled me back into his embrace and whispered gently into my ear, "Relax, I’m not going to hurt you, we’re going to be doing some necking here to amuse the locals. Let yourself go, you’ll like it. Girls tell me I’m a good kisser."
Then he stuck his tongue in my ear and started to nibble at my ear lobe. I giggled at first but started to get excited after a few moments. Rachel did the same thing and I loved it. What the hell, I thought, and sought out his lips. After that, I returned his kisses with some ardor. I discovered that I liked it, and really got into it, even though I was kissing a guy. At the same time I was praying for Rachel to show up. I guess I should have been upset by what was going on, but I wasn't. Instead I was having a good time. Hey, I was just one hot little bitch.
Well, it was more than that. This guy, Josh, was not the first guy who had kissed me. My mother caught me in her clothes when I was 10. She taunted me about it, telling me my father would be ashamed of me. But I simply adored dressing up in secret, and got an even bigger thrill when I had to go in public. I have to thank my mom for teaching me about that. Periodically, when she was feeling a need to crush my ego (to bolster hers no doubt), she would dress me up to humiliate me. It was always done on the pretence that I was being punished. We both knew that wasn't her real motive, but we each had our own reasons for letting it happen.
I did feel a little humiliated by what she did, but more than that, I became totally, mind-boggling, unceasingly aroused. I would be hard for days after just thinking about it. I was very confused by what was going on, who wouldn't be, but I developed (or may it was discovered) a taste for the combination of humiliation and sex that I have never lost. Thanks mom, I guess. Then, when I was in 9th grade, my mother not only dressed me, but also set up a date for me, more than one actually. He was older and larger than I was and he just took me really. That's when I really learned to kiss, and oh, to really hate my mother too.
Anyway, Rachel showed up in the middle of one of our kisses. "Lilly," she whispered with mock urgency, "what are you doing. You were supposed to be waiting for me!"
Josh looked up with some surprise, but didn't miss a beat. "Hi pretty lady, this is your girlfriend?" he pinched my butt, I squealed, "how about a threesome?"
Rachel was equally as quick on the uptake as Josh. "Lilly here is a little girl. I'm a woman, can you handle that?" He simply stood up, pulling me by the hand. He grabbed Rachel's arm and said, "your place or mine?"
But back then, Rachel told me what to wear. She never let me pick my own panties or anything else for that matter. This morning was different. I had to please Cynthia... my new... uh, mistress. I had no idea what she liked, or how she would react. In the end I wore the simplest pair I owned, the peach satin ones.
"Oh, that's just lovely," Cynthia gushed, "they're adorable, but the way you were shaved, I felt for sure you would wear something that showed more hip and thigh. Oh well, another day, I’m sure." I cringed.
She turned to leave with me still standing there. She opened the door, started out, and then turned to me, "I take coffee at 8:45."
"Cynthia... Uh, Uh I mean Miss Morrison, someone will see."
Now she turned to face me full on. "This is your last warning. Don't you ever call me Cynthia again, or you'll regret it."
She turned and walked away without closing the door. I rushed to pull up my pants, not knowing who might have seen me.
Everybody must have known that something was up because several of the secretaries were waiting in the break room when I went to get Cynthia's... I mean Miss Morrison's coffee. They giggled as I completed my task and then left as quickly as I could, sure that everyone could see through my clothes.
I fearfully presented the coffee to Cyn... Ms. Morrison. "One cream, one half packet of Equal," I announced, quietly.
"OK, she said, not so quietly, I have a busy day. Here are your instructions."
I whispered frantically. "Please Ms. Morrison, everyone will hear."
She threw me a dirty look, but didn't hesitate for a moment. I was aghast.
"Be at my apartment at 7:00. I want you wearing panties, a matching bra, a garter belt and stockings. If you have breast forms, put them in. You need black heels as well, three inches at least." Only then did she lower her voice and begin to whisper. "Your assignment for today is to figure out how to get the money you stole into accounts controlled by Thornton. I'm going to get that son of a bitch and you're going to do it for me. I don't care whether you both get caught or not, that's your problem. You figure it out. And if you cause any trouble for me, I'll make sure you end up in jail dressed like the sissy you are. Get out."
I gaped, my mouth hanging open in wonderment.
"Get out?" I asked.
"You want me to say it loud enough for everyone to hear?"
"Yes Mistress... I mean... no Mistress."
I spun away like the devil was chasing me, but tried to control myself as soon as I turned to face the rest of the office. Everyone was staring at me. I made believe that I hadn't seen any of them and tried to look calm, but I was panting from anxiety by the time I reached my office. I could feel sweat dripping from my underarms.
By the time I had closed the door and reached my seat, I was frantic. What was she going to do? What was I going to do? Everyone knew... I was going to be humiliated…I was going to jail. Thoughts flooded my brain so quickly they had no time to complete themselves before they were replaced by another. In a few seconds, I was in tears.
I don't know how long I cried before I actually heard the knocking. I tried to ignore it. It was hesitant and I had no intention of opening the door. It opened by itself. It was Marci Richardson! Oh God! Things are going from horrible to worse. She was a good ten years older than I was and at first had been quite friendly, but like everyone else on the staff had changed her mind over the past year. I don't know if I had done something especially nasty to her, but she obviously had nothing but disdain for me. I looked up at her bleakly, but unaware. Before I could say word she spoke.
"Mr. Miller, are you OK?"
"Marci, get out of here," I blubbered, putting my face back into my hands.
Then, another voice... "Is he OK?"
I looked up again. It was Kathleen Whitson, another secretary, younger and, as far as I knew, much more timid than Marci. Was there no end?
"Does he really wear lingerie for Ms. Morrison?"
Oh God - they had heard.
"Well, shit Kathleen, you heard just as much as I did. How do I know?" Then she grinned, "Let's find out. "
"GET OUT OF HERE! Both of you." I jumped up from my desk and advanced on them. I was furious now.
Marci made little fists out of her hands and thrust them down onto her hips, she must have learned that move from Cynthia. "I don't think SO! That's so NOT what we're gonna do. I bet you're wearing panties right now. Show us."
"Get out of here." I turned my back to them, but then spun around at the sound of a third voice.
"Do it, now."
My heart sank. For a moment I was so startled I thought I was going to pee in my panties. It was Cynthia. She had opened the door all the way and it seemed that the whole office was standing right behind her. She stared straight into my face and mouthed the numbers 9-1-1.
I was paralyzed… a deer caught in headlights. A train roared in my ears. My vision narrowed. Then I erupted.
"FUCK YOU! I am NOT going to let this happen." I said taking a step towards the door. Cynthia stepped forward, pushed the others out the door and slammed it shut behind her.
"I didn't think we would come to this point quite so quickly, slave. But here we are. Time for you to submit or go to jail. Get on your knees."
Again, I gaped at her. Before I could say a word, she attacked me with a torrent of words. "Listen you little shit. You've been humiliating the entire office staff for more than a year. I don't like to see my girls in tears because some little pussy boy can't stand up to his own boss and hates himself for it. Luckily for you I hate Thornton more than I hate you. So a long as I believe you can help me get him, I'm willing to keep you around, but only on my terms. Now, GET ON YOUR KNEES!"
I stood frozen. She reached out for my shoulder and started to push me down. She didn't press hard enough to actually force me down, but I started to sink anyway. As I sank towards the floor I began to cry again.
By the time she opened the door again, the issue was closed. I was her slave, everyone in the office would share in my humiliation as payback for the way had I treated them. I had to figure out how to set Thornton up so it looked like he had embezzled the money that I had embezzled. I was totally defeated. And, it was time for my humiliation to begin. The only real question was, how intense was it going to be.
"Girls, your big old boss here has something to tell you. Gather round. Heather go lock the door."
I had been standing with my head bowed, but as the six other women in the office gathered around I looked up at them.
"I'm sorry," I gasped out, choked with shame, "I've treated you terribly."
"Yes you have," I heard but I couldn't even tell who had said it.
"I've treated you terribly and there's no excuse for it. Right now I can't even ask you to forgive me. I haven't earned that yet. But I am going to work to earn you forgiveness..., if you'll only let me."
"Show them," commanded Cynthia who drilled my heart with her words.
I silently unbuckled my pants and let them fall to my knees. I pulled the tails of my blue oxford shirt up above my waist. I couldn't look, tears streamed from my eyes and I again began to sob. But even as my chest was heaving, my hearing and thinking seemed to clear up suddenly, the way humidity disappears after a thunderstorm.
"Peach," someone gasped out, "he's wearing peach-colored panties."
What a strange thing to notice, I thought.
"You little sissy faggot."
Now they're getting down to it.
"You're not a man, you're a pansy. I can't believe we let you take advantage of us." A couple of women started to laugh.
"Are those your panties?" Someone asked.
"Damn right they are." That from Cynthia. "He shaves his body too, look at his legs."
A hand reached out and slid up my thigh. It felt like an electric shock. I twitched and my dick started to swell.
"Hey, look at this, there's no hair sticking out from the edges of his panties," said Marci who stuck a finger in the edge of the right leg hole, pulled it away from my leg and let it snap back. "Did you get a bikini wax, sissy?"
"Show them," Commanded Cynthia again.
I pleaded with her with my eyes, which must have revealed the terror and shame in my heart.
"Would you like Marci to help you, or are you going to be a man and do this by yourself?"
I stood frozen. After a moment, she nodded. Marci slid around behind me, hooked her fingers in the waistband of my panties, hesitated for just a beat before she quickly pulled them down to my thighs. Several of the women gasped audibly. Others started to laugh.
"Oh that's adorable. Where do you go for your waxing, sweetie?" Marci reached around and grabbed my balls. "Look he shaves these too. Oooh, sexy." and she slid her hand to my cock and gave it a few gentle strokes.
At the same time, she ground her hips into my butt. Despite the shame and humiliation and self-pity I was feeling, or maybe because of it, I was getting aroused! I had a group of women gathered around me and one was actually playing with my cock and balls. Who wouldn't get excited?
Then Betsy Stephens joined in again, "Oh, I think he likes being humiliated, look at her cute little clit just swell right up."
Marci continued to fondle my penis, assuring that it wouldn't do anything but swell right up. What a strange gathering. There in the middle was... me. By now, my pants were down around my ankles, I was holding the front of my shirt up with my hands, my silky peach panties were around my thighs, and a girl was standing behind me fondling my cock and rubbing herself on my back. Five other women formed a tight circle, all leaning in to get a better look. One, Cynthia, stood to the side with a decidedly amused, but satisfied look on her face.
"Are you a transsexual?"
That snapped me back down to earth. I slowly refocused my eyes to the reality in front of me. I had been wondering about that forever. Sometimes I thought so, sometimes, I couldn't tell. I looked up in wonderment. Marci's hand stopped for a moment, but she didn't let go of me.
"Maybe we should help him come out, to transition," said Kathleen, I couldn't believe she'd say anything. "Maybe he's like one of those guys on Jerry Springer.
"That's it," now Marci had jumped in. "He wants to be a girl but he's afraid. Lord knows he's afraid of everything else." She snorted her derision.
"Is that it sweetie?" Asked Cynthia now, sweetly sarcastic, "do you want us to help you become a girl? Do you want to be a little prissy girl for us?"
She started to laugh. So did everyone else. The laughter overwhelmed me and I felt like I was shrinking into insignificance.
For the second time in just a few moments, time seemed to stand still in the room. The sound of laughter rocketed through my head and my crying redoubled. For a moment I got nauseous. Then a long-suppressed memory came flooding back. I wasn't in a midtown office surrounded by a group of women; I was in the back of the locker room in 10th grade. I was trapped by a group of larger boys who found me a convenient target. They were laughing at me just like the women laughed now. I was wearing panties then too, but the boys didn't know that. I knew if they found out they would kill me.
"Look at him crying, what a baby. Nobody even touched him."
"He's not a baby, he's too big, but he's not a boy, he's too small. He must be a girl."
Oh god, they must know.
"Say it!" they chanted at me, "say it, say it, say it!"
Then someone I never even saw sunk his fist into my midsection. I doubled over onto the floor, gasping for air. They huddled over me.
"Say it. Say it. Say it." Someone kicked me in the back, then again in my arms, which were clenched over my stomach. I had to keep them from finding out.
"I'm a girl!" I blurted out without looking up. "Are you happy now, I said it. I'm a girl."
"You're worse than girl, you're a faggot sissy." One more kick banged off my ribs, and then, "come on, let's get out of here, this stinking little pansy makes me sick."
I lay curled up in a ball for awhile until I caught my breath and stopped crying. Then I realized I was in my office, not my school, and that it was now grown women who were laughing at me, not teenaged bullies. Now, finally, after all these years, my panties had been exposed.
"I think he would be cute." It was Kathleen again, "probably a lot nicer to us too."
"Well, we'll have to think about that. It's time to go back to work," said Cynthia who was taking over. "I'm sure that no matter what he becomes, he'll be a lot better behaved than he used to be. Won't you sweetie?" She lifted my chin with her hand and stared coldly into my eyes.
"Yes Ma'am."
"Shouldn't he be helping out with the break room now?"
"No," Cynthia replied dryly, "he won't be helping out." Groans arose from the crowd and she waited for them to die down. "He'll be taking care of it all by himself from now on." The groans turned to cheers and laughter.
"Well I need coffee," Marci shouted. That was greeted with a chorus of, "me toos."
Cynthia leaned towards me and said, "get them coffee, learn how they like it, you'll be doing it from now on. Let's get to work girls." And to me, "pull your pants up, you look ridiculous showing off your panties like this. It's not high school you know."
She knew! No, that's impossible.
Actually, it wasn't too bad after that. Getting coffee and cleaning out the refrigerator were about all I could handle then anyway. And besides, it gave me an opportunity to apologize to each of the women individually. A little penance never hurt any sinner.
As part of my efforts to gain forgiveness, I had lunch delivered to everyone. I served and cleaned up. There was still a lot of derisive talk, and some of the women grabbed me and fondled my ass, but after the earlier scene in my office, that was nothing.
After lunch, I started searching for ways to get into Bob Thornton's computer. Not having to hack the company system from the outside certainly made it easier, and by the end of the day, I had access to his computer and thought I might have found some ways to pin my crimes on him. It couldn't be this easy could it?
I hurried home, and 10 minutes after I had reached my apartment, the doorbell rang. Who could that be, I wondered as I peered through the peephole in my front door. Oh My God, I said to myself as my heart fell, it's Cynthia. I opened the door with my heart thudding in my chest.
"Hi there sweetie, glad to see me?" She gave me a thousand-watt smile as she sauntered into my living room, kissing me on the cheek as she passed by.
"Holy shit!" This is gorgeous, she said with real wonder in her voice.
I had inherited this condominium from my aunt just after I had gone to work at North State. It was in an older building that had been rent controlled, but beautifully maintained. The mortgage was paid and all I had to deal with was the upkeep. I had six rooms with nine-foot ceilings overlooking Riverside Drive and the Hudson River. At night, the lights on the cables holding up the George Washington Bridge shone like strands of enchanted pearls. I had worked at renovating the rooms from the day I moved in. I had invested all my bonuses here.
The living room was quite spacious, the kitchen, set off from the living room by a long counter, huge by city standards, and my bedroom had room for a queen-size bed and a separate sitting area. Most amazingly, it had a walk in closet. I must say that I have good taste, and it showed. I really liked antiques and most of the pieces were wood, many from the late 1800s. I also like rich primary colors, especially deep green, so all the fabrics echoed that theme. Also, I was very neat. There wasn't a thing out of place, even the throw pillows were arranged purposefully.
"Where's your bedroom? I want to see your closet." There were two hallways out of the foyer and I nodded towards a short hallway that ran next to the kitchen. Cynthia set off asking, "where are your clothes?"
I hesitated.
"Don't fool with me you little twit. Don't even try to tell me you don't have women's clothes. You still don't seem to understand what's going on, do you?"
She stalked right up to me and put her face in mine. Before I had a chance to react, she ordered, "get your clothes off, slave. Leave the panties."
I hurried to obey and soon stood there in nothing but my satin peach panties, and the bright red blush of humiliation. If it had been possible to physically shrink, I would have. As it was, my cheeks burned with shame and I could see that even my chest was red as I looked down at the floor after undressing.
"Now, where are your femme clothes?"
"Would you like me to show you Mistress, or do you want to go yourself. They're in the back room." I nodded to the hallway on opposite side of the room from the kitchen.
She started off and then said, "Come with me."
Then I heard a gasp. I knew she would be surprised. My face flushed with shame because I knew just why.
"This is yours? You've got to be kidding."
I was beside her now, "No Mistress... I mean yes Mistress..." My voice trailed off and then added, "I mean it's mine..."
The two rooms in front of us were in effect a separate bedroom suite. There was a bedroom with attached bathroom, and very ample sitting room. These rooms were a feminine dream. Flowery print upholstery with a gentle pastel lilac theme, lace table throws, delicate vases (with fresh cut flowers) soft impressionist-like paintings and soft lighting. The wallpaper picked up the lilac of the upholstery and had a cream stripe with dainty flowers printed all over it.
The bedroom was a lullaby of soft pink and a pinky off-white, with lace curtains, a white four poster bed with a ruffled baby-blue Laura Ashley bed spread with red flowers that picked up the color of the walls, and gently curving white furniture. The vanity was well stocked, not only with an array of makeup, but with crystal perfume bottles as well. Small sculptures of ballerinas sat on several pedestals on the dresser and side tables.
Cynthia's mouth actually hung open and her eyes were wide.
"Most of the furniture belonged to my aunt. She had it out front and in the master bedroom. I moved it in here when I redecorated the rest of the apartment."
I was really embarrassed because the room was in fact an expression of me and my taste. As she wandered around the room, I felt like Cynthia was staring into my brain.
"I had no idea…" her voice trailed off and she was silent for a minute or so. "Go get me a drink, a big one. Do you have anything to eat?"
"Some cheese and crackers, may be a couple of dips."
"Set them up for me and then get back in here and get dressed. I assume your clothes are in the closet in the bedroom."
I nodded and when I came back to the bedroom, she had already laid out some clothes but was still looking through my closet.
"You don't have that much, I'm disappointed. We'll have to fix that." As she turned from the closet to look over my vanity, she noticed that I had her drink in my hand. "I've changed my mind about that drink. I'll be back in an hour, you better be ready when I get here."
She picked up a bottle of nail polish and looked over at the clothes she had selected for me. Then she tossed the polish over to me. "Wear this - toes and fingers."
Fifty-five minutes later I was sitting at the vanity finishing my makeup. My fine, straight, dark brown hair was well over my collar, but I had combed out a matching wig, which I simply adored. It was set into a cute flip that just bounced off my shoulders and it had bangs that covered my eyebrows. I liked to wear it by tying a ribbon at the base of my head under the hair, with a bow on the top, right behind the bangs. That let the long hair hang loose but kept it out of my face.
Cynthia had selected my favorite twin set, in a pale pink, lightweight wool. The first layer was sleeveless, slightly cropped with a high round neckline. The cardigan was only slightly longer with little pearl buttons running down the front. She had also picked out a midnight blue rayon skirt with tiny pink roses printed all over it. The hem was three or four inches above my knees and it flared out at the bottom so it swirled deliciously when I moved. Dark blue hose and three-inch heels that matched the skirt made my legs look great. I was pretty neat when I applied my makeup but didn't really know the kinds of tricks that real experts used. As a result, I wasn't overdone, but neither was I glamorous. I had clip-on earrings, a couple of strands of fake pearls and a half dozen golden bracelets. My pinkish red lipstick matched my nails and complimented my sweater set.
I stood up and looked myself over in the mirror, smoothing my dress down my hips as I stood there. It was easier to see a young woman than a man in a dress. Certainly, others had made that mistake in the past, at least in a dark bar. But then I was younger and thinner, and Rachel did amazing things with my makeup.
I was in the kitchen, putting the glass that had held Cynthia’s drink, which I had finished in about five minutes, into the sink when the doorbell rang again. My heels had never sounded so loud as they did while I was crossing the hardwood floors to reach the door. They were even louder than my heart, which almost filled my consciousness. I checked the peephole, took a big breath, patted my hair, and opened the door. Cynthia looked at me expectantly even as she was walking through the doorway. She had a two-suiter slung over one shoulder, a stuffed overnight bag on the other, and a shopping bag from the local market in her hand.
"Here let me take those." I reached for her bags as I closed the door.
"No, step back I want to see you. Walk to the center of the room and turn around," she ordered letting her bags slide off her shoulders as she spoke. She never took her eyes off me. I walked the half dozen steps to the center of the living room with my head bowed. My legs were feeling a little shaky. Again I took a deep breath, lifted my head, and turned to face her. I tossed my head back and forth gently to flip the hair off my face. I just loved to do that.
"Holy shit," that actually sounded appreciative. "Turn around. Let me see."
I gave a little twirl, the skirt flaring out from my legs. She eyed me up and down critically, and walked to where I was standing. She reached out and I flinched.
"It's OK baby," she said softly and caressed my cheek with the soft pads of her fingertips. "Straighten up, stop slouching." As I straightened my posture, I looked into her eyes. She gently plucked at the shoulders of my cardigan to straighten it a little, just like a mother might do.
Then she turned decidedly un-motherly. She unbuttoned the top button of the cardigan, slid it off my shoulder on one side, and exposed my upper arm. She slid her hand gently up my arm to my shoulder and then slid her hand right down over my breast. She unselfconsciously felt me up right through my sweater! She fondled my fake tit for a moment in the palm of her hand, getting its feel. "Ooooh, so soft, they feel real." She ran her finger around the nipple.
"They're pretty expensive."
"They're worth it. I may not ever let you take them off again... until I get you real ones."
I started at that, but she had a soft, joking smile on her face that relaxed me. She had really hit one of my hot buttons: forced to get tits by a dominant woman. I was starting to get hard.
She continued to run her hand down my side and over my hip. Then she rubbed my crotch. "Is baby getting excited? Is little dicky getting hard in there?" She massaged my prick for a few moments until it was fully erect. Then suddenly, after lingering a moment more she was all business.
"No time for that now. I'm hungry. I brought some dinner. Set it out. You may set the table for two tonight. I want to get to know my new girlfriend. But Brad Miller had better behave himself. In fact, I'd prefer that he not show up at all."
"There isn't anyone but Brad Miller," I said apologetically.
"We'll see about that, I guarantee it. Let's eat." Wait, I can't call you Brad when you're dressed like that, what's your femme name?"
I blushed and looked down, then looked back up into her expectant face. "Lilly," I said softly, trying to make the name sound as lovely as it made me feel.
She jerked her head up at me and scrutinized my face. For a moment I thought I saw the color drain from her face. But a few seconds after that she relaxed and said, "what a sweet name. My grandmother's name was Lillian, and…" Her voice trailed off and she got a far away look in her eyes. Then she shook her head slightly and returned her attention to me.
"But you're being punished. You'll have to earn the right to be called by such a nice name. So I’m going to call you Sissy. Now, Sissy," she said it emphatically, though not harshly, "get me our dinner. We'll have a pleasant conversation and then talk business later."
Sissy, oh no, she had to be kidding. It was obviously meant to humiliate me, and it did. For the longest time I felt at least a twinge of humiliation every time anyone used that name.
Cynthia was really quite friendly and relaxed at dinner, although she called me Sissy at every opportunity and I blushed each time. She asked me about my cross dressing, my taste in clothes, and the overly feminine rooms I had created in my apartment. She wanted to know whether I was a transvestite or transsexual. I told her that I didn't know. She really seemed to be interested and wasn't the least bit threatening. She even gave me pointers on how to act and move, in a very helpful way. I actually started to relax.
As we finished dinner, she said to me, "where's your computer?"
"Huh?"
"I know you have a computer here, where is it?
"There's a small office next to my bedroom," I volunteered.
"Show me." Then casually, "Oh, bring my bags."
"You're going to sleep with me in my bedroom?" I asked.
"I didn't say that. Bring my bags."
We walked through the bedroom and I put her bags at the foot of my bed. She was already sitting at the computer when I entered my cozy little home office.
"Open your browser." She said it as if she were asking to see nothing more revealing than a new tie. "I want to see your bookmarks.
"Huh?" She just stared at me for a moment and I deflated. "It's not password protected, there's no one here but me. Just open Netscape."
"Go do the dishes and then wait for me in the other bedroom. Put on something sexy for bed, maybe we can have a little fun." She leered at me for a moment, caressed the inside of my thigh by reaching up my skirt, and turned towards the monitor. "Now, GO!"
"Sissy are you in there? Come on out, let me see you." She had been on the computer for more than two hours. I was so anxious I couldn't sit still. I had changed clothes four times already. When she called, I was sitting on the white four-poster bed, tying to read Allure. At her summons, I got up, settled the pale blue, mid thigh length kimono I was wearing over the even shorter matching chemise, slid my mules onto my feet and headed for the other room.
I had taken the ribbon out of my hair, so it fell right next to my face, darkened my makeup, and added a slightly heavier perfume. Cynthia was sitting on the floral sofa, studying the Tiffany style lamp that stood next to it.
"Come, sit." I carefully sat on the sofa next to her and she swiveled around to face me. She took my hands and turned my upper body towards her. "Let's see, for a year now, at least, you have been doing your best to make every woman in the office hate you. I was getting really angry with you. Then I uncovered your little embezzling scam. I could send you to jail and ruin your life."
I winced and looked down, tears started to form in my eyes as I again faced the enormity of my situation.
"But I'd rather not send you to jail."
My heart lightened for the first time in two days.
"I wanted to use you to get Thornton. Plus, I wanted to punish and humiliate you for the way you have been treating us. Then, I discover that you like women's clothes and have a decidedly feminine side to your personality." She gestured around the room. I blushed through my tears.
"Your computer, of course, was very revealing. I've never read much about TG's, but visiting TG sites seems to be about all you do on the web."
"I have quite a few friends out there on the web." I opened my eyes and looked down at my lap. The lace bodice of my chemise showed through the kimono. My false breasts rose and fell thrillingly with each breath and the hair from my wig hung down around both sides of my face. I gave a huge involuntary sigh, cocked my head slightly to get the hair out of my left eye, and looked up hesitantly, lifting my eyes before I moved my head. I had to see Cynthia's face.
"Oh ho, don't you flirt with me."
"What?" I turned away quickly, but not before seeing the amusement in her eyes. "I wasn't..."
"Oh really? That coy little movement of your head and then the slow peek up through your eyelashes isn't flirting? If that's not flirting, I'm not a girl." She had said that with mock sarcasm, but then added more sternly. "Look at me."
I looked up quickly, quickly turning my head to flip the hair out of my eyes. She had that intense gaze turned on again, but her words were soft, almost regretful.
"You still have to be punished, and you still have to make up for the way you have been behaving. You still have to get Thornton. And if you fuck up, I'm still angry enough to send you to jail in a heartbeat. But you are about to have your deepest wish fulfilled. We're going to explore your femininity."
She reached over and fluffed up my hair, then she caressed my cheek, letting her fingers linger over my lips. I kissed them. She smiled.
"There's no way I could miss all those femdom stories you downloaded. Do you want to be a sissy-maid? Does that idea turn you on?"
I blanched and tried to say something, but my mouth only quivered a couple of times before she said, "you're mine now, the fact that you might end up as a woman, or part woman, doesn't change that. But instead of a slave, perhaps I'll have a... maid?"
Before I could even think of anything to say, she stood up and looked down at me. "And a lucky little sissy-maid you will be. Your Mistress is moving in. I get the master bedroom you sleep in there." She pointed to the four poster bed. "I'm going to drown you in femininity. You're about to go on a journey of discovery. You'll discover whether you want to be a girl or not, and I'm going to be your guide. But, and this is a big but, you have to earn the right to be treated like a woman. Right now you are in trouble, young lady, how you behave will determine if, and how quickly, you get out of it."
My penis had already begun to harden. Before I knew it, she had reached into my lap to feel it. It hardened even further under her touch.
"I thought so. Yes, this could really be fun." She leered at me lustfully.
"Come, help me move in. Then I may let you worship my pussy a little, like last night."
Suddenly remembering my orders, I jumped out of bed and ran quickly into the shower, before shaving, as closely as I could. It never occurred to me to dress like Brad. Instead, I put on some foundation, a little blush and mascara, and then lipstick. I carefully placed my wig onto my head, and tied it up with a ribbon, like I had last night. It was just adorable.
I put my breast forms into a silky smooth lycra bra, that held them firmly in the right place, but still allowed a good deal of jiggle, and then pulled a stretchy, white, ribbed sleeveless tee over my head. I just loved the way the ribbing on the shirt stretched apart as it passed over my fake tits. With, my short denim skirt, plain ankle socks and my white Keds sneakers, I was cute sexy (or so I liked to imagine myself). I hurried off to the kitchen to make coffee and prepare Cynthia's breakfast.
I put everything on a tray and walked carefully to her bedroom. I peeked in the door and found her sitting up in bed. She had obviously been up, because her hair was brushed and she had on some lipstick.
"Come in Sissy, I've been waiting for you."
I blushed upon hearing the word Sissy, but simply said, "Yes Mistress, I'm sorry if I kept you waiting, but there's no alarm in the other... in... my.... in Sissy's bedroom."
I put the tray on the dresser and grabbed a bed table I kept handy, because I often ate in bed while watching TV. I placed the tray in front of Cynthia and stepped back.
"You know Sissy, a maid should curtsey when she comes into her Mistress's bedroom. Do you know how to curtsey, Sissy?"
"No Mistress."
"Well, we'll have to fix that won't we?" She asked and then proceeded to instruct me on the technique she preferred for full formal curtseys and for a simple bob up and down for less formal encounters. She then proceeded to eat breakfast while she had me practice.
"You know, Sissy, you just don't look right with those sneakers on. Go get some stockings and heels.
"Are pantyhose all right Mistress, this skirt is kind of short for real stockings?"
"Sissy! How dare you question me? Do what I said. And put on the black pleated skirt I saw in your closet and your white apron. You have three minutes. You had better be back in here before I finish eating."
"Yes Mistress." I curtsied before I turned and left. I was getting hard again. I was back in less than five minutes, and Cynthia was just finishing her coffee.
She put her cup down on the tray, "Umm, that was good, thank you Sissy, for the nice breakfast. I look forward to this almost every morning." She gave me a big smile. "You look very cute this morning. Why don't you help me get dressed now, we have a lot to do today."
"Yes Mistress." I risked a simple bob and she nodded.
Helping her dress was a combination of acute embarrassment and sexy fun. I mean, she was a sexy woman and being allowed to handle her clothes and touch her body really made me hot. Acting as her personal maid just turned the heat up another few notches. I was kneeling in front of her to pull up her panties when she started in on me.
"Well, Sissy, what do you think of yourself now? The big boss-man, down on his knees pulling his co-worker's panties up into place. What would the boys down at the bar say if they could see you now? Next time I go to the bathroom, I think I'll have you come in and wipe me. Maybe I'll have you do that for the girls in the office too."
Kneeling before my Mistress, tending to her while she verbally humiliated me was a tonic. I had no idea why, but I felt free. I hadn't felt so light-hearted in years. I felt... playful. Cynthia had seemed to like me before when I was verbally playful, so I thought I'd see how playful I could get. I looked up at her through my lashes, as I had done the night before, and as soon as I caught her eye, I purposefully planted a lingering kiss right on top or her vagina.
She pushed her hips at me for a moment and then jumped back in mock horror and squealed, "Sisssssy, What do you think you are doing. That's very presumptuous, young lady." And she whacked me on the head gently as she laughed. To me, at that moment, her laugh sounded like silver bells. She did like me to be playful. I had a definite hard on under my skirt. Then she really surprised me.
"That will never do young lady. Get over here." She had backed up to the bed and then sat down. She grabbed my wrist and pulled me over to her, pointing to her lap with her other hand. I didn't know what was going on as she pulled me down, I thought she wanted me to sit on her lap. But before I knew it, I was across her knees instead and she was pulling my loose skirt up over my ass. She started to spank me before I knew what had happened.
"Owww! What do you think you're doing?' I shouted in surprise, tensing my muscles, getting ready to force myself up.
All of a sudden, I was home again with my mother. She spanked me on occasion right on through high school, and especially enjoyed doing it when she had me dressed as a girl. Kyle had arrived any number of times to find me in tears and my mother gloating. "Oh, your big strong boyfriend is here, Brad. It’s a good thing he’s so strong, because you certainly do need someone to protect you, don’t you dearie?" She spanked me for only one reason, to humiliate me. It was another thing I hated her for. I had sworn that once I left home I would never let anyone punish me like that again. Why was I thinking about that now?
Cynthia had surprised me, but I knew that she couldn't hold me down. As small and weak as I was for a guy, I was still a lot stronger than most girls, and Cynthia was no Amazon.
"You just stay still!" she shouted, "Take your punishment like the submissive crossdressing sissy you are. Don't you dare use your physical strength against me." Then more quietly. "Don't ruin everything. Things can be nasty like they were at the office yesterday, or nice like they've been here since last night. Your choice."
As I realized where I was and what she was saying, I began to relax my body, finally collapsing over her legs with a big sigh. As I was lying there I told Cynthia why I reacted the way I did. "Mistress, I would never hurt a woman, well at least not one who wasn't trying to hurt me. At my size being hurt by an angry woman was a real possibility. My mom used to revel in her physical superiority over me."
"While she spanked me, she used to taunt me by calling me a feeble little pansy. She told me that I should have been born a girl. She humiliated me like that repeatedly."
Cynthia responded quietly, but with authority in her voice, "You’re not with your mom now, and I really want you to know what it’s like to be overtly submissive. You want that to don’t you?"
She was right. I did want her to spank me and put me in my place. This was about psychological dominance; physical strength had nothing to do with it. "Please mistress, spank me. I would never hurt you. If I ever do, just call the police right away. I would never be able to live with myself anyway."
"You can count on it, Sissy." That was very harsh, and I cringed. She continued in a more playful tone, "Now, are you ready to accept your punishment for the crime of kissing my pussy without permission?"
"Yes Mistress, please punish me Mistress. I have so much to learn."
She gave me twelve hard swats with the palm of her hand. It hurt, but not enough to make me cry. Even so, I was startled at how small and out of control this scene made me feel. Cynthia must have understood this might happen because she told me to hold my skirt up and go stand in the corner while she finished dressing. She berated me the whole time, like I was her 13 year old daughter who had failed to come home on time.
Facing the wall, my mind ricocheted from one thought to another until I was totally bewildered. The last two days had been a whirlwind of the most unlikely events. I had literally lost control of my life to a strong woman, my fondest desire. Things I desired and feared, but had only dreamed about, were coming true. Is it possible that I am standing here, in women’s clothing, just having gotten spanked, and that I had a painfully rigid hard on? It was all I could do to not rub myself against the corner to try to come. Did this woman have a road map to my psyche?
While I was standing there, holding my skirt up above my hips, my panty covered ass and hosed legs facing back into the room, Cynthia finished dressing and then went into the other room.
After a while, she called, "Sissy, get in here." She was sitting on a stool by the kitchen counter, the phone in her left hand. I wiggled into the room on my heels and bobbed quick curtsey in front of her. "We have much to do but first, we have to move me in. Then we have to go shopping for you. And third, we have to start your transition. If you're going to be licking my pussy, I want you prettier. Do you have any jeans?"
"Yes Mistress, in my closet." I pointed to the master bedroom.
"No you airhead, girls jeans."
"Oh!" I blushed, looking down. "Yes Mistress, but they're very tight."
"Good." She gave me that big smile again. "I like my girls in tight jeans. Go put them on. Leave the stockings, panties and bra, but take out the breast forms. Put your sneakers on. Me and my sissy are going out for a while."
"Oh nooo, Mistress, I can’t go out." My heart shuddered with embarrassments I had been imagining for many years. I had never been out in the daytime before.
"Do you want another spanking, Sissy?" My hands involuntarily flew up to the cheeks of my ass.
"Oh no Mistress," I curtsied, "I'm sorry Mistress," I bobbed up and down again. "I'll go get changed right now." I took a couple of steps towards my new bedroom, my heart beginning to accelerate from fear. But then I stopped.
I'd have to risk it. "Mistress," I said as I turned, not giving her time to reply, "may I please keep my breasts?" My hands came up to my chest and I was cupping one in each hand by the time I was facing her. I did the best I could to plead with my face. She looked at me for a moment and then burst out laughing.
"You’re begging me to wear breasts? This is too good." She laughed again. "Of course you can, sweetie," she said with overly sweet sarcasm. "You can keep your breasts. But if you get me angry they're coming right off. I don't care where we are." Her laughter followed me to the bedroom. I didn't care. I was going out fully dressed as a woman for the first time in almost six years. The first time ever in the daylight.
Thirty minutes later we were at her apartment. I double parked my Jeep Cherokee by a hydrant and began to follow Cynthia inside. I tried to be a little feminine in my movements, but without heels on, I really didn't know how to walk "girlishly." I desperately didn't want to have to look anyone in the eye, so I didn't look up until I had opened the door to the lobby. Once inside, I stopped dead. I mean, totally dead, my feet stopped, my hands stopped in mid-air, my breathing stopped and my heart stopped.
There, chatting with Cynthia were Marci and Kathleen. They too were dressed in jeans and tee shirts. They were both smiling as they looked up at me.
"Oh, Sissy," they shouted together as they turned to me.
"You look so sweet." That was Kathleen. Marci just pointed at me and started to laugh.
Cynthia pushed her with both hands. "Marci, behave yourself, you said you would."
"Oh, honey," Marci said trying to stifle her laughter as she came over to me with her hands out, as if for a hug. I cowered back towards the doorway. "You're adorable!"
Then she hugged me. I stayed tense for a moment, waiting for her to strike again, but then I really got off on the feeling of her breasts pressed into mine. So I took a risk and relaxed into her hug.
She grabbed me by my shoulders, pulled herself away from me, and looked at me from arm's length. Marci had remarkably dark eyes and they flashed at me. "I'm sorry I laughed at you, Sissy, but for a moment I thought you were Brad Miller, that nasty old boss from my office."
Then she pulled me closer and lowered her voice, as if we were sharing a secret. "I'm really angry at him and wouldn't mind embarrassing him," Marci's voice got tight and picked up a hard edge. "He better not show up when I'm hanging out with my girlfriends." She glanced back at Kathleen and Cynthia, who both wore huge grins.
"Are you here to help Cynthia move, Sissy?" Marci asked light and sunny again, but really emphasized the "Sissy." I was too shocked to say anything.
Cynthia applauded lightly. "That was very well done Marci, a wonderful recovery. Let's get going girls." She emphasized the word girls and stared at me.
I curtsied and said "Thank you Mistress." She laughed and then hustled us all into elevator.
Over the next couple of hours we moved all of Cynthia's clothes down into my car and the minivan Kathleen had borrowed from her parents to bring her stuff here. We moved Kathleen's stuff into Cynthia's now empty closets. Cynthia was going to let her use apartment while she was at "her new place." Kathleen was just overjoyed about this because there was no way she could afford to move out of her parent's house on her current salary.
"You should thank Sissy dear, if she hadn't insisted that I move into her place to take care of her, all this wouldn't have been possible." I stared at Cynthia with wide-eyed admiration for her easy lie as Kathleen threw herself into my arms in thanks.
"Oh Sissy, you're so much nicer than that mean old Mr. Miller. What was the matter with him anyway?" She said laughing lightly.
Ummm... more breast to breast hugging. Brad Miller was taking a beating from these women, but Sissy seemed really to be in favor. Maybe this could be fun.
We headed back to my, excuse me, Cynthia's apartment. Once everything was upstairs, Cynthia insisted I make iced tea for her and the girls. "But first, change back into your black skirt and heels. And put on the apron. I won't have my maid wandering around the apartment in jeans and sneakers. The very thought of it." She giggled.
So the three of them sat in the living room and directed while I moved all of my stuff out of "her" bedroom and into "Sissy's." After my first trip between the two bedrooms, she called me over to the couch. "Here let me fix your hair." She had gotten a red bandana from somewhere and put it over my head, tying it in the back.
"Thank you Mistress. I curtsied and went back to work. As soon as I got an opportunity, I peeked in a mirror. It was cute and I loved it. The bandana pulled my hair back behind my ears and turned the ends of the flip outwards. I just wished I had earrings. Big gold hoops would have been perfect.
Later, after a light lunch, Cynthia invited Marci and Kathleen over for dinner that evening and they left. Cynthia then had me get undressed and took a variety of measurements around my chest, waist, hips and other places. Then, it was back into the short denim skirt, with pantyhose and sneakers. I had a cropped jacket that matched the skirt and the red bandana she had put in before just went with it perfectly. I loved the way my breasts forced the jacket to stay propped open.
The trip out was a surreal experience. First we walked a few blocks to "get me used to being out." My mind was overwhelmed with little details like the bounce of my hair, and the bobble of my breasts. I had to work to keep my purse on my shoulder. Every time someone looked at me, my heart raced and I braced for some kind of nasty comment. In fact, all I was got a couple of stares, a couple of winks, and a "hey sweetie" or two. Well, I thought to myself, this is New York City; there are lots of people stranger looking than me. In the overall scheme of things, I just wasn't very flamboyant.
At one point, noticing my anxiety, Cynthia simply said, as if my concerns were just imaginary. "You're my sissy, that's all you need to be. Keep your head up and your back straight young woman."
I went from elation about the way I felt to fear of where I was about 50 times in four blocks. I was light headed from the mixture of joy and anxiety.
Then we hopped in a cab and rode downtown. The first stop was Cynthia's hair salon. I froze as I began to get out of the cab and realized where we were headed.
"Come on, Sissy, let's go." Cynthia was trying to drag me out of the car.
"Yeah SISSY, get going" mocked the cab driver.
That got me out of the cab in a hurry, but not much farther. I stood paralyzed in front of the salon door. "Sissy, if you embarrass me I will make certain you are humiliated. As it is, you will have to be punished for your disobedience. Now get going."
So in we went. They obviously knew Cynthia because everyone greeted her by name. The receptionist looked from her to me and started to smile as if she were quite amused.
"Is this the little sissy?" she asked with mock sincerity.
"Yes Connie, you know what to do with him?"
"Oh yes, Miss Morrison. Everything's ready. It'll just be a few minutes. Why don't you have a seat."
I groaned inwardly. I had to sit in the window of a hair salon, I wished I could fall through the floor instead.
"OK Sissy, pay attention." Cynthia had her stare back on. I looked down as soon as I saw it.
"That's a very good instinct Sissy, keep practicing it. Now listen to me and don't say a word. This afternoon is the beginning of your transition. You are coming out at work on Monday. Not completely, but you will show some changes that will accelerate over time. Today you will get a new hairstyle, your nails will be done and there will be a couple of surprises. Do we need to talk about what happens if you don't cooperate?"
I just looked up at her tentatively and shook my head slowly back and forth.
"Give me your hand sweetie." I picked up my left hand, but she said, "no, the other," so I placed the right in her outstretched palm. "I know this is scary for you, but it's what you really want. In fact, I would say you’re lucky. If I hadn't discovered what you were up to and intervened, who knows where you would have ended up. If our controller had caught you, you'd already be in jail. Now you don't have to worry about any of that. I'm in charge and I'll make the decisions. I promise not to hurt you, if you do things my way."
I stared into her eyes trying to discover whether I could trust her or not. I desperately wanted to give myself over to her control, but I was scared. It's one thing to have fantasies about being controlled by a dominant woman when you are jerking off in the privacy of your own bedroom, it's another to have such a woman actually take over your life, and do it out in public. And this was all going so fast. As I looked intently at Cynthia, I had a vision of another strong, dark-haired lady, my mother. I shuddered involuntarily. If she was like my mother... I couldn't go there, it was too scary.
"Here sweetie, drink this, it will help you relax." It was Connie with a glass of wine. I was a barely able to whisper out a thank you I was so nervous.
"A few more of those as the afternoon goes on wouldn't be too bad an idea," Cynthia said as she watched me down the whole thing in a couple of gulps.
"Really," Connie agreed, giggling as she took the glass back from me before I could even look up. She headed off to fetch another.
"Sissy, I'm going to give you something that will help you deal with this."
She reached into her purse and I thought she would hand me a tranquilizer or something. But that's not what she pulled out. It was a ring! She took my hand and said, "let's see if this fits."
She slid the gold band with three small emeralds on it over the fourth finger. It got stuck for a second at the last joint, but with a slight twist, it slid gently into place. I just stared at it with my fingers spread apart and my palm facing away from me, just like a woman. I was stunned, frozen in place. She reached out and gently lifted my chin so that I was looking in her eyes.
"You're mine now. You don't own this ring, it owns you. Whenever you get a little nervous, just look at your ring. It will help you remember who you are and what your situation is. It will also help you understand my commitment to you. This ring was my grandmother's. I wouldn't give it to you if I didn't intend to take good care of you."
She enveloped my hand with both of hers and we just sat silently for a moment. Tears started to form in my eyes. What was I to think? This was an engagement ring! Even though it wasn't on my left hand, there couldn't be any doubt about it. But she didn't offer to marry me. This was something else altogether. I wasn't sure what yet. I felt like the ring was glowing, that everyone could see it, like the beacon shining from the Cape Hatteras lighthouse. I glanced around quickly. Of course, no one at all was even looking at us. My heart raced in my chest and my thoughts were too jumbled to be useful. Everyone could now see that I belonged to Cynthia.
"This will be nice Sissy. They're going to take real good care of you here. These people are my friends they won't let anything bad happen to you, unless, of course, you disobey them."
We sat together for about 10 more minutes before Shelly came out to get me. She gave Cynthia a big hug and they exchanged gossip for a moment.
"Hi Sissy, she turned to me with a curious smile. Let me see who Ms. Morrison is making such a big deal over."
I finally came out of my trance. All of a sudden, I felt like a bug on display at a museum. Well, about as big and significant as a bug anyway. I quickly hid my hand, but she was interested in my face. She lifted my chin with her fingertips and her smile brightened.
Oh, very nice Cynthia. This will be a joy. I think it will take about three hours. Have fun shopping."
"Bye sweetie." Cynthia gave me one of those fake hugs and air kisses that women are always exchanging so they don't smudge their makeup.
"Oh, don't pout. They're not going to cut your dick off, just make you pretty." She turned to leave, wiggled her fingers at me like girls do, and said, "ta ta." And she was out the door.
Shelly led me to the back and gave me a smock to put on over my clothes. She walked me to her station and gently took off my wig. Then she ran her fingers through my real hair.
"Very nice, so fine, and straight, and soft... and so much of it. I'll bet you never get the frizzies, do you?"
I nodded my agreement. My hair was fine and straight. It had never done anything but hang straight down. For years I had worn it in the standard male pony tail, low on my neck. When I wanted to dress, I could leave it loose or set it to get a little body. Although it was over my collar now, when I had been with Rachel, it was almost to my shoulder blades. Guys loved it.
"I've got just the style for you. You will be so fashionable."
"Wait a minute. What are you going to do?" I blurted out.
"Well I'm going to give you an everyday style so you can either look femmy when you want to, or a little androgynous if you have to. She didn't say anything about this wig," she held up the one I had worn in, "but we can wash and style this one too if you like."
"Yes, please," I said petulantly. I like this one, I think the flip is so cute." I was so nervous I was whining.
"It is cute. But Cynthia wants to update your look a little. She has very sophisticated tastes and she demands that all her girls meet her standards."
I wasn’t quite sure what that meant, but before I could get it together to ask, Shelly had my head back in her sink and was washing my hair.
When Cynthia came back to get me a few hours later, I was a new man. I had beautifully manicured nails, not too long yet, but with a lovely oval shape and flashy red polish. The manicure girl kept gushing on and on about my beautiful ring and my soft hands. She did my toenails the same color and then gave me a surprise.
"Cynthia left this for you as well," she said. And she slipped a thin gold ring onto my second toe. "It will look sooo sexy when you wear sandals." I just flushed.
My makeup was simply exquisite. The woman who did my face knew all about color selection and shading and all those other things women need to know about their faces if they want to look their best. She spent a good deal of time explaining what she did so I could duplicate it, or at least try. And she plucked my brows into a frighteningly well defined arch, thicker towards the middle, and then thinning before they turned sharply down before reaching the outside corners of my eyes. They were perfect..., for a girl. I went from thinking that maybe I was kinda cute to feeling absolutely delectable. I was in love with myself. My ears were pierced - twice each. For now, both holes had studs, but Shelly kept telling me that I now had a huge choice of earrings, and that with my new hair, I would have ample opportunity to show them off.
I guess that was true. She had parted my hair in the middle and layered it so that it looked full. It hung almost to my jaw line at the front and sides, and to the middle of my neck in back. If I swept it from the front to the back of my head, it flowed forward again in a thick curtain. It might have been unisex, but not in combination with my new eyebrows. I simply looked rather feminine, cute and feminine. Because it was parted in the middle, the hair on the both sides of my face was always going to be falling in front of my eyes so that I would have to flip it away or tuck it behind my ear every time I wanted to see out of one side or the other. If I looked down, it fell like a heavy drape next to my face. Shelly showed me how to use gel to brush it all straight back over the top so it looked kind of masculine.... to someone who was blind anyway.
But dressed and made up the way I was, I didn't look masculine at all. I looked like someone's secretary, or younger sister, or girl friend. Sitting in the safety of Shelly's workstation, I was absolutely delighted. I virtually squealed with pleasure when I saw the whole look. I definitely needed dangly earrings. I couldn't wait for the piercings to heal.
When Cynthia came back in I was sitting in Shelly's chair and playing with my hair. She walked up behind me and put her hands on either side of my head, running her fingers through it as if it was more valuable than spun gold.
"Oh Sissy," she moaned in my ear, "you are just gorgeous."
"Cyn.... Mistress!" I was startled. "Isn't it lovely?" I leaned my head back against her breast. Then I sat back up. "And look at my fingernails!" I lifted both my hands and wiggled my fingers in front of her face. "And look at this beautiful ring someone gave me. What do you think it means?"
"It must be magic," said Shelly, who appeared from around the corner it's transformed you into a lovely young lady.
Cynthia looked at me with admiration. I figured this was a good time to flirt with her and try to dust off some old moves. So I flipped my head to the right throwing the hair on that side back for a moment. Before it could rebound back into place, I looked down and peered up through my eyelashes, cocking my head towards my right shoulder. By the time I could see again, my hair had flowed over my right eye and come to rest, hanging slightly away from my face.
Cynthia burst out laughing and threw her arms around me. "Don't you dare flirt with me like that, you little tramp. Shelly, what have you been teaching her?"
Shelly was laughing too. "I never.... Cynthia, she acts like she's still in high school, for god’s sakes. Can't you find someone older to take advantage of."
I looked hurt, at least as hurt as I could manage while trying not to laugh. They both stared at me expectantly, Cynthia with a cocked eyebrow, which said, this better be good.
"Well, I never had a chance to practice this stuff growing up like you two did. I need to brush up to catch up with you guys." The both renewed their laughter.
"Come on, you little trollop, we're going shopping."
That got my attention. I started to protest.
"Quiet Sissy," Cynthia hissed. "Just do what I say. Get into the back room I have something new for you to wear."
I stood up and grabbed my purse, then turned to her and dropped a quick short curtsey. "Yes Mistress. Sorry Mistress. I'm just scared, that's all." Shelly looked on in wonder.
Cynthia turned to Shelly "She'll be punished later. She just doesn't know when to shut up and listen."
She threw her arms around Shelly's shoulders and hugged her. "Thank you dear, you do great work." Then she turned back to me with an impatient look on her face.
"Thank you Miss Shelly, you made me look prettier than I could have ever imagined, scrumptious in fact." Then I took my right hand and pulled the hair back from my eyes, just so I could let it flow back in front of my face again. I leaned in and gave her a kiss on the cheek.
"Now you're learning," Cynthia beamed at me. "What a polite little girl."
It didn't take too long in the changing room for me to get into Cynthia's "gift". It was a corset, a severely boned satin corset in a creamy off white color. Cynthia only took my thin waist down a couple of inches, but that made a huge difference in my figure. All of a sudden my skirt was a little loose in the waist.
"We'll just have to get you something new then, won't we?" Cynthia asked when I pointed out the problem. "Let's go."
In a few minutes we were back on the street and I was getting really nervous again. Cynthia just didn't care. We started visiting the boutiques and specialty shops that abounded in this neighborhood. Cynthia treated me like I was her slightly stupid girlfriend or naive little sister on her first shopping spree to the big city.
Only three of the many saleswomen and shop girls we encountered that afternoon figured out what was going on, even though Cynthia called me Sissy in front of all of them. Cynthia's enthusiasm was so infectious that only one of the girls who read me even bothered to torment me; the other two just went along with her. As if buying girl's clothes for a slightly dumbfounded and thoroughly humiliated guy with beautiful hair and scrumptious makeup was the most natural and fun thing in the world. Even so, the slightly condescending way she treated me left me feeling vaguely embarrassed all afternoon. Cynthia was completely in charge. Even while she was humiliating me, she encouraged me, she cajoled me, she swept me away on a wave of enthusiasm that I couldn't resist.
By the time the taxi dropped us off at my apartment I was emotionally wasted, and had spent more than $2,000 on shoes, clothing, and accessories.
We had indeed replaced my denim skirt with a smaller one. It was tighter and shorter. My sneakers were gone and I had a pair of clunky two inch heels that just made the outfit. And I had a pair of the cutest sunglasses. They were white, in a kind of a fifties style, with pointed corners. I looked like a girl from "Grease" or "American Graffiti." My feet were killing me.
"I need a shower," she said as we dragged everything upstairs, "and so do you. Come on, you can wash me."
"Excuse me?" She was inviting me to shower with her?
"Sissy, sometimes I don't know how you get through the day, you are so thick." She shook her head at me like I was a six year old girl. You are my maid aren't you? I really couldn't keep up with her, mentally or physically. She was already on her way to the shower. She stopped and turned on me.
"SISSY! Get your ass in here. When are you going to figure out what is going on? When your Mistress speaks to you, just do what she says. Come on!" And she stared that baleful stare at me. "I'm tired of having to ask you twice. GET IN HERE!"
I was really only a couple of steps behind her, but she had made up her mind. She sat on the edge of the bed. "Over my lap, girly. You need another lesson. Take your skirt off. "
So she spanked me again. Twelve swats, six on each cheek. Then six more for not going into the salon when first asked and six more for not responding more quickly when she told me to go to the changing room. Being an adult male, and allowing yourself to be spanked by a woman who is weaker than you is a strange thing. Cynthia clearly proved that she was strong enough to make it hurt though. But pain was definitely not the issue here. This was simply a ritualized expression of dominance and submission. This time though, she raised the stakes.
"I don't like you just lying there like a dead fish," she said after the first half dozen swats. "I want you to squeal with pain and kick your luscious little legs in frustration." She caressed the inside of my thigh.
I just lay there silently, trying to understand what she had just said. I can't just take this like a stoic guy? I have to behave like a little girl? I needed to put on a little act for her...while she spanks me?
SWAT! The hardest spank yet, I jerked my head around. She had a hairbrush! She hit me again. I yelped and both my legs shot up at the knee.
"That's it, sweetie. That's just what I want to see. The more you convince me that this hurts and you can't take any more, the more gentle I'll be. Does mommy's clever little girl understand?
This was to be a scripted dance! This had nothing to do with pain at all, except maybe for psychic pain. My punishment was to act like a little girl even though nothing terrible was going to happen to me. I figured I could handle that. After all, no one could see, right? So as she continued to spank me, I squealed and yelped at each swat and kicked my legs up and down like a little baby. The intensity of her swats diminished as my reaction to them increased. Instead of pain, acute feelings of humiliation, helplessness, and sexual arousal now swirled through my consciousness.
I couldn't take it. My emotions overwhelmed me and I started to cry. And as I squirmed around there crying and kicking, I discovered I could rub my penis against her thighs. Thank god no one could see.
But she was pleased with my little performance. When she was done, she held me lightly with a hand on my inflamed butt and said, "Did little Sissy enjoy rubbing his clitoris on Mistress's legs."
Now I was immersed in shame over my behavior. Why did I think she wouldn't notice?
"That will cost you." She hit me 6 more times, really hard. I cried for real. "Maybe if you are a good, good little Sissy I might spank you long enough to let you come some day. But don't you dare do it without my permission."
"Oh Mistress, I would never do that." I said the word "never" with as much exaggeration as I could get into my voice. She whacked my butt again and threw me onto the floor, laughing.
When we got into the shower, we had a wonderful time rubbing our soapy bodies against each other. The only problem is that I had to get my beautiful new hair wet when I went down on her. She made up for it though, when she slithered behind me and jerked me off with soapy hands. Then, once we were out of the shower, she blew my hair out for me. She let her lovely breasts caress my back and shoulders as she did. I had a hard on the whole time. I was in heaven.
Then she told me to go into my room, where I would find some packages. I was to put on the black lingerie from Victoria's Secret, and the white apron from Laura Ashley. "I know you like Laura Ashley," she noted with some amusement. Also, my new black heels. I was to let her sleep for an hour and then bring her a glass of wine.
When I got to my room I discovered how she had spent the time while I was in the salon. There were at least a dozen shopping bags piled by the bed, all from clothing stores. I checked one of the receipts. It was charged on one of my credit cards! It looked like I had spent closer to $3500 on clothes today! God, how was I going to afford all this?
An hour and a half later I was removing the wineglass from Cynthia's room. I was dressed in a new corset, this one in black. I had tied it snuggly, but couldn't really take my own waist down that much by myself. A beautiful full lacy bra to hold my breasts forms, panties and seamed black stockings, which were hooked to garters that hung from the corset. The apron turned out to be rather small, but all white and edged in ruffles all around. It had a short bib that ended right at nipple height, and shoulder straps. I felt rather stupid dressed like that, but really kind of sexy too. Cynthia had made a big deal out of inspecting and caressing me when I first showed up in her room, rather hesitantly. She had me stand sideways to the mirror and put each leg in turn up on a trunk, to be sure my seams were smooth and straight. God, was that sexy.
I was just beginning to get her dressed when the doorbell rang. Before I could even become startled she said, "Get that, will you Sissy dear?"
"What?"
"That will cost you another spanking." She went from sweet to angry in a heartbeat. Then she went on a little more softly. "Trust me dear, I told you that you were going to be punished and humiliated, that is out of your control." Before she could say anything else, the doorbell rang again.
"It's only Marci and Kathleen. They have a present for you. Now scoot."
Only Marcia and Kathleen? Was she kidding? Here I was dressed in nothing but sexy, black, women's lingerie and a frou-frou apron and I'm supposed to let two secretaries from my office into my home? Nonetheless, I sighed and started for the door, my heels clicking on the hardwood floor of the foyer.
I tried to figure out how I was going to deal with these two feisty women. "And greet them properly," rang out from the other room as I approached the door. I took a deep breath, smoothed my apron over my thighs with the palms of my hands, and opened the door. As I swung it open, I stepped back behind it so it mostly hid me from the hallway.
"Good evening, Miss Marci. Good evening, Miss Kathleen, won't you come in? I bobbed a simple curtsey, but kept my eyes down.
They both stood there in the doorway staring at me. "Holy shit," said Marci at just about the same time that Kathleen said "Oh my God." Neither one moved out of the doorway. Marci figured out what I was doing right away and would have none of it.
"Come out from behind that door, Sissy. Let us see what you look like," said Kathleen. I reluctantly let go of the door and took a step away from it.
"Turn around," said Marci.
It took me three or four little steps to make a complete turn in the three inch spike heels and I kept my head down.
"Look at me, let me see your face," ordered Marci who wasn't going to let anything past her.
So I slowly looked up, flipping my head to the side as I did so to throw the hair off my right eye. Right then, I saw two of my neighbors, Miss Marks and Mrs. Fellows, walk past the doorway and do a double take. At the same time, Marci stepped forward, grabbed my head in her two hands, pulled my face to hers and planted a big kiss right on my lips.
"You're adorable." She beamed at me. "I just love your hair." Then she reached around a caressed my ass and the skin between my panties and stockings. "Ooooh, what a delicious tush, and such soft skin."
My face burned with shame and my heart filled with panic. Not only was she treating me in a most demeaning way, but my neighbors were watching the whole thing. They were absolutely goggle eyed. What must they be thinking? How long would it take them to tell everyone in the building? Marci kept her hand possessively on my hip as she took a step around me. It was only then that she noticed we had an audience.
"Hi," she waved at them. "Isn't he adorable?" Kathleen stepped forward with a shopping bag in her hand.
Then Kathleen finally spoke, "hi Sissy. Marci's right you know, you do look delectable. You're one of the prettiest girls in the office." She said that with real sincerity, but I continued to blush furiously and refused to look up. "But most girls don't just walk around in their underwear you know. Especially when their neighbors are watching."
She turned on them. "It's really not polite to stare you know," then, after a polite pause, "good night," with a most lovely lilt in her voice. Only then, did she finally shut the door. A moment later she burst out laughing. Marci joined her, a second after that. Kathleen approached me through her laughter holding the shopping bag out for me to take.
"This is for you. So you have something to put on over all that sexy lingerie." She handed me the bag."
"What....?"
"Would you please take my jacket dear?" Marci had turned her back to me offering her right shoulder. I put down the bag and hurried over to her to help her slip her jacket off.
"So sweet." She patted my cheek, as I stood there astounded at her arrogance. "But your steps are a little to long for someone as girlish looking as you. You need to shorten your stride. You know, mince a little. What are we drinking?"
Before I could reply, Kathleen tossed me her coat. "Marci's right, you know. Now don't let me see another long stride out of you. Didn't your mother teach you anything?"
I curtsied, and said "Yes miss, I mean, no miss, she didn't." Then I clipped off to hang up their coats, trying to keep my steps closer together and slow my heart rate to a speed that wouldn't kill me. I focused on putting one foot in front of the other, so my hips swayed a little more as I walked. As I turned back into the room, they were both looking at me with an obvious question on their faces. I minced back to offer them drinks, still reeling from the fear and embarrassment they had heaped on me only a few moments before. I dropped a respectful curtsey and started to ask what they wanted.
Marci cut me off, "What's that on your finger sweetie?" She said it as if we were in a conspiracy together.
"Oh! My ring...Cynthia gave it to me..." My voice, which had started off strong and excited, trailed off to a whisper as I realized what I was saying. I looked down in shame yet again and blushed furiously. Kathleen grabbed my hand and pulled it up so they could examine this object that now felt like it was burning right through my finger. Just then Cynthia walked in from the bedroom.
"Hi girls."
"Cynthia," said Kathleen, "He's beautiful."
They gushed to her about what was going on and where we were, how I looked, and....about the ring. I just stood there, looking like a polite maid, trying to breathe at a normal rate. In truth, I was too humiliated to talk. My mouth was as dry as dust in the sun, I was hyperventilating again, and I could feel my cheeks flaming. I was too scared to look up.
Finally Cynthia shushed them. "Yes, I put it on him earlier today. I wanted to give him something to remember me by," her voice hardened a little as she went on, "and to help him remember what his situation is." And then it softened, "and to help him feel sweet and girlish, and to remind him that if he behaves himself, this might be fun for him. It's going to be fun for me in any case."
Then she turned to me, "I'll take care of things in here for awhile, you go get dressed. I can't believe you went to answer the door with no clothes on. Have you no shame?" Her voice seemed lovely as she teased me gently and she gestured at the shopping bag as she spoke. And put the big white ribbon in your hair."
Well, as you probably guessed, the "dress" was a black satin maid's uniform. Looking at it in the mirror as I held it up in front of myself, I knew that it would probably come only to mid thigh, but with two petticoats, I doubted whether it would cover the tops of my stockings. It had a lace trimmed scooped neckline that might actually show the top of my fake breasts, and puffed up sleeves, which ended in lace bands that would go across my thin biceps. The big floppy white ribbon that Cynthia had mentioned matched my apron. No matter how big I made the bow, the ends still trailed down the sides of my face. As I held the dress up in front of me and looked at myself in the full-length mirror, I almost came in my panties. This was really too much. I was being forced to dress as a woman, in a maid's uniform no less, and serve my Mistress and her girl friends. I'd have a hard on for the rest of my life, if I just managed to live through the evening that is. How much humiliation can one person stand? I was about to find out.
Then a minor disaster struck. The dress was too tight through the waist. My corset would have to be tightened, but I couldn't do it myself. I would have to endure the embarrassment of asking Cynthia for help. So I took the dress off, put my kimono on and went back to the other room. I peeked into the foyer.
"Mistress?" I could feel the heat as my face flushed with embarrassment. "Could you help me Mistress?" I was whispering, as if the other two women somehow couldn't hear me if I didn't speak up.
"What's the matter Sissy? What's taking you so long? Speak up girl."
"I… uhh... I need help with my corset Mistress."
"What do you mean Sissy? Are you too FAT to get into your uniform?"
What else could I say? "Yes Mistress, I guess I am."
"Just wait for me girls," she said as she put her drink down and started in my direction. "Sissy we're going to have to put you on a diet." Her voice was stern, but her eyes were crinkled with glee. She must have planned this. Marci and Kathleen just laughed.
"He's only been a girl for one day and already he needs to go on a diet." Kathleen blurted out. I think even my back blushed as I returned to my new bedroom.
Ten minutes later we were all back in the living room, but now I could barely bend over and was panting to catch my breath. The corset had cut down my waist at least another two inches and I simply couldn't breathe from my diaphragm. It was so rigid I could only take short breaths by expanding my upper chest. Now, just breathing was hard work. Not only that, but each breath pushed my breasts up and out like they were begging for attention. Breathing was hard work and embarrassing.
But, glory be, I was the maid. My name was Sissy. Marci especially like to call to me. "Oh Sissy-maid, come here please." I was ogled, patted, coddled, caressed, hugged, humiliated, ordered about, instructed, corrected, ignored, fawned over, and laughed at. I was either the center of attention or ignored as if I wasn't there at all. I must have made a thousand curtsies. I minced around the room in my high heels, and reveled when they clicked against the hardwood floors.
I had to straighten the seams on my stockings at least a half dozen times. At one point they tied my ankles together with a couple of scarves to make sure I only took short steps. I had to bend at the knee because I couldn't bend at the waist and I felt so feminine when I did it, that I looked for opportunities to do it again and again. My hand motion, elbow position, and word choice were constantly criticized and modified.
By the end of the evening, I was really quite swishy. They had made me into a bit of a parody of woman-hood and I basked in my humiliation. They also made it a point to constantly keep me hard by caressing my penis at every opportunity.
Kathleen especially seemed to enjoy holding it, and at one point had me stand next to her for 15 minutes as she sat on the couch talking to Marci and Cynthia while she played with me through my panties. I was under strict orders not to cum, as if I could control it.
To make sure I was always aware of how I felt, every so often, Cynthia would stop me and tell me to describe what I was experiencing, beginning with the physical sensations created by my clothes and including the emotional sensations created by my situation. Each time my description had to include more detail, and I had to pay special attention to use more of the kinds of words that girls (forget women) used when they talked, like totally.
"I am the maid (I curtsied deeply). I am serving at a party thrown by my darling Mistress (I curtsied and threw Cynthia a kiss) for her two delicious girlfriends (I curtsied to each of them). I'm wearing scrumptious black patent leather heels that arch my foot into just the most erotic position, and sheer, smoky nylons that make my legs glisten irresistibly and slither over each other when they touch. The lacy black garters that hold them exert a constant tug on the stockings and whisper across my bare thighs as I move." While saying that, I put my foot up on the cocktail table and caressed my left leg from my ankle to my thigh, pulling my skirt up to check my garters.
Dinner was ordered in, and of course I was commanded to meet the delivery man at the door, and act sexy for him. He just seemed confused. I mean, really, who has a French maid these days? After I had served the "girls," I had to stand by while they ate. Only then was I allowed to get a bite and clean up.
When I was done, and everyone had coffee, Cynthia announced that it was time for the fashion show. She invited Kathleen and Marci into my bedroom to watch. They hadn't been to that part of the apartment yet, but went nuts when they did. Marci could not resist dancing around and mocking me with the femininity of it all. I must say, however, that they simply loved my new clothes. So did I.
Mostly they were work clothes, a couple of dresses, three skirts with blouses, and two suits. Everything was on the short side. There was a dusty rose colored suit, with a pleated skirt and tailored jacket that was just to die for. I wore it first with a cream colored silk tank top and pearls. Then Kathleen suggested that I take off the top and wear a camisole in its place. She was right. The jacket showed just a hint of lace from the top of the camisole that made me just shiver with delight.
While this was going on, Marci and Kathleen had snuggled up together on the couch in my lacy sitting room. At first I wasn't sure, but after awhile it was clear that they were definitely fondling each other. After 90 minutes or so, I had tried on five or six outfits and was getting into a slinky, high-neck, long sleeve red dress that buttoned all the way up the back. It barely reached mid thigh. I had put it on by myself in the bedroom and come back into the sitting room to have someone help me button it. The girls had been taking turns helping me dress, and took every opportunity to caress me while they were doing it. The whole thing had become a terrifically erotic treat. I really wanted to feel more hands on my body.
When I walked into the room, however, Kathleen and Marci were in a total body-to-body clench, their lips seemingly welded together. Cynthia was sitting in a chair almost like a proud mother watching her toddlers at the playground. I simply moaned when I walked in. This was as erotic as anything I had ever seen.
"Looks like the fashion show is over. You drove them crazy with all those sexy clothes, I guess." Cynthia looked up at me with barely disguised lust.
"Grab the bag from Saks and come into my bedroom." She turned to Marci and Kathleen, "Girls.., oh girls." Kathleen opened an eye. "You two have this bedroom, see you in the morning. Kathleen closed her eyes and redirected her full attention to Marci. Cynthia turned back to me, "Well what are you waiting for, you have work to do, let's go."
I left the unbuttoned dress on and found the bag Cynthia had mentioned. I'm pretty sure Marci and Kathleen never even noticed me as I walked past them out of the room. Cynthia was waiting in the living room, standing by the couch.
"Come here you little slut," her voice was so low it was virtually a growl. It wasn't too hard to figure out what she wanted, so I put a little more swivel in my hips as I approached her, lowering my head. She wasn't the only one in heat. I glided around her, swiveling my hips and shoulders until I was between her and the couch.
"Who taught you to behave so shamelessly? You look like you've been doing this all your life."
I tossed my hair and looked up through hooded eyes, my lips barely parted. The dress had slipped off my right shoulder revealing the straps of my black bra and slip.
"Please kiss me Mistress. I'm going to die if you don't touch me soon," I said as passionately and demurely as I could.
Cynthia lips curled back and she reached up to my bare shoulder. She slid the two straps down over my arm and reached around my back, her hand sliding between the silky material of the dress and the slip I was wearing over my corset.
"Me too, you slutty bitch." And she jumped me.
We tumbled back onto the couch her mouth virtually raping mine in her urgency. We duplicated the full body contact I had just seen in the other room, slithering over each other in feverish lust.
"You're mine," she groaned through our grinding lips. "I'm going to kiss you so hard my tongue will reach down into your throat and then I'm going to fuck your slutty little brains out. We groped, pulled, stroked and kneaded each other with such fierceness that I was afraid one of us would hurt the other.
"Oh Mistress, please fuck me." I was needy. The other two girls had been keeping me on the edge of release all evening. Their constant physical attention, along with the overdose of humiliation and eroticism I had been fed over the last two days had me feeling faint and sexually ravenous together. If I had my way, I would spend the rest of the night under Cynthia, hopefully at least part of it with my now painfully hard dick in her pussy. It looked like she pretty much had the same plan.
Then after a time, she grunted "Now, I need it now," and she rose up over me. She pulled her skirt up to her hips and sat right down on my face. She wasn't wearing any panties! I started to lick and suck for all I was worth. I wrapped my arms around her thighs and started to work my fingers towards her pussy from the back. Cynthia nearly screamed with joy when I got one into her pussy.
After several minutes, she started humping my face. "Oh god, Oh god, Oh god, I can't take it any more. I need a prick in me." So she picked herself up off my face, slithered back down my body, licking me wickedly while she did. She had to pull my slip up and panties down, but then she sat up over my penis.
"Hold it up!" I put my painted fingers on the base and pointed it at her pussy. She slithered her lips down onto the head until it was aligned properly and then thrust herself down onto it in one movement.
"Hnnnhhh."
"Aaaaaah" We both grunted out our pleasure as she wiggled around to impale herself on me as deeply as she could. Then she started humping me with wild abandon. Neither one of us was a screamer, but we sure did a lot of grunting and moaning.
"Don't you dare cum before me," she demanded as she withdrew to the tip of my penis.
"I don't think I can control myself when you are doing this to me." She thrust down and I thought every nerve ending in my body was going to explode with ecstatic pleasure. "Aaahhhhh. A couple of more of those, and you'll have every ounce of my cum inside of you, no matter what you say."
"You better not, you little slut." She rose up again. "You tease me all day long with your sluttish behavior, you make me so hot, and then you can't control yourself?"
She again plunged down onto my cock.
"You had better learn to hold out because my pleasure always comes first."
She rose up and thrust down so quickly that I thought she had set my dick on fire. She continued to pump, and as I predicted, I came about 30 seconds later. It was so intense I thought I might pass out. My body shuddered so hard, she thought I might be having a seizure. I lay there panting. She let me recover while she slowly rode what was left of my erection rather more gently than she had been.
When I opened my eyes, she said, "Oh I just loved that. Did you?"
"Oh Mistress, I'm yours forever. I never..."
"I know you never, and I'm not done with you yet. Get your sorry butt into the bedroom. Hurry...."
I moaned quietly with joy at the memory of last night. I had cum three times. I lost count of Cynthia's orgasms, but in the end she had begged me to stop licking her because she was too sensitive. She promised that I could have at her again today if she wasn't too sore. Then she smothered my face with kisses for a moment, called me her sweet little girl, and fell behind me, holding onto me tightly. I was so tired by that point that I fell asleep about a minute later. It was now 10:00 in the morning, but only about six hours after we had fallen asleep.
I was sure that I was in love, I would do anything for this woman. If it meant being a submissive transsexual, that was fine. I was rather fond of my penis, but if she had asked me to cut it off when she woke up that morning, I’m sure I would have.
I was a little puzzled about something Cynthia had said while she had been riding me to my second orgasm. This time she had come first and was furiously working on her next orgasm while she humped up and down on top of me. She had apparently mistaken me for an old lover. Although she didn't use any names, she said that she knew it would be this good and she was so angry with me for blowing it. She was almost in tears when she said this, but pumping up and down on me with wild abandon. I was completely confused, then and now, about what was going on. But last night I was too full of lust to care and this morning it was simply a strange memory.
I gently freed myself from her grasp and slipped out of bed. I wanted to do something nice for her and figured breakfast in bed would be a good place to start. I quietly went to the bathroom and showered and shaved. Then I picked up my clothes and tiptoed into the other bedroom where Marci and Kathleen were as oblivious to the world as Cynthia.
I wanted to put my maid's uniform back on, but I could never manage that without someone to tighten my corset for me. But there were all kinds of clothes lying around the room since we had never cleaned up after my fashion show.
I pulled some lovely dark blue panties up my legs, and twisted to get the matching bra on. Next was a long cranberry red broomstick skirt I hadn't tried last night It was made out of some kind of crinkly nylon with a pale yellow rose print. I picked up a long, cotton knit sweater that was an even paler yellow than the flowers in the skirt. Cynthia said they would go together beautifully and was good for my complexion. I dropped it over my head and wiggled it down around my torso without dropping my hands. Yummm. Nude panty hose and pale yellow sandals with a two inch heel were just right. I did my face up lightly, but made sure my eyes were dramatic.
I tried to tiptoe out of the room without waking either of the girls, but Kathleen opened her eyes as I passed the bed. I stopped and bent down to kiss her on the cheek, "go back to sleep sweetie, I'll wake you when breakfast is ready." I tucked her in and patted her hair. I loved the feeling that gave me, as if I was her mother.
I was in the kitchen getting everything organized for breakfast when Kathleen came in. She was only about 5'4" with green eyes and wonderful red hair that cascaded in loose curls past her shoulders. The spray of freckles that splayed out over her nose and cheeks made her look sweet and innocent. The dark green chemise that barely covered her butt and highlighted her lovely breasts with pale gray lace belied that apparent innocence. She wore no panties and was not the least bit hesitant about showing me her delicious body. I guess I was one of the girls now.
"Got any coffee?"
"What are you doing up. I told you to go back to sleep."
"I always get up early. I hate it when everyone else is asleep on the weekend and I'm up by myself. But you're up early too."
"I'm the maid. I have to be up first." I startled myself with that statement. Cynthia thought she was punishing me by making me into a maid and here I was claiming the position with a bizarre sense of ownership.
Kathleen came over and put her arms around my waist. She reached up on her tiptoes and kissed me on the cheek. "You're sweet," she said with a certain amount of wonder. "Why have you been acting like such an asshole?"
"I'm sorry," I dropped both my voice and my eyes in shame. "Thornton's been ruining my life and I haven't been strong enough to deal with it. I guess I've been taking it out on everyone else." Having heard myself say that, I felt a wave of shame course through my body, causing me to begin to cry. How could I have been such a jerk?
"Oh sweetie, I didn't mean to make you cry." She brushed the tears off my cheek with her hand. "We'll help you."
I smiled at her thankfully. I wasn't used to people reaching out to me and I certainly didn't expect this little girl, she was barely 21, to want to help me.
"Let me get you coffee," I said, "I think that will make me feel a little better." So we sat there sipping coffee together for about 10 minutes. I basked in the gentle way she spoke to me. I must have completely misjudged her. I thought she was a child, but she seemed to know more about life than I did.
"Do you think I should bring Cynthia her breakfast?" I asked.
"No honey, let her sleep. She likes to sleep late on weekends and you two were up late, weren't you?"
I nodded my head silently, a little embarrassed to be recalling the absolutely thrilling memories of the night before in front of her. Then, remembering where I had seen her last, I whispered, "very late," and gave here a knowing smile.
"Come here," she said heading for the couch, "sit with me."
So we snuggled up together on the couch. I was fully dressed, but she was mostly undressed. Her bare legs were crossed in front of her, her chemise was bunched up above her waist, showing off her nicely trimmed patch of reddish public hair, and her nipples were poking out through the pale lace that barely covered her breasts. She started to run her fingers through my hair in a most comforting way and I turned to see her face. The freckles that ran across the bridge of her nose and gently out on to her cheeks were simply adorable and her eyes calm and silvery green.
She had been waiting for me to look at her and as soon as my eyes found hers, a little spark shot between us. A moment later, she stretched up and kissed me. Her lips were soft and gentle. Her kiss was like a tender question, it didn't demand passionate fulfillment, the way Cynthia's kisses had last night. This was a languid pleasure I had never experienced before, not the insistent eroticism I was familiar with.
We kissed for awhile in this contented way and then she reached up and started to fondle my fake tits.
"Suck my tits," she whispered, "just the way you are kissing my lips now."
"Mmmmm," I dropped my head down to her chest and started to lick the tops of her breasts as gently as I could. Then I lifted her chemise from around her hips and pulled it off over her head. She raised her arms to help and just left them hanging above her head, which was propped up over the arm of the couch. She then softly extended her body down the length of the couch, exposing the whole of it to me. She had pale soft skin and not one extra ounce of body fat. There was a spray of freckles on the tops of her breasts, just like the ones on her face. It seemed to me at that moment that gentle fairies in a misty wood must have crafted her, fairies who were trying to make the gentlest, most beautiful young girl ever.
I spent the next 15 minutes or so working my way down from her breasts to her pussy, being as gentle and moving as languidly as I could. Then I licked and sucked on her pussy in the same gentle way until she came. It wasn't violent or dramatic, the way Cynthia had come last night. She just tensed her body for a few moments and then let it relax completely with a very long sigh.
So here it was still before breakfast and my face was already coated with pussy juice. But as I licked it off my lips I thought to myself that those fairies did a marvelous job because Kathy looked as innocent as a child and was just so delicious as she squirmed around under my tongue in the most delicate and sinuous way. She apparently liked me too.
"Oh, Cynthia was right," she cooed, "you are so talented. I wish you were mine." She just writhed around on the couch a little, like she was in the most comfortable place in the world and had no cares whatsoever. The look on her face was ethereal. I was going to fall in love again. She had bewitched me with the gentle beauty of her body and her sweet, gentle behavior.
"Mmmmmm," was all she said before she turned onto her side, snuggled up with a pillow, and closed her eyes. She quickly drifted back to sleep. I was totally captivated by her. I felt like I was in the presence of a fairy princess. I gently covered her with a light quilt, again feeling like an attentive mom, took off my shoes, and went silently back to my bathroom to fix my makeup. Then I finished the preparations for breakfast as quietly as I could and sat down with a cup of coffee in my girly sitting room to ponder my fate.
As I gazed at a print of one panel of Monet’s Water Lilies, I started to wonder where I really was? On the one hand, I was in a feminine heaven. Just the feel of my soft flowing skirt and the look of my painted toenails through my pantyhose made me shiver with delight. I had an idea. I tucked both my legs off to one side and under me, like I had been practicing. That's not a very easy move for a guy, but with enough stretching, you can pull it off. There, now I was even sitting like a girl.
My desire, no, let’s be honest here, my need, to cross dress was being fulfilled in the most extravagant way. And my deepest, darkest fantasy was being realized - a dominant woman had taken over my life and was feminizing me. I had more sex, joy, fear, and humiliation in two days than I could even comprehend. No spreadsheet could ever quantify all that had happened. My feelings had been on a tumultuous roller coaster, rocketing from heart-stuttering fear, to sexual thrill, to bottomless shame, to treasured feelings of being loved, and back, and back again, with such stunning speed that I was emotionally breathless, unable to keep clear thoughts in my head long enough to analyze them. I had always been so analytical that my emotions never really got out for very long. This was all new to me.
Well, they were out now, and I was loving how they felt. But the analytical part of me couldn't be suppressed for long, and it was trying to scare me at the moment. This woman Cynthia really was in charge of my life. The worst case scenario would be that she sends me to prison, which she can do any time she wants. And even now, in just a couple of days, she had feminized me so much that if I did end up in prison, I would surely have my brains fucked out of my head before I had been there one day. I'd be better off dead than in prison, where I’d probably end up dead of AIDS anyway.
I might be better off dead than going back to work too. I was going to be humiliated when I showed up there. Ha, if I’m only humiliated, I’ll be lucky. Even if I take off the nail polish and brush my hair back like Shelly had shown me, there would still the beautifully shaped eyebrows and the two studs in each ear. All the women in the office had seen me with panties down around my knees, cowering under Cynthia's thumb. Cynthia had said I was going to transition, I guess she wasn't kidding.
I almost started crying, as I understood how truly powerless I was to resist her. I've known her for four years, but did I really know her? I felt so vulnerable, so out of control. What would she do? What was going to happen to me?
For years I had dreamed of being a woman but was too cowardly to truly explore that part of me by myself. Instead, I had dreamed of someone who would do it for me. First it was my mother, who wanted to shame me, then Rachel, bless her heart, who did it just for the sexual thrill, but always looked out for my well being. And now it was Cynthia. From the looks of things she was going to go all the way with me, and in my soul I was both thrilled to the heavens and scared to death.
Would I end up with tits? Would I be able to keep my penis? Would I end up in prison with tits and a pussy? Oh god, I didn’t want any of this to happen, but I couldn't get out. I was trapped. Then an old saying came back to me, and I couldn't help grinning ruefully at the irony.
"Be careful what you wish for, you may get it."
Then I became aware of the ring on my finger. I extended my arm and hand and looked at the ring Cynthia had given me (And my beautiful nails. Oh no! One was already chipped.). Her words hung in my mind. The ring was to remind me of my situation. But she could have done something else to me if that’s all she wanted to do. It fact, she had. She had given me a woman's hairstyle, earrings, and fabulous nails. No, this ring was for something else, and she had told me what that was. It was to represent her commitment to me.
Was she just setting me up? I turned that thought over and over in my mind, looking for the evidence that would convict her. But there wasn’t any and I just couldn't make myself believe that she would do that. In the four years I had known her, I had never seen her do anything dishonest or betray a single confidence. Anyway, why bother with the ring if her plan was to set me up?
There was something serious going on here that I couldn't quite grasp. The giving of a ring is a revealing act. It says as much about the giver as it does about the receiver. No, it says more about the giver. Certainly more about the giver in this case, because I didn't ask for, want, or even dream I might get this lovely ring. I let Cynthia put it on my hand because, sitting there in the window of the salon, I felt I had to. But - she didn't have to give it me. Shit, she could have just as easily put an ugly steel ring through my dick.
She didn't have to give me this.... this really gorgeous emerald ring, which had once belonged to her grandmother.
I was almost in tears again when I finished that thought. I was suddenly overwhelmed with a tender feeling of being loved and I felt so...so...safe, so protected. How amazing - looking at the ring allowed me to feel protected when just a few moments before I was feeling vulnerable. Someone had given me a ring. She was going to take care of me!
With a thrill shooting through my guts I realized that's what this lovely ring represented. Cynthia had given me a girl's ring because she was going to turn me into a girl she could take care of. Then, a flash went off in my head. Did this also mean that Cynthia loved me?
No, she hated me. Well, no, she really didn't hate me, that was obvious from last night. But she sure was angry with me. Could she be angry with me and still love me? My mother was angry with me all the time, and she sure didn't love me.
I was getting dizzy, I couldn't figure this out. How could I? I didn't know anything about feelings. I barely admitted my own into consciousness and was clueless about everyone else’s. If only I could convert all this to numbers and put them in a spreadsheet.
I was still trying to understand what was going on when I heard someone in the kitchen. So shaking my head to clear my thoughts, I stood up, took one more look at my lovely ring, surprised myself by sighing contentedly, and headed for the kitchen to see who I could mother a little this morning. Yeah, that's me, Lillian Miller, mother.
Sunday was much calmer than Saturday. Marci and Kathleen left not long after I fed them breakfast and Cynthia spent the next two hours instructing me in "feminine deportment." Then we went out for a walk. I was dressed androgynously. I had removed all my makeup and nail polish, and wore my old chinos. But I wore a pair of women's flats and a stretchy scoop neck tee shirt with a camisole underneath, but no tits. Cynthia said this was practice for tomorrow. I think she just wanted to embarrass me.
As we walked up Sixth Avenue, I tried to assess what people were thinking when they saw me. But mostly, they just ignored me. In this part of town, which was full of artists, gay people, and general strangeness, I wasn't a particularly unusual looking person. We chatted as we strolled.
"For awhile at least, you're going to have to act just like you always have at work," she told me. "Definitely not how you were last night." I couldn't see her face at that moment, so I wasn't sure if that was an insult or not.
"All the women in the office will know what's going on, and you will, of course, be at the bottom of the totem pole as far as they are concerned. You WILL," and she stared at me intently, "treat all of the women in my office as if they were the most important people in the world to you. You have a lot to make up for."
I thought about that, "her" office? What about me? Well, I guess it is her office, when you get right down to it. It always had been.
I nodded my head in agreement, "yes I know, I will."
We fell silent for a half a block. I reached for her hand and she let me take it. I was holding hands with my girlfriend. I shivered with joy. After we had crossed 12th street, and gotten a couple of double takes at the intersection, she said, "But you will also have to deal with other people's responses to your new, more feminine look. What are you going to say when someone asks about your hair, or the earrings?"
"That I have a new girlfriend and she did this to me?"
She laughed briefly. "That's cute, Sissy. And it might be OK, except for Thornton. You're going to have to tell him the truth."
"What!?"
"Yes," she said, grinning slightly, "and let me tell you what the truth will be. You are a transsexual." My head shot up like I had been punched in the jaw. She stared me down. "You are transitioning. You want his help."
"I can't..."
"You will... Just listen. He's a misogynist. He hates women so much it just about oozes from his pores. To him, we're all stupid and irrelevant. When you tell him you are about to become a woman, that's what you'll become as well."
"No shit! I'll be lucky to leave his office alive."
"No, it will be easy. Company policy protects you and he knows that. Except for him, it's actually a pretty good company for women and gays. How do you think Marci and Kathleen have survived there for so long...and me?"
This was all too much. "YOU?" I was so startled that I squeaked. "You virtually raped me over the past few days. How could you be gay...a lesbian?"
"You really are naive, aren't you? I'm bi.... and in case you haven't figured it out yet, I'm a top. I always run the show."
"But you're so feminine," I was babbling now, "you.... you're beautiful, you dress like...like...like a sexy woman."
"Yes, don't I? I’m glad you think so. Sissy, Helllooo?" She knocked gently on my forehead with her knuckles, as if it were a door. "Is there any intelligent life in there? I thought you were smarter than that. Life isn't made up of stereotypes. I like being a woman. I love feeling pretty and sexy. I like sex with some men, but I LOVE sex with feminine women. And you, my little flower, you, who are about to become my Lilly, you, my submissive, transsexual boyfriend, right now I love sex with you. So what does that make you...?"
She grabbed my face in both hands and kissed me violently on the lips for a few moments and then pulled back. "Whatever it makes you, you make me so hot I...I..."
And she kissed me again, as if I was air and she hadn’t had a breath in five minutes. I twined my arms around her neck and held onto her head for dear life.
When she broke the kiss, a few couples on the sidewalk were watching us. I didn't care. "Oh Cynthia," I whispered hoarsely, "it makes me whatever you want me to be. I'll do anything for you. Just kiss me like that again." She did. Our small audience applauded appreciatively. I heard a female voice behind me shout,
"Way to go girls."
Girls, indeed, I could live with that.
We walked hand in hand to the Starbuck's on the next block and sat at one of the tables on the sidewalk. Over lattes, she laid things out for me. "Here's what's going to happen with Thornton, she said quietly. "He already doesn't like you because you threaten him."
"Me," I squeaked, "threaten him?"
"Yes you moron. You're more intelligent than he is. He has to depend on you for creative analyses. He hates that, but he doesn't dare give it up. You're just too good with numbers." She smiled at me like a proud mom; I blushed and looked away.
"Do you ever watch the nature shows on TV? You know how the chimps run around, wave their hands and beat the ground to try to scare each other? That's Thornton with you. The women in the company think he's hilarious, such obvious macho bluster and posturing." She giggled for a few moments, obviously remembering some little scene she wasn't going to let me in on.
"He wants to dominate you, completely humble you, so your ability will be at his beck and call, but so you, the person, will never be able to stand up to him. You're going to help him think he's achieved that goal by making yourself into the least threatening and most disposable kind of person he can imagine, a girl. And you’re going to be a girl who is easy to boss around, to boot."
I looked at her, dumbfounded. How could she possibly know all this?
"At first, on the surface, he's going to be supportive. But I've seen people like him before. He has no regard for women..."
"He has no regard for anyone."
"Right, but even less for women than men. He will believe he owns you. He'll think he can do anything he wants to you. You've seen the way he treats Tammy haven’t you? He'll believe that you're too helpless to resist him. Then he's going to begin to degrade you verbally, and almost certainly try to take advantage of you sexually. He wants you cowed and submissive. How better to do that than to have you service him sexually? He's clever, but not smart. That's how you're going to be able to trap him."
How I was going to be able to trap him? She had to be kidding. I didn't even know how I was going to get through the taunts I was sure to receive over the next few weeks. Thinking about trapping Thornton was way beyond my current ability, so I changed the subject.
"Did you mean it when you said you loved me when we were on 12th street?"
"I said I love to make love to you."
I knew what she had said, I was just testing her, put I pushed on. "I love you."
"You're so sweet," she leaned over and kissed me on the cheek, then tenderly and for quite a few moments on the lips, "but you don't love me, you love being dominated by me and making love to me. You don't really know who I am yet. You may end up hating me before all of this is over."
My eyes widened in shock. "Never...I could never hate you...."
She went on as if I hadn't said anything. "And I don't know you yet." I know there are things about you that I adore, and you are great fun in bed," she licked her lips provocatively, "and you can be as sweet and attentive as anyone I ever met. I could love someone who's like that." Then she looked at me like I had just stolen her purse, and whacked me gently on the side of the head with a hand full of napkins. "But you can also be a thoughtless asshole who mistreats people and shows no empathy for them whatsoever. That's who you've been for more than a year. I could never love anyone like that."
Tears started to fill my eyes yet again. I’d cried more in the last few days than in the last few years. She went on. "Could you love someone like the Cynthia who took over your life and humiliated you in front of the entire office last week? How do you know I won't do it again?"
Now I was crying softly. I was beginning to lose all the hope I had gained since Cynthia first saw me dressed only two days ago. "Because I'll never again behave like I did over the past year. That's not me. You must know that?" I looked searchingly into her eyes.
"What I know is that you have a lot to learn about yourself and then we both have a lot to learn about each other." I looked down again, tears leaking from the corners of my eyes.
I had been fiddling with my ring the entire time we had been speaking. She looked at it. "Give me your hands."
She stretched her hands towards me and placed them on the table palm up. I put my hands into hers so our palms touched. Hers were so soft and smooth, and for some reason seemed touchingly warm. The ring seemed to be as big as a golf ball and to glow with impossible radiance, almost like it had a life of its own.
"I didn't give you this ring without considering it carefully you know." She ran her fingers gently over the ring. Then she looked into my eyes. "I've been very fond of you since you arrived in our office. I've never been as attracted to a...male the way I was to you. There’s something about you that really touched my heart, but I wasn’t sure what it was. And because I know how dominant I am, I was reluctant to get involved with you, you were so young and so completely naive; I didn't want to... corrupt you." She grinned at me lasciviously. "And, I really do prefer women so it was easy to stay away."
She ran the tip of her index finger around the nail on my thumb, drawing attention to the way it had been filed. "But you know what, you might make a nice woman, just my type, perhaps."
I blushed and then blurted out. "You make a great one!"
She gave me a sweetly indulgent smile in thanks. You know the one, it's what a mother gives to a child who is really thrilled with something trivial she had done. "Then, when Thornton arrived you turned into a total asshole. I wanted to kill you. I was beside myself in anger. Not just because you were behaving badly, but because I felt betrayed by you. I had such high hopes for you and you dashed them. She looked at me and pursed her lips in reproach. She had such an expressive face when she let herself go. "It was only then that I began to understand how fond of you I was and how infatuated with you I had been."
It was her turn to blush and look away for a moment. She was a little embarrassed by this admission. She did like me! She was infatuated with me! What a fool I had been. I jumped up from my seat, stood next to her chair and bent down from the waist and threw my arms around her. "Oh God, I so hoped you liked me." I kissed her face six or eight times before she stopped me.
"Stop, you’re making a scene."
I gave her one more lingering kiss on her forehead and looked at her gently. I adored her.
"That's not all," she went on.
"What? What are you saying?" I was clueless. I fell back into my seat a little deflated.
"I'm getting there, just be a little patient." She stroked my cheek and ran her fingers through my hair a couple of times to soothe me. I was warmed all the way to my soul by the tender look in her eyes. My shoulders relaxed and I almost purred.
"I've already started you on a life-changing journey." She played briefly with the studs in my right ear and then traced one of her fingernails along the border of my right eyebrow, barely touching me. I felt hypnotized by her presence. She looked back into my eyes; She was much more resolute now, like she had decided something.
"It will certainly be very hard at times. I don't know how your personality will evolve. I don't know how our relationship will evolve. We may grow closer together or farther apart. But, you're the one who has to do all the hard work. You're the one who is going to put everything, starting with your job, and continuing right on down to the very gender you were born with, at risk. If I were you I'd be scared to death."
I gulped and nodded my head. I understood that I had entered uncharted waters, but had managed not to think about it so explicitly until that moment. I spoke quickly, again without thinking, "I don't care if there are risks. I love you, and I love being a girl. I feel like a butterfly who has just emerged from her cocoon. And," I let my voice drop to a stage whisper and looked around conspiratorially, "I want to get Thornton as much as you do. I've already been inside his computer."
Her face changed from attentively sweet during the first part of what I said to silly giggles by the time I had finished. I had hoped it would make her laugh. I just sat there looking proud of myself. Then I grasped her hand again.
She stopped giggling, looked at me carefully and sighed deeply. "I've told you already, the ring represents my commitment to you." Now she had tears in her eyes. "When you are feeling insecure, or lonely, or scared, look at the ring. It means that I am there with you with all my heart. It means I believe in you. It means I want the best for you, whatever that may be. If you listen to the ring, you will be able to hear me cheering for you. If you touch the ring, you will be able to feel my hand caressing your cheek. I think we both understand that I am going to take you for my lover and that whether our relationship works out or not, we will progress according to my plan."
Again I nodded. "Yes, Mistress, and I've never felt better about anything in my whole life."
"Our relationship I can pretty much control. I can't control what happens at the office. There, I can only set things into motion, the way a parent pushes a child on a sled down a snowy hillside. You'll have to steer yourself, and decide how fast to go, and when to stop. I'll be there to pick you up if you fall off, and to give you a hug when you get to the bottom. Other than that, you will be on your own. It's about time you grew up anyway. Whatever else happens, that will."
She had just described herself as my parent, and before that as my Domme and my lover. "Oh Mistress, you have just promised me the best gifts. I promise to work to justify your faith in me. I promise." We talked long into the night about all sorts of things. We carefully planned our strategy for the coming weeks. At least for the moment, I was in heaven.
"I think our Lilly is in love, "Marci taunted me gently, "or else she got laid last night. Do you have a boyfriend now, sweetie?"
I just gave her a big hug and said, "Maybe it's just all those female hormones flooding my helpless brain, or maybe I learned that people can care for me."
"Oh shit, I better get you to employee health, I think you must have had a stroke, or estrogen poisoning, or something."
I was wearing my standard suit and tie, the only differences from the week before were my new haircut (I blew it out so it hung by my face, rather than using mousse to comb it back - I liked it this way the best), neatly manicured (though now colorless) nails, and the two studs in each of my ears. Oh yeah, the eyebrows, almost forgot about the eyebrows, their shape was the feature that most clearly revealed my life's new direction. They really made my face look girlish.
Of course, I was wearing lingerie as well, and Cynthia had added a corset. But I had long worn lingerie on my own, so only the corset was new, new and uncomfortable. My waist started off that morning at not quite 30 inches. She vowed it was going to be a lot smaller than that real soon and tightened me until I was more than two inches smaller. I liked how I looked, but hated how I felt.
Then the door opened and as I turned to see who was there I heard a gasp. It was Heather Wilkes staring at me like I had just arrived from outer space. She looked searchingly at my face and said, "turn your head, I want to see your ears".
I flipped the hair out of my eyes and brushed it behind my ear with my fingers. I turned my head so she could see my studs. "Two piercings, cool. Get my coffee and bring it to my desk."
"Yes Miss Wilkes."
She threw me her jacket, "hang it up," then turned and left the break room. Before I could get her coffee, Betsy and Sylvia showed up. Betsy was agog, Sylvia just appraised me coolly, like I was a piece of spoiled meat at the butcher counter.
"You really are a little pansy aren't you? As a girl you might be cute, but as a guy, you're pitiful." She spit that out. "No man would let this happen to him. Don't you have any pride at all?"
What a bitch! "Yes Sylvia," I said as evenly as I could. Then I flicked my hair to the side and looked right at her. "I have pride, but one thing that all this has finally forced me come to terms with is that I'm really a girl, a woman, I'm not a man. I never was. I'm going to transition. This," I ran my fingers through my hair and shook it out, flipping it back away from my eyes again, "is just the first small step." Before she could say anything else, I added, "I'm glad to hear you think I might end up being cute. Would you like coffee?"
I held up her cup in a conciliatory gesture. A giggle spluttered out of Betsy's mouth and through the fingers she had pressed to her lips to try to prevent just that. Her eyes went wide with embarrassment, and both Sylvia and I knew Betsy was laughing at her and not me.
"Give me my coffee, you little bitch," she spit the words into my face, barely able to contain her anger, and you better make sure I don't run out."
"Yes, Mrs. Denton." I poured quickly. "May I take your coat?"
"No, I'll keep it."
I turned to Betsy. "I'll be right back. I have to take this to Heather. I held up her cup.
When I got back she was sitting at our small table, her fingers wrapped around a coffee cup that already had a lipstick stain on it. "Sit with me for a moment," she said, looking up into my face. I sat.
"Did Cynthia do this to you?"
Cynthia and I had already decided what I would say. "No, I did it. Once everyone in the office had seen my shaved body and panties, there didn't seem to be any more point in keeping who I was a secret. I've wanted to do this for a long time. This is my silver lining for the dark cloud that Cynthia created for me last week."
"Holy shit, I never would have guessed." Then she reached out her hand and ran it through the longish hair. She fingered the two studs in my right ear, and traced the arch of my eyebrow. "Good luck, honey, you're going to need it. By the way, what's your name?"
"Lilly, well Lillian" I said quietly, Cynthia had given me permission to use her grandmother's name, but retained the right to retract it if I misbehaved.
"How sweet." She reached out her right hand, angled downwards to shake mine. I grabbed it as gently as I could, using only my fingers. "Nice to meet you Lillian, maybe we can become friends."
Instead of dropping it right away after we had shaken, I held her hand in mine as if it was a valuable object. Then I looked up into her eyes. "Thank you Betsy, I'd like that."
"That's a beautiful ring, where did you get it?"
"From a dear friend."
"Wow, she...." she stopped suddenly and looked at me questioningly, "he?"
"She..."
"She must really like you."
I just nodded my head.
By 8:30 everyone was in and no one was working, People just had to talk about me. Cynthia called me into her office. She closed the door and we stood behind it. "How'd it go?"
"Well, just fine actually, Miss Morrison. Sylvia was a little nasty, but everyone else has been fine with this." I pointed to my face. Betsy asked my name. I told her it was Lillian.
"That's OK, honey, it wouldn't do to have people calling you Sissy" she whispered it with an exaggerated hiss, "in the office. I think I had better go talk to the girls or they'll never get any work done. You need to talk to Thornton. I had Kathleen call him, he's waiting for you now. He only knows it's something personal. This part will be easy, don't worry."
I started to get really scared. "Cyn...Ms. Morrison, I can't...this is all going too fast. I'm not sure I want..."
She cut me off. "SHUT UP, you little twit. You seem to have forgotten. You don't have a CHOICE."
"But you're turning me into a girl. You can't just take over my life and turn me into a girl."
"You seem to have forgotten last week already" Her voice had a hard edge that made me cringe. "I can turn you into some serial rapist's prison wife, if I want to." Then she lowered her voice and took my hand. "Besides you want this to happen. Just relax and go with the flow. You'll love it." She swatted my butt. "Now, off you go." She said that with a singsong rhythm in her voice, like mothers use with their toddlers.
Fear and longing battled within me. I was pleased she was telling me what to do, but I just couldn't give up control over my own life. I hated having to take care of myself, but was afraid to let anyone else do it. How's that for a conflict? So, I got ready to leave, but a feeling of foreboding was growing within me. I said, "yes Mistress, is there anything else Mistress?"
"Come to mommy," she said. I stepped forward and she enveloped me in a big, warm hug, holding me to her chest for a few moments. Then she pulled back and gently grabbed my head in both of her hands. "Don't agonize so, Lilly, I'm in charge now, I'll take care of you. Trust me." Then she put one hand on my shoulder, turned me towards the door, and swatted me on the butt again. "Now scoot."
I gave her a wan smile, flipped my hair off my eyes, and left. As I walked to Thornton's office, a memory from my childhood came back to me. My father was an abusive drunk. When I was nine he disappeared for several months without any warning. I had tried to stand up to him that morning when he was yelling at my mother.
He just shouted me down. "Don't make me do anything you'll regret, you little pansy. You're not big enough to stand up to a Girl Scout. You're no man. You're not worth the effort it takes to raise you."
I was too skinny and too short. He always accused me of being a girl when he got mad at me. He sneered when he said it. Weeks later, my mother found me crying on the couch. Using kiddies logic, I had concluded that dad had left because of me. I wasn't worth raising, so he left. My mother hugged me for a few moments and then told me, "I'm in charge now, I'll take care of you. Trust me."
My mother betrayed my trust more times than I could count. She took care of me only rarely. She generally treated me like I was in her way, especially after my father died and she went on the prowl for men, which was often. There were many nights when she assured me she would be home by 11:00 or 12:00 or whenever, but didn't come home at all. I would lie in my bed listening to sirens. I was sure they were ambulances that were taking her to the hospital... or the morgue. I hated her for the way she treated me, but was scared to death that something would happen to her, as it had to my father. On nights like that, I drifted off only when sleep finally overtook my emotionally exhausted brain.
I longed to trust my mother, longed terribly to be able to do that, but over time, she taught me that I couldn't. I longed to have her take care of me, to hold me to her breast and comfort me, but she rarely did. Over the next 5 years or so, it was I who had to take care of her. I did everything I could think of to make her love me, but nothing seemed to work. I got to college still looking for someone I could trust. Had I finally found that person, or was Cynthia going to betray me too?
All of a sudden, I found myself in front of Thornton's office. I composed myself, smiled grimly, tossed my hair out of my face, and went in. His administrative assistant, Tammy Wright, glanced up briefly and started to say, "He'll be with you in a minute Mr. Miller...." and then the new me actually registered in her brain. She stared for a few moments and then nodded to the couch across the room from her desk. "Or is it Ms. Miller now?" she asked sarcastically.
"Not yet," I said coldly, "but keep watching this space."
I looked directly at her, until she looked away, embarrassed by her own staring. We fell into an awkward silence and she went back to her work. Thornton treated her quite badly, but instead of turning to the other people who worked at North State for help and support, she herself treated us just like Thornton did. Ten minutes later he buzzed for me.
Cynthia had been right. Thornton was friendly and professional, though obviously curious as well. He heard me out, told me he hoped it wouldn't affect my work, and that we would see what we would see. He complimented me on my lovely ring. I left to walk back to my office.
As I opened the door to the hallway, Tammy said, "Bye sweetie. Maybe we can go out clubbing together some time. What kind of guys do you like, anyway?" She raised a single eyebrow at me and smiled in false friendliness.
When I got back to the office, Kathleen told me to get my "cute little pantied butt" down to HR. I had a long discussion with the manager there about rights and responsibilities. My job would be protected if I kept performing adequately, anyway that was the law. The reality was that everyone would be watching me like a hawk. If I screwed up, I could end up in trouble in the blink of an eye. I was in a very vulnerable position, especially with respect to my boss, Bob Thornton.
The truth was that anyone who is different, and I was surely different now, had to be above reproach in their behavior. Everyone would have an eye on me. I no longer had a life of my own. I finally got back to my office just before lunch time. It was done. I was out.
Everyone in the office, which was just about everyone I knew, now believed I was going to become a woman. My hair, face, hands, and jewelry announced it to anyone willing to pay attention. How had this happened? How had my life changed so quickly and so completely?
In my admittedly brief experience with life, I had learned that things that happen quickly and easily usually did so because someone had prepared for them carefully. I had just changed from a lonely, closeted crossdresser to a declared transsexual over the course of a weekend. That was way too quick and way too easy.
Had I prepared myself for this? I knew the answer as soon as I asked the question. I hadn't actively prepared anything, but my life had prepared me for this as surely as tilling a field prepares it for planting. Maybe Cynthia forced the issue and it otherwise would have taken much longer (much, much longer, I'm sure), but looking back on my life, I could see that the path I had taken, or was sometimes forced to take, led pretty unerringly to where I now was. It was something that would have happened as surely as a row of dominos falls once the first one has been knocked over.
And maybe that domino metaphor was a good one because the next few months turned out to be remarkably easy. Despite the many world-altering changes that Cynthia introduced so quickly, my life actually fell into a comfortable pattern for a while.
First of all, now that I was under Cynthia's guidance and protection, and, even more importantly, was the object of her love, my mood improved considerably. Although I was still far from mentally healthy, I was spending less and less time being totally miserable. I mean, like how miserable can you be when you're in love and that love is returned?
Work didn't change all that much in some ways, although it changed entirely in others. After the first couple of weeks, when I was an object of curiosity for the entire company, people's responses fell into two main groups. Most people just lost interest in me because I wasn't really part of their daily life and they didn't have the time to bother with me.
The other group though was a big problem. They were almost all men, and for them I became an object of derision. Once they started taunting me, they never stopped. They did their best to make my life miserable. For many months going to the men's room was provoked anxiety because I was repeatedly teased, threatened, and even physically accosted when there were no witnesses around.
This was one of my biggest problems; each time it happened my fragile decision to allow Cynthia to lead me into femininity fell apart again. Once I started on hormones, it got even worse because my mood was all over the place. I spent a great deal of time in tears and often felt humiliated by my mixed-gender appearance. Once those men discovered they could make me cry, they became even crueler and were rarely satisfied unless they left me in tears. I felt like a wimp, even by girl standards. Still, I mostly remained in the background at work, where I had been anyway since Thornton had arrived.
I diligently did my job, though now there were frequently irritating interruptions by the girls in the office who needed coffee, or some other small errand. I really did try to make up for my horrible behavior of the previous year but at first it never seemed enough. Still, I did their bidding cheerfully and with care. I treated them all as if they were important, the way I should have been treating them all along.
The break room had never been cleaner or the coffee fresher. I was a better housekeeper than most people anyway, and I even kept all their desks supplied with fresh flowers. Slowly the environment in our small office became warm and friendly again. We all looked forward to seeing each other when we arrived at work each morning.
Taking an interest in other people and being nice despite all the problems I faced made me feel better about myself, and being treated like a friend in return was icing on the cake. The mood in the office had changed so much that one of the girls was almost always willing to comfort me when I came back from my misadventures in the men's room either in, or close to tears. Having friends to care for me also made me realize just how angry, bitter, and lonely I had been.
Of course, the women didn't let me off the hook just because I was being nicer to them. They talked constantly about my underwear, they teased me about my carefully plucked eyebrows and polished nails, and often called me a sissy or pansy. If someone was having a bad day, like a painful period or fight with a boyfriend, they were just as likely to take it out on me as not. "Even if you eventually become a girl you'll never experience the joys of a period," Sylvia bitched dismissively during one of hers.
But I wasn't getting back nearly what I had dished out, so I didn't complain. For the most part there was little cruelty in their voices, except for Sylvia, who apparently hated me.
The three youngest girls Kathleen, Betsy, and Heather seemed to grow in confidence as they learned that they could boss me around at will. At first that was difficult to accept, but one day I realized that it would help them grow in the long run so, I started to view myself as their mentor, and took some small pride in being able to help them learn how to be someone's supervisor.
I became increasingly close to Marci, Kathleen, and Betsy, who mostly treated me like a slightly stupid girlfriend. I didn't mind their teasing too much. I even went so far as to play straight man for them, setting up jokes at my own expense, acting obsequiously, and overreacting to their teasing.
At home, I was Cynthia's companion, attentive maid, and lover when she would have me (which, thank god, was often). I cooked, and took care of the apartment, making both our beds and keeping both our rooms neat and clean (aside from the great sex, one of the bonuses to sleeping with Cynthia was that there would be only one bed to make in the morning).
She insisted that I wash all our lingerie by hand and do the ironing too. She was a little nuts about wrinkles, so I ironed everything, napkins, curtains, towels - there wasn't a wrinkle in the entire apartment after a few weeks. In effect I was a housewife, who happened to have a full-time job, not so unusual these days I guess. I changed into woman's clothes as soon as I got home, and didn't change back until I had to go to work the next morning.
Cynthia would decide during the day whether I would spend the evening as Lilly (she only called me Lillian when she was angry with me, or when we were at work), her companion, or Sissy, her maid. As her companion, I dressed more or less normally, although I was always dressed up, as if I was going to work in a fancy office (like ours) or out to dinner at an expensive restaurant. I rarely got to wear jeans, or denim skirts, or tee shirts, or even flat shoes. It was suits and heels, or dresses and heels, or whatever and heels. Really, I loved it.
Cynthia was my Mistress and teacher. She was giving me an intensive course in womanhood. "I won't let you start to go to work as a girl until you can really pull it off. I don't want anyone laughing at you. It will hurt my plans to get Thornton if you become an object of ridicule."
I looked hurt when she said that.
She looked at me for a second and then laughed, "OK, I don't want anyone laughing at MY girlfriend for any reason, although I don't much care what people think of Mr. Miller."
This time I laughed with her.
So I was in a one-girl finishing school. Cynthia worked me with real intensity; Lillian would become a sophisticated young woman or be crippled in the attempt. Sometimes I wasn't sure whether Cynthia cared which. Every move I made, every word I spoke, every position I ended up in when I was still was critiqued and refined by Cynthia. We practiced for an hour or two almost every evening. On some nights I was near tears from the criticism Cynthia heaped upon me when I didn't respond as she wanted. She was unrelenting and my behavior changed inexorably. Within a couple of months, I could act as sweet and feminine as any real girl, when I wanted to.
What I really appreciated was Cynthia's attention to detail. Because of that, I eventually learned to move and act like a real young woman. I wasn't a swishy drag queen, or a bimbo, or hooker, or any kind of joke. I looked like a real girl from the real world, one who had perhaps had taken to be a modeling or dancing lessons at some point in her life.
My posture was more upright (even without my corset, which wasn't often), my shoulders were held a little further back, and my arms swung from my body differently. There was a definite, but modest sway to my hips, and my hands seemed to take on a life of their own, my fingers were more extended and held differently than ever before. I loved wearing skirts and fiddled with them constantly. I also loved to slide my stocking-covered legs against one another, and Cynthia kept telling me that I was going to get into trouble with some guy if I kept moving them around so provocatively. I had to really concentrate to keep them still. I was falling in love with the way Cynthia's Lilly was turning out.
Cynthia also demanded that we stay in shape using her collection of workout tapes. Like everything else we did, she used our exercise sessions as a training opportunity. We would exercise several times each week with three or even four sessions on the weekend. Again, my movements were analyzed and shaped until no one would have any doubt about the girl doing her exercises.
She took me shopping for workout gear and I ended up with separate outfits for Lilly and Sissy. Lilly's stuff was no-nonsense, dark, color-coordinated, and sexy in an understated way. The colors were mostly in several shades of the main color. Sissy's outfits were prissier, with feminine prints and pastel colors mixed and matched a little too obviously. Her stuff was slightly overdone, almost like her personality.
Eventually, I felt like I was sharing my body with two different women. One was Sissy the maid. Cynthia trained her to be somewhat swishy and sissified. I moved with a mincing walk courtesy of the death defying 4" heels she insisted I wear, and my responses to her request were slightly breathy and exuberant. At the same time, she saw to it that I was demure and submissive. I wasn't allowed to initiate conversations or activities, and slowly learned to be passive, but always ready to respond quickly to her demands.
My other persona was Lilly, the young professional woman. I was learning the manners, mannerisms, and behavior needed in offices and at fancy affairs. I was to be like any young woman, at least any young woman who had been sent to a finishing school as part of her growing up. I acquired excellent manners and a fine sense of etiquette, but I still retained a kind of submissive status, which suited me just fine. Cynthia assured me that once I had figured out how to appear as a young woman, that my confidence would grow and my assertiveness would increase hand in hand with that. I could wait. Right now I was thriving under Cynthia's protective wing.
Cynthia had a really wide circle of friends and occasional lovers when I first met her, and she continued to see them. Often she would go out for the evening, sometimes staying out all night. At first she wouldn't always tell me what her plans were, and I sometimes felt scared or even panic-stricken when she failed to come home. Her nights out were a big source of anxiety to me, but it wasn't because I was afraid to lose her to someone else.
One night she came in just after one in the morning and found me curled up on the couch, crying. She was tired and cranky. "What's your problem?" She challenged.
I looked up at her and through tear stained eyes, I blubbered, "I was worried about you. I didn't know where you were."
"Listen," she said curtly, "You don't own me, I own you, or did you forget? If I want to stay out that's my business. If you can't deal with it, that's just too bad." She turned to go to her room.
"Wait," I said, a little too abruptly. I regretted it almost instantly because she whirled around with fire in her eyes.
"What did you say?" She stared down at me angrily.
I knew I had made a mistake, but I pressed on, "I'm sorry Mistress, I didn't mean to be so abrupt. You can punish me, but please let me explain. I love you, I can't help worrying about you."
I looked down, embarrassed that I had been so blunt about my feelings. She said nothing, so I quickly continued, "My mother used to leave me alone and I worried about her too. I used to be scared to death when I heard sirens during the night. I thought they were ambulances taking her to the hospital..., or the morgue. Then one night my nightmare came true, a day after I turned 16, a policeman came to the door to tell me she had been killed in a car wreck. That night had been filled sirens. Tonight was too. Please, I can't help it if I worry when I don't know where you are."
I was crying openly now, but I could see that she was listening so I added, "please punish me so I can go to bed."
"Fine get your butt over here," she said in a tired voice. She spanked me six times for being rude to her and sent me to bed. I felt strangely comforted by the whole scene.
Twenty minutes later, she came in, sat on the edge of my bed, and began stroking my hair. As I looked into her eyes, she caressed my cheek and then kissed me softly on the forehead.
"I'm sorry for the way I behaved; I was cruel to blow you off the way I did."
I nodded, grateful for her apology. She continued,
"Here's what I'll do. I promise to try to let you know when I'll be home late. It may take me a while to remember to do it every time, I haven't had to tell anyone where I was going for 15 years. But I have no objection to doing it, and now that I understand how much it means to you, I want to do it."
I reached up and pulled her down into a hug. I wasn't prepared for such a warm gesture on her part.
"Oh, thank you Mistress. That would help so much," I said. The gratitude I felt in my heart was beginning to choke me up. No wonder people liked her so much.
"You're welcome, and just to be sure you don't worry too much, maybe I should spend more time at home. I think I'll start bringing my friends here. "Your friends Mistress?" I replied, beginning to grow a little apprehensive.
"Yes, my friends. This may be difficult for you, but at least you won't have to worry about where I am. But just remember, if you speak to me like that again, you can count on being punished again. Now slide over, I'm tired,"
I relinquished the warm side of the bed to her and she fell asleep almost instantly. I cuddled her firm body tightly and didn't let go. I felt so loved, I didn't want to fall asleep and lose that feeling.
Cynthia was serious about punishing my indiscretions, and as much as I tried to do what she asked, something always seemed to happen to get me in trouble. Sometimes I was late getting home from work, and I often couldn't get the apartment clean on time, but my biggest problem was that I just couldn't stop questioning Cynthia's orders and decrees, especially when I was feeling moody, and I was often moody once my hormone dosage was increased from its starting level.
During those first few months, I would frequently slip from my proper role despite the prospect of punishment. On occasion Sissy would become Lilly or visa versa, but the biggest problem was that Brad would pop up just about anytime or anywhere. Cynthia knew what she wanted from me, however, and was always there to redirect me and keep me obedient and under control.
One of Cynthia's punishments was to tighten my corset an extra inch for a day or two. "This will be good for you," she would say with mock sincerity, "your waist will be trimmed even faster." My waist really had slimmed once I donned corsets on a regular basis and Cynthia had taken charge of my diet, but that extra inch always meant discomfort during the day and lack of sleep at night. Cynthia knew that.
For more minor infractions, or when she thought I needed immediate feedback about my bad behavior, Cynthia just spanked me. This had now taken on a ritualistic pattern. First, I had to fetch my long handled hairbrush and then stand and present to it to her like a precious object.
"Mistress I deserve to be punished," I had to say.
"Yes Sissy you do," she indicated her legs as she sat down. I then draped myself as gracefully as I could over her legs. She would pull my skirt up and spank me with the brush through my thin panties. While she was doing this, I was to kick my legs and scream, "oh no Mistress, please don't hurt me. I promise to be good." I was also to squirm around on her lap, so she could feel my erection.
After a half dozen or more strokes, depending on what I had done, I had to stand, curtsey again, and thank her for my punishment. Sometimes I would be told to fetch a pair of very high heels and be forced to stand in the corner and not to rub my rear for a full hour. She rarely hit me very hard and the whole scene was designed to humiliate me rather than hurt me. I always felt like a stupid child when she did this, but when she occasionally did it in front of someone else, I felt truly and wholly mortified.
People began to see my punishments when Cynthia did what she had promised and started bringing lovers home. Almost everyone who saw it laughed out loud. It certainly wasn't funny to me, although I could see how it would be to others. Of course, I always had to be Sissy, and there were more than a few times when I wasn't too pleased about it.
Here I was, helplessly in love with her, and she would be necking and petting on the couch while I stood by quietly waiting for orders. I was jealous. I mean how would you feel? She did have the good sense to keep all her really heavy sex in the bedroom, and I was allowed to go to sleep once she had gone there. But I always had to be up early to serve breakfast to her and her guest when they got up in the morning. If it was a weekend, this often including running baths, washing and ironing yesterday's clothes, and staying in service until the guest left, if she did. More than a few stayed more than just one night.
Those late nights and early mornings robbed me of sleep and after a long weekend, I became tired, cranky and resentful. Sometimes that resentment spilled out, like the cup of cold coffee that accidentally ended up on the breasts of one lover I really didn't like. That incident earned me two dozen really hard swats on the butt and two hours in the corner. I didn't often cause trouble, but Cynthia always made sure I knew who was in control.
And all the time, we worked very hard on my voice. "You must change the pitch of your voice," she said early in my transformation, "it's too deep."
She encouraged me to try different approaches to intonation, pitch, and timbre. Now and again, I would sound good but it was hard to reproduce that sound every day. I found that if I could move the place my voice came from in my throat and allow it to resonate differently it was possible to create a voice that would sound pleasing coming from any woman.
Cynthia often reminded me that the alternative to developing my own voice was surgery, and that kept me eager to work hard to produce a woman's voice. After awhile, I could pretty much do it at will. I was a little throaty, and felt best when I was almost "singing" my sentences. I really loved to do "valley speak," and discovered that if I started there and toned things down a little, I really sounded like a throaty young woman.
Starting about a month after my coming out, Cynthia began to throw a series of parties for the girls from our office at her "new" condo. I, of course, was the maid and the women loved to have me serving them.
As they came to the door, each woman in turn was astonished at the way I was dressed and made up. I think this is when they really started to believe that I was serious about becoming a woman. Still, they delighted in having their old jerk of a male boss in such a submissive role and made sure that he paid his dues. This made me an easy target for their derision and invective.
Except for Marci and Kathleen, this was the first time the others had actually seen me as Sissy. Even though I had been in the office every day with my feminine hair and eyebrows, most had a hard time reconciling their working image of me with the saucy, feminine maid who served them drinks and snacks. They were quite amused with my Sissy character, who displayed all the sexy moves needed to attract an old-fashioned macho-type guy, but really had no idea how those moves looked to others. All this ensured that I was the main focus of the evening. They watched me relentlessly, laughing as I made little mistakes, and having a great time ordering me to perform feminine tasks, like fixing my makeup, or straightening my stockings. After the first party my status in the office was changed for good. I would always be lower than the lowest secretary. Talk about payback.
It was a joyous party as the girls reveled in ordering me around, and much like that first night with Marci and Kathleen, I was also groped, fondled, felt up, and made fun of. I was reminded repeatedly of the change in my status, from boss to maid, and it appeared to me that these women were getting even for every slight any man ever made towards them.
The one redeeming feature was that except for Sylvia, who found me repulsive, the others took the whole thing with good humor. They were having fun at my expense, but they weren't being overly unkind or cruel. They certainly intended to make fun of me, but they obviously had no intention of destroying me. It was almost like we were all in on a big joke together. The only problem was that I was the joke.
But I found that I could easily accept any of the jokes they made at my expense just to have all these women pay attention to me. After a short while, I didn't mind be fondled at all, not one little bit thank you. As soon as I felt a hand on my leg or my ass, I backed into it and wiggled shamelessly.
And then, a couple of hours into the second party Sylvia lost it. I had been bent deeply at my knees picking up some garbage from the floor when I lost my balance. I squeaked loudly as I fell, drawing every eye to me. I ended up sitting on the floor with my legs straight out in front of me, like a toddler. Unfortunately, I tried to get up as if I weren't wearing a short skirt and ended up on my hands and knees with my ruffled panties pointing right at Sylvia. The other girls were laughing hysterically, many had tears in their eyes they were laughing so hard, others could hardly sit up straight. Sylvia didn't react that way.
She grabbed my arm and stood me straight up. "Don't you have any pride? You're just disgusting. Flaunting your skinny little ass in front of us like this. You let these women fondle you like some cheap whore. I have never seen anything so repulsive in my whole life." She was so upset, she was spitting.
Marci stopped her. "Sylvia," she cut in, "this is a game, we're having fun. No one is getting hurt. Sure we're making fun of Sissy.... Brad, but he agreed to this. Chill out, will you."
"You're no better than he is, you little tramp. I've seen you and that lesbian Kathleen. Have you no shame either?" Sylvia banged her glass down on the table for emphasis.
Then Cynthia stepped in and took control, "Sylvia, if you can't accept us for what we are, perhaps you'd better leave. Brad Miller had been treating all of us like dirt, or did you forget? He agreed that his behavior was abominable. Sissy here has agreed to take the punishment for Brad. Before too long, both Brad and Sissy will be gone and only Lillian will be left. You can help in that transition or you can leave, it's your choice."
"You're all perverted lesbians." Sylvia shouted, "Except you," she turned on me angrily, "you're even worse. You'll burn in hell."
She grabbed her bag and stormed out of the apartment. For a moment there was stunned silence. Then, in the sweetest, most innocent voice I had ever heard from an adult, Heather, who loved men as much as life itself said, "I didn't know I was a lesbian, did I miss something?"
Everyone burst out laughing. Betsy gave me a big hug and whispered into my ear, "forget about that bitch, I think you're adorable." Shortly after that Sylvia was transferred to another division and we never saw much of her after that.
Three months and a few parties later, I was finally invited as Lillian. Cynthia asked everyone to dress up. I had on a long, bright red rayon dress that swirled enchantingly around my ankles. The top was fitted rather closely, but the skirt was softly pleated, which is why it flowed so nicely. I had strappy, red, three-inch sandals on my feet, and my toenails sparkled bright red through my sheer stockings.
I sported one medium size and one big hoop in each ear, and a bright red ribbon in a big bow in the middle of my head. My makeup now incorporated many of the techniques I had learned at the salon. I felt really good about myself and with my beard virtually gone, my appearance was quite convincing. I studied my face in the mirror before the girls arrived, and thought that with a little surgery on my nose and chin I could really look good.
The sight of Lillian that night really did impress the girls. Shortly after everyone arrived Cynthia made a big announcement. "Girls, I want you all to know that Lillian's period of punishment in the office is over. You can't order her around any longer, and if you tease her, she's allowed to tease you back, even if she's dressed like Brad." Everyone giggled. "Do you have anything to say Lilly?"
I thought for a second and then made a heartfelt, but potentially risky declaration. "I just want you all to know that I will treat each of you like an equal and continue to do my share of the chores around the office. If I start to sink back into my bad old habits, you can bring Sissy back. You can even have her work at the office."
Everyone laughed and applauded at the same time. It all seemed like a dream; they gathered around me as if I had just gotten engaged or something and simply accepted me as Lillian. There were hugs and kisses all around. In fact, it seemed as if there were more hugs that night than I had received in my entire life up until then. I had never felt so accepted by a group of people and told each of them that and thanked them as sincerely as I could for their friendship. I was near tears the entire night as they told me they would support me in the difficult months ahead. I was so overwhelmed at their generosity.
After the first couple of weeks of training, Cynthia had also begun to introduce Lillian to her friends. She would invite two or three of them over for drinks or dinner on different evenings and in this way I got to meet a remarkable group of women. A number of them were involved in business, but there were a couple of lawyers and doctors as well, with a few artists thrown in. They, in turn, were part of a larger network of women who supported each other's careers. A good old boys network, if you will, except they were young and they were girls (I know, I know, they were women, but they called themselves girls).
Cynthia told me that as long as I behaved myself, I could come as Lillian, but if she got angry with me, it could just as easily be Sissy instead. I was as well behaved as I could be, like a youngster who has been allowed to stay up late when friends were coming to visit her parents. Cynthia wanted me to meet them so I could learn how smart, young, professional women spoke and acted around one another. They knew just who I was, even though some thought the whole situation was rather amusing, or even grotesque, they quickly integrated me into their group
At first, I was quite shy, but very few of these women were unkind and most were at least curious about Cynthia's young man who wanted to be a young woman and tried to draw me out in one way or another, so I could never stay in the background for long. And once they discovered I was a financial analyst, they were all over me to explain market trends, different ways to analyze stocks, and how to read between the lines in annual reports. These were wonderful interactions because we weren't talking about typical "girl" stuff, we were talking business. But they would gently correct me if I started to behave too "manly," and never hesitated to give me suggestions for more feminine ways of saying and doing things. They turned out to be a great set of role models and tutors for me.
They shared make-up and clothing tips and some even were kind enough to give me little presents, like scented soap or interesting lipsticks. But all this was seamlessly woven into complex conversations about other things, and I absorbed these lessons painlessly and effortlessly in this safe, friendly environment that Cynthia had created with her friends.
One of these women in particular took great interest in me right away. Her name was Amanda White and she was Cynthia's gynecologist. She was to become mine as well. About a week after the first time she visited, which was only a week after I had come out, she dropped in alone, surprising the hell out of me. I learned later that Cynthia had set the whole thing up. She had led me to believe that she would be home before Amanda actually arrived, but she finally arrived a good two hours after Amanda.
"Amanda! I...uh...I mean Dr. White. Hi! It's so nice to see you won't you come in. Cynthia should be home in a few minutes," I said, a little tongue-tied at seeing her at the door.
Amanda just played along with me, "Hi Lillian, or is it Lilly?"
I nodded my head indicating yes to Lilly, and then added, "at least my friends call me Lilly."
"I'd like to call you Lilly, but you'll have to call me Mandy," she smiled to make me at ease, "that's what my friends call me."
"Oh thank you yes, Mandy," I said, slightly surprised at myself. For some reason I was embarrassed to call her that. I guess she intimidated me.
"Don't you look cute tonight, you almost make me wish I liked girls," she said plucking at my twin set and straightening the bow in my hair. Bows were almost becoming a trademark with me. I liked them because they were cute, something most girls my age had outgrown. But I was different. Although I was in my mid twenties, I usually felt and acted more like a teenager. In "girl-years" I guess I was still pretty young and trying to discover who I was. In the eyes of most of the adult women I met, I wasn't a grownup yet, and it was liberating.
"Thank you," I said, blushing.
She continued without hesitating, "I spoke with Cynthia a little while ago and she said just to come on over. Do you have any Chardonnay?"
"Sure," I said, trying to relax myself. I quickly went and opened a bottle and poured her a drink and then one for myself.
After I had poured our drinks, she asked if it was OK if we sat in my "girly room," as everyone now called my feminine sitting room.
"I just love this room," she gushed, "did you really design it yourself?"
"Yes," I blushed as I answered. I was pleased at her compliment, but still somehow embarrassed that this room was so "me." It was stupid of me to feel that way at this point, but that's how I felt.
"How did you do it?" She asked. Her manner was so comforting it's easy to see why she had a busy practice.
"I didn't do anything special, I said, "it's what I like." I looked down for a moment trying to understand my feelings. Then I looked into her eyes again. "I was always dressed when I was working on it. Really, it's the rest of the apartment that is less like me. I intentionally made it more masculine to hide my real self.
The conversation simply continued and after a few minutes we were chatting about all sorts of seemingly inconsequential things. After a while, Mandy gently redirected the conversation to why I wanted to become a woman. I learned much later that she was getting to know me to make herself comfortable with prescribing hormones. She just wanted to be able to talk with me alone when I had no idea what her goal was. I was just chatting; she was probing my soul.
Under her seemingly casual questioning, I admitted that I absolutely adored what was happening to me but that I was confused and didn't really know what I wanted in the long run, even though right then I wanted to become a girl. I told her how I had begun dressing myself in my mother's clothes well before I was ten and how I continued to do that all through high school. I told her how Rachel had completely taken over my life and how Cynthia was now the dominant influence, and that I had a hard time resisting her (Oh alright, I told her the truth, that I did whatever Cynthia said). I was embarrassed to talk about it at first, but once she got me going, I went on at length about my fervent wish to have my own breasts. I told her about my need to be cared for. I cried when I did.
"If I'm to be your doctor," she finally told me in a soft ladylike manner, then I will be morally bound to do what is best for you, no matter what Cynthia wants. She told me you want to go on hormones and you pretty much confirmed that. It's obvious, however, that she dominates you completely."
I blushed and smiled ruefully, "yes that's true."
"I'll need independent confirmation of your psychological status from an expert. So I'm arranging for you to see Dr. Beverly Wells, a psychologist who is a specialist in gender dysphoria," She said handing me Dr. Wells' card. Since you are to be my patient, I am bound to protect your confidentiality. I will not tell Cynthia anything unless you direct me to," she said. "From what I've seen, I'm willing to start your treatment quickly, but you must go into therapy with Dr. Wells. If you stop, or if I get reports from Beverly, that this isn't for you, then I will terminate your treatment."
"Yes Mandy," I said gulping air like a drowning man, which, metaphorically, I was.
"I'm sure that won't happen though," she said to reassure me.
From then on, both Mandy and Dr. Wells became huge parts of my life, and hugely positive influences on me. They were simply wonderful women. They were clever, and insightful, and supportive, but most importantly they were truly empathetic. They really seemed to know how I was feeling. When Cynthia had me dizzy, or too much teasing at the office had me hurt and confused, I could go to either of them to talk. Dr. Wells especially was brilliant at separating my real feelings and motives from the tangled rationalizations, evasions, and poorly thought out wishes that were my conscious thoughts and feeling.
After two meetings with Doctor Wells, I started on my hormone therapy. The more time I spent with her the more it became obvious to me that Cynthia, whatever her motives might have been, had actually forced me to do something that was right. I really felt that this was healthy for me now, although Doctor Wells said that we would have to wait and see about how far I would go. The circumstances that led to my transition, and my reasons for wanting to do it, disturbed her, which I guess isn't too surprising. So we would take things slowly and see how they went.
The following week, I started myself on a course of electrolysis. I hated my beard and simply decided it had to go. It was the start of many long, uncomfortable sessions in the chair in a local salon, but it's obvious now that it was worth the effort.
Six months after Cynthia had taken over my life, I was as happy as I'd ever been. Our relationship was fantastic, for me at least. She was in charge, there was no question about that, and, she took care of me. I gained more confidence in those months than I could ever have thought possible. It's not that she did anything special to try to heal my damaged psyche, but she was so nurturing, even when she was disciplining me, that it began to repair itself.
I, in turn, took care of our home life. I was the wife, if not the maid. I loved to tend to her body, to bathe her, to brush her hair, to give her massages, and to help her dress and undress. I adored her and couldn't suppress my joy in being around her unless I really concentrated on doing so. I could see in her face, and in her behavior, and in her words, just how much she appreciated my love for her.
Despite the hormones, we had wonderful sex together, and it was clear she was in charge of that too. We made love whenever she wanted and whenever I could nudge, sweet talk, or seduce her into it (She always accused me of wanting to get her to sleep with me so I only had to make one bed in the morning. That's not true, I just wanted to be with her, only having to make one bed in the morning was simply a side benefit..., really.)
Cynthia often said no to me if she wasn't interested in sex, but I would never say no to her. My basic insecurity and love for her wouldn't let me, so I never learned whether I could or not. The standard sex roles were exactly reversed in our household, and you know what, I was in heaven. I was so in love with her that I would do anything for her, especially anything that took place between her legs.
That's how Cynthia started fucking me with her dildo. I was rapturous one evening after she, on top as usual, had ridden me to a magnificent climax. I was cleaning her wonderful pussy with my tongue when she asked me, "have you ever wondered how women feel when they had sex?"
I looked up. "Well, yeah, of course," I replied.
"How would you like to experience it?
I licked her pussy, thoughtfully and looked up again, "I do want to become a woman so of course I want to experience it."
"I can help, you know."
I looked up at her and saw that she was holding a rubber strap on dildo. All of a sudden I understood. I panicked immediately.
"Oh Mistress, you don't mean...?"
"Yes I do sweetie. You have a pussy too, you know." She patted me on the butt. "I think it's time we started to use it for sex. What do you think?"
"I think it will hurt. I know it will hurt. I've already been fucked in the ass," I confessed, blushing and looking away.
"Really? You never told me about that," she said looking surprised," Would you?"
"It was Josh." I said, that night leaping into my awareness. "Remember I told you about the guy who read me and made me behave like I was in love with him or else he would out me at the bar?"
"Yes, I do," she said.
"Well, then he talked Rachel into a threesome. He fucked us both, on more than one occasion. He wasn't that gentle. Rachel loved it, but it really hurt me the first time."
"How about the other times?" Cynthia waited, raising an eyebrow to force me to respond.
"Well, I guess it did get easier, but I never really loved it. I guess I felt forced. I didn't really want to do it. I was scared of being gay in those days. Plus, he was kind of "wham, bam, thank you ma'am" in his approach. Satisfying me was not on his agenda." I paused, remembering the feel of his prick up my ass. Actually, it wasn't that bad. I might have enjoyed it, if Josh had been a little more generous.
"Do I satisfy you?" Cynthia raised that eyebrow again and cocked her head questioningly.
"Oh Mistress, I'm in heaven when I'm with you. I never, ever imagined sex could be so wonderful."
"Do you think I could make you feel better with a cock than that mean old Josh?" It wasn't hard to see where this was heading. I blushed, although I wasn't sure why. "Women have always used dildos, we use them on ourselves, and we use them on each other. If I use one on my darling Lilly, does that make her gay?" She had to ask.
"Well, I guess gay and straight don't make much sense as categories for me any more do they?"
"That's very perceptive of you, honey. I don't think they do. So how do you feel about it now?" She asked.
"I would do it if you are gentle" I replied, "will you be gentle?"
"Aren't I always?" She laughed.
"Well, you do get a little carried away at times." I replied a little timidly, hoping she would laugh.
When she gently hit me on the head with the dildo, I realized that she was happy with my reply.
Two days later there was a gift basket on my bed when I got home from work. It was beautifully made up with pastel colored tissue paper, ribbons, and flowers, There was bubble bath and perfumed soap. It also contained a Fleet's enema, two bottles of Massingale's douche, and a tube of KY jelly. A note from Cynthia was clipped to the handle. I smelled the flowers and then I read the note.
Darling,
Tonight's the night. I want you to be as sweet as a flower for me. Use the Fleet's and then one of the Massingale's. If you don't feel completely clean at that point, use the other. Lube your insides well. Then put on your favorite nightie and wait for me in your bedroom.
I'll be home at 8:00.
Love,
Cynthia
Oh god, she was going to do it and I was going to prepare myself for her. I was going to take a bubble bath and clean out my pussy with a flowery smelling douche and get into a sexy nightie and wait for her on my bed. She was going to come home and fuck me like I was really a girl.
I was very anxious when I started to get out of my work clothes and took a big glass of wine to calm my nerves. I put the bottle and an extra glass on the nightstand next to my bed, thinking Cynthia and I might want some later. I turned on the audio system and let the voices of Bonnie Raitt, Melissa Ethridge, and Deborah Harry fill the apartment.
Then, I went to my bathroom and following the instructions did the enema, followed by the douche. When it was obvious that I was cleaned out, I decided that one douche would be enough. It seemed quite erotic to know I was getting myself ready for my lover. I settled into my bathtub with a second glass of wine, and settled in for a nice long hot soak. Even with the help of the wine, I could barely sit still in the bathtub. I was so nervous I was almost vibrating. My mind wouldn't concentrate on anything but what was to come.
So I got out of the tub a lot sooner than I had anticipated and shaved my face while my remaining whiskers were still soft from the steam in the bath. I took an inordinate amount of time trying to select my nightgown before finally deciding on a pale lacy, almost transparent lavender chemise. Cynthia had always liked it and I adored the lace border around its bodice, and the two spaghetti straps that ran over my shoulders to hold it up. My just budding breasts barely peeked out over the top of the lace, while the hem came to mid thigh.
After I pulled it over my head and let it fall, I slipped on my highest mules, and sat down to do my makeup. Thank god for makeup. I really enjoyed applying it, and it takes concentration and skill to do it correctly. Staring at my face in the mirror that evening really convinced me that my decision to get electrolysis was the right one.
With my eyes and lips done, my face looked sexy, but I decided I had to change the chemise. I changed into a new black gown that was longer and more dramatic. I pulled on a pair of stockings, a frilly black garter belt, and a pair of black silk panties. I wanted to wear stockings and heels, just like Cynthia had that first night. She had worn black. I was going to wear black. I wondered how she would react when she saw me in nothing but stockings and heels and panties.
I decided against a ribbon for my hair, but put in a pair of dangly earrings that she liked. They were gold and onyx and after gently inserting them, I spritzed myself with Opium perfume. I knew she loved it on either of us. So I put it on my wrists, behind my ears, and between my darling little breasts. Finally, I decided to put some behind my knees.
I watched in the mirror as I lifted my foot onto a small stool to reach behind each knee. I felt soooooo sexy, I forgot to pay enough attention to my posture though, and with only one heel supporting my weight, almost fell. Then, I lifted my nightdress, lowered my tight panties and dabbed some perfume behind my scrotum. I remembered how Cynthia had smelled that first night. She had obviously perfumed her pussy. I really wanted to see if she could resist the sexy smell any better than I did, which as I recalled, was not at all.
Finally, I started to lube my ass with the KY jelly. I pushed it in gently with my finger, being careful because of my long nails. I reamed myself a few times and then went for some more. I just kept putting it in until I was really slippery inside. Then I put a panty liner inside my panties and pulled them back up. I was sure I could feel the KY oozing out.
I was ready and waiting for Cynthia's arrival by 7:30pm so I tried to find something to do that would take my mind off what was going to happen in an hour or so. I tried to read Allure but was so distracted that I flicked through it in just a few moments. Then I had an idea! I went into Cynthia's room and found two of her dildos. Then I went back to my bed, pulled my legs up above my head and started to work the smaller one into my slippery rear. I figured that if could loosen myself up a little, I might have more fun and less pain later. The little one was easy, so I let it sit there for five minutes while I applied some KY to the bigger one, which was clearly larger than my own standard size cock.
I was very careful and pushed it in very slowly, but still it hurt a little. I was entranced with what I was doing and focused all my attention of the feelings being created by this lifelike invader penis. Because of that, and the volume of the music, I didn't hear Cynthia when she opened the front door and walked in.
"Well," she said abruptly, "couldn't wait could you, you little slut."
I looked up at her, startled. I was frozen in place with my legs up in the air and the dildo halfway into my asshole. My nightgown was gathered up around my waist and my black stockings stood out starkly against my pale legs. Despite my fear, I all I could think of was the sight that greeted me as I looked towards Cynthia.
She was wearing a figure hugging black leather suit, black stockings, and matching high heels. She had bright red panted lips and smoldering dark eyes. She looked as sexy as anyone I had ever seen, but she didn't look pleased as she stalked over to the bed. I suddenly understood what the male black widow spider sees when the female turns on him. This was one giant spider heading my way.
"Cyn...Mistress!" I blurted out, as I started to pull the dildo from my rear.
"Oh no you don't," she said as her leather gloved hand quickly pushed it in even further.
"Owww," I screamed in response.
She grabbed my hand, wrapped it around my leg and placed it over the dildo. "Don't move," she ordered as she poured herself a glass of wine, "stay just like that." She looked at me and took a long drink from her glass. "Now, tell me just what the hell is going on here. You made an awful big stink about how this was going to hurt, and here I find you doing it to yourself, with my toys, no less. You better have a damn good explanation."
"I do Mistress, I do have an explanation," I whined.
I told her everything I had done since I got home and how I thought this would make things go easier later. She looked at me sternly for the longest time and then started to laugh.
"You have a lot to learn about how to look when your lover arrives home," she said pointing at me and laughing out loud. "You silly girl."
Then I started to giggle a little too. I guess I did look rather funny - raunchy and debased for sure - but funny.
"Don't move, I'll be right back," She said putting her glass on my bedside table. A few moments later she returned with something in her hand but I couldn't see what it was. "Take your hand away from your pussy," she said. Then she grabbed the slippery dildo and pumped it in and out a few times, penetrating me much more deeply than I had dared. She pulled it out suddenly and plunged something else inside me before my asshole could close up again. I felt it stretch wide as the object seated itself. She let it go and I was surprised that it didn't slip out
"Feel," she said.
I carefully put my hand between my cheeks but found no handle protruding out like I had anticipated. Whatever it was, it was all the way inside me.
"That's a butt plug. You'll be wearing it for a while, so get used to it," she said. Then she crossed her hands under her breasts and pursed her lips. "OK, you nitwit, listen up. You've spoiled my mood with your fooling around. So I'm going in the other room to sit down, have a glass of wine, and something to eat. The only chance you have of getting that thing" she nodded at my butt, "out tonight is to seduce me later. You, my fine young man, are going to have to seduce your lover into fucking you in the ass. But for now, pull up your panties and make me something to eat."
She simply turned and walked out of the room. I started to lower my legs, feeling the plug in my asshole and trying to figure what, if anything I had done wrong and more importantly how I was going to make it better.
As I thought about it some more, I realized it was Sissy who was being trained to be the sex kitten, maybe it should be Sissy who seduces her. Yeah, that was it. I jumped up and ran for the closet, at least for the one step it took for the butt plug to make its presence known. Then, moving much more carefully, I pulled my nightgown off and put on my maid's uniform. I quickly brushed out my hair, put on the frilly panties that went with the uniform and minced into the room where Cynthia was sitting, reading a magazine. She didn't look up.
"Good evening, Mistress, I'm sorry I wasn't here to greet you but Lillian had me running an errand for her," I said starting a deep curtsey that was quickly aborted when the butt plug pushed hard against my insides. As I straightened up I tried a different tack, "that is a magnificent suit you are wearing Mistress. It just exudes power and it makes me feel small and weak."
I turned my head away as demurely as I could and shuddered a little bit at the delayed reaction to the butt plug, which was now proving to be rather... intrusive.
Cynthia looked up with more than a little surprise in her eyes, gazed at me for a few moments and then smiled to herself. "Yes, you should have been here. I'll have to talk to Lillian, she should know better. It will definitely cost her a spanking."
She was playing the game with me! OK.
"Oh, Mistress, I'm sure Miss Lillian wouldn't like that. But I guess she does forget who is in charge sometimes. She just has to do things her way. Is there anything I can get you?" I quickly bobbed up and down at the end of my question, no way I was going to try a full curtsey again.
Cynthia pointed to her wineglass and then gestured towards a bottle on the kitchen counter. I really did mince to the counter to refill her glass because the butt plug gave me little choice. I reflexively clinched my ass cheeks together to keep the plug in even though I knew it wouldn't come out until Cynthia withdrew it.
I put her glass on a little silver serving tray I always kept handy, and carried it back into the room with as much wiggle as I could put into my walk without spilling the wine. Then, keeping my knees straight I bent over at the waist right in front of Cynthia, so she got a good view of my face.
"Mistress, your wine," I said softly
When she took the glass, I shivered sending my breast forms into a slight back and forth movement within my dress. It was time for the seduction to begin, but I knew I had to be clever.
"Oh Mistress, I'm sorry," I said trying to sound appalled that my breasts were jiggling in front of her face, "I just got a little chill."
I still hadn't stood up. Cynthia tried to look at me harshly, but she couldn't prevent her amusement from showing in her eyes. I almost giggled in response.
"You look tired Mistress, may I rub your back?"
"That would be nice Sissy, why don't you."
So I walked around the couch and stood behind her. I was going to make sure she liked this and I gently pulled out the two combs she wore to keep her hair out of her eyes.
Then I began to run my fingers through her lustrous hair. After a couple of moments, I pulled her hair up with one hand and began to caress her neck with the other. Then I leaned over and began to kiss her neck and shoulders as if they belonged to a goddess. As I did that, I moved my hands down to her shoulders and kneaded gently through the leather. Her suit was so soft and supple that it seemed part of her body instead of just covering it. We both moaned as I worked.
After ten minutes, I went around the front of the couch again, kneeled in front of her, took off her shoes and gave her a repeat performance of the toe and leg licking that I had given her that first night in her apartment. It took about 15 minutes before I had reached her pussy and had her squirming around on the couch. After a couple of minutes of gentle licking and kissing, I stuffed my tongue as far up her pussy as it would go. She squealed with delight so I started licking and sucking with abandon. She came a few minutes after that. I kept my head in her lap, licking gently, savoring her juices.
I finally looked up and asked, "Mistress, may I ask you a favor?"
She looked down at me but it was obvious that she had not yet fully come down from her orgasm.
"Would you fuck me please?" I continued and I wiggled my butt around to indicate where. "You are a wonderful Mistress, but you never fuck me." I pouted. "Don't you like me?"
She smiled.
I looked up at her through my lashes, adoringly. She looked down at me with mild amusement. I got up on my knees, so I was closer to eye level.
"Sissy's not a virgin you know, she's been fucked by nasty men. But Sissy has always wanted to see how a woman does it. And Mistress, you are the most incredible woman," Her smile grew wider when she heard that.
I threw myself at her and kissed her fervently all over the face and neck. She just lay back and let it happen. I snaked my hand back down to her pussy and started rubbing there too. I pushed my tits into hers and rubbed them together as well. She was breathing hard.
"Make me cum with your mouth once more and I'll do it for you, but only if you're really good," she whispered.
"Oh Mistress, I will be." I sank back to the floor as sinuously as I could, keeping my hands on her breasts for as long as I could. Then I went to work on her pussy, as if my life depended on it. But, I refused to touch her clit. She started squirming and moaning, but I kept away from it and sucked her labia deep into my mouth.
Then she started to beg, "please Sissy, suck my clit, please..."
"Will you fuck me?" I asked knowing I had the upper hand for a change.
"What!? I said I would! I will! Don't stop you little whore!" It certainly didn't take her long to take back control.
Fifteen minutes after she had come the first time she was shuddering again to another orgasm. When she had settled down, I lay my head on her thigh for a few minutes. All the time I could feel that butt plug and before too long, I just had to get up, I straightened my skirt and started to wiggle off to my bedroom. I stopped at the door.
"Mistress can I get you anything else?" I asked looking at her as two beads of sweat rolled down her forehead.
"What? No I'll be fine," she said with a sigh.
"Please Mistress you look tired, please come to bed, I need you in me so bad," I replied and then rushed to my room.
I hurried into my room, pulled off the maid's uniform and untied the corset. Then I sat at my vanity, cleaned my face, and redid my makeup, which was a total mess. I ran a brush through my hair, applied more perfume and lay down on the bed with my head propped on the pillows. I then proceeded to get anxious, very anxious. That whole scene in the other room had taken all my courage and now that it was over, I felt totally lost. Thank god Cynthia didn't keep me waiting too long. She came into the room wearing her black high heels, a silky black robe, and a double dildo sticking out from her waist.
It looked unnatural on her but I knew that by using it on me she was going to enjoy it too. She didn't look or behave like a man, but then it would be impossible for her to look like a man under any circumstances. I smiled to myself realizing I had that problem too.
"You little slut," she said to me as she walked over to the bed. "You never told me you had been fucked by more than one man. How many have you had, 10, 50, 100? I know your kind, come on all shy and timid, but get on your knees for anyone with anything manly between their legs."
"I...," I tried to reply.
"Don't talk. You say you need it, you're going to get it. Then we'll see if you ever want a man again. Lick me," she commanded.
She presented the life-like dildo to me as she stood by the side of the bed. I sat up languorously, keeping my eyes on hers and feeling the butt plug deep inside me. When I was directly in front of her crotch, l looked down at it and began to kiss, lick, and suck her fake penis, moving it around in her as much as possible. She let me go on with that for a while and then took my face in her hands and lifted me up. She lowered her head to meet mine and ravaged my mouth with needy, hungry kisses. I thought she would suck the breath out of me with her intensity.
"Roll over onto your back Sissy and lift your knees up to your shoulders." Then she stood straight up and shrugged the robe off her otherwise naked body. God she was gorgeous. Her breasts were by no means large, but they rode almost defiantly from her narrow chest. She had softly taut muscles and luscious curves in all the right places.
Then she knelt on the bed and put a couple of pillows under my ass. As soon as she had me set she gently twisted the butt plug out of my ass and then leaned in over me, her hands on either side of my body, so we were face to face.
"Now, my sweet little Sissy, it's time to give you what you've been begging for. Don't you find it interesting, that yesterday you were afraid of this, and then today you begged me to give it to you? You're just lucky I'm so nice to you," she spoke softly.
She bent over and kissed me tenderly on the lips. Then she pulled her body up so she was squatting on her knees again, and positioned her dildo at the entrance to my asshole.
"I want you to love this, so you have to guide me in," she took a deep breath and leaned over me again, her breasts hanging down. I could look down between them and see the large penis that was about to invade my body. "That was a smart thing you did earlier, loosening yourself up. You're going to love this so go ahead, grab my dick and guide it into your little pussy. Then talk to me and tell me what to do, this has to go at your rate."
So I did what she said, and I was thankful for her gentleness because I really was apprehensive, although I wasn't sure why. As I grabbed the rubber phallus and it touched the entrance to my pussy, my mind raced back to the first person who had taken me like this. He was Kyle Marcus, a rather handsome, muscular, oversexed young gay man my mother had forced me to date. She had gotten fed up trying to humiliate me simply by forcing me to dress up when she finally realized just how much I enjoyed it. Instead, she figured that forcing me into a homosexual relationship would be something fun for her to try.
"Listen, you little pansy," she spit at me, "I told you that if I found you had been into my clothes again, you were going to get it. Well, sweetie pie, you want to dress like a girl, you're going to go out on dates as one. I've found you a boy friend." She was so proud of herself. "I think that he will be just your type, he's a faggot too." There was venom in her voice.
By the time my first big date rolled around, she had bought me a complete outfit of my own to wear and made sure I looked my part. She first sent me to the bathroom to shower and shave. I had no beard yet, but I had to do my legs and underarms. Then to enhance my humiliation, she shaved around my penis and balls, first trimming my still sparse pubic hair so it wasn't too long and then shaping it into a narrow V. I felt shamed when I saw what was happening, but got hard when she manipulated my penis. When she saw the confusion on my face, she mocked me.
"You really are a faggot aren't you? Getting all hard because I'm shaving you to look like a girl." Can you imagine, your own mother doing that to you.... (of course, this is the woman who accused me of killing my own father).
She went on, just dripping insincerity, "you're going to be so adorable." She slipped a pair of high cut black panties up my legs and fastened a matching padded bra around my chest. She filled it with foam pads.
"You're kind of flat-chested aren't you darling? Hope your boyfriend doesn't mind. But then you're only 14 so what's he expect. I just hung my head, a hot blush rising to my cheeks, although I wasn't sure what I was ashamed about. Then came pantyhose, a really lacy black slip, and a red sleeveless dress that just came to mid thigh. She really did a great job with my makeup and hair, and even put a hot red polish on my nails. It complimented the dress rather nicely. When she added a couple of bracelets, a small necklace and a white sweater for me to put over my shoulders, I was adorable. At least I thought so.
As I waited for Kyle to show up, I stood in front of the mirror, twirling back and forth to make myself feel girlish. I was loving it; it aroused me terribly. At the same time, my mother was doing her best to humiliate me and make me feel ashamed of myself. And as soon as I let myself become aware of what was happening, I got downright scared about going out with this guy, who was bigger and older than I was, and could certainly make me do whatever he wanted.
Fear, humiliation and sexual arousal, that's a heady combination, let me tell you. My mother really was an idiot. She thought this was going squash my desire to dress? Hell, this was like throwing gasoline on a fire. I really loved what was happening to me, at least until Kyle arrived.
Mom wanted me out in public with him, so he took me to a dance at his high school. He set the tone as soon as we got into his car. He turned to me and said, "Listen, princess, here's the deal. You're my girlfriend and you better behave like it or I'll out you and leave you right where it happens."
Oh, great, that would be perfect. I would be a guy dressed as a girl at a dance at a strange high school. No thank you, I would behave. I didn't say a word, I just nodded at him to let him know I understood.
"I'm in charge of this 'relationship,' sarcasm dripped from the word, "and you'll do whatever I say. Is that clear?"
I nodded again, too afraid to speak.
"Good," he said, "now slide over here and let me put my arm around you while I drive."
So I slid over next to him and we drove to the dance with his arm around my shoulder. It actually felt kind of comforting, so I very tentatively allowed my head fall onto his shoulder.
"Very good," he told me, and kissed my head. "You have good instincts, let's see what else you can come up with to show your love for me.
I thought for a few moments and then put my hand on his leg.
"That's a girl," he actually sounded appreciative, "you keep this up and we're going to have a great time together."
When we got to the dance, he actually helped me out of the car, so I gave him a little curtsey in thanks. His smile showed that he approved. As we were walking to the door, he had his arm so tightly around my waist and was holding me so close that I had to put my arm around his waist as well because there wasn't any place else to put it, he asked, "Hey, what's your name, your femme name?" Despite all the times I had dressed in my mother's clothes, I hadn't yet come up with a name I liked, and had no ready reply. But it didn't matter, he broke in to my thoughts almost immediately.
"Fuck it, I don't care. I've always wanted to date someone called Brittany, you'll be Brittany."
"OK, that's a nice name, I like it," I replied in a small voice.
All of sudden, he turned on me and grabbed my hand, bending my wrist backwards into a painful position that forced me down in front of him.
"Owww." I looked up at him with pleading eyes. I had no idea what had happened.
"You listen to me you little bitch. I don't care what you like. You're here to please me and that's all you need to think about." He glared down at me for a few moments and then released my hand. "You do that, and well get along just fine. Let's go."
With that he put his arm around my shoulder and led me into the dance. I was really scared now, he had gone from sweet to angry to sweet in less than a minute. He was a dangerous guy and I had to figure out how to keep him happy.
Walking into the gym where the dance was being held made me feel like a Christian who had just been thrown to the lions. I was lucky not to pee in my panties I was so scared. I clung to Kyle, like he was a life preserver in a rough sea. Fortunately, that was just what he wanted.
Once we got inside, I got really lucky. Someone had brought a bottle of vodka, so we got to drink spiked punch. That really calmed me down and by the middle of the evening Kyle and I were dancing close, with my hands draped around his neck and my head on his chest. With each step in my submission to him, he raised the stakes. Only a little while later, he lifted my head off his chest, tilted it up to his face, and kissed me. When his lips first touched mine, I froze like I had just put an electrical cord into my mouth.
He pulled back and glared at me, "don't you dare freeze up when I kiss you, remember who and where you are."
I wasn't sure whether he meant that I was supposed to remember that I was his loving girlfriend or that I was a crossdressed boy at a strange high school. It didn't matter. Either way I knew what I had to do. I turned my head to the side and tilted my face up towards his. Then I reached up with both my hands, putting them in his hair on either side of his face, and pulled him down to my lips. Then I closed my eyes and let him kiss me.
Let me tell you, I never expected to feel the way I did, but it was damn erotic. Here I was, as thrilled as I could be because I was dressed like a cute high school sweetheart, humiliated because my hunky date was treating me like I was a mere object, and scared nearly witless because he was a potentially dangerous guy who wanted me to behave like his honey. And I was kissing another guy and liking it. Erotic touching, fear, and humiliation fueled my arousal.
By the end of the evening, he had both his hands on my ass and was rubbing his rather hard erection into my tummy. It was amazing, there it was sticking straight up from his groin towards his belly and it was almost like there was another person there with us. Although I had never considered having sex with a guy before, his erection got me even further aroused and I not only rubbed back, but I was starting to consider what that penis might feel like in my hand. I really didn't know what was going on.
At the end of the evening, as I was collecting my bag and sweater to get ready to leave, I was starting to believe that being scared had been a good thing. It kept me close to Kyle and attentive to his needs. I wouldn't have (at least I don't think I would have) chosen to behave like I had on my own, but being forced had been incredibly exciting in a strange way that I couldn't understand at all. I had never felt so vibrant or alive. Every nerve ending in my body was tingling.
Then, all of a sudden, the dance was over. All the other guys took their girls for something to eat, but Kyle had another need. He took me to a local lover's lane, got me into the back seat of his car, and forced me to have sex with him. Really, he just overpowered me physically, and then looming up over me as I lay on my back, he reminded me that I was his loving girlfriend and started to kiss and fondle me. In this new situation, I froze up like I had before on the dance floor. He stopped for a moment, looked into my eyes, and said, "you love me, or did you forget. It's a long way home from here, and if I kick you out of the car, I'm keeping your dress."
OK, I get it. I started to respond to him, and you know what, just like before, I was getting pretty excited, so I went with it. After about 15 minutes, he rose up over me, pushed my knees up to my shoulders and grabbed something from the front seat. It was, thank god, KY jelly. He lubricated himself and then said, "put it in."
For a moment I didn't understand what he meant, but it dawned on me like the sun breaking through the clouds. I was aghast and didn't move.
He just growled at me, "either you do it or I will, and if I do it's gonna hurt more."
So I reached between my legs and grabbed the base of his penis with my right hand. It isn't that big, I remember thinking to myself. He allowed me to pull him towards me and aim the head of his dick at my virgin asshole. I let my head fall back until I was staring up towards the roof of the car. He was in shadow, and his silhouette blocked my view almost entirely. I took in that image for a moment, then closed my eyes and focused my attention on my hand, his erection, and my asshole. I still have a supernaturally clear image of me on my back, with my legs splayed out and pushed up to my shoulders. I was about to get fucked like a girl in the back seat of a car, and on my first date no less.
As soon as I had placed the head of his dick against my hole, he started to force his way forward. It hurt! I started to whimper, and then to cry. He just kept pushing, slowly, but without let up. Really, he could have made it much worse, but he could have made it much easier as well. It hurt the whole time and at one point, just as he finally pushed himself all the way in with one final lunge, I felt a searing pain right in my rectum. I didn't learn what had happened until later, but he had stretched the skin so quickly, it tore. I spent the rest of the evening in tears and ran right into the apartment when he finally dropped me off.
I don't think my mom knew what he would do to me, but when I told her, she just laughed and said welcome to womanhood. She was nice enough to get me a Tampax to stop my bleeding and to wash the blood out of my panties. But the fact that he had raped me didn't stop her from sending me out with him every time he wanted to take me.
We had many dates after that and the truth is, he did treat me better as time went on. We actually started having fun with each other. There was one great weekend when we drove upstate to the Dutchess County fair and then spent the night at a nearby motel.
We walked around the midway hand in hand, kissed on the Ferris wheel, and clung to each other and screamed on the roller coaster. He even won a couple of large stuffed animals that he dutifully presented to me. What could be more girlish than wandering around a fair with your boyfriend, carrying the stuffed animals he had won for you. Even though I felt rather overdressed in my full makeup, slinky red minidress with the flared skirt and shoes with chunky 21/2 inch heels, I was just in heaven.
That night we made love for hours. He always wanted to fuck me when we went out; sometimes that's all we did. Usually it wasn't very fulfilling for me because he came so fast I barely had time to get excited. He usually left me feeling used and abused, which I guess is how lots of teenage girls end up feeling when they have sex with their inexperienced dates. The night after the fair was different. He paid some attention to my needs. We sucked on each other's cocks and after he had come a couple of times, he was able to fuck me until I came just from that. In fact, that was the night I finally had an orgasm through anal intercourse. I could barely walk the next day, I was so sore, but I did learn that sex with a guy could be fulfilling, if the guy was willing to put in the effort.
That's what flashed through my mind as I drew Cynthia's dildo to my rectum. But this experience was nothing like that first time with Kyle. She changed my opinion of anal sex entirely before I had even come. She was masterful with her dildo. She was as patient as I needed her to be, and we took our time getting her all the way in. Then she taught me about rhythm, rate, depth, speed, and all kinds of other things that I, as a guy with his own cock, had never really considered before.
Let's face it, when a young guy is ready to penetrate, he is already wound up and aching for climax. His brain is in his dick. A woman doesn't have that...distraction, and Cynthia fucked me with care, with tenderness, with empathy, and finally with urgency only when one of us was nearing climax. I had my second orgasm from anal intercourse that night. We did it the second time with me sitting on top of her. I loved that too, but decided that I preferred to be on the bottom. It would take me quite some time before I got over the electric thrill of lying on my back with my legs spread so that I could present my special pussy to my lover. I still just love even the thought being in that wonderfully vulnerable position.
After that night, I let her have me whenever she wanted. Sometimes I begged her for it. We were so lucky to have so many ways to make love to each other. I could make love to her pussy with my penis, and she could make love to mine with her dildo. Or, we could just act like two women and make love without any penetration at all. Maybe it was because I was getting so much sex, but my need to penetrate her lessened considerably and I was more than content no matter how we made love to each other.
The change was subtle, but real if you were looking for it. I got some women's oxford shirts and a couple of ladies pants suits as well. We purposely selected suits that were also very man-tailored, but they were women's suits nonetheless. Everyone who knew anything about clothes knew what they were, but I was less flamboyantly dressed than a number of the openly gay men at North State.
My breasts had started to swell and puff out and became annoyingly sensitive. I now wore a soft cotton and lycra sports bra most of the time at work. My hair continued to grow and except for a trim to keep the ends even, Cynthia made it clear that it was going to grow longer still. That was just fine with me because I had no interest in cutting it either. I wanted long hair. When I brushed it out it came half way to my shoulders. At work I usually wore it back and often in a ponytail.
Cynthia insisted that my nails be kept perfectly manicured, although social correctness prevented me from growing them as long as I wanted, which was probably just as well because I faced certain punishment if I broke one or showed up somewhere with a chip or sloppily applied polish.
I always wore small gold hoops in my ears and of course my ring from Cynthia. With all this, it was becoming harder and harder to keep feminine mannerisms out of my work life, so Thornton told me he didn't want me at any more meetings with clients. I gratefully ceded that role to Cynthia who was a natural anyway.
I often ate lunch with Marci, Kathleen, and Betsy, and we talked about girl stuff and went shopping together. They even got me thinking about what kind of man I might find attractive (which was kind of weird because neither Marci nor Kathleen had much interest in them). That was a hard one for me, I hadn't really thought about that at all, but once they planted the idea, I started to wonder... I knew he had to be bigger than me, but not too muscle bound, and certainly not too hairy, and definitely not macho, ugh. Probably blonde was better, but...but...oh hell, I didn't know.
Then, one day, out of the blue, Marci solved my "guy" problem. She point blank asked me if I wanted to go out on a date with a "really cute" guy. He was the gay brother of one of Cynthia's woman friends, just a couple of years older than me. He was on the fast track to become partner at a big law firm and needed a date for a fancy affair that his company was throwing in honor of a new client. He was still in the closet at work, and often took Cynthia or one of her lesbian friends when he needed a date for appearances sake. But these women were mostly older than he was, and he felt uncomfortable about it. Cynthia had suggested Kathleen, but Marci, knew right away who should go on this date.
" Kathleen's not really sophisticated enough for that crowd, how about Lilly?"
"Oh, what a great idea," squealed Cynthia. My fate was sealed.
Marci was the one who broached the subject to me.
"A date? With a guy? You've got to be kidding." I truly was taken aback. "Cynthia would never..."
Marci cut me off, "Cynthia thinks it's a great idea. She says it will give you a chance to work on the kind of etiquette and manners that you can only learn at fancy affairs. Besides, this guy is adorable and he's almost as nice as you are. If I liked guys, I would be chasing him like he was the last man on earth.
She leaned over and kissed me on the cheek. I blushed with pride and hugged her back, remembering how much she despised me just a few months ago.
"Thank you Marci, I'm so glad you're not mad at me any more."
"She laughed for a moment and then said, "Sissy darling (she just loved to call me Sissy), I really liked you when you first came to work with us. You were one of the nicest men I had ever met, and so cute." She pinched my cheek in jest. "Then you became a jerk and I started to hate you. But no one could ever stay mad at someone as sweet and submissive as you've become. I'm only sorry we didn't rescue you sooner from the clutches of that stupid Brad Miller. So what do you say, will you do it?"
"I guess so, but I'll need some help," I replied.
"Oh! I know that's the best part. We're going to have so much fun. We have to shop for a dress and shoes, and get your hair done and....," she was gushing with enthusiasm.
"Marci, what kind of a date is this?" I asked, now unsure what I had committed myself too.
"Didn't I tell you? It's a black tie party in honor of a new client. It will be held in the penthouse at Trump Tower. Very ritzy, and there are sure to be lots of celebrities there."
My eyes opened wide and my jaw dropped, a fancy dress party? Oh no, what did I get myself into. As it turned out, I got myself into quite a lot. Michael Butler was indeed a very sweet, gorgeous guy. A dirty blonde, sort of like I thought I might have preferred, and big, but not muscle bound at all. I'm sure all the straight girls who knew him, thought, "what a waste," when they discovered he was gay, but you couldn't tell that by looking at him. He dressed conservatively, behaved impeccably, and played every sport imaginable.
It also turned out that he had as many misgivings about this as I had. His were actually more serious. He was afraid that if anyone even suspected I was not a real girl that it would damage his reputation beyond repair. As a result, even though he loved the idea of going with a guy instead of a real girl, he wouldn't take me to the party unless he was sure I could pull it off. So he made a deal with Cynthia. If she could get me ready to pull this off, I would be his date and he would buy her dinner at the restaurant of her choice. Knowing Cynthia, that would be one expensive meal. But, if I wasn't ready in time, she would have to go to the party with him instead and buy him that expensive dinner.
"Hey, what about me?" I said, "isn't anyone buying me dinner?"
"Lillian Miller," Cynthia shot back,
Oh no, I should have kept my mouth shut. I was in trouble again. But Cynthia broke into a huge grin.
"You win no matter what happens. You'll get to wear all kinds of pretty dresses, you'll learn more about being a woman, and you'll have all of us paying attention to you so you'll be ready on time. Besides, you're the one who will get to go to the penthouse at Trump Tower. So don't be selfish!" Her voice rose and she threw her magazine at me, though it was obviously in jest. Then she turned serious again (at least she looked liked she was serious). "If you blow it, however, and you're not ready in time, you'll be Sissy 24/7 for a month. Now shut up and sit down. Michael and I have details to work out and this is no time for your childish shenanigans.
Hhmmph, shunted off like a little girl again. I sat on the couch and pouted (Brad would have fumed, but Lillian and Sissy pouted; somehow it seemed more appropriate). Still, I hated it when people talked about me like I wasn't there, which is just what Cynthia and Michael were doing now, although Cynthia was in one of her take charge moods and Michael hardly got a word in edgewise. Then, during a brief lull in their conversation, Michael caught my eye, gave me a fake pout of his own, and winked at me. For a moment I thought he was making fun of me, but then I realized he was really commiserating with me instead, like maybe he and I were sharing a secret and Cynthia was the one being left out. I thought hat was sweet and it made me feel better and warm to Michael.
They eventually decided on a series of dates before the big night to allow Michael and I to get to know each other and to make sure I knew what I needed for such an upper crust function. That's how I ended up going out with Michael for a casual dinner one evening, to a fancy dinner and dancing on a second date, and to the opera for the third.
Cynthia, Marci, Kathleen, and several of Cynthia's friends immediately went to work to get me ready. They decided it was time for an all out effort on several aspects of the feminine me. It was almost like Christmas, and I was the tree they were going to decorate. The most exciting part of the whole thing for the old crossdresser in me was ball gown training. They borrowed some formal gowns for me to practice in, and a couple of nights a week, I was dressed like a princess and run through my paces like a big puppy getting ready for the annual show of the Westminster Kennel Club. In addition to the gorgeous gowns, there were elbow-length gloves, jewelry, upswept hair, and different kinds of wraps. One week I got to practice with a white mink stole. It was just luscious against my bare shoulders, and so much fun to cuddle in and twirl around.
We started with really basic stuff, like how to walk and sit down, and moved to more advanced lessons, like eating hors d'oeuvres while standing up with your bag on your shoulder (my idea of slinging it over one should and under the opposite arm, so the strap lay between my breasts was hooted down by all the women together - Geeesh). Then there was the really hard stuff, like holding up a long skirt so you can walk, especially up and down stairs, and even using the ladies room. I mean, there was a lot of dress and underwear to deal with in one of those little cubicles. No wonder the lines are always so long outside the women's rest rooms. There was one dress that I enjoyed wearing, but with a long slim skirt, it was a real bitch on stairs. I had to turn partly sideways to come down, and take such small steps that I never quite felt in control, much to the amusement of Cynthia and her friend Haley, who let me borrow the gown.
Then, one evening while we were practicing eating and drinking while standing up, and I was trying to be on my best behavior, Cynthia asked out of the blue, "So Lillian, tell me about yourself."
"Huh?" I replied, being as clever as I could be.
"My dear," she said as haughtily as she could, "I don't think 'huh' is used in polite conversation. I stood there looking stupid while the other women in the room laughed uproariously.
"Really," Cynthia teased, "correct me if I'm wrong, but it seems to me that if you plan to go out as Lillian, it might be a good idea to create an identity and life history for you. You know, where you grew up, went to school, and whom you work for. "
We quickly decided that the easiest and safest thing to do was to keep my real life, changing only the names, to protect the innocent. Then Cynthia decided I should be a consultant. "Of course, if you're going to be a hotshot consultant, you'll need business cards, won't you?" It wasn't really a question. "If you're going to get cards made, you should have a feminine middle name. All my friends use their middle names or initials on their cards, and you will too."
I knew whose name I wanted right away, there was only one woman in my family who had loved me unconditionally, my mother's mom, Grandma Samantha. I liked that, being named after both Cynthia's and my own maternal grandmothers. So the cards would read Lillian Samantha Miller, which I thought was a bit much for a simple charade. But I was so delighted with my name, I didn't even think to ask about the name of the fictitious company that was to be my employer.
But I was Lillian Samantha nonetheless, and I both feared and hoped that it wouldn't be long before my driver's license would contain that name as well. A few days later, Kathleen started calling me Sammi and the first time she did, I cried with joy and hugged her as hard as I could. What a sweet, touching thing to do! I was still not used to people treating me so nicely. Each time it happened, I choked up. My heart felt so full, I just couldn't contain my emotions. Of course, by this time, the hormones were probably amplifying every emotion I had, but no matter, I was really touched.
One night, Roberta Watts, a friend of Cynthia's who worked at Saks Fifth Avenue, loaned me a long black sequined gown to practice in, and Cynthia decided that it was the one I had to wear to Michael's party. It was sleeveless, with shirred fabric gathered at the neck in front, so it looked almost demure. The back, however, was only a set of six criss-crossing rhinestone studded straps, leaving me exposed to the top of my derriere. I would have to wear this without a bra. It also had a side slit that went at least half way up the thigh. Mandy, who was over to help that night, pointed out that a "young thing" like me would be expected to be sexy, and I'll tell you, between the back and the slit, this dress should leave every guy who saw it with a hard on.
I was secretly delighted with just how sexy and feminine it made me feel, but figured I had to object to wearing something so overtly hot just for show. "Cynthia," I practically whined, "This dress exposes too much. Wearing it would embarrass me."
She just snorted at me derisively, "My dear girl," she sounded like some very proper British lady's maid, "don't be such a prude. You'll have men lining up all across the room trying to get you to pay attention to them. Besides you have no judgment in matters like this." She stopped for a moment and looked at me with her head slightly tilted, then she resumed talking in her normal voice, "besides, I know you're lying. You'd do just about anything to wear this dress wouldn't you?"
I smiled at her and nodded meekly. "Yes! It's wonderful." I minced over to Roberta as quickly as my little steps would carry me and threw myself into her arms. "Thank you so much for loaning it to me."
"Oh, I'm not loaning it to you, but I will let you buy it at my discount. Let's see, where's the tag," and she went rummaging through her purse. "Oh here it is, she said brightly, "only $795, retail, with my discount it'll cost you $640.
"What?" I almost choked on the drink I was sipping and ended up spraying some of it on Cynthia, who for some reason started to laugh, so did Rachel. I just looked at them horrified.
Once Cynthia had gotten herself under control, she told me that she and Michael had decided to split all the costs with me three ways. I had to dress up, but I didn't have to go broke, although once I had added shoes and accessories, and threw in a trip to the salon so Shelly could work her magic on me, I would end up spending more than $750 for this little charade.
What the hell, I thought, in for penny, in for a pound. I drove the cost out of my mind and got back to my practicing. I certainly wasn't going to risk ruining a dress that was so expensive. With everyone in high spirits, I spent the rest of the evening vamping for them, showing as much leg as possible and practicing sexy looks over my shoulder that emphasized my bare back. Cynthia threatened to spank me at one point if I didn't behave myself. We all had a wonderful evening
Cynthia also forced me to sign up for some ballroom dancing lessons because a sophisticated young woman like myself would of course know how to dance the waltz and foxtrot. I would indeed be Michael's partner in all respects. Kathleen agreed to go with me for moral support, and you know what, It was fun. We really loved it! Then, after my first date with Michael, I convinced him to join me and he brought along a friend to dance with Kathy.
Men commonly bond by sharing activities, and the dancing lessons were the activity that helped cement my friendship with Michael. While we were dancing, we talked to each other about all sorts of things, including our feelings, something I had never done with another man, not that I ever had many male friends anyway. It was great, we were getting along so well that even when I got confused or made mistakes, we both just laughed. I decided that as soon as I had the time I was going to learn to tango. It's such a sexy dance, and Cynthia was definitely going to be my partner. She would be so hot, I was getting excited just thinking about it.
One evening I told him about my new middle name, and why I had picked Samantha. He in turn told me that he loved the name Samantha. He had a childhood fantasy from an old TV show about having a girlfriend named Samantha, who he called Sam. At that point I decided to take a chance.
"You could call me Sam, if you like," I said as he spun me on my toes under his strong left arm. Although I started talking with some confidence, by the time I finished, I sounded like a rather shy 14 year old.....and felt like one too. I was surprised to feel so vulnerable just because I made such a little offer. The fear of rejection was strong in me.
But by then I was back in both his arms and he held me away from him a little and said, "Really?" And when I nodded yes, he just lit up, "I'd love that, Sam." And he kissed me briefly on the lips. I blushed so hard I felt like a flash bulb.
But I was driven by the moment. In the low heels I was wearing to learn to dance, I could only reach his cheek if I stretched up on my tiptoes, so I did, kissing him in return and leaving a plum colored lipstick mark. I pulled my head back and smiled at him. He looked into my eyes for a moment and then pulled me to him with his right hand, which was already on my back to guide me as we danced. His left hand came up to the side of my head and holding it gently, he kissed me again, this time lingering on my lips for a quite a while. I felt a little breathless, but wonderful being with him and in his arms. When I noticed the other six couples in the class staring at us, I blushed again and buried my face in his chest.
On the first of our dates, Michael had arranged to pick me up at the apartment, and when he arrived, I was struggling to get ready. I was anxious because I couldn't decide what to wear and Cynthia was being no help at all. In fact I'm sure she was torturing me just for the fun of it. She simply said that she liked everything I had and when I came running out to the living room to show her how one outfit looked, she looked up blandly, and said, "fine."
Fine? Fine? What the hell does that mean? I wanted to look great, and the way she said fine, it sounded like terrible. I mean, why have girlfriends if they won't help you dress for a date? I was so frustrated I stamped my foot. Cynthia just laughed.
Since this was meant to be an informal evening, for a while I considered jeans with a white cotton blouse, and black flats. Then I decided I just had to wear a skirt or dress, but I didn't really have anything that was particularly casual. So I finally decided on the long red rayon skirt and the long pale yellow cotton sweater I had worn the Sunday morning of that first weekend all those months ago, when Cynthia had just moved in and taken over my life.
Of course, by the time I finally decided, Michael was almost due, so I was still dressing when he arrived. Thank god I had done my hair and makeup and was wearing French nails. When I finally entered the living room, he was chatting with Cynthia, like the old friends they were. He rose from his seat with an expectant look that turned into a warm, admiring smile as soon as he saw me.
"You look wonderful Lillian," he said, sounding completely sincere. He was dressed in jeans and a turtleneck, with a muted plaid sports jacket of some wonderfully soft wool.
"Thank you Michael," I said, a bit breathlessly. "I'm sorry it took me so long to get ready, but my girlfriend here was no help at all." I threw a pouty look at Cynthia.
She just rolled her eyes and Michael and laughed. "She's insufferable, you'd think she'd never been out on a date with a guy before, and at her age.
Trying to ignore her pointedly, I turned back to Michael, "you look very handsome tonight." I couldn't believe I had said that in front of Cynthia! It just came out. I was soooo embarrassed. I sounded like a 16 year old. I lowered my eyes and could feel my face heat up as I blushed. All of a sudden I was feeling a little unsteady in my heels. Thank god my hair covered my face so well!
"You're blushing," he said with genuine surprise in his voice. He had no trouble looking down at me even though I was 5'10" in my heels. "Come on, lets' go, I'm looking forward to this evening, I think we're going to have fun."
I threw a long woolen coat over my shoulders to protect me from the October chill that descended on Manhattan after the sun set, grabbed my purse and went to give Cynthia a kiss before I left. Doing that made me feel like a teenager saying goodbye to her mom. I shivered with delight at the feeling. I got off on the strangest stuff. Then again, my relationship with my own mom was so bad, that I almost never got to feel anything positive from her, maybe I was just having a second childhood.
"Now you two behave yourselves," she said with mock seriousness. "If she comes home pregnant, you're both in big trouble."
"Moommmm," I bleated, "how could you say that? You're so embarrassing. I told you I'm on the pill, did you forget already?" I couldn't resist teasing her now that I had Michael by my side to protect me.
"You're what?" She shouted back. "Why you little tramp. Get out of here before I ground you altogether."
We waved over our shoulders as we laughed our way out the door. Michael put his arm around my waist and led me to the elevator. As the door opened, Mrs. Marks stepped out.
"Hi Mrs. Marks," I chirped.
I guess I was still giddy from joking with Cynthia. Instead of being embarrassed because my neighbor had caught me wearing a skirt and in the arms of a guy, I was teasing instead. Of course she had seen me that first night when I let Marci and Kathy in my door while I was wearing only lingerie, and a few other times as well, but we had never talked. She looked up at me, but it took a moment for her to figure out just who I was.
Her eyes went wide and her mouth opened and closed a couple of times, but only a very squeaky, "is that you Brad?" came out.
"It's Lillian now," I said, as the elevator door closed.
Michael started to snigger.
"Whhaat?" I looked up at him with wide, innocent eyes. Then I giggled along with him. What was a great start to a first date; my mood was buoyant.
From then on the whole evening went great. We went to one of those cozy little neighborhood Italian restaurants that dot New York City. We shared wine, we shared food, and we shared ourselves with each other. It was almost as if we were buddies, which sort of makes sense since we're both guys, even if I didn't look like one and did my best not to act like one.
I decided about half way through the evening that I really wanted to attend the big affair with him and did my very best to behave like the kind of sophisticated young woman he would want to take. I desperately wanted to flirt with him, although I wasn't sure why. Besides, I wasn't sure if I wanted to go where that might lead, so I restrained myself. Well, at least I restrained myself most of the time, really, no one's perfect..., right?
We had always planned for this to be a short evening, but after we ate, neither one of us wanted to go home. I wanted him to take me to a gay bar for a drink or two, but he wasn't up for that, "what happens if one of my friends sees me out with a girl?" he exclaimed, his voice rising as he finished, "it could ruin my reputation." We both just laughed, but I couldn't let it go.
"But I am a guy," I insisted.
"Well, maybe you are," he said, "but you sure don't look like one. What do you plan to do, pull your skirt up and show everyone your dick?"
I hit him playfully on the arm, "well I could you know?"
"Oh no you couldn't," he shot back, "you'd have every guy in the place after your ass in 10 seconds, and I don't know you well enough yet to promise to protect you against some of those body builders."
Our conversation continued in that light mood as we strolled aimlessly around the west village and chatted.
His childhood was not terribly unlike mine, although his parents were quite affluent. His father was a workaholic, who was seldom home, and then walked out on his wife altogether when Michael was only 13. His mom was not warm and focused much of her attention on his two younger sisters anyway. When she found out he was gay, she tuned him out altogether and shipped him off to an expensive prep school for his last two years of high school.
The prep school turned out to be a treat for Michael because his gay self was able to bloom among like-minded friends and a staff that turned a blind eye. But, because his mom cast him out, from the time he was 15 he rarely saw his family, and ended up feeling like an orphan. Like me, he believed he was escaping an intolerable situation when he finally headed for college.
As we shared the intimate facts of our lives, I began to warm to him. I was sure I knew how he felt growing up. So I told him my story, and he behaved like an absolute dear, actually getting a little tear in his eye. We both felt comforted by being able to walk hand in hand with each other.
Then an unexpected thing happened; the warmth between us started to turn into sexual arousal. I don't know, maybe it was pheromones, or maybe any sign of affection turns guys on, or maybe Cynthia just had me in such a high state of sexual arousal that I was turned on all the time anyway. By 10 o'clock we were headed down Sixth Avenue towards my apartment. He had his arm around my shoulder and I had mine around his waist and I was snuggled as close to his body as I could get. As we crossed 12th Street, a couple walking the other way noticed us, and as they passed the girl innocently said, "don't they look like they're in love," as if there were no question about it.
Sixth Avenue and Twelfth Street, this is where Cynthia had kissed me that first Sunday afternoon we were together, maybe this is a lucky spot for me. So a few steps after we had hopped back up onto the sidewalk, I stopped, grabbed Michael's hand, and guided him in front of me.
"Kiss me," I said softly, telling him exactly what I wanted. But it sounded somehow wrong that way, so I added a submissive, "pleeease?" to soften my already plaintive sounding command into a request.
He only said, "Oh yes." It came out as kind of a moan, but he had his lips on mine so quickly, and I was so hungry for them, I never really heard what he said anyway. I melted into him and hung on for dear life. This guy could kiss. It was so different than kissing a girl, even though many of the girls I had kissed had been in charge, just like Michael was now. He was strong and insistent, he had bristles on his face, and very much unlike me now, he smelled so much like a man. I simply received his kiss as openly and joyfully as I could. And when he put his arm around my back and pulled me closer to him, I had no choice but to let it happen. I was glad to do it.
When we finally stopped, I was breathless. "I had no idea," I groaned, and looked up into his eyes, "that it could be so good to kiss a man."
"You're exquisite," he said. "And you taste delicious."
I thought of the tiramisu we had shared for desert and stupidly licked my lips to see if I could taste it. Of course the only taste there was lipstick..., and Michael. We stood there for a few moments, not knowing what to do, and then turned towards my apartment. We didn't say a word the rest of the way back, but we held onto each other tightly.
When we got to the door, I said, "do you want to come in?" Then I giggled, "I'll show you my Barbie doll collection."
He simply leaned down and kissed me. I put my arms around his neck and enjoyed his tongue in my mouth. He stopped after a few moments and then said, "you are remarkable Sam. I don't think I've ever felt this way about anyone with tits."
He reached inside my jacket and rubbed my left breast with real curiosity. "In the past when I've felt them push into my chest during a kiss, they turned me off. I have never been so turned on by anyone who looks and behaves so much like a woman." He held me at arm's length. "You are a guy aren't you?" I nodded affirmatively, trying to look as feminine as possible.
We already had that dinner and dancing date set for 10 days from now, but we both wanted to see each other sooner than that, and we both knew it.
I looked into his eyes, "Call me tomorrow, I think I need to talk this over with Cynthia. I didn't anticipate being so attracted to you either." I looked away and blushed. I was feeling so weak and out of control. My heart was beating rapidly in my chest and my breathing was rapid and shallow, and for a moment, I thought I might faint. "I've had only trouble with men in the past and I'm a little scared." I looked back up, "Please kiss me again."
I have never felt more like a girl than during that kiss, and I reveled in the feeling. When I finally opened the door and went in I was thoroughly confused. If it hadn't been for my gaffe, I would have had a hard on that would have torn my skirt (well maybe not, it was a loose skirt after all).
It was dark inside the apartment with only the glow of the outside lights of the city to see by. I took my heels off of my slightly sore feet, and dangling them from my left hand by their ankle straps, walked quietly towards Cynthia's bedroom. I looked inside and saw that she was already asleep. The rule was that if she was asleep, I wasn't allowed to wake her. I wandered back to my room, completely dejected. I washed up, changed into a short nightie, and then went back to her room. So what if I get punished. I really needed her now. I got into bed next to her and cuddled up as closely as I could get. Not surprisingly, she woke up. The surprise was, she didn't look angry, she looked worried.
She sat up and put her hand on my cheek. "Are you okay Lilly?" Those four words almost made me cry.
It was such a simple thing, but I believed with all my heart that it revealed her true feelings about me. She really was concerned about my well being. I felt so lucky to have her. So I stroked her hair to relax her.
"I am now that I'm in bed with you. The evening was wonderful but now I'm totally confused. I just needed to feel you near me. Please go back to sleep, we can talk tomorrow," I said staring into her eyes. She closed them and went back to sleep. I lay there for quite awhile before I was able to join her. What a night it had been.
When Cynthia's alarm went off, we awoke together. She started to get out of bed but I grabbed her hand and wouldn't let her go.
"Cynthia, do you remember last night?" I asked.
She was back to normal, and glib, "sure, you were scared, I let you sleep here. I should have thrown you out on the street for waking me after I'd gone to sleep. I might just tighten your corset down to 14" as punishment." Her eyes crinkled with glee, showing she wasn't upset.
I pushed on, undaunted. She had to make fun of me, that was part of her role in our relationship. I was going to tell her how much she meant to me, whether she wanted to hear it or not.
"I'm sorry I woke you up. But you saw something was wrong and you put your hand on my cheek and asked me if I was okay. My heart almost burst with joy because your concern was so obvious. No one ever...." I tried to continue but she put a long-nailed finger over my lips.
"Shush, come here, I'll give you a hug...."
I almost leapt at her, I was so grateful. For no reason I could understand I cried in her embrace and then felt much better - must be the hormones.
"I told you that you would like Michael," she finally said, breaking off the hug.
"You were right, too," I blubbered. "Now what am I going to do?"
"You're going to explore that part of your life, that's what. I told you that you had a lot to learn about yourself. I'm going to see that you do."
I hugged her fiercely. "Oh Cynthia, you are the best thing that has ever happened to me. I never before knew anyone who was actually willing to put my needs in front of theirs."
She let me cry for a minute while she held me and patted me as if I was a baby. Then she said, "come on, let's get ready for work."
"No, wait, tell me why. Why are you so nice to everyone?"
She looked at me sharply for a moment and then sighed. She got a slightly far away look in her eyes as she looked out the window towards the Riverside Park. She started talking without looking back. "My parents were born again Baptists. They were fanatical about religion, but very cold. They had no empathy for other people at all, including their own kids. It was almost as if they didn't see the people around them as people. We were all objects, like furniture." She shook her head as if she were ridding herself of an unpleasant thought.
Then she slumped down on the bed and went on, "they were unforgiving of anyone who sinned, including their six children. I was the third and the second girl. We all longed desperately to be loved, but we weren't, and each of us in turn fled home as soon as we were old enough. I felt terrible leaving my younger brother and sisters behind, because for all intents and purposes I was their mother. The only nurturing they got came from Hannah, our older sister, and from me. Hannah was the first to leave, and when my turn came, I knew I had to go if I was to survive." She had started to tear up and now began to sniffle. I grabbed the box of tissues and handed it to her. She smiled at me feebly in thanks.
I dropped down on the bed right down next to her and grabbed her hand. "You don't have to go on," I said, "I never intended to cause you pain." I was feeling guilty because her feelings were so obviously intense. She was dredging up deeply buried memories and I was getting worried about where this story might go.
"No," she replied through now red eyes. You really do need to know this. It might change how you feel about me."
My eyes widened a little and I could feel my heart rate start to accelerate. Her words scared me, but I kept silent.
She went on. "I had joined ROTC in high school and went into the army as soon as I graduated, that's why I'm so good at discipline." She threw me a crooked smile and went on, "the Army saw my potential and sent me to college. I could never have afforded it otherwise."
I had no idea where this story would lead and I guess she saw the confusion on my face. She just pushed ahead, "I swore when I was 13 that I would never treat anyone the way my parents treated their children. I can't stand to see people suffer emotionally, and for some reason, I seem to know just how to keep that from happening."
"But you take care of so many people. How can you do it, don't we all drain you dry."
She smiled at me sweetly, like I was a ten year old who had just asked where babies come from. "You don't know much about love do you?"
I dropped my shoulders and shook my head. "I guess not, it's never been part of my life." Then I lit up and grabbed her in a hug. Pulling back I smiled as brightly as I could. "Until I met you, that is." In some ways, I guess I was like a ten year old.
"There's one more thing you need to know, Lillian." That startled me, she never called me Lillian except when she was angry, but this time she said my name with obvious affection. I started and looked into her eyes. "It wasn't just my grandmother who was named Lillian. I had a sister named Lillian. She was only a year and a half younger than me. We called my Grandma Lillian and my sister Lilly so we all knew who we were talking about."
The look on her face filled me with foreboding, but I said nothing. "For some reason my parents were really hard on her and she just hated them." She could obviously tell I was scared because she patted my hand. Without looking up she said, " But Lilly and I adored each other, we were inseparable..., we did everything together. She begged me not to leave, but I assured her everything would work out just fine." She gave a big sigh and I could see determination fix itself on her face.
Six months after I left home for the army, just after her 17th birthday, she ran away. Two weeks after that they found her body in a ditch only ten miles from our house. She had been raped and murdered.
I gasped, horrified, although the real horror of it was beyond my understanding. I started to cry anyway. "Oh Cynthia," I blurted out and grabbed her to me. She was now crying openly as well. We clung to each other for a few moments before she collected herself. She pushed me away, holding me at arm's length.
"When you first told me your femme name was Lillian, my heart almost burst. I had felt so guilty about leaving home to begin with, and that guilt just exploded in intensity when I heard that Lilly had been killed. I was overseas and was given a week to go back home for her funeral. I was sure she ran away because I wasn't there to protect her from my parents. I blamed myself for her death. At her coffin I promised her that I would never let anything like that happen again."
"My sister Lilly loved Laura Ashley, she talked about it constantly, telling me how she would decorate her bedroom, but we could never afford it. Then I walk into your bedroom, and it's all done up in Laura Ashley. The site of it hit me like a lightening bolt. I thought I could use you to replace my Lilly. I felt right away that I could assuage my guilt by helping you to mend. That wasn't fair of me. I've been so presumptuous. Please forgive me."
And she fell back into my arms crying again. I was stunned. I had no idea, how could I. But I was just as surprised that she was asking me forgiveness as I was appalled by what had happened to her sister. As I tried to understand my feelings, it became clear to me that I loved her, no matter what her motives might have been. I had never been happier than I'd been over the past six months. This woman, who was begging my forgiveness, was a blessing for me. As I held her, I told her so.
"Cynthia, I don't care what your motives are. No one has ever given me more love or nurturing than you. I feel honored if you think I'm even a pale shadow of your sister. I'm embarrassed to call myself Lilly after what you've told me. You don't need to ask for my forgiveness, after the way I've behaved, I should be begging for your tolerance and understanding."
She looked up at me through red-rimmed eyes, her cheeks wet with tears. "Now let me tell you the real reason I gave you the ring." She lifted my hand and ran her fingers over the emeralds. "I wanted to remind myself how important it was for me to take care of you. I could never forgive myself if I lost another Lilly."
That just choked me up completely and I started to cry yet again. I had never felt like I was important to anyone. I started to get scared. I wasn't sure I could bear being this important to Cynthia. But then I began to see that if I really loved her I would have to bear it. If she needed another chance to raise her sister, I would gratefully give her that chance. Lord knows, I still had a lot of growing up to do.
We sat there wrapped in our own thoughts for a couple of more minutes and then Cynthia stood up, dragged me off the bed, looked deeply into my eyes and kissed me. Then she gave me a big smile, and shoved me towards the bathroom. "The girls will be pissed off if there's no coffee when they get in, and I'm not going to protect you from their wrath. You better hurry young lady."
I seemed to spend much of the day floating on air. My friends teased me gently when they noticed the mood I was in.
"I think our Lilly is in love, "Marci taunted me gently, "or else she got laid last night. Do you have a boyfriend now, sweetie?"
I just gave her a big hug and said, "Maybe it's just all those female hormones flooding my helpless brain, or maybe I learned that people can care for me."
"Oh shit, I better get you to employee health, I think you must have had a stroke, or estrogen poisoning, or something." She laughed and hugged me back.
Betsy and Kathleen also assumed that I was behaving like a love-struck teeny bopper because of Michael, which of course was only partly true. Everyone was so happy for me and no one really knew what had happened. I opened Thornton's computer and transferred more of his money to each of the accounts I had set up for the girls. I was almost euphoric. The only problem was, if we exposed Thornton as an embezzler, everyone would lose the bonuses I was so carefully building up for them. Maybe I could find a way to launder the money through accounts of his and have it disappear into the accounts of my friends. I'd have to check that out.
Michael called at around 10:30. I wanted to see him again, and he offered to take me to dinner again, but I had a dance class that evening. I decided to convince him to join me. "No, Michael, I have to go to class. Cynthia will just kill me if I don't." Then I put on my best pout, and hoping he could hear it over the phone, I continued, "Pulleeaase Michael, will you come with me? Then I brightened, "I'll make it worth your while."
"Why you little tramp," he teased back, "just what are you offering me?"
We settled on a late dinner after class. I would buy. Somehow that seemed backwards, but I didn't care. I was getting what I wanted, time with Michael.
When we left the studio at 10:00pm, I was flushed from the activity and thrilled from all the contact with Michael. He could really dance and he led me beautifully. When he first put his right arm around me, placing his hand on my left shoulder blade, I felt a thrilling jolt. I graciously laid my right hand in his left and for just a moment savored the feeling of being in his arms.
From then on, he was completely in control. That by itself made me more breathless even than twirling rapidly under his fingers. I felt like a teenager at a first dance, and I got such a kick out of the spins and turns. I felt so feminine twirling around under his arm, throwing my hair around my head, as he spun me elegantly with his hand above my head, my fingers swirling under his. I couldn't wait to try this in three inch heels. For now, however, I was sticking to low-heeled dancing shoes for safety.
At dinner we talked more about ourselves and I told him about my longing to become a woman. Neither one of us understood why we found the other attractive. He was usually into big buff guys with hard, muscular bodies, and I was into girls, and all their soft curvy parts. We agreed that it was perhaps a little easier for him because I, at least, was a guy.
"I like you a lot Sam," he said with a huge grin. "Now I can tell my gay friends I went out with Sam last night, and won't have to explain anything else. They'll just assume you are a guy."
We both giggled. This conversation went everywhere and nowhere, and we each learned bits and pieces about each other. But more importantly, we both really enjoyed the time we spent talking. We were fast becoming good friends, but as the evening wore on, I found myself wanting more.
I reached across the table and grabbed his hands. "Do you want to sleep with me?"
"Girls aren't supposed to be so blunt," he countered, smiling gently and looking into my eyes. I could tell he didn't want to put me off.
"Point being?" I parried his thrust, "I'm not your ordinary girl, remember, I'm a guy, and I want to know."
Oops! That was a little too loud. I had said it with a great confidence, as if I was showing four aces in a poker game, but the couple at the next table both looked over, startled. They had heard me! What the hell, I blew them a kiss. The guy sat goggle eyed, the girl just giggled. At least they were cool enough to be embarrassed for staring at me, and they turned away, which is a good thing because I was nearly breathless at my own audacity. A few months ago, I would have been mortified with shame if something like this had happened. What remarkable changes had overtaken my life.
I turned back to Michael. His face had a little blush left on it. I had embarrassed him too. I started to apologize, "Mi..."
He cut me off, "Yes. Yes, I do." He looked right into my eyes when he said that.
I knew immediately what he meant and decided to bare my soul. "I'm scared, guys have only hurt me before."
"Well, there's no rush. I do relish the thought of getting you naked, on your hands and knees on a bed, but I'm no high school lothario. In fact, just to make sure you don't feel forced, you'll have to beg me to get it." He gave me a huge grin, like he had pulled a straight flush to beat my aces. Now, he was the one feeling proud.
"I don't think that's how a gentleman acts," I said, pouting. "A gentleman should do whatever a lady asks of him." I tried to sound haughty and self-important. "She shouldn't have to beg. It's unseemly." I tried to look down my nose at him, but he was too tall.
"Well, when you become a lady, I'll become a gentleman." He laughed. I tried to look insulted, but laughter sputtered out of my lips despite my efforts. He picked up my hands and kissed them.
We necked in the hallway outside my apartment for 10 minutes before I went in. It was so delicious, his kisses weren't just on my lips and tongue, they were reaching into my guts. I was sure I knew exactly how a teenage girl being kissed by her first real love feels. I wasn't ready to go to bed with him yet, but I knew that one of these days I would. Yes, I was sure this was how a young girl must feel as she plans to lose her virginity with her boyfriend (those that get to do any planning, anyway).
And for some reason, kissing in the hallway, as if we were hiding from my mother, made it even more exciting, and made me feel even more like a teenager just beginning to experiment with sex. The memory of those kisses is still sweet.
That night I didn't need to wake Cynthia to comfort me, and I fell asleep easily. My life was far richer than I ever could have imagined. I was in my own version of heaven on earth. I had Cynthia to take care of me and to be my Mistress and lover. I had all the girls at work as my friends and I had Michael, my good buddy, and I hoped, soon to be lover.
I had Mandy White and Beverly Wells, who were almost like fairy godmothers to me, they took such good care of me. I had a 26 inch waist and almost 33 inch hips, and a cute butt with much more padding than I ever dreamed I could have. My hair was well below my chin, now cut into a sleek pageboy, which, still parted in the middle, framed my face in a way that made me look both innocent and sexy. I was totally comfortable as a girl in any social situation, and I couldn't imagine how I could pass as a guy.
And oh, I had breasts. Yes, real breasts! I was so excited when they started to form and now they were beginning to fill an A-cup bra. I was just thrilled with them and couldn't keep my hands off them. Neither could Cynthia, and she really knew how to use her hands.... and her lips..., and her tongue.
Although she was the only one besides me who actually got to play with them, the rest of the girls were so happy for me. They all noticed my expanding chest at work because I did my best to make them notice. When I showed them my new little boobs in the women's room one day, everyone giggled and hugged me. I had no shame about them whatsoever, I even managed to embarrass Cynthia one night as I bubbled on about them when she had friends over. She spanked me afterwards to teach me some modesty. Then she made me lick her until she joyfully came twice, and then mounted and rode me until I came as well.
That was one of the really good parts about having Mandy oversee my medication. I was developing a nice female shape, but not losing too much of my sexual appetite or ability (not that estrogen does anything to your ability to use your tongue). It is true that I didn't feel the need to get Cynthia into bed every ten minutes, like I did before I started hormones, but she had a really healthy sexual appetite anyway. Sex was one thing we had plenty of. And being the careful doctor that she is, Mandy made sure that I had stored away several sperm samples just in case my fertility was affected and we wanted something small and wiggly later.
With things having progressed as far as they had, everyone agreed that it was past time for me to start working as a woman, and I was about to take that major step. One of Mandy's lawyer friends had worked it all out. So I would no longer be Mr. Bradley Lawrence Miller. I would be Miss Lillian Samantha Miller. My social security number, school records, driver's license and birth certificate were all set to be changed and just this week, the company Human Resources office received a letter detailing my change in status and gender.
The opera was at Lincoln Center. It is just the most amazing scene. The Metropolitan Opera House is one of three great performance halls arranged on three sides of a huge open plaza facing Columbus Avenue. There's a large fountain in the middle of the plaza and a broad set of stairs leading up to it from Columbus Avenue. The New York State Theater, which houses the New York Ballet is on the left and Avery Fisher Hall, home of the New York Symphony is on the right. The "Met" is straight ahead, its very tall arched windows sparkling with all the hundreds of lights that hang in its huge entrance hall.
As you arrive after dinner at some cutesy little bistro that's within walking distance, there are all kinds of limos lined up along Columbus Avenue letting their terribly well to do riders out. And yellow New York taxis buzz in and out from the curb like yellow jackets at a fall picnic, letting out the merely affluent.
The men are in dress suits and dinner jackets, and they escort women in fancy dresses, immaculately coiffed hair, and fur coats. You walk up the grand stairway from the curb, across the plaza (upwind from the fountain when it's windy - that's one way you can tell the first-timers; they're downwind), and towards the doors of the opera hall. There's usually enough jewelry on display to pay off the national debt.
Needless to say, I spent the entire day getting ready. By 5:00, there was almost a party at the apartment, so many people had come to help and to watch me get ready for my "big date". Marci and Kathleen were there, and so was Mandy. Betsy stopped over for a little while with her current boyfriend, but our place was so drenched in over-heated estrogen that he was too uncomfortable to stay long.
Cynthia was stalking around the entire afternoon, too nervous to sit still. I finally called one of her old lovers, Jessica Moore, who came over and settled her down. Like Cynthia, Jessica was a strong woman, and could handle her in a way none of the rest of us could. Jessica was a VP at North State, and was one of Cynthia's mentors. She was one of the reasons Thornton was rather more careful with Cynthia than with the rest of us.
Anyway, I had been to the salon at lunchtime and was back at the apartment by 3:00 looking radiant, completely coifed, waxed, polished, and made over. Shelly had given me some auburn highlights around my face, something I had really, really wanted, but had refused to get while I still had to work as a man. More importantly, she had changed my hair so that it was now parted on the side, instead of in the middle. My hair now fell over one eye unless I really worked to keep it out. I just loved the look - very simple, but elegant, and all the women cooed over it as if I were the first girl ever to wear her hair that way.
My hair was sleek, smooth, and glistening. The makeup was done in the way that only pros can do it, and I had never looked prettier, although I now appeared more sophisticated than cute. I think it was the way she did my cheeks and eyes. When I got back from the salon, all I really had to do was bathe and dress. With all those women around, however, teasing and laughing and telling stories about ''memorable" dates, great and horrible, I was becoming increasingly anxious as the minutes ticked slowly away.
Finally, I couldn't take it any longer and retreated to my bedroom to take comfort in my cozy Laura Ashley world. Before I did anything else, I douched twice, so I would be clean for Michael. Then, I ran the tub, putting in the same bath oils that Cynthia had insisted I use to prepare for her first...., well the first time she fucked me with her dildo. When I had been in the hot steamy bath for about 15 minutes, I heard a gentle knock at the door.
It was Cynthia. She told me I had better hurry, so I wouldn't be late. Then she asked, rather timidly I thought, "May I help you dress?"
"Are you kidding? I thought you'd never ask. Get in here."
So, wearing a happy smile, she grabbed a big fluffy towel and wrapped it around me to pat me dry. She powdered me all over with a big powder puff that held a lightly scented powder, tickling me between my legs and making us both laugh. Then she held out my favorite satin robe and after she had me snuggled into it, we went into the bedroom. Next, unfortunately, came my gaff to conceal my penis. No way I was going to show an erection at the opera (really, I'm very proper), and knowing Michael, I wouldn't have been surprised if he had tried to give me one just when some old matron was looking. Then I slid into a pair of high cut, dark gray panties made out of some kind of silky-lycra blend, with black lace trim covering the entire front panel.
Cynthia walked me over to the mirror so we could study me carefully. She stood behind me as we appraised the way I now looked. She described what she saw, running her hands over the parts of my body as she described them, using her fingertips to highlight her words,
"Mmmm, you have such smooth, sleek, hairless legs, plenty long enough for anyone's needs, lightly rounded hips, and a cute round butt that seems to defy gravity. And that just brings us to your small, tight waist. Aren't you glad I make you wear that corset?"
She stopped for a moment and circled my waist with her hands. I could only nod yes in response to her question. Then she ran her hands up from my waist to my chest, on either side of my breasts. "Look at these adorable little breasts, almost A cup, I'll bet, with small dark nipples riding out front like they are just so proud to be there. And she tweaked them gently. I squealed anyway. And I just love your smooth dark hair that hangs down past your chin in such a glistening curtain."
She didn't say anything about my face, which was now the only thing that even hinted at my former manhood. But I knew it looked sophisticated and sexy, even without lipstick.
"Look at yourself," she was like a proud mom. "Look at the young beauty you have become. Think of your friends in the next room. Think of your date on his way here to pick you up. Think of me."
Then she nipped me on the neck with her teeth, and snaked her hands around my chest to cup my little breasts, molding them sensuously in her hands.
"Why are all these people so fond of you Lilly? Do you know?"
I just waited silently, reveling in her touch.
"You are a special young lady my dear. You are sweet and pretty. You treat people with consideration and care. You're generous with your affection, you're funny, and you have the most breathless sense of wonder about the world. You do seem like a 16 year old girl getting ready for her first big date. You are giving each of us a treat by allowing us to share this with you and to relive, at least a little, what was fun about our own childhoods. Whatever you might have thought about yourself in the past, you must now come to understand that you have touched our hearts, we value your friendship and love, and we want you to stay in our lives."
That was quite a speech and I was struck dumb by her words. I was so overcome with emotion I started to tear up. I turned in Cynthia's arms and hugged her to my chest, my naked chest with boobs on it. I was speechless.
Cynthia only let me linger there a moment before she gently pushed me away and said, "Don't you dare ruin your makeup." She grabbed a tissue and started to dab at the corners of my eyes. Once I had gotten myself under control, she hugged me again and whispered, "I love you, you are a joy to me. Whatever is best for you is what we will do. Now, let's get you dressed. I have a surprise for you."
I knew that she had given me permission to open my heart to Michael if it came to that. More importantly, she had taught me that love could grow to include more people, the more of it you give. She was going to let me fly away if I wanted to, and would see if I came home on my own. What a precious gift.
"Here look." I drew myself back from my thoughts and looked at her hands. She held a bra and two small breast forms. "We're getting rid of your old breast forms," she giggled. "We're going to push your new breasts up and out for the world to see, and these," she held up the hand with the forms in it, "will do that just perfectly."
In a couple of minutes it was obvious what she meant and I was ecstatic with my new look. The small forms went in the bottom outside edge of the bra and forced my own breasts up and in. I had real cleavage! And I didn't need makeup to do it! Oh, this was too good. I couldn't take it any more; I had to finish getting dressed so I could see what I looked like.
I sat on the bed and rolled my sheer seamed stockings up both legs and attached them to my garter belt (no way I was going to wear pantyhose on this night) . I had to be careful because my nails were longer than I was used to and filed into serious points.
Needless to say, we had debated the selection of my go-to-the-opera dress almost as hotly as the congress had debated campaign finance reform. But in the end only one choice was really considered. We all knew what this date called for. It just had to be a little black dress, even if it was getting awfully close to winter.
I refused to go sleeveless even though I was outvoted by every single person who was asked. But I knew that everyone would stare at the scar on my arm and I didn't want to have to deal with that on this night. So now I had the most darling dress. It had long sleeves which arose from shirred fabric that was sewn to look like broad shoulder straps that criss-crossed the outside half of each breast, revealing almost all of the middle half of each of my glorious, pale white globes. The right strap passed over the left and went down to my waist, where it circled around my waist as a thick band of fabric, almost like a belt. Two big rhinestones buttons attached the loose end to the point where it had started to run around my waist. The skirt was formed from a layer of opaque rayon with a separate layer of organza over it. Both were gathered at the waist, enhancing the difference in size between my waist and hips. Both layers also swirled out slightly at the hem, so the whole skirt swung alluringly about three inches above my knees. It would take some concentration on my part to keep my stocking tops concealed and I pulled the garters as tight as they would go.
I wore a diamond stud in each ear, and drop earrings, with emerald-colored stones. They looked simply terrific when I pulled my hair behind my ear, a flirty move that I just adored. I had a golden chain holding one fairly hefty fake emerald that matched the earrings and hung down between my breasts to draw everyone's eyes to what I now saw as my irresistible cleavage. A couple of golden bracelets on my right wrist and a dress watch on my left completed my jewelry.
Of course, the ring Cynthia gave me never left my finger. When Cynthia first gave it to me, the gold was scarred and unpolished. I had it cleaned it up and the whole thing now glistened. I always selected any other jewelry I wore to compliment the ring, the beautiful gold and emerald ring that my dear, sweet girlfriend, Mistress, mother, and mentor had given me all those months ago. God, I just adored her. I kissed the ring.
My shoes were elegant three inch black pumps. They were cut very low at the sides and had a strap around the ankle. I just had to have ankle straps; they're so sexy. I had a small, beaded black clutch bag that came with a long thin strap, and a long black silk scarf to wear with my coat. If I got chilly in the theater, I could wrap the scarf around my shoulders.
I emerged from my bedroom feeling glorious, but suddenly felt very shy when I got in front of all my girlfriends. But they proved to be true friends. They met me with dead silence and somber faces, clearly designed to scare me to death, like maybe I was wearing a "kick me" sign. My initial rush of shyness started to turn to panic, but only for a moment, because in the second moment, a chorus of praise serenaded me. That simply released all the tension I had been accumulating throughout the afternoon, and I felt so good I did a twirl before anyone even asked me to.
This elicited a wolf whistle from Marci, and "Oh honey you look gorgeous," from Kathy, and applause from Mandy. I twirled on my toe to spin the skirt and my hair. I put one hand over my head, fingers pointed outwards like a ballet dancer and trailed the scarf in the other hand so it flowed around me as well. I was feeling almost drunk, but it was from happiness. I hadn't had a drop of alcohol.
When Michael arrived 10 minutes later, he too was more than impressed. He gave me a big hug, and an air kiss, so as not to ruin my lipstick. He was so thoughtful. But he was in a rush to get out of there, just like Betsy's boyfriend. Even gay men can be driven off if there's enough estrogen in the atmosphere. I went to grab my only warm coat so he could help me put it on.
Mandy stopped me though, "no don't wear that. Take the one that's in the garment bag on the left."
I unzipped the bag and gasped, astonished by what I found there. It was a pale gray full-length fur coat, it must have been fox, with a big, floppy fold-down collar and a sash to hold it closed. I was so surprised I stepped back.
"Oh Mandy, I couldn't possibly..."
"Oh yes you could," she said, "in fact, as your doctor, I insist, we can't have you catching cold now can we?"
I started to panic a little. "No, I'd be afraid. I might ruin it or lose it. I could never make it up to you."
"Well," she said in a fake huff, "if you won't let me loan it to you, I may just have to give it to you. Then you wouldn't have to worry about anything happening to it."
She looked at me like she had just trumped my ace. I still couldn't move, but Michael made the point moot by hanging up my coat and grabbing the fur. He held it open and looked at me. I had no choice, so I slipped my arm in, turned slightly and put in the other. I wrapped the silk scarf around my neck and threw one end over my shoulder, allowing the other end to hang down in front. I picked up my purse, turned back to the room and curtsied. Everyone applauded again, and Michael and I headed out the door.
Mandy shouted after us, "don't you dare lose that coat!" I blanched for a moment, until everyone else laughed.
The restaurant was a standard, have-a-quick-dinner-before-the-show kind of place. The food wasn't anything special, but it was overpriced anyway. The décor at least, was nice, kind of country French - very warm and cheery, but formal with softly padded chairs, white tables cloths, fine china, and napkins stuck in the water glasses to look like flowers. It had to be expensive-looking with all of the expensively dressed people who were there.
I have to admit I was watching to see what kind of reception I would receive, and the men at the restaurant didn't disappoint me. Heads turned as I walked by. As far as I can recall, I always checked out every cute woman in a fur coat, and that rule seemed to hold for me. But interest really picked up when I took the coat off. The dress, heels, and stockings would have been eye magnets for any guy who merely caught a glimpse of me from behind, but the view from the front, especially my revealing décolletage, and best every cleavage (I had used some makeup to enhance it even though it was real) just overwhelmed them when they got the opportunity to see it. I was a little shy about the whole thing at first, but as I relaxed over first few minutes, I started to get into the whole idea of being a desirable girl with many male admirers. I even flirted with some of the guys who couldn't keep their eyes off me. This was so much fun!
Michael thought the whole thing was a rip. We leaned close to each other and whispered. To others we looked like lovers sharing intimate secrets, but we were really reviewing the responses of the guys who were eyeing me. We were like two fraternity brothers goofing on the townies.
I was sky high over the response I was getting and just had to ask Michael what he thought." Michael, do you find me attractive?"
"You know I do Sam."
"But how, why? You're gay, you've told me you're attracted to manly looking men. I'm doing my best to look like a sexy woman, what actually do I do for you?"
He looked at me for a moment with his head slightly cocked. "I'm not sure.... but I like it. Just because I'm gay doesn't mean I can't appreciate feminine beauty, and while you don't have the looks to be a super model, you are very attractive." He gave me a warm smile to show me that he meant he thought I was really very, very attractive. "Tonight you look simply fabulous."
I blushed and looked away demurely. It was time to flirt seriously with him. I wanted him to be hot later. He was going to beg, not me I had decided
"But there's something else about you... I'm not sure what it is. I certainly like the idea that you have a cock under that dress... you do don't you? I've never really checked." He smiled like a two year old who had just gotten the square peg into the square hole.
In return, I pouted at him like I was insulted. "Yes but not for much longer if Cynthia has her way. Would you like to see it before it goes?" I started to stand up. Thank god he put is hand on my arm before I got too far. I was only bluffing.
He gave me a condescending smile. "Later you tease."
"Really?" I lit up. "I'd like that. Can we go to your place?" So much for flirting, why bother, when you can simply throw yourself at your man instead.
He continued, " I really like that we're both fooling all these people. You're unreadable and I'm out with a guy I really like and I don't look gay to the world. Don't get me wrong, I don't mind being gay; I'm comfortable with myself. But it is stressful sometimes, even in a liberal city like New York. People give you dirty looks; they treat you shabbily, and you never know when someone is going to turn on you. This is just so much easier."
He paused for a moment and looked at me critically, as if, perhaps, he were a casting agent and I was a model looking for a job. Then he went on. "And besides, you are absolutely charming. You are intelligent, you know a lot stuff so you're easy to talk to, and I'm comfortable with you in a guy to guy kind of way. Yet..., you come across like a 16 year old girl, completely naive and innocent. You flirt shamelessly," I tilted my head and batted my eyelashes at him, "and frankly, I find it absolutely thrilling that you are attracted to me. You really make me feel good about myself and how I behave. I'm so tired of people evaluating and judging me by all sorts of lame standards. You know: is he gay enough, is he straight enough? Fuck it! You seem to like me because I'm me." He picked up my hand and kissed it.
"Oh, Michael, you are so nice to say that." I felt gooey inside and tightened my grip on his hands. I was afraid I was going to cry again (thank you for that, estrogen. I always wanted to be able to cry whenever someone said something nice to me).
I don't really remember much of what we ate for dinner, and stopped caring about whether people were checking me out or not. I only had eyes for Michael, and I desperately wanted to understand why I was attracted to him. Maybe I was gay, or bi, or something. But after a little while, I gave up. I decided just to go with the flow.
When we had just about finished our coffee, Michael pulled something from his pocket and told me he had a present for me from Cynthia. It wasn't much bigger than a business card, but rather thicker, and wrapped simply in gold foil and a cute little red satin ribbon. I opened it. It was a business card case in dark brown alligator leather, very elegant and very feminine. It had my initials, LSM embossed on the leather. I opened the case pulled out a card to read it. My eyes almost popped out of my head. It said,
Lillian Samantha Miller, MBA
Partner
M & M Financial Consulting Services
"What does this mean?" I asked Michael, a little worried about the implications of this card.
"It's part of your new identity as my steady girl." He grinned at me like the cat that ate the canary.
"I....." I must have looked panicked, I felt like a deer paralyzed by headlights.
"Just wait," he said, "calm down." He patted my hand. "We know we both like each other and you know I often need to take a woman to various social affairs. That's what got us together in the first place."
I nodded my head, still waiting to see where he was going.
"In my work, I run with a pretty exclusive crowd, and my date," he nodded at me, "has to be their equal or she will be dismissed as a bimbo or social climber. You, my dear are my new investment councilor."
"I am?" I squeaked out. "How?"
"Yes, you can talk financial analysis with anyone. You might even find some clients among this group - rich clients, if you are interested. If you don't want to go there, simply tell them you have no room for new clients at present. They'll be sucking up to you instead of looking down on you."
"Now listen carefully," he continued, even though I wasn't sure I was still with him. "You are not my 16 year old high school sweetheart. You are a mid twenty-something close friend and business associate. You can't hang all over me like you've been doing and you can't flirt with me every time you catch my eye. You have to be sophisticated, your own woman. Otherwise these people will eat you for lunch. They are arrogant, nasty, and dismissive - old money you know." He said that with a very bad English accent. "You have to be able to meet them on their own terms.
At least a few of my partners will be at the opera tonight. You will have a big advantage with the guys," he leered at my breasts, "so they should be no problem. The women, however, may be another story. Just watch for their claws and expect them to treat you like a rival."
All of a sudden I was starting to worry. Could I really pull this off? I licked my lips and realized that since I had just eaten I would have to freshen my lipstick. What if I had forgotten? It's one thing to be a ditzy little girl with your friends, who would find all your social mistakes amusing, but to be a sophisticated young woman with other women who will not like you the minute they meet you, because, well because you have nicer tits than they do, well.....
But my worries weren't going to get me out of this, so 15 minutes later, my heart thumping to match the clicks my heels were making on the sidewalk, we were walking hand in hand down 67th Street towards Columbus Avenue. A strange thought popped into my head.
I pulled Michael up short. "Michael, what does M & M stand for?"
"You're smart, Sam, you figure it out."
"Michaaeelll," I whined, "stop teasing me." I stamped my foot, just because it was a move I had always wanted to try and thought it might look cute just then. In fact my feet were already freezing and it hurt.
He looked at me with an innocent grin curling his lips. "Morrison and Miller, silly."
Oh no, she was actually going to do it, Cynthia was going to start a company with me. But we couldn't, we had to get Thornton.
Thankfully, Michael interrupted that thought before it could really form. "Come on," he said, "we'll be late." And he grabbed my hand and started to lead me down the street towards Lincoln Center.
".... We hadn’t set an alarm, and it was Cynthia who finally woke us up. She came bursting into the bedroom, waving an arm full of newspapers and carrying coffee and bagels. "You have got to see this," she said, her cheeks flushed from the cold New York morning, "You two are all over the society pages." The fact that we were in bed together didn’t even seem to enter her consciousness. She just had to show us the papers.... "
Next to those steps, on one side or the other, a short flight of steps gives access to a small sunken terrace where the garbage is kept. Kids use these terraces as small playgrounds because they make good hiding places where they can ambush their playmates with water guns in summer and snowballs in winter. There are so many of these that no one gives them a second thought.
That’s why we were totally unprepared when three young men suddenly jumped out of one of them as we walked up the block. They chose this place well because it was in a spot where the overhanging trees cast shadows that partially obscured the light coming from the streetlights. One grabbed me and the other two accosted Michael.
"Geeeve us your money," said the man who grabbed me. He reeked of alcohol and tobacco. Then he growled, "now."
One of his buddies nervously waved a knife in Michael’s face, and the other who stood slightly off to the side, kept his right hand calmly in his jacket pocket.
"Get out of here before I kill you," hissed Michael, his eyes so narrow I couldn’t see his pupils. "You have three seconds to decide."
"Hey look at this ring," shouted the asshole holding me. He grabbed my wrist and thrust it aloft to show Cynthia's ring. His knife was held carelessly in his right hand near my waist. He was a little unsteady and I realized that he was probably drunk. As I looked down at his knife, I saw right away that his heels were right at the edge of the stairway he had emerged from. I thought I could knock him back there easily, so I started to lean away, forcing him to pull back against me, overbalancing himself over the stairs, the way I wanted him to go. Michael glared at him for a moment.
"I’ll cut her fucking hand off," he spit at the Michael.
"No fucking way!" I would not let him get Cynthia’s ring.
Now furious myself, I looked up into Michael’s eyes and then quickly towards the stairs. I don’t know how we communicated, but he nodded imperceptibly. I just knew he was going to attack the guy who was holding the knife in his face. The idiot was looking at me instead of Michael. A heartbeat later, while he was still staring at my ring, Michael silently exploded at him.
Michael was not muscle bound but he was big and strong, just like the kind of guys he liked, and he had obviously studied martial arts because after just a few heartbeats the kid was lying on the ground and his knife clattered six feet away in the street. The kid's left knee was bent at an impossible angle and his right arm was definitely broken, lying limp at another impossible angle with a bone sticking out of his forearm. The kid screamed and started gasping for breath.
A split second later I lunged at the guy holding me, who, riveted by Michael’s destruction of his buddy, forgot about me just long enough for me to drive him backwards over the stairs. I pushed as hard as I could, and even though I was wearing heels, I was able to shove hard enough to send him lurching backwards into space.
I saw his feet search frantically for concrete but find only air, and had a momentary thrill of victory as the awareness grew in his face that he was about to fall backwards down the steps. At that moment I pulled my hand to free it from his grip, but now it was my turn to be startled, as I discovered I was no longer strong enough to break his hold.
So I was joined to him, and as he started to fall so did I. But he wasn’t done with me. He slashed upwards with his knife from my left hip towards my right shoulder, and then into my right arm. Then as our fall accelerated, he backhanded the blade into my side. With me in stiletto heels, and with his weight behind him, he easily pulled me off balance, and I simply careened over on top of him.
I felt the blade enter just below my ribs on my right side as I toppled down with him. As we fell I heard a gunshot, and a moment later there was a sickening crack and then everything went black as I fell face first into one of the solid steel garbage cans lined up at the base of the steps like soldiers on guard duty.
I don’t know how long I was out, but when I came to, my head exploded in pain and I could feel, smell and taste the blood. My assailant’s right hand with the blood stained knife was next to me, but not moving. As I lifted my head I could see that he was lying awkwardly on his back over a low metal storage box. Blood was oozing out from beneath his head. I let my head fall once again to the ground because it hurt too much to keep it up. Then I heard Michael moan quietly.
"Help me," he moaned, "help me."
"Oh no, Oh god no," I whispered, spitting blood from my mouth.
Suddenly I was back in the car with my father on the night he died, and I gasped involuntarily at the horror. But that vision lasted only a moment. I knew I couldn’t let Michael die like my father had and I started to get up despite the pain.
My head screamed "NOOO!" at me, but I only hesitated for a moment to get my balance. I got up onto my hands and knees and saw blood all over my right hand and thought, in a moment of surrealistic clarity, that it didn’t go that well with my nail polish. The blood was running down from the gash in my arm, which hurt like hell, but could still support my weight.
Then I felt my dress fall heavily downwards away from my stomach. It was soaked in blood, and below me there was a growing pool of my blood on the ground. The bodice of the dress was torn just below my right breast, but surprisingly there was no blood there and my chest didn’t hurt. My side was another matter. It was warm from the blood running out. My beautiful dress was torn a few inches above the waist and I was bleeding underneath the tear.
I felt a dull ache when I moved, but strangely, little real pain. I moaned in fear, but kept going because on this night, there was no dashboard pinning me in place and I just had to get to Michael.
I slowly crawled up the few steps, my coat hanging from my shoulder and my expensive stockings shredding under my knees. When I reached the top step, I sat heavily, exhausted. I shrugged the coat off and looked around over my right shoulder towards the sound of moaning.
The kid was still lying where he had fallen, now curled into a sort of fetal position and moaning pitifully to himself in Spanish. I looked to my left, towards the house steps and saw Michael curled up on his side, facing away from me. I saw the feet and legs of the guy with the gun splayed out on the steps above him. My shoes, were both off, but hanging to my ankles by their straps. They looked stupid and I wanted to take them off, but bending hurt, so I left them. I crawled the few yards to where Michael lay, dragging my coat and leaving a trail of blood. I could see he was still breathing. I slowly crawled around so I could see his face.
"Are you all right?" He asked me, his face a pale mask of pain and concern.
I couldn’t tell him the truth now, he was obviously hurt more badly than I, so I simply said, "yes."
"What happened to your guy?" He asked, coughing pitifully when he was done.
"He’s out cold."
Michael simply nodded and let his head fall. I lifted it gently and put one sleeve of the now ruined coat under it. I threw the rest of the coat over his body to keep him warm.
"The little shit had a gun in that jacket. He got it out just as I got to him." I thought I had kicked it away; I don’t know how I got shot. Michael pulled his left hand away from the right side of his chest. There was a mass of blood and a ragged hole just above the bottom rib. I felt sick to my stomach when I saw that and started to sob from fear.
"Not again," I murmured, "not again. Dear God no, not again." And then I tried to shout for help, but all that came out was a ragged wheeze. "Help us. Help us, Help us." It didn’t matter because people were already streaming towards and around us, mostly looking rather apprehensive, but there must have been six people with cell phones to their ears. They had to be calling the police.
I looked around helplessly for something to stop Michael’s bleeding, then remembered he had a handkerchief in his coat pocket. I wrapped it around my finger and gently but firmly pushed my finger as far as it would go into his wound. At least blood wasn’t pouring out of him any more. I don’t know how long we sat there like that, but I eventually passed out on top of Michael, my finger still stuck into his chest.
"You’re OK honey," she whispered, "you’re going to be OK. You got stabbed twice and have some nasty bruises, maybe a concussion, but you’re going to be OK. We have you strapped down in case you hurt your neck."
"Michael?" I implored her in a rasping whisper that scared me when I heard it, "where’s Michael?"
"He’s in another ambulance, he's on his way to the hospital just like you. You do know you probably saved his life, don't you? If you hadn’t stopped his bleeding like you did, I don’t know what would have happened. Just relax now, you’re both going to be OK," She soothed me.
She was an angel for only telling me only part of the truth. Michael was in an ambulance all right but I found out later that the bullet had shattered a rib. The resulting bone fragments had torn both his liver and right lung. He was still bleeding internally and would need hours of surgery to patch everything up again. Although I didn’t know it at the time Michael was within minutes of dying.
"Can you call my girlfriend, please," I whispered. Believing for the moment that neither of us would die; I was now suddenly confronted with other concerns. I was being rushed to hospital where my feminine identity would be stripped away and my true sex revealed. Fortunately I was a little too out of it to panic, but I knew this could be really bad. I didn’t know what else to do, so I had to trust this woman.
"I’m not a woman, I blurted out suddenly, can you help me?" I wasn’t sure what I needed to say, but with my brain clouded in pain that was the best I could do.
"What?" she said, her mouth open, "run that by me again."
"I’m not a real woman yet," I sobbed. "I’m a pre-operative transsexual. I’m still transitioning please, please don’t let them humiliate me."
I closed my eyes and started to sob freely. Then I continued and said with pleading eyes, "if any of my boyfriend's clients and coworkers find out who he was with, it could be really embarrassing for him. It would ruin his life. Please get my cell phone and call my girlfriend Cynthia. Do you have my bag? It’s number 1 on the cell phone."
"I wondered about your breast forms," she replied," when I was searching for your wounds I saw that you had been slashed along the chest and your right bra cup was cut through. I couldn’t figure out why you weren’t bleeding and then I discovered this." She held up my brand new silicon enhancer, which had been cut almost in two. My breath caught in my throat. If my breasts had actually filled my bra………..
"Lots of girls use these things so it never occurred to me that you were a guy," she admitted. Then, turning away from me for a moment, she added, "your bag is here."
She quickly extracted the phone from my small bag.
"Just press 1," I whispered again.
I heard a whispered conversation that got drowned out every time the siren wailed. A few minutes later she turned back to me.
"Your friend is on her way to the hospital. She said to tell you she’d bring Dr. White," she nodded at me as she put the phone back in my bag. She looked out the window, "we're nearly there, just another two blocks and then we'll take good care of you."
She smiled at me gently and I drifted in and out of consciousness. I just didn’t have the energy to worry about anything anymore. Losing a good deal of blood will do that to you, I guess.
I don’t remember arriving at the hospital, but once they got me to the emergency room and examined my wounds, they rushed me off to surgery.
When I awoke many hours later my mind was foggy and everything appeared blurred and distant. I did recognize Mandy beside my bed and smiled wanly before passing out again. Cynthia's face filled my vision the next time I awoke. I could feel she was holding my left hand tightly. She noticed my eyelids flutter open and looked down at me with grave concern etched into her face. I just lay there for a few moments drinking her in and trying to grasp what had happened. Suddenly the pain made itself known and the awful memories of what had happened came flooding back. I jerked up briefly with a small gasp.
"It’s OK Lilly, it’s OK," Cynthia said now stroking my hair and face, "You’re OK. You're going to OK."
"Michael? Where’s Michael?" I asked.
"He’s down the hall, he’s OK don’t worry," she replied.
I had been spared again. I found out later that he was indeed down the hall, but while I was in a regular surgical ward, he was in intensive care. He had lost a lot of blood and undergone many hours of surgery. The surgeons were really worried about him. Cynthia wisely decided I didn’t need to know that then.
"When can I see him?" I asked.
"When you both get a little better and stronger," she said," now just relax Lilly you’re not completely out of the woods yet yourself."
She looked over to where Mandy was standing so I looked at her too.
Mandy spoke, "you won’t be able to do anything if you don’t lie still and let yourself heal so just be patient."
Cynthia looked at me for a moment and then broke down in tears. She kissed me on the lips while she cried and I could taste her salty tears. For some reason I found that very heartening, as if I was comforting her.
Just then a nurse came in and checked the connections to the monitor. "Is she okay Dr. White?" She asked Amanda.
"Yes she just regained consciousness but she seems well."
As the nurse checked my IV line and some other things I couldn’t see, Cynthia held my hand.
"Oh Lilly, we were all so scared but you were so brave, "Cynthia said with real pride in her voice. "The police said you took out one of the muggers while Michael got the other two."
Then she started to sob again, "why did you have to be so brave. They could have killed you."
"He was going to take your ring. He threatened to cut off my hand to get your ring," I wheezed out, "I couldn’t let him get your ring — no one will ever take it from me."
Then she cried quietly for a few moments.
"Oh Lilly, it’s just a ring. I was so scared," said Cynthia. "I don’t know what I would have done if I'd lost you too."
Then we both cried. It wasn’t until that moment that I began to realize how close I had really come to dying. Once Cynthia had regained her composure, Mandy asked, "do you know what day it is?" I shook my head no and was surprised when it hurt. "It’s about 20 hours since you were attacked. I think you missed the opera." She smiled at me gently.
I smiled wanly, the best I could do and then suddenly I remembered. "Your coat!" I wheezed out. "It’s ruined; I'm sorry Mandy," and I started to cry.
"Now you listen to me young lady, don’t you ever think about that coat again," her voice was stern, but her face was full of compassion, "it doesn’t matter."
"But it’s ruined. It got cut and it must be covered with blood!" I said remembering the scene again.
"Lilly I’ll spank you if you spend another moment thinking about that coat. From what I’ve seen it probably saved your life," Mandy said. "It kept the knife from cutting too deeply into your arm and your side. The knife did tear your liver and you lost a lot of blood but it could have been much worse. The coat's nothing, a couple of thousand dollars to save a life is cheap. Thank god I made you wear it."
I was too tired to argue and it sounded like she was right anyway. So, I had a fur coat for three hours. It gave its life for me.
"Here, look at this," Mandy said, holding some kind of button attached to a wire. "This is your PCA." I had no idea what she was talking about, and probably looked it.
"I’m don’t understand, I'm sorry," I said.
She spoke more gently, "we use patient controlled analgesia, that’s what PCA is. You don’t have to call a nurse to get pain medication. You give yourself all you need, whenever you need it. If you start to hurt, even the littlest bit, just press the button. Don’t wait, just press it a couple of times. You can’t get an overdose. It’s perfectly safe and will keep you out of pain. There is no need for you to feel pain now."
Cynthia and Mandy stayed with me until I finally fell asleep that night. It was a strange night, filled with all kinds of lurid and frightening dreams. They were full of car wrecks, knifings, shootings, and blood, always so much blood, and some of it always in my mouth. I was in and out of consciousness and didn’t know what was real and what wasn’t. Every time I woke up scared from one of my dreams I started to press on my PCA button, only to drift off and start the cycle all over again.
The next morning Cynthia was back, or still there, I couldn’t really tell. Time didn’t mean that much to me in my drugged state. My consciousness had been floating and sailing all over the place when I eventually regained my senses.
As I sat up slightly so that she could wash my face, she told me more news.
"It seems you and Michael are real heroes," she said. "You’re the two opera aficionados who beat the shit out of the three muggers. Listen to this story lead from the Daily News, 'Culture Meets Muscle and Wins!' And the Post is even better, 'Opera Fans to Muggers: Make My Day.' The Times even ran a story about it in the metro section."
I wasn’t all that interested, I wanted to know about Michael.
"Is Michael OK and can I see him?" I asked. I was thinking that if the press got wind of who I was we were in for real trouble.
"He's a lot better today," she said squeezing my hand.
"Cynthia the last thing we need is the press snooping around. It could be bad for him," I said.
"Don't worry your pretty little head, I'll make sure they get what they want, but keep them away from you two," she replied and then added, "there are two detectives outside who want to know if you can talk to them."
"Oh great," I groaned, "what do they want?"
"They just want to question you about what happened," she said, "they'll leave if you don’t feel up to it."
I gave her the best "do-I-have-to" look and she grinned at me for the first time so I reluctantly nodded my agreement to see them.
"The hospital will do its best to keep your real identity a secret, but the police know. They’re prepared to deal with you as a woman. They have no interest in embarrassing a public hero and heroine." She looked down at me fondly. "Guess which one you are."
"I'm no hero, I just did what I had to do," I replied, completely missing her joke. She turned to call them in.
I expected two big Irish policemen in NYPD blue but was surprised when Sergeant Mendoza turned out to be a young woman about my age.
She immediately put me at ease with her gentle manner, "how are you honey?"
Her partner, an older man named Lieutenant Graves seemed warm enough, but wasted no time in telling me, "Miss you were either very brave or very foolish. Those guys would have robbed you and left you alone but you almost got yourselves killed by fighting back." Then he put his big hand over mine and said in an almost pleading voice, like you might use when telling your teenage daughter not to speed, "please don’t do that again, honey." I lay there wishing that my father and mother had ever expressed that much concern for my well being as these two strangers.
Mendoza went on, "we have a rough idea what happened but we need a statement from you and then we'll let you rest."
I then went through what I remembered of the incident, including how the guy who was holding me had threatened to cut my hand off, and they took detailed notes.
"Now Miss, we'll do our best to shield you from the press and there will be a man outside your door to make sure no one bothers you," Graves said. He was so solemn.
Cynthia asked, "what happened to the muggers?"
" We’re getting to that. The young who confronted Mr. Butler has a broken knee, and his right arm was broken in two places. He’s so deep in plaster right now he’s not even chained to his bed," Graves chuckled silently, apparently savoring the image.
"The leader, who was the one with the gun, has a broken arm and a fractured skull, from where he hit the steps. He also has a huge foot-shaped bruise just below his ribs. Apparently, he got his shot off just as he was hit and it was just Mr. Butler’s bad luck that the bullet hit him."
"How? What happened?" I asked.
"Ballistics figures the bullet ricocheted off the stone steps and then hit your boyfriend. I hear he is well on the mend," said Graves.
"What about the guy who attacked me? All I remember was he slashed me a couple of times," I held up my bandaged arm, "and then we fell down the steps."
"Listen honey, he's dead," Sergeant Mendoza said, squeezing my hand, "he broke his back on a metal storage box when he fell.
I just wasn’t prepared for that. My mind simply couldn’t process what she said. All I could think about were her very large and darkly lined eyes, which looked steadily into mine. When that guy attacked me I wanted to hurt him, but I never wanted to kill him. Then, for a brief moment, I felt glad, but before I could express that, I just burst into tears. Maybe it was the female hormones washing through my blood but I was overcome with horror at the thought that I had killed someone.
The crying made my abdominal wound really hurt, which made me cringe. I started pushing the PCA button as fast as I could. In a few moments, I felt a warm relaxing sensation as the morphine coursed into my veins.
As I relaxed into my pillows, I heard Graves say to his partner, "looks like were done for now."
I woke up a few hours later to find Mandy and Beverly Wells sitting across the room, in some serious discussion. I just lay there watching them and trying to listen until Beverly looked up and saw that my eyes were open. She rushed over and tried to hug me but couldn’t figure out how to do it without squeezing something that was covered in bandages.
So she put her hand on my left shoulder instead and asked, "hi Sweetie, how are you?"
I shrugged my shoulders because I really didn’t know, but as long as I didn’t take a deep breath, nothing really hurt. Then my conversation with the police came flooding back and the realization that I had killed someone filled me with self-loathing. I relived the events of that night again in my mind and the image of my attacker’s broken body filled my consciousness. I started to cry again.
Beverly handed me a tissue and I blew my nose gently until the pain in my abdomen got unbearable.
"I killed him Beverly. I killed him. I can’t believe that I killed him. I’ll never be able to forgive myself."
"Oh, shush, honey. You didn’t kill him. He died trying to kill you."
Of course she was right. My guilt-ridden analysis overlooked one important point. The scumbag had tried to rob and kill me, and I had responded defensively. It was just his bad luck to fall where and how he did. Over time, I came to understand that. But then, lying in my hospital room, I couldn’t see it yet, only that I had killed another human being.
"Sweetie, can you hear me?" Asked Beverly looking concerned. "We need to talk."
"Yes, could you help me sit up please?" I replied, feeling a need to change position.
"Sure I’ll get the nurses because they really want you out of bed for a little while now," she said.
Despite my protests, I didn’t want to move because I knew it would hurt, the nurses got me up and had me sit in a padded chair in the sunshine. Before they did that they removed some of the equipment leaving only my IV and PCA connected.
Then while I sat in the chair drinking some fruit juice they remade my bed. I really felt much better than I had, especially if I kept pressure off my injured side. I decided I was quite comfortable in the chair but in hindsight it was probably the thought that moving would cause pain again that made me stay in the chair even after the nurses left. Beverly and Amanda sat down in front of me.
Beverly started, "how are you, how is Lillian?"
I hadn’t thought much about who I was, and I didn’t feel any different about myself, except that I was now a killer.
My response was rather odd, "killing someone doesn’t change your core gender, does it?"
"No, sweetie it doesn’t, that asshole was trying to kill you and you're not responsible for what happened. You just defended yourself and he was unlucky, that’s all," replied Beverly.
We sat silently for a few moments and then she started again.
"We need to talk about Lillian's future because this mess has created some opportunities for her."
"Stop talking about me in the third person," I said starting to raise my voice, but finding that impossible. Instead, I coughed, which hurt even more, and then collected myself to speak again "I’m Lillian, I always was. All that’s changed is that she’s now a killer."
Now I was talking about myself in the third person. I was bitter and upset. I was feeling sorry for myself because fate had fucked with me yet again.
"Lillian, don’t you dare talk like that," said Beverly. Now she was angry and let me know it, "if you hadn’t pushed that mother fucker down those steps what would he have done to you?" Her voice was really rising now and I began to cringe away from her. "Did you know he and his buddies had robbed more than 12 other couples in that neighborhood? According to the police they had just seriously injured an old man two blocks away before they attacked you and Michael."
"No I didn't," I mumbled, trying to interrupt her tirade. She continued as if she hadn’t heard me. "They stabbed the old guy and left him for dead after they robbed him of $20. My god girl, you have two knife wounds, you’re covered with bruises, your boyfriend, who we all know and love, barely survived," she said in an agitated manner.
I was confused now and just stared at her. I didn’t know why she was so upset. She just glared at me. I had hit some kind of hot button I didn’t even know existed.
Then Mandy put her hand on Beverly’s shoulder to help calm her down. Beverly took a deep sigh and looked out the window hiding her face from me for a moment. Then she gulped and looked back at me with a deep sense of love and hurt in her eyes. I could see the tears well up and then subside.
"Sorry, it’s been very stressful here with both you and Michael hurt so badly," she said pausing to look outside again. "But I won’t let you punish yourself for what happened. You did a service to thousands of woman who have been attacked in this city and who got some measure of encouragement and revenge because of what you did. Then she started crying and sobbed, "including me."
Her teary eyes looked straight into mine when she added, "I was mugged ten years ago and even now hardly a week goes by when I don’t remember that awful day. Even after all this time I mentally search the scene for something I could have done, anything to defend myself."
Now, tears were streaming from her eyes as she remembered that awful day. She whispered harshly, "Fuck that little piece of shit. He deserved all he got. I would have left him where he was and let the crows pick the meat off his bones as a lesson to anyone who tries to terrorize women. So I won't let you feel guilty about what you did because you did the right thing."
Then she made a visible effort to calm down. Mandy gave her a tissue and she wiped her eyes and blew her nose, which was now red.
"Besides, you little twit," I don’t think the word had ever been used with more love, "don’t you realize that because you were able to get that guy out of the picture you were able to save Michael’s life? He might have died if you hadn’t stopped the bleeding when you did."
I broke down completely at that point, weeping openly even though my wound hurt. Then I spoke through the tears, "I was so scared! My father bled to death after a car wreck and I couldn’t help him. When Michael called to me for help he sounded just like my father had. I just had to do something. I had to." I thought I sounded like I was making an excuse for doing something wrong.
"Yes Lillian you did. You should feel very proud of yourself," said Mandy, " we're all very proud of you."
I suddenly felt quite tired and achy. Mandy rang for the nurse and the three women helped me back into bed. It was painful getting up, so I gave a couple presses on the PCA button and in about five minutes I was asleep.
The next morning I awoke to find Cynthia sitting in the chair by the window reading a magazine. "Hi baby, how’s my sweetheart this morning?" she asked. Her smile seemed like it was made out of sunshine. It melted my heart.
"Better, I think," I replied, waiting for something to start hurting. "How’s Michael?"
"Oh he’s much better too, but he won’t be getting out of bed for a little while yet. Hopefully when you’re ready, maybe later today, you can go into see him," She said getting up and walking over to me to plant a kiss on my lips.
"Mmmm, I liked that," I replied and then said, "I’d like to see him very much."
Suddenly though Cynthia's face became serious and her voice made it clear that she wanted to talk about something important, "the Doctor told me that you'll still need some surgery and there are some things you might want to do."
"Like what?" I asked wondering where she was heading.
She grabbed a mirror from one of the drawers in the bedside table and held it up so I could see my face. I gasped in horror when I did.
"It’s OK, baby," she said. "I know it looks terrible, but we can fix it all." She lowered the mirror and I looked up at her.
"Your nose was broken and it needs to be set properly," she replied. "Mandy knows a really good plastic surgeon who could do it."
I groaned at the thought of yet more surgery. However it was soon apparent that Cynthia had been doing some thinking.
"While he’s here, and while you’re out, I think he could do a little extra work to pretty you up some."
"Like what?" I said, now getting a little concerned.
"Oh, well, since it's broken, he could easily give you a cute little nose when he resets it, and then he could shrink your chin a little. Mandy told me he could even shave your Adams’ Apple."
Over the last few months, Cynthia had frequently talked to me about some facial surgery. I had never been convinced of the need, after all it was my face we were talking about, not hers. She held up the mirror again and showed me how bad my nose was going to be and how prominent my chin and Adam's apple already were. That’s when I realized she was right.
"I made some inquiries, our medical insurance won’t cover cosmetic surgery, but it will cover reconstructive surgery. Because of this attack, you can get all this done for free, Mandy will see to it," she said.
"Mistress this is going to hurt though," I whined.
"Actually there’s one more thing darling. Well, two more things," she said enthusiastically, ignoring my complaint.
"What do you mean?" I asked.
"Your hormone treatments are not giving you much cleavage. I really think it would make sense to get your breasts done at the same time."
"Huh?" I asked unsure about what she meant
"Breasts darling, this guy does them all the time. In fact, he’s one of the best, women come from all over the world just to have him do theirs. Provided your insurance will pay for the facial surgery then he’s agreed to do your implants at no cost. Mandy told me he’s willing to do all this because he loves opera and because he’s impressed by the courage you showed." He views it as a reward for your courage. He said he wants you to leave the hospital better than new."
My first instinct was to shout, "God — Yes!" but I held my tongue. "I always thought I would grow my own," I said after some thought.
"I understand, sweetie, and you can start taking higher doses of estrogen if you want to. But this way you get great cleavage and your hormone dosage can be kept low so that you can retain your sexual responsiveness and potency for as long as you want." She hesitated for a moment and gave me one of her dirty leers, "I'm sure Michael would prefer that and I know I would." Just the look on her face made me feel much better immediately.
Oh God this was getting serious, I thought to myself, despite my first reaction to Cynthia’s idea, I was starting to question whether I really wanted to move so fast. But then I got tired of seeming to be reluctant. I mean, this was a dream come true. So I looked around the room as if I were searching for eavesdroppers, then turned to her and smiled. As loudly as I could I said, "yes, yes, yes, let’s do it." Then I dropped my voice, "but I don’t want them too big, remember we talked about having breasts that were in proportion too the rest of me."
"Leave it to me, Mandy will arrange a transfer to his clinic at New York Hospital on the east side," replied Cynthia kissing me on the cheek.
Five days later I was fit enough to be out of one hospital and heading for the next. A few days before I left I was able to explain to Michael what was going to happen and he seemed genuinely pleased for me. He had looked awful when I first saw him but each day, with my encouragement of course, he seemed to visibly improve.
Just as I had predicted, the facial surgery and implants hurt like hell and my first view of my new face was not something I would ever like to see again. When the bandages were removed, I actually looked worse than I had when I arrived at the emergency room right after the attack. I was bruised and black and blue all over my face and neck. Cynthia made fun of me for my complaining and the surgeon said I looked just perfect. I remember thinking that he had very strange standards.
But as the swelling and bruising receded, I began to appreciate the new me more and more. Michael just gushed over me when I went back to see him in his private room, and he kept trying to grab my tits.
"Miiichaeeel, they’re sore, I whined, trying to sound as annoying as possible while I turned my shoulders away from him. More than anything I wanted him to caress my new breasts, but I had to be in control. So I turned back and bit my bottom lip, as if I was considering something very carefully. "If you’re a good boy and promise to be gentle, I’ll let you feel me up." I stuck my chest out and turned on my best 1000 watt smile. He did what he was told and before too long I had unbuttoned my blouse and unhooked my bra so he could play with my new toys. I was in heaven.
Besides, he was so weak I wasn’t worried about stopping him if he got too enthusiastic. But his touch was as gentle as a mother’s caress of her hew baby. I loved having his hand on me and when I left I knew it was going to happen a lot in the future.
Even when a very weak Michael joined us at our apartment a couple of days later, I grew increasingly depressed. Both Cynthia and Michael sensed my depression, so I tried to plead weariness as an excuse because I didn’t want to worry them. But we all knew it was more than that.
In truth, I was having a hard time dealing with the attack, and it was more than the fact that I had killed my attacker. I had just discovered, in the most violent and horrible way, how physically vulnerable women are. At that time I was convinced that if I had been dressed in jeans and sneakers, instead of a confining dress, heels, and fur coat, that I would have been able to run away from those thugs before they could have done anything about it. I was also furious with myself for allowing my body to become so weak that I couldn’t pull my wrist away from my attacker’s grip.
Instead, I was left with the image of how easy it had been to pull me off balance and into his knife. Had I made a bad choice becoming a woman? Would I ever again feel safe when I was on the street alone? What do women do to make themselves feel safe? The more I thought about all this, the more confused I got. This just added to my depression.
I dreamed about the attack almost every night for several weeks. In my dreams I could smell the stale cigarettes and alcohol on my attacker’s breath. I saw him cutting my hand off to get Cynthia’s ring. On one occasion Cynthia woke me from a nightmare where I was shouting out loud in Spanish. I had dreamed that my attacker's dead body was screaming at me, accusing me of killing him. I was arguing back, saying it was his fault. Despite my words, I felt a heavy burden of guilt after I had been awakened and couldn’t fall back asleep for several hours.
I was becoming more and more clear to me that the magnitude of my response to this shattering event was larger than it should have been. I don’t know, maybe it was just second thoughts about my choices, or maybe it had tapped into some toxic memory within me and was slowly feeding off that. I started to discuss it with Dr. Wells, but my mood didn’t improve. She counseled patience, saying that I would be going through something like a mourning process and that there might be some elements of post traumatic stress syndrome at work as well. She said it could take many months for my mood to clear up, and I knew from what she had told me at the hospital that memories of the attack might be with me for years to come.
In the meantime Cynthia was my angel. She and I took the Laura Ashley bedroom and the girly sitting room (everyone called it that now), and I luxuriated in her attention and all the hugs and cuddles she gave me while we were in bed together. Sometimes those hugs were almost scary they were so intense. When I questioned her once, Cynthia said that she had been so scared when she received the call from the ambulance that she never wanted to let me out of her sight again. This incident had awakened all those horrible memories of what happened to her sister.
"I knew I liked you," she said, "but I thought I was in control. It was only when I got the call from the paramedic in the ambulance that I realized how much I really need you Lilly. I was so scared." I felt so in love at that point I couldn’t help but cry.
While we were ensconced in our overly feminine little sanctuary, Michael got the master bedroom. He got plenty of attention too, especially from me during the day, but he had to sleep alone. Still, he recovered pretty quickly and was soon fending for himself whenever we allowed him some space. But neither Cynthia nor I could resist smothering him with lots of tender loving care and treating him like he was a helpless baby, even long after he needed that much care.
During the day I had him pretty much to myself and I gave him so much attention he got sick of it, which was really very gratifying for me. I'd never taken care of anyone before and it made me feel like I was his girlfriend, or his mom, or even (dare I say it), his wife. I just loved the feeling and it helped me through my own very tough emotional times. I could tell that he would have been just as happy being left alone, but I needed to express my gratitude to him and he was gracious enough to accept my excessive coddling with wit and patience (why do guys have to be such stoics, they take the fun out of caring for them).
We had lots of friends come around to visit whenever they could, usually after work, but sometimes at lunch time as well. Michael never missed an opportunity to complain about my excessive pampering and how I was trying to turn him into a helpless invalid. It was a delicious backhanded thank you and even when I was feeling too depressed to be sociable, I adored him for it.
Of course, I got lots of attention too. Cynthia took the first week off from work and was quite the little nurse, changing dressings, massaging lotion around my scars, and my breasts and generally taking wonderful care of me. She made me feel safe and loved.
Then one day, she came home with some new bras for my new breasts, and that made me feel just wonderful as she helped me slip into each one to see if it would fit. We stood together looking at me in the mirror and I felt like a rose that had just won a blue ribbon at the flower show. That evening, all of the girls from the office and some of Cynthia’s friends came to visit and admired me. I posed shamelessly, even taking my top off to show them one of my new bras. Then, as always, I got tired and began to sink into my nightly depression. I just couldn’t maintain a good feeling for too long.
To make things worse, I had another terrible dream that night. I was being attacked again, but this time when I got slashed, I had real breasts inside my bra and blood came gushing out as if someone had turned on a fire hose. I tried to stop it with my hand and when I looked up, my attacker, obviously dead, was holding up my sliced breast form and laughing at me.
"I bet you weesh you were wearing thees now, don’ju, beetch?" I screamed so loud I woke both Cynthia and Michael. I was in an absolute panic and it took Cynthia a half hour to calm me down. After that, Beverly made sure I had sleeping pills that would suppress my dreaming at least a little.
The next day Cynthia did something totally unexpected that endeared her to me even more, although I already thought that would be quite impossible. She suggested that I might feel safer if I slept with Michael.
"But Cynthia, I protested, you’ll have to sleep alone. You told me…."
"Shush…. I know sweetie," she patted me on the cheek, "but if it will help you avoid some of these horrible dreams, it will be worth it." And then she smiled at Michael like he had just lost a dumb bet and said, "even if it doesn’t, you can wake him up for a change instead of me." Even I had to laugh at that.
So that’s how I started to sleep with Michael. Because both our injuries were on our right sides, we both had to sleep on our left. I made him sleep behind me so I could spoon into him. I don’t know whether it was being with him, or the sleeping pills, but I didn’t dream at all that night, and the frequency of my nightmares started to diminish after that.
Even though I enjoyed all the attention Cynthia and the others were lavishing on me, my sense of despair deepened anyway and having people around just made me tired. I couldn’t shake the sense of responsibility I felt for my attacker's death, and it continued to weigh on me heavily. I just wished I knew why. Beverly tried to convince me that my feelings were perfectly normal and that she would be worried about me if I didn’t feel a little guilty. "Be patient," she counseled, "you’ll feel better with time." I wasn’t so sure.
One day, almost five weeks after the attack, Linda Pearl, one of Cynthia’s lawyer friends dropped by and told me that I wouldn’t be indicted for murder.
"The police have concluded that your assailant’s death was accidental and no charges will be brought," she said happily. I surprised the hell out of her a second later by the almost instantaneous change that took place in my mood.
"What?" I screamed, suddenly red-hot with rage. "They were thinking about charging ME with a crime?" I didn’t wait for her to answer and she simply waited patiently as I screamed at how unjust the whole thing was.
"That son of a bitch tried to rob and kill me, I should have scratched his eyes out first and stuffed his knife up his ass!!" I went on like that for a while and was shaking with rage when finally she finally interrupted me.
"Are you done now?" She looked at me like a schoolteacher who had just discovered me throwing spit balls at her back. Then she giggled at herself and gave me a big bright smile. "There was no chance the police would ever have prosecuted you, but the case had to be formally closed anyway. So now it is and you needed to know that."
Michael came in from his bedroom to see what was wrong. Linda waved at him brightly and went on, "so it's all over now.
By then I had fully deflated and started to regain some presence of mind. I said, "thanks, I appreciate you coming round to tell me, even if it didn’t seem that way." I gave her an embarrassed smile.
"I was wondering though," she went on, as if she were discussing plastic placemats or something equally mundane, "how can someone who feels so strongly that she didn’t do anything wrong and who carries so much hatred for her attacker carry, so much guilt about what happened?"
My jaw dropped and Michael interrupted my thoughts before they could even form, "she's right you know, Sam."
Linda got up and collecting her bag said, "I'll let myself out." Then she gave me another one of her bright smiles, kissed me on the cheek, kissed Michael too, and left.
I was dumbfounded by her comment - How indeed? And right then it finally made sense to me. I shouldn’t feel guilty. I didn’t do anything wrong, or anything to be ashamed of. This simple revelation, something everyone else had understood perfectly from the outset, hit me like a bolt of lightening on a dark night. The whole thing was so simple, why hadn’t I been able to see it before?
From that day, my depression began to lift, and as my body grew stronger, I began to enjoy life again. Both Cynthia and Michael commented that I had become a more pleasant person to live with and I must admit, I certainly felt more pleasant to live inside of.
Cynthia and I made love three nights later, the first time in all the weeks since the attack. My breasts were still a little tender, so there was some discomfort, but I marveled at how much more sensitive my nipples were. Cynthia kissed them gently and took them deeply into her mouth. They were tingling when she stopped.
As I lay in her arms afterwards, I marveled at the transformation in our relationship. One day she was my Mistress and I did everything for her, and the next I was her patient and she did everything for me. She never uttered the smallest complaint, and as I thought about it, I was overcome with gratitude. So I sat up, told her I loved her and smothered her face with kisses and my grateful tears of joy.
"OK, I can understand that now that you’ve got it, you want to flaunt it, but what’s in it for me?" he teased.
I knew just what that should be and had prepared myself for it. As the days had rolled by Michael and I had become very close to one another, spending lots of time doing simple things, like resting on the couch under a blanket, watching TV, and best of all, reading to each other. It’s so sweet when someone you’re really fond of finds a passage that he really likes and shares it with you. Sharing one back is almost as good as kissing.
Even doing simple things like these, we still tired rapidly, and we would nap quite contentedly one against the other, or even better, in each other's arms. It was such a sweet time for both of us. I couldn’t tell if we were like brother and sister, or lovers, or an old married couple, but we were able to luxuriate in each other’s company and caress each other with no other expectation attached, and to watch sunsets and romantic movies, and sigh without having to explain why.
We talked repeatedly about the attack, trying to understand what had actually happened, trying to figure out if we somehow could have prevented it, and trying to keep the other from feeling bad because neither one of us could protect the other. One thing we vowed was if it ever happened to either one of us again, the perps would get the same treatment as the first three who had crossed our paths.
The day after that brave decision, Michael set up private lessons for us with his martial arts instructor. We started off doing simple katas, which didn’t take too much strength, but which started to loosen us up and teach me rhythm and concentration. I loved the focus required to do the movements correctly, and I found that it was relaxing as well. Michael, who turned out to be a black belt, helped me with all this, and all the gentle physical contact really made me yearn again to make love to him.
So, using Cynthia’s butt plugs, I had started stretching my special pussy again. I finally decided that the time was right, so, one morning douched carefully, lubricated myself, and then stuffed a large plug in my butt to loosen me even more. I put on light makeup, hoping Michael wouldn’t notice anything but how gorgeous I was, and then I put on my favorite emerald green silk teddy under a soft cotton sweater and loose pants.
When Michael jokingly asked what was in it for him, I sprung my brilliant plan on him. "Do you trust me?" I asked, batting my eyes to look as untrustworthy as possible.
"No!" he said immediately warming to my game. "Get away from me."
"Oh, come on," I pleaded, leaning over him, "I only want to tie you up."
"You only want to tie me up? Uh huh, and then what?" He raised a questioning eyebrow.
"That’s the part you’ll have to trust me about," I answered in my best little-girl-wants-something-from-daddy voice.
He laughed gently and said, "anything you say Sam, but if you’re going to tie me up, it had better lead to sex."
So I took him by the hand and eagerly led him to my bedroom, where I undressed him and positioned him on his back in the center of the four-poster bed. He protested the entire time, which made it even more fun. I pulled out the old pantyhose I had stashed in the night table and tied his hands and feet securely to the bed frame. After spending a quite a few minutes assuring myself he was comfortable, including placing a few pillows under his head, I stood right where he could see me and proceeded to take off my clothes. I dropped my pants first, but the sweater still hid my teddy. Then I grabbed the sweater by the hem and started to inch it up my body, wriggling sinuously as I did, until I eventually had my hands stretched far above my head to pull it off, revealing the teddy, whose lacey cups only covered the bottom half of my wonderful new breasts. It did even a worse job covering my penis and testicles, but I thought Michael would like to see those too.
I struck a model’s pose in front of him, putting my legs together and thrusting my hips all the way to the right and rotating my shoulders as far as I could to the left, so I looked curvy. Then I ran my hands along the sides of my body starting with my palms on my thighs. When I got to my head, I ran my fingers slowly through my hair, shook my head, and then extended my arms. I ended with my hands up and out as if I was presenting myself as a prize.
"Do you like?" I asked, and without waiting for a reply I put one hand on my hip and the other one behind my head. I shook my shoulders at him, setting my tits into motion.
He smiled, "I like."
Then I climbed onto the bed in the most sinuous way I could and squatted on my heels between his legs. Sitting straight up, I proudly thrust my breasts out at him, again jiggling them around a little. Then, without another word, I quickly winked at him to catch his attention and without taking my eyes off his I bent over with my hands at his sides, crawled up over his body and dropped my mouth on top of his for a heartfelt kiss. I teased his lips with mine and kissed, licked, and nibbled his face, eyes, ears, and neck. I spent a good deal of time with my lips welded to his and my tongue buried deeply in his mouth. I enjoyed roaming over his face and playing with him, but because he was tied down, it was hard for him to do much more than receive my kisses, so I decided that this was not as much fun as I had hoped.
Oh well, I had other things planned anyway. I worked my way down his body, letting my lips linger for a long time around his little nipples and tickling the midline of his belly with my tongue. I kissed and tongued at his scar, but because I couldn’t really feel anything near mine, I didn’t linger long on his. I did spend some time kissing and licking between his thighs, although I must admit that I much prefer the smooth shaven body of a woman to the hairy one of a man. Still, he squirmed around playfully and tried to find a way to get me to do something to his penis, which I was studiously ignoring. Then I felt like I was ready for the next big move. So I sat straight up on my heels and placed my hands on my thighs.
"Did you like that?" I asked, twisting my body back and forth, trying to look cute.
"Mmmmm," he said looking up at me without raising his head, "but I hope you have something more exciting planed for the rest of the afternoon." He smiled up at me. I really did adore him.
But, I couldn’t let him know that now. Instead I looked aghast, like I had been betrayed by my closest friend and simply said, "how ‘bout this," before I plunged my head down to engulf his already hard penis. I kept my eyes on him and only when I had it fully in my mouth did I look down at what I had. I didn’t know what to expect, but I sucked gently and it tasted good. I was startled for a moment when the shaft actually started to grow and harden in my mouth. He was really responding to me!
I swirled my tongue all around to make sure he was completely wet, then I drew his penis slowly out of my mouth, holding it carefully so I didn’t accidentally scratch him with my long nails. I sat up a little and smiled down at him. He was looking up at me expectantly. He had lost a lot of weight after surgery and the scar on his side was an ugly, hot, red ridge. I looked back at his erection, cocked my head slightly to get my hair away from my mouth and then kissed it right on the tip. I looked back up at him with just my eyes as I kissed and licked all around his solid head and shaft. I held the base softly in one hand and used my other to play gently with his balls. In some ways this was even more fun than eating Cynthia because this didn’t require difficult postures and I could breathe freely.
He loved it too. I could tell by the way he squirmed around, made little moans and groans and tried to stuff himself into my mouth every time I kissed his penis. Then he started to beg, "please, please don’t tease me anymore take it in your mouth, let me get off."
I looked up at him questioningly and said, "maybe this is all I can do."
"Oh no, please you must, I’m going to tear my stitches if I have to keep squirming around like this. Have some mercy Sam!"
I looked up again, idly fondling his now slippery penis with my wet fingers.
"You don’t have any stitches sweetheart, the doctor removed them. It’s a good thing he didn’t remove this," I dropped my head and started licking him again.
He tried another tack after I had nearly brought him to orgasm, only to let him cool down again. He lifted his head and glared at me, "I’ll kill you when I get my hands on you little tease. " He tried to sound stern, but couldn’t really, "now finish me off."
So I sat up, looked at him mournfully, and pouted for all I was worth. "If you want me to go, I’ll just leave." I said and started to get up.
"No!" He sounded really desperate, so I looked back questioningly.
"Please, please don’t go, I’ll be good, lick me all you want," he said realizing I had won.
This was fun!
So I slowly got back into position, but this time when I bent down, I took him as far into my mouth as I could. He groaned, his head falling back onto the soft pillows like he had just lost consciousness. I had never been in a situation like this before, having a man so obviously in my power. He was helpless under my touch and I felt thrilled. He looked up and started to say something.
"Just lie there and shut up," I interrupted before he actually got a word out, "Lilly knows what’s best for little Michael."
He looked at me with pleading eyes, his pole sticking wetly up towards my face and I added, "besides, if you say anything else, I’ll gag you."
Then I sank down again and swallowed as much as I could of his fat dick. It felt so velvety smooth in my mouth and tasted so clean. Now, I couldn’t resist and I really wanted to swallow it. Knowing that I had his pleasure in my mouth excited me in a way I hadn’t anticipated.
I couldn’t quite overcome my gag reflex, so there was no deep throating, but by using my hands together with my mouth I was able to cover the whole shaft as I slid it in and out as far as I could. He grunted each time I sank down on him and in a few minutes he came, spurting warm globs of semen into my mouth. There seemed to be an awful lot, but then, he hadn’t had any sex for many weeks now.
"Oh my god, oh my god, oh my god," was all he could say for a minute or so as he recovered control over his breathing. Then he lay limp for a while as I sat back on my heels, still between his thighs, holding his penis firmly in one hand like a joystick, and watching the whole show. I had swallowed most of the cum that had exploded into my mouth and was now curiously cleaning the rest off my lips and chin with the fingers of my other hand, and then licking them clean as well. I don’t know what the big deal is about swallowing cum, it really had a rather mild taste, and what else was I supposed to do with it anyway?
I wasn’t quite ready to untie him yet, and just sat there looking at him, trying to figure out what I was feeling. "Sam, let me suck on you. I need your cock in my mouth,." He panted. So I pulled off the teddy and shifted my body so that I was kneeling over him with his mouth below my rigid dick and my mouth just above his limp one. He reached his head up to suck me into his mouth and I lowered my hips so he could keep his head on the pillow. A moment later I grabbed his dick between my lips as well. He was very good at sucking cock and had me cumming hard in his mouth within minutes.
I had kept up my sucking while I was cumming, and since he was hard again, I decided that this was to be the moment that had been stolen from me the night we were attacked. I was going to get laid.
"Michael, would you make love to me please?" I felt strangely embarrassed at this, but didn’t let that stop me. I untied his arms and legs and when he sat up I slipped a condom over his penis. Then I removed the slippery butt plug from my ass and rolled over on my back. He crouched over me, gently pushing my legs up to my shoulders and then leaned forward until the tip of his penis was touching my rear.
"Oh Sam," he sighed, "this is the sweetest thing I’ve ever done." He really took his time penetrating me, making sure I was comfortable with what he was doing. For my part I was delighted to welcome such a gentle man into my body. It was amazing, as many times as I had one of Cynthia’s dildos up my ass, this warm living thing was even more exciting. Neither of us could really fuck hard without some pain, so we were gentle, and rocked slowly into and out of each other for quite some time, forever maybe. I was really hot by the time he came but hardly disappointed that I hadn’t. I could do this a hundred times without cumming and still be satisfied.
As soon as he softened and slipped out of me, I stretched out on the bed next to him hugging him with all my might. "I still owe you one," he panted. So he removed my arms from his chest, turned me on my side, and proceeded to suck my dick again. I was so tired, he had to use all his tricks to make me to cum again, and apparently all his strength as well, because a few moments after I did climax, he fell asleep, exhausted. I grabbed a blanket, covered our naked bodies, and cuddled up with him to sleep myself. I know I went to sleep with a big smile on my face. Although I had sexual experiences with men, this was the first time I had actually made love with one, and I felt wonderful about it.
I awoke about an hour later and made sure the blanket covered him before I quietly left the room. The poor abused baby didn’t wake until dinnertime so I must have really worn him out. After I went to my bathroom to clean up, I grabbed a cup of coffee and curled up in a corner of my girly sofa to think.
I was rather confused by our lust filled morning, because I couldn’t understand why a guy was getting me so hot and bothered, and I didn’t understand at all why my avowed homosexual lover found the new feminine me so attractive.
On one level, I didn’t care. This was a very simple plane of awareness; it feels good, do it. I guess that sounds like the way most men approach sex. On another level, of course, it was all about identity. Here I was, looking like a woman in all ways except one, having sex with a man.
Well, I didn’t just have sex with him, I had made love to him and loved it. Did that make me a gay man, a straight woman, a bi something, any of the above, none of the above? Cynthia had helped me realize that these labels weren’t particularly meaningful for me, but somehow being able to put myself in some kind of category seemed important, perhaps even comforting.
I stood up and walked into my bedroom to examine my body in the full-length mirror. I seemed to be doing that a lot lately, but then there was a new me to get used to. The surgeon had done what he promised and my nose was now smaller and turned just ever so slightly upwards. His nicest touch was that the end seemed slightly chiseled, so that instead of having a big round tip, my nose was rather compact and very cute.
I could find no remnant of my former male self in my new face. My now petite nose, slimmer jaw, and fuller lips seemed to change everything about me. I was sure they had also done something extra to my cheekbones to make them look higher, but Cynthia had denied it. Because I had lost 10 pounds in hospital, maybe my cheeks simply looked less full because of the weight loss. Then again, maybe Cynthia wasn’t telling me the entire truth...
Cynthia had waited until just about the last minute before talking me into collagen injections to give me fuller lips. The surgeon, who made just the most subtle changes in the size and shape of my lips was an artist. Again, Cynthia had forced me just a little further than I would have gone on my own, but the results were great, so how could I argue. But, because she just couldn’t seem to stop herself from taking me further and further, so who knows what else she might have done. I must admit though, whatever it was, I looked gorgeous. My lips were just a little bit bigger but their shape seemed somewhat different. They were so delicious looking that I was often tempted to just reach forward and kiss the mirror. Now I ran my tongue over them purposefully, enjoying their new fullness and thinking that Michael must have liked that too. Even though I was alone, I put on some creamy dark red lipstick, which, I thought, just makes them smolder.
My newly highlighted hair still looked fine even though it hadn’t been trimmed in more than a month. I absolutely adored the way my hair fell over my right eye even though I had to spend a good deal of time to keep it looking well groomed. I brushed it languorously for a few moments and then back-combed to give it more body. As I did, I wondered briefly how long it would be before I decided that long hair just wasn’t worth the effort. Just for fun I tied a purple silk ribbon behind my head and over the top and flicked my hair back over my shoulder, vowing bravely that I would never give up long hair just because it was more convenient to wear it shorter.
As I studied the changes to my body, my eyes were drawn right away to the ugly, red scar that ran along the inside of my right arm. It started just an inch or so from my shoulder, ran along my bicep and down almost to the elbow. The scar just under my ribs was nearly six inches long even though the knife wound itself wasn’t nearly that big. the surgeons had lengthened the wound because they needed more room to work to stop all the bleeding. For some reason neither of these scars bothered me too much, even though I knew that if I wore short sleeves or a bikini, they would be the first thing that people just meeting me would notice.
No, in my eyes, they were both rendered insignificant by the two breath taking orbs that now seemed to hang most naturally from my thin chest. I cupped them in my hands and reveled in the feeling. I thought back on all the time I had spent imagining what having breasts might be like. At first I had stuffed the bras I stole from my mother with stockings and was delighted that I had anything that looked like breasts. Later, I had tried water balloons, which I could never quite get into the right shape, bags of bird seed, which I never loved because they were bags of bird seed. Finally, I had purchased expensive silicon breast forms, which at first made me shiver with pleasure, they seemed so real. I had even glued them to my chest to experience the pull of their weight. But you know what? It’s different when the pull is coming from under your skin, rather than on it. I glowed with satisfaction because I now knew that the real thing was even better than I had ever imagined.
As I stroked them, I noticed that they had the most beautiful sloping curve on the top, gliding gracefully from my shoulders down to the aureole. The nipples, which were really quite pale, sat a little high, pointing just slightly, but most delightfully, upwards. I couldn’t resist lifting each one to my mouth and kissing it thankfully, like it was a new baby.
I turned to examine them from the side and was delighted with their wondrous roundness and the tiny, but enticing sag that made even their bottoms seem perfect to me. I giggled to myself thinking that Cynthia must be jealous because she keeps yelling at me to wear a bra. But I love to feel them move so much that I just don’t want to confine them if I don’t have to.
My waist was now a very trim 25 inches, although I’m sure I'll have to work hard to keep it that size now that I can eat normally again. I’ll bet Cynthia would like to see me back in a tightly laced corset as soon as I’m fully healed, but if I can stay this thin maybe I can talk her out of it. Even the low doses of hormones I was taking have helped my hips flare out nicely, leaving me thin but curvy. Michael was right, I was a really tasty package.
Despite the effects of the hormones on other parts of my body (my skin was so soft!), my penis was still functioning well enough, although I had noticed the fluid was clearer than it used to be. And even thought my penis, and the testicles that dangled under them did look out of place on my feminine body, the pleasure they brought me made keeping them worthwhile. As I posed in front of the mirror, I suddenly realized that I looked like one of those shemale porno stars.
Yes, definitely a chick with a dick, and certainly not a sissy boy with boobs, not this girl. It seemed to me that I was a rather odd shaped peg and all the holes were either square or round. I was way too much a woman to fit into the square hole designed for men, so if I really did want to fit in somewhere, I guess I would have to go all the way and make myself fit into the round female hole. I carefully stroked my penis and watched it grow in the mirror. Would I be able to give it up? Would I ever get reassignment surgery? I just didn’t know, but didn’t have to make that decision now anyway.
I stood for a while, wondering just what is it was that I was seeing in the mirror. Was it just packaging, pretty wrapping paper and ribbons designed to enchant whoever got their hands on it? Was it just a façade for public consumption, a shell to facilitate a social role? Or did this vision reflect something that was more profoundly me? In the end, will I have gone through all these changes and still end up the same failed person, to cowardly to take advantage of the intelligence, good health, and apparently lovable heart that I was born with?
Did I change my appearance from man to woman just because I was too wimpy to live as a man, thinking that the life of a woman was somehow easier? I snorted at that thought, laughing at my own stupidity. Really, if anything, living as a woman had to be harder, not easier. Then, thankfully, before I drove myself completely nuts trying to figure this out, the phone rang.
That evening, when Cynthia got home, Michael and I informed her of our decision to go to his firm’s big party.
"Oh that’s wonderful." She got excited right away, but then turned serious a moment later, "but are you strong enough? What happens if someone recognizes you?"
Michael and I had discussed that at some length while we recuperated. When you come close to dying, other aspects of your life tend to get put in a new perspective. "I don’t care," he said, "I’m tired of hiding my homosexuality. If the firm can’t handle it, that’s their problem." Cynthia just pursed her lips.
"We’re just going to play it straight," I added, not realizing how ironic my choice of words was until Cynthia and Michael both laughed. I blushed in embarrassment for a moment but then went right on. "I intend to wear the backless dress and everyone will be able to see my arm and that I’m not wearing a bra. If anyone asks about it, I’m just going to tell the truth. And I’m going to tell them I work at North State. We figure that by the end of the evening everyone in the room will know who and what we are."
Michael grabbed me around the waist and pulled me to him. "Wish us luck," he said to Cynthia, "it’s going to be a bumpy ride."
Cynthia looked at us like we were both slightly daffy and put her hand on Michael’s forehead as if to see if he had a fever. "Well," she concluded, "no fever, I guess that means that you really are crazy." Then she laughed and hugged us both. "Oh God, I do hope you’ve made the right decision." This could have such repercussions for both of you."
"Nothing like getting shot or stabbed," Michael said, "poking Cynthia rather hard in the ribs right where we both had been injured.
"Oh!" She jumped back clutching her side, surprised. "Well, I guess we’ll see, won’t we?" said Cynthia, "I think you’re both being very brave." And she kissed us both on the cheek.
The party was December 22, and the run up to this affair wasn’t even a pale shadow to the excitement that had surrounded my trip to the opera. I guess everyone was feeling somewhat superstitious about the whole thing and decided to stay away. That was just fine with me and with Michael, who decided he would get ready at my apartment so we could leave directly from there. He wasn’t taking any chances this time and had arranged for a limo to ferry us to and from the party.
So I had a quiet afternoon at the salon, where I again got the full treatment. Shelly wanted to put my hair up for a change, but I insisted on wearing it down. I was still enchanted with the way it hung and was having lots of fun throwing it around and using it to flirt with. She did make sure that is was at its glossy best and that it curved smoothly inwards at the ends. It was perfectly cut and I felt like a work of art. Because of my facial surgery, my makeup had to be different now and my cheeks especially looked sculpted, like I was some kind of model. I just squealed with delight at the results and hugged her tightly in thanks, before I strutted out the door so the poor masses on the street could behold my gorgeous countenance.
Then I went home and napped to make sure I had enough strength to make it through the evening. At seven, Cynthia woke me and I started to dress. It didn’t take very long because I was only wearing panties, pantyhose, heels, and the dress. Oh, and I put on the same jewelry I had worn to get mugged in. Without the dress, I just loved myself, but once I had the dress on, I starting have second thoughts, lots of them.
For one thing, I had goose bumps all over my arms because I was a little chilly. But that was the least of it. I just felt so exposed. This was a very sexy dress and I wasn’t sure I was a very sexy lady. Aside from the non-existent back, every movement of my breasts was quite visible because the bias cut fabric was designed to drape over them and hug them in the most sensuous way. I hadn’t noticed this when I had tried the dress on before because my breasts were so small then. Now, I was kind of embarrassed about the whole thing. But Cynthia made it clear that the choice had been made, so I knew there was no point arguing.
And finally, I was concerned about the scar on my arm. All of a sudden it looked gigantic, and very red and ugly. Cynthia thought we could put a little foundation on it, so that it wasn‘t so red and that did help some. It’s just that my intention had been to wear the scar like a badge of courage, but all of a sudden I felt ashamed of it and I couldn’t understand why.
At that moment, Michael came into the room looking just god-like in his tuxedo. "Don’t worry about the scar," he said, "the way your tits are bouncing around no one will notice it."
"Miiichaaaeel," I cried, "don’t say that, I feel embarrassed enough already. I looked at him with pleading eyes.
He was unmoved. "Well, look at it this way," he made it sound like he was trying to be helpful, but I just knew he was going to tease me some more, "you get to do an interesting experiment tonight. Women are always complaining that men only look at their tits. You’ll be able to see if that big, nasty scar is impressive enough to draw their eyes away from those big, pleasing tits." He had walked around behind me while he was talking and then reached around to take a breast in each of his hands. He nuzzled my neck and I leaned back into him. "The way you look I’m willing to bet that no one even notices the scar." He smiled at me like the cat that ate the canary. I just blushed and looked down, enjoying the feeling of being in his arms even though I knew I should be mad at him for teasing me.
"Here," Cynthia interrupted, "I have something that might make you feel more comfortable." She held out a beautiful black silk shawl highlighted by silver threads and tassels hanging off the corners. I was wide-eyed with wonder, and my mouth was drawn into an astonished "O" as she draped it across my shoulders. It was simply gorgeous. I grabbed it and wrapped it around my arms.
"Oh Cynthia, it’s beautiful. Thank you so much." I went to kiss her.
"It’s a gift from Rachel Watts, I guess she felt guilty about charging you so much for the gown. It is just the most exquisite shawl I have ever seen, so be careful with it." And she smiled at me like an indulgent mother and gave me a big hug.
When I opened the closet door to get my coat, there was a big garment bag hanging in the middle, just like the one that had held Mandy’s fur, the one I had destroyed the night of the attack. "Oh, no," I groaned, not again." Cynthia and Michael just laughed. I spun on them, trying to look angry. "Where did this come from?"
"Look at it before you make any decisions," said Cynthia.
"NO, I won’t even open the bag. Why are you tormenting me like this? Losing one fur is enough!" I felt like they were teasing me and was close to tears I was so frustrated.
"Oh, poo," said Cynthia as she pushed me aside and simply unzipped the bag as if I hadn’t said a thing. Oh God, this was just too much. She pulled out a full length, glossy black mink coat. It glistened even in the soft light of my foyer. The shawl collar was so big it could almost be a hood, and the lapels could easily cover my face if I pulled them up and around. It tied with a sash. I had never been so close to anything so beautiful. I backed away.
"Oh no, this is ridiculous. I can’t wear that. I’d be scared to death. Please don’t make me wear it." By now I was whining, but Michael had taken the coat from Cynthia and held it out for me. They both looked at me expectantly. As Michael held the coat open, I noticed the fancy initials monogrammed inside the coat: "LSM.’
"What’s that?" I asked, with a hint of fear in my voice. Something was going on here, and I didn’t like the looks of it.
"Well, it looks like she figured it out," Cynthia said to Michael. I guess we should tell her, what do you say?" Michael just nodded at her and then they both turned to me, shouting together, "Merry Christmas!"
I was speechless, and goggle-eyed, I’m sure. I never…
"This is your Christmas present from us," said Michael, again looking very proud of himself. Why is it that people are always looking at me like that? Cynthia just watched benevolently until she got impatient with my lack of action. Then she grabbed me by the shoulders and turned me around so Michael could put the coat on me.
Knowing I had no chance against these two, I let them do what they wanted. In a few moments I had the coat on, and I must say it felt just wonderful, like I had died and gone to heaven, and was sleeping in a warm fluffy cloud. I grabbed the collar in one hand and snuggled my face into the fur. I kept my eyes down all the while because I knew I was going to cry at any moment. When I finally looked up, I started to sniffle. Cynthia was ready with tissues and started to blot my eyes before I could get a word out.
"I… I.. I don’t know what to say. This is too much. I can’t…"
"Oh yes you can, and you will," said Michael. "you saved my life, or did you forget? This is a trivial gift for such a wonderful act."
"You haven’t quite saved my life, but you’ve enriched it beyond my wildest dreams," added Cynthia. "You know Lilly, when my sister died I lost something very precious to me, the ability to love. I had given up hope of ever finding it again, but you seem to be bringing it back. You’ve helped to heal a hole in my heart."
I was really starting to blubber now, but Cynthia jumped in. "And don’t you dare cry. Shelly would kill me if I let you ruin her spectacular makeup job."
So I stood there pulling the coat tight around my chest and rocking back and forth in one spot until I could get control of my feelings. "But I didn’t do anything special for you two. I was just being myself." I turned on Michael. "No one would have let you bleed to death on that street."
"No Sam, you’re wrong," he said with deep sadness in his voice. "You passed out on top of me. I guess, slamming your head into steel garbage cans is not conducive to staying conscious." He gave me a crooked grin. "But I never lost consciousness. No one tried to help either one of us until the paramedics arrived. The crowd just stood around us in a circle. The paramedics were the first ones to touch us. I would have bled to death right there for sure." He pulled me into his chest and hugged me tightly even though I was still clutching the lapels of the coat in front of me.
"This is silly," Cynthia finally said. "Look at me Lilly." Her voice was firm now, like the army officer she had been. I turned from Michael and looked into her eyes. "Do you think we’re stupid? That you’ve somehow tricked us? I don’t think so. In fact, I’ll bet we know you better than you know yourself."
"You’re not who you were a year ago, and I’ll bet you’ve only just begun to emerge from your cocoon. I can’t wait to see the butterfly you’ll become. None of us can. So just forget the silly denials and get your butt to that party. I’ve got to meet a friend in a few minutes," she licked her lips lasciviously, "and I need some time to change. You’re not the only one who’s going to party tonight."
I just sighed and looked up at Michael, indicating I was ready to go. Then I went over to Cynthia and hugged her to me for a few moments with all my heart. I leaned back and looked into her face and whispered, "thank you Cynthia." My voice was husky from holding back tears. Michael gently took my hand and led me out. When we got into the elevator, I put my arms around his chest and hugged him to me too.
I didn’t say anything in the limo on the way to the party, but I held Michael tightly the whole way. Once I had gotten over the initial discomfort of having received such a stunning gift, I started to allow myself to feel the love that had motivated Cynthia and Michael to buy it for me. By the time we had turned onto Fifth Avenue a few blocks from Trump Tower, I was actually feeling wonderfully warm and mushy inside. I mean really, how could I deny that I had some value if two people like Cynthia and Michael thought I had so much. Maybe I was a good person after all. I started to feel a level of self-confidence that was rare for me. I started to really look forward to this party.
We got to the party a little late, which in New York is on time. As we pulled up to the curb in front of Trump Tower, Michael pried my hands from his body and sat me up straight.
"Are you ready for this?" he asked with concern in his voice. It’s pretty much inevitable that we’re going to let people know who we really are, are you ready to face that?"
"Will they be armed?" I asked, teasing him gently, "I don’t think I’m strong enough yet to fight off anyone who has a knife or gun." I gave him a worried look.
He just pursed his lips and looked down at me like I was a naughty schoolgirl. "Come on, I’m being serious. We don’t have to go in if you don’t want to."
"What are you talking about," I asked, my voice rising as if I was shocked at what he had said, "I dragged you here! My god, I had to give you a fabulous blow job just to convince you to come." With that I gave him a big bright smile, showing him I was indeed ready, even though I was starting to get apprehensive as hell.
We exited the penthouse elevator into a large, bright lobby filled with noise and people. I didn’t expect to know anyone, but Michael would have lots of colleagues and clients there. There was actually a surprisingly long line at the coatroom and I had to wait in the lobby while Michael checked my coat. I couldn’t help but yell, "don’t’ you dare lose that," at him as he turned into the hallway to get on line.
I noticed two things right away. First, the women were almost all older than me, most in their forties, fifties, and sixties, but they looked spectacular. This was a crowd that obviously made a significant investment in how they looked. I guessed every one of them had been to her salon that afternoon, the only real question was how many had their faces lifted as well. Of course, I guess I couldn’t really throw stones at them, considering the extent of my own facial surgery.
Second, this was a very affluent crowd. It looked like each woman wore at least 10 carats of diamonds, rubies and emeralds. They sparkled like the chandeliers in the lobby of the Met. And as I looked at their gowns, I began to realize that my $700 rag was one of the real cheap dresses in the room. There was enough couture clothing just in this lobby to keep a whole factory full of expensive designers in business for a year. I felt like a ragamuffin compared with the rest of this group.
They, apparently, did not share my point of view. After I got over my initial shock, the next thing I noticed was that everyone was looking me over quite carefully. The women had their brows drawn together and their lips pursed. This immediately embarrassed me and I pulled my shawl around my shoulders and tried to disappear. But after a few moments, I decided that was stupid. No attractive young woman would behave this way, so I dropped the shawl to my elbows and let the back fall below my cute little tush. I stood up straight and pulled my shoulders back, smiling to myself and at the people I caught staring at me.
The men clearly saw things differently than the women. They ogled me without much shame. I really felt like a sex object and decided that I would not let that feeling embarrass me. I would enjoy it instead and show off a little. So I started to wander around, rolling my hips and trying to slither to show myself off while I looked at the art hanging on the walls. I tried to give everyone who wanted it a good look at my front and my back.
At one point I heard a male voice behind me say, " well hellllooo gorgeous." So I slowly turned my torso to look back over my shoulder only to find three older men standing there, looking me up and down with obvious glee. So I turned to face them, looked them up and down in return, and gave them a friendly smile. Then I said, "I’ll bet there are some women here who would not be happy with the way you’re looking at me." Shall we wait for them together. Then, as their jaws dropped, I smiled and said, "no that would be cruel," and turned to saunter away, smiling to myself. I felt powerful.
Michael returned a few minutes later and because I knew the whole room was looking at us, I took his upper arm in both my hands and pulled myself up to give him a warm kiss on the cheek. He looked at me a little askance so I whispered, "later - just a put your arm around me." When he did, I reached my hand up and put it into the hair on the back of his head. It was, I hoped, a good signal to the men that I wasn’t going to be interested in them, and to the women that I wasn’t a threat.
As soon as we walked into the ballroom, which wasn’t too crowded yet, I said to Michael, "let’s get a drink, I think I really need it." He nodded and we headed for the bar, which had a stunning view of Manhattan behind it. Unfortunately, it took us about 25 minutes to get there. It wasn’t that we had to fight our way through the crowd, but every couple of steps Michael met someone he knew, and because this was a business affair, he had to stop to say hello and introduce me to everyone. That’s when things got really scary.
There were partners, associates, and clients. In fact all of the firm’s many clients had been invited. When you’re charging them $300-500 per hour, you’ve got to show them a little hospitality once in a while, I guess. There were also politicians. I had already spotted Rudolph Gulliani across the room, and I was sure I had seen Daniel Patrick Moynihan as well. There were athletes, like Derek Jeter, and artists, and I could see Sam Donaldson chatting up Katie Couric. From all the pricey dresses I had seen in the lobby, it was obvious that there must have been quite a few society women as well.
Fortunately, Michael didn’t know all these people, but in the short walk to the bar he did introduce me to two clients, two partners and one associate. The first client was a slightly balding, slightly plump fifty-something broker. His wife, on the other hand was a knock-out. She was rather younger than him, probably in her mid-thirties, and beautifully put together, an obvious trophy for her aging husband.
Even though Michael introduced me as an analyst at North State, he looked me up and down like I was a slab of smoked salmon on display at the fish counter at Zabar’s. His gaze finally came to rest on my breasts. In my heels I was actually taller than him, so he didn’t have to really look that far down to do it. I shrugged mentally and glanced over at his wife, who was patiently waiting with only a slight look of dismay on her face. We shared bemused grins, like two mothers watching their kids throw mud at each other. Like me, she was young and pretty and based on what I had seen so far, she would getting the same kind of attention from other men that I was getting from her husband right then.
As I lifted my arm to readjust my shawl, she noticed the scar. "Ohmigod," she blurted out, what happened to you?" She pointed thoughtlessly at my arm. Michael and I glanced at each other momentarily, as if to say, ‘it’s show time.’
"Oh, this little scar," I asked innocently. "Three guys tried to mug Michael and me. We had to fight them off."
She looked at me dumbfounded. My attitude and my story were just too far outside her experience, which apparently didn’t extend too far from the expensive shops on Madison Avenue, for her to process the whole thing. She recovered nicely though, "Oh, I’m so sorry. That must have been horrible."
"Well, it was over so quickly, I didn’t even have a chance to get scared. But he stabbed me in the side too, and the next few weeks in the hospital weren’t that much fun." Then I couldn’t help but dump on her a little more. "I’ll tell you, getting mugged can really ruin your evening." By the time I had finished, her eyes had opened wide and her mouth had made itself into a cute little ‘O’. I guess debutants don’t meet that many mugging victims.
The husband took the whole thing in without batting an eyelash, and true to Michael’s prediction, he only glanced at my arm momentarily before he was back fixated on my breasts. I couldn’t help but give a big sigh so they would heave up and down to reward him for his attention.
Finally, he looked away, and shifting his attention to Michael, he asked, "did you get hurt too?"
Michael looked down briefly at his side and replied, "I’m afraid so. I got shot right here," and he pointed to his side.
"But you said you fought them off," said the wife, a little confused.
"Oh we did," Michael replied, "two ended up in the hospital for a couple of weeks before they were sent to Riker’s." (Riker’s Island is New York City’s most infamous jail)
"And the other?" She just couldn’t let it go.
"I’m afraid he’s dead," I said, flatly. "I pushed him down some steps as he was stabbing me and he broke his back, the son of a bitch." That last I just spit out.
By now she had her hand over her mouth, and even the husband was looking at us wide-eyed. We took the opportunity to flee. "It was so nice to meet you, "I said, as I grabbed Michael’s arm to lead him away.
"Now I really, really need a drink," I whispered into his ear. He looked down at me with an obvious ‘me too’ expression. But we had to wait because that’s how it went with the others we met on the way to the bar. By the time we each had gotten our drinks in our hands, we both decided to have another right away, so we clicked glasses and downed the first one in a couple of gulps, and then got a second. Before we left the bar area we took another one with us. That first set of interactions had been way more anxiety provoking than we had anticipated. But the alcohol, along with some really stupendous appetizers, including caviar, lump crabmeat, in a stunningly well done mustard sauce, and big slices of filet minion on the most scrumptious little rolls, really helped to relax us.
But we were both getting tired, so we threw our things, well, my bag onto a big round table and sat down to eat more and rest. Within 15 minutes or so, four other couples had joined us. Two of the husbands worked at Michael’s firm, one woman was an artist of some sort, and the other couple both worked for a client called Boston Federated, who, as it turned out, also did business with North State. It didn’t take too long for someone to ask about my scar, and we ended up telling our story to the whole group in some detail. By the time we were done, three other couples were standing next to the table, listening as well.
"Wait a minute, said the artist’s husband, whose name was Phil, I remember a headline, from the Daily News or the Post. It said, "Make My Day." He just lit up at the memory. "You were on your way to the opera when this happened weren’t you?"
"Well, yeah," Michael and I both said at once.
"You’re, like, heroes," Phil beamed back at us.
"That’s right," added Tara, his wife. "Everyone who has ever even heard of the opera knows about you. You were so brave to take those guys on."
"Well, I don’t know how brave we were," I said, "but we were stupid enough to do it," and I held up my arm and twisted it back to show everyone my scar again.
Then someone shouted, "I propose a toast," and they toasted us, drawing the attention of many more people who were within earshot. Within half an hour most of the room knew about us. Lot’s of people stopped by to shake our hands and congratulate us, even rich and famous New Yorkers like to rub elbows with celebrities.
Neither one of us was comfortable with the level of attention we were getting, but we couldn’t escape it. Worse, the couple whose company did business with North State had been staring at me silently the whole time. Early on I had said to Michael, "They know me, they just can’t place me yet." I could tell, they were beginning to put it together, but it was just too far out for them to believe. I wondered how they would solve their little mystery.
But by then, the band had begun to play, and Michael and I decided to take refuge on the dance floor. We really were tiring by this point and our dancing was not at all vigorous, which suited me just fine. I really savored the feeling of being in Michael’s arms, and spent a good deal of the time with my eyes closed and my head resting against his chest. Although we started in a classic dance posture, with my right hand in his left, and his right over my shoulder blade, every time there was a slow dance, he dropped his left hand so that he had one hand on my bare back and the other on my butt. I just loved it. It made me feel both sexy and protected. I think most of the other people in the room saw it as somewhat scandalous, however. Investment bankers don’t dance with their hands on the butts of upper east side society matrons.
While we were on the dance floor we could hear the swirl of conversations coming from around the floor, and more than a few were about us. Of course all we could hear were bits and snippets, like, "that little thing?" "One of them had a gun;" "yeah, she killed him;" "he’s a black belt, and she’s a doll." I actually looked around to see who had said that, I wanted to kiss him, but by the time I was looking at the spot the sound had come from no one was actually facing us.
We also could see the light from the speed flash units the photographers used, and as we left the floor two photographers actually had us pose for them. We agreed only if they promised to send us prints, so Michael gave them his card, and we wandered back to our seats. As we sat sipping exquisitely expensive champagne from crystal flutes, the fellow who knew me asked me to dance. Reflexively I looked at Michael for approval. He looked back at me like I was totally lame, so I mentally shrugged my shoulders and off we went.
I discovered that his name was William, and he didn’t like to be called Bill. He was a pretty good dancer himself and I enjoyed the foxtrot we did together when we first got on the floor. During a break in the music he pulled us off the dance floor and offered me another glass of champagne. I guess I didn’t respond fast enough, because before I could make up my mind, he was offering me a flute with that wonderful bubbly liquid. He had led me far from our table, but at one point I was sure I could see Michael talking to his wife.
"So," he began. I was pretty sure where this was going. "I know you work at North State, and you look familiar, but I just can’t place you. Who do you work for."
"Bob Thornton," I responded without hesitating.
"Thornton," he wondered out loud, I know one of his analysts is Cynthia Morrison, very solid analyst, you can’t go wrong listening to her. I’m surprised she hasn’t set up her own business yet." I nodded my agreement and he went on, "But I thought the other was a young guy, Brad Miller isn’t it? I remember he developed some really creative analytical approaches for us. I couldn’t quite get it though, too much math for me." He shook his head ruefully.
I was delighted to hear that compliment, so I said "Uh, huh," and shook my head enthusiastically to confirm his "guess."
"But Thornton only had two analysts, didn’t he?"
"Yes, that’s true," I confirmed again. Well, the moment of truth was at hand and I hoped this guy didn’t freak out when he heard it. "I’m Brad Miller, or at least I was."
Watching his face was priceless. His expression kept its professional calmness for just a moment or so before it started to dissolve. First his pupils seemed to dilate and then his eyes opened wide. Soon, his mouth opened as well, but he only gaped at me for a moment before his hand shot up to his face to hide his mouth.
"But, you’re gorgeous," He began to blurt out looking at my face. Then he dropped his eyes to my chest and grabbing me gently by the shoulders, he turned me to the side so he could see my waist, hips, and butt. "And that’s all real isn’t it? No padding…"
Before he could say anything else I lifted his hand from my shoulder and pulled my body in towards his. When I was pretty sure no one could see I whispered to him, "Touch me," and gently rubbed his hand in a circular motion over my nipple. Within a few moments, it started to respond to his touch and we could both feel it grow against his palm. I looked up into his eyes and quietly asked, "Padding?"
Even though my question was gentle, he was startled by it and quickly pulled his hand away from me. "No, no, of course not, I knew that, I just danced with you…"
"Just wanted to be sure," I giggled again.
He went on as if I wasn’t even there, "You can’t be a guy. You’ve got the body of a woman. You’re too feminine..."
I looked at him with the most grateful expression I could put on my face. Then I grabbed is upper arms and drew him to me for a quick kiss on the lips. "Oh, William, you say the nicest things! First you compliment my work and then my looks."
His hand shot up to his mouth like he had just been stung by a bee. He was really struggling now to reconcile what he was looking at with what he had just learned. "You’re not kidding, are you?" He said with some gravity in his voice.
I got serious too. "No, William, I’m not. I’ve been in transition for many months. When I go back to work it will be looking like this." I gracefully extended my arms away from my sides, turned my palms up, and pointed my fingers like a ballerina. Once I had fully extended my arms, I gave him a slight curtsey. Then I looked down modestly, raised my head while smiling demurely, and added, "Of course, I won’t look exactly like this," I paused for effect, "I’ll wear a skirt and jacket instead of a ball gown," and I giggled.
He was still too startled by what he had just learned to get my little joke. He couldn’t contain his own curiosity. "You were dancing with your head on Michael’s chest. You were snuggled into each others’ bodies like you’re in love." Then, a light bulb must have gone off in his addled brain. You’re both gay, aren’t you?"
I swiveled my head around trying to spot Michael, put we were all the way across the dance floor from our table and it was too crowded to see that far. I turned backed to William and looked him right in the eye.
"William, you are prying into personal business that has nothing to do with you. How would you feel if I asked you who you were sleeping with besides your wife?" He went rigid for a moment. Gotcha, I thought. "Anyway, that question reveals a remarkable degree of ignorance about sexuality and gender." I pursed my lips to show my displeasure. Everyone here but you and Michael think I’m a woman, and 99% of the men would love to have my head resting on their chests, does that make them gay?"
I wanted to be righteously angry, but just couldn’t get it up. Instead, I felt more like giggling at the stupidity of the whole thing.
"I hardly knew Michael before we were attacked. Since then we have spent many hours together recovering from our injuries, and have become very close to each other. We both feel a strong sense of gratitude and loyalty to each other. We almost died together in the same foxhole you know." Then I grabbed his arm pulled myself close to him and asked, "walk me back to the table please, I’m really getting tired."
What was he going to do? He couldn’t refuse me, even though he would be escorting a transsexual. So he stuck his arm out like a gentleman, I took it like a lady, and we turned to leave our spot. As we turned, I could see that more than a few people had overheard our conversation. You could tell by the open mouths, especially on the older women. Then I heard, "What chutzpah! Coming in here like that!" What did that mean?
When we got to the table Michael was still chatting with Holly, William’s wife. I caught his eye and he knew immediately that William now knew at least part of our secret. "Michael, it looks like we need to have a chat with William here. He seems rather concerned about our relationship and what it means."
"Oh?" he replied with mock concern. "Holly and I were just discussing the same thing. Why don’t you join us?
So we sat down and began to talk. Within 5 minutes, we let them know that Michael was gay, and that I didn’t know what in the world I was, if I was anything at all. They needed a little bit of education on sex and gender before they started to understand what was going on, but they seemed to get it by the end. Then, during a pause in the conversation, Holly turned to me and said, "I have to go to the powder room, would you like to come with me?"
Wow? I thought to myself, is this female bonding? So we stood up, she grabbed my arm and pulled me close to her, and off we went. On the way there, she pumped me for information about myself, and just before we went in, she pulled over next to the door and looked down at my breasts.
"You have gorgeous breasts are they real?
I almost choked I was so surprised at her brazen question. But I knew just what to do. I took her hand and rubbed her palm over my nipple just as I had done for her husband. Needless to say, the result was the same and she gasped in surprise as my little nipple poked its way into her palm. She was much less inhibited than her husband, however, and instead of pulling her hand away, she pushed it forward, grabbing what she could. When I didn’t pull away, she started to caress me. I closed my eyes for a second enjoying the feel of her hand. But then we heard voices and pulled apart from each other quickly, each of us slightly embarrassed by what we had been doing.
But no one had seen anything so we looked at each other, giggled, and made our way into the powder room. It was both incredibly spacious and beautifully appointed, this was after all Trump Tower. There were even two attendants on duty to keep things clean. We did what we had to in silence, but on the way back to the table, she asked me out on a date. "What?" I whispered, trying again not to choke on my surprise.
"You’re gorgeous," she whispered back, her voice a little ragged, "and it makes me incredibly hot to think you have a cock under there." With that she placed her palm right on my groin. I froze and she freaked. She jerked her hand off of me while turning her head away. She threw both hands over her mouth, as if to keep it shut. I could easily see the crimson of her blush as it covered her neck and upper back as well as her face.
"I’m so sorry," she said turning back to me, still wearing a full blush. "I don’t know what came over me." She waved one hand in front of her face, like a fan. "Forget what I said. Can I call you some time?"
I don’t know what came over me either. I grabbed her hand and squeezed it, at the same time my other hand came up to my mouth and I giggled into it. That’s all the reply she needed.
We had been gone from the table for about 15 minutes and when we got back Michael was engaged in a lively discussion with about eight people. "Come here, sweetie," he reached out his hand for me as I approached. As soon as I was by his side he said, "These folks don’t believe you used to be a guy."
I stood there stunned for a second. What could I say to that? But Michael had already figured out how to handle this. He pulled me onto his lap and wrapped a big arm around my waist. "You can be sure she’s a guy because I’m gay and I would never go out with a real girl."
It was strange, here we were in this giant ballroom with all literally hundreds of conversations going on around us, yet it seemed as though our little corner of the room had grown completely silent. The only sound I could make out was the muffled clicks of jaws dropping open. I looked at Michael with questioning eyes. He smiled back at me like he had just won the lottery. Then he pulled my head down to his and whispered in my ear, "let’s get out of here, the questioning’s gonna get a little intense if we stay."
I nodded vigorously in reply and stoop up from his lap, giving him my hand to help him up. Then he turned to our still startled audience and said, "we’re both really tired now, I think we had better leave. Enjoy the rest of the party."
"But it’s so early, someone blurted out, and I have so many questions."
"Well, Michael said, you aren’t recovering from a gunshot wound, are you? Come on Sam," he really emphasized the Sam to make sure no one missed it, "put me to bed."
I was speechless at the whole, thing but I just waved briefly at Holly and then dutifully followed Michael as he led me across the room to the lobby.
On the way, he grabbed his cell phone and paged our driver, then we headed across the lobby to reclaim my coat.
Again, the conversations swirled about us, and I caught one quite clearly, "that’s them," uttered in a most accusatory female voice as we stepped into the lobby.
We desperately wanted to talk to each other but the lobby, elevator, and downstairs lobby were all filled with party goers, so we kept our mouths shut. I didn’t really mind, because I took the opportunity to snuggle up into Michael’s side and he looped his arm around my shoulders and pulled me into him.
Once we were in the privacy of our limo we just looked at each other and started to laugh. "Wow," Michael said, "they were really impressed with us. I thought New Yorkers were a little cooler than that."
"What in the world are you talking about? What did you do up there while I was off with Holly?
He grew quiet for a moment and pulled me tighter. "I hope I didn’t do the wrong thing." He turned to face me. "I suddenly got so tired of living a lie. I told that group you saw at the table that I was gay and you were a guy. I think we’re gonna to be in the papers tomorrow. First we let them discover that we were the ones who took on those muggers and then that we’re perverts. I wonder if I’ll get fired? By the way, you look lovely when you’re startled." And he kissed me gently on the nose.
"Oh, Michael, earlier today it seemed so clear that letting the world know about us was the right thing to do, but now I’m scared. Do you really think you’ll get fired?"
"No, they can’t fire me, not with all the notoriety this is going to bring, it would be too obvious. The real question is whether I’ll keep getting work, and if I do, whether they’ll ever make me partner. It will take a few years for that to sort itself out."
I shook my head to clear the hair from my face and stretched up to kiss him. We really were joined together now, and lots of people would be watching us. I didn’t like to be highly visible in anything, now it looked like I had no place to hide.
We were so tired when we got back to my apartment that all we wanted to do was lie down. Cynthia had left a note saying she wouldn’t be home, so we got into my bed and quickly fell asleep spooned together. Here it was, many weeks after the attack, and we still couldn’t get through a whole day without being totally exhausted. I felt so childish and dependent.
We hadn’t set an alarm, and it was Cynthia who finally woke us up. She came bursting into the bedroom, waving an arm full of newspapers and carrying coffee and bagels. "You have got to see this," she said, her cheeks flushed from the cold New York morning, "You two are all over the society pages." The fact that we were in bed together didn’t even seem to enter her consciousness. She just had to show us the papers.
Sure enough, we were out, even the New York Times had a picture of us dancing together. The stories were kind of garbled because the poor confused reporters didn’t know whether to emphasize our sexuality or the fact that we were the mysterious couple who had beaten up a group of muggers on their way to the opera. They couldn’t figure out whether to paint us as heroes or perverts. I didn’t want to deal with it, so I dove back under the covers and tried to pretend I was asleep.
But Michael and Cynthia were having none of it. In just a moment they were all over me, tickling and prodding. Once they had gotten me out from under the covers, squealing breathlessly, Michael held me down and Cynthia began to attack my breasts with her lips and tongue. That settled me down pretty quickly, so Michael covered my lips with his. The next couple of hours were spent in a languorous tangle of warm comforting bodies. It was really hard to be worried about abstract stuff like how the world sees you when your two favorite people are making love to you. Once we got smart enough to unhook the phone, we spent a wonderful Sunday together ignoring everything but us.
... Usually shooting stars come and go so quickly, you don’t even get to focus your eyes on them. This one took it’s time, however, and we all saw it. A moment after our oohs and aaahs had stopped Hannah said, "A shooting star, that’s what I’ll be. When I die I’ll become a shooting star and everyone will know I was here." Cynthia and I looked at each other behind her back and just smiled knowingly at each other. Then we put our arms around Hannah and the three of us stood there silently watching the sky until we were so cold we had to go in....
This was a decisive realization for me. As much as my lovely new face and breasts defined my femininity in a way everyone could clearly see, being weak defined it in an entirely different dimension. Being weak was a pervasive quality of who I was. When someone asked, "can I help you with that?" I had to answer, "please, would you?" I found it humiliating at first, then, I was even more appalled when I discovered that I was using little feminine tricks, like smiling in a certain way and looking at someone with my head cocked in a slightly flirty manner, to get things done.
I practiced on the boy who delivered the groceries. He came almost every day now because Cynthia demanded fresh food, and when he got to the door, I had to ask if he would ‘please’ carry them into the kitchen for me. I became attuned to his moods because I believed I needed to keep him happy so he would carry things that were now a burden for me to lift. Once I realized this, I started to pay close attention to all the service people I encountered. I needed them to like me because I needed them to help me. I found this profoundly demoralizing because I was no longer a free agent and I really needed a support system to function. My surgeon assured me I would get my strength back eventually, but that it might take as long as six months. I began to view myself as a disabled person.
I was thinking like this when I stopped on the crowded sidewalk in front of the office, and with the early morning crowd swirling around me on its way to work, gazed upon the large revolving door to my office building, trying to get up the courage to go inside. I stood there in my dark gray suit, dark hose, and slate gray three inch pumps wondering if I could push the revolving door hard enough to move it. I was so anxious about that door that I began to think that having root canal might be preferable to going through it.
Of course, moving the door, which turned out to be much easier than I feared, was only part of my anxiety. Even though I had already come out as a TS to my boss and coworkers, I looked like a new person now. I’d legally adopted a woman’s name and would live and present myself like one from then on. I knew lots of people would stare at me and talk behind my back about my breasts, lips, nose and the guy I had killed. I was ready to get back to work so I could finally take care of Thornton, but I was nervous about being accepted by everyone too. What kind of woman would I make? How would I be treated?
I had purposely arrived early so I wouldn’t have to run a gauntlet of stares on my way to my office, but even so, a group of regular early birds were already there. So, as I walked down the corridor to my office, there were a few people who glanced curiously my way. Some didn’t recognize me at all, and some others only figured out who I was after I’d passed them by. But a few did figure out who I was right away. I was surprised to discover that they were all nice to me.
"Hi Lillian, feeling better I see!" said one.
"Oh Lillian you look wonderful," said another.
Things are going pretty well I thought, and then I encountered the inevitable idiot. It figures that he was one of the people that I liked.
"Brad is that you?"
"Bill Pullman, what is the matter with you," I said planting my feet slightly apart and placing my open hands onto my hips, "do I look like a Brad to you?"
"Uh…, uh.., no." He replied shaking his head.
"My name’s Lillian now and I hope you can figure out why." I smiled at him flirtatiously and thrust out my hip while turning to the side so he could get a good view of my figure. He blanched, his mouth opening and closing like a fish out of water.
"Bill," I giggled, "you’re so cute when you’re confused. Maybe we can have lunch some time."
I finally made it to the safety of our little office, where all the girls had already seen me and knew what had happened. When I opened the door, I was immediately struck by the fragrance and color of the many bunches of flowers that seemed to have sprouted from every surface.
"They’re all for you," smiled Marci, who was the only one there besides me, "and there were so many we couldn’t fit them all in your office. "
"Oh my God, what’s all this?" I muttered as I started to examine the cards that came with each bouquet.
Most were from former or current clients but some were from colleagues in other offices. It seems that everyone had heard about my transition, the attack and it seemed that I was much more of a celebrity than I’d thought possible.
"Oh, Marci, what are we going to do with all these flowers?" I asked her pointing at the flowers," I’m a little embarrassed by this."
"Well," she said, obviously having had time to figure this out already, "we can spread them among the girls in the office first and then give some to our friends in the other offices."
"OK, that’s good," I sighed. "Let everyone here take what they want and then you pick who else should get some, would you please? But please have Kathleen make a list where they all came from so I can send thank you notes."
She gave me her biggest smile and handed me an already prepared list. "Here you go Sissy," she said surprising me both by calling me Sissy and by handing me a handwritten list. Then as she stepped forward we hugged spontaneously, as women do, and she whispered in my ear, "welcome back to work. I guess I have to call you Lilly now."
"Yes you do," I said, "Sissy doesn’t work here." I kissed her on the cheek in thanks and feeling slightly stupid, I went to sit at my desk to figure out why women liked to get flowers so much, but men didn’t care about them. Needless to say, I got nowhere with that line of thought, so I idly flipped on my computer and opened my email. If the flowers had been a surprise, my inbox was an even bigger one, with hundreds of messages waiting to be read. It would take me days just to read them and who knows how long to respond. I was already feeling overwhelmed and I hadn’t been in the office 10 minutes.
As if to make sure that I would stay that way, our CEO had arranged a brief welcoming party of coffee and donuts. His assistant came to fetch me and the rest of our office. It was intended to introduce the new me to all the staff and take some credit by association for my bravery against the muggers. I got the feeling that most of the people in our company were kind of embarrassed about the notoriety. However the public relations flacks figured that if the company played it up instead or trying to hide it, the whole thing would make them look really politically correct, or something. Who knows how those people think? More importantly, who cares?
For my part, I smiled indulgently and accepted a little peck on the cheek from the CEO, and a big hug, from Jennifer Hairston, the VP for Human Resources. I was more than eager to get back to my office and out of the public eye, and could barely wait for this little event to end.
As I sat at my desk, I thought about how I would get even with Thornton. I was willing to do whatever it took to get him. He didn’t know it yet, but the son of a bitch was about to embark on a roller coaster ride to hell, and I was going to be the driver. I don’t know what happened to me in the hospital, but I now felt ruthless in my need for revenge upon him. I had never had feelings like this before, but was willing to indulge them to meet my goal.
The first ten days after I had returned to work turned out to be a much needed return to routine, and I really needed that. After our appearance at the party at Trump Tower, Michael and I became rather visible mini-celebrities and the object of much gossip, especially on radio talk shows. We were heroes in the gay and lesbian community, but objects of hatred among right wing commentators and religious fundamentalists. We got especially brutal treatment on Rush Limbaugh’s show and Dr. Laura Shlessinger saw us both as completely immoral. I guess the good news was that we didn’t listen to these shows, and only heard about this stuff second hand.
But immorality helps to sell newspapers, and we never knew when a photographer would take a picture of either of us, or when would we end up on the pages of the National Enquirer, or an even sleazier imitator. It’s not like Michael and I had intended to hang out together that much. Frankly we were still too tired at the end of the working day to do more than go home and relax, but each time we did go out, it seemed some paparazzi was there to snap a shot of us. So everyone knew our business and I felt like I was on display all the time.
I felt bad for Cynthia because she too was caught up in this ridiculous storm. The press soon learned where I lived, and we couldn’t leave the building without being followed. But Cynthia took all this with ease and good grace.
"You wanted to play dress-up, "she teased, "now I don’t want you to leave the apartment or the office unless you look like an immaculate young lady. Maybe I’ll get you a pair of white gloves."
"But now I can’t make out with you on the street anymore," I pouted.
"Well, we’ll see about that, but for now, it’s probably just as well if you don’t."
"But Cynthia, aren’t you worried about being labeled a lesbian, or child molester, or something when you’re seen with me?"
She just sighed at that. "I’d prefer not to deal with all this, but I’m certainly not going to play the coward with you and Michael taking all this heat." She smiled at me comfortingly. "This is not going to wreck my life one way or the other. It’s you two I’m worried about. Now, fix your lipstick, I want to go out for dinner."
So we just weathered the media blitz without fighting it. After a while, as everyone had predicted, they got bored with us and just disappeared.
The best part about the return to work was that Cynthia and I were working together again and the atmosphere in the office was much like it had been before Thornton arrived. I was really beginning to enjoy myself, basking in the friendship of the other girls. I wasn’t really thinking about Thornton until he opened the door of opportunity himself.
He called me to his office one afternoon shortly after lunch. He greeted me pleasantly and we settled into his comfortable sitting area. I carefully arranged my long skirt over my knees, crossed my legs, and arranged my hands demurely in my lap. I looked up at him, expectantly, flipping my hair out of my eyes. He engaged me in meaningless small talk for a few minutes and made sure I had a cup of coffee. Then he sat in a big soft armchair across from me and explained his problem.
"Lillian…, may I call you Lillian instead of Ms. Miller?" he asked, "it’s funny because I always used to call you Brad." I nodded my assent, which was besides the point because he had forged ahead without hesitating. "I have to downsize my division because my costs are too high. That’s why I let Tammy go."
‘Sure, dick-head, whatever you say,’ I thought getting angry already.
The word in the hallways was that she fled as soon as she got an outside job offer, even though it paid less than she had been earning here. He drove her away by repeatedly humiliating her and berating her work. I just smiled at him mildly and nodded my head before I looked down to sip some coffee. I was distracted from my angry feelings by the lovely imprint of my plumy lipstick on his china cup.
"You know, of course, that I had to pull Kathy from your office to take her place."
‘Damn right I know, everyone’s really pissed off about it,’ I thought ‘We didn’t have enough staff to begin with.’ I just nodded, however, again, giving him a small, sweet smile, for no reason I could fathom, except it felt like the right thing to do.
"Well, the way things are going, I don’t think we can afford to carry two analysts, along with their staffs."
I looked up at that, a little startled but didn’t say anything. I knew we were profitable, so surely that couldn’t be true.
"I’ve decided that I can get by with one analyst and her staff, as long as I have a secretary, researcher and personal assistant."
Well, this was simple, either Cynthia or I had to go, and since she had seniority, I, along with half the office staff were to be chopped. He saw the growing awareness on my face, and figured it was time to make his offer.
"I think I have a solution." He smiled at me ingratiatingly. "I think you might really like it." Now he looked really proud of himself. "How would you like to become my personal assistant?" He smiled as if he had just presented me with a free trip to Hawaii.
I couldn’t keep my face completely impassive, I was never good at that, but I did manage to keep my mouth shut. I wonder if he saw the momentary flash of disgust I felt when he finished.
"If you do that, I think we can treat it as a promotion, and I can protect your staff. I can bring two here to work directly, for me, well, for us actually. I want Kathleen to be our receptionist, and Heather to be our research assistant."
‘Our,’ I thought, ‘what kind of bullshit was this? When he was involved the only pronoun that mattered was I.
Well, since becoming Lillian I had become quite attractive, but without doubt, Kathleen and Heather had to be the two most attractive women in the entire division. His motives were clear, he was creating an office full of eye candy.
"Cynthia can keep Marci and the others." He said, hesitating for a moment before looking down to check his calendar, as if there were actually something in it that mattered. Then he looked right back at me. "I really have to make a decision right away. What do you say?"
Trying not to change my expression, I looked at him carefully for a moment. As personally offensive as I found him, this was the opportunity I needed. I didn’t have a plan, but this would permit me to get close to him, into his calendar even.
Then, as if to be helpful he added, "I don’t know if I can keep you and the others on if we can’t work this out."
"No, I understand how that would be difficult for you." I said, a little too quickly. I knew he was simply blackmailing me with the fate of two of my best friends, and two other women as well. I had already decided what to do, but I had to make him think he was forcing me to do it. I didn’t like the idea of working with him so closely, and I knew that he was out to get me and I was walking right into his trap, but I couldn’t pass up the opportunity. I could only hope that with Cynthia to help me figure out what was going on, I would get the son of a bitch.
"Oh, Bob, that is so thoughtful of you to give me and the other girls this opportunity. I know you are taking a risk reorganizing like this, but I know that we’ll do our best to help make the new arrangements work." I said saying what I knew he wanted to hear.
He smiled at me. It was the greasiest, most disgusting smile I had ever seen. Then he spent a few minutes chatting about the logistics of our impending reorganization, as if my opinion really mattered. Finally, he called a halt when he had to go meet a client.
As I was about to leave his office, he said, "oh, by the way, Lilly, I really like blondes."
I thought I was going to faint. I’m sure my mouth fell open and my eyes widened, but I just kept silent.
He continued on undaunted. "I’m sure we’ll make a great team. I look forward to working with you even more closely than in the past. And when we’re at work, please call me Mr. Thornton, OK Lilly?"
I was so startled by his words that it was all I could do to keep from shouting at him. The little prick was wasting no time at all arranging the playing field to his advantage.
Cynthia was nowhere to be found when I got back to the office, so I made a quick call to Shelly. I had never really thought about bleaching my hair, but I was kind of curious to see how I would look. I remembered that old commercial, "if I have but one life to live, let me live it as a blonde." As I smiled at that thought, I hoped that becoming a blonde wouldn’t end my life prematurely.
I got home at about 6:30. I had been a bad girl and turned off my cell phone and pager so that no one could find me. I knew for sure that Cynthia would try once she read my note, but I needed to be alone to create another new me.
Shelly was shocked when I told her what I wanted to do to my hair, but threw herself into the effort when I told her why. Is there a woman out there who hasn’t been hurt by a guy and isn’t ready to help out another woman who has a plan for revenge? By the time I left, I had new hair, new nails, and another new makeover. After all, if I was going to be an office slut for some powerful guy, I had to look the part didn’t I?
With my new hair and makeup taken care of, I did a little clothes shopping too. I especially needed tops, tops that would show my nice new cleavage. By the time I got home to Cynthia, I was a somewhat different girl than the one who had kissed her goodbye in the morning. When I walked in the door and she rose to greet me, she did more than one double take as I posed for her in the foyer. Then, while she sat frozen in her seat holding her wine glass. I swayed over to her sexily, pivoting my hips as sinuously as I could. Without hesitating, I stripped her of the glass and attached my mouth to hers like my very life force was somewhere inside of it.
She resisted, going rigid when I first grabbed her, gave in for a few moments, and then pushed me away, shouting, "hold it. Just what do you think you’re doing?"
"What’s the problem, baby," I crooned back at her, "not hot enough for you."
"You look like a slut. What the fuck has gotten into you?"
"You don’t like the new me?" I pouted, pulling my shoulders together to push my cleavage even further into her face, and then flipping my new blonde hair over to one side as I turned away and wiggled my way over to the couch. I sat down, my back as straight as if I were wearing a corset, twisted my butt into the cushion, looked up at Cynthia and gave her my brightest smile.
"I’ve been promoted." Her eyes widened. "I’m now Thornton’s personal assistant."
Then I pursed my lips, scrunched my entire face into a questioning knot, looked back up, and said, as if I were deeply confused, "Or did I just get demoted?"
After a second, I couldn’t take the tension and burst out laughing, falling back into the cushions. When I opened my eyes, Cynthia was staring down at me with a look I hadn’t seen since my first few weeks of training.
I immediately fell back into my submissive role. "Mistress, please." I cowered in front of her, now trying to figure out a way to get under the cushions.
"What have you done to yourself? You look…ridiculous. I’m not sure I’d want to be seen with you in public."
"Mistress, it’s true. Thornton has made me his personal assistant." I said and then explained to her what had happened. Her look got more and more grim as I went on.
"He wants to destroy you. He’s set things up so he has every advantage over you. Do you really think you can defeat him at his own game? Are you crazy?" Her voice had gotten shrill, rising sharply on "crazy."
I turned serious in a heartbeat. "Cynthia, he’s inviting me inside his defenses. This look," I flipped my hair aside and batted my eyelashes at her, "is my Trojan horse."
I was proud of myself for thinking of that comparison and smiled for a moment, but then I got back to business again quickly. "Yes, he’s going to do his best to demean and humiliate me, and I’m sure that he’ll make me suffer. But this is too good a chance to pass up." I looked at her with pleading eyes. "You told me what’s going to happen and he’s already started. He did everything but order me to become a blonde."
I could feel my anger rising at the way he had treated me earlier. My voice got hard, "I don’t care what the risks or costs may be. He’s hurt too many people, and North State sure as hell isn’t going to do anything about it."
Cynthia just sighed and looked at me as if she were trying to figure out who I was. I ran my fingers through my hair, lifting it away from the side of my head and letting it fall back. Then I shook it out. It was still cut in a page boy, with the part on the left, but now it was layered around my face, starting above my jaw and feathering back gently to its longest point just in front of my ears, creating a long frame for my face. And I now had bangs, long bangs that touched the tops of my eyelashes when I opened my eyes all the way. It was actually kind of annoying, but I would have to brush them out of my eyes repeatedly, and I intended to do that as seductively as I could whenever Thornton was looking at me.
The most striking change, however, was the color. I was now a pale straw-colored blonde, with even lighter highlights in the strands layered around my face. It was a pretty sexy package, something a young secretary might wear, but way too provocative and not nearly sophisticated enough for a serious professional.
"I’ll do anything it takes to get him. You’ll help me won’t you?" I asked her trying to show that this was my real motive.
"Oh baby." She sank down beside me on the couch and pulled me into a tight embrace. "You know I will. I just hope you’re strong enough."
I sighed deeply and looked into her eyes, hoping she could see my soul through them. "Cynthia, just six weeks ago, some guy stuck a knife in my face and then tried to kill me but I killed him instead. Then the press harassed me mercilessly, so I’m not the same person I was. I’m not a kid any more and I’m going to get this motherfucker. He’s not just nasty, he’s cruel; he’s a true psychopath."
"Yes, Lilly, he is, and you’re not. You have a sweet, gentle heart. You have lots of empathy for people who are in pain. Those are not good weapons for someone out to right wrongs done to others."
I nodded my head, she was right.
She stroked my hair and went on. "Sweet and gentle don’t match up very well against cruel and psychopathic. And I’m not at all sure that you’ll be able to finish him off if you get an advantage. Once you see he’s in pain, you might just back off. He’d never do that and once he’s got you down, he’ll finish you off at the first opportunity. Then he’ll just extract what he wants from you. That’s what makes him such successful negotiator."
Yes, she was right. I wasn’t a finisher. I was at best a set up guy (well, girl)
"Well, if worse comes to worse, I can always show that he’s been embezzling," I replied "I don’t want to do that because I want to give that money to the girls who’ve earned it. But if I have to, I can use it against him."
She smiled.
"And," I added holding up my right hand, "I have this magic ring. I’m never really in trouble as long as I have this. "
Cynthia smiled at me wanly and let out another long sigh, pulling my head protectively to her shoulder. We sat there snuggling for a while, and then she took charge again. "OK, enough of this for now. We have time to plan. I want dinner, and then I want you."
She rose up over me, leaned down, gently grabbing one breast in each hand, kissed me hard, and then hauled me off the couch and over to the kitchen. I guess she was hungry. But after she had her main course, she had me for dessert.
He grinned, indicating that he understood I had turned the tables on him. "It’s just fine, Lilly, just fine. You keep this up and we’re going to get along really well. Bring my coffee, we have some business to discuss."
Thornton had redesigned his office suite while I had been recovering. He kept his large corner office, with its comfortable sitting area, but had turned his small conference room into an adjoining office for me. It had windows and was really rather nice. It also had two doors, one that connected to the outer reception area and one that opened directly into his office. Kathleen and Heather had adjacent desks in our big reception area. Kathleen was in front of Thornton’s office and Heather was in front of mine, although it was clear from the way the desks were arranged that Kathleen was the receptionist. Coffee was always kept brewing at a small station just outside my office. That made it real easy for Thornton to ask me to grab him a cup before we would get together to talk.
As I filled our cups, both Heather and Kathleen accosted me.
"What did you do to yourself?" Kathleen nudged me in the ribs.
"Stop," I whispered, "you’ll make me spill the coffee. Do you like my hair?" I turned back and forth to give them a full view.
"Why did you change it?" Kathleen asked.
I nodded towards Thornton’s office as I said, "Don’t you just love it? I think it’s so cute." Then I rolled my eyes. They both got the message.
Heather whispered, "You look like a slut."
"She’s right," Kathleen added, licking her lips seductively. "My panties are getting wet just looking at you."
"It’s my new makeup," I said brightly, "doesn’t it just bring out my eyes?" I batted them at Heather, glanced over at Kathleen and whispered conspiratorially, "Don’t mind her, she’s just a sex-crazed nympho."
We all giggled and I headed for Thornton’s office. At the last moment I turned and mouthed to them, "Lunch?" We all nodded.
The plans he gave me were simple.
"You’ll keep doing the financial analyses you’ve been doing. With you so close, we can work more one on one so you’ll know what I need and can keep things moving."
What he intended, however, was for me to become his personal slave. Right from that moment, he asked me to do everything that came to mind, except hold his dick when he took a leak. Get this, do that, follow-up on the other thing, check the pastries, fetch my airline tickets, call me a cab, get my coat, and so on. I never did have lunch with the girls that day, and there were only a very few other days after that when we actually got out together. No, Thornton had me working through lunch just about everyday, and late on many evenings.
And he managed to turn the time we spent together into little torture sessions. Nothing I did was correct. Even though I knew he was trying to undermine my confidence, there were days he truly did have me confused and grasping to understand what he wanted. My problem was that I instinctively wanted to do my job well and had to stop and reflect for a moment to realize that he was only playing mind games with me.
"Lilly, how many times do I have to tell you, I don’t want the financials to come after the narrative. The narrative should be a final summary. And my God girl, we don’t need these projections for years five to ten in here at all. They only clutter up the presentation."
"Yes, sir." I just sighed. We had always put the financials after the narrative and every single client wanted to see those out year projections. But I went back and changed the presentation anyway. Then, when we did a dry run with our Chief Financial Officer several days later, he asked me, "Why did you put the narrative last and where the hell are the damn out year projections?"
Thornton looked at me coldly and said, "Ms. Miller, I told you not to change the way we always do things. Why didn’t you tell me before you did this?"
I had to do everything I could just to keep my mouth from falling open. "B…But, Mr. Thornton, I thought……."
"How many times have I told you not to think. Just do what I say."
I thought the look in his eyes would literally pierce my brain. Obviously he wanted to ensure that I kept my mouth shut. I got the message and looked down, slightly shamefaced, though I wasn’t quite sure why I felt that way. In the meantime Everett White was looking at me like I was retarded. That God-damned Thornton had set me up and made me look incompetent in front of one of the company’s most important men. I was so frustrated I almost had tears in my eyes. And there was nothing I could do. Then Thornton delivered the day’s coup de grace.
"Lilly, go get us some coffee would you. Everett and I really have to work on this presentation to fix it up now."
As I left the office, I heard White say, "Is she alright?"
Thornton replied in a stage whisper, obviously designed for me to hear, "You know Everett, some women have brains and some have tits, but I’ve never yet met one who has both. Did you see the size of her tits?" They both laughed.
I left the office feeling totally defeated. First he had undermined me and made me look like I was incompetent, then he’d demeaned me by asking me to fetch coffee for them, and then, as if the first two weren’t bad enough, he had made fun of my tits, just like a classic sexist pig. I had gone from respected analyst to fool, to big-titted office girl in the course of three minutes, and my breasts weren’t even that big!
And you know what was worse? When I was out fetching the coffee I told Kathleen what they had said about my breasts. She pursed her lips and closed her eyes part way, looking at me through the slits of her lids, as if she was trying to make an important decision. I was expecting sympathy, but that’s not what I got. No, I got nailed by Kathleen as well.
"Did you ever make jokes about women when you were with other men?"
"NO! Kathleen, you know me better than that."
"Well then, did you ever laugh at a joke that some other man made about the way a woman looked?"
At this I had to look away. Of course I had. How could you hang around with other men and not laugh at their jokes about women? Because I had no faith in my "manhood" to begin with, I went to great lengths to try to be one of the guys, so they wouldn’t find out about me. Of course I had laughed at their jokes. Sometimes I even threw in my own one-liners. But I never actually told jokes about women and never started one of those conversations meant to demean them either. When I looked up a moment later, Kathleen was smiling in victory. She knew she had me.
She proceeded to finish me off. "So, my dear girl, you had so little respect for women, that you allowed other men to make fun of us, and you did nothing? And now that you know exactly how it feels, you want me to feel sorry for you?"
I was in anguish. Not only had I just been demeaned by my male superiors because I was now presenting myself to the world as a woman, but I had demeaned women myself all along. I guess Kathy could see the pain in my eyes, because a moment later she hugged me and started to console me a little.
"I’m sorry, Lilly honey, I didn’t mean to beat up on you. You really were a nice man, and I know how you felt back there, all women do…, it’s happened to all of us."
She grabbed me by the shoulders and held me at arms length, examining me carefully.
"I’m sorry you had to learn that particular lesson in such a hard way."
She stroked my hair with one hand for a few moments and then pulled me into an embrace. We stood there for a few moments, hugging each other silently. Then she said laughing, "come on let’s get that coffee before they make fun of your serving skills as well. I’m sure Sissy would be very disappointed in you if you let that happen."
But you know what, she was on to something. I knew I had to think of some way to deal with this, and because of Kathleen’s little joke, Sissy, bless her heart, would come to my rescue. She knew how to serve. More importantly, she could do it without feeling demeaned. In fact, she kind of reveled in being a servant. So as I headed back to the meeting, I tried to put a little Sissy into my attitude. You could dump on her, but you couldn’t get her down. Lilly may not be her own girl yet, but Sissy certainly was. I don’t know why, but thinking of myself as Sissy when I went back into that room really did seem to help some.
You know what else helped? It was my ring. I had developed the habit of fiddling with it when I got anxious or depressed. It usually took a few moments for me to realize what I was doing, but once I had, I would look at it purposefully and kiss it. This somehow gave me the strength to face all kinds of different problems, including Thornton’s shit. As far as I was concerned, it really was a magic ring.
This day set a pattern that became depressingly common. Thornton was systematically shredding my reputation in front of all the company’s senior personnel. He had two approaches. Either he would get me do something he wanted to see if it would work, or he would purposely tell me to do something he knew would fail. If whatever it was worked, he took the credit; if it didn’t, I got the blame. I could just see my credibility crumbling with every passing day.
Of course, by now I had complete access to his computer and was spreading his bonus money liberally to the office staff. I had now fixed it so that these accounts wouldn’t look illegal to the auditors; it would just look like he was setting aside bonuses for the staff from his own expected income. In fact, people would admire him for doing that. But I also set up another account just for him. I started to take a tenth of a percent of every deal we made stuck that money into a private account that would appear to be hidden to anyone who happened to find it. Because of the way it was "hidden," any auditor immediately conclude that he was stealing from the company. Considering the size of some of our deals, a quarter percent was a chunk of change.
Dealing both with Thornton and the fallout from his behavior was hard work for me and still weak from my injury, I was always exhausted when I got home. I had almost no social life and things with Cynthia were getting a little testy. She was still taking care of the apartment and mothering me, and I knew she was getting a little impatient with my prolonged convalescence. But I couldn’t really do anything about that, and I knew she would take care of me as long as I needed it. Still, this didn’t prevent a few blowups when her patience ran short and my needs were working over time. In a way, we were falling into a destructive pattern, starting to act like an old married couple. We both worked too hard, had too much stress, and not enough affection. Sex between us was almost nonexistent, mostly because I didn’t have the strength most nights to do anything but fall asleep.
She was becoming shorter with me in general, and sometimes didn’t want to go out with me even on the weekend, when I was strong enough to do it. One evening she finally admitted that she was really embarrassed to be seen with me because of my new sluttier look. "You just don’t look like my type of girl any more," she told me.
Frankly, I thought that was really very shallow and not at all like Cynthia. I just couldn’t believe that was really what was bothering her, especially because it was a problem that was easily fixed. All I had to do was put my hair up and tone my makeup down. So I tried it, but as I suspected doing that didn’t really fix anything.
Finally, she admitted that my behavior and my lack of attentiveness were what really bothered her. She hadn’t wanted to say anything because she thought it was selfish of her to complain while I was still recovering.
Then one evening I finally figured it out. Since starting work again, I had put a lot of effort into meeting Thornton’s needs during the day, but I was ignoring Cynthia’s in the evening. She was supposed to be the love of my life and I was treating her like a hired housekeeper and she resented that, especially while Thornton got all my energy. Once I understood this, I couldn’t blame her for being resentful. And then I realized that maybe she was a little jealous too! And once I realized that, I knew just what to do.
So the next evening I told Thornton I had to go to the doctor and Ieft work early to go home to get ready to greet Cynthia. When she arrived, I met her at the door wearing my black and white maid’s uniform, the one that Marci and Kathleen had gotten me the first weekend of my transition. I had chilled martinis in the freezer and dinner ready to be served.
"Mistress, welcome home. I’ve missed you." I gave her my deepest curtsy. Queen Elizabeth would have been impressed, I’m sure.
"Sissy!" she shouted, thrilled at my appearance. She seemed so pleased that for a moment I thought she was going to throw her arms around me. But like a good mistress, she restrained herself and I could just see her self-control assert itself as her eyebrows started to come together and her lips grew thin.
"Where have you been you thoughtless girl? I spent all that time training you and you just up and disappear without even a so much as a goodbye."
"I’m sorry mistress," I curtseyed again, deeply, with my head down. "I was indisposed and I’m afraid a little bit selfish. I’m sure I need to be punished for my thoughtless behavior. May I get you a martini mistress?" I bobbed yet another curtsy and looked at her expectantly.
"In a minute dear. Let me look at you first. "
She walked around me eyeing me up and down while I stood still, my eyes cast down and my hands clasped primly in front of my frilly white apron. The first time I had worn this dress I couldn’t get it zipped up because I was too fat. Now, it was actually loose in the waist. The bust, however, was overflowing. It would have been tight with just my own breasts filling it out, but I had added a set of enhancers to my bra, so my breasts were literally bursting out, like two baby birds eager to fly from their nest. I had also put my hair up, which made me look much more professional than the hairdo I had adopted to please Thornton.
When she had finished her inspection, Cynthia stopped right in front of me and told me to look up at her. Once our eyes had met and held each other for a moment, she grabbed me in a fierce hug and whispered hoarsely into my ear, "oh Sissy I’ve missed you so. Thank you for coming back." Then she stood back from me, smiled slightly, and turned to go into her bedroom. "Get me one of those martinis you lazy slut and then get into my bedroom to help me get undressed. You have neglected your mistress for far too long."
Well I have to tell you, I was pretty proud of myself. I’d actually figured out what Cynthia needed and had managed to take the initiative to give it to her. This was a very important step for me, and a huge boost for our relationship. Strange isn’t it, I had to get into my role as a maid to take the independent action needed to give the dearest person in my life a gesture of affection she sorely needed.
After that, I worked to give to Cynthia what I could, and it really made a difference. It turned out that overcoming her objections to the way I looked was really easy to do. All I had to do was wear my hair up and tone my makeup down and Cynthia liked the way I looked again. I didn’t like to wear my hair up because I just loved to have it flow around my face, but since it made Cynthia happy I did it when I wasn’t at work. At least I learned a new set of skills in creating different kinds of pinned-up styles. Both of us liked French rolls, so I wore a lot of those. Could I help it if some of my hair kept slipping out and falling sexily next to my face? Cynthia thought so, but I always claimed innocence and pinned the offending strands right back into place, I guess I just wasn’t very good at it though, because they always seemed to slip right out again.
Despite the improvement in my relationship with Cynthia, the emotional effort required to deal with Thornton was forcing me into a depressed, anxious state like the one I’d been in before Cynthia took over my life. For a while, however, there was one saving grace. After a bad day, I could go home and immediately dress as Sissy. When Cynthia got home I would serve her and then beg her to punish me.
At first, our little spanking ritual was just what I needed to banish a bad day. I found this both relaxing and a release. But after a few days we both knew something had happened to me. I had escalated my requests to hard spankings as if the physical pain could somehow relieve my psychic pain. But our spanking sessions were never designed to do that and the whole scene collapsed in less than two weeks.
One evening I found myself passively draped across Cynthia’s lap. I was dressed in one of Sissy’s uniforms and my skirt and petticoat had been pulled up above my waist to reveal my ruffled panties. Cynthia had given me three of four swats with my hairbrush, but then stopped.
"No!" she shouted. "I won’t do this. It’s not fun for me and you’re just lying there like a dead fish. What happened to all the playful squirming around and kicking? What the hell’s going on with you? Get off me."
She pushed me onto the floor and stood over me looking very angry. I stood up dumbly and she threw my hairbrush at me and said, "get out! Change your clothes. I want to speak to Lilly in the living room in 15 minutes."
So 15 minutes later Lilly sat across from Cynthia on the big couch. She didn’t waste a moment, "Tell me what’s going on. I’m getting very worried about you."
So I told her how Thornton had been treating me and what he was doing.
"We can’t let this go on very much longer, I don’t think you can take it," she said to me with tears in her eyes. "I know I can’t."
"I know," I said, with tears starting to form in the corners of my eyes as well, "but I don’t know how to get control back from him. Every time I think I’ve figured out what’s going on, he changes the rules on me. You know what he did today?"
She shook her head no.
"He asked me out."
"What?" she shouted at me, jumping up from her seat. "Why that shit….."
"It’s OK, Cynthia. It’s a business affair. It’ll all be in public."
She got even more agitated. "Lilly!" She sounded exasperated, "you are so naíve!" She paced around for a moment and then spun on me. "Don’t you see, once people see you out with him, your credibility will be undermined even more. He’s got you so turned around, people already think your brains must have melted and turned into tits."
I hung my head. I never dreamed that having breasts, even pretty ones like mine, could be such a problem.
"First you become a girl, then you go blonde and get this sex-kitten hair style and look, and now you’re totally confused." He’s really scoring points against you."
"No, Cynthia, I have to keep going. I know I look really bad, and I certainly feel bad, but things have to turn around at some point." I let out a big sigh, "and besides, I’ve been using his computer to embezzle money for him. He’s putting it into his own accounts on a regular basis. In a few weeks he’ll have stolen enough for a class A felony."
"Sure," she said sarcastically, "by then he’ll have convinced everyone that you can’t function at a level higher than office girl. So what if you destroy him if he destroys you at the same time."
I had nothing more to say. I sat there for a moment thinking and then decided what to do. I took a long drink of wine and gracefully put the empty glass onto the table. I sat straight up, thrusting my chest out and then reached behind my head to pull out the pins that were holding my hair up. Once it was down, I combed through it with my fingers and shook it out as provocatively as I could, stretching like a cat at the same time. I swiveled up off the couch and grabbed Cynthia and kissed her.
"Enough of Thornton, can I be your office girl right now?" I whispered. She understood my need immediately, but frowned for a moment because I had changed the subject on her so effectively. But then she smiled to herself and nodded at me lasciviously. She grabbed me by the hand, and led me to bed. I spent the rest of the evening kissing and licking and caressing her body. I needed a strong dose of feminine love and I needed to show Cynthia how important she was to me.
On this morning we were working on hip tosses and I had pulled off a beauty. I had thrown a 175-pound man onto his back just by shifting my weight, jutting out my hip, and using the force of his charge against him. As I stood there over him, I knew, without a doubt, how I could defeat Thornton.
I had to convince Thornton that he had me totally under his control. I had to make him so full of himself that he would rush ahead to crush me without ever imagining he might be in danger. Then I was going to shift my weight, jut out my hip and throw him.
That was such an attractive metaphor. Before I could do anything else, however, I had to figure out how to make it real. Scientists have a word for it, I had to operationalize my plan. Over the course of the morning, I had a hard time thinking about anything else. I couldn’t see the whole thing, but I could just sense parts starting to jell. I was going to be his little air-headed office slut. He was going to abuse me and I was going to behave as if I blamed myself for being abused. We would have the classic American relationship! I just knew that this was the way for me to get him. I was going to use his own momentum to throw him. That’s what I had just learned to do in my martial arts course.
At this point I knew I had to really start playing his game. I knew that if I was to set him up to fall hard enough to destroy him, then I had to keep him thinking that I was doing my best so he would continue to trust me. But at the same time, I had to screw up on occasion. My own failures would give him opportunities to dump on me and come to believe that I really was becoming less and less competent.
So, I tried to be perfect for the small or easy projects, and for most of the important ones. Every so often, however, I’d leave out something he’d need, mostly to see if he missed it. He rarely did. But when he did, he always took the opportunity to abuse me for it.
"Lilly!"
Ah hah, I thought, he had found one of my "mistakes." Let’s see which one. I got up from my desk and went through the open doorway into his office. As soon as I entered his presence, I lit up and I plastered a smile on my face and a wiggle in my walk.
"What the hell is this?" He held up a balance sheet that didn’t meet his needs.
I took it tentatively and looked at it carefully, although I knew what I would see. I guess I wasn’t quite as clever hiding those overstated real estate assets as I thought. "Oh!" I said as sincerely as I could, my eyes going wide. "This is the wrong sheet. It’s out of date." I looked up questioningly.
"I know that you airhead. Why is it in my presentation material?"
I wanted to say,'To see if you would find it, you arrogant boob.’ Instead, I stuttered out, "I…I don’t know Mr. Thornton. I’m sorry sir."
"I’m not very happy with this. What am I going to do with you young lady?"
And then, it was as if a flashbulb went off in my mind. And without taking the time to consciously analyze the scene it had illuminated, I responded immediately, saying querulously, "Spank me sir?"
Once I had heard what I had said I freaked. Holy shit! What did I say? Only then did I take the time to review the dark memory that flashbulb had revealed to me. I had been back with my mother. She liked to say that same thing that Thornton had just said to make fun of me. I could hear it in my head, "what are we going to do with you, young lady?". Then she would spank me. I had just let that memory slip out. My eyes went wide and my hand went to my mouth.
Thornton looked at me appraisingly, to see if I was mocking him. His look made me so uptight that I started to giggle. A moment later he laughed. Then we both laughed. The moment passed.
When I got home later that night I could hear Cynthia sobbing the moment I walked in the door. I ran to her room immediately.
"Cynthia, what’s wrong?" She looked terrible, like she had been crying for hours. Worse, there were two partially packed suitcases on the bed next to her. She was going to leave!
"Oh Lilly," she half wailed, "come here, please, give me a hug."
As soon as I saw the suitcase I started to get anxious. The fact that Cynthia clung to me like she would never see me again didn’t make me feel any better. Even so, I forced myself to remain calm, just stroking her hair and back until she calmed down. It was obviously time for me to be strong for at least a few moments.
When she had regained control of herself, she sat up and looked at me.
"You look stunning." she said it through a tear-stained crooked smile that was terribly endearing, but a little scary. Then, without even hesitating, she went on. "My sister, Hannah has breast cancer. She probably doesn’t have long to live. I have to go stay with her. I might be gone for a few weeks or a few months. I don’t know."
"Oh Cynthia," I replied and we fell into each other’s arms again, now both of us were crying. She shared the details with me over the next couple of hours as she packed and I got ready for bed. Hannah was her oldest sister, but only in her forties. She had known about the cancer for a year, had a mastectomy, and a round of chemotherapy without telling anyone in her family. She had always been so full of life that she simply decided to believe she would be cured. Having decided that, there was no need to worry anyone else.
But she hadn’t been cured, and the cancer had overcome her a couple of weeks ago and was now progressing rapidly. She didn’t have the heart for heroic measures and was preparing to die. She and Cynthia had always kept in close contact, and in the end it was Cynthia she had turned to for care. Of course Cynthia would go to her side. She would be flying out tomorrow.
We both got into comfortable nighties and snuggled up with each other in my big soft bed. Then Cynthia dropped another bomb on me. "Lilly I need to ask you a big favor."
"Anything Cynthia, anything, please what can I do?"
She turned to look me directly in the face. "Hannah has asked to wear Grandma Lillian’s ring. She doesn’t know I gave it to you." Then she turned away, obviously embarrassed by what he had just asked me.
In the meantime, my mind was exploding.
The ring!
My ring!
My protector!
Cynthia was asking me to give up my ring! She was going to leave and take my ring! My heart seemed to stop beating for a few moments, and then it fluttered wildly out of control. I was hyperventilating. But the reality of the situation couldn’t have been clearer. I consciously slowed my breathing. I couldn’t let her see my turmoil. I took a deep breath.
I had to do it. How could I not? I had to let Hannah wear her own mother’s ring. So that was that. Without a word, I sat up, turned on the light, and smiled at Cynthia. Reaching over her I grabbed the Oil of Olay, which she usually wouldn’t let me touch, saying I was so young it was wasted on me, and put some on my finger so I could slide the ring off. Then I gently wiped it with a tissue, kissed it, and handed it to Cynthia, who was sobbing again.
I looked at her as gently as I could and said, "please don’t tell Hannah that you had to get it back from me to give it to her. I don’t want her to spend even a nanosecond feeling bad about wearing it." I choked back a sob. "I’ve never owned anything that was as dear to my heart as this ring, but if it gives her even one second of comfort, I want her to have it." I couldn’t possibly keep it from her. Cynthia leapt up at me and pulled me into a full body hug, and yet again, we both started to cry.
After I had gotten control of myself again, I said, "Oh God Cynthia, I’m so sorry for you. I’m so sorry for Hannah." I choked back more tears. "I feel like such a fool, making such a big deal out of my stupid struggle with Thornton, when Hannah was going through such an awful thing by herself." Cynthia just kept sobbing.
A few minutes later I got out of bed and went to get us both a glass of wine. As we sat there sipping it, Cynthia turned to me. "Will you be alright without the ring? I know how much it meant to you. I was scared to death to ask for it, but I had to after Hannah asked me about it."
I gave her a rueful smile and then giggled gently for a moment. "You know what," I said, "Dumbo learned to fly without his magic feather and he was only a baby. I think it’s about time this big girl learned how to fly by herself too."
"Oh, I loved Dumbo," Cynthia sighed as she threw her arms around me. "Then she drew back and looked at me seriously. "You really have been flying, you know, and I love you dearly. I just know you’ll be fine."
I let it go at that. I wasn’t so sure, but after all she had done for me, the least I could do for her at this point was let her leave without having to worry about me, even if I was scared to death. Now I had to face Thornton on my own. I had been counting on Cynthia’s advice and support to deal with him. Now all I could get from her was one more night of sleeping cuddled together.
Cynthia and I had a tearful send off at the front door of the apartment building as she got in a cab for La Guardia airport. From there it was on to Colorado Springs where Hannah lived. I was numb as I went back upstairs and got back into bed. At least it was the weekend and I didn’t have to go to work.
That night I had a terrible dream. I had breast cancer. I woke up, panicked, from a scene in a hospital operating room. The surgeon was standing over me holding up my bloody breast, which he had just sliced from my chest with a big knife. Somehow I was awake and gaping at him in total shock and horror. As I looked, the surgeon morphed into the person I had killed after he and his buddies had attacked Michael and me.
"You bitch," he screamed at me, "I got it now, you bitch!" And he waved the bloody breast over his head as I tried to stop the bleeding from my chest with my hands.
I was in a total state of panic when I awoke. I was gasping for air, my heart was beating wildly in my chest, and I was soaked in sweat. As the level of adrenaline in my blood stream fell and the immediate sensation of panic receded, it was replaced by a deeper feeling of dread. What had I done to myself? I had breasts now and I could get breast cancer, something that didn’t normally happen to men. I was such a fool.
I couldn’t fall back asleep for hours, as I beat myself up for my stupid decision to become a woman. Here I was, all alone, with a boss who was trying to destroy me, and I was soon to die of breast cancer. It was a really shitty night.
Sunday wasn’t a great day either, but at least I was smart enough to go to the gym. I was getting some of my strength back and was thrilled with the progress I was making in my marital arts course. I ended up staying for several hours, reveling in the physical sensations of exercise and sweat and tired muscles. Of course, I still couldn’t shower there, or use the sauna, but working out did have a remarkably calming effect on me.
Monday morning came along all to soon. Now it was really time to see what I was made of. I had to tell Thornton about Cynthia and although she had arranged a leave with HR, he was not a happy camper. Now I was the only analyst and if he wanted to get his work done, he would have to stop wasting my time with stupid dominance games. We sat in his office and talked about how to arrange things, and it soon became clear that I would have to supervise all of Cynthia’s staff and use them to try to keep up with her work and mine. Once we had that settled we moved on to the next topic. I descended into a period of intense work and little life aside from that.
There was no way Thornton could hide my contributions now, and everyone in the company again became aware of them. All the work Thornton had put into undermining my reputation was going down the tubes, and bad opinions of me were dissipating as fast as dew in the morning sunshine. Miller, the ace analyst was back, only this time it was that cute Ms. Miller, not that old withdrawn Mr. Miller.
But then just a little more than three weeks after Cynthia’s departure, the roof fell in. Thornton proved himself to be even bigger scum bag than I had realized. He took a relatively small contract away from a bright new start-up firm, which would almost certainly fail as a result. He actually came back to the office and bragged about putting them out of business.
He stood in the outer office facing Kathleen, Heather, and me and puffed himself up like some kind of exotic bird at mating time. "That was so easy, it almost wasn’t fun." Then he turned to me. "I really don’t want to do this project, so we’ll have to subcontract it out. Get on that right away Lilly."
I was stunned. I didn’t understand what was going on. I couldn’t keep myself from blurting out, "but why? If you didn’t want to do the work, why did you bid on it? We won’t make any profit if we have to sub it out, and…, and… they’ll go out of business." My voice rose in surprise and frustration as I finished.
He turned on me. "It’s none of your damn business, you little bimbo. If I want your opinion I’ll ask for it." Then he turned towards his office chuckling to himself. After two steps he turned back to me. "Call them Lilly. See if they want to take on the work. If they want to stay in business, they can work for me." He laughed and started to saunter towards his office again.
I was staggered. I had never heard of anyone doing anything so patently malicious. Instinctively, I started to protest, "Bob, you can’t do tha.."
"What did you say"? He turned on me in an instant, but I had decided not to back down.
"That’s inappro….."
"Shut the fuck up, pansy!" With two quick steps he was right in my face, glaring into my eyes. I started to fold, looking down in fear and shame. "I say what I want around here. I don’t need any fake pussy boy telling me what to do! If anyone’s inappropriate around here, it’s you. You’re not a real woman, and you’re certainly not a man, you’re a pitiful mistake, a sissy faggot!"
He kept advancing on me as he spoke and I was so intimidated I backed away until we reached the closed door to my office. I couldn’t go any further and he stopped with his face only inches from mine.
"Listen you fucking sissy. You work for me. If I ever hear another complaint out of you, you and your girlfriends," he turned and glared at Kathleen and Heather, "will all be looking for jobs by the next morning. You do what I say, when I say it, and how I say it. You smile and say yes sir. Do you understand me?" His voice seemed like thunder in my ears.
I nodded my head.
"Do YOU understand?" He asked turning again on Kathleen and Heather, who were afraid even to look up. He was shouting now. I was really scared, thinking that I was so weak that he could do whatever he wanted to me. I had always been afraid of bullies, even when I had been a guy.
Then, curiously, I felt myself trying to fiddle with my ring. The ring I didn’t have anymore. And in one seamless moment, I both panicked and recovered. Everything seemed to slow down and I understood what I should have known all along. I didn’t have to worry about him hurting me. I could handle that. Hell, I’d handled worse already. What I really needed to do was protect the two other girls, who had just been caught in the crossfire of a battle I had started. By turning on the other two girls, he ignited some heretofore hidden protective instinct within me. Now it was blazing to life.
"It’s alright sir, Mr. Thornton." I suddenly said. I tried to make my voice purr. And instead of straightening up and facing off with him as a man might have, I turned slightly to the side, twisting my torso to show off my curves. I tilted my head and put my hand on his arm, looking up into his eyes. "They understand. We all do."
He turned on me again. "And if I hear anything from HR or anyone else, you’ll regret it forever. Now get your faggot ass out of here and do your damn work, if you can figure out how." He sneered the words out.
But he had calmed down enough, and the crisis passed. He turned and stalked into his office. I leaned against the wall, my breath ragged and my heart racing. I was furious, I could feel bile rising up in my stomach and I began to feel like I was going to retch. How dare he? How dare he treat me like that, like I’m just an object! How dare he threaten Heather and Kathleen! How dare he..…
Sweat started to form on my forehead and my whole body felt weak. I stood there, my breasts rising and falling hard, and as I looked down at them, I suddenly felt like they belonged to someone else. All of a sudden I felt like a man in a woman’s body. This couldn’t be me could it? What had I done to myself? I started to hyperventilate, and I could feel the anxiety rising within me.
Again, I started fiddling with the ring. And as soon as I realized it wasn’t there, I was able to get control of myself. I slowed my breathing intentionally, my heart rate started to subside, and my racing mind came under control as well. When I next looked down, I was me, Lilly, not some man caught in a woman’s body. Then it was time to take care of the girls.
"Come on girls. Let’s get some coffee. We need to talk."
At that, Heather burst into tears. I hugged her for a second and said, "you’re right, we need alcohol, not caffeine, let’s get some margaritas. Get your bag and fix your face, I’ll be right back." I grabbed a cup of coffee for Thornton and went back to my desk and pulled my purse from the bottom desk drawer. I quickly brushed my hair, freshened my lipstick and spritzed a little more perfume on my throat. Then, visualizing my ring for just a moment, I knocked on Thornton’s door.
"Mr. Thornton, sir, may I come in?"
He looked up as I peeked my head through the door. "What do you want, Lilly?" He enunciated the words clearly, to indicate he was still angry.
"I brought you some coffee sir, I came to apologize." I slinked into the room trying to be sexy and subtle at the same time. I brought him the coffee and handed it to him with two hands, and bowed slightly, the way I thought a Geisha might. Then I gave him a tentative smile.
"You were right sir, I had no right to question you. I won’t let it happen again." I hung my head for a moment in a submissive posture Cynthia had taught Sissy. Then I raised my eyes without raising my head, and in a tentative voice asked, "will we still be going to the Patterson affair sir?"
He looked at me for a moment with questioning eyes, smiled, and said "of course."
I let out a big theatrical sigh of relief. "If you don’t mind sir, I’m going to take the girls out for a drink. They’re a little shaken. I want to make sure they understand how to handle this.
"Oh, all right," and he waved me out dismissively.
I turned to leave and when I got to the door I stopped and leaned back in. "I think you’ll like the dress I bought for Friday night." I smiled at him brightly and then spun on my toes and left, flipping my hair as I did. I just hoped he appreciated my effort to flirt because it made me want to puke.
This event marked another watershed for me. I now knew I was tougher than I had ever imagined. My self confidence began to grow by leaps and bounds. Unfortunately, it apparently marked a watershed for Thornton too; he must have realized that he was letting me recover from his attempt to destroy me. After that little episode, he again made demeaning me one of his top priorities.
So when he came to get me that evening not only did I get a new dress just for this occasion, but I had also been to see Shelly to get my hair and makeup done. The dress was hot. It was a wine red slip dress of some kind of slinky bias cut synthetic fabric. Like my shawl, it had metallic threads running through it to catch the light when I moved. Better, it really clung to my body. It didn’t show a lot of skin, in fact it had long sleeves because the scar on my arm was still rather ugly and I wanted to hide it, but it did show the outline of everything that was underneath, including the fact that I wasn’t wearing a bra. It ran all the way to my ankles and had only the smallest slit in the back. The result was that I had mince a little when I walked. I knew Thornton would love it. Hell, I loved it. There was still enough Brad left in me so that I got turned on just looking at myself in the mirror.
I knew I looked great, and he wore me on his arm like I was a prize, which was really kind of strange because he was a well-known homophobe. Here he was though, escorting a known transsexual like she was his girlfriend.. I guess he just wanted to collect some chips for being politically correct before he destroyed me. Then when he was done with me he could claim that it had nothing to do with my gender or sexual orientation.
As the evening wore on, I learned just how right I had been about his motives. At one point before dinner we became engaged in a conversation about a technical matter with Thomas Mackey, one of the other VPs.
"Bob, when you were working on the Chicago finance deal, didn’t you have Brad…, er…" He turned bright red with embarrassment when he realized what he had said. I immediately moved to put him at ease.
"It’s OK Tom, even I still think of myself as Brad when I remember the past. But it’s Lillian now and it always will be."
He recovered right away and just nodded his thanks at me. "Right, didn’t you have Miller here," he looked at me and grinned, obviously proud of how he had avoided dealing with my gender by using only my last name, "develop a new analysis algorithm to evaluate the depreciation values on their portfolio?
I had indeed done that when I was Brad, and it gave us an insight into their holdings that even they didn’t understand. I jumped into the conversation, ready to explain what I had done.
"That’s right, Tom, I…."
"Lilly," Thornton cut me off. "Go get us something to drink, will you sweetheart? I don’t think Tom needs to hear your little stories."
I started to object, "I…"
"Lilly?" The way he said it was mild, but his look was ferocious. I swallowed my pride and started to get up.
"Sure B…." His eyebrow went up. "…M…Mr. Thornton, what would you like? Mr. Mackey can I get you something?"
I left the table trying to calm myself down. I knew this was going to happen, yet I couldn’t help but feel humiliated by his behavior. And just like he had done many times before, he started to joke about me before I got out of earshot.
"Look at that ass Tom, have you ever seen anything so hot? Look at it swivel in that dress. I’m telling you…." And then the buzz of conversation in the room drowned him out.
By the time I reached the bar I had calmed down again. I intentionally put my ultimate goal in the forefront of my mind to cushion the beating my ego was taking from Thornton. But as I waited in the short line, I realized that I was the only unescorted woman there to fetch drinks. The men in line were either alone and fetching drinks for their dates, or with their dates. I was the only woman getting a drink for her date! Thornton was putting me down in front of the whole room. I knew it and so did they; my face flushed with embarrassment as I realized what was going on.
Then, later in the evening, things got even more confusing. As the band played after dinner, Thornton actually asked me to dance. At first the thought appalled me, but I knew I couldn’t say no. So I took the hand he offered me and minced after him to the dance floor.
You know what? He was a fabulous dancer. He led me around the floor like a pro and I actually started to enjoy it, thankful to Cynthia for forcing me take dancing lessons. A few dances later, the music slowed down and he pulled me close to him. Again I was hesitant, but couldn’t resist.
"You know, Lilly," he whispered to me, "I’m really doing you quite a favor by bringing you here and treating you like a real woman, even dancing with you." He turned me away from him and under his left arm and when I had spun back to face him, he pulled me back into his body with his right on my shoulder blade and shoulder. I teetered slightly on my heels as he pulled me, but caught my balance against he chest. I’m sure that gave him a real good impression of the size and heft of my breasts. "Are you a real woman Lilly?"
I knew instantly what he meant because I could feel his erection pressing into my groin, just above my own tucked-back penis. Before I had a chance to react though, he spun me away again, twice in succession this time, so that when we came back together again, I was a little dizzy for a moment. This time he pulled me back into his erection by putting his right hand in the small of my back, rather than on my shoulder blade, where it belonged. At the same time he held my right hand up and a little behind me. The net effect was to arch my body so that my tummy was pressed directly on his erection, but little else of me was touching him.
I looked up at him, a little startled to be man-handled like that, but even more surprised at the size of his penis. It was big…, really big…, way bigger than mine or Michael’s. Right then, I knew where all his self-confidence came from, and I couldn’t keep myself from squeaking out, "Mr. Thornton you’re so big." My voice had real wonder in it.
He chuckled confidently and replied, "women usually can’t resist my cock once they discover it. Would you like to check it out, my dear?"
I giggled, which surprised me. But it seemed giggling had become my new response to anxiety. At this thought, I frowned momentarily, thinking that my ditzy act was maybe getting a little too good. Thornton, of course, misinterpreted my response. Like most other men, self-centered assholes that they are, he assumed I was answering yes. So he dropped his left hand to my butt and pulled more of me tightly against him. At the same time, he bent his knees slightly and then straightened up rubbing that giant cock into my belly yet one more time. It was a very erotic move and it had its desired effect, I was surprised yet again to discover that I was getting a little turned on, even though I quickly got angry at his arrogance.
But before I could say anything else, he did. "If you’re going to keep working for me Lilly, and you want things to go smoothly, you need to be a woman for me." Then he lifted my right arm, separated his body from mine, and turned spun me away three more quick spins.
Did you ever try to understand something really complicated and then plan how to deal with it while you were spinning on your toes in tight circles under someone else’s direction? I don’t think it can be done. At least I couldn’t do it because I had to concentrate real hard on my footing just to be sure I didn’t lose my balance in my lovely, but dangerously high heels and overly tight skirt. I did, however, figure out why he was repeatedly leading me into spins; he knew that if he kept me dizzy I wouldn’t be able to keep up with him mentally. To everyone else, we probably just looked like good dancers showing off their moves, but in fact we were dueling with each other for control. By the time he pulled me back into the standard dance position, this time slightly separated from him, I knew only one thing; it was crunch time.
Cynthia had predicted this would happen. He’s told me how to look, abused me verbally, done his best to discredit me as a professional, and now it was time for sexual harassment. Intellectually I had known this was coming, but you never know how you’re going to react emotionally to stressful situations until you’re actually in them.
As the reality of what was going on asserted itself, the mild feeling of physical arousal that had been elicited when he rubbed is penis on my belly, was obliterated by a more intense feeling of anger. He was, after all, a total sleaze ball and was trying to coerce me into having sex with him. I pulled back even further from his body and looked at him. "Mr. Thornton, this is so unexpected, I don’t think we should go there."
"Are you sure Lilly? This could be quite an experience for you, and a real advantage." He looked at me with one eyebrow cocked.
"I’m sorry Mr. Thornton, I’m not prepared to enter into a personal relationship with you right now. And I’m certainly not prepared to have casual sex with anyone. I just don’t do that."
"Well, perhaps it is a little soon, but let’s give it some time. You never know how you’ll feel as time goes on." He smiled at me in a way that made me cringe inside.
After that, Thornton grew increasingly aggressive in his treatment of me. He got back on track with his program to discredit me, started to put pressure on me to get even more work out of the staff, and even tried to get me to wear shorter skirts, promising to give me a bonus check to pay for the alterations.
And he started to comment on how I looked. He would wonder casually how a tighter top, or one that showed more cleavage might look with a certain suit, or whether a bolder shade of lipstick would make me look "hotter." He was clever enough to keep this kind of talk private, but if he could do it unseen, he couldn’t resist putting his hand on my butt or thigh even when other people were present. My job, of course was to not react, so as not to give the game away. I had, he pointed out, danced with him, so I can’t say that I didn’t want him to touch me.
I knew that if I did react and act offended that he had his hand on me, he would get in trouble with senior management and the board of directors. But I also knew that he wouldn’t be fired for doing something like that, and that in turn he would make life a living hell, before he got rid of me, that is. No, that wasn’t the way to go; Machiavelli was very clear about it, you have to kill the king, not just injure him. So l let his little game continue.
I wasn’t totally stupid, however, I did check in with Jennifer Hairston, the VP for Human Resources. I asked on behalf of "a friend" what would happen if certain kinds of behavior took place and how a woman might protect herself from a vindictive boss should she decide to reveal what was going on. Of course Jennifer saw through my little ploy right away, and although we both pretended to be talking hypothetically, we both understood that I was asking about how to handle Thornton.
She warned me that I was already on thin ice because Thornton was doing his best to undermine me and people were beginning to question my ability.
"But don’t people understand what he’s doing," I asked plaintively, "can’t they see?"
"It’s strange," she told me, "everyone knows how smart you are and that Thornton’s just trying to make you look bad, but his little scenarios actually work. They create a strong impression that stick in people’s minds. It’s just easier for people to believe what they see than to try to reconcile that with what they know. And of course, everyone is still pretty wigged out about you changing genders. Most think you must be nuts."
I sat silently for a moment, considering what she had said. "They’re right you know," I was barely whispering now, "I am nuts." My voice was rising. "But it’s not because I was confused about my gender, it’s because I believed that this company wouldn’t put up with Thornton’s despicable behavior. We’ve been so liberal and accepting of different kinds of people here for so long, we’ve always nurtured people and helped them grow. Thornton hates people and drives them out for no good reason. He’s just too much." I had almost begun to shout, but stopped myself.
Jennifer just sighed. "I know what you mean, I don’t understand it either. The old man and his buddies just seem to have a blind spot when it comes to his treatment of other people. I guess his balance sheets speak very loudly for him."
"Well they should, " I interrupted, "We’re always understaffed and he doesn’t give any bonuses to those of us who do work there. That’s got to help."
We both just sat there quietly for a few moments and then Jennifer said, "you need to be careful Lilly, I’m afraid there’s nothing I can do to protect you if he wants you fired."
I was disconsolate by the time I got back to my office. What was I going to do? I was beginning to wonder if even embezzling would be enough to bring him down. No, he would have to be publicly exposed as the fraud and beast that he was. I didn’t know whether I could do it.
The last thing I needed right now was to lose my self-confidence, because more problems popped up every time I turned around. In addition to the crap Thornton was dishing out, I started to get some nasty comments in the lady’s room and hallways from women who thought my dress and behavior were…, shall we say, inappropriate? And I hadn’t changed anything! I got shit from some of the men too, most of them the same ones who had harassed me before.
"What a slut you turned out to be, you’re worse than a fag, putting out for your boss to get ahead."
That got my attention, and I couldn’t let it pass. Even though the asshole who had muttered it had passed me, I turned and grabbed his arm. He turned around to see what was going on. "What did you say?" I challenged him.
He looked around carefully and seeing no one in the hall, said, "fuck you faggot! Everyone knows you’re putting out for Thornton just to keep your job."
"I am not!" I said indignantly. "Who said that?"
He looked me up and down, like I was a street corner hooker. Then just before he turned to leave, he looked me in the eye and started to laughed at me.
I was furious. I went storming back to our office and knocked on Thornton’s door. I barged in before he could even answer.
"What do you mean telling people that I’m having sex with you?" I was almost shouting.
He looked at me mildly and a small smile crept onto his lips. "Excuse me?" he said, his voice as mild as his expression.
"There’s a rumor going around the halls that I’m, putting out for you. We both know that’s not true."
"Well, Ms. Miller, I can’t control office gossip you know, but you wouldn’t be the first babe who’s wanted to work for me to get at my dick, and most people know that. It’s an obvious conclusion that a faggot like you would be after it."
I was flabbergasted. I had no idea what to say or do. I just stood there glaring at him until he got bored with me.
"What people say about you is your problem, not mine," he said. "Where’s the Boston Federated report? Don’t come back in here until you have it."
I started to leave his office feeling totally confused. Just as I got to my door he called me back. "Oh, by the way," he said as I turned to face him, "I’m thinking of hiring another analyst to pick up some of the load. I’ve got some candidates lined up; we’ll start interviewing in ten days."
I didn’t even bother to reply. I just turned and went into my office. The handwriting had been spray-painted on the wall in three foot high fluorescent letters. If I didn’t put out for him, he was going to get rid of me. I’m sure the only questions in Thornton’s mind was how to get my lips around his dick and how much he could humiliate me before throwing me out on my ass.
That just sent my stress level through the roof. Even as I juggled multiple projects for him, I had now obviously become Thornton’s designated whipping girl, just as others before me had been. As the pressure built, I started to get really short with the other girls, who, along with me, were having a hard time keeping up with the pace Thornton was setting. There was no denying his prodigious capacity for work.
The worst part was, I was starting to treat the people who worked for me with the same disregard that Thornton was showing us. I remembered how Tammy, who quit as Thornton’s secretary not so long ago, had started to act like Thornton, and realized that I was doing the same thing. Instead of looking to the staff for support and help, I was alienating myself from them by being overly demanding and unforgiving.
This made me very unhappy with myself, but I didn’t seem to be able to get myself under control. There was more and more grumbling about me at the office, and I was getting more and more down because of it. So, just as I had done before when I was Brad, I came up with precisely the wrong solution again as Lilly. I started to withdraw from Marci, Kathleen, Heather and the others. In retrospect, I can see how stupid that was, but at the time, it just happened, speeded along by Thornton’s demands. One day, as I was struggling to keep up, he warned me, with sarcasm dripping from his words like blood from an open wound, that if I was going to play, "Mr. Nice guy," but fail to meet his needs, that I and the others could easily be replaced.
"Listen, you little pansy, it doesn’t matter whether they like you or not, only that my work gets done. I want to see you more in control, giving orders, not making namby-pamby requests and backing down every time one of your little girlfriends has to blow her nose."
I didn’t see any way around. I had to do what he said. The result was that my status changed yet again. Since my transition, I had been one of the girls, even if I was becoming a rather bitchy one, and we were all in it together, with Thornton as the enemy. Now, I was Thornton’s right hand girl, and it was the rest of the girls against the two of us. I just hated the whole thing, but he was holding me hostage by threatening to fire my friends, something I just couldn’t let happen. Work became a living hell.
My time outside of work wasn’t that much better. Cynthia called every few days, but I tried to hide my problems from her because she had a dying sister to care for. My problems seemed so trivial by comparison, I just didn’t want to bother her. I did leave hints about what was happening every now and again because I really couldn’t hide my feelings all that well, but she already knew things were stressful, and it wasn’t hard to convince her that’s where my emotional raggedness was coming from.
And I isolated myself from my other friends as well. I avoided Beverly Wells, finding trumped up reasons to skip my sessions. When I did see her, the appointments were brief and I did my best to assure her that I loved my new life. Really, there was no question now about my gender because my identity as Lilly was quite solid, but I didn’t want her probing into the rest of my life. So I talked a lot about Cynthia, about fashion, and anything else but me. Because I had been doing so well, there really wasn’t any reason for her to worry about me and I was able to fool her, although I didn’t know how long I could continue to pull that off.
My relationship with Michael suffered too. He tried to keep up with me, he had promised Cynthia he would, and we did see each other several mornings each week in our martial arts class. More than that, he made sure we spent occasional evenings together but I was having conflicts. I really wanted to spend time with him, but I didn’t want him to know what was going on at work. So I made him take me to clubs with loud music so we couldn’t really talk, and I made him dance all night long and I drank. I partied as hard as I could when we were together because it allowed me to blow off steam and because it kept Michael at a safe psychological distance.
He was still in my heart, deeply in my heart, and I adored him now for all the reasons that had attracted me to him in the first place. He was such a sweet guy and he genuinely liked me and was able to show that. It was very gratifying. Being with him allowed me to feel safe, and truth be told, he still excited me sexually. But I felt like I was stealing his affection under false pretenses. I was lying about myself and that’s no basis for any relationship. I longed to go to bed with him, but something was keeping me away from him.
At first I didn’t understand why I didn’t want to have sex with him anymore, but I eventually realized that I felt guilty about what was going on with Thornton. It was almost like I was somehow cheating on Michael, even though I had no sexual contact with Thornton whatsoever. But I felt so debased by what I was doing that I came to believe I didn’t deserve someone as sweet as Michael. Now that I was Thornton’s whipping girl, I reasoned, I was too contemptible to be allowed to have a close relationship with someone as nice as Michael.
Then, as if to fulfill my own terrible image of myself, I started going out to clubs and picking up guys just for sex. Don’t say a thing. I know how dangerous it was, but I was punishing myself, feeding off the debased self-image I had developed because of what was going on with Thornton and the office. In my perverted logical scheme, I was so contemptible at work that I deserved to be giving blowjobs in the back seats of cars. I hated myself for how I was behaving and really needed to punish myself. So I did!
In a way, I guess I got lucky when I met Charles. I was sitting on a stool in a trendy bar in the west village, wearing a short black leather skirt, tight red sweater and a cropped black leather jacket. I had on fuck-me heels, dark hose, and no bra. I had only been there about 15 minutes when he sauntered over and offered to buy me a drink. I looked him up and down as if he were on sale, and finding him acceptable, in a dark craggy kind of way, accepted his offer.
It didn’t take too long before our conversation got around to sex. He blandly asked, "so what are you doing here, out so late on a work day."
I slowly raised my eyes, then my head, and finally my torso, so I was sitting perfectly straight and looking him right in the eye, "I’m looking for a man."
I shocked myself a little by that the brazen way I said that, but he was a cool customer, showing not even the barest hint of surprise. "Well," he chuckled, "you’re a shy one aren’t you?"
"Listen, Chuck, I’m a busy girl, are you game or not?"
He bristled at that. "The names is Charles, missy, and I’m plenty game. The question is can you handle me? "
I let my eyes widen in response, and then softened my body language. "Well, Charles," I purred, "I’m sorry for being so abrupt, it’s been a tough week and I’m tired and pissed off at my boss. But that’s no reason to take that out on you." I placed my hand on his to show my sincerity. I might have been self-destructive, but I wasn’t totally stupid. I didn’t want this guy mad at me if there was a chance I might leave with him. I reached around his waist and pulled him towards me. "Let’s stay here a little while OK, I want another drink or two and I want the other girls to see me with a hunk like you."
That seemed to mollify him, and he put his arm around my shoulder. I didn’t really want to get to know him that well, he was, after all, just a one night stand, but I wanted to draw him out for a while to see if he was safe to leave with. Actually, he was interesting, and I liked the possessive posture he took with me. In turn I warmed up to him and treated him with respect and a little awe. He seemed OK, so we went to get his car so he could take me home.
It was a big black Lexus, which he had parked a couple of blocks away, and as we walked down the street, I hung on his arm and tried to behave like his girlfriend. But things turned sour as soon as we were in the car. I was putting on my seat belt as he slid into the drivers seat.
"Forget that thing sweetie and slide over here." He grabbed my hand and pulled me over to him kissing me hard on the lips.
"Hey," I squealed, "that hurts."
"Listen you little tramp, anyone who behaves like you did in that bar better know what to expect. You’ll just do what I say, won’t you?" And he kissed me hard again, and started rubbing my breast, just as hard. Then he pulled back to the driver’s seat and started the car.
"We’re going to my place, baby. You’re spending the night."
"No, I can’t." I spluttered out.
He grabbed my left wrist hard and twisted my arm down and towards my back, forcing my head down towards the dashboard. "You’ll do what ever I say you’ll do. After that blow job you promised me, I’m gonna teach you how a real man fucks." Then he threw me back against the passenger side door.
For a moment, I started to panic, just like I always had in the past when I had been physically threatened. But then, unconsciously, I started to control my breathing, like I had been taught in my martial arts class. You know what, the panic subsided; I felt lucid again. A moment later we were at a stoplight turning right to head up town on 6th Avenue. It only took me a few blocks to see my way out. Traffic was heavy. His car was hemmed in on all sides and we weren’t going too fast. If I could get out the door, he’d never be able to chase me. As heavy as traffic was, we would have to stop at several red lights over the next 20 blocks or so, so I would have a few opportunities to get out of the car.
But, I knew that getting out of the car wouldn’t be that easy and that my only real chance was to distract him and catch him off guard. "Would you really?" I asked responding to his offer to teach me about fucking?
He just laughed and moved out with traffic when the light changed. Deliberately retracting my seatbelt to get it out of the way, I slid over towards him and started to come on to him gently. I wanted to put him at ease so I would have every extra moment when I made my move.
"You’re so strong," I purred, caressing his bicep. "I like strong men." I could feel him relax and I kept up my attentions for the next few minutes. All of a sudden he flicked on his left turn indicator and I realized he was heading for the Lincoln Tunnel, which connected Manhattan to New Jersey under the Hudson River. The area on the West Side near the tunnel was one of the city’s real bad neighborhoods, but at least I had a chance to catch a cab there. The last thing I wanted was to end up in New Jersey. I knew I had to distract him quickly if I was going to get out of his car before it was too late.
In another moment we stopped for another red light. As the light flashed red, it gave me an idea. I sat back up, grabbed my purse, and pulled out some lipstick. Then, carefully tucking my purse next to the door, I lowered the passenger side visor, which had a lighted mirror on it and redid my lips. Then I recapped the lipstick and turned towards Charles.
"How do I look?" I gave him my biggest smile, licking my lips with the tip of my tongue, trying to look sexy. Before he could do anything, I "dropped" my lipstick in front of his seat so it would roll under the pedals. "Oh," I squealed, "can you get that for me?"
"Fucking clumsy broad," he growled, but reached down with his right arm to try to find my lipstick. As big as he was, he really had to shift in his seat to get his arm to the floor. For the few moments he spent fishing around for my lipstick, his back was to me. That was the break I was hoping for.
So I spun my butt in the seat at the same time I was throwing the door open. He sat up quickly when he heard the door, but by the time he got his hand out from under the steering wheel, I was just about out. Only the hand I had put my hand on dashboard to propel myself from the car was within his reach and he threw himself across the front seat to grab it.
"Where do you fucking think you’re going, bitch?" I turned to see his enraged face glaring at me. It was the second time in not too many months that someone had grabbed my wrist just before I could get away from him. But I had learned something during that time and I looked him right in the eye for a moment and then twisted my arm towards his thumb, the weakest part of his grip, jerking it as viciously as I could. That was just enough to break his grip, and even though I fell into the gutter as I got free, I was able to slam the car door shut, scramble to my feet, and scurry away through traffic, dragging my bag behind me.
He wasn’t giving up yet though. He started to get out of his car to chase me. But before he could get away from his car, the light turned green. Everyone around started to honk and shout. So as I tripped onto the sidewalk on the far side of 10th Avenue in my totally non-functional heels, I heard him yell, "fuck you bitch," before he disappeared back into his car and drove away, escorted inescapably by all the cars that surrounded his.
I knew I wasn’t out of the woods yet because he could easily circle the block and come back to find me. Worse, this was a terrible neighborhood, especially for a sexily clad girl. Fortunately, there was a bar halfway down the block and I ran towards it as fast as my stupid heels would allow. I hid myself as well as I could in the bar’s doorway watching the corner for a few minutes to see if Charles would come back. If he did I would simply slide into the bar. But I didn’t want to rush because I had no idea what I might find once inside. But, when he didn’t appear after the light had cycled a few of times, I figured he was gone. Now, if I found the bar too dangerous, at least I could run back out onto the street knowing a big black Lexus wouldn’t be waiting for me.
As soon as I ducked into the bar, every one of the 12 pairs of eyes in the place bored right in on me. They were all grizzled older men, longshoremen, maybe. I knew I had to be cool, so I ignored them and walked right up to the bar, sitting carefully on a stool, as I tried to catch my breath. The bartender was a big fat old man with a white beard hanging over the top of his dirty white apron.
"We don’t want no hookers in here."
"Oh, no, you’ve got it wrong, I’m not a hooker."
"Then what are you doing in this neighborhood dressed like that?" He nodded dismissively at my clothes.
It wasn’t until that moment that I looked at myself. My stockings were torn and my skirt full of grime. My beautiful leather jacket was scuffed from where I had fallen on the street, and my bag didn’t look any better. I was sure my hair was a mess. I tried to brush off my skirt and looked back at him with a wan smile.
"I let myself get picked up by the wrong guy. I had to jump from his car on the corner of 10th Avenue before he could take me to Jersey." I nodded towards the river. He mumbled agreement. Every New Yorker can empathize with someone who doesn’t want to end up in New Jersey, whatever the reason. We’re all snobs that way. Then I rummaged through my purse and pulled out my wallet. It, at least, looked expensive, and I could see him take that in. I put a crisp twenty dollar bill on the bar. "Would you call me a cab please, and pour me a big glass of Dewar’s?"
"OK, honey, I don’t know whether I believe you or not, but I’ve got daughters of my own. I’d want people to help them too. You’ll be safe here until your cab comes. It’ll be a while though, cabs don’t like to come to this part of town so late."
I nodded and went to the women’s room to clean myself up as best I could. Then I sat, sipping on my scotch, waiting for my heart rate to subside and for the cab to arrive. I left all the change from the twenty on the counter and thanked the bartender as I got up to leave. That was the last time I tried to pick anyone up in a bar or anywhere else.
As I huddled in my bed later that night trying to fall asleep, I berated myself for having been so stupid. I really was in a downward spiral. I did stupid things because I felt bad about myself and those stupid things made me feel worse. Shit, did I ever have a self-destructive streak. I felt unconsciously for my ring, and when I became aware of what I was doing, and realized the ring was gone, I started to cry quietly. I missed Cynthia deeply, but I knew that if she were here, she would have my head for the way I was behaving. I might end up permanently as Sissy. I had to get myself under control.
After a little while, as I reran the events of the evening in my mind, I realized another thing. I had been remarkably resourceful in getting myself out of trouble, and in a little corner of my mind, I started to feel really proud of myself.
I grabbed a glass of wine and an apple and sat down in my girly sitting room to read Cynthia’s letter.
My Dearest Lilly,
It is very quiet here right now because Hannah is asleep. Snow is falling silently, but steadily and the trees around the deck look like they’ve been topped with fairy dust as they reflect back the lights of the house. Hannah looks so peaceful, it’s hard to believe she’s so sick. But the truth is she has continued to worsen since I arrived. Thank God she has good doctors. The cancer has spread all over her body but the docs have supplied her with all the pain medication she needs and taught me how to give it so she is almost never in pain. It’s quite amazing really, she takes huge doses but she’s never sedated.
Instead she’s up and around doing all the things she loves to do. We ride horses almost every morning, no matter how cold it is. "I just love the cold," she says, "I can feel it so clearly." There’s a beautiful meadow with a frozen lake about a mile from here and we hack through the icy woods to get there, linger for just a little while and then come back by a different route. Then she takes a nap because she really has no stamina at all. Sixty to ninety minutes is as much as she can stand.
In the afternoon I drive her around to visit a pair of older couples she has befriended. She visits them so they don’t get too lonely, and then she frets terribly about what will happen to them after she dies. Then it’s time for another nap. Three days each week we visit the local hospital, where she plays with kids who have cancer. She is some sight, gaunt and terribly skinny but beautifully dressed and perfectly made up, and… bald! The kids are just blown away, but they love her. The doctors and nurses rave about how she helps these kids keep their spirits up and their parents thinks she must be an angel. I have tears in my eyes every time I see her encouraging these devastated families.
Some evenings we cook together, which is so glorious because it brings back such wonderful memories of our childhood. We cooked together then too. And we talk constantly about our Grandma.. The ring really must be magical, just as you’ve claimed. It seems to have opened up a treasure chest full of special memories for both of us and we just sit on the couch together and bask in their warmth. There’s no way I could possibly thank you enough for allowing Hannah to have it. So that’s one reason I’m writing. Even though it seems so insufficient, I just have to say, thank you.
By this time I was crying openly and dripping mascara stained tears onto the letter itself. I had to stop to get some tissues. Well armed with a box of Kleenex and another glass of wine, I continued.
But I’m writing for another reason too. I have learned so much about life from Hannah over the past month. I was scared to death to come out here, afraid that I’d have to watch Hannah wither away and die in front of my eyes, not sure if I was strong enough to take it. But that hasn’t happened. Oh, she’s withering away all right, and I doubt she’ll be able to stay active much longer, but she’s living in front of my eyes, not dying. She is so intensely in every moment of her life that she almost glows with the pleasure of it. Everyone who meets her can see it. It’s just amazing.
So one day I just had to ask her how she does it. I want you to hear her explanation. There were two things she said, the first was the simple one. Once she understood that she was going to die, she wanted to experience as much of life as she could. She just refuses to be bed ridden or hide herself away. The second was that she somehow realized that she had a choice. She could be a victim of her cancer or she could take charge of her own life, at least what was left of it.
She explained that a victim blames the fates for the horrible things that were happening and just gives up. Hannah refuses to do this and she somehow figured out that she could use her misfortune as an opportunity to learn and do new things.
"I don’t have to be depressed about this," she told me, "even though it’s depressing. My illness has taken away my strength and it’s taking away my life, but I refuse to let it take away my joy. It may destroy my body, but it will not defeat me."
Sure enough, here she is, visiting her old friends and sick kids in the hospital and bringing her joy into all their lives. And when she gets home and has to lie down because she’s too weak to stay upright any longer, she tells me how sweet her life is. I don’t know how to respond and I realize that I’m in awe of her. I came out here to take care of her, and she’s giving me the greatest lesson in life I could ever imagine. I don’t have to be strong at all. We’re flying on her wings and it’s totally exhilarating. .
I know that by now you are probably wondering why I’m telling you all this. The answer is simple. It occurred to me, my dear sweet Lilly, my love, that you have lived all your life as a victim. Your parents made you a victim, Kyle made you a victim, Rachael made you a victim, Thornton made you a victim, and even I did it. Some things in life can’t be helped, and we can’t go back and undo what’s been done. But we do have some control over the future. The choice is yours, my dearest love. Learn from Hannah. You don’t have to be a victim.
All my love,
Cynthia
I don’t know how long I sat there, stunned, startled, boggled, paralyzed, weightless; I don’t know. But eventually, I started to become aware of the world again. Cynthia’s letter staggered me to the very bottom of my soul. It hit me so hard, my molecules were dispersed into the atmosphere and they were just beginning to coalesce again. First, I am introduced to the most remarkable person I’d ever heard of, and then, before I could even begin to understand what that meant, I am clobbered with the most insightful analysis of myself I had ever heard. To top it all off, Cynthia had just given me the key to solving my personal problems as well. It was just too much. I couldn’t deal with it. I wanted to grab the phone and call Cynthia, but I had no idea what I might say. I wasn’t even sure if I could speak! Nothing made any sense, but everything was perfectly clear. I sat there on the couch holding the letter in my hand for a long time. I think I was thinking, but I’m not sure. I may have just been existing on some preconscious level of awareness.
I finally got up and had a bite to eat. I was moving like a zombie, my mind still struggling to understand the lesson Cynthia was trying to teach me. Part of it seemed to be taking because the phrase ‘I have a choice’ kept bouncing around in my brain.
After dinner I took a long, hot shower, got into a soft nighty and warm slippers, and sat down at my computer and started typing. I had plans to make.
Before I went to bed I called Cynthia. I usually didn’t call there because I didn’t want to risk waking Hannah, but tonight I just had to speak with Cynthia. The phone rang once and I heard a whispered, "hello."
"Cynthia, it’s me, Lilly."
"Lilly!" I could just hear the thrill in her voice, but it immediately turned to concern. "Are you OK?"
"Yes Cynthia, I am, in fact I feel great. I just wanted to thank you for your letter." There was silence for a few moments, so I jumped back in before Cynthia could say anything. "No, really, it was the most amazing, the best letter I’ve ever gotten. And you’re right, I do have a choice."
"Oh, thank god." I could hear the relief in her voice. "I was so worried about how you would react. Are you really OK?"
"Yes! I really am. I’m great. How’s Hannah?"
"Well, not so great really. She fell off her horse yesterday. She didn’t break anything, but she’s kind of bruised and sore. I think she’s gotten too weak to ride and she’s going to hate me when I stop her the next time she tries. She’s losing weight steadily and the doctor doesn’t think she’ll make it to the end of the month. Any number of things could do her in at this point and she’s insisted she not be put on any machines just to keep her alive for a few more days. She made me swear to enforce it."
"Oh Cynthia, I’m so sorry." I could feel tears forming at the corners of my eyes.
"Well we all knew this was going to happen. I’m only grateful that she’s been able to do so much for so long. And you know what, her heart is still full of joy. It’s impossible to be sad around her."
I had an idea. "Listen, I’m flying out this weekend. I’ll leave Friday morning. I’ll help you out for a couple of days."
"Oh, I can hear her, I have to go. Yes, please do fly out. I miss you so. Bye."
So I got on the web and started to look for a ticket. Then I went to bed.
In the morning I felt buoyant, like a huge weight had been lifted from my shoulders. I was almost whistling as I got ready for work. Once I got there, I called Shelly to get my hair done, then I called Michael, who agreed to meet me for lunch. I called Holly Wainwright, the woman from Boston Federated Investments who had embarrassed herself by asking me for a date when we were at the Trump Tower affair, and when I was done with all that I called Marcie.
When she got to my office she was pretty angry. I barely had the door closed before she lit into me, rapid fire, like a semiautomatic. "What do you want? I don’t care. As long as I have to be here, you’re going to hear what I have to say. You’re acting like an asshole again. When it happened last time, we all thought you were a son of a bitch, now you’re just a bitch." She bit that line off like she had been practicing it. "Cynthia wouldn’t let you get away with shit like this and neither will I!"
Her eyes had fire in them, but it seemed to me as if they sparkled. I had forgotten how attractive she was and how much I liked her even when she was mad at me. More than that, in some strange way I was proud of her for stepping up and protecting the other girls in the office. I admired her courage.
"Can I get you some coffee Marcie?" That threw her off course, but she just narrowed her eyes and stared at me. I pointed to the seat opposite my desk and sat down myself. "If you want to yell at me, I’d like to sit down."
She sat, but that didn’t stop her. She continued to harangue me and I just sat there and listened. When she realized I wasn’t going to rise to her bait, she stopped talking for a moment, but glared at me from where she sat. "So, are you going to talk to me, or have you again become the enemy?"
I took a deep breath and closed my eyes. After a couple of deep, centering breaths, I opened them again and gazed at her softly. She had hated me once, but then became my friend. She never took advantage of me when I was being punished in the office and she had really been working hard to make up for Cynthia’s absence. I guess it was time to trust someone. I needed to reach the end game with Thornton soon, or he was going to destroy me. I reached out to her across my desk with both my hands.
"Give me your hands please Marci." She looked surprised and smiled quizzically, tilting her head as if to get a better look at me, then she reached out to me. Once I had her hands in mine, I looked up into her eyes. "I need your help Marci, but I’m scared. I’ve been afraid to trust anybody. Can I trust you?"
The expression on her face changed three times in a matter of seconds. First, she got angry, then sad, and finally she looked at me like I was a lost baby. "Oh Lilly, you poor thing, come here."
I almost flew around the desk and launched myself into her hug. I started to cry at the same time. It was like a dam bursting. I hadn’t realized how much I had been holding inside until Marci gave me permission to let it out. Fueled, I guess, by all the estrogen that was now dominating my brain, I must have cried for a good couple of minutes before easing off into sobs. At that point, she got up and got me some long overdue tissues and we sat down again on the small love seat across from my desk.
When I had quieted down, she said, "want to talk about it?"
So I told her everything. She was alternatively amazed and appalled by my story, but finally became disgusted with me.
"Why do you continue on like this? Don’t you realize you could have nailed him for sexual abuse long ago?"
"I just wasn’t sure Marci, I was afraid he would say that I wanted it. Plus, he’s given me two promotions since I’ve been back. That has to look funny to people. In fact it does, rumors that I’m sleeping with him are already circulating. Who would you believe, a slutty little TS like me, I shook my hair at her and batted my eyelashes, or the most successful VP in the company?"
"Girl, you are so thick! They would have had him out of here in a heartbeat if you had said something right away. I guess you have a harder case to prove now that it’s gone on for so long, but we have to end it. I won’t let you go on with this. I’m calling Michael."
"I already did." Then I told her about Cynthia’s letter and my idea getting rid of Thornton once and for all and what I’d done so far to get my plan into action.
"OK," she said, "I coming to lunch with you. We’ll work this thing out. I should take you over my knee for letting things go this far, but I think I’ll give you a big hug instead for trusting your friends and asking for help." And she did. And it felt wonderful, kinda like going home after a long absence.
My heart leapt when Michael showed up at the restaurant and I jumped into his arms like I hadn’t seen him in months. He was a little confused because we had in fact seen each other only a few nights before. But after Marcie had collected her own kiss and hug, she told him that I had something I wanted to tell him.
He looked at me quizzically and then blurted out, in a surprisingly loud voice, "you’re not pregnant, are you?"
Every head in the restaurant swiveled around to see who I was, and for a moment, I was speechless. Marcie’s mouth dropped opened so quickly I cringed for a moment waiting for her to scream in pain.
Then I figured it out and bleated back in mock anger, "No, you jerk. You lucked out this time." And as everyone looked on in total confusion Marcie, Michael, and I burst into laughter.
Needless to say, everyone else in the restaurant kept checking us out the entire time we were there. I guess they were trying figure out whether we were totally insane or not. Once we got settled, Marcie looked at me and nodded. Then she said to Michael, "little bright eyes here has something to tell you."
I turned to face Michael and took a deep breath. "Michael, I’ve been misleading you. I was so confused I didn’t know who to trust…, so I didn’t trust anybody…, even you…, and I should have known better…, and…, and, I’m sorry." I hung my head and felt tears start to well up in the corners of my eyes. I felt so stupid. How could I not trust Michael. My God, he almost died trying to protect me. We had spent so much time together recovering that I felt we knew each other’s souls. I’m such a schmuck.
I looked up at him again and went on before I lost my courage. "Michael," I hated the sound of my voice, I was whining, " I feel truly terrible and very small for behaving so stupidly." I took another breath to go on , but he put his finger over my lips.
He looked at me gently and said, "so? No big deal. I knew you were holding out on me, but I figured you needed some space and when the time was right you would tell me what you needed. Besides, I always thought that if push came to shove, I could just barge in and rescue you." With that he gave me one of his big endearing smiles. He was such a guy, dealing with my emotions by brushing them off and making jokes.
That really did make me feel much better, so much better in fact that I decided no to let him get away with being so coolly arrogant.
"Well, what were you waiting for Superman? I was drowning and you were catching rays on the beach." Oh! It felt so good to tease with Michael again. I grabbed his hand and kissed it. Then I held the palm next to my face for a few moments before letting it go. I was feeling all squishy inside and would have snuggled into his lap had we not been in a restaurant.
At that point Marcie cleared her throat rather obviously. "Come on you two, we have work to do. Tell him what you told me Lilly." So I filled Michael in on my plan, finally getting to his part.
"…so I figure if he’s behaving like this with me, and he’s been at so many different companies, then there’s a good chance he’s done this to others, right?" Michael nodded his head. "So how can we find out?" I asked him.
"Well, he replied slowly, "there’s lots of ways, but probably the best would be to hire an investigator. Let me look into it. We’d want to be sure it couldn’t be traced back to you. And if we use an investigator and he finds anything, he can interview the people involved."
"Well, let him start with Tammy then," Marcie jumped in, "you know, Thornton’s former secretary? She left under very difficult circumstances."
"I’m not sure I would start with her; she’s a little too close to home but if we get any other hits, we’ll definitely talk with her." We continued to plan Thornton’s undoing for the rest of the meal and as the plan took shape, the food started to taste better and better. We each left with specific tasks to accomplish..
I left lunch feeling really very happy, and I had extracted a promise from Michael to take me someplace romantic for dinner, where we could talk and hold hands. My mood was so upbeat at that point that I got a little carried away and said in a too loud voice, "maybe you’ll get another shot at making me pregnant." This time when everyone looked around, Michael actually blushed. Hmmm, pregnant with Michael’s baby, what a dreamy idea.
My next stop was the salon because there was no way I was going to a blonde for even one more day. A few hours later, I returned to the office with my hair a deep brown, complete with subtle auburn highlights. The sexy layers around my face were gone and I now had a much shorter, stylish bob that fell almost to my jaw in the front, but angled up somewhat towards the back, where it was very full. I left my bangs rather long, but now they were feathered and much more whispy. The whole thing really did look very sophisticated. In fact I thought as I turned from side to side admiring myself in the mirror, I looked like a grownup! I hated to lose my long hair, but Shelly convinced me it would grow back. In the meantime, I didn’t look like the office slut any more. In fact, all the girls in the office were quite impressed and very complimentary when they saw me.
It’s more you," Betsy said, I didn’t know who that other girl was." When Thornton saw me, he just pursed his lips together, but didn’t say a word.
The following morning I was still feeling buoyant. I had spent a wonderful evening with Michael, and although I hadn’t planned on sleeping with him, once he started kissing me, I kind of lost control of myself and essentially jumped him. I spent some glorious time with his mouth on my breasts and had a wonderful orgasm as we sucked on each other together. I again felt connected to him, and slept soundly. Because we had slept at his apartment, I had to get up early and run home to get ready for work. This was my first experience as a woman leaving a man’s bed, and while I wished I had some clean clothes, especially pantyhose, mine were too baggy to put back on, I felt somehow very grown up to be doing this.
Once I got home, I had a wonderful time getting dressed for work because I felt I was doing it for myself for a change. Over the past several months, I had tried a number of styles and had learned some things about myself, even though I had been dressing primarily to please Thornton. I was really kind of conservative, which I guess wasn’t too surprising because I had dressed conservatively as a guy. I liked to fit in, not stand out.
So I was happiest in corporately correct suits that weren’t at all flamboyant. Still, I did have a thing about my breasts. I just loved to show them off. So I favored slightly tight sweaters which made them obvious or soft fabrics that draped over them and presented them in a much more subtle, though still appealing way. I could wear these under my suit jackets and that’s what I intended to do this morning.
I picked one of my favorite suits, a lightweight, navy blue flannel with a pleated skirt and fitted jacket. The skirt was a little on the short side, and the jacket covered my butt, giving me a nice long line, and showing some leg. The jacket was designed to be worn with something underneath and I had a wonderful fitted, white rayon blouse with a wide collar that was just perfect. After Thornton had seen the outfit once, he "suggested" I wear the suit without the blouse next time. When I did, with a lacy camisole showing above the jacket, he virtually drooled down into my cleavage. That really was a little too sexy for the office.
But I was in control this time, and I put the rayon blouse on. Then I looked at myself briefly in the mirror, turning from side to side to examine the way the fabric draped over the tops of my breasts. I loved the way it clung to their roundness on the sides, and then almost revealed their entire shape because of the darts that drew the fabric in around my rib cage and abdomen. I couldn’t resist, I caressed myself for a few moments before shaking my head to rid myself of the lewd thoughts that were quickly trying to take over my consciousness. I was turning myself on and all I was doing was dressing for work!
So I quickly added the jacket, which made the whole thing look professional rather than sexy, and I was delighted with how I looked. I think there was bounce in my step when I left my apartment, at least as much of a bounce as you get in heels. I may be conservative, but that includes conservatively stylish 3" heels. I was still so infatuated with dressing as a woman that I thought it was better to look good than to feel good. So I endured long days in heels with a perverse sense of pride.
I was to meet Holly Wainwright from Boston Federated for breakfast, and when she saw me, her face just lit up with a gigantic smile. "I thought you were gorgeous when I saw you at the party," she said in a rather husky voice, "but this is even better." Well, that made me feel just great. I gave her a heartfelt air kiss and a very big hug in thanks.
Then after we had eaten, I got down to business. Basically, I needed someone from Boston Federated to ask some specific questions when we met to negotiate a deal we were both working on as partners. Like just about everyone else in the world it seemed, neither Holly, nor anyone else at Boston Federated felt anything but contempt for Thornton, and she agreed readily to her part of the plan, even going so far as to suggest some additional questions she and her colleagues could ask to assure it worked.
The trick for me was to get Thornton into trouble without putting North State at too great a disadvantage; they were still my employers after all, and they had made it easy for me to stay in my rather well paid position during my transition. Everyone’s not that lucky. But as I sat there thinking about it, I had to admit that if I had to, I would put North State’s interest last in this case. The truth is, they had abandoned too many of their personnel, along with their policies, and practices to Thornton’s bullying tactics just because he was making lots of money for them. I would just have to see how things went. But with Holly’s agreement, I knew that I was well on my way to putting Bob Thornton in the place he had earned.
Two days later I left for Colorado and Thornton was livid; he just hated not being able to control me. He ranted and raved about work and I promised to take mine with me and be ready to meet with him first thing Monday morning. Then, in a moment of either extreme clarity or total confusion, I’m still not clear which, I reached up and kissed him on the cheek, saying, "be a good boy now. Try not to get into any trouble while I’m gone."
He was stunned. Hell, I was stunned but I let that nervous giggle I had somehow acquired slip from my lips, and he just laughed and waved me out of his office. What was I thinking?
After buying my ticket over the web, everything else about this trip was amazing to me. I had never before traveled as a woman. As a guy, I would have grabbed pair of chinos, a couple of shirts and a sweater, and thrown them in a duffle bag along with my toothbrush, razor, and hairbrush. It would take maybe 15 minutes.
But now, I was lost. First, I filled a small duffle bag with just my cosmetics, hair care essentials, and other toiletries. I mean, who knew what kind of shampoo and conditioner Hannah used and I certainly had to have my own deodorant. Then, I had to think of how the weekend would go and pick out an outfit for each activity. The way I saw it, I had to wear something comfortable to fly in, even pants, maybe, and then have something informal to change into once we got to Hannah’s house. I had to have something to hike in and I needed at least one nice outfit in case we went out to dinner on Saturday. Then, something nice for church and maybe brunch on Sunday and finally clothes to fly home in, at least. By the time I was done, I was embarrassed at the amount of clothing and accessories I had accumulated.
So I began to edit. I did manage to eliminate a good deal of stuff, and ended up with a pair of jeans and my favorite black wool pants, a few tops, and just two skirts that would go with the tops, a couple of sweaters, plus an outfit for church. Then I threw in a silk nightgown, lingerie, pantyhose, and socks, Of course, I still had four pairs of shoes to pack, so I found myself with three bags to check in.
Next, I had to decide what to wear on the flight. My first thought was loose pants and a top, just like I would have worn when I was a guy. Since I would be wearing my fur coat, which I absolutely adored, I would look dressed not matter what was underneath. That would have been the logical thing, and I had the clothes all laid out.
But then, when I was blow drying my hair, with both hands raised above my head and my chest thrusting my breasts out proudly, I suddenly remembered a scene from my last trip, months earlier when I was still a man. A nicely dressed woman came rushing past. Her long, shiny brown hair was swishing back and forth behind her head, her ample breasts were swinging heavily from her chest with every step she took, and her slim thighs were flashing through the slit of her skirt as she rushed… somewhere.
Yes, there actually was one nice thing about flying; you got to watch all the nicely turned out women as they hurried around the airport unaware of how sexy rushing made them look. I lowered my arms and looked at my breasts in the mirror. Then I swung my shoulders back forth rapidly to set them in motion. I could be one of those women now. Did I want to be? Did I want to be the one who was going to give the guys a cheap thrill at the airport today?
Yes! I did and the prospect of strutting my stuff at the airport just delighted me. So I after I finished my hair, I put on a one of my sheer stretchy bras. It would make sure my breasts didn’t fall off… Fall off? Where did that come from? I giggled. That’s a problem from my previous life, when I needed breast forms to look like a woman. Now that I’ve got real breasts and no one could mistake me for anything but a girl, it’s not a problem any more. Anyway, this bra was going to give me some support, but not hold my breasts too still, and that’s what I wanted. Bounce and jiggle were the order of the day. I wanted people to wonder whether I was wearing a bra or not. I added a stretchy red turtleneck sweater that molded itself nicely to my body, but wasn’t going to do much more than my bra to restrain the movement of my breasts. Come to think of it, my bra and top weren’t going to do a very good job of concealing my nipples either, should they decide to nuzzle themselves into view.
I paired the top with a mid calf length, soft blue rayon wrap skirt that flowed nicely and fell open at the slightest provocation. Dark blue panty hose and mid calf length black boots with slim, 2 ½ inch heels looked very sexy. The final touch was a heavy pendant that hung down between my breasts. It indented the sweater between them, defining them just a little more. My booted feet would click on the floor to draw attention and my long legs would flash out of that slit with every step. I would leave the guys drooling all along the concourse. . I just hoped my feet didn’t swell too much on the plane, those boots were a little tight.
The flight went fairly smoothly after the now standard two-hour delay, which I actually enjoyed because it gave me ample opportunity to strut around the terminal. I had so much fun catching guys looking at me. I smiled at some and pointedly turned away from others. I paid special attention to the young teenage boys, who would just freak out when I flirted with them. I was really shameless.
Once on board, I simply lost myself in the work I promised Thornton I would do. It really was a fascinating analytical problem, and tackling a problem like that helped the hours speed by despite the cramped cabin and too tight boots. My feet did swell! I’ll never wear tight shoes on an airplane again. But my mind was totally focused on this problem until I was in the jet way in Colorado Springs. I was thrilled to see Cynthia jumping and waving as soon as I got into the terminal and we ran into each other’s arms and luxuriated in our hugs and kisses (chaste, sisterly kisses, this was in public after all) while the rest of the departing passengers swirled around us.
When I finally leaned back from her, l saw a frighteningly thin woman sitting off to the side in a wheel chair, watching us with great interest. What a sight she was. She was wearing a beautiful black leather jacket embossed with some abstract design, black jeans, and sleek, black, high heeled boots much like mine. Under her jacket, which was open, was stunning gold lurex top set off by a multicolored silk scarf tied at the neck. . It was a striking outfit, but what really drew everyone’s attention, was the obviously well-worn Denver Bronco’s baseball cap on her very bald head. She was wearing it backwards, like a teenage kid! I barely stifled a delighted laugh at her outrageousness. This woman obviously knew how to dress, and how to shock as well.
Cynthia dragged me over to her and said, "Hannah, this is my love, Lilly. Lilly, this is my sister Hannah." I was thrown totally off balance, first because Cynthia had called me her love, and next because I had assumed that Hannah would be too sick to be here. I wanted to fling myself again into Cynthia’s arms to seriously kiss her, but I knew I had to greet Hannah first. Unfortunately, I was clueless about how to break the ice. I mean how do you hug someone who’s sitting in a wheel chair. I started to panic a little inside, but before I could figure out what to do, she took the problem right out of my hands by simply standing up and giving me a big hug. It was easy to feel how frail she was as I reached around her back to return her embrace. She couldn’t be much more than skin and bones.
Her hug was warm and it made me feel like she really was glad to meet me, and after she broke it, she held me at arm’s length and said, "let me look at this woman who’s captured my sister’s heart."
She looked me over critically, with her dark, piercing eyes, as if I was a valuable piece of art she might consider buying. As she looked at me, I glanced over at Cynthia with a questioning look in my eyes. Cynthia just shrugged and smiled back at me benignly, not giving me any clues.
Then Hannah broke back into my consciousness, "you really are rather lovely, aren’t you?" I blushed, flushed with pride, but looked down in embarrassment that this dying woman might even care how I looked. "I guess it might be OK for Cynthia to let you use grandma’s name."
Whoa, where did that come from? Wherever it was, there was more, because she narrowed her eyes at me and said with some finality, "we’ll see." With that she sat back down in the wheel chair. As she folded her hands in her lap, I noticed my ring on her right hand. She wore it on the same finger I did. I didn’t know what to think, but didn’t have to because Cynthia hurried us off to get my bags, which, much to my relief, were actually waiting for me.
I was surprised when Hannah fell asleep in the back seat of her Ford Explorer while Cynthia and I just chatted away on the way home. Once I realized what had happened, I showed Cynthia by glancing over my shoulder. She said to me without even lowering her voice, "oh, she does that every time we get into the car." In fact, the last week or so she has fallen asleep as soon as she is no longer engaged in what is happening around her. She has only a little energy and focuses it all when she’s awake, but then has none left." Cynthia let out a long sigh. "I don’t know how much longer she can keep going, but she refuses to let up. She’s going to ring every last experience out of whatever time is left to her."
Sure enough, as soon as we pulled into Hannah’s garage and she heard the garage door open and close, she was awake and simply couldn’t wait to get me inside to find out more about me.
She gave me just a few moments to clean up and hang up my good clothes, and then demanded I meet her in the living room in front of the fireplace so she could start questioning me about everything. It was a warm room, much to my liking. The walls were had a pale wood wainscot on the bottom, with deeply colored gray, burgundy and blue wallpaper above. The couch and armchairs had thick cushions with lots of pillows thrown all around, and there was art hanging, standing, or propped up on just about every available surface. It all reflected western themes, and much of it was Native American.
Once she started in on me, I quickly realized that her withered body held a stunningly sharp mind. She was just like her sister. She asked about everything, missed nothing, and several times had Cynthia paying close attention as she discovered things that Cynthia and I had never discussed. Cynthia stood staring at me wide-eyed as I described the details of my relationship with Kyle. I had actually come to enjoy going out with Kyle, even though he was rarely nice to me. Hannah realized right away that it was a classic abusive relationship and that Kyle dominated me by constantly putting me down, but kept me bound to him with occasional kindness and effusive apologies for his really egregious behavior. What a lawyer she would have made! After about 45 minutes, she began to tire, so Cynthia just covered her with a quilt, and she quickly fell asleep on the couch. It was actually kind of scary, because neither her eyes nor her mouth closed completely, and she looked more like she was more dead than alive. As I was looking at her face, I felt Cynthia grab my hand and pull me out of the room.
She led me to her bedroom, which had a big comfortable Queen size bed in a big wooden frame. She literally hauled me up onto the bed and threw me onto my back quickly clambering on top of me. She sat for a moment with her knees astride my waist, just looking down at me and smiling sweetly. Then she fell on me and started kissing me all over the face.
I was so happy to be in her arms, that I reached around her and pulled her tightly to my body returning her kisses.
"Oh, Lilly," she whispered, "I’ve missed you so much."
Then she attacked my mouth with hers, probing deeply with her tongue. I was ecstatic to be able to taste her again and tried as best I could to wrap my tongue around hers from every possible angle. I would have been perfectly content to let her do this to me forever. I just caressed her hair and back and savored her kisses.
Suddenly, she sat up and said, "what did you do to your hair, I love it."
"Oh, I’m so glad," I answered, running my fingers through the sides and fluffing it out from my face. "I hated to cut it so short, but I just had to get rid of that stupid style and awful color. I learned one thing for sure; I don’t want to be a dumb blonde." We both laughed.
Then Cynthia lay down beside me and we held each other close and talked, bringing each other up to date on our respective lives, and punctuating our conversation with caresses, hugs, and kisses. Actually, we caressed, hugged, and kissed each other most of the time, and occasionally interrupted that with brief bits of conversation. I don’t think we actually learned much about each other, but neither one of us cared, we were so happy to be together again, being able to touch each other and be touched. This was so heartening to me, I almost felt like I was getting a transfusion of some life-sustaining substance.
Later, Cynthia and Hannah cooked dinner together, and I was forced by the two of them to be an observer and occasional gofer. They set me up on a stool by the kitchen counter and gave me a glass of wine. Hannah insisted that for at least one meal, I had to be the "guest." Although I felt uncomfortable not helping, especially because there was a dying woman doing the work, I was secretly glad I got to watch the two of them. There was such joy and warmth in the way they did things, and an almost telepathic communication between them.
For a moment, after I had realized how well the two of them meshed, I actually felt jealous. But I quickly realized how pitifully petty and downright stupid it was to feel jealous of a dying woman, and berated myself roundly for be so self-centered. After that, I was able to bask in their wonderful relationship. It was like mixing sunshine and honey.
And by the time dinner was ready, I was actually glowing warmly myself at being able to be in the presence of these two loving sisters. I was especially proud of myself for being able to first pick up on and then be able to appreciate the love I was seeing. Frankly, it was unique in my experience. I had no siblings and love was a feeling that was never abundant in my house. As I thought about it, I realized that I had never really spent any time at all with people who were sharing love with each other, whether it was sisterly love or any other kind. I wondered whether I looked like this when I was with Cynthia. I hoped so.
Hannah had to go to bed soon after dinner and I gladly volunteered to clean up the kitchen so Cynthia could help her. I was done long before Cynthia, so I went to my bedroom and changed into my long cream-colored silk nightgown and started to get ready for bed.. Even though the clock said it was 9:30, I was a couple of time zones away from New York and quite tired. But by the time I had cleaned the make-up from my face, I had changed my mind about going to sleep. There was no way I was going to do that until I could spend some more time with Cynthia, and perhaps make love with her. So I carefully applied a minimal amount of blusher, did my eyes in the most subtle way I could while still making them smolder, and put on a faintly red lip gloss that I thought made my lips look ripe. I wanted to look pretty but not made up. Then I dabbed some Opium on the key points of my body, adding in my cleavage and groin, and tied a ribbon that matched my nightgown into my hair. Then I went to Cynthia’s bedroom to wait for her.
She didn’t make me wait long. When I heard her coming I posed myself so that my legs were bent up off the bed at the knee and one hand was draped over them. I turned my head to face the door and tried to put a pretty smile on my face. I guess it worked, because a big grin lit up Cynthia’s face as soon as she saw me.
She mouthed the word "wait" at me and went into the bathroom so I got under the covers. It was after all winter and Colorado Springs wasn’t Jamaica. Cynthia emerged less than ten minutes later, wearing a long flannel gown. Seeing me in bed, sitting propped up on the pillows, she just got into the bed and sat next to me. I smiled at her shyly, feeling a little uncertain. Then, without a word, she swiveled her body so she was in front of me, put her hand behind my head, and pulling me towards her, kissed me tenderly on the lips. I simply allowed myself to melt into her. It was the most marvelous feeling to be in her arms again and to feel her lips on mine. In one way it was like we had never been apart, this was so familiar and comforting. In another way though, I felt like I was getting something I really needed and hadn’t had in a long time. I really hadn’t understood how much I missed her until that moment.
We made love very gently for almost an hour. I remember one moment very clearly. We had been kissing and caressing each other for quite a few minutes when Cynthia sat back on her heels and slithered her nightgown up her body and over her head to get it off. I just stared, first at her taught tummy and then her lovely breasts as she stretched her arms up to pull the soft white flannel over her head. She lingered for more than a few seconds to display her straining body to me. Once the gown was off, she closed her eyes and shook her head gently to throw her hair off her face. It was longer now than it had ever been. Then she looked at me shyly. That look had so much love and such surprising vulnerability in it that it just melted my heart. I couldn’t help but take a big breath and let out a long sigh.
Then Cynthia took my hands, sat me up, and started to pull my gown off as well. She did it slowly and took every opportunity to caress my body with it as she slid the hem up over my hips and then gathered the rest, first pulling it up and then letting it slide slowly down, until she eventually passed it over my head. For just a few seconds, I couldn’t see anything and lowered my eyes. When I could see again, I was looking down at our breasts which were now only a few inches apart, both our nipples erect and hard. What a beautiful sight. Two sets of pale breasts, the skin on mine a little flushed and hers so white it was almost translucent. They curved gently from the shoulders and then bulged gently out to the base to form flawless orbs. This was the most erotically feminine sight I had ever beheld.
Cynthia’s nipples were bigger and much darker than mine, although my breasts were now actually larger than hers. A powerful urge to grab them and rub them began to grow within me. I resisted, and instead carefully tilted my upper body forward and gently rubbed the tips of my nipples against hers. The feeling was absolutely electric. I could see Cynthia’s body twitch and stiffen in response. I tried to keep my movements gentle, but I just couldn’t do it. I didn’t last a minute before I lost it and threw my arms around her back and pulled her to me as tightly as I could, mashing our breasts tightly together as my body surged against hers. Cynthia let this go on for only a few moments before she grabbed my head in both her hands and began to kiss me again. While she did this, she twisted our bodies so that we ended up lying on our sides.
Eventually, inevitably, we ended up with our heads in each other’s crotches. She made love to my penis while I returned the favor to her clitoris, which she had thoughtfully perfumed for me. She was remarkably sensuous as she slid her hands, lips, and tongue all around my erection. But she was clever enough not to let me cum even though I thought I would explode about two seconds after she first touched me. I tried to mimic her approach, but was relentless in my licking and kissing so that she came before I did. After I came, I just couldn’t stay awake any longer and fell asleep cuddled into her arms.
I awoke too early the next morning because my body was a couple of time zones ahead of the rising sun. I got out of bed quietly so as not to wake Cynthia, and put on a pair of warm socks and the robe she had left for me. Then, after washing off my makeup and quickly brushing my teeth and hair, I went to the kitchen to make coffee. I wrapped myself in a big patchwork quilt and sat on a window seat that looked out into the woods behind Hannah’s house to sip my coffee. I felt very peaceful and tried to let the still, cold calmness of the early morning light enter my soul. I don’t know how long I sat there, but I had become so caught up in the sunlight slowly brightening the shadows in the surrounding woods that I literally jumped when I heard a sound from Hannah’s room. I rushed to her door, hoping that Cynthia hadn’t heard her and could sleep some more. I knocked gently and peeked my head tentatively into the room.
"Hi Hannah, Cynthia’s still asleep can I help you?" Hannah sat propped up by her pillows with her blankets drawn tightly up to her neck. Her face and hands were so thin she almost looked like a skeleton. But I was delighted when I saw her smile at me.
"Yeah," she said, "let’s get dressed and go for a walk. I want to talk to you." Then she tilted her head a little to the side and studied me for a moment. "You really are a cute little thing, aren’t you?" I just lowered my eyes, but I could tell I was blushing because I could feel my cheeks get warm.
I walked fully into her room and asked, "can I help you with anything?" But by the time I had gotten it out, Hannah had turned her legs to the side of the bed and was getting up on her own, although she needed to use her arms to help her stand. I started towards her, afraid she might fall, but she stopped me.
"No, you really don’t need to help me. I’m strongest in the morning. You go get dressed. If you take as long as my sister, I’ll be done way before you are." And with that she headed for the bathroom.
"Hey, that’s not fair," I whined. "Not only are you getting a head start, but you don’t have to fix your hair." I was appalled as soon as I heard what I’d said. I thought I was making a light-hearted joke, but once I heard it, it sounded cruel. I threw my hands up to cover my mouth and started to redden with embarrassment yet again, but then I heard Hannah’s crystalline laugh as she turned back to face me.
"Oh, thank you," she said surprising me completely. "Everyone is always so careful around me, like their walking on egg shells or something. It’s nice to have someone around here who has a sense of humor…" She hesitated for a couple of beats to make sure I was paying attention, and then added, "…especially one that’s soooo completely tasteless." Then she crinkled her nose at me, smiled, and said, "hurry," and headed back to the bathroom.
Cynthia looked up at me questioningly when I got back to her room. "Go back to sleep," I said, "I’m going for a walk with Hannah."
"Well, be sure to hold her arm, she can’t afford to fall, and don’t stay out more than 30 minutes or she’ll be a basket case for the rest of the day."
"Yes mooottther," I replied rolling my eyes at her. By that time I was standing next to the bed so I reached down and kissed her on the forehead and whispered, "just go back to sleep. This looks like it’ll be the only morning you get off for a while." So as I hurried off for the bathroom, Cynthia snuggled happily back under the warm down comforter.
My first thought when we stepped away from the house was that it was bitter cold. And a very light mist of icy snow, or maybe it was snowy sleet, was falling. ‘Yuck!’ I thought. Then I turned Hannah, "are you OK in this cold?" I asked Hannah, whose bald head was covered in a fleece watch cap.
She laughed gently and said, "yes I love it. It makes me feel so alive." After only one minute of crunching along slowly on the frozen snow, I was already sure I was frost bitten, but I could tell by her smile and body language that Hannah had been telling the absolute truth about how she felt. We walked down a trail into the woods and she said wistfully, "I used to ride my horse here, but after I fell off, the doctor forbade me from riding again. They’re chipping away at me piece by piece."
Then she turned to me and gave me the biggest smile and said, "but you’re here and I want to talk to you, and that’s a new thing and that’s great!" So she linked her arm through mine and led me into the woods as she asked me about myself and my relationship with Cynthia. It was a pretty weird discussion, I mean, I had to tell her how Cynthia became my mistress and lover and then my love and my mentor as I slowly developed as a woman.
"Well, she concluded, at least you and Cyn are telling the same story. That’s a good sign."
"A good sign for what?" I asked.
"Cyn told you about our sister, Lillian, didn’t she?"
I nodded.
"Well, Cyn was just devastated. I’m sure she told you that, but what I bet she hasn’t told you is that she hasn’t permitted herself to have a real, loving relationship since then. Oh, she has lots of friends, and they do love her, and she them, but she surrounds herself with so many precisely to make sure she doesn’t get too close to any one of them."
By this point we weren’t walking anymore, but had stopped and taken a seat on a fallen log. Hannah stopped talking and was making aimless designs in the snow with her finger. I watched the tiny snowflakes land on the now cold fur of my coat, and sit there for a moment before melting, as I waited silently for her to start speaking again. Without looking up she went on, "she’s just too afraid of getting hurt."
Then Hannah looked right at me. "Cynthia’s afraid that if she allows herself to love someone and something happens to her…," she stopped and looked at me quizzically, "I guess she has abandoned men entirely by now hasn’t she? All her lovers are women?"
I nodded to Hannah, forgetting for the moment that I was still part man.
She in turn nodded to herself, as if she was filing that observation in some mental cubby hole, and then went on, "…if something happens to her that Cyn…, well she’s just too afraid of the pain it would cause."
I sat for a moment swinging my leg back and forth to make a furrow in the snow, trying to understand what Hannah was telling me. But I didn’t have to figure it out; in the next breath she told me. "And then you came along. She loves you, you know that, don’t you?"
My heart soared. I had hoped and prayed that Cynthia loved me, but she had made everything so conditional. She said I had to find myself and then we’d see what we’d see. I had just let myself go over the past few months, risking my own deep disappointment if things didn’t work out, but I was too much in her thrall to care. I figured Cynthia was more in control of her feelings than I was. This was too good to be true.
I grabbed Hannah and hugged her to me, but then let go afraid I might crush her. "Are you sure? She told you this?" I sounded like a six year old girl who had just been told that Santa was going to bring her a new Barbie doll.
Hannah shook her head yes, but then said, "not in so many words, but it’s obvious. She gets all dreamy and stupid when she talks about you. My God…," Hannah said, scrunching up her face in mock disgust, "…she’s like a teenager."
"When you were a boy, she thought you were pretty adorable, but given her dominant nature and your age, she didn’t think it would be right to approach you then. You were just too immature. But when she discovered that you were a girl too, and named Lilly, well,…" she just tailed off and left the rest unsaid. Then she turned serious and said, "Lilly, it’s absolutely wonderful. She’s so happy - you’ve opened up her heart again."
I was feeling too overwhelmed to even think at this point, I started to tear up instead. "Oh Hannah," was all I could get out before my throat closed up on me.
"There, there, my dear," she said as if she were the school nurse and I was that six year old girl again, "don’t cry, your face will freeze and fall right off."
That, of course, made me laugh. So there I was laughing and crying about the same thing, and my heart was so full I thought it might burst. Hannah gently wiped the tears off my cheeks with the back of her soft wool mitten, smiling at me indulgently and, I suspect, enjoying my joy. We sat there for a few moments holding hands and saying nothing.
When I looked over at her I saw a strange sight. She had taken off her cap and tilted her face up to the sky, eyes closed. She had the most wonderful smile on her face even though the tiny little snowflakes were landing on it and her bald head. I watched for a few seconds and then had to ask, "Hannah? What are you doing?" I tried to say it as gently as possible.
"Being alive," she responded without opening her eyes or moving her head. Then she looked down towards me and said, "just try it, it’s wonderful."
"Huh?" was my clever response. I looked at her like she was crazy. She just smiled at me like she knew something I didn’t and how could I be so ignorant.
"Go ahead," she went on, "close your eyes, tilt your head up and feel every single one of those little snowflakes as it hits your face. Pay attention to every one."
So I did what she said, and there we sat, the two of us with our faces lifted up into the gently falling, icy mist. As I got into it, I found I was able to focus my attention on each little cold spot that appeared out of nowhere on my face. One hit right between two eye lashes and I almost blinked my eye open, but I managed to stay relaxed and feel others hit my nose, lips, chin and cheeks. It seemed to me that the skin just next to my nose and under my eyes was the most sensitive, but overall I felt more aware of my skin and my face than I ever had. I too began to smile.
We didn’t stay like that for too long, and when Hannah touched my hand, and I lowered my head and opened my eyes, I could only whisper, "thank you" to her.
"That’s how I’ve tried to live my life over the past couple of months," she said. "I want to be aware of even the tiniest things around me. I try to pay attention to everything. It’s hard work, I don’t think I could do it if I didn’t know I didn’t have much time left, but this has really been such a rich time for me. We’re so stupid, you know, we waste so much precious time."
She looked down at the cap in her hand and reached up and slid it back easily onto her head. Then she said, "come on, we need to go back. If we stay out too long, Cyn will kill both of us. That wouldn’t mean that much to me, but I think you’ve still got a lot of living left to do."
What did she say? I spun towards her trying to get a look at her face. She had to be kidding, right? I was so relieved when I saw that she was. I let out the big breath I hadn’t realized I was holding. And she said my sense of humor was tasteless?
She turned the walk back to the house into a lecture about my responsibilities to her and Cynthia. "Listen, you already knew how badly she reacted when our little sister was murdered. I tried to tell her she wasn’t responsible, but she just wrapped herself up in her grief and her guilt and wouldn’t listen to anyone." I could hear that her breathing was getting labored, so I took her elbow to support her.
"Don’t you dare fall," I lectured her back, "you may not be afraid of Cynthia, but I get terrified when she gets mad at me. I’m so afraid she’ll just get fed up and leave."
I snapped my mouth shut as I realized what I had said. I hadn’t intended my little joke to turn so serious, but in that instant I revealed something about myself that I had forgotten. I don’t know why, but I felt so comfortable with Hannah that I told her what I had just learned.
"All my life, all the love I had received has been conditional. To the extent that anyone loved me, they only loved me for what I did, not who I was." Then I fell silent, reflecting sadly on that truth.
But Hannah broke into my thoughts before they could go very far down that road. "You know that’s not the case with Cyn, don’t you?" She asked staring at me without wavering. I couldn’t take her stare and had to look away and nod. "At this point, you would really have to fuck up to make her not love you, I mean really fuck up."
We walked a few more yards without speaking and the sound of the frozen snow crunching under our feet was the only sound there was. Then she went on. "You’re both damaged goods, which is too bad, because you’ve both got really good hearts. But now you both have a real chance to heal, and to help someone you love heal as well. Just take it."
That request was so plaintive, so tender, and so full of love and concern that I started to tear up again. Hannah hugged me to her breast and I just loved the feeling of being held. Those hormones had really done a job on me, I thought ruefully. I had cried more in the last few months than in the previous ten years. But you know what? I didn’t care. No, it was more than not caring, I was happy. My emotional range had expanded by light years and more people and events had touched my heart in those few months than in the whole of my life until then. The truth was that those hormones, if they were in fact responsible, had done a wonderful job on me, amplifying all kinds of feelings I would have suppressed, making them real and accessible.
And right then I felt a wave of love for Hannah, so I reached up and kissed her on the cheek and folded my arms around her for another hug, our cheeks touching. Of course I wet her with my tears, so I pulled away after a few seconds and gently dried her face. Then I smiled at her and said, "we don’t want this freezing and falling off, do we?" She gave me a smile in return.
Once I had recovered and we were heading back to the house, Hannah continued her lecture. "Being in love brings real responsibility," she stopped walking for a moment and turned to look into my face, "and now that you know how vulnerable Cynthia is, you have an even greater responsibility not to take advantage of that. If you ever do, I’ll make you regret it." I raised my eyebrows at that, and she just shrugged in an embarrassed way. "Well, just don’t," she said with finality.
She went on, "I want you to make me a promise." I raised only one arched eyebrow this time, indicating I wanted to hear what she had to say. I want you to promise that you’ll make a commitment to this relationship. That you won’t just give up if things start to get a little difficult. I want you to hang on to Cyn unless she makes it impossible for you to ...," and for the first time, Hannah showed some of her vulnerability. Her tone was almost pleading when she finished, "…please?"
It didn’t take me a heartbeat to respond. "Oh Hannah, of course I will. I owe her so much already. I can’t imagine ever wanting to leave her. I’m only worried she’ll get bored with me and move on to someone else."
"That’s a risk, but just remember, if she seems to want to leave, it’s because of her own fear of being too close to someone. She’s done it so many times by now that it’s like a reflex. Her response to feeling love is to pull away. She’s never tried to overcome her dread that she might have to face another loss like the loss of Lillian."
I had been looking down at my feet as we walked, but now looked up and nodded to indicate I understood.
Hannah was resolute, "don’t let her go, be there for her. Fight for your love."
What Hannah said made sense on one level, but on another I was clueless. How do you fight for someone’s love? I had no idea.
By then we were back at the house and standing by the back door. Hannah had one hand on the knob, but didn’t turn it. She looked at me instead, she studied me carefully for quite awhile. I became uncomfortable under her stare, but tried not to look away. I gave her a quick, nervous smile and shook my head, as if I was flicking hair out of my eyes. Then she gave that little nod of her head again and took off her gloves, sticking them in her coat pocket. Then she took the ring, I used to think it was my ring but didn’t feel that way anymore, off her finger.
"Give me your hand," she said.
I did, without thinking about it, but at the same time, I said, rather plaintively, as if she was going to hurt me, "what are you doing?"
She took my right hand and rubbed the pale area of skin on my ring finger. It was pale because the ring had protected it from the sunlight during the summer while everything around it was getting tan. Then she slipped the ring onto my finger. "I’m giving you your ring back."
"What did you say?" I snapped out. I was stunned by what she had just said.
"I said, I’m giving you your ring back. Thank you for letting me borrow it. It really meant a lot to me."
"But…, but it’s not.."
"Oh hush," she said. "I don’t have time for lies. When Cyn gave it to me after she arrived here, it was in beautiful condition, like someone was taking care of it." She gave me a knowing look. "I know that Cyn would never have done that. To her it was an artifact of a past time, something to be preserved just as it was when granny died. When I asked her why it looked so nice she hesitated and then came up with a really lame explanation. I let it drop, but when I saw the pale ring of skin around your finger while you were holding your wine glass last night, I put two and two together. Then when she was putting me to bed, I asked her and she confirmed it."
I was shocked into total stupidity. "But why…, but I don’t…. but you shouldn’t."
"Are you trying to say something dear?" There was gentle amusement in her voice. "Take a deep breath and let it out."
"But why are you giving it to me now. Why don’t you keep it until…" Oh shit, I am such an idiot, until when, until you die? Thankfully, Hannah took over.
"I wanted to be the one who gave it to you because I wanted to thank you. I don’t think you could possibly know how much it’s meant to me to be able to wear this. I could feel my grandmother here with me." She paused for a second and her eyes lost their focus. Then she pursed her lips and went on. "And when Cynthia told me what you said when you gave it to her, I just had to thank you. The more I learn about you, the better I like you. If it had been me, I’m not sure I would have given it up. "
I was crying again. I was so overcome I didn’t even have room in my mind to feel stupid about it. But Hannah just kept on.
"I don’t need it any more. I did, but now I don’t. But I want you to know something. This ring will bind the two of us together. Don’t take it if you’re not sure you really love Cyn. Don’t take it if you’re not sure you have the courage to grow into the kind of person she can love." She hesitated and took a big breath. I could see the little snow flakes hitting her cheeks and disappearing in their warmth. "Don’t take it if you’re not willing to accept the responsibility that loving her brings. I wasn’t just blowing hot air back there on the trail, you know."
So I stood there, looking at Hannah, fiddling with the ring just like I used to, sobbing, and trying to think. All of a sudden I was scared. Could I do all those things? I knew for sure that if Hannah had asked me those questions a year ago the answer would have been no. But I had learned so much during the past year, and I felt so much stronger and more confident, and most of all I was so in love with Cynthia. And as quickly as it had appeared, my fear vanished. Of course I could do all those things. I hadn’t yet stopped sobbing, and I still couldn’t speak, but I looked up at Hannah and vigorously shook my head yes.
She enveloped me in a hug and patted me on the back and said, "I believe you. Now lets get you into the house. I’m sure you need something to drink by now. What with all the tears you’ve shed in the last half hour, you must be frightfully dehydrated now." She smiled at me indulgently. "But don’t you dare tell Cyn what I told you. We don’t want to ruin everything."
When we got inside we found Cynthia sitting on the couch. I turned away and looked into the closet to take off my coat so she couldn’t see my face. Hannah looked like nothing at all had happened and started chatting away cheerily about our wonderful walk. But that little lie fell apart as soon as I turned into the room. As soon as Cynthia saw my face, she jumped up and hurried over, "Something happened. What’s wrong?"
As I looked up, I could see Hannah standing behind her staring straight at me. So I pulled Cynthia into a hug and said, "I just met your sister and I’ll never have time to become her friend, and she’s wonderful." Then I looked up into Cynthia’s eyes and said, "she may even be nicer than you and I love you!"
I saw Hannah nod her approval at me just before Cynthia pulled me back to her chest and I started to sob softly yet again. Cynthia had of course spotted the ring on my finger right away, so the next order of business was for Hannah to explain why.
"Well," she said, "I just decided to give it back to Lilly. I certainly won’t be needing it too much longer, and I wanted the privilege of putting it on her finger. Plus," she went on, seeming rather proud of herself, "I figured she should have it to remind her to take good care of my none-to-bright sister. Someone will have to do that when I’m gone."
"You know Cynthia," she went on, sounding somewhat like a Queen making a pronouncement to a feebleminded subject, "I had really begun to despair for you. You had armor plated your heart and refused to let anyone in. You seem to have lost the good sense you were born with. But then you find this lovely flower here," she put her arm around me and gave me a one-shoulder hug, "and my faith is kind of restored. It is my will that the two of you heal each other."
Cynthia and I looked at each other and shook our heads, assuring each other that Hannah was the daffy one. Then we all laughed and had a group hug. We spent the rest of the day together, being a family. We went through old family photos and Hannah made a list of who should get what after she died. She was so matter of fact about it that I could almost believe we were simply talking about who would get what present at Christmas.
It was a marvelous weekend and I let myself bask in the love that Cynthia and Hannah had for each other and were now sharing with me. Even though I’d not yet been there for 24 hours, I’d never felt such a sense of belonging. I decided that I wouldn’t think about Hannah’s death until I was back home in New York. So we all cooked together, walked together, and Cynthia and I catered to Hannah together, and she seemed to glow with contentment at how things were.
In the late afternoon, the part of the day filmmakers call the "golden hour," we got dressed up and made up and went outside to take pictures of ourselves. I set Hannah’s camera on a stepladder and used the timer to take pictures of us by the light of the setting sun. We were full of smiles and giggles even though we were freezing just so we could take the pictures with our coats off. Then we ran back into the house and huddled by the fireplace to warm up. Hannah fell asleep almost immediately, so Cynthia and I covered her and went to make dinner. We spoke little, but I felt loved.
Later that night, we all stood on Hannah’s deck so she could show me the constellations and tell me their stories. As we looked up into the sky, a shooting star burned a long arc through the blackness just below what I had just learned was Orion. Usually shooting stars come and go so quickly, you don’t even get to focus your eyes on them. This one took it’s time, however, and we all saw it. A moment after our oohs and aaahs had stopped Hannah said, "a shooting star, that’s what I’ll be. When I die I’ll become a shooting star and everyone will know I was here." Cynthia and I looked at each other behind her back and just smiled knowingly at each other. Then we put our arms around Hannah and the three of us stood there silently watching the sky until we were so cold we had to go in.
Unlike Romeo’s parting from Juliet, my parting from Hannah was not "sweet sorrow." It was bleak and utter sorrow. I mean, how do you say goodbye to someone you’ve just met, come quickly to love, and who will die before you see her again? There were no words, or touches, or anything else that could comfort me even though Hannah swore up and down that the last couple of days were an immeasurable joy for her and thanked me repeatedly and gratefully for giving her the gift of my visit. Didn’t she get it? That only made things worse! In the end, she was the strong one, and that too made me feel lousy. I was just a mess by the time I got on the plane and grateful to be able to bury myself in my spreadsheets during the fight home.
"You’re one too, aren’t you?" her mother suddenly spat at her. Then she turned to me. "And you too, aren’t you? You’re both lesbians. Everyone here is a lesbian." She was almost screaming she was so frantic.
Before Cynthia could say anything in return, I jumped in. "I am not a lesbian," I said proudly, pausing a moment for emphasis. "I’m a man, so that makes Cynthia heterosexual, doesn’t it? Don’t you just feel better already?" And I smiled at Katherine stupidly as her eyes got even wider while she tried to understand what I had just said.
Thornton had partially laid out his plan to me more than a month ago. He had called me into his office, where he stood behind his desk, with a set of documents and analyses spread out in front of him. "Lilly, shut the door and come over here I want to show you something."
I knew that when I got to his desk, he would look down into my suit jacket. At his constant urging, I rarely wore tops under my jackets and he was always trying to look down into my cleavage. I probably shouldn’t admit this; it makes me feel stupid and sluttish, not to mention totally politically incorrect, but I enjoyed playing this game of hide and seek with him. I just loved my still new breasts and was unaccountably proud of them, as if I had anything to do with how they turned out. On this day I had even worn a lacy, low cut Wonderbra, anticipating just this scenario.
You see, I had figured out that he wasn’t very good at controlling himself and by letting him get a real good view occasionally in private, I was encouraging him to peer down my top in public as well. He never realized what was going on, so lots of people got to see him do it. While he was working to make me look stupid, I was working to make him look like a pig, and, truth be told, to get my cheap little thrill by letting him ogle me.
So I approached his desk and bent over to see what he had there. This was part of the game, because as soon as I did, he took a peek down into my jacket. I took a big breath so my expanding chest would lift my breasts. Let him look. I loved it, even though he WAS a total pig. Then it was time for work, although he would continue to try to check me out for the rest of the meeting. That was his problem, not mine. I had never known I had so much exhibitionist in me.
He didn’t tell me exactly what he was working on, but he had the outline of a presentation that hid some of the analyses I had done. The result would be that Boston Federated wouldn’t know everything we knew. That of course, wouldn’t be kosher. When you team up with someone, you’re really supposed to work for the benefit of the team, aren’t you? Oh well, if nothing else, he was consistent. He tried to take advantage of everyone. He even cheated his new business partners to make a few more bucks. I didn’t understand the securities code well enough to know for sure, but I knew that if what he planned wasn’t illegal, it had to at least be unethical.
If he got caught, he risked not only embarrassment, but possibly a lawsuit as well. And I knew that he could get caught because he had not interpreted my analyses correctly. This led him to incorrect conclusions about eventual payoff dates and amounts. At first I simply hoped that the folks from Boston Federated would pick up on his mistake. They weren’t stupid, and I figured there was a good chance they would catch his bogus figures. Then, when they asked him how he did his calculations, he would be stuck. He wouldn’t be able to explain it. He just didn’t understand how the analysis worked, and didn’t think he had to. He had repeatedly brushed me off in the past when I tried to explain it to him.
It was a pretty nifty set of equations that used a multilevel, nested array of integral equations to estimate not only ultimate investment values with far more accuracy than the standard algebraic analyses could handle, but my approach estimated rates of change in value as well. No one else had that. We could take more factors into account, play with parameters and vary contingencies, and be a couple of steps ahead of our competitors in accuracy and confidence. We could determine whether it was better to take profits early or late, or not at all while our competitors were just looking at the ultimate outcome. You could do all that, that is, if you understood the equations.
Thornton was okay as long as I interpreted the data for him, but he had done it himself this time and blown it. Not surprisingly, he had seen what he wanted to see. Once I understood this, it had been easy to imagine a way to bring him down. All I had told Holly that morning at breakfast was to be sure to understand the numbers year by year, and if they didn’t seem right, to ask about them.
It turned out that Boston Federal anticipated that Thornton might try to cheat them, and was double-checking everything already. That’s why Holly had been able to suggest some additional questions for Thornton. They were laying a trap for him as well. Now, I didn’t have to hope they would catch him, I could be sure it would happen. It also lessened my burden of guilt. Boston Federated had gained nothing from my discussion with Holly because they already knew what to expect.
So I did the best I could to keep Thornton energized and focused on his approach as we prepared for the negotiation with Boston Federated. I agreed with everything he said and only embellished things he had already begun. It really was going to be an impressive presentation.
Still, he dumped on me repeatedly, renewing his effort to crush my ego, even as I tried to look like I was helping him. But I was immune to him now, although I did my best not to let on. In fact, I was the perfect administrative assistant and yes woman, working to convince him that he was going to run away with this contract before the folks from Boston Federated even knew what hit them.
But as those couple of weeks passed, things got more and more strange for me. Once it became clear to me that Thornton couldn’t really hurt me any more, and that he was in fact the one who was about to get clobbered, I started to get a little depressed and to feel guilty about what I was doing, just as Cynthia predicted might happen.
So as the date for the meeting drew near, I updated my own figures and even asked Thornton if he wanted to review them. Once he got caught cheating, he was sure to accuse me of setting him up, and I wanted to be sure I had the proper numbers in my computer and could say that I offered to review things with him. I wanted solid evidence that I hadn’t tried to cheat Boston Federated. Of course I had to be careful about how I offered him my help, and picked a moment after he had just tried to make me look stupid again at a staff meeting.
"Lilly, how many times do I have to tell you that your opinion is not worth the hot air that carries it out of your empty head." Well, I had certainly heard that one before, so had everyone else. Marcie groaned quietly.
I saw my opening. "Does that mean you don’t want me to review the presentation figures with you once more before we meet with Boston Federated?"
"What good would that do?" he snapped back. "When’s the last time you showed me anything I didn’t already know?"
To myself I murmured, when’s the last time you actually let yourself see anything you didn’t want to see. But I plastered a smile on my face and simply said, "Yes sir. It’s hard for me to imagine why you even keep me around, Mr. Thornton."
"Just watch your tongue, missy," he shot back, "We don’t need your sarcasm. You’re expendable, you know." Then he scowled down at me. I just hung my head submissively, but smiled inwardly. I wasn’t sure, but I thought that I had just used his own momentum to help send him where I wanted him to go.
I had a dinner date with Michael, that evening, so I hurried home to change out of my work clothes. I replaced them with a long, crinkled broomstick skirt that swirled nicely around my ankles when I walked, a soft, loosely fitted, long rayon top that hung to my hips, and a sleeveless, collarless jacket that wasn’t as long as the top. I had figured out that I was tall and thin enough to look good in long, layered clothes and I liked them because they were feminine without being overtly sexy. After my thankfully brief stint picking up guys in bars, I was kind of leery about looking too sexy.
Besides, every time I wore a long skirt it reminded me of the first weekend I had spent under Cynthia’s control. I adored those memories. Tallish clunky heels and a silk scarf hanging loosely around my neck completed the look. I was pretty enough to turn heads, but dressed like this, I wasn’t telling the world that I was ready to jump into bed with the first guy who said hello to me.
Of course, I thought to myself as I did a final check in the mirror, smoothing an eyebrow with a wetted pinky, I could always take off my bra and allow my breasts to bob free. Draped by such soft fabrics, they would give anyone clever enough to notice a real good show. But using my better judgment, I decided to leave my bra on even while wondering if I would ever get over the instinct to show off my wonderful breasts.
As soon as I saw Michael, I pressed him to tell me what his investigator had discovered, but he put me off. He was being very cryptic about it, saying it was better if I didn’t know and he would handle everything. "Besides," he said, "it’s taking longer than I expected. I’m not sure when we’ll get this done."
I was disappointed. Despite all my plotting, I had been hoping that perhaps Michael would be able to nail Thornton for me and get me off the hook. But since that wasn’t going to happen, I started to tell him about how things were going at work and how I had tricked Thornton into skipping the review I had prepared to salve my conscience.
"You did what?" he almost shouted. "You could have blown the whole thing. What is the matter with you?"
"I couldn’t help it," I mumbled, "I was feeling bad for him; he’s going to destroy himself. I just had to be sure I gave him the chance to get out of it… if he was smart enough to take it."
Michael was unconvinced. "You are absolutely nuts." He enunciated every word as clearly and slowly as he could, as if talking to a dimwit. Maybe he was. Then he went on in a rapid staccato. "I should’ve known. You should’ve known." His voice rose as he said it. "Cynthia predicted this. She said you were too nice to finish him off when you had him down and she was right. The first time you get an advantage over him, you offer him a way out. What were you thinking?"
I started to tear up under his attack, but then got angry instead. "Well, he didn’t take it, but I did the right thing. How dare you attack me for that."
Michael just sighed and I could see his whole body kind of sink into itself as he calmed down. Then he put both his hands on my shoulders and looked into my eyes. "Look," he said softly, "This guy’s been trying to destroy you. And you’re not the first. Even if you’re willing to sacrifice your own revenge, there are others who were driven from their jobs by Thornton or have been hurt much more than you and who don’t feel as generous."
He stroked my cheek lightly. I grabbed his hand before he could move it away and pressed it into my cheek. I liked it there. He went on, "Thornton truly is a son of bitch. I will not allow you to let him escape. Don’t do anything like that again. OK?"
I closed my eyes and felt Michael’s hand against my cheek. I leaned my head into it and sighed, partly from the nice feeling and partly because I had reached a cross roads in my own mind. Why had I almost let Thornton off the hook? I knew the answer but didn’t want to admit it. I was scared. I had always been scared of bullies like Thornton. I had made a huge step forward in overcoming my fear when I dove from Charles’s car on 10th Avenue before he could take me to New Jersey. But in that case I didn’t have to do anything but flee. Now I was preparing to strike out.
I let Michael’s hand drop and felt tears come to my eyes. A moment later I started to laugh. Going after Thornton took more courage than anything I had ever done in my entire life, and I was doing it as a woman, not a man. The irony was just too much for me.
I could see the confusion on Michael’s face. Here I was laughing and crying at the same time. I lowered my eyes and said to him, "Michael, I’m scared. I’m afraid to do this. He’s going to try to kill me when this deal blows up on him. I don’t know what to do."
Michael took hold of both my shoulders, but when I didn’t look up, he took one hand and put it under my chin, lifting my eyes to meet his. They weren’t full of compassion, as I had hoped. Instead, they were kind of hard, though not angry. "Lilly, you don’t have any choice," he said. "If you don’t do this, Thornton will destroy you for sure. This is your only opportunity. You’ve got to do it and it has to be now."
What could I say? Of course he was right. I had to do it. I’d known that all along. I sighed and nodded my head. He had let go of my chin and I had let my head drop again so that I didn’t have to look at him. But he wasn’t yet ready to let me off the hook. Do you remember Tammy, he asked, lifting my chin again. "Do you remember Melissa, and Helen Marks before her? You know what Thornton did to all of them don’t you? And you hated it didn’t you? And what’s he doing to you now? You hate that too don’t you?"
"Yes!" I hissed out. "I hate him for all those things. He’s despicable." I just about spit the word out.
"And you’re not going to back off on him are you? He still hadn’t let go of my chin, so I shook my head away from him. I had been hoping for moral support, instead I got a lecture. Oh well, what could I expect. After all, he was a man. He was aggressive, and thought in terms of winning and losing, something I had never been able to do.
But he was a rather sweet man, and for reasons I still don’t understand, I found him attractive. I decided it was time to end this conversation and start one that might lead to a little of the affection I needed. "Michael," I said forthrightly, "I’ll do it. Don’t worry. Just understand that I need a little support. This is not exactly my strong suit."
Once he had nodded his assent, I turned flirtatious. "You know what would really help?" He raised his eyebrows as if to say ‘what?’ At the same time, he tilted his head slightly to let me know he was teasingly suspicious as well. "A kiss," I said, "you have to kiss me." I don’t know why, but I said it kind of loud, so the people around us could hear. We seemed to have a habit of embarrassing each other in public by doing that.
With that his eyebrows shot up even further, and he looked at me for a second like I had grown another head. Then he broke out laughing. "You are too much." He said that as he stood up and leaned over me. He stood in front of me and grabbed the back of my chair for balance while leaning down to my face. I leaned into the back of the chair as his face closed in on mine. I fluttered my eyelashes to try to look innocent and naíve. But as he hesitated just for a moment to look into my eyes, I tilted my head slightly to the side inviting him to my lips.
He took the invitation with a sweet smile and kissed me squarely on the lips right in the middle of the restaurant. We held it for quite a while, seriously entangling our tongues and pressing our lips hard together. We didn’t stop when the people around us started to applaud, but drew apart with a little embarrassment when we also heard some laughter.
Then Michael stood straight up, grabbed my hand and lifted me to my feet, holding our hands above our heads. Then he bowed, and because he pulled my hand down with him, I had to follow his lead. Now, the whole restaurant cracked up. Everyone, including us, had a great meal, chattering to the people around us, like we were all old friends.
I took Michael home with me after dinner and we talked and drank wine until bedtime. For some reason I had no desire to make love to him, and he didn’t push the matter. I was content just to be in his strong arms. I felt so protected. So he agreed to stay the night, "Just to keep my spirits up," and once we were spooned together in bed, he fondled my breasts for a little while, claiming that he rarely got to fondle anyone’s breasts, and that was the least I could do for him. I gratefully accepted his attention, and purred contentedly while he gently caressed me from behind. Then I spooned my butt into his groin, ignoring his modestly hard penis, and grabbed his hands, pressing them more tightly to my chest. I was too tired to think about much, but for a moment or two before I fell asleep, I knew what it meant to be a woman. Who wouldn’t, snuggled up with a guy like Michael, who was both so strong and so gentle. Why didn’t I do this every night?
In other words, I was to do my best to look like a hot little secretary and flaunt my body to try to distract the negotiators from Boston Federated. Where DID this guy come from?
Well, I got dressed up, but not to his specs. I wore a black suit with a straight skirt that ended just above the knee. The fitted double-breasted jacket just covered my tush and came up high enough to completely hide my cleavage. It made me look tall and thin. Black patent heels, black hose and gold and emerald jewelry that matched the ring made me look a little more mature than I felt. Just for me, and because I knew it would make people wonder, I wore a pale gray silk camisole with a blush of charcoal gray lace at the top, instead of a bra. No one would see the camisole, but some would wonder whether I was wearing a bra or not.
The meeting was called for 9:30 and there was a good deal of palpable anxiety in the office as Heather, Kathleen and I buzzed around getting ready. Needless to say, Thornton had put me in charge of the secretaries who were going to be the major gofers and he sat with Carl Weathers, our CEO, and a couple of other VPs who had come just to watch the presentation.
By the time the nearly two dozen people had assembled in the conference room and said their hellos and gotten settled it was after 10:00. Thornton sat in the middle of our long conference table and his counterpart from Boston Federated, Bill Watson, sat opposite him.
"Bill," Thornton began, "we have a wonderful opportunity to make lots of money together. And if we can pull this off, I believe it will mark the beginning of a very lucrative partnership for our two firms. As we agreed, I’ve undertaken the financial analysis of the deal. I’ve prepared a presentation outlining the important parameters and the expected outcomes under several sets of contingencies. Each of you has a copy at your seat, so feel free to make notes on it as I go through this. Then, we’ll have plenty of time to discuss our analysis. Lilly, would you get the lights please?"
Why was he asking me? I was running the computer to free him to focus on his presentation. There were four secretaries spread around the room just to handle such things. But I got up demurely and walked over to the light switch being as careful as I could not to walk provocatively. Then as I approached the light switch, I saw Thornton’s face reflected in the smoked glass wall. He was frowning.
I understood immediately. I, of course, was supposed to wiggle my way over to the light switch, swaying like a stripper on the make to distract the team from Boston Federated. Too bad Bob, I thought to myself, if this is your biggest disappointment today, you’ll be a very lucky guy.
As I dimmed the lights, I turned towards Thornton and asked, "Is it dark enough for you Bob?"
I could see the flames dance in his eyes for just a moment before he said, "That’s perfect Ms. Miller. Thank you. You may sit down."
I was supposed to call him Mr. Thornton, and he knew that my use of Bob was an intentional snub. He was getting even by calling me Ms. Miller, with a big emphasis on the Miz, and then telling me to sit down. From that moment on, every North State employee in the room knew something was up. They just didn’t know what. But I intended to make Thornton as angry at me as possible. We’d see who I would distract on this day. By its end all the cards would be on the table and only one of us would still be working at North State.
The presentation went along without any hitches. I had prepared some very sophisticated material, making maximal use of the animation, fancy transitions, and other features of PowerPoint. This permitted Thornton to fly through the figures. He had planned to do that so no one would get a good look at them. Why he thought that would make a difference is beyond me because we had already supplied the entire package to Boston Federated so they could review it in detail.
After 15 minutes I started to worry because no one had yet raised a single question. Worse, I could see no concern on their faces. In fact, everyone seemed quite relaxed. I tried to catch Holly’s eye, but she wouldn’t look at me. Instead she followed Thornton’s presentation with rapt attention. My heart sank when she nodded her head in agreement as Thornton danced around one of the special conditions he had hidden to earn him some extra money. I could see him respond to her encouragement by puffing up a little.
When he was done, I was again asked to get the lights, and when they came on, Bill Watson said, "Bob that was very Informative. You gave us a very enlightening picture of what’s going to happen. Why don’t we take a break and then I think we can sit down and get this contract ironed out. It’s pretty clear to us where we need to go."
What? I thought to myself, they’re going to let him get away with it? They can’t. What happened? Does Thornton have a buddy inside Boston Federated? I sat glumly in my seat, turning off the computer as everyone else left the room. Then, Thornton called to me, "Lilly, can I see you in the office please?"
Sure asshole, whatever you want. My mind was in torment. How could everything go so wrong? Why had Holly led me to believe she would help, only to sit silently while Thornton presented plans to swindle them. I just didn’t get it.
When I got back to the office, he was euphoric. "Did you see that?" he said laughing, "They bought the whole thing. By this afternoon, we’ll have a signed contract, and then they’re stuck." He was strutting around again with his chest puffed so far out I thought it might burst. Charlie Watson, Tom White and a few others stopped in to offer congratulations. They, of course, had no idea what he was up to. And, not at all surprisingly, while they were in the room, Thornton completely forgot that I existed.
Once they left, Thornton turned back to me and said, "Alright, let’s get this wrapped up. Then we can come back and celebrate. I’ve got some really good champagne in the refrigerator. Get it ready in my office. I’m gonna love this."
So I went into his office and opened his bar. I started to lay out everything he wanted, but when I opened the refrigerator, I had to laugh. His really good Champagne was Korbel. Hell, every store in the city that sold wine had six or eight different varieties that were better than Korbel. What an asshole. I shook my head in wonder at his lack of taste.
But I couldn’t stay amused for long. My mind quickly snapped back to our meeting. I just had to turn this around somehow. I couldn’t let Thornton get away with it. But how? I had made sure that Boston Federated would know that Thornton was going to try to cheat them, and had assumed they would skewer him when he presented his "cooked" numbers. But they hadn’t. They seemed to have swallowed his whole presentation, hook, line, and sinker.
I would have to make an opportunity to say something, but unless someone addressed a question to me, I would have little opportunity to talk. Even worse, if I criticized Thornton now, it would be obvious to everyone that I was out to get him.
I was so distracted by this line of thought that I broke a glass. "Oh shit!" I didn’t have time to clean it up. I pressed Thornton’s intercom and buzzed Kathleen. "Kathy, would you come in here please, I need you."
"OK, I’ll be right in." And then, strangely, I could hear Kathy put something down on her desk and push her chair back to get up. The intercom was still on. I had pressed the hold button by mistake. As I was standing there staring at it, Kathy came in the door and asked, "What’s wrong?"
"Huh? Oh, I broke a glass, could you be a dear and clean it up so I can get back to the conference room? I think I got all the big pieces."
She gave me a half frown, the kind a mother uses on her misbehaving toddler, but then smiled and said, "Sure, you go ahead I’ll take care of this. By the way, I love your suit."
But I wasn’t paying attention to her, and didn’t move for a second. "Hey," Kathy whispered, "you okay?" I turned to her slowly.
"Kathy, I need a really big favor." She looked at me expectantly. "I’m going to leave Thornton’s intercom on. I want you to leave yours on as well. I may need someone to listen in on our conversation when we get back. I’m a little worried about what might happen. If you turn the volume down on your microphone, you’ll be able to hear us, but we won’t be able to hear you. Okay?"
She looked at me strangely. "Are you sure? We’re not supposed to do that, you know."
"Don’t worry, you won’t get in trouble, just make sure you have someone else in the office with you, Marcie or Heather or someone. I may need help."
Her look didn’t change, but I was already late. I turned to leave; I had to hurry.
I ran down the hallway to the sound of my heels clicking on the polished floor. I quickly became aware that I wasn’t wearing a bra and had to laugh at myself because I couldn’t figure out why I had decided not to wear it. I should have worn one that was well constructed and had full coverage. You don’t go into battle without your armor on. How did men ever fight in loincloths?
By the time I got back to the conference room, a little out of breath, everyone was seated, and Thornton said, "Oh there you are, Lilly would you fetch us the contracts please."
Fetch the contracts? What was I a dog? But after brushing imaginary hairs off my face, I responded in my sweetest secretary’s voice. "Oh, I’m sorry Bob, did you forget, they’re in the folder by your seat."
"Ah, here they are," he glared at me for accusing him of forgetting, even though he had. Without breaking eye contact, he said, "Would you pass them out please?"
"Sure Bob, I countered, "I sure do hope I’m up for such a difficult task."
I couldn’t believe I had said that and stood there paralyzed! And for a moment, there was an ominous silence, and then a giggle from somewhere behind me, and after another brief pause, laughter took over the room. Thornton stared at me for a second and started laughing himself. He had to, or else look small-minded. Score one for Lilly!
The Boston Federated folks were obviously enjoying our silly little game, but were ready to get down to business. So was Thornton. He had every intention of getting their signature on an agreement today.
"Bill," he began, "you’ve had our proposal and contract for two weeks and my presentation simply summarized things for everybody. What say we sign this thing and get on with it?"
Bill Watson began slowly. "Well Bob," he drawled out, "we want to do this deal as much as you do, and the figures you presented are very enticing. There are, however, a few things we need to straighten out first." He put on his reading glasses and looked down at his notes for a moment. Then, with his head still down, he looked back up over the glasses into Thornton’s face and smiled weakly. "Let me see if I got this straight."
He launched into a detailed summary of the numbers, but curiously left out the one area of the agreement from which Thornton had withheld data. I was really starting to panic now. I would have to bring it up myself, and I couldn’t figure out how to do that safely. I was so distracted by my own thoughts, that I didn’t even hear Watson finish, until he said, "…all that we could sign off on today."
"That’s great Bill," Thornton lunged into the opening. "Let’s do it."
"So this contract represents your best projections of the profit and loss potential? Thornton nodded his agreement, "And the time line?"
"You bet Bill, we’ve been over this thing nine different ways. I did the numbers myself and I’m as sure of them as I’ve ever been of anything. We’ll both profit equally and these numbers prove it."
Watson hesitated, looked down at his notes again and simply said, "Hmmmph." Then he looked at me and said, " Ms. Miller would you call in your lawyers. And give Carl a buzz; I think he should be here too."
I cast a questioning glance over at Thornton because this was not typically the way we did things. He shrugged and I leaned over to Kathleen and told her to make the calls.
"Bob," Watson said, I’m really glad we’ve come to this agreement. It’s now perfectly clear just how good this deal is going to be and I can’t wait to get our signatures down on paper."
My heart was leaden. Thornton had gotten away with it and his victory would be sealed in the presence of our CEO. I would either have to resign or submit to Thornton’s domination. But if I resigned, would I ever get a job like this again? I couldn’t imagine anyone who would hire a transsexual analyst, and certainly not for the kind of salary I was earning. What would I do? I felt like crying.
"Lilly." I was lost in my own thoughts again and even though he didn’t speak sharply, Thornton startled me. "Go get some champagne for everyone. This is going to call for a real celebration, the biggest deal ever for either company." I started to send one of the other secretaries, but Thornton wouldn’t have it. "No, Lilly, you go, I think that would be appropriate, wouldn’t it?"
Those last two words were like daggers. He was wasting no time, starting to humiliate me in public as soon as he felt his victory was at hand. He was making it clear I was going to be his gofer, and probably little more. I left the room without even looking up and had all I could do not to cry on my way back to our office. Fortunately, one of the other girls followed me, loaded everything onto the cart and wheeled it back to the conference room. I tried to take it from her at the door to push it into the room myself, but she wouldn’t let me. "I’m not letting that scum bag embarrass you. Besides, it’s my job."
I put my hand on her arm and said, "Thank you," before smiling weakly. Then I held the door for her and let her push the cart into the room and unload it to the service area. By the time she had finished, Carl Weathers and Paul Altieri, our chief counsel were both in the room.
Watson started, "Carl, I wanted you here because I wanted to be sure you get to see just what kind of deal Bob here is trying to cut."
Something was wrong! That’s not how you start a celebration. I suddenly perked up.
"I happen to be just one of a very large number of people who hate Bob Thornton because he sullies the reputation of all of us with his underhanded way of doing business. I warned you about him, but you chose not to believe me. Now he’s tried to cheat us and we’re going to make you pay for it."
The room went berserk. Everyone was shouting at once. Out of the corner of my eye I spied Holly, who winked at me, and then sat back in her chair to watch the show with a big smile on her face.
Finally Weathers took control. "Those are mighty big words, Bill, you better be able to back ‘em up or there won’t be enough words of apology in the English language to save your position in this industry."
"Sit down Carl, I have a presentation of my own to make. Then our lawyers will describe the basis of our lawsuit to your lawyers.
Watson proceeded to gut Thornton’s analysis of the key section Bob had purposefully left out of his presentation. He showed very clearly how the timing of interim payouts had been scheduled in our favor, and how that would bleed profits from Boston Federated, despite Thornton’s repeated assertions that profits would be split evenly. Thornton just sat there and fumed. Carl Weathers got progressively more upset.
"The only thing I don’t understand is this," Watson went on, addressing Weathers directly, "is that the analysis we performed was derived from the paradigm that your own Ms. Miller here developed." He nodded at me. "In fact I happen to remember you bragging about it. You told me you had given him, er…her" he rolled his eyes as if to say why do I have to deal with this, "a bonus for it."
He looked down at his notes and shook his head. Yet you used it improperly. That’s how we know this is a case of attempted fraud. It’s not easy to spot, but anyone who understands the analysis at all would see right away that these numbers are not only wrong, but coming from the company that developed the analysis, they must be intentionally wrong."
He shook his head sadly. "I should also add that we have every intention of notifying the SEC of the fraudulent business practices North State employs."
"Lilly," Thornton pounced on me. I told you you’d never be able to hide that. I told you not to try it. You set me up!"
"What?" I was caught off guard. I never expected this. Of course I knew he would try to blame me somehow, but so blatantly?
"You fucking bitch, trying to get me in trouble. You set me up. I’ll see your ass in jail." He was shouting with the voice of moral indignation.
"That’s not true!" I shouted back, my voice rising in fury and frustration. "Ask anyone in the office. You prepared those numbers yourself. I offered to review…"
"That’s enough!" Weathers roared. He certainly didn’t want us arguing in public. "Both of you shut up and get out of here. I’ll see you in your office." He glared at both of us. "Tony, he motioned to his deputy, Anthony Morrell, "Escort these two back to their offices and keep them out of trouble until I get there."
As we left, I could hear Weathers beginning to try to mollify Bill Watson. If we got sued or accused of fraud, his ass was on the line as much as anyone else’s.
In the hallway, Thornton lit into me again, accusing me of setting him up and lying to him and just generally trying to make it look like he was the injured party. I stayed silent. The whole office had seen Thornton turn down my offer to review the numbers with him and I had been keeping a daily journal of my conversations with him as well. Still I was scared. I had everything I could do to control my panic. Only the breathing exercises I learned in karate class kept me under control.
When we got back to our suite, Thornton turned on me again and motioning to his office said, "Get in here."
"I’m going with you," said Tony, "I’m not letting either of you out of my sight."
Thornton turned on him. "The hell you are. You get into my office when I say so." Then he turned on me. "Get in here you bitch." His glare was frightening.
I motioned silently to Tony that it would be OK and I preceded Thornton into his office. He slammed the door behind us. I just prayed that the intercom was still on.
Thornton went and poured himself a drink. I stayed as far away as possible, taking up a position near a big brown leather armchair that was next to the door to my office. He took a big hit of his drink and turned towards me scowling. Despite my breathing exercises, I was starting to get scared. But I knew I had to get him to admit that he had done this himself.
"Listen, you little bitch. You set me up."
"Oh, spare me Bob." I put as much venom into my voice as I could. "We’re alone in here and we both know you did this and that you spurned my help. You didn’t understand how the analysis worked or you wouldn’t have tried something so stupid in the first place."
"Well, you little faggot, you may be right, but I’m bringing you down anyway. No one will believe a pansy like you. It’s your word against mine, and I can’t wait to visit you in prison. Your ass’ll be stuffed so full of cock that you’ll never get to sit down!"
"Fuck you Bob!" I was livid. You’ve spent your entire life beating up on people who didn’t have the strength or resources to stand up to you. Well buddy, game’s over. You just let your own stupidity and arrogance bring you down. The only one going to prison here is you!"
All of sudden, the door burst open and Tony and Carl Weathers exploded into the room. Heather and Kathleen were right behind them. "Thornton, you fucking moron," shouted Weathers, "you just hung yourself. The intercom was on!"
"What?" He turned on me like a laser.
Weathers was in his face, "Shut up Bob! I put my neck on the line for you, and there’s no way I’m going to let you do anything that it’ll get it cut off. So don’t say another goddamn word. This office goes under lock and key until we get a chance to investigate. Then we’ll see who set up who."
Weathers turned to his deputy and barked, "Tony, get security. I could see that Thornton could barely contain his rage. He turned on me again, shouting at me over Weather’s shoulder. "I knew you would betray me, you bitch. Just like every other God damned fucking cunt in my life. You were always out to get me."
He was so angry his face was turning red. He slammed his glass onto his desk and the ice and scotch went flying all over it. He started to stalk towards the office door, but had only gone two steps when he turned on me yet again. "All cunts try to screw guys, I should have known that a faggot half-cunt like you would do a particularly good job."
I couldn’t let him get away with that. "Betray you? Betray you? You son-of a bitch! First there was Helen Marks, then Melissa, and then Tammy. You abused them and drove them away and they were defenseless against you. I wish I had set you up. But I didn’t have to, did I? You did it yourself, you arrogant ass!"
"You fucking faggot, I’ll kill you," and he spun away from the door towards where I was standing. I have no doubt that he would have attacked me, but I got lucky. Carl Weathers was standing directly in his path and simply because he was there, he cut Thornton off.
"Come with me Bob," he said. And then turning to me, added, "You go home. You’re on paid leave until we sort this out. I don’t want to see you around here unless I call you in." He stalked out of the office with Thorton and Tony Morrell on his heels.
So I went into the big closet in my girly bedroom to find some old clothes to wear. As I reached to the back of the closet for some jeans, my hand brushed the petticoats of my first maid’s uniform. All of a sudden I got an idea. I pulled the uniform out and laid it on the bed. I was going to wear it to clean the apartment!
First, I donned the appropriate lingerie, including a lacy black garter belt, sheer black stockings, and a wonderfully lacy black Wonderbra that created amazing cleavage. Then I pulled the petticoats up to my waist and slipped the dress over my head, first straightening it over the petticoats and then zipping it up. It wasn’t in the least bit tight, and I let go a big, involuntary sigh of relief. Cynthia said she would put me in corsets again if I gained any weight while she was gone, but if this dress still fit, I was as slim as I had ever been. Thank goodness I had been going to the gym almost every day. I fixed my make up, adding a bright red lipstick, put my hair up quickly, and finally pinned the lacy cap on my head.
I looked at myself in the mirror, admiring my reflection. The short skirt and high black heels made my legs look long and sexy, and the low cut neckline literally overflowed with the lushness of my breasts. I curtsied slightly to the mirror and a feeling of familiarity and comfort rose up within me.
I was transported back to the time Cynthia had first taken over my life. Back then I was scared of her, and she dominated me thoroughly. As intense as those times had been, however, they really hadn’t lasted very long, and Cynthia and I had already begun to drift into a more normal and wonderfully loving relationship before the mugging, which had cemented that relationship into place. I sighed contentedly thinking about it.
This brief interlude of reminiscing had really helped me calm down, but I knew I had a lot of work ahead of me if I was going to get the apartment clean. So I spent the next four hours thoroughly cleaning each room, all the while walking in the sexiest mince I could manage, bending from the waist with my knees straight, and talking to myself as if I was Cynthia giving me orders. I even curtsied to myself in response. This was all so silly, that my afternoon was spent among many giggles, and by the time I had to stop to get ready to meet Michael, my spirits were pretty buoyant.
Michael and I had dinner at a small café on Columbus Avenue. We reviewed the events of my day, but couldn’t come to any conclusions about how things were going to work out. Even so, Michael was surprisingly upbeat about things and kept reassuring me that things would be just fine.
By the time we were having coffee, I had pretty much used up his patience with my anxious worrying. As I was prattling on, describing yet another imaginary disaster that might befall me, he finally interrupted, grabbing my hands.
"Look," he said emphatically, "you saved my life, I’m not going to let anything happen to you, okay? Things will be fine." He paused for a moment and sat there musing. Then he smiled slightly to himself and went on, "Better than fine actually."
I had heard his words, but it was like they were in another language. I just couldn’t understand. But I shut up, even though I couldn’t really relax. How could he be so confident?
After dinner, we took a walk, eventually wandering down into Riverside Park to stand by the water. We didn’t talk; we just ambled along with his arm around my shoulder and mine around his waist. It all felt so nice and comforting and it really helped to calm my anxiety. This reinforced the growing feeling within me that playing a woman’s role was really good for me and that the only question that mattered any more was whether or not I should get SRS and complete my transition.
Before long we were leaning against the old iron railing watching a rather large, brightly lit yacht quietly make its way down the pitch-black Hudson River. I was feeling quite relaxed when all of a sudden a terrible chill knifed through my body. I had never felt so suddenly cold in my entire life, and since I was wearing my fur coat, it wasn’t the wind that had done it. No, the chill had begun as apprehension in my soul and I had gotten cold from the inside out. The coldness subsided as suddenly as it had appeared, and before I could even wonder about it, Michael shouted, "Look," pointing up over the George Washington Bridge, whose crown of two parallel arcs of sparkling lights stood out clearly against the dark sky. I looked up just in time to see a shooting star blink out.
That was the longest shooting star I’ve ever seen," said Michael, wonder in his voice, "and the brightest too."
In that instant, I knew, and shivered again. "Michael, we have to go," I urged, grabbing his hand and pulling him away from the river.
He pulled back stopping me. "Why? What’s wrong? We were having such a nice time. I thought I had finally calmed you down." Then he looked at me. "You look like you’ve just seen a ghost. Are you okay?"
"Hannah’s dead," I said, as sure of it as I would have been had I been standing in her room when she died. "Cynthia needs me."
He looked at me like I was crazy, but only for a second. I guess he figured there was no point arguing with a crazy woman. "Okay, let’s grab a cab," he agreed.
When we on our way back downtown to my apartment, Michael finally got up the nerve to ask what he had been polite enough to avoid by the river. "How do you know?"
"She told me that when she died she would become a shooting star, and…"
"You’re kidding, right?" he interrupted. "Surely, just because we saw a shooting star, you can’t know she’s dead."
I don’t know why I felt compelled to explain it to him, but I did. "I felt a terrible chill just before you pointed. It was the worst chill I had ever felt, and it came from inside me. I know I’m right."
For a second he looked at me like I was nuts, but that look was replaced by a much warmer, more compassionate one almost immediately. "Okay, we’ll see. Come here, let me hold you." He put his arm around me, pulling me close, and I rested my head on his shoulder for the rest of the ride.
Once we got back to my apartment, I raced upstairs to the phone. The light on the answering machine was blinking, but I ignored it, punching in Hannah’s number as quickly as I could and cursing myself for never having entered it into the speed dial.
The phone only rang twice before someone answered. "Cynthia," I almost shouted, "is…"
"No, this is the Darlene, who’s calling please?"
"This is Lilly, is Hannah…."
She cut me off, "Lilly, let me get Cynthia for you. She knew you’d call. She wants to talk to you."
"Lilly," I could hear the tears in Cynthia’s voice as soon as she said my name. "Hannah’s dead." and she began to sob.
"I know Cyn." I had never called her that, before, it was Hannah’s pet name for her, not mine, and I wasn’t quite sure how it had popped out. "I saw the shooting star," I said through the beginnings of my own tears. I looked up at Michael and just nodded. He knew just what I meant, and I could see his body sag at the news.
But before I could say anything else, Cynthia was pleading with me, "Oh, Lilly, will you come out here? Please? I need you."
"Of course I will Cyn, of course I will. Right away. I’ll make reservations as soon as I hang up."
We talked for a while longer, but I wanted to get off the phone because Cynthia sounded so tired and because I wanted to make reservations. By the time we said goodbye, and I had hung up the phone, Michael was sitting next to me on the couch, and I threw myself into his arms, tears running down my cheeks and sobs heaving out of my lungs. He held me until I had calmed down, and then asked, "Do you want me to make reservations for you?"
I just nodded my head, and looked at him through red-rimmed eyes. We had all known Hannah would die, so I didn’t expect the actual event to hit me so hard. I was very grateful that Michael was here with me, and squeezed his hand in thanks. Then totally losing it, I threw my arms around him and cried into his chest for several minutes more.
"I’ll get you a drink," I said, sitting up finally, "then I’m going to wash and change." You can’t go home tonight. I need you here."
"Thanks for asking," he replied, his voice tinged with playful sarcasm. And he added an endearing grin to show he was happy to do it. "There’s no way I’d let you throw me out after the day you’ve had. Go get cleaned up. I’ll get my own drink and find you a flight." He kissed me on the cheek and went to the kitchen for a glass with ice.
I arrived in Colorado Springs late the next afternoon. I knew Cynthia wouldn’t be able to meet me at the airport, but I was still disappointed that she wasn’t there. I didn’t even know the person who picked me up, and we had little to say to each other on the ride to Hannah’s house. I was nearly bursting with my need to be with Cynthia when the plane landed, and my anticipation only increased on the ride from the airport.
So when we got to the house I ran from the car in that funny stiff legged gait that high heels impose on you. I was so eager to throw myself into Cynthia’s arms I just couldn’t stop myself. And then, and then…,I didn’t know what. I just knew that I needed to be with her and that her embrace would make everything better.
But she was cold and stiff when she met me just outside the door. Before I could do anything she hugged me and whispered into my ear, "Take the ring off before anyone sees it. It’s important."
I was stunned. What kind of greeting was that? But I took off my glove and then the ring just as she wanted. Once I had the ring safely tucked into my purse, she relaxed visibly but her demeanor stayed business-like. She bundled me into the house and to the closet by the front door, where she carefully lifted my fur coat off my shoulders and hung it in the closet. Then she turned me back into the room, guiding me by the elbow.
There were about a dozen people spread around the room, but Cynthia led me to the couch where two older people were sitting stiffly, obviously ill at ease. "Mom, dad, this is Lillian Miller, my coworker and good friend."
Her parents? I never expected to see them, although I don’t know why. They had, after all, just lost a daughter, even if they hadn’t come to see her while she was sick. I was so surprised I was speechless. But before I could say anything stupid, Cynthia went on with the introductions. "Lillian, these are my parents, Jacob and Katherine."
We shook hands guardedly. I could only think the worst of them because that’s all Cynthia had ever told me about them. Who knows what they were thinking about me. Did they know Cynthia was a lesbian? Did they know I was a...?
God what was I thinking? They had just lost their daughter. They were here were here to bury a second child. I couldn’t believe how shallow I was, thinking about myself. Guilt bubbled up inside me like a bad heartburn, burning the edge of my consciousness and causing me to blush with shame. When would I ever grow up?
"I’m so sorry for your loss," I blurted out, immediately wishing I hadn’t said it because it sounded so impersonal. I tried to recover, "Hannah was such a warm perso…,"
I stopped because Cynthia had pinched my arm, and although I wasn’t quite sure what was going on, I knew a warning when I felt one. When she didn’t let go of the little flap of skin she had grabbed, I understood that I was on dangerous territory. I back-peddled as fast as I could. " Cynthia always described her with such warmth."
Cynthia broke in before I could do any more damage. As I listened to her I understood that she was doing her best to make sure they didn’t have a clue we were lovers, telling them what a great person I was to work with and how supportive I’d been during Hannah’s illness, taking care of her apartment and all.
Then, she dragged me away and introduced me to her two brothers. Carlton, the oldest of all the children, and Billy, the second youngest, were seated side by side at the dining room table. Billy seemed reticent and withdrawn, and although he stared at my chest when he said hello, his eyes dropped to his feet as soon as the words were out of his mouth.
Carlton, by contrast, looked me up and down as if I was a side of beef at an auction. I had dressed in black, because that seemed appropriate, but I immediately regretted choosing my favorite black cashmere sweater. Even though it had a wonderfully soft cowl neck, it clung to me tightly, showing my breasts to great advantage. Maybe one day I would learn that being proud of my breasts and wanting to show them off was not necessarily the way to go for every social situation. I looked at Cynthia and she just rolled her eyes at me. I couldn’t tell whether that was because of what I was wearing or the way her brothers were appraising me. I decided to believe it was because of the latter.
Finally, after several more introductions, Cynthia dragged me out to the deck so we could talk privately. I tried to throw my arms around her but she stopped me. "Lilly, I thank God that you’re here, but we have to be careful. My family can’t know, at least not now. You’re a friend and colleague, but nothing more. You’ll be staying with Darlene Martin." She was one of Hannah’s friends who had welcomed me warmly.
"At least you have to stay there until my parents leave," Cynthia went on. "This has to be for my family. You’re an outsider, please help me and don’t ask anything of me. Be strong for me. That’s what I need."
I thought I might cry; I know that my lips trembled for a few moments and that tears started to form, but I managed to contain myself. On the flight out I had built up such hopes of connecting again with Cynthia and now they were all being dashed. In my mind there had only been me and Cynthia, but now I was discovering that I didn’t even count. I swallowed hard, several times, the tears clinging to the corners of my eyes. I couldn’t even talk. I just nodded my head up and down and waved my hand at Cynthia, indicating she should go back to her family.
Once she had, after carefully wiping the tears from the corners of my eyes and giving me a wistful look, I sagged back against the railing. In the last day, both Cynthia and I had lost something big, but here, only Cynthia would be able to mourn, and there wouldn’t be anyone at all to comfort me. I didn’t know how I would deal with it all. I didn’t know how to be "the strong one."
I stood there thinking about that for a few minutes, feeling more and more sorry for myself as the time passed. Then, the sliding door to the deck opened and Carlton came out. "Aren’t you cold out here?" he asked, wrapping his own arms around himself to show he was.
"Yeah, I guess I am," I said, becoming aware of the winter chill for the first time. By the time he had come out, I had my hands behind me on the top bar of the deck railing and one of my over-the-calf boots hooked onto the lower rail. This threw my stockinged leg out through the front slit of my calf length skirt, turning what had been a modest cover for my legs into a sexy show of thigh. With my chest thrown forward by my stance at the railing, I had to look provocative. I quickly put both feet down and together and crossed my own arms under my breasts, trying to minimize them. I shook my hair back and looked up.
My adjustments were obviously too late. Carlton wasn’t looking back at my face; he was fixated instead on my breasts. I glanced down to see my nipples poking blatantly through my sweater. Now, I was embarrassed. "I think I better get back inside," I said, trying to sound urgent, "I didn’t realize how cold I was. I’m really getting chilled."
"I could help you with that, little lady," he replied, finally looking into my eyes. And he shifted so that he was right in front of me, cutting me off from the door to the house.
I closed my eyes for a moment and then looked up into his. He was a good head taller than me and probably outweighed my by fifty pounds. Physically, he was in control. I wondered if real women even thought that way. Do they evaluate the possible physical conflict the way men always do? Or do they jump instantly to other strategies, knowing instinctively that force is not an option.
But It didn’t take me long to figure out a strategy that might work. "Would you get the door for me please?" I started to step around him, hoping he would follow my lead. But he didn’t budge. As a result, I bumped into him trying to get away from the railing and fell back slightly. He instantly reached around me, as if to keep me from falling over the rail, and pulled me into a close hug.
"It looks like it’s gonna be a long couple a days, maybe you and I could keep each other company."
"I don’t think so," I said tartly. "Now please let me go. I don’t like being manhandled."
"Aw, come on, honey, what else you got to do?"
"Well one thing’s, for sure, I’m not doing it with you! Now let go of me." This, I thought, is just the kind of situation where women stamp their feet for emphasis. Hey, I realized, that might work. When he hadn’t let go of me a second later, I did stamp my foot. I stamped the narrow heel of my boot right onto the instep of his shoe. That got his attention.
"Hey!" he shouted, now almost forcing me over the railing as he pushed away from me. "Whadid you do that for?"
"You know damn well why I did it." I kept my voice cold, but even. Now are you going to get the door for me or not?"
"Get it yourself, bitch, and don’t expect any more favors from me."
"I looked him in the eye and said, "I intend to hold you to that, so see that you remember it too. I don’t know what kind of…man," I said the word with as much disdain as I could muster, "tries to force himself on a woman at a time like this." I hesitated for emphasis, then added, "But he’s not the kind I want to spend any time at all with." And I stepped past him and into the house, closing the sliding door way too hard.
Hearing the door rock shut, everyone looked up. Of course, I felt terribly embarrassed, but there was nothing I could do at that point but say, "Excuse me, I didn’t realize it moved so easily," to try to cover myself.
Cynthia gave me a look of concern, but didn’t move from her spot next to her mother. Our looks lingered longingly on each other for too long, I guess, because Darlene Martin cut in, "You look cold, how ‘bout some coffee?"
I gratefully accepted, so she linked her arm in mine and led me to the kitchen. Darlene was a friend of Hannah’s and must have been almost fifty, although you couldn’t tell because her hair was thick, dark, and shiny, her skin translucent, and her body trim. Right now she had a slight blush on her cheeks, which made her look almost like a little girl. "Are you alright Lilly?" she asked as soon as we got there. You look a little shook up."
"I can’t believe it," I tried to whisper to her, but failed because I was still upset. "Carlton, came on to me on the deck. No, that’s not true. He tried to force himself on me. He trapped me by the railing." My voice had started to rise so Darlene put her finger to my lips to quiet me down, flicking her eyes towards the other room at the same time to be sure I got the message.
I went back to a stage whisper. "I had to stamp my heel on his toe just to get away from him!" She giggled lightly, now putting her hand to her own mouth to keep herself quiet. Her dark eyes sparkled and the laugh lines that radiated from their corners looked more like rays from a friendly sun than any sign of her age.
"Isn’t he just an asshole?" Her hands fluttered and the dark, curly hair that framed her face bounced around on her shoulders as she talked. She was just a bundle of energy. "He’s tried that with just about every woman here, including me, and I’m old enough to be, …well, I’m not quite that old!" Her eyes sparkled.
Then she leaned close as if we were planning something illegal, and said, "If he tries it one more time, I’m going to get a tranquilizer gun from the zoo and use it on him." Then she started giggling again. Caught up in her mood, I giggled along with her.
I was already feeling better and leaned down to give Darlene a thank you kiss on the cheek. This was something that I really enjoyed about being a woman. As a man I hardly ever touched anyone. I was afraid of what people might think of me if I did. As a woman, however, I kissed, and hugged, and touched hands at the least excuse. I really enjoyed the intimacy that touching created. "I think I’m going to like staying with you," I said.
"Oh, you will," she replied, "I’ve got a treat for you later. Cynthia set it up because she felt so bad that you couldn’t stay with her. But c’mon, I’ll introduce you the people you haven’t met yet.
I passed the rest of the afternoon and evening talking with people about Hannah and wishing I were sitting next to Cynthia. We did get to share a few moments together, once holding hands surreptitiously for a few minutes. She let me know what she had told her parents about me, just to be sure we were on the same page with that. It was a good thing too, because at one point Cynthia’s mom did come over to interrogate me. She was a very suspicious woman, although I don’t know what she had to be suspicious of, so I only talked about Cynthia at work.
I started to fade by 8:30 and was glad Darlene noticed and hustled me to her apartment, which was about twenty minutes away. Cynthia gave me an open and heartfelt hug on the way out the door, and while we were close, she whispered to me, "You be a good girl with Darlene, now, she knows just how to take care of you." I left feeling better than I had all day.
Darlene did know how to take care of me. She got my bags settled into her small guest room, and then hustled me into her tub. "I put some bath oils in for you. Use this scented gel," she insisted, forcing a flowery tube into my hand, "and the shampoo and conditioner."
When I came out of the bathroom, I had one towel wrapped around my chest and another around my hair and I smelled of lavender and peaches. Darlene turned to face me from the ornately carved white bench in front of her vanity. Black lace graced the hem and scalloped neckline of the gorgeous gray silk chemise that flowed over her body. She had belted a matching robe on top of that, and was barefoot, her dark red toenails standing out clearly against the pale carpeting of the bedroom floor.
She smiled at me and got up, grabbing the long gown and I had laid on her bed on the way into the bathroom. At only about five feet tall she looked to me at that moment, like a beautiful fairy godmother.
"C’mere, Lilly. Cynthia told me to take good care of you, and that’s just what I intend to do. Let’s get you dressed and then I’ll blow out your hair. Did you know I own a spa?"
I stood there passively as she walked over and undid the towel on my head and gently dried my hair with it for a moment. Then she turned me away from her so she was facing my back and carefully opened the towel that hid my body. I knew she knew about me, but I was feeling very shy anyway and appreciated her sensitivity. "Oh, don’t you feel just lovely," she purred with delight as ran her hand along the side of my naked back. "And you smell just delicious."
What could I do? I blushed.
She went on. "Here, let me slip your gown on you before you catch a chill."
So I let her slide my gown over my wet hair and quickly slip it down onto my body. She held my robe as I dropped first one shoulder and then the other to allow her to ease it on to my arms. Her hands lingered on my shoulders, adjusting the seams far more carefully than necessary. Then, her hand came up to caress my cheek. It lingered only for a moment before she said, "C’mon’, I’ll dry your hair."
There were two glasses of a deep red wine at her vanity and Darlene grabbed them, handing one to me. She raised hers and said, "to a sweet visit." I raised an eyebrow, wondering what that meant, but couldn’t help but feel charmed by her warmth. So we clinked glasses and I took a mouthful, closing my eyes to savor the bouquet and swirl the smooth dry wine in my mouth for a few moments before swallowing. Mmmm, I could taste plums in the aftertaste.
When I opened my eyes again, Darlene was looking at my feet. "Oh, your nails are a mess. Let me fix them while you finish your wine. Then they can dry while I blow out your hair.
I objected, but she was having none of it, turning me around on my seat and pulling up an ottoman to sit on herself. "Cynthia told me to pamper you and that’s just what I intend to do. So just sit back and enjoy it."
She flashed her big smile at me again and after staring at her for a moment to be sure she meant what she said, I gave in gratefully. Sitting and sipping wine was all I was good for at that point. So she gave me a perfect pedicure and regaled me with stories about Hannah and their friends.
Then, she turned me around and scooted behind me so she could dry my hair. I caught her eyes in the mirror as I resettled myself, being careful not to smudge my now jewel-like toenails, and she tilted her head a little, sort of raised her shoulders and gave me an adoring look that utterly captivated me.
I had always thought that having your hair dried was just a chore. I had never realized just how luxurious it could be in the hands of the right person. I now knew for sure that my hairdresser was rather harsh in her approach, pulling too hard, combing too roughly and burning my head with the drier. But not Darlene, she handled my hair as if it were made of spun gold, using her comb, brush and fingers to manipulate it carefully, tenderly, and sensuously. It almost felt as if she was worshipping my hair rather than simply drying it. By the time she was done, my hair looked perfect, as sleek and shiny as it could be, and I was purring with contentment.
"Such beautiful hair," she said, running her fingers through it and shaping it gently, "I bet it reflects the rest of you."
Again I blushed. "Darlene, my hair looks just gorgeous, I can’t go to bed; I’ll ruin it."
"Silly girl," she whispered gently over my right shoulder as she ran her fingers up the back of my neck, pulling the hair away from my head and letting it go in a smooth cascade, "if you muss it up, I’ll just fix it for you in the morning." Her dark eyes flashed and a smile lit up her face, crinkling the skin at the corners of her eyes, making them look warm and welcoming. She gave me another warm smile, and then said, "Ready for bed?"
"Oh God yes, Darlene, "I replied, I’m tired and relaxed and feel just wonderful. Thank you."
She reached out her hand and when I put mine in it, she pulled me gently to my feet and led me to my room. Once there, she turned down my bed, helped me off with my robe and settled me under the covers.
She was treating me like a princess. She had bathed me and, done my hair, and toenails. Now she was putting me to bed. After I had gotten comfortable, she turned out the little bedside lamp and sat on the side of the bed for a few moments, stroking my hair and whispering comforting sounds. I felt totally relaxed and delicious under her ministrations. Maybe this is what heaven is like.
I was a little surprised that I couldn’t feel Darlene at all a moment later, and even more surprised to realize that the room wasn’t dark "Huh?" I wondered, sitting up quickly. It was morning and I could hear Darlene moving about. I must have fallen asleep even before she left the room.
So I got up, put on my robe and brushed my teeth and hair, and wandered out to the kitchen.
"Hi sweetie, sleep well?" Darlene was sitting at the counter, fully dressed and holding a cup of coffee.
"What happened?" I asked, still a little confused.
"You fell asleep." She had gotten up and walked over to me to brush the hair off the side of my face. "I guess I was a little too tender."
"Oh, Darlene, I’m so embarrassed." I can’t believe I fell asleep. That’s so rude." I was starting to get a little hyper in my anxiety.
"No, no sweetie. I was trying to help you fall asleep." And she kissed me on the cheek. "But now that you’re up, we need to get on over to Hannah’s house. She turned back to the counter and reached for a cup by the coffee machine. "The funeral’s tomorrow and there’s lots to do. You’ll help. Ever been a hostess before?"
Had I ever been a hostess? Not quite, although I had certainly done some serving. A laugh sputtered from my lips at the thought of me at a funeral in my maid’s uniform.
"What?" she asked, handing me a cup of coffee. "Was that a funny question?"
"Darlene," I said, tearing open a packet of equal to dump into my coffee, "exactly what has Cynthia told you about me?"
"Well, a lot about some things, like how much she loves you..." That made my heart swell, and my left hand came up involuntarily to rest between my breasts, as I took a sharp breath. "…but not so much about others."
"Did she ever tell you that I was her maid?" For some reason it seemed like the most natural thing in the world to tell her this, but when I actually heard myself say the words, I got embarrassed and looked away, pouring some cream into my coffee so I didn’t have to look into her eyes.
When I looked up, I saw that her face had lit up in a huge grin and that she was starting to giggle. "No, but I can just see it. Maybe I can get you to do that for me some day."
"Wellllll," I said, drawing it out as long as I could, before throwing my hair off my face and tilting my head to flirt with her, "maybe you can…Mistress." And I gave her a full curtsey, holding the hem of my gown in an exaggeratedly dainty way and dipping as deeply as I dared, my eyes cast down.
"Yesss," she hissed, "maybe I can." And she rolled her eyes lasciviously before she burst out laughing. "But whether I do or not, I expect to put your serving skills to work today. The house will be mobbed and a professional touch will help, I’m sure." And we both laughed. "Now lets get you dressed."
"Yes mistress." I curtseyed again and floated off to the bathroom with my coffee. This was a fun game!
By dinner time I wasn’t feeling quite so cheerful, having spent a long day, mostly on my feet, running in and out of the kitchen, bringing food out and dirty dishes in. I had to admit, however, that having a purpose made the day pass as easily as it could have. Most of all, it saved me from having to engage in forced conversations with people I didn’t know. I was never very good at small talk and knew almost nothing about Hannah. Even though I knew it was immature, I was content to run around like a good little maid to avoid talking to people.
When we were in private, I flirted harmlessly with Darlene. At one point I even went so far as to stick my tongue in her ear as I stood behind her, my arm wrapped around the front of her shoulders as we took a break, me leaning back against the counter and Darlene leaning back into me.
"Oh, you!" she squealed. "You’ll pay for that!" I let her go and stood quietly as she spun around to stare at me in mock anger. I was surprised to find myself hoping that she was right. All she could do right then, however, was reach up and stroke my cheek with the back of her hand. I pressed my cheek into her caress and stared deeply into her eyes.
"Thank you for taking care of me Darlene. I don’t know, how I would have gotten through the day otherwise."
"But you would have," she replied softly, "you’ve dealt with worse." I nodded my head in acknowledgement. Did she know about Thornton?
The worst part of the day came at dinnertime. Because I had worked so hard up until then, the others forced me to sit while they served. That meant I actually had to talk to people. Worse, I ended up sitting next to Katherine. Her demeanor was so severe and she was so lacking in warmth that she was almost like an emotional black hole, sucking all the good feelings near her into her own vortex of gloom.
I tried to draw her out about Hannah, figuring that she must have some wonderful memories of such a lustrous, joyful woman. But I discovered that she was bitter that Hannah had left home when she had, had never married, and worst of all, had never had children, as if this was some kind of intentional slight designed just to make her mother feel bad.
"But Hannah was a wonderful person," I argued. "Look at how many friends she has, and they all have such wonderful memories of the great things that she did for other people."
"They’re all lesbians," she spat acidly, "their very presence here is an insult to Jacob and me."
I was aghast! How could she? I looked at her, my mouth agape. I was ready to pounce on her and put her in her place. But all of a sudden a fork clanked loudly on a nearby plate. I looked up and saw that it had been Cynthia and she was looking at me so hard I was afraid she would melt my forehead.
But I got the message and just smiled at her blandly before turning back to her mother. "Are you sure," I whispered, leaning in close. "How can you tell?"
She looked at me piercingly for a moment, trying to figure out if I was making fun of her or not. But I managed to keep a sincere look on my face, and essentially stared her down. Thornton had taught me a few things. When I had to, I could lie with the best of them, and I was certainly not about to let this fundamentalist harpy from the sticks read me. God, they would never let me back into Manhattan if I did.
"Well," she said, swallowing my bait whole, "I can just tell." She was obviously sure of herself. "A good looking young girl like you had better be careful, they might get you too."
"Get me?" I asked, trying to sound puzzled.
"Yes," she said, "you know, have sex with you, although for the life of me I can’t figure out just what it is they actually do."
This had gone on far enough. I had to get back to Hannah. "But Mrs. Morrison," I protested gently, Hannah has done more to help other people than anyone I ever met…errr, heard of. She’s a hero in this community. She was even taking care of two older couples and cheering up young people at the hospital a month before she died. You must be so proud of her." I think I might have said ‘must’ a little too emphatically.
"No. We told Hannah years ago we would have nothing to do with her if she continued to consort with these Godless perverts, but she was too foolish and too proud to behave like a Christian woman. She just didn’t care about what she was doing to us."
I almost choked. What kind of mother was this? She was here to bury her rather young daughter and all she could think of was herself and how Hannah’s lesbianism had affected her? My God, no wonder all her children left home as soon as they could.
"So that’s why you didn’t visit her while she was sick," I asked, stunned at where her logic was taking us.
"Yes," she said with asperity. "She chose her own path against our wishes and against her lord, so she had to face the consequences on her own. We wouldn’t be here now if Cynthia hadn’t begged us to come and paid our way. We are not in the habit of attending the funerals of Godless perverts."
I sat there, my thoughts totally scattered. I knew I had to keep total control or I might lose control totally and tell her how sick she was. And as I sat there clenching my fists under the table to dig my nails into my hands, my heart pounded so hard, I began to fear it would explode. I could tell I was going to have a panic attack. I had never heard anything like this. I looked for Cynthia, but she was talking to someone else. I felt lost and adrift. Then without saying another word, I got up from the table and left the room.
Before I knew it, I was outside on the trail Hannah and I had walked into the woods. It was already dark out, but the path was easy to follow because the snow had been compacted by many pairs of feet. I had no goal or destination, but I just knew I had to get out of that house. I walked on.
Within a minute, I started to cry. Was I feeling Hannah’s death again, or mourning for something else? What had I lost? Well, my job, almost certainly. I had fully expected to see Thornton fired after the big blowout over the Boston Federated deal, but that hadn’t happened. Instead I was locked out of my office and placed on leave. Was I mourning the loss of my job?
I should have been, I guess, but I didn’t think that was what had caused me to get so upset by what Katherine had said. So I looked more deeply. My parents were of no more good to me than Hannah’s were to her. They were both self-centered and viewed me as more of a hassle than anything else. I hated myself for believing it, but I was sure that I had been lucky that my father died when I was so young. If he hadn’t, he certainly would have made my life hell once I started crossdressing.
My mother? Well, what could I say about my mother? She did her best to crush me. I suppose I should thank her for "forcing" me to dress up - that was the best thing she ever did for me, although she did it to hurt me. But she didn’t deserve any more thanks from me than my abusive father. First she had accused me of killing him and then she forced me to go out with Kyle, who used me repeatedly for sex.
I guess, to be fair, I had to admit that I quickly became Kyle’s sexual coconspirator, and for some strange reason I didn’t hate him. He had kind of grown in our relationship and by the time I left for college, we had become rather fond of each other. He had learned how to give a little and actually treated me like I was valuable. I could forgive Kyle. My mother, on the other hand, was another story.
No, at that moment, I felt nothing for my parents. Maybe that’s what I was mourning. Like Hannah, and Cynthia for that matter, my parents were a toxic burden on my life, and it improved immeasurably once they were out of it. And maybe that’s why Katherine’s little tirade had affected me so. Had I seen my mother in her? My mother telling someone how much she hated me, and what a curse I was on her because I was a crossdresser, as if that said everything anyone would ever need to know about me.
Yes, that had to be it. I could see it clearly now. I had been sitting next to my own mother and she was telling me what she thought of me. But you know what? She was wrong, the bitch. My gender shift didn’t label me as a bad person anymore than Hannah’s lesbianism labeled her as one. How could people be so narrow-minded? How could your own mother be that way?
This train of thought had actually calmed me down and cheered me up some. I knew that I wasn’t by any means a Hannah, who gave so much to other people, but I could be. I would start with Cynthia, who in her generosity of spirit was a lot like her sister, and see where we could go from there. Maybe we could even have children…
"Lilly, Lilllllly."
I looked up. I couldn’t see anyone, so I started back down the path. "I’m coming," I shouted back.
It was Darlene. I had been gone for almost a half an hour and Cynthia had started to get worried. "You’ll freeze to death out here," she said as soon as she saw me. "Let’s get back to the house." I let her lead me, but I didn’t say anything. I was wondering how I was going to fall asleep tonight.
"Would you take me home?" I said just before we got to the house. "I’ve had enough of Cynthia’s family for today." She nodded in agreement.
I actually fell asleep without too much trouble that night. I guess there are some advantages to jet lag.
Darlene and I left her apartment on the way to the funeral home at 9:30 the next morning, which broke sunny, but cold. I had only been to three funerals in my life, and none as a woman, so I wasn’t quite sure what to wear. I figured it was half way between going to work and out to dinner. I wore a long black wool dress. It was plain, with a small round collar and very form fitting on top. The skirt was quite full, however, so I could walk easily without need for a slit, which somehow seemed inappropriate. I set the dress off with a broad black leather belt that had a big silver buckle. I again wore my boots, so the only parts of my body you could see were my face and hands. I carried a big black bag, with plenty of tissues and much of my make up because I knew I was going to need both. There was no way I would get through this day without lots of tears.
Even though we arrived at the funeral home early, the parking lot was already quite full and it took quite a while to get to our seats because Darlene had to stop and say hello about every two steps. I was introduced to everyone as Cynthia’s friend from work, and I would have chafed at being described that way except that a lot of the women, and the crowd was almost all women, said something like, "Oh, you’re Lilly, I’ve heard such wonderful things about you."
After the first couple of comments like that I whispered to Darlene, "Just what did they hear about me?"
"Lilly, don’t be silly," she whispered back, leaning in close to me so she could keep her voice down, "Cynthia adores you, she’s told everyone who would listen how wonderful she thinks you are."
"Oh," I squeaked, my heart filling with joy. "Do they know all about me?"
"Some do, but not many. Only a few, the ones who spent enough time at Hannah’s for Cynthia to learn to really trust them."
Inexplicably, I started to feel a little paranoid, like I was some kind of freak on display for the amusement of the locals, who had all turned out to laugh at me. "Like you?" I asked, archly, quickly giving away my unease.
"Yes, hon, like me," she said warmly, putting her still-gloved hand on my arm and patting it gently to comfort me. She wasn’t going to rise to my bait, instead kissing me quickly on the cheek. "Just relax. You’re among friends here."
I looked at her for a second as if to gauge her trustworthiness, and then felt a wave of embarrassment wash over me, followed by warmth rising into my cheeks. Once again I had made myself ashamed by putting me in the center of something that wasn’t about me at all. Hell, I was no one as far as most of these people were concerned, why did I keep making things about me? I pursed my lips in a small frown and pressed forward, finally sitting right behind Cynthia and her family.
This was not an emotionally expressive group, and with the exception of the warm interaction between Cynthia and her younger sister Janice, who had arrived last night, there was none of the touching or intimate gestures one might expect to see among family members. Her parents sat next to the middle aisle, as stiff as boards, as though each was there alone. The two brothers, who had offended virtually every woman who had visited the house, were fidgeting uncomfortably next to them, with Cynthia and Janet next to them. How sad, I thought, forgetting about my own, equally unhappy family.
I leaned forward and put my hand on Cynthia’s shoulder. "Hi Cyn," I whispered, trying to be unobtrusive.
"Oh, Lilly, you’re here, thank goodness." She turned to face me and gave me a quick peck on the cheek, causing me to blush, although I had no idea why.
"Are you okay," I asked, praying she would say no and ask me to sit with her to keep her company.
Instead, she took a deep breath and said, "Sure," her eyes telling a different story than her mouth. "At least I have Janice here."
I caressed her cheek with my hand and looked into her eyes, concerned by what I was seeing. I guess Cynthia could read my concern, because she turned fully around and pulled my head close to hers. "Lilly, I really wish I could have you here next to me, but I just can’t." I nodded my head in understanding. "When this is over, we’re going to spend a month alone together. I’ll make it up to you."
"You have nothing to make up to me," I whispered back, slightly appalled that she might think she did. "I’m just worried about you."
We looked at each other for a few seconds, but then someone came up to offer condolences to the family and Cynthia had to turn back around. I gave a quiet sigh, and started to shrug my fur coat from my shoulders. I knew we would all get through it.
The funeral home sanctuary was large and a couple of hundred people filled it to overflowing. And the room was drenched in estrogen; there couldn’t have been more than 15 men among the throng of women, and most of them looked lost, clinging uneasily to their wives or girlfriends. I began to wonder if the women could smell that I didn’t have a pussy. At least I knew I smelled like estrogen, whatever it smelled like.
The whole thing was kind of strange because the women who were Hannah’s friends didn’t know her family and visa versa. But at least the service started on time and the chaplain who led it, a middle aged woman, gave a very moving memorial speech before three more women gave their own eulogies. It was obvious that the little bit I had observed of Hannah was a real reflection of her. She gave to many parts of the community, and her visits to the hospital that Cynthia had written me about were only the latest manifestations of her warm and giving nature. Indeed the service was more of a celebration of her too-brief life than it was a heart-wrenching expression of loss.
Not that people didn’t express their feelings of loss, because they did, and we all cried repeatedly as they told stories of the wonderful things that Hannah had done and then mourned aloud that her passing had taken those things from us. I guess it wasn’t as bad as I feared, however, because I still had a few tissues left when the service ended.
We followed solemnly as the casket was wheeled from the room and then congregated in the large foyer of the funeral home. There would be no trip to the cemetery because Hannah wanted to be cremated. So people were just milled around, not knowing quite what to do.
Then everything exploded. A woman came up to the family to express her condolences, and for some reason Katherine just lost it. The woman, who was beautifully made up and dressed like a very successful business executive, simply said, "You must be very proud of your daughter, look at all she did, even while she was sick."
"She was a Godless lesbian," Katherine spit back at her, her eyes on fire.
"Excuse me?" said the obviously very startled woman. .
"Her immoral life was a waste, a shame on her family, and an abomination to God!" Watching Katherine, I finally understood where the phrase "fire and brimstone" came from.
"You’re her mother?" the other woman said, her voice getting louder and rising in pitch with every syllable. She was doing all she could to contain herself. Finally she couldn’t hold back any longer. "Do you think all these people are here because Hannah wasted her life? She gave more of herself to others than almost any other person I’ve ever known. My God, she was wonderful. She’s left a huge hole in this community and I’m not sure how we’ll ever fill it! Any other mother in the world would be bursting with pride to have such a daughter. What is the matter with you?" She was almost shouting before Cynthia stepped between her and her mother to defuse things.
"Alexis," she said, "please, don’t. "You’ll never change her mind."
Alexis was breathing hard and Cynthia clasped her arm, keeping her close. Then Alexis just burst into tears and Cynthia pulled her into a close hug and held her while Alexis cried for a few moments. Once she had managed to get herself under a bit of control, Alexis went to sit down, so I went over and offered her my tissue reserve while six other women crowded round to comfort her.
"Why don’t you just go home," Cynthia said to her mother. "There are people here who love Hannah and your venom isn’t welcome. You were right; I shouldn’t have forced you to come." Now Cynthia’s voice was rising, her anger and frustration getting the better of her.
Shit, I thought, watching Cynthia become increasingly upset. I’ve had enough pretending. I’m going to take care of her. Who cares what her family thinks. So I walked up behind her and put my right arm around her shoulder. I took her upper arm in my other hand. "Shhh, baby," I said, quietly, "let yourself relax."
Cynthia was breathing hard and her shoulders heaved and her nostrils flared with each breath. A tear had formed at the corner of one eye and she was opening and closing her mouth, first starting to say something and then managing to stop herself. It would have been funny if it weren’t so sad. The room had gotten quiet and almost everyone was watching. And as we both watched, her mother looked at me, then at Cynthia and her eyes widened.
"You’re one too, aren’t you?" her mother suddenly spat at her. Then she turned to me. "And you too, aren’t you? You’re both lesbians. Everyone here is a lesbian." She was almost screaming she was so frantic.
Before Cynthia could say anything in return, I jumped in. "I am not a lesbian," I said proudly, pausing a moment for emphasis. "I’m a man, so that makes Cynthia heterosexual, doesn’t it? Don’t you just feel better already?" And I smiled at Katherine stupidly as her eyes got even wider while she tried to understand what I had just said.
A moment later, I heard a laugh sputter out behind me, then a giggle from somewhere else, and then another. A few seconds later, a number of people were laughing and before too long it seemed that the room was filled with laughter.
As she looked around, like a ‘coon surrounded by hounds, Katherine started to get a look of sheer panic on her face. She turned red, and for a moment, I thought she was going to explode. But she just grabbed Jacob and said, let’s get out of here. Carlton, Tommy, Janice, let’s go. This is a Godless place."
"No mom, I’m staying," said Janice. "I like Hannah’s friends. They’re real people, they know how to love and care for each other. You’re the one who’s Godless, and your soul is barren. You couldn’t even love your own children. You drove Lilly away and got her killed."
"She was a whore!" Katherine shouted.
"She was not!" Janice shouted back. "She was raped and murdered! You want to believe she was a whore to relieve your own guilt. Well live with it. You drove her away and killed her..."
Now Cynthia turned to Janice and wrapped her up in a big hug.
"C’mon Katherine, we have to leave." Jacob grabbed her arm and led her to the door. The two boys looked around, obviously as panicked as their parents. A second later, they fled as well.
Now, everyone was talking. That had been quite a scene. I was looking around when Janice turned to me and said, "you’re not really a man, are you," things got real quiet, real quick.
I felt a little stupid. Why in the world had I said that? Would all these women hate me? I smiled weakly at Janice, but then I could see Cynthia smiling at me. She had a big warm grin and it lit up her face. I found it hugely encouraging, although I wasn’t quite sure what she was smiling at. So I said, "God I hope not! Everybody started laughing again, but I pressed on. "Well, I guess not, but I used to be. I still partly am."
By the time I had finished, I felt pretty deflated. Janice still looked confused, which wasn’t that surprising since I hadn’t given her a very clear answer. But before I could think of anything else to say, someone I didn’t know jumped in, "Well, whatever you are honey, you certainly shut that old bitch up." There was an immediate murmur of agreement, but the woman started to flush and said to Cynthia, "I’m sorry Cynthia, I should never have said that about your mother."
"No, it’s okay, Ellie. She is an old bitch, and a cold hearted one to boot. She drove all her children away from her and her performance today was entirely predictable. In my heart, I didn’t want them to come, but how could I keep them away?"
"Well it’s a good thing you brought some New York muscle with you, then." She winked at me. I felt my cheeks flush warmly. Your cute little hatchet man…, aaah…, I mean woman…, your hatchet woman here took care of her good." And the murmurs of agreement started up again.
I didn’t know whether to feel proud of myself or embarrassed by what I had done, but at least they weren’t turning on me. I knew that lots of lesbians were not real fond of Transsexuals, and the last thing I wanted was to be an outcast among Hannah’s friends.
"Yes," Cynthia broke in, "Hannah told Lilly that she had to take care of me and I guess Lilly took her seriously." As she was saying that Cynthia had moved towards me and then gave me a big hug. I hugged her back just as hard as I could for several seconds and then pulled my head back to kiss her. We looked at each other for about a microsecond before diving into each other’s mouths. I had waited two days for this, and I wasn’t going to waste the opportunity. I didn’t care how many people were watching.
So we hugged and kissed for a minute or two, I guess, I don’t really know how long it was, I was concentrating on the feel of Cynthia’s lips and tongue, and of the taste of her lipstick and the inside of her mouth. It was wonderful to kiss her again. Somehow, we both decided to stop at about the same time. So after a few failed attempts at separating, we finally managed to pull apart, but remained holding hands as we looked back up at all the people surrounding us. And when we did, they were all smiling like proud aunts. We both blushed.
That changed the mood of the day entirely and we went back to Hannah’s house and greeted her friends and reminisced about her until dinner. We weren’t at all surprised that neither Cynthia’s parents nor her brothers showed up, and Cynthia made no attempt to contact them. Nobody wanted them around.
That night I slept with Cynthia. I was just thrilled to be back in her arms. I spent a good deal of time getting myself ready for bed, making sure my makeup was perfectly understated and my perfume was lightly applied in all the right places. I had plans for Cynthia.
Unfortunately, the best-laid plans don’t always work out and at some point, perhaps it was when I was stroking her hair, or maybe while I was kissing her shoulders, she fell asleep. What could I do?
The funeral home brought Hannah’s ashes over the next afternoon and just before the sunset I accompanied Cynthia, Janice, Darlene and a few other friends out to the lake in the woods. The lake was surrounded by Redwood trees, which Hannah had planted herself many years ago. We scattered Hannah’s ashes among them just like she had asked us to do.
I’ll never forget the orange tinge of the frozen lake surface as it reflected the very last of the day’s sunlight, and then the big stark shadows of the Redwoods as they stood like sentinels, solemnly observing our little ritual. Who knows, maybe next summer, some of those trees might be sporting leaves that contained molecules that had once been part of Hannah. Certainly in a few years, Hannah would be part of them, and with any luck, they would be her living monuments for centuries to come.
So I figured I would stay there with Cynthia and help her do the work. It would give us a good opportunity to spend some time alone together and allow her to mourn in her own way. I had no idea how I might help her do that, but at least I could be nearby.
Monday morning dawned gray, overcast, and windy, like some minor god was in a foul mood and wanted to let everyone see how he felt. Dark clouds hung low in the sky, being whisked along by a swirling wind that told us a cold front was coming through. The weather seemed to press in on both Cynthia and me, and we were so spooked by it that we headed back to the house after a very short morning walk.
We were both happy to get back inside and talked happily about lighting a fire in the fireplace later that afternoon. Then we started in on the cleaning. Not ten minutes later, Cynthia broke down in tears.
"Cyn, what’s wrong?" I asked, as gently as possible.
She looked up at me with real pain in her eyes and said, "I’m not sure I can do this. I don’t think I can clean up all of Hannah’s things just like that. It’s too soon. It’s too final."
So I brought her over to the window seat and we sat cuddled under one of the western style blankets. "It’s okay, Cyn, I’ll be here with you; we’ll get through this." So we sipped tea and watched the wind blow the leaves around outside. It was as if the weather was punctuating the bleakness of Cynthia’s mood.
Then, at about 10:00 the phone rang. It was the office "asking" me to come back for a meeting late Wednesday morning.
"Cynthia, they told me to come back. Will you be okay?"
"Oh! What does that mean?" she asked, suddenly concerned for me.
"I don’t know," I sighed, all of a sudden weary, "but I don’t think I’ll be working at North State on Thursday. I’d better call Michael."
But before I did that, I called Darlene. She was at work, so I told her quickly what was going on, and she promised to take care of things. There were any number of people who could help Cynthia with the house and even stay with her if needed. "Would you mind if I kept her company?" Darlene asked with a little teasing in her voice.
"Oh, that’s wonderful, Darlene. But you have to treat her as well as you treated me. She’s needs some pampering. And do her hair, will you. She’s really let it go since she’s been here. I’ll bet looking better will help her feel better too."
So Cynthia and I decided to put work on the house on hold, and just hang out together until I had to get back on a plane early Tuesday afternoon. It was a strange time, with very unsettled weather reflecting the combination of sadness and anxiety we both faced. She had lost Hannah, and I just knew I was about to lose my job. Thornton would win again. How stupid of me to think I could beat him.
We both now faced new chapters in our lives. Neither of us knew what was to come, but we swore our love and allegiance to each other, promising we would see each other through. As we sat in front of the fireplace, the wind making a real fuss outside, I started to get really scared. I don’t know why, but I felt like I was a soldier about to go off to war and that I wasn’t coming back.
"Hey, Cynthia said suddenly, "where’s your ring?"
"Oh!" I jumped up to get my purse, which is where I had stashed the ring when I first arrived. I fumbled through it as I walked back to our couch, and was only pulling open the little zippered compartment where I had put the ring when I sat down again. I pulled it out and held it up for Cynthia to see.
"Let me," she said taking the ring from my fingers. "Give me your hand." So I held out my right hand and Cynthia took it in her left, looking at it with her head cocked for a moment while she traced the pale band of skin on my ring finger with her nail.
"No," she said, "that’s the wrong one. I want to put this in its proper place."
I looked up into her face as she took my left hand and raised it between us. Her eyes were brimming over with tears but she was smiling. "I knew I made a good decision when I first gave this to you," she whispered, obviously working to keep her tears in check. "Nothing has happened since then to make me believe otherwise. I love you Lilly. I want to spend my life with you. Will you marry me?" As she slid the ring onto the fourth finger of my left hand, we both broke down in tears.
"Oh, Cynthia, are you sure?" I spluttered a few seconds later. Are you sure you want to do this now, when you are so distraught?"
"Yes, Lilly," she said, wiping the tears from my cheeks even as they streamed down her own. I’m quite sure. Besides, Hannah would never forgive me if I let you get away." And she smiled a small, crooked smile at me.
"That’s what she said to me too," I spluttered, tears now dripping down into my mouth. "I guess we’re doomed by her wishes." At that we both started to giggle, and then to laugh. Then, we fell into a hug we both desperately needed. We spent the rest of the day hugging each other and kissing and caressing tenderly. We didn’t feel any lust and we didn’t have sex, but we couldn’t keep our hands off each other. We had been apart too long.
By bedtime, Cynthia had promised to find someone else to take care of the house and to follow me back to New York as soon as she could. She really did miss it and was eager to get back.
***
Michael and I had spent a good deal of time on the phone Tuesday morning, and he simply told me he was coming to the meeting with me. "It’ll be fun," he said. "I’ve got a neat surprise. You’ll love it."
"Sure," I replied, "this should be just about as much fun as root canal." But he was not to be daunted and we planned to meet for breakfast Wednesday morning and go together to my building.
So, there we were, riding up the elevator to the corporate offices of North State Financing. I felt almost like I was entering the building for the first time. It seemed strange and foreign to me. We weren’t headed to my old office, but rather to the administrative floor where senior management was located.
I had dressed in a very modest business suit, wore minimal makeup, but couldn’t resist four-inch heels. I wanted to be tall and to be able to look down at everyone, or at least look them in the eye.
When we got to the receptionist’s desk, we were sent to one of the small, but very luxurious conference rooms that looked out over the East Side. As I waited for the others to show up, wondering idly who they would be, I watched the planes taking off from LaGuardia airport. All those people headed all over the place. Really, what was the point? I didn’t know why I was feeling so down, but I was.
Then, after I had turned from the window and poured coffee for Michael and myself out of the lovely silver service at the back of the room, the door flew open and Carl Weathers, our CEO, Tina Brockworth, the VP for human resources and two lawyers charged in. The older one with short, dark curly hair and a bit of a paunch was our senior counsel, Paul Alteri. The younger, who had always struck me as a real hunk, was named Jason Riddle. I thought I saw Riddle glance strangely at Michael for a moment, but the look vanished from his face before I could figure out what it meant.
Maybe he knew Michael. No, he would have just said hello. Wait! Maybe he’s gay and he just read Michael. I looked again, deciding he was definitely the kind of guy Michael always said he liked. I tired to figure out if I should be jealous or not, but didn’t really have time to get into it.
After introductions we sat, Michael and I on one side of the table, the other four on the other. We got right down to business. Brockworth did the talking. "Well, Ms. Miller, you have caused us a world of trouble." I started to protest immediately, but Michael put his hand on my arm and I settled down. "But I am pleased to tell you that our investigation tends to support your story."
"Tends?…" I squeaked. I was nervous as hell. I had said only one word and my voice cracked.
Weathers and Brockworth frowned at me for interrupting yet another time, and Michael again patted my arm. "Please let them finish Lilly, we’ll have plenty of time to respond."
"Thank you Mr. Butler," Brockworth said, apparently trying to put me down with her tone of voice. I gave her a sour look, but she simply ignored it. "Your computer showed no evidence that you had helped to prepare the…aaah…, aaah, questionable portion of Mr. Thornton’s presentation. Moreover, interviews with the staff confirm that you did offer to go over the presentation with Mr. Thornton and that he respectfully declined your offer."
I laughed; I couldn’t help it. "If you interviewed the staff," I shot back, "you damn well know he wasn’t respectful to me. He was abusive and insulting."
Brockworth ignored me again and kept on. "We also found some strange things on Thornton’s computer, including a listing of bonus accounts for all the staff that he seemed to have a hard time explaining, and certainly never distributed."
I almost laughed out loud, but bit my lip. I wish I could have seen that conversation.
"You wouldn’t know anything about them, would you?"
"Me?" I yelped, coughing to get back control over my voice. "How would I? Bob certainly never gave me any indication he was planning to give out bonuses. Frankly, it doesn’t sound like something he’d do."
"Exactly Ms. Miller, that’s why we’re asking if you know anything about them." It was Alteri."
"I think I gave you my answer already," I said tartly. "Anything else?"
Brockworth shuffled her papers again, pretending to look at them for something, and then looked back at me. "Despite all that, Mr. Thornton made a compelling case that he did not try to intentionally mislead anyone and that any errors were unintentional, due to his unfamiliarity with the analysis."
"Well, he was certainly unfamiliar with it," I cut in. "Anyone could have told you that."
"Be that as it may, Ms. Miller," now Weathers was taking over, "Bob Thornton has made very important contributions to this company, and we see no reason not to believe him."
I just sat there staring at him. I clutched at Michael’s hand under the table. You didn’t have to be clairvoyant to figure out where this was going.
"And you and he don’t seem to be able to work together." Brockworth had picked up the thread again. "So, we’re going to have to let you go."
Bam! That was it! I had lost.
I was crushed. I wanted to cry and squeezed Michael’s hand as hard as I could to help control myself. "But…but… I’m the best analyst in the company. Everyone knows that."
"That’s not the point," Weathers cut in. "Either you failed entirely to give Bob the support you were hired to give, which is what we believe, or you knew he was about to do something that might harm the company and you failed to alert me. In either case, you demonstrated gross dereliction of your responsibilities and those are grounds for terminating you. You are not the kind of employee we want around here." He was snarling at me as he finished.
"What are you talking about?" I shot back, deeply insulted by Weathers accusations. Bob Thornton demeaned and insulted me when I offered him my help and he would have fired me himself if I had gone over his head to you. You wouldn’t even have let me into your office to complain about him, and you know it."
"Why you little…"
"Easy Carl," Paul Alteri put his hand on Weathers to calm him down. "There’s no need to fight. Let’s just finish our business."
I turned to Michael, panic growing in my heart, but he just sat there calmly, as if he was looking at statues in a wax museum. What the hell was going on with him?
"But," Brockworth broke in again, trying to assure that the obviously pissed off Weathers didn’t say anything inappropriate, "we do recognize that you have made significant contributions to our success over the past few years, so we’d like to offer you a settlement that we think is quite generous."
She slid two copies of a thin document across the table and asked Michael and I to examine them. We both read through them and at first it looked like a good deal. I was being given a one-year salary buyout and a bonus based on my division’s profits over the past three years that would add up to another year’s salary! They were offering me the bonuses Thornton had always held back for himself.
Brockworth broke in, "You will note the bonuses that are included in this offer. Mr. Thornton himself requested that we include those."
I couldn’t help but snigger, "Sure he did. How big was the gun you held to his head?" It was her turn to give me a sour look.
"Well, what do you think?" she asked a few minutes later. "It’s the nicest buyout package we’ve ever offered."
"And do you always include noncompete clauses in your buyout packages?" Michael had finally said something. "I’m more used to seeing them in initial contracts."
I could see Alteri and Riddle eye each other.
Michael went on, "This would be a nice money offer if it didn’t prevent my client from working in her chosen profession for five years."
My eyes flew back to the contract, I hadn’t finished reading it so hadn’t spotted that little poison pill. "No way," I muttered.
"Well it’s a take it or leave it deal," said Brockworth. "You want the money, you accept the no compete clause.”
"Looks like blackmail to me," replied Michael calmly. No one would do this to an analyst - a V.P. maybe - but never an analyst. It’s punitive and unacceptable."
"Well, how about three years?" asked Alteri.
"I don’t think so," said Michael. "Wwe’re not about to sign anything that would prevent my client from earning a living. In fact, I have a counter offer."
Their heads all shot up and their eyes all widened as Michael handed them two copies of some kind of legal document. He gave one to Weathers and one to Alteri. Riddle leaned over Alteri’s shoulder to read it.
"What the hell is this?" Weathers thundered a few minutes later. This isn’t a counter offer."
"Well, not exactly," said Michael, but it’s the basis for one. You’re being sued for sexual harassment, and since we have compelling evidence that you conspired to cover it up, we believe we will win treble damages when this goes to court. Frankly, I can’t wait to hang you out to dry."
Weathers turned on me. "You conniving little freak…" Alteri put a hand on his arm to stop him, but Weathers shook it off. "After all we did for you you’re suing us for sexual discrimination?"
"No, she’s not," said Michael, still utterly calm. "She’s not party to this suit, nor did she know about it, although I’m sure we can include her if you like."
"What?" Weathers was really losing it. He could barely sit still in his seat and his face was getting redder and redder. It would have been funny if it wasn’t so scary.
"Carl," said Paul Alteri, "just don’t say anything."
"Listen carefully," Michael said. "I want to work with you on this because you have a long history of progressive hiring and promotion practices and I would like to see those continue." With that, Michael looked directly at Jason Riddle and everyone understood that Michael knew Jason was gay, but that he was employed at North State anyway, and that Michael wanted to keep it that way.
"But if I have to take you to court and destroy your reputation I will. What do you think your board of directors will say to that, Carl?" Michael had been very calm until he got to the "Carl," which he said harshly and with real anger.
"We’ll listen," said Alteri. "Won’t we, Carl?" Weathers just took a big breath and settled back down. His face started to fade back to its normal pinkish cast.
Michael went on. "Bob Thornton harassed and drove away three women who used to work for you. Not only that, but he advertised both his goals and tactics widely. Everybody seemed to know what was going on, and as CEO, you should have too. There is no way we will lose this case. It’s a slam dunk."
You could see Weathers’ face fall. He must have known.
"But it gets better," Michael said with a cruel smile, one I had never seen before. "Bob Thornton has been accused of sexual harassment in three other firms in three different cities. That’s why he’s traveled so much. In each case, he was hustled out of town by the company before the employees could do anything."
"I discovered all this in two days of work. It will be easy to convince a jury that you should have been able to learn the same information as well if you had only done your due diligence in checking his background, which I happen to know you did. So, because you knowingly hired someone who had been accused of prior harassment, and because you allowed him to harass your own employees, you are guilty of conspiracy and hence, treble damages."
"And as you know, Thornton also owed his ex-wife, who he assaulted, a lot of alimony and child support."
"What?" I almost shouted. "Now I understand. He’s a wife-beater. It makes perfect sense. The pattern of his behavior and what he said fits that mold perfectly. When can I join that lawsuit? I want to nail his ass."
"We’ll talk about that later Lilly, but right now we have other business." He turned back to look across the table. "Let’s see, where was I? Right. You of course, knew about this because you were garnishing his salary. You had to after her lawyer found out he was working here."
At this point both lawyers looked at Weathers with some disdain. It looked like they hadn’t known this little detail. Michael had been right; this was fun. I was really starting to enjoy it.
"I also have seven women from Thornton’s three previous companies who are going to sue him personally. He’s about to become a huge liability for you, although you should have figured that out long ago. This little charade with Lilly," he gestured at their buyout offer, "and your pitiful attempt to convince us that Thornton didn’t purposefully mislead Boston Federated, puts you in a pretty indefensible position. Paul, Jason, don’t you agree?
He caught them both off guard and they both started to nod their heads before retreating back into the impassive lawyer mask. But Michael had made his point to Weathers, who now looked ill. Tina Brockworth seemed angry about something, and I was pretty sure it wasn’t me.
Michael still held the floor "You know guys, if I were you right now, I’d be working real hard to convince Lilly that you’re her best friend and want to do everything you can to assure her well being. So far, you’ve backed the wrong horse in this little race, but you still have a chance to place some smart bets. You can start by assuring her that she will remain on paid administrative leave until we work out her buyout package. No way you get to keep her."
He turned and gave me a warm smile. "Is that alright with you Lilly?" I just rolled my eyes and lifted my shoulders in a shrug. Why the hell not, I thought.
We looked across the table at four unhappy people. Michael had pretty much wiped them out and was clearly in control of the situation. I was bursting with pride that he was my friend and absolutely delighted that Thornton would finally get his just desserts. What a great day this was turning out to be. It may have still been winter outside, but it was spring in my heart.
"I know you have a lot to talk about," so we’ll leave you to yourselves. You know where to reach me. If I don’t hear from you by Friday, you’ll hear from me. It won’t be good news. So don’t be late.
Then Michael stood, up, offered me his hand and said, "C’mon, Lilly, you can buy me lunch. I think I earned it."
I managed to control myself until we got out on the street. But as soon as we hit the sidewalk I threw myself at Michael and hugged him and kissed him all over his face and told him how great and wonderful he was. He just stood there calmly with a big grin on his face, taking it like a man.
As soon as I had calmed down, he said, "I did do a pretty good job, didn’t I? I’m gonna nail Thornton’s hide to the wall, I’m going to assure that North State stays gay friendly, and I’m gonna get a lot of money for you and your friends on this."
"Just you watch," he went on. "We won’t even go to trial. They’ll lay an obscenely big settlement on us just to make us go away. Weathers knows, or at least his lawyers do, that if this goes to trial, it’ll cost a major fortune and the board of directors will throw Weathers and all his buddies out. Yes, they will make us very happy."
I could see that Michael was feeling very proud of himself, and I was feeling almost as good for him. I didn’t understand it, but it was almost like I was his mother or his wife (why do I keep thinking that?), and his success somehow reflected well on me.
"There’s just one thing, Michael," I said, trying to keep the euphoria growing within me out of my voice.
He looked at me with a touch of suspicion in eyes, like what does this crazy bitch want now? I had on my best pout.
"Oh?" he said archly, cocking one eyebrow at me, "I’m gonna just about make you rich and there’s just one little thing? Now just what could that be?" He was obviously challenging me with his tone of voice to come up with something really good.
"Michael, I half whined, putting as much fake anguish into my voice as I could. "Now I have to find a new job!"
Darlene had come to our wedding four months after Hannah had died, but Cynthia and I had not seen her in the ten months since then. She was here now for a hair stylist’s convention and to visit Cynthia, who was now officially pregnant.
Even before she said hello, Darlene asked, "So, how is she?"
"Oh, she’s just great," I replied, "She has that glow pregnant women get. She’s just bursting with joy - everyone who sees her comments on it."
"So I guess that little penis of yours wasn’t so useless after all, was it," she joked as we walked through the half empty terminal towards the escalator that would take us down to the baggage claim area. The couple in front of us obviously heard and turned around to gape. I gave them my best wide-eyed, "who me?" look, and Darlene laughed. They looked downward in confusion.
"Well," I replied after our audience had made a couple of quick moves to get through the sparse crowd and out of earshot. "I’ve been lucky to have a good doctor from the start, and my implants," I pulled my shoulders back and raised my chest to display my breasts, "allowed me to keep my estrogen and progesterone doses relatively low. But the fact is, I can’t really get hard anymore and my sperm count is close to zero."
"So," I went on as we got on the escalator, we timed everything to the minute. "Cynthia used every technological trick available, so she knew exactly when she ovulated, and she wouldn’t let me come for a week before that… and …my God, it was like launching the space shuttle, nothing was left to chance! The only thing we didn’t have was a countdown," I said shaking my head with mock exasperation.
At that Darlene broke out into giggles and grabbed my arm. "You must be kidding," she said.
"No," I went on, "She even lay on her back with her feet splayed up against the wall for a half hour afterwards to make sure all my sperm wriggled their way in the right direction!"
"And it worked," she exclaimed. "You did it!"
I blushed and started to giggle, but said nothing. So we were both giggling as we walked up to the baggage carousel, and settled in for the inevitable endless wait for her bags. After I moment, I finally told her the truth. "No, nothing happened. My sperm, if there were actually any left, were just a bunch of lazy onlookers. They might as well have been sunning themselves at the beach for all the good they did." I gave Darlene a nice pout. "We fertilized Cynthia’s next egg a month later with sperm I had banked before I went on hormones. Thank God my doctor made me save some."
"Well, it doesn’t matter, does it?" Darlene responded with one of her big smiles. "You’re going to have a baby and you’re both her parents."
"Yes," I said, my heart full of joy at the idea of it, I’m so excited I’m almost giddy."
Darlene reached up and ran her fingers through my hair. "Ummm," I purred, "if you keep that up, I may have to jump you right here, and I’m a married now, so that wouldn’t be right."
After smoothing it back in place, Darlene said. "You let it grow; it’s almost down to your shoulders. And you have a very nice cut." I now wore my hair in a long pageboy.
"It better be a nice cut," I said huffily, "Do you have any idea how much they charge to do hair in Manhattan? Besides, I don’t think I’ll ever cut it again. I’m letting it grow down to my ankles!"
Darlene laughed at my exaggeration, but she knew how much I adored long hair that swung and flowed around my head when I moved. She also knew how I really overdid the flirty head flips that threw it off my face. Cynthia said I practiced them like I was studying for a test. Hey, it was like learning a new language, and I was still too new a girl to not love it.
"Oh, this is great," I said once her bags had arrived, "You’ve got wheels. That means we can go right to the car. That’ll save us some time." Like every other New Yorker, I was nuts about time. We had no schedule and no deadline, but I was feeling the instinctive need to get back into the city and its frantic rhythm as quickly as possible.
Unfortunately, it was not to be. Our first obstacle was a long line to pay to get out of the multistoried garage. I could tell we would be there for at least fifteen minutes. After a few minutes with no visible progress, Darlene asked, "So how’s the business? You two are big-shot consultants now, aren’t you?"
"Well, I don’t know about being big shots," I said dubiously, "but we do have clients - more than we can handle in fact." Of course, I thought to myself, it hadn’t hurt that Michael had forced North State to take a three-year contract with us to retain access to my analytical techniques. I still couldn’t believe how well Michael had done for us. In addition to that contract, he negotiated a huge cash payment for me, a smaller one for Cynthia, and now we were doing almost the same thing we did when we worked there, but they pay us more, including percentages of their deals. "And best of all," I went on, "that asshole Thornton is gone for good."
Ummm, I loved the sound of that. It was definitely worth repeating. So I said it again, shaking my head to make it emphatic, "Yes, that asshole Thornton is gone for good."
"Oh," Darlene asked, "is it true, what I heard? He attacked you?"
We crept slowly towards the cashier, but having someone to talk to made it so much more pleasant. "Yeah, isn’t that unbelievable? He just went completely nuts. I guess all the pressure from Michael’s lawsuits and then from the shark his ex-wife hired to bleed him white just blew him away. He really lost it. In the end he behaved true to form, using physical violence against a woman."
"So, what happened? Details, girl, I want details. Is it true you were standing over him dripping blood onto his face?"
"You mean you didn’t see the picture? I thought everyone in the country had seen it by now?" She shook her head no. "Well, it’s true, I’m a little embarrassed about that part."
"He hit you. What do you have to be embarrassed about?"
"I don’t know," I said glumly, "I’m still trying to figure it out. It was a strange scene."
"I’ll bet. I wish I could have been there," Darlene chirped, "to see you standing over that asshole. What woman wouldn’t want to see that? You are a hero to every woman who was ever abused by a man."
"Oh stop, Darlene, it wasn’t like that. I was scared to death. My heart was going a mile a minute and I was breathing so hard, I thought my lungs would burst."
"Yeah, but you did what you had to do, and he was the one who got arrested."
"Mmmm, and I got to go to the emergency room, and I ruined my suit."
"Your suit? Your suit?" Her voice pitched up until it almost cracked. "Was that all you could think about?" I thought Darlene would explode up out of her seat she was so agitated. "Lillian Miller, You tell me the truth, or so help me, I’ll spank you."
"Will you really?" I replied, letting my eyes go wide and opening my face up to my best exaggerated questioning look. I looked at the cars around me while Darlene laughed. We weren’t doing as badly as I had feared, the line was actually moving, and wait, were they going to open another lane?
Yes! I turned my wheel as hard as I could and just managed to clear the rear bumper of the brand new Suburban in front of me so I could pull into the new lane. Of course, the people who had the best shot at it were the ones at the very back of the line and two of them had gotten in front of me. Why does it always work like that?
But what the hell, we saved a good six or seven minutes and before too long we were cruising over the Triborough Bridge to Manhattan. I always get a kick out of going over the big bridges that surround the city. They are just so amazing.
Traffic flowed smoothly on the bridge and down onto the FDR drive, but, like always, it came almost to a complete stop before we even got to the 96th street exit. So as soon as I could, I got off and we were soon driving through the Upper East Side.
Darlene wanted to hear more. "So come on girl. Let’s hear it," Darlene said, "I want to hear all the details of the attack. Don’t think you’re getting out of it just because traffic is heavy. Surely a New Yorker can drive and talk at the same time."
Since we were stopped waiting for a light to change, I turned to face her and stuck my tongue out. "How dare you insult the residents of my city," I said as if truly offended. Then we both burst out laughing.
After a moment, Darlene looked at me with an arched eyebrow, "I’m still waiting?"
"You know Darlene, I don’t really like to talk about it. I still get freaked out just thinking about it." She kept staring at me and it was clear there was no way I was getting out of this. So I took a deep breath and remembered back to that day.
"Cynthia and I were at and outdoor café on Columbus Avenue." I began, visualizing the scene in my mind. It wasn’t difficult, that day was etched in my memory with photographic clarity. "It was a beautiful, sunny October day. A light breeze was blowing the leaves around in a very gentle, almost lazy way. We were both floating on a cloud of joy because we had just left her obstetrician, the one who confirmed the pregnancy. We were celebrating with lattes. Hers was decaf." Darlene nodded her head knowingly.
"I guess it was just bad luck, but Thornton walked by not five minutes after we sat down. As soon as he saw us he stopped and said, ‘Well, what do we have here? The dyke bitch and her pansy boyfriend planning to screw some other poor schmuck, I bet.’"
"Cynthia looked at him calmly and said, ‘Go away, Bob. You’ll just get in trouble if you stay here.’"
"Oh, look!" Darlene squealed, pointing frantically to the far corner of the street and breaking me out of my partial trance. "Isn’t that Woody Allen?"
"Huh?" Yeah, it sure looks like him." I had decided to cross the park at 86th street, and Woody did live on the Upper East Side.
"Well you don’t seem very excited about it," said Darlene, as if I had somehow insulted her.
"Darlene," I replied, trying to sound exasperated, "lots of celebrities live in New York. If you live here, you see ‘em."
"Well, excuse me, Miss Blasé," she went on in a sing-song voice, "not everyone is as sophisticated as you are, you know." Darlene giggled and I again stuck my tongue out at her, making her giggle even more.
"So, do you want to hear my story or not?" I asked. She just rolled her eyes at me, and I took that for a yes.
"So he was standing there insulting us and people started to gather around. I don’t know why I did it, but I stood up to face him and said, ‘Bob, just get out of here before I call the cops.’"
"A woman from the crowd said, ‘I’ll do it,’ and Thornton got even more agitated. ‘You goddamn women,’ he shouted at the people crowding around us, ‘always ganging up on men.’"
"I again politely asked him to leave, telling him he already had enough problems. I was starting to feel sorry for him."
"Well, as I said it, I reached out to touch his forearm -- you know, the way women do?" I touched Darlene’s arm with my hand to illustrate. "But as soon as I did, he exploded. "Don’t you dare touch me, bitch," he shouted and then he just backhanded me right across the face. It was a full swing and he caught me flush on the side of mouth, splitting both my upper and lower lips." I pointed to the scars, which still had a long way to go before they began to disappear. "I went toppling backwards over my chair, landing on my left side on the sidewalk." I guess that was good ‘cause I landed on my shoulder instead of my head."
"As I was lying there, stunned, I heard Cynthia scream, and I heard Thornton yelling at her, and it was the strangest thing. There I was with blood in my mouth, and I was scared, and angry, and I felt so helpless. After all, he had knocked me flying with just one swing. I had experienced that combination -- the blood and the mixture of intense feelings -- before."
I stopped to catch my breath. Unbidden memories were suddenly rising up to choke me. They caught me completely by surprise and before I knew what was happening, tears welled up in my eyes.
Darlene put her hand on my arm to comfort me and I took a couple of deep breaths, blowing them out slowly to compose myself so I could continue, but now I was telling more than I had intended. "The first time I tasted blood was the day my father died. It was…" I choked back a sob, "his blood." I started to cry helplessly, blubbering and momentarily losing sight of the road. Darlene grabbed hold of the steering wheel, and with her help we pulled safely over to the curb, stopping by a fire hydrant, which was the only open spot on the block.
Once we had stopped, I just let go. I was sobbing openly. My body shook and I suddenly realized that I was crying over the loss of my father. I had never mourned for him before. I had hated him so much that I never realized that I had lost something when he died. Now, finally, at long last, I was truly mourning his death. Sure, he was a drunken shit at times. But he was my father! The only one I’d ever have, and I hardly had him for very long at all. And now, as Darlene wrapped me in her arms, I was at last able to weep for him. A strange sense of relief washed through me as I did.
"There, there, sweetie, are you sure you want to talk about this," Darlene asked.
"I think I have to talk about it. I finally can talk about it. My father was an alcoholic. He abused me, calling me a sissy or a pansy. But I convinced him to take me for an ice cream cone on my eleventh birthday. He was drunk. He crashed the car and killed himself. He bled to death all over me. As I lay trapped in the car, he kept asking me to help him, but I couldn’t. I couldn’t move at all. He accused me of purposely not helping him. I experienced the same feelings lying on the ground after Thornton hit me as I had in that car."
Darlene was looking at me with big, sad eyes. I could tell that my pain was hurting her as well. I looked at her ruefully. "Having blood in my mouth is a strong trigger for me."
"Oh you poor dear," Darlene was almost crying herself by now. "That’s just horrible. Let me hold you."
I did, for a few moments, and that really helped to calm me down. Then I sat back up. "But that’s not all," I started. She looked at me, horrified, shaking her head, as by doing that she could prevent the past from happening. But I continued on, "When I was in college, I was out on a date with a girl and we got robbed by three muggers. They beat me and stole my wallet and her purse. As I was lying on the ground, my head exploding with pain and my mouth full of blood, she began to accuse me of not protecting her."
"What do you mean?" Darlene broke in, "How could you have protected her from three muggers?"
"Well," I replied, still sniffling, "I did the best I could. I shoved her behind me and they didn’t touch her. But it didn’t matter. She was accusing me of failing her just as my father had. I started to think that she was right, that I hadn’t protected her. There was blood in my mouth again and I felt that same combination of feelings, the guilt, the helplessness, and the impotent anger that I had felt lying in my father’s wrecked car. These feelings haunt me. They invade my dreams."
"Oh, Lilly, that’s horrible," Darlene exclaimed. You didn’t do anything! There’s no reason to feel guilt or shame." She used a tissue to dab tears from my cheeks as she spoke.
"Well, logically you’re right of course, but people accused me of failing them, and I felt like I had. I don’t know, emotions aren’t logical, are they?"
Darlene just shook her head from side to side sadly. "No," she said, almost too softly to hear, "emotions aren’t logical, and the most inappropriate ones just stick to you sometimes with mindless intensity."
"Well, that’s not all," I went on, staring out of the window in front of me, "a couple of years ago, I was mugged again. I was with Michael. We were almost killed fighting them off. I was knocked unconscious, and when I awoke, my face in a pool of my own blood, the first thing I felt was that same loathsome combination of emotions. I was lying there in pain and feeling sorry for myself when I heard Michael moaning. He had been shot. But that time I was able to fight my fear and crawl over to Michael and apparently save his life."
"I know. Cynthia told us. You were wonderful." Darlene just lit up as she said that. She was bursting with pride for me.
"Yeah, I might have been," I replied morosely, but I killed one of the muggers. "I’m a decent person, a good person, aren’t I? Why did I have to kill someone, a real live person? Why did someone have to die for me to finally become a man?"
I was almost crying again, and I could again see the pain on Darlene’s face as she tried to figure out how to help me. I didn’t give her the chance, plunging ahead with my story. "Well, that’s not exactly right is it? I had to become a woman to act with the courage I never seemed to have as a man."
"Lillian Miller!" Darlene almost leapt at me she was so agitated. "You just stop that! That is the stupidest…, most self-destructive thing I have ever heard?" Her voice rose in both pitch and intensity, driving me back for a moment. She went on like a machine gun, drilling me with her words. "Cynthia told us that story one night about a month before Hannah died. You were a hero. You saved Michael’s life; you didn’t take one. That guy’s death was an accident, although every woman in the room, and there were a bunch of ‘em, thought he deserved to die. How can you beat yourself up over that?"
"I don’t know Darlene. I just didn’t know how to stop." I started sobbing again. "It’s just like after my father died. I eventually understood it wasn’t my fault, but the guilt didn’t go away, although this wasn’t nearly as bad as when my father killed himself. I still didn’t know how to get rid of it, but Cynthia’s and Michael’s love made it so much easier to deal with."
"But the story does get better," I said smiling slightly. "After Thornton decked me, I could have just lain there on the ground and no one would have faulted me. I wanted to. I was scared, really scared, but I knew I had to get up. He was threatening Cynthia and our baby. That changed everything. Despite my feelings, I knew I had to do something, anything really, to protect them, and I scrambled to my feet as fast as I could. At least I was wearing a loose skirt and my heels were chunky." I smiled a slightly crooked smile at her. I was starting to feel better.
"What about all those people?" Darlene asked, so appalled she reflexively put one hand up to cover her mouth while the other reached out for my arm. "Why didn’t they do anything? I mean the son of a bitch was attacking two women…you said there was crowd."
"Well, this was New York," I said, suddenly feeling embarrassed that I had to apologize for my city. I looked down to hide the silly sense of shame I was starting to feel. "At least it was New York before those bastards hit the World Trade Center, Darlene. People would back away when something like that happened. You never knew what kind of lunatic you might be facing or whether he had a knife or a gun. Everyone had the same instinct - just protect yourself - and that’s what everyone did. I think things are different now. But this all happened a million years ago — before we learned how thousands of people were willing to risk their lives for their fellow New Yorkers, people they didn’t know. It was just a different time."
I shook my head sadly and Darlene nodded to me in understanding, letting her hand slip from my arm to enclose my hand. Her touch was warm and comforting. I put my other hand over hers and we just sat there for a few moments as I lost myself in my own thoughts and Darlene waited for me to continue.
Then, I took another deep breath before going on. "Anyway, as I looked up, Thornton’s back was to me and he had grabbed our table and was trying to throw it aside, apparently to get at Cynthia, who was scrambling backwards trying to turn in her chair so she could get away. I still don’t know why he was mad at her."
‘Leave her alone, she’s pregnant,’ I shouted, as I got my feet under me. I grabbed a glass from the table next to me and threw it at his back. It hit him on the shoulder; he turned on me. We stood facing each other as I got my balance by resting one hand on the table. I was dripping blood all over the bright white linen tablecloth. He was so furious he looked like a steaming volcano ready to explode."
"When I tried to wipe the blood away from my mouth with my sleeve, he laughed at me. ‘You really are stupid, aren’t you?’ he said. ‘You should have stayed down.’ He was only a couple of steps away and he started to cock his right arm to punch me as he lunged forward."
"I can’t believe it," Darlene gasped. This is 2001, I can’t believe a man would hit a woman — especially in front of people. I know there are lots of bastards who batter their wives in private. But in front of a crowd?"
"It was the most miraculous thing," I said as the scene coalesced again in my mind. "At that moment everything just slowed down. I could hear my heart pounding, but it sounded really slow and very distant. I could see the rage in his face, some spittle flying from the corner of his mouth, and most amazingly, flecks of black in his eyes. It was like my senses were sharpened and entirely focused. Nothing else in the world existed except for Thornton. I could tell exactly what he was going to do, and I instinctively knew exactly what I was going to do. I had practiced this so often in karate class."
"Ah karate! The great equalizer for us girls!"
"Yes, Michael signed me up right after we were mugged. He had his instructor visit the apartment as soon as I was strong enough. I’ve been taking classes ever since."
"Anyway, when he lurched towards me and swung his fist," I could see Darlene draw back and raise her hand, as if a punch was coming her way, "I simply stepped to the side, grabbed his wrist, and flipped him over my hip. It was as easy as putting a tray of food down on table. He had planned to really clobber me, so his weight was way forward and I used his momentum to throw him over hard. His side crashed against the side of a table, and then he hit the wrought iron leg of another table with the back of his head as he went down."
"His head hit an iron leg? That must have hurt!"
"I wish," I said, giving her an evil grin, "but it knocked him out, so I’m afraid he didn’t get to feel anything, except maybe when he woke up. Anyway, there I was, standing partly bent at the waist with my arm across my body like I was following through on a punch. I was directly over him and my face looked like an angry mask, although I don’t remember how I was feeling. And I was bleeding like crazy right down onto his face. As I stood there, watching my blood run into his mouth through his slackened lips, it was like magic. All those scenes in which I had been the one injured and helpless on the ground ran through my mind and the fear that they carried just seemed to run out of my mouth with my blood. I knew that I would never have those terrible dreams again. My demons were carried from my body with that blood."
"That’s when someone snapped that picture, although I wasn’t aware of it at the time. He was just one of those people who always carry a camera around and he ended up selling it to the Daily News for some ridiculous amount of money. The Daily News made me famous by publishing my picture right next to one of Muhammad Ali, who was in almost the same position, following through on a punch as he knocked out Sonny Liston in their second fight."
"Well, once the press figured out I was the same person who had killed a mugger, they went berserk. I became the high-heeled avenger. When they printed my picture in the Daily News, the caption was. "Make my Day. Dirty Harriet Defends New York." We couldn’t have bought that much media coverage for our new business with ten million bucks."
"Yeah, but what happened when they found out you were a transsexual?"
"They already knew and had covered that part of the story when Michael and I came out at that big party last Christmas. So it wasn’t such a big deal this time. I got hate letters and spiteful comments on radio talk shows, but at the same time just about every woman’s organization, gay and lesbian group and TG support group rallied on my behalf."
"Lilly you are just amazing. You have been involved in more violence than anyone I ever met, but you’re such a sweetheart. How do you do it?"
"Well I sure as hell don’t go looking for it," I said, rather appalled at the whole idea. "It scares me." After a brief pause as I considered what I had just said, I went on, "Well, it doesn’t scare me as much as it used to, and I know one thing for sure, no one’s going to bully me around any more." I said it emphatically, as if I meant it.
Darlene looked at me like I had just gone off the deep end.
"No, I’m serious," I said. For my entire life, I’ve been scared of anyone who would challenge me or even act the least bit dominant. All this shit with Thornton has taught me I don’t have to be scared any more. I’m more of a man now than I ever was when I was one. Isn’t that silly, I had to become a woman to become a man, but I’ll never be a man again. Maybe I’ll just become a tough old broad."
Darlene laughed out loud at that. When she recovered, she said, "You’ve got a long way to go before you’re an old anything, and I rather like the sweet, slightly shy Lilly. I’m not sure how tough I want you to get." And she laughed again. And as we pulled back out into traffic, I was laughing too.
When we got to the West Side, Darlene spoke up again. "So c’mon, you still haven’t told me anything about your business." All I know is that you’re a famous crime fighter and got ten million dollars in free publicity.
"I don’t know," I said. "What’s to tell." She just frowned at me, letting me know she wasn’t going to let me get away with not telling all.
"Okay, okay, let’s see. Basically, Michael negotiated great deals for Cynthia and me. We got an obscene amount of money not to go to court, and we invested it in our own financial consulting firm. We brought almost all the girls from the office with us, which worked out great for them since North State was going to purge Thornton’s division and start over. So we’ve got this great, experienced staff and we’re all friends."
"Right now were doing work for three large investment houses and a couple of mutual funds. We always thought that big companies would be our only source of income. But then, after the thing with Thornton hit the papers, we were inundated with requests from women to handle their finances."
"We had to hire three other analysts and accountants just to handle the load. And you know what, they’re all women. You should have seen the resumes we got! There are so many great women out there. So far we’re almost all female and that seems to have given us an edge with all the corporate women who are in a position to give us business."
"Almost, what do you mean almost?" Darlene asked.
"Oh, we have one guy working for us. He was a lawyer at North State, Jason Riddle. Michael insisted we hire him. They’re lovers now."
Darlene just rolled her eyes at me and got agitated again. You have Michael’s lover working for you? Aren’t you jealous? Isn’t Michael jealous? I thought you two were lovers?"
"Well," I said thoughtfully, "we never really made it that far. Oh we did make love a few times and we are crazy about each other, but we’re more like brother and sister now. In the end it became clear to both of us that we weren’t really sexually attracted to each other. He likes big buff guys, and I like gorgeous curvy women, one in particular."
"Jason isn’t the least bit femme, but he is a sweetheart and I’m just so happy that Michael has a steady boyfriend. You saw him at our wedding. You know how happy he is for me and Cyn."
We were just pulling into the garage under my building, and Darlene and I fell silent as we grabbed her bags and trundled them to the elevator. As we waited for it to come, Darlene grabbed my arms with both her hands and turned me towards her. "Lilly, you just told me most amazing story. I am so proud of you. You sound like a real grownup now and I’m so happy for you."
With that she grabbed my face in both her hands and gave me the sweetest kiss on the lips. Then she hugged me to her tightly and said, "Say you’ll always be my friend?"
I just nodded at her dumbly. I didn’t know exactly what was going on, but I was very moved by her generous show of affection. I almost started to tear up again, but the elevator arrived and saved me from embarrassing myself.
Cynthia grabbed Darlene into a big hug as soon as we were through the front door and they started chattering away while I stashed Darlene’s bags in the girly bedroom and went to wash the tears off my face. I decided to lay down for a few moments, and before I knew it, I heard Cynthia calling me from the other room. I had been asleep for almost two hours.
When I got back to the living room, Darlene had her hand on Cynthia’s belly, even though there was nothing to feel yet, and was just beaming at her. "Do you think she would do that for me?" I heard Cynthia say to Darlene.
"Do what?" I asked.
They both just turned to look at me, grinning like a pair of Cheshire cats. Then Darlene patted Cynthia on the arm, as if to say, don’t worry I’ll take care of this and turned to me. "How are you two going to care for the baby?"
"Well, I don’t know," I said, "We hadn’t talked about it. I suppose we’ll get a nanny." They both smiled at each other. "Wait a minute, what are you two up to?" I asked suspiciously, not really knowing yet where this was going.
"Well," Cynthia replied, trying to sound all sweet and innocent, "Darlene just pointed out to me that it would be easier for you to work from home than for me."
I nodded my head. That was true. She had to run the business and recruit clients; I mostly sat in a back room (albeit a very nice back room) and worked mathematical wonders. "Yeeeaah," I said slowly, trying to figure out how they were going to trap me, "but I still have to work. After all, I am the brains of this outfit." I flashed them a big grin to let them know I was kidding, even though I really wasn’t, altogether, that is.
"Well I think it would just be great if you took primary responsibility for the care of the baby," said Cynthia, suddenly.
"Me," I squeaked, not quit recovered from the sharp intake of breath I had taken in response to her suggestion. "But you’re the mother. I always thought the mother…."
Darlene broke in. "And what are you? From what I can see, this baby’ll have two mothers." She glanced first at Cynthia and then at me, "Right?"
Then she looked straight at me. "Lillian, don’t tell us you want to be the daddy? Don’t you think that your little baby will grow up rather confused if a hot babe like you claims to be her daddy? Lillian, you’re this baby’s mother every bit as much as Cynthia."
As I stood there, transfixed by their stares and my mouth gaping open in understanding, I realized that I would love to take care of the baby.
If we got a nanny, like we had planned anyway, I would still have time to work and even go to the office or outside meetings whenever necessary. Yes! I wanted to be the one who stayed home. In fact, I started to feel sorry for Cynthia. She’d have to go off to the office everyday while I got to experience the joy of hearing our baby say her first words and walk her first steps. What would her first words be? I wanted it to be Cyn. Babies can say "dada" and "mama". Can they say "Cyn-Cyn"? When she said mama, she would be saying it to me. I don’t know what Cynthia and Darlene were thinking as they watched me, but I tried to keep a straight face just to force their hands.
And as I stood there, waiting for one of them to make the next move, you know what else I finally allowed myself to accept, although I’d really known it for quite a while? In this relationship Cynthia was the "husband" and I was the "wife," if such words made any sense in our relationship. It was Cynthia, after all, who had first given me the ring (although I did later give her a fabulous diamond) and then asked me to marry her. And it was Cynthia who had dressed in the sexiest black satin tuxedo cut pants suit for the wedding, while I wore the gorgeous white gown. And she was certainly the one who was in charge of the relationship, while I nearly worshipped her and would do anything for her. Yes, I was the adoring wife. I liked that thought.
So I knew just what I was going to do, and I was delighted with my decision, but I kept that straight face plastered on to see if I could make them sweat for a while by not saying anything. It worked for just a few moments, but then I’m afraid I gave myself away by starting to smile. Then I started to giggle. Cynthia knew what that meant instantly and jumped up to hug me around the neck while she shouted, "You’ll do it, won’t you? You’ll do it!"
I just stood still and let her calm down. When she was done, I said, "Yes, I’d love to do it. I was beginning to worry you’d never ask. You can be the big time consultant. But I think being a stay-at-home mom for a while will be just fine for me. That’s the New Job I always wanted."