The New Secretary free porn video

Although I particularly like comments on how wonderful my writing is, I can accept constructive criticism as well. If you want to tell me how great I am, make suggestions for story ideas, or just BS about something contact me at: [email protected] The New Secretary By Amy Brett Chapter 1 THE RUMORS HAD been flying for weeks and everybody was walking on eggshells around the office. I'd always done my job as a high paid clerk in the payroll and records department to the best of my ability, got good performance evaluations, and seemed to have everyone on my side. But Friday, it suddenly didn't matter. Fearfully, I watched a progression of guys go into Mrs. Conklin, the department head's, office, come out looking shaken, glum, or mad before they started throwing their things into boxes and, after swift good-byes to their friends, leaving early. Of course, I knew what it was. Tiny, the blustery 300 pound guy who ran the mail room and was an occasional drinking buddy, came out looking pale and stopped by my desk. "Fuckin' place," he sputtered in his typical vernacular. "Downsizing my ass. She told me they're getting rid of a bunch of guys. Just can't be helped. Well, fuck 'em." He stormed off. Later, Paul Wickam, a records clerk who I thought did a marginally good job, went in to her office and came back looking like he was going to break into tears any minute. When I went by to give him my condolences, he nodded with real sadness, still fighting tears, and told me the same story essentially. "She says their hiring practices have been so screwy for the last five years that they have to reorganize," he said. "They've got to get rid of a couple dozen guys, redistribute the work here, and hire some females for several of the departments. "I guess they've been hiring guys and excluding women on a regular basis so their equal opportunity numbers are all fucked up." As a guy and as one of the male members of this department, I was worried. I had a right to be. My number came up about 2 o'clock that afternoon. "Hi Andy. Sit down," Mrs. Conklin said. "I suppose you've heard the news." "Yeah. It's pretty hard to miss. The place is starting to look like there's a fire drill out there." To her credit, she looked like she was enjoying this about as much as getting a root canal. "This is really a bitch, Andy. I want to tell you. This is very hard for me. I don't like laying people off." I'd always thought that was sort of a cop-out. They weren't really laying people off. They were firing people. There was no intention to ever give them their jobs back. My personal situation struck me hard then. I had the normal number of bills, nothing spectacular, and I lived pretty simply. But losing my job would change the equation completely. Even if they were offering some sort of severance pay, I could keep my apartment about two weeks (until my rent was due) and I'd be on the streets. My car, even though it wasn't new, was still financed and might last another month or two before they repossessed it, depending on how fast they figured out I wasn't working. I knew the prospects for another job in this town perfectly. Zilch. "What's a real bitch is that after I get done letting all you guys, who know your jobs, go, I've got to scramble to find somebody competent to do them. And there's about as much chance of that as nothing." I'd heard that the job market for women was tremendous right now for some reason. We'd had a secretary in the department quit because she got pregnant and had looked for weeks before we found somebody. And I wasn't impressed with her at all. I'd had to spend a bunch of time teaching her what I thought she should have known to get the job in the first place. "I hope you know how truly sorry I am, Andy. But you need to clean out your desk. That's the order. Checks will be ready Monday." "Is there any severance or anything?" "We're required to give two weeks notice, as you know. You'll get paid off for the two weeks and any vacation time you've saved up. But that's it. I'm sorry. I know that doesn't give you much time to find something else." "There isn't anything else," I pointed out. She nodded. She knew the job market better than I. "There are some of these slugs that I don't mind getting rid of at all, Andy," she said softly. "But there are several of you I'd give anything to keep. And the other departments are the same way." "Wish I was a girl," I said. "Oh God! I'd give anything. If you could change, I'd hire you with a 10 percent increase on the spot. It'd be worth it and then some." I looked up at her, trying to share a little bit of a smile even though I felt like someone had kicked me in the stomach. What was funny was that the thought crossed my mind that what I'd said would solve all the problems. Mine and hers. Maybe it showed on my face somehow. She answered my smile naturally and, when my thoughts and, I'm sure, my face changed, so did hers. First she seemed to look at me critically. Then she looked kind of surprised. And finally, she shook her head as if to clear it and the slight smile returned. "But, unfortunately, that's impossible," she said. But for some reason, I heard a question mark at the end of her sentence. I thought about it and, only after a long stretch of silence, dismissed it. * * * Monday morning, I registered with the Job Service and three different private job search places with the same results. "Don't hold your breath." One had a job in a city 120 miles away that the lady said would be an "easy" commute. She obviously hadn't added two to three hours on the front and back of her job before, just as I hadn't. But I wasn't about to start either. Besides, the job didn't sound that great and paid less than what I'd had. Monday afternoon, I went in and picked up my check. In a vague hope that Mrs. Conklin had changed her mind, I went to her office. "Hi," I said to the top of her bent head. "Oh, hi, Andy," she said with a smile. "You don't know how I wish I had you guys back here. The place is falling apart and there's just nobody out there to take your places." I commiserated but quickly learned that there was no way she could hire me back. I went to leave more depressed than when I'd walked in and that was pretty bad since I'd been on the edge of tears when I came in. She stopped me with a statement as I reached for the doorknob. "Andy, if you decide to have that sex change, just yell," she said. "Are you serious?" I said, really wondering. What was strange about the exchange was that it took about ten beats before she finally shook her head and smiled rather strangely and said no. "Of course not." But she didn't sound believable for some reason. Chapter 2 OKAY. SO I know that booze is never the answer to a problem. In fact, going to a bar is the worst answer to financial problems because you not only don't find the answer in the bottom of a glass but you spend what little money you have much faster than if you bought a six pack and took it home. But I needed a little noise. Companionship. Festivity. I couldn't stand my own depression that just seemed to feed on itself. Fear. Frustration. Thoughts of revenge on the world. All that. All I needed was to sit in my quiet apartment (that might not be mine at the end of the month) and let it feed off itself. I'd already thought of the possibility of shooting some EEOC type and gotten one of my few smiles during the day. Of course, imagining the satisfaction and knowing the reality were two entirely different things. At any rate, I ended up leaving my old office and going to the bar a block away where a lot of us gathered when there was a birthday or birth or promotion to celebrate. Or, of course, sometimes when we just had "attitude adjustment" meetings. That's what we called an extended happy hour on the occasional Friday afternoon after work. Being Monday, the place was fairly quiet. I say fairly because Tiny was there with a couple of his red necked buddies (none weighing in at under two fifty) being far louder and more obnoxious than usual. Usually, he was a noisy and slightly obnoxious drunk about 10 when he gave it up and staggered home. Noisy but fairly funny in a macho sort of way. That night, he was already drunk at five, as noisy as ever, and not even a little bit funny. He was talking loudly and seriously about "kicking some butt" in that "faggy, girly joint" he'd been fired from, starting with that "faggot cocksucker Miller" (the CEO) and ranging through the entire male staff. He didn't speak to me and I certainly didn't speak to him in the mood he was in. I figured he could decide I was a member of the "faggot" society that had pitched him out of his job as easy as not. He was well beyond noticing that I'd gotten fired as well or listening to me tell him that tidbit. Paul was already sitting at the bar nursing a mixed drink as I pulled up a stool and ordered a beer. I asked him how he was doing and learned the extent of his efforts. Almost a carbon copy of mine. The gal at the job placement place had even offered him the same three hour commute and I found myself getting a little miffed that she'd been so loose with "my" job offer. A guy I'd seen at work a few times but who worked at the other end of the building in the executive offices came over after a while, I think to get a drink from the bar. "You're Andy Brett, right?" he said. "Yeah. Mike, right?" "Reardon. Right. I've seen you around. Were you one of the people got riffed Friday?" I nodded. "Yeah. And this is Paul Wickam. Him, too," I noted. Paul said hello. "Me, too. I guess it was pretty much across the board. I sat there at the boss's door all day wondering when it would be my turn. There aren't that many male executive secretaries." Mike was a little guy, like Paul and I, with a spray of thin brown hair he tried to comb over a bald spot in spite of only being in his mid-20's. "Man, they really cleaned house, didn't they?" I noted unnecessarily. "You guys have any luck with the hunt?" "Nope. We both got the same offer for the job in Hemsley." "What? You don't want to commute five hours a day?" he said with a laugh. "I got that offer, too. It must be a real shit job for them to look so far astray for somebody." "Depends a lot on how hungry we all get," I said. "Yeah. We might all be fighting over it in a couple weeks," Paul said. There was another outburst from Tiny across the room. Something else about the CEO. "Hey, you know, hope you guys don't feel the same way about Mr. Miller. I was there when the EEOC guys came and told Bill he had to get rid of us and get some girls in there. 'Or else,' was what they said. "Bill told me later that if he didn't comply they'd threatened him with a $3 million fine that would shut down the business altogether." "Yeah, I know," Paul said. "I don't know how they got so out of kilter. Maybe there's just not many qualified women in town," I said. "That's what Bill told them. He said it wasn't that he actively discriminated against women. Just that the only people he could find to do the jobs were guys." About that time, Tiny tried for a behind the back pool shot and fell off the pool table on his ass. His friends had more than a little trouble getting him back on his feet and launched into an extended argument about whether it was time for him to go home and sleep it off or not. When the bartender decided to help decide the matter, Tiny took a drunken swing at him and got escorted to the door. The place was much quieter. Paul had finished another scotch and water, Mike had just ordered his second with us and had had at least one before he came over, and I was on my third beer and a good little buzz. We were all at the break point where we could still talk rationally and would remember what we were saying but far enough along that talk was much more fluid than normal. It crossed my mind several times that this would be a good time to quit, find something for dinner, get a good night's sleep, and continue with the job search the next day. But like all good intentions, this one went by the boards as Mike ordered another for each of us. It was after six when Mrs. Conklin came through the door, sat down at the bar a few chairs away from me, and ordered a gin and tonic, thanking the bartender profusely. "Tough day, Mrs. Conklin?" I asked, trying to be friendly. She looked over and smiled at me. "Miserable, Andy. The second worst day of my life. Friday was the worst but today came close." "Still having trouble with the hiring?" Paul asked over my shoulder. "You just couldn't believe what they've been sending me, guys," she said, shaking her head. "Air heads. Wives who want to work for a month but need to quit when the baby is due. Old gals who've never seen a computer and tell me they think they can do it better on a typewriter. Two, no three high school girls complete with bubble gum and no skills whatsoever. "It's terrible!" she summarized. She finished her drink in a gulp and signaled for another. "I know some guys who'd be willing to fill in," Paul said. "Damn! Don't I wish," she said, shaking her head. She got her drink and looked around for a softer place to sit. I knew from experience that women, in general, don't like sitting at the bar. Particularly when they're alone. She picked up her drink and headed for an open booth. "I feel like suck a hog taking up a whole booth by myself. Would you guys join me?" We agreed and all went to sit at the big booth. "Are any of you having any luck with work?" she asked and, of course, got all the negative head shakes. I introduced Mike but she already knew him from her more frequent contact with the CEO's office. "We all got offered the same job in Hemsley," I noted. "Hemsley! My God! That's three hours away!" "Don't we know it," Mike said. "Otherwise we'd probably be fighting over it." "You poor guys," she said. "Poor Mrs. Conklin," I said. "I'll drink to that," she said and did exactly that. We filled in some details of our days while she filled in more of hers and we all commiserated for a while. Among other things, she told us about the emergency meeting the human resources department had held for all the department heads in the morning and how they really didn't have any ideas for them. "The only good idea I've heard since this started was Andy's," she said and I wondered what she was talking about. "You remember, don't you?" I'm sure I looked blank. I certainly didn't remember any idea I'd had. "Andy suggested you just become girls. Then all of our problems would be over," she said. We all laughed loudly. Mike picked up a napkin and pulled it over his bald head, pursed his lips, and said, "Oh, Andy, you silly silly boy!" in a falsetto. I tried it, too, and about choked responding to him. We talked for a while more about how we wished we could do it since it would solve our problems. Paul took us all by surprise. "You know, if we were serious, we could." I looked at him, trying to figure out what he was saying. "We could what? Be girls?" He shrugged his shoulders. "Sure. Didn't you ever wear something of your mom's or your sister's or something when you were a kid?" Of course I had. My girl cousins had dressed me head to toe in their clothes once. But I sure as hell wasn't going to say it. It was probably lucky that I thought before I opened my mouth because it gave Mike a chance to speak first. "My parents left me at home overnight once when I was in high school and I had a chance to try on a bunch of my mom's clothes," he said with a blush. "How did you look?" Mrs. Conklin asked. "Why beautiful, of course," he said, returning to the napkin trick. "I tried it too a couple of times," Paul said. "I even went to a Halloween party once dressed as Scarlet O'Hara and won the prize for best costume." "No kidding?" I asked. "I can't quite see you with red hair." We all laughed. "I think you'd all be surprised. I know a lot of women who look more masculine than any of you," she started. "Well, you take that back, ma'am, or I'll just have to plug ya," Mike said in a good John Wayne impression. She snickered. "Not demeaning your masculinity. It's just that these women are really pretty manly and if they didn't wear makeup and the right clothes, I'm sure you wouldn't know for sure." "I've seen some people that I wondered whether they were guys or girls," I noted and I had. "Well, you'd be surprised at what some very pretty women look like when they don't have their makeup on. And if clothes make the man, like they say, they really make the woman. Half the women in the world would be confused for guys if they had their breasts bound and weren't wearing a skirt." We got another round of drinks, all thinking. I don't know what Mike and Paul were thinking, but I sure as hell knew what I was thinking. Wondering would be more like it, I guess. "You know," Mrs. Conklin said into the silence that had descended over the table. "The human resources people are trying to find people who can do the work. Women, of course. There's nothing in the job description about being pretty women. "You'd be amazed at how much I'd be willing to overlook to find some women to replace you guys." We thought for some more. "Of course, there are a lot of people still working with us who know you guys and, well, we don't want any more trouble with the EEOC. But, well, how often did you get down to my shop when you were working for Bill, Mike?" He laughed. "Never." "And you guys? How often did you go to the CEO's office?" We just smiled. She knew we never did. We finished our drinks and Mrs. Conklin decided it was time to leave. "If there's anything I can do to help any of you in your job search, you know," she added as a smiling afterthought, "just let me know." She left us, each thinking about the same thing, I think, but no one sharing their thoughts. I worked hard and tried everything I could think of from talking to the grocery store owner to city government, looking for a job. In the process, I got sincere shakes of the head, many "sorry"'s, and a couple of horse laughs when I tried for a job on a loading dock. But not even a possible distant chance of a job. Friday, I went shopping. Chapter 3 A stop at a drugstore supplied a small stock of makeup supplies and a can of hair spray. A stop at a department store supplied a black skirt, a cheap white brassiere, a pair of pantyhose, and a blouse in a woman's style and silky material but a man's cut with collar, button front, and long sleeves "for my girlfriend." A nervous few minutes in a self serve shoe store gained a pair of plain white flat women's shoes that I tried on quickly as I stood in the aisle. A discount store supplied a few pieces of costume jewelry that were probably the hardest thing to think of an explanation for. Why, after all, would a man buy his girlfriend a handful of cheap plastic bracelets, necklaces, and clip-on earrings or a watch almost guaranteed to stop working within a few weeks just by its $15 price tag. Rather than trying, I decided to just ignore the salesgirl's questioning looks in favor of a thorough inspection of a TV Guide. That set up an afternoon of experimentation and little failures. It took thirty seconds in front of the mirror to realize the mascara I'd bought was much too dark and that I hadn't gotten an eyebrow pencil at all. I washed my face thoroughly, tossed the mascara, and went to a nearby pharmacy and watched what I was doing more carefully. I added something called a makeup base. Having only gotten as far as a thorough shave on the last take, I did better this time except for the makeup base. Simply, it looked like I'd put the goop on with a spoon and my entire face was exactly the same color. I looked dead. I washed my face again and tossed the makeup base. I just hoped I didn't need it because it was a deal breaker. The eyebrow pencil was easy enough to apply. Like painting with a crayon. But when I was done coloring in every hair, I looked like a blond Brooke Shields with enough eyebrow to take over my entire face. I decided I might as well try the mascara since I didn't expect any better luck with it. In the process of putting the stuff on my eyelashes, I also put it on my eyelids and cheeks and nose. Maybe eye shadow would cover it and I'd be able to carefully wash it off cheeks and nose. That was one of a few good laughs I had during the day. Sparkling silver eye shadow was not for me. I looked worse than Tammy Fay. Do it all, I decided, and put on the lipstick. At least I had some idea of how to put it on from watching my mother when I was a kid. She'd done it as if it were nothing, a dozen times a day. I stayed in the lines, didn't put too much on, and didn't end up with alternating red teeth. But that's about all I could say for it. Standing back from the mirror, my first thought was strictly a fear reaction. This was only slightly enhanced by baring my teeth in a snarl and holding my hands in a Bela Lugosi bat threat. I'd done best with the lipstick but it was far too dark for my light complexion and blond hair. I tried brushing my hair loosely and even spraying it with the sticky hair spray. It looked like I just got out of bed when I was finished and made the fright mask complete. I did theatrical routines from movies for myself for a while. Betty Davis. "I'm ready for my scene ..." More Bela Lugosi. A little Peter Lorre. None of them were very good theater but they were better theater than I was a girl. This time I washed my entire head and, even with my hair recently dried and sticking up all over, thought it a tremendous improvement. "Where have you been? Those others didn't ... bite you, did they?" I asked myself in the mirror. Okay. So I was almost convinced. Stripping down to shorts, I wrestled with the bra for a while, stuffing a pair of socks in each C cup. They were lumpy but impressive. I posed for myself. I sat down on the bed and put on the pantyhose (backward first, of course). I got them to my knees before putting my finger through the strange, sheer material. Although the blond hair on my legs is virtually invisible, the pantyhose seemed to be bristling with it. The skirt was okay and the shoes fit. Little successes. The blouse was the right size but unfortunately followed the contours of the lumpy bra perfectly and didn't want to stay tucked in the back of the skirt when I sat down. The costume jewelry looked like the junk it is. Little girl toys hanging, dangling, or interfering. Even with a good rap, the Swatch Watch didn't work straight out of the box and just added to the "little girl playing with mommy's things" look. That was the second laugh of the day. When I looked in the full length mirror on the bathroom door. I thought I'd seen this girl once in junior high waiting at one side of a gymnasium during one of those enforced "dances" they made us go to. She's the one some guy finally had to take onto the gym floor who looked over the top of his head as they shuffled around trying not to step on each other too hard. If I had to take this nightmare out in public, I thought, I'd have to kill myself in preference to facing anyone I knew again. The kidding would be impossible. "Where'd you find her, Andy? The city pound or the pig farm? Har har har!" Mrs. Conklin had said a girl didn't have to be pretty. But she didn't say she could be totally repulsive either. So any chance I had at this desperate last ditch attempt looked destined for failure. I was glad I wasn't wearing mascara when my eyes filled with unbeckoned tears. It took half the time to get out of the "ensemble", into pants and a shirt, and out the door on the way to the bar. This "effort" definitely deserved a couple of beers. * * * I had just ordered my second beer when Paul sat down on the stool next to me, looking as depressed as I felt. "Hi Andy," he said and sounded as bad as he looked. "Any luck?" "Naw," I said. "You?" "There's not a single damned job in this entire town. I don't think anybody retires or dies or anything." "If there is, I don't know where it is." He looked around as if trying to see if we were being overheard. "Did you try the other thing?" "You mean dressing ..." "Yeah, yeah." He didn't want me to go too far. "That's what I did with my day today. It was a miserable failure." "I did, too. Night before last. There's no way. I was too afraid to even buy clothes let alone wear them in public." "I did okay with that. No problems. They just looked like shit on me and the makeup was a disaster." "Yeah. I did that part. Got stuff all over my face but it didn't look realistic at all." We drank our beers. "Tiny got a job. I saw him out at the Roadside last night." The Roadside was a rough bar out on the road out of town. "He's a bouncer." I'd been there exactly once and saw two fights while I finished one beer. "What were you doing there?" "I decided I had to try everything possible before I pack up and try to figure out which direction to move." "Sorry to hear that. That you're thinking about moving, I mean." "It's obvious there isn't anything at all here. I couldn't even talk to the manager at the Roadside. He laughed when he saw me. Said I'd make the patrons laugh too hard if I was tending bar." "You could get killed out there. I almost did in about fifteen minutes the only time I ever went out there." "Scary place." He finished his beer and ordered another for each of us. We were so far into our miseries, Mrs. Conklin took us by surprise when she put her hands on our shoulders. "Hi guys. How are you doing?" Paul shook his head while I answered. "Been better." "Order me a gin and tonic and a scotch and water then come over to join us," she said. She walked toward the booth we'd sat at before where, I noticed, she slid into it beside another woman I could see only from the knee down. That, I thought, looked interesting. In a few minutes, we gained the two drinks and each picked up one with our own and walked to the booth. Paul slid into the booth first before I sat down. I looked at the second woman with interest. She was, well, quite interesting. Before she said anything or looked up from the drink Paul had sat in front of her, I scanned what I could see. Nicely done brunette hair at shoulder length with a little inward wave, parted in the middle. Pretty, full lips. An unremarkable white blouse over a lacy looking white bra that I roughly estimated at about a B cup. I'd seen the hem of a gray skirt at that knee I'd seen before and simple gray pumps at the end of that well turned calf. She looked up at me and blinked unremarkable brown eyes surrounded by a minimum of mascara that I now recognized as a good, sensible treatment. I thought her little nose was cute. Then she smiled at my inspection and I felt that little flutter inside that said a pretty girl had just smiled at you. "Michelle, this is Paul and Andy," Mrs. Conklin said, pointing in our general directions. The girl held out her hand in a loose, feminine way that I never knew how to respond to handshake or gentler finger shake. She took my hand in a soft handshake that was both feminine and businesslike. I liked that. We both said hi and she responded in a slightly throaty, low voice that I liked. "Michelle started working for me yesterday," Mrs. Conklin said. "And she's already invaluable, taking a little of the load you guys left for me." I frowned to myself. It wasn't her fault that she'd found somebody halfway decent to replace us. In fact, I had to be happy for her. "It sounded like you guys aren't having much luck." "To say the least," I said and Paul seconded the thought. "You know there isn't a dog catcher in this town?" Paul asked. "And if they did, I couldn't get hired." "All the ditch digger jobs are filled, too," I added. "Oooo. You two do sound down." "With good reason," I pointed out. "Have you thought any more about my proposal?" Paul choked on a sip of beer and I fought a glob of stomach that had just leaped behind my Adam's Apple. "We even tried that with such disastrous results we both ended up here independently with the same thoughts." "Involving drowning sorrows," Paul added. "Tell me about it," she said. I looked from her open face to the girl's. She smiled again and sipped her drink. That was the first I'd noticed the long, red fingernails. "Just say it wouldn't work," I noted for the record. I wasn't going to get into particulars in front of the girl. "Was it the mascara or the hair?" the girl said in a sultry voice, her mouth breaking into a self- satisfied smile. A smirk, I thought. A knowing smile. She had me stopped cold. I couldn't, wouldn't, and didn't know how to respond or even to clear my clenched throat. I looked at Mrs. Conklin with the question on my lips. Why did you tell her? I felt like I'd been betrayed. "Hey, Andy. Did you fucking try it or not?" It had come from the girl but with none of the demure sweetness. This had sounded like like Mike. Suddenly the pretty, smiling face seemed to swim in my vision and reform under a small spray of brown hair across a shining bald pate. I choked on a sip of beer I hadn't started to take yet. Paul, not under that dazzling glare of attention from the girl, said it. "Mike?" She looked at him. "You...you look great!" Her smile spread and I thought she was one of the most gorgeous women I'd ever seen. Chapter 4 I'd stopped at my apartment, gotten my stuff, and arrived at Mrs. Conklin's in ten minutes flat. So quickly, in fact, that they'd only just arrived when I did and hadn't gotten the key out of the front door lock. "Do you have anything to do this weekend?" Mrs. Conklin had said in the bar after Paul and I tumbled to Mike. Paul's answer had been, "Well, are we ready to go?" His eyes glowed with excitement as he looked from one to the other of us. "Where do we start?" I asked with equal exuberance when Mike, Mrs. Conklin, and I were safely inside her house. "Well, you start by taking a bath. Not a shower. With some bath oil and the soap that's in the tray. After you've soaked for a while, soap a leg really well and use the safety razor next to the tub to shave. When you're done, there shouldn't be a hair I can see from your neck to your toes." I looked at Mike, who was sitting with "her" legs crossed, on the couch. I thought if I could look just a tenth as good, I'd be a shoo-in for a job at the office. I was in the bathtub before I realized I hadn't brought any of the clothes with me but I dismissed it and settled into the rapidly rising hot water, the smell of the scented oil heavy in the steamy air. I'd been there for a while when I heard the doorbell ring and Paul being greeted. From what I could hear, he'd stopped at a liquor store for a case of beer and bottles of scotch and gin. I couldn't believe that getting my fine blond fuzz off my legs was as difficult as it was. Every little scrape clogged the twin blades again and required clearing. It didn't take long before I established a regular pattern of long stroke, shake in the water, brush off the remainder, and on and on. When I thought I was done, I rubbed my pink streaked leg and felt the considerable leftovers and started over with the soap. Thank goodness, I thought, I didn't have any chest hair. Certainly doing my underarms was tough enough and took almost as long as my legs. I was on the last armpit when Mike the beautiful girl came into the room and giggled when I ducked for cover under a washrag, blushing all over. I watched her with great interest as she collected my clothes and sat a pair of lacy panties on the edge of the sink. "How are you doing?" she asked. "Ah, almost done. Where are you going with my pants?" "You won't need them for a while. Come out when you're ready." She left. I checked everywhere for hairs before giving up, getting out of the slippery water, and drying thoroughly. It took a little longer to dry my hair. But then I knew I was procrastinating. I had to look at the panties for quite a while to figure out which way was front. For one thing, the label was over a leg instead of in the back. I purposely hadn't bought panties so I knew these weren't mine. If I had, I would have bought something with a little more to them than this. Resigned, I stepped into them and pulled them into place. I looked around for a comb or a brush but there wasn't one in the room. I tried instead to finger comb it into place with minimal positive effect. Mostly it was standing on end. I finally gave and opened the door. Mrs. Conklin looked up with a friendly, welcoming look. Mike, no I was going to have to remember "she" was Michelle, looked at me with the most seductive look I've ever seen. "I hope you don't mind too much, Andy. We looked at your things," Mrs. Conklin said. "I suppose you know that, with the exception of the skirt and blouse, this is all garbage." Defensive, I responded too quickly. I wasn't excited about standing there in a pair of panties that I was only partially successful at covering with my cross hands. "I couldn't afford better or I would have gotten something better." "It looks more like you snatched the first thing you found off the rack or counter and ran out of the store," Michelle said with another grin. "There's nothing wrong with the things," Mrs. Conklin continued. "They're just wrong for you." "Besides, you didn't have any panties and you can't feel like a woman without them," Michelle added. "Okay. Now put on your bra," Mrs. Conklin said and I tried. Michelle showed me how to fasten the back fastener in front of my stomach, turn it around right, and then put my arms in the straps. It was a lot easier that way. When it was in place Mrs. Conklin carefully placed a heavy plastic bag in each cup. "My mother, bless her soul, had breast cancer," she explained. "She used to say that if she was going to use 'falsies', that's what she called the breast forms, then she was going to enjoy it and got a bunch of different sizes." I looked at the way they moved in the bra cups and chuckled with Michelle when she bounced them on her palms. "As a sort of general rule," Mrs. Conklin said, "it's better for you guys to play down a little. No see-through blouses or really short skirts or spike heels. And I probably would have advocated a little smaller breast size for you. But since you already had the C-cup bra, I thought we might as well fill it out. Maybe it's right for you." "Put on your pantyhose," Michelle said. I sat down and did as I was told. We decided we'd have to replace them when she noticed the hole I'd put in them. Paul came out of another room I thought must be Mrs. Conklin's bedroom, all pink, spiky haired, and wearing a pair of blue panties. He looked every bit as nervous as I'd been when I came out of the bathroom. "Michelle, why don't you go into my room and help ... ah, let's see. Amy. Does that sound okay to you, honey?" Amy? My new name? Interesting. I nodded and smiled. "Okay. Take Amy into the bedroom and help with the rest. Okay?" Michelle smiled at me as I got up. When I followed her into the bedroom, I felt the pantyhose on my legs for the first time. Now that I'd shaved my legs, they felt great. They seemed to move and almost caress my sensitized skin as I walked. It was a funny, enjoyable feeling. "Now watch what I do," Michelle said as she got out a fingernail file and tiny scissors. "Because I'm not going to do everything." It wasn't going to be the last time she said that or that I'd have to do it myself in the future. She carefully trimmed the corners of a nail that I'd let get too long, but left the longest center part. She used a funny shaped stick and pushed at the cuticle and then filed the tip. Then she turned me loose on the rest and sat back with her elbows on the bed and watched while I continued the process with the other fingers. I couldn't help notice the way her breasts moved under the blouse or the way her skirt pulled up onto her thighs. It surprised me how comfortable she looked as a woman. "You must have made a decision right away after we all talked Monday," I noted. "I came home with Margaret Monday night and she showed me the things I'm showing you," she said. "You look great! I really thought you were a woman when I saw you at the bar," I told her honestly. She smiled all over. "The first couple of days are really scary. Everything's so new. But you get the hang of it pretty fast." "And you started work Wednesday?" "That was the hardest and scariest of all. Walking into the building and past some of my friends up front. Talking to Margaret was easy, of course, and I pretty well knew that I had the job before I went in. "Sitting down with the other people in your old department and getting grilled about myself was tough. But pretty soon, I got involved in the job and it pretty much took my mind off myself a little." "I'll bet there's a lot to remember," I said. "Funny little things. And maybe big things like the first time I used the women's room," she blushed. "You don't realize how you've been conditioned all your life to stay out of the ladies' until you're standing there with your hand on the door. And things like making sure to watch your skirt and sitting up right. All those things." I was finished with the clipping and filing. She sat up and got a bottle of clear fingernail polish and opened it. "This is base coat," she explained. "It seals up all the ridges and makes them smoother." She painted the thumbnail and one other before handing the applicator to me. It was harder to do than it looked but I got the hang of it as I went on. She took care of the bottle while I tried to get it to dry without touching anything. It dried quickly and she opened a bottle of pink fingernail polish and did my thumb again before handing me the applicator. This was harder because you didn't want to leave part of the nail showing but you couldn't get it on your finger either. "When you're done, start over with the first one and put on another coat." I did it finally, getting better at it as I went. She provided another bottle that said "seal" on it as she took the polish and put it away. We talked more about work, getting into a batch of the stuff I knew from doing the job for as long as I had. And she explained how Margaret had taken her shopping Tuesday and helped her get several mix and match outfits without spending very much money. Of course, that had been scary for her too. She kidded me because, she said, that was the plan for Paul and I Saturday so we'd see exactly what it felt like. Finally, I was done and they had dried to a high gloss sheen as good as most cars' paint jobs. "Okay now. This is the really hard part and there's not enough to it for you to practice right now. Watch carefully and tomorrow you can do it yourself." First she used the fingernail scissors and carefully trimmed my eyebrows, cutting the lower part and the outsides very short so what you could see of them was slightly lifted at the outside ends and much narrower. She took the same eyebrow pencil I'd used with such disastrous results and applied just a little in an arch which lifted at the edges. I looked from inches away at what she'd done and thought I could copy it. The mascara, she said, was the hardest for her but with short outward strokes, she colored my eyelashes perfectly to just a minimum. It brought out my eyes without looking at all fake. The lipstick she chose from Margaret's table was almost a perfect match for the pink on my fingernails. She carefully traced the upper edges of the top lip and the lower of the bottom lip and had me purse them as my mother had. There didn't even seem to be more than a touch of the color where my lips met. "You're lucky. Your beard is so light, you shouldn't have to wear any makeup base. But if you ever do, make sure it's just a little lighter than your normal skin color and only use it where you absolutely have to and powder it afterward." She looked at me critically for a minute. "I don't think you're going to want to use any eye shadow at all. Particularly in the daytime. But if you do at night, I'd use blue to bring out your eyes. They're so pretty." She smiled at her work so far and turned to a closet. "I hate to say it, but I'm glad Margaret's mom had breast cancer. She has all sorts of neat things because of it." In the closet, she reached up to a shelf and brought down a box. "Oh, neat!" I could see why she said it when she held up a mop of blond hair that extended from her hand to her elbow as she used the other hand to fluff it out and untangle it. "Brush your hair flat and to the side so you don't look like a scarecrow after you take this off," she said, bringing it to me and watching as I did as I was told. Then she settled it on my head like a cap and pulled down at the sides. Before she'd gotten it on, I saw that the underside of it looked like a net cap almost like a swimming cap for a woman but without the ear flaps. She pulled and tugged at the cap over most of my hair before opening another drawer and finding some bobby pins. She put two in the front straight back and almost into my scalp, then two at the back just below my crown from the outsides in. It felt secure but strange. She took the brush away from me and lightly did the sides and back over my shoulders before making light little strokes that moved pieces of hair onto my forehead. "Wow! You're going to like this!" she said and I started to look in the mirror. "No, wait! Get your skirt and blouse on first and then you can look at the whole thing." She was grinning with excitement as I stepped into the skirt and started buttoning the blouse. "That's hard, isn't it?" she said. "The buttons are all backwards. I wonder why they did that?" It was hard but I soon had it done. "Tuck it in a little and I'll show you a trick," she said and moved to the hem of my skirt as I tucked it in. "This is easier and better, too." She jerked on the tail of the blouse all around, pulling it down tight, before letting go of the skirt and smoothing it down. "I'll find you a belt while you put these on," she said and handed me a pair of white high heels a lot like the grey ones she was wearing. They were simple and had only two inch heels or so but I was sure I'd fall on my face trying to walk in them. As I stood up, she put a six inch wide white belt around my waist and cinched up three different little buckles at least two holes tighter than I thought would probably be comfortable. "You're going to LOVE this!" she blubbered as she took my hand and led me into the dark bathroom off the bedroom. She led me to the middle of the dark room and left me standing there, trying to decide if I was going to fall over from the strange forward tilt of my ankles. "Ready?" she asked and I said yes. She flicked on the brilliant bathroom light and I looked into the eyes of a stranger. I had to refocus my eyes to see that it wasn't someone else in the bathroom. I moved and the stranger moved as well. There was a girl in the mirror in front of me. I resisted looking over my shoulder to see if she was really there. Black skirt, white blouse, long shapely legs to white pumps. Tits. Yeah. Considerable tits that lifted the blouse flatteringly. Slim waist held by the white belt. I looked up again. Pretty blue eyes that seemed to hold you to them. Moderate pink lips that pointed out the pink fingertips that were slowly exploring the face. Beautifully long blond hair in a slight disarray. Loose and easy and almost falling to those full breasts, splitting over each shoulder. I smiled and she smiled back engagingly. Her eyes sparkled and smiled back. She walked behind me, looking over my shoulder, and put her arms around me. "You're gorgeous. Will you still be my friend?" I laughed. "You're kidding!" "Huh uh. If I was a guy, I'd give anything to get you into bed." I looked into her eyes reflected in the mirror. "You know. In the bar. I thought that you were one of the prettiest women I've ever seen," I said. I grinned. "But you're right. If I was a guy, I'd fuck the blond in a heartbeat." We laughed together. Chapter 5 Margaret's eyes twinkled when she looked at me walking into the living room. The girl sitting between us, turned her head when she saw Margaret's look past her and I got another start. "Paula was just saying that she bet you'd be really pretty. She was certainly right." "Paula?" I said, grinning. "You're wow!" she said in an almost disembodied masculine voice that didn't seem possible from her delicate red lips. The red highlights were plain in the auburn haired girl's short hair. Her green eyes, huge in her pale face, enlarged with surprise as she looked at me. "You think it's okay?" "Oh, Amy! It's it's impossible!" She stood up and walked confidently around the chair she'd been sitting in. She was wearing dark brown women's pants, short heeled beige sandals that red toenails peeked out of, a red and yellow silk shirt that stood out moderately at the chest with the collar turned up, and large red and yellow flower earrings. A matching red and yellow series of stone flowers set in gold settings marched around her neck over the shirt. The auburn hair, short but full and curly, had to be her own. Three large, bright colored dinner rings sparkled from her fingers as her hands came up as if reaching for my chest. "Spectacular!" she said with a large smile as I saw she was inspecting my tits. I blushed. "P-Paula," I stumbled over her new name. "You look wonderful." "Yeah. I saw in the mirror. This is going to work. But I don't look anything like you. I mean, I look like a girl. I know that. But nobody's going to get a hard-on when I walk in the room." Her eyes looked lustful as she looked me up and down from this close perspective. There's only so much praise a girl can handle and maintain any modesty. I looked past her to Margaret who was still sitting on the couch with the huge smile. "So girls. What do you think? Is it possible?" "I'm still really scared," I said and Paula nodded. "Me, too. But you look so great " "So do you! You look like the girl next door. Definitely a girl. But easy. Easygoing. You know?" "Yeah. That's what I wanted exactly." She smiled cutely. "At least I'm not going to have to worry all day about getting felt up." "Come and sit down," Margaret said and we all chose seats, carefully sitting down. At least I did because of the skirt pulled above my knees. Paula sat down easily and I envied her pants. Michelle stopped and asked if we wanted drinks. I practically begged for a beer and Paula seconded it with a chuckle. She brought us beers and glasses that Margaret told us to use in a few seconds. She returned to make hers and Margaret's. We just made small talk about fingernail color and my wig and her jewelry until Michelle got back and sat down. "Okay, ladies. We've got some work to do," Margaret said. She was certainly right. For the next three hours, she drilled Paula and I particularly on walking (there's a right way and a wrong way for a woman), talking (slightly higher pitch and softer), sitting in a dozen ways and situations, gestures, and the fine points of makeup and hair that we'd now had a successful experience with. We discussed the options for each of us concerning all of these things and even discussed what we'd do on Monday to try for jobs. It amazed me that we were all chattering like crazy, sharing fears and hopes for our new situations, and speculating on everything. Suddenly, unlike a few hours before in the bar, we had a future and we were looking forward to it. Finally, we were winding down and I could see quite a bit of work to get ready to go home. At least I had to change clothes and wash my face. I said so and both Margaret and Michelle smiled and shook their heads. "We have plans for tomorrow, Amy," Margaret said. "It'll be much easier if you just stay here for the night." Not waiting for any kind of agreement from Paula and I, who were still sitting with our mouths open, trying to decide if this was a good idea, she got up and went to her bedroom. A minute later, she came back with a piece of white fluff in one hand and a black one in the other. Momentarily hesitating, she finally handed me the white and Paula the black. I held it up in front of myself and saw that it was mostly white lace with elastic under the breasts and a short silky skirt. "Leave the panties and bras on. And, Amy, leave the wig, too. In the morning, you'll be surprised at how much more comfortable you are with it all." "You'll want to wash your face though," Michelle added. Paula and I got up and went to the bedroom as we'd obviously been directed. I washed my face of the mascara and lipstick and looked in the mirror. With the wig still on, I was surprised that I still looked like a girl. I stayed in the bathroom to take off my stockings, skirt and blouse before putting on the white nightgown. "Can I use the sink," Paula said when she opened the door. I glanced in her direction and smiled. She looked cute in the black negligee. She grinned back and came the rest of the way in. "That's looks good on you," she said. "I don't fill this one out very well." She lifted the front of the black nightgown and blushed. She looked like a pixy. "It looks right on you," I said, getting out of her way. While she washed her face, I had the opportunity to look at her. She had thin, boyish legs and hips. Not male adult at all. And a cute butt I almost patted. I was sure that wouldn't be appreciated, of course. She washed and dried her face and looked refreshed and slightly flushed when she turned back to face me. Feeling the carpet on our bare feet, we went back to the living room together. The couch was a hide-a-bed that Margaret and Michelle were just finished making. It looked inviting and, luckily, they said good night and went to the bedroom. As Paula and I got into bed and turned out the lights, we heard them getting ready and then everything got quiet. "Quite a day, huh," Paula said beside me in the dark living room. "Yeah. Not the sort of thing you'd expect at all. Right?" "I didn't think it was possible. But now I do. I think we can really pull it off. I mean, it's not like it's illegal or anything. Right?" I thought about it. "It's not illegal to dress as a woman. I've heard that. But I'm not sure about what we intend to do at work. I think maybe the EEOC would be a little unhappy." "Yeah. Well, fuck 'em. If we get halfway good at this, they couldn't come in for a day and tell. Maybe people at work will know. I don't know. But as long as they play along when the inspectors are there, it doesn't matter." "Yeah. I don't feel bad about the EEOC. That's for sure. They put the company in as much trouble as us. If there were women beating on the door asking for jobs, maybe it would be different. But there's nobody out there." She was quiet for quite a while. "I thought I'd hate this. You know?" "I knew it," I said. "But I don't. Really, I'm I don't know. I guess I'm getting into it and it's sort of fun." "We'll see what happens tomorrow," I said. She was quiet again. "Yeah. It's going to be scary going out in public, huh?" "Yeah." I thought about it. "But at least we'll all be together. It's not like being alone." "Yeah," I said. The company DID help. I couldn't imagine my fear and my feelings without them. Maybe I'd feel like some kind of pervert. I was thinking like that when I felt her move next to me, turning toward me. Her arm went across my stomach under the bra and her leg across my near leg. "Amy?" she said. I was still wondering if I liked this or not. "Do you feel like a girl?" I was thinking about it when she helped. Her hand moved up and squeezed my breast form through the nightgown and bra. "Yeah. Yeah, I do. More than I ever dreamed I would." I put my arm around her narrow shoulders. "Me, too." She was quiet for a long time but I felt her hand move and squeeze my false breast the whole time. It felt good and I was responding, swelling in my panties. "Does it turn you on? Dressing? It does me." "Yeah," I sighed. "It's funny, Amy," she said from close to my ear. "I feel gay." "Yeah. I sort of do. It's all mixed up." "I feel like a lesbian," she said and twisted my mind around 180 degrees. I thought about it. I didn't feel like a gay guy. She'd hit it right on the head. "Yeah. That's what I've been feeling too. With Michelle when she was helping me. I got turned on but it was as much from looking at her as anything." She seemed to stiffen and I knew what the problem was. It was pretty insensitive of me not to think before I said anything. "When I saw you in the living room, that's what I thought, too," I added and she loosened a little. "I thought, what a pretty girl. I'd like to get in her pants." Her hand moved on my bra tentatively. There was a long silence. "You could," she said and, my mind was spinning so fast, I wasn't sure what the reference was to. "If you wanted." I tried running my thoughts in reverse to try to pull out what she was saying and finally remembered my statement. Then I went into a quandary about what I'd said. After all, it was a saying. I didn't really want to do it. Did I? Now I was thinking furiously. That's when she moved. Slowly, she raised slightly over me and her lips covered mine. I know I should have reacted differently than putting my arms around her. And surely that moan couldn't be mine. But the picture that sprung into my mind had no relationship to reality. I should have thought that I'm a guy laying here with another guy wrapped around me. That was hard reality, of course. I might even have rationalized a little and thought that I'm a guy laying here a cute little auburn haired pixy in my arms. If I was deluding myself, maybe I could have thought I was the girl and Paul, my friend, was aggressively taking advantage of me. But the dislocation was complete. What my mind pictured was the blond I'd seen in the mirror earlier, the long clean legs I'd practiced walking on in high heels and crossing for hours, and the heavy breasts that were being pressed and rubbed and that had bobbed and bounded with my movements all night. What my mind pictured was the pixyish auburn-haired girl with her cute boyish hips and little tight breasts and cute upturned red lips squirming against me and kissing me almost wildly. I saw and felt two women enjoying each other's bodies and getting more involved in each other by the moment. Her tongue sought and found entry between my pink lips and mine fought back playfully. I tasted her lipstick and mine. I tasted her sweet mouth. I smelled her perfume and the bath oil on her skin and the feminine shampoo in her short hair. I felt our breasts pressed together, my leg pressing between her hot legs, her leg pressing against the coarse material of my panties and exciting me. She sucked hard on my tongue, our wet lipstick smeared lips sliding against each other's. I could feel her breath puffing out her petite nose onto my cheek. I tried to hold, to suck her tongue as it plunged in and out of my mouth almost wildly and in time with her body's movements against me. "Oh Amy. You're so beautiful," she said between kissed on my ear. "Paula. My pixy," I moaned. She kissed my neck and along my chin and across my chest. I tried to stop her, perhaps, and she kissed my hand and my fingers. I held her head against my stomach as she sucked one and then another finger and kissed and licked my palm. "Oh Paula," I heard myself moan as she squeezed her way between my legs. When she stopped licking my palm, she was instantly licking the inside of my left thigh instead. Licking and taking tiny exciting nips at the skin. In simple reaction, I was moving it away from her bites. She switched to my right thigh and continued her loving assault. Spread wide, her fingers and nails tickled at the backs of my thighs and knees, making me vibrate with excitement. Her fingers moved the crotch of my lacy panties to the side and her tongue found the skin where my pussy should be. Should be. Should be! I came hard and high, losing myself completely in the orgasm for minutes or maybe hours. Peripherally, I felt her scrambling up between my legs and locked my ankles behind hers as she began kissing me wildly again. As my orgasm passed finally, I felt her humping and pumping against my front frantically. I put one hand on her neck and took her long tongue to suck. The other hand found the back of her tiny panties and slid under them to guide her movements. I rolled my hips up and back not as fast but in rhythm with hers. And I was rewarded with her loud moan in my mouth and her loss of coordination. Her orgasm came in moan driven waves, one after another until it finally passed. Her head nestled into my shoulder, her breathing loud below my ear as I held her tight against me. "Thank you, Amy," she sighed sleepily. I thought about suggesting we clean up. I thought about rolling her to the side. But I fell asleep instead. Chapter 6 When I woke, I was on my side with Paula against my front from her neck in front of my lips to the back of her knees against mine. She was still asleep with my arms still around her. She stirred when I kissed her neck and watched the goose bumps skitter along her skin. Even the softness of her arms looked perfectly right. There were even some freckles on her neck, chest and upper arms to match her auburn hair. The sunlight made the red highlights glisten in the curly tangle. When I moved away from her curved back, I felt the cool room air displace the overheated space between us. She moaned slightly and rolled onto her back. She smiled in her sleep and I leaned on one elbow and looked at the slightly smeared lipstick around her opened mouth. My thought was that she was unbelievably cute. Reality intruded when I got to the bathroom and sat on the toilet as, I thought, it only could in this particular position. Part of the reality was the mass of partially dried come in my panties and smeared through my pubic hair disgustingly. I took them off as I sat there and wiped the pubic hair with some toilet paper. A bath was the first order of business, obviously. As soon as my bladder was empty, I dropped the panties, nightgown, and bra in a wicker hamper, setting the silicone filled breast forms and wig on top. The bath, filled with fragrant oils, made me feel good again. After soaking and washing, I replaced the wig and tiptoed into the bedroom to search the drawers for underwear. Surprisingly, I found them in the first drawer I looked in. A blue pair that had more lace on the bra and less on the panties than those I'd worn to bed. I also found a pair of pantyhose that were made of sterner stuff than the sheer ones I'd worn before. I sat down and tried my best to emulate what Michelle had done with the makeup. A little eyebrow pencil, careful mascara, slight lipstick with care to the tops and bottoms of the lips. It looked okay. I couldn't believe I'd done this well. "I wish I was as beautiful and you are," Paula's voice came from behind me. I turned and saw her leaning on one elbow. "You are. In a different way," I said. "You'll really enjoy a bath. It made me feel a thousand percent better." "Good idea," she said and got out from under the sheet. I thought it was cute the way her bottom wiggled with the way she walked to the bathroom. In a few minutes, I found a blue skirt and a little white shell top with tiny blue leaves and pink flowers and blue piping around the neck and short sleeves. * * * "Good morning," Margaret said from the table in the kitchen as she got up. "Would you like coffee?" "Yes, thank you." "You look very pretty today. Did you do your own makeup?" Michelle said from another chair at the table. "Did I do okay?" "It looks great," she said. "You're a quick study." "Yes. You look wonderful," Margaret added. "Thanks. I hope you don't mind me wearing your clothes," I said, indicating the skirt. "Thank Michelle. They're hers." "Oh. Thanks Michelle. But the bra fits. I thought you were a B-cup." "Uh huh. But I tried a C first. It just wasn't for me. You can have those. I think here are three or four in there." "Thanks. But I'll pay you back." "Where's the little girl next door?" Michelle asked. "She's taking a bath. She'll be out in a few minutes." I blushed thinking about her and wondered if Michelle and Margaret knew what we'd done the night before. If they did, they didn't say anything. "You get to make the choice for breakfast then. I don't do short order cooking so whatever you decide, Paula will have to live with." "Anything would be fine." "The choice is eggs and toast or french toast," Margaret said. "Some scrambled eggs would be great," I said. "Are you ready or are you watching your waistline, my dear," she added for Michelle. "That sounds fine, Margaret." I sat down and watched while the older woman broke eggs and poured a little milk into a bowl and mixed them with a whisk. A big pat of margarine went into a frying pan and slid to one side right away. When it had melted, she poured in the eggs and filled the bowl with water before putting bread in the toaster. She'd done this before. "Tada!" Paula said from the doorway as she walked in wearing a pair of black leggings and a very short plaid dress over a black tee-shirt. It was cute and little girl just like everything but her red lips and fingertips. "Wow, Paula! That looks perfect on you. Did you pick it out?" "Yeah. Like it?" "It's you. Nobody else could wear an outfit like that but it's perfect for you," Margaret said. She served up the eggs and continued to make toast until she finally caught up with us and served herself. Though Paula and I procrastinated and delayed as much as Margaret and Michelle would let us, we ended up in Margaret's car on the way to the mall half an hour later. * * * I'd been shopping with a woman before and wasn't surprised by the approach to stores and the things in them. But there was a considerable difference when you were the one doing the shopping and the comments like "Oh, isn't that cute. It would look wonderful ..." were applied to things you'd be buying and wearing. We went into the mall entrance that went through one of the big department stores on the way to the mall concourse. Margaret and Michelle were cooing over a little dress, as I'd seen women do before, within a few feet of the entrance. But they were cooing over it as "perfect" for me because of the light blues and "bodice" they said I'd compliment. Blushing, I thought I'd have support from Paula in my resistence. She shocked me to open mouthed staring by immediately picking out a little dress for herself and grinning with excitement. Michelle helped me identify and pick out a copy of the "perfect" dress, and hurrying me to a draped fitting room at the side of the store to try it on. I had no choice. It was either do as they all seemed to want me to or make a much more memorable