Adventures In Avoiding Downsizing free porn video

Adventures in Avoiding Downsizing Belladonna I was sitting in my cubicle when I first heard the rumor. It was a murmur going through the office. The kind of thing that is only whispered about for fear of it being you that they were talking about. The downsizing rumor spread swiftly in whispers. My coworkers' words filled everyone with dread. The economy was on the rocks. If you were out of a job, you were looking at a long period of joblessness. The men worried most of all. I wasn't surprised about that. Women often worry about losing a job because it deprives them of a career, income, and because of its affect on their relationships. Men worry about losing a job because it's often all they define themselves by. I was raised that way. All I defined myself by was what I was. Employment status was the key to my status as a real man. Real men work and worked hard. Of course, women had long come into that group as well. Hell, not only were women working hard, they were doing it in heels and often for less money. When the rumors reached me, I knew I was in a bad spot. I had been on the job for a little less than 3 years, which was way less than others. My job stayed pretty true to a last hired first fired rationale when it came to eliminating jobs in a department. I hoped that by some miracle that my position in accounting wouldn't be on the chop block, but it was a futile hope. I heard it from my bosses mouth that one of the members of the finance department workers would be terminated. I was the newest employee in the area. I knew my number was up. I had to think of a plan to save my job. I was desperate. Any plan would do. I had no source of income beside my job, and I had debts. I wasn't the saving type. I had a some savings, but it wouldn't last me more than six months. Unemployment checks only go so far when you live in a place with a high cost of living. At that point, I began to think about doing something that would change my life. I remembered reading an article about a lawsuit in one of my employers' offices in the state involving the settlement of a dispute with a worker under a recent state law about a year earlier. The girl, for lack of a better word, was discriminated against because she was getting a sex change. My employer paid her off and gave her back her job because the state legislature had passed a law prohibiting discrimination against the transgendered. I began to think about claiming it. I was sure it was my only shot at keeping my job. How hard could it be, I thought? Mince around in a dress and say I want to be a woman. I could do that. Of course, there would be draw backs. I'd be considered a freak by my coworkers. It wasn't an easy thing to claim. I'd be an outcast, but I really didn't have any friends at work anyway. They were nothing more than acquaintances. My coworkers were largely older than me, and I didn't share their interests. There were some younger people there in other departments, but my relationship with them was nothing more than polite greetings. I knew they existed, and they knew of me, but it was nothing more than that. Still showing up in a skirt could really cause quite a stir. I wasn't sure why I was even considering doing it. I mean, I liked to fashion myself as a red-blooded male. The type of meat eating, hard living, hard charging male that was a man through and through. I tried my best to pretend that the thought of wearing a dress was something alien to me. It wasn't. It was always there, but I denied it. I experimented in my youth, but that was behind me, I liked to think. It never was. It couldn't be. It's a desire. It burns in me the way I know it burns in others. It's something that can never be said. Society won't stand for a man being anything like a woman. Anyway, for the first time in my adult life, I deluded myself into believing that I should wear women's clothes in public for the purpose of saving my job. Saving my job was the reason I figured, but deep down I knew the truth. It was just a convenient excuse. I'm sure I could have found another way to save my job. I'm sure that the dirty bastards I worked for had something in their closets they didn't want exposed. Still, I didn't take the initiative. Once I convinced myself my scheme would work, I was off and running to get myself into heels. I left my apartment and hopped on a subway train taking me far away from where I lived. I was willing to shop for my female clothes in person, but I didn't want my neighbors seeing me. I ended up at a Macy's on the outskirts of the city. I walked into the store and slowly made my way towards the women's section. I was a little embarrassed about what I was doing. However, I got over it quick. I thought to myself, 'What do I care what these people think?' Once that was in mind, it all became easier. As I made my way through the skirt suits in the women's section to the amusement, befuddlement, and disdain of many in the store, I kept assuring myself that I didn't care what they thought. Not only that, as I looked at what I was selecting and compared it against what I saw women choosing, I developed a sort of superiority complex. I was not only sure that my clothing choices were more attractive, but that my legs were better suited for a skirt. I made a few snide comments in my head about the women's cankles as I thought of their disapproving stares. 'Who are they anyway to look down on me?' I thought. When I had five suits, all black, grey, or brown, I headed towards the blouses. I picked out several blouses. I really got carried away with myself. All the years of a repressed urge to dress like a girl caught up with me. I bought something like 12 blouses. I bought them in various colors of white, black, blue, pink, purple, and green. I was sure they'd all fit over the breast forms I had bought a few years earlier when I was in college. I had them from when I was a frat boy. My frat brothers had an initiation ritual that involved the pledges dressing like women. I took it a little farther than most by getting the forms as well as dressing like a real trashy Sorority girl. My brothers thought it was funny, they didn't suspect a thing. That was how I justified it to myself too. It was all for fun. Of course, if it was, why did I keep the forms? After selecting some black and grey tights, as well as some nude and black sheer pantyhose, I headed for the shoe department with my arms weighed down with female clothing. When I brought the shoes I wanted in my size to the salesgirl, you should have seen her face. It was the face of someone trying not to laugh or show disdain. She came back out with the shoes in my size. The salesgirl was only one of the many that paused to give me troubled looks as I checked how the shoes fit my foot. The heeled shoes felt odd on my feet, but I figured it was normal. I paid for what I selected, and headed back to the subway carrying my heavy bags with me. I hauled my new clothes and shoes up to my apartment and placed them on my bed. I then headed back out of my apartment and to the subway. I went two stops and got off near where I knew a Rite Aide was located. I first went and selected a pink ladies razor and flowerily shaving foam. I then went to the makeup selection. Fortunately, there weren't many people in the store to give my examination of cosmetics the disapproving or disbelieving looks I got from a few. When I was satisfied with my selections, I headed towards the cashier. The young man ran up my items with a smile on his face. As I paid he said, "Man, your girl has got you whipped. I'd never buy this stuff for my girl." I smirked and said, "If your girl was like mine, you would." He shook his head with a smile as I walked towards the exit. I started back towards the subway. Once I got home, I was ready to begin my transformation. I stepped into the bathroom and shaved my legs, chest, arms, and armpits in the shower. After I dried myself off, I fiddled with the stuff in my bathroom closet. I then brushed out my long brown hair as I stood before the bathroom mirror. After that, I started to experiment with makeup on my face. I put on a small amount and was satisfied, but I continued until I pretty much made myself look like a cheap, French whore. I went into my bedroom and put on my breast forms and bra. From there, I put on a blouse and buttoned it as I made my way over to my closet to pick out a skirt suit. I placed it on the bed and put on a pair of black tights. I put them on deliberately and delicately, emulating the way my ex-girlfriend put them on. I then placed on the skirt and jacket. It all fit me perfectly. I finished my outfit off with my heels. I then started the difficult task of teaching myself to walk in them. That was what I primarily did with all my spare time away from work before I went in a skirt. I practiced and practiced walking until well after my feet were howling with pain. The night before I was due to introduce Jamie to my coworkers, I began to have second thoughts. However, I was able to put them out of mind by picturing myself fully dressed. The sexual stimulation accompanying the thought was enough to best my better judgment. The next day, I awoke and got ready for my first day at work as Jamie. I dressed in a black skirt suit, with black tights and black heels. I fixed my makeup and saw every bit of my masculinity seem to fall off of my face. I kept repeating to myself, "Remember, you're a girl." It helped to get me in the right mindset. I hesitated for a second before I headed out of my apartment and into public dressed as a woman for the first time. I exited my building without seeing anybody. That was a relief, but I knew that on the streets I would be exposed to a mass of people. I walked down the street towards the subway station the way I did everyday before. Only now, my strides were shortened by the constriction of my skirt. My mincing steps drew me no attention, mercifully. I looked around and saw that no one was paying any attention to me. They were all going on with their own lives. I couldn't help but smile when I realized that even in a skirt, I was still just a face in a crowd. I was proud at that moment. I had gone several minutes walking through a crowded area without a dirty look being thrown my way. I was passable. That's all I could hope to be, and I was. Now, I'm sure that most men would be troubled if they were walking down the street dressed in a skirt and heels and not be recognized as being a man, but I was relaxed by it. If I only had to deal with disapproving looks at work, I'd be happy. I reached the subway and descended down the stairs. I took it slowly. I was still new to walking down steps in heels. I heard a snotty statement made at my slow pace. I wasn't moving fast enough for the guy. I almost felt like shouting out him, "You try walking down steps in these, tough guy!" I badly wanted to, but I didn't. It didn't want the attention. It would just serve as a chance to expose myself as tranny. The last thing I needed was to get into fight dressed as chick, if the guy realized what I was and wouldn't stand for what I said. I didn't think getting thrown into holding cell dressed as a girl could end well for me. Consequently, I kept moving forwards. I paid my fare and waited for my subway car. The heat in the subway station was as unbearable as usual. Only now, my cotton tights were sticking to my sweating legs. I feared what the heat was doing to my makeup by the time the subway car finally came. I hurried with the throng of people waiting into the car. There wasn't an empty seat when I entered. A nice man saw me and offered me his seat. I shook my head and almost fell over as the car rocked forward while I stood in my heels. He offered again, and I felt obliged to take it. I wanted to thank him, but I was unsure of how passable my voice was. I smiled broadly at him while nodding as he stood to let me sit. I rode that car to my stop. It was when I got off that my stomach started churning. The situation was getting realer. Yes, I had gone into crowded public areas dressed as a girl, but that was a lot different from going some place people would certainly recognize me. I exited the station and leisurely walked down the sidewalk. I stopped into a Dunkin Donuts before I got to my job. I bought a coffee and headed for the ladies' room. I counted myself fortunate that the restroom only allowed for one person at a time. I went before checking my makeup. I touched up my lipstick and then washed my hands. I exited the restroom with my briefcase in one hand and my coffee in the other. A nice, plain man dressed in clothing I hadn't seen anybody wear in 3 years held the door to the shop open as I exited. I smiled in gratitude to him, which I'm pretty sure he misinterpreted given the lustful look he gave me. I made sure not to give him the wrong idea as I walked on, but I was screaming with joy within. Not only was I passable, I was attractive to those that appeared desperate. I sipped my coffee as I walked. I was careful to avoid the tiniest crack in the sidewalk. I'd seen many a girl with surer feet than me go down in heels. I was determined to not be one of them. I made it to my office building without incident. I paused in front of the door as I reconsidered for the last time what I was about to do. It was the only way, I thought. I opened the door and walked inside and no one was present. The guard was absent from his post, probably getting coffee. They had a real good union. I walked into the elevator and pressed the button going to my floor. My stomach started to turn as I saw my number growing closer. Finally, the bell rang and the door drew open revealing me to the workers on the office floor. I stepped out of the elevator with confidence. Chest out and strolling in short, skirt constricted strides. The first person recognized me and did a double take. He didn't approach me. Neither did the second person that saw me. Everywhere I went I was greeted with shocked faces and apparent unwillingness to inquire why I was dressed the way I was. I figured either it was the shock of what I had done, or I just confirmed their secret beliefs that I was a latent cross-dresser. I choose to believe the former. My coworkers basically started to huddle in a corner. I could see them from my desk where I set myself up. I saw them occasionally looking my way. When they would see me look at them, they quickly turned away from me. I pretended not to care. Eventually, it seemed that my coworker Deanna was elected to come to speak with me. She slowly worked her way towards my cubicle. She sort of shuffled her feet along the way to take longer to get over to me. Finally, when she was a few feet away she said, "James, can I speak to you?" "Sure," I replied. "You look different," she said with a forced smile on her pretty, young face. "Well, I changed my hair. Thanks for noticing." Her smile became more strained and her discomfort more apparent. She then replied, "You're welcome, but you've appear to have changed more than your hair." "Oh, that. Yes. Well, I've decided to become a woman." "Really?" She replied as the smile gave way to a perplexed look. "Yes, please, call me Jamie, Deanna." "Okay. I can do that," she replied. "I just felt like I couldn't live a lie anymore," I said with a straight face. "Well, that's nice for you. That's good. People should be who they are. This is just a little out there. I mean not out there, out there. You know. More like, umm, Springer than an office type. Well, maybe I'm being a little harsh." "I'm not taking offense." "Thank you, James. I'm sorry, Jamie. It's just that your appearance has surprised me and the others." "I can understand that." She nodded her head and continued, "I know we shouldn't be surprised given the way you are...." "What?" I nearly shouted as she called into question my own view of myself. She seemed to be implying that she had a basis for thinking I was a transsexual in waiting. "Well, you've been a little different from the other guys. Not nearly as aggressive. You're more caring." I nodded in agreement with a smile pasted to my face. She was telling the truth. I was not as aggressive as my male coworkers because I was not as sure of myself. I seemed more caring because I was trying to weasel my way into the lives of the girls without putting myself on the line by asking them out. I was more the type that wanted to know what the girl would say if I asked her out than the put myself out there and deal with rejection type. Before she could assail my self-image any further, I said, "Deanna, I'm happy to talk with you about this. And I'll talk to you later about it, if you want, but I really need to get some work done." She smiled and said, "Of course, Jamie. I'll let you get back to your work." As she hurried back to the group, I heard a stirring in my boss's office. Mr. Jensen, my boss peered out of his office when he heard the commotion that my appearance was creating. Mr. Jensen gave me a sideways glance when he saw me. He called me into his office. I sat on the chair facing his with my legs crossed at my ankles. Mr. Jensen sat behind his desk and said, "James, do you know why I called you into my office?" "Not a clue," I replied with a smile. He closed his eyes for a minute before he opened them and asked, "Why are you dressed like that?" I answered the way I felt appropriate, "Like what?" "You're wearing a skirt?" "So, the girls here wear pants!" "It's not really the same." "If you say so, I guess." "Can you explain yourself, James?" "First of all, don't call me James. I prefer to be called Jamie. I have recently decided to become a transsexual. So, pursuant to state law, I hope you will comply with my request?" Mr. Jensen stared at me with a slightly opened mouth. His eyes squinted and opened as he tried to find the right response. "Jamie," he said before pausing. He continued unconvincingly, "I'm happy for your decision to live according to how you see yourself. This company does not discriminate against you people." "You people?" "Well, yes, you know, you fruit...ah...eating people man girls who try to watch their weight." I smiled at his struggles. I knew that he thought I was faking this to prevent being one of the downsized workers. He smirked and said, "I hope you understand that I'm going to treat you just like any other girl here, Jamie." I nodded and said, "That's all a girl can ask is to be treated equally." He sat back in his chair and stroked his beard. I knew he was trying to catch me in my lie. I resituated myself and crossed my legs at the knee and put my hands over my top knee in the most feminine manner I could to throw him off. Suddenly, he smiled. I expected him to say something stupid to try to smoke out my lie. He didn't disappoint me. Mr. Jensen said, "Jamie, I've got this friend. He likes girls like you. As you know, you wouldn't be the first girl I've set up with my friend's. Should I tell him to give you a call? I know how you woman are." "How are we, Mr. Jensen?" I knew that wasn't the answer he was looking for because he paused. He probably realized that his female workers might have a good lawsuit if he admitted to treating them differently from men based on some assumption of how women were. He shrugged and said, "I'm sorry, James, Jamie. James, Jamie, that's kind of like Jean, Genie from that Bowie." He looked satisfied with his attempted deflection. I went with his decision to move the conversation away from his views on women and said, "Don't tell your friend to call me, Mr. Jensen. I'm an affirmed lesbian." "You like women?" "Yes." "Wouldn't cutting your junk off hurt that pursuit?" "Yes, but it's who I am." Mr. Jensen was growing more uncomfortable. He gave up his quest to catch my lie, at least for the moment. He leaned forward and dismissed me from his office. I went back to my desk and started running through sales reports like I did everyday. The day was not that different from a normal one, except for the looks my coworkers periodically gave me. I would be typing numbers into the computer or examining numbers on a print out and I look up and see someone slowing down as they walked passed me to examine me. I knew then what the bearded lady must feel like. I was the oddity to be viewed. I felt they should at least pay me for it. I almost printed up a sign that said, "Come view the skirted man, 5 dollars." Nothing else was really different until I felt the need to take a wiz. I made my way towards the restrooms, but I paused before the two doors. The familiar one said 'Gentleman', the other 'Ladies.' This was a real dilemma for me. I was trying to present myself as a woman, but I was sure they would freak if I went in. Entering the men's room was no more appealing either. As I pondered my choices and urge to go increased, Gina walked over to me. Gina was one of the younger employees there. She was in the marketing department. She was in her late 20's and bleached her hair more than any person I had ever known. She was a moderately attractive, short girl. Very trend oriented. I briefly considered asking her out, but she was too full of pep for my taste. She stood beside me and said, "Tough choice, Jamie." "You heard." "Well, Jamie. It's a little hard not to hear about something like this. Girls gossip, so do guys for that matter, but they like to deny it." I shrugged and went back to pondering which door to open. Gina grabbed my wrist. I looked at her, and she motioned for me to follow her. I walked straight into the Girl's room with my Sherpa in Prada heels. It was better maintained then the men's room. It was cleaner and, off course, there were only stalls. I slipped into the one beside Gina's. I pulled down my skirt and tights and was going to pee standing up and holding my skirt, but I figured that wouldn't look good in case someone came in and saw my shoes facing the toilet. I sat down and went. I heard Gina roll out her toilet paper as I was finishing. I did the same, but I didn't really use it. I opened my stall door when I heard her flush. We washed our hands beside each other. I caught Gina giving me looks every few seconds. As we exited, Gina said, "Me and Rose are heading out to lunch later at Blanches. You're welcome to come with us." I was surprised by the invite. Gina was the first coworker that really had decided to treat me as anything than a sideshow freak to be gawked at. I accepted her offer and went to back to working. Lunch time came and I met up with Gina and Rose. We walked the two blocks over towards Blanches in near silence. We were seated and gave our orders. After we received our drinks, our tongues were loosened. I knew Gina and Rose never let a lunch pass without getting a vodka and cranberry so I ordered one too I never drank during lunch time, but it was the girls custom. Our bosses knew and didn't care because it didn't effect their work. Gina breached the subject of my dressing first. I wasn't surprised by that because she was always more daring that Rose or myself. She asked, "Why did you decide to start dressing like this?" I put my hands over my crossed knees and said, "I just felt like being true to myself." Gina smiled and said, "So you decided this was part of your coming out process?" "Coming out of what?" I asked, not sure of what she meant. I almost certainly really knew what she meant, but I was in denial. "You know, coming out as gay," she answered. I was silent for a moment. It was awkward as I looked for the right answer. When I felt I had it, I replied, "I'm not gay, girls. Well, maybe I should rephrase. I'm not a gay man. I'm a gay woman. I'm a lesbian." Rose and Gina stared at me with dumbfounded expressions. I continued, "I've always been a lesbian trapped in a man's body." I'm sure I saw Rose fighting the urge to laugh. Gina was more understanding. Their reactions were expected. They were straight girls. They had no interest in having a lesbian relationship, and especially not one with a man dressed as a woman. Rose was the kind of girl that only went for the manliest of men. I never fell into that category. Gina's type varied. She liked all types of guys, but she really went for the twisted loner, bad boy type. I fit the loner category, but I was never really a bad boy. I always acted more the part of the good girl even when I was sure I was a boy. I was polite, kind, demure, and non- aggressive. I was the opposite of Gina's type. Knowing that neither ever had an interest in me as a man made me more relaxed around them. The girls poked at me with questions. I answered them as truthfully as I could. They were curious, and I liked the non- romantic attention they were giving me. They offered me complements, and I returned them. I realized that I was as much of a whore for complements as they were. I really found that I was more like them than any guy I had ever known. Our conversations also were deeper. It wasn't just the sports talk and what girl is hot crap that I had engaged in as a man. We went into our feelings, and I enjoyed talking about it. By the time we left to return to work, the two girls had given me their numbers. They told me I should call them if I wanted to hang out. I smiled and said that I'd definitely want to. I got back to work after lunch and went back into isolation. My male coworkers who I would occasionally joke around with wouldn't even acknowledge my presence. It was unstated, but I knew what they thought of me. I was a sissy in their eyes. They were the type that thought that there was nothing worse than being less than a man. It was a thought that occasionally drifted into my mind in my hours of deepest repression and denial. I was no longer a man in any of my coworkers' eyes. I occupied an undefined category that was unacceptable. I knew it, and I had to deal with it. I didn't need their acceptance, I was fine on my own. I left the office at the end of the day and hopped back on the subway home. The sticky heat was no fun again, but at least this time I got a seat without having to be offered one. When I reached my apartment, I was beat. I threw off my heels as quick as I could. My feet felt like they had been walking on nails. They were sore. I walked into my kitchen and started making myself a hamburger in the oven when I realized that I was still dressed en femme. That was a bit disconcerting for me. I had gotten so comfortable in everything besides the heels that I didn't even think to get changed when I came in. I took a break from cooking and undressed in the bathroom. I washed my tights in the sink and then I showered. I put on my man clothes. My t- shirt and my jeans and socks. I never realized how rough my jeans felt until I put them on after a day of wearing nothing but tights on my legs. My physical discomfort in them made me a little uneasy. I then went back into the kitchen to make myself that hamburger. After dinner, I felt the need to prove myself as a man. I might be comfortable in women's clothes. In fact, I was actually more comfortable in woman's clothing, but I was not a girl in my head. I walked back into my bathroom and put on some old spice repeating that phrase from the advertisement in my head and aloud, 'Because I'm a man!' I put on my shoes, grabbed my wallet out of my purse and headed out to prove my masculinity. I was going to score! I was going to be assertive. I was going to be a man! I reached the neighborhood bar and saw some young girls hanging out at the end of the bar. They weren't especially attractive. I'd call them normal dive bar girls. The real easy type. I didn't want a challenge, but I decided to approach the cutest one. After downing two shots of JD, I walked up to her. I smiled, looked into her eyes and said, "Can I buy you a drink?" It was so not like me. The girl smiled and said, "Yes, I'll have a Mojito." I ordered it for her. We struck up a conversation while the bartender was fixing the Mojito and getting me a beer. The girl told me her name was Tina. When she didn't bolt when she got her drink, I knew I had a shot at her. I moved in and started to complement her. I said, "You are one pretty girl." She smiled and thanked me. She was the type of girl that was a whore for complements, which is pretty much all girls. She asked what else I liked about her. I said, "I like your smile." She smiled again. I was in! She then said, "What do you think of my outfit?" "I love it. You look great and those shoes are to die for..." I stopped myself after I realized I slipped into Jamie. She giggled and apparently thought I was joking around. That was a relief. However, I knew I had to be more cautious with what I said. I couldn't let Jamie invade James. I asked her to dance, and she took me up on it. We danced to the stupid 80's rock music that the bar always played. I had this girl. When 11 P.M. came, I had her following me back to my apartment. She hung onto my arm. In my own inebriated state, I thanked alcohol with all my heart for giving me the courage to talk to her and impairing her good judgment enough for her to come home with me. I opened up my apartment door and lead her towards my bedroom. I was in my realm when we hit the sheets. I gave it to this woman with more effort than I had since I was inexperienced at it. She drifted to sleep afterwards. I pushed myself up and smiled smugly to myself. I had proven my masculinity. I was a man! Unfortunately, that was when I realized that I was a very stupid man. She seemed to be staying the night and I had to dress as a woman the next morning. My only hope was that she'd leave before I had to get ready. I started to twitch in the bed. I heard her moving in the sheet before she got up. She asked where the bathroom was. I directed her down the hall. As I heard the door close, I heard a gasp. I rushed and knocked on the door. She opened it up and gave me a furious look. I peered inside and saw my tights hanging from the shower curtain rod. In my inebriated state, I had forgotten that I had left them there to dry. She pushed me away from the door and walked back into my bedroom. She threw open the closet door and saw that half the closet was filled with female clothing. She turned towards me and said, "So, you decided to cheat on your wife with me, you little shit?" "No." "Then your girlfriend?" "Um, no," I countered again. "Then whose stuff is this?" I decided to take my lumps. I couldn't have this girl think that she was going to be the one to break up a relationship so I said, "It's mine." Her eyes enlarged and she looked back at the clothing. It was all business attire. She looked at the male and female shoes on the floor and noticed the similar size they appeared to be. She looked at the waist on the skirt suits and then back at me. She repeated this motion about five times before she stepped away from the closet. She did not say a word. She put her clothes back on and looked at me and said, "I'm going to go." "You don't have to," I replied. She laughed in an almost sad way, before she said, "You're a nice guy. Better than most I meet, but this isn't really my thing," as she motioned her head towards my closet. I sucked my lips into my mouth and nodded. I understood completely. I saw her out, knowing that I would never be with her again. I locked up and went back to my bed to try to get some sleep. The thought that I could not sleep with a woman until I stopped dressing like one stayed with me though. I even dreamed of being exposed as a cross dresser to strangers. I dreamt that I was dressed as a ballerina in pink tights and tutu and breast forms, but I wasn't in makeup and my head was shaved. I was clearly a man dressed like ballerina and was out in public for ridicule. When the alarm clock mercifully woke me up, I didn't have time to ponder on it as I went through what was going to be my normal routine of feminizing myself in the morning. My next day at work was like the first. It was a little different because the novelty of my appearance had begun to fade. I wasn't getting the looks, but I was still marginalized. No one talked to me unless they had to, except for Gina and Rose. That's how it went for the rest of the week. The two girls became my first real work friends. As Saturday morning came, I decided to finally call Gina. She was excited to hear from me. She invited me to go out with her and Rose that afternoon. I was happy to get the invitation. It wasn't until I hung up that I remember I didn't have any non-office clothes. I needed to get casual women's clothing for our day out. I hurriedly showered and got myself ready to go out as Jamie. I dressed in one of my skirt suits and heels and headed for the closest clothing store near my home. I walked in and headed for the sale's rack. I wasn't going to spend a lot mind you. Although I was now going to be dressing away from work, I was still certain that it was only going to be a part- time thing. I stayed away from pants because of my fear of being exposed by getting excited. I picked out an informal dress. It was a plain gray, cotton dress that I thought would go well with my black tights. I tried it on in the dressing room and was comfortable with how it hugged my body at the waist, but didn't once it reached my crotch. I thought it would convey that I was relaxed, but not one of those lazy looking girls. I then headed into the shoe department and selected a pair of black ballet flats. They were sensible, and I wasn't going to be spending my spare time walking around in heels. I had enough of that hell at work. After I paid for my stuff, I headed back to my apartment to change. I dressed in my gray dress and put on my flats. I fixed my makeup and hair and watched TV to kill time before I was to meet up with Rose and Gina. When I finally went to meet up with them, I saw them standing in front of a coffee shop waiting for me. I apologized and hoped that I was not holding them up. They wouldn't hear it. They were both uncharacteristically early because they were eager to see me outside of work. I was not sure how to take that. I didn't know if they expected me to show as James or that I was confirming that I was a transsexual or a cross-dresser or whatever they thought I was. They never really told me. They just seemed happy I showed. We headed into the coffee shop and each got a cup. We sat at a table and started to chat. Gina said to me, "I love your dress." I thanked her and complemented her shoes. Rose added her voice to the parade of mutual complements. We had our fun too. We took turns making snarky comments about our bosses and our female coworkers. Gina had a good point about Deanna. She was a little hard looking, and her clothing was too asexual. I began to feel a little superior to her. I was more of a girl than that girl. We continued on our conversations for a while. Then Gina looked at her pink watch and said, "We've got to go." "Where to?" I said. "We're getting our nails done." "Oh, have a good time," I said. Gina shook her head and said, "When you said you were going out with us today, I called up and got you in too. So let's go, girl." I should have come up with an excuse not to go, but I didn't. I felt too much like Jamie, I guess. I followed the girls down to the salon that was only two blocks over. Gina gave our names to the receptionist. We didn't have to wait long before we were called over and set up at three seats. The beautician walked over and said to us, "Are you ready for manicures?" I went along with Gina and Rose in nodding and saying yes. It was an odd experience to have my files filed. I never thought of doing it before. It felt a little rough. I cringed a bit, and that made the beautician smile and say, "This is the price of being beautiful." I smiled uncomfortably while Gina and Rose gave a little laugh at my predicament. The beautician recommend acrylic nails for me. I had no idea what that meant so I told her just do what she thought was best. The woman smiled and before I knew it, she was placing artificial nail tips on my fingers. They protruded from the end of my fingertips. I was enamored with them and thought they looked good on me. They helped make my hands look girly. They were glued and cut back a little bit so they didn't protrude so far of my fingertips after I told the beautician that I typed a lot at work. She understood my concerns. As she filed my tips, I talked to Gina and Rose. The girls decided to ask me about what I thought about my male coworkers. I didn't know what they meant at first. They prodded me for what I knew about Eric. Eric was another employee that worked in the finance department. He was a cool enough guy when I was a guy. I hadn't spoken to him since I started dressing because he was like all the other guys who knew who I really was. I told them all about it. I realized that Gina was hanging on my every word. I realized that she liked him. I started to tease her a bit. "You like them tall, dark, and handsome?" She smiled and put her head down. Rose smirked at Gina's response. Our conversation was interrupted by a pungent smell. The beautician told me it was liquid acrylic. I tried to get my mind off it as the beautician got back to work on my nails. When they were sufficiently in place, the beautician asked, "How would you like them painted?" I looked over to Gina and Rose for advice. They concurred that I should go with a French manicure look so I agreed. When the beautician finished, I got up and met the girls in the front of the shop. We each paid for our treatments at the cash register. Mine was the stiffest price. I shrugged at it and paid. I knew it wasn't cheap being a woman. After we finished up paying at the salon, we headed to a restaurant for dinner. The time passed quickly as we talked about our pasts and how we were living now. After we split the bill, I kissed the girls goodbye on the cheek and started down the block towards the subway. It took me two blocks before my male sensibilities reentered my brain as I glanced down at my nails. They were so pretty looking, Jamie thought, but James saw them for what they were. I screwed myself royally. I couldn't go out as a man with nails like that. For as long as they were on my fingertips, I was going to have to be Jamie whenever I went out in public. I had been so wrapped up in proving myself to be a man on Monday and, now, I wasn't able to go outside as a man. I thought about getting the nails removed, but I didn't want to give myself away as not really going through with the whole sex-change thing if Gina and Rose talked to me about why the nails were gone when we were at work. I Googled how long the nails stayed good for and saw that they had a two-week shelf life. For two weeks, I knew that I couldn't look like a man anywhere outside my apartment. I went shopping that evening for new outfits. I bought two more dresses, and one skirt and t-shirt. I picked out two more pairs of shoes. Another pair of flats and a pair of two inch heeled wedges. I was set for going out as a woman for the next two weeks. I spent the week running my errands as a woman. I would go grocery shopping on my way home from work. The heels still sucked, but I got more used to them. Well, as used to them as you can when you feel like a nail is being driven into foot every time you take a step. Otherwise, it wasn't that bad. I even want out to the movies with Gina and Rose one Friday night and caught up with them for lunch the following Sunday. I really grew quite comfortable and confident out in public. No one could tell I was a man as far as I knew. Those two weeks were rougher at home. I would dress as a man, and it would also look so bizarre because of the nails. The nails were constant reminder of Jamie. I couldn't escape her. If I dressed in the most macho outfit I owned, the nails would be a glaring giveaway that I wasn't macho. It got so bad that after my fourth night at home after I got the nails, I started to wear my female clothes. I was Jamie from the moment I woke to the moment I went to bed, except for my showers when my male form was inescapable. I remember taking quick showers around that time. I almost didn't want to confront what I was beneath my beautiful clothes. I really believed that I was a woman, but the lean body with all the wrong bulges belied my beliefs. The sadness that my body filled me with made going on as Jamie difficult. When I finally removed my acrylics, I started to apply for other jobs. I applied as James. I knew I couldn't go on forever as Jamie at my job. Eventually, they'd ask about my transitioning or when my sex-change was scheduled, and I'd be caught because I had no intention of going through with it. After a few weeks of sending out resumes, despite the recession I got the call. I headed down dressed in my nicest suit. My hair was neatly combed and pulled back. The HR girl and I discussed my job history, what I was doing at my job, and my goals. We hit it off. I complemented her in a feminine manner without thinking of how I'd appear, but she reciprocated. She more than mildly hinted that she thought I was gay and that the place was gay friendly. I would have taken offense to that before I explored the feminine side of myself, but it no longer bothered me. I had feminine qualities. They were ingrained in me now. I still liked girls, but I found myself wanting to be more like them. The HR rep told me the job was mine if I wanted it. It started in three weeks. I took it without thinking twice about it. I put in my two weeks notice and spent my last weeks in my old office in heels, skirts and hosiery. I was happy in a sense that the downsizing hadn't happened yet, because now my departure would save someone else's job. When my last day came, Mr. Jenkins said goodbye to me in a professional manner that suited his position, but I knew he was glad to see the boy- girl go. I couldn't help but give the homophobe a peck on the check as I said goodbye to him. I read the discomfort in his eyes with pleasure. Most of my coworkers didn't say goodbye to me. Even in departure I was an outcast because of my departure from what the majority believe is acceptable male behavior. I understood it. Society demands that men conform to the idea of men as the rugged individualist. I didn't fit that hole. Hell, in black heels and grey tights, I was as far from the rugged masculine type as a man could get. As the workday ended, only a handful of coworkers had said goodbye to me before I left with Rose and Gina to have a celebratory, goodbye drink. When we reached the bar, we joked about our coworkers one last time. A guy came over and bought Rose a drink. She kind of went off on her own for a bit while me and Gina where left to sit and poke fun of Rose's suitor from out of his ear shot. Rose eventually gave the guy the brush off and joined our mocking. With a hesitation, I kissed them goodbye on their cheeks as we left the bar. I felt I was losing them. I kept thinking that this was Jamie's last hurrah. I would only be James going forward. Granted, a more effeminate version. I took the subway train home from work in heels for the last time. I was going to miss the feeling that my clothes gave me. The desirability I felt dressed as a woman would be gone. The feeling that I was right for the first time in my life was going away too. I had thrown it all away. I was going back to being James the man. That was what I was born as. That was who society expected me to be. The only part of me that was supposed to get beneath a skirt was my hand. I was going back to being that rugged, more masculine and decidedly unbeautiful creature. The following Monday, I was back to work in men's suits, socks, shirts, and ties. With the exception of my shoes, nothing felt better about what I was wearing. I tried to get my mind off it. I wore nothing but male clothes for days. I packed away all my female clothes and put them in a bin by the door. All I had to do was bring them to good will. I didn't need them, I figured. I was a man at work and at home. Within days of putting the clothes by the door, I was unpacking them again. I didn't last a week without putting on a dress. I needed it. I needed to feel right. I only felt like myself when I was dressed like a woman. When I was dressed like a man, I felt wrong. I felt disgusting. I felt inadequate. When I dressed like a woman. I felt comfortable, confident and beautiful. After the first night wearing a dress, it was a daily thing. Every moment I wasn't at or going to and from work, I was Jamie. James was the working man, but I had a date with myself at night. Two weeks after I started my new job, I called Gina. We decided to meet up for a girl's day at a coffee shop. I dressed up as Jamie in a black blouse, beige skirt, and black and beige wedges. I checked myself in the mirror before I left, and I felt right. We met up, chatted, and eventually were joined by Rose. It was the type of girl to girl talking I missed since I left my old job. In my new job, I still gravitated towards the girls. They mostly thought I was gay. I did nothing to discourage their conclusion. Particularly since I didn't think I could date any of them given Jamie. That's not the kind of thing you want going around the office if she takes the disclosure badly. Truth be told, I haven't really tried to get with any girl. It's the fear of their rejection of Jamie and my natural cowardice that I suppose keeps me away. I can't give up my female side. It's mostly what I am. I am James, but I'm also Jamie. I honestly prefer to be like a girl than like a guy. But that's all I am. I am a genetic male that's like a girl. I'm not masculine at all. I'm not a man. My body is all that makes me like a man. I'm not a woman, though I think more like one than I ever did like a man. I linger somewhere in between in a place that society scorns. Society wants absolutes. You're a man or you're a girl. I bare the traits of both. One physically, one mentally. To most, this is unacceptable, but it is what I am. It may not be easy, but I'm happier to be a happy, girly guy than being the miserable, pseudo man I was before I accepted myself.