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Cheeks By ABC de F Chapter One His immediate concern was transportation. How could he get a job, even a "no experience required" job, without transportation? Since his unemployment checks had run out his folks had been sending money for food and rent, but he knew that was a serious strain on their modest income. At 23 it looked like he'd be moving back home. Not that Michigan had a much better job market than Nevada. The economy was improving, but it had a long way to go. When he'd originally moved, the image of the Silver State had reeked of excitement and opportunity, but it had turned out to be just like everywhere else. Employers preferred college degrees, and entry-level positions didn't pay all that much. He had entered one of the casino dealer's schools and graduated, but he should have saved the money because there weren't any openings for newbies. As everyone knew ? and constantly talked about ? the housing market had tanked a couples years ago and Nevada was one of the places hit the hardest. A year ago he was laid off. Everyone was hanging on to the cash they had, not spending money, and not hiring. He hadn't changed, but the world around him had. Now his car had been repo-ed. He'd even had to take a bus to the temp agency. That had been a joke. The TV ads indicated they had a lot of jobs that needed to be filled, from no skills to highly skilled, but all they were really after was a lot of data about the available workforce. No doubt if they did line up some jobs they'd be able to fill them with the perfect candidates, but as to immediate openings they had zip. Andy had waited with over a thousand others, only to have his application taken and told if anything appropriate to his skills became available they'd call. Well, his skills consisted of nothing but his certificate from the dealer's school, and there was already a huge surplus of blackjack dealers. He regarded moving back home as the ultimate defeat. He'd gone out on his own and now would have to go back and let his parents support him. He couldn't imagine living at home again. A loser. His father called a month later and asked how he was doing, which meant did he have a job yet. There was no pressure, but the call had depressed him. No job, no prospects. Dad, can you send plane fare; I'm going to have to move back home. He hadn't said it but he should have. Why ask them to finance his food and rent for another month? No job, no prospects. Chapter Two "Mr. Burton?" "Yes." Another collection call. "This is Miss Tobbet with Western Square Employment Agency. You filled out an application with us two months ago. The new temp agency on Nellis? Are you still available?" He was so surprised he didn't answer. "Mr. Burton? "Yes, I, uh. Yes, I'm sorry. I got distracted. You have a job for me?" "We think so," the woman said. "You meet the qualifications. Would you be willing to re-locate?" "To where?" "Paducah." "Kentucky?" "It's the only Paducah I've ever heard of," she said, a smile in her voice. "They need someone quickly. The pay is twenty per cent over your last reported salary and they cover travel expenses, and they'll deduct our fee each week, as was outlined in your application. There's the standard six month probationary period, but the job is full time and permanent." "What is the job?" he asked. It didn't matter. If it was standing in the rain eight hours a day he would have lunged at it. "The job description is 'warehouseman'. I'm afraid I don't have any more information than that." "Warehouseman sounds fine with me," he said, trying to restrain the absolute joy he felt. "Good. Can you come by tomorrow and fill out the paperwork?" "Sure. Of course. What time?" "Anytime tomorrow," she said. "The forms will be at the front desk. It's the same office where we took your application." "Without the crowds," he said. "That was quite a scene, wasn't it? It was like that all week," said. "So you'll be by tomorrow? Once you sign the forms, you'll be issued a check to cover your preliminary moving expenses." "That's fast," he said, thinking it couldn't be fast enough. "Yes," she said. "As I understand it, they opened their new facility and were going to transfer people, but at the last minute decided to keep the old warehouse open, too." "And you're hiring for a company in Kentucky?" "We have branches all over, but the company you'll be working for actually has its management offices here in Las Vegas, so they came to us." "Well, great," Andy said. "And thank you. Thank you very much." "Our pleasure. Good luck." A job. A freaking job. I've got a freaking job! Andy suddenly felt happy, almost delerious, for the first time in a long time. He laughed out loud. Chapter Three He deposited the small expense check. When he got back to his modest apartment his message light was blinking. Miss Tobbet asked him to call her. "I'm so sorry to have to tell you this, Mr. Burton, but there's been a bit of a mix up, and it seems the warehouse job has already been filled. I'm terribly sorry." Andy felt as if the air had been sucked from his body. His knees buckled and he groped for the couch. "Wh-what happened?" "A miscommunications. I feel so bad," she said. "I'm going to have to ask you to return the airplane ticket, and the expenses advance. This is the worst phone call I think I've ever had to make. I know you really needed this, and I can't tell you how sorry I am." "Me, too," Andy said. "Listen, it's not your fault. I'll bring the ticket and a check to the office tomorrow afternoon. I already deposited the check, and I'll have to write you one from my account. You'll probably have to wait for my check to clear." "I'm sure it won't be a problem," she said. "I'm very sorry." Andy had already called his parents to celebrate his good fortune. Now he'd have to call them back. Miss Tobbet said it was he worst phone call she'd ever had to make. Now he'd have to make the worst phone call he'd ever had to make. *** *** He sank further into depression over the next few days, spending most of his time in bed, or in front of the television. He didn't shave and barely ate. He sat on the couch, staring at nothing, and suddenly realized an hour had gone by and he had no recollection of anything that had happened during that time. It didn't matter. Nothing did. On the fourth day the phone rang. "Mr. Burton?" "Yes." "This is Miss Tobbet at Western Square." "Oh." "I do hope you're sitting down, Mr. Burton," she said. "You have the job." "What? What job?" "The one we talked about," she said. "I told my boss what a terrible thing we'd done to you and she made some calls and made the whole thing right again." "Warehouseman?" he said. "Yes, Mr. Burton," she said. "Just imagine our last conversation never took place. My boss is very forceful, and said the mix up looked very bad for Western. She got with the employer and, well, it was all good news after that." "That's wonderful," Andy said, as if coming out of a trance. "Wonderful." He knew he sounded giddy, but didn't care. "It is, isn't it? Well, we've recut your check and have your ticket, and this time we're sending a messenger to deliver it. Will you be home this afternoon?" "Will I be home?" he laughed. "You bet I'll be home." *** *** "This is a screw up of intergalactic proportions." Avery Nilstadt, Personnel Director for Kentucky Operations and the man in the suit behind the desk, stared at Andy as if he expected an answer. Andy nervously smiled. "Intergalactic," Nilstadt said. "I'm sorry we wasted your time. You'll be compensated, of course. I don't know how this could have happened, but you can bet I'm going to find out." "This happened with the employment agency back in Las Vegas," Andy protested. "But they straightened it all out. All you have to do is call them." "I did," the man said. "As soon as the receptionist told me you were here." "But what about the job?" Andy said. He had to fight to keep a begging tone out of his voice. "There is no job," Nilstadt said. "We filled all the warehouse positions locally. Why would we have to fly someone in from Las Vegas? It's a screw up." "I need that job," Andy said, his desperation obvious. "I know," the man said sympathetically. He clasped his hands in front of him, "But there isn't one. I'm sorry. Really, I am. And I'll make damn sure they cut you a check to get you back to Las Vegas, and compensate you for your time." The man sounded like a replay of Miss Tobbet. "There's got to be something," Andy said. "I came all this way... I need a job." "I know, and I apologize," Nilstadt said. "It's our fault." "There's nothing? I'll take anything. Minimum wage. Anything." "Not a thing," the man said. "This is just a small division to begin with, and the new warehouse isn't big. There isn't ..." He hesitated. "What?" The man looked at him. "Well... No. Never mind. Look, let's go see about getting you some return plane fare." "What were you doing to say?" Andy asked, uncaring that desperation had leaked into his voice. The man looked at him so directly that Andy felt intimidated. "Well..." "What?" Andy almost begged. "You're thinking of something. What is it?" The man sighed. Andy waited, feeling as if he was going to burst. "Are you straight?" the man asked. Andy was taken aback. "I don't think you're supposed to ask that." "No, you're right. I'm sorry. Forget it. You just seemed like you really... Just erase it. Never said it. Let's go get you that plane fare." "Wait! Tell about the job. You were thinking of a job." The man hesitated, looked around the office. He looked at Andy and lowered his voice. "Are you straight?" Andy frowned. "Yes," he said. "Really?" the man asked. "Of course!" Andy said. "Ever wear girl's clothes?" "No. God, what a question. " The conversation was whacky and frustrating. The man leaned forward and lowered his voice even further. "There is a job." Andy nodded eagerly. "But it's about the weirdest job you'll ever hear about. Intergalactic weird." Andy waited. "The owner of the company gets these ... notions. The latest is about how men and women are really interchangeable. No, that's not it exactly. I don't understand it, but he's started another little company, only a few employees so far, and his ... notion ... is to have guys dress up in women's clothing." "I don't understand," Andy said. "Like I do? But he's the boss, right? It's all very secret, but it was mentioned to me, as head of personnel, that if I found someone qualified I should send him over." "And I'm qualified? Just how am I qualified for that?" "Age, height, weight, cheeks mostly. At least that's what they tell me. They've got some huge database they use. You'd still..." "Hold it," Andy interrupted. "Age, height, weight and ? cheeks? What do you mean, cheeks?" "You've coming to the wrong guy for details," Nilstadt said. "Don't models have high cheek bones? They get hired for that, right? Or maybe it's rosy cheeks, though yours aren't particularly rosy as far as I can see. But those are wild guesses on my part. The whole thing is a mystery, a mystery of intergalactic proportions. I know more than anyone here, and I don't know anything." "High cheekbones," Andy said. "That's too weird." "Well, worry about it later. You don't even have the job yet. You'll have to go through an interview with the big guy, but I could say I found someone and that would be good for me. I just didn't want to mention it because, well..." "I don't know what to say," Andy said. The man snorted. "Yeah, you and me both. Whatta ya think?" "I'll take it," Andy said quickly. "I'd have to dress in...what? Like a dress? And do what? In the warehouse?" "In an office. Clerking, I imagine. That part's a little vague. The new company doesn't actually do anything yet; not that I know of. It's just starting up." "This isn't one of those weird sex things, is it?" The man threw his hands in the air. "Good god, no! Damn, man, what put that notion in your mind? Geez!" "I don't understand it," Andy said. "Good, then that makes two of us. I shouldn't have mentioned it." "Hey, give me a second," Andy said, unmindful that he was telling a personnel director what to do. "You don't need a second," the man said. "It's too odd, I know. Forget I mentioned it." "Yeah it's odd," Andy said. "You're saying I'd still have to go through another interview?" "That's what they tell me." Maybe it was another mix-up, Andy thought. The last week had been a series of them. But it was a job. Maybe. He should at least go to the trouble of finding out exactly what the job was and not depend on Nilstadt's vague and probably inaccurate impression. "Can you make me an appointment?" "You sure?" asked the man. "Yes." The man hesitated. He looked at Andy. "Okay" he said as if he'd given up. He reached for the 'phone. Andy waited for the company car outside of the office, thinking about all the things that had been said at the Western Square agency and here in Paducah at the personnel director's office. It didn't take him long to get the feeling that he'd just been conned. Chapter Four He looked like the handsome grandson of the banker on Monopoly cards, compete with roundish face and cigar. A. Dobermann Pick, III was in his early forties, tall, trim and fit. Andy had been told by the chauffeur to ring the doorbell after they pulled up to the gated mansion. The bell brought a butler, and the butler went away and a skinny guy in a suit showed up and said Mr. Pick was expecting Andy and to follow him. He didn't bother to introduce himself. Andy was ushered into the most sumptuous, high tech den he had ever seen. Pick was waiting for him. Instead of introducing himself the man looked Andy up and down and said, "Uh-huh." Andy, in turn, looked at the man. Pick was neat, casually dressed in jeans and a golf shirt, and wore socks but no shoes. "Want a job?" the man said. "Yes, sir," Andy said. "Turn around," Pick said. Andy frowned but turned around. "Keep turning. Face me," Pick said. Andy did, expecting an explanation but Pick said, "What we have here is a low starting salary, but that only lasts as long as your employee agency contract lasts. Screw the bastards and their percentage. Parasites on the down and out, like yourself. When they're out of the picture we give you a big raise. Mucho moolah. Folding money. Along the way, if you last, will be more raises. Nice chunk of change. Cash in your pocket. Like that?" "Sounds good," Andy said. "What exactly is the job?" "Ah, yes," Pick said. "What something to drink? No alcohol touches these lips, but I've got everything else you can think of." "Blueberry juice would be nice," Andy said, naming something he figured the man wouldn't have. "Yes! Anti-oxidants," Pick said. "Good choice. Don't have it. Cranberry?" "Coke," Andy said. "Yuck," the man said. He walked over to a chrome and leather side table and reached underneath, pressing a button. He turned and looked at Andy until there was a knock on the door. "Enter!" Pick called. A butler, different from the doorman, came in. "A Coke for Mr. Burton, and a blueberry juice for me," Pick said. "Blueberry juice, sir?" the butler questioned. Pick turned to Andy and said, "Pretty funny, huh?" He turned back to the butler and said, "A Coke for me, too." "Yes, sir," the butler said, and left. "I'm very humorous when you get to know me," Pick told Andy. "I can see that," Andy said. "Brown-noser," Pick said. "Well, I guess Intergalactic told you what this was about?" "Intergalactic?" "That's what I call him," Pick said. "Can never remember his name. He says that all the time: Intergalactic." "Mr. Nilstadt," Andy supplied. "Is that what it is? He's a brown-noser, too. But he did find you, so one point for him. Bonus for him if you work out. For you, too. Did he tell you what this is all about?" "Not really," Andy said. "He doesn't know, that's why. Did he tell you I was nuts?" "No." "Sure?" "I'm sure," Andy said. "I've got his office bugged. I'll find out if you're lying to me. Don't like liars," Pick said. "He said you had very creative notions," Andy said. "I don't have his office bugged. Bluffed you, ya little squirt," Pick said. "I do have very creative notions. I'm perhaps eccentric. I like to think I'm a visionary. Outside the box and all that. You know how I made my fortune?" "No, sir." "Father died," Pick said. "Happens to everyone. Can't be helped. Of course I've increased it many, many times over. Many. Lotsa manys. Thinking outside the box." There was a tap on the door. "Enter!" Pick shouted. The butler brought in two glasses of Coke on a silver tray, placing the tray on the glass coffee table. "We'll take it from here ... uh ...." "Yes, sir," the butler said. "Not good with names," Pick said when the man left. "Sit down, Bill." "Andy," Andy said. Pick smiled. "Said I was humorous, didn't I?" Andy sat down and the man took a large chair on the other side of the coffee table. He picked up his drink and pushed the tray over to Andy. "Very secret project, so you can't tell anyone," Pick said. Andy nodded. "I own Western Square Employment Agency," Pick said. "They find people for me and they found you." "There was a problem at first ..." Andy started. Pick held up a hand. "Not a problem; a test. See how much you wanted a job. Others failed. Not desperate. Hard to believe, but people these days... Well. You passed. Very needy. Desperate. Good for you." He held up his drink in a toasting motion. "It caused me a lot of anxiety," Andy said. "Ooooh, poor you," Pick said, making a face to show he thought Andy was being a baby. "Anyway, water under the bridge." "Wait a minute," Andy said. "You said I started with a low salary in order to screw Western Square. If you own it, what difference does it make?" "Sharp as a tack," Pick said. "Taxes. They're a write off. Created a big ass database. Gave me lots of qualified candidates. Too complex to go into. Why else would I live in this god forsaken state? Tax accountants rule the world, Andy. But that's another story. Drink up!" Andy took a drink of Coke. "So here's the idea," Pick said, leaning forward. "Women are better workers than men, no question, because they follow orders better, bred into them, and better order followers do things the way they're told, which is what a successful company needs because that's more productive and higher productivity means more profits. Am I going too fast for you?" Andy shook his head, but truthfully the man had already lost him in his series of debatable assumptions. "Good. But women are lousy employees because they stop working and have babies and want to raise kids and all that. And they're lazy. All they want to do is get married and quit work. Now I know that raising a family is hard work, and a woman's work is never done, and they keep a family together, and a family that prays together stays together and zipadee do-dah. But that kind of work doesn't do me any good. Understand?" "Yes," Andy said. Pick looked skeptical, but he was on a roll. "So what does a smart businessman do? I mean a very smart businessman? Verging on genius. A businessman not verging on genius realizes that there are two ways of looking at this, and neither one means a thing to him. Dumb as stumps, most of them," Pick said. "The first way is, of course, to take all your male workers and give them the characteristics of a female that make chicks so productive. Best of both worlds, see? But there's also the thought that you take all your female employees and give them all the best characteristics of a male and that's also the best of both worlds. And both ideas are stupid as hell to a smart businessman. Won't work at all. That's where I come in." The man stopped long enough to take a sip of Coke. "A problem with no solution for a lesser man, even if I do say so myself," Pick said. "But I just gave you the solution. Listen carefully and you'll see the genius in this. Go with Solution One. But Mr. Pick, you say, how can you implement that? It's impossible. But contemplate Solution Two: Giving a woman some of a man's characteristic is plain dumb because she'll still have a woman's body and she'll want to have babies. Good for her! No good for me. "Now Solution One is impossible, too, because how can you take your male workers and give them female characteristics? Here comes the genius part. The answer is Nike." "Nike?" Andy said, surprised that sneakers entered into the plan. "'Just Do It'. Swoosh," Pick said. "Well, do you want the job?" "What job?" Andy said, exasperation in his voice. "Slow on the up take, squirt" Pick said. "Well, that may be too harsh. Revolutionary concepts take a minute to grasp. Here's the score ... uh ... Bill?" "Andy," Andy said. "Got it! Okay Andy, listen close. We set up an experimental office, see. We staff it with guys willing to adopt the best characteristics of a woman. Bingo! You'll end up as a new model of employee, the best a company could hire. Western Square will go through the roof. Everybody rushing to hire our workers! Productivity out the ying-yang!" "But...But how does that get done? In practical, real life ways." "Dresses, lipstick, all that foo-fah," Pick said. "That's it? That's supposed to give a man the best characteristics of a female employee? I'm sorry, but I don't see it," Andy said. "I really want the job, but ..." "Don't expect you to see it," Pick said. "You're only an employee. Would-be employee. Anyway, there's a lot more to it. A hell of a lot. Hired a bunch of behavioral psychologists to figure out the training and all that. Had beards. Every last one of them." He shook his head in wonderment. "New employee handbook a foot thick. I haven't read a word, of course. I just paid for it. Got two employees now. Started a few days ago. You game? You'll be on the cutting edge. Busting through the envelope. Creating tomorrow's new employees. Well?" "I don't know what to say," Andy said. "I'd like to know more, and I'd like to know the exact salary." "Can't give you much for the first six months. I told you why," Pick said. "How much do you want?" "I don't know," Andy said. "I've got to move all my stuff here from Las Vegas..." Pick held up a hand. "I own a moving company. Truck line. Taken care of. I saw your application and the minimum salary you'd take. How about that?" "For something like this ..." "Greedy bastard," Pick said. "I'll give you an equal amount each week under the table. Don't tell Western Square. Our little secret." "But you own ..." "Taxes!" Pick interrupted. "What do you say?" "I'd like to talk to the two people you've already hired, and take a look at that employee handbook. You have to admit this job is a little unusual." "A little? A lot. A lot. Genius is always a lot unusual. You don't know that. Employee brain. I'm letting you in on the secrets of getting rich. Fat lot of good it will do you. And you're welcome to talk to the two I've already got. Guys in dresses, you see. Not fags, just..." He froze. "Homeo-sexuals... Best of both worlds....would that work?" He rubbed his chin and looked toward the ceiling. "Nah. Anyway, talk away. Read away. You've got until ten tonight. Have to move fast on this one. Plenty more like you in the database." "Well," Andy said. "I guess I'd better get started. Anything else I should know?" "Probably," Pick said. "But how would I know? I'm not you, am I? No, I'm not, and thank Zeus for that." The man stood up. "The chauffeur will take you to the new building. Out in the back forty. The back forty. Witty, not funny ha-ha, you see." Chapter Five Andy still didn't have a clear idea of what the job would be. He never thought he'd be hesitating if he was offered a job, but this was too weird to jump into without knowing more. The money was okay, and obviously more than he had been willing to accept for something normal, but was it enough to cover the strangeness? Pick was the oddest person he'd ever met, but apparently removed from the day-to-day operation of his own experiment on workplace efficiency. He'd never read his own employee handbook, having told people his "notion", as Avery Nilstadt described it, and delegated them to get the job done. The entire thing seemed unstable, but he didn't think it would be short lived. People higher than Andy were making money off of Pick and they would figure out a way to keep their paychecks coming. But did he really want to become a part of something so off the wall? He was desperate for a job, so maybe he could make this thing work. Maybe between talking to the other employees and looking at the handbook he'd get a clearer idea of what was expected of him. Chapter Six "I don't really know what the job is," the guy said. He was one of the two new employees, and the guy next to him, the other employee, nodded in agreement. They were both wearing dresses, flimsy sandals, and had on make-up and wigs. "Sorry, I can't tell you much." The guy added. They had introduced themselves as "Glenn, but call me Lexi" and "Ryan, call me Melissa." "Mr. Pick said it was something about guys being girls," Andy said, "and that would make them more productive workers. But he was pretty vague." "Yeah, that's what he told us," the guy said. "So what do you do?"? "We're in training," the guy said. "I'm not sure what we'll be doing. I used to be a clerk in a convenience store before I got laid off." "Before that?" "High school," the guy said. "You?" he asked the other guy. "After high school I went to live with my Dad in Georgia but there were no jobs there, so I went back to my Mom's in Maine. I sold Christmas trees last winter." "You didn't ask what you'd be doing?" "I don't care," Glenn call me Lexi said. "It's a job, you know?" "What's the training like?" Andy asked. "Just weird stuff," Glenn said. "How to put on make-up and how to walk and like that. It's weird, but it's real easy." "Yeah," Ryan call me Melissa said. "What does the handbook say?" Andy asked. "Are you kidding," Glenn-Lexi said. "That thing weighs a ton." "You haven't read it?" Andy asked. "I sort of looked at it," Ryan-Melissa said. "But it's hard to follow. All you really have to know is you're getting a good paycheck and you've got a sweet employment contract and it's the easiest money you'll ever get. It's worth it. It's definitely weird, but it's definitely worth it. You got anything else lined up?" "No," Andy admitted. "Can I see the handbook?" "On the shelf," Ryan-Melissa said, pointing to a standard metal office bookcase. There was a single, very thick book on each of two shelves and the rest of the space was bare. It was called: The Path to Opportunity ? New Employees' Handbook. Chapter Seven Ryan call me Melissa had been right. The handbook was written in the dense style of one professional to another. It probably made sense to another behavioral psychologist but it was so full of jargon it was impenetrable to Andy. "What about the employment contract?" Andy asked. "Pretty sweet," Glenn call me Lexi said proudly. "Can I see it?" he asked. "They take it after you sign it," Glenn-Lexi said. "You didn't get a copy?" "What would we do with it, give it to my lawyer?" They both laughed. "But it's signed by Mr. Pick and notarized by his butler so it's a legal and binding deal," Ryan-Melissa said. Andy asked to be shown around and tried to get more out of them, without success. At 9:20 the chauffeur came in and told Andy it was time to leave. Pick was waiting for him. "Well?"? "I still don't understand what the job is," Andy said. "The girls weren't much help, were they?" It took Andy a moment to realize he was talking about the two at the office/dorm building. "Honestly, no," Andy said. "May have made a mistake there," Pick said. "It happens at the beginning. You work through it. Not bright girls. Asked for someone a little smarter this time." Andy nodded. "And the handbook..." "Haven't read it," Pick said. "Told you that. Coke?" "No, thank you. I still haven't heard what the job is." "Sit down," Pick said. Andy and Pick took their former seats. "Listen up. Guy becomes a girl. Still a guy in some respects, but all girl, you see. 100% girl; 100% guy. Dresses like a girl, acts like a girl, gets girl characteristics, girl personality. Takes some training. I grok that. Got a trainer. The guys with the beards set up the whole thing. Was what's his name there?" "I don't know who you mean," Andy said. "There were just the two guys, calling themselves Melissa and Lexi." "They must be the employees," Pick said. "Two young guys in dresses?" Andy nodded. "Right. You're next. Game?" "Is that all there is to it? I have to wear a dress?" "Noooo," Pick said. "I told you. Become a girl. 24/7. What's his name is in charge of personnel training. Takes a long time, they say. But worth it." "And after the training?" "You're a girl," Pick said. "A guy, too, I guess. That's the idea. Best of both." "And then what do I do?" "Go to work! You think this is all wear a dress and take the money? You're losing sight of the goal, boy. The perfect employee. You go to work for me." "Doing...?" "You have experience?" "At what?" "Anything! I may have made a mistake with you. I told them I wanted someone smarter than the first two, but you're slow on the uptake. I observed that before." "So after training I go to work in one of your companies?" "Uh-huhhhhhhh." "In a job to be determined later?" "I like that," Pick said. "Damned good. Not pushy but pushy. Very good. And right on the money. In a job that I will determine later." "And there's an employment contract?" "Knew you'd get around to that," Pick said. "Don't like 'em but the beards said that I couldn't expect anyone to commit to such a revolutionary idea without guaranteed employment. Makes sense, I suppose. Here's the contract." He reached into a drawer in the small table next to his chair and withdrew a stack of papers. Andy took the sheaf and started reading. By the second page his focus drifted. The contract was as dense as the employee handbook. He started skimming, looking for figures, and determined that he appeared to be locking himself into a two-year job. The job description was unspecified other than "the needs of the employer," but all the salary numbers were there and they were far and away the best income he'd ever had. The first six months weren't much, but Pick had promised to double that with cash under the table and off the books, so even that was pretty sweet. "Look okay?" Pick asked. "I'd like to have someone else look at his," Andy said. "I'm not a lawyer." "In a hurry," Pick said. "You can't afford to pay a lawyer. You're destitute. Yes or no? An easy choice. Money or no money. Yes or no?"? Andy hesitated, but when he did a quick mental accounting of his current financial situation and prospects he figured he didn't have anything to lose. "Got a pen?" he asked. "Got everything," Pick said. "I'm rich." He pressed the call buzzer and a minute later the butler knocked. "Got to witness this one and put your notary on it," Pick said. "Yes, sir," the butler said. Andy signed. The butler got a stamp out of the bottom drawer of the table, stamped the document and signed it. He picked it up and looked at Pick. "My copy?" Andy said. "Trusting soul," Pick said. He turned to the butler and said, "Make a copy and take it to the new office tomorrow morning." "Yes, sir," the butler said, and left. "Did you watch him sign it?" Pick asked. "Yes," Andy said. "What's his name?" Pick asked, leaning forward. "I don't know. I couldn't read his writing," Andy said. "Damn," Pick said. Chapter Eight The decisive point for Andy hadn't been an answer, it had been a question: What have I got to lose? Pick's mind operated on the fringe of reality, but it was a weird mind with lots of money that was willing to front a chunk of that money to find out his notion was bonkers. Andy figured the idea of doing the girl act wasn't a big deal; no one would see him. It didn't sound like even Pick would be around very much. There was the issue of the trainer, who apparently was only there in the daytime and was probably just involved to get some of Pick's money. There were the other two guys, but they'd be doing the act, too. The chauffeur had taken Andy back to the building in "the back forty" and assigned him a room, the place apparently being a combination of dorm, training facility and office. There was a copy of the employee handbook on his nightstand. His co-workers welcomed him and, in response to his questions, told him a little about the routine. His clothes would be taken away in the morning and he would shave his body, followed by an application of hair remover. "Stinky as hell," Ryan-Melissa said. "But sure does the job. Anything the razor missed it zaps clean as a whistle." "They measure you and bring you clothes later in the day," Glenn-Lexi said. "What am I supposed to wear in the meantime?" Andy asked. "There are some panties in your drawer, and a girl's T-shirt." Glenn- Lexi said. "And pink slippers." He giggled. "Lance comes in after breakfast with Miss Lushly," Ryan-Melissa said. "Lance," repeated Andy. "I didn't think anybody was really named Lance. Okay. And Miss Lushly is ... ?" "Yep," Glen-Lexi said and leered. "Who is she?" Andy asked. "She teaches us make-up and how to dress and walk and all that stuff," Glenn-Lexi said. "Then what does Lance do?" "He's the head of training but mostly he's like a gym instructor. He tones our bodies, shapes them up." "And supervises Miss Lushly," Ryan-Melissa said. "I'd like to supervise her once," Glenn-Lexi said and giggled again. Chapter Nine Lance was shaped like a Y and wore black sweat pants and a form-fitting Tee. He had black, wavy hair and was in love with his own movie star smile. Miss Lushly was shaped like an eight, with an amazingly tiny waist. She wore tights, a short skirt and a low cut blouse. They introduced themselves to Andy, and Lance told him his new employee name would be Ashley. Miss Lushly took his measurements, jotted them down in a book, and then used her cell phone to repeat them to someone. Andy felt very self-conscious in his panties and pink Tee, but the other two guys were in short skirts and blouses, as well as modestly heeled girl's shoes, so after a while it didn't seem like that big a deal. "There's no point in getting too deeply into training today," Lance told them, "because I understand a fourth new employee will be joining us this evening. There's almost always a fourth guy in stories by this author. So we'll just get Ashley up to speed today, and we'll start all over tomorrow. I understand the new girl is the last one for now, so we can really dig in tomorrow." He flashed a bright smile. Lance brought brunch from the big house, and the chauffeur came in with him, bringing Andy's notarized copy of his employment contract. "I'd like to mail this to someone," Andy said. The chauffeur had to call the house, and he relayed the response. He was to bring the contract back and it would be mailed to whomever Andy wished. Andy wanted to mail it himself, and when the chauffeur relayed that there was a long pause. "He's checking," the chauffeur said, covering the phone. Finally, the person on the other end came back, the chauffeur listened, closed the phone and said, "I'm to bring you back to the house." Andy hoped he hadn't blown the job, but decided to stick to his guns. He wanted to change into the clothes he'd arrived in, but Lance and Miss Lushly said the rule was only girl's clothes once someone started trained. He wasn't crazy about going out of the building wearing just panties and a pink tee. On the way to the house he tried to pump the chauffeur but all he got was the man's name, Bill Adorunrun, and the snippet that twenty years ago A. Dobermann Pick, Jr. had presented both a limousine and Mr. Adorunrun to the current Mr. Pick as a college graduation present. "And then he died," Adorunrun said. "Quite a young man. It was a big loss to us all." But as to the current Mr. Pick, the job, or anything else that really interested Andy, the chauffeur was tight-lipped. "Think I'm a crook, huh?" Pick said when Andy walked in. "Well, I am not a crook. Here's your envelope. Stamped. Put your little contract in it and you can take it right out to the road and drop it in the mailbox yourself." "Isn't there a public mailbox somewhere?" Andy asked. "Not so slow on the uptake after all, are you?" Pick said, suddenly smiling. "Got to protect yourself at all times in business. I understand. Good show. Ummm ... my driver will take you into town." "Mr. Adorunrun," Andy supplied. "Pick, you damn fool! Where would I ever get a name like ... whatever you called me. Sounds very foreign to me. Mr god, you're an odd one." "Mr. Adorunrun is your chauffeur's name," Andy said. Pick looked startled. "It is? Well, of course it is! I know that." He made a shooing motion. "Get on with it." Andy and the chauffeur left. He tried to make friends, to get more information, during the ride but got nothing. The driver found a public mailbox in the rural town not far from the mansion. "I'll get out," Adorunrun said, "unless you'd rather?" Andy wanted to do it himself but didn't want to be seen so he told the man to make sure to keep the envelope in sight. Adorunrun held the envelope in front of him, circled the blue box, pulled the handle down, and with a showy gesture very slowly deposited the envelope. He raised his hand, clapped like a blackjack dealer at shift change to show they were empty, and came back to the car. Andy had addressed the envelope to his folks, writing on both front and back: HOLD FOR ANDY. DO NOT OPEN !! He'd felt he'd committed himself to two years employment and a very nice future income when he had signed the contract. Mailing his copy to his folks gave him that same sense of commitment all over again. That afternoon he received a large selection of female outerwear, underwear and shoes, along with his own personal selection of make-up products and three different wigs. Chapter Ten Glenn call me Lexi, who was now just plain Lexi, had been right, the training was easier than any job Andy call me Ashley had ever had. Not that it wasn't challenging. Learning to be a girl required a lot of adjusting in his thinking, the way he thought about his appearance, the way he physically did things ... well, in everything. Over the first six months it got easier because so much of it became routine. That included the surprising stuff that he'd never thought of before; things such as constantly being aware of how you looked to others, smoothing your skirt or dress as you sat down, choosing clothing colors that complimented your skin coloring, and all the rest. Neither Lance or Miss Lushly would tell them how long the training would last and when they would finally start regular jobs. Maybe they didn't know. They implied that the jobs would be as secretaries, but when asked directly said they had just assumed that. After six months all four of the trainees felt they had the thing down cold. They could look at each other and see girls. They could watch carefully and see that none of them made any false steps. Stuff that once was awkward and new was now automatic. In the seventh month Lance told them that Mr. Reed was coming to speak with them. Mr. Reed turned out to be the skinny guy in the black suit that Andy had seen on his first visit to the mansion. "Mr. Pick is very pleased with your progress," Reed began. "I would even say he was amazed. From all the reports we've received from Mr. Lamorra and Miss Lustly, and the video they shot, you have all exceeded expectations and should be quite proud of yourselves." The four trainees beamed. "So it's no fault of your own that we have to do a bit of downsizing. Mr. Pick is very disappointed. This is a pet project of his and he very much regrets having to do this but there's no option. We'll be cutting the class size in half, and I'm sorry to tell you that Melissa and Ashley will be leaving the program. We hope to be able to call both of you back as soon as possible. You've done well and should be proud of yourselves. You have one hour to get ready. You may wear one outfit if you wish, returning it to the company by the end of the week, cleaned and pressed. Your original clothing will also be returned to you if you prefer that. Mr. Pick has paid you a lot of money over the last twenty- eight weeks and hopes to one day get a return on that. Adorunrun will be back to take you into town to our bank where you can withdraw your money. We'll be in touch." Before the stunned quartet could respond he turned and left. "They can't do that, can they?" an anguished Melissa said. "We have a two-year contract." "I hope you have a copy in a safe place," Andy said, knowing better. "They have it," Melissa said. "But Mr. Pick signed it. They have to do what it says." Both Lance and Miss Lushly commiserated with them, but were careful not to take a side against the company. Andy felt as if he'd been clothes-lined, but mention of the employment contract brought him back. "You'd better get ready," he said. "When they come back I'm going up to the house and talk to Pick." "I'm coming, too," Melissa said. They changed into the most conservative clothes they had. Andy wore a black skirt and charcoal colored blouse; Melissa wore a short brown dress. If they were going to have to appear in public they didn't want to draw attention. Adorunrun brought their old, guy clothes but neither was interested in putting them on. They would have felt too weird. The driver did agree to take them to the house before driving into town. He looked at them with sadness and quietly said, "I think Mr. Pick is expecting you to show up." The man was waiting for them. The skinny Reed had Melissa wait in an anteroom and escorted Andy into the den. "Long time no see. Whoopee. Aren't you the pretty one. A doll. Very successful, huh? Hardly recognize you. Sorry to see you go," Pick said. "You've almost proved my theory and now you're back on the street looking for a job. Damn downsizing. Good luck. Adios. Bye-bye." "We have an employment contract," Andy said. "I want to be paid for the full two years." "Hey, I tell the jokes here," Pick said. "Where's the contract, squirt? Can't find my copy." "I sent it to someone I trust," Andy said. "You know that." Pick smiled. "Never got mailed. Another mistake. Gave ... uh ...." "Adorunrun." "Him, the chauffeur, got it but there was some stickum stuff on the flap of the mailbox and it didn't drop down. Someone else must have come right after him and found it. Your papers got tossed away. Or burned. Or shredded, like wheat. Nice knowing you. Very pretty, by the way. Add some boobs and you'd be perfect. Astounding." "You can't do that," Andy protested, knowing, even as he spoke, that it was done. "This life we live," Pick lamented. "Difficult. But you'll manage somehow. Leech off the folks for a few more years. Bet they always wanted a daughter." "You're a bastard," Andy said. "Want a job?" "What?" "Do you want a job? Got a nice one. Live in a really big house. Work for a great man. Perfect for a girl with your looks. Better deal than becoming a secretary. Who wants to be a secretary." "What are you talking about?" Andy said, anger in his voice. "Classy job for a classy young lady like yourself. Working for a classy boss," Pick said. "You're broke. Better take it." "I've got six months pay in the bank," Andy said. "That'll see me through until I find a job. And I'm going to sue your ass and collect a lot more." "Hmmmmmm," Pick said. "What?" Andy said. "I had some second thoughts, and I came to agree with you," Pick said. "I own Western Square so I would only be taking money out of one pocket and putting it in another. You were right, so I never deposited that under the table part. Made no sense." "Damn you!" "And we had to deduct your clothing, room and board, teachers," Pick said. "There are a few coins rolling around in the account, but not very much. And you can't afford a lawyer and don't have a contract, and on and on and on. Slow on the uptake, like I always said. But I'm going to take care of you, so you've got no worries."? "I wouldn't trust you as far as I could throw you," Andy said. "Of course not," Pick said. "I don't trust me, either. Too slick for my own good. So this time we do it different. Short contract. Actually mail it. A check every two weeks. You personally deposit it. Cover your ass, in a manner of speaking, while you uncover your ass, in a manner of speaking. Twice burned, once shy. Something like that. You get the drift. Checks for cheeks. What do you say?"? "What do I say to what?" Andy said, anger and desperation and confusion combining inside him. "The job! Have to do something about the slowness, Ashley," Pick said. "Can't keep explaining the obvious. Repeating myself. Well?" Andy was flummoxed. He was actually considering going back to work for the man. Not that his other options were tempting, but Pick had taken him for a ride like a Sunday morning preacher. By all rights he should have the upper hand, yet he was broke again, unemployed again, and completely without any bargaining strength. The only thing he could do was admit defeat and make sure it didn't happen again. "My rules," he said. "Hardly," Pick said. "My rules. But I agree to whatever makes you comfortable as far as the money and the contract are concerned. Piddling concerns." "Why should I trust you?" "My god! You never should," Pick said. "This is business, squirt. Each man for himself. Every man an island. Only the tricky survive. So what do you say? A job. Money. Live in a mansion. A classy French maid's outfit. Good food. Good hours. Easy work." "Wait a minute," Andy said. "A maid? Did you say the job is a maid?" "No, no," Pick said. "A French maid. Very classy. Other people do the cleaning and cooking here. C'mon, I haven't got all day. The other one outside will take it if you don't, and she's just as pretty." Against his better sense, pushed by his return to poverty, he asked, "What exactly would I do ? and how much does it pay?" "How about the rate specified in that imaginary contract you thought you had? Nice chuck of change." "The salary after the six month introductory rate," Andy said. "A shade tree lawyer," Pick said. "These gals. Well. Okay. Seems fair. Seems prudent." "And what's the job description?" "Take care of me," he said. "Personal maid. Set out my clothes, draw my bath, that sort of thing. Best of all you get to wear this costume. You'll love it now that you're, hmmmm... Now that you're Ashley." Andy was surprised that Pick had remembered his new name, and done so twice. He now suspected the forgetfulness with names was an act. In fact this whole thing looked like an act. "What's this costume like?" he asked. "Oooh la-la," Pick said. "You've seen them. French maid." "I don't know what you're talking about," Andy said. "No? Things changed in one generation, you're saying? Never seen a girlie book with a model in a little black maid's outfit? Never snuck a look at Dad's dirty magazines? No?" Andy shook his head. "The world we live in," Pick mused. "Hardcore for your age group. Tch- tch. Stockings, high heels, short black skirt ? very short, la-la ? white lace apron attached to the front, little white thingie in the hair ? tiara thing ? starched lace cuffs attached to nothing at all...? No bells, hmm?" "I think I've seen that," Andy said. "Sure you have," Pick said. "Very sexy." "Sexy?" "Very," Pick said. "You'll look hot, guaranteed." "Is that what this is all about? Sex?" Andy said, suspicious. "What else? Makes the world go 'round," Pick said. "Big bonuses, Ashley. Big. And frequent. Picture Ashley rolling in dough." "Forget it," Andy said. "Done," Pick said. "I've forgotten. You think about it, though. I'll have...uh....the butler, put you up in a spare room in the servant's quarters. You think about it overnight and remind me in the morning, because I've forgotten already. Think the other one will go for it?" Pick's abrupt subject switches always took a second to register. "You mean Melissa?" Andy asked. "I do. Sexy looking, don't you think? Of course she is. Ought to be, after all that training. You are, too. Maybe prettier than you, even. Might be the wigs. Give her yours, make you the blonde, and you might be the prettier one. Probably would be." "You're telling me this whole elaborate charade is just so you can get a shot at having sex with guys?" Andy said in astonishment. "Bite your tongue, squirt," Pick said. "Boys. Ech. Sicko, if you ask me. Never was interested in that. Some are, I know. Not me. Yucky. I like a well-turned leg, a firm behind, a beautiful face, and a ladylike demeanor. That's what a man goes for," Pick said. "All this, just to get your rocks off..." Andy said, still dazed by the idea. "Drop in the bucket," Pick said, with a dismissive wave of his hand. "Peanuts. A clever game. Oops, I win, ha-ha. A win-win-win proposition. Couldn't pass it up. Still get to try out my innovation on the new breed of employee out in the back forty. Got two left there, and more coming. It'll make me a fortune. But time's a wastin'. Yes or no? Money or nothing and the cheeks for free? French maid or bum? Cheeks: bum. Get it? Told you to watch out for my sense of humor. Laugh a minute." "No," Andy said. "Absolutely not. I can't speak for Melissa, but my answer is no." "Okay. Out you go. Send the other one in," Pick said. "Bye-bye. What's his name will show you where to sleep, and tomorrow my driver will take you to the bank to collect your pennies. Nice knowing you, hon'. Go, go." Andy turned to leave, realizing that the meeting hadn't gone anywhere near the way he'd intended. Andy wrestled with it that night as he sat on the edge of the bed in the servants' quarters. He amazed himself by even considering the offer, and then he tried to balance the pros and cons and fell into despair. He had reached a point of desperation in his life, and Pick had managed to make it even worse. Pick's plan was pretty obvious by then, Andy believed. He had stretched out his hopes like a rubber band and then snapped him full force. At the same time he'd used the stupid boy-into-girl ideal worker idea to get him to look and behave like a girl 24/7. Andy had been so determined to keep the job, as had the other three trainees, that the training had mingled with who he really was. While he was in the facility he was playing the role of a girl full time. That was his job and he had agreed to do it. Now he discovered that it had screwed with his brain, and he wasn't sure who he was. As Andy saw it now, it was all part of Pick's plan, though it was still hard to believe that the man was so rich that the whole thing had been set up just for sex. Someone with Pick's money could have hired sex partners to do anything he wanted. Andy came to the conclusion that he could do the job Pick was offering him, even including the sex, until he thought about the latter in real terms. He tried to picture it, but when he did that the whole notion fell apart. He rationalized with himself. It was only a mechanical, physical thing. It was like any physical labor that was unappealing. like digging ditches, and he would have taken anything like that in a flash. It had nothing to do with him, with who he was. The job was closer to being a masseur, but the pay would be far, far greater. He was financially desperate. No way. No matter how bad off he was, no matter how much money he was offered, there was no way he could have sex with A. Dobermann Pick III. No way. He slipped his panties off his smooth hairless legs, and slid under the covers. He could act. Pretend he was a girl. He could do it. No he couldn't. Chapter Eleven "You're standing like a guy," Pick said. "I am a guy," Andy said. "Couldn't prove it by me," Pick said. "Not with the way you look, honey. Pretty as a picture." "How big are the bonuses?" Andy asked, getting to the point. "Too late," Pick said. "Melissa already took the job. She who hesitates is tossed." Andy collapsed inside. After a night struggling with the biggest conflict of his life, he had surrendered to the job and money. Now Pick had pulled the rug out from under him once again. "There's only one job?" he said weakly. "Virile, I am; greedy, no," Pick said. "What the hell am I saying! Of course I'm greedy. Two of you? Might work. Might enjoy it. Ginger and Mary Ann. Want to see her?" It took Andy a second to digest the quick subject change. "Melissa?" "Keep up, Ashley, keep up," Pick said. "She looks fabulous in her little costume. Got her first bonus last night." "How much?" Andy asked. "Just like a girl," Pick said. "Always looking to get money out of us guys. Buy me this, buy me that. A thousand for oral, fifteen hundred for slipping it to her." "I expected more," Andy said. "Sayonara, bye-bye, see you around. Wiggle your ass as you leave," Pick said. "Wait," Andy said. He tried to arrange the figures in his mind. "I'll do it for double that." "You'd do it for half, doll," Pick said. "You're worse than broke, and will stay that way. You're on your last leg. Nice legs, though. I'm being generous. Do you want to see her?" "Not really," Andy said. "Want to be homeless? Starvation sound good? Take it, and crow about it," Pick said. "But we have to have a contract. Can't take the money and run. No fun for me. Well, yes or no?" Andy hesitated. He knew he was going to take it, but he didn't want to cross that line. "Tick-tock," Pick said. "Three, two, one, zero. Yes or no?" "I want to see the employment contract. I want to make sure it's mailed. And I want to be sure I get paid." "No problemo, Senorita. Read the contract," Pick said. He opened the same drawer in the same side table that he'd used in the ruse of the first contract. This time he handed Andy a single sheet of paper. Andy read the contract. "No way," Andy said, looking up. "This says six months. It was two years." "Different job," Pick said. "The other job was two years. I'll get bored with you girls after six months. Want something new." Andy read more. "I don't like this escrow thing," he said. "Covers me, covers you," Pick said. "You make the deposits yourself. Covers you. You can't withdraw it until the six months are up. Covers me." "I want to be able to quit at any time, and take my money with me," Andy said. "Ooops," Pick said. "She thinks this is a negotiation. It isn't. Take it or leave it, Ashley." Andy didn't like it, but he had to admit he could see the man's point. With the salary and two or three thousand a week in bonuses the six- month contract approached a hundred thousand dollars and could be more. There were two lines that explicitly spelled out the sex and the bonuses. If he ever had to sue, Pick wouldn't want that part made public, and that could be useful if things turned sour. At least it was clear how much he would get, and for what, and Pick wouldn't want it known so Andy figured that, on balance, it was better to have it in there. "A lot of cash for the unemployed," Pick said, as if reading Andy's mind. "Chicken feed for me, of course. Puck, puck."? "Then it wouldn't hurt you to raise the bonuses," Andy said. "Give away money?" Pick said, astounded. "A fool and my money are soon parted. Read, read." Andy did. His work hours were vague and he didn't like the "always on call" phrase, or being restricted to the house and not making telephone calls or using a computer, but it was bearable ? if he didn't think about what exactly his duties were going to be. "Alright," Andy said. Pick looked directly into Andy's eyes. "You want the job?" "Yes," Andy said. "Sure?"? "I said I was." "The sex okay with you?" "I said I'd do it," Andy said, resignation and tension creeping into his voice. "Sucking and fucking, Ashley," Pick pressed. "Think carefully. In for a penny, in for a pounding. Be absolutely sure." "I thought about it all night," Andy said. "And?" "I need the job," Andy said. "Total girl? Sexmate to the rich and famous?" "Yes. I said yes," Andy said. Pick smiled. "Hired! Sign on the dotted line, baby. Wait, I'll get what's his name to notarize it." Chapter Twelve Two months later ... "Ah, there you are, Ashley," Pick said. The buzzer had sounded twice ? one buzz meant Melissa, two buzzes for Ashley, three buzzes for both of them - in the room the girls shared, and a light on a board had shown that the summons had come from Pick's den. Andy was in full French maid costume, from delicate high heels to the small, white, fan-shaped tiara on his head. Each week Pick would switch their shifts. Andy, as Ashley, was on call this week from 3 pm to 2 am. Melissa was available during the earlier shift, from 11 am to 9 pm. "More beautiful every day," Pick said, half to himself, when he studied her. "Progress is our most important product." Ashley waited. "I went public," Pick said. "Western Square. PR, that's what the market is, you see. Public Relations. Bastards gouged me. But they did the job. Very secret. Spread the word that Western Square had a new plan to increase worker productivity 50%; fire a third of your employees. What CEO could resist? Stock doubled since the initial offering this morning. Don't expect you to understand. Made a killing." He gestured toward the huge plasma TV. "Just watching them speculate on what our productivity secret is. Fanciful stuff. CNBC. Gave me a hard-on when they talked about our potential." Ashley was used to this. Pick always needed some kind of monolog before he could get to the sex part. "Yes, sir," Ashley said. Frequently, Pick would have one of them pretend to vacuum and dust the room he was in, or go around straightening things, or serve him dinner or a snack or mix him a drink, This could go on for five minutes or an hour, Pick often watching while pretending to do work or watch the financial news on TV. Only then would he get to the sex. Pick looked Andy up and down. "Turn around, dear," he said. "Lift your little skirt and show me your girlish cheeks." The black skirt, already held out by crinolines, was so short it barely covered her butt as it was, but she lifted it to show the semi- transparent black silk panties she wore. They covered the twin half- globes, smooth and firm, as well as the shadow of the valley between. He'd learned, during his first week as the French maid Ashley, that he and Mr. Nilstadt ? Intergalactic, as Pick called him ? had misinterpreted the "qualifications" that had been used to choose trainees. The last word in "Age, height, weight, cheeks" didn't mean the high cheekbones of a model; it meant a high, tight bottom. Andy had been chosen for the job because he had a nice ass. "Beautiful," Pick said. "Stimulating. Get your pillow and come over here and take care of my rising I.P.O." In the first week she thought Pick's focus on her bottom would mean that she was always going to have to spread her legs and let him pump her. That turned out not to be the case; he simply liked looking at her. In the first week it had been all oral sex. Five thousand in bonuses for each of them. Melissa and she were both hesitant to talk to each other about the sex, but gradually worked it out by using the bonuses as euphemisms. "A thousand," one would say after coming back from a session with Pick, and the other would know that it had been a blowjob. The fifteen hundred dollar bonuses started the second week. "Her pillow" was the one Ashley knelt on when she serviced the man, and in a way it was Pick's euphemism for a blowjob, though he wasn't at all shy about using that word and a lot of others. At times he seemed delighted to use them, pushing both Ashley and Melissa, forcing them to bluntly come face to face with what they were doing and why they were doing it. That was disturbing for both of them, but they got used to it. And why not? It was true. They were acting like girls. They were dressing in sexy French maid outfits. They wore make-up and wigs and delicate jewelry. And they got down on their knees or bent over ottomans or stretched out on beds and spread their legs for a man who was paying them a lot of money. Ashley placed the pillow on the floor in front of Pick. She put her hands on his knees and lowered herself. It had been very difficult the first time, and during the first week. Neither she or Ryan-call-me-Melissa had ever imagined doing anything so strange or so repulsive. Both almost backed out of the deal, but both went through with it. Ashley knew she'd never forget two moments from her first blowjob. Each was seared into her memory as a snapshot moment: Pick's stiff cock right in front of her, with her hand holding it straight up; and the second it took her to take the warm rod into her mouth for the first time. All the rest was a blur. Eventually she and Melissa became close enough to talk about it, though it was usually in general terms. Melissa said she'd decided that because she had to do it she was going to do the absolute best she could. Not to please Pick, not out a sense of pride, and not to earn her bonuses, but simply because it would be over with faster that way. That made sense to Ashley and she began doing the same thing. At first it was easier said than done. She didn't know what "the best" was, but she learned. She slid her hand across the front of Pick's pants, teasing the hard member. Her fingernails were still fairly short, but painted red they looked feminine. She unzipped his fly and reached inside, bringing out his tumescent organ. Pick always wore pleated slacks and loose boxers, which made things easier. She stared at it for a moment because she knew he liked her to do that, and then she took the head into her mouth. Pick had caught on to the girls' plan to get him off quickly and always instructed them "to make it last." They had reached an unspoken compromise: Ashley and Melissa would make sure he didn't last too long, but would last long enough so as not to irritate him. Pick watched her, delighted and thrilled. Having two French maids at his disposal was exciting enough, but to have two young guys be so subservient to him that they'd actually dress up in the outfit, walk around like ladies, look for all the world like girls, and get on their knees before him was the most enjoyable thing in the world that didn't involve money. He had gone through some mental gymnastics of his own in order to come to the point where he thrilled at watching Ashley and Melissa suck him off, or at sliding his cock between their primo cheeks. He couldn't think of them as guys, that was for sure. He had no interest in that. They were pretty girls. But half the thrill was that he was proving that he was so powerful that he could get guys to act like girls, and pretty slutty girls at that. The thrill of power only came when he thought of his French maids as guys. Pick solved this conundrum by creating a switch in his brain. When they were walking around in their high heels and stockings and costume he thought of them as guys. It was fun. He was making a pair of young guys get all dressed up for hi