Sexytary free porn video

© Copyright 2012, by Leslie P. Lowe. All rights reserved. [email protected] SEXYTARY By Leslie Lowe I'm Pauline Ickman, and I was sent by my boss to see you for therapy. She wants to prepare me for sexual reassignment surgery. No, I don't want to become a man. I mean, I am a man. No, really! Anyway, what I meant was no, I don't want sexual reassignment surgery, but it would be to become a woman. I don't want to be a woman at all. Yes, I know I do. But my real name is Paul. You see, she calls me Pauline, so everyone else does too. Well, it's a long story. OK, if I must, I'll tell you, but it's not pretty. I am? Thank you for saying that! Yes, I understand, at the beginning. For years I was a vice-president and then president of Unger & Wright, insurance brokers. I like to think I was a good executive, a people person, firm but fair, and one of the secretaries I had was named Michelle Cleaver, a woman of marginal competency that I did my best to help up the corporate ladder, to no avail. I still think maybe she was jealous, because she was in love with me and other women in the office had been eager to date me and I succumbed occasionally to their flirting ways. So one day I had to have a stern talk with her and put her on probation, after which she failed to improve and I had to ask her to leave the company, which she did, to my great relief, because she could be a real bitch when she dreamed up the idea that she had been done wrong. So years later, I'm rocking along, doing great as the president of the company with absentee owners who let me have pretty much free rein--or is it reign?--when everything turned upside down. I still can't believe it after two whole years. I could just cry right now, thinking about it. That first horrible day comes back to me like it happened yesterday, with all the pain and humiliation stabbing me in the breast like Ophelia's dagger--or was that dagger somebody else's, what's-his- name, the black guy who stabbed her? He didn't? He did? Well, whatever. The beginning of the end came when I was working in my office and the phone rang. It was a call from Michelle. "It's Michelle Cleaver. Do you remember me?" she asked sweetly. It took me a while, but I said, "Yes, of course!" Stalling. "I have a surprise for you, Paul, if you will come down to the training room." "You're in the building, here at Unger--?" "I am," she said, laughing, interrupting me. "I told you it was a surprise. Now get your cute little ass down here now, sweetie." And with that, she had slammed the phone down. I sat there in my office for a while, shaking, scared to death. Michelle was not the type to say such a thing. Did she have a team of nut-cutting lawyers waiting for me in there? And how the fuck did she get into the building? I decide not to put off the "surprise" to find out, so I checked my tie, put on my suit jacket, and took off for the training room, which was on a corner of our top floor, opposite my corner office. I passed my secretary on the way out and told her I had a meeting in the training room. "I know," Estelle said, with a smirk on her face. "Several of us girls know." Oh shit! This was scary, because I was out of the loop, and I was never out of the loop. Hell, it was my own company, or the equivalent. Besides, I thought she was my spy. "Can you tell me?" I asked meekly. She looked at me as if I were a creature from outer space. "Well, Paul, thank you for asking so sweetly! But I'm sworn to secrecy." Another knee-weakening sign: Estelle had never called me anything but Mr. Ickman. So we weren't talking about a surprise half-birthday party or anything so benign. Was I about to lose my job? What could Michelle possibly have to do with it after all these years? Had someone staged a takeover without my knowledge and promoted Michelle in over me? I knew she had stayed in the business at competing agencies before she disappeared a couple years before. We had seen each other at industry meetings and carefully avoided close contact. Or at least she had. Unger & Wright was a privately held company, wholly owned by the helpless wife of the founder, who trusted me implicitly, so I could not imagine--and yet, a takeover with teams of lawyers would be unnecessary if the buyer had enough money. But a fifty million dollar company changing hands and top management in complete secrecy? Inconceivable! Impossible! Unforgiveable! Walking toward the training room, through the bullpen, or rather henpen, filled with all the underlings who didn't even rate a cubicle, I noticed a few women with satisfied looks on their faces staring at me openly, defiantly. Several were former lovers of mine, so cold and unfeeling in the way they were treating me at that point that I could not imagine how I had ever slept with them. I reached for the closed training room door. A watermelon-sized sticky mass of abject fear sloshed around inside my tummy. Did I say tummy? Oh my God! I meant in my stomach. I know, I know. You're a therapist, and therapists are so accepting. But I need you to see the real me, not this woman you see before you. Oh really? Well, I'll have you know, young man, that I'm doing my very best to be the man I wished I could be again, and it's so hard! No, thank you, I have a hankie in my purse, and I have promised myself I will not cry, no matter what. Anyway, where was I? Oh! As I was saying before you tried to distract me by offering that tissue, I would think a therapist would be just a bit more understanding and not make premature judgments. Am I being perfectly clear now? Just because I look and act like a woman--OK, I understand. I'll try to be brief. I opened the training room door, and there were Michelle and two other women in the room. One of them was Mrs. Strain, the sole owner of 100% of the stock in the company, a company I had considered my family for so many years as I watched over everyone like a doting father. Yes, I'm sorry, I'll get on with what happened and try not to let my feelings overcome me again. Thank you, I think I will accept one of your tissues. There, I feel better now that I've fixed my face. The other woman--I shudder to think about her now--introduced herself as a lawyer, representing Michelle as--you guessed it--the new owner of the company. Yes, I'll try to speed it up. I'm so sorry! After the introductions, Michelle looked at me and said, "Paul, do you remember what you told me when you fired me?" "Not really," I said. "You said that I needed to find an easier job or a sugar daddy to take care of me, because I would never make it in business." "I tried to help you," I said. "Well, you did help me in a way, but not because you tried. After you fired me, I found my sugar daddy, except I wasn't taking your advice, and my husband still claims that he never noticed me until I had made him about a hundred million dollars running his business so well he was bought out for cash by Smythe Risk Management. Then he noticed me a lot, taking me out and treating me as a woman should be treated, making no demands, only requests, but oh so persuasive, finally asking me to marry him. He wasn't afraid of a woman who was smarter than he was--if I am, which I doubt, even though he tells me that constantly." I waited to see what all this was leading up to. If she fired me, I was thinking I would sue her ass into the next millenium. But she didn't fire me. And she had been doing her homework, she and her royal bitch of a she-wolf Nazi lawyer, Heidi Groener. "I'm not going to fire you, Paul. I wouldn't give you the satisfaction of seeing me treat you as shabbily as you treated me, virtually raping me under threat of termination and then terminating me when you moved on to the next victim down the hall. No, Paul, I need you. I'm going to nurse Unger & Wright back to health, and I want you on my team." "Well," I said, trying not to grin, thinking she does need me, even though the company does not need a nurse. I should know. I had been taking a cool half million off the top tax-free for the last six years, and I almost had my number, four million. Then it would be nothing but fun. I thought about whether I should just leave at that point, take the money and run. "Did you hear what I said?" Michelle asked oh so politely. "No, sorry," I said. "I was considering my options. Since you need me, we should discuss the terms." "You are so right, Paul!" Michelle said brightly. She really was a beautiful woman, tall and dark-haired, curvy and athletic, and she had nerve, wearing that hot red lipstick and nail polish to match and carrying cleavage a man could get lost in. "While you were considering your options, I was telling you, as gently as I could, that you have no options. I only need you for my amusement. And Heidi's of course." "What do you mean?" Michelle turned and nodded to Ms. Groener, I mean Heidi, but she makes me call her Ms. Groener now around the office. Heidi was a tall, leggy blonde, with a short helmet of spiky blonde hair and heavy eye makeup over pink, plump, glossy lips. She wore a body-hugging suit that reminded one of an accessorized wetsuit, and it looked divine on her. "This," Mrs. Strain said, "is the part I came for, Paul." Oh shit, I thought. Somebody had poisoned the well. "Mr. Ickman, my firm has investigated your, shall we say, activities, here at Unger & Wright. To summarize, before we secretly took things in hand, you had embezzled almost three million dollars of Mrs. Strain's money, reducing the dividends to her so drastically that she innocently asked a friend about a reverse mortgage, which led her to Ms. Cleaver eventually. Michelle and her husband retained me to investigate and begin due diligence toward an acquisition. Instructed to make sure Mrs. Strain was assured fair value, which I would have been ethically required to do anyway of course, I obtained Mrs. Strain independent counsel for her own protection. The ensuing joint investigation and information disclosure during the due-diligence process revealed your defalcations, and incidentally, your--how do I put it--grotesque violations of employment laws, sexual harassment being your torture of choice. At last count, we had determined that you had done to seven young women what you did to Michelle." I was stuck back on the phrase "secretly took things in hand." Did they know where the money was? No way. A Swiss bank account was impregnable. Standing up and walking over to where I was sitting, to rest my legs before they turned to noodles under me, Heidi continued, first pressing a long, pointed, hot-pink fingernail into my chest. It hurt, but not as much as what she said. "We have seized your money, Mr. Ickman. We have video depositions from each of your seven--" "Eight," Michelle said, "don't forget me, girl." "Yes," Heidi said, "I'm so sorry. Eight victims. And I'm sure as we continue the post-closing investigation and adjustments, we will find even more criminal acts and examples of egregious malfeasance, each of which by themselves could send you to jail for the rest of your life." "OK," I said. "I'll stay and manage the company. It's blackmail, but-- " "You are so amusing!" Heidi said, holding up a hand in an attempt to quiet Michelle and Mrs. Strain, who were laughing as if they were drunk at the Improv. "You, Mr. Ickman, are going to jail for a long, long time." "Can't we make a deal?" I asked. And they all smiled. "Tell me what you have in mind," I said, becoming desperate, but trying not to let them see me sweat. I was not used to being laughed at in my own company. "We're feminists, Mr. Ickman," Heidi said. "We want to test the theory colloquially known as 'Walk a mile in my shoes.'" Heidi said. "What's is it you have in mind?" I asked, smiling gamely, showing them I still had balls, a tough negotiator. "Are you familiar with the term 'prophylactic emasculation?'" she asked, smiling back at me, enjoying herself, the bitch. "No, but I don't like the sound of it," I said, joking around to loosen things up a bit. Maybe I could charm them. I had always been a ladies' man, at least around the office. At that moment, under the assault from Heidi, my testicles had shrunken up to the point of being about the size of the pearls in a girl's first necklace, but I still had delusions of turning things around. Oh, how wrong I was! "Well, let me start from a different direction," Heidi said, pacing. "Would you rather go to a woman's prison or a man's prison?" "If I really had a choice? Hell, a woman's prison. Nothing like a captive audience, heh heh. But what does that have to do with anything?" "What size dress do you wear, Paul?" Michelle asked. "I don't know," I said, feeling really uneasy about this. "I've never tried on a dress." "Would you consider it, if it could get you into a woman's prison instead of being in there with all those nasty men who might make you their woman?" Heidi had returned to loom over me. She was a big girl, and it made me very uncomfortable, her looking down on me over those boobs of hers, all predator, no coyness at all, like a she-devil collecting my soul after I had made a bad bargain. Suddenly I couldn't breathe, couldn't move. I panicked and shouted at them, turning my face away from this scary female beast about to devour me, "What the fuck are you crazy bitches talking about?" "Ah, the real Paul shows his nasty little face!" Michelle said. "Hi, Paul!" "I'm--I'm sorry," I said, "but you girls are making me nervous." "Why don't you go ahead and do it?" Mrs. Strain said sweetly. "You promised, Heidi. I have an appointment to have my hair done that I just can't miss." "Right you are, Mrs. Strain," Heidi said, bowing to her like a servant, doing a thing with her feet, and the word came to me, a curtsy. "My abject apology," Heidi continued. "I was toying with our little job candidate instead of working our plan." She took a deep breath and turned back to me. "Now, my pretty, " she said, "are you willing to do what I ask, or shall I call the authorities? It makes no difference to us, except that we are optimistic and vainly hope that we have found in you an opportunity to turn evil into good. Are you with us or against us?" "I don't understand," I said, dismayed to hear myself squeak it out like a girl, but I was so fucking confused. I had no idea what she was asking for. All I knew was I wanted to stay out of jail as long as possible, and yes, I didn't want to go in with the manly men, because look at me, I'm a little person, barely taller than the average woman, and so thin, not that I looked this feminine when that first training room meeting occurred. "As you wish, princess," Heidi said. "Mrs. Strain wants to see you decide before she goes to her hairdresser. So let's cut to the chase." She walked over to where she had been sitting when I entered the room. She bent over her purse, which sat in the chair, and pulled out three lipsticks. She showed them to Michelle, who shook her head twice and then smiled and nodded. Heidi kept the selected lipstick, dropped the other two into her purse, and walked back toward me, holding the lipstick with the tips of her fingers, displaying it, making it the center of everyone's attention. "I'm sorry," I said. "I just don't--" "Just relax, Pauline," Heidi said. "All you have to do is listen to me and say yes to your future. And do what I say, of course. You must do as I say. Are you with me?" "Pauline?" I was trying to figure out why she was feminizing with my name. Heidi reached me and stood over me again, smiling seductively. She held up the lipstick. She pulled off the top. She twisted the bottom so the hot red lipstick showed, the tip of it slanted and curved, probably bearing the shape of Michelle's luscious lips, since it seemed to be the same color that she was now wearing. Heidi applied it to her lips, covering the pink with the bright red as I watched, doing it totally by feel, no mirror in front of her. She rolled her lips together and they looked even sexier. I felt myself getting excited, despite the fear. Was she about to kiss me? "Now you," Heidi said, offering me the open lipstick. "But you're a new girl, Pauline, so use the mirror on the wall. This, in microcosm, my dear, is your chance to decide, between being raped in the men's prison and being coddled in the women's prison. Take your choice." I took the lipstick from her hand. I finally understood, completely. I was trembling with fear and--something else--God, I hoped at the time, that it wasn't sexual excitement? Lipstick was a forbidden fruit for a man, his wearing it dooming him to immediate and irrevocable ejection from the lush garden of male privilege and subjecting him to the desert outside, not only the subordinate role of real women but also the ridicule and subjugation suffered by fairies, gays, fags, queers, and most of all, sissies, that last safe target of public derision in our politically correct world. Yes, I'm sorry, I'm going on so long. But it's so, you know, affecting? And of course that stuff about how hard it is for a sissy, yes, that is more the way I feel now than I did that day in the training room. If only I had known! Yes, I'll try to finish up. "Is that it?" I asked. "You make me put on lipstick and then make fun of me and call the cops? This is irrational. No, it's crazy, as in loony!" "One step at a time, my sweet," Heidi said. "I can't stand this shit any longer!" Michelle said. "Heidi, I know you love your dominatrix stuff, but let's get the job done. He's either going to let us dress him as a woman and be my secretary until he learns to treat women with respect or he's going to jail immediately and take his chances with the other male criminals. It makes me so angry to think of how Mrs. Strain suffered." She took the old lady's hand and squeezed it lovingly, which seemed somehow to calm her, Michelle I mean. "There, there, my dear," Mrs. Strain said, patting Michelle's hand. "Can't you see our new sissy is in denial? I'm enjoying the show. Aren't you?" Michelle smiled and said, "Yes, of course. Thank you, Mrs. Strain. Heidi, I'm sorry for ranting. I know why I agreed to this outrageous plan of yours to play cute games with Pauline. He deserves it and you love it and you've been such a friend and font of strength to me throughout this takeover. But girlfriend, I want to get to work, and this little asshole is just in the way at this point." "I know what!" Heidi said. "Here, Michelle, you put it on him." Heidi took the lipstick from me, and walked over to give it to Michelle. "Won't that be more fun? I'll take the pictures." Pictures? Did somebody say pictures? That really made me panic. My reputation could not afford to have pictures out about town with me wearing lipstick and dresses and God knows what else. I had never done drag, never done anything the least bit gay. I was a macho man before the song came out, although I did love that song until I found out they were all gay. "OK," Michelle said. "Let's get it done." She stood up and walked toward me, saying, "Look, Pauline, it's time to make your decision. I really could care less. Heidi talked me into giving you a chance to amuse us and maybe even teach you a lesson, but it's not the least bit important to me. I have a company to run. I only hope for Mrs. Strain's sake, and for all the employees who need their jobs, that you have not run it into the ground already." She was on me by then, and she grabbed my chin with her left hand firmly and brought the lipstick quickly to my lips. "Please, Michelle," I begged, starting to feel the creamy lipstick touching going on as I spoke, "don't do this. It's not necessary. I'll do anything. I promise!" "Great," Michelle said, continuing to apply the red cream to my lips, "that's what we hoped you would say, for your own good, Pauline." She finished and stood up straight and looked at my face. "She's got a really pretty face. Just like you said, Mrs. Strain." "I've always thought he was a very pretty boy," the older woman said. "He reminds me so much of my Junior right before he died in that--oh well, that's all in the past. I'm sorry. Keep going, please, after I go. I just can't wait to see him apologize to all those poor girls, him all dressed in his best outfit, looking as cute as they do, one contrite woman confessing her guilt to other women she's wronged. But it will have to be another day. Something to look forward to!" She stood up. "I'm never late for my stylist. Good bye, Pauline. I'll see you soon at the settlement meeting when you compensate those poor creatures." She shook her finger at me like the schoolmarm she once was. "Out of your own pocket this time, young lady!" She waved and walked out the training room door. All I could think of was shut the fucking door! before someone else saw me. But it was too late. There were scores of laughing men and women standing in the wide door, and they could be laughing only at me. Heidi walked over and began to pull the door shut, saying to the assembled crowd of employees, "Be patient now. Pauline will be out soon to show off her new look. I promise." She shut the door and went back to her purse and pulled out a pair of pearl earrings and put them on me. "These are clip-ons, Pauline. But we'll get your ears pierced soon, so you can look just like all the other girls." "I have her nail polish here," Michelle said, holding up a bottle that seemed to match the color of Heidi's lipstick, my lipstick. Oh my God, I thought. This is going to happen. I am going to be humiliated and then jailed. But what could I do but play along with their twisted game? Men the world over and down through the centuries had been known for torture, but only a woman could conceive of this sort of castrating spectacle. "Come over here and let me do your nails, girlfriend," Michelle said. I complied, putting my hands out flat on the training room table, the same table at which I had held court at my much-feared "all employees" meetings for so many years, the king of the hill, the unassailable authority, the boss of all bosses, humiliating subordinates, even ruining them when necessary. Now the worm had turned, and the evidence of this sea change, as I could plainly see in the large wall mirror, was a sissy of a man in a ridiculously masculine business suit wearing his lipstick and earrings. I could smell the strong fragrance of the nail polish, which I so closely associated with secretaries doing their nails. I had ridiculed them for it countless times, called them vain. Now I was the secretary getting her nails done. "As my secretary, Pauline, my sexy secretary, you'll be expected to have a manicure and pedicure every week and touch up your polish as necessary to keep your nails looking pretty. Do you understand?" "I can't believe this," I said. "Say 'yes ma'am, I understand' or I call the cops," Michelle said. "I've had enough of your stalling, Pauline." "Yes ma'am, I understand," I said, through gritted teeth. "You are so impatient, Michelle!" Heidi said. "We should prolong our new sissy's agony, all the better for his just punishment and his personal growth as a woman. He will be much more compliant and useful as your slave, I mean secretary, if you allow me to break him for you, one little part of his psyche at a time." She looked at me, and I shuddered. Michelle seemed to ignore Heidi's protests. She finished my last fingernail and closed the container. "Pretty!" she said. "Now be careful while they dry. Get a picture of us, Heidi, two professional women just having a little girl time together!" She turned partially toward me, still smiling for the camera, the flash going off intermittently, and said, "You made the right decision, Paul, I mean Pauline. This is your only chance." Heidi took many shots, making me "smile prettily" for the camera. She called to me, "Look here, Pauline. Yes! What a cute sexytary you are! You have a fine future ahead of you here, sweetie. You are going to work very hard for your boss, Ms. Michelle. You are going to be very popular with all the other girls and even more so with the men." Men? I thought. Oh my God. Were they going to make me have sex with some gay guy? I had always fired any man I thought was gay, and I had made my position abundantly clear to the survivors. Had I missed one? I was so scared I felt like I wanted to throw up. I'm sorry. What did you ask? No, that was not all they did to me that day. Far from it. It was horrible, the most embarrassing day of my entire life. No, I mean up until then. It was even worse than my first time in the shower with all the guys after junior high gym class. Yes, I can try to finish up quickly now. I want your opinion today. I have some decisions to make. I so hope you can help me? Yes, I will keep it brief. They took off my suit jacket and tie and unbuttoned the top two buttons of my shirt and turned up the collar, "so it would look stylish." Heidi made me trade belts with her, the thin, glittery silver one she had been wearing fitting me perfectly somehow. They rolled the sleeves up to my elbows. They turned up the legs of my pants until they looked like cropped pants other women my age wear. They painted my toes the same red nail polish and buckled on a pair of strappy three-inch heels to "show my pretty toes off." Michelle said she had remembered my size from when I made her polish my shoes and had enjoyed buying my heels herself the day before. Heidi loved that one, saying she would make a dominatrix out of Michelle yet. They brushed my long hair into a short ponytail and applied a black scrunchy to it, so my earrings would show even better. Mascara? Yes, eye makeup and blush and all that stuff. I was done up like a tart when they finished. They made me stand up and check myself in the full-wall mirror, and I did not recognize myself. Who was this shabbily dressed woman sporting vintage lipstick and nail polish? And what, for Christ's sake, were they about to do with her? With me! I'm sorry, but reliving it like this is--yes, I know. I'll hurry. I'm so sorry! So the caterers brought in food and set up a bar and soon we had a party going on in the office, my office, that I had been in control of for so long, a party celebrating my removal, and the new ownership, and I was made to walk around with a tray and serve hors d'oeuvres like somebody's maid while everyone gushed about how cute "the new sexytary, Pauline" was, my feet killing me. They all made comments that creeped me out, like "I love those dangly pearl earrings on you, girlfriend" and "what brand of lipstick are you wearing, Pauline?" and "you have the prettiest feet!" Surely, it made me feel nice in a way. I wouldn't want to not look good, but they were saying a made an attractive woman! Well, yes, it did feel nice to hear it. I'm not denying it. But what does that have to do with anything? Anyway, Heidi followed me around, languorously sipping the drink in her hand, taking her time with my "training" as she called it, giving me loud instructions in front of everybody, telling me how to walk like a lady, bend down like a lady, talk like a lady, and freshen my lipstick like a lady, using a compact while three of my former fuck buddies watched, giggling and cheering me on, thoroughly enjoying their inebriation at my expense. No, I wasn't allowed to have a drink. And later, Heidi even put me over her knee and spanked me in front of the men, saying she was only trying to help me be more relaxed, to feel more vulnerable and accept it, and try flirting with them, so I would have a better chance of being asked out on a date. They all laughed, but Heidi shut them up with a steely glance, saying, "You boys won't find it so funny if we need another sexytary to help Pauline with her duties." I don't blame them a bit for being scared that the same fate awaited them, or for cooperating enthusiastically with Heidi and Michelle in my so-called training. As I was standing there holding a tray of pigs-in-a-blanket in front of Michelle, she said to Heidi, "I wonder if Pauline is going to find herself a sugar daddy?" "In prison maybe?" And they both had a good laugh at their own cute humor. I caught sight of myself in the mirror again at that moment, and it was pitiful, really, a meek little heavily made-up middle-aged waitress in white blouse and black pants, very smart. How could they have done this to me so fast and so convincingly? They were geniuses at domination and feminization, that's how. Oh yes, I found that out all too soon. Well, since then it's been one girlie adventure after another. I worked for a year or so before I came to trial, in front of a female judge, naturally. She gave me ten years, suspending all but six months and specified that since I was moving so diligently toward a sex change I should be considered a woman and jailed with "other women," and she changed my name to Pauline while she was at it. The worst part of all was paying my male lawyer's fees on my knees. And that was only the first time, darling. I've given a lot of blow jobs over the last two years, many of them in public, like the male stripper at someone's bachelorette party last week. No, I wanted to. Now I'm sort of, you know, the bad girl, the life of the party? I wouldn't even think of disappointing any of them, my old fuck buddies, several of whom are my best girlfriends at work now. The time in prison? Actually, it was the happiest six months of my life. I had no choice, so I just relaxed into my role. As we female cons say, "I did my time and came out just fine." I still have local girlfriends from those days and we try to stay in touch. They were so sweet to me, and they didn't have to be, because some of those dykes could kick my ass without breaking a sweat, and they looked out for the small girls. Well yes, like me. I guess I was like one of the small girls. No, of course not! I sort of lost interest in trying to have sex that way. I did have a lesbian relationship with one woman, but she was released first and has never called me back. It broke my heart. Men? Oh God, yes! Michelle and Heidi saw to that. I dated like a debutante. And it was so fun! I had such nice boyfriends and the girls were so nice to me, since we had so much to talk about. Yes, especially Heidi and Michelle, after I learned, you know, to be sweet? Yes, many times. Yes, with a man. Well yes, if you must know, penetration! No, it doesn't embarrass me in the least. I'm a liberated woman, unashamed that she enjoys being taken by a kind and gentle man. Ralph. His name is Ralph Kramden. I know! It's so funny, isn't it? Well, that's really the question. I guess I don't feel I deserve to become a woman, a real woman. Heidi and Michelle want me to go ahead, and I want to in my heart, but I just feel so inadequate, so unworthy, you know? I mean, look at what I did! Look at how I treated those poor girls. Yes, that's true. What I was forced to pay them, everything I had left, you know, it was a lot of money, or it seemed like it for a single woman making it just fine, thank you, on a secretary's salary? Well yes, executive secretary. Michelle says I'm very good at my job and she's so proud of me, and it makes me cry every time she says it in front of visiting executives. She is such a treasure of a boss! How could I have been so lucky? No, of course not, Michelle said to give her share to the other girls, which I thought was so nice! But anyway, my point is, how can it ever make up for what I did to them? How can I possibly atone for my sins? I don't think I deserve to be a woman. No, I guess that if you think I should, I will accept Michelle's offer for the company to pay for my SRS. That's why I'm here, to start that process. Heidi says it takes a whole year, so I'd better get started if I'm going to be ready for my wedding. And thinking through it with you- -thank you so much for being so patient with me!--I guess I do want you to clear me for the surgery. Please? Whether I deserve it or not, look at me. I am a woman. You saw how silly I looked trying to act like a man. Yes, I know. What does a girl's genitalia matter? Except that, well, there is someone special now, and he admits, when I really nag him, that he would like me to, you know, be fully available to him? You are? Well, why didn't you tell me? That does it then. If you, as a former woman, think I should go for it, I will! Thank you so much, doctor! Yes, Tuesday afternoons at three will work for me. Michelle and I have already discussed my taking the hour off. Yes, thank you, I would like my hug now! And I'm so sorry I went on so long. [The end. All positive and negative feedback is greatly appreciated!] © Copyright 2012, by Leslie P. Lowe. All rights reserved.