You're Not Getting That Promotion free porn video

You're Not Getting that Promotion I think you'll know where I'm coming from when I say that memories are tricky. Stuff that happened five, ten years ago sort of blurs together in your mind, and sometimes your memories seem to change to fit your personal narrative. There's this one thing that happened - or maybe didn't - about six, seven years ago. I was still at Parker, still in the copy department, and so was Joe. We were young, we were both junior copywriters; I worked mostly with the product team and Joe worked mostly with the sales team, but we collaborated on a lot of projects and were pretty fast friends, at least for work. There was a third guy in our department, Steve, who neither of us cared for much. He was arrogant, prone to using clich?s, wasn't interested in fact-checking his own stuff. His copy was flashy and, admittedly, impressive, but without Joe and me to rein him in, it would have been too hyperbolic to use, and sometimes would have resulted in legal issues. Steve had been with the company for at least three or four years longer than Joe and myself, who started around the same time. When our boss left, at first all three of us tossed our names in for a promotion to replace her. I quickly dropped out, just because I had too much going on in my personal life, but Joe was determined not to let Steve win. "Michael," he said to me. "I will never, ever work for that prick," he said it more than once. And, of course, Steve got the promotion. Or at least was about to. One of Joe's friends on the sales force found out ahead of time somehow and told Joe, who told me. "It's just giving him enough rope to hang himself," I said to Joe, who seemed inconsolable. "He'll screw everything up, don't worry about it." "I know," Joe said, "but since he'll be our supervisor, he can shift the blame to us. Rolls downhill. This will not work out." "We'll see," I said. "No, we won't. I'll take care of this." "What are you going to do?" He paused, chose his words carefully. "I'm not going to do much. Just maybe let the bosses see Steve in a different light." We walked into work Monday, and the bosses announced to Joe and Stephanie and I that Joe was now our immediate boss. She was pissed. Stephanie really thought she had a chance. "They're just prejudiced against women," she sniped to nobody in particular. Later, over congratulatory drinks, I did mention that I was surprised they overlooked Stephanie's seniority. Joe just laughed. "Maybe she's right. Maybe they don't promote women in that place." None of this ever seemed strange to me until just last week. Stephanie had left the company shortly after being passed over, but she was quickly replaced and Parker Co. grew pretty rapidly - rapid enough, that soon Joe and I were peers again, the two copy supervisors of our respective disciplines, both reporting to the head of creative. About two weeks ago, our boss announced he was leaving the company, and Joe and I seemed the two most likely candidates. This time, unlike the last that Joe and I were up for the same position, I didn't take myself out of the running Joe was upset that I'd "stand in his way, as if all the good work is done the past six years meant nothing." I'm not saying I deserved it more than he did, just that I was a viable candidate. But he was reluctant to give me credit... and strangely, it seemed to be the end of our friendship. It went as far as him telling me straight up that I'd regret my attitude. He was right. Unfortunately. That very night I remembered Steve for the first time in forever and wondered what had ever happened to him. And then my memories of Steve and Stephanie somehow became conflated, as if they were the same person. Impossible, right? But for the life of me I couldn't figure out when he'd left or if they'd ever overlapped. And why they had the same last name. They had the same last name, right? I forgot much of this when the gang from my department took me out for celebratory drinks. Seemed for a few hours that I'd got the job. But then, sitting at the bar, Joe came up to my stool, shook my hand and said that it had been a good contest, and I would be like his right hand woman. "What?" I'd been about to comment that I was in fact the boss now and would be happy to start our friendship up again, but the higher timber of my voice surprised me into silence, as did the realization that joe's hand seemed massive, enveloping my own, and when he withdrew his hand, mine seemed slim and with nails adorned in red lacquer. I jumped back and almost fell off of the bar stool. "Whoa, Arlene, what's the matter?" Arlene? I looked down and my gaze crawled upward in horror. Tall black boots, charcoal hose, hem of a burgundy dress reaching mid-thigh in my current sitting position. My legs were crossed. There was a thick, black patent belt cinched at my waist. "Arlene, what's wrong?" Joe asked again. "I need a minute," I said, and slid off the stool and ran for the restroom. I nearly tripped on my stacked heels. In front of the restroom doors I paused, not quite sure which one I belonged in. It was obvious what had happened. I still couldn't quite believe it, but I stepped into the door carrying the icon wearing a dress. I looked in the mirror. "Holy shit," I said. Red, red lipstick, mascara, too much eyeshadow. My hair was shoulder length, kind of wavy, and my hairline no longer crept into my scalp. I had a bag slung over my shoulder. A purse. I checked it. Same last name, new first name. "Arlene." "Arlene Edith," middle name after my great-aunt. What else in the bag? Lipstick. Compact. Cell phone. Spare tampon. I opened the phone and scrolled through it. Pics of me. Selfies with girls from work, women I didn't recognize. Playing games at a baby shower for my friend Monica. I didn't know any Monicas. Wait, of course I did. Monica from the gym. From the barre class. What? I scrunched those nails into my palm and drew blood, knowing, just knowing, that if I could concentrate, if I could focus on the pain, that I would keep my old life somewhere in my mind, somehow turn this around. Joe. It had to be Joe, that fuck. I had to pee. I don't think I'd ever felt so awkward in my life, hiking up that dress, pulling down my hose, letting it out so slowly, despite the pressure, because I had no idea how my altered equipment would react. I cleaned up, dressed up, washed my hands. Pulled out my lipstick to refresh, then threw it furiously back into the bag. "No. No way." What should I do? Stomp off, find Joe, and demand he change me back? Or play it cool, sneaky, somehow trick him? Get angry, I told myself. Go get him. My boots just whacked the floor as I made it back to the bar, but when I saw Joe I remembered how tall he was. How small I felt next to him. What would I do? Could I do? Nothing. And he was cute, wasn't he? No. No he wasn't. "Arlene. Here," he said. He shoved a sweet shooter of some kind into my hand. "No thank you," I said coldly. "C'mon, no hard feelings. Drink it." He grabbed my shoulder. "I think you better forget whatever you're worried about and drink it." I wanted to cry. I drank it, like he told me to. I drank three more, danced with the other girls from work - even danced with Joe when he insisted. I took a cab home. I had to check my license, Arlene's license, to tell the cabbie where to go. I woke up in a bed that smelled nice, in a room I didn't recognize, in an apartment I didn't recognize, with a room-mate I didn't truly know, but in my new reality was a good friend, a friend of my sister's who'd moved to town and needed to share a place. Deirdre. In my real life, this had happened differently. My sister had wanted to set me up with Deirdre, but I'd been too busy, put her number in a pile somewhere, never called her. "Arlene, good, you're up. Made coffee yet?" She was in a cami and pajama pants. I was still in my dress and hose. I felt gross. Clammy. The boots were discarded in the entryway. "No." "Looks like you had a rough night. I guess the other person got the promotion?" The promotion. I didn't give a crap about that anymore. I wanted my real life back. "Yeah, I guess that's part of it." "You want me to call the guys and call off the picnic? We can just chill. Watch 'Working Girl' if you want." "Again?" I asked. We watched 'Working Girl' all the time, pretty much whenever one of us had a crappy thing happen at work. It was usually fun, but at this point I could recite the lines. "Six-thousand dollahs? It's not even leath-ah," I murmured. I shook my head. No, I hadn't seen this movie more than once, when an old flame made me watch it with her, and I spent the whole thing trying to shove my hand down her pants. This new reality was unfolding, enveloping me. "No, no, I need to ... I don't know. I don't know," I said. "Well, you can't stay in that dress. Take a shower; I'll make coffee." I did what she suggested, scrubbed hard with the body wash everywhere. I felt so dirty. Like maybe I could wash it off, this female life. No dice. I stepped out of the shower and dried off, then wrapped a towel around my waist. "No, wait," I said. I re-tied the towel to cover my chest. How could I forget about these things? They kept shifting, responding to any movement I made. They seemed big, two handfuls. Granted, these were to much smaller hands than I was used to. I used the blow-dryer on my hair. It wasn't too long, but still much more than I was used to. As the mirror started to defog, I caught myself staring at my reflection. The echoes of my former self were oddly attracted to my female self. "Gross," I said. "Stop it." I walked to my room, pulled on some underwear, fumbled my way into a bra. I tried not to rely on muscle memory that came naturally to Arlene. It felt like giving in. No, I had to do this with my male mind, or it would vanish. Arlene knew what to wear. I didn't even go on autopilot for an instant. I found an outfit I thought I might feel, well, toughest in: jeans without any sort of weird embellishments, which most of Arlene's jeans had, unfortunately. They were tight, though, much more snug than jeans I was used to. I found a relatively plain top, a striped 3/4 sleeve shirt, among all the blouses and heart-laden prints and pink things. I found some brown boots that came to mid-calf, with a lower heel than the ones I'd found myself in the night before. Even though I had little idea how much they cost, my guess was that Arlene had spent a small fortune on boots and shoes. I looked in the mirror and nearly teared up. Tough? No, despite not having put on makeup or really done anything with my mop, I just looked cute and casual. "Fuck this. Coffee time." Deirdre, still in her night clothes, handed me a mug of coffee, black, when I walked into the kitchen. "You look cute. But I thought we were going to match." "Sorry, I forgot." "It was your idea, Arlene. Or did you want me to cancel after all? We only have like an hour and a half until they're supposed to meet us at the park. And we were supposed to bring the wine. God, I can't imagine what kind of food they must have made. Maybe it'll be takeout. I'm scared." There was a bit of silence. Deirdre sipped the last of her coffee, dropped the mug in the sink, and turned to me. "Ar - can you decide by the time I'm clean? Because I don't want to go alone, I don't even really like David, and if you've lost interest in Brian, or you're too hung over to go, we need to tell them as soon as possible." "Yeah. I'll let you know by the time you're showered." "I don't take as long as you, remember? So decide. Although, come to think of it, you were really quick today. Hmph. You must feel like shit." She flounced off to the bathroom. I watched her cute rear bounce around. When she turned around to shut the door, I noticed her night-cami was short and I could see her flat tummy and her belly button. Man, she was cute. I should have called her. When I was Michael. Because Arlene sure wasn't interested in her like that. When I heard the shower start, I tried to think about the best way to proceed. I needed to find Joe, confront him. Somehow threaten him, or cajole him, convince him to make things as they should be. I went and found my purse and pulled out my phone. I noticed "Candy Crush" on the home screen. I'd never played. Arlene was way up there in levels. I went into contacts and found Joe. My finger couldn't seem to hit the "call" button. My heart was racing. "What am I so scared of?" I whispered. Maybe Monday, at the office, would be better. We could shut the door of his office; I could confront him face to face without worrying about him just hanging up the phone or feeding me lies, since i'd be looking him straight in the face. Two days to work up my bravery. Yes, Monday. Just survive until then. Deirdre came out of the shower, towel wrapped around her body. "Are we picnicking? Or not?" I shrugged. I was about to say no, but then figured it would be better to be out and about than stuck here, where my Arlene-self lived. Maybe it would be easier to keep recalling the real me in less comfortable surroundings. "Yeah, let's picnic." "Okay, change. Unless you don't want to do it anymore." "I'm good as is." "No, come on." "I don't want to change." "Arlene, this whole thing was your stupid idea. You need to ditch the jeans and get with the plan. You can't seriously want to wear jeans and boots on such a warm day to the park." She was actually mad. I caved. "Fine, fine, sorry. I'll change." That was Arlene talking. I couldn't help it. She always acquiesced, and beat herself up for it afterward. Exactly what I was doing, beating myself up, as I stripped off my carefully selected "tough" look, ha ha, that I was hoping would inspire me confront Joe, ha ha. My face flushed as I stepped into the outfits we'd agreed on, the outfit that Arlene had carefully folded onto the seat next to the dresser, which I might have noticed earlier had I not been freaking out about having breasts and missing a dick. I looked in the mirror; again, male me was pining when I saw the slightly curvy woman in the flower-print romper and gladiator sandals. I pushed male me out of my head - a mistake. I lost myself, and I was Arlene, full-force. "Missing my necklace," I murmured, and swept it - the silver one with the little crystal pendant - off my little jewelry dish on my dresser. Put it on, then put on the diamond earrings, my small ones that were real, not my large fake ones. Put in my little hoop that I never wore to work, the one in the piercing at the top of my left ear. Chose a little shoulder bag, just big enough. Took some of the stuff from my big purse and slipped it into this little crocheted one. Also grabbed my red- rimmed, heart-shaped sunglasses. Looked in the mirror again. Cute! Brian would certainly approve. I caught myself. One small slip up, being uncomfortable with my male self, and Arlene took over for minutes. I could not let that happen again. Deirdre was also in a romper, similarly flowery and silky, but favoring purples and blues, while mine was more reds and pinks. She wore hers with a wide brown belt. Strappy sandals instead of gladiator sandals. Her little bag was black instead of ivory. Ivory? I would have usually called it white. Arlene was seeping in. Point is, we were a mostly matching pair. I knew I'd have gone crazy to see young ladies dolled up like this. "You're not wearing makeup today?" I didn't want to tell her I couldn't put it on properly without risking losing my actual self. "No. Natural look today, right? Why, am I hideous?" "No, no, you look fine. Let's roll." She drove. We stopped first at a wine boutique and picked up two bottles of chilled white -- one with bubbles - and a bottle of rose. When we got to the park, I followed behind Deirdre, watching her little butt bounce with every stride. Her outfit, I thought, sure showed off her assets. Then I realized I was dressed virtually the same and got a sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach. I looked behind me, for fear that some young man was wagging his tongue at the view. There was nobody. I felt my cheeks go hot anyway. Stupid romper was crawling up my butt as I walked, but I was loaded down with picnic stuff and couldn't spare a free hand to adjust. We got to the spot first. These mystery men were nowhere to be found. Deirdre unfolded our large blanket; I set up the umbrella. We sat, broke out the plastic wineglasses, and started without them. They showed up when we were two glasses in - thirtysomethings in tank tops, one in cargo shorts, one in jorts. Ewww. That one didn't seem to be my date; he went first to Deirdre. Cargo Shorts cruised over to me. "Wow, you look great," he said. "Love the glasses. Can I see them?" He took them without asking. "It's bright," I complained. "Wanted to see those pretty eyes," he said. "Wow, practice that much?" I asked. "Give 'em back." He did, and I put the ridiculous heart-shaped sunglasses back on my face. I was annoyed, but part of me was tingly. Part of me wanted to put my long nails through his unkempt hair. "Stupid boy," I thought. My stomach felt weird. I realized I had a very positive physical reaction to this guy, a real chemistry. Like Arlene must really be in love or something like it. "Maybe I shouldn't fuck this up," I thought. "In case... in case Joe won't..." I shook the thoughts out of my head. No, I would be a man again by Monday. I had to be. The guys were playing frisbee. I joined them, wine glass in hand. "You sure?" Jorts called. "Maybe you want to put that class down. Don't want you to break a nail." "Fuck off," I said. I took a sip of the cold white and waved at him with my other hand, like I wanted the disc. He threw it my way and I caught it one-handed. Michael - the real me - was very practiced at frisbee. I was glad to see some of my muscle memory was still intact. I sent one toward the presumable Brian, who made a big show about diving for it, but caught it all the same. "Nice, Arlene. I didn't know you could throw like that!" he called. "There's a lot you don't know about me," I called back. Deirdre simply sipped her wine while the three of us continued for a time. At that point, I told the guys that Deirdre was going to finish the wine and we should join her before she got silly. They both found, or at least pretended to find, this quip hilarious. Brian patted my rump just before we sat. "Nice work out there. You should play Ultimate with us some time." "Too much running," I said. He also was very amused by this comment. I flipped my head and my hair followed. What the hell was I doing? I dug those nails back into my palm. "Remember who you are, shithead," I scolded myself silently. When I looked up, Brian was shoving a chocolate-covered strawberry into my mouth. I bit into it. Juicy and sweet and still cold. I swallowed and wiped my lips. "Um. Thanks?" "Want another?" Yes, I did. "No. No thank you," I said. "We made them ourselves." "Liar," said Deirdre. "I can see the box." "What did you call us?" Jorts said to her. He wrestled her to the blanket and the two began making out. I watched, fascinated. She seemed happy. Brian's hand was on my waist, the other hand on my chin. He was trying to angle my head so he could kiss me. "No. No, not right now," I said. "What's the problem?" "Just not feeling the PDA right now." He seemed genuinely concerned. "Is something wrong?" I blamed work. "Sorry you were passed over. I can't believe they promoted a drip like Joe over you." Brian hated Joe because he thought we were too close, too flirty. He was probably right. But Brian wouldn't say it outright, he played it cool. I just knew. Arlene knew, I mean. Right then I knew I had to leave. If I didn't, I'd end up sucking face with this guy, and probably forgetting who I am. Is that what happened to Steve when he became Stephanie? Maybe I should try to find her, I thought. Maybe she had some insight. Or maybe I could make her remember. "Ohhhh, I don't feel so good," I said. I bent over like I was going to throw up. Deirdre pushed Jorts off of her. "Oh, sweetie, want me to take you home?" "No, no. You guys stay and finish the picnic; I'll Uber." "I can take you home," Brian said. "I don't mind." Yes, yes, yes! "Uh, no," I said. "I don't want you to see me getting sick. "Not like I haven't seen it before, Arlene." "Still." "Fine." He was pissed, I could tell he was pissed. I shuffled off toward the entrance to the park, pulled the stupid romper wedgie out of my crack, and got an Uber car to give me a ride home. Home. Wrong home. I had plugged my real address into the app. So I hung out at my once and hopefully future apartment building and summoned another Uber. I wasn't that upset. It just meant that my brain still referred to my actual apartment as home. It was kind of a relief. My next driver was making eyes at me and asking how my day was going. He made some not-to-subtle suggestions on what I might do next. Ugh, ugh, ugh. I was so annoyed that when I got to Arlene and Deirdre's place, the first thing I did - after stripping to my underthings because of the atrocity known as "romper" - was call Joe. I got voice mail. "Joe, this is Arlene. We really have to talk." But then he called back. I was struggling back into those jeans and he called back. I quickly kicked them off again and stumbled over to where I'd left the phone on the bed, and I reached it in time, but then I was too scared to talk. So I let it go to my voice mail. Frack. I had no energy. Was this to be my new life, avoiding strong men who either want to kiss me or boss me? I spotted a few photo albums on a bookshelf and quickly lost myself in them. Arlene as a baby. As a little girl. Swimming in swim meets - as I did. Looks like she swam in college too, not just her youth. Hanging with a group of girls wearing Greek Letters. Walking Uncle Stan down the aisle at some wedding. Wonder why. I was wearing a bone-colored dress with lace. I wondered if I still had the dress. If Arlene did, I mean. Kissing some dude. On a zipline. Skydiving! Yikes. I would never do that. And yet I had. She was me, an alternate me, but sprung from mostly the same stuff. I was currently my own "what if," right? Not like my parents and siblings had changed. David and Molly and Mom and Dad littered the pics of Arlene's life, ate cake at her parties, attended her college graduation, saw Arlene attending theirs. I closed the book, took off my panties and bra, and crawled under the covers. "Maybe I should just give up," I said aloud. "Arlene seems happy. I'm not. Okay, then, I'm Arlene." I stuck two fingers down below, probed and massaged and thought of how I wished I'd let Brian pin me to the picnic blanket, play around with me at the park, then take me to his place for the grand finale. I climaxed picturing him inside me. I found that I actually had memories with which to base that fantasy on. We'd had sex five times before. I kept a spare set of clothes and toiletries at his place, though I refused to call him my boyfriend. "You can be my dude," I'd said. "Let's leave it there." Mostly because I wanted to option of pouncing on Joe if he was ever available again. Second climax thinking about Joe. Joe? That can't be right. I hated that asshole. He must have had more than a power to alter the timeline; he must have implanted feelings in me too. My heart wanted his attention, my head knew it was his fault I was like this. "Hey, I'm still me," I said. Even after giving into Arlene. That was good, right? I heard someone key into the apartment and walk up to my door. "Feeling better?" Deirdre called softly through the door. "Yeah. Just napping," I said. "Well, I'm ordering Chinese. If you want me to order you some hot and sour soup or something let me know. Always works when I'm feeling crappy." "Thanks," I said. "I guess just soup will work." We ended up spending the evening watching 'Working Girl,' and then 'When Harry Met Sally.' When the Chinese food came, I ate some of everything, not just the soup. Deirdre didn't call me on my bullshit. We also drank beer. It was fun. I lost myself in it. Put on some pink cotton pajamas, watched more TV, then practically crawled into bed I was so tired. When I woke up on Sunday, I panicked. I hadn't lost myself, I was still me, after a fashion, but how easy had it been to settle in as Arlene, to gossip and drink and sleep soundly? Also I had cramps, and they hurt, and hammered home that, as much fun or as exciting as some of Saturday had seemed, I didn't want to be a woman. I had to try to change things back. I almost called Joe again, but I didn't want to confront him without a strategy. Evidence of some kind I could throw in his face. I knew it was grasping at straws, but I knew that I wasn't his only victim. Stephanie was out there somewhere, and maybe Steve was still inside her. I thought tracking down Stephanie would be hard, but lo and behold, Arlene not only had Stephanie in her contacts, but in her "favorites" list. It was only 7 a.m., and I knew it would be way too early to call, so I tried my best to be patient. Made coffee, ate a waffle, drank coffee, drank more coffee. Showered. I reached out to Arlene's sensibilities after I discovered I was too bloated to fit comfortably into her jeans. Her go-to outfit for a day like today was a billowy blue shirt-dress and leggings. I wasn't sure I was down with that, but I tried them on, and it seemed fine. I even instinctively reached for a menstrual pad and placed it, you know, where it needed to go, knowing that it was better to be safe than sorry. Without any awkwardness. Until I realized what I'd done. "Oh. Oh! Shit!" Deirdre was still in her little night-thing, some kind of silky dress thing. She was leaning into the doorway of my room. "What's wrong?" "Oh, nothing. Sorry. Did I wake you?" "No. I was up. Coffee?" "In the kitchen." "You are a doll," she said, and headed that way. By this time it was 8:30 or so, and I couldn't wait any more. I called Stephanie, who was thankfully awake. "I heard that fucking Joe got the promotion over you," she said, even before "hello." "You okay, hon?" "Uh, sure. How did you--?" "I have little birdies everywhere." I wondered who she kept in touch with over at work besides me. I mean Arlene. "Listen - can we meet for a drink?" I asked. "I want to chit-chat about something." "Honey, I'm working today." "On the weekend?" I'd always assumed Stephanie had found another writing or marketing job. "Big day at the bar. Preseason football starts. Lots of tips. But you can belly up to the bar and hang while I work if you want." "You're a waitress?" "Are you braindead? I've been tending bar since I left the company. Remember, I always wanted to try it since daddy used to have me make him his after-work Tom Collins? You thought that was super cute? Ring a bell?" "Oh, right. I'm sorry. Long weekend. Lot on my mind." "I'll bet. You so deserved that promotion, but they did you like they did me." Oh yes. Oh yes they did, if "they" equals "Joe." "So I know - I KNOW you need a drink," she continued. "Games don't start until 2, but I'll be there by 10. Come on down early before it gets busy. We can chat while I prep." I left right away, figuring a combination of walking and the rail would do me good, let me clear my head a little. I was afraid to drive for some reason. I invited Deirdre to come along, but was a little relieved when she declined. It would have been hard to really interrogate Stephanie with her around. I was one of five people in the bar when I arrived, and two of them worked there. Stephanie was super cute in a football-themed outfit, a jersey with the name of the bar on the back. The men had on something like it, yet theirs covered their entire torsos; Stephanie's version showed off her tight little tummy and low-slung jeans. She was wearing so much makeup. "On the house," was the first thing she said to me, and she slammed something frosty and pale orange down. "Thanks! " I said, and drained half of it. Whoa. Mistake. It occurred to me that perhaps I'd been drinking too much the past few days. I decided to slow down. Keep a clear head. "Ssssoooo.... You want to tell me all about it?" she asked. She kept slicing fruit. I chose my words carefully. "I don't know what happened. It's like I had the promotion in the bag," I said. "And then..." "And then the next thing you know, Joe is trying to shake your hand, telling you you'll be essential to his team?" she cut in. "Right. And..." I let it trail off, hoping that Stephanie would fill in the blank, the near-impossible blank. She waited a moment. "And what, Arlene?" "And he did more than just take the promotion, right? Didn't he... change you in some way?" She gave me a look like she didn't know what the hell I was talking about. "No, hon. Except that with him in the corner office, I knew I didn't want to work there anymore. So I took this gig, thinking it would be temporary, but I love it. Booze, hot guys, sports, much less bullshit than the suit-and-tie crowd. And I like the non-standard hours. Hell, I know it would be a pay cut - believe me - but I can hook you up." "Hot guys, sports, right. No, it sounds pretty sweet," I said. I pictured myself wearing one of those little faux-football outfits that she had on, smiling all the time to try and make tips, or, worse, to catch someone's eye. "But, you know, I want to get what I deserve at the company," I said. "You gonna stick it out? Can you really work for Joe?" "I have before. Now things are different, but... I don't know. I guess we'll see tomorrow." The bar was starting to fill up. Stephanie told me that she'd keep hooking me up but couldn't really spare the time to chat anymore. I thanked her for the frosty orange thing and went back to Arlene's apartment. On top of everything else, I had a cramp and I just wanted to fucking die. By the time I got home, it had started - my first monthly visitor. I noticed when I sat down to pee. I was glad Arlene's sensibilities had leaked into my own enough that I'd worn a pad because yuck. I cried. I sat on the toilet in the bathroom crying. I was so glad Deirdre wasn't home, because Arlene longed to commiserate with her bestie, which would have further confirmed that I was losing myself. That I was in whole hog now. Small and curvy and subject to biological cycles. "Should I just give in?" I thought. Let Arlene pilot the ship until it became the way things were? Yes, I said. Yes, let's give in. Arlene took over and I was her and I wondered what all the fuss had been about. It was just a period. First day was always like this. I knew it was true. I had half the day left, maybe I could see what Brian was up to, even though yesterday had been weird. I knew it wouldn't escalate too much if we got together since we both were not fans of sex while I was having my period. That guy I dated year before last didn't care about the blood and that always made me feel strange, but Brian shared my squeamishness about this. We shared a lot of things - music tastes, adventurous eating. I didn't mind sports, though I would never go out of my way to watch something. He'd taken me to a double-A affiliate game a few months back and we had someone take our pic; it was my favorite picture of the two of us. It was on my dresser in a silver frame: he's wearing terrible pleated shorts, a team shirt and cap; I'm wearing a cap too, with my hair back in a ponytail. I had more hair back then. He was mildly upset when I chopped it short, but didn't make a big deal out of it. That night was the first time we'd slept together, and the first time I'd seen his place. Whatever angst I'd been feeling the past few days - there was no reason for it so far as I could figure - had faded. I was grateful. Had I been a drip? I should have hung at the bar with Stephanie. She'd really turned her life around since her miserable time at the company. She seemed happy. I felt bad -- rude, even -- that I hadn't asked her about her life. Only bitched about mine. I cleaned up, replaced the pad, actually changed my whole outfit. Not that I had made a mess, but I just felt bored and not as cute as I could have been. And it was too hot for leggings. I put on cutoffs and my yellow peasant, and my baseball cap from that day in the pic. "You home?" I texted Brian. I didn't hear from him for fifteen somewhat irritating minutes, when he replied: "Yup. Couldn't hear over football. What's up?" "Want company?" "Got company. All the guys. Want to join us?" "Who is all the guys?" "Herb, Jonah, Smitty, Carl and Karl. And me." "Want to text me when they leave?" "I can kick them out now." "Okay." "Sorry, was just kidding. But would like to see you. Guessing we'll wrap up around 6:30." I took a selfie and shot it over. "Can't wrap up sooner?" "I can visit you instead." "What about your company?" "They know where the beer is. Be there in 15." It actually took him thirty. I never figured out what had been bothering me that morning, and it was doubly out of my mind when Brian got there - sweaty from running through the Metro system, not especially well-kempt, eager to see me. We closed the door and drew the shades and damn, it was a great Sunday. Until it wasn't. He was inside me; we were going for my third and his second, you know, climax, when Joe popped into my head for no reason at all. And then I remembered I wasn't really Arlene, and what the hell is going on down there? I gritted my teeth. Didn't want to admit how good it felt. I tensed up. Brian's mouth had been sucking my nipple intermittently, but he sensed I was tense. Got right off. "What's wrong, Ar?" "Nothing," I said. "Nothing. Sorry." "Sorry for what? That was nice. Are you bumming about work again?" I admitted that I was. We cleaned up our mess. I pulled Arlene's bra and panties and blouse and shorts back on. The shorts seemed tight and left zero to the imagination. Showed my whole thigh. I started shifting, even as I tried to stand straight. Fucking Joe. What had he done to me? More than physical, that's for sure. Brian asked if he should stay, and I said thanks but no, and he gave me a deep kiss goodbye - I let him, and tried my best not to turn away because I thought it would get him out the door quicker. Joe. Tomorrow. Me versus Joe. I was going to get my dick back. I bathed. I picked out my clothes. I didn't drink anything but water. Ate something from the microwave. Went to bed early. I was on a mission. Joe. Joe. Fucking Joe. I woke up with Arlene's alarm, which went off a full hour before my old one did. I had slept well, amazingly, and woke up with a clear head, a clear objective. Get Joe. I knew that I couldn't bully him, and that the concept of "looking tough" was ridiculous in this situation. I just tried to be comfortable; I put on my - Arlene's - navy blue dress with the pockets, because I wanted somewhere to put my hands. That would be better than fidgeting or crossing my arms, I thought. Didn't wear earrings. Delved into Arlene's mind just enough to put on a little makeup - not as much as Arlene usually wore, but enough that I wouldn't look like anything was out of the ordinary. I wanted Joe to think that I was completely shifted. Didn't suspect a thing. Maybe surprise would benefit me in some way. I walked into work. Approved a few pieces, sent a few back for revisions. Assigned a few items in the work queue to the crew. Read my morning updates. Joe cruised in around 10 a.m. Why should he work hard? He had some kind of power. He got what he wanted, always. I fumed. Even so, when he sauntered into my little office, I managed a sweet smile and some idle chit-chat. We talked about the weekend. I got him to relax. Then I pounced. "It didn't work, you know," I said. "What's that?" "The transformation. I mean, obviously it worked. Look at me. But I'm still me. In my head, up here. And I want it back. My life, Joe. This is not cool. Please give me my life back." I went for pleading rather than aggressive. "You... you know? Nobody has ever... I mean, Arlene, that's amazing. You must have incredible willpower or something. Or maybe I messed it up somehow." "Please, Joe. Call me by my real name. And explain how you think it's okay to turn your long-time friend and coworker into a woman just to ensure you get a baby-step promotion." He shrugged. "Arlene - Mike - I'm sorry. I was just so angry, and when you can do what I can do, well, sometimes it's just too easy to give in. There are never any consequences." "Not for you." "Not for anyone!" "I have to admit that Stephanie seems happy." "You remember her too?" "I do. When you did this to me, and I remembered who I really was, somehow I retrieved, I don't know what you'd call them, my divergent memories that I'd since lost. I even visited her at that bar she works at yesterday, to see if I could jog her memory of Steven, but no. Nothing." "That's good." "For you." "Yeah, for me. Look, don't judge. What do you want?" "I want to be me again, please. Please!" "I want the job, and I don't like how you stole it from me." "Stole. Earned, Joe. I earned it. With hard work. I know I'm not as personable as you, but I write well and run things smoothly." "Look, Arlene - and yeah, I need to call you Arlene, don't protest - I'm not going to change you back. I've never changed a person back. I'm not sure what would happen, if there would be repercussions." "You're making excuses!" "You're right. I doubt there'd be repercussions. Really, you need to drop this. Just be Arlene, live a happy life. Know your place." "My place?" "As my number two. Be happy with what you have. Because all I need to do is pick a new name and things could get worse. I almost made you Anna. Anna would have been fat and friendless and barely holding onto her job here. I could have made you Margie. She's fun, but not too bright, and desperate for dick. Catalina - abusive boyfriend. Laura - a bookworm with no confidence. These are just a sampling. Arlene is cool. You're cool. You're cute and smart and Arlene was the best option. It was out of our friendship." "You stole my job, my life, my penis, and gave me boobs because 'friendship?' Fuck off, Joe. Turn me back right now and I'll stay out of your hair." "Are you threatening me? You know I can do this to anyone I want. I can make your brother a sister. I can do it to your dad too. How would you like that?" "No, that's not necessary. I'm not threatening you, Joe. I just want you to do what's right." "I would, Arlene. I would think about it, but the fact that you know, that you resisted, weird me out. And since you're ungrateful, I feel like I need to keep you close. Under my thumb. No, Arlene - I wish you'd have changed hook, line and sinker, because I don't think you're going to like being Georgia all that much. But you're a wildcard. And Georgia seems happy." "Georgia?" I said. "Right, Georgia," he said, and looked at me kind of funny and I got butterflies in my stomach and almost lost my balance. In fact, I slumped against the desk. Joe's desk. I was at Joe's work. Funny, I must have fainted for a microsecond. Thank the lord I didn't fall. "You okay, Georgia?" Joe was looking at me with genuine concern. He didn't always display such emotion. Something must have scared him. "I'm fine, hon. Just stumbled a little." "Thanks for visiting me at the office, but maybe you should have stayed home," he said. He came and sat right on the desk, right next to me. "I mean, I know it's only six months along, but you're already carrying it so low." He was right. My belly was straining against my stupid maternity overalls, even though I'd adjusted them to their fullest. Joe hated them, and really I did too, but even those maternity jeans with the elastic waistbands were constantly falling as I went through the day. At least with these, nobody was getting a peek at my butt crack. And I'd never been much for dresses, except at a special request, like when Joe wanted me to get fancy the night he proposed. He slipped his hand inside my bib and rubbed my belly. "Let me walk you to the car. We'll do lunch another day." "Okay. Whatever you say." Joe was so patient with me. No wonder I was so in love with him. He kept pace with my, well, waddling all the way to my car, double and triple checked that I felt fine to drive. I did. But I appreciated the attention. And I did feel pretty helpless in this condition. When I got home, I cranked all the fans and went pee, which I was doing about every five seconds these days. I looked at my face in the mirror after washing my hands. I looked pretty today, I thought, even though I was drowning in denim and my hair was in a ponytail. I'd nailed the makeup. Score one for Georgia. I slowly walked over to the baby's room and thought about how happy I was. How happy Joe had made me. Soon I'd be a mommy like I'd wanted since I was a little girl. My own parents and possibly my brother would be making the trip upstate for the birth. Joe had just landed a promotion so I wouldn't have to work anymore; once the baby came, I could be a stay-at-home mom for at least a few years. I rubbed my swollen belly. It would be nice to get back to wearing normal clothes again. But I'd be patient. After all, I'd always wanted this. And it was finally happening. Wait - or had I always wanted this? Memories are tricky things. Stuff that happened five, ten years ago - even days ago - sort of blurs together in your mind. Sometimes your memories seem to change to fit your personal narrative. "Happy mom to be. Happy mom to me." That was my personal narrative now. I managed to shed only one tear. Because I knew that had to be my personal narrative, despite any undercurrents of doubt I felt when thinking of certain people or seeing certain things. If I didn't, well - I'd probably go insane. I tried not to think about a man named Michael. Or how good I'd had it just the day before, getting just pounded by... someone. Brad? Ryan? No, put it out of my head. I was Georgia. I'd always been Georgia. "Happy. So, so happy."