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A New Job By Cassandra Morgan 8:45 a.m. The sound was like the echo of a rifle shot, a sharp clap every time the heel of a shoe hit a floor tile. The steps were ominous and mean, like the cracking of a whip. They shouted that someone was approaching, and that world should pay attention. It was the sound of a heel on an office floor, and every step made Paul Taylor feel worse. It was the sound of his heartbeat, beating out of control. He moved into the office of National Travel, Inc., as he had every workday morning for 12 years, his heels sounding his approach. At first, no one paid attention as Paul approached the desk of the security guard. "Hello,Denny," Paul said softly. "I need to get to the office." Denny Simpson, the security guard, glanced up. Then his jaw dropped at what he saw. Paul Taylor, good old ordinary Paul, was standing in front of him. Wearing a blue dress with a flared hem. And makeup. And blue heels. And carrying a purse. There were rings on his fingers, and his hair was styled in a page boy. Someone had added light blonde streaks. He was wearing earrings. A ring with a red stone. Fingernail polish. He wasn't just dressed like a girl, but as a girly girl. "Paul?" he asked. "Is that you?" "Yes, Denny. It's me." "What...what's going on? You're a woman. Jesus...a woman." "I'm just me, Denny. Just me." Taylor shifted uncomfortably,. He had lumps on his chest where women wore them. He smelled sweet. His hair draped on each side of his head. He stood there on elevated heels, looking nervous, fidgeting as he offered his door pass, which he had just pulled from his purse. "I need to get to my desk," Taylor said. "Um...well...sure, Mr. Taylor...Miss Taylor...Paul," Denny stammered. "Just go on in." Taylor lowered his eyes and nodded as Simpson's eyes took in his smooth legs. He entered the office, and he began to make his way across the expansive office to his desk. Around him, the eyes of the staff began to recognize what they were seeing and the murmuring began. "Holy shit!" "Paul...is that you?" "Hey, get a load of Taylor. He's wearing a dress." Taylor blushed. He tried to keep his eyes forward to block out his surroundings, but he couldn't help but see the others. Jared and Mike were transfixed. Leon let out a wolf whistle. Dax was bent over laughing. This gantlet was worse than Paul had imagined. It was his personal long walk, his trail of tears. His face deepened a deep red. His palms were sweating. He felt like turning around and running home, only he knew that Junie would bring him back. This was his fate, and there was no turning back. Taylor moved slowly, because heels were still a challenge for him. His hair hung in his face, and his earrings bounced as he walked. He hit his lip, and he kept his eyes focused on his desk. He felt a bra strap drop off of his shoulder. His desk seemed a mile away as he took this walk of damnation, his embarrassment searing to his soul. "Hey, Taylor. Nice ass." "Didn't I see you in The Crying Game?" "I always knew, Taylor. I always knew." "Blow us a kiss girlfriend." "Or just blow us." Taylor walked past a vacant office, and by the Xerox machine, and then past the water cooler. He got to his desk, tucked inside a small cubicle. He dropped his purse on the desk, then exhaled, and looked back. Every eye in the office, man or woman, were staring at him. Paul sat down. Then he stood and, smoothing his dress as he had been taught, and sat down again. He moved some desk nick-knacks around, just to have something for his hands to do, and noticed the deep pink of his fingernail polish. Soon, he thought. Soon, the shock would be over, and the office would get used to the sight of him in a dress. For now, he was a curiosity. He understood that. But surely, his co-workers had seen men in dresses before, hadn't they? Imagine RuPaul in the Packers' football huddle. At first, it was going to be a shock. Right? Damn it, Junie, he thought. Did you really have to make me come to work like this? Why? To show that you could? To show that you were in charge? Because you like humiliating me? Because you are strong and I am weak? Damn it. Every nerve-ending in his body was aware of what he was wearing. He felt his bra around his chest, his panties and his girdle across his groin, his hose on his legs, his makeup on his face. His hair. His heels. His earrings. There was no erotic sensation, not like when he and Junie were in the bedroom. There was just humiliation. Exposure. Torture. He didn't feel pretty; he felt like a clown. He tried to get lost in his work. He began to look his daily reports, and what cruises were running specials, what airlines had markdowns. He flipped on his computer, so he could check prices for any prospective traveler who was interested in a trip to a resort. That was the travel game. You made it easier for others to go places. Paul? He felt like he taken a one-way trip to hell. 8:55 a.m. "So you're one of them, are you?" Paul looked up, and Dax was standing there, frowning. Dax, his old golf buddy, his watch-the-Reds buddy. Dax, the closest thing he had to a friend in the office. He opens his mouth to speak, but no words came out. Paul just sat there, yesterday's man, and looked up. "Shit, Paul. I guess I should have known. There was always a vibe about you. But I got to tell you, this is kind of sudden." "Dax, it's not what you think." "I think you're wearing lipstick. Isn't that the case? And you seemed to have gained some weight in your chest. Oh, and nice heels. Christ, Paul. You could have warned me not to change clothes in front of you." "I'm still Paul," Taylor whispered. "No, not really. This tells me that I didn't know you at all. I guess you never know, do you? Hell, it was just golf. You can play with your balls any way you want." "Dax....I ..." "Well, it certainly explains why you didn't have any distance to your game. Shit, you should have been using the ladies' tees all along. So when we were playing, did you have panties on? Did you give Jack a blow job at the turn?" Paul glanced down, saying nothing. "What does Junie say, Paul? Does she like being married to a woman? Does she like sharing nightgowns with you? Maybe I should give her a call." "Don't talk about Junie," Paul said. "Or what? You gonna hit me with hour purse? Are you going to claw my eyes out?" "Dax...I'm sorry if this ... inconveniences you. It's just something I have to do. It's out of my control." "Yeah. You trannies and your urges. Well, you're a chick now. Good luck to you. Have fun at the Pride Parade" "Aren't....aren't we still friends?" Dax laughed. "Friends? What? You want to be my girlfriend, Paul? You want to leave hickeys on my butt? Dax spun and walked away. He didn't look back. Evidently, Paul was the only person who looked back. 9 a.m. It had started as a game. Just a man and his wife in their bedroom. Consenting adults, and all that. Paul shook his head at the memories. The changes had come so quick. Junie was in charge of the game, the way she was in charge of a lot of things in their lives. With some married couples, the man steers the boat. With some, it's the woman. With the Taylors, it was Junie. Junie was funny, and smart, and adventurous. She was louder than him, bolder, more opinionated. A subject would come open for discussion, and hers was the first voice -- and often the last -- you would hear. She had a boisterous laugh and a hellish temper. One night, when they were being amorous, they lay on their bed, exhausted, in a pile of the clothes they had been wearing. Junie had taken her bra and, on a whim, had laid it across Paul's chest. She had giggled at the sight. "That's not funny, Junie," he had said. "I think it's sexy," she said, her fingers trailing over the empty cups. "Roll over and let me fasten it." It was just a hoot, just a little bit of fun. Nothing to fret about. But as he lay there, and she stroked his chest, it felt...erotic. Then she handed him a pair of panties, and the game was official underway. She wanted to see what he looked like in her nightgown. Then in a skirt. Then in her wedding dress. She called him Pollyanna, then Polly. The game grew more regular. One night, she put lipstick on him. Then mascara. Then nail polish. It became a cross between role-play and playing dolls, starring Paul as Barbie. She made him shave...all over. She introduced him to stockings and heels. She brought home a corset. Junie thought it was a great fun, a diversion they could share. She would make him walk across the room and spin, his skirt flaring out. She would make him watch television that way. Okay, the truth be told, Paul thought it was kinky as hell, too. The clothes felt delicious, and the kink was out of this world. The more she feminized him, the more he liked it. Soon enough, he was wearing panties all of the time -- even to work. He was spending entire weekends en femme, prancing across the floor while she giggled. Junie liked him in a dress. He didn't seem to mind so much himself. She exposed Polly to their neighbors, Greg and Chelsea Bishop, inviting them to a cookout without telling him. He was wearing a gray dress when they arrived, and although he tried to scramble upstairs to change, Greg blocked his way. They laughed and went along with the game, and soon enough, that became part of the routine. When Greg and Chelsea were over, and when they weren't, he was Polly. And then, it happened. One day, Junie informed him that he would be wearing a dress to work the next day. It was time to come out. Everyone would accept it, she said. He protested. He argued. He yelled. He even threatened divorce. They went on like that for a week, arguing, poking at each other. Every day, Junie would threaten to make him go to work in a dress. Every day, he would refuse. But Junie won. Hell, Junie always won. She had sex on her side, and photos, and the threats to tell his parents. Mentally, she was stronger than he was. Today, she'd dressed him, they'd had breakfast, and then she'd applied his makeup, and then she'd shoved him out the door and toward a waiting Uber. "Have a nice day, Polly," she giggled. Which is why he was here as Polly. 9:30 a.m. When the top brass comes into the general offices, you don't have to hear it. You can feel it. The air changes, and voices turn more serious, and eyes lock on their own computers. Warren Bailey and Debra Walker walked through the offices, barely paying attention, and walked straight to my desk. Mr. Bailey was the C.E.O. of the company. Mrs. Walker was in charge of human resources. "Do you have a minute, Miss Taylor?" Mrs. Walker said. "Of course, ma'am." "Let's go into the conference room," Mr. Bailey said. And so, they walked to the middle the room and into a large meeting room on the left. A painting of Bailey was on the wall. Hell, he probably had photos of the painting in his wallet. Once again, there were eyes burning into Paul's soul as they walked. This time, there were no catcalls, however. This time, more of the men -- even Dax -- noticed that his legs, technically speaking, weren't bad. Was he being fired? Is this what this was about? Hell, an office can't have male employees showing up in dresses. Paul wondered if they were demoting him to a receptionist or a secretary, like in the stories? All sort of thoughts ran through his head. "Please sit, Miss Taylor," Mr. Bailey said. "It is still Taylor, right. Polly, it says here." "I guess so," I said. "You guess?" Mrs. Walker said, laughing. "It takes some getting used to, I'll bet." "Polly -- can I call you Polly?" Mr. Bailey said. "You know we got a call from June last Friday explaining things. She told us that you have applied for gender reassignment surgery, and that you would start to transition this week." "We're here to assure that that our parent company -- Global Travel -- cares about transgender rights," Mrs. Walker added. "That's not just lip service. We have a new contract for you with your new name. You'll have some new duties, but we think you'll like them." "New duties?" I asked. "Yes," Mr. Bailey said. "I'm sure you're more aware than anyone that the LGBT community spends a lot of money on travel. Hell, gay people often don't have kids, so they have more disposable income. We want you to head up those accounts for us, Polly. The Rainbow Division. We think you can represent our company much better than a straight guy." "I'm ... I'm not gay," I said, twisting a ruby ring on my right hand. "That's none of our business," Mrs. Walker said. "But as a trans woman, you can represent us much better than we have been represented. We think it's a modern approach to our workforce." "I know that some trans women want to be secretaries," Mr. Bailey said. "It's a stereotype, but they embrace it for the automatic validation it brings. We'd prefer for you to keep your job. It'll be your baby, Polly. This afternoon, Jonah Bridges Is coming by to see you. He's the head of the local chapter of LGBT." "He's...he's gay?" I asked. "Oh, yes," Mrs. Walker said. "You two will hit it off splendidly. He's a cutie." I nodded. Mr. Bailey slid a stack of papers across the desk. "That's your new contract, Polly,' he said. "New name and everything. It's a two-year contract that allows you to work as Polly with full protection, but I'm sure you'll be a valuable member of our staff for many more years to come. We support you, Polly. We're having a staff meeting today to announce this." "Oh...okay. Mr. Bailey, I appreciate your faith in me. I really do. I'll try not to let you down. I'm your man." Mr. Bailey smiled. "You're our woman," he said. "And a pretty one, too," Mrs. Walker said, and grinned. Polly walked back toward her desk. She didn't notice that as she left, Mrs. Walker caressed Mr. Bailey's ass. 10:00 a.m. Paul -- Polly -- was still absorbing his new job when Sarah Kitchens, who sat three desks over, approached his. She was carrying two cups of coffee. "Welcome to the world, sweetie," Sarah said, offering him a cup. "Just cream, right? Or have all of your tastes changed?" "Cream is fine," Polly whispered. "Thank you for being nice to me." "Oh, sweetie, we aren't in high school anymore. If someone isn't nice to you, you tell me, and I'll kick their ass. By the way, I love your dress. I guess it's new?" Polly looked at her. "Yeah, kind of," he said. "My wife bought it for me." "That was great of her," Sarah said. "Polly, I can only imagine what it was like for you as a kid, knowing you were in the wrong body. I bet you wore your sister's clothes, didn't you? Did you have a boyfriend in high school? Or were you in the closet?" "Can...can we not talk about it?" Paul said. "Don't mind me," Sarah said. "I think it's great. So what did the bosses want? I think they're sleeping together, you know?" "I didn't know," Polly said. "Um, they just wanted to talk about my role here. And my new duties." "You're still going to get to work, though as a woman. Right?" "Who knows the future?" Polly said. "ButI just signed a new two-year contract as Polly Taylor." "That's great! Tell me. How is Junie? Does she appreciate the new you? I know it can be hard for a woman who is married to someone who is transitioning." "Junie's...fine," Paul said. "This was, well, her idea." "Well, good for her to encourage you, sweetie," Sarah gushed. "Too many women have horrible reactions when their husbands come out. Is that what you call it? Coming out? But it's just fabric, isn't it? I say welcome to the club, you know. So how did Junie find out? Did she walk in on you? Catch you with a guy?" "No, nothing like that," Paul said. "We ...uh...had a talk. It just...evolved." "Well, I'm glad you had the courage to bring it up," Sarah said. "That dressing in the shadows is no fucking fun. You have to be who you are. You have to follow your dream." "Sometimes it's a dream," Polly said. "Sometimes, it's a nightmare." "Isn't life like that? Now, sweetie, let me remind you. Keep your knees together, or all the men will leer. Especially Matt Jenkins. He's always on the make. I mean, unless you like that sort of thing." "Um, no, Sarah. Thank you." "Hey, we girls have to stick together," Sarah said. "I'm not a girl," Polly said. "Well, not yet," Sarah said. "There will be surgeries. I'm sure you know that. But I bet it'll be fun." Sarah glanced toward Mr. Bailey's office. "So tell me, Polly," she said, grinning wickedly. "Who would you rather have? Bailey or Walker?" "Huh?" "Would you rather suck him and have her peg you? I mean, if. you had to." "Sarah, that's ... inappropriate." "It's gossip," Sarah shrugged. "You think about it, okay? Think about his old dick. Or her dildo." She moved back toward her own desk, and Polly tried to decide if he felt better or worse for her visit. She was nice, which was good. But it didn't seem to cross anyone's mind that none of this was his idea, that Junie had forced him. He closed his eyes. Damn. His testicles itched. What do you do about that? It isn't like someone could shove his hands up his skirt and scratch. He crossed his legs, trying to endure it. It was all so strange, the clothes and the co-workers, the makeup and the hair. He felt as if he was an animal in a zoo. And, inside, he was terrified. 10:30 a.m. All morning, it seemed that everyone felt obliged to offer their own insights into Polly's changes. People love their own opinions. Della Manning told him -- her -- that she accepted his choice, and that she had a brother who liked trans women. She wondered if she could give him her number. Brenda Whitfield asked when he was getting his breast augmentation, and how big he wanted. Larry Knight told her that he was a cross-dresser, too. He wanted to get together and play. Dax said fuck it and asked if he wanted to play golf Saturday. They would play for a blow job, he said. If he won, she could suck him. If Polly won, well, she could suck him again. Keisha Washington asked if she preferred black men or white men. Rhonda Larkin asked if she sat down to pee. And so it went. Everyone seemed to assume that she was already a woman, that she'd had a sex change over the weekend. Some of his co-workers were sympathetic. Some were condescending. Polly sighed and tried to ignore what she was wearing. But her hem kept riding up on her thighs, and she kept bumping into things with her breasts. She googled "gay travel" on her computer. There were so many places for gay people to go. There were cruises. There was Key West. There was wine country and San Francisco. There were the voodoos in New Orleans. Cozumel had a gay resort. Mr. Bailey had been right. There was money to be made. Who the hell cared who slept with whom? 10:45 Polly was in a groove now. Her job had overtaken her clothes in the front of her brain. The whispers seemed to have died down. Maybe she would get through this day after all. That was when a large shadow fell over her desk. Mike Jenkins was standing there, a crooked leer on his face. "Polly?" he said. "I'm Mike." "Mike, we've known each other for years." "Yeah, but now your starting over, right?" "What can I do for you, Mike?" "I can't find the toner in the supply closet. I was hoping you could help me." And so they walked toward the supply closet, with Mike closely behind Polly. She looked up, and Sarah was grinning. Oh, no. This wasn't a ruse, was it? Mike wasn't on the make, was he? He was. Hell, Mike is always on the make. He'd sleep with a cactus if it winked at him. They were in the closet now, and Polly was looking through the clothes and boxes of copy paper. There were bins with gem clips and file folders and scissors. She reached up and moved a box of pens. And she felt Mike's hand on her ass. "Whoa," Polly said, turning around. "Jesus, Mike. It isn't even noon yet." "I don't care what time it is, Polly. I don't care what sex you are. I love your lips. I just want to be with you so bad." "Jesus, Mike. There is a reason every woman in the office thinks your a beast." He shrugged. "Women love sexy men," he said. "Well, I'm taken," Polly said. "By who? Dax? Leon? I'm more of a man than they are, Polly. You'll like my dick. Even fake girls like my dick." He had hold of her wrists now, and he pushed his lips against hers. He was stronger than Polly. She wondered how many times he had gotten laid in the supply closet. He let her go, and started to unbuckle his pants. But as he reached down, Polly spun and pushed the door open...to an audience of their co-workers. There they were, Mike's pants around his ankles, and Polly's hair mussed. Her lipstick was smeared across her lips. "Well," Gina Hawkins said. "I guess we know what she's having for lunch." 11:15 Things had settled down to a routine. I had different files on flights, on cruises, on resorts and on travel destinations. Same-sex weddings were a big ticket. Bed and breakfast inns for weekend getaways. And the phone rang. "National Travel," Polly answered. "How may I help you." "Pollyanna?" a familiar voice said. "Junie?" "Hey, princess. How does everyone at work like Polly?" "Jesus, Junie. It's hell. Why did you make me do this?" "Because I could, Polly. Because you're a submissive, and deep down, you get off on this shit. Your kind always does." "I'm not submissive," I said. "Oh, don't get your panties in a wad," she said. "If you aren't submissive, why are you sitting there with your boobs hanging out? You find a boyfriend yet?" "I don't like guys that way." "Well, you will. Did Warren talk to you yet?" "Warren?" "Mr. Bailey. He seemed very accepting of a transgender travel agent when we spoke." "They're making an announcement this afternoon," Polly said. "That's great, Polly. You can be a woman forever now. They'll expect you to." "No. This is just for today." "Polly, did you sign contracts?" "Yes." "Did you read the dress code? The expectations?" "No. Why?" "Polly, Warren wants a transgender agent for gay clientele. It doesn't work if you're a guy. We talked about this on Friday. You're trapped, lady. It'll be panties for Polly for a long time. Embrace it sweetie. This is you now." "I'll ... I'll quit. They promised me full protection." "They'll protect Polly. Paul's just another foot in a sock, you know? My advice is for you to relax and enjoy this. Get into the feel of the clothes. The look of them. It's pretty cool being a woman." "Junie, this was just supposed to be a game." "Isn't life itself a game, Polly?" she giggled. "Don't you want to play? Don't you want to roll the dice?" Polly thought that she might have rolled them already. But damn it, the rules kept changing. 11:40 a.m. Polly stopped by the washroom just before lunch. One of the women there, Beth Tolliver, frowned when she entered the room, but she didn't say anything. She did leave in a hurry, however. Polly looked at herself in the mirror. She wasn't awful looking, she decided. She was slim, and her face was soft, and her hair looked nice. Except for the scorn, hell, she felt good. Damn it. Was she getting used to this? Was Junie winning? She spun in front of the mirror and felt her skirt billow. The truth of it is that, once you swallowed the embarrassment, the clothes felt nice. From the time Junie laid that bra across her chest, Polly had liked the way it felt. She dug into her handbag and fished out a lipstick tube. She applied it carefully, pleased with the way it made her mouth shimmer. "Looking pretty, lady," she heard a voice say. Sarah! "Thank you, Sarah," she said, embarrassed that she had been seen enjoying her makeup. "Hey, we usually go to lunch. But we're ordering sandwiches and salads today from Flippers. You want anything? Maybe a pickle. A big old juicy pickle?" "Um...no. Maybe a Rueben. No, wait. A Cobb salad. That would be good." "Cool. It's my treat. You can get me back tomorrow." "What are you getting, Sarah?" "Me? I'm eating three cheesecakes, six brownies and a tub of chocolate ice cream." "Really?" "Fuck, no. I'm having a house salad and an apple. I love starving myself." "Hah. I liked your first order." "Yes. Food is sex for the mouth. Except for some people, who have their own kind of sex with their mouths." "Sarah!" "What? I just saw you going down on Mike. At the office, no less." "I did not. I was getting away." "Whatever you say, slut," Sarah said, laughing. "Hell, I don't care. Not like yours is the first lipstick on his dick." "Sarah, I didn't." "But would you? Isn't it a nice dick? Big enough to go to work, as they say. And trust me. It stays hard. I know." "Sarah!" Sarah giggled and fished out her own lipstick. There they were, the new girl and the old one, talking about blow jobs. "Polly? I love your lipstick. Can I borrow some?" "Of course, it's in my purse." Sarah began to dig through my handbag. But what she brought out wasn't lipstick. "What is this?" she said, leering. In her hands, she was holding a tube with rings connected. Oh, my God. Junie had left a chastity cage in my purse. Sarah held it up as if its were a microphone. "Is this thing on?" she said. "Hello? Hello?" "Give me that!," Polly said. "Not on your lift. So this is a cage? Where does your thingie go?" Polly blushed. "Inside the tube." "Is it fun? Let's put it on. Pull down your girdle. Your panties, too. Oooh. That's a cute little mini-dick. Why do effeminate men have tiny dicks?" "Can we go back to work?" "Soon. There. I'll keep the key for now. And what's this? Does it go up your butt? Hey, it vibrates? Bend over, Polly. I want to see." "Please, no." "I need to understand, Polly. If we're going to be friends, I need to know what you like." "Oh, my Lord." "Wow. I've never seen a vibrator that big. Then again, your ass is kind of big, too." "It's a dildo," Polly said. "Oooh. You must like butt sex." Polly grabbed her various toys and shoved them back in the purse. "Don't tell anyone!" Polly said. "Polly, I'm telling everyone." 12:08 When the sandwiches arrived, Sarah scooted her chair to Polly's desk, and they ate together, gossiping about their co-workers. "So what do you think of Leon?" "He's big. Mean-looking." "No, sexually. Would you do him?" "Um, no. I don't think so." "Why? You don't like black men?" "Black men are fine," Polly said, then wondering what she had just said. "But he's married." "That doesn't make a man soft, girl," Sarah giggled. "I guess not." "How about Dax?" "Dax hates me." "A lot of married men hate their wives, but they still have sex. Wouldn't you like him up your ass?" "No." "I would," Sarah said. "Dax is the max. How about Mr. Bailey." "Ewww." Sarah laughed. "Codger sex is nice. They don't waste time. They want to get done before the heart attack comes." Polly found herself laughing at the raw nature of Sarah. She was a woman who -- despite having a husband at home -- liked sex. She made Polly feel like less of a freak. They were just two co-workers having lunch. And then part of that lunch was all over Polly. A huge glop of blue cheese dressing fell from her fork, and it landed on her bosom. "Shit," Sarah cried. "That'll stain. Let's go to the restroom." And so they hurried into the bathroom, and Sarah told Polly to hand her her dress and she would try to clean it. At least the stain wouldn't set. So Polly went into a stall and pulled off her dress. She handed it to Sarah, who had gone to the vending machine and bought seltzer water why Polly was undressing. Sarah worked over the dress, then hung it on the door stall to dry. "Nice bra," Sarah said. Polly flushed. She stood there beside her friend, wearing a bra and girdle and stockings, exposed to the world. "Can I feel them?" Sarah said, motioning toward Polly's breasts. "Um, I guess so," Polly said. Sarah's touch was cautious, gentle. She traced her fingernails on the outside of the bra, then cupped underneath and lifted. She squeeze gently. She ran her hand over the seams. "They feel like the real thing," Sarah said. "I'll bet you can't wait to have your own." "My own?" Polly said, distracted. "Your own boobs," Sarah said. "Does this feel nice? Can you feel it?" "I can feel the pressure," Polly said. "Yes, it feels nice." "Men suck," Sarah said. "But women are nice. Let me prove you aren't gay." "Not gay," Polly agreed. "Do you want to feel mine?" Sarah said. "Okay," Polly said. And she did. And then Sarah's tongue was dancing on her lips, and Polly'a hands were on her breasts. They were that way when Gina opened the door on them both. "Holy shit," Gina said. "Lunchtime at Ellen's! A tuna fest!" "Shut up, Gina. Go or stay." "I'll stay." "Then kiss me," Sarah said. Is this what women did on their lunch hour, while men were talking about baseball? Is this why they went to the restroom together? God, it was a great lunchtime. 1:30 Polly was sitting at her desk, trying to get back into work. If you looked hard, you could still see the stain on her dress. "I'm sorry, Polly," Sarah was saying "I couldn't get it out. Why don't we run next door to T.J. Maxx and we'll get you a new outfit." "We have a meeting in a half-hour," Polly said. "We'll be back. Just a quick in and out." And so they went to T.J. Maxx, and they had a sale on blouses. Polly picked up a salmon colored blue -- Sarah called it pink -- and a black skirt. She also picked up a new pair of heels, in basic black. She could not believe she had tried on a skirt, and bought it. "That pink is your color," Sarah said. "It's salmon," Polly said. "Yeah, so is my vagina," Sarah said. "Some of us don't have vaginas," Polly said. "Speaking of which, when do I get my key back?" "Key? What key?" "To my ... cage." "Oh, not today, for sure. Maybe tomorrow. Maybe Wednesday You're in the Shawshank Redemption." "I don't like wearing a cage," Polly said. "Well, when you get a coochie, you won't have to worry about it, will you?" "Sarah, be nice." "I am nice. I taste nice, too. Remember?" The sales clear spun her head. She didn't say anything. But it was clear what she thought of us. The two hurried back to their office. Once again, Polly retreated to the restroom and quickly changed. She hadn't bought new underwear, but the blouse and skirt fit nicely. She was ready for her introduction. 2:01 Warren Bailey looked over his staff. He smiled and stepped to the podium. "Folks, you've probably noticed a new persona here at National," he said. "It's Polly. Some of you may remember her as Paul Taylor, but we live in a changing world. Paul is having a sex change, and she's in transition. I hope you will all welcome her to our family. And here's a warning, although I 'm sure none of you need it. We do not tolerate bigotry here. Mess with our new woman, and you'll be out of work." "Can we have sex with her?" Mike asked. "You want sex with her again?" Sarah giggled. "She's worth seconds? She must be a vacuum cleaner." Mr. Bailey cleared his throat. The laughter ceased. "That's up to her," Mr. Bailey said. "The same as it's up to all the other women in our employ. You remember them, don't you Mike?" There was laughter, and a few catcalls. Mike had earned his reputation. "Polly will be heading the new Rainbow Division, where she'll help gay customers with their travel. She'll need some help as she gets started. Give it to her, won't you?" I wondered who might volunteer. Laura Jennings was a sales person who was clearly a lesbian. Nick Fralic seemed effeminate. He could be gay. Maybe Sarah. "Now, we have a special guest," Warren said. "I convinced Junie, Polly's ex-wife, to help with our welcome. Junie has helped Polly every step of the way, from buying her clothes to introducing her to men. So say hello to Junie Taylor." And there she was, the person who had set all of this up. Junie walked into the room, and the staff surrounded. The women wanted to share her pain. The men wanted to see if she was back on the market. And Polly stood there in her new clothes. "Junie, you're so brave. What's it like to lose your husband to womanhood?" "Did you catch him in your clothes?" "Has he always been a woman?" "What are you doing for sex?" "Have you two double-dated yet?" Junie kept rehearsing her practiced lies, how she had come home to find me in one of her dresses. How a man's arms were around me. Junie then added that Polly had told her that she'd dressed this way since she was a child. Tell someone a scandalous lie, and they will believe it. Before Junie was true, the world thought Polly was a bisexual trans woman who had picked an alternative lifestyle. To them, she would never be Paul again. Polly had been reborn. She fought back her tears as Junie accepted the admiration of my fellow workers. Polly's life had changed. 3 p.m. Jonah Bridges was a handsome man, tall with white teeth and flecks of gray in his hair. We were meeting to discuss travel arrangements. "As you know, Miss Taylor, gay people love to vacation. I guess the same as straight people. But the world is more accepting lately. We have more destinations, and more gay people are out to go to those destinations." Polly squirmed in her chair. "Yes, Mr. Bridges. Here at National, we want to be your travel headquarters. I can put some nice packages together for you." "It doesn't bother you that I'm gay?" he said. "Does it bother you that I'm wearing a skirt?" "Ha. Point taken. And call me Jonah." "Thank you, Jonah. I'm Polly." "You want a cracker?" he said grinning. "I love crackers," Polly said. "Are you from the South?" "Memphis. Coming out is hard in Tennessee." "Coming out is hard everywhere,"Polly said. "True, true. Technically, I call myself a pansexual. But I haven't been with a woman for years. Not even a trans woman." "Why waste time with trans women?" Polly said, laughing gently. "Polly, you'll have to go on some of these excursions with us. We're planning a trip to Las Vegas this fall. You're more than welcome. You might bag yourself an Elvis impersonator." "That's all I need," Polly said. "A hunka, hunka burning love." Polly was playing along by now. She knew that Jonah expected her to be a trans woman, and she wanted him to think that. Besides, she liked his dimples when he smiled. "Polly, I think this could be the start of a beautiful friendship, as they said in Casablanca," Jonah said. "Put together some packages, and I'll be sure to circulate your information. There is no obligation among gay people to use your services, but if your prices are fair, and your places are interesting, I think we can work something out." "I hope so," Polly said. "And Polly? There're maybe thousands of men under our umbrella who would love a girl like you. "Some nights, they might love you three or four times." 4 p.m. Jonah kissed Polly's hand, then left. But before Polly could leave the meeting room, Keisha walked in. She was a tall, athletic-looking woman with a short afro. "I'm onto you, sister," she snarled, and closed the door. "Excuse me?" Polly said. "Trans woman my ass," she said. "I know a sissy when I see one." "I'm...I'm not a sissy," Polly said. "The hell you aren't," Keisha snarled. "My husband is a sissy. You two could drink out of the same glass." "You've got me wrong," Polly said. "Bullshit. You go home and wear maid's dresses, don't you? You scrub the fucking toilets. I'd recognize your kind anywhere. C.J. is the same sort of powder puff girl." "Keisha....I'm not a maid. I'm not into that stuff," Polly said. She fought back the urge to say "...yet." "Do you prance? Do you iron the laundry? Do you sit in a man's lap to test his erection?" "No, Keisha, I don't." "Liar. I can smell a sissy fag from a mile away. Your wife tells you what to do, doesn't she? She spanks you and makes you serve her dinner guests. Right? She makes you blow her boyfriends." "She's....very assertive," Polly said. "But I don't do that other stuff." "You white boys are all the same. You're half-sissy from birth, like you're halfway between being a man and a woman. You should come over sometime and play with C.J. He has a nice collection of dolls. You can make plastic jewelry together and have all sort of girly fun. You could dress like cheerleaders and practice your chants." "I'm...I'm a trans woman," Polly said, shocked she was saying it out loud. "You're a sissy. You're fucking Tinker Belle. You're Glenda the Good Witch." Polly denied it, even though she thought there was a ring of truth there. At least someone in the office knew that this was Junie's idea. That she had been forced. That she didn't want to be here in a women's clothes. No matter how nice they felt. 4 p.m. It had been an exhausting day, a roller-coaster ride on speed, and Polly was ready to go home. It was hard to believe Junie expected her to do this again tomorrow. And the next day. And the next. She returned to her desk to file the documents she had had Jonah sign. Then she needed to freshen her lipstick for the ride home. But when she got to her desk, someone was waiting. Greg! "Greg, what are you doing here?" she said, her eyes wide. "I'm here for you babe. I thought you might want a lift home." "A lift? Me?" He smiled. "It's a little far to walk in those heels," he said. He leaned and whispered three words. "Junie says hi." Polly blanched. This was a setup from Junie? She had sent Greg to her office to make this scene? Why? Greg stood up and looked out at the office. "Ladies and gentlemen," he said loudly. "My name is Greg Bishop. You don't know me but, well, you will. Bear with me, if you would." Polly looked up. Greg dropped his right hand to her shoulder. "Over the past few months, Polly and I have gotten to know each other, well, intimately. So if she can come out, I guess I can, too. Everyone, Polly and I are engaged. She's going to be my wife." What? Engaged? To each other? "We're very much in love. Polly, well, she can make your forget that she wasn't born a woman." With that, he took Polly's left hand, and he slid a very large diamond ring onto it. Now, most of what Greg was saying was bullshit, but that ring was real enough. The women in the office rushed Polly's desk. They oohed and ahhed over the ring and its setting while Greg put out new nick-knacks onto my desk. A photo of the two of us that Junie had taken. A stuffed bear. A ceramic heart. "So how did you propose?" "Does Junie know?" "Where are you going to honeymoon?" "Are you going to have kids? I mean, adopt them?" "Did you go down on one knee, or did she go down on both knees?" It went on like that for a while. Greg stood there, is arm slung around her shoulders. Then he cupped her chin and kissed her. "To a wonderful life," he said. "And a wonderful wife." 5:35 Polly arrived home tired and confused. She had been a married man, and now she was an engaged woman. She was working as a female. "Hiya Polly," Junie said. "How was your day?" "Junie! Greg announced that we're engaged!" Polly blurted out. "Well, congratulations. He's quite a catch, sweetie." "No. He's married. I'm married." She smiled. "People only remember the big lies, Polly. They think you're a gay transsexual because your poor wounded wife told them you were. They'll think you're married because it's easy to think that." "But Junie..." "Hush, little one. You think I haven't seen you go moony-eyed over Greg? Chelsea and I laugh about it all the time." "I'm not..." "Ah but you are. You think I don't talk to people at your office? Warren? Sarah? I know you sucked off Mike. I know you blew Mike. I know you licked Sarah and Gina. Now, you're going to be Greg's wife.That's a hell of a first day." "I didn't blow Mike." "Oh, Polly. You aren't the only kinky one in the family. Have you ever heard of being a unicorn? That's where a woman makes love to a couple. Greg and Chelsea are a lot of fun, and I've become their unicorn. It takes a couple to cuckold you. So every time Chelsea and I are together, well, you'll have Greg. And if someone sees him leaving in the morning, well, that'll be okay. He's your husband." "Junie, when...how? Why would you do this to me?" "Oh, Polly. I'm not doing it to you. I'm doing it for you. If you think about it, it's what you want. It's the life you want to live." She sat down, the reality of it hitting me. Shit. Did she really want this life? Was this really a good thing? "Oh, and sweetie, I have a question for you. How do you think. You would look in a maid's uniform? You know, just on weekends." Copyright 2020, Cassandra Morgan