The New Secretary

By Amy Brett

                            Chapter 1

THE RUMORS HAD been flying for weeks and everybody was walking on
eggshells around the office. I'd always done my job as a high paid
clerk in the payroll and records department to the best of my ability,
got good performance evaluations, and seemed to have everyone on my
side.

  But Friday, it suddenly didn't matter.

  Fearfully, I watched a progression of guys go into Mrs. Conklin, the
department head's, office, come out looking shaken, glum, or mad
before they started throwing their things into boxes and, after swift
good-byes to their friends, leaving early. Of course, I knew what it
was.

  Tiny, the blustery 300 pound guy who ran the mail room and was an
occasional drinking buddy, came out looking pale and stopped by my
desk.

  "Fuckin' place," he sputtered in his typical vernacular. "Downsizing
my ass. She told me they're getting rid of a bunch of guys. Just can't
be helped. Well, fuck 'em." He stormed off.

  Later, Paul Wickam, a records clerk who I thought did a marginally
good job, went in to her office and came back looking like he was
going to break into tears any minute. When I went by to give him my
condolences, he nodded with real sadness, still fighting tears, and
told me the same story essentially.

  "She says their hiring practices have been so screwy for the last
five years that they have to reorganize," he said. "They've got to get
rid of a couple dozen guys, redistribute the work here, and hire some
females for several of the departments.

  "I guess they've been hiring guys and excluding women on a regular
basis so their equal opportunity numbers are all fucked up."

  As a guy and as one of the male members of this department, I was
worried. I had a right to be.

  My number came up about 2 o'clock that afternoon.

  "Hi Andy. Sit down," Mrs. Conklin said. "I suppose you've heard the
news."

  "Yeah. It's pretty hard to miss. The place is starting to look like
there's a fire drill out there."

  To her credit, she looked like she was enjoying this about as much
as getting a root canal.

  "This is really a bitch, Andy. I want to tell you. This is very hard
for me. I don't like laying people off." I'd always thought that was
sort of a cop-out. They weren't really laying people off.  They were
firing people. There was no intention to ever give them their jobs
back.

  My personal situation struck me hard then.

  I had the normal number of bills, nothing spectacular, and I lived
pretty simply. But losing my job would change the equation
completely. Even if they were offering some sort of severance pay, I
could keep my apartment about two weeks (until my rent was due) and
I'd be on the streets. My car, even though it wasn't new, was still
financed and might last another month or two before they repossessed
it, depending on how fast they figured out I wasn't working.

  I knew the prospects for another job in this town perfectly. Zilch.

  "What's a real bitch is that after I get done letting all you guys,
who know your jobs, go, I've got to scramble to find somebody
competent to do them. And there's about as much chance of that as
nothing."

  I'd heard that the job market for women was tremendous right now for
some reason. We'd had a secretary in the department quit because she
got pregnant and had looked for weeks before we found somebody. And I
wasn't impressed with her at all. I'd had to spend a bunch of time
teaching her what I thought she should have known to get the job in
the first place.

  "I hope you know how truly sorry I am, Andy. But you need to clean
out your desk. That's the order. Checks will be ready Monday."

  "Is there any severance or anything?"

  "We're required to give two weeks notice, as you know. You'll get
paid off for the two weeks and any vacation time you've saved up. But
that's it. I'm sorry. I know that doesn't give you much time to find
something else."

  "There isn't anything else," I pointed out. She nodded. She knew the
job market better than I.

  "There are some of these slugs that I don't mind getting rid of at
all, Andy," she said softly.  "But there are several of you I'd give
anything to keep. And the other departments are the same way."

  "Wish I was a girl," I said.

  "Oh God! I'd give anything. If you could change, I'd hire you with a
10 percent increase on the spot. It'd be worth it and then some."

  I looked up at her, trying to share a little bit of a smile even
though I felt like someone had kicked me in the stomach.

  What was funny was that the thought crossed my mind that what I'd
said would solve all the problems. Mine and hers. Maybe it showed on
my face somehow. She answered my smile naturally and, when my thoughts
and, I'm sure, my face changed, so did hers.

  First she seemed to look at me critically. Then she looked kind of
surprised. And finally, she shook her head as if to clear it and the
slight smile returned.

  "But, unfortunately, that's impossible," she said. But for some
reason, I heard a question mark at the end of her sentence. I thought
about it and, only after a long stretch of silence, dismissed it.

                          * * *

  Monday morning, I registered with the Job Service and three
different private job search places with the same results. "Don't hold
your breath."

  One had a job in a city 120 miles away that the lady said would be
an "easy" commute. She obviously hadn't added two to three hours on
the front and back of her job before, just as I hadn't. But I wasn't
about to start either. Besides, the job didn't sound that great and
paid less than what I'd had.

  Monday afternoon, I went in and picked up my check. In a vague hope
that Mrs. Conklin had changed her mind, I went to her office.

  "Hi," I said to the top of her bent head.

  "Oh, hi, Andy," she said with a smile. "You don't know how I wish I
had you guys back here.  The place is falling apart and there's just
nobody out there to take your places."

  I commiserated but quickly learned that there was no way she could
hire me back. I went to leave more depressed than when I'd walked in
and that was pretty bad since I'd been on the edge of tears when I
came in. She stopped me with a statement as I reached for the
doorknob.

  "Andy, if you decide to have that sex change, just yell," she said.

  "Are you serious?" I said, really wondering. What was strange about
the exchange was that it took about ten beats before she finally shook
her head and smiled rather strangely and said no.

  "Of course not." But she didn't sound believable for some reason.


                            Chapter 2

OKAY. SO I know that booze is never the answer to a problem. In fact,
going to a bar is the worst answer to financial problems because you
not only don't find the answer in the bottom of a glass but you spend
what little money you have much faster than if you bought a six pack
and took it home.

  But I needed a little noise. Companionship. Festivity. I couldn't
stand my own depression that just seemed to feed on
itself. Fear. Frustration. Thoughts of revenge on the world. All
that. All I needed was to sit in my quiet apartment (that might not be
mine at the end of the month) and let it feed off itself.

  I'd already thought of the possibility of shooting some EEOC type
and gotten one of my few smiles during the day. Of course, imagining
the satisfaction and knowing the reality were two entirely different
things.

  At any rate, I ended up leaving my old office and going to the bar a
block away where a lot of us gathered when there was a birthday or
birth or promotion to celebrate. Or, of course, sometimes when we just
had "attitude adjustment" meetings. That's what we called an extended
happy hour on the occasional Friday afternoon after work.

  Being Monday, the place was fairly quiet. I say fairly because Tiny
was there with a couple of his red necked buddies (none weighing in at
under two fifty) being far louder and more obnoxious than
usual. Usually, he was a noisy and slightly obnoxious drunk about 10
when he gave it up and staggered home. Noisy but fairly funny in a
macho sort of way.

  That night, he was already drunk at five, as noisy as ever, and not
even a little bit funny. He was talking loudly and seriously about
"kicking some butt" in that "faggy, girly joint" he'd been fired from,
starting with that "faggot cocksucker Miller" (the CEO) and ranging
through the entire male staff.

  He didn't speak to me and I certainly didn't speak to him in the
mood he was in. I figured he could decide I was a member of the
"faggot" society that had pitched him out of his job as easy as
not. He was well beyond noticing that I'd gotten fired as well or
listening to me tell him that tidbit.

  Paul was already sitting at the bar nursing a mixed drink as I
pulled up a stool and ordered a beer. I asked him how he was doing and
learned the extent of his efforts. Almost a carbon copy of mine. The
gal at the job placement place had even offered him the same three
hour commute and I found myself getting a little miffed that she'd
been so loose with "my" job offer.

  A guy I'd seen at work a few times but who worked at the other end
of the building in the executive offices came over after a while, I
think to get a drink from the bar.

  "You're Andy Brett, right?" he said.

  "Yeah. Mike, right?"

  "Reardon. Right. I've seen you around. Were you one of the people
got riffed Friday?" I nodded.

  "Yeah. And this is Paul Wickam. Him, too," I noted. Paul said hello.

  "Me, too. I guess it was pretty much across the board. I sat there
at the boss's door all day wondering when it would be my turn. There
aren't that many male executive secretaries." Mike was a little guy,
like Paul and I, with a spray of thin brown hair he tried to comb over
a bald spot in spite of only being in his mid-20's.

  "Man, they really cleaned house, didn't they?" I noted
unnecessarily.

  "You guys have any luck with the hunt?"

  "Nope. We both got the same offer for the job in Hemsley."

  "What? You don't want to commute five hours a day?" he said with a
laugh. "I got that offer, too. It must be a real shit job for them to
look so far astray for somebody."

  "Depends a lot on how hungry we all get," I said.

  "Yeah. We might all be fighting over it in a couple weeks," Paul
said.

  There was another outburst from Tiny across the room. Something else
about the CEO.

  "Hey, you know, hope you guys don't feel the same way about
Mr. Miller. I was there when the EEOC guys came and told Bill he had
to get rid of us and get some girls in there. 'Or else,' was what they
said.

  "Bill told me later that if he didn't comply they'd threatened him
with a $3 million fine that would shut down the business altogether."

  "Yeah, I know," Paul said.

  "I don't know how they got so out of kilter. Maybe there's just not
many qualified women in town," I said.

  "That's what Bill told them. He said it wasn't that he actively
discriminated against women.  Just that the only people he could find
to do the jobs were guys."

  About that time, Tiny tried for a behind the back pool shot and fell
off the pool table on his ass.  His friends had more than a little
trouble getting him back on his feet and launched into an extended
argument about whether it was time for him to go home and sleep it off
or not. When the bartender decided to help decide the matter, Tiny
took a drunken swing at him and got escorted to the door.

  The place was much quieter.

  Paul had finished another scotch and water, Mike had just ordered
his second with us and had had at least one before he came over, and I
was on my third beer and a good little buzz. We were all at the break
point where we could still talk rationally and would remember what we
were saying but far enough along that talk was much more fluid than
normal. It crossed my mind several times that this would be a good
time to quit, find something for dinner, get a good night's sleep, and
continue with the job search the next day. But like all good
intentions, this one went by the boards as Mike ordered another for
each of us.

  It was after six when Mrs. Conklin came through the door, sat down
at the bar a few chairs away from me, and ordered a gin and tonic,
thanking the bartender profusely.

  "Tough day, Mrs. Conklin?" I asked, trying to be friendly. She
looked over and smiled at me.

  "Miserable, Andy. The second worst day of my life. Friday was the
worst but today came close."

  "Still having trouble with the hiring?" Paul asked over my shoulder.

  "You just couldn't believe what they've been sending me, guys," she
said, shaking her head.  "Air heads. Wives who want to work for a
month but need to quit when the baby is due. Old gals who've never
seen a computer and tell me they think they can do it better on a
typewriter. Two, no three high school girls complete with bubble gum
and no skills whatsoever.

  "It's terrible!" she summarized. She finished her drink in a gulp
and signaled for another.

  "I know some guys who'd be willing to fill in," Paul said.

  "Damn! Don't I wish," she said, shaking her head. She got her drink
and looked around for a softer place to sit. I knew from experience
that women, in general, don't like sitting at the bar.  Particularly
when they're alone.

  She picked up her drink and headed for an open booth.

  "I feel like suck a hog taking up a whole booth by myself. Would you
guys join me?" We agreed and all went to sit at the big booth.

  "Are any of you having any luck with work?" she asked and, of
course, got all the negative head shakes. I introduced Mike but she
already knew him from her more frequent contact with the CEO's office.

  "We all got offered the same job in Hemsley," I noted.

  "Hemsley! My God! That's three hours away!"

  "Don't we know it," Mike said. "Otherwise we'd probably be fighting
over it."

  "You poor guys," she said.

  "Poor Mrs. Conklin," I said.

  "I'll drink to that," she said and did exactly that.

  We filled in some details of our days while she filled in more of
hers and we all commiserated for a while. Among other things, she told
us about the emergency meeting the human resources department had held
for all the department heads in the morning and how they really didn't
have any ideas for them.

  "The only good idea I've heard since this started was Andy's," she
said and I wondered what she was talking about. "You remember, don't
you?"

  I'm sure I looked blank. I certainly didn't remember any idea I'd
had.

  "Andy suggested you just become girls. Then all of our problems
would be over," she said.  We all laughed loudly.

  Mike picked up a napkin and pulled it over his bald head, pursed his
lips, and said, "Oh, Andy, you silly silly boy!" in a falsetto. I
tried it, too, and about choked responding to him.

  We talked for a while more about how we wished we could do it since
it would solve our problems.

  Paul took us all by surprise. "You know, if we were serious, we
could."

  I looked at him, trying to figure out what he was saying. "We could
what? Be girls?" He shrugged his shoulders.

  "Sure. Didn't you ever wear something of your mom's or your sister's
or something when you were a kid?" Of course I had. My girl cousins
had dressed me head to toe in their clothes once.  But I sure as hell
wasn't going to say it. It was probably lucky that I thought before I
opened my mouth because it gave Mike a chance to speak first.

  "My parents left me at home overnight once when I was in high school
and I had a chance to try on a bunch of my mom's clothes," he said
with a blush.

  "How did you look?" Mrs. Conklin asked.

  "Why beautiful, of course," he said, returning to the napkin trick.

  "I tried it too a couple of times," Paul said. "I even went to a
Halloween party once dressed as Scarlet O'Hara and won the prize for
best costume."

  "No kidding?" I asked. "I can't quite see you with red hair." We all
laughed.

  "I think you'd all be surprised. I know a lot of women who look more
masculine than any of you," she started.

  "Well, you take that back, ma'am, or I'll just have to plug ya,"
Mike said in a good John Wayne impression. She snickered. "Not
demeaning your masculinity. It's just that these women are really
pretty manly and if they didn't wear makeup and the right clothes, I'm
sure you wouldn't know for sure."

  "I've seen some people that I wondered whether they were guys or
girls," I noted and I had.

  "Well, you'd be surprised at what some very pretty women look like
when they don't have their makeup on. And if clothes make the man,
like they say, they really make the woman. Half the women in the world
would be confused for guys if they had their breasts bound and weren't
wearing a skirt."

  We got another round of drinks, all thinking. I don't know what Mike
and Paul were thinking, but I sure as hell knew what I was
thinking. Wondering would be more like it, I guess.

  "You know," Mrs. Conklin said into the silence that had descended
over the table. "The human resources people are trying to find people
who can do the work. Women, of course.  There's nothing in the job
description about being pretty women.

  "You'd be amazed at how much I'd be willing to overlook to find some
women to replace you guys."

  We thought for some more.

  "Of course, there are a lot of people still working with us who know
you guys and, well, we don't want any more trouble with the EEOC. But,
well, how often did you get down to my shop when you were working for
Bill, Mike?"

  He laughed. "Never."

  "And you guys? How often did you go to the CEO's office?" We just
smiled. She knew we never did.

  We finished our drinks and Mrs. Conklin decided it was time to
leave.

  "If there's anything I can do to help any of you in your job search,
you know," she added as a smiling afterthought, "just let me know."

  She left us, each thinking about the same thing, I think, but no one
sharing their thoughts.

  I worked hard and tried everything I could think of from talking to
the grocery store owner to city government, looking for a job. In the
process, I got sincere shakes of the head, many "sorry"'s, and a
couple of horse laughs when I tried for a job on a loading dock. But
not even a possible distant chance of a job.

  Friday, I went shopping.

Chapter 3

A STOP AT a drugstore supplied a small stock of makeup supplies and a
can of hair spray. A stop at a department store supplied a black
skirt, a cheap white brassiere, a pair of pantyhose, and a blouse in a
woman's style and silky material but a man's cut with collar, button
front, and long sleeves "for my girlfriend."

  A nervous few minutes in a self serve shoe store gained a pair of
plain white flat women's shoes that I tried on quickly as I stood in
the aisle.

  A discount store supplied a few pieces of costume jewelry that were
probably the hardest thing to think of an explanation for. Why, after
all, would a man buy his girlfriend a handful of cheap plastic
bracelets, necklaces, and clip-on earrings or a watch almost
guaranteed to stop working within a few weeks just by its $15 price
tag. Rather than trying, I decided to just ignore the salesgirl's
questioning looks in favor of a thorough inspection of a TV Guide.

  That set up an afternoon of experimentation and little failures.

  It took thirty seconds in front of the mirror to realize the mascara
I'd bought was much too dark and that I hadn't gotten an eyebrow
pencil at all. I washed my face thoroughly, tossed the mascara, and
went to a nearby pharmacy and watched what I was doing more
carefully. I added something called a makeup base.

  Having only gotten as far as a thorough shave on the last take, I
did better this time except for the makeup base. Simply, it looked
like I'd put the goop on with a spoon and my entire face was exactly
the same color. I looked dead. I washed my face again and tossed the
makeup base. I just hoped I didn't need it because it was a deal
breaker.

  The eyebrow pencil was easy enough to apply. Like painting with a
crayon. But when I was done coloring in every hair, I looked like a
blond Brooke Shields with enough eyebrow to take over my entire face.

  I decided I might as well try the mascara since I didn't expect any
better luck with it. In the process of putting the stuff on my
eyelashes, I also put it on my eyelids and cheeks and nose.

  Maybe eye shadow would cover it and I'd be able to carefully wash it
off cheeks and nose.

  That was one of a few good laughs I had during the day. Sparkling
silver eye shadow was not for me. I looked worse than Tammy Fay.

  Do it all, I decided, and put on the lipstick. At least I had some
idea of how to put it on from watching my mother when I was a
kid. She'd done it as if it were nothing, a dozen times a day.

  I stayed in the lines, didn't put too much on, and didn't end up
with alternating red teeth. But that's about all I could say for it.

  Standing back from the mirror, my first thought was strictly a fear
reaction. This was only slightly enhanced by baring my teeth in a
snarl and holding my hands in a Bela Lugosi bat threat.

  I'd done best with the lipstick but it was far too dark for my light
complexion and blond hair.

  I tried brushing my hair loosely and even spraying it with the
sticky hair spray. It looked like I just got out of bed when I was
finished and made the fright mask complete. I did theatrical routines
from movies for myself for a while. Betty Davis. "I'm ready for my
scene ..." More Bela Lugosi. A little Peter Lorre. None of them were
very good theater but they were better theater than I was a girl.

  This time I washed my entire head and, even with my hair recently
dried and sticking up all over, thought it a tremendous
improvement. "Where have you been? Those others didn't ... bite you,
did they?" I asked myself in the mirror.

  Okay. So I was almost convinced.

  Stripping down to shorts, I wrestled with the bra for a while,
stuffing a pair of socks in each C cup. They were lumpy but
impressive. I posed for myself.

  I sat down on the bed and put on the pantyhose (backward first, of
course). I got them to my knees before putting my finger through the
strange, sheer material. Although the blond hair on my legs is
virtually invisible, the pantyhose seemed to be bristling with it.

  The skirt was okay and the shoes fit. Little successes.

  The blouse was the right size but unfortunately followed the
contours of the lumpy bra perfectly and didn't want to stay tucked in
the back of the skirt when I sat down.

  The costume jewelry looked like the junk it is. Little girl toys
hanging, dangling, or interfering.  Even with a good rap, the Swatch
Watch didn't work straight out of the box and just added to the
"little girl playing with mommy's things" look.

  That was the second laugh of the day. When I looked in the full
length mirror on the bathroom door.

  I thought I'd seen this girl once in junior high waiting at one side
of a gymnasium during one of those enforced "dances" they made us go
to. She's the one some guy finally had to take onto the gym floor who
looked over the top of his head as they shuffled around trying not to
step on each other too hard.

  If I had to take this nightmare out in public, I thought, I'd have
to kill myself in preference to facing anyone I knew again. The
kidding would be impossible.

  "Where'd you find her, Andy? The city pound or the pig farm? Har har
har!"

  Mrs. Conklin had said a girl didn't have to be pretty. But she
didn't say she could be totally repulsive either.

  So any chance I had at this desperate last ditch attempt looked
destined for failure.

  I was glad I wasn't wearing mascara when my eyes filled with
unbeckoned tears.

  It took half the time to get out of the "ensemble", into pants and a
shirt, and out the door on the way to the bar. This "effort"
definitely deserved a couple of beers.

                          * * *

  I had just ordered my second beer when Paul sat down on the stool
next to me, looking as depressed as I felt.

  "Hi Andy," he said and sounded as bad as he looked. "Any luck?"

  "Naw," I said. "You?"

  "There's not a single damned job in this entire town. I don't think
anybody retires or dies or anything."

  "If there is, I don't know where it is."

  He looked around as if trying to see if we were being overheard.

  "Did you try the other thing?"

  "You mean dressing ..."

  "Yeah, yeah." He didn't want me to go too far.

  "That's what I did with my day today. It was a miserable failure."

  "I did, too. Night before last. There's no way. I was too afraid to
even buy clothes let alone wear them in public."

  "I did okay with that. No problems. They just looked like shit on me
and the makeup was a disaster."

  "Yeah. I did that part. Got stuff all over my face but it didn't
look realistic at all."

  We drank our beers.

  "Tiny got a job. I saw him out at the Roadside last night." The
Roadside was a rough bar out on the road out of town. "He's a
bouncer."

  I'd been there exactly once and saw two fights while I finished one
beer.

  "What were you doing there?"

  "I decided I had to try everything possible before I pack up and try
to figure out which direction to move."

  "Sorry to hear that. That you're thinking about moving, I mean."

  "It's obvious there isn't anything at all here. I couldn't even talk
to the manager at the Roadside. He laughed when he saw me. Said I'd
make the patrons laugh too hard if I was tending bar."

  "You could get killed out there. I almost did in about fifteen
minutes the only time I ever went out there."

  "Scary place." He finished his beer and ordered another for each of
us.

  We were so far into our miseries, Mrs. Conklin took us by surprise
when she put her hands on our shoulders.

  "Hi guys. How are you doing?" Paul shook his head while I answered.

  "Been better."

  "Order me a gin and tonic and a scotch and water then come over to
join us," she said. She walked toward the booth we'd sat at before
where, I noticed, she slid into it beside another woman I could see
only from the knee down. That, I thought, looked interesting.

  In a few minutes, we gained the two drinks and each picked up one
with our own and walked to the booth. Paul slid into the booth first
before I sat down. I looked at the second woman with interest. She
was, well, quite interesting.

  Before she said anything or looked up from the drink Paul had sat in
front of her, I scanned what I could see. Nicely done brunette hair at
shoulder length with a little inward wave, parted in the
middle. Pretty, full lips. An unremarkable white blouse over a lacy
looking white bra that I roughly estimated at about a B cup. I'd seen
the hem of a gray skirt at that knee I'd seen before and simple gray
pumps at the end of that well turned calf.

  She looked up at me and blinked unremarkable brown eyes surrounded
by a minimum of mascara that I now recognized as a good, sensible
treatment. I thought her little nose was cute.  Then she smiled at my
inspection and I felt that little flutter inside that said a pretty
girl had just smiled at you.

  "Michelle, this is Paul and Andy," Mrs. Conklin said, pointing in
our general directions. The girl held out her hand in a loose,
feminine way that I never knew how to respond to handshake or gentler
finger shake. She took my hand in a soft handshake that was both
feminine and businesslike. I liked that. We both said hi and she
responded in a slightly throaty, low voice that I liked.

  "Michelle started working for me yesterday," Mrs. Conklin said. "And
she's already invaluable, taking a little of the load you guys left
for me."

  I frowned to myself. It wasn't her fault that she'd found somebody
halfway decent to replace us. In fact, I had to be happy for her.

  "It sounded like you guys aren't having much luck."

  "To say the least," I said and Paul seconded the thought.

  "You know there isn't a dog catcher in this town?" Paul asked. "And
if they did, I couldn't get hired."

  "All the ditch digger jobs are filled, too," I added.

  "Oooo. You two do sound down."

  "With good reason," I pointed out.

  "Have you thought any more about my proposal?"

  Paul choked on a sip of beer and I fought a glob of stomach that had
just leaped behind my Adam's Apple.

  "We even tried that with such disastrous results we both ended up
here independently with the same thoughts."

  "Involving drowning sorrows," Paul added.

  "Tell me about it," she said. I looked from her open face to the
girl's. She smiled again and sipped her drink. That was the first I'd
noticed the long, red fingernails.

  "Just say it wouldn't work," I noted for the record. I wasn't going
to get into particulars in front of the girl.

  "Was it the mascara or the hair?" the girl said in a sultry voice,
her mouth breaking into a self- satisfied smile. A smirk, I thought. A
knowing smile. She had me stopped cold. I couldn't, wouldn't, and
didn't know how to respond or even to clear my clenched throat.

  I looked at Mrs. Conklin with the question on my lips. Why did you
tell her? I felt like I'd been betrayed.

  "Hey, Andy. Did you fucking try it or not?" It had come from the
girl but with none of the demure sweetness. This had sounded like like
Mike.

  Suddenly the pretty, smiling face seemed to swim in my vision and
reform under a small spray of brown hair across a shining bald pate. I
choked on a sip of beer I hadn't started to take yet.

  Paul, not under that dazzling glare of attention from the girl, said
it.

  "Mike?" She looked at him. "You...you look great!"

  Her smile spread and I thought she was one of the most gorgeous
women I'd ever seen.

Chapter 4

I'D STOPPED AT my apartment, gotten my stuff, and arrived at
Mrs. Conklin's in ten minutes flat. So quickly, in fact, that they'd
only just arrived when I did and hadn't gotten the key out of the
front door lock.

  "Do you have anything to do this weekend?" Mrs. Conklin had said in
the bar after Paul and I tumbled to Mike.

  Paul's answer had been, "Well, are we ready to go?" His eyes glowed
with excitement as he looked from one to the other of us.

  "Where do we start?" I asked with equal exuberance when Mike,
Mrs. Conklin, and I were safely inside her house.

  "Well, you start by taking a bath. Not a shower. With some bath oil
and the soap that's in the tray. After you've soaked for a while, soap
a leg really well and use the safety razor next to the tub to
shave. When you're done, there shouldn't be a hair I can see from your
neck to your toes."

  I looked at Mike, who was sitting with "her" legs crossed, on the
couch. I thought if I could look just a tenth as good, I'd be a
shoo-in for a job at the office. I was in the bathtub before I
realized I hadn't brought any of the clothes with me but I dismissed
it and settled into the rapidly rising hot water, the smell of the
scented oil heavy in the steamy air.

  I'd been there for a while when I heard the doorbell ring and Paul
being greeted. From what I could hear, he'd stopped at a liquor store
for a case of beer and bottles of scotch and gin.

  I couldn't believe that getting my fine blond fuzz off my legs was
as difficult as it was. Every little scrape clogged the twin blades
again and required clearing. It didn't take long before I established
a regular pattern of long stroke, shake in the water, brush off the
remainder, and on and on. When I thought I was done, I rubbed my pink
streaked leg and felt the considerable leftovers and started over with
the soap.

  Thank goodness, I thought, I didn't have any chest hair. Certainly
doing my underarms was tough enough and took almost as long as my
legs.

  I was on the last armpit when Mike the beautiful girl came into the
room and giggled when I ducked for cover under a washrag, blushing all
over. I watched her with great interest as she collected my clothes
and sat a pair of lacy panties on the edge of the sink.

  "How are you doing?" she asked.

  "Ah, almost done. Where are you going with my pants?"

  "You won't need them for a while. Come out when you're ready." She
left.

  I checked everywhere for hairs before giving up, getting out of the
slippery water, and drying thoroughly. It took a little longer to dry
my hair. But then I knew I was procrastinating.

  I had to look at the panties for quite a while to figure out which
way was front. For one thing, the label was over a leg instead of in
the back.

  I purposely hadn't bought panties so I knew these weren't mine. If I
had, I would have bought something with a little more to them than
this. Resigned, I stepped into them and pulled them into place.

  I looked around for a comb or a brush but there wasn't one in the
room. I tried instead to finger comb it into place with minimal
positive effect. Mostly it was standing on end.

  I finally gave and opened the door.

  Mrs. Conklin looked up with a friendly, welcoming look. Mike, no I
was going to have to remember "she" was Michelle, looked at me with
the most seductive look I've ever seen.

  "I hope you don't mind too much, Andy. We looked at your things,"
Mrs. Conklin said. "I suppose you know that, with the exception of the
skirt and blouse, this is all garbage."

  Defensive, I responded too quickly. I wasn't excited about standing
there in a pair of panties that I was only partially successful at
covering with my cross hands.

  "I couldn't afford better or I would have gotten something better."

  "It looks more like you snatched the first thing you found off the
rack or counter and ran out of the store," Michelle said with another
grin.

  "There's nothing wrong with the things," Mrs. Conklin
continued. "They're just wrong for you."

  "Besides, you didn't have any panties and you can't feel like a
woman without them," Michelle added.

  "Okay. Now put on your bra," Mrs. Conklin said and I tried. Michelle
showed me how to fasten the back fastener in front of my stomach, turn
it around right, and then put my arms in the straps. It was a lot
easier that way. When it was in place Mrs. Conklin carefully placed a
heavy plastic bag in each cup.

  "My mother, bless her soul, had breast cancer," she explained. "She
used to say that if she was going to use 'falsies', that's what she
called the breast forms, then she was going to enjoy it and got a
bunch of different sizes."

  I looked at the way they moved in the bra cups and chuckled with
Michelle when she bounced them on her palms.

  "As a sort of general rule," Mrs. Conklin said, "it's better for you
guys to play down a little.  No see-through blouses or really short
skirts or spike heels. And I probably would have advocated a little
smaller breast size for you. But since you already had the C-cup bra,
I thought we might as well fill it out. Maybe it's right for you."

  "Put on your pantyhose," Michelle said. I sat down and did as I was
told. We decided we'd have to replace them when she noticed the hole
I'd put in them.

  Paul came out of another room I thought must be Mrs. Conklin's
bedroom, all pink, spiky haired, and wearing a pair of blue
panties. He looked every bit as nervous as I'd been when I came out of
the bathroom.

  "Michelle, why don't you go into my room and help ... ah, let's
see. Amy. Does that sound okay to you, honey?" Amy? My new name?
Interesting. I nodded and smiled.

  "Okay. Take Amy into the bedroom and help with the rest. Okay?"
Michelle smiled at me as I got up.

  When I followed her into the bedroom, I felt the pantyhose on my
legs for the first time. Now that I'd shaved my legs, they felt
great. They seemed to move and almost caress my sensitized skin as I
walked. It was a funny, enjoyable feeling.

  "Now watch what I do," Michelle said as she got out a fingernail
file and tiny scissors.  "Because I'm not going to do everything." It
wasn't going to be the last time she said that or that I'd have to do
it myself in the future.

  She carefully trimmed the corners of a nail that I'd let get too
long, but left the longest center part. She used a funny shaped stick
and pushed at the cuticle and then filed the tip. Then she turned me
loose on the rest and sat back with her elbows on the bed and watched
while I continued the process with the other fingers.

  I couldn't help notice the way her breasts moved under the blouse or
the way her skirt pulled up onto her thighs. It surprised me how
comfortable she looked as a woman.

  "You must have made a decision right away after we all talked
Monday," I noted.

  "I came home with Margaret Monday night and she showed me the things
I'm showing you," she said.

  "You look great! I really thought you were a woman when I saw you at
the bar," I told her honestly. She smiled all over.

  "The first couple of days are really scary. Everything's so new. But
you get the hang of it pretty fast."

  "And you started work Wednesday?"

  "That was the hardest and scariest of all. Walking into the building
and past some of my friends up front. Talking to Margaret was easy, of
course, and I pretty well knew that I had the job before I went in.

  "Sitting down with the other people in your old department and
getting grilled about myself was tough. But pretty soon, I got
involved in the job and it pretty much took my mind off myself a
little."

  "I'll bet there's a lot to remember," I said.

  "Funny little things. And maybe big things like the first time I
used the women's room," she blushed. "You don't realize how you've
been conditioned all your life to stay out of the ladies' until you're
standing there with your hand on the door. And things like making sure
to watch your skirt and sitting up right. All those things."

  I was finished with the clipping and filing. She sat up and got a
bottle of clear fingernail polish and opened it.

  "This is base coat," she explained. "It seals up all the ridges and
makes them smoother."

  She painted the thumbnail and one other before handing the
applicator to me. It was harder to do than it looked but I got the
hang of it as I went on. She took care of the bottle while I tried to
get it to dry without touching anything. It dried quickly and she
opened a bottle of pink fingernail polish and did my thumb again
before handing me the applicator. This was harder because you didn't
want to leave part of the nail showing but you couldn't get it on your
finger either.

  "When you're done, start over with the first one and put on another
coat." I did it finally, getting better at it as I went. She provided
another bottle that said "seal" on it as she took the polish and put
it away.

  We talked more about work, getting into a batch of the stuff I knew
from doing the job for as long as I had. And she explained how
Margaret had taken her shopping Tuesday and helped her get several mix
and match outfits without spending very much money. Of course, that
had been scary for her too. She kidded me because, she said, that was
the plan for Paul and I Saturday so we'd see exactly what it felt
like.

  Finally, I was done and they had dried to a high gloss sheen as good
as most cars' paint jobs.

  "Okay now. This is the really hard part and there's not enough to it
for you to practice right now. Watch carefully and tomorrow you can do
it yourself."

  First she used the fingernail scissors and carefully trimmed my
eyebrows, cutting the lower part and the outsides very short so what
you could see of them was slightly lifted at the outside ends and much
narrower.

  She took the same eyebrow pencil I'd used with such disastrous
results and applied just a little in an arch which lifted at the
edges. I looked from inches away at what she'd done and thought I
could copy it.

  The mascara, she said, was the hardest for her but with short
outward strokes, she colored my eyelashes perfectly to just a
minimum. It brought out my eyes without looking at all fake.

  The lipstick she chose from Margaret's table was almost a perfect
match for the pink on my fingernails. She carefully traced the upper
edges of the top lip and the lower of the bottom lip and had me purse
them as my mother had. There didn't even seem to be more than a touch
of the color where my lips met.

  "You're lucky. Your beard is so light, you shouldn't have to wear
any makeup base. But if you ever do, make sure it's just a little
lighter than your normal skin color and only use it where you
absolutely have to and powder it afterward."

  She looked at me critically for a minute.

  "I don't think you're going to want to use any eye shadow at
all. Particularly in the daytime.  But if you do at night, I'd use
blue to bring out your eyes. They're so pretty."

  She smiled at her work so far and turned to a closet.

  "I hate to say it, but I'm glad Margaret's mom had breast
cancer. She has all sorts of neat things because of it." In the
closet, she reached up to a shelf and brought down a box. "Oh, neat!"

  I could see why she said it when she held up a mop of blond hair
that extended from her hand to her elbow as she used the other hand to
fluff it out and untangle it.

  "Brush your hair flat and to the side so you don't look like a
scarecrow after you take this off," she said, bringing it to me and
watching as I did as I was told. Then she settled it on my head like a
cap and pulled down at the sides. Before she'd gotten it on, I saw
that the underside of it looked like a net cap almost like a swimming
cap for a woman but without the ear flaps.

  She pulled and tugged at the cap over most of my hair before opening
another drawer and finding some bobby pins. She put two in the front
straight back and almost into my scalp, then two at the back just
below my crown from the outsides in. It felt secure but strange.

  She took the brush away from me and lightly did the sides and back
over my shoulders before making light little strokes that moved pieces
of hair onto my forehead.

  "Wow! You're going to like this!" she said and I started to look in
the mirror. "No, wait! Get your skirt and blouse on first and then you
can look at the whole thing."

  She was grinning with excitement as I stepped into the skirt and
started buttoning the blouse.

  "That's hard, isn't it?" she said. "The buttons are all backwards. I
wonder why they did that?"  It was hard but I soon had it done.

  "Tuck it in a little and I'll show you a trick," she said and moved
to the hem of my skirt as I tucked it in. "This is easier and better,
too." She jerked on the tail of the blouse all around, pulling it down
tight, before letting go of the skirt and smoothing it down.

  "I'll find you a belt while you put these on," she said and handed
me a pair of white high heels a lot like the grey ones she was
wearing. They were simple and had only two inch heels or so but I was
sure I'd fall on my face trying to walk in them. As I stood up, she
put a six inch wide white belt around my waist and cinched up three
different little buckles at least two holes tighter than I thought
would probably be comfortable.

  "You're going to LOVE this!" she blubbered as she took my hand and
led me into the dark bathroom off the bedroom. She led me to the
middle of the dark room and left me standing there, trying to decide
if I was going to fall over from the strange forward tilt of my
ankles.

  "Ready?" she asked and I said yes. She flicked on the brilliant
bathroom light and I looked into the eyes of a stranger. I had to
refocus my eyes to see that it wasn't someone else in the bathroom. I
moved and the stranger moved as well.

  There was a girl in the mirror in front of me. I resisted looking
over my shoulder to see if she was really there. Black skirt, white
blouse, long shapely legs to white pumps. Tits. Yeah.  Considerable
tits that lifted the blouse flatteringly. Slim waist held by the white
belt.

  I looked up again. Pretty blue eyes that seemed to hold you to
them. Moderate pink lips that pointed out the pink fingertips that
were slowly exploring the face. Beautifully long blond hair in a
slight disarray. Loose and easy and almost falling to those full
breasts, splitting over each shoulder.

  I smiled and she smiled back engagingly. Her eyes sparkled and
smiled back.

  She walked behind me, looking over my shoulder, and put her arms
around me.

  "You're gorgeous. Will you still be my friend?" I laughed.

  "You're kidding!"

  "Huh uh. If I was a guy, I'd give anything to get you into bed." I
looked into her eyes reflected in the mirror.

  "You know. In the bar. I thought that you were one of the prettiest
women I've ever seen," I said. I grinned. "But you're right. If I was
a guy, I'd fuck the blond in a heartbeat."

  We laughed together.


                            Chapter 5

MARGARET'S EYES TWINKLED when she looked at me walking into the living
room. The girl sitting between us, turned her head when she saw
Margaret's look past her and I got another start.

  "Paula was just saying that she bet you'd be really pretty. She was
certainly right."

  "Paula?" I said, grinning.

  "You're wow!" she said in an almost disembodied masculine voice that
didn't seem possible from her delicate red lips. The red highlights
were plain in the auburn haired girl's short hair. Her green eyes,
huge in her pale face, enlarged with surprise as she looked at me.

  "You think it's okay?"

  "Oh, Amy! It's it's impossible!"

  She stood up and walked confidently around the chair she'd been
sitting in. She was wearing dark brown women's pants, short heeled
beige sandals that red toenails peeked out of, a red and yellow silk
shirt that stood out moderately at the chest with the collar turned
up, and large red and yellow flower earrings. A matching red and
yellow series of stone flowers set in gold settings marched around her
neck over the shirt.

  The auburn hair, short but full and curly, had to be her own. Three
large, bright colored dinner rings sparkled from her fingers as her
hands came up as if reaching for my chest.

  "Spectacular!" she said with a large smile as I saw she was
inspecting my tits. I blushed.

  "P-Paula," I stumbled over her new name. "You look wonderful."

  "Yeah. I saw in the mirror. This is going to work. But I don't look
anything like you. I mean, I look like a girl. I know that. But
nobody's going to get a hard-on when I walk in the room." Her eyes
looked lustful as she looked me up and down from this close
perspective.

  There's only so much praise a girl can handle and maintain any
modesty. I looked past her to Margaret who was still sitting on the
couch with the huge smile.

  "So girls. What do you think? Is it possible?"

  "I'm still really scared," I said and Paula nodded.

  "Me, too. But you look so great "

  "So do you! You look like the girl next door. Definitely a girl. But
easy. Easygoing. You know?"

  "Yeah. That's what I wanted exactly." She smiled cutely. "At least
I'm not going to have to worry all day about getting felt up."

  "Come and sit down," Margaret said and we all chose seats, carefully
sitting down. At least I did because of the skirt pulled above my
knees. Paula sat down easily and I envied her pants.  Michelle stopped
and asked if we wanted drinks. I practically begged for a beer and
Paula seconded it with a chuckle.

  She brought us beers and glasses that Margaret told us to use in a
few seconds. She returned to make hers and Margaret's. We just made
small talk about fingernail color and my wig and her jewelry until
Michelle got back and sat down.

  "Okay, ladies. We've got some work to do," Margaret said. She was
certainly right.

  For the next three hours, she drilled Paula and I particularly on
walking (there's a right way and a wrong way for a woman), talking
(slightly higher pitch and softer), sitting in a dozen ways and
situations, gestures, and the fine points of makeup and hair that we'd
now had a successful experience with.

  We discussed the options for each of us concerning all of these
things and even discussed what we'd do on Monday to try for jobs.

  It amazed me that we were all chattering like crazy, sharing fears
and hopes for our new situations, and speculating on
everything. Suddenly, unlike a few hours before in the bar, we had a
future and we were looking forward to it.

  Finally, we were winding down and I could see quite a bit of work to
get ready to go home.  At least I had to change clothes and wash my
face. I said so and both Margaret and Michelle smiled and shook their
heads.

  "We have plans for tomorrow, Amy," Margaret said. "It'll be much
easier if you just stay here for the night."

  Not waiting for any kind of agreement from Paula and I, who were
still sitting with our mouths open, trying to decide if this was a
good idea, she got up and went to her bedroom. A minute later, she
came back with a piece of white fluff in one hand and a black one in
the other.  Momentarily hesitating, she finally handed me the white
and Paula the black.

  I held it up in front of myself and saw that it was mostly white
lace with elastic under the breasts and a short silky skirt.

  "Leave the panties and bras on. And, Amy, leave the wig, too. In the
morning, you'll be surprised at how much more comfortable you are with
it all."

  "You'll want to wash your face though," Michelle added.

  Paula and I got up and went to the bedroom as we'd obviously been
directed. I washed my face of the mascara and lipstick and looked in
the mirror. With the wig still on, I was surprised that I still looked
like a girl. I stayed in the bathroom to take off my stockings, skirt
and blouse before putting on the white nightgown.

  "Can I use the sink," Paula said when she opened the door. I glanced
in her direction and smiled. She looked cute in the black negligee.

  She grinned back and came the rest of the way in.

  "That's looks good on you," she said. "I don't fill this one out
very well." She lifted the front of the black nightgown and
blushed. She looked like a pixy.

  "It looks right on you," I said, getting out of her way. While she
washed her face, I had the opportunity to look at her. She had thin,
boyish legs and hips. Not male adult at all. And a cute butt I almost
patted. I was sure that wouldn't be appreciated, of course.

  She washed and dried her face and looked refreshed and slightly
flushed when she turned back to face me. Feeling the carpet on our
bare feet, we went back to the living room together.

  The couch was a hide-a-bed that Margaret and Michelle were just
finished making. It looked inviting and, luckily, they said good night
and went to the bedroom. As Paula and I got into bed and turned out
the lights, we heard them getting ready and then everything got quiet.

  "Quite a day, huh," Paula said beside me in the dark living room.

  "Yeah. Not the sort of thing you'd expect at all. Right?"

  "I didn't think it was possible. But now I do. I think we can really
pull it off. I mean, it's not like it's illegal or anything. Right?"

  I thought about it. "It's not illegal to dress as a woman. I've
heard that. But I'm not sure about what we intend to do at work. I
think maybe the EEOC would be a little unhappy."

  "Yeah. Well, fuck 'em. If we get halfway good at this, they couldn't
come in for a day and tell.  Maybe people at work will know. I don't
know. But as long as they play along when the inspectors are there, it
doesn't matter."

  "Yeah. I don't feel bad about the EEOC. That's for sure. They put
the company in as much trouble as us. If there were women beating on
the door asking for jobs, maybe it would be different. But there's
nobody out there."

  She was quiet for quite a while.

  "I thought I'd hate this. You know?"

  "I knew it," I said.

  "But I don't. Really, I'm I don't know. I guess I'm getting into it
and it's sort of fun."

  "We'll see what happens tomorrow," I said. She was quiet again.

  "Yeah. It's going to be scary going out in public, huh?"

  "Yeah." I thought about it.

  "But at least we'll all be together. It's not like being alone."

  "Yeah," I said. The company DID help. I couldn't imagine my fear and
my feelings without them. Maybe I'd feel like some kind of pervert.

  I was thinking like that when I felt her move next to me, turning
toward me. Her arm went across my stomach under the bra and her leg
across my near leg.

  "Amy?" she said. I was still wondering if I liked this or not. "Do
you feel like a girl?" I was thinking about it when she helped. Her
hand moved up and squeezed my breast form through the nightgown and
bra.

  "Yeah. Yeah, I do. More than I ever dreamed I would." I put my arm
around her narrow shoulders.

  "Me, too." She was quiet for a long time but I felt her hand move
and squeeze my false breast the whole time. It felt good and I was
responding, swelling in my panties. "Does it turn you on?  Dressing?
It does me."

  "Yeah," I sighed.

  "It's funny, Amy," she said from close to my ear. "I feel gay."

  "Yeah. I sort of do. It's all mixed up."

  "I feel like a lesbian," she said and twisted my mind around 180
degrees. I thought about it.  I didn't feel like a gay guy. She'd hit
it right on the head.

  "Yeah. That's what I've been feeling too. With Michelle when she was
helping me. I got turned on but it was as much from looking at her as
anything."

  She seemed to stiffen and I knew what the problem was. It was pretty
insensitive of me not to think before I said anything.

  "When I saw you in the living room, that's what I thought, too," I
added and she loosened a little. "I thought, what a pretty girl. I'd
like to get in her pants."

  Her hand moved on my bra tentatively. There was a long silence.

  "You could," she said and, my mind was spinning so fast, I wasn't
sure what the reference was to. "If you wanted."

  I tried running my thoughts in reverse to try to pull out what she
was saying and finally remembered my statement. Then I went into a
quandary about what I'd said. After all, it was a saying. I didn't
really want to do it. Did I? Now I was thinking furiously.

  That's when she moved. Slowly, she raised slightly over me and her
lips covered mine.

  I know I should have reacted differently than putting my arms around
her. And surely that moan couldn't be mine. But the picture that
sprung into my mind had no relationship to reality.

  I should have thought that I'm a guy laying here with another guy
wrapped around me. That was hard reality, of course. I might even have
rationalized a little and thought that I'm a guy laying here a cute
little auburn haired pixy in my arms.

  If I was deluding myself, maybe I could have thought I was the girl
and Paul, my friend, was aggressively taking advantage of me.

  But the dislocation was complete. What my mind pictured was the
blond I'd seen in the mirror earlier, the long clean legs I'd
practiced walking on in high heels and crossing for hours, and the
heavy breasts that were being pressed and rubbed and that had bobbed
and bounded with my movements all night. What my mind pictured was the
pixyish auburn-haired girl with her cute boyish hips and little tight
breasts and cute upturned red lips squirming against me and kissing me
almost wildly.

  I saw and felt two women enjoying each other's bodies and getting
more involved in each other by the moment.

  Her tongue sought and found entry between my pink lips and mine
fought back playfully. I tasted her lipstick and mine. I tasted her
sweet mouth. I smelled her perfume and the bath oil on her skin and
the feminine shampoo in her short hair.

  I felt our breasts pressed together, my leg pressing between her hot
legs, her leg pressing against the coarse material of my panties and
exciting me.

  She sucked hard on my tongue, our wet lipstick smeared lips sliding
against each other's. I could feel her breath puffing out her petite
nose onto my cheek. I tried to hold, to suck her tongue as it plunged
in and out of my mouth almost wildly and in time with her body's
movements against me.

  "Oh Amy. You're so beautiful," she said between kissed on my ear.

  "Paula. My pixy," I moaned. She kissed my neck and along my chin and
across my chest. I tried to stop her, perhaps, and she kissed my hand
and my fingers. I held her head against my stomach as she sucked one
and then another finger and kissed and licked my palm.

  "Oh Paula," I heard myself moan as she squeezed her way between my
legs.

  When she stopped licking my palm, she was instantly licking the
inside of my left thigh instead.  Licking and taking tiny exciting
nips at the skin. In simple reaction, I was moving it away from her
bites.

  She switched to my right thigh and continued her loving assault.

  Spread wide, her fingers and nails tickled at the backs of my thighs
and knees, making me vibrate with excitement. Her fingers moved the
crotch of my lacy panties to the side and her tongue found the skin
where my pussy should be. Should be. Should be!

  I came hard and high, losing myself completely in the orgasm for
minutes or maybe hours.

  Peripherally, I felt her scrambling up between my legs and locked my
ankles behind hers as she began kissing me wildly again.

  As my orgasm passed finally, I felt her humping and pumping against
my front frantically. I put one hand on her neck and took her long
tongue to suck. The other hand found the back of her tiny panties and
slid under them to guide her movements.

  I rolled my hips up and back not as fast but in rhythm with
hers. And I was rewarded with her loud moan in my mouth and her loss
of coordination. Her orgasm came in moan driven waves, one after
another until it finally passed.

  Her head nestled into my shoulder, her breathing loud below my ear
as I held her tight against me.

  "Thank you, Amy," she sighed sleepily.

  I thought about suggesting we clean up. I thought about rolling her
to the side. But I fell asleep instead.


                            Chapter 6

WHEN I WOKE, I was on my side with Paula against my front from her
neck in front of my lips to the back of her knees against mine. She
was still asleep with my arms still around her.

  She stirred when I kissed her neck and watched the goose bumps
skitter along her skin. Even the softness of her arms looked perfectly
right. There were even some freckles on her neck, chest and upper arms
to match her auburn hair. The sunlight made the red highlights glisten
in the curly tangle.

  When I moved away from her curved back, I felt the cool room air
displace the overheated space between us. She moaned slightly and
rolled onto her back. She smiled in her sleep and I leaned on one
elbow and looked at the slightly smeared lipstick around her opened
mouth. My thought was that she was unbelievably cute.

  Reality intruded when I got to the bathroom and sat on the toilet
as, I thought, it only could in this particular position. Part of the
reality was the mass of partially dried come in my panties and smeared
through my pubic hair disgustingly. I took them off as I sat there and
wiped the pubic hair with some toilet paper.

  A bath was the first order of business, obviously. As soon as my
bladder was empty, I dropped the panties, nightgown, and bra in a
wicker hamper, setting the silicone filled breast forms and wig on
top. The bath, filled with fragrant oils, made me feel good again.

  After soaking and washing, I replaced the wig and tiptoed into the
bedroom to search the drawers for underwear. Surprisingly, I found
them in the first drawer I looked in. A blue pair that had more lace
on the bra and less on the panties than those I'd worn to bed. I also
found a pair of pantyhose that were made of sterner stuff than the
sheer ones I'd worn before.

  I sat down and tried my best to emulate what Michelle had done with
the makeup. A little eyebrow pencil, careful mascara, slight lipstick
with care to the tops and bottoms of the lips. It looked okay. I
couldn't believe I'd done this well.

  "I wish I was as beautiful and you are," Paula's voice came from
behind me. I turned and saw her leaning on one elbow.

  "You are. In a different way," I said. "You'll really enjoy a
bath. It made me feel a thousand percent better."

  "Good idea," she said and got out from under the sheet. I thought it
was cute the way her bottom wiggled with the way she walked to the
bathroom.

  In a few minutes, I found a blue skirt and a little white shell top
with tiny blue leaves and pink flowers and blue piping around the neck
and short sleeves.

                          * * *

  "Good morning," Margaret said from the table in the kitchen as she
got up. "Would you like coffee?"

  "Yes, thank you."

  "You look very pretty today. Did you do your own makeup?" Michelle
said from another chair at the table.

  "Did I do okay?"

  "It looks great," she said. "You're a quick study."

  "Yes. You look wonderful," Margaret added.

  "Thanks. I hope you don't mind me wearing your clothes," I said,
indicating the skirt.

  "Thank Michelle. They're hers."

  "Oh. Thanks Michelle. But the bra fits. I thought you were a B-cup."

  "Uh huh. But I tried a C first. It just wasn't for me. You can have
those. I think here are three or four in there."

  "Thanks. But I'll pay you back."

  "Where's the little girl next door?" Michelle asked.

  "She's taking a bath. She'll be out in a few minutes." I blushed
thinking about her and wondered if Michelle and Margaret knew what
we'd done the night before.

  If they did, they didn't say anything.

  "You get to make the choice for breakfast then. I don't do short
order cooking so whatever you decide, Paula will have to live with."

  "Anything would be fine."

  "The choice is eggs and toast or french toast," Margaret said.

  "Some scrambled eggs would be great," I said.

  "Are you ready or are you watching your waistline, my dear," she
added for Michelle.

  "That sounds fine, Margaret."

  I sat down and watched while the older woman broke eggs and poured a
little milk into a bowl and mixed them with a whisk. A big pat of
margarine went into a frying pan and slid to one side right away. When
it had melted, she poured in the eggs and filled the bowl with water
before putting bread in the toaster. She'd done this before.

  "Tada!" Paula said from the doorway as she walked in wearing a pair
of black leggings and a very short plaid dress over a black
tee-shirt. It was cute and little girl just like everything but her
red lips and fingertips.

  "Wow, Paula! That looks perfect on you. Did you pick it out?"

  "Yeah. Like it?"

  "It's you. Nobody else could wear an outfit like that but it's
perfect for you," Margaret said.

  She served up the eggs and continued to make toast until she finally
caught up with us and served herself.

  Though Paula and I procrastinated and delayed as much as Margaret
and Michelle would let us, we ended up in Margaret's car on the way to
the mall half an hour later.

                          * * *

  I'd been shopping with a woman before and wasn't surprised by the
approach to stores and the things in them. But there was a
considerable difference when you were the one doing the shopping and
the comments like "Oh, isn't that cute. It would look wonderful ..."
were applied to things you'd be buying and wearing.

  We went into the mall entrance that went through one of the big
department stores on the way to the mall concourse.  Margaret and
Michelle were cooing over a little dress, as I'd seen women do before,
within a few feet of the entrance. But they were cooing over it as
"perfect" for me because of the light blues and "bodice" they said I'd
compliment.

  Blushing, I thought I'd have support from Paula in my
resistence. She shocked me to open mouthed staring by immediately
picking out a little dress for herself and grinning with excitement.

  Michelle helped me identify and pick out a copy of the "perfect"
dress, and hurrying me to a draped fitting room at the side of the
store to try it on. I had no choice. It was either do as they all
seemed to want me to or make a much more memorable and embarrassing
scene in resisting.

  So I found myself taking off my camouflage, the blue skirt and
blouse, to try on the dress in the first seconds of being there.

  If I hadn't been scared to death by my first appearance as a woman
outside Margaret's home or the first steps outdoors or the first steps
into the mall, I certainly was then. My hands and insides shook
violently with the fear, in fact. Fear and excitement, I realized.

  It helped my self-confidence a lot when I thought the dress fit
perfectly, stepped out in front of the others, and had my feelings
confirmed.

  "It fits perfectly, honey," Margaret said and everyone had me turn
and poked and straightened and stroked both my ego and the
dress. That's how it started and continued in the same way through the
racks of that store, the cosmetics counter, a dozen other women's
stores, and three shoe stores.

  By the time we were finished, my savings was almost halved but I had
clothes that fit perfectly for all occasions, shoes, cosmetics
(recommended by a cosmetologist specially for my coloring), and some
tasteful though inexpensive jewelry. The jewelry store was where I got
my ears pierced and small gold posts with complimentary diamonds on
them as an introduction.

  Michelle was the most restrained, since she'd been shopping once
before, and Paula was the most outrageous with her
purchases. Outrageous, that is, in the numbers of things, not
necessarily the styles. In that she was very conservative, picking the
longest skirts of the three of us and the fewest really outrageous
things like corsets (Michelle and I both got one) and garter belts (I
bought two and Michelle bought a fourth for her collection).

  Michelle bought the highest heels (5 inch red spikes) but I bought
the ones everybody thought were the sexiest, including the male shoe
clerk. They were black patent leather city pumps with sharp pointed
toes and heels about 3 « inches high with an ankle strap. They covered
nothing else and reshaped my legs to something that got whistles from
everyone.

  Of course, most of the things were functional. Skirts and blouses
that were interchangeable, two suits for each of us, A-line and
shirt-cut dresses. And, of course, panties, bras, slips, and
nightgowns even though Margaret told us that the ones in her apartment
that had belonged to her mother and sister were ours as well if they
fit and we wanted them.

  We made an agreement between us that anything that we had that
another one of us could wear, was fair game.

  We stopped at the drive-up window of McDonald's on the way home and,
in the last few blocks, Margaret asked us to stay at her house as long
as we needed to get ourselves together.

  We had drinks and a two hour style show with all of us participating
before sliding into new negligee to talk over our situations some
more.

  Paula and I cuddled and giggled until we fell asleep.


                            Chapter 7

SUNDAY WAS THE most distressing day I'd had since the day Margaret
laid me off. And for a very strange reason.

  Michelle, we learned, had been living with Margaret since the Monday
night before after we'd all talked at the bar. Her decision to stay
had been made before the offer for Paula and I to stay as well had
even been offered.

  Paula considered it, decided she should return to her own apartment,
and then said she would stay if I did.

  And I couldn't decide.

  Of course I liked all three of them. Of course I enjoyed what we'd
been doing since Friday.  Of course I was on a high from all the
attention and compliments I got from the rest of them.

  But I've been a bachelor with my own home for several years and I've
been a male all my life.  I was balancing my solitude and "free" space
against a complete life change. And it wasn't easy to make a decision,
to say the least.

  There were several things in my apartment that I was concerned about
or needed if I was moving, even temporarily. So, after a long
leisurely breakfast in our negligee's, I decided I needed to make that
trip. I wasn't overly excited about it, but Paula asked if she could
come along.

  My problem was that I wasn't ready for my neighbors to see me (or
some strange blond) going into my apartment. I had to go dressed
normally. And there was the difficulty of the day.

  I went to the bathroom and washed my face thoroughly and stored my
wig before combing my hair as I had for the last twenty years. (When I
stopped having buzz cuts or having my mother comb it for me.)

  It looked exceedingly strange though my face looked fairly normal
with my now nondescript eyes, unremarkable mouth, and plain general
look. I took the gold post out of my right ear, knowing several guys
who had earrings in the left ear but not both.

  In the closet, I found my slacks, underwear, shirt, socks and shoes
and arranged them to put on. But when I looked at the slightly soiled
day-old underpants, decided to wear the panties I already had on
instead. It actually felt strange to take the bra off and replace it
with a shirt.

  Paula spent this time dressing in a cute dress and putting on
makeup, I noticed, and, strangely, I envied her. I put on my socks and
felt the strangeness of my pants over shaved legs. They felt ten times
more different than the pantyhose had only two days before.

  I stepped into my shoes, that also felt sloppy loose, and checked
myself in the full length mirror. My first instinct was feminine in
the way I looked at myself and, with another almost painful
dislocation, I jerked my mind into a more masculine pose. In general,
I thought I looked like shit but, in fact, I recognized it for exactly
how I'd looked for years.

  What a depressing thought.

  When I went back to the kitchen to tell Margaret and Michelle that I
was off to the apartment and would be back in an hour or two, they
showed little signs of actually disapproving of the way I looked for
the first time in two days. Since I felt the same way, I couldn't
blame them.

  Paula came into the room behind me in a calf length red plaid skirt
and puffy white blouse that only she, of the three of us, could get
away with.

  "Can I come along?" she said. For a second, I thought no. Then I
realized it would be perfectly in character for me to bring her to the
apartment with me and that no one would look twice.

  "Sure. Yeah, I guess. If you want to."

  She grinned and did a feminine finger wave to Margaret and Michelle
before taking my arm as we went to my car out front. Getting into this
in a big way, she waited for me to open the passenger door for her
before getting in and unlocking my side for me.

  She took my arm again when we reached my apartment.

  Some of the apartment house kids were out on the lawn in front when
we went in and, since I'd played a little lawn football with them
before, waved to me before going on with their game.

  Mrs. Maxwell, one of the new wives from the other end of the outside
walk that went in front of our apartments, passed us and said hello to
me. I returned it as she went off to the parking lot.

  "Paula. There's some beer in the refrigerator if you want one. I
just need to put together a little bag with some stuff in it," I said
and she nodded.

  The first thing I needed was my electric razor since I'd never
shaved with a blade before and figured that I'd kill myself if I had
to. I hadn't needed to shave at all since Friday morning but I knew
I'd better before I left to go to an interview the next day.

  I also got my own toothbrush and toothpaste and a few other things
from the bathroom.

  "Andy?" I heard from the doorway and turned to Paula, who was
grinning and leaning against the jamb. "There's some stuff in the
refrig that you should take over to Margaret's before it molds if
you're going to stay a while."

  "Yeah. Good idea. There are some grocery bags under the sink if you
want to do that. I'm going to change clothes so I have something clean
for the next time."

  "Can I watch?" she said and that took me aback for a second.

  "What the hell. You've seen me dressed in all sorts of things and
totally undressed several times in the last two days. Why not? If you
want to."

  "I want to." I wasn't quite sure what I was hearing in her voice
and, when I recognized I was hearing something beyond the words, I
wondered what it was and how I should react.

  I kicked off my shoes and pulled off my socks. With them still in my
hand, I unbuttoned my shirt and peeled it off.

  When I unfastened my pants, Paula was suddenly there with her hands
on my chest and her smiling mouth turned up slightly to me. Though I'm
only 5'7", I was slightly taller than her. Her mouth opened more as it
covered mine.

  "This is the first time we've really been alone," she said. "And
... it's different when you're a guy. Exciting," she gasped as she
almost leaped to kiss me hard.

  Yes, I was surprised but I wasn't put off. After all, we'd been
doing this two nights in a row.  The place was different and the way I
was dressed at the moment was different. I didn't feel the pressure of
her little tits quite so thoroughly when they weren't pressing into
mine. But I felt them just the same.

  I returned her kiss with as much enthusiasm as I had the night
before in bed. And gasped just as loud when she slid both her hands
down my stomach and into the sides of my pants. But she didn't stop at
that, even though my hands were on her bottom over the long dress.

  She kissed her way down my chest as she pushed my pants and panties
down to my knees. She kissed her way down my stomach and, in seconds,
into my pubic hair. She looked up at me with a sparkling smile.

  "I've wanted to do this for a long time," she said and took my penis
all the way into her mouth and into a vacuum that took it all the way
into her throat.

  "Ahhh!" I heard myself say as my hands vibrated on her shoulders.

  She began to move her head back and then forward until her lips were
around the base of my penis. She was like a wild woman
then. Sucking. Releasing and moving all the way to the tip.  Sucking
completely.

  No one had ever done that to me and the surprise and energy of her
attack on me made it something that I couldn't control in the least. I
didn't even have time to say anything and don't think it would have
mattered if I had.

  I exploded into her mouth, my hand going to the back of her auburn
hair. And I kept exploding until she slowed and, finally, stopped,
just sucking the small head of it.

  When I could, I looked down to see my vibrating leg muscles and her
smiling pixy face as she dropped its deflated shape against my thigh.

  I didn't have enough moisture in my mouth to make it work and
nothing came out when I opened it. She hugged my legs and almost made
me fall over backward.

                          * * *

  "You make it pretty hard to change clothes," I noted with a laugh as
she got up from her knees.

  "I helped you get your pants off," she said with a smile as she
hugged me.

  "Well most of the way anyway. But now I have an obligation. What can
I do for you?" I asked as she nuzzled into my neck. She started
telling me how I'd already done what she'd wanted but I wasn't going
to let it go like that and thought I had an idea.

  I sat her down on the edge of my bed, took my pants the rest of the
way off, and pulled the panties back into place.

  "You're so cute," she said with a big grin while she watched me.

  "But you're a much more what can I say? A more feminine person. You
really are into it now, aren't you?"

  "Yes. I didn't know how much I wanted to do it. My way. Not big tits
and spike heels and short skirts. I just like being female." I
nodded. I really didn't need the second on my opinion.

  I went to my bathroom and returned in a few seconds.

  "Come on. Lay down with your head on the pillows," I told her before
laying down beside her and kissing her. She turned her body slightly
into me and smiled. I pushed her onto her back enough that I could
knead her tiny A-cup as I kissed her until she was moaning and
squirming with need. I don't think she noticed me unbuttoning her
blouse but she noticed when I pulled her little bra aside and licked
her nipple. She curled up around my body and moaned with the feeling
of it. When I sucked the little pea sized piece of flesh, she squirmed
and even let out a little squeal of pleasure interspersed with
giggles.

  I teased her with that for a long time before she reacted less and,
because of that, I got tired of it.

  While I'd been sucking and licking her nipples, I'd pulled her skirt
around her waist so I could rub the smooth front of her full
panties. I kissed my way across her stomach as I moved between her
legs. She put her arms aside her head on the pillows and looked down
at me, wondering what could be next.

  I rubbed the sensitive spot between her legs as I looked at her and
she slowly moved her legs apart.

  I've known always that guy's penises come in all sizes. You can't
help but see some of that in high school locker rooms and infer it in
college swimming classes by the varying bulges. Guys always talk about
it, too.

  If you believe talk or dirty books, everyone is 10 inches long and
three inches in diameter. I can't conceive of how someone could live
with something like that in real life though, I guess, it really
exists. But I'm a much more conservative six inches and probably an
inch in diameter when I'm hard. When I'm not and particularly when
it's cold or I'm afraid, it almost disappears.

  I pulled Paula's panties down low and saw the other end of the
spectrum from the stag movie guys.

  Paula was embarrassingly small for a guy. Perfect, I thought, for
her present role.

  It may have been five inches long and very straight to an
uncircumcised head that was no bigger than the rest. The diameter was
smaller than mine. And all of it was clear because she'd shaved her
pubic hair.

  "Do you like my clit?" she giggled, her finger in the corner of her
mouth as I looked at it.

  "Yeah. It's just perfect to lick," I said and proceeded to show her
what I meant by taking just the tip into my lips and licking as she
squirmed as if she were going to try to go between the headboard and
mattress.

  "And I'm going to finger fuck your little pussy, too," I told her,
getting a good glob of the Vaseline I'd gotten from the bathroom
earlier. I moved the panty material from between her legs and found
what I was looking for as I licked her clit more.

  She seemed to roll up onto the top of her head as my finger sunk
into her further and further, the pitch of her moan going up at the
same rate. My finger was inside her to the knuckle when I started
moving it to rub all the sensitive parts deep inside.

  "Oh, God, Amy. Oh! Make me come! Oh oh oh OH OHHHH!" And her tiny
head emptied itself sweetly into my mouth. It never stopped as I drank
her and stroked in and out of her "pussy." She talked and moaned and
squealed and pitched the entire time until I finally stopped it by
pulling my finger free and pulling her panties back into place.

  "Oh, A-Am-Andy. That was so " I didn't wait for her to complete the
sentence but got up with a satisfied chuckle to find some clean
clothes.

  I was dressed and had my bedroom the way I wanted it before she sat
up, straightened out her clothes, and joined me to empty out the
refrigerator and pick out a few CD's to take with us.

  At Margaret's, I gave the sack of groceries to Michelle and went
straight to the bedroom to change. It was just us four "girls" as we
made dinner and watched TV until bedtime.


                            Chapter 8

WE AGREED THAT the best time to go into the office that Monday morning
was about 10, after the weekly management meeting.

  We'd spent some time deciding the way we'd handle applications and
interviews with all of us thinking. After all, between us we'd handled
all portions of the business.

  We'd agreed, of course, not to try for our old jobs. That was a
little too dangerous. Michelle suggested I try for the Administrative
Assistant's job with the CEO she'd had before and everyone agreed. I
was flattered because they outlined the qualifications for me from
Michelle and Margaret's inside view.

  Bill Miller, they said, would want the prettiest girl as a sort of
showpiece. It just made it better that I was "efficient and
knowledgeable." Since that was Margaret, my former boss's assessment,
I was very pleased.

  Though I hardly knew him, we agreed that Paula should try for the
Admin Assistant job with the CFO, Roger Wilson, who was sort of a
nerdy number cruncher type. Margaret and I both knew that Paula was
great with numbers so this seemed to fit.

  And, of course, Michelle already had my slot just below Margaret in
personnel.

  We debated about telling our potential new bosses the whole thing so
we wouldn't have to be quite so careful but decided we'd have to wait
and see. Since Margaret and Michelle were the personnel people we'd be
working with, they could keep us out of legal trouble from filling out
"inaccurate" applications.

  We spent part of Sunday afternoon filling out the applications
together and coming up with the little fictions we had to manufacture
about schooling, names, and backgrounds.

  Since I really have a sister, we decided that I could sort of "be"
her and keep my last name even though, of course, her name isn't
Amy. We made up a last name for Paula as Michelle had for herself.

  It was sort of fun making up backgrounds and work
histories. Margaret knew that company policy would land the
applications on her desk for verification of the facts. We couldn't
see how it could mess her up but we were all concerned, just in case
something happened.

  "For you kids, primarily. But for the company, too, I'd do it. I
really don't see any problems if you do your work," she said.

  "I really appreciate your faith in us, Margaret," I told her. "But I
think we need something to protect you. Just in case."

  So we spent another hour on a document that said we agreed of our
own free will to do what we were doing, knowing that it was probably
illegal, and took full responsibility for it ourselves.  Then all
three of us signed it. Now, if one of us decided to try to sue the
company or Margaret for some reason, she'd be able to produce it. We
spelled out exactly what we were doing, including the changes from
male to female and the falsified applications.

  Margaret added that it was her idea in the first place and signed it
as well so she couldn't use it against us any more than we could use
it against her. Except, of course, in the case of a real emergency.

  We made Margaret and Michelle breakfast in our nightgowns and sent
her off to work at about 7:15. Paula and I ate and drank a cup of
coffee before doing baths, makeup, and clothes.

  I chose a blue linen suit with a skirt that fell about three inches
above my knees, white pumps, and a white blouse with frills all the
way around my neck. I wore a couple of feminine rings on my right
hand, my Swatch watch, and one of the pairs of earrings I'd picked out
when I got them pierced Saturday.

  Paula looked almost uptight in her black pinstripe suit with a skirt
just below the knees, black pumps, a white shirt-cut blouse, and red
striped cravat at her throat.

  We had time for another cup of coffee before, butterflies in our
stomachs, we drove my car to the plant.

  Walking into work was the second hardest thing I'd ever done behind
the first trip out to the mall Saturday.

  We tried not to look too much like we knew where we were going and
asked a guy I hadn't met who was in the hallway at the front of the
building where Margaret's office was. He grinned all over and looked
us both up and down before taking us into personnel. Michelle met us,
as we'd agreed, and took us into Margaret's office.

  Margaret talked to us for a few minutes and got more coffee before
she let us both see her recommendation on the interviewer's line at
the bottom of the application. They both said "Highly Recommended."

  We followed her through the long hallways to the head offices. She
had me wait as she took Paula into Roger Wilson's office, coming out
after a couple of minutes. I took a deep breath as she knocked on Bill
Miller's door, listened for the "come in," and led me in.

  As I'd seen him the few times before, he was looking at papers on
his desk and frowning when we went in. He looked up at Margaret who
turned sideways and said, "Bill, this is Amy Brett who's applying for
the Admin Assistant job. You might recognize her name. She's Andy
Brett's sister. He used to work for me and was an outstanding
employee."

  She handed over the application and left.

  He'd looked up at Margaret but his eyes had immediately slid across
her to look at me. His frown immediately changed to a smile as his
eyes met mine, scanned down my body, and back up.

  "Please, sit down, Amy," he said as he came around the desk. I did,
very carefully crossing my legs and gulping at the expanse of thigh I
could see below my hem. He noticed, too, as he sat down in the other
chair in front of the desk.

  "You're interested in the Administrative Assistant job here," he
stated.

  "Yes, sir," I said.

  "You have experience with the job?" I nodded. We decided the day
before that I would essentially tell him my real qualifications and
hope they were close enough to get me the job.

  "I was in personnel at my last job. Just like my brother here. But
it didn't pay very well and, well, Andy told me about what had
happened here. With the requirement for women. And I thought it might
be a chance for me to get a better position."

  "Do you understand the requirements of the job?" he asked, looking
at my thighs.

  "Yes, sir. Telephones. Typing. Some spreadsheets concerning
budget. Sort of keeping the world off you so you can attend to
business."

  "Door keeper and a few minutes of company in the morning to get the
outline of the day and drink that morning shot of coffee." He looked a
little more serious.

  "You know I had a guy who held this job before and he was excellent
for me. I could bounce some ideas off him and get an initial idea of
what the reaction might be in the company. We were very good friends,
I thought, and he was of real service to me in a more informal way.

  "Would you be uncomfortable with that?"

  "Maybe I need to know what you mean by informal, sir," I answered
but took the sting out of it with a smile.

  "I've established a very firm sexual harassment policy for the
company," he pointed out and I recognized his discomfort. "That will
never be a problem. I guarantee it.

  "It's just that if I have to watch every gesture and movement, I
would find it uncomfortable.  I just see an easygoing relationship
with someone I work closely with a lot easier than an adversarial
one."

  "I doubt it would be a problem, sir," I said. "Of course, an open
relationship like that should allow me to say something if I felt I
should."

  "Absolutely. Absolutely," he said sincerely. "If I overstep somehow,
I want you to pull me up short immediately. I just want to be able to
treat you like any other co-worker."

  "It shouldn't be a problem, sir," I said with a smile. That's
certainly the kind of working relationship I like.

  "Okay. If you're going to be sitting outside my door all day every
day, please call me Bill or Mr. Miller when there's someone important
from outside. Okay?"

  "Yes, ah, Bill. Does that mean, I can work here?" I asked hopefully.

  "That's what I'm saying. Margaret recommends you. Unless there was
some total incompatibility, that would be the stumbling block. I
really think you'll be an asset to the company."

  "Thank you, s ... ah, Bill," I grinned. "When should I start?"

  "Well, whenever you're available. Do you need time to find some
place to stay?"

  "No. Not really. Andy left town and I'm going to see if I can get
his old place."

  "Good, good. Then whenever you're ready."

  "Let me check on my, ah, girlfriend. She is interviewing with
Mr. Wilson. She'll be in tears if she doesn't get the job. But, if
there's no problem, I guess I could start right away."

  "Here," he said getting up. "Let me call Roger and find out what's
up." He rounded his desk, sat down, and picked up the phone, dialing
the three digits from memory.

  "Rog? Bill. What do you think of your interviewee?" He listened for
a second. "Okay then.  I'm hiring her friend so I'll send her down and
they can go to personnel to fill out the W-4's and things together,
right?" Pause. "Yeah. She's willing to start today, too. Just checking
to see if she needed to commiserate with her friend."
Pause. "Good. Great! Yeah. Talk to you later."

  He looked up at me as he hung up.

  "He's very impressed with ... was it Paula?" I nodded. "Can you find
your way back to personnel okay?"

  "Yes. No problem. If we get lost, we'll explore until we find our
way back anyway. We'll need to know where things are anyway."

  "Right. Oh. One other thing," he said as I stood up. "I generally
only have a cup of coffee in the morning and maybe one in the
afternoon doldrums. It definitely isn't part of your job but ..."

  "It's no problem, sir. I mean, Bill," I said.

  "I mentioned that I'd like to share coffee with you in the
mornings. The afternoon break would be a good time for any problems or
anything, too. Anyway, go fill out the forms and take a good look
around the place. Margaret will introduce you around. Just let me know
when you get to the desk so I can stop answering the stupid
telephone."

  "Yes, sir," I said and went out the door, looking back and shrugging
at my inability to stop calling him "sir." He smiled broadly and went
back to his work. At least, he went back to work after looking me up
and down again thoroughly.

  Paula, all smiles, came around the corner as I closed the door
behind me.

                          * * *

  "Yeah. Yeah. Yeah. Okay. Yeah. Right. Fine. Okay." Listening to one
end of the conversation between Bill and Margaret was more than a
little frustrating. A few chuckles. Smiles for us when she looked
up. And a lot of agreement. Finally she hung up and looked at us.

  "He wants to start both of you at about what you were making when
you left," she said with a smile. "Says he wants to be able to show
real progress if the EEOC comes back and needs you two to do
that. That and he wants your salaries to be beyond argument.

  "Even better, there's normally a 6 month probation." We both nodded,
remembering it.  "You're on a fast track, I guess. One month probation
to full benefits and consideration of a raise.  I'm jealous."

  We were just excited. That sort of thing only happened when they
hired somebody high up.

  Even though I wrote some of the personnel documents, we took our
time reading and signing everything before Margaret took us around the
building to introduce us to everyone. It was really interesting to see
the different ways people reacted to us even though we knew most of
them from before and they didn't treat us anywhere close to the same.

  The women didn't seem to have much time for us and they'd been
fairly friendly before. They were "cool" now.

  The men, on the other hand, had all sorts of time, energy, and eyes
for us. If I could pass this progression of thorough inspections, I
could go anywhere. Of course, if I walked into a room dressed exactly
the same but without the breasts, none of them would recognize me.

  She left us off at our new offices after showing us the cafeteria
and feeding us on the company.

  I knocked on the door and went in with the word.

  "Hi. I think I'm all signed up now and ready to work."

  "Have you had some lunch?" I told him I had. "Okay then. Please
answer the phone as 'Mr.  Miller's office' and take a look at the
computer to see how Mike left it set up. If you have any problem, just
yell and if I can't figure it out, maybe we can search around for
someone who can."

  "Yes Bill," I said pointedly.

  "See. You're catching on already," he said with a big grin.

  I shut the door behind myself and sat down behind the desk to turn
on the computer. It took the normal extended time for Windows95 to run
up before a graphics program started up automatically and a full
screen picture of a pair of huge, cartoonish tits filled it. Large
words drew in across them that said "Great set, baby! Mike."

  As I dumped the file and got it out of the StartUp group, I called
Michelle and told her Bill wanted to talk to her about the graphic
she'd put on the computer. She gasped before I laughed.

  "What if he really had checked out the computer before I got back?"
I asked.

  "He would have thought that mean old Mike left it," she said. "And
he would have agreed.  From what I heard, that's all he looked at in
your interview."

  "Any more surprises on here?" I asked and she chuckled.

  "Sorry. Nope. If you have any trouble, just yell."

  "Thanks." I hung up with a smile on my face.

  I grinned some more as I went through the folders and found it
perfectly ordered, well thought out folders and filenames, and easy to
locate major files with long filenames so they were easy to
identify. Nothing was particularly difficult.

  The word processor had a separate memos folder by date, a letter
folder by date, and another for reports. Some were fairly long, I
noticed.

  The spreadsheets were easy to identify and so well formatted that
all I'd have to do is put in new numbers and print.

  There were a dozen different presentations that looked well done and
some, given to the staff, were familiar.

  There was also a contact manager, a phone directory, a net browser,
and an appointment calendar with 2 p.m. blocked out each day for
"consultation." That, I realized, must be coffee time.

  Since it was about five till, I buzzed the intercom and asked how he
liked his coffee.

  "Just black, Amy. My cup is in here."

  I got up and went in. He handed me a big mug with "Stay Awake!" in
screaming words across the sides.

  "Get one for yourself, too," he said. I remembered about coffee time
and didn't need to be told. But I nodded.

  I dropped off the mug in the coffee room and, gulping to myself,
went into the women's room, realizing that I had to use that room just
at the last moment. Of course, I sat down to empty my bladder before
straightening everything and leaving the stall. I was pulling my
blouse down, my skirt hiked up on my thighs in front of the full
length mirror, when the door opened and a little secretary I'd seen a
few times before and had been introduced to that morning came in.

  Making a note to myself not to do that again, I straightened the
skirt as she went into one of the stalls. I was just touching up my
lipstick when she came out and brushed her hair quickly.

  "You're Mr. Miller's new secretary, right? How's it working out so
far?"

  "Fine. I haven't really had a chance "

  "He's a good looking guy," she interrupted. "And rich, too. You're
really lucky. Did he, like, want anything special before he'd hire
you?" I honestly didn't understand her question and, I guess, looked
it.

  "You know. Like, did he want to see your tits. Mine did and that was
okay. But he told me that to keep my job I can't wear panties
anymore," she said with a giggle.

  "That's illegal!" I said, letting my HR experience leap out.

  "Yeah, well. I wanted the job and he and I get along real well even
if he is married. You know?"

  "You should complain," I pointed out. "I'm sure Mrs. Conklin would "

  "What about?" she giggled. "Cause he checks out my puss every now
and then?"

  She shook her head and never stopped smiling as if that were a
stupid idea.

  "I like it as much as he does. Sometimes, he even gets me off," she
giggled again.

  Now I needed to remember who her boss was and keep an eye out. I
definitely didn't need to get caught in a copy room with the asshole
or something. And I needed to warn Paula and Michelle, too.

  "Do any of the other girls, ah, do that sort of thing with their
bosses?" I asked, wondering how widespread it might be.

  "Marva's boss has been stroking her since about the second day she
came to work," she said.

  "Stroking her?" I asked, hoping it wasn't what I thought.

  "Yeah. Fucking her. You know. She loves it. Says it gets her going
in the morning.

  "Linda had to give her boss a blowjob to get the job in the first
place and at least I don't have to do that." She made a face.

  I placed her now and remembered all these girls from the marketing
department.

  "I think every girl in the department is doing a little
something. But there are benefits, you know. Like Linda got to go to a
big conference in Las Vegas a few months ago."

  I could only shake my head in wonder at her stupidity.

  "So you didn't have to do nothing?" she asked again.

  "No. Huh uh." She shrugged like she pitied me.

  I dried my hands and left wondering now if I just hadn't been
approached yet or if Bill was unaware of the potential problem. Then I
wondered what I should do about it. I knew I needed to talk to
Margaret, Michelle, and Paula soon.

  My encounter in the bathroom changed my feelings about my job
completely and it took real effort to be calm when I took the coffee
back to Bill's office.

  I sat the coffee on his desk and watched him pick it up and carry it
around to the front to sit in the chair in front of it as he gestured
to the other for me. Like a gentleman, he waited for me to sit and
cross my legs carefully before he sat down as well, his knees two
inches from mine.

  "Okay. You've been here a couple of hours. How are you doing so
far?" he asked. I decided not to let my concern about what the girl in
the restroom had said affect me.

  "Your secretary before was great," I pointed out
factually. "Everything's very orderly and understandable. I won't have
any trouble at all picking up."

  "You've worked with all the programs?" I nodded. He sat back,
cradling his coffee and looking at me.

  "You're a very pretty girl, you know," he said with a smile.

  "Thank you," I said but it made me a little uncomfortable.

  "Do you have a boyfriend?" I could honestly shake my head and the
smile came naturally at the thought of the little duplicity. "You're
not dating?"

  "No."

  "Do you drink?"

  "Moderately. Mostly beer or an occasional drink."

  "That's reasonable. I usually have to have a drink to unwind when I
get home at night."

  "Have you been married, Bill?"

  "Once. I'm divorced. No kids, thank goodness. She's a career lady
and her work led her to New York. Long distance relationships, even
marriages, don't work."

  "How long were you married?"

  "Four years."

  "And still no kids?"

  "No. We both wanted to wait and by the time we could have been
ready, we could both see that things weren't working out very well,"
he said.

  "Was it bad?"

  "Not really. We just grew apart slowly and found we didn't need each
other the way we had when we got married."

  "Do you date?" He nodded.

  "Occasionally. But nothing very constant or long term."

  "Are there any projects coming up that I should know about?"

  "Here in about two days we have to work up the monthly budget and
get some numbers ready for the Board of Directors' meeting next Monday
afternoon. I'll help you with that, of course.  It shouldn't be a
problem." This time I nodded agreement.

  "I have a couple of memos you can type. I've tried dictation Mike
didn't do shorthand but could do the dictaphone but usually it's just
easier to scratch it out on paper. That may take you a little getting
used to but ask questions until you can recognize what I'm
writing. You're not going to hurt my feelings by telling me my
handwriting sucks. I already know it," he laughed.

  "Oh, and there may be some overtime next week. We have a project to
bid on and we'll have to put together a proposal."

  "Do you have one you've done before?"

  "Sure," he said and went to the credenza behind his desk and got a
bound report about half an inch thick. He handed it to me. I scanned
it quickly as he stood at my side, looking over my shoulder. It looked
like most of the material was already set and only a few pages at the
beginning were tailored to the specific potential client.

  "This looks pretty easy," I noted.

  "Yeah. Not bad. A few hours work but I can never seem to get a block
of time during the day when I can concentrate on things like that."

  As if to punctuate the statement, the phone rang. He started to get
it but I intercepted him.

  "Let me," I said.

  "Mr. Miller's office. May I help you?"

  "Yeah. This is Ed. Let me talk to Bill please, hon."

  "One moment please." I pressed the hold button and handed the phone
to Bill. "Ed?"

  "Oh, yeah. Ed's marketing," he explained as he sat down back behind
the desk and pressed the button.

  "Hi, Ed. What's up?" He listened and looked up at me and smiling
after a few seconds. "Yeah.  Yeah, excellent as far as I can tell so
far. Yeah." He chuckled. "That, too." I had the feeling I was the
topic of conversation and wondered if this was one of the marketing
types the girl in the bathroom was talking about.

  "Yeah. No. I don't think so," he said, looking up at
me. "Thanks. We'll see. No. No. No fucking way. Yeah, bye."

  "Is there anything else I should know?" I asked as he hung up. I
didn't have to speculate much on the call. I thought I could have
carried on the other end of the conversation at one time. And I was
pretty sure I didn't want to fill it in when it was applied to me.

  "Not right now," he said. "You can start on these." He handed me the
handwritten memos and I returned to my desk.

  In the next two hours, I answered the phone a half dozen times,
finished the memos, and looked at the proposal on the computer. He was
pleased when I gave him the memos in the first hour.

  I finished my first day of work as a woman relatively uneventfully
with a five minute pep talk from Bill about how well I was starting
and left the building on time.


                            Chapter 9

WE CELEBRATED OUR first day at work (and getting hired) by going to
the bar on the way to Margaret's. She was buying.

  We went straight to our usual booth and ordered our usual
drinks. That's where the similarities to any other time ended.

  First, when we walked through the door, every eye in the place
turned to us or came to us within a nudge or two. Next, when the
drinks came, the bar girl, who was all smiles, told us somebody at the
bar had bought them for us and when I looked, a guy smiled and saluted
toward me. In about another minute, we had second and third drinks,
delivered at the same time from various parts of the bar.

  We still sipped at our drinks, as we always had, but with glasses
that seemed to be bottomless, we were all drinking more than usual and
getting happier in the process. Thanks to that, we talked about
absolutely nothing serious.

  If we had, it wouldn't have worked because we were interrupted every
10 minutes by another guy or pair of guys or group of guys who came to
"talk". They all wanted one or all of us to join them, to buy drinks
for us in spite of the groaning table filled with them already, or to
offer the rest of the night out somewhere else. We got offers for
movies, discos, and more than one apartment.

  They seemed to concentrate on Michelle and I but Paula and even
Margaret had to fend off offers when they went to the restroom.

  Needless to say, even when we left after about an hour and a half or
so to go home, we didn't discuss anything even marginally
serious. What I'd thought important that afternoon, wasn't even
important to me by then. In fact, I'd entirely put it out of my mind
for the night.

  With another beer at home and the hamburgers we'd picked up on the
way, we were all ready for bed and sleep.

                          * * *

  I'd never had a secretary. Too lowly. And I'd never really known
one. But I had an idea I knew what a secretary should do.

  Anticipate what your boss needs to do his job and try to do as much
as possible without step by step guidance. So that's the way I
approached my first real morning of work.

  I made it to work a few minutes early. Nothing remarkable. Just a
few minutes. I pulled up the calendar and printed out a copy of the
day's appointments. When Bill came in, I smiled, said hello, handed
him the printout, and went for coffee.

  It didn't look like he'd even gotten settled behind his desk when I
came back with the coffee, set it on his coaster, and sat down.

  "If you have any additions to your schedule, just let me know," I
told him with what I hoped was a bright smile. He smiled back every
bit as brightly and moved himself and his coffee to the chair in front
of his desk again.

  "I like your outfits," he said, disconnecting me somewhat. This
morning, I'd chosen one of the shirt-cut dresses that the rest of the
girls thought was flattering to my figure but not revealing.  The
skirt fell to the top of my knees. "You know though that the boss's
secretary, as well as being the most beautiful in the place, usually
dresses slightly more what should I say? Sexy?

  "You know," he said with a wave of the hand. "Shorter skirts. Maybe
tighter. Maybe the tops a little more revealing."

  I was really stunned. No boss in the world could suggest how a
secretary should dress, unless it was more conservatively, without
expecting trouble. But I bit my tongue and slowly nodded agreement.

  From there, he made small talk for another 15 minutes, interspersed
with tidbits about his evening at home (unexciting in the extreme) and
observations about the business. I responded in kind and left when he
said he'd tell me if there were additions to the schedule or anything
else he needed.

  I answered the phone, checking with Bill about salesmen and others
before connecting some, and fending off the rest or redirecting them
to other people. He wrote another half a dozen short memos that I
typed, taking them to him with the mail. The mail produced a dozen
letters in response that I also typed.

  I went to lunch with Paula and noticed that something seemed to be a
problem but she just shook her head when I asked and said it was
nothing. I should have pressed her on it.

  At two, I got coffee for Bill and I, and was greeted with a big
smile as I brought them and most of the letters. He sat at the other
chair in front of me as usual while we talked pleasantly enough. I
felt less self-conscious with each of these meetings, almost feeling
at ease.

  This time, however, I noticed that he seemed to study me unlike any
other time I'd been with him. Even during the initial interview. It
was disconcerting, in a way, since he was actually staring as much as
anything. And staring at parts as I hadn't noticed him doing before.

  First he stared into my eyes, my face, as if memorizing every
contour. Then he stared at my neck and chest (something I was coming
to expect if not to thoroughly enjoy). Then he talked to me but looked
at my crossed legs, the hem of my dress, and my hands where I'd set
them over my bared knee to keep from fidgeting.

  Sometimes I had a difficult time concentrating on what he was saying
or asking me for wondering what, exactly, he was looking at and trying
to remember if he'd done that before in our short experience
together. I didn't think so but I wasn't sure. Wasn't sure enough to
run, although I did blush at his intense scrutiny.

  Did all women undergo this kind of inspection from some men? Was he
attracted to me? What was it? And, most important to me for some
reason. Was this new or something I just hadn't noticed before?

  As had been the case since the previous afternoon's session, I was
happier when he finally said we needed to get back to work, dismissing
me as he stood up to return to his desk.

  I was just reaching out for the door, my mind racing at 90 miles an
hour, when he said, "Oh Andy?" I turned and said yes, awaiting the
question. But no question was forthcoming. He just stared at me, a
smile slowly spreading on his face as his statement sunk in.

  My throat clenched as I started to correct the situation. But all I
could do was stand there with my mouth working silently like a fish
out of water and my mind whirring with possible ways I could undo the
damage I recognized now.

  "Come back and sit down," he said. I hadn't had that much trouble
walking on the high heels since the first minutes I'd worn them
Friday.

  "I had lunch with Roger today and he told me a most interesting
story," he began as I sat down nervously, again knee to knee with
him. "He said his new secretary dropped her purse this morning and,
being a gentleman, he helped her pick her things back up.

  "But one thing he picked up was her driver's license. He said he was
very surprised when he saw the name on it and recognized a former
employee. Now he said that though Paula seems to be an excellent
employee he's had some ... well, say strange vibes from her."

  I was trying to control my breathing to stop my chest from heaving
as it was.

  "May I see your driver's license?" he asked softly, still
pleasantly. I started to say it was in my purse at my desk. Then I
knew it really wasn't necessary.

  "You don't need to," I said. He nodded. "So what now? Am I fired for
gaining employment under false pretenses?"

  For far too long, several seconds that allowed me to listen to the
surge of blood through my ears in the silent room, he stared at me
with a slight smile.

  "You're very good," he finally said. "You're a very good
secretary. At least from what I've seen so far and I expect that will
continue. But, as Amy, you're very good. Normally poised. I can
understand why you're not right now. Beautiful. Better. You're sexy as
hell."

  He looked at me some more. Silently.

  "You must have wanted this job very much." I nodded. "But I don't
think even that motivation could make you so thoroughly
... believable. I've seen women ... real women that is ... who are not
nearly so feminine or appealing. Certainly appealing. I've been
thinking very un-boss-like thoughts, ones the EEOC would not approve
of at all, since the moment you walked in the door for your
interview."

  Now he grinned from ear to ear.

  "We find ourselves in a rather unique position," he said then,
tapping his front teeth with a fingernail. "You obviously want this
job. I need you to do the job. You qualify in all ways." He
stopped. "But one.

  "One, I think, that anyone would be hard pressed to discover without
your direct assistance.  Without your telling them outright, in
fact. I don't think you're inclined to do that. Am I right?"

  I nodded jerkily.

  "Did you and Paula do this on your own or did you have help?" he
asked quickly. I opened my mouth but nothing came out luckily. Only
after I thought about it did I question saying anything. "Ah,
Margaret. Of course. She had to be in on it. She did the background
check. You couldn't have manufactured qualifications quickly enough to
fool her."

  I choked again but he didn't need an answer. My face had been answer
enough for him.

  "Okay. So it's not likely she'd give you away to anyone who
matters. Neither would Paula.  She's in the same position you're
in. In fact, she and Roger already had this little talk and came to an
arrangement.

  "In fact, the same arrangement I intend to suggest to you."

  I could only wait. If there had been a ticking grandfather clock or
metronome it couldn't have ticked off more clearly than the beats of
my pounding heart. Perhaps I couldn't have heard over it anyway. A
drummer leading the way to the gallows couldn't have made any more
noise in my head.

  "One of the reasons I've succeeded in business is that I'm a very
pragmatic man. I know what works in real life and what doesn't. And I
know when an opportunity is offered to me and how to take advantage of
it."

  I must have been a few beats back in this music, still trying to
react to his initial statements.

  "I'm ... I'm not fired?" I said, seeing the grim job search
again. The frustration. The feelings of complete loss of self worth.

  "No. Or at least it's leaning that way. But I need to know that you
are totally loyal." I nodded my head. "To me and to the company. That
you're not going to turn us all in to the EEOC at your first
opportunity."

  "No!" I said in answer.

  "That you're not going to use your unique situation to take
advantage of us." He stood up and I stood up with him. "Some odd kind
of sexual discrimination suit."

  "No. How " He towered over me and, before I could finish either my
thought or my statement, put one arm under mine and pulled me close
against him. He didn't do it hard enough to drive the wind out of
me. The unexpected action did that to me instead as I caught myself
with a hand on his chest and the other on his strong arm.

  If I had the breath to say more, it would have been wasted as his
mouth covered mine. My eyes probably sprung to two inch circles with
the surprise I felt at being kissed by this man. By any man.

  "This is the test," he said softly, his lips still brushing against
my lipstick. "Pass or fail."

  Strangely, I felt a sort of relief and, as his mouth covered mine
again, sighed into it.

  Though Paula was really a man, our bedtime games had been as women
usually and only with a strange mental shift did my mind approve
that. But this was surely a man. A big man. Hot against my front and
leaning over me so my neck was bent back with the pressure of his
kiss, his hand hard in my back.

  There was something about feeling my breasts pressing into his hard
chest, his leg pressing between mine. I felt like a woman in a man's
arms and I reacted like one.

  My hand moved from his chest where it had made a feeble attempt at
holding him back, to the back of his neck to hold his kiss. When his
tongue delved into my mouth, it was already open and accepting. When I
felt his dick hard against the side of my stomach, it felt right and I
was glad I'd caused it.

  Minutes later, wildly pleasurable minutes, adoring minutes, he broke
the kiss and slowly lowered himself to the chair again without moving
his hand from its place in the middle of my back. I found myself
between his legs on my knees and my head on his chest for a few
minutes.

  I felt disappointment when he moved me away and curiosity when he
let go of my arms, my hands resting on his legs. It shows you how
ready I was that I only watched his hands move as he unbuckled his
belt, unzipped, and put his hands in the sides of his underwear to
push them down below his knees.

  He sat back in the chair, slid forward slightly, and moved the
leaves of his shirt to the sides.

  He stood hard and straight from the patch of dark pubic hair, an
inch in diameter for at least seven or eight inches to a mushroom
shaped, flared purple head topped with a drop of clear liquid.

  His hand moved under the back of my hair and pulled me toward it as
I stared. His knees were at my sides as he lifted it straight out from
his body so I was looking down its length.

  My hands on his thighs, I didn't resist mor e than slightly as the
flared head was guided to my lips. I opened my mouth to accept it and
looked up into his opened mouth, as if he were demonstrating for me. A
little more pressure on the back of my neck and I had to resist as it
touched the back of my mouth.

  "Take it all," he gasped. "Just once. All the way."

  I bent my head forward and swallowed. I can't say what it was like
since I'd never experienced anything like it before. As it entered my
throat and my thoughts were of retreating, he pressed down much harder
than before and my mouth sunk all the way into his pubic hair.

  "That's it!" he gasped, releasing the pressure on my neck so I could
react as I'd wanted.

  I wondered if I was going to lose the contents of my stomach and
realized I wasn't. It wasn't even reacting against the thrust. I
swallowed hard when it was again near my teeth, taking a deep
breath. The pressure returned and I went with it all the way down.

  "Ah!" he gasped and released me again. "Oh. Shit. Amy."

  This time, his hand vibrating still on my neck, I purposely
swallowed, took another deep breath, and plunged down on him myself.

  "Ohhhh!" he gasped more loudly. I had control now and moved out
immediately, his hand weak against my shoulder. Again with the same
result but more a gurgle.

  This time I moved around the hard head before going down again and
quickly back up, drawing him with me. And I did draw him
completely. He gasped and filled my mouth with come.  So much that I
had no hope of keeping up with it as he went through spasm after
spasm.

  I swallowed most of it but lost some down the sides. To keep from
letting it mess him up, I sat up quickly and grabbed for the box of
Kleenex on the front edge of the desk. Two pieces caught it before it
went into his pubic hair but made him gasp, probably with pain now, as
I touched the sensitive head.

  "Pass or fail?" I had to ask.

  "Magna Cum Laude," he said, slumping in the chair. His in-taken
breath was a shudder.

  "Do you need anything else, Bill?" I asked in my most efficient
secretary voice.

  "Huh uh," he moaned before I got to my feet and leaned over to kiss
him gently before leaving.  I waited at my desk for a few minutes
before calling to tell him I needed to go to the restroom so he would
cover the phones.


                            Chapter 10

THE REST OF the afternoon was easy. Easy enough that I began writing
this between the few telephone calls.

  Just before five, Bill asked me to come back into his office. I sat
down in my customary place but he stayed behind the desk.

  "Do you think that was sexual harassment?" he asked. I thought back
to my human resources experience and knew the answer.

  "Of course," I said. He chuckled.

  "You're honest."

  "I worked in your HRD department with Margaret for several
years. From being a 'woman' for two days work here, I know enough to
realize there is a widespread and pervasive atmosphere of sexual
harassment throughout the company. Far worse than the preferential
treatment given men before."

  "What does that mean?"

  "It means that the right woman with the right motivation could
probably shut your business down," I noted unnecessarily.

  "Why hasn't it happened to this point?"

  "I imagine a number of reasons. Some enjoy it. Some are using it as
a stepping stone, learning new things and going new places. Some are
probably afraid or have been compromised by their own actions enough
that they can't report anything without implicating themselves too
deeply."

  "Why haven't you reported it?"

  "The same. I can learn a lot here and need the job. I can't do it
without deeply embarrassing myself and probably hurting a lot of other
people."

  "And?"

  I looked at my hands and then back up into his eyes. He wasn't
smiling but he was looking at me pleasantly.

  "And because I enjoyed it, too."

  "So what now?"

  "Exactly. What now? Are you going to fire me?"

  "I never thought I would. Why would I? You went to a great deal of
hard work to be here.  It must be very difficult. To change yourself
over so completely."

  "We sort of enjoyed it," I said with a smile slipping onto my lips.

  "Are you really blond?"

  "Yes. Not as long, of course."

  "It will be. When it is, I hope you'll wear it naturally. Curled, of
course." I nodded. "How much of that is yours?" He pointed toward my
chest and I shook my head.

  "Have you thought about hormone treatments?"

  "I first tried any of this Friday," I noted.

  "If you're interested, I have a friend who's a sex
therapist. Psychiatrist. He could help you."

  He shifted in his chair, the grin spreading somewhat.

  "You know, before I said anything. I looked at you very carefully."

  "I noticed. I wondered ..."

  "There are a few things physically different in a man's body. A
prominent Adam's apple.  Knobbier knees. Narrower hips. Thicker
waist. Harder tush. Different musculature in general but particularly
noticeable in the upper arms, thighs, and calves. More facial and body
hair, of course."

  "How did I do?" I asked. He nodded.

  "Your Adam's apple is small. I've seen women with larger. Same with
your knees. You do have narrow hips but I've seen well, you get the
idea. Same all around. Each slightly masculine and maybe, taken
together, you could put together a case for being male. Something like
fingerprint identification. Enough points makes it true. But it would
be very hard without verification, in your case. In fact, I wouldn't
have thought to look before Paula's discovery by Roger.

  "When I called your name, if you'd looked at me like I was a fool, I
would have still dismissed the entire idea." He smiled again. "You
should have expected that possibility. Maybe someone calling to
another friend by that name or something."

  "There aren't that many people named Andy," I said.

  "Yeah. Probably true." He looked at me again for quite a while
before speaking again. "Would you come here, please?"

  I stood up and went around his desk as he turned in his executive
chair to follow my progress until I was standing knee to knee with him
again.

  "You have great legs," he said with a smile, never looking up from
them. "Lift your skirt and let me see them."

  I hesitated first but then reached to the sides of the skirt and
lifted it until he could see my legs almost completely.

  "Very very impressive. I think you should show off more of them. You
certainly wouldn't give anything away if you showed as much as you are
now all the time."

  "They don't even make skirts this short," I noted.

  "Well. Shorter, anyway. Okay?" I nodded agreement. "Now let me see
the rest."

  Feeling very uncomfortable now, I lifted it further.

  "All the way up." I did. It was actually above my waist as he leaned
forward, his hand touching my hip through the pantyhose. "Very
impressive. Cute panties."

  His hand moved silkily across the front of my hip onto the front of
my panties and rubbed down the intersection of my leg and trunk before
going back up the other side. He'd crossed my tightly held and
shrunken penis in the traverse.

  "Amazing," he sighed. "You know, I'm still not absolutely sure."

  Sitting back slightly, he reached to the sides of my pantyhose and
slowly began pulling them down until they were around my thighs. I
couldn't read the look on his face. The whole situation was so wildly
alien to me that I was shaking with fear and one of the effects was
that I was still as soft as I ever have been.

  Very carefully, he moved my panties back into place, making sure
they were positioned just as they had been. Then he rolled the
pantyhose back where they belonged as well. I wondered what he was
thinking but there was no way I would even consider asking. I dropped
my skirt back into place and jumped when his hands went to the front
of the shirt-cut dress and began unbuttoning from the top as he looked
up into my eyes.

  When he had it unbuttoned almost to the waist, he put his hands on
the sides of it and opened it. I knew that the feminine cotton bra was
filled almost perfectly with the breast forms and that it was tight
enough that it pulled the small amount of my moderate chest flesh and
muscle to a hint of a cleavage.

  "There's something called a miracle bra," he said softly. "They sell
them all over. Get one. And some blouses that show more chest. And
this nice little cleavage." He ran his fingernail down between the
false breasts and sent shivers running down my body. I'm sure he saw
the goose bumps it produced.

  He just grinned up at me and slowly rebuttoned the dress to a point
between my breasts. When I reached up to finish it, he took my hands
and moved them to my sides.

  "Leave it. Like that. I like it." He nodded to me by way of
dismissal and I took the opportunity to walk back around the desk.

  "Do you need anything else?" I asked like a good little secretary,
scared to death he would say yes.

  "You've got it, Amy. You really have. Now emphasize the feminine as
much as you can without looking trashy," he
said. "Feminine. Showy. Classy. Okay?"

  "Yes sir. If I can."

  "You can. See you in the morning."

  I nodded, went through the door, straightened my dress with a
quickly dismissed thought of re-buttoning the top buttons, got my
purse, and left for the day.

  When I got to the car, Margaret and Michelle seemed perfectly normal
if a little concerned that I was a few minutes late. But Paula looked
at me quickly and then away as if she was embarrassed. She sat with
her legs crossed and her hands around her middle defensively.

                          * * *

  Paula was uncharacteristically quiet as we made dinner for the
others and while the rest of us talked about our days (without some of
my experiences) and later when we watched television for a while.

  A little early, she said goodnight and, tired as well, I kissed
Margaret's cheek, Michelle on the mouth, and followed her. She still
wasn't talking as she washed her face and hung up her clothes.

  She surprised me when the first thing she'd really said, other than
in direct response to my questions, was "Do you think I can wear sheer
pantyhose?"

  "Of course," I said without hesitation. She has boyish legs and hips
but the "boyish" is a feminine appellation. She's cute in an almost
little girl way.

  "What about showing more top? You know."

  "You're not stacked," I pointed out unnecessarily. "But you have a
cute shape. A feminine shape. You could pull it off with no problem."

  She nodded without further comment.

  "Why?"

  "Roger told me to."

  "To wear sheer pantyhose and show more top?"

  "Uh huh. Tomorrow." She looked distressed to me. "You know all
through this I've been more comfortable in pants or leggings or
something that covers everything up."

  "I know that's what you like. But I've always thought you were a
little conservative. It'll be okay."

  "But what if I get caught?" she said looking into my eyes for
reassurance.

  "I just know you can do it, hon. Really."

  She nodded but didn't look like she really believed it still. We got
into our nightgowns and turned out the lights. I felt her laying on
her back next to me as rigid as a board. I knew she had more but I
could only wait and try to make it easier for her.

  I rolled onto my side and tried to get closer to her.

  "Cuddle with me, hon," I said.

  "You won't want me to," she said. Now I knew there was a problem.

  "What is it, baby?" I rubbed the side of her neck and head with one
hand. She took a very deep breath.

  "I fucked up today," she began.

  "How?"

  "I ... well, I dropped my purse. That was first. But I let Roger
help me pick things up."

  "I know," I said simply. There was a long silence.

  "You know?"

  "Yeah. Bill told me about it. How Roger found your driver's
license. Everything."

  "But ..." she said, the confusion in her voice "... I was sure if
Roger told Bill that, well, we'd get in trouble. That we'd probably
all get fired."

  "We kind of came to an agreement," I said.

  "He knows about us? You too?"

  "Yeah. He knows."

  "W-what is he going to do?"

  "He said ..." I thought about what he'd said about me but switched
my tack. "He told me Roger thinks you're too valuable to be fired."

  She was silent.

  "And the same for me. He, well, let's say that we decided that he
couldn't make a deal out of it without making waves with the EEOC and
problems finding people to replace us and we couldn't because it would
hurt all of us." A simplification that left some things out but I
figured she didn't need to know everything.

  "Did you tell him about Margaret and Michelle?"

  "Huh uh. He guessed about Margaret since she had to do the
background checks. But not about Michelle."

  "I didn't tell Roger about anybody. Just me."

  "Yeah. Bill figured me out by himself with what Roger told him. We
better tell them about it in the morning so they won't be surprised."

  "Yeah," she agreed. "You really think it's going to be okay?"

  "Sure," I said. In fact, I wasn't totally convinced by the current
set of facts. A lot of things could happen. "So, Roger told you to
wear stockings and show more skin on top."

  "Uh huh. That's really scary, too."

  "A little. But we'll be okay."

  "You said 'we.'"

  "Yeah. I got the same word from Bill. I wonder if they agreed to it
at lunch?"

  "Maybe. I mean ..." She stopped and took another deep breath. "Well,
when Roger saw my driver's license, he took me into his office and
asked me everything. Made me tell him all about our ... change. You
know. Nothing specific that involved any of you guys or anything. Just
about trying the clothes Friday and shopping Saturday and getting used
to things Sunday. And coming in and interviewing and everything
Monday, of course. But he knew about that."

  I waited, knowing she wanted to tell me more.

  "That's why you were so distracted at lunch," I said.

  "Yeah. I was worried. The last thing he said was that he needed to
talk to someone. But I didn't know he'd talked to Bill until they came
back from lunch together. That's when I knew I might have got you in
trouble, too."

  "So what did he tell you after lunch?" She gulped before speaking.

  "He took me back in his office again and said there were several
conditions for me to keep working," she said. "First, keep my mouth
shut about our arrangement." She stopped again.  "Then," she took a
deep, shuddering breath, "he had me show him my bra. He just grinned
at me and nodded."

  "Lots of girls are small there," I reminded her again.

  "Yeah, but I have an appointment tomorrow with some psychiatrist
friend of his he says can make real tits grow. He says we'll see how
big they really get." Bill had offered me the same thing. Suggested
it. But he hadn't made an appointment for me. "Then he had me take my
leggings off, put the heels back on, and walk around for him."

  I remembered the short dress she'd worn during the day and knew how
sensitive she was to showing her body. I could imagine her
embarrassment and the way she must have looked during that.

  "That's when he told me to wear stockings." I nodded against her
shoulder. "He had me come and sit on the edge of his desk and put his
hand on my leg while he talked.

  "He said that sexual harassment pre-supposes someone of the opposite
sex. First. Then he said that if both people had something to gain and
a lot to lose, it was something just between the two of them.

  "He looked up at me and asked if I had anything to gain from staying
working there and I said yes. Then he asked if I thought there was a
chance that I might gain something from a sexual relationship with
him."

  I was holding my breath, waiting for what she was going to say next.

  "I told him I didn't know. Then he said I should know that he has a
lot to lose if ... what I am gets around or if, well, someone knew
that he'd had a sexual relationship with a boy. He called me a boy."

  I nodded again.

  "What happened?" I said softly, prodding.

  "He lifted up my skirt and touched my legs and all around my panties
and, then, the front of my panties." Her breathing was hard now. "Then
he took them off and kept me sitting there on his desk, looking at me.

  "He said it looked like I was as much girl as boy anyway," she said
and I wondered if that made her happy or unhappy. "He thought it was
great, he said."

  I could only wait. Maybe she'd give me her reaction without my
asking and embarrassing her further.

  "He said, 'You have a cute clit.' Do you believe that?" She sounded
pleased so I said sure.

  "What happened then?" I asked.

  "He spread my legs real far and played with my pussy and licked my
clit until I came," she said quickly, really breathing hard now. "I
know you did that once but it's different when a real man does it to
you."

  I didn't know whether to laugh or get upset. Of course, when I'd
done it, I'd been dressed in a nightgown filled out with breasts and
dragging long hair across her flat stomach. I hadn't felt like a man
then and decided to dismiss the comment now.

  "I don't know how he did it. He didn't, you know, touch my butt
then. Just between my legs.  But it was exactly like he was playing
with my pussy and that's what he told me he'd done."

  I moved my hand down her silky front and into her panties, my
fingers finding the spot directly between her legs and pressing.

  "Yes," she hissed. "That's it. Oh."

  I rubbed the spot as she rocked her pelvis forward and back and
moaned. I wasn't too surprised when she clenched around her orgasm
before twisting her body toward me and kissing me hard for long
minutes.

  "Oh, Amy," she said. "You understand."

  "Yes. I understand," I told her as I got a few Kleenex to clean off
my hand and give to her to clean up her stomach.

  Satisfied and happy, she nuzzled into my neck and fell asleep.

  I lay there for a while wondering what the new day would bring and
if it could possibly be as event filled as the last few had been.


                            Chapter 11

I HAD BOUGHT exactly one set of lace panties and tight uplift bra that
I put on when I got out of the bathtub before putting on my sheerest
pantyhose, my only short skirt (a pink one that was really part of a
suit), and a white puff sleeved blouse with an open circle neck that
fell low in front almost to my bra.

  A thin silver chain with a silver medallion lay on my chest at the
top of a noticeable cleavage and matching dangly earrings hung from my
earlobes.

  Paula bounded with excitement and bounced my breasts on her palms
with a giggle as she went into the bathroom to get ready, saying she
didn't have anything to worry about if I could do what I'd done and
look so great.

  I got more rave notices when I went to the kitchen to join Margaret
and Michelle for coffee and donuts. While we ate, I filled them in on
what had happened the day before and what the status was for
them. Michelle didn't seem to care and Margaret didn't seem overly
worried about herself. She did express some concern for Paula and
me. I told her we'd be okay and sincerely hoped I was right.

  We agreed to support Paula and, if necessary, to help her with her
outfit. But we needn't have worried. When she came out of the room,
her legs were sheathed in sheer pantyhose and looked great, if just a
little skinny.

  The tight white skirt would have been impossible to walk in if it
had been a foot longer. But since it ended high on her thighs, it
could hardly tie her knees together.

  The equally tight white tee-shirt with its red and blue sequined
flowers bulged over her cute bra and circled low on her chest. She
wore several brass bracelets and a necklace that was chain to a series
of brass coins on her chest. One coin hung from each ear below her
short auburn hair.

  "Oh, honey, isn't that cute!" Margaret said before any of us could
react.

  "It looks great on you, Paula," Michelle said. I just smiled my
approval and nodded an I-told- you-so nod. She grinned back happily.

                          * * *

  When I walked into my office, I wondered if I'd taken a wrong turn
somewhere. I had to look at Mr. Miller's name on his door before I was
convinced.

  The night before when I left, my desk was a solid dark wood one with
an L-extension that held the computer. The open end had been open to a
wall next to Bill's door and four chairs sat across the room behind a
low coffee table. The door to the hallway had been to the left of the
row of chairs.

  Now, a new glass topped desk sat tight to the edge of the door, a
dropped glass leaf on the right held my computer, and two chairs and
short end tables were on each side of Bill's door.  There were even
new paintings over each pair of chairs.

  When I sat down in the soft white leather office chair and turned to
start the computer, I saw that I was looking directly at Bill's door
over the top of the computer monitor. The computer itself was on the
floor to the right side of the drop leaf and the printer against the
wall to the right.  All the wires were neatly hidden.

  I printed out the schedule, as I had the morning before, and went
for coffee. When I got back, the door to Bill's office was propped
open with a large crystal ball with a carved rearing horse inside.

  He looked up from some papers on his desk as I came in and smiled as
his eyes moved up and down my body. He stood up as I progressed across
the room and came around to his seat at the front of the desk.

  I gasped as his hands came up under my breasts and bounced them as
Paula had earlier.

  "Very nice," he said. "Your legs look luscious in that skirt,
too. Let me see."

  "What?" I said, not understanding.

  "Under your skirt. Your panties." I know my mouth dropped open with
shock but he just waited.

  I looked out the open door and lifted it off my lap.

  "Mmm. No. Either thigh high stockings or, preferably, stockings and
garter belts. Okay?" I shrugged. Was there a choice? "Well, no
problem. You have an appointment with Dr. Phillips.  Phil. At
9:30. You and Paula. While you're out, you can do a little shopping.

  "Do you have plenty of outfits? Short skirts. Nice tops like that."

  "I'll have to shorten some," I said. "My wardrobe's a little
limited."

  "No problem. You can get a few things now, this morning, and take
your things in to a tailor I know. It'll be much faster and easier."

  "I'm sorry, sir. But ..."

  "Don't call me sir," he snapped.

  "Ah, sure Bill. But I'm almost broke. We've been out of work for
..."

  "Oh. Of course. This is by way of company public relations. I'll
talk to Roger."

  I was still in shock as he rolled on into several things he was
expecting of the day and added several items to his schedule.

  "We'll get one of the guards to drive you to your appointment and
shopping in a company car.  Good?" I could only shrug. It seemed that
things were out of my control altogether.

  "Okay," he said and stood up to round his desk. I got up and went to
my desk to enter the new items in his schedule. He picked up the
telephone as I sat down. I could hear him clearly from here.

  "Roger. Pull about three or four hundred from petty cash each for
Paula and Amy. Yeah. On the public relations budget. Right. Well, how
well do you want your secretary dressed?" He laughed. "Right. That'll
have to be on your own budget. Yeah, it's for clothes for the two of
them. They need it and so does the office. That's why. Okay. Thanks,
Roger. Get it to Paula before about nine. Tell her what it's for and
that half is for Amy. Okay? Good. Thanks. Yeah.  Thanks. Good." He
hung up.

  When he looked up into my eyes and then down below the computer
monitor, I realized part of the value of the new office
arrangement. At least for him. I crossed my legs.

                          * * *

  The doctor's office was nothing like I expected. The reception area
was small, with four chairs and a receptionist's window where we told
a woman, who looked like a cashier, that we were there. More like a
dentist's office, I thought.

  A nurse, in white starched dress, white stockings and shoes, and
perky cap, called Paula in through the door a few minutes later and,
part way through an Reader's Digest article, called me.

  I followed her to a small room that included a chair, instrument
covered stainless steel cart, and cupboards.

  "We'll just get blood first," she said and proceeded to drain four
test tubes full before curling my arm around a cotton ball. Then she
took my blood pressure and heart rate with an automated blood pressure
cup on the other arm that read out on a digital display on the
wall. She wrote it down.

  She stood me up, take off my bra (and the breast forms), had me take
off my shoes, and put me on a medical scale for height and
weight. Then she used a tape measure for chest, waist, hips, thighs at
mid thigh, calves, ankles, wrists, forearms, biceps, and neck
measurements. She asked shoe, pants, shirt, dress, skirt, blouse, and
bra sizes. Then she let me put my bra back on.

  We'd sat and filled out a normal patient form in the waiting room
before Paula was called in.  Now the nurse sat down in another chair
to my side and asked me a long series of questions that started with,
"Are you aware of any medical problems?" and went on through drugs,
habits, and childhood diseases. She was particularly interested in any
drug reactions or any long term drug use.

  All of this was done without comment and very friendly. She didn't
seem to take any particular note of my obvious deviation from the norm
and didn't comment on it at all. I couldn't help wondering how many
guys came in wearing skirts and high heels.

  She left for a moment and came back almost immediately to lead me
into the doctor's office.

  Dr. Phillips is a large, friendly man with massive hands that
enfolded mine when he shook it.

  "Call me Phil," he said as he indicated a chair in front of his
moderate sized desk in the very medical looking office. It was
carpeted with a kind of nondescript indoor-outdoor carpet and had
several shelves of haphazardly arranged books and a window behind him.

  "Bill made your appointment for you. Do you know what for?"

  "Yes," I said. "I believe so anyway."

  "He thinks you need a course of hormone treatments. Have you agreed
to this?" I shrugged.  I really hadn't been consulted. First he'd
suggested it as a possibility and then told me I had the
appointment. I told him that and he sat back in his chair.

  "So you really haven't agreed. Is that right?"

  "I haven't. But I'm here and I knew why."

  "Has this been made a condition of your employment?"

  "Not that I'm aware of. Bill didn't tell me that."

  "It's quite important that you agree to the procedure. But let me
tell you about it first. Okay?"  I nodded. "Very well.

  "The first step is series of injections. If you agree, three today,
three tomorrow about this time, and three the next day. Two of the
three will produce direct stimulation of breast growth. The third will
balance female hormones with testosterone levels in your body. Today's
will be a kind of starter but the next two will be based on analytical
results from your blood tests.

  "The value to you in this is that you will immediately see some
diminished facial and body hair growth, some softening in musculature,
and stimulation of body weight redistribution." I nodded again.

  "The balancing act is good because it does not have an affect on
libido. Sexual desire or response." He cleared his throat and went on
without pause.

  "We'll do analysis of blood again tomorrow and the next day as well
to see the results of our injections as we go. We'll also keep very
careful track of the measurements we took today and check for any
negative physical reactions to the medication. We'll talk more so we
can determine your personal reactions."

  Sitting forward in the chair again, he went on. "When we get the
results of the third blood test, we'll prescribe a long term oral form
of hormone supplement.

  "It's important that you know that though the injections, in
particular, have an almost immediate affect, it is reversible by
simply discontinuing treatment at any point. The success and speed of
reversal, of course, diminishes over time.

  "We've found that about three months is a kind of break-off
point. Beyond that, there are some long term changes that can take
months or even years to reverse."

  He studied his hands for a minute.

  "We've found that the results of the course of medication is highly
variable. This is dependent on the patient's musculature, size, body
fat, profusion of body hair, existing hormone levels ... just a myriad
of things, in fact. Some results in some patients is almost
immediate. Meaning there will be noticeable physical results by the
end of the week.

  "In fact, your body shape, coloring, size and musculature is the
most amenable to the treatments. You may experience unexpectedly
noticeable results sooner than most.

  "After the initial course of injections and prescription of the
maintenance additives, we'll check on our progress in a week, two
weeks, and again a month later and every month after for the first
year or so."

  "What's the bill for all this?" I asked.

  "It's not terribly expensive but Bill has already agreed to pick up
the tab. If you decide to stop the course of treatment, any cost
stops, of course. If, for some reason, you decide to continue but stop
working for Bill, he's agreed to pay the first two years of treatments
after your separation."

  "Are there any psychological effects?" I wondered.

  "A few but they seem to be fairly minor. Perhaps slight emotional
enhancement. You could cry at things you wouldn't now, for
instance. But it's not like your general outlook will change or you'll
suddenly have uncontrollable urges to do housework. Unless you already
do, of course," he said with a laugh. "Seriously, you may experience
slight depressions but balanced with heightened peaks. Slight mood
swings that might be somewhat disconcerting because they are rapid, if
not extreme."

  "So what now?"

  "There's just one more examination we need to do and then the
injections, if you are positive about it." Decision time, I
thought. It helped that it wasn't an all or nothing decision. I could
change my mind without too much damage being done, if what he said was
true. And I had no reason to think otherwise.

  "Okay," I said finally.

  "Good. Then, if you don't mind, come over here and lift your skirt
for me," he said. When I was next to him and had my skirt around my
waist, he leaned forward and pulled down my pantyhose and panties.

  "We're checking two things here," he explained as he reached between
my legs and took my balls in his fingers. "Physical size and
characteristics and normal responses. Okay? Believe me that it's
necessary. Any indication of potential problems will show up here
first so we have to have baseline information. I'm not just a
degenerate."

  As he'd been speaking, he'd been manipulating my penis from side to
side, inspecting it, and gently feeling my testicles.

  "Any problems here?" he asked as his fingers began moving on my
partially hardened penis.

  "Ah, no." I had gone from almost completely soft when he pulled down
my panties to as hard as I ever get. His fingers left my balls and
pressed into the depressions below them and then against the soft spot
below my sack. His hand had never stopped moving on my penis.

  "Okay." He stopped. "Turn around now." I saw him reach into a desk
drawer and put on a rubber glove, coating a thick finger with KY
jelly. "Bend a little. That's it. Good."

  His finger dove into my asshole before twisting from side to side
and then pressing and rubbing my prostate gland. I'd never found that
to be an unpleasant examination but when his hand returned to my penis
and began moving up and down it as his finger rubbed my prostate, that
was infinitely more pleasant than the normal exam. It took only a
moment before I came, shooting come on the floor in front of my shoes
before drooling the last between them.

  He pulled his finger out of my butt and pulled out several pieces of
Kleenex to hand me.

  "Okay. You can clean up now. Just put it in the trash can there and
don't worry about the floor."

  I cleaned off the head of my dick and looked over my shoulder at him
writing some entries on the medical form. I cleaned off the KY on my
bottom and dropped the soiled tissues in the garbage.

  "Before you replace your clothing, we'll do the injection," he said,
turning with a needle in his hand filled with pink liquid. He tapped
it with a finger and, before I could anticipate overly, stuck it in my
ass high enough that I wouldn't sit on it. It didn't hurt.

  "Okay. Pull them back up now," he said. I pulled the panties into
place and got the pantyhose right before dropping the skirt.

  He dropped the syringe in the garbage, turned and got another.

  "Just pull up your blouse and bra in front," he said. He didn't
waste time with explanations of what was going on now.

  He rubbed very chilly alcohol on one nipple and moved the tip of the
needle into the area just below it in the surrounding darker skin. The
shot stung when it went in and I grimaced but didn't move.

  "One more," he said, turning to get another syringe. He did it again
with the other nipple.  "Good. All done for today. We'll see you same
time tomorrow. Okay?"

  "Yeah. I guess," I said as I pulled the bra back into place and then
the blouse down where it belonged. I turned my back to him to lift the
skirt and pull the blouse back into place.

  Paula was grinning when she looked up from a magazine as I went back
out.

  We spent the next hour and a half at the mall buying new bras,
panties, short skirts, filmy blouses, camisoles, stockings, and garter
belts. We spent every dime and treated ourselves to a nice lunch at a
french restaurant in the mall.

  We got back to the office with our bags before one.

  I told Bill I had appointments for the next two days and sat down at
the computer. I wondered if he could see the skin above the stockings
when I looked up and saw his eyes on my legs.


                            Chapter 12

THERE WERE SEVERAL memos ready for typing as well as changes to a
spreadsheet. I worked along steadily but, after about half an hour, I
realized that my nipples under the breast forms itched and I'd been
scratching under the bottom of the bra for a while and squirming in
the chair more.

  Finally, I found that my bladder was full and the itching was
getting to me so I excused myself and went to the women's room.

  Safe in a cubicle, I lifted my blouse and bra and looked at my
chest, putting my fingers on my nipples and rubbing through them
without rubbing the sensitive surfaces. I noticed that the nipples and
the darker surrounding circles were swollen considerably so they were
much larger than normal and hardened as I'd never seen them. Even some
of the skin surrounding them and below was puffier than before.

  I recognized it as just being irritated, not that they were growing
already. I didn't think that was possible. But it certainly itched.

  Paula came in as I was about to go out and came directly to me with
a harried look on her face.

  "God, Amy," she said. "My nipples are driving me crazy. They itch so
bad I think I'm going to go over the deep end if it doesn't quit."

  That just made mine come back to mind even though I'd sort of
dismissed it for a minute while I checked my makeup.

  "Yeah. Mine too. The shots must irritate them," I suggested.

  "This is the second time I've been in here since we got back," she
said. "It's terrible."

  "Try to leave them alone, if you can," I said as she rolled her tiny
breast forms with both hands. "Let me see."

  Quickly, she lifted her tee-shirt and bra and I saw that hers looked
like mine but bigger and redder.

  "Do you think they're growing already?" she hissed.

  "No. It couldn't be that fast. The shot just makes them really
sensitive." I brushed one of hers and she cringed.

  "Damn. That feels great," she hissed again. "They ARE sensitive."

  "I think we better do our best to leave them alone. It's like the
more you mess with a sore or something, the worse it is."

  "Yeah. You're right. But I'd still do about anything to get you to
suck them for me," she said with a big grin.

  "Maybe later," I said with a chuckle. She started pulling the shirt
back into place and I helped her get the bra pulled back down right on
the sides.

  I went around her and back to my office. Being around her fidgeting
made mine itch worse, too.

  I tried hard to concentrate on my work but it was hard and I caught
myself squirming or rubbing myself several times. Several of those
times, I looked up to see Bill watching me do it and blushed. As hard
as I tried, I couldn't seem to stop it completely. Instead, I only
resisted it and became self-conscious.

                          * * *

  I took some of the memos in to Bill and he looked at his watch and
grinned at me.

  "Grab the coffee and let's talk," he said. I nodded and went for
it. I sat it on the front of the desk as he came around. "Why don't
you shut the door?" he said and I returned to the crystal ball and
bent to roll it to one side. It must have weighed thirty pounds but,
luckily, rolled fairly easily to the side and out of the deep hole it
had made in the carpet.

  I shut the door and sat down. I had my hands crossed over my crossed
knees. He leaned forward with his elbows on his knees and covered my
hands with his.

  "I've been watching you. How are you doing?" he said sincerely.

  "I'm okay. I just itch a little." He nodded.

  "What'd Phil do today?" I told him all of it in a kind of
shorthand. Interview. Weight and measurements. Explanation. Shots. And
plans for the next two days and later. He listened while holding my
hands loosely. As I talked, I found that I was more aware of the itch
instead of less.  But under his intense scrutiny, I couldn't do
anything to relieve it at all.

  "You said they're irritated?" I nodded. "And swollen?" I nodded. He
couldn't have been teasing them with his fingers and made me any more
aware of them. "Itchy and sensitive?"

  "Yeah," I chuckled. "And this is making it even more."

  "But you can't scratch them now," he said. I wasn't sure whether I
couldn't because he was there watching or that he wouldn't let me. He
grinned as he looked at my chest and continued holding my hands. I
squirmed, feeling the itch now in more than just my chest.

  "I think I need to go to the ladies' for a minute," I said but he
shook his head as his smile spread a little.

  "There's nothing like an itch you can't scratch, is there? It seems
like the more you try not to think about it, the more it demands your
attention."

  I squirmed more and, if possible, it got worse.

  "We both have a problem," he said. "I'm just itching to see them and
you're just itching. So what do you think the solution might be?"

  "I'll let you watch while I scratch," I said immediately starting to
move my hands to do that.

  "No," he said. "Instead, I think you'll take your blouse off for
me. Then you'll put your hands on the arms of the chair and let me
take care of the rest. Don't you?"

  "Okay. Just " He let go of my hands and I lifted the blouse over my
head quickly to put my hands on the arms of the chair. I moaned as he
used both hands and pinched the false nipples of the breast forms
through the bra.

  "No. Please. Don't tease me. If you won't let me, please do it for
me," I begged.

  "Okay. That was cruel." He reached under both arms and found the
fastener of the bra, undid it quickly, and moved it down my arms. I
moved them forward so he could take it off and was surprised when I
looked down at my chest. They were at least twice as swollen as
before, the slightly reddened and enlarged area extending a couple of
inches onto the skin surrounding the darker circles.

  Where my nipples had been typically male and about the size of
pencil erasers before, right now they were reddened, hard, and several
times their normal size. The circles, the areolas, were swollen in the
same way and, I thought, larger than normal by at least twice.

  His fingers of both hands lightly and ineffectively brushed across
the nipples and areolas, only making them much worse. I gripped the
arms of the chair tightly and squirmed some more.

  "Please," I finally moaned.

  "What do you want me to do?"

  "M-maybe pinch them. A little. Roll maybe. I-I don't know. R-rub "
But I gasped with pleasure as he squeezed slightly and rolled both
nipples and areolas. My back arched forward.

  "Very appealing," he said, a smile in his voice.

  "Please," I moaned, enjoying what he was doing but needing more. He
put two fingers and thumb on one and squeezed harder, milking it
slightly. I moaned with pleasure and a kind of relief.  "Yes."

  "Hmm. If that's good, this will be great," he said leaning forward
and licking one of them. It was wonderful. But even as I felt it, he
moved back away. I leaned forward to offer it again and he licked and
moved away further. I was forward in the chair, just sitting on the
front edge. He grinned and rolled the other nipple satisfyingly.

  He licked again and moved back. I followed and found myself standing
in front of him. He licked and sat back and I crawled up into his
chair with him, my knees on either side of his body.

  As I fed him my nipple, holding his head against me, he began
sucking me as his fingers pinched the other nipple more roughly but
infinitely more satisfyingly. As I started having trouble breathing,
he switched breasts and, at the same time, moved the newly freed hand
under the back of my skirt, into the back of my panties, and down to
my asshole. For the second time of the day, a large finger slid into
my body in the remaining KY jelly.

  I squealed with pleasure as I came in my panties.

  While I came down from that, he used the fingers and thumbs of both
hands to thoroughly roll and squeeze my nipples and areolas, finally
satisfying the itch that had started it all.

  "Mmmm. You do that so good, I'll let you do it every time I can't
stand it any more," I told him.

  When I put the bra back on, he fastened it for me and held the
blouse over my head and pulled it down into place for me. Still
helping, after I tucked it in, he pulled it down right under my skirt,
reminding me that I needed to do a little cleaning up.

  I went to the bathroom after I'd done as he asked and bent at the
waist to move the crystal back into place in front of the door.

  Paula saw me go by on my way to the bathroom and followed me,
begging me to do her nipples again.

  Finally back at my desk, I got some work done before he itches got
to me again and I had to return to Bill's side. He had me untuck my
blouse and slid his hands up under it to roll and squeeze them for
several minutes as I stood there beside him enjoying it.

  Paula and I did that to each other twice during the evening before
we went to bed. I sucked hers as Bill had until she came. Then she
returned the favor.

  I still woke in the night once with the itch but fell asleep rolling
them myself.


                            Chapter 13

EXCEPT FOR THE tight black skirt and silky black top I wore the next
morning, everything went almost identically. Morning coffee (with the
addition of a nipple rub), the doctor's appointment with the same
ritual (including weight, blood, shots, and orgasm on his finger), an
early lunch on the way back to the office, more itching and having
Bill scratch for me, and an orgasm with afternoon coffee.

  The swelling hadn't gone down appreciably when I went to the doctor
and he told me that was normal and seconded that it wasn't real growth
that quickly.

  That night, Paula and I told Michelle and Margaret about the whole
experience and what was happening. Michelle was a little miffed that
she hadn't gotten in on the deal but didn't mind getting a blow by
blow of what was happening to us before signing up for the same thing
herself.

                          * * *

  Friday started off fairly similar. There seemed to be a little more
swelling, this time on the inside of my breasts where the second shot
had gone, and the original hadn't gone down that I could see. My
nipples and areolas were far redder and larger than they had been,
very sensitive, and itchy.

  Red lace underwear, the first garter belt I'd ever worn, red pumps,
and a red silk dress that weighed about two ounces made my
outfit. Everyone seemed to like it a lot.

  I forgot about one of the results of wearing a dress to the doctor's
office. Right off the bat with the nurse, I had to take it all the way
off to get my bra off for the weighing and measuring.  Then I had to
undo the garters for the hip measurement.

  She made me blush by telling me that, my nipples swollen the way
they were, she'd seen dozens of women who weren't as feminine looking
as I was in panties, loose stockings, and a smile. As if to prove it
to herself, she reached into my panties and cupped my balls and penis
"to prove it" to herself, she said.

  As if turnabout, when I was finished, she lifted her skirt and I saw
that she too wore a garter belt but without he panties. Her "clit"
just wasn't as big as mine, she giggled as she let me check for
myself. She helped me dress and suggested putting the panties on the
outside of the garters so I wouldn't have to undo them again with the
doctor.

  The final shots went as the others had, this time on the outsides of
my areolas.

  For the third time, he got on his glove, checked out my balls and
penis, and fucked my ass with a thick finger as he made me come. After
I cleaned up and dressed, he had me sit down in front of his desk.

  "Okay," he began. "What we've done is sort of a jump start on the
process. Using your first blood sample, we've formulated a good
approximation of your balance hormones. Three each day, morning,
afternoon, and bedtime. By next Friday's appointment, we should be
able to come closer to balance.

  "For the last three days, we've been monitoring the effects of the
jump start dosages. If there were going to be any side effects, we
would have seen them. We haven't."

  He looked at his clipboard.

  "Part of the extensive set of measurements we've taken is to see the
early results. The first quarter of the ballgame. Of course, the first
quarter is a poor predictor of the final score. But if it's 44 to
nothing, you've at least got a pretty good idea of the way it should
go.

  "And that's exactly what we've got here. A complete blowout.

  "Height, unchanged. That's usual. Weight, up two pounds. We'll watch
that but it's probably good at this stage. Musculature,
softening. Gaining in the biceps, thighs, and hips where you
should. Losing in the forearms, calves, and waist where you
should. The others are stable as they should be. Wrist, ankle,
neck. Penis and testicles, normal and decreasing only very slightly if
at all. Response quickening slightly but maybe you're just getting
used to the situation.

  "You've gained an inch of hips and lost two of waist, by the way,
and this may make some dress size differences if the trend continues.

  "You've noticed the initial reaction of the hormonal stimulation of
breasts, nipples and areolas.  With the injection today, you'll notice
further increase for the next three or four days but then it will back
off somewhat. Maybe as much as half the increase. Then, as the balance
takes effect during the next month, you should see some real longer
term growth.

  "Be careful with your diet. Balanced meals and no extra snacking or
we may see a weight gain you won't appreciate.

  "A biological woman's hormone levels vacillate considerably during
the month in response to her menses, of course. Many of the mood
swings you observe in other women are a result of these
imbalances. Unless you want to experience your 'sister's' discomforts,
you won't have to vary hormonal balance. Your body's natural hormonal
swings may, however, occasionally throw off the balance somewhat.

  "When you're more familiar with the results and the swings, you may
want to experiment with dosages but I wouldn't bother unless they are
pronounced or particularly uncomfortable."

  He'd done all this emotionlessly. Now he sat back and smiled.

  "Okay, Amy. Let me tell you first that your friend's results are
perfectly normal for our work.  In three months, she will gain a full
cup size and have fully formed nipples and areolas. She probably won't
gain much more than that. She's slight so she probably won't lose much
waist size but she will gain an inch of hips. She wasn't muscular,
just as you weren't, so there may not be noticeable reduction in
biceps or thigh development. She obviously doesn't eat much or has a
high metabolic rate so it's unlikely she'll overeat and gain undue
weight.

  "Basically, slow, cautious feminization. Probably slow enough that
the change won't be perceptible by close friends. She's happy with
that.

  "Now you, on the other hand, are a different case altogether. We
call the few we've seen like you our high achievers." He grinned at
his own cleverness.

  "Your waist loss is three to four times our normal case. Your hip
gain is double. Your breast development is already notable and likely
only to pause slightly before blossoming. You chose your breast forms
appropriately. In another week, you could be an A-cup and I wouldn't
be surprised if you filled out those C-cup bras in three months. I'm
not sure but it's possible you'll be bigger than that eventually but
the growth should slow by then.

  "Similarly, your waist is likely to be two to three inches smaller
while your hips may be two to three inches bigger. You'll gain thigh
mass and, probably, biceps mass as the more muscular forearms and
calves lose slightly.

  "I want to emphasize again that the game ain't over til it's
over. But, from our experience, you are quite likely to have a
spectacular shape."

  He sat there grinning at me as if expecting something from me but I
didn't know quite how to respond.

  "So I'm going to have big tits, baby hips, and a wasp waist? Is that
it?"

  "Pretty much. A good butt and great legs, too."

  "So I should be really happy, right?"

  "I think so," he said. "Listen. We do some rehabilitative work with
women who have some development problems they want to correct without
cosmetic surgery. After a year, they would go crazy for what I think
you are going to develop in three months.

  "This is the absolute plus plus for my work." He grinned some
more. "Also, I think you are going to do it with a minimum of
depression or mood swings. But if I'm wrong and you have any
psychological problems at all, no matter how slight, you give me a
call and we can talk about it.

  "There are all sorts of possible courses of action if that happens
to be too extreme. Mood altering drugs. Modifications to your
dosages. Changes in the formulation of hormones. Even
discontinuation. Or maybe we can address any problems with simple
consultation. A little psychoanalysis.

  "My last question," he said, leaning as close as he could from
behind his desk. "Are you happy with what I've said?"

  I thought about it. It had been a week since I was a frustrated male
looking for a job. Now I was a very happy working person with a more
questionable gender. But heading for "foxy lady."  Was I happy?

  My first thought was that I shouldn't be. My second was that I
didn't give a shit about what I should or shouldn't be. I was very
happy with it.

  "I think it's super," I told him and his smile returned. "Are you
going to finger fuck me again next week? I've gotten to like it." He
laughed hard.

  "That's called a sexual response test combined with a simple
proctology. The scientific terminology is supposed to make it very
objective and medical."

  "Oh. I thought it was just a really good time," I said, gaining his
laughter again.

                          * * *

  Paula and I talked over another slightly early lunch before we
returned to the office and I learned that Paula was excited about the
changes the doctor had predicted for her.

  Back at work, Bill called me into his office and said he'd talked to
the doctor after I'd left the doctor's office. I wasn't sure about the
confidentiality question but, since Bill was paying for everything I
didn't think I could complain too loudly.

  As he talked, I found that I didn't have anything to worry about
anyway since all the doctor had told him was that the process looked
like it was working better than expected. "Extremely well," to quote
him, according to Bill. What he wanted was an update from me so I ran
it down for him.

  "Fantastic," he said with a huge smile, sitting this time behind his
desk. It wasn't coffee time, after all. "You're happy?" he asked and I
told him I was, with qualifications.

  "Bill. It's obvious after this week that I need to be as feminine as
possible," I told him. "The way I work is, if I'm going to do
something, I want to do it as well as I possibly can.

  "Maybe by next week's appointment or after a month, I'll know if the
changes are going to work right and be good for me," I said, broadly
indicating my body. "At the same time, I should have a pretty good
idea if things are going to work out here. At work."

  "If you have any problem, you bring it to me," he said quickly.

  "What if the problem is with you? I mean, I work for you. Right?" He
stared at me for a minute.

  "Is there a problem so far, Amy?" he asked. "Are we moving in the
wrong direction?"

  I thought about it, looking at my clasped hands in the lap of my
short red dress.

  "Bill, I'm not at all sure I would have moved this
fast. Particularly on the medical thing. I felt some pressure to do
it. Almost like you were forcing me to do it." I stopped and looked at
him but he was quietly waiting for my comment. He wasn't going to be
defensive. Or maybe he knew it was true and was waiting for what I
thought of it.

  "I only tried on my first women's clothes a week ago
today. Suddenly, there's this." I moved my hands across my body. I
decided to make it more explicit. "Suddenly, I've got budding breasts,
I'm not only dressing as a woman full time but as a sexy woman, my
body is changing in ways I can't even appreciate yet. And, well, there
are the ... things you've done with me.

  "It's just so ... radical. So fast and so much." He looked at me
while I tried to decide if I'd made myself clear.

  "Do you wish none of it had happened?" he asked.

  "No," I said. That wasn't it at all.

  "Is it all just for a job?" I felt like I should think about it but
I knew as soon as the question was out of his mouth that it wasn't
true.

  "No. There's more to it than that."

  "Now that you know how good the medical procedure is going, would
you want to stop?"

  "No. Not now."

  "Wish you hadn't done it? That I hadn't made the appointment for
you?"

  "No."

  "Would you have done it on your own?"

  "Maybe. Eventually. Not yet for sure."

  "So are you happy with where you are now or not?"

  "Yes."

  "Do you itch?" he said with a twinkle in his eye.

  "Ah, yeah. But I'm going to make myself wait until coffee
time. Myself and you. It's hard to tell which of us enjoys that more."

  "You're sure. After all, the itch will probably come back in an
hour."

  I looked toward the door and back to him.

  "The problem is this dress," I pointed out, blushing. "We'll wait
until two."

  "It's your itch," he said. "I'll warn you though. This time I need
an itch taken care of, too."

  I blushed at what I thought was a reference to a blowjob. Now I had
to think whether I'd enjoyed that the last time.

  He had some surprises in store for me.

                          * * *

  I used some time in the women's room with my dress already around my
waist to lower the top and take care of the itch for a while. It was
still as intense as it had been the first day. Perhaps even more. I
didn't look at them but just reached under the breast forms to scratch
and roll the nipples and the puffy flesh around them.

  The manipulation did have the effect of turning me on considerably
but wasn't sufficient to bring on a release. The carry-over of that to
my desk, made me squirm in my seat before the computer until Bill
lifted his cup to tell me it was time for the coffee break.

  I was back with coffee in a few minutes. The itch was at the peak of
its form by the time I'd closed the door and, at Bill's bidding,
locked it.

  He sat down in the chair casually, a few inches away from touching
knee to knee, and stared at me. I wondered if he wanted me to make the
first move as he picked up his coffee and sipped at it or if he was
going to torture me. Make me beg him. Or, blushing at the thought, if
he wanted to be satisfied before he'd do anything for me.

  "I've been watching you," he said. I nodded because I was aware of
that. Every time I'd looked up from the computer screen, I'd met his
eyes or could at least see him staring at my legs.  "You're very
appealing even when you're not squirming like you have ants in your
panties."

  I blushed for him.

  "Have you gotten any work done today at all?" I asked him. "Or have
you spent the whole day watching me?"

  He laughed. "Not much. It's lucky a good boss doesn't really have to
do anything if he hires good people."

  The phone rang on his desk then but he held up a hand and answered
it himself.

  "Yeah. Sure. About an hour. Right." He hung up and looked at me
again. "Margaret needs to talk to me. Bosses are only needed when
there's a problem. I hope it's not the EEOC again."

  I couldn't comment since I didn't know what she wanted..

  "It does put us on a schedule, however," he grinned. "Why don't you
show me where the itch is?"

  "You mean " I vaguely pointed toward my chest but knew that, of
course, that's what he wanted. A thrill of strange excitement surged
through me that had to be an exhibitionist high I'd heard strippers
have sometimes. I read a book once where the heroine had an orgasm
from a dream where she found herself naked in a group of fully dressed
people.

  I stood up shakily, my legs feeling my excitement, and turned my
back to him. He slowly lowered the dress's zipper and pushed the
narrow shoulder straps off. Not ready, I gasped as the weightless
tunic fell to the crooks of my elbows. His fingers went to the
fastener on my bra before I'd reacted to being bared to the waist in
that second. He lifted the bra straps off my shoulders as well,
presenting me with a dilemma.

  I caught the weighted bra and breast forms with both hands as my
elbows still held the dress.  I could only set it down on the chair in
front of me. When I was bent that way, he stood behind me and, when I
started to straighten up, he pushed me forward gently with a hand on
my back.  I caught myself with both hands on the chair arms,
straightening my arms so the dress fell to my wrists.

  "What are you doing?" I asked as his hands went into the sides of my
panties and pushed them down to my knees.

  "You'll figure it out," he said as I let the dress fall off one hand
and then the other. The material slid off the leather chair around my
ankles. The panties did the same thing and I stepped out of both with
one foot, trying not to step on the material with the high heel that,
I feared, could poke a hole in the light material.

  As I kicked the dress to the side with the foot still remaining
tangled in it, I felt him standing behind me. I looked under myself
and saw his shoes behind mine but, oddly, became entranced by the fact
that my swollen nipples and surrounding flesh actually formed the
cones of small breasts.

  I sighed as he put one hand in the middle of my back and a finger at
the portal of my asshole.

  "Mmmm. That didn't itch," I noted. He didn't say anything but slid
it far into me before turning it to each side and the upward as if
hooking it up. It slid very easily out and back in a couple of times
and made me forget that it hadn't been the direction of my thoughts
right now.  In fact, it made my nipples itch far more intensely and,
bent over and supporting myself, I couldn't do anything about that
itch.

  There was no doubt that it was stimulating, of course. Beyond the
slightly dangling cones, I noticed my cock was rapidly hardening.

  He took his finger out of me and then replaced it, repeating what
he'd done a minute before.  Then he did it again. All the way out and
back in, around, in and out a few times, and back out again.

  "You like that, don't you?" he asked huskily.

  "Yes," I moaned.

  "I think I know a way that you can enjoy more of this," he said,
grunting with an effort that didn't translate directly to my body,
"and we can scratch the itches at the same time."

  He pulled his finger out of me and then brought it back to the
opening again. Then I thought it was two fingers as it opened me more
than before. Then I thought it had to be more than two fingers because
it was near the edge of painful. He pressed harder and it crossed the
threshold, I squealed, and bent my knees to allow myself to pull away
from it.

  His hand went around my waist and pulled against my lower stomach,
lifting me, and pushed whatever it was into me again. As a pain flared
and dropped off immediately, I realized it wasn't his fingers. It was
the flared head of his dick.

  "Okay now?" he asked. I wondered if I was okay. I wondered if I
wanted this. Then I knew.

  "It's okay," I sighed.

  He chuckled slightly and put both his hands on my hips and pressed
forward. It lifted me up onto tiptoe as it slid in. I dropped back
onto my heels as he stopped to let me get used to it but rolled back
forward as he pulled back slightly and pressed forward more quickly,
sinking still further into me. He kept the pressure up, his fingers
painful on my hipbones, as he slid further and further of his long
dick into me.

  I actually squeaked as he finally stopped and moved his hands.

  But the feeling in my ass was supplanted when I felt him curl over
me, his shirt and tie pressing against my back, as his hands went over
both my swollen breasts at the same time.

  Immediately, I felt some relief from my itching nipples as his
sweaty palms pressed against me.  He starting rubbing the entire areas
of them, the skin looser than I thought it should be as he slid it
over my ribcage for a minute. Then he was very slowly sliding out of
my ass, almost agonizingly.

  I licked my dry lips and moved one and then the other leg apart. He
pressed back into me in a quicker motion until I felt him stopped as
the front of his legs pressed against my bottom.  Stopped there for a
second, I felt his rapid breathing all around me.

  He began a slow removal and fast return, withdraw and thrust,
withdraw and thrust, as his hands started moving and squeezing and
manipulating my breasts rougher and rougher all the time.

  When he changed his pace to an almost spasmodic pumping for several
strokes, his hands squeezed hard.

  My eyes were clenched tight shut and my mouth in a grimace of
pleasure-pain as I felt him empty once, pump, again, pump, again and
again and again.

  The next thing I noticed was that my arms were vibrating with
exertion or reaction, his fingers and thumbs were rolling my new
breasts between them, and he was kissing the back of my neck and
shoulders over and over again.

  "You liked that," he said simply after a few minutes. His voice
almost sounded normal.

  "Yeah," I hissed from a totally dry mouth, my eyes still closed to
red and yellow flashes. I swallowed dryly. "Oh yeah."

  He still manipulated my breasts but slowly slid himself out of my
ass and shifted to straighten his legs. The wet and softening flesh
rested in the crack of my ass as he lifted me upright.

  "Mmmmmm," I moaned as I put my hands over the back of his and felt,
even more acutely, the way he took care of the itch that way.

  But as I relaxed, I realized that I was having to clench my ass to
keep from leaking and might, actually, be leaking anyway.

  As if sensing my problem, Bill reached to the desktop and got a
handful of Kleenex that he pressed against my ass and, I thought,
maybe even a little way inside. Then he got a couple more and handed
them to me. Looking down, that was the first time I realized I'd
climaxed, too.

  Quickly I wiped off my penis and tried to wipe off the chair a
little. But there was too much there for a couple of Kleenex.

  I slipped back into the bra, carefully seating my own nipples
beneath the breast forms, and fastened it behind me. I had to hold my
hand against the Kleenex on my butt to keep from losing it as I bent
over to get my dress and panties, and clasped my legs together like a
five-year-old while I dropped the dress over my head. I was sure I
wasn't going to make it.

  "Bill, I've got an emergency," I said, embarrassed. "I've got to get
to the bathroom right now."

  "Sure. Go ahead. I'll take care of this, hon." He was grinning and
using more Kleenex to wipe up the mess on the chair and the few drops
on the floor as I opened the door and carefully went to the
bathroom. I had to walk funny, my panties balled in my hand, to get
there as quickly as possible.

  I hustled into a stall, holding up the skirt and thanking the gods
that no one else was there, and sitting down right away. As soon as I
relaxed my muscles, a stream of hot fluid poured out of my ass that
sounded very much like a woman pissing. I had to squirm a little to
get it all and still used several times as much toilet paper to clean
up as usual.

  I put the panties on my legs while I sat there and pulled them into
place when I stood. But immediately, the change in body attitude made
it necessary for me to sit back down and allow some more come to drool
out of me.

  When I stood up, decided I was done, and got the panties back in
place, I felt like I'd been stretched to the size of a baseball. I
wondered, almost seriously, if the next time I had something to eat it
would go in my mouth and immediately run though and straight out
without slowing.

  I grinned at myself in the mirror. I hadn't brought my purse. I
rushed out too quickly. So if there had been terminal damage to my
face, I couldn't have done a thing about it. But, I realized, Bill
hadn't even kissed my mouth or touched my face. It looked as perfect
as it ever did.

  Like I hadn't just lost my virginity.


                            Chapter 14

I HAD JUST finished kissing Bill and thanking him for "taking care of
my itch" and returning to my desk when Margaret and Michelle came into
the office.

  Margaret, with an open door and her experience behind her, didn't
have to wait for me to announce her or even to check with Bill. She
just finger waved as she passed into the office, dropping Michelle off
with me.

  She shut the door behind her.

  "Hi," I said. "What's up?"

  "I talked to Margaret about you and Paula? Your doctor's
appointments?"

  "Yeah."

  "And she said she'd talk to Bill for me. Keep him from blowing his
stack when he finds out."

  "He won't. You know him as well as I do now. Better, I'll bet."

  She looked down at me with a grin, my red dress and crossed legs.

  "I'll bet not. In two years, he never kissed me once," she said. I
blushed and knew what I was going to say next and blushed some
more. She saw it.

  "He probably never fucked you either," I noted.

  Her mouth dropped open with surprise. Real shock. She used her hand
to shut it.

  "You're kidding!" she said. I only shook my head slowly. "How?"

  "I told you he'd sort of rolled my nipples to make them stop
itching. Right?"

  "Yeah but "

  "Yeah. That's different. I know. But he'd done some things and I'd
done some things before.  Today, he just took it I don't know. A step
further?"

  "How?" she squealed.

  "With a really long dick," I chuckled. "And really well. And rubbed
and squeezed and played with my nipples at the same time. They feel
better than they have in three days."

  I blushed again.

  "You certainly look good. Happy."

  "I am. It was great. I highly recommend it."

  The door opened and Margaret told Michelle to come in. She went and
the door started to close but then opened again.

  "Amy? Bill wants you here, too," Margaret said.

  Bill was behind his desk and Michelle took the second chair in front
so I sat against the cadenza behind him.

  "Amy? You knew about Michelle all along?"

  "Yes," I said.

  "But didn't tell me?"

  "I didn't think it was my place, Bill. If she wanted to, I figured
..."

  "Okay. I understand," he said, a little disgruntled, I thought. I
wondered if we were in trouble.  "So now I know about Paula and you
two. How many more are there?" There was a definite edge to his voice
I didn't like.

  "That's all, Bill," Margaret said.

  "Since this involved my former secretary and my current secretary as
well as my employees in general. And in possible contravention of a
federal law. Shouldn't I have been informed instead of having to find
out for myself?" he asked Margaret.

  "I wasn't at all sure it would work out," she said by way of
defense.

  "So if it had failed miserably, say having them get caught in the
ladies' room by some women's libber, then it would have all been
okay?"

  "No. I thought the most likely scenario was that the, ah, girls
would change their minds. One or more. That they'd decide to stop and
go on to something else," she said. "Or, more likely, that you or
Roger wouldn't hire them in the first place."

  He sat with his fingers steepled below his chin, contemplating what
she'd said.

  "I wasn't sure that any of them could get away with it until the
middle of the week. That they'd be believable."

  "They're certainly believable," he said softly. "I didn't even
recognize M ... ah, Michelle. After having him sit outside my door for
the last two years and having coffee twice a day."

  He looked at Michelle then more closely and I could see his grin in
profile.

  "You're certainly believable. If I'd known you're this pretty, you'd
have been in dresses two years ago," he told Michelle.

  "Thanks, Bill."

  "It probably would have helped in avoiding the EEOC problems,"
Margaret said with a chuckle.

  "Okay. We've got three, what should I say? New women," he
emphasized, "on staff. How likely are we to get caught doing this?"

  "I guess that it's possible that other staff members could still
catch on. I'm not sure whether that would be a problem. Maybe a 50-50
chance if they were caught. But I'm pretty sure that if they were
going to get caught it would have been in the first week. As Paula
and, I guess, Amy did. No one in my department has identified Michelle
and she's a fixture now.

  "They'll need to remain cautious, of course, but I think the
greatest danger is passed. After all, they're all gaining friends and
acquaintances among the staff so they would be less likely to get
turned in even if they were discovered. They're also getting more
confident and believable, if that's the term, as they go.

  "And all of them are working out very well in their jobs. And that
would be the mostly likely problem. If they didn't do their jobs and
there was a disciplinary problem." She paused for breath.

  "The medical, ah, work with Paula and Amy can only help."

  Margaret looked at me and smiled.

  "Shortly, if they're challenged they can show a breast and make
anyone eat their words." Bill finally laughed. "There isn't an EEOC
official in the world who'd say 'Lift your skirt and prove you're a
woman.' Right?"

  The thought of those uptight, politically correct types suggesting
that seemed ridiculous and we all laughed.

  "So now the question becomes first, will you extend the, ah, medical
benefits you've provided Paula and Amy to Michelle?"

  "Yes. Of course. Amy can make an appointment for Monday with Phil,"
Bill said.

  "Okay. Then the other question is should we offer this as an
alternative to other employees if the ax has to fall again."

  "Let's hold up and wait on that decision until it looks like it
could happen. God, the more of them we have around here, the greater
the chance of a problem. Right?"

  "Yes. Probably. But you've already told me that they are in a rather
unique position that I'm sure you girls have already noticed," she
said. I wasn't sure what she was saying. "Specifically, you have as
much to lose if this becomes public as the company has. Maybe more."

  "Not the least, that it's wonderful to live this way," I noted. All
three of them looked at me and smiled.

  "It certainly makes some sexual harassment questions moot," Bill
noted, looking at his fingernails and not meeting any of our
eyes. Michelle and I looked at each other and smiled.

  "Maybe not all of them," I said into the momentary silence, bringing
Margaret and Bill's eyes to me. "The first day I was here, a girl from
the marketing department told me about some pretty blatant cases."

  Bill and Margaret looked at each other and frowned.

  "What?" Margaret said.

  "She just said that a condition of employment over there is a
blowjob and one had been on a junket with the marketing manager they'd
spent in bed," I amplified.

  "Oh fuck!" Bill said softly. "That god damned Ed again. What do you
think Margaret?"

  "I think, if it's true," she looked up at me and held up a hand
before I said anything, "and I'm sure the girl said it, then something
should be done."

  "Formal?" Bill asked. "Interview the women involved?"

  "If there wasn't a problem before, bringing it out formally might
make it a problem. That might be the worst approach."

  "It sounded like the girls didn't particularly mind," I said. "The
one who said it didn't like giving blowjobs. If it's a problem, it is
that she told an almost total stranger about it. Me."

  "Yeah. Does that make her a loudmouth, stupid, or dangerous? Could
she tell someone who'd make it formal?"

  "I've seen her a couple of other times since that first time and she
didn't say anything else," I pointed out.

  "Maybe a good start would be for you to have a quiet talk with her
the next time you see her and tell her the potential dangers,"
Margaret told me.

  "Okay," I agreed.

  "Bill, I wonder if there's an informal situation you could broach
the subject with Ed," she continued.

  "Yeah. I'll see if he can play golf this weekend. Then I can mention
it casually. Hopefully, he'll take a hint."

  Margaret stood to leave and Michelle followed her. At the door, when
I joined them, Michelle told Bill thanks for the medical support and
he told her he was glad she still worked for the company even if she
wasn't his secretary any more.

  While Michelle waited, I made the Monday morning appointment with
the nurse I'd gotten to know fairly well now. She's the one who asked
if it was a similar case to Paula's and mine. She seemed totally
unaffected when I told her it was.

                          * * *

  We all spent a quiet weekend with a short shopping trip Saturday
where I spent some of my first week's salary on a cute frilly dress.

  We went out to dinner together Saturday night and stopped at the bar
afterward. Everyone seemed to want to pick us up and Paula, in
particular, was getting a big kick out of that, dancing with half a
dozen different guys.

  Friday night Paula and I embarrassed Margaret when we had a few
drinks at home and started talking about our experiences with our
bosses. Paula got fucked for the first time Friday afternoon, just as
I had. We speculated on whether Roger and Bill had been talking.

  We started taking our pills Saturday morning.

  Sunday night, I got up after Paula and I had been in bed for a while
to get something from the living room. I stopped at the doorway when I
heard what was going on but looked around the corner to see Michelle
with her head between Margaret's spread legs. Neither of them saw me
and, I guess, I shouldn't have been surprised. After all, Paula and I
had been doing things since the first. But I was.

  Monday Michelle came and got me for lunch after her appointment and,
almost in a panic, talked about the itching. Since mine was almost
gone, I could tell her it was only a few days and that she'd get used
to it. But we still ended up in the restaurant restroom where I
scratched the itch for her with both hands as Bill had showed me
Friday. Minus the fuck.

  I think Margaret must have helped her out for the rest of the week
because she didn't ask me again.

  Wednesday, after her third appointment, she came to my office and
told me that the doctor had said her progress was nearly as good as
mine. Mine, on the other hand, had gotten a little less sensitive as
the itching stopped but looked the same as they had. Bill told me they
looked like a teenager's and I missed the opportunity to ask him how
he knew what a teenager's tits looked like.

  Tuesday, I ran into the girl from marketing that I'd met and talked
to her in the restroom for quite a while. As I'd been asked, I told
her that if the word about the sexual activities in the department got
around, it could cause problems. She seemed surprised since she took
it as a matter of course. Something that had happened to her at every
job she'd ever had, she said. She did promise to keep it to herself
and me, so I could monitor if anything new was going on.

  Bill never mentioned what had happened when he talked to Ed and I
didn't really think it was my business.

  Every day that week, I wore a new outfit and every day got more
praise on the clothes from Bill and other people who came into the
office.

  He continued to watch my legs as I worked, took care of my itches
(even if they were gone) with his hands or mouth every day, and made
love to me Tuesday afternoon. His hands or lips on my budding breasts
felt different from when they'd itched so bad but equally different
from when they were small male pimples.

  Remembering how I'd had to strip completely the Friday before, I
wore a skirt and blouse Friday. The nurse told me that I'd increased
an inch across the bust and hips, and decreased an inch in my
waist. She was envious, she said.

  The doctor told me my progress was "phenomenal" and beyond even his
confident expectations of the week before. He predicted that I'd be an
A-cup before the end of the next week if I kept growing at the same
rate. He adjusted the dosage of estrogen downward slightly.  Then he
did the sexual response thing again with the same results as
before. Again he said he was amazed since he thought there would be at
least some lessening in response at this stage, just as he'd thought
there would be a little retreat in the size of my breasts.

  By the end of the next week, I fillled out one of Paula's bras
without any breast forms and had to switch to B-cup forms instead of
the C's I'd been wearing.

  Before my one month appointment, I had to buy a couple of padded
bras because even Paula's A-cup breast forms shaped around me
strangely. The doctor noted the two inch increase and general progress
of everything else. The dosage was reduced again.

  If it was possible, that day changed my life again.


                            Chapter 15

"WHAT KIND OF a woman are you going to be, Amy?" Bill asked me that
afternoon as we sat facing each other.

  "What kind?"

  "Aggressive? Liberated? Ambitious? A shrinking violet? The little
hausfrau? A decorative adornment? An airhead? Fun loving, dance all
night partier? An intellectual? What?" I chuckled.

  "I think I'm probably aggressive but I wouldn't call it liberated in
the negative context. I'm not particularly ambitious but I'm hardly a
shrinking violet. I'm definitely not the little homemaker type. I hate
that as much now as I did before.

  "I think I'm reasonably intelligent but not an intellectual and
definitely not an airhead. So what were the other things?"

  "Just decoration?" he said with a grin.

  "I hope I look good but not JUST decorative."

  "A prick teaser? A whore? A lesbian? A slut? A nun?" I laughed hard
as he grinned.

  "Obviously, not a virgin," I noted. "You should know. But I like
girls. I like you. I don't tease much. And I don't plan on selling it,
even if I could."

  "So would you accept a date?" I thought about it.

  "With the right guy."

  "Am I the right guy?"

  "The only guy in my life right now actually."

  "Would you be upset if I didn't hold a door for you?"

  "I wouldn't know how to react if you did probably."

  "Then what if I asked you over tomorrow night to help me cook a nice
dinner and maybe watch a video?"

  "Oh, I'd probably say yes."

  "Are you liberated enough to drive yourself over?" I laughed.

  "I've never had someone pick me up for a date. I don't think I'd
know how to react if it happened."

  I just looked at him for a minute.

  "How should I dress?"

  "I sort of planned on wearing a pair of slacks and a tee-shirt."

  "No special requests?"

  "You've pretty well demonstrated that you know what I'd like better
than I do. Surprise me.  But don't dress up. Okay?" I nodded.

  "You like Italian?"

  "A lot."

  "How about seven?"

                          * * *

  Telling Margaret and Michelle where we were going, Paula and I ate a
one of the restaurants at the mall and shopped for "informal" clothes
until the mall was about to close and the majority of the people had
left.

  Then we went to the hair salon and the two of us took the place over
single handedly.

  Both of us ordered the works and, for the first time in more than a
month, I took my wig off in public. One hair dresser reset the wig
while another worked on my real hair and a third worked on Paula. We
both got facials, manicures, and pedicures as well as our first hot
wax.

  All the attention was really a turn-on for both of us. The girls in
the shop seemed to really have a good time doing it all.

  It felt totally different to have my own hair trimmed and permed and
curled and combed out.  In almost three months (with almost two of
unemployment), my hair was nearly shoulder length and looked nice in
the soft wave they gave me.

  It was obvious when we got home, finding Michelle and Margaret
snuggled up together on the couch, that they had enjoyed our
absence. They thought we looked great as we joined them to watch a
late movie before bed.

  Paula and I enjoyed intertwining our smooth legs and cuddling until
we fell asleep. Neither of us were particularly horny since we'd both
had the response test at the doctor's office and Paula had gotten a
congratulatory fuck from Roger after she got back.

  I got up at about ten the next morning, had a late breakfast with
Margaret and talked about the sexual harassment situation at the
office for a while (Bill had talked to Ed and the word was out to
knock it off or be very careful), and read a book for a couple of
hours.

  Trying hard not to get excited, I took a long bath in the oiled,
fragranced hot water as I read some more. I don't know whether it was
inspiration or what but I decided to carefully shave my pubic hair
before I got out.

  I hadn't really had to shave for a month but I used a little
depilatory on my neck before I got out of the tub. Then I rinsed off
with the shower head so there wouldn't be any hair clinging to me
anywhere.

  For the next half hour, I tried on underwear, unable to make a
decision. Then I came on my decision.

  I thought about stocking and a garter belt but ran my hand up my leg
and felt how soft the skin felt after the hot wax.

  I put on the very short Levi skirt I'd finally picked out the night
before and pulled the VERY tight blue tee-shirt over my head and
around my body like a racing glove. Cut in a circle neckline, I could
reach in the top to pull my new breasts toward the center. Left alone,
I showed a good cleavage and a good swell. I wasn't as big without the
padded bra but it was appealing, I thought.  I hoped Bill would agree.

  That left only the medium height black sandals that showed my
painted toenails, and bracelet, necklace, and earrings. I posed for
myself and thought I looked great.

  The rest of the girls thought I looked good, too, and Margaret just
sat looking at me with a grin on her face that said, as clearly as she
could, that she was proud of how far I'd come.

  A drink relaxed me as I waited for seven o'clock.

                          * * *

  I walked up the curving sidewalk through the forest of trees in
Bill's front yard and rang the doorbell. The house was a single story
Tudor styled house with a gable above the door that made it look more
impressive than its modest size.

  The door opened and Bill's eyes rose from my feet to my face, taking
everything in and breaking into a spreading grin. He wore a pair of
tan cotton pants, moccasins, and a shiny white tee-shirt. His hair was
freshly washed and casually loose. I thought he looked great.

  "Come in," he said, opening the door the rest of the way for
me. "Welcome to my humble castle."

  "Thanks," I said and went into a nice foyer, the floor covered with
red pavers and large tropical plants sitting in just the right places.

  "You look wonderful." He made me believe by the way his eyes almost
bulged as he looked at the cleavage. "It's all yours, isn't it?"

  "Uh huh. Nothing fake or padded."

  "Even your own hair, huh?" I smiled.

  "Like it?"

  "Very much. I think you should forget about the wig. Even at
work. Unless this is too much work."

  "No. It's easy." I found myself fluffing it in a very feminine
gesture.

  He took me by surprise by closing the two feet between us, putting
his arms around me, and kissing me. I accepted his tongue in my mouth
almost immediately.

  I thought it was a quick welcoming kiss. But, as it extended for
more than a minute, I thought it was more than that. I'd set myself to
accept a quick kiss. But as I felt it surging through my body, I found
my ankle moving up the back of his leg and feeling the heat of his
body against me.  My insides were vibrating with excitement before he
suddenly stopped and looked into my eyes from a few inches away.

  "Welcome," he said.

  "Do you greet all your guests that way?" I asked.

  He smiled.

  "We've got to cook. Come on." He took my hand and led me into a
kitchen that could have been in House Beautiful. Nice appliances of
all sorts, a center butcher block island, hanging copper pots, and
bubbling pots on four burners. "Would you like a glass of wine or a
drink?"

  "A drink, please," I said. "Scotch and water, I think."

  He went to a countertop cabinet and pulled out a bottle of Chivas
Regal, added ice and cold water from a bottle in the refrigerator, and
handed it to me.

  "Would you like to toss a salad or stir the sauce?" he asked. I
chose the sauce and used the wooden spoon to stir the delicious
smelling spaghetti sauce as I sipped the drink and watched his tear up
lettuce, cut up tomato and cucumber, and pour an Italian dressing over
the top to toss in.  Croutons and bacon bits made it look perfect. I
suppose pasta laden salads or romaine lettuce are more "in" but this
was exactly the salad I liked.

  "Okay. Turn that off and put the spaghetti in the pot next door
there and we'll be a few minutes away from eating. The pasta is in
that tall thing next to the stove there."

  When I looked in the tall canister I thought the spaghetti looked
homemade. Just a little more variation in length and widths than
manufactured spaghetti and it smelled different when I put some in the
big pot. It melted down into the pot slowly and stopped the rolling
boil. I stirred it all into the water before putting the lid back on.

  Expertly, he poured the water off a vegetable (broccoli I learned as
he poured it on a platter and garnished it with cheese), poured the
sauce into a steaming bowl, and, finally, poured the spaghetti into a
colander and then another bowl.

  "Can you bring something?" he asked as he picked up the vegetable
and sauce. I grabbed the other two and followed him into a sunroom on
the back of the house with a glass topped wrought iron table set for
two.

  He pulled out a softly covered wrought iron chair for me and held it
as I sat down. Then he disappeared only to come back a minute later
with the salad and my drink.

  In the few seconds, I had a chance to react to the plants all around
me in the room, the deep green grass of the back yard through tall
windows, and the mass of trees to the sides. The sun was only slightly
above the horizon and I knew it would set in the time it took us to
eat. He sat down and carefully opened a bottle of red wine, pouring a
little in a wine glass and swirling it before tasting it.

  Damn he's good, I thought as I watched him sniff, taste, and nod to
himself before filling my glass. The china was very large clean, white
enamel with a silver edge and matching salad plates.  My mouth was
literally watering as I dished out pasta for myself and watched him
meting out salad to our plates.

  As I coated the pasta with sauce, he pushed over a silver cheese
cup. "I grate my own Parmesan," he said. "It's much better that way."

  "You'll make someone a wonderful wife," I noted with a grin. "Or
chef. I've never smelled anything so enticing."

  He just nodded.

  We ate almost silently, punctuated with my groans of pleasure, drank
the wine, and watched the sun set as if it were a big screen movie.

  He just chuckled with each of my hundred exclamations about the
food, the view, and the wine. As I finished a massive plate of
spaghetti, he left again and returned with small plates of Brie and a
cheesecake. In spite of thinking I was much too full, I ate the cheese
and two pieces of cheesecake as well as helping him finish the bottle
of wine.

  It was almost dark when we finished and he got up.

  He led me to a living room that sported another wall of windows into
the back yard, a fireplace, and the biggest screen TV I've ever
seen. We sat on the couch as he used the remote to start a movie I
hadn't seen but had heard about. It was a quiet romantic comedy.

  "Make yourself comfortable," he said and I took my shoes off and
curled my legs up on the couch as he pulled me over against him. We
watched half the movie before he turned me so I was laying across his
lap, my head on his arm, and his other hand in the middle of my
stomach.

  He kissed me again as the sex scene ended and had me panting by the
time the movie ended.  Except for our hard breathing, the house was
silent as he turned off the TV.

  For a long time, he kissed me, his hand moving gently on my
stomach. He didn't stop as his hand explored my naked thighs. He
didn't stop as his hand stroked and caressed and cupped my breasts
under the tee-shirt. He didn't stop as he pulled on my nipples and
rolled the flesh that hadn't itched in a month but did then. He didn't
stop as he pressed and manipulated the spot between my legs and he
didn't stop as his finger found my carefully lubricated asshole.

  Finally, after what could have been more than an hour, I couldn't
stand it anymore.

  "Please Bill. I need you to fuck me," I moaned throatily. "Maybe if
I get on my knees."

  "Huh uh," he said.

  He stood up and waited for me to take his hand to pull me to my
feet. He led the way through the house and deposited me at the dark
opening of a room as he went inside. A soft light came on next to a
massive canopied bed in a room that seemed to soak up the meager light
of the bedside light. I went to him and his hands went immediately to
the hem of my tee-shirt so he could move it up and off as I held my
arms above my head.

  He kissed me as he located the zipper on the skirt, lowered it, and
dropped it to the floor. I started to take off his tee-shirt as well
but he intercepted me, flicking it off over his head as my hands went
to the waistband of his pants. They dropped to the floor before he
tossed the tee-shirt to the side.

  Now he was as excited as I was as he stepped out of his pants and
lifted me onto the edge of the bed.

  I scooted up the rest of the way as he took off his underwear, his
long cock dropping out as if to point to me.

  I turned over onto my stomach, making myself available to him, but
he crawled onto the bed with me and turned me to face him, his mouth
covering mine as I lay back into the quilt cover and pillows.

  Almost wildly, he sucked on my nipples as I moaned and rolled on the
bed under him. Then he was lifting my legs wide. He didn't have to use
his hands to find my asshole with his hard cock.  It seemed to find it
by itself and was inside me before I had time to anticipate or to
react.

  The slow pressure of it further and further into me rolled me onto
my shoulders with my now sensitive nipples pressed into his slightly
hairy chest. My moan escalated until his pubic hair tickled my newly
shaved pubis. My ankles locked behind the middle of his back.

  He began long, slow strokes that almost removed him from me before
extending into my throat from below. Or at least that's what it felt
like. He took it upward slowly slowly increasing the length of the
stroke and the speed until I could hear myself squealing with the
pleasure of it.

  We came together, growling and moaning and groaning and coming and
coming and coming.  He collapsed covering me completely, my ankles
locked behind his knees.

  Obviously, that wasn't the last time he fucked me that night or the
only method.

  He fucked me from behind. Once, when I'd cleaned up our combined
messes, I sucked him and was soon being sucked by him at the same
time.

  We fell asleep in each others' arms and woke the same way. He
wouldn't take his arm out from around me until he'd fucked me again in
the morning.

  He made eggs, bacon, small pancakes, hash browns, and lots of coffee
while I sat, totally naked, and watched. His dessert was me pressed
face down on his breakfast nook table.

  After a shower and thorough cleaning with the bidet in his massive
bathroom, he used his tongue on what he called his "pussy." That was
certainly the first time I ever came that way.


                            Chapter 16

AT OUR THREE month checkup, I measured 36 (my old chest size), 24 (a
very tight waist and flat stomach), 37 (with what Bill called "baby"
hips and "the best butt in the business"). I filled out my C-cup lace
bras without help and my hair was below my shoulders slightly. My
nipples were large and erect most of the time rising from areolas that
swelled like breasts on top of breasts.

  My posture had changed to accommodate the new weight distribution,
my shoulders back and back straight. I did things with my legs
naturally that Bill said turned him on as he watched me from his
office and didn't even think about it.

  I'd improved my wardrobe with new additions for every occasion and
more than a little help from Bill, who went on my shopping trips on
several weekend days.

  Similarly, Paula had her appointment and displayed her very real
B-cup breasts which had surpassed her "fantasy" A-cup breast forms,
and measured a very cute 34-21-33. Sleeping with her, now at my
apartment, I knew from experience that her nipples were larger than
mine and seemed more sensitive even though mine were more than
sensitive enough. At least she could drive me out of my mind licking
them and had, on more than one occasion, driven me to orgasms sucking
me.

  Michelle, who was still living with Margaret, had earned her B-cups
as well and started dating one of the guys in finance.

  After the appointment, Paula told me she thought she might be
falling in love with the doctor's finger and we both laughed.

  That afternoon, Bill slowly and seductively stripped me naked and
made love to me in the middle of his soft office carpet until we both
came twice.

  He dropped my vertical rib knit dress over my head and helped me
into my shoes as I tried to hold the mass of come in my bowels with a
handful of Kleenex. His "suggestion" was that I forget about underwear
and I spent the rest of the afternoon playing Sharon Stone for him as
he looked up my short skirt and watched my breasts bounce every time I
moved.

  He insisted that I go out with him that night, dressed exactly as I
was. We went to one of the very nice restaurants in town, dancing for
an hour or so in a lounge in the hotel, and then to his house. He had
my skirt around my waist in the car before we got to his house and my
dress off before we'd left his foyer.

  If I hadn't run for his bed, the first time would have been in a
hallway.

  The next morning, we went on a quick shopping trip that gained me
the smallest, tightest white shorts and half tee I've ever seen. And a
pair of heels that were little more than a few leather strings to
provide the most basic support.

  Then, as if it were an attempt to unmask me, he took me everywhere
he could think of to show me off to the greatest number of people. We
went to the zoo. We went to the park. We went to the lake and watched
the people water ski and sunbathe and play frisbee until he decided we
should do that too. He got a particular charge out of throwing high
and making me stretch to catch the whirling disk and at least
partially display my breasts. Certainly to bounce them so much that my
nipples were sore from rubbing on the tee-shirt material.

  Daylight in the car sitting in the parking lot, he licked them to do
away with the soreness.  Maybe it even worked. It certainly seemed to
work for the twelve year olds who walked by and watched, wide eyed.

  He got me home by ten but it was only because I insisted on sleeping
in my own bed, so my work clothes would be close, and because we had
both had enough sex to last us.

                          * * *

  Bill had to go to a meeting with a big prospective client in
Washington, DC. He asked me to go with him but I knew that I'd be a
distraction and so did he. He also knew that he wouldn't have much
time for us to be alone. So he went alone.

  Monday, Roger asked Paula to go out with him for the first time on
Friday. They had a relationship that had lasted since the first week
we'd worked at the company. But they'd never dated.

  Paula had been so excited all week that she was like a little
girl. And then, as far as she was concerned, disaster struck. Roger's
brother came to town unexpectedly Thursday night.

  "Amy?" Paula said at lunch. "You know that Sam, Roger's brother, is
in town right?" I nodded. "Well, Roger doesn't want to leave him alone
on their first night together for a long time.  I guess he lives in
New York and they only get to see each other about once a year." I
nodded again.

  "Well, Roger says that the only way we can still go out tonight is
if I can get somebody to go out with his brother. I thought that since
Bill is out of town, maybe you'd go out with Sam."

  I spent the rest of the lunch telling her why I couldn't, shouldn't,
and wouldn't go out with him. She came up with different reasoning for
each of my objections and finally did the best impression of a basset
hound I've ever seen. The big, sad brown eyes did me in.

  That, and the first real opportunity I'd had to really dress up.

                          * * *

  After work, we raced home and began a mad dash of baths, hair
setting, makeup, and dressing.  I chose black lace panties and garter
belt with sheer, lightly black tinted stockings, and a little black
dress with a halter top and bare back. Dangly fake diamond earrings,
dinner rings, and bracelet with an ankle bracelet set off the black
swede city pumps with three inch heels.

  Paula chose a red silk halter top connected to loose pants, with red
panties and heels so high I felt sorry for her. Her auburn hair was
down onto her back then.

  When the guys picked us up, they looked very professional in dark
three piece suits, white shirts and power ties.

  Sam was younger than Roger and where I thought Roger looked the part
of a Chief Financial Officer a little stuffy, only about 5'11" and a
little heavy his brother looked like one of those European soccer
stars playing businessman for a night.

  He's probably 6'3" and weighs a nicely shaped muscular 190. The
European impression comes from long, loose blond hair, a small, neatly
trimmed mustache, and huge smile. His blue eyes looked me up and down
three times before he said anything. And that was almost breathless.

  "Roger told me you were good looking," he said. "But he didn't tell
me the half of it." His eyes sparkled.

  "Sam should know," Roger said. "He's one of the best plastic
surgeons in the 'rich' section of New York and if there's a beautiful
woman he hasn't worked on, they just haven't heard of him yet."

  I offered a drink before we left but the men decided that we should
have one before dinner and the reservations were less than an hour
off.

  We got our bags and I shivered with the feel of Sam's hand in the
small of my back as he guided me to the midnight blue Mercedes Roger
drove. The first time I wondered if this was such a good idea was
after Sam had carefully watched my legs as I got into the back seat
and Roger took Paula in his arms in the front seat and kissed her for
long enough that I wondered if he intended to make the reservation or
not.

  Sam was as uncomfortable watching them as I was and made a good
attempt at distracting me with questions about work and personal life
as we waited for the car to even move.

  Just when I was thinking about suggesting it, Roger put the car in
gear and soon delivered us to the downtown bank building where the
restaurant they'd chosen was. The glassed elevator they led us to was
in the open lobby of the bank and rose through four stories inside
above a guard's head that was craned upward to look under my skirt the
entire time before it seemed to go through the roof and into the open
air above the city. I found myself pressed back against Sam just to
get away from the vertiginous drop outside the glass.

  I'd heard of the restaurant but had never been to it because it was
much too expensive. Roger checked on the reservations before leading
us all into the lounge.

  The place was moody with low lights set so they didn't reflect in
the magnificent windows that overlooked the city. The room was long
and only a few tables deep with the long bar at the top of a set of
tiers that allowed everyone a great view. Two or three couples were
dancing to a subdued dance band at the far end, made up of a muted
guitar, keyboard, and drummer.

  The crowd, who seemed to all be looking at us, were a mixture of
older, obviously rich people, middle aged businessmen alone or in
groups, and a few younger people on "special" dates. I noticed three
tables where older, gray haired men sat with young, extremely
beautiful women.  Sugar daddies, I thought.

  The guys ordered for us and we talked softly, Sam sharing a little
about his practice and life in New York, while we sipped at
drinks. About half an hour later, when the maitre 'd told us our table
was ready, we made our way back up the steps and then into the other
half of the rooftop that was set up somewhat similarly but wider and
lighted by candles everywhere you looked.

  The table linens were dark red and made the sparkling silver,
crystal, and white china stand out.

  We ordered from a huge menu and had our third drinks while we
waited. I'd had two gin and tonics and, for some reason, thought a
martini sounded like a good idea. Needless to say, before the salad
got there, I was starting to giggle. And I never giggle. I pride
myself on not giggling, in fact. And when I wasn't giggling on general
principles, we were all laughing as Sam told stories about the old
ladies he made beautiful, fading Broadway stars, up and coming
starlets with big noses, and breast augmentations for strippers.

  The food was wonderful, prepared at an open grill above the rest of
the restaurant, and the three bottles of wine Roger got us set it off
perfectly. I thought the wine probably cost about the equal of my
weekly paycheck.

  Paula had never had Crepes Suzette so we all had them along with an
orange flavored after dinner drink that was good.

  After we finished, we went back into the lounge and had a good time
deciding what to order to drink. Paula and I ended up with drinks that
came in brandy snifters and tasted like orange sherbet but that you
could feel go to your head immediately.

  For a while, the band played a mixture of things that were sort of
upbeat and we danced all sorts of dances I've never even thought of
trying before. Sam really knew what he was doing and had me feeling
like I was really coordinated. He just didn't give me a chance to step
wrong because he led so well.

  We danced a couple, sat one out and drank a drink, dance, drank, and
got drunker and drunker, I think. Even with the exercise.

  Then the music changed to slow and sensual and so did Sam's dance
style. There was just something very sensual about having his big hand
in the small of my bare back and rubbing my barely covered nipples
across the lapels of his suit coat.

  He talked directly into my ear from a fraction of an inch away,
exciting me with his warm breath. He held me tight and moved perfectly
in sync with the music. Everything felt wonderful and looked
wonderful. His leg pressing between my legs was stimulating. The
hardness I felt against my hip was stimulating.

  When he kissed me on the dance floor the first time, it made the
hair at the back of my neck tingle with excitement and goose bumps run
up and down my spine. When he kissed me again and his tongue sought my
throat, I thought I might come right there. By the end of the dance, I
was oxygen staved from my panting.

  I think when we finished our drinks and got back into the glass
elevator, his arms around my ribcage from behind and his hardness
pressed into my ass, I would have done anything he wanted.

  Strangely, we were kissing as I was turned almost facing backward,
leaning against his knees in the back seat of the Mercedes, when I
realized this was dangerous and that someone else was about to learn
the secret I'd kept so well over the months.

  I wondered if I cared as both his hands went under the halter top
and covered my breasts, kneading and squeezing them as I sucked his
tongue. But I decided it wasn't fair to him to let him go on. At least
without knowing.

  "Sam," I moaned. He kissed my neck under my ear as I turned away
from letting him kiss my mouth again. "You ... let me ... I've got to
tell you."

  "Roger told me," he whispered in my ear.

  "But " I started.

  "He told me all about you and Paula. And about you and Bill. I
know," he said, looking into my eyes. "Remember? I'm a doctor, too. If
Roger hadn't said something, I would have seen probably.

  "Quite a lot of my business comes off 42nd Street. I've done several
surgeries for ..." he stopped and looked into my eyes "For beautiful
women to be. That's what I've always called them. And you're not a
beautiful woman to be. You're beautiful, dazzling, now."

  He kissed my neck and shoulders and jawline as if to let his words
sink in.

  "And I'm going to be here for the weekend. Not for your life. I know
you are involved with someone and I don't care. And you shouldn't
either."

  As that was sinking in, we stopped at a big house in an exclusive
part of town I thought was a few blocks from Bill's and Roger turned
off the car and went around to let Paula out. He looked over the seat
at us and said, "You guys coming in or do you prefer my back seat?"

  Sam slid across the seat as I got turned around, opened the door,
and gave me and hand out.  We caught up with them, Paula leaning on
Roger's shoulder and holding his arm as he unlocked the front door.

  "If you'd like a drink or some romantic music, Sam knows where it
is. Right, man?" he said to Sam now. "You'll excuse us. We have
something to do."

  Paula's heels clicked on the marble staircase that curved up to the
second floor of the house.  Sam grinned at me and led me into a formal
living room as they disappeared.

  I don't know what I expected but what happened was beyond anything
that had happened to me before.

  He guided me, his hand trembling slightly in the middle of my back,
into the room where he flicked on the lights of four floor lamps
around the room. I guess I expected a tour of the place or to be led
to the long white couch or any of a dozen other possibilities.

  What I didn't expect was that he led me to the back of a heavily
upholstered white chair, moved behind me, and lifted my skirt.

  "I knew you'd be wearing black lace," he said as his hands went to
my panties after tucking the back of my short skirt into my garter
belt. My hands on the back of the chair, I wondered exactly what was
going on as he whisked the black lace down my legs in a quick motion.

  I looked over my shoulder in shock. It had happened so quickly that
I don't think I could have done anything about it. Even if I wasn't
fairly drunk and very hot from all the stimulation in the car. As I
wondered what I should do, his hands covered the globes of my ass, his
thumbs pulling my cheeks wide apart.

  My hands slipped forward down the back of the chair as I fell
forward, his tongue diving into my asshole.

  "Oh! Ah! Sam! My God!" I gasped as his long tongue sought out my
prostate, extending and retreating, extending and retreating until I
was vibrating at the edge of orgasm.

  As suddenly as he'd done it, he stopped. Cross-eyed with it all, I
looked back again and saw that he'd pulled down his suit pants without
even unbuttoning his coat. His cock was long and fat, dripping from
the sheath of uncircumcised skin. The tails of his white shirt were
open around it as he aimed it at my waiting hole and, with steady
pressure, opened me to it, retreated quickly, pressed again, retreated
and was finally against my ass and fully inside me.

  One more thrust and I would have climaxed. But he stopped and, bent
over me, unfastened the back of the halter top and pulled it away from
my dangling breasts. His hands went under my breasts, his thumbs and
index fingers finding my nipples.

  As I looked with surprised interest, he did what I don't think very
many men in the world can do. Holding me back against his chest, he
lifted me upright then free of the chair back, my feet almost a foot
above the floor.

  He took several steps to one side with me where there was a bare
expanse of interior brick wall and pressed me against it. My hands at
the sides of my face caught us. He switched his hands, one at a time,
from my breasts to my knees, holding my legs wide. I was pressed, the
inside of my knees, my breasts, and my hands, against the cool brick,
as he began to piston into me hard and fast, lifting me with each
thrust.

  I came hard, splashing the inside of my black skirt, and almost
screaming with the excitement and release of it. That transmitted to
his cock that spasmed and filled my insides.

  He grunted with each blast of hot come into me and held me up before
retreating a little and doing it again.

  "Oh my God!" I gasped at the intensity and wildness of our act. This
time, when he lifted my legs he retreated from my hole before
carefully guiding one foot down to the floor where I could support
myself and lower the other leg.

  Still leaning against me, he unzipped the short zipper down my ass
and freed my dress to fall around my ankles. Never letting me go, he
put his arm around my back, twisted, and had my legs at the back of my
knees, lifting me easily.

  He didn't strain in the least as he carried me halfway across the
room and lay me down on my back on the soft rug. Since I could see
what was happening now, I wasn't surprised at all when he lifted my
legs and slid back into me again.

  "I'm going ... to do ... your surgery," he gasped between thrusts. I
wondered what he meant and whether that was the plan right now as his
huge cock tried to cut me in two.

  He kissed me as we came together.


                            Chapter 17

HIS LEGS WERE behind mine, mine spread wide as he explained what he
planned to do to me.

  "What you do is make an incision from here to here," he said as his
fingernail traced from a point below the head of my little dick to the
front of my scrotum. "You remove the cartilage and the testes and vas
deferens. Then, inside the scrotum, you make an incision here." He
pressed between my legs.

  "It's almost as easy then as turning the whole thing inside out,
putting a few stitches along the deepest point and nesting the nerve
bundle of the penis in a labial trench."

  "Sounds easy to me. I'm sure there's a kitchen knife around," I said
with a laugh. He laughed with me.

  "Okay. So it's not so easy but that's the easiest part that any
cutter can do. Where the art comes in the part I've founded my
business on is the cosmetic. Moving a little fat into this area and
this area to build up a perfect labial trench, reducing the clitoral
surface to a believable size while maintaining the full nerve bundle,
building the vaginal sheath to the proper size and shape, and finally
building a believable labia minora with this material." He was playing
with my balls.

  "So would it be big enough for this?" I said, taking his big cock in
my hand and stroking him.

  "As big as you want. If you want one big enough for an eighteen
incher though, you're going to loose some skin from your hip or
buttocks."

  "How long does it take?"

  "The surgery?" I nodded. "About three hours if you're as good as I
am."

  "And before you get out of the hospital?"

  "Couple of days but you'll probably want to stay in bed for a week
if you've got someone to take care of you."

  "Before it's usable?"

  "Another week if you don't mind a little pain mixed with your
pleasure," he chuckled.  "Realistically? Probably a month from the
first cut. The better and faster the surgeon, the faster the
recovery. And I'm the best."

  "Did you take lessons from Mohamed Ali?"

  "I am the greatest!" he mimicked. "But I am. Hands down. I've done
it a dozen times and, so far, I haven't had a single long term
trauma."

  "Meaning nobody's been out for a week?"

  "Meaning that nobody's felt real bad for long and the nerve bundle
is preserved. Some surgeons screw up the nerve bundle so bad there's
either no feeling left, it's misplaced, or it's to sensitive or not
sensitive enough." He took a deep breath.

  "But you'll get to see first hand before I do you," he added.

  "What?"

  "Yeah. This is sort of a busman's holiday. I have the weekend to
visit dear old Roger and then Monday morning we make sweet little
Paula all the woman she's ever wanted to be."

  "What!" I exclaimed. "Does she know that?"

  "Of course. I've had this trip planned for a while but the timing
was around the operating theater availability Monday. She and Roger
have been talking to me for weeks, more or less."

  I wondered why she hadn't told me about it.

  "Anyway. Right now, I have something else in mind."

  "What's that?" I asked.

  "First I'm going to suck your tits until they're sore and then I
want to see what my dick looks like when I fuck them." I gulped.

  "Can I go to the bathroom first so I don't mess up Roger's carpet?"

  "Yeah. But leave it good and slippery," he said with a
chuckle. "I'll mix you a drink while you're gone."

  "Okay. But am I going to have time to drink it?"

  "Maybe later."

                          * * *

  Monday morning, Bill was back and I told him about Paula. Since, he
said, it would take him a while to get his feet back on the ground, he
told me to go to the hospital and see how it was going. When I got
there, Roger was already there waiting and, within fifteen minutes,
Sam came out in his green outfit.

  As soon as he took off his mask, I could tell it was all going to be
okay. His smile went from ear to ear.

  "She's okay?" I asked.

  "Of course. The Picasso of plastic surgery has performed," he said.

  "I would have rather you'd said Michelangelo," Roger said.

  "What, you didn't want three of those cute little tits? Now you tell
me."

  "Can we see her?" I asked.

  "About half an hour. I waited until she came out of the anesthetic
so she's awake. But it'll take a few minutes before she's ready for
company. Even you guys. And then it can only be a few minutes cause
she needs some sleep."

  He sat and talked to us in all too graphic detail, telling us about
the surgery. Then a nurse came out and said she'd been moved to a room
and was awake.

  When we went into the room, she tried to sit up a little and winced
but a smile came quickly.  Sam took her wrist and looked at his watch
to check her heartbeat as Roger took her other hand.  I kissed her and
asked how she was.

  "I think I'm okay. Ask Sam," she said.

  "You're better than okay. You're perfect," he said.

  "Right now, I don't feel anything. That even includes my legs."

  "That's from the block we gave you. Waist down for another couple of
hours. But it'll come back like gangbusters and when it does, the
nurse will give you a couple of pills. Some sleep will take care of
the rest of it."

  "You said well, that I'm perfect."

  "Of course. Just like I told you. Most girls have to depend on
mother nature. Mother Sam makes pussies to order. Everything in its
place and a place for everything.

  "Most girls hope for some feeling down there and it varies from too
much to too little. A lucky percentage have just the right amount.

  "And some girls have clits that are the perfect size or maybe a
little large to allow the maximum pleasure. All my girls have nice
large ones you can get your fingers around."

  We laughed.

  "Some girls have a puss you could drive a truck in but can't feel a
normal guy. Some have one so small and tight that it's an effort to
take anyone. My girls are just right. Tight enough to give you a
thrill and deep and flexible enough to take what's necessary."

  He turned to Roger and I.

  "I'll warn you that about two hours from now, she's going to feel
like somebody kicked her.  Hard. And that'll probably last for a
while, though it will lessen as the day wears on.

  "You'll sleep well tonight though and, unless there's some
unexpected bleeding or you don't follow your doctor's orders, we'll be
able to let you out of here about this time tomorrow morning."

  "We'll take turns taking care of her, Amy, if that's okay with you,"
Roger said. "I'll take some half days I've got coming and I'll talk to
Bill about giving you some half days. And, according to Sam, she'll be
okay alone during the day by about Thursday."

  "I'll take the bandages off Friday morning before my flight back to
the Big Apple and we can have a little fun," Sam said.

  "What's that," she said with a sleepy, drugged slur.

  "A surprise. You'll have to wait." He grinned. "Between now and
then, my colleagues here have asked me to do a few tuck and rolls for
them. Show them how it's done in the big city."


                            Chapter 18

I TOLD BILL about my weekend with Sam and, a surprise to me, he said
that when we were together, he hoped I would be all his. When we're
not, what I do is up to me.

  But it was two o'clock coffee time and he was sitting knee to knee
with me as we talked. I wasn't exactly wildly surprised when he
unbuttoned the front of my blouse the few buttons it had from my
cleavage to my waist, and began playing with my breasts.

  "Tell me what you and Sam did this weekend." He asked questions and
led my tale, drawing out every detail, making me relive it almost
minute by minute and getting me so hot he could have done anything to
me but stop.

  Of course, he didn't stop until, my back turned to him as he sat on
the edge of the chair, he filled me with his pent up come from the
long weekend without.

                          * * *

  The extent of the care I provided Paula during the week was keeping
her in bed, making the food, emptying the catheter bag and replacing
it, and doing an occasional bedpan. And that was only Tuesday and
Wednesday. Thursday morning she insisted that I help her to the
bathroom so she could do all that herself.

  Sam literally didn't have time to take me out again except for a
couple of drinks Thursday night. He said he'd made a fortune during
the week on the operations but that he was exhausted.  I didn't mind
that he took me home fairly early, yawning as he drove, and only
kissed me for a few minutes before walking me to the door.

  At nine o'clock the next morning, he was at the door looking his old
self and ready to take off Paula's bandage.

  Two minutes and a pair of household scissors took care of the
bandage. A dishpan of hot water with antiseptic soap took care of a
small amount of dried blood with her cringing with each touch but
watching as avidly as I was. The catheter came out easily.

  Then, having her poise her ass at the edge of the bed, he used a
tube shaped stainless steel tool to look into her new hole before he
used a packaged douche, with both our help, to clean her out.  Looking
again, he repeated with another douche loaded with the antiseptic
soap. The third time, he seemed satisfied with the results and
instructed her to follow up with douches several times a day for a
week and at least once a day for at least another two weeks,
explaining that it was a good way to stay fresh even after.

  "Okay. Now lay back on the bed with your legs spread
comfortably. Shut your eyes. Spread wider. That's it," he said. "Now I
want you to tell me when you feel something. Okay?"

  Seen over his shoulder this way, it was amazing how much it looked
like a shaved woman's pussy. Except, as he'd said in the hospital, it
was perfect except for the healed tiny marks of the absorbed stitches.

  The biggest difference was that she wasn't the least bit sexually
excited and her clit was the size of the tip of my little finger and
mounded between her labia a quarter inch.

  I saw that he put a large dollop of an antiseptic creme on his
finger and softly rubbed it along the edge of her labia from top to
bottom.

  "I feel that," she said, her mouth opening with surprise. He nodded
and replace the spent creme. He did the same with the other puffy
lip. "That, too. It feels good. Ah, cool but good."

  Replenished, his finger traced the fan-like folds of her labia
minora depositing the white ointment as well as making her lick her
lips and squirm.

  "I feel that, too," she sighed. I noticed that her clit was
enlarging with the simple manipulation.  He touched the top of her
labial trench and she pumped up to meet his finger and moaned. "Yes."

  This time he put quite a lot on his finger and touched at the now
opened pussy.

  "This?" he said and she nodded jerkily. "This?"

  "Yes. I feel it. It feels good."

  He slid the big finger he'd had in my butt several times during the
weekend inside her as far as it could go and moved it around from side
to front to side to back and back around eliciting excited yeses in
every direction. She was licking her lips more and looking more and
more like the old insatiable Paula. She sighed as he pulled his finger
free.

  "Okay," he said, putting some more of the creme on his thick
finger. Then, as if administering to a nasty blister, her rubbed it
onto her clit. She gasped and arched her center up to his finger,
vibrating with the obvious sensuous feelings.

  Then he was rubbing in a more or less steady up and down rhythm that
was sending her higher and higher until she finally lifted her feet
off the bed altogether, spreading her legs almost straight across,
screamed and grabbed at his hand. At first it seemed that she was
stopping him for doing it more. But then she was holding it in place
as she pumped her center against it instead.

  Both Sam and I could see the muscles of her pussy clasping shut
tightly as she came, loosening, and tightening again. She was
squealing with it and looked at sexy as any woman I've ever seen.

  She settled somewhat and he stopped, pulling his hand away from her.

  "Okay. Now you have to sweet talk Roger or Amy into doing that at
least three times a day," he said.

  "Can't I do it myself if I want?" she asked.

  "Sure. But it's a lot more fun if Roger or Amy do it. And they won't
be too hard to convince."  He laughed.

  "You'll see a little more blood in the douche for a few days
probably. You are under no circumstance at all to have sex with a man,
other than the kind you just experienced, for at least two
weeks. Absolute. Got that?"

  "Yes," she said, finally opening her eyes.

  "If there is any blood after a couple of days, I have the name of a
doctor you should call. Try to get the antiseptic creme as far inside
as you possibly can. It will migrate upward somewhat just with your
body heat but you should try hard to reach the furthest parts. Right?"

  She nodded.

  "If your finger won't do it, or Roger's or Amy's, get a small
diameter dildo and use that but be very careful and don't get a large
one."

  He grinned. "At least until you're fully healed. In a couple of
months, you can buy a two foot long black one with a massive head if
you want."

  We helped her back into a pair of cotton panties and under the
covers where she seemed to immediately fall asleep.

  "If there are no further questions," he said with a big smile. "I
have very important things to do."

  He led me into my bedroom, threw my skirt out of his way, and fucked
me hard for the next half hour.

  "God, these exams get me so hot," he sighed after his second
climax. "I'll bet you can have some fun showing Roger just the right
way to do the antiseptic, can't you?"

  I giggled.

  "I intend to," I told him.

  "I'm coming back for a conference about a month from now," he said
more seriously. "Decide if I can do your operation while I'm here and,
if you do, try to decide on some dimensions."

  "Dimensions?"

  "Sure. Made to order pussies. Fat ones, thin one, ones as big as
your arm " he laughed.  "Really. Big labia. Small. Huge clit, medium
or small. Tight. Loose. You name it and I'll make it for you."

                          * * *

  Except for moving into the kitchen to eat breakfast or the living
room or bathroom, I kept Paula in bed for the weekend and, with
Roger's extended visits, helped her minister to her "wounds" on a
regular basis.

  She claimed that the itching from the healing was getting to her but
Sunday she had me do it an even dozen times. Once, she was standing
up, holding my hand and arm, and did virtually all the work by pumping
against my fingers so hard I wondered that it didn't hurt, even with
the soothing creme.

  She went back to work Monday morning and, for the next two weeks, I
had to remind her that she absolutely couldn't make love for that
time, half a dozen times a day. I've never seen a woman so hot to
trot.

  Flatteringly, when the day finally came (midnight two weeks
exactly), she sucked me to hardness and forced me to be her first. I
didn't have any problem initiating the new pussy and pronounced it the
best fuck I've ever had with a woman.

  It was an easy call because it was the first woman who'd ever had a
dozen orgasms before my first and who could use her pussy like a third
hand to massage you and milk you from tip to root without pumping in
and out at all.

                         * * *

  It surprised me how quickly time passed. Particularly since I was
spending so much time alone.

  Paula was spending most nights with Roger now. She didn't have to
explain why since she'd told me how good she thought Roger was at
meeting her needs now. It didn't take more than once of having her
tell me what he did to her one work night, to understand. He was
innovative and, apparently, always willing and able.

  On the other hand, she would do absolutely anything he asked and
innovated in ways he didn't think of himself.

  I worried a little that she would give so freely that he would tire
of her. I knew that would devastate her and, probably, throw her into
a search for a replacement that could get her in serious trouble. But,
so far, she was doing all right.

  That's probably why Paula's invitation to Roger's party in Sam's
honor came as a surprise to me. But was it that I'd just let the time
get away from me or was it that I didn't want to think about Sam's
return to town and the necessity of making my decision about surgery.

  My decision had become several times more difficult when, during the
time I was taking care of Paula, she told me that Sam's fees were very
high but that Roger had gotten a discount and paid for it for her. So
now my decision was both whether I wanted the surgery and if I wanted
to go in debt to get it. Either I would have to borrow the money
somehow or tell Bill about it and see what ideas he had. I didn't want
to ask Bill for the money even as a loan.

  I made love with Bill because I wanted to. Not because of anything I
could get from it like money.

  Since her clothes were still at my apartment, Paula came over about
noon Saturday and told me that Roger was supposed to pick Sam up at
the airport about two. We relaxed for a while and then started messing
with each others' hair and nails while we talked.

  It was probably three when Roger called and talked to Paula for a
while. Her end of the conversation was totally uninforming since it
was smiles, grunts, and yes and no answers. She did look at me every
now and then to answer a question. They did a little kiss-kiss to end
their conversation.

  "Listen, honey?" she said after she'd hung up. "I don't know what
you're thinking about the surgery, but if you want it, Sam's got a way
for you to pay for it."

  "How?"

  "He'll tell you at the party tonight. Okay?"

  "Do you know what he's talking about?"

  "Huh uh. Not really. Roger said it would be fun and that you'd
probably want to do it. But that's all."

  She stopped.

  "And he suggested a way to dress for both of us. I'll show you."

  Makeup and clothes could have taken fifteen minutes but we took our
time, trying on several things before we finally made decisions.

  Both of us wore garter belts, our nicest sheer stockings, and our
sexiest panty and bra sets. My set had been very hard to find and,
since Bill had decided I shouldn't wear underwear in the office, I
hadn't worn them before. Unlike most that are easy to find, the
panties were french cut and tiny but opaque while the bra was equally
revealing but provided support without cover. My nipples were plainly
visible through them. I'd grown some more since I'd bought the set and
the bra was now a little tight.

  My red dress was sleeveless with an open neckline that showed my
cleavage off to best advantage. The waist was tight but the short
skirt was full. When it was buttoned, the top was tight too but could
be unbuttoned to show increasing amounts of cleavage.

  My red shoes were the highest and least comfortable I own, with four
and a half inch heels that taper to a needle point. The toes just
cover mine to another sharp point and they're held on by quarter inch
ankle straps with tiny gold buckles.

  Paula's outfit was similar in sparkling white, the dress a knit
sleeveless shirt-cut with big buttons all the way down the
front. She'd gotten her panty and bra set from Frederick's of
Hollywood. It was sheer white lace that really covered nothing of what
it touched. The bra did not touch her nipples or areolas but only
lifted and shaped from below and the sides.

  I thought her white spike heels looked more uncomfortable than mine
since they were higher and there was less of them.

  Paula drove her car to the party and Roger met us at the door with a
huge, appreciative smile as he looked us up and down. Sam came into
the foyer as Roger was hugging Paula affectionately. He enfolded me
and kissed me hard for a minute. Then he asked Roger if he could use
his den for a few minutes and led me down the ground floor hallway to
it.

  Sitting on the front edge of Roger's desk in the den and holding me
in front of him with his hands on my waist, he talked.

  "Amy," he began. "I know that you're considering the surgery. I plan
it for Monday."

  "I'm not sure, Sam. One of the problems is that I don't have the
money and ..."

  He interrupted me by lifting a hand.

  "That's why I'm talking to you now. If you'll do something for me
today, you can forget the cost."

  Since I knew that it was very expensive, I wondered what I could
possibly do that would earn that sort of money. I wasn't sure I wanted
to hear.

  "The people at the party tonight are friends of mine or Roger's. But
they're also either potential clients or people who have some
influence on other people who are considering my services. Mine or
Roger's private business.

  "They have some rather ... unique interests, let's say. Roger is
talking to Paula about this, too, and I'm sure she'll go along with
it."

  "What exactly ...?" He held up a hand again.

  "What I want is a little advertising," he said simply. "I want you
to demonstrate in the way only you can what a beautiful, feminine
person you are now. I'll introduce you around in a minute.  Just be
your lovely self. Then, as the evening wears on, show a little more of
your assets.

  "You'll get some offers or perhaps just some attention. Ultimately,
I want everyone to see your ... differences. If you know what I mean."

  "You want me to strip?"

  "In a way, I guess. But I'll suggest just how. All right?" I wasn't
so sure but I shrugged. "You will provide my before example and Paula
the after. And some entertainment.

  "After your surgery, maybe sometime next month, we'll have another
party and we can do a little follow up. Okay?"

  "And this is enough to pay you for the surgery?" I asked.

  "Oh, you'll see that you're uniquely qualified and the deal isn't
totally one sided on my part."

  He pulled me close, hugging me and kissing the side of my neck below
my ear.

  "What do you say?" I shrugged again.

  "I'll go along with you for now. But, well, I'll see."

  "You always have the option of stopping." I nodded. I knew that and
planned to exercise it if I wanted to. "Let me introduce you to our
guests."

  He took me by the hand and led me back to the foyer and then into
the big living room. I smiled to myself when I saw the big overstuffed
chair and the brick wall that reminded me of my first time with Sam.

  He led me into the middle of the room and several men stood at our
entry. Quickly, he introduced me to the group of people. It was
obviously a very upscale group of people and a quick scan showed me a
movie star, a millionaire, and a recognizable playboy.

  I didn't catch the names (except of the people I recognized from the
newspapers) but the men all seemed to smile broadly and almost drool
as they shook my hand or nodded from further away.  The women of
course stayed seated and smiled and nodded when they were
introduced. All were in couples.

  The movie star was with her highly advertised younger husband who
had been her weight trainer or tennis coach or something. The older
millionaire was with a beautiful woman I thought was probably a model
by her shape and good looks. The playboy was with a rather hard
looking woman about his age who spared me the smallest smile.

  Another couple looked like a banker and his middle aged wife who
could obviously use Sam's talents for the beginnings of wrinkles
around her eyes and lips. His heavy jowls were probably beyond Sam's
duties. And the final couple was a prosperous looking man in his
mid-30's, probably a stock broker or something similar, and a woman
almost his age. She was quite pretty but for a broad nose that seem
displaced somehow. Obviously that was the subject of Sam's interest.

  Paula sat on the edge of the couch as Roger rubbed her back with one
hand, a drink in the other.

  I thanked a man in a short waiter's coat who held a round tray with
a scotch and water on it.  The banker held up his empty glass and the
waiter took it.

  Sam led me to the couch where there was space. He sat next to the
arm, where he had obviously been sitting before, and I sat next to him
beside the playboy.

  Conversations picked up where they had apparently been temporarily
suspended for my introduction but I noticed that even though people
looked at each other to respond to comments, attention still seemed
centered on Paula and me.

  "You're an administrative assistant at the same company Roger works
for?" the playboy said beside me.

  "Yes. I've worked for Bill Miller for several months now," I said.

  "You've lived here for quite a while?"

  "Yes." I didn't want to elaborate too much.

  "I get around quite a bit," he noted unnecessarily. Anyone who read
the newspaper knew that.  "I've never seen you around town. I'm sure I
would have remembered you if I'd seen you."

  "I haven't been out to the discos or anything and just a few times
on dates. Dinner out. A little dancing." I looked at Sam, wondering if
he remembered our date as well as I did.

  My mention of the discos apparently launched him into a discussion
of the local nightspots I couldn't contribute to. Even as a man I
hadn't gone to these places because they were too expensive for me and
really didn't hold much interest for me anyway.

  As I looked at him, the woman on his other side leaned forward
slightly to look at me as well.  A smile played at the corners of her
mouth as her eyes carefully scanned the expanse of my legs below the
skirt's hem or looked at my chest. When the playboy turned to say
something to her, Sam leaned close to my ear and whispered, "Play with
your top button. After a while, leave it undone."

  I looked around the room and began doing as he'd said. I noticed
that, though not obvious about it, everyone at least glanced my way
and noticed my fingers on the button.

  "So Amy," the banker said from the next couch. I turned my attention
to him. "How do you like working with Bill Miller?"

  "I've enjoyed it so far," I said. "He's a good boss and has given me
responsibility for several things that are challenging and
interesting."

  I had gestured with the hand that had been playing with the button
and, I hoped, it looked natural enough when I left the button
undone. I felt myself blush as the banker's eyes wandered from mine
down to the slight opening at the top of the dress. I knew it would
reveal another two inches of cleavage.

  "Do you work closely with Roger?" he asked.

  "Not really," I said, playing with the next button down. "But
Paula's my roommate and works for him, of course."

  "I've worked with Roger now for the last, oh, what has it been
Roger? Five years?" I let go of the button, leaving it open.

  "Almost," Roger answered. I noticed that Paula was playing with the
second button down the front of her dress, the top one already
open. When it was open, I noticed Roger lean toward her and her next
target changed from the next button down her front to the bottom one
on her skirt.

  Everyone drank and looked as relaxed and normal as any cocktail
party group. The conversation among the diverse group was as
introductory and shallow as any. Pictures of the individuals wouldn't
have shown anything abnormal about them just as a tape recording would
have been as boring as a recording of any other in a similar
situation.

  The only things that would have changed this from any other was that
virtually no one looked at whoever the speaker was at the moment. They
were all watching either Paula or me and all their eyes were on the
progress of our fingers on the buttons. It was a very sensuous
feeling, all those eyes. And exceedingly strange.

  My more closely spaced and numerous buttons above the waist allowed
me slower revelation.  Paula's skirt front buttons allowed more of her
legs to be revealed as well as the insides of her breasts and the lace
of her bra.

  I was watching the banker's gentle and spreading smile as he watched
my fingers when one of the women moaned in an animalistic low
growl. Since each of them looked totally capable of having made the
sound, I couldn't tell who had actually done it.

  The banker's older wife absently rubbed the front of her dress below
which her nipple rested.  The millionaire's model slowly and
rhythmically lifted and dropped the upper of her crossed legs, rubbing
herself I'm sure. The stock broker's wife squirmed in her chair.

  After two buttons on her skirt, Paula switched back to the top to
complete opening it to her belt. When she returned to the last two on
the skirt, I reached the waist of my dress. Sam leaned close to my ear
and told me to work the hem of my skirt up.

  Doing it playfully, an inch at a time, I reached the tops of my
stockings at the same time Paula undid the last button and reached for
her belt.

  I'm not sure how long it had been since someone had said something
and I'm pretty sure no one remembered who had spoken last or what had
been said.

  When Paula undid her belt, her dress fell open across her lace
covered breasts and Roger held it like a coat as she shrugged out of
it. She crossed her arms over her thighs, her legs still crossed, but
sat now in only bra, panties, garter belt, stockings, and shoes.

  As Sam told me to lift up and pulled my skirt out from under me, I
knew I would be sitting the same way in the next few seconds and
wasn't disappointed. As soon as he had the skirt out from under me, he
moved it up my sides and over my head as I lifted my arms for him.

  "Great tits," a man's voice said softly from across the room while
my eyes were covered by my dress. When it was free, I tossed my hair
and mimicked Paula's pose.

  Since I didn't think it was my turn, it took me by surprise when the
playboy unsnapped the back of my bra but, since I saw it as
inevitable, I relaxed and let him and Sam pull the straps off my
shoulders and down my arms.

  "Gorgeous!" the same man's voice said.

  "Is that your work, Sam?" the model asked.

  "I can't take credit for this," he said, lifting my breast and
brushing my nipple distractedly.  "Hormones and nature. But I can do
this kind of work when it's necessary."

  Everyone including me was staring at what he was doing but I was the
only one who was feeling the blasts of nerve impulses his thumb was
producing.

  Some of the attention moved from me when Roger helped Paula with her
bra. She sat with her hands over her breasts as they asked more
questions and Sam and Roger answered much as they had about mine. Sam
never stopped flicking my nipple and I was having trouble staying
still.

  When I stopped his hand, it did what I hadn't really intended
because everyone seemed to look at me again.

  "It was getting to me," I explained tentatively and the women,
grinning or nodding, seemed to understand but the men showed signs of
not sharing that. "There's a lot ... well, it's a turn-on," I tried to
explain.

  "They're that sensitive?" the playboy asked. I said they were. "More
than before the hormones?"

  "Oh, yes. Many times more."

  "Sam? Is that a natural result of the hormones?"

  "We have limited research on the broad results of hormone
therapy. But a local doctor who treated Paula and Amy says that his
experience has been universal."

  "That kind of growth? Is that normal?" the banker asked.

  "It seems that the hormones have augmented a native secondary
characteristic with Amy.  Paula's growth is the more frequently
observed result."

  "You mean Amy's genes built in big tits?" the stock broker said.

  "Perhaps it's genetic. Yes. But it could also be that there was a
latency that actually augmented the result. She's still growing, if
you can believe it." There was some general discussion about the size
of my breasts that embarrassed me but pleased me at the same time.

  "Can we see the rest?" the woman next to the playboy said. The first
thing she'd said in quite a while.

  "I think so," Sam said without consulting me. But I knew it was
coming. "Amy? Would you stand up and take your panties off?"

  I gulped. No one but doctors, Bill, and Paula had seen me since I'd
been taking the hormones.  Being partially naked among a mixed group
of fully clothed people was very strange. Being the center of
attention was very strange. Standing now, my fingers vibrating with
outright fear, I had to take a deep, shuddering breath as I pushed the
panties down at the sides and then further down my bottom.

  The odd thought was that, though I'd done it at least once every day
for months, I wasn't sure how to take them off. The problem wasn't
physically getting them off that was simple but preserving my modesty
to some small extent in the process. Should I sit back down? Should I
stoop down? Should I just bend over? Should I lift my leg as I would
at home?

  I held my legs together as I pushed them off my ass but looked at
Sam for direction before going further. He motioned down and, as I
complied by pushing them onto my thighs, he leaned forward and took
them the rest of the way to the floor where I could step out of them
with just a slight lifting of one and then the other foot.

  I don't think my body could figure out how to react. My nipples were
almost painfully hard to the extent that they were even pointing
upward on the swollen fields of my areolas. But there was no comment
when I stepped out of the panties because, for whatever perverse
reason, my penis, which had been settled in the strip of panty back
between my legs, was almost invisibly soft.

  Maybe the fear overcame my sexual excitement at being exposed this
way.

  "Can I see?" the woman next to the playboy, now behind me,
asked. Since no one else had given me direction, I turned toward
her. She looked at the conjunction of my legs fixedly but the playboy
spoke.

  "I thought you said ..." he began but stopped as the woman reached
to the spot and freed my penis from between my legs where it had been
nestled. "Oh."

  "It's so little," she said as if I weren't there.

  "Amy's actually larger than Paula was," Sam explained. "No one is
terribly large when they're soft," he continued. I had the flash of
him soft and he put the lie to his own statement.

  She was clinically inspecting my penis and locating my tightened and
reduced scrotum with the red tipped fingers of both hands. I noticed
she was licking her lips as she did it and that, as much as her
manipulation of my privates, was making it grow.

  "Did you shave it?" she asked rather breathlessly. I told her yes.

  "Are you a virgin?" the playboy asked and my eyes flicked to Sam.

  "No, she's not," he answered for me to the accompaniment of several
chuckles around the room.

  "I didn't mean, did he sleep with a woman," he said.

  "Neither did I," Sam said to more chuckles.

  "Really," the playboy stated with some surprise, his hand moving to
my bottom and using it to turn me sideways to both of them but
accessible to both as well. I gasped as he slid a finger into my ass
and stroked my insides with it. "Something for everybody," he said
absently. I remembered that there had been some well publicized rumors
that he was gay in spite of always having a beautiful woman on his
arm.

  "My feelings exactly," the stock broker said from across the room.

  "So what are the limits here?" the playboy asked Sam. Sam just
shrugged his shoulders. "Do you ...?" he began but Sam reached into
his jacket pocket and pulled out a tube of KY jelly, offering it to
the playboy who smiled and took it, pulling his finger out of me.

  He was almost wild as he unfastened his pants and pushed them down
to his knees. He was hard and very long and narrow to a small head
partially sheathed in uncircumcised skin. He worked efficiently to
coat it with KY as I watched aghast at the idea of what I thought was
going to happen here. I apparently wasn't the only one as I heard the
banker's wife whisper something to him and him clearing his throat
nervously.

  When the playboy had rubbed his hand around his long dick a few
times, he almost absently turned my back to him impersonally and
guided me backward onto it. He shifted and grunted as he pulled me
back onto his lap, fully encapsulating himself in my butt.

  "You selfish son-of-a-bitch," the girl said. When he'd turned me,
he'd pulled me away from her hands. Now she moved onto the rug in
front of the couch, pushing both his and my legs further apart. "He's
so cute and tiny."

  She grinned up at me as she found my minimal testicles and leaned
forward to take me into her mouth. The blood drained from my face, I'm
sure, when I looked across the room at all the people looking at me
being fucked and sucked at the same time.

  The playboy's hands came around my sides under my arms and squeezed
both breasts at the same time as he began rolling his middle to stoke
in and out of me.

  The combination of everything, didn't allow me time to think about
anything or to even consider. I came in the girl's mouth and, oddly,
she never slowed in her attack, just moaning around me as I sprayed
into her mouth.

  I hadn't really recovered as I knew they weren't going to stop at
that. He stroked faster and, I saw, she rubbed wildly between her own
legs as she continued to suck me.

  A few minutes later, he pinched my nipples and crushed my breasts in
his palms as he exploded in my bowels. The woman seemed to orgasm at
the same moment when I again shot off in her mouth.


                            Chapter 19

I'M SURE WE were quite a sight. He seemed to go boneless beneath me
and, coming twice in such short proximity, I did the same against his
chest. The woman let my rapidly shrinking cock drop from her lips and
slumped down with her head against the inside of my thigh.

  I didn't open my eyes when someone across the room said, "Ah, yes,"
in a way that I knew came with release.

  "Are you ready now to see the result of my work?" Sam's voice at my
side asked.

  There was general agreement before he said "Paula? Please."

  I opened my eyes to see Paula stand in front of Sam.

  I started to sit up in anticipation of moving back to my place on
the couch but the playboy's hand went across me, cupping the opposite
breast gently and holding me back against him. The woman raised her
head from my thigh and looked at Paula before partially turning,
putting her hand lovingly high on the inside of my thigh, and leaning
her head back with her hair against my penis and tummy.

  Sam helped Paula with her panties just as he had me, letting her
step out of them.

  "I had these built specially," Sam said and moved to the coffee
table near the other couch and heavy chairs where the others were
sitting. On his knees, he fitted what looked much like the stirrups of
his examining table to it. He placed a small red pillow on the glass
top near the edge and motioned for Paula.

  She walked the few steps and let him guide her to sit on the pillow
and held her hand as she lay back on the glass top, reacting to the
chilly surface against her back. Settled that way, he lifted one leg
into a stirrup that I now saw bent her leg and spread it to a far
greater extent than the examining tables. When he placed the other
leg, she was spread almost uncomfortably wide, with her new labia and
pussy as well as her asshole very prominently displayed.

  Jokingly knee walking back to the end table next to his place on the
couch, he opened a paper bag and removed a ten inch, inch and a half
diameter anatomically correct dildo and held it up for
inspection. There were several remarks from the other people including
a question of whether it had been part of someone before he did
surgery.

  Going back to Paula, he placed it at the opening of her new vagina
and gently stroked it in and out, advancing a little with each forward
thrust until he obviously met resistence with only about two inches
still sticking out of her that he used, it seemed, to torture her by
twisting and moving it as he talked.

  "We use skin and flesh to construct the vaginal sheath, the labia
majora ..." he rubbed the sensitive external lips "... the labia
minora ..." he stroked the loose, puffy vaginal lips "... and the
clitoris." When he rubbed the far more sensitive protrusion of her
clit, her leg muscles clenched and her knuckles turned white where her
hands were holding her in place on the table.

  "What do you use?" the stockbroker's wife said, interested.

  "The penis and scrotum primarily but, as was the case with Paula,
sometimes a small addition is required. In her case, we took it from
the inside of the gluteus maximus cleavage, here." He indicated her
butt between her ass cheeks, showing the slightly scarred area I
hadn't noticed with her before. "On some others we would use skin from
the hip or the inside of the thigh but we didn't want any visible
scarring for Paula."

  "She, he, well, Paula must have been hung like a horse," the
millionaire's model said.

  "No. Actually, she was smaller than Amy. The skin stretches to a
large extent but we still needed the slight addition from her butt,"
he explained. "When we do Amy, we won't need any additions. Just a
course of lubrication application, for softening, and regular
exercises."

  "What kind of exercises?" the banker asked perceptively. Sam laughed
and pulled out the dildo and replaced it quickly.

  "Ooooo!" one of the women said. Paula had, of course, reacted
differently, clenching and opening her mouth for additional air.

  "Often?" one of the women asked.

  "At first it's implanted with a battery operated expansion
device. After the bandages come off, it's reduced slowly as the
desired size is maintained and healing takes place."

  "How was that, Paula?" the banker's wife asked.

  "At first it was pretty numb and then it was a little painful. But
by the third day, it was what you'd expect," she answered.

  "Like being fucked all the time?" the woman said with a grin.

  "Pretty much. Yeah," Paula responded with an embarrassed grin.

  "Can I have that, honey," she said to her husband. He laughed.

  "You just have wrinkles and a droop. Your pussy works just fine."

  "We can tighten it up, if you want," Sam said with a grin.

  "Now there's an idea," the banker said, getting smacked on the arm
playfully.

  "Sign me up," the millionaire's model said.

  "After the course of hormone therapy is complete, Tanya," Sam said
simply. I didn't realize this beautiful woman was ... not. Apparently
the men in the room hadn't either from the way they looked at her.

  "I noticed the way she's reacting to the dildo," the woman between
my legs said. "Does it fell real? Like a real pussy and clit and
everything?"

  "I never had one before," Paula said simply. "But if it's supposed
to feel wonderful, Sam did everything right."

  "You like being fucked?" she continued and Paula blushed and
grinned.

  "You bet she does," Roger said.

  "And you can do that for me?" she asked and Sam grinned.

  "Us," the playboy added.

  "In your case, Linda, the mechanics are much simpler. You've got all
the equipment in the right place. You just need the nerves brought a
little closer to the surface." I'd heard of that somewhere. A clitoral
peel? It sounded so much like a banana or orange.

  "But I'll for sure need the exercises," she said and everyone
laughed.

  "I'll tell you the name of the supply house that carries these
things," Sam said, removing the dildo again.

  "Well, seeing is believing," the millionaire said across the room
and began unfastening his pants. "Come here and let's see if it really
works."

  Paula looked at Roger, who shrugged and smiled. Paula went to the
millionaire and, as he pushed his pants down to his ankles and sat
back to reveal a thick, hard cock in his hand, she positioned herself
over him by crawling up onto the edge of the couch on her knees.

  Slowly, she lowered herself onto him, gasping with excitement and
stimulation as he found her nipples with his fingers. When she moved
back up his length, he guided a nipple to his lips and she hugged his
head to her as he pumped partially into her new pussy.

  "Okay. That's all I can take," the banker said and quickly pulled
off his suit coat, tie and shoes before taking off his pants. I didn't
see his intention before he stood up, his moderate sized cock bounding
in front of him as he walked across the room to Sam, and got the tube
of KY jelly from him.

  He went to Paula, squirted a considerable amount of the slippery
lotion on the pucker of her asshole and the head of his dick, and
spread her quivering asscheeks to guide them together.

  She gasped and orgasmed as he sunk it home.

  The millionaire released her nipple and pressed her far down on his
fat cock as they all started a rhythm. Her hands on his shoulders, she
threw her head back on the banker's shoulder with her mouth open wide
and began guiding the movements of the two men in her.

  For several minutes, I'd been peripherally feeling the playboy's
long tube filling in my butt. I'd only noticed slightly that I was
getting hard as well but Linda noticed it when it nudged at the back
of her head.

  "Mmmm," she moaned. "We're ready again." She smiled as she turned to
see it.

  I lost track of the action across the room as the playboy lifted me
slightly higher on his chest so he could stroke into me. Linda watched
and caressed the insides of my thighs with her fingernails.

  "Are you going to be able to come again?" she asked with some
wonder.

  "Uh huh," I gasped. She shook her head in disbelief and moved so she
could put her lips around the head of my little penis. Her tongue
sought out the opening at its tip and roved around the most sensitive
flesh of the head.

  "Ah ah ah ah ah ah," I heard Paula from across the room and knew she
was close again.  "Ohhhhhh!" she moaned as she went off, the grunts of
the men in her joining her.

  I didn't see her run off to the bathroom with a hand over each hole
because I was in the process of having my ass filled with come and
giving Linda another taste at the time.

                          * * *

  Certainly, the sexual activity broke the ice for the party. When I
got back from the bathroom, conversation was free and open with the
discussion turning first to the mechanics of Sam's work and to
questions about how Paula and I were coping with our changed lives and
bodies.

  Two more drinks and the conversation was livelier and more in fun
than the other, more serious topics.

  After I'd returned from the bathroom, I'd replaced my panties but
everyone had insisted I leave my bra and dress off.

  I learned after a little conversation that the stock broker and his
wife were interested in me and I ended up sitting on the couch between
the two of them. They were about equally affectionate with me.

  He, Dave, sat with his arm around my shoulders, holding me against
his side and occasionally playing with my breast. Martha, his wife,
sat on the other side of me and rubbed my crossed leg.  Occasionally,
her hand would find my penis and gently massage it as if that were a
perfectly natural thing to do.

  They asked me to go home with them and, when I looked at Sam for his
intention, he smiled and nodded approval.

  Dave carried my bra, dress, and purse as Martha held my hand and led
me to their car out front, insisting that I not get dressed. He drove
his Mercedes and Martha sucked my breast as we wove our way to their
house. She only stopped when we arrived and hurried me inside. They
were both shedding clothes, alternating his playing with my breasts
until we were all on their bed.

  Dave completed the job of stripping me as Martha moaned and writhed
as I sucked on her large breasts.

  As soon as he finished with the stockings and garter belt, he was
inside me as she guided my mouth to her engorged clitoris. Since they
hadn't had any release during the party, they came hard and quickly.

  They were kissing and rolling together on their large bed when I
returned from the bathroom.  I just molded to Martha's back and rubbed
her side as he hardened and plunged into her vagina.  She begged me to
fuck her ass with my "cute little cock."

  We fell asleep together from sheer exhaustion after exploring most
of the possible combinations. I think we explored the remainder the
next morning before, during, and after a long shower.

  About noon, they dressed me in panties, my dress, and shoes. But
Martha bared my breasts and sucked me as I finger fucked her on the
way to my apartment.

  I took a much needed nap that wasn't interrupted until about six
when Paula and Sam woke me. Together, they took me to the hospital to
be prepared for my Monday morning surgery.


                            Chapter 20

SAM WENT HOME at about eight to get some sleep after he'd seen that I
was completely settled and ready. Paula stayed and told me about her
night.

  Apparently, shortly after I left Linda and the playboy went
home. But the remainder of the people stayed, taking turns with
Paula. Roger and Sam had waited til Sunday morning to take her
together and, she said, do the best anyone had. She kept telling me I
had to try that as soon as I was healed up from my surgery. I looked
forward to it.

  She left me to sleep about ten after "one last good fuck," as she
called it. So that was how I ended my life as a man.

  A nurse woke me at five to give me a couple of pills that would let
me sleep. I was really out of it when Sam came in later, smiling in
his green surgical outfit, and examined me. I was still pretty much
out of it when a nurse and a pair of orderlies came in and lifted me
onto a gurney for the trip to the surgery.

  Under the huge reflective surgical light, a smiling woman put a
plastic mask over my mouth and nose and told me I was going to sleep
now. That's the last thing I remember.

                          * * *

  The world was very fuzzy and hard to focus on when I woke up looking
at the same woman.

  "Welcome back, sweetheart," she said. I just mumbled something and
fell back to sleep. I woke again with Sam looking down at me.

  "You got a great little pussy, Amy," he said with a broad
grin. "Everything went perfectly.  How do you feel now?"

  "Ohhhhh, just wonderful," I mumbled through the pleasant pink fog in
my head.

  The next time I woke up, I was back in the room and it was dark
except for a small light.  When I moved, a nurse stood up and came to
the side of the bed.

  "How do you feel?" she asked.

  "Thirsty," I mumbled through cracked lips. She held a glass of water
with a bent plastic straw in it so I could drink.

  I could feel a generalized tingling all through my body similar to
when your foot falls asleep.

  "Any pain?" she asked. I shook my head slightly and said no. "I'm
right here for you. If you need anything, I'll get it for you. Okay?"
I nodded and fell back to sleep.

  When I woke again, the pleasant pink fog was gone taking the
tingling with it. The whole thing was replaced by an upset stomach and
a feeling in my groin reminiscent of a good kick in the nuts.  The
nurse was there with my first groan.

  "How are you this morning?" she asked.

  My mouth seemed dried to immobility and, as I tried to say
something, she held the straw back to my mouth. I accepted it
gratefully.

  "I'm okay," I finally said. "I feel like I got kicked." She
nodded. "My stomach doesn't feel so hot."

  "I can understand that," she said. "Here."

  She held my head up a little and put a pill in my mouth before
giving me some more water to swallow it with. She did the same thing
with a second pill.

  "Doctor is due about any time but you just sleep now." I nodded and
promptly fell asleep again.

  "Welcome to girlhood, Amy," Sam said as I fought to open my eyes
again. "We're just going to check out our handiwork here. It shouldn't
hurt, okay?"

  What could I do? I just lay there as he pulled the sheet down and
lifted my hospital gown. I could feel the cool room air on my stomach
and legs and knew I was laying on my back with my legs spread.

  I listened as he talked pleasantly with the nurse, took the bandages
off, and gently prodded around the area. Sometimes I felt his touches
distantly, like you feel your face when your mouth is numb from the
dentist's novocaine. Only a couple of his touches caused any pain and
that wasn't bad.

  The nurse brought a washrag and container of hot water that smelled
of disinfectant. They washed things down there for quite a while and
Sam kept alternately asking me if I felt things and talking in medical
terms with the nurse.

  Finally, they were done and had replaced the bandage with a new,
smaller one.

  "You're going to start feeling this in a while," he said. "And it's
not going to feel very good.  But just ask for a pain pill if you
think you need one and remember that every hour it will hurt less and
less. Okay?"

  "Sure," I said. "It's okay now." He nodded.

  "Typically, we did a fantastic job," he said. "You're going to have
the prettiest pussy in your Girl Scout troop."

  I chuckled with the nurse.

                          * * *

  I woke again, this time definitely feeling the unpleasant effects
between my legs, in the late afternoon. The nurse didn't hesitate to
give me two more pills and long drinks of water before helping me with
the bedpan. We worked together, to the extent I could help at all, to
change my bed linens and my hospital gown.

  Telling me I had guests who wanted to see me, she helped me put on a
little makeup and brush out my hair.

  Paula and Bill came in all smiles, both giving me nice kisses.

  "So how did it work?" Bill asked.

  "I slept through it but it feels like he used a chain saw," I told
him.

  "It goes away quick," Paula said with a big grin. "Then it gets to
be a lot of fun."

  "Whatever you say," I said, showing my disbelief.

  They stayed and talked for more than an hour before the nurse told
them I was getting tired.  I didn't know it until they kissed me
goodbye and left that I really was tired.

  I slept through to morning.

  Sam and the nurse woke me (the nurse had given me another pill in
the middle of the night but I didn't really wake up for that).

  "Okay, honey," Sam said with his best bedside manner. "How do you
feel today?"

  Strangely, I felt almost normal and told him so. The upset stomach
was gone and only a remnant of the feeling that I'd been kicked was
noticeable. Instead, as I moved I felt little stabbing pains like
needles or, more appropriately, little cuts.

  "Okay. Let's look at that beautiful cunt then," he said, pulling the
sheet down again. The nurse had just brought the wash pan and rag.

  "I get to watch this time," I told him and he directed the nurse to
crank up the head of the bed slightly and build the pillows so I
didn't have to hold up my head. He'd removed the bandages by the time
she was finished.

  Now I could see why it hurt.

  It looked vaguely like labia and a clit if you'd seen them swollen
to ten times their normal size, colored red, blue and black, and
crisscrossed with stitches. It was an initial shock but I got over
that quickly as he used the washrag on the area. Somehow he was gentle
but businesslike, cleaning it off with a minimum of repeated touches
to the same areas of the sensitive skin.

  The clit was much shorter and a little smaller than my penis had
been but, swollen, it almost looked as big. It was tremendously
sensitive and not at all in a pleasant way. Washing it and the areas
immediately beside it was the hardest part for me.

  Together they placed me on a bed pan that I didn't have the
inclination to use right then and got out what looked like the biggest
syringe I've ever seen.

  "Not a shot," he said with a grin. "This is called a
louvage. Instead of a needle, it has this tube on it that we're going
to shove up your cunt." The nurse flushed with embarrassment at the
word she hadn't heard the last time he used it. "Then we're going to
empty a few quarts of cleaning fluid up there and see what comes
out. Sounds like fun. Right?"

  I chuckled with him but I really didn't think it was going to be at
all.

  I was absolutely sure of it as he began feeding the soft tube into
the hole between my legs I hadn't had two days before. My response to
his movements tended to center on "ouch" as he pushed it in, pulled
back slightly, and directed in again. I was very happy when he stopped
and connected the syringe to it.

  Then, as promised, he pushed the plunger and I felt myself filled
with liquid before it finally broke the seal at the opening and gushed
into the bedpan. Empty, he twisted the plunger, pulled it back out,
filled it, and did it again. I couldn't see what was coming out very
well, except that it started out pretty red and, after four or five
refills, seemed to be about the same color as what went in.

  The experience was distinctly unpleasant.

  When he pulled the tube out most of the way, he massaged my lower
stomach, pressing hard, until it seemed the liquid was expelled
completely. He cleaned up as the nurse emptied the bedpan and brought
it back for me to use in a more normal way that I really needed by
then.

  I noticed the catheter below my new clit as they painted my front
with Betadine antiseptic. He talked to me, telling me that the nerves
seemed to be hooked up right and that there was definitely a hole down
there now and other things while we waited for the Betadine to
dry. Satisfied, he replaced the bandages and kissed me in a way that
was un-doctorly enough to raise the nurse's eyebrows.

  The next morning the same routine was repeated but with much less
pain and a change in the skin colors, going toward red and blue with a
little green and yellow thrown in to replace the purple and black. The
lips were only five times the size of those I'd seen before.

  The next morning, they were only twice what I thought should be
normal and the colors had shaded down to reds and blues with a minimum
of the sicker colors.

  When he was finished with the cleaning, he asked me if I could get
up and I was sure I could.  As it happened, it was a good thing they
were both there to hold my arms when I got up. All the blood rushed
out of my head and I would have ended up in a pile on the floor.

  I only had to go as far as a wheelchair that the nurse maneuvered
through the hallway to an examining room. They again helped me onto
the examining table and, with a little difficulty, into the stirrups.

  "This may hurt a little but it's necessary, okay?" As if I had any
choice.

  He used something metal to very carefully open my new hole and, as
he'd warned me, the last bit of that hurt like hell and I let him
know. He told me it was a child's instrument rather than a woman's but
it didn't matter to me.

  Then for the next what seemed a half hour, he prodded and pressed
against every surface inside me with varying results from wild pain to
mild discomfort to a zing of pleasure that had me squirming in an
entirely different way.

  After he removed the instrument and the catheter, replaced the
bandage before taking me back to my room. But, rather than putting me
back to bed, Sam leaned on the arms of the wheelchair.

  "What do you say to getting the hell out of this dump?" he said.

  "You're releasing me? Fantastic!"

  "You think you can take care of the cleanup with Paula's help?"

  "Sure," I said, not sure but knowing I wanted out of the hospital.

  "Okay. Paula and Bill are here to take you home. These are your
instructions if you care to accept them," he said in his Mission
Impossible voice. "Eat and drink very sparingly. With the catheter
out, that means that you have to do this whole cleanup routine every
time you take a piss.  The same for when you have a bowel movement.

  "I'll want to see you in here at nine o'clock each morning for the
next week. We've already provided Bill with the packaged louvages and
that's part of the cleanup. Every time.  Understood?"

  "Yes, sir!" I said.

  "Okay. Are you feeling less heady now?" I did and they helped me to
my feet.

  With the bulky bandage, panties were superfluous. But the nurse
helped me with a skirt, bra, blouse, and low heeled shoes. They got me
back into the wheelchair and pushed me out to the waiting room where
Paula and Bill stood up to greet us.

  "Here's our girl," Sam said as he turned me over to them. "Thanks to
you all, I have some work to do this afternoon but I'll try to stop by
this evening to see how we're doing."

  The nurse wheeled me out and helped Bill ensure I didn't fall
getting into the car. The two of them practically carried me into my
apartment in spite of my protests.

  I had to walk spraddle-legged but, other than that, I felt almost
normal.

  Paula helped me a little while later when I had to go to the
bathroom and do the cleaning.

                          * * *

  The whole thing got boring more than anything else during the next
three days. Morning cleanup. Doctor's
appointment. Home. Careful. Bathroom and cleanup after dinner. Cleanup
before bed. Sleep like a rock.

  Saturday morning things changed when Sam carefully removed all his
tiny stitches in a long and laborious exercise that was uncomfortable
but mostly just time consuming. The internal stitches, he told me,
were the dissolving kind and had mostly disappeared already.

  When he finished with the stitches, another cleaning, and the
liberal application of antiseptic that felt like the tips of
cigarettes applied all over the area, he placed the odd dildo in my
new pussy and showed me how it works.

  To start, he told me, I had to used the harness that came with
it. These nylon straps held it firmly in place with an X shaped
arrangement connected to a two inch waistband. When it was fastened in
place, the harness held it pressed into the depths of my pussy,
pressing against its furthest reaches.

  He pointed out the three dials on the little handset that would clip
to my belt or skirt waist dangling a wire to the dildo. He showed me
the dial that said "circumference" with zero to nine settings and
turned it slowly to two. I could feel the thing expand from its
comfortable but full initial size to one on the verge of a scream that
made me spread my legs to accommodate it.

  He returned it to zero before turning the "length" dial to two. I
did scream as it lengthened inside me before he returned it to zero.

  "Okay. You'll want to do this a few times manually at first. Then
later let the 'speed' dial do the work for you."

  Nothing happened when he turned it to two. Then he turned the
"circumference" dial to two as well and it began expanding and
contracting at a regular pace. He returned that to zero before doing
the same thing with the "length" dial. As I now expected, it
lengthened and contracted at the same rate.

  "Work up a little each time you use it. At least once an hour. When
you're finished, I expect that you'll be using it at about a five or
six setting. But do it in private. Or," he grinned, "with
friends. It's going to start feeling really really good after a while.

  "The higher the speed setting, the faster it goes. The higher the
others are set, the longer or bigger around. Ah, the miracles of
modern technology."

  After he helped me off the examining table, I got dressed and
accepted his hug and long kisses.

  "I just wish the technology wasn't quite so good so I could be the
first to get you off," he said.

  "Yeah," I agreed but couldn't help but kid him. "But then you'd have
to clean everything up again."

  "You realize that you have more feelings down there than Paula," he
said with a grin.

  "I thought so. What does that mean?"

  "It means that your orgasms are going to be magnificent. Also the
way your pelvis is configured, you'll have the first certifiable
G-spot I know of. And it's placed perfectly against the vaginal canal
so the outstroke is going to catch it every time."

  He chuckled. "Not only that, but you're going to love being finger
fucked."

  I blushed but said, "you'll have to prove that to me later."

  "Happy to do it," he returned.


                            Chapter 21

I STAYED IN a robe for the rest of the weekend. Paula helped me a lot
by taking care of all my normal needs like eating and getting drinks
and trying to entertain me as well as helping with cleanups.

  The "exercises" changed from painful and done manually circumference
then length to enjoyable with the automatic speed doing first
circumference and then length. I had my first certifiably female
orgasm with all three settings at two and, an hour later, my second on
settings at three while Paula watched.

  Sunday night, I determined that I was tired of being an invalid. The
swelling in my labia and clit was apparently gone though they were
larger than others I'd seen. Now they were red and sensitive but not
painfully sensitive.

  Monday morning, I dressed for work after the week long
leave. Wanting to look as hot as I could, I wore thigh high stockings,
medium height red heels, a short red skirt and the matching red suit
coat. The tightly tailored suit coat buttoned with a single button
just below my breasts that showed my cleavage from start to finish and
held me tight enough to make the most of it.

  I didn't wear a bra and panties were still a little superfluous with
the "exercise" machine and harness in place.

  At work, I was greeted by some of the other secretaries who came in
early, did my morning routine with the schedule and got coffee for
Bill and myself. When I returned to Bill's office, he was sitting
behind his desk and brightened like I'd turned a lightbulb on when I
walked in.

  He leaped out of his chair and came around it to take the cups of
coffee, set them down on the front of the desk, and enfold me in his
arms for a wonderful kiss.

  "I didn't expect you back to work for a few days," he said as he
finally broke the kiss. "How are you? How do you feel? Is everything
okay?"

  "Yes, yes, yes," I said with a giggle. "I'm fine. Just a little
sore. And I have to go see Sam at nine. But it's okay."

  "So. Can I see it?" I nodded and sat down in my chair in front of
his desk. He sat on the edge of his chair and looked as I pulled up
the short skirt.

  I knew the front of the harness covered much of what he wanted to
see, so unbuckled its belt and dropped it down my thighs a little
ways. His fingers immediately went to my red labia.

  "Careful. It's still a little sore." The tiny holes of the stitches
had healed completely and the incisions were closed and only visible
if you looked very closely.

  "God! It's beautiful!" he sighed gratifyingly. "Does everything
work?"

  "It seems to," I told him. "The dildo still needs to go up a few
settings before it's done. But it's working."

  "When are you supposed to use it?"

  "Every hour."

  "When's the next time?"

  I knew what he wanted and had anticipated him.

  "Now," I said with a grin. "Want to watch?" I didn't need his grin
to know he did.

  I explained quickly what it did and refastened the belt before
setting the speed on "4" and the circumference to match. That had
always been the easy part. I took a deep breath before turning the
length setting slowly upward until it was at "4" as well. The
experience was still fairly overwhelming and I was leaning back in the
chair with my legs spread and reacting to the stretching and probing
inside me.

  That was why it took me somewhat by surprise when he unbuttoned my
suit coat, pushed it aside, and began sucking one nipple while
pinching the other. It added immensely to the experience and I was
orgasming almost immediately and repeatedly.

  I didn't even object when I saw him reach for the hand control and
turn it to three fives. I orgasmed several more times before he turned
the machine to zeroes and left me panting, sprawled lewdly with the
coat still open and my legs spread.

  "I can hardly wait to provide you with some 'real' exercise," he
said.

                          * * *

  When I left his office, put together again, I just had time to make
it to my doctor's appointment. Sam pronounced everything "perfect"
after looking into my insides and touching every surface. He took the
exercise machine to "4" circumference after it was back in place but
edged the length up until it was painful. That didn't keep me from
orgasming wildly.

  He told me that I could leave the circumference setting at "4" now
unless I wanted a thrill but to take it up to the painful area by
feel.

                          * * *

  Back at work, the rest of the morning and lunch with Paula went
normally, broken only by my hourly exercises. I was sufficiently out
of control to do it in a stall in the bathroom rather than at my desk.

  At two, I took coffee in to Bill.

  "Are you still feeling good?" he asked as I sat down and sipped the
hot coffee. I filled him in on everything else that had happened, both
business and personally, during the day. Our coffee finished, I had an
idea.

  "You know, Bill?" I thought aloud. "Right after my surgery,
everything from my waist down was affected. But, even before I got out
of the hospital, my only problems were my new pussy and things."

  "Yeah," he said, showing his interest.

  "Well, I was thinking. I have to do my exercises again. But there's
nothing to say that my other hole is unusable."

  He got the message immediately and was smiling all over. I got up
and walked around his desk. I lay the exercise control on the desk
close at hand before pulling my skirt up in back, laying down on my
front on the desk surface. It was easy to move the straps in back onto
my thighs.

  He hadn't wasted any time and immediately found my asshole with a
lubricated finger.  Surprisingly, since the surgery hadn't touched
that hole or the area around it as Paula's had, it was a little
tender. But it felt unbelievably good when he slid his long, narrow
cock into it.

  "Hold it," I told him when he was fully inside me and reached for
the control. "Ready?"

  I felt him nod as he wrapped his arms around me and found my nipples
with his fingers.

  "Now I am," he said.

  I turned the speed setting to 2, circumference to 4, and length to 6
where it just started to be painful.

  "Oh shit! It feels like someone else is in here with me," he gasped.

  "Mmm. Fuck me, Bill," I told him as I squirmed under him. And he
did.

  As he slowly accelerated, I increased the speed setting of the
dildo. I started orgasming at 4 and pulled his from him at 5. I had my
best climax with him and still, a moment later, had the presence of
mind to turn it off.

  He helped plug me up with a Kleenex before helping me to stand and
go to the bathroom to drain.


                            Chapter 22

I CAN'T SAY that I was getting tired of the dildo but I was glad to
have the option when, Friday, Sam told me that the 8 setting I'd
gotten to for length was enough and that I could cut the use of it to
a couple of times a day instead of wearing it full time. His
examination had showed him that I was almost completely healed inside
as well as out.

  Of course, his exam had been done with the dildo out and replaced
with the obnoxious metal instrument that opened me up painfully.

  "I didn't want to be too previous," he said then as he stood beside
me. "We've had ample opportunity to examine the nerves in the newly
constructed areas and know they all work.

  "What we've resisted doing so far is checking to see 'how' they
work. So here we go," he said. "Now tell me if these things feel good
or bad. Okay? If you don't feel anything for a few seconds, tell me
that, too. But I don't think that will be a problem.

  "Okay. Ready?" I nodded.

  He set one hand in the middle of my stomach but used a finger of the
other hand and touched the upper extent of my left labia very
softly. I told him it felt good. I told him the same thing as he
teased down the length of it to my pussy. Starting over at the top of
the other lip, he did the same thing with the same results.

  "Good," he said. "Now this."

  He started again at the top of the left labia, pressing harder and
rubbing the flesh in small circular motions against the bone
below. That felt even better and I told him so. He continued it all
the way down before going to the top of the other and doing the same
thing.

  He repeated the lightest touches on my small lips around my new
opening and it felt even nicer.

  "Sit up here. I want you to see this," he said and when I did, he
ran his finger up and down the labia. "Look at the way they engorge
and turn redder with the infusion of blood." I saw. They looked like
any woman's but possibly they enlarged more than most I'd seen.

  I lay back down as he probed around the opening of my pussy where I
could tell him his touches felt good.

  He touched my clitoris very lightly and I could tell him quickly
that felt "very" good. Great.  He wetted his finger with KY jelly
before rubbing it harder. With a steadily increasing pace, he drove me
to a numbing orgasm in a few minutes.

  "Okay. I knew that was going to work well. I could tell from the
start," he said. "Now let's test the other."

  Again wetting his finger, he inserted it into my new pussy, pressing
hard against its outside perimeter and exciting me in an escalating
way. From the tone of my moans, he knew, I'm sure, when he found the
G-spot he'd told me was there below my clit and inside my body. It
felt similar but different in place and intensity.

  In seconds, he had me arching my back, almost standing on my head,
as he stroked in and out of my pussy across the sensitive spot near
its opening. As if that weren't enough, he lowered his tongue to my
clitoris, soon licking and sucking it as he continued pumping his
finger into me.

  The orgasm was mind shattering and, when he didn't stop, rose to an
even wilder one almost immediately before he let me come down from it.

  "Only one more test to declare total victory," he said. I was still
recovering from that last orgasm and didn't even hear him take his
pants down. But I certainly felt him as he slid that hard, thick
member into me.

  "Oh God yes!" I cried as I felt him reach my inner recesses and test
the exercises the dildo had provided me during the last week. When he
pulled back to my opening, the flared head of his cock provided a
bright flash of feeling as it brushed across that balled nerve center
near the opening.

  Continuing his long strokes from the opening to my stomach in a way
I'd never been, the new experience took me to heights I'd never
seen. When he leaned over me, plowing hard into my clit with his hair
covered pubis, I grabbed hold of his neck and lifted my legs higher
than the stirrups had. I locked my ankles around his waist, my knees
to his sides, and rode him hard and fast, whipping him up with me.

  He groaned as he emptied into me on each of four pounding thrusts
that took me places I'd never ever been.

  Strangely, I thought at that wonderful moment that it was about as
much like getting fucked in the ass as having my new nipples sucked
was like sucking the old masculine ones.

  I had to chuckle with the thought that I could do this any time I
wanted to.

  He had me squat over the stool as he used the louvage to clean his
come out of me. It was the first time I'd really enjoyed the cleanup.

                          * * *

  Since I hadn't worn panties to the doctor's office, I didn't have
any to wear back to work. As soon as I entered my office, Bill saw me
and came out to take me in his arms.

  "How is everything?" he said as he had each day during the week.

  "Perfectly normal," I said and allowed myself a little smile. He
cocked his head in wonder.

  "Perfectly normal? What exactly does that mean?"

  "It means that he checked everything out, it's more or less healed
up, and it works just like it's supposed to." He frowned.

  "What does that mean? It's deep enough and wide enough?"

  "Uh huh. And all the nerves are hooked up just right."

  "How the hell does he know that?"

  "Well, first he touches everything very lightly to see if I can feel
it. Then he touches it a little more roughly to see if it hurts." I
thought it was cute that he was frowning even more than he had
been. "Then, a couple of very special places, he licks to see if those
are just exactly right. And finally "

  "Do I want to know this?" he interrupted.

  "You asked. Do you?" He nodded.

  "Then, to make absolutely sure it does what it was designed to do,
he fucks the shit out of you so there's no doubt in either of your
minds." I enjoyed the way he was squirming with discomfort.  The frown
was still there. I laughed.

  "Then he puts that mechanical monster back into you so no one else
can take advantage of his great work. Right?"

  "Wrong," I said. "He puts it in a sack so it's not too obvious and
tells you to use it a couple of times a day instead of all the time."

  I put my arms around his neck and carefully positioned myself so my
leg was between his and my new pussy was up against his thigh. I
lifted the free leg and wrapped it around the back of his as I smiled
up at him.

  "So is it coffee time yet?" I asked huskily. That finally broke his
frown, changing it to a big grin.

  "Did you like making love?" he asked.

  "I don't think you'd call it that really," I answered. "What it was
was my first real fuck. And it felt as much better than the
alternatives as day and night. I never thought anything could feel so
good."

  "Great." His grin spread. "Then I'll bet a little anticipation will
be wonderful."

  "Bill? Come on. Everything works perfectly. And you wouldn't believe
what it feels like. From your side, too. Do you want to bet that on a
scale of one to ten, I'm the first twelve you ever had?" I was rubbing
my pussy up and down on his thigh now, my hip against his hard cock. I
was pretty sure I could get off this way, without anything else.

  "I'll tell you how it's going to go," he said with a grin. "You're
going to work now. At two, you're going to bring us both coffee and
we're going to decide exactly what we're going to do tonight."

  "Tonight?"

  "Uh huh," he said. "Starting with dinner wherever you want and
ending in my bed tomorrow morning. It's the specifics we need to talk
about."

  "In detail," I added.

                          * * *

  He intended to make me wait. To have me so far out on the edge that
I couldn't stand it. But I decided early that it wasn't going to be
all one sided.

  I went to work all right, sitting that short distance in front of
his desk as I had for the last months. During those months, he'd
enjoyed the view under my short skirts. That morning and after my
lunch with Paula, I made sure he didn't have any problem getting a
good view.

  The short red skirt that went with the suit covered very little in
the first place but the way I sat that day bunched its hem at about
the same height as my pussy. The lingering itching from its continued
healing made it necessary to squirm and, occasionally, to scratch.

  I caught him staring at it blankly several times when I hadn't
really thought about my scratching or squirming.

  As advertised, he restrained himself and me during our coffee but,
as the Friday afternoon wore down to its usual fade out of the week,
he sent me home early to get "beautiful" for our date.

  By the time Paula got home at five, excited about Roger's plans for
the night, I had finished a long bath. She didn't have time to soak
but used the fragrant oils for a short bath while we talked and I very
thoroughly cleaned myself out.

  There was no longer any remnant of the antiseptic on my now pink
skin and the marks of the incisions were almost invisible, faded as
the marks from the stitches had.

  Very sheer white lace panties cut almost to a G-string were the
first I'd worn with my new equipment and I loved the feel of them on
the new features, the puffy labia looking wonderful in them.

  The bra that goes with the panties is made of the same material but
pushes my breasts tightly together and lifts them while leaving the
tops and areolas completely free of material. Since I'd grown a little
since I'd worn a bra last, it was even more startling than
before. Obviously, I'd grown a little more because I was spectacular,
even if I had to say so myself.

  I did full makeup eyebrow, mascara, green eye shadow, blusher, and
lipstick in nighttime colors as Paula caught up with me at the mirror.

  I helped her with the twin pony tails and bangs that made her look
like a little girl. We worked mine into long, soft waves below my
shoulders. I still hadn't so completely forgotten being male that I
couldn't appreciate how beautiful my face and hair looked.

  I put on a lace garter belt and white tinted sheer stockings that
I'd found at a specialty lingerie store. The garter belt accentuated
my still decreasing waistline and held the stockings only high on the
sides of my hips. The stockings were cut so they came close to my
crotch but followed the line of my panties at the sides onto my hips
and to the garters.

  When I bought the white dress, the sales girl had gotten me a white
silk slip to wear under it even when I was trying it on. As I put the
dress on without the slip, I could see the material of my panties,
garter, and bra under it. In the mirror, I could see my areolas and
the protrusion of my nipples but as shades of dark like the underwear
were a shade of white through the material.  Broad hints but not
totally obvious.

  The top covered the bra straps but dropped low on my breasts to show
all the cleavage and threaten at revealing my nipples. Material that
could have been made of spider web, billowed around my arms to cuffs
of the same material as the dress and dropped across the shorter
underskirt almost to my knees. It was unbelievably feminine.

  Paula opted for a filmy white blouse and high waisted red and black
plaid skirt with a front panel that covered her breasts to straps that
crossed in the middle of her back. The skirt fell high onto her
thighs. Little white socks with rolled tops went into round nosed
patent leather shoes with fairly high heels and straps across the
instep.

  It was fairly obvious that she didn't wear a bra and, when she sat
down, almost as obvious that she didn't wear panties either.

  "One thing, Amy," she said. "I learned this a couple of days ago."

  She lifted her skirt and used a louvage like the one I cleaned
myself with to squeeze something into her pussy. Disconnecting the
plunger professionally (after so many times of using it since her
operation), she took a tube of KY jelly and filled it part way up.

  "Now you," she said. "This just makes life a bunch easier." She
grinned broadly.

  I pulled down my panties enough for her to feed the long tube into
me and felt the cool jell fill the upper reaches of my new pussy.

  "You have to pay a little attention so it doesn't all ooze out but
it's worth it," she noted. I replaced my panties.

  We had just enough time to finish a drink and catch part of the
evening news before Bill and Roger arrived with bunches of roses and
tuxedos. We put the roses in water before we went to Bill's
car. Apparently, the two had talked, found out we were all going out,
and decided on a place to take us.

  I heard Paula's gasp of pleasure as Roger, in the back seat with
her, found her lack of panties.  Bill seemed pleased when he put his
hand between my legs and discovered the tiny panties.

  It was agonizing to sit there on the drive with his warm hand on my
pussy, very still though I didn't want it to be.

                          * * *

  Bill had to show a membership card at the gate of something called
"Greenway" that I was pretty sure was some kind of exclusive and
expensive country club. A beautiful rustic looking building sat in a
grove of pine and aspen trees at the top of the hill with the green of
what I expected was the 18th hole of a golf course to one side. A
large balcony overlooked the hole.

  I could tell the place was expensive by the cars in the parking
lot. Probably the Cadillacs were the least expensive there with
Porsches and Lamborginis represented well. Rich boys' toys, I thought
before it crossed my mind that I probably qualified as another.

  For just a second, I thought Paula was impressed by the place and
the cars before I realized that her moan was the culmination of
something entirely different. Turning in the seat a little, I saw her
squatted over Roger's lap and chuckled.

  "Later, pet," Bill said to me as he found a parking place, got out,
and rounded the car to open the door for me. I let him put my arm in
his and lead the way up the stairway and into the front door. Roger
and Paula were just getting out of the car when the door closed behind
us.

  "Hi, Phillip," Bill said to the man at the entry of the restaurant.

  "Mr. Miller. Welcome to Greenway. It was for four, correct?"

  "Yes. They'll be joining us directly." He nodded and led the way to
a window table across the plushly appointed room. The view out the
window into the sunset was breathtaking.

  The man held a chair facing the sunset for me and snapped the napkin
before covering my lap with it. Bill ordered martinis for all four of
us, dismissing the maitre d' who bowed slightly and left.

  "They have three set menus the waiter will tell us when he brings
the drinks. And you can always have about any kind of steak, prime
rib, or lobster from the big tank," Bill explained, since we hadn't
gotten menus. "All the meals are spectacular."

  He pointed out the lobster tank and, even from across the room, I
could see the biggest dozen lobsters I'd ever seen. My mouth watered
in spite of the ugly crustaceans.

  Roger and a blushing Paula arrived a minute later and were seated by
the accommodating maitre 'd.

  "We had a little cleanup to do," Roger explained unnecessarily. "It
seems there was a small river of something heading for Paula's ankle."

  "Just my knee," she said with a chuckle.

  "Well, in that direction anyway." He looked around. "Do they have
oysters on the half shell tonight? I think I'm going to need them."

  The waiter arrived with the large martinis in silver edged glasses
and Roger pronounced them perfect as he downed most of his and ordered
a bottle of very expensive wine with dinner.

  I thought that the white wine pretty well dictated a fish or chicken
meal but Roger immediately dispelled that before anyone said anything.

  "I like this wine and the best known wine expert in France once told
me that food and wine don't have to match. You drink wine because you
like the taste of the wine. If anyone has something with wine in it,
we'll get a second bottle to complement it. We'll need a second bottle
anyway.  It's just a matter of what kind."

  The waiter reeled off the three choices that included Welsh Rarebit,
Beef Wellington, and Lobster Newburg.

  "Do you have a steak big enough for Chateaubriand?" Bill asked and
the waiter said they did.  "Would someone like to share it with me?"

  "I would," Paula said quickly.

  "I want one of those delicious looking lobsters," I said.

  "Would you like to pick it out, miss?" the waiter said. I glowed
inwardly. It wasn't the first time someone had called me miss but it
was the first time that it was totally true.

  "That's what I want, too," Roger said. "And a dozen oysters on the
half shell to get a run on the night. Keep my strength up, you know."

  He stood and he and the waiter held my chair. He took my arm to lead
me across to the massive tank. It seemed like everyone in the place
watched us as we located a couple of large, very mobile lobsters and
the waiter caught them to take to the kitchen.

  When he held my chair, he leaned over my shoulder.

  "I love that dress," he said and I realized from where he was
standing, he could look straight down my front. Worse, the maitre d'
had almost undoubtedly done the same thing. "I think I can see
heaven."

  "Can not," I said. "I'm wearing panties." They all roared with
laughter.

  We sat drinking our martinis as the sun sank slowly behind the
hills, changing the sky from blue to yellows and reds, to reds and
pinks, to pinks and purples, and finally to purples and blues as the
first stars began to appear.

  Bill told me my eyes sparkled in all the changing colors and made me
feel very good.

  They brought the salads and Roger's oysters with a second
martini. He shared the oysters, Bill taking half and Paula and I each
having one. They aren't one of my favorite things.

  Bill leaned very close to my ear and whispered, "They taste like
pussy." I chuckled.

  "Not like mine."

  We got our meals and, after the waiter opened my tail for me, we ate
everything. After, the guys ordered something called Strawberries
Flambe and we watched all the liquors poured over the heating
strawberries before the entirety was spooned over ice cream. It was
delicious and I was stuffed.

  Bill ordered after dinner drinks as we heard an orchestra begin
playing somewhere in the building.

  For a large room, the restaurant was very quiet, even with all the
people in it.

  "Okay. It's time to see if Sam was right," Bill said as I leaned on
my elbows on the table. For a few seconds, I didn't know what he
meant. Then I did as he put his hand on my thigh. I looked around the
room to see if anyone was looking at me as his hand slid up the inside
of my thigh.

  I stiffened when his fingers found my labia over the panties.

  "What exactly ...?" I began but knew as his fingers forced my legs
apart slightly and found the leg hole of my panties. I locked my
ankles around the legs of the chair to steady myself as two of his fat
fingers slid into my pussy.

  It didn't seem like he even needed to search to find the G-spot. It
seemed like his fingers were made to touch it and I could only gasp at
the feelings it imparted immediately.

  I'd been on the edge of an orgasm all day, my sexual tension high
from having Bill look at me, talk about what we were going to do, and
touch me in all the little casual ways.

  When he slid into me and touched that sensitive spot, my body
clenched around his fingers.  But, of course, that orgasm was nothing
to him. He'd just found what he'd been waiting for and a 30 second
entertainment wasn't at all what he'd anticipated.

  I bit my lip as he moved across the sensitive spot inside me,
holding my labia with thumb and the other fingers as he moved in and
out of me.

  I tried not to spill the drink in my hands or the still full water
glasses on the table as I reacted to his movement in me. This time
when I came, it was mind blowing. Earth shattering.

  And when I opened my eyes, Roger and Paula weren't the only people
in the room who were watching me. In fact, I wondered if anyone in the
place had anything to do besides watch me. I certainly couldn't see
anyone.


                            Chapter 23

I THOUGHT IT was odd that my climax hadn't helped much. In fact, my
pussy itched and my psyche cried out for a really good thorough
fuck. I've never craved anything in my life like I did then. And, as
if he knew how excruciating it was, Bill refused every offer I made to
him.

  First, I asked him to take me home. To his house. To fuck me. He
refused flatly with a "not yet."

  I asked him to take me to his car. Just for five minutes. No good.

  I begged him to find a back room or a bathroom or anything. And fuck
me. Nope again.

  I suggested the 18th green. No. I suggested the balcony. No. I
begged him to fuck me in the middle of the table and let everybody
watch. He chuckled at that and, I saw, considered it, but refused.

  Instead, he took me to the room where the orchestra was playing. We
danced and I molded my body to his, rubbing my overheated pussy
against his thigh. Both arms around his neck, I kissed his neck and
chewed on his chin and tried to put my tongue inside his head through
his ear.

  All that got me was his fingers rolling my nipples through my dress.

  "I'll take it off right here if you'll fuck me," I moaned but he
just smiled and continued.

  Frustrated beyond belief, I stopped dancing and took Paula to the
bathroom with me and told her she absolutely had to finger fuck
me. She said Roger had told her she couldn't or she'd be fired. Bill's
orders.

  "What's he trying to do to me?" I gasped with my wild need. "I'm
going crazy!"

  In the hallway, I saw our waiter and went to him, rubbing against
him.

  "You can fuck me if you want," I said.

  "I'm sorry, miss. I'd like nothing better but I'd get my ass fired
so fast it would make your head spin."

  "Nobody would know. I promise. You don't have to do anything but
find a place. I'll do everything."

  "I'm sorry. I really really am. But we have special orders tonight
and you're it."

  I pushed the straps of my dress off my shoulders and stood proudly
in the hallway with him staring at my naked breasts.

  "Now?"

  "Oh shit!" he said. "This is the hardest thing I ever did. But no
way." I could have screamed.

  Bill was my only chance. I had to do whatever it took to get him to
do it. Now! Before I went the rest of the way crazy.

  After pulling my dress back into place, I went back to where he was
sitting with Roger and Paula and climbed into the leather chair facing
him. I pushed the shoulder straps down again and almost put my breast
in his mouth, leaning down to the top of his head.

  "Lick my nipples and fuck me right now, Bill!" I moaned. "If you
don't, I'm going to walk right out in the middle of that dance floor,
drop my dress on the floor, and take the first comer."

  "Give me your panties," he said simply and, happy that I'd finally
convinced him, I almost jumped out of the chair and peeled them down
to my ankles where I could step out of them. I handed them to him as I
crawled back into the chair, grabbing for his pants to free him.

  "Huh uh," he said intercepting my hand and leaning to get up, moving
me away and back to my feet. I couldn't understand what he intended
but stood up again with my shoulder straps at my elbows and the top of
the dress pulled down below my bra.

  He took my hand as if it were nothing unusual at all and led me to
the middle of the dance floor where a half dozen couples danced and
stared open-mouthed at me.

  First, he put his arms around me, holding me tight against him and
moving into the slow dance gracefully. I could have cried I was so
frustrated but I lessened my need slightly by rubbing my even more
available clit up and down against his thigh with our movements. He
chuckled but I thought I was getting to him.

  But that, combined with the odd feeling of my partially bared
nipples rubbing against his tuxedo coat, didn't feel like it was going
to take me to the needed places. In fact, I was just getting more
excited while getting no closer to orgasm.

  I still jumped when he found the hem of the dress and pulled it up
in the back far enough that he could put both hands on my butt to
press me into his thigh harder. I truly couldn't have cared less that
everyone in the building seemed to be in here staring at my naked ass.

  All the patrons were staring and, when I looked around, so were
bartenders, waiters, busboys, and even a pair of cooks in dirty
whites.

  "I told you that I'd show you the most beautiful thing I've ever
seen," he said fairly loudly and stopped moving. Smiling down at me,
he turned me in his arms, lifting my skirt in front as he turned me to
face all the people. Then he used the edges of both index fingers to
spread my legs and my swollen labia. "Have you ever seen a pussy as
beautiful as this?"

  Certainly, everyone in the room was staring at it and I was standing
in a spot of light right in front of the small orchestra showing them.

  "God no!" a man gasped.

  I saw a woman lick her lips as she stared, holding onto her
husband's arm as if she were afraid he'd leave her right then. Or that
she might leave him.

  I threw my head back onto his hunched shoulder and my mouth open as
he plunged the middle fingers of both hands into my pussy to the
knuckles. But they were both far away from the sensitive spot at the
front. I moaned in spite of feeling just a little respite from my
raging need.

  "Oh please, Bill!" I gasped. "Take me. Please take me. Or or let me
fuck somebody else.  The waiter."

  I saw the young man blush, his mouth drop open, and his knees weaken
visibly.

  "Not a chance. I'm going to take your virginity. Doctors don't
count. And I'm going to do it in the privacy of my own bed."

  "Then take me home!" I almost screamed. "Now!"

  "Oh man! Do it, will you?" a man said. "Take her home."

  There was a general round of agreement led by several women, one of
whom came to me and helped with my shoulder straps, rubbing
incidentally across both nipples before it was in place.

  "Take her home, Bill. For god's sake!" she said.

  More agreement.

  "Well. Okay then," he finally said with one of his chuckles and
dropped my skirt after pulling his fingers out of me.

  I hung off him as he led us all out to his car and wrapped myself
around him as he got behind the wheel. He blocked my hands with some
difficulty as I tried for his zipper but stopped me when he said the
longer we sat there, the longer before we'd be in his bed.

  I still moaned and rubbed his chest under the tux coat as he drove
the four of us to his house and finally into the drive in front of his
door. I held his arm, almost bouncing with excitement as he opened his
door and turned on the entry light.

  "Would anyone like a drink?" he said and I hit his chest hard as I
railed at him. He laughed out loud. "You two go ahead and maybe we'll
join you in a little while. It seems we have something to do."

  Before we'd gotten to his room down the hallway, I'd unzipped the
back of my dress and had stepped out of it as we crossed the
threshold. I ran to his bed and was on my knees facing him as he
finally arrived, taking off his coat.

  I undid his pants before he'd gotten his shirt unbuttoned and pushed
them and his underwear down to his knees as he struggled out of it,
begging me to wait a second.

  He didn't disappoint me then but stepped out of his dress slippers
and pantlegs, standing long and hard in my hand as he crawled onto the
side of the bed. I fell back with my legs spread, guiding him toward
my pussy, when he stopped about an inch away.

  "Bill!" I screamed at him.

  "Say please, sweetheart," he said with a big grin.

  "Oh god, please please please," I gasped and he rewarded me by
closing the gap between us and sinking smoothly into me.

  My entire body arched with the ecstasy of my fulfillment as he
touched the back of it. My legs, still in the white stockings and high
heels, were in the air over his back as I had the first orgasm,
vibrating under him.

  He froze, pressing hard into me, as my vibrations eased and the need
returned. I was afraid I was going to have to beg more, not that I
minded, when he slowly backed his cock back out of me to the opening.

  Intuitively, and in response to what I'd told him, he held himself
with the flared head just inside me and looked down between us.

  In a dozen quick in and out stokes that seemed to specially inflame
my G-spot, he drove me through a moan to a soft scream that was
instantly extinguished by a squeal as the most intense feelings
possible washed through me and into a climax to end all.

  To the extent that I could think at all, I believed the most
wonderful feelings possible had just thundered through me. And the
feeling was just settling down to the crashing pulse of blood flowing
through my ears, when he drove deep into me and against the membrane
of skin separating my diaphragm from my sheath.

  I heard our loud grunts at the impact, his pelvic mound crushing my
clit at the same time. That drove the entire experience up a
notch. But it was just the start.

  Not waiting for a reaction, he moved back out to the opening and
pumped three or four times across the spot before pantingly plunging
all the way back in. The few strokes on the sensitive spot drove me
upward by increments high, higher, highest, near the peak then deep
into me that was like a wave breaking.

  As if connected directly to my feelings, he repeated what he'd done
out to the spot for several strokes and deep inside crushing my clit
over and over and over again. Each time drove me higher and higher. I
would have been screaming my head off if I'd had any breath to back
it.  Maybe I did. I don't even know that.

  What I do know is that at the depths of his thrust, he came hard and
I felt the blast of his come inside me as if he'd splashed boiling hot
water across my face. Except much much more fun.

  I really haven't the vaguest idea of how I reacted and neither does
Bill. After all, he wasn't in any better condition than I was. But
Paula and Roger told us that they thought about a rescue effort but
decided it might be too dangerous for them. Too much screaming and
yelling and banging headboards and squeaking bedsprings and moaning
floorboards.

  What I do know is that I came back to myself with the backs of my
shoes against his ass and his long cock softening against the very
deepest part of my new cunt. Beyond that, I knew absolutely that I'd
never feel anything that wonderful in this life.

  I'll never admit that the anticipation of that fantastic moment
drove it well beyond any human experience and into the nether worlds.

  Of course, I was proved mistaken the next morning.


                            Chapter 24

WHEN I'D STILL been anticipating, I planned to fuck him all night. In
fact, the combination of wine, drinks, a wonderful dinner, and that
one long, fantastic fuck wiped me out. In fact, I only vaguely
remember him taking my shoes, stockings, and garter belt off before he
curled up behind me, his warm body along my back putting me the rest
of the way to sleep immediately.

  I woke the next morning in the same position and edged out of bed to
go to the bathroom.  While I pissed, louvaged, and replaced the
lubricant, I thought about racing right back for a morning "pick me
up." But I didn't really feel the burning need I had the night before
and, instead, felt affection for Bill that suggested I should let him
sleep for a while. I could cuddle with him until then, I thought.

  Since he hadn't moved while I was gone, I crawled back under the
sheet and light blanket in the same position I'd been in when I woke,
thinking I'd maybe nap a little and think until he woke up.

  My thinking was a little directed by the situation, of course. I
lifted his arm around me and put his hand in my stomach. I felt the
hair on his chest against my back. I felt his legs against the back of
mine. He shifted, apparently in his sleep, and I felt his leg between
mine and his masculinity against my ass. I felt his even breath
against the hairs on the back of my neck.

  My nap was out the window and all I could think about was his body
against me, his hand touching my stomach. Then I started thinking
about the night before and found myself grinning to myself as I
thought about the club and the dance and my offer to the waiter and,
finally, to the wonderful fuck Bill had finally given me when we got
into bed. Here.

  The more I thought, the more excited I got. I jumped when he spoke
so close to my ear.

  "If you don't stop squirming, you'll wake me up," he said, muffled
in my hair.

  "Gosh. That'd be too bad. You'd probably have to fuck the shit out
of me just to show your displeasure." He chuckled.

  "You'd like that, wouldn't you? Unfortunately, I'm not that
displeased." I squirmed some more. I could feel his hardening cock
against my butt. I moved so my bottom rubbed against him a little. He
rewarded me by moving his hand up to cup my breast. His fingers
squeezed my nipple slightly.

  I moved my hand to his bare bottom and used my fingernails to
scratch it in a way I hoped would be seductive. Now I was thinking
about getting fucked in a big way and was squirming more.

  "What would it take to get you really displeased?" I asked softly as
my hand went to the back of his over my breast, helping him rub it.

  "Hard to tell," he mumbled into my neck but I could feel his cock
jumping with his interest.  "A kiss would probably piss me off a
bunch." He laughed as I turned over into his arms and covered his
mouth with mine.

  His hand covered my newly exposed breast and my upper leg went over
his hip. His cock throbbed against my tummy.

  "Are you getting really pissed?" I asked between demanding kisses.

  "Getting pretty pissed," he gasped between them. He turned onto his
back and lifted me over him, taking my nipple into his mouth. As I
held myself above him and gasped, he switched back and forth from one
to the other, driving me higher and higher.

  On my hands and knees over him, straddling his body, I'm sure I was
getting noisy now but at least it didn't matter. I'd already awakened
him. Thankfully.

  I squirmed downward to try to get him into me and he maintained his
suction on my breast until his cock found my hole on its own and slid
into me half a tantalizing inch. I moaned and arched. That probably
pulled my nipple from his lips. That accomplished, he gave up on it
and pressed me down onto him fully.

  I arched my back and his hands went to my breasts and squeezed
wonderfully as his cock sunk all the way to my depths. I threw my head
back and moaned. Maybe it was a loud moan. Certainly the feeling
deserved a loud moan.

  "Hey guys! I thought you'd never wake up," Paula said as she bounced
onto the edge of the bed next to us. I groaned with disappointment at
the interruption but Bill held me exactly as I was.

  Paula was dressed in a see-through nightie that covered absolutely
nothing and, as I looked at her, Roger sat down on the edge of the bed
behind her.

  "Oh, honey!" Paula said. "You are so beautiful when you're getting
fucked. I wish I was "

  "You are, baby," Roger said. "You're just so out of it you can't
tell. Besides, we haven't tried mirrors on the ceiling yet."

  She giggled. Then she looked down at Bill and the roped muscles in
his neck.

  "God. You're beautiful, too," she said and leaned down and kissed my
boss.

  "Where's your KY?" Roger said urgently.

  "Bathroom," I moaned, not really caring. He sprinted off to the
bathroom and Bill took a long slow stroke into me as Paula continued
to kiss him. I was a little jealous but the feeling of his cock in me
overcame most of it. I kissed the back of Paula's neck and moved on my
own to produce another long, slow stroke.

  "Hey, hope you don't mind, man. I'm going to fuck your babe," Roger
said. I didn't understand or care much until I felt the cold cream
against my ass. I sat almost upright again and looked back at him. He
grinned at me and stuck his finger into my asshole. Instead of
objecting, I almost fell back forward to Paula's neck and back,
kissing up and down wildly as his fingers moved in my butt.

  It wasn't as good as the cock in my new pussy. But it was familiar
and exciting.

  He didn't do it easily or softly. In fact, he almost lifted me off
Bill completely and would have if Bill wasn't so long. Both he and
Bill moaned, maybe feeling each other just a tiny space apart inside
me.

  Then they seemed to realize what they were doing and started long
opposing strokes into and out of me. Roger's fingers found my clit as
Bill's started truly manipulating my breasts. Paula, a big grin on her
face, turned her head and kissed me hard, her hand on the back of my
head as I started coming.

                          * * *

  "Can I try it?" Paula asked as I panted for breath after the guys
had filled my insides with their semen. Part of the reason I was
panting for breath was that Roger's weight was still on my back.
Okay. So it was just a small part of the reason.

  "I think " I gasped out "... that the guys need a few minutes rest."

  "Um hmm," she said squeezing in closer beside me us. She cuddled
with us all. It was very cosy, to say the least. Cosy and loving.

  Her hot little body felt nice against my side but it was overwhelmed
by the guys' steady breathing that seemed to surround me. After all,
Bill was still under us and Roger was still wrapped around my back.

  Though Bill should have been the first to say uncle, Roger lifted
himself off my back and slowly pulled himself out of my butt. Giggling
with the pure pleasure and happiness of it all, I just squirmed around
on top of Bill and made him giggle with me. Squeezing my pussy tight
around him, made him chuckle.

  "Come on, Amy," Paula said in a wheedling tone. "Give me a chance,
huh?"

  "Can you get it up, Bill?" I asked into his neck.

  "How 'up' do you want it?" he said with a chuckle and a movement
inside me that showed he was already at least partly hard.

  "I hate to let it go," I said, squeezing him again.

  "Shit, Paula," Roger said from beside us and I looked over to see
her licking Roger's mostly revived cock. "Don't you know where that's
been?"

  "Uh huh," she said. "Fuck me."

  I lifted myself lethargically off Bill and dropped onto the other
side of him. My hand discovered that he was as hard as I'd thought he
was when I felt him inside me.

  "Come here, honey," I said to Paula. Even though she didn't really
want to let Roger go, she let me do some guiding until she was on the
other side of Bill. I reached across and lifted her upper leg and
guided Bill toward her ass. He saw the idea and helped me. Very soon,
he had passed her sphincter and definitely gained her attention.

  "Oh yeah," Roger moaned as he saw her reaction to the butt fuck. I
was just a little faster than he was and, as Bill rolled her onto her
back over him and buried himself in her bowels, I crawled between her
legs and broadly licked her clit.

  She screamed and spread her legs so they were almost straight out to
the sides.

  "Hey! I wanted that!" Roger said.

  "Find something else to do," I told him and pointed to her enlarging
breasts. He chuckled and kissed her before sucking up her left breast
almost completely.

  I sucked Paula's clit and got one of her quick, almost instantaneous
orgasms as a reward. Bill was slowly stroking into her ass.

  "Ohhhh. Oh, baby. Oh yes," she moaned as she held the sides of my
face lovingly.

  "Let me," Roger said to me softly. Looking back at him, I noticed he
was completely hard again and smiling. I rolled to the side and
watched from close quarters as he slid into her pussy.

  "Oh no," Bill gasped. "I'm not doing this again." I thought for a
second that he meant fucking her. But when he rolled to the side, I
knew he meant that he didn't want to be bottom again. They didn't seem
to care that they were now on their sides instead of piled up.

  I curled back up behind Bill and started kissing the back of his
neck and ears. He turned he face up to me and let me kiss him as he
fucked Paula's ass.

  To reward him, I reached down and slid my slippery finger into his
ass. He giggled. I wished that I could feel his increased size inside
of me instead of having Paula benefit from it. Then I knew that I'd
have a lot of other opportunities.

  I put a second finger into his bottom and enjoyed the excitement of
their increasing wildness.  Paula was absolutely going crazy with the
wonderful feelings of being fucked from both sides.  And, strangely, I
was almost as wild with the vicarious pleasure of it all.

  I actually came. With nothing inside me. With no one touching any of
my private sexual parts.  With nothing but their combined pleasure and
the intensity of their orgasms.

                          * * *

  I was Paula's bridesmaid two weeks later. We had a wonderful time
getting everything together, getting all the invitations out to our
friends and everything. The pictures took almost an hour and the
guests just had to wait.

  After all, I had to change into my wedding dress before Paula could
be my bridesmaid. Right?

  The reception was great. Lots of dancing and most everyone got
blasted.

  But it didn't hold a candle to our wedding night in Hawaii. Paula
and I took each others' dresses off while the guys just watched and
waited. Then we took their suits off.

  We laughed a lot, laying there side by side, while they fucked us on
the beach.


END