From: nogarder@ix.netcom.com(*** )
Subject: THE JOB INTERVIEW PART 1/2 (gay)
Date: 27 Jan 1996 16:32:46 GMT

THE JOB

It was a really tough job market out there - I had recently graduated
college, and going on as many interviews as I could schedule, without
success.  My girlfriend hadn't had nearly as much trouble, and had
landed a well-paying job at an advertising firm.  And since we were
living together at least I had a roof over my head.  I had paid my
way through school with a combination of scholarships, loans and
part-time jobs, but I just couldn't find anything now. It was already
well into August, and the only contribution I was making toward our
expenses was the little I made at three part-time jobs.

    "Dammit, Marcie," I said to her one evening, "today had to be
the most frustrating day of all. I had three interviews, but they were
all the same `Sorry, but we don't think so.  We'll keep your resume
on file if something should turn up later.'  Right, like they didn't
trash them as soon as I left." "Don't worry, hon," she said, "I'm sure
something will turn up soon." "I don't know," I said, I think I'm a
victim of discrimination or something." "What makes you say that?"
she asked, "you're not a member of a minority group - I think you're
overreacting." "I don't think so, from something I overheard today.
I had just walked out of the last interview and I heard one guy I was
talking to say to the other, `Too bad - but I didn't expect it from
his name.'  I think if I had been a woman, I would have gotten the
job.  They were ready to interview a girl named Donald, not a guy."
"I still think you're overreacting; you probably misunderstood what
he said."

    Well, it was three weeks after that night, and still no job.  But
now I finally had some evidence to support my suspicion. I had just
come back from a long interview,  and I had really hit it off with
the interviewer. I was telling Marcie about it: "Then he said to me,
`Donald, I think you'd be perfect for the job, and what I'm going to
say is off the record, OK? I'll deny I ever said it, but ... well, my
boss
set down strict guidelines for hiring. We can hire guys who are in the
top 5% of their class, but because we need to hire more women, we
can hire them if they're in the top third.' See, Marcie, I told you so
-
I'm being discriminated against!" She sympathized with me, but just
encouraged me to keep on trying. Another three weeks of no success
had me pretty depressed, and we decided to watch some TV to cheer
up.  I hit the ON button on the remote, and what was playing but
"Tootsie". Dustin Hoffman trying to make it as a guy, but achieving
success only after he dressed up as a woman.  "Boy, that's the right



                                      1




idea," I remarked, bitterly, "if you can't beat 'em, join 'em." Marcie
looked at me strangely for a minute, then said, "You know, Donald,
you'd make a better-looking girl than he does." "That's ridiculous,"
I said, "I could never get away with that - people would spot me in
a minute." She didn't say anything, and I switched channels, ending
the conversation right there. .

    A few days later, we were lying in bed together, having just made
love,  when she brought it up again.  "Remember what we talked
about when we saw "Tootsie" the other night?" she asked.  "Yes,
I  do  -  your  silly  idea  that  I  could  get  away  with  dressing 
like 
a
woman."  "Well,  I  still  think  I'm  right,  that  you'd  be  cuter 
than
Dustin Hoffman." I really didn't feel like talking anymore about it,
but she continued, "I'd be willing to bet I'm right." "Sure," I said,
"bet what?  You know I'm broke,  and besides,  its really a dumb
idea. There's no way I'm going to dress up and go out as a woman."
"Well," she replied, "we could bet washing the dishes for the next
month." Both of us hated to wash dishes, and we rotated the chore
every night.  "As much as I'd like to not do dishes for a month," I
said, "because I know I'm right, there's no way I'm going to make
a fool out of myself." "What if there were a way, you could try it
without any risk?  she asked, "would you still be willing to bet?"
I was tired by then and I said, "Sure, no risk, whatever you say."
"So do we have a bet?" she persisted.  "Yes,  yes,  OK, we have a
bet," I said, and we fell asleep without any more conversation on the
subject.

    I didn't think about the conversation the next day, and I made us
a cold dinner, waiting for Marcie to get home. She had called and said
that she was stopping off at her sister's house and would be a little
late. It was almost eight o'clock when she finally got home, and I told
her, "I was starting to get worried about you," and I gave her a big
hug and kiss, relieved that she was alright. "It took me longer than
I thought it would," she said, "but we finally got done." "Done?" I
asked, "what were you doing?" "Getting ready for our bet," she said.
I noticed that she had two shopping bags with her.  "What's in the
bags?" I asked her. And she proceeded to lay out her plan: "There's
an office Halloween party coming up,  and that's where I'm going
to win our bet.  There'll be a million people there, clients, agency
people, friends, vendors, and hardly anyone will know anybody.  I
spent the evening at Patty's getting your costume." I hadn't taken
her bet seriously last night, but obviously she had!  "What do you
mean, my costume?" I said, suspecting the worst, and her answer
confirmed it:  "You can dress up as a woman for a Halloween party
without any risk - lots of guys do. And since no one from the office
knows you - no risk, just like you agreed to." I tried to argue her
out of it, but there was no way she was going to cancel the bet.  I
resigned myself to the fact that she had the costume I was going to
wear in the shopping bags. We sat down and ate, and we avoided the
topic until she said, "C'mon, be a sport, you did agree to the bet,
and its only for one night for the party.  I don't want to make you
feel bad, though, so I'm willing to cancel the bet, if you insist."
"No,
we made the bet," I told her, "and guys just don't cancel bets.  I'll
go along with it, though I'll feel silly as hell, and everyone will
know
I'm a guy. Besides, when I win the bet, I'll enjoy watching you wash
dishes every night for a month.  Who knows, maybe you get to like
it, and you'll want to wash them all the time!" "Fat chance, buddy,"
she retorted, "and I still think that you'll be the one with dishpan
hands! Speaking of which, its your turn tonight."

    Sighing to myself, I got up and washed everything while she went
inside. When I had finished, I joined her, and she turned off the TV
she had been watching.  "You know," she said, "you really have to
try your best not to be discovered, if this is going to be a fair bet."
I said that if I did anything that would deliberately made me win, I
would lose.  "Is that fair enough for you?" "Well, almost," she said,
"but not quite." "What do you mean, not quite?" "Girls learn how
to be girls as they grow up, years and years of becoming ladies," she
said. "You can't just learn it overnight. To be really fair, you should
practice." "C'mon," I said, "fair is fair, I agreed to one night, not
`years and years of practice'.  Besides, there's only two weeks until
the party." "OK, I'll settle for two weeks of practice," - although I
hadn't agree to any practice at all!  - "let's get started, there's no
time to waste." She took the shopping bags in one hand, and my
hand in the other and led me upstairs.

    In short order, I found myself standing naked in the middle of
the bedroom, watching Marcie pulling clothes out of one of the bags.
"I wasn't exactly sure about sizes, so I got a whole bunch of Patty's
things - she's more your size than I am." It was true - I'm quite
a bit bigger than Marcie, while her sister Patty is nearly as tall as
my 5' 9" and has a larger frame than her petite sister.  I have a
very slender build, though, for a guy, and I guessed that we were
probably about the same size.  As often as Marcie and I had made
love, it still felt strange to be standing naked in front of her while
she was doing something else,  and I found that I was getting an
erection.   When  she  saw  it,  she  laughed,  and  began  to  stroke 
it,
teasing me, "don't tell me that thinking about dressing as a woman
is turning you on?" "N ...no, don't be silly, its just be naked while
you're still dressed," I said.  "Well, we have to do something about
this," she said, continuing to stroke me, "or else you'll have a bulge
in your panties." She knelt down in front of me, and took me into
her mouth, quickly bringing me to a climax, while thoughts of how
I would soon be dressed disturbingly ran through my mind.

    "OK, now that THAT's out of the way, slip into these," she said,
handing me a pair of white panties. They felt strange going on over
my legs, and nestling around my groin, but I told myself that was to
be expected - these weren't exactly my usual jockey shorts!  Marcie
helped me put on a matching white bra, stuffing the cups with a
couple of pairs of her panties, after she fastened the hooks in back.
She sat me down on the bed, and, as I followed her instructions for
putting on pantyhose without causing runs, the bra felt really weird
on my chest.  The pantyhose felt even more strange,  covering my
entire legs with the feeling of the sheer material.  "These are just
regular daytime things," Marcie said, "I hoped that I'd be able to
convince you to practice." She was really serious about winning this
bet, I could see, and had planned the whole thing out.  I stood up,
feeling the tickling sensation of the nylon against my leg hairs, and
pulled the slip she handed me over my head.  She settled it around
me properly, making the smooth nylon rub over my whole torso. She
then lifted a pink and white striped dress over me, and I raised my
arms so it would slip down into position.  I began to button up the
front of the shirtwaist dress, fumbling because the buttons were on
the "wrong" side. "Well, you don't have much of a figure, dear, but
at least everything fits pretty well. Except for the waist, of course."
My waist did stretch out the waistband of the dress, and I said, "see,
I told you this wasn't going to work."

    "Don't worry, we'll take care of that when the time comes," she
said, "after all, not every woman has a perfect figure." I didn't have
a chance to ask what she meant, because she was handing me a pair
of medium high heels to put on.  The swishing, swirling feelings of
the feminine materials against each other and my body felt extremely
strange as I walked over to the bed and sat down to put on the shoes.
"You're lucky my sister has big feet," she commented when I had put
them on, and tried to stand up. I almost fell over because of the tilt
they gave my body, but Marcie steadied me.  "OK, practice walking
around a little," she said. I did, feeling more silly than ever when
she
began to coach me on how to walk in a ladylike manner.  "A little
more hip sway, but not too much," she said when I exaggerated to
my hip motion.. "You're not going to be a hooker, just a real lady."

    She made me wear the clothes until it was bed time, and I had
almost gotten used to the heels, but not to the feeling of the soft,
silky clothes against me.  I had an erection again, unusual for me,
since I was strictly a "once-a-day" guy, and the oral sex Marcie had
given me would have ordinarily finished me off for the night.  Were
these unusual clothes, and the way they felt on me the cause of it, I
wondered.  Marcie helped me get undressed, and I managed to hide
my cock inside my robe as I went in for a shower.  I came out, and
Marcie went in for hers, and I found myself touching the things I had
been wearing.  I heard the door open, and feeling my face flush at
almost being caught touching the feminine finery, I shut off the light.
She hopped into bed next to me, and asked me, "that really wasn't
so bad, was it?" "N ...  no, I guess not, just strange is all." "Well,
remember your promise, you have to practice every night until the
party," she said, curling up against me.  "You really did look pretty
cute in the dress, not to mention in your bra and panties," she teased.
"Oh, cut it out, I looked exactly like what I was, a guy in drag. You
know, I'm more convinced than ever that I'm going to win this bet."
"We'll see," she said, kissing me goodnight and turning over, "we'll
see." I lay awake for a while waiting for my erection to go down,
thinking about how the clothes had felt on me. The sensations of the
smooth, silky clothing persisted in my mind, and a random thought
came to me, about how lucky girls were to have all those nice-feeling
things to wear, while guys had all the masculine, rough fabrics. My
hardon never did go down as I lay there, but I eventually fell asleep
anyway.

    Marcie got up early to go to work, and I slept until about eight-
thirty, when I had to get up to go to one of my part-time jobs. I saw
the clothes I had worn still lying on top of the covers, and I picked
them up to put them away. The silky panties seemed to have a life of
their own as the smooth material caressed my hand, and I sat there,
just experiencing it, until I realized that I would have to hurry to
get
to work on time. I put in my four hours of filing and got back home at
about two o'clock. The work I had been doing was mindless, and the
only reason they had me as a part-timer was because the secretaries
hated doing it. I did a few chores around the house, as I always did;
since Marcie was earning the money it was only fair that I do most
of the housework - except for the splitting of the dishwashing, that
is.  I finished most of it up, and had gotten to the bedroom, where
I was going to make up the bed. I saw the clothes still laying there,
and with the best of intentions, I started putting them away. I hung
up the dress in the closet, but then I was faced with the dilemma of
where to put the undies. If I put them in Marcie's drawer, they'd mix
in with her things and could cause a problem when she rushed to get
dressed one morning. I didn't want to leave them laying around, so I
made room in my underwear drawer, neatly folded them up and put
them in there.  Again, the smooth material sent strange sensations
through me, and as I walked out of the room, I found myself with
another erection.  "This is ridiculous," I said to myself, "women's
undies are only exciting with women inside them." But a nagging
voice in my head raised a disturbing doubt about that:  "Are you
sure?"

I dismissed the voice, and began to prepare dinner for us. When
Marcie got home, she asked me how my day had been, and I told her
pretty much the usual, commenting on how the secretaries at work
had been giggling to each other about something for most of the
time I was there.  "Probably just girl-talk," Marcie said, "somebody
fooling around with somebody, or someone having problems with a
boy-friend." We had dinner, and then Marcie said, "Time to practice,
sweetie, you promised." I groaned, but followed her into the bedroom.
Marcie looked around for the clothes, and I explained where I had
put them, and why.  She didn't say much, just, "how thoughtful." I
stripped again, and feeling the beginnings of an erection, I quickly
pulled on the panties.  She hooked up the bra, and in just a couple
of minutes, I was dressed in the same outfit as last night.  But this
time,  my cock was rock hard inside my panties.  Fortunately,  the
tight fitting panties kept it pressed up against my stomach unseen.
Marcie taught me how to walk around more gracefully, and told me
how to sit like a lady.  "No, no, keep your knees together, and cross
your legs at the ankles. You're not ready to learn how to cross your
legs yet," she scolded. I tried to concentrate on everything she said,
reminding myself that I had promised that I would do my best. Later
that night, after we had showered, we made passionate love, and the
aching I had been feeling from walking around in panties all night,
with the silky material rubbing on my cock, finally subsided.

    The rest of the week passed pretty much the same way, although
we made love every night,  instead of the more usual,  every other
night or so.  When we got up on Saturday morning,  Marcie said

"You know, Donald, I'm beginning to think you might win that bet,
after all." "What make you say that," I asked.  "Well, you've been
practicing every evening,  but,  I don't think you are going to fool
everyone like I thought you were.  There's just not enough time to
teach  you  everything  you'll  need  to  know.   I'm  ready  to 
concede
right now." "No, that wouldn't be fair," I said, "I really am trying,
you know." In the back of my head, I was beginning to understand
something else, but I guess I was just trying to convince her that I
was
being a good sport. "Well, we can keep trying, but we'll have to step
up the pace a little." I said I was, and she said, "then, you'll have
to spend all weekend at it - are you still game?" Again I agreed,
and she said, "you can't wear the same things all weekend, but I
don't want you to wear your costume, either. I'll run over to Patty's
and  get  some  fresh  things,  I'm  sure  she  won't  mind."  So 
while  I
was having a couple of cups of coffee, she went out, returning with
another shopping bag of stuff.  "I got some sexier things this time,"
she said. "Maybe you'll get into it more with more feminine frillies.
Here, why don't you go put these on while I have a cup of coffee."
This was the first time I had dressed by myself, and when I saw what
she had brought back, I immediately got turned on. I went into the
bathroom and shaved as she had said I should.

    The undies were all black, and very frilly indeed. I slipped on the
panties, and I felt myself almost ready to come from the satin feel
on my cock.  Without even thinking, I sat on the edge of the bed,
and jerked my cock into a gushing orgasm.  There was no denying
what had just happened now - wearing panties was a definite turnon
for me.  I was wracked with guilt and doubts, but I knew I had to
keep this hidden from Marcie. I slipped my arms through the straps
of a longline black bra, which fortunately fastened in front. I zipped
up the bra, feeling the tightness of it as it molded my upper body.
The next thing I picked up was a black girdle, that had four garters
hanging from the bottom.  It looked as though it were half as wide
as I needed for it to be able to fit over me, and I struggled to pull
its tightness up over my legs and waist. It reached up to the bottom
of the bra when I finally got it all the way up, but I felt like I
could
barely  breathe  with  it  on.   There  was  a  pair  of  very  sheer 
nylon
stockings which I carefully rolled up over my legs and managed to
fasten to the garters, once I figured out how they worked. Just then,
Marcie came into the room, and looked at me.  "God, this girdle it
tight," I said, "how do you women ever stand it?" "We have to suffer
for fashion, dear," she laughed, "and I think you're going to have to
suffer a little bit more." "What do you mean?" I asked.  "Your leg
hair shows through the stockings, and I'm afraid you'll have to shave
your legs." "Now, wait just a minute," I protested, "I never agreed
to anything like that!" "But if you're going to do your best,  you
can't have hairy legs, and besides its not like you go to a gym where
anyone else could see you." She proceeded to take off my stockings
and marched me into the bathroom.  I half-wanted to protest some
more, but also wanted to feel how the stockings would feel against
my hairless skin.

    Oh, how wonderful they felt - my sleek legs being encased in the
sheer nylons. "Are you starting to feel sexy," Marcie teased, but not
waiting for a reply, she led me back into the bedroom.  "I borrowed
a cocktail dress from Patty," she said,  fastening a flared crinoline
petticoat around me waist, then putting a black satin dress over my
arms and head. "Great," she said as I stood there in the short, sexy
dress.  "The girdle and bra shaped you into the perfect size for the
dress." She placed a pair of very high-heeled black patent leather
pumps in front of me, and I stepped up into them.  She walked me
over to her dressing table, helping me adjust to the 4" heels and said,
"We're going to go all the way today, a real makeover." She stood
in front of me, and first attached false nails onto my fingers.  Then
she began applying all kinds of cosmetics to my face, gluing on false
eyelashes as the final step. Then she pulled a curly brunette wig out
of a bag, placed it on my head, and brushed it out a little. "My God,"
she said, "I said you'd be better looking than Dustin Hoffman, but I
never expected this!" She stepped away from in front of the mirror,
and what I saw reflected back nearly knocked me off my seat - there
was a gorgeous woman looking back at me.  I couldn't believe my
eyes - I couldn't recognize myself at all.  I sat there, stunned.  "I
..
y ...  you made me ..." I was at a loss for words.  "Stunning, that's
the only word for you, stunning," Marcie supplied.  She helped me
stand up on the heels, and walked me over to the full-length mirror.
The image there was even better and more powerful than what I had
seen in the face-only dressing mirror.  From the curly hair to the
spike-heeled feet, there would have been no doubt in anyone's mind
that this gorgeous creature was anything but a woman.

    Marcie stood next to me, and we were mostly a study in contrasts,
the  petite  blonde  and  the  tall  brunette,  one  dressed  for  day,
 the
other for evening.  But there were similarities as well, the womanly
figures, the sleek, stockinged legs, the definitely female faces.  She
turned to me and put her arms around me, then, hesitating for a
split second, kissed me hard on the lips. "I've never kissed a woman
before,  and even though I know its you,  my mind tells me that's
what I just did." I looked deeply into her eyes, and said, "But I'm
still the man who loves you, underneath all this, you know." Her hand
moved down and brushed the front of my skirt, feeling the erection
beneath the feminine coverings.  "D ...  does dressing like this turn
you on, Donald?" she asked in a quiet, low voice. I didn't know what
to say, and I hesitated before answering.  I had finally admitted to
myself that it did, but I wondered what effect it would have on our
relationship if I admitted it to her. We had always been honest with
each other before, but I knew this was a potential crisis situation,
and there was no way for me to predict the outcome. Believing that
honesty was the only way to go, however, I said, "I can't explain
it, and this is something I've never even thought of before, but it is
exciting, Marcie, very exciting." She weighed this in her mind for a
moment, and then she said, "Donald, I ... I can't explain it either,
but
kissing you dressed like that was, is, exciting to me, too.  I've never
wanted to kiss a woman before, but seeing you like that, knowing
that you're a man underneath the clothes, its gotten me all hot also.
I don't know if its a one-time thing or something more but, ..." She
stopped talking when I kissed her, and with our arms around each
other, we hurried over to the bed. Without stopping to take off any
clothes, we began to make love to each other.  The sensations I was
feeling from the clothes I was wearing were heightened as I touched
her, and in just a minute, she had maneuvered my cock out from
under my things, and had impaled herself on top of me.  It couldn't
have been more than thirty seconds later when I felt myself starting
to come, and I felt Marcie's body shudder with the force of her own
orgasm.

    Later on, as we lay next to each other, Marcie said that she felt
like she had a new girlfriend, and I gave her a hug. "But, you know,"
I said, "we can't stay in bed all day, I still have so much to learn if
I'm going to be able to carry this off for a whole night at the party."
So we got up, and for the rest of the day, Marcie tutored me on the
fine points of femininity, walking, sitting, eating, everything I would
need to know in order to pass undetected as a woman.  That night,
when it was time for bed, she helped me out of the things I had been
wearing all day, and though they had been tight and restraining, and
it really felt good to get my girdle off, I missed them when they were
gone.  I started to walk into the bathroom carrying my robe, but
Marcie stopped me, and handed me a babydoll nightie set.  "Maybe
you should keep practicing," she teased, and taking it from her, I
smiled and gave her a kiss.  After my shower, I dried myself off and
pulled the frilly panties on, again feeling the wonderful sensations
flooding over my cock.  The feelings spread to my entire body as I
slipped the short nightie on. I looked in the mirror, and even without
the curly wig and the makeup, I felt feminine and wonderful. Marcie
said, "you look cute in that, and I'm glad that `one-size-fits-all' is
good for you." "Me, too," I responded, "and speaking of `one-size-
fits-all' ", I took her hand and placed it on my erection, nestled
inside
my panties. We hopped into bed, and again made love.

    When I woke up the next day, I lay there thinking for a while
about what had happened, and what might be in store for the future.
I decided not to worry about anything, but rather to just let things
work out themselves.  I got up, feeling the soft nylon surrounding
my body, and went downstairs to make some coffee.  As I sat there
drinking it, I found myself automatically sitting in a very lady-like
way,  crossing  my  legs  as  a  woman  would.   I  looked  down  at 
my
shaved legs, which, of course seemed strange, and remembered how
the nylons had felt yesterday.  Marcie walked into the kitchen about
twenty minutes later, and I had a brief feeling of anxiety, wondering
how she might react this morning to seeing me without makeup and
my  masculine  haircut.   But  she  cut  my  worrying  short  when  she
came over and kissed me, and said, "I love you, I really, really do!"
After she had her coffee, she announced that it was time for today's
training to start, and we went into the bedroom to dress.

    She  decided  that  I  should  wear  regular  daytime  things 
today,
and she gave me a set of pink undies, which I immediately put on,
savoring the feeling of nylon against my groin and chest. She looked
at me and giggled,  and when I asked her what was so funny,  she
told me that my chest hair didn't really go too well with the pink

bra.  I felt myself blush,  and she hurried over and hugged me so
I would understand she wasn't making fun of me.  I took off the
bra, and we went into the bathroom where I shaved my chest, which
truthfully had never been all that hairy.  Putting the bra back on
felt better than before, though, and she gave me pantyhose and a
skirt and blouse to put on. Next, she applied a cosmetics for a more
natural daytime look, and placed the curly wig on my head.  When
she moved aside to let me look, I could recognize myself, but the face
I saw was clearly feminine.  "I think you should wear heels again,"
she said, "because that will be the most difficult thing to get used
to." I didn't mind a bit,  though,  because I loved how they made
my legs look in the sheer pantyhose, and how they helped me walk
with a feminine sway. We didn't spend the whole day in training as
such, though we did spend some time looking through some of her
magazines, but concentrated on doing some things around the house
so that Dressing would become a more natural thing for me.  She
also taught me a little about makeup so that if I had to fix myself
up at the party I'd be able to do it.  The hardest thing,  I think,
was remembering to try to keep the pitch of my voice higher than
normal, so I would sound, as well as look, like a woman.

    The rest of the week went by pretty quickly, with me dressing
up each night for more practice.  Actually, I wore panties all week,
and a nightgown she had bought for me every night.  I practiced
putting on basic makeup a few times, and actually got to be fairly
good at it. Then it was finally Saturday, and in the early afternoon,
Marcie said that it was time to start getting ready. "But its so early,
it won't take us that long." "Don't be silly, dear," she said, "we're
barely going to be on time, even starting right now." She drew me
a bubble bath, and I relaxed in the scented water for a while, until
she came in and said that I should shave my legs and chest.  I did
that while I was still in the tub.  I got out, and was ready to start
shaving my face, when she suggested that, since we were going to
be out for hours, and I didn't want five o'clock shadow to appear, I
should use a hair remover lotion. She put the liquid on me, and I felt
a strong tingling as it did its work.  I waited about fifteen minutes,
sitting there while Marcie took her own bath and shaved her legs and
underarms. I hadn't done the latter, and when she looked quizzically
at me, I just nodded, as if to say sure.  She lathered my underarms,
and carefully shaved me.  I don't have much hair on my arms, but
she decided that what I did had to go as well. I washed off the hair
remover from my face, and we went into the bedroom.  I felt more
naked than I ever had before, with all my hair gone, but I realized
how feminine my smooth, hairless body made me feel.

    "Just out of curiosity," I asked, "what exactly is my costume going
to be?" Marcie had made me promise not to look in her closet or the
shopping bags, and I hadn't, as much as I had wanted to.  "Well,
I guess I can tell you now, since you'll be finding out anyway," she
said, "you're going to wear the costume Patty had for last year -
Scarlett O'Hara from `Gone with the Wind' !" The memory of the
beautiful gowns in the movie immediately flooded my brain.  And
then I remembered the difficulty Scarlett had with getting 
down to a figure that would fit into the gowns! Oh, God, I thought,
what did I get myself into with this silly bet?

Well, the first thing I found myself getting into was a pair of long
satin bloomers, with lots of ru- es of lace, around the whole garment.
When I put them on, the silky feel almost drove me crazy, and Marcie
just smiled when she saw the reaction I had.  Next came the corset,
and this was unbelievable if you've never worn one.  Marcie laid it
down on the bed, and I slipped my arms through the top straps and
lay on top of it.  Then she began to lace up the back.  It extended
down from the top of my hips, and the first few eyelets weren't too
bad.  But then as she moved up toward my waist, the boned corset
began to pull me in tighter and tighter.  Marcie sat on top of me,
and pulled with all her strength to close the corset back together.
"Stop," I said, "I just can't get that small," but Marcie just kissed
me on the back of my neck and whispered, "but you have to, or the
gown won't fit." She continued lacing me unmercifully, and I tried
to get accustomed to breathing without being able to really draw in
air. The confining corset, I could feel, was molding me into the shape
it wanted, irregardless of the body it was enclosing.  Even when my
waist had been pulled all the way in, the tight laces compressed the
flesh of my chest, pushing the excess up toward the bra's half-cups.
I didn't realize how much there really was there, until after she had
finished the lacing and I stood up.  "I think that with just a little
more," Marcie mused, and she went over to her underwear drawer
and removed the padding from one of her bras. She worked one into
the bottom of each cup, pulling up on my gathered flesh so that it
then rested on top.  When she had finished,  I walked over to the
mirror, still trying to get enough air to breathe, and saw the result.
There was the sweep of female hips, and my waist must have been
drawn in at least six inches.  But, best of all, there was the swelling
of breasts as my own flesh rose out of the half cups of the corset
top looking like real breasts. The cups pushed me together creating
cleavage, and Marcie said, "fantastic, I was a little worried because
the gown is kind of low-cut."

    There were six long garters hanging down from the bottom of the
corset, and Marcie sat me down while she rolled stockings up over
my smooth legs and fastened them snugly, snaking the elastic straps
through the bloomers.  I looked down and saw the mounds of my
breasts, the tent created in the front of my bloomers by the huge
erection I had, and Marcie kneeling at my feet.  She looked up at
me lovingly, and caressed my cock, then told me to stand up. I did,
but she stayed where she was, reaching into my bloomers to free my
cock from its satin prison, and she proceeded to suck me to climax.
I held here head tightly against me after I came, and the feeling of
love passed strongly between us.  She stayed there for a moment or
two, then said in a husky voice, "we'd better get moving." She got
my petticoat out of the closet, a voluminous bulk of crinoline and
lace. "There's no easy way to get into this, but just step inside, and
try to move your feet until they're on the floor. I stepped inside the
waistband, and sort of walked my feet forward until they had cleared
the crinoline tent.  Marcie buttoned up the back of the waistband,
-----------------------------------------------------------------------
-

which fit perfectly around my corseted waist. From the waist down,
all I could see was the bulky petticoat,  spreading around me like
a  pyramid  of  snow,  extending  down  to  the  floor.   I  twirled 
back
and forth, delighting in the feeling of the rougher petticoat material
swishing against my silken stockings and panties. The only things left
were the shoes and gown, and after she had helped me into emerald
green highheels, the petticoat was raised off the floor an inch or so.
That had worried me, whether I was going to keep tripping on it,
having forgotten that my heels would lift me into the air.  I stood
there looking in the mirror, when I heard a soft rustling sound behind
me.  Marcie had gotten the gown out of the closet, and I bent down
a little, raising my hands so that she could lift it over me.  It was
a beautiful emerald green velvet, lined with satin, and it slid down
around me with a silky woosh-sound. I closed my eyes, not wanting
to look until Marcie had fastened the back buttons.  When she said
she was finished, I opened my eyes, and saw the lovely gown around
me, my breast tops rising above the neckline, and the long sleeves
fitting around my arms,  ending in green lacy cuffs.  The gown fit
perfectly, and Marcie had to practically drag me away to put on my
makeup.  She worked quickly,  and with the final touches of thick
black lashes and a long wavy wig, I was ready.  She put a costume
jewelry necklace around my neck, and clipped matching earrings to
my lobes.  Again, the sight of myself had me speechless, and Jenny
sprayed a little perfume on me, completing my journey to femininity.

    When I was able to speak, I asked Marcie what costume she was
wearing, and she told me that she was going to be a flapper from the
'20's.  She got herself into her things pretty quickly, and stood next
to me in front of the mirror. Again, we were a study in contrasts, her
short, slinky dress against my elaborate gown, her unfettered body
versus my shaped and restrained one. But there was no doubt about
it, when you looked at us, all you saw was two beautiful females.  I
must admit, my face was not a soft example of feminine perfection in
the classic sense, but rather a striking, handsome one in the female
sense of handsome. We got together the things we needed, and were
almost ready to go when I said to her, "Marcie, I have a problem.
I know no one will be able to see it under my petticoat and gown,
but I am as hard as a rock underneath. I'm worried I won't be able
to control myself with my bloomers rubbing against me all night."
She didn't even hesitate, and she crawled under my gown, and took
me into her mouth.  She was really turned on by seeing me, and I
felt her rub herself against my ankle as she brought me to a climax
with frenzied sucking and licking.  She had disappeared beneath my
clothes, and the sensation of coming was almost like a surreal dream.
She came as well, and she rested her face against the bare tops of my
thighs for a minute or two.  When she finally reemerged, we hugged
each other, then she suggested that I needed something to prevent
accidents for the rest of the night. She went into the bathroom for a
minute, then into her undie drawer, and came back with a sanitary
napkin and a belt to hold it on. "This should do the trick," she said,
and she disappeared under my gown again.  I felt her pulling down
my bloomers and fastening the belt around me, then pulling back my
now-limp cock between my thighs.  She held it in position with the
napkin, then pulled my bloomers back up to hold the entire thing in
place.  We were now ready to go, and she placed another napkin in
the purse I was going to carry, "in case you have an accident later,
dear. We girls always have to be prepared for that."

    She drove us to the catering hall where the party was going to
be held, and on the way, I admitted how apprehensive I was.  "You
know, I'm still worried that I'll be found out." "So what," she said,
"don't forget its Halloween and everyone is in one costume or another.
Yours is just more elaborate than most." Her words comforted me
a little, but I still had mixed feelings - some guilt at dressing as a
woman, some fear that I would be discovered and ridiculed, and, of
course, some wonderful feelings about the touch of these clothes on
me.  When we got there, and walked into the party, there were at
least a hundred people already there, and I asked her, "how many
people do they expect?" Her answer, "at least a couple of hundred"
made me shudder a little - here I was dressed as a woman in front of
that many people, but on the other hand, with that large a crowd, I
thought I could manage to stay in the background. We went inside,
and over to one of the bars to get a drink.  Before I could ask for
a  beer,  Marcie  ordered  two  strawberry  daiquiris  for  us.   I 
sipped
the sweet-sourness of the drink, and said, "this is awful!  I'd rather
have a beer." She laughed, and said, "Sure, and slug it out of the
bottle like you usually do?  Try to remember,  you're a lady,  and
you have to act like one." I smiled sheepishly at her, acknowledging
that she was right, and we began to circulate.  It seemed that our
exotic costumes were attracting a lot of attention, and we were almost
immediately surrounded by a group of men.  The contrast of my
elaborately gowned body with Marcie's obviously near-naked one had
the guys in a state of heat. They were performing the mating-dance
ritual, competing with one another for our attention.  "That gown
certainly shows off your figure," one of the would-be Lotharios said to
me. "Thank you, so much, kind sir," I simpered, laughing to myself
at the one part of my "figure" that would knock him for a loop if he
saw it.  Music was playing in the background, and he asked me if I
would like to dance.  He was a pretty good-looking guy, dressed in
a vampire costume, but I begged off with a "not right now, thank
you". I really wasn't all so sure of myself in heels that I was ready
to
try to dance in them!  Marcie decided that we should break up this
little group, and asked me if I wanted to "powder my nose".  I took
the hint, and we walked over toward the ladies room.  Suddenly, it
hit me - the ladies room.  That was definitely unexplored territory
as far as I was concerned, and I said that to her. "Don't be silly, no
one will know - those guys certainly had no clue about you."

    There were only a few women in the room, and I immediately
headed  for  a  large  stall  designed  for  handicapped  people.   It 
was
large enough to accomodate a wheelchair, and I needed to room for
my gown.  It still felt strange sitting down to pee, not to mention
just trying to maneuver around my gown and petticoat so I could
sit. I noticed that the whirlwind activity and conversation had taken
my mind off how I was dressed, and my cock was still laying back
limply; it seemed that I might be getting used to this a little bit.  I
fixed myself up, and joined Marcie in front of the makeup mirrors.
She whispered that I could use a light dusting of powder and a reap-
plication of my lipstick.  I managed the powder OK, and was very
carefully applying the lipstick, when another woman walked over and
stood next to me.  "My goodness," she said to me, "isn't that cos-
tume killing you?" "Oh, its a little tight," I said, "but it really
makes
me feel so feminine!" I caught Marcie's eye in the mirror, and saw her
holding in a giggle.  "No doubt about that, dear," the woman said,
"I saw all the Romeos around you two before.  Say, wasn't that guy
gorgeous, the one who's the vampire?" Marcie took me off the hook
and joined the conversation, "Yeah, he was really cute." "I wonder
how big he is," the woman responded, nearly knocking me over with
her words. I had no idea that women's conversations about men were
as graphic as men's were about women.  "Oh, I never worry about
that," Marcie quipped, "its not how big it is, its what they can do
with it, after all!" They dissolved in giggles, and I tried to recover
and join in.  The woman left, still laughing, and Marcie and I were
alone for a moment. "I had no idea that you girls were that gross," I
commented.  "Well, don't you think its fair?" she asked.  "You guys
talk about tits all the time, don't you?" I had to admit that she was
right, and we went back out to the party.

    The next couple of hours passed in a blur as the party swirled
around us, and then the crowd started to thin out a little.  Then
Marcie said, "Oh, oh, here's my boss, Mr. Samson," as a tall distin-
guished looking guy walked over.  "Seems like we should have come
to the party together," he said to me, after Marcie introduced us.
"I hardly think so, suh," I said in my sweetest southern belle voice,
"after all, you are a Yankee!" He had on a blue Civil War officers uni-
form. "Well, I personally think that we should end the `War between
the States' ," he said, and before I could answer, he took my hand,
kissed it, and led me over to the dance floor.  I didn't have much
choice about it, and I almost gave it away by raising my left hand to
lead. I covered up by Katting my hair, and soon found myself twirling
around the floor, following his lead. He asked me about myself as we
danced, through the first song and into the second, and we chatted
for a while.  Finally,  the song ended,  and again kissing my hand,
he led me back over to where Marcie was standing.  "I think your
friend is absolutely charming, Marcie, I'm so glad she came with you
tonight.And I'm holding you personally responsible for making sure
she keeps our appointment." He said goodnight and walked away.
"You seemed deep in conversation, Donald, what was he saying? And
what did he mean, appointment?" "Marcie, you're not going to be-
lieve this, but we have a big problem.  He was asking all about me,
where I worked, where I'd gone to school, and when I told him I
hadn't found a job yet, he insisted on making an appointment for an
interview for next Friday. I couldn't refuse him, since he's your boss.
What a mess!" "Well, don't worry, we'll think of something, some
excuse or something by then." We decided to leave since the party
was breaking up, and Marcie drove us home.

    "I guess you realize that I won the bet," were the first words out
of Marcie's mouth when we walked into the apartment, "nobody had
a clue all night." "I know, you're right," I said.  "I didn't believe
for a minute when I agreed to the bet that I'd ever be able to pull
it  off,"  I  admitted,  pulling  her  close  to  me  in  a  hug,  and 
kissing
her, "but I did have a wonderful teacher." She closed her eyes and
kissed me back passionately, then murmured, "I love the taste of your
lipstick." We stood there kissing for a while,  and then we moved
toward the bedroom,  arms around each other's waists.  "You're a
beautiful Scarlett O'Hara," she said as we fell onto the bed together,
"and I want you right now!" She lay me down on the pillows, and
raised my skirt and petticoat, laying on top of me with the velvet
and crinoline crushed between us. We rubbed our bodies together for
a while, and the sensations from the clothing and her body surged
through me.  She lifted herself away, and removed my bloomers and
the sanitary napkin that was restraining me.  My cock sprang to
attention and she pulled off her dress and panties, leaving her wearing
only thigh-high stockings and heels.  She moved back on top of me,
and I spread my legs so that she could fit between them. My breath
was coming in short gasps, from her weight on top of me, and from
the tightly laced corset, and I stopped breathing entirely when her
wet pussy devoured my erect cock.  I wrapped my stockinged legs
tightly around her, and I could feel my high heels digging into her
back. I had the sensation that the cock that joined us was hers, and
I felt so very, very feminine as she pumped away on my womanly
body.  A bolt of electricity surged through my body, starting at the
groin, and exploding in my head as I had a magnificent orgasm, and
her whispered, "yes, yes, y-e-e-e-e-s-s-s," told me that she, too, had
come. We lay there for a while, just like that, as I didn't want to let
her get out from between my tightly wrapped legs. Then she helped
me up, and, with great reluctance, she began to get me undressed.
She helped remove my makeup, and we crawled into bed together,
naked, and made love again, this time less furiously, but rather with
a deliberate slow sweetness.  As we lay there, drifting off to sleep,
I almost started to mention the problem with Mr.  Samson,  but
decided that I didn't want anything to spoil what had been a perfect
night.

The next morning we talked about how wonderful the party had
been  for  a  while,  then  when  I  thought  the  moment  was  right, 
I brought it up.  We were sitting there in our own robes when I said,
"Marcie, I really think that we've got a big problem here.  Mr.  Har-
rison all but told me that he wanted to hire me, but he'll be really
pissed off when he finds out that he was fooled and was dancing with
a guy.  I mean, he was being so gallant, kissing my hand and all,
he'll go right through the roof. Maybe I can cancel the appointment
and say that I found something else." "I don't know, Donald, that
would sound fishy I think, since you told him that you've had no
luck at all.  He might get mad at me, since he said I was personally
responsible for delivering you.  That's all we'd need, for me to get
fired." I agreed, since it was Marcie's earnings that were keeping us
from being starving homeless people.  We talked back and forth for
a while, trying to figure some way out of the dilemma, when Marcie
said, "this is hopeless.  I can't figure out any way to solve this, un-
less ..." "Unless what, Marcie?" "Unless you keep your appointment,
silly." "But I can't do that - I just know he'll be pissed off when I
walk into his office in a suit," I said. "Not if its a woman's suit,"
she
replied. "Now wait just a second," I said, "I agreed to go to the
party,
that was one thing, but this is something else entirely. I'll never get
away with it." "Sure you will, he'll be expecting to see a woman, and
that's what he'll see.  You can go in for the interview, and that will
be the end of it. Simple, one hour and it'll get us off the hook." We
had our first argument about it, because I felt that it was much too
risky - if Mr.  Samson would be pissed off to find out I was a guy,
how pissed off would he be if he caught me trying to pass myself off
as a woman when he was interviewing me?  Marcie believed that I
could get away with it, but my confidence level wasn't anyplace close
to that high.  Finally, she used the ultimate female argument - she
burst into tears, and what could I do but agree to try her plan?

    "Listen," she said a while later, "we've got a few things going
for us.  First, your appointment is for first thing in the morning, so
I'll be able to get you ready and go in with you.  Second, he's not
a real morning person, so he won't be as sharp as usual.  Third, we
have another week to work on you.  That's a big help.  We'll have
to get you an outfit to wear, but I can always give it to Patty as a
Christmas present, so it won't really cost us much." What she said
seemed to make sense, so I told her that I guessed it would be OK,
and that she should pick up the outfit for me.  "We can't do that,"
she said,  "you'll have to try it on,  to make sure it fits right and
looks good.  I can't be running back and forth to stores all week,
there's too much else to do.  We'll have to go shopping today,  so
you can try things on before we buy one." Again I balked, arguing
that I couldn't go shopping and try things on in stores.  "Well, if
you're going to pull this off," she countered, "you'd better be able
to pass yourself off as a woman!  And remember,  there's no Plan
"B"." So, about two hours later, I was nervously getting out of the
car  at  a  shopping  mall,  dressed  in  the  pink  and  white 
shirtwaist
dress I had worn the first time I'd dressed.  Luckily it was a warm
day, late Indian summer weather, and I didn't have to wear a coat,
which I didn't have anyway.  I was wearing the white undies and
pantyhose, and when we got into the mall, I heard the clicking of
our heels on the marble floor.  This time,  dressing hadn't excited
me, because of the risk I was taking.  Halloween was over, and if I
were found out, I envisioned myself in jail or something for being
in drag in a women's dressing room.  We went into a department
store, and hurried past the cosmetics section, with the sales people
offering everything from samples of perfume to full demonstrations
of cosmetics, into the women's department. "First, you'll need your
own undies," Marcie said, "because I'll have to return Patty's stuff
within a couple of days." She went through racks and racks of bras,
panties, and other "unmentionables", selecting a few things for me to
try on.  "One good thing," she said, "is that we girls share dressing
rooms all the time. No one will think it unusual for the two of us to
go inside one together.  She picked out a few things in her size, and
we went over to the dress department. "I think that a suit might be
better than a dress," Marcie suggested, "because everything will go
together, and you won't have to worry about about something not
fitting quite right, because they'll be separates." She picked out a
couple of suits and blouses, and we headed off to the dressing room.
My biggest fear, that the attendant would spot me, was allayed when
I saw that she was only concerned with counting how many articles
we were taking inside.  We went into the cubicle, passing women in
various stages of undress, and closed the door. "I'll bet this is every
guy's fantasy, seeing lots of women in their undies," Marcie whispered
to me.  "Well, its certainly better than a sharp stick in the eye," I
teased back, as I was undressing. She poked me in the ribs and said
in a mock serious tone, "just remember who brung you to the dance,
buster!" I quickly stepped into the panties that she handed me, and
tucked myself back.  She slipped the matching bra around me and
fastened it, stuffing the extra panties that I was using into the cups.
She handed me a white half slip, and then a silky white blouse with
a lacy ru- e around the neckline.  I tried on the skirt from the first
suit, then the one from the second.  "No, these won't fit your waist
properly," she said.  We'll have to get something to pull it in.  Wait
here a second." With that she went out, and I never felt so alone in
my life.  I was like a spy in enemy territory.  She came back in just
a minute or two with two things, a padded panty girdle and a waist
cincher. She fastened the cincher around me, and the hook-and-eyes
pulled my waist in.  Then I put the panty girdle on,  compressing
my waist even more, but adding a little padding to my buns.  The
skirts fit now, and I put on the jacket. "Well, I think either of these
will do," she said, "which one do you like better?" One of the suits
was a navy blue, the other a nice green.  "I think the green one,"
remembering how much I had loved the green velvet gown. "I agree,
and besides, Patty already has a blue suit, so when we pass it along,
she'd like the green one more."

    I changed back into my own things, and we headed to the shoe
department.   I was again a little worried about being so close to
someone, but Marcie reassured me, "don't worry, if its a guy, he'll be
too busy concentrating on trying to look up your skirt." It was a guy
who helped me, and Marcie was right.  I was almost tempted to let
the loser look ALL the way under my skirt, but I restrained myself.
I picked out a pair of green suede pumps with a 2" heel that went
perfectly with the suit, and after we paid for everything, we hurried
home.

    The next week was another blur, and before I knew it, it was
Thursday night. "We'd better get a few things done tonight, so we'll
be OK in the morning. She glued on extension tips to my own nails,
saying that it was better not to have to worry about a stick-on nail
coming off. When she had all ten fingers done, I was amazed at how
much more natural they felt. She manicured my nails then, shaping
the extensions and applying a subdued medium red polish.  I was
surprised when she started putting polish on my toenails, and I said,
"why bother, he's not going to see them?" "Trust me, you'll feel more
feminine with them polished," and when she finished, I found that
even this hidden sign of femininity did make me feel more girlish.  I
took a nice long bubble bath, and shaved my legs and underarms.
My face I would take care of in the morning.

    When we went to bed, Marcie surprised me with a slinky black
nightgown that I hadn't even seen her buy,  and we slid into bed
together, our silken covered bodies sliding against each other as we
made love. I tried to be careful, but as I was getting ready to come,
my long nails dug into her back. This seemed to excite her even more,
and we lay there, out of breath, for a while until we fell asleep. The
next morning was a panic, in retrospect, as two girls tried to get
ready
at the same time, but by the time we were ready to leave, I felt pretty
confident that I was going to be able to pull my masquerade off.  I
wished, though, that I could have been wearing a heavier makeup,
feeling somewhat naked and exposed with a natural daytime look,
but Marcie patted my padded fanny and reassured me that I looked
great.

    The moment of truth arrived all too quickly, and Marcie brought
me  into  Mr.   Samson's  office,  whispered,  "Good  luck,"  and 
left,
closing the door behind her.  "Good to see you again, Donald, glad
you could make it," he started. "Why don't you sit here on the couch,
where you'll be comfortable?" He proceeded to interview me, sitting
next to me on the couch, and I noticed that he couldn't keep his
eyes off me, focusing most often on my breasts and legs. I answered
all his questions easily, having been on so many interviews already.
"You know, Donald, I have to admit something. I thought you looked
wonderful at the party, and you look just as nice today." "Well, thank
you, Mr.  Samson, its very nice of you to say that," I replied.  But
the sleaze wasn't finished yet - he put his hand on my nylon-covered
knee, and said, "I find you VERY attractive, and I'm sure we can
find a job for you here." His hand moved slowly up onto my thigh,
under my skirt. The son-of-a-bitch was making a blatant pass at me,
and was about eight inches away from discovering my secret.  My
first impulse was to haul off and belt him, but I controlled myself
and stopped the upward movement of his hand. "Mr. Samson, I'm
surprised at you, what kind of a girl do you think I am? I know you're
married, Marcie told me so, and I wonder what your personnel people
will think when I slap you with a sexual harrassment lawsuit?" He
sat back in shock, realizing the position he was in.  He stammered,
trying to make excuses for what he had done, but I clearly wasn't
buying it. "I just couldn't help myself, you were so beautiful in that
gown, and your green suit reminded me of it ..." "Mr. Samson, you
are in a world of trouble, now, because my next stop is my attorney's
office!" He seemed to shrink inside himself, and he began to beg me
to forgive him and to forget what had happened.  Finally he said,
"Donald, please, I'll be ruined, isn't there anything I can do?" I
loved
the position of power I was in, and I realized that women were not the
weaker sex after all.  But I knew that with no witnesses to what he
had done, I needed more leverage to take advantage of the situation.
"You said that you definitely had a job for me here?" "Ah, yes, of
course," he answered. "And what might the salary for this job be?"
I inquired, adding, "remember you did say anything, right?" "Would
er-ah $35, 000 be adequate, Donald? I'm sure we could go that high."
This weasel was offering me $7,000 more than he was paying Donald,
to save his ass.

    "Oh, that sounds very fair, Mr.  Samson," I said, beginning to
bait the trap.  "You know," I continued, "I may have overreacted
before, I'm sure you didn't mean anything nasty, did you?" "Oh, no,
of course not," falling deeper into it.  "As a matter of fact," I said,
tracing a line on his cheek with one of my long red-tipped nails, "I
found you quite attractive as well.  Maybe we can reenact the Civil
War someday," I teased.  Thump!  He fell all the way in.  I moved
my hand down from his face to his belt, and started to unbuckle it,
saying, "perhaps we should seal our agreement, don't you think?" I
almost felt sorry for him, but quickly got over it, as I unbuckled and
unzipped his pants. He stood up, took off his shoes and stepped out
of his pants. "Can we sit in your desk chair," I asked, innocently, "I
love positions of power." He couldn't get there quickly enough, and I
nestled on his lap, gazing up into his eyes. I felt his hardon pressing
against my buns, and I wriggled around on it, driving him further
to distraction. While he was lost in his fantasies, I reached over and
picked up his phone.  "Marcie, dear, could you come right into Mr.
Samson's office, I need your help." "W ... what did you do that for,"
he cried, and he tried to get me off his lap. "No, Mr. Samson, you're
not going anywhere," I said. And at that moment, Marcie came into
the office, expecting the worst - that I had been found out. She burst
out laughing when she saw the two of us, and quickly shut the door.
"Mr.  Samson has made me a job offer, Marcie," I said, rising off
his lap. "Stand up, you creep," I said to him. His hardon stuck out
through the opening in his boxer shorts, but I could see it wilting
away.  "he offered me $35,000, isn't that wonderful?  I was going to
accept, but then I thought, you know how we girls gossip, and I just
knew that you"d find out how much more I was making than you.
That wouldn't be fair, would it?" "No, I guess not, especially under
these circumstances, sexual advances and all."

    The poor bastard just stood there, realizing that we had him by
the short and curlies.  "What are you going to do?" he asked, very
meekly, his cheeks burning with embarassment.  "Well, first of all, I
think it would be only fair to give Marcie a raise, don't you?" "Ah,
yes, of course, immediately." I handed him his phone, "OK, do what
you have to do, right now." He dialed personnel, and said into the
phone, "This is Jim Samson. I need an immediate raise put through
for  Marcie  Burns,  to  $35,000.   Yes,  I  said  immediately.  
Another
company is trying to recruit her, and we can't afford to lose her. And
prepare a contract for my signature, three years for her - I want to
lock her in now." He listened for a minute and said, "of course I want
raises specified in the contract, ah, five thousand a year," glancing
at
Marcie, who nodded her agreement. "Yes, five thousand a year. And
I want that contract here on my desk within the hour." Some big
shot Vice President, ordering people around, while trying to retain
his dignity in polka dotted boxer shorts.  "How about you, Donald,"
Marcie asked, "do you want to accept Mr. Samson's generous offer?"
This was the question I had been dreading.  We could obviously get
most anything we wanted, and I really wanted a job, but it was out
of the question now for me to take it as a male.  We would lose all
the leverage we had if my secret were exposed. But if I accepted it, I
would have to dress as a woman all the time. My cock stirred inside
my panties, and I knew in my heart of hearts that I would not stop
dressing when I got home today anyway. I loved being in frilly panties
more than anything. "What do you think, Marcie, I think you have a
great deal to say about this, since we'll be working together." That's
what I said, but the hidden meaning to my question was clear - did
she want, approve of, my continuing to dress as a woman?  "Why,
Donald, dear, I think it would be wonderful, and exciting, to have you
working here with us." I could not have hoped for a more supportive,
understanding answer.

    I handed the phone back to Mr.   Samson,  and he instructed
personnel to draw up a second contract for me, on the same terms.
Marcie slipped out of the office, but quickly returned, carrying her
large purse.  "I think we've treated Mr.  Samson so badly, Donald,
don't you?" "Yes," I said, playing along with her, but not knowing
where this was going. Mr. Samson has a reputation for being a real
hard-nosed businessman who always manages to come out on top.
She pulled a Polaroid camera out of her bag, saying "we use this to
take a quick look at ad layouts and things, but we have a better use
for it now - insurance. Take off your clothes, you worm," addressing
Samson. He started to protest, but Marcie cut him off, "if you don't
do what I tell you to, I'll call your secretary in to see you in your
funky boxer shorts.  And you know what a gossip she is - it'll not
only be all over the company in twenty minutes, your wife will know
in ten!" He had no choice, so he silently stripped everything off, and
beagn to follow our instructions. "First of all," Marcie said, "you
have
to look like you're enjoying yourself.  Rub that little cock of yours
until it stands straight up." Mortified, he began to stroke himself
into
an erection.  We then began to pose him with each of us, first with
his arm around our waists, then in progressively more humiliating
poses.  We made him kneel down, and we took turns using his back
as a footrest.  Then we shot pictures of him licking our high heels,
his erect cock in hand, showing how much he loved it.  Finally, we
bent him over his desk and whacked his ass with a ruler, until red
welts showed up clearly all over.  "Play with yourself as I'm doing
this, creep," Marcie ordered, "make yourself cum in your hand!" He
did, blushing the deepest red I've ever seen anyone blush.  "That's
what you wanted, isn't it?" I asked, and when he came in his hand, I
continued, "you were probably hoping for a blowjob, to have me taste
your filthy cum - rub it around on your lips for the final shot!" He
groaned, but complied, and Marcie snapped two pictures, one with
the cum pooled in his hand, clearly having just shot his load, and
the second as his hand moved to his mouth and rubbed. "You might
as well lick it off and swallow it, you pig," Marcie laughingly
ordered.

    After his final humiliation, we told him to get dressed, while we
waited for the contracts to be delivered.  I spent the time planning
the wardrobe I was going to buy, and all the wonderful things I would
be able to wear. He signed the contracts, and as I was ready to leave
with our copies,  I said to him,  see you bright and early Monday
morning, Mr.  S!" "I think I'm feeling a little poorly, Mr.  Samson,
would you mind if I took the rest of the day off?" Marcie said.  He
nodded his agreement weakly, and we walked out, arm in arm.

    Well, this all happened three years ago, and to bring you up to
date, we've both done wonderfully, both personally and at work. Mr.
Samson, poor dear, left the company about six months later, and
both Marcie and I have been promoted by our new boss.  We also
got bonuses each year, and have been told that "old Samson really
knew what he was doing when he hired you two." I dress as a woman
all the time now, and at Marcie's suggestion, I went on hormones for
a while, and had a breast implant operation done.  But I have no
plans to go any further, as Marcie still loves her girlfriend's hidden
secret.

THE END