Chris and I arrived at the complex where we registered and were placed in the line that had formed for warehouse workers. We were surrounded by gruff and rough looking men of all ages, who whispered and smiled and leered at us. We realized that we were a little over-dressed to work in a warehouse, a fact that one of the company’s H.R. staff also picked up on.
“Uh, excuse me,” the mousy looking girl in thin glasses said as she approached us, “I think you two are in the wrong line. The office staff are being hired over there…” she pointed across the hall to the group of ladies waiting for an interview.
“Isn’t this the line for the warehouse jobs?” Chris asked.
“Uh, yes….it is,” she chuckled, “but I’m pretty sure that you would be better of interviewing for an office job. Don’t you think?”
“But we have experience,” I piped up, “with forklifts.”
The girl chuckled again. This time, she was joined by the men in the line next us.
“I’m sure that you have all the right qualifications, but I’m pretty sure that you’d have a better chance in ‘that’ line,” she pointed at the line of women again.
“But….” Chris tried to interject.
“Listen…if you came here to find a job…I would strongly suggest that you get in the other line.
Otherwise I’m pretty sure that both of you are going to leave here disappointed.”
I sighed and looked at Chris, and he and me. “Well…we used to be executives…so we are qualified”
He nodded, “Plus we’d be the only guys in the line. It will give us the competitive edge.”
He smiled, then sighed and hung his head for moment. We both knew that we couldn’t afford to take any chances…we needed to get a job…today, so begrudgingly, we headed for the other line.
The interview process was a joke, they scratched down notes as they asked us stupid questions like
“how many words per minute can you type”. I was pretty sure the old bat that interviewed me was half-deaf, as she kept calling me Gwen instead of Glen. I gave up trying to correct her.
We were then called into the Human Resources Department Manager’s office, one at a time, where we were offered positions as ‘support staff’. The whole time, the manager acted like he was afraid to offend us, as if he needed us to accept the jobs.
Weird.
We were to report for work at the next beginning of the next week, and told that the dress was considered to be ‘office appropriate’. Whatever that meant.
One thing was certain, for Chris and I, it meant we’d be borrowing more clothes from our wives wardrobes, as nothing that we might have had from our old careers would fit anymore.
We were, on the other hand, elated to finally have found a job, as it would soon mean that could start rebuilding our own manly wardrobes.
But that that night, both of our wives would correct our misinformation.
Julie returned home with boxes in her hands and a smile on her face.
“What are you up to?” I asked as I served her the home-made lasagna I’d been working on all afternoon.
“I just thought I’d get you some new clothes for your new job” she smirked, “Go ahead, open it”
I tore into the box, hoping it might be boxers or something else with a hint of masculinity. But it wasn’t. I gasped in shock as I held up the contents of the box, “What is this for?” I asked as I removed several new pairs of girls pants and tops.
“Some new clothes for you to wear to work” she smiled.
“But Julie,” I whined, “I got a job today…this crap is all finished…isn’t it??”
“Did you two idiots even look at the employment contracts you signed today?”
“What??” I gasped, “What the hell are you talking about?”
She held up the papers that I had brought home from the job-fair that day, and pointed to a particular box on the application form, “Did you fill this out, or did someone else?”
“Um…well…” I paused, “There was this old lady that was filling the forms out…why?”
“Did she ever ask you what gender you were?”
I looked shocked and worried, “No…why? What did she put down?? Did she think we were
girls??”
Julie chuckled, “No…not girls…not yet anyway” he chuckled burst into a controlled burst of laughter.
I grabbed the sheet from her hand and scanned the box labeled ‘gender’. It didn’t say ‘M’ or ‘F’, but instead a ‘T’ had been placed in the box.
“T?” I gasped, “What the fuck is ‘T’??”
“I don’t know dear…” she smiled, “It could be transsexual, it could be transgendered, it could be transvestite…they’re all legal gender definitions in this state, but whatever it is, it’s what they’ve hired you based on…so you’re kind of stuck with it now.”
“What??”
“Honey,” she smiled, “I know you might not like this, but I’ve worked with HR long enough to know that if you’ve been hired under the pretence of being transgendered, and you’re not…its grounds for termination…so I wouldn’t even so much as ask about it if you want to keep this job.”
My jaw was hanging open. I knew she was right. The phone ringing on the kitchen wall broke my silent stupor. I knew it had to be Chris. I answered the phone in a quiet, trance-like tone, “Hello?”
“Yes”
“Yes”
“I know”
“I know”
“I don’t know”
My eyes were locked on Julie as I conversed with my friend and neighbor. She was trying not to laugh out loud.
“She does?”
“Okay…see you later”
I handed the phone to Julie, who covered the receiver, “Why don’t you go try your new clothes on dear…I think you should ‘test-drive them’ while you do your chores”
She uncovered the receiver and spoke to Denise, “Hello?”
“Yes, oh-my god how funny is that?”
“I know!”
I grabbed my boxes and headed to my room, dejected, defeated, to change.
“Oh my…” Julie grinned at me as I passed by her in the kitchen. She was still chatting with Denise on the phone “All that work to prove how manly they were and they end up getting hired as a transgendered secretaries. If it weren’t so funny it would be sad.”
I shook my head, and continued to the living room where I started to vacuum the carpet, in my wedge heels.
Julie giggled as she hung up the phone and stood in the doorway grinning like a chesire cat, “Well Gwen, you’ve really done it this time.”
I scowled as I ignored her and continued to vacuum the carpet.
“I spent a lot of money on that outfit dear, so you better not ruin it” she chuckled.
I was about to turn and argue, but she wasn’t done talking yet, “And don’t worry, I’ll make sure that we stock your closet with enough pretty things to last you through the week”
I sighed and continued my chore.
-*-
The next day…Chris and I reported for work…something we hadn’t done in quite a while.
We were assigned to a cubicle where we were to file and sort and file and sort, and type, then file and sort again. All day, every-day. We were clerks. Lowly office clerks.
I furrowed my brow as the realization set in.
All of the staff in the office must have known about our ‘situation’ as they all acted ridiculously nice around us, as if afraid to offend us somehow.
The company was very large clothing manufacturer, and had moved its marketing offices from New York to surplus office space in the warehouse complex below us, in order to save money. As the days passed, Chris and I quickly began to learn more about clothes than we had ever thought we wanted to know.
And about a week it got even worse.
Chris and I were called into the office of our supervisor, to meet with the head of the marketing department. She had noticed that
Chris and I had a particular ‘look’ to us…and wanted to know if would mind if she picked out brains on a new line of clothing the company was gearing towards people like ‘us’
And by ‘us’, she meant, transgendered.
The problem was…that both Chris and I still maintained that we were guys, in a bad very temporary situation. So, we very politely…declined.
-*-
“Are you in-sane?!”
Later that night, Julie was less than impressed with our decisions.
“They offered you two to be part of a study-group and you turned them down??,” she began, “Oh-my-God Glen…I can’t believe how useless you are. Useless as a man, as a woman…” she shook her head angrily, “As anything!”
“What does that even mean?” I scowled.
“I means that you don’t fully appreciate the position that you’re in Glen…or should I say Gwen”
she replied.
“Stop calling me that,” I retorted, “All I appreciate is that a mistake was made, and I need to find a way to correct it…it doesn’t make me like this any-more Jules…I don’t like this at all!”
“Well we’re going to have to change that then,” she said sternly, “If you won’t come to terms with it on your own, than I am going to have to ‘help’ you come to terms with it.”
“Come to terms with what??”
Julie shook her head, “You need to come to terms with the fact that you’re no longer Glen the manly executive…”
“I think I’ve come to terms with that Jules!” I shouted, “You won’t let me forget it”
“You may have come to terms with that part Gwen,” she smiled, “But have you come to terms with being my little sissy transvestite maid, and a pretty transgendered secretary?”
I could feel the blood draining from my face. I glanced at her blankly, “Seriously?”
Julie looked angered by my reply, “You’re just lucky I don’t kick you right out of this house Glen.
You seem to think that it’s okay to be a layabout mooch, living on the back of all my hard work.
You and Chris both!”
She paused to regain her composure, “Well no more buster. You’re living in my house and you’re living by my rules. And my rules are…that you are going to be my little maid until I say otherwise…and don’t you go crying next door either…because I happen to know that Denise is laying down the law with Christine just the same as you’re getting!”
I could feel tears welling up in my eyes. I had never felt so completely powerless in my life. I wanted to run out the door and never come back…but where would I go?
What would I do?
I realized that – at least for the time being – I was stuck….trapped.
Trapped by my own wife into living as her girly domestic servant at home…and as girly
administrative assistant at work.
Trapped, trapped, trapped.
-*-
Several weeks later, Julie and I were invited over to our neighbors for dinner. Julie was dressed to the nines in a sexy leopard print skirt with a tight blouse and sharp stiletto heels. Denise, was dressed in a similar fashion with a zebra print skirt and stiletto ankle boots. I was ordered to put on a pair of tight new girly jeans that Julie had recently purchased for me, with my ramped wedge heeled sandals.
Upon arrival I saw that Chris was wearing a very similar set of effeminate clothing. He caught my curious gaze and gave a mocking sexy pose, balancing the drink that he had made for his wife on his tray. I rolled my eyes at first but then noticed something ‘different’ on his chest.
There were two very noticeable, swollen orbs in the place where his normally flat pectorals should have been.
My jaw dropped open.
“He had them done yesterday,” Denise said, seeing my reaction, “I figured…now that Chrissy is working as a full-time sexy-tary that she needed a little something extra up top.”
I looked at her, then back at him with a baffled expression. Huh? Done? Them? What? I said to myself.
“Well Crissy,” Julie smiled, “Gwen and I think they look wonderful. How big did you go?”
“They’re only ‘B’ cups right now, that’s all the Doctor recommended as a start…it’s one cup up from his old size,” Denise smiled approvingly at her newly breasted husband through her shiny painted lips, “And they’re expandable…so in a month or two I can ‘up-size them’” she patted Chris on the bum, causing my formerly masculine neighbor to place his delicate hand in front of his mouth and giggle daintily.
“How big do you want to go?” Julie asked Chris, looking genuinely interested.
“We haven’t decided yet,” Denise interjected before he could respond, “But I think she should go as big as she can. We all know men like big boobs.”
The two wives burst into giggles…Chris and I just smiled politely, my eyes wide as I tried to process what was being said.
“When we put the padding back in her bra they’ll look like a small D…so just imagine how big she could be…” Denise leered at her husband as if turned on by his new ‘endowments’.
“Have you thought about how big you would like to be?” Julie chirped as she turned towards me.
“Uh…” I shook my head as if trying to shake away the fog, “Oh…um…well honey I…I don’t think need to do that... ”I pointed at Chris’ new rack.
“Well you might have to reconsider that honey,” she said in a mocking tone, “Because you’re seeing the Doctor tomorrow for your assessment . ”
“The Doctor?”
“Julie liked Chrissy’s so much that she decided you needed them too,” Denise jumped in, “Just think of all the heads you girls are going to turn at work. Hopefully they’ll accept your apologies and let you be on that advisory team that they asked you to be in before…” She smiled, “and this time, you’re both going to say yes! ”
“But” I began to complain.
“No buts,” Julie interjected, “You’re doing it”
“But Julie….” I pleaded, “I’m going to look like girl if I have…” I paused and pointed at Chris’
chest “those”
Julie just glared at me, “It’s not up to you anymore. You boys have done such a terrible job of being men lately, that Denise and I have decided that you won’t have to do it anymore.”
The look of shock across my face spoke volumes, but no-one was listening. I was clearly out numbered.
“From now on you’re going to be living as girls…” Denise declared.
“Until we say otherwise” Julie finished her sentence.
Back to Stories
Part Three
Illustrations by Avaro
I hopped into Julie’s sedan the next morning and headed off to the salon we had visited before.
They were all smiles when we arrived, goofy…over the top smiles…as if they all knew exactly why I was here…and more depressingly…where I was going to next.
“I thought that we were going to the Doctor’s today” I asked Julie finally.
“We are dear,” she smiled, “But I thought it might be fun to have a little makeover first before we go”
I shuddered. I suddenly knew why I was here. I was here to be made over…into a girl.
A girl like Chris.
They began by swabbing my ears with alcohol, then somehow freezing them with an local
anesthetic, and then the real purpose of their work on my lobes – two piercings in each ear, with small silver studs were placed in each before they moved on to my hair and face. A ‘team’ of
‘stylists’ worked tirelessly on my transformation. It seemed to take them all morning to do their work, as they primped and cut and dusted and painted my hair and face, then dressed me in clothes that were unlike anything I had ever been in.
Finally, they led me carefully to a full length mirror, as I hobbled in the shoes that they had strapped to my feet. As their hands were lifted from my eyes, I could see my feminized reflectio
n for the first time.
My jaw fell open in amazement.
They had dressed me in shiny opaque black leggings, which…when paired with the pink top that they had chosen for me, gave the illusion that my legs went on for miles. Very sexy open-toed pink platform pumps had been fitted on my feet – pumps with very tall three-inch heels.
My eyes had been lined with black liner, and my eyebrows had been waxed into two thin, upward pointing arches that made me look permanently surprised. My cheeks and lips were a soft muted pink…as were my finger nails…which had been extended well beyond my fingers.
I knew I wasn’t completely girly, yet – but I could see that it wouldn’t take very much to get there.
“Glen,” the head stylist smiled, “We’d like you to meet the new Gwen”. I smiled slightly, then blushed at the sound of my effeminate name.
I could feel myself slightly aroused by the sight of my reflection, hoped that it wouldn’t show.
Thankfully they had somehow contained my little man, yet I was certain that Julie could read my signals like a book.
“I think she likes it girls,” she grinned, “I can’t wait to see what the Doctor says.”
Julie smiled the whole way as we drove to the Doctor’s office. I sat quietly in the passenger seat.
She had shown me the proper way for a ‘lady’ to get in and out of the car…planting my rear on the seat first, putting my knees together second and pivoting my legs into the automobile third. I asked her why it was so important to be so careful.
“Because when you’re wearing a skirt,” she smiled, “You’ll need to know how.”
“But…”I gasped, “You’re not suggesting that I’ll have to wear a…a…” I stammered a moment,
“a…skirt…are you?”
I didn’t realize it at the time, but my voice had cracked into a very girlish sounding whine.
“Oh-my-goodness Glen,” she beamed, “You even sound like a girl!”
My Neighbor’s Secret Plan Page 3
