Skirting the Law
© 2004 by Nom de Plume
Effective January 1, 2004, Assembly Bill 196 amended
California’s Fair Employment and Housing Act to prohibit discrimination based
on a person's perceived identity, appearance or behavior, even if they are different
from a person's sex at birth. AB 196 is primarily intended to prohibit
discrimination against employees who choose to dress like the opposite sex and
or portray the stereotypical characteristics of the opposite sex. Businesses
cannot refuse to hire based on cross dressing, neither can they fire, lay off
or refuse to give merit raises based on an employee’s real or perceived gender.
Charles Bigelow threw the article down on his immaculate
mahogany desk and snorted. “What a load of crap,” he said as he reached for
the phone. “Get whoever’s in charge of the legal department these days, and
Wallace in Human Resources. And see if you can find a conference room that’s
available for a meeting in fifteen minutes.”
Bigelow’s executive assistant knew when the old man was in a
bad mood, and today was one of those days. As she flipped through her
directory, she wondered what had set him off this time. Another round of
disappointing earnings reports? The company’s financial problems were no
secret, and it was rumored that heads were going to roll in the executive suite
if the ship of state didn’t turn around soon.
The company’s general counsel had quit after a blowup with
Bigelow over records destruction, and two of his assistants had already
tendered their resignations in the aftermath. She ran her finger down over the
scratched out names until she came to Terrence Poindexter, with the words
“acting general counsel” penciled in next to his name. Better call him fast
before he joined the exodus.
* * *
Bigelow and Helen Wallace were waiting in the conference
room when Terrence Poindexter arrived, a few minutes late, carrying a yellow
legal pad and a handful of pencils. A back room boy all the way, he was much
more comfortable surrounded by a pile of law books than by a room full of
corporate executives, and he fidgeted nervously with one of his pencils as he
waited for Charles Bigelow to start the meeting. It didn’t help that Bigelow
seemed to be staring right through him, dissecting him from his pony tail and
bow tie to his khakis and Birkenstocks. When Bigelow finally cleared his
throat to speak, Terrence almost jumped out of his skin.
“I just learned about the latest insanity from Sacramento,”
he said, pushing copies of the article across the table. “Does this mean what
I think it means?”
Helen skimmed the article while Terrence seemed to be
studying it word for word. Please God, let him speak first, she said to
herself, knowing Bigelow’s penchant for shooting messengers on sight. Her
prayer was answered when Terrence put down the article and tried to answer the
question. “I don’t know what you think it means,” he began in his soft lisping
voice, “but I can tell you what the legislature intended. Basically, if an
employee should decide one day to show up dressed as a member of the opposite
sex, the company cannot discriminate against him, or her, as the case may be.
The same holds true for job applicants.”
“Let me see if I have this straight,” Bigelow retorted. “If
a three hundred pound man shows up for a job interview in a dress and high
heels, are you telling me we have to hire him?”
“No, but you can’t base your decision on his appearance.”
“As a practical matter,” Helen cut in, “we can base our
hiring decisions on other criteria, so I think we can work our way around
that.”
“As long as the paperwork backs us up, you’re right,”
Terrence said. “The bigger problem is with current employees.”
“What do you mean?” Bigelow challenged him.
“Well, suppose one day one of our male employees decides to
show up in a dress. Under the new law, we can’t fire him, and we may even have
to make some reasonable accommodations, such as restrooms….”
Bigelow erupted. “Are you telling me that I have to turn
our business into a drag show?”
“Well, no sir,” Terrence stammered. “For one thing, this
may never come up….”
“Are you kidding? We’re in San Francisco, for Christ sake.
It’s only a matter of time before one of those ballerinas in the marketing
department decides to come dancing out of the closet!”
“Well, in that case, the law is clear,” Terrence said. “We
have to accept them and learn to deal with it.”
Helen closed her eyes. She couldn’t bear to watch. “If I
started to run our business based on legal advice like that, we’d go straight
down the tubes!” he shouted.
“Based on our latest earnings reports, I’d say we’re headed
there already,” Terrence said, surprising himself as he said it. Helen sat and
stared at him with an open mouth.
Bigelow would have loved to fire Terrence on the spot, but
lawyers were tricky. The last thing he needed was to be slapped with another
wrongful termination suit. His face was beet red when he got out of his chair.
“Helen, I’d like to meet with you in my office. Alone.”
* * *
Terrence was still shaking when he returned to his small,
cluttered office in the bowels of the legal department. He had declined offers
to move into the larger offices of his departed colleagues, not wanting the
pressure that would come with them, and knowing that such a move would only
have been temporary.
It was all academic now, of course. He was toast. Charles
Bigelow was probably reviewing his personnel file with Helen right now,
scheming to find a bullet-proof way to terminate him. He looked at the article
which he’d brought with him from the conference room, and he was about to file
it away when the idea entered his mind.
At first, he dismissed it as absurd. What he really needed
was enough breathing room to hang onto his job until a new general counsel
could come on board, evaluate his qualifications, and protect him from the
wrath of Charles Bigelow. But the more he thought about it, the more he
realized that his career had been hopelessly damaged. What new executive would
want to expend valuable political capital defending an employee against his own
CEO? No, he had to face reality. His career at Tyrex Industries was finished,
and under the severance guidelines which he himself had drawn up for Helen
Wallace, he would be entitled to a lousy three months’ salary on his way out.
That wouldn’t keep the wolf from the door very long in a city like San
Francisco.
Terrence began to think like a lawyer. If there was no hope
of hanging onto his job, the best he could shoot for was some grounds for
making his termination a wrongful one. If he could put the company on the
defensive by trumping up grounds for a discrimination action, for example, he’d
be off to the races. As a white male from an Ivy league law school, Terrence
Poindexter wasn’t your average plaintiff in a civil rights case. He looked at
the article again and smiled to himself when he found the passage he was
looking for: “AB 196 is primarily intended to prohibit
discrimination against employees who choose to dress like the opposite sex.” The
plan of action was simplicity itself. But would he have the balls to pull it
off?
* * *
After telling Human Resources that he was going home sick,
Terrence left the office as quickly as possible. The key to his strategy was
to strike first, by putting himself in the position to claim discrimination
when his termination notice was received. Knowing Charles Bigelow, he reckoned
he had very little time.
Terrence had seen the advertisements many times on his way
to and from work on the Muni, and sure enough, he found one of the ubiquitous
placards on the back of a park bench. In the past, he had ignored them, but
today he took out his cell phone and punched in the number below the pitch: “The
House of Fabulous for boys who should have been girls. No assignment too challenging.
Complete confidentiality guaranteed. Call today for your own personal
makeover.” The text was accompanied by a picture of a beautiful girl,
evidently a guy, which some vandal had defaced with a mustache and goatee.
Terrence went straight to the point when a woman answered the phone.
“I need a personal makeover. Today.”
“Oh dear, I’m afraid that won’t be possible. We’re booked
up through the end of the week.”
“What do you charge for a makeover?”
“Well, it depends on what you want. We have a menu of
services. For an initial transformation, for example, we charge $500. We also
offer wardrobe consultation and a complementary shopping service, as well as a
host of other options.”
“I’ll double it.”
“I beg your pardon?”
“I need a complete makeover, today. Time is of the
essence. I’ll pay double your standard fee, and pay a percentage on the
wardrobe. Please, you’ve got to help me. I’m desperate.”
“If it were just the money, I would have to say no to you.
But you do sound desperate, and we are in business to help our customers. If
you can stop by at four o’clock, I’ll see what we can do. What is your name?”
“Terrence. The stores are open till nine. Will that give
us enough time?”
“Goodness. I suppose that depends on what we have to work
with.”
* * *
Terrence went home to his apartment and tried to think of
what he might do to expedite his transformation. He pulled his hair out of its
ponytail, and watched with approval as it fell almost to his shoulders. When
he took off his clothes, he realized immediately that the first thing he had to
do was remove his body hair. All of it.
It took him almost two hours, wearing out razor after razor
as he tediously worked his way over his chest, back, legs and arms. There were
more than a few cuts, and some places that he just couldn’t reach, but by the
time he finally rinsed himself off in the shower, the parts that would show
were smooth and hairless. He shampooed and conditioned his hair, taking a lot
more time than usual drying and brushing it out, before he put on a pair of
jeans and a sweatshirt and made sure his wallet was stuffed with cash.
Terrence decided to skip lunch, and he planned to skip
dinner as well, even though his stomach was growling. At 5’ 9” tall and 150 pounds,
he was slim for a guy, but big for a woman. He began to believe that if the
House of Fabulous was as good as their advertisements, he actually had a shot
at being presentable. As soon as he walked into Tyrex Industries, he would be
an object of scorn, but that didn’t mean he had to subject himself to ridicule
when he was out on the street.
Before leaving his apartment, Terrence placed a call to Gail
Chestnut, who was acting as his executive assistant pending the appointment of
a new general counsel. Gail was a knockout, but most of the guys in the office
had written her off as a lipstick lesbian after she turned down their
advances. Terrence thought she was incredibly hot, but as a company lawyer, he
knew better than to mix sex with the workplace, so he hadn’t even tried. “Gail,
I need to ask you a favor,” he said when he got her on the phone.
“What can I do for you, Mr. Poindexter? I hope you don’t
have the flu.”
“I’m feeling much better, thank you. I’ll be in tomorrow
for sure. Gail, remember how the office manager suggested that I move into the
big office until we get a new general counsel?”
“Yes.”
“Well, I’ve changed my mind. I wonder if you could arrange
for my stuff be moved in tonight. Not all my files, just my laptop computer, diary,
and personal things. ”
“I’ll get right on it. Mr. Poindexter, have you checked
your voice mails?”
“No, I haven’t.”
“Mr. Bigelow wants to meet with you in his office at nine o’clock tomorrow morning.”
“Please go ahead and confirm it. I’ll see you first thing
tomorrow.”
“What made you change your mind about the office?”
“Let’s just say I’ve decided to go out with a bang.”
He caught a taxi to the House of Fabulous, which occupied a
gingerbread Victorian townhouse off Castro Street, and presented himself at the
lavender door a few minutes before four o’clock. After looking around
nervously to see if anyone was watching him, he pressed the buzzer, and an
attractive woman opened the door almost immediately. Appearing to be in her
late forties, she was conservatively dressed, wearing a knee-length black dress
accentuated by a single strand of pearls. Her hair was swept back in an
elaborate coif, her makeup was immaculate, and the nails on the hand she
extended to Terrence were beautifully manicured.
She showed him into a small foyer which was overwhelmingly
feminine in décor. Everything seemed to be done in shades of lavender, from
the chintz loveseat to the frilly lace curtains adorned with festoons and
jabots. “Are you the person I spoke with on the phone?” he asked hesitantly.
“Yes, I am Madam Fabulous,” she replied in a pleasant voice. “You must be
Terrence.” She sat down on the loveseat and patted the cushion beside her.
“Sit down next to me. What brings you to the House of Fabulous?”
Terrence weighed his words carefully. After all, Madam Fabulous might wind
up as a witness if the company mounted an aggressive defense. “I am a lawyer
for a large corporation. Recently the California legislature enacted a law
protecting cross dressing in the workplace. I have always dreamed about being
a girl, and now I can do it without losing my job.” She nodded sympathetically
as he pulled a piece of paper out of the pocket of his shirt. “I’ll have to be
careful to comply with the company dress code, so as not to give them grounds
to retaliate against me. Here it is.”
Terrence knew the Tyrex dress code for female employees by heart, having
drafted it with Helen Wallace the year before, and he watched while Madam
Fabulous scanned it. “‘Skirts or dresses are required except on casual
Fridays. Hosiery is mandatory,’” she read out loud. “Sounds like a party,
Terrence. Are you sure they’re going to be happy with the new you?”
“I’m sure they won’t be. That’s why I need your help in making myself over.”
“Very well. Repeat after me: ‘I dedicate myself to the discovery of my
inner woman, and I pledge my allegiance to Madam Fabulous and her Mistresses in
my quest to become a Fabulous Girl’”. After Terrence repeated the pledge, she
stood up abruptly and ordered him to take off all of his clothing. Her voice
had a new edge to it.
“Right here?” he asked, startled by her sudden change in demeanor.
“Rule number one: do not question Madam Fabulous’s instructions, at any
time. Would you rather take off your pants out on Castro Street?” Without
further protest, he stripped down to his briefs, and when she glowered at him,
he removed them also. Terrence stood, naked and exposed, as she circled around
him. “Good girl, you took care of your body hair. All right, let’s get
started.” She handed him an evil looking garment that looked like an elaborate
G-string. “Stuff your family jewels up into your abdomen, tuck yourself
between your legs, and put this on. At once!” she shouted when he took too
long to get started.
When his package was tucked away, she nodded her approval. “Good girl,” she
said once again, unnerving him with the words. “That contraption is called a
gaff. You are only to remove it when absolutely necessary. Now that we have
that taken care of, we can give you a name. Have you any preference, or shall
I assign one to you?”
His mind went blank. “How about Terry?” he asked at length.
“A lovely name. Terry it shall be.” One of Madam Fabulous’s assistants, a
pretty girl dressed in a French maid’s costume, materialized. “This is Sissy,
my Mistress of Fashion,” Madam Fabulous said. “Sissy, meet Terry.” Sissy gave
Terry a shy smile, and it occurred to him that she was almost as embarrassed as
he was. Then it dawned on him. Sissy was really a guy. Although she was very
pretty, her square chin and large hands were dead giveaways.
Sissy handed Terry a pair of pink lace panties and instructed him to put
them on. When he did, Terry felt an uncomfortable pressure against his gaff as
he began to experience a strange arousal. Sissy didn’t seem to notice as she
handed him a new package of pantyhose. “Have you ever worn stockings?” she
asked in a husky voice.
“No.”
“There’s nothing to it. Here, let me show you.” She led Terry back to the
loveseat and sat down beside him, coaching him on how to put them on without
tearing the flimsy fabric. The sensation of sheer nylon against his smooth
skin was unlike anything Terry had ever experienced, and his trapped manhood continued
to struggle against its unfamiliar restraints.
Sissy produced several shoe boxes, but Madam Fabulous sent her away to look
for more conservative styles. “Unlike most of our clients, Terry will be
dressing for the business world,” Madam Fabulous explained to Sissy. The Mistress
of Fashion returned a few minutes later with several pairs of black pumps. The
first pair was too tight, but the second fit Terry perfectly. “Stand up and
try to walk in them,” Madam Fabulous said.
Terry took a few wobbly steps under Madam Fabulous’s watchful gaze. The
three inch heels hurt his feet. “Keep your head up and your back straight!” Madam
Fabulous commanded as he minced around the foyer. “All right, that’s enough
for now. We’ll take care of deportment after she gets dressed. Let’s get her
into makeup next.”
Madam Fabulous led Terry into an adjoining room, where the Mistress of Style
was waiting for him. As she beckoned him to sit down in her chair, Terry
scrutinized her, trying to discern whether she was another man. As if reading
Terry’s mind, she said “We are all girls here, my dear. You have such beautiful
hair. I don’t think we’ll need to bother with a wig. Oh good, your
fingernails are long enough to file and polish. This is going to be a cinch.”
Madam Fabulous left them, and for the next hour, Terry surrendered to the
ministrations of the Mistress of Style. His stubble was shaved, his eyebrows
were plucked, his fingernails were manicured, his hair was trimmed and set, and
his face was set upon by an assortment of sponges, pads and brushes. He closed
his eyes as the sweet smelling cosmetics were applied to his lips, cheeks, and
eyelids, trying to imagine what he was going to look like when she was finished
with him. He caught himself sliding his legs together, reveling in the
sensation of nylon against nylon, the stirring in his panties becoming a steady
ache.
“All right, let’s get a look at you,” the Mistress of Style finally said.
She produced a mirror, and Terry was amazed at what he saw. The girl looking
back at him was beautiful. More than that, she was undeniably feminine.
Whereas Sissy’s manly features had given her away, there was nothing in Terry’s
appearance that would suggest that he was really a guy.
“Oh my,” Madam Fabulous said when she walked into the room. “She won’t even
need a pair of boobs to pass.”
“I can’t take all the credit,” the Mistress of Style replied. “She’s a
natural.”
Madam Fabulous led Terry into another room, one filled with racks of
clothing and boxes of foundation garments. “The Mistress of Fashion is helping
another Fabulous Girl with a wardrobe crisis, so you’re getting my personal
attention,” Madam Fabulous explained as she used a tape to measure Terry’s
vital statistics. He watched as she selected a pair of realistic-looking fake
breasts and stuffed them into a lacy white bra. Terry stood self-consciously
as she fastened it behind him.
Madam Fabulous stepped back to admire her handiwork. “Perfect,” she said.
“Now, we have a decision to make. Ordinarily, I fit our Fabulous Girls with
padded butts and corsets, but you are not our everyday client. Correct me if
I’m wrong, but you’ll be wearing conservatively cut suits and dresses, and you’ll
need to be reasonably comfortable in your clothes for at least eight hours day,
with an occasional trip to the rest room. Am I right?”
Terry nodded dumbly as she continued. “We could give you enough curves to
stop traffic, and most Fabulous Girls want just that, but I don’t think that
would be very practical for you. And to be honest, you’ve got one of the
nicest bodies I’ve ever had to work with. You look to be a perfect size 12,
maybe a 14, so we’ll have no trouble finding clothes that will make you look
like a career woman without putting you through contortions. Agreed?”
“Yes, Madam,” he said.
“Good girl. Let’s get you dressed.” With that, she handed Terry an A-line
dress, black with silver sequins on it, and helped him drape it around his
body. “This is the most conservative thing I have on hand,” she sighed, “but
we’re running way ahead of schedule, so there should be no problem putting a
nice trousseau together for you tonight. To tell you the truth, I’m looking
forward to it. There,” she said after she zipped him up, “take a look at
yourself, Terry.” She led her customer over to a full length mirror and waited
for his reaction.
He must have been in a state of shock, because she finally had to prompt
him. “Well, aren’t you going to say something?” In fact, Terry was at a
complete loss for words. He was dressed from head to toe as a woman, and for
the first time in his life, he actually liked what he saw in the mirror. As a
guy, Terry had always been scrawny and plain-looking, but as a girl, he was a
knockout. The pounding in his panties intensified as he turned this way and
that, fascinated by the woman that he had become.
His reverie was broken by a deep voice. “Are you ready for me, Madam
Fabulous?”
Terry turned to face the Mistress of Poise. No question about this one.
Even in women’s clothes and makeup, at six feet three inches the Mistress of Poise
was too masculine-looking to be an Amazon, yet he moved with remarkable grace.
Terry soon became exhausted as his drill instructor in a dress took him through
basic training in moving and behaving like a lady. By the time they were
finished, his feet were killing him, and his feelings of arousal were long
gone.
Madam Fabulous, who watched the whole thing, had a look of approval on her
face. “My Mistress of Style was right. You are a natural,” she beamed.
“You say that to all the girls,” Terry said with a rueful smile.
“Well, we do try to reinforce a girl’s self-image, but in your case that’s
hardly necessary. In three hours, you’ve made more progress than some Fabulous
Girls make in an entire weekend, and most of them never end up looking as
lovely. I’m very, very proud of you, Terry.” He stood awkwardly as she gave
him a little hug. “Now, here’s a purse you can use until we get you one of
your own. I’ve put your wallet in it. We’re going to have to hurry, but if we
leave right now, we can make it to Macy’s and get in an hour or so of
shopping. That should be plenty of time to find you a couple of outfits to get
you started. Sissy will accompany us to pick out the rest of your essentials.”
At the thought of going outside, Terry suddenly experienced a panic attack.
Madam Fabulous had evidently seen this look in her clients’ faces before, and
she tried to calm him down. “There’s a word which describes the ability to go
out in public and pass for a woman. It’s called ‘passing.’ We always take Fabulous
Girls out in public to give them a chance to try out their femininity, because they
have to learn how to deal with getting ‘read’ as a man. I’ll be very surprised
if you get read tonight, unless you give yourself away by calling attention to
yourself.”
With that, they left the studio and walked a few blocks to a taxi stand,
Sissy having changed out of her maid’s costume into a smart pants suit. The
cool night air swirled around Terry’s legs as he tried to get accustomed to
walking in a dress, and Madam Fabulous had to remind him to stand up straight
when he hunched self-consciously while they waited for a cab. One came along
in a few minutes, and Terry tried to remember what he’d learned as he slid onto
the seat and tugged his dress down over his knees.
They pulled up at Macy’s on Union Square at half past seven. Madam Fabulous
had given Terry’s measurements to Sissy, who split off from them to purchase
lingerie, stockings and accessories while Madam Fabulous and Terry made a
beeline for Career Essentials. In no time, Madam Fabulous selected two suits,
one blue and one gray, each with a short jacket and a slim knee-length skirt.
She handed them to Terry and pointed him towards the dressing room. Terry panicked
when a sales associate intercepted him, stammering when she asked him if he
wanted her to set up a room for him. She seemed not to notice his
embarrassment, and Terry heaved a sigh of relief when she closed the door
behind him.
Get a grip girl, he told himself as he tried to get out of his dress. He
struggled desperately, twisting and turning until he was able to grasp the
zipper and yank it down. Finally he had the dress over his head, messing up
his new hairdo in the process. He paused to take a few deep breaths, looking
forlornly at his reflection in the dressing room mirror. Standing there in his
bra, panties, stockings and high heels, he felt overwhelmed by the predicament
he’d gotten himself into. What was I thinking, he asked himself as he fumbled
in his purse for a hairbrush. Being a woman was like trying to talk in a
foreign language while walking on stilts.
One thing was for sure. He was way too far into this to turn back now. With
a sigh of resignation, he started brushing his hair, consoling himself with
thoughts of the fat settlement check he was sure to get after he finished
shaking down Tyrex Industries. He removed the blue skirt from its hanger and
gingerly stepped into it. After he zipped it up, he removed the matching
jacket from its hanger and pulled it on. When it was buttoned, he surveyed
himself in the mirror. Once again, he felt a strange stirring below the waist
as he admired the smartly dressed young woman staring back at him.
“How are we doing in there,” he heard Madam Fabulous ask from the next
dressing room. She had evidently entered the dressing area under the pretense
of trying on an outfit for herself.
“Fine,” Terry said, trying out the new voice drilled into him by the Mistress
of Poise. “The blue suit fits.”
“Then there’s no need to try on the gray one. Here, try on this dress,” Madam
Fabulous said as she handed it over the transom. Terry looked up and reached
for a white dress with blue polka dots. After he put the skirt and jacket back
on the hanger, he stepped into the dress and pulled it over his shoulders. He
heard a tap on his door, and he opened it to admit Madam Fabulous, who quickly
straightened out the shoulder pads and zipped him up.
“Oh my, that looks precious on you!” Madam Fabulous said. Terry turned to
look at himself in the mirror, and the glow in his panties heated up as his
dress swirled around his knees.
“I love it,” he heard himself say in his new voice.
“Why don’t you wear it home?” Before he could respond, Madam Fabulous
opened the door and handed the suits to the startled attendant. “My niece
wants both suits and the dress, and she’d like to keep the dress on to pick out
shoes and accessories.”
“Of course,” the girl replied. “Let me cut off the tags for you, and ring
her up at the register. I’ll put her old dress in a shopping bag.”
While Terry was paying with the cash from his wallet, he heard Madam
Fabulous call Sissy on her cell phone. “Meet us in the shoe department in five
minutes. If you get there first, we need pumps with 2” heels in black, blue
and white, size 9 wide. See you there.”
It was almost closing time when they met up with Sissy. She had three pairs
of high heels lined up for Terry to try on, and all fit him perfectly. As he
was paying for the shoes, Madam Fabulous examined Sissy’s other purchases,
nodding in approval. “How much in total?” she asked. Terry overheard them,
and he reimbursed her without being prompted. “Almost done,” Madam Fabulous
said as she sprinted for the escalator. Terry’s feet were on fire but he managed
to keep up with them.
He caught up with Madam Fabulous in the handbag department. He was about to
tell her that he probably would only need one day’s worth of clothing when he
caught himself, and he grimaced as he handed over another fistful of bills to
pay for three new purses. At least Madam Fabulous found them on sale.
“Only one more thing,” Madam Fabulous said as they struggled with their
shopping bags. She led Terry to the fashion jewelry department and found a
salesgirl who was just closing up for the night. “Is it too late for my niece
to get her ears pierced?”
The girl looked over the counter, expecting to find a ten year old, and she
was startled when she came face to face with a bewildered Terry. “About ten
seconds,” she said, and before Terry could protest, he was cringing in a chair
as the needle went into his ears.
“That was on me,” Madam Fabulous said as they headed for the door.
By the time he got back to his apartment, laden down with shopping bags,
Terry was utterly exhausted. Madam Fabulous had made him promise to hang up
his new outfits so they wouldn’t wrinkle, and she barked a few final
instructions to him before their taxi dropped him off. “There’s enough makeup
in this bag to last you for at least a month,” she said, handing him a
cosmetics kit. “Sissy got you all the lingerie, jewelry and accessories you’ll
need for your first few days. Next time you go shopping, you’ll be on your
own, but if you have any questions, promise that you’ll call me, any time. You
have my number,” she said, tucking a lavender business card into his purse.
He was almost too shell-shocked to speak when the cab pulled up to his
apartment building. “Thank you for everything,” he managed to say.
“It’s been a marvelous evening. And remember, you are a Fabulous Girl now!”
* * *
Terrence Poindexter used to get up at five o’clock every morning to jog ten
kilometers before breakfast. That was how he managed to maintain the slim
physique so admired by Madam Fabulous.
But when Terry awoke at his usual time, it took him several seconds to
realize that things were going to be different this morning. For starters, he
was wearing a blue satin nightgown and panties, which he found in one of the
shopping bags given to him by Sissy the night before. At first he wasn’t going
to bother with them, but for some reason he put them on before he went to bed.
So when he woke up, he found himself with a raging hard-on. Why is this
turning me on, he asked himself as he looked down at his new body, so sleek and
smooth in its silky lingerie. If I were a guy, I’d want to fuck this body, he
said to himself. Wait a minute. I am a guy, aren’t I?
One thing was for sure. There was no way Terry would be able to get his
gaff back on if he remained in this condition. He tugged his panties down, and
his erect penis sprang to attention. He grasped it in his manicured fingers,
and after a few swift strokes, a rope of semen shot clear over his head,
narrowly missing his new hairdo.
It was the most pleasurable orgasm of Terry’s life. In fact, most of his
sexual experiences had been self-administered, his successes with women sadly
lacking over his twenty-eight years. As he lay there now, reveling in ecstasy,
he was torn by feelings of lust and loathing. Although he loved the way he
looked and felt, he was ashamed of himself for feeling that way.
Finally his gratification subsided, and Terry got out of bed. Think like a
lawyer, he told himself, mentally organizing the tasks at hand. Remember your
training, and think of the payoff. You know what you have to do. A glance at
the clock told him it was time to get moving.
Terry brushed his teeth and gave himself a close shave while drawing a hot
bath. After pinning up his hair, he lowered himself carefully into the tub and
luxuriated for a few minutes in the hot suds, which he’d salted with bubble
beads found in the cosmetics kit from the House of Fabulous. Then he picked up
a new bic razor and carefully went over his arms and legs, removing the traces
of stubble which had begun to grow back. With his manhood submerged below the
bubbles, Terry could have been a girl as he shaved his legs.
After he finished scrubbing himself off with a loofa, he patted down his
tender skin and applied a soothing coat of moisturizing crème to his arms and
legs. Women know how to pamper themselves, he thought idly as he stood before
his mirror and began applying his makeup. It almost makes up for the hassles
they have to deal with, like trying to put on eyeliner. He took his time, remembering
his lessons from the Mistress of Style, and after a few false starts and some
trial and error, his face looked almost as good as it did the night before. He
finished with a spritz of cologne behind each ear, finding his scent strangely
intoxicating.
He felt his penis stirring, so once again he took decisive action, stroking
himself while he gazed at his pretty face in the bathroom mirror. He reached
up with his other hand and loosened his hair, which fell sexily down around his
neck as he pulled and jerked on himself. Once again, he came in a rush,
spewing jism onto the vanity as his knees buckled from the pleasure of his
release, although it was tinged with feelings of shame.
With his penis limp at last, he tucked himself up into the gaff and headed
back into the bedroom. “What to wear today?” he said out loud in his new
voice, knowing that he needed all the practice he could get. “I’ll think I’ll
wear my gray suit with black stockings.” He opened up one of his drawers, and
found the pile of lingerie which he’d stuffed there. Selecting a black bra and
panties, he strapped on the bra, inserted his breast forms into the cups, and
watched them jiggle as he shimmied into his panties. Then he opened a new pair
of sheer black pantyhose and sat down on the edge of his bed to put them on.
As he eased the delicate nylon up his legs, he thought he could feel the
beginnings of another erection being stifled by his gaff. Terry was aware of a
dull ache in his groin when he did a deep knee bend to pull his stockings up to
his waist.
He lingered for a moment in front of his closet, relishing the caress of
nylon against his freshly shaved legs. He wondered if it felt this good for
real girls? After a moment’s indecision, he took a thin black sweater off its
hanger and tugged it over his head. Then he stepped into his gray skirt and
zipped it up behind his back. It was fully lined, Madam Fabulous told him, so
a slip would not be required. He lifted it up and smoothed his sweater before
lowering it again, watching in fascination as his skirt settled a few inches
above his knees. Then he remembered the fashion jewelry that Sissy had picked
out for him, and he took a few moments selecting a simple gold necklace and a
matching bracelet that looked good with the gold studs on his ears. After he
buttoned up his jacket, he rummaged around the closet floor for his new black
pumps. They were a bit tight, but his stockinged feet slid right into them,
and he spent a few minutes practicing the deportment lessons that the Mistress
of Poise had drilled into him.
Terry remembered his new women’s wristwatch, and he was alarmed to see that
it was after seven o’clock when he put it on. Let’s see, what else is there?
My purse! He took his black one into the bathroom to fill it up, and realized
that he hadn’t done anything with his hair. He found his brush and began
working on his new shag hairdo, which the Mistress of Style assured him would
be a snap to take care of. After a few minutes he had it as good as it was
going to get, so he dropped the brush into his new purse, along with a compact
and lipstick, and tried to think what else he should put in there. Soon it was
bulging with keys, his new women’s wallet, tissues, breath mints, a small
mirror, cell phone, sunglasses, emery board, and miscellaneous junk. Anything
else? He must have forgotten something!
Terry realized that he was prolonging the inevitable. His heart was racing when
he slung his purse over his shoulder and headed for the door.
* * *
The receptionist at Tyrex Industries did not come on duty until eight o’clock. A key part of Terry’s plan was to arrive before she got there and let
himself in with his coded entry pass. Then he could wait behind closed doors
in his new private office until his confrontation with Mr. Bigelow.
For that reason, and to spare himself the anxiety of trying to pass on the
crowded Muni, he decided to take a taxi to work. He was dismayed to find a man
waiting in line ahead of him at the taxi stand. He was about thirty,
immaculately dressed in an expensive suit, crisp white shirt and subdued tie,
and he smiled as Terry approached. “Morning. Beautiful day,” the man said.
He was very good-looking, and he had a gleam in his eye as he admired Terry’s long
legs.
“It sure is,” Terry replied with a shy smile.
A cab pulled up to the curb. “Would you like to share it?” he asked.
Terry froze. He needed to get downtown, and there might not be another cab
for a long time.
“My office is on Sansome Street,” the man added.
Tyrex was on Montgomery Street, a block away. “Sure, that would be nice,”
Terry said. The man opened the back door of the cab, and it took Terry a
moment to realize that he was waiting for him to get in. He climbed awkwardly
into the back seat, his skirt riding all the way up to his ass, and tugged it
down furiously as he slid across the seat.
His companion sat down next to him and held out his hand. “My name’s John
Stone.”
“I’m Terry,” he said, offering a limp wrist.
“What great weather for January,” John said. “How long have you lived in
the City?”
“Six years,” Terry replied. No point in lying to every question.
“Almost as long as me. What do you do, Terry?”
“I’m a paralegal.” Best to stay within striking distance of the truth.
“How about that? I’m a lawyer for Earp and Crosby.” Terry knew the firm
well, in fact they did some work for Tyrex. “Who do you work for?” John asked.
Terry thought fast. “Actually, I’m looking for a job. I have an interview
this morning with Tyrex Industries.”
“Hey, I know some of the people in the legal department there. Or at least
I did. The guys I knew left or got canned, not sure which. So you know they
have openings.”
“Sounds like a rough place,” Terry said, curious to know how the world
viewed Tyrex.
“I don’t want to discourage you, Terry, but you should look around a bit.
Maybe talk to our firm. I’m sure we’d be interested in you.”
“Really?”
“On second thought, that might not be such a good idea.”
“Why not?”
“We have a firm policy against lawyers dating staff. That would be a real
bummer.”
Terry felt himself blushing. “I guess I’ll have to decide between love or
money.”
“A girl like you can have it all.” Terry was trying to figure out how to
respond when the cab pulled up beside his building. He started to reach into
his purse for his wallet when he felt John’s hand on his knee. “It’s on me,
Terry. Here’s my card. I’d love to see you sometime.”
Terry put the card in his purse and opened the door. “Thanks, John. Maybe
I’ll call you, okay?”
“Any time,” he said through the open window as the cab pulled away.
His confidence soaring, Terry smoothed down his skirt, slung his purse back
over his shoulder, and walked through the revolving door to his office
building. The crowd in the lobby brought him back down to earth. He waited
nervously for an elevator, wondering if anybody would recognize him. But only
a few people got onto the elevator with him, and he was alone by the time he
arrived at Tyrex’s floor. A quick glance at his watch told him that it was ten
minutes to eight. He had his entry card in his hand, and after he let himself
in he turned down the carpeted hall towards the general counsel’s office. As
he hoped, nobody saw him before he entered the large corner office and closed
the door behind him.
Terry surveyed his new surroundings, pleasantly surprised. The office was
as he remembered it from frequent visits, beautifully furnished with a large oak
desk, a throne-like chair behind it, a matching credenza and bookcase, and a
furniture grouping consisting of a sofa, two chairs and a coffee table. What
surprised him were the diplomas on the wall and the knick knacks on the desk,
taken from his old office and tastefully arrayed. His laptop computer was
hooked into a docking station on the clean desk, and his personal diary lay
open on the credenza.
I could get used to this, he said to himself as he sat down in the soft
leather chair behind the desk. A glance down at his skirt and stockings
brought him back to reality. Did a guy really hit on him a few minutes ago?
If he could pass that kind of inspection, he could fool anybody.
He was looking at John Stone’s business card when he heard a knock on the
door. “Mr. Poindexter? May I come in?” It was Gail Chestnut.
Why not? She was going to find out anyway. “Yes,” he said in his old
voice. After she opened the door and came inside, he said, in his new voice,
“Please close the door.”
He watched with interest as Gail Chestnut displayed a kaleidoscope of
reactions. Confusion, recognition, and shock all registered on her beautiful
face as she stood rooted to the carpet. Finally Terry got up from his desk and
walked over to the door, closing it while Gail continued to stare at him,
open-mouthed. “Sit down, Gail, and I’ll explain,” he said, pointing to the
sofa. Gail followed him and watched as he sat down in one of the facing chairs,
carefully crossing his legs after smoothing his skirt beneath him. She
collapsed onto the sofa, finally composing herself enough to speak.
“Mr. Poindexter, is that really you?”
“Yes, and please call me Terry,” he replied.
“Why are you dressed like that?”
“It’s a long story. Why don’t you get us each a cup of coffee and I’ll tell
you all about it.” Gail got up to leave, and when she got to the door, he
said, “Gail, please close the door behind you, and promise that you won’t tell
anybody about me. Not until I have a chance to put out an announcement.
Okay?”
“Sure,” she said, still dazed. Gail returned a few minutes later with a
tray of coffee, cups and utensils, and he waited until she sat back down and
poured them each a cup before he spoke again.
“I appreciate everything you did yesterday to make my office so homey,” he
began.
“Don’t mention it, uh, Terry. I’m sorry about the name plate on the door.”
“I didn’t even notice it.”
“It says Mr. Poindexter.”
Terry laughed, a girlish giggle that seemed to put Gail at ease. “I doubt
if I’m going to be around long enough for them to make up a new one.”
“Then why are you doing this? I mean, so you have a secret life. Why put
your job at risk?”
“Some day I’ll explain it to you, Gail. Right now, I just have to make it
through my nine o’clock meeting with Mr. Bigelow. Do you have any idea what
it’s about?”
“The scuttlebutt isn’t good. What did you say to him yesterday?”
“I just gave him some legal advice.”
“Well, evidently it didn’t agree with him. The rumor is that you’re going
to be let go today.”
Terry wanted to take her into his confidence, but he didn’t know if he could
trust her. “I was afraid of that. Maybe I can talk him out of it.”
“In that getup? You’ve got to be kidding. He’ll fire you on the spot when
he sees you like this. Are you sure you can’t tell me why you came to work
this way?”
“It’s a long story.”
“We have time. It’s only eight o’clock,” she said as she poured him another
cup of coffee. “How long have you known you were gay?”
“I’m not gay,” he said defensively.
“Sh’yea, right.”
“I mean it! I don’t like guys.”
“So what are you, a transsexual? Are you going to have an operation?”
“No!” He realized that her questions were logical and natural, and she
seemed startled by his reaction. “I don’t want to have sex change surgery,”
Terry added before draining another cup of coffee. As he did so, he felt a
twinge in his bladder.
“Then what do you want?”
“Millions of dollars from Tyrex Industries to go away quietly,” he would
have liked to tell her. Of course, he could never admit that to anyone. So
instead, he said, “I just want to look, and live, like a woman. Consider it a
complement, Gail. I’ve always thought girls got all the breaks.”
“Dream on,” she said. “You wanna trade places sometime, Mister, you can
have my life. Get real.”
He was genuinely puzzled by her response. After all, Gail Chestnut was one
of the most beautiful women he had ever met, and she seemed to have so much
going for her. They found themselves becoming fascinated with each other as
they sat there, chatting away like two girls. He found her incredibly
attractive, and this time she was the reason for the uncomfortable stirring in
his panties, spiced by his confinement to silk and lace. “Aren’t you happy?”
he asked.
“Give me a break. Half the guys in San Francisco are gay, and the rest think
they’re God’s gift to women. I’ve been hit on so many times, I can’t even look
at a guy any more without putting my left up.” Terry remembered how he himself
had already been propositioned during his one excursion as a woman, but it
hadn’t bothered him particularly, and he was a guy. Something else was
happening here.
“Don’t you like guys?” Terry asked.
“Hey, how did this go from being about you to being about me? You’re the
one who has some explaining to do.”
He topped off her coffee and poured himself another cup. When he sat back
and crossed his legs again, she said, “How did you get so good at this?”
“Good at what?”
“Talking the talk, and walking the walk. I swear to God, if I didn’t know
who you were, there’s no way I’d believe you were a guy.”
How to explain it to her, let alone himself? What had the Mistress of Style
called him? “A natural”, she said. All Terry started out to do was put on a
dress and get himself fired, but the more he was getting into it, the more he
was getting into it.
Once again Terry tried to change the subject. “You didn’t answer my
question.”
“What question?”
“Do you like guys?”
For some reason, she felt like opening up to him, maybe because he seemed so
unthreatening, sitting next to her in a skirt and high heels. “I don’t know,
Terry. I mean, I’ve loved guys in the past, but it’s been a long time. Most
of them I think are gross.”
“Do you like girls?”
“No! I mean, not in that way. Dammit, here we go again, talking about my
problems. You’re the one who’s about to get canned. How you gonna keep
yourself in pantyhose then?”
He was about to answer when his telephone rang. He picked up the extension
on the coffee table. “Hello,” he said, remembering at the last second to use
his old voice while Gail looked on in amusement.
“Hello Terrence, it’s Helen. Mr. Bigelow asked me to sit in on his nine o’clock meeting with you.”
Terrence Poindexter and Helen Wallace went back a long way, and he knew she
would be honest with him. “Give it to me straight, Helen.”
“Do you mind if I stop by?”
“I’m in the middle of something right now. Can’t you tell me anything?”
“It doesn’t look good, Terrence, that’s all I can say. I’ll do my best for
you.”
“I know you will, Helen. Chin up. It won’t be a dull morning.”
Gail was laughing as he hung up the phone. “I’ll say this for you, Terry.
Although you’d never know it, you’ve got balls. I mean, I always thought you
were kind of a wimp, sitting back there in your little office, watching the alpha
dogs fight it out. Aren’t I pathetic?”
“Huh?”
“Now that you look like a woman, all of I sudden I find you attractive. What
does that say about me?”
Terry was speechless. How could she possible see anything in him now? He
was trying to think of a response when the calendar program on his computer
beeped at him. It was the ten minute warning for his meeting with Mr. Bigelow!
Where had the time gone? When he got up from his chair, he realized that three
cups of coffee had been a big mistake. He had to go to the bathroom. Bad.
“Gail, I need to ask you one more favor.”
“Anything.”
“I have to go to the ladies room. Can you check and make sure the coast is
clear?”
“Sure, but I don’t think you need to worry. Nobody is going to recognize
you.”
“Really?”
“Terry, when I first walked into this office, I thought you were a complete
stranger. Come one, let’s go. Nobody is going to know who you are. If anyone
asks, I’ll tell them you’re a new hire.”
Terry picked his purse up off the desk and together they walked down the
hall to the restroom. Without hesitation, he followed her in, relieved to find
that there was nobody inside. He went into a stall and closed the door.
“Don’t forget to sit down,” Gail whispered.
“Be quiet!” he hissed. She was laughing as she left him alone. He lifted
up his skirt, pulled down his panties and hose, and gently eased his gaff away
from his aching privates. He was alarmed to find himself semi-erect, and he
had to wait impatiently until his body was able to relieve itself. When he was
finally done, he tucked himself back between his legs, pulled his panties and
pantyhose back up, and tugged his skirt back down to his knees. He was about
to leave the stall when he heard someone coming in the door.
Damn it! Should he wait here until she was gone, or take his chances? He
glanced at his watch. Three minutes to nine! Before he could stop himself, he
opened the door and walked over to the full length mirror. One of the
secretaries was just going into another stall.
Terry noticed that his sweater had gotten tangled and his lipstick looked
washed out. As if he had been doing it all his life, he lifted up his skirt
and smoothed down his sweater before dropping his skirt back into place. After
washing his hands, he took his lipstick out of his purse and applied just a
touch to his lower lip before puckering up the way the Mistress of Poise taught
him. He brushed away a few stray hairs, and he was on his way out before the
secretary left her stall.
Gail was waiting for him outside his office. “You better run, it’s time for
your meeting,” she said.
“Wish me luck,” he said as he hurried down the hall.
* * *
Charles Bigelow had asked Helen Wallace to join him a few minutes before
nine, and she sat quietly in one of the two chairs provided for supplicants
before his massive desk. She had mixed feelings as Bigelow read through the
resignation letter she prepared for Terrence Poindexter’s signature. Terrence
was one of her few remaining friends in the legal department, and they had
worked well together. She was sorry to see him go, but business was business,
and she hadn’t become a corporate survivor by being soft.
Bigelow grunted when he finished reading the letter. “Three months
severance. Do we have to give him that?”
“Yes sir, it’s company policy and Terrence will be well aware of that.”
“Do you think he’ll sign this?”
“I think so. I wasn’t able to talk to him this morning to feel him out, but
I suspect he knows this is coming, and I don’t think he’ll put up much of a
fight.”
A grim smile came over Bigelow’s face. “Since this is set up as a
resignation, he isn’t entitled to any severance at all, is he?”
Sometimes Helen hated her job. “Sir, technically that’s correct, but we
really are forcing him out, and he’ll be much more likely to go quietly if we
give it to him. If he balks, we can always take it off the table. He’ll be
much more likely to sign if he has some incentive to do so.”
“All right, let’s get this over with. Where is he, anyway?”
Bigelow’s executive assistant stuck her head in the office. There was a
strange look on her face. “Mr. Bigelow, uh, Mr. Poindexter is here.”
“Well, send him in,” he said impatiently. She stepped aside and watched
Terry waltz into the office. Both Helen Wallace and Charles Bigelow were
frozen in shock as Terry pulled back the empty chair and seated himself,
curling one of his legs around the other. His skirt rode several inches up his
thigh, and he let it ride while he waited for one of them to speak.
Helen’s instinct for self-preservation saved her from blurting out her
initial reaction. Overweight and unattractive, all she could say to herself
was: “I’m a woman, and he’s better-looking than I am. It’s so unfair!”
Charles Bigelow had no such inhibitions. “What the hell is this?”
“A Halston. They’re on sale at Macy’s, although I doubt if they come in
your size.”
Bigelow’s face bulged over the collar of his white shirt. “I knew you were
a homo from day one!”
“A common misconception. Not that there’s anything wrong with that.”
“I want you out of here!”
“Then why did you ask me to come to your office?”
“You’re f….”
Helen found her voice before it was too late. “We think the time has come
for us to separate,” she cut in, trying to get the meeting back on script
despite the incredibly bizarre circumstances. She slid the resignation letter
across the desk to Terry, who studied it while Bigelow looked on in fury, his
face turning bright crimson.
“This is a resignation letter,” Terry said at length. He looked up at Mr.
Bigelow. “Why would I want to resign? I like it here.”
Bigelow finally erupted. “You’re fired, fagolito!”
“On what grounds?”
“Give me a fucking break! You show up in my office in a fucking dress and
you ask me why you’re fired? Get out!” he shouted. Helen looked on
helplessly, sensing impending disaster.
“Thank you for clearing that up, Mr. Bigelow. I’m sorry you don’t like my
outfit, but it conforms to the Tyrex dress code, and under AB 196, I have a
legal right to wear it. Why, we discussed that just yesterday.”
Helen tried desperately to control the damage while Bigelow went from red to
purple. “Terrence, those really wouldn’t be the grounds for your separation
from the company….”
Terry cut her off. “Come off it, Helen. You heard what I just heard. And
if you’re called as a witness, you’ll have to tell the truth. Any jury in San
Francisco would find Tyrex Industries in willful violation of my civil
rights.”
Charles Bigelow looked like he was about to have a seizure. At that moment,
there was a rap on the door and Doyle Rogers, the Executive Vice President and
Chief Financial Officer, stuck his head in the office. “I’m sorry to
interrupt, Mr. Bigelow, but it’s urgent.” He glanced at Terry and did a
double-take before continuing. “We just received a letter from Great White,
LLC. They’ve launched a tender offer.” He stared at Terry as he reached
across the desk and handed a letter to Bigelow.
Bigelow read the letter with shaking hands. “My God, it’s a hostile
takeover!” he gasped. Suddenly his face became contorted, and he clutched at
his chest. The morning’s twin shocks were too much for Charles Bigelow.
Thirty years of red meat, cigars and martinis had finally taken their toll.
Helen looked on in horror as Bigelow’s face went from purple to gray, like
some kind of grotesque chameleon. “Call 911” she cried. “He’s in cardiac
arrest!”
* * *
Terry walked back to his office in a trance. While they were waiting for
the ambulance to take Bigelow away, Doyle Rogers had taken him aside. “What’s
going on?” he’d asked.
“I just got fired.”
“No you didn’t. It looks like I’m in charge now, and I’m going to need you
to help fight this takeover.” He looked on disbelief as Doyle tore up his
resignation letter.