The New Job                by: Kelly Ann Rogers

 

Part 4

Chapter XVI in which our heroine becomes a player

Then almost five weeks after the attack, I had to return to work. What a revelation that was. First of all, I was still weak. I had neither strength nor endurance. While I had never been a strong man, my long-standing diet and then month of enforced inactivity after the attack had turned me into a cream puff. The first time Cynthia spanked me I knew I could have broken free of her easily, now, I knew that I was weaker than she was. In fact, I was weaker than almost everyone.

This was a decisive realization for me. As much as my lovely new face and breasts defined my femininity in a way everyone could clearly see, being weak defined it in an entirely different dimension. Being weak was a pervasive quality of who I was. When someone asked, "can I help you with that?" I had to answer, "please, would you?" I found it humiliating at first, then, I was even more appalled when I discovered that I was using little feminine tricks, like smiling in a certain way and looking at someone with my head cocked in a slightly flirty manner, to get things done.

I practiced on the boy who delivered the groceries. He came almost every day now because Cynthia demanded fresh food, and when he got to the door, I had to ask if he would ‘please’ carry them into the kitchen for me. I became attuned to his moods because I believed I needed to keep him happy so he would carry things that were now a burden for me to lift. Once I realized this, I started to pay close attention to all the service people I encountered. I needed them to like me because I needed them to help me. I found this profoundly demoralizing because I was no longer a free agent and I really needed a support system to function. My surgeon assured me I would get my strength back eventually, but that it might take as long as six months. I began to view myself as a disabled person.

I was thinking like this when I stopped on the crowded sidewalk in front of the office, and with the early morning crowd swirling around me on its way to work, gazed upon the large revolving door to my office building, trying to get up the courage to go inside. I stood there in my dark gray suit, dark hose, and slate gray three inch pumps wondering if I could push the revolving door hard enough to move it. I was so anxious about that door that I began to think that having root canal might be preferable to going through it.

Of course, moving the door, which turned out to be much easier than I feared, was only part of my anxiety. Even though I had already come out as a TS to my boss and coworkers, I looked like a new person now. I’d legally adopted a woman’s name and would live and present myself like one from then on. I knew lots of people would stare at me and talk behind my back about my breasts, lips, nose and the guy I had killed. I was ready to get back to work so I could finally take care of Thornton, but I was nervous about being accepted by everyone too. What kind of woman would I make? How would I be treated?

I had purposely arrived early so I wouldn’t have to run a gauntlet of stares on my way to my office, but even so, a group of regular early birds were already there. So, as I walked down the corridor to my office, there were a few people who glanced curiously my way. Some didn’t recognize me at all, and some others only figured out who I was after I’d passed them by. But a few did figure out who I was right away. I was surprised to discover that they were all nice to me.

"Hi Lillian, feeling better I see!" said one.

"Oh Lillian you look wonderful," said another.

Things are going pretty well I thought, and then I encountered the inevitable idiot. It figures that he was one of the people that I liked.

"Brad is that you?"

"Bill Pullman, what is the matter with you," I said planting my feet slightly apart and placing my open hands onto my hips, "do I look like a Brad to you?"

"Uh…, uh.., no." He replied shaking his head.

"My name’s Lillian now and I hope you can figure out why." I smiled at him flirtatiously and thrust out my hip while turning to the side so he could get a good view of my figure. He blanched, his mouth opening and closing like a fish out of water.

"Bill," I giggled, "you’re so cute when you’re confused. Maybe we can have lunch some time."

I finally made it to the safety of our little office, where all the girls had already seen me and knew what had happened. When I opened the door, I was immediately struck by the fragrance and color of the many bunches of flowers that seemed to have sprouted from every surface.

"They’re all for you," smiled Marci, who was the only one there besides me, "and there were so many we couldn’t fit them all in your office. "

 

"Oh my God, what’s all this?" I muttered as I started to examine the cards that came with each bouquet.

Most were from former or current clients but some were from colleagues in other offices. It seems that everyone had heard about my transition, the attack and it seemed that I was much more of a celebrity than I’d thought possible.

"Oh, Marci, what are we going to do with all these flowers?" I asked her pointing at the flowers," I’m a little embarrassed by this."

"Well," she said, obviously having had time to figure this out already, "we can spread them among the girls in the office first and then give some to our friends in the other offices."

"OK, that’s good," I sighed. "Let everyone here take what they want and then you pick who else should get some, would you please? But please have Kathleen make a list where they all came from so I can send thank you notes."

She gave me her biggest smile and handed me an already prepared list. "Here you go Sissy," she said surprising me both by calling me Sissy and by handing me a handwritten list. Then as she stepped forward we hugged spontaneously, as women do, and she whispered in my ear, "welcome back to work. I guess I have to call you Lilly now."

"Yes you do," I said, "Sissy doesn’t work here." I kissed her on the cheek in thanks and feeling slightly stupid, I went to sit at my desk to figure out why women liked to get flowers so much, but men didn’t care about them. Needless to say, I got nowhere with that line of thought, so I idly flipped on my computer and opened my email. If the flowers had been a surprise, my inbox was an even bigger one, with hundreds of messages waiting to be read. It would take me days just to read them and who knows how long to respond. I was already feeling overwhelmed and I hadn’t been in the office 10 minutes.

As if to make sure that I would stay that way, our CEO had arranged a brief welcoming party of coffee and donuts. His assistant came to fetch me and the rest of our office. It was intended to introduce the new me to all the staff and take some credit by association for my bravery against the muggers. I got the feeling that most of the people in our company were kind of embarrassed about the notoriety. However the public relations flacks figured that if the company played it up instead or trying to hide it, the whole thing would make them look really politically correct, or something. Who knows how those people think? More importantly, who cares?

For my part, I smiled indulgently and accepted a little peck on the cheek from the CEO, and a big hug, from Jennifer Hairston, the VP for Human Resources. I was more than eager to get back to my office and out of the public eye, and could barely wait for this little event to end.

As I sat at my desk, I thought about how I would get even with Thornton. I was willing to do whatever it took to get him. He didn’t know it yet, but the son of a bitch was about to embark on a roller coaster ride to hell, and I was going to be the driver. I don’t know what happened to me in the hospital, but I now felt ruthless in my need for revenge upon him. I had never had feelings like this before, but was willing to indulge them to meet my goal.

The first ten days after I had returned to work turned out to be a much needed return to routine, and I really needed that. After our appearance at the party at Trump Tower, Michael and I became rather visible mini-celebrities and the object of much gossip, especially on radio talk shows. We were heroes in the gay and lesbian community, but objects of hatred among right wing commentators and religious fundamentalists. We got especially brutal treatment on Rush Limbaugh’s show and Dr. Laura Shlessinger saw us both as completely immoral. I guess the good news was that we didn’t listen to these shows, and only heard about this stuff second hand.

But immorality helps to sell newspapers, and we never knew when a photographer would take a picture of either of us, or when would we end up on the pages of the National Enquirer, or an even sleazier imitator. It’s not like Michael and I had intended to hang out together that much. Frankly we were still too tired at the end of the working day to do more than go home and relax, but each time we did go out, it seemed some paparazzi was there to snap a shot of us. So everyone knew our business and I felt like I was on display all the time.

I felt bad for Cynthia because she too was caught up in this ridiculous storm. The press soon learned where I lived, and we couldn’t leave the building without being followed. But Cynthia took all this with ease and good grace.

"You wanted to play dress-up, "she teased, "now I don’t want you to leave the apartment or the office unless you look like an immaculate young lady. Maybe I’ll get you a pair of white gloves."

"But now I can’t make out with you on the street anymore," I pouted.

"Well, we’ll see about that, but for now, it’s probably just as well if you don’t."

"But Cynthia, aren’t you worried about being labeled a lesbian, or child molester, or something when you’re seen with me?"

She just sighed at that. "I’d prefer not to deal with all this, but I’m certainly not going to play the coward with you and Michael taking all this heat." She smiled at me comfortingly. "This is not going to wreck my life one way or the other. It’s you two I’m worried about. Now, fix your lipstick, I want to go out for dinner."

 

So we just weathered the media blitz without fighting it. After a while, as everyone had predicted, they got bored with us and just disappeared.

The best part about the return to work was that Cynthia and I were working together again and the atmosphere in the office was much like it had been before Thornton arrived. I was really beginning to enjoy myself, basking in the friendship of the other girls. I wasn’t really thinking about Thornton until he opened the door of opportunity himself.

He called me to his office one afternoon shortly after lunch. He greeted me pleasantly and we settled into his comfortable sitting area. I carefully arranged my long skirt over my knees, crossed my legs, and arranged my hands demurely in my lap. I looked up at him, expectantly, flipping my hair out of my eyes. He engaged me in meaningless small talk for a few minutes and made sure I had a cup of coffee. Then he sat in a big soft armchair across from me and explained his problem.

"Lillian…, may I call you Lillian instead of Ms. Miller?" he asked, "it’s funny because I always used to call you Brad." I nodded my assent, which was besides the point because he had forged ahead without hesitating. "I have to downsize my division because my costs are too high. That’s why I let Tammy go."

‘Sure, dick-head, whatever you say,’ I thought getting angry already.

The word in the hallways was that she fled as soon as she got an outside job offer, even though it paid less than she had been earning here. He drove her away by repeatedly humiliating her and berating her work. I just smiled at him mildly and nodded my head before I looked down to sip some coffee. I was distracted from my angry feelings by the lovely imprint of my plumy lipstick on his china cup.

"You know, of course, that I had to pull Kathy from your office to take her place."

‘Damn right I know, everyone’s really pissed off about it,’ I thought ‘We didn’t have enough staff to begin with.’ I just nodded, however, again, giving him a small, sweet smile, for no reason I could fathom, except it felt like the right thing to do.

"Well, the way things are going, I don’t think we can afford to carry two analysts, along with their staffs."

I looked up at that, a little startled but didn’t say anything. I knew we were profitable, so surely that couldn’t be true.

"I’ve decided that I can get by with one analyst and her staff, as long as I have a secretary, researcher and personal assistant."

Well, this was simple, either Cynthia or I had to go, and since she had seniority, I, along with half the office staff were to be chopped. He saw the growing awareness on my face, and figured it was time to make his offer.

"I think I have a solution." He smiled at me ingratiatingly. "I think you might really like it." Now he looked really proud of himself. "How would you like to become my personal assistant?" He smiled as if he had just presented me with a free trip to Hawaii.

I couldn’t keep my face completely impassive, I was never good at that, but I did manage to keep my mouth shut. I wonder if he saw the momentary flash of disgust I felt when he finished.

"If you do that, I think we can treat it as a promotion, and I can protect your staff. I can bring two here to work directly, for me, well, for us actually. I want Kathleen to be our receptionist, and Heather to be our research assistant."

‘Our,’ I thought, ‘what kind of bullshit was this? When he was involved the only pronoun that mattered was I.

Well, since becoming Lillian I had become quite attractive, but without doubt, Kathleen and Heather had to be the two most attractive women in the entire division. His motives were clear, he was creating an office full of eye candy.

"Cynthia can keep Marci and the others." He said, hesitating for a moment before looking down to check his calendar, as if there were actually something in it that mattered. Then he looked right back at me. "I really have to make a decision right away. What do you say?"

Trying not to change my expression, I looked at him carefully for a moment. As personally offensive as I found him, this was the opportunity I needed. I didn’t have a plan, but this would permit me to get close to him, into his calendar even.

Then, as if to be helpful he added, "I don’t know if I can keep you and the others on if we can’t work this out."

"No, I understand how that would be difficult for you." I said, a little too quickly. I knew he was simply blackmailing me with the fate of two of my best friends, and two other women as well. I had already decided what to do, but I had to make him think he was forcing me to do it. I didn’t like the idea of working with him so closely, and I knew that he was out to get me and I was walking right into his trap, but I couldn’t pass up the opportunity. I could only hope that with Cynthia to help me figure out what was going on, I would get the son of a bitch.

"Oh, Bob, that is so thoughtful of you to give me and the other girls this opportunity. I know you are taking a risk reorganizing like this, but I know that we’ll do our best to help make the new arrangements work." I said saying what I knew he wanted to hear.

He smiled at me. It was the greasiest, most disgusting smile I had ever seen. Then he spent a few minutes chatting about the logistics of our impending reorganization, as if my opinion really mattered. Finally, he called a halt when he had to go meet a client.

As I was about to leave his office, he said, "oh, by the way, Lilly, I really like blondes."

I thought I was going to faint. I’m sure my mouth fell open and my eyes widened, but I just kept silent.

He continued on undaunted. "I’m sure we’ll make a great team. I look forward to working with you even more closely than in the past. And when we’re at work, please call me Mr. Thornton, OK Lilly?"

I was so startled by his words that it was all I could do to keep from shouting at him. The little prick was wasting no time at all arranging the playing field to his advantage.

Cynthia was nowhere to be found when I got back to the office, so I made a quick call to Shelly. I had never really thought about bleaching my hair, but I was kind of curious to see how I would look. I remembered that old commercial, "if I have but one life to live, let me live it as a blonde." As I smiled at that thought, I hoped that becoming a blonde wouldn’t end my life prematurely.

I got home at about 6:30. I had been a bad girl and turned off my cell phone and pager so that no one could find me. I knew for sure that Cynthia would try once she read my note, but I needed to be alone to create another new me.

Shelly was shocked when I told her what I wanted to do to my hair, but threw herself into the effort when I told her why. Is there a woman out there who hasn’t been hurt by a guy and isn’t ready to help out another woman who has a plan for revenge? By the time I left, I had new hair, new nails, and another new makeover. After all, if I was going to be an office slut for some powerful guy, I had to look the part didn’t I?

With my new hair and makeup taken care of, I did a little clothes shopping too. I especially needed tops, tops that would show my nice new cleavage. By the time I got home to Cynthia, I was a somewhat different girl than the one who had kissed her goodbye in the morning. When I walked in the door and she rose to greet me, she did more than one double take as I posed for her in the foyer. Then, while she sat frozen in her seat holding her wine glass. I swayed over to her sexily, pivoting my hips as sinuously as I could. Without hesitating, I stripped her of the glass and attached my mouth to hers like my very life force was somewhere inside of it.

She resisted, going rigid when I first grabbed her, gave in for a few moments, and then pushed me away, shouting, "hold it. Just what do you think you’re doing?"

"What’s the problem, baby," I crooned back at her, "not hot enough for you."

"You look like a slut. What the fuck has gotten into you?"

"You don’t like the new me?" I pouted, pulling my shoulders together to push my cleavage even further into her face, and then flipping my new blonde hair over to one side as I turned away and waggled my way over to the couch. I sat down, my back as straight as if I were wearing a corset, twisted my butt into the cushion, looked up at Cynthia and gave her my brightest smile.

"I’ve been promoted." Her eyes widened. "I’m now Thornton’s personal assistant."

Then I pursed my lips, scrunched my entire face into a questioning knot, looked back up, and said, as if I were deeply confused, "or did I just get demoted?"

After a second, I couldn’t take the tension and burst out laughing, falling back into the cushions. When I opened my eyes, Cynthia was staring down at me with a look I hadn’t seen since my first few weeks of training.

I immediately fell back into my submissive role. "Mistress, please." I cowered in front of her, now trying to figure out a way to get under the cushions.

"What have you done to yourself? You look…ridiculous. I’m not sure I’d want to be seen with you in public."

"Mistress, it’s true. Thornton has made me his personal assistant." I said and then explained to her what had happened. Her look got more and more grim as I went on.

"He wants to destroy you. He’s set things up so he has every advantage over you. Do you really think you can defeat him at his own game? Are you crazy?" Her voice had gotten shrill, rising sharply on "crazy."

I turned serious in a heartbeat. "Cynthia, he’s inviting me inside his defenses. This look," I flipped my hair aside and batted my eyelashes at her, "is my Trojan horse."

I was proud of myself for thinking of that comparison and smiled for a moment, but then I got back to business again quickly. "Yes, he’s going to do his best to demean and humiliate me, and I’m sure that he’ll make me suffer. But this is too good a chance to pass up." I looked at her with pleading eyes. "You told me what’s going to happen and he’s already started. He did everything but order me to become a blonde."

I could feel my anger rising at the way he had treated me earlier. My voice got hard, "I don’t care what the risks or costs may be. He’s hurt too many people, and North State sure as hell isn’t going to do anything about it."

Cynthia just sighed and looked at me as if she were trying to figure out who I was. I ran my fingers through my hair, lifting it away from the side of my head and letting it fall back. Then I shook it out. It was still cut in a page boy, with the part on the left, but now it was layered around my face, starting above my jaw and feathering back gently to its longest point just in front of my ears, creating a long frame for my face. And I now had bangs, long bangs that touched the tops of my eyelashes when I opened my eyes all the way. It was actually kind of annoying, but I would have to brush them out of my eyes repeatedly, and I intended to do that as seductively as I could whenever Thornton was looking at me.

The most striking change, however, was the color. I was now a pale straw-colored blonde, with even lighter highlights in the strands layered around my face. It was a pretty sexy package, something a young secretary might wear, but way too provocative and not nearly sophisticated enough for a serious professional.

"I’ll do anything it takes to get him. You’ll help me won’t you?" I asked her trying to show that this was my real motive.

"Oh baby." She sank down beside me on the couch and pulled me into a tight embrace. "You know I will. I just hope you’re strong enough."

I sighed deeply and looked into her eyes, hoping she could see my soul through them. "Cynthia, just six weeks ago, some guy stuck a knife in my face and then tried to kill me but I killed him instead. Then the press harassed me mercilessly, so I’m not the same person I was. I’m not a kid any more and I’m going to get this motherfucker. He’s not just nasty, he’s cruel; he’s a true psychopath."

"Yes, Lilly, he is, and you’re not. You have a sweet, gentle heart. You have lots of empathy for people who are in pain. Those are not good weapons for someone out to right wrongs done to others."

I nodded my head, she was right.

She stroked my hair and went on. "Sweet and gentle don’t match up very well against cruel and psychopathic. And I’m not at all sure that you’ll be able to finish him off if you get an advantage. Once you see he’s in pain, you might just back off. He’d never do that and once he’s got you down, he’ll finish you off at the first opportunity. Then he’ll just extract what he wants from you. That’s what makes him such successful negotiator."

Yes, she was right. I wasn’t a finisher. I was at best a set up guy (well, girl)

"Well, if worse comes to worse, I can always show that he’s been embezzling," I replied "I don’t want to do that because I want to give that money to the girls who’ve earned it. But if I have to, I can use it against him."

She smiled.

"And," I added holding up my right hand, "I have this magic ring. I’m never really in trouble as long as I have this. "

Cynthia smiled at me wanly and let out another long sigh, pulling my head protectively to her shoulder. We sat there snuggling for a while, and then she took charge again. "OK, enough of this for now. We have time to plan. I want dinner, and then I want you."

She rose up over me, leaned down, gently grabbing one breast in each hand, kissed me hard, and then hauled me off the couch and over to the kitchen. I guess she was hungry. But after she had her main course, she had me for dessert.

 

 

Chapter XVII In which our heroine throws the first set

Thornton acted delighted when he saw me the next day. He eyed me up and down as if I were a hooker competing for his business. He clearly intended to demean me, but I made believe I was oblivious. Instead of acting insulted, I posed for him, pulling my right foot back and resting the toe of my shoe lightly on the ground next to the instep of my left. Then I pivoted slightly from one side to the other before asking, "do you approve of the new look?"

He grinned, indicating that he understood I had turned the tables on him. "It’s just fine, Lilly, just fine. You keep this up and we’re going to get along really well. Bring my coffee, we have some business to discuss."

Thornton had redesigned his office suite while I had been recovering. He kept his large corner office, with its comfortable sitting area, but had turned his small conference room into an adjoining office for me. It had windows and was really rather nice. It also had two doors, one that connected to the outer reception area and one that opened directly into his office. Kathleen and Heather had adjacent desks in our big reception area. Kathleen was in front of Thornton’s office and Heather was in front of mine, although it was clear from the way the desks were arranged that Kathleen was the receptionist. Coffee was always kept brewing at a small station just outside my office. That made it real easy for Thornton to ask me to grab him a cup before we would get together to talk.

As I filled our cups, both Heather and Kathleen accosted me.

"What did you do to yourself?" Kathleen nudged me in the ribs.

"Stop," I whispered, "you’ll make me spill the coffee. Do you like my hair?" I turned back and forth to give them a full view.

"Why did you change it?" Kathleen asked.

I nodded towards Thornton’s office as I said, "don’t you just love it? I think it’s so cute." Then I rolled my eyes. They both got the message.

Heather whispered, "you look like a slut."

"She’s right," Kathleen added, licking her lips seductively, "my panties are getting wet just looking at you."

"It’s my new makeup," I said brightly, "doesn’t it just bring out my eyes?" I batted them at Heather, glanced over at Kathleen and whispered conspiratorially, "don’t mind her, she’s just a sex-crazed nympho."

We all giggled and I headed for Thornton’s office. At the last moment I turned and mouthed to them, "lunch?" We all nodded.

The plans he gave me were simple.

"You’ll keep doing the financial analyses you’ve been doing. With you so close, we can work more one on one so you’ll know what I need and can keep things moving."

What he intended, however, was for me to become his personal slave. Right from that moment, he asked me to do everything that came to mind, except hold his dick when he took a leak. Get this, do that, follow-up on the other thing, check the pastries, fetch my airline tickets, call me a cab, get my coat, and so on. I never did have lunch with the girls that day, and there were only a very few other days after that when we actually got out together. No, Thornton had me working through lunch just about everyday, and late on many evenings.

And he managed to turn the time we spent together into little torture sessions. Nothing I did was correct. Even though I knew he was trying to undermine my confidence, there were days he truly did have me confused and grasping to understand what he wanted. My problem was that I instinctively wanted to do my job well and had to stop and reflect for a moment to realize that he was only playing mind games with me.

"Lilly, how many times do I have to tell you, I don’t want the financials to come after the narrative. The narrative should be a final summary. And my God girl, we don’t need these projections for years five to ten in here at all. They only clutter up the presentation."

"Yes, sir." I just sighed. We had always put the financials after the narrative and every single client wanted to see those out year projections. But I went back and changed the presentation anyway. Then, when we did a dry run with our Chief Financial Officer several days later, he asked me, "why did you put the narrative last and where the hell are the damn out year projections?"

Thornton looked at me coldly and said, "Ms. Miller, I told you not to change the way we always do things. Why didn’t you tell me before you did this?"

I had to do everything I could just to keep my mouth from falling open. "B…But, Mr. Thornton, I thought……."

"How many times have I told you not to think. Just do what I say."

I thought the look in his eyes would literally pierce my brain. Obviously he wanted to ensure that I kept my mouth shut. I got the message and looked down, slightly shamefaced, though I wasn’t quite sure why I felt that way. In the meantime Everett White was looking at me like I was retarded. That God-damned Thornton had set me up and made me look incompetent in front of one of the company’s most important men. I was so frustrated I almost had tears in my eyes. And there was nothing I could do. Then Thornton delivered the day’s coup de grace.

"Lilly, go get us some coffee would you. Everett and I really have to work on this presentation to fix it up now."

As I left the office, I heard White say, "is she alright?"

Thornton replied in a stage whisper, obviously designed for me to hear, "you know Everett, some women have brains and some have tits, but I’ve never yet met one who has both. Did you see the size of her tits?" They both laughed.

 

I left the office feeling totally defeated. First he had undermined me and made me look like I was incompetent, then he’d demeaned me by asking me to fetch coffee for them, and then, as if the first two weren’t bad enough, he had made fun of my tits, just like a classic sexist pig. I had gone from respected analyst to fool, to big-titted office girl in the course of three minutes, and my breasts weren’t even that big!

And you know what was worse? When I was out fetching the coffee I told Kathleen what they had said about my breasts. She pursed her lips and closed her eyes part way, looking at me through the slits of her lids, as if she was trying to make an important decision. I was expecting sympathy, but that’s not what I got. No, I got nailed by Kathleen as well.

"Did you ever make jokes about women when you were with other men?"

"NO! Kathleen, you know me better than that."

"Well then, did you ever laugh at a joke that some other man made about the way a woman looked?"

At this I had to look away. Of course I had. How could you hang around with other men and not laugh at their jokes about women? Because I had no faith in my "manhood" to begin with, I went to great lengths to try to be one of the guys, so they wouldn’t find out about me. Of course I had laughed at their jokes. Sometimes I even threw in my own one-liners. But I never actually told jokes about women and never started one of those conversations meant to demean them either. When I looked up a moment later, Kathleen was smiling in victory. She knew she had me.

She proceeded to finish me off. "So, my dear girl, you had so little respect for women, that you allowed other men to make fun of us, and you did nothing? And now that you know exactly how it feels, you want me to feel sorry for you?"

I was in anguish. Not only had I just been demeaned by my male superiors because I was now presenting myself to the world as a woman, but I had demeaned women myself all along. I guess Kathy could see the pain in my eyes, because a moment later she hugged me and started to console me a little.

"I’m sorry, Lilly honey, I didn’t mean to beat up on you. You really were a nice man, and I know how you felt back there, all women do…, it’s happened to all of us."

She grabbed me by the shoulders and held me at arms length, examining me carefully.

"I’m sorry you had to learn that particular lesson in such a hard way."

She stroked my hair with one hand for a few moments and then pulled me into an embrace. We stood there for a few moments, hugging each other silently. Then she said laughing, "come on let’s get that coffee before they make fun of your serving skills as well. I’m sure Sissy would be very disappointed in you if you let that happen."

But you know what, she was on to something. I knew I had to think of some way to deal with this, and because of Kathleen’s little joke, Sissy, bless her heart, would come to my rescue. She knew how to serve. More importantly, she could do it without feeling demeaned. In fact, she kind of reveled in being a servant. So as I headed back to the meeting, I tried to put a little Sissy into my attitude. You could dump on her, but you couldn’t get her down. Lilly may not be her own girl yet, but Sissy certainly was. I don’t know why, but thinking of myself as Sissy when I went back into that room really did seem to help some.

You know what else helped? It was my ring. I had developed the habit of fiddling with it when I got anxious or depressed. It usually took a few moments for me to realize what I was doing, but once I had, I would look at it purposefully and kiss it. This somehow gave me the strength to face all kinds of different problems, including Thornton’s shit. As far as I was concerned, it really was a magic ring.

This day set a pattern that became depressingly common. Thornton was systematically shredding my reputation in front of all the company’s senior personnel. He had two approaches. Either he would get me do something he wanted to see if it would work, or he would purposely tell me to do something he knew would fail. If whatever it was worked, he took the credit; if it didn’t, I got the blame. I could just see my credibility crumbling with every passing day.

Of course, by now I had complete access to his computer and was spreading his bonus money liberally to the office staff. I had now fixed it so that these accounts wouldn’t look illegal to the auditors; it would just look like he was setting aside bonuses for the staff from his own expected income. In fact, people would admire him for doing that. But I also set up another account just for him. I started to take a tenth of a percent of every deal we made stuck that money into a private account that would appear to be hidden to anyone who happened to find it. Because of the way it was "hidden," any auditor immediately conclude that he was stealing from the company. Considering the size of some of our deals, a quarter percent was a chunk of change.

***

Dealing both with Thornton and the fallout from his behavior was hard work for me and still weak from my injury, I was always exhausted when I got home. I had almost no social life and things with Cynthia were getting a little testy. She was still taking care of the apartment and mothering me, and I knew she was getting a little impatient with my prolonged convalescence. But I couldn’t really do anything about that, and I knew she would take care of me as long as I needed it. Still, this didn’t prevent a few blowups when her patience ran short and my needs were working over time. In a way, we were falling into a destructive pattern, starting to act like an old married couple. We both worked too hard, had too much stress, and not enough affection. Sex between us was almost nonexistent, mostly because I didn’t have the strength most nights to do anything but fall asleep.

She was becoming shorter with me in general, and sometimes didn’t want to go out with me even on the weekend, when I was strong enough to do it. One evening she finally admitted that she was really embarrassed to be seen with me because of my new sluttier look. "You just don’t look like my type of girl any more," she told me.

Frankly, I thought that was really very shallow and not at all like Cynthia. I just couldn’t believe that was really what was bothering her, especially because it was a problem that was easily fixed. All I had to do was put my hair up and tone my makeup down. So I tried it, but as I suspected doing that didn’t really fix anything.

Finally, she admitted that my behavior and my lack of attentiveness were what really bothered her. She hadn’t wanted to say anything because she thought it was selfish of her to complain while I was still recovering.

 

Then one evening I finally figured it out. Since starting work again, I had put a lot of effort into meeting Thornton’s needs during the day, but I was ignoring Cynthia’s in the evening. She was supposed to be the love of my life and I was treating her like a hired housekeeper and she resented that, especially while Thornton got all my energy. Once I understood this, I couldn’t blame her for being resentful. And then I realized that maybe she was a little jealous too! And once I realized that, I knew just what to do.

So the next evening I told Thornton I had to go to the doctor and Ieft work early to go home to get ready to greet Cynthia. When she arrived, I met her at the door wearing my black and white maid’s uniform, the one that Marci and Kathleen had gotten me the first weekend of my transition. I had chilled martinis in the freezer and dinner ready to be served.

"Mistress, welcome home. I’ve missed you." I gave her my deepest curtsy. Queen Elizabeth would have been impressed, I’m sure.

"Sissy!" she shouted, thrilled at my appearance. She seemed so pleased that for a moment I thought she was going to throw her arms around me. But like a good mistress, she restrained herself and I could just see her self-control assert itself as her eyebrows started to come together and her lips grew thin.

"Where have you been you thoughtless girl? I spent all that time training you and you just up and disappear without even a so much as a goodbye."

"I’m sorry mistress," I curtseyed again, deeply, with my head down. "I was indisposed and I’m afraid a little bit selfish. I’m sure I need to be punished for my thoughtless behavior. May I get you a martini mistress?" I bobbed yet another curtsy and looked at her expectantly.

"In a minute dear. Let me look at you first. "

She walked around me eyeing me up and down while I stood still, my eyes cast down and my hands clasped primly in front of my frilly white apron. The first time I had worn this dress I couldn’t get it zipped up because I was too fat. Now, it was actually loose in the waist. The bust, however, was overflowing. It would have been tight with just my own breasts filling it out, but I had added a set of enhancers to my bra, so my breasts were literally bursting out, like two baby birds eager to fly from their nest. I had also put my hair up, which made me look much more professional than the hairdo I had adopted to please Thornton.

When she had finished her inspection, Cynthia stopped right in front of me and told me to look up at her. Once our eyes had met and held each other for a moment, she grabbed me in a fierce hug and whispered hoarsely into my ear, "oh Sissy I’ve missed you so. Thank you for coming back." Then she stood back from me, smiled slightly, and turned to go into her bedroom. "Get me one of those martinis you lazy slut and then get into my bedroom to help me get undressed. You have neglected your mistress for far too long."

Well I have to tell you, I was pretty proud of myself. I’d actually figured out what Cynthia needed and had managed to take the initiative to give it to her. This was a very important step for me, and a huge boost for our relationship. Strange isn’t it, I had to get into my role as a maid to take the independent action needed to give the dearest person in my life a gesture of affection she sorely needed.

After that, I worked to give to Cynthia what I could, and it really made a difference. It turned out that overcoming her objections to the way I looked was really easy to do. All I had to do was wear my hair up and tone my makeup down and Cynthia liked the way I looked again. I didn’t like to wear my hair up because I just loved to have it flow around my face, but since it made Cynthia happy I did it when I wasn’t at work. At least I learned a new set of skills in creating different kinds of pinned-up styles. Both of us liked French rolls, so I wore a lot of those. Could I help it if some of my hair kept slipping out and falling sexily next to my face? Cynthia thought so, but I always claimed innocence and pinned the offending strands right back into place, I guess I just wasn’t very good at it though, because they always seemed to slip right out again.

Despite the improvement in my relationship with Cynthia, the emotional effort required to deal with Thornton was forcing me into a depressed, anxious state like the one I’d been in before Cynthia took over my life. For a while, however, there was one saving grace. After a bad day, I could go home and immediately dress as Sissy. When Cynthia got home I would serve her and then beg her to punish me.

At first, our little spanking ritual was just what I needed to banish a bad day. I found this both relaxing and a release. But after a few days we both knew something had happened to me. I had escalated my requests to hard spankings as if the physical pain could somehow relieve my psychic pain. But our spanking sessions were never designed to do that and the whole scene collapsed in less than two weeks.

One evening I found myself passively draped across Cynthia’s lap. I was dressed in one of Sissy’s uniforms and my skirt and petticoat had been pulled up above my waist to reveal my ruffled panties. Cynthia had given me three of four swats with my hairbrush, but then stopped.

"No!" she shouted. "I won’t do this. It’s not fun for me and you’re just lying there like a dead fish. What happened to all the playful squirming around and kicking? What the hell’s going on with you? Get off me."

She pushed me onto the floor and stood over me looking very angry. I stood up dumbly and she threw my hairbrush at me and said, "get out! Change your clothes. I want to speak to Lilly in the living room in 15 minutes."

So 15 minutes later Lilly sat across from Cynthia on the big couch. She didn’t waste a moment, "tell me what’s going on. I’m getting very worried about you."

So I told her how Thornton had been treating me and what he was doing.

"We can’t let this go on very much longer, I don’t think you can take it," she said to me with tears in her eyes. "I know I can’t."

"I know," I said, with tears starting to form in the corners of my eyes as well, "but I don’t know how to get control back from him. Every time I think I’ve figured out what’s going on, he changes the rules on me. You know what he did today?"

She shook her head no.

"He asked me out."

"What?" she shouted at me, jumping up from her seat. "Why that shit….."

"It’s OK, Cynthia. It’s a business affair. It’ll all be in public."

She got even more agitated. "Lilly!" She sounded exasperated, "you are so naïve!" She paced around for a moment and then spun on me. "Don’t you see, once people see you out with him, your credibility will be undermined even more. He’s got you so turned around, people already think your brains must have melted and turned into tits."

I hung my head. I never dreamed that having breasts, even pretty ones like mine, could be such a problem.

"First you become a girl, then you go blonde and get this sex-kitten hair style and look, and now you’re totally confused." He’s really scoring points against you."

"No, Cynthia, I have to keep going. I know I look really bad, and I certainly feel bad, but things have to turn around at some point." I let out a big sigh, "and besides, I’ve been using his computer to embezzle money for him. He’s putting it into his own accounts on a regular basis. In a few weeks he’ll have stolen enough for a class A felony."

"Sure," she said sarcastically, "by then he’ll have convinced everyone that you can’t function at a level higher than office girl. So what if you destroy him if he destroys you at the same time."

I had nothing more to say. I sat there for a moment thinking and then decided what to do. I took a long drink of wine and gracefully put the empty glass onto the table. I sat straight up, thrusting my chest out and then reached behind my head to pull out the pins that were holding my hair up. Once it was down, I combed through it with my fingers and shook it out as provocatively as I could, stretching like a cat at the same time. I swiveled up off the couch and grabbed Cynthia and kissed her.

"Enough of Thornton, can I be your office girl right now?" I whispered. She understood my need immediately, but frowned for a moment because I had changed the subject on her so effectively. But then she smiled to herself and nodded at me lasciviously. She grabbed me by the hand, and led me to bed. I spent the rest of the evening kissing and licking and caressing her body. I needed a strong dose of feminine love and I needed to show Cynthia how important she was to me.

 

 

Chapter XVIII, in which the stage is set

Making love to Cynthia must have been good luck. The next morning, I had a moment of insight that was as clear to me as any I had ever had. I was in my martial arts class, the one I had signed up for as soon as I had regained enough strength to handle it. I had the same teacher who had begun to work with Michael and me while we were still recovering from surgery in my apartment.

On this morning we were working on hip tosses and I had pulled off a beauty. I had thrown a 175-pound man onto his back just by shifting my weight, jutting out my hip, and using the force of his charge against him. As I stood there over him, I knew, without a doubt, how I could defeat Thornton.

I had to convince Thornton that he had me totally under his control. I had to make him so full of himself that he would rush ahead to crush me without ever imagining he might be in danger. Then I was going to shift my weight, jut out my hip and throw him.

That was such an attractive metaphor. Before I could do anything else, however, I had to figure out how to make it real. Scientists have a word for it, I had to operationalize my plan. Over the course of the morning, I had a hard time thinking about anything else. I couldn’t see the whole thing, but I could just sense parts starting to jell. I was going to be his little air-headed office slut. He was going to abuse me and I was going to behave as if I blamed myself for being abused. We would have the classic American relationship! I just knew that this was the way for me to get him. I was going to use his own momentum to throw him. That’s what I had just learned to do in my martial arts course.

At this point I knew I had to really start playing his game. I knew that if I was to set him up to fall hard enough to destroy him, then I had to keep him thinking that I was doing my best so he would continue to trust me. But at the same time, I had to screw up on occasion. My own failures would give him opportunities to dump on me and come to believe that I really was becoming less and less competent.

So, I tried to be perfect for the small or easy projects, and for most of the important ones. Every so often, however, I’d leave out something he’d need, mostly to see if he missed it. He rarely did. But when he did, he always took the opportunity to abuse me for it.

"Lilly!"

Ah hah, I thought, he had found one of my "mistakes." Let’s see which one. I got up from my desk and went through the open doorway into his office. As soon as I entered his presence, I lit up and I plastered a smile on my face and a wiggle in my walk.

"What the hell is this?" He held up a balance sheet that didn’t meet his needs.

I took it tentatively and looked at it carefully, although I knew what I would see. I guess I wasn’t quite as clever hiding those overstated real estate assets as I thought. "Oh!" I said as sincerely as I could, my eyes going wide. "This is the wrong sheet. It’s out of date." I looked up questioningly.

"I know that you airhead. Why is it in my presentation material?"

I wanted to say, ‘to see if you would find it, you arrogant boob.’ Instead, I stuttered out, "I…I don’t know Mr. Thornton. I’m sorry sir."

"I’m not very happy with this. What am I going to do with you young lady?"

And then, it was as if a flashbulb went off in my mind. And without taking the time to consciously analyze the scene it had illuminated, I responded immediately, saying querulously, "spank me sir?"

Once I had heard what I had said I freaked. Holy shit! What did I say? Only then did I take the time to review the dark memory that flashbulb had revealed to me. I had been back with my mother. She liked to say that same thing that Thornton had just said to make fun of me. I could hear it in my head, "what are we going to do with you, young lady?". Then she would spank me. I had just let that memory slip out. My eyes went wide and my hand went to my mouth.

Thornton looked at me appraisingly, to see if I was mocking him. His look made me so uptight that I started to giggle. A moment later he laughed. Then we both laughed. The moment passed.

***

When I got home later that night I could hear Cynthia sobbing the moment I walked in the door. I ran to her room immediately.

"Cynthia, what’s wrong?" She looked terrible, like she had been crying for hours. Worse, there were two partially packed suitcases on the bed next to her. She was going to leave!

"Oh Lilly," she half wailed, "come here, please, give me a hug."

As soon as I saw the suitcase I started to get anxious. The fact that Cynthia clung to me like she would never see me again didn’t make me feel any better. Even so, I forced myself to remain calm, just stroking her hair and back until she calmed down. It was obviously time for me to be strong for at least a few moments.

When she had regained control of herself, she sat up and looked at me.

"You look stunning." she said it through a tear-stained crooked smile that was terribly endearing, but a little scary. Then, without even hesitating, she went on. "My sister, Hannah has breast cancer. She probably doesn’t have long to live. I have to go stay with her. I might be gone for a few weeks or a few months. I don’t know."

"Oh Cynthia," I replied and we fell into each other’s arms again, now both of us were crying. She shared the details with me over the next couple of hours as she packed and I got ready for bed. Hannah was her oldest sister, but only in her forties. She had known about the cancer for a year, had a mastectomy, and a round of chemotherapy without telling anyone in her family. She had always been so full of life that she simply decided to believe she would be cured. Having decided that, there was no need to worry anyone else.

But she hadn’t been cured, and the cancer had overcome her a couple of weeks ago and was now progressing rapidly. She didn’t have the heart for heroic measures and was preparing to die. She and Cynthia had always kept in close contact, and in the end it was Cynthia she had turned to for care. Of course Cynthia would go to her side. She would be flying out tomorrow.

We both got into comfortable nighties and snuggled up with each other in my big soft bed. Then Cynthia dropped another bomb on me. "Lilly I need to ask you a big favor."

"Anything Cynthia, anything, please what can I do?"

She turned to look me directly in the face. "Hannah has asked to wear Grandma Lillian’s ring. She doesn’t know I gave it to you." Then she turned away, obviously embarrassed by what he had just asked me.

In the meantime, my mind was exploding.

The ring!

My ring!

My protector!

Cynthia was asking me to give up my ring! She was going to leave and take my ring! My heart seemed to stop beating for a few moments, and then it fluttered wildly out of control. I was hyperventilating. But the reality of the situation couldn’t have been clearer. I consciously slowed my breathing. I couldn’t let her see my turmoil. I took a deep breath.

I had to do it. How could I not? I had to let Hannah wear her own mother’s ring. So that was that. Without a word, I sat up, turned on the light, and smiled at Cynthia. Reaching over her I grabbed the Oil of Olay, which she usually wouldn’t let me touch, saying I was so young it was wasted on me, and put some on my finger so I could slide the ring off. Then I gently wiped it with a tissue, kissed it, and handed it to Cynthia, who was sobbing again.

I looked at her as gently as I could and said, "please don’t tell Hannah that you had to get it back from me to give it to her. I don’t want her to spend even a nanosecond feeling bad about wearing it." I choked back a sob. "I’ve never owned anything that was as dear to my heart as this ring, but if it gives her even one second of comfort, I want her to have it." I couldn’t possibly keep it from her. Cynthia leapt up at me and pulled me into a full body hug, and yet again, we both started to cry.

 

After I had gotten control of myself again, I said, "oh God Cynthia, I’m so sorry for you. I’m so sorry for Hannah." I choked back more tears. "I feel like such a fool, making such a big deal out of my stupid struggle with Thornton, when Hannah was going through such an awful thing by herself." Cynthia just kept sobbing.

A few minutes later I got out of bed and went to get us both a glass of wine. As we sat there sipping it, Cynthia turned to me. "Will you be alright without the ring? I know how much it meant to you. I was scared to death to ask for it, but I had to after Hannah asked me about it."

I gave her a rueful smile and then giggled gently for a moment. "You know what," I said, "Dumbo learned to fly without his magic feather and he was only a baby. I think it’s about time this big girl learned how to fly by herself too."

"Oh, I loved Dumbo," Cynthia sighed as she threw her arms around me. "Then she drew back and looked at me seriously. "You really have been flying, you know, and I love you dearly. I just know you’ll be fine."

I let it go at that. I wasn’t so sure, but after all she had done for me, the least I could do for her at this point was let her leave without having to worry about me, even if I was scared to death. Now I had to face Thornton on my own. I had been counting on Cynthia’s advice and support to deal with him. Now all I could get from her was one more night of sleeping cuddled together.

Cynthia and I had a tearful send off at the front door of the apartment building as she got in a cab for La Guardia airport. From there it was on to Colorado Springs where Hannah lived. I was numb as I went back upstairs and got back into bed. At least it was the weekend and I didn’t have to go to work.

That night I had a terrible dream. I had breast cancer. I woke up, panicked, from a scene in a hospital operating room. The surgeon was standing over me holding up my bloody breast, which he had just sliced from my chest with a big knife. Somehow I was awake and gaping at him in total shock and horror. As I looked, the surgeon morphed into the person I had killed after he and his buddies had attacked Michael and me.

"You bitch," he screamed at me, "I got it now, you bitch!" And he waved the bloody breast over his head as I tried to stop the bleeding from my chest with my hands.

 

I was in a total state of panic when I awoke. I was gasping for air, my heart was beating wildly in my chest, and I was soaked in sweat. As the level of adrenaline in my blood stream fell and the immediate sensation of panic receded, it was replaced by a deeper feeling of dread. What had I done to myself? I had breasts now and I could get breast cancer, something that didn’t normally happen to men. I was such a fool.

I couldn’t fall back asleep for hours, as I beat myself up for my stupid decision to become a woman. Here I was, all alone, with a boss who was trying to destroy me, and I was soon to die of breast cancer. It was a really shitty night.

Sunday wasn’t a great day either, but at least I was smart enough to go to the gym. I was getting some of my strength back and was thrilled with the progress I was making in my marital arts course. I ended up staying for several hours, reveling in the physical sensations of exercise and sweat and tired muscles. Of course, I still couldn’t shower there, or use the sauna, but working out did have a remarkably calming effect on me.

 

Monday morning came along all to soon. Now it was really time to see what I was made of. I had to tell Thornton about Cynthia and although she had arranged a leave with HR, he was not a happy camper. Now I was the only analyst and if he wanted to get his work done, he would have to stop wasting my time with stupid dominance games. We sat in his office and talked about how to arrange things, and it soon became clear that I would have to supervise all of Cynthia’s staff and use them to try to keep up with her work and mine. Once we had that settled we moved on to the next topic. I descended into a period of intense work and little life aside from that.

 

 

Chapter XIX, in which our heroine discovers just how tough she can be

Things were actually going along pretty well for awhile. The other girls were being terrifically supportive and I discovered a new level in my relationships with them. They were now treating me with real respect and really did their best to be sure I had the support I needed. Thornton must have understood that he couldn’t waste my time anymore and we were incredibly productive. It wasn’t clear to me how much longer we could go on at this pace, but I felt like the successful executive I should have been.

There was no way Thornton could hide my contributions now, and everyone in the company again became aware of them. All the work Thornton had put into undermining my reputation was going down the tubes, and bad opinions of me were dissipating as fast as dew in the morning sunshine. Miller, the ace analyst was back, only this time it was that cute Ms. Miller, not that old withdrawn Mr. Miller.

***

But then just a little more than three weeks after Cynthia’s departure, the roof fell in. Thornton proved himself to be even bigger scum bag than I had realized. He took a relatively small contract away from a bright new start-up firm, which would almost certainly fail as a result. He actually came back to the office and bragged about putting them out of business.

He stood in the outer office facing Kathleen, Heather, and me and puffed himself up like some kind of exotic bird at mating time. "That was so easy, it almost wasn’t fun." Then he turned to me. "I really don’t want to do this project, so we’ll have to subcontract it out. Get on that right away Lilly."

I was stunned. I didn’t understand what was going on. I couldn’t keep myself from blurting out, "but why? If you didn’t want to do the work, why did you bid on it? We won’t make any profit if we have to sub it out, and…, and… they’ll go out of business." My voice rose in surprise and frustration as I finished.

He turned on me. "It’s none of your damn business, you little bimbo. If I want your opinion I’ll ask for it." Then he turned towards his office chuckling to himself. After two steps he turned back to me. "Call them Lilly. See if they want to take on the work. If they want to stay in business, they can work for me." He laughed and started to saunter towards his office again.

I was staggered. I had never heard of anyone doing anything so patently malicious. Instinctively, I started to protest, "Bob, you can’t do tha.."

"What did you say"? He turned on me in an instant, but I had decided not to back down.

"That’s inappro….."

"Shut the fuck up, pansy!" With two quick steps he was right in my face, glaring into my eyes. I started to fold, looking down in fear and shame. "I say what I want around here. I don’t need any fake pussy boy telling me what to do! If anyone’s inappropriate around here, it’s you. You’re not a real woman, and you’re certainly not a man, you’re a pitiful mistake, a sissy faggot!"

He kept advancing on me as he spoke and I was so intimidated I backed away until we reached the closed door to my office. I couldn’t go any further and he stopped with his face only inches from mine.

"Listen you fucking sissy. You work for me. If I ever hear another complaint out of you, you and your girlfriends," he turned and glared at Kathleen and Heather, "will all be looking for jobs by the next morning. You do what I say, when I say it, and how I say it. You smile and say yes sir. Do you understand me?" His voice seemed like thunder in my ears.

I nodded my head.

"Do YOU understand?" He asked turning again on Kathleen and Heather, who were afraid even to look up. He was shouting now. I was really scared, thinking that I was so weak that he could do whatever he wanted to me. I had always been afraid of bullies, even when I had been a guy.

Then, curiously, I felt myself trying to fiddle with my ring. The ring I didn’t have anymore. And in one seamless moment, I both panicked and recovered. Everything seemed to slow down and I understood what I should have known all along. I didn’t have to worry about him hurting me. I could handle that. Hell, I’d handled worse already. What I really needed to do was protect the two other girls, who had just been caught in the crossfire of a battle I had started. By turning on the other two girls, he ignited some heretofore hidden protective instinct within me. Now it was blazing to life.

"It’s alright sir, Mr. Thornton." I suddenly said. I tried to make my voice purr. And instead of straightening up and facing off with him as a man might have, I turned slightly to the side, twisting my torso to show off my curves. I tilted my head and put my hand on his arm, looking up into his eyes. "They understand. We all do."

He turned on me again. "And if I hear anything from HR or anyone else, you’ll regret it forever. Now get your faggot ass out of here and do your damn work, if you can figure out how." He sneered the words out.

But he had calmed down enough, and the crisis passed. He turned and stalked into his office. I leaned against the wall, my breath ragged and my heart racing. I was furious, I could feel bile rising up in my stomach and I began to feel like I was going to retch. How dare he? How dare he treat me like that, like I’m just an object! How dare he threaten Heather and Kathleen! How dare he..…

Sweat started to form on my forehead and my whole body felt weak. I stood there, my breasts rising and falling hard, and as I looked down at them, I suddenly felt like they belonged to someone else. All of a sudden I felt like a man in a woman’s body. This couldn’t be me could it? What had I done to myself? I started to hyperventilate, and I could feel the anxiety rising within me.

Again, I started fiddling with the ring. And as soon as I realized it wasn’t there, I was able to get control of myself. I slowed my breathing intentionally, my heart rate started to subside, and my racing mind came under control as well. When I next looked down, I was me, Lilly, not some man caught in a woman’s body. Then it was time to take care of the girls.

"Come on girls. Let’s get some coffee. We need to talk."

At that, Heather burst into tears. I hugged her for a second and said, "you’re right, we need alcohol, not caffeine, let’s get some margaritas. Get your bag and fix your face, I’ll be right back." I grabbed a cup of coffee for Thornton and went back to my desk and pulled my purse from the bottom desk drawer. I quickly brushed my hair, freshened my lipstick and spritzed a little more perfume on my throat. Then, visualizing my ring for just a moment, I knocked on Thornton’s door.

"Mr. Thornton, sir, may I come in?"

He looked up as I peeked my head through the door. "What do you want, Lilly?" He enunciated the words clearly, to indicate he was still angry.

"I brought you some coffee sir, I came to apologize." I slinked into the room trying to be sexy and subtle at the same time. I brought him the coffee and handed it to him with two hands, and bowed slightly, the way I thought a Geisha might. Then I gave him a tentative smile.

"You were right sir, I had no right to question you. I won’t let it happen again." I hung my head for a moment in a submissive posture Cynthia had taught Sissy. Then I raised my eyes without raising my head, and in a tentative voice asked, "will we still be going to the Patterson affair sir?"

He looked at me for a moment with questioning eyes, smiled, and said "of course."

I let out a big theatrical sigh of relief. "If you don’t mind sir, I’m going to take the girls out for a drink. They’re a little shaken. I want to make sure they understand how to handle this.

"Oh, all right," and he waved me out dismissively.

I turned to leave and when I got to the door I stopped and leaned back in. "I think you’ll like the dress I bought for Friday night." I smiled at him brightly and then spun on my toes and left, flipping my hair as I did. I just hoped he appreciated my effort to flirt because it made me want to puke.

This event marked another watershed for me. I now knew I was tougher than I had ever imagined. My self confidence began to grow by leaps and bounds. Unfortunately, it apparently marked a watershed for Thornton too; he must have realized that he was letting me recover from his attempt to destroy me. After that little episode, he again made demeaning me one of his top priorities.

 

 

Chapter XIX in which the stakes are raised

The Patterson affair was two days later. It was one of those fancy-dress fundraising events, and North State had bought a table for some ridiculous amount of money. Normally, only senior personnel and their significant others would be invited, but since Thornton wasn’t married, it was appropriate for him to invite a senior staff person. Normally, an invitation to a bash like this would be viewed as a perk, but there was no doubt in my mind that the only reason Thornton had invited me was to demonstrate his control over me publicly. I intended to play his game, because I needed him to generate a lot of momentum if I was going to throw him hard enough to do him in for good. Machiavelli had made it clear, when you’re out to get the king, you can’t just injure him, you have to kill him. If I was going to get Thornton, I had to put him down for the count, not just tip him off balance.

So when he came to get me that evening not only did I get a new dress just for this occasion, but I had also been to see Shelly to get my hair and makeup done. The dress was hot. It was a wine red slip dress of some kind of slinky bias cut synthetic fabric. Like my shawl, it had metallic threads running through it to catch the light when I moved. Better, it really clung to my body. It didn’t show a lot of skin, in fact it had long sleeves because the scar on my arm was still rather ugly and I wanted to hide it, but it did show the outline of everything that was underneath, including the fact that I wasn’t wearing a bra. It ran all the way to my ankles and had only the smallest slit in the back. The result was that I had mince a little when I walked. I knew Thornton would love it. Hell, I loved it. There was still enough Brad left in me so that I got turned on just looking at myself in the mirror.

I knew I looked great, and he wore me on his arm like I was a prize, which was really kind of strange because he was a well-known homophobe. Here he was though, escorting a known transsexual like she was his girlfriend.. I guess he just wanted to collect some chips for being politically correct before he destroyed me. Then when he was done with me he could claim that it had nothing to do with my gender or sexual orientation.

As the evening wore on, I learned just how right I had been about his motives. At one point before dinner we became engaged in a conversation about a technical matter with Thomas Mackey, one of the other VPs.

"Bob, when you were working on the Chicago finance deal, didn’t you have Brad…, er…" He turned bright red with embarrassment when he realized what he had said. I immediately moved to put him at ease.

"It’s OK Tom, even I still think of myself as Brad when I remember the past. But it’s Lillian now and it always will be."

He recovered right away and just nodded his thanks at me. "Right, didn’t you have Miller here," he looked at me and grinned, obviously proud of how he had avoided dealing with my gender by using only my last name, "develop a new analysis algorithm to evaluate the depreciation values on their portfolio?

I had indeed done that when I was Brad, and it gave us an insight into their holdings that even they didn’t understand. I jumped into the conversation, ready to explain what I had done.

"That’s right, Tom, I…."

"Lilly," Thornton cut me off. "Go get us something to drink, will you sweetheart? I don’t think Tom needs to hear your little stories."

I started to object, "I…"

"Lilly?" The way he said it was mild, but his look was ferocious. I swallowed my pride and started to get up.

"Sure B…." His eyebrow went up. "…M…Mr. Thornton, what would you like? Mr. Mackey can I get you something?"

I left the table trying to calm myself down. I knew this was going to happen, yet I couldn’t help but feel humiliated by his behavior. And just like he had done many times before, he started to joke about me before I got out of earshot.

"Look at that ass Tom, have you ever seen anything so hot? Look at it swivel in that dress. I’m telling you…." And then the buzz of conversation in the room drowned him out.

By the time I reached the bar I had calmed down again. I intentionally put my ultimate goal in the forefront of my mind to cushion the beating my ego was taking from Thornton. But as I waited in the short line, I realized that I was the only unescorted woman there to fetch drinks. The men in line were either alone and fetching drinks for their dates, or with their dates. I was the only woman getting a drink for her date! Thornton was putting me down in front of the whole room. I knew it and so did they; my face flushed with embarrassment as I realized what was going on.

Then, later in the evening, things got even more confusing. As the band played after dinner, Thornton actually asked me to dance. At first the thought appalled me, but I knew I couldn’t say no. So I took the hand he offered me and minced after him to the dance floor.

You know what? He was a fabulous dancer. He led me around the floor like a pro and I actually started to enjoy it, thankful to Cynthia for forcing me take dancing lessons. A few dances later, the music slowed down and he pulled me close to him. Again I was hesitant, but couldn’t resist.

"You know, Lilly," he whispered to me, "I’m really doing you quite a favor by bringing you here and treating you like a real woman, even dancing with you." He turned me away from him and under his left arm and when I had spun back to face him, he pulled me back into his body with his right on my shoulder blade and shoulder. I teetered slightly on my heels as he pulled me, but caught my balance against he chest. I’m sure that gave him a real good impression of the size and heft of my breasts. "Are you a real woman Lilly?"

I knew instantly what he meant because I could feel his erection pressing into my groin, just above my own tucked-back penis. Before I had a chance to react though, he spun me away again, twice in succession this time, so that when we came back together again, I was a little dizzy for a moment. This time he pulled me back into his erection by putting his right hand in the small of my back, rather than on my shoulder blade, where it belonged. At the same time he held my right hand up and a little behind me. The net effect was to arch my body so that my tummy was pressed directly on his erection, but little else of me was touching him.

I looked up at him, a little startled to be man-handled like that, but even more surprised at the size of his penis. It was big…, really big…, way bigger than mine or Michael’s. Right then, I knew where all his self-confidence came from, and I couldn’t keep myself from squeaking out, "Mr. Thornton you’re so big." My voice had real wonder in it.

He chuckled confidently and replied, "women usually can’t resist my cock once they discover it. Would you like to check it out, my dear?"

I giggled, which surprised me. But it seemed giggling had become my new response to anxiety. At this thought, I frowned momentarily, thinking that my ditzy act was maybe getting a little too good. Thornton, of course, misinterpreted my response. Like most other men, self-centered assholes that they are, he assumed I was answering yes. So he dropped his left hand to my butt and pulled more of me tightly against him. At the same time, he bent his knees slightly and then straightened up rubbing that giant cock into my belly yet one more time. It was a very erotic move and it had its desired effect, I was surprised yet again to discover that I was getting a little turned on, even though I quickly got angry at his arrogance.

But before I could say anything else, he did. "If you’re going to keep working for me Lilly, and you want things to go smoothly, you need to be a woman for me." Then he lifted my right arm, separated his body from mine, and turned spun me away three more quick spins.

Did you ever try to understand something really complicated and then plan how to deal with it while you were spinning on your toes in tight circles under someone else’s direction? I don’t think it can be done. At least I couldn’t do it because I had to concentrate real hard on my footing just to be sure I didn’t lose my balance in my lovely, but dangerously high heels and overly tight skirt. I did, however, figure out why he was repeatedly leading me into spins; he knew that if he kept me dizzy I wouldn’t be able to keep up with him mentally. To everyone else, we probably just looked like good dancers showing off their moves, but in fact we were dueling with each other for control. By the time he pulled me back into the standard dance position, this time slightly separated from him, I knew only one thing; it was crunch time.

 

Cynthia had predicted this would happen. He’s told me how to look, abused me verbally, done his best to discredit me as a professional, and now it was time for sexual harassment. Intellectually I had known this was coming, but you never know how you’re going to react emotionally to stressful situations until you’re actually in them.

As the reality of what was going on asserted itself, the mild feeling of physical arousal that had been elicited when he rubbed is penis on my belly, was obliterated by a more intense feeling of anger. He was, after all, a total sleaze ball and was trying to coerce me into having sex with him. I pulled back even further from his body and looked at him. "Mr. Thornton, this is so unexpected, I don’t think we should go there."

"Are you sure Lilly? This could be quite an experience for you, and a real advantage." He looked at me with one eyebrow cocked.

"I’m sorry Mr. Thornton, I’m not prepared to enter into a personal relationship with you right now. And I’m certainly not prepared to have casual sex with anyone. I just don’t do that."

"Well, perhaps it is a little soon, but let’s give it some time. You never know how you’ll feel as time goes on." He smiled at me in a way that made me cringe inside.

After that, Thornton grew increasingly aggressive in his treatment of me. He got back on track with his program to discredit me, started to put pressure on me to get even more work out of the staff, and even tried to get me to wear shorter skirts, promising to give me a bonus check to pay for the alterations.

And he started to comment on how I looked. He would wonder casually how a tighter top, or one that showed more cleavage might look with a certain suit, or whether a bolder shade of lipstick would make me look "hotter." He was clever enough to keep this kind of talk private, but if he could do it unseen, he couldn’t resist putting his hand on my butt or thigh even when other people were present. My job, of course was to not react, so as not to give the game away. I had, he pointed out, danced with him, so I can’t say that I didn’t want him to touch me.

I knew that if I did react and act offended that he had his hand on me, he would get in trouble with senior management and the board of directors. But I also knew that he wouldn’t be fired for doing something like that, and that in turn he would make life a living hell, before he got rid of me, that is. No, that wasn’t the way to go; Machiavelli was very clear about it, you have to kill the king, not just injure him. So l let his little game continue.

I wasn’t totally stupid, however, I did check in with Jennifer Hairston, the VP for Human Resources. I asked on behalf of "a friend" what would happen if certain kinds of behavior took place and how a woman might protect herself from a vindictive boss should she decide to reveal what was going on. Of course Jennifer saw through my little ploy right away, and although we both pretended to be talking hypothetically, we both understood that I was asking about how to handle Thornton.

She warned me that I was already on thin ice because Thornton was doing his best to undermine me and people were beginning to question my ability.

"But don’t people understand what he’s doing," I asked plaintively, "can’t they see?"

"It’s strange," she told me, "everyone knows how smart you are and that Thornton’s just trying to make you look bad, but his little scenarios actually work. They create a strong impression that stick in people’s minds. It’s just easier for people to believe what they see than to try to reconcile that with what they know. And of course, everyone is still pretty wigged out about you changing genders. Most think you must be nuts."

I sat silently for a moment, considering what she had said. "They’re right you know," I was barely whispering now, "I am nuts." My voice was rising. "But it’s not because I was confused about my gender, it’s because I believed that this company wouldn’t put up with Thornton’s despicable behavior. We’ve been so liberal and accepting of different kinds of people here for so long, we’ve always nurtured people and helped them grow. Thornton hates people and drives them out for no good reason. He’s just too much." I had almost begun to shout, but stopped myself.

Jennifer just sighed. "I know what you mean, I don’t understand it either. The old man and his buddies just seem to have a blind spot when it comes to his treatment of other people. I guess his balance sheets speak very loudly for him."

"Well they should, " I interrupted, "We’re always understaffed and he doesn’t give any bonuses to those of us who do work there. That’s got to help."

We both just sat there quietly for a few moments and then Jennifer said, "you need to be careful Lilly, I’m afraid there’s nothing I can do to protect you if he wants you fired."

I was disconsolate by the time I got back to my office. What was I going to do? I was beginning to wonder if even embezzling would be enough to bring him down. No, he would have to be publicly exposed as the fraud and beast that he was. I didn’t know whether I could do it.

The last thing I needed right now was to lose my self-confidence, because more problems popped up every time I turned around. In addition to the crap Thornton was dishing out, I started to get some nasty comments in the lady’s room and hallways from women who thought my dress and behavior were…, shall we say, inappropriate? And I hadn’t changed anything! I got shit from some of the men too, most of them the same ones who had harassed me before.

"What a slut you turned out to be, you’re worse than a fag, putting out for your boss to get ahead."

That got my attention, and I couldn’t let it pass. Even though the asshole who had muttered it had passed me, I turned and grabbed his arm. He turned around to see what was going on. "What did you say?" I challenged him.

He looked around carefully and seeing no one in the hall, said, "fuck you faggot! Everyone knows you’re putting out for Thornton just to keep your job."

"I am not!" I said indignantly. "Who said that?"

He looked me up and down, like I was a street corner hooker. Then just before he turned to leave, he looked me in the eye and started to laughed at me.

I was furious. I went storming back to our office and knocked on Thornton’s door. I barged in before he could even answer.

"What do you mean telling people that I’m having sex with you?" I was almost shouting.

He looked at me mildly and a small smile crept onto his lips. "Excuse me?" he said, his voice as mild as his expression.

"There’s a rumor going around the halls that I’m, putting out for you. We both know that’s not true."

"Well, Ms. Miller, I can’t control office gossip you know, but you wouldn’t be the first babe who’s wanted to work for me to get at my dick, and most people know that. It’s an obvious conclusion that a faggot like you would be after it."

I was flabbergasted. I had no idea what to say or do. I just stood there glaring at him until he got bored with me.

"What people say about you is your problem, not mine," he said. "Where’s the Boston Federated report? Don’t come back in here until you have it."

I started to leave his office feeling totally confused. Just as I got to my door he called me back. "Oh, by the way," he said as I turned to face him, "I’m thinking of hiring another analyst to pick up some of the load. I’ve got some candidates lined up; we’ll start interviewing in ten days."

I didn’t even bother to reply. I just turned and went into my office. The handwriting had been spray-painted on the wall in three foot high fluorescent letters. If I didn’t put out for him, he was going to get rid of me. I’m sure the only questions in Thornton’s mind was how to get my lips around his dick and how much he could humiliate me before throwing me out on my ass.

That just sent my stress level through the roof. Even as I juggled multiple projects for him, I had now obviously become Thornton’s designated whipping girl, just as others before me had been. As the pressure built, I started to get really short with the other girls, who, along with me, were having a hard time keeping up with the pace Thornton was setting. There was no denying his prodigious capacity for work.

The worst part was, I was starting to treat the people who worked for me with the same disregard that Thornton was showing us. I remembered how Tammy, who quit as Thornton’s secretary not so long ago, had started to act like Thornton, and realized that I was doing the same thing. Instead of looking to the staff for support and help, I was alienating myself from them by being overly demanding and unforgiving.

This made me very unhappy with myself, but I didn’t seem to be able to get myself under control. There was more and more grumbling about me at the office, and I was getting more and more down because of it. So, just as I had done before when I was Brad, I came up with precisely the wrong solution again as Lilly. I started to withdraw from Marci, Kathleen, Heather and the others. In retrospect, I can see how stupid that was, but at the time, it just happened, speeded along by Thornton’s demands. One day, as I was struggling to keep up, he warned me, with sarcasm dripping from his words like blood from an open wound, that if I was going to play, "Mr. Nice guy," but fail to meet his needs, that I and the others could easily be replaced.

"Listen, you little pansy, it doesn’t matter whether they like you or not, only that my work gets done. I want to see you more in control, giving orders, not making namby-pamby requests and backing down every time one of your little girlfriends has to blow her nose."

I didn’t see any way around. I had to do what he said. The result was that my status changed yet again. Since my transition, I had been one of the girls, even if I was becoming a rather bitchy one, and we were all in it together, with Thornton as the enemy. Now, I was Thornton’s right hand girl, and it was the rest of the girls against the two of us. I just hated the whole thing, but he was holding me hostage by threatening to fire my friends, something I just couldn’t let happen. Work became a living hell.

My time outside of work wasn’t that much better. Cynthia called every few days, but I tried to hide my problems from her because she had a dying sister to care for. My problems seemed so trivial by comparison, I just didn’t want to bother her. I did leave hints about what was happening every now and again because I really couldn’t hide my feelings all that well, but she already knew things were stressful, and it wasn’t hard to convince her that’s where my emotional raggedness was coming from.

And I isolated myself from my other friends as well. I avoided Beverly Wells, finding trumped up reasons to skip my sessions. When I did see her, the appointments were brief and I did my best to assure her that I loved my new life. Really, there was no question now about my gender because my identity as Lilly was quite solid, but I didn’t want her probing into the rest of my life. So I talked a lot about Cynthia, about fashion, and anything else but me. Because I had been doing so well, there really wasn’t any reason for her to worry about me and I was able to fool her, although I didn’t know how long I could continue to pull that off.

My relationship with Michael suffered too. He tried to keep up with me, he had promised Cynthia he would, and we did see each other several mornings each week in our martial arts class. More than that, he made sure we spent occasional evenings together but I was having conflicts. I really wanted to spend time with him, but I didn’t want him to know what was going on at work. So I made him take me to clubs with loud music so we couldn’t really talk, and I made him dance all night long and I drank. I partied as hard as I could when we were together because it allowed me to blow off steam and because it kept Michael at a safe psychological distance.

He was still in my heart, deeply in my heart, and I adored him now for all the reasons that had attracted me to him in the first place. He was such a sweet guy and he genuinely liked me and was able to show that. It was very gratifying. Being with him allowed me to feel safe, and truth be told, he still excited me sexually. But I felt like I was stealing his affection under false pretenses. I was lying about myself and that’s no basis for any relationship. I longed to go to bed with him, but something was keeping me away from him.

At first I didn’t understand why I didn’t want to have sex with him anymore, but I eventually realized that I felt guilty about what was going on with Thornton. It was almost like I was somehow cheating on Michael, even though I had no sexual contact with Thornton whatsoever. But I felt so debased by what I was doing that I came to believe I didn’t deserve someone as sweet as Michael. Now that I was Thornton’s whipping girl, I reasoned, I was too contemptible to be allowed to have a close relationship with someone as nice as Michael.

Then, as if to fulfill my own terrible image of myself, I started going out to clubs and picking up guys just for sex. Don’t say a thing. I know how dangerous it was, but I was punishing myself, feeding off the debased self-image I had developed because of what was going on with Thornton and the office. In my perverted logical scheme, I was so contemptible at work that I deserved to be giving blowjobs in the back seats of cars. I hated myself for how I was behaving and really needed to punish myself. So I did!

In a way, I guess I got lucky when I met Charles. I was sitting on a stool in a trendy bar in the west village, wearing a short black leather skirt, tight red sweater and a cropped black leather jacket. I had on fuck-me heels, dark hose, and no bra. I had only been there about 15 minutes when he sauntered over and offered to buy me a drink. I looked him up and down as if he were on sale, and finding him acceptable, in a dark craggy kind of way, accepted his offer.

It didn’t take too long before our conversation got around to sex. He blandly asked, "so what are you doing here, out so late on a work day."

I slowly raised my eyes, then my head, and finally my torso, so I was sitting perfectly straight and looking him right in the eye, "I’m looking for a man."

I shocked myself a little by that the brazen way I said that, but he was a cool customer, showing not even the barest hint of surprise. "Well," he chuckled, "you’re a shy one aren’t you?"

"Listen, Chuck, I’m a busy girl, are you game or not?"

He bristled at that. "The names is Charles, missy, and I’m plenty game. The question is can you handle me? "

I let my eyes widen in response, and then softened my body language. "Well, Charles," I purred, "I’m sorry for being so abrupt, it’s been a tough week and I’m tired and pissed off at my boss. But that’s no reason to take that out on you." I placed my hand on his to show my sincerity. I might have been self-destructive, but I wasn’t totally stupid. I didn’t want this guy mad at me if there was a chance I might leave with him. I reached around his waist and pulled him towards me. "Let’s stay here a little while OK, I want another drink or two and I want the other girls to see me with a hunk like you."

That seemed to mollify him, and he put his arm around my shoulder. I didn’t really want to get to know him that well, he was, after all, just a one night stand, but I wanted to draw him out for a while to see if he was safe to leave with. Actually, he was interesting, and I liked the possessive posture he took with me. In turn I warmed up to him and treated him with respect and a little awe. He seemed OK, so we went to get his car so he could take me home.

It was a big black Lexus, which he had parked a couple of blocks away, and as we walked down the street, I hung on his arm and tried to behave like his girlfriend. But things turned sour as soon as we were in the car. I was putting on my seat belt as he slid into the drivers seat.

"Forget that thing sweetie and slide over here." He grabbed my hand and pulled me over to him kissing me hard on the lips.

"Hey," I squealed, "that hurts."

"Listen you little tramp, anyone who behaves like you did in that bar better know what to expect. You’ll just do what I say, won’t you?" And he kissed me hard again, and started rubbing my breast, just as hard. Then he pulled back to the driver’s seat and started the car.

"We’re going to my place, baby. You’re spending the night."

"No, I can’t." I spluttered out.

He grabbed my left wrist hard and twisted my arm down and towards my back, forcing my head down towards the dashboard. "You’ll do what ever I say you’ll do. After that blow job you promised me, I’m gonna teach you how a real man fucks." Then he threw me back against the passenger side door.

For a moment, I started to panic, just like I always had in the past when I had been physically threatened. But then, unconsciously, I started to control my breathing, like I had been taught in my martial arts class. You know what, the panic subsided; I felt lucid again. A moment later we were at a stoplight turning right to head up town on 6^th Avenue. It only took me a few blocks to see my way out. Traffic was heavy. His car was hemmed in on all sides and we weren’t going too fast. If I could get out the door, he’d never be able to chase me. As heavy as traffic was, we would have to stop at several red lights over the next 20 blocks or so, so I would have a few opportunities to get out of the car.

But, I knew that getting out of the car wouldn’t be that easy and that my only real chance was to distract him and catch him off guard. "Would you really?" I asked responding to his offer to teach me about fucking?

He just laughed and moved out with traffic when the light changed. Deliberately retracting my seatbelt to get it out of the way, I slid over towards him and started to come on to him gently. I wanted to put him at ease so I would have every extra moment when I made my move.

"You’re so strong," I purred, caressing his bicep. "I like strong men." I could feel him relax and I kept up my attentions for the next few minutes. All of a sudden he flicked on his left turn indicator and I realized he was heading for the Lincoln Tunnel, which connected Manhattan to New Jersey under the Hudson River. The area on the West Side near the tunnel was one of the city’s real bad neighborhoods, but at least I had a chance to catch a cab there. The last thing I wanted was to end up in New Jersey. I knew I had to distract him quickly if I was going to get out of his car before it was too late.

In another moment we stopped for another red light. As the light flashed red, it gave me an idea. I sat back up, grabbed my purse, and pulled out some lipstick. Then, carefully tucking my purse next to the door, I lowered the passenger side visor, which had a lighted mirror on it and redid my lips. Then I recapped the lipstick and turned towards Charles.

"How do I look?" I gave him my biggest smile, licking my lips with the tip of my tongue, trying to look sexy. Before he could do anything, I "dropped" my lipstick in front of his seat so it would roll under the pedals. "Oh," I squealed, "can you get that for me?"

"Fucking clumsy broad," he growled, but reached down with his right arm to try to find my lipstick. As big as he was, he really had to shift in his seat to get his arm to the floor. For the few moments he spent fishing around for my lipstick, his back was to me. That was the break I was hoping for.

So I spun my butt in the seat at the same time I was throwing the door open. He sat up quickly when he heard the door, but by the time he got his hand out from under the steering wheel, I was just about out. Only the hand I had put my hand on dashboard to propel myself from the car was within his reach and he threw himself across the front seat to grab it.

"Where do you fucking think you’re going, bitch?" I turned to see his enraged face glaring at me. It was the second time in not too many months that someone had grabbed my wrist just before I could get away from him. But I had learned something during that time and I looked him right in the eye for a moment and then twisted my arm towards his thumb, the weakest part of his grip, jerking it as viciously as I could. That was just enough to break his grip, and even though I fell into the gutter as I got free, I was able to slam the car door shut, scramble to my feet, and scurry away through traffic, dragging my bag behind me.

He wasn’t giving up yet though. He started to get out of his car to chase me. But before he could get away from his car, the light turned green. Everyone around started to honk and shout. So as I tripped onto the sidewalk on the far side of 10th Avenue in my totally non-functional heels, I heard him yell, "fuck you bitch," before he disappeared back into his car and drove away, escorted inescapably by all the cars that surrounded his.

I knew I wasn’t out of the woods yet because he could easily circle the block and come back to find me. Worse, this was a terrible neighborhood, especially for a sexily clad girl. Fortunately, there was a bar halfway down the block and I ran towards it as fast as my stupid heels would allow. I hid myself as well as I could in the bar’s doorway watching the corner for a few minutes to see if Charles would come back. If he did I would simply slide into the bar. But I didn’t want to rush because I had no idea what I might find once inside. But, when he didn’t appear after the light had cycled a few of times, I figured he was gone. Now, if I found the bar too dangerous, at least I could run back out onto the street knowing a big black Lexus wouldn’t be waiting for me.

As soon as I ducked into the bar, every one of the 12 pairs of eyes in the place bored right in on me. They were all grizzled older men, longshoremen, maybe. I knew I had to be cool, so I ignored them and walked right up to the bar, sitting carefully on a stool, as I tried to catch my breath. The bartender was a big fat old man with a white beard hanging over the top of his dirty white apron.

"We don’t want no hookers in here."

"Oh, no, you’ve got it wrong, I’m not a hooker."

"Then what are you doing in this neighborhood dressed like that?" He nodded dismissively at my clothes.

It wasn’t until that moment that I looked at myself. My stockings were torn and my skirt full of grime. My beautiful leather jacket was scuffed from where I had fallen on the street, and my bag didn’t look any better. I was sure my hair was a mess. I tried to brush off my skirt and looked back at him with a wan smile.

"I let myself get picked up by the wrong guy. I had to jump from his car on the corner of 10^th Avenue before he could take me to Jersey." I nodded towards the river. He mumbled agreement. Every New Yorker can empathize with someone who doesn’t want to end up in New Jersey, whatever the reason. We’re all snobs that way. Then I rummaged through my purse and pulled out my wallet. It, at least, looked expensive, and I could see him take that in. I put a crisp twenty dollar bill on the bar. "Would you call me a cab please, and pour me a big glass of Dewar’s?"

"OK, honey, I don’t know whether I believe you or not, but I’ve got daughters of my own. I’d want people to help them too. You’ll be safe here until your cab comes. It’ll be a while though, cabs don’t like to come to this part of town so late."

I nodded and went to the women’s room to clean myself up as best I could. Then I sat, sipping on my scotch, waiting for my heart rate to subside and for the cab to arrive. I left all the change from the twenty on the counter and thanked the bartender as I got up to leave. That was the last time I tried to pick anyone up in a bar or anywhere else.

As I huddled in my bed later that night trying to fall asleep, I berated myself for having been so stupid. I really was in a downward spiral. I did stupid things because I felt bad about myself and those stupid things made me feel worse. Shit, did I ever have a self-destructive streak. I felt unconsciously for my ring, and when I became aware of what I was doing, and realized the ring was gone, I started to cry quietly. I missed Cynthia deeply, but I knew that if she were here, she would have my head for the way I was behaving. I might end up permanently as Sissy. I had to get myself under control.

After a little while, as I reran the events of the evening in my mind, I realized another thing. I had been remarkably resourceful in getting myself out of trouble, and in a little corner of my mind, I started to feel really proud of myself.

 

 

Chapter XX in which Hannah comes to the rescue

About a month after Cynthia had gone to Colorado, which pretty much coincided with the beginning of Thornton’s reign of terror, I came home from work to find a letter from Cynthia in my mail box. It surprised and frightened me. We had been talking regularly and I couldn’t imagine what she had to say that she couldn’t say on the phone. So I hurried up stairs and changed into some comfortable clothes. As much as I love to dress up and look pretty, it is such a treat to be able to peel those clothes off at the end of the day. I especially can’t wait to get my bra off and to rub my breasts and scratch the skin just below them, where the underwire digs into my ribs, yummm. Getting out of the pantyhose is pretty nice too. So in a few minutes, I was wearing a very soft kimono, which covered my breasts with out confining them, and a pair of silky tap pants, which permitted my penis and testicles to hang comfortably. Finally, I put a ribbon in my hair to hold it off my face, tying a nice bow on top, just like I always did.

I grabbed a glass of wine and an apple and sat down in my girly sitting room to read Cynthia’s letter.

***

 

My Dearest Lilly,

It is very quiet here right now because Hannah is asleep. Snow is falling silently, but steadily and the trees around the deck look like they’ve been topped with fairy dust as they reflect back the lights of the house. Hannah looks so peaceful, it’s hard to believe she’s so sick. But the truth is she has continued to worsen since I arrived. Thank God she has good doctors. The cancer has spread all over her body but the docs have supplied her with all the pain medication she needs and taught me how to give it so she is almost never in pain. It’s quite amazing really, she takes huge doses but she’s never sedated.

Instead she’s up and around doing all the things she loves to do. We ride horses almost every morning, no matter how cold it is. "I just love the cold," she says, "I can feel it so clearly." There’s a beautiful meadow with a frozen lake about a mile from here and we hack through the icy woods to get there, linger for just a little while and then come back by a different route. Then she takes a nap because she really has no stamina at all. Sixty to ninety minutes is as much as she can stand.

In the afternoon I drive her around to visit a pair of older couples she has befriended. She visits them so they don’t get too lonely, and then she frets terribly about what will happen to them after she dies. Then it’s time for another nap. Three days each week we visit the local hospital, where she plays with kids who have cancer. She is some sight, gaunt and terribly skinny but beautifully dressed and perfectly made up, and… bald! The kids are just blown away, but they love her. The doctors and nurses rave about how she helps these kids keep their spirits up and their parents thinks she must be an angel. I have tears in my eyes every time I see her encouraging these devastated families.

Some evenings we cook together, which is so glorious because it brings back such wonderful memories of our childhood. We cooked together then too. And we talk constantly about our Grandma.. The ring really must be magical, just as you’ve claimed. It seems to have opened up a treasure chest full of special memories for both of us and we just sit on the couch together and bask in their warmth. There’s no way I could possibly thank you enough for allowing Hannah to have it. So that’s one reason I’m writing. Even though it seems so insufficient, I just have to say, thank you.

By this time I was crying openly and dripping mascara stained tears onto the letter itself. I had to stop to get some tissues. Well armed with a box of Kleenex and another glass of wine, I continued.

 

But I’m writing for another reason too. I have learned so much about life from Hannah over the past month. I was scared to death to come out here, afraid that I’d have to watch Hannah wither away and die in front of my eyes, not sure if I was strong enough to take it. But that hasn’t happened. Oh, she’s withering away all right, and I doubt she’ll be able to stay active much longer, but she’s living in front of my eyes, not dying. She is so intensely in every moment of her life that she almost glows with the pleasure of it. Everyone who meets her can see it. It’s just amazing.

So one day I just had to ask her how she does it. I want you to hear her explanation. There were two things she said, the first was the simple one. Once she understood that she was going to die, she wanted to experience as much of life as she could. She just refuses to be bed ridden or hide herself away. The second was that she somehow realized that she had a choice. She could be a victim of her cancer or she could take charge of her own life, at least what was left of it.

She explained that a victim blames the fates for the horrible things that were happening and just gives up. Hannah refuses to do this and she somehow figured out that she could use her misfortune as an opportunity to learn and do new things.

"I don’t have to be depressed about this," she told me, "even though it’s depressing. My illness has taken away my strength and it’s taking away my life, but I refuse to let it take away my joy. It may destroy my body, but it will not defeat me."

Sure enough, here she is, visiting her old friends and sick kids in the hospital and bringing her joy into all their lives. And when she gets home and has to lie down because she’s too weak to stay upright any longer, she tells me how sweet her life is. I don’t know how to respond and I realize that I’m in awe of her. I came out here to take care of her, and she’s giving me the greatest lesson in life I could ever imagine. I don’t have to be strong at all. We’re flying on her wings and it’s totally exhilarating. .

I know that by now you are probably wondering why I’m telling you all this. The answer is simple. It occurred to me, my dear sweet Lilly, my love, that you have lived all your life as a victim. Your parents made you a victim, Kyle made you a victim, Rachael made you a victim, Thornton made you a victim, and even I did it. Some things in life can’t be helped, and we can’t go back and undo what’s been done. But we do have some control over the future. The choice is yours, my dearest love. Learn from Hannah. You don’t have to be a victim.

All my love,

Cynthia

***

I don’t know how long I sat there, stunned, startled, boggled, paralyzed, weightless; I don’t know. But eventually, I started to become aware of the world again. Cynthia’s letter staggered me to the very bottom of my soul. It hit me so hard, my molecules were dispersed into the atmosphere and they were just beginning to coalesce again. First, I am introduced to the most remarkable person I’d ever heard of, and then, before I could even begin to understand what that meant, I am clobbered with the most insightful analysis of myself I had ever heard. To top it all off, Cynthia had just given me the key to solving my personal problems as well. It was just too much. I couldn’t deal with it. I wanted to grab the phone and call Cynthia, but I had no idea what I might say. I wasn’t even sure if I could speak! Nothing made any sense, but everything was perfectly clear. I sat there on the couch holding the letter in my hand for a long time. I think I was thinking, but I’m not sure. I may have just been existing on some preconscious level of awareness.

I finally got up and had a bite to eat. I was moving like a zombie, my mind still struggling to understand the lesson Cynthia was trying to teach me. Part of it seemed to be taking because the phrase ‘I have a choice’ kept bouncing around in my brain.

After dinner I took a long, hot shower, got into a soft nighty and warm slippers, and sat down at my computer and started typing. I had plans to make.

***

Before I went to bed I called Cynthia. I usually didn’t call there because I didn’t want to risk waking Hannah, but tonight I just had to speak with Cynthia. The phone rang once and I heard a whispered, "hello."

"Cynthia, it’s me, Lilly."

"Lilly!" I could just hear the thrill in her voice, but it immediately turned to concern. "Are you OK?"

"Yes Cynthia, I am, in fact I feel great. I just wanted to thank you for your letter." There was silence for a few moments, so I jumped back in before Cynthia could say anything. "No, really, it was the most amazing, the best letter I’ve ever gotten. And you’re right, I do have a choice."

"Oh, thank god." I could hear the relief in her voice. "I was so worried about how you would react. Are you really OK?"

"Yes! I really am. I’m great. How’s Hannah?"

"Well, not so great really. She fell off her horse yesterday. She didn’t break anything, but she’s kind of bruised and sore. I think she’s gotten too weak to ride and she’s going to hate me when I stop her the next time she tries. She’s losing weight steadily and the doctor doesn’t think she’ll make it to the end of the month. Any number of things could do her in at this point and she’s insisted she not be put on any machines just to keep her alive for a few more days. She made me swear to enforce it."

"Oh Cynthia, I’m so sorry." I could feel tears forming at the corners of my eyes.

"Well we all knew this was going to happen. I’m only grateful that she’s been able to do so much for so long. And you know what, her heart is still full of joy. It’s impossible to be sad around her."

 

I had an idea. "Listen, I’m flying out this weekend. I’ll leave Friday morning. I’ll help you out for a couple of days."

"Oh, I can hear her, I have to go. Yes, please do fly out. I miss you so. Bye."

So I got on the web and started to look for a ticket. Then I went to bed.

***

In the morning I felt buoyant, like a huge weight had been lifted from my shoulders. I was almost whistling as I got ready for work. Once I got there, I called Shelly to get my hair done, then I called Michael, who agreed to meet me for lunch. I called Holly Wainwright, the woman from Boston Federated Investments who had embarrassed herself by asking me for a date when we were at the Trump Tower affair, and when I was done with all that I called Marcie.

When she got to my office she was pretty angry. I barely had the door closed before she lit into me, rapid fire, like a semiautomatic. "What do you want? I don’t care. As long as I have to be here, you’re going to hear what I have to say. You’re acting like an asshole again. When it happened last time, we all thought you were a son of a bitch, now you’re just a bitch." She bit that line off like she had been practicing it. "Cynthia wouldn’t let you get away with shit like this and neither will I!"

Her eyes had fire in them, but it seemed to me as if they sparkled. I had forgotten how attractive she was and how much I liked her even when she was mad at me. More than that, in some strange way I was proud of her for stepping up and protecting the other girls in the office. I admired her courage.

"Can I get you some coffee Marcie?" That threw her off course, but she just narrowed her eyes and stared at me. I pointed to the seat opposite my desk and sat down myself. "If you want to yell at me, I’d like to sit down."

She sat, but that didn’t stop her. She continued to harangue me and I just sat there and listened. When she realized I wasn’t going to rise to her bait, she stopped talking for a moment, but glared at me from where she sat. "So, are you going to talk to me, or have you again become the enemy?"

I took a deep breath and closed my eyes. After a couple of deep, centering breaths, I opened them again and gazed at her softly. She had hated me once, but then became my friend. She never took advantage of me when I was being punished in the office and she had really been working hard to make up for Cynthia’s absence. I guess it was time to trust someone. I needed to reach the end game with Thornton soon, or he was going to destroy me. I reached out to her across my desk with both my hands.

"Give me your hands please Marci." She looked surprised and smiled quizzically, tilting her head as if to get a better look at me, then she reached out to me. Once I had her hands in mine, I looked up into her eyes. "I need your help Marci, but I’m scared. I’ve been afraid to trust anybody. Can I trust you?"

The expression on her face changed three times in a matter of seconds. First, she got angry, then sad, and finally she looked at me like I was a lost baby. "Oh Lilly, you poor thing, come here."

I almost flew around the desk and launched myself into her hug. I started to cry at the same time. It was like a dam bursting. I hadn’t realized how much I had been holding inside until Marci gave me permission to let it out. Fueled, I guess, by all the estrogen that was now dominating my brain, I must have cried for a good couple of minutes before easing off into sobs. At that point, she got up and got me some long overdue tissues and we sat down again on the small love seat across from my desk.

When I had quieted down, she said, "want to talk about it?"

So I told her everything. She was alternatively amazed and appalled by my story, but finally became disgusted with me.

"Why do you continue on like this? Don’t you realize you could have nailed him for sexual abuse long ago?"

"I just wasn’t sure Marci, I was afraid he would say that I wanted it. Plus, he’s given me two promotions since I’ve been back. That has to look funny to people. In fact it does, rumors that I’m sleeping with him are already circulating. Who would you believe, a slutty little TS like me, I shook my hair at her and batted my eyelashes, or the most successful VP in the company?"

"Girl, you are so thick! They would have had him out of here in a heartbeat if you had said something right away. I guess you have a harder case to prove now that it’s gone on for so long, but we have to end it. I won’t let you go on with this. I’m calling Michael."

"I already did." Then I told her about Cynthia’s letter and my idea getting rid of Thornton once and for all and what I’d done so far to get my plan into action.

"OK," she said, "I coming to lunch with you. We’ll work this thing out. I should take you over my knee for letting things go this far, but I think I’ll give you a big hug instead for trusting your friends and asking for help." And she did. And it felt wonderful, kinda like going home after a long absence.

My heart leapt when Michael showed up at the restaurant and I jumped into his arms like I hadn’t seen him in months. He was a little confused because we had in fact seen each other only a few nights before. But after Marcie had collected her own kiss and hug, she told him that I had something I wanted to tell him.

He looked at me quizzically and then blurted out, in a surprisingly loud voice, "you’re not pregnant, are you?"

Every head in the restaurant swiveled around to see who I was, and for a moment, I was speechless. Marcie’s mouth dropped opened so quickly I cringed for a moment waiting for her to scream in pain.

Then I figured it out and bleated back in mock anger, "no, you jerk. You lucked out this time." And as everyone looked on in total confusion Marcie, Michael, and I burst into laughter.

Needless to say, everyone else in the restaurant kept checking us out the entire time we were there. I guess they were trying figure out whether we were totally insane or not. Once we got settled, Marcie looked at me and nodded. Then she said to Michael, "little bright eyes here has something to tell you."

I turned to face Michael and took a deep breath. "Michael, I’ve been misleading you. I was so confused I didn’t know who to trust…, so I didn’t trust anybody…, even you…, and I should have known better…, and…, and, I’m sorry." I hung my head and felt tears start to well up in the corners of my eyes. I felt so stupid. How could I not trust Michael. My God, he almost died trying to protect me. We had spent so much time together recovering that I felt we knew each other&